#but I did hold back on it a bit - hope it doesn't read as too egregious

[manicpixiefelix]

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 26.

Summary: In which you and Venetia finally discuss the thing you've been avoiding all Summer since Oliver arrived. You finally get the truth from her, and wish you hadn't. Still, you finally offer the truth to Felix.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

A/N: 3101 words. where have i been? don't worry about it. where have you been? anyways i hope you want some drama to sink your teeth into. went into a much different direction than the chapter outline i had for it. unedited, but would love to hear from you guys as i'm getting back into it!

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

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Things have been quiet since Farleigh left. Was sent away. Whispered gossip and speculation between the Catton siblings and Oliver that you feel too strange to indulge in, and an ache in your chest that you feel like you're not allowed to talk about. For all his disappointment regarding Farleigh's betrayal of the family, Felix knows your own hurt runs far deeper than you will ever let on. Yes, the two of you fought often, and in time you all knew he'd be back, but this conflict had made your bond especially fragile, and in his absence you feared it may never again be what it once was.

And Oliver seems to pick up on it too.

"Are you going to prune all of his flowers too?" Oliver asks, sounding so casual, but his words catch you by surprise, and your expression drops as you turn to him. It's late, in the study together, and he's got one of your botany books open in his lap.

"Whose flowers?" You know who he means, but hate the very thought. You hope you'd misheard. You hope you're wrong, but you're not.

"Farleigh's."

"What makes you think that?" You ask, turning back to the textbook in front of you, laying open on the desk.

"I just mean... well after trying to go under the Catton's noses like he did," Oliver shrugs, like he can't see your growing upset at the reminder, can't see how your face has fallen. This Summer night feels so cold; many have since Farleigh had left.

"No," you tell him faintly, turning to the next page of your book, heart beating uncomfortably in your chest, "he's still family."

"Oh," Oliver doesn't say much more about it after that, nor does he stay all that long either.

"Zinnias," you murmur, face still turned to your book, when he goes to retire for the night. Oliver gives pause, and you tell him, "Farleigh's flowers are the zinnias; they look a bit like a sunset." Oliver doesn't have much of a response, other than telling you goodnight, but you weren't sure what you had been expecting otherwise.

He's somehow even quieter than usual in the wake of the scandal, but he clings to you and Felix now more than he doesn't, and you find yourself clinging to him too. He's been good enough to not bring up Farleigh's departure around you either, though he has taken Farleigh's usual seat beside you at the table. Honestly, you don't really mind; you'd rather that than the emptiness continue to remind you. Surprisingly it's Venetia who seems to have grown wary of him.

"You and Feef must be pleased," she languishes, her back against you in the bath next to her own room, perfumed steam turning golden in the candlelight, "mummy and daddy both like this one."

"Please don't talk about Ollie like that," you sighed, chin on her shoulder, arms wrapped around her, holding her close.

"Daddy called him 'an intriguing, well-read, young man' the other day," Venetia continues as if she hadn't heard you at all, "and mummy called him charming and thoughtful, and much better than 'the last one'," she offers candidly, "she just liked that he liked my brother, I don't think she ever really cared for Eddie himself much," she leans back a little against you, and turns just enough that you can see her smirk at the corner of her lips, "you didn't either, did you? Even before everything happened between me and him?"

Lowering your face, you pressed your lips to her shoulder firmly, taking a moment to compose your thoughts before diplomatically telling her that Eddie didn't matter anymore. It does you no good to ask her why she's bringing this up now, but you still ask. As expected, Venetia ignores the question.

"Where did Eddie go after he was cast out? Rude, by the way," she adds, "he was fun," her tone is so jarringly light, though you know part of it is just to get a rise out of you. You don't take the bait.

"That was your mother's decision, not mine," you offer flatly.

"Did you have him killed?" Venetia's glee at the very idea was downright malicious, playing at sounding scandalised. You don't even want to humour her with a real response, just giving a flat, side-eye, "oh, don't give me that look, I'm sure your parents have plenty of people killed all the time."

"They don't -"

"Or they're just not telling you about it," she shrugs, pondering for a moment, "I think our family could get away with murder given the right circumstances, you know? But I could definitely see Pearl having critics murdered for negative reviews on a whim all the time," at her mention of your mother, your face scrunches up. Unfortunately she did have a point, but you hoped your parents, for all their sins, weren't actually that petty and vindictive.

"You're more my family then they are, Ven," you choose instead to say, and Venetia hummed, taking one of your hands beneath the water, lacing her fingers with yours.

"That's sweet as long as I don't think about it for more then a second," she giggled, tipping her head back against your shoulder, turning her face to yours with a mischievous smile, "but that still means you get one, and I'm asking if you and mummy had Feef's ex-boyfriend murdered and buried beneath the flowers in the fairy garden."

"If we'd had Eddie murdered - which we didn't - I wouldn't have had him used as fertiliser in the fairy garden," you tell her firmly, "my flowers deserve better than that." At that, Venetia snorted a laugh, leaning forward to grab her body wash. Sliding seamlessly to the other end of the tub, she begins to methodically wash herself, starting with her arms. There's little else to do but watch her; you don't want to encourage this conversation if you could help it, but you're not sure where to to go from here.

"He was really quite ghastly, wasn't he?" Venetia says suddenly, not even looking at you.

"What?" Your tone is immediately sharp.

"Eddie; he was awfully cruel to Felix," she elaborates casually, like she's completely unaffected by the sudden intensity of your gaze, "not outwardly," she muses, pausing in her scrubbing as she finally meets your gaze, her own thoughtful, "but, like, insidiously, beyond even cheating on him."

"With you," you remind her harshly, but there's an insistent earnestness in her expression that you really hadn't been expecting as she continues.

"With me, yes, but that's the thing," here she gives pause, as if searching for the right words, "he never talked about you or Felix," she finally says like she still can't quite believe it, "you I suppose I understand, but honestly it did always, I don't know, I suppose it irritated me how little he talked to you or even about you, even when he was around you. But it's like Felix didn't even exist either when he wasn't around him," with each word she speaks, her expression falls just a little more. This is all making you feel rather ill; you can't even bring yourself to want to try and comfort Venetia in some way as she seems so helpless and small with her thoughts fixed on the memory.

"I think I wanted to prove that not everything revolves around my brother," she admits softly, "but I suppose it would always be easy taking something he never really had." Her voice is so small when she turns her far away look upon you, "Eddie never really loved Felix, not really," it's not a question, "there was no regret about hurting him," she mutters bitterly, gaze drifting again. Venetia barks a rueful laugh, "you know he apologised to me? I know he's not dead," she admits, "he called after landing in America before I thought to block him, Summer wasn't even over, he didn't even mention Felix let alone ask if he was alright. I was fine!" She laughs angrily, and when she looks back at you, there's tears in her eyes, "but Felix was -" but it catches in her throat, and it's like she finally sees the hurt and anger in your eyes with all she's admitting to. Immediately her gaze drops, apologetic and self conscious for her self involved outburst given the circumstances; she knows she's not the victim.

Felix was shattered.

Venetia clears her throat suddenly, looking away. When she speaks, when she tells you that she knows you warned Oliver away from her, her tone is forcibly bright. But you can't speak. You don't want to be here, don't want to be around her right now. All of your suspicions about Eddie had been right in the end, and now she had to go ahead and bring up Oliver.

Venetia says your name softly, but you stand.

"I can't do this tonight, Venetia," you tell her coldly. It's a strange feeling, to hear her protest, to hear her almost beg for you to just look at her, but you can't do this tonight. After Eddie, you'd iced her out for the rest of that Summer, but she'd seemed contented; she'd won against Felix and so you were not required to keep her entertained. You'd never stood up to Venetia in any way that mattered before.

"Please," it comes out so small, so fragile sounding. Towel wrapped around yourself, you turn, expression hard as you're able to manage.

"Why?"

"So you do know he's lying," she mumbled uncomfortably, then, "I don't know," Venetia admits after a very long silence. Clutching the lip of the ornate tub, she looks almost like a child again, looking, for the first time in your memory, guilty.

"Is it just like last time? Taking something from Felix?" You accused, finally feeling that anger, that resentment beginning to burn in you, "was it better?" You hissed, "when you realised Ollie actually loves him? Or was it worse?"

"I thought if I could get him to look at me the way he looks at you, it'd prove he doesn't really love you," Venetia blurts out. Her gaze is on the floor, and you've gone entirely still. The next words she speaks are biting, full of frustration, "I hate him. I hate the way he looks at you. I don't care how he looks at Felix, everyone loves Felix."

Oh, there is was, unspoken behind her words. As long as Felix, and only Felix, had your heart, she knows she'll always have you around. If Oliver manages to steal your heart, she's afraid that you'll choose him, and she and Felix will both lose you. Her understanding of it all is childish at best; can't she sees that you're capable of so much more than that. You've never conformed to binary choices like that; doesn't she know you better?

"I'll never forgive you if you fall in love with him," she tells you as you reach the door.

"You'll learn to live with it."

With each step back to your room, that hollow feeling in your chest keeps gnawing at you from the inside out. Shielded from the world by only a towel, you feel, for the first time in a long time, you feel too exposed as you roam the halls of the Saltburn Estate. Farleigh had called you spineless, said you'd let Oliver break Felix's heart, and now he's gone. Venetia had so hated the idea of anyone else loving you that she'd tried to facilitate that heartbreak herself, and now you're leaving her behind. All this for Oliver Quick, for the idea of a boy who might love Felix the way you knows he deserves. But even so, Oliver had been party to Venetia's cruelty against you and Felix, had lied about it, had made you complicit when you'd seen through that lie.

Anything to make sure Felix was happy. That's how you justified your own, whether it be indirect or not, cruelty to those around you. But he'd hurt so much more in the long run; the writing was on the walls.

The moment you step into his room, he turns, surprised. He's on the balcony, half folded into one of the wicker chairs, reading and smoking and looking like a dream. Before you even say anything, he knows something is wrong. When he asks, you can't answer, moving almost robotically to change back into your pyjamas.

"I think I need to talk to Ollie," you mumbled without thinking when Felix takes your face in his hands. You barely see him, still stuck in your own head. He frowns, asks why, asks what's wrong, and the care in his voice brings you out of your trance-like state. Swallowing hard when you finally look him in the eyes, your resolve begins to crumble, "I want to know why he did what he did before I tell you," you admit, voice barely a whisper. Felix's expression darkens for a moment, and his hands move from your face to hold you by the shoulders. It grounds you, but the look in his eyes makes your heart ache.

"What did he do?"

"It's different from last time," you shook your head, already trying to soften the blow for what you're about to admit, "Ollie actually loves you, I don't know why he did it." Pressing your forehead to his shoulder, you can't bring yourself to look him in the eyes in this moment.

"What did he do?"

"I need to know why he did it," is all you can manage; you can feel yourself beginning to break, "I need to talk to him, I need to ask, I need to know, because that's the only fucking piece left; why?" Pulling back, away from him, you sink down onto the end of the bed, your face in your shaking hands.

"I know why she did it," you finally admit, "I wish I didn't, but I do. I hate her," comes out through your teeth, bitter and anguished all at once.

"Venetia?"

"They've been lying to you, Felix," you choke out, "been lying to your face, because they love you." All you can do is hope that it's true, "it's why she did it, she couldn't stand the thought of someone else loving me, because she thought if I loved him back, I'd choose him over you, and she wouldn't have me around anymore."

"Vee and Ollie?" Felix already sounds heartbroken when he whispers the words. Without looking at him, you nod. The awful, ugly truth, finally, "and you knew?"

"Ollie pretty much admitted it when I didn't believe his lie; he knows I trust Farleigh with my life," you breathed, finally looking up at him, apology in your eyes. Felix looks as though his world is crashing around him. Again, "since I was the one who saw Ven and Eddie together last year, not him." Felix's eyes go wide at this, stepping back, only to starts pacing, scrubbing his hands over his face.

"Why didn't you tell me you didn't believe him?" Felix huffs as he tries to process everything.

"Because I've been trying to find a way to make you believe that what happened isn't like last time."

"But it is!" Felix finally snaps, stopping dead, "I don't want to do this again," his voice cracks, and when he turns to you, there's tears in his eyes, "how can you say it's not?" It's almost pleading, desperate for any kind of hope.

"Because he loves you!"

Immediately, both of your eyes are on the door to the bathroom, holding your breath, fearing Ollie himself may have heard your outburst, may be listening in. You're fairly certain he's not, but your heart is still in your throat.

"I know he loves you, Felix," you finally breathe, hanging your head, "you know he loves you."

"Then why would he -"

"I don't know," you reiterate, desperately, "it's why I need to talk to him." In the quiet, Felix takes deep, shaking breaths, before he sits on the floor before you, legs crossed, his forehead braced against your knee.

"I don't want you to go through that again," you tell him softly, sincerely, carding your fingers through his soft, dark hair.

"We could run away," Felix whispers faintly, echoing words you'd spoken to him just a week ago, when you'd been first dealing with this whole situation and hadn't wanted to admit the truth then either, "like you suggested; get a flat in London, never go back to Oxford, never speak to any of them again," when he looks up, resting his chin on your knee, you see the sadness in his eyes despite his soft smile, "just us."

You both know it's an impossible dream, but still, you huff a soft laugh, your thumb brushing his cheek as you cradle his face tenderly.

"Okay, just us; that's all I'll ever need."

His smile grows just a little wider, leaning into your touch and this moment. But the moment, the idle dream, it has to come to an end. Felix's face falls once more.

"You love him," he sighs gently, mouth pressed into a thin line, "I love him, Y/N," he sounds so helplessly, "I wish I didn't, but I do. I love Oliver Quick, and he's going to break my fucking heart, isn't he?"

"He loves you too, Fi," you assured him gently, "that's why he lied, why..." you take a deep, guilty breath, "why I didn't tell you."

"What the could he even say to salvage this; you warned him about Venetia. The more I think about it, the more I- I- I fucking hate it. Them."

"I don't want you to talk to him," he tells you quietly, his voice calm and serious as he speaks over your protests, "I don't like that you had to do this, that you felt like you had to do this for me. Let me talk to him."

"Fi -"

"You make me happy," he tells you firmly, "everything you do makes me happy; you don't need to do this. Even if me talking to Oliver doesn't make you happy, at the very least, let me do what I can; I want to make sure you're never unhappy for my benefit. I want you to be happy too, I hope you know that."

All your protests die in your throat.

"I do, Fi."

"Then let me do this. This is my relationship too, you don't have to do all of this alone."

[fuckitupfelix]

congratulations...? [pt.2]

read part one here! hope you enjoy!!

atsumu miya x male reader

word count: 1.1k

it always ends with him apologizing somehow. you always know.

FEM ALIGNED DNI

when (name) walked back to meet with karasuno again, everyone had noticed the change in his demeanor. he had left the team with a grin on his face, only to walk back completely silent. nobody said anything at first, leaving him alone for a bit, at least until they got on the bus to head back to the hotel.

maybe atsumu was just being childish like usual! he's always been kind of stupid and competitive like that, with how he always butted heads with osamu. but he was usually different with (name). usually he'd listen to (name's) advice after getting into a fight with osamu, as he let himself get patched up. usually he'd ease up when he noticed that (name) was around, scared that he might say something he wouldn't mean.

"(name)! the bus is here now! come on!" nishinoya snaps him out of his thoughts, and he blinks.

"oh. yeah, yeah, sorry." (name) nods, shoving his hands in his pockets.

as the team slowly files onto the bus, (name) tries to pick a seat by himself. as much as he loves the team, some of them were a bit too loud for his liking. he just wanted to go to sleep.

just as he puts his headphones into his ears, noya plops himself down into the seat next to (name). he fights back a grimace, and shoves his headphones back into his pocket.

". . . what d'ya want, noya?" (name) asks, side-eyeing the libero.

noya frowns at that. "dude, what's up with you? i get you're tired, but we won! did something happen with atsumu?"

when (name) freezes up at that, he connects the dots surprisingly quick.

"ooohhhh, you're having issues with your man!" he says, a little louder than (name) would have liked. he slaps a hand onto noya's mouth, glaring at him.

"dude! ya don't gotta announce it for the whole freakin' world t'hear! shut it!" (name) snaps. noya just shoves his hand off of his face, frowning.

noya points an accusatory finger at (name). "but you are, aren't you? what happened? was he being a dick?"

(name) lets out a huff, leaning back in his seat slightly. ". . . kinda. he was bein' pissy about us winnin'! can ya fuckin' believe it? i get he lost 'n all, but seriously! a 'congrats', or a 'i'm so proud'o ya, babe' would'a been fine! but hes actin' like a toddler! for nothin'! fuckin' nerve of that cunt—"

"oh. woah. he sucks, dude!" noya remarks, leaning over your shoulder to be impossibly closer. (name) shifts over closer to the corner of the seat, not really appreciating his personal space being invaded.

"he's not that bad, honestly. . . he's just a lil' shit sometimes. ya know?" he just shrugs at that. that wasn't helpful to (name) at all.

"i'm not good at relationship advice. . . hold on." noya turns to the aisle, and, to (name's) horror, shouts, "ENNOSHITA!!"

said second year turns around rigidly in his seat, and is met with noya's far too eager expression and (name's) disturbed one.

"(name) needs help! come here!"

"shut up, noya, jesus—! it's fine, ennoshita, seriously—"

by this point, ennoshita had already shifted down to sit in the next seat over from the duo, switching seats with tanaka. "what's up, (name)?" but before he can actually speak, noya butts in again.

"he's having boy problems!" "shut it, noya!" (name) huffs, shoving his head down to actually see ennoshita.

"seriously? well, you should just talk to him, no? communication is always healthy."

". . . nahh, i'll wait for him t'apologise." (name) shrugs, removing his hand from noya's head. "how are you sure he's gonna?" hinata chimes in, leaning over the back of his seat.

"oi, hinata! don't butt into (name's) business!" kageyama huffs, yanking the ginger down by his shirt.

"if he doesn't, 'samu'll make him do it. i give 'em two days, tops." the whole group collectively sweatdrops at that.

when the bus finally pulls up to the hotel, (name's) body feels significantly heavier than it did five seconds ago. he wants nothing more than to shower, eat, and sleep. with a stretch, he stands up as the rest of the team files out. in his pocket, his phone buzzes, and his face grows warm when he sees who it's from, opening the messages a bit too eagerly.

atsumu

give me ten mins babe       19:22bus is running late

pls. its important i promise 19:23

(name) felt oddly nervous at that, the little voice at the back of his head spouting nonsensical fears. what if he was breaking up with him? over a volleyball match? ‘tsumu’s not THAT much of an idiot, right?

when he notices a few of his teammates still standing outside, seemingly waiting for him, he waves them off with a small smile. "could ya guys tell coach i'll be a minute, please? i gotta take care'a somethin'."

once they all head inside, (name) pulls his phone out again to respond to atsumu's text.

(name)

ok. im waiting out front

you have ten minutes maxor im leaving 19:27

he turns his phone off and shoves it into his pocket, rocking back and forth on his heels. after a while of pacing in front of the hotel doors, the thought to leave briefly passes through his mind. as soon as he turns towards the doors again, a figure turns the corner of the block. it's atsumu. he’s panting as he’s hunched over, trying to catch his breath. he clearly ran to get there.

“what’d ya wanna talk about, exactly?” (name) asks, crossing his arms. atsumu looks up at him through hooded eyes, his face morphing into a frown.

“i wanted t’apologize to ya. obviously. i was actin’ like a child earlier.”

(name) huffs at that. “i could’a told ya that much.” the blond lets out a ‘tch’.

“‘m not finished, jeez! i was actin’ real stupid, and yer right to be pissed at me,” atsumu grumbles. he shoves his hands into his pockets, and it looks like he wants to say something else.

“quit it with that face, ya look constipated.” atsumu lets out an indignant scoff at that before (name) continues. “what else did you wanna say, ‘tsumu?”

“. . .congratulations. ya did amazin’.” he breathes out. it’s the first smile he’s cracked in hours. (name) deems it acceptable. he walks over, rubbing atsumu’s shoulder. “thank you, baby. now, i swear to fucking god,” he starts, squeezing his boyfriend’s shoulder a little tighter— atsumu yelps at the grip, chuckling awkwardly.

“if ya ever act like a whiny bitch over somethin’ like this, i’m breaking up with yer sorry ass.” (name) hums with a tight smile.

“love ya too, baby,” atsumu grins, leaning over to plant a kiss on his cheek. meanwhile, a few karasuno members were watching the encounter from the window of the inn.

tsukishima grimaces at the whole exchange. “how does their relationship even work? they’re both so. . . pigheaded.”

part two of this done finally !!!!!11!!!!1!!!!!1!!1!1! never doing this again tumblr tweaked out every time i tried to save this draft.

dividers by @/plutism !!

[pb-dot]

Film Friday: Inception

Today I'm writing about a movie that's a bit outside of my regular wheelhouse. Inception is not my favorite movie, it probably doesn't even get on the Top 10 shortlist if I'm honest, but it's probably one of my favorite movies ever to think about for a couple of reasons that I suspect are a bit unusual. This is all to say I'm going to go a bit deeper into Film Nerd mode than usual for this one. I'd apologize, but I'm not sorry. Inception spoilers beneath the cut.

So, to start off, I'm not particularly fond of Nolan as a filmmaker. He's extremely gifted on the technical side of filmmaking for sure, and his authorial voice is very strong. That said, his oeuvre seems entirely too cold and clinical to me. Sharp suits, sharp men, complex plans that pivot on perfect twists, near-realistic aesthetics. If there are any emotions involved it's what's ruining everybody's shit. Sometimes, Batman is there. You know, the whole bag.

Nolan makes complex clockwork movies that frequently fuck with time in an interesting way, but there's an emotional distance, or perhaps I should say "distance from emotion" to the whole thing which makes very few of them stick in any meaningful way. For example: I remember Dunkirk being a technically impressive movie that did some spicy things what narrative pacing is considered, but I couldn't tell you a single thing about who it was about, or even what those spicy narrative decisions were in service of.

There is, however, one notable exception. In his 2010 movie Inception, Nolan assembles one of, if not the most complex mechanism yet, and somehow it manages to be his most emotionally honest film. It's quite the impressive magic trick, and I would argue he achieves it by reaching a level of emotional honesty that one seldom sees from mainstream filmmakers.

Inception is a film about a crew of exceptional thieves specializing in cracking the final vault, the human mind. Using technology that lets them enter the dreams of their targets, they seek to extract company secrets, classified intel, and other pieces of knowledge that can most easily be hidden in memory. However, their troubled leader Cobb finds himself compelled to attempt a job thought impossible, Inception. Their mission is to plant in the mind of energy company heir Robert Fischer the idea of breaking up his company through a dream heist. This heist is complicated not only by the sheer deftness the crew must show in planting an idea without leaving any trace, but also by Cobb's own psychological scars that threaten to destabilize the carefully planned multi-level heist.

The first level I want to look at here is the central metaphor of the Mind Heist gang being analogous to a filmmaking crew. They're all creative and immensely focused people coming together under the direction of a man with a vision, Cobb. This description is perhaps a bit over-general, but what elevates the Filmmaking-as-heist idea to me is how the heists in Inception are specifically about creating a narrative. It is especially important with the main heist as creating a narrative in the head of the target is part and parcel of the inception, but even in the other heist we get to see, setting up a narrative is pivotal to stealing the information they're looking for.

As an aside, this narrative-making and the need for realism that comes with it also justifies what I consider to be my main sticking point with the film, in that the dreams are so very true to life and low-tech, while dreams in my experience tend to be strange, surreal and malleable experiences. This explains at least from the Watsonian perspective. From a Doylist point of view, it's more likely because Nolan is most comfortable with a near-realistic style of narrative, and this strict adherence to something approaching the realitylike makes his complex drama puzzleboxes easier to follow.

So, the heist crew are, essentially, filmmakers, which would, at least in today's Western film tradition, would make Cobb the director. In much the same way as Roy Neary in Close Encounters Of The Third Kind can be read as a stand-in for director Steven Spielberg, Cobb functions as our Nolan stand-in for Inception. Cobb is, however, far from a blank slate, or frankly a particularly idolized self. He is, in short, a mess.

After going deeper into the world of dreaming than anyone before him, Cobb has crossed some ethical Rubicons, especially when attempting to deal with his now-dead wife Mal and her reluctance to leave the world of dreaming. After performing the first-ever inception to plant the idea in Mal's head that the dream world is, indeed, not the real world, Cobb finds himself constantly troubled by anxiety as to whether he's asleep or awake. Whether this is a direct consequence or reaction to the act of inception, paranoia stemming from such a perspective-shifting thing even being possible, a manifestation of the guilt he feels over Mal's return to the waking world ending with her suicide, or even a sign that Mal did some incepting of her own, is something we can only speculate on.

Regardless of what exactly is eating Cobb, it manifests in his work. The heist crew frequently finds their efforts frustrated by incursions from Cobb's mind. The most common of these is Mal, or at least Cobb's mental recreation of her, throwing a wrench in their plans, and, in one particularly memorable case, a freight train running through an area a freight train really has no business being. Cobb tries to minimize the risk of this by not taking point and not being too directly involved, but this does little to dissuade his cocktail of trauma and troubled emotions from coming damn close to upending the entire thing.

The heist, however, does succeed. Through a series of bluffs and maneuvers, they manage to navigate Fischer Jr. to what he believes to be the deepest corner of his mind, where lies the comprehension, represented by a deathbed conversation with the man. Through this, Fischer realizes his recently departed father wishes for Robert to break up the energy conglomerate Fischer Sr. built, and instead make something for himself. It's a scene of high drama, and no small amount of catharsis as the troubled Robert realizes his father was never disappointed in him, and merely wanted his boy to be the best version of himself he could be. It's quite stirring stuff.

It is, however, a lie. This isn't Fischer Sr. revealing himself to be a caring father with trouble communicating the same, hell, it isn't even Robert's interpretation of the man. It is a scenario set up by the dream heist team with the express intention of making the dreaming Fischer Jr. believe this was his unconscious mind telling him to break up his energy conglomerate. It isn't Fischer Sr., not even as an imperfect mental construct by Fischer Jr., it's a construction of the heist crew. It's an act of manipulation, a triumphant act of manipulation, yes, but an act of manipulation all the same.

And still, even upon rewatching the movie with this knowledge well in hand, it's hard to not be swept along by the sheer force of emotion in that moment. Part of it is because it feels so necessary for the character. Fischer Jr. isn't just a target in the context of the scene, he's a troubled man with a complicated relationship to his father. He needs to settle his self-doubt and dismay with the stern and aloof parent he grew up with, and after his death, he still needs the catharsis. So in a way, it doesn't matter much that Fischer Sr. isn't the real deal, Fischer Jr. knows he's in a dream at this point, hell, it maybe doesn't even matter if the dream construct isn't his own. Perhaps what the dream-construct father says is what the wayward son needs to hear, although it'll certainly change the energy market in some pretty dramatic ways. Perhaps, or perhaps Cobb has become such a skilled manipulator his reach extends to the audience, but returning to our metaphor of Cobb as a Nolan stand-in, what is filmmaking if not manipulating and eliciting emotional reactions?

To further reinforce the point that this cathartic, but fake, heart-to-heart isn't the climax of the story, Cobb's journey isn't done. In the process of doing something thought impossible for the second time, Cobb is forced to do something impossible yet again, parallel to Fischer's revelation. This time, it is to dive deeper into the layered dreaming still in pursuit of his exit strategy, to the unconscious, chaotic under-realm of Limbo, from which there is no waking. This was from whence he managed to rescue himself and Mal back after the first inception, and although it is far from pleasant, he yet again manages to pull through and emerge from the dream.

Or does he? The movie does play with the possibility that the reality that Cobb emerges into is merely another dream in Limbo. It could be because of this the cinematography gets somewhat less focused as the heist concludes and Cobb finds his highest wish fulfilled, exoneration both in the eyes of the law and himself from any wrongdoing in Mal's death and the opportunity to return to his children.

Now, before I bring this all home, I feel I should speak briefly on Totems in Inception. The Totem is a series of different objects made by the various members of the heist crew. These items, Cobb's is a spinning top, are modified by each individual member and is only to be handled by them. The logic here is that these items are supposed to be a way to check whether you're in somebody else's dream, as you can check the object and how it interacts with the world to verify that it's doing what it's supposed to do, the weighted die falls to the number it's supposed to, the spinning top spins out and tips over like you'd expect it to. Throughout the movie, Cobb has a spinning top he checks regularly, some would say with obsessively, only feeling fully safe once the top tips over.

This is all to explain the lead-up to the final moment of the movie. Cobb, true to his habit, spins his top before meeting his children. He does, however, not wait for it to tip over, and instead goes to meet his children. The camera remains on the top, and moments before it becomes clear whether the top will fall over or continue, the movie cuts to credits.

Many have taken this as a challenge of sorts, a call to action to analyze the logic and events of the movie for signs. Is this a movie about a man succeeding or about a man succumbing? Is what we see in the closing minutes of the movie real, or is it a comfortable lie Limbo has formed around Cobb like it once did around him and Mal?

Personally, I say it does not matter. The story of Cobb ends with him leaving behind his totem for a reason. He has rid himself of the fear that has plagued him since emerging from Limbo and Mal's death. What if it was Mal who was right, and the quote-unquote real world was nothing more than a particularly elaborate Limbo dream. What if he never incepted anything, what if he's still dreaming within dreaming, stuck in a holding pattern until the impossibly long dream ends, his mind rent asunder by experiencing more time and place than a human mind is meant to bear. What if the top never stops spinning?

As my sequence of retelling might imply, I believe it was experiencing the inception scene with Fischer that helped Cobb clear the final hurdle and face his fears. Even if what Fischer experienced wasn't real, it had a powerful, arguably positive effect on the man. It gave him something he'd never get in the real world, closure. It wasn't real, but it was real enough.

So that is, I believe, what we're meant to take from that spinning top. The point isn't whether the top has stopped spinning or not, but rather that Cobb has stopped checking. Spin or not, Cobb's journey is not real. It's a movie, told by a crew of talented creatives, guided by a man with a vision and the willingness to show us things that aren't real to give us catharsis, show us wonder and terror, entertain us, and perhaps, give us some closure. "Try not to dwell on it," the movie says, as if aware of the deluge of movie buffs and wannabe theorists that would descend on this movie like they do on every movie with their red circles and reading metaphors as mechanics, "Even if it's fake, it's Real Enough."

[plantenjoyer]

I SWEAR I KEEP TRYING TO DO ART BUT THEN SOMETHING GETS IN THE WAY AND THEN I PROCRASTINATE AND THEN SIX MONTHS PASS

[seelestia]

✧ i'll show you (if you'll let me).

⎯ there is a certain touch of beauty to witnessing a side of theirs revealed to you so naturally. it becomes as easy as breathing if you just let it happen... so, will you? ( or in other words, a way you enable them to be themselves. )

#STARRING. aventurine, dr. ratio, sunday, dan heng ft. gn!reader. { 4.2k words }

#TAGS. fluff, established relationship. more: minor spoilers for aven's backstory (described mostly abstractly), ratio is referred to by his first name, i called sunday a nerd (sorry), dr. ratio & dan heng are certified workaholics.

#P/S. i think i may have yapped a little considering the word count but i hope it ends up being a good kind of yapping. tysm for reading! ♡

© seelestia on tumblr, may 2024. please do not repost, plagiarize, translate, use for AI-related purposes or claim as your own.

★ 〜 masterlist.

will you let aventurine hold you close when he sleeps? . . . whether it's an arm slung over your hips or his nose buried in your shoulder or fingers tracing shapes onto your skin. he doesn't ask for too much; only that you grant him the permission to cradle you in his arms, somewhere within his reach. it's a habit, he hopes you don't mind.

you have to wonder, though. considering the plenitude of pillows on the bed, why do his hands still seek you out? with all the credits he spent on those cotton-stuffed angels, you thought aventurine would relish them a bit more. but ah-ah, see? that is where you're wrong. sure, the pillows are extremely comfy but he always has a preference for things with much, much more value.

and the truth — well, his truth — is that even the softest cushions from oti mall couldn't compare to the privilege of laying his head on your chest, he'd say. especially when you brush his hair with your fingers - oh, one of the easiest ways to paradise. truly, the best value there is! can you blame a man for being honest and a little lovesick?

(“sappy,” you accuse. he pouts, offended.)

but aventurine has a flair for theatrics, you know that. his witty quips are as feather-light in weight as light-hearted they are in intent. but his touch - in the forms of kind caresses or rhythmic taps to a tune from his forgotten culture - lingers on your skin, with a yearning so heavy. you question whether it could be nostalgia or instead, silent awe at a reality he never imagined could ever be his.

(kakavasha remembers. clinging onto you for warmth like he once did to his sister, falling asleep with her prayers to mama fenge in his ears. the avgins believed gaiathra triclops to be the symbol of humility; so naturally, their prayers to her should also be humble, not too quiet but not too loud. all in moderation. for a frail child like him, those gentle prayers alone were enough to let him drift into a dreamless slumber and to ignore the shackles of reality if not for the briefest moments.

time passed. came a time where the melody he associated with slumber was no longer a soft voice lulling him but pure static, a noise to distract his mind from the chains around his wrists. they burned themselves onto his skin, searing, but he was already too familiar with the sensation to care. the mark on his neck was unwelcome, laughing at him, but he too laughed at his own pitiful reflection so what's the difference, anyway?

time passed again, the call of slumber then turned into clattering noises of chips doused in gold and dice thrown onto a surface. he thought it'd stay that way forever but before long, it morphed into up-and-down waves he couldn't decipher initially. they're gentle, faint like a human's breathing: your breathing as you allowed him to lie beside you for the first time, he realized back then. although he deems himself unworthy, an ugly grime on your pristine existence that still insists on cradling him — but despite it all, he finds this last melody to be his favorite so far.)

✧ a moment among the stars:

ticklish.

the sensation, minor yet still impactful enough, causes you to stir out of sleep. the light of noon greets your eyes and you become vaguely cognizant that the root of it all is the tufts of blond hair brushing against your neck.

there is a solid weight on your torso and a pair of slender arms loosely wrapped around your waist - but they're nothing you haven't grown used to. you comb your fingers through the messy locks licking at your skin, instinctively, and the fragrant scent of what you register as penacony's limited edition perfume kisses your nose.

“...ugh, what system time is it?” you let out a grunt, shifting around slightly to let your limbs breathe. you don't get an answer to your question, instead, aventurine's arms reestablish their hold on you. hooking you closer to him as if to wring out whatever proximity is left, if there is even any. his simple proclamation of “who cares?”, in a sense.

there it is again, that ticklish feeling. you feel soft lips grazing feather-like kisses against your collarbone. oh, he definitely isn't letting go just yet. truly merciless, a dozy morning thought accompanied by your tired sigh. the noise still comes out fond, however, so your feigned act of annoyance is fooling no one.

“it's warm, you know,” you grumble. but the yawn escaping your mouth right after betrays whatever stern image you're trying to adopt. not like you can ever be too stern with him. aventurine knows this, yes, and he gives you an A+ for effort each time.

“mhm,” he finally speaks, snuggling into your chest with no care about anything in the world, “g'morning to you too, lovely.”

his favorite mornings aren't his favorite if not thanks to your innocuous complaints and delightful attempts at pushing his pretty face away, no? a lazy grin graces the stoneheart's lips and eyes like exquisite gems, although sleepy, flutter open to gaze at you languidly. he takes the sight of you in then lets out a sigh - a fond noise just like yours earlier; the both of you really are two peas of a pod.

you must look a terrible mess right now and yet, the sight of you has aventurine smiling dazedly. “ah, what a spectacular sight. i really am the luckiest man in the galaxy,” he hums in approval. you want to roll your eyes but stops as he leans up to pepper (ah, one necessary correction: smother) kisses all over your face, arms dragging you closer to his chest like a cage. your eyes widen comically. what a nefarious trap, he has the advantage!

every remnant of sleepiness clinging to your mind evaporates. you squeal with laughter, shoving at his shoulder using the strength of a baby deer because no, you don't really want him to stop. he knows that too, of course.

“mwah, mwah, mwah—”

“pfft...! kakavasha, i can't breathe!”

(he has half a mind to pinch his skin, as if to remind himself that this is real. he can feel your giggles tickling his skin as if to tell him in return: yes, you are.)

will you let veritas pour his heart out after a long day? . . . well, that could count as too much of an overstatement. others say, “that man is like a brick wall!” some more dare to whisper, “doesn't his temper already exhaust whatever emotional quota he has?!” needless to say, everyone knows that dr. ratio is a man ruled by the mind, not by the heart. alright, that's quite true - but does that imply he has discarded the latter altogether? if so, then you beg to differ.

(not in the literal sense, of course! the heart is a vital organ of the body. saying otherwise would be akin to spitting on his shiny phd in biology... or his seven other phd's at that.)

the pedestal which the public places veritas ratio on reaches still great heights, even if it may not rival an ivory tower a member of the genius society resides in. it is so high up that mundane troubles of those below can't reach a genius like him, surely? well, as tall as he stands - somehow, the universe grants you a front row seat for a particular sight that proves otherwise.

if only they knew the doctor has a habit of mumbling these incomprehensible (more like barely intelligible) grumbles under his breath, striking a resemblance similar to a grumpy old cat. if you strain your ears hard enough, you might catch a “...this has to be it...” or “...i dare not think so...” from time to time as he roams around the room with materials in his hands.

(absurd, people would say. but you think it's extremely cute.)

veritas doesn't say it out loud - but you can tell by the hunch in his stiff shoulders, by the one or two sighs he huffs every six minutes - that he is itching to tell somebody of all the tomfooleries he has encountered today. of course, the topics he laments about vary; it's only when you hear him exhaling the loudest sigh that you get to find out.

mostly though, it's about his students and remarks on how they can further improve their performance — sure, he could phrase it a little gentler — but you still find it sweet that he cares. if not that, then it'd be about indolent colleagues, complicated formulae and more. on some days, he'll even let out an exasperated “truly mind-boggling! could you believe that?” to which you'd reply with an “uh-huh, go on.”

at the end of a ranting session, veritas takes careful note to leave a kiss on your person afterward. no matter where it is - on the lips, the cheek or your hand. no matter where you are - sitting on the couch beside him, behind the kitchen counter or across the room. the warmth that stays on your skin when he pulls away is somewhat tingly. appreciative, you think, especially when he looks at you with such loving eyes that his colleagues would be sure to retch in shock if they were a witness.

looks like you are right on the money; he has never discarded his heart, after all. so yes, to rephrase - will you lend veritas a listening ear when he needs it?

✧ a moment among the stars:

“...yet another headache.”

as unsubtle as ever, the doctor's complaint is barely hidden behind the guise of a mumble. those neatly styled violet bangs of his aren't doing an excellent job at concealing that frown strewn across his forehead either. veritas's posture is tense, a dead giveaway, as he goes over the piles of documents on his desk.

you cock an eyebrow upon seeing the stamp belonging to the intelligentsia guild on one of the papers. definitely work. it has been two system hours since he took a seat at the work desk, you concur, or lifted a finger to do something besides flipping through drafts. a mere glance at the stack of documents is enough to convince you that those researchers at the guild must really value veritas's input.

a perk of being a genius, maybe? the phantom of a weight lands alight on your shoulders. with a mug of black coffee in hand, you make your way to him. your footsteps are without a sound, only the noise of porcelain being placed down onto woodenware is enough to announce your arrival. “rough day at work?” you ask, peering down at his progress.

(a doctor's handwriting really is something. you resist the urge to squint.)

veritas doesn't seem to mind. if the way he smiles at the sight of you, albeit tiredly, is any indication. “hah,” he rests a hand on his temple and scoffs wryly, “so much grievances like you wouldn't believe.”

oh, he is teetering on the precipice of a tangent but stops himself. “...fret not, i'm fine. this is hardly something beyond my expertise,” he shakes his head, the motion causing his reading glasses to slide down a smidgen down the bridge of his nose.

you're too familiar with the self-assured bravado he puts on. you're quite endeared, actually. “okay, mr. i-require-no-rest,” you take the glasses off his face and he breaks into a frown. at the childish tone you're using or for having his reading glasses taken away, you don't know.

“why don't you take a little break?” you suggest. veritas sighs, “need i remind you that dilly-dallying is for fools who wish to waste their time?” and crosses his arms defiantly. he knows your strategy, he has come face-to-face with it several times.

“do you think a break with me is a waste of time?” you present him with a rhetorical question, quite the difficult adversary.

(and he keeps losing to it every single time.)

“well, that's—” the doctor nearly splutters, taken aback. “that's different if you insist on inserting yourself as a variable,” he infers, putting emphasis on the last part accompanied by an incredulous look.

“the answer is up for debate then,” you shrug with a cheeky smile. your hand then deftly lifts the mug you previously set down to your lips, veritas's eyes dilate in bewilderment. “so,” you hum at the rich taste of your handiwork, “wanna tell me about your day? haven't heard about the council in a while.”

“you—” he gasps in defeat, “i thought that was supposed to be my mug of coffee.”

(he has a slight pout on his face, but you dare not point it out lest it disappears in the blink of an eye.)

“our mug of coffee,” you take a few more sips with an innocent decadence. “all is fair in love and war, doctor.”

“i can never win with you,” he buries his face in his palm with a groan. you laugh heartily, a sound that chimes like quaint little bells in his ears - it elicits a reaction from his lips, for them to quirk up at the corners in the smallest of ways.

“regardless. . .” veritas relents and reaches for your free hand. you let him. “it seems a break wouldn't be so amiss, after all,” he then presses a kiss on the side of your wrist, affectionate.

(your heart skips a beat.)

will you let sunday regale you with facts you've never heard of before? . . . a man of eloquent words, no less a man of educated mind. you have no doubt that the books in the dewlight pavilion really aren't just there for show - not that you're allowed to browse through them at your own desire. a servant's voice would stop you in your tracks should your fingers ever brush against something in the family's secret bookshelf.

how mysterious.

but sunday makes it known to the staff that you, in particular, are allowed more access to the shelves - perhaps, not too much - but more than even mr. mccoy, at least. with the way you have to crane your neck far up to pinpoint the tallest height that the shelves reach, you wonder: has sunday gone through everything here personally?

your immediate answer is most likely. you know sunday fairly well; to have something that he hasn't scrutinized from the inside out in his possession will surely gnaw away at his psyche incessantly. not being in the know at all times is a looming fear for him. but of course, you have other ways to confirm the answer for yourself.

pick out a book from a shelf there, either intentional or purely arbitrary, and watch as sunday carefully traces his steps towards you. his curiosity is piqued, which topic has caught your interest this time? but he tucks it under proper cordiality. with a hand behind his back, he'd utter your name in the softest tone and ask the familiar question of “would you like to know more?” — asking for your permission to ramble, essentially — you find this tendency of his to be charming, so you nod each time.

(and he smiles when you do. a smile less refined at the edges, kinder and relaxed.)

the best place to start from is always the beginning. you think sunday agrees because he often starts by telling you the history and its origins before moving on to its impact on the galaxy, then his personal stance on the topic. it's a pattern, you notice, his ramblings have a pattern. and it's consistent every time, you might've believed he was reading off a script. and what's more? sunday is blissfully oblivious of it.

fascinating. you ponder: what kind of things you can do with this information? decisions, decisions, decisions. . . but ultimately, you opt for keeping it a secret like a treasure only you're allowed to see.

(that might be true in a way. you don't doubt that robin, his dear sister, is familiar with this side of him. does that mean he treasures you like he does her? your chest starts to feel a bit lighter.)

if you were to point it out, you fear you might never witness it again - goodness, to know that he has been displaying such foolishness or rather, what he viewed as an embarrassing freudian slip in front of you? his wings might as well resort to covering his face for good until the end of time.

as you listen to him talk (with such elegance at that), you can't help whatever tender look you have on your face. really, who would've thought the head of the oak family could be such. . . a nerd?

(you hope in secret that sunday will be more willing to show sides like these to you in the future. and that they're not a weakness at all, not when they're shared with you.)

✧ a moment among the stars:

“it looks like you're fascinated by the dreamscape nursery rhyme this time.”

sunday spares the article in your hold no further inspection. one glance at the cover and walls of memorized information rush to the front of his mind. he looks familiar with it; could it be a part of his childhood too? but then again, everything found here is within his knowledge.

“i am,” you say with intrigue, “it got me ruminating for a while.”

you meet his gaze, stumbling upon yellow irises that glimmer akin to gold under penaconian chandeliers. you think you see a hint of affection in them, swimming around your reflection like a school of fish in a pond. it makes you smile.

he smiles back, oblivious to your thoughts but returns your gesture. he asks, “how so?” and you reply without delay, “i read through it and the morbid undertone took me by surpri—”

or at least, it's supposed to be without delay until you realize sunday has stepped closer in order to peer down at the page you're holding open. and suddenly, you're extremely aware of every minute detail like how his breath brushes against the side of your cheek and how his chest rumbles as he hums in acknowledgement.

(you flush in the neck and he perceives this reaction of yours with mirth.)

“my apologies,” sunday chuckles and pulls away, “i've simply forgotten the rhyme and wished to refresh my memory.”

“somehow, i feel that isn't the case...” you mumble accusingly. that seems to amplify whatever little amusement he gets from flustering you. “oh, my dove. i can assure you that it is,” he caresses your head, a little placatingly.

most times, sunday isn't so laidback about giving affection in public — since he has an image to maintain — so you assume the fact that the servants are out and about, leaving only you and him here, plays a role in his unusual boldness. you accept the gesture with a bashful pout.

“now, where were we?” sunday clears his throat, “ah, yes. some people have noted on the nursery rhyme's strange quality but still, it retains its popularity in penacony. it is also widely assumed that the hound resembles the bloodhound family while—”

you hold back an amused sigh, but it's more out of fondness than anything. he'll start from the history then the effect on the general public, as per usual, but you're not the only predictable one here. you'd listen to him anytime too, won't you?

(you do adore when the head of the oak family would put off his public figure mask around you. if only for just a while.)

will you let dan heng rest his head on your lap when it's just you two? . . . the sense of comfort it provides isn't something he can explain with words. as if he has ever been good with words in the first place. saying a sentence bereft of logical reasoning or witty remarks doesn't come easily to the express’ guard. neither does intimacy. . . but you know that already, don't you?

after all, it isn't a secret that dan heng prefers speaking with his actions. if to show one's intentions is the end goal, then actions are the fastest route to choose. words, although able to sweeten the trip like how a beautiful scenery can, will eventually lead to actions regardless so why take the extra step?

but you're different from him; you articulate what you think and what you mean. you're honest in ways that keep catching dan heng off guard without fail — just like the first time you offered your empty lap to him when his head was swirling in pain — but he supposes that is one of your charms. “words can be useful. we're not all born mind readers,” you told him once and he hummed, accepting of your perspective.

(“look at you two! opposites attract!” march chirped. he recalled shooting her a look of indignation and she rubbed the back of her head sheepishly in response.)

dan heng has learnt to grow used to your propensities - but by far, your shameless invitations are still one matter that can't be comprehended even with time. he cannot understand; how you smile as you sit on his futon in the archives (he doesn't mind), how you link gazes with him so effortlessly, how you pat your lap knowingly and say, “why don't you rest your head here?”

(he has to restrain himself from bursting into flames like a heliobus.)

sometimes, he'll accept reluctantly or he'll decline with an underlying tone of longing he doesn't want you to notice. because as much of a good hold dan heng has on nonchalance, he cannot deny that this particular gesture of yours has left a mark on him.

(it remains persistently.)

when he rests his head on your lap, he can't help but take a deep inhale - your fragrance fills his senses and he discards the selfish desire to keep it all to himself. your fingers are soothing as they thread through his hair gently. the feeling that washes over him is serene, almost comparable to submerging himself in the pure waters of scalegorge waterscape.

when overcome by such a tranquil state of mind, dan heng wonders what expression he might be making at that moment? he always keeps his eyes closed, so it's a shame he may never know. but you do, and you don't think you've ever seen him look so at peace before like he does now.

(perhaps, that's why you keep offering him this in the first place.)

✧ a moment among the stars:

“someone looks tired,” you state with a pointed stare. the archives isn't a room too spacious and the only ones here are you and him. the target of your sentence is obvious.

but dan heng doesn't take the bait, barely looks away from the entry he is currently authoring. still, he spares you a glance and hums glibly, “are you projecting? if so, feel free to use my bed in the meantime.”

you let out a noise, something gibberish that conveys disappointment but it is effectively drowned out by the typing noises. “you haven't even touched the food i bought you,” your voice becomes mellow, “why don't you rest for a while?”

he isn't convinced, you think, since his fingers are still hard at work. the new info the team brought back must've been a lot if he's that focused.

“dan heng?” you try again, hopeful for the last time. you don't take him for a fool, of course, he'll know when he reaches his limit and have proper rest then. but would that really be ideal? a second passes and that hope flickers like a dimming light. but just an inch before the edge of giving up, the typing slows to a stop.

“. . .alright,” he murmurs. finally, after a good hour spent drawing patterns on his backside with your eyes, dan heng turns around to face you. he look tense, you note with abject concern.

“here,” you usher him to your lap, empty and conveniently so. dan heng shoots you a blank look - this isn't the first time you offered and this isn't the first time he reacted like that. you try to suppress a laugh, failing gloriously at it. “just for a little bit,” you utter through a stifled fit of chuckles.

dan heng shakes his head, not in rejection but in defeat. his eyes slip close, second nature, as he leans to situate his head on your lap. you welcome him with a hum and let your fingers card through his hair. a calm sigh falls from his lips like a water droplet in springtime.

“this. . . is nice,” he admits, sudden and unprompted. you nearly doubt your ears for a moment there. did he— “i don't hate it is, uhm, what i mean to say,” dan heng adds and it dawns on you that your ears are still working. his eyes are still closed, not that you'd expect anything else, he prefers to treat it as a shield from being face-to-face with embarrassment.

(or to avoid your ecstatic gaze. he can feel warmth rushing to his cheeks already.)

“i know,” you smile, brushing away a few messy strands from his forehead. he isn't an open book but you think you've read the pages enough to remember all the little details. “but thanks for telling me. i'm no mind reader but i think i can read yours pretty well.”

“i shall provide no further comment,” he holds back an incredulous exhale, yet his lips still curl slightly at the corner. you feel the teeniest desire to trace the curve of his lips with your fingertip but settle for silently admiring them instead.

“it's fine. i know the answer already,” you say, words dripping with affection. such a shame dan heng never looks up at you during a time like this. because if he did, he wouldn't have missed seeing the sheer fondness in your gaze that rains down on him in light showers. a true shame.

(one day, he'll gather the courage. maybe.)

— thank you for reading! reblogs with comments are most appreciated. ♡

[jensthwa]

show & tell pt. 2 (SMG x reader).

part of the love's an uncharted path universe ★.

SUMMARY:

After the… masterclass you gave Mingi the night before, you’re left anxious on what the future holds for you both. But there’s a pool party you promised you would attend and there’s not really time for you to figure your feelings out before your best friend shows up at your door to drive you to it. So maybe today is not the day to figure your feelings out, right? It’s just a pool party anyways, so nothing out of the ordinary is going to happen… right?

PAIRING: best friend!mingi x afab reader.

GENRE: childhood best friends (idiots) to lovers.

WORD COUNT: 11k.

WARNINGS: SMUT ☽ (MINORS DNI) anxiety attack, attempt !!! at comedy, wooyoung being a little shit part two ft jongho, a new oc being the voice of reason, reader is clueless and in denial i fear, jealousy, miscommunication, fighting so this part is just a tiny bit angsty :(, confessions, teasing, face sitting, hand job, car sex (don't do it in public people, it can get you arrested), pet names (love and baby), a plot line at the end none of you guys are going to get until my new wip drops but it's worth the wait!

NOTES: hey everyone! thank you so much for patiently waiting for this second and last part to drop. i think that, after this one, if you guys want to request any drabbles or if i come up with some scenarios for this couple i will post them but for now nothing is on the works. what is on the works is a wip that's part of the same universe as this one, so pay attention to the new characters i mention if you want any clues! this is 100% self indulgent, as all fics should be, and i think i've re-read it so many times that if you find a typo or something that just doesn't make sense, you can blame it on english not being my first language i guess lmao. i hope you enjoy it and if you do feel free to send to my askbox/reblog/type in any feedback or thoughts! <3

POSTED: july 28th 2024.

TAGLIST (sorry if i forgot anyone, pls let me know!): @vannerriin / @mingtinysworld / @purple-bell / @bakepotatoman / @nxy3h / @taehyungmami / @nxcxllxsevens / @breadpuddingboys / @hotteokkay

masterlist.

When you wake the next morning, the consequences of restless sleep show up in your face as a reminder of what happened the night before. 

It's not that you regret it, it's more the fact that you feel so unapologetic about messing with the perfect dynamic you have with Mingi that caused you to toss and turn so much. 

Last night, after putting your duvet back on and then crashing into the mattress feeling all tingly and giddy, you asked yourself a thousand questions. 

The main one being: What the fuck did you do? 

The words kept repeating over and over in your head, your voice of reason (or your anxiety) screaming at you to get your phone and make it right before everything becomes a complicated, unresolvable mess. 

You had a brief moment of panic and heavy breathing, your chest tight with unspoken emotion and your eyes filled with tears. 

It was too much, so you forced yourself up and paced around for what felt like hours trying to get your feet back on the ground. Nothing was working, so you sat down at your desk and rested your forehead against it. 

When you didn't feel the usual coolness of the wood, a comfort sensation for when your studies got the best out of you for the day, and instead felt a pen almost stab you in the eye, you -very confused- leaned back. 

Mingi’s notebook and the pen he didn't put back on the pencil case seemed to stare back at you lovingly instead of mocking you for losing control over your own emotions. 

A sense of peace washed over you when you flipped the pages and landed on the instructions he wrote down. Memories of the amazing years you have had by his side started crossing your mind, like recomforting flashes that allowed your heartbeat to go back to normal: 

The first day you saw Mingi, chasing behind a worned out soccer ball and then kicking it so hard it landed on your lawn. 

The first time you two hugged, when your dad scolded you for having bad grades until you cried in front of him. 

The way he held your hand before heading inside to take the college admission exam, last year of highschool. 

His kind eyes. His reassuring smile. The way he made you feel just a few hours back. 

There's no getting rid of me either, love.

We'll figure it out. 

Letting a few contained tears run down your cheeks, you nodded to yourself as if he was there in the room with you. 

Yeah, you'll figure it out.  

And then proceeded to, very much, not figure shit out for the rest of the night. You could still feel his hands everywhere and hear his voice against your ear whispering how much he knows you and pays attention to you. 

You are fucked. 

It's all you can think about when you get ready for the day. It's all you can think about when you help your dad with lunch and when you let your parents know at the table that you are going out that same afternoon. 

“Mingi is driving you, right?” 

“Yeah…” you whisper in response, eyes focused on one specific spot at the table and mind a million years away from the conversation. 

“Good. He's such a good kid, Y/N, I'm glad he knows how to take care of you.” 

Choking on air when your brain finally catches up to her words, you look back up at your mother in shock “W-what?” 

“Yeah honey, what? Y/N can take care of herself,” your father chips in, unaware of your red cheeks or the honest expression of panic you're giving both of them “She's a big girl that carries around that, uh… What was it?— Ah, that pepper spray I gave her, right?” 

“R-right.” 

He lets out a satisfied see? at your answer, gives you a tiny smile and gets up from the table to take his finished plate over to the sink. 

Your mom stays behind, giving you a look you can't quite read before her usual calm expression washes it away. Only then, you can take a proper, very needed, calming breath. 

“I need to get ready. Thank you for the food.” 

“You made it, dear.” 

“I mean! For taking care of the, uh, plates,” you clumsily correct yourself right away, getting up from the table as well “Love you. Bye!” 

You don't miss the confused giggle on your way to your room and when you're behind closed doors, you finally take into consideration that you might be, in fact, overreacting.

Not much, you think, but just enough to give your feelings away. And it's truly a shame, because you were planning on concealing and bottle everything up until it, inevitably, blows up in your face. 

Maybe not the smartest option. 

If you bang your head against the wall with enough force maybe, just maybe it’ll help—

Someone's texting you. 

> gi: heeeeey > gi: just woke up lol > gi: had the best sleep ever tho > gi: how are you, love? 

Okay. So normal texting it is. Maybe your initial plan of just pretending nothing happened is, coincidentally, Mingi’s plan as well. 

So you type in it's literally almost one, ya lazy and let your thumb hover over the send button, eyebrows creased at a sudden realization. 

The casual texting annoys you. 

Sure, Mingi is used to keeping everything casual between him and the people he sleeps with, but you're not just anyone! You didn't sleep together, either! 

Oh, maybe that's why. 

But it ticks you off either way. 

Is he not feeling the same way you do? Did it mean something different for him than it did to you? What did it even mean to you in the first place?

Why, after all the panic you felt the night before, did you have any sort of expectation for today? 

It doesn't make any sense. 

You hit send. 

> gi: aaaaand?  > gi: god forbid a man gets a good night's rest after being thrown off a bed. 

Scoffing, your eyes roll before you can even control it and, to your demise, the giddiness returns. You respond with did you get hurt? awww and raise a hand to your blushed cheek before sending the message.

> gi: yeah wtf  > gi: my butt is all bruised.  > gi: kiss it better? 

Oh. 

Not casual texting. At. All. 

Or maybe it is? 

Ugh.

Blanking on everything Mingi has ever texted you before, you decide it's best to entertain yourself by getting all pretty to sit around the house party tonight and do nothing else instead of torturing your confused brain any longer. 

Using the help of an emoji to flip him off and, hopefully, gather yourself together enough to get ready, you shoot him another text rushing him to do the same because you don't want to be late. 

And he usually takes forever to get ready anyways.

Showering with very cold water, taking a good thirty minutes to decide whether to wear something comfy and fitting or sexy and fitting for the party do the job when it comes to taking your mind off him for, at least, the time being. 

Yunho was insistent the day before in that you didn't need to bring a bathing suit if you didn't want to, but you pack one anyways because you can sense Wooyoung's and Jongho’s intentions even if the youngest couldn't make it to your impromptu gathering yesterday. 

They know you hate when they get away with annoying you and throwing you into the nearest body of water -in this case, Yunho’s pool- in front of many people you don't know (therefore, you are not going to able to go insane mode on them) seems like the perfect opportunity to get away with it.

The last time they did it you weren't really able to scold them properly either, so they laughed and pointed at you until you threatened to kick their asses in a very dishonest but playful way. 

Mingi, of course, did nothing but laugh along with everyone else and then kiss your forehead as an apology later that day. 

That was last summer and since then both perpetrators have treated you to meals and buttered you up enough for you to forgive (as if you didn't do that the morning that followed the incident) but you never forget. 

Maybe you should. It would make the sight of Mingi parking outside your house easier, you think.

You're sure he's parking outside just to give your dad, who comes out to greet him with a hug, some peace of mind. He's very protective of you and he trusts Mingi even if he gives him a hard time everytime he sleeps over or takes you somewhere.  

Like now, you have a very clear view through your window of the sermon he's giving your best friend. You don't hear it but he's moving his hands in the air way too much for it not to be a clear step by step on what to do if you run into any trouble on the way to Yunho's. 

Mingi likes step by step and he's good at following instructions, so you don't think it's going to be an issue. 

God damnit, Y/N, get it together. 

Sighing, you pick up your bag, check your outfit once in front of the mirror, and rush downstairs and out of the door. 

“You do know how to change a tire, son?” 

Mingi is standing in front of your dad with his hands behind his back and a tight smile. 

“Yes sir, my dad taught me and then at the school they made sure I didn't forget about it.” 

“And make sure to—” 

“Could you let the guy breathe, dad?” 

They both turn to, your dad wears a mocking smile and you see Mingi’s tight one breaks into a genuine one a second later. A grateful one, even. 

He looks really good. Which is insane, considering that to you he looked like Chewbacca just yesterday morning. 

Crazy what a good orgasm can do to a person. Or maybe it's the first time you ever let yourself see him in this light. Either way, he's wearing light wash jeans and a fitted t-shirt that clings to him just right and it's going to drive you insane, you can just feel it. 

“I was just making sure that he—” 

“Knows what to do,” you nod “He knows what he's doing, dad. Stop giving him a hard time,” you give your dad a quick kiss on the cheek and then rush to the passenger seat, giving Mingi a glance so he can get in the car as well. 

“Alright. Love you, take care!” 

“Love you too, Mr. L/N!” Mingi says, getting into his seat and giving your dad the opportunity to see when he fastens his seatbelt. He doesn't say anything else, even though he didn't tell Mingi specifically that he loved him and instead gives you both a nod of approval. 

When Mingi finally drives off your street and into the main one, you sigh in relief. 

“He's neeever going to trust me, huh?” 

“He trusts you,” you say right away, cheek resting against the seat so you can take a proper look at him “I'm his only daughter and you're a man after all. Cut him some slack.” 

“He never cuts me some slack!” he fights back but you just laugh and he can't help but join you “You look really good, by the way. A dress? Are you trying to impress someone?” The tone he uses sparks the remaining tension from the night before, like zero time has passed since he kissed you goodnight by your front door. 

When you got into the car with Mingi, you didn't consider that you two would be alone for, at least, forty minutes before getting to your destination. Your mind skipped the fact that he has this new ability to fluster you by just existing near you and you curse it for not letting you prepare well enough for the way he's looking at you right now. 

“Obviously,” you answer in a whisper, clearing your throat a second later “Wooyoung needs to be distracted so he doesn't tackle me into the pool the second we get there. Don't know if it's gonna work on Jongho, though.” 

Mingi clicks his tongue, baring his teeth and pretending to really think about it “I don't think so, love. You'll have to bribe him into considering dropping their whole summer schtick for you.” 

“You can help me with that.” 

“Can I now?” 

“Yeah. You can just… lock him up in a room and my dress can do the rest of the work.” 

Your best friend laughs and then takes a hand off the steering wheel to roll the hem of your dress in between his thumb and index. His knuckles brush against your thigh and you almost -almost- make a noise at the sensation. 

“It's not the dress, love… It's who's wearing it.” 

A bit of silence passes within the both of you. 

“Shut the fuck up, Song Mingi.” 

Laughter fills the car and drowns out the honking on the other side of the street and you wonder why you were worried in the first place. 

Nothing has changed. 

Aside from the intention laced with the flirting, it feels the same way it ever did and you couldn't be more glad because now that you know Mingi doesn't hate you (like you thought for a brief moment last night) or wants to hard launch a relationship that doesn't exist to your friends the second he gets them all together in the same room, you can enjoy the car ride and the evening that's about to follow it.

So you flirt with him freely, listen and sing along to songs that just feel like summer summarized in three minutes of exquisite writing and roll your window down once Mingi takes a turn into an hill, trees replacing the buildings you're so used to seeing. 

Your friend is rich rich. His family makes good money and his parents go on lots of business trips. That being said, it's the first time you actually attend one of his parties, and so when you get to Yunho’s house and ring the doorbell, you’re caught by surprise because you can already hear the loud music playing in the backyard and the blend of new and familiar voices through the thick door. 

You expect him to open the door for you but Seonghwa’s smile is the first thing you see before you and Mingi both have the opportunity to step in. 

“You made it!” 

“It's pretty hard to miss this house, Hwa.” 

Your older friend side-hugs you and stays by your side while Mingi takes it upon himself to put your bags for the day in the pile of other bags next to the door “How are you doing today?” 

You're about to answer but when you look at him, you see him staring at Mingi, so you do too. He's staring at Hwa with a little smile “I'm doing good. I blocked her and everything and I can confidently say that…” he turns to you “My ego’s not bruised anymore.” 

If Seonghwa caughts the spark between you and you best friend, he decides to ignore it “That's goo—” 

“Mingi!” 

What the hell is she doing here? 

Not, not that bitch from yesterday but this girl who Mingi meets with sometimes. You don't really know her, you just know she's gorgeous and that her name starts with an h, maybe? 

She's a fashion major and it shows in the way she's dressed up today. Truly, an enjoyable company whenever she's around at frat parties, a saving grace when you're tired of surrounding yourself with only men. 

Right now? She's your worst nightmare. 

Wrapping her arms around Mingi’s neck and getting on her tippy toes to kiss his cheek, she smiles like she knows she's getting laid tonight and your best friend does nothing to pull her away. 

She doesn't even say hi to you before dragging him to the backyard! You and Seonghwa follow them and when she takes Mingi’s arm and pulls him over to -you assume- introduce him to her friends, you almost stomp your feet like a little kid. 

Trying to get rid of the annoyed frown on your face, you turn to Hwa with a teasing smile and your eyebrows raised. 

“Well fuck me, am I right?” 

“I might!” Arms wrap around your waist and you feel Woo’s chin resting on you shoulder immediately after “That's a very nice dress, Y/N.” 

If Mingi was next to you, like you want him to be, you would give him a I told you so glance. Instead, you just look at Seonghwa with absolute horror before he snickers and goes away. 

“Right? And it looks horrible when it's drenched in nasty chlorine water.” 

“You can't possibly know that.” 

“I know a lot of things and— No! Woo, please don't,” you beg when he lifts you off the ground for a second. Behind you, you hear laughs and, even though you can't see them, you know it's San and Jongho “I just got here and I haven't even changed yet, please.” 

He turns you around and hugs you properly this time before letting you go. You take the opportunity to punch him in the arm and then go over to San and Jongho to do the same. 

“We'll let you get your swimsuit on this time.” 

“You're so considerate, Jong. Seriously, they're going to give you the Nobel prize if you don't stop.” He mocks you, repeating what you just said in a higher pitched voice and you laugh as you sit next to Wooyoung’s ex-girlfriend, Gyuri. 

San also has a girl sitting beside him with his arm around her, but you don't really know her so you just wave at her. They're all in their bathing suits already “See how he tried to flirt with me to try to get me with my guard down? He's a monster.” 

“And in front of me, too? The nerve on this guy.” Gyuri, of course, backs you up immediately and you want to return her smile, but you can see Mingi from the corner of your eye and it's distracting. 

“Oh, they're ganging up on me already,” Wooyoung whines, sitting down in front of you both and handing you a drink “It's like my worst nightmare.” 

“He's enjoying it, don't let him convince you otherwise,” San says, getting up from his seat and taking his girl with him “Especially coming from you.” He points at Gyuri and you laugh. 

“We're just friends now!” 

“That's what you told me like three years ago before—” 

Wooyoung gets up to chase after him and San lets go of the girl's hand to try to get away from him. 

Turns out, you're not the one Woo tackles into the pool. This time, him and San crash down on the water hard and a few droplets of water wet your feet. Gyuri laughs and everyone else does too when they realize what's happening. 

Jongho gets up and joins them in the water soon after to try and help (kinda, not really) San escape the wrath of his best friend. 

You almost miss it, because you take the opportunity to look at your best friend and, when you do, he's already looking at you. 

Breath catches on your throat and the lump that forms afterwards has a name and a reason: Mingi is looking at you with so much longing it physically hurts. 

He looks like wants to drop everything and come and confuse your fragile mind even more, just like he did the night before. 

Then why the fuck is he there with whatever her name is and her friends and not sitting right next to you? 

You look away, grasping your drink for emotional support and convincing yourself you're starting to see things that are not actually there. 

“Why the fuck are y'all fighting this time?!” Yunho comes from inside the house and it's the first time you see him today “No choking! No running! It's literally in the rules!” 

“Wooyoung please let go of my boyfriend!” 

Ah. So she is San’s girlfriend. Still, you turn to Gyuri to ask. 

“Who is sh—” 

“San’s new girlfriend, Kyungmi. We don't give a fuck about her or San right now, we're mad at them,” you want to ask who we is, because Wooyoung seems like he's just playing, but she interrupts you again “What the fuck is going on with you and Mingi?” 

Huh?! 

You make a quick mental review of your plan. Conceal? Clearly it didn't work. Bury your emotions deep so no one notices? You probably can't recover from the way you smile just dropped. 

The only thing left on the list is pretend that you're insane, but you're not sure it'll work either. So you turn it on her: “Nothing much. He played Espresso like three times on a row on the way here and I almost kill him, but—” 

“You can't bullshit me, Y/N.” 

Great, that didn't work either. 

“I saw that. Seonghwa did too but he got up before I could convince him to ambush you,” she dramatically sighs, chugging the rest of her drink down “So, what is going on?” 

“Nothing,” that much is true “he's literally with a girl right now.” 

“And she will never mean as much to him as you do. Next.” 

“Gyuri… I really don't know what you want me to say.” 

Squinting her eyes at you suspiciously, Gyuri takes her time before answering and you fidget in your seat a little. Wooyoung liked her for a reason, she's feisty and goes straight to the point and it's something you usually admire but right now it's not the time for her to do this. 

“I just thought maybe it finally happened…” She whispers and shrugs the entire conversation off before getting up “Let's head inside. They're going to start grilling meat at any second and I also don't want to be near Wooyoung when he gets out of there.” She points at him and you laugh. 

Jongho has him in a chokehold and Yunho is trying to separate them while San desperately swims towards his girl that's still waiting for him near the edge of the pool. 

“Sure thing.” 

You pretend you don't feel Mingi's eyes on you as you move. 

This is not unusual. Whenever you all go to parties, hosted by someone inside of the friend group or not, you end up separating from Mingi. 

He does his thing. He's outgoing and he likes dancing while you enjoy conversation and drinking away at the rest of the party, occasionally making out with someone and calling it a night when your social battery runs out. 

So you hang out with Gyuri in the kitchen until the sun starts going down and when the last ray of it disappears you decide it's time to swim a bit before you're too tipsy for it to be safe. 

Grabbing your bag and greeting some new people you don't know at the door, you head up to the bathroom you are told by the host himself it's upstairs. 

When your tying up the strands of your swimsuit, the door slams open and you jump and cover yourself up with your hands because you're not able to finish the job, so the strands fall down and the only thing holding the top part of the fabric it's you. 

“What the fuck, Mingi?” 

Turning around, you're only able to look at him through the mirror. 

“Lock the door next time! What if it was somebody else?” 

“People usually knock!” 

“I didn't mean to scare you, it's the door’s fault,” he makes a fool of himself trying to prove it “See? I— let me help you with that,” he closes the door again and, this time, he locks it before taking a short step and grabbing the strands of your top “It's the second time this week I scare you like that, huh? I’m sorry, love.” He ties the strands together with a secure knot and his apology finally allows your tense muscles to relax. 

You remind yourself that there's no valid reason for you to be mad at him. You'll figure it out, he said it himself, and maybe today is not the day to do so. 

But he's not stepping away once he's finished, he's not even saying anything else before his hands grab your waist and his chest collides to your back. 

Looking at him through the mirror again, you silently ask him with your eyes what he thinks he's doing. He ignores you, bending down so the tip of his nose can trace the skin on the side of your neck. 

“I missed you,” his voice sounds like honey when he says it and you, once again, curse the ability he has to make you crumble “and you disappeared like an hour ago.” 

You let out a sigh. 

“I was in the kitchen, Mingi, not missing and we were in the same space for at least twenty minutes before that and like… forty minutes in a car, together.” You remind him and he frowns “Besides, you were with Ha… Haneul?” 

“Hanni,” he corrects and you huff out a whatever “and she was introducing me to some of her friends that are in the same major as me, just a year over.” 

“Cool.” 

He pecks your shoulder. You do your best to not melt completely into him and fix your hair in the mirror. 

“Y/N…” he starts and you hum in acknowledgement “I missed you.” 

It pisses you off for some reason. The mature thing to do is to let him know but the words that leave you are petty and laced with annoyance. 

“I’m sure you did, buddy.” 

He grins against your skin and you turn around to face him, eyebrow raising. 

“What's so amusing?” 

At your tone, he seems taken aback but his smile stays curving his lips upwards.

“I'm just really happy to have this moment with you,” he says, matter of factly, and you press your hands against his chest to regain some personal space. He doesn't budge an inch “What's going on?” 

He's such a guy sometimes. 

“You're here, kissing my neck, while a gorgeous girl who I'm sure is waiting for you downstairs is probably bragging to her friends about how she's going home with you tonight and—” 

“Y/N, I'm literally taking you home.” 

“I can easily take a car back— Mingi, seriously,” taking a deep breath, you stare at him with all the honesty you can gather “I don't want to do whatever this is if afterwards you're going downstairs to dance and flirt with Haneul or whatever her name is.” 

He looks like he wants to correct you on it again, so you level him with a daring glance. 

He keeps his mouth shut. 

“And I also don't want you to hurt her feelings if you tell her you can't leave with her tonight, so—” 

“I don't give a shit about her feelings, love.” 

“Mingi, don't say that!” 

“I don't! I wasn't flirting with her at all, either! Listen, it's…” he stops to chuckle for a few seconds “I mean, it's adorable that you're jealous but there's no reason for you to—” 

“Shut the fuck up, Song Mingi.” 

It's the second time today you have said those exact words to him. The first time, you also felt your heart bang with such force against your rib cage but for a completely different reason. 

“I'm not one of the girls you fuck on the side when you're horny or bored out of your mind. Don't fucking treat me like one.” You warn and suddenly the image of you telling him that teaching him yesterday could mess you both up crosses your mind.  

“I'm not, Y/N! I'm just saying that you look adorable when you're—” 

“Jealous? Why would I be jealous when we are not together, Mingi? I'm literally looking out for the girl!” 

“You don't even know her name, love.” 

“That's not the fucking point!” 

He finally takes a step away from you, closing his eyes and taking a calming breath, surely.

Now you're pissed off because he saw right through you and your words. 

That disgusting weight on your chest you felt back by the pool while you kept staring at him from the corner of your eye? Jealousy. 

Now that he brought it up, it makes sense. 

You hate it. 

You always hated being put in a position where you felt the need to compare yourself to others. Always hated how easy it is for anger to run through your blood and infiltrate every waking thought until it clouds your judgment. 

Because you shouldn't be angry. He just said he didn't care about her feelings. 

And yet, all you can think about is that he spent an hour with her instead of you. 

When he turns to you, there's a storm in his eyes and you just don't want to hear it tonight. 

“Save it, keep it, sleep on it and we'll talk tomorrow,” picking your dress from the spot on the floor it's been sitting all this time, you put the fabric on, take your bag and then unlock the door “I’m going home.” 

You don't give him the opportunity to say anything else before getting out of the bathroom but you do hear a groan when you're rushing downstairs. 

Yeosang and Yunho are just leaving the kitchen when you trip on the last step and the host jogs the few steps to you after laughing. 

“There you are, Y/N. Listen, there's some meat already grilled back there but we're—” 

“I'm actually going home, Yun,” you cut him short “I'm not feeling that well. My plan was to swim a little before leaving but I don't think I can do it.” 

“Did something happen or…?” 

What happened is coming downstairs as he asks. 

“Nope. Nothing, I just think I'm catching a cold or something. Thank you so much for inviting me though!” You hug your friend quickly, kissing his cheek before pulling away. 

“Always…” Yunho is very observant but, as you always do, he doesn't press you with questions about what's going on “He's taking you home?” Pointing behind you, you don't have to turn around to get what he means. 

“Ye—” 

“No. He's having a great time here, I don't want to get in the way,” you shrug “I'll just get an uber or something. Don't worry.” 

Yunho frowns slightly, eyes moving from your face to over your shoulder. 

Immature. Petty. Rude. 

You're sure that's the way you’re coming off right now. But feeling anger bubbling behind the smile you give Yunho, you think it's better they make their assumptions instead of actually seeing you upset. 

You move to hug Yeosang as well and he murmurs his farewell. When you turn around, Mingi is no longer there and you don’t spare a look towards the floor to ceiling glass windows that separate the living area from the backyard because you're sure he's sitting right beside that girl again. 

As he should be. 

You bolt for the door, giving your friends a tiny smile before going down the few steps and into the hill. It's already dark and you're sure no uber driver it's going up this hill for the tip you're able to offer them, so you figure your best shot is to go down and try to find a cab on the main street. 

The light from your phone illuminates your scowl as you walk. Past the bushes and the trees and the lines of parallel parked cars where Mingi’s Lexus is. 

You don't notice him there until he opens the backdoor to block your step. 

“Get in the car, I'm taking you home.” 

Closing the door he just opened to stop you, you shake your head. 

“I told you I'm getting a ride and—”

“I don't give a fuck. Get in the car.” And then he's opening his door and closing it so fast it gives you no room for debating. 

He's angry. Shit. 

You can't even see him through the tinted window to assess how much damage you have done, so you look down the hill one more time and wonder if making the run for it is worth it. 

When your phone lights up with a notification from Gyuri asking you if everything's okay and to make it home safe, you take it as a sign to round the car and get into the passenger side with an annoyed huff. 

The engine comes to life. You're not looking at him but at the trees until the leaves start showing the building lights in-between them and soon you're on the main road. 

You can't even ask him to turn the radio on. Stubborn, you refuse to let the anger inside of you dissipate in fear of shame taking over. It's better being angry than being ashamed, at least in this exact moment because you can practically feel Mingi's anger through the silent treatment. 

But you need to say something. The silence is suffocating and the street is surprisingly empty so you can't distract yourself with anything. 

“You shouldn't have bothered.” 

“I am bothered. You bothered me.” 

Clenching your jaw, you turn to him in disbelief “I told you to stay at the goddamn party so we can fix this tomorrow but I bothered you?”

“Did I stutter or something?” 

“No, you're just not making any fucking sense!” 

“Yeah, fuck this,” you see him look around, biting the inside of his cheek like he's holding his words in “We're fixing this right now.” 

The car makes a harsh turn and you have to grab the door for support. 

“Mingi!” He's not listening to you anymore. His hard gaze stays on the road, it feels like forever before he pulls into a somewhat empty parking lot and when the vehicle stops you go to open the door and get the fuck away from him before you two kill eachother inside this car. 

That's an exaggeration but with the way he turns off the car and unbuckles his seatbelt, you know your pride doesn't stand a chance. 

The summer breeze briefly hits your face before his hand is on yours, closing the door and preventing you from, once again, escaping the situation. 

Frustrated, you let out a loud groan “What the fuck is your problem?!” 

“I don't know, Y/N! But I'll tell you what your problem is, alright?” he chuckles. It's a humorless sound, his face painted in something you've never seen before “Your problem is that you assume you know what everyone else is feeling and you assume you're right. But intuition can only get you so far, love, so I need you to take your head out of your ass and think logically for a second.” 

Flabbergasted, you think you murmur something in your defense but he cuts you short. 

“No! You didn't let me get a word out back there so now you're going to shut up and listen,” he pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes “You assume you're smarter than everyone else but you're actually so dumb. Dumb, you're acting very dumb and reckless, Y/N! That back there?” he points out of the window to nothing but you know what he means “Leaving— Scratch that. Leaving me and not giving me a chance to say anything back? Trying to go down that hill alone and in the dark? Stupid.” 

Staring back at him with watery eyes, you don't even know what to say back except a whispered excuse me?

“And usually I would beat up anyone who even dares to call you that but I guess all these years I've been wrong about you. Because if you were smart, you would've realized that Hanni means nothing to me and I mean nothing to her. There's nothing, she loves appearances and that's it.” 

You knew that already, but you're not giving your stance up. 

What even is your stance? Ah, right, he treated you like an envious no one back there and not like his best friend.  

“Yeah, I can tell you mean nothing to her from the whiny tone and the hug and the dragging you to meet her friends, Mingi.” Scoffing at the memory, your lips press into a thin line. 

“Well, she's a friendly girl!” 

“She didn't even say hi to me!” 

“So she doesn't like you, Y/N! Who cares!” you sure don't but, again, you just stare at him in disbelief and his open arms, palms to the sky “Do you care? Because I don't! And guess what? I doesn't fucking matter if she likes you or not or if she wants me or not because I like you!” 

What? 

“W-what?” 

“I like you! And I'll choose you over her and everyone else again and again and again until you notice but fuck it's so tiring. You're so fixated on why I let her drag me to her friends that you completely ignored me the rest of the time we were there and maybe if you looked at me more than once you would've realized that I was staring back at you the whole afternoon!” 

You let out an annoyed chuckle “So you were, Mingi.” 

“I was! I was trying to get you to look at me and notice how bad I wanted you to come over, rescue me from that boring ass conversation, grab my hand and claim your place right beside me because—” he pauses, resting a hand on the steering wheel and looking at you like he can't believe he has to spell this out for you “Because I want nothing more than for her and everyone to know I’m yours! I'm sure everyone already fucking knows too, except you. So yeah, sometimes, you're pretty fucking dumb for such a smart woman, Y/N.” 

Words escape you. They escape your mind, your reason and your pride shrinks until it disappears behind all the love you feel for Mingi. 

So that's what you are feeling. That's what you felt yesterday night when the tiredness couldn't drown out your thoughts of him and all he meant to you. 

Love, love, love. In all its forms, in all its possible scenarios. Your heart burns for it and you used to think that your hopeless romantic desires began and died with the movies you tend to see and the books you tend to read, that it was impossible to feel this way for anyone but there he is, chest heaving in the yellow interior light, waiting for you to say something back. 

“And I realize that before yesterday I showed no interest in you but believe me when I say that I—” 

Shakily, you interrupt him with whispered words, heart soaring and hands reaching out to cup his beautiful face “Shut the fuck up, Song Mingi.” 

When you kiss him, you make sure to pour out everything you couldn't say a minute ago into it. 

When he kisses you back with the same feeling, it crosses your mind that he already forgave you. 

And when he grabs your waist and drags you over the break handle and the transmission to collide his chest against yours and drag his tongue along the seam of your bottom lip, you think that, for the first time ever, you have to tell him he's right. 

You are stupid. Stupid for not realizing it sooner, stupid for confusing his longing stares for something platonic, stupid for thinking you could wait until tomorrow to tell him he has the right to see and be with anyone he wants to because this is it. 

This. The way your entire body comes alive when he sighs into your mouth and groans at the way your knee opens up his legs to make room for you on his side of the car and partially on his lap. The way his thumbs run through your cheeks and dry the tears you didn't even feel falling down. The way your heart jumps frantically and the way its beats could get confused by his because you're so close. 

Suddenly and unexpectedly, you can't recall a time Mingi didn't make you feel this exact same way. It's overwhelming, it expands through you like a fire and it knocks the remaining air out of your lungs enough for you to pull away and rest your forehead against his, shaky breaths tangling together and fingers grasping the neck of his shirt in an attempt to ground yourself. 

You sniffle, incapable of not feeling emotional over his confession and your realization “I'm sorry, Mingi. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for treating you that way I was… I behaved like…” 

“An ass.” He nods and you look at him with the ghost of a smile tugging at your lips. 

“Yeah,” you nod as well “I was an ass. A jealous ass.” 

“I know, love.” He whispers, eyes moving on your face before his lips are on yours again, briefly, sweetly, even if you don't feel like you deserve it “You tend to forget that I know you, hm? That I've seen you jealous before? You were an ass back then, too.” 

“Okay! Okay, stop calling me an ass, I get it.” 

“I'm sorry for waiting for you to do something when you didn't even… I guess you didn't know, right? The way I feel about you?” 

“I know now,” you whisper back, nudging your nose against his and then putting some distance so you can see him better “I feel the same way, by the way. We're shit at communicating, apparently, so I'll just tell you now that—” 

His lips are on yours again and he's giggling against them and shaking his head when he pulls away. Brown eyes search for yours and you're not sure what he's looking in them but he seems to find it, his muscles relaxing against the leather of his seat seconds later. 

So you kiss him again. And again and again until your back starts hurting and the steering wheel is pressed uncomfortably against it, forcing you to shift on his hold. 

“Let me… Wait.” He lets you go to pull his seat back and then closes his legs, forcing your knee to fall on his other side so you can fully straddle his lap “That's better. Now come here.” And then he’s grabbing the back of your neck and stealing your breath away again with another kiss.

The tension shifts right then. When he can fully feel you pressing up against him and when a noise escapes you once his hands drop and give your bare legs the attention you didn't even know you were craving. 

You thought a second ago that the sweet kisses would stop once you were both sated with the sweet aftermath of all the yelling and confessing but now you don't want it to stop. 

There's a lot to catch up on, a lot of missed time you need to make up for. 

You still want to make him feel good. The sparks from yesterday come alive again and soon you're yanking the strands of dark hair with your fingers and letting your mouth explore the skin of his neck. When you sink your teeth into his skin, he lets out the same noise he did the night before and you smile against the mark you just made. 

His lips find your shoulder and he breathes hard into it once your hips start moving at their own accord, slowly yet firmly, the pad of his fingers digging hard on your thighs until you break away from his neck to focus on his face again. 

“This goddamn dress, love.” 

Humming, you caress his red cheek with your lips “What about it?” 

“Been thinking about it all day…” 

“It worked, by the way.” 

“Woo?” 

“Mhm. Distracted him so he didn't throw me in the pool right away.” 

“And Jongho?” 

“Probably plotting against me right now.” 

He laughs softly into your skin “Probably.” 

Chuckling as well, you stop your movements and take in how he looks. Gone, a little too fucked up from just making out, lips swollen and eyes clouded with something you're getting too familiar with, too quick. 

“Worked on you, too.” 

He smiles and shrugs, letting his head drop into the headrest “You look good in everything, love. It doesn't really matter what you wear.” 

“Oh?” 

A firm hand trails up your body, slowly, from you leg to your hip, your waist to the side of your breasts and your until it cops your face with affection you never imagined you would experience. 

“I have always thought you are the most beautiful girl to ever exist.” 

This is it. 

Leaning into his touch, your lips connect to the palm of the hand holding you before you lean forward again. 

“I love you, Mingi.” 

He doesn't seem surprised by your confession and you're glad he knows. It doesn't really matter if its too soon, if you even mean it in a romantic way or not, the love you have for him transcends all labels. 

“I love you too, Y/N.”

And his does too. 

You kiss him until it hurts. 

He kisses you until you're gasping and your body is pleading for more. 

The both of you kiss each other until you're sure nothing else will replace the taste of one another, that it will linger forever even if your paths stop crossing at any point in time. 

It feels like you're trapped somewhere where the clock doesn't tick at all, where you can take your time exploring him with your mouth and your hands. 

And then it doesn't. 

The fabric of the dress starts bothering you, his tight shirt is suddenly not tight enough and the hardness steadily growing and pressing into your core is screaming for attention you can't give him with all these clothes on the way. 

He feels it too, fingers tracing the hem of your dress for the second time today and then they're under it, pulling at the fabric up until it bunches on your waist. 

You're still wearing the swimsuit he helped you put on earlier but it does little to conceal how affected you are. Looking down, you're not even ashamed of it when he follows your eyes and let his linger on the patch of wetness darkening the color of the bottoms. 

Still, he moves his hands upwards again and soon you're struggling to get the dress off, considering you're almost bumping the roof of the car when you straighten your spine to do so. 

“Wanna know what crossed my mind when I saw you in the bathroom?” 

When it's finally off, he immediately goes for it: His index tracing your collarbone and slowly descending, his short nail dragging against your skin before the rest of his fingers join, right in between your breasts, where there's fabric holding together the top of the swimsuit. 

He could easily tug on it if he wanted to. Instead, he ignores it and presses the heel of his hand against it, forcing you to lean back and almost bump into the steering wheel again. 

Unable to speak and panting, you only nod as a reply to his question. 

“How easy it would be to get on my knees and eat you out. I thought: What if I just…” Using his other hand to mess with the knots that keep the left bottom part of the swimsuit together, he demonstrates what he means without actually doing it, his eyes following the motions “Undo these, get on my knees and make her come all over my face?” 

“Fuck, Mingi…” 

“You would like that, wouldn't you?” He smirks without actually looking at you, the hand on your sternum traveling down against your skin before joining the other one, teasing the knots on the right. 

“Y-yes.” 

Maybe he can see it on your face, the sudden nervousness at the scene he painted before you, because he grabs one of your hands and brings them to his lips before drawing you close again “Please tell me your idiot ex-boyfriend ate you out when you were together.” 

Blush darkening, you make a face that gives the answer away. 

He groans “He's worse than I thought, fuck. Come here.” And without any warning, the back of his seat goes down until it touches the backseat with it.

Bracing yourself against his chest, because you went down with him as well, you huff out a surprised laugh “Go where?” 

“Up here. Let me teach you something tonight.” 

“Mingi…” 

“First, you need to make sure your hands are clean—” 

“Stop,” laughing, you interrupt his bad attempt at teasing you with the same words you used on him yesterday “There's no real support for me if we do this, where do I even—” 

“Knees here,” he motions the backseat and you could actually do it, but you would have to sit on his face instead of hovering like you imagine it would be more comfortable for him “hands here” he points to the grab handle and the headrest of the passenger seat and then straightens his spine a little, bringing his face closer to you so he can whisper right into your worn out lips “Turn the light off, I'll do the rest.” 

He looks like he's going to kiss you but then he falls back onto the seat with an excited smile curving his lips. 

What a tease. 

So of course you turn off the light and prop yourself up into the position he wants to. It's challenging, the car is not that small but it feels like it is and you very much would rather do this on a bed, spare his back and yours in the process, but excitement also runs through your body and your brain stops making up excuses for why should deny yourself of the pleasure of Mingi using his mouth to make you see stars the second his fingers undo the knots and peel the bottom half of your swimsuit off your body with ease. 

Lips trailing up your inner thighs and hands on each side of them, holding you in a secure position, Mingi doesn't tease you much before attaching his mouth to your heat and your subconsciousness flies out the window when his tongue flicks your clit. 

You look down at him and the sight of him enjoying himself has you beaming, the warmth spreads through you and the zeroes on your pussy. You don't even try to quiet down your moans, completely forgetting that you're in a public parking lot that can fill up at any second. 

But paying no mind to it either, Mingi also moans encouragingly into your wet folds when your hips move a little, chasing that high. 

He shifts his focus to your entrance, his tongue working itself into you and when you move your hips again at the feeling, his nose bumps into your clit in a way that has you grasping the headrest for support, right hand slipping down and resting on the window while your mouth hangs open and your eyes shut close. 

“Mingi… Baby, fuck, I'll—” he adds his thumb into his ministrations, pressing it against your clit the way he did yesterday and it only takes a few side to side movements for you to come undone on his mouth. 

And again, the intensity of your orgasm takes you by surprise. It's obviously not as intense as yesterday's but it still got you trembling so you want to curse him out for being that good at what he does. 

He eases you into it, slowing his mouth and you only register that it leaves you completely when your thighs are being kissed tenderly. 

Breathless, you look down at him and catch his smile before his teeth are sinking into your skin and forcing you to hiss out a laugh “Good?” 

“Yeah,” you smile, climbing down from your position and hovering over his lap in an attempt to not ruin his jeans. It's very obvious he enjoyed it too, his crotch holding the evidence tight and probably painfully against the fabric there “Really, really good.” 

You want to get on your knees and return the favor, make him squirm in pleasure, but the space is not working in your favor. So even though your thighs are hurting and sweat is dripping down your neck, you start working on the button and zipper of his jeans before he sits up.

He wants to say something, but your tongue is touching his and tasting yourself on it before he gets the chance. Clumsily, a little too far gone for your liking as well, you are able to get through the layers of clothes and let your hand hang over his dick “Are you gonna make me beg for it today?” 

“You don't have to, love.” 

“Beg?” you ask with a smile that he reciprocates “Or touch you?” your free hand brushes the hair out of his face, sliding down until you're propping his chin up with it, thumb tracing his bottom lip softly “Because I want to touch you. I want to make you feel so, so good, baby. Please.” 

He kisses the pad of your thumb and then takes it into his mouth, tongue caressing the tip of it until you're panting again and then nods. 

That's all the permission you need before taking him with your hand and pulling him out of his boxers. Taking your hand out briefly, you gather up saliva and spit right into it. 

Mingi lets out a noise at that. Interesting. 

Starting slow, you focus on his expression. Testing the waters, taking note of what he likes because, unlike him, you probably pushed to the corner of your mind every sexual conversation you two had before yesterday. You take a second to look down at it, the size is no surprise but your mouth waters at the image of you taking him into the heat of it. 

Maybe another time. For now, you focus on making him feel good with the little you can offer him in the enclosed space of his car. 

He mouths at your neck, choked up sobs vibrate through the skin on your collarbone and your top gets moved to the side so he can mark the side of your boobs as he pleases. It sets the fire inside of you alive again, your folds getting wetter when he rolls his tongue around your nipple and then throws his head back when you twist your hand in a motion he seems to really enjoy.

“Just like that, love.” 

To your delight, he's not quiet. He's loud, he's grabby, taking the opportunity to hold onto your ass and press down on the skin when you tease his slit and gather his precum on your fingers so you can spread it around his cock and your hand can slide easier. 

Movements get sloppy once he's close, he's no longer paying attention to you and you welcome it as a great sign, his hips bucking into your hand and he moves you forward until you're sitting on his lap again. 

The only thing preventing your pussy and his dick to touch being your hand. 

You glance at him and he looks back, probably the same idea popping up into his mind so you nod once.

The car moves as you two move around, to the back seat, the spine of his seat up and the entire thing moving forward to make space for him next to you, over you, on top of you once he kicks his jeans and boxers off to the floor. 

You reach out to him in a silent plea and he bends down to kiss you soft and moist and hot and breathy, sensually, with sweet sounds escaping both of you when you reach under his shirt and lift it up until he gets what you want. Discarding it with the rest of his clothes, your top follows it and the contentment you feel when his naked chest touches yours is unmeasurable. 

There's no real room to move around and there's not really any patience left within both of you, so when he apologizes when he moves his hips where he shouldn't and his tip brushes your entrance, you pull back from his bruising mouth. 

“Condom. Now.” 

He obliges right away, searching on his jeans for a minute or so and when he comes back he's smirking like he can't believe you “When I told you we needed to raincheck I didn't mean it to be like this. Bossy.” 

Even if you're punching him on his chest and giggling at his breathy words, you take the teasing with pride “You started it, Mingi!” 

Putting the condom on skilled and fast, he's soon resting his forehead against yours and kissing you softly again “I wanted you on my bed…” his lips trail down and the giggles die on your throat as he's kissing it, a moan escaping you “On your back or knees or riding me…” he continues in a whisper going down and down and down, giving your nipples attention before going back up and taking your mouth in his again “Making a mess on my cock…” 

He takes the opportunity to enter you slowly and you gasp at the stretch, wet enough so it doesn't hurt you but you're unfamiliar with him, with his size splitting you open deliciously. 

“F-fuck, Y/N.” Mingi leans back to watch you take him in and you whine again. Tilting your head back, you let him work himself in and you moan loudly when he almost bottoms out “Look at you…” 

You don't. You can't. He's pressing his thumb on your clit again to ease you through the stretch and it makes the heat pool in your belly like you didn't come in his mouth a few minutes ago. 

Slowly but surely it gets easier for him to rock his hips into you, mouth parting in pleasure when you remind yourself to look at him. His abdomen tenses when you run your nails against the skin there, softly, until you're detouring them into his back and sinking them in just enough to have him whining at the feeling. 

“Baby… Harder.” 

“Yeah?” 

Hips bucking up to meet his at a particularly hard trust, you reach up to him so he can rest his body weight on yours. Close like this, with the pace picking up, the knot on your lower half tightens and threatens to break. 

“You take me so well, love. Fuck, always knew you would,” you know he can feel your walls tightening around him at the praise, because he smiles and kisses you once before continuing “My pretty, pretty girl… Taking my cock so well…” he punctuates his words with the roll of his hips and you cry out, holding his face in between your hands, his eyes never leaving yours. 

In this position, his lower abdomen bumps into your clit and it's soon tipping you over the edge. 

“So good, so good, oh— Oh, God.” You're mumbling incoherently while Mingi keeps whispering sweet nothings and then the tension on your belly breaks. It takes three seconds of your walls pulsating around him for him to groan loudly into your mouth and come undone as well. 

The only thing you can hear is breathing, all you can feel is breathing. His against your chin, yours blowing on his hair when you rest your cheek on his temple. 

It takes a second to gather yourself again and when you do, you tilt your head back to give him a chaste kiss that he returns. 

“That was so good, baby.” You tell him and he smiles, nodding in agreement “I am sticking to the fucking seat though.” 

Mingi snorts and just like that the energy shifts back to the usual you. Only this time, you come back to it knowing that no one’s ever going to have you the way he does. 

He slips out of you, doing his thing with the condom and you sit up, looking through the windows and becoming aware of your surroundings for the first time since you got there. 

There's a car parked far away from you that's empty and the rest of the cars that were near it have left. You wonder how long this all took, because you lost track of time the second he told you he likes you. 

Chest still heaving and boxers now on, Mingi rests his back on the door and takes your hand in his “Is it dumb of me to assume you're my girlfriend now, love?” 

“Is it dumb that I assumed that's what I was when you said you like me?” 

“No,” he answers right away “not dumb at all.” 

Smiling, you nod “Then I'm your girlfriend, Mingi.” 

He beams at that and then he's crowding you again “Say it again.” 

“I'm your girlfriend.” you repeat, enunciating each word and giggling when he nuzzles his nose into the crimson on your cheek “I’m yours, baby.” 

Resting his forehead against yours, he hums in contempt “Good, because I've always been yours too.” 

“There's no way! You two... together? Guys… See, that would be me if I didn't saw it coming but I'm smarter and cooler than everyone here so I did.” 

Wooyoung's over the top reaction has Mingi throwing his head back in a silent laugh and you staring at the black haired guy, unamused and a little offended. 

It's two days later and, as usual, you're at Wooyoung's and San��s apartment hanging out. 

After putting your clothes back on and going for some well deserved food, Mingi took you home, kissed you goodnight and showed up the next day after class to break the news to your parents. 

Your mom almost cried. Your dad too, but for a completely different reason. 

In the end, they both agreed they saw it coming and when you told Mingi’s parents, they said the same thing and invited yours to have celebratory dinner without you. 

What happened in Mingi’s room after was worth missing dinner anyways. 

Mingi and you decided to break the news when most of the group showed up for movie night and you were nervous to see their reactions. 

But everyone seems unaffected by it. 

“I knew you guys liked each other the second I met you. Ask Gyuri, she agrees with me.” 

“Sadly, I do.” Wooyoung's ex looks at you from her spot by the door, where she's getting her shoes on. 

She winks at you and you fake a gasp, falling into your boyfriend's lap with an annoyed huff. 

“And no one told us?!” 

“Sorry, Y/N. We didn't want to get in the way.” Hwa is apologetic and Yeosang nods alongside Hongjoong but you gape at them like they betrayed your trust. 

“To be fair we didn't know till’ last week, love.” 

“She didn't know.” Gyuri corrects him and now you turn to her to give her the betrayed look “You were pining over it for six months already.” 

“I say it was more like nine but…” Hwa shrugs and sips his cup, giving the man holding you close a knowing smile. 

Oh, they definitely talked about it, huh? 

“Nine months and no one cared to fill me in, huh?” 

“I’m sure Mingi did—” 

“Wooyoung!” 

“Well I didn't notice.” Yunho interferes with a shrug and gives you a recomforting smile that doesn't work at all. 

San laughs “That's because you're a puppy that can't even tell when someone likes you.” 

“Am not!” 

Everyone, including you and Mingi, make a noise in agreement with San.  

“You're one to talk, though, leave the puppy alone.” Gyuri tells her ex's best friend and Wooyoung laughs at him when his smile drops. 

There's some story there you don't know. 

“Guys… Does someone like me right now? Be honest.” 

Yeosang is about to tell him something but Jongho interrupts. 

“Enough with the love talk! Can we start the movie?” But he's pressing play already, so the answer doesn't really matter. 

Gyuri laughs once and Wooyoung makes his way over to her to give her a hug that she enjoys for one second tops before pushing him away. 

“Enjoy everyone! I'm so happy for you two, by the way, not that these neanderthals would tell you to your face but I'm sure they're too.” 

“Thank you, Gyuri.” Mingi murmurs from behind you and you mouth a thank you as well before she leaves for the night. 

Something about her best friend having a boy crisis. 

You don't miss the way San’s eyes follow her until she leaves or the way he looks at Woo, something clearly worrying him. 

His best friend ignores him, though, so you confirm that might just be a little pissed off at him after all. 

“Tell her to text you what happens.” San asks Woo once she leaves and he rolls his eyes. 

“Mhm. I’ll tell her to stop calling us neanderthals too.” 

You smile “Well, she's right.” 

“Nuh-uh!” 

Jongho has to stop the movie and you see him sulk while everyone else is arguing. Some of them, like Hwa and Yeo, are siding with you and Gyuri. And the rest of them, like your boyfriend, are telling them off. 

When you turn to face him, his argument dies mid-sentence because he stops to smile at you. He takes your face in his hand and kisses you for the first time ever in front of everyone else. The group stops the argument to tease you both and you laugh into his mouth. 

A cushion is thrown at you and Jongho gets up to separate your faces before sitting beside you with a pout on his lips. 

“Can we watch the goddamn movie?!” 

You're the happiest you've ever been.

If you read all the way down here: THANK YOU SO MUCH. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated!

© jensthwa, 2024.

[bloomries]

it's me or ____!

includes  : lucifer, mammon, leviathan, satan, asmodeus, beelzebub, and belphegor.

summary  : asking them to choose between you and their favorite thing (lightheartedly).

warnings  : gn! reader. possessive! satan (could read a bit yandere, so be wary of that). name calling (in belphegor's).

LUCIFER

his classical music records

Your question was very out of nowhere, and Lucifer doubt you meant it seriously, still his heart dropped when you picked up one of his records and fiddled with it. He chuckles tensely, hands flexing by his side. "You already know the answer, why bother asking?"

You send him a glance, noticing his tense behavior. You look down at the record in your hand, deciding to tease him a little further. "Do I?" You pout, "Are you sure you don't love this piece of vinyl more?"

Lucifer wondered if you were the demon in that moment, as you toy with his beloved heart. When you finally cease your teasing, setting down the record where it belonged, he let out a breath of relief.

Then, with quick strides he walks over to where you are and takes you by the shoulders. "I apologize if it wasn't obvious before, but I should hope you know that I love you more." You smile, confirming you knew this, leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. He pulls back and clears his throat. "But I also do really love my records, so please don't scare me like that again..."

MAMMON

grimm

"I can't choose between the two loves of my life?? How do you expect me to choose?" He asks with a pout. You two had just woken up, not even out of bed, when you asked the demon this question. You weren't expecting this response, although you feel a little foolish to not expect this outcome.

"You're sleeping on the couch tonight." You say, rolling over so your back faces him. He lets out another whine, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face into your neck.

"Don't be upset," his hot breath tickles your neck. "Grimm lets me spoil ya, y'know. Whenever I buy somethin' I know ya like, and bring it home to ya and see that big ol' smile... How can I not like grimm when it makes such good things happens, hmm?" Well, Mammon is surely very charming, you'll give him that. You peek over at him and he's smiling that smile that has your stomach doing flips.

"Fine... No couch..." You pinch his cheek. "But if I ever ask that question again, the answer better be 'you, darling,' got it?"

"L- Loud and clear!"

LEVIATHAN

his merch collection

"H- Huh!?" Leviathan fell out of his seat at your sudden question. You chuckle quietly at his reddening face. It was a simple question of 'what do you like more, me or all your merch collection' and he's already gotten this flustered.

"Well, I- uhm, well..." He's stumbling over his words, looking around his room. He did really love his all the items he's collected throughout the years, but he also really loved you. Dread settles in his stomach when he realizes just how much he loves you because... is becoming a normie!? Why would he sell every last drop of merchandize for you? He'd give up videogames, anime, fantasy novels, all for you if you truly asked him too.

You watch as he spirals, mumbling to himself. You're a little worried now, poking at him cautiously. He doesn't react. "Uhm, Levi? It was just a joke, you don't have to think so seriously..." You say, before he's sitting back up, staring at you with wide, watery eyes. Shit, you almost felt a little guilty for asking him now.

"I... I love you... More... Yeah." He nods, his face on fire as he takes a nearby figurine and holds it close to his heart. You decide to leave, to let him come to terms with his newfound realization that he, Leviathan, who had sworn off any real connections, has indeed made a connection with someone so profound he'd do anything for them.

It'll take him a while to come to terms with this.

SATAN

enchanted books

"Don't be ridiculous, obviously I love you more than my enchanted books." He rolls his eyes at your question. Was it not obvious how madly in love he was with you? Did he need to be more outright and forthcoming with his affections?

"Yeah, but wouldn't you be sad without your books?" You ask, looking through his bookshelf. Satan's eyes follow your every move, a small smile tugging on the corner of his lips as he sneaks up behind you, before wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on your shoulder.

"Well, yes I would be, but life would be much more dull without you by my side." He confesses. "Unfortunately for both of us, I need you more than anything else now." He pulls away slightly, so you can turn around in his arms and give him a pointed look- what does he mean by 'unfortunately'? He can read you easily, and decides to explain. "I just mean I hope you don't plan on leaving anytime soon, I fear I might not be able to let you go."

Placing a light peck on your cheek, Satan pulls back to look into your gaze. "But don't go thinking you can throw away my books now, okay?" You stifle laugh, nodding.

"Wasn't planning on it."

ASMODEUS

new clothes

"I can't believe you would think- obviously I love you more!" Asmo scolds, huffing and puffing at your words. He's offended you would think he loves anything more than you! "Of course I do really enjoy new clothes, but they'd just be boring if I didn't have you to show them off to! or have you to help me accessorizes with, or-" You place your lips on his for a sweet kiss (mostly to stop him from lecturing you).

"Okay, I understand, 'm sorry for asking." Asmo blinks a few times, a little dazed by your kiss (he always is) before crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh no, don't think that'll make me forget." He scoffs, shaking his head. "Do you realize how worried I am now, thinking that you don't feel loved enough?" He sighs dramatically, blowing some hair out of his face. "I think this calls for a date night." He's got a mischievous little twinkle in his eye. "Don't you think?"

"Oh my," So this is what he was getting all worked up for. "I agree, I think I need you to show me just how much you love me~" You coo, playing into his antics. He grins, pulling you close to him.

"Thought so," he hums, nuzzling into you. "I know just the place to go, too. Shall we get ready together?"

BEELZEBUB

burgers

"You... or burgers?" Beel asked, stopping midway to bite into the delicious, juicy burger he ordered. Beel gives you a sad look, and you instantly feel a kick to the gut. You regret asking, his little frown making your heart twist into knots.

"I-" You go to laugh it off, to tell him that you were only messing around, but he cuts in before you're able to.

"I love you more. Really." He finally takes a bite of his burger, which your grateful for, before he's taking your hand in his, giving it a light squeeze. "I know I'm not great at showing my feelings... But I'll try better from now on." He says, full of earnest. Oh, your heart is shattering. You lean across the table, cupping his cheeks and giving him a big kiss.

"No, I'm sorry Beel! I know you love me, I was just trying to be silly, 'm sorry I got you so worried!" He seems to relax a little at that- so you were just pranking him? He lets out a shaky breath of relief, that's good to know. Still...

"I see... Well, I will still try to show my feelings more."

BELPHEGOR

his pillow

"Don't be ridiculous," Belphegor huffs at your stupidity, rolling over in his mix of blankets, pillows, and stuffed animals. "What a stupid question." He shakes his head, "I knew you were dumb but geez..." He peeks a glance at you, before continuing. "Obviously those two things are the same."

You can't see his cheeky, shit-eating grin but you can feel it. You throw a pillow at him, exclaiming "I am not a pillow!" for the umpteenth time. He swats the pillow away, snickering to himself.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever ya say." He snickers, cozying up in his bed, feeling his eyelids grow heavier. "Either way, you're my favorite so... don't get all huffy, 'kay?" Your cheeks grow a little warm at his sleepy confession, and you sneak a little closer to him.

"Belphi-" You let out a shriek as he pulls you into the bed with him, swiftly positioning you both so his head is resting atop of you. You groan, you should've seen this coming. "You brat, let me go."

"Sorry, but I plan on using my favorite pillow- I mean, human, to help me sleep, so quit your yapping, will you?"

[saturngas]

hickeys on display

[🪐] satoru wears proudly the hickeys you left on him last night

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: established relationship; only one suggestive paragraph; crack fic? again me trying to be funny; nanami mentioned!; slight possessive traits;

word count: 1k

..

nanami sometimes pitied you. you were a good human being, a nice woman, a devoted and strong sorcerer. but why did the world reward you with this menace that calls itself satoru?

the moment his eyes landed on the tall sorcerer walking in the bakery shop, nanami swore he wanted to throw himself off the window.

satoru had convinced him to go out to his favorite bakery shop to spend time while his beautiful wife returned from the mission. the blonde man actually didn't have any other plans for the day, so he could bare a couple of hours with the strongest.

but not like this.

Japanese culture revolved in humbleness and respect towards others. satoru was anything but that. he had gained multiple stares since he landed on the bakery, all eyes focused on the angry marks on his attractive neck and collarbones.

"what happened to you? were you attacked on your way here?" nanami asked sarcastically as satoru sat down in front of him.

"what do you mean, nanamin?" he faigned ignorance as he adjusted himself on his sit, his large hands fidgeting with the menu. nanami sent him a dead stare, not believing his cluelessness. "oh this?" he pointed to his exposed skin. "oh it's just that I miss my wife so much. I also want anyone to know im so taken."

Nanami couldn't believe his ears. he wanted to choke the hell out of the sorcerer for being so shameless.

"your ring is sufficient."

satoru eyed the silver band adorning his ring finger, the lovely reminder of your wedding playing on his head. "well, yeah I guess... but people dont usually look at other's people hands first."

the curious and judgmental stares from the strangers in the store were making nanami a bit uncomfortable. maybe he should just have his baguette as a take out.

"nanamin, have you ordered yet? I think ill have the strawberry cheesecake and a vanilla milkshak— what are you doing?"

in front of him was nanami holding up his phone, hands ready to take a picture of satoru as an evidence to you and a reminder to him to never go out with him again.

"im sending your wife a picture of you. I hope she doesn't approve this and takes you home away from people." as soon as satoru heard the mention of his wife, he stood taller in his sit, puffing out his hard chest, his exposed bruised neck more on display as a boyish grin struck his face.

"haha, okie~" a fit of giggles left his lips that made nanami exhale the hardest he had that evening. "please tell her I miss her and that I love her with all my heart."

come get your husband. he has no shame.

your phone buzzed in your pocket as a final puff left the remaining of the curses you just have exorcized. you checked the message sent by a good friend of yours, nanami. you couldn't help but laugh.

since you were called for a quick mission not too far from tokyo, poor satoru was left alone without his pretty wife. he insisted on going with you, however you reminded him of the house chores he had been avoiding the past weeks.

your husband had a habit of sending you recurrent messages whenever you were away. it could be him on a mission overseas sending you pictures of himself in every angle just to crack a smile on your face. or it could be him spamming you on texting him back if you left him on read by accident.

right now, it had been around thirty minutes since satoru had informed you he had finished his duties, sending you visual proof—he would often get away with it—and a dozens of messages declaring he missed you and was miserable without you, so he let you know he would be visiting nanami, probably because there wasn't anyone within his range he could bother.

what you didn't expect was the photo attached to nanami´s previous message.

satoru was sitting in a booth—probably in some bakery shop—with one of the biggest grins you had seen on his angelic face. his baby blue eyes were covered by his rectangular glasses and his white hair was a bit messy.

but what immediately caught your attention wasn't his toothy grin or his perfect jawline—it was the shameless exposure of his bare neck, where purple and red marks decorated the pale skin of his collarbones, neck, and trapezius.

the night before was a night. satoru made you feel so full that your eyes were at one point covered in tears of pleasure, your jaw as tight as ever as you took all of him so well. the carnal heat inside you was boiling and daring to explote, so you released it with snug bites on satoru's skin, anywhere within your range, making him groan and hiss in painful arousal. there were moments where you would almost chew on the rosy skin to suppress the loud moans. satoru took good care of you. but now?

your husband deliberately decided to wear that low collar sweatshirt you loved so much. but not right now! how was he so uncaring about showing the entire world your marital business?

a sighed left your lips as you replied to nanami with an "im coming," before departing your way to the place, already having the directions since satoru left his location on with you all the time.

"please dont ever do this, toru."

"then dont give me these hickeys! and dont leave me alone too much! I need to remind myself you still exist, baby."

"I was done with my mission in like two hours!"

"oh wow, you are getting stronger pookie bear."

taglist: @snwvie @fanficsforkicks

hello guysss, im working on other works because I have like so many ideas but it's kinda hard to write them all the way I want to. im also working on pt 2 of some works some of y'all have suggested. bare with me alr :]

[zepskies]

Headcanon: Sleepwalking

Pairings: Dean Winchester x F. Reader, Beau Arlen x F. Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader, Jason Teague x Reader

AN: @jackles010378 This one's for you, hun! 😘

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Mainly fluff, implied sex, nakedness

HC: How Dean, Beau, Soldier Boy (Ben), and Jason would react to you sleepwalking.

Dean Winchester

At first, Dean can't understand why you hesitate to sleep with him after, well, sleeping with him.

Did he read you wrong? Is just this something casual for you? The thought makes him swallow, jaw clenching, but if that's how you want it...he can try to be okay with that.

Seeing the hurt he's trying to bury behind his eyes, you settle down beside him in bed and stroke his cheek. You assure him that you're staying. Even though in the back of your mind, you're hoping and praying.

Please, God. Not tonight...

It happens around 3:00 in the morning.

Dean feels you stir on your side of his bed. He's a light sleeper at the best of times, so he turns to see you tossing the covers off your half-naked body and getting out of bed.

"Where're you going?" he says, playfully trying to grab your hand. But you slip right out of his hold without answering him, padding to the door and leaving the room.

Still half-asleep, but now thoroughly bewildered, Dean's brows furrow, and he gets up to follow you. You would never walk out of a room wearing just his shirt and nothing else, your bare feet slapping the floor with every step. He hopes Sam isn't up and about at this hour.

It takes him a while, but Dean finds you in the kitchen. There you seem to be trying to put together a bowl of Cheerios. The box is already on the counter. You're opening cupboards and leaving them open, your hands searching for a bowl.

"What'cha doin' sweetheart? Little midnight snack action? I can get behind that," Dean says.

You don't even seem to hear him. Dean watches you grab a mug instead of a bowl...and the orange juice instead of milk.

It all goes downhill from there.

"I did what?" you exclaim the next morning. "See! This is why I didn't wanna tell you."

You cover your face in your hands in mortification while Dean rubs your back, chuckling so hard he can't even breathe. You smack him in the stomach, but it doesn't stop his wheezing. He kisses you on the cheek to placate you.

"It's okay, baby. I didn't know coffee grounds and O.J. went so well together."

Beau Arlen

The first night you stay over at his air stream trailer, you warn him ahead of time while you sit beside him on the narrow bed.

"Just so you know, I um..." Getting out the words are difficult. You give him a wan smile in embarrassment, but he's listening intently, waiting for you to finish.

You sigh and decide to bite the bullet. "I tend to sleepwalk."

Just as you predicted, Beau's brows shoot up in surprise.

"Really?" he says, a smile starting to curve his lips.

Your lips twitch at a smile as well. "Yes, so I don't wanna hear any wisecracks. It runs in my family, unfortunately."

"Wow, a whole family of sleepwalkers, huh?" he muses, rubbing a hand over his bearded chin. "Gotta say, I'd like to see that--"

You cut off his chuckling with a shove of his shoulder.

But that night, Beau is startled awake when you trip over his shoes left on the floor, beside a small pile of his clothes and yours that you two hadn't bothered to pick up.

You aren't hurt too badly -- just a bruised forehead and very confused the next morning.

But from then on, Beau takes your condition more seriously.

Every night, he makes sure his place is clean and organized so you don't trip on anything.

He puts a child lock on the door in case you try to open it while sleepwalking, and he keeps the sliding door to the bathroom open in case you need to get in there.

Most importantly, he locks his guns away in a safe inside his nightstand.

His objective is making sure you're safe and comfortable whenever you're with him.

Though he can't help teasing you a little bit (a lot) when you rearrange his entire sock and underwear drawer in your sleep, perfectly folded and color coded.

"Well, thanks very much, darlin'," he grins.

You shake your head, covering your warm, blushing face.

"Shut up."

Soldier Boy (Ben)

"What the fuck?" Ben wipes his bleary eyes, but he still can't believe what he's seeing.

He watches in bewilderment when he finds you in the kitchen in the middle of the night. Completely naked. Frying up some bacon to go with your toast, apparently.

Not that naked cooking doesn't appeal to him. In fact, the sight of you from behind -- your hair loose over your shoulders, the curve of your waist and the gentle swell of your hips, bare ass and legs, and the hint of side boob while your hands move deftly with the pan and silver utensil...

It's arousing, even erotic, making his cock twitch in his sweatpants.

And it actually fits pretty well with one of his fantasies that he's been wanting to try out with you.

But this is also more than a little fucking strange. You're usually dead to the world until at least 9:00 a.m.

"Sweetheart, what're you doing?" he asks. He approaches you from behind and rests a hand on your lower back as he peers over your shoulder, but you don't answer him.

When a large spark of grease pops in the pan, you barely even flinch when it hits your arm and burns you.

Instinctively, he knows something's wrong. He grabs the pan out of your hand and hooks an arm around your waist, pulling you away from the crackling grease. He turns off the stove and steps back with you in his arms.

"Hey, are you hearing me? What the fuck's going on here?" he asks.

Your eyes seem glazed over, until he (gently) slaps at your cheek.

"Hey."

Finally, you blink faster a few times, take a deeper breath, and glance up at him. "Hey..."

Your brows furrowing, you look around the room in confusion. Your eyes widen when you look down at your naked body. You gasp and cling to his arms. "What the hell?!"

"Were you fucking sleepwalking?" Ben asks, his lips twitching in amusement and incredulity all at once.

"Oh my God, you tell me!" you exclaim. This has never happened to you in your life! What the hell is going on?

He leads you back to the bedroom, and after putting your pajamas back on, you inspect the pill bottle on your nightstand. Ben gave it to you to help knock out the spell of insomnia you've been having.

After reading the list of side effects, you toss the bottle at your man's chest, even knowing he'll barely feel it.

"This is the last time I let you give me Ambien!"

Bonus! Jason Teague

What the hell did you take? Jason wonders, as he tries to keep you from unclipping your seatbelt.

The two of you are on a plane halfway to France on vacation.

You're a nervous flyer, but you just woke up from a dead sleep after taking that little pill an hour ago.

And you're apparently "feeling happy," in your words, your head rolling onto his shoulder with a giggle.

"Jase," you stage whisper (loudly). You raise a finger and swirl it around the air. "My face is hot. I'm hot. I'm hot for...you."

You tweak the tip of his nose.

He laughs a bit nervously, despite his genuine amusement. A mother looks their way with a raised brow. She puts a pair of headphones on her little boy and gives him an iPad to focus on. Jason shoots her an awkward smile and wave. Then he focuses back on you.

"Okay. Sweetheart, I like the enthusiasm, but I think you just need to sleep off the rest of whatever this is," he says. He grabs a blanket to cover you with.

"Hmm, okay."

Eventually you settle down and snuggle into him. He smiles in relief, soothing a hand over your hair and pressing a kiss to your forehead. He soon falls asleep himself.

When he wakes, you're no longer sitting beside him. His eyes popping open wide, he sits up and leans out of the aisle. He doesn't see you at all in the first class cabin.

Jason shoots up out of his seat and hurries down the other way, through the curtain where business and economy sit.

Sure enough, a flight attendant is following you up and down the aisle trying to get your attention, but you don't even seem to be hearing him.

"Ma'am? Can you hear me?" the attendant tries. He seems to be getting frustrated. "There's turbulence, miss. It's not safe for you to be--"

Jason hurries to you and grabs your arm just as the plane begins to tremble and shake. He knows there's something wrong if you're not freaking out right now. You should be clinging to him like a koala, not wearing a blank expression on your face as you glance up at him.

"Aw shit, you're sleepwalking," he realizes breathlessly. What the hell did you take?

He knows you told him, but now he feels guilty for not really listening as he and the flight attendant help you back to your seat.

Once you're clipped back into a seatbelt along with him, Jason sighs in relief now that he knows you're safe and sleeping more peacefully. Looks like you two are going to have an adventure before you even get to Paris.

He fishes out the little bottle from your bag and reads the label.

Xanax. Jesus Christ. One thing's for sure, Jason is throwing it out when you guys land.

You'll thank him when you wake up.

AN: 😂 I had more fun than I thought with this one! Let me know what you think, and if there are other characters you'd like to see the next time I do one of these headcanons. 😘💜

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[writingforatwistedworld]

Hi!! I really love your writting🥰 i would like to request for the self-aware au, Reader hiding behind them after being chased by some particularly pushy NPCs with Rook, Trey, and Jack please❤️

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, murder, description of violence, blood, obsession, stalking

Trey Clover/Jack Howl/Rook Hunt-Hiding behind them

Ah, what a nice day. In fact, it is perfect for trying out that recipe with that dough that needed to rest for a while

Or rather, that was his plan for the day until he suddenly heard two pairs of footsteps rushing into the dorm kitchen

And no, it was not the kind of footsteps that spoke of joy like the ones of his siblings did. from time to time, it sounded panicked

Just a second later you entered the kitchen with an octavinelle student, the latter one trying to catch up to you

Before the baker could figure out what was going on, you were suddenly behind him, using his body as a shield

Oh… oh!

Was this guy harassing you?

How dare he? How dare-

Deep breaths. Very deep breaths - would be something he would have said to himself if he wasn't this angry

By some miracle, he was able to hold himself together

He was this close to loose his reputation as "that nice hat wearing baker"

A strict look towards the student and you were finally alone with him

For you the whole thing was over but for that student?

Suddenly the poor lad fell ill, claiming that he had stomach problems

Heck, he couldn't even keep his food down

Such a shame... Trey surely hoped he would survive

Who else could he secretly gift those cakes? You? Oh no... It's just that he experiments with some new recipes...

Ignore that bottle in the cupboard

Jack is someone who keeps his friends very close and is not afraid to stand up for them

Only that he saw you as someone more precious than a friend

So when he saw you running away from a student and slipping behind him he saw the world just a tiny bit tinted red

The young wolf beastman isn't someone who uses violence just because he can do or feel like using it

(Honestly, at this point he is more like your little dog than some fearsome wolf)

Just because he didn't turn the student into very biological and mushy fertiliser for the flowers then and there doesn't mean he was calm though

Grabbing the not so nice company of yours, he told you to not worry and leave your little problem to him

Ah yes, Jack Howl, that kind acquaintance of yours

How nice of him

But you know, there are also tales about wolves acting as if they are kind just to devour you

Of course Jack didn't do that

Does not mean that things went as peaceful as you thought they did after you left

Jack usually keeps his instincts under control but on that evening he had to cut his nails very short and scrub his hands

Anyone would be horrified after the sensation of calcium breaking under their hand, splintering like old, dried out wood under a saw

He should feel guilty but... it was hard to do so

Which brings us back to a sink being used by a certain beastman

Geez, some things are so hard to get off of skin once it dries, wouldn't you agree?

First of all, it's a wonder the hunter wasn't watching you from a tree (or something like that... who knew bushes could walk in this world)

If he had he would have immediately revealed himself by slithering in between you and that oh so foolish first year

But alas, apparently a miracle happened and this time it was you seeking out him

When Rook heart the certain sound of your shoes hitting the ground he was swivelling around, a poem about his devotion towards you already on his tongue...

And them you hid behind his arm curtains (you know, their dorm uniforms sleves)

Did hiw beloved Overseer, perfection and liberatir in person finally choose him as their most favorite- no? Ok that's cool too

If this was any other situation he would have started a speech in his wannabe French, stating how short he was by your rejection

But right now he had to deal with your little stalker (don't try to act all innocent, Rook, you did the same many more times than they ever could without being noticed)

Trying to calm you down the hunter brought you to Pomfiore

And nothing weir happened

No I am not joking, Rook was his usual normal self (if we want to call at best flirtatious remarks and at worst frantic devoted ramblings normal)

From then on you were much closer to the hunter

Especially after a body was found

And oh, how grateful Rook was for not having the time to get rid of the body on that day

Of course, he had noticed how ce fou followed you two to the dorm

How trusting you were when he told you that he wanted to get you two something to drink...

And there the parasite still was, lingering around the entrance of his dorm

The only regret Rook had was finishing his job so quickly

It was always such a bore whenever his prey wouldn't squirm

Well, at least you were now close to him

Just be careful, the hunter was also back then the one bringing her highness a false heart. Who knows how much he would lie to get you all to himself?

Uh and… maybe don't open that box he has in his room in a cooler. He told you he keeps some sort of trophy in there and I think that is all we need to know

[gloomwitchwrites]

You're having a bad day so they do their own version of Magic Mike for you

ANON! This ask sent me into a fit of giggles. I am so happy to do this. I had a lot of fun putting together some quick writes. I know you've been waiting a while. I hope you have a good laugh out of this, and maybe even giggle and/or kick your feet with glee. I know I did!

Presented in four double drabbles.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader (can be read as gn!reader)

Content & Warnings: swearing, suggestive themes, dancing, singing, striptease, lap dance, brief non-descriptive nudity

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

"Everything okay, love?" asks John from the bathroom.

"Just a headache," you reply. "Had a busy day."

"Busy? Or bad?"

He knows you too well.

"Bad," you sigh, propping yourself up on an elbow.

John is no longer in the bathroom. He stands inside the doorway, leaning against the doorframe with one hand.

Freshly showered. Towel hanging on his hips.

"What?" you ask, noticing the smirk on his face.

John lightly pushes off from the doorframe. In a sultry sway, John begins to approach you, both hands reaching as if to undo the towel.

"John?"

He doesn't drop the towel, just teases the undressing. Your face grows hot as he nears. John comes to a stop just in front of you, the towel still perched on his hips.

"Go on," he purrs with a heated stare.

You tug and the towel falls away.

"Plan to fuck away my headache?" you cough out, gaze darting upward, focusing on his face and not what’s behind the towel.

John grabs your forearm, helping you to a seated position. "Not yet." He places one knee beside you on the bed. John holds your chin with thumb and forefinger. "No touching until I say so."

Simon "Ghost" Riley

"I’ve had a bad day," you sigh. “I’m tired.”

Turning your head away from Simon, you glance out the window.

As you exhale, something soft and large lands on your head. You yank it away. It's Simon's shirt. As you turn to address him, something else comes flying in your direction.

With a yelp, you snag it out of the air before it hits you. Simon's jeans. Belt included.

"What—"

Simon stands ramrod straight with arms at his sides in nothing but his boxer briefs and socks.

Perplexed, you fail to form words as Simon starts to saunter over to you. It’s stilted. Odd. The man has no rhythm but clearly all the confidence in the world.

"Oh my God," you murmur, clutching Simon's clothes to your chest, sinking further into the couch.

He's trying. He really is. But all you can focus on is how intense Simon’s face is, and how stiffly he…dances?

"Are you okay?" you ask.

Simon blinks. Frowns. "Yes." He glances down at himself. "Do you not like this?"

Whatever foul mood you were in has vanished, replaced with soft amusement and disbelief.

“Just…cuddle with me on the couch.”

“Clothes off?”

“Clothes off,” you confirm.

John "Soap" MacTavish

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not really," you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.

When you glance up, Johnny has a devilish grin on his face.

"What?" you ask cautiously.

Johnny pushes off from the kitchen counter and reaches over his head, removing his shirt. Your mind promptly forgets its previous concern. All it cares about is Johnny's broad chest and muscled stomach.

"What are you doing?" you laugh as Johnny twists the shirt and grabs either end, placing it behind your neck.

"Helping," he coos.

Now in only grey sweatpants, Johnny pushes in. You lean back, a bit startled.

"Helping how?" you giggle.

Johnny rocks his hips, swaying them slightly in a semi-erotic rotation.

"You look ridiculous."

"Maybe,” he agrees. “But you're smiling."

You are. To the point that your cheeks ache.

"I could keep going," he teases, rolling his hips again.

You playfully push at his stomach and Johnny takes that moment to sink down into your lap. "Nope," you laugh. “Absolutely not."

Johnny does an exaggeratingly awful impression of a lap dance. It sends you into a fit of giggles, and he doesn't stop until you're wheezing.

"Better?" he teases.

The bad mood is gone.

"Much."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

"My brain is static," you groan. Kyle grins and starts to hum. "What are you doing?"

He saunters over to you, the humming turning into singing.

"Is that Pony by Ginuwine?" you laugh, disbelieving.

“Girl, when I break you off,” he continues to sing, removing his shirt, spinning it over his head like a lasso. “I promise that you won't want to get off.”

"Oh my god," you mutter, covering your face, cheeks flaring hot.

You peek through your fingers only for Kyle to toss the shirt at you. It lands above your head.

“If you’re horny, let’s do it,” he sings, reaching for the front of his pants. “Ride it.”

Your mouth is open, staring at Kyle as more of his clothes disappear. He’s in nothing but boxer briefs. Placing his foot on the couch, his hips flex forward, giving you a clear view of what’s beneath the fabric.

"Stop," you giggle, covering your eyes with one hand. The other extends to cover his junk.

Kyle takes your wrist and draws your palm to his chiseled stomach. "How are you feeling now?"

The static is gone, replaced with a soft affection that warms your everywhere.

"I'm better,” you laugh.

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[chrisbesitos]

chris holding younger reader in his arms as she cry’s after reading more of her hate comments

“I j-just tried to post a video of my baking and I’m being hated on!” You say in shambles as Chris coos

she is beauty we are world class.

"Shhh, don't care about them." Chris whispered in her ear, Y/N was on his lap with her head on the crook of Chris' neck and the boy was caressing her back. Her tears wet the fabric of Chris' shirt, but he doesn't care.

"They hate me for no reason, Chris!" She said in the middle of her sobs, she sniffed and turned back to cry. Chris sighed, he tried to delete some comments, but she already had read them. He always tries to protect her from this.

He hates how people are mean to her for no reason, even more when it comes from people who watch his videos with his brothers. Y/N just posted a silly and cute video of her baking, Chris helped her with all the stuff, she was really excited, but the haters destroy everything.

"I want to delete the video, please."

"Why? It was so good, you did it so well, doll." Chris pulled her shoulder gently, he cleaned the tears on her cheeks with his thumbs. Even though she's upset, Y/N looked cute with her little button nose red. Chris kissed him. "I know the comments are bad, but you can't give up because of them, hm? None of them are true, not even a little bit."

"But why do they always say mean things about me?" She looked at him with her doe glassy eyes.

"Because they just want to put you down. They're not happy with their own life and need to get you upset to feel better with themselves." Chris said gently, he smiled at her and gave a kiss on her forehead. "I'm sorry for this, I really do, doll."

"It's not your fault, baby." Y/N closed her eyes, feeling the boy lips against her forehead. "I'm just too sensitive."

"No, you're not." Chris embraced her shoulders with his arms, pulling her to his chest. Y/N rested her head there and the boy massaged her scalp. "Hate to see you cry about this fucking assholes."

Chris stayed with Y/N on his lap until she calmed down, he kept rocking her body and giving her kisses. Y/N gave up the idea of deleting the video and Chris deleted all the bad comments about her, blocking the accounts too. After all this, Chris and Y/N move towards the kitchen for baking brownies, because this would make Y/N feel better and Chris would do everything to make his girlfriend feel better.

i was fucking drowsy when i wrote this, i hope it's good

Tags: @lizzymacdonald06 @deliciousluminaryanchor @lushjunkie @sweetreliever @watercolorskyy @ivysturnss @brianna-grace12 @blahbel668

join my taglist!

[lxkeee]

MY LOVE, IS MINE ALL MINE PART THREE

pairing: Lucifer x fem! reader

fandom: hazbin hotel

genre: fanfiction

notes: Imaoo sorry it took awhileee I'm actually a very busy college student while simultaneously having so much brainrot for this man so... Be patient omfg, I just posted part one a two days ago also, don't mind the warnings too much as it doesn't specifically for this specific chapter but it can be future parts of the story. So yes, hand holding before marriage will happen between Lucifer and [y/n]

warnings: none except hand holding before marriage Imao.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART FOUR

Lucifer paced back and forth in his room, worried. Walking around the large master's bedroom, passing by many piles of rubber ducks he made.

“She should be back by now.” Lucifer murmured to himself, sighing.

His eyes landed on to the framed pictures decorating his walls.

He prayed that Charlie met [y/n] up there, the one angel he trusts. Though, it has been eons since he's last seen her, he wonders if [y/n] changed after all these years, especially after he had fallen from grace.

Did she hate him? Did she miss him like how he misses her?

As he sat on his arm chair, a gold sealed white envelope manifested on top of the coffee table in front of him, pink glittery smoke surrounding the letter.

“...What the...?” Lucifer murmurs, hesitant and cautious, eyeing the envelope. What if it's a trap?

Suddenly his phone buzzed, he immediately checked it to see it was a text message from Charlie.

“I just left a letter on your table, it's from someone you know. I'll tell you everything that happened in heaven but I'll rest for a bit. Love you dad!”

Lucifer smiled though a tad bit worried, he can tell that the meeting didn't go as his daughter hoped. He can only give her time.

Lucifer then now turned his eyes back on the neat envelope, sparkling a little. He turned the letter around to see it was specifically addressed to him, written in an oh so familiar handwriting to him. Unknowingly, just by seeing the handwriting was enough for his eyes to tear up a little.

“[y/n]....” He murmurs, finally opening the letter. Using his sharp nails to scrape off the wax without breaking it or tearing the envelope. Taking out the carefully folded light yellow paper, unfolding it to reveal her letter to him.

My Dearest Lucifer

His cheeks flushed slightly, with a comma after dearest. My Dearest, Lucifer

“Oh [y/n], this will keep me up at night.” Lucifer murmurs with a small dorky smile on his face, his sharp teeth shining against the light, eyes watering.

My Dearest, Lucifer

       It has been awhile hasn't it? A couple of eons since we've last seen each other. You have no idea how excited I was when I heard your daughter would be coming here in hell. I made sure to write a letter in advance a day before her arrival. I have a lot to tell you, first and foremost, I truly missed you. You sly man, you really got married without inviting me. How's your time down there? I hope hell is treating you right, I really hope I'll get a chance to see you again. I hope we'll get a proper chance to talk, I want to personally hear you how you've been doing. I hope you'll get the chance to see the good of humans after giving them free will, I promise to find a way for you to leave and visit earth. I am running out of paper to right on but I promise to help your daughter up here and lastly, I want you to remember that I adore you always.

“Sincerely yours, [y/n] [l/n]” Lucifer softly reads out, voice shaking. It felt like he could hear her as he read the letter. The same kind [y/n] who always believed in him. His heart swells knowing that she's still trying to help in any way she can despite their distance. She never stopped believing in him despite him leaving without notice (not that he had the chance to).

“If only you knew how much I adore you too, [y/n]...” Lucifer murmurs softly, his finger tracing the outline of the paper ever so gently.

“I want to see you again, I have so many things to say to you... So many unsaid words I wanted to say... I wanted to tell you that I love...” Lucifer's eyes widened ever so slightly, cheeks turning red. He knows he loves her and he still does but he also loves his ex-wife, Lilith. Does he? Or is he just holding into something that no longer exists as it was something he had for a long time and now it's gone?

Everything in his life changed, Lilith's love for him changed, he changed.

Despite all of this, [y/n] remained unchanging inside his heart. Sure, Lilith held the majority of his heart but now? He is not sure but he is 100% sure [y/n] never left, he still has affections for the angel.

How can he not? She's the only one who believed in him when he was up in heaven? She comforted him whenever the elders said hurtful things to his ideas.

But now...

Her letter gave him a sense of hope that his decision of giving mankind free will might not be useless after all.

Lucifer closes the letter, gently folding it back on how it was folded before he opened it. Bringing the piece of paper to his nose, smelling the faint scent of her perfume. It brought back memories of his time with her in heaven.

“I'll ask Charlie about what happened up there later but for now, I'll take a moment to process this.” He says with a small sigh. Slipping the folded paper back into the envelope.

Lucifer sighs as he gently places the envelope back on his table, walking to his balcony. Eyes staring up into the smoky red skies of hell, devoid of any moon and stars.

He used to stargaze with her when he was still in heaven.

[y/n] was his moon, who shines during his darkest days.

Waving his finger in the air, specks of golden dust flickers out of his fingers. Forming a crescent moon.

Lucifer leans into the railings, eyes staring at the faux moon he created.

“Moon, tell me if I could...” Lucifer softly sang, eyes tired but hopeful. “Send up my heart to you...?” he asked softly, unfortunately no one answered.

A bit of a timeskip....

It has been a few months since Charlie's visit here in heaven and the next extermination is getting closer by the day. Emily and I are still trying to look for ways to help Charlie.

Sera adores Emily, I am sure that she wouldn't get punished. I on the other hand, Sera has been keeping a close eye on me. Criticizing me. Lute being tasked to watch my every move.

“Sera, this is utterly ridiculous! We should give those poor souls a second chance.” [Y/n] says, clenching her fists as she looked at Sera who was sitting on her chair inside the Seraphim office.

“That is enough, [y/n]. You keep this up and you'll end up fallen like Lucifer.” Sera said sternly, eyes glaring at the [y/n]. “You barely managed to escape that fate before, you could've fallen the same time as Lucifer but thankfully your actions weren't as severe as his.”

[y/n] slammed her fists against the table, angel eyes appearing on her wings with fury, “We aren't God, Sera! Who gave you the right to judge those sinners and claim they don't deserve a second chance?” she exclaimed.

Sera stood up from her seat, anger evident on her face. “Don't you dare raise your voice at me! You're on thin ice, [y/n]!”

[y/n] rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over chest, “What are you going to do? Huh? Kick me out of heaven?”

Sera's glare sharpened, patience running thin. “Keep that attitude up and you just might.”

“Lucifer doesn't deserve this treatment! You cursed him to not see the good of people! You cursed the people who have a chance to redeem themselves by taking their life! How does it feel that so much blood is spilled because of your decision?!” [y/n] asked angrily, tears running down her cheeks.

“We have our own souls to protect! This decision wasn't easy to make!” Sera remarked angrily, her wings spread out intimidatingly.

“Protect them from what?! As far as I know, it's only us angels who are a threat to them? If they do something that doesn't fit your standards or the elder's standards they are bound to fall from grace!” [y/n] says mockingly, rage and annoyance evident on both women's eyes.

“That's it, you've crossed the line!”

“You don't want to admit that I am right, angels are such selfish, greedy, and filthy creatures. I cannot believe I am associated with beings whose hands are stained with blood.”

You know, falling doesn't seem so bad.

Strong and harsh winds are blowing against my back, thankfully I still have my wings. It is currently useless, unfortunately. I don't have the energy to flap them to save myself from the approaching pain.

After that argument with Sera, the higher seraphim thought I was already way out of line and disrespectful. I was placed on trial, handcuffed with the type of handcuffs that prevents me from using my angelic powers while it simultaneously sucked the energy out of me.

I was deemed guilty, shameful, and ungrateful and a threat to the order of heaven.

Tossed out of the pearly gates of heaven by none other than Adam, that asshole really grabbed me by the hair.

[y/n] sighs softly, vision blurring. Trying to focus it as she falls from grace. The skies looked so beautiful.

Lucifer would've loved these skies, we've stargazed during the night before. When he was still in heaven with me.

Lucifer, I can see Ursa Major tonight. Someday, I'll bring you back here on the surface and stargaze like we've always do. No matter how many stars are in the sky, you always take my attention. You're like my star, you shine so bright and so pure.

I'll join you in the pits of hell, I hope you didn't forget about me.

I should be happy that I'm finally leaving that god awful place.

Why am I so scared of falling to my demise?

For a moment, I can see a glimpse of how Lucifer felt when he fell from grace.

Terrifying.

[Y/n] closes her eyes as she finally goes past the Earth's crust. Ichor flowing out of her hands from the handcuffs she had to wear.

“I am not allowed to die, I still need to see him.” [y/n] murmurs before eventually crashing into the fiery grounds of hell, she fortunately crashed somewhere where there weren't any people, a wide space of nothing but dead trees, a hotel can be seen in the distance.

Pain, pain shot everywhere her body. She let out a sharp scream of pure pain. Blood spilled everywhere before she eventually passed out.

It didn't matter, the pain didn't matter. She's here now. She'll look for him or Charlie.

She doesn't know Charlie would find her first.

END NOTES: YUHHH THEY'LL SEE EACH OTHER AGAIN IN THE NEXT UPDATEE

TAGLIST:

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[daenysx]

I can't stop thinking about modern!aemond with his pregnant wife or with the baby, like him caressing her little bump, or massaging her when she feels tired

i wrote a little drabble for this, i hope it's okay <33

modern!aemond targaryen x pregnant fem!reader , fluff

you wrap your fingers around the cup of herbal tea aemond made for you minutes ago.

he's not sitting here with you, because he needs to make calls and work in his room. you told him it's okay, never liked keeping him away from his job. working is something he needs to do to keep his mind occupied, otherwise you think he'll be worried for you or the baby. it happened before.

your other hand draws absent-minded shapes on your belly. it's grown huge, to the point where you can't see your feet when you're standing up. it feels unbelievable sometimes, the fact that you'll be able to see your baby girl in such a short time. you will hold her in your arms, feed her and kiss her. it's gonna feel like a miracle, you're not familiar with miracles.

you are curious about the details, of course. not the giving birth part, you try to keep your mind away from it these days. but what will she look like? doctors are saying she's healthy and everything's okay. will she have aemond's hair? maybe your eyes? will she read lots of books when she's grown like her dad, or will she like obsessing over fictional characters from tv shows just like you did years ago? she'll be perfect, you know that much. a mix of aemond and you. perfect.

you can't wait to meet her for many reasons but it would also be nice to stop being pregnant and get rid of the aches in your body. it's not easy to carry a baby, no matter how excited you are, physical aspects cannot be ignored for too long. you feel swollen everywhere, it's hard to leave the bed or couch by yourself, and sometimes even your face doesn't feel like your own. you think it's normal to feel that way most times, but- not always. not today.

the couch beneath you is usually comfy, not now, though. it feels like something's digging up your spine, you tilt your head back to the pillows with a low groan. baby girl moves, she's a bit restless today. you want to move your legs, maybe walk a little to relieve the numbness in them. well, you can't leave the couch by yourself. tough luck.

your hero steps in, and you manage to take a nice breath. aemond comes to you, his face is unreadable. he tries not to let work bother him, especially when he needs to be okay for the three of you now, but you sense him feeling stressed over it. it looks like today will be a small disaster for each member of his little targaryen family.

"what's wrong?" aemond asks, the moment he sees your discomfort. "are you hurting anywhere?"

you hand him the tea cup, only took a few sips from it before. "can you help me up, please?"

"of course, my love." he softens immediately. it's time to be a good husband, he's not gonna sulk over business deals just now. "here, let me hold you." he says, supporting your body to lift you up.

it's nice to feel your legs again. you hold aemond's hand, his other arm supports your waist to give you something to lean back. you look up to him to get a kiss. it's needed desperately, and he's quick to give you what you want. your belly gets in the way a bit, but aemond is tall enough to still tower over you, your lips meet just right.

"do you wanna walk with me?" aemond asks. "let's go to kitchen and find something to eat for you."

"a walk would be nice." you say, accepting his lead. "she's moving too much today. it's feels like she's angry at me or something."

"she's just impatient." he defends his girl. "she'll be here soon."

"yes." you say happily, stepping into the kitchen. "we still need to decide a name, though."

you lean against the kitchen counter as aemond takes out some fruits from the fridge. he starts preparing a whole plate of them, pineapples and strawberries. just what you like.

"i mean, at least we have options." he says. "we just decide what feels right when we get to see her."

"mm, okay." you say, not having enough energy to discuss the name thing over again. it's hard to pick it, even harder to stop yourself from thinking another option and trying to decide which will be better.

aemond is done with the fruits, he washes his hands and gets a towel to dry them before reaching for you. "you look like you need to get some sleep." he says with a little smile on his face. he cups your cheeks to kiss your chin.

"but you just made me snacks." you tell him. snacks are important.

"they'll be here when you wake up." aemond reminds you. "i'm done with work today. we can go to bed and wake up at dinner time if you want."

normally it's a shock to hear these words from your husband, he doesn't like spending hours on sleeping during the day. after you started getting more tired though, he tries to stay with you as much as he can. you like having him in bed even when you can't cuddle properly, it's the way he makes you feel safe. also, quality time for your tiny family.

you nod, holding his hand again to go to bed. walking seems a bit harder now, you wrap your free hand around your belly. you're thankful for having aemond's clothes on you, nothing feels restraining at least. you sit on bed and try to find a nice position to lay down.

you don't like having covers on you but aemond still pulls the thin blanket on your legs. he lays down after, keeping his body as close to yours as he can. his hand finds its usual spot on your belly. he's gentle with the way he rubs your skin. you close your eyes, your poor muscles give up.

"why is my girl so restless today, hmm?" he asks softly, leaning to your baby as he talks to her. "you need to give your mommy a break, little love, i don't like seeing her so exhausted."

aemond kisses where your baby's head must be and you feel a sudden comfort spreading all over your body. "keep talking to her, please." you say. you love how he manages to calm both you and your baby.

"you'll be here soon." he says, his fingers meet with her as she moves. "we'll get to choose you a name, and you'll wear your tiny clothes. we need to pick up a teddy bear for you, and decide your favorite color to get you nice dresses. you need to be here to do all that, okay?"

you reach for aemond's hand when you feel sleep taking over you. he keeps talking to your baby, and she finally settles down. he doesn't sleep, he doesn't need to. he can only watch you and stay with you just in case you need anything when you wake up. he gives both of you occasional kisses to remind you of his presence.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

A Gentle Touch

Installment 1 of The Catlike Tendencies of Matthew Murdock

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: Matt doesn't know how to ask for physical affection.

warnings: none that I can think of!

a/n: long story short this is inspired by my wife’s orange cat. He loves her but only tolerates me most of the time, unless I’m the only one home when he wants attention. However, he doesn’t really know how to cuddle with me since we don’t do it often so he just awkwardly lurks wherever I am until I invite him closer. It happened earlier and I thought it was hilariously Matt-coded so I wrote this. (It’s set in the Of Oak and Ivy verse because I love them, but you don’t need to read that story for this)

w/c: 2.3k

You were absolutely enthralled in the story Foggy was telling when the noise caught you off guard. A small puff of air, sounding almost like a voiceless sigh. Glancing toward Matt who was the closest to you, one look at his stony expression told you it had come from him. He was clearly irritated, despite his face being blank. You’d known him for long enough that you could tell when something was on his mind. 

Maybe he’d heard this story too many times? You leaned more heavily into his arm, which was parallel to yours. 

Turning your attention back to Foggy, you flinched with a laugh as he gestured wildly when concluding his story, spraying beer at you from his mostly full bottle. 

“Geez, Fog. Reaching your limit already?” Matt smirked, his icy exterior fading away as you giggled beside him. 

“He is, he’s all flushed. This is just like that party at the Beta house sophomore year.” You shook your head, looking at Karen with an exasperated expression. “Have they told you the possum story?” 

Smiling gleefully, Karen shook her head. “The possum story?” 

Both Matt and Foggy groaned, protesting and blushing furiously, but Karen was adamant. And who were you to not indulge her?

“In the fall of our second year at Columbia, Matt and Foggy got absolutely plastered on some disgusting concoction of cheap alcohol and Hawaiian Punch,” You began, rolling your eyes as Foggy gagged across from you. 

“God, even the thought of it—“ The blond mime-retched. 

“Yah the smell of Hawaiian Punch still makes me nauseous.” Matt shuddered next to you. 

Karen stifled a giggle as you continued to illustrate just how inebriated you’d found them when you’d come to pick them up. “I was studying and had sat the party out, but offered to drive them home when Fog called me screaming at someone to chug alcohol. I figured they’d both be in no shape to get home.”

“You were correct.” Foggy nodded. 

“I don’t remember anything from that night, but I assume I was the one chugging.” Matt grimaced, laughing sheepishly. 

“So I drove over to the house, somehow got ahold of Matt and managed to convince him to herd Foggy and himself into my car. When they get there, they’re holding this bundle, right? I figured it was dirty clothes or something. But as we were driving home the clothes start hissing.”

“Oh, NO!” Karen cackled, propping herself up on her elbows as she listened to the story. 

“Oh yes. Naturally, I ask Fog what he’s holding and he says ‘my dog’.” 

“We didn’t have a dog,” Matt clarified, looking incredibly guilty. 

“No you did not.” You squeezed his arm, hoping he could hear in your voice that you had no resentment over the incident. “Foggy unwraps the thing a bit and introduces it as ‘Spot’. But instead of a dog,”

“It’s a possum.” Karen finishes for you, nearly in stitches over her coworkers’ mortified faces. 

“An angry one at that. I have no idea where it came from or how they managed to catch it, but there it was.” You shook your head, still amazed at their ability to wrangle the creature while piss-drunk. 

“What happened to it?” Karen asked, and the men erupted. 

“That’s classified.” Foggy stated firmly, lips pressed together. 

“A story for another time,” Matt rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. 

“Don’t tell me you killed it!” Karen gasped, whirling to look at the out of them sternly. 

“Of course not! No possums were harmed in the making of this story, just mildly inconvenienced.” You assured her. “They’re just clamming up because they can’t remember whose fault it was that it got loose in the science hall.”

Trailing off into a fit of laughter, Karen was quick to follow you as the two men started arguing, pointing fingers. Sitting back and enjoying the show, you shot Karen knowing glances as Matt and Foggy fought, no real heat behind their words. 

You’d had so much fun that night, reliving one of the funniest moments of your college years, that you’d completely forgotten about the aggravated sound. Until about one month after, when you were sitting next to Matt on a bench in the courthouse. 

The case he and Foggy had been working on was tedious and full of metaphorical landmines that threatened to ruin any shot your client had at escaping her abusive husband. The entire firm had been on edge, struggling to keep everything in order. Given your lack of steady employment at the moment, you’d been helping out wherever you could, and had been working this case from day one, right alongside Matt. Which is how you’d ended up beside him rather than Foggy. 

The blond had flown out of town a few days before to attend an extended family reunion, leaving the rest of you to man the fort, so to speak. Usually, that wouldn’t be an issue, but Matt had been increasingly temperamental leading up to the ex parte hearing. His normal reserved demeanor had rapidly been replaced by a moody, antagonistic version of him–driving poor Karen to her wit’s end. 

After Matt had incited a screaming match over a spilled cup of coffee, you’d told her to take her lunch early, giving her a couple hours where she didn’t need to walk on eggshells. The plan seemed to be working so far, Matt responding with less hostility to your persistent support rather than Karen’s eager suggestions for an aggressive approach. Something about this case had rubbed Matt the wrong way. His invisible hackles were standing on end, posture almost bristling as he sat beside you, twisting a white-knuckled fist around his cane. And, though you understood why Karen was pushing for another solution, you agreed with Matt that this needed to be handled quickly and quietly. 

Scowling at the floor, Matt’s joints rolled beneath the delicate skin of his hands. His jaw was clenched, shoulders curled inward, as if he expected the judge to request a fist fight to grant the protection order. Christ, that could not be comfortable.

Carefully, slow enough to not spook him when he was in this state, you slid the pads of your fingers over the back of his hand. Prying his firm grip off the handle of his cane, you cradled his massive, calloused hand in your lap. He visibly relaxed at the touch, twisting to face you as you traced gentle patterns over his skin, careful to avoid the line of freshly healed cuts on his knuckles. Your curiosity would have to wait for now. There was no way he was in the mood to explain those.

A breathy rumble sounded in his throat, akin to a sigh but less obvious. The same noise he’d made all those days ago at Josie’s–the quiet indication that something wasn’t right. 

Bottom lip jutting out in sympathy, you squeezed his fingers with your own. “It’ll be ok, Matty.” 

He swallowed roughly, hazel eyes darting around behind his red lenses. You could practically see the thoughts forming in his mind before he buried them, the stress forcing him back into bad habits. Sweeping your fingers over his wrist, you studied him, satisfaction thrumming in your chest when his breath hitched. “Hey, talk to me, trouble. What are you thinking?”

“It’s not going to go well.” His voice was pitched low, angry, but there was a brief undercurrent of fear within it. 

“We don’t know that.” You chastised lightly, knowing this pessimistic streak was a coping mechanism and not confirmation he’d become a nihilist. 

“I can feel it. Can’t you feel it? It’s like every officer is laughing at us. We’ve already lost.” Watching Matt, the perpetual optimist, crumble at the thought of things not going the way you’d planned nearly broke your heart. 

“Oh trouble, don’t say that.” Threading your fingers with his, you knocked your knees together. “It’ll be ok. Even if the judge doesn’t grant the order today, we won’t stop trying, right?”

“No but she needs legal protection now. Truthfully, she needs an armed guard.” Matt spoke bitterly.

“We can get her temporary protection.” You suggested.

“They’d never grant that for a simple DV case. Besides, those are his coworkers. Do you really trust them to keep her safe from him?” Matt scoffed, raising a brow at you. 

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you jabbed your pinky into the flesh of his palm. “I wasn’t suggesting we go to the police, Matthew. You and I both know how little good that would do.”

Deflating as he realized you weren’t being as naive as he suspected, Matt frowned. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Not everyone knows the flaws in the system.” You reassured him. “But I do. To some extent, at least.”

He hummed in agreement, but said nothing. 

“What’s really bothering you?” At your insistent question, Matt’s face flashed with rage, his spine straightening as he tried to pull out of your grasp, but you held fast. “Don’t you dare, trouble. Please, talk to me. It’s eating you away, I can’t sit here and let that happen.” 

Sighing harshly, Matt ran a hand over his face. “I just..this case feels different. I don’t know why. But if we can’t help her…”

“All we can do is try our best.” You reminded him. 

He let out a single humorless laugh. “I suppose that’s true.” 

When you let his hand drop, he made that pitiful, choked noise again. 

“What?” You asked, slightly worried. 

“Nothing. Just tired.” He lied, wrapping his hand back around the handle of his cane.

It was only once you were truly together that you realized what that specific sound was meant to signify. 

Since you’d officially started dating, or rather labeling whatever you two had as a relationship instead of dancing around each other, that stupid noise had cemented itself in your life. It seemed like Matt was making it every damn day and it was driving you up a wall. 

Not because Matt wasn’t entitled to his feelings or to expressing said feelings. But because your brain registered that the sound had a specific meaning, and you could not for the life of you translate it from a mere Matt-ism into a language you actually understood. Every little quirk and charm about Matt inherently made sense to you, they always had. Yet this little growling exhale seemed out of your reach. Not to mention, anytime you tried to ask him what was up, he shut down faster than a computer chip dunked in pool water.

Sitting on his couch as he typed on his laptop, he snarled out that sound, eyes darting towards you and away before you could blink. Brows furrowing, you peered at him over the top edge of your book. A muscle in his cheek twitched, a blaring omen that he was holding himself back from saying something. 

“You ok?” You asked, nose scrunching as Matt brushed off your concern. 

“Yep. Hungry.” He grumbled. 

One word answers. Great start. Really breaking down his walls there, champ. 

“Oh, gotcha. I’ll order something. Have a taste for anything in particular?” Setting your book across your thighs, you opened up a delivery app on your phone. 

“No.” 

“Okay...” You drawled, stifling an eye roll at his grouchiness. “How about that Lebanese place we liked?” 

Receiving nothing but a thumbs up in response, you submit an order before Matt reached another stage of hangriness. 

Once Matt had eaten half of his shawarma, he was more agreeable. Smiling and chuckling sweetly as you read him cheesy snippets of your romance novel. Crawling across the couch until you were seated beside him, you stretched over his lap to snatch a piece of pita bread for your plate of hummus. Matt blew out a breath, tickling your ear as he grunted. Now that you were close, you could hear the shrill, whimpering undertone. Hidden, nearly silent, as if the growl was to compensate for the whine, to conceal it. 

Craning your neck towards him, you planted your free hand on your hip. 

“Alright. Out with it.” 

“Out with what?” Matt gave his best ‘befuddled’ impression, but you saw past his feigned innocence. 

Snorting, you prodded his firm chest. As your finger connected with his solid pec, he whimpered again, this time almost moaning. Something clicked. 

“Matthew Michael Murdock,” You gasped. “You are not making that sound instead of asking to cuddle.” 

Blushing furiously, Matt dipped his head, ashamed–though he made no attempt to deny the allegation.

Laughing incredulously, you tossed your plate aside and settled into Matt’s lap, threading a hand into his hair. “You are a ridiculous man.”

Matt rumbled happily, leaning into the touch until his head landed against your chest. Clutching his face between your palms, you trailed soft touches over his cheeks, around his ears–scratching tenderly down his neck when he practically melted beneath your fingertips.

“You could’ve told me that’s what you wanted, all this time…” Shaking your head, you planted a kiss atop his thick hair. “Why suffer in silence?”

“Didn’t want to force you. It’s been different. Since..everything.” 

Snuggling in close, you maneuvered his chin with two fingers, kissing him deeply. His stubble brushed over your skin roughly, making you smile. “You can always always ask, trouble. No need to be a martyr with me.”

“Sorry,” Matt murmured against your lips, chasing your mouth with a mournful noise as you pulled away. 

“Don’t be sorry. Now come here.” Tugging him on top of you, you laughed brightly as he squirmed over you, finally relaxed when his face was tucked against your neck. “That’s it. Better?” 

“Much better.” He whispered, going limp under your touch as your fingers stroked up his back.

Taglist: @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @ignore-mp3 @silas-aeiou @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04 @paradox-brody-chase @blue-devil-of-the-lord @pigeonmama @shouldbestudying41

[aesthetixhoe]

warnings: cursing

CURRENTLY THINKING ABOUT sharing a bed with sam.

two rooms were always the standard when you would stay at hotels on a hunt. one room with two queens, and one room with a single bed for you. it's always worked. until now when the hotel receptionist told you she only had two rooms, both with only one king bed.

“well, hope you like sleeping on the floor, princess.” he smacks sam in the chest, sam rolling his eyes in response. “but seriously, who's bunking with who?”

“is that even a question? i am not listening to you snoring all night! i'll room with sam.” dean raises his eyebrows, but doesn't say anything.

“suit yourself. like i said, have fun on the floor.” he taps sam's shoulder before grabbing his key and walking to his room

once inside you both realize how small the bed is. “oh, king bed my ass.” you groan out, dropping your bag on said bed, and walking into the bathroom.

sam chuckles before saying, “it's fine, it'll be big enough for you, it's basically a queen.”

you peak your head out from the bathroom, “who said i'm sleeping alone?”

“uh, me?” sam retorts, snickering after.

“Uh, me?” You mock, walking out with your toothbrush in your mouth. “I don't care, we're sharing the bed, I'm not letting you sleep on the gross motel floor. You'll get a disease.”

sam raises his hands in a faux surrender, “hey, i won't complain.”

“but hey, if we're sharing a bed, i get first shower.��� you tease as you grab a change of clothes from your duffle.

after your shower you walk back out to the bed, seeing sam on his stomach already passed out. you decide to stay up for a while longer, looking for a new case, but when you look over and see the alarm clock read 3:16 you decide it's time to sleep.

you try to sneak into the bed but pulling the covers up to get under them wakes sam.

he rolls over and smiles at you, dopey. “mornin’ sunshine.” you say with a southern twang.

“how long did i sleep for?” he questions as he props himself up on his elbow. you slid down to lay on your side facing him, pushed close by the lack of space of the bed.

“only two-ish hours.” you half smile at him. he nods slightly and lies back down. you're so close your knees are bumping each other's, and you can feel each other's breath. it's peaceful like this; the ambient hum of the air conditioner, the relief of solving a case, the only light being the lamppost light bleeding through the curtains.

you shuffle a bit, trying to find a sleep able position, your legs still bumping sam's, but not enough room to back up.

“you can... like, lay on me if you want. to give you more room.” you've never had a problem being close to him. until after he came back from college. something about him was different. something about you was different. you yearned to be close with him, but always too afraid to make a clear statement, and not just dropping hints.

you took a deep breath and scooted closer to him, your leg draped lazily across his thighs, and your head on his chest, where you could feel his heartbeat. the warmth of him. his arm wraps around your waist and it feels like you were made for this. made for him. “is this ok?” you ask softly, afraid that if you spoke too loud he would realize what he's doing and back out.

“yeah... it's nice.” he sighs softly. contently. you relax, feeling your body loosen once again.

your top arm moves out from its place, squished in between you and sam, and finds its way next to his. your fingers, so close. so close you would swear you feel electricity pasting between them. his hand inches closer to yours, his fingers laying on top of yours.

it's such a small gesture, holding hands, but in a way it means everything.

after a few minutes, and you being nearly asleep, his head tilts down to press his lips to your hair. “goodnight [y/n].”

“night sammy.” you whisper. finally feeling safe for the first time in years.