#Will Solace being the best boyfriend ever

[ficsnships]

“Will smiled, and warmth washed over Nico. “Can I hold you? Would that be okay with you?”

Protective boyfriend Will. 🥹🥹🥹

[indecisivemuch]

Look at me

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: Being oblivious to Luke’s feelings, you tried to get over him by getting a boyfriend, who just does not know how to treat you right. Inspired by the song ‘Boyfriend’ by Dove Cameron ~ “I could be a better boyfriend than him.” (jealous luke, friends-to-lovers, fluff, angst, pining, happy ending.)

Warning: Just the boyfriend being an asshole and unwanted physical touch for a split second, but nothing serious. Sorry if your name is Cole. Violence (physical fighting)

Note: I’m sorry if there are a lot of errors, I haven’t had the chance to edit this thoroughly so if it feels like a train wreck, then I'm sorry. I just needed to write this out, get it out there, so I can go back to revising for my exams in peace lol, cause this plot/idea has been at the back of my head, I could not stop thinking about it or study properly. Lowkey hated how this one turned out, but whoops.

Word count: 4.8k

“People say that eyes are the windows to one's soul,” you once told him. You two have been best friends for a very long time: five years of being attached to the hip. Yet, you were completely oblivious to the way he looked at you. Even everybody at camp noticed and thought it was bound to happen. They were so sure that Luke and you would end up together. So imagine everybody’s surprise when something else occurred.

It happened right in front of Luke: Cole - a boy from Cabin 5 and son of Ares - asked you out, and you said yes.

It has been two months since that day. All Luke could do was sulk as he watched his best friend slip away. Of course, you still tried to spend as much time as possible with him. But even then, things have changed. There were no more of those content silences between the two of you. There were no more carefree laughs that made Luke feel like you two were the only ones that existed in this place. He used to walk you back to your cabin every night, hugging you good night or kissing your forehead close to your hairline if he felt brave enough. Moments like those convinced him you two would be like that forever. But his solace was taken in a split second. Now, you were so near, yet so out of reach. 

It didn’t help that he saw you every day, like right now, as you sat in the middle of a gathering hosted by your cabin. Gods, even the wind seems to be in love with you, judging by the way it was blowing through your hair as if it was trying to twirl itself around those lovely locks that Luke himself used to always tug behind your ears. The sight of you always bathed him in this warm feeling, like the morning sun. Hence his nickname for you: sunshine. 

Then his brown eyes landed on the figure next to you, and they hardened. He has witnessed it all: Cole’s backhanded compliments, ignoring you on your birthday, leaving you alone to talk to his friends, occasionally flirting back with girls who batted an eyelash at him, and then blatantly telling you that you were overthinking it. Luke knew he could treat you so much better. 

You were sitting with your boyfriend and his group of friends, who often gave you weird looks or snickers. Gods, if it was him you were with, he’d never make you feel excluded. He would have his arms around you and defend you if his friends ever made snarky remarks. Not that that would ever happen anyway; you were well-loved at camp, and all his friends loved you. But he would treat you well, nevertheless, not like that dumbass sitting next to you.

One of your favorite songs started playing, and Luke watched as you genuinely smiled for once tonight. You touched your boyfriend’s arm, muttering something to him. Luke knew exactly what you were saying to Cole because you and Luke used to do this together. Except, you never had to ask Luke. 

Whenever your favorite tunes were on, Luke would immediately pull you out of your seat and dance with you, laughing as if nothing mattered at all. Nights like those, he liked to imagine that the stars above envied them and what the two of you had. Now? He felt like one of them, watching from the outside. 

Luke’s jaw clenched as he saw Cole shrugging off your hand on his arm. Gods, Luke felt like that idiot was taking you for granted, and his blood boiled. Before Cole, Luke used to always orchestrated some excuse to have you touch him - getting injured on purpose sometimes just to watch you frantically panic over his wounds and take care of him, volunteering to help you out with swords training just to touch your hand and pretend to adjust the way you were holding it, hugging you every time he greeted you and so on.

For a second, your mask slipped, and you had that look on your face, like something had left you emotionally wounded. It was the kind of look Luke would kill to never see again, and oh, the things he would do to get rid of Cole. Luke had to wrestle with the thought of marching up to Cole and beating him to a pulp. However, he did stand up to approach you.

You felt a hand touch your shoulder. When you peered at the person standing, your eyes immediately glimmered as they caught Luke’s. However, something foreign was gleaming in his eyes. The Hermes boy has always looked at you sweetly. But the way he was looking at you right now was filled with something much more intense - borderline fervent, like an obsession. 

Cole finally glanced over at you for the first time the entire night. Unlike you, he instantly recognized the look in Luke’s eyes: hunger and longing. It was clear as day to everybody but you.

Luke extended his hand out for you to take and you understood right away. For the first time in two months, your hand touched his. Luke’s chest sunk and his breathing lost its usual rhythm for a second as your skin made contact with his. The Hermes boy finally looked over to Cole, and the Ares boy saw an immediate shift in his eyes. Now, they were filled with animosity and - the most obvious of all - heated jealousy. 

Luke led you away from Cole and started twirling you around. You let out a laugh - the kind that was infectious and has always brought a smile to Luke’s lips. You both sang along to the lyrics. For once, your relationship felt restored, just like the good old days. Was it wrong that this was the happiest you have felt since you got together with Cole? You shrugged away the thought as the song slowly ended. Luke settled with both hands on your waist while yours were around his neck. Usually, you would put your head on his chest as you both slightly swayed around. But now that you were in a relationship, you kept a bit of distance between the two of you. You gaze up at Luke, who was already staring at you sweetly. The moment was perfect. Gods, you almost wished to stay in it forever.

Meanwhile, Luke hoped he could convey his thoughts through his eyes - the unspoken words he wished he had told you sooner. Could you not see the infatuation coursing through his veins whenever he was with you? Could you not see that you got him at your beck and call? 

The look you gave him almost convinced him that you heard his thoughts. You leaned your head on his chest, caught off-guard by the speed of his heartbeat as it soothed you along with the music in the background. Feeling a heated look over his way, Luke glanced around and locked eyes with your boyfriend. Cole narrowed his eyes while Luke gave Cole a look of resentment and immense loathing. 

Gods, he could be a much better boyfriend than Cole.

“Hey, man,” when you heard your boyfriend’s voice, you lifted your head from Luke’s chest and withdrew your hands around his neck. “I’ll take over from here,” Cole practically pulled you away from Luke and started swaying with you. Instead of feeling happy that Cole finally danced with you after two months of dating, you felt wrong. Cole's hands were on your waist, but they felt sluggish like his heart was not in it at all. Your ear was against Cole’s chest, so you caught the sound of his heartbeat. It sounded…too calm, almost cold and shallow, causing you to twist your lips into a frown.

You glanced up at your boyfriend but saw him staring behind you instead. So you glanced back and caught a glimpse of Luke before getting pulled around by Cole, who roughly yanked your face towards him. He kissed you almost aggressively. There was something cynical and bitter about the way he was kissing you. 

Cole opened his eyes and conceitedly made eye contact with Luke. The Hermes boy glared at the sight of Cole handling you so roughly, claiming your lips so smugly. If it was him, he would be kissing you for you; he would be kissing you to show you how much he worshiped you and the ground you walk on, not to prove an empty point.

You finally managed to pull away when Cole let go of your chin. “All right, we’re done for the night, don’t you think?” your boyfriend muttered, quickly leaving you to return to his friends as if nothing had happened. Despite feeling slightly aggravated at Cole, you hated that you couldn't care less of his words at that moment, and the first thing you did was look in the direction Luke had been before. 

Yet, he was not there anymore.

~~~

Your cabin was not on the same side as Luke’s cabin for this match of capture the flag. You were fighting off some people who were on the blue team. Years of training with Luke paid off because you managed to point your sword at the person’s neck and grinned when they put their hands up in surrender. You continued perusing through the area, trying to regroup with your team or take down another blue team member. However, you almost tripped as you witnessed Cole on the ground with Luke on top of him, repeatedly punching his face..

“Luke!” you called out, watching as Luke’s action faltered, and his eyes darted around frantically around like a lost wild animal. However, Cole took advantage of Luke’s momentary distraction to land a hit on Luke’s face. The Ares boy got off the ground as Luke stumbled and went for another punch. However, Luke dodged it effortlessly and rammed Cole against a tree instead.

“Hey, knock it off,” you yelled, standing between the boys to stop their flight. Luke immediately backed off, afraid he would accidentally hurt you if he didn’t. But Cole, in the middle of his blind rage, still swung for Luke and ended up striking you across the face instead. Right when that happened, Luke pushed Cole again and rushed to your side to assess your injury. At that very moment, Chiron approached the scene with one of Cole’s friends next to him, who promptly told the man:

“It was him. Luke initiated the fight.” 

~~~

Luke wished for somebody to put him out of this misery as he stared at you from afar helplessly. He was so dotted that it hurt. Somebody must have answered his prayers because your eyes met his from across the field. There was a bit of sadness behind them, perhaps regret from how things ended yesterday. You whispered something to your boyfriend, but Cole did not even spare you a glance and waved his hand as if dismissing you from the discussion. Luke’s hand once again curled into a fist. He bit the inside of his cheek from the pain induced by his injury. The Hermes cabin counselor felt no bit of guilt in his body about his physical altercation with Cole. He felt smug at the sight of Cole with one black eye, busted lip, swollen cheek and a body sporting way more bruises than him. 

You deserved better. 

“Hey, stranger,” you greeted, sitting beside Luke. Almost immediately, he hooked one finger under your chin, tilting your head lightly as if he was afraid he might break you. The boy scanned over your injury, sighing at the sight of purple forming under your skin, indicating an emerging bruise. Even so, under the moonlight, you still looked heavenly to him.

“Devon said you initiated the fight. Is that true, Luke?” Luke frowned at the mention of Cole’s friend. Great, now he knew another idiot’s name. Meanwhile, you have asked this because you knew him. There was no way the boy you knew would lose control like this and swing his hands first. 

“No, but what’s the point of telling Chiron that? It’s two against one,” he breathed out.

“Luke, you’re literally the friendliest and nicest counselor here. Of course, he would believe you,” you reasoned. You sighed disappointingly as Luke only shook his head in response as if asking you to drop it.

Now, you two sat in silence. It felt the same as the comforting ones you have had with him before - the ones that made you feel like you were at home in front of your fireplace, curled up with a book. 

“Why are you with him?” and with that, the comfort evaporated as the air thickened. You and Luke rarely argued or even disagreed, so it felt like an unfamiliar territory every time it felt relatively tense between you two. 

“I know you, which is why I know that you’re absolutely miserable with him, so I don’t understand why you’re still with Cole,” Luke commented, though his voice was quiet because he was considerate of drawing this type of attention to you. He had seen it before - Cole causing public altercations and storming off and you running after him with tears emerging from your eyes. He did not want to put you in the same position.

“Y/N, please, as your best friend…” there it was again, the word that used to make you smile brightly, was now the same one that brought you pain. You wanted more. “...You deserve better,” he uttered, his eyebrows slightly scrunched as he looked at you with those eyes. There it was again, the look so intense that you were convinced they could swallow you whole. Yet, you could not interpret them. So, you looked away.

“Luke…” you said his name almost like a warning sign. The boy sighed at this. 

His fingers gently tilted your chin towards him, urging you to face him. There was so much contrast in the way he touches you and the way Cole does. You knew precisely why Luke wanted you to look at him: your eyes were your tell for him. Years ago, after you told him that eyes were the windows to one's soul, he told you that he knew this already because he had learned that your eyes will always tell the truth for you. That’s how, in so many instances, he would be the first to notice whenever you're upset. 

“Y/N, does he make you happy?” you stiffened at the question. Words choked up in your throat as your mouth opened to answer. You wanted to say yes so you both could get over this conversation. But you knew he would be able to tell you were lying. The way he looked at you right now, as if you were the only thing that mattered. He seemed so vulnerable. Little did you right at this moment, Luke was willing to surrender and let you go if you said yes.

“Oh, this is who you left me to talk to?” Cole's voice broke you both out of the trance. “The person who beat your boyfriend?” Cole passive-aggressively spat, sneering from above as he looked down at the two of you. You called out to your boyfriend, but he quickly cut you off with a quick “Unbelievable,” before walking away. But Cole did this on purpose. He liked the attention he drew, even if they were at your expense, especially because he knew you would chase after him.

“I’m so sorry,” you muttered to Luke on your boyfriend's behalf as you stood up to run after him. Luke frowned as he shook his head. If you were his, he would never allow you to apologize on his behalf, nor would he give a reason for you to ever do that.

“Uhm, what are you waiting for?” Annabeth’s voice broke Luke from his irritated state. “Go after her,” the young girl nudged.

“I doubt I should do that, Annabeth. Last time I was with him, he ended up in the infirmary.”

“Yes, but you need to go after her before it’s too late.”

“It’s already too late.”

“No, it’s not,” the girl stated sternly, and when Luke peered over at her, he recognized the look on her face. From experience, he knew better than to doubt when Annabeth was right. So, he stood up and walked in the direction where you disappeared after your boyfriend.

“Stop it, Cole. I don’t want to…” Your voice grabbed Luke’s attention as he started walking in that direction, eyebrows furrowed.

“Come on, this is the least you could do to make it up to me,” Cole replied. 

When Luke reached the scene, he almost went into an uncontrollable wrath when he saw Cole trying to take off your shirt as you objected and struggled out of his grip. 

“I said ‘let go,’ Cole,” you yelled this time, pushing him back. Upon finally doing so successfully, a figure stormed past you and immediately flung at Cole’s cheek, right at the spot that was already bruising. The impact knocked Cole to the ground as he wailed from the pain. Averting your gaze to the person, you saw Luke. Like a deranged bull, Luke grabbed Cole by the collar and lifted him up, going in for another hit, but you quickly stopped him, calling out his name.

Cole, who did not learn his lesson, spoke again, “Gods, of course! He runs to your aid again. You must be a good fuck for him to get this attached. How many times have you fucked him, huh? Gods, you’re such a whore, you know that?” If it were not for your hands stopping Luke and removing his grip from Cole’ shirt, Luke would have ensured Cole no longer had a face. 

“Cole, stay the fuck away from me. We are over.” Your words seemed to affect Luke more than Cole. It was as if Luke could feel an immense weight being lifted from his shoulders. “Let’s go, this is not worth it,” you told Luke. Cole barked a laugh at this.

“Man, you’re more trouble than it's worth. Do you know why no guys ever asked you out? You’re fucking difficult and clingy, that’s why. If it was not for that fucking bet, I would not have either.” Luke was about to launch at Cole but was caught off guard because you had already done it yourself. You punched him, aiming for his nose and teeth, making sure to break a few.

“You fucking bitch!” Cole spoke after he howled in agony. He spat out blood as his nose started bleeding, “Gods, you’re gonna pay for this.”

“Oh yeah? Come on!” you challenged him, motioning him to come over. Any sense of calm or restraint you had was long gone. “I’ll be the one sending you to the fucking infirmary this time,” right when you started approaching Cole again, you were quickly stopped by Luke. He stood behind you, one of his hands soothingly rubbing your back in an attempt to calm you down. Luke averted his gaze to Cole.

“If you know any better, then leave, Cole. And don’t come near any of us again, or I promise you…” Luke trailed off, shaking his head as his eyes bore the weight of the promise he left unsaid, leaving it to Cole’s imagination as to what Luke would ever do to him if he ever saw the boy again. Something seemed to dawn on Cole as he saw the dark look on Luke’s face. Cole finally decided to leave the scene, limping away from the area as he muttered some insults under his breath.

You turned around and inspected Luke’s hand, which started bleeding again through the bandage. Taking his non-injured hand in yours, you wordlessly dragged the boy to the infirmary. Despite the excruciating pain spreading through his injured hand, Luke blushed at your action and followed you like a lost puppy.

The Apollo person on shift was someone you knew, so you managed to convince them to let you do the work on the Hermes boy. You observed his hand again, peeling off the dirty bandage from it. As you went to grab disinfectant, Luke softly held you back by flipped over his hand that was in yours so that he could take a look at your hand instead.

“Are you okay?” His words made you swiftly look over at him instead. There was a sad look on his face as he sat on the infirmary bed. You haven’t seen him this hurt and dejected in a long time.

“Am I okay? You’re the one with the bleeding hand.”

“You punched him quite hard.”

“He deserved it,” you settled on answering, hesitantly pulling your hand out of his so you could grab the things you needed. 

“You know I had that handled, right?” you asked mindlessly, trying to fill the silence as you disinfected his hand and wrapped a new bandage over it. “I don’t need you to defend my honor or anything, Luke. I can hold my own ground,” you tried joking.

“No, I know you can hold your own ground. Besides, I wasn’t defending your honor,” he spoke softly, watching as you delicately held his hand with so much care. He wished you could hold him like that as well. A quivering sigh escaped his soft lips, his voice much less firm than he wanted it to be: 

“I was defending the girl I’m in love with.”

You immediately looked at him, only to see him already gazing up at you. It was as if a blindfold had been taken off, you finally understood what your other friends were referring to when they said that Luke had always “looked” at you. His eyes were filled with adoration. However, this time, they were also decorated with pain.

“I could be a better boyfriend than him,” he stated, almost like it was a fact, and your gut knew it was true, too. 

“So….Why not me? I watched you give Cole - a complete asshole - a chance with you. I watched him give you so much less than what you deserve. It pains me, but I still sit here and wait for you to look in my direction for even one second in the way I have always looked at you. I could be so good to you, Y/N. I waited for you to realize I could be the one who loves you so endlessly and treats you way better than all these guys combined. So…why? Please tell me why and put me out of my misery. Why is it not me?”

“Luke…” you rasped out his name. Despite the pain he was in, his heart could not help but throb for a second as it yearned for the sound of your voice calling out to him again. He almost scowled at himself for the way he was reacting to you. Gods, you managed to unravel him through the sound of his name from your lips. He hesitated for a second, wondering if he would even be able to take it at all - if he was given a chance with you. Would he be able to handle the way your skin felt against his, or would his heart burst into unstoppable flames? Would he ever be able to move on if you ended up breaking his heart, or would it remain in scattered pieces of you?

“I love you,” he uttered so effortlessly, which almost convinced you he had said it a thousand times before. In a way, he did, but only in his mind after every time he bid you goodnight. Gods, never did you think he’d say it out loud and put it out there. You almost said it before as well - out loud to the universe, but never brave enough.

“Luke, I never knew,” Luke wanted to sigh as he looked away from you. For the first time ever, he did not want to be vulnerable and let you see his eyes. The same ones that had been looking longingly at you for the past five years, and you were too blinded to see.

He could have sworn that he had been laying it on thick for the past years - all the touches, the looks, his actions. Luke would always linger near you and select you first every time he had to go on a quest. And if he ever were selected to go on one without you, the first thing he would do after returning is wrap his arms around your waist as he pulled you into a hug, breathing in your presence like it would bring him back to life from the gruesome battles he had to go through while out of camp. Did all those actions throughout five years not show you enough that he was infatuated with you? He wanted to reassure you that what Cole said previously was not true. Many guys wanted you but never asked you out because they knew he would be first in line no matter what. 

"Luke, please, look at me," Of course he obeyed. His eyes met yours - the ones he always tried to find in a crowd of demigods.

“I never knew that you were an option. I did not know that I could choose you. I thought that even attempting to tell you about my feelings would break our friendship forever. I didn’t know you felt this way, too. In fact,” you dryly chuckled. “I was giving Cole a chance because I was trying to move on from you.” Luke tugged you closer to him, his fingers lingering on your hips. Thousands of thoughts speared through him as he tried to collect himself. A glimmer of hope presented itself as his mind toyed with the idea of you wanting him too.There was no way he was letting you move on now, not when you both have mutual feelings. 

“I thought I was deep in the friend zone. Did you not see all the moves I pulled on you?” he asked.

“What moves?”

“Uhm—the physical contact?”

“I thought you were just touchy.”

“I walked you back to your cabin every night!”

“Well, I thought it was just a best friend thing?”

“The first thing I do after every quest is search for you, you’re always the first one I want to see.”

“I really, really thought it was because you were my best friend.” He groaned at all of your responses.

“But do know, Luke. You have always been my first option in everything. And I would have chosen you again and again, the first pick every round…if I knew you were up for it.” He groaned again, but this time out of temptation and satisfaction. He didn’t think the metaphorical butterflies were real. He slowly but surely stood up from the infirmary’s bed and wrapped his arms around your waist. You reciprocated, your hands around his neck. He leaned closer to you and gulped. He wanted to say the right words, do the right things and not mess this up. He took a deep breath and finally settled on what to say next.

“Can I kiss you?” He muttered in a low, raspy voice with a restrained manner, as if he was holding himself back. Five years of pining led him to this point. You almost melted at the sound of his voice.

“Kiss me, Luke.”

And he did. He pulled you up and arched down, connecting your lips together. He dove in as if he had been waiting for this day his whole life. He felt every breath knocked out of his lungs. He sunk himself into this moment like he was living for it rather than in it. He kissed you as if it was the only time he could and as if you would evaporate if he stopped. His hands moved to your face to embrace your cheeks in his palm.

You started moving your hands up his head and played with his curly hair. You tugged it slightly, and the action drew a moan from Luke. The sound caused you to break away. It made you flustered that you had evoked such an alluring sound from the Hermes boy. 

“I wanna go slow for you, I really do. But it feels like I’ve been waiting for so long. I want to be a gentleman and not skip steps. But I can’t wait anymore,” he whispered before whimpering against your lips, “please be mine.”

He went in for another kiss again, but you pulled away. His heart clenched at this. The boy bit his lip and wanted to scowl at himself for attempting to speed things up. He was too greedy and wanted things too quickly for you. He almost whined at the thought of losing the chance he barely had.

“That was not a question, Luke. Ask me, and I’ll give you an answer,” he stared into your eyes, and it almost set him on fire. He never saw that much passion in them before. It almost matched his, and that made his heart fasten again.

“Will you be mine, sunshine?”

“Yes, Luke. As long as you’re mine too.”

“I have always been yours.”

——————————

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[emphistic]

A/N: this has been in the drafts for too long

Sukuna this, Sukuna that.

People call him irresponsible, stupid, a good-for-nothing piece of shit, a monster, a lunatic, all because of his looks and demeanor. You either love him, or fear him, because bless the scathed hearts of those who hated him. In the end, there was only one thing no one could ever call Ryomen.

Pitiful whimpers and whines came from beyond the door, just as Sukuna felt himself nearing Dreamland.

He cursed beneath his breath, turning around in bed and throwing an arm around your waist. His prayers to God for you to not hear Yuuji's sniffling were to no avail when he felt you slightly shift against him.

"Wha—?" Blinking back the sleep in confusion, you couldn't help but also yawn.

The lit-up red, glaring numbers on Sukuna's alarm clock read a time past three in the morning. You knew only that much, as your eyes took a few moments to adjust to the lighting in your shared bedroom.

"Brotherrrr!" Another cry rang through the apartment, and you — full of worry — turned to face your boyfriend, hoping for an answer.

The pink-haired man rolled his eyes in return, mumbling a small "Yuuji", and that's all you needed to know before you sat up in bed.

You shot Sukuna a reprimanding look, "So you're just going to lay there while your brother's practically clawing at the door for you? It actually surprises me how long Yuuji's survived in your care."

Sukuna propped himself up on an elbow, "Babe, c'mon. It's not that serious; he's just being his normal attention-seeking self. He'll get over it in no time and go scampering back to bed—"

"No, you come on. He's a kid, Ryomen, a toddler for fuck's sake. What if he hurt himself, or—or—or, worse? What if he—?"

Sukuna sighed, having finally given up on it all. The blanket fell to his waist as he sat up, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead before sliding out of bed.

It was a struggle to find his sweats in the dark, and he didn't even try to search for his hoodie, opting to fuck it and go shirtless. Yuuji's cries drastically increased in volume, and Sukuna was really beginning to wonder what was wrong.

Unlike most children his age, Little Yuuji never caused problems when it was his bedtime. All it took for the little boy to get knocked out was a movie. And get this, he never even finished any! Either you or Sukuna would turn on some old Disney film and the kid would be fast asleep usually twenty minutes in.

On the days where Yuuji wasn't interested in gawking at the characters on screen, he was cuddled up in your arms — sometimes Sukuna's, and reading a silly bedtime story until his breathing evened and his eyelids drooped shut.

Tonight wasn't any different. . . Besides the fact that Sukuna may or may not have put on a horror movie instead of the usual princess genre. He had manipulated his innocent brother into thinking horror was the best kind of movie there was, and forced him to watch one. Initially, you had tried to stop him, but then he shoved Yuuji's pouty face in front of you and, how could you turn down a cutie like that?

You had hoped Yuuji would just fall asleep before any scary stuff not suitable for a mere child showed, but no. Yuuji stayed wide awake for it all. Of course, he was sat on your lap the whole time, but there was only so much you could do to shield the little boy from all the terrors playing on the screen.

Sukuna tried to justify his actions, saying, "This'll teach him how to be a man; I'm showing him how cruel the world can be; that's all." But Sukuna could not be farther from the truth.

Immediately after hearing the bedroom door unlock, Yuuji ran — clutching his stuffed animal in hand — right into his older brother, seeking solace. And as Sukuna stood with the little parasite wrapped around his leg, crying into the material of his pants, he couldn't help but pinch the space between his brows. This was a terrible mistake, he thought.

Fortunately, you appeared behind your boyfriend just a few moments later, after having put on an oversized shirt, he noticed.

"Hey there, Yuu. What's wrong?" you asked, in a soft voice, just above a whisper.

You knelt down beside the boy, patting his messy bed hair. One thing these brothers had in common was their absolutely out of control hair, goddamn.

Yuuji, still not letting go of Sukuna's leg, turned to look at you. His tears were starting to come to slow, as they dried on his cheek, but he continued sniffling. His lip trembled as he spoke with hiccups coming within intervals.

"I—I had a bad dweam. Hic, you and bwother left me and—and never came back, hic. . ."

The toddler looked about ready to burst out crying again, but he didn't want to appear lesser of a man than his brother called him. So he stifled his cries as best as he could, bringing his chubby finger up to wipe away one of his tears.

"Aw, Yuuji, you know me and Sukuna would never do that to you. You're too important to us, y'know?" You booped him on the nose, "You're also too cute, and nothing's more manlier than that, Yuuji."

You saw the light return to his eyes, the little boy growing more and more like his usual lively self with every word you spoke. Sukuna took note of that; you were always so lenient and caring with his little brother, never blaming him for doing acts completely normal for his age.

Sukuna only spoke up after you picked Yuuji up in your arms, letting the kid rest his head on your shoulder as you ran your fingers through his hair.

"Lying too much is bad." He turned to you with a knowing look.

"Jealous much?" You smiled, a cheeky look plastered on your face. "Or are you just insecure about not being as manly as Yuuji over here?"

"Oh, please. We both know I'm as manly as it gets," Sukuna scoffed, settling back beneath the covers and beckoning for you to follow.

You walked over to your side of the bed, with a sleeping toddler in your arms. "He's already knocked out," you whispered, placing a kiss on Yuuji's forehead. "Let's let him sleep in in the morning; he seems tired."

Sukuna hummed in agreement, placing Yuuji between you both. "But . . . I'm not too sure I'll be able to go back to sleep now. I dunno, babe, I think I need a good night kiss, as well."

Careful as to not wake the little boy up, you stifled a giggle behind your palm, before planting a wet kiss on Sukuna's cheek. "Mwah!"

It was not a surprise when Sukuna pulled you back for a real, and more ardent, kiss on the lips. Sukuna's boyish laughter, your hushed giggles, and Yuuji's quiet snores were the only sounds audible throughout the apartment.

Sukuna was never one to like kids, having a little sibling and whatnot he was already quite experienced. So when people asked him if he planned on having any children, he never said "yes" (he also never said "no"). Sukuna never had a proper father by his side; he knew he wouldn't be much help with a family of his own. But now, he had you.

You were a good caretaker to Yuuji, and maybe, just maybe, Sukuna could also see you taking care of his own blood and flesh. Little squeals and giggles coming from a child with his pink, unruly hair, and the same grin on their face as so his. It was a dream, it was an idea, it was a want.

Sukuna wasn't a bad brother, would being a father be so different?

[tmpestuous]

someone to stay

summary: bucky offers you solace as your mental fatigue rears its head.

pairing: boyfriend!bucky x reader

warnings: angst, reader anxiety/depression, fluff, non-sexual nudity, a comforting buck <3

word count: 2.5k

a/n: this was inspired by my own issues right now because i definitely need it at the moment :’) 

Getting out of bed was always the most difficult part of your day. Even when you were feeling okay, even when nothing was immediately wrong. You would wake up and stare into the void, blankets smothering your body and eyelids still heavy from the bit of sleep you’d managed to get.

There wasn’t anything pressing your anxiety, but having been out of your routine for a few weeks always left you feeling unmotivated. After having been sidelined from missions for a multitude of reasons—injuries, mental stability, and a dwindling success rate—you had nothing to do. None of your side hobbies entertained you long enough to keep you busy, so you fell into the same cycle. You sometimes wished you could sleep all day or even just stay stagnant in bed, but you knew it’d only make the fatigue worse.

Today, however, was not one of those days where you pushed yourself out of bed. Not bothered to check the time, you closed your eyes again. It was raining outside anyways, the perfect weather to stay cuddled in bed for. Soon enough, you found some sleep again, even if you’d regret it later.

Bucky, who was not sidelined from missions, had just come back from one, more than eager to see you. He was back earlier than expected, so he only figured you wouldn’t be in your usual spot waiting for him in the hangar of the compound. It was a bit past noon, so he assumed you were keeping busy elsewhere.

After a quick debrief, he made it to your shared room, only to be led to confusion at the curtains still drawn and all of the lights off. He knew how much you hated sleeping in too late, only ever sleeping past 9 if you were really exhausted and/or hadn’t gotten much sleep at all. Even then, you never let it get past 11 before you were up and out of bed.

Bucky knew you were taking your suspension a bit rougher than expected. He hated seeing you upset and he was even willing to skip out on a few missions to stay with you, but you’d insisted otherwise, saying “the bad guys don’t take breaks.” 

He never liked leaving you. Most of your missions had the two of you together, SHIELD thinking you worked well together even outside of your relationship. Going on missions without you meant he was always stuck with some reckless, inexperienced agent who wasn’t half as skilled as you a lot of the time. It was why he only liked the ones where he was with Sam or Steve, at least not having to stress about saving anyone.

He missed you on every single one. Your quips, how satisfying it was to see you kick people’s asses, and how swiftly you did just about everything. But Bucky also knew you needed a break. Your anxiety was more rampant lately, and it was affecting all of your skills on the field. The decision to bench you didn’t come easy to anyone, but especially not you.

You honestly had little to no idea what had you so anxious to start with, but anything else that triggered your anxiety only amplified it. Bucky was so reluctant to let Steve suspend you, but after you got seriously injured on a mission for lack of attention, he couldn’t argue against it anymore.

“You can’t be serious,” you said to Steve, tears in your eyes. “I’ve been injured so many times, why does that even matter?”

“It’s not just the injury,” Steve countered. “You’ve been off your game. I can’t risk losing one of our best members because you’re distracted.”

“I’m not dis—”

“You being distracted is how you ended up with a broken arm and a head injury,” he cut you off, making you look away from him. “You’re gonna end up dead if you keep on like this. I can’t deal with that loss, and neither can Bucky.”

Snapping your gaze back at Steve, you scoffed.

“So this is about Bucky?”

“This is about you, Y/n,” Steve said, his tone slightly more irritated. “He begged me not to bench you, said you just needed some time but even he knows putting you on the field again is risking your life.”

Wiping your tears away, you said nothing in response. You knew he was right, but the last thing you needed was to give in. It’d make you crumble, it’d make this whole situation real and you knew where you’d end up. 

Your conversation ended when Bucky walked in the room.

It was the right decision after all. However, Bucky’s chest ached knowing how low you were feeling. Knowing that you were doing everything just to get by, yet nothing at all. He hadn’t seen you in a melancholy state for years, but it always scared him. He barely made it out of his own episodes sometimes, panic manifesting through his bones. His worry only worsened at the thought of not being able to pull you from the darkness, the way you’d done so for him many times. 

Seeing you under the sheets, sound asleep past noon didn’t settle Bucky’s own anxiety. He was out on this mission for eight days, but you’d sounded okay when you spoke to him over the phone every night. 

Were you not getting any sleep? Were you falling asleep really late? Or was your current funk really getting to you?

Bucky set his duffel bag on the floor, shutting the door behind him. He decided against opening the curtains until you were awake, sitting on the edge of the bed next to your sleeping body, placing his flesh hand on your cheek gently.

“Sweetheart,” he said, leaning down and kissing your forehead a few times. “Let me see those pretty eyes, doll.”

Furrowing your eyebrows before peeling your eyes open, you were greeted with your favorite super soldier, a smile creeping on your face.

“Hi,” you said groggily, Bucky kissing your forehead again. “You’re back early.”

“Got the job done quickly,” he fed your curiosity. “What are you still doing asleep, doll? Are you okay?”

“What time is it?” You said, still unmotivated to get up from your lying position. 

“Almost 1,” Bucky answered before your eyes widened and you sat up, frantic about how the morning got away from you. “Hey, hey,” Bucky placed his hands on your shoulder, easing the tension a bit. “It’s okay, there’s nothing wrong with oversleeping once in a while.”

You shook your head, avoiding Bucky’s gaze as you rubbed your eyes. “I shouldn’t have slept that long.”

Bucky pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then your cheek, then pulled your hands away from your eyes. The bags under them didn’t go without notice, Bucky getting more worried than earlier. He knew you weren’t sleeping well, and him not being here to soothe you must have made it worse.

“Is everything okay?” He asked again, never getting an answer from you.

You sighed. “I don’t really know, I’m just- I’m always tired and don’t wanna do anything even though I know I shouldn’t just stay in bed. I was gonna wake up early today to see if I could get moving but then I barely slept and thought a few more hours could be useful but now—”

“Shh,” Bucky said, pulling you into his embrace, rubbing your back softly. “There is still a lot of time left in the day, but I don’t mind sleeping this Sunday away with you after the mission I just had.” He kissed the top of your head a few times. “We can shower then eat and then rest. Sounds good?”

You nodded, with a muffled ‘okay’ into his chest before pulling away, Bucky standing and grasping your hand in his to head to the bathroom. 

Bucky turned the shower on, letting it run to get warm before turning back to you. After you helped Bucky take his tac suit off, he helped you shed your pajamas. The both of you took your underwear off, Bucky checking the water before you stepped in. 

You always enjoyed showering with Bucky, most after a mission when you were both tired. Though this was different since you weren’t the one coming home, the sentiment of being tired remained the same.

Bucky could tell you were tense, that something was still bothering you. He never wanted to pry, so he massaged the tension out of your shoulders, getting you to relax your posture a bit. You both worked your way around lathering each other with soap, your eyes doing their usual routine of scanning Bucky’s body for any cuts and bruises. Bucky decided to wash your hair, finding any means of making you feel relaxed. You sighed under his touch, leaning your head forward to rest against his chest as he rinsed your hair.

“Steve mentioned you going back on the field again,” Bucky eased into the conversation. “You feeling up for it?” Much to Bucky’s surprise, you shook your head, prompting him to lift your face in his hands. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? You know you can talk to me.”

Sighing again, you leaned into his touch. “I’m not ready.”

“I thought you wanted to get back,” Bucky furrowed his eyebrows.

“I do,” you nodded. “But I just feel so… out of it. Like my mind is out of fuel and it’s putting my body on pause. I have no energy lately, I don’t really know what’s wrong with me.”

Bucky looked at you, a hint of sorrow in his eyes. He’d been there, where his body was craving one thing but his mind just never allowed him to satisfy any of his desires. Depression didn’t always look the same, but he could tell when it was starting to consume you.

The restless nights, the fatigue, the lack of energy and motivation. It was a stark contrast to your usual, productive self. Sometimes Bucky would have to slow you down for doing too many things at once, so it pained him to see you not want to do anything at all. 

He decided right then and there he’d take a pause from any missions until you were okay. Until he could see the spark in your eye again, the pep in your step. The energy being revitalized.

“It happens, baby,” he reassured. “You’ve helped me through some of my funks, so let me help you out of yours, hm?”

“You don’t have to, Bucky,” you shook your head, but he shushed you, a chaste kiss placed on your lips. “I’m serious, you don’t have to pause your life for me. People still need help and I’ll get out of my fatigue stint eventually, so—”

“You know you’re not gonna convince me otherwise, right?” He shut you up again, offering you a smirk and another peck to the lips. “I would drop everything for you. At any time, on any day, at any given moment. You are my world, doll. If you’re not okay, then my world isn’t okay.”

“But what if they really need you—”

“They won’t,” Bucky grabbed the comb to detangle your hair. “Now come on, let me help you ease your mind, hm?”

Knowing you couldn’t say no to him, you turned so your back was facing him, Bucky smoothly getting any knots out of your hair. 

He knew how much you loved it when he did your hair, knowing the process was super long and you didn’t want to do it half of the time. When he first heard you complain about having to do it, he made you teach him your whole routine for whenever you were feeling unmotivated to. It was one of many things he eagerly learned for you, always wanting to pamper you. 

Feeling a bit overwhelmed over the fact that you had him back, here with you as he did everything in his power to clear your head from the anxious thoughts, you couldn’t help but tear up. 

When he finished detangling your hair, holding it up with a clip, he saw you crying, quickly pulling you in his arms, kissing you everywhere he could. 

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he said, leaning down to kiss your shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Once he let you return the favor of washing his hair, you made him sit on the built-in bench in the shower so you wouldn’t have to reach up the whole time. 

Bucky loved touching you, but he swore to everything that he loved your touch even more. Your hands were so soft and gentle, with each lather and rinse of his head.

“Your hair’s getting long again,” you said, running your fingers through Bucky’s brown locks, the length now passing his ear. “Are you gonna cut it?”

Bucky shrugged, his hands finding comfort in your waist as you stood in front of him. He placed a kiss on each of your hips then your stomach before looking up at you.

“Maybe, maybe not,” he answered before standing, kissing your lips again. He knew how much you liked his short hair when he first cut it, but deep down you loved his long hair too. You just never forced him to keep one or the other, knowing how many memories his hair held.

Bucky loved how well you knew him, how well you understood him. It was the main reason why he took his time to do the same for you.

Once you were both out of the shower and dressed, Bucky picked up his phone to order some food. You’d told him you were craving Chinese the night before on your phone call while he was away, so he ordered all of your favorites as you finished drying your hair in the bathroom.

After eating dinner, Bucky slid under the covers of your shared bed, extending his metal arm for you to grab as you slid in next to him. Your head found its usual spot on his chest, both of his arms encasing you in the pressure you sought so many times, your left leg over his right one. 

“Thank you,” you said softly as Bucky rubbed your back just the way you liked it. “For never judging me.”

“I would never plan to,” he said, using his right hand to lift your chin up. “We’re human. We have our moments where we need a break, a reset. You taught me that when I needed to hear it. Don’t think that it excludes you, my love.”

Leaning up, you pressed your lips against his in a soft kiss that said more than enough. 

Pulling away, you looked into those blue eyes that meant the world to you.

“What would I do without you?”

“Force yourself to do your hair routine every week,” Bucky joked, making you roll your eyes playfully with a smirk.

You pressed a kiss on his chest before laying your head on it again. “I love you.”

“I love you more, doll,” he said, massaging your scalp to soothe you until you fell asleep.

Bucky could watch you be this peaceful forever, vowing to spend the rest of his days making sure you were okay. He always knew you’d return the favor, enjoying every moment spent with you like this, comforted best in his arms.

[angelickisscs]

all he could ever want ~ blurb ‧₊˚

‧₊˚ ୨ ୧ ˚₊ pairing ~ jude bellingham x reader

summary: a usual night with you and your boyfriend

NO SOUNDS CHALLENGED that of the TV show Jude had opted for. Somehow, you managed to keep your focus on the page in front of you, your eyes slowly moving from side to side.

A comfortable silence washed itself upon your living room, just like that of a calm sea. Neither of you felt the need to say something to one another, all your talking having happened all throughout your day.

Warmth emitted from the missing sun, it still leaving its mark no matter what. It wasn’t humid however, the heat being the kind that didn’t make you sticky but rather just hung in the air, showing its presence with no consequence to those around.

You had your legs perched upon his lap, his hand mindlessly creeping under the pyjama bottoms, that you had stolen from him, so he was able to run it across your leg.

This had become your nightly routine ever since moving in with each other. How it came about? You wouldn’t know. It had just come about one day and ever since, the both of you had unconsciously followed it.

It was coming up on 10pm when Jude had turned off the television show, his head falling backwards to rest against the sofa as his eyes stared lovingly down at you.

The strong aroma of flowers clung to your nose, the fresh bunch that he had brought for you only that morning being placed on the table in front of you. They were beautiful, some of the best he had ever brought you. Though you could not name the particular types they were, their colours were majestic and that was enough for you.

“What are you reading?” He questioned softly, not daring to break the peace that encircled you.

You looked up from your book, the word that you had just read quickly leaving your mind. “Just some random romance book I found at the library.”

Turning it around, you let your eyes quickly scan the blurb, reading aloud the parts that described the book the best.

He chuckled at that, the vibrations bouncing throughout your calf muscles. You couldn’t do anything but turn your head to the side, your mind coming up blank as to what he could be laughing at.

Jude seemed to swiftly catch onto your confusion, a smile settling onto his face.

“Read it to me?”

His voice was small, almost nervous as you could hardly make out his loving eyes through the darkness. The singular light that pressured into making the whole room bright enough seemed to have given up, its golden hue hardly making it past the corner that it sat in.

You nodded, opening your arms so he could make himself comfortable. And he did just that, his head finding solace in your neck as his hands wrapped around your waist, their stroking motion restarting but this time on your back.

Flipping to the first page, you began. His breath was warm against your skin, it’s evenness a calming noise. One of your hands held the book whilst the other was in Jude’s hair, the paring of your movements and voice meaning that he fell asleep quicker than he would have liked too.

He could have listened to your voice all day and night, opting for that over anything that the TV could provide for him. It was gentle, perfectly becoming his favourite kind of hug on a chilly day.

It was all he could ever want, and he could not be happier that he had gotten it.

[transbrucewayne]

F1 but it’s ultra specific ship dynamics that I need in order to enjoy the ship:

Versainz: baby’s first situationship (literally pentaltyboxbox’s art is my versainz thesis. “Ay, Max, no. I am not gay and neither are you” 🤨) teammates who weren’t supposed to like each other reluctantly becoming friends and then being intricately connected for the rest of their careers. But totally not in a gay way. Of course.

Chestappen: repressed catholic and some guy who needs dilf pussy so bad he wants to kill himself (this is deeply important to me)

Strollonso: Brat princess Lance. Heros and anti-heroes. I’m on the dark side. Tell Lance not to worry I just want to build a gap with the cars behind. You’re my fucking hero.

Carlando: Baby’s first situationship pt.2?? Lando with a massive crush, first real boyfriend Carlos….i need there to be angst. Lando fell first AND harder, etc.

Britcedes/Gewis: George fumbling all over himself trying to impress Lewis, Lewis just thinking he’s cute no matter what. It’s the coolest man alive/weird little freak he’s obsessed with pairing of my dreams. George: this is my boyfriend he’s cooler than me and also he’s cooler than all of you.

Maxiel: first love married divorced remarried pining missing something that maybe was never there will they won’t they one big game of gay chicken healing from baby’s first situationship etc etc etc (I adore them)

Dando: trying to find solace in another, longing for someone you can’t get back, subversion of expected dynamics (controversial: I fully believe Lando tops in this one). But also. They need to have one brain cell. Lando blabbing on about god knows what. Daniel sweating and popping a vein bc of how much he needs to kiss him.

Twinklaren/Landoscar: third time’s the charm, oh you’re the one I’ve been waiting for, tender glances, young love, first teammate crush syndrome

Danterri: we had something weird in the past. “Find another weed guy I can’t fuck with you…uhhhmm nothing personal I can’t fall in love right now and youre Everything I love so if I ever see you again I’ll never let go of your hand sooo yeah” (we’ve all seen that one web weaving.) Are you dating the female version of me?

Lecciardo: WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED IN VEGAS. Charles needs dick from a guy with unstoppable charisma soooooo bad. Fueling each other’s impulsive sides, etc etc

Sebchal: baby’s first situationship (Charles’ version) (from the vault) I miss you so much I’m going to listen to breakup songs all night long. I still think of you every day. I named you twice in a list of drivers. You may even kiss. If it was the omegaverse Seb is so obviously an alpha.

Brocedes: if it doesn’t make me physically sick to my stomach with anguish I do not want it. I hope you die I hope we both die. Hand in unlovable hand. I still consider him my best friend in my heart. We’re not friends. Are they lovers? Worse.

Chewis (Charles/Lewis. I recognise this is also the name for Checo/Lewis. What is the Charles/Lewis name?) me and the bad bitch I pulled by being in violation of that one article section. You know the post. They suffer together. Kinship in joint pain. You’ve got a long future ahead of you. Praise kink.

Let me know if you want a part 2, if so, send ships you want!

[slytherinshua]

MY FIRST LOVE

genre. fluff. warnings. mention of sungchan proposing like twice lmao?? pairing. sungchan x fem!reader. wc. 960. request. requested by anon: sungchan finding out he's your first love? a/n. skdjsk cute fluffy requests <33 esp for riize omg :( congrats anon, you made sungchan wreck me now 👹

“I don’t think I went out with girls that much before I met you. I got a lot of love confessions in school, though. Had my fair amount of crushes on girls, too.” Sungchan said as he scrolled through his phone. The conversation had been brought up naturally as you were doing your hair for your date tonight. 

“Did you like any of them better than me?” You asked, sort of as a throwaway question. Though, you were slightly curious. You had your own insecurities about relationships. You had never had proper crushes before— you never had time for it in high school. It wasn’t until college that you met Sungchan and fell in love for the first time. He was your first everything. First crush, first kiss, first boyfriend, first love. You hoped you were comparing to his past girlfriends. He seemed happy with you, but you had never really asked him.

Sungchan scowled, looking up from his phone to look at you through the mirror on your vanity, “What kind of a question is that? I barely remember them.”

“How do you forget your past girlfriends?” You frowned, confused at how that was possible. You definitely couldn’t imagine ever forgetting Sungchan if you broke up with him in the future. You hoped that would never happen, though. You didn’t need to have dating experience to know that Sungchan was one of the best men you would ever find.

Your boyfriend just shrugged, “I don’t know. I think I always knew that it wasn’t going to last. I could never see a future with them, no matter how hard I tried. It was inevitable that we were gonna break up eventually.”

You hummed in thought, “Then… Am I not like that?”

He giggled, “You’re so cute. No, you’re not like that. I know I have a future with you. I want to marry you someday, you know.” He said it so easily, smirking at the way your cheeks grew instantly red. You really didn’t know that because this was the first time that Sungchan had given you that little piece of information.

“What about you? How do I compare to your past boyfriends?” He asked to change the subject slightly, seeing how flustered he had made you.

You suddenly got nervous. Your boyfriend wasn’t the type to judge you, but you just had so many experiences of being judged for being single in the past. “You’re still single in your twenties?” or “You didn’t date at all in high school?” were the most common questions thrown your way. It always felt like something you should be ashamed of. Boys must’ve not thought you were pretty enough to ask out, or maybe it was something wrong with your priorities. You shouldn’t have put your studies over dating for all those years.

You had finally found solace from that uncomfort when you proudly could say that Sungchan was your boyfriend. Your old friends who had once questioned why you didn’t have a boyfriend seemed impressed with Sungchan, which gave you a much needed confidence boost.

“I… haven’t really…” You mumbled, your response crumbling before it could finish being told; your shoulders sinking in embarrassment.

“Hm?” You glanced at your boyfriend through the mirror, finding his gaze soft and eager to hear what you were going to say.

“I haven’t dated before this. You’re my first ever boyfriend.” 

Sungchan looked shocked, and then his face bloomed with joy, “Really? I’m your first boyfriend?!” He asked excitedly. You nodded, still a little embarrassed. “How!? I mean I’m happy— unbelievably happy— that I’m your first, but how did no one want to date you before? You’re the prettiest girl on the planet!” He insisted, and you only blushed more.

“I don’t know… No one ever did.” You murmured.

“Did you have crushes?” He asked, the grin never leaving his face. His excitement was contagious, and you eventually smiled as well.

“No, not really. Not until I met you.” You laughed.

“That’s crazy…” Sungchan giggled. He couldn’t ignore the elated feeling in his chest, buzzing with a million butterflies in his stomach. He hadn’t felt so happy since he had first kissed you. 

Sungchan would never let it go after that. Whenever there was an opportunity to bring it up, he would be reminding you that he was your first love (as if you could ever forget). He’d try to use it to get things he wanted as well— though, mostly hugs or kisses.

“You shouldn’t reject a hug from me because I’m your first love!” 

“Your first love is sad and needs kisses.”

Particular times when he would use it at just the right moment, softly whispering into your ear that he was your first love and about how much he loved you, it would make your heart race. It was no longer something to be insecure about, thanks to Sungchan. Now, it was something you would always be glad of.

After all, there was something magical about only ever having one person that you had given your heart to. And Sungchan took extremely good care of it. He treasured your entire being with everything he had, and exactly a year after he first found out he was your first, he proposed to you. He had always said it was inevitable to happen. Even though you weren’t his first, you still felt like it. He had never been in love with someone as intensely as he was with you, and he made sure you knew that. Even when he had put a ring on your finger and was absolutely certain that you were his for the rest of time, he still liked to make sure that you knew just how much he loved you.

↳ riize taglist: @eternalgyu,, @kangtaehyunzzz,, @weird-bookworm,, @haecien,, @seolboba,, @cyberpunksunwoo,, @cosmicwintr

[mystic-writings]

i love you, we’re okay | poe dameron

PAIRING — poe dameron x fem!reader

SUMMARY — when poe finally returns from an unexpectedly long mission, you have something to tell him. 

WARNINGS — pregnancy, fluff, mentions of sex, suggestive scenes (but not really), mentions of vomiting, real-word cursing

WORD COUNT — 3,375

NOTES — the pipeline that led me to writing this is actually insane btw! couldn’t explain it if i tried, but this is my first attempt at writing for poe since 2020, so i’m still rusty on the star wars slang/lingo!

masterlist | taglist

You’d never found more solace, more protection from the state of the world around you than you’d ever found in Poe’s arms. It was usually your favourite place to be — and one of the reasons why you hated when he went on missions so often. That, and the sole possibility that he might not make it back. 

It was why you cherished the days when he made it back to D’Qar, straight back to you. 

You’d been both eager and entirely too worried for his return this time around, a simple mission taking entirely too long to complete. When he’d first told you about it, he promised he’d be back in a week at the longest. That week turned into two, turned into three, and you were nearly worried half to death until you were awoken by your datapad, the sun barely cresting the horizon as it beeped incessantly, a transmission from Leia herself stating that Poe was in the debriefing room with her. 

She’d relieved you both from your duties for the day, supposedly just to spend time together after being apart for so long. You knew the intent behind her message, the subtle jab at the surprise you were hiding from your boyfriend, and you fully planned to follow through the moment you saw him. 

And then he was showing up at your door, hands pulling at fabric and lips meeting skin, and the rest of the world simply fell away, leaving only you and Poe at the centre of the universe, showing each other exactly how much you’d missed one another. 

The sun was surely up by now, as Poe rolled onto the bed next to you, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, his lips stretched with that beautiful post-sex smile that always left you breathless. Shifting under the sheets, you reached out to pull him close, relishing the way he so easily fell into your body; his face settling in the crook of your neck, breaths fanning across your sweat-slick skin, an arm falling across your torso. 

You settled into the mattress, your hand reaching up to gently scratch at Poe’s scalp. He hummed contentedly, wriggling beside you in an attempt to get closer to you, as though your bodies weren’t already pressed together. 

“Poe?”

“Hmm,” he hummed, somewhere between a groan and something more inquisitive, muffled by your shoulder. 

“I’m glad you’re back,” you whispered as you stopped scratching his scalp, pressing a light kiss to his hair, doing very little to fight the way your sudden, oncoming tears wavered your voice. 

Poe lifted his head, worried eyes meeting your tear-filled ones. He propped himself up on his elbow, reaching up to brush stray hairs from your forehead, his fingers lingering as they drifted down your face. “Hey, I’m okay. I didn’t get hurt. I’m right here, alright?” 

Your heart swelled as Poe spoke, the comfort in his assuring, gentle tone bringing a fresh wave of tears to your eyes. He always had a habit of doing that, of making sure you were okay. Making sure you knew he wasn’t planning on going anywhere you couldn’t reach him. You nodded, doing your best to blink away the tears, though all you managed to do was make them fall. 

Poe’s hand returned to your face almost immediately, the calloused pad of his thumb sweeping gently across your cheek, wiping away any trace of your unease. A quiet sigh escaped him as you leaned into his touch, his palm splaying across the side of your face, allowing you to soak up his warmth. “What’s wrong, baby?” 

“Nothing’s wrong,” you choked out, reddened eyes opening to meet his worried ones. “I promise, Poe. You were just gone for so long, and I…” a sharp inhale, a beat of anxiety, your eyes locked with his as you forced the words out in one big breath. “I’m pregnant.” 

Poe remained silent as his eyes searched yours, and you could practically see the gears turning in his head. For a moment, you worried that this wasn’t what Poe wanted; that he would leave, without a word, and abandon you entirely. And then, like the sun splitting the clouds after a rainstorm, Poe’s lips stretched into a smile bigger and brighter than you’ve ever seen. 

“Really?” He asked, breathless as he took you in, watching a matching smile spread across your own lips. 

You nodded, fresh tears coming to your eyes, glimmering and unshed. Happy tears. With another inhale, you glanced down at the space between you, soon to be filled by a swelling stomach and the life you created. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around it, y’know? And I’ve known for, like, two weeks,”

“Are you doing okay?” Poe asked, his hand drifting to your waist, fingers gently grazing against the skin of your stomach. “Any morning sickness? Or are you not that far yet? Do you know how many weeks yet? What about fatigue?”

He prattled the questions off so quickly that you could barely process them, a giggle escaping your lips and promptly cutting him off. Poe frowned, making you laugh even harder. “What’s so funny? Am I not allowed to be concerned here?”

“No, you’re perfectly allowed to be concerned, Poe,” you took a breath, calming yourself as much as you could. A wide, playful smile still split your lips as you spoke. “I just… where did you learn all of that?”

“Hey, I read,” Poe defended. 

“You read… pregnancy books?” You asked, fighting laughter once again. 

“Okay, not pregnancy books. But my mom… her friend was pregnant when I was younger, they used to talk about a lot of that stuff together and it just sort of… stuck, I guess,” Poe shrugged, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “Now, tell me everything.”

You huffed playfully as Poe rolled over, sitting up and adjusting the pillows behind him. Leaning against the wall, he pulled you into his lap, keeping one hand on your hip and the other loosely wrapped around your bare torso as you rested your head on his shoulder. 

“They said I was about seven weeks when I found out,” you began, fingers running along the chain Poe kept around his neck, hosting his mother’s ring. “So… I’m almost nine weeks along now? Ish?” 

Poe hummed, his fingers brushing absently against your stomach. “No nausea, surprisingly. Except the one time, but I’ll get to that. I haven’t done a scan yet, though. Was waiting for you to get back.”

You glanced up, finding Poe’s eyes already on you, a gentle smile on his face. “I didn’t want you to miss anything.” 

“I know,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your hairline. “Thank you.” 

You smiled back in response, deciding to finally get to the good part. “As for how I found out…” 

“Y/n, you have to stop working so hard,” you hadn’t even heard Rose approach you from behind, your head practically buried in the underbelly of one of the older, disused A-Wings. 

Sighing, you took a step down from your ladder, squinting at your friend. “I’ll be fine, Rose. I’ve almost got this thing back to combat ready, anyway.”

“You need to eat. And shower. And rest.” Rose insisted as gently as she was able, crossing her arms as she stared you down. “How long have you been out here, anyway?”

You huffed, stepping from the ladder, moving closer to Rose in order to reach your toolbox, which she’d conveniently been standing beside. Her eyes followed you as you dropped your soldering wand, grabbing a rag to wipe your hands. 

“What’s it matter, Rose? I’m fine. I’ve gotta get this damn thing fixed before Poe gets back so he can dock his X-Wing here, and I’d rather get it done now, since—” you huffed, frustrated at your own body for betraying you and allowing your chest to constrict, for letting your eyes fill with tears as you throw down the rag, pulling at the zipper on your jumpsuit, pulling it down to the waist, revealing your sweat-soaked tank top and allowing your skin to breathe. “—since apparently no one knows when that’s gonna be.” 

Rose’s eyes softened, her hands falling back to their sides as she watched you panic, frantic fingers pulling at your suit, fumbling to tie the arms around your waist. “Y/n, come inside. Get something to drink, please. You’re gonna hurt yourself like this.” 

“I’ll be fine,” you whispered, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I’ll be fine. Just need to keep— keep working.” 

You pressed your fingers to your eyes, practically swaying as a wave of nausea rolled over you, practically knocking you off your feet. You heard Rose call your name, worried and shaky as she watched cautiously. Trying to tamp it down, you took a deep breath, almost instantly regretting the action. Instead of the cool air you were hoping to breathe in, all you smelled was char from the soldering wand, the smell of metal and grease and sweat infiltrating your senses and bringing the bile in your stomach all the way up your throat. 

Your hand flew to cover your mouth, eyes flying open to make brief contact with Rose before you darted to the other corner of the docking bay, emptying what little you’d been able to eat for breakfast into a waste bin. It was uncomfortable to say the least, but Rose’s heavy footfalls eventually faded, followed immediately by a soothing hand rubbing circles on your back. 

When you were finally done, heaving and out of breath, Rose helped you stand. 

“Are you going to listen to me now and get some rest?” Rose asked, more sympathetic than authoritative. 

Murmuring a confirmation that you were, indeed, going to take a break, you leaned into her small form, eyes fluttering closed to take a moment to properly breathe. The taste lingered in your mouth, acidic and bitter, making your stomach want to turn on you again. Your skin seemed to develop another layer of sweat, sticky and gross as it clung to you. 

Rose stuck close as you began walking on your own, stumbling as you headed to the docking bay’s entrance, your head spinning almost violently. You didn’t even get the chance to mutter your friend’s name before you felt your knees giving out, the world falling around you, fading into nothing before you even hit the ground. 

“You worked yourself half to death?” Poe asked, an edge to his voice, making your shoulders tense. “That’s how you found out?”

“I didn’t work myself to death,” you muttered, lifting your head to meet Poe’s eyes. “I just… worked on the A-Wing for a bit too long, that’s all. They fixed me up nice and new in the medbay, anyway.” 

“And how long is ‘a bit too long’, exactly?”

“Uh…” you hummed, trying to stall for time before you eventually muttered, “Eleven and a half hours,” 

“Maker—!” Poe groaned, lightly hitting his forehead with yours, his eyes squeezed shut. He took a breath, grounding himself as he squeezed your hip before pulling back and looking at you. “You know you can’t work for that long even when you’re not pregnant, right? That’s way too dangerous!”

“I needed something to keep me busy!” You blurted, winding an arm around Poe’s neck, adjusting yourself. “I couldn’t— you not being here, not getting any communication from you, it terrified me, Poe. Not knowing if or when you were coming home, I couldn’t think about it. So I worked on the A-Wing.” 

Poe sighed, squeezing your hip one more time. “I’m sorry. For not… for not telling you it was gonna take longer. We weren’t allowed any communication. Too close to the First Order, they would’ve tracked it right to you.” 

“It’s okay, Poe.” You whispered, tangling your fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck. “You’re here. You’re alive. That’s enough.”

You woke with a sharp breath, a pounding in your head, and harsh light bleeding through your eyelids. Pressing the heel of your palm to your temple, something snagged on the back of your hand. Pulling back, you forced your eyes open despite the bright, sterile lighting, finding an IV taped expertly to your skin. 

Glancing around, you groaned when you realised you were in the medbay. Heaving a sigh, you pushed yourself into a sitting position, which was much harder to do when your bed was already at an angle. 

The trills and beeps of a droid caught your attention, the bed rising to meet your back as a med-droid beeped happily at your conscious presence. “Good evening, Miss Y/n! You’re finally awake!”  

“What happened to me, exactly?” You rasped, coughing slightly at the dryness of your throat. Almost immediately, the droid handed you some water, which you took gratefully even if you were already getting fluids from the IV. 

“You fainted, Miss Y/n!” The droid was all too chipper about your accident, forcing you to bite back a groan. “My scans indicate that you are dehydrated and lacking proper nutrition, Miss Y/n. The fluids are administering proper hydration and vitamins.”

You nodded gently, still aware of the present, but lessening, throbbing in your head. “Anything else? Anything General Organa can yell at me for later?”

“My scans do not indicate any  life-threatening conditions, Miss Y/n.” The droid informed you, and you felt your chest get a little bit lighter. “But I did detect a secondary life form, Miss Y/n. Congratulations! Would you like to see?”

The med-droid’s words caught you off guard, stealing the breath from your lungs as you stared at it, entirely hung up on three words, spoken in a metallic, chittering voice. Secondary life form. When you finally found your voice, you squeaked out, “Secondary life form?”

“Yes, Miss Y/n. It appears you’re pregnant! According to my scans, you’re approximately seven weeks!” The droid chittered, trilling and beeping away after the fact. “Shall I inform General Organa?”

“No!” You nearly shouted, fear shooting through your nerves. “No, thank you. Just… call her here, please?”

The droid rolled away, chittering an enthusiastic ‘yes, Miss Y/n!’, and you gave yourself the moment alone to catch your breath, properly. The air was tinged with the scent of medical grade disinfectant, burning your nostrils as you breathed it in. You closed your eyes, following what felt like a thousand different trains of thought, all of them landing on one of two things: Poe, and what this would do to your future with the resistance. 

You hadn’t talked about it much with Poe, but you knew he’d always wanted a family. Of course, all of the times either of you had brought it up — about three times in total between both of you — the dreams he’d had about building a family always came after the war. When the world was safe and he was free to live whatever life he wanted, wherever he wanted it. Of course, knowing Poe, that life would take place on Yavin-4, where his father could see his son happy and his grandchildren thriving. 

What would he have to say about this? About you, pregnant on a rebel base that could be attacked at a moment’s notice, unable to properly defend yourself? What would you do with yourself, unable to fight, taking care of the most vulnerable being in the galaxy? 

You didn’t bother thinking about it further, knowing that it would only push you into a spiral. Thankfully, the medbay doors hissed open, revealing a relieved General Organa, pushing through and rushing to your bed. 

“Are you okay?” Her maternal instinct seemed to be strong when it came to you and Poe, though she’d never explained why. “Rose told me you were in the medbay, then I got the transmission from the med-droid that you were awake. What happened?”

Your cheeks flushed as you ducked your head, embarrassed as you recounted the events to your general. “I overworked myself, General. But I, uh, the droid told me something else. I thought you would want to know—” 

“Is there something wrong?” Her voice was calm, steady, and warm. Your chest swelled, most of your anxieties slipping away. 

“Not quite, General, I— the droid said I’m pregnant.” Your voice faltered for a moment as your eyes met hers, your confidence flickering ever so slightly when she didn’t give a response. “General?”

“Effective immediately, you’re no longer allowed on active duty,” General Organa said, her voice still warm. A slight smile crossed her lips, despite the professionalism she took on. “I want you on light duty from here on out, Y/n. Until you’re 14 weeks, you may work on repairs, but after that, you’ll be supervising, nothing more. The engineers have space for you to assist with their material designs, and training is lacking as of late.” 

Neither of you spoke for a moment as you processed her instructions, deflating slightly at the idea of not quite being able to do what you enjoyed for a while, but you were glad that you could still work nonetheless. 

Another beat of silence, General Organa’s widening smile, then, “Congratulations. I can’t imagine how happy you must be.” 

You chuckled, watching the General place her hand gently atop your own. “It’s… more nerve wracking than anything, actually. I don’t think I’ll have the space to be happy about it until I tell Poe.” 

“If there’s anything I can guarantee, it’s that this is a good thing.” She assured, squeezing your fingers. “You’ll make great parents, both of you.” 

“Thank you,” you whispered in a shuddering breath, turning your hand over and taking the General’s hand in yours. “That means more than you know.” 

Nodding gently, General Organa squeezed your hand once more before departing to draft the papers for your altered work restrictions and removal from active duty, leaving you in a silent room to process the news by yourself. 

“Leia let me stay on long enough to finish the A-Wing,” you murmured, Poe’s face long since nestled in the crook of your neck, your lips ghosting against his neck. “Got it done, with Rose supervising. Made me take a break every hour. Slowed me down, but I finished it. A few days ago, actually.”

“I don’t give a damn about the A-Wing,” Poe muttered, forcing a quiet laugh from you. “I just care that you’re okay. Both of you.”

Your heart swelled, Poe’s voice vibrating your skin, your love for him threatening to swallow you whole. “You’re… happy about this? Really?”

“Are you kidding?” Poe lifted his head, kissing your cheek, pulling back to meet your eyes with a smile. “I couldn’t be happier. We’re… I mean, shit, we’re having a kid!”

“We are,” you smiled, warm and gentle as you watched Poe’s widen. “I know it’s not like you talked about, but… we’re having a baby,” 

“I don’t care about anything I said before,” Poe scoffed. “I care about now. About you and about our baby. We’re gonna be just fine, I promise. Even if that means I have to end the war myself.” 

“I’d much rather you didn’t,” you said. “I think my child deserves to meet their dad.” 

“Dad…” Poe whispered, eyes trailing to your stomach. “I’m gonna be a dad.”

Poe looked up, as though your words finally made him realise what was going to happen to him. You watched his eyes fill with tears, unshed as he took his hand away from your waist, splaying it across your cheek and pulling you into his lips. 

Even if you must’ve kissed Poe hundreds of times before, he still managed to take the breath from your lungs every time his lips slotted onto yours. His lips were like heaven, like home to you. Like comfort, safety, and every ounce of love in his body flowed into yours, no matter the reason why he was kissing you. Whether it was hello, or goodbye, or simply because Poe wanted to kiss you, he always made sure you could feel how much he loved you. And you did the same. 

His lips seemed to say it all without speaking a single word. I love you, we’re okay. 

forever taglist: @mazerunnerrose @theboldandthebootyful @miraclesoflove @heliads

poe dameron taglist: open!

[frenshushutoast]

minghao as your boyfriend

notes: happy new year! my first post in a Long time but here's to more writing in 2024... let's do this!

lots of quiet moments together. even in loud, crowded rooms, minghao still finds a way to give you little moments of solace with a hand in yours and quiet, whispered conversations.

art gallery dates! so many art gallery dates. every time a new one opens, you're equally excited to go visit. sometimes you'll both quietly share your interpretations of the different pieces with each other, and sometimes you'll just bask in the beauty of the creations and simply being able to experience it together.

very endeared by you. you will simply exist and he'll let out his soft giggle, burying his face in your shoulder, pinching your cheeks, and kissing all over your face when you guys are alone together. you're confused when he first does it, asking what you did for him to be so impossibly fond. he just responds with a you're so cute, baby and it makes you far more flustered than you're willing to admit.

very protective over you. not because he thinks you're weak–you're one of the strongest people he knows–but he's very gentle with you anyways. he does everything he can to make sure you don't get hurt, and is very, very attentive to you. you've been doing everything yourself for so long, he just wants to take care of you.

you're both a very fashionable couple. long trench coats, nail designs, matching colour schemes. everybody is intimidated by you until they catch you giggling together in a corner.

loves having you in his lap. he'll wrap his hands around your waist and rest his cheek on your shoulder, quietly telling you how much he appreciates everything about you.

he will casually say the most devastating things, randomly, while he traces little shapes on your hip. baobei, i'd give you all the stars if you ask. you're my warm patch of sunlight, my safe space. everything slows down when i'm with you. little i love you's scattered all over the things he says to you.

he gets uncharacteristically shy when you compliment him. the first time you do it, it's when he got his nails done differently and you told him it was pretty and his ears went very red. you've taken advantage of it ever since.

takes you on romantic dinner dates, well thought out and so, so perfect.

he teaches you how to slow dance, even through all the times you accidentally step on his foot. he twirls you and kisses you so sweetly, you could turn to putty in his hands.

a Very good kisser. i could expand on this but the brain worms are simply too strong. but he's Good with his tongue. the first time you really kiss him, you pull away very breathless and tell him just that. the only thing he answers you with is a small smug smile and a gentle peck, so different from the heated makeout session.

takes the best photos of you and hypes you up while he does it. the only reason your instagram feed looks so good is because of his amazing photography skills.

[m-yg93]

Solace

Pairing: KNJ x Reader

WC: 13.5k

Genre: Roommates2L

Rating: M (minors dni)

Warnings: Brief blood mention from a cut, mention of minor character death (sickness), fingering, hand job, big dick joon, belly bulge, unprotected sex, mentions of choking, creampie, dirty talk, inconsistent POV

Banner by @sugarwithtea​

Beta’d by @yoongiobsessed​ and Sara (twitter link)

Summary: Namjoon thought getting used to a new roommate would take time and adaptation but you fit yourself into his apartment with ease. He swears he only landed in your bed to keep you safe in his arms when you get spooked by the storm. Surely he can blame the eventual lack of clothing on the summer’s heat stroke.

Author’s Note: This should have been written months ago. I don’t have an excuse. Oh well, it’s here now! 

Part of the Room For Rent collab

There needs to be a word that describes the feeling of being happy for someone while simultaneously going through betrayal.

Namjoon is happy for Yoongi, of course he is, but watching him from across their kitchen table is sending an uncomfortable wave through him. He didn’t expect his oldest and closest friend to run from him, leave him in the dust, just straight up abandon him.

“Oh my God, you’re being dramatic. I’m not abandoning you, I’m moving to Gangnam. It’s just across the river! You and your freakishly thick thighs can bike to my new place in 20 minutes.”

Okay so perhaps he’s being a little dramatic but what else was he supposed to think? He and Yoongi had shared this apartment for years. There had been countless sleepless nights fueled by too much ramen, the living room littered with energy drinks as they bumped heads and helped each other brainstorm ideas for new beats. These walls hold melodies and memories, and he’s just expected to share them with someone else now?

“Plus, I told you you’re welcome to move in with Jin and I. His dad’s some CEO and the apartment is ridiculously lavish. There’s a room with your name on the door if you want it. I’m serious, Jin has this thing with plaques and has a name for every room, it’s honestly worrying. I won’t even tell you what he decided to name the master bedroom.”

Namjoon purses his lips at the thought. That was the main reason behind turning Yoongi’s offer down. He likes Jin and genuinely loves that he brings so much light into Yoongi’s naturally dreary life. Seeing Yoongi’s lips fight against a smile only to burst into the cheesiest, gummy grin while audibly groaning about his boyfriend’s terrible jokes brings a warmth to Namjoon’s chest every time. Yoongi deserves to be happy and he knows Jin is the best person for the job. But he knows full well the couple will christen every room of that apartment and he wants no part of it.

“I know,” he agrees, “But with the proximity to Yongsan park? I don’t know if I’ll ever leave this place.” The open fields just outside the doors of their apartment are the first solace he reaches for when the instrumentals in his brain just keep fighting each other, transforming into the screeching noise of the streets under his window. The trees don’t talk back but letting out his frustrations under the canopy of leaves feels like it helps anyway. “I guess I’ll have to try to pick up some extra freelance contracts to make up for having to pay the rent alone. I hate having to produce meaningless pop but it brings in decent cash when I’m in a tight spot,” he laments.

“Dude, I’m not heartless. I didn’t just decide to move out and leave you stranded. I have a friend from high school. I don’t see her often but she’s a good time and she’s looking to move out of her parents’ place now that she’s done with her degree. It’ll be easier to find work in the city. I’ve mentioned her. Y/N? I go out to dinner with her every couple months to make sure we keep in touch. She’s pretty shy and she’s quiet, you’ll barely notice she’s here.”

There’s a wave of relief that comes with knowing he won’t have to pinch pennies but it quickly turns frigid at the realization that he’ll have to live with a stranger. What if she was a morning person? What if she was a smoker and made the whole apartment fill with the lingering acrid smell? What if she killed his plants?

“I can see your brain working overtime. Breathe, I wouldn’t offer the place to someone I know doesn’t fit your vibe,” Yoongi reassures. I guess there’s not much else to do but wait and see how compatible your living situations are.

Thankfully their own music equipment had been bought separately because they’ve been bickering all day when Yoongi tries to put something in a box from their shared spaces only to have Namjoon object.

“What are you going to do with a wok, Joon? YOU DON’T COOK!”

“Jin has a plethora of different ones in his kitchen and we both know it! Maybe your friend likes to cook, huh? Maybe she’ll want the wok to make meals.”

“Make you meals, you mean?” Okay so maybe he was hoping the new roommate situation came with food because losing both Yoongi and Jin’s cooking overnight was going to hit him hard. He’ll wither away into a string bean at this rate seeing as he’s not allowed near the knives nor the stove.

Yoongi must take pity in the pleading look in his eyes because he puts down the wok with a sigh and passes to the next cupboard. Namjoon is distracted by Jin’s entrance, always loud and boisterous.

“Hey! How is packing going? I just parked the moving van downstairs but I don’t know how long I’m allowed to be there.”

“It’s fine,” Yoongi shouts from across the apartment. “I’d be done already if Joon didn’t try to steal all my shit and force me to leave them here.” He’s zooming past him, bony shoulder purposefully digging into Joon’s bicep.

“I’m monitoring the fair share of roommate assets,” he huffs. “Jin’s apartment has more shit in it than he already needs. You’re leaving me alone with only memories that you once cared for me. The least you could do is not leave with half of what’s in this measly dwelling when your sugar daddy’s got you up in a penthouse.”

They both know the jabs are jokes. Jin has more money than anyone needs, but he’s also a hard worker and spent his youth learning how to take over the business from his father when the time comes. He’d swept Yoongi off his feet with expensive dinners and outrageous gifts when they were first dating, only knowing how to flaunt his money for attention before Yoongi set him straight and taught him that he’d have to put more thought into his courting if he expected him to stick around. Clearly, he did.

Reminiscing about his, nearly ex, roommate almost distracts him enough to miss Yoongi trying to sneak a thin square package into his last remaining box.

“You’re going to take that vinyl out of here over my dead body, Yoongi!” The apartment echoes the lament in surround sound.

They do eventually make it to the van parked downstairs after Yoongi finishes taping up his boxes with only a limited amount of protest from Namjoon.. The air is humid, clothes sticking to Namjoon’s skin as he chases after the wind from Yoongi’s open window like a dog on his first car ride. Jin’s apartment building is a stark opposite from their, his, own. Whereas the outside of his building is all grey concrete walls, Jin’s is all sleek glass of floor-to-ceiling windows causing the brightness of the sun to reflect off and into Namjoon’s eyes as he looks up to the top where his friend will now be living.

The air conditioning of the lobby hits full force, the trio letting out a pleasant hum which quickly turns into a deep groan when they see the elevator boasting an out of order sign. Two pairs of sharp eyes round on Jin, malice dripping from furrowed brows.

“I swear it was working when I left this morning. They must be using all the power to keep each unit’s AC going through the heat wave. The stairs are this way.” He points to a corner of the lobby, tight corridor leading to a single door.

“The stairs? You live in the penthouse, that’s FIFTEEN flights, babe.” Yoongi is quick to point out.

“Are you trusting enough to keep all your music equipment in the van for who knows how long this heat is going to last? I know you’re going to complain about all the moisture in the air messing with your delicate settings.” Namjoon knows he’s got him there. Yoongi would suffer through a natural disaster if it meant keeping his equipment safe and at peak performance.

“You’re right,” Yoongi sighs dejectedly, head thrown backwards. “But I won’t be any help bringing the gear up. You see these legs? They’ll snap like toothpicks if I try to bring them up. Guess Biceps and Shoulders need to do all the heavy lifting.” There’s an airy lilt to his voice when he figures he’s saved himself from the worst bit.

“Doubt they’ll stay that small seeing how many times you’ll be going up and down those stairs to bring up all the light boxes while we deal with the heavy stuff. You’ll have lungs of steel with all that cardio, buddy. I’m sure Jin will appreciate how long he can hold his dick in your throat without you needing to breathe after that.” Namjoon sends him a salacious wink.

Yoongi’s face, which had been a flushed shade of pink from the heat, drains immediately when he realizes the position he’s put himself in but Namjoon doesn’t let him change his mind. He just claps a hand on his shoulder and turns around to get to the van and pick up the first console they’ll need to bring up to Yoongi’s new designated studio space.

Namjoon regrets showing Friends to Jin after today. If he has to hear ‘PIVOT’ one more forsaken time he might choke that windshield wiper laugh right out his friend’s throat. His whole body is aching when he sets his ass down on Jin’s plush couch, finally tasting a bite of heaven after all those steps but it can’t be savored long.

“Get up.” Yoongi’s voice breaks through his needed rest. “The elevator mishap made us take way longer than planned and we’re already late to pick up Y/N.” If anyone sees him fighting back tears that’s none of their business.

The drive out to the suburbs of Seoul is peaceful, the population seems to have holed up inside and away from the sun’s rays. They pull up to a nice two-story home. Namjoon can’t see much into the property since it’s surrounded by tall brick walls, but it’s unnecessary as he can see the silhouette of a young woman waiting outside the gate, piles of boxes at her feet.

They all pour out of the truck, Yoongi darts out first to meet her halfway where she throws herself in his arms. There’s a lot of squealing and Namjoon isn’t sure from who it’s coming out of in the mess of limbs. They separate and approach where he and Jin had waited by the vehicle.

“I’m Y/N, you must be Jin!” There’s a hand out ready to be shaken but it’s presented in front of the wrong man.

“Actually, Jin is this one,” Yoongi corrects, taking your wrist and moving it to the correct person.

“Oh my God, that’s embarrassing. I just figured it was the big one. I’ve heard about your muscle kink enough once you figured out you were into men that I just-- You know what? I’m going to shut up now. Hi, sorry about that. Nice to meet you.” There’s a nervous giggle in between words that’s instantly endearing.

Jin doesn’t seem offended, laughing alongside her. “No worries, he’s plenty satisfied without the beefiness of his teenage crushes.” He wiggles his eyebrows comically which has her chuckling and Yoongi whining.

“This is Namjoon, your new roommate. Joon, this is Y/N.” It’s his turn to shake hands, your fingers so thin and delicate around his much bigger grasp. He takes the time to really take you in, looking down at you; wide grin and smooth skin that spans from your neck down into your… Nope, face!

“You have a nice face.” For a lyricist he sure did have a way with words.

“Thank you?” Your eyes trail to the side where Yoongi stands, eyes deadpan and mouth shut tight.

“He grows on you, I swear. Get in the car, we’ll grab your boxes.” Yoongi says as he passes in front of you with an icy stare towards Namjoon. Okay, so he could have made a better first impression.

You don’t have many boxes which makes sense. The apartment is furnished and Yoongi had left his bedroom set for you since he wouldn’t need it at Jin’s. He remembers leaving his parent’s house with barely anything. It had taken a while for Yoongi and him to make the apartment seem like people actually lived in it. They’d spent far too long eating cup noodles while sitting on the floor in the corner of the kitchen.

Jin takes his place behind the wheel, Yoongi slipping in beside him in the passenger seat. The earlier ride in the backseat wasn’t so bad for Namjoon since he could sit crookedly to fit his long legs behind the couple’s seats in front of him but your presence beside him forces his knees to hit the back of Yoongi’s seat.

“Can you push your seat up a bit? Your little legs don’t need that much space,” Namjoon shoots ahead of him.

“And just for that comment your giant ass and long limbs can suck it up. Respect your elders, brat,” Yoongi snaps back. Maybe he deserved that one.

He sends you a sheepish look and an awkward smile as he spreads open his thighs lewdly. His knee hits yours despite you sticking your legs together demurely, hands politely sitting in your lap. The touch attracts your gaze and Namjoon can track your eyes as they drag up the bare skin of his quad, past the hem where the material of his shorts dig into his thighs, and settles just a little too long where both his legs meet. He can practically feel your stare burning a hole into his groin, a heat expanding through his body.

He doesn’t even realize when he lets out an uneasy cough and you’re quick to look away with a start when you hear it; clearly having been caught in your little perversion. The flush that builds on your cheeks is shameful enough that he doesn’t mention anything more, only locking away the memory of you blushing and embarrassed for later.

Namjoon is thankful that with four pairs of arms there won’t be a need to do multiple trips for your boxes. Jin sends you and Yoongi off with a box each but loads Namjoon’s arms with three; enough to block his view so he has to peek around them to see where he’s going. There might not be many boxes but the ones he’s been given are heavy enough to make his arms shake underneath their weight. He’s absolutely going to blame that on having had to haul all of Yoongi’s belongings during the day and definitely not on the fact he’s weak. He goes to the gym regularly!

“Thanks for helping! Just leave them by the door, I’ll take care of unloading everything,” you call from across the apartment. Yoongi must be giving you a tour of the place.

Namjoon kicks off his shoes and crashes head first into the couch, his big body halfway dropping off of it. All his muscles ache and he’s sticky with sweat. His lids close, reaching for some rest. His stomach rumbles, the memory of breakfast fading. There’s soft footsteps sneaking up on him. He’s trained himself enough to catch Yoongi coming. He’s broken enough things when his roommate suddenly appeared by his side and gave him a spook.

“Don’t think I’m an idiot, Joon. I could see the way you looked at her. I’m only going to say this once, don’t fuck my friend.” His voice is almost sinister as it whispers in his ear. Namjoon’s eyes quickly open wide. He wasn’t looking at you in any sort of way and he was about to defend himself, mouth open with a denial on his tongue. He doesn’t have the chance since you pop around the corner, seeing them both with their heads too close to each other, Yoongi’s glare facing Namjoon’s incredulous look.

“Everything good here?” you ask.

Yoongi’s expression shifts, gummy smile on full display but Namjoon still sees the daggers in his eyes. “Yep, I was just saying bye to Joon. Jin’s already back at the van and we need to get it back to the vendor. Text me if you need anything Y/N. And Joon? Remember what I said.” He and Jin take their leave, surely to start desecrating their new shared space.

“Okay? Is it just me or was he being weird?” You look back at Namjoon but there’s only a shrug of his shoulders as your reply. “Alright, well I’m going to start unpacking then.” You’re just about to turn tail when you can hear the growl coming from Namjoon again. “Ah, you must be hungry, you’ve been going around the city all day. Is there anything already in the kitchen?”

“No, we went through all of it when Yoongi and Jin decided to have a goodbye dinner this week. You get started on unpacking and I’ll run down to the store for some stuff. I think we’re both too tired to do much effort but I can grab ingredients for some decent ramen.” Namjoon slips his shoes back on and running out the door as soon as he finishes speaking.

Luckily, there’s a small family owned market just down the street from the apartment. Mrs. Park is going to be sad to hear that her ‘little dumpling’, as she called Yoongi, won’t be visiting her anymore. She’s mostly used to seeing Namjoon anyway. Yoongi may have been the one cooking but Joon was always the one sent off on errands for any ingredients that were missing midway through the meal preparation.

The bell chimes above him when he walks into the little shop. Mrs. Park doesn’t even look up from her newspaper, head staring firmly into her lap. There’s a low buzz emitting from the artificial lights mixing with the music that’s playing in the shop, something Namjoon doesn’t know, a beat that hasn’t been popular in half a century.

The aisles are familiar and he grabs the ingredients absentmindedly, throwing things in the handheld basket hooked onto the crook of his arm. Green onions from the produce section, a carton of eggs and a hunk of cheese from the dairy section, and spam from the canned goods area.

Mrs. Park finally lifts her eyes from whatever news story that had her attention and gives him a warm smile that reaches her eyes. He should give his grandma a call. A smooth wrinkled hand grabs his groceries one by one, slowly bringing them closer for inspection. Her frail finger punches into the keys of the register.

His eyes wander while his items disappear from the counter and into a bag beneath the surface. The sky has turned a slate grey from an overbearing cloud covering the sun, bringing the vibrance of outside down to a dull.

Against the window is a shelf filled with flowers. Namjoon has often seen people grabbing a bouquet as they wait for their total. He remembers a man with a tie midway undone, suit jacket flapping behind him as he rushed out frantically. A forgotten anniversary he suspected. Just last week, there was a small child tugging at his father’s sleeve, pointing at a particularly bright blossom and requesting to bring it home to his mother. The memory brings a small smile to his lips.

He doesn’t contemplate long before reaching for a lonely white rose in a near empty bucket. He remembers certain symbolism from the time he read The Language of Flowers. Purity, innocence, a new beginning, and reverence. He thinks he catches a mischievous glint in Mrs. Park’s eye as she hands him the bag of groceries in one hand while the rose remains in his other.

The universe allows him only long enough to step out of the shop before the skies open up with a loud clap and water erupts in a downpour. Shock overtakes him and he freezes on the spot as he lets the fat water droplets sink into the fabric of his clothes. The cold immediately seepsinto his skin and settles in his bones, eyes shut tight and mouth open.

The loud rumble of distant thunder urges him to start moving. The plastic of the bag is slippery in his grasp and there’s a stinging pain in his palm from where the rose’s thorns dig in. There’s an uncomfortable squeak from the leather of his sandals with every heavy step he takes. As he sprints the few blocks back to the apartment, the loud slap slap slap of his foot hitting the pavement.

The door of the apartment slams into the wall as Namjoon rushes to get inside, the doorknob undoubtedly leaving a mark from the force at which Namjoon has opened it to throw himself inside.

“Namjoon? Is everything okay?” you call from the living room. “I’m sorry for the mess, I’m trying to fit in my own books across your collection. I don’t want to mess up the system you’ve got going on.”

“Yeah, all good, just wasn’t paying attention,” he reassures.

Your head pops out from the hallway to take inventory of the situation yourself, not quite trusting the waver in his voice. “Oh god, it started raining? I was so in my bubble that I didn’t even notice. You’re soaked! Let me grab you a towel.” You’re off to the bathroom before he can even thank you, already back to exchange the flower still in his grasp for the towel you hand him.

“I hope it didn’t take a beating on my way back over here,” he says, worry tainting the edge of his voice.

“No, it’s perfect. Thank you. Do you know if you have any vases?”

“I’m sure Yoongi’s left some in the kitchen. Jin had a habit of getting him a new bouquet every month. Don’t tell Yoongi I said this but he’d blush every time despite all the grumbling he did about it. Happened every month for two years, like clockwork,” he teases.

“That sounds about right. Yoongi will never admit it but I know how much praise and appreciation means to him. I’m glad Jin gives him that. I’ll go find it.” You’re turning tail and heading into the kitchen in search of the vase.

He pats himself dry enough so that he’s no longer dripping on the floor before he follows you in. You’re in front of an open cabinet, head tilted back to look at the top shelf of it. Your hand is stretched to its capacity, boosted by the tip of your toes, one knee nearly hiking onto the countertop to give yourself enough reach.

He truly only means to help when he sneaks in behind you to grab at the vase. He doesn’t expect to catch you off guard, sending you backwards and off balance with a squeak. His grasp abandons its path towards the top shelf and instead redirects to land on your hips, pinning you against his chest.

You’re taken by surprise at the strong hands grabbing onto your side, a hard wall of muscle at your back, heat radiating from his skin, his wet clothes dampening yours.

“Are you okay?” he asks, breath just a little too close to your ear.

There’s a hitch in your voice when you reply hastily, “Mhm! All good. I’ll let you get that actually. I’m going to change. My clothes are gross from today. You should too, you’re going to catch a chill if you stay in those wet clothes. Your shirt’s so soaked I can see right through it. Not that I was looking! I’ll just- right.”

You’re running off before he can articulate a thought, the door of your room slamming shut behind you. He’s nearly certain he can hear an embarrassed groan through the wall despite that. He does get the vase down and fills it with water, dropping the rose into it before he slips into his room as well.

The rain will be good for the heat in the long run but as it stands it just permeates the apartment with heavy humidity. He grabs a pair of comfortable shorts and a tank top to change into. He passes next to your room on his way to the bathroom. He takes the time to stop and knock at your door.

“Y/N? Do you need to use the bathroom? I’m going to jump in the shower really quick.”

“Go ahead! I’ll take one after dinner.”

His clumsy fingers struggle with the lock behind him, clothes falling onto the floor. The bluetooth speaker that has a permanent residence in the bathroom is turned on, a playlist going at random. He makes sure to adjust the temperature of the water, slightly colder than he usually would. It’s absolutely to combat the heat and definitely not the memory of your body pressed against his in the kitchen; soft under his hands and plump against where his crotch pushed in under the curve of your ass.

Oh god, focus on something else. Listen to the music. The beat is uplifting and he finds himself singing along to the lyrics. A popular song from a girl group member. He recalls Yoongi mentioning he’s worked on something similar.

He lets the tepid water run down his body, hands quick and rough where he scrubs the soap into his skin, not letting them stay in one spot too long to melt into the feeling. Yep, he definitely needs to have it colder. It’s near shivering levels of frigid when he ducks his head under the stream to rinse the shampoo out of his hair.

He’s nearly forgotten about the shape of your body against him, mind preoccupied with the soprano of the singer in his ears. Pop pop, pop, you want it. His body responds as if with muscle memory from seeing this song trend with its choreo everywhere online. His hands take turns pointing at an open hand and back again, fists then popping as if miming fireworks going down a zig zag pattern.

The haunting thoughts of the kitchen eventually disperse enough for him to exit the stream of water and change into the clean, dry clothes. You’re already in the kitchen humming to yourself once he leaves the room followed by a puff of steam.

“Do you need me to help with anything?” he proposes.

“Yeah, that’d be great. Can you slice up the spam and drop the eggs into the water? There’s a pot already boiling.” Put eggs in water and cut up some meat. Sure, he can do that.

The eggs may have cracked a little when he quite literally dropped them into the pot but that’s fine. A little hard boiled never hurt anyone. He swears he’s extra careful when you hand him a knife and let him stand in front of the cutting board. Just going to very daintily hold down the spam and slowly bring the knife down-

“You’re holding it upside down. Sharp edge towards the bottom and make sure you curl your knuckles in so you don’t nick yourself.” Right, of course, he knew the knife was upside down. Just making sure you did, hah.

He manages to make some slightly uneven slices until about halfway through the block but eventually there’s just not enough space for his big sausage fingers to hold on and the knife just slips…right into his palm.

“Ah, shit!” He jumps back, letting the knife clatter to the floor. His uninjured hand keeps the pressure onto the wound as small river of red runs between his fingers. He’s taken by surprise and lets himself be manhandled to the sink before his wounded hand is pushed under the cold, running water.

“I should have figured why Yoongi was so ominously telling me where the first aid kit was in the kitchen. And why he asked how often I cooked at home.” There’s shuffling behind him and a small hand sneaking its way between his body and the sink.

“Take it out, I’ll pat it dry and put a bandage on.” He’s careful to keep his hand stable as your delicate fingers patch him up. A soft pressure with a gauze and a more instant one for the wrap that goes around his palm.

“My friend JK is going to think I took up boxing and ask me to go to the gym with him if he sees this.” He tries to laugh it off, bringing humor into his near amputation.

“I don’t think you need any incentive to go to the gym.” Your eyes are trailing up his arm, stopping at his bicep and following all the way to the middle of his chest. The flex he pushes is completely accidental and was absolutely not to show off the progress he’s been building.

“I take care of myself, I guess.”

“Right.” There’s a small laugh in your voice. “Go take care of yourself, away from the kitchen. I’ll handle the rest.”

He lets himself be shooed out of the hot space, out into the living room where he sees your earlier comment about a mess. There’s books all over the floor in little towers looking for a home on his already overly compacted bookshelf. He picks a few of his bigger tomes to rehouse to his room which allows space for yours to make themselves at home.

He doesn’t notice how long he’s been calculating which books need to be relocated until he hears the clatter of bowls hitting the coffee table behind him.

“I figured we could eat in here today, more casual and all. Thank you for helping me make sense of where to put my stuff. I didn’t want to impose.”

“This is your home too now, you deserve to have space for your things. Yoongi wasn’t much of a reader. Thank you for dinner. I’m afraid you’re going to be in charge of feeding me a lot. I can always just order in but Yoongi was always on my ass for spending money on takeout.” He has the humility to look ashamed at his incapacity to nurture himself.

“No worries, it was kind of implied when he told me to take his spot. I like cooking, so I don’t mind, really. Tell me more about yourself though, I only know what Yoongi’s told me which is pretty much only that you produce music like he does. You’ve got an eye for art from what I can see of the prints on the walls.”

“Ah, actually those are all mine,” he blushes and points to a camera that takes a place on one of the higher shelves. “I like biking around and I figured it was a shame to see all the pretty landscapes without getting to commemorate them properly so I got into photography. I’m not a professional or anything but I enjoy it. I’m actually going to Comic Con this weekend with a group of my friends. They’re cosplaying and they wanted someone around to take pictures of them in costume. JK's actually got a pretty great Spiderman thing going on and it works for him with all the, you know, muscles and spandex.” He’s gesturing a little wildly over his body, as if you’re familiar with Jungkook’s physique.

“I don’t but I can imagine.” Your eyes are following where his hands had gestured over him, gaze roaming over the muscles he’s boasting himself. “You don’t happen to have any spandex hiding in your closet yourself?”

“Nothing like him, riding shorts for when I take particularly long bike rides. I don’t tend to favor it, they really ride up.” His sentence ends in an uncomfortable chuckle and he avoids your view, completely missing how your eyes have started to glaze over.

The small talk fades after that, replaced with the sound of chopsticks hitting the edge of bowls and the occasional slurps. You hold your chopsticks loosely between bites, your phone in your spare hand just mindlessly scrolling.

There’s a familiar tune coming softly from your direction, a low hum of a melody that triggers Namjoon’s receptors. He can place it pretty quickly, pop pop pop uh uh.

His hands take on a mind of their own. He doesn’t stop chewing as his fists go through the movement. Open palm, point, switch, zigzag.

He wouldn’t have even not realized what he was doing if a little giggle hadn’t interrupted the flow of the song. He freezes, eyes widening. It’s a slow pan of his eyes to look into his peripheral, as if not moving his head would somehow render him invisible and able to melt away from the embarrassing situation he’s caught himself in.

You’re doing your best to hold it in, lips nearly completely sucked into your mouth, teeth forcing them closed. He appreciates the effort but he can admit the jig is up. He picks his chopsticks back up with a little cough, gathering his bearings.

“It’s a catchy song,” he defends.

“Oh absolutely, it gets stuck in your head so easily. Even when hearing it off key and through the rush of running water,” you tease.

He pretends to be offended by that. “I’m a producer! I’ll have you know I have great pitch.”

“Of course, someone should tell Nayeon that she’s in the wrong key then. How embarrassing for her to be performing it that way.”

You both dissolve into laughter after that. The silence that follows feels a lot lighter than it previously had been and he breathes a little easier.

“Leave your dishes in the sink, I’ll take care of it in exchange for the cooking labour. I rarely break things anymore. Even if Yoongi won’t let me forget about his favorite mug. I still insist that the shape wasn’t ergonomic and that’s why it slipped out of my hand. He was so mad he refused to drink any coffee that day and knowing Yoongi you know how that was more a punishment for me than it was for himself,” he shares the memory of how grumpy Yoongi had been that day. They must have restarted the same beat half a dozen times. Suffice to say it wasn’t a very productive day and Namjoon owed him a new mug of his choosing.

Your first night together was fruitful. You’ve managed to unpack and meld your belongings with his, have dinner - where he didn’t kill himself in the kitchen - and bond over some banter. You’ve practically ingrained yourself in his life already and Namjoon isn’t sure if that’s good or a little terrifying. He’s not the type to usually feel comfortable with a stranger so quickly. He’s glad Yoongi had you take his place, he doubts it would have been this pleasurable if he had had to place an ad online.

There’s a ghost of a smile stuck on his face when he closes the door to his bedroom. Being alone in his room brings forth the thoughts he’d pushed aside back to the forefront. His computer monitor lights up the space, calling him back. The mixing board on his desk blares a signal he can’t ignore. He has a project to finish and the deadline is knocking at his door incessantly. He sits in his chair with a sigh and slips his headphones over his ears, blocking out the loud patter of raindrops on his window.

He awakes with a start. His back is sore and his skin is damp with sweat. He’s too old to be falling asleep on his desk like this, he’s going to feel it in the morning. The room is pitch black around him. A quick jiggle of the mouse tells him the computer is dead and there’s a hint of panic at the thought of having lost his work. Rationale takes over to remind him that it automatically gets stored on the cloud at consistent intervals. They’ve learned their lesson too many times before implementing that.

There’s an odd irritation at the back of his mind and he realizes the thrum of the AC is missing. Ah, no power. The storm must have knocked it out. His muscles scream from the stretch and there’s more than a few uncomfortable cracks when he gets up and extends his arms above his head. He slips out of his clothes in hopes that more skin in contact with any air might help him cool down. Besides, he always sleeps in his boxers anyway. The air has dried up his throat and he can feel his body begging for water. He grabs the latest water bottle to litter his desk, tips it all the way upside down but not a drop comes.

He hopes he can traverse the apartment to the kitchen silently. Between his heavy footsteps and the stubborn squeaky floorboard outside his bedroom he’s worried about waking you. He sends a silent prayer into the universe that you’re a deep sleeper.

He does hit the floorboard, sending a creek into the night and he freezes for a second but no angry outbursts come from your room to scold him. He’s slowly taking a step in front of the other, carefully moving his weight from one foot to the next, the little smack of his sole hitting the wooden floor melding into the sounds of the rain still pouring outside.

The pressure from the faucet sends the water stream beating onto the metal of the sink and he hopes the curse he lets out fades into the night. He downs two whole glasses before he feels sated and prepares for the slow trek back to his room.

He’s just outside your door when the apartment flashes as lightning touches down in the distance. Namjoon stops moving as the roll of thunder comes quickly behind, nearly covering the strangled gasp from the other side of the door.

“Y/N? Are you okay in there?" The door to Yoongi’s room always had trouble latching since Namjoon drunkenly threw himself into the frame thinking he was heading into his own bed one night.

There’s a small crack where he can press his ear to. He holds his breath, straining to hear above the rattle of the heavy rain against the windows. For a second he believes he must’ve imagined it, or perhaps you’d shifted in your sleep.

He has one foot in the air, prepared to shuffle back to his own room when he hears it again. A choked sob hidden between the pitter patter of drops slamming against the glass.

He’s more insistent this time when he calls your name and pairs it with a soft knock against the wood of your door.

The noise seems to give you a spook because he swears you let out a high pitched ‘EEK’ in your surprise. There’s no additional verbal answer so he takes his chances on turning the knob and poking his head inside.

“Y/N? It’s okay, it’s just me. It’s Namjoon,” he reassures.

He can’t see a thing, the room is pure darkness. The streetlights outside have gone down with the rest of the power grid so he can’t tell if you’re hurt or might need help.

“Joonie?” There’s a soft voice coming from where he knows the bed is, muffled and timid.

“Yeah, can I come in?” he asks.

“Yeah,” comes an answer, meek and nearly whispered.

He hadn’t come into this room since you unpacked so he’s careful to take small, careful steps towards the bed, nearly bent in half with his arms out to feel for any furniture you might have moved into the path. He taps the bed tentatively when he finally reaches it, feeling long limbs under his palm.

He shyly takes his hands off you and makes his way towards the headboard, knees hitting the edge of the mattress as guidance. He reaches out again, expecting to find you but he only feels more blanket covered lumps.

“Are you hiding under the blanket?”

No words come but the hard shape under his palm moves in a nodding motion. He sinks down, kneeling onto the floor a little harder than he expected. Difficult to judge distance in the darkness.

“Can I pull the comforter down? Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

The fabric moves under his touch until the feeling of goose down turns into silky hair. He moves his fingers down, grazing your ears until they reach your cheeks, damp and hot against his skin.

“Are you crying? What’s going on? Is moving away from home for the first time getting to you?” It definitely had for him at first. He’d go back to his parents’ house every night to have his mother’s cooking for dinner and only started spending the evenings at the apartment after his younger sister had mocked him about not being able to stay too far from his mother’s comfort.

You let out a shamed whine below him. “No…” He stays silent, waiting to see if you’ll share more. “The thunder woke me up and then I tried to turn on the light but it wouldn’t work. And-”

Lightning interrupts you and as the room flashes in sudden light Namjoon sees your face for an instant. Your eyes are wide, laced with red from the tears but one thing he can tell for sure is that in that second- you’re absolutely terrified.

Your breath gets shaky and there’s a twitch in your hands where he can tell you struggle not to throw the blanket back over your head to escape.

“Shhh, it’s okay. You’re afraid of the storm, I get it.” His grip on you tightens when he feels you tremble as the thunder rolls behind.

“You can say it. It’s stupid to be scared of storms. I’m just a big weenie.”

“I’d never call you a weenie, Y/N. You know, my friend JK is afraid of microwaves. Runs out of the kitchen and hides across his apartment every time he needs to heat something up. He’s convinced they’re going to blow up and take him with them in the blast.”

You snort, which is followed by a loud slap of skin on skin that he can only assume is you covering your mouth in response to the noise that just escaped. He’s huffing out his own chuckle in response. Adorable.

“Okay, so what are you afraid of then Mr. Tough Guy?” You’re more combative now. He’ll take that over the fearful demeanor you had a minute ago.

“Me? Hmm, I don’t think there’s anything too unusual. I’m not super fond of spiders, I suppose?”

“Spiders? But Yoongi told me you’re obsessed with crabs. They’re basically water spiders. They walk similarly and they’ve even got more legs!” Oh, you’re heated now but you’ve hit him where it hurts.

“How dare you!” The offended gasp he lets out overtakes the drone of rain coming from outside. “Crabs are cute little friends. I have half a mind to walk out and leave you alone in this storm after that.” He fakes getting up but a small hand digs into the flesh of his bicep.

“Don’t! Please. I’m sorry, crabs are adorable, you’re right. I was just kidding. Don’t leave.” He can hear the fear engulfing your voice in your plea.

“No, no, it’s okay. I was just joking. I’ll stay as long as you need.” He didn’t mean to trigger your panic again, especially since he had just gotten you to calm down a bit.

“You might be here a while then, it doesn’t seem to want to let up anytime soon.”

“No worries. Let me just get off my knees. I won’t be able to walk tomorrow if I spend all night bent like this.” He makes to switch to sitting on the floor but you stop him.

“Do you… uhm, want to lay on the bed? There’s more than enough room for two. I’m not like Rose, that bitch.”

“Are you sure? I can sit here, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” You’d known each other barely 12 hours. He didn’t want to appear pushy in your vulnerable state. He’s enough of a gentleman to know to make space for the women in his life to ease themselves into his presence in a manner where they feel safe.

“Don’t worry. Yoongi told me enough about you for me to know you’re the least scary man on this planet. Only way you’d hurt me is if you fell on top of me, which I’ve been warned may happen more than I expect so be careful climbing in.” He feels you scooch over to the other side of the bed, leaving a wide open space for him to settle into.

There’s still some hesitation that weighs heavily in his limbs but when he sees how your body jumps when another bolt touches down and illuminates the room his resistance melts away. His movements are slow as he eases himself onto the mattress.

“Do you have enough space?” you ask.

If he’s being honest he’s certain half his body is teetering off the edge but he’s more concerned about overcrowding you. “I’m fine, don’t worry. You should try to sleep, you had a long day.”

You’re answering with a half hearted mumble and the room is overtaken with the battering of rain on the windows. Namjoon stays alert, hoping to feel your breathing even out to indicate that sleep has claimed you but it never comes.

“Are you still awake?” Your voice is barely a whisper and if he wasn’t specifically keeping an ear out, he would’ve missed it completely.

He turns onto his side, body now settled fully onto the bed with no risk of suddenly tumbling out with a wrong move. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“Can we just talk for a bit? I think that’ll help me calm down.”

“Of course, as long as you don’t insult my little crustacean friends again.”

“Were you one of those kids that would do that shark chant? ‘Fish are friends, not food.’”

“Nah, Pixar and Bruce are wrong for that. Fish are food, crabs are friends.”

“You’ll have to give me a history lesson as to why kiddie Joonie came to that conclusion if Nemo wasn’t the inspiration.” There it is again, Joonie. Namjoon huffs out a little chuckle at hearing it, letting the nickname slip under it.

“Oh,” you gasp. “I’m so sorry, I should have asked before calling you that. Do you not like it? I’ll stick to your name. Or should I be using honorifics, oppa?”

Oh, he’ll have to unpack how his stomach flips with that last part but now isn’t the time for sudden self discoveries.

“No, no! Don’t worry, it’s cute. I just wasn’t expecting it. My friends usually stick to just Joon but you can get special roomie privileges.”

“I fear you’ll one day regret that. I’m going to be so annoying from now on.” He can hear how your words are blanketed in a mischievous teasing, and he believes you but won’t admit defeat that easily.

“You’ll have to give Tae a run for his money. If he pairs up with Jimin then they’re insufferable. Hobi is a saint for having them both under the same roof with him. You don’t know the guys yet but you’ll figure it out soon enough.”

It’s easy to imagine you already melding into his little group of misfits. He thinks back to dinner when you’d teased him about listening to that ‘girly’ song, and he knows he’ll soon be babysitting four wiley dongsaengs instead of three. Sometimes five when Jungkook manages to set Seokjin off. He doesn’t realize the smile that sets itself on his lips and it’s too dark for you to comment on it.

The bed shifts and your voice is suddenly closer, indicating you’d mirrored his movements and were now facing him.

“You talk about them a lot, your friends. Yoongi does too. You must all be really close.”

“We are, like brothers honestly. I have a younger sister but meeting Yoongi was the first time I felt like I had a hyung. He’s not much for declarations of affection but I love that dude.”

“He knows. You guys are all he talks about besides his music. He loves you, too. I can tell.” Namjoon never doubted that but it’s always nice to hear.

“What about you? Do you have any siblings?” It should be an innocent question but the silence that follows feels heavy and loaded.

“I did. My little brother. He was five. He spiked a bad fever one night and had to be rushed to the hospital. My father packed him up in the middle of the night while I slept. My mother woke me up at 4 am in hysterics. We drove to the emergency room and I watched my parents fall to the floor from across the room as the doctor told them he didn’t make it. I couldn’t hear what they said from that far away but it was obvious. I’m haunted by the sounds of the storm that was raging outside as the windows shaked around me. Acute bacterial meningitis.”

“Fuck, Y/N. I’m-”

“Don’t,” you interrupt. “Don’t say you’re sorry. You have no idea how many times I’ve heard that. It doesn’t bring him back, nothing will. I’m just left with distant memories of what his laugh sounded like, and this stupid fear of storms that just reminds me of the day my family broke apart.” Your words are being spit vehemently, your throat clearly closing up as it tries to choke back sobs.

Namjoon’s arms reach out to scoop you into his chest where you lose it in earnest. You hide into the crook of his neck as he can feel your resolve break. Tears hit his skin but he says nothing. There is nothing to say, he knows. You need something to hold onto as you let the emotions run their course and that’s something he can be for you.

It’s not too long before you catch your breath, great big gasps helping your body to settle back into rhythm.

“God, I’m so sorry. Having a breakdown because of some rain, trauma dumping, having a full breakdown. I must be making a great first impression as a new roommate.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you’re able to let it out. Bottling all that up would cause more damage.”

“Who knew I was shacking up with a therapist. It’s the same thing my counselor told me.” You’re back to teasing and Namjoon lets out the tension in his muscles that he didn’t realize he was holding. Your giggles fade off into a comfortable silence. The rain is still loud against the glass but the trembling that shook yo uhas subsided.

“‘Joonie? Can you hold me until I fall asleep?” Your voice is shy, the request bold for someone you barely know but he agrees without apprehension.

He expects you to burrow back into his chest as you’re already nestled in from your impromptu need for comfort but you surprise him by turning around and slotting yourself against him, back pushing into his front.

“Need to sleep on my left side. You don’t mind, do you?” After your revelation, he’d give you the moon if you asked, some spooning was an easy favor to fulfill.

He simply hums in agreement not entirely trusting himself not to put his foot in his mouth at that moment. He allows you to push back until you’re comfortable and slings his arm over your waist, letting his hand hang limp over your abdomen, careful not to push any unspoken boundaries.

You take it upon yourself to scoop his arm up and hold it close to you. Namjoon closes his fingers into a fist to avoid any accidental groping since his hand now rests on your chest, just above your breasts. He can feel the curve of them against his wrist, the mounds pressing into his forearm.

No! He needs to send his mind elsewhere. He tries to focus on the patter of the drops on the window. Pit pat. Would a roll of thunder fit into any of the songs he’s currently working on? What about the clap where the beat could drop? Anything to distract him from how warm you are beside him. The humidity of the storm only aggravates the heat that seeps through his skin, making it clammy and nearly wet. You, wet against him… NO! The heat is pooling at his crotch, the pressure rising when his blood is sent southward to fill a chub in his boxers. No, stop!

He’s trying desperately to inch his pelvis away from where your ass was resting against him. The universe is truly out for his demise because another round of lightning and thunder sends you jumping, forcefully seeking the hardness of his body against you. The grip on his arm turns vicious, your nails digging into his skin and your rear flies backwards in search of a seat and finds an unexpected obstacle.

Namjoon isn’t sure which sound rings louder. The gasp you let out at your discovery or his moan as his hips involuntarily thrust up against your ass. He doesn’t dare even breathe. What were you thinking? That your new roommate was a giant pervert? That he was taking advantage of the situation when all you asked for was some comfort in a time of need? Would you tell Yoongi? His hyung might be smaller than him but he has no doubt the older man could and would beat his ass into next week for this.

He seems to be the only one spiraling into a panic because instead of screaming and shoving him out of bed you only push back again. Your movements are tentative, slowly adding pressure and grinding your ass in circles against him as if trying to memorize the shape of him against your cheeks.

He slips his arm out of your grasp to bring his hand against your hip, pushing it down to pin you into the mattress and stop the maddening teasing.

“Y/N...” His voice comes out rough in between his teeth, a clear warning.

“Are you-?” You don’t need to finish your sentence with words, opting instead to push against his hold and roll your hips backwards again to feel the length behind you.

“I definitely am now since you can’t lie still. I’m trying to comfort you right now, so I am asking very politely to please have some mercy on me and go to sleep.”

For a second, Namjoon thinks he may have been too harsh.You’re quiet against him and he hopes he hasn’t triggered another round of distress with his tone.

The worries ebb when he feels your hand sneak behind to cup where his dick pushing against the fabric of his underwear. His eyes close when the pressure against the head sends little jolts of electricity flying through his body, a loud moan accompanying them.

“What if this is the comfort I need right now? Will you give it to me?” There’s a confidence in your voice now that had been missing when the sun went down. Namjoon is glad to hear it even if it beckons his doom.

He tries his best not to move, simply letting you tease along his length, your fingers wrapped around his cock through the thin fabric barrier. The drag is dry and nearly painful but he still twitches and wets a patch when your hand comes to squeeze at the head at every stroke.

You seem to take the lack of fighting back on his part as encouragement, and you push at the waistband to finally get under his boxers and meet the feverish skin hiding under them. He helps you reach your goal by shimmying the fabric down and under his balls, freeing his cock to let you handle it as you wish.

Your hand disappears for a second only to come back wet with spit and making the first tug of skin on skin both tortuous and heavenly. He can’t help but meet your fist with a thrust, precum dripping into your hand and easing the next strokes.

You’re showing your impatience when you grab his hand from your hip to aim it towards the waistband of your own underwear. You let him figure out the rest and go back to focus on jerking him off, a little harder this time as your hips roll against thin air.

He doesn’t keep you waiting too long, slipping his hand into your panties, realizing you’ve also opted out of sleeping with bottoms. His fingers plunge low and he’s surprised at how wet you are.

“All this just from rubbing against my dick a little bit?”

“No, I’ve been wet since you pulled me into your arms. Stupid thick biceps and big tits. Figured you’d notice it wasn’t just my eyes that were leaking.” Your words come staccato while your hips desperately try to chase his fingers.

He gives you what you seek and dips his middle finger into your heat. Your muscles contract around him, hot and so wet.

“Fuck, more,” you beg. You’re doing your best to clench around him but there’s not enough to bring relief.

“Impatient.” He wants this to last. He’s barely just gotten his hands on you after all the tension of the day finally snapping. He wants to savor it but you seem to have other plans.

“Namjoon, if you don’t start fingering me properly I’ll kick you out of this bed and do it myself.”

In any other situation he’d probably call that bluff, but he doesn’t want to risk you going through with it. He adds a second finger to your core and gets to work on a punishing rhythm. He uses the angle to his advantage and digs the heel of his palm against your clit to grind onto it with every thrust of his hand.

Your threats devolve into mewls. You’re trying to keep up your own pace against his dick but your grasp is loosening and losing rhythm. Hedoesn’t care. It allows him to focus on making you lose your mind, but you don’t seem to agree with the imbalance because you’re tugging him closer to you, tip bumping into the cotton of your panties. The need overtakes you and you’re ripping his fingers out of your pussy, letting it clench around nothing and mourning the loss. Your legs clamp shut to allow you to reach around and pull the fabric away from your entrance. You push back against his cock, trying to guide him through the darkness.

“In. Want you inside.” Your words aren’t quite begging but Namjoon can hear the plea clearlyin your voice.

“Fuck, Y/N. I should stretch you out more. I don’t think you should take it like this.” He knows he’s above average and he’s unsure that between the darkness and your horny haze you've realized quite what you’re up against in the short span of the mutual masturbation session that’s happened.

“I felt it. I know you’ve got a big dick. I don’t care. Fuck. Me.”

He hesitates to argue with you. He doesn’t want to hurt you but he can feel the warm wet heat enticing the head of his cock and it’s hard to ignore the call. He loses his battle and sinks himself into you. He brings his hand back to your hip and holds himself still as you shake through acclimating to his size.

“Oh god, fuck.” He can feel your pussy tightening around him, the pulses of your walls essentially jerking him off and it’s taking all his resistance not to start rocking his hips up to meet your ass.

“I-” He’s cut off as soon as he tries to start.

“You better not say ‘I told you so’ while you’re inside me or else you’ll never be again.” The possibility of this happening again shut him up pretty quickly.

He opts to try and ease you into the feeling, lets his hand trace along your skin, up to your torso. He peppers kisses down your neck and onto your shoulder. His hand seeks out a breast under your shirt and gently takes it into his palm, massaging the flesh as his fingers tweak at the nipple.

He tries to imagine what it must look like pebbled between his thumb and index; the color of them in contrast to your skin. He’s overwhelmed with the urge to slip it between his teeth and test how hard he could nibble at it before you broke, but the current position makes it impossible and he doesn’t dare switch it now.

Your breathing becomes heavier at every pinch and twist. He can feel your chest heaving under his hand and you’re melting against him. The chokehold your pussy has on his cock also lets up a little, allowing you to rock back and forth seeking more friction.

“I’m ready.” Your voice calls him back. “You can move. Fuck me.” He starts slow and careful, long languid strokes out until only the head stays inside you, and back in with a smooth confident thrust; letting as much of his length fit as he can from this angle.

He lets his hand wander once he feels you matching his strokes, backing up to meet him at each push in. Your skin is damp under his palm and the sticky feeling would usually bother him, but he’s too enthralled by the little noises that you make with each movement.

Your hand chases after his, following where he cups at your breast, pinches at your nipple, and he notes the hitch in your breath when his large palm settles loosely at the base of your throat. He’ll have to file that one away for another day.

You eventually seem to grow frustrated with his teasing touches because you drag his hand back south and into your underwear. He spreads his fingers around where the two of you are joined. He can feel your arousal coat his cock and your pussy stretch around him, sucking him in at every stroke.

He brings his fingers up to finally give your neglected clit the attention it’s been craving. You can feel how it’s throbbing with desire. You don’t bother trying to suppress the moan that comes out in nearly a scream when Namjoon presses against your bundle of nerves with skillful pressure and maddening circles.

It’s still slow. Everything is infuriatingly slow but you can’t find your voice through the groans and gasps to ask for more, so you let him set his torturous pace and drown in the electricity coursing through your body.

You take up the mantle that he’d been forced to leave behind. You feel too good to ask to change positions but you mourn the lack of his other hand which is forced under him, unable to wreck the same havoc on your body as its twin. Your right hand travels to your torso, attempting to mimic his earlier teasing while your left holds onto his wrist between your legs to keep yourself grounded.

You melt into his touch, head lolling into the pillow. Namjoon takes advantage of your neck opening up. He finally gets to use his right arm to push his upper body enough to dip his head down where your shoulder meets your neck to attach his lips to your skin. The added feeling of his teeth biting down, paired with a hard suck and lick of his tongue sends you reeling. You push back harder, urging him to thrust in rougher, as deep as the position allows.

“So big, Joonie. Can feel you so deep.” You’re pushing his buttons and it works. You’re riling him up and he lets it happen. You sacrifice the feeling of his fingers on your clit to bring them up just above your pubic bone and push down hard making the head of his dick hit against the front of your walls. You know he can feel it push against his hand every time he hits home.

You know when he registered what’s happening because he’s pistoning into you with renewed vigor, each thrust stronger than the one before. The new pressure from his hand makes everything feel euphoric.

“Shit, Y/N. So fucking tight around me. You feel so good, sweetheart.” The praise falls from his lips without thought and the endearment slips through with ease but there’s no time to focus on it. You’re clenching around him, being brought to the edge.

Your hand replaces where his had been, fingers wild and frantic on your clit, pushing you towards your orgasm. It doesn’t take long to hit and your body goes rigid in his arms. Your muscles scream as they twitch and the wave radiates out from your core and washes over you to the tips of your limbs.

The shaking in your body subsides but the throes of pleasure still buzz under your skin from where Namjoon hasn’t slowed. He continues to push and pull his way into your body, keeping the tension alive.

“You sound so fucking hot when you cum. Feel so perfect around my cock.” No words come in reply to his, only mindless moans answer the praise. You want to tell him how good he feels inside you too, how you still need him so desperately.

“More!” You manage to gulp through the overwhelming feeling surrounding you. “Want to feel you deeper.”

His hips stutter in response, your words hit him in the pit of his stomach. He wants to give you more, whatever you want but he can’t go any further from this angle.

“Gonna have to move us around for that, okay?” His voice is muffled from where his mouth is still dug into the crook of your neck, breath heavy near your ear.

You’re nodding without giving it much thought. Whatever he wants, he can do anything he wants. You’d agree to anything if it meant getting more of the addictive feeling coursing through your veins.

His cock slips out of you and you barely have the time to whine at the loss that a yelp escapes you instead as you’re hauled up and around to land firmly on his lap, underwear being ripped away in the switch, Namjoon now spread beneath you. Your hands fly forward to balance yourself, knees planted on either side of his hips.

“Holy hell, I was kidding earlier with the tits comment but…” You let your hands finish the implication as they grab at the flesh of his chest, nails digging into his skin. “Can you flex for a second?”

His muscles tense under your touch and you can’t help the groan that slips out in response. His chest is rock hard now and you feel your body rise with the strength imbued in it. You let your hands drift downwards, nails dragging behind. You wonder if the marks will still be there tomorrow for you to see the damage you're leaving in the light of day.

You can feel each bump on his abdomen where the muscles bulge out and dip back in. You’re surprised to feel the smooth velvet tip of his cock hit your hand so quickly. You’re barely halfway down his abs and the realization of how big Namjoon actually is sinks in.

The previous position wouldn’t have had him remotely close to fully sheathed inside you. The anticipation of really feeling his entire length has you grinding down and sliding along him, trapping him between his stomach and your sopping folds.

He bucks up to meet the pressure, hands holding firm on your waist, following the pace you’ve set. He lets you roll on him, his sensitive head catching on your clit and every loop which elicits moans from both of you.

He’s sure he could cum from this alone, but he’s aching to feel you sink down on him entirely. There’s a desperate plea on the tip of his tongue, an encouragement for you to lead him back inside but he keeps quiet. He wants you to make the decision and go at the pace you need. Despite the shift in situation, Namjoon still feels the vulnerability you’re under.

His hand drifts up, letting fire spread along your skin. The electricity in the air isn’t only from the storm anymore. He’s gentle as he cups your breast, content when he can feel your chest arching forward to chase after the pressure of his touch. Your nipple pebbles despite the hot and humid air.

“Perfect,” he murmurs under his breath. He’s sure it’s low enough to stay a private confession but the low moans mixed with your thighs tightening against his hips reveal otherwise.

The praise urges you on, reigniting your movements. Namjoon almost fears you’re moving away, off from your seat on top of him. His hands are quick to reach back for yours; a silent imploration to stay but they’re unnecessary. The pressure on his chest where you anchor yourself grounds him. There’s a shake where your balance falters so you can reach beneath you and grab at his cock, holding it straight towards your core.

The darkness hadn’t bothered Namjoon until this moment. He’ll rue this day for his entire life for stealing the vision of your expression as you slowly sink down on his entire length for the first time. The whimpers that escape, as you take each inch further, are only teases compared to the satisfied groan that comes once you’re fully settled back in his lap. The entire situation is torture. The heat of the stifling summer night is nothing compared to the scorching embrace of your walls around him. There’s aftershocks of your muscles spazzing around him that pair with more moans while you acclimate to the feeling of him inside you.

Namjoon’s mouth is dry and his brain is empty. There’s a strong instinct to move, a twitch in his arms to use his strength to lift you up enough to have you slam back down but he resists.

He can hear your breathing even out, big gulps of air diminishing to a more normal rhythm. You’re fidgeting, torso lowering to come parallel to his until your breath hits his throat. He doesn’t even realize your hand had snaked away until it lands in his hair and you pull on the strands to allow your lips to stroke at the cartilage of his ear, a warm tickle accompanying your words.

“You’re so big, Joonie. Feel so full.” He knows it’s the sign he was waiting for when you end the compliment with a strong squeeze that he can feel through his entire body. All the restraint he had exhibited snaps.

It all happens at once. He reaches for a fistful of your hair to keep you still as he clumsily seeks for your lips with his own. The kiss is aggressive and too full of teeth clanking together at first. It eventually melts into something more salacious. Your lips are hot and slippery but Namjoon is aiming for more.

You’re too distracted to notice that his stance has changed. He jostles you as he plants his feet into your mattress to give him the best angle to properly pound into you. The first hard thrust is paired with a well timed bite of your lip which has you opening your mouth with a shout of pleasure. He takes advantage of the position to delve his tongue into a battle with yours, turning the dirty kiss into an even wetter mess.

Neither of you can hear the storm over the slaps of skin, low groans, and high whines from inside the room. “You hear how wet this pussy is for me? Sound so fucking pretty, bet it looks even better. We’ll have to do this again, right? So I can see you leaking over my cock properly.”

If you’re answering him it’s unintelligible in the mumbles melted into the moans that continue to spill out of you. He’s taking it as an agreement from the tightening of your core around him.

His legs eventually lower behind you, pushing you to straighten back up and work to keep up the faltering rhythm. The heat and late hour seeps into your bones but the exhaustion that lies at the edge of your consciousness is no match for the fire in your veins that feeds the lust inside you. Your hands reach behind you and grab onto meaty thighs. God, you’ll need to talk about those in the morning because you don’t have the energy to trigger another round tonight. Your head falls, back arching towards the sky. It gives Namjoon the opportunity to roam your body, soft strokes and harsh grasps.

“Come on, Joonie. What good are those big biceps for if you can’t fuck me harder?” The taunt works like magic to reinvigorate him. Large hands come back to your waist, palms digging hard into your body above your hip bones. His thumbs aim towards your core, pushing into the softness above your pelvis. It’s not as obvious as the first position on your side but he can definitely feel the shift under your skin where the pressure of his thrusting cock pushes against his fingers.

“Shit, Y/N, never felt pussy this good. My perfect girl. Are you close? Can you cum for me, baby?”

“Y-yeah, so close- fuck. You feel so good.” It wasn’t a lie, you’ve teetered on the edge for a while but you just needed a little extra push. Namjoon’s hold on you is strong enough to allow you to sneak a hand to where the two of you are joined. There’s only a flash of pleasure before your fingers are slapped away.

“Nuh uh, my job. If you want to be touched a certain way just ask for it. You’re a big girl, use your words.”

If he kept talking to you like that maybe you wouldn’t need the extra help after all but that’s an experiment for another day. “Please, Joonie, want to cum. Touch me.”

He dares to slow the pace, still upkeep the long hard strokes that hit deep inside you. “Is that the best you can do? You’re about to cum all over my cock and I’m still just Joonie? You’re not being very clear, you know. I’ve got my hands on you, I’m already touching. Be more precise. What do you want, princess?”

He’ll be the death of you, you can already tell you’ve set yourself up. Your words are coming out in choked sobs, your climax on the brink. “Please!” you exclaim, “Namjoon, please play with my clit and make me cum all over your big cock.”

He didn’t expect you to take the bait so strongly, but you asked so politely, who would he be to deny your request.

“Good girl. I’ll give you anything you ask for if you do it like that. Look all innocent but you’re just a desperate little thing, aren’t you?” His words are paired with increased speed. He pistons into you with such force that you swear you’re floating above him. The world falls away when his thumb finally comes to rub tantalizing circles around your nub, the movement a little clumsy form how wet it is between your thighs.

It doesn’t take much to reach elation. White light explodes behind your eyes making you believe the power may have returned for a second. There’s electricity living in your nerves that travel down your limbs. There’s a rawness in your throat you assume was birthed from the scream that still echoes around the room.

You catch your breath on a pile of loose limbs draped over your new roommate’s huge frame. Your muscles are spasming from the outside in. You can tell that Namjoon definitely feel it from how tense his muscles feel under your fingers. You purposefully constrict around him and the answering grunt confirms your suspicions.

It takes a second to gather enough strength to sit back up while keeping him snuggly inside you. You wish you could look into his eyes as you roll your hips over him. You know it’s not as stimulating as the hard thrusts from earlier but the sweet sounds you hear from under you seem to have him perfectly content.

“Fuck, you never stop surprising me but you really need to get off because I can’t last anymore.” There’s a tension in his tone, one that you’d hear from someone holding onto a loosening grip that could result in falling to their doom.

You let the nail from your index dig into his skin and leave a burning sensation behind as your scratch down the valley of his pecs, from his clavicle to his abdominals. “Good. Then my plan is working. Your turn to cum for me.”

“Oh, I will. The second you get off me, it’s torture to keep it in, so please-” It’s his turn to beg but you’re not as ready to give in to his demand this time around. You only double your efforts, rolling hips and tight squeezes.

“Go on, then. You wanted me to ask for what I want? Cum. I’m safe and I want you to cum inside me, Namjoon.”

There’s black magic in the way you say his name, it’s hypnotizing. Or maybe it’s the imaginary visual of what you’d look like splayed out with his cum seeping out of you that does it.

He brings his fingers back to your sensitive clit and the pressure is almost too much. You nearly beg him to give you a break but he interrupts you before you can start. “One more time, with me. If you want me to fill up that sweet pussy, you’ll have to milk it out of me.”

You can’t tell whether it’s the pressure on your clit or the dirty words from his mouth, but the wave of pleasure comes back with a mighty force and crashes through you again. You can feel your core tightening around him in spasms which triggers his own release. You can feel his cock spurting inside you, an extra layer of warmth seeping into you. You can’t hold yourself anymore and flop onto Namjoon, both of your breaths heavy and labored.

His hand strokes comfort onto your back. You don’t even mind how sweaty you both are, sticking to each other. “We should get cleaned up,” he suggests.

You dig your face into the crook of his neck in protest. “No. Tomorrow. Don’t want to move. You still feel good, don’t want you to pull out.” You purposefully twitch to make your point. His cock may be softening but it’s still firmly plugging you up. You both know you’ll regret it in the morning but you couldn’t care right now.

The exhaustion you both feel settles into contentment as sleep pulls you in. You both fall asleep without even noticing that the storm has also fallen into slumber.

Okay, so maybe Namjoon was a little dramatic about being abandoned because it’s only a week later when Yoongi is back in his old apartment from a weekend brunch date with his friends.

You and Jin are bonding in the kitchen. Yoongi can hear his boyfriend’s windshield wiper laugh mixed with your giggles that he’s always compared to a hyena. He expected the atmosphere to be a little awkward when he came in, both of the new roommates a little shy and fond of individual activities.

But when he let himself in earlier he found both his friends sharing the couch in the living room, each with a book in hand,which wasn’t surprising, but your feet perched on Namjoon’s lap, that was a little surprising.

He had let that slide easily enough. His suspicion returns simply from how much smiling Namjoon has been doing. Smiles wouldn’t be odd for most but Yoongi has heard that man’s music lately and he’s the definition of a Sad Boi™.

The pieces fall into place when you bring in the plates and there’s lingering. From your fingers on Namjoon’s when you exchange the dish to his eyes on your ass when you turn away. Yoongi stares Namjoon down, deadpan. His friend’s eyes widen in panic once he realizes he’s been caught. Yoongi’s always been able to read him like a book.

“You motherfucker,” Yoongi spats at him just as you reenter the room.

“Now now, Yoongles. Do we need to call Dr. Lee to go through your mommy issues again? We’ve already established I’m not your mother.” You take a seat on Namjoon’s lap as if to make a point. “Besides, there’s only one person that gets to call me mommy now.” The look you and Namjoon share might be the final drop that makes him go dig for his old psych’s number that night.

[dearsnow]

MANIC MOVES & DROWSY DREAMS (3)

- after discovering something that forces all of your relationship’s problems to the surface, you seek solace in your only potential friend in san diego. (bradley “rooster” bradshaw x fem!reader, hurt with future comfort, part of the series “out of touch” ⚠️ ADULT TOPICS, please be 18+ to read)

OUT OF TOUCH: It’s been twenty years since you last saw Bradley Bradshaw, and, suddenly, you realize he’s finally grown up.

word count: 3,110

a/n - this chapter is lowkey crazy 😭 i hope y’all enjoy because i’ve had a blast writing this. the next chapter might take a bit to write up because i need to plan out the rest of the series, but it hopefully shouldn’t take tooo long!!

The next few days were relatively uneventful as you attempted to get your life in perfect working order. There were a few visits from the navy men, with Fanboy (who you learned was actually named Mickey) being one of your best customers until he witnessed firsthand your boyfriend giving you flowers and a peck on the cheek. He seemed a bit crestfallen after that, but you knew he would perk up eventually. He hadn’t gone through it for nothing, though- you always slipped him an extra cookie sample when he came by.

The best part of your life was not interviewing potential employees or ordering more vintage tables, but instead, it was Derick. He was truly your rock in the midst of a change that otherwise would’ve thrown you into chaos.

He handled your calls, he mopped the floors and shined the counter, and he took you on amazing dates. You can firmly say that you’ve never had a boyfriend as respectful and supportive as him.

Too respectful, however, is an ever-present problem.

You’ve been with him for almost fifteen years and you can reasonably count the times he’s been anything other than a perfect family-friendly gentleman. If you look back on it, it was probably around fifty-two instances.

That seems like a lot, but spread out over fifteen years of young adult antics, it’s almost like he didn’t want to be intimate. He didn’t want to make out, or put a hand just a bit too low on your waist, or do anything passionate or fiery or heated. He just wanted dinner dates, a kiss on the cheek, and a hand to hold. You were fine with that, because in essence, that’s what you needed at the time, right? Stability. Comfort. Romance. Someone to wipe away your insecurities and hold you down at ground level.

A lingering thought, always bouncing around in the back of your mind, whispers that it shouldn’t take hours of tempting and teasing for a guy to want you.

You ignore all of that for right now. Derick is currently sitting across the table from you at the fanciest restaurant in the area.

Fancy places always make you a little nervous. You’re afraid to say the wrong thing or mispronounce a word on the menu, and your dresses get rumpled as you fidget with them. Even your nail polish doesn’t survive as you pick at the edges with your thumb. Derick smiles.

“What are you thinking about ordering?” He asks, setting his own menu down. You cease your picking and clear your throat. He looks especially nice tonight, with his dark hair gelled back and his black suit nice and crisp. It doesn’t quite fit with your dress, though you suppose it doesn’t need to.

“Uh, the caprese salad sounds good.” It’s the cheapest thing on the menu. He always pays, but you know that he gets a bit bothered when the bill racks up too high. You’ve offered to pay for yourself numerous times, but he waves the suggestion away, even when his face makes it known that he doesn’t want to.

“I make more money than you, babe, just let me take care of it.”

You try to smile sweetly, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. If he can tell, he doesn’t show it.

“Sounds good. I’m having the truffle alfredo myself.” He flags down a waiter, and you shrink a bit in your seat.

You can tell that this night is going to be another awkward one. After being with someone for so long, you come to expect certain things. Despite that, you wouldn’t trade this stability for anything. He makes good money, he buys you gifts, and once or twice a year, he’ll even sleep with you. What more could a girl want?

Bradley hasn’t had stability in a long time. He has a home in San Diego, sure, but going out for drinks every once and a while with people who have vastly different schedules isn’t really enough to make him want to stay. In truth, he almost misses being deployed because, at least then, he has a purpose.

When he saw you, he thought he might have an opportunity to right a wrong that has been tearing him up inside. He despises what he was like as a teenager, taking nothing seriously except his dreams to be a naval aviator. He’s learned throughout his life that everything matters, especially the feelings of other people, and even the small, mundane things he couldn’t care less about. The small, mundane things are what keep the world working.

He’s sitting on his couch, enjoying a small, mundane thing (a shitty reality show with acting so bad it makes him laugh) when an unknown number lights up his phone. He perks up, staring at the number as the reality show carries on. It’s probably just a spam number, but on the off chance it’s you, he picks up.

“Hello?” He hates how shaky his voice sounds. Just the idea of you sets his nerves on fire.

“I need a friend,” your soft voice mumbles. “Where can we meet? A place that serves strong alcohol would be preferable.”

Right after your early dinner date with Derick, you walked into your shared apartment, boxes lining every walkway. You really ought to have put everything away more quickly, but after a long day’s work, all you and your boyfriend could seem to do was pull out a few objects and give them a place in your new living quarters.

He immediately went to take a shower, as he usually did after a long day, and placed his locked phone on your nightstand. You collapsed onto your bed and looked up at the ceiling, still dressed, and began to dread opening shop in the morning. You love the cafe, but your lack of employees hits harder every day.

Derick had been handling most of the hiring process, with the good majority of the interviewees being his connections. It was helpful having a business major boyfriend, as his college networking and current accountant networking proved extremely useful for managing an actual business. He was always so enthusiastic about helping you run the place. You seriously don’t know what you would do without him.

His phone lit up next to you with a series of texts. You lazily let your gaze drift over to see what was going on. He wouldn’t mind if you checked who was texting, right? When you picked up his phone, the name that popped up was “employee candidate 4”. You smiled to yourself; Derick was so responsible, you thought. He must have given the candidates his number to see if they needed anything.

You unlocked his phone with your thumbprint, which you so sneakily added to his password bank a few months ago when you first started collaborating on the cafe’s business plan. What you saw made your heart drop down to the floor, splintering into a million little pieces that got stuck in your fresh linoleum.

Bradley hands you another drink, a strong one at that, and you gulp half of it down in one breath. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

You look up at him through your eyelashes, makeup half-rubbed off from tears and friction. The sun began to set when you first entered, and in the dimming light, Bradley could tell that you were rattled. You still are, evidently. He waits for a moment before you clear your throat and offer a few gut-punching words.

“I checked my boyfriend’s phone.” He can tell where this is going. He doesn’t want it to be true, because who in their right mind would cheat on you?

“What was on it?” He prompts gently. You take another breath. You don’t want to dump this all on someone that you barely know, with the only history you have being a failed almost-relationship when you were teenagers, but you don’t have anyone else. When you moved to San Diego, you left everything behind, including your friends and family. You haven’t even talked to your friends in ages, as you’ve been so busy with the cafe and Derick that you couldn’t so much as call them. The idea of having Bradley nurse your broken heart is both gut-wrenching and just a little bit like a dream.

“A lot. I… I don’t want to ruin your night by bothering you. I should go.” You try to stand up from your bar stool, but he catches your wrist in his warm hands.

He shakes his head, eyebrows creased. “Just tell me. I’m here for you; I meant what I said in the cafe.” You nod, fresh tears welling up in your eyes as you sit down.

“I’ll get a few drinks in me first.”

You keep your word, managing to take down a sizable amount of alcohol within a few minutes. It’s not enough to get you passing out or throwing up, but enough to loosen your lips.

“Do you want to know what I saw?” Your face is warm, either from the alcohol or Bradley’s hand on your back. “Twenty-eight photos of his dick. It isn’t even good enough to warrant one photo, Bradley, one! None of them were sent to me, of course. Just the girls he would chat up online and fuck.” The words tumble out of your mouth, every pent-up frustration making its way into the light of the bar. “I looked through his search history, too, and then our finances, because I was suspicious of everything at that point. I found four subscriptions to porn sites in our bills and three more for online dating premium memberships. Who the fuck even needs a premium membership? God. I hate him.”

“Slow down, princess.” He says. His lips are quirked into a small smile as you ramble on and on about every small thing Derick has ever done to piss you off. “He seems like a real piece of work.”

“He is! He so is. I never get to order what I want, he always makes me feel responsible for his mistakes, and not once has he made me finish. I mean, we’ve had sex maybe twice in the last two years because he can’t get it up. Probably because he’s been sticking his dick in STD central.” Those last few items slip through your internal filter, but even in your state, you recognize that you probably shouldn’t be talking about your sex life with a guy you re-met a few days ago. “Sorry. That was personal.”

Bradley lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “Nothin’ I can’t handle. I can’t believe you stayed with him that long when he can’t do a single thing for you. If you were my girl, you wouldn’t know a day without pleasure.” It’s his turn to be embarrassed about what he said, but as his cheeks turn red, you don’t even seem to notice.

If you were his girl, he thinks, he’d treat you so well. He’d actually get you your favorite flowers instead of the ones he thinks would look nice in the aesthetic of your apartment, and he’d cook for you, and he’d never make you feel bad for loving him.

“Exactly.” You say. “He just wanted someone to come home to without even thinking about how I would feel. I wanted stability, and he gave me that, but nothing else.” You suddenly sound sober, but the tears are back, and they’re stronger than ever. “I loved him.” You choke out. “I don’t think I could ever get something better, not after so long.”

Bradley feels bad for even considering picking you up after this. You’re distraught, more than he’s ever seen anyone before. It’s clear that this is something you’re going to take a while to heal from. “You can and you will. He’s a dick, and I’m sorry you wasted so much time on him, but you will find some kind of relationship that deserves you. You can have a fresh start, and he’ll just be another asshole that you put in your past.”

You nod, taking in his words as you sip your soda. Bradley cut you off a while ago, which you’re eternally grateful for. If you had one more sip of alcohol, you think you'd either be dancing on a table or crying on the floor. Now, at least you’re crying upright in a stool, with the man across from you handing you tissues once in a while. The lady running the bar seems to know him, and she also seems to know that an endless supply of tissues is necessary for you tonight.

The doors of the bar open, and though you don’t want to peel yourself away from the sight of someone caring about you, you turn around anyway. When you do, your blood runs cold.

Bradley sees you stiffen and follows your line of sight to the person that just walked in. He’s handsome, in a way, with short, dark brown hair and a five-o-clock shadow. He seems like the stuck-up type. Your eyes are blown wide at the sight as the man walks over, a sort of fake concern lacing his expression.

“Baby-“

“Don’t fucking call me that, Derick. How did you even find me?” Oh. The soon-to-be ex. Bradley sits up on his stool, pulling himself to a position where he can easily stand if the moment calls for it.

Derick pulls out his phone sheepishly. “You left your location on.”

Goddamnit. Fuck.

“Get out. I don’t want to see you right now.” You’re seething, the anger coming off you in waves. You think that if you weren’t angry, you’d be sad, and you can’t handle that right now. The devastation of finding out your boyfriend is a freak and a cheater is something you just opened the box to, and you don’t feel like unpacking it in front of him.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He protests. “They didn’t mean anything to me. I love you, and I want to marry you, and I’ll never do it again. I- I have the ring right here, see?” He pulls out a familiar velvet-lined box, and you scoff.

“You should’ve thought about that before you cheated. Multiple times.”

Bradley stands up, placing a soothing hand between your shoulder blades. “Leave, man. She’s made it pretty clear that she doesn’t want you here.”

Derick bristles, his pasty face tinged red with anger. Bradley almost rolls his eyes at how small he looks. “You don’t need to stick up for her.” He takes a step forward. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were fucking her behind my back. That’s what this is, isn’t it? An excuse for you to leave me because some navy fucker had some nice enough sex with you?” He’s approaching fast. By the time he finishes his sentence, Derick’s fist is wrapped around your wrist tightly.

You let out a soft sound as his bruising fingers close around you, but as soon as he’s there, Bradley shoves him away and loosens his grip on you. “Okay, that’s enough. You’re either going to walk through those doors or you’re getting dragged out. I don’t care which.”

Derick scoffs. “Fine with me. I never liked you anyways.” He gives you a pointed glance, tucking the ring box into his jacket pocket.

“You have tonight to get your stuff out of the apartment that I paid for.” You say, rubbing the space between your eyebrows with your thumb. “I never want to see you again.” The second part comes out as a mumble, but he clearly gets the message.

“Fuck you.” He walks out, and the group of navy men by the door give him a dirty look. He’s more than ruined multiple peoples’ nights by this point. It went from one crying girl at a bar to the start of a bar fight in the two minutes he stood in front of you.

Bradley, concerned, gives you a soft look. “Do you have anywhere to stay tonight?”

You shake your head as more tears drip down your jaw. You hate this. You hate Derick, you hate yourself, and you hate the pitiful way Bradley is staring at you. Your California dream has turned into a nightmare. “No, but I’ll get a hotel somewhere. It’s not that big of a deal.” Your attempt to downplay the situation has Bradley on the verge of running after Derick and slapping the back of his big groomed head. You’re too nice for this, too sweet to be cheated on and forced to sleep in a cold bed that you paid $200 for.

“You can stay over at my place if you want. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“I don’t want to put you out like that. It’s fine,” you assure him, though your voice is the least sure it’s ever been. “There’s a nice enough place a few streets away.”

Bradley shakes his head. His warm hand is on your shoulder, like he’s trying to ground you. “It won’t put me out. C’mon, princess, it’s not a big deal. You can rest up and we’ll figure out what else to do in the morning.”

He called you “princess” again. It’s nice, you think, in your drunken mind. Right now, you’re too tired to fight anything about the situation you’re in. “Alright. As long as you’re sure.”

He pays your tabs, slipping a look to the lady running the bar. She nods at him and mouths something that you can’t quite make out. As he leads you to his car, a nice, blue, vintage bronco, he keeps one hand on the small of your back. The heat feels nice, like you have someone securing you. Like you won’t ever stumble or fall before his strong arms catch you. He must be a real nice guy if he’s doing all this after so long.

He buckles you into your seat, and you let your head fall back onto the headrest. Your eyes close, and you desperately try not to think about what your life has come to. You feel a buzz in your jacket pocket, but you don’t pick it up. Everything is fine, you assure yourself. You didn’t just break up with the man you were going to marry, and he didn’t cheat on you, and your phone isn’t going off wildly through the fabric of your coat, and you’re not strapped into the car of your high school self’s dream boy. You ride that feeling, that denial, right into sleep.

You’ll deal with the real life problems in the morning.

PREVIOUS || NEXT

Taglist: @m1dnightsnackz @itsarabellebabes @shanimallina87 @sadgirlgiselle @callsignstingray

[lunanami]

TRUST ME — kaveh .

with al-haitham as acting grand sage, he was naturally out of the house more. that leaves time for some rather unorthodox activities between you and your boyfriend.

notes : f reader, mirrors , squirting , praise , creampie.

wc : >1k

“better hurry, princess,” kaveh smirked, the smoothness of his voice a perfect compliment to the lewd echoing of skin slapping against skin in the room. “he’ll be home soon… and you know how painfully punctual that man typically is,”

you weren’t too sure about how your boyfriend had managed to convince you to let him take you on his roommates’ bed, though the blonde had always been one to have a way with words. so much so that now, you were on your knees, tangled in al-haitham’s grey, silk sheets whilst kaveh rammed into you from behind. one large hand held both of your wrists behind your back, using the hold as leverage to bury himself deeper and deeper into your warm cunt.

he watched intently as your ass jiggled with each bounce, his ego inflating a tad more each time you squeezed his fat cock. the position that he had you in also allowed for kaveh to have almost complete control over you and your body. occasionally, he would bend down and whisper tender praises into the shell of your ear, reminding you how delightful your pussy felt wrapped around him, and how well you were for taking all of him.

"that's it," he rambled, "gooood fucking girl. . . best pussy ever, you hear me? so fucking perfect. . ."

each syllable of praise made your cunt flutter around his thick cock, especially when kaveh's balls collided with your puffy clit. "are you gonna cum for me, princess?" he cooed, "wanna cum all over haitham's sheets? make a pretty mess f'me, darling?"

"please. . ." you begged, "wanna cum on y'r cock... please, please, please,"

kaveh grew cocky at your repetition, using every ounce of his strength to lift your body so that your back was flat against his chest. he shifted his arms to hold you in place, continuing to fuck you as he did so. one of his arms snaked its way up from your stomach and to your face, gripping your chin and forcing you to take a look in the full-length mirror that rested opposite the bed.

"sweet thing," he hushed your pleasured cries, "such a mess already, aren't ya? y' wanna cum so bad, don't you, pup? keep watching, wanna show you how pretty you look f'me,"

his hand then trailed its way back down, teasing your pebbled nipple with a light tug before settling on your oversensitive clit. kaveh's digits massaged loose circles around the puffy nub, his lips finding solace against the sweet spot on your neck. "beg for it, princess," he mumbled against your skin.

you merely whimpered, words having fled your pretty little head a short while ago.

"already that far gone? 's okay, i've got you. just let go for me, alright, sweetheart?"

kaveh's lithe fingers sped up, though his thrusts grew sloppier. you muttered short semblances of phrases, with him finding your incoherence completely adorable. a couple of taps to your clit had you squirming, yet your eyes remain on the mirror — ever the obedient soul. the man managed to decipher from your babbles that you were about to cum, and with you in such a state of mind you would undoubtedly fall hard.

"go on, cum f'me, princess," he cooed. you saw white lights as you squirmed in kaveh's hold. your cunt clamped down around him, gushing all over his roommates sheets. he continued to fuck you through your high, shooting thick ivory ropes into you shortly after.

kaveh held you as you calmed down, knowing how much you valued being close to him afterwards. he wiped away any tears that had fallen, rambling soft praises into your hair as he kissed the crown of your head.

"love you," you spoke, reaching for kaveh's hand to hold.

"i love you too, my darling," he smiled back at you, "feeling okay?"

you nodded. not many people got to see this side of the architect, with his cocky exterior now deteriorated and leaving behind the most genuine, gentle man that you'd ever met. he held onto your hand as he stood up, admiring the mess left behind. not only was his cum dribbling out of you and beginning to pool on the sheets, but due to the grey material, you could see the exact spot where you'd squirted all over the place.

part of him wanted to leave it for al-haitham to find, though the small yet rational part of his brain decided to spare you the embarrassment of such confrontation. he went to go and grab a washcloth, though before he could even exit the room, he heard the front door begin to unlock. oh, he was really in for it now.

[braghis]

Listen. I had fun the last time, so i'm gonna leave here another list of my Riordanverse unpopular opinions/hot takes. I hope no one is gonna cancel me:

- Throwing every single female character in the hunters is lazy writing and kinda OOC for Reyna;

- The Cupid scene is disgusting and the fact that it was made by a queer god makes it even worse;

- Jason and Nico's friendship >>> Percy and Jason's friendship. Nico and Jason were more foils than the latter and Percy will ever be;

- Leo and Nico should have been friends, and the fact that Leo was so scarred of him in HoO is wasted potential;

- Today Percy is basically the not-so-unconfirmed most powerful demigod BUT both Nico and Hazel have the potential to being more powerful than him. However, since Percy is based on Rick's own son he refuses to elaborate on it;

- Actually GROVER is Percy's best friend, not Jason, and in HoO Annabeth and Piper had a more "kinda homoerotic bromance" going on than their boyfriends ever had;

- Aside from that, Jason is clearly alive. Trow that ToA scene away;

- Nico killing Bryce Lawrence is both the most terrifying and the best scene in both PJo and HoO;

- It would have been better if Hazel and Frank were friends-crushingoneachother during HoO and started dating in ToA;

- Riordan's amatonormativity wasted the potential of many characters (like Nico and Leo) and the potential of many friendships;

- Caleo is acceptable in HoO but in ToA it fucking sucks;

- Actually it would have been interesting if Calypso discovered herself as a lesbian during ToA OR in a possible Leo's standalone novel;

- In terms of capabilities, storylines and roles in the plot Percy, Annabeth, Nico, Hazel and Reyna are Riordan's most badass characters. Others (mostly Thalia, Jason and Piper) have the potential but are underdeveloped;

- And that in my opinion is HoO biggest problem: the series has many new interesting characters (Hazel, Leo, Reyna, Jason) but they are underdeveloped in favor of 1) romance and 2) Percabeth being in the major spotlight;

- I have mixed feeling about Percy and Annabeth being part of the Seven;

- Fierrochase >>>>> Solangelo;

- Tsats is utter dogshit and it is REALLY hard to consider it canon;

- Canon Solangelo is ableist and the fact that a big part of the fandom has no problem with it is kinda disturbing. Also some fanon solangelo contents are ableist as well and it is partly RR's fault;

- The fandom basically wrote and characterized Will Solace's character. Neither Riordan or Mark Oshiro give a fuck about him, and problably that's NOT gonna improve in the Tsats sequel;

- Accusing people who don't like solangelo and/or Tsats of homophobia is like the dumbest take ever;

- RR's representation characters are a concentration of stereotypes;

- It would have been better if Piper had her self-discovering - queer storyline from the beginning of HoO. It would have made her more interesting and relatable;

- Even more, it would have been more interesting if Piper had her queer-reveal storyline in HoO THANKS to her not-so-straight chemistry with Annabeth;

- Making Nico a overly morally correct/morally "pure" character makes him less interesting;

- CJ >>> CHB;

- Nico should be a rough demigod;

- It is heavily implied that the majority of CHB STILL doesn't like Nico and they only "tolerate" him because they like Will;

- Bisexual Jason is better and makes more sense than bisexual Percy. Jason's arc is basically a metaphor of bisexuality;

- It makes me sad how RR basically throw away every other Nico's beautiful relationships (with Jason, Reyna, Hazel, even Percy..) in favor of solangelo. Nico WAS a complex and developed character, now he's kinda just "the gay one";

- With his latest works RR is ruining his own franchise;

- PJo>>>>>>MG>>>ToA>>HoO;

[elixirfromthestars]

key: angst ☽ | fluff ☼ | 18+ ♡ | 500+ notes ✧ | 1,000+ notes ୨୧

─ ⊹ ⊱ Series ⊰ ⊹ ─

The Biker's Tulip ☼ ୨୧

biker!bucky x florist!reader

A small town. A biker and a florist, each one carrying the burdens of their past, and yet despite that, finding solace in one another along the way...

─ ⊹ ⊱ Two Parts ⊰ ⊹ ─

Conflict of Interest ☼ ☽ ✧

detective!bucky x lawyer!reader

After the many failed dates Natasha set you up on, you decide to give up on the dating scene all together. That is until Bucky makes it his mission to change your mind, but will he be enough to change it?

Part II ☼ ☽

After deserting Bucky at the fair, you are left dealing with the consequences. This becomes difficult as you are all assigned to a new case. 

A Night Of Frights and Delights ☼ ୨୧

athlete!bucky x artist!reader - college au

It's Friday the 13th and the college kids in town decided to host a weekend camping trip on the outskirts of town. Your best friend convinced you to go much to your reluctance. What could go wrong when the one guy you can't stand is also there?

Part II ♡ ☼ ✧

You and Bucky have danced around the lines you've placed ever since that weekend camping trip. Months later, when Tony Stark hosts an extravagant party, he finally makes a move to cross them.

─ ⊹ ⊱ Oneshots ⊰ ⊹ ─

One Call Away ☼

agent!bucky x journalist!reader

You’re a journalist in the late 1950s working for a gossip magazine. You write an article about the actor Steve Rogers, and his agent Bucky Barnes is not happy about it. He confronts you and offers you a deal.

In Five Years ☽

bucky x enhanced!reader

Bucky was having a hard time expressing his feelings about finally being free from the Winter Soldier program. To help him out, you suggested writing a letter to his future self and burying it in a time capsule to visit this moment again in the future. The plan was to open the time capsule five years from now. That was until Thanos showed up.

My Dearest ☼ ✧ ☽

duke!bucky x lady!reader

On the night of Lady Maximoff’s ball you find yourself in the gardens, troubled by your emotions. As if by fate, the rain pours down reuniting you with the one who is the very object of your troubles.

Written in the Stars ☼

bucky x avenger!reader - established relationship

Your boyfriend, Bucky, takes you on a date full of surprises under the stars.

Boulevard Confessions ☼ ✧

40s!bucky x nurse!reader

Being a third wheel to Peggy and Steve wasn't your ideal Thursday night fun. However, when they tell you Bucky is tagging along you eagerly decide to join them. That is until a third party makes its presence known.

Sink Your Teeth In Me ♡☼✧

bucky x neighbor!reader

You and Bucky are supposed to attend Sam's party on Halloween. However, when you show up to his place looking like temptation itself—he gets other ideas on how to spend the night with you.

─ ⊹ ⊱ Drabbles ⊰ ⊹ ─

Together ☼ ✧

bucky x wife!reader

It’s been a month since you had a baby with your husband, Bucky. On the first day he went back to work, however, you can’t get her to stop crying—that is until Bucky comes home.

Fieldwork ☼ ☽

detective!bucky x lawyer!reader

You end up getting hurt while out in the field questioning a suspect. Thankfully, Detective Barnes is there to help. 

Lucky Day ☼

bucky x reader - college au

Bucky, your childhood best friend, takes you to a baseball game to thank you for helping him with his chemistry class. However, between bets and kiss cams, luck seems to be the real game being played.

Tranquility ☼

bucky x avenger!reader - established relationship

On your day off from saving the world, you decide to have a date in the park with your boyfriend Bucky.

⌞‼⌝ I do not give consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. 

⌞‼⌝ All images/gifs used are not mine, and come from google unless specifically stated otherwise.​

⌞‼⌝ Heart divider by @/enchanthings

[ddejavvu]

The Right Person - Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Summary: You're good friends with Jack Hotchner, and his dad finds you crying at a house party.

Contents/Warnings: best friend's dad!hotch, legal age gap (reader is over 18), mutual pining, soft!hotch, mention of alcohol/drugs, cheating (reader's unnamed, faceless boyfriend), hurt/comfort, fem!reader

WC: 3.6K / navigation

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Very few things are more embarrassing than crying at a party. You're wading through a sea of high, hammered young adults, and even if they're too out of their minds to notice the tears on your cheeks, you feel like a fool for letting them fall.

You probably shouldn't have been as naive as you were going into your relationship. You'd been blinded by the prospect of someone being interested in you, and you hadn't stopped to consider the odd behavior he'd presented. You didn't want to be the overbearing girlfriend and check his phone, but walking in on him sucking face with someone else was just about all the evidence you'll ever need.

So now you're crying, stumbling down the hall and into the front yard for a breath of fresh air. Inside it's stuffy, booze and weed clouding the air and burning at your lungs. The front steps feel like a new beginning, away from your asshole (now) ex-boyfriend and the shitty music blaring from the house.

You're not offered much solace, though, because sirens blare through the streets. You squint through your teary eyes at a squad of cop cars that screech into the driveway, black SUVs trailing behind them. Fear drags your stomach down to your feet, because despite knowing that you're sober, you still probably hold some accountability for whatever drugs they're doing in there.

You're the only one outside, save for a couple moonbathing around the side yard, but the cops start for the front door. It means you're scrambling out of the way, tempted to put your hands up just in case.

"Miss," One of the officers glances at you, "Go home. We're shutting this down."

"Oh- okay," You stammer, nodding and wiping a tear from your eye, "I-um... I have to call an uber."

The officers don't pay you any regard after that, streaming into the house. It's only when you're fumbling clumsily with your phone that anyone engages with you, and the booming voice that travels over the lawn brings immense comfort to you.

"Y/N?" It's Aaron Hotchner, Jack's dad. You'd become fast friends with Jack through a couple of shared community college courses, and you'd come to know his dad from study sessions and movie nights.

"Mr. Hotchner," You breathe, reaching up to smear a tear off of your cheek, "I- Are you- what's going on?"

"The neighbors complained about the noise" He explains, jogging across the grass to reach out for your shoulder, "What happened? Are you alright? Why are you crying?"

"I'm okay," You sniffle, now infinitely more embarrassed to be caught blubbering by your best friend's very attractive dad, "We all have to leave?"

"Don't worry about that," He murmurs, shrugging his windbreaker off of his shoulders and wrapping it around your own. Your top is sheer and too-short, and the cold air had been nipping at your skin. His jacket is warm, soft, and you realize with an aggressive heat to your cheeks, it smells like him.

"Now," He tries again, keeping his jacket securely over your shoulders, "What happened? Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm alright," You shake your head, chin to your chest, "It's dumb, it's nothing. I- I need to call an uber, I'll-"

"I will drive you home," Aaron promises, voice soothing as his hand brushes over your back, "But I need to know what's wrong."

"I don't-" You stammer, eyes rolling at how silly you sound while another wave of tears streams down your cheeks, "It's just- my boyfriend, I saw him kissing someone else. Really, it's dumb, it's nothing."

Aaron doesn't respond, not right away, but you know he's heard you. You know by the momentary tightening of his grip on your shoulder, the way that his fingers dig into your skin like he's trying to make a fist but you're getting in the way. Then he eases up, touches all soft and gentle.

"I'm sorry, honey." He coos, stepping against your chest to wrap you in a hug. He rubs your back, up and down, up and down, up and down, until you're sniffling and sobbing into his chest. He keeps his arms around you, strong and firm, his cheek flush with the crown of your head as partygoers stream out of the house around you.

He's the epitome of comfort, all sweet, low reassurances and grounding touches. He murmurs only loud enough for you to hear as you curl your fingers into his shirt, 'He didn't deserve you, honey.' and, 'You're better off without him.'

"I just didn't see it coming," You admit lamely, your voice muffled against his chest. He doesn't ease up on the hug, and you're grateful for that. The last thing you'd want to do is make him uncomfortable, but he seems to realize you need comfort right now.

"Jack... always had his thoughts about him." Aaron admits, "But I think he kept them to himself, he didn't want to ruin things for you."

"I could tell," You sigh, nestled snugly into Aaron's chest, "I... I thought they just needed time to get used to each other, you know? Like, get to know each other. But I guess not, I guess Jack was right."

"Don't tell him that," Aaron teases, "It'll go straight to his head."

You laugh, albeit weakly, against Aaron's chest, and he takes it as a win.

"Okay," He hums, giving one last broad sweep of his hand over your back, "Let's get you into the car. It's late, you should get home and get to sleep."

"Thank you for taking me home," You sniffle letting him lead you with an arm around your shoulders to one of the SUVs, "Are you sure it's okay to just take one? Weren't there other people riding with you?"

"They'll figure it out." Aaron assures you, knowing Derek will have to bite the bullet and sit in the middle seat of the back row, something he always takes an extra SUV to avoid doing, "It's okay."

Aaron helps you into the passenger's seat, even tugging at your seatbelt when you struggle to wrestle it over his jacket.

"Here," He reaches for the strap, easing it up and over a fold of the jacket that it was stuck in, "Let me."

He clicks it into place for you, and you smile tearily up at him.

He leaves you with a pat to your knee, then shuts the door.

You hear him call something to, presumably, another agent, trying not to think too hard about whatever team member of his you're depriving of a seat. Aaron doesn't let you think much about it, though, because as soon as you're pulling away from the curb, tears no longer pouring down your cheeks, the interrogation starts.

"What were you doing at a party, anyways?" Aaron glances over at you, a frown creasing his brows, "You're not the drinking type."

"I didn't go to get drunk," You shrug, "I went 'cause my boyfriend invited me."

"He invited you," Aaron repeats, "And then... wow."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry," Aaron looks at you, stopped at a signal just outside of the neighborhood, "Really. That's awful. You deserve so much better than that."

"Thank you, Mr. Hotchner," You sniffle, "I really appreciate how kind you're being. The ride, and- and the jacket, and-"

"It's no problem," He assures you, looking you in the eyes through the mirror, "That's what you deserve, sweetheart. You don't need to thank me for it."

You have the ironic urge to thank him again.

"And you can call me Aaron." He reminds you, smiling knowingly at your reflection, "You know that."

He's made a point to tell you time and time again that you're allowed to call him by his first name. During impromptu, mid-study-session dinners, at pick-ups in the college parking lot, but you've never felt acquainted with him before, not like this. Wearing his jacket while he drives you home after a ten minute hug seems a lot better of a reason to use his first name than seeing him in passing while you're laughing with Jack.

"Aaron," You mumble, and he chuckles warmly.

You don't have much time to enjoy the sound, even if it flips your stomach into cartwheels. You wish you could savor it, but you watch Aaron take a wrong turn to your house, and a frown tugs your brows down.

"Uh, I live that way," You point behind you, "It's okay, you can just turn up there, I think."

"We're stopping somewhere first," He explains, car bouncing as he pulls into the parking lot of a convenience store, "Come with me?"

You nod, wordlessly, climbing out of the car. He's already around to your side when you step out, looking only a little upset that he hadn't gotten to open the door for you. He shuts it, though, and catches his jacket when it slips from around your shoulders.

"Oh-! Here," He holds the material open, urging you to fit your arms through the slots, "Put it on, honey."

You blame his honey-sweet tone of voice for how clumsy you are in slipping into the jacket. It's unfair, really, how he's treating you like a precious thing, wrapping you in his jacket and driving you home. Then he zips it for you, all the way up to your chin, and you think you're in love.

The cool night air feels even more now like a fresh start. Thoughts of your awful ex-boyfriend have been looming over you the entire time, but they ebb away with each caring gesture Aaron shows you. It takes every ounce of self control in your body not to tackle him into a kiss when he takes your hand, leading you into the convenience store.

He beelines for the frozen section, grabbing a handheld basket on the way. He stops you right in front of the ice creams, only dropping your hand to gesture at the display case.

"Go ahead," He urges you, "Pick some. That's proper breakup ritual, I hear."

"Aaron, no-!"

"It's a rite of passage," He cuts you off, something stern in his eyes even if they're primarily kind, "Just- here. You like cookies and cream, right?" He eyes a container of the flavor behind the glass, and you nod tentatively, wondering how he'd remembered. You'd only eaten it once at his house, and he'd only known because he'd caught you washing your bowl out, and insisted on doing it himself because you were a guest.

He pushes the basket into your hands, and you watch begrudgingly as he takes two quarts of ice cream from the shelf. You protest weakly as he ushers you to the counter, but he shushes you gently, stepping in front of you to pay.

"Aaron," You mumble, cheeks hot and voice whiny as he waits for the cashier to ring him up. You knock your face against his back, burying it there for safekeeping, and he reaches back to pat your side.

The total isn't egregious, but it's more than you're happy with him spending on you. Of course, you don't have cash, so you're unable to pay him back, either. You'll have to slip Jack money the next time you see him, but you have a sneaking suspicion he'd use it at the school's vending machine instead.

"Thank you," You gush, voice still thick with embarrassment and cheeks still burning as Aaron leads you back to the SUV. He's slipped his hand back into yours, and he tucks the ice cream at your feet when you're settled into your seat.

"Again," He urges, resting his hand over your own where they lay in your lap, "Don't thank me. I'm only treating you like you deserve."

If he notices the monumental smile you try to bite back, he doesn't tease you about it.

He pulls into your driveway shortly after, with no further detours. You're renting a little ground-floor condo, and he walks you to your door with your ice cream in hand.

"Alright," He sighs, passing the bag over to you, "I think you have to watch a romance movie with this," He glances at the bag, "It's the law, I'm pretty sure."

"Oh, yeah?" You grin, the expression brighter than it would have been a half-hour ago, "What if I don't? Are the police gonna show up?"

"I will," He threatens, a warm smile on his face, "And I'm a bit of an ice cream fiend, so don't tempt me."

"Well there's two quarts..." You raise your brows, a silent invitation.

"I don't want to intrude," He starts, but you cut him off before he can even try.

"Mr.- Aaron," You hesitate, voice coming out meager where you want it confident, "I really don't want to be alone right now."

You almost expect him to leave. Sure, he'd been sweet to you tonight. But you're nervous that his sympathy was temporary, and that it's waning. So you stare at his shirt instead of his eyes, and you miss the way his gaze softens.

"Okay." He nods, one foot stepping forwards towards the threshold of your condo, "Okay honey. I'll stay."

Your condo isn't much. You're a college student, not a CEO, and your shoddy furniture tells that story. Aaron doesn't seem to mind, though, setting the bag on the counter and rummaging for spoons.

"You sure you want to share?" He eyes you where you've sat yourself on the couch, quarts and spoons in hand as he joins you.

"I'm sure," You nod, reaching for the tv remote, "I think I'd get sick if I ate two cartons."

A romance movie isn't hard to find, but you feel yourself developing a pounding headache from the exhaustion of crying. The ice cream is sweet on your tongue, cookies crunching between your teeth and staining them dark. You munch through the first half of the movie, digging into the carton with a greedy spoon each time. You don't even breach the halfway point before you have to stop, eyes closing and head pounding.

Aaron's similarly engaged with his ice cream, spoon upside-down in his mouth as he sucks it clean. You try not to stare at his mouth, but you're bashful as you place the lid back on your ice cream tub.

"I'm gonna beat you," Aaron boasts, digging his spoon back in for more ice cream, "Quitter."

"Go ahead," You sigh, head lolling back against the cushions. Your voice is colored with defeat, sad and dull. Aaron suspects it's not just about your unspoken ice cream eating contest.

"C'mere," He sighs, jamming his spoon into his ice cream and wrapping his now free arm around your shoulders. He urges you against his shoulder, something that you'd wanted to do since the moment you'd sat down, but didn't have the guts to.

"I'm sorry, honey." He reminds you as you lay your head against his shoulder, his constant slew of sympathy warming your chest, "He's an idiot."

"I feel like the idiot," You admit, voice in a low grumble, "I should have known it was too good to be true."

He pauses, stiffens, shifts. He's turned to face you, now, nudging your head off of his shoulder so he can look you in the eye. He's frowning, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, like... I dunno." You sigh in defeat, "I wasn't exactly everyone's dream girl in high school. And when I started college and everyone seemed older and more mature, it was comforting, like a fresh start. And then he took an interest in me, and I felt like things were finally starting to work for me, like I was finally a girl that guys liked. And then... well, you know the story. It just feels like I should have known better."

All the while, through your confession, Aaron's face has twisted itself into the deepest frown you've ever seen on the man. It looks like it's embedded permanently into his features, like he's stuck there from now on. It's almost cartoonish, and you'd laugh if you weren't so sad.

"Don't say that." He orders, voice stern.

"What?"

"Don't say that." He repeats, "This is not your fault. You were not supposed to see it coming, nor does it mean that people don't like you. College boys are..." He deliberates carefully on his word choice, seeing as he has one himself, "Impulsive. And impulsivity can sometimes be channeled into some pretty stupid shit. Like cheating on your girlfriend. Okay? It's not your fault that college boys are stupid."

"But-" You start with a choked voice, and his disapproving glare intensifies, "He wouldn't have cheated on me if I wasn't doing something wrong, would he? Or- or maybe I just am wrong, maybe I'm just not the type of person that's good enough to make someone stay."

"That is," He rushes to reply, reaching up to thumb a tear away from the apple of your cheek, "The dumbest thing I've ever heard." His hand rests there now, flush to your face, and there's a cold stripe down the middle where he'd been holding his spoon. His fingers are chilly too, but they warm against your skin.

"You are not wrong, there is nothing about you that makes you 'not good enough'. I can think of a thousand things that make you wonderful, but not one dealbreaker. Listen to me, please." He's leaning in, getting closer and closer with every word that tumbles from his lips, "There are people who fall in love with serial killers. No one is unlovable, certainly not you."

"But- but those people fall in love with serial killers because they're serial killers. That's- that's a thing about them, that's a lifestyle that people glorify. No one glorifies mediocrity, Aaron," Your heart sinks, "And that's what I am. I'm mediocre, maybe I'm good enough to take home for a night but I'm not good enough to live with."

In all of your frantic blubbering, you'd avoided eye contact with Aaron. Snapping back to focus, though, you see that it's impossible now, that he's close enough that your noses are brushing, and his breath is fanning over your mouth. Your own breath hitches in your throat, and your heart pounds.

His eyes, once stern and disapproving, are soft around the edges. They're chocolatey, and they speak to his sweet soul that's compelling him to stroke his thumb over the pudge of your cheek. You think for all the world that he's going to kiss you, you almost beg for it, but at the last minute, he tilts his head down, not forwards.

His forehead presses to your own, and his eyes shut.

"You are," He murmurs, holding you close, keeping your face flush to his, "The perfect girl. You're sweet, you're kind, you're funny, you're caring, you're so pretty, you're hardworking, you're resilient, you are... I could name a thousand other things. And, one day," His eyes flutter open, staring into your own as best he can at such a close proximity, "The right person will tell you that."

Aaron is the right person. He has to be, you can't imagine anyone else in the world being as kind or sweet with you as he is. And after all, that's what he says you deserve, right? The way his hand fits around your face seems like a piece of your puzzle you'd never known was missing until it snapped into place, and if you could steal his voice sea-witch style just to hear it all day long, you would.

It's a staring contest, and you blink first.

"I'm glad you told me," You admit, voice thick with emotion. You're not sure whether he picks up on the fact that you're designating him as the right person or not, but you choose not to think about it as he pulls you impossibly closer.

"Don't thank me," He reminds you, "it's what you deserve. Are you tired?"

"Yeah." You admit, slumping your forehead against him even as he tries moving away. It means that your skin slips against his lips, and he presses them into a pucker against your head. You'll savor the feeling forever.

"Go to sleep," He urges you, hand still on your cheek to guide it back to his shoulder. You curl into him much easier now, feeling lovey enough even to wrap your arms around one of his own. The movie plays forgotten on the tv, and your eyes shut to the vision of Aaron's lap, ice cream abandoned between his thighs. It's a nice image, but one you can't think too hard about while sleepy.

His hand comes up from where it had been draped over the cushions behind you to rub your back. He applies soft, gentle pressure, stroking up and down over the fabric of your- his jacket, one that you hope he doesn't take off of you before he leaves. It's grounding, and it only makes you burrow into him more.

The way you know he's the right person for sure is by fighting sleep. You want to conserve your time with Aaron, and you don't want to forget the feeling of his tender touches. You're in that floaty space between sleep and consciousness, somewhere with bodliy sensation but little cognitive ability. Your brain is pleasantly cloudy, and Aaron's hand on your back never stops.

When your breathing evens out, Aaron thinks you're asleep. You feel him shift ever-so-slightly, and you're worried he'll leave you. But he doesn't, he gets even closer, and you feel his lips land on the crown of your head.

"Perfect," He murmurs into your scalp, vibrations thrumming through your skull and wriggling their way into your brain, cementing the thought there, "G'night, sweetheart."

You drift to sleep knowing, without a doubt, that Aaron is the right person for you.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[leighsartworks216]

My Love Mine All Mine

Zayne x gn!Reader

The day I stop addressing my traumas through silly little fics is the day I lose all whimsy. Also, fuck Astra. I fist fought him behind the Lowe's just so Zayne could say "I love you" because it's what he deserves!!

Title named after "My Love Mine All Mine" by Mitski

Warnings: kissing, declarations of love, references to past mental/emotional abuse, communication, blushing

Word Count: 978

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

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“I love you.”

You blink dumbly at Zayne’s blushing face. He’s doing his best not to turn his head away. Distracting himself by looking at your cheek cradled in his hand.

He gathered up all this effort, just to tell you he loves you. Your heart stutters in your chest, for more reasons than just his confession.

“I… I’m sorry,” you whisper out. He blinks at you as you scoot away from him, retracting his hand quickly.

He frowns. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?” He subtly closes his hand in his lap, feeling for some hint of ice that he may not have noticed. But all he feels is his palm, as warm and smooth as ever.

You shake your head. God, why this? Why right now? Why couldn’t you have worked up the courage to mention it sooner? This had to be karma nipping it in the bud for you. You groan, hiding your face in your hands. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

“No, no, I’m okay, Zayne. It’s-” You sigh. That beautiful blushing face of his put to waste because of your stupid hang up. “It’s not you, I swear. And it’s not…” It hurts trying to admit this to him in such a roundabout way.

“Talk to me,” he implores you. He hesitates before reaching out to gently pull your hands from your face. “It’s not…?”

You hold his hands, searching for solace in the care they give to you. The first time you held his hand, you were surprised by how soft they were. The only rough spots were small calluses built up over time from using a pen and a scalpel, and the scars on the back. You messily trace them, mindlessly seeking out every imperfection.

“It’s not… unrequited.”

He wishes you’d look him in the eyes. “But?”

You squeeze his hands tighter.

“You don’t have to tell me right now if you don’t want to.”

“No, I- You should know. I kept meaning to tell you, but every time we get together, I just get so swept up in everything.” You intertwine your fingers with one of his hands and bring his knuckles up to your lips.

It should be so easy to spill your guts out to him, but the blade cutting open your abdomen still hurts the same, regardless of who you do it for.

It takes you a few false starts, before you’re finally able to piece together what you want to say. “I have a hard time saying… saying it back. No matter who it is, I just… can’t. My ex would force me to say it back. Every night. Whenever they wanted it. So now trying to say it, even if I really, really mean it and really, really want to… it feels like I’m being forced to all over again.”

Zayne sighs softly. He gently pries his hand from yours and cups your cheek, guiding your face to finally look at him. His eyes are so soft. Green and hazel irises full of warmth and understanding. “Thank you for telling me.” His face turns serious, but not angry. Never angry, not for something like this. “Listen to me: I will never force you to say it back. We can find other ways to communicate it to each other.”

You let yourself relax. He’s not mad. He’s not going to demand the words from you. He’s not your ex. He’s your boyfriend. Your incredible boyfriend.

You lean your face into his palm. He smiles softly and happily accepts your trust.

“Like what?” you ask.

“Well, if speaking it is difficult, maybe you’d be more receptive to something physical?” He lifts your hand from your lap, turning it over so your palm faces the ceiling. He delicately traces shapes into your awaiting palm. It’s a familiar pattern, one he’s traced into your skin nearly every time you’re together, whether that be your hand, your hip, or even your leg.

You watch with a slight frown. “But you do that all the time.”

“Mhm.”

Your eyes shoot up to his when the meaning clicks. He’s looking at your cheeks again, blush heating up his ears. You’re sure you’re no better.

“Then… what if I do this?”

He watches as you reach forward and brush his hair from his eyes. He sighs softly as your fingers trail down his cheek to hold his jaw. You run your thumb just under his bottom lip. It takes all his effort not to shiver.

“Or… this.” You drag your thumb along his lip now, pulling it down slightly. He leans toward it without thinking, eyes half-lidded and breath hitching in his throat. He pulls you forward to close the gap you made before.

Watching him give into your touch like this is nothing short of addicting. Every time you caress his cheek, touch his chin - it’s like all his rational thoughts are thrown straight out the window.

There’s no space on the couch between you any more. You’re seconds away from climbing into his lap. His hand rests on your hip, a silent encouragement to keep going.

“Or…”

You lean forward and press your forehead to his. Your noses brush together. Air passes in quiet gasps in the few centimeters left. Pink spans across both his cheeks. It’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen. To think you were so scared of wasting it earlier, when he would be honored to share his exposed feelings with you all the time like this.

“This…?”

Your lips touch. It’s delicate, chaste, quick. Zayne’s breath shudders with emotion. You don’t get the chance to pull away. His hand on your cheek draws you in, over and over again. Lips move with barely restrained passion. A silent exclamation that puts your heart at ease.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

---

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