#and the day I had before we even found out just made me even more pissed to find the eggs

[lale-txt]

❦ IDLE HANDS (Kuroo x f!reader)

Shameless, you think. Unsure if you mean him or yourself when you narrow the distance between you two.

a/n: little something for @husbandograveyard ♡ writing this made me a Kuroo girlie. i get it now. i really, REALLY do. also when i started writing this i was aiming for 1k or so idk what possessed me but here we are. maybe listening to bouncy while writing this wasn't the best idea (lie)

tags: f!reader, mild enemies to lovers, fluff, mutual pining, shameless flirting, food mention, bit of a slow burn, they're so in love your honor

wc: 3.7k

Kuroo Tetsuro is a heartthrob.

With his stupid messy hair and his stupid rolled up sleeves, showing off his stupid toned arms while he’s mumbling stupid sweet things to your favorite cat that’s currently coiling underneath his stupid big hand, getting the best belly rubs of her life from the looks of it. 

It’s not like you’re jealous or something, no; it’s just that you’ve been coming to this cat café for a year now and you thought you and the calico shared a special bond. Maru, who is just as her name implies, very round and very soft, has been sitting and purring by your side while you spend hours typing page after page of your next book. She’d also stretch out all over your laptop and remind you to take a break when you’ve been going at it for hours. Yes, it took you some bribery to win her heart but over the past months she really warmed up to you. Wow, she usually isn’t this friendly with people, you remember the café owner say once. 

What a blatant lie. 

Your peace has been disturbed. A slight shift in the universe when he showed up for the first time merely a week ago. It was easy to remember him, because he was sitting in your spot with your favorite cat purring in his lap, looking like he didn’t have a single worry in the world except maybe that untamed hair of his (and even this was kind of charming, you had to admit begrudgingly).

Sharing usually wasn’t a big deal for you–until it was. You come to this cat café almost every day, feeling much more inspired to write here than in the shoebox you call your apartment at the other end of town. Your landlady doesn’t allow pets, so this place has been a lifeline in the tiring times of deadlines and rejected book deals. At the end of the day there was always a cat rubbing against your legs, reminding you that not everything was bad and that no matter how severe things got, there was always a kitty waiting to be picked up.

You hold this place very dear to your heart, a secret gem you felt a need to protect. It is hidden away in a side street, far from the hectic buzz of the city. The interior is cozy, it isn’t too big and the owner, an elderly lady with candy cotton hair and knuckle tattoos, lives upstairs and treats the place like her second living room with all six of her cats. There’s never too many other guests around and in the corner seat by the window you can unravel your thoughts quietly. It feels homey, something you haven’t felt in a long time.

But now there is an intruder in a business suit and you didn’t really know how to deal with that new found irritation.

“That’s my spot.”

Balancing your laptop, notebook, a slice of carrot cake and a hot drink in one hand, all manners aside, you point at the stranger with your other. In your right mind you know it is rude to point at people, but to be fair he kinda started it by sitting where you rightfully belong. His eyes, a certain gleam in them, follow your movement down to the cat curled up on top of his thighs. With the amount of cat hair sticking to his suit pants you could only pray for him that he had a lint roller somewhere at his desk. 

He cocks his head to the side, giving you a boyish smirk that maybe would make your heart skip a beat if it wasn’t for his audacity. 

“Usually I ask someone’s name first and take them on a few dates before I let them sit in my lap, but I guess I can make an exception,” he replies and you never in your life before wanted to strangle someone so badly. If that wasn’t already worse enough, the tuxedo cat lifts its small head and slowly blinks at you before jumping down from his lap, as if it was trying to make space for you. My bad, didn’t know this seat was taken. Here, girl, you have it.

For once in your life you’re too stunned to speak. You watch the stranger check his watch and let out an almost inaudible sigh before he grabs his backpack (one that looks like he has had it since high school) and stands up to full height. He’s in your space now and you have to crank your neck slightly to meet his eyes. Mentally you’re adding stupidly tall to your list of things you hate about him. 

“Gotta get back to work. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

True to his words he is there the next day, too. This time around you managed to secure your spot by the window, three cats idly sleeping next to you on. You’ve been stuck on a paragraph for almost an hour now when the doorbell chimes and his figure appears at the counter. The cats look up with interest but you force yourself not to pay any attention to him, which is hard when his order is literally “I’ll have whatever she is having”, followed by a nod in your direction and this cheeky smile again. 

This damn smile.

“You didn’t strike me as a dirty chai drinker,” you deadpan when he takes a seat at the table next to yours. The café is almost empty around this time of the day, which is no surprise since most of the workers in this district are having a hearty meal for lunch and not whatever sweet delicacies this place is offering. 

He peels himself out of his suit jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. The same cat as yesterday jumps into his lap immediately after he sits down, giving you a look of “if you don’t want him, I’ll take him” and you almost roll your eyes. Kuroo (you learn his name from the ID he is wearing around his neck) seems to notice and he grins at you. 

“Then what did I strike you as?” he asks, his chin resting in one hand while his other finds the soft fur of the kitty, stroking it gently. 

You look him up and down, now taking your time while stretching out the silence between you two. Only the purring of the cats and the soft music in the background could be heard. At first glance he seems like your typical office worker in the three piece suit who spends his time filling out spreadsheets and drinking cheap vending-machine coffee from the conbini next door. Everything a little rumpled, himself included, someone so used to tristesse he doesn’t even notice it anymore. 

Only at second glance do you notice the small wrinkles around his eyes, not from age but from laughter. The dimples when he smiles down at the tuxedo cat in his lap, now showing off its belly. His calloused hands, atypical for an office worker, more like you’d see them at craftsmen or athletes. Something in his eyes that radiates warmth and an air of calm confidence. None of it is unpleasant.

“If I had to guess, maybe three espresso with a pump of caramel and honey,” you say, more to yourself than to him. Kuroo looks at you in surprise before barking out a laugh. You hate how you like the sound of it.

It’s the beginning of spring and you award Kuroo Tetsuro the title of the greatest nuisance you’ve ever met.

In the midst of summer, you pity him. 

“I’m just saying that maybe you radiate a natural fragrance of catnip,” you say as you stir your iced oat milk latte. Kuroo got you that one when he popped in during his lunch break and saw that your glass must have been empty for a while. By that time you were hunched over your laptop, trying to decipher your notes from last night. You had saved him a seat at your table, but if he asked you, you’d say you just happened to put all your belongings on one chair and nothing more.

The man is swarmed by the cats of the café. They didn’t even bother to hide who their favorite is, rubbing around his legs, sitting pressed to his side or just straight up climbing his shoulders. It would’ve been enviable if he wasn’t already sweating from wearing a suit in the humid heat of the summer month alone. 

“Can you get at least one or two off me?” he asks and his tone is close to pleading. It makes you laugh as you stretch out in your light sundress, giving him a look as if you’re contemplating his question. 

“I could, but it’s really much funnier seeing you struggle like that. Serves you well,” you chime and pull out your phone, snapping a photo of this moment. You hold it up for him to see, a kitty phone charm dangling from it (they just happened to come in a pack of two and you gifted him one out of generosity, nothing more). He snatches it from your hands and makes a face.

“So you like seeing me suffer, is that how it is?” he snarls at you, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His slender fingers fly over the screen of your phone and you let out a small gasp.

“Don’t you dare delete it,” you huff and grab the orange tabby mercifully off his shoulders so you can lean over him better. 

“Relax. I’m only saving my contact info since you never bothered asking me for it despite being my constant for the past three months.”  

There was this cheeky smile again. You blame the flutter of your heart on the caffeine and not the way his pupils are dilating when he gazes at you. 

He loosens his tie and unbuttons his shirt slightly, just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. Suddenly you’re very aware of how close you’re leaning over at him. Kuroo gives you a little glance from the corner of his eyes and taps the now revealed side of his neck. 

“What do you say? Do I really smell like catnip?” 

Shameless, you think. Unsure if you mean him or yourself when you narrow the distance between you two. You can feel the heat radiating off him and for a brief moment you wonder what it would feel like to press open mouth kisses on his skin. Your eyes flutter shut as you engrave this moment into your heart. 

“Definitely irresistible,” you murmur once you pull back–reluctantly, as if a hidden part of you ached to be in his proximity, in the inside of his soul.  

By autumn you miss him on the days when he was gone. 

He traveled quite a lot. You didn’t know one would need to be on the road so much for something as simple as volleyball (you can imagine the look he’d give you over this). But he was passionate about it and that’s also something you liked about him. The way he talks about the sport holds so much love and you wonder what it would feel like to be loved by a man like Kuroo Tetsuro.

Gentle, you think. Honest. Treasured.

A tap against the window pulls you out of your thoughts and when you look up, you're met with a pair of honey glazed eyes. Whatever he sees when he looks at you, it’s making him grin from ear to ear before he hurries towards the entry door, eager to meet you again.

Kuroo is holding up a bag, some brand of sweets from Hokkaido he’s been texting you about, but you didn’t think he’d actually go so far and bring you some. He sounds breathless when he speaks, as if he rushed all the way to get here and when he keeps on rambling, you order him and yourself a hot matcha boba and a chocolate mousse to share. 

The cats are happy to see him back too, and you laugh when you help him take his scarf off before some kitty claws can tangle up in it. It was a precious gift after all, one you knitted for him, under the feeble excuse of “keeping my hands busy helps me come up with ideas for my writing process”. It makes you happy to see him wearing it, and the color makes you feel as if you took the red string of fate connecting you two and turned it into something to help him stay warm.

You think a lot about kissing him now. Sometimes your hands would brush against each other on the table, neither of you pulling away. He spends his lunch breaks with you and comes to pick you up from the café in the evening, walking you to your station. The two of you still bicker at each other, but underneath lies a certain kind of softness, one that feels too fickle to put it into words just yet but also too bright to ignore. The leaves of the trees are falling and so are you. 

With winter comes snow and the quiet realization that maybe, just maybe, it’s unadulterated love. 

You spend a lot of time huddled together in the corner by the window now. He looks over your shoulder when you type on your laptop, one arm resting idly on the back of your chair, fingertips brushing against your spine sometimes. You don’t think he even notices when he lets them run up and down there. Often you forget which cups on the table belong to who but it doesn’t matter since you order the same things anyway and because this could count as an indirect kiss, right? 

On some days he’d just close his eyes and laze next to you, with his head resting on his folded arms on the table and your fingers idly weaving through his hair, before he had to hurry back to work. On others he would tell you excitedly about a special match he was organizing and you can hear the pure joy in his voice. It’s contagious.You get them now, the cats. How drawn they are to him, like chasing sunbeams. 

He spells L-O-V-E on your back with his fingertips and something inside of you softens. 

Then there’s snow, more snow than you’ve ever seen in your entire life, and Kuroo comes to pick you up early, the tip of his ears bright red and his cold hands seeking yours to warm them up. 

“I’m really sorry but I’m closing the shop early today,” the café owner apologizes and puts a box of cinnamon rolls for you on your table. “You two kittens better hurry and get home, too. On the radio they said they’re gonna shut everything down soon.”

It can’t be that bad, you think. But when Kuroo and you stand in front of the closed station, it dawns on you that maybe you’ve underestimated the amount of snow a teeny tiny bit. You huddle a little closer to him for warmth and to shield yourself against the snow as you pull out your phone. 

“If there’s no more trains running, I better start looking for a place to stay. With some luck there’s still a few vacant rooms in the hotels nearby…”

Kuroo puts a hand over your screen and gives you a stern look when you open our mouth to protest. 

“You can crash at my place for the night. I live close by," he mutters and it doesn’t really leave room to decline his offer. Maybe it’s not really an offer to begin with; more of a silent pleading to stay. Not just for the duration of the snowstorm, but forever maybe. 

His place is just like you imagined it would be like. Not overly spacious but it feels like a home in every corner. There’s photos on the wall, back from when he was a kid to his high school and college years, and pinned with a magnet to the fridge is also a polaroid he took of you back in summer. In it you’re laughing about something silly he said and you’re holding up two cats at once, one strap of your sundress almost slipping down your shoulder. You still remember how he fixed it for you because you didn’t have a hand free and how his fingers lingered for longer than necessary. 

You hope one day he won’t pull his hand away anymore.

The apartment is certainly not messy but you can see he lives in this place, with some papers scattered across the coffee table and the unmade bed and the slightly concerning stock of buldak noodles in the kitchen shelves (in which you peeked out of curiosity into while he was in the shower). You imagine yourself living here, too. Maybe you’d get a cat on your own and plants for the balcony once this winter was over. 

The laundry machine rumbles quietly in the background after you step out of the bathroom, too. It wasn’t just the steamy shower that had your cheeks feel hot, it was also his clothes that he put out for you, with his scent lingering on them and engulfing you softly. Kuroo appears with two cups from the kitchen and pauses when he sees you, his mouth opening and closing again as his eyes flicker over your form. He doesn’t want to stare but also he does want to stare, wants to drink you in and memorize every detail of this moment. 

You can see his Adam's apple bop slightly when he swallows and nods over to the couch, and it’s at this moment that you know you’re not leaving this apartment again before every inch of your skin has been plastered in kisses. 

“It’s not as good as the one’s at the café but I tried my best for my special guest,” he laughs quietly when he hands you your cup, his fingers brushing against yours. The hot chocolate looks impossibly sweet, with whipped cream and sprinkles on top (they’re not ordinary sprinkles, you realize, but tiny cat shaped ones), and the first sip would’ve been enough to send you in some higher spheres if you weren’t in a state of bliss due to his proximity already. You put the cups to cool down on the coffee table and sink into the couch. 

Outside the snow is falling relentlessly, muffling the sounds of the outside world and opening up a new one, right here in these four walls.

In his arms. 

Without realizing you both settled down in your now familiar positions, only closer this time. Huddled next to each other, with one of his arms around your shoulder drawing you nearer to him. It feels natural, the way your head comes to rest against his shoulder and your legs thrown over his lap, the two of you sharing a blanket. 

He’s warm. Kuroo is so warm. 

And when he presses a fleeting kiss on top of your head it’s like everything is falling in place; the months of pining and yearning and unspoken desire. In the midst of a snowstorm both of your hearts are set ablaze, with a tenderness you haven’t experienced in this lifetime before. You sure hope he will find you in the next and the one after that as well because you never want to miss his embrace ever again. 

“That’s my spot,” you murmur and Kuroo laughs, the kind with his head tilted back and his chest rumbling. His grip around you tightens and he pulls you impossibly closer, till you’re really in his lap now, your head tucked under his chin. 

“Damn right it is.” 

You can feel his heart drum, or maybe it’s your own that’s doing somersaults–either way, it’s the same rhythm, a steady thrumming and rattling, begging to be felt. Time seems to freeze at this moment and you’re both quiet. Cat’s got your tongue. Kuroo has both arms around you now, and one of his hands settles on your waist, at the part where your sweatshirt is bunched up a little. His thumb draws small patterns against your bare skin, his touch featherlight and gentle.

You lift your head, only enough so you can catch his gaze. For the first time in your life you understand what it means to have your heart in your throat, because he takes your breath away with a simple glance. His other hand comes to rest against your cheek, cupping your face softly while his grip around your waist tightens a fraction.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he mutters and you can see his sharp teeth flash in the corner of your eyes when he laughs. 

“Like what?” “You know what.” “I think I’ll need to have it spelled out for me.”

He laughs again and this time he leans in closer till his breath is fanning over your skin and everything is happening all at once. Honey and caramel eyes asking you to drown in them. The heat of his body mingling with yours. Your fingers playing with the shaved part of hair in the back of his neck, sending small shivers down his spine.

“Oh, I’ll spell it out for you alright.”

Kuroo kisses you with all the gentleness of the world. It feels as natural as if he had done this countless times before, as if he had kissed you in every life prior to that. He hums into the kiss and smiles when your lips part for him so willingly, and then he deepens the kiss in a way that makes you forget your name for a heartbeat or two. 

Sweet, you think. Soft and saccharine. And warm. So warm. The same what loving Kuroo feels like.

[yinemw]

𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮'𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭: coloring Satoru’s eyelashes like the rainbow 🌈 (gender neutral reader)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: none, just fluff

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫: Gojo Satoru from JJK

𝐦.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“You love me, right?”

Gojo immediately hummed at your question, chewing his mochi as he entered the kitchen. Placing the packaging of the other treats he had bought for the both of you on his way home.

“That means you’ll let me do anything to you, right?”

“I’m both intrigued and scared of where you’re taking this” he raised an eyebrow, taking a seat next to you and placing a kiss to your forehead like he always did when he got home. “But sure, I’m yours, do whatever you want” he shrugged, knowing he was fully devoted to you. There wasn’t a task in the world he wouldn’t do if it made you happy.

“Great!” You smile, taking ahold of his hand and dragging him to the bathroom. His unfinished mochi almost falling to the floor from the sudden pull. A muffled yell escaping his lips as he chewed the rest of the sweet treat.

“I kinda like you manhandling me like this” he smirked after you had physically lifted the 6’3 man onto the bathroom counter. Reaching out your hand to wipe away the powdered sugar on his lips before starting to rummage through the cupboard “But shouldn’t I be the one standing for this?”

“You’ve got the wrong idea” you wave your hand in the air, practically bouncing on your heels from the excitement. “I’m coloring your lashes” finally you find the mascaras you had bought a few days ago online, the colors ranging from a deep blue to a vibrant yellow.

“You’re doing what now?” He took off his sunglasses, white lashes and ocean blue eyes taking your breath away each time. “When did you even get these? I’m with you all the time, I don’t remember you ever ordering these” he picks up the pink mascara with his slender fingers, inspecting it closer.

“Remember the day you bet Suguru you could eat more mochi’s then him? And you passed out after the sugar rush?”

“No…”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought” you giggle, opening the green mascara and giving it a few pumps to see the color. “This will work so well on your lashes Toru, I’ll just need to use a smaller brush to color each section of your eyelashes the different colors” you think out loud, already searching for said brush.

Satoru was patiently sitting on the counter, feet dangling back and forth like a small child. He loved seeing you so happy and passionate about something, especially if it involved him.

“Ah-ha! Found one!” No time was wasted before you opened each mascara tube, taking a little of the color on the brush and starting to section Satoru’s lashes by color.

“What’s wrong?” He asks after a few seconds, seeing the frown between your browns. Your hands carefully holding his head in place as you worked slowly.

“I don’t think I’ve been this close to your eyeball before, it’s distracting” you mumble, biting your lower lip as a habit of concentration. Adding the red color over his lashes. Soon enough there wasn’t a trace of the pearly white color of his long lashes.

Storu lets out a snicker, placing his large hands on your hips to pull you even closer. Trapping you between his legs. All he could do was watch your concentrate as he tried to keep as still as possible, knowing you’d get all pouty if he made you mess up your masterpiece.

It took a few minutes, but you finished eventually. Placing the brush back down on the counter and letting satoru jump down. “Personally, I think I did a great job” you say proudly, watching as Satoru bats his eyelashes in the mirror. Who could blame him, he looked even prettier than usual with his rainbow lashes. “I don’t even care if you like it or not, this is not the last time I’m doing this”

“We should do my hair next”

“What?!”

He turns around to look back at you, such a genuine and almost childlike smile on his lips. “We should color my hair rainbow!”

Your jaw was practically on the floor, because how was he reading your mind? He wants you to color his hair rainbow? Willingly? He will let you? “And put a bow in it?”

“And put a bow in it!”

𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑏𝑦: ★

[loverslodge]

shifted for you

summary: bucky was stuck in a pup form till you came in his life

pairings: shifter!bucky barnes x reader

warnings: fluff, angst, SMUT, nudity, reference to his injury, barely a plot

A/N: this is the fic that is for my over 100 followers. thank you all for loving my work and following me. i am not good at interactions so i apologize i come off as snobby but i do encourage you to leave requests and messages.

Bucky was a shifting White Wolf till Hydra had ruined his shifts and he was stuck in pup form, even after Steve had found him.

The Avengers helped him but he could never shift back to himself and so Tony made Bucky a special communication device so he didn't have to bark every two seconds because everyone wanted to pet his cute ass.

One day he and Steve were ambushed and they got separated and Bucky would have gotten back, only if he knew what part of the city he was lost in and he had also lost his communication device.

You were walking home after a stressful day at work when you heard small whimpers coming from an alley.

You stopped and looked in the alley to see a roughed up pup with two electric blue eyes staring back at you.

“It's okay, little buddy. I'm not gonna hurt you.” You walk slowly and crouch down to approach the whimpering pup. “Let me help you. I promise I will try to find your owner.”

You were close enough to hold it but you held out your hand instead, wanting the pup to sniff and make sure you really meant him no harm.

He slowly walks over a little sniffs around your hand and he gives you the sweetest look and you give him your brightest smile but he struggled to walk to you so you whipped it up in your hand and pulled him close to your chest.

You brought it to the new vet that had opened near your house. The vet examined the wolf pup and gave him a suspicious look. The vet gave you a few tips and tricks on how to help the pup and gave you some supplies that would last you a few days before you could go shopping for them.

The pup had a metal left front leg that kept his balance. You figured it was from the previous owner. On your walk home, the pup stayed alert and kept on looking around. You found it adorable how smart and alert he was.

When you reached your apartment, you let him down and he cautiously made his way from one to another while you set up his stuff

You bent down to look at his neck. “I don't see any collar on you. How will I know what's your name and who's your owner? Do you have a name, Little Wolf?”

As if he could understand you, he nodded which shocked you. Perhaps this was a very well trained pup. “Ok. Well, you can't talk so I will have to find a way for you to spell your name out to me. Can you spell?”

After waiting a beat, the pup nodded again and you nodded back. You looked around to find a way to interact with him. You rummaged around the apartment to find something but couldn't come up with anything.

Meanwhile, you had poured food for the pup in his bowl but he wasn't eating it, giving it a disgusting look. He just drank the water and trotted to sit on the carpet in the living room.

“You've at least got to eat to keep the strength up. Do you not like the food?” He shook his head in no.

“Then what do you eat? Do you eat human food?” He nodded yes.

“You are a very weird wolf and your owner must be even weirder for feeding you human food.”

When your pizza arrived, you pulled out a spare plate for the pup to eat in. you turned on Stranger Things and were watching the scene where Will’s mother had written alphabets all over the wall for him to interact with her.

That clicked in your mind and you immediately pulled out a large paper and wrote alphabets on them for the pup to walk and put his paw on them.

“Here, now we can talk. Let's start by you telling me your name, Little Wolf.”

The pup trotted on the paper and put his paw on the alphabets and you wrote them down on your phone to stay up to speed.

B-U-C-K-Y

“Bucky? Is that your name?” The pup nodded a bit more enthusiastically.

“Well Bucky, looks like you're stuck with me for a while. At least till I find your owner.”

………………….

It had been almost a month since you had Bucky in your life. The pup hadn’t grown at all but you were used to having him around.

You had learnt quite a few things about him.

He loved sweet food, especially pancakes.

He would whine if he didnt see you for more than 15 minutes.

He was very alert and protective of you.

He loved to cuddle against your chest and crook of your neck.

Last but not the least, he has nightmares often but once you rub his head gently and coax him to sleep, he would cuddle into you and go back to sleep.

This is why he has been sharing the bed with you and you thought you were spoiling him but you couldn't see him sleep alone and have nightmares.

You work from home often but you go to the office from time to time to get a change of scenery.

So whenever you're working from home, he would snuggle into your lap.

But every time you left, he would be whimpering and whining the entire day till he hears you walk in.

“Hey Bucky! How has your day been? Did you do anything instead of missing me?” You teased the little pup. Bucky humphed and trotted away from you. “Aww, don't be like that. I was just teasing.”

You swooped down and held him closer to your chest and kissed his head. “I'm glad I found you, little wolf.

You give me so much comfort and you keep us safe, my fierce wolf.”

That night as you and pup cuddled, Bucky felt something shift in him and he jumped off the bed, trying not to hurt you.

As soon as his feet touched the ground, he just automatically shifted back to his 6 foot beefy human form.

Bucky excitedly walked in the bathroom and closed the door gently to not wake you up.

He looked at himself. He hadn't seen himself since Hydra had taken him. His vibranium pup hand had now grown with him, attached to his jagged shoulder.

Bucky must've spent an hour or so in the bathroom looking at himself. He slowly creeped out of the bathroom and stood right above you.

This was his chance to touch your face with his human form.

He's always wanted to feel how your skin would feel against his.

He caressed your face gently and it sent shivers down his spine.

Your skin was so fucking soft.

He wanted to bury his face in your neck and hold you close to him, make you feel the real him.

He had started developing a tiny (yeah right) crush on you.

You cared for him, cuddled him and shared everything with him.

He would find all kinds of ways to cuddle on your chest.

Your heartbeats always calmed him and your smell, damn, it was all he could think about.

And when you patted his head and caressed him and pulled him closer whenever he had nightmares, all he wanted to do was mark you up.

He leaned down and kissed your cheek.

He knew he would have to find a way to tell you about his shift.

But he didn't want to leave you either.

So he thought of risking it.

He tried shifting back and he did but this time he was a huge wolf and not a pup.

Then he thought maybe he should try shifting back to human form, see if it was still working and it did.

Bucky was, somehow, back to normal.

He turned back to his wolf form and climbed back in bed, placing his snout in the crook of your neck. He went back to a calming sleep.

When you woke up the next morning, you felt a wetness against your neck and heaviness on your body.

You shuffled to see that little pup and suddenly grew into a huge wolf that had taken over most of your body and bed.

His metal forearm was snuggly wrapped around your waist.

You slowly got out of the bed and went to the bathroom to get ready.

When you got out, you saw the wolf sitting by the bathroom door with, what looked like, an abandoned face.

He whined as soon as he saw you.

You bent down and laughed, scratching his head. “Oh little wolf, I would never go anywhere without telling you, you know that, right? And look at you! All… grown up in a night? Must be a miracle that have happened. But no worries, it's okay. You look more comfortable now than when you were a pup.”

Bucky rubbed his head against your hand.

His ears touched a fluffy thing and he turned to see that you were in nothing but a towel.

His primal instincts were trying to take over but all he did was let out a quiet growl to calm himself.

In his pup form, you would busy him with some task and change and he didn't really mind that but now he was back, all Bucky, and the attraction towards you was hard to deny.

You threw him a toy and thought he was distracted but his blue eyes were following your every move.

You had completely removed your towel and were moisturizing yourself.

The dips and curves of your body were being taken in by a certain blue eyed wild wolf. Your erect nipples and your glistened pussy was calling out to him but he held off.

Once you were done with moisturizing, you wore your traditional home pjs, shorts and tattered crop top.

You had decided to forego your bra and were just in your underwear.

Bucky was not someone who was good at holding off for this long so he turned and walked to the large alphabet paper to talk to you.

He had to let you know that you were living with a man, a shifter and not a pet.

You saw him walk to the paper so you brought out your own tiny pad to help you form sentences so you wouldn't get lost.

“I am not a wolf.”

You snorted at it but nodded your head to let him continue.

“I am a man.”

You got quieter because you had heard of shifters who were endangered and were mostly under hiding.

“I'm the Winter Soldier.”

You gasped.

“I don't mean you any harm but if you let me change i will explain.”

You nodded slowly and he shifted in front of you.

He was a god.

He was a completely naked beefy god on whom you want to jump but can't because of lots many reasons.

“I'm Bucky.”

Why the fuck is his voice so fantastic?

You could feel his voice vibrating through your wet pussy.

His cock is was right in front of your face and so close to grasp.

He was big and veiny.

You grabbed your bottle and drank entirely to quench your dry throat.

You got up suddenly, startling him and grabbed an old pair of men’s sweatpants and handed it to him with your cheeks burning red.

Even the sweatpants werent hiding his beauty.

He sat at the edge of your bed and patted next to him for you to sit down.

“I was lost when you found me. I stayed a pup because of my past but I was able to shift yesterday.”

He looked at you so innocently.

His blue eyes dripped with innocence and all you wanted to do was steal it but you held yourself off.

“I swear I would've told you the truth but it really takes a lot of effort for me to tap every letter and i didnt know if I could trust you after what I have been through.”

You pull him in a hug to comfort him.

His face is buried in the crook of your neck and your bodies are pressed together.

Your taut nipples were pressed tightly against his bare chest.

You felt him tighten his hold on you and he rubbed his nose against the crook, lazily kissing your sensitive spot.

“...Bucky…”

He lifted his head and brought his nose closer to yours and bumped it as if asking for permission.

You leaned forward and put your lips on his.

His primal instincts spurred and the kiss became more demanding.

“Tell me to stop, doll.”

“You're in charge, Bucky. Take what you want.”

He threw you in the middle of the bed and climbed on top of you, his lips not leaving your body.

He tore through your shorts, t-shirt and underwear, leaving you naked and writhing under him while his lips and teeth marked your body as his.

You moaned and mewled as he ate you out.

Your hand held his hair tightly, making him groan on your pussy, sending vibrations straight to your core.

“God, baby, you're so perfect.”

He loved eating you out so much and he kept at it till he made you cum three times, leaving you glassy eyed and panting.

Your naked bodies, pressed against each other, made the entire scene look like a painting.

“Are you sure?”

“Make me yours, Bucky.”

Bucky rubs his cock against your folds and your back arches, giving him the sweet sounds he's been listening to all day.

He slides his cock in and takes his sweet time, making you feel things your body had never felt before.

His lips move all over your body just like yours do to his.

He speeds up his thrusting and you moan out his name, making him go feral.

“Yes Bucky please.”

“So sweet, doll.” “So tight for me.” “not gonna last long, baby.”

His thrusts become irregular and you rub your fingers against your clit to match him.

You both cum together as he spills in you.

“Can I stay in you for a little longer?”

“Stay as long as you want, Bucky.”

“I want you.”

“You have me.”

“No no, not just like this. I want to be bound to you.”

“And how can you do that?”

“I mark you, bite you, bind you to me for life.”

“Do it, Bucky. I'm all yours to be bound.”

[seoltzuki]

Delivery!

momo x fem reader

fluff

Weekly Momo deliveries and you just want a little sweet treat!

a/n: based from a true story (I didn’t kiss the delivery person though, but we are very good friends now) wait kiss? oops spoiler! also this used to be on my ao3

hbd momo ily!

Every Monday, you wait for the knock on your door, signaling the arrival of your weekly supply of fresh fruits and vegetables from the local farmers market. You’d heard about the service from Tzuyu, who swore by the convenience and quality.

Before your first delivery, you had already made a little request in the online order form: “send a sweet treat, surprise me.” It was a tiny change to break up your predictable and mundane schedule.

Just a little something new!

Your first meeting with Momo, the delivery person, was something. You opened the door, eyes still crusty from sleep, and there she was: rolled-up sleeves, a half-up hairdo, and cute glasses framing her face.

“Oh, hey! Didn’t expect—uh, someone like y-”

She flashed a smile that could rival the sun. “Hi! I’m Momo! Hope the surprise is a good one!” she said, raising the bag higher to your face, her muscles working and showing.

You caught a glimpse in the bag: a pack of gummies poking out the top. “This is exactly what I needed. Thank you so much!”

Momo chuckled and shrugged. “Glad you like it! I’ll be sure to keep them coming. Have a nice day!”

With that, she left, but you couldn’t stop smiling. From that Monday on, your exchanges became something you looked forward to. Momo started adding a different treat each time, a little touch of sweet mixed into your groceries.

Mondays slowly turned into mini-breaks from life’s usual grind, and Momo would show up each week with her easygoing charm. You’d chat about the weather, exchange stories from your week, and laugh over the oddities that ended up in the produce bag. Once, Momo brought you an alien-looking fruit neither of you could identify, sparking a lively debate over how one might even begin to eat it.

One Monday, Momo didn’t show up. Instead, her replacement named Jihyo knocked on your door. And of course you asked,

“Momo doing okay?”

“She’s fine, just a bit under the weather,” Jihyo replied with a smile. “But she wanted to make sure I didn’t skip your sweet.” She handed over your bag, complete with a box of chocolates and a handwritten note: “Caught a cold. I’m fine—don’t worry. And here’s the weekly treat ;)”

In that moment, you realized it wasn’t just about the fruits and sweets anymore—it was more. The connection Momo had brought to each delivery, her attention, her care...

Her, her, her.

Each Monday after that was a little brighter. One week, Momo handed you a box of caramels, a playful gleam in her eye. “Going for extra sugar today. Hope you’re up for it.”

You giggled, “I trust your judgment. You're somehow always right.”

Momo grinned. “Hey, maybe I have a hidden talent for matching snacks to people’s moods. Or just giving the right treat to the prettiest person I know.”

Your small talk gradually gave way to deeper conversations. She’d share stories from the market—the quirky customers, the hectic mornings, the occasional disasters with fresh produce. You found yourself opening up too, laughing about the oddest things in your week, discussing favorite candies and ridiculous fruit facts.

One rainy Monday, she handed over the bag with a selection of comfort sweets: chocolates, marshmallows, the works. “Rainy days call for the good stuff,” she said simply, and you couldn’t help but feel seen.

Loved, maybe?

Another Monday, Momo told you about a local festival coming up. “They’ve got some amazing desserts there. Maybe you’d want to check it out?”

It sounded like a nice change of pace. So of course you agreed.

And of course you'd say yes to the cutest girl you've ever met.

When the day of the festival came, you ended up meeting Momo there, navigating the crowded stalls and sampling all the treats. At one point, she turned to you. “You know, it feels like I’ve known you forever, and it’s only been, what, a few months?”

You nodded. “Honestly, Mondays have started feeling like a whole separate world. All because of you Momo, thank you.” you whispered, linking your pinky with hers.

You didn't miss the way she blushed.

In the weeks that followed, you found yourself waiting eagerly for those Monday and the possibility of other shared moments beyond the doorstep. Then, one sunny Monday, Momo brought you a small potted plant.

“I thought your place could use a touch of green. Plus, plants are like natural mood boosters, right?”

Touched, you accepted the gift, realizing it was more than just a plant—it symbolized something more.

One day, as you sat together on your cozy couch, Momo turned to you with a soft smile. “You know, you’ve made my Mondays something to look forward to. It’s not just about the deliveries—it’s about you.”

You felt a flutter in your chest and met Momo's gaze. She looked so sickeningly cute, her glasses slightly crooked, her cheeks flushed red and puffed up.

The words hung in the air with hearts beating faster and butterflies flying harder.

Before you could respond, Momo’s hand gently cupped your cheek, her warm fingers brushing against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. She leaned in slowly, her lips meeting yours—soft, warm, tentative at first, then pressing with a little more certainty. The gentle pressure of her mouth against yours deepened as you both leaned closer, letting the moment linger.

When she pulled back, Momo gave you a small, shy smile, her nose scrunching up in that familiar way. “I really like you, Y/N.”

Her other hand slipped to the back of your neck, her fingertips tracing lightly along your skin, pulling you closer as her lips found yours again. This kiss was warm, unhurried.

“I like you so much.”

Another kiss.

Mondays would then never be the same, they’d be even better.

[moni-logues]

Reciprocity

Pairing: Yoongi x afab reader (Kintsugi couple) feat. A Fine Line Couple

Genre: established relationship

Word count: 5.8k

Summary: A couples' holiday with Suri and Namjoon highlights a particular problem between you and Yoongi.

Content: one reference to self-harm (cutting) but discussion of scars, oral sex (f. receiving), discussions of sex life stuff?, i guess some poor communication, overheard sex

A/N: yes, it's me once again with my favourite characters no apologies. i have been thinking about this since maybe even before i finished the series??? and i'm glad to have it finally out of my head. this is unedited and unbeta'd, written by me in the course of this one single day and well, here we are. This is set in the summer, somewhere a few months after the ending of the series.

* * *

“It’ll be fun!” 

Yoongi just nodded and continued carefully folding clothes and packing them in a bag.  

“You don’t want to come,” you continued, heart sinking a little. 

“Of course I do.” 

“Tell your face.” 

He smiled then but didn’t want you to see it, turned around to fetch underwear from a drawer. When he turned back, his face was schooled into something a little more neutral, polite. 

“I’m not saying it’s my first choice of holiday,” he explained, “but I want to go.” 

“Good, because you’re coming whether you like it or not!” 

You hopped off the bed, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and then moved into the kitchen to prepare snacks for the road. At the advice of your therapist, you were taking Yoongi at his word: if he said he wanted to come, you would believe him and it was not your responsibility if he was lying. Even though it felt like it was.  

A week in the sun had been your initial suggestion. Somewhere where the heat wasn’t a curse, but a blessing. Clear blue skies and cool water. Peace. Unbridled joy where the real world couldn’t touch you. Even you weren’t entirely sure when it turned into a couples’ holiday, but it was an idea that neither Suri nor Yoongi would ever come up with, and you weren’t sure about Namjoon so it must have been yours. Sounded like the sort of thing you would say. Yoongi had said yes and let you do the research, find somewhere not too far away, easy to get to but far enough to feel new, to feel fresh.  

He had been fairly tight-lipped about it since then. Got a little quiet when you brought it up, when you showed him tourism websites with activities laid out. He insisted he wanted to come but never quite managed to muster up the level of enthusiasm you’d hoped for. In a way, that was just Yoongi being Yoongi, but there was anxiety in you, too, and it was making you sensitive. You could see everyone hating the idea, hating the trip, having the worst time. The awkward silences, arguments about what to do or who should clean what. Namjoon had joked that he would have to force Suri to come and he had said it with a laugh but you knew it was true.  

You turned your head and looked out of the car window at the increasingly green scenes around you and bit your lip. It felt incongruous somehow to not be happy and peaceful when the environment was so lush and bright with life. With ease. With a natural kind of solidity that had stood for hundreds or thousands of years and was still standing. You felt small and silly to be worried about this but it didn’t stop you worrying. Yoongi’s hand found yours and, like it always did, made a warmth start in your heart. You closed your eyes for a second of intense gratitude and then turned to him. 

“It’ll be fun,” he said.  

And it sounded like he meant it. 

* 

You and Yoongi arrived first, took the back bedroom overlooking the lake at Yoongi’s insistence because it was the better view. You had stopped on the way for groceries and you stocked the fridge, took out food to cook for dinner, since it would be about that time when Namjoon and Suri arrived.  

The cabin was wooden and new, so new it still smelt literally pine-fresh. The sun was just starting to dip, dripping golden light over everything, spreading a thousand tiny diamonds on the surface of the lake. It couldn’t have been more picturesque. It made you want to send a postcard for the first time since you were a child.  You settled for texting photos to Taehyung who told you to stop messaging him. Your ripples of anxiety were peaking, anticipating Namjoon and Suri’s arrival and what sort of dynamic it would bring, how it might disturb the peace of this place.  

Yoongi tore you from the window and asked you to start peeling vegetables. You were glad of the task. 

“-t I don’t want to be here, it’s just going to be weird.” 

Suri’s voice came from the hallway and you froze. So did Yoongi. 

“I don’t know why you keep saying that-” Namjoon - “it’s not as if we’ve never spent time with them. You like them.” 

Suri’s hum in response sounded unconvinced.  

You heard the kicking off of shoes, could follow their footsteps into the living room, around the corner from the kitchen where the two of you were hidden. Yoongi put down his knife and moved to go, intercept them before they said something you didn’t want to hear, but you put a hand out to stop him. Your stomach was sick but you had to hear it. Whatever it might be.  

“She’s jus-” 

And they rounded the corner into the kitchen, stopped in their tracks when they saw you. 

“Hey!” Namjoon was the first to recover. “We didn’t know you guys had arrived already! Where have you parked?” 

“’Round the back,” Yoongi answered. 

He was looking at Suri and you were looking anywhere but. Face burning with shame—that this was your idea, that it was all your fault, that you should’ve made you presence known earlier, that no one except you wanted to do this—you swallowed and smiled as brightly as you could. 

“You made it!”  

Your cheer sounded forced to you; maybe Namjoon and Suri wouldn’t hear it. Maybe they would believe you. 

“Public transport is a fucking nightmare,” Suri said with feeling.  

“I told you we could’ve rented a car,” Namjoon replied as if they had had this argument already. 

“I’m not driving in these hills! You should do it. Right?” 

You flinched when she turned to you and realised you had to answer. 

“Uh-” 

“Yoongi drove, right? Literally what are men good for if not chauffeuring you around?” 

It was a lifeline for her, really, but you took it readily, gladly, anything to drive over the awkwardness and shame you were feeling. 

“She has a point, Joon,” you said, grinning at him. “You could at least get a licence.”  

Namjoon rolled his eyes indulgently, let you and Suri rib him a little more, smoothing things over at his own expense. You were deeply grateful.  

“Come and help us do dinner,” you said, ferreting out more chopping boards from the cupboard, handing over knives and ingredients.  

It would be fine, you told yourself as you diligently and with great focus, chopped an onion. It would be fine. It would not be weird. It would be fine. It would be fine.  

* 

It was fine. Dinner was cooked and eaten and cleaned up after. Drinks were taken on to the back porch, overlooking the lake, the heat lingering long into the darkness. It was not dissimilar to the other dinners you had had as a foursome. As long as you could forget what Suri might have been about to say, you were sure you could have a good time.  

* 

You woke the next morning, sun streaming sharply through a gap in the curtains. You rolled over, tucked yourself into Yoongi’s side even though you were already hot and sticky. You were willing yourself to fall back to sleep, even if just for a few minutes, and then you were sitting, eyes wide, ears trained.  

There was no mistaking the sound of other people having sex. You grimaced, settled back down in bed and pulled the covers over your head. 

“What?” Yoongi mumbled, not so much a word as a sound. 

“Can’t you hear them?” you asked in a stage whisper. 

Another grunt from Yoongi. Then you felt his body tense, followed by a sigh and a sleepy chuckle. 

“You’re the one who wanted to come on holiday with another couple.” 

You whined, prodded him sharply in the chest. 

“Not because I was anticipating this! Do they have to be so loud?” 

“This place is not exactly well sound-proofed.” 

“I so don’t want to hear this.” 

“Go back to sleep,” Yoongi said and he sounded like he was already halfway there himself.  

“I don’t know how you can sleep now that you can hear that.” 

Merely a hum in response. 

You lay for a few minutes, desperately trying not to hear the only noise in the house, and then you gave up. Threw back the covers and went into the bathroom to shower. The rush of the shower might not exactly cover it but it would give you something to do.  

* 

“Hey,” Yoongi greeted the other couple when they came out to join the two of you on the back porch, where you were sitting with coffee and fruit. “Just a quick request: could you please have louder sex? I’ve been getting a little too much sleep recently.” 

You and Suri both froze and you saw the blood swarm in her cheeks, red and hot. Namjoon just laughed.  

“I’ll see what we can do.” 

Suri swatted him harshly on the arm and he barely noticed, slung said arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, kissed her on the top of her head. If he felt embarrassed or awkward about it, it wasn’t showing. What was it like to be so self-assured, confident, relaxed about everything? Even with Suri’s face still pink, her mouth pulled into a scowl, furiously glowering at her boyfriend, he looked easy, his smile gentle and eyes bright. You envied him. You still felt silly and embarrassed about the previous evening, and embarrassed about hearing them have sex; he didn’t seem embarrassed at all to be heard.  

* 

Yoongi had insisted on washing up after breakfast. Didn’t let anyone else so much as carry a bowl back to the kitchen. He was taking his time on it, deliberately, carefully, putting off what he knew could not be avoided.  

He was rarely unaware of his own body. Vigilant at all times about its exposure. He had suffered years of summers under long sleeves and trousers, would suffer higher temperatures, more humidity if he had to. He regretted everything he had done to himself, but not in a way that prevented him doing it again. No amount of shame or embarrassment would stop him, it seemed. Not that it happened much these days, but the possibility was always there.  

Even when he was with you, he couldn’t let go. Even though you were sweet and kind and loving. Even though he knew there was a part of you that understood. Even though he could kiss your thighs where you had cut them and love you so much that it hurt, love your skin, love your scars (hate that you had them). Even though you kissed him, all over, generous and unsparing, even though you said you loved him, all the parts, every bit of him. He knew what he was and he found that breaking the habit of hiding himself was harder than the hiding had been in the first place. 

With his task finished, and all the others he had made up for himself (cleaning counters, fluffing cushions, clearing the dryer of lint even though they hadn’t used it), he had come to the point he could no longer avoid. He moved slowly up the stairs, towards the bedroom you and he were sharing; he stopped halfway up. He could see you through the door, left ajar.  

Your bikini was floral, cutesy, every bit you. The smile formed on his mouth before he had registered the sight. Then it was wiped away because he saw your face: your worried eyebrows, lip caught between your teeth. Your fingers ran over the scars on your thighs; your face turned towards the window, from which point Yoongi knew you could see Namjoon and Suri, already out, lounging. He could see cogs turning in your head, first this way then that.  

And then it wasn’t just the scars. You fussed with the top, fussed with the bottom, turned in the mirror to check yourself from the side, twisted your head around to catch yourself from the back. You ran a hand over your face. You picked up a slip of fabric—some kind of cover-up, a dress?—and held it up against yourself. 

He knew he shouldn’t be spying like this. He wanted to leap the remaining stairs and take you into bed where he would show you exactly what he thought of your body: your perfect, desirable, soft, body that he loved and loved to love. He wanted, briefly, to throw Suri in the lake and hope there were eels because he knew you were still thinking about it: last night.  

He knew that it didn’t matter much what he did because it wasn’t that easy. It wasn’t as easy as being told you were fine. He knew because you told him all the time but he still felt like there was something wrong with him.  

He carried on up the stairs and knocked on the door as he entered. Your face was immediately bright, free from clouds, as clear as the sky outside.  

“Coming outside?” you asked as he moved in closer, couldn’t stop himself kissing you just once, putting all his love into it, however brief, however small. 

“Yeah, just coming. You go ahead.” 

You nodded and skipped out and there was a deep tug in his chest. There was a pit of snakes in his stomach but, fuck it, he’d been bitten before. Everyone out there beside the lake knew him, knew what he was if not in full, lurid detail. He took a deep breath and fished around in the bottom of his bag for the pair of swimming shorts he had bought in a moment of madness and packed because he wanted to make the effort for you. He hadn’t expected to wear them—they were still fully tagged and pristine, ready for refunding—but here he was.  

He hadn’t anticipated the difficulty. He sat for ten minutes at the dining table in the kitchen, willing himself to get up and go outside. His legs weren’t all that bad, not the lower half. No one would care. You’d seen them before anyway. It wasn’t a big deal. He was telling himself all the right things but he couldn’t make himself move because he was thinking about all the people who’d seen him in his grossest state. Thought of the things some of them had said. Thought about their reactions. Thought about yours. Tried to focus on that. Reminded himself that it was you out there and his best friend. Suri was still a question mark but he also thought that she could go fuck herself if she had a problem with it because he was still prepared to fight her for potentially upsetting you. 

“I don’t know. I’ll go and see where he is.” 

Your voice floated over to him and that was it, the alarm call, the deadline reached. He stood from the chair and made himself move with he didn’t know what power.  

“Hey!” you cried, arms outstretched to welcome him as he approached the group. “I was just coming to look for you—thought you might have got lost.” 

He smiled, let you kiss him on the cheek, direct him into a sun lounger, sit down with him on it, not quite in his lap but almost.  

Suri raised a hand in way of a greeting; she was flat on her back, sunglasses on, straps of her bikini tucked away, her tiny body sizzling in the sun. Namjoon sat next to her, under the shade of a parasol, dug out of the cabin’s garage, book in hand. He nodded at Yoongi and kept reading. 

“I’m going to go in the lake,” you said, one hand resting on his calf. “Do you want to come?” 

He was putting all his energy into not looking where you were touching him, not noticing, pretending that this wasn’t the first time for he couldn’t remember how many years that he’d not been fully covered in front of people. He wasn’t sure what his face said, if his mouth said anything at all, but you were standing and holding out your hands for him so he must have said yes, let you lead him to the edge of the water and then jump in.  

The water was colder than he’d expected. He gasped and swallowed a lungful, came up spluttering. He wiped the water from his face and pushed his hair back. He blinked the water from his eyes and each frame brought you closer, until your arms were around his neck and your lips on his.  

“I love you, you know that?” 

He nodded. 

“I love you, too.” 

“I know.” 

Did you? Did you really know the full depth and breadth of it? The way he loved you was desperate and whole. He had loved desperately before, loved anxiously, a long time ago when he still thought it was possible he could be loved. There were times when it terrified him. You terrified him because you loved him and it was impossible. Panic seized him and he wanted to run, run anywhere, get as far away as possible until you and your enormous heart were nowhere to be seen. Then you would call him or you would touch him and the panic disappeared, a low-grade anxiety in its place.  

He hadn’t realised he had given up on it. Before you let him kiss you, before you kissed him back and said things he never believed he would hear, he had retired the idea of being loved. It wasn’t for everyone and it wasn’t for him. He took what he could get and accepted that his lot in life was nothing more. But he met you and it hit him square in the face: that he’d stopped expecting joy. That he was fine because he never expected what he deeply and desperately wanted: to be loved. 

And that’s why you were terrifying. Because he was getting used to you. Getting used to being wanted. Getting used to the idea that he could be wanted. Sometimes he thought he was expecting it. Expecting you to let him in your arms, in your life. He had to remind himself that he wasn’t owed anything, didn’t deserve anything. It was the other way around: he was in debt for everything he had been given by you, for being given you at all. 

* 

They say if you can’t beat them, join them. It was an expression Yoongi was apparently taking very seriously, as he slid his tongue down your torso, fingers already slipping through your lips, sinking deep into your soft, wet hole.  

You were less keen to join Namjoon and Suri in being overheard so you pressed a pillow to your face and moaned into it, still louder than you’d wanted to be. You bit down hard on your lip as your back arched from the bed. Every time, it was an aria performed like a concerto, Yoongi doing the work of a full orchestra suite at once. It was lethal and moving the ease with which he played you and it was somehow never the same twice. Never had anyone spent as much time with his face between your legs and it showed: he had learnt, with apparent ease, seemingly everything about what got you off: had learnt how to do it in a rush, how to take his time, how to make you squirt (a surprise more to you than him), how to edge you until you wanted to die, how to make you come and somehow keep coming. He had, on one unfortunately memorable occasion, given you a charley horse and a third orgasm simultaneously.  

You were approaching your second now, with sweat seeping into the bedsheets, and Yoongi’s tongue laving at your clit, his fingers rocking inside you. It was suffocating with the pillow smothering you, your hot breath making it damp, your breathing thick and swampy so it made you light-headed. You couldn’t have kept any quieter even if you’d be able to try; all your attention and energy fell on the mouth at the apex of your legs and the fingers inside you. An experience so in-body, it almost pushed you all the way out again, like your consciousness was hovering outside your skin, alert and alive, an electrical wire in a puddle of water.  

You came hard and gasped for breath when you pulled the pillow from your face. Yoongi kissed his way back up to you, sticky marks all over your sweat-wet skin. He was damp, too, tiny curls of hair stuck to his forehead, the T-shirt he slept in stuck to his back. You peeled it back, ran your hands over him, were reaching for the waistband of his boxers when he pulled away.  

“I’ll wash up and then make breakfast, sound good?” he asked, climbing out of bed and reaching for trousers. 

The words died in your mouth. You could see that he was hard, see the discomfort in the way he adjusted himself as he dressed; you wished you could see into his brain. It wasn’t the first time, not even the second or third and you didn’t want to have the same conversation again, with another couple in the house, with company. Knew it wouldn’t get you anywhere if you did. Knew he would not fuck you nor would he give you a real reason why not. You rolled onto your side, away from the door and pulled the covers around you, despite the heat, despite the sweat. You lay and you stewed and you wondered just what exactly you were doing wrong. 

* 

You tried to forget about it and it had been easy until you glanced over to see Namjoon swat Suri’s backside with his book, saw her retaliate by squirting water on him from her bottle, saw him pull her down in a tumble that was entirely playful until she kissed him. You turned away because you’d already heard enough, you didn’t need to see their foreplay.  

* 

“Did you guys buy ice-cream?” Suri asked later that evening. 

“No,” you answered. “Do you want some?” 

Suri nodded. 

“Yeah, there’s a shop down the road; I’ll go and get some. Anyone else want any?” 

“I’ll come, too!” 

Suri looked surprised, her mouth open (to put you off), then she shut it and shrugged. 

“Ok.” 

It was quiet, initially, just the soft rush of wind in the tops of the trees and the slight crunch of the gravel track under your feet. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

The rhythm of Suri’s feet faltered and then started smoothly again. Her answer was slow to arrive. 

“Yeah, I guess.” 

Embarrassment was worming through you, on its way to stifle you, to choke you so the words wouldn’t come out. 

“You and Namjoon have good sex, right?” 

Suri didn’t just falter but stopped completely. She looked at you guardedly, suspicious. You could feel her attempting to put distance between you, even as her feet kept still. 

“Is that... ar-, we’re trying to be quiet,” she answered eventually. 

You laughed not because it was funny but because you were nervous. 

“No, it’s not about that. It's... I mean, you do, right?” 

“Yes.” 

You were stuttering over your next question, not having planned this conversation, not really knowing what you wanted out of it. 

“Don’t you and Yoongi?” Suri asked, beating you to it. 

“We do. Kind of. Yes, but also...” 

Your face was flaming, hot pricks of sweat beading in your scalp at the embarrassment of this, at having to ask someone about your sex life—someone that wasn’t Taehyung anyway—someone who definitely did not want to be having this conversation either. 

“The thing is,” you persevered, “he goes down on me, like a lot. Or not a lot but sometimes, well, often, he...”  

Your fists clenched and unclenched at your sides. 

“He goes down on me and then we don’t have sex and I don’t know what I’m doing wrong or why he doesn’t want to fuck me.” 

You let it out in a rush, looking somewhere over Suri’s left shoulder because you couldn’t bear to look at her directly, to see her face reacting. She was quiet for a moment or two and you stewed, boiling in your self-consciousness, steaming with shame.  

“Have you asked him?” 

“Yes, of course! He just says he doesn’t want to or ‘it’s ok’ or that I don’t have to reciprocate or that he’s fine. But I'm not fine! I’m clearly shit at sex! And blowjobs because he doesn’t want those either!” 

And it was the embarrassment, mostly, but you felt tears burn in your eyes, felt your bottom lip wobble and as much as you did not want to have this conversation, you certainly didn’t want to cry during it. 

“Does Namjoon ever...” and you couldn’t finish the question because you knew the answer and didn’t want to hear it. 

“Nah, if he’s even the slightest bit turned on, he’s doing something about it. Well, I'm doing something about it, you know what I mean.” 

You cursed softly, tried to kick at the gravel in your flipflops.  

“I just wish he would tell me what I’m doing wrong so I can fix it.” 

Your embarrassment, bright enough to have burnt away now, had left you sad, miserable in fact, that you couldn’t please your boyfriend and he was being too nice to tell you so. Sad because you couldn’t give him what you wanted to, what he gave you. Miserable that you were failing where you wanted to succeed. 

“Do you ask him directly at the time?” 

“Huh?” 

“I mean, look, I’m the last person who should be giving anyone relationship advice of any kind, ok? I really don’t know how to do anything but are you asking him why he doesn’t want to have sex right now, or have you talked about it at a completely unsexy time? Because Namjoon is barely sapient when his dick is hard; his brain is entirely in his crotch.  

“Literally the only thing I have learnt over the last year is that, as horrible as it is, you have to talk about stuff, especially when you don’t want to talk about it. So maybe just talk to him again but- oh, I don’t know! I’m not good at this. But if he’s not given you a proper answer, make him give you one. You should at least know what the problem is, if there even is one, right?” 

You thought about it. Thought about how quickly you let the subject drop, let Yoongi brush you off because you didn’t really want to have the conversation at all, didn’t want to know the answer—or rather you didn’t want to hear Yoongi say it.  

You nodded, thanked her quietly for her help and you walked the rest of the way to the shop in silence. You picked an ice-cream at random and a random one for Yoongi, too, then you walked back. Suri tried to make conversation with you and you were grateful for it, for her. You didn’t know if she liked you, found her impossible to read, and often got the impression that she’d rather be anywhere else, but she was making an effort and it meant something to you. 

* 

“Can I ask you something?” you started timidly as you settled in bed that night. 

“Yeah.” 

You were quiet for a moment and Yoongi frowned, trying to work out what had upset you. You had been quieter than usual all evening and he wondered if Suri had said something to you; you had come back from the shop with two melona ice-creams, which you hated.  

“Am I bad in bed?”  

He blanched. Didn’t really understand the question because you weren't. Not in the slightest. The sex he had with you was as close to perfect as sex could be. He sometimes felt deranged in how much he wanted you, felt dirty for it even, like it somehow besmirched your honour for him to think about you when he touched himself. Like he would contaminate you with his need to have you. It often took all he had in him not to fuck you. 

“What do you mean?” 

Your mouth was pouty and your eyebrows drawn close. You didn’t look angry for which he was grateful, but you were sad and frustrated for which he was not. 

“You go down on me all the time and then we don’t have sex after! You don’t let me reciprocate! I can’t do it better if you don’t tell me what I’m doing wrong in the first place!” 

It was like static was fuzzing up his brain. He knew the words but couldn’t understand them coming out of your mouth. He had thought he was doing the right thing. Giving not taking. Or taking only sometimes, but keeping the balance firmly tipped towards you. You always offered because of course you did: you were wonderful and kind and, for reasons he could rarely fathom, you cared about him.  

“Yoongi!” 

In a tone he almost never heard, genuinely annoyed, if also pleading and anxious.  

He blinked, tried to find an answer. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Of course you do! It happened this morning! It happens at least half the time! I don’t understand why you don’t want it.” 

And his heart was suddenly hammering because he could see that he had got it wrong but he wasn’t quite sure how. Colour drained from his face because you were upset, really, genuinely upset and it was his fault and if he could have squashed himself like a bug under his own shoe, he would have.  

He tried to see what he had not seen, what he had missed, what maybe he had ignored. Could only see instead the times before, with other partners, when he’d try to initiate and be rebuffed, when he never asked for anything because he knew he wouldn’t get it anyway and, besides, it was ugly to ask, to want, to demand for something someone else didn’t want to give. He had spent so much time and effort learning his partners’ bodies, trying to make up for everything he lacked. He knew he was good at it. Knew it, was sure of it. Wasn’t he? Was it not enough? Was he still missing something? 

“I do,” he said, voice hushed as though it hurt to say. “I do want it.” 

“Then why do you always brush me off?” 

He felt stripped like old paint. Had to look at you, though the embarrassment was excruciating. 

“I didn’t think you really wanted it.” 

And it sounded stupid when he said it out loud, really stupid, but it was the truth. 

“What?!” 

You really needed to hear him say it again. That he didn’t think you wanted it, even though you had explicitly asked. Even though you had sometimes tried, feebly, to insist.  

“I...” 

But he didn’t say it again, looked as though he couldn’t. Looked as desperate as you felt.  

“Why do you think I would ask, I would offer, if I didn’t want to actually do it?” 

“Because you give. You’re... You’re nice to me.” 

“Oh, fuck.” 

And you took a deep breath, tried to blink away the tears, sent them rolling down your cheeks instead.  

“Yoongi, what the fuck?” 

You saw him move, inch away just slightly, and you remembered who you were dealing with. Because he was Yoongi, your Yoongi, and he was warm and soft and sweet and funny and smart and you loved him so much that you forgot sometimes he still hated himself. Saw his denial now not of you but of his own desires. Remembered how long he had spent silently loving you without asking you to so much as hear a confession. Remembered how close you had both come to absolutely nothing at all, his disbelief overpowering his belief and his heart and his hope.  

You could see it from his side. See what he was trying to do, even if it was madness. Even if it was wrong. You could feel him retreat even now, tucking himself back inside his tortoise shell.  

“I’m so-” 

You didn’t let him finish, would not let him apologise. You kissed him, tasted the salt of your own tears between you, leant into him, let your arms wrap around him and pressed your lips to his, to his cheek, to his hairline, to his jaw. 

“Yoongi, I love you.” 

“I know,” he replied, but you weren’t sure if he really did. 

“I’m glad you think I'm such a nice person and everything, but I promise, I’m not offering out of the goodness of my heart. I’m asking because I actually want to. Like, really want to. Like, really enjoy myself and want you to enjoy yourself and want us to both enjoy ourselves together, y’know?” 

He nodded, couldn’t quite hold your gaze.  

“I’m serious. You need to know that I want to fuck you, ok?” 

And you laughed, though you were trying not to, even if it did feel a little ridiculous, having to convince your boyfriend that you wanted to have sex. 

He nodded again. 

“You promise I’m not a bad lay?” 

And you watched his face flick through shock and outrage and a kind of disbelief that become laughter.  

“You are not a bad lay, I promise.” 

“And what about blowjobs?”  

“Also good.”  

“You promise?” 

And you sat yourself in his lap, legs straddling his hips, sinking yourself low, pressing against him. 

“I promise.” 

“What if I say you have to prove it?” 

His head cocked to the side, playful, squinting at you, and you didn’t think that it was over, that he was suddenly convinced now, but with the burden of Being Terrible at Sex lifted off you, you felt not only lighter, but the deep, heavy, familiar drag of desire raise its head. 

“Prove it?” 

You shifted your hips again, deniably but definitely, and put your lips to his ear. 

“Prove that you like it when I suck your cock.” 

His hands gripped you tightly; you felt the bob in his throat when he swallowed as you pressed kisses down his neck and a stirring in his boxers that you sank even lower to press yourself against. 

“I’ll prove it if you prove that you like it when I fuck you.”��

“Deal.” 

* 

You were late up that next morning and Namjoon greeted you both from the back porch. 

“Hey, a little request: could you maybe be louder when you fuck? Suri and I are actually sleeping a little too well.” 

[iichfilwypj]

why, why, why | percy jackson

ღ percy jackson x daughter of hypnos! reader ღ warnings: ANGST (shocking tbh we know it is not gonna last) ღ wc: 646 pt 1 - pt 2 - pt 3 - pt 4 - pt 5

He carefully opened the door, trying not to make a sound. As he stepped further into the room, his eyes immediately found her, lying asleep so peacefully. She was curled up in the bed, the blanket draped over only half of her body, and the lamp beside her illuminated her face brightly.

Oh God, this was agony. The worst kind of pain he had ever felt.

She was so close, yet so far away. He knew she didn’t like him; the past few days, she had been distant, pulling away. A part of him, the selfish part, wished it was something else, like her damn period or something like that.

He stared at her; it became more difficult with each passing moment. He approached slowly, avoiding the mattress where he slept on the floor, and sat on the bed beside her waist. 

He thought it was impossible, but up close, she was even more beautiful. 

But she wasn’t his.

He quietly switched off the lamp and glanced at her once more. He couldn’t pull himself away just yet.

He noticed something in her hand, clenched against her side. The moonlight revealed it—a locket. He smiled faintly as he recognized it. He had given it to her a few months ago on her birthday. She had never worn it, and Percy found himself wondering if she didn’t like it.

"I really loved this gift, Percy." Her voice snapped him out of his thoughts. She was sitting on the bed, rubbing her eyes and yawning. She looked at him with bloodshot eyes, and in his gaze, she saw only despair. She frowned. “Are you okay-?”

"Tell me why," he said abruptly, his voice rough and shaking. She looked at him, her eyes filled with confusion and concern. Her hand reached out toward his face, but the moment her fingers came close, he intercepted it and pressed it tightly against his chest. "Why don't you see it? Why don't you feel the same? Why?"

The words hung in the air, raw and desperate. 

She had no idea what to say. Should she apologize for not being able to express her emotions? For closing herself off and distancing from him? For fearing that he wouldn’t love her the way she loved him?

That was no excuse. The boy standing before her looked like he was on the verge of falling apart, like he might shatter if she stayed silent for another second. 

She began to bite her nail, trying to ignore the intensity of his gaze. But she couldn’t for long, as she suddenly felt a gentle hand on her chin, lifting her face so her eyes met his. "Dreamy, I—"

He seemed to be in pain, his eyes filled with an emotion so raw that it made her heart skip a beat. She could see it in the way his brows furrowed, his jaw tightening as if the simple act of speaking was causing him distress. 

He was close to losing it. He wanted to tell her everything inside him. He wanted to say that he liked her –no, that he loved her. That he was in love with her, obsessed, whatever the word was. That he couldn't live without her. 

Percy loved her, deeply loved her, in a way that made her feel whole. But she wanted more.

And she waited, her breath caught in her chest, thinking that in this very moment, the thing she wanted was going to happen.

But instead, she only received an embrace, a soft kiss on her forehead, and a final look from him. He stood there for a moment, his eyes filled with a sorrow she couldn’t quite understand, and then he spoke, his voice quiet, distant. “I’m going to sleep.”

And with those words, he turned away, leaving her in the silence, alone with her own aching heart.

hi :) do i like this? NO I HATE IT NO ME GUSTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA i want them to kiss and love and all that but i don't want to rush it! anyways stay tune ;) ahre ni se si se dice así JAJAJA

[kcokaine]

Hi sorry but people on twitter are saying you’re a nazi and I was just wondering if that was true??

Not only is this quite outrageous take on someone without like 0 actual proof. I can admit in the "proof"(the zionism thing which people mean as Nazism) people used against me was me at most being insensitive/ignorant which i already sincerely apologized for because i wasn't edjucated on the matter whatsoever. It was not right of me and I never repeated that after i found out about the truth of things.

But also this is ridiculous. I'm not american, I'm from a country that has been wartorn by nazis and communists. All my life I was taught about atrocities these two sides did to central europe and other countries. If you had a swastika tattooed on you here you would get literally arrested or killed on the street. But that isn't even an argument, that's just me stating how stupid and hypocritical it would be of anyone to support such things from the area i was raised in. I'm highly anti nazi, anti facist or anti anything that is even similar to that. I stand with civilians and innocent people that are being collateral damage to war and governments. Therefore I'm not a trump supporter, i was always left leaning i was always for rights. Hell I'm a bisexual woman, how could i ever support someone like Trump in my right mind?

I do not understand where this claim is absolutely coming from and i dont understand how people disregard the severity of saying this online with confidence. This is such a serious accusation that can ruin reputations unrightfully and just shows how people have no interest searching for more proof or anything before saying serious things because all they care about is drama and that the finger is not pointed at them in that moment. We as society got too comfortable about canceling and just saying anything, growing into complete parasocial relationship within each other. You are either no person to them, no human being or you are a glorified idea. Everyone is a person behind that screen and if they ever got over they pride and looked themselves in the core they would understand they also do mistakes and not everything is black and white.

I'm hurt by these accusations. This isn't anywhere close to calling someone names or weird for having odd preferences and stuff in fandoms. This is claiming that I support actual genocide, suffering of real people which is fucking awful. It makes me sad, deeply hurt. I'm not saying im better than anyone else, i dont need to be, I want this genocide to end same as anyone else would. I reflected, I took criticizm to heart and I'm now trying to truly do something with my following, i retweet donation links and donate to the charities with spare money i have.

The truth is, no matter what I say, it will never be enough for the people that just want to have moral highground, they act like they never made a mistake, like they were never ignorant in their life. I wonder how they would like it if someone took something terrible out of context and endlessly kept posting it on social media just to feel better without you having a proper chance to redeem yourself, always being seen as a "nazi" in some people's eyes because someone lied about you. It's sad and I'm sorry you keep seeing this lie about me. I think about it every day. And with this message I wanted to let you know what I truly feel and think. If you believe it is on you, but I'm finally putting my thoughts out there after months of thinking.

[lvmoure]

His Five Love Language CS55

Pairings: Carlos Sainz x reader

Summary: Carlos Sainz and his five love languages during your vacation in Bora Bora with him.

Warnings: none, pure fluff

A/N: follow me on Wattpad: Snxzlvr

Words of Affirmation

The sky is painted in shades of pink and gold as the sun dips slowly below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the sparkling turquoise water. The air is humid and fragrant, tinged with the scent of blooming hibiscus and the salty breeze from the ocean. You lean back into the soft white sand, the coolness beneath you a welcome contrast to the day’s warmth, and beside you, Carlos is lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, watching you with that warm, unwavering gaze that’s become so familiar.

“You know, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of looking at you like this,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, yet laced with a kind of intensity that makes your heart skip.

You laugh softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ve been staring at me for the past five minutes. I was starting to wonder if I had something on my face.”

He reaches out, brushing a thumb gently along your cheek, his touch feather-light. “No, no. No imperfections. Just… you. Even the way your eyes catch the light here, it’s like they were made to reflect these sunsets.”

The sincerity in his tone makes you pause. You’ve heard compliments from him before, of course, but tonight there’s something more. Something that feels deeply honest, like he’s been holding these thoughts inside and they’re finally spilling out under the soft glow of the island sunset.

“Carlos…” you begin, your cheeks warming under his gaze, “you’re going to spoil me with all these compliments.”

He grins, that mischievous spark flashing in his eyes. “Is that so bad? I want you to feel spoiled. You deserve it,” he says, taking your hand and lacing his fingers through yours. “Every word I say is true, you know. Even if you think I’m just being cheesy.”

Your thumb traces circles over his hand, grounding you as he speaks, because something about the way he’s looking at you feels… monumental. As if, for Carlos, seeing you here like this has cemented something unspoken between you both.

“You know,” he continues, gazing out over the water for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, “I’m not sure if I say it enough. But…you make me feel like I’ve found something rare. Something I didn’t even know I was looking for.”

The words settle over you like the gentle waves lapping at the shore. It’s more than a compliment; it’s an admission, one that seems to come from somewhere deep within him. You squeeze his hand, leaning closer as you both sink further into this rare, quiet moment.

“Do you remember,” he asks suddenly, “that time in Barcelona when we got completely lost looking for that restaurant?” He chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the memory. “We must have walked for miles. And I was so sure I knew the way.”

You laugh, nodding. “You were absolutely certain. And yet, every turn was the wrong one.”

Carlos laughs, the sound rich and full, echoing into the quiet evening. “Yes, every turn was wrong, but the whole time, you never complained once. Not once. And I thought…” He pauses, running a hand through his hair, his gaze softening. “I thought, who else would be this patient with me? Who else would laugh and say, ‘It’s okay, Carlos, we’ll find it eventually,’ even when I clearly had no idea where we were?”

His voice lowers, and he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your fingers. “You make me feel like no matter how lost I am, I’ll find my way. Because I have you.”

The words settle deep within you, and for a moment, you’re at a loss for words. Carlos’s honesty, the way he speaks straight from his heart—it’s overwhelming in the best possible way. And as he continues to hold your gaze, you can see the sincerity behind every word.

“Carlos…” you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper, “that means more than you know.”

He gives you a small, almost shy smile. “Good. Because I don’t think I could ever say it enough.”

You spend the next few moments in comfortable silence, the sound of the waves filling the space between you. The sky has grown darker now, the stars beginning to blink into view, scattered like diamonds across the inky blue canvas. The world feels like it’s shrinking, just you and Carlos here on this beach, wrapped in each other’s presence.

Carlos shifts slightly, leaning in closer until his face is just inches from yours. “Do you know what else I love about you?” he asks softly, his voice a low murmur.

You raise an eyebrow, smiling. “I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “I am. But it’s true. I love the way you’re so… kind to everyone around you. I’ve seen the way you go out of your way to make people feel comfortable, even when you’re tired, or when you think no one’s watching. You’re… you’re just good, in a way I can’t quite explain.” His gaze meets yours, earnest and open. “And I admire that. More than I can put into words.”

You feel a warmth spreading through you at his words, a kind of glow that makes you feel seen and valued in a way that’s rare. “Thank you, Carlos,” you whisper, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “I don’t think anyone’s ever told me that before.”

“Well, they should have,” he says, a little defensively, before his expression softens. “I just… I want you to know, I see all these things about you. And I love every single one of them.”

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, and then another to the tip of your nose, his touch soft and tender. “You have no idea how much you mean to me,” he murmurs against your skin.

As the night deepens, Carlos continues to open up, sharing memories and thoughts he’s never told anyone else. With every word, he paints a picture of his admiration, his respect, and his deep affection for you, his words wrapping around you like a warm blanket, making you feel cherished and adored.

And as he holds you there, under the starlit sky, you realize that this—these words of affirmation, his open and honest love—is a gift you never knew you needed.

Quality Time

The soft rustle of palm leaves fills the air as you step barefoot onto the wooden deck of the bungalow, your eyes squinting slightly from the warm glow of the morning sun. The turquoise waters of Bora Bora stretch out endlessly, lapping gently against the shore, and the quiet hum of the island seems to slow time itself.

Carlos is standing at the railing of the deck, looking out over the water, his back to you. The sunlight catches the strands of his hair, turning them to gold as he turns his head and smiles when he hears your footsteps.

“Good morning,” he says, his voice deep, a touch raspy from sleep. “I was wondering when you’d wake up. Thought I’d let you sleep in.”

You stretch, feeling the slight ache in your muscles from the day before, but it’s a welcome sensation, a reminder of how much you’ve walked, how much you’ve laughed, how much you’ve shared with Carlos in these first few days.

The island has a way of making you feel like time slows down. Like every minute here is yours, and yours alone.

“I needed that sleep,” you admit, smiling back at him. You step closer to the railing, standing beside him and taking in the sight of the vibrant lagoon, the corals shimmering beneath the surface of the water.

Carlos reaches out, resting a hand on your back, a small, grounding gesture that makes you feel safe, settled, and content. “I’m glad. You deserve it.”

For a few moments, neither of you speaks. You simply take in the serenity of the place, the waves gently crashing against the shore, the scent of saltwater filling the air. You can’t remember the last time you felt so… peaceful. There are no deadlines, no obligations, just the endless beauty of the world around you and the person standing beside you.

“So,” Carlos says after a while, breaking the silence. He turns to face you, a playful glint in his eyes. “What do you want to do today? No plans, no schedules. Just you and me. I figured we could enjoy the whole day, no rush.”

The thought of spending the whole day with him, uninterrupted and unhurried, fills you with a quiet thrill. It’s rare—especially with his busy schedule—that you get this kind of undivided attention. And somehow, it feels like the perfect opportunity to really connect with him.

“I don’t know,” you muse, looking out at the horizon for a moment. “Maybe we could go snorkeling? Or take one of those boat tours?”

Carlos raises an eyebrow, glancing over at you. “I like the idea of snorkeling, but I think it might be better if we just… let the day unfold. What do you think?”

You smile, already feeling the warmth of his enthusiasm. He has a way of making everything sound exciting, even the simplest of ideas. You nod, feeling the peacefulness of the island seep into you.

“Let’s just see where the day takes us,” you agree.

He grins widely, his eyes lighting up. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

The next few hours unfold in the most effortless way, the two of you moving in tandem, like a dance. You start with a leisurely breakfast on the deck, with fresh fruits, croissants, and tropical juices. Carlos keeps you laughing, telling stories from his childhood, recounting the time he tried (and failed) to make his first attempt at cooking a meal for his family.

“I swear, I thought it was a good idea at the time, besides I was just 9 or 8 years old that time,” he says, shaking his head, a laugh escaping him. “I had everything ready—the pasta, the sauce, everything. But somehow, I managed to burn the pasta, over-salt the sauce, and even the salad was soggy. I think it was the most tragic dinner in family history.”

You chuckle, imagining the scene. “What did your family do?”

“My dad… well, let’s just say he’s a man of few words,” Carlos explains, shaking his head with a wry smile. “He took one bite and said, ‘Carlos, you’re a great driver, but cooking is not your forte.’”

You laugh harder, the sound of it echoing in the quiet morning.

“You’re lucky he was so patient with you,” you tease. “Most parents would have been horrified.”

“I don’t know,” Carlos says, leaning back in his chair, his hand resting on the edge of the table. “I think my mom was just relieved when I started getting good at something. I’m pretty sure she still talks about it to this day, just to remind me how I was, uh, not the best in the kitchen.”

You smile at the image of his family, the warmth in his voice as he speaks about them making you feel even closer to him. And as the conversation flows effortlessly from topic to topic, you realize how rare it is to have this kind of ease with someone—to just be present in the moment without the pressure of external distractions.

After breakfast, you both decide to take a walk along the beach, your feet sinking into the soft sand with every step. The island feels endless, its beauty unmatched, and for the first time in a long while, you feel like you have all the time in the world.

Carlos takes your hand, his fingers gently intertwining with yours. “This is perfect,” he murmurs, his voice low and content. “Just us. No rush. No one else to think about.”

You nod in agreement, your hand squeezing his. “I couldn’t agree more. I’ve never felt so… at peace. I could stay here forever.”

For a moment, Carlos is quiet, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. He looks down at your intertwined hands, his expression softening. “I’m glad we’re here. With everything that’s happened this year, I just wanted some time to really be with you. No distractions. Just us.”

You smile up at him, your heart swelling at his words. You’ve always admired his focus and determination, but in this moment, you see a side of him that’s rarely exposed—a side that craves simplicity and connection.

And that connection deepens as the day unfolds. You spend hours swimming in the warm, crystal-clear waters, exploring the coral reefs and laughing as fish of every color swim past you. Carlos is more than just a partner here; he’s your guide, showing you the beauty of the world through his eyes.

Later, as you both lay on a hammock by the water, wrapped in towels, he turns to you with a soft smile. “You know, I could never get bored of this,” he says, his voice steady and content. “Spending time with you like this… it’s all I ever need.”

You look at him, your heart beating a little faster, and realize, with perfect clarity, that this is what matters most. No distractions, no noise, just the two of you, immersed in the simple, quiet moments that create a bond deeper than anything words could describe.

As the sun begins to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple, you and Carlos sit in comfortable silence, watching the colors shift across the horizon. Every moment feels like it’s suspended in time, a beautiful snapshot of the life you’re building together.

For once, nothing else matters—only the shared moments between you, as if the whole world has faded away, leaving just you and him, side by side, in this perfect corner of the earth.

“This day… this whole trip,” Carlos says, his voice breaking the silence, “I want to remember it forever. Because it’s us. Just us, without anything else.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his presence and the weight of his words. “I’ll remember it too,” you whisper. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

And for the rest of the evening, you remain there, together—no rush, no expectations, just the two of you, fully immersed in each other’s company, sharing a bond that feels as timeless and deep as the ocean that surrounds you.

Physical touch

The sun is high in the sky, casting its golden glow over the sparkling turquoise waters of Bora Bora, the waves gently kissing the soft sand at the shore. You’re lounging on the beach, the warmth of the sun sinking into your skin, with the sound of distant laughter and the occasional seagull overhead. Beside you, Carlos sits close, his presence a constant, the easy comfort of his hand resting on the small of your back. Even in this paradise, there’s no escaping the magnetic pull between you two—the connection that, at times, feels like it could burn the very air you breathe.

Carlos’s fingers move in slow circles against your skin, an absent gesture as he watches the water, but you can feel it—the heat of his touch. It’s like a constant reminder of his closeness, of his attention, and of the fact that, in this moment, you belong to him, as much as he belongs to you.

You shift slightly, turning to face him. The soft breeze ruffles his hair, and there’s a faint trace of salt in the air. His gaze flickers to you, a glint of something playful in his eyes. "Is it just me, or does this place keep getting better every time I look at you?"

You chuckle, rolling your eyes affectionately. "Carlos, you’re terrible. Complimenting me every few minutes." You say it in jest, but his hands are still there—soft, warm, secure—and it sends a flutter through you.

He shrugs, unfazed. "Can’t help it. I’ve got a lot to say. You’re a distraction, you know? I can't think of anything else when you're around."

You laugh again, brushing the hair out of your face, but something in the air shifts. It’s as if the world knows this moment belongs to the two of you, and for the first time today, you notice the group of young men a few meters away, standing under the shade of a large umbrella, trying to catch your eye. They’re talking and laughing among themselves, but their glances flick towards you every so often, their gazes lingering longer than they should.

Carlos notices too.

The mood changes subtly, but it’s enough for you to sense the tension in his posture, the tightening of his jaw, the way his hand shifts from your back to your thigh, resting there with possessive certainty. He leans slightly closer to you, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmurs, “Don’t even think about looking at them. They’re not worth your attention.”

You glance over at him, raising an eyebrow in amusement. “Carlos, we’re on vacation. They’re just… admiring the view.”

His hand moves, his thumb brushing lightly along the inside of your knee, a soft, but deliberate gesture that sends a shiver through you. “I don’t care about that,” he says, his voice low and controlled, a hint of possessiveness lacing his words. “I don’t want anyone else looking at you. You’re mine.”

The heat in his words sparks something in you, a deeper pull, a desire for more of his attention. His touch, even casual, holds an intensity that makes your pulse quicken. You look at him now, your gaze meeting his, and for a moment, time slows. There’s no one else on this beach, no other sound, just the two of you and the magnetic force that binds you together.

"Is that how you feel?" you ask quietly, your voice barely above a whisper, but the challenge is there in your eyes.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your temple as his hand moves from your knee up to the curve of your waist. His fingers graze the exposed skin beneath your tank top, a touch so light it might have been an accident, yet it sends sparks to every nerve in your body.

“I can’t keep my hands off you,” he admits, his breath warm against your skin. “You’ve got me completely tangled up in you.”

Before you can respond, one of the beach boys—one of the group eyeing you earlier—takes a step closer, a broad grin on his face as he confidently approaches. He’s dressed casually, his sunglasses perched on his nose, his stance easy and relaxed. “Hey there,” he says, his voice smooth and clearly directed at you, a little too forward for your liking. “Having a good day?”

Carlos’s hand tightens at your side, his fingers pressing more firmly into your waist as he shifts, subtly, to place himself between you and the newcomer. The move is so effortless, so smooth, it feels almost like a shield. His posture straightens, a slight tension in his body signaling that he’s aware of the intrusion, aware of the potential threat.

The beach boy doesn't miss it. His smile falters just a bit, but he doesn’t back off. “I was just making sure you’re okay, you know? Bora Bora is a paradise, but you can always use some good company.”

Carlos doesn't even look at him. His hand on your waist subtly pulls you closer, his palm sliding down to your hip as he presses his body against yours. It’s an unspoken statement—one that makes it clear you’re not available for anyone else’s attention.

You glance at Carlos, raising an eyebrow at his territorial display. “Carlos,” you say, a little amused, but your voice drops slightly as his hand slides down the curve of your back, guiding you even closer to him. The physical closeness sends a spark of heat through you.

He looks down at you, his lips curling into a smirk as he pulls you slightly tighter against him. “What? Don’t you like me taking care of you?” His words are light, but his eyes hold a possessive edge, a fire that is unmistakable.

The beach boy, noticing the subtle shift in the air, decides it’s time to back off, retreating with a muttered “Sorry, didn’t mean to intrude.” You don’t need to look to know that Carlos has already won this silent battle, and the stranger is well aware of it.

As the young man moves away, Carlos’s grip loosens on you, but only just enough for you to breathe. His hand slides from your waist to your back again, his fingers gentle as they trace up your spine. The touch is soft, almost reverent, but it still feels like an anchor. It feels like he’s marking you—claiming you, even in the most subtle of ways.

“You’re mine,” he repeats, as if needing to remind you. His voice, low and steady, holds a tenderness now, an intimacy that only you understand. “I don’t care about anyone else, especially not them.”

You’re quiet for a moment, soaking in the intensity of his words, the heat of his touch. “You’re very possessive, you know that?”

Carlos looks down at you, his expression softening for a second, before that familiar spark returns to his eyes. “I don’t apologize for it. I don’t want anyone else getting close to you. You’re too precious to me.”

His lips find yours then, urgent, possessive, and hungry. His hand moves to cup the back of your neck, pulling you deeper into the kiss as his other hand slides to your hip. He doesn’t care who’s watching now. His lips taste yours with an intensity that takes your breath away, as if he’s determined to imprint this moment, this feeling, onto your very soul.

When you finally pull away, breathless, you see the raw, honest emotion in his eyes. There’s no holding back now, no pretending. He’s laid bare before you—his need, his desire, his love—and in return, you give him everything. You place your hands on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart, knowing that this connection between you is unshakable.

“You’re right,” you whisper, leaning in again to kiss the corner of his mouth, the soft stubble grazing your lips. “I am yours.”

Carlos’s eyes darken at your words, and he pulls you into another kiss, deeper this time, his hands sliding over your body with a sense of urgency that makes you dizzy. You feel him, all of him, every inch of his body pressed against yours, his hands roaming with a possessiveness that sends waves of heat flooding through you.

When he pulls away, just enough to look you in the eyes, he says, his voice thick with desire, “Don’t forget it.”

And as the sun sets over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange, you can’t help but feel the weight of his words settle into your heart. In this moment, you belong to him, and he belongs to you. And nothing—nothing at all—will ever change that.

Acts of Service

The golden hues of sunset spill across the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink, orange, and purple as you sit on the edge of the patio, your legs tucked beneath you, overlooking the lush greenery and the tranquil waters. Bora Bora, with its endless beauty, has become a backdrop for you and Carlos—an idyllic paradise where time feels like it stands still, and the world outside the two of you simply ceases to matter.

You’ve spent the day exploring the island, hiking through its hidden trails, laughing at the little things along the way—like when Carlos, in his infinite charm, slipped on a rock while trying to show off his balance. You both had laughed so hard that even the birds in the trees seemed to join in. But now, as the day winds down and the warmth of the sun begins to fade, a different kind of peacefulness settles over you.

Carlos, as always, is attuned to your every need, like a quiet force of nature that never tires of making you feel cared for. He’s always been this way—the kind of man who listens to your smallest requests and sees to them without hesitation. And today, just like every other day in Bora Bora, that care has been both subtle and constant.

You lean back into the lounge chair, closing your eyes, letting the warmth of the air wrap around you like a soft blanket. You’re almost lulled into a sense of serenity when you hear Carlos’s voice behind you, warm and steady, as he approaches.

“Are you comfortable?” he asks, his voice full of concern, though his tone is casual, like it’s second nature to make sure you’re okay.

You nod, smiling as you open your eyes and meet his gaze. There he stands, looking as effortlessly handsome as always, his hair tousled from the wind, a soft smile playing at his lips. But it’s not his smile or his appearance that catches your attention—no, it’s the way his gaze lingers on you, his eyes scanning you as if you’re something precious, something worthy of his time.

“I’m great,” you reply, the sincerity in your voice echoing the calm contentment that’s washed over you. “This place is perfect. And so are you, for making everything feel so effortless.”

Carlos grins at your compliment, his eyes lighting up with that trademark charm of his. He steps closer, pausing for a moment before kneeling down beside you, his hands moving to adjust the cushion under your head, making sure you’re perfectly comfortable. It’s the little things like this that remind you of how attentive he is—how much he values your comfort, your happiness.

“You’re sure you’re comfortable?” he asks again, his hands gently shifting the fabric of the cushion beneath you. “You’ve been walking all day, and I don’t want you to end up sore tomorrow.”

You reach up to place your hand over his, your touch a silent reassurance. “I’m fine, Carlos. You don’t need to keep checking on me.”

His lips curl into a smile, but his concern doesn’t waver. “I know, but I can’t help it. You deserve to be pampered, especially on a vacation like this.” His voice is soft, sincere, like he means every word. “If there’s anything you need, you just say the word.”

You feel a wave of affection wash over you as you look into his eyes, feeling the care and thoughtfulness radiating from him. His words aren’t just polite—they’re genuine. Carlos has always been the kind of person who finds joy in taking care of others, in making them feel special. It’s the mark of a true gentleman, and you’ve always admired it about him.

Before you can respond, Carlos rises to his feet and moves toward the small table beside the lounge chairs. He picks up the bottle of sunscreen, carefully unscrews the cap, and turns back to you with a thoughtful expression.

“Here, let me,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. There’s no room for argument in his tone, though there’s a warmth to it that makes you smile. He walks over to you with the bottle in hand and kneels in front of you, his fingers brushing lightly over your shoulders.

“You’re going to burn if you stay out here too long without sunscreen,” he warns, his voice playful but laced with concern. “I won’t let that happen to you.”

You chuckle softly, touched by his attentiveness. “Carlos, you really don’t have to…”

But he shakes his head, already uncapping the bottle and pouring a small amount into his palm. “It’s no trouble,” he reassures you, his eyes meeting yours, his touch gentle as he begins to rub the sunscreen into your shoulders and arms, his movements methodical and careful. “You’re here to relax. Let me do the work.”

You close your eyes as his hands work their magic, spreading the sunscreen over your skin with a tenderness that makes your heart flutter. The simple act of him caring for you—of him being so attuned to your well-being—fills you with a sense of calm. It’s not just the act itself, but the meaning behind it. It’s the thoughtfulness, the way he wants to make sure you’re always taken care of, even in the smallest ways.

As he finishes with your arms, he moves to your legs, gently lifting one at a time to apply the sunscreen. His hands move slowly, deliberately, with a level of care that is almost hypnotic. You can’t help but watch him, mesmerized by the ease with which he moves, the way he seems to anticipate your every need without being asked.

“You’re quiet,” Carlos observes, glancing up at you with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Are you enjoying the attention?”

You laugh softly, not able to hide the fondness in your voice. “I’ve never had someone take care of me this much before. It’s nice.”

Carlos’s expression softens, and he finishes up with your legs before sitting back on his heels. He looks up at you, his hands resting lightly on your thighs as he meets your gaze. “I like doing it,” he says, his voice quiet, almost shy in its sincerity. “I like making sure you’re happy. And when I’m with you, I want everything to be perfect.”

You smile at him, your heart swelling at his words. There’s something undeniably special about how he shows his affection—not just through words, but through actions. And in a world where words can often be hollow, his actions speak louder than anything.

“I’m really lucky to have you,” you say, your voice full of warmth and affection.

Carlos grins, his usual playfulness returning as he stands up and stretches. “You have no idea,” he teases. “But you’re lucky I’m such a gentleman. Not everyone would take such good care of you.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile tugging at the corners of your lips gives you away. “I’ll make sure to remind you of that every day.”

He chuckles, then leans down to kiss your forehead, a soft, loving gesture that takes you by surprise. His lips linger just for a moment, and then he pulls back, his hand brushing through your hair. “Just promise me you’ll let me pamper you as much as I want.”

You nod, your heart full. “I promise.”

The evening continues to unfold in the most effortless way. As the sun sets, Carlos insists on preparing dinner, despite the fact that you both could easily have just ordered in. He’s not the type to shy away from the kitchen, and it’s clear that he takes pride in making things for you. The way he moves around the small kitchen, chopping vegetables, stirring pots, and humming softly to himself as he works, reminds you of how thoughtful he truly is—how much he enjoys taking care of those he loves.

By the time dinner is ready, the table is set perfectly, with candles flickering gently in the evening breeze, casting a soft glow over the two of you. Carlos pulls out your chair for you, just like he always does, and waits for you to sit before sitting across from you with a satisfied grin.

“You’re going to love this,” he says, his eyes sparkling with pride. “I made my special pasta recipe. It’s nothing fancy, but I think you’ll appreciate the effort.”

You take a bite, and the flavors explode in your mouth, warm and rich, and you can’t help but let out a small moan of delight.

“This is incredible,” you murmur, looking up at him with admiration. “You really know how to take care of people, don’t you?”

Carlos shrugs modestly, though the pride in his eyes is impossible to hide. “It’s what I do best.”

And in that moment, as the two of you sit across from each other, the soft glow of the candles flickering between you, you realize just how much you’ve come to appreciate the small, simple gestures—the acts of service that Carlos shows you every day. It’s not just about the big, grand moments; it’s about the quiet, tender ways he takes care of you, making sure you feel loved, valued, and cherished.

“You’re amazing,” you whisper, your heart full.

Carlos reaches across the table, his hand resting over yours as he gives it a soft squeeze. “You don’t need to say anything. I’m just happy to make you happy.”

And with that, as the evening deepens and the stars begin to twinkle above, you feel the weight of his love—gentle, unwavering, and constant, like the steady rhythm of the waves lapping against the shore outside your window.

Receiving gifts

The evening sky is painted in shades of deep blue and purple, the stars beginning to twinkle like diamonds scattered across the velvet expanse above you. The air is cool, a refreshing breeze brushing against your skin as you sit on the porch of your overwater bungalow in Bora Bora, a cup of chilled coconut water in your hand. You’re staring out at the moonlit ocean, the gentle waves lapping against the stilts beneath the house, lost in the serene beauty of the moment.

Carlos is beside you, as always, but there’s a quiet intensity in his demeanor tonight. He’s been unusually thoughtful, more so than usual, and there’s a feeling that something is on the horizon—something he’s been planning, though you can’t quite place it. As if he’s trying to tell you something without words, his eyes flickering to you more often than usual, his hand occasionally brushing against yours, his touch lingering just a second longer.

“Carlos,” you ask, finally breaking the silence. “What’s on your mind?”

He looks at you then, a smile tugging at his lips, but there’s a hint of something else in his gaze—something playful, mischievous even. He leans back slightly, stretching his legs out in front of him, and with a slight smirk, he says, “Nothing much. Just thinking about how lucky I am to be here with you.”

You raise an eyebrow, skeptical. “I don’t believe you. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Carlos chuckles, the sound rich and deep, and for a moment, he looks away, like he’s trying to figure out how to say what’s on his mind. When he finally speaks again, his voice is soft, the words coming out slowly, almost as if he’s choosing them carefully.

“I’ve been thinking about how much you’ve done for me since we’ve been together. All the little things you do without asking, the way you care for me without ever expecting anything in return. It means a lot, more than you might realize.” He pauses, turning to face you fully, his eyes meeting yours with a sincerity that makes your heart flutter. “And I wanted to show you how much it matters to me.”

You blink, surprised by his admission, unsure of what he means by this sudden wave of gratitude. “Carlos, you don’t have to do anything for me,” you say, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “I’m happy just being here with you.”

His lips curl into a smile, though there’s a glint of determination in his eyes. “I know you don’t want anything. You’re the type who never asks for things, but I want to give you something. I need to.”

Before you can protest further, he stands up and moves towards the small side table next to your chair. You watch him, confused, as he pulls a small box out from beneath it. It’s wrapped in a simple brown paper, tied with twine, nothing too extravagant, but it’s the effort that catches your attention.

“Carlos,” you begin, shaking your head gently. “You know I don’t need gifts. Really.”

He ignores you, his eyes focused on the box as he walks back toward you. When he stops in front of you, he kneels down, holding the gift out with both hands, his expression soft but firm.

“I know you don’t,” he says, his voice steady, “but I want to give this to you anyway. Please.”

You take the box from him reluctantly, your fingers brushing against his for a moment before you pull it into your lap. Carlos’s gaze doesn’t waver, his eyes locked on you with a quiet intensity, as if he’s waiting for something—the moment when you finally open the gift.

With a sigh, you untie the twine and peel back the paper, revealing a small, elegant wooden box. It’s simple, but there’s something timeless about it—something that makes you feel a sense of warmth just from looking at it. You glance at Carlos, who watches you with an almost childlike excitement, his hands resting lightly on his knees as he waits for your reaction.

Slowly, you lift the lid of the box. Inside, nestled in soft velvet, is a delicate gold necklace, the pendant shaped like a small, intricate wave. It’s beautiful—stunning, even—but it’s not the price or the elegance that catches your breath. It’s the thought behind it, the way it symbolizes the island—the water, the waves, the very essence of where you are, of this moment in time that feels so special, so perfect.

For a moment, you’re speechless, overwhelmed by the gesture. You feel a lump form in your throat, the emotions rising up unexpectedly. But you shake your head, trying to push them down.

“Carlos, I don’t know what to say,” you finally manage to whisper, looking up at him. “It’s beautiful, but I can’t accept this. You really didn’t have to do this.”

He smiles softly, leaning in closer, his hand brushing gently against your cheek. “I know you don’t want gifts. But I need you to know how much you mean to me, how much you’ve changed my life. And sometimes, the only way I can show you is with something tangible. A reminder of what you mean to me.”

His words settle deep in your chest, and for a moment, you consider arguing again—telling him that it’s too much, that you don’t need anything from him. But you know deep down that it’s not about the necklace. It’s not about the material thing. It’s about the gesture, the thought behind it, the love that it represents.

“I know you don’t need anything from me,” Carlos continues, his hand still resting against your cheek, his thumb stroking the skin there. “But I want to give you things. I want to make you feel special. Because you are.”

You stare at him for a long moment, the sincerity in his eyes washing over you like a wave. You feel that familiar pull in your chest, the warmth of his love surrounding you. Slowly, you reach for the necklace, lifting it from its box. The pendant catches the light of the stars, the subtle gold reflecting in the moonlight.

“Okay,” you finally say, your voice soft, but filled with emotion. “I’ll wear it. Because it’s from you.”

Carlos’s smile widens, a mixture of relief and happiness crossing his face. “Thank you,” he whispers, reaching out to gently fasten the necklace around your neck, his fingers brushing your skin as he does. “You look perfect.”

You feel the cool metal settle against your skin, the weight of it comforting and grounding, a symbol of your bond, of this trip, of this love that feels both fragile and eternal. As Carlos finishes securing the clasp, his hands linger on your shoulders for a moment, his touch tender and loving.

“Do you like it?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he’s unsure.

You nod, your heart full. “I love it. Thank you, Carlos. You didn’t have to, but I’m really glad you did.”

He leans in to kiss your forehead, the kiss soft and sweet, a promise of more moments like this—of the quiet, meaningful gestures that define your relationship. “You deserve everything,” he murmurs against your skin, his arms wrapping around you in a gentle embrace. “You deserve all the love I can give you.”

As you sit there together, the necklace resting against your skin, you realize something. You’ve always known that Carlos expresses his love through acts of service and thoughtful gifts, but tonight, the real gift isn’t the necklace. It’s the love that comes with it—the care, the attention, the depth of his feelings. It’s a love that doesn’t need to be grand, doesn’t need to be extravagant. It’s a love that’s woven into the everyday acts of kindness, the little touches, the ways he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention.

You reach for his hand, your fingers intertwining with his, and for the first time that night, the words you’ve been searching for come to you, quiet and sure.

“I’m lucky to have you,” you whisper, your voice soft, but full of meaning.

Carlos smiles, his heart clearly full, and he pulls you closer, resting his forehead against yours. “And I’m even luckier to have you."

[unoislazy]

Sneak Peak?

(Arthur Morgan x reader)

Because it’s been so long since I’ve written I feel like I’ve lost my touch a bit. I’m gonna leave a snippet of something I’ve written so far and I would like to know how you guys feel about it!!

Context: Childhood friends to lovers

“I’m in a lot of trouble right now.” He said, nearly out of breath as he grabbed your hand desperately. You stared at him for a moment, trying to process what he was saying as you tried to string together a proper sentence.

“You’ll be alright, right? You always make it out okay.” You said optimistically. The boy in-front of you gave you a charming smile. He had just shown up on your doorstep, which was no different than normal but this time he was winded and bleeding… Your concern was evident through the farrowing of your eyebrows and the worry in your eyes, but you dared not voice them, not now.

“You know I do, but… I don’t think we can stay here for much longer.” He replied, looking back over his back as if he was being watched. You too looked over his back trying to see if you could make out any figures in the area behind him, but to you there was not a soul in sight.

“We?” You asked, taken aback. It was almost as if you had only then processed his words as you took your attention off the empty area of dirt and leaves behind the boy and turned to once again meet his striking blue eyes.

“Me and the gang, we got into some issues with the law and I only have a few hours before I have to go.” He explained. You knew this was going to happen eventually, but even so you still didn’t feel as if you prepared yourself well enough for this day to come.

“Before you leave… I want you to take this.” You quickly grabbed a letter that you had stored in your drawer, in preparation for this day. “I don’t want you to open it until you’re gone, okay?” To that, the boy nodded.

“I promise you I’ll come back to you.”

And with a swift kiss on the forehead, and longing goodbyes, he was gone. That was the last you had seen or heard of the boy named “Arthur Morgan” for quite some time.

Many years had passed at this point and whilst you had never forgotten that boy, you had a strong feeling he had forgotten about you. Or worse.

But it was no concern of yours now, you were grown now. There was no point in delving into the “what ifs” of your childish fantasy. You still lived in the same old house, living a quiet life. A boring yet decent one, you didn’t know why you stayed. You had everything you’d need to leave and lead a more eventful life.

However, deep down you knew why you stayed.

You stayed for him.

On the off chance that that boy would find his way back to you. That he would come back and keep the promise he made to you all those years ago. But the other side of you knew, that was never gonna happen.

Your internal argument continued until you heard a knock on your door.

You brushed off your hands from the residue left over from whatever task you had found yourself partaking in before turning to get the door. You didn’t often get visitors but when you did it was usually just one of your neighbors or a family friend coming to check up on you. So with that expectation in mind, you walked towards the door and grabbed the handle with confidence, twisting and yanking it open with ease while saying your greetings to who you thought would be,

“Mrs. Baker I told you last time, I don’t need any more b-”

You cut your sentence short as your eyes quickly landed upon, not the older woman you expected, but a younger man. He was quite tall and he looked to be about your age, and despite his rough appearance he stood on your porch as awkwardly as a school boy in the front of a class.

“Oh, I’m sorry I thought you were someone else, how can I help you?” You asked, deciding it was best to find out what this man was here for. Upon further inspection, you realized there was a strange nostalgic quality to his face. You couldn’t quite place it before but it felt as if you had seen this man once before.

“I.. uh…” The man started, before he quickly turned towards his satchel and began to dig through it. It didn’t take long for him to grab a thin envelope out and display it. It was clearly opened but a name was visible on the front. “Is there anyone here by this name?” He asked.

You curiously looked towards the envelope and noticed…

It was your name.

Your eyebrows scrunched as you looked from the envelope to the man holding it once again. Why would this man be asking for you…?

It was then you took a closer look at him, he was quite tan, his hair was a gorgeous brown and his eyes…

His eyes

“Arthur…?” You whispered. It couldn’t be.

“How do you know my…” The man before her looked at her with a puzzled look before it quickly clicked with him. How could he not recognize you? Sure it had been several years since he had been back but he prided himself on being able to memorize your features.

Unfortunately the memory betrays one no matter how hard they try to defy it.

[imhappierthanever]

Love & Comfort

Billie worked so hard trying to make positive change, influencing so many people to vote for the right person. So when election day had come, and the results went in the other direction, your girlfriend was understandably upset. But at least she had you to take care of her.

You snuggled her close on your shared sofa, your arms wrapped around each other as you kissed her tears away. “It’s going to be okay, my love.” You assured her kissing her temple softly. Wanna eat something to cheer you up?” You asked running your hands under her eye lids before brushing your nose against hers. Her sad blue eyes finally looked into yours, 1000 dancing butterflies in your stomach as always when her eyes met yours.

She nodded and you smiled grabbing her hand, bringing her over to the table where Maggie left her famous common rolls. You know these were Billie’s favourite, and she wouldn’t be able to resist. When you were done eating you decided you would play her favourite card game, speed. She giggled as always, winning game after game and it made you so happy you could distract her even just a little bit.

Once you were done, you made dinner together, letting Billie pick out anything she wanted to. If it was going to make her happy, you were all for it.

Once you were done you cuddled on the sofa yet again, letting her watch the office. She was probably on her 16th time all the way through. She was so obsessed but you found it to be so cute as you played with her hair, massaging her scalp, pressing kisses to her cheek every now and then.

After while, you headed for the shower sharing plenty of kisses and hugs as you helped each other get clean and ready for bed. Once you were done, you both slipped on each other’s clothes. You helped the fabric of your shirt glide down her body, letting your fingers gently caress her in the process. You pressed soft kisses to her neck before leading her to the bed. You laid down and she followed, cuddling into your body as you pulled the covers over your bodies.

Your legs tangled, and her heart beat against you. “I’m sorry things didn’t turn out the way we had hoped baby. But I hope you know I’m so proud of you.” You said kissing her lips before continuing. “You made so many people aware and you used your power to do so much good. It’s not the end. We might have to fight even more so now, but I hope you know, I’ll fight anything as long as it’s by your side. I love you so much, baby. “ you said pulling her into you. “I love you too, love. Thank you for all you’ve done for me. at least we have each other. “ she said snuggling into you. “And this safe space we have created where we know everything will always be okay.”

[cosmicpearlz]

yours for the time being |5|

summary: what happens when your academic rival of years proposes an offer of fake dating? pure chaos.

pairing: gryffindor!jude bellingham x slytherin!reader

a/n: it’s taken a while for me to write this but thank you for being on this series journey with me! enjoy my loves <3

a typical saturday night. aka the day where the famous slytherin parties take place. most nights it was for winning matches and others, it was just for the hell of it. the common room decorated in various halloween decor. the group deciding last minute to have a costume party. taking the idea from the muggles and what they do to celebrate the holiday.

"you look smoking hot," pansy whistles at you, as you made your way downstairs. your costume being a vampire. a mini black dress and a black velvet cape with dark red platforms to match the fake blood that dripped from the side of your lips.

"so do you love!" you clapped for her sexy cat costume.

"i think we all look good," draco chips into the conversation.

"you're literally dressed as a wizard. talk about no originality." draco rolls his eyes at theo's statement.

"simplicity is way better than over doing it."

"you didn't put any effort into it," blaise says and stares at the slytherin boy as if he had grown two heads.

"haters are my motivators," draco said, as he walked away to finish putting more snacks and drinks out. it was amazing how much alcohol you guys managed to sneak in.

theo dressed as cupid. supporting the red wings and having the heart bow and arrow. blaise was dressed as beetlejuice. even having his hair spray green and having the exact face paint. you loved that your friends went all out. well minus draco.

"let's pregame this shit and see where the night takes us," pansy yells, not that she had to, but she wanted to get her point across. you guys cheered and each grab a shot to throw back. you missed the way theo, blaise, and pansy smirked at each other. it was going to be a long night.

-

jude felt stupid. why had he let his friends convince him to go to a slytherin party. the gryffindor boy hadn't spoken to her in weeks and now they both were going to be in the same vicinity. 'maybe we still would have been together if i didn't hurt her feelings'. is all he could think about. maybe he would've been by her side right now and maybe just maybe they would've had cute matching costumes. the boy was dressed as a vampire. the top hat and the stupid cape. he decided to put fake blood on the white button up shirt instead of having it on his face.

"you ready mates?" harry shouts for jude and ron. the other gryffindor boy dressed as captain america. ron dressed as spider-man.

"i'm ready to drink to my heart's desire."

"jude, you made that sound incredibly depressing," hermione says, coming down from her side of the common room. she dressed as a fairy. a matching costume that she wanted to do with luna.

"well lets get to it. don't wanna be late," jude mumbles, already walking towards the common room door. he was nervous to see her. what costume would she be wearing? is she as miserable as he is? did she even miss him? will she be wearing that sweet vanilla perfume that drives him crazy? his mind runs a million thoughts.

-

the party is in full swing. everyone holding a cup or two and dancing to the music. your friends had been sneaking glances at each other all night. not that you were really paying attention. too focused on the guy in front of you. a handsome ravenclaw that was about jude's height. maybe a little shorter than him. you know what they say, to get over someone, you must get under someone new. although, you were comparing the boy in front of you to the boy that secretly held your heart.

"so, i found it crazy that we were able to spot a group of doxies. in the middle of spring, right before-" every word fell upon deaf ears, as you watched harry, ron, hermione and jude walk in. suddenly, you felt sick. matching costumes with the one person who you avoided. ever since that day, nothing was normal.

"excuse me," you didn't wait for him to respond, walking away immediately to get a drink. taking a red cup, you poured yourself a drink and downed it. going for a second before pansy stops you.

"you alright love?"

"jude is here."

"why don't you wait in our dorm room? just take a breather really quick," you nodded and maneuver your way around dancing bodies. pansy's eyes follow your movement until she couldn't see you anymore. only then did she wink at harry and the plan was in motion.

"mate, can you help me find something?"

"like what?" jude raised an eyebrow at harry. a drink in his hand, while he heavily eyed his friend.

"i think i lost my ring."

"we just got here and you weren't wearing a ring."

"do have to spell it out for you?"

"what are you talking about?" harry dramatically sighs.

"i had a one-night stand with this slytherin girl and i left my ring in the room. i need to get it now while we're here," harry lied. a damn good lie if you asked him.

"you're impossible mate, lead the way," jude nods his head at harry to take the lead. harry leads the two of them upstairs. catching the eye of hermione and pansy, he slightly nods. step two was officially underway.

-

you sat on your bed, twirling the drink around in the cup. platforms and cape long discarded. what were you suppose to say to him? how much you truly were sorry? that you wished you could take it all back? how ironic that the minute you try to push him away and out of your mind again, he shows up. like he always did. even before the fake dating. he was a pest that wouldn't budge. a stupidly handsome pest.

"it should be in this one." you heard a muffled voice speak from outside the door. the door swings open and jude is pushed inside. you gasp quietly and sit up straighter.

"y/n?" jude stutters out in confusion.

"hi," you softly spoke. the two of you turn attention to the door that was slammed shut. a realization washes over you.

"jude open the door!" you hop off the bed and walk towards the closed door. he turns to pull at the knob, and it was no use.

"it won't open."

"and it won't open until you guys make up!" pansy yells over the loud music. "or make out! whichever comes first."

"no pressure though," ron says. 'no pressure my ass' you mumble to yourself.

hearing the footsteps grow in distance, you knew that they were long gone. you sigh and sit right back on the bed. jude stands there, unsure of what to do. only then does he realize the matching costumes. his heart swoons and breaks all at the same time.

"you're welcomed to sit," you pat the spot next to you. no use in prolonging the situation. it was now or never at this point. jude sits on the bed, making a point to sit at the end of the bed.

"matching costumes, aye?" he looks at you with a lopsided grin. it didn't reach his ears like it normally would've it, but you found it endearing anyway.

"yeah. maybe we're connected in some way," you said, while looking down at your lap. picking lint off your dress that wasn't anywhere to be found.

"like soulmates?" you lift your head meeting his gaze. oh, how you've missed those chocolate brown eyes.

"yeah maybe."

the silence takes over the room again. internally, you were panicking. what do you say? would it be worth it?

"soo."

"soo," he mimicked you. something that you both were used to. you let out a breathy chuckle.

"how are you and lavender?" turning your eyes back to the bottom of your dress. missing the way jude looks at you as if you were crazy. he felt somewhat offended.

"me and lavender? what are you on about?"

"i seen you guys," you shrugged your shoulders. the gryffindor boy scoffs.

"what are we doing here y/n? you put your friends up to this?"

"why would you think that?"

"you're trying to rub it in. well congratulations, you win," jude's voice seemly increasing by the minute. it left you dumbfounded.

"what could i possibly be rubbing in? i'm in the same boat you are!" your own voice getting louder as well.

"yeah right. i doubt you feel anything like the heartless slytherin you are." ouch.

"that's not true!"

"yes, is it. you don't care about anyone but yourself. you've proven that long before." jude was being mean that this point. his yelling and the hatful words that spewed from his mouth.

"that's not true jude! you're absolutely wrong."

"how can i be wrong? huh?"

"because i care about you, you fucking idiot," you yelled, which sends him into silence.

"you're the one that broke it off."

"yeah, because you've hurt my feelings and i don't want to continually go through that."

"i've apologized for it and i spilled my heart out to you. i told you that i would continue to apologize for it." tensions rising once more.

"right right, you're soo apologetic that you turn around and call me a heartless slytherin who only cares about herself," you crossed your arms and faced the wall. you refuse to cry in front of him. jude sighs and looks down at his lap.

"i was just upset. i didn't mean it," jude says in a quieter tone.

"so, every time you're upset with me, you'll throw how slytherins act like this in my face? how i'm a person that feels nothing?" you looked into his brown eyes with glossy eyes.

"y/n i care about you so much that it scares me. i don't know how you feel because you won't let me in. that's all i'm asking-"

"jude i like you too! is that what you want to hear? i hate that i hurt you but you have to understand that i was protecting myself. i've spent so long building walls to guard my heart and here you come. in a few months, you've managed to-"

jude doesn't let you finish, instead placing a hand on your cheek and bringing you in for a kiss. it was tentative until you start kissing him back. the boy's confidence boosts, and he slides his other hand to your waist. pulling you closer to him. you grab the collar of his cape and press into him more. lips crushing together. you missed the way his lips felt on yours.

he bites your lip, asking for permission. you allowed it, opening your mouth just enough for his tongue to squeeze through. without breaking the kiss, you straddle him. one leg sitting on either side of jude's thigh. naturally, his hands find your waist again. tongues exploring each other and fighting for dominance. the kiss comes to stop, hearing something break from the other side of the door. pulling away, you both looked at each other. it wasn't long before you guys share laughter.

"i've missed you," jude's laughter quieting down to confess to you. you wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him into a hug and placing your face in the crook of his neck.

"i've missed you too." jude's arms hug your body tightly, sending warmth to spread throughout you. his head leans into yours and places a kiss onto your head.

"so, what do we do now?" you lift your head to face him, questioning where you go from here. jude gazes into your eyes, a small smile etching its way to his lips.

"we try. think you can manage that?" rising an eyebrow in a teasing manner. you grinned back at him.

"yeah. i think i can manage that."

"to that i have one thing i want to ask you."

"which is?"

"will you officially be my girlfriend? before you answer, know that we need to have open communication and i need you to let me into that pretty little mind of yours," jude says, ending his sentence with playfully pinching your side. you laughed and pushed his hand away.

"let me think about that."

"y/n."

"i'm kidding. of course i'll be your official girlfriend." jude smiles again, pulling you in for another kiss. you knew then that you guys were gonna be just fine. as long as you had each other.

[midnight-mourning]

DCA Promptober Day 30: Birthday

I have chosen violence with all of my promptober responses, this one is no different. That being said, hope you enjoy!

Word count: 1531

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

"Robots can't have birthdays, silly!"

You set down the box you're carrying, glancing up to Sun, "You don't think?"

"Of course not," He scolds, pulling out another strand of streamers to hang up, "We're not born, we're made!"

You pull a bag of balloons out of the box, "Yeah, but still, there was a point where you didn't exist, and now you do. I'd still consider that a birthday."

Sun seems to ponder your words for a moment, rays spinning idly.

You blow up a few balloons, watching as he puts his fingers under his chin, staring at the ground as he taps his foot in thought. It makes you giggle and lose the air in you'd built up in your balloon. 

He comes to a decision finally, nodding once as he looks back to you, "I suppose you're right! Though, I can't seem to recall when that would be, to be honest."

"Well, we could always pick a day," You get more supplies out of the box, there should be a staff bot stopping by with cake and pizza anytime now, "If you want."

You start organizing party supplies, counting out what party favors you have and may need to run and grab more of for prizes and such during games. The bot helping you has gone quiet, and you assume that the conversation is therefore over. That doesn't last, however. 

You feel Sun's presence before you see him, he bends down to your level, tone in awe, uncertain, "Really? You mean that?"

You nod. 

"Would, would today be alright? After, after the party, of course."

You smile, using both hands to cup his faceplate, "Of course," You kiss him softly, then pull away, "If that's what you'd like. Moon can pick his own day, if he wants."

Sun's rays spin rapidly, and he has to use his hand to stop them. He speaks dazed, "Today is fine, he said."

You chuckle, "Today it is, then."

You finish setting up for the party, and it goes off without a hitch. Sun, very excited at the prospect of celebrating his own 'birthday' only does the basics of cleaning up, leaving up the decorations and the likes to give them an additional use.

You order another cake from Chica's, and after some calculated thinking, manage to come up with a decent gift for him and Moon both. 

To Sun's disappointment, Moon gets to go first, as the cycle hits just right for it. 

"You know I can't eat cake, right Star?" Moon chuckles as he sits down across from you at the miniature table. You'd stuck a party hat on his head, and while it looked silly with his other hat, it simply had to be done.

You flick on the lighter, lighting the candles, "True, but you still get to make a wish! So let me sing and just sit there looking pretty, alright?"

"Alright," His tone is smooth but with the quiet noise of his fans you know the comment flustered him. 

You sing, and once you're finished, Moon blows out the candles by clapping once, the resulting air extinguishing them. You cheer and after smearing a bit of cake across his faceplate, hold out his gift. You found some stars and moons themed wrapping paper lying around, making for the perfect gift, even if you'd just come up with it during the previous party.

He finishes removing the frosting from his features, "You didn't have to get us a gift, you know. This was a 'last-minute' decision as you would say."

"Well, I would also say that it's your birthday, and I got you a gift," You hold up Sun's gift in your other hand, wrapped in red and yellow paper, "And Sun! I figured you would argue otherwise."

Moon snickers, taking his present from you, "You would be correct."

He takes a moment to shake it, but doesn't seem to figure out what it is. He then methodically unwraps it revealing a sketch book.

"You always talk about wanting to draw, but with being the naptime attendant not getting to so..." You trail off.

He hums, then laughs. Then, reaches over and takes your hand, pressing it to his smile, "It's wonderful, thank you."

You cough, face hot, "There's um, a couple little sketches in there of mine, to get you started. And a message. But don't look at it until you're alone! Okay?"

"I won't," He promises.

After that, Sun becomes very impatient, insisting on opening his present before blowing out his candles. 

You laugh as he all but snatches your gift to him from you, ripping it open in a rush, "You're supposed to make a wish first!"

"Wishes can wait, this is far more important!" He says, finally disposing of the last of the packaging. 

Inside awaits a music box, which he immediately starts winding the key to. Once wound, the box pops open, a small glass couple are revealed to be dancing to Pas de Deux, from the Nutcracker. 

Sun's stare is hyper focused on the box and its occupants, hardly moving an inch as the tune plays, and the couple spin round and round. When they finish, there's a click as a small compartment opens, you put your hand over Sun's before he can reach into it and grab the paper inside. 

"Ah, ah, that's for later, please," You glance up at him, slightly nervous, "What um, what do you think?"

His words are soft and full of adoration, "Oh Sunshine, I love it. It's so thoughtful! I didn't know you'd remember how much I like the song."

"Of course I would. I introduced you to it, didn't I?" You tease.

Something clicks for him then, "This is your music box. I, I can't have this, it belongs to you."

"Sun, I gave you both something that meant a lot to me, so much so that I want you to keep it as a way to think of me, yeah?"

His hands entwines with yours, nodding once, "Yeah."

"Good. Now, how about that wish, hm?"

He nods again, "Right! The best for last!"

You light the candles for a second time, and sing once more. However, when Sun goes to clap out the candles, one stubborn candle remains lit. He claps again, and again. A final large clap makes it go out, only to lit back up again. 

Your snickering becomes audible, and he catches on to what's happened. 

Sun gasps, "Starlight! You would pull a prank on me?"

You burst out laughing then as his scolding raises in volume, having to take several minutes to calm down again. 

The memory fades out as you sit down at your kitchen table, scootching your chair in after a moment. 

There's no one sitting across from you, there's no one else in your home. It's just you, a lighter, and some unlit candles sitting on a cake. 

You stare at the cake for a moment, then grab the lighter. One by one you light the candles. You'd considered adding a joke candle this year, but you don't think you have the heart for it. Maybe next year, you always tell yourself. 

On a nearby wall is your calendar, today's date circled. It's the one from that following year, you never could bring yourself to take it down and replace it, instead utilizing your phone and a calendar in your office instead. That one was much more subtle with its markings. Just a small note scribbled in the corner of the day's square. It made you feel guilty each year you wrote it down so unceremoniously.

It's relatively dark in your apartment, a singular light on over the sink. It makes the shadows caused by the candles that much larger, and the flames seem to burn that much brighter. You've never been a fan of fire. That only got worse after what happened. 

You're stalling, you know it. You'd better start before the wax starts dripping into the frosting and wastes a perfectly good cake. Not that you were very hungry anyway. 

You lick your lips, voice unsteady, "Ha-Happy birthday to you... Happy birthday to you..."

Tears start to well up and fall soon thereafter, your throat begins to tighten, but, you continue. 

"Happy, b-birth d-day dear-" Their faces flash through your mind once, but it's more than enough. A sob wracks through you and you have to stop singing. 

Your hands come up to your face, crying openly but embarrassed, even in the comfort of your own home. 

After a minute or so, you take a deep breath, collecting yourself. The candles are still burning. You owe them this.

You pick up after the point you left, to save yourself a little grief, "H-happy birthday t-t-to you..."

You wait another moment, your sniffling being the only noise in the quiet kitchen. Then, you blow them out, and you're left in half-hearted darkness. 

You wipe your eyes and sigh, "Happy birthday, boys. I love you."

You stare at the cake like it's somehow going to make them appear. Make the last several years disappear along with your heartache and grief like some bad dream.

It doesn't.

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

Man I am NOT treating you all nicely with these last few huh? Bah, you can handle it I'm sure, besides, we've got one more that I think you'll really enjoy. Or at least, I'm going to :) 

Promptober list is here, and if you'd like to check in on the Spoovember schedule you can find that here. Thanks for reading!!

[sunniques]

COULD YOU PLEASE DO PERV WONWOO😓😓LIKE HIM STEALING YOUR PANTIES OR SMTH...STALKER PERV

(also I found your writings a couple days ago and I am OBSESSED)

i will because i don’t think we talk about perv!wonwoo enough on here ☝️ALSO i’m glad you like my work and i hope you continue to like my upcoming fics <3

Wonwoo knows he’s sick, but it’s easy not to feel guilty when he has your lacy panties wrapped around his cock. That, and he has your freshly used cotton ones balled up and pressed against his nose. Your scent is overwhelming in the best way, and he keeps imagining what it would be like to have you ride his face.

Would you be a screamer? Even if you weren’t, he’s sure you would be for him. If ever given the chance, he’s eat your pussy until you cried. He pictures how wet you’d get for him, how your thighs would tremble around his head as you gasp for air. You’re so sweet that you’d thank him for fucking you so good with his tongue. Of course, those would be the last words you’d be able to form because he’d get you to cream on his tongue until your body was completely spent.

He gets lost in his fantasies, fucking his aching cock faster.

Lewd, wet sounds fill his room as he grunts into the soft fabric of your underwear. Usually, he moans your name while picturing you in all sorts of different positions, but he can’t be too loud since you’re actually staying in tonight.

Of course knowing you’re just on the other side of his wall turns him on more, though.

“Fuck,” he moans softly, fucking his hand faster as he pictures what your pretty face would look like if he had his cock inside you.

He’d fuck you in every position possible, stretching you out until you get used to his big cock. Wonwoo knows you’d be so pliant and pretty for him. And you’d beg for more. He knows you would.

A knock on his door makes him flinch, but he still doesn’t stop what he’s doing. He can’t. Especially knowing you’re on the other side of that door.

“Nonu?”

He hums in response. The sound of your sweet voice makes his dick leak with more precum.

“Did you want to watch a movie with me in my room?” You wonder shyly. “I even made some snacks.”

God, are you sweet. Of course he’s going to take you up on your offer, but not before he finishes in your sexy little panties.

“Sure,” his deep voice comes out even, thankfully. “I’ll meet you there in a second, sweetheart. Let me change into something more comfortable.”

Your excited okay helps push him over the edge, and as he shoots hot ropes of cum all over his stomach, he hopes that you’ll want to cuddle him like you do every so often. He thinks he’ll be safe from popping a boner in the first ten minutes since he just came.

When he joins you under your soft covers, he realizes that cumming didn’t help. At all.

[novaursa]

Where Wolves Wander (2/2)

- Summary: You and Jon were always close, but as the years went by and those feelings grew, your mother decided to put an end to it. 

- Paring: stark!reader/Jon Snow

-Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 1/2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The chill of Castle Black bit through the thick layers of black wool and leather as Jon and Sam sat by a small fire, their breath frosting in the cold air despite the flickering warmth. The other recruits had long since turned in for the night, leaving the two friends alone under the watchful gaze of the Wall. A quiet, easy camaraderie had grown between them, one that had become a rare comfort in the harsh environment of the Night’s Watch.

Sam looked over at Jon, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “What was it like… you know, before all this?” he asked, gesturing around to the cold, stony expanse of Castle Black. “Living in Winterfell, with your family?”

Jon glanced at Sam, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he poked at the fire. “Winterfell… It was different from here,” he began softly. “Warmer, in a way. Even with all the cold stone, it felt… alive. My brothers, sisters… they made it feel like home.”

Sam nodded, leaning forward, clearly fascinated. “You talk about it like it was something out of a story,” he murmured. “It sounds… wonderful.”

Jon let out a quiet chuckle. “It had its moments. Robb, Sansa, Arya… they were all different, each of them with their own ways of making life interesting. And then there was…” He trailed off, hesitating.

Sam’s gaze sharpened, noticing the sudden softness in Jon’s voice. “And then there was…?”

Jon looked away, a brief smile crossing his face before he spoke again. “Y/N,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with something warmer than nostalgia. “Robb’s twin. My… sister.”

Sam’s interest piqued immediately, and he leaned in, hanging on every word. “I didn’t know Robb had a twin. What was she like?”

Jon took a slow breath, letting his thoughts drift back to Winterfell. “She… she’s everything the North is. Strong, fierce, stubborn, but kind and loyal too. She’s one of the few who could see past what I am, you know? She never treated me like… a reminder of my birth.”

Sam’s brows furrowed. “What you are? But you’re a Stark, aren’t you? I mean… you were raised with them.”

Jon’s mouth pressed into a tight line. “Raised with them, yes, but I was always reminded that I wasn’t… truly one of them. I don’t carry the Stark name, nor the claim to anything but what I was given.” He paused, his gaze softening. “But Y/N never saw me like that. She just saw… me.”

Sam’s eyes gleamed with empathy, his expression thoughtful. “That must have been… wonderful,” he said quietly. “Having someone who saw you for who you really are, rather than what people think you are.”

Jon nodded, a hint of a bittersweet smile on his face. “Aye, it was.” He glanced down, poking at the fire again, but Sam’s curiosity hadn’t been fully sated.

“Did she know… that you were planning to join the Night’s Watch?” Sam asked hesitantly, clearly worried he might be treading into sensitive territory.

Jon let out a breath, his gaze distant. “She found out, yes. Before I left. We had a moment to talk, just the two of us. She… tried to convince me to stay.” He paused, his voice growing quieter. “I think… part of her understood why I had to go, but… I know it hurt her.”

Sam was silent for a moment, taking in Jon’s words. He looked at Jon with a kind, understanding gaze. “And did it hurt you, too? Leaving her?”

Jon didn’t answer right away, his jaw tightening. The memories flooded back, memories of quiet talks in the Godswood, her laughter filling the air, the way her hand had lingered on his arm that last day as if holding on to him just a little longer. “More than I thought it would,” he admitted, voice barely more than a whisper. “More than anything.”

Sam offered a sympathetic nod, his eyes filled with a sadness that only a friend could share. “It’s hard, isn’t it?” he murmured. “Leaving behind the people who make you feel like you… belong. And now, here we are… in a place that feels like it could swallow us whole.”

Jon met Sam’s gaze, a small, sad smile on his lips. “Aye. But I suppose that’s why we’re here together.” He glanced back at the fire, the warmth a stark contrast to the cold emptiness he felt when he thought of Winterfell, and of you.

Sam, sensing the weight of Jon’s silence, ventured softly, “Maybe, one day… you’ll see her again.”

Jon’s smile faded, his eyes reflecting a mixture of hope and resignation. “Maybe,” he replied, though his voice held a sadness that told Sam he didn’t quite believe it. But in the quiet company of his friend, the ache of your absence was a little easier to bear, and for now, that was enough.

The air beyond the Wall was colder than anything Jon had ever felt in Winterfell—a harsh, biting chill that seeped through the layers of fur and leather, numbing skin and bone alike. He trudged through the snow alongside his brothers in black, each breath clouding the air with mist, every crunch of their boots echoing eerily in the silent wilderness. Jeor Mormont led them, his broad back a dark silhouette against the endless white. Jon kept a steady pace, his eyes scanning the treeline, ever vigilant, knowing the danger that lurked in the unknown beyond.

Sam walked beside him, his teeth chattering as he pulled his cloak tighter around his body. “W-w-why did it have to be so c-c-cold?” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the crunch of snow beneath their feet.

Eddison Tollett, known as Dolorous Edd for good reason, let out a grim chuckle. “Ah, cheer up, Sam. It could be worse.”

“How could it possibly be worse?” Sam asked, his expression a mix of incredulity and misery.

“We could be dead,” Edd replied with a deadpan expression. “Then we wouldn’t feel the cold at all.”

Grenn snorted from behind them, shaking his head. “Leave it to Edd to find the bright side of freezing to death.”

Their banter was interrupted by a sudden rustling from the forest ahead, a swift, urgent sound that made Jon’s heart leap into his throat. A shape emerged from the snow-dusted trees—white, sleek, and silent. Ghost.

“Ghost,” Jon breathed, his voice tinged with relief and confusion. “What are you doing here, boy?”

Ghost bounded forward, his red eyes sharp and alert, his movements graceful and purposeful. But it was what followed that made Jon’s blood run cold—a second wolf, darker in color, moving with a quiet ferocity. Shadow.

The familiar amber eyes of your direwolf locked with Jon’s, and his heart twisted painfully in his chest. Shadow’s presence here, beyond the Wall, meant one thing: you were nearby, or something had gone horribly wrong.

“What the bloody hell?” Grenn murmured, stepping back in surprise as the black wolf padded closer, its coat blending into the shadowed treeline. “Is that…?”

“Aye,” Jon said, his voice strained, his gaze fixed on Shadow. “That’s Y/N’s wolf.”

The others looked at Jon with a mix of confusion and concern, their breath puffing out in short, quick clouds. Pypar, who had been silently observing, finally spoke up. “What’s her wolf doing here, Jon? I thought she was back at Winterfell.”

“So did I,” Jon muttered, his mind racing with possibilities, each one worse than the last. He knelt down, extending a hand toward Shadow, who hesitated for a moment before stepping forward, sniffing his hand cautiously. The wolf's fur was cold and wet, matted with bits of snow, as if it had traveled a great distance.

Sam looked at Jon, his face pale. “Do you think… do you think something’s happened to her?” he asked in a hushed voice, clearly terrified of the answer.

“I don’t know,” Jon replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “But it can’t be good. She wouldn’t have sent Shadow all the way out here without a reason.”

“Gods,” Edd muttered, his usual dark humor absent for once. “If she’s come all the way past the Wall… what could have driven her out here?”

“Quiet,” Jeor Mormont’s voice cut through the murmurs like a blade. He approached, his gaze sharp as he surveyed the wolves, then looked at Jon, his expression unreadable. “That’s your sister’s direwolf, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Lord Commander,” Jon confirmed, standing up to face him. “Her name is Shadow. I don’t know why she’s here.”

Mormont’s eyes narrowed, his gaze shifting between Ghost and Shadow. “A lone wolf crossing the Wall? It’s a strange thing. Wolves don’t stray this far north without reason.”

“What do we do, Lord Commander?” Grenn asked, looking uneasily at the dark trees surrounding them.

“We keep moving,” Mormont said gruffly. “Whatever brought that wolf here, we’re not turning back. But keep your eyes open. If there’s a message in this, I’d wager we’ll find out soon enough.”

Jon nodded, but his mind raced with questions. Was it possible that you were out here somewhere, wandering the same frozen wilderness? Or had something happened back at Winterfell that sent Shadow running, searching for him? The thought twisted in his gut like a knife.

Ghost brushed against his leg, nudging him gently, and Jon rested a hand on his wolf’s head, drawing comfort from the familiar warmth. Shadow circled around him, her amber eyes flicking up to meet his, as if she were silently urging him to understand something—something important.

“What do you think it means, Jon?” Sam whispered, shivering as he glanced back at the wolves. “Why would she come here?”

“I don’t know,” Jon admitted, his voice rough with worry. “But if Shadow’s here, then Y/N could be closer than we think. Or…” He didn’t finish the thought, unable to voice the darker possibilities that loomed in his mind.

The silence stretched between them as they continued their march, the wolves keeping close to Jon’s side, their presence a constant reminder of the uncertainty that lay ahead. Every step felt heavier, the weight of unspoken fears pressing down on him like the unrelenting cold.

As the night deepened, the world seemed to close in, the darkness swallowing the edges of the wilderness. Jon’s thoughts drifted back to you, to your last conversation in the Godswood, the way your hand had lingered on his, your eyes filled with unshed tears. He couldn’t shake the image of your face, the way you had looked at him as if he were the only thing that mattered.

“What if she’s out here, Jon?” Sam asked softly, his voice trembling with worry. “What if she came looking for you?”

Jon’s heart clenched at the thought, a mixture of hope and fear churning in his gut. “Then I’ll find her,” he said, his voice hardening with resolve. “No matter what it takes.”

The wolves padded silently beside him, their breath fogging the air, and in the darkness, Jon felt the flicker of something stronger than fear—a connection, a bond that reached across miles of frozen land. Whatever brought Shadow here, he knew it wasn’t a coincidence. And somehow, deep down, he felt that you were closer than he dared to hope.

“We’ll see what tomorrow brings,” Mormont muttered, breaking the silence as he led the group onward. “Keep your eyes open, lads. This land doesn’t give second chances.”

Jon nodded, tightening his grip on the hilt of his sword as they pressed on into the night, the wolves shadowing their every step like sentinels. The cold crept deeper into his bones, but for the first time since he’d left Winterfell, Jon felt a flicker of warmth—a spark of hope, fragile and fierce, guiding him through the darkness.

The cold bite of dawn broke through the dense trees as the Night’s Watch continued their march, the silence of the wilderness giving way to the faintest hints of movement and hushed voices. Jon’s senses sharpened as he caught sight of thin trails of smoke rising just beyond a ridge. He stopped, raising a hand, signaling the others.

“Wildlings,” Jeor Mormont murmured, his eyes narrowing. He motioned for the men to take cover along the rocks and trees, gesturing for silence. The brothers of the Night’s Watch huddled low, moving with practiced caution, their breaths quiet and controlled.

Jon crouched beside Sam, who looked stiff but determined, his gaze focused on the direction of the smoke. Ghost and Shadow were by Jon’s side, their eyes locked ahead, their bodies taut and ready. The camp came into view as they crept closer—a scattering of rough tents made of hide and fur, with Wildlings huddled around fires, muttering in low voices.

And then Jon’s heart stopped.

At the edge of the camp, tied to a wooden post, slumped a figure with a familiar face, your face, pale and drawn, your wrists bound and bloodied. You looked worn, your hair tangled, your clothes torn and dirt-streaked. Shadow, sensing you, gave a low growl, her amber eyes narrowing as she bared her teeth, but Jon quickly reached out, calming her with a gentle touch.

“Y/N,” he whispered, barely able to breathe as he took in the sight of you, alive but clearly worse for wear. Every muscle in his body tensed, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword.

“Is that…?” Sam’s voice was a hushed whisper, his eyes wide as he looked from you to Jon, realization dawning in his gaze.

Jon nodded, his jaw clenched. “It’s her,” he said quietly, his voice hard with barely restrained fury. “We have to get her out of there.”

Jeor Mormont moved up beside Jon, observing the scene with a calculating gaze. “We don’t have the numbers for a direct assault,” he murmured. “But if we’re careful, we might be able to pull her out quietly.”

Jon’s mind raced, assessing the camp’s layout, noting the positions of the Wildlings scattered around the fires. He could see that most of them were still groggy, barely awake, their attention focused on warming their hands and preparing for the morning. He had a chance—if he could just get close enough to cut you free.

“I’ll go,” Jon said firmly, looking Mormont in the eye. “I know her. She trusts me. I can do this.”

Mormont hesitated, studying Jon for a long moment. Then he nodded, his expression hard. “Be quick and silent. We’ll cover you if anything goes wrong.”

Jon nodded in gratitude, feeling a rush of determination wash over him. He turned to Sam, who looked at him with a mixture of fear and encouragement. “Be careful, Jon,” Sam whispered.

Without another word, Jon slipped forward, Ghost and Shadow moving silently alongside him, their eyes fixed on you. He crept from shadow to shadow, his body low and silent, his heart pounding as he drew closer. Finally, he reached the edge of the camp, crouching behind a cluster of rocks a mere few feet from where you were tied.

He could see the faint rise and fall of your chest, the exhaustion in the way your head slumped forward. His heart ached at the sight of you, at the bruises that marked your skin, the blood that dried at your wrists. Swallowing hard, he moved closer, careful not to make a sound, until he was right beside you.

“Y/N,” he whispered urgently, reaching out to touch your shoulder. “It’s me.”

You flinched at the sound, your eyes fluttering open, hazy with exhaustion and pain. But as you focused on his face, a spark of recognition lit in your gaze, and relief flooded your expression. “Jon,” you breathed, your voice weak but filled with hope.

“I’m here,” he murmured, his hand gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’m getting you out of here.”

A faint smile touched your lips, but worry darkened your gaze. “Jon, they… they took me by surprise. I tried to get away, but…” You shook your head, wincing. “There’s too many of them. You have to be careful.”

Jon nodded, his jaw set with determination. “We’ll get you out,” he assured you. He quickly drew his dagger, positioning himself to cut through the ropes binding your wrists. “Stay as quiet as you can.”

As he worked at the ropes, your gaze softened, and you murmured, “I knew you’d come. I knew… I’d find you out here, somehow.”

Jon’s hand stilled for a fraction of a second, his heart swelling with an indescribable warmth. “I never stopped thinking about you,” he admitted softly, his voice thick with emotion. “When I saw Shadow… I knew something had happened. I couldn’t leave you out here.”

The last rope gave way, and he helped you pull your arms free, wincing as he saw the raw skin beneath. Ghost and Shadow pressed close, nudging you gently, their presence comforting as you steadied yourself, your legs weak but your resolve strong.

“Come on,” Jon whispered, helping you to your feet, supporting your weight as you leaned against him. He cast a quick glance around the camp; the Wildlings were still occupied, but he knew their luck wouldn’t hold for long.

Suddenly, a voice called out in the Wildling tongue, and Jon’s heart lurched as a figure turned, their eyes falling on you and Jon. The alarm rose quickly, shouts echoing across the camp as Wildlings began to grab their weapons, realizing they had an intruder in their midst.

“Run!” Jon urged, tightening his grip on your hand as he pulled you forward, breaking into a sprint as Ghost and Shadow snarled, positioning themselves between you and the oncoming Wildlings.

Mormont’s voice rang out from the trees. “Move, men! Cover them!”

The Night’s Watch brothers leapt from their hiding spots, arrows flying as they formed a defensive line, pushing back the Wildlings who surged forward. Sam and Grenn each took positions beside Jon, their faces set in grim determination as they helped clear a path through the chaos.

You stumbled, nearly falling as your legs struggled to keep up, but Jon was there, his hand steady on your arm, his eyes fierce with protectiveness. “Come on, Y/N,” he urged, his voice strong, guiding you through the snowy terrain.

The wild cacophony of battle surrounded you, but all you could feel was Jon’s presence, his hand holding yours, pulling you forward, his strength keeping you upright as you escaped the chaos of the camp.

As you finally broke through the treeline, away from the Wildlings, Jon slowed, his arm still around you, his breathing heavy. He looked at you, relief flooding his face. “You’re safe now,” he said, his voice a mixture of exhaustion and profound relief.

You managed a small nod, looking up at him, gratitude and affection shining in your eyes. “Thank you, Jon. I knew… I knew you’d find me.”

He pulled you into a quick embrace, his hand resting on the back of your head, his voice a quiet murmur. “I’ll always find you, Y/N.”

The Night’s Watch brothers finally found a sheltered hollow, a quiet space where the wind wasn’t as merciless, and the snow wasn’t piled so high. Jeor Mormont called a halt, giving the men a moment to catch their breath and tend to any wounds they’d earned in the skirmish. As the others busied themselves with tending to their gear and preparing a quick meal, Jon guided you to sit down against a fallen tree trunk, wrapping his cloak around your shoulders to ward off the biting cold.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice laced with worry as he scanned your face, noting the shadows under your eyes and the raw marks on your wrists.

You managed a small smile, reaching up to touch his hand, savoring the warmth of his skin against yours. “I am now, Jon. Thanks to you.”

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his eyes softening. “When I saw Shadow… I feared the worst,” he murmured, his thumb tracing gentle circles over your knuckles.

You looked down at your hands, your gaze pensive. “It was foolish of me, I know,” you admitted quietly, your breath clouding the air. “But I had to find you. After you left… I couldn’t stop thinking about it, about the last time we spoke.” You looked up, meeting his gaze, a fierceness in your eyes that mirrored his own. “I knew I had to come. I couldn’t let you disappear beyond the Wall, not knowing if you were safe. Not knowing if…” You hesitated, the words catching in your throat.

Jon reached out, his fingers brushing your cheek, his touch gentle. “Y/N,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, “I would’ve come back to you, you know. Somehow, someway.”

You closed your eyes, leaning into his hand, letting his warmth seep into your skin. “I couldn’t take that chance, Jon. I needed to know. I needed to be with you.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips, a rare expression of unguarded affection. “You always were stubborn,” he said softly, his gaze lingering on you. “But crossing the Wall, risking everything to find me… You shouldn’t have had to do that.”

“I’d do it again,” you replied, your tone resolute. “A hundred times if it meant finding you.”

A throat cleared nearby, breaking the intimate moment, and you looked up to see Sam standing a few feet away, his expression a mixture of awe and shyness as he glanced between you and Jon. He gave an awkward, apologetic smile. “I didn’t mean to interrupt… I just thought, um, I should introduce myself. I’m Samwell Tarly, Jon’s… friend.”

You smiled warmly, reaching out a hand. “It’s a pleasure, Samwell. Thank you for looking after him.”

Sam flushed, ducking his head as he took your hand. “Oh, well, Jon’s looked after me more times than I can count, actually,” he stammered. “But it’s an honor to meet you, Lady Stark.”

“Just Y/N,” you corrected gently. “Out here, I’m no different from any of you.”

Sam gave a tentative smile, looking as if he might burst with admiration. Before you could say more, Grenn and Pypar wandered over, curiosity gleaming in their eyes.

“So, this is the famous Stark sister,” Grenn said with a grin, crossing his arms as he looked you over. “Jon’s told us about you, you know.”

“Nothing but good things, I hope,” you replied with a teasing smile, glancing at Jon, who looked slightly flustered.

Pypar, grinning like a fox, nudged Jon with his elbow. “Oh, only that you’re the stubborn one, the one who won’t listen to reason.” He winked, and Jon shot him a warning look, but there was a warmth in his expression, a kind of ease he rarely allowed himself.

Edd stepped forward, his usual dour expression softened slightly. “If you’re anything like your brother, you’ll find the cold less welcoming than the fireside at Winterfell,” he remarked, giving you a nod.

You chuckled, drawing your cloak closer. “The North teaches you to endure the cold, but this…” You gestured to the frozen expanse around you. “This is something else.”

They all chuckled, the camaraderie easing the tension of the long journey and the battle. Jon watched you with a tender gaze, the sight of you surrounded by his brothers filling him with a quiet pride and warmth. It felt as if a part of home had been returned to him, a piece of himself he hadn’t realized was missing until now.

He reached for your hand again, intertwining your fingers. “So tell me,” he asked softly, his voice carrying a note of worry and curiosity, “how did you even manage to cross the Wall?”

You looked at him, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Let’s just say I’m good at convincing people. I may have… borrowed a favor or two.” You gave a little shrug, though your eyes held a certain steel. “When you’re determined, there’s always a way.”

Jon shook his head, torn between admiration and exasperation. “You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, though his smile betrayed his feelings. “I should be furious with you for risking yourself like that.”

“Perhaps,” you replied, leaning closer, your voice barely above a whisper, “but I think you’re glad I’m here.”

He didn’t answer, but his hand tightened around yours, his gaze softening as he looked at you, every unspoken word shining in his eyes. It felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of you, a quiet warmth in the heart of the frozen wilderness.

Sam, sensing the moment, gave a small cough and turned to the others. “Maybe we should give them a moment,” he suggested, glancing back at you and Jon with an understanding smile.

The others chuckled and nodded, moving away to give you both some privacy, casting curious glances over their shoulders as they went. When they were out of earshot, Jon turned to you, his face serious.

“Why did you really come, Y/N?” he asked quietly, searching your gaze. “This wasn’t just about checking if I was alright. There’s something more.”

You looked down, your heart pounding. “Because… Jon, I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t bear the thought of you out here, alone, with no one to care for you. I couldn’t bear to lose you to some duty that will only drive you further away. I thought… if I found you, maybe…” You paused, swallowing, gathering your courage. “Maybe you’d find a reason to come back.”

Jon’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening with emotion as he lifted a hand to your face, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek. “You’re my reason,” he murmured, his voice thick. “You always have been.”

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment. “Then let’s find our way back,” you whispered, a hint of hope in your voice.

Jon held you close, pressing his forehead to yours, his voice barely more than a breath. “We will, Y/N. Somehow… we will.”

The small band of Night’s Watch brothers pressed onward, moving through the dense woods under Mormont’s command. Jon’s gaze kept straying forward, watching you walk a few paces ahead, deep in conversation with Mormont. Your head was tilted slightly as you listened to the Old Bear, no doubt discussing your father’s legacy. Jon could see the hint of admiration in Mormont’s expression, the way he spoke to you with a respect few outside of the Watch received.

Beside Jon, Sam shuffled closer, casting him a sidelong glance before whispering, “She’s… she’s really something, isn’t she?”

Jon’s lips twitched in a slight smile. “Aye, she is.”

Sam hesitated, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. “I mean, not just in the usual way. She’s… well, it’s clear you’re… close.” He fumbled over his words, a nervous look darting toward you before his gaze returned to Jon, a little too eager.

Jon’s brows knitted, sensing where Sam’s thoughts were wandering. “We’re close, yes,” he said, his tone defensive but still soft. “She’s my family.”

“Aye, family,” Sam echoed, but there was a note of amusement in his voice. “But it seems to me she’s more than that. More than a sister.”

Jon gave him a hard look, but before he could respond, Grenn, who had been listening nearby, chuckled and nudged Pypar with his elbow. “Did you hear that, Pyp? Our Jon’s got himself a lady from Winterfell.”

Pyp grinned, raising an eyebrow. “More than a sister, eh? Should we start calling her Lady Snow?”

Jon’s cheeks flushed, and he scowled at the two of them. “It’s not like that,” he muttered through gritted teeth, but the faint blush staining his cheeks betrayed him.

Edd joined the group, his usual deadpan expression laced with amusement. “She does look a bit like Robb, though, doesn’t she?” he said dryly, casting Jon a mischievous look. “Makes it a bit strange, doesn’t it? Fancying someone who could pass for your brother’s double.”

Jon’s scowl deepened, his jaw clenched tightly. “It’s not about that,” he said stiffly. “She’s… she’s her own person. You’d know that if you spent half a moment actually talking to her.”

Sam stifled a chuckle, but his eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and genuine curiosity. “But, Jon,” he ventured cautiously, “you have to admit, it is a bit unusual. I mean… not that I’m judging,” he added hastily, “but with the resemblance…”

Jon shot him a dark look. “She’s not Robb, and it’s nothing like that. She’s… She’s different,” he insisted, his voice dropping to a murmur as his gaze drifted forward to where you were still walking, oblivious to the teasing murmurs and sidelong glances behind you.

Edd wasn’t finished, though. With his usual unshakeable deadpan tone, he gave Jon a sidelong look and smirked. “So, did you two… you know,” he asked, raising an eyebrow suggestively, “do it?”

Jon nearly stumbled over his own feet, his face reddening furiously. “Edd!” he hissed, glaring at him with wide eyes, horrified by the audacity. He shook his head vehemently. “No, we did not ‘do it.’ She’s—she’s my sister, for gods’ sakes!” he said, his voice a fierce whisper.

Edd only shrugged, unaffected by Jon’s irritation. “Sister by name, maybe, but you seem to look at her in a way that makes it clear she’s… different. No shame in it, Jon,” he added with a slight grin. “We’ve all seen it. If she’s not just a sister to you, well, that’s your business.”

Jon’s fists clenched at his sides, his patience fraying. He glanced at you, still obliviously walking ahead, engrossed in conversation with Mormont, and took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice steady. “It’s not like that. I care about her, but it’s not… I wouldn’t… disrespect her like that,” he muttered, his voice rough with frustration and something else, something he wasn’t sure he wanted to admit even to himself.

But Sam, emboldened by Edd’s remarks and the spark of mischief that rarely came to him, leaned in with an apologetic smile. “I don’t think Edd means disrespect, Jon. But… it’s plain to see. The way you look at her, it’s different. More than just kin. It’s… well, it’s the way someone looks at a person they love.”

Jon felt his throat tighten, the truth in Sam’s words cutting deeper than he wanted to admit. He had always known there was a part of him that saw you as more than family, as something unspoken, a bond he couldn’t define. But admitting it aloud, hearing it from his friends, was something else entirely.

“Look,” Jon said, his voice low and firm, glancing at each of them, “she means everything to me. She’s… part of me, and I would do anything to protect her. But whatever you think you’re seeing, it’s not what you think.”

Grenn raised his hands in surrender, smirking. “Alright, alright, no need to bite our heads off, Jon. Just sayin’. It’s hard to miss how you look at her, that’s all.”

Pyp chuckled, nudging Jon playfully. “No judgment here, Snow. If you want to write to the Old Gods and take her as your lady, we’ll all be here to toast you.”

Jon sighed, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. “You lot are impossible,” he muttered, shaking his head, though a small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Just then, you turned around, glancing over your shoulder to see the group of men huddled close, clearly discussing something with amused looks on their faces. You raised an eyebrow, a faint smile on your lips as you called back, “Are you all plotting something back there?”

Jon straightened, trying to school his expression into one of casual innocence. “Just… keeping each other warm,” he replied, his voice more gruff than he intended.

You chuckled, your gaze lingering on him for a moment, your eyes filled with the warmth he had missed more than he would ever say. “Don’t let me interrupt your brotherly bonding, then,” you said lightly, your smile softening as you turned back to Mormont.

The others waited until you were a few steps ahead before Pyp broke into a laugh, clapping Jon on the back. “Brotherly bonding, huh? If only she knew.”

Jon shot him a look, but the smile on his face lingered this time, his heart lighter than it had felt in days.

The attack had come without warning, swift and brutal. Wildlings burst out from the treeline, shrieking battle cries as they closed in on the Night’s Watch party. In the confusion, the brothers had scattered, each fighting to hold their ground amidst the chaos. Swords clashed, arrows flew, and the thick scent of blood filled the cold air.

Jon moved on instinct, his focus narrowed to one goal: keeping you safe. He had seen you knocked to the ground in the initial rush, fighting your way back up as you swung at any Wildling that dared come near. When the line broke, he grabbed your hand, pulling you along as he ducked through the melee, Ghost and Shadow flanking you both, snarling and snapping to hold back any attackers.

“Stay close!” he yelled over the clamor, tightening his grip on your hand.

The world was a blur of flashing steel, shouts, and the red of the setting sun casting an eerie glow over the snow. You clung to Jon, your breaths coming fast as you followed his lead, trusting him implicitly.

“We’re getting separated!” you cried, glancing over your shoulder to see the others scattering, pushing back against the Wildling assault. “Jon, where are we going?”

“Anywhere but here!” he shouted, guiding you toward a narrow path that sloped down into a ravine, its dark mouth hidden by the dense thicket. Ghost and Shadow moved beside you, their hackles raised, eyes fixed on the wild, shifting shadows as you stumbled into the shelter of the ravine.

Once inside, Jon glanced back, his eyes searching the treeline for any sign of the Night’s Watch or the Wildlings, but all he could see was the distant flicker of movement and hear the fading cries of battle.

“Let’s lay low here,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he guided you deeper into the ravine, the walls of stone narrowing around you like protective arms. The howling wind above barely touched the sheltered hollow, leaving an eerie, insulated silence.

You slid down onto a flat patch of ground, your breath coming in gasps as you leaned back against the cold stone. Jon sat beside you, his own breathing ragged, his eyes scanning the dim surroundings, ever watchful.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his gaze finally settling on you, a glint of worry softening his usual stern expression.

You shook your head, managing a faint smile despite the exhaustion weighing you down. “I’m alright. Just… a bit shaken.”

Jon nodded, his hand resting on your shoulder in silent reassurance. Ghost and Shadow settled nearby, their keen eyes fixed on the entrance to the ravine, ears twitching at every faint sound. You could feel the warmth of Jon’s hand through your cloak, steady and grounding amidst the turmoil.

After a moment, he spoke, his voice low and filled with unspoken concern. “I thought I’d lost you back there.”

You looked at him, his face etched with worry, his dark eyes heavy with the weight of what he didn’t say aloud. “You didn’t,” you replied, reaching over to cover his hand with yours. “I’m here, Jon. And I’m not going anywhere.”

His gaze softened as he looked down at your hand resting on his. For a moment, the danger outside the ravine seemed to vanish, leaving just the two of you in this small, quiet world. “I know it’s selfish, but… I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you. Not out here, not where I can’t protect you.”

You swallowed, the sincerity in his voice tugging at something deep within you. “Jon, you’re not responsible for me,” you whispered, though part of you felt a fierce comfort in the thought that he wanted to be.

He shook his head, his fingers tightening around yours. “It’s not about responsibility. It’s… I’ve always felt it. Like you’re a part of me, and if I lost you…” His voice broke off, his gaze falling as he struggled to find the words.

You took a steadying breath, feeling the weight of his words settle over you like a blanket, warm and overwhelming. “I feel the same,” you admitted softly, your voice barely more than a whisper. “That’s why I came here, Jon. To be with you. To make sure you’re safe. Because I can’t bear the thought of you out here, alone.”

The silence hung between you, heavy with meaning, each unspoken word more powerful than anything you could say aloud. Jon’s gaze met yours, his eyes filled with an intensity that made your heart race.

Before either of you could speak again, a low growl rumbled from Ghost. Jon turned, instantly alert, his hand instinctively going to his sword as he scanned the entrance of the ravine. But nothing appeared—only the shifting shadows and the faint whistle of the wind above.

“Looks like we’ll be safe here for a while,” he murmured, his posture relaxing slightly as he looked back at you.

You nodded, pulling your cloak tighter around yourself to ward off the chill. “This place feels like a world away from everything,” you murmured, glancing around at the stone walls towering above, the narrow slice of sky visible through the crack in the rock. “It’s almost… peaceful.”

Jon smiled faintly, his hand drifting to your shoulder as he leaned closer, his voice soft. “Then maybe it’s exactly where we’re supposed to be.”

You settled against him, the warmth of his presence easing the lingering tremors in your body. For the first time since crossing the Wall, you felt a semblance of safety, cradled in the shelter of the ravine with Jon beside you, Ghost and Shadow keeping watch.

Jon’s hand found yours again, his fingers weaving through yours, and he let out a quiet sigh. “Maybe we can rest here for a while. Just… be here. With you.”

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze, your heart swelling with a warmth that defied the cold of the Northern wilderness. “I’d like that,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you leaned into him, letting yourself savor this rare moment of peace.

In the stillness of the ravine, surrounded by stone and shadows, the world outside felt like a distant memory, leaving just the two of you, together, in a place that felt like home.

As night settled over the ravine, the cold intensified, creeping through even the thickest layers of fur and leather. The two of you huddled together beneath Jon’s cloak, your bodies pressed close to share warmth, while Ghost and Shadow stood vigilant at the mouth of the narrow shelter, their eyes glowing faintly in the dim light.

Jon’s arm was wrapped around you, holding you tightly against him, his breath warming your cheek. His presence was steady, calming, grounding you in a way that made the frigid air and harsh wilderness feel like a distant threat, something beyond the safe bubble you shared with him. You felt his heartbeat, strong and steady, as he kept you close, his touch gentle but possessive.

After a long silence, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, tinged with a softness he reserved only for you. “I’ve missed this,” he murmured, his thumb brushing along your shoulder. “Just… having you close, feeling like we’re the only two people in the world.”

You looked up at him, catching the intensity in his gaze, and a warmth bloomed in your chest, spreading outward, filling every corner of you. “I missed it, too,” you whispered, your hand drifting up to rest on his chest, feeling the strength beneath the fabric, the warmth of him seeping into your fingertips. “Out here, it feels like nothing else matters. Like it’s just us.”

Jon’s gaze softened, his fingers tracing a line along your cheek, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. “It is just us,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over your lips, lingering there as if memorizing the shape of your mouth. “Here, there’s no one else… no duties, no vows. Just you and me.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and full of meaning. You felt a flutter in your chest as his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, his forehead pressing gently against yours. The warmth of his breath mingled with yours, and for a moment, the world outside faded entirely, leaving only the two of you in the intimacy of that shared space.

Slowly, his lips met yours, tentative at first, then deepening as he felt you respond, your hands sliding up to his shoulders, pulling him closer. The kiss grew more intense, a release of every unspoken word, every lingering glance, every hidden feeling that had been building between you. His fingers tangled in your hair, his other hand moving to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

Your breaths quickened as you melted into him, letting go of the worries, the fears, the doubts that had haunted you. Here, in his arms, everything felt right, natural, as if you had been waiting for this moment all your life.

He broke the kiss, his forehead still pressed against yours as he looked at you, his eyes dark with emotion, his voice low and rough. “I don’t want this to end,” he whispered, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your back. “I want to stay here… with you. Forever, if I could.”

You smiled softly, your fingers brushing over his cheek, feeling the roughness of his skin, the warmth beneath it. “Forever is a very long time, Jon,” you murmured, a hint of playful affection in your tone.

He chuckled, his smile softening as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Then let it be as long as it wants to be. As long as I have you, I don’t care.”

The weight of his words settled over you, filling you with a warmth that chased away the last remnants of cold. You pulled him down, your lips finding his again, and this time there was no hesitation, no holding back. The night stretched on as you surrendered to the intensity of his touch, each caress a promise, each kiss a declaration.

When you finally lay together, wrapped in his arms beneath the cloak, the aftermath of your shared passion lingering like a quiet warmth, Jon held you close, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin. “I mean it,” he whispered, his voice soft but firm. “I want to be with you. I want this… forever.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling at the sincerity in his eyes, a smile playing on your lips. “Then forever it is,” you whispered, leaning up to kiss him one last time, sealing the promise as the two of you drifted into a peaceful slumber, safe and together beneath the stars.

The early morning light filtered down through the trees, casting a muted glow over the ravine as you and Jon stirred, tangled together beneath his cloak. The warmth of his body beside you, the steady rise and fall of his chest, grounded you in a way that made you wish the moment could last forever. But the world around you began to wake, a reminder that reality was waiting, and you would have to step back into it soon.

Ghost’s ears twitched, and he lifted his head, alert, his red eyes fixed on the approaching figures at the mouth of the ravine. Moments later, Mormont and the others emerged from the trees, their footsteps crunching through the snow. Mormont’s keen gaze settled on you and Jon, his expression unreadable as he took in the sight of you both huddled close, still wrapped in the cloak.

“There you are,” Mormont said, his tone brisk as he scanned the area. “We lost sight of you two during the skirmish. Thought we might have lost you.”

Jon shifted beside you, pulling away slightly, though his hand lingered on yours for just a heartbeat longer. “We took cover here, Lord Commander,” he explained, his voice steady as he rose to his feet, extending a hand to help you up. “It was… safer to wait for the attack to end.”

Mormont’s gaze flicked between you and Jon, his eyes lingering a bit longer on the closeness you’d shared, but he only nodded, his tone gruff as ever. “Good thinking. You’ve both made it through, and that’s what matters.”

Sam, Grenn, and Pypar exchanged glances, their eyes alight with curiosity, though they wisely kept their questions to themselves. Jon glanced over at you, catching your eye, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you, a quiet understanding passing between you, a silent acknowledgment of the night you had shared.

As the group began to move out of the ravine, Sam fell into step beside Jon, casting him a sidelong glance, his cheeks slightly pink. He hesitated, glancing at the others to make sure they were out of earshot before he leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “So… Jon,” he ventured, his tone both hesitant and eager, “how… how was it?”

Jon stiffened, his expression tightening as he shot Sam a look. “Sam, don’t,” he muttered, glancing around to make sure no one else was listening. “It’s… it’s not something we should be talking about.”

But Sam’s curiosity wouldn’t be so easily deflected. He offered Jon an encouraging, almost conspiratorial smile. “Come on, Jon,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ve… I’ve never known someone who… well, who had something like that. It’s just… well, I’m curious.”

Jon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. But he knew Sam meant no harm, and the eagerness in his friend’s face was difficult to resist. After a moment of hesitation, he leaned in slightly, his voice low and reluctant. “It was… more than I ever imagined, Sam,” he admitted, his gaze flicking forward to where you walked. “Being with her, it felt… like it was meant to be.”

Sam’s eyes widened, his expression a mixture of awe and excitement. “Jon, that’s… that’s wonderful,” he murmured, his tone almost reverent. “But… you know, the others… they might not understand. Mormont especially…”

Jon nodded, his expression hardening slightly as he considered the implications. “I know. Which is why I need you to keep it between us, Sam. It’s… it’s private, and it’s something that I don’t want the others to know about.”

Sam’s face grew serious, and he nodded solemnly. “Of course, Jon. I promise. I’ll keep your secret safe.”

Jon offered him a small, grateful smile, a sense of relief washing over him. “Thank you, Sam,” he said softly. “I appreciate it.”

As they walked on in silence, Jon’s gaze drifted back to you. You glanced over your shoulder, catching his eye, and a soft smile touched your lips, a silent communication that only the two of you could understand. It was a fleeting moment, but it held a world of meaning, a promise that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.

With Sam beside him and you up ahead, Jon felt a rare sense of peace settle over him, the weight of his secret shared, his heart lightened by the presence of those he held closest. For the first time since joining the Night’s Watch, he allowed himself to believe in the possibility of happiness, however fleeting it might be.

[mywhisperingwords]

a touch that never hurts | fred g. weasley

summary: you seem to have fallen for your best friend, which you could handle if only he didn’t constantly touch you word count: 3.2k masterlist

It was official: you were stupid.

Only a complete idiot would fall for their best mate and here you’ve gone and done it. Because there was no other explanation for this feeling in your stomach as you looked across the Great Hall and watched Fred Weasley tell some stupid joke to his friends and wishing nothing more than to be the one he told the joke to.

He wasn’t even supposed to be here; just earlier today, Snape had given him detention.

While working on the assigned potion, he decided to mix things up to make you laugh after your bad day.

Before class started Snape decided to ruin the day and give everyone’s essays back. You flunked. Hard. After a big explosion and an awful lecture from Snape, any of Fred’s afternoon plans were ruined. For you.

You stood there, frozen in shock, trying to figure out how to go on with your life from here.

But how could you? This realization felt like the worst thing that’s ever happened to you—right after becoming friends with Fred Weasley himself.

You must’ve stood frozen in place for too long because he caught your eye and was now waving you over with his typical charming smile while the people around him were continuing their conversation, oblivious to the turmoil inside you. You briefly considered turning around and running away, but you decided against it. That would make this situation even more awkward than it already was.

Taking a deep breath and mustering a wobbly smile, you made your way over to the Gryffindor table. You exchanged greetings with your friends and headed toward a seat, hoping to get as far away from Fred as you could. But, of course, Fred had other plans. With a grin, he shoved Lee aside and proudly declared the seat next to him as free.

Bloody hell, he was making it hard for you. It’s as if he knew and wanted to torture you now that you had finally realized your true feelings. Feelings that didn’t actually exist; denial was your new best friend.

With no other choice, other than making this one hell of an uncomfortable situation for everyone, you reluctantly sat down next to him, trying to put as much distance between you two as possible.

But to no avail. As soon as you sat down Fred swung his arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer to him. “Thank Merlin you’re here. Could you be a darling and tell our idiotic friends that Snape does in fact secretly love me and that is the only reason he so often chooses to see me after class?”

‘Darling’ and ‘secretly loves me’, seemed to be the only thing your brain registered, not to mention that arm still wrapped around you. Has he always been this physically affectionate with you? It was hard to remember because Fred was looking at you expectantly as if he were waiting for something and…

Finally, your brain catches up, “Oh, that my dear Fred, is what we call detention. And wouldn't you know it, you're supposed to be there... like right now!" You playfully glanced at your imaginary wristwatch.

You could practically see the second he realized you were right. In a hurry, he jumped up from his seat and snatched the last food from his plate. But there was something important he seemed to have forgotten.

With a grin, you asked him, "Aren't you forgetting something?" Confusion washed over his face as he turned back to the table, searching for what he had missed, not finding anything. After a brief moment, he leaned down and surprised you with a kiss on your cheek. Speechless and mouth agape, you watched as the rest of the table erupted in snickers.

"You git!" you exclaimed, feeling your cheeks burn. "I meant your wand!"

Instead of being flustered like you, Fred found the whole situation hilarious. He joined in laughter with his friends and sent you a playful wink. With a glint in his eye, he swiftly retrieved his wand and innocently exclaimed, "Oops!" before making a speedy exit from the Great Hall.

Still trying to process what just happened, you turned to your friends, hoping they could provide the distraction and peace of mind you desperately needed.

Just when you thought it couldn't get any worse, George decided to torture you. With a grin, he leaned in and asked if you've figured it out yet. Your whole body tensed up, and you found yourself desperately wishing for an escape.

In your horrified state, you managed to stammer out a weak, "W-What?" The anticipation of his response hung heavy in the air, and you braced yourself for the worst.

George burst into laughter, which echoed through the Great Hall, making everything feel ten times worse. You couldn’t help but feel exposed, as if your deepest secrets were on display for everyone to see.

Through his laughter, George managed to squeeze out, "Bloody hell. Looks like someone forgot the essay for McGonagall that's due tomorrow."

You breathed a sigh of relief, realizing that he had no idea. How could he? You yourself just figured it out. And you’d do anything to keep it that way. You won’t tell a soul about any of it and just pretend that things were normal.

✧

How naive could you be? How in your right mind could you ever think that keeping this from Fred was a possibility?

He knew you better than you knew yourself.

No matter how hard you tried to keep things like always it just wouldn’t go your way. First everything was completely normal, nothing out of the ordinary. You two would banter and share jokes. But as soon as he touched you in any way you panicked and run away from him.

You hadn’t realized how often he reached for you. It apparently had become like second nature for him.

At first you noticed the small touches, like accidentally bumping shoulders while walking together or him gently tapping your arm to get your attention.

But it was the larger gestures that pushed you to your breaking point, stirring up your traitorous heart even more. Like when he reached out and grabbed your hand in the bustling crowd of students during a visit to Hogsmead.

But the absolute worst was when he would slide in next to you, casually drape his arm around your shoulder and pull you close, all while effortlessly engaging in conversation with someone else. And what made it even more unbearable was that no one seemed to bat an eye. It was as if this physical closeness was an unspoken agreement between the two of you, that no one remembered to inform you about.

But as much as you tried to subtly keep your distance you could tell that Fred knew something was wrong. He saw it in the way you would purposefully choose to sit the furthest away from him even when the seat next to him was unoccupied.

You saw the confusion in his eyes when you started to avoid going to Hogsmead with the excuse of finishing your school work. He knew that this was never something that stopped you from spending time with him or your friends.

Since that first year you met Fred on the train, he’d been a constant presence in your life. You stumbled upon Fred and George pulling a prank on their older brother Percy. Instead of telling on them, you decided to join in on the mischief. As a result, Percy ended up with boils all over his face. From that moment on, you and Fred became inseparable. So, when you suddenly started pulling away without any explanation, it felt like the most awful thing you could do to him.

And you could tell that it was hurting Fred too. He wasn't the type to wear his heart on his sleeve; in fact, quite the opposite. But after all the years you've known him, you were priding yourself on understanding him better than most people in his life. He would never outright admit it, but your actions were causing him pain.

He would extend his hand, reach out, but as soon as he noticed that you turned away from him, he would pull back. In that fleeting moment, you could see the hurt and confusion reflected in his eyes, mirroring the hurt you were experiencing.

He even attempted to talk about it once. Normally, he would rely on laughter to uplift your spirits rather than delve into the realm of emotions. So when he approached you before your class, specifically to ask if you were okay, it created an awkward conversation for the both of you. All you could do was promise him, that if anything was wrong, you’d tell him.

What a lie.

His genuine concern shattered your heart. But it wasn't just him who could sense that something was off. You noticed how your friends would exchange worried glances every time you came up with a new excuse to avoid spending time with Fred.

Being around him became an unbearable risk, fearing that he might somehow discover your true feelings for him. It wasn’t just a simple crush; your feelings ran deeper, more intense.

Every time you witnessed his infectious laughter or his ability to light up the entire room with his jokes, a swarm of butterflies erupted in your stomach, consuming you from within. The guilt of keeping such a significant secret from him and the rest of your friends gnawed at you. But the thought of confessing your feelings and potentially jeopardizing everything held you back.

It has gotten to the point where you chose to spend your free time in the library. You knew that he would never step foot inside of it. So this place became your sanctuary.

But you should’ve known better. Fred Weasley may not be an overly emotional person but he was stubborn to no end.

One night after dinner, that ended with you leaving the table as soon as possible and an excuse, truthful this time, to do your unfinished homework you returned to the only place that felt safe from Fred.

There were only a few students left in the library. You grabbed your Charms Book and settled into a quiet corner, hoping to review your homework for Professor Flitwick.

But your silence was soon disturbed by the one person you wanted to avoid. Which was not entirely true.

The situation hurt, but you couldn’t help wanting to see him — even if only from afar.

Fred appeared to be searching for you because the moment your eyes met, he marched over to where you were sitting.

"Back to doing homework, huh?" he asked, glancing at your table.

"Actually, yes," you replied honestly.

“Oi, sod off. I know you mostly just sit here doing nothing — Lee saw you, you know?” he said.

“I don’t know what Lee thinks he saw but that’s not the truth. This is a library. I study,” you argued.

“Listen, I know you’ve been avoiding me. And I have no idea what I could’ve done. You’ve been blowing me off left and right. You’re being pretty obvious and I think it’s time we had this discussion.”

You stared at him, eyes wide open. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I already told you, everything is fine.”

“Come off it! We’ve been friends for years and I know when something’s off. You’ve been avoiding me and you have been for weeks. I’m done pretending like I don’t know that. And things aren’t fine since you won’t tell me what it is. What’s this really about?” his voice was low, but you could feel his anger seeping through.

But you couldn’t tell him; too much was at stake. You’d lose your best friend. Even the thought alone was too much to bear.

“Fred, please. I just… I can’t explain it to you,” you pleaded.

“Why the hell not? I’m your friend!” You appreciated his concern, but his persistence was becoming overwhelming. “If everything truly was fine you wouldn’t be hiding here all the time! What’s going on?” he demanded, clearly just wanting answers, answers you couldn’t give him.

“I really can’t tell you. Please, I’m begging you, let it go.” Keeping this from him was killing you. You felt awful holding this secret from him. Deep inside you entertained the notion that he felt the same, but doubts held you back. It was pain-filled hiding something so important from a person that meant so much to you. You wished that he felt the same way, but fear gripped you tight.

Fred's anger was palpable, evident from the fury etched on his face. Madam Pince was shooting both of you disapproving glances. You secretly hoped that she would kick you out, giving you an excuse to escape this conversation.

“No, I’m not giving up. I deserve answers and I’m not leaving until I get them, understood?” He defiantly took a seat right in front of you.

You remained silent, refusing to speak another word. The more he pushed, the harder it became to keep this from him.

“I’ve got all night. Nowhere else to be,” he stated, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on you. Still refusing to speak, you turned your attention back to your essay, hoping he would eventually relent.

After a few minutes, he broke the silence. His voice now calm and his expression blank. No trace of anger or irritation. It almost seemed like he had come to accept the situation.

“Maybe this is for the best. You clearly don’t want to talk to me, so I’ll guess I won’t bother you anymore,” he said in a monotone voice, before he abruptly stood up and started to walk away, not looking back once.

Hot panic was surging through your veins and in an instant you jumped up, to go after him. Realizing that you were about to lose him either way, you took a chance.

��I like you!” The words echoed through the quiet library, their volume seemingly too loud for the stillness around you. He paused in his tracks, but didn't turn around. Unable to see his reaction, you continued, thinking maybe it was better this way, shielded from the potential disgust his face might reveal.

"I like you, and I'm really sorry, okay? I just need some time to sort things out and get over these feelings. I promise, but right now, I can't be around you. Not right now. That's why I've been avoiding you. Please, please don't hate me," with every word, your desperation spilled out, raw and unfiltered, while your eyes began to burn.

As Fred slowly turned around, his expression was unreadable, and it felt like everything was falling apart. Immediate regret was filling you up. Maybe, if you would’ve stayed silent and kept on ignoring what was going on inside of you, there would have been a chance to mend the friendship later on. But now, it felt like it might be too late.

“You like me?” he asked, his voice filled with bewilderment.

“Please, don’t make me say it again,” you pleaded, feeling overwhelmed by the situation.

His expression slowly transformed into a wide smile, "You're not kidding. You actually like me?"

Confused and feeling a sense of panic, you asked, "Why are you smiling at me like that?"

Fred's grin widened, making him look like a complete idiot, "I can't control it. You've just made me the happiest person in the world. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been hoping to hear those words?"

Silence filled the air. Your heart skipped a beat. "What?"

“I like you too, I was just waiting for you to catch up,” he confessed with a soft grin, his hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

"So, that's why you were always touching me?" you asked, trying to make sense of it all.

He let out a loud laugh, quickly quieted by a stern look from Madam Pince. He sent her an apologetic smile before refocusing on you and speaking in a hushed tone.

"And here I thought I was being smooth about it. I've been trying to let you know for a while now, actually."

“Bloody hell. You mean you felt the same all this time? Why on earth didn't you say anything?" You were in disbelief, feeling like you were in a dream. Maybe you had dozed off while reading about The History and Evolution of Enchantments and Charms Throughout the Ages.

"Well, why didn't you?" he asked.

"You've got me there," you said with a quiet laugh, looking down at the ground. After a moment of silence, you glanced up and saw him smiling softly at you.

"So... what's the plan now?" you asked, seeking some clarity.

"You like me, I like you. It's pretty clear, isn't it?" he responded.

You squinted your eyes at him, still not fully convinced.

"Now I can touch you as much as I want, and you can't escape anymore," he said with a mischievous grin, taking a step closer until he stood right in front of you.

"Oh, Merlin. You're a git," you exclaimed, unable to hold back a laugh. "Why on earth do I like you again?"

“Because I’m just that irresistible, obviously,” he laughed, joining in with you.

You placed your hand on his chest and playfully gave him a nudge. But before you could pull away, he surprised you by grabbing your hand. As you looked down at his hand enveloping yours, he posed a question. "So, about you admitting you like me... do you wanna back that up with a kiss?"

"Mhm, I'll have to think about that," you teased, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not sure if you deserve it, to be honest."

He grinned cheekily and retorted, "Oh, I definitely deserve it. What have I ever done to not deserve it?"

“Let’s try and remember. Just last week you-”

As you were about to list all the things he had done, he surprised you again by silencing your words with a passionate kiss. In that moment, your thoughts faded into insignificance, consumed by the intensity of the kiss. His hand gently caressed your cheek, deepening the connection between you. Your emotions were running wild, and it felt as if your body was ablaze.

After a moment or an hour, he pulled back, and you took a deep breath, trying to regain your composure. Opening your eyes, you gazed up at him.

"Sorry, I interrupted you. What were you saying?" he asked, his playful tone laced with a hint of mischief.

“I can’t remember,” you murmured, connecting your lips with his once more.

You’d been wrong all along—falling for your best friend might have been the best idea of all.

[corviiids]

One word prompt: composure

(can everyone play death note killer within)

-

Light's voice comes through crackly and frustrated: "I saw Ryuzaki hovering around Misa at the beginning of the round."

"Let's not jump to conclusions," Matsuda offers, gormless but for once helpful. "I mean, I've been wandering around lost for a few rounds now. Maybe Ryuzaki just doesn't get the game."

Okay, not that helpful. L unmutes. "I had a monitoring task," he intones. "I had to stand near Misa."

"That doesn't change the fact that you're the only one she came into contact with, and now she's dead!" Light sounds even more frustrated than before. "I have her journal right here and Ryuzaki's the only one she has marked. Either Ryuzaki is Kira or he's a Kira follower."

"You seem to know a lot about Kira," L comments. "Maybe it's you we should be paying attention to, Light. After all, you're the one who found Misa's journal. If anyone's lying about her death, it could only be you."

"That's a good point," says Aizawa, sounding worried.

"You're not going to get away with this," Light fumes.

L unmutes so Light can hear him bite into a rice krispie treat. "Keep cool, Yagami-kun," he says with his mouth full. "You're only making yourself look more suspicious."

"I'll kill you!"

"Okay, I think Light is Kira," Matsuda says, concerned, as everyone votes. "Um, Light, it's just a game, you know?"

L's avatar approaches Light's and cuffs him. Nothing suspicious is found on him, of course.

"It's Ryuzaki," Light snaps. "I'm telling you all, he's K--"

The audio cuts off as the day-phase of the game resumes.

L lets his avatar toddle around, cuffed to Light. Light's avatar furiously tries to get away to no avail--L has his ID in seconds.

L unmutes and bites into his rice krispie treat again. "It was a good try, Light," he says. "You forced me to kill Misa. That was inconvenient for me."

"She was your follower?!"

"I made sure to kill her where you'd find her notebook, yes. Better luck next time. Of course, you'll need to learn to keep your head if you're ever going to be an effective L." L takes out his notebook to end the game while Light spits at him. "Good game, Yagami-kun."