#and it can feel overwhelming. But remember

[faithsmadhouse]

Smut request for max! Where reader is really overstressed and stimulated from work/study and he just fucks her real good with multiple orgasms to send her to sleep

Taken care of||Max verstappen x fem!reader

Summary— y/n is stressed out by work and max knows just how to shut her brain off long enough for her to relax and sleep.

Word count—899

You slam the door behind you and lean against it, chest rising and falling too fast. Your brain feels like it’s still sprinting, stuck in overdrive from the minute you woke up. Notifications, deadlines, expectations too much, too loud, all day long.

Max looks up from the couch, and immediately, his eyes soften.

“Baby,” he says gently, already standing, already moving toward you.

You shake your head as your throat tightens. “I can’t Max, I feel like I’m coming apart. My chest won’t unclench. My brain won’t stop. I don’t even know what I need.”

He reaches for you. “I do.”

His hands are strong, sure, sliding under your jacket and tugging it off before you can argue. He kisses your forehead, then your temple, then finally your mouth, slow and steady. His lips taste like reassurance.

“You’re done for the day,” he murmurs. “You don’t need to think anymore. I’ve got you.”

He undresses you like you’re fragile, but not in a way that makes you feel breakable in a way that makes you feel precious. His hands linger at your hips, his fingers dragging slowly down your thighs. You’re already shaking, breath catching in your throat.

“On the bed,” he says softly. “Face up. Legs open.”

You obey, not because he demands it, but because every word out of his mouth sounds like salvation.

He strips down, climbing onto the bed beside you, settling between your thighs. The way he looks at you like you’re the center of his whole damn world it makes something inside you finally breathe.

“Been running yourself into the ground,” he murmurs, kissing the inside of your knee. “You give so much to everyone else, you forget you’re allowed to fall apart, too.”

His mouth is warm, slow, relentless between your legs. He licks through your folds like he’s savoring every second, like tasting you is his reward. He slides two fingers inside you while his tongue circles your clit, and your hips arch before you can stop yourself.

“Fuck, Max—”

“I know, sweetheart. Let go. Give it to me.”

The first orgasm crashes over you fast, your body too strung out to hold back. You cry out, thighs trembling, hands gripping the sheets as he coaxes you through it but he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even pause.

He keeps going, soft and wet and maddeningly gentle, until the next one builds like a slow-burning fuse and hits you even harder. You sob through it, overwhelmed, body writhing, nerves sparking like a live wire.

“Such a good girl,” he breathes, lifting his head to watch your face. “So fucking perfect for me. Every sound you make, every twitch I want all of it. You’re doing so good.”

When he finally slides inside you, you’re wrecked in the best way open, needy, pliant. He fills you so slowly you nearly cry from how full you feel, your cunt fluttering around him even before he moves.

“You needed this, didn’t you?” he murmurs against your cheek. “You needed to be taken care of.”

You nod, eyes glossy, lips trembling. “Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he promises. “Not until you’re so fucked out you can’t remember why you were stressed in the first place.”

He moves in deep, measured strokes, angled perfectly to brush every sensitive spot inside you. And he never stops talking, praise spilling from his lips like honey.

“Look at you. So tight and warm around me. Taking me so good.”

“You’re everything I want. Everything I need.”

“This pussy was made for me, wasn’t it? Look how she holds me. Fuck.”

Every word sinks deeper than the last, and soon your nails are digging into his shoulders, your body shivering under the weight of another orgasm. He groans when he feels ir how you pulse around him, so wet and desperate and slows his thrusts until he’s barely moving.

“Shh, baby. I’ve got you. Just like this,” he says, settling in deep, still buried inside you.

You whimper, oversensitive, hips twitching.

“I know,” he soothes, brushing sweaty hair from your face. “Just wanna keep you full a little longer. You’re so good like this. So soft. So fucked-out and perfect.”

He stays like that cock still inside ou while he holds your body against his, letting you breathe through it. Letting you feel it: the fullness, the safety, the intimacy of being completely possessed in the most loving way.

Your walls flutter again, helpless, overwhelmed, and you gasp when another orgasm sneaks up on you this one slower, deeper, dragging tears from your eyes.

Max kisses them away, murmuring, “That’s it. Let it out. I’ve got you. Just give it all to me.”

And you do.

When he finally lets himself come, it’s with your name on his lips, his forehead pressed to yours, his hands cradling your face like you’re the most sacred thing he’s ever touched. He fills you, shuddering, groaning low in his chest.

But even then, he doesn’t pull out.

He stays inside you, wraps you in his arms, and holds you close. You’re limp, boneless, body still twitching in little aftershocks as your head finds its place on his chest.

“I love you,” he says softly, voice rough. “So proud of you. Every day.”

Your eyes flutter shut. His hand strokes your hair. And for the first time in what feels like forever, your mind is quiet.

[tinytarotandtea]

「 ✦ PICK A PILE✦ 」

What part of you is quietly healing?

Masterlist GET YOUR PERSONAL PAID READING HERE <33 Directions: Take a moment to breathe, calm down and focus as you choose a picture from above. From left to right is pile 1, 2 and 3. Then Scroll down to your pile! Please remember to only take what resonates with you and leave the rest 🫶

Pile One -

Cards Pulled - Knight of Wands Reversed • Ace of Wands • King of Swords

So, pile one, your healing right now is all about finding your spark again. But, in a way that is softer and more grounded than before. With the Knight of Wands Reversed, there is a sense of burnout or hesitation in your drive. Perhaps you’ve felt like you’ve been going full speed ahead with no clear direction or that your energy has been scattered, and now you are pulling back a little to focus on what really lights you up. This part of you is healing from the rush, from the pressure to always be on the go, and it is finding a more aligned path.

The Ace of Wands is telling me that this healing process is all about a new beginning for you, a fresh burst of energy or creativity that is coming in slowly, but surely. It might be quiet at first, like a small flame flickering inside, but it is growing. You are rediscovering your passion, your desire to create and your motivation. But, it’s happening in a way that might feel more like a gentle rise rather than a forceful push.

And with the King of Swords here, your healing has a lot to do with how you think and communicate. There’s a healing in your mindset and the way you make decisions, along with how you’ve come to understand yourself and your boundaries. You’re reclaiming your mental clarity, your sharpness, and your ability to speak your truth confidently. There is a shift happening inside you where you are moving from self-doubt into self-assurance. And it is so damn empowering.

Pile one, you’re quietly healing your inner fire, your ability to take action without burning out and finding your voice again in a way that is more aligned with who you are becoming. It’s slow and steady, but it is going to be so worth it when you step into that energy full force.

Pile Two -

Cards Pulled - King of Pentacles • The World Reversed • Queen of Cups reversed

Okay, so! Pile two, your healing right now is happening in that deep, under-the-surface kind of way. This isn’t flashy and it might not even be something others can see, but it’s powerful. The King of Pentacles tells me that you’re slowly rebuilding a sense of inner security. You’re learning to feel more stable, grounded and safe within yourself, no matter what happens around you. You’re healing the part of you that felt like you had to constantly prove your worth through what you could do or give. Now, though? Now you’re learning that just being is enough.

The World Reversed suggests that you’ve been stuck in a loop for a while. Maybe a cycle that you’ve been unable to close. You might feel like you’re “almost there” but something always feels just out of reach. That part of you, the one that keeps feeling like you’re not finished, or like something is missing, is healing. You’re learning that it is okay for some things to be left imperfect, unfinished, or unknown. You don’t have to rush to the finish line. You’re healing your relationship with completion, and how you define success and closure.

And with the Queen of Cups reversed, you’ve been carrying so much. Emotionally, spiritually, energetically. This card is telling me that your heart’s been a little overwhelmed, perhaps stretched too thin from always holding space for others. But now, you’re healing your emotional boundaries. You’re slowly remembering how to pour into your own cup first. You are learning to hold yourself gently without feeling guilt. This is big. Tender healing in your heart space is happening, and it’s making room for softness, safety, and self-love to come flooding back in.

Pile two, you’re healing the part of yourself that has been holding the world together for everyone else. You are coming home to your own centre, and even if it is a little messy, it is still magic.

Pile Three -

Cards Pulled - The Hierophant • King of Cups • Six of Pentacles.

Oo, okay. Pile three is healing in the spaces between tradition and heart, structure and softness. The Hierophant says that you’ve been carrying a lot of responsibility, maybe you are the one expected to do things “the right way” or always be the strong and wise one. You are healing the part of yourself that feels like it has to follow all those rules just to feel safe or accepted.  Now? Now you’re slowly unlearning what doesn’t serve you anymore. And you’re building a belief system that actually aligns with your spirit, not just what you were taught.

With the King of Cups, we’ve got emotional depth. You’re healing your relationship with your emotions, how you express them, how you hold them, and how you give them space. You might be someone who has always been the calm in the storm, the shoulder for others, the one who knows what to say. But now? Now you’re being asked to turn that same emotional maturity inward. To care for yourself the way you care for everyone else. And you’re doing it. Gently, quietly and beautifully.

And the Six of Pentacles is here to tie it all together! You’re healing your balance between giving and receiving. You’ve perhaps over-given in the past, be it emotionally, physically, or spiritually. And now you’re learning that you are just as worthy of care, time and love. You’re someone who deserves to feel supported too. This healing is showing you that you don’t always have to be the one pouring. Sometimes it is your turn to be poured into. That's not selfish, that’s sacred.

Pile three, your healing is wise, heart-cantered and so full of soul. You’re learning to be your own guide and your own emotional anchor. That’s powerful.

[radioactive-leopard]

Genuine question but what do you guys think about the concept of arabization (before modern arabization) and the many conquests of Arab Caliphates, including the levant ? And I mean this humbly, I don’t want my tone to be misinterpreted

Something that a lot of people get wrong when looking at the history of the SWANA region is that they assume Arabs completely took over and dominated cultures. Arabization definitely shaped the Levant, but it took some time. This is a very unpopular opinion, but I don't think that Arabic should be classified as just one language. Hear me out, this is relevant. If they don't know "standard arabic," someone from Morocco will have a very difficult time communicating with someone from Syria. Swedish and Norwegian are mostly mutually intelligible, they can understand each other even if they're ostensibly speaking a different language. Moroccan Arabic and Syrian Arabic? No way. I understand that the dialects are a continuum so drawing a line between different dialects wouldn't really be feasible. Classifying Arabic as one language really allows us to classify everyone who speaks Arabic as the same, as Arab and it also makes it seem like there's one Arab culture. The Levant and the Gulf States have basically nothing in common besides their religion and language, and even then the religion was traditionally practiced differently. The people we currently classify as Arab in the Levant are the descendants of the canaanites and the people who lived in the Levant thousands of years ago. Arabization didn't change that. It would be ridiculous to demand that a culture remain stagnant for 2000 years or else they have no right to their homes.

Do you guys not believe that at least a portion of jewish people are descendants from the levant? I feel like this is a question at the core of this issue.

It would be ridiculous to say that no Jews are descended from the Levant. We also have to remember that especially before the rise of the Catholic Church and Catholic policies, Jewish people weren't viewed in the same way. While the destruction of the second temple and following persecution by the Roman Empire in 70 ad were horrible, we don't see any archeological evidence for a mass exodus from the Levant. Lots of Jews did leave the Levant, and as Judaism was a proselytizing religion back in the day, lots of people converted. Side note, I saw someone say that because Jews were the ruling class in parts of Palestine 2000 years ago that they have of a right to steal Palestinian land. Which is actually an insane thing to say.

The bible is actually a really interesting source that you have to take with an entire salt mine. I haven't read the Talmud, but I was raised Christian so I've read the bible. In the bible, Jesus' family comes from one sect, and they are not friends with another sect, the Pharisees. A lot of the bible contains things like "fuck the Pharisees they're terrible I hate them." This tells us that the Jewish people have never been a monolith.

The Levant is, and always has been, extremely multicultural and it is only since zionist nationalism that we see this separation. After Arabization, some Jews held on to their Jewish identity and became Mizrahi Jews, but a lot also converted to Islam. I hope this makes sense.

The history of displacement and expulsion of jewish people is pretty well documented in Europe, but I see no online mention ever of the treatment that Arab countries gave to jewish indigenous people, or other groups like Berber people. To some of the “Arab jews”, the idea of reviving the Hebrew language and bringing it back to use in Palestine could be seen as decolonial (which went too far when it became the sole official language of the region in recent years…). All this to say there are fringes of zionism that have decolonial arguments (as jews are not strangers to the area and many have been persecuted or made to flee), but an overwhelming majority that is colonial and that we can acknowledge they both exist and can contradict without this discrediting any critique of Israel or letting these arguments justify what is happening to palestinians.

I think what you need to remember is that the "elite" of whatever society you're in love fucking everyone else over. Dominant ethnic groups don't suddenly change their behavior towards minorities because they're in a different region. Also, a lot of these persecutions happened during the Ottoman empire when nationalism was starting to get popular. Minority ethnic groups in Europe were forcibly assimilated, although some did manage to resist. It's not possible to have any decolonial notions towards Palestinians, because they were not the ones colonizing. They were being colonized by the Ottoman empire, and then the British and French. To be anticolonial in Palestine you have to be antizionist. Currently, Israel is the colonizer saying you're a decolonial zionist is like me claiming to be anticolonial by invading reservations.

the issue is how Israel and zionists are acting, the way that Israel is, the shift in the 1940s

Zionism has always been colonial. In the early days, there were some people, especially leftists, who moved to Palestine and were pretty integrated in society. Then came nationalism and Zionism in the late 19th century. There are writings from the fathers of Zionism that explicitly and proudly state that it is a colonial endeavor and they want to recreate what happened in the Americas. There was a massive shift in the 40s after the Holocaust, but it's always been a colonial endeavor. People began to buy massive tracts of land from absentee Ottoman landlords. It would be like if I took your house and then said that you actually rent it from me, but oops another guy comes along with a great offer so you have to leave. There were also common areas not owned by anyone that were "bought" (stolen). It's like the commons and subsequent enclosure of the commons in England. Owning land as we see it today didn't really exist until a couple hundred years ago. Of course, there were landlords and land ownership, but common lands were extremely common.

It's also important to note that Arab antisemitism as it exists today and European antisemitism have fundamentally different roots and different aims. The Arab antisemitism we see is a direct response to Israel's policies. The persecution of Jews in arab countries was terrible, and there was a lot of that dual loyalty shit mixed up, but it's different dual loyalty shit. It's like how the Ottoman Empire believed that Armenian Christians had dual loyalties and thus it was necessary to try to wipe them out. It's pretty standard bigotry.

European antisemitism on the other hand was always pretty fucking malicious. Jews were the scapegoat, if anything went wrong blame it on the Jews. The Catholic church was also instrumental for all of this. Over time, it evolved from simple bigotry and discrimination to blood libel and all of the other shit. Jews being greedy and controlling the banks and whatnot arose from the persecution they faced and not being able to own land or farm. Jews and Roma were very convenient scapegoats and they often were forced to the the dirty work. Jews were forced into ghettos, and often Romani caravans were basically travelling ghettos. I think a lot of this antisemitism kind of morphed into a really weird pseudo-religion.

I find the history of genocide very interesting because it tells us a lot about humanity. My personal theory of genocide is that it is driven by the control of resources, especially money. We see this in the genocides in the Caribbean and Americas, we see it in the Rwandan genocide, we see it in the Cambodian Genocide, and we see it in the Holocaust. The victims of genocide also often have less control of resources than the perpetrators, but if people think that they are the ones making everything terrible, then the truth doesn't matter. Another massive factor is nationalism and sectarianism. If your group is the only group that deserves anything, then it is your right to wipe everyone else out.

*I'm not Jewish I just really like history*

Zionists are the biggest fucking morons and don't know shit about their own fascist ideology. It's unbelievable that they're all living within this bubble of delusion, spouting this nonsense. Even when assholes like Herzl, Ben-Gurion and Jabotinsky say "Oh, this is colonialism, make no mistake", these people try to engage in historical revisionism.

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

⋆⭒˚.⋆ can I call her what she is? ⋆⭒˚.⋆

summary: Doyoung has a new girlfriend and she makes it very clear to you and you alone that she doesn't like you. Too bad no one believes you

(cw: f!reader, cursing, side character is a bitch, the guys are idiots, angsty with a happy ending!)

You liked to think you were a likable person. You were kind, you had good manners, you were polite, you were never rude, but now you were starting to rethink it all. Ever since Doyoung's girlfriend, Jane, started hanging around, actually. They hadn't been together long, but she was a strong character so it was no wonder she wormed her way into hanging around with you guys.

It wasn't that she was outright mean, but she was snide and passive aggressive. Only to you it seemed. You really should have been in a better state of mind too, you and fratboy!Jaehyun had been official now for a few weeks now. There was a lot of texting over winter break and a lot of time spent together since school started back up. However, you were still a little iffy about you two being together. Old insecurities hadn't yet been quelled and Jane being a bitch just made you feel worse.

Somehow Jane had finagled her way into a Sunday dinner, an event usually reserved the brothers and their partners. It made sense, but usually partners didn't show up within the first month of dating. Jane and Doyoung had only been together for three weeks from what you understood, and you knew better than anyone that being around this group of guys could be a lot. You'd attended a few times before you and Jaehyun were official and you remember being beyond overwhelmed.

You and Taeyong were in the kitchen, plating up the take out you guys had ordered. The kitchen was loud since everyone was hanging out waiting for the last few people to show up. It was like every other Sunday dinner, loud laughing, lots of talking, and complaining about Johnny being gone, some kind of family emergency.

Doyoung led Jane into the kitchen and you watched as she went around the room and greeted everyone. You exhaled a long breath, watching as she greeted Taeyong with a wave and a smile on her face. You waved at her, smiling, "Hey Jane, it's so good to see you again."

The smile on her face freezes, the smile no longer reaching her eyes, "right, so good to see you too."

The weird feeling you always get around her settles into your stomach as dinner progresses. The guys hang on Jane's every word as she explains some kind of biological chemistry phenomenon. Even you have to admit it's interesting, but then she turns to you. The smile on her face is sweet, but you know that look. She's about to say something rude to you.

She clears her throat as she turns to you, "and I'm sorry, what was your major again? Something with children, right?"

"Yeah, I'm an elementary education major," you nod. Jaehyun smiles as he rubs your back, encouraging this connection between the ladies of Nu Chi Theta.

"Of course you are," Jane nods, "you know, times have changed. Women are more than able to pick something in fields that aren't already overrun by females."

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out and Jane's attention is drawn elsewhere with a smug smirk in your direction. What the fuck was her problem?

The dinner ends not too much later, though you had hoped it would have ended sooner. Jane has gone home, something about chemistry homework or whatever. You stay at the table gnawing on your bottom lip as the guys continue to talk around you. You turn to Jaehyun on your right, your voice low, "do you think Jane is mean to me?"

His brows furrow, "what are you talking about? She's nice to everyone."

You helplessly turn to Haechan who sits on your left. He's always had your back, surely he'll believe you, right? "Do you think Jane is weird with me?"

"Did she say something mean to you?" Haechan asks, you nod sincerely, "I didn't catch that. What did she say?"

"About my major being overrun with females," you explain slowly.

Haechan cocks his head to the side, "well, teaching is a field dominated by women so she wasn't really wrong though was she?"

After that night you start to second guess yourself. Were you overthinking it? Was she not being mean to you? Were you making it all up? Still, you find that you don't attend the Sunday dinners because you know she'll be there. When you can't avoid her, you just get quiet and don't interact as much as you normally would.

Tonight though, you cant avoid it. All your excuses have run out and unfortunately telling Jaehyun your pet chinchilla was sick didn't work. You sit in your usual seat, poking at the food on your plate with a blank look on your face.

You can feel Jane's bitchy energy focused right on you. Great, here comes another blow. She sets her cup down, "so did you help Taeyong make dinner tonight?"

You shake your head, not looking up from your plate, "no."

"No wonder it tastes better," she laughs and to your dismay, the rest of the table bursts out in chuckles too.

"But we usually order take out, so she doesn't cook anyway," you hear Johnny pipe up. You look up, feeling a sense of hope and an immense sense of appreciation for your friend.

It's barely enough to deter Jane. She waves off Johnny's comment with another laugh, "so how long have Sunday dinners been for official partners? I know you and Jaehyun haven't been official for very long, right?"

Jaehyun pipes up, "Since the middle of December, happiest days of my life since then."

The other guys roll their eyes playfully, having heard enough about the two of you to know that they won't miss out on anything as they return to their own conversations. Her brows furrow as she leans in from her seat across from you, "Doyoung mentioned that you two had a think going on for months before, so were you just a booty call? Did you trick him into making it official?"

"Ha, trick me," Jaehyun chuckles. Your brows furrow as you look at him with a look of complete hurt. Did he not hear everything she said?

"And I mean really, besides his good looks, what was so appealing about Jaehyun? He had a reputation for sticking his dick anywhere didn't he? I don't think I'd ever let a man disrespect me the way he disrespected you," she shrugs her shoulders, looking around the table at all the guys who have now gone silent.

Johnny coughs out in shock, "yo, what the fuck, Jane?"

"I'm just being honest," Jane shrugs, "it's not that serious."

"No! It is that serious. No one asked you to be honest about shit that doesn't have the slightest thing to do with you," Johnny counters.

"It's just girl talk John, typical female conversation," Jane rolls her eyes.

"But it's not a conversation when Sweets hasn't even said more than one word. You're being really fucking rude. There's no reason to dredge up old wounds for my friends and make a mess where you're not involved at all," Jonnny argues.

"She also implied that I'm a slut," Jaehyun pipes up.

Johnny holds his open palm out in Jaehyun's direction, "I just watched you let Jane stomp all over your girlfriend and decimate her self esteem, you don't get to be defended right now. You fucking laughed about Jane saying Sweets was just a booty call, bro!"

"Johnny, it's alright..." you offer quietly.

"It's really not though. Is this the first time she's talked to you like this?" Johnny asks.

Beside you Haechan shakes his head softly, "it's not. She made some comments a few weeks ago and Sweets asked us about it."

"And that's why you haven't been coming to the dinners, isn't it?" Johnny asks.

You're barely able to nod before Jaehyun is tugging you into his arms in a tight hug and apologizing profusely right in your ear, "I was such an idiot. I'm so sorry, Sweetheart. I'm always going to listen to whatever you say and agree no matter what."

Johnny clears his throat, "I'm sorry to do this to your girlfriend, Doyoung, but I'm going to have to invoke my power as vice president of this frat and ask that you leave, Jane."

Doyoung chokes on his drink, "have you been telling people you're my girlfriend?"

"Yes, because I said I am," Jane rolls her eyes as she stands.

"You're my lab partner in chemistry that can't tell when she's overstayed her welcome. You heard Johnny, bye," Doyoung waves.

She strides away with a scoff, telling Doyoung she was breaking up with him. Everyone looks around the table awkwardly before Haechan clears his throat, "we owe you an apology Sweets."

The table of frat boys nods, all expressing their words of apology as Jaehyun holds you tightly and presses a kiss to the top of your head. Haechan groans, "well, can I call her what she is without anyone getting offended? She was a mega bitch!"

"Cheers to that," Jaehyun chuckles, raising his cup.

[chenlezip]

annas note: i know some of these aren’t proper love languages but i wanted to do something separately for each member! i hope i haven’t repeat anything… :/ it’s not proof read… please vouch for me if i have guys

ACTS OF SERVICE | MARK .

mark always pays attention to you, no matter what he’s doing. if he’s busy on his phone scrolling through socials, noticing that your skirt is slowly riding up, he carefully brings a hand toward it and pulls it down gently.

insists on carrying heavy bags, even just carrying your bag. no matter how many times you insist and say ‘no markie, ‘s light enough.’ he will make you give it to him so he can carry it on his shoulder.

if he notices you struggling with anything, oh he is right there instantly, helping you out and making everything better. "i saw you struggling, let me do it for you, hm? rest your pretty self."

SHARED EXPERIENCES | RENJUN .

renjun never usually says he misses you but you kind of get the hint when he invites you to do something with him - even if its just something as simple as going shopping or just going on a small walk to pick up some paint for his next painting.

he stores his best memories of you both in the back of his mind and usually tends to bring them up when you're both laying in bed together, "do you remember that time we got caught in the rain on our first date?" or "remember when i tripped over trying to get you ice cream because we were in such a hurry?"

he remembers all the firsts of your experiences together like: first movie you watched together, first silly inside joke, first time he realised he was in love during something totally mundane like making instant noodles at 2 in the morning after a long day. these things mean more to him than dramatic declarations.

QUALITY TIME | JENO .

as a homebody, jeno loves to be spending time indoors with you. making the most of it by watching a movie with you, or a show. he doesn’t mind. spending time with you is just worth it for him.

you both don’t need to speak, just being near each other is enough. you always find yourself sitting close to jeno, you love being by his side.

sunday mornings are the best for the both of you though. just laying in bed, all snuggled up under the covers, legs intertwined. your back against his chest, his arm wrapped around your waist and the other under your head. soft sighs, murmurs exiting your lips as you complain about not wanting to leave the covers.

PHYSICAL TOUCH | HAECHAN .

haechan will always have his hands on you, come on. who else would be clingy at 9am after just waking up. arms already wrapped around your waist, soft kisses trailing down your neck, his morning voice in your ear like a melody. “smells good, baby.”

whenever you’re sat somewhere, he always has a hand on the top of your knee or your thigh, gently squeezing sometimes. he loves doing it during a conversation you’ve noticed, either squeezing or playing piano chords on your leg. you don’t mind it though.

whenever you’re a little overwhelmed, haechan brings you to his side and wraps an arm around your shoulder, shushing you quietly and whispering sweet nothings while his hand trails small circles on your arm. his touch always calms you down, he knows what will calm you.

WORDS OF AFFIRMATION | JAEMIN .

jaemin is always there, complimenting you or expressing how proud of you he was even if it was just something small you did. he loved letting you know, just saying anything that comes to mind like: “im so proud of you, baby.” “you did great, alright?”

he’s always reassuring you whenever you feel down or just out of place in the world. his words mean so much to you, he always knows exactly what to say. “you’re doing the best you can, all you can do is try. you can’t be expected to always do good. it’s natural, it’s a human process. don’t worry your pretty little head, hm? i’m here for you and i see you.”

jaemin likes leaving a little something in your bag or just on the kitchen counter if he has to leave before you do. a photo he took of you during a date one time with a note that read: “the prettiest girl ever, always looking so stunning no matter what you do. have the best day, ‘m always here.”

QUALITY TIME/GIFTS | CHENLE

chenle hates to admit it but he loves spending time with you. he always gets you to cook with him, softly wrapping his arms around your waist as he watches you cut some vegetables up. "i'm just waiting for the pot to heat up, i'll watch you do this." he mumbled into your neck.

you casually mentioned liking a certain plushie, obscure snack, or pair of socks with capybaras on them once.. or twice (can't blame you) and next thing you know, it’s sitting on your desk with a sticky note that says, “this reminded me of your weird little brain. hope you like it baby."

loves cuddling up on the sofa in the living room, putting on one of stephen currys old basketball matches with food on the way for the both of you to enjoy for the night. you don't mind watching it because its time together and you barely had that time so you both are taking it for granted before he gets busy again.

DIGITAL CONNECTION | JISUNG

jisung loves sending you memes that he thinks you would find funny, maybe even some that he knows the both of you will giggle at. even tiktoks, throughout the day, the notifications slowly piling up as he sends one with a ‘this is us’ or ‘reminded me of u :’)’.

he loves customising your online spaces together, whether that be on minecraft with matching skins, matching pfps, having the same handle on overwatch / slightly matching ones.. anything that matches you both together? yeah. customised straight away. especially your avatars on any game.. be prepared.

whenever you both are far from one another, you always end up facetiming late at night and falling asleep together after sharing your day. you always send photos to him while you’re away, updating him about it that way where as jisung was the type to spam text and send a video at least.

nct : @remtrack @mejaemin @mahaewebs @zorange13 @florihaei @spacejip @markkiatocafe @polarisjisung @lainzitos @ayukas @sunghoonsgfreal @ikozen @tigerlillizz

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

After Simon and wife!readers little anniversary trip they are blessed with a surprise of a new baby!!!

The hard part? Explaining it to Tommy

The Best Surprise

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Wife!Reader

Warnings: Soft dad!Simon, pregnancy symptoms, lots of fluffy family moments, worried kiddo, emotional comfort, Grandpa Price being the GOAT, mention of bodily symptoms (mild), established relationship

Author’s Note: You may or may not cry during reading this. I know I cried while writing this so please enjoy!

Summary: You and Simon return from your anniversary getaway with something a little extra. You suspect it early—but it takes a little time, a lot of nerves, and the sharp eyes of a sweet little boy to bring it all together.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

It started off small.

A weird twinge in your stomach. A yawn that wouldn’t quit. A sudden craving for peanut butter on pickles that had Simon doing a double take.

“You’re joking, right?”

You shrugged, taking a bite. “Tastes like childhood.”

“Can’t say I remember that flavor in mine.”

You’d brushed it off.

Then came the dizziness. The sore boobs. The overwhelming fatigue that settled into your bones like fog.

And then—missing your period.

You stared at the calendar on the fridge for a full minute before quietly marking a missed day. Then another. Then another.

Tommy had been coloring at the table, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth while he concentrated.

“Mum?” he asked suddenly. “Are you okay? You look sleepy.”

“I’m alright, baby,” you said, kissing the top of his head. “Just a little tired, that’s all.”

He blinked up at you, suspicious in the way only small children can be. Then went back to coloring a dragon in neon orange and purple.

You took your phone and went to the bathroom with shaking hands.

There was a test hidden in the cabinet. One of those “just in case” kind of things you kept around. It was a little dusty.

You sat on the edge of the tub with your heart pounding, the little stick waiting on the counter like a secret.

Simon knocked once. “Everything alright in there, love?”

You didn’t answer right away.

“…I think I might be pregnant.”

A pause.

Then the door opened slowly and Simon stepped inside. His expression was unreadable for a second—just still.

Then he gave you the softest look.

“Yeah?”

You nodded, holding up the test. “Just… waiting now.”

He knelt beside you and took your hand.

Together, you stared at the stick. The little pink line bloomed into a plus sign.

You both went very quiet.

Simon let out a breath and leaned in, pressing a long, quiet kiss to your forehead.

“We’re doing this again,” you whispered, tears building in your eyes.

He nodded. “Hell yeah, we are.”

——

It wasn’t long before Tommy started to notice… things.

“Mum?” he asked one morning as you pushed aside your plate. “You don’t want pancakes? You always want pancakes.”

Your stomach turned at the sight of syrup. “Not today, bug.”

Simon watched you quietly as he sipped his coffee. His hand settled over yours under the table.

A few days later, Tommy came into the bathroom while you were brushing your teeth—and caught you mid-gag.

“Mum?”

You waved him off, mouth full of minty foam. “Just… toothpaste hit wrong.”

Tommy gave you a look. Then ran out and returned with a half-eaten granola bar.

“You can have this,” he said solemnly. “Sometimes food makes me feel better too.”

You took it, heart swelling. “Thanks, baby.”

But with every day, his sweet gestures came with a little more hesitation. A few more sidelong glances.

He got clingier, too.

Sat pressed into your side every time you were on the couch. Followed you to the kitchen. Insisted on helping you carry things, even if it was just a single sock.

You didn’t miss it. But you didn’t push either.

Simon noticed too.

“He’s overthinking,” he said one night, watching Tommy fall asleep still clinging to your shirt. “Keeps looking between us like he’s waiting for something bad to happen.”

“I know,” you murmured, rubbing Tommy’s back. “I’m just not sure how to tell him.”

——

A week later, after a long day and an early dinner, you found Tommy curled up on the living room floor with his stuffed shark and a sad little pout on his face.

You sat down beside him and ran a hand through his curls.

“Hey, bug. Wanna help me fold the laundry?”

He shook his head.

“Wanna pick a movie?”

Another shake.

“Wanna—”

“Are you gonna love the baby more than me?” he asked softly.

Your heart cracked right in half.

You opened your mouth, but no words came.

Before you could find them, Tommy stood up, hugged his shark close to his chest, and whispered, “I’m gonna go see Grandpa Price.”

He slipped out of the room in his little socks, padding down the hallway like a shadow.

Simon appeared in the doorway, having heard just enough to piece it together. He looked at you for a second—then followed.

——

Price was already in the guest room, reading a book in bed. He looked up as Tommy climbed up beside him without a word.

The kid curled into his side like it was instinct, hugging his shark, lower lip wobbling.

“Everything alright, little man?”

Tommy sniffled. “Is it true? That when babies come, they take all the love?”

Price slowly closed his book and set it on the nightstand.

“They don’t take it, Tommy. Your mum and dad? They made a whole new kind of love just for you. That doesn’t go anywhere. Not ever.”

Tommy’s nose wrinkled. “But Mum’s sick now. And Dad keeps bringing her juice. And they whisper a lot. What if I’m not special anymore?”

“You’re their first,” Price said. “No one ever forgets their first. You changed their whole world. And now you’re gonna help them make room for someone new.”

Tommy mulled that over.

“Will I still get bedtime stories?”

“Absolutely.”

“Cuddles?”

“Every single day.”

“…even fart jokes?”

“Especially fart jokes.”

Tommy giggled and rested his head on Price’s chest.

Price rubbed his back gently. “Being a big brother doesn’t mean losing anything, Tommy. It means getting to teach someone everything you already know. That’s the coolest kind of magic.”

Tommy was quiet for a long time, thinking hard with his little brow furrowed.

Then he whispered, “Will you carry me back?”

“Course I will,” Price said, scooping him up and hoisting him onto his shoulders.

Tommy clung to him, safe and warm, the weight of the world a little lighter.

As they passed the hallway, he glanced back and saw you and Simon waiting in the doorway.

Tommy smiled shyly. “Hi, Mum. Hi, Dad.”

“Hi, baby,” you said, heart full.

Simon reached for Tommy and pulled him down into a big, warm hug.

“We love you more than anything,” Simon whispered. “That’ll never change.”

Tommy clung to him like a koala.

“I love you, too. I think I’m ready to be a big brother.”

You smiled through the tears.

“I know you are, bug.”

And somewhere in your belly, the tiniest heartbeat seemed to flutter in agreement.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[gotwcird]

ripley looks up at him with a smile, warm and tired. "nothing a shower can't fix." weirdly enough, they want to keep biting into him. feels the afterglow err them on to show their overwhelming emotions to josh that way. takes the hand that pats their thigh to pull it to their mouth again, kisses at his fingers before biting lightly at a couple of them. just casually, humming as they did so, bleary eyes meeting his with an affection. "came on you, remember?" they look at the couch, where he'd bent the over, can see the drips and stains where they'd squirted. chortles in amusement, feels only a little shame because it had felt too good to feel much more. "need to clean both of us up again."

joshua’s comedown happens a little faster than theirs. given that ripley has cum a handful of times that’s perhaps not a surprise, so he doesn’t mind it when they remain wordless and reeling. doesn’t even mind the way they nip at his skin in their coming-to state. “it’s alright.” a free a moment, he shifts himself back from hovering over them and relaxes himself seated. gives a little pat to ripley’s legs. wants them relaxed too. “you’re going to need cleaned up again,” he points out. what a waste of their bath earlier; if only he hadn’t enjoyed it so much. probably wasn’t a waste in that case. it had just fulfilled a different purpose from what was initially intended. “just need to actually only clean you up this time, huh?”

[seospicybin]

CAM.

FINAL CHAPTER

Hyunjin x reader. (s,a)

CAM MASTERLIST

Synopsis: Struggling to make ends meet as an art student, Hyunjin never expected his quiet neighbor to change everything. Rumored to be an adult content creator, you offer him a deal—help you with your content, and you’ll help with his financial troubles. What starts as a simple arrangement soon blurs into something more, pulling Hyunjin into a world he never imagined. (9,7k words)

Author's note: I want to thank you for following Cam series. It's been fun. Hope you enjoy this one too ♡

Hyunjin shuts the door behind him and doesn’t look back. Each step away from your apartment echoes louder in his head than the last. His chest feels tight, like he’s holding something back—like maybe he should’ve said more. Maybe he should’ve said anything else. But instead, he chose silence and walked away.

He tells himself it’s the right thing to do. That this is better. That he needs the space. That things were getting too tangled, too fast.

It’s just work, he reminds himself. You were helping me. I was helping you. That’s all it was supposed to be.

But the memory of your smile when you offered him lunch creeps in anyway. So does the look in your eyes when you asked if he was okay—genuine, soft, concerned. Too concerned. He could’ve told you the truth. That it wasn’t just about the job anymore. That he was starting to feel something he wasn’t sure he could handle.

Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten involved to begin with. Maybe he should’ve just focused on his art like he always planned. Still… he feels like he’s walking away from more than just work and that’s what scares him most.

Hyunjin spends the rest of the afternoon staring at the canvas. The brush is in his hand, the colors are ready, but the strokes come out hesitant. Disjointed. Aimless. He tells himself to focus—just paint, Hyunjin. Paint anything. And so, he does.

Slowly, shapes begin to form. A curve here. A slant there. He fills in the shadows, soft and warm, and before he realizes what he's doing, he’s painting you. Your eyes, the exact shade he remembers under the afternoon sun. Your lips, curled in a smile he can’t quite forget. Your skin, the way it glowed under the yellow light in the hallway when you said his name like it meant something. He doesn’t stop until your face is there, staring back at him and he hates it.

Not the painting. The painting is beautiful. But the fact that you’re still in his head—still under his skin.

That night, he lies in bed, restless. The room is quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside his window. When he finally drifts off, you’re there again. In his dream, you're laughing. You're reaching for him. You're so close that he swears he can smell your perfume, feel the warmth of your fingertips tracing his wrist.

And when he wakes up, breath caught in his throat, the ghost of your touch still lingers on his skin.

-

You try to move on. You tell yourself it’s fine—that people quit all the time. That maybe he just got busy, overwhelmed, maybe school is catching up to him. You try to reason with yourself, even smile at the thought of him doing well without needing you. But the truth is, none of that makes you feel any better.

You can accept that Hyunjin doesn’t want to work with you anymore. What you can’t accept—what keeps tugging at your chest like a thread being pulled loose—is that he didn’t even give you a reason why.

No conversation. No explanation. Just that look on his face, distant and closed off, and the way he walked away like everything between you didn’t mean a thing.

You think about how his voice used to sound when he laughed at your stupid jokes. You think about his fingers—paint-stained and warm—fixing the lighting for your shoot like he actually cared. You think about the way his eyes used to linger on you, like he wanted to say something but never did.

Maybe it was all in your head. Maybe you wanted to believe he cared more than he actually did. You spiral—hard. The thoughts come in fast and loud. Of course he didn’t want to stay. Who would?

You sit on the edge of your bed, staring at your phone like it holds the answers. But there are no new messages. No calls. No missed anything. Just silence.

You tell yourself to move on. To focus. To film something. Edit. Call someone else to help. But none of it feels right. None of it feels like him. And maybe that’s the hardest part. Not that he left, but that he left you not knowing why.

Now you can’t stop thinking that maybe it’s not about work at all. Maybe he just doesn’t want anything to do with you. And maybe... he's right to feel that way.

The curtains are drawn, casting a muted gray over your apartment. You’ve been lying on the sofa for hours, curled up in the same position, the blanket barely clinging to your body as your phone keeps chiming over and over. You know what it is. You don’t even have to look.

Eventually, with a sigh, you reach over and swipe it off the table, the screen lighting up with a flood of notifications—all of them from Lustre.

You open the app. Your inbox is filled with flirty, suggestive messages. Compliments on your last post. Requests. Heart emojis. Tips. Offers. You scroll through them with your thumb, barely registering the words. Just eyes glazed over, searching, hoping—waiting—for one name to appear.

But it doesn’t. He’s not there. Not even a silent like. Not even a ghost view.

Your shoulders drop, a quiet, bitter laugh escaping your lips before you toss your phone aside. It lands on the cushion with a soft thud, screen dimming back to black. You drag yourself up, feet cold against the floor as you wander aimlessly around your apartment. It’s too quiet. Too still. And your mind feels just as noisy as it is empty.

As you walk past the makeshift studio, you pause. Something catches your eye. You lean against the doorway, arms crossed as you stare at it—the massive painting that takes up nearly half the back wall. The one you did with Hyunjin. The colors, bold and chaotic. Your brush strokes and his—blended, layered, messy. Your bodies had moved in sync, hands stained with paint, clothes ruined, laughter echoing as you danced around the canvas like kids. Then, the shoot after—bare skin streaked with color, flashes of camera light, his hand warm against your hip as he adjusted the lens.

You remember how proud he was of that piece. The way you both collapsed on the floor after, cracking open cold drinks, toasting with paint-smeared fingers. The initials you both scrawled in the corner, still visible beneath a smudge of deep blue. It was the first of many. A beginning. And now it just feels like an echo of something that’s already ended.

Your heart aches—sharp and sudden, like a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You step closer, fingers brushing the dry surface of the canvas, as if touching it might bring some part of him back even though you know it doesn’t and you’re left there in the silence, missing someone who might’ve already let you go.

Squatting down, your eyes catch the initials in the corner: S.H.

You trail your fingers over them, gently outlining the letters. Your voice barely makes a sound as you murmur, “Sam Hwang.”

The name feels strange in your mouth—familiar, but distant, like something you've read in passing but never truly paid attention to.

Sam Hwang…

You say it again, this time letting it roll slower off your tongue. And then you freeze. You straighten up slowly, eyes widening as your mind starts connecting the pieces.

Sam Hwang.

You scramble for your phone, heart thudding as you fumble to unlock it. Your fingers are unsteady as you tap open the Lustre app and pull up the messages from that one user you had grown fond of—the one who always left sweet, thoughtful notes beneath your content. Never crude. Always kind.

You scroll back through the messages. The way they referenced things you never shared online—small details, like the time you wore your hair differently, or when you used a different song in your clips. It felt like they knew you. Like they saw you.

And then your brain syncs it all at once. The flowers.

Those purple tulips Hyunjin brought you, for no reason at all—just because. You thought it was sweet, random and you were too busy to notice it. But then you remember that it's the flowers on his profile picture. You stare at the screen, your pulse racing.

Mag.Shawn.

Sam Hwang.

It's an anagram. It’s him. It’s been him all along. You cover your mouth with your hand, a shaky breath slipping past your fingers as you try to steady yourself. Every message flashes through your mind now, suddenly reframed in Hyunjin’s voice. The compliments. The support. The gentle teasing. The way he never crossed a line.

Your knees give slightly, and you sit back on the floor with your phone still clutched in your hand, your heart pounding as if you just uncovered a secret love letter that was never meant to be found. Now that you know… everything feels different because it was never just about work. Not really. It was always something more.

-

Hyunjin is tired. Not the kind of tired that paint-stained fingers and aching shoulders bring—but the kind that seeps into the space behind his ribs, hollowing out something he’s not sure he’ll find again.

The school studio had been silent all day except for the low hum of music and the scratch of brushes against canvas. He painted aimlessly, moving through motions that didn’t bring the kind of release they once did. He should’ve felt accomplished. But instead, he just felt... alone.

When he finally makes his way back to the apartment building, the sky is a deep shade of navy. He climbs the familiar stairs slowly, dragging his feet, thoughts tangled like loose threads in his mind.

It’s when he rounds the corner, about to take the next flight up, that he sees you. Sitting on the steps, elbows on your knees, fingers nervously fidgeting. And when you look up—eyes locking with his like magnets clicking into place—Hyunjin stops breathing for a second. He knows that look. It's the same one he saw on that night you first talked to him. You’ve been waiting for him.

You rise slowly, carefully, like you’re afraid you might scare him off. But your voice is steady when you ask, “Can we talk?”

Hyunjin clenches his jaw. His heart hammers against his ribs, screaming yes, yes, let her in—but his head tries to keep control.

“There’s nothing left to talk about,” he says flatly. He doesn’t even look at you when he moves past, doesn’t dare. If he does, he knows he’ll unravel.

You don’t give up. Your footsteps echo behind him, too close, too persistent, and your voice comes again, more urgent this time. “I’m not mad that you quit, Hyunjin. I just need to know why.”

He doesn’t answer. Can’t. The words stay lodged somewhere in his throat, too complicated, too heavy to give voice to. His fingers tighten around the doorknob as he unlocks it. He finally turns to face you, his body angled half into the apartment, half still in retreat.

“Can we not do this now?” he mutters. “Just… not tonight.”

He starts to step inside but then you’re pushing forward—determined, fierce—and before he can stop you, you’re inside his apartment. The door clicks shut behind you, and the air between you both thickens.

“I’m not leaving,” you say quietly, “not until we talk.”

And just like that, he knows—there’s no more hiding.

You stand in the middle of the room like it’s a battlefield. You’ve crossed your arms in front of you, trying to brace yourself, trying not to fold. Your voice cuts through the heavy silence.

“Why?”

Hyunjin avoids your eyes. He turns slightly away, jaw tense. “I’m just tired,” he mutters. “I need to focus on school.”

You don’t say anything for a moment. You just stand there, the weight of his answer settling between you. Then, quietly, you say, “That’s not the real reason.”

Your voice begins to build, unraveling with everything you’ve been holding back. “These past few days I’ve been going over everything in my head, over and over again. I needed to know why, Hyunjin. Why you left like that, without saying a word. I thought maybe I did something wrong, maybe I made you uncomfortable, or maybe…”

Your voice cracks as frustration begins to break through. “Is it because of that night at Sienna’s party? Was it about Felix? Was it... me?”

Hyunjin flinches, hands tightening into fists at his sides. Your words sting in places he doesn’t want to admit. “It’s because I know you don’t want me,” he blurts, louder than he means to. You stare at him, eyes narrowing, confused. He takes a shaky breath, and his voice comes again, rawer this time. “Why haven’t you posted the content we made together? Is it because you didn’t want to do it with me? Because you don’t want me in it? Or is it… is it because you’re ashamed?”

You’re quiet now. The question hangs in the air like smoke. Then you breathe in, shaky and small, and your voice is almost a whisper when you speak. “I didn’t post it because I don’t want this life for you.”

Your arms uncross, and your gaze drops to the floor. “You’re a real artist, Hyunjin. You’re talented. You deserve to be known for your work—not as some guy who makes content with me.”

Your voice is trembling now, your words fragile. “I don’t want to be the reason you get looked at differently. Judged. You’re better than this.”

Hyunjin’s chest tightens. He almost snaps again, but he holds it in. Instead, he takes a step forward, voice low and steady. “Better than what, huh?”

You look up at him, eyes glassy, lips parting like you might speak—but nothing comes out. Another tear escapes, and without thinking, he reaches for you, gently placing his hands on your elbows.

“Do you even know what I want?” he asks, softer now.

You blink, your breath catching, and you shake your head. “No,” you say quietly. “But I know you’re better than this. I know you deserve more.”

His thumb catches the tear that rolls down your cheek.

“What if this—” he whispers, voice shaking just a little, “what if you are what I want?”

Hyunjin leans in slightly, the words right there, barely held back. “I want you,” He says, breathing through the emotion swelling in his chest. “And whatever comes with you.”

-

The second those words leave his mouth—“I want you. And whatever comes with you.”—you break.

It’s not graceful or quiet. It’s a sudden rush of breath you didn’t know you were holding, and then your face crumples as the tears fall fast and hot. You cover your face with both hands, like that could somehow muffle the sound of your sob, but it doesn’t work.

Hyunjin’s eyes widen with alarm, as if he hadn’t expected that reaction. As if he doesn’t understand why it hurts you so much to hear something so kind.

“You shouldn’t,” you croak between your fingers, voice thick and breaking. “You shouldn’t want me.”

That’s the part that cracks him open too. He doesn’t ask you why. He doesn’t tell you you’re wrong. He just steps forward and wraps his arms around you like he means to hold every shattered piece of you together. His warmth surrounds you instantly—his arms firm around your back, one hand on the back of your head, gently cradling you as you cry into his shoulder.

“I do,” he whispers, voice close to your ear. “I want you. I only want you.”

You cling to him, your hands fisting into the back of his shirt as if letting go would undo everything. The weight of everything—the confusion, the distance, the aching loneliness—pours out of you all at once, and still, Hyunjin holds you tighter.

You breathe in slowly, trying to steady the trembling in your chest. The worst of your tears have passed, but your throat still burns and your hands are still curled in the fabric of his hoodie, like you’re afraid to let go.

When you finally lift your head, your eyes meet his—deep, warm, unwavering. And it’s there again. That quiet devotion. That stubborn tenderness he always gives you without asking for anything in return.

“I do want you,” you rasp, voice barely above a whisper. “But I just… I know you deserve better.”

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, his thumb brushes softly across your lips, silencing the words before they can cut deeper into the space between you. He looks at you with something like heartbreak and fierce affection wrapped into one.

“You’re the only one I want,” he says, voice low and sure, as if daring you to challenge him again and then he leans in.

His lips find yours in a kiss that’s tender at first, then deepens with something heavier—something full of things he’s been holding back for far too long. It’s not rushed, not messy. It’s slow, consuming, full of warmth and ache and all the unsaid things that have been living between your hearts.

When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t go far. Just enough to cup your face with both hands, his forehead resting lightly against yours, his breath mixing with yours.

“You’re all I want in this world,” he whispers.

And before you can say anything else, he kisses you again—like a vow, like a promise, like he’s sealing every word he just said with the press of his lips against yours.

You pull away just enough to catch your breath, your forehead still resting against his. Your lips are tingling, heart pounding, and there's something new blooming in your chest—hope, maybe. Or something dangerously close to it.

You swallow, eyes flicking down to his lips before finding his gaze again. “Do you… want to continue?” you ask softly. “Pick up where we left off that night?”

For a moment, Hyunjin just blinks at you—like the question caught him off guard. But then a grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, warm and crooked and so undeniably him. He lets out a breathy laugh, voice laced with fond disbelief. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that.”

Hyunjin kisses you again—deeper this time, with more urgency. Like something in both of you has snapped free and there's no turning back now. His hands slide down to your thighs, and in one swift motion, he hoists you up. You gasp softly, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist, your arms looping around his shoulders as you press yourself closer. Your bodies fit together like they remember how it felt—how right it was.

The kiss grows heated, the air between you humming with everything unsaid and everything still to come. And for the first time in days, maybe weeks, it feels like the weight on your chest has lifted, like you're exactly where you're supposed to be—held tightly in his arms, kissed like you're the only thing he sees.

Hyunjin carries you down the short hallway with a kind of quiet certainty, his arms secure around you, his breath steady near your ear. Your heart flutters with every step—part anticipation, part disbelief that you're here, that this is happening again but different, deeper.

You glance over your shoulder, peeking into the dimly lit room as the two of you enter. It's the first time you’ve seen his bedroom, and the sight makes your lips twitch. The bed—mattress on the floor, slightly rumpled sheets, a couple of sketchbooks stacked on the nightstand—is exactly what you expected, yet still makes you grin.

You turn your head back to him, raising an eyebrow. “No bedframe, huh?”

Hyunjin just smirks, unbothered. “Didn’t realize I needed one to impress you.”

Your laughter is soft, breathy against his neck, and before you can fire back a reply, he’s already kneeling to lower you onto the mattress. The sheets are cool against your skin, but the warmth in his eyes keeps you steady. He leans over you, his fingers brushing your cheek, and for a second, he just looks at you like he's taking you in all over again, like you're his favorite work of art.

You feel it—that pull in your chest, that ache in your throat—as Hyunjin hovers above you, his eyes locked onto yours. There’s something intense in his gaze, something unspoken yet so loud it fills the room. His stare burns through the quiet, says everything he hasn’t said yet and everything you’ve been too scared to admit.

When he kisses you again, his body settles gently over yours, and you instinctively welcome the weight of him, the warmth, the way his presence wraps around you like a second skin. There’s nothing frantic about the way he touches you—his hands glide over your body like he’s relearning every inch. But even within that gentleness, there’s a sense of urgency. His fingers trail down your arm, brushing the side of your waist, and you can feel how much he wants you—how much he’s been wanting you. Still, there’s something soft in his every movement. Like even when he’s aching for you, he’s still being careful with your heart.

You don’t know what gets into you—but the moment your eyes meet his, wide and expectant beneath you, something shifts. A boldness, maybe. A need to let him feel what you've been holding back. You roll over, catching him off guard, and suddenly it's him beneath you. His back hits the mattress with a soft thud, and his breath catches as your legs settle on either side of his hips. His hands instinctively find your waist, grounding himself in your touch.

For a moment, you just take him in. The way his dark hair falls into his eyes, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his chest rises and falls a little quicker now. You can’t help but trace the shape of him with your eyes, then with your hands—slowly, deliberately. Fingers skimming down his chest, feeling the warmth beneath the fabric.

You start unbuttoning his shirt, one at a time. His muscles tense beneath your touch, his breath hitching when your palm brushes bare skin. When the shirt parts open, your hand slides over the contours of his chest—smooth skin, defined lines, the flutter of his heartbeat under your fingertips.

And then your lips follow. You press gentle kisses against his skin, soft and slow, tasting the warmth of him, the way he shivers with every touch. As your kisses trail lower, his breath grows more uneven. You pause just at the edge of his waistband, the tension between you humming like a live wire. You lift your head just enough to look at him, his lips parted, eyes dark with anticipation, and the faintest tremble in his breath. You smirk.

Then you lean in and kiss him—hard. His lips mold to yours instantly, his hands gripping your waist tighter, pulling you closer, like he needs you there, needs this. And between the kisses, your voice dips low, teasing against his mouth.

“Why are you so nervous?” you murmur, brushing your nose against his. “It’s not like this is the first time we’re doing this.”

You feel the subtle hitch in his breath, the way his fingers flex against your skin. Still, he doesn’t answer—not with words. Instead, he surges up, kissing you again. Deeper this time. Hungrier. Like that was all the encouragement he needed.

You melt into it, into him, your body pressed flush against his, his warmth grounding you in ways nothing else ever could. His hands roam—up your back, over your spine, holding you close and you stay there, tangled in him, lips moving together in quiet desperation, slow but insistent, a rhythm you both fall into with ease.

You breathe him in, every kiss tasting like something familiar but new again. And wrapped in his arms, with the weight of his affection holding you steady, the ache in your chest softens.

For now, it’s just the two of you. No doubts, no questions—just this moment, and the way he makes you feel like you’re the only thing he wants.

-

Hyunjin feels every second of your kiss like it’s being etched into his memory—every soft press of your lips, every shift of your body melting against his. You fit against him so perfectly, like your body was molded to match his. And god, he could stay like this forever.

Even with his mouth busy, his heart races as he feels your hand glide lower, fingers trailing the edge of his jeans. He catches your wrist gently, right before you can slip your hand beneath the waistband. You pull back slightly, gasping in surprise, and the look on your face—wide-eyed and slightly mischievous—makes his chest ache in the sweetest way.

You’re straddling him still, your legs snug around his hips, and he props himself up on one elbow, gazing at you. Your lips turn into an adorable pout. “But we’ve been waiting so long for this.”

He knows you’re right. He knows the urgency, the ache in your voice—it’s the same one he feels burning through him.

“I know,” he murmurs, voice low as he reaches up, brushing a few strands of your hair away from your face. He lets his fingertips trail along your jaw before settling just beneath it, holding you gently.

He leans in and kisses you. Slowly. Purposefully. Like he’s telling you everything he can’t quite put into words. When he pulls back, barely an inch from your lips, he rests his forehead against yours and whispers, “But let's make this lasts.”

You let out a quiet breath, your lips curling into a soft smile, and he swipes his thumb gently across your bottom lip, marveling at the way you look at him like he’s worth something, like he matters. And then he kisses you again, capturing that smile with his lips, holding it there between the both of you—this tender, perfect moment that feels like it could stretch into forever.

His hands find the hem of your blouse, fingers brushing warm skin as he gently tugs the fabric upward and over your head. You let him, your arms rising instinctively, eyes never leaving his. He trails his fingers down the length of your arms afterward, slow and reverent, like you’re something sacred, something to be worshiped.

When he reaches behind you, his fingers find the clasp of your bra, unhooking it with ease. You let the straps slide down your shoulders, and he watches as you shrug it off completely, tossing it somewhere forgotten. His breath catches when he sees you—bare, soft, and beautiful in the dim light.

He reaches out, fingertips tracing the slope of your collarbone before moving lower. He touches your chest with care at first, almost in awe, and rests his hand flat on your sternum, feeling the rapid thud of your heart beneath his palm. Slowly, he glides it down until it finds home on your ribcage, holding you steady as he leans in.

His mouth follows next—kisses pressed along your jaw, trailing to the curve of your neck, each one lingering longer than the last. He kisses your chest, hands rising to cup your breasts with a kind of reverence, but also urgency. His palms are warm, fingers pressing in gently, fondling and kneading. When he takes your nipple into his mouth, your breath stutters into a soft moan, and that sound alone drives him wild.

He lavishes attention on you, switching sides, leaving behind faint wet marks on your skin—his own quiet claim. He moves higher, up your chest, his tongue smoothing along your skin before he suckles the hollow between your neck and shoulder, and he feels you shiver beneath him.

Hyunjin breathes you in as he buries his face against your sternum, his lips resting just above your heartbeat. It drums steadily against him, louder somehow now that everything else has quieted — the world, his thoughts, the tension that had built between the two of you over the past days. All of it fades as he listens to the rhythm of your heart, like it’s telling him something he already knows deep down.

Your hands come up gently, arms wrapping around his shoulders, holding him close. Your fingers slide into his hair and he sighs into your skin — the sound barely audible but full of meaning. You don’t speak. Neither of you needs to. It’s not about words right now.

The warmth of your embrace, the bare skin against his, the rise and fall of your chest under his cheek — it feels like a thread, invisible and delicate, tugging the two of you closer until there’s nothing between you. Nothing but the ache of longing finally answered. He presses a soft kiss to your chest, right over your heart, and stays there, still, quiet, content.

For the first time in a long while, Hyunjin feels whole — like he isn’t running from anything anymore. Like maybe this… is exactly where he’s meant to be.

After a long moment, he lifts his head from your chest, his breath warm against your skin as his gaze finds yours — intense and unreadable. Then, without a word, he shifts his weight and catches you off guard, pushing you gently down onto the bed, reversing your positions once more. You let out a soft gasp, eyes wide as you land against the mattress, your hair fanned out beneath you.

His hands frame your face as he leans down and kisses you again — slow, deep, claiming. You can feel the change in him, in the air. It’s not rushed. It’s not just need. It’s more than that now.

As his lips part from yours, his hands begin to explore you again, moving down your sides in a slow, reverent motion. Every brush of his fingers leaves a trail of goosebumps in their wake. When they reach your hips, they linger for a heartbeat before he tugs gently at the waistband of your shorts.

His gaze lifts to meet yours again, seeking permission without speaking, and when you give the slightest nod, he inhales quietly and then continues — slowly peeling them down your legs, your underwear along with them. The air feels cooler against your skin as you’re exposed to him fully, but the way he looks at you makes you feel anything but vulnerable.

He kneels there at the edge of the bed, unmoving for a moment, just looking at you. Not in lust — though there’s desire in his eyes — but in awe, like he’s looking at a painting he doesn’t dare touch, like he wants to memorize every curve of you, every detail, as if you were art in motion. And to him, you are.

His hands are steady as he leans in again, his lips brushing over yours in a soft, lingering kiss before moving lower. He places gentle, fluttering kisses along your collarbone, then down to your ribcage — slow, unhurried. His mouth grazes your navel, then your left hip, each press of his lips last longer than then previous.

You gasp softly when he slips his hand under the back of your thigh and lifts it, his lips finding the soft skin of your inner thigh. He lingers there for a breath, the warmth of his mouth sending ripples through your entire body. Then he trails lower, his lips brushing down your calf, and finally landing on the sole of your foot. The unexpected kiss makes you giggle, the sound breaking through the quiet like sunlight through clouds.

After giving your foot a quick massage, he gently sets your leg down and looks up at you, his expression shifting — no longer teasing or playful, but full of something much deeper. He sighs, almost shakily, and brings his hand up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing along your cheek.

“I should be the one asking if I deserve all this,” he murmurs, his voice low and earnest. “If I really deserve every beautiful part of you… to touch you, kiss you, hold you.”

You don’t say anything — the way you look at him already says enough.

Hyunjin reaches for your hand, holding it tenderly in both of his. He brings your wrist to his lips first, placing a kiss there like he’s sealing a vow, then presses one to your open palm. Then he shifts forward, lowering himself over you slowly. His body presses gently into yours, his skin warm, his heartbeat strong and steady against your chest.

This time, he’s not just close. He’s with you — completely, quietly, and fully present. Molding into you, like the final brushstroke that completes a painting.

Just when you’re completely wrapped in him, he suddenly pulls away, sitting up on the bed with a breathless laugh, eyes flickering with something unspoken. You watch him as he impatiently pushes his jeans down his hips, shedding the last barrier between you. His sigh of relief is audible, and the way his chest rises and falls is enough to make your breath catch.

Hyunjin doesn’t waste time to wrap his hand around his swollen length with evident veins coiling around it, pulsating with need. He glances at you through heavy lashes, his hand begins stroking it up and down, then he murmurs, “Do you want to?”

You don’t answer with words—just a slow, sure nod. He reaches for your hand, guiding it gently, curling your fingers around his hot, hard cock.

The moment your hand wraps around him, his jaw tightens, his eyes fluttering half shut. Together, you find a rhythm—pumping his cock at a slow, steady pace, the tension thick between you as your eyes stay locked, every breath shared and every movement deliberate. There's no rush, just this quiet moment of closeness, of trust and want, unfolding between the two of you.

Hyunjin’s breath hitches as your hand continues its slow movements, the tension in his body unraveling under your touch. His eyes stay on you, dark and intense, until they flicker downward. With one hand still wrapped around yours, guiding the rhythm, his other hand trails down your thigh—light, teasing, reverent.

When his fingers slip between your legs, dipping into your wetness. His touch is gentle at first, exploratory, but it doesn't take long before he’s pressing two digits into you, finding the spot that makes you shift and gasp. His lips part as he watches your reaction, his own breathing getting heavier.

“So wet,” he murmurs, voice rough and low, “so ready for me.” There’s awe in the way he says it, almost like he can’t believe this is real—that you're here, letting him touch you like this.

The sensation of his fingers working you open while your hand still pumping his cock pulls a shiver from deep inside. It’s a push and pull, each of you responding to the other in quiet desperation, building the tension between you. His forehead presses to yours for a second, grounding both of you, his eyes closed like he’s trying to savor every second and when he opens them again, there’s no mistaking the hunger swimming there—an ache mirrored in your own heart.

You barely have time to react before Hyunjin grabs both of your wrists and pins them gently above your head, his fingers firm but careful around your wrists. His eyes meet yours, hooded and dark with want, and for a moment, all you can hear is your breathing—intertwined and uneven.

Then his free hand slips between your bodies, guiding himself down until the thick heat of his cock presses right against where you need him most. He doesn’t enter—only drags his length along your soaked core, slow and maddening, your essence coating his shaft for every time it sides between your folds. The friction makes your back arch, your body instinctively chasing more, needing more. But Hyunjin just smirks, watching the way you react to him as the tip of his cock pressing right on your clit.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, voice gravelly, lips brushing against your cheek as his hips roll forward again, grinding against you in a way that makes your whole body tense and tremble. “This is how much I want you…”

You whimper beneath him, wrists still caught in his hold, entirely at his mercy. Each slow stroke of his hips is deliberate, calculated to tease, and it works—you're writhing, eyes fluttering shut, your legs falling open for him without a second thought.

Hyunjin leans down and kisses your jaw, your neck, then your lips, swallowing every sound you make as he keeps moving, driving you to the edge without even taking you there yet.

Despite the desperate, breathless moans you let out, he doesn’t ease up. If anything, his teasing only grows more deliberate, each slow roll of his hips keeping you right on the edge, never enough to satisfy the ache building in your core. You squirm beneath him, your breaths coming out shaky, helpless—your body begging for what your lips still struggle to say.

“Please,” you whisper. Then again, more desperate. “Please… please…”

Hyunjin lowers his head, brushing his lips against your temple. “Please what?” he murmurs, voice rough with control, eyes glinting with mischief.

You can’t answer—not with words. Instead, you keep whispering his name between each breathless plea, your hands clutching at his arms, your hips lifting, chasing him. A slow, almost smug smile forms on his lips.

And then finally, you manage a broken, “I want you.”

He pauses to look down between your bodies where your need for him is obvious—undeniable. He can see it from how drenched you are, from the way your essence gets all over his thick shaft.

“Yeah?” he says, low and teasing, brushing the crest of his cock against you, slipping just barely in. “I can see that.”

You let out a choked whimper, nodding frantically, pleading again without shame. “Please. I need you.”

Hyunjin releases your wrists, only to grip your hip with one hand and steady himself with the other. Slowly, achingly slow, he pushes into you—just an inch or two—then stops. The pressure is there, intense and lingering, but it’s not enough. Not nearly enough. He looks down at you, lips parted, eyes dark and focused entirely on the way you react to him.

“You want more?” he asks, breath hitching as he holds himself still inside you, teasing you with just enough to drive you wild.

Your back arches, fingers digging into the sheets. “Yes,” you gasp. “More. Please…”

Hyunjin leans in, kissing your neck before murmuring against your skin, “Then hold on to me.”

Despite his words, he doesn’t grant your plea just yet. Instead, he moves with intention—slow, shallow thrusts that never go deeper than your entrance, but it’s more than enough. Each time he rocks into you, it sends a ripple of heat through your body, igniting something that builds faster than you expect. He watches you carefully, his hand gripping your hip tighter each time you clench around him.

You’re unraveling beneath him, your breath catching, moans spilling from your lips in broken, rasping fragments. And he can feel it—how close you are, how your body trembles under the weight of your need.

“You’re close,” he whispers, voice husky as he leans closer, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You nod, unable to form words, completely lost in the feeling. Then it hits. Your back arches, fingers twisting into the sheets as your release rushes through you in waves, pleasure so intense it nearly knocks the air out of your lungs.

Your body pulses around him, and you’re still gasping for breath when Hyunjin finally moves again. He exhales shakily—almost a groan—and slowly sinks all the way in, filling you completely in one smooth, careful push. He's giving you what you want when you least expect it.

You gasp, overwhelmed, your body still sensitive from the climax. The sensation of him, so hard, so deep and still inside you, makes your whole body shiver. You can feel his heart pounding against yours, his breath brushing over your lips as he hovers above you.

He stills, just holding you, letting you feel every inch of him as your body adjusts—pulsing, vibrating gently around him. “You feel… unreal,” he whispers, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his voice raw with awe.

-

Hyunjin feels like everything.

Inside you, around you—He is all you can feel, all you can see. And for the first time, it truly feels like the two of you have become one. Every breath he takes, you feel it in your lungs. Every beat of his heart echoes in your own.

You wrap your arms tightly around him, pulling him closer, needing to feel his weight, his warmth, his reality. Your lips find his, and he kisses you like he’s been holding back an ocean of longing—eager, deep, like he wants to memorize the shape of your mouth.

You pull away just a little, breath caught, lips still brushing his as you whisper, “Hyunjin…”

The second his eyes meet yours, you know he’s listening—really listening. Like your voice is the only sound in the world.

“Take me,” you say, voice low and trembling. “Make me... Claim me.”

His brows draw together, jaw twitching like he’s trying to hold something back. You reach up and brush the hair that’s fallen over his face, tucking it behind his ear, your thumb gliding gently across his temple.

“Come inside me,” you breathe.

That’s when you feel it—something in him shifts, snaps, cracks wide open. His restraint melts away, and suddenly his mouth is on yours again, desperate, aching. He starts to move, slow at first, but there’s something different now. Every thrust is more than just movement—it’s a vow, a promise, a confession.

There’s no bedframe beneath you, just the mattress pressed against the floor, and for a fleeting second, you’re oddly thankful—because with the way he’s moving, rough and hungry, anything else would’ve fallen apart beneath the weight of it all.

His gaze never leaves you. It darkens when he sees your hands slide up to your chest, fingers teasing over your erected nipples, doubling the pleasure sparking through your body. You squeeze and cup yourself, breath hitching, and when you bring your breasts together for him, he takes them in his mouth in an instant. His tongue swirls, flicks, sucks on your nipples and on the flesh of your mounds, drawing shameless moans from your throat that echo off the bare walls.

Then he grabs your hands gently, pulling them away and placing them around his shoulders like an unspoken message—hold on to me. And you do.

Hyunjin picks up the pace, his breath turning ragged against your skin, and all you can do is cling to him, gasping, moaning, unraveling as his body claims yours with everything he has. There’s no space between you anymore, only heat, only movement, only the rush of him building toward the edge.

And when he finally lets go—when he gives you all of him, coming inside you and fill you full of him just like you asked—it feels like a vow, wordless and sacred. A promise sealed with every part of him. He collapses into you, your bodies tangled, breath shared. In that moment, he is wholly, completely yours. And you are his.

-

The bed is cold when you wake up.

The first thing you notice is the emptiness beside you—no warmth, no steady heartbeat to lull you back into sleep. Just rumpled sheets and the faint imprint of where he lay last night.

You blink against the light, slowly sitting up, the duvet clutched to your chest. It smells like him—something between fresh paint and fabric softener—and you breathe it in like it’ll bring him back. It only makes your heart ache a little more.

“Hyunjin?” you call out softly, voice rough from sleep and get no reply.

Your gaze lands on his sweater, half-draped at the edge of the bed. You reach for it, pulling it over your head, letting the sleeves hang long past your hands. It’s warm. It’s him. And somehow, it helps.

You slide out of the bed and walk through the apartment barefoot, your steps quiet. “Hyunjin?” you call again, a little louder this time and still no answer.

The silence makes the apartment feel unfamiliar like it doesn’t quite belong to either of you without him in it. You wander through the space, and your eyes land on the canvas—that one. The one covered by a white cloth. The one he said was a failure. You hesitate for only a second before stepping closer. Your fingers grip the edge of the fabric, and with one careful tug, you lift it. The breath catches in your throat. It’s… you.

A portrait. A figure rendered in soft colors and tender strokes. The way he’s painted you—it’s intimate, it’s raw. It’s real. Not just your features, but the way he sees you. The way he feels you. And he called this a failure?

Your fingertips trail lightly along the edge of the painting, your chest swelling with something deep and warm. He lied. Not because the painting wasn’t good, but because it meant too much to show. And the fact that he created this—that he thought of you like this—makes your heart ache in the most beautiful way.

Then you hear it—the click of a lock turning, the quiet creak of the front door opening. You turn just as Hyunjin steps inside, balancing two takeaway coffee cups in one hand and a paper bag in the other. His sweater hangs a little loose, and his hair is messy from the breeze outside. His eyes land on you in surprise.

“Hey—!”

You run to him, arms wrapping tightly around his torso, and he gasps as he tries to keep the coffee from spilling. His laugh is muffled against your hair as he shifts the cups to one hand.

“Careful,” he says through a breathless chuckle. “Or I have to go and buy coffee again.”

“You left me,” you say with a dramatic pout, burying your face into the soft fabric of his hoodie. “I woke up and you were gone.”

“I didn’t think I’d be long,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You were still asleep. I didn’t want to wake you.”

You pull back just enough to meet his gaze—and then you kiss him. A soft, sleepy kiss, full of affection. When you pull away, there’s a smile playing at your lips. “Good morning.”

His own smile softens as he leans in again, placing a longer kiss on your lips, like he missed you in the hour he was gone. “Good morning,” he echoes. “Let’s have breakfast, mmh?”

And just like that, the day starts with him again. Just the way you like it.

-

You and Hyunjin settle onto the sofa, breakfast in your laps and a lazy, quiet comfort hanging in the air between you. The sun filters in through the windows, casting a soft glow over everything. He sits beside you, legs spread just enough for you to slide in closer. After finishing your pastry, you cradle your coffee cup between your hands, still warm and fragrant.

Without a word, you scoot closer to him, draping your legs over his lap and letting them rest comfortably between his. He glances at you, smiling softly, and you return it with one of your own.

“So,” you start, sipping your coffee slowly before turning to face him fully, “I saw the painting.”

His brows lift, amused, and a little sheepish. “You did?”

You nod, narrowing your eyes at him playfully. “You lied to me.”

Hyunjin huffs out a laugh. “I did say it was a failure.”

You jab a finger into his chest and grin. “It’s me.”

He tilts his head, playing along. “Do you like it?”

You set your coffee cup down on the table, then fold your arms and pout at him. “I don’t like it.”

He raises an eyebrow. “No?”

“I love it,” you say with a wide grin. “So much.”

He chuckles and shifts slightly to wrap his arm around your shoulders, pulling you in close. “It’s not finished yet.”

You tilt your head up to look at him. “When are you going to finish it then?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

You pout again, exaggerated and dramatic. “Why not?”

He looks down at you, eyes soft and full of something you can’t quite name—something tender, something warm. “Why should I finish it,” he murmurs, “when I have the real one right here?”

You groan out loud, burying your face against his chest. “Ugh, you’re so cheesy.”

He laughs, a full, unguarded sound—and you can’t help but join him, laughing like everything in the world is just a little lighter when you’re together and maybe it is.

You set your coffee cup aside on the table, shifting on the couch so you can climb onto Hyunjin’s lap. He doesn’t protest—in fact, he opens his arms right away, welcoming you into them. You nestle into him, your knees framing his hips, and he takes a long sip of his coffee before placing his cup down as well. His arms wrap around you, holding you close, and you feel his chest rise and fall against yours.

You tilt your head and kiss his jaw, then press another soft one to his cheek. He turns to look at you, amused and already smiling when you gently grab his chin and turn his face toward you for a quick peck on the lips. Then you settle back into him, your head resting comfortably in the crook of his neck. His warmth surrounds you, his scent familiar, and when you glance up at him, something in your chest flutters.

“We should go on a date,” you murmur.

His thumb brushes along your cheek, soft and sweet. “Where do you want to go?” he asks.

You hum as you think. “Uhm... To your favorite place?”

He smirks, his hand playfully hovering on your inner thigh, intentionally brushing his knuckles against your clothed core. “My favorite place is right here.”

You gasp, laughing as you lightly slap his chest. “Hyunjin!”

He laughs too, that bright, boyish sound filling the room. “Just being honest here,” he says, holding his hands up in surrender.

You nod, your expression softening. “You know... somewhere that feels personal to you.”

Hyunjin leans in and places an affectionate kiss on your lips, lingering for a second before pulling back just enough to whisper, “I know a place.”

-

Hyunjin pats down the pockets of his jacket, doing a quick mental check—phone, wallet, keys and that thing in the inner pocket of his jacket. All good. He smooths down the front of his shirt and glances once at the mirror near the door, fixing his hair with his fingers before finally stepping out of his apartment.

He walks over to your door, heart thudding just a little faster than usual. It’s strange how it still feels like this with you—like he’s a teenager picking up his crush, not someone who spent the night tangled up in you.

Hyunjin knocks and when the door swings open, He blinks—once, then twice. You’re standing there, looking… breathtaking.

He lets out a soft, stunned laugh, eyes sweeping over your outfit. “Wow,” he says, leaning a shoulder against your doorframe. He says nothing else but his eyes endlessly admiring you.

You laugh, a little sheepish but so proud. “It’s our first date,” you simply point out.

Something tugs at Hyunjin’s chest at that. The honesty in your voice, the way you’re looking at him—it’s soft, real, and he’s suddenly so glad he gets to have this with you.

He grins, stepping closer. “You’re beautiful,” he says, meaning every word. Then, with a teasing glint in his eyes, “Maybe we should just cancel the whole plan.”

He nudges you playfully, pushing you back a step into your apartment, and you both burst into laughter. But before either of you can say more, he grabs your hand, warm and certain.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go make it a good first date.”

The quiet hush of the gallery wraps around you both like a blanket, softening the sounds of passing footsteps and hushed conversations. Hyunjin walks beside you with his hands tucked in his pockets, his gaze darting to you now and then—your curious eyes, the way you lean in just a little to read the small plaques beside the paintings. He’s not sure why his heart won’t stop doing these little flips, but he doesn’t want it to stop either.

Eventually, he stops in front of a painting. It’s large, vivid, a swirling composition of shadows and light that seem to breathe if you look long enough.

You pause with him, sensing something different in his stance, the way he exhales slowly. “This one?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

Hyunjin steps closer, moving behind you and gently resting his hands on your waist. He nods. “Yeah… this one.”

You both stand there in silence for a moment, staring at the canvas. And then, in that quiet space, he begins to speak.

“There was a time I used to come here almost every week,” he says softly. “I'd just stand here and look at it. For hours, sometimes. I didn’t even understand everything about it—I still don’t. But something about it made me feel… seen. Like it understood what I was going through even when I couldn’t say it out loud.”

You listen, still and patient, your fingers brushing lightly over his where they rest on your waist.

“When I couldn’t eat, when I was too tired to sleep, when I was too overwhelmed to paint… I came here. I used this painting to hold myself together.” His voice falters for a second. “But now when I look at it, all I feel is everything I tried to suppress. Exhaustion. Pressure. Loneliness.”

He pauses. You can feel the weight of the memories in his breath.

“I want to change that.”

He reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulls out something small. A glint of silver and a soft charm catches the light as he holds it up—it’s the bracelet you once tried on absentmindedly at that jewelry shop weeks ago. You’d joked about him buying him for you and he hadn’t said anything then, just smiled.

Now, without a word, he gently slips it around your wrist and fastens the clasp.

“From now on,” he murmurs, “when I look at this painting, I’ll remember this moment instead. You. Us.”

You turn your head slightly to look at him, your eyes glistening with emotions you can’t quite name. Happiness. Sadness. Love. Grief. Hope. All tangled up into one beautiful ache.

“Thank you,” your voice breaking at the end of the sentence.

You kiss him, just a brush of lips—but it’s enough to make his breath catch. Then you take his hands and wrap them fully around your waist, holding them there like a promise.

“You’re not alone anymore,” you say gently. “I’m here. You have me now.”

Hyunjin looks at you like you’ve just handed him the sun and then he leans in and kisses you—not in a rush, not in desperation, but with everything he’s been carrying in his heart. Quiet gratitude. Relief. Love. It’s a kiss that says, I see you. I feel you. I’m yours.

And in that gallery, under the gaze of a painting that once held all his pain, he lets it all go—and chooses to remember this instead.

The kiss lingers long after it ends, warmth spreading through Hyunjin’s chest like a sunrise. He stays there for a beat longer, arms wrapped around you, your head resting against his shoulder as the painting stands silently before you—no longer a mirror of pain, but now a witness to something new.

Eventually, you both pull away, your fingers still tangled in his, your bracelet catching the light with every little movement.

Hyunjin glances down at it and smiles softly. “Ready to go?” he asks, brushing a thumb across your knuckles.

You nod. “Where to next?”

He pretends to think, lips twitching. “Somewhere with less staring eyes and more delicious food?”

You laugh, and the sound echoes faintly through the quiet halls of the gallery.

Hand in hand, you walk out together. The doors open, and sunlight spills across the marble floors, welcoming you into the rest of the day.

And as the two of you step into the light—your shoulders brushing, your smiles easy, your hearts just a little fuller than before—it feels like the beginning of something beautiful, something real and it's just getting started.

-

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[ferigrievous]

attractive things they do ; karasuno ver . ⋆˚࿔

hinata ; gets excited over the little things. it could be the most mundane thing ever and he’d still get all happy about it. that person who hypes up the ‘weird’ kids in class but genuinely means it.  being around him feels like remembering how to love the world again. he makes even the boring parts feel like a celebration.

tsukishima ; knows when to shut up. doesnt talk to talk. if he says something, he means it, in that weird fucked up way of his. doesnt do small talk, doesnt beat around the bush. talking to him is walking in a straight line. doesnt argue for the sake of arguing, too. if he knows he’s wrong, he wont necessarily apologize, but he wont beat a dead horse.

kageyama ; tries really, really hard. he might not always get it right—social cues, compliments, emotions—but he tries so hard. he’s awkward and quiet and a little off putting, but he’s also earnest in a way that makes your chest ache. he wants to be better. not just as a setter, but as a person. 

yamaguchi ; being quietly brave. he still has anxiety, and it still affects him, but he does what he can. he orders for the both of you and takes the lead in crowded places, even if youre more extroverted than him. he doubts himself constantly, but he still shows up, even if he feels like hes about to throw up.

daichi ; being reliable. he’s the guy you go to with everything. when your trains delayed, or you’re drunk on a night out. never forgets a birthday, an anniversary, and definitely not the homework. he doesn't need to prove anything to anyone, because he already is that guy.

sugawara ; always watching. not in a creepy way, but he wants to know everyone else is doing okay before moving on to something more ‘trivial’ like what he’s going to eat for dinner after school. he notices when you’re tired before you realize it yourself.

asahi ; overtly careful. its somehow very endearing seeing someone like him, who most people consider as intimidating or even scary, handle everything as if it were made of glass. he double-checks expiration dates, gently folds his laundry, and unpacks his bag so it doesn’t wrinkle.

nishinoya ; never hesitates. acts first, thinks later. kind of a pet peeve at first, but it amazes you how he always lands on his feet. it could be the worst idea you’ve ever heard in your life, and he somehow achieves it everytime, at 110%. this includes putting all of his trust into you, even if you think you dont deserve it.

tanaka ; shamelessly himself. hes loud, and boisterous, and you cant go one minute with him without getting secondhand embarrassment, but hes real. he doesn’t hide parts of himself to seem cooler. he doesn’t pretend. and that kind of raw honesty is more attractive than whatever stupid pick up line he’s trying this time.

ennoshita ; knows when to step up. he doesn’t crave leadership, but he steps up when no one else will. he watches, listens, and steps in just before things fall apart. he notices you’re overwhelmed and changes the subject without making a show of it. doesnt talk over people, doenst make a scene out of thing. gets it done, and gets it over with.

kinoshita ; good memory. its a miniscule thing, but he remembers every single order youve ever made at any restaurant. he brings your coat when you two go out because he knows you’ll forget it everytime, even if he knows you purposely forget it so that he can bring it for you.

narita ; finishes what he starts. he doesn’t leave things halfway. doesn’t ghost, doesn’t flake, doesn’t quit unless he absolutely has to. you never have to wonder if he means what he says—if he says he’ll be there, he will.

[chaoticdreamersthings]

Summervibes

WARNING explicit RPF CONTENT! Read at your own risk, mdni

Pairing: Joost x reader

description: You and Joost meet at the festival and decide to spend the evening and the night together.

warning: smut, 18+, unprotected piv, fingering

Word count: 6,5 k

author's note: my baby is yours... english is not my first language so i apologize if there are any grammatical errors.

You sit on the grass dry from the burning sun, with three of your friends. The music in the background is tempting you to rejoin the crowd in front of the stage, but you need a break after the last concert. The heat is suffocating, and realistically, you should probably be hydrating with water instead of sipping beer - but who cares? You’re at a festival.

“We are going to be so hungover tomorrow” you say, finishing the beer and lazily crushing the plastic cup between your hands. “Not saying that it wasn’t worth it, though” 

You’ve always loved the festival season for the beautiful chaos it brings. Dancing barefoot, drinking until sunset changes into night, and forming instant bonds with strangers who feel like lifelong friends. it was a chance to release all the anxiety and just be happy, without all the worries connected to work and day-to-day life. For once you can just be messy and happy. 

“So, what is the next concert on our schedule?” Your friend asks, wiping away the sweat from her forehead. 

You take a look on a schedule you created months ago on your phone to know which stage you should go to. 

“It’s Yeat” you say, frowning as you squint at your phone screen. “Do we even listen to Yeat?” You shake your head. You can’t remember even one song of his.

Your friends laugh.

“No, but isn’t it the point of a festival? Getting to know new artists?” One of them says.

“You’re right” you reply with a smirk. „we can go, but I think we have to make a stop for water on our way. This heat is killing me.” 

“I think you meant beer.” She corrects.

And they are right - the line for water is so long that you decide to just go with another beer. Hydration can wait.

Even though the stages aren’t far from each other, the heat outside makes anything feel much more exhausting, and a short walk feels like it takes forever. You know you should be drinking water instead of beer, but the vibe of being just a little drunk at the festival is not incomparable. 

When you finally reach the stage, it is finally getting dark and a little colder, which was very needed after the heat of the day. You’re pretty sure your forehead is already sunburned - you can feel it every time you touch it - but that’s a problem for tomorrow. For now, the alcohol is your painkiller.

You glance around the crowd and can’t help but notice - most of them are young men. Everywhere you look it’s tank tops and backward caps. 

“This is better than Tinder” you joke, raising your eyebrows at your friends. It might just be the alcohol talking, but you’re more than open to the idea of a little festival romance. You’ve never done that before, and something about this chaotic day makes it feel like a perfect time.

As the concert starts you come to the realization that maybe being in a group of men wasn’t the ideal setup. The number of shirtless sweaty boys is a little overwhelming, and the empty cups after beer are constantly being thrown in the air. 

Then, without warning, you’re dragged into a mosh pit.

To your surprise - you are actually enjoying it. Jumping around, bumping into people, screaming random words, even though you don’t even know the song, but it doesn’t matter. Your mind is blissfully blank, letting the music carry you wherever it wants.

Until someone crashes into you hard.

It’s a heavy hit from someone who is definitely taller. No one notices. The crowd keeps dancing, shouting. Panic tightens your chest. Your heart is pounding with sudden fear that someone’s going to crush your hand or step on your ribs. Before you can figure out how to get up, you notice someone reaching out a hand to you.

You look up and notice a guy shouting something, but you can’t hear him. You grab his hand and let him pull you to his feet. He leans in, trying to say something again:

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to knock you” he says, a little breathless.

You shake your head, laughing softly as you brush the sand and dirt from your skirt. “Don’t worry about it.” You say.

You glance up at him, and notice he is actually… kind of cute. Blonde hair, bleached and a little messy, an honest smile. And those eyes - crystal blue, like a clear sky on a summer day. There’s something familiar about him, like you’ve seen his face before. He’s tall - no wonder he managed to completely knock you over. 

He’s still standing there, his eyes locked on you. Maybe he’s just checking to make sure you’re okay. Or maybe he’s looking for a reason to stay. 

Your brain searches for something - anything - to say. Something to keep this moment from drifting away. 

“You will buy me a beer and we’ll be even” you say, your lips curling into a smile.

He returns the smile - he definitely likes the idea. You can see it in his eyes. He’d knock you over again if it meant getting to buy you that beer.

“All right, we have a deal then! But let’s stay here until the end of this set? As you could see, I was really enjoying myself. Maybe a little too much” he adds with a chuckle.

You nod in agreement, but your thoughts are drifting almost immediately. You spend the rest of the concert trying to focus on the music and the artist on the stage, but your attention keeps sliding toward the boy next to you. He seems so effortlessly cool, and you want to watch him vibing to the music, swaying gently. There’s something magnetic about him. You want to watch him but you don’t want to seem like a creep, so you dance a little, trying to look as casual as possible, even though your thoughts are far from calm.

But he wants to keep his promise - you can see it. He could easily disappear in the crowd, dive back into the mosh pit, But he doesn’t. He lingers by your side, like he’s afraid if he lets you out of sight now, the moment might slip away for good.

“So… i didn’t catch your name” he says, just as the music dies down.

“Y/N” you answer, glancing up at him  “And you are…?” 

He is so tall he has to lean down to speak into your ear.

“Joost. So, want to go get that beer?” 

“Yeah um… just let me find my friends first. Are you alone here?” 

Your eyes scan the crowd. In the low light, it’s impossible to tell one person from another. You already know it’s going to be nearly impossible to find them now, but you try anyway -half hoping they’re nearby, half hoping they’re not. 

“Yeah. I usually go to concerts alone,” he says with a shrug. „There’s always a good chance I’ll meet someone new. Like you.” 

You keep looking around - your friends couldn’t find a worse moment to vanish. You give it a minute or two, then reach for your phone. The signal is almost nonexistent, but you send a message anyway.

“We can catch them later - unless you’re afraid of hanging out with just me.” He says, looking around.

You feel his hand gently press against your back. It’s barely a touch, but it shoots a chill through your spine. 

You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol rushing through your veins, or the fact that it’s been ages since someone new made you feel this kind of way. Or maybe it’s just the magic of the festival: the lights, the music, the breeze of the night. There’s something about this guy you’re drawn to. His presence is exciting, yet somehow comforting all at once. You could follow him through a crowd of strangers and somehow still feel grounded.

You send off a quick message to your friends to check where they went and the reply makes you smile - “Go enjoy your moment with the tall, hot guy! We’ll catch you later… or tomorrow!”. It’s exactly the push you didn’t know you needed, and now you feel more than encouraged to see where this goes. You already know tomorrow they’ll be dying to hear every detail.

You join Joost in the line for a beer. 

“So, any particular shows you want to see?” he says, leaning slightly toward you.

“Mmm… i want to see Lady Gaga, but there’s still some time left, so we can go anywhere” 

It’s not exactly the truth. You had a whole schedule planned, but none of that matters anymore, as you prefer to spend more time with him. 

You take your beers and, not long after, you find yourselves at one of the DJ sets of the night. With the next beer you feel the alcohol buzzing more deeply through your system. You exchange a few playful sentences, and then - without a word - he takes your hand and you start dancing together. He makes you feel completely at ease. That wide grin on your face is not leaving, even for a second. 

“You’re a good dancer” you shout to him, but you’re pretty sure he doesn’t catch a single word.

He steps in closer, the kind of closeness that feels intentional - too close for just conversation. His fingers wrap gently around your waist, and he leans in until his lips are almost brushing your ear. 

“Sorry, what? I didn’t hear you.” 

You don’t know if he really missed what you said, or if he’s just using the noise as an excuse. Either way, you’re not complaining. 

He’s dangerously close now, you feel his breath against your skin, it tickles your cheek. The scent of cigarettes mixed with something clean and alluring - probably cologne - wraps around you. It’s intoxicating in the best possible way. Your fingers drift to the back of his neck, and bring him just a bit closer, closing the last bit of space and whisper into his ear:

“You’re a good dancer.”

He pulls back just enough to catch your eyes, before leaning in again, close enough that you can feel his warm breath.

"Of course. I’m a musician” he says, his voice low and confident. 

“Oh, really?” You say, intrigued. "You’ll have to play me some of your music.” 

He looks at you for a moment longer, and his other hand slides gently to your hip, drawing you even closer. For a moment everything spins - the music, the lights, the crowd. Your heart pounds against your ribs at the warmth of his body close to yours.

“I can show you later.” He says, his gaze is fixed on your face, drifting from your eyes to your lips. You nod silently. 

The meaning is clear - you are not just agreeing to hear a song.

A smile spreads across his face, as he takes in your reply. Your silent answer has been received loud and clear - and the energy between you shifts, charged with unspoken possibilities. Whatever the night brings, you’re ready for it.

You continue dancing together like the music was written just for this moment, and he keeps getting closer, his movements growing bolder with every beat. The music in your ears is deafening, the crowd around you seems to disappear, when his hand finds the curve of your lower back pulling you into him. 

The beat drops and everyone around you is having the time of their lives - but your world is narrowed to the space between your lips and his. You can feel his breath against your mouth. You lick your lips, the anticipation is almost too much to bear. You barely notice the fireworks on stage, or the artist screaming into the mic. All that matters is when his lips finally meet yours, right there in the middle of the crowd. He kisses you with urgency - like he’s been waiting all night. One hand slides to your cheek, then up into your hair. The other one is still on your lower back. Your hands wrap around his back as you part your lips, letting his tongue meet yours.

He’d probably want more - somewhere quieter. But right now, this moment is everything. The fireworks over your heads, the crowd, the music - this is the kind of scene you only see in the romantic movies. This is more than enough.

At least for now.

He deepens the kiss and you feel his hand slide down to your ass and giving it a small squeeze. When the two of you finally part, it’s only to meet each other’s eyes. You’re both breathless and smiling. You chuckle, biting your lip, a little overwhelmed by what just happened, but he doesn’t say anything. His hand remains on your face, his thumb brushing slowly your cheekbone in a gentle gesture.

“What a great kisser you are. Wish I could do a lot more than just that” he finally says.

„Then do it.” 

“I will. If you let me” he grins. 

You smile, fingers brushing as you take his hand. You have to move to another stage, but you feel so torn between enjoying the concerts you came to see and just spending time goofing around, flirting and kissing with him. You can’t miss Lady Gaga, but after that kiss the idea of waiting for the next step feels almost unbearable. You want more - and you feel it in every inch of your body.

Just walking from stage to stage becomes a challenge. You pause every few minutes to steal another kiss or to share a spontaneous laugh. It feels as you’ve known each other for years, but in the back of your mind you know that tomorrow - when the alcohol was worn off and reality settles back in - you’ll return to your usual, more reserved self. 

As you make your way from one stage to the next, you pass a cotton candy stand, and the scent of sugar hits you with a rush of nostalgia, you haven’t had cotton candy since you were a kid. You decide to share one. The sweetness of the sugar only adds to already intoxicating atmosphere, the kisses are becoming even more delicious. You laugh when some of the cotton candy sticks to your nose, and he’s quick to lean in and kiss it off. 

You make it to the crowd for the Lady Gaga concert right before it starts. Through the show, he never let’s you forget he’s there - his arms occasionally wrap around you from behind, or he leans in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. He sings along with you to some of the choruses, and even though you are a little upset that you didn’t get to experience it with your friends, you are more than happy to have him by your side. 

The concert is a spectacular show - lights, choreography, incredible vocals. The two of you chat about it on your way to the taxi area, sharing your favorite moments and talking about what you want to see in the next days of the festival. Before you reach the parking lot, you stop for one last beer, which you drink almost all at once. You’ve probably had more beer today than in the whole past year. At this point, it feels like beer might actually be flowing through your veins.

When you get to the taxi area, there’s no need for discussion. The decision has already been made in the subtle way that the night unfolded. You just end up in a backseat of one of the cars, side by side.

The car starts, and you lean back against the seat, your head sinking into the headrest. The leather is cool against your skin, a nice contrast to the lingering warmth of the night. You turn a glance at Joost again. After an entire day spent in the sun and dirt, and after countless beers, he still looks ridiculously good.

“Tired?” He asked, with a lazy smile.

“A little.” You say, though it’s more than a little. You’re absolutely exhausted. Every inch of your body aches from the dancing, walking and from that damn sun. But none of this matters. Sleep can wait, but this moment can’t. What if you never see each other again? 

He rests his head beside yours.

“You know…” he says softly, his hand brushing along your thigh. „The traffic is insane. It’s going to take forever to get there.” 

“I know” you say, turning your head to look at him with a small pout. You wish you could be alone with this man, but the presence of the driver is impossible to ignore - especially with his occasional coughs from the front sit. 

You feel his lips almost brush your ear when he whispers: 

“I don’t want to wait…” 

A shiver runs down your spine as his fingers curl more firmly around your thigh. You shift just enough to meet your eyes. He’s so close, noses nearly touching, breath shared in the quiet car. Your heart begins to beat faster.

You’ve kissed him more times that you can count tonight, but this one feels different. - Maybe it’s the enclosed intimacy of the backseat, or maybe the quiet certainty that this is only the beginning.

His other hand finds the back of your neck, fingers touching your hair, and he pulls you toward him, and your lips meet again. He tastes like beer and cigarettes, but it doesn’t matter - you probably do too. What matters is the hunger in his kiss. Each one more desperate than the last, each time he presses closer, deepening it. It feels addictive.  

His hand tightens at the back of your neck, pulling you closer, like even skin to skin isn’t close enough. Like he’s not just kissing you - he’s claiming the moment and you with it.

You feel his hand moving up your thigh and a familiar sensation stirs in your stomach. You wanted it just as much as he did. And you definitely didn’t want to wait either. His lips trail toward your ear, and you almost close your eyes from how good it feels. You’d give him everything he asked for - everything - if you were somewhere else - but when his hand reaches for the button of your skirt, you shake your head, bringing yourself back to reality.

“Not here” you say, your voice low but firm. 

As your eyes flick to the rearview mirror, you meet the driver’s gaze. He looks away quickly, but your cheeks flush red - you’re almost certain he knows exactly what was about to happen. Maybe he’s seen it all before - drunken hookups, bold couples, wild nights - but still the idea of being the girl fucking in the car makes you feel deeply embarrassed. 

Joost pauses and presses a tender kiss to your temple. You can feel how much he wants more - how easily he’d ignore the driver if it was up to him - but he respects your boundaries. His hand shifts from the back of your neck to wrap warmly around your waist.

The traffic is unbearable, making you wish you could just get out and walk to the apartment. You told him to wait  but every inch of you aches for the same craving he has. And you aren’t sure how long you could hold back. 

You lift his hand to your lips and press a kiss to it, eyes closing. Your lips trace gently over the lines of his tattoos. God, what those fingers could do…

“Y/N” he says, nudging you slightly - pulling you from the mess of your thoughts.

“Hmm… sorry what?” You are a little embarrassed, that just thinking about his fingers got you completely lost in thoughts.

“Don’t fall asleep.” He says, a little concerned.

“I’m not.” You quickly reply.

And you aren’t - not even close. The car is barely moving and it’s getting harder to stay calm. You could already be at the apartment by now, your mouths meeting again, your hands exploring, making the most of the night instead of wasting time in the back of a slow cab.

"How much longer is this gonna take?” Joost asks. The impatience in his voice is obvious.

“Like… twenty, maybe thirty minutes” the driver replies.

You let out an annoyed groan and glance over at him. There’s no way you’re waiting that long. 

“is your apartment in the New York City or what?”

He laughs. 

“It’s way too far from the festival for what I paid for it.” 

You try to keep yourself composed, and not even look at him, afraid of falling for that flirtatious stare. But the second you feel his lips near your ear, you know you are done waiting. Home or not, you are going to let this guy touch you wherever he pleases. 

He whispers that he can’t wait to be alone with you, and you feel your breath speed up. You turn to him, your mouth finding his in another kiss - slow at first, then hungry. Your hands slide across his back as his fingers press into your hip, pulling toward him until the seat touches your body beneath his weight. 

He breaks the kiss only to brush your hair from your face, his eyes burning through the low light. Then he brings a finger to his lips, letting you know to be quiet. You bite your own lip in response as his hand trails up your thigh, heat blooming through your body. 

You know you shouldn’t let it happen - not here, with the driver so close. But after tonight, the idea of holding back feels impossible. And more than anything, you don’t want to say no.

And yet… you don’t care.

You don’t care if the driver hears it, or sees it. You don’t care if someone catches you - the desire for him is too strong. All logical thoughts disappear with his touch. With each soft stroke of his fingers on your skin, the hesitation falls away.

He’s so close now. Close enough to touch you in ways you’ve been imagining since the moment your eyes met.

You feel his hand sliding a little higher up your thigh again, his fingertips gently exploring the soft skin there.

“Can I?” He finally whispers, right into your mouth.

You nod, as your breath is becoming quicker. His touch finds you, soft and deliberate through the fabric of your panties. You’re suddenly grateful you chose a skirt instead of shorts - this would be a lot harder to manage in the backseat otherwise.

He presses his fingers your crotch, and a soft sigh escapes your lips before you can stop it. You don’t know how much longer you’ll be able to control yourself if he keeps going. 

As if he can hear your thoughts, he moves his hand to your mouth, gently placing his fingers there. He shakes his head slightly, silently telling you to keep quiet. 

And though you’re almost certain he’d love to hear every sound he pulls from you, that part of the night can wait - just a little longer.

His fingers trace slow, deliberate lines over the fabric of your panties, and you try to control your breathing as each movement is stoking the fire already burning in you. Oh, he will be the death of you. He smiles, looking at you - he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Your pupils go wider and wider with the lust for him growing stronger with each touch. 

You take a glance at the driver to check if he’s aware of what’s happening in the back of his car. You’re sure he’s seen worse, but you are still not convinced that being fucked in front of a stranger is the kind of memory you want - especially once the beer wears off.

“He can’t see that…” Joost whispers right into your ear. „And even if he can, so what? Just enjoy the ride, baby.”

You look at him, the weight of his body is on you, you are completely at his mercy now. You feel him pulling your panties to the side, and you know you’re lost in the moment - you’re too drawn to him to say no. The sweet touch of his soft fingers, going up your slit, moving the soft fabric of the underwear to the side. You find yourself lost in the sensation, trying to stay grounded, not wanting to rush it, yet craving more with every passing second.

“Did the thought of being caught make you this wet?” He whispers softly, his breath brushing against your ear. The heat in your cheeks rises, and you can’t help but wonder if it’s the risk or just the connection between you that makes everything feel so intense. He collects the slick, and moves the fingers up, drawing small circles on your clit. You feel your pulse quicken, heart racing and you would have let out your first moan, if it weren’t for the hand over your mouth.

He pulls his face away a little to look at you, his eyes locking onto yours as he watches  your every reaction. He knows he can’t let you make a sound, he instead focuses on the way your eyes roll back, clouded with pleasure. Just as he’s about to slide a finger inside, the car makes a sharp turn and comes to a sudden stop in front of a white building.

“We’re here” you hear the driver’s voice, flat and emotionless. It’s hard to tell if he was aware of what was happening in the backseat - maybe he just assumed you were kissing. 

Joost pays the driver, and you quickly fix your hair before exiting the car. You feel the pulsing between your legs, but you do your best to remain composed, though it’s hard to hide your rapid breathing, and your flushed cheeks from mix of desire and embarrassment. You catch the driver’s gaze in the rearview mirror once more, and you are almost certain he knew. What happened in the backseat wasn’t exactly subtle, but somehow, it felt like he didn’t care.

You close the door behind you and let Joost guide you to the appartment. The sun is slowly rising, which means the ride must have taken longer than you’d expected, but you’re relieved to finally be at his place. 

Well, almost at his place. Before you get there, you feel him press you against the wall. He couldn’t wait for it either. 

“Where did I stop, hm?” His tone his playful and low, as he places one hand above your head and the other between your legs. „Oh right.” 

You feel him play with your panties a little bit, before he slides one finger inside you, and moves it inside and out, first slowly, then speeding up a little.

“Joost…” you breath out, feeling the pleasure building up in your lower belly. It feels like everything fades away, leaving only the intensity of his gaze and the rhythm of his fingers moving in and out of you. You moan his name, as he adds another finger,.but before you can let yourself adjust to his pace, he pulls them out and looks straight in your eyes, as he licks them, closing his eyes as if it was the sweetest thing.

You clench around nothing, and feel your knees weak from desire. He finally takes out the keys to the apartment. You hold on to the wall behind you, rubbing your legs together to feel some friction as his fingers disappeared at the worst possible time. Your heartbeat thunders in your chest, louder than the sound of the key turning in the lock.

He opens the door and steps aside, but you don’t need an invitation. As soon as the door closes, there’s no coming back. The moment you’re inside you’re on him, pulling him into a desperate kiss. You pull his shirt up, and help him take it off. 

“Come on.” You say, your voice low and eager.  “Take me to bed.”

He smiles, pleased at how horny he’s made you.

“Your wish is my command.” He says with a smirk, taking your hand and leading you to the bedroom. He sits on the bed, pulling you gently onto his lap. His hand reaches under your skirt, pulling the delicate material of the panties down. He has no intention of wasting any more time either. The tension between you is building with every touch. 

“Let’s get rid of those.” He murmurs. 

The panties land on the floor, and he lifts your skirt higher to have better access to your crotch. His fingers go back to their place, and you allow yourself to open your legs a little more, making him give you a bold smile - oh he’s so proud of how needy he made you. The sensation of his fingers thrusting inside you sends you into madness, your breath is quickening with the realization that you are getting closer and closer to an orgasm.

You lick your lips as he gently guides you to sit on top of him, your legs fall to either side of his, your body hovering over his, his face inches away from yours. His fingers move quickly in and out of you. Every thrust is sending jolts of electricity through you. Your head involuntarily tilts back in pleasure, giving him more access to your neck. He licks a long stripe from your collarbone to your chin. 

You moan loudly as he adds another finger, stretching you out, and making you arch, trying to maximize the pleasure. He’s hitting all the right spots, making your body feel like it’s on fire. Just when you think it can’t get any better, his thumb goes to your clit, sending another shiver down your spine. You feel the orgasm coming, and he reaches out to grip your arm, helping you stay steady. You’re losing your mind, completely surrendering to him as he drives you to the edge. Your body is shaking with pleasure, your mind is completely empty, there’s only this intense wave of fulfillment while his strong hand holds  you in place. He lets you ride your high and you lose count of how many times you cry out his name, your fingers digging into his arm with each movement of his fingers.

“Oh God…” you moan, your hands balling into fists as you struggle to come back to your senses.

“You think I’m done with you?” He whispers, his lips brushing your ear. The confidence in his voice is unmistakeable - this man knows what he’s doing.

You know it - he’s far from done. And you are more than ready for more.

He takes off your t-shirt, and your bra effortlessly, his lips never leaving yours. Your fingers trace the lines of his tattoos. He’s even more stunning than you had imagined, just the sight of him leaves you breathless.

He shifts your position, your back now pressed against the mattress, as he leans over you, one hand resting on your inner thigh. You reach up to gently cup his cheek. The heat between you is undeniable, but in that moment, you take a pause to admire him. His light blue eyes lock with yours, burning with intensity, his cheeks flush red, his hair is messy and you realize with a hint of amusement that you’ve been pulling on them when you were riding your high. Everything about him seems to be just perfect.

You’ve only just met, yet everything between you feels like it has been unfolding for years, like you’re not strangers but two lovers who’ve known each other’s bodies perfectly. As he leans in, his lips are hovering just above yours, he kisses you slow and deep, adding to the electric connection between the two of you. 

He positions himself between your legs. He unbuckles his belt and takes of his pants, never taking his eyes off your face. He slides down his boxers in a swift motion. You can’t help but admire how stunning he looks in the soft glow of the sunlight. He slides your skirt down your legs and admires how good you look at his bed, completely naked and ready for him. Your eyes are fixed on his bdy, your hair spread across the pillow, with soft rays of sunlight filtering through the blinds, softly illuminating your body. He thinks you look absolutely stunning, and he wants nothing more than to be inside you, kiss you, and hold you - even if it’s just this one night, though he would gladly do it every night if he could. The sight before him is captivating - your beautiful body, fully exposed for him. He wishes he could hold on to this moment forever.

You feel him slowly sliding inside of you, as you close your eyes and breathe out. He is is big and you need a moment to adjust to his size. He knows it, and he is as gentle as possible despite the great desire you feel for each other. You lift up your hips a little to help him reach deeper. His hands rest on your hips as you feel him fill you deeper and deeper with every move.

You feel his grip on your hips tighten, as he speeds up the pace. He gently lifts your leg, placing it on his shoulder, and presses a soft kiss to your calf. You can’t keep your eyes off him, mesmerized with the way he looks, the way his muscles flex, the way the drops of sweat are shining on his forehead, the way he exhales slowly, eyes closing as he loses himself in the moment.

You take one of his hands from your hip and place it on one of your tits, and he starts circling his thumb against your nipple, and then pulling and twisting it, making you lick and bite your lips completely lost in the moment. You close your eyes again, and feel his hand moving from your tits to your neck and giving it a squeeze.

“Hey. Look at me.” He says. He wants you to remember - remember that it’s HIM doing all that to you.

You slowly open your eyes again and look at him, as he is thrusting deep inside of you, reaching the depths you didn’t even know existed. His other hand moves from your calf to your clit, but before he even starts drawing circles again, he says:

„Wait… Turn around.” 

He helps you to flip over. You arch your back exposing your entrance for him again and he slides in once again and returns to previous pace. The sound of skin hitting is filling out the room now, as he takes a firm grip on your hips. You bury your face in the pillow, arching your back as much as possible to let him reach the deepest parts of you. Your face doesn’t stay on the pillow for too long, as you feel him taking a handful of your hair and pull it back, forcing you to get on all fours. You feel him pick up the pace, tugging your hair, making you moan again and again and repeating his name, while single teardrops run down your cheeks. You enjoyed it to no end, and the grip he had on your hair is just a sign of how much he is enjoying himself.

You feel his hand reaching to your clit again, tapping his finger on it, and then absolutely abusing your sweet spot, not wasting time for gentle touches and calm movements. It makes your legs shake, your moans getting louder, you completely lose the control of the sounds coming from your mouth. He loves to hear it. Its’s all him - he makes you lose your mind, he makes you scream and squirm below him. Your desperate screams while you’re having the most intense orgasm you could imagine fill out the room. Your face hits the pillow again, as you close your eyes enjoying the high that he brought you to. 

Your moans and cries only drive him to the edge, he is now pounding into you, throwing his head back, his hands back on your hips. If you looked at him, you’d see the veins in his neck popping out, his mouth open, and quiet „Fucks” coming out of his mouth. 

He finishes deep inside of you while holding your hips so tightly you’re sure his hands will leave bruises. But you don’t mind, he drove you to the edge, he made you scream louder than ever, and you are sure that the first thing you will do after waking up, will be to repeat this. There was something mesmerizing about the way you communicated without words, how effortlessly your bodies seemed to align.

He lies down right next to you, his chest rising and falling with the heavy breaths he takes,. He’s wiping the sweat from his forehead. You want to say something, but you’re still trying to catch your breath, so you need a minute to come back to your senses. 

“That was…” you try to find the right words, but the only thing you can do is shake your head, overwhelmed of what just happened. Nothing you could say would ever explain the way he completely surpassed everything you had imagine.

“Yeah” he whispers, his voice barely a breath.

You feel the urge to wrap your hands around him, but the heat is suffocating, and the only thing you truly crave now is a cold glass of water.

“Tired?” He asks softly, his fingers searching for yours. He already knows the answer but he wants to hear it from you.

“Yeah. You had me out of breath” you laugh softly.

He stands up, and you can’t help but admire how incredible he looks: naked, his body covered in tattoos, the sunlight casting a soft glow on his skin. And that look of pride on his face. You wish you could look at him every day, especially when he’s like this.

He goes to the kitchen, returning with a glass of water, which you drink down quickly. He smiles, pulling you into his arms.

“Let’s get some sleep. You have to be ready for the next day of the festival.” 

“Are you going to spend it with me too?”  You ask, your voice hopeful.

"Of course. And the night after too. At least, I hope so.”

You can’t help but smile at his words. None of this unfolded how you expected. You thought it would just be a reckless one-night stand in the backseat, something you’d leave behind without looking back. But his arms felt so welcoming, his lips on your skin so comforting, you couldn’t stop yourself from falling asleep beside him and waking up to the smell of coffee he’d made. 

Festivals always made you wish time would stop - but this year you had a whole new reason for that wish.

[dragoneyelashart]

ᯓ★ the summer we lost • chapter 3

summary: it was supposed to be the perfect summer—just before college, you and your online friend "william" had planned out meeting this summer, but everything came to a screeching halt when your parents dropped the bomb that you had to get a job at a family friend’s dance studio. so instead of having fun, you’re stuck teaching kids who can barely stay on their feet, alongside a girl you can’t stand. now, while your friends are living their summer, you’re tangled up in a mess of pirouettes, bratty 7-year-olds, and a summer you’ll never get back. warnings: angst | mature language | sexual content | substance consumption

authors note: so chapter 3 is hereee wc: 2.9k

the summer we lost masterlist

your alarm doesn’t go off. mostly because you didn’t set one. today’s your first official day off in weeks, and you’re clinging to every second of it like it’s oxygen.

the sun leaks through your blinds in soft golden strips, warming your pillow, and for the first time all week, you don’t feel like you’re already late to something. no screaming children. no ballet shoes. no billie.

just silence, a little bird outside your window, and the familiar buzz of your phone lighting up with a text.

aaliyah: r u alive?

you smile, thumb already typing back.

you: barely. just woke up. what’s up

aaliyah: party’s tonight, remember?? don’t be lame

you stare at the screen for a second, brain still half-asleep.

you: oh god that’s tonight?

aaliyah: YES. u said u were coming. dress nice, something slutty or mysterious idk like u just murdered a man in monaco

you: what does that even mean

aaliyah: just be hot. i’ll pick you up at 7

you throw your phone onto the bed and roll over, groaning into your sheets. you had agreed to the party, mostly out of guilt and aaliyah’s persistence, but partially because she was your best friend. she threw one every summer, and missing it was borderline criminal in your friend group.

and maybe you could use the distraction.

you check your messages again—just one from your mom (asking about laundry), and a tiny, familiar one from “w.”

w: you better tell me everything about this party. i’m already mad i can’t be there to crash it

you: you’d probably find a way to spike the punch and start a rumor

w: obviously 🙄 

her messages feel like a hug. like a little invisible thread tugging at the edge of your world, pulling you back when things get too overwhelming.

you: kinda nervous though. idk why. haven’t been out in forever

w: ok so we’re u in hibernation, maybe you just love my company so much

you: 😒

w: pretend you're in a coming-of-age movie or something

you: what if i am

w: then i’m the hot mysterious love interest who shows up halfway through

you laugh, dropping your phone onto your pillow. maybe tonight won’t suck after all.

aaliyah picks you up at 7 just like she said and you both make your way to the house the party was going to be at. the music’s loud, a pulsating beat that vibrates through the floor and into your chest, but you can barely hear it over the buzz in your head. there’s a weird tension hanging in the air, something thick that you can’t quite put your finger on, but it’s making your skin crawl.

you’re standing by the drinks, trying to keep your mind distracted. aaliyah's next to you, her hand wrapped around her red cup but not really drinking, her gaze locked onto the door as if she’s anxiously waiting for the something.

the door opens, and a few people trickle in, but it’s the sight of them—billie and leilani—that stops aaliyah cold. your heart stutters. she’s here? just when you thought you could escape her.

billie steps inside like she’s been here a million times before, confident, almost arrogant, with that same look she always wears. but now, there’s something else to it: her arm is casually slung around leilani’s waist, pulling her close like they’ve been attached at the hip forever. 

leilani, aaliyah’s younger sister, is leaning into it, her head tilted back, laughing at something billie says. the smile on leilani’s face is too soft, too trusting. it hits you like a punch in the gut. 

"oh my god," aaliyah mutters, her voice low but sharp, enough to make you glance at her. she’s rigid, her jaw clenched, and her fists are tight at her sides. the look on her face is pure fury.

"what’s wrong?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, but something about the situation has your heart racing.

aaliyah doesn’t even look at you, her eyes glued to the pair at the door. "isn’t that your sister?" you ask, your voice unsure. you grew up with aaliyah’s family, how could someone so innocent, like leilani be with someone like billie, stuck up, arrogant and just downright rude. 

"yeah," aaliyah bites out, barely looking at you, her eyes still locked on them. "what the fuck is she doing" she says the words like they're coated in venom, the anger seeping through each syllable. 

“and why is she with billie,” she spits the name like it’s something sour. “that bitch i was telling you about.”

you blink, not sure what to say. you glance back toward billie and leilani, who are still standing in the doorway, billie’s arm wrapped tighter around leilani, her fingers grazing the skin of her side. it’s casual, but it looks so much more than that. billie’s body language is too comfortable, too intimate for something that should be so new. she doesn’t even seem to notice the looks she’s getting, strolling in like she owns the place.

“she’s such a big player,” aaliyah continues, her voice clipped, tight with frustration. “always has been. she does this to everyone—makes them feel like they’re the only one, makes them think they’re special, then moves on like they never mattered.”

you frown, your eyes flicking back to billie’s relaxed posture, the way she’s holding leilani against her. all that, to someone so sweet as leilani? you don’t say it out loud, but the words are there, burning in the back of your mind. 

“she’s like that with everyone,” aaliyah mutters, her hands trembling just slightly as she glares at them. “you think you’re the one she’s interested in? no. none of us are. it’s all a game to her. especially leilani. i fucking warned her about this.”

your heart sinks as you take it all in—this is who billie is? this is the girl you’ve been trying to figure out, the one who’s been toying with you, too? a mix of confusion and disbelief builds in your chest, but there's also something else—a sick feeling, like a little voice telling you that this is what you signed up for. that this is what it means to get tangled in someone like billie. 

aaliyah’s voice cuts through your thoughts, sharp and angry. “and now look at her. she’s doing it to leilani, right in front of me, after everything i’ve warned her about. she thinks she’s got her all figured out, all charmed up, but it’s just another game for her.”

you glance back at billie again. she’s got this easy confidence, this air about her, but now, it’s twisted. it doesn’t look so fun anymore. your stomach twists as you realize aaliyah might be right. you’ve been just as caught up in billie’s game, maybe not in the same way leilani is, but it’s still there. that pull. that strange magnetism. 

aaliyah rolls her eyes, her lips curling in disgust as she watches billie laugh with leilani. “i’m telling you, stay away from her,” aaliyah says, her tone quiet but fierce. “don’t need her doing that to anyone else.”

you swallow hard. “how do you know this though?” the words slip out before you can stop them, the uncertainty in your voice clear even to yourself.

aaliyah doesn’t respond immediately. instead, she watches the two of them, her eyes narrowed in pure annoyance. “i—uh someone from work mentioned it the other day, something about her cheating.”

the weight of aaliyah’s words presses on you, each one landing like a stone in your chest. you didn’t want to believe it, but now it’s hard to ignore. how much of billie’s attention is real? how much of it is just part of the game she’s playing with you, too?

aaliyah doesn’t look at you as she says it, but her words land heavy between the two of you. “i hate her. and if you have any sense, you’ll stay away from her.”

you want to tell aaliyah, you want to tell her everything—that it’s not that easy to ignore her. she’s your boss, the boss you hate but that’s another story. but the words stick in your throat, tangled with all the confusion, the uncertainty, and the sudden doubt that you can’t quite shake. why was she making you feel like this? you hated her. aaliyah hated her.

the music pulses in the background, but it feels miles away now. everything feels out of reach, like you’re standing on the edge of something you can’t control. 

you look at billie again, and this time, you don’t feel the same pull you did before. it’s not the same.

“wow, you can actually talk. didn’t know that was in your skill set,” billie says, her voice dripping with amusement. she leans against the wall, arms crossed, eyes gleaming with that same mix of curiosity and sarcasm she always wears like a badge of honor.

you don’t even bother to hide the annoyance in your expression. “oh, so sorry to disappoint. i guess i didn’t realize i had to entertain you.”

billie smirks, not even the slightest bit fazed. “entertain me? i don’t know, you’re just so... quiet. my tv’s never quiet” she tilts her head, studying you like you’re some kind of puzzle she’s just dying to figure out. “thought you’d be more... dramatic, considering, you know, everything.”

you feel your patience snap, just a little. “yeah, well, you’re dramatic enough for both of us,” you mutter under your breath, crossing your arms, trying to act like you don’t care. but your heart’s racing, the pull between you and her still there, even if you’re trying to ignore it.

billie’s grin widens, clearly enjoying the way you’re reacting. “oh, trust me, i know. i’m the life of the party. but it’s cute,” she teases, her eyes scanning you for any sign of cracking. “you’re like... a little unbothered island in the middle of all this chaos. it’s kind of refreshing.”

“refreshing?” you repeat, fighting back a laugh that would just give her more satisfaction. “you mean annoying.”

billie takes a step closer, leaning in just a little too close for comfort. “sure, i could see how you'd think that. but deep down, i think you’re actually a little into the drama. just don’t want to admit it.”

“no that’s not true, fuck you’re so—" you stop yourself, not sure if you want to let her see how much she’s getting under your skin. she was still your boss and you could still very well get fired. which would mean your mom would kill you. it’s frustrating, knowing she’s messing with you, but what else could you do?

before you can finish, you see aaliyah marching across the room, her face tight with frustration. she’s got leilani in tow, pulling her to the side with a scowl that could freeze anyone in their tracks.

“this can’t be good,” you mutter to yourself, watching the scene unfold.

billie, of course, notices immediately, the sly grin spreading back onto her face. “uh-oh, looks like someone’s in trouble,” she says, almost a little too smug.

you can’t help but roll your eyes. “you’re so annoying,” you bite out, voice thick with irritation. “seriously, you just had to come here and mess with everyone, huh?”

billie laughs, throwing her head back like she’s actually enjoying this. “mess with everyone? babe, i’m just having fun. not my fault people can’t handle a little fun.”

“fun?” you repeat incredulously. “this isn’t funny, billie. you’re just playing with people. like leilani. do you even care about anyone, or is it just... some game to you?”

she shrugs, unbothered. “you know you’re funny y/n, acting like you care, but you and i know that you only do what’s best for yourself.” her tone is casual, almost too casual. she takes the drink out of your hand and sips out of your red cup smirking as you look at her with disgust.

“ugh. you’re unbelievable,” you mutter, trying to shove your way through the crowd, the tension in the pit of your stomach getting heavier with every word.

billie’s voice follows you, teasing, but there's something else in her tone—like she’s trying to see if you’ll bite. “oh, come on. don’t walk away from me now, you can’t avoid me the whole night you know, oh and let’s face it you’re not the perfect princess everyone thinks you are.”

you freeze, your back to her, but you don’t turn around. “you really think that’s what this is about?” you ask, barely keeping your voice steady. “not everything is about you billie, you may be my boss but honestly i couldn’t care less if you fired me.”

for a brief moment, there’s silence. then billie’s voice cuts through again, quieter this time. “yeah, you say that now. but you’ll regret it later, what will your poor mom say when she finds out her perfect daughter got fired hm baby?”

you scoff before glancing over your shoulder to find a place to escape to. just in time you see aaliyah’s hand gripping leilani’s arm, pulling her away from the crowd. leilani’s eyes flicker with guilt, but she doesn’t fight it. aaliyah’s fury is palpable from across the room.

billie watches it all with a knowing look, like she’s seen this act before. but she doesn’t say anything, nor does she care.

you can’t help but feel a little unsettled as you turn back to face her, crossing your arms again, the air between you and billie growing heavier.

you’re not sure if you should leave, if you should just walk away from all this and ignore what billie said. but then you think of what aaliyah said, and the little flicker of doubt that runs through you. is this what you want?

you exhale sharply, the frustration bubbling up again, but you can’t find the words to make it go away. so you just mutter, “seriously, billie, just... leave me alone.” she raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “you sure? ‘cause the way i see it, you’re not exactly running away from me, pretty”

taglist: @amara-eilish @bilswifee @jayjaywetforbils @billieeilishismywifey @iamnicoke @st0nerlesb0 | send me an ask if you want to be added to my taglist!

[arrimorr]

hi ari!! strange question maybe but i can see that knight has a stomach and intestines and everything, does he need to eat then? or are they there because "organs are supposed to be in there.. somewhere..". what are his relationship with biology anyway? i vaguely remember that he doesn't feel anything below his neck bc of the armour and everything, how does that go for him? is he touch starved for example or isn't able to experience the want/need for touch at all?

Hiii ( ´∇｀)ﾉ

Nooo its not weird I like this type of questions. No, he doesn't need to eat and frankly, I think it would be a bad idea for him to attempt so. He has a digestive system because what was left of him still had one when the King of the road picked him up and rebuilt him. Obviously, humans need to have it, since it was lying with everything else, but the King had no idea what purpose it served, so it simply got canned with the rest.

I think the Knight is touch starved, but he is not aware of it. The King is not a tactile creature, and, while I want the guy to form some social bonds while the plot progresses, if we are taking the Knight as a character in a vacuum he simply didn't have that type of close and personal experience in his life. I think if someone holds his face gently he will first and foremost get overwhelmed by it, he needs to grasp the experience before craving it

[klwrites]

Little Talks -- Ellie Williams x reader part 1

Prologue Summary: you run away from the seraphites for your safety. Now you adjust to life in Jackson as Ellie helps you find your individuality. You struggle with the adverse change from growing up on the island to living in Jackson.  Reader struggles hella with social cues. Kinda slow burn?

Jackson was overwhelming to say the least. I wasn't aware that people had so much individuality. Tommy finished giving me a tour of the most important places in Jackson. Up until this moment I didn't realize how many decisions I was going to have to make. I eat whatever, whenever? I felt especially alienated since it didn't look like anyone else here shared my struggles. Tommy has responsibilities he has to fulfil, but what was I to do with myself? 

Read comics, make friends, be a kid. Once you've got some meat on those bones we can help you get stronger, then you can help out around here. 

Be a kid. 

What does that even mean? With all of my choices, the most I could bring myself to do was change my clothes and shower. I looked into the mirror– my reflection wasn't something I got to see often. Showers were also a strange concept. So was everything here, from the houses to the people I couldn't figure it out. I observed the scar that crossed my cheek. Scars. A word I didn't like. I thought back to the stares I faced while touring Jackson which were probably directed at my gnarled face. My head turned to the door after hearing a soft knock, so gentle I assumed it was Maria. She made me feel the safest, she reminded me of my own mother. I opened the door and was met with her soft eyes.

“We're having dinner soon, we’d love for you to join us at the table. Joel will be there with a friend of his that's your age. You remember Joel right?” 

I remembered his axe inches from my nose as I cowered against a tree, and how humanity came back to his eyes as he saw the fear in mine. I nodded, following Maria down to the dining area. Joel entered with a young brunette, they smiled at me as I sat from the dining table. I suddenly became very aware of what was on my cheek as I noticed the girl's eyes instantly wonder to it. I think she noticed my shoulders tense as her demeanor changed to cheery. 

She stuck her hand out to mine, “I’m Ellie, what's your name?”

I returned my hand to hers. “Y/N” 

“Welcome to Jackson, Y/N”, she smiled before grabbing something from her bag. 

“A welcome present, don't mind that I had to rip out a few pages but it's still completely usable.”

She passed me a notebook. It was plain, beaten, and dirty. But it made me feel like a kid now that I had something that another kid gave me. I smiled at her kind gift. 

“Thank you. I will cherish this.” Right as the words exited my mouth I knew I came on too strong. 

Ellie's mouth held back a laugh, but she concealed it with a smile. Luckily a bowl of warm soup interrupted my embarrassment. Over dinner I couldn't help but admire this girl's spirit, she had nothing holding her back. Her hair was even short, I had never seen a girl with hair that short unless it was a much younger child. 

Life in Jackson took a lot of getting used to, but at least someone was willing to talk to me. 

I had been deep in my writing when a hand placed on top of my paper interrupted my focus, causing me to glance up. My journal was filled with drawings, mostly of my loved ones that I haven't gotten to see since I left as a way to remember them. It's also filled up with detailed descriptions of the people I met, the new experiences, and the things I missed. As I looked up, a smile spread across my face, meeting the eyes of my one of a kind, Ellie. "Hi," I greeted Ellie with a smile, and she returned it with one of her own.

For the first year or so most of the kids in Jackson were mortified of me, but Ellie always made a point to talk to me. Maybe she was obligated to talk to me by Joel, but regardless I appreciated every part of her. Ellie was a key part in me opening up to the other people my age, sure, I was still off putting, but I could converse with those who tried me. 

“Tonight Dina’s having a bonfire to celebrate her birthday. She wanted me to let you know you're invited.” 

My heart beat doubled, I didn't think Dina liked me very much. 

I had gotten dressed for the fire, wearing extra layers since this fall had been unforgivingly cold after dark. A new part of my daily routine was my mirror. I hovered a finger over the scar that crossed my cheek, and took in how I looked without it. A friendly girl from Jackson was the person I had made up to compare who I was to who I could be. When I moved my finger away I frowned as the scared, angry, shy serephite refuge stared back at me. 

On my walk to Dina’s every insecurity walked with me. Luckily it was a party, and the idea of hiding in a corner was my only comfort. Did Dina invite me to make fun of me? Why would she want me there? I arrived purposely late, hoping I’d miss an awkward introduction. 

Dina’s backyard was the reverse of my expectations. 

I told you she was coming! Ellie finished saying as I made it closer to the group. The small group of like five people. Not a party. 

“Sorry I’m late, did I miss everyone?” 

“Miss who? I only wanted to invite my close circle. Come sit” Dinas voice was warm like the fire, but what did she mean?

Her close circle? Why was I here then? I sat between Dina and Ellie. 

“Happy birthday. Here.” I attempted to cover up my misunderstanding with the gift I prepared. 

After I found out about the bonfire I rushed to find a suitable present, since Tommy said it would be rude to show up empty handed. Embroidery was a hobby I had taken up in Jackson, so I finished a flower I had started days ago. 

“I could sew it into your backpack or anything you’d like.” My shaky fingers presented my gift to her. 

The rest of the night was actually fun. Dina loved my gift, at least she acted like it, and I didn’t feel like a total outcast. Jesse brought out his surprise present, a bottle of white liquor. 

It'll keep us warmer than the fire! He explained. 

The other two faces I didn't know well left early, but they were there way before I was. My favorite part of the night was when Ellie brought out her guitar. Her strumming was mesmerizing. Her occasional glances gave me butterflies, and everytime she spoke I fell deeper into her. The stand of hair that covered her face upset me, I sat on my hands to keep myself from tucking the strand behind her ear. I wanted everything to do with her, but I’m not sure why. 

“Let me walk you home?” Her voice, oh, her voice. It was late, I had a few drinks as did she, Ellie probably just wanted to ensure I got home safely. Tommy probably put her up to it. Regardless, I accepted it easily. 

“You seem like you enjoyed yourself tonight.” Ellie spoke as the journey home began. 

“I didn’t realize I was in Dina’s close circle. I’m glad though. It was really nice hanging with you guys.” 

“You should hangout with us more often,” Ellie smirked, “I don’t know why you don't, Dina and Jesse think you're cool. Plus I really had fun with you.” 

I bit back a smile, trying to play it cool like Dina and Jesse apparently think I am. 

“The feeling is mutual.” Was all I could bring myself to say. I didn't want to come off too strong, but now I had a new fear of not being strong enough. 

We approached my home, and as Ellie bid goodbye, I decided to be stronger than words by pulling her into a close hug. My own gesture of appreciation made my heart race as she returned the hug. I could tell I took her by surprise. 

“Night Ellie, get home safe”

[katethetank]

Possession of the Heart - Chapter 2

Rating: 18+ minors gtfo Chapter Summary: Tommy hosts a party as their debut into California society, and Steve gets some unwanted attention from an Alpha who attends. Tired of being trapped in the manor, he explores the land around him until he stumbles upon the gamekeeper's cottage. CW: Alcohol consumption, Billy is a creep Pairing: Alpha!Tommy x Omega!Steve - Alpha!Eddie x Omega!Steve Word Count: 3.5k

Chapter 1<<Masterlist>>Chapter 2

The first two weeks of living at Hagan Manor are lonely ones. Steve sequesters himself to his quarters, only coming out for silent meals with his husband, refusing to speak another word of the arrangement offered. Tommy busies himself with work, making phone calls and meeting with oil barons, politicians, and the high society of the area. 

Steve refuses to show his face.

His tears ran out by the third day, utterly devastated that the man whose family paid to wed him would dare think so little of him when he was once considered something of a treasure. Steve never really saw himself that way, but going from Madonna to whore so quickly in the eyes of his spouse completely shattered any hope of happiness they could have together. Any semblance of trust is gone, not to mention respect. Clearly Tommy has none for Steve, demanding that he bed any Alpha who is willing. And Steve now has none for Tommy, knowing how little he thinks of him. 

His avoidance of his husband comes to an end when Tommy insists on hosting a soiree as a formal entrance into California society. Steve has no choice but to attend and play the part of the dutiful spouse, and begrudgingly puts on his finest attire. Dressed in a crisp white shirt, black waistcoat and tie, black trousers, and shoes shined to perfection, he descends the stairs to be greeted by his husband. Tommy is dressed in a similar fashion, but is also wearing a suit coat. He had instructed Steve to go without one, stating that it would do a disservice to his figure. It leaves him feeling like a lamb being led to slaughter. 

Guests soon arrive and so many introductions are made that Steve can’t keep anyone straight. Bows and greetings of thank you for having us Lord and Gentleman Hagan happen so often that Steve doesn’t even hear it anymore and just gives a demure nod of his head on pure reflex. And the mingling scents of so many Alphas in one space is overwhelming to the point where he can feel a headache blooming behind his eyes. This evening cannot end soon enough.

After all the guests are accounted for, Steve is able to leave Tommy’s side and ease some of his stress with a bit of champagne. He makes his way across the parlor, giving polite smiles to the people he passes, and before he can reach the bar, a hand appears in front of him holding a glass of bubbling libations.

“Pardon me, but an Omega of your standing shouldn’t have to retrieve their own drink.”

Steve turns to find himself being looked over by a man with golden curls and piercing blue eyes. He’s sure he greeted him at the door, but he has no real recollection of anyone who has entered his home. The chivalrous act, no matter how small it is, is appreciated in his current state. 

He takes the glass from this stranger and has to resist the urge to drink all its contents in one go. “That’s very considerate, thank you Mister…”

The man chuckles and runs his tongue over his teeth. “You don’t remember our introduction?”

Steve flushes in embarrassment and takes a sip of the dry champagne. “You’ll have to forgive me. I met everyone in this room just this evening and recalling all their names is simply not something I’ll be able to do.”

The man laughs, but not unkindly. “William. William Hargrove. But those close to me call me Billy.” He offers his hand and Steve takes it without a second thought. Instead of giving him a cordial handshake, William bends down, and without breaking eye contact, places a kiss to the back of his hand. “And it’s an absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

The gesture is far too forward, and something in his gaze makes Steve want to flee. Surely this man is well aware that Steve is the Gentleman of the house and this behavior is incredibly inappropriate. His instinct is to slap this Alpha across the face, but making such a scene at their first event will do more harm than he could ever imagine. Not having much choice in what he can do, Steve forces a smile and withdraws his hand from William’s grasp.

“Well. Thank you again, Mr. Hargrove. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to return to my husband.”

He begins to make his leave when there’s a hand placed on his lower back and William’s lips far too close to his ear. “The pleasure is all mine.”

Steve pulls away abruptly and begins to cross the room back to Tommy’s side. He only takes a few steps before he realizes that his husband has watched the entire interaction and is glaring daggers at Mr. Hargrove. If he cannot handle seeing another Alpha place a single hand on Steve, how can he possibly be able to cope with one knotting him?

When he returns to his husband, he is met with a cold glance and nothing more. All Steve wants to do is retire to his quarters and pretend this evening never happened. But he does what is expected of him and stands by Tommy’s side making polite small talk with their guests and feigning interest in discussions of oil and lumber and the money to be made. 

Steve takes his leave after some time and heads to the washroom. After relieving himself, he makes sure that his attire is perfect and not a hair is out of place. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, readying himself for another round of dreadfully boring discussions that he plans to ease the tension of with another glass of champagne. However, when he opens the door and steps out, he runs into a broad chest. Before he has a chance to stumble or lose his footing, the hand of William Hargrove grasps onto his waist to steady him. The heat from his palm can be felt through Steve’s clothing and it makes his insides churn.

“Careful there, Omega. We can’t have someone as pretty as you hurting themselves now can we?”

Steve glances around and is struck with fear realizing that they are the only two in this wing of the manor. His mind flashes with the image of this brutish Alpha pushing him into the washroom and having his way with him, exactly what Tommy has requested he do, and it makes him want to scream and run as far from this estate as his legs can carry him. He’s been treated as an ornament since his betrothal to Tommy, but this is the first time he has truly felt like an object. Something that others can take and use however they like. Something his husband can lend out and reap the benefits of. 

A part of him wants to accept these advances just to get it over with. 

But his self respect is far too great to let a man like this, with a predatory smile and lecherous gaze, lay a single finger on him. Steve steps out of his hold and tips his chin up. “You’ll be wise to keep your distance, Mr. Hargrove.”

His dark laugh echoes off the walls of the hall and he takes a step closer. “I can’t help that you’re so magnetic. You draw the gaze of everyone here, sweet thing. Lord Hagan sure was fortunate to find such a beautiful specimen. If only we all could be so lucky. What I wouldn't give to have someone like you in my bed.” 

He lifts his hand and the back of his knuckles graze over Steve’s cheek. It sends a cold shiver down his spine and he slaps the hand away reflexively. “Keep your hands to yourself and your vile words behind your teeth. Good day sir.” Steve spins on his heel and walks as quickly as he can back to the party with William’s laughter trailing after him like a ghost. 

Thoroughly shaken from the interaction, Steve grabs a fresh glass of champagne off the bar and goes in search of his husband. He’s not in the parlor with the majority of his guests, so he makes his way to the study, following the scent of cigar smoke. As he approaches the open doors, he stops at the sound of Tommy’s boasting. 

“Gentleman, I suspect I should have news of a pup any day now. Just because my legs have lost their functionality doesn’t mean everything else has.” There’s a round of hearty laughter and the clinking of glasses, congratulations and slaps on the back. Steve’s eyes begin to water and he abandons his plan of staying next to his husband until all their guests leave, and makes his way to the stairs.

Once he’s locked in his room, Steve downs the entire glass and removes his formalwear while tears fall freely down his flushed cheeks. He dresses in his bedclothes, finding much comfort in the silk shirt and pants, and takes a seat at the window overlooking the estate. It’s a clear night and the moon casts a white glow on the rolling hills and treetops. This manor has been a prison for him since the day he arrived, and he vows to himself that starting tomorrow, he’ll do his best to spend as little time inside as possible. 

The next morning he joins Tommy for breakfast and says nothing when he mentions that they’ll be having another party the following week. “It was such a success, don’t you agree? I think we might make this a regular occurrence, darling. Everyone had a wonderful time and mentioned how lovely it was to meet you. You certainly were the belle of the ball, though I should expect no less.”

Steve quietly eats his soft boiled egg and toast, and tries not to think about the unwelcomed touches and comments. But his eyes snap up when Tommy tacks on, “I shan’t be inviting that Billy Hargrove back, though. I didn’t like the look of him.”

He didn’t like the way Billy looked at Steve, is what he means. 

“As is your right, Tommy. This is your home.”

Tommy appraises him for a moment and asks, “So you didn’t care for his company?”

Steve isn’t entirely certain that Tommy is asking him if he just didn’t like the man, or if he didn’t find him to be a suitable partner to bed. But either way, the answer is the same. “No. I did not.”

His husband nods in approval and turns back to his breakfast. “Very well then.”

The weeks in between these now regularly occurring parties are spent outside the confines of his room. Steve has found much comfort in whiling away the hours in the garden, either practicing sewing and needlepoint, or finding escape in the books he’s pilfered from Tommy’s study. He’s walked the grounds a bit, but hasn’t gone far. The ownership of the land is much more expansive than he realized, reaching past the grassy hills and deep into the wooded areas surrounding the estate. Hunting land, as Tommy told him. Perhaps Steve will venture further if his need for escape can no longer be done in the pages he holds. 

If only he could escape these godforsaken parties. Every weekend it’s much of the same; suffocating attire, champagne that’s lost it’s decadence, the choking smoke of cigars and pipes, forced smiles, awkward small talk, and Steve finding any excuse he can to retire to his room early. And every weekend he endures lustful gazes from Tommy’s associates and spiteful glares from their Omega partners. William Hargrove is now not the only one who’s invitation has been rescinded. Deputy Callahan hasn’t been invited back after he spoke to Steve for too long and stood too close. English nobleman Duke Henry Creel asked Steve to dance, and hasn’t been seen at their home again since. Judge Robert Newby made the mistake of being kind to Steve and getting a genuine laugh from him. That hasn’t happened since they moved here.

With Tommy slowly removing everyone that he deems a potential threat, Steve is unsure how his husband expects him to produce an heir. He has no desire to do such a thing to begin with, especially not with any of the men brought into his home who look at him like he’s a meal to devour. But if Tommy is bull headed enough to keep insisting that Steve find a temporary bed partner, he sure isn’t making things easy. 

After another long event dodging unwanted attention, faking another headache in order to duck out early, and sitting through another breakfast of Tommy declaring which Alpha is no longer going to be in attendance at their next soiree, Steve takes his leave and settles himself in the garden. Try as he might, the book he is reading isn’t helping to shake off the unsettling feelings, and escaping between the pages seems impossible. He sets down his book and looks out over the grounds. It’s a sunny day, and the breeze is enough to keep his skin from overheating, so he decides on taking a walk and seeing how far he can wander.

He roams the hills aimlessly, smiling at the grasshoppers who leap out of his way and the birds who grace him with their songs. Wildflowers speckle the landscape and he stops to collect the different ones he finds, making a small bouquet to take back to his room when his little exploration is over. His task leads him to the tree line where a path wide enough for perhaps a horse and cart to get through draws his attention. He follows it through the wooded area, collecting more blossoms as he goes and enjoying the break from the heat of the sun shining high overhead. It must be nearing lunch time, but Steve is happy to skip a meal with his husband in favor of this small taste of freedom.

The path eventually leads him to a clearing where he’s delighted to find a wide stream. It looks deep enough to take a dip should he desire, and the water is crystal clear, sparkling under the rays of the sun. A stone bridge connects to the other side and Steve crosses it, following the path further down to see where it leads. The trees are thinner here, allowing more light to shine through and illuminating the tall grasses and wildflowers. Steve adds more to his collection until the path ends and he’s met with a moderately sized stone cottage. Moss grows on the sloping roof and the ivy here looks magical compared to the vines that still choke the outside of Hagan Manor. It’s quaint and looks like something out of a fairy tale he read when he was young. 

He approaches and walks around the perimeter, attempting to assess if this dwelling is occupied or abandoned. He gets his answer when he turns a corner and sees a covered wood porch that houses several cages of pheasants. He quietly steps up onto the porch so as not to disturb them, and peers inside the cage closest to him. A pheasant is sleeping peacefully while sitting atop a nest. It’s mostly covered, but Steve can see just a peek of the eggs she’s guarding. He smiles at the sight and walks slowly around the porch observing all the others. “Nice day for a nap, isn’t it ladies,” he says quietly. 

Steve nearly jumps out of his skin when a voice calls out, “No need to whisper. They don’t startle easily.” He clutches his chest and spins around, his wide eyes landing on a man who just stepped out of a path he didn’t see previously. “But clearly you do. My apologies, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Steve hasn’t seen this man before. He absolutely would have remembered him if he were in attendance at the parties Tommy has hosted. He’s tall and lean. The leather boots on his feet are scuffed and dusted with dirt, indicating they’re well worn and see a lot of work. Cuffed brown trousers sit high around his waist, held up with suspenders that stretch over broad shoulders. His shirt, most likely once a crisp white, is faded and softened with use. The sleeves are rolled up just below his elbows, highlighting the veins in his forearms, and the top buttons are open, exposing a glistening patch of his smooth chest. He has long dark hair that’s pulled back into a low bun at the base of his neck, and a brown flat cap rests atop his head. Underneath the brim of the cap, large dark eyes blink up at him from the bottom of the steps. His features are masculine, but there’s a softness to his look. The curve of his nose and fullness of his lips offset his strong jaw and chin. He’s handsome, and Steve realizes too late that he’s been staring.

“No, no it’s fine. Are these pheasants yours?”

The man smiles, and it’s devastating. Dimples crease his face and Steve has never seen anyone look at him this way. Like he’s a person. “I believe they’re actually yours. You are the Gentleman of the house, are you not?”

“Oh. Yes, I am. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

The man sets down the rifle slung over his shoulder and places his hand on his chest. Bowing slightly, he introduces himself. “Edward Munson, the estate’s gamekeeper. Friends call me Eddie. And these lovely ladies have no names, but are happy to be employed by Lord and Gentleman Hagan.”

Steve finds himself genuinely smiling back, immediately charmed by this man. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. And please, call me Steve.” 

Eddie smiles politely and tucks his hands in his pockets. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too. What brings you out this way, if you don’t mind my asking?”

He realizes again, a little too late, that he’s invited himself to this man’s home unannounced. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I was just taking a walk and the path I found led me here. I can go, I had no intention of disturbing you.” Steve descends the stairs and is surprised that Eddie takes several steps back, giving him a wide berth. 

“No apologies needed. You’re welcome to come visit them any time. It shouldn’t be much longer before the chicks start to hatch.”

Steve smiles at the thought of seeing what the baby pheasants look like and decides he might just need to come back. “I think I would like to see that. You don’t mind my checking in?”

Eddie shakes his head and looks at him kindly. “Not one bit. This is your land after all. I’m just your humble servant. And should you find the desire, follow the stream south. There’s a few more clearings where you’ll find some lilacs that are blooming.”

Steve is confused for a moment until Eddie nods down at his hand that’s holding his bunch of wild flowers. “Oh! Thank you, I’ll do that. I should be going, I’m sure I’ve missed lunch by now and if I dally much longer I’ll miss supper as well. It was nice meeting you Eddie.” Raised in high society, Steve is so accustomed to addressing people by their proper name, that he surprises himself by how effortlessly the casual farewell rolls off his tongue.

Eddie doesn’t seem to notice or mind. He just tips his hat and says, “Come back any time, Steve.”

He turns and makes his way back around the cottage to the path that he came in on. Before he reaches the trees, Steve hears the rapid approach of boots on the ground. When he looks over his shoulder, he sees Eddie rushing over. Steve stops, wondering what might be the trouble. Eddie comes within an arm’s reach and holds out a shining red apple. “For you. Since you missed your lunch.”

Something flutters in Steve’s chest and he takes the fruit from Eddie’s hand, shivering as their fingers just barely graze each other. Standing much closer now than they were before, he picks up Eddie’s fragrance of suede and cedar. It’s an intoxicating combination and Steve has to fight his urge to lean into his space to breathe it in deeper.

He takes a step back, ignoring the rapid beating of his heart, and looks up into those captivating eyes. “Thank you. You’re too kind.”

Eddie bows again and starts to back away towards the cottage. “It’s no trouble at all.”

As Steve makes his way back down the path, savoring the sweetness of the apple and the man who gave it to him, he decides that he will definitely be returning. He spends the remainder of the day trying to convince himself that his reasons lie with the blooming lilacs and hatching chicks. Yet as he drifts off to sleep that night, he dreams not of flowers and nests, but dark eyes and a bright smile.

Chapter 1<<Masterlist>>Chapter 3

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Well well well...what do we have here?

Taglist is open! Likes, comments, and reblogs are all greatly appreciated!!

@mrsjellymunson @the-unforgivenn @watermelonmite @hiscrimsonangel @micheledawn1975 @stedestielfrattficlover @disrespectedgoatman @orie-jai

[acourtofthought]

Can we discuss how Lucien calls Elain “lady” - why? Does he use these kinds of manners with ANY other female/woman in the series? Is this him showing her extra respect because she’s his mate? Is he trying to appeal to her human sensibilities, is he waiting for her to offer her name?! I don’t think he calls Nesta “lady” so it doesn’t seem to be a human thing, unless it’s only a human + mate thing! Why lady and why not “Lady Elain” ?! I don’t remember him calling Feyre “lady” in ACOTAR when they first met?! WHY now?!?!

Don’t get me wrong, I do love it, but I can’t help but think it’s also making things a litttleeee awkward for them both, though it DOES set us up for the first time she tells him to call her Elain (hyperventilating just at the prospect of this scene over here 😮‍💨). Is THAT why???

I believe he called Feyre lady once at the start of ACOTAR though I don't put much stock into that as Sarah made major changes to Lucien's character after book 1 (who he was going to end up with, who his real father is). I think Lucien being slightly awkward around Elain might be the point though. Lucien was a rake with a clever way with words. Someone who is noted to easily make friends and who has no issues talking to others. Yet here is his mate and she's not just anybody, is she? She's something he's never experienced before, the way he feels around her is nothing he's experienced before, and he's kind of a mess, lol. He's super awkward, not knowing what to say when usually it comes easy to him. I think he's just so overwhelmed by being near her, with knowing she's got a fiance while also trying to control his instincts and act casual and I think he comes across as all out of sorts because of it. He can't tell her all the things he wants to tell her, all the things he's been thinking of her and the feelings for her that he's fighting so "lady" and politeness is what came out instead.

[nowimjustastranger]

I love the Ghost of You au so much, I'd love to hear more of those two! Obsessive and Someone Who Needs to be Obsessed Over is one of my fav dynamics 🥺

What are the first couple of days like after STCMO!Ford leaves traumatized Stan with Obsessive Ford? ❤️

Stanley is… quiet.

The silence presses down on Ford like a physical weight, suffocating and wrong. There’s this niggling in the back of his mind that insists that the filthy man currently sitting in his bathtub should never be quiet, that quiet is bad. Ford agrees on that much, at least. Ford hasn’t liked silence for as long as he could remember, so he had gotten good at pretending it wasn’t there by holding entirely one-sided conversations.

“You’ll probably need two baths and a shower before you’re fully clean.” Ford murmured, grabbing his three-in-one shower gel to squeeze a generous amount onto his palm. Ford had been using the same brand since boyhood, the scent was both calming and somehow familiar even if he couldn’t place where he had smelled it before.

Stanley didn’t so much as flinch as Ford worked the gel into a lather in his hair, the man staring down at the steadily browning  water with a vacant expression. Ford shifted with the urge to be closer, though short of climbing into the tub with Stanley, it just wasn’t possible. But that didn’t stop Ford from wanting Stanley here, with him, and not wherever Stanley had wandered off to in that head of his.

“I’ll salvage what I can, but you might want to consider a haircut.” Ford said lowly, his nose scrunching at the poor state Stanley’s hair was in. Ford was as gentle as the knots allowed him to be, patiently untangling the less problematic wads with his fingers. “I could cut it for you. I’m no professional, but I have dabbled. I’m confident that I could do a medium length cut.”

“You… don’t want it long?” Stanley asked, his tone neutral in a way that was clearly intentional. However, Ford was a little preoccupied with recovering from the unexpected shock of getting a response to his mindless rambling, nearly overwhelmed with the inexplicable urge to cry. Stanley’s voice was rough from straining his vocal cords, but the soft rasp was like music to Ford’s ears.

“Do you want it long?” Ford countered as he dipped his hands into the dirty water to rinse the suds off, only slightly choked up. Unfortunately, Stanley only shrugged, which didn’t give Ford much to work with when it came to figuring out what Stanley actually wanted. He had only emerged from his numb haze after Ford had brought up the haircut, so did that mean he wanted to keep his hair long?

“To be completely honest, I’m not sure I can salvage your hair. Getting it cut would take care of the more stubborn knots as well as ensure that your hair is healthy. Then you can grow it out to the length you prefer.” Ford relayed, watching Stanley’s expression closely for any hint that his hunch had been right. Thankfully, confirmation came in the form of Stanley’s tense shoulders easing.

“M’kay.” Stanley mumbled, his eyelids drooping a little as he obediently tilted his head back so Ford could wash the discolored suds out of his hair, making the water in the tub even more murky. It would have to be drained and replenished before Ford addressed Stanley’s body, though most of the dirt and mystery fluids had already been rinsed off due to Stanley splashing himself as soon as he had climbed into the nearly scalding water.

“I remember usin’ this stuff as a teen.” Stanley tentatively commented, squinting at the bottle of shower gel that Ford had set aside. Meanwhile, Ford had paused as another puzzle piece smoothly slotted into place, his arm submerged in the cloudy water to blindly feel for the plug. Ford stored the information in his mental file on Stanley before resuming his current task, watching the dirty water swirl down the drain.

“We can share.” Ford assured, grabbing the bottle in order to pass it to Stanley, who eagerly accepted it so he could pop the cap and sniff it. Ford replugged the tub before fiddling with the knobs until the temperature was just right, letting the tub refill.

“Man, I missed this shit. Good quality for cheap.” Stanley grunted, a note of nostalgia in his voice as he set the bottle back on the lip of the tub with an amount of care that struck Ford as uncharacteristic. He was unsure of how he knew this, which seemed to be a recurring theme ever since that helmeted asshole showed up on his doorstep.

Though, as Ford watched Stanley practically melt into the steaming water, he had to admit that one good thing had come from the otherwise trying interaction.

“I don’t have much by way of groceries, so I’ll have to go shopping.” Ford said with a grimace, he had never enjoyed going into town. The last thing he wanted to do was leave Stanley home alone, but he didn’t want to prematurely expose Stanley to Gravity Falls either. Quite the dilemma. “In the meantime, does sandwiches and soup for lunch sound agreeable?”

“I’m fine with whatever.” Stanley murmured with a lazy shrug, cracking an eye open as Ford squeezed another pile of the shower gel onto a washcloth that Ford had dunked into the tub and wrung. Stanley’s keen eyes tracked Ford’s movements, the washcloth gently running over Stanley’s pale skin. He’d need at least fifteen minutes a day in the sun to get his tan back, and to promote the production of Vitamin D.

“You’ll need to be on a strict diet until we put some padding on you, you’re too skinny.” Ford stated when the silence began to creep up on him, crawling over his skin like thousands of tiny bugs and buzzing in his ears like a swarm. His mind went blissfully quiet when Stanley responded with a noncommittal hum, the skittering insects alleviated as the sound washed over him like a balm.

“We’ll build your muscles back up as well, if you're amenable.” Ford added, subtly aiming a sidelong glance at Stanley as he worked the washcloth up his brother’s arm, and was promptly rewarded with another low grunt of compliance. Ford almost felt light-headed with elation, reeling from the power and control that had been placed into his eager hands.

When Ford touched Stanley, he didn’t flinch away. When Ford spoke, Stanley answered. When Ford made a decision, Stanley agreed.

It was dizzying, the realization that he had sway over another person’s life. Stanley’s life in specific. His brother’s life. Stanley would let Ford take care of him, would let Ford decide what was best. And in return, Stanley would never want for anything ever again, Ford would ensure it. And even if Stanley did decide to be difficult someday, Ford would never dare to reprimand him for expressing his feelings.

“I’ll have to hire the Corduroy family to add another room for your workout equipment.” Ford said with a pleased smile, his free hand brushing Stanley’s hair off his shoulder so Ford could clean his collarbone and neck with the cloth that was in his other hand. Stanley helpfully tilted his head, exposing his vulnerable neck to Ford’s gentle ministrations.

“Could just workout outside.” Stanley drawled, twisting to lean against the lip of the tub so Ford could get to his other arm.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Stanley. What if it’s raining? Or snowing? Or cold? Having an indoor workout area is practical.” Ford tutted, taking the opportunity to scrub Stanley’s back, the man arching into the contact with a low, content sound that had Ford’s chest warming. As far as Ford was concerned if Stanley was happy, then so was he.

“If ya say so, bro.” Stanley sighed and Ford finally gave in to the desire to bump his forehead against Stanley’s temple, the man huffing in amusement but readily accepting the affection. Ford’s insides were writhing in excitement at the acknowledgement, something inside him settling as the title of ‘brother’ was freely given. Ford didn’t yet know if he was older or younger, but he didn’t care either way.

“Can you shift for me, please?” Ford asked softly, mentally adding a shave onto his to-do list for today when Stanley’s stubble scraped against his nose as Ford nuzzled him. Stanley adjusted his position, leaning back and sinking down in the tub until the water lapped at his chin before he offered one of his legs to Ford, correctly anticipating his intentions.

Ford started from the foot and worked his way up the leg, pausing at Stanley’s inner thigh in order to glance at him. They made eye contact and Stanley shifted, legs spreading wider to signal his consent, so Ford carried on. Stanley watched him through half-lidded eyes, struggling to keep them open. Ford couldn’t imagine how tired he must be, with the eventful morning that he’s had.

“Use the shower to rinse, then we’ll eat and you can nap until dinner. Sound good?” Ford chuckled, brushing wet strands of hair out of Stanley’s face, the man nodding with a sluggish blink. Ford unplugged the tub before curling his hands under Stanley’s elbows to help him stand up, pleased when Stanley let Ford support most of his weight for a few moments as he adjusted to being upright.

“I’ll fetch you some clothes. I won’t be far, just call for me if you need anything.” Ford urged, reluctantly relinquishing his grip on Stanley so he could mess with the knobs to get the shower going. Stanley even went as far as to shift in order to shield Ford from the spray, which was sweet but ultimately redundant considering that Ford’s sleeves and knees were already soaked.

“M’kay.” Stanley mumbled, ducking his head under the spray as he roughly ran his hands over his body to help rinse the suds off. Ford backed to the door, keeping his eyes on Stanley for as long as possible before he inevitably had to leave the bathroom, though he kept the door cracked so he could hear Stanley humming some song or another as he moved across the hall to their bedroom to rummage through his closet.