#and I hope I can be that for someone else too

[stylesispunk]

"I only see daylight"

Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: What is waiting for you after life ends? Joel woke up to a life he had spent missing this whole time. You are there, Sarah is there, and a baby too. w.c: 1,7k (tiny baby) warnings: mentions of blood, crying, and mentions of an afterlife. I don't know if you believe in that but I like to think about it.

a/n: I don't know if you could consider this a fix-it fic, but I hope you do because I love this little idea I had the other day. I know it's short, but I have requests to work in and more "Blind faith" chapters to work in. Happy reading. Please remember to reblog and comment. I appreciate them very much.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

“Joel…Can I ask you something?” Ellie asked, clearing her throat.

He kept his eyes on the road ahead of them but gave a small nod. “Shoot.”

“Did you… I mean, before all this. Did you ever… you know. Love someone? Like, for real?”

Joel’s grip on his backpack tightened. For a moment, he wasn’t walking on that road anymore. He was somewhere else. Back when he was younger, with his baby girl in his arms and a woman’s laugh in his ears.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, I did.”

Ellie looked over at him, surprised by the weight in his voice.

“Who was she?”

He hesitated, then let out a breath. “Her name was… well, she came into my life the day Sarah was born. Her mother… she didn’t stick around. But she did. God, she did. Never asked for anything. Just… showed up with a smile and a cup of hospital coffee. Held Sarah like she was her own. She was her mother and she was my wife.”

Joel smiled faintly, a ghost of a smile. “We were together for years. Raised Sarah, built a life in Austin. Didn’t even get around to getting’ married. World ended a month before that.”

Ellie was quiet, watching him. “What happened to her?”

Joel’s eyes clouded. “The outbreak happened.”

He didn’t say more. He didn’t have to.

He still couldn’t say out loud how you died on his arms two days after Sarah.

How the smell of fresh coffee that filled the kitchen at home became the smell of blood sticking on his hands while he tried to keep you alive.

The snow fell fiercely outside the lodge. Joel’s breath ragged and shallow.

He couldn’t take the pain anymore. He couldn’t survive another punch against his face. He was dying.

He could barely see Ellie, screaming some feet away from him. Pleading.

“Joel, please get up.” “Joel, please” she choked.

Oh, his baby girl. He wanted to swallow all the pain, but his broken bones and body could barely bear the pain.

One push, one try. But something sharp on his neck stole his lasts breaths away.

His vision blurred. The world dimmed. In those mere last moments, last seconds. He saw them.

Ellie crawling to him.

But he also saw you. Beautiful as ever, eyes wet, reaching for him.

And Sarah just as she was that night in Austin, her smile breaking his heart.

Joel tried to speak, but no words came.

A tear slipped from the corner of his eye.

Then, nothing.

All went black.

For a moment, or perhaps forever, there was nothing. No pain. No cold. No Ellie’s voice calling his name. Just silence.

The soft chirping of morning birds. The faint hum of a ceiling fan. And the distant smell of fresh coffee.

Joel’s eyes fluttered open.

His breathing was steady, his body didn’t hurt. No blood. No searing pain in his ribs. No snow or cracked lodge ceiling above him.

Instead, a familiar ceiling fan turned lazily overhead, and pale morning light streamed through the curtains of his room.

At home, in Austin.

He sat up abruptly, a cold sweat clinging to his skin.

The bed side next to him was made, your side, neatly tucked like you always did. A glass of water sat untouched on your nightstand. The clock on the wall read 7:14 AM. The same perfume he had never got to forget lingered on your pillow, soft and warm, and so goddamn real Joel felt his chest tighten.

His hand shot up to his face — searching for cuts, bruises, something. But there was nothing. His hair was damp with sweat, but his fingers came away clean.

He swallowed hard, heart thudding in his ears.

What the hell was this?

Joel swung his legs over the side of the bed, bare feet pressing against cool wooden floors. He could hear movement in the kitchen, the gentle clink of a spoon against a mug, the scrape of a chair.

His throat closed up.

It was you, your laugh echoing through the house.

Soft. Carefree. Real.

And for a moment, he was terrified to move, terrified that if he stood and crossed that room, it would disappear — like every other goddamn thing in his life had.

But the pull was too strong.

Joel pushed open the bedroom door.

The house was just as he remembered it. The old photographs lining the hallway. Sarah’s soccer trophies. The faded denim jacket slung over the back of a chair. Everything untouched by fire, or blood, or the passage of time.

And then, there you were.

Standing in the kitchen, back to him, pouring coffee into two mugs. One of them — his old favorite. The one with the chipped rim.

You turned as if you felt his eyes on you.

That same smile. That same light in your eyes.

“Morning, stranger,” you teased, unaware of the storm brewing in his chest.

Joel couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

He crossed the room in three long strides and pulled you into him, arms wrapping around your waist so tight it made you laugh, the mug nearly slipping from your hand.

“Whoa! Easy, cowboy,” you chuckled against his shoulder. “Bad dream?”

His hand cradled the back of your head, burying his face in your hair, drinking in your scent, the warmth of your body.

“I… I don’t know,” he rasped, voice thick.

“Hey,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to look at him. “I’ve been right here, Joel. I’m not going anywhere.”

And when you kissed him , soft, steady, grounding, it felt like everything broken inside him finally came home.

He kept his forehead pressed to yours for a beat longer, eyes shut, breathing you in like a man starved. But then, something shifted. His hand, still resting against your waist, slid down — and froze.

A gentle curve. A fullness where there hadn’t been one before.

Joel’s brow furrowed, his eyes snapping open. He pulled back just enough to look down, and there it was.

Your belly, round and unmistakably swollen beneath the soft fabric of your, his worn t-shirt. His mouth parted, but no sound came out.

You followed his gaze, a smile tugging at your lips. “Hey,” you murmured, resting your hand over his. “Don’t look so spooked.”

Joel swallowed hard, eyes flicking from your face to your stomach, then back again. His heart thundered in his chest, a thousand questions fighting for room.

And then you said it, soft and calm, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Ellie is right inside here.”

Joel’s breath caught.

That name.

Ellie.

The word carved through him like a lightning strike. His mind, already fragile, started to crack along the seams. He stared at you, at the tender way your hand cradled your belly, at the glow in your eyes, like this had always been your life.

“Ellie?” he croaked, his voice barely a whisper.

You smiled, brushing a thumb along his jaw. “Yeah?” you nodded, looking a bit worry because of his state. “Remember doctor says she’s stubborn already.” You chuckled, your eyes shimmering with a mix of joy and mischief. “Wonder where she gets that from.”

Joel staggered back a half-step, running a trembling hand through his hair. The room spun. A wave of warmth and memory and heartbreak crashing into him all at once.

He remembered Ellie. How couldn’t he? He remembered snow and blood and a lodge floor.

But here, here she wasn’t a girl with a mouthful of trouble. She was…

His and yours.

For real.

A future that had never existed. A life stolen from him, given back in pieces.

Joel’s vision blurred. His knees buckled slightly, and you caught his arm.

“Joel,” you whispered, concern flashing across your face. “Hey — hey, it’s okay. Breathe, baby. You’re alright. We’re alright.”

He clung to you like a man drowning.

Joel clung to you like a man drowning, his face buried in the curve of your neck, your hand stroking the back of his head, steady and familiar. You felt his breath hitch, the tremble in his arms. Whatever nightmare had clawed at him, it was still lingering in his bones.

Then, he heard the footsteps.

Light, quick steps padding down the hallway. The soft creak of the floorboard outside the room.

“Dad?” a young voice called.

Joel stiffened. His head jerked up.

And there she was.

Sarah.

Alive. Whole.

Framed by the doorway in her faded hoodie and denim shorts, backpack slung over one shoulder, a little messy ponytail, like she always rushed through it in the mornings.

“Dad, Mom — it’s getting late for school,” she groaned, rolling her eyes like any other teenager. “I already saw uncle Tommy waiting out front, and if I have to listen to him sing along to the radio one more time, I swear I’ll jump outta the truck.”

Joel’s breath punched out of him like he’d been hit. His lips trembled.

“Baby girl…” he rasped.

Sarah blinked, confused. “You okay, Dad? You look kinda… weird.”

You smiled gently, your heart cracking a little at Joel’s expression, and stepped toward Sarah, brushing a hand down her arm. “Hey, sweetheart — give your dad a second, okay? He’s just… he had a rough night.”

Sarah sighed, the way only a 12-year-old could. “Ugh, bad dreams again? Should’ve told him not to eat chili dogs that late.”

Joel let out a strangled laugh, a sound halfway between a sob and a chuckle.

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to Sarah’s temple. “Uncle Tommy’s taking you today. Go grab your stuff, and I’ll be out in a sec.”

Sarah groaned but turned, heading back toward the hall. “Tell him I call dibs on the front seat!” she shouted over her shoulder.

The moment she disappeared around the corner, Joel collapsed back to your arms, his hand dragging down your skin.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered.

“You’re safe, Joel. You’re home.” You promised as you caressed his neck with your fingertips

His eyes, wet and wide, met yours. “Is this… is this real?” His voice cracked like it was too fragile to ask. “You. Sarah. Baby Ellie. Is this…?”

You leaned, pressing your forehead to his.

“It’s real,” you promised softly. “It’s ours.”

And for the first time in years, in decades, Joel Miller cried.

He didn’t know what he had done to deserve to see this light again.

But whoever had mercy on him. Gave him the chance to live a second life in daylight.

With you, Sarah, and a baby, Ellie.

[inbabylontheywept]

Memories of Grandpa Dale

I was playing in the barn, but I was also hiding from my grandpa. I was aware that this hurt his feelings, but I didn’t know what else to do. Every year I’d ever visited him before, he’d seemed kind of mad at me, but I’d hoped still that year was the year that we’d finally be friends. I even made a list of things to do together. 

Unfortunately, the list did not fix things�� so I'd been forced to acknowledge that if he couldn't be happy with me there, and he couldn't be happy with me gone, then perhaps he simply could not be happy. At least, not until someone invented The Secret Third Thing.

(But I was only nine. So. That someone would probably not be me.) 

Fortunately, being happy is a task that I've never needed to delegate - I’m actually quite good at it. I’d been sad in the barn for maybe an hour or so, but eventually that got boring, so I invented a new game where I would chase big clouds of shiny blue flies off the sun-warmed horse-poop and try to shoo them towards a corner of the barn that I knew had a large spiderweb in it. 

I was perfectly aware that this is not ideal for the flies, but I had just read Charlotte’s Web, so my empathy function was very biased towards spiders, who I perceived as patient and compassionate and slightly maternal women. Who just happened to have eight legs.  

(I, like most nine year old boys, would have personally been willing to fight a war for every patient, compassionate, slightly maternal woman I had ever met. If you, personally, have ever hugged a little boy who was trying very hard not to cry in front of his friends after skinning his knee, know that there is a child in this world that would kill in your name.)

(Now live with that knowledge.) 

I played my game with the flies for a long time. Long enough to get into a rhythm of running and laughing and then panting outside on my back while wallowing in the long green grass.

It was during one of those walks outside to lay in the grass that I noticed my mom. She was sitting on a hay bale, looking baffled. I don’t know how long she’d been there, but I was too young and confident to even feel odd. She asked me what I’m doing, and I just kind of gestured to the ceiling, and said, You know, just. Feeding spiders.²

She nodded. I was feeding spiders. Of course. 

We sat there a few moments. It was an amicable silence, but I was still faintly relieved when she broke it.  

Your grandpa’s been looking for you, she said. He got some grapes earlier. Wanted to take you to feed the ducks.

I've always really liked feeding ducks³. Visiting them had actually been the next thing on my list. 

I was baffled by the effort. 

He’s mad at me, I pointed out. My mom, to her credit, looked genuinely confused. 

He’s not, she said. 

But he was mad when we picked blackberries, I pointed out. And when we went on that walk down to the prairie. And he snapped at me this morning when I asked if I could have some of his dried mangos. 

The mangos had been my last straw. The weirdest part was that he didn’t even say no, he just (angrily) said of course you can, as if it was an insult to his hospitality that I was asking when just the year before he’d yelled at me because I ate a tin of dried apples. Apparently, I was just supposed to know that those apples were exclusively reserved for The Apocalypse. 

(To be fair, my grandpa has always been very worried about the apocalypse, but mostly in the context of not having enough dried apples for it. There was a period of my life where I thought that The Apocalypse referred to some kind of prophesied biblical event where there would be No More Apples. This thought has stuck with me for a very long time⁴.)

Well. Yeah. My mom said. He’s mad. But he’s not mad at you. He’s just… Mad. 

I mulled this over. 

What about the mangos? I asked, and she shrugged at that. 

Alright, so that time he was mad at you, but that’s being mad one time in three days. Cut the man some slack, you’ve been asking him for permission before eating anything. 

I just don’t want to eat the wrong thing, I said. I’ve always been very defensive of my rule-following. Both because rules are important, and also because that #10 can of dried apples ripped through me like a shotgun full of razor blades⁵. That “snack” had 400% the recommended daily fiber for an adult man. And I was very definitely not a grown man when I ate it.  

It was a very painful experience is what I am trying to say. 

I know, my mom said. 

I don’t even like apples, I added. Still defensive. 

I know, my mom said again. She’s very good at saying it. It always feels like she’s agreeing with me, and not just trying to rush me onto The Point. Sometimes, people need to make detours from The Point in order to explain things. Like, hypothetically, why they once ate a very large number of dehydrated apples. My mom is wise, and she has always known this. . 

I just really wanted to eat something sweet, I continued. They don’t keep anything sweet in the whole house. The day before I ate those apples, I licked all the salt off a saltine just so I could eat the cracker plain. And then the cracker tasted just like a cookie. To me. That’s how crazy I was going. 

My mom nodded her head sympathetically. 

My first month of college, she said conspiratorially, I ate about a box of poptarts a day. 

There was another longish pause as both of us considered what led us to this point. 

My parents are crazy, my mom said at long last. It’s a very peaceful statement to her. I'm sure it was stressful when she first realized it, but she's had a long time to make her peace, and she's made it well.  

Will you go with me? I asked. To feed the ducks?  

He’s not mad at you, she said again. Reemphasizing her point. He’s just mad. It’s just how he is. 

But she went with me anyway.

I watched Grandpa Dale closely the whole way to the pond to see if my mom was right. She was. She almost always is.  He was angry while he drove, and he was angry while he parked and he was even angry while he strode purposefully towards the park. When we got there, he took several grapes, and he angrily put them in his hand, and angrily extended the hand towards the ducks, and he looked at me, and for maybe a tenth of a second he looked okay. Not exactly happy, but a little less mad. Then a duck bit the webbing between his pointer finger and his thumb.

He immediately, without hesitation, without even a second thought, hit the duck with a haymaker⁶. For a human, the punch would have been devastating, but the duck had the benefit of having essentially no inertia, so it just kind of moved sideways and looked perplexed. 

You son of a bitch, my grandpa said. This is a funny thing for anyone to say to a duck, but it was especially funny to hear coming from a former Mormon Bishop. 

Quack,⁷ said the duck. 

My mom started laughing. I'd felt a sort of holy terror at the anger my grandpa was exuding in that moment, but the moment she laughed I realized how absurd it was. I was watching a grown man beef with a duck. I was watching a grown man beef with the world. 

I started laughing too. In a better world, maybe my grandpa would've joined. Maybe he would've taken a good hard look in the mirror and questioned why exactly he was so angry. But he didn't. Instead he swore at the duck some more, and he threw his remaining handful of grapes at it overhand, like a baseball, and then the duck ate the grapes out of the water, and my mom actually laughed so hard she started dry heaving a little, and my grandpa had to go sit in the car for a few minutes by himself to regain his composure. 

¹ He managed to pick blackberries angrily

² Unfortunately, I do this kind of response quite a bit.

³ I got my first kiss from my wife because I managed to capture a duck. They're like, a motif for my life. Very lucky to have that.

⁴ I reference it again in this very weird short story.

⁵ I eat a lot of strange things.

⁶ My wife is concerned people will not know what a haymaker is. It is simply the most redneck kind of punch.

⁷ ...What did you expect it to say?

[luna-azzurra]

10 Lies Your Character Believes About Themselves (And They’d Die Before Admitting It)

These aren't the fun, Disney Channel lies like “I'm just a regular girl” while literally being a secret pop star. These are the ugly ones. The ones that get in your character’s blood and start rewriting their whole life without them noticing.

» “If people really knew me, they'd leave.” Not "might." Would. No question. So they smile bigger. They edit harder. They keep conversations surface-level. All while carrying this bone-deep certainty that love is conditional... and they are dangerously close to failing the test.

» “I have to earn every good thing.” Rest? Happiness? A day without guilt? They treat those things like prizes at the end of a brutal obstacle course. No one told them they could just have good things. No strings. No blood price. (So they keep bleeding anyway.)

» “I'm too much.” Too loud. Too intense. Too sensitive. Too complicated. They know it. They've been told. So now they pull themselves in, hold their breath, bite back everything real until they barely take up space at all. (And ironically, they still think they’re being "too much.")

» “I'm not enough.” Neat little trick, right? They’re both "too much" and "not enough" at the same time. Magic. They're convinced everyone else got the secret manual for how to be lovable and they somehow missed it.

» “If I'm strong enough, nothing can hurt me.” They call it resilience. Other people call it stubbornness. Reality calls it self-destruction. They've mistaken numbness for healing and independence for invulnerability. But hurt still gets in. It just hits harder when it’s been bottled up for years.

» “I’m responsible for everyone's happiness.” Caretaker. Peacemaker. Therapist friend. Emotional sponge. They’ve appointed themselves as everyone's safety net, believing that if they don’t hold everything together, everything will fall apart. (Newsflash: it's not their circus, and it never was.)

» “I don't need anyone.” Need is a dirty word. It’s weak. It’s dangerous. So they white-knuckle their way through life, collecting scars and pretending it’s freedom. But late at night? In the dark? They’d sell their soul for someone to just... stay.

» “I'm the villain in someone else's story and they might be right.” They know they've hurt people. Made bad calls. Left damage. And no matter how much good they do now, some part of them whispers, You don’t get to come back from that.

» “My best days are behind me.” Whether they peaked in high school, lost their shot at something important, or just carry a chronic ache of nostalgia, they believe it’s too late. That nothing good can be built from where they are now. (Which, ironically, makes them waste even more time.)

» “This is as good as it gets.” They settle. For bad love. Boring jobs. Half-dead dreams. They tell themselves it's "realistic." "Mature." "Practical." But underneath? It's fear. It's heartbreak. It's the quiet belief that hope is something they can’t afford anymore.

[dior-luxury]

hiiiii hope you're having a good day! Can I request Idia, Azul, Ruggie, Jamil, Lilia, Ace + anyone else you like with a reader who has a crush on them but is utterly convinced there's no way he likes them back? Just "he's so cute and I love him but he's way out of my league, oh well back to daydreaming" Thank youuuu ~ 👾 nonnie

You Being Convinced They Don't Like You Back

( ✧ ) ────── pre-boyfriend stories . fluff - gn!reader .

- [𝐜𝐡.] ace . ruggie . azul . jamil . idia . lilia

- [𝐩:𝐬] Self-deprecating thoughts / Low self-esteem . Mutual pining . Angst with a happy ending . Romantic insecurity . Fluff

Note: I literally am in LOVE with this prompt hello 🥹 thank you so much for requesting 👾 nonnie! I hope my writing exceeds your expectations ( ´ ω ` ) .

Ace Trappola

The library was unusually quiet for a Thursday afternoon, the hum of distant conversation muffled by the towering shelves of books and the occasional creak of an old wooden chair. You sat in the farthest corner, your favorite spot, hunched over your notebook but not really writing. Not really thinking, either.

You were doodling again—him, of course. The slightly messy hair that was always a shade redder in the sunlight, the crooked smirk that came out right before he teased someone (or charmed them), and those stupid little hearts he sometimes made with his hands just to be annoying. Ace Trappola.

You sighed and dropped your pencil, watching it roll off the desk. “Ugh, why is he so cute,” you mumbled under your breath, face down in your arms.

It wasn’t like he knew you existed in any special way. Sure, you were classmates, sometimes group partners, sometimes sparring partners in flight class. He joked with you a lot, yeah. But he joked with everyone. He winked at everyone. He didn’t look at you the way you looked at him—soft, lingering, completely lovesick.

You were convinced Ace belonged in a whole different universe than you. He was bold, charming, magnetic. And you? You were… fine. Okay. Passable. Not his type, whatever that was. So you kept it inside. You giggled with your friends about how cute he looked in his uniform, you wrote little daydreams in your journal and then crossed them out, and you tried to survive the actual conversations with him without letting the pink in your cheeks get too noticeable.

What you didn’t know—what you couldn’t have known—was that Ace had been hovering outside the aisle for the past five minutes.

He’d come to return a book, seen you, and almost walked away. But your muttering had stopped him cold.

He leaned a little closer, his heartbeat just a bit too loud in his ears. Did you just call him cute? No way. You were probably talking about some manga character.

But then you sighed again and muttered, “He’d never like someone like me. Not when he’s... him.”

And something in Ace's chest twisted.

He stepped out casually, pretending like he hadn’t just eavesdropped on your heartbreak. “Yo,” he said, tossing the book on the return cart. “Didn’t know you talked to yourself. Should I be worried?”

You jolted upright, face turning crimson the moment you saw him. “A-Ace?!”

He leaned on the edge of your desk, eyes scanning your doodles. “Wow, that guy looks exactly like me,” he teased. “You got a little crush or something?”

You tried to cover the page, but it was too late. Panic surged in your chest, your throat tightening as every possible excuse dried up on your tongue.

Ace tilted his head, smirk fading just slightly into something softer. “Hey,” he said, quieter now. “Was that about me back there? What you said?”

You froze. Busted.

He laughed—gently, not the loud, showy kind. “You think I’m out of your league? That’s rich. You literally do everything better than me except math, and I still think about how you beat me in Spell Target last month.”

You blinked, stunned.

Ace grinned wider, leaning just a bit closer. “So... maybe I’ve got a little crush too. Don’t go writing me off like that next time, yeah?”

Ruggie Bucchi

It was late afternoon, and the Savannaclaw lounge was mostly empty—except for you, perched on the steps outside, and Ruggie, balancing a tray of snacks with a practiced hand. You’d offered to help, but he’d waved you off with a grin.

“Relax, I got this.”

You smiled politely, folding your arms tighter. Not that he’d notice the way your chest fluttered when he smiled like that. That sly, sleepy-eyed grin that made your stomach dip every time.

Ruggie was… everything you weren’t. Fast-talking, adaptable, clever, confident in a way you never could be. He made jokes even when Leona was glaring daggers. He knew how to turn scraps into something useful. And you? You were just you.

No way he’d be interested in someone who wasn’t cool, cunning, or at least a little dangerous. He needed someone who could keep up with his sharp tongue and trickster nature. Not someone like you who blushed too easily and got tongue-tied every time he looked your way.

You fiddled with a loose thread on your sleeve, sighing. “He’s way out of my league,” you whispered to no one.

Unbeknownst to you, Ruggie was returning from the lounge, just in time to hear that.

He paused in his step, the grin faltering as the words sank in.

Out of your league? Him?

He tilted his head, watching you. You looked… soft. Tired. Not just from today, but maybe from carrying that weight in your chest. The kind he knew too well. Ruggie bit the inside of his cheek and walked over quietly, plopping down beside you without a word.

You looked up, startled. “Oh! You’re back.”

“Yeah.” He offered you one of the sweet pastries he’d snagged from the kitchen. “You looked like you needed somethin’ sweet.”

You took it, hesitating. “Thanks…”

The silence lingered a moment too long. Then Ruggie said casually, “You know, I heard what you said.”

You froze.

Ruggie turned his head to look at you, his smile smaller now, more sincere. “You think I’m outta your league?” He snorted. “That’s a laugh. You’re the only one around here who’s nice to me without expecting somethin’ in return.”

You stared, lips parting, but no words came out.

“I notice things, y’know,” he continued, voice lower now. “How you bring extra snacks just in case someone forgets lunch. How you patch people up after training. How you always wave to Grim like he’s the main character or somethin’.”

You smiled weakly. “He thinks he is.”

Ruggie chuckled. “You’ve got no idea how easy it is to like you, do ya?”

The air went still.

He leaned a bit closer, a mischievous spark lighting back up in his eyes. “So, what d’you say we make this official? You stop pretendin’ I don’t like you, and I stop stealin’ snacks to get your attention. Deal?”

You couldn’t speak. You just nodded—furiously.

And Ruggie, with a smug little grin, nudged your shoulder and whispered, “Knew you liked me, too.”

Azul Ashengrotto

The lounge was closed for the night, lights dimmed, the usual chatter of customers replaced by the quiet shuffle of papers and the gentle clink of glass as Azul organized the bar. You sat alone at one of the side tables—he’d offered to let you hang out while he finished work, a kind gesture wrapped in professionalism. You didn’t question it. You were just happy to be near him.

Azul was perfect. Not in an untouchable way, but in the dangerously magnetic way. His intelligence, his poise, the calculating way his eyes always seemed to know more than he let on. He could make a deal with a king and still get the better end of it. He ran a whole business while juggling classes and contracts and never once looked like he was struggling.

Meanwhile, you were just… you. No cunning. No genius intellect. Just someone who barely passed alchemy and still got nervous speaking in front of people. Azul was miles above your league.

So, you admired him from afar. You listened carefully when he spoke in class, hung onto his every word when he got passionate about potion theory, and then pretended not to ache when he’d smile politely and move on without knowing how he affected you.

Tonight was no different.

You watched him from behind your drink, your heart fluttering as he adjusted his glasses, sleeves rolled to his elbows. You sighed under your breath, “He’s so beautiful. And way out of my league. Oh well. Back to daydreaming…”

Azul looked up.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but his mer ears were… sensitive. The words hit him harder than expected. You thought he was out of your league?

He swallowed hard, turning away quickly to hide the sudden redness in his cheeks. Was that a joke? Were you playing him? No, no—your voice had been too soft. Too sad.

He closed the ledger and made his way over to your table, rehearsing something casual to say. But he couldn’t do it. The usual charm slipped. He sat down across from you instead, unusually quiet.

“Everything alright?” you asked.

“Yes,” he said too quickly. Then, after a breath: “I overheard something just now.”

Your heart dropped.

“I didn’t mean to. But you said…” He paused, searching your face for any trace of irony. “You think I’m out of your league?”

You froze. Busted again. Why did the universe keep doing this to you?

Azul looked… uncertain. Vulnerable. His fingers tapped the edge of the table in a rare moment of nervous fidgeting. “You have no idea how intimidating you are to me.”

You blinked. “Me?!”

“Yes. You’re so—genuine. You smile without scheming. You care without a contract. That’s not something I’m used to.” His voice dropped, soft and serious. “And I’ve liked you for a while. But I didn’t think someone as… sincere as you could ever return that kind of feeling.”

Your chest clenched. “Azul, I… I do. I have. For a long time.”

He gave a breathless little laugh. “Then perhaps… a real date? No contracts, no business. Just us?”

You nodded, overwhelmed but glowing. And for once, Azul Ashengrotto looked flustered. Adorably so.

Jamil Viper

The sun was setting over Scarabia, painting the desert sky in shades of gold and crimson. You sat at the balcony edge of the dorm’s main building, legs dangling, fingers absentmindedly picking at your sleeve as you watched the horizon burn.

Jamil was training below—moving with that smooth, graceful precision of someone who knew exactly what he was doing and exactly how much attention he was getting. But Jamil never asked for attention. He earned it quietly, consistently, and refused to let it change him.

You had it bad. So bad it was kind of pathetic.

He was calm, composed, mysterious in the way that made your heart race just a little. But also kind, thoughtful, and far too selfless for someone with his level of talent. You loved the way he took care of others, even when they didn’t realize he was doing it. You loved the way his eyes lit up when no one was watching and he actually let himself enjoy something.

And of course, you’d convinced yourself he’d never return the feeling.

You were ordinary. Not someone with elegance carved into every step. Not someone with a voice that could silence a room. You were nice, and dependable, but not the kind of person who got someone like Jamil Viper.

You sighed and murmured to yourself, “He’s so cool and so out of my league… but I love him anyway. Guess I’ll just keep dreaming.”

Unfortunately, your voice carried.

Jamil paused mid-step, hearing your words. The rhythm of his movements faltered for just a second. He glanced up, spotted you on the balcony, and blinked.

Your eyes met. Panic.

He jogged up the steps—not fast, but direct. Intentional.

You stood, heart racing. “J-Jamil, I didn’t know you—”

“I heard you,” he said, his voice even, but there was a flicker of emotion in his eyes you hadn’t seen before. “What you said.”

You turned crimson. “That was—I didn’t mean—well, I did, but not for you to—”

He held up a hand gently. “Can I be honest with you?”

You nodded, too stunned to speak.

“I’ve spent a long time trying not to like anyone,” he said slowly. “Because it’s easier. Because I don’t get to have things I want. People expect me to stay in the background, to be useful—not to be seen.”

Your breath hitched.

“But then you came along. You’re kind. You notice things most people overlook. You see me.” He looked away for a second, a rare flicker of vulnerability. “And I didn’t think I was allowed to want someone like you.”

You were stunned. “Jamil… I see you because I care. I’ve always cared.”

He looked at you again, softer now. “Then maybe we’ve both been idiots.”

You laughed shakily. “Definitely.”

Jamil stepped closer, a real smile pulling at his lips. “Then let’s stop pretending. I like you. And I’m not letting you drift away into daydreams anymore.”

Your heart soared. Maybe… just maybe… you were enough for him all along.

Idia Shroud

The glow of the computer screen lit your face as you sat cross-legged on the floor of Ignihyde's rec room—aka Idia's fortress. You’d been invited to a co-op gaming session, not unusual since you’d proven yourself in battle simulators, strategy MMOs, and the occasional horror VR run.

But what was unusual… was that Idia had invited you.

You kept telling yourself it wasn’t a big deal. He was probably just being friendly. Maybe he appreciated that you didn’t make fun of his Otaku shrine or that time he totally short-circuited a project trying to install AI voice lines of a waifu into Ortho.

Still, every time he laughed softly at one of your dumb jokes, or his fingers brushed yours when you handed him a controller—you felt that dizzy, heart-thumping feeling in your chest. And you reminded yourself, for the millionth time:

“He’s brilliant. Cool in a mysterious, tech-wizard way. That anime hair glows. He’s basically a boss-level character. And me? I’m just a side quest.”

So you kept your feelings locked behind your own firewall and resigned yourself to the background.

Tonight was no different. After you won a particularly chaotic match, Idia leaned back in his chair, hoodie half-draped over his head, giving you one of those rare, sheepish smiles. “Y-you’re really good at this… I mean, I knew you were decent, but like… whoa. T-totally NPC-crushing it.”

You smiled, heart fluttering. “Guess I just like playing with you…”

He froze. Not visibly, not obviously—but if you’d been watching closely (and you always were), you’d notice the way his avatar just… idled.

You were about to awkwardly fill the silence when you heard it—his voice, quiet, uncertain. “You know, I always thought you were… like… out of my league.”

Your brain lagged.

“Wait—what?”

Idia pulled the hood further over his head, hair flickering in shades of anxious pink. “I mean, you’re normal. Like, good at talking to people, and helping Ortho with projects, and you actually listen when I go off on anime world-building lore instead of hitting skip like everyone else.”

Your jaw dropped a little. “But I thought I was just the sidekick here! I mean—you’re… you. I figured there was no way someone like you could like someone like me.”

He glanced up, eyes wide and glowing faintly. “No. You’re not ‘someone like’ anything. You’re just… you. And you’re kind of my favorite player two.”

Silence stretched.

And then he blurted, fast and fumbling, “So—uh, do you wanna maybe do a… real date co-op thing? Like a—non-digital questline?”

You beamed. “I’d love to.”

And somewhere in the corner, Ortho’s little scanner lit up green. “Successful confession: confirmed.”

Lilia Vanrouge

The Diasomnia garden was especially quiet in the evening, the moonlight bathing the stone paths in silver as soft wind rustled the leaves. You often came here after a long day—it was peaceful, and you could just… think.

And of course, he was often there.

Lilia.

Sometimes humming an old lullaby. Sometimes practicing aerial flips. Sometimes just tending to the strange, glowing plants with that serene little smile. He was enigmatic, ageless, playful in a way that made your heart ache. He flirted with everyone, joked like he’d seen centuries of stories unfold—and maybe he had.

You were utterly, hopelessly, in love with him.

But you’d buried it. Because how could someone like Lilia Vanrouge—mysterious, powerful, ancient, and radiant—ever love someone like you?

“He’s basically immortal. I’m mortal, awkward, and sometimes trip over nothing. He’s been alive since kingdoms rose and fell. I’m just trying to pass my midterms without dying of stress. He probably sees me like a cute stray cat or something.”

So instead of confessing, you smiled, nodded when he teased you, and let the daydreams pile up where he couldn’t see.

Tonight, you didn’t notice him approach until he sat beside you, quiet and uncharacteristically gentle.

“Lost in thought, little one?”

You startled slightly, then laughed. “Yeah. Just… life stuff.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, gaze flicking over your face like he was reading something written across your skin. “You've been sighing a lot lately.”

You tried to deflect. “Guess I’ve just been thinking about someone.”

His eyes twinkled. “Ah… a crush, perhaps?”

You flushed. “Maybe.”

Lilia tilted his head, fangs barely visible behind his grin. “And what is this mysterious someone like?”

You bit your lip. “He’s… incredible. Playful but wise. Mysterious. Totally out of my league.”

That grin faded—just slightly. “Out of your league?”

You nodded, sighing. “Yeah. He’s someone who probably sees a million people every day and never notices someone like me. Which is fine. I’m just… daydreaming. That’s all.”

Lilia was silent for a beat. And then he did something you hadn’t expected.

He took your hand.

“You know,” he said quietly, “for someone who’s lived as long as I have… very few people surprise me anymore. But you? You always do. With your honesty, your kindness… and the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

You froze.

“I do notice,” he added, voice lowering, soft as dusk. “And I would be a fool not to return the favor.”

You stared, eyes wide. “Wait… you—?”

“Yes.” He smiled, a touch bittersweet. “And I’ve been waiting for the right time to say it. But it seems we’ve both been sitting in our little corners of longing, haven’t we?”

You nodded, heart hammering.

He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a featherlight kiss to your knuckles. “Well then… perhaps it’s time we step out of the daydream.”

[nanamisgirly]

fould we possibly get more womanizer sugu :3

this looks more like a fic than a head canon...oooops. I hope you will enjoy it !!! MWAHHHH :333 part.1

cw chubby reader, masturbation, jealous geto, reader fingers herself in front of geto while being in couple.

womanizer!geto thinks he's about to catapult that engineering major boy out of the solar system. right. now.

geto is sitting across the room, arms slung over the back of the couch, fists clenched so tight the veins in his forearms pop. his eyes are glued burning to where that poor nerd's hands are gripping your waist, pushing you back against the edge of the kitchen counter during some half-assed apartment party. 

the guy's mouth is low against your ear, whispering something pathetic (he's sure of it) that makes you blush and push at his chest. but apparently not enough for him to back up completely. 

womanizer!geto repeats the same sentences like a mantra “he doesn't know her. he doesn't stand a chance. it's not some pinterest-date plan he probably has in his mind that are going to make her flinch. he doesn't know how she is when her stress hits a fever pitch or when she cries over bad grades. he doesn't even know she chews her pens' cap until they're useless. he. doesn't. stand. a. chance.”

“you let him touch you like that in public?” womanizer!geto leans against the doorframe, smirking lazily, letting his voice drip with mock-casual venom—watching you read some dense academic paper, hoodie two sizes too big. he couldn't restrain himself from asking once you both got home.

you don't even look up as you say, “excuse me?” suguru shrugs, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded, heavy with something darker than amusement. “the way the prop-on-him-self-boy was holding your waist earlier. pretty bold move by the way. thought you were shy.”

you blink, slowly lowering the paper. “i am shy.” he chuckles under his breath—low and unkind. “could've fooled me. guess you get real friendly when someone finally shows you attention, huh?” your lips part in shock, jaw going slack at the nerve—the venom hiding in his fake nonchalance.

“what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he doesn't bother answer, he just keeps looking at you—daring you to do something of it, mouth still curled in a smirk that doesn't reach his eyes. you hold his stare, mouth tight, throat dry. “if you have a problem with who i'm seeing, suguru, be a man and say it.” his jaw ticks at your words, “i don't—”

“good," your voice cuts him off, "then no problem, right?” he nods once, and pushes off the doorframe, leaving you sitting there, heat crawling up your chest and hands trembling in your lap. 

what you miss to see is the way his fists clench the second he turns away. of course womanizer!geto had no problem, why would he? because his mind was spiraling at the girl he had earlier that night, lips wrapped around his cock while his mind conjured the shape of your mouth instead? because his body refused to come unless he imagined your big soft body squirming against his? 

the next week womanizer!geto is sure he's going to catapult the engineering boy out of this fucking solar system. he's halfway through some miserable cafeteria lunch when he hears your friends whispering too loud few tables away. “her boyfriend said she came twice” one of them giggles. another leans in, dramatic “she told me he gave her a massage and it turned into, like…a whole thing. .” and the final bow, “she even said he was the best she ever had.” suguru's hands curl into fists under the table, knuckles popping loud enough to make heads turn.

even gojo stops yapping mid-sentence, blinking at him, but geto doesn't hear a single word. his ears are ringing too loud, blood pounding behind them like a drum. all he can think about is you, your possibly messy moans, your pretty face, your fat thighs locking someone else's waist.

it rots him from the inside out.

womanizer!geto goes home right after that and jerks off twice. back-to back. once angrily, under cold water, cursing your name like a prayer. and again, this time slower… worse…because now the image in his head is you under that stupid stem boy. your soft hips rocked by clumsy fingers, your plush thighs spread wide for a cock that doesn't deserve you. geto shouldn't be hard for that. shouldn't want to watch it like some deranged freak.

but here he is—balls aching, cock leaking in his palm—jerking himself through gritted teeth, groaning low in his chest as he imagines your soft belly rippling under the weight of another man's body. he cums with a guttural snarl, forehead slamming the cold tile, imagining your tits bouncing, your glasses sliding down your nose as you whimper for someone who isn't him.

womanizer!geto tries to fuck someone else the next night—some hot girl, tight waist, full lips, half-dressed and panting all over him. but his cock seems stubborn. dead weight in his jeans. not even a twitch. she moans against his neck, grinding her hips against him on the couch, whispering that she wants to ride him all night—

but all he can do is thinking about you. 

you, in your stretched-out pajama shorts. you, soft and plush everywhere, a little roll of tummy peeking when your tanktop rides up. you, mouth parted around your pencil when you're focused.

and the next time you're all alone with womanizer!geto in your living room, a late night study session for the upcoming test, he doesn't even try to act normal at the sight of your thick dimpled thighs tucked under you. you're rambling about something, showing him your notes—unaware of the way his eyes devour you. you look so sweet. fuck, he bets you taste so sweet.

he's staring at the half-faded bruise blooming across your collarbone when your voice pulls him back, “suguru…?”

“do you moan for him?” it slips out. you freeze at the sudden question. “wha—”

“your little stem boy,” he says, eyes dark. “when he fucks you. do you moan for him?” the silence is brutal. you open your mouth, close it again, cheeks burning, “that's none of your business.” 

he smirks, leans in like a viper. “you sound like you could.” mock sympathy is dripping from every word. and nastier, “if he had a better dick than, what, three inches hard? maybe you would." his eyes glint, "be honest, nerd. he never makes you come, does he?”

the slap cracks across the room, hard enough your hand stings. hard enough to whip his head to the side. his cheek blooms red, but all he does is breathe hard—cock aching, swelling mean against his zipper. your heart is pounding, shame and rage boiling under your skin as you shove your notebook off your lap and storm toward your room.

womanizer!geto probably isn't thinking with his brain anymore as he follows you to your room. he stands in your doorframe just like he did two weeks ago, except this time, his eyes are pure fire—a mix of anger and hunger.

his eyes piercing yours, challenging you. his jaw is clenched so tight it looks painful and you should scream at him to leave your room, should shove him out. . and you're about to—but when your eyes fall down to the heavy, swollen bulge in his jeans, you loose all your rationality.

“get on the bed.” the words split the air, hot and final. you blink at him, confused and furious…soaked. your eyes following his every movements as he goes to sit on your desk chair, drops into with all the lazy arrogance in the world. his hand drapes over his thigh, just inches from the thick imprint stretching his pants.

“i won't repeat myself.” the mockery is thick on his tongue. “you can hate me later. you can even hate me forever if that's what you want. but right now?” his voice drops. “right now, you're gonna listen.” something deep inside you twists—dizzying. and before you realize what you're doing, you clim onto your own bed—like some pathetic, brainless thing. you glare at him, trying to save whatever pride you have left.

geto leans back further into the chair, his fingers thumbing the thick ridge of his cock. he tips his chin. “show me.” your stomach flips. “show you…what?” you whisper, already knowing—already burning. 

“don't play dump, nerdy. you're too smart for that.” his voice is syrup-thick, fingers taping against the desperate strain against his rough denim. “show me how wet you got after slapping me like a brat.” your throat closes. “no,” you breathe out, a pitiful little sound of defiance but your thighs are betraying you, pressing tighter together. geto grins, “you're already soaking through those dumb little shorts, might as well let me see the mess you made."

womanizer!geto watches like a predator trapping his prey. his chest rises, slow and deep, extremely controlled compared to the raging war breaking inside you. his hand squeezes his cock through his jeans. he licks his lips, hungry. “touch yourself for me, pretty thing. show me how desperate you are for me instead of that useless fucking loser you keep calling your boyfriend. go on. be good.”

your traitorous hand slips under your waistband. the second your fingers brush the sticky heat between your thighs, your breath shatters from your lungs. your fingers tremble as you press harder, rubbing desperate little circles into your clit. you're trying to be quiet, to pretend you have a shred of dignity left—but the wet sounds are obscene and unmistakable. 

geto's groan rips through the room—raw an broken, a sound like he's been punched. “tell me, pretty girl," he rasps, “is it dripping already? just from me talking to you?” your whimper is an answer enough, high and shameful, your cheeks burn under his gaze. ”get your shorts off," he commands, voice shredded. "and the panties too. now."

your hands shake so badly it takes two tries to peel your shorts down your thick thighs. your panties stick wetly, peeling away from your messy pussy with a filthy noise. the cold air hits you, your cunt gleaming under the soft light. geto leans forward in the chair, forearms braced on his knees, his stare burning between your legs like he's trying to sear it into his skull.

you try to remain a bit more decent, and close your legs shut together. “nuh-uh." he tsks. "what you doin', pretty? keep them open for me. don't be shy. lemme see all that messy pussy you were hiding.” tears are prickling behind your eyes from how exposed you feel as your legs fall open. geto's pupils blow wide. “fuck,” he mutters, dragging a rough hand over his face. “you're leaking. that's such a mess. and all i did was talk.”

you can't speak—can't think—your whole body is shaking as you rub yourself faster, chasing some kind of release, slick noises filling the room. every tiny touch feels too much and not enough at the same time.

geto is fighting everything in him not to move from the chair, watching like a man starved, squeezing his cock hard enough to hurt. “go on, pretty.” he croons darkly "put a finger in." your fingers fumble, slipping through the wetness before finally pushing inside. your walls flutter around your own digit, too tight, too needy. he lets out a brutal, bitten-off moan, grinding his hips against his palm—matching your pace.

“stop biting your lip,” he growls, “wanna hear you, pretty.” your moans breaks free—small and shameful at first, then louder when you start fucking yourself. “that's it,” his eyes are locked between your legs, “nice and slow, sweet girl. let me see how desperate you can get for me.” it's humiliating, disgusting, how fast you're falling apart, how quickly your hips are starting to chase your own fingers, trying to fuck yourself deeper.

sweat drips down his temple, cock throbbing and leaking so much in his boxer. he shifts again, rutting his hips shamelessly against his palm—chasing friction he desperately wanted you to give him. “bet you never do this for him,” he sneers, “bet that poor stem doesn't know he packed a slutty cunt. a needy one.” you gasp, a pitiful sound.

“does he, at least, get you this wet?” his words whip across the room like a lash. “when he touches you. .” your fingers speed up frantically, thighs quivering “when he fucks you. .” his smirk is vicious as he read through you, “quiet little good girl," he drawls, stepping closer. “saving all that greedy cunt for him, hoping he'll know what to do with it.” he's on you before you can process he even got up—looming over you at the edge of the bed, huge and terrifying and perfect. one big hand cups your jaw, tilting your flushed face up to meet his. his thumb smears sweat and tears across your cheek. ”pretty thing," he hisses, voice shaking with how hard he's holding back. “all soft and sweet. spread out so nice for me.” 

if you dare glanced down, you could've seen the soaked patch growing bigger. “i should be disgusted,” he whispers, “should leave your desperate little fat ass begging. sobbing for it.” he presses in closer, nose brushing yours, breath hot and heavy. “you're close, aren't you? fucking yourself stupid in front of me. can't even help it.” his forehead tips against yours. “come for me, sweetie." he murmurs, almost lovingly this time. "make a mess all over that pretty cunt. prove he's nothing.”  the filthy command punches the air out of your lungs.

you cry out, loud and shameless, thighs shaking violently as your orgasm crashes over you—drenching your hand and the sheets, rinding it out belly trembling and hips bucking helplessly.

geto watches it all—breathing ragged, knuckles white against the bedspread—but he never touches you. instead, he leans down and presses a filthy, tender kiss to your sweaty forehead. his cock still twitching violently in his pants, he's never been this hard his whole life. not even when he got onto threesome with twins.

and then—still hard, still starving for you—he stands.

he leaves you there, panting, twitching, soaking the sheets. your hand sticky, your cunt fluttering around nothing. your mind a ruined mess of him and only him.

he doesn't look back.

the door clicks softly shut behind him.

you lie there, empty—knowing no one else would ever make you feel so filthy, so wanted, so his.

ᖰ⌯'▾'⌯ᖳ

[jenjinjyn]

boyf!hyuntak headcanons

summary: basically pov of the luckiest person in the world

wc: 667

› boyfriend!hyuntak who took you out on your first date at baku’s dad’s chicken restaurant. considering it was what he could afford as a teenager.

› boyfriend!hyuntak who took you on one more date before immediately asking you to be his partner. he would’ve asked after the first date but didn’t want to push it.

› boyfriend!hyuntak who couldn't stand being apart from you for long, literally helped you sneak out late one night just so you could play basketball together. after a while, to ensure you didn't get bored, he taught you a few new techniques and tricks. the night even included a clichéd movie moment where he stood behind you, his hands covering yours as you both shot the basketball.

› boyfriend!hyuntak who wastes little to no time in covering the inside of his gym locker with photos of you two, or simply just you.

› boyfriend!hyuntak who almost begs you to wear his hoodies. he literally loves seeing you in his clothes, no matter the pieces. he loves the way they fit on you and how it displays to everyone that you are more than friends.

› boyfriend!hyuntak who doesn’t even think when it comes to sharing his snacks with you. his friends literally make fun of him for it since he never willingly shares with them. but the boy shrugs it off and even goes the extra mile in buying you your own whenever he can.

› boyfriend!hyuntak who admires you for helping him become a better person. while his anger sometimes gets the better of him, you always know how to keep him grounded. and if he was in the wrong, you make sure he apologizes.

› boyfriend!hyuntak whose face lights up immediately when he spots you in the crowd while playing basketball. whether it be an official or unofficial game, when his eyes meet yours, he’s locked in for a good game. you give his confidence and ego a major boost just by simply being there.

› boyfriend!hyuntak who is so protective of you... like dude, chill (but never in a controlling way)! if someone says anything remotely offensive about you when he’s around, or you tell him someone has done something you didn’t like… yeah, he’s on that! and we all know he never backs down from a fight.

› speaking of fighting… boyfriend!hyuntak who knows you hate fighting, especially when he’s involved, tries very hard to do as little of it as possible.

› boyfriend!hyuntak who finds the utmost comfort in playing with your hair. literally, whenever you two are beside each other, his hands find a way into your hair — for either soothing head scratches or badly attempted braiding.

› boyfriend!hyuntak who loves it when you call him by a pet name. the boy frowns when his actual name even leaves your mouth and actively encourages the sweet gesture. he even likes when you're in a teasing mood and decide to throw around 'gotak'. he’ll later fake whine about how you've been hanging around the guys too much, and by guys, he just means baku.

› boyfriend!hyuntak whose heart flutters whenever you tend to his wounds after a fight. he can’t help but feel very loved whenever you take your time to disinfect a cut or place an ice pack over his bruised knuckles. in his eyes, he’s the luckiest boy ever.

› boyfriend!hyuntak who makes it a priority to be outside the front gates of your school to walk you to your evening cram sessions.

› boyfriend!hyuntak who claims he gives the BEST forehead kisses along with hugs, since you’re literally giggly after the heartfelt actions.

› boyfriend!hyuntak who begrudgingly allows jung-tae to third wheel with you two on dates, if the sweet boy claims to have no one else to hang with, lol. but he knows deep down that you know it isn’t really as bothersome as he puts on. he just really, really, really loves his alone time with you.

he’s literally the sweetest!

a/n: babe is so underrated; i love him! okay, so nice to meet you. i am jenny. thank you for deciding to read my first ever work on here. i hope you enjoyed it. :)

+ also, my official masterlist and request box won’t be open for a while. i want to get more content out before doing either.

[beomiracles]

The summary had me hooked from the start. No more words needed I fear. LETS GET TO IT!

Yeonjun as his support system is,, something! No but he’s so cute for cheering his friend on jsjsjn,, and kai is endearing for freaking out like this. — Kai’s eyes bug out. “Now?! I’m not ready!”

I’ve been in love with you for years, I can’t imagine my life spent beside anyone but you, and I really hope you’ll be my girlfriend. — MY MAN HAS THE CUTEST LITTLE SPEECH PREPARED SOMEONE SAVE ME.

“Do you wanna hook up with me?” he blurts out, wide-eyed and shaking. CUT THE CAMERAS. Im grabbing my face in agony for this man. — You shrug. “Alright, we can hook up.” OH HELL YEAH

His hands start moving down your body, dipping below your shirt to hold onto your bare waist. Your skin is warm and soft, and it feels like territory that Kai needs to explore. — genuinely love this last line like… omg. 

He’s so pathetic it’s insane I love it give him to me this instant. Acting all cute and stuff like he isn’t the biggest freak who wants to be fucking choked, STAND UP. 

If you want him to be quiet and lay down like a toy, he’ll be ten steps ahead of you, leaning back on the mattress waiting to be used. If you want him to throw you around and treat you like a whore, he’ll show you strength like no one else has. — I love a diverse man. 

“So bad I could cry,” he says. You laugh, and he panics. “Then cry.” — PLEASE HOW DID YOU KNOW ABOUT MY (very obvious) DACRYPHILIA KINK? 

Your eyebrows are upturned, eyes glazed over with lust, and suddenly you look a lot less like a hungry wolf and more like a poor little lamb. — I love this switch jsjjsn. 

Yeonjun doesn’t understand what it’s like to feel even a quarter of the yearning Kai holds for you. — men who yearn…

Him going to get palm readings is such a side quest I love it so much you have no idea!! — “This one means you like long walks on the beach. And this one means you want to go back to the car and give me head.” Oh hell yeah we’re smooth with it 

You smile at him. “Is that all you want to say?” you ask. BROTHER TELL HER. It’s eating me alive, get the truth out there.. “That’s all,” Kai says. Wrap it up. 

“So act like it. Pick yourself up and go to her like a man. Quit ruining your own life—she’s not gonna want some bum who can’t even work up enough courage to say he loves her, — genuinely golden advice, get this man a mic and on a podcast right now. 

You smile. It’s breathtaking. “I know. Yeonjun told me.” My man snitched… — “Why did he tell you?” — “In case you pussied out. Which you did,” you answer. “And because he knew I’m in love with you too.” AW WAIT IM GIGGLING. 

“Yeah, fuck, come fuck me,” Kai begs just as breathlessly. STOP THAT. 

Kai will dedicate his every next breath to you. He’s yearned and longed for years, with a force much stronger than a human heart has. — no like I love it. I love this. 

I am the BIGGEST ‘mean who yearn’ enthusiast. I love it, I love when they chase, when they’re pathetic and disgustingly dumb in love. KAI I NEED YOU IN EVERY WAY POSSIBLE. The dynamics between them was so perfectly written and executed, the fic was also so lighthearted and easy to read despite kai crashing out at least three times. And wingman yeonjun?? Squee where would we be without him?? I really like the small addition of them going to do palm reading, it’s an extra scene that adds so much dimension and depth to the fic and I loved the mc’s quick wit and sarcasm,, seriously I love this so much !! 

pining with a hundred hearts

summary: Confessing to you should be easy. Kai’s got his whole speech prepared, having gone over it about a million times in his head now. All he has to do now is say it exactly as rehearsed. As long as he keeps his cool and doesn’t veer off script, or say something stupid and thoughtless like—“Do you wanna hook up?” he blurts out, wide-eyed and shaking.

…Yeah. Like that.

pairings: huening kai x fem!reader

word count: 11.3k

tags: fluff, smut (mdni), friends to lovers, best friend!kai, yeonjun being a mediocre wingman and the biggest dudebro on earth, kai is a ball of anxiety, a couple religious metaphors, incredible amounts of pining

smut tags: multiple smut scenes… this is only like one step above pwp okay, switch!kai, switch!reader, dry humping, choking (m rec.), unprotected sex, oral (f rec.), car sex, sooo muchhh kissinggg, praise, spit kink kinda, handjob for a second, multiple orgasms

notes: thanks again to this anon for the idea! yes this is another best friend fic i’m sorry i can’t help that this is what calls to me. anyway i hope u luv thisssss!

Kai’s staring at himself in the bathroom mirror, wondering if he should go run and buy flowers or if that would be too corny. He examines his appearance with a critical eye, not wanting to look the slightest bit unattractive when he sees you. A small strand of hair falls into his face, and he pushes it back until he looks perfect again. He tries to imagine how he’d look with a bouquet in his hand.

“Dude, the harder you try, the worse you look.” Kai turns to Yeonjun with a frown, putting his hand back to his side and releasing the imaginary flowers. He deflates when he sees Yeonjun’s unamused expression.

“I’m not good at this stuff like you, though. I don’t know how to ask girls out,” Kai says, moving to sit beside Yeonjun on the edge of the bathtub. He brought Yeonjun here to cheer him on, not to make him feel worse about himself. Kai’s confidence is dwindling the longer he spends in Yeonjun’s presence.

Yeonjun ruffles Kai’s hair, and Kai immediately swats his hand away, scolding him for ruining the hair he had perfectly in place. Kai stretches his neck out to look at himself in the mirror again. He pouts when he sees the mess Yeonjun made.

“Just be normal. She’s your best friend, she’s not gonna bite your head off,” Yeonjun reasons.

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Kai says. “Her biting my head off might actually be better. I’m scared of her rejecting me.”

Yeonjun smiles at Kai, making Kai scrunch his brows. It feels like there’s some joke he’s not in on. Before he can ask, Yeonjun’s pushing himself up and off the bathtub, stretching out his legs. Kai looks up at him, wondering how to be even half as carefree as him.

“I’m exhausted,” Yeonjun sighs, looking out the window. Kai doesn’t know what for—only twenty minutes have passed, it definitely wouldn’t be dark out yet. “Let’s just go to her place now.”

Kai’s eyes bug out. “Now?! I’m not ready!”

Yeonjun laughs, “I can promise you that she doesn’t care how you look.” He leaves the bathroom then, and Kai feels like he has no choice but to follow.

He’s so worried, he can’t stop thinking about how you might react to his confession. What if you don’t feel the same? That would crush Kai, but he would never make you feel like you have to say yes to him. He just really, really wants the feeling to be mutual.

Suddenly he’s walking outside with Yeonjun, and he knows exactly where Yeonjun plans on taking him. He recites his confession under his breath, making sure he remembers it all still. I’ve been in love with you for years, I can’t imagine my life spent beside anyone but you, and I really hope you’ll be my girlfriend. Whew, he’s still got it.

“Stop freaking out so much,” Yeonjun says from beside him, snapping Kai back to reality. He blinks at his friend, processing what he said for a few seconds.

“I’m not freaking out.”

“Yes you are, dude. You’re, like, hyperventilating next to me.”

“Oh god, I’m hyperventilating?!” There’s no way he can confess to you like this! He imagines how gross it would be for you to hear him declare his love for you through jagged breaths. He turns around abruptly, ready to walk back home.

Yeonjun stops him with a hand gripping his shirt. “No backing out,” he says, pulling Kai back to him.

“I don’t think I can do this,” Kai says, shaking his head with panicked eyes.

Yeonjun grounds Kai with his hands on his shoulders, making sure he’s looking him in the eyes. “If you don’t do this today, you never will. I’m not letting you walk away now.”

Kai sighs and drops his head in defeat. “Okay, you’re right. Let’s just go.”

Time passes way too quickly, and Kai finds himself standing at your door much too soon. Yeonjun abandons him as soon as your apartment is in sight, telling Kai he’ll be waiting for his success story when he comes back. Kai’s heart is pounding. He really hopes there ends up being a success story to tell.

He’s scrambling around for the words in his brain, making sure he doesn’t choke on them as soon as you open the door. I love you, I don’t want anyone but you, please be my girlfriend—something like that. He’s in the midst of a breathing exercise to calm himself down when the door swings open. He flinches, straightening his posture and sending you a smile.

“Hi Kai,” you say, backing up so he’ll come inside. Is he shaking? It feels like he’s shaking.

“Hi. I have something to tell you.” He wants to slap himself. Why'd he say it like that?! Does he think he’s the grim reaper or something, delivering some message of death?! He sounds so ominous, you must be so scared.

“Alright, let’s go to my room then.” You don’t sound shaken at all. You must be really good at hiding that you’re scared.

When he’s sitting across from you on your bed, he can clearly feel the way his body’s shaking. He almost wants to jump off the mattress so you don’t feel the way he trembles. You’ve done this a million times before, sharing your bed and staring at each other, but it feels so different this time.

You look around the room awkwardly in the midst of Kai’s prolonged silence, then start scrolling through your phone. You’re bored—he’s boring you, he needs to get on with it, this is already going wrong.

He clears his throat, and you return your attention to him. He opens his mouth and already starts stuttering on his words. He shuts up immediately, racking his brain for his confession again, and freaking out when he can’t find it.

“Kai? What’d you wanna tell me?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. He just has to spit it out now. He can’t waste your time any longer. He prays the words will just find him if he opens his mouth and starts speaking.

“Do you wanna hook up with me?” he blurts out, wide-eyed and shaking.

Fear crashes upon him so fast. That’s not what he meant to say. He feels the world crumbling around him, and he prays the universe is kind enough to swallow him whole.

Your silence is horrifying him, but he can’t blame you. He should probably see himself out now. You aren’t going to want anything to do with him ever again.

“That’s what you wanted to tell me?” you ask.

Kai gulps. “Um, yes.”

You look him up and down. “You’re shaking so much.” Kai looks down at himself to check. Yep, he sure is.

“Sorry,” he says.

“Are you a virgin?” He can’t be surprised that you asked that; he’s making himself look like the biggest loser ever right now.

“No,” he answers shakily. He’s not super experienced, but he’s definitely not a virgin. He can barely stand looking at you as he waits for your answer, feeling your rejection creeping up on him.

You shrug. “Alright, we can hook up.”

Kai feels his brain start to malfunction all over again. He wasn’t expecting you to agree. You were supposed to scold him and slap him and kick him out of your apartment for asking something so heinous. He’s not sure what to do now. It’s not like he can back out of this—or like he wants to.

“So… can I kiss you?” he asks, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

“Yeah.” He wipes the sweat off his palms onto his jeans before he leans in to start closing the gap between you. He lets his face hover a few inches away from yours, taking in your beauty from this close up. You’re so pretty that he already feels himself getting hard just looking at you like this. He stares at your lips, thinking about all the hours he’s spent dreaming of how they’d feel against his.

A voice in his head urges him to run away and hide. What if he’s not good enough for you? What if he doesn’t make you cum? Maybe he should just apologize for saying anything and blame it on being drunk or something.

You push forward before he can pull away, and suddenly your lips are on his and fireworks are going off everywhere. Or at least that’s how it feels, Kai doesn’t know—half of his thinking prowess is in his dick right now.

The poets were right, a kiss with your true love does feel different. This is a high Kai has never felt before, one that leaves him lightheaded and struggling to cling onto reality. God is real, the universe is good, and he’ll devote himself to worshipping you for the rest of his life.

His hands find your face with a feather-light touch, unsure how far he should go just yet. One hand tangles itself in your hair, using gentle force to press your face closer to his. He wants to feel your soul enter his body, to become so intertwined that your beings blend into one.

He grants your tongue access into his mouth as soon as he feels you licking at his lips. He has half a mind to be embarrassed by the whine he emits when you deepen the kiss, mentally scolding himself for being so pathetic. He shivers when your hands fall onto his shoulders, completely weakened by your touch. He’ll let you go as far as you want, he’ll give you the world.

You pull away to catch your breath, staring him down like you’re some hungry wolf. Kai wishes that it didn’t turn him on as much as it did. To see your eyes dark and wanting for him makes blood rush to his cock. This is something Kai’s waited years for, and it does wonders for his confidence, if only for a moment.

He drags you back to him, capturing your lips yet again. There’s more heat in his movements this time, conveying all his attraction to you through tongue and teeth. He licks into your mouth, wanting more, needing more, aching to get you delirious off his touch. His hands start moving down your body, dipping below your shirt to hold onto your bare waist. Your skin is warm and soft, and it feels like territory that Kai needs to explore.

He bites your lip and soothes the sting with a swipe of his tongue, then places another quick kiss to your lips. You look like something out of his wildest dreams, your lips wet and swollen and your eyes blown out with lust. He must not be faring any better. Your eyes dart to the bulge in his pants, and Kai feels a smidge of humiliation that you can see how he’s already fully hard. If a little bit of making out is enough to get him like this, he really has to pull himself together for when you actually touch him.

You push down on Kai’s shoulders until his back meets the mattress. He stares up at you and bites his lip, waiting for your next move. There’s a million different things you could do right now, and he thinks he’d be okay with any of them. You could throw your clothes to the floor and ride his face, you could shove his pants down his legs and tug at his cock, you could sit on his lap and just kiss him some more—hell, you could do nothing but sit there and look pretty and Kai would eventually burst.

“So what made you suddenly decide to hook up with me?” you ask while you situate yourself on his lap. He gasps as you let your hips fall into a slow grind over him. He curses the number of layers separating you two, wanting nothing more than to feel you directly. His hands fall to your thighs, gripping the soft flesh.

“I just…” It’s hard for him to find his words when he’s so focused on the sight of you on top of him. He’s fantasized about this countless times, but none of his imaginations could compare to this.

You laugh and let a hand trail up his chest, stopping at his throat to hold it in a loose grasp. He doesn’t want to be a pervert and beg for you to close your fist, but the idea of you choking him while grinding on top of him has his dick twitching in his jeans. The light pressure isn’t enough, he’d let you go all the way if you wanted.

“You just what?” you coax, smiling at him. He doesn’t know if you meant to be condescending or coddling, but either way it leaves him gripping onto your thighs a little tighter to keep his composure. His tongue is useless, no words find him when you’re toying with him like this. “Tell me, I wanna know,” you press. Kai doesn’t have it in him to create some lie on the spot.

“I-it’s kinda hard to think right now,” Kai says, hands moving up to your hips to try to urge you to move a little faster.

“I can stop, then,” you say, pausing your movements.

“No!” He presses his hips up into you and uses his hands to continue grinding you against him. You squeeze his throat at that, which only makes him whimper and buck into you harder.

“Kai,” you scold, and he finally listens and calms down. It takes a lot of willpower to lay still beneath you. You’re so tempting, he can’t help but try to relieve the strain in his pants.

“It’s just been a while, and… you’re really hot, so,” he explains as he tries to control his breathing.

You give an unsatisfied hum. “So you chose me just cause I’m hot and available?”

Kai squeezes his eyes shut like he’s in pain. He thinks you’re doing this on purpose. “No. You’re my best friend, and I trust you, that’s why. Please move,” he says, trying to urge your hips forward again. He’s a little surprised at how easily he can hide the fact that he was originally planning on asking you out today. Being this horny must grant him superpowers.

You sit there for a moment, pondering his words. Those ten seconds feel like torture, but you’re undoing his pants as soon as you decide his answer was satisfactory, and it makes everything worth it. You push them halfway down his thighs before tugging your own shorts off, and Kai’s hands work quickly to feel up the exposed skin.

You’re back to grinding on him, but this time less clothes separate you. It’s still far too much, though; Kai needs to feel skin on skin. His fingers pry at your panties and try to tug them off, but you swat his hands away. He looks up at you with the most pitiful look he can muster, and it only serves to make you laugh at him like he’s some handsy perv. He blushes a little, letting his hands fall back onto your thighs.

“You just can’t wait, huh?” you taunt, hands sliding up his stomach and chest until his shirt is pulled as far up as it will go. You stare at his body with a bitten lip and dark eyes, and the intensity makes Kai shudder.

“I-I can wait,” he counters, rubbing his thumbs on your skin, keeping his hands right where they are to show that he’s being good. If all you’ll give him is some grinding and heavy petting, then he’ll be happy to just shut up and take it. He needs to prove himself to you, to show you that he can be whatever you want him to be. If you want him to be quiet and lay down like a toy, he’ll be ten steps ahead of you, leaning back on the mattress waiting to be used. If you want him to throw you around and treat you like a whore, he’ll show you strength like no one else has. This is about doing everything exactly how you want.

“How cute,” you coo, letting your nails lightly rake down his torso, stopping once your fingers are at his boxers. You let your finger run over the hem teasingly, just tracing it back and forth with no care as to how much this is torturing Kai. His hips rut up without his permission, body acting on its own accord, and he’s worried for a second that you might scold him.

“Sorry,” he’s quick to apologize, but his body betrays him again. He swears he’s not intent on making himself look so pathetic and horny—this is just what you do to him.

“Do you need me now?” you ask, snapping the waistband of his boxers playfully. He whines and nods, squeezing your hips with need. “How bad?”

“So bad I could cry,” he says. You laugh, and he panics.

“Then cry.” His eyes widen. He knows you’re serious when you still your hips over him once more, crossing your arms and grinning down at him. You’re such a tease, he might just die.

“Please, please use me!” If you want him to beg, he’ll put on a whole damn show. He holds you in place above him so he can roll his hips up into yours, making sure your clit catches on the head of his cock each time. His grip is bruising, and your gasps are like music to his ears. He can’t stop now, he’s insatiable. “Hnng—I’ll cum in my boxers if you don’t let me inside you now,” he whines, giving you a particularly rough thrust.

He’s thankful that you don’t push him away again when his hands scramble to yank your panties off. He pulls them down your legs and throws them hastily somewhere off the bed. He flips the two of you over so you’re lying on the mattress, and you’re giggling at him while he loses his mind above you. He takes off the rest of his clothes as fast as he can, itching to feel your hands all over his skin.

He’s panting by the time he’s finally got his dick in his hands, stroking it and spreading his precum down his shaft. You’re way too beautiful beneath him, and the fear of not lasting long enough to make you cum is making him feel incredibly insecure. You’re way too good for him. Oh god. He has so much to prove, so much to live up to.

He tries to dive down between your legs, figuring he could at least get you to cum on his tongue to ease his worries. He’s stopped by your fist in his hair, pulling him back up before he could even get eye-level with your pussy. His fingers are quick to separate your folds then, rubbing up your slit persistently.

“Let me prepare you,” he says, moving his head down again. He only gets to nibble your thigh before you’re giggling and pulling his head away.

“I’m ready,” you insist, spreading your legs a little wider. His head spins. You’re insane. Now he’s really in danger of cumming too soon—like, before he even sticks it in. He leans his head onto your shoulder, trying to get a hold of himself. His fingers swipe rapidly at your clit, trying to get you as close to the edge as he is. He can’t embarrass himself. He has to be good for you.

Your legs shake and close over his hand, and you try tugging him by the wrist to push him away, but he’s too intent on making you cum to be deterred by that. “Fuck, Kai, stop, you’re gonna..!” Your voice is getting high-pitched and whiny, and your pleas for mercy are really only working against you; if anything, it only motivates Kai further.

“It’s okay, just let go,” he urges, watching your face to see if you’re close. Your eyebrows are upturned, eyes glazed over with lust, and suddenly you look a lot less like a hungry wolf and more like a poor little lamb. He realizes then that the most important thing in the world right now is getting you to fall apart under him.

“Ah—oh, god,” you cry, hips rolling up into his hand as he keeps his relentless pace. He watches arousal drip from your empty cunt, leaking down to the mattress, and it’s the most enticing sight Kai’s ever laid eyes on.

“Come on, cum for me. Promise to stuff you so good when you do,” Kai urges, feeling dizzy at the sight of your twitching body. You must be so close. Every part of him aches for your climax.

“Fuck, cumming..!” you gasp out, grasping onto Kai’s arm for dear life. He loves this feeling, it’s like you need him, like he saved you, like he showed you divinity. It gets too much to his head, and he knows at that moment that he just became addicted. He’ll keep searching for this high for the rest of his life.

He lets up once your body starts convulsing too hard, using his hand to gently hold your waist down instead. He looks at you like you’re something magnificent. A part of him still wonders if this is real or not, but his mind could never make up something this life-changing.

He leans down to kiss you, something deep and hungry, portraying all the need that’s nestled its way into his being. Your hands find his shoulders easily, and it feels like they were meant to be there. Kai thinks your bodies must have been made to touch each other.

You pull away from the kiss, smiling up at him like a little devil. “I thought you said you were gonna fill me up now?”

Something about you saying that makes everything seem much more real all of a sudden. Anxiety strikes its way back into Kai’s stomach, and he doesn’t know if he is greater parts fear or lust when his hand finds his dick again.

“I will,” he promises, and he prays you don’t hear the shake in his voice. He holds back a gasp when he brings his tip to your entrance. You’re soaked, and he feels the way your hole flutters pathetically for him. You need him. He almost feels possessed at the thought.

He bites his lip hard as he starts to push in. He’s trying not to get ahead of himself, but you’re so easy to get drunk in. You’re so tight, he would have stuffed you with his fingers if he’d known you’d be squeezing him like a vice.

He bottoms out with a gruff moan, holding onto your waist for dear life. He can’t believe this. He’s inside you. He’s in love with you. He’s as close to you as he could possibly be. The physical world constrains him from tying your souls together infinitely, but the intimacy of this is almost good enough.

How does he prove himself worthy for you? He feels himself getting lost more and more in a fantastical world in which you love him too, and the two of you are making love. But that’s not what this is. You just want him to fuck you.

His hands trail down to your hips, holding you still as he starts to pull out a bit. He’ll give you what you want. He’ll prove himself capable, make sure you know how well he can satisfy you. He’d spend a lifetime making you believe him if he could.

Your breath catches when Kai bottoms out again in a hard thrust. “You’re big,” you say with a little giggle, hands coming up to rest on Kai’s shoulders.

“T-thanks.” He doesn’t know if you’re laughing at his stutter or at his response, but either way it makes his face flush. He fucks into you at a steady pace now, slow enough to keep himself from cumming.

Your hand trails up to the nape of his neck to grip his hair, and it makes Kai whine. You roll your hips up into him, meeting his thrusts deliciously, tugging harder at his hair when he speeds up a little. You’re making things really hard for Kai right now. He wants to give you the best time of your life, but you keep hypnotizing him with how sexy you are.

He can’t be selfish. He brings a thumb to your clit and relishes in the way you groan out at the stimulation. “Just like that,” you praise, clutching onto him a little more desperately.

“Wanna be good for you,” he says, letting his hips buck harder against you. He’s never felt so brainless in his life; he only acts on instinct as he chases his orgasm and your own. There’s a primal urge to claim you, to paint your walls with his seed.

Your back arches up into him, like you’re presenting yourself fully to him. His free hand snakes up your shirt to find your tits, playing with them as he pleases, watching your reactions to everything. You look so overwhelmed. Your mouth hangs open with broken whines as Kai keeps stimulating you, and the sight has his stomach clenching in threat of climaxing soon.

“Kai,” you moan, accompanied by some garble of words that he can’t quite decipher. He doesn’t know if that’s because you’re unintelligible from how good you feel, or if it’s because he’s so far off in his own need to make you cum that everything else is blurred out.

Your walls start tightening around him now, and he knows you’re cumming when you throw your head back with a cry. He almost bursts inside you at that moment. He feels like something more than human, like only the most divine of beings should be able to see things like this. He burns the image in his mind.

“Where can I cum?” he asks, jackhammering into you as he chases his high. You’re whimpering from the overstimulation, but Kai thinks you can take it for just a few more moments.

“A-anywhere,” you stutter out. For the first time, Kai thinks you look breakable. He has a scary thought of wanting to ruin you.

“Inside you?” he asks, coming down to mouth at your neck. You whimper when he bottoms out again and grinds against you.

“Wherever you want,” you say.

Fuck. It’s that same second he spills inside you, almost as if your words were what allowed him to cum. He groans into your shoulder, hands squeezing at your flesh while your cunt milks him dry. He will never get closer to heaven than this.

He’s not sure how many minutes have passed by the time he’s picking himself back up, hovering over you, still sheathed inside your walls. All he knows is that you look even more beautiful now than you have before, and the urge to confess his love to you falls over him once again.

“Is this gonna change things?” Kai asks. He hopes you say yes. He hopes he made you see him in a new light, that you suddenly realized he’s the man of your dreams and you need him to be with you forever.

“No,” you answer, running your fingers through his hair. “But we probably will fuck again. That was mind-blowing.”

Kai’s still a little too hazy to process that. “Alright,” he says. He collapses back down on you, figuring he would take advantage of the moment and hold you like this a little longer.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Admittedly, Kai didn’t think this through very well. He’s pacing around his bedroom, going on and on to Yeonjun about how much he messed up and how scared he is to see you again. Yeonjun lays on Kai’s bed, much more relaxed than Kai is.

“I don’t think it’s that big of a deal,” Yeonjun says. Kai can’t believe how he can be so casual about this. “You can still tell her how you feel.”

“No I can’t! I should have told her before we had sex, this is a nightmare!” Kai holds his head in his hands, trying to keep it from exploding. The amount of stress he feels right now is probably enough to guarantee him heart problems later in life.

“She won’t care, dude. Just tell her you choked,” Yeonjun reassures. It does very little to comfort Kai, though.

“I’m not gonna tell her. I don’t think I can.”

“Yes you can. If you don’t tell her, I’ll ask her out myself.” Kai’s not sure if Yeonjun’s threat is legit, but it strikes a bit of fear in his heart anyway.

“I’ll tell her in, like, a month. That’s enough time, right?”

“Why not tomorrow?” Yeonjun counters.

“Are you crazy?! We had sex two days ago! If I tell her tomorrow, I’m gonna look pussy-whipped!”

Yeonjun laughs, “Well…”

Kai rolls his eyes. “Shut up. I’m not telling her until next month.”

“You’re just gonna push that date back over and over again. Get it over with sooner, that way you don’t have to worry about it all the time,” Yeonjun explains.

“You don’t get it. This is hard for me. Have you even been in love before?” Kai asks, pausing in front of the bed so he can look Yeonjun in the eye when he answers.

“I guess not,” Yeonjun says, shrugging like he doesn’t see how that would matter. “You know I give good advice about dating, though. I can look at it objectively because I’ve never been in love.”

Kai doesn’t have a response to that—not because Yeonjun’s right, but because he thinks Yeonjun’s reasoning is so ridiculous. Yeonjun doesn’t understand what it’s like to feel even a quarter of the yearning Kai holds for you. He doesn’t know a fraction of the fear of losing you.

Yeonjun starts up again, “You’re seeing her tomorrow anyway, so you might as well.”

Kai shakes his head. “I can’t. I can barely handle seeing her tomorrow as is.”

Yeonjun sits up, clearly taking the conversation more seriously now. “Why though? You act like you’re so doomed, but I guarantee you that hooking up once isn’t something to cry about.”

“That’s the problem, it wasn’t just a hook up for me. I will never be the fucking same again. I literally can’t move on.” Mild irritation laces all of Kai’s words.

“Then take a step back and chill out. The more you stress about this, the worse you’re going to make things,” Yeonjun says. He still sounds so unphased about it all. Kai wishes he could make him see how pressing this really is, how this actually feels like life or death for him.

“How am I gonna take a step back when I see her and talk to her all the time?” Kai asks. That’s just scratching the surface; he doesn’t even mention how his every thought goes back to you, how everything in the world reminds him of you one way or another. His devotion toward you feels like it’s embedded in his bones, like it’s part of his wiring. There is no him without an undying love for you—the two cannot be separated.

“I don’t know, dude. I don’t wanna sound like a dick, but if you don’t want my help, figure it out on your own,” Yeonjun says, exhausted.

Equally exhausted, Kai sinks down the wall until he’s sat on the floor. “Let’s just stop talking about this for now,” Kai sighs out.

It’s quiet in the room for a minute as the tension slowly dissipates. Then, Yeonjun chimes in again with a five-star idea: “Wanna get drinks?”

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Kai thought he’d be too scared to see you today, but he proves himself to be horribly wrong. As soon as you call him telling him to come over, the only anxiety he feels is in the form of antsiness to see you again. He doesn’t waste a second before driving to your apartment. He could walk, but that would just be more time lost.

He realizes the moment he walks into your bedroom that maybe he shouldn’t have been so careless before coming here.

Your eyes fall to his shirt. “Is that One Direction?”

“No.” He looks down at his shirt only to see the five boy band members staring back at him. He looks back at you, hopefully concealing the fear he feels from his face. “Yes.”

You laugh. Oh god, do you think he’s a loser?

“It’s my sister’s shirt,” he explains quickly. “It was too big for her, so she gave it to me.”

“Please go out in public wearing that,” you say. “I’ll literally treat you to lunch right now.”

Kai feels his face flushing in embarrassment. “I don’t even like One Direction!”

“You do now! I think I’m in the mood for a discography dive, actually,” you laugh. Kai hides his face in his hands as he trudges his way over to you, falling backward onto your bed. He feels your hand run through his hair as your laughter dies down.

“Do you have any of my sweatshirts here?” Kai asks, even though he knows you do.

“Nooooo, I don’t want you taking those from me,” you whine.

“You’ll get it back, I just don’t want to go out like this.” You pout at him before getting up and rummaging through your closet. You throw a sweatshirt at him when you find one, and Kai is quick to throw it on once it lands in his lap.

“It feels like a crime for you to be covering them up,” you say, brushing your hand over where One Direction’s faces once were.

“It would feel like more of a crime letting people think I’m a modern-day Directioner.” Kai relishes in the way you laugh at that.

“You’d be such a Niall girl,” you say with an amused glint in your eye.

“I don’t even know which one Niall is.”

“He’s”—

“And I’d like to keep it that way,” he cuts you off.

“Fine. No one ever wants to talk One Direction with me anyway.”

Kai laughs, and he’s a little starstruck by how pretty you look when you smile at him like this. “Where do you wanna go today?” he asks, changing the conversation.

You shrug. “We can just drive to the city and see what’s around,” you offer.

“Do you wanna just head out now then?”

“Let me get ready and then we can,” you say, getting off the bed.

It’s a miracle how normal Kai’s been able to act so far. He still looks away when you change your clothes, wanting to be respectful, but he wonders if there’s even a point to it anymore. His face heats up when he thinks about how you said you’ll probably have sex with him again.

Yeonjun’s words from yesterday come back to Kai, how he seemed so confident that Kai should confess to you today. For a second, he considers it. Yeonjun’s so much better with girls than Kai is, it would probably be stupid to not take his advice. But then Kai remembers that there’s no stakes when Yeonjun talks to girls; he doesn’t go after his best friend like Kai does, he goes after random girls at random parties that he’ll never see again.

For Kai’s own good, and for the sake of your friendship, he can’t tell you today. Even if it means swallowing down his compliments when you come to him all ready to go. Even if it means staying silent while being at risk of going into cardiac arrest, heart beating rapidly from how pretty you look in the passenger seat of his car.

Kai makes the mistake of letting you control the music on the ride there. He conveys his disappointment with a single glance to you when he hears you play What Makes You Beautiful. You’re grinning so hard that your cheeks must hurt, but your joy is contagious, and Kai finds himself smiling against his will.

“What? It’s your favorite band!” you tease. You turn up the volume as the chorus hits, singing the lyrics to him. Kai can’t help but laugh. He might have to buy a hundred more stupid t-shirts if this is what he’ll get every time.

Once you arrive downtown, Kai walks with you as you look for an intriguing store. He usually lets you pick out what shops you enter, but he catches sight of a building that calls out to him. “Let’s go here,” Kai suggests, motioning toward the sign on the store.

“Palm reading? Since when did you get so spiritual?” you ask.

Kai looks at you for a second, admiring your smile. “I just think it might be fun,” he says. “You don’t like it?”

You shrug. “I’m just not super into it. I’m down to watch you get your palm read, though.”

The shop is typical for a spirituality store—there’s crystals, tarot cards, incense, and everything else Kai usually sees at these places. He walks to the woman managing the register at the back, eyeing the board behind her that displays their services.

“Oh wow, they do mediumship here,” you say quietly as you follow behind Kai. “What the hell is an aura reading?” There’s a bit of amusement in your voice, and Kai hopes the worker doesn’t hear you.

“I don’t know, I’ve never done those,” he whispers back to you. He smiles when the woman behind the counter comes up to him, greeting her quietly.

“How can I help you?” she asks.

“Could we do one of those palm readings?” Kai says, pointing up at the text on the board describing the palm reading service.

“Just that? Would you like me to look at anything else?”

“Just the palm reading,” Kai answers. The woman calls out another worker to watch the store, then directs you and Kai to a room at the back.

“Oh, this room is tiny. It’s like a closet,” you say with a laugh, and Kai hopes the woman knows that you say this with no malice. She motions for the two of you to take a seat at the small table in the room. The chairs aren’t very comfortable—they’re pretty hard, and they squeak when you both sit in them, but Kai thinks of it as another charm to the place.

There’s a lot of unlit candles in the room, and the light instead comes from a lamp that stands in the corner of the room, casting the room in a yellowish glow. Spiritual posters line the walls, as well as shelves that hold huge crystals and other trinkets Kai doesn’t quite recognize. He looks to you for a second, to which you return his glance with a smile and a raise of your brows. His heart races a little, sickly sweet feelings for you rising in his stomach.

“Would you hold out your hands?” the woman says, and Kai immediately places his hands palm-up on top of the table. He suddenly feels nervous, as if he’s baring something as sacred as his soul rather than just his skin.

He’s not sure what he wants to hear today. He hasn’t done anything like this before, but the worker seems nice enough. Kai doesn’t know how to tell if someone is the real deal or not when it comes to spiritual stuff, but he trusts this woman’s vibes. She’s funky, in a good way.

He wonders if palm readings can say anything about love. With you right here, perhaps it’s better if he doesn’t ask.

The worker hums as she assesses Kai’s hands. He can feel them starting to get clammy from the nerves, antsy to just hear whatever she has to say. He hopes he doesn’t have bad fortunes.

The woman rests her thumb over a deep line that runs across Kai’s palm. “Your life line is very pronounced.”

Kai blinks at her. “What does that mean?”

She runs her finger over the full line. “It’s a long, deep line. Usually that means you’re energetic, and you’ll have a successful life. You might be good at sports too.”

You laugh beside him, and if his hands weren’t busy getting read by this lady he would’ve used them to shove you. “Please don’t mind her,” he says, feeling his face heat up.

“There’s just the capacity for you to be good at sports. And it doesn’t have to be a very physical sport,” she continues. Great—your laughter made the palm reader start scrambling for an explanation. She thinks he’s unathletic now.

“I am good at sports,” Kai says, feeling like he has to prove himself. “I like working out.”

“Yesss, and he loves bowling,” you add.

“What? She just made that up,” Kai defends. “I don’t like bowling.”

“He was a pro bowler in high school.”

“No. You’re a pro liar.” Kai is also failing to see why you find it important to sell this lie to the palm reader. He’s lucky enough that the reader doesn’t seem to pay any mind to your antics.

“You seem to have a lot of emotions,” she says, finger lying on one of the other prominent lines in Kai’s palm. He sees you smirking in his peripheral, and he tries his very best to ignore it. “Do you usually repress what you feel?”

Oh gosh. He makes a point to not look at you, but the first thing he thinks of is how he’s been holding in his feelings for you for years. He’s been bottling that up for a while—a lot of other emotions, too, but namely that one.

“Sometimes, yeah,” he answers with a nod, hoping his voice didn’t sound as nervous as he felt.

“All the time,” you correct. “He rarely opens up.”

The palm reader hums in acknowledgement. “I can see that. You might want to work on expressing your emotions more. It’s not good to let everything sit in your body.” She looks him dead in the eye to make her point. Kai nods and gulps, feeling a little intimidated.

The reader releases Kai’s hands and turns her face to you. “Would you like a reading?” she asks. You wave your hand in denial.

“I’m alright, thank you. Hey, you got him dead on, though. Congrats,” you say, smiling at the lady and getting out of your chair.

“Thank you,” Kai says, fishing his wallet from his pants. “How much is this?”

“Ten dollars,” the woman answers, taking the cash from Kai when he hands it to her. He runs over to where you stand at the door, waiting for him with a smile. The moment the two of you step foot out of the building, you’re already going on about how fake and scammy this gig is.

“That lady was so full of shit. I could probably do this job. It was actually meant for me cause I love to lie,” you say. You stop walking and turn to face Kai. “Here, give me your hand.”

He hesitates for a second and braces himself for whatever insane story you’re about to come up with.

“Oh yeah, fingertips of a bowler,” you start. You cackle when Kai immediately tries yanking his hand from yours at that, but you keep a solid grip on his wrist. You trace over a line in his palm. “This one means you like long walks on the beach. And this one means you want to go back to the car and give me head.”

His interest is piqued. “For real?”

You drop his hand. “Yeah, says exactly that. That’ll be ten bucks.”

“I can think of a better way to pay you,” he says, unable to contain his grin. He takes your hand and speeds to his car. He doesn’t really care how desperate it makes him look. You’re giggling the whole way there, and the noise just goes straight to his cock. Maybe he is pussy-whipped.

He urges you into the backseat as soon as you make it to the car, getting in behind you and slamming the door shut, too eager to get his hands on you. Your smile doesn’t leave your face when he leans in to kiss you, but that doesn’t stop him at all. He cradles your jaw in his hand, keeping your face connected to his as he works his lips against yours.

“Hope no one catches us,” you giggle, only pulling away long enough to say that before being taken by Kai’s kiss again. Kai doesn’t let your words get to him; he’s too horny to think about anything besides boning you anyway.

Kai hovers over you, and there’s not much space in the backseat of his car, but he’ll sure as hell make it work if it means getting his face between your thighs. He wastes no time pulling down your jeans and your panties, yanking off your top and bra too so that you lay fully nude beneath him.

His eyes scan your body hungrily, taking in your skin at its most vulnerable. “You’re pretty,” he says as his hands find your tits, squeezing them and listening to you sigh at the feeling.

“J-just pretty?” you tease.

“And sexy,” Kai says, lowering his mouth to your nipple, sucking it until he hears you whimper. “And so gorgeous,” he adds before moving to your other nipple. He’s greedy—he wants all your pleasure to be his own, for you to only associate sex and satisfaction with him.

You gasp and arch into him. Kai catches your movement, holding your back to keep you pressed close to him as he continues showing you how beautiful he thinks you are. He could spend lifetimes doing this. He was made to worship you.

Your hand curls in his hair, and Kai wonders if you could cum like this, just from some nipple stimulation. With the way you’re panting and moaning into the air, he thinks you might. He’ll have to try that someday. Today, it’s not enough. Today, he craves you more carnally. He starts dragging his lips down your body, trying not to smile in satisfaction when your breath hitches.

He brings his head between your legs, staring at you with intensity blazing in his eyes. He wonders if your skin is buzzing too. He wonders if you’ve never felt more alive than now, just like him.

“Can I?” he asks, gently maneuvering your legs to rest over his shoulders.

You lean up on your elbows to watch. “Mhm,” you hum with a small smile.

He can’t be bothered to tease you—it would probably be more torturous for him than you, anyway. He dives in right away, bringing his tongue to your folds and tightening his hold on your thighs. He can’t count how many times he’s jerked off to the thought of this. He doesn’t even care that he’s cramped in the tight space of his car, all he cares about is that he finally knows how you taste.

His tongue swirls at your clit, gliding along the bud with determination. He’s dying to feel your legs clamp around his head. He wants to be suffocating, to feel the air slowly leave him as he laps at your pussy. He grunts against you, moving down to tongue at your entrance.

He presses his face further into you, aching to get closer than what’s physically possible. He curls his tongue up inside you, huffing out a laugh when your thighs jolt at the sensation. He repeats the motion until he hears your moans get high-pitched and breathy, and he feels like he’s on top of the world. Nothing could be better than this.

Your hands grab at his hair, desperate and shaking and so needy, and he can’t help but feel the urge to take care of you. “Fuck, how are you so good at this?” you ask, sounding all worked up. Kai thinks it’s very cute. He doesn’t answer, of course—he’s a little preoccupied.

Your words motivate him to go further, lapping at you with more fervor. His brain turns to mush, reduced to primal instinct that begs you to cum all over his tongue. He grips onto you tighter when your hips start running away, not letting you escape him. You whine out as he mouths at your pussy; it’s filthy and messy, but Kai couldn’t imagine a more perfect way to have you.

“Kai—Kai! Like that, shit, you’re so fucking good.” Your legs start closing around his head, and Kai thanks the universe for putting him in this position. You twitch and gasp as you get closer and closer to your climax, hands tightening in Kai’s hair.

He’s feral now, and his vision might be blacking out, but he fucking loves this. He doesn’t stop or slow down, and the payoff comes in the form of his name tumbling from your lips as you finally cum. He can’t get enough, continuing to lap at you even as you try to tug him away.

“I’m sensitive!” you yelp when he comes up to your clit, taking it between his lips and sucking until you cry. He doesn’t do it to be mean, he’s just so crazy about you. He wants you to cum over and over again, but you keep trying to pull him away, so he finally lets up.

He comes up to you for a kiss, taking your hand to hold it as he pants into your mouth. He doesn’t care about catching his breath. He doesn’t want to waste time on insignificant things like taking in air. He only wants to breathe you in, to be overwhelmed with the way you take over his senses.

Your free hand clumsily tries to push his pants down, and he resorts to helping you out after a few failed attempts. He doesn’t separate from the kiss for a second as he gets his cock out, lining it up to your entrance needily. He pumps his shaft in his hand as he sticks his tip in, eating up your moans as they pass from your mouth into his.

Maybe he’s too in his head, but this feels like more than sex between two friends. This feels too transformative to be anything casual. He pushes in further, breaking from the kiss to watch your face as he bottoms out. He brushes your hair back, then lets his hand rest on your cheek. His thumb rests over your bottom lip, pulling it down slightly. You have beautiful lips.

He pushes his thumb into your mouth the same moment he starts thrusting inside you. He feels the vibrations of your moans as he fucks into you, groaning at the way you clench around him.

“You take me so well,” Kai grunts out, pushing his thumb down on your tongue so your mouth opens up. You look like a wet dream. He brings his other hand to your breasts, playing with your nipples. You mewl, and he finally takes his thumb from your mouth so he can kiss you again.

It doesn’t take long for him to feel ready to burst. He pinches your clit, trying to bring you to the edge with him. You tug his hair, pulling his face away so you can stare into his eyes as you get closer to cumming.

“Cum inside me,” you urge, sliding your hand down from his hair to his neck. You hold his throat in a possessive grasp, and Kai almost sees God in that moment. His hips buck into you faster, motivated by your fingers slowly tightening around him.

Kai bottoms out and bursts inside you with a moan, letting your walls squeeze around him and milk his cock. He moves his fingers over your clit rapidly until he feels you convulsing around his shaft; his head spins from both the noises you make as you orgasm and your hand around his neck.

You finally let go, and Kai gasps for air, leaning his head down into your shoulder as he rides out the last of your highs. He runs his hands all over your body, cherishing the feel of your bare flesh. He licks the skin at your neck and shoulder mindlessly, still foggy from how turned on he is.

He pulls out after a minute, pulling his head from your shoulder so he can watch the way his cum drips out of you. He grins at the sight, and he knows it’s perverted and gross, but he loves the way it spills out. He can’t have his cum dripping onto his car seats, though, so he has to put your panties back on and make sure your cunt keeps it all in.

“How you feeling?” you ask, still laying down and catching your breath.

“Good. That was so good,” Kai breathes out, staring at your lips, then your eyes.

You smile at him. “Is that all you want to say?” you ask.

No, it’s not. He wants to say he loves you. He wants to say that this means more to him than you know. He wants your lips beyond these slivers of moments, he wants your body beyond these hookups. Do you know that? Do you know he wants to say all that?

He grabs your hand and laces his fingers between yours. The lines embedded in his palms spell out a path that was fated for loving you. He’s more sure of this now than ever before. There’s his answer.

“That’s all,” Kai says.

──── ──── ──── ──── ────

“I don’t get it,” Yeonjun says. “Why’d you hook up with her again if it fucked you up so bad last time?”

Kai sighs, “Cause I’m stupid. I don’t know.”

Kai’s not sure how debriefing with Yeonjun after hanging out with you became such common practice, but it at least offers him some sort of reprieve from suffering alone. Now he doesn’t have to mope around crying about his lost chances with you. They’re sitting in Yeonjun’s car in the corner of some parking lot, since Yeonjun didn’t want to just hang out at Kai’s place again.

“Are you ever gonna confess?” Yeonjun asks. He sounds like he lost hope in Kai.

“Yes, I am,” Kai says, not knowing how to bare himself to Yeonjun like this. “Just not yet.”

“Mhm,” he gives an unconvincing hum.

“I am,” Kai insists.

“When? Ten years from now, when she’s already settled down without you?” That pisses Kai off a little, but he doesn’t let it show. Yeonjun continues, “Listen, dude. For your own sake—and for mine, at this point—just tell her you love her. And not in a month. Tell her today.”

“I’m not seeing her today,” Kai reasons.

Yeonjun puts the car in drive. “Yes you are.”

“Oh my god, you’re not taking me to her place,” Kai says, but Yeonjun’s already pulling out of the parking lot and heading out. Kai’s eyes go wide. “You’re not.”

“I am.” What the hell?! Kai’s not ready for this! You don’t even know he’s coming over!

“I don’t know what to say!” he exclaims, starting to panic.

“Don’t worry about it,” Yeonjun says.

“I just saw her yesterday! You’re making me look desperate!”

“You are desperate,” Yeonjun laughs. Kai doesn’t find it funny. Kai can’t really find anything funny right now.

“I can’t do it. I’m not doing it.”

Yeonjun doesn’t even respond; he just keeps his eyes on the road and continues on the route to your apartment. Kai’s getting flashbacks to when he first tried confessing to you. That was around a week ago now, and look where that attempt got him. He's more pathetic than he was before.

Of course he wants to tell you how he feels. It’s not like Kai wants to be such a coward about this, but the fear of you rejecting him and scaring you off forever is mortifying. Yeonjun doesn’t understand how paralyzing that idea is. There would be no kind of hurt stronger than the one of you turning Kai away. He knows he can’t make you love him, and while he would simply die to have his feelings be reciprocated, he can’t force it onto you.

Yeonjun’s approaching your street now, and Kai has never felt closer to death in his life. There’s no chance he’s getting out of Yeonjun’s car. He’ll rot away here in the passenger seat before he confesses to you.

Yeonjun turns to Kai when he parks by your apartment complex. He raises an eyebrow when Kai doesn’t make a move to get out of the car.

“I’m too scared. I can’t,” Kai says, sounding completely sure of this.

Yeonjun’s quiet for a few seconds, pursing his lips in thought as he decides on what to say. “How much do you love her?” he asks.

This is a stupid question. “You know how much. It kills me how much.”

“So act like it. Pick yourself up and go to her like a man. Quit ruining your own life—she’s not gonna want some bum who can’t even work up enough courage to say he loves her,” Yeonjun says, and his words are harsh, but they strike some kind of determination in Kai. “Dude, I don’t know any guy who deserves her more than you. You’re the best. I mean it. You gotta go get her.”

Kai’s palms are sweating and his heart is racing, but there’s a fire lit beneath him now. Yeonjun’s right. Even if it’s the end of all things, Kai has to tell you his feelings.

Yeonjun continues, “Do it. It’s not as bad as you think. You have to do it.”

Kai finally opens the car door, and he can feel the adrenaline rushing through his body. “I’m gonna call you later,” Kai says before shutting the door. He hears Yeonjun cheer him on as he walks off, letting his feet lead him to your door.

It all feels too familiar when Kai’s standing at your doorstep. He has no script this time. He couldn’t begin to try and conjure one up—his nerves are making him jittery and scatterbrained. There’s no backing out this time. Yeonjun’s words ring in Kai’s mind. He has to do it.

“Oh, hey,” you say when you open the door. Kai steps inside and gathers his breath. “Did something happen?” you ask.

You stare at him with concern, and he figures it must be because he’s visibly anxious. He tries to get himself together, straightening his posture and breathing slower.

“No, not really,” he answers.

“You look like you’re ready to pass out.” You glance at your living room. “Did you want to sit down?”

“No,” he says, then musters up whatever courage he has to grab your hands. He clutches onto them desperately, as if you ground him, as if you remind him to be brave. “I just want to tell you something.”

Your eyes dart between his like you’re trying to find his words before he can say them. “What is it?” you ask.

Kai’s whole world has been building up to this moment. It’s finally time. He breaks the dam open, letting his vulnerability loose.

“I love you.” His heart hammers against his chest.

“I know,” you say.

“No, like—I love you,” he emphasizes, squeezing your hands.

You smile. It’s breathtaking. “I know. Yeonjun told me.”

Yeonjun—what?!

“Are you kidding me?!” Kai forgets everything else he wanted to say in his horror. That fucking asshole, he’s dead! Kai can’t believe this! He doesn’t even know why he’s surprised; this is such a Yeonjun thing to do. “When did he tell you?!”

You laugh like this is all so funny, meanwhile Kai’s world is crumbling down. “The day before we first hooked up,” you answer.

No fucking way.

“You knew this whole time?” Kai asks.

“Yup,” you confirm.

“Why did he tell you?”

“In case you pussied out. Which you did,” you answer. “And because he knew I’m in love with you too.”

Kai doesn’t quite process what he heard. “Huh?”

You grin and roll your eyes, and then you’re pulling Kai’s face in so you can kiss him. His head spins. He’ll wake up any second now. Your lips feel very real, though, and far beyond what his dreams could conjure up. They’re soft and sweet and just as delicious as he remembers.

You pull away. “I love you too,” you say. “You should be my boyfriend.”

Kai’s in disbelief. You love him—the words echo in his mind on a constant loop. He can’t think about anything else; all he can do is pull you back in for another kiss and make it count. This is your first kiss officially together, after all.

“You should’ve asked me before,” Kai breathes out, holding your face dearly. “You knew I would’ve said yes.”

You giggle, “I like the chase.”

The world around him fades away as Kai devotes his full attention to you. Nothing else in the universe could mean more than this moment. You drag him to your bedroom, and he follows eagerly, grinning victoriously the whole time.

“I can’t believe it took you so long to finally say it,” you tease as you push him onto your bed, straddling him and resting your hands on his chest. “Or that I had to hear it from Yeonjun first, a week before I heard it from you.”

“He fucking sucks for that,” Kai says with a little laugh. He holds no real malice toward Yeonjun, but he will definitely be having a word with him later. Honestly, Kai couldn’t even be mad if he tried right now. With you smiling like this on top of him and Kai finally being able to call you his, nothing could bring him down.

You bring Kai’s face to yours for a quick kiss, then you pull away to throw off your shirt. “Let’s make it feel like the first time,” you say, lifting off of him to take off your bottoms.

“It always does with you,” Kai says sweetly as he pulls his own pants and boxers down. You spit in your hand and bring it to his cock, pumping him quickly to get him fully hard. You bite your lip as you twist your hand over him, earning a choked out moan from Kai. He brings his hand to your folds, rubbing at your slit with just as much fervor.

“Do you want me to ride you?” you ask, a little out of breath from Kai’s hands on you. His head nearly explodes at the thought of you riding him. He wants you to do whatever you want. He wants you to use his dick to make yourself cum ten times over, if that’s what you’d like.

“Yeah, fuck, come fuck me,” Kai begs just as breathlessly. He places his hands on your hips while you position his tip to your entrance. You have fun with it, sliding the head of his cock through your folds until Kai starts whining.

You grab his face so he’ll look at you when you start sinking down on him, and the eye contact is so intense, but Kai doesn’t dare look away. He lets you dip two fingers past his lips, and he sucks them diligently, moaning around them when you sink down on his cock all the way.

You grind against him, slow and sensual, while Kai swirls his tongue around your digits. He wants you to feel his devotion. He wants his love to be so apparent that you could never doubt it. His insides are lit aflame with desire, a need to be claimed by you. You don’t know it, but you’ve carved your name into his soul. He’s eternally yours.

“I love you,” you whisper. You put your body to work, keeping all the passion and sensuality in the moment as you start riding him. Kai gasps, and you pull your fingers from his mouth, bringing them to your own to suck his saliva off of them. The act is so dirty, but it makes Kai’s dick twitch inside you.

“I love you too,” he whimpers. You take your saliva-coated fingers to your clit and rub it as you hasten the pace of your hips. His hands find your tits, squeezing the flesh and thumbing at your nipples. Your mouth drops open, and your eyes fall to Kai’s lips. He smiles as he leans in, kissing you and capturing all your moans.

He holds onto your hip so he can buck up into you, trying to get you both to your orgasms. “Cum with me,” you breathe into his mouth. You don’t have to tell him twice.

He bottoms out and releases inside you, cock twitching as his seed spurts out. You’re cumming right along with him, legs trembling and hands clutching onto Kai to keep yourself up. He watches your stomach tense up as you ride out your high. You’re the hottest sight to be seen.

Kai feels euphoric, like the world has blessed him to be the luckiest man on earth. The happiness bubbling inside him makes him feel like he could explode. He’s all giggles and stupid little smiles, peppering your face with kisses.

“I can’t believe this is real. Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he says, staring at you like you’re something precious.

“This didn’t feel real to you?” you ask, rolling your hips over him. He’s sensitive, and the motion makes him jolt. You laugh and pull yourself off of him.

“I’m ridiculously in love with you. I wish I had the words to tell you how much,” Kai professes.

“What a shame. I would’ve loved to hear it.” You peck the tip of his nose.

If that’s a challenge to get Kai to try, he gladly accepts. “I never believed in destiny until I fell in love with you. I don’t think a love this strong existed anywhere else, I think I’m the first person to love someone this hard.”

Kai will dedicate his every next breath to you. He’s yearned and longed for years, with a force much stronger than a human heart has. Feelings like this are bigger than life itself; they’re bigger than celestial bodies, bigger than metaphysical concepts. Feelings like this haven’t yet been given words to describe them.

He feels like a winner when he sees you fluster at his words—getting you to blush is not an easy feat. You look away shyly, but your lips are tilted up in a cute smile.

“Well, I love you too,” you say. Kai doesn’t need the fancy words from you; this much is more than enough. He steals a kiss from you once more.

Kai doesn’t forget to call Yeonjun when he gets the chance, figuring he should still have a word with him. It goes to voicemail. That’s fine. He leaves a very kind message for his friend to find when he decides to check his phone.

“You’re seriously the worst. You’re unbelievable. Call me back when you can, you’re gonna want to hear this.”

notes: ahhhhhh what do we think?? 🙈🙈 i’m issuing a formal apology to the one direction fans and haters who had to sit through the 1d bit. extra apology to niall girls. i also apologize to the bowling community. contrary to what this fic may imply i really do respect you guys. lmfao i hope you enjoyed this! always happy to hear ur thoughts :)

taglist: @dawngyu @fancypeacepersona @hyukarma @kveclair @mental-hollows @moaadiry 🤍

© delugyu 2025, do not translate or reupload

[midnightshindig]

i hope that’s not too distressing of a scenario but i wanna know how would mark, cecil, donald, rex and allen react to accidentally making you cry during an argument! god knows they’re capable of doing that lmao

Allen, Cecil, Donald, Mark, and Rex x Reader: Making you Cry

ngl if a man ever made me cry during an argument i'd hit him with my car

hcs under the cut!

Allen

like legit the most gentle dude alive

He fucks up sometimes because he treats you like an equal, and forgets that not everyone can take a verbal lashing like he can

You probably get into an argument about his job, telling him that you don't like him almost dying all the time

"What? You think I should let thousands of people die for YOUR comfort?! You don't get how much bigger this is! This is more important than you!"

it sends you over the edge, tears spilling down your puffy cheeks

It hurts to have something true said so hurtfully

he immediately caves, apologizing profusely and putting an arm around your shoulder

"Heyyy.... heyyyyy shh shh shhhhhh, I'm sorry- I'm so sorry baby I shouldn't have said that-"

he hates seeing a pretty person cry <3

Cecil

lowkey a menace ngl

He doesn't like making you upset but he's RIGHT and he's not willing to lie for the sake of your feelings

Like Allen, you probably fight about his job

"Y/n, let me make it crystal clear, if it comes down between my job and my relationships, you're welcome to leave."

"So what? I'm not allowed to have problems without you disregarding them?! That's not a relationship, Cecil. I'm not convenient for you."

He groaned, leaning into his hands "God don't I know. Trust me, Y/n, you're the furthest thing FROM convenient with these tantrums."

his words stung, coming from the man who was usually so kind. Who was so good at balancing the demands of his life and the demands of his love

you bit back tears, welling up in your tear ducts but holding their place due to your unwillingness to conciet

buuuuuut he noticed nontheless, and softened momentarily

"Y/n..... I'm.... I shouldn't have said that." he reached out for your hand, but you snatched it back and turned on your heel

"Fuck off, Cecil. Go do your important work." and with that you left the room, storming off somewhere else to cool down

Donald

Type of dude who doesn't get heated often

He's literally js a chill guy

Probably pulls a Devil Wears Prada and yells at you out of stress

"Y/n- Fuck- do you have those papers copied? Cecil needs them now-"

"Oh, sorry honey I thought I told you, our printer is out of ink." You replied casually, leaning against the dining room table

This sent Donald into a stressed panic as he raced around the room

"You didn't think to TELL ME?!!" He cried out, more aggressive than he intended

You'd never heard him yell before

CERTAINLY not at you

and the waterworks began

You sniffled and wiped at the tears with the backs of your hands

But Donald was too busy to notice, let alone console you

Nontheless, once he resolved with Cecil, the first thing he did was call you from work

"Y/n, I am SO sorry for yelling at you this morning. It was out of line and I apologize."

he topped it off by making dinner for you from scratch as an apology

Mark

He's so nice but he's SOOOOO stupid

you're probably arguing about something hypothetical, like a comic book morality issue

and he takes it too far

"Aghhh Mark, it's totally fucked up for Superman to have that much unchecked power! What happens if he turns evil or something?"

"Y/n, the point of superman is that he's a good guy!! He fights the bad guys!"

"Okayyyy but we see sometimes his idea of whats right differs from the government, who gets to make that decision? The government? How do you govern the ungovernable when the ungovernable is the one who governs you? How do you checks and balances a god?"

"Oh my god- If you're good, you're good. You don't need checks and balances if you're a good person!!"

"But what if someone with that kind of power WASN'T good?!" your argument increasing in heat, you jokingly feeding into his very real anger "You NEED kryptonite to ensure Superman doesn't go off the deep end!"

Marks eye twitched "And who is someone like YOU to decide what a SUPERHERO should and shouldn't be able to do?!? HUH?!"

"Mark you're taking this too seriously-"

"GAh- NO! I'm serious, Y/n!. What business do regular people have telling me how to use my abilities? The government?! What a joke!"

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Mark, I love you, but you're starting to sound like your dad"

Marks eyes widened as he shot up from the bed, breathing heavy with anxiety at the accusation "SH- SHUT UP!!!"

The room shook a little, the bed shook harder, causing you to briefly lose your seating and rustling you a little more than you would've liked

You stared at him, wide eyed, afraid, and furious

tears silently streaming down your face

You quielty stood up and dusted yourself off, walking over to Mark, who had begun panicking when he realized what had happened

"You need to get it the fuck together. That was pathetic. I will not date the equivalent of a frat bro who punches walls when his girlfriend won't fuck him."

He reached out to wipe the tears from your cheeks, his eyes widening when you flinched

"Oh- Oh fuck- Y/n, I am so sorry that was so horrible oh shit oh shit- are you okay? babe I'm so sorry" he wrapped you up in a hug, levitating off the floor slightly as he did, pulling you to your tiptoes

Rex

honestly he's such a dick i'm not surprised

You probably catch him ogling your waitress or smth and tell him off

It escalates from there:

"You were totally eye fucking her, Rex! What the hell?" You hissed, trying not to cause a scene in this Olive Garden

He scoffed, eating an olive off YOUR martini skewer "Babe please, I'm appreciating her boobie-I mean beauty!" He grinned, hoping his hilarious mistake would make up for his bullshit

You grimaced in response, rolling your eyes "Rex you're being a jackass. If this is how you are no wonder Eve left your ass."

He responded by spitting back "At least Eve was hot."

It hit him how stupid he was the second it left his mouth, and regret filled his expression as you slowly started crying

It was a restrained sob, only louder as you attempted to choke it back

Only made worse by the realization people were staring at your ugly, puffy, crying face

and Rex had caused it

he reached across the table for your hand "Hey- I didn't mean that. You're SO hot, you're like- gorgeous. Way prettier than the waitress."

He didn't get it.

You stood up and grabbed your bag, walking to the restroom as Rex followed suite

"Rex, go away."

"No! I apologized, why are you still crying? hey-" He tried to calm you down, following after you and cooing at you

"GAh-" you spit out, turning to face him "You think I need you to remind me your ex is a hot superheroine I can't compete with? And that you fumbled HER. If she wasn't enough for you how could I POSSIBLY be?!"

Rex softened, pulling you into the family restroom for some privacy

"I've grown up a lot since that, and even though I fuck up-" he took both your hands, looking at you through his eyelashes "I would NEVER cheat on you. Nobody deserves that. Especially not my gorgeous, amazing, patient, skilled, precious, unfathomably hot and hilarious, and perfect partner. You're all I want. My eyes wander but my heart-"

he put your hands on his heart

"My hearts all yours, babes."

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hellooo may I request an MLM fairy tale-esque story of a knight trying to save a prince from a sorcerer's spell, but the cunning sorcerer tries to enthrall him as well? ✨️✨️

"Why did you come?"

"Where is he?"

"Duty?" the sorcerer offered.

"Where. Is. He?"

"I hope it was not love," the sorcerer said. His head tilted. "You once vowed you'd never fall in love with someone like him. A parasite of royal blood."

He's different. But there was no good way to say that, not to them.

The knight came to a stop before the twisted imitation of the throne. It was closer to smoke and dreams than the gold plated seat in the grand hall that he knew so well these days, but the sorcerer lounged upon it as if it were all the same. Just as real.

"It doesn't matter why I'm here." The knight drew his blade, heart hammering. "I'm here. I'll cut you through to get to him, if that is what it takes."

The sorcerer's lip curled. "Spoken like a true knight."

"Well, you steal princes like a true evil sorcerer, so I suppose we both know our roles these days."

"You have either forgotten yourself or betrayed yourself," the sorcerer said, "and I'm truly not sure which possibility is worth."

It stung. Maybe it was even true.

"The kingdom needs him. Let him go."

"You are enthralled in the services of a man who loves you like a tic loves blood." The sorcerer's gaze drilled into the knight. "How else could he or any of them ask you to fight me for them? To die for him?"

The knight took a step closer, then another, and it felt too easy to press the silver shine of the blade against the sorcerer's throat. "Let. Him. Go."

The sorcerer smiled. "Why did you come?"

"You know why." The knight's voice cracked.

The sorcerer was quiet for a moment, before they offered more of their throat to the blade. "Then spill my blood across the floor and claim your prize, knight. You know how to break an enchantment, don't you?"

The knight's eyes narrowed. The sorcerer's gleamed in the moonlight, haunted and haunting, enchanted and enchanting - nothing like the world beyond the castle, where day still shone and princes were missing.

They were still, despite everything, not something that the knight wanted to kill.

"Go on." The sorcerer's voice lilted through him, sweet and cruel as a childhood memory. "Do your duty. You know it, don't you? Why cling to this small fragment of who you used to be, to me? You are his now."

His. For him.

The knight's head felt misty, like the fog of magic, of the whole cursed place, was seeping into them like damp.

He slit the sorcerer's throat.

Then, in an instant, it was not the sorcerer in front of him at all. It was the prince, his prince. An illusion shattered, blood-choked, familiar eyes filling with colour as the thrall of enchantment cleared from them.

"No!" The knight lunged for him, to catch him, to somehow reverse what he had unknowingly done. He peppered kisses to the prince's sweaty hair, exposing himself utterly, as his love and his duty looked at him with the sort of pleading that could have been it's okay or I forgive you but was ultimately far more terrible than how could you. "No," the knight said. "No, please. I'm sorry - I didn't - I thought -"

The sorcerer laughed. They appeared from behind the throne, winding out of the mist like a serpent. The magic changed the palace to an altar, as shadowy as the last setting had been but for the stained glass vibrant and bloody behind them.

The prince whimpered and crumpled on nothing, on air, landing on his knees. He clutched at the knight's hands. He squeezed, some morse code that wouldn't make it past his cleanly ruined throat.

"Now," the sorcerer murmured, "tell me what you would do, my knight, to save him?"

The trap was clear enough, but still the knight said it. "Anything."

"You would give yourself to me instead?"

"Anything. Just let them go, unharmed."

"I would enthrall you. Turn you inside out until I can see all the stitches of you and rework them in my image."

The prince shook his head against the knight's neck. He wheezed. His weak grip flexed and tightened.

"I said anything," the knight spat.

"Then everything," the sorcerer said, "I will have."

As the magic slid over them all, the knight had just enough in them to register one final command, to feel their true surroundings come into focus beneath the spell of it all.

"Put our prince in the tower, my knight," the sorcerer said. "I'll let him go, unharmed....eventually."

The knight did as he was told.

He did his duty.

[shaunamilfman]

i almost do [3]

pairing: Shauna Shipman x f!reader summary: It's been long enough, hasn't it? If only Shauna could bring herself to apologize. note: minors dni Masterlist

She’s doing it again. It’s not even a surprise any more, if it ever was. You aren’t sure what to make of it, but you know with a bone-deep certainty that if you show your face outside of Nat’s hut, her eyes will be solely focused on you. 

Shauna’s been the butcher for so long that she doesn’t even need to look down at her hands as she slices, each move mechanical and efficient, but you wish that she would. You used to tell her off for it, constantly reminding her to at least pretend she was watching for your sake instead of staring down Mari, but that’s just not your place anymore.

And whose fault was that?

You shuffle next to a group of girls huddled around the fire, staying close for warmth as you surreptitiously adjust the outer layers of your clothes to make sure her flannel is still hidden firmly out of view. The last thing you need is for someone to comment on it loudly enough for Shauna to hear. It was a stupid risk, keeping it. 

Dumber still to wear it out, but you spent far too much time laying around in the hut and tracing the worn fabric with your thumb to pretend you didn’t want to. She snuck into Nat’s hut in the middle of the night like some kind of bandit and left it with you. Well, the exact opposite of a bandit really, but the fact remained that she wants you to have it. Wanted, maybe, if she hasn’t changed her mind since.

It was hard enough avoiding those eyes of hers now—achingly sad and lonely, right back to the girl who had first pinned you up against that tree all those months ago. Her eyes were always more expressive than anything else. Even those rare times she managed to keep what she was feeling off of her face, you could always count on those brown eyes to tell you what was what. They told you when she was proud. When she was feeling uncertain. When she loved you.

Because Shauna certainly won’t.

She never has, really, but she hasn’t even brought herself to speak to you since she tried to pull that gun on you. Shauna wants to speak to you, to explain whatever fucked-up thing was going through her head when she reached behind her back, or even just quietly exist beside you like she used to. But she never seems to be able to fully cross that line and make her way toward you. Seemingly content to mope around and stare like some kind of depressed ghost.

You know that if you let her talk to you, you would forgive her just as easily. If she could actually get the words out, that was. No hesitation, no lecture, no more sleeping in Nat’s hut and wishing you could feel Shauna pressing up against you.

It wasn’t some calculated attack, but the stupid split-second reaction of someone who’s never known how to sit with hurt feelings without letting them explode outwards and damaging everyone in the vicinity. Shauna has always acted without thinking, right down to the very beginning of your relationship when she kissed you back without even fully knowing why. It’s done nothing but get her in trouble, back home but especially out here.

The kind of impulsivity that ends with you pregnant with your best friend’s boyfriend’s baby or holding a camp full of girls hostage because you can’t deal with the idea of returning to a town that holds nothing but ghosts and shame.

Then there’s the rage. That blinding rage that takes hold of her and erases all sense of thought and logic, her eyes narrowed so tight you’re not even sure she can see beyond it. When she gets that smug little smirk on her face that seems perfectly designed to get beneath your skin, as infuriating as it is hot. The one that makes you want to slap her and kiss her in the same breath. But mostly slap.

But there are other things. Softer things that you have to make a concentrated effort not to think on if you have any hope of remaining mad.

Like the tears she sheds when she thinks you're asleep, face pressed tightly into your shoulder as she shakes from the effort of holding them back as you lie there pretending not to hear. The name she whispers in her sleep that you won’t acknowledge even to yourself. How worried she’s become since summer turned into fall, how dedicated to ensuring you were never cold. Not the rest of them, just you.

The look she gets when you're cuddled up on your cot, pressed together tightly as her hand brushes stray strands of hair away from your chest. The comforting weight of her head on your chest when she falls asleep listening to your heartbeat. Even just the way she entwines your fingers when you’re alone, tracing her thumb up and down the side of your hand like she could never get tired of it.

The way she reached for that gun behind her back.

You have to remind yourself of it.

You can forgive her, but you need her to ask for it. She has to mean it. It can’t just be folded away like so many of the things she’s done out here.

If there’s one thing you can’t do, it’s letting her pull you back into that hut like what she did was nothing. You know what the rest of them whisper about you behind your back. What they get brave enough to say about your and Shauna’s relationship. Her little dog, faithful and forgiving. 

The first person you heard say it was Mari, laughing with a group of them around her about how you’ll stop following Shauna around when she finally bites you hard enough. You didn’t say anything then, just rolled your eyes and pretended like you didn’t hear it. But you always did.

Then there’s the bets Van’s been taking about when you’re going to take Shauna back. Those you didn’t mind so much, not when Van winked and promised to share the loot. She made it sound more like a joke than the pity some of the rest of them looked at you with. At least Van was honest. At least she seemed to understand sometimes.

But still. Being with Shauna wasn’t like what the rest of them thought. You’ve seen the way they’ve been looking at you for months: like they felt bad for you. Like you somehow drew the short straw. They couldn’t possibly understand why you were with her in the first place, and it made you so damn sad.

They didn’t see the way her face softens when she catches you staring. How shy it makes her, like she didn’t fully understand it either. Her eyes darting down and then back up, always pleasantly surprised to find you still looking. The way she squirms and slaps your hands away when your fingers tread just a little too close to being ticklish. They didn’t know how tightly she holds onto you, like she’s terrified you won’t be there when she wakes up again. That special way she says your name.

She was your girlfriend, and they just keep making it into a punchline.

Maybe that’s why, even now, there’s still distance between you and the rest of them no matter how closely you’re huddled together. Nat bumps your shoulder, careful not to brush by Misty who’s standing near you. You have questions about their sudden distance, but you’ll let her keep her secrets. She never presses you about Shauna, despite how badly she seems to want to at times. The least you could do is return the effort considering you’re sharing her bed now.

Regretfully you step back from the fire, following Nat a bit away from the rest of them. Just out of earshot, you think. You glance over at Shauna, scoffing when you see her talking to Hannah again. As much as she cautioned you about talking to her—screamed at, belittled, accused you of flirting with, made you feel small—the same didn’t seem to go for Shauna.

Figures.

The whole thing was stupid, anyway. You don’t get why Shauna would be talking to her in the first place. Shauna hates talking to anyone who wasn’t you, and sometimes even you didn’t seem to be an exception. What are they talking about over there, anyway? Probably off braiding each other's hair and swapping secrets. It’s petty of you, but you felt that it was more than deserved at this point. Shauna had stormed off after much less, after all.

You miss the way Shauna’s eyes follow you with something awfully close to jealousy as you follow after Nat.

…

“What are you doing out here?” Shauna asks sharply. 

You jump in surprise, wincing as it pulls against your shoulder. It was mostly healed, but it still doesn't feel nice. Her posture shifts as she softens, hands uncurling by her side as she glances at your arm. She stands by the doorway of her hut, shifting on the balls of her feet like she isn't quite sure what she's doing out here. Shauna’s looking at you like you’re a puzzle she still hasn’t figured out, even after all this time. You wonder if you really are just a mystery to her sometimes with the way she reacts in surprise to so many things.

“Just watching the fire,” you say, feeling a tinge of awkwardness from the way she was just standing there watching. Her expression, what you could make of it from the light of the fire, was far too intense for how late it was. 

“That's not your job.” Simple, to the point. Direct. Typical Shauna.

“Well, no,” you admit, glancing over in the direction of Misty's hut. You knew she was awake in there, likely listening. It was, after all, her job to be watching the fire. You weren't sure why she chose to stay in the hut. She's been avoiding you ever since you started rooming with Nat. Giving you a wide berth, like whatever you had was contagious.

“I just couldn't sleep.”

“You should go to bed,” Shauna says tersely, like she’s forcing the words out. 

“Fine.” You sigh as you stand up, taking a step toward Nat's hut. 

“No.”

“No?” You ask as you slowly come to a stop. You don't turn around to face her as you speak, which you know must drive her insane. 

“To your bed,” she says pointedly. Despite how it comes out like an order, you can hear the way her voice wavers. 

“And where's that?” Still not looking at her. You can hear Shauna moving around behind you, hesitant and unsure.

“Don't be like that.” 

“I'll be however I—” 

“Please,” Shauna says. It's enough to make you turn around in surprise. “Can we… Can we talk?”

“Talk, then.” 

Shauna glances around, eyes narrowing on Misty's hut. “Inside? I don't want… “

Anyone to hear, you finish in your head. Yeah, that sounds about right. You step towards her silently, closing the distance between you. Shauna's eyes widen in surprise, murmuring a soft “oh” under her breath as she ducks back into her hut. 

For all her talk, she doesn't seem to know what to do with you now that you're back in her hut with her. Shauna blushes suddenly as her eyes catch something before quickly looking back at you. You can't help but indulge your curiosity and follow her eyes, a pleased feeling rising in your chest as you catch sight of your shirt balled up on her bed. 

Worn and unmistakably slept in since you’ve been gone. You wonder how many nights she’s spent sleeping in it, or maybe even just holding it up to her face and pretending you were here. It’s kind of pathetic, really, but you can’t deny how good it is to see it. It’s mostly just sweet. Finally, some evidence that Shauna was as affected by your separation as you are, as much as she pretends otherwise as she walks around with Hannah just a half-step behind her.

Not that you hadn’t been sleeping in Shauna’s flannel as well, but that was your business. You let the silence hang for longer than you usually would, feeling a little earned cruelty as you watch her squirm. 

“Didn’t think you were the sentimental type,” you say, voice low and just shy of mocking.

“I’m not,” she rushes out too quickly, her voice cracking just enough to be noticeable. Shauna clears her throat like that would help. “Just cold.”

“Clearly.” Shauna flinches at the words but doesn’t rise to them for once. She opens her mouth, hesitates as she rubs her thumb absently against the sheath on her thigh, and then closes her mouth again. When she doesn’t say anything else, you continue, “I‘m here. Now what?”

“I wouldn’t have shot you,” Shauna says, too fast again, giving you what you think is an attempt at a smile but looks a little too threatening. She seems to be aware of the fact as she winces and looks away, rubbing her hand against the back of her neck in a soothing motion. The way you used to. Then she tries again, softer and more sincere.

“It wasn’t about hurting you.” Her voice sounds so small, so uncertain that it makes you a little sick. “Not really. I don’t know why…”

“So you reached for the gun?” You cut in, tired of watching her pretend it was anything other than what it was. 

Shauna flinches like she hadn’t expected you to actually name it. What had she been expecting, anyway? Did she imagine that all she had to do was invite you into her hut and look at you with her sad eyes, and suddenly everything would be okay? Fuck that.

“I just didn’t know what to do. It was—everyone was watching, and you just walked away from me. Like it was easy. Like I wasn’t anything.” She can’t bring herself to look at you as she speaks, but you can hear the way she’s practically begging you to understand what she can’t say. Her arms wrap around her stomach, taking a step back until she’s almost pressed up against the wall of her hut.

You don’t follow her. You don’t offer her anything. You’re tired of making it easier for her.

“Whatever, Shauna,” you mutter.

“Wait, no.”

“I’m tired of waiting for something that’s not ever coming because you’re not—”

“I’m sorry.”

You blink, breath catching in a surprised squeak that you couldn’t have stopped if you tried as you stare at her with wide eyes.

“I wasn’t even thinking. I just wanted you to come back. I didn’t mean to scare you—or maybe I did, somehow in some stupid way. It’s the only way I could think of to keep you, even if it was…”

“I’m sorry, okay?” She repeats again. “That’s all I have.”

Was it enough? 

You think it might be.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” She questions neutrally, like she’s trying not to get her hopes up. Maybe it was expecting too much of her to think she would sound more excited by the thought. Shauna’s been as emotionally vulnerable as she can manage for the rest of the winter.

“Okay,” you repeat, watching her carefully.

“Okay, what?” Shauna looks frustrated, fiddling with her hands as her fingers twitch toward her sheath again. She rolls her eyes when you grin at her. “You forgive—you’ll come back to bed?”

“This is the last time,” you warn, serious enough that Shauna tenses again. “You don’t get another do-over with something like this.”

Shauna nods thoughtfully as she takes a step forward, seeming pleased when you don’t take a step back. You’ve been doing that a lot lately, carefully avoiding her anytime she tried to stand nearer to you.

“I think I can manage not pointing the gun at you,” she adds smugly.

“Or the knife.”

Shauna gapes at you. “Like…ever?”

“Well, I mean sometimes—”

“A lot of times—”

“Just don’t threaten to kill me with it. Jesus, Shauna. You knew what I meant.”

“No threats?” Shauna demands seriously, even as a small smile comes to her face. It’s barely a smile, more of a twitch of her lips that you would call a muscle spasm on anyone else. It’s practically ecstatic on her. Wow, she must have really missed you.

“No serious threats,” you allow. She tilts her head to the side as if she’s about to start negotiating terms with you, only to hold her hands up mockingly when you narrow your eyes in her direction.

“Fine.”

Her hand hovers by her side before she slowly reaches out for you, hesitant, like she’s forgotten how. You reach out and lace your fingers together, squeezing firmly as you pull her closer without any resistance at all. Shauna’s warm where she’s pressed against you, chest to chest, with your joined hands trapped between your bodies.

She traces her fingers along the edge of your jacket, smirking as she notices the collar of her flannel peaking out. There’s no comment on it, mostly because you kiss her before she has a chance to.

…

Shauna gasps quietly, muffled against your lips as she clutches to your shoulders. Maybe not as carefully as she could, but you can’t bring yourself to mind much.

“Like that?” You question breathlessly between kisses, your non-dominant hand fumbling around between her legs as you curl your fingers again. 

It’s taken you a few tries to get it quite right, but Shauna hasn’t seemed to mind much even as your forearm trembled from the effort. Out of character, really, for your girlfriend, who was usually so demanding and bossy, but you think she must need the weight of you on top of her more than anything else. God knows you’ve wanted to feel her as well, active or asleep, as long as it meant she was pressed against you.

A pained hiss leaves your lips as your hand cramps again, not quite as used to the motion as you should be. The angle is awkward, the whole thing really, but it’s the first time you’ve had her in ages. You can’t bring yourself to readjust.

A nod, and then, “Yeah,” as she curls her fingers around the back of your neck to hold you closer. Her head tilts back, offering you up room you happily take to kiss a path down from her lips to her neck.

You can’t get as far as you want, not with her jacket firmly planted in your way. As much as you would love to have her bare beneath you, the ever-present threat of the winter air keeps the two of you mostly clothed. Even her sweatpants stayed on, the waistband digging into your wrist. Still, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Shauna definitely wouldn’t, full out refusing when you tried to go down on her instead. She insisted it was because it was too damn cold out, but you secretly suspected it was for another reason entirely. The way she hasn’t been able to drag her eyes away from you since you eased her back down on your bed said more than words ever could, especially when they came from Shauna’s lips. Like you might not be there, waiting for you to disappear if she did so much as blink.

She looks at you like that a lot, actually: like she can’t fully accept that you’re real.

You’ll just have to remind her that you are. Not to toot your own horn, but it seems like you’re excelling at that right now. Shauna’s fingers curl in your hair as you nip at the peak of her collarbone showing beneath the collar of her jacket. They aren’t guiding you anywhere like they normally would, content just to touch and be touched.

Shauna cries out far too loudly for how close your hut is to the next one as you bite down where her neck meets her shoulder, sucking the skin with your mouth to soothe it with your tongue. She loves marking you more than just about anything else, bruises of any kind littering your body to remind you and everyone else who exactly you belong to. There were still bruises on your hips in the final stages of fading that she left before your fight. She was many things, but thorough was definitely one of them.

Equally happy to receive them, even if she prefers for them not to be visible. Luckily for you, she was too far gone to complain much now. Even when she caught sight of it tomorrow, she would wear it with pride after all this time apart, if only to prove to the rest of them whose hut you were sleeping in again. Shauna was a simple girl sometimes.

“Fuck,” she breathes lowly, pulling you up with the hand on the back of your neck to kiss you again.

It’s desperate now, like it has been all night. The two of you have been making up for lost time, even if neither of you wants to acknowledge it. Your time apart has done nothing but make you want her more, and it seems that she’s not immune to the pull either. If there was one thing you could expect from Shauna, it was to match your crazy.

“Could you—I need—” Shauna murmurs between kisses, struggling to pull away long enough to verbalize the thought.

You know what she wants, and it makes you flush in embarrassment. “I know,” you whisper, trailing off into a whine as she bites at your bottom lip. It's your fault for talking so close to her lips. It was almost a taunt, and of course Shauna would rise to it. “It’s just a little difficult with–”

Shauna rolls her hips up against your hand, grinding her clit against your palm as she tests the waters.

“There you go,” you murmur as she settles into a rhythm, your hand cramping something awful from trying to keep up with it. The words of complaint don’t leave your lips—you hardly even think about them as the two of you move together.

It doesn’t take long then, not that it ever does, before she’s clutching at your shoulder as she makes those quiet little sounds in your ear. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, but you can tell she’s holding herself back. Her hips start to slow as she forces herself back from the edge she’s been rapidly approaching. It’s not something you appreciate.

“Shauna, what’s wrong?” You ask, pulling away just enough to look her in the eyes.

Her eyes dart away in discomfort before she slowly drags them back, her face slack with pleasure as she struggles to stay focused on you.

“Fuck, just… Tell me you love me,” Shauna demands.

“What?”

“Tell me you love me,” she repeats, more hesitant this time. Embarrassed. “Are you stupid? You can’t even—”

“I love you, Shauna,” you interrupt, trying to stay patient. Shauna whines in your ear, a sound you know she’ll deny making until her death, as she speeds up.

“Again,” she demands.

“I love you.”

“Again.” Breathier this time.

“I love you.”

“Again.” 

She cries out, thighs clamping down around your hand as you struggle to keep your fingers moving. Shauna murmurs your name in something like disbelief, eyes slipping shut as she buries her face into your shoulder.

“I love you.” You press delicate kisses along her jaw as she shudders, repeating the words with each press of your lips.

“Idiot,” Shauna says finally against your ear, her cheeks red from some mix of the cold and her own embarrassment.

You laugh breathlessly against her neck, nipping at the skin in retaliation as her hands trail down your sides.

[just-a-sweet-girl]

Hi i saw that your requests are open so what lets say what if reader magically teleported into the dmc netflix (anime) world and Dante finds her. Like it happens right in front of his eyes. What would he do ? Like becoming friends with feelings type of thing. Hope its not a bother. Have a great day.<3

Not a bother! Never could be :) I love reading everyone's requests! Thank you for asking for this, its a cute little idea <3

You fell from the sky. Literally.

It was certainly a big surprise when he head screaming from above to see someone falling straight towards him. He caught you, arms cradling you as your both stared at one another. Him in bewilderment, and you with fear and confusion.

"This must be my lucky day," He gives you a boyish grin. "Beautiful women falling into my arms!" But he sees how dizzy you seem to be, pressing you hand against your aching head. His expression calms. "You okay?"

"I don't know," You mumble, voice shaking. "I think... I'm going to faint."

His eyes widen. "What? Hey, wait a second you -" He falls silent when your head lands on his shoulder. "Okay," He mutters to himself, correcting his hold on you. "I've got you."

He didn't think that odd meeting would make everything seem so different. You were human, the both of you made sure of that when you had woken up in his apartment. That didn't stop him from calling you Angel, though.

With no where else to go, you ended up staying with Dante - you found out his name when he ordered pizza for the both of you. Demons was a big surprise for you, since where you're from, they were mostly monsters in movies and books.

Here, they were real.

"the healing is cool," You said one day, sitting besides him on his couch. A small bowl of water and a towel in your hands. Lifting the wet towel to clean the blood sticking to his skin on the side of his face. "the mess? Not so much."

"That's too bad," Sighs Dante. Eyes closed as he feels how gentle you are cleaning the blood off from his skin. "I like when you pamper me."

You glance away, heat in your cheeks. "Oh, so you get bloodied up on purpose? Maybe I should stop," You make a scene to pull away, only to laugh when he stops you. Hand holding yours back up to his face, his other arm wrapping around your waist.

"Don't be like that," He whines, pulling you closer. "I need my Angel to take care of me."

You huff softly at is little nickname for you. Still, you continue to clean off the blood softly. The air around you two becoming soft and quiet. Dante opens is eyes slightly, and his breath hitches.

The soft light glowing behind you like your very own halo. Brows furrowed slightly as you concentrate on what you are doing. One of your hands cradling his face to hold him still.

You are beautiful.

Eyes widening, you stop and stare at him. Feeling as if your heart stopped, then rebooted. Beating against your chest, trying to break out and into his hands.

"...Shit." He had said that out loud.

Dante looks away, but doesn't turn away. Needing to feel how you still cradle his face so softly. How your thumb brush, feather light over his cheek. He tenses when you wrap your other arm around him, face hiding within his neck. He can feel your breath warming his skin, how your lips touch him as they lift into a shy smile.

Nothing needs to be said. It's felt in how he shifts his arms around you tightly. Comforting. His cheek pressed against your head, holding you to his chest.

[lazysoulwriter]

who's that woman? - Pedro Pascal.

requested! thank you so much for sending, hope you like it. ♡

---

The after party buzzes with static energy — music, flashing lights, laughter bouncing off the walls. You feel it in your chest like a second heartbeat. Your heels are killing you, your curls are sticking to the back of your neck, and someone spilled something suspiciously sticky near the bar. But none of it matters.

Because you're dancing.

Dancing like no one’s watching — even though everyone kind of is. The DJ is deep into a 90s setlist, and you’re in your element. You know every lyric, every beat drop, every over-the-top bridge. And you don’t care how you look doing it. You’re having fun. Real, shameless, sweat-slicked fun. And the people around you? They’re feeding off your energy. Laughing when you point to them mid-verse, clapping along when you hit a dramatic air guitar solo.

You’ve always been the life of the party without even trying.

What you don’t know is that, from across the room, Pedro Pascal is watching you — completely mesmerized.

He’s leaning against a wall with a half-empty drink in hand, tired from small talk, already plotting his escape when he sees you. And it stops him cold.

Your smile, your joy, your wild abandon — it’s unlike anything he’s seen in a long time.

“Who is that woman?” he murmurs out loud, not meaning to be heard.

But someone beside him answers casually, like it’s obvious. “That’s Y/N. You don’t know her? She’s the indie singer of the moment. Absolutely magical.”

He repeats your name under his breath. Y/N. It sounds good already. His eyes never leave you — not even when the song ends and you finally step off the dance floor, cheeks flushed, skin glowing, laughter still lingering on your lips.

You head to the bar, needing water more than another drink. And he sees his chance.

He walks toward you — slowly, calmly — but just before he reaches you, someone else gets there first.

A man leans in close to your ear. Says something low. You throw your head back and laugh.

Pedro stops in his tracks.

Of course she has someone, he thinks. Why wouldn’t you? You’re radiant. Magnetic. Everyone wants to be near you. And he isn’t the kind of guy to flirt with someone who’s taken. Even if all he wants to do is hear your voice. Ask what song you were dancing to like it was saving your life.

He’s just about to turn away when the man — whoever he is — looks up and locks eyes with Pedro.

And then he smiles. Waves him over like they’re old friends.

Confused, Pedro approaches. “Took you long enough,” the guy says, easy and amused. “Pedro, right? I’m Luca — co-producer on the indie you’re shooting next month.”

Pedro laughs in recognition. “No way. I didn’t recognize you without five assistants and a clipboard.”

Then Luca turns to you and says, almost too casually: “This is my sister. Y/N.”

You smile at Pedro with that same effortless warmth that had everyone watching you dance. “I love your work,” you say, offering your hand. “Your voice? I’d listen to you read my grocery list.”

He laughs, starstruck and completely at ease. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

And from there — the rest of the night falls into place like it was always meant to.

The party fades into background noise. You end up sitting close, knees brushing under a tiny table, talking like you’ve done it a hundred times before.

He’s funnier than you expected. A little shy at first, but playful, too. Sharp. Thoughtful. You tell him you write better lyrics after two drinks. He confesses he’s cried at every animated film he’s ever seen. You tease him for dancing too well for a man over 40. He tells you you’re like his childhood best friend — the one who dared him to do ridiculous things just to see if he’d say yes.

You feel it. That pull. That click.

And you can see he feels it too.

He looks at you like he’s remembering something. Like you remind him of a version of himself he thought he’d outgrown — but misses more than he realized. You’re loud where he’s quiet, fearless where he’s careful. But underneath? You’re made of the same stuff. Passion. Curiosity. Heart.

Six months later.

You’re sitting on the kitchen floor in mismatched pajamas, eating cold risotto straight from the container. He’s across from you, eyes soft, cheeks a little pink from the wine.

He doesn’t kneel. Doesn’t have a speech. Just pulls a small box from his hoodie pocket and says your name like a question.

And you say yes before he even finishes.

Now, in a quiet interview for a glossy magazine, Pedro leans back in his chair, fiddling with the silver ring on his hand. The journalist asks about you — how you met, how it happened.

He smiles, slow and sure. “I never believed in love at first sight,” he says, voice warm. “Not until her.”

---

[kairakeiji]

note: situationship/fwb!

how do you hate something you once loved?

atsumu used to think this all the time. the way you fooled everyone with stolen moments, silly photos, and lies that made the world believe you were his. he doesn’t deny the way he relished in your touch, in the faux comfort your words gave him, even if you both had no label. you would never truly be his. atsumu made sure of that after his mistake, the mistake that felt like it had taken away the only thing that truly made him sane.

why am i here?

he stands outside your door, uncertain of how he got here. honestly, atsumu swears he blacked out. but somehow, his trip back to his place turned into a supposed wrong left turn onto a road that led straight to your apartment, the place that some part of his brain still believes is home.

he won’t ever forget your last argument. you both never had a label, never defined the relationship, yet there you both were screaming as if you did. he spent one night with someone else, one drunken night that he finds himself regretting more often than not. it was never off the table, it was never fully discussed, despite how much he told you he regretted it, despite how much he told you it was a mistake. yet the way you cried and screamed and hit him in every place you knew he was vulnerable led to the state you were both in now. angered, isolated, with an unknown amount of tension and rage murmuring between you both.

separate, without ever getting the chance to be together.

how do you hate something you once loved?

atsumu stands outside your door, partly paralyzed and dazed out. what if you’re not even home? what if you’re out seeing other people and moving on and forgetting him? a part of him feels pathetic, still wishing for something that never truly belonged to him. a part of him misses you, a part of him still wishes you were still a text or a phone call away, that you could still be in his arms, and that he can live in the false narrative of being yours.

can you even stop loving someone?

he knocks without thinking.

a beat goes by, then another, and then one more. the silence leads to his thoughts running a million miles a minute. one question, one hypothetical, one worry following the next. the guilt hits him again and the silence seems to mock him. he steps back from your door, figure slumping slightly.

atsumu swears he hears the doorknob turn.

the door opens hesitantly, his heart beginning to pound.

and then he sees you.

how do you stop time?

“hey,” his voice doesn’t come out the way he had hoped it would. it’s a bit too high and a little too quiet.

“what are you doing here?” your voice doesn’t come out the way he knows it does. it’s shaky and timid, rather than the typical upbeat tone you carried. your eyes looked swollen, the hoodie you wore covering most of your figure and hair.

his heart sinks, “i wish i could tell you.”

“can you leave then?” his heart drops at the way your voice quivers. “i kind of don’t want to see you right now, i’m sorry.”

“can i ask you something first?” atsumu tries. “one question and then i’ll leave you alone i swear. you never have to hear from me again after that.”

you shake your head, “you know i don’t want that, tsumu.”

tsumu…he loves it when you call him that.

how do you want something so desperately? how do you want something more than anything else in the world and not know how to fully say it?

atsumu steps closer to the door, “so you’ll hear me out?”

the door opens more as you step out of the shadows of your apartment.

“was it real to you?” atsumu questions.

you scoff, “of all things you have to ask me.”

“just answer,” he meets your gaze, and his heart sinks at how sullen your eyes are. “please.”

“of course it was,” you tell him. “i know we weren’t together, well, relationship-wise at least. but i meant everything i said and everything i did.” you shake your head, blinking rapidly. “that’s why what you did hurt so much.”

“i know and-”

“please let me finish,” your voice is gentle, laced with the reassurance he grew to depend on, the same tone you used every time he lost a game or failed a test. “i don’t know what we are…or were. i just knew everything was real,” you meet his eyes. “everything was so real.”

memories play in atsumu’s head. the time he made you ditch your class just to take you to get matcha from the new place that opened down the block. the long afternoons you kept him trapped in a library to actually study. the days he spent in your company, the nights he spent holding you in his arms, exploring parts of you that he knew no one had yet before. the mornings that followed as he used ice cubes to soothe the marks he left on you, the little giggles you left as you found yourself counting each one in the mirror, watching in your reflection as he kissed each one.

“did it feel real to you?”

your question snapped atsumu out of his thoughts.

“of course it did,” he answers almost instantly. “nothing in my life has never felt more real.”

“for so long i never thought you truly cared like that,” you sigh.

“what do you mean?” he questions.

“it felt like i was just another fling of yours,” you explain. “that you’d toss me to the side once you got bored of me. and some stupid part of me thought that maybe that wasn’t the case. that for some reason i managed to strike you differently than any other person you had gone out with.” your gaze moves to the ground. “i guess i was wrong.”

“i wasn’t thinking,” he mutters. “you were right. no one’s ever made me feel as much joy as you. and i’m so sorry things turned out like this.” he runs a hand through his hair. “one dumb mistake, and i feel like i’m losing the one person i feel like i truly love.”

is it possible to find love for something you hate?

he meets your eyes, and he swears he sees them soften. “you love me?”

“i do,” he tells you. “i do love you, and i’m sorry i didn’t say so sooner. i’m so sorry that i never asked you to be mine. i should’ve asked you so so long ago instead of leaving you here like this.” atsumu stretches out his hands. you look down at his hands before looking to him, and he feels like he’s almost begging you to take them.

relief washes over him when you do.

“if you want to forget about me and move on with your life, you are more than welcome to do so,” he tells you. “i mean i deserve it, what i did was so wrong.”

“it was,” you mumble under your breath.

and atsumu doesn’t even have the strength to fight you. he just wants nothing more than to fight for you.

“but, if you can forgive me,” he starts, “then i would love nothing more than for you to be mine. i promise to spend the rest of my days making up for this. whether it’s in matchas or nights together, or study sessions against my will, or convenience store runs, or osamu’s food.” the last portion makes you laugh, and atsumu would give anything to hear it again. “please, if you can find it in you to do so, please give me a chance to treat you right and be mine.”

he lets out a breath, heart thrumming in his chest before meeting your gaze. “what do you say?”

and he feels his heart sigh as you nod.

“okay.”

i am a true situationship survivor who, for some reason, loves writing about them...lowkey telling...

anyway thank you for reading!! <3

[parkers-gal]

I love your writing! May I request more mob!bucky, please?

this is kinda trash but it's a cute drabble, i hope u like it! :)

the work hug J.B.

summary: mob!bucky saves you from someone bothering you

warnings: brief harassment and mentions of unwanted sexual attention, bucky being protective, f!reader

wc: 1.3k

⋆˚✶˚‧⋆｡˚

you’d taken the job because of the sign on bonus. you’d heard through the grapevine of mutual friends of a job offering high pay and immediate compensation. when the money hit your account, you didn’t bother asking questions. 

maybe that was a mistake because now, you’re getting pressed up against the wall by a man nearly twice your age. he’s trapped you, and normally there are bodyguards all over the place but you can’t seem to find where they’ve all gone off to.

“please… leave me alone.” your voice comes out smaller than you wanted it to, but after repeatedly telling the man to stop harassing you, he only grew more determined to get what he was after. 

“c’mon, pretty girl. just give me a taste.” 

trying to squeeze past him, you drag yourself along the wall, but he comes with you. you’ve shifted to the right about 6 feet, a round piece of metal lodging itself into the small of your back before the wall gives out and you go tumbling backwards.

you had hit the doorknob of a door that was too easy to open. falling to the floor with a thud, you wince, leaning up on your hands only to be met with a room full of eyes all on you. your jaw drops, embarrassment flooding through you.

“what the fuck?”

you whip your head towards the end of the conference table where the voice came from. seated is a man with an arm of metal, glinting underneath a dress shirt rolled to his elbows. your boss. you scramble to get up, flustered and completely ashamed. the man with the metal arm makes his way towards you.

“what is going on?”

his voice is demanding and you try not to flinch.

“i’m- i’m sorry, sir. i swear i didn’t mean to barge in here, he was pushing me up against the door and i didn’t know where i was going an- and- and-” you’re on the verge of tears.

“get the fuck out.”

one slips down your cheek. then another. you’re trying not to sob.

as you’re about to comply, a hand reaches for your wrist. 

“rumlow. leave.”

opening your eyes in shock, you watch as the man leaves his spot from the doorway. with a nod from bucky, a guard follows him out.

“are you okay?” his voice is softer now and his eyes finally settle on you. 

he notes the tear streaks and wordlessly slips out of the room, leaving behind the men at his table.

“but sir, your meeting-”

he shushes you, pushing open the door to another room down the hallway. a mahogany desk sits comfortably in the middle of the room, bookshelves lining the walls. a set of matching armchairs are resting by the unlit fireplace.

“sit.” 

you comply, feeling the warmth from his body leave your back. he goes off to the side of the room, coming back with a glass of water.

you take a feeble sip, keeping your head down.

“are you okay?”

“i’m sorry.” “you didn’t answer my question, sweetheart.” he kneels in front of you, fingers lifting your chin to look at him. “are you okay?”

you nod. “yeah. i just… i was looking for you or one of the bodyguard-men-guys. they’re always around and when couldn’t i find one i got really scared and started to panic and…” you ramble and bucky tsks, his hand dropping to your knee to rub soothing circles. 

“i’ll make sure to always have security for you.”

you look at him, his eyes holding something else in them. 

“you don’t have to.”

“i oughta kill him for laying a hand on you.”

your jaw drops. “you- what?”

“he knows better than to fuck around at my business.”

you don’t respond, dwelling on his words.

“you can take the rest of the day off.” he stands, twirling a silver ring around a finger on his right hand. “i’ll have steve take you home.”

“but, i-” 

bucky’s hand waves around, cutting you off, a light hum leaving his throat.

“but, sir-”

“what is it?” he turns back to you.

“i don’t… i don’t want to leave.” you admit, holding yourself with your arms and trying to make yourself smaller.

he frowns, bending down again to be eye level with you. “but i need to take care of rumlow, sweets. he needs to learn not to fuck around with me.”

this time, you frown too, staring at your knee in defeat. 

your voice is small again, already ashamed at the words that are about to leave your mouth. “i don’t want to be alone.”

he tsks again and you can tell he’s mentally debating what to do next. 

“can you give me fifteen minutes?”

“okay.” you try to smile but it’s not very convincing. “i’m sorry.”

“nothing to be sorry for.” he stands, softly rubbing your shoulder before making his way to the door. standing in the threshold, he beckons someone over but your chair faces away from the door so you don’t see who he interacts with. after some shuffling, a blonde-haired man hands you a blanket. you recognize him – steve – but you’ve yet to be introduced. 

he sits in the other arm chair opposite you, offering a delicate smile and grabbing a remote to light the fireplace.

“he won’t be long.”

you nod, unsure what else to say. you wrap yourself in the blanket and stare off into the flames, dancing away in the soot-covered hollow. you hadn’t realized how cold you were. 

the door behind you opens and you recognize bucky by the sound of his shoes. 

“thank you steve, you can go.” he dismisses him, grabbing a fluffy rag and taking the seat steve just had.

bucky’s knuckles are already bruising, and he’s wiping off the remnants of some blood.

“did you… hurt him?”

a spark of remorse flickers across his face but then he clicks his jaw and sits up a little straighter. 

“i had to.”

“because he bothered me?”

“yes.” he doesn’t snap, but he’s so confident in his response that it makes you wary to ask anything else.

“but you barely know me.”

at this, he shrugs. 

“i hired you, didn’t i?” he chuckles. 

“yeah but… still. i didn’t even meet you until today.”

he fiddles with his ring again. “alright then, sweets.” he carelessly puts the rag down on the table beside him. “why don’t i get to know you, then?” he muses at you, awaiting your response.

“oh.” 

a deep chuckle leaves his throat.

“since you don’t want to be alone.”

you sit there in shock, still silent. he picks up a book, opening to the page with the bookmark placed neatly inside.

without glancing up, he speaks again, teasingly. “or is that not what you want?” his eyes soften when he sees you nervously bite your lip.

“can i have a hug?”

his shoulders slump like you’ve melted him. he thinks you’re so adorably innocent. 

“i don’t know if i’m any good at those.”

you tilt your head at him, a smile forming. “you’re still human, even after becoming a mob boss.”

he smirks, “a mob boss, huh?”

your eyes widen, regret coursing through you. “i didn’t mean-!”

you stop speaking when he stands up, opening his arms and beckoning you to embrace him. slowly, you abandon the blanket and snake your arms around his waist, successfully nuzzling into the crook of his neck and exhaling. 

“i haven’t done this in a long time.”

“what? hug?” 

his chest rumbles in a gentle laugh. “yeah.” 

letting out a big breath, you squeeze his middle like you’re trying to pull him closer. “well i think you’re doing great.” 

bucky squeezes you back and as you inhale the scent of him, you realize he smells like something you want to call home. afraid of what you started, the fit of butterflies in your stomach erupts and after tonight, you know you’ve started something you can’t ignore. but maybe… bucky feels it too. 

⋆˚✶˚‧⋆｡˚

bucky masterlist

[chuellas]

Midnight City | Growing up with Chuuya and then being separated for years leaves a stain on your relationship that’s hard to navigate. Luckily, maybe unluckily, you have a shared ally (if that’s what you can call him) to help steer the two of you in the right direction, even if he’s the worst driver in the world.

⤷ Ft. Nakahara Chuuya

Warnings | Fem!reader, former Sheep!reader -> ADA!reader, mentions if alcohol, possible minor spoilers for SB and Age 15, use if the terms “Doll” and “Baby” and “Belladonna”, a lot of cussing and name calling, depictions of anxiety/insecurity, edited but who knows how well LOLOLOL, WC: 6.3k (yes i did add that extra scene 💀💀)

A/N | HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY HUSBAND EVERYONE WISH CHUUYA THE HAPPIEST OF BIRTHDAYS PLS I PROMISE HE DESERVES IT 💖💖 I am actually so incredibly excited and nervous for this one because this is our official introduction to my beloved Sheep!reader who is very dear to me. I hope you guys love her as much as I do :((

“When’s Chuuya’s birthday?” The party goes quiet as everyone stares between you and the ginger with caution.

You were all gathered together for Yuan’s birthday, she’s the first one since your own birthday, which turned out miserably. You, Shirase, Chuuya, and a couple of the other Sheep that are your age put together this small party in one of the semi-destroyed buildings that was left behind in Suribachi City. Everything had been going well and even Chuuya seemed to be having a good time, which was a feat since he never really seemed to let himself relax.

Yuan likes to say that for some reason your presence puts him at a certain ease he’s never seemed to be able to reach before knowing you.

You’ve always waved off the notion with a dismissive laugh. Surely, it can’t be all your doing, that’s ridiculous and whenever you would push Yuan for her reasoning she would always just shrug in the most irritating manner that sometimes almost set you off and left your blood boiling irrationally. However, her reaction leads you to believe that she doesn’t even know the logic behind it herself and that was enough to settle it for you. She was simply incorrect.

But now, you think maybe her words hold some weight to them as Chuuya looks at you with an amused grin while everyone else looks like they’re ready to run at the drop of a dime in anticipation of a negative reaction from him. “C’mon guys, loosen up, she didn’t know any better. I don’t have one.”

Oh…Now you understand the hesitation coming from the others.

That’s right, you remember him mentioning that he doesn’t recall much about his past, before the Sheep took him in. His life didn’t really start for him until he was eight years old. He never told you this part himself, but according to Shirase, Chuuya didn’t even know what a piece of bread was. The only thing he clung onto was his name and the number of years he’s been on this earth, all other knowledge had to be relearned. 

The thought always fills you with a certain sadness that you can’t quite seem to place, or even begin to explain. It’s certainly not the same sadness that you’ve been plagued with since the incident. This one is different from grief, it’s an empathetic type of sadness. Not pity, but maybe something akin to it?

“I- Sorry, I forgot…” You suddenly feel embarrassed at your confession, something as important as Chuuya not remembering a single thing about himself shouldn’t be so easily forgotten.

Chuuya is impatient, you’ve caught on to that quickly. He is outwardly annoyed when someone wastes his time or makes him repeat himself. But he’s never been that way with you, he is always patient with you and you’ve never understood it. You noticed it for the first time pretty early on in your friendship with the three slightly older sheep. Maybe Yuan had noticed it too and that is what she always meant when she said you put him at ease.

Just as you expect, Chuuya shakes his head and waves you off with a light hearted smile. “Nah, you don’t gotta apologize. We usually celebrate my birthday in December. The twenty seventh was when I was found by these guys. So it’s my…Substitute birthday. At least I guess that’s what you’d call it.”

You perk up at the mention of a “substitute” birthday, the idea of the Sheep still celebrating him for a day filling you with an unfamiliar warmth that you decide to ignore for the time being. Chuuya works hard for all of you, constantly on patrol and taking down any goons that try to fill the pockets of any trafficking ring. It’s common to find in Suribachi City, desperate men snatching children just to get a quick buck. Chuuya found that part of his duties the funnest, especially if it’s the Port Mafia’s ring he’s messing with.

Most of the Sheep had a hatred for the Port Mafia in common, but it was still something you and Chuuya have been able to bond over.

“Talking about someone else’s birthday on my own is illegal. Major party foul you guys!” Yuan chimes in and instantly the atmosphere goes back to the way it had been previously.

You let out a snort at the pink haired girl’s outburst and roll your eyes with a smile plastered on your face. You pretend to listen to whatever tangent Yuan decides to go on about her own birthday and the plan she has for the rest of this party. You try your best to pay attention and take her seriously, but you find yourself distracted. Your eyes keep flickering back over to the ginger and in the back of your mind, you’re wondering if there’s any way you could ever figure out when Chuuya’s real birthday is. 

Dazai is pissing you off, his usual obnoxious persona amped up all the way to a ten today. It started with a seemingly innocent little question that he now refuses to answer after seeing your puzzled expression. His snide remarks all day are making you want to rip your hair out and shove your foot in his mouth because he’s clearly getting off on your utter confusion, something he never seems to elicit out of you so easily. So, when he is able to get a rise out of you he seems to revel in it, proud of himself. He’s been relentless the entirety of the day, probably to use it as an excuse to not do any of his paperwork that’s been piling up. 

You just need to get him to shut the hell up if he isn’t going to clue you in on what he’s been going on about all day. You have to keep reminding yourself that you’re at the agency and murder or maiming is usually frowned upon — depending on who you ask at least. However, as of right now, you don’t think you could handle a lecture from Kunikida on staining the carpet with blood or a disapproving look from Fukuzawa.

You sigh heavily when the same annoying presence once again sits itself next to you. Speak of the Devil and he shall appear, “I can’t believe you haven’t figured out what today is!” Dazai sings out, clearly pleased with your ire.

“It's Tuesday, April 29th, Dazai. I told you the first time you asked, and again when you asked later in the morning and again after I came back from my quick patrol. My answer has not changed. Clearly I'm missing something that you aren’t telling me. So if you aren’t going to, could you please—for the love of God—leave me alone and go do your work?” You swear your eye twitches as his eyebrows shoot up and mouth forms into a circle in what is clearly faux shock.

Your hunch that he’s mocking you is solidified when he lets out a scandalized gasp. “Don’t tell me…did that slug never tell you what today is?”

Your stomach drops. This is no longer funny, nor just annoying, your stomach churns at the mention of Chuuya. This is just plain cruel of Dazai at this point, somehow he always manages to show off just how much closer he is with both you and Chuuya than the two of you are with each other after all these years apart from one another. Dazai knows, you have never told the brunette how you feel but you know that he’s aware that you see Chuuya as more than just a childhood friend. What you don’t know is that Dazai is also aware of the way Chuuya feels similarly about you as you do about him. 

The former mafioso’s intention isn’t to be cruel, it’s to gently guide you and Chuuya in the right direction. The moment you gave him that puzzled look, he had texted Chuuya calling him an imbecile. Of course the executive blew up his phone with several texted insults and expletives but the brunette was happily ignoring all of them.

Dazai’s attempts in steering you in the right direction were futile, failing miserably — his definition of steering definitely being skewed, he’s admittedly never been a very good driver.

The detective frowns in an uncharacteristically serious manner and then whispers out, “Do you really not know?” so softly, almost as if you weren’t supposed to hear it at all and the words confuse you so much that you don’t even know how to respond to that.

So instead, here you are, wallowing in self pity. It stings to think there is something you aren’t privy to, something clearly important, just because of how much closer Dazai seems to be with the ginger than you are. You can’t help the insecurity that begins to bubble up inside of you. It’s an ugly, gross feeling, a feeling of envy. You want to throw up at the thought of admitting to yourself that you’re jealous of Dazai.

You swallow your pride, as well as various other emotions related to the color green, mustering up the courage to finally utter the questions you know Dazai has been waiting for you to ask. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about. Can you please tell me what today’s importance is and what it has to do with Chuuya?”

You don’t know why you hadn’t noticed it before — Dazai was previously tense but the moment you ask him the question to explain himself, he seems to relax. The change is so slight that if you hadn’t been watching him so intently and didn’t know him better, you definitely would not have caught it at all. Knowing him he is probably relieved that he didn’t have to give up the information before you conceded. The thought kind of pisses you off though, because that means whether you gave in and asked or not, he always planned on telling. You know Dazai has his suicidal tendencies, but you’ve always been under the impression that he didn’t care for dying by your hands

“I’m glad you asked!” His tone is overly excited, back to being eccentrically unserious, and you roll your eyes at his theatrics. “Today is a very special day because…” 

Dazai claps his hands together and sings out, “Today is Chuuya’s birthday!”

You sit there, dead panned as you stare at dazai. Maybe murder isn’t that bad of an option after all and you shouldn’t let Dazai dictate whether he dies by your hands or not, that’s not really his decision to make anyways. What's a little scolding from Kunikida? Compared to the daily headaches you get from the brunette sitting next to you it was nothing.

You’re baffled, completely gobsmacked, for three reasons.

The first reason being why the hell would dazai have kept this pertinent information from you? He knows how you feel about Chuuya, he was regrettably the person you went to when you came to the devastating realization that you still had feelings for the now Port Mafia executive. He also knows how important birthdays are to you, so he should have told you sooner. Hell, the eccentric detective should have told you several days earlier. You suppose there’s nothing you can do about that now and should be happy that he didn’t let you go the entire day being ignorant.

The second reasoning is a little trickier. Why didn’t you know today was Chuuya's birthday? Yes, it’s true he had no idea when his birthday was back when you were both still a part of the Sheep. So, the question is when did he figure it out? How the hell did Dazai know when it was and you didn’t. Had it really never come up in conversation? You’re sure you would have remembered it if it had because that’s a pretty important detail, although you did manage to forget he didn’t have a birthday all those years ago, but you think you should get a pass for that considering those were different circumstances. You remember the date December twenty-seventh, the day he used to celebrate as his birthday. The day you have celebrated with him in the past. Dazai knowing Chuuya’s real birthday is just another glaring example showing just how little you know each other now in adulthood.

The last reason is what has you scrambling out of your seat and checking your phone desperately to find last minute gifts. Suddenly all knowledge you have of the Port Mafia executive vanishes. What are his favorite things? His favorite food, his favorite wine, his favorite flowers, even his favorite movie. All of the things you can possibly think of being easily obtainable escape you at this moment. 

You think you might actually cry. 

Dazai, who was watching in amusement, furrows his brow in slight concern as he watches the way your anxiety spiking manifests physically. He can see it in your unfocused eyes — you’re spiraling. Something in the pit of his stomach twists. Guilt, most likely. He was just trying to have a bit of fun with you but now he has to face the consequences of his actions and suddenly he’s not having fun anymore. The realization that you hadn’t just forgotten the slug’s birthday but never even knew when it is decidedly not funny.

Dazai has forgotten one crucial detail, he forgot how important birthdays truly are to you. Which he thinks is so featherheaded of him when you had made his birthday last year only one out of a handful he’s ever actually enjoyed. Maybe he was being greedy. Maybe even a little spiteful, he had a penchant for doing things out of spite, one trait that has stuck with him even now that he’s with the ADA. Maybe he didn’t want Chuuya to experience the same thing, he didn’t really deserve it after everything he put you through, but then again neither did Dazai—not really and especially not after he kept so much from you when you had trusted him.

“I can't believe you, Dazai. I really thought you couldn’t surprise me anymore. Why the hell would you wait until the very last minute to tell me that?” You curse under your breath as you simultaneously search up vintage wines that are up to chuuya’s taste and begin to pack up your belongings to leave for the day. You groan as you realize all of the wines are wildly expensive. “Jesus Christ, how well does the mafia pay? These prices can cover at least a year's worth of groceries.”

The cheapest of the labels you’re looking at are a mis-batch from a few decades ago that had been bottled incorrectly and mislabeled. Even then they are still well out of your price range and probably taste awful. Sure you have savings but you aren’t even sure of what type of red wine Chuuya prefers. 

You have to switch tactics, but before you can, Dazai snatches the phone out of your hand and starts pushing you towards the exit of the agency. “Dazai- what-!?” 

“Hush, Belladonna. I’m going to help you out just this once.” You struggle to keep your feet planted but it’s no use because Dazai has always been deceptively strong.

You glance back at him over your shoulder with an exasperated expression, “What have I told you about call-“

“Yeah yeah. Let me have this. I am helping you after all.” He waves his hand dismissively and you narrow your eyes back at him, because he says that as if he isn’t the reason you’re in this mess to begin with. “We'll be back later Kunikida-kun.”

“Dazai- what the hell- where are you taking me?!” Dazai ignores your protests and shoves you out the door.

Chuuya has been checking his phone almost obsessively all day. He's not even sure what it is exactly that he’s waiting for. The executive has received birthday wishes from everyone that’s already aware of what today is. So why the hell was he still hoping for one more?

As if he didn’t just convince himself no one else is going to text or call him, Chuuya picks up his phone from the center console in his car and checks for any new notifications. The ginger chuckles humorlessly at himself. It’s almost pathetic how worked up he is over a single birthday greeting from a single person. He hadn’t even told you when his birthday was—he’s actually pretty sure you’re not even aware that Chuuya now knows when his birthday is. So, why would you just happen to know? 

Maybe that damn bandaged freak clued you in on what today was. Chuuya scoffs at the ridiculous thought, as if. He climbs out of his car shaking his head. Dazai is ever the self serving bastard, there is no way he would do Chuuya a favor like that. Still, there was a pang of hope because despite Dazai being Dazai, the ginger was well aware of just how much you mean to the detective and he thought just maybe that mackerel would have told you as a favor to you.

The trek up from the parking garage to his apartment is agonizing. He couldn’t help himself, he’s been checking his notifications methodically every thirty seconds. Each time he’s disappointed by the absence of your contact icon and name. 

Chuuya really only has himself to blame, he should just put aside his damn pride and give you a call to ask for you to come over and spend what’s left of his birthday together, but he can’t seem to bring himself to do that.

It’s so pathetic.

The elevator dings and the executive steps out only to instantly realize something is off. Chuuya is quick to activate his ability, the smell of food being cooked and the noise of pots and pans being sifted through in his kitchen instantly have him on high alert. How the hell did someone get into his apartment? This complex is a high security building with Chuuya not being the only executive nor the only person from the Port Mafia living in this building. 

Chuuya quietly rounds the corner to his kitchen, careful not to make a single sound as he uses his ability to just barely hover over the floorboards, fully ready to subdue whoever found it smart to enter his home without permission when he recognizes the figure humming over a pan of food. 

“God damnit, Doll, I thought you were an intruder- the hell are ya doin’ here?!” You let out a startled yelp and Chuuya quickly releases his ability not wanting to scare you more than he already has.

You stare frozen at the ginger wide eyed and mouth agape for a few moments. Chuuya watches as your mouth flaps open and close while you try to form a sentence but your words seem to get stuck in your throat after the start he gave you. Before you can force out an explanation, your timer goes off and you perk up. Chuuya can barely keep up as you don his oven mitts and begin to pull something out of the oven. You move so naturally around Chuuya's kitchen that he can almost imagine this was just a regular thing you did with him. 

The executive can feel his face heat up as he lets his imagination run wild and he tries desperately to shake the thought off altogether but the sound of you humming and still running around his kitchen with ease is not helping.

The gravity manipulator clears his throat and tries to coax any information out of you so he wasn’t so damn confused. “How the hell did you even get in here?”

“Ah…Well…You see…” You finally stop to look at him, finally finding your voice, you point your spatula at one of his bar stools where a tan trench coat is draped over it.

Chuuya glares at the article of clothing, almost practicalling snarling at it. “Don’t tell me you let that freak roam around my apartment?”

“Who do you take me for? No, absolutely not. He said he was just going to the bathroom.” 

Chuuya doesn’t seem satisfied by that answer. “How long ago was that?”

A look of realization crosses your face and you both know what your answer is going to be. Too long, he has been gone for too long and probably started snooping around just like Chuuya was worried about. One look at your face and the ginger knows that you’ve come to the same conclusion. You’ve become too trusting of the brunette, Chuuya knows that you knew better, that you probably should have kicked dazai out the moment he had served his purpose of getting you into this apartment. Although Chuuya does know better than anyone else just how convincing Dazai can be, it’s hard to argue with him.

You stand there sheepishly, guilt written all over your face and Chuuya lets out a sigh of defeat, because how the hell is he supposed to blame you for Dazai’s schemes? “It’s fine. I’ll look for him in a minute. First, you never told me what you’re doing here.”

“Ah- I wanted to cook you something special. You’re always doing the cooking and as much as I appreciate and adore your food, I thought I’d return the favor today.” You fiddle with the oven mitts in your hands, twisting them anxiously and the sight makes Chuuya’s heart swell so suddenly that he has to look away before he bursts. “I also got you a present…But you don’t get to open that until after dinner.”

It’s funny how one small gesture from you makes Chuuya’s worries disappear in an instant. “Why would you do all this for me?”

The executive doesn’t want to get his hopes up but he’s pretty sure he has an idea as to why you’re doing all this. Why Dazai helped you break into his apartment. Why you’re putting together a home cooked meal for him. You know, Dazai must have actually done Chuuya a favor and told what today’s significance is. No, that’s not it, the detective did it for you. Either way, the ginger is grateful for it.

“What do you mean? It’s your birthday, isn’t it?” You tilt your head at him in puzzlement, like it’s simply the most obvious thing in the world.

Chuuya swears you steal all his breath with just one look. His chest tightens even more than it did previously and a fond smile creeps up his cheeks and settles in his bicolored eyes. He probably looks like a fool, but he just can’t really bring himself to care how he looks right now. His focus zeroed in on you. 

The ginger manages to let out an astonished chuckle. “It is, yeah. It’s my birthday.”

Chuuya can’t help how elated he is, this is what he’s wanted all day. He couldn’t bring himself to just outright tell you it was his birthday, he didn’t want it to seem like an obligation. But, god, did he want to hear the words fall from your gorgeous lips. Your voice drips in honey like always as you softly speak the greeting.

“Happy birthday, Chuuya.” Your smile is warm, igniting a fire inside of him and creating a heat that pools in his chest.

Chuuya lets out another chuckle, this one far more breathier than the last one, his cheeks hurting from just how widely he’s smiling. “So, I guess Dazai told you then? Thank you, Doll. Whatcha’ makin’?”

“Yeah, Dazai told me, he thought I already knew and just forgot…He also told me that after all these years, your favorite food is still rice?” You scrunch up your nose at him. “That’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard by the way. C’mon Chuuya. rice? After all these years of being with the Port Mafia, you’d think you’d have a better palate than that.”

Chuuya lets out an almost giddy laugh. He can’t help himself, having you here doing something like this for him makes him feel light. It’s much like a feather floating, being carried by a gentle breeze and what a soothing breeze you are. More than just a breath of fresh air.  But it’s not just like a feather, it’s also like the light that shines down on someone, a ray of sunshine blanketing one in warmth. That’s what you are, what you have always been to Chuuya. 

He’s never been able to explain it, he’s never been able to explain why you’ve made him feel this way since day one but regardless of that, you just do.

This whole scenario is all so domestic, although Chuuya would much rather be making the food with you, he’s also not going to complain about you making him dinner. Maybe next time you come over, because no way is this going to be the last time you come over. Maybe you two can cook one of your favorite dishes next time. The idea alone makes his stomach flutter, somehow the thought makes him feel even giddier than he was when you told him what you were doing for him and why.

Chuuya can’t keep denying the power you hold over him anymore. 

He shrugs at you, a smile still plastered on his face. “It's diverse. There's a lot you can do with rice. I bet we aren’t just having rice, am I right?”

“Well…no. Of course we aren’t. That would be psychotic. Eating plain white rice for your birthday dinner? Absolutely not. I'm making Oyakodon. I hope that’s ok…” Chuuya watches you intently as your expression shifts back into an anxious frown. 

The ginger thinks he can figure out what the sudden change in your demeanor is about. You know that he’s used to fine dining, being in the Port Mafia it’s common for meetings with allies to be hosted over dinner. You’re worried about your cooking not fitting to the standards of fine dining. He understands your hesitation but rice is not a dish someone can really mess up.

The executive watches you as your hands falter in plating both of your meals. You had finished cooking not long after he entered the apartment, solely focusing on getting everything mixed and prepared. It all smells absolutely divine. He can’t imagine he won’t enjoy the meal you’ve made and even if he didn’t like it, he would never tell you so.

Chuuya walks over to you and presses his gloved finger between your brows and rubs it in circles to massage the crinkles away. “Don’t worry so much. It smells exquisite, I love Oyakodon. I'm sure it’ll taste delicious. Do you need any help?”

“No. Not from you, this is your birthday dinner. No work for you—Well, actually maybe some work for you. Can you go get dazai? I made him a to-go plate. He tried to invite himself to dinner and this was the only thing I could think of to make him happy and still get him to leave.” You pick up a disposable tupperware container filled to the brim with the most delicious looking and smelling food Chuuya has ever laid his eyes on. 

You’re too good to that lazy bastard.

The ginger chuckles and shakes his head. “Sometimes I think you spoil that bastard too much, y’know that?”

You hum, barely listening to him while shooing him away. “Yeah, yeah. Now shoo. Go get him so we can kick him out.” 

Chuuya puts his hand up in defense as he walks out of the room to find the unwanted guest. His first stop is both hallway bathrooms but, just as chuuya predicted, no sack of bones to be found in either. Naturally the executive checks his own room next. Empty, again and he’s starting to wonder if the brunette is even still here. He moves on to the next room, a guest bedroom that’s been collecting dust for a while now.

The executive doesn’t even need to walk through the threshold to know that he’s found Dazai finally. The lanky figure laying in his extra room has him breathing out a sigh of relief. It's strange to find dazai, of all people, sleeping so soundly. Chuuya still has half a mind to rudely wake up the detective as he notices the unopened expensive bottle of whiskey being tightly held in his clutches, clinging onto it like a child would with a stuffed animal.

The gravity manipulator lets out another sigh, this time in resignation. If it wasn’t for dazai, you wouldn’t have known about chuuya’s birthday. He supposes that he could cut the damn mackerel a break just this once, God only knows how long it’s been since Dazai has gotten some decent rest. The ginger still can’t help but to roll his eyes as he closes the door, only leaving it slightly ajar, knowing Dazai doesn’t care for the dark.

He turns on his heel to make his way back to you only to start at the sight of your figure.

“What was that about spoiling him?” Your tone is teasing but the soft smile on your face is enough to tell Chuuya you appreciate his decision in letting the brunette be.

What the hell were you doing to him? You were making him go soft, normally he wouldn’t think twice about barreling into that room and snatching the bottle of alcohol from that bastard's hands and kicking him out. Now he was letting him get away with it because of your fondness for Dazai.

He wonders if you realize just how much of a hold you have on him, you could easily bring the Port Mafia executive to his knees if you wanted to.

Chuuya would let you get away with it too.

He clicks his tongue and looks away in embarrassment at being caught. “Yeah, well who knows when that jackass last slept. It would take me forever to wake him up and kick him out. Easier to just leave him there.”

You smile at him in amusement and the ginger can feel the way his cheeks heat up, a blush dusting his cheeks and ears in a reddish-pink hue. He wants to say he hates this, the way you make him feel like that fifteen year old boy all over again. He wants so badly to deny it to himself but he can’t bring himself to do it. He enjoys the nostalgic feeling he gets when he’s with you. He loves getting to watch you now as an adult and still have some of the same mannerisms you had back then. He loves that he gets to see you grow with him again once again.

He loves you.

Chuuya thinks he always has. It would explain why you made him feel so comfortable. He can’t believe it took him this long to figure it out.

The ginger shakes off the thought, not ready to tell you what he just discovered quite yet, so instead he rolls his eyes at your amusement and starts pushing you back towards the dining room. “Forget it. C’mon, let’s go eat that delicious meal you prepared.”

“Okay, okay. Whatever the birthday boy wants, he gets.” 

Chuuya almost trips over his own feet at the notion, his mind wandering to places it really ought to not wander to. He’s sailing across dangerous waters, his mind on the verge of drowning if he doesn't tread carefully. You’re partially to blame though. Wording it in such a way that you had to know just how suggestive it sounds. 

But as he looks over at you, your smile is warm and your cheeks rosier than usual.

Oh. You did mean yourself, but Chuuya something in his chest tightens and he thinks it means something deeper than just his previous inappropriate thoughts. How deplorable, Chuuya is truly a bastard that doesn’t deserve someone like you but he’s also selfish and doesn’t know when to stifle an impulse this strong. 

“Really? Anything he wants?” Chuuya’s breath hitches when your response is almost instantaneous.

You look up at him earnestly and repeat yourself, this time it comes out softer as you nod your head. “Anything he wants.”

A year later you lead a blindfolded Chuuya to the roof of the nicest hotel in Yokohama, far more prepared than last year. You made Dazai help with putting this whole thing together. You both spent a month planning this party and it was going to be perfect. Everyone Chuuya cared about was here. You even pulled some strings to invite a couple of old friends.

You smile proudly at your hard work paying off and you haven’t even gotten to the best part: Chuuya’s reaction. 

“Okay, stay right here and no peeking until I say so, got it?” You let go of the executive to join the crowd waiting quietly to greet the guest of honor. Dazai has made himself front and center, slinking his arm around your shoulder and leaning into you with a satisfied smile.

Your nerves overtake you for just a split second, much like they did the year previously when you cooked for him for the first time—which he ended up loving and now when he’s asked what his favorite food is he always answers by saying it’s anything you cook for him. Then you hear it, a reassuring chuckle comes from the person you were always meant to be with, light as a feather like it always has been when he’s with you. Your cheeks flare up at the noise, knowing that it’s a side of him only you really get to see. A rare sight for anyone else that’s here. 

His smile is relaxed and he tilts his head, somehow looking directly at you whilst still being blindfolded. “The last time you surprised me on my birthday, you got me a bottle of wine that you definitely couldn't afford on that detective salary of yours, Baby. I’m kinda scared for your wallet to see what it is this year.”

Your cheeks heat up even more and Dazai has to stifle a giggle of his own. He had been the one to loan you the money for the ridiculously expensive bottle of wine. Where he got the money, you have no idea and frankly you think you’re okay with that. He only let you pay him back for half of it, he claimed he was letting the rest of it slide as his way of making it up to you for not telling you about the ginger’s birthday sooner. Who were you to argue with that logic? Especially when you fed him that night too.

“Just take the blindfold off, would you?” You try to sound annoyed but you’re too excited for him to see it all that your voice comes out a little too eager.

Time seems to slow down just a little when Chuuya reaches up to lift up the blindfold. At the same time all of the lights are being turned on and fireworks are being set off, courtesy of that one lemon guy who’s name you can never seem to remember, his eccentric appearance is always far too distracting for you to ever pay attention to his name. The sky is lit with various color combinations and you all shout surprise at the gravity manipulator. 

You watch him with a wide smile as he lights up with almost a childlike glee at the multitude of love being cast his way. This is the first time in a long time that he has actually looked younger than his—still young—age. His bicolored eyes twinkling in delight as they take in everything from the decorations to the fireworks to the overwhelming amount of people that have shown up for him. 

The moment he sets his eyes on you it’s all over. It’s almost as if you can feel the fireworks igniting in your stomach with the way he is looking at you in utter adoration, knowing exactly who put in the most work to make this happen. He’s moving towards you before you can even react—before you can even comprehend what’s happening he’s right in front of you, sweeping you off of your feet and twirling you around while laughing like an idiot in love. You didn’t think moments like this would ever exist for someone like you, they’re usually reserved for fairytales and happy endings, but maybe this was the start of your own.

Maybe after everything, you deserve this.

Everyone naturally disperses to give you and Chuuya your space before socializing and wishing him a happy birthday properly. 

The ginger is holding your cheeks in his hands gently, still smiling brightly at you. “You did all of this for me?”

You smile at him just as warmly and nod your head. He lets out an incredulous laugh, He scans his surroundings once again, this time noting the people in attendance. His gaze falters when he notices two figures anxiously watching from the edge of the party. Eyes widening his head whips back over to you.

“Is that-”

You nod your head again. “Yeah. I tracked them down for you. You wanna go say hi? Because I definitely would love to catch up.”

Chuuya lets out another laugh but this one cracks in the middle, clearly overtaken by emotion and you think he knows he’s about to burst because he leans down and connects his forehead with your own — suddenly it’s just the two of you standing in the middle of this rooftop. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, y’know that? I couldn’t ask for a more perfect gift than your love. I love you so much.”

“I love you, Carrot top. Always.”

RBs are always appreciated <3

[carriesthewind]

Right. So. The attachments to the motion for leave (the clownshoes' response to the judge's order to show cause).* I'm going to look at the declarations of the attorneys as our main text, and refer to the exhibits when they come up in the declarations.

(Also a bit of a correction: I said up-chain that the judge spent an hour and 45 minutes grilling Clownshoes at the last hearing, but it seems that it least part of that time was Plaintiff's counsel actually arguing about the substance of their original motion.)

This is getting long, so:

*And just to make sure we're all on the same page: an "order to show cause" is an order from the judge that says, "I think you may have done something I must or should sanction, this is your opportunity to either convince me you didn't do anything wrong and/or why you shouldn't be punished. Clownshoes responded to this order by filing a "motion for leave," which is an request to the judge to let you file something outside of the normal time to file it. In this case, they are asking the permission of the court to refile and substitute the "correct motion" for the "mistakenly filed draft."

And rather than look at these declarations sequentially, we are going to review them together, to see if we can smell the same bs the judge is smelling. We have two Declarations - one by Jennifer DeMaster, the attorney who actually filed the motion, and one by Christopher Kachouroff, lead counsel for the Defendants, aka Sir Clownshoes.

We're starting with Sir Clownshoes, of course. While DeMaster (wisely, imo) starts talking about the relevant facts in her first paragraph, Clownshoes spends the first two pages of an eight page declaration attempting to relitigate, again, his behavior at the last hearing.

'Against all odds and the interference of this Court, I heroically discovered a fact I could not have been aware of without extensive research: that this was all someone else's fault and I was a super good and careful writer and researcher!"

Put a pin in this.

Oh my god. I'm cringing into a pretzel. "It was unfair"?!?!

Don't say it was the court was acting unfairly in this context. Even if the court was being unfair, don't do it!

Even if you had told the court this was a mistakenly filed draft, it was perfectly fair the for judge to "rapidly examine [you] with detailed questions" about a filing YOUR NAME WAS ON.

But you admit you didn't even give the judge your "it was a draft" explanation at the hearing! Your argument is literally that the judge was too mean because she kept questioning you when you didn't have good answers and so it made you feel bad! :(

MY GOD MAN YOU'RE A TRIAL LAWYER. And your excuse is that you fold like tissue at the slightest bit of harsh questioning?!? Quit your job.

*deep breaths*

"AI" can't analyze "the logic of arguments."

"Some of these tools include Microsoft’s Co-Pilot, Westlaw, Google, X, and other platforms." Y'all. I can't with this one. I hope you understand why I just need to quote this sentence in full and then move on. Some statements we simply must acknowledge as existing in this same fragile universe as us, without attempting to understand them.

"I do not rely on AI to do legal research or find cases." They just magically appeared in our draft, your honor!

"During the hearing and in its order, the Court used the phrase 'generative artificial intelligence.' I have never heard of that phrase before and refer to artificial intelligence as simply 'AI'." Ah, a turn into the "I'm genuinely too stupid to sanction, your honor!" A classic move, but I think it's a little to late here.

...you upload cases and briefs into the bot in order to have it spit back out a "draft" for you?? Am I reading this correctly??

...is your brain really so slow and bad that you think that is better than just synthesizing the things yourself?

Sure, Jan.

A year?!? And. you still don't even know what it is called?!

And with that, we finally get to the actual relevant timeline for The Mysterious Case of the Mixed-Up Motions.

...but first I need to eat dinner.

Oh you idiots.