#anyway; I feel like it's difficult for me to argue with people over this because they'd need a lot of fandom drama context and receipts...

[lokiinmediasideblog]

Talking shit with nuance in the DMs with someone who's also seen the horrors of Loki TWT is nice ^_^

For context, I really HATE Loki TWT (I find Lokiblr more tolerable, maybe because it's easier to avoid shit as I have the algorithm recommendations turned off. Y'all should try that.). Everyone's awful over there, be it anti series, Sylki, or Lokius.

Like do they all know they can express grievances without getting ableist and nasty?

But some people from Loki TWT unfortunately are also on Tumblr...

[discoreptile]

Beasties of Greenhollow soundtrack! Some tracks on this are from older projects like elphame but all of them have been reworked in some way. Most of them are entirely new. Enjoy!

[snaileer]

Everyone Loves a 2-for-1 Sale Part 3

Part 1 & 2 (And original Prompt)

The dining room was suspiciously quiet for a Wayne breakfast when Danny walked in.

He glanced up from his phone, pulling one earbud out, “Oh feel free to continue arguing my morality like I’m an object, my music’s on full volume.”

Dick looked uncomfortable, “We weren’t-Look, Ti- Danny, we are just a bit curious as to why you’re…. here,” Dick finished, glancing at the others like asking if they’d share the plate of batguilt-fries with him.

“Surely the world could have done without a second Drake,” Damian cut in before Danny could even start.

“And we could have done without even one of you, yet here you are,” Danny glared, “Factory defects and all.”

Damian jerked upwards with a raised knife, narrowly pushed back down by Dick.

Danny rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to his phone-Tim’s phone-their phone. He held a folded paper out to Bruce with two fingers, still typing, “I have a list, if you want it.”

He continued typing as they opening the note and read it, he knew what it said.

To Do in Gotham:

1. Get to Gotham

2. Find original - don’t freak family out

3. -Find- Talk to Bruce

4. Convince Vicki Vale that Tim is/ actually engaged to Tam Fox

5. Get safe house

6. New identity? (what do clones do? - ask Connor)

7.

8.

9. Leave?

“What’s number seven and eight?” Dick asked, and Danny actively made sure his typing pattern didn’t change.

“Don’t know yet,” He answered with a shrug, the picture of nonchalance. Bruce probably didn’t believe him.

Didn’t matter. Dick did. Because Dick felt guilty.

Bat guilty.

About time he believed him about something.

And Danny didn’t care about Damian’s opinions one way or another.

He stepped away from the table, plopping another grape in his mouth as he walked past, “Welp that’s it for me, busy day, fake engagement, gotta find some crutches because I don’t think Vicki will accept my ‘you got new legs Lieutenant Dan-ny’ joke, all that,”

Danny slipped out the door past a sleep-deprived Tim with a jaunty salute, “All’s well in Clone Town!”

Danny kept walking, his brain running miles ahead of him, Ted Tobin steering the wheel with his fingers on the keypad of his phone as he moved forward and mentally filled in the list.

Number 7: Find Ra’s Al Ghul and the Lazarus pits.

Number 8: Stabilize yourself.

Danny continued up the stairs. He had people to see and rings to buy. Busy is the life of a saboteur.

—

Red Robin watched his clone linger in the jeweler’s store, trying to keep the frown from taking over his whole face.

He was making Tim’s life difficult. Tim suspected it was on purpose.

Largely because people would ask way too many questions if two Tim Drakes showed up in Gotham at the same time.

Hence, Red Robin being relegated to rooftop surveillance.

He turned his attention back to the clone, watching as he left the shop and turned down the street. Red Robin swept after him, following from above.

The clone remained focused on his phone- which was also Tim’s by the way, and stolen- as he walked down the street, turning into an alley without even looking up.

Tim tilted his head and swung to the rooftop, peering into the darkness.

“You could always just come down and actually talk to me, you know?”

Tim dropped into the alley, unsurprised to come face to face with the clone. It was weird to see his own face look so annoyed by him.

“Thought it was best to stay out of sight. We’re not exactly a daylight hero.”

Danny rolled his eyes, “Already annoyed with Vicki Vale?”

Tim nearly growled, “That is your fault,”

“Oh come on, you can’t tell me it’s not hilarious.”

“You’ve spent all morning in ring shops! I have meetings!”

“Lucius can handle them. It’s not like we actually did anything this last year anyways.”

Tim stared at him for a second, confusion in the squint of his eyes and laced with suspicion.

Danny groaned with a roll of his eyes, “Fine, you want me to stay put somewhere so you can do your civilian thing?”

“Yes.”

“I am not staying in the manor. You can’t make me.”

Dread filled him as Tim smiled, “Not a problem.”

Danny glared at Tim standing arms wide in the center of the room of his emptiest safe house, “This is so not what I meant and you know it.”

Tim’s face betrayed nothing, “Look, none of us are happy with this situation-“

Danny scoffed. Understatement of the century.

“But..” Tim continued with a pointed look, “It’s my fault, and I get that. So…compromise? You stay here, work on cold cases while I sort out my current job, and when I’m done, we’ll figure out what to do, okay?”

Danny sighed, feeling Ted Tobin stir to life with plans already forming.

“Fine.”

Tim nodded succinctly, reaching for a laptop and multiple cords, “Ok, here’s my old computer, -huh, I could have sworn that had a different charger- anyways- I’ll take this,” he plucks the phone from Danny’s hands in one smooth motion, giving a mocking smile in return to Danny’s glare, “Thank you very much, now I just have to-and find the guy who…”

Tim’s voice tapers off into mumbles as he heads into the bedroom to peel off his suit, fingers focused on the keypad of his newly reacquired phone.

Danny slumps himself down on the secondhand couch, dust echoing around him. This was fine, he could do stuff in the meanwhile, maybe help Tim with his case -or solve it himself, he bets he could- and then finish the new specs for the suit wings that Danny’s suit still didn’t have.

Tim fumbled through the doorway, now in civilian clothes, already on a call with Lucius probably, or Tam. Tam helped him a lot.

Danny slouched further into the silence.

It felt like being left behind by his parents.

They had bigger priorities.

Archaeology.

Ghosts.

Danny shook his head, opening the computer and letting Ted Tobin fish through the passwords for case files.

He’s nearly 3 hours deep when he really pauses for the first time, finally stopping the continuous notes sitting next him, each a different clue. Most for different cases.

The current case pulled up on his screen scratches at him, facts slotting into place with rapid fire precision.

The officer assigned to the case is a vet.

The case is perpetrated by a senatorial candidate.

The officer assigned served on three active fronts and 2 undisclosed.

The guilty candidate is running support for a bill cutting veteran supports.

Best of all?

It’s not in Gotham.

Danny smiles as Ted Tobin’s plan fills in, piece by piece.

—

Ra’s Al Ghul should really make it harder to hack into his confidential back market mercenary dealings.

Then again, maybe it was for the better. How else would he make sure Red Robin was able to intercept the assassin in time to save that poor officer’s life the night before his case-closing arrest?

—

“Detective, I assumed holding my business outside of Gotham would keep it from being the concern of you and yours,” Ra’s’ voice is muffled through the bag over his head, “It seems I was wrong.”

“Oh well, you know me…,” The bag is ripped roughly off his head, leaving him blinking rapidly against the light even as he smirks, “Always butting into things when I shouldn’t. It’s kind of what we do.”

“Tell me, Timothy,” Ra’s says, turning his back to him once more, as he waves his ninjas away, “What does this officer matter to you, more than a state away from your usual stomping grounds? What-“ Ra’s pauses as a different ninja approaches him to whisper in his ear. His body stills.

“Well, we’ll start there. First of all, as I’m sure you just found out, I’m not Timothy,” Danny says, standing up smoothly. He relishes the look Ra’s gives him as he turns around. “And secondly, the officer wasn’t what mattered. Getting you here on the other hand. Now that.. that takes a little more planning.” Danny brushes himself off, removing the cowl to leave just his own domino behind.

Ra’s al Ghul hums, his eyebrow twitching up even as his eyes narrow in suspicion.

“What? No sudden desire to stab? No impromptu attempt to put a sword through my chest?”

“You are curious. So much like the detective, and yet… my people tell me he is currently patrolling in Gotham with the Grayson boy.”

Danny scoffs, “Oh great, another fruit loop interested in me, like I need a new one of those.”

Ra’s’ stare doesn’t change. Albeit a bit more annoyed, but still flat and calm.

“You wanna know what makes me different from Timothy, Ra’s?” Danny pauses, taking a deep breath and letting the ectoplasm ripple inside him for the first time in months. “The difference between me and him,” When he looks up he knows his eyes glow fluorescent green, “Is that I’m stronger.”

—

Bonus Scene:

Dick stared at Tim’s clone as he left, sweeping past the original’s bleary form stumbling to the coffee machine.

“Are we sure he’s Drake’s clone? He seems… less of a fool,” Damian sneered, watching Tim stand listlessly in front of the cabinet, coffeemaker off, and tablet in hand.

He looked out of the Dining room doors, spotting Danny standing not far away in front of one of the closets by the stairs rather than the actual steps, fingers tapping away.

Damian turned back to his breakfast, “I retract my statement. Clearly his stupidity was simply blinding.”

[wholoveseggs]

Hello, how are you? Could i request an angsty but smutty and fluff fic of Elijah and reader where they get into a fight but makeup in the end?

Stubborn

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

You and Elijah get into a fight about his protective nature. He thinks you are too stubborn, and you think he's too controlling. How will you resolve your issues?

♡♡ Thanks for the request anon! I don't know if this is very angsty, but it certainly is very smutty ♡♡

4.1k words - Warnings: smuttttt, very little plot, Cami being the best, dom!elijah (you like him in control? well... here you go...), fingering, squirting, angry sex...

"I'm not some damsel in distress, I don't need your protection!" You yelled, louder than you meant to. Arguing with Elijah was always a test of your restraint. He made it so damn difficult, he was always calm and composed. Sometimes you just wanted to push his buttons.

"Darling, I have so many enemies, and you're not invincible." He tried to reason.

"Don't patronize me, I know that, but you treat me like I can't take care of myself!" You snapped, pacing around the living room. You tried to calm yourself down, you didn't want to say something you'd regret, but the anger bubbling inside you wouldn't go away.

"I'm not trying to patronize you, I just think you could make better decisions." He said softly, his eyes following you as you paced.

"It's like you're treating me like a child! We're supposed to be equals, and you always talk to me like you're the parent and I'm the kid!" Your voice cracked a little, when you got angry you also would cry. You hated that about yourself.

Elijah could see the pain in your eyes, you were his soft and sweet y/n. He just wanted to protect you. He tried to approach you, to hold you and comfort you, but you pushed him away.

His actions made you feel weak, and foolish, here was a man that faced countless dangers, he was centuries old, he fought vampires and werewolves, witches and even his own siblings. And you were just this fragile thing, this tiny human he had to watch out for. It made you feel so weak and pathetic, all your insecurities bubbling up inside you, the tears falling down your cheeks.

You stormed away from him, and he let you, because he knew if he pushed you, it would just make things worse.

You had been dating Elijah for two months now, and in that time, he had taken on the role of a protective boyfriend. You liked being taken care of, but sometimes it felt like he didn't see you as an equal.

You had been arguing about this a lot lately. You didn't like being treated like you were breakable. You weren't. You had dealt with plenty of dangers in your life, and he didn't give you enough credit.

He was a stubborn man, and you were a stubborn woman, so the tension kept rising, until you finally had to get away from him. So you decided to stay at Cami's for a few days, she was a good friend, and she didn't judge you. She could always use some company anyways.

"So, he's a bit over protective, huh?" Cami asked. You were curled up on her couch, drinking a glass of wine. You were both having a night in, wearing pajamas and doing self-care.

"Yeah, and I know he means well, but I really value my independence, it's not something I'm willing to give up," You admitted.

"Do you feel like he doesn't respect you?" She asked, taking a sip of her own wine.

"No, he does, I know that, but it feels like he doesn't trust me." You said, looking down into your glass.

Cami stood and grabbed some snacks, tossing you a bag of your favorite chips. "I don't think that's it, I think he's scared. Scared to lose you. He's been through so much, and he's lost a lot of people he's loved." She said, plopping back down on the couch.

You let out a long sigh, you knew of his pain, but it was still hard to hear out loud. He held all of his trauma inside him, and sometimes it was difficult for him to share, even with you.

"I love him Cami, it's just hard. I've always had to take care of myself, I guess I just have a hard time accepting someone wanting to do that for me." You said softly, feeling the tears brimming your eyes.

"Have you told him that? That you love him?" She asked.

"No, I... I want him to say it first." You admitted.

Cami chuckled and took a long sip of her wine, then grabbed the remote and turned on a movie. It was one of those sappy romances that were so over the top and cheesy. But that's why they were so fun to watch.

"Just tell him. I'm sure he loves you too." Cami said, her gaze fixed on the tv.

"I know," you sighed, "I just want him to initiate, his so reserved, and I'm tired of always being the one who has to take the first step." You grumbled.

"He's probably worried about scaring you away, or making things awkward, you know how he can be." She said, turning to look at you, giving you a comforting smile.

"Yeah, I guess." You mumbled, curling up further on the couch.

Cami gave you a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder and the two of you continued to watch your movie, the sappy love story playing out in front of you.

"So," she said, breaking the silence, "how's the sex?"

You choked on your wine, sputtering a bit before regaining your composure. Cami was a little shit sometimes.

"The sex is amazing," You said, smirking at her. "But... I'm always the one initiating it. Sometimes I think his biggest problem is that he's too gentlemanly."

"Well, what have you done to make him be more spontaneous?" Cami asked, grabbing the bottle of wine and pouring more in her glass.

"Me?" You squeaked. "What did I do?"

"Maybe he doesn't want to take control because you never gave him permission." She asked.

You sat and thought about that. You were usually the one who would start things. You initiated kisses, hugs, hand holding, even the sex. Elijah was so reserved, so proper, he didn't want to overstep. It made you feel like he didn't desire you, which was ridiculous, you had seen him undressing you with his eyes.

"That's fair." You said. "I didn't realize he was waiting for permission."

"Men are idiots." Cami stated, making you laugh.

"Sometimes," you said, chuckling. "I just want to see him be the one to initiate, you know?"

"I know." She said, leaning back on the couch.

You finished the bottle of wine and watched the rest of the movie. It was so sweet, the ending was a happy one, the couple was together and they were in love. You wished life was that simple.

The next morning, you woke up with a pounding headache and a dry mouth. Cami was already awake, making coffee.

"Ugh," you groaned, rubbing your temples. "I should have drank more water,"

"I tried to remind you." Cami said, smirking at you.

"Well, excuse me for being drunk," You replied.

She handed you a mug of coffee, and you sipped it slowly, letting the warmth of the drink soothe your throat.

"Thanks for letting me stay here," you said.

"You know I don't mind." She replied, sitting on the couch next to you.

You leaned your head on her shoulder, sighing.

"I love him, but I think I need some space. Some time to myself." You said softly.

"I think that's a good idea." She replied.

"Are we doing the right thing? Am I being selfish?" You asked, chewing your bottom lip.

"No, you're not. You're being realistic. You need some space and some time to yourself." She replied.

"I'm going to go to the compound and pick up some clothes and stuff." You said.

"Want me to come with you?" She asked.

"No, that's ok, I think I can handle myself." You replied, smiling at her.

She gave you a reassuring squeeze and you got up, feeling a bit better after your talk.

"Thanks Cami, I'll call you later," You said, grabbing your keys and heading out.

Elijah was sitting at the kitchen counter, drinking a glass of whiskey, and he had a book open in front of him, though he wasn't reading it. His mind was too preoccupied. He missed you terribly, it had only been a couple days, but it felt like an eternity.

He thought back to the last conversation you had had. You had stormed off, and he hadn't chased after you, because he knew you needed time to cool down. He wanted to tell you he was sorry, but he knew you didn't want to hear it right now.

You were the best thing that had ever happened to him, and he didn't want to lose you. He was used to losing people, he had spent centuries running, he had been betrayed, lied to, hurt. But he had never met anyone quite like you.

You were sweet, funny, smart, and caring. He had fallen for you quickly, but he had been too afraid to admit it. Like if he said it out loud, everything would fall apart.

But in your absence he realized his mistake, and how foolish he had been. No more wasting time, he needs to tell you that he loves you, despite how stubborn you are.

You walked into the compound, it was eerily quiet, you hoped Elijah was out. So you could just quickly grab your things and leave.

You didn't expect him to be waiting for you in the kitchen, his face was serious, but his eyes were full of emotion.

"Elijah, I'm just here to pick up some clothes," You said, trying to walk past him. He stepped in front of you, blocking your way.

"We need to talk." He said, his tone firm.

"No, we really don't, I just want my things," You said, trying to move around him. He moved again, his arms crossed, and his face was stern.

"Stop treating me like a child! Let me by!" You yelled. He let you pass him and you ran up to your bedroom, grabbing some clothes.

He followed you and stood in the doorway, watching you, his eyes boring into your skin.

"Stop looking at me like that," You said, throwing some clothes into a bag.

"I hate seeing you upset," He replied, his voice soft.

"I'm not upset, I'm just angry." You said, moving past him to go into the bathroom, grabbing your toothbrush.

He followed you and leaned against the doorframe, watching you gather your toiletries.

"Please, let's just talk." He pleaded.

You sighed, looking up at him, his expression was pained, his jaw was clenched. You could see the desperation in his eyes. Your anger was still in charge though and you pushed past him again and started packing your things on the bed.

"So talk, I'm listening," You said harshly, still not looking at him.

He took a deep breath, his fists clenched, and he closed his eyes for a moment, composing himself. He knew he couldn't get through to you when you were angry like this.

"You're right," He said, opening his eyes and looking at you. "I'm sorry. I haven't been treating you fairly. I've been trying to protect you. But you are being stubborn and you're not letting me explain,"

You turned to look at him, trying to ignore how good he looked. His hair was messy, like he had been running his hands through it, and he was wearing a black shirt, his sleeves rolled up, and his tie was hanging loose around his neck. A part of you wanted to just give in and kiss him, but the other part of you was still pissed off.

He could hear your heart beating faster, your body temperature rising. He knew that he had an effect on you, and he was enjoying seeing you get flustered. He gave you a crooked smirk, and took a step closer to you, and you backed up, hitting the bed.

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady your breathing. You were angry, but his presence always made your body react, and your head spin.

"So stubborn," he growled, pushing you onto the bed.

"Fuck you, Elijah," you hissed, trying to sit up.

"Not today," he smirked, pinning you down with his weight.

"I said, fuck you," You growled, pushing on his chest.

He chuckled and leaned down, his face inches from yours. His eyes were dark, his lips curled up in a devilish smile.

"Say please," He purred, his breath ghosting over your lips.

You let out a frustrated groan, and he kissed you, hard. You whimpered, and he slipped his tongue into your mouth, exploring it, tasting you.

"Is this what you want? To be fucked?" He whispered, his lips grazing your ear.

"No," you lied, trying to squirm away from him, but his grip was too tight.

"Don't lie, darling, your body betrays you," He growled, nibbling your earlobe before leaving a trail of hickeys down your neck.

He suddenly tore the shirt off of you, making you gasp. He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head, his other hand moving to your waist, pulling your skirt off.

"Eli- my clothes!" You whined, but he just chuckled, his eyes roaming your body.

"I'll buy you new ones," He smirked, nipping at your jaw, then capturing your lips with his.

"You can't just-" you were cut off by him biting your lip. You groaned and he released you, his hands roaming your body.

"Stop being so stubborn," He whispered, his fingers brushing over your lace panties, making you shiver.

"I'm not," you argued, biting back a moan as his fingers teased your clit.

He laid on his side next to you, opening your legs and pushing your panties out of the way. He grazed over your clit with the pad of his index finger, teasing you slowly. He loved this, teasing you, torturing you. You were so beautiful when you were desperate for him.

You whined and pushed your hips against his hand, and he pulled his hand away, smirking.

"You're such a tease," You growled, glaring at him.

"You're cute when you're angry," He smiled, his fingers returning to your pussy. He tapped your clit lightly, his lips ghosting over yours. You tried not to react, but it felt so good, this dominant side of him was driving you crazy.

He slid two fingers into you, and began thrusting them slowly. You gasped and arched your back, moaning loudly. Watching your reaction was thrilling, his cock was painfully hard, but he wanted to make you cum first.

"Listen to those sweet sounds," he purred, pumping his fingers in and out of you, curling them just right. “So filthy and wet, the way your body responds, it's like you were made for me."

"You're a fucking asshole," you moaned, trying to buck your hips against his fingers.

"I can stop, if you want," He whispered, his voice dark. 

"No," You whimpered, "I-I'm close."

"Oh, I know, darling." He smiled, "You're going to cum, and I'm going to make you cum again, and again, until all the stubborn thoughts in your head disappear."

His fingers were pumping fast now, and you couldn't help the noises you were making. Your orgasm was building in such a way that you knew it would be intense. He was right, you were stubborn, you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of hearing you moan, but it was becoming more and more difficult to hold back.

"Eli- wait, your gonna make me-" You stuttered, gasping as he added a third finger, stretching you even more.

"Make a mess?" He purred, curling his fingers just right, hitting your g-spot.

The lewd, wet, squelching noises coming from your pussy were embarrassing, and the fact that he was enjoying them made it worse. He could feel your walls tightening around his fingers, your whole body trembling, you were so close.

He sped up his pace, and he could see the moment when you reached your peak. Your body tensed up, your back arching, and then a loud cry escaped your lips.

Your juices spilled out onto his fingers, covering his hand. It was so much, you had never squirted before, and the look on Elijah's face was pure lust and amusement.

It made you embarrassed and a bit angry and you tried to move away, but he kept his fingers buried deep inside you, not letting you escape.

"Don't be ashamed," He said, kissing your forehead, his fingers moving slowly, causing your legs to tremble.

"I'm not," You panted, glaring at him, trying to suppress a moan.

"Really?" He purred, his eyes locking with yours, "Then why are you blushing?"

He smirked, and you tried to hide your face in the sheets, but he wouldn't let you. He was still smirking, and you were getting angrier.

"I'm not-"

"Shh, love, you can't hide from me," he cooed, his fingers still pumping into you, stretching you out. Building up another climax.

"Eli-fuck," You gasped, the pleasure building.

"That's it, let me hear those pretty sounds," He whispered, his voice husky.

He was still fully clothed, and he hadn't even touched himself, he was only focused on you.

He kept fucking his fingers into you, his thumb circling your clit, making sure every inch of your pussy was being stimulated.

Your body was trembling, and you could feel yourself getting close again, you pushed your heels into the bed, trying to get away, but he didn't stop, he just kept going, his pace relentless.

"I can't- oh fuck-," You gasped, arching your back as the orgasm crashed over you. Your wetness soaked his hand and the bed below.

Elijah pulled his fingers out, bringing them up to his mouth and licking them clean. Then he kissed you, his tongue pushing past your lips, tasting all of you.

You tried to glare at him, but he was now kissing your neck, his free hand moving down to cup your breast, teasing your nipples.

"I'm still mad at you," You panted, trying not to moan.

"I know," He smirked, "And I'm not finished with you."

He grabbed your thighs, spreading your legs, and settled between them, his eyes roaming over your body.

"Such a pretty thing," He murmured, tracing patterns on your skin.

He took ahold of your waist, pulling you towards him, and began to grind against your wet pussy, making you whimper.

"You're so sensitive, baby," He cooed, his lips brushing over your collarbone.

You could feel his erection straining against his pants, and you could tell he was enjoying this just as much as you were. He undid his belt, pulling it out of the loops, and tossing it to the floor.

He pulled your arms above your head, his hand gripping your wrists. He unzipped his pants and took his cock out, pressing it against your entrance.

"You're already soaked for me," He whispered, kissing you deeply.

You moaned into the kiss, and he pushed his cock into you, making you whimper. He was so thick, and his length filled you completely, making your body tremble.

He began to thrust into you, his pace steady, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his lips grazing over your skin.

"I'm not a toy," You managed to say, your voice strained.

"No, you're not, you're mine," He growled, his hips slamming into yours, his cock hitting all the right spots.

"Fuck," You gasped, arching your back.

His grip on your wrists tightened, and he spread your legs even wider. He grinded his hips slowly, wanting to draw out your pleasure for as long as possible.

You could feel the pressure building, and it was becoming harder to concentrate, all you could focus on was his cock, his weight on top of you, the way he was looking at you.

"Say it," He growled, his hips moving faster now. "Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours," You moaned, your voice cracking, your resolve breaking with every deep stroke.

The sound of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy filled the room, mixed with your moans and gasps, and the way the bed was creaking. He knew you were close, he could feel your muscles starting to clench around him.

"No no stubborn one, you don't get to cum yet," He growled, nipping at your ear.

He wrapped your legs around his waist, pinning you to the bed. His pace increased and he leaned in to kiss you.

"Come on darling, give in, admit I'm right," He whispered.

"Eli, please," You moaned, your fingers gripping his shirt.

"All you have to do is submit," He cooed, pressing his lips to yours.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to resist the urge to give in, but it was so intense and his pace was relentless. He wasn't going to stop, not until you broke.

"Look at the way you open up for me," He said, his voice husky as he grinded against you. "Your needy little pussy, milking my cock, begging to be filled."

You looked down at where his cock was buried inside of you, moving in and out of your pussy. You could see how wet you were, covering his pants and your thighs, making a mess of the sheets.

"Hmm, you like that? Seeing how wet you are, all for me," He whispered, leaning down to kiss you. "Just admit that you are stubborn, and we can cum together."

Your whole body was shaking, your orgasm so close, but you fought it, squeezing your thighs together, trying to close your legs, but he wouldn't let you.

You gave up, you didn't care about the fight anymore, you just wanted to cum, you just wanted him to stop torturing you. You couldn't think straight, everything was too much, his thrusts were deep and hard, his cock was filling you, stretching you out, he knew just how to fuck you.

You couldn't hold back anymore and you finally gave in, submitting to him. "You're right," you gasped, your voice barely audible. "Please, Eli, fuck, I'm sorry, just let me cum."

"Good girl," He groaned, leaning back and spreading your thighs wide, pounding into you. He began to stroke your clit with his thumb, drawing circles, as his hips snapped hard and fast.

It was all too much, and you felt an intense release, your body convulsing, your wetness soaking him, making a mess of the clothes he was still wearing and the bed.

He chuckled, watching your cheeks flush in embarrassment as he fucked you through it. He made you squirt all over him, submitting to him completely.

You were still trembling, trying to catch your breath, you couldn't focus, your whole body was tingling with pleasure, you felt like you were floating.

He kissed you deeply, pressing his body to yours before he let out a low groan and came inside you, his cock twitching. You shuddered, your pussy still sensitive, but he didn't stop, he continued moving his hips slowly.

You could feel the warmth of his cum filling you, his cock throbbing, his breathing uneven. He kissed you softly and slowly, his fingers brushing over your cheek, caressing your face as he pulled out of you.

Now that you had come down from your high, you felt a mixture of frustration and humiliation. You tried to move, but he held you there, a devilish grin plastered on his face.

He shifted onto his back, pulling you on top of him. You straddled him, your body on top of his, your chest pressing against his chest.

"I love you," he whispered, pulling you in for another kiss.

"Eli," you muttered, burying your face in his chest. You couldn't believe he had fucked you in that way, and now he was saying the three words you wanted to hear the most. He was so perfect and so infuriating at the same time. You were angry that he was able to make you give in so easily, but it was worth it. It had never felt so good.

"I love you too, asshole," you replied, making him laugh.

He kissed you once more before wrapping his arms around you, pulling you closer to him. His hands rested on your lower back, tracing lazy circles.

"I'm sorry for being protective, it's not because I don't trust you, it's because I'm afraid of losing you," he said quietly.

"I know, and I'm sorry for saying that you're a control freak," you apologized.

"No you're not," He smirked, kissing you again.

"I'm getting there," you sighed.

He laughed, tracing the curve of your hips with his fingertips. You could feel him harden underneath you, and it turned you on again. And you slowly ground your hips against his, teasing him.

His eyes grew dark, and he placed his hands on your ass, squeezing firmly. "Darling, don't," He said warningly, his voice strained.

You ignored him, rolling your hips, grinding into his lap, you wanted more.

"Don't be so stubborn Eli-,"

You were on your back before you could finish your sentence, your legs spread, his lips on yours.

You were definitely going to fight with him more often…

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

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[a-b-riddle]

Different Tastes: John & his Sweetheart

The '141' stops as soon as they are back home. After that, they are just close friends. Simon, John, Kyle and Johnny had managed to settle down and find themselves sweet little things. All who adore their brave men and all who share different tastes

In this 'series', it's essentially bits of each of the 141 one and their kinks they have with their partners. With that being said, I don't really care if you think that Soap is submissive or Ghost is into CNC/Primal play. That's great. But in this fantasy, this is what it is. It's what I wanted to write. If you want Kyle Garrick to be a pleasure Dom and John to be a Daddy Dom. Cool. Go find other fictions that write that, or be the one to write them. I'm not going to argue about what kinks they would really have.

CW: NSFW. aniligus on male and female anatomy. D/s dynamics. Name calling. Degradation. Oral. Humiliation. Aftercare. Mentions of pornography. Not establishing safe-words. Poor understanding of establishing BDSM boundaries too late. (Not in a non-con way. But two people who don't really have prior experience to BDSM).

MINORS DNI

John and his girl are perfect for each other. For his career, it's very difficult to turn the Captain mode 'off'. He's used to giving orders and taking control over situations. It had been a problem in all of his previous relationships.

So when he found you, his perfect girl, he would have moved the moon if it meant making you happy. Add into the fact that you did like to switch your brain on autopilot and let John control mostly everything, it worked out well for both of you.

Where do you want to eat tonight?

What do you think I should wear?

I'm getting kind of sick of my hair? What do you think? Longer, shorter? Darker? Lighter?

You always relied on his opinion and followed it.

John couldn't get enough. You never got sick of hearing his thoughts and opinions. You didn't get pissed when he gave you what sounded very much like an order. To you it was John being John. He didn’t simply stop being a Captain when he wasn’t in the field and you were content with that. Liked it even.

But soon enough his bossing around had taken you both down a slippery slope. You had always wanted to explore BDSM and each order in your everyday life made you fantasize about John as a Dominant. Your sex life with John was already fantastic and he always took the lead anyway. So it felt only natural to add-in some kinkier aspects. John wasn't opposed to tying you up. Dishing out occasional discipline when you did something wrong until you ultimately admitted you hated it.

You felt when he 'punished' you, you disappointed him. John's palms started to itch when you confessed that you would much rather him spank you simply because he wanted to. So he did. Whenever he pleased. Often bending you over the counter and giving you a few swats. Your pussy already dripping for him by the time he was finished.

Deeper and deeper you dove down to more than just tying you up and spanking your ass until your juices practically leaked down to your thighs. Service submission had been what you liked the most. If John told you to be on your knees when he got home with a whiskey neat in one hand and a plate of food in the other, you did it.

When you told him this, he started casually mentioning what kind of wedding ring styles you liked.

Eventually you admitted you like being degraded.

"I know you love me," you said one night. Lazily sitting on the couch with John after a dinner date with Kyle and his girlfriend. "And respect me." Butterflies fluttered uncomfortably in your stomach. You didn’t want John to think you liked being abused per se, but this is something you’ve wanted to try with him for so long. "but I don't always need to feel like I’m respected during sex."

John didn't pull his arm off of you as he turned to face you better. His head tilting to the side when he asked you to elaborate. You felt your cheeks heat up as you told him how you wanted him to treat you like a toy. That during a scene, you wanted to feel like he had total control over your body. You could outline actions and phrases you were okay with if it made him feel better about doing it. Even developing safe words.

There hadn't been a need for safe words up until this point. If you asked John to stop, he stopped. If you complained about something hurting, he still stopped and either readjusted, or ended the scene. But this time you confessed that you didn't want ‘no’ to be an option. No felt like you weren't being his good girl. You knew it didn’t make you bad for stopping but it just helped in some weird way you couldn’t quite explain.

He agreed. First came the colors. Then the limits. And most importantly, the fantasies.

After that John finally admitted that he wanted to try anal play on you since you didn't list it as a limit. He’s always fantasized about it, but he had always felt uncomfortable asking you. At first you thought he simply meant a finger up your ass. Some poking and prodding that led up to anal.

However, with the new found confidence to truly divulge his desires to you. John laid it all out.

Price knows what he likes and he absolutely loves worshipping any part of you he can get his hands or mouth on.

The first time he ate your ass it quite literally stole your breath. He had you bent over his desk; his scattered reports long forgotten. You had just gotten home from work. He heard the opening and shutting of the door before grabbing his phone. He had texted you to come into his office in 30 minutes.

Your outfit is on the bed. I’m in my office. Bring me a drink. Daddy feels like drinking some whiskey and eating a peach.

That was your signal. You were a nervous fucking wreck as you got ready.

Before you knew it, he had you bent over with two fingers in your cunt, rubbing that sweet spot while his tongue explored a place no one else ever had.

Months laters, neither of you were no longer shy about John taking you however he wanted. Whether that was hogtied with your ass in the air or you humping his boot when he ordered you to show him how much of a desperate little slut you were.

He loved seeing you so desperate for him. He was obsessed in the way you tensed when he had you bent over. Licking a long stripe from your clit all the way to your puckered hole before settling there.

What was once an occasional thing became a weekly occurrence.

As expected, the two of you eventually tried anal after realizing how good his tongue felt in your ass. The first time he fucked your ass he spent what felt like forever working his thick fingers inside of you before finally working your way up to take his cock. He refused to have such an intimate first thing be in any sort of scenario where he wasn't soft and loving. If you wanted it to be degrading, it would just have to wait.

John was a stern man, but he took care of you. This wasn't something that would be initially pleasant for you and he was damned and determined to make this a good experience by the end of it.

Because of the lack of pressure he put on you to just take it, you had loved it. Even craved it now. You loved when he called you a pathetic little whore after you followed his order of bending over and spreading your ass cheeks for him. You loved when he told you how pretty you looked before landing a glob of spit on your puckered asshole. You loved how he made you beg him to fuck your ass when it was that time of the month; that you were so desperate for his cock you will take it in any hole.

But funny enough, as much quality time John seemed to have with your asshole, you can't really remember if you've ever seen his. Sure, you’ve seen his bare ass sauntering around the house and in the shower, but he’s never been in a compromising position while naked.

Even funnier, you're not sure if you've ever really seen a guy's asshole. So down the rabbit hole of pornhub you went until you found what eating ass was also known as.

Rimming.

And more importantly, how men were rimmed. Your curiosity had eventually grown to wondering what it was like. What would it be like?

So you just asked him.

At first he laughed, assuming you were joking. But then you shamelessly admitted to finding it hot. You confessed how the porn you’ve been watching had pretty much centered around male worship. Although the underarm area and feet were usually something you skipped over, seeing women on their knees giving rimjobs was something that made your core ache when you thought about doing it with John.

To say he was flustered was an understatement. He tried to dissuade you. Insisting that it was, well, gross were his exact words. When a flash of hurt crossed your face he realized his mistake.

It wasn’t that he thought the act itself was gross per se. He felt as though he was gross. "Too gross to let a pretty little thing like you do that." Yet it didn’t deter you from showing him how much you wanted him.

With a little bit of assurance that it’s something you wanted to do, not just reciprocate what he had been doing, he relented. Although, having you on your knees, hump his boot practically begging to with tears in your eyes did make him believe you actually wanted this. John loved when you begged him, but always felt the need to tell you yes when he wasn't serving as your dominant.

Yes. John loved taking charge, but he hated telling you no when you hardly ever asked for anything.

So. It was a safety measure John and you had put into place. When you wanted something that he may say no to because he felt as if it would degrade you as a partner, you didn’t ask as his partner; you asked as his submissive. This put in the acknowledgment that he wasn't making the decision as a partner. John was going to do what he thought best, whether or not you agreed to it. You always set the precent, gave him the permission to be the one to make the decisions. It showed him that you trusted him and whatever he decided.

John always felt more freely when you had gotten in your sub space. He felt more confident in telling you no or giving you orders. He had spent so long being the one to call the shots in his career, he was always afraid of his domineering nature taking control in the relationship.

Your confidence in him meant everything.

He had just gotten home from an extended stay on base. Usually you were able to get a facetime or a call here and there, but besides the occasional texts you were met with radio silence for almost five days.

It wasn't until he came home Saturday just before lunch. You had snacked all day, suddenly feeling guilty you hadn't even gotten groceries for the week. You offered to order something when he told you he hadn't eaten lunch, but he declined.

"C'mere, sweetheart." He ordered pointing right at his boots. A soft smile played on his lips as you sank down to your knees and crawled over to him. John took a deep breath. Reminding himself he can't fuck you right now. Not when he finally built up the courage to do what he was about to do.

“I need to freshen up." He said, squatting down until he was almost eye level with you. "Open." He ordered. Without hesitation, you opened your mouth, tongue out prepared to let him do whatever he wanted. He gently grabbed your tongue, holding it between his thumb and finger before giving it a light squeeze. Drool already slipping out of your mouth. "When I get out of the shower, I expect you to be in our room, on all fours with this pretty little tongue to worship me. Understand, sweetheart?"

Your eyes widened as you felt your core involuntarily clenching around nothing. Fuck. This was so hot. Fuck. This was happening. It was happening.

John stood at his full height before heading to the master bedroom. You waited until you heard the clicking of the door before practically sprinting behind him.

You sat on your knees, anxiously listening to the sound of the running water from the bathroom. You wondered how he would discuss it. Both of you played out possible scenarios and weeded out ones you were absolutely not okay with doing.

One scenario you agreed on was you laying on your back with your head hanging off the bed. John would face fuck you for a bit before he got into a sixty-nine position. He would have the view of you playing with your greedy little pussy. You would lap at him like a pathetic whore while he stroked his cock before he finally came all over your tits.

One thing John didn't feel comfortable doing was simply bending over on his hands and knees. Hiking up a leg, sure. But something about the position made him feel vulnerable and he just didn't want to try it.

Waiting patiently by the foot of the bed. On your hands and knees like a good girl, you head the water shut off.

Fresh out of the shower, John walked over to you before sitting down on the bed. You waited for his order. Never jumping the gun and simply taking him the moment he waved his cock in front of your face.

He spread his thighs apart, letting his limp cock hang near the edge of the bed. "Put my cock in your mouth, but don't suck. Just want you to warm him up a bit." You immediately take him in your mouth without hesitation. Loving the way you feel his cock slowly harden.

You maintain eye contact, trying hard not to move your tongue. Fighting every urge to start sucking and being a good little whore. When he finally give you permission, he still sets the pace. His hand firm on the back of your neck.

"Go at your own pace, sweetheart." He said, kissing your forehead. "Just remember," He reminded, his voice still gentle. "Mo fingers and stop if you need to, yeah?" You nod, remembering that he's doing this for you.

He scooted down further on the bed before laying on his back. Legs spread.

You weren't really sure where to start. So you just started slow. Built up to the same way John did to you when he was the one licking your ass. You started with soft kisses. Letting your teeth graze over the skin of his thighs, getting closer and closer to where you wanted to be.

You felt him stiffen as you got closer. You gave a soft kiss before waiting for him to tell you to stop.

He doesn't.

You continue.

You start soft. Closing your eyes and licking and mouthing at his asshole like you were making out with it.

"Fuck." You hear him curse, but he doesn't tell you to stop.

"Can I please rub my pussy, Sir?" You asked, your hands aching to touch your wet cunt.

"Yes." He granted, his hand starting to slowly stroke his cock. "But you still need permission to cum." He reminded before closing his eyes and letting you continue.

With low curses and gasps falling from his mouth you became more and more enthralled. Your face pressing harder and harder against him. Trying to get your tongue as deep inside him as you possibly could.

The humiliation of it all making you feel already so close to falling over the edge. Your fingers rubbed methodical circles around your clit as you began mindlessly nodding your head along, tongue sticking out; lapping at his asshole like the stupid little bitch you were.

“You like that, huh? Licking me like the dirty little slut that you are." He said, knowing that was something you wanted to be told.

“Yes, Sir." You admitted, only breaking away briefly to answer him before resuming servicing him.

“Damn fucking right.” He growled out. "That's my good little whore. Worshipping my fucking asshole." His words made you clench around nothing. Making you wish you had asked to use a dildo or the fucking machine instead.

Next time. You thought.

"Can-fuck-" He pants tugging harder at his cock, his orgasm building. "Can I push your head, sweetheart?" It wasn't something the two of you had went over, but he wanted to be sure. During blowjobs were fine, but you had never done this before.

"Yes! Please!" You pant out before feeling his hand grab a hold of the back of your head and pulling you deeper into him.

You manage to spit, making it sloppier, wetter. Easier for you face to glide and knowing it probably felt better for him too. It's not too long before Price finds himself grinding pathetically against your face. "Fuck, sweetheart." He pants. "Fuck that feels so good."

You could barely breathe. Your mouth too busy lapping away at his asshole to bother breathing. Your nose pressed too hard against his taint to get any air. You decided if this is how you die... well, you wouldn't hate it. Hard

"Can I cum? Can I cum?" You repeated. Your voice muffled, but John knew what you wanted.

"Cum, but don't you fucking stop." He ordered. His grip tightening, legs beginning to tense. "I'm so close. Don't stop, sweetheart."

You kept going. Your jaw beginning to become sore as you kept going. Not even stopping when you felt John's body shake. Not stopping when your own orgasm took hold of you. Tears falling from the intensity of it all.

Not stopping when you heard him release a string of curses and praises. Not stopping when you felt his cum landing on the top of your head. Only slowing when he began to relax. Only stopping until he finally pulled you away.

You sat on your heels. Hands placed on your thighs. Waiting for him to look up at you. You were in position just waiting for fall apart. Trying so hard to be his good girl.

Finally he collected himself enough to manage to sit up. He looked down at you, marveling at the sight.

Mascara smeared. Face covered in spit. His cum now dripping from your head down to your face. Fuck, you looked beautiful.

Fuck.

Your hair.

Was that something you agreed on doing?

Fuck.

You had both agreed on him coming in you, on your face, tits, pussy or ass. Hell, you even agreed to lick it off of him or if any of it fell onto the hardwood. But you never went over if coming in your hair.

"Sorry, sweetheart." He apologized, swiping at a string of cum on your eye brown, threatening to make its' way into your pretty eyes. "Should have asked if your hair was okay." You smiled hazily at his concern, but honestly thought it was a little funny. This man pushed your face into his asshole while he called you filthy things and he was worried that you were concerned over a little cum in your hair.

"Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?" All you could do was nod as John hauled you to your feet and practically carrying you to the shower.

Tenderly, he got the oil based cleanser and began to clean your face as gentle as he could. It wasn’t methodical and not necessarily the best way, but he was too worried about rubbing your face too harshly knowing how raw it probably felt.

You didn’t care. You always marveled in the tenderness of his touch after an intense scene. Basked in his words of praise and adoration after he debased and dehumanized you. It was therapeutic. To be taken so low only to have the same man build you back up.

He spoke lowly in your ear. “Did so well for me, sweet girl.” After he ran the soft spray of water over your face, he pulled you tightly to his chest. You felt his lips press on your wet hair. “Made me feel so fucking good.”

You felt your knees weaken, but John continued to pamper you. Being sure to take extra care in washing your face again until at the remanets of your messed up make up was gone.

"You liked it?" You asked, closing in your eyes. Relishing in his touch.

"Yes, baby." He answered. "I loved it." Your chest swelled with pride. He liked it. He liked your fantasy too.

"Would you wanna do it again?" You asked, praying the answer was yes.

"I'd love that." You hummed in contentment as he turned you around, now starting on your hair.

Although John had never came in your hair before, he had learned your washing routine to the point of perfection and honestly his touch felt so much better than your own. It was a way of aftercare now, but initially he learned when you had hit a sub drop.

Neither of you knew that it even existed before it was too late. And two days after an intense scene you still hadn't washed your hair.

When he finally finished, he grabbed one of the microfiber towels you used to dry your hair. He methodically and gently squeezed out the access water before wrapping you in a huge towel. He stayed behind in the shower for only a minute to wash away your spit before joining you.

He took your hand, leading you to the sinks before turning you around to face him. You hated this part. It was when you were the most exhausted and you wanted to just crawl into bed. "Gotta dry it, Sweetheart." He said, sitting you down on the bathroom counter. "Just relax. Let me handle it."

So you did. You let John handle it. Let him have the power. It always worked out better for you anyway.

Eventually, John was satisfied and picked you back up. You were half asleep, barely holding on when he tucked you in. He pulled your back close to his chest.

It was nearing the end of your aftercare. John was scrolling on doordash, trying to find something that would be good to eat as he always did, asking for input. Sometimes you offered it. Mostly you said anything he wanted was fine. He always made sure it would be delivered after an hour. Giving you enough time to bask in the post-coital cuddles.

He continued talking. How much he enjoyed it. What he wouldn't mind trying next. Your eye were growing heavier and heavier the more he spoke. A brief moment of silence passed before he spoke again.

“You know,” he started. “Johnny was mentioning something about pet play with his girl.” It wasn't surprising. The four men of the 141 weren't shy in telling the others what them and the missus had been up to in the bedroom. Even going as far as to let the girls play together, but making it a point to never share.

None of them had any interest in letting another man touch what belonged to them, but they didn't mind letting the girls indulge in a little girl time.

“Heaven knows that MacTavish needs to be collared.” You said, feeling the edges of sleep beginning to take over your vision. You tried to stifle a yawn as you spoke, to no avail while John barked out a laugh.

“Who says Johnny's the dog?” He asked.

[sepublic]

            I find it interesting that even in the epilogue, four years after Camila has had time to be more acquainted with the Boiling Isles under non-threatening circumstances, she’s still creeped out by it. And this is fine! The narrative isn’t condemning her for it. It’s not demanding that she enjoy these things like Luz does; It’s just asking for her to respect its existence, and to support Luz’s interest in it and love her too.

            In For the Future, we see Camila horrified by what she encounters in the Boiling Isles; But she also spends the whole episode pushing through it anyway for Luz’s sake, being there for her as much as she can. Because she knows these are just feelings and nothing more, and she’s choosing to be kind in spite of them.

            By contrast, in this same episode we find out Belos does feel empathy and guilt towards his brother and nephew, he wasn’t purely 100% only interested in what they could do for him; And yet, he’s still just as cruel and violent towards them. He’s still cruel and violent towards witches and demons, sometimes using the ‘tragedy’ of Caleb as a justification. Hell, he even resents the ghosts for making him feel guilty, telling them to “Shut up.”

            Isn’t that fascinating? Disgust is portrayed as a morally neutral thing. It’s not an indictator of morality, it doesn’t mean something is bad… But it doesn’t mean the person who feels it is bad, either, people don’t consider that enough. It’s just a gut reaction. Sometimes people have internalized biases they need to work through, but other times, it’s pretty harmless as long as they’re self-aware and don’t do anything bad over it; This even applies to the process of unlearning the aforementioned biases.

            Likewise, empathy and guilt don’t actually, necessarily make you a good person. The example with Belos shows how some people will actually be crueler because of empathy, because they resent people for being upset, and thus making them feel upset because they naturally empathize. Hence those who get angry at people in pain and need for “ruining their vibe,” because now they feel bad too.

            There’s a juxtaposition in how Camila seems genuinely more scared and creeped out by the isles on a visceral level than Belos, and yet Camila has the common sense to still respect and fight for its existence; Whereas Belos chooses to make a mountain out of a molehill because it’s not just hatred, it’s pride. It all boils down to his ego at the end of the day. In many ways, other characters struggle with dilemmas more difficult than Belos’, yet still do better than he ever has.

            This all plays into my thesis that TOH is arguing your feelings are secondary to your actions, and that the latter is what decides whether you’re a ��good” person or not. In the end, someone who’s had a good life and was a dick for selfish reasons, only to choose to be better, is more sympathetic and morally superior than someone who suffered a million unfair grievances, and proceeded to dole out a million unfair grievances, with no sign of stopping; Especially from an IRL perspective, and I think our IRL feelings sometimes influence how we engage with media, and vice-versa.

            That’s why the finale –and the show as a whole– emphasizes choices, over inherent, instinctual feelings. A decent chunk of Camila’s arc could be summarized by the word Squick; In the sense that it’s meant to describe things that one feels personal disgust and discomfort towards, but otherwise has no moral condemnation or problem with; It’s just a Me thing, is the point of Squick. Camila is like that sex-repulsed ace who nevertheless supports kink at Pride.

            That gets me to how my ruminations were prompted by a similar observation; How some people lump sex-repulsed aces in with the oppressive Puritans who hate sex in anything, but that’s not true at all. Obviously there’s the rare Exception, but as a whole, sex-repulsed aces are on the side of other queers who ARE sexual and are demanding to let these things be normalized; It’s not for them, but they have no moral condemnation and will fight for it in solidarity anyway, especially since both are hated by the system regardless. Sound familiar?

[copperbadge]

I guess you probably get asked why you’re converting a lot but I still want to ask,

I dunno, I don't think I really get asked all that much, to be honest. Usually when I do it's like -- I mention I'm converting to a Jewish person and they'll be like "Getting married?" and I'll explain I'm not, which does necessitate an additional explanation.

It's difficult to vocalize, which is interesting because it has really very little to do with faith, and that's usually the most difficult part of discussing any conversion, I think. Often I'll just say, "I heard a call". Which is actually a rather Christian way of putting it, but I think it's probably the easiest way to explain, especially in a heavily Christian culture.

I had...I don't want to call it religious trauma exactly because compared to most people I know who exited Christianity, it wasn't traumatic -- I was just raised in Christianity and had trouble buying the faith in the various ways it was presented to me, and there's a certain type of ardent Christian who comes at you hard if you're in their church asking awkward questions. A few encounters with some egregious megachurches in my youth left a bad taste in my mouth, so in my twenties I really wanted nothing to do with religion and didn't have the time or energy anyway -- I wasn't actively anti-religion, just disinterested.

But in my thirties I had to ask myself, do I wish to be part of a faith community? And once I'd decided that despite being pretty heavily agnostic I did want that in my life, I had to decide what I wanted it to look like. There are churches within many branches of Christianity that are fine, and there are whole branches that are fine too, but I kept tripping over my disinterest in Jesus. I did almost become a Quaker but although I really like a lot of the Friends' attitudes towards social justice and I enjoyed silent Meeting, it eventually didn't feel quite right for me (the Quakers in my life refer to me as "Friend-ly"). I looked into Zen Buddhism but didn't click with it in quite the way I'd hoped.

Judaism didn't feel perfect, but unlike other faiths, after several years of study I have yet to reach a point where it feels "not for me" in the way the others did after a few months; even when I struggle with some aspects, instead of saying "I don't think this is it" I dig deeper, and Judaism is a place where you can just...keep digging. I like the sense of history, I like the idea that you can argue not only with other Jews but with the divine itself and maybe even win; I don't like arguing but I like that the option is there, which it never was in my Christian confirmation classes. I like the way Judaism frames community and family, I like the emphasis on scholarship and exploration. I've had to unlearn a lot of weird Christian and atheist attitudes about the Torah, but that's been educational too. Ancient cultures have always interested me and Judaism is sometimes the practice of actively conversing with ancient history that has been incredibly preserved but not calcified. I like that I can be an agnostic Jew if I so choose, once I finish conversion.

(Sometimes I joke, "Eh, I'm not really a huge fan of pork, either, so it's an excuse not to eat pork chops," but that's a joke for very specific company. I don't keep kosher or plan to, but I like that there is an option to show one's devotion through acts of nourishment, and that food is always such a huge part of Jewish ritual. And I like Jewish food.)

There is something in me that reacts to Jewish storytelling -- the fear and fasting of Esther, discourse on the sacrifice of Isaac, grumpy Rabban Gamliel from the Talmud, even the history of the Piazza Alla Cinque Schole when I stumbled into it in Rome. I didn't care particularly about the story of Moses when I learned it as a child, but I sniffle at the parting of the Red Sea in Prince of Egypt every damn time. Not even because of the miracle! I'm simply moved by the vision of a people going to freedom, scared but going, protecting each other and singing as they go.

Anyway. I'm in a conversation with Judaism that isn't over yet, and either eventually I'll reach a point where it ends, or I'll convert and be in this conversation the rest of my life. Kind of fun not to know yet which it will be.

[wuucchoo]

Understanding Tsumiki and Megumi's relationship

Hey there! It's me, Megumi's defense attorney - here once more to defend my boy.

I've been seeing A LOT of people saying they cannot sympathize with Megumi's grief because they don't know Tsumiki that well. And although I would argue that you don't need to know the person who died for you to sympathize with the one who was left behind - I do understand what these people mean, i don't agree with them! But I understand why they think this. And yes, we dont know Tsumiki.

However, we first need to understand why gege chose to present Tsumiki this way. On a surface level, she can only be seen as 'the thing that would cause Megumi's downfall' - we dont know her thoughts, her ambitions, her real personality, anything really - except for what Megumi says about her. A 'textbook good person'.

And that's because she is a character that we were only able to see through someone else's eyes. We don't know Tsumiki, because Megumi doesn't know Tsumiki.

BUT WAIT!! What do I mean by that?

Before that though, I would like to say first! This doesn't mean that Megumi's love for her is diminished by this. Just because he doesn't know her doesn't mean he doesn't love her. Megumi cares about her more than anyone in his life, and that's a fact!

Now we can proceed! What does this mean? Let's look at this page from ch 56: origin of obedience:

This was a case that they have been investigating, and it is pretty damn close to Megumi's and Tsumiki's old school. And yet, the thought that Tsumiki might have went to the bridge with her classmates never crossed his mind. He doesnt know that Tsumiki is someone capable of breaking the rules, going against curfew, and joining her friends to go to a haunted bridge in the dead of night. This boy Megumi thinks his sister is a damn saint.

He put Tsumiki on a pedestal, and it resulted in her turning into nothing but the mold of a good person Megumi uses to judge other people. If a person is not Tsumiki-shaped, then they're not worth saving. ((Luckily for Yuuji, he IS Tsumiki-shaped lmao. But anyway!))

Truth be told, I used to think it sucks that we never knew Tsumiki outside of what Megumi says. I never felt bad when she died, I felt bad that Megumi's sister died. I felt bad FOR Megumi.

And now that I actually think on it, THAT was the exact point. We dont NEED to know Tsumiki, we only needed to see her through Megumi's eyes - and through that, understand that Megumi doesn't really know her that well.

It is something that Megumi have to mull over. Why did he keep Tsumiki at an arm's length despite how much he cares for her? Why is it so hard for him to let people in? Why is asking someone for help so difficult for him?

ITS BECAUSE OF THAT MFKER TOJI!!!! IM TELLING YA'LL!! /hj

Look at the face he was making in Toji's memory. That's a kid who shows his emotions outright. My boy is pouting (つ╥﹏╥)つ. But when Gojo met him, Megumi has become a total idgafker (at least on the outside). And thats not only because Gojo was a stranger - coz thats how he looks like when he talks to Tsumiki too. It's because he became that way when Toji left.

Anyway, my point is, due to Megumi's abandonment issues - he never let anyone in. EVER. Not even Tsumiki. Megumi put a wall between him and other people - for his own protection. The one who came a little bit close into breaking that wall is Yuuji (and we are yet to see how that goes).

And this is why, we as the readers are all detached from Tsumiki's character. Because we saw her through Megumi's eyes, who loves her and cares about her very, very much - yet despite that he never let her get too close. (っ- ‸ - ς)

If you read up to here, whats up! Thank you for reading! Feel free to counter it or anything, Im happy to discuss!

((also something to add: Megumi cares so much about Tsumiki because she's the first one who actively chose to stay - amidst all the people who left.

this was inspired by a great megumi character analysis i found on twitter:

read it if you have time! its really good!

[sammylkcho]

"Deeper, sinking, ever frowning" P1- ?

You had to cover two coworkers' shifts in the afternoon due to a "family emergency" that both of them had at the same time—quite the coincidence. You accepted covering their shifts without any issue because you didn't want to argue over the cheap excuse they were using, not to mention you already had enough of your own problems. So, your shift that was supposed to end at 4 p.m. stretched until around 8:45 after covering both shifts.

When you finished packing up your things and saying goodbye to your night-shift coworkers, wishing them a good evening, you decided to walk home. It was only four blocks, and you'd be there in no time. You were eager to get home since you and your fiancé had agreed to make some delicious cheese empanadas when you got off work, meaning you'd have to apologize for being late.

While imagining the dramatic little scolding Sebastian would give you when you arrived, a small smile played on your lips as you twisted the silver ring on your finger back and forth.

You couldn’t wait for the big day. You already had a bunch of ideas to share with the wedding planner.

Only two more blocks to go before you reached your home, and just thinking about the empanadas was making your mouth water. Sebastian had passed on his love for them to you.

You were about to pull out your phone from your pocket to text Sebastian that you were almost home when the flashing red and blue lights stopped you in your tracks.

You were already there. You didn’t have any blocks left to go.

You blinked several times to realize that police tape was surrounding much of the street, along with three police cars parked right in front of your house.

This must be a mistake, right? Maybe there had been some kind of disturbance on the street or at a neighbor’s house, and they wanted to see if anyone knew anything.

It had to be that.

With shaky steps, you approached the police cordon, only for one of the officers to roughly grab your shoulder, causing you to stumble awkwardly over your own feet.

"Excuse me, do you live here?" asked a blond-haired officer, holding a small notepad in his left hand.

You looked him up and down for a few seconds before nodding, your head lowered, unsure of what was going on.

"Yes, I live here with my fiancé. Has something happened?"

The word "fiancé" left a sweet taste in your mouth, but you brushed it aside for the moment to focus on what was happening and to find out with more certainty why they seemed to be investigating your house.

When you lifted your head, you noticed the officer rubbing his nose in frustration, as if irritated by something in particular.

The seconds dragged on, feeling longer with each passing moment. The silence was maddening. You had no idea what was going on, and that was frustrating. Was Sebastian even aware of this? Where was he, anyway?

"You see... There was a murder of about nine people recently, and the killer wasn't found at the scene. Now," the officer paused, tapping the small notepad with his index finger, seemingly trying to find the right words. "it seems that your fiancé, Sebastian Solace, was the perpetrator of those murders."

"Excuse me, but that has to be a mistake." you said, your body going rigid as you listened to the officer from start to finish.

You felt as if you were on autopilot, no longer fully aware of your surroundings after hearing his words. The world seemed to stop for a long fraction of a second as you tried to process what you'd just been told.

The situation felt unreal, like a bad dream you were having because you’d fallen asleep at the counter during one of your breaks.

Sebastian could never have done something so horrible, let alone murdered nine innocent people. He would never do something like that.

The Sebastian you knew was the most loving, caring, and playful person you'd ever met. He was both your best friend and your future husband. He’d been with you through every difficult moment. He was the little and big brother who liked to annoy his two siblings, reluctantly helping his younger brother with his homework when he came over, and buying little gifts for his older sister, things they used to do together when they were younger. He was the best son, always there for his mom, even if they argued over some silly thing. He always apologized to her for being an idiot.

Sebastian Solace wasn’t capable of something like this.

You forced yourself to snap back to reality when the thought of finding Sebastian crossed your mind.

If the police had been here for a while now, they must’ve found him already, right? They wouldn’t have taken him away to the station or somewhere worse by now.

Court would be too soon of a step, and you hoped they hadn’t taken him there yet.

"Miss, I ask you once again to come with me for questioning—" The officer’s words fell on deaf ears as you rushed past him, your eyes scanning for any sign of Sebastian.

Your gaze darted back and forth as you tried not to trip over your own feet, your body trembling more and more from the anxiety eating away at you.

When your eyes landed on a particular police car, with about four officers surrounding it, you got the idea that someone might be inside.

You hurried over, faster than before, not caring about what might happen next.

You felt a brush against your shoulder, like you’d bumped into someone, but you paid it no mind and got as close as you could to the car’s tinted windows. It was hard to see inside, but when you squinted, you made out a figure handcuffed in the middle of the back seat. Blue eyes met yours for a split second before you were abruptly shoved back.

A policewoman had pushed you, gripping both your shoulders to face you.

The only thing you noticed was her lips moving quickly and firmly, as if she was reprimanding you for something. But you didn’t bother to process her words, nor her appearance—your mind wasn’t on your side at that moment, nor was it focusing on reality.

You were only thinking of those blue eyes you had seen for a fleeting moment but had known almost all your life.

They’d already arrested him. Had they even given him a chance to explain or defend himself? Once again, the situation felt too surreal.

You wanted to do something, anything, but you didn’t feel strong enough.

You had to do something—you couldn’t just stand there and do nothing.

[crackedpumpkin]

𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝟎𝟏 |

a/n: about fucking time lol im so exhausted. hope yall enjoy <3

Warnings: Contains cursing

AU Inspo: Soulmates can hear each other listening to music. The further the distance, the softer the music. The closer, the louder until they find each other.

| [ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ] | [ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ] |

— — — — — — — — — — 

“Soulmates are essential to survive. There is nothing like the sensation of meeting each other for the first time, and subsequently knowing that you’re fated to be with each other forever. Through thick and thin, they'll always have your back.”

You snort. Miss Grenadine lifts her brow into a delicate arch, her unamused expression remaining the same as you cover your mouth, trying to fake a cough. “Is there something you’d like to share with the class on your last day?”

People around you start to snigger, and you can feel the glances poking your skin like tiny mosquitoes buzzing all over. “Not really.”

“No, no. Please, enlighten me as to what exactly you find so amusing about soulmates.”

“Maybe it’s because she hasn’t found hers yet?” Another classmate suggests. You turn around to see Henry smirking, high-fiving the rest of his friends who’re evidently entertained by his jab.

You roll your eyes, letting a huff slip past your lips. “And you keep arguing with yours, no wonder I’m not jealous that I don’t have one yet.” His friends suck in a sharp breath between their teeth in a hiss, glancing warily between you both. 

“Thank you for your input, Henry. But I asked your classmate, not you.” He’s silenced from uttering another word under Ms Grenaline’s sharp gaze, wilting into his seat with a muttered retort under his breath. 

You turn your attention back to your teacher who’s waiting patiently, hands folded over her stomach in a motherly manner. But you know better. This is fake sympathy, flaky pity in her eyes as she thinks to herself how unlucky you are for not having yet met your soulmate. 

You get it. You’re an anomaly. It’s ‘not normal’ for people to not yet meet their soulmates by the time they’re 18. One way or another, the universe always finds a way to pull two people together by the age of 16. Yet, you’re the exception. 

“I just think the whole music thing is annoying. I mean, do you all not get annoyed? What if you hate metal, but they love it? Even then, it’s just insane how much our lives border on needing someone. Why not just travel alone? Enjoy life?” You lean back in your seat, crossing your arms defiantly as Ms Grenaline’s eyes widen with every word.

You watch her take a moment to compose herself, plastering a smile on her face as she comes up with the right words to say. Honestly, you couldn’t care less what she wanted to say to you; it’s your last day here anyway. 

“Well,” She pauses, clearly struggling on how to phrase her words in a way that wouldn’t get you to retort once again, “It’s…a very difficult process to describe in words. I understand where you’re coming from with the music aspect, but over time just like how one day you can wake up and decide that you like the colour purple, you’ll experience something similar.”

“You’re right.” You nod. She’s momentarily taken aback by your agreeable response, only to frown when you continue speaking. “It is a difficult process to put in words. And you know what? Maybe not everyone needs a soulmate.” You flash her a toothy smile just as the bell rings, grabbing your bag and starting for the door. “Been good, Ms G.”

You don’t turn to see her reaction, focused on getting to the diner on Sixth Street where you’d promised to meet up for one last meal with your friends before you moved to Ninjago City. Putting the earbuds into your ears makes you wince, shaking your head slightly as the familiar yet nauseating sound of jazz plays faintly in the back of your mind. 

Stupid jazz, stupid music, stupid soulmate.

Right. Your soulmate. You still haven’t told anyone this, but a few months ago, you began to hear the faint sounds of smooth jazz play now and then in your head. You thought you were just going crazy at first, but upon further observation, you concluded that there could only be one cause: Your soulmate was nearby. 

But for some annoying reason, your soulmate loves jazz with a passion. it was always either that or soft rock. Plus, they’re always annoyingly far enough to not have it impounded into your head, but still close enough to have it constantly on repeat in your head. 

The day it first started, you had just finished watching a horror movie and were about to go to bed. However, your soulmate had decided that 5 AM was the perfect time to start listening to soft rock. The sharp twangs of an electric guitar and the steady beats of the drums were enough to keep you up instead of getting your beauty sleep. 

lil binder [ 02:00 PM ]: u otw yet? 

You grin at the message on your screen, typing out a reply to your friend, Melody, as pop music blasts away through your earbuds and effectively drowning out the beginnings of a saxophone.

smartie pebble [ 02:00 PM ]: yea be there in 7

Melody was just one of many of your friends. She had found her soulmate at the tender age of 15, accidentally spilling ice cream on him because she had been too distracted talking to you. Having bore witness to the entire ‘love-at-first-sight’ moment between them, you scooched away as she proceeded to forget about your entire existence in the next hour.

However, now Luke and her were inseparable, and wherever she was, he was bound to be there too. Luckily though, you had bonded with him over your mutual love of cooking, with Melody constantly being on the receiving end of many of your competitive inventions. 

“Yo, it’s the one and only rockstar of our generation!” Luke crows as you enter the diner, and you instinctively stick up your middle finger at him. He grins, slinging an arm over your shoulder as you set down your bag in the booth seats. 

“About time you got here.” Brendan greets, subtly nudging Nico who glances up from his game for a moment to say a quick ‘hi’. The former is in his uniform as usual, while Nico decided to change out of his, relaxed vest and tapered pants his go-to outfit.

“You’ll never guess what happened today.” Nico arches an eyebrow, though his gaze is focused solely on the rhythm game on his screen.

“Let me guess, you got into another argument about soulmates again.” You look up to see Melody arrive at the table with a large tray of food, tucking away the strings of the apron around her waist. “When will you learn that it’s inevitable?” She sighs, pinching the skin between her eyes and shaking her head in disapproval. 

“Maybe it’s because she’s around us too much,” Luke pouts, snaking his arm around her waist. She grins, ruffling the top of his head. 

“Please, for the love of the First Spinjitzu Master, make it stop,” You groan, pretending to gag and narrowly dodging the packet of chilli she throws in your direction. Picking it up, you tear it open and squeeze out the sauce, dipping the fries into it and eating them with relish.

“So, what’d Ms Grenaline say this time?” Luke focuses his attention on you, letting go of Melody who slides into the seat next to him. Nico steals a fry, munching away even though his meal is right in front of him. He even put away his phone, eagerly waiting to hear what new fight you’d gotten into today.

“She just said some shit about soulmates being essential to survive. Y’know, the usual mumbo jumbo.” You shrug, unwrapping the double cheeseburger and taking a bite. 

“Sounds about right to me.” Melody raises her hands in surrender once you glare at her. “But hey, who am I to judge? Definitely not because I have a soulmate, and definitely not because he’s right next to me.”

“You’re so right.” She rolls her eyes at your automatic reply, barely audible through the massive chunk of pickle in your mouth. 

“I know your family’s kinda complicated, but it doesn’t have to affect your outlook on soulmates forever. Besides, aren’t you moving to the city for your stepmom? That’s kinda progress.” Brenden volunteers his opinion, sipping away at his diet coke. “Don’t you glare at me young lady, you know perfectly well why you’re going. You like her.” 

“As if,” you scoff, forcing down the last bite of lettuce and crumpling the empty wrapper. Melody doesn’t blink an eye at how fast you’ve consumed the burger, already having seen it for at least 6 years.

“She got you the signed copy of Black Beauty, remember?” Nico says quietly, tilting his head. “And besides, you haven’t fought with her in a long while.” 

You bite back a retort, hating how right he is. It’s been at least three months since you’d gotten in a fight with your stepmother - the longest duration so far. “Look, she can try to bribe me all she wants, but I’m going to quickly get through school and move out so I can travel away from her.”

“Mmhm. You’d have a good chance, considering that you got into Business Relations at Ninjago University, so…” Your friends go quiet at the mention, as if just realising that you’re leaving tomorrow morning.

“I’ll be back for summer vacation anyway,” you casually state, finishing off the fries with a satisfied grin. “With autographs from those ninjas you’re always raving about.”

“You promise? I’ll cut off your pinkie finger if it doesn’t come true. You know a pinky promise is legally binding.” Melody warns. 

“I don’t know how you put up with her.” Luke shrugs as you turn to him, amusement in his eyes as he glances at Melody who’s still glaring at you. 

“River time?” Brenden suggests, trying to lighten the mood. Melody nods, turning to face the kitchen staff behind the counter a short distance away. 

“Hilda, I’m heading out!” She calls out, untying the apron and draping it on the seat as everyone leaves the booth. 

“Fuck off!”

“Will do!” Melody grins slyly, gesturing to the exit. “Let’s bounce before she realises I didn’t clear the tables.”

“Love you too Hilda!” You shout back to the grumpy old lady with a fond smile, waving goodbye as you leave. 

“River time! River time! River time!” You join in on their chanting, laughing without a care in the world - and ignoring the faint sounds of guitars and saxophones playing in the back of your mind.

— — — — — 

The truth of the matter is, picnics by the river are among the top few activities you’d willingly leave the house for. After having a few drinks and getting up to a couple of shenanigans, your friends dropped you off at your place with tearful goodbyes.

Nico had refused to let go of your arm, citing ‘who would I hug when you’re gone?’ as the reason why. He had let go after you promised to hug him all he wanted when you came back. It was also then that you vowed to never let him drink again.

After showering and emerging from the steam with a clearer (and significantly less tipsy) mind, you make your way to the comfort of your futon, avoiding stubbing your toe on the luggage near the door. The moving company had already taken most of your stuff, and all that you have to your name now is a singular suitcase, a sling bag, and your futon. 

You wriggle under the blanket, staring up at the ceiling and feeling the tiredness finally hit you with full force as your eyelids slowly close. The warmth draws you to sleep, dreams calling your name and reckoning for you to come into their embrace. 

Unfortunately, your soulmate doesn’t like to sleep at 1 AM. Soft rock starts playing, and you press your face against the pillow to muffle your annoyed groan. You press the pillow on top of your face, wishing desperately for the music to stop, though you know it’d do nothing to help. Forcing your eyes shut and thinking of anything else to drown out the noise is the go-to method for you, and hopefully, it’ll work this time as well.

Stupid jazz, stupid music. 

Stupid soulmate.

— — — — — 

A quick Google search in the morning while you brush your teeth reveals a plethora of cafes in Ninjago City, all ready for you to explore. Accidentally clicking on a notification, however, brings you to a separate page where the headline of a news article practically screams at you.

‘Famous Author to make an appearance at Ninjago Museum Fundraiser! All proceeds from the auction are to be donated to preserve local history.

The bestselling author who goes by her pen name of Hanla will be making an appearance at the Ninjago Museum’s Fundraiser occurring next week. Locally curated pieces of artwork and a book of poems written by Hamla herself will be auctioned off. Hamla has also stated that 100% of all proceeds made in her name will be going toward the local conservation of Ninjago’s history. For all fans of her works - You, Me, and the Beat, Beauty and her Phone, and critically acclaimed bestseller Honey, Where Are My Pants?, be sure to stop by for an autographing session that Hamla will be attending! Our local heroes - the Ninja, will also be attending the session, so make sure to get your photos taken with them!’

 “Are you ready yet? We gotta leave in an hour, Munchkin.” Your father calls out from downstairs. You pause to spit out the toothpaste in your mouth, gargling the residue and letting the menthol sting your lips after rinsing. 

“Yeah, just gotta shower and I’m good to go.” You reply loudly, turning your attention back to the mirror. A round, puffy face stares back at you, eyebags apparent after only managing to fall asleep at two in the morning.

You really should stop drinking so late at night. Luckily, a shower helps to reduce the puffiness in your face, and you step out of your room looking somewhat presentable in a lavender hoodie and shorts. 

The gentle sunlight shining through the bare windows breathed life into the room and the curtains that once decorated the small window seat. Where your bed once sat was empty with the polished mahogany wood underneath. 

Endless nights of laying in your plush bed with your bedside lamp's dim yet warm glow seemed so distant in your memories. Your hand lingers on the doorknob, mumbling a soft goodbye before shutting the door and heading downstairs to where your father is waiting.

“Shall we?” He grins, placing the last of your luggage in the car boot. He closes it, offering a hand to you. You take it, allowing him to guide you to the front seat where the radio is already playing your favourite pop songs. 

As he starts to drive, you’re momentarily distracted with taking the perfect picture for your Instagram story, singing along with your tone-deaf father who’s belting out ABBA as he drives past the massive signboard signalling goodbye. You watch it pass, fields and clouds dotting the sky moving by steadily.

It’d be a lie to say you wouldn’t miss home. But this is a chance at a new beginning - maybe one that could change your life for the better. As faint jazz starts up in the back of your mind, you smile softly. Not even that could dampen your mood.

— — — — — 

You stir, eyes fluttering open at the annoying sound of drilling and construction. You blink a few times, sitting up from where you had slumped against the window while you slept. Your vision clears, and you move your hands away to see bright lights and skyscrapers galore around you. 

You're here. 

Ninjago City is filled to the brim with people and endless traffic. Your dad scowls at the long line of cars in front of him, glaring at the red light that seems to take forever to turn green. You fiddle with the games on your phone, focusing intently on beating the next level of Candy Crush. 

You mumble a cuss when 'Game Over' appears on the colourful screen, and he immediately turns with a suspicious gaze. You smile nervously, trying to play it off as though you hadn't said anything. 

Luckily, he turns back around, choosing to let it pass. 

You stare out the window, watching the shops pass by in a blur until you spot one that catches your eye. “Dad, could you drop me off here?” He doesn't question your sudden request, making a turn and parking next to the sidewalk. 

You open the car door and exit, looking up at the sign on the storefront. 

'Ninjago Doomsday Comix'

“Emily’s already making dinner, so just meet us back at the new apartment.” He texts you the new address quickly, eyeing you suspiciously. “Be nice.” He warns, satisfied with the small nod you give in reply. 

“Yeah, just gonna take a look around the place, y'know, before I get lost tomorrow.” You joke. You adjust the straps of your small bag before settling it in a comfortable position on your back. 

“See you later then, munchkin. Call us if anything happens. Should be safe since those ninjas are around.”

Before you can question what he means, he drives off with all the rest of your luggage. You were lucky that your dad had visited the city multiple times on business trips and that he was primarily a hands-off parent.

“Right. Ninjas.” You mumble with a shake of your head, striding off toward the comic book store. The door swings open easily, a jingle catching you off guard. A man at the cashier counter greets you with a friendly grin that eases your nerves, and you walk up to him. 

“Hi, do you know where to find Starfarer comics?”

“Well, right here, of course!” You cringe at his response, realising how poorly worded your question was. It elicits a chuckle from the man in front of you. 

“Just kidding. I'm Rufus, Rufus McAllister, or you can call me Mother Doomsday. You're a new face around these parts. What's your name?”

“I just moved here, so maybe that's why." You reply, clutching the straps of your bag with a small smile at the friendly man and throwing in your name as well as an afterthought.

“Well, welcome to Ninjago City! I hope the city treats you well. We got the ninja protecting us, so that's added security too.”

“Right,” You smile emotionlessly at him. Is everyone here such big fans of the Ninja? Sure, Melody’s a fan, but not as much as bringing them up every chance she got. “Good to know.” 

Rufus pauses with his lips parted, seemingly processing your words. A relaxed grin slowly forms on his lips. He glances towards a specific aisle, seemingly contemplating. 

“It should be fine then….” He mumbles. You're just lost in where this conversation had ended up. 

“Aisle Eight is where we keep the best-stocked Starfarer comics.” He gestures to the area he had been staring at earlier. You thank him with a brief nod, walking over. 

The aisle is relatively empty, save for two other people. A blonde guy in a green hoodie is flipping through the latest issue of Starfarer with keen interest, engrossed in the colourful pages.

Next to him is another boy with slightly wavy and choppy black hair, the smooth and silky strands making you both envious and curious about his hair care routine. In contrast to his friend(you assumed), he regards you with a suspicious gaze. 

Oh no. He’s hot.

You find it odd, feeling mildly unsettled by the intense stare he gives you. It wasn't a good one; more on the wary side than interested. You brush it off, ignoring the pair and scouring the shelves for issue number three.

You finally find the comic you're looking for, but it's directly opposite the pair. 

After all, what would you be if not cursed with horrid coincidence?

You practically tiptoe over, clearing your throat slightly as you grab the comic book and start reading. Green Hoodie(Greenie, you decide to nickname) looks up in surprise, only now noticing your presence. Mr. Grumpy Pants(The nickname suits him perfectly), on the other hand, doesn't bother hiding the grimace on his lips at your presence, looking away.

You stiffen, eyes shifting into a glare.

Rude.

Greenie hits his friend's shoulder in a light punch, looking at you with an expression of apology. “She should be fine. Rufus wouldn't send anyone over here without vetting them first.” Greenie whispers to Mr. Grumpy Pants, referring to his earlier behaviour.

“Yeah, but what if they're…you know? I don't want another repeat of what happened with Jay.”

Oh. Oh. I see now.

You almost drop the comic book in your hands, caught off guard by how attractive Mr Grumpy Pants' voice is. You tense, now more aware of their presence. Even though you don't want to eavesdrop, you can't help how your ears practically perk up, hoping to hear more of the deep voice from earlier. 

Plus, they weren't doing a very good job of keeping their conversation a secret.

“I trust Rufus. He's a good friend.” 

“...Maybe.”

“Is that…? OMG! It's them!!”

You're interrupted from blankly staring at the same page for the past ten minutes, having focused on the conversation behind you, though the pair had stopped talking a while ago. You look up at the store's glass windows, startled by the sudden sight of a group of girls pressed against the glass, staring intently at the two boys behind you. 

“Fuck.” You watch all the colour drain from Greenie's face while Mr Grumpy Pants smacks his palm against his face, sliding it down and sighing heavily with an utterly defeated expression. 

"Not again…" You hear him mutter. “And watch your language,” He adds, elbowing Greenie who just sticks out his tongue. The girls grab their phones, snapping photos of them. You realise that you're probably in them, too, considering the lack of distance between you both. 

"Girls, there's the door!!" The tallest and most commandeering of the group holds open the entrance to the comic book store, and they swarm towards it.

"Cole, run!!!" Greenie yells, taking off to the back door that Rufus quickly ushers them both through. You grab the issue of Starfarer that Greenie dropped on the floor in his hasty exit, watching the fabric of Cole's shirt almost get stuck in the doorway.

At least now you know his name. 

You place both the comics back on the shelf, leaving with a quick wave to Rufus, who nods goodbye. You pull out your phone, look up directions to the apartment and slowly make your way there. You grab your earbuds, put them both in your ears and start your playlist from the beginning.

You're next to an alleyway, just steps away from a ramen store, when your arm is grabbed and pulled into an alleyway next to you. A yelp rips free from your chest, losing your balance and almost falling. 

A strong and warm arm holds yours firmly, pressing you against the cold brick wall. Your eyes automatically squeeze shut when your back hits the wall with a grunt, opening your eyes to see Mr. Grumpy Pants from earlier. 

What the everloving fuck-

His hand is pressed firmly against your mouth, and your hands curl into fists, summoning all the strength in your body to land a solid punch on his chest. He yelps, pressing his lips tightly together to silence himself. He glares at you, and you return it just as angrily. Your fingers close into fists, readying yourself for another punch, aiming for his jaw next.

He shushes you, and you only just notice his pinched brows and the shine of sweat on his forehead. He had tugged you behind a wall that separated into a small alcove, out of sight from the sidewalk you were on earlier.

"Turn that nauseating song off." Cole winces, muttering through clenched teeth. Your hands slow to a stop, confused by his words. He grabs your phone out of your hands, pressing pause on your beloved playlist before you can protest.

Your eyes widen in shock, staring up at his stupidly handsome face. His dark brown eyes are filled with the fear of being caught, and you catch yourself admiring the shaggy black hair that frames his face in the most annoyingly perfect manner.

Your mind races with incoherent thoughts, but one sticks out like a sore thumb.

Your soulmate's a celebrity? 

For a celebrity, his music taste sucks ass.

"Am I getting kidnapped right now?" You voice out the most pressing concern on your mind, though it comes out muffled. He turns back to face you with an incredulous expression.

"You don't know who I am?" His voice is hushed, waiting for the horde of fangirls to run past your hiding spot. Your eyes narrow, pushing his hand off of where it's placed on your shoulders. You try to ignore the tingle his touch leaves behind that spreads to your hands and how his choppy bangs somehow manage to fall over his eyes in a somewhat attractive manner when he turns to face you. 

"In the past twenty minutes, you've glared at me, been rude, and practically held me hostage," You snap at him, irritated by the lack of common human decency he seems to display. "And what do you mean nauseating? If anything, you're the one giving me headaches with that god-awful noise you call music that you play daily! I mean, who wakes up at 4 AM?? Only a psychopath, apparently."

You finish your mini rant, having reached the end of your already thinning patience with the boy in front of you. You pant slightly, trying your best to reign in your temper. 

"Noise? Noise?? I could say the same for you! You're disturbing my sleep at night with those ear-splitting synths and breathy singing that sounds like they're on the verge of hyperventilation!" Cole retorts with thinly veiled disgust, taking a step back, dusting off his hands, and wiping them on his pants. 

You eye the action, feeling insulted. Both of you stand in the alleyway, silently glaring at each other. Cole breaks the stare first, scanning the area behind him once he realises the fangirls are gone. You grin, elated at the quiet victory. 

“You really gotta get more variety.” Your smile drops as soon as the words leave Cole's lips, and yours press into a thin line. 

“Speak for yourself.” You can barely hold back another biting remark. If anyone were to see you now, they'd mistake you as enemies rather than the soulmates that you are.

He groans, rolling his eyes. You're tempted to ask what he does for a living but choose to stay silent. You shake your head, still in disbelief that you've found your soulmate. “Out of all people…” You mutter under your breath with a scowl. 

“I could say the same. I don’t know how someone like you ended up as my soulmate.” He retorts, seemingly having overheard. 

“I’m glad we share the same view then. At least that’s one thing we can agree on. Now, let’s make a deal. You go right, and I go left and we never run into each other again. Deal?” You propose, holding out your hand for a handshake. He eyes it for a solid moment, mulling over his decision. Instead of shaking your hand, however, he merely nods, crossing his hands over his chest. Your eyes narrow.

How insufferable.

“Looks like they’re gone.” He takes a moment to glance out of the alleyway, starting in the direction opposite and leaving you to your own devices. You continue to glare at his retreating figure, driving home your irritation by placing your earbuds back into your ears and hitting play.

Immediately, Cole's songs start playing in the back of your mind, much louder than before. You let out an irritated groan, turning to glare at his broad back. Curse his well-chiselled body and toned arms. 

Stupid soulmate.

— — — — — 

“So, how was your first day in town?” Your stepmother, Emily, sits down opposite you, taking out one of the hair clips she used to keep the bangs out of her face. Her hair is messy, tied into a ponytail and her skirt is stained with spaghetti sauce. 

“Decent. Went to a comic book place.” You say through a mouthful. Your response is short, but it’s more than what used to be quiet dinners around a tension-filled dining table in the past. 

“That’s good. Doomsday Comix, I assume?” She doesn’t flinch from your wide-eyed gaze, caught off guard by how eerily accurate her guess is. “I used to work there when I was younger. I hope you found the comics you were looking for. Starfarer, right?”

“Right,” You reply unsurely, spooning another bunch of pasta into your mouth. You forget that Emily had been born and raised in Ninjago, only having met your dad during one of her trips for ‘inspiration’. You and she had a rocky relationship, but one could say that you’re currently making progress - you think.

“Did you meet the ninja?” Your dad asks, taking some sliced-up steak on his plate and placing it on Emily’s. You eye the way she lights up at the action, a nauseating feeling beginning to stir in the bottom of your stomach. “I hope if you got in trouble, they got you out of it.”

“Oh yeah? What’re the ninja gonna do, spin me around till I get a headache?” You snort, chewing on an irritating broccoli stem that refuses to get chowed down on. “Mystify me to pieces? Bore me to death?” 

The sarcastic jabs don’t phase your dad in the slightest. He shrugs, used to your disbelieving comments. “Just be careful out there still, okay? I know Ninjago City is safe but there are still pickpockets around and petty crimes.” 

“Which is exactly why I called in a favour from an old friend.” Emily smiles softly at your father, but it fades slightly when she looks at you, uncertainty in her gaze. “He’s an instructor, and I’ve asked him to teach you self-defence so you can at least protect yourself.”

Your hand slows to a halt, the singular piece of spaghetti dangling off your fork as you blink owlishly at her. “I never asked for your help.” The words slip out before you can stop yourself, hurt flitting across Emily’s face before she composes herself, clearing her throat and picking up a piece of broccoli.

Aaand that’s a streak of 3 and a half months without being mean, gone.

“I just thought that maybe you should stay safe. Besides that,” You can sense the carefulness in her words, trying to choose the right ones to say. “I have an event coming up that I’d like you to attend. It’s a fundraiser, and I would like you to be there.” She pauses for a moment, looking from your father to you. “Both of you.”

“No thanks,” The clang of the metal fork against the porcelain plate makes her wince slightly at the harsh sound. You stand up with your half-empty plate, appetite vanishing just as quickly as a passing breeze. “I’m gonna head out. School stuff to catch up on and all.” You spot your father starting to stand up with a frown, only to stop when she places her hand on his arm and shakes her head sadly. 

You ignore it.

Besides, you have a best friend to call.

— — — — — 

“I think I met my soulmate today.” You instinctively pull the phone away from your ear just as she starts screaming. 

“What? Where?? When?? How????? WHO???”

“Comic book store, today,” you reply, playing with a strand of your hair to distract yourself. 

“Comic book store? Oh no, he’s a nerd.” The mock horror in her voice makes you suppress a defeated groan, picturing exactly how wide her smug grin is. Closing your eyes, you take a moment to inhale slowly. Damn. She remembers. 

When you were younger, you had made a bet with Melody as to what kind of person your soulmate would be. Being the naive child you were, you had bet on him being a superstar. 

Melody, on the other hand, had bet that you'd end up with someone the complete opposite of you. A secret nerd. 

Even at the tender age of 15, she had already read countless romantic books filled with cliche tropes. Right now though, this knowledge is absolutely terrifying to you. You hear a sigh of satisfaction over the phone, lips curling into a frown. “I’m not going to do it.”

“You have to! We pinky promised. Plus, Todd’s back home and if you don’t want me to tell him about-” 

“I’ll do it,” you groan, cutting her off from the effective threat. “The First Spinjitzu Master sent you down for just one reason and that was to make my life even worse.”

“Wait.” Melody says, “What happened to your whole spiel about ‘oh I hate soulmates and I never want to have one, bleh bleh bleh’ ?”

“First of all, that is not how I sound. Is that really how I sound to you??” You gasp. Maybe your whole stance against soulmates was getting a bit too much, even for Melody. “Besides, it’s nothing new. His stupid jazz started a couple of months back or something.” You grumble, deciding to collapse on your bed instead of pacing your room.

“And you didn’t tell me??” She says incredulously, her voice raised. You can hear a faint “What didn’t she tell you?” in the background, recognising the voice as her brother’s. 

“Nothing!” She shouts back at him, “I expect details. Right fucking now.”

“It’s not much,” You sigh, looking up at your ceiling and letting your phone rest beside your head, her voice filling the quiet room through the speakerphone. “It came outta nowhere and honestly? If nothing happened, no way am I about to fly across the world just to see him. I have school. And homework.”

“You’ve never handed in a single piece of homework on time.” Her voice has a hint of accusation. 

“What can I say? Moving gives you a whole new perspective on self-reflection.” You shrug nonchalantly, though you know she can’t see it. 

“What’s his music taste?”

“Smooth jazz and soft rock.” You groan at her awws on the other end, “Yeah, let’s see if you still find that cute when you’re trying to sleep and he decides to blast music at 4 AM.”

“An early riser. Maybe he works out?” Melody’s wistful voice doesn’t go unnoticed. 

“I sense dissatisfaction with your current soulmate.” Your snarky reply makes her chuckle. 

“You wish. Luke’s gonna start going to the gym 'cause I said I liked his biceps last week.” She says with amusement, “Right, I have a date tomorrow. Should I wear the pink blouse or blue?”

“Blue.”

“Pink it is.” 

“Why do you even bother asking me?” You say blankly, grinning when she barks out a laugh. “Have fun on your date.”

“Remember to get autographs!”

“I won’t if you don’t shut up and get to bed.” The call instantly concludes with a monotonous dial tone after you hang up, placing your phone on your table with a grin. You open your laptop with a new sense of purpose, searching for articles on the ninja. Your unfulfilled promise haunts you, knowing full well that although most of your friends thought it was a joke, Melody would be intent on at least fracturing your pinky finger if you didn’t get their autographs.

A sudden knock on the door startles you and your hands quickly close the laptop instinctively. The door slowly creaks open, and your dad steps inside. You turn away, pretending to busy yourself with tidying your desk with minimal clutter. “Is this about dinner?”

“Well,” you hear him hesitate. “Kind of. Look, it’d mean a lot to her if you went, y’know. Besides, the self-defence instructor we asked to teach you has already accepted.”

“Can’t you get a refund?” You finally turn to face him, lips parted to say more until you scan his face. Sunken cheeks and eyes filled with sadness stare back at you, hoping that maybe, just maybe, you’d be more open towards his wife. Towards her. 

And just like that, your temper which had slowly begun to bubble up again at the mention of your stepmom dies down, left with nothing but wisps of resentment. You swallow down the lump in your throat, unable to meet his gaze. 

“Fine. Tell Hamla that I’ll go to her charity fundraiser, whatever.” 

He breathes a sigh of relief, while you focus on your fingers already picking away at the skin on your thumb. Tiny flecks of peeled skin land on the floor, invisible in the lack of light. The skin is red and raw underneath, but you can’t feel the pain, focusing instead on the repetitiveness of the action.

“Thank you, munchkin.” 

The door closes without any further conversation, and the weight on your chest suddenly lifts. It’s still there, but significantly less than before. You close your eyes, hands curling into fists as you breathe out slowly but shakily. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.

You open the laptop back up, allowing the bright screen to distract you from any further thoughts. The picture of the ninja fills your screen, one in a black gi catching your eyes. What was he again? The Earth Ninja? 

Glancing at the closet, you mentally flit through your outfit options for the fundraiser. A thought nags away at your brain, as if on the edge of remembering one very important fact. You pull up the article from this morning, rereading it once more as it hits you, looking from the article to the picture a few times before your lips pull up in a slow smile.

Looks like you’d get their autographs sooner than you thought.

[prozacwhorehouse]

pacify her (soft brat!tamer cooper x fem!reader)

this is a longer one shot of a headcannon from my cooper headcannons! i am a strong believer in brat!tamer cooper, and the tied up time out just makes sense because…yes.

cooper punishing his baby girl is very important to me nuff said

DNI if you’re a minor or just aren’t into it…nsfw 18+ no smut but mature themes, dword used, restraints, gagging, brat taming, age gap, reader is in early 20s cooper is in 40s

they’re arguing because she’s bored. In the house she stays, locked away all day. she can’t leave - then people would know where she went - she’s been missing for months, and she’s okay with it. she prefers her safe life with cooper to her dark past. but she’s staring to drive herself insane - pacing the same rooms. staring at the same walls. she just wants to go out. then she threatens to leave. you and cooper both know that can’t happen.

“in the bedroom.” he glares, clenching his fist together on the table. shit. she knows she’s in trouble.

she gulps and slowly turns on her heel to make her way over to their room. he watches her leave, letting out a sigh and running his hands through his hair. he comes to terms with the fact that it’s finally time she’s punished. she’s never acted up, never been yelled at. tears prick at her eyes thinking that because she was a bad girl just this once, he’d always see her as one.

she opens her mouth to say something, quickly cut off by cooper. “quiet” he commands. she shuts her mouth instantly. her eyes follow him as he walks over to the dresser, pulling out the top drawer. his back is to her, so she can’t see what he’s getting. her mouth falls open when he turns and reveals two long pieces of rope he begins to unwind.

“please cooper, im so-so sorry,” she sniffles and moves back on the bed towards the headboard as he stalks towards her, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes. he’s never done this before.

“shh. you’ve always been such a good girl. but this is an important lesson for you to learn. im sure after this, you’ll be my good girl again.” She whimpers when he’s hovering over her on the bed, wrapping the rope around her wrists in front of her, finishing it with a nice tight bow. she tries to pull her ankles in to protest a second set of restraints, but he quickly grabs and pulls her ankles towards him, wrapping the rope around and finishing with another bow. it settles in that he’s not going to show her mercy, but she can at least try to get him to change his mind. she thinks maybe her sobbing will she doesn’t even have to try, she’s crying anyway, she can’t believe she let him down like this. she’s always so good. why’d she have to misbehave?

“honey, you have to be quiet. i don’t want to have to make you,” he says. as messed up as it is, she’s kind of interested. so, she ignores, and continues sobbing.

“please daddy please, ill be a good girl i promise!” she pleads to no avail, causing him to sigh and tsk.

“I tried to warn you, babygirl.” her eyes widen when he reaches in the bedside table and pulls out a ball gag, one she’s never seen before. it’s new, he bought it for this purpose. he knew deep down that someday, living locked away, she’d break, and he’d need to calm her down.

“nonono” she tries to squirm away, bound wrists and ankles making it more difficult. he catches her quickly, and her pleas are suddenly muffled and her eyes squeeze shut as the gag is forced into her mouth, securely buckled behind her head.

“there we go. shhh, baby.” her sobs are muffled now, but her tears continue to flow non stop, which he attempts to wipe away with his thumb as he caresses her cheek. he scans her body, and he can’t help his pants tightening about his crotch when looking at his girl, all tied up and gagged for him. he feels in control, he’s never felt like he’s owned her more.

he’s only used to seeing his victims like this - completely at his mercy. except this time it’s different. his other victims have resentment in their eyes, hers have regret. she lives to please him.

“you just need some quiet time, alone with yourself and your thoughts. ill be back when i think you’ve learned your lesson.” he presses a kiss to her forehead, and she cries one more time, begging him not to go, but it’s inaudible. the lights switch off, and the door closes. she’s alone - she can’t move, see, or speak. she can only choke on her own cries, and wriggle against her bonds. time out is worse than she ever thought it’d be.

after an hour, she stops crying. it’s no bother. he can’t hear her anyway. even if he could, she didn’t want to upset him even further by not keeping quiet like he’d asked.

she’s tired herself out anyway. struggling in her restraints, heavy breathing through her nose in panic, and bawling.

cooper stops by the door and puts an ear to the wood, listening for cries. he doesn’t hear anything, now that she’s calmed down he can go in and talk to her.

when he enters the room, the light coming through the crack in the door spreads onto her frame. she’s facing away from the door now, a sign that she struggled, tried to move off the bed, but no success.

he doesn’t realize she’s fallen asleep. time outs are hard work!

“baby?” he whispers, brushing the hair that’s managed to slip out from under the leather straps out of her face. she rolls over, her eyes flutter open, and she pinches her eyes shut at the sudden bright light. she lost track of how long she was in the dark.

“do you understand why i put you in here? why you had such a long time out?” he says softly, with a hand on her shoulder.

she nods her head softly, looking up at him with doe eyes through her lashes. she looks so perfect like this- part of cooper wants to keep her like this. she’d be his forever.

he unbuckles the straps from around her head, she gags when the ball is pulled from her mouth. “there we go baby. it’s okay.” he rubs circles on her lower back before moving to untie her.

“do you still love me?” She finally speaks up, looking at him like a lost puppy, eyes glassy. his face softens, and he pulls her into his lap so she’s straddling him, her arms around his neck.

“oh, sweet girl. of course i still love you. i did it because i love you. you just need to be a good girl for me, okay? for this to work, i need you to do as i say. okay?” he asks her. she nods, “yes.”

“yes what?” he raises his eyebrows, expecting her to continue her sentence.

“yes daddy,” she says, and he smiles and cups her face to kiss her. “good girl.”

this is so filthy I’m sorry

[hyuckmov]

haechan — if i believe you  

haechan x fem!reader 10.6k, angst & fluff, fake dating to real a/n: thank you all for waiting...this is the longest thing i've ever written :) i really hope that you can enjoy this and the emotions and everything are immersive and not too annoying with the miscommunication/repression i hope. these two are my favorite ever, quiet haechan is my favorite ever and i would love to revisit them maybe in a later fic. anyway, let me know if you like this!! thank you for reading <3 it’s a little difficult to be around your friend group when they’re all like this.

it’s a little past midnight, and you don’t know how it happened but the room has been split into happy pairs, all in their own world. movie on the tv forgotten, jaemin has his arm slung around a girl as they whisper to each other on the floor next to the couch, which is taken up by jeno — currently very endearingly laughing at something his girlfriend said. renjun was arguing with his girlfriend, but you know that neither of them truly meant it. you don’t know how it happened, but it seemed that this year, the trip to jaemin’s beach house had turned into a triple date for which you were seriously 7th wheeling. the sight makes your heart hurt a little, because you suddenly feel so crushingly lonely. 

“still here?” 

you almost forgot that haechan was here too. almost. 

sliding in to sit next to you on the kitchen island, he was dressed cozily for bed: his hoodie rolled up to his elbows, smelling slightly of toothpaste and fabric softener. you didn’t actually talk to haechan that much, you were always closer with jaemin in the friend group, but sometimes when eating together he’d catch your eye after a particularly terrible joke, or you would raise your eyebrows at him for something questionable said. you had almost developed an entirely non-verbal form of communication in that way, the two of you sharing your humor, and yet you didn’t actually know a whole lot about each other. a part of you thinks that you know a different haechan from everyone else, because in all the looks you pass each other and the comfortable silence you share, the haechan you know is quiet and sensitive, with a world of kindness in him that made you feel calm. and although you know he can be obnoxious and loud, his laughter echoing down corridors and smile brighter than the sun, you much preferred the haechan you knew. 

you also thought he was the prettiest boy you’d seen in a long while — something casual about the way he would smile, or wink at people, and his habit of poking his tongue in his cheek…but you weren’t going to tell him that. 

“yeah, still here.” you exhale. “when did you make your escape?” 

“about 30 minutes ago.” he smiled fondly at the happy couples in the room. “it’s a bit funny how the room just rearranged itself. i could’ve sworn jaemin was beside me at the dinner table the entire night but somewhere along the way he dematerialised and reappeared next to the sofa.” 

“love can do that to a person.” you rolled your eyes, before pausing to consider that maybe haechan was not quite in the same predicament as you. “hey, speaking of, why didn’t you bring your girlfriend?” 

because you were sure that haechan had a girlfriend, who he would sometimes leave gatherings early to see. you vaguely remembered renjun complaining about how he always had to walk her to class, never showing up to gatherings anymore because of some surprise or another. 

haechan blinks at you. “don’t have one anymore. we broke up quite a few months ago.” at the guilt-striken look on your face, he shakes his head to reassure you. 

“i’m over it,” he says softly. “don’t worry about me, okay?”

you can’t imagine anyone breaking up with haechan — haechan who was so gentle. with his radiant smile and his arms full of flowers whenever he surprised her. haechan who walked her to her classes. 

“i’m sorry to hear that. you deserved better i’m sure.” 

he smiles, and it looks kind of shy. “if you say so.” 

“hey y/n-” you look up at jaemin’s voice, and realize that somehow, the room had emptied out while you were talking to haechan. the only person left was jaemin, who had just finished clearing the bottles and snack wrappers. “we’re going to bed, i’m going to turn out the lights now.” 

“okay, thanks jaem.” 

he made to leave, but stopped abruptly. “ y/n, remember-” jaemin looked at you sternly, one hand on the light switch, one pointed at you. 

“repeat after me: do not trust how you feel about your entire life past 9pm.” a pause, as he glances at the clock on the wall. “or 1am, for that matter.” 

you laugh. “thanks jaem.” 

“repeat it”, he insists. 

“do not trust how i feel about my life past 1am.” 

“good.” jaemin nods in acknowledgement to haechan, flicks the light switch, and just like that, haechan and you sit alone at the kitchen island, illuminated by the moonlight through the glass doors.

suddenly, it is so quiet you feel like you want to sit in the moment forever. 

you look over at him, and haechan raises his eyebrows. it is a look you know well. care to explain?

“sometimes i get really emotional at night”, you explain. “tend to overthink. jaemin knows that because i’m always calling him talking about one thing or the other.” thinking about how embarrassing it would be if you started oversharing, you quickly promise, “but i’m working on it, don’t worry. i won’t do that to you.” 

haechan smiles. “i don’t mind.” he blinks at you and supports his chin with his hands. “we have all night. tell me what’s on your mind right now.” 

“really?” you look skeptical. once again, you and haechan haven’t really talked that much at all. you think this is maybe the longest conversation you’ve had with him, with so many words. 

“it’s okay if you don’t want to. but i’m just saying, i wouldn’t mind.” he smiles, and it warms your heart. 

asking you softly if you would like something to drink, he gets up to make hot chocolate for the two of you. and you’re sitting there, not even trying, but suddenly the moonlight and the soft sounds of haechan padding around the kitchen are setting off a feeling of butterflies making their way to your throat from your stomach. there are shivers running up and down your spine because there is something tender and fragile in this moment that you can’t pinpoint, and a deep feeling begins to crawl its way, spreading through your toes and fingertips. all you know is it’s the feeling you get before you’re about to spill your heart out to someone. 

“haechan?” 

he hums, and the sound could break your heart. 

“do you ever feel lonely sometimes?” 

you hear the smile in his voice without having to turn around to look at him — its the one that starts at the corners and spreads slowly across his face. “so this is what keeps you up at night.” 

“i’m serious, haechan.” running your hands through your hair, you are aware that you are beginning to sound like a rom-com protagonist, but you don’t care. 

“sorry.” you hear the clink of teaspoons against cups as he stirs the hot chocolate. “i mean, i guess i do feel a little lonely sometimes. but it’s not…an all-consuming thought.” a pause. “i guess it is, for you though, isn’t it?” 

you hesitate, before nodding because fuck it, this has been on your mind for way too long and jaemin was rarely helpful. always with his arm slung over another girl, you had a hard time getting jaemin to admit he got lonely sometimes. 

choosing your words carefully, you continue your spiel. “it’s just…it’s insane to me how we are told that life is so romantic, that there are so many wonderful moments in love we can look forward to, but none of that is happening to me and it doesn’t seem like it will be happening any time soon.” 

haechan comes over to you, and passes you a mug of hot chocolate. soothingly, he places a hand on yours where it rests on the counter. “you have to wait y/n. i promise, one day you’ll find someone who loves you, and all the things you’re dreaming about will happen.” 

“you can’t know that for sure,” you press. “i mean, when will someone write a love letter to me? will we kiss in the rain in the park? will they run to see me at a new year’s eve party?” 

“woah woah woah, slow down.” he nudges your mug with his, indicating that you should drink, so you take a sip of chocolate: it’s rich and warm. 

“i’m sorry. it’s just over the years things just keep getting added to this list of love, and now that i look at it it just seems ever the more impossible.” 

“love isn’t defined by actions and experiences,” haechan muses. 

“but i want to experience these things,” you say, feeling a little shy at how raw this conversation was getting.  

haechan smiles at that, at the yearning hidden in your small voice. the two of you sit for a while, nursing your cups of chocolate, lost in your own thoughts. enjoying the warmth of his hand on yours, you look at the glimmering countertop and choose not to say anything so he doesn’t move his hand away. 

and suddenly, out of the blue, haechan asks you a question. 

“just out of curiosity, what are some things on your list?” 

feeling a little embarrassed, because really — sharing your romantic fantasies with someone was beyond intimate, you mumble, “just simple things. going to the aquarium. being a couple at the amusement park, on the ferris wheel. watching fireworks together. cuddling while watching movies in my bedroom.” 

haechan thinks about it for a moment. you can almost see the wheels turning in his head. you sit in silence for so long, you’re about to ask him what he’s thinking about, or tell him it’s not that serious, when he speaks up.

“i’ll do them with you.” 

you almost choke. “i’m sorry?” 

“i’ll help you complete your list.” he looks at you, as if it’s a completely normal thing he’s just said. 

“but…but i mean…” you blink confusedly. you were supposed to do those things with a boyfriend or someone you loved, not just as friends. that would defeat the whole purpose. 

reading your mind, haechan added “it’ll just be like fake dating. i’ll pretend to be your boyfriend so you can experience all that you want to.” 

you’re beginning to see a little bit of the haechan that you don’t usually get to see, as he grins at you and there’s suddenly something sharp to the smile you always found gentle. “the full, personalised, boyfriend experience. just so you can have a go.” 

you laugh, but that’s just a cover for all the questions running through your head. “i-i don’t know,” you stammer. “does it even count if it’s fake?” 

“you’re the one making the rules.” tilting his head to the side, his eyes glimmer almost teasingly. 

“but what are you suggesting? what do you have in mind?” 

“well…” haechan hums as he thinks about it. “i could do everything with you on the list, as your fake boyfriend. in the timeframe that we’re going about carrying out this activity i’ll be fully and completely your boyfriend, yours to hug and kiss and hold hands with, until it’s over. then we can go back to being…” he smiles at you, hesitantly. “friends? does that work?” 

this haechan makes your palms sweaty, and makes your breath catch. this haechan makes you feel jumpy, and nervous, and impulsive. you think you’d do anything he asked in that moment. 

“okay.” you say slowly, and he smiles wide. “wait no.” you hesitate. “wait, fuck it, yes. let’s do it.” 

he laughs. “are you sure?” 

“wait.” his body heat is radiating off his skin as all his attention is focused on you. lips still pressed into a smile, his eyes bright and far too mesmerizing in the dim moonlight. and you can’t help but wonder then, “what if we catch feelings?” 

tilting his head to the side in consideration, he leans in close, one arm reaching out to cage you in. the two of you are nose to nose. you can count his every eyelash, see the constellation of moles scattered across his face and neck. his breath so close to your own, that your eyes can’t help but flutter shut.

“then that’s the best part.” he whispers.

x 

you try not to think about how you felt when haechan leaned in, or the way the circles he traced into the back of your hand were still burning. you couldn’t help looking for the smell of his perfume on your clothes.

you’re way too easy, y/n. this is only the first real conversation you’ve had with him. 

you’re about to turn off the lights and call it a night, hoping to some power above that you’re able to reign in your emotions come morning, when there’s a light tap at your door. 

“y/n? are you there?” 

it’s him. you spend about 5 seconds debating whether or not to pretend you’ve already fallen asleep, but curiosity eventually wins you over. crossing over to the door, you place a hand on the doorknob. 

“haechan?” 

you can hear him shift from behind the door, pushing it so it keeps shut. “y/n, wait, don’t open the door. i just want to tell you something.” 

slowly, you remove your hand from the doorknob and the latch clicks back, shut.

 “okay…” 

he’s breathing softly, and in the quiet you can hear it as if he were in the room with you. “y/n, i’m sorry i sprung the idea on you just now. you can forget i said anything if it made you uncomfortable.” he shifts his weight from foot to foot, nervously. “especially the part about catching feelings.” 

“it’s fine,” you say softly, but there’s a little disappointment stinging at you. does he regret it? 

“but also, if you’d like, i would really love to do all those things with you,” the words come out in a rush, as if he’s trying to be brave. “as fake lovers. without feelings attached.” 

you don’t know what to say, and you can tell that for each second you stay silent, haechan is growing less and less confident behind the door. you run things through in your head quickly. this plan meant that you were able to jump headlong into romantic experiences you’ve dreamt of for what felt like your whole life, without the potential of them being ruined by a bad date, or waiting for years more to find the right one. and most of all, you trusted haechan with this.

haechan is leaning against the opposite wall, looking at the floorboards, but his head shoots up when you open the door. 

taking a deep breath, you look him in the eyes. “let’s do it.” 

“really?” shocked, he reaches for you — maybe to wrap you in his arms for a hug, but drops them, remembering what he had said about making you feel uncomfortable. putting his hands behind his back to resist the urge to swing you into the air, his expression of surprise melts into a huge smile. one that makes you laugh. 

“you’re more excited about this than me,” you tease, and because you just can’t help it, you step forward and give him a quick hug. “thanks for doing this with me.” 

instantly, his arms loop around your waist, squeezing tightly. “thank you for trusting me.” 

the butterflies in your stomach, however, tell you that you were maybe being a bit too trusting. without feelings attached. because would that really be possible with him, who’s currently making your heart race and your breath catch? 

x

it was a week since the beach house. and while the opening of summer felt optimistic and hopeful, now everyone had to wander back to their lives and figure out exactly what they were going to do for the next three months. jeno and renjun had an ongoing bet that jaemin would be fired from his summer job within the week. and jaemin had a bet with you that jeno and renjun wouldn’t find themselves a job that entire summer.

but you knew exactly what you were going to do for the season. and it all started with getting in the passenger seat of haechan’s car as he took you to a waffles place for breakfast. 

“hey.” 

“hi.” he flashes a quick smile at you. “you look nice today.” 

“really?” you adjust the collar of your shirt self-consciously, checking on your hair through the rearview mirror. 

“no, i lied.” he laughs, and the sound is all too fitting for the morning sunshine that flits in through the windows. “yes, i mean it. i like your shirt.”

“my shirt?” 

“just take the compliment.” 

you can’t help a smile of your own. “okay. i will.”

for a while, he drives in silence. it’s a peaceful sense of calm that you think you’ll come to enjoy. there’s a lot of comfort in just sitting next to haechan, watching his hands move on the wheel, his careful eyes scanning the road.

“so, y/n, i took a look at your list,” he starts. 

you had texted him a small list of the things you were thinking about doing. the classic dinner and a movie. going to the amusement park. sharing a kiss while watching fireworks. 

feeling a little shy all of a sudden in his car, you nod. “is it a bit much?”

“not at all,” he says quickly. “i was just wondering how you’ve never done some of those things before. i would’ve thought going to the amusement park was entry level honeymoon phase stuff.” 

you nod approvingly. “it’s sweet that you think so.” 

“didn’t you use to have a boyfriend?” 

“i did,” you muse. “i dated mark a while ago.” 

“our senior?” 

“yeah.” looking out the window at the cars passing by, you think back to your time with mark. “he was always nice to me. but we never really went out and did things. we broke up because i was someone who loved romance, and he wasn’t.” 

 “i see.” haechan hesitates. there was something about the way you talked about mark that unsettled him, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. “do you think you could get back together with him?” 

“trying to pass me off onto someone else already?” you don’t pick up on the shift in haechan’s tone, and mistake it for genuine curiosity. “i guess i could. maybe after these years apart he wants something romantic too.” 

although the morning was warm, haechan felt a sense of cold sweep through him. he tries to brush it off. “well, thank your lucky stars you have me now” 

looking over at him, his hair falling slightly over his eyes, the troubled crease of his brow, your thoughts of mark immediately clear. “thank you,” you say, a little too emotionally for the early morning and this car ride. 

he looks over at you, and his chest eases up at the warmth in your eyes. “don’t mention it,” he says, and smiling at you is the easiest thing in the world.

x

the line for popcorn at the movies had stopped moving. fidgeting from the cold of the cinema, you wrap your arms around yourself as haechan stands by you, scrolling on his phone for a deal that he saw for a discounted drink combo. one arm slung casually over your shoulders, you lean into his touch just a little. 

today he was helping you out by taking you for a date. specifically, the classic dinner and a movie idea that has been long since rendered obsolete, but you had never had a chance to do. standing in line, his fingertips brushing your shoulder, you recall how he had showed up 5 minutes early outside your apartment, holding a small bouquet of flowers, and doing the thing where he flicked his fingers to splay out the two movie tickets he had ordered early on. the two of you had dinner at a nice italian restaurant, and he had offered to pay but you insisted, since you were technically making him do all of this. 

“are you cold?” drawing you out of your thoughts, you turn to see haechan, concern causing his eyebrows to furrow and his heart-shaped lips to form a slight pout. “why didn’t you bring a jacket? you knew we were going to watch a movie.” 

the line moves forward by a fraction of an inch, and you take a step forward, haechan now standing slightly behind you. “i completely forgot,” you whined. “i just haven’t watched a movie at the cinema in a while.” 

haechan bites back a smile, and slots his phone into his back pocket. the arm that is slung over your shoulder drops to your waist, while his other comes to circle around you from behind, and before you know it he’s pressed up against your back. you can feel the heat of his skin even with the thick hoodie he’s wearing over. dropping his head onto your shoulder, you feel him smile against your neck. “there,” he whispers. “now you won’t be cold anymore.” 

trying to steady your nerves, you stare resolutely ahead. “couldn’t have just given me your jacket like a normal person?” 

he shakes his head cutely, his soft hair tickling your jaw. “nope.” 

you make sure your voice stays resolutely calm. “then what will we do during the movie? you’ll be sitting next to me.” 

the line moves forward and haechan straightens, but his arms never leave your side. “guess you’ll have to hold on tight.”

and so you do. he ends up draping the hoodie over you during the movie, and he clings onto your arm, head resting on your shoulder. you hold on after the movie when he drops you off at home, grabbing onto his arm to steady yourself getting out of his car.

you hold on when he takes you for the next date at the amusement park; and when he tilts your chin upwards to press a kiss at the corner of your lips, your top-of-the-ferris-wheel moment,  you squeeze his hands in yours and move so your lips slot against his. you tell him with your smile that it’s alright. 

you hold on to him through your dates to the local aquarium, and to the beach. you let him pull you close as he drags you around the mall window-shopping, and as he guides you through clubs and restaurants. 

and if some part of you gets scared that it might be getting too real, if some part of you feels a little hurt whenever he brings up the list or when he removes your hand from his, you ignore it as best you can. 

x

“thanks for inviting me to this event,” you whisper, as you step into the doorway of the mansion, which really looks like a castle from the level of grandeur that meets your eyes. a man steps forward to take your coat, and you feel giddy. 

“nah, sorry for stealing you away on some random summer night.” haechan smiles, and you feel a tug in your heart. in his suit, he looks like he belongs here with all this finery, the slopes of his shoulders and the slight cinch of the waist looking elegant under the chandeliers, the rings scattered on his hands catching the light in pretty ways. “besides, it’s all part of the experience, isn’t it?” 

right. kissing and fireworks. trying to disguise the squeezing feeling in your chest, you smile back. “why do you keep bringing that up?” 

“do you not want me to?” there’s something careful about the way he looks at you. 

“i don’t.” you say, quietly. 

“then i won’t.” he extends an arm for you to take. “tonight you’ll just be my date.” and with your heart thundering up your throat, he steers you into the warmth of the room.

you spend most of the night in the same giddy spiral of emotions, as he twirls you on the dance floor expertly, and winces dramatically when you step on his toes. your hands never leave each others’ grasps, as you stand around tables eating finger-food and drinking champagne. as the party went on, he introduced you through holding up your clasped palms to each of his parent’s friends, earning a lot of cooing and fussing about. 

“haechan, how well you’ve grown up!” 

“is this your girlfriend? haechan is so lucky to be with such a beautiful girl like you.” 

“haechan! come say hello to the kids, they miss you!” 

“this won’t take long,” he mumbles sadly to you, as an aunt of his insists he meet his cousins upstairs. “i’ll meet you at the bar, okay?” 

“okay,” you smile, inwardly dying at the idea of haechan interacting with kids. as if he couldn’t get infinitely cuter. “have fun!” 

“don’t let someone steal my date away,” he warns, as he’s pulled away. “i mean it – you’re mine tonight.” 

you’re mine. you feel like you’re floating on a cloud as you make your way to the bar, you’re sure you’re at least swaying on your feet. 

“woah.” a hand reaches out to steady you, helping you settle into a seat. “too much champagne?” 

you gape at the man who’s sitting next to you now. “mark?” 

fidgeting with the collar of his suit and looking very uncomfortable, he nods in greeting. “didn’t know you were coming to this thing.” 

you look at him. he had gotten a haircut recently. but besides that in terms of appearance, he looked just as he did when the two of you were together, except for the fact that something about his demeanor was off. he looked tired, and there was something weary about his posture that hadn’t been there before. 

“i was invited,” you tell him. “how are you here?” 

“one of the ladies there is my aunt.” he pauses. “you’ve never met her. are you enjoying yourself?”

you think back to haechan’s smile as he sways underneath the lights, holding your hips. before you know it, you’re smiling too. “it’s a nice night. this place is really beautiful.” 

mark studies you for a moment.  “how have you been?” 

“i’ve been alright.” you figure since there aren’t any hard feelings, you don’t have to make anything up as you would for an ex you were bitter over. mark was still a nice person, and he had been good to you in the right ways. 

“it’s summer, so i’ve been going out more i guess. how about you?”

“i’ve been alright.” he downs his glass of white wine and signals for another one in a fluid motion, and you raise your eyebrows. shaking his head, he changes his answer. 

“okay, things could be better.” 

“why?” 

“just been feeling a little lonely.” 

you are so taken aback, that you let out a laugh. he looks at you, affronted, and somehow the furrow of his eyebrows makes you laugh even harder. 

“i’m sorry,” you calm yourself down. “i wasn’t laughing at you, not really. it’s just…” you take a sip of your own drink. “i was in the exact same situation say a few months ago.” at his bewildered expression, you gesture. “please continue, though.”

mark shrugs and goes along with it. “i guess i was just realizing that i wasn’t as happy as i could be. there were times where i would be – i don’t know, having dinner, and i’d just think ‘damn. really wish i had someone with me right now.’ you know?” 

“i do know.” you nod. “it’s crazy we’re experiencing the same thing, after, you know, so many years.” 

“yeah.” he looks at you carefully. “crazy.” 

“hey baby.” 

a hand slides possessively around your waist, and you jump. the next thing you know, a pair of lips are kissing their way down your neck, as another hand snakes its way around you until you are fully in their embrace. craning your head up, you already know who you’re going to see.

“hi haechan,” you say breathlessly. 

“sorry for leaving you for so long,” he murmurs, intermittently, as he continues to plant wet kisses on your neck. “the kids were going crazy.” 

feeling like you were about to burn up into a crumble of ashes, you splutter out, “we have company.” 

pulling away from you, haechan turns and stares at mark, coldly. “sorry, i didn’t notice.” his hand still draped over you, you can almost hear the forced normalcy in his voice when he asks, “and you are…?” 

“mark,” mark supplies, awkwardly fidgeting with the coaster under his glass. 

looking up at him, you see a flash of something race through haechan’s eyes, as he tightens his hold on you. “mark. well, hello, and goodbye.” 

he pulls you to your feet, and you set down your drink hurriedly and latch onto his arm. “say goodbye to mark, sweetheart.” 

“bye mark. things will get better, i’m sure of it,” you say, still left breathless by the turn of events. 

raising his eyebrows, he turns back to the bar. “see you around y/n.” 

“i don’t think so,” haechan chirps brightly, before tugging you away and past the throes of people, down a narrow hallway that was deserted. 

“haechan, what are you doing?” 

even in the dim lit of the hall, you can see his glower. “what were you talking to mark about?” 

“i don’t know…” you shake your head, still a bit lost. “just about life, i guess.” 

“did he ask to get back together with you?” he blurts out, suddenly. 

“what? no!” you splutter. 

“i heard him say he was lonely. who the fuck says that to their ex unless they want to get back together?” 

you take the hard look in his eyes. hesitantly, you call out. “haechan?” 

he huffs. 

“he didn’t want to get back together, i promise.” he looks at you, warily. “and even if he did, i wouldn’t want to get back together with him.” 

it is almost laughable how quickly his expression clears. 

“you wouldn’t?” 

“i wouldn’t,” you confirm. “i told you, i’m completely over it.” 

“okay,” he sighs, in something that sounds like relief. and before you could even register it, he pulls you into a hug, crushing you against him. “sorry, i guess i got nervous.” 

“that’s alright,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around him firmly, feeling his heartbeat against your ears, and you smile when you realise it’s racing. 

“hey it’s almost midnight,” he dips down to whisper into your hear. “do you want to go to the balcony to watch the fireworks?” as you nod, he leads you gently away from the corridor and through a set of glass doors, stepping out onto a beautiful balcony. the night air smells like honey and roses, and the sky is clear and bright with moonlight.  

you feel a tug at your fingertips, and you look to your side to find him smiling as he looks up. 

“what are you smiling about?” 

he hums. “i’m smiling about the fact that my date is the prettiest girl at the party.” 

you pretend to wrinkle your nose, and use your free hand to hit him on the shoulder. “corny.” 

“you love it.” 

and because it’s been weeks, and haechan is slowly making a home in your heart, you decide you need to at least start acknowledging the honest truth of the matter, so you don’t say anything. 

as the night sky fills with fireworks and the people inside the party cheer, he turns to hold your face in his hands, the tenderness and warmth in his eyes unparalleled by the lights in the sky. 

you tilt your face up to kiss him, and as his arms fall to your waist, with a jolt you remember his voice at the bar. hey baby. the term of endearment swirls in your chest, and makes you drape your arms around his shoulders and pull him just a little closer. the two of you don’t break apart for what feels like hours, as you lose yourself in the feeling of his soft lips on yours, the brush of your noses, and the slight tremble of his fingertips on your cheeks. it feels and tastes as real as you have ever known. 

x

except it’s not real. and you can’t ignore it. so you avoid it. 

keeping busy and finally diving into all the things you wanted to do for the summer was your only way of telling haechan you couldn’t make it for the next ‘date’, or the next. you can tell he’s a little confused, but since the whole thing was your idea, he’s trying his best to respect whatever pace you’re deciding to go with. you push it all away, and you try to live life without thinking of him and his hands, the way he closes his eyes in bliss when the sunlight makes his skin glow, the way his hair looks after he tugs his hoodie off, and the feel of his lips when he presses his face into the crook of your neck when he thinks you’re not paying attention. 

it’s late. you think you’ve definitely just had the longest day you’ve had all summer, running errands all around the city. all you wanted to do was lie in bed and put on a show that you could fall asleep to. lazily changing into your favorite pajamas, you set up your laptop on your bed, and you’re just about to press play when your phone screen lit up the dark room. 

jaem: wru

one of jaemin’s summer house parties must’ve been today. you were so tired that you forgot. 

y/n: too tired :( i don’t think i’ll go sorry

jaem: haechan needs you

you’re sure your heart actually stops beating for a second. haechan needs you. and just like that, your imagination kicks into overdrive, wondering what he could possibly need you for. 

holding your breath, you watch the three dots on your screen indicating jaemin typing for what seems like ages before your phone buzzes again. 

jaem: super hammered needs u to drive him home lol sry my bad that sounded weird

you let out a sigh of relief, but you can’t shake the adrenaline that rushed into you when you first saw the message.

y/n: can’t you let him crash at your place 

jaem: he won’t stop ASKING for u it’s driving everyone crazy 

a voice message comes through. he plays it, and it’s someone breathing really heavily. you’re beginning to wonder if jaemin sent this on accident, when haechan’s voice, low and husky from the alcohol, murmurs through the phone. 

“y/n can you hear me? i wanna….wanna see you… please…i’ll do anything…” 

“YOU’RE NOT BEING KIDNAPPED,” jaemin’s voice rings out, his words a little slurred but doing nothing to conceal the impatience in his tone. “GET A GRIP MAN.” 

“PLEAAAAASE”, he raises his voice in an impressive whine, and you wince in second-hand embarrassment because you’re sure the entire living room must have heard that. “I MISS YOU.” 

the voice message ends.

jaem: what a loser but yeah you get the gist of it

y/n: okay i’m on the way. can you get him on the phone? 

jaem: do it yourself

x

on the drive there, you do call haechan. 

he picks up halfway through the first ring of the phone. “y/n?”

“hi haechan. i’m on the way.” 

“don’t lie to me,” he mumbles. “honk your car horn.” 

“i’m not going to do that!,” you hiss, as if he were right here with you. “there are cars around.” 

“liar,” he breathes. there’s a pause, and when you next speak you’re startled to hear his voice wobble. “liar. you’re not coming to get m-” 

you slam your palm into your car horn, feeling your cheeks burn. 

on the other end, he sniffles, and you presume he’s nodding at you. “okay. stay safe.” 

“i will.” you hesitate. “is everything okay? did something happen at the party? are you hurt?”

he sighs over the phone. “everything is not okay,” he sniffles again, “because you’re not here.” 

you swallow hard. you want to take a hand off the wheel and slap yourself, because you need to remember that he’s not himself right now, and he might regret this all in the morning. you calm yourself down before responding as lightly as you can. “haechan i’ll be there any minute now, okay? but you have to tell me if something happened and if you want to talk about it.” 

he breathes heavily into the receiver. eventually, he mumbles out, “nothing happened.” shuffling, a pause, and then… “just miss you that’s all. i want to do more…more experience-y stuff with you.” more to himself than to you, he rambles on. “we’re falling behind you know. how are we going to finish this by the end of summer?” 

a shot of pain twists at your guts, and you feel nauseous. so he really just wants to get all of this over and done with. you want to stop the car so you can throw up. you want to turn it back around. you’re suddenly regretting dropping everything just because he wanted to see you, because if this was why… 

you keep driving on autopilot. the call has gone silent, but you can hear haechan breathing on the other end, and it’s driving you mad. you have no right to yell at him, but you almost do. 

when you pull up at jaemin’s driveway, you clear your throat. your voice controlled, you say, “i’m here now. you want me to come in and get you?” 

“okay. i’m in the 1st floor bathroom.” 

x

the front door swings open, and you’re met with jaemin. at first, you think he’s going to tell you off for taking so long, but something in your face causes the words to die in his throat. 

“y/n?” he asks. “are you okay?” 

and before you know it, you’re wrapped in his arms in a hug and you’re bawling like you hadn’t for months. the built up pressure of avoiding haechan, of having to get into character as his girlfriend and having to get out of character just as often, and all your confusion at your feelings leave you sobbing and you just can’t stop. jaemin’s running his hands down your back and making soft, soothing noises. 

you realise that you just really, really, missed your best friend. 

“i’m s-sorry,” you choke out. “i haven’t come round to see you ever since the start of s-summer.” 

“it’s okay,” he shakes his head, and leans back to look at you, wiping tears off your face gently. “we’ve both been busy.” 

but you shake your head. “i really need to talk to you. i need your opinion in my life.” 

he laughs at that. “i never thought i’d hear you say that.” 

you just go back to hugging him as you slowly calm down, and the constricting feeling in your chest eases. but after a moment, your phone buzzes in your pocket, and when you check it you see that haechan has spammed your text messages with a bunch of ‘?????????’ and sad faces. 

jaemin, ever the nosiest person in the room, is looking at your phone with a frown. “you never told me you started dating haechan, by the way.” 

ignoring the twist in your stomach, you shake your head. “that’s because i’m not.” jaemin raises his eyebrows, and you elaborate. “we’re just doing coupley things. for the experience.” 

narrowing his eyes because he knows you way too well, jaemin asks, “was this something you decided in the middle of the night? it’s sounding very classic middle-of-the-night-y/n ….” but at the look of frustration on your face, he immediately drops it. “okay, okay. not now. i get it.” 

“y/n? are you here?”

you still, as haechan shuffles into view. he squints, until he confirms that it’s you, and suddenly he’s rushing towards you giddily and unsteadily, his socked feet slipping and sliding on the floor of the hallway until hes collapsed in your arms. 

and there it is: his damn face in your neck again.

“wondered where you were, angel” you feel his hot breath against the base of your neck, and shivers shoot down your spine. “can i call you that? is it allowed?” 

exchanging glances with you, seeing how this was slowly making you go insane, jaemin reaches out hesitantly to pry him off of you. “haechan, maybe it’s best if you stay at my place tonight-” 

but haechan is quick to shrug him off, and with an agility that he shouldn’t be capable of in his state he pivots behind you and clings onto your back. his face once again buried in your neck. 

“don’t wanna,” he shakes his head vigorously. “wanna stay with y/n.” 

“y/n doesn’t want to stay with you,” jaemin starts forward again, making eye contact with you as he confirms, “right, y/n?” 

haechan spins you around in his hold, with the most wounded expression you’ve ever seen from him, or anyone for that matter. his eyes filling with tears, his cheeks flushed and his lip wobbling in an alarming way, he chokes out, “you d-don’t want…to s-stay…with me?” 

“i do, i do.” you assure him, trying to soothe him by drawing circles on his back with your thumb as he bites back sobs. over haechan’s back, you can see jaemin sigh defeatedly. “what am i supposed to do, he’s about to cry!” you hiss at him.

“he can cry on cue,” jaemin mouths. 

pause. what?

you look back at haechan’s face, but every expression seems to be genuine: his bottom lip caught between his teeth and the tears shimmering in his lashes, his hands — which he barely seems to be aware of — caressing your sides nervously, as if afraid you were going to disappear into thin air. 

“haechan,” you start. “are you lying to me?” 

x

but that was the wrong thing to say. the better part of the next hour was spent trying to console a weeping and sobbing haechan on his knees, who would not stop clutching your waist and biting jaemin when he tried to pry him off of you. and then it was guiding him to your car, and another round of consoling as you assured him that no, you weren’t going to disappear as you were driving, and no, you could not drive one-handed so you could not hold his hand the entire way, but yes, he could put his hand on your thigh if he promised he wouldn’t do anything else. 

you end up reaching, and then driving away from haechan’s apartment, because he would not leave the car without you and you figured that you might as well get a good night’s sleep at your own home. and somehow, you end up digging out some of mark’s old clothes out from the back of your closet for him to wear. and now, you’re standing between his legs, brushing his teeth for him while he looks at you adoringly. 

he mumbles something intelligible, his mouth full of toothpaste foam, and you shake your head tiredly at him. 

“nuh-uh. rinse your mouth out first.” 

you hold the spare mug up to his mouth and his lips wrap around the rim of it obediently. turning to spit in the sink, he swivels back to face you, his arms never leaving your side. 

“i’m sorry.” he says, quietly. 

“it’s okay. i know you’d do the same for me,” you say, patiently, because it’s true. if you were drunk, haechan would definitely drop everything to make sure you were safe. 

that you were sure of, because that was just the kind of person he was. 

“no,” he tugs his bottom lip with his teeth again, looking nervous. “it’s not about that.” his arms remove themself from your waist and he wraps them around himself instead. all of a sudden, you’ve never felt colder. 

“what do you mean?” 

he doesn’t look at you in the eye when he answers. “sorry for bringing up our deal. that’s not why i miss you.” 

you think you could cry. “really?” he nods, but his eyes are still on the floor. “haechan…” you press. “look at me.” 

he looks up. he looks so pretty right there, his heart-shaped lips and moles scattered haphazardly over his cheeks and nose. 

“so why do you miss me?” you ask, hoping against hope. his lips part, and for a split second you think he’s going to lean forward and kiss you. 

but then his lips press together. he shakes his head. and again. and then he slides off the counter, brushes past you and out of the bathroom despite you calling his name. and when you break yourself out of your daze and walk, trembling slightly, to your bedroom, you see him tucked under the covers, fast asleep. 

x

“i still don't’ get this ‘quiet haechan’ thing you keep going on about,” jaemin chews thoughtfully on a forkful of salad. “but okay, i’ll bite.” 

you’re having lunch with jaemin for the first time in weeks. with nothing much going on in his life for the summer, him waving you off when you apologised again about not checking in with him, the two of you breezed past your usual topics and quickly moved on to the elephant in the room: you and your fake relationship with haechan. 

nervously, you pick at your fries. “do you think i should just tell him we can stop now?” 

jaemin shook his head. “that’s not the main problem.” ever the mom best friend, he takes a pause for dramatic effect before leaning in. “the main problem is that your catching feelings policy is completely shit.” 

you glare at him, but don’t manage to keep it up. he’s right. “you think i should ask him about that?” 

“of course.” jaemin shrugs. “but you could also just confess and see what happens.” at your mortified expression, he raises a hand to calm you down. “you never know until you try.” 

unwilling to address the fact that he assumed you were in love with haechan, and the fact that he was probably right, you argue back. “you’re the one who’s friends with the both of us. do you have any idea if he maybe likes me or not?” 

“i’m not telling you,” jaemin says, stubbornly. “you have to make the decision and accept the risks it comes with.” 

you put your head in your hands. “i really hate you sometimes.”

x 

as it turned out, ‘sometimes’ turned out to be occuring quite frequently, because jaemin seemed hell bent on getting you to talk to haechan, even if it was through the most roundabout ways. 

such as inviting the beach-house group of friends over for dinner the next day, just so you had a reason to talk to haechan. 

and that led you to where you were, currently, jaemin putting the cap back on his black marker as the words “ASK ABT CATCH FEELINGS POLICY” scrawled over your wrist and palm. 

“i’ll remember to ask him, i swear,” you say impatiently, trying to wriggle your arm out of his grasp, but jaemin was a man on a mission. 

“i don’t trust you,” he insists. “this way, even if you don’t bring it up, he’ll read it off your arm, and you will both talk it out.” finishing up with a few exclamation points, he caps his marker triumphantly. 

you’re about to head to the bathroom to wash it off, when haechan shuffles into the living room, and embarrassingly it’s as if your mind is wiped clean. 

between the night he slept over and now, the two of you had only seen each other once. he had called to apologize for bothering you the night of jaemin’s party, and you made plans to have lunch together, not dinner (because night time was always an emotional affair for the two of you, as evidenced in the past few weeks). 

sitting in the sun, staring at him while he talked, the two of you eating in semi-silence, was enough for you to realise that no matter what time of day it was you would always be a little too giddy over him. the two of you, in some sort of mutual agreement, had left it at that — him bidding you goodbye with a pat on the shoulder, of all things. 

and now, standing in front of you, his eyes just as confusing with their tenderness, you think that jaemin may be onto something. 

“so how can i help?” haechan looks around the room, his mind on the dinner. “do we have all the materials? or…” 

“everything’s in the kitchen, haechan,” you nod in the direction of the dining table. “i’ll show you.” 

haechan nods, more to himself than you. then, hesitantly, he starts, “y/n…” 

something had to give. but not now, not as you felt everything in you crashing down, your heart threatening to spill over at the edges just at the sight of him again. 

“we’re good.” you interrupt. “everything’s going to be okay, haechan.” 

he bites his lip. 

“it will be,” you insist. “we’ll talk later, okay?” 

his expression clears a little at that. “okay.” 

x

in the car on the way home, jaemin insisting haechan drive you, it begins to drizzle slightly. after the moment from just now, the two of you had almost been able to go back to normal, working side by side and sitting together during dinner. topics opening up between you, discussing what happened in the days you hadn’t seen each other. things were comfortable, and you almost felt like you could go back to ignoring the aching feeling in your chest. 

it slowly starts to end when the car peels into the street in front of your apartment. the two of you go quiet, and haechan’s body is tense as he looks straight ahead.

you realise you hadn’t even brought up what you had meant to say. 

“do you…maybe…want to come inside?” you suggest. “we could watch a movie?”

“it’s late.” he says, almost automatically. he looks over at you, and you look so hesitant and sad. fuck. something stirs inside his chest, and suddenly he wants to do anything to take that look away from your face. 

“i mean, i could. just for a movie.” 

you smile, and haechan relaxes.

x

cozied up on your bed, haechan in a pair of sweats he had left over some other time, you slump against him as your eyes flicker between watching the movie on your laptop screen, and watching him. something about the way things were going tonight told you this might be the last time you could be with him like this, and you wanted to cherish it while you could. 

the music swells in the random drama film you picked, and you are feeling that feeling again, the one that you get when you’re about to spill your soul out, and even with haechan’s warmth against you — his arm tucked into your waist and your head resting against his chest, the reality that he wasn’t yours was crashing down all the walls in your heart. 

he realises you’re crying before you do, as he registers the jagged breathing from your chest, and the soft sounds you’re making. 

“y/n? what’s wrong?” 

“i-i, i just.” you breathe, and your sobs wreck through your words, each one stabbing painfully at his chest. “i’m just s-so tired of not h-having someone who loves me that much.” 

running a hand up and down your back, haechan makes soft cooing noises as you bury your face in his chest. “okay. so watching this film was a baaaad idea.” 

you’re muffled sobs soak through his hoodie, and you press it closer to your face because it smells safe and it smells like him. your emotions running away from you, you splutter out, “maybe i’ll never find s-someone. maybe i just have to deal w-with it. these experiences are just t-temporary fixes, aren’t they? i’ll never find someone who l-loves me. i mean, right now i am so in love with you and you don’t even seem to c-care —” 

haechan stills. he sits there, motionless, you still quivering in his arms, as his brain kicks into overdrive. 

you’re in love with him? 

incoherent, you’re still talking on and on, and suddenly he knows it isn’t something he should be hearing. 

“shut up.” he says, quietly, but you ignore him and ramble on. “shut up,” he insists. 

“you d-don’t want me,” you sob, and somewhere in the back of your mind you know you’ll be embarrassed about this later, but for now all you could focus on was the fact that haechan wasn’t reacting because he was probably completely disgusted at the idea of even being with you. “i-i started to ignore you because it was too difficult to be around you, and suddenly you show up drunk and asking for me, and then you just act like nothing happened and i have the feeling that i’ll never see you again-”

“fuck it,” he breathes, and suddenly he’s holding your face in his hands, moving you away from his chest. “shut up, y/n. please.” and then he is kissing you, his mouth moving on yours, begging you to understand. you think he’s drawing the breath straight from your lungs, and you’re sure your lips will bruise, but you kiss him back with even more fervor, settling your weight on his lap as you lean into him, and he groans. 

breaking away from you, breathing heavily, he reaches for your hands and begins to press kisses to your knuckles, trying to ease you. 

“haechan…” you start, because everything is so confusing to you at this moment. “don’t-you don’t mean it-”

“what’s this?” he interrupts, as he flips your palm up, raking the sleeves of your hoodie upwards so the words “ASK ABT CATCH FEELINGS POLICY!!!!!”, smudged but unmistakable, could be read even in the dim room. 

“oh, y/n…” he whispers, reaching to stroke your cheek. leaning into his palm, completely lost in his touch, you mumble on. 

“jaemin said our catching feelings policy was shit…” you blurt out. “and i agree. i want a new one. i want to be allowed to love you.” 

gently, haechan continues to whisper to you. “you’re the one making the rules.” trembling, his arms wrap around you, and he rocks you in his hold tenderly. “you’ve always been the one making the rules. i would do anything you told me to. i would love you if you asked.” 

you don’t understand any of the words he’s saying. “no,” you raise your voice a little louder, even though he’s still speaking in that low voice. “you don’t want me.” your eyes fill with tears, you can see it now: he’s comforting you, he’s lying to you because you’re crying, and haechan is nothing but good to you, a kindness and gentleness in everything he does that you just know you’ll never feel again. 

“y/n that’s not true,” he shakes his head resolutely. “please believe me.” 

his voice is patient and soothing, and it’s that tone which slowly calms you down. the gentle rhythm of his hands tracing circles on your arms allowing you to breathe easier, and relax a little in his hold to be able to really look at him. and it’s the worry in his eyes, and softness in the way he’s looking at you which makes something click into place in your head. 

and so what if everything in your relationship with him was supposed to be fake — the dates, the moments he’s introduced you as his girlfriend. everything else in between had started to be real for you — the kisses, the time you told him not to mention the deal or the list or the experience at all and so he didn’t, brushing his teeth for him as he sat on the counter, skin brushing against yours.

and so what if it was real for him too — the times where he’s held your hand or pulled you close when you weren’t paying attention, the nights on the drive back when he would look over at you incessantly?

untangling yourself from him, you reach for the notebook and pen you keep on your nightstand.  he doesn’t stop you, tilting his head in confusion. 

“what are you doing?” 

holding it out to him, your heart hammering in your chest, you gesture for him to take it. “write me something i can read when i wake up. it’s so i have…,” you take a breath. “it’s so i have proof that it’s real.”

something stirs in haechan’s chest. taking the pen in his hands, he begins to scrawl on the notebook, looking up at you as he’s writing. 

“if you still feel the same way, call me as soon as possible, okay?” 

“okay,” you promise, breathlessly. 

the yearning in your eyes is driving him crazy. guiltily, he reaches for you again, and slots his lips in yours, holding you tightly against him. as if kissing you was the last thing he would ever get to do. 

you have half a mind to move into his lap, wrap your legs around his waist and keep him with you forever, but already he pries your hands away from him and heads for the door, reluctance making his movements disjointed and shaky. 

“go to sleep, y/n.” he says, gently. “i’ll see you soon.” 

and with that, he’s gone, and you’re left on your bed, the note at your bedside burning a hole into your table. shutting away your laptop, you curl up under the covers, and somewhere in your mind you pray that the light of day doesn’t treat you too harshly.  

x

dear y/n, 

last night you told me that you were in love with me. i don’t know if it was the loneliness, or even if it was too late at night for you to be thinking straight. all i know is that i love you too. i didn’t think you would want me unless we were playing pretend. but now i can’t look at you without realising i am completely fucking in love with you. i’m sorry that you never knew, and that somehow i messed up to the point where you didn’t believe me when i told you. if you wake up tomorrow and you still want me, call me. i will do everything with you again if it means it’ll be real. 

love, haechan

x 

it’s a little difficult to be around your friend group when they’re all like this. 

summer was drawing to a close, the optimism at the start and the feeling of endless days under the sun slowly fading to a blistering heat, which then slowly tapered out into a hazy sense of being in limbo. soon the seasons would change, the days get shorter and the nights grow longer, the loneliest parts of the year stretching out before everyone. the sense that this had been another summer of wasted potential, the sense of taking a deep breath before the dive, of holding love close to one’s heart and hoping it’s enough to last through the winter, hanging in the air.

you had walked over to jaemin’s apartment for breakfast with everyone, practicing the entire way. you were going to tell haechan you wanted to talk to him. pull him away from the group, and talk to him in a separate room. the letter from last night, from him, seeming to burn right through your palms, words you wanted to echo right back at him. 

but when you opened the door, you realise he wasn’t there. instead, everyone else sat slumped around the living room, prodding at various snacks and cans, and waving at you lazily as you picked your way through them, looking for the familiar mop of brown hair and eyes you had come to love. 

“jaemin,” you make your way to your friend, who’s crumpled into the couch himself. 

“hey y/n,” he smiles at you easily. “how did it go yesterday?” 

“well it’s still going,” you admit. “where’s haechan?” 

jaemin furrows his brow. “i swear he just arrived. i think he said something about getting us breakfast.” 

your body moves before you can think to, winding through the room and carrying you towards the front door and out into the driveway. and there it is — his car, slowing backing out. and through the window you can see him, looking over his shoulder, the familiar twist of his neck you knew so well. the arm he would throw over the passenger seat. 

you call out to him, and by some miracle he hears you. he stops the car jerkily, and you rush towards him. he had just barely gotten out of the car when you fall into his arms — you think you never want to be separated from him again. 

squeezing you against his chest, he murmurs next to your ear. “you read my message?” you nod. “i meant every word,” he says, kissing the crown of your head. “i know we’ve done this all backwards. really sometimes i just wish i could go back and ask you out like i should have done.” 

“i don’t regret it,” you tell him truthfully. stepping back from his hold, you interlock his hands with yours, relishing the familiar feeling. “i don’t regret any of the things we did.” 

“me neither.” he hesitates. “actually…maybe i regret getting drunk at jaemin’s party.” he shuffles his feet. “i missed you a lot, and i feel like i should have just told you then.” 

“maybe.” pause. “or you should tell me again now, because i don’t think i’ve heard you say it.” and it’s something that’s a little teasing, because at this point you know he loves you just as much as you love him, but haechan takes it so seriously — straightening up, he holds your hands against his chest, looking deep into your eyes. you feel a little out of breath from the way he’s looking at you. 

“i’m really sorry,” he starts. “for everything. i love you so much. everything i ever told you, every time we’ve touched, it was real for me.” 

“and if i believe you?” 

he smiles. and it’s a look you know so well, the familiarity in reading his expressions and talking to him without words hitting you full force. 

“just tell me you love me too,” he says, softly. “not because it’s at night, and you’re feeling lonely, and not while you’re crying. was it real for you too?”

and even though you’re soon interrupted by jaemin, who urges the two of you to go get breakfast together. even though the two of you keep making lists of places you want to go, and things which feel like love to you — haechan presenting you with music to dance in the kitchen to, afternoons spent restaurant hopping and nights spent driving to look at the ocean and sit under the stars. even as winter eventually rolls around, and the two of you bundle yourselves up in the apartment, his cheeks perpetually a shade of red which makes you want to kiss him —

neither of you forget the way it all started. that first time he held your hand in the middle of the kitchen and warmed you all the way through.  because everything was real. and in a way, it always had been.

[jinkoh]

happiest with you

juyeon x gn!reader

wc: 0.5k

a/n: this is a little birthday gift for my dearest kate💖💖 happy birthday, @blizzardfluffykpop!! i hope you have the loveliest day with sweet gifts and sweet people around you! also it's just a short drabble this year, but i hope you'll still enjoy it~ ((and yes juyeon totally paid me so that it wouldn't be a q or yh fic--i'm sorry i'm very bribeable but at least i didn't clown you by making it nyu right))

masterlist

“What are you doing on your birthday?” Juyeon tried to sound casual, but what he really wanted to ask was do you want to spend it with me? There was no way he could just ask that straight out though. Because what if you’d find it strange? And what if you wanted to spend your special day with someone else anyway?

Juyeon’s overthinking went completely past you, your attention taken by your popsicle that was melting in the sweltering summer heat. “Not sure, nothing planned yet.”

“I see.” Still that casual tone, but now there was the smallest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. You didn’t have plans yet, so maybe he really stood a chance. He took a deep breath. “Anything you want to do?” 

“Hm,” you licked up some of the ice cream that had started running down your fingers, “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it to be honest. It’s not that special anyway.”

That put a frown on Juyeon’s face. How could you think your birthday wasn’t anything special? He’d been thinking about it for weeks already, trying to come up with the perfect gift (it turned out when you’re a chronic overthinker it’s pretty difficult to find something that’s personal but not so personal it would have you suspecting anything about his big fat crush on you). He’d also been wondering how to ask you if you wanted to spend the day together and if it would be overbearing of him to ask at all. He’d been thinking about activities you’d like, maybe a trip (perhaps to New York—seeing time’s square and all that), or a car show or maybe just a nice dinner. Most importantly, he’d been thinking about what to do to put a bright smile on your face. And yet, here you were, saying it wasn’t that special.

“But it is,” he argued and it finally made you look up from your popsicle and meet his gaze, “It is special.”

“Is it?” Him being so insistent on this made you smile. 

“It is. So you should do something that makes you feel happy on that day.” and spend it with me, he didn’t say even though he wanted to. But what mattered to him more was your happiness. If it meant you’d be with someone else on your birthday he could easily accept that, even if it would hurt.

“Happy, hm?” You hummed before finishing the last bits of your ice cream. “Can I spend it with you then?”

“Huh?” Juyeon stared at you with wide eyes, your words slowly registering. He’d worried about asking you for so long, but here you were just casually going for it. “Are you sure?”

You tilted your head in confusion. “Why wouldn’t I be? You were the one who told me to do something that makes me happy. And I’m happiest when I’m with you.”

Your smile looked so bright and sweet and Juyeon wished he could just kiss it right off your face. “I’m the happiest when I’m with you, too,” he mumbled, cheeks flushed red.

“Perfect,” you grinned and leaned over, causing him to startle for a moment at the sudden proximity. But then you just grabbed the popsicle in his hand that had been left to melt for a few minutes now, and popped it into your own mouth. “I guess we have plans then.”

masterlist

[bomber-grl]

Percy Jackson x Child of Apollo ☀️

Pairing(s): Percy Jackson x Gn!Reader

Honestly I like the idea of an Apollo kid(aka you) looking down on Percy

Not necessarily with being evil but rather being competitive and having fun

Maybe this is when Percy decides to walk on by, he’s extremely skilled with swords so why not see what others do with their respective weapon?

He’s walking by and that’s when he sees you in particular

You’re shots are extremely accurate and one after another with little hesitation

Just because Percy’s a camp legend doesn’t mean he’s excused from doing chores

And so, he’s paired with you and some other people to clean out the restrooms

That’s when a friendly banter blossoms and you’re going on about how awesome arrows are to use and how his only power is water when you’re throwing out trash

He gasps in feign offense and tries his best to convince you water is just as cool as arrows

Although that may prove to be difficult to argue to an archer, and arrow enthusiast

The talents and impressiveness that Percy feels only doubles when he learns of your other skills

The moment he learns you can draw is when he’s amazed

He was never particularly good in the arts but he loves people who draw and paint or anything really

He may or may not be a little annoying with asking you to draw him but he doesn’t even need to ask

We all know an artists love language is drawing their s/o and just as that was inevitable, as was Percy finding said drawings

Not that they were ever secret

And if you ever do the trend where you draw each other? He’ll keep the portrait you painted of him and hang it on his wall with the rest of your drawings.

Anyway moving on to instruments

He’s also immediately fascinated

Something about Percy is that if it’s not something he can do he’s intrigued and if it is and you’re better then he’s ready to learn

Honestly? I feel like Percy gives drums or guitar vibes

Idk maybe it’s just me 🤷

He’d definitely ask you to teach him though, I don’t make the rules

He’s always wanted to learn but with school and constantly having to prevent wars and save the world he never had enough time

Plus with him you’ve got your own built in audience that’ll cheer and give praise

Even more ways to bond

There are a good amount of campers that belong to the Apollo cabin so when Percy is introduced to the them he’s met with a culture shock

Not exactly but it’d be a comparable idea to what he was feeling

He was alone most times (except for when Tyson was around) so he was used to be alone

But with the Apollo cabin? That was the opposite

It was warm and friendly and honestly was sad

Because although it was tight knit we all know that the cabin used to be tied with the Hermes cabin at camp until the titan war..

On a more happy note, now that I’ve mentioned Tyson let’s talk about how you meeting him went

I mean he was immediately nice to you as you were to him but if you show him your skills and specifically healing

You and Percy were hanging out with him near the lake and a very notable flower on the ground was crushed

Sure, Demeter children handled plants but healing was a universal effect

And so you made the once shriveled dry flower, seem alive again

Tyson is so intrigued and wants you to do it over and over again

Which is eventually stopped with Percy explaining why you can’t

It was sweet, and you even gave the flower to Tyson

Later you found out he kept it with him where he went, although it was delicate as it had already dried

I feel like an Apollo kid that can heal is so helpful for Percy

We all know how often he gets hurt so having a built in hospital is all he could need

Only downside is your constant scolding of course…

[strangersteddierthings]

Porcelain Steve - Part 4

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six🦇Part Seven🦇Part Eight🦇Part Nine

"I don't think this is a good idea," Nancy says, a week later, as she takes a step back. She doesn't seem aware of the physical distance she's added between herself and Robin, but more importantly, herself and Steve in Robin's outstretched arm.

Robin frowns, pulling Steve back towards her body, eyes flicking to meet with Eddie's where he's been hovering awkwardly off to the side, feeling so very out of place. He was going to stay in the van, but when they arrived Robin had raised an eyebrow and said 'aren't you coming?' So, he'd climbed out and followed her into the Wheeler's living room, where he is now.

"What?" Robin asks.

Nancy crosses her arms and looks off to the side. "We shouldn't pass the doll around like this. The more we move it, the bigger chance of someone breaking it."

"It?" seethes Robin, "Steve is not an it!"

"Shit, no, Robin I know that. I didn't mean to say that out loud," Nancy says, then her face screws up as she immediately regrets saying that. "I don't mean that, either. I just, this is. Difficult. For me."

Eddie can't help the scoff that leaves him at that. As if Nancy is the only one taking this harshly. If she knew how long Dustin had cried into his chest two days ago she'd probably have a bit more perspective. Eddie's come to realize she's a badass with a shotgun, a great strategist in dire situations, but when it comes to being a person with emotions and feelings? He's not sure Nancy learned how to do that.

That might be unfair of him to say because he didn't know Nancy before spring break of '86 and didn't really get to know her before she packed up and went to college. This is the first summer since then, so still not a whole lot of 'hanging out and getting to know Nancy Wheeler time' has happened.

He did get to know Jonathan and Argyle, though. Got to hear about her past with Jonathan and Steve (Eddie feels a bit like an idiot for everything he said about Nancy to Steve during the worst week of his life, but he's used to being embarrassed by things he says and pretending he's not). So, he's heard about her steamrolling over people's emotions with her own logic and wants, though can concede it never seems to be intentional.

He tries to lower his hackles because Robin's already on the defensive and Eddie doesn't know Nancy. Just knows of her from people she's hurt, which is almost always a biased retelling anyway.

"Like it's not difficult for all of us?" Robin asks.

"No, that's not what I meant. Just- give me a moment!" Nancy whips around, so that neither Robin or Eddie can see her face. Her shoulders heave up and down like she's taking several deep breaths.

Eddie moves into Robin's space but hovers just beside her, unsure if she'd welcome a hand on her shoulder or not. She huffs out a sigh, as if able to read his mind, and the next thing he knows she's weaseling her way in between him and his own arm, using him as a leaning post like she might with Steve if he were, y'know, still a human and not a doll. He's not used to how touchy Robin is yet because she's only like this with Steve but he's getting there. He's not Robin's soulmate, and he's not trying to be, but he does want to be there for her while Steve can't.

"I'm surprised you're giving her space to think," Eddie whispers into the top of Robin's head.

"Yeah, well, Steve doesn't need to hear us arguing. It's like, all he hears lately."

He pats her arm with his hand since she's draped his arm across her shoulders.

Nancy finally turns around. "Can. Can we put Steve up in my room? I have to say some things that I'm not ready for him to hear yet."

"Oh." Robin says, before offering Steve out.

Nancy takes him, muttering a soft, "I'm sorry, Steve." before she disappears up the stairs.

"What's on your mind, Wheeler?" Eddie asks, breaking the silence that had settled uncomfortably since Nancy's return to the living room.

"I don't really think of Steve as an it. I don't. It's just- easier for me to think of the solution if I'm not thinking about how that's really Steve. I know that's Steve, that he's been transformed, but if I acknowledge that, think about it too much, I spiral. I've taken to just... thinking about some abstract magic doll instead of Steve. So, that was- it was an accident. I didn't mean to say it."

He feels Robin nodding her head, adjusting her stance as she crosses her arms.

Nancy continues, "I don't think Steve should spend time here. With Mike or I. We aren't- it's not going to be good for Steve. He's not going to feel welcomed or wanted here. Except maybe for with Holly, but she cannot know he's here. She'd try and play with him."

Eddie frowns. He understands that Mike isn't going to part of the Hang Out With Porcelain Steve rotation, because whatever beef they have can't be fixed while Steve's like this, and until it's fixed, that would just be torture for both of them. He's not sure why Nancy thinks she'd be just as bad, though, so he asks, "No Holly, no Mike. Why are you also a no?"

The look on Nancy's face is comical, a mix of indignation, sadness, and a bit of how can you seriously not already know the answer mixed. "Because I won't hang out with him. I can't be walking around my house with a porcelain doll that looks like my ex-boyfriend. He'll be left, probably face down, on my dresser, until someone else's turn comes around."

"You could put in the effort, you know. It's not going to kill you to pretend to care for a day," Robin says.

Nancy sucks in a sharp breath. "I do care! Just because I don't want to cuddle with Doll Steve and tell him all about my day doesn't mean I don't care. Just because I don't express my feelings and emotions the same way you do doesn't mean I don't have them."

"Ok, right, yeah, that was unfair of me," Robin concedes, "but what's the part you aren't saying? None of this sounds like something you had to lock Steve in your room for. It's understandable, and Steve wouldn't hold it against you, you know."

"I know! I do! That's why I can't. There's- Robin, you have to know. Steve and I aren't- we're still more like ex's than friends. It's... complicated. We're working on it, though, the being friends thing. But it's..."

"Complicated," Robin sighs, stepping away from Eddie now, halfway to Nancy before she stops walking, hands on her hips.

"That spring break, it fucked us all up, and the months that followed, but I was so- Steve and I were dancing around each other, and Jonathan and I were good, then not, on and then off and then on. And I-I led Steve on, because I would turn to him when Jonathan and I were fighting, or on a break, or whatever-" Nancy stops to take a breath.

Eddie feels something ugly rising in him, jealousy and anger. He doesn't have any right to be jealous. Steve and he are friends, and Steve's straight so it's not like Eddie ever even had a chance, but he's jealous anyway. That Nancy gets that kind of attention from Steve. That she can just keep pieces of Steve on a string, enjoying him when she wants and discarding him when she doesn't. Anger that she can just treat Steve like a yoyo and get away with it.

A little angry at Steve, too, for letting her do it.

"Did you and Steve have sex while you and Jonathan were together?" Robin seethes.

"No! No! There was one time, Jonathan and I were off-again and I tried- but no!" Nancy is pink in the face, and Eddie's surprised she even answers. It's not his or Robin's business if they did. He thinks she might only be answering honestly because it's Robin asking. "Steve said no. He told me he wasn't going to do that the Jonathan. Because he knew what it felt like to be on that side. And even now that Jonathan and I are done, moved on, Steve and I aren't- so it's complicated."

That's news to Eddie. He thought Nancy and Jonathan were still a couple. He's a little shocked to learn that Nancy is confirmed available and Steve didn't jump on the chance.

"Oh! I get it, now, why this is not a good idea," Robin says. Great that she knows, because Eddie still doesn't. "He said no, didn't he?"

Who said no to what?

Nancy's eyes snap to Robin. "What?"

"When you asked Steve to be your boyfriend again. He said no."

"He told you-?"

"No," Robin interrupts, "Steve would never, and you know that. I just know Steve, and the one thing he would never tell me about if it happened. That's why you don't want him here."

"You're in love with him!" Eddie blurts because he's also just figured it out and like Robin often does, has no brain to mouth filter.

Nancy looks to Eddie now, a small frown on her face. "Possibly. But it doesn't matter because I had my chance and it's over now. So, I can't have him here. Not while he's like this."

"I'll go get him," Robin says, leaving the living room.

"Eddie," Nancy locks eyes with him. The look on her face is pretty intense. "He told me no because he thought he was in love with someone else."

He blinks back at her. "Were you hoping he told me who? 'Cause he didn't. That's a question better left for Robin."

All he gets in response is an eye roll.

[a-kaash-me-outside]

a bit dirty - ch4

in which you hook up with osamu in a club bathroom and that's just the beginning. prev | ch4 | next [masterlist]

// not the worst idea ~ ᴏsᴀᴍᴜ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ~ 9245 ᴡᴏʀᴅs (ooo, long chapter yw)

a look into this chapter: 18+ minors dni nsfw, more bathroom fucking, casual osamu, meeting friends!~ ah! names names names pet names a million pet names, slight slowburn? like they fuck but-, this is the angst chapter, it's very small angst tho, fixes itself in the same chapter ily, developing feelings fr, afab she/her pronouns

join my taglist here!! ~~ ♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

the chime of the entrance bell rings as osamu pushes open the front door, two brown bags of groceries in each arm as he greets you with, “can’t believe you’re here before me.”

“morning to you too,” you tease, rushing around the bar to meet him and take a bag or two from him.

“thanks,” he says as your fingers brush up against his forearm and your heart thumps a little too loud given that you literally just took groceries from him, but you’d argue that it’s not just the groceries, it’s the tone of his voice and his grateful look and the way that you swear his arm moves with your touch just to feel it a little longer.

“course,” you reply, walking back into the kitchen, osamu right behind you, and setting the bags down on the stainless steel countertop. you start pulling things out of the bag, vegetables and sauces and kitchen staples, and he starts putting them away in their respective pantry. 

“thanks for closing for me last night,” he says as he walks back over to the central table where you’re placing all of the ingredients.  

“no worries,” you say, shaking your head, “that’s why you taught me,” you reason.

“that’s true,” he replies. 

you empty the last of the bags, folding them neatly and placing them in the cupboard. “how was your brother’s anyway?” you ask, genuinely curious. 

“really fun,” osamu nods, mulling over something in his head as he continues, “it was nice to just chill on a saturday night for once.”

“i bet,” you smile, “bet you’re glad that I offered to learn to close, huh?”

“definitely glad that i trust someone else enough to close for me, yea,” he says, slightly altering the phrase for the better. 

you’ve only been closing for a handful of months now, were taught a couple of weeks after you returned from the catering event, a couple of weeks after you had sex with osamu for the third time, but on the fucking clock. meaning, it has been a handful of months and some odd weeks since you’ve mentioned anything about yours and osamu’s relationship and what the fuck the two of you are doing or not doing.

you’d think that not mentioning a boundary might be better, easier to navigate if no one has explicitly told the other that it shouldn’t be happening, but the truth is that it’s actually much more difficult. neither of you are sure where the other stands, what their feelings are on the matter, and that fact has led to a standstill. 

not for your job, of course. your job has never been better. you’re still learning every day, you and osamu are still working really well together on the shifts where you’re a team of two, you’re happily taking on more responsibilities and osamu is happily trusting you with them, you trust each other.

but the scope of your relationship, since you knew who he was, of the trust and the easy conversations, has only ever been within the boundaries of work, until he mentions, “you should come next time.”

“what? to your brother’s party?” you ask, and you’re sure you sound as in disbelief as you feel.

“it’s not really like a party,” he says, “there aren’t enough people there for it to be like a party. it’s more like just a small hang out.”

how is that better comes out more like, “then who’ll close for you?”

“we’ll just throw everything in a paper bag and deal with it the morning after,” he explains, because he’s thought about asking you and the intricacies of you saying yes before the words left his mouth, “‘ve done it plenty of times before.” you don’t answer right away, mulling over the ramifications of accompanying him to an event like this.

“if you don’t want to,” he says, and you recognize that hesitancy, the embarrassment, like he’s made a mistake by putting himself out there, by trying to progress your relationship and navigate this really weird time where the two of you don’t know what the other wants.

“no!” you say, abruptly, maybe a bit too loud, “i do! i absolutely do.”

“are ya sure? i know sumu’s a lot, but he won’t be the only one there, sakusa’ll be there and our friend, suna. they’re way more chill. not sure we could all take it if we had someone else in our group like sumu,” osamu explains and excuses all at the same time, slightly rambling, but you’re looking at him like he’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. 

there’s no mention of aran or any other coworker you know and it’s just nailing in how much of a non-work event this is, no social safety net to catch you or to lean back on. osamu will be the only one you really know there. he looks at you, patient for an answer. 

you’ve already made up your mind, know exactly the response you’re going to give, but he just makes it even easier as he says, “i won’t leave your side, swear.”

you laugh, head falling from your spine, goofy smile, you’re sure, on your face as you nod, “then i’d be stupid not to, huh?”

/\ /\ /\

true to his word, the next time that atsumu has a small hang out, osamu invites you. he plans it all out too, schedules the two of you to work together that night, takes responsibility of driving you there and getting you home safely, double checks that you actually want to go, gives you plenty of time and a lot of grace to back out, but you don’t.  

the night of the small hang out, osamu is ready to leave onigiri miya promptly at 9pm. the checks are punched, the money is counted, and the receipts are safely stuffed in a bag for you to sort out tomorrow when you open. you change into more casual, less work uniform clothes in the bathroom, grab the bag of onigiris that osamu has packed for sakusa and suna, and then you head out.

“so which one of these friends is the one that was with you and atsumu at the club that night?” you ask as you wait for him to lock the front door. translation: which of these guys knows that we had sex in a dirty club bathroom?

“omi was there with sumu and i that night, but we’re all really close,” osamu answers, walking down the street towards his parked car. translation: they both know that we had sex in a dirty club bathroom. 

“how do you know them anyway?” you ask before offering a small thank you to osamu opening the passenger side door for you. 

“omi started as sumu’s friend, really, but then the two became inseparable, and sumu and i are practically inseparable, so, y’know,” osamu answers, “and then suna and i have been friends since high school. honestly, been the four of us for a really long time.”

“well, i’m excited to meet them,” you say very truthfully, “especially if you say that they’re more chill than atsumu,” you add, even more truthfully.

osamu laughs, “definitely,” he says, “they’ll love ya.”

the warmth rises to your cheeks, sweat to your palms, and you shift in your seat, turn your body slightly to face him just a touch more, to see the comfort in his features and the softness in his eyes. your heart a subtle drum, echoing in your ribcage, and as your fingers crawl against the center console, creep towards his resting forearm, the rumble roars reverberant.  

the tips of your fingers brush against his wrist and it’s like he’s expecting it, arm overturning, thumb brushing against your palm before threading his fingers with yours like that’s where they’re meant to be. it’s without explanation and void of any reluctance or questioning, reciprocated and assured. 

and you really wish you could make better sense of this.

/\ /\ /\

you assume that atsumu will answer the door given that it’s his place, but your assumption is wrong. when osamu knocks on the door, it takes only a few seconds for someone, you deduce suna, to answer it. he throws open the door, greets osamu with a wave and then you with nod. “yo,” he says, and then holds the door open for the two of you to step inside.

“suna,” osamu says, gesturing towards you, “this is yn.” it’s almost weird for your name to come out of his mouth. he doesn’t say it very often. sure, he does say it, but he doesn’t use it to get your attention and when he does refer to you, it’s not usually in front of you, so you don’t normally hear it. 

“nice to meetcha,” suna says, awkward smile and even more awkward body language as he steps further into atsumu’s apartment. “you work at the restaurant?” he asks, and you know that he knows the answer to that question, but he’s just trying to make polite conversation, and you do appreciate it. you nod. “cool cool,” he nods back.

you already feel like you’re failing at socializing, that osamu is regretting inviting you in the first place, but then he starts talking, conversation directed towards you. “yea, the other day at work, this weird ass guy came in and was practically hitting on you while he was ordering,” he says, practically starting a story, and it works.

“oh my gosh, yea,” you say, nodding as you follow suna into the living room, “he was ordering different dishes, but changing words in the titles to, like, make them pick up lines?”

suna laughs, furrowing his eyebrows, “how does that even work?”

“well, that’s what i was thinking, right,” you say, “but he was really creative, i don’t even remember what he was saying, all i remember was that my first thought wasn’t even oh this is weird, it was how long has he been thinking of this or is he a genius?” 

“well, what happened?” suna asks.

“i basically called samu over pretending to be confused about what he was ordering because i really wanted him to hear what-,” you say and as you’re explaining, suna walks into the kitchen. 

“keep going, i’m listening,” he calls out.

“oh, yeah, so, samu came over and the guy just starts talking completely normal again and i even tried to call him out on it, like, repeated one of what he said before back to him and-,” you say as suna returns, three beers impressively held in one hand, one in another, reaching out and offering it to you. “thanks, -and he just looked at me like i was the weird one.”

suna passes one of the remaining beers to osamu and sets another next to sakusa who is sitting on the couch, scrolling on his phone. “that’s insane,” he says, shaking his head, “so weird.”

“really weird,” you agree. 

“i always feel like there’s weird shit happenin’ over there at oni-,” suna says, but is cut off.

“hey! the star employee,” atsumu calls out as he enters into the living room and the loudness of his voice and the forwardness of his statement is unintentionally making you feel small very quickly. 

osamu rests his hand on your lower back, a silent signifier of the promise he made to you in the restaurant when he asked you to come, that he won’t leave your side. 

“hey atsumu,” you say, only attention given to his comment a small laugh at the end of his name, “thanks for having me.”

“i told samu that he should invite you over, hang out with you outside of work finally,” atsumu says, flopping onto the couch next to sakusa, arm flung around him, pressed up against his side, very in his space. “isn’t that right, omi?”

“the only good piece of advice i think you’ve ever given,” sakusa says, deadpanned, but the corners of his lips curl upwards when suna chokes on his drink and throws a thumbs up his way. 

“that’s a point for kiyoomi,” suna calls out, “if we’re all keeping score at home, that’s kiyoomi 162 and atsumu 1.”

atsumu sits forward, “that’s because you guys never give me well deserved points. what about the other night when i said that really funny thing and then i was like see that’s point worthy? and then you guys said-”

“not if ya ask for it,” osamu says, “that’s the most basic rule and has cost ya so many points, but ya still keep askin’ for em.”

“if he doesn’t ask for em, how’ll you guys know when he’s being funny?” you joke and the instant that it leaves your mouth, you’re so worried that it won’t land or that it’s too mean, but sakusa chuckles and suna laughs even louder than before and osamu smiles proudly. 

“that’s a point, that’s gotta be a point,” suna says, nodding, head looking back from sakusa to osamu. sakusa nods shortly and that’s enough for suna to laugh even harder. “tsumu, you’re tied for second, but she’s gonna surpass you before the night’s over i bet.”

osamu nods over to the couch as atsumu starts yelling at suna. he walks over with you and sits down next to you, arm draped over the top of the couch, just barely ghosting over your shoulders, and all you want to do is lean your weight into his side, but instead you stay upright, rigid almost as you hold the bag of onigiris in your hands. 

sakusa spots the bag as it drags on the floor, looks down at it and then raises his eyebrows at you. “you brought gifts?” he asks and you offer him the bag, leaning forward to hand it over. “thanks,” he offers, instantly rooting around to find his favorite and tearing it open.

“don’t get rice on the rug,” atsumu says, interrupting his argument with suna, clicking his tongue. 

“fuck off,” sakusa answers, biting into the onigiri again. 

“look, at least eat it over a plate,” atsumu complains, standing up and walking into the kitchen to grab a few small plates. he hands one to sakusa and another to suna, grabbing the bag from sakusa’s feet and throwing it to suna’s. 

atsumu is starting to seem less and less scary. 

/\ /\ /\

halfway through the night, atsumu is walking around picking up little pieces of trash and dishes that sakusa or suna have left, complaining loudly at every single one. “you guys are horrible guests, y’know that? ya’d think that i’d have ya over enough times and ya’d start cleaning up after yourself.”

sakusa and suna and osamu all ignore atsumu’s complaining while he’s in the living room, but the second that he disappears into the kitchen it’s more direct, “samu!!!!! come help me with the dishes,” atsumu yells. 

“dumbass, it’s your party, you clean up,” osamu yells back.

“you always help me with the dishes,” atsumu whines. 

he refuses to leave you alone. he made a promise. and you love having him here, sitting on the loveseat with you across from suna and omi, but they’re talking to you and they are, indeed, much calmer than atsumu, not that you thought he’d lie to you, and you’re enjoying your conversation a lot. “you go ahead,” you say, steady look thrown his way to prove how truthful you’re being and he hears it all loud and clear. he nods, smiling, leaving the three of you alone in the living room.

/\ /\ /\

a bit later in the night and the only two people in the living room are you and osamu, but there isn’t any space to show for it. you’re pressed up against each other, legs draped over his thighs, practically in his lap, pointing at the frames on atsumu’s walls and the photos inside of them and the stories behind them, finishing whatever number beer this is. 

you don’t even really remember getting into this position. it was either gradual enough to not notice the shift little by little or the change felt so natural there wasn’t a before and after, only a now. your spine is pressed up against the arm rest, backs of your thighs resting on the upper tops of his, your hand resting on the grasp he has on your knee, and the way that you’re pressed together isn’t even the most intimate thing about the two of you right now.

because osamu has been telling you a story for the past twenty minutes about the first year that he opened onigiri miya. you knew the jist of it, the broad strokes, the big details. you knew numbers and dates and first recipes, but hearing about his soft open and how his regulars became regulars felt much more telling. 

you didn’t know about his somewhat rocky start or the fear of taking out a loan to fund this dream of his or how terrified he is of failing to this day, but you do now. 

when he tells you, his voice is steady, genuine, and his eyes are comforting and grateful, and everything about the way that he speaks lets you know for certain that he isn’t just telling this story to everybody. as he finishes, patches up all of the gaps in the story that he skipped over and any details that he might have missed, you lean forward, wrapping your arms around his bicep. you rest your head on his shoulder, tucking your feet underneath you, knees resting on the side of his thigh, and he exhales, kisses you softly on the top of your head and says, “thanks for listenin’, angel.”

you turn to look at him, to rest your palm against his cheek, to thank him for telling you, but you don’t get that far, startled by the loud yell in the kitchen.

“you’re fucking so dumb,” suna laughs, the metalic sound of keys jingling follows, gets louder and louder until sakusa and suna and atsumu all emerge to pass through the living room to the front door. 

“idiot hosted a party and ran out of beer,” suna explains to the two of you as he pushes atsumu towards the front door, “we’re headed out for a refill. need anything?” you’re increasingly grateful that no one, not even atsumu, has made mention of how entangled the two of you are on the couch.

“are ya sure you’re okay to drive?” osamu asks, look thrown over his shoulder to atsumu.

“omi’s drivin’,” atsumu says, pressing an obnoxious kiss into the side of his cheek, “only had like 2 beers all night, first one was hours ago.”

“i’m cool,” sakusa says, nodding, and osamu doesn’t press a single second more, evidently trusting him. 

“see ya in a bit,” atsumu calls out, back towards you, waving as the door is pulled open and suna and sakusa leave in front of him. 

when the front door closes, despite the alcohol in your bloodstream clouding your thoughts a tiny bit, the realization hits both of you that you are alone, off work, not at work, and you both really love the way that the spots on your skin in contact with one another feel. you don’t say a word, let the silence settle in, too occupied with your own thoughts to try and formulate them into sentences, too worried about whatever might be going on in osamu’s head. 

his touch pulls you out of it, a gentle finger coaxing you to look up in his direction, dull nails scraping against your jaw, thumb nudging your chin, and this is the first time that a moment like this isn’t brought on the forwardness of your words. you melt against his warmth, push your cheek into his palm, turn your head and kiss his thumb. there’s no timer counting down in your head, no rushing to get this moment over with in time, even though there maybe should be some urgency, you just want to be here, present.

he moves you slowly, but confidently, reaching over to guide you by your hips until you’re seated in his lap, one knee on either side of his thighs. this position is so new for the two of you, you on top, him looking up at you, the softness of cushions beneath you. 

you wrap your hands around the back of his head, thread your fingers into his hair, pull down gently on the locks until his neck is completely stretched, lips are as close to you as they can be without you having to move. he looks so pretty, waiting, expectant, patient, needy. you like this position very much. 

the slight pressure where your fists reside in his hair, this faint lost look in your eyes from having this tiny inkling of control, the weight of you in his lap, how your head tilts back as you pull his back, mirroring the motion you’re trying to achieve. you look so pretty, trying, out of your comfort zone, longing, restless. he likes this position even more.

he tugs you forward, shifts your balance, and you’re crashing into him, arm reaching out to brace yourself on the back of the loveseat, face inches from his. all he has to do to close the gap is sit up. your lips are soft, kiss is hard, and you shift your arms to wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him deeper into you. 

you feel like a teenager, kissing your crush on a living room sofa, giddy and sappy and smiling as he wraps his arms around your lower back to press you closer into him. you smooth your hands down his chest, his stomach, press your fingertips into the inside of his thighs, nails scratching against the fabric of his jeans. 

“missed you a lot, samu,” you admit, forehead against his for a tiny breath break. 

“and i missed ya even more, love,” he shoots back, one peck pressed into your lips and then another. “i don’t think i can wait this long to kiss ya again.”

you shake your head against his, “please, don’t.” you kiss him again, more passionate, breathless. you need him to feel how much you need this, how badly you need for him to not leave you alone for this long again. “promise me,” you mumble against your plea. 

“promise,” he says, pulling away to look up into your eyes, “wasn’t plannin’ on it.” you claw your fingers into his thighs harder and osamu bucks his hips up into you at the touch, a soft groan leaving his chest, a knowing smile on his lips in response to your devilish one. 

“we’re right by the front door,” osamu warns, leaning into the crook of your neck, kisses placed against soft skin, fingers molding around your hips, dipping down the back of your skirt.

“you’re strong,” you reason, half-joking, “you can fix that.”

one second you are on the couch and the next second, you are not. you are in osamu’s arms, tiny squeal as he lifts you effortlessly and walks with you down the hallway. when he pushes open a door with your back and sets you down, it’s not nearly as plush as you’re anticipating it being. you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. 

“you really want to fuck in your brother’s bathroom?” you ask, curious, but impatient smile on your face.

“you really want to fuck in my brother’s bed?” he shoots back. osamu’s laugh tells you everything that you need to know, an easy nudge that just says, trust me, and you don’t have to walk down the hall and take a peek into atsumu’s bedroom or have osamu spell out all of the reasons that he thinks fucking in the guest bathroom is a better idea. 

it’s clean, really clean actually. neatly decorated, virtually untouched. small, sure, but you and samu don’t need an ocean’s worth of space, the two of you could make do in a stall. the glass of the shower is residue-less and the white solo-standing sink across from it is practically sparkling. the window is slightly cracked and the carpet on the floor in the middle of the room is soft. 

“yea,” you lean forward after a minute of surveying the area, hopping down off of the edge of the sink, “you’re right.” you rest your forearms on his shoulders, fingers clasped behind his neck, pulling him into you. 

you can’t move osamu like he can move you, not even close. you pull on his neck, one hand on his shoulder, trying as best you can to wordlessly guide him into the position that you want him to be in, but he’s too engrossed in kissing you, in feeling your soft lips and tasting you. if the roles were reversed, you’d already be turned around right now, moved with strong hands in steady positions, but you’re struggling to silently communicate that you want him to be up against the sink right now. 

“samu,” you whine against his lips, forehead pressed against his and now he’s kissing your pout, “lemme move you.”

oh my god, if he couldn’t have snapped right there, kissed you until you couldn’t breathe, fucked you until you couldn’t walk, given you everything in the entire world, every last grain of sand and drop of water, told you that he loved you or that he needed you or just that he wanted you to stick around forever. instead, he nods, can’t hide his smile as he moves in the soft direction of your pull, focuses on your gentle coaxing touch. 

he moves until the pressure stops, your hands drifting down his chest and then his sides, palms digging into his hips, driving his lower back against the sink that you were just sitting on. osamu doesn’t ask any questions, isn’t the slightest bit curious as to why you’re moving him or what you have in store. he can see it in your eyes and your assured movements, the unfolding of desires and plans, and he’s very happy to just be along for the ride.

you’re slow to lower to your knees, even slower to place your fingers on his belt, ghosting touch skimming over the leather and against the cool metal buckle. osamu is filling in everything in his head, swallows harshly before a shaky exhale, “fuck.”

you look up at him with doe-like eyes, happy for once to be the one seeing the ruin in his lust-blown eyes and the anticipation on his face. “haven’t been able to get the feeling out of my head,” you say, eye contact steady as you pull his jeans down over his thighs, watch him watch you as you inch closer to his heavy cock, jaw falling open and his eyebrows furrowing in response. “of your cock on my tongue.” his response comes in whimpers and tensing forearms and a tighter grip on the edge of the sink.

fuck, he looks so pretty waiting like this, trusting you like this, hips pressing forward the slightest fraction just to get that much closer to your lips. his lips are slightly parted, bottom one moving with every unsteady exhale, a subtle blush in the highs of his cheeks. you can’t tear your eyes away from him, not as you take his drooling head into your mouth, slide the underside of his cock against your hot tongue.

“angel, fuck,” he grunts, “mouth’s so perfect.” he wants to touch you, to grab you by your hair and sink deeper into your mouth, but your hands are soft on his hips, fingers tucked up the hem of his shirt so he can feel your nails scraping against the skin, and you’re being so slow and so caring and savoring every drop of precome and twitch of his cock. 

his knuckles are practically white, all restraint shown in the grip he has on the edge, because your mouth feels so warm and so wet and so good, but it feels even better knowing that you’re taking care of him in exactly the way you want.

you wrap your lips around his head, tongue laving over the slit and spongy tip, spit and precome gathering in your mouth, swallowing as you take more of him. your lips get tighter as you swallow, tongue slips against his length. it’s harder to focus the deeper you take him, the further his fat cock causes your jaw to open, the farther his thick head hits the back of your throat. moving your head back and forth on his throbbing cock, the image of him blurring as you move faster, but you’re determined to watch him unravel even heavier.

he’s leaving it completely up to you, the pace and the depth, and it’s so different for him to give up control and just let you do exactly what you want to him, but he misses the feeling of some part of you in his hands. it’s like you can read his mind, eyes flickering to his uneasy hands itching to feel something much more human underneath them. you slide your hands down his tense forearms, moving one to the side of your face and threading your fingers in the other. he doesn’t take advantage of this, this closeness to your mouth and your movements, only curls his dull nails against your warm skin.

you hum at the touch, vibration from your throat sending shivers up his spine, and if he watches you care for him so sweetly just another second longer he’s not going to be able to stop himself from coming down your throat. 

“sweetheart,” he mumbles, low and whiney. you hear him, but you don’t want to, too enveloped in the heft on your tongue and the fullness of your throat and the familiar taste. he mumbles again, tapping two fingers gently against your cheek to get your attention, “bunny, hey.”

the air is cool compared to your encompassing mouth and tight throat, and osamu silently curses himself for saying anything at all. “hm?” you ask, side of your palm coming up to your bottom lip to wipe away the gathering sheen. he pulls you back up to your feet, hand strong on the back of your thigh as he presses you against him, heavy cock nudging into the fabric of the skirt between your legs. 

his lips skim yours, not completely a kiss, as he speaks, “y’know what i can’t get out of my head, doll?” you shake your head, pleading eyes flickering to his lips, hanging onto every word, “how pretty you looked on top of me earlier.” the whimper this elicits from you drives osamu mad, large hand spanning your other cheek as he pulls you into a deep kiss, moving with you to the floor. 

sitting with you in his lap, one knee bracketing either side of his hips, osamu is now very grateful for the stupidly expensive, surprisingly soft rug that he failed to convince his brother not to buy. the heel of the palm of your hand on his sternum drives him down to the floor, looking even more up at you now as you circle your hips, rubbing the thin cloth of your panties against his leaking exposed cock. “like this?” you ask, breathy and somewhat timid to be in control despite the fact that osamu was patient putty in your hands mere seconds ago.

he nods, hair messy against the rug beneath him, and you can only assume that another part of your slight discomfort is that, sure, you’ve had sex with osamu in bathrooms, more times than you should’ve to be honest, but you’ve never had sex with osamu lying on a bathroom floor, and for some reason, this feels even more filthy than any times before. 

but osamu rests his hand on your thigh, pushes the fabric of your skirt up so that he can look down at the dark spot on your panties and the way they bunch and tighten as you slide your covered pussy against his throbbing length, bucks his hips up into you, lifting you off of the ground just enough to make you gasp, and yea, no, this feels incredibly right. 

you brace yourself on his sternum, lift yourself up slightly to move your panties to the side, no patience or want to climb off of him and take your panties completely off, you want him inside of you right now. “could eat you out so good like this,” osamu says, eyes drifting up your body before settling on yours. 

you shake your head. you want him inside of you right now. “next time,” you mutter, sinking down onto him slowly, inch by inch, and it just keeps fucking going. you tilt your head back, chin to the sky so that your moans have a better path to leave you. “samu, baby, fuck.”

when you’re finally seated completely on your cock, it’s like you can feel it in your stomach and in your throat, you’re so fucking full, he’s so fucking deep inside of you, you can barely fucking take it. you’re whimpering, tiny tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you babble, “fuck, i- you’re, mmm,” you shake your head, hand frantic to interlock with his as you circle your hips, not wanting to be without a single inch, “samu, fuck, so deep, you’re- i’m- i can’t- you’re so fucking deep inside of me, baby.”

he can barely take it either, so deep inside of your tight, clenching walls, completely surrounding him. every one of your tiny movements, every shift and circle and squirm, forces him to show restraint. he loves this view, this feeling, will continue to wait as you get adjusted and continue your fucked out babble no matter how badly he wants to flip you over and fuck you as hard as he can until you’re squirting all over the rug beneath you. “i know,” he chokes out, “i know, babygirl, i know.”

when you start to move, it’s nothing drastic, miniscule movements that don’t require much effort, pushing your hips forward, pulling them back, leaning towards osamu, tilting away. you can feel him move inside of you, but he stays this deep. all the while, you’re slurring nothing to him, tidbits of gratitude and cries of pet names, and if you’re this ruined already from this little, god he can’t wait until you’ve reduced yourself to tears, until he has to pick up the pieces and coax you through orgasm after orgasm. 

he presses his fingertips into the fat of your hips, helping you along, picking you up a tiny bit more every time until you’re forced to follow the motion, pushing up onto your knees and letting yourself fall back down, skin clapping harshly against the tops of his thighs. you push his shirt up, desperate to feel the tiny prickles of sweat forming on his soft stomach and his heartbeat against your palm closer. every crash back down, a tiny exhale expelled from your lungs, out your quivering lips, so fucking cute.

“goin’ so slow, angel,” he says, not an objection or an issue, tone steady and in awe, practically an admiration. you nod at his words, barely any room in your head for them amidst the so full so full so deep so fucking full and deep and so full so deep inside hes so deep inside of me im so full of him. 

your thighs are starting to shake, barely even breaking a sweat, but your core is tight and you can feel how sloppy you are around him and how all of your juices are dripping down his cock, can hear the sticky sound of slapping skin when you fall back onto him, and, “‘m so- gonna-,” you whine, “samu,” you whine louder, fat tears falling down your cheeks because you want more, need more, but you can barely even think straight, “please.”

he loves looking up at you, so pretty and needy, wouldn’t trade it for the world, so he’ll give you everything you want from down here. he drives his hips upwards, hands on your hips to move you against the weight of gravity as best he can. he’s barely even started fucking you when you tighten around him, flooding even more, soaking his cock, a throaty, “coming” matched with your eyes rolling back, fist forming around the fabric of his shirt. 

you reach out, bracing yourself on the edge of the sink, other hand plastered against the glass of the shower door as bounce up and down on his cock. your movements are unpredictable, not as steady as his thrusts nor as rhythmic, but driven by instinct and whatever you think you need right now. 

“wanna-,” osamu says, looking up at you, out of breath, pushing up the hem of your shirt to expose your stomach, “have to see your tits, pretty girl.” 

your shirt is gone, bra undone, and as you continue moving yourself up and down on his cock, you realize this is the most undressed you’ve ever been fucking osamu. you’re not sure exactly how that makes you feel, but you figure you’ll have time to deal with the feelings later, because right now, osamu can’t keep his hands off you and you’re newly exposed skin.

he’s running his hands up your sides, hands groping your bouncing tits as they follow the quick, harsh movements that osamu is causing. his thumbs flick over your nipples, fingers dig into the fat, and he really can’t believe he’s never gotten to play with your tits before. 

you can feel him everywhere, under the backs of your thighs and deep inside of you and over your chest and you’re coming again, clenching around him, grip tight around the sink as your thighs shake even harder, your movements weaker, slower, doll-like, as osamu fucks into you faster.

you’ve barely come down from your high before you’re ready to come again, thick cock splitting you open, hitting the deepest parts of you, filling you so perfectly. you’re so tight around him. you can feel every single throb, every strong pulse, and when osamu sits up, braces himself on his arm behind him, pulls your chest into his face with a gentle hand on your shoulder, you can’t help but cream all over his cock again, his name falling off of your tongue repeatedly. 

he can’t fucking take it, how tight your walls are, how creamy you’re making his cock, how sticky the tops of his thighs are. “princess,” he says, a warning, “where do you want it?” 

“on my-,” you breathe, you know exactly where you want it, “want it on my pussy.”

“fuck,” he says, shaky, “of course, baby, fuck.” he pushes forward further, creates a gap between the two of you as he leans you back, making sure that you’re able to brace yourself in the same way that he is before letting go of your lower back. he pulls out of you, thick cock resting on your sloppy pussy, hips bucking to slide the underside against your sensitive clit and soft skin.

he wraps his fist around his cock and you watch in awe, pupils wide as you stare down at his tight grip around his throbbing length, the way his thumb swipes over the head as he gets to the top. you reach forward, wrapping your own smaller hand around his cock. he’s so thick, so weighty in your hand, and every pump of his cock coaxes a throaty grunt out of osamu, eyes floating from place to place, on your cute hand around his fat cock, on your pretty tongue swiping over your bottom lip, on your bouncing tits as you stroke him faster. 

if it hadn’t been so long since he’d fucked you last, he’d have forced himself to last all night, just to watch you jerk him off all night, until your arm got so tired that he had to take over for you and all you could do was watch or use your other hand, awkward movements and slower pace, but different grip to get used to. 

another time, he thinks to himself as he thrusts up into your hand slightly, spilling over the side of your fist, thick load leaking out of the tip of his cock and onto your already messy pussy, creamy ropes landing on the insides of your thighs and on top of your pretty cunt and cute clit. you lean back, fingers still wrapped around his cock loosely as you use your other hand to smear his come between your legs, mixing his mess with yours before sticking your fingers into your mouth. 

your fingers are barely out of your mouth as osamu kisses you, hard, so hard that he nearly knocks you backwards, sitting up onto his knees to angle your head up towards him. he wants to tell you so bad, wants to say fuck it to all the voices in his head and the fear in his bones and just admit it to you. the look in your eyes when you pull away doesn’t make it any easier. 

but your hoarse voice and your giddy smile and your shy, “should probably clean up before they get back, huh?” pulls him out of it. he laughs, short and airy, presses another small peck into your lips because he can, and then helps you to your feet. 

“maybe one day we’ll be able to, like, actually clean up with a shower or something instead of just,” you gesture to the toilet paper in his hand, “this everytime.”

osamu smiles, grabbing your shirt in the corner of the room and extending it to you. “maybe that one day could-”

you didn’t hear the key in the lock or the door open, but you do hear atsumu throw his shoes against the wall and very loudly call out, “we’re baaack.” you look at osamu because you’re not sure what to do, half dressed, still a mess, rug undealt with and very loud evidence of something happening in the guest bathroom. 

“it’s so late, why are you being so loud,” suna retorts. you can hear the three sets of footsteps as they move in the opposite direction towards the living room. 

“where are they?” sakusa asks, and now you can hear the footsteps spread out, all beginning to look in different areas of the apartment, bags set down on coffee tables, doors opened. 

“how do we play this?” you ask, eyebrows furrowed, chewing on your lip thoughtfully, and osamu wants to just forget about making a smart plan and stay here and fuck you again instead or maybe just kiss you until everybody leaves or falls asleep. “samu,” you say, waving your hand in front of his face, “do you want your brother to know we had sex in his bathroom?”

no, no he most definitely does not. he shakes his head, thinking just as hard as you are on a good solution, on maybe sending you out first or walking out together quickly and hoping they don’t notice where you’ve come from or sneaking out of the window perhaps. you throw your shirt back on, straighten out your skirt, clean yourself up as best you can as osamu continues cycling through plans in his mind.

“they fuckin’ bolt?” suna asks, probably in the kitchen or atsumu’s room, you can’t quite place the footsteps. 

“maybe a good night for samu,” atsumu jokes, and you can hear the pop of a can opening and a soft oof as he throws himself onto the couch, unbothered now by wherever the two of you have gone.

“fuck off, miya,” sakusa sighs. “probably just left because they didn’t want to be around you anymore. wish i fuckin’ could.”

“another point for omi, count it,” suna says.

“what?” atsumu laughs, breezing past the taunts thrown in his direction, “i’m just sayin’ it must be nice to have an employee fuck buddy.”

your heart is thumping louder, harsher. you feel trapped in more ways than one, deeper than just not knowing how you’ll leave or get home, but in your own mind. you’re not looking at osamu now, embarrassment spreading through your entire body, showing evident on your face and in your shrinking posture. 

“you fucking serious?” suna asks, “you think they’re still…?”

“c’mon, he’s gone, fuck you think they went?” atsumu jokes, and you wish his words weren’t as firm or loud or correct. 

“i never said that,” osamu says, quietly enough to not breach the barrier of the door, “i’ve never called you that, or said anything like that, i sw-.”

“i should probably go,” you say, not hearing or not listening to whatever osamu is saying right now. it didn’t really matter what osamu said or didn’t say, it’s the perception that you didn’t want skewed in the first place, and here it was, twisted and contorted and confirming your biggest fears about falling for osamu as you did. 

“wait,” osamu says, hand reaching out to softly wrap around your wrist and as comforting as the touch is, as much as you want to melt into it or ask for more, you wriggle out of his grasp. “hey,” he says, softer now, just trying to get your attention. “how do you think you’re going to get home?” he asks.

“i’ll just get an uber or something, i don’t know,” your voice is shaky, weak, confused, hurt.

“no,” osamu says, taking a step closer to you, “no, you won’t. i’ll drive you back.” you shake your head. surviving an entire car ride with osamu after hearing whatever atsumu just said seems like an impossible feat. 

you don’t want to leave, but you don’t want to stay here. you can’t listen to another word, don’t want them to continue speaking or hear what else atsumu thinks of you. you don’t want to face them, god, you don’t want to face them, but hearing the rest of this conversation seems somehow even worse. you turn, opening the door to the bathroom, face warm and palms sweating as you take a step out into the hallway. 

osamu moves to grab your hand, to pull you back in, to just talk to you for a minute, but the second that you’re in the hallway, despite how badly you just wanted to quietly tiptoe to the front door undetected, you’re noticed. “shit,” suna says, under his breath, but loud enough for everyone to understand the gravity of the situation.

“thanks for having me,” you say, not looking at anyone, not directing the sentence towards anybody, shoes slipped on quickly, door opened quickly, and bounding down apartment stairs as you hear your name being called from behind you. 

the commotion behind you starts, an “are you fucking kidding me?” muffled by the closed door, rushed footsteps down the hall, and then the noises of the apartment becoming louder as the door is opened once more. you’re outside by the time osamu calls your name again. 

the instant breath of fresh air that fills your lungs is already calming your nerves, sending signals to your brain that it’s okay to start sobbing, the wind will dry your tears. you’re grateful that you don’t listen right away, that it takes a few seconds for your muscles to catch up with your thoughts, because the door flings open behind you, a huff of breaths following the sound of it closing, and jogging footsteps running to catch up with the distance you’ve created.

“wait,” osamu says, but you don’t stop, not sure you could even if you wanted to. you don’t know where you’re going or why you won’t just stop and talk to him, but you keep walking, one foot in front of the other down uneven pavement. “yn, wait, please,” he calls again, voice closer, projecting over urban noises and passing cars. when his fingers wrap around your wrist, the feeling of warmth and the beat of your pulse in his hand scream louder than anything you’ve heard tonight. 

you turn around and the thoughts and signals have caught up with you, blurry vision amidst a lash line of tears, and you wait. you’re grateful for the distortion, for the unclear picture of osamu standing there, face solemn and unsure how to proceed, how not to lose you, and you can’t wait anymore, “fuck, samu, what are we? what is this?”

the words are tumbling out of you now, every worry and clouded judgement from the moment you walked through the doors of onigiri miya, “fucking one time in a club before i even worked there, that’s fine,” you shake your head, pulling your wrist out of his grasp softly,  “fucking once at work after close, okay maybe less fine. fucking in a hotel bathroom in the middle of a catering shift? definitely crossing a line there.” you list off your endeavors, remembering them all perfectly well.

“now, we’ve just fucked in your brother’s bathroom, off the clock and not work related. and your brother referred to me as an employee fuck buddy,” you say, chest aching as the phrases leaves you, “i mean, am i? what is this?”

he doesn’t leave you waiting for an explanation, doesn’t speak over you, he’s kind and attentive like that. “i never called you that. i never said that about you, yn.”

“fuck, samu, it doesn’t matter,” you say, though you suppose it’s a slight lie. the weight on your shoulders and your chest is a bit lighter now, but not entirely gone, “that’s how they see me.”

“they don’t even know about any of those times after we knew each other, only the first time, only that first night,” he explains, but they’re not the right words. they’re soothing some anxieties in you, but not the right ones, but you don’t know which anxieties are the right ones. 

you close your eyes or turn your head, it doesn’t really matter, you just can’t see him. it’s dark outside and you can’t focus on much despite there not being much to focus on, and your voice snags as you say, “if i wouldn’t have made a big deal about this,” you swallow, even softer now, “would we have left that bathroom and skated around the idea of fucking each other until something snapped?” 

the tears have breached your lash line, have fallen down the inner corner, dripped off of your chin and onto your shirt below. “and what?” you laugh, “then we’d just repeat the cycle again? and then again? and i’d never be anything other than your employee fuck buddy, i mean fuck, samu, come on.” your voice is desperate now, cracking and confused, and he’s just standing there, patient and listening. 

“it’s never been about how you view me or how you feel about me,” you shrug, back of your hand smearing tears and mascara against your cheekbones. “or it has, but just,” you groan, frustrated, “i know you care about me somewhat or in cyclical doses, i’ve never doubted that, i just want to know that even though you haven’t called me that, that’s not what you think of me too?”

“of course not,” osamu says, instant and assured. he reaches out again. you let him this time, cup the side of your face, wipe the few remaining tears, pull you closer to him, but not into him, there’s a difference. he just wants you to look at him. “i’m sorry,” he says, eyes darting around your face, not knowing where to land, “i didn’t mean to make it this difficult. i was trying to be respectful and do it right and-,” he takes a deep breath, “all i want is to be with you.”

he continues on, voice soft and thick, soothing all of the right anxieties, “i’ve been thinking about you nonstop since that night at the hotel and i swear to god if we stayed another night, i would’ve spent it with you in my bed, in my arms, but we left and i didn’t- we didn’t-” he takes another deep breath, talks softer now, a tiny scoff preceding his words, “it’d be easier if i could just kiss ya right now.”

you’re nodding because he’s right and because your shoulders feel light enough for you to do that now and because everything that he’s saying is the everything you want to hear, but that’s not the reason he’s saying it. “no one’s stopping you,” you breathe.

you don’t have to meet him halfway, he comes to you. presses his lips against yours, snakes his other hand up to the other side of your face and holds you still as he takes a step into you, body close, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you even closer if he can. 

he pulls away, breathless and the question is already leaving his lips before they’re off yours, “can i take you out?”

your first instinct is to laugh, and you do, because you know his schedule and his next planned night off. “you? get a night off?” you scoff, shaking your head, “who are you going to have close for you? me?”

he laughs, huge grin accompanying it because it’s so easy when you’re around, “no, no, i’ll figure something out,” he breathes, shaking his head harder, “it doesn’t matter, all that matters is that you say yes and that i get to take you out on a date, a real date, and then we get to do real date things, and after date real date things.”

your laugh is louder now, lowering your head into his shoulder as you joke, “i don’t know if i can get the weekend off. my job’s pretty important to me.”

he kisses you again, absolutely beaming as he pulls away. “please just say yes so that i can start making plans.” when the joking fades and you’re standing there under shitty streetlight and nonexistent moonlight and you can see the seriousness in his kind eyes, you don’t want to keep fucking around, you just want to say yes.

you want to cross the boundary of hooking up and weird feelings and move forward to kissing at work and carpooling home together. you want to break this cycle and start new ones, ones with less confusion and more domesticity. you want definitions and declarations and dates and labels.

“alright, alright, yes, god,” you say, furrowing your eyebrows, waiting a beat before taking a breath and then his face into your hands to place a soft kiss onto his nose. “i would really love to go out with you finally.”

seconds pass and then minutes and osamu is just happy to be out here on the sidewalk with you in his arms kissing you every other second, and you’re just happy to finally be in a place where you don’t have to worry about the next time you get to kiss osamu again.

you’re the one that breaks the silence, a soft smile on your face unmatching the tone of your sentence, giggly and giddy and somehow just as needy. “can’t believe i’ll get to fuck you in a real bed.”

you’re expecting some form of scoff or laugh or half-joke or disbelief, but he grins at you, drags his lips against the side of your face, and says low in your ear, “i know, angel, can’t wait.”

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