#anyway--he has no right looking this cute

[jxwl4k]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Holding hands .𖥔 ݁ ˖

☘︎ . . . genre. fluff

☘︎ . . . pairings. bakugou x fem!reader

⤿ yn has a habit of holding her friends hands except for bakugou.

⋆˚✿˖° j speaking . . .

- this has been in my drafts since November and I’m only posting it now🥲

-this is inspired by a wonwoo oneshot it’s from tiktok and the author’s name is serenedust_ you can check it out in tiktok, happy reading, my loves! <3

YN had this little habit—one her friends were well aware of. Crowds made her uneasy, and whenever she found herself surrounded by too many people, she’d instinctively reach out, intertwining her fingers with whoever was closest. It was a small, grounding gesture that helped her keep calm.

Her friends had grown used to it over time.

“Ah, the famous YN hand-holding ritual,” Mina teased one day, giving YN’s hand a squeeze. “It’s cute, you know. Like you’re our little comfort buddy.”

YN laughed, a little embarrassed. “I just… feel calmer when I’m holding someone’s hand. I’m weird, huh?”

“Nah, we love it,” Kirishima reassured her with his usual bright grin. “In fact, you’re welcome to cling to me any time, YN. A pro hero should be able to help out with stuff like that, right?”

Mina nodded enthusiastically. “Totally! Besides, it’s not weird if it’s helping you feel better.”

YN was grateful for their support. She knew they didn’t mind her habit, and that only made her more comfortable reaching for their hands whenever she needed it. But there was one person she’d never tried holding hands with—Bakugou.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to. If she was honest with herself, she sometimes thought about it, imagining how it might feel to intertwine her fingers with his. But Bakugou was… well, Bakugou. He wasn’t exactly the “gentle touch” type, and she figured he’d probably find it annoying or weird if she reached for him in that way. So she always avoided touching him, keeping her hands to herself when he was around.

One day, as they sat together for lunch, Mina brought it up, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Hey, YN, have you noticed that you never reach for Bakugou’s hand?”

YN nearly choked on her drink. “W-What? I—uh…”

Kirishima chuckled, leaning in. “She’s got a point, you know. You hold our hands all the time, but not Bakugou’s. Are you scared of him?”

“Scared?!” YN stammered, her cheeks heating up. “I’m not scared of him! I just… I don’t think he’d like it, that’s all.”

Mina gave her a knowing look. “Oh, really? Because Bakugou here doesn’t seem like the type to get flustered over something as small as holding hands.”

“Shut up, Pinky,” Bakugou growled, though he didn’t deny it. His gaze shifted, and he avoided looking directly at YN.

YN could feel her face burning, but she quickly changed the subject, laughing it off. “Anyway! It’s not a big deal. I’m fine with holding your hands. It’s just… different.”

But her friends’ teasing lingered in her mind, making her hyper-aware of Bakugou’s presence. She had no idea that Bakugou, on the other hand, had been noticing her habit all along. He’d seen her reach for Mina’s hand, loop her arm with Kirishima’s, and each time, he felt an uncomfortable pang of jealousy. Why wouldn’t she reach out to him? Did she think he wasn’t as dependable as the others?

As much as he tried to brush it off, it bothered him more than he’d admit.

During UA’s annual festival, the crowded grounds buzzed with excitement. Class 1-A had been helping with setting up booths, and the noise and energy around them were overwhelming. YN could feel her nerves kicking in as they made their way through the busy festival.

“Whoa, it’s packed,” Kirishima said, glancing around.

“Tell me about it,” YN mumbled, trying to keep her breathing steady.

Sensing her discomfort, Mina grabbed YN’s hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Hey, remember we’re all here if you need us.”

YN nodded, grateful. They continued walking, and as the crowd around them grew denser, she instinctively reached out to grab another hand. Her fingers slipped through someone else’s, feeling warm and steady—until she looked up and realized whose hand she was holding.

Bakugou.

Her heart jumped, and she immediately tried to pull her hand back, stammering, “I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

But Bakugou’s grip tightened, refusing to let go. His expression was calm, almost unreadable, but his gaze was intense as he looked down at her.

“Quit squirming,” he muttered. “If it helps you feel safe, just… keep holding it.”

YN stared up at him, her cheeks turning a deep shade of red. “B-But I didn’t think you’d want to…”

“What, you think I didn’t notice?” he interrupted, voice a little rougher, though he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “You’re always holding their hands, but never mine. You think I’d mind?”

Behind them, Mina and Kirishima exchanged wide-eyed glances, grinning like they’d just witnessed the world’s biggest revelation. Mina’s voice echoed in a teasing whisper, “Ohhh, looks like someone’s finally holding Bakugou’s hand…”

YN was mortified, but Bakugou simply glared at their friends. “Mind your own business.”

They continued through the festival, YN’s hand still tightly wrapped in Bakugou’s. The warmth of his grip was both unfamiliar and comforting, and she could feel her anxiety melting away. For once, the noise of the crowd didn’t seem so overwhelming.

She glanced up at him, offering a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Bakugou.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled, though his cheeks had the faintest hint of a blush. “Just don’t let go all of a sudden.”

Mina nudged Kirishima and whispered, “Think they’ll let go after this?”

Kirishima laughed quietly, giving her a playful nudge back. “Not a chance. I think we’ll be seeing a lot more of this.”

As YN walked with Bakugou, hand in hand, she realized she didn’t mind the teasing. In fact, she didn’t want to let go at all. And judging by the way Bakugou’s grip stayed firm and steady, he felt the same way.

Years into their careers as pro heroes, YN and Bakugou had seen more than their fair share of action and chaos. Tonight, however, was one of those rare, peaceful evenings, where the two of them could finally unwind together. They’d just finished a mission, and now they sat sprawled on Bakugou’s couch, swapping war stories over takeout.

As they relaxed, a comfortable silence settled between them until YN, lost in thought, let out a small laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Bakugou grumbled, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, nothing,” YN said, shaking her head with a smirk. “Just… I was thinking about that festival back at UA.”

Bakugou squinted suspiciously. “Which one?”

“The one where I, uh… accidentally grabbed your hand.”

Bakugou’s face turned pink, but he quickly masked it with an annoyed scowl. “Accidentally, huh? Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

“Oh, come on, it was!” YN protested, laughing as she nudged his shoulder. “I thought you were Kirishima! But then I looked up and realized it was you, and I was mortified. I was ready to disappear right there.”

Bakugou snorted. “Yeah, I noticed. Thought you’d drop dead from embarrassment.”

“Hey! You didn’t help by tightening your grip, you know!” YN shot back, giving him a playful glare. “You practically crushed my hand! What was that about?”

Bakugou shrugged, feigning indifference. “Thought you needed the support, or whatever. You looked like you were about to pass out.”

YN giggled, shaking her head. “Sure, sure, big tough hero just wanted to help.”

Bakugou cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… I was waitin’ for you to do it all damn year, you know. You’d grab everyone else’s hand like it was nothing, and when it was me, suddenly you couldn’t even look at me.”

YN blinked, surprised. “Wait, you… actually wanted me to hold your hand?”

“Tch,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “Why do you think I always stood next to you in crowded places? Wasn’t a coincidence, idiot.”

Her laughter softened into a warm smile. “So all this time… you were jealous?”

Bakugou shot her a glare, cheeks bright red. “I wouldn’t call it jealousy.”

“What would you call it, then?” YN asked, smirking mischievously.

“A strategic maneuver,” he said, nose in the air. “If you got anxious, it was only logical that I’d be the one to handle it.”

YN snickered. “Right, because nothing says ‘tough guy’ like hoping someone will hold your hand.”

“Oi!” Bakugou growled, though his expression softened into an uncharacteristic smile. “You’re lucky I let you grab it at all.”

“Lucky, huh?” YN teased, leaning into his shoulder. “Well, in that case, I guess I’m lucky you’re still holding it.”

Bakugou’s fingers intertwined with hers, his grip firm but gentle. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t go getting sappy on me now.”

YN rolled her eyes but didn’t let go, letting the warmth of his hand remind her of that day at the festival—the beginning of something she hadn’t realized they both wanted.

And for the rest of the evening, every time she tried to pull her hand away, Bakugou would grumble, tightening his grip and muttering, “Strategic maneuver, remember?”

YN only laughed, realizing that some things really never change.

[lyn31]

Do you mind if I request a pure fluffy oneshot about pregnant MC feels lonely since Zayne always busy at work where in fact, Zayne already planned a long holiday to take care of his pregnant wife?🥺🥺

Omg this is so cute! Thank you for the request/idea! I try my best for pure fluff! Hope it's what you're thinking of!

Lonely?

Summary

You thought you’d have to endure more lonely days, waiting for Zayne to come home late from work. He’s always been attentive, making sure you’re comfortable, checking in on your cravings, and doing everything he can to care for you—even from a distance. But it’s not enough. You don’t just want his care. You want him. And what you don’t realize is that he’s already made sure you won’t have to wait much longer.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader If you've been reading my stuff, you know I'm prone to getting carried away—but not too much this time! Anyway, pure fluff incoming!

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The morning sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the kitchen. The smell of coffee lingers in the air, mixing with the faint sweetness of whatever simple breakfast you managed to put together. Across from you, Zayne sits with his usual composed demeanor, sipping his coffee as he reads something on his terminal. He looks effortlessly put together, as always, dressed in his usual crisp attire, ready for another long day at the hospital.

You try not to pout. You really do.

But the disappointment settles in your chest before you can stop it.

It’s not like Zayne has been neglecting you—far from it. Even with his busy schedule, he still makes sure you’re eating well, checks in on your cravings, and finds small ways to take care of you. But it’s not the thoughtful gestures you want right now. It’s him. His presence. His warmth—well, as warm as he can be. You just miss having him by your side.

“Another long shift?” you ask, poking at your food without much enthusiasm.

Zayne glances up, his golden eyes calm as ever. “Hm?”

You roll your eyes. “At the hospital. You’ve been working late every day. It’s fine, I’m just asking.”

There’s no accusation in your tone, but you still feel a little guilty for even bringing it up. It’s not like Zayne is staying late for fun—he’s a doctor. His work saves lives. But still, a selfish part of you wishes he could just… be here.

Zayne sets down his coffee cup with a quiet clink, studying you for a moment. Then, instead of answering directly, he asks, “Did you sleep well?”

You huff. Typical. He always redirects the conversation back to you. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Back pain?”

You shake your head. “Not really.”

“Hm.” He reaches for a small dish beside him and slides it toward you. “I picked these up on the way home last night. You mentioned craving something sweet.”

You glance down, finding a delicate pastry, the exact kind you’d been wanting the other day. Your heart squeezes. See? He never forgets. But the ache in your chest doesn’t go away.

You pick it up, turning it slightly between your fingers before taking a bite. The flaky crust melts in your mouth, the filling perfectly sweet without being overwhelming. Exactly the way you like it.

Your mood should lighten. And in some ways, it does—just not the way you need. Zayne always remembers these little things, even when he barely has time to breathe.

You swallow, glancing at him as he returns his attention to his terminal, seemingly unbothered. Like picking up pastries at an ungodly hour just to make you happy is the most natural thing in the world.

Your lips curve slightly. “You really don’t have to do this, you know.”

Zayne hums, not looking up. “Do what?”

You gesture vaguely with the half-eaten pastry. “This. Bringing me things. You’re already busy enough.”

Finally, he meets your gaze. “It’s hardly an inconvenience.”

The words are simple, stated like a fact rather than reassurance. But you know what he means. If it’s for you, it’s never a burden.

The warmth in your chest grows, just enough to quiet the selfish ache—at least for now.

You take another bite, letting yourself enjoy the moment. Even if he has to leave soon, at least for now, he’s here.

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There’s not much to do when you’re off work and pregnant. Ever since you and Zayne found out, you’ve both been buried in pregnancy books, but now that you’re in your second trimester, there’s more waiting than anything else. At least your pregnancy has been on the milder side so far.

It’s not like he’s neglecting me. You keep telling yourself that, fingers absently tracing patterns against your stomach. He still calls. He still buys me whatever I want. I’m fine. The house is quiet—too quiet—and before you can stop yourself, your gaze flickers to the clock. I don’t need to be so clingy. But somehow, the weight in your chest doesn’t ease.

So here you are again, texting Tara and catching up on the latest gossip.

Tara: Oh, and get this—remember that newbie from last week? The one who swore up and down that they could handle a solo mission?

You: The one who nearly got flattened by a Normal Wanderer?

Tara: Yep. That one. Well, guess who had to bail them out today?

You: No way. You?

Tara: Of course me. Because someone didn’t read the mission brief properly and walked straight into a nest.

You: LMAO, you’re kidding.

Tara: I wish. I had to listen to them apologize every five seconds while I cleared the area. If I hear one more “I’m so sorry, Senior Tara” I might actually lose my mind.

You: Pfft. Sounds like a fun day for you.

Tara: Oh, absolutely. Thrilling. The highlight of my week, really.

You: LMAO.

Tara: Anyway, why aren’t you asleep yet? You need a lot of rest—you and the baby, that is.

You: I’m waiting for Zayne to get home 🥺

Tara: Eh? He’s not home yet?

You: He’s supposed to be, but there was an emergency he had to take care of 😩

Tara: Well, that’s rough. But still, don’t you see him when he gets home anyway?

You: Barely. I keep falling asleep early 🫠 And now, for the morning I keep waking up later and later… Damn hormones, I swear to god.

Tara: LOL, what can you do? It is what it is. Just don’t stay up too late!

You sigh, tossing your phone onto the couch beside you. Just this once, you want to stay awake—just to see him properly, not only in passing before he leaves for work.

“I get it. He’s busy. I shouldn’t complain.” The words come out light, almost dismissive, but your fingers catch on the hem of your sleeve, twisting the fabric between them. Even saying it out loud doesn’t make it feel any less hollow.

And, of course, your body has other plans. Because when you open your eyes again, it’s morning.

You're no longer on the living room sofa but tucked into bed instead. The sheets are smoothed around you, and the weight of a blanket drapes comfortably over your body. A pillow has been carefully adjusted against your belly, positioned just right to relieve any strain.

You groan into your pillow, frustration muffled against the fabric. You missed him again—just like every other night these days.

A cool, gentle touch lands on your shoulder.

You peek up, already knowing who it is.

Zayne is squatting beside the bed, his hazel eyes level with yours. Dressed in his usual crisp attire, he looks as composed as ever.

“Are you feeling any discomfort?” His tone is clinical, but the concern beneath it is unmistakable.

You shake your head, your voice still heavy with sleep. “No, I’m good. I just keep missing you coming home.” You pout without meaning to.

Zayne leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, then another to your temple. “Sorry.”

Your heart squeezes. A tiny, selfish part of you wanted him to feel bad for leaving you behind so often. But not like this.

You shake your head, frowning. “What are you sorry for? It’s your job—just like when I get emergency calls for Wanderers, remember? I understand.” You smile, actually meaning it.

Zayne takes your hand, bringing it to his lips, kissing your palm. “You won’t have to miss me for much longer.”

You blink. What?

But before you can question it, a thought occurs. Right. He’s probably pushing himself harder just to get home earlier.

You huff. “Just don’t overwork yourself, got it?” You reach up and pinch his cheek lightly.

Zayne merely hums, his lips twitching slightly before he leans down, pressing another quick kiss to your lips. Then, he stands. “I made breakfast. If you’re ready, I can help you get up.”

You narrow your eyes at the curve of his lips, recognizing the teasing edge in his voice.

Still, you reach for him anyway, stretching out both hands toward him. “Well, husband, help your wife up, then.”

His low chuckle is your only warning before he pulls you into his arms with practiced ease.

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“Take care, Mrs. Li.”

You reply with a smile, “You too.”

The person—whom Zayne hired at the start of your pregnancy—gives you a polite nod before stepping out, leaving your home spotless as always.

Honestly, sometimes your husband is even more dramatic than you. It’s sweet that he refuses to let you lift a finger, but now you’re left with nothing to do. The house, now silent and empty, feels even bigger than usual.

You huff, shaking off the creeping loneliness. You could dwell on it… or you could find something to entertain yourself with.

Speaking of entertainment, Zayne should be on his break around this time.

So, of course, you text him.

You: Zaaaaayyyneeeeee.

Mine♥️: Yes? Did something happen?

You: Send me your selfie ☺️

Mine♥️: My selfie? How about you send me yours first?

Did he just? This man, you swear. You shake your head grinning while you type your reply.

You: Hey! I say it first! The baby’s asking.

You can practically see Zayne’s deadpan stare through the screen, and the thought alone makes you giggle.

Mine♥️: The baby is asking?

You: Yes. The baby wants to see their dad’s face 🥺

You stare at your screen, waiting, watching the three little dots appear… then disappear. Then appear again. Then disappear.

You know he’s hesitating.

Mine♥️: That doesn’t sound medically accurate.

You snort, already imagining his flat expression.

You: Wow. Are you denying your child’s request? How could you, Dr. Li?

Silence.

Then, finally—a new message arrives.

It’s an image.

You open it eagerly, only to burst into laughter.

It’s exactly what you expected. A slightly blurred, poorly angled selfie, as if he took it at the last second just to shut you up. His expression is his usual composed neutrality, though you can see the faintest arch of his brow, like he knows this is ridiculous but indulges you anyway. The lighting is terrible, half his face is cropped out, and yet—it's still unmistakably him.

You: LMAO, Zayne, still?? Are you sure you know what that is?

Mine♥️: A selfie.

You: This is a crime against photography.

Mine♥️: You asked. I delivered.

You can’t stop grinning. Even with his reluctant participation, it’s these little moments that make you feel closer to him, even when he’s away.

You: Fine, fine. You win. But I’m adding this to my Zayne’s selfie collection.

Zayne doesn’t reply immediately, but when he does, it’s only two words.

Mine♥️: Of course.

And maybe it’s just your hormones, but somehow, that single message makes your heart flutter a little too much. After a beat he sends you another text.

Mine♥️: Now, where’s mine?

You debate teasing him for a few seconds, but you’re feeling generous, so you take a picture of yourself, angling a bit to show you holding your baby bump, and winking at the camera. Then you send it.

Mine♥️: Perfect.

You stare at the screen, re-reading his response. Perfect.

It’s such a simple word. Just one. But somehow, it makes your chest feel warm and achy all at once.

You puff out a breath, suddenly feeling ridiculous. Why is this making you emotional? It’s not even that serious. It’s just Zayne being Zayne. Calm, composed, and effortlessly sweet in that way of his.

But then you glance back at your own selfie—the one with your baby bump in clear view—and your eyes start to sting.

He thinks you’re perfect. Just like this.

Hormones. It has to be the hormones.

You sniff, rubbing at your eyes, and quickly type back before you can get any more sappy.

You: I’ll let you have that one, Dr. Li. Just this once.

His reply comes instantly.

Mine♥️: I appreciate the honor.

You roll your eyes, but you’re still smiling. Even if you feel lonely right now, at least moments like this remind you—Zayne is still with you, no matter the distance. And yet, no matter how sweet these moments are, the ache of missing him doesn’t go away.

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Another morning dawns, light filtering softly through the curtains, painting everything in a muted golden hue.

You wake up feeling... off. Not upset, not really, but there’s a quiet heaviness in your chest, a weight of reluctance. Maybe it’s just that your bed is so comfortable, or it’s the cool presence beside you—one you know will be gone in just a little while.

Zayne is still half-asleep, his breathing slow and steady. The moment you shift closer, he stirs. He doesn’t say anything, but his fingers find their way to your hair, smoothing down the strands with that same absentminded gentleness he always has.

You press your face against his shoulder, sighing. Just a few more minutes. Just a little longer before the day starts and he leaves again.

But time moves too fast. Before you know it, he’s getting up, moving through the familiar motions of getting ready. You stay in bed longer than usual today, even though you’re already awake, not feeling like facing the day just yet, but eventually, you shuffle out of the room, just in time to see Zayne placing the food on the table.

He glances up when he notices you. “Come sit. You need to eat.”

You hum noncommittally but let him guide you to your chair. Breakfast is warm, comforting—just like always. You eat quietly, and while Zayne doesn’t comment on it, you know he notices. He always does.

And now, here you are, standing at the front door, watching him as he prepares to leave for yet another work day. You keep your expression neutral. Or at least, you try. But it must show anyway, because as Zayne smooths out his sleeves, then glances at you. “You won’t be waiting much longer.”

You blink. “Huh?”

He tilts his head slightly, as if this should be obvious. “Today is my last shift before my extended leave starts. I’ll be home starting tomorrow.”

Your brain stalls. You just stare at him, completely thrown. The words don’t quite register at first, like your mind refuses to take them in all at once, because—what?

You open your mouth, then close it again, struggling for words before finally managing— “You’re…staying home starting tomorrow?” The words come out small, hesitant, like you’re scared to believe them. But the look on Zayne’s face—calm, assured, like this was never even a question—makes it all too real.

Then the realization crashes into you, and before you even know it, your eyes burn—tears spilling over, completely unprompted, catching even you off guard.

Zayne’s expression shifts in an instant. His hands reach for you immediately, one settling on your back, the other tilting your chin up so he can study your face. “What’s wrong?” His voice is calm, but you can hear the thread of concern beneath it. “Are you in pain?”

You shake your head rapidly, even as another choked-out laugh bubbles up between your tears. “No, I just—” You sniffle, gripping onto his coat.

His touch is gentle as he tilts your chin up again, but before that, his thumb brushes the corner of your eye, catching a tear before it can fall. He exhales softly, barely more than a breath, and murmurs “No tears, love.” low and steady, as if grounding you with just his voice.

And that you make your tears flow even more. “I’m just really happy. And I feel ridiculous. Oh my god, I can’t stop crying—”

Zayne blinks, still looking slightly lost. But he tightens his hold on you, shifting slightly to the side so he doesn’t squeeze you or the baby, his hand stroking your back in slow, steady motions. Then, as if something clicks, he exhales softly. “Didn’t I already tell you? That you wouldn’t have to miss me for much longer?”

You let out a hiccup, still clutching his coat. “You were being vague! I thought you meant coming home earlier or something!”

His lips twitch slightly—amused, but choosing not to show it too much for your sake. “I see. My mistake.” He presses a kiss into your hair, exhaling a quiet chuckle. “You think I’d leave you lonely if I had a choice?”

You huff, burying your face against his chest. Zayne lets out a quiet breath before wrapping his arms securely around you. “And you’re not ridiculous,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to the top of your head. “But you do need to breathe.”

You let out a watery laugh. “I am breathing.”

“Barely.” He smooths a hand down your back, his voice quieter now. “You really missed me that much?”

You nod against his chest. “Yeah. I really did.”

Zayne says nothing for a moment, just holds you there, his grip firm and steady. And then, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, he says, “Then I’ll make up for all of it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, overwhelmed by just how much you love this man. “You’re not allowed to leave me for even a second, you hear me?”

A pause. Then, so casually, “That might be difficult. What if you need to use the restroom? You don't usually let me follow you there.”

You pull back just enough to glare at him. “Zayne.”

“Hm?” His expression is calm, but you can see the slightest glint of amusement in his eyes now.

“You’re ruining the moment.”

Zayne hums, entirely unbothered. “I thought I was making it memorable.”

You sniff, narrowing your eyes at him. “You’re so lucky I love you.”

“I know.” He smooths his hands down your sides one last time before stepping back, adjusting his coat. “Now, go inside. You shouldn’t be standing out here too long.”

You cross your arms, still pouting. “Fine. But you better come home on time.”

Zayne lifts a brow. “I always do.”

“Liar.”

He exhales through his nose—just barely amused—before leaning in, pressing a brief kiss to your forehead. “I’ll see you tonight.”

And with that, he turns, heading off without another word. You linger for a second longer, watching him go before finally stepping inside.

By the time evening comes, the moment Zayne steps inside, you immediately cling to him. His hands settle at your waist, steadying you, and just when you’re about to pull back, he shifts his grip—lifting you effortlessly.

“Zayne! Are you insane? Put me down! I’m the weight of two people!”

“This is why I work out,” he replies smoothly.

You gape at him before bursting into laughter. He just walks, carrying you as if it’s the easiest thing in the world, before gently setting you down on the living room sofa. Squatting in front of you, his eyes flick toward the kitchen, probably catching the scent of the food you just finished making. One brow lifts.

“You were cooking?”

“I’m pregnant, not invalid.” You challenge his stare with a pointed look.

He exhales, clearly holding back a remark, then concedes with a small nod. “Alright then. Do you want to eat first?” He asks, even though he already knows your answer.

Now that your mood feels much lighter, you flash him a sweet smile. “I’m eating with you, obviously. Speaking of, husband…”

You toy with his collar, dragging a finger slowly down his chest. Zayne watches you with a suspicious gaze.

“Do you want to eat first, take a bath, or…” You drag out the words teasingly. “Me?”

You wink, fully expecting him to scoff. And he does—but not before his eyes flick down to your breast, then back up. The way his gaze darkens for half a second makes your breath hitch.

Then, without missing a beat, he says, “You first, then.”

“What?” You laugh, eyes widening as he shifts to sit beside you, pulling you against him. His cool breath brushes against your skin, lips grazing the curve of your neck.

“You asked, darling.”

And just like that, the day ends in the most perfect way possible.

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Notes

Hehehehehe 😳 sorry ahahahaha love how this turn out actually, gosh they're so cute 🫶🏻😩🥹

[yslbooten]

˖ ⁺ ✧ Punk tactics !

pairings ✧ : mohawk mark! x reader

warnings ✧ : breast fucking / tit job , groping, degrading, dirty talk ( sex scene is short n sloppy ) fem description.

normal! mohawk mark who is rebellious to his parents Debbie and Nolan, teaching his litter brother Oliver how to cause enough trouble just like him. even gifting Debbie with phone calls at his school reporting that he has gotten into another fight this weekend.

normal! mohawk mark who has some piercings on his face that he had done with a safety pin because his mom and dad wouldn’t allow him to, having at-least near 5 facial piercings ( including the tongue one )

normal! mohawk mark who ALSO has a secret tattoo right above his abdomen that has his initials in a gothic font, hot right? yea well it hurt a lot. bragging to his friends on how it’d be so easy to take a needle down there but nope he was wrong, and he got proven that.

normal! mohawk mark that hits on cute girls like you, naive and sassy. meeting you at one of his friends punk parties, you stood out the most. your clothing attire not even being comparable to these dweebs in the party. he had his share amount of girls and you were on of his favorites. . .

normal! mohawk mark that you cant help but to fall for, people telling you he isn’t the husband type but you could already tell. from the way he had grabbed onto your neck last night to sloppily kiss you told you everything you had to know. not like you didn’t enjoy it but you liked it just way too much.

normal! mohawk mark who invites himself into your house when your parents are gone knowing they’d throw a fit seeing a guy with facial piercings, muscular build, and a mohawk in their house heading to their daughters room. not like he’d care anyways he would still go up into your room while your parents were there.

normal! mohawk mark who caresses your ass while laying in your bed as if not a while ago he had promised he’d be good to you and no touching. he “ couldn’t help! “ it he claimed while giving you those bullshit puppy eyes he had always gave you when he has got into trouble with you.

normal! mohawk mark who’s boner is practically prodding at your ass when he swears up and down its not his dick and is just the remote. but you don’t remember the remote being 8 inches and that girthy, you try to believe him but it’s hard to when every time you shuffle you hear him shuddering or breath being caught in his throat.

normal! mohawk mark who can’t take it anymore violently pulling your blouse down revealing your tits.. which were pierced his eyes widened, this was love at first sight he had thought, a wide smile playing onto his face. “ who would’ve known “ he thought sitting on top of you as if he wasn’t already so big.

“ mmark.. be nice with them i just got them pierced two weeks ago! “ you protested your nipples hardened feeling the steel of his tongue piercings clacking against your nipple piercings. “ fuck, did they hurt baby? “ his words were long and sultry even the thought of the needle piercing through your nipples made him 10x harder! “ of course they did you dumbass.. “ you moaned the feeling of his rough hands squeezing onto the fat of your breasts was enough to send you into a frenzy. mark’s slobber was all on your tits it looked as if someone even poured some water onto your breasts and let it sit there, hearing the sound of cheap baggy jeans unzipping you looked down to see him starting to pull his boxers down “ mark you’re not tit fucking me! “ he was already was squishing you with his weight but no he didn’t want to listen cause he never does. his hard cock was pulsing at the sight of you, he looked like a fucking pervert too the way he wiped his drool from his mouth and smiled down at you “ youre so fucking hot babe.. cant believe i bagged a bad bitch like you “ he moaned out scooting his body further onto your torso to settle his cock between your tits “ you’ll let me nut all over this pretty face yea? “ you were so embarrassed, every word that came out his mouth made your pussy wet and pulse “ just hurry up mark.. if parents barge in i’ll be in big trouble “ grabbing onto your breasts and squishing them against his hard cock he threw his head back “ fuck your parents.. Shitt “ thrusting his member in between your tits that were still covered in saliva the sensation felt so fucking good to him “ mark you’re a pervert! “ he groaned even more the degrading throwing him off edge even more “ yea? im your dirty lil pervert mhmm.. “ speeding up the sensation he would drag your tits against his cock too the soft doughy feeling of your breasts had hypnotized him “ fuck m gonna.. shit let me cum baby pleasee “ his tip was practically red waiting to burst all over your breasts and face “ fine just.. clean m- “ he came immediately. a extremely loud groan emitted from mark making you even feel embarrassed for him, but you couldn’t focus on that.. the hot sticky substance that painted your face and breasts made you look like a pornstar some even getting onto your newly done lashes that you’d just payed for! “ mark!! “ his chest heaving he would crawl off of you “ dont think i’d let this pussy feel neglected and alone did ya? “

[pythonmoth]

cw: FLUFF. social anxiety. self-imposed exposure therapy (pls never do that!). cute and then not so cute, but cute again! panic attack. dissociation. reader is traumatized and inconsistent. implied sexual activity, nothing explicit. simon is a whiny little bitch. slightly styled text.

primary simon x f!reader. poly tf141.

word count: 4k

First | Last | Next

Having breakfast with Johnny, with the team, wasn’t something you realized you’ve been missing.

It fits right in your heart, filling a hole you didn’t know has been empty.

So many years have gone by and little things like this usually go ignored until you’re forced to be aware of them and their absence. Maybe it’s therapy; maybe it’s that you’ve gotten used to being alone after nine months, only relying on your brother for a few months and then being on your own, but breakfast with the people you’ve called your family for nearly ten years now, it’s something your body accepted as necessary once you got it back, only then understanding how much you’ve been missing it.

Once everybody’s tummy is filled with tea, coffee and good food, they take turns to shower, one by one leaving to get ready until it’s only Simon and you. He looks far more relaxed than the day before, his eyes warm as he nods when you talk, telling him about how you’ve been planning to remodel a little, maybe change the paint of the exterior or even add some flowers to your backyard. Now that you’re forced to stay home, there are things that you want to change so it looks prettier when you come back. 

You don’t miss the way his right cheek jumps, as if he’s trying not to grimace; you know it isn’t a happy memory for anybody, but you’re glad he isn’t trying to shut it down, and merely accepting it as it is. Same as you are.

“Do you know if Tommy is available? I might have to call him up, since I can’t reach everything on my own. He’s the closest one to a professional I know, anyway” you hum, your fingers entertained as they rip apart a sugar packet, your eyes not leaving it for a moment.

“My brother? I think so. I can ask him to contact you” Simon mumbles. You look up when you notice how unhappy he sounds. He’s… pouting.

“What?”

Simon frowns, seemingly unsure if he should speak up or not. In the end, just when you’re starting to overthink and overanalyze everything you’ve said and done to get him to look like his, he finally looks up.

“I’m… I am available. I could help you” he grunts. “I’ve helped him at work before and I can get it done as quickly as he can” Simon rushes, as if he couldn’t help it. “With the right tools, perhaps even faster”.

When you go quiet, he shuts up. You’re hyper aware of his eyes on you as you look down at the ruined sugar packet in your fingers, biting down on your lip. It’s not that you don’t know he helps Tommy sometimes, it just felt like a safer question.

In the back of your mind, you think back to something your therapist mentioned as a possibility, something that could help you with the PTSD, though she said it wasn’t time nor a good idea for you yet. That was five months ago and, really, neither of you mentioned it again. Maybe…

Exposure therapy. It should be okay.

After all, what’s the worst that can happen? It’s just Simon.

“Wait, I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. I can just call him and—”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay” you interrupt him, your eyes twinkling a little. “If you’re free… we could start today, buy a few things. Please?”

And so, when the morning comes to an end, Price, Gaz and Johnny say their goodbyes, only Gaz and Price coming over to kiss your cheek and pat your head. Johnny gives you a bright smile and a promise to come over later. Price makes sure you remember his number, just in case. Gaz cups your cheeks, kissing your forehead loudly before he walks out the door with Price.

Johnny kisses Simon briefly before they leave, Gaz playfully gagging behind them. You see him, however, getting nudged by Price, both of them looking quite content; surely, there was a conversation you weren’t part of. The sun is high up as the car disappears from sight, some part of your heart wishing they could stay longer, but this will be good.

You hope so, at least.

Then, it’s only Simon and you.

It takes you fifteen minutes to get ready, and another ten minutes for you to stop looking in the mirror, reminding yourself that you’re not going alone. You don’t have to double check behind you, you’ve nothing to fear. But, the reminder that is Simon who’s coming with you, brings an unwelcome feeling at the base of your spine.

It’s somewhat irrational, you’re aware. But it’s still scary, and it doesn’t make it less real.

Taking a deep breath, you nod to yourself in the mirror, and step back, hastily putting away your makeup and promising yourself you’re going to clean the few-weeks-old dust from it when you’re back.

Your guts flip when you realize the sun’s already coming down, and it makes you feel insane that you can’t even focus on things like that; why would you be unsure of how long you’ve spent spacing out? That’s something else to mention the therapist, maybe.

Simon’s waiting in the living room when you come down, his face relaxed and his eyes fixed on his phone. His leg betrays him, however, because you can tell he’s been waiting, anxious. When he hears you, Simon gets up, checking his pockets to make sure he has everything and gives you a thumbs up, gingerly walking towards you.

“You ready?” he asks, his expression inviting, as if giving you an out. He looks just as anxious as you feel, and that makes you feel a little better.

Reaching into your bag, you make sure you have your knife and the spare knife, before nodding at him. As you both make your way out and into the car, you also pat the left pocket of your jeans. 

Pocket knife is a must, sometimes.

Buying the paint isn’t nearly as boring as you thought it would be. 

Simon makes it his mission to keep you entertained, easily reading the anxiety in your body language; he talks.

He talks a lot. And quite easily, much to your surprise.

Simon tells you why the lighter painting is better, and why you shouldn’t go for the darker one in certain places of the house, and why grey is a hard no if you want your house to look good. The black surgical mask is almost funny with how much it moves over his mouth, but you focus on him, and soon enough, you’re less worried, talking more, smiling and laughing at his awful jokes.

Eventually, in the middle of one of Simon’s morbid comments —"Look, that ashtray would be a funny gift for Johnny, if you ask me. We could make him fit in there later. Do you think it would be cheaper if we tell them why we want it?"—, you find the perfect shade for the exterior of your house. Simon isn’t convinced, you can see it, but he doesn’t complain, only crossing his arms and tilting his head, as if calculating in his brain how much you’ll need. He’s been at your house many times, and knows it as well as you do.

Simon’s the one who asks for the paint and a few other tools, since you’re already aware he won’t let you carry it anyway. You hand Simon your credit card, and turn away, distracted with little light bulbs of soft white light that would look pretty good in your bedroom, so you don’t notice he doesn’t use your card to pay for it, but his instead. He doesn’t tell you either as he hands the plastic back to you and carries the bucket and the rest of the big tools to the car.

Just like a few days ago, you find yourself checking your surroundings, especially now that it’s dark. You keep the car locked as you check the back seats with your phone, making Simon wait a moment. After making sure it’s safe, you pat your left pocket to feel the knife there and quickly get inside, finally allowing him in as well. Maybe your therapist is right and you’re still jumpy, but it is dangerous out there anyway, and there’s nothing wrong with being paranoid careful.

The drive back home is pretty calm, your shoulders finally relaxing after nearly two hours of being on edge. Simon’s music blasts on the speakers, a little too loud to be safe, but you need the distraction, and the streets are pretty lonely at night so you only focus on it, mumbling the lyrics to yourself.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re home and carrying the little bag with tools, which is the only thing Simon will let you grab, and get inside. Not even bothering to turn back, you lock the door behind you and take your shoes off, letting Simon take the plastic bag from your hands so he can set everything by the back door.

“I’ll be up early. If you wanna help, make sure you’re up by 7am” Simon grumbles, yawning as he takes the mask off.

“I haven’t woken up at 7am in like… nine months. That’s too early”.

“Tough shit”.

With a happy feeling in your chest, you say goodnight and go up to your room, leaving Simon to get comfortable in the guest room. Neither of you mention it, but it’s implicit he won’t be staying in your room like he would if this were before. The stairs creak slightly when you pause, your hand over the handrail, looking down as he seems to hesitate before waving at you, making his way to the room.

Out of habit, and maybe feeling a little anxious, you lock the door before taking your heavy jacket off. Getting ready to sleep alone feels a bit odd now that Gaz isn’t laying in your bed, but soon enough, you’re fresh and clean, and ready to sleep.

A loud crashing sound makes you jump up, face wrinkled from the pillow and heart pounding in your chest. You make your way downstairs, nearly tripping over your bare feet, one of the long knives in your hand as you try to focus on whatever is happening. The sun hits your face from the back door, watching as Simon hisses and holds the bucket of paint up, a big splash of colour all over your wooden floor.

“What the hell are you doing?” you grunt, using the knife to scratch your forehead.

Simon looks up, his eyes widening as he takes in your appearance. He didn’t think he’d ever be given the opportunity to see you so messy in the morning, but here you are. He clears his throat and starts scraping up the paint before it dries. “I didn’t seal it and I kinda dropped it. It’s fine, I’ll clean it quickly”. He falters a little when he sees the knife in your hand, a little amused. “Are you gonna stab me for messing with your floors?”

“Maybe. Don’t tempt me” you huff, your shoulders relaxing. “Be back in ten. Don’t you dare use the skyscraper ladder without me”.

“Mhm”.

“You’re gonna break your neck if you do”.

“Heard ya” Simon grumbles, his lips curling up. “I’ll wait for you”.

The tone in his words makes your heart tremble, but your face betrays nothing. Excited to work on your house, and hoping the little challenge you're putting yourself through doesn’t end badly, you rush to get ready.

The toughest part of painting with Simon is getting the job done.

Simon doesn’t move until the edges are perfectly done. He accidentally touched something he shouldn’t have? He’s gonna spend as long as necessary to get the paint off. You’re doing it gently, slowly, so he doesn’t take the brush from you? You’re taking too long! And if you let him do it himself, then why are you sitting there all pretty while he does it all? In the end, you give him an annoyed look and he calms down.

But then, when the edges are done, and you have to use the roller? Now that’s fun.

Since it’s easier, he lets you do it yourself, one of his hands on your lower back so you don’t trip —if your heart is trembling a little, that’s none of his business. Though you’re not entirely sure if it's anxiety, or excitement—. Simon’s smiling now, guiding you with a lot more patience, chuckling next to your ear when you accidentally get paint over your hands, and some tiny, little drops on his hair.

“I’ll make something to eat after we finish the first layer” Simon promises, guiding your arm with his warm hand; a simple caress from your elbow to your wrist as he points to the little places that are missing some love, as he calls it.

It doesn’t take you both long to finish the first layer, though it is more than you expected, since Simon kept coming back to perfect the edges and some little mistakes you couldn’t even notice, but you appreciate his enthusiasm, so even if it can be a little annoying, you don’t really complain.

Simon cooks something “simple” that allows you both to take two hours off, letting the paint dry properly. With both of you working together, his movements less sudden than they were the last morning —especially with the knife, which you can appreciate—, you end up just eating on your feet, both of you in the kitchen, not even using the plates and eating straight from the pot. 

Feeling lazy to clean up after this, you reach out for a single glass, lifting your eyebrow at him. Simon nods, taking it from you to pour some cold water for the two of you.

You can tell his eyes are fixed on the little mark your lip balm leaves on the glass and the way he drinks from the exact same place, but you’re easily distracted by food, so it doesn’t cross your mind to call him out for it. It’s something he used to do a lot back then, so you’re not surprised, but… it’s a little funny, honestly.

A few hours later, Simon’s on your ass again. The stupid edges are making both of your eyes twitch and your annoyance grows with each comment about how you’re doing it wrong. He isn’t even mean, but it’s so fucking annoying it makes your blood boil, your guts churning with murderous intent.

When he fucking whines that you’re not doing it as straight as it should be, you just can’t do it anymore. Your hand reaches down to the painting tray and, when your palm is dripping, you don’t give him a moment to understand what you’re doing before you place your hand right across his face, paint getting to his hair, his forehead, his nose and temples.

“Whom do you serve?”

Simon stares at you in shock.

You have exactly two seconds to run away when you see him reaching down for one of the brushes. 

He catches up to you in just a moment, the cold brush getting paint all over your old shirt, as if he were slashing a sword across your back. You shriek, still trying to get away, but Simon’s determined now, an arm wrapping around your waist to hold you against him. “You little shit” he grunts, amusement dripping from his voice as clearly as the paint does from the brush.

“Wait!” you yelp, laughing when Simon runs the cold paint across your face, forcing your lips close for a moment as the coarse bristles run over your cheeks.

“See? Better” he laughs, his hand splaying on your stomach before he finally lets go. Your skin tingles when his warmth slips away, but then you turn around to huff at him, and notice the bright, rare smile splitting Simon’s face in two, so you end up tackling him to the ground instead.

You’re rewarded with his flushing face, a loud bark of laughter coming from deep in his belly as he doesn’t even try to stop you. You scoop the dripping paint from your cheeks with your fingers and wipe your hands clean on his hair, his shirt. The paint seems to glow over his flushed cheeks.

A loud yelp of surprise echoes in your backyard when Simon easily flips you around, one of his hands pinning your wrists to the soft grass as he uses the brush to paint ridiculously big dots all over your shirt and arms. Your entire body shakes with amusement, laughing with no inhibitions, until you try to free your wrists from his grip.

And you c a n ’t mo ve.

Your mind fills with awful memories, with pain, fea r, salt wa ter, and pain. 

Pain. Pa in. One finger nail. Five fi ngerna ils.

Th r ee toe na il s.

You suddenly freeze, zoning out. You don’t even notice Simon’s holding you up, carrying you back inside as he mumbles, whispering soft promises. His hands are gentle and warm as he wipes the paint off your face, doing his best not to get much water on your skin, but you aren’t listening, your body is rock solid and your jaw is so tight he can’t even make sure you’re not biting down on your tongue.

When you wake up, you’re in your bed.

Your skin is clean, and there’s a soft towel under you that’s now a little dirty with paint; you’re still wearing the same clothes from this morning. It takes you a little moment to remember why you’re here, and look down at your wrists. 

Right.

The sound of water running from downstairs makes you get up, taking the towel off your bed. You set it over your chair by the desk and walk downstairs, your cheeks warm with embarrassment when you see him in the kitchen. The lights are low so you can’t really see his face, but you can see his slumping shoulders, the tension on his nape and the twitching of his mouth.

“Simon?”

He nearly drops the glass when he hears your voice, but he manages to catch it just in time, freezing as he stares up at you.

He’s still covered in paint, including the mark of your hand across his face. The sight of him looking so worried and still giving you those big puppy eyes behind all that completely dry paint…

“I’m sorry”.

Simon’s lips part, the words heavy on his tongue. His eyebrows seem unsure if they should be surprised or angry, because they jump and pinch together at the same time. He lets the glass aside and walks over to you, stopping just a few steps from you, his shoulders trembling.

“Sorry? You’re— sorry? What the hell are you even apologizing for? That was my fault. I scared you, again” he mumbles, tears welling up in his eyes, even if he desperately tries to stop it, swallowing thickly and shaking his head. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. It slipped my mind and I fucked up”.

You reach up to touch his shoulder, but Simon steps back, flinching away from you. Your heart breaks, your lips parting in surprise, but Simon’s too gone with guilt that he doesn’t realize it. Distantly, you wonder if this is what he’s felt this whole time. You wonder how many times you’ve broken his heart by now.

“I’ll just— I’ll call Tommy tomorrow. I’ll tell him to help you with the rest, so you don’t have to be around me for now. That will be easier” Simon mumbles, mostly to himself, his eyes darting from one place to another, avoiding your eyes. “Just let me grab my stuff. I can leave in ten minutes. I won’t bother you, I promise, I—”

Taking a quick step forward, your arms wrap around his middle, closing your eyes as you navigate through the complicated feelings growing in your chest. A little bit of fear as you feel him so close again, the panic still not gone from your system, but the love makes you weak on the knees; even like that, you don’t let go of him, your arms tightening around him when you hear him breathe shakily.

“I’m alright” you whisper, your fingers curling on his shirt, almost pleading. “Don’t leave”.

Simon’s heartbeat pounds against your ear, his arms still hovering over you, hesitant. And scared.

“Please”.

That’s all it takes for Simon to sink to his knees, gently bringing you down with him, his arms never restraining you, merely holding you close. His hands splay across your back, your sides. You grip onto him harder when you feel his tears running down your shoulders, shifting until you’re straddling his lap, his face buried in your chest as he cries in complete silence, your fingers lost in his hair.

“I love you. I’m sorry” he whispers, his voice muffled with your skin. You think he’s going to pull back, but his hands only curl slightly on your arms, your sides, one of your thighs, as if he were grounding himself.

As if he couldn’t believe you were holding him again.

The ball of feelings in your chest unravels until you’re able to slowly identify them as you both hold each other right there in the middle of the kitchen. His hands brush over your back, fingernails scratching softly over your skin, and you’re reminded of good memories, of better times; of the moment you realize you were in love with him, of the ridiculous moment he asked you to be together. Of the night Johnny joined you for the first time, of the instant you understood your own feelings, Johnny's, and Simon’s. 

You’re reminded of the night you saw Price and Simon share a fervent kiss before disappearing into the Captain’s room, more than once. And then when you saw Gaz and Price do the same over the years, even if they never freely spoke of it. 

The memories of that experimental kiss with Price, back in your first year with the team haunts your memory for a moment; both of you had paused after a while and grimaced. In the end, Price had given you his chocolate and you gave him your tea flavored mochi, the kiss forgotten and never spoken of again. 

At some point, your arms relax around Simon, but he doesn’t seem in the mood to pull away, even if his grip isn’t even too tight. It takes a little bit of nudging, a few whispered words, but he finally pulls back, his face puffy and slightly wet with tears, staring at you.

“Sleep with me?”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, it seems; his hesitation appears to be long gone as his arms easily hold you up, calmly throwing you over his shoulder. That would’ve broken the tender moment, if it weren’t for the warm hand over your back holding you still, and the shaky fingers gripping onto your thigh again as he walks up to your room.

Simon hesitates, but you kick back on your door, hurrying him up. Once inside, he sets you down, waiting by the door.

“Are you... expecting me to kick you out?”

“Yes”.

Your lips curl up, forever glad he never holds back with you, and motion him to get in. 

The anxiety doesn’t magically leave your body, and you’re still awfully terrifying of him being able to just restrain you so easily again, but… progress.

It’s progress when he curses and rushes down to grab his clean clothes and a towel, asking you to let him take a shower after you’re done.

It’s progress when Simon lays in your bed, body stiff and hands shaky as he waits for you to turn the lights off.

It’s progress when you both awkwardly find a good position to sleep.

It’s progress when you wake up in the morning with his arms wrapped around you, your legs tangled, and one of your hands under his tshirt, warm against the bare skin of his back.

And it’s progress when you’re greeted with a small, sleepy smile from him before his eyes even focus properly on you.

anyway, simon's autistic bc i am autistic and he's a whiny little bitch perfectionist!

henlo. how are we feeling? progress!!! progress!!! PROGRESS!!!

› buy me a coffee ♡

if things go well, we have 8 chapters left :)

+18 people read here: yes, price and simon still fuck nasty from time to time. nobody gasped, nobody surprised.

taglist I: @euphoricn @lilg101010 @enfppuff @carolchaotic @silas-fanfic-favs @nina-from-317 @an-ever-angry-bi @kittygonap @adventurerabby @defronix @sheepispink @iambuttwodaysold @blackhawkfanatic @malevolentghoul @thriving-n-jiving @literallegendicon @echo9821 @angel-bugz @ssc7514 @clickbait-official @hades--baby @blackhawkfanatic @sirbonesly @saki---chan @skeletonsucker @nnsissys @kukavittu @tessakate @honestlymassivetrash @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @rayrayyio @diseasedclitoris @alex1011sdzfgh @thebumbqueen @hyunjaebaby @jillvalentinesrealwife @sodavrr @kneelforloki @vioxsoo @l4vstrr @leon-thot-kennedy @t3a-bag @dotmistbird @littlezarp @eclipsedcherry @codeseven @babydoll-143 @viennakarma @exitingmusic @lockofspades

[g4rvez-r3id]

(Not) A Jinx

S7! Spencer Reid x Clumsy!Barista!Fem! Reader

Synopsis: Spencer has been going to a new coffee shop recently and that’s where he finds you — a clumsy barista who screws up orders and asks for help all of the time. After a confrontation with a customer, Spencer sees you and assures to you that you’re not a jinx like you seem to think you are.

Category: Fluff, with a hint of angst

Warnings: reader is a barista at a coffee shop (not a very good one) i love projecting, based on a semi-real situation, reader is overwhelmed/has a breakdown, spencer being a comforting softie, crying, cute nickname used (cutie), i think that’s it- otherwise fluffy

Author’s Note: i love projecting into all my fics hehehe/ divider belongs to bestie erika @esote-rika (as all cute dividers i use are) i hope you enjoy this, it’s based on a semi-real situation i go through at my new job lmao (i hate making drinks)

Spencer had just recently started frequenting this new coffee shop a few blocks from Quantico. It was quaint, the pastries were delicious, coffee was self-served and usually very busy around the time he’d go. And though it’d be busy, he still enjoyed it.

By now, all of the workers knew his name as well as his order. A large coffee with a lot of sugar and a blueberry muffin. He’d even indulge in a warm croissant for Garcia every now and again.

To say that he found his new favorite place was an understatement. A quiet place he even decided to gate-keep from the rest of the team so they wouldn’t hog all over what he’d created for himself. It was also the place where he’d met you.

Not that long ago, you’d started working at the coffee shop. You’d taken his order a few times and spoke shyly to him whenever he’d show up, he found it endearing about how timid you were, it reminded him of himself when he was in his early twenties.

The one thing he’d noticed whenever frequenting this coffee shop was how much you’d been on the registers as a cashier. Specifically on Mondays and Tuesdays, not that he was keeping track or anything. He’d never seen you in the kitchen, prepping food or even prepping the long list of ingredients for an iced latte. And when he did, your coworkers were quick to send you to the registers to take orders. He’d figured that maybe you were just always set to cashier whenever you’d come in or maybe you already had enough people handling drinks.

And then he’d come to the realization to why he didn’t see you working on drinks that often. He’d had gone in to get his regular coffee and blueberry muffin this morning during a rush hour. He was actually still waiting on the blueberry muffin when he saw you.

You’d been moving a million miles per hour anxiously as you looked on your screen, frantically muttering to yourself — “How the hell do I make an iced caramel macchiato again?” “What the hell is an americano?” “Wait, was that four or five pumps for the large cups?” People had been watching and waiting for their orders, staring hard— even glaring at you as you tried making four orders at a time.

There was then a point where you eventually gave up trying yourself and asked for help. You said sorry for bothering them and your co-worker had just given you a deep sigh and helped you anyways.

As you tried your best to help her without getting in her way, a man who obviously wasn’t patient enough to wait any longer quickly chided in, saying he’d been waiting for his iced coffee for nearly fifteen minutes now. You politely tell him you’re working on it and you’ll get it out in no time. The man rolls his eyes but nonetheless waits.

And then once you got him his order with shaky hands. Once he was gone, you’d returned to the other orders and within a minute, the man marched right back in towards your area and shouted something about how the drink was disgusting and how badly can you screw up a simple iced coffee?

He could see the defeat in your eyes as he called you ‘stupid’ and decided to chime in with a firm grip on his coffee cup. “Sir, I don’t mean to cut in but I happened to overhear and as much as I understand your frustration, she’s new and maybe you could… I don’t know, give her a break? She’s just learning.” Spencer was never one to speak up. He hated to, but for you? He’d felt the need to. Especially when he saw you working very hard and even shaking to the point where he worried he may need to call a doctor before you pass out on the floor.

“Listen, pipecleaner,” The man scoffs at Spencer. “Why don’t you just back off? This doesn’t concern you.”

Spencer ever rarely pulls this card, but again, for you — he pulls out his badge out from his pocket and flashes it towards the man. “Actually, sir, I’m with the FBI and since I am with law enforcement, I can report and say you’re causing a disturbance to the store and verbally harassing an employee to her face. That could get you banned from the store, maybe even the police will be involved. And you don’t want to risk that over a simple iced coffee incident, do you?” The man looks at him dumbfounded and slack-jawed and when Spencer turns to you, your cheeks turn a soft shade of pink as you stare back, a little frazzled at the fact that he’d stood up to a customer for you. Sure, you had disgruntled customers in your life every now and then, but rarely did anyone stand up for you.

The man grumbles something under his breath and inevitably decides to leave the store and you look at Spencer, grateful and eyes widened, “Thank you.” Spencer nods, with a tight-lipped smile. “Of course, he was being a jerk.”

And the conversation ends there, you go back to trying to make drinks and Spencer finally gets his muffin but before he can leave, there’s a large clatter heard and he turns over to see you looking at the ground at the three coffees you’d just made and you frown, almost as if you’re on the verge of tears.

Your co-worker, who looks like she’s ready to wring your neck out, speaks to you calmly and tells you that she will handle the drinks and to just go on your break. You figure that’s the best thing you can do at the moment, without screwing anything else up. So, you walk out from behind the counter with your head in your hands.

And Spencer watches the whole thing and decides to follow you outside. He doesn’t know what it is that draws him outside to you, he was ready to leave. He got what he needed and didn’t need to be there any longer. But he was willing to spare a moment or two when he saw how distressed you were.

Once he entered outside, he saw you kick a chair over and quickly flinch when you kicked the chair too far towards the table and the umbrella outside had fallen on the cement and you quickly picked up the umbrella before anyone else witnessed you kick it over and you shut your eyes as you squat down and Spencer frowns as you let out a heart-wrenching sob that aches inside him. And you cry and cry and cry.

He doesn’t really know what to do, but he knows you’re upset. He stands there awkwardly, contemplating on going to bother you when you clearly don’t want to be bothered. But he musters up enough courage to walk towards you and clears his throat as he simply says — “Hi.”

You gasp and look to him before quickly wiping away your tears that cascaded and stained your cheeks. You take a moment to calm yourself down before wiping your hands on your apron. “I’m fine. Sorry.” You say, still looking at the ground and avoiding his eyes as you stand from where you’re sitting.

“I didn’t mean to just… invade your—” Spencer pauses, not knowing exactly how to refer your current breakdown. Would it be offensive to you if he did call it a breakdown? “Are you okay?” He manages a more simple approach, a friendly approach.

You exhale, hands on hips as you look up at him— “I’m normally not this bad, I swear. I just… today’s just been really overwhelming and I hate making the drinks, which is very ironic considering I work in a coffee shop and literally all they have me do is just be on the registers since that is the only thing I can’t manage to screw up and I really need this job because I need the money and I’m just so so tired all of the time since I work two jobs and I’m just… ugh.” You cover your eyes with the palms of your hands and look at the man and sigh more, “I’m so sorry, I’m very prone to ramble and to drone on and on and on, feel free to tell me shut up any time.”

Never, Spencer wants to say. I, too, am prone to rambling. And it’s refreshing to be on the opposite end of a good ramble.

“It’s okay,” He tells. “I’m sorry you’re having a bad day.” You sigh, “It’s not your fault. I really do appreciate you sticking up for me, you really didn’t have to.” Spencer shrugs a bit, “It’s really no problem. And he was being a jerk.”

“I kinda deserved it, though,” You say and Spencer furrows his brows in confusion because why would you think that? “I’m not that good at my job, if you haven’t noticed.”

“That’s ridiculous—” Spencer tries but you shake your head, disregarding his input. “No, I’m not. Every time I’m alone on drinks, I always have to ask for help. I always ask for help when I shouldn’t have to. I’ve been here two months, I should know all of this stuff by now. Why do you think I’m always on the register? I’m just a big fat jinx. I get in the way.”

It then clicked to him now. Your co-workers decided to continuously put you on cashier because they didn’t want you in the way. And when you tried, it ended up going awry. Spencer frowned, he believed you’d tried. No matter what, you were still trying to do your job. He pitied you, you didn’t deserve to feel like this about yourself. Because as far as he was concerned, you were trying. And not a lot of people did that. They often admitted defeat before they even had the chance to try.

You turn away from him so as not to look him in the face. You’d just poured your whole heart out to the man about how you felt about your job and he was a complete stranger. Somehow, it’d felt a little embarrassing but it was easier opening up to a total stranger than to someone you already know, at least to you.

“I don’t think you’re a jinx,” Spencer spoke up. “You’re still learning. It’s not your fault. Everyone works in different ways. You know, working styles typically fall into four unique types — idea oriented, logical, detail oriented and supportive.”

You tilt your head and furrow your brows, “And what type do you think I fit?” You wonder with a cross of your arms, intrigued by the conversation. He gawks at you for a moment before thinking to himself. “I think you’re the supportive type. You’re empathetic and people oriented. At least from what I’ve seen when you take my order. You really do try, even if you don’t think you do. You are. At least you’re trying. That’s more than what other people do.”

You stare at the man interestingly, studying him almost. He was nice to you, you were just as much a stranger to him as he was to you. “Thanks.” You smile. You stare at each other for a minute before Spencer pauses — “So you said you’ve only been working here a few months?”

“Yeah, I can’t really afford living in this economy nowadays. Had to get two jobs to live.” You reply and Spencer nods, “Yeah, I’ve only seen you a handful of times, so I… I just happened to notice.”

He wasn’t going to add onto the fact that he watches every time that you do work, he notices when you scrunch up your nose when you’re focused, he notices that you sing to yourself every once in a while or that you walk around like you’re on a mission.

“Really?” You ask.

Spencer nods, “Yeah, trust me, you’re not an easy person to forget. That and I do have an eidetic memory, so it’s easy not to forget.”

“So, like… a photographic memory?” You ask and Spencer winces as he corrects— “It’s not quite the same, considering eidetic memory is a more short-term form of memory while photographic memory, on the other hand, is thought to be a more long-term form of memory.” You chuckle a bit, already admiring little quirks you’ve never seen before. Especially not in a man as delicious as him.

“S-Sorry, I… I tend to ramble.” Now, he was the one apologizing.

“Hey, I’m not judging. I just poured my heart out to you not that long ago.” You chuckle again and look around. “I should, uh, probably get back to work. I only get ten minutes.”

Spencer nods with wide eyes, “Yeah, uh, I should go, too. I… I work, too. At the BAU in Quantico, in fact.”

“Oh, really?” You ask, another interesting thing to mark down in your mental note. “FBI?” Spencer nods, “Yes, I, uh—” Before he can even go into detail about what he does for a living, someone calls your name and informs you to come back in since you’re ten minute break was now up.

Man, time flies when you’re speaking with a handsome stranger that doesn’t think you’re a jinx.

You turn back to Spencer with an awkward chuckle, “Well, I should get back. Maybe I’ll see you around again soon?” Spencer nods, “Yes, I hope to see you again soon, too.”

You wave at him goodbye and begin to walk back towards the doors. “Uh,” You hear Spencer and whip your head back around to see his gears turning in his head. “If you ever… want to, uh, go get coffee— at another place, that is… sometime, would-would you… be up for that? S-Sometime?”

You smirk at him and his attempt of asking you out. “Yeah, I’d like that.” You say and Spencer gives you a crooked smile. You go to push the door open, only then realizing it’s a fucking pull door and pull it open and walk back in without another word, leaving Spencer with a large smile on his face the rest of the day.

He’d gone back to the coffee shop the very next morning and ordered the usual. Only this time, he’d saw a little message written on the side of his cup. Your phone number etched with a heart and your name right next to it.

XXX-XXX-XXXX

ㅤ♡ Y/n

call me sometime, cutie!

Needless to say, Spencer kept going to the coffee shop. And it wasn’t just for the coffee anymore.

[justarkive]

TABLE 3 | JJK ch16

“For good service, and cute waitresses.”

pairing: pre!military jk x waitress/secret fuckbuddy!oc

Before Jungkook enlists in the military, his life takes an unexpected turn when he visits a local restaurant with friends and meets a waitress who doesn’t recognize him. Surprised by your lack of star-struck reaction, Jungkook finds himself drawn to your down-to-earth nature, especially his previous struggles with the pressure of constant drama on social media regarding his relationships. Little do you know, Jungkook is about to leave for the military, which inevitably bring’s complications to their connection… do they find a way to fix it?

overall warnings: smut, profanity, angst, humour, fluff, celebrity au, idol!jungkook , mentions of other kpop groups/idols, inner conflict, insecurity.

chapter contents: ANGST. like the whole thing is angst lol. jungkook cries for like 90% of this chapter. nari is SO fucking angry omg. oc breaks tf down. the chapter weve all been dreading is here </3 idk but its just like super angsty and sad im sorry lmfao

wc: not thattt long

this fic is not meant to represent the real jungkook or any other characters mentioned!

taglist: @jenniebyrubies @dreamersparacosm @darklove2020 @rayyrayy10 @elinaki92 @alana4610 @bjoriis @kaitieskidmore97 @cuntessaiii

a/n: rushed to get this out, and this is like prob the worst part of the story to rush. so im very very sorry if this didnt meet expectations cause it didnt really meet mine, but imma be busy for a bit. but ANYWAYS!! tysm for reading and ILY MWAHH. also pre warning to my smut lovers… there wont be much for a while. LMFAO.

masterlist, < prev | next >

“Jungkook, honey, when will you be enlisting?”

The question lands like a gunshot.

Jungkook tenses immediately. His brain spins.

He knew this was coming.

You see it happen—his grip on his chopsticks tightening, his whole body subtly stiffening, like he’s bracing himself. Like he’s debating whether to lie.

For a fleeting second, he considers lying. The words I haven’t decided yet are right there, waiting on his tongue—

But he can’t.

Not in front of your parents.

Not in front of you.

Before he can say anything, Nari—who has now fully given up on finishing the food your parents have shoved in front of her—speaks up, still looking a little sick.

“Oh, Auntie,” she pauses, tilting her head. “I swear idols don’t have to enlist? And Jungkook—well—he’s definitely more than just a damn idol.”

“Nari! Language!” your mom whisper-shouts.

“Sorry, sorry,” she mutters.

You snort, but then—

Your dad hums, turning to Jungkook with an easy grin. “You didn’t apply for exemption, did you? Too many idols these days are lazy, trying to avoid it.”

Jungkook’s head is ringing. His hands are clammy.

This was not how he wanted to tell you.

He tries to keep his composure, but his fingers twitch against his jeans as he stares down at his plate, trying—failing—to find the right response.

You tilt your head, and Jungkook exhales, thankful that you’re stalling unintentionally, but his heart aches at how oblivious you are for whats about to come. “Dad, I swear you didn’t enlist?”

Your dad gasps, hand over his heart. “What?! Honey, don’t expose me like that!”

You giggle.

But your dad cuts in. “Nari, honey, they can apply for exemption.” He smirks. “But Jungkook here doesn’t seem like the type, so I doubt he would.”

You let out a breathy chuckle at his tone—but Jungkook? doesn’t even react.

You glance over at him, confused.

And that’s when you notice, he’s staring down at his plate. Picking at his food. Shoulders tight.

Then, finally—

“Yeah…” His voice is quiet. “I didn’t apply.”

A weird, unsettling feeling starts creeping up your spine.

It’s fine, you think. You guess.

You try not to read into it.

Your mom beams. “Oh, how wonderful!”

Your dad nods approvingly. “Good son! It’s only right. Too many try to weasel their way out of it these days.” He claps Jungkook on the back, and Jungkook barely sways from the impact.

You don’t think too much of it at first.

But—

Why didn’t you know about this?

It’s not like you talk about the military all the time, but still. Something like this—you’d think he would have mentioned it.

So, you ask, all casual, assuming, “It’s not soon, right?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer.

The whole table listens in, but Nari—now more alert—watches him intently. Probably just as confused as you are. Your parents are still oblivious, still smiling, still talking, but Jungkook—

He’s pale.

Fidgety.

His hand curls into a tight fist on his thigh.

And then, “December 12th.”

That’s-

Three weeks.

Your mom gasps in admiration. “That’s so soon! You must be so prepared, Jungkook, honey!”

Your dad grins. “Oh this is great! We need more like you!”

They praise him. Clap him on the back. Smile and celebrate and talk about how proud they are of him.

But you—

You can’t hear any of it.

Your world has just—stopped.

December 12.

December 12.

That’s in—

Your stomach drops.

Your heartbeat slams in your ears.

Because he’s known. He’s known this entire time. And he never told you.

You feel Nari stiffen beside you.

You feel Jungkook’s eyes on you.

You feel the weight of every moment you’ve spent with him, every touch, every kiss, every look—

And suddenly, they all feel different.

Your mom is oblivious, still smiling.

Your eyes flick to Nari, who is already looking at Jungkook with pure anger.

Jungkook?

Jungkook doesn’t even try to meet your gaze anymore.

He looks down, fingers tightening around his jeans, jaw clenched, face tense.

And you?

You don’t look at him, either.

You can’t. Because if you do. If you let yourself feel—

This whole moment will collapse.

The realization. The pure fucking heartbreak. The slow, suffocating understanding that he’s known all along. That he’s been lying to you this entire time.

Your stomach churns. Your chest tightens. It feels like the room is spinning.

In the background—

Your dad is still praising him.

Your mom is smiling.

They don’t know.

They don’t know that you’re sitting here, staring at the man you’ve been falling for, realizing he let you fall knowing he was going to leave. And he didn’t tell you.

You don’t say anything. Because you can’t.

Because if you open your mouth, you’ll either scream or cry, and you don’t know which one is worse.

You sit there. Expression neutral. Heart in pieces. And for the rest of dinner, you pretend everything is fine.

Because what else can you do?

“Honey this is amazing!” your mom praises. “You should be so proud of yourself sweetheart. Not enough idols do this nowadays. They’re too lazy—but you! You’re different.”

Your dad grins. “Good for you, kid. That’s real responsibility.”

Jungkook forces a smile, nodding politely. “Thank you…”

But. You don’t say anything. You can’t. Because everything in you has just—stopped.

He’s not joking. He’s not lying.

And when you glance across the table. Nari is staring back at you, frozen. Expression blank.

Because she knows. She knows what this means.

You swallow thickly, blinking a few times before finally forcing yourself to react—plastering on a small, tight-lipped smile. Your mom notices. “Oh, honey, did you not know?”

You make the mistake of glancing at Jungkook.

And the second you do, your stomach twists, because he’s looking right at you. And there’s something in his expression—guilt, maybe?

You don’t know. You don’t want to know.

So you tear your gaze away, forcing out a quiet, “No.”Your smile is strained. “I didn’t.”

But your parents don’t notice anything wrong at all. They don’t notice how he’s broken your heart into a million pieces and thrown it onto the fucking plate.

“Oh, sweetheart, you should be proud of him,” your mom says, nudging your arm. “That’s real dedication.”

Your dad nods. “Yeah, not like these new idols. Always finding loopholes to get out of it.”

Jungkook laughs a little, though it’s barely there. “Right…”

You don’t look at him. You don’t dare. The conversation shifts.

Your parents are still chatting away, completely oblivious, but the air at the table has turned suffocating.

Jungkook is tense.

Nari is pissed, sending him quiet but absolutely lethal glares between sips of water she’s clearly no longer enjoying.

And you?

Your ears are ringing.

Every sound feels distant, like you’re underwater, like you’re not really here. Your mom’s voice is coming from somewhere—she’s asking you something, something about your job, your life, your well-being. You try to answer. You swear you try.

But everything in you is screaming to just—leave. Because the longer you sit here, the more you feel like you might snap.

Jungkook keeps trying to look at you. You can feel it, the weight of his gaze burning into the side of your face. But you don’t look back. You can’t.

Finally. After what feels like hours, your parents get up. Your mom claps her hands. “Alright, we should get going.”

Your dad nods. “Yeah, it’s getting late.”

You almost sag in relief.

But then, it’s time for goodbyes.

And your parents never leave quickly, your mother—God bless her—takes another ten minutes to actually leave.

They offer to help clean up. “No, Auntie, it’s okay,” Nari says so fast that it’s almost aggressive. She stands abruptly, already stacking plates, ushering them toward the door like a damn bouncer.

Your mom takes her sweet time hugging you, kissing your cheek, stroking your hair like you’re a child. “Take care of yourself, honey, okay?”

Your dad is just as bad, clapping Jungkook on the back, laughing at something he says.

And then—

Right before they leave—

For the first time all night—you look at him.

He stands frozen, stiff as a board, as your dad extends a hand. Jungkook hesitates. And then, slowly, he takes it.

It’s an easy handshake at first. But then your dad’s grip tightens, his free hand coming up to clasp Jungkook’s shoulder.

A grin. A squeeze.

And then, “Treat her right, son.”

Something snaps. Jungkook swallows so hard you hear it.

You almost break. Your vision blurs. Your chest tightens. For a split second, your heart begs you to stop. To not let this ruin everything.

Silence.

Jungkook stiffens beside you, but you don’t even glance at him.

You just—nod.

Then, finally—finally—the door swings shut.

And then—

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Nari screams, running a hand through her hair. The sound shatters through the air, echoing off the walls, rattling your bones.

You flinch—because she’s loud, yes—but also because you feel it. All of it. All at once.

Your entire body crumbles.

Tears spill down your cheeks so fast, so violently, that your vision swims. Your breath catches—hitches—and then you’re gasping.

Jungkook is shocked.

Because this? this is worse than he imagined.

He expected you to yell. To curse him out. To demand answers. But this? This silent, broken kind of crying?

This hurts so much more.

And the worst part? He did this to you.

Jungkook barely breathes. You barely stand.

The weight of it all—the realization, the betrayal, the embarrassment—is crushing you.

Your chest tightens. Your throat burns.

And Nari? Nari is just getting started.

“When the fuck were you planning on telling her this?!” she shrieks, hands shaking, voice cracking. “Were you just gonna disappear one day? Huh? Just vanish without a goddamn word?”

Jungkook flinches.

But he doesn’t speak.

“How could you even come here today?” she hisses, stepping closer. “Meet her fucking parents? You embarrassed her, and I fucking hate you for it, Jungkook.”

He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t fight back.

Because what could he even say? He just—stands there. Takes it.

But his eyes—his eyes never leave you. You, who hasn’t spoken a single word. You, who is just standing there—staring at the floor, trembling.

You, who looks like you’re about to collapse.

But Nari—she isn’t done.

“I actually thought you were good,” she spits, voice shaking with rage. “I actually thought—maybe, just maybe—you weren’t like the rest of them. But this? This is worse.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenches. His hands shake.

“Did you plan this all along?” she demands.

“No,” he whispers.

It’s all he can say.

Because anything else would be a lie.

“That’s it?!” Nari’s voice shatters. “That’s all you have to fucking say?!”

And then—

Jungkook moves. Takes a step toward you. Reaches out.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes.

You flinch. Like his touch would burn you. Like he’s something you need to get away from.

Jungkook freezes.

His heart shatters more than it already has. But before he can even process it—

“DON’T FUCKING TOUCH HER!” Nari screams. “SORRY WON’T FUCKING FIX THIS!”

And then— You break.

“Get out.” Your voice rips from your throat, raw, quiet, desperate.

Jungkook stares.

He saw this coming. He knew this was coming.

And yet. Somehow, he’s still surprised.

Because this—this is final.

This is you letting go.

And he can’t accept it.

“Wait,” he chokes, voice frantic, desperate. “Please—”

But you? You just—give up. Your knees buckle. Your body collapses. And suddenly—Nari snaps.

“You fucking heard her.”

And before Jungkook can even think, before he can even breathe, Nari shoves him back.

Pushes him toward the door.

“Go.”

Jungkook is begging.

“Please,” he gasps, trying to look at you, trying to reach for you. “Baby, please—”

But you—

You don’t look at him.

“Don’t fucking call-“ You turn away.

And then, the door slams shut.

The loudest sound in the room isn’t your sobs anymore—it’s the door clicking shut. His scent lingers, his touch still lingers, and the memory of his eyes when he begged you, his voice soft- begging as he called you “baby,” is burned into your mind.

Nari is beside you, her anger radiating, palpable in the air.

Outside

Jungkook doesn’t move. His forehead rests against the door, fingers curled into fists at his sides. His chest is heaving. His vision is blurring.

He’s begging.

Not out loud—no, because he knows that won’t work.

But in his head—inside his breaking, desperate heart— He’s begging.

“Please open the door.”

“Please say this was a joke.”

“Please tell me this isn’t real.”

He selfishly hopes you’ll open the door with that same smile on your face. Your eyes swollen from crying, your face puffy, but still, he imagines you pulling him in, kissing him like you always do, running your fingers through his hair the way you did earlier, and telling him, “I’m not mad at you, stupid. You’re such a dumbass, stop crying.”

But, he knows it’s real.

He knows he fucked up. Selfishly, he craves just one more minute, hoping somehow you’ll give in, even though he knows it’s impossible. He should’ve told you. He fucking knows it.

God, he just wants one more chance. Just one more minute to make things right. His breath is shaky, uneven as he tilts his head back against the wood, squeezing his eyes shut.

From inside—

He hears you.

And his whole world stops.

Inside

On the inside, you sit against the door, still sobbing, your mind racing through everything you two have shared. How fucking real it all felt. For him to just end it like that—it doesn’t make sense. You thought you had more time, that you could actually do this with him. But he fucked up. You can’t figure out what else to do, what to think.

Legs curled up, fingers clutching the fabric of your sweater, tears streaming down your face.

You shouldn’t be here.

You should be angry, should be yelling, should be hating him with everything in you.

But instead?

You’re waiting.

Waiting for him to knock.

Waiting for him to say it was all a prank, that he somehow set this up with your parents, that this isn’t really happening—

That he isn’t leaving.

But— He doesn’t.

And Nari? Nari sees it all.

“Oh my fucking God,” she snaps. “Y/N, get the fuck UP.”

You flinch.

But you don’t move. You can’t.

“Are you serious right now?” she demands. “Are you actually serious? After everything? After all of this? You’re still sitting there waiting for him like a fucking sad puppy?!”

Your fingers tighten around your sleeves.

Your breath shudders. Because she’s right.

You hate that she’s right. But it doesn’t stop you from wanting him anyway.

Outside

Jungkook can hear everything. The muffled sounds of Nari yelling.

The tiny, broken sounds of you crying.

And suddenly, he can’t breathe. His throat tightens. His fingers dig into his hair as his body shakes, as his mind races. “What the fuck did I do.”

It’s hitting him now. All of it.

The way you flinched from his touch. The way you collapsed the second he walked out the door. The way you haven’t opened it since.

The reality of it all. That he was always going to hurt you. That this was always going to end this way. That you—the one person who ever made him feel normal, made him feel safe, made him feel like just Jungkook and not fucking BTS Jungkook—

You’re gone. And he did it. He did this.

Inside

You wipe at your face, sniffing, eyes puffy, throat raw. But you don’t move from the door.

Even though you know he’s not coming back. Even though you know this is over. Even though you should hate him—

You don’t.

You still love him.

And that’s the worst part of all. Because even after all of this— Even after everything—

You still would have chosen him.

Outside

Jungkook isn’t crying anymore.

Not because it doesn’t hurt. Not because he isn’t breaking apart, piece by piece, on this very doorstep. But because— He feels numb.

Like his body has shut down entirely.Like his mind has accepted what his heart refuses to. Like he knows there’s nothing left to say.

But still. He doesn’t leave. Instead, he sits there. Back against the door. Knees drawn up. Eyes red. Ears straining.

Because he knows he shouldn’t, but he listens. Selfishly.

Desperately.

Pathetically clinging onto the last part of you he has left:

Your voice.

Inside

The silence is loud. It’s heavy.

It hangs over the room like thick smoke—like something toxic, something suffocating, something that lingers in your lungs long after the damage is done. You’re not crying anymore.

Neither is Nari screaming. But she’s still fuming. Still pacing. Still muttering under her breath, hands clenching at her sides, voice low and dangerous.

“He’s dead to me.”

You exhale.

And then—

“Nari, please stop.” Your voice is hoarse. Tired. Defeated. And just like that—

Nari softens. She hesitates for a moment, then sighs, sinking down next to you, knees brushing. Her anger is still there, simmering just beneath the surface.

But right now?

Right now, she’s more concerned about you.

You just laugh. A broken, breathless, manic little laugh, something that barely even sounds like you.

“I think I fell in love with him.” Unsteady. Blurted.

Like you’re just now realizing it yourself.

Like the words are only just now settling into your bones, taking root in your chest, hitting you with full force.

Nari exhales.

She looks at you, something soft behind her gaze.

“Wow,” she murmurs. “You’re just now realizing?”

You don’t answer. You just blink, staring blankly ahead, expression unreadable.

Outside

Jungkook breaks all over again. Because he hears it. Every word. Every breath. And he knows he has no right to. But still. He presses his forehead against the door. Shuts his eyes. And cries. Harder.

——

Jungkook stays longer than he should.

Longer than makes sense.

Longer than is reasonable, considering he’s not even sure if he’s breathing at this point, or if his body is just running on pure muscle memory—just existing on this doorstep like it’s the last place he’ll ever belong.

A door creaks.

A neighbor steps out, and old man who clearly isn’t happy about the commotion, barely sparing him a glance before walking back inside.

And then another.

And another.

And soon, Jungkook realizes, people are staring.

Of course they are.

Of course the guy hunched over on the doorstep, looking like he just got physically wrecked by the universe, is gonna get some attention.

Finally, he forces himself to move. To stand. To leave.

His legs feel like they’re made of lead.

His head is still spinning.

But he shoves his hands in his pockets, pulls his hoodie up over his face, and drags himself away—

From you. From everything.

And he doesn’t look back.

Not even once.

——

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting there.

Time doesn’t feel real.

It feels like the air in the room is thick, like something heavy is pressing down on your chest, keeping you in place.

“Was it even…fucking real?” Your voice is sharp. Raw.

Loud enough that Nari actually flinches beside you, turning to face you with wide eyes. But you don’t stop. You can’t.

“Was this his fucking plan all along? Like, what was it? Was it all just—was it just—” You can’t even finish the sentence. You just shake your head, laughing bitterly, the sound more painful than anything else.

“Was any of it real?”

Nari stares at you.

And for the first time tonight—

She doesn’t have an immediate answer. Her lips part, like she wants to say something.

She exhales.

“I fucking hate him for this.”

Her voice is quieter now. Softer. Like the anger has dulled—like it’s settled into something else.

“But I know it was real.”

You freeze. You blink at her.

“What?”

“You’re blind, Y/N,” she murmurs, shaking her head. “Stop trying to make conclusions that aren’t there.”

Your chest tightens.

“Then—then why?” Your voice cracks.

And Nari exhales again, looking down.

“He was scared.” And the second the words leave her mouth, the second they sink in, you feel like the ground beneath you just— Collapses.

The room is unbearably quiet now.

Your tears have dried. Your breathing has evened out. Your body isn’t shaking anymore. But inside?

Inside, you still feel like you’ve been hollowed out and left to rot.

You stare at the ceiling, vision unfocused.

You can feel Nari beside you, sitting cross-legged on the couch which she’d dragged you to, scrolling through her phone like she isn’t still raging inside. Like she isn’t still thinking of all the ways she could actually kill Jungkook and make it look like an accident.

“Y/N.” Her voice is firm. You blink.

“Look at me.”

You do.

She sets her phone down, leveling you with a stare so serious that, for a second, you think she might actually be about to lecture you.

And, well—

You’re right.

“There is no way that shit was not fucking real.”

You exhale through your nose.

“Nari—”

“No, shut the fuck up, I’m talking.”

You blink at her.

“Jungkook did not spend all this time with you, did not look at you the way he did, did not literally put himself, his career at risk, just for it to be nothing,” she continues. “Do you hear yourself? Like, do you hear how insane you sound right now?”

You press your lips together.

“He was scared,” she says, softer now. “That’s it. That’s literally all there is to it. He was scared, and he was selfish, and he didn’t tell you because he didn’t want to deal with the fact that he had to fucking leave. That’s not an excuse, by the way, it’s just—” she exhales, shaking her head. “It’s just the truth.”

You don’t respond. You just stare at her.

“This was never just casual for him,” she mutters. “That’s not what you should be worried about.”

Your throat tightens.

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

Nari doesn’t have an answer. She stares at you. And then, “I don’t know.”

The two of you just—sit there.

Exhausted. Numb. Waiting for something—

Even though neither of you know what.

The silence lingers.

It settles into the room like dust—slow, heavy, inescapable.

Neither of you move for a long time.

You don’t cry anymore. Nari doesn’t rant anymore. The rage, the heartbreak, the tension—it’s all dulled into exhaustion, weighing down every inch of your body.

Eventually, though—

“Come on,” Nari murmurs.

You don’t react.

“Y/N.”

A hand nudges your arm.

“Let’s go to bed.”

You exhale.

Then, finally—finally—you move.

You don’t even bother freshening up. You don’t even turn on the lights. But— “No, bitch, you need to take off your makeup.”

You blink, disoriented, as Nari flicks on the bathroom light and drags you toward the sink. “You don’t wanna break out, do you?” she mutters, trying to act normal. Trying to lighten the mood.

You stare at your reflection, and you look…bad.

Your eyes are puffy. Your nose is red. Your lips are swollen from crying.

You just look tired.

Nari wets a cotton pad.

You don’t stop her as she presses it to your face, wiping away the remnants of your mascara.

You don’t say anything when she takes out your skincare, applying it carefully, murmuring little instructions like “Look up” and “This one says…hydration”—

Just like he did.

Your chest aches.

You pretend it’s him.

Pretend it’s his fingers against your skin. Pretend he’s standing in front of you, talking through every step, teasing you for not taking better care of your face.

Nari knows exactly what you’re doing.

But she doesn’t say anything.

She just keeps going.

And when she’s finished, she clicks off the light and pulls you into your room, not giving you the chance to be alone.

You don’t argue.

You just follow.

You both collapse onto your bed, and Nari doesn’t hesitate before wrapping her arms around you.

You cling to her tighter than you ever have before.

She doesn’t say anything about it.

Just lets you press your face into her shoulder, lets you shake against her, lets you hold on as if she’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

And even though Nari is always the first to knock out.

Tonight, she fights to stay awake.

She waits. She listens to your breathing slow, doesn’t move, doesn’t shift, doesn’t let go—

Not until she’s absolutely sure you’ve finally fallen asleep

[reccyls]

Victor's Main Route: Chapter 5

< Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter >

Victor: It’s time we re-evaluated your duties!

Kate: W-whoa!

Victor made a grand announcement as soon as I opened the door to his office. Surprised and confused, I stepped in.

Victor: Now, please take a seat. This is a very important task ahead of us.

Kate: Um, thank you?

Victor pulled out my usual chair. Holding back my questions, I sat down. He took his seat across from me with a serious look on his face. With his elbows on the table, he laced his fingers together.

Victor: Kate, I’ve been thinking for a while.

I swallowed nervously. Seconds passed in silence. And then, as he drew in a deep breath, Victor spread his hands wide.

Victor: Aren’t you doing far too much work!?

Kate: …Huh?

I couldn’t help the noise of confusion that left my mouth when I heard the exact opposite of what I was expecting. Still looking deadly serious, Victor continued passionately.

Victor: What exactly are your current duties!?

Kate: Um… I accompany Crown on missions and record what happens, and I also help you with your work here.

Victor: That’s right, your work even includes that now!

Kate: Uh…

(Well, I didn’t set out intending to become Victor’s assistant…)

Recording what happened during Crown’s missions were my duties as Fairytale Keeper. But the main reason I began helping Victor with his work was because I wanted to learn more about him.

(But it’s not as if it’s really difficult or anything…)

Normally it only took an hour to finish, maybe two or three at the most. And on top of that, having half an hour to an hour of break for tea time here in the office had already become a part of my daily routine.

Victor: Maybe you yourself don’t see it, but I think you’re already doing more than enough work.

Kate: But I think you have a lot more work than I do…

Victor: I’m fine. It’s to be expected as Her Majesty’s aide, after all.

I’ve seen how much work VIctor has to do each and every day. I doubted that there was anyone else who worked as hard as he did. Even during his rare days off, he was always thinking about Crown’s matters. It was like even his private life had become entirely consumed by work.

Victor: By now, you’ve already been on a mission with everyone in Crown, haven’t you?

Kate: Yes, that’s right. But only when you requested that I join them.

I’d never been on a mission outside of the ones where Victor requested my presence. So that’s why I didn’t feel like I’d been doing too much. However…

Victor: I was wondering whether it was time you became someone’s personal Fairytale Keeper.

Kate: A personal Fairytale Keeper?

Victor: Isn’t it overwhelming if you have to join everyone on their missions, and write reports on all of them? Victor: I had thought it was a good idea. However…

Kate: Victor?

Victor: Ah, it’s nothing.

There was a slight pain in Victor’s expression. He slowly opened his mouth to continue, as though it was hurting him to speak.

Victor: It’s just that it might make it difficult for you to come by so often to help me, so I realized how lonely I’d be.

(He really thinks that?)

Kate: I’d also be lonely if we stopped doing this.

Though I found VIctor’s behavior cute, I also felt the same way. I figured I should tell him directly. Although I hadn’t been doing this for very long, this routine with Victor had already become a comfort to me.

(When I go on missions with Crown, I learn more and more about the injustice that exists in the world. And every time, I wonder just what it is that I can do.) (I keep trying to face forward and meet things head on, but I can’t help but think that…)

Every time I witnessed another tragedy, I felt the urge to do something. But the knowledge of how little I could do haunted me.

(That’s why the time I spend with Victor is so important to me.)

Even though I didn’t speak about it, maybe Victor noticed something anyway. He never asked me about the missions in any detail when I’m in his office.

Kate: I want to keep going on missions with Crown as Fairytale Keeper, and I also want to keep working with you. Kate: Is that alright?

I must have looked nervous. With a conflicted smile, Victor opened his mouth.

Victor: If that is what you wish. Victor: But if it’s ever too much, you must let me know immediately, okay?

Kate: I will. Thank you.

With that discussion done, I got ready to start working. However…

Victor: But you really have been working too hard lately. You should rest for today.

He stood up and headed for his desk.

Victor: You stayed up late last night researching to prepare for the mission you’re going on with William, didn’t you? Victor: You’re doing more than anyone asked of you. So rest your wings a while.

Kate: But-

(Isn’t there a lot to do today?)

As I was about to ask Victor that, he firmly shook his head.

Victor: Take it as a personal request from me.

He looked at me with puppy-dog eyes, everything about him radiating cuteness. I felt my heart skip a beat.

Victor: Pretty please?

(I’m sure if Jude or Harrison were here, they’d call this gross and tell VIctor to stop acting like a child.) (But there’s no way I can say no to that face…)

Victor was normally the ever-reliable man of a hundred talents. Seeing him act like this hit me right in the heart.

(I can’t rule out that he knows I’m weak to this kind of thing, but still…)

His eyes were practically sparkling. The gap between now and his normal behavior made my pulse race in my ears.

(I know he’s messing with me, but I’m still going to say yes anyway.)

Kate: Fine, I will.

Victor: Excellent! Have a good rest.

I gave him a nod as he waved goodbye to me, and left his office. Dark clouds hung in the sky outside.

-----

William: So you knew he was manipulating you, and you still lost.

Kate: “Lost” is a strong word… But… yeah…

We were seated at the upper floor of the theater. I kept my eyes on the stage and my voice low as I spoke with William. He looked amused as he rested his chin on one hand and similarly kept his eyes on the performance. Young, beautiful actresses were performing on the stage. However, their acting skills were still quite rough. It was pretty obvious that they were all new to the stage. Today’s mission was to approach the women under the pretext of becoming their patrons, Investigate to see if they were potential targets of human trafficking, and collect solid evidence if so. Sitting in the box across from us was the suspect, an aristocrat who was eyeing the women on stage with a cigar in hand.

William: Victor knows that look works on you. William: He’s not one to put on the cute act otherwise.

Kate: I know…

On stage, the actress’ eyes sparkled with excitement.

That there could exist a future where that brightness would end up snatched away was unforgivable.

(According to William, the theater staff are all also accomplices. None of them should escape justice either.) (We have to do something before things get worse.)

Before their eyes, so brilliant in the pursuit of their dreams and belief in the future, clouded over. Maybe I was getting more worked up than usual because these actresses were performing on the stage that I held so dear, and they were similar in age to me.

William: I won’t need to be that forceful. But I will pass judgment on that man, and everyone else involved, before these women become victims.

Kate: That’s a relief to hear.

My eyes darted back to our target. He was whispering to someone who looked like he was one of the involved theater staff.

William: Seems that things are moving quickly.

The staff member briefly left, and when he returned, he had a piece of paper in his hand.

Kate: That’s…

William: A sales contract.

The target scribbled on the contract with a quill pen, then withdrew a check from his pocket. He exchanged it for the contract, and then the staff member left once more.

William: It’s time for our mission to begin.

Applause filled the theater as the curtains drew to a close. Seeing our target stand, we also stood.

William: We’ll seize the contract from the target as planned.

Kate: Got it.

We exited the main stage area before our target did, and made sure to stand apart from each other as we walked down the corridor. As the suspect appeared, William called out to him.

William: You’ve left awfully early. Are you not staying for the curtain call?

Target: Lord Rex! To think I’d meet you here.

Distracted by William, the target didn’t notice me hiding behind him.

Target: Well, the acting was quite poor, if you’ll forgive me for saying so. Target: I wasn’t in the mood to watch for much longer.

William: I’d prefer to say that those actresses still have room to grow.

Target: Ah yes, that’s right. It’s–

As he was getting drawn into the conversation, I approached the target from behind, and bumped into him.

Kate: Oh, I’m sorry!

Target: What do you think you’re doing?

Kate: I’m so sorry, I was going to the restroom and I got turned around.

As I lied shamelessly, William brushed his hand across the target’s coat.

William: Oh my, you have something stuck there.

Target: Do I? Where?

As the target was distracted by trying to check his coat, I saw my chance and reached for the target’s inner pocket. It wasn’t difficult to steal the contract.

William: It’s alright, I’ve got it.

Target: Thank you very much. And as for you-

I kept the contract hidden behind my back as the man glared at me. William spoke up.

William: If she hadn’t bumped into you, I wouldn’t have noticed the dirt stuck to your coat. William: Thank you, miss.

You’re welcome.

I’m sorry for bumping into you. (+4/+4)

Smile awkwardly.

Kate: I’m sorry for bumping into you, sir.

Target: …I’ll let you off just this once.

William: The restroom is that way, miss. You can’t miss it. William: Well then, we shall be leaving first. William: Do be careful. And now, if you’ll excuse us.

Kate: Thank you very much.

After making sure both the target and William were gone, I started running in the other direction. Stashing the contract deep in my purse, I left through the emergency exit.

(I’m glad it worked.)

When William suggested that I steal the contract while he distract the target, I was nervous whether I’d be able to do it. But everything had gone according to plan. I felt my shoulders drop as the tension bled out of me. However, the mission wasn’t over yet.

(It’s not over until I rendezvous with William and we return to the castle!)

If we didn’t return with the evidence, then the entire mission would be pointless. My hands tightened around the strap of my purse and I steeled myself.

Kate: …Alright.

The plan was to sneak around to the other side of the theater through the alleyways, meet William, and then take a carriage back to the castle. If I head straight to the meeting point with no delays, it’s only a few minutes away. Even though this was an alleyway, there were plenty of people passing by out in front. I’d been told that it was a safe area, but still…

(It’s better to hurry.)

The silence was starting to get to me, so I took another deep breath to calm down and started walking faster. Just a little while ago, I was regularly navigating alleys like these to make my deliveries. But maybe because it’s been a while since I’d walked around by myself, I was starting to feel nervous. My hands tightened again around my purse. I was always supposed to be accompanied by someone from Crown if I left the castle. At first, I had thought of it as a way to keep me in line. But as I’d gotten to know Crown better and realize that they were protecting me, they began to feel more like escorts than wardens.

(And Victor always makes me feel the safest.)

He always had a kind word ready, and a gentle look. Whether he acted cheerfully or adorably, Spending time with Victor always made me relaxed. It made me happy.

(Maybe it’s because Victor always puts others first.)

Every time I noticed a small act of consideration from Victor, it filled my heart with warmth. This level of care must be why he’s able to succeed in his role as the queen’s aide.

(...I really want to see him.)

Tomorrow, in his office. When I open the door, he’ll be waiting for me with a soft smile. And he’d ask me: “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

(When I get back, I’ll write up my report immediately and hand it to him first thing tomorrow morning.)

While I was daydreaming, I checked to make sure no one else was walking down this alley, but–

(Huh?)

I saw the fluttering of black hair disappear around a corner deeper into the alleyways.

Kate: Victor?

Although I only caught a glimpse of him, that was unmistakably Victor.

(What is he doing here?)

I found myself turning to follow him, drawn in by how much I had wanted to meet him. I approached slowly. Voices echoed in the alley, and Victor’s was among them.

Victor: –evil.

I heard the sound of groaning, and I hurriedly rounded the corner.

(...What…?)

The sight of several people sprawled on the ground met my eyes. They had their hands wrapped tightly around their own necks, rapturous expressions on their faces. They were dead.

Kate: Ah… wha-

In response to the shock I couldn’t contain, Victor spun around, illuminated by the light of the moon. The eyes that met mine were impossibly cold, almost inhuman. My voice died in my throat as I realized… …I knew nothing. I was just a little robin, kept safe and ignorant inside a cushion-lined cage.

[crazedear]

Joongdok (ORV) Fanfic recs

GUESS WHO'S BACK? BACK AGAIN? That's right folks, your girlie just got into another fandom that has completely taken ahold of her life and is going to be all she thinks about and hyper fixates on for the next few weeks until she once again enters a state of misery before finding smth new.

To be honest, ORV is one of those fandoms that I'd actually hate to get tired of BECAUSE ITS SO GOOD and there's still so much content for me to get thru. I'm going to be fed so well. But anyways enough of the ranting, even though if I could, I would def write a whole separate blog just ranting about ORV as a whole but yall are here for the ao3 recs and as always, I'm here to serve.

Once again I'm still on the search for more and I aim for quality, not quantity (Kind of) ALSO, I love Canon-divergence fics, so if any of you have recs, PLEASE TELL ME. ahem thank you.

Rendezvous Written by: WindsOfTime

Rated: T

Words: 39,658 (Complete - Chapters 6/6)

Yoo Joonghyuk and Kim Dokja's communication skills leave a lot to be desired, but as millennials, you'd think they'd at least remember to check their messages.

Or: a look at what canon could have been if Midday Tryst had been used more often.

Retrouvailles Written by: WindsOfTime

Rated: T

Words: 67,592 (Complete - Chapters 10/10)

Retrouvaille (French noun): 1. Reunion 2. (By extension) Retrouvailles: re-establishment of an interrupted relationship; reconciliation.

Thanks to more frequent uses of Midday Tryst during the early scenarios, Yoo Joonghyuk and Kim Dokja have grown closer. But fate was not so easily avoided.

Left alone in the wreckage of the Dark Castle, Yoo Joonghyuk must follow the trail back to his lost companion.

can't keep my hands to myself

Written by: LethalBookshelves

Rated: T

A collection of 3 different works all one-shots. All of them are super cute and entertaining to read. The three works are a continuation of each other, but you can totally read it as separate one-shots. Words in total: 12,497 Taking Action to Contain a Hopeless Squid

Written by: gayboy_advance

Rated: G Words: 1,235 (One-shot)

It started out innocent—just some minor actions to ensure the slippery man’s safety. Yoo Joonghyuk made sure to check on Kim Dokja every time before going to bed, specifically when the other was already sleeping soundly. He figured it would be less explaining if caught, as well as less likely that the man would up and leave once he had actually taken the time to fall asleep. Unfortunate or not, it was not enough to settle his worries as time progressed.

Or: Yoo Joonghyuk is anxious about Kim Dokja wandering off and accidentally killing himself at night. His solution? Sleep in Kim Dokja's bed.

unbroken faith

Written by: xinrin Rated: G Words: 1,159 (One-shot)

Not even the pain of regressing could rival the stagnation that comes with indefinite waiting. Yoo Joonghyuk lives as if his life is on pause, yet despite his resignation, he does not let go of his faith in the absurd, even as his weary grip begins to cramp and seize with the burden of time.

Kim Dokja dies again, and Yoo Joonghyuk only has one coping mechanism.

kiss me tender, kiss me sweet Written by: fusionboltstrike

Rated: G

Words: 1,011 (One-shot)

“I thought you wanted me to let go,” Jonghyuk murmurs, in between kisses. Kim Dokja lets out a dry chuckle.

“And you’d listen to me?” He turns his head to hide his face in the crook of Jonghyuk’s neck, his eyes falling shut.

“I suppose not.”

A Face He Can't Remember

Written by: ebon_iris

Rated: T

Words: 5,753 (One-shot) When Yoo Joonghyuk first hears Kim Dokja being called the "Ugliest King", it barely registers—just another ridiculous title in a world full of them. It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t. And yet, later, when he tries to picture Kim Dokja’s face, he realises he can’t. The details slip through his grasp, frustratingly vague. It irritates him, but he dismisses it.

[JoongDok Compilation #51 (1 Hour Special)] by UriUri9158

Written by: MioChiin Rated: T

Words: 4,159 (One-shot)

[DKOS_9158]: Go back to the room at the end of the corridor, you probably missed the item there.  [DKOS_9158]: Why did you even kill every monster? The drops are bad and they barely give exp anyway.  [DKOS_9158]: Don't just skip through the notes, they contain important lore.  [DKOS_9158]: Stop ignoring me, you stupid Sunfish.  “Shut up or I will ban you.” [DKOS_9158]: If you want to be stuck for another hour, be my guest.

Kim Dokja never fails to leave his unnecessary comments during Yoo Joonghyuk's streams. Yoo Joonghyuk is only mildly annoyed.

At least the chat loves him.

The 73rd Demon King Just Wants To Tend His Garden

Written by: Nixelthispy, Sailor_of_Lost_Seas

Rated: T

Words: 13,858 (Ongoing - Chapters 12/?) Kim Dokja is a regular guy who gets isekaid into a world full of Kings, Demons, and one Cold Duke of the North. He bests everyone in a competition to be the 73rd Demon King. There is a prophecy. Happenings happen. Things go to shit. Dokja just wants to tend a garden in peace (but also save everyone).

Where You Go, I Go (and None Shall Come Between Us)

Written by: Anonymous

Rated: G Words: 3,781 (One-shot)

It was a Universal known fact—everyone has a soulmate, the connection always romantic.

So why was it then, that Kim Dokja was born with no marks on his skin?

Or,

ORV but gayer and everyone has a soulmate. Except Kim Dokja. Somehow.

We Are Not Dating

Written by: ebon_iris

Rated: T

Words: 10,559 (Ongoing- Chapters 7/13)

Yoo Joonghyuk is not dating Kim Dokja.

Sure, they spend most of their free time together. Sure, Kim Dokja has a habit of stealing his food, adjusting his scarf, and lingering in his space like he belongs there. Sure, their friends keep exchanging looks whenever they interact.

But they are not dating.

a hundred longings fill my soul, a thousand yearnings throng my heart

Written by: aynchent

Rated: T

Words: 31,654 (Complete - Chapters 6/6)

Kim Dokja likes Yoo Joonghyuk. Yoo Joonghyuk likes someone else. This is okay.

(It's not.)

Donut Hole

Written by: NurikoEsuki

Rated: T

Words: 64,845 (Ongoing - Chapters 15/?)

Kim Daeyoon and Yoo Jaehyun of the highly (in)famous webnovel, ‘SSSSS-grade Regressor,’ are supposed to hate each other. After all, one is the OP, Gary Stu, male fantasy-coded cold-blooded protagonist with so many cool moments; while the other is just the much less developed, typical isekai viewpoint character.

Yet, due to (unintentional?) chemistry from their actors Kim Dokja and Yoo Joonghyuk, the duo gains an unexpected shippers following.

Professor Kim's Wife 

Written By: threecrossings

Rated: T

Words: 20,280 (Ongoing - Chapters 8/?)

Exploring the effect of Professor Kim's Wife on the minds of impressionable undergraduates: A longitudinal case study

ways to confess to your crush

Written by: tls123

Rated: G

Words: 7,961 (One-shot)

"You know," she drawled, "That guy in the story is the kind of lead Kim Dokja likes."

a guide to wooing kim dokja: written by han sooyoung, for yoo joonghyuk.

drowning sun & crashing waves

Written by: heartsent

Rated: T

Words: 7,846 (One-shot)

I missed you so much and it hurt because you were still someone I could reach with my hands and yet you felt so far away.

Kim Dokja tries to find acceptance years after his fall out with Yoo Joonghyuk. He does it in the way he knows best: writing.

I don't usually write a review or my own thoughts in a fic list, but holy crap this one is angstyyyy. It's not necessarily intense, but Kim Dokja's perspective and experience with love hit so close to home. Beautifully written and just so personal it will dig into your soul. Just putting this out there since I know a lot of people don't necessarily enjoy reading angst, especially ones that have a sad or bittersweet ending. This note is for you all! ;P

──── ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ────

[wisteria-lodge]

Since we’re talking patronuses: how do you think Hermione, Ron, Luna, and Ginny’s work? I’ve always thought they (Especially Hermione’s) were a bit random.

Hermione's Patronus is an otter because JKR's favorite animal is an otter. It really isn't any deeper than that.

If I were going to give them all new Patronuses, and bounce off my head canon that I was using for Draco, that your Patronus doesn't represent *you,* it represents what *protects* you... lets see.

What protects Luna is her ability to retreat inside herself when things get rough. It doesn't matter how terrible her situation is, the beautiful world in Luna's head will keep her sane, hopeful, and joyful. That's how she survived inside the Malfoy dungeons, and actually managed much better than Olivander did. So, I'd give her an animal that reflected that, like an armadillo. Cute, gentle, and armored. Alternately, if I wanted to give Luna a Fantastic Beast (seems a pity not to...) I think it would be nice to give her an occamy. Like the occamy, Luna expands to fill whatever situation she's in. She can be small enough to stay out of trouble, or so huge and expansive that she can see answers no one else can, and show up when no one else will.

Ginny I think gets a phoenix. What protects her is the way she can be be hot, fiery and in-your-face... but also re-invent herself, when she sees something isn't working. (Harry isn't working out right now? Cool, let's date around and do something else.) I also think that the phoenix from the Chamber of Secrets would have really stuck with her. She spent that year being extremely vulnerable, putting herself at risk, putting Harry at risk... but here comes a phoenix to bail her out. I think that's core-memory enough to make it into a Patronus.

I want to go a similar route with Hermione. Her worst year was Year Three - she's working herself into the ground, she has no friends, she's stressed and out-of-control, she tries to help Buckbeak but it doesn't work. She misses this huge threat (Scabbers) that was under her nose the whole time. But Crookshanks picks up the slack for her. He's her companion, and he had the right idea about Scabbers and Sirius the whole time. I think she would have found that SO comforting. So that's why I think her Patronus would be a kneazle. They look like regular cats except for a few magical details, so they have a foot in both worlds the way she does. They're also very, very clever, and Hermione's brain is the main thing that protects her.

Ron was actually really hard, because the thing is I don't think he feels protected a lot of the time. The central experience of being Ron is - I don't feel prepared for any of this, but I showed up anyway. He doesn't feel protected within his family, half the time he's the one protecting his friends, and he doesn't have as much faith in his own abilities as Hermione does. I would actually have it be that Ron is the one person on this list who can't cast a corporeal Patronus in Book 5, and we wait until Book 7 for the reveal. And here's my kind of crazy idea. I think that Ron's Patronus is a spider, or even an acromantula. Because you know what really protects him, in Book 7? What allows him to back-talk Voldemort? It's this bone-deep knowledge of - Cute. I've seen worse.

And I actually think like a giant terrifying spider would communicate that pretty well.

[joaniscruzing]

people need to stop hating on bella ramsey.

people need to grow tf up and stop being such bigots.

Ok so I’ve been actually HURLING at all the hate I’ve been seeing about Bella Ramsey as Ellie Williams in the TLOU show lately. Like, yes. I understood that there’s hate surrounding the casting for the show, but honestly I’ve just brushed it off until now because most of the time, no one’s ever happy with anything.

But recently, the hate surrounding Bella Ramsey is at an ALL-TIME HIGH. Almost every video I click on when I see a video concerning the TLOU show on TikTok has the most disgusting, rude comments. What’s more, I’ve been getting hate videos on my page myself about the “bad casting” for the show.

So welcome to my rant. Before I begin, if you’re here to try and argue with me or make any comment about Bella that is unkind, you will be receiving a strongly-worded reply from me. Anyway. Here’s my explanation for why Bella Ramsey is perfect for Ellie in the TLOU show.

Ok so first of all, we can just start with the obvious; Bella does look like Ellie. While they may not look EXACTLY like Ellie, she still is able to kind of radiate Ellie’s energy. A lot of people are saying that Cailee Spaeny would have been a better fit for Ellie. Here’s the thing though; Cailee would NOT have been able to play 14-year-old Ellie in season one. She only really looks like 19-21 year old Ellie if anything. Also, people are saying that Quinn (the main cosplayer of Ellie on TikTok) would have been a better fit. This is actually very angering because QUINN IS LITERALLY A COSPLAYER. NOT AN ACTRESS. Guys, I feel like it’s common sense here… cosplayers AREN’T actors???? Anyway. For those saying that Bella fits 14-year-old Ellie and not TLOU2 Ellie, have you NOT seen the BTS photos? It’s only been about 2 ish (?) years since they filmed the first season, and Bella looks CONSIDERABLY older. Isn’t it CRAZY that like… Bella was still growing too while the show was airing and whatnot? Not to mention…. MAKEUP and EFFECTS?

While we’re still on the topic of looks, let’s meander over to another argument; y’all hate and hate on Bella, but WHAT ABOUT PEDRO PASCAL? HE DOESN’T EXACTLY LOOK LIKE JOEL!!!! I mean it! But has ANYONE hated on Pedro for not looking like Joel? Nope! Which brings me to my next point.

Some people are upset over the TLOU casting simply because the actors aren’t as attractive as they wish. IN A NEUTRAL PERSPECTIVE, when comparing Bella to tlou2 Ellie, they definitely does not look like her in the sense that she’s less likely to be CONSTANTLY sexualized for being an attractive, queer-presenting female character. BUT LIKE…. AGAIN. BELLA ALSO PLAYED A FOURTEEN YEAR OLD GIRL IN THE FIRST SEASON. AND Y���ALL WERE MAD THERE TOO. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. CAN WE NOT GET MAD OVER NOT BEING ABLE TO SEXUALIZE AN ACTOR WHO PLAYED A LITERAL CHILD? This is why people wanted Cailee to play Ellie instead. Because she’s easier to sexualize over her looks.

In no way, shape, or form am I calling Bella unattractive. Like guys I’m going to be so for real right now. I love Bella Ramsey. Like, they’re literally so cute? And pretty? And handsome? All at the same time. Not to mention, they seem like such a SWEET human being like the things I’d do to meet Bella and have a conversation with them are insane.

So… why am I crashing out right now? This hate has been going on for so long! Guys, I opened the comments of a Bella Ramsey interview thinking I’d see comments like “I’m so glad Bella’s being open about her autism diagnosis!” (this is coming from someone who’s been diagnosed with autism since a young age and is glad to see someone like Bella talk openly about it) and instead found comments like “the down of us,” with replies only encouraging this cyberbullying. When looking into these comments more, I found that people are saying that Bella has Down Syndrome because of how she looks. I was actually disgusted, because like, not only is that hurtful to them, but to people WITH Down Syndrome too. Like you can’t just MAKE assumptions on someone based on how they look. Come on guys, we learned this in kindergarten. 

Enough about how Bella looks. They’re fine as hell and look like Ellie. Can we just talk about how PHENOMENAL of an actor they are? Because seriously. They’ve got a successful career ahead of them. For example, Bella captures Ellie’s mannerisms PERFECTLY. Especially when she was younger, although Ellie was tough, she was still a goofy, nerdy kid. And Bella captures it PERFECTLY. Example in point, the Left Behind episode. While still keeping her “tough girl” persona in the beginning with Bethany, who she still beats up and is angry toward, Bella is still able to perfectly capture Ellie’s essence as a young teen, such as when Riley gives her the Will Livingston book, or even when Riley comes to get Ellie, and Ellie is angry towards Riley because of the fact that Riley left Ellie. Bella is even able to display romantic attraction towards Riley in, I must say, a beautiful manner. That scene on the carousel? I’ve been in that exact same place so so so so so many times. That LOOK? ON BELLA’S EYES. I can’t even explain the look in her eyes but it captures wlw longing so good… it’s truly beautiful. Currently, that’s my favorite scene in the whole show. AND SHE KEEPS GOING. AFTER, they’re able to display anger and sadness when Ellie and Riley are bitten by Infected. AND THIS IS ALL IN ONE EPISODE. ALSO. DON’T GET ME STARTED ON THE EPISODE WITH THE DAVID DEBACLE. LIKE. HER ACTING WHEN SHE REALIZES DAVID IS GONNA RAPE AND KILL HER?? HER SCREAMING AND CRYING WHEN JOEL FINDS HER??? It’s Ellie. One hundred percent. I have NO DOUBT that Bella’s going to carry their acting talent to season two of tlou. No doubt whatsoever. 

A lot of people need to also understand that canonically, Ellie is NOT this like, unbothered, nonchalant, dominant, hey mamas masc that she’s constantly headcanoned to be online. If you actually paid attention to the game, you would’ve seen that Ellie’s kind, caring, and while she may look the part, NOT  a stereotypical dominant masc lesbian. Point in case, why don’t we just go through her JOURNALS? This girl loves her drawing, and her dinosaurs and stuff SO MUCH. NOT TO MENTION, when with Cat, the SECOND they kissed, Ellie freaked out because she was worried she infected her. She was also like worried about Joel and such. Even after they broke up, Ellie presumably maintained a healthy friendship with Cat. What’s more, Ellie cares for her friends. Once she found out Dina was pregnant, she did what she could to protect her. She made sure Abby didn’t kill her, and made sure Dina didn’t take her mask off when in the place with spores. We also DON’T see Ellie with any new partners after she leaves to finish the job with Abby, showing that she isn’t like, a player. So yeah. Ellie is just a young woman who’s trying to navigate her way through the apocalypse. And Bella is portraying that perfectly.

Ok time for me to just fangirl over Bella a bit. This person. Literally one of the coolest actors I’ve seen in a while. Like also, let’s just look at the very early stages of their career. FUCKING GAME OF THRONES?? PHENOMENAL. And mind you, they were only 11 YEARS OLD. 11. YEARS. OLD. That’s pure talent right there. And it’s not just like, she was an extra. No, she had a ROLE. Even there, at a young age, she was displaying a range of intense emotions on a big-time show. If that’s not some form of qualification for TLOU, I don’t know what is.

Okay, so including my conclusion and whatnot, about 1430 words later, I genuinely don’t know what else to say. Stop hating on Bella. Stop being a bigot and just accept the fact that no game adaptation is going to have a cosplayer as an actor and grow the fuck up.

Oh yeah. And one more thing. ASHLEY JOHNSON, the voice actor and face model for ELLIE WILLIAMS HERSELF IN THE GAME, said that after YEARS of searching, Bella was their perfect match to play Ellie. Let that sink into your head a little bit. Don’t you think that people who worked on the actual game know better than you? I thought so. Bella Ramsey is the perfect match for Ellie Williams, and whoever’s saying that they’re not is wrong. Go fuck yourself <3

Xoxo,

Joan

[l8niteth0ts]

neighbors: reiner x fem! reader

pairing: older! reiner braun x fem! reader

content (MDNI): age gap! older! reiner x fem! reader, reiner is mid thirties, reader is a consenting adult (i always envision reader around 24-26 but you can imagine her your age as long as you're 18+), valentine's day, man nextdoor, p0rn with a little plot, unexpected s3x, pu$$y eating, f!ng3r!ng, female 0rg@$ms, p in v s3x, etc etc. NOT PROOFREAD SORRY! 18+ ONLY, MDNI. tyvmmmm...

word count: 3,465

a/n: sorry for not posting for a minute! i am suffering bad from writer's block lol. i always envision reiner with a southern accent idk why 😂, so he has a little bit of southern slang but nothing crazy. also, sorry if the storytelling is so dumb i'm trying my best lol! anyways, as always, please be 18+, mdni!!! thanks!! <3

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today was the day of love, and you had no one to spend it with. valentine's day has always been your favorite holiday - candy, ribbons, chocolates, roses, joy, and sharing your feelings with your loved ones. you usually had someone to spend it with, but this year, you were alone. you'd moved out of your family home a few months ago, to a new city, and you didn't really know anybody. well, except your neighbor, mr. braun.

mr. braun seemed like a nice enough man. he was often sitting on his porch drinking iced tea, enjoying the sunshine. sometimes he was reading, but no matter what, every time he was out there, you noticed his lingering stare.

you weren't doing anything wrong. sometimes you were tending to your little garden of peppers and carrots and potatoes. other times you were checking on your flowers you'd planted. sometimes you were tanning in the bright sunshine. mr. braun always seemed to be watching.

you figured he was lonely. you'd never seen a woman or children entering or exiting his home. it appeared he just worked his nine to five and came home. the two of you were friendly enough, sometimes he helped you with moving your furniture around, or he'd help you when your appliances stopped working. he was basically your handy man, but also your friend in a sense. it was a nice thing.

you decided to bake him some cookies for valentine's day. you'd always thought he was very attractive, but figured nothing would come from it, due to your age gap. mr. braun appeared to be in his mid thirties, but you couldn't say for sure.

you finished icing the last pink heart shaped cookie, and smiled. the cookies looked beautiful with their white lace icing, and smelled like fresh strawberries and vanilla. you put away all of your supplies, and plated up the valentine's cookies on a cute pink plate. you quickly head to your room, and got dressed in a cute outfit fit for the holiday. after making sure you looked your best, you peeked out the window to see if mr. braun's truck was parked in his driveway. it was, so you swallowed your fear, and head out the door with the cookies.

you rang his doorbell, adjusting your skirt one last time. he answered it after only a few seconds.

"hello, mr. braun! it's (y/n), from next door. i brought you some cookies, happy valentine's day!" you smiled brightly, offering the man the plate.

he drank in the sight of you - beautiful and beaming with joy. "hey there, miss (y/n). that's awful sweet of you, why don't you come on in, you can set the cookies down on the table."

you nod, and walk inside mr. braun's home. you admired his interior, lots of browns and whites, and farm decor. there was a nice big fireplace in the living room, and he had a deer's head mounted above it. you'd never been in his house before, even though he'd visited yours quite a few times.

"kitchen's right this way," his deep voice came from behind you. you turned to look at him, his pretty brown eyes crinkled as he smiled.

his kitchen was warm, the sunlight shone through the windows brightly. he gently set the cookies down on the round dining table, and offered you a seat.

"do you drink?" he asked as he head towards the cabinets.

"yeah," you reply. "nothing too crazy. wine or vodka. i'm not really into whiskey or beer," you chuckle.

he nods, and grabs a wine glass and a smaller glass. he grabs a deep red wine bottle, and his bottle of whiskey that looks almost empty.

he sets the glasses and beverages down on the table, and sits with you. he pours you a glass of wine, and prepares his whiskey.

"so, (y/n), what made you come over to my place? those cookies look divine, if i do say so myself."

you felt your heart flutter and your breath catch in your throat. "well, it's valentine's day," you begin. "i wanted to bring you some cookies," you innocently play it off. you'd been attracted to mr. braun the moment you moved in, and he helped carry your heavy boxes into your home. it was almost like love at first sight.

"y'ain't got a valentine of your own?" he asks, sipping his drink. "not that i mind the company, oh no, nor am i complaining. just surprised."

you shuffle in your seat, a little uncomfortable, "no, not this year."

he nods slowly. "ain't nothing wrong with that. well, you're here with me. we might as well make it a nice day, hmm?"

your heart races, pounding against your chest so hard you're sure he can hear it. "thanks, mr. braun. i'm glad i have you to hang out with."

"please, reiner is fine," he corrects you, taking another sip of his drink. "i feel so old when you call me 'mr. braun,'" he chuckles.

"okay, reiner, then," you smile, his name sounding like honey dripping off your lips. he liked the way it sounded, too.

after a few glasses of wine and whiskey, the two of you were certainly far past tipsy. you were on the couch, watching a romcom together. his hand on your thigh, slowly trailing higher up, towards the hem of your skirt.

"so, why's a girl like you not got a valentine this year?" he asks softly, brushing your hair out of your face.

your face flushes, "well, when my ex boyfriend cheated on me, i broke up with him last year," you explain. "i just haven't been looking for anyone since then. i think i'm done with guys my age," you laugh.

"oh yeah?" his voice lilts, and he turns closer to you. his breath is warm on your face, "gonna give us older gents a try?" he teases.

you giggle, and scoot closer to him, if that were possible. "might just have to," you tease back, looking into his sweet brown eyes.

he studies your face, inching closer, waiting for you to retreat, but you don't. he holds your face gently in his hand, and presses his lips to yours. his stubble tickles your chin, but his lips are soft and warm. you lean into the kiss, your lip-gloss smearing onto him. he pulls back after a few moments, and studies your face once more for any discomfort.

"you sure you wanna do this, darlin'?" he asks gently.

you nod, and grab the collar of his shirt and pull him close once more. you press your lips against his again, savoring the way his mouth feels against yours. you gently swipe your tongue along his lower lip, and he opens his mouth gently, and you press your tongue against his, tasting the smokiness of the whiskey. he relishes in the fruitiness of the wine on your tongue, and his hand makes it to the back of your head to pull you closer. your tongue massages his, and you gently bite his lower lip. he lets out a quiet grunt, and he readjusts himself to where he picks you up by the waist, and puts you on his lap.

you can feel his growing erection underneath you, and you lightly grind your hips into him, relishing in the way he feels. his arms are big and strong, his hands are large and warm, his fingers are skilled and calloused.

he pulls away from the kiss once more, and he begins to leave warm kisses on your jawline, kissing up to your ear lobe. he kisses and nips your lobe, and you let out a soft sigh. his mouth works its way back down your jaw, down your neck, leaving kisses in its wake. he suddenly stops kissing, and picks you up once more, and carries you down the hall to his bedroom.

once inside, he sets you down on his king size bed, the blue sheets and blankets feeling soft and cool to the touch. he closes the bedroom door, and removes his shirt. you admire his chest and torso, smirking at him.

"what?" he asks, suddenly afraid you don't want this.

"you're just hot, that's all," you tease.

his face flushes a cute shade of pink, and he approaches you. he helps remove your shirt, revealing a sexy red bra underneath it.

"damn," he compliments. you blush, and smirk again. his large hands grope at your breasts, his skin is so warm. he massages them, and you tilt your head back slightly, relishing in his touch. he then unclips your bra from behind, and you slide it down your arms, quickly removing it the rest of the way. he groans at the sight of your breasts, admiring them, and his mouth moves to one while his hand moves to the other.

his lips are wet and warm as they touch your nipple, and he gently sucks on it, causing you to gasp. his stubble tickles your breast, and his grip on your other breast tightens, but not enough to cause pain. his teeth graze against your nipple, and he pulls it into his mouth, sucking on it and lapping his tongue across it.

"mmm, reiner," you gently moan out. "feels so good~"

his heart swells, and he switches his hand and mouth for the other breast. he continues doing what he was doing, gently biting and sucking on your other nipple now, massaging the previous one. you gently massage his cock through his tight pants with a bare foot, and he groans beneath you. "fuck," you can hear him mumble against your breast.

"rei rei," you moan out, testing the nickname, "i want more of you, please..."

he pulls away softly, "well if you want more, then that's what you'll get, no questions asked," he complies. he pulls down your skirt, and removes his pants, leaving the two of you in your underwear.

"holy hell," he whispers to himself, admiring your figure beneath him. "you're like a goddess," he mumbles as his mouth makes hot heavy kisses from your breasts to your stomach, down to your hips and thighs, and finally - to your clothed heat.

"rei, i can't wait," you whine, eager to get attention where you desperately need it most. your core is aching for attention, throbbing in anticipation. your panties must be soaked by now with your arousal.

"i'm going, i'm going," he chuckles. his fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear, and he pulls them off in one swift tug. you kick them off, leaving them to be forgotten about on his floor.

his eyes widen and he licks his lips, admiring your full figure beneath him. "i'm one lucky man," he whispers, and he kisses your pussy gently, starting at the top, and working his way down your slit. you moan softly, and one hand travels to your breast.

he looks up at you, and presses his tongue flat against your slit, and he licks up multiple times. you moan again, and your other hand travels down to his head, and entangles itself in his hair. his tongue pushes past your slit, and he has it make its way inside your aching hole. his stubble continues to tickle you, but it also feels just right. you gasp, and your grip on his hair tightens. he moans, his voice vibrating your core, and your eyes roll back.

his tongue flicks in and out of your hole, and he moves a hand to your clit, and starts rubbing it in tight circles as his tongue continues its movements. you buck your hips into his face, eager for more. he moans again, and he pulls back to spit on your cunt. then, he sticks his tongue out and spreads the spit/slick mixture around, and he travels up to your clit, and you feel the cool liquid trailing down to your ass, certainly soaking the sheets beneath you.

his tongue encapsulates your clit, and you let out another breathy moan. his teeth lightly graze against your clit, and he sucks it harshly, as if it were a valentine's day sucker. "rei rei," you breathe out, feeling an orgasm approaching. the coil in your core is getting tighter and tighter, making your insides feel all warm and fuzzy.

"mmm," he moans on your clit, savoring the way it tastes and the noises you're making beneath him. he pulls off for a moment, "you taste so good, darlin'. can't get enough of you." he takes your legs and wraps them around his arms, and pulls you flush to his face, and he continues abusing your cunt with his mouth.

your grip on his hair tightens, and you pull it harder, causing him to groan against you again. his tongue is flicking on your clit at an incredulous pace, and he brings two of his thick fingers to your hole. he easily slides them in, due to the wetness, and he immediately begins to pump them in and out of you at a slow pace, and he begins to speed up a bit. his fingers easily reach that yummy spot inside of you, causing you to see stars. he then slips a third finger in, and you gasp. he smirks slightly as his mouth continues sucking on your sweet clit, and he begins to make a scissor motion with this three fingers. his index and middle move together, while his ring finger moves opposite to them. his fingers speed up faster, matching the speed of his clit-sucking, and you move a hand to the headboard for support. your legs keep threatening to close around his head, but his strong arms keep them wide open.

the stretch feels so good from his fingers, you can't help but continue moaning loudly for the man. your hand moves down to your breast, and massages it, twisting your nipple, desperate for more, more, more. you feel your coil inside tightening more, and you know an orgasm is knocking at the door, threatening to break it down. "rei, rei i'm g-gonna, gonna-" you get cut off by a high pitched moan, as you suddenly release all over reiner's face.

he's in heaven, he laps up all of your juices, not letting anything go to waste. once he's cleaned you up with his mouth, he pulls his fingers out of your hole, and it makes a soft pop. he groans and licks his fingers, savoring your juices once more.

he stands up, and quickly removes his boxers, his large, thick cock free from its prison. you gasp, and feel your pussy flutter at the sight of his heavenly dick and his sexy blonde happy trail. "c'mere, darlin'," he groans, as he arranges you two to where you're on top of him.

you happily oblige, and rest on his lap. "just checking once more, you're sure you're okay with this?" he confirms one more time. you nod yes, "i need to hear you say it, darlin'..."

"yes, reiner, i'm sure i want this, i've wanted this for a while," you accidentally admit. is it the wine or the desperation for him talking? who knows, but now the cat's out of the bag.

he groans in pleasure at your confession, "me too, darlin'. ever since you moved in, i've wanted you." he smiles softly at you, brushing your hair out of your face once more. you feel your face turning red at his confession, the two of you in the same boat.

you slowly grind your hips along his erection, earning a gasp from him. "c'mon, don't tease me, darlin', why don't you put it in and see what i have to offer?" he jests.

"i'd be more than happy to," you reply. you align yourself with the tip, and swipe it up and down your slit, gathering arousal to act as lubrication. you brush him against your clit a few times, moaning out softly at the pleasurable sensation. finally, you line up with him, and push his head inside your tight ring of muscle.

the both of you groan at the sensation. he's incredibly thick, thicker than the three fingers he prepped you with, and you're incredibly tight around him. "oh-oh my gosh, hahh," you hiss as his cock stretches you out.

"fuck," he moans. "you're s-so tight," he gasps as you push him in slightly further. "god damn."

"i-i think you're just r-really big," you chuckle, as you continue to push more of him in, about halfway now. you see stars as you push the rest of him inside, fully seated on his cock. you gasp, catching your breath, not used to feeling beyond full like this.

he blushes at your compliment, and rests his hands on your hips. "let me know w-when i can move, darlin'," he whispers, his fingers rubbing your hips softly, as in to comfort you.

you nod, and a few moments pass. you start feeling desperation more than pain, and you say, "okay, i think you're f-fine to move..."

he nods, and grips your hips tighter, and slowly pulls himself almost completely out. his eyes travel down to where the two of you are just barely connected, and he curses. it's unbelievably sexy. he watches as his thick cock pushes itself back into your tight warm cunt, and he groans. the way your hole sucks him in makes him want to ravage you then and there, but he doesn't.

he continues to watch himself slowly pull almost out, and push himself back in, admiring the way your hole grips him so tightly, the way he fits so snug inside. "reiner," you pant, "c-can you please go faster?" you plead, grinding yourself on him, trying to get friction on your clit.

he nods, and holds you tighter, picking up the pace. you moan in delight, your toes curling. his thick cock is slamming in and out of you at a decent pace, and you can feel the tip of him kissing your cervix. you place your hands on his chest for support as he picks up the pace.

"d-does it - hahhh - feel good?" he pants, looking into your lust filled eyes.

"mmhmm, so-so good, rei rei," you moan, still grinding yourself on him any time your hips meet. "y-you're ama - hnnng - amazing~"

his heart swells again at your compliment, knowing he's making you feel good. as if pride overtakes him, he increases the pace, his balls heavily slapping against your ass, causing you to moan more frequently, higher pitched. reiner continuously groans and grunts beneath you, feeling his high coming soon.

you feel yours, too. a hand goes down to your core, and starts rubbing against your clit vigorously, trying to cum before he does. "hahh, ahhh, mmmmmm," you pant as your orgasm builds and builds. "oh my - gahhh - god, y-you feel so good in-inside of me~" you praise him.

his thrusts harden, "y-yeah?" he groans. "trust m-me, you feel fucking - hnnng - incredible, da-darlin'," his face flushed, his forehead sweaty. "you gonna c-cum soon?"

"mhmm," you nod, your fingers moving at lightning speed on your clit. you gasp, desperate for more air. your vision blurs as you feel your second orgasm wash over you, coating reiner's cock inside of you entirely.

"fuck," he whines, as his load is threatening to spill. he quickly pulls out, and turns you around so now you're under him. he quickly jerks himself off, and moans loudly as his seed splurts onto your stomach. "oohhhh, fuck~" he whines again, his dick incredibly sensitive.

he quickly finishes, and chuckles as he smiles at you. he gives you a kiss on the forehead, and says that he'll be right back. he quickly turns towards his master bathroom, and comes back with two towels. he gently cleans up his mess on your stomach, as well as wiping the sweat off your forehead. he cleans himself off, too. he tosses the towels into his hamper, and grabs you one of his shirts to wear, as he pulls on a pair of boxers himself.

he lies in bed with you once you've put on his shirt. he offers you a place on his chest to rest, and you do.

"this wasn't just because we were drunk, was it?" he whispers in your ear as he brushes your hair out of your face once more.

"no," you whisper back. "i really like you, mr. braun," you confess again. "i don't want this to be a one time thing..."

"me neither," he agrees. he kisses the top of your head softly, admiring the beauty beside him. "then, miss (y/n), how about we go on a real date for valentine's day this evening?"

you smile and nod. "i'd love that."

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©|@l8niteth0ts - do not steal my work, or reupload it anywhere. it is mine, and mine alone! thank you.

[theghoulboysblog]

tell me things you love about ryan bergara :)

awww i love this question so much anon :))) thank you thank you!!! sorry i took so long to answer. i’ve been a little overwhelmed with school and stuff. i’m gonna name my top five cause otherwise we’d be here FOREVER haha:

1. he’s so gentle. i think that’s my favorite thing about him. he truly is a soft, sweet, gentle guy, and i think that gets overlooked because he is also bratty frat boy coded 😔 but two things can be true!!!

like, there’s something about watching him smell flowers and pet horses and birdwatch so happily that just makes me think “wow. this is such a gentle man with a big heart who loves beauty and nature and life.” no wonder he’s best friends with shane ‘gentle giant’ madej. they really are one and the same! :)

(also him proposing with a strawberry ring box in a field? his constant softness with animals? him calling fireworks “flowers in the sky.” like shane was so right when he said Ryan has really a lovely heart like why don’t we talk about how gentle and sweet he is?!?)

2. this kinda goes with the first one but he’s so loving and comforting. like everyone always talks about the times where shane comforts ryan which makes me SO HAPPY but also like… ryan comforts shane too! :( it is so precious watching videos where ryan is comforting shane or praising him.

like when shane was drunk and yelling and then got embarrassed and apologized to ry and ryan said, “it’s fine dude :) no need to get self conscious, you just get excited sometimes :)” then soothed him with a little physical touch like omg it always makes me so happy :)

or his little “omg, dude :) you’re doing great, bud! :)” to shane on a ghost hunt when shane was finding flies and was really happy. that literally plays over in my mind. like what a sweet guy. i love him. just best buds doing best bud things :)

3. he’s so little guy coded. i know he’s actually like 5’9 so he’s a little taller than me (5’7), but even when i saw him in person he was exactly as small as you’d think 😭 all the girls on stage were his height and it was actually so funny like 😭 understand this is not an insult at all. it makes him so attractive and cute and less intimidating to me. like i understand why shane will sometimes just hug him out of nowhere cause i mean he’s literally just!!! ☹️💛🌸🌸

4. he’s so funny. like some of the shit he says is so top tier bro. not even glaze he’s just peak 🙏

like holy fuck i really did place this brick seven years ago and yk what?!? hell yeah!

5. he’s so pretty. i mean. just look at him. nothing else to say like 😭🙏

AHHH IM LITERALLY GNAWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE I LOVE HIM SO MUCH IM TRYING TO BE SO NORMAL BUT HES LITERALLY JUST SO COOL TO ME. IDK.

but anyways thank you for prompting me to be weird and parasocial about this guy! much appreciated!!!! :) much love to ya!!!

[ofeliaxoxo]

https://www.tumblr.com/alexturntable/779101139381731328/you-woke-up-not-too-long?source=share

idk if you are overthinking this moment like i am but it's sooo interesting to me because yes it's a casual innocuous comment - charles saying "you woke up not too long ago" - but to ME (because my brain works in insane ways against my will) this was charles being like "i know you well enough to recognize the fact that you woke up recently i can tell from your body language. i know what you look like when you've only been awake for a little while" except then. well he was Wrong. carlos was like akshually i'veeee been up since 7:30… and charles was like well! (idk charlie maybe the solution here is for you to spend more mornings with carlos… however that would occur……… so you can more accurately recognize what he looks like soon after waking up in the future…………………)

anyway they were giggly and it was still a cute interaction (even though charles was wrong lolllll) but unfortunately my brain goes haywire over even the smallest of their giggly and cute interactions so. here we are. any thoughts/agreements/disagreements you have are welcome… <3 !

well first of all thank you anon for your thoughts!! i opened your ask like the sickos guy just yes...YES! literally being so serious when i say i want this blog to be my rpf seminar. we're having discussions ok were analysing the primary sources.

and second of all i also kind of feel this way about this very small interaction lol. like YEAH maybe theyre not thinking anything of it but thats what im here for. to me this is charles going ha ha ha! you look sleepy lol i got u! because he wants to say somethingggg he wants to have a funny jokey lil interaction togetherrr. to ME its a thing of. he doesnt actually care what he says it could be lol sky's pretty blue rn. theyre always teasing each other so he just wants to have a brief lil laugh:)

and when carlos goes uh actually i got up early as Fuck thanks #riseandgrind he is delighted hes like el em ay oh FUCK thats so earlyyyy waow! (btw im so amused at how he apparently gets up at like 10. and also doesnt drink coffee. babygirl whats going on.)

and carlos is just like haha i got up at 7:30 i will tell you since you asked. when did you get up:) and its clear charles dgaf about when he got up he just wanted to go heeheehee you look so sleepyyy

moment rating: yay so cute and overthinkable. im right there with u

[animelovelover123]

Ooooo I was thinking, what about a reader who gets jealous over the Dmc boys. Like they see someone flirting with him. 👀👀

I’ll be honest, this one was hard for me since I don’t like writing about what “you” do since that is one of the few things that take me out of a story. I’ll try, but if it sounds weird and isn’t what you were looking for, I am sorry, I hope you can enjoy it a bit anyway. ( ´-｀)

Disclaimer: Some of these guys enjoy/purposely let you get jealous because they like it. In real life, this is a manipulative action that can be a sign of a toxic relationship, romantic or otherwise. You can enjoy this fiction, but remember to be safe in reality.

Trigger Warnings: Manipulation

DMC Boys x Jealous Reader

Dante

It depends on the severity of the situation.

If it is some random woman gushing about him after he shows off his stylish skills, he will call you cute and tease you.

“Aww, baby, don’t get jealous now. You got to get used to it, you knew what you were getting into when you stole the heart of the demon hunter with smokin' sexy style.” He says before striking a pose to make you laugh and lighten your spirit.

If he is being propositioned for sex and you cut in before he can give his witty rejection, or he does get it out but you are still upset, he'll lean in a whisper to you the dirtiest of things that he has been thinking about you as a way to show that you’re the only one on his mind and that can get his blood pumping south.

If it is serious, though, with crying, pain, panic, true fear and anger, Dante will drop everything and get you out of there.

It doesn't matter if you just arrived or you wanted to give the person a piece of your mind, Dante picks you up and carries you home or at least to his car where you can have a moment to calm down, to let out your rage. He'll even let you let it all out on him. He won't argue with you, not yet, he knows you're not listening.

Once you have calmed down, or just become exhausted and placid, he'll get as close as you’ll let him and talk.

What happened? What got you so upset this time? Where do these feelings come from? What can he do to help?

Good boy Dante knows when to be playful and when to be serious.

Reboot Dante

This little shit loves it, finds it hot as hell when you get angry and more aggressive in your lovin’ to try to prove a point. And it happens often.

With how free-spirited he was before you, sleeping around with no interest in commitments, having random women and the occasional man coming up to reminisce about a past sexual encounter and wanting more or simply hearing of his prowess and wanting to try him on for size was common. Sometimes it felt like Dante had fucked every other woman in town, or perhaps it was just all the women that go to the clubs and parties you two attend.

Nevertheless, they always seem to find Dante and get right to flirting and grinding. And worst of all, because Dante likes seeing you mad, he will indulge them a bit. He won’t sleep with them, kiss them, or start touching them intimately, but he will let them flirt and touch him while returning some affection like cheek kisses and putting an arm around them, smiling all the while like he likes their attention.

In reality though he could not care less about them and if you weren’t there, he would tell them to fuck off. But seeing you get pissy and maybe even a little violent is hot as hell.

The fucking best though is when you assert superiority. Moments like when you saw a woman rub his chest so you walked right up and grabbed his crotch like it was your property that someone was trying to steal and when you saw him get a kiss on the neck so you grabbed him by the hair to pull him close and shove your tongue down his throat, that shit gets him rock hard.

Is it bad that the first idea I came up with was this little shit head purposely making you jealous and getting off on you dominating him? Even before I thought about how most characters would reassure you, I was thinking “Reboot Dante would pull this shit on purpose”.

Vergil

Vergil finds it infuriating.

Whether it is some random lady trying to flirt with him or he is having an actually intelligent conversation with someone, you getting jealous is an insult.

“Do you truly believe I am so weak a man as to fall for the tricks of painted whores or so fickle that I would run off with any person with a brain?”

He does not understand how you could not trust him and will confront you with this.

His tone, stance, and demeanor made it seem like he was just angry and annoyed. However, if you know him well enough, you can see glimpses of his hurt feelings in his eyes.

If you tell him blatantly that you don’t trust him, and worse so if you bring up his only past relationship resulting in a brief fling and the abandoning of a child, you will get the rare opportunity to see that hurt shown in his expression.

If you try to explain to him that it’s not because you don’t trust him, it's that you don’t trust others or it's instinct, he won't understand until he sees Dante playfully peck you on the cheek.

The phrase “painted whores” is a reference to the DMC3 manga where Vergil says this. (Hopefully I remember to put the pic in and it still works)

This is the official Tokyopop translation and is apparently not accurate at all, but this manga has some crazy lines, and this phrase fits IMO.

Reboot Vergil

Vergil is a charmer; it is a necessary skill in the high society circles he is trying to take down. To gather information and get close to targets, sometimes he has to show interest in people and topics he could not care less about. Sometimes this includes flattering someone and making them think they have a chance with him.

He knows you don’t like this, and he doesn't like it either, but he is firm on his stance that this is a necessary part of his overall plan.

You two have gotten into arguments about this, especially if you threaten to, or successfully do, ruin a plan because of your jealousy. Shouting, screaming, him fighting on the side of logic and you, the heart.

In the end though, it always seems to work out, often with him coming to find you after some time apart to calm down and taking the time to reassure you of his love and loyalty to you.

There is one circumstance in which he should admonish your actions… but when you two are at some snooty party and some woman tries to flaunt her social power, wealth, beauty, and other such attributes to get his attention, he has to use all his socialite training to not laugh as you verbally beat the woman back into her place.

You'll catch him snickering to himself every so often as he remembers a particularly cruel jab you made.

This boy did not get raised in a rich family and become a millionaire without learning how to charm people out of information, which does not bode well for any monogamous relationship he has unless they also know the seedy tricks of the trade.

Nero

Nero, despite trying to act cool and mature, is naïve and bashful. Unless the woman is so blatantly aggressive as to try to grab his private areas or start saying he should ditch you for her, to which he will aggressively reject, he doesn't know how to react to flirtation, so you have to watch over him.

When in Fortuna, he was an outcast; no girl or woman had interest in him. And when he started traveling when he created the mobile unit for Devil May Cry, women looked down on him for being childish or still just avoided him. “So don’t worry, there is no reason for you to stress out, babe.”

In reality, he had many admirers that were too nervous to approach him or did shoot their shot and it went over Nero’s head, who assumed that that’s just how many women are. (blame Trish/Gloria for that)

Like trying to guide a mouse through a maze of traps, you have to watch over Nero and shoo away the women making him uncomfortable.

“Well you're being overly clingy, what’s up? Flirting with me? She just dropped something. Bend and snap? I don’t know what that is. You wanna go home? Sure, I don’t even like parties like this. But, um, could you keep your arm around me like that? Feels… nice.”

I did not start off with the intent to make Nero babygirl coded, but here we are and I like it. I love Nero being horny and needy with you but the poor thing’s brain cannot compute when other people hit on him.

Also, though I purposely left it open for anyone to picture how they were holding Nero at the end, I like to imagine you have your arm around his waist or hips. Would be so cute!

V

V’s type of attractiveness, especially his physical traits, distinctive, so the rate in which you get challengers was dependent on the environment, because in some crowds he is VERY popular.

He is also a sensitive soul, able to articulate his emotions and understand others. So, the moment he notices even a hint of your jealousy, possession, or hurt feelings, he will pull you aside and reassure you of his devotion

“My dearest song bird, do not fret for my heart yearns only for your affection, my body craves only your touch, and no one makes sweet, passionate music like you and I together.”

He wishes for you to not have a single doubt in your mind about the strength of the bond you share, especially because he knew from the fragments of memories and feelings from Vergil how jealousy can destroy a person.

There was but one situation where V was thankful for your protectiveness that bordered on possessiveness.

V had very little demonic power and so struggled to protect himself without the aid of his familiars. At the same time, though, he was mostly human with some of Sparda’s blood, which made him a relatively easy target for blood/life force drainers like succubi, or so you might think.

That was until the tale of the devastating verbal and physical beat down you gave one of their strongest when you caught her trying to force herself on V spread to every succubus in the country and most of the demon world.

This one turned out weird and tone tones are all over the place. :p

[fridgemissionmaster]

Mephistopheles x Reader: March Prompt/Day 25 Bridge

Prompt list/available prompt requests here, making a fic everyday of march

“Human.”

“Mephistopheles.”

As much as Mephistopheles revered his prince, there were some things about the man he just couldn’t understand, such as why leave responsibility of the fragile human exchange student in the care of people so reckless and why be doing this at all. As much as he didn’t like them he could understand trying to make better relations with the angels, if nothing else it would be the most peaceful method to keep war at bay, but humans? A single generation of them was but a blink of the eye, not even a hundred years, to make good relations would take going though several generations, would they even be able to remember these negotiations so long down the line.

“MC, with the recent interest in human holidays I want to interview you.”

“Huh? You want MY help?”

“Well that sorcerer certainly isn’t human anymore nor has he walked amongst you people in so long, I thought you would have more experience with such things.”

And his worries only grew after meeting you. For demons and angels life is much more slow paced, relaxed, meanwhile humans try to get everything done as fast as possible even if it leads to subpar results simply because they just don’t have the time. They barely bothered with the matters of other humans, their world, let alone making relations with others.

“Do you not see! Clearly this is to test me!”

“Okay, I get it, but why did you call me here Mephisto?”

“Honestly, MC, You… are the only one equipped for the job, this is to help Lord Diavolo, please.”

Just what could anyone possibly gain from this exchange? Surely Diavolo could see something he couldn’t, but was it? Why wouldn’t that man tell him so he could at least try understanding? But no, all Diavolo would do was whisper his secrets to the most stubborn, most inept, most cowardly man to exist!

“You look awful. No wonder you asked to hide here.”

“Thank you so much! I swear those brothers are out for blood after learning they ‘had a second chance’ for white day. Not all humans celebrate White Day anyway! Why can’t I just have lunch in peace and not have people fighting for my attention. If I have to miss lunch one more day because of their nonsense there will be hell to pay!”

“Honestly, those brutes. Why haven’t you put them in their place already like at the carnival?”

“Ugh, can you imagine how much Lucifer would complain about that? Just not worth it.”

“Well as long as they don’t cause trouble here you can stay as long as you like.”

“… could I help you fold the papers?”

“Huh? Uh… wash your hands, AFTER you’ve completely finished your lunch. I don’t need you fainting from malnutrition under my watch.”

“That’s… not how it works.”

Mephistopheles couldn’t see the point. There was even the possibility he never would.

“… MC, what is this?”

“A human world card game? Where did you even get this?”

“I stumbled across it at the bazaar after looking into the odd lights you mentioned yesterday.”

“I don’t recognize it, it looks cute though.”

“… Fine, I have the time right now, we can try a round.”

“Eh? Why?”

“You said it looked cute, don’t you want to try?”

…

“You’re back!? W- DON’T JUST SHOVE THINGS INTO SOMEONES HANDS SO SUDDENLY, I COULD HAVE DROPPED IT!”

“No you wouldn’t, now come on, open it!”

“… what.”

“Happy late birthday!”

“…… you… can’t just-”

“Just what?”

“Honestly, do you humans hold suck little value for everything that you can just so casually hand off something so precious.”

Was it even possible for such a gap between cultures, technologies, ideals, lifespans to be bridged?

“It’s odd, how the human world sun’s warmth feels different from any other… Do you ever miss it?”

“Sometimes, yeah… Oh, gimmie your cane and lean on my arm. This bridge can be a bit wobbly.”

“Ah, thank you.”

“And if I remember rightly after the next bridge and we’ll be back at the start!”

“A rather small park, and so empty too.”

“Actually there’s been a lot of work, like that outdoor gym area was still under construction when I last saw it, and they just built that little… dock area thing to watch the lake.”

“Hmm.”

“So, where do you want to go next?”

“You mentioned a games shop before, right? What about there? I want you to tell me about some of your older games.”

Even now he held little fondness or understanding for humans as a whole, but what did it matter if he couldn’t understand. As long as there was a willing to try, something could come of this, whatever it could be. If anything… perhaps not being able to see ahead made things more exciting.

Tag List: @penappal

[phoenix-downer]

Jinshi and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Summary: Jinshi’s day has not been going very well. Between the heatstroke and the assassination attempt and the love of his life almost drowning, it's been going very poorly, in fact. But then Maomao fusses over him and falls on top of him, and maybe the day isn’t so horrible after all.

Spoilers for The Apothecary Diaries Season 2 Episode 35 - The Hunt. Jinshi POV exploring his thoughts and feelings during the episode. ~1030 words.

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Today had not gone the way Jinshi had wanted. At all.

For one, Maomao had almost died and was angry at him for jumping off the waterfall with her in his arms. It had been a pretty reckless move, but with the feifa involved, he hadn't wanted to take his chances. Those weapons could easily kill a person, and their mysterious assailants had had at least two of them.

Of course, Maomao had nearly died anyway from drowning.

He would never forget the fear and panic tearing through his chest when he realized she wasn't breathing, the agonizing seconds ticking by as he breathed for her and compressed her chest in the hopes her heart would beat again. He was used to plots against his own life, but the moment she was in danger, he couldn't handle it.

He wanted to groan. The Empress Dowager was right to warn him about hiding her. As soon as she was involved, he couldn't suppress his feelings the way he suppressed his natural urges. There was no real medicine that cured lovesickness, no matter what the quacks might claim.

And he still hadn't gotten to tell Maomao his secret. Not even after working up the courage and enduring a hot, miserable day with his face covered, unable to eat or drink anything. At least he was feeling better now that the water had cooled him down and he'd had something to eat. But his hair and clothes were still damp as he put them back on, and Maomao was so thin he was worried she really would catch a cold, even with the precautions they had taken to ring their clothes out.

He couldn't think of anyone he would rather be stuck in a life-threatening situation with though. Maybe not everything had gone poorly today after all. Maomao had fussed over him and fed him. He had to admit that was nice. Especially when she’d told him she’d brought water mixed with soy paste and sugar in it to help him before they were attacked. Which meant she did think about him and his safety after all, even if she wouldn't directly admit it.

She had touched his cheek, too. Of course, it was only to check for fever. She was all business even while he was openly pining after her. Still, she’d looked pretty cute when she’d snatched the piece of butterbur out of his hand right afterwards. He couldn't help but chuckle at this side of her she didn't show to just anybody.

She looked pretty in her undergarments, too.

He felt his face flushing as the memory bounced through his brain, refusing to leave. Good thing she couldn't see his expression, as his back was to her, or she might check him for fever again, which would just make it worse. But she was mercifully quiet as she followed him to the hole in the ceiling of the cave that was their only real way out. She couldn't swim, and leaving her behind, even if it was to ask for help, was out of the question. The sounds of the waterfall grew fainter and fainter, replaced by the drip-drip of water in the cave and their feet shuffling across the ground.

Before too much longer, they reached the hole and studied it for several moments, trying to decide what to do. It was too tall to reach the opening from the ground and too slick to climb up all the way, covered as it was in damp moss. He explained someone would have to be close by to hear them, so shouting was probably a fruitless plan. She whistled for some mysterious reason she wouldn't explain, and nothing came of that either.

In the end, they decided she should stand on his shoulders and try to climb out of the opening that way…after a brief argument, of course. Had they ever come to a mutual decision without arguing? His mind was drawing a blank on that one.

She climbed onto his back, and she was light, so much lighter than most young women her age. It made his job easier, but it also made him worried for her, something she dismissed with a comment about how now wasn't the time.

Fair enough.

He heard more than saw her gripping the moss-covered rocks as best she could, and then she mentioned something about a frog. Unfortunately, it was not an innocent observation. It wasn't that she was creeped out or grossed out by frogs. But the frog, for whatever reason, threw her off balance, which threw him off balance. They both struggled for a valiant moment to stay upright, but with both of them swaying like flowers in the wind, it was a doomed endeavor. He landed on his back with a painful thud, but he couldn't even be mad about that because—because—

Maomao was lying on top of him, her face inches from his face, her hand on his chest, her knee between his legs. His arms were around her, and the two of them were touching just about every place two people could conceivably touch. A look of pure shock spread across her face, and she immediately apologized and tried to get up.

His hands pulled her closer before his mind could even register what was happening. If she thought she had blundered, if she thought he didn't want this, she was sorely mistaken. For once, he didn't have to hide his feelings or pretend. There was no one in the cave but the two of them, no one sharing this moment but him and her.

I'm a man, Maomao. His whole body was telling her, pleading with her to know and feel and respond. She was a practical person, logical and brilliant and aloof, the type who demanded proof before believing any wild claims. But not even she could deny the evidence before her now. Sometimes bodies spoke of meanings in ways words failed to convey.

Maomao simply stared at him like she was seeing him for the first time. In a way, he supposed she was.

Today had gone the way Jinshi had wanted after all.

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A/N: Thank you so much for reading! My sister got me into the Apothecary Diaries anime a few months ago, and I have been absolutely delighted with the writing, the characters, the slowburn romance, the setting, the cozy mystery vibes, everything. It's perfection. After watching last week's episode, I knew I wanted to write a little something exploring Jinshi’s thoughts and feelings during the events of the episode before the next one comes out. I'm really looking forward to watching more of the story unfolding because this has all just been such a delight.

Also, that frog is the real MVP 🐸 Shoutout to the frog 🐸