#he loves all of them but would never admit it

[shy9-29]

From Dare To You ★ 심재윤

“a part two to love, lies, and sim jake” - enhypen campus series

🌿 After YN found out about the bet, Jake apologized, revealing he ended it before asking her out for real. Though hurt, she played along, but his constant effort and genuine care slowly broke through her walls, and trust began to rebuild between them.

🏷️ - @kristynaaah @firstclassjaylee @sheseung @c9b7luv @bswrldd @kiikiisblog @memyselfandkoo @k1ttyjwon @bloomiize @titttuaf @sunghoon-cam @xnatqq @azzy02 @rairaiblog @chvconn3 @wonzzziezzzz @blvengene @gvtdoll @a3r4-for3ver @luvksnn @sunarin96 @aerispark @monoidol @starnaris @pinknjm @marimariiisblog @blckorchidd @pinknjm @melodiessvy @gyulune @marimariiisblog @bgyusgf @doririsstuff @enhastolemyheart @prkhoonlvr @miamoari @dearestdreamies

wc. 9.7k · masterlist · enha campus series · part one

You didn’t plan to see him again so soon.

But there he was sitting alone on the bleachers behind the field after school, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, eyes cast downward like the weight of the past few days was finally too heavy to carry. He looked smaller somehow. Not physically, but… quieter. Like the version of him who used to light up every room had dimmed.

You hesitated. Part of you wanted to turn back, to leave things unfinished and avoid another scene. But your feet moved anyway, slowly, carefully, until you were standing in front of him.

He looked up, his eyes meeting yours. For a second, nothing was said—just the breeze brushing past and the silence between two people who didn’t know how to start again.

“I didn’t know,” you said finally, voice soft. “About the bet. That you ended it.”

Jake stared at you for a moment, jaw tense, eyes tired. “Would it have changed anything if you did?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Yeah. It would’ve.”

He gave a small, humorless laugh, then looked away. “Too late now, huh?”

“No,” you said quickly, sitting beside him before you could change your mind. “Maybe not.”

Jake didn’t say anything at first. Then: “I was an idiot, YN. For agreeing to that bet in the first place. For not telling you sooner. I thought I could control it—my feelings. Thought if I kept it casual, it wouldn’t mess everything up. But then it stopped being casual, and I didn’t know how to fix it without losing you.”

Your heart twisted. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because I thought you’d never believe me,” he admitted. “And I didn’t think I deserved a second chance. I’ve seen it happen to heeseung and it still keeps him up , I didn’t wanna take the chance with you.”

Jake stared ahead at the empty field, jaw tight, like he’d run out of words to say—or maybe like he was too afraid to say the wrong one.

You sat next to him, your voice low but sharp. “Then why did you come running back to me?”

His head turned toward you slowly. “Because I couldn’t stay away.”

You scoffed, shaking your head as a bitter laugh slipped past your lips. “Right. After everything. After the bet, after humiliating me in front of everyone, after pretending to care…”

“I wasn’t pretending,” Jake cut in, voice firmer now. “Not when I kissed you. Not when I asked you to be mine. Not when I stayed up all night hoping you’d text back.”

You looked away, jaw clenched. “You made me feel like I was something to win.”

Jake exhaled hard, like the guilt had been burning in his lungs. “I know. And if I could take it back, I would. All of it. The joke, the dare—everything that hurt you. But the way I feel about you now?” He looked at you then, eyes soft but intense. “That’s never been a lie.”

You didn’t respond right away. Your throat was tight, like the words wanted to come out but didn’t know how.

Finally, you muttered, “I don’t know if I can believe you.”

Jake nodded slowly, not pushing. “Then don’t. Not yet. Just… let me show you.”

And for once, he didn’t try to close the distance between you. He didn’t reach out. He didn’t beg.

He just sat there, quiet and waiting.

Like he finally understood that trust wasn’t something he could ask for—he had to earn it.

And so that’s what he did.

The next couple of days, Jake didn’t text you paragraphs or blow up your phone with apologies. He didn’t show up unannounced or try to corner you in the hallways. He didn’t force you to talk when you weren’t ready.

Instead… he showed up differently.

He waited outside your classroom after the bell, never too close, never pushing—just there. Quiet, patient, like a steady presence.

He started walking slower when he saw you down the hall, letting you pass instead of calling out your name.

He laughed a little softer when your friends made jokes, stealing glances your way but never trying to pull you in unless you wanted to be.

He wasn’t perfect. He still fumbled sometimes, caught himself staring too long, said your name like it was still his favorite word—but he didn’t try to take anything more than what you were willing to give.

And even if you didn’t say much, even if your heart still felt bruised and hesitant, you noticed. You noticed it all.

Because Jake Sim wasn’t trying to win a bet anymore.

He was trying to win you.

And this time, it wasn’t about pride.

It wasn’t about proving something to his friends.

It was about proving something to you.

That he was serious.

That he meant it.

That he’d stay—without the game.

It was subtle at first.

You didn’t even realize the way your walls had started to shift until you caught yourself smiling at something he said in passing. Something stupid—probably about his dog or how he nearly tripped over a soccer ball in gym. But your lips had curved before you could stop them, and when you realized he saw it, you quickly looked away.

Jake didn’t call attention to it. He just smiled too. A quiet, knowing one. And kept walking.

Later, you found a note in your locker. No big dramatic gesture—just a piece of notebook paper folded in half.

Hope today’s better than yesterday. That’s all.

— J

You stared at it longer than you’d admit. Kept it tucked into your sleeve. Didn’t text him, didn’t mention it, but the knot in your chest loosened—just a little.

At lunch, Yuna nudged you. “He’s trying,” she said gently, not with that sharp tone she’d used before. “Really trying.”

You didn’t answer. You just watched him from across the courtyard, laughing with Sunghoon and Jay—but every now and then, glancing your way.

Like he was making sure you were still there.

By Thursday, you found yourself slowing your steps so he could catch up.

By Friday, you sat next to him during study period and pretended not to notice when his hand brushed against yours on the desk.

He didn’t push. He didn’t ask. He just looked at you with those soft, unguarded eyes and smiled like that moment was enough.

And somehow…

For now, it was.

Saturday came, and with it, a text from Jake.

simjyn:

Hey. I was gonna go for a walk later. Clear my head. You don’t have to come but… if you do, I’ll bring snacks.

You stared at the message for a good ten minutes. No pressure, no “we need to talk,” no expectations—just Jake, being soft and careful. The kind of boy you weren’t sure existed weeks ago.

You didn’t reply right away. But a few hours later, there you were—hoodie on, hands in your pockets, meeting him just down the block.

He grinned when he saw you. “You came.”

You shrugged. “You said snacks.”

He held up a bag of your favorite chips with a lopsided smile. “I don’t lie about the important things.”

The two of you walked in comfortable silence for a while. The streets were quieter than usual, the air warm with the smell of spring. Every now and then your shoulders would brush, and each time, Jake would glance over, like he was still surprised you hadn’t pulled away.

“I meant what I said,” he said eventually, voice softer than usual. “About showing you. I don’t want to screw this up.”

You didn’t answer at first. The sidewalk was cracked and uneven beneath your feet, like your thoughts.

Finally, you spoke. “You already did screw it up, Jake.”

He flinched, just a little. But he nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

You turned to him then. “So don’t just tell me. Show me. Keep showing me. Not just this week. Not just while you feel bad.”

Jake stopped walking. “I will.”

You searched his face for any sign of hesitation, but there wasn’t any. Just him. Raw and real.

He took a careful step closer. “Can I—?” he started to ask, but stopped himself.

And for once, you closed the space between you.

Just a little. Just enough to let him know that maybe—maybe—this was the beginning of trust again.

Jake didn’t touch you. He didn’t try to hold your hand or pull you into some movie-perfect kiss. He just smiled, slow and genuine, like that one small step meant everything.

And honestly?

It kind of did.

The next week passed like the world had slowed down—but in a good way.

There were no dramatic declarations, no big speeches. Just… Jake.

Sitting next to you during free period, not too close, but close enough.

Sliding you a note in class with the dumbest doodle imaginable—your name in bubble letters with a little crown on top.

Sending you a playlist that started off upbeat and chaotic, but slowly drifted into soft, late-night kind of songs you didn’t expect from him.

Smiling like he had a secret every time your eyes met in the hallway.

And you?

You found yourself waiting for it. For him.

You told yourself you were being cautious. That you hadn’t forgiven him yet. That your heart was still bruised from what he’d done.

But when he laughed? It didn’t hurt.

When he said your name? You didn’t flinch.

And when you caught yourself smiling—again—you didn’t look away this time.

It was Friday afternoon when he found you sitting alone near the back of the school garden. The spot you always went to when you needed to think.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just sat down beside you and handed you an iced drink—your favorite.

“I like this,” he said after a minute, eyes on the sky. “Just… being here. With you. No pretending. No games.”

You didn’t respond right away. The breeze was light, the sun warming your face.

“I still don’t know if I trust you,” you said quietly.

Jake didn’t flinch. “I’ll wait until you do.”

You looked over at him. Really looked. And maybe for the first time, you believed it.

Not because of his words.

But because of how he’d changed when he stopped trying to win you—

And started trying to deserve you.

So you leaned back, sipped your drink, and said nothing else.

But Jake’s smile widened.

Because silence from you now?

Wasn’t rejection.

It was peace.

And maybe, just maybe… it was the start of forgiveness.

By Monday, the whispers had started.

It wasn’t just glances anymore—it was full-on stares, hushed giggles, and not-so-subtle side-eyes when you walked into a room.

You were halfway to your seat in homeroom when you heard it.

“Do you think she did something to him?”

“She had to. There’s no way Jake Sim just—changes.”

“Dude hasn’t flirted with anyone in weeks. Not even once. He’s not even posting thirst traps anymore.”

“That’s, like, unheard of. What did she do? Put a spell on him?”

You rolled your eyes as you sat down, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from saying something.

Apparently, the student body couldn’t comprehend that Jake Sim—the golden boy, the walking distraction, the school’s certified heartbreaker—might’ve just… grown up. Or fallen for someone. Or both.

You heard someone mutter behind you, “Honestly? Kind of iconic if she did. Like… imagine taming Jake.”

The seat beside you stayed empty. You glanced at it without meaning to.

Jake’s chair. Still untouched. Still waiting for him to come back.

And even though you weren’t sure what this was between you and him yet—or where it was going—hearing the way people talked made you feel something you hadn’t expected:

Protective.

Because sure, maybe Jake had been a reckless flirt once. Maybe he hadn’t been the safest person to care about. But he was trying. He was changing.

And he deserved the chance to do that without being a punchline.

Even if you weren’t ready to say it out loud, you knew it deep in your gut—

Whatever you and Jake were building… it was already real enough for people to notice.

Back home, everything felt quieter without him.

You didn’t realize how much space Jake had taken up in your day until he wasn’t there to fill it. His empty seat in class, the silence where his random texts would pop up, the way your phone didn’t light up with his name the second you unlocked it—it was strange.

You hated to admit it, but… you missed him.

More than you wanted to.

You found yourself hovering over his contact a dozen times, thumb lingering on the call button. What would you even say? You still didn’t know how you felt. Still didn’t know if you were ready to let yourself fully trust him again.

But that didn’t stop your heart from aching.

So, one night—when the silence in your room felt too loud and the thoughts in your head wouldn’t shut up—you caved. You tapped call.

It rang once. Twice.

Then—“Hello?”

His voice was raspy, low. He sounded half-asleep. You glanced at the time. 4:02 AM in Australia.

“Oh my god��Jake, I’m sorry,” you blurted. “I didn’t mean to wake you up. I’ll call you back later, just go back to sleep—”

“No,” he said quickly, voice still heavy with sleep but suddenly more alert. “No, stay. Please. I wanna stay on the call. For you? Always.”

You went quiet, swallowing down the guilt that rose in your chest.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, a smile tugging into his voice. “Hearing your voice is already better than sleep.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaky and a little embarrassed. Then, without really meaning to—you started talking.

Not about anything huge. Just the little stuff. The rumors at school. How Kazuha almost knocked over a vending machine trying to get a free soda. How the cafeteria ran out of your favorite chips and it weirdly ruined your day more than it should’ve.

Jake didn’t interrupt. Didn’t talk over you. He just listened—soft, warm, awake only because you needed him.

And eventually, your words grew quieter. Slower.

“I didn’t think I’d miss you this much,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s stupid. After everything, I should still be mad. And I am. But… I miss you anyway.”

There was a pause. Then his voice, low and soft through the speaker:

“I miss you too. Every second. Even the ones I’m supposed to be sleeping through.”

You smiled, curling deeper into your blanket, heart beating too fast for how calm your voice sounded.

Maybe this wasn’t forgiveness.

Maybe it was just… a step toward it.

But for now, lying in bed and hearing his sleepy breath through the phone—

It was enough.

The next day, the evening settled in quietly—soft rain pattering against your window, the smell of shampoo still lingering in the air as you curled up in bed in your oversized hoodie. Hair damp, phone warm in your hand, you finally gave in and called him again.

Jake picked up almost instantly, like he’d been waiting.

The screen lit up with his face, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips. His hair was a little messy, eyes a little puffy—he looked tired, but the kind of tired that made him look softer.

Then he paused.

You tilted your head. “What?”

Jake blinked, then bit his lip, trying not to grin. “Nothing,” he said, voice all low and lazy. “You’re just… cute like that.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling your hoodie closer. “Like what?”

He laughed quietly. “Like that. All soft and cozy. I dunno. It’s just…” He shrugged. “I’d like to see you in my hoodie one day.”

Your stomach did this stupid little flip, but you masked it with a scoff. “You’d probably never get it back.”

“That’s the point,” he said, eyes shining with something gentle.

You looked away for a second, trying not to let the smile win—but it crept in anyway. You hated how easy it was to slip into this, how warm his voice made you feel even when you were still trying to protect your heart.

Still… you didn’t change the subject.

Instead, Jake shifted the camera and suddenly, a golden blur popped into view.

“Oh my god,” you said, sitting up. “Is that Layla?”

Jake beamed, gently scratching behind the ears of his border collie. “Yup. She’s been sulking without me. But she likes calls with you.”

Layla barked softly, tail wagging, and it made something in you melt.

You smiled quietly. “She’s so pretty.”

Jake looked back at the screen. “She’d love you.”

You hesitated for a beat, watching him, the way his hand rested gently on Layla’s fur, the way his face relaxed when he looked at you like that—like you were something precious.

“I’m still figuring things out,” you said softly.

Jake nodded without hesitation. “I know. And I’ll wait, remember?”

Your walls were still there. But they were softer now, worn down in places.

And maybe… just maybe… you were starting to believe he really meant it.

The next night, you weren’t sure why your fingers moved so quickly to hit call.

Maybe it was the silence of your room again.

Maybe it was the way his name lingered in your head all day.

Or maybe… you just wanted to hear his voice.

Jake answered with that same smile—bright and sleepy and just for you.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he said, voice a little hoarse, a little teasing. “You always call me right before bed. Not that I’m complaining.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe I just like seeing Layla.”

Jake laughed, turning the camera to show Layla curled up at his feet. “She missed you too.”

You hesitated for a second. Your heart picked up.

And before you could overthink it, before your brain could yell no—you said it.

“I missed you,” you said quietly, voice softer than usual.

Jake blinked. His smile didn’t falter, but you could see something shift behind his eyes—like the words landed a little deeper than either of you expected.

“You… what?”

You swallowed. “I said I missed you. Don’t make me say it again.”

His lips curled into something warm and slow, something real. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”

You looked away, cheeks heating. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“I won’t,” he said, still grinning. “But just so you know… I missed you more.”

And just like that, something shifted.

Not huge, not loud—but it was there.

A new softness in the way you looked at each other.

A new kind of trust threading its way through the call.

You still weren’t all the way in.

But you were no longer holding all the way back either.

“Three more days,” Jake said through the screen, stretching his arms above his head with a groggy little yawn.

It was morning there, the sunlight barely creeping in through the curtains behind him, and his voice was still heavy with sleep. His hair was messy, sticking up in every direction, and you could hear Layla snoring faintly in the background.

You smiled at the sight, tucked under your blanket, phone propped up on your pillow.

“Not that I’m counting,” he added, eyes flicking up to meet yours through the screen with a crooked grin.

You raised a brow. “You literally said that exact thing yesterday. And the day before.”

“Okay, so maybe I am counting.” He shrugged, grin widening. “What can I say? I miss you.”

You rolled your eyes, but this time, you didn’t try to hide your smile.

Jake leaned closer to the camera, as if trying to get a better look at you through the screen. “What about you?”

“What about me?” you said, playing dumb even though your heart was already speeding up.

He tilted his head, voice soft. “You still miss me yet?”

You let a pause hang in the air for just a second longer than necessary before you whispered, “Maybe.”

Jake let out a low laugh, running a hand through his messy hair. “That’s all I get? A maybe?”

You bit your lip, trying to look annoyed, but the truth was written all over your face. You missed him more than you wanted to admit, and saying it out loud felt like giving up the last bit of control you had left.

But still, you added, “Three more days.”

Jake’s gaze softened. “Yeah… three more days, and I’m yours again.”

You looked at him, really looked at him—sleepy, sincere, and a little too perfect for his own good.

And in that moment, it hit you:

Maybe this was real after all.

And maybe… you were finally letting yourself believe it.

There was a soft knock on your door—three gentle taps, familiar and unhurried.

You peeled yourself off your bed, phone still warm in your hand from just hanging up with Jake. Padding over in your hoodie and socks, you opened the door.

Yuna stood there, arms crossed, an all-too-knowing smirk already forming on her face. “You’ve been on the phone every night,” she said, stepping inside without waiting for an invite. “I swear, I can hear you giggling through the wall.”

You flushed immediately. “I do not giggle.”

“Sure,” she said, plopping down dramatically onto your bed. “Just like how you’re totally not falling for him again.”

You shut the door behind her with a sigh, leaning your back against it. “He’s… different now. I don’t know, Yuna. I can’t explain it.”

Yuna looked at you for a long second, all the teasing melting into something more sincere.

“I believe he’s actually trying,” she said softly. “I do. I’ve been watching. He’s not flirting with every girl in sight. He hasn’t pulled one of his stupid ‘fuck boy’ games since the party. He’s… quieter. Focused. On you.”

You bit your lip, walking over to sit next to her on the edge of the bed.

“But I’m still pissed,” she added, voice firmer now. “What he did to you? The bet? The way he played it at first—that wasn’t okay. And I hate that you got caught up in it.”

“I know,” you said, eyes on your lap. “I hate it too. But it’s not like I didn’t see it coming. I just… didn’t expect him to change.”

Yuna was quiet for a second, then nudged your arm with hers. “You don’t have to forgive him all the way. Not yet. But you’re allowed to feel what you feel, okay? Even if it’s messy.”

You looked at her—your best friend, the one who always had your back even when you were being stubborn—and nodded.

“Thanks for not saying I told you so.”

“Oh, I totally told you so,” Yuna said with a smirk. “But I’m saying it with love.”

You laughed, and for the first time in a while, it felt real.

Later that night, after Yuna had left with a dramatic “Don’t stay up all night whispering sweet nothings,” you were back in bed, your thoughts buzzing.

You stared at your phone, thumb hovering over Jake’s name. It felt different now—not like you had to call him, but like… maybe you wanted to.

So you did.

The screen lit up, and after just one ring, his face appeared—eyes half-lidded, hoodie hood pulled halfway over his messy hair.

“Hey,” he said, voice all gravel and sleep. “Missed me already?”

You snorted, shifting under your blanket. “It’s only been a few hours.”

Jake smiled lazily. “Still counts.”

You studied him quietly for a moment—how tired he looked, how soft he sounded when he was with you. And for a second, it almost felt easy. Natural. As if things had always been like this between you.

“Yuna and I talked,” you said.

Jake blinked more awake. “Yeah? What’d she say?”

You shrugged. “She still doesn’t like what you did. But… she believes you’re trying.”

Jake leaned back against his pillows, hand dragging down his face. “I deserve that. I don’t expect anyone to forgive me right away.”

There was a pause. His eyes flicked back to the screen. “But you talked to her about me.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Don’t get cocky.”

“I’m not,” he said, grinning. “Just… glad.”

You rested your cheek on your pillow, watching him through the screen. “I don’t know what’s going to happen when you come back.”

“I do,” he said. “I’m gonna see you. And I’m gonna keep proving it—every day. No games. Just me.”

Your heart did that thing again—that annoying, traitorous flutter—but you didn’t stop it this time.

“Three days,” you whispered.

Jake smiled so softly it nearly knocked the air out of your lungs. “Yeah. Three days.”

And even with all the scars and hesitation…

You couldn’t help but feel a little bit like you were finally getting your heart back.

Two more days.

That’s what you’d told yourself all morning.

Just two more days and he’d be back. Two more days and you’d see him—really see him—not just on a screen.

But that night, something felt off.

Jake hadn’t called.

Not even a text.

Not a “good morning” or a sleepy voice note. Nothing.

You tried to brush it off at first.

He’s probably tired. Maybe busy with his family.

But the longer you stared at your phone, the more uneasy you felt.

You sent a message. Then another.

And when the little “Delivered” didn’t change to “Read”… you panicked.

You tried calling. Once. Twice. Then five more times.

Your fingers moved on their own—FaceTime.

The screen rang for what felt like forever before finally—

Click.

His face appeared, flushed and damp, water still running faintly in the background. Steam curled around the edges of the screen, and his wet hair was slicked back. He was clearly still in the shower, the camera only catching his bare shoulders and face, but—

“Y/N?” Jake asked, breathless. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

Your words came out rushed. “What’s wrong with you? Why weren’t you answering? I thought— I don’t know. I thought something happened—”

Jake blinked fast, clearly still trying to process. “Shit, I’m sorry. I was in the shower. I left my phone on the counter but it wouldn’t stop buzzing—I thought someone died.”

You breathed out a shaky laugh, rubbing your eyes. “You scared me.”

He frowned, guilt all over his face. “I didn’t mean to. I swear, I just— I was in the middle of shampooing and suddenly it’s like twelve missed calls—”

“I thought something happened to you,” you admitted quietly, voice softer now.

Jake’s brows knit together. He adjusted the phone slightly—still just his face and shoulders on screen—and his voice dipped low. “Hey… I’m okay. I promise. You’re not overthinking, alright? I should’ve texted you first. That’s on me.”

You nodded, but your heart was still racing.

He gave a crooked smile. “For what it’s worth… I’m kinda glad you spammed me.”

“Why?”

“Means you care,” he said simply. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

You looked at him, steam rising around his face, eyes tired but warm.

“Next time,” you muttered, “at least answer before I have a meltdown.”

Jake chuckled. “Deal.”

And even though the call wasn’t long…

And even though he was still in Australia, two days away—

You went to bed that night with your heart just a little more at ease.

The next morning, sunlight filtered through your blinds as you sat cross-legged on your bed, phone propped up in front of you. Jake’s sleepy face filled the screen—his hair a little messy, eyes soft and hooded from just waking up. It was night over there, but he still looked wide awake for one reason only.

You.

“Okay,” you said, holding up two options. “Sweater or hoodie?”

Jake squinted, rubbing at his eye. “Wait, wait, go back to the blue one. The knit one.”

You held it up again, amused. “This?”

“Yeah,” he said, already smiling. “That. With the jean shorts. You’ll look so good, I swear.”

You gave him a look. “You didn’t even see it on.”

“Babe,” he said, voice low and teasing, “I already know. Trust me.”

You rolled your eyes but tugged the sweater on anyway. It was cozy, a little oversized, sleeves dropping slightly past your wrists. Paired with your denim shorts and a quick glance in the mirror—you had to admit, he was right.

You turned back toward the screen to find Jake watching you with this quiet, lopsided grin on his face.

“What?” you asked, reaching for your mascara.

“Nothing,” he said. “Just… you’re really pretty.”

Your hand paused mid-air. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious,” he said, his voice softer now. “Like, stupid pretty.”

You bit back a smile and kept doing your makeup, feeling his gaze linger. He didn’t say anything for a bit, just watched you brush and blend and put on lip balm.

“I don’t care how jet-lagged I am tomorrow,” he said suddenly. “I’m staying up all night with you.”

You glanced at the screen.

He looked dead serious, head resting on his pillow but eyes locked on you.

“I’m gonna hug you so tight,” he said. “Like, refuse to let go tight. And kiss you until you tell me to stop.”

You pretended to be unbothered, but your smile gave you away.

He laughed gently. “That a yes?”

You shook your head, cheeks warm. “We’ll see.”

Jake yawned and nestled deeper into his sheets. “One more day…”

“One more,” you echoed, slipping on your shoes.

And as you grabbed your bag and headed out the door, you couldn’t help but feel the smallest flicker of excitement under your skin.

Just one more.

That whole day felt… weird. Good weird. Butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of weird.

Everything you did—walking through the halls, sitting through class, zoning out during lunch—had one repeating thought in the back of your mind: Jake’s coming back today.

You weren’t texting him much. Just a few updates here and there.

He sent you a photo of the plane window, captioned: Next stop: you.

And that alone had you stuffing your phone into your locker before you completely melted in front of everyone.

By the time school ended, your legs were bouncing nonstop on the bus ride home. You told yourself you were being chill. Normal. Totally not overthinking the fact that Jake Sim, the boy who once treated girls like trophies, who once made you a bet, was now someone you were waiting for.

And maybe even falling for.

You got home, changed into something a little more comfortable, and threw yourself on your bed—phone clutched in your hand like it was your lifeline.

Then, a text buzzed through:

@simjyn: Landed. Be at yours in 20. Don’t freak out.

Your heart immediately started freaking out.

You sat up fast, checked your reflection in the mirror, and tried to tell yourself it wasn’t that deep.

But it was.

Because this wasn’t just any visit.

This was the first time you were going to see him since everything—

Since the bet, the heartbreak, the slow rebuild.

Since the quiet confessions and late night calls and the I miss yous.

This was real.

And you were about to find out just how real it truly felt… when he was standing right in front of you.

The next twenty minutes felt like an eternity. You paced around your room, picking up and putting down random things—your phone, your makeup bag, your shoes—anything to distract yourself from the nervous energy building in your chest.

You had to keep reminding yourself to breathe. It’s just Jake. It’s just Jake.

But it wasn’t just Jake, was it?

It was the Jake. The one you’d spent weeks on edge about. The one who’d broken your heart and then somehow, miraculously, started piecing it back together. The one who told you things that made your stomach twist in ways you didn’t want to admit.

The doorbell rang, sharp and sudden, making your heart jump into your throat.

You took a steadying breath and headed for the door, barely holding it together. When you opened it, Jake was standing there, grinning like he owned the world. His hair was a little messy, his eyes bright, and there was a certain softness to him that you hadn’t expected.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, a little hoarse from the travel. “Miss me?”

You just stared at him for a beat before a small laugh escaped your lips. “Are you really gonna ask that after everything?”

Jake stepped inside, closing the door behind him as he swept you into a hug. The warmth of his body was instant—familiar, comforting—and for the first time in days, you felt like maybe this was right. Like maybe it wasn’t a mistake to want him around.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice quiet now, like he was finally ready to admit it. “I know I messed up, but I really meant it when I said I wanted to try. I’m here for you. I want this… with you.”

You pulled back slightly to look him in the eye, your heart still racing from the flood of emotions crashing over you.

“You’re not just saying that because you’re back now?” you asked, unsure if you were ready to hear the answer.

Jake’s hand cupped your cheek gently, his thumb brushing over your skin as if he was trying to memorize the feeling of you. “No. It’s not just because I’m here. I was never going to get off the plane without making things right. I wanted to be here. For you. For us.”

You couldn’t say anything, couldn’t form the words you needed to say. Instead, you stood there, eyes locked on his, and let the silence speak for you.

Finally, Jake leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. “So, how about we just… try again? No games, no past stuff. Just us.”

You took in a shaky breath, then nodded.

“Okay,” you whispered.

Jake smiled, that familiar cocky grin back on his face, but there was something new in his eyes—something deeper. “Good,” he murmured before gently leaning in to kiss you.

It was soft, tentative at first, like he was waiting for permission. You let him, sinking into the kiss, and for that brief moment, it felt like all the tension and uncertainty of the past few weeks just melted away.

When he pulled back, he grinned again. “Tomorrow, I’m not jet-lagged. We’re going out. I’m taking you on a real date.”

You laughed softly, still in a daze from his kiss. “What’s a ‘real date’ to you?”

“Dinner, movie, some late-night snacks, maybe another kiss or two…” Jake shrugged. “The usual, but with less games.”

You smiled, the butterflies in your stomach fluttering in response. “I think I could get used to this.”

Jake just chuckled and pulled you close again, arms wrapping around you like he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to relax into him, knowing that whatever came next, you were finally ready to let things unfold.

Jake stood by the door, his hands casually in his pockets, looking around your room like he was trying to make himself comfortable. His eyes settled on you, and there was that same soft look he always had when he wasn’t being cocky or teasing.

“So, uh…” he started, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly a little unsure for the first time tonight. “Is Yuna here?”

You blinked, glancing toward the empty bed across the room. Yuna was out with her boyfriend, which left you alone in the apartment for the night. You’d assumed it would just be the two of you hanging out, but the way Jake asked made your heart skip a beat.

“Uh, no, she’s out with her boyfriend for the night,” you replied, biting your lip. “Why?”

Jake looked almost shy for a second, before shrugging. “Well, I was thinking… maybe I could stay here tonight?” His voice was hesitant, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if he was asking because he really wanted to, or if it was just the most natural thing for him to do. But when his eyes met yours, there was a sincerity there that made your stomach flutter.

You froze, a nervous little laugh escaping your lips. Stay the night?

You’d never had a guy stay over, especially not someone like Jake—someone who had once seemed like the kind of guy who’d never do anything that serious with someone. The idea of him being so close to you all night, even after everything, made your heart race. You couldn’t lie—it made you feel… nervous.

“Uh… yeah. Sure,” you said quietly, looking down at your feet, suddenly feeling shy.

Jake smiled, a bit relieved. “You sure? I don’t wanna make it awkward or anything, I just… I’ve missed being with you.”

Your heart melted at his words, but the nerves were still there, fluttering in your chest. “It’s not awkward,” you replied, glancing up at him. “I just… haven’t really had anyone stay over before. It’s… different.”

Jake stepped closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming in the best way. He reached for your hand and gently tugged you towards him, his smile soft and comforting. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for, okay? I just wanna spend time with you. Just you and me.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. “Okay…” you whispered, not sure what to expect, but feeling strangely calm in his arms.

Jake’s lips pressed softly to your forehead, his hand still holding yours as he led you to the bed. “Then, how about we just watch a movie? You pick.”

You nodded, still feeling that little wave of nervousness, but somehow comforted by the way Jake treated you. This wasn’t a game anymore, and maybe it wasn’t the big leap you’d both once imagined. But it was a step, and that was enough.

As Jake settled next to you on the bed, you grabbed your remote and flipped through the options. He leaned against the headboard, pulling you closer, as you snuggled into his side, your heart beating just a little faster than normal.

You weren’t sure what the future held, but right now, in this quiet moment with Jake, you were willing to let the night unfold however it came.

And, even if you were nervous, you didn’t mind that he was here. With you.

The bed felt a little too big for just the two of you at first. You were trying to settle in, but your nerves kept making it awkward. You told yourself it would be fine, but the reality of him being here—so close, sharing this space with you—was a little more overwhelming than you expected.

Jake, on the other hand, was perfectly at ease. He’d clearly been in similar situations before, and the way he moved around the bed, adjusting the pillows, grabbing the blanket to throw over both of you, was effortless. He wasn’t even trying to be cautious. To him, it was just another night, another moment to relax.

You, on the other hand, lay stiff beside him, your back to him as you tried to make yourself comfortable without being too aware of his presence.

Then, you heard him yawn. “So… not bad, huh?” he said casually, turning on his side to face you, his gaze sharp and mischievous. “I mean, I know you’re probably not used to me being here, but don’t worry. I’m a great bedmate.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes even though you couldn’t hide a small smile. “Yeah, sure. No more moving around, okay? I’m trying to sleep.”

Jake grinned, clearly not even the slightest bit tired. “It’s only like 6 AM for me, babe. It’s morning in Australia, so I’m wide awake.” He paused for a second before adding, “And don’t worry. I’m not that bad. I’ll let you sleep.”

But he didn’t.

The next few minutes were a blur of shifting blankets and restless movements. Every time you thought you might finally fall asleep, Jake would adjust, making sure you felt every inch of his presence next to you. It was like he was a human radiator.

He kept moving, lightly bumping into you, his arm brushing against yours as he stretched and shifted again. You groaned, turning onto your back, trying to get some space. But Jake had other plans.

“C’mon, you can’t be mad at me forever,” he murmured, his fingers trailing over your cheek as he pinched it, all while giving you that infuriatingly sweet smile.

“Jake, I’m trying to sleep,” you snapped, your voice more irritated than you meant it to be.

“I know. You’re cute when you’re grumpy.” He grinned and leaned in to pinch your other cheek. “You’re like a little puppy when you’re all sleepy and mad.”

You huffed, swatting his hand away, but Jake only laughed softly, ignoring your protests. He pulled you in closer, wrapping his arms around you tightly, so there was no escape.

“What are you doing?” you muttered, fighting the urge to squirm out of his grip.

“I’m cuddling you. Isn’t that what you do when you’re sleeping next to someone? Come on, you can’t be mad at me. It’s cute when you’re mad.” Jake’s tone was teasing, almost too playful for how much he was invading your personal space.

You gritted your teeth, pushing at his chest weakly, but the more you tried to get away, the more he pulled you in. Eventually, you just gave up, sighing in frustration, the warmth of his embrace making you feel a little too comfortable despite your annoyance.

“Seriously, Jake, I’m not in the mood for this,” you muttered, trying to wiggle free.

But instead of letting go, Jake’s hand rested on the top of your head, gently stroking your hair, as if trying to soothe you. “Shhh. Just relax, okay? You’ve had a rough couple of days. Let me take care of you.”

His words were soft and gentle, but the way he was treating you, so carefree and natural, made everything feel more intense.

You felt your face flush. God, why was he so affectionate?

Your body was tense, but Jake didn’t seem to care. He continued his little “babying” routine, pinching your cheeks again, running his hand down your arm. “You really are cute when you’re trying to act tough.”

You shoved his hand away again. “Stop!” you groaned, your face burning now, both from being flustered and from how absolutely done you were with his teasing. But even as you spoke, you couldn’t help but feel your frustration shift into something else. The warmth of his closeness, the way he kept trying to make you laugh—despite how embarrassed you were—it was impossible to ignore the fact that a part of you was starting to soften.

Jake seemed to sense that too, because his smile softened, and for a brief second, he pulled back just enough to look at you seriously. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop… for now,” he said, but there was a playful glint in his eyes that told you he was far from done.

“Good,” you muttered, turning to face the other side of the bed.

Jake’s voice suddenly broke through the quiet, whining as he flopped onto his back. “I’m bored!” he groaned dramatically, his arms thrown wide as he stared up at the ceiling. “This is so lame. Can we do something fun?”

The frustration that had been simmering inside you all night bubbled over. You were already feeling irritable from his constant moving around and messing with you, and now this? You turned on your side, facing him, opening your mouth to let him have it.

“What do you mean, bored? You’re the one who—”

Before you could even finish your sentence, Jake was already leaning in, his lips pressing urgently against yours, silencing whatever you were about to say. His kiss was sudden and intense, catching you completely off guard. The feeling of his lips on yours made everything in you freeze. You were mad, frustrated, confused—and yet your body couldn’t help but respond to him.

You pulled away, heart pounding, cheeks flushed. “What the hell, Jake?” you gasped, feeling a little more than just flustered.

Jake smirked, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Shh,” he murmured, his voice low and playful. “You were about to yell at me, weren’t you? I just had to shut you up for a second.”

Before you could even process what was happening, he kissed you again. This time, it was slower, deeper, and when he pulled away, your lips felt tingling, your mind a little hazy.

But Jake wasn’t done. His hands slid to your waist, and in one fluid movement, he was over you, his body hovering above yours. His eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race, and his breath was coming out in soft pants.

“Jake, wait, we can’t—” you tried to protest, but your voice faltered as his lips moved down to your neck, his body pressing closer to yours.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” he murmured, his voice thick with something you couldn’t quite place. He kissed you again, more passionately this time, as his hands moved to pull you even closer. Every touch, every kiss, only seemed to stir something deeper in you.

And even though you were still mad, flustered, and unsure, you couldn’t deny how badly your body responded to his closeness. The kiss deepened, the air between you thick with tension and the weight of everything unsaid.

It was like you couldn’t breathe without him, even as your mind screamed at you to pull away, to think clearly. But all you could focus on were his lips, his hands, and the way his body made yours burn with the kind of heat you hadn’t expected.

And in that moment, everything else just seemed to fade away.

You pulled away from Jake just enough to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly. The heat between you was still lingering, and your heart was hammering in your chest.

“Jake,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “Don’t… don’t leave any marks.”

Jake paused, looking down at you with a mischievous grin. “What, are you worried someone’s gonna see? You know, it’ll just be our little secret.”

You felt the tension rise in your chest. “Jake, seriously. No marks.”

But he only smirked, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Too late,” he said softly, pressing his lips to your neck again. His kiss was soft at first, but there was a quiet intensity behind it, his lips leaving a trail of heat.

You gasped, a shiver running down your spine. “Jake…” you protested weakly, but his lips were already moving with more confidence, his hands gently pulling your body even closer to his.

“Shh,” he murmured between kisses, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re just too irresistible, you know that?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus, but the way his mouth was slowly marking the sensitive skin of your neck made it hard to think. He didn’t seem to care about your protests, and in a way, you didn’t want him to. The moment was too intense for you to pull back now.

“Jake, I said no marks,” you breathed, but your voice wavered as his lips pressed harder against the skin of your neck.

But Jake’s grin never wavered as he kissed you once more. “I’ll be gentle,” he whispered teasingly. “But you know you like it.”

And before you could say anything else, he placed another kiss on your skin, and this time, it was more than just a light touch—it was deeper, more possessive.

You couldn’t help but groan, your body reacting in ways you hadn’t expected, and all of your careful reservations melted away beneath him.

Jake pulled away for a moment, his eyes dark with something you couldn’t quite place. He gave you a slow, almost predatory grin before sitting up slightly. Without saying a word, he pulled his shirt off over his head, tossing it carelessly to the side.

Your breat caught in your throat as your eyes involuntarily roamed over his toned chest. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him shirtless before, but now… this felt different. The way his body moved, the way he stared down at you with that same confident smirk—something about it was making your pulse quicken.

He watched you carefully, gauging your reaction. “You okay?” he asked, voice low, teasing.

You swallowed hard, trying to collect your thoughts, but they were all scrambled. “I—yeah,” you muttered, not entirely sure if you believed it yourself. You wanted to look away, to regain some control over the situation, but your eyes kept drifting back to his chest, his body in a way you couldn’t quite pull yourself away from.

“Good,” Jake murmured, leaning back down toward you, his body pressing against yours once more. “Because I’m not done yet.”

You barely had time to process his words before his lips were on yours again, pulling you into another kiss that made it harder to think about anything else. The way his bare skin felt against yours, the warmth of his body, everything seemed to blur into a haze of desire and confusion.

Despite all the hesitation still lingering inside you, your body reacted instinctively, leaning into the kiss and feeling that undeniable pull toward him. And for a moment, everything else—your worries, your reservations, your doubts—faded into the background.

Jake’s kiss deepened, the intensity of it making your pulse race, and you could feel every inch of him pressed against you. Your heart pounded in your chest, and despite your earlier protests, you couldn’t stop yourself from responding. He was so close now, his body hovering above yours, the heat from his skin making you feel both excited and nervous.

His hands gently moved to your sides, his fingertips grazing the skin just beneath your shirt, sending a wave of electricity through your body. You wanted to pull back, to stop it before it went any further, but every part of you—every instinct—wanted to stay.

“You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for,” Jake murmured against your lips, as if sensing your hesitation. His voice was quieter now, softer, and you could feel the tenderness beneath the teasing tone.

You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breath. “I know,” you whispered back, your voice trembling slightly. But the tension was still there, between you both, thick and palpable.

Jake shifted slightly, lifting himself up just enough to look down at you. His hands gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone. “I don’t want to rush you,” he said seriously, his eyes searching yours for some kind of reassurance. “But if you’re still unsure about anything… just say the word, and we’ll stop.”

For a brief moment, you felt the weight of your emotions, the confusion swirling inside you. You wanted to trust him. Part of you did. But then the doubt crept in—how much of this was him really caring about you? And how much was just him playing his usual game?

You tried to push those thoughts away, your hand reaching up to gently rest on his chest. “I’m just… trying to figure things out,” you confessed, your voice quiet but honest.

Jake gave you a small smile, his thumb now gently rubbing over your skin. “I get it. And I’m here, okay? Whatever you need.”

And for the first time in a long while, you felt like maybe, just maybe, there was a chance things could be different between you two. The trust you had been struggling to build was fragile, but it was there. And despite everything—despite how complicated things had gotten—you couldn’t ignore the warmth that spread through you when you were with him.

“Thanks,” you said softly, looking up at him. “I’m still figuring it out, but… I don’t want to let you go.”

Jake’s smile widened, his eyes softening as he leaned down to kiss you again, slower this time, as if trying to communicate everything he hadn’t said with his actions. It wasn’t perfect, and you weren’t sure where things were headed, but for once, you let yourself believe that maybe this could be something worth fighting for.

The air was heavy with the quiet aftermath, both of you lying side by side in the tangled sheets, the room still filled with the lingering warmth of the moment. You didn’t speak at first, unsure of how to break the silence. Your heart was still racing, the intensity of everything that had happened swirling in your mind, and a part of you felt vulnerable, exposed.

Jake lay on his back, one arm draped across his chest as he stared up at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. He seemed calm, but you could see the subtle shift in the way he was holding himself, like there was more going on behind his relaxed exterior than he was letting on.

You turned your head to look at him, your heart still pounding in your chest. “Jake…” your voice was quiet, almost hesitant, like you weren’t sure what you needed to say. You wanted to ask so many things, to know where you both stood now, but the words seemed stuck.

Jake turned his head to face you, his eyes meeting yours with a softness that you hadn’t seen before. He smiled, though it was more subdued than his usual cocky grin. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and gentle, as if he was giving you space to process everything.

You nodded slowly, unsure of how to explain what you were feeling. “I think so,” you whispered, but the words still felt hollow, as if you didn’t fully believe them yourself.

Jake reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch surprisingly tender. “You don’t have to say anything if you’re not ready,” he murmured, his thumb lightly grazing your cheek. “But I’m here. And I meant what I said. I don’t want to rush you into anything.”

You looked up at him, feeling the warmth of his words sink in, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a little more grounded. Maybe you didn’t have all the answers, and maybe this wasn’t perfect, but you weren’t as afraid anymore.

“Thanks,” you said softly, your voice barely a whisper.

Jake’s smile grew, and he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You don’t have to thank me. I just want you to be happy,” he murmured.

For a moment, everything was still, the only sound the faint hum of the night outside. It was messy, and maybe you weren’t ready to give everything over just yet, but you knew one thing—things with Jake were no longer the same. Whether that was a good or bad thing, you weren’t entirely sure, but for now, it felt real.

And for the first time in a long while, you let yourself believe that maybe that was enough.

The peaceful silence that had settled between you and Jake was abruptly shattered by the sound of a door creaking open, followed by the unmistakable click of a lock being turned. You both froze, panic and confusion flashing across your faces.

The door swung open, and to your horror, Yuna and her boyfriend, Mark, stood in the doorway, eyes wide with shock. Yuna’s face was a mix of disbelief and surprise, while Mark’s expression was one of utter confusion.

“What the hell?” Yuna’s voice was sharp, but still laced with the shock of what she was seeing. “It’s three in the morning, why the hell are you two—?”

You scrambled to sit up, suddenly feeling exposed in a way you never thought possible. Jake, always cool and collected, sat up quickly too, his face just as surprised. He looked at you, then back at Yuna and Mark, clearly trying to gauge the situation.

“Yuna,” you stammered, your voice betraying the chaos that was suddenly consuming you. “I… um, it’s not what you think.”

Mark looked between the two of you, eyebrows raised. “Y/n and Jake…such a weird combo. What’s going on?”

Yuna stood frozen for a moment, then slowly closed the door behind her, her eyes never leaving you. “This is… Wow,” she muttered under her breath. “We should’ve knocked.”

“Yuna, it’s… it’s not like that,” you said, your words coming out rushed, a little too desperate for comfort.

Jake was the first to break the tension, his usual cocky grin slipping back onto his face. “No, actually, it’s exactly like that,” he said with a shrug, leaning back against the headboard, his tone casual as though it didn’t faze him in the slightest. “But, uh, a little privacy wouldn’t hurt next time, right?”

Yuna’s gaze flickered between the two of you, her face still unreadable, but Mark’s expression turned more thoughtful. “Alright, well, we can talk about this later,” he said, stepping back toward the door. “But seriously, next time, maybe lock it, yeah?”

Before either of you could respond, they turned and walked out, leaving you alone in the room again. The door clicked shut behind them, but the silence felt deafening now, far more overwhelming than before.

You let out a breath, your heart still racing. This wasn’t how you imagined the night going, but then again, nothing about this situation had been how you expected.

Jake leaned over, a playful smirk on his lips. “Well, that was a nice surprise, huh?”

You shot him a look, still feeling a little dazed. “I think I just want to sleep now,” you muttered, pulling the covers up around you, your face flushed with embarrassment.

Jake just chuckled, his hand resting on your arm. “I don’t blame you,” he said softly. “We’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

But even as you tried to settle back into the quiet, the strange events of the evening felt like a reminder of how everything between you had shifted. Whether it was for better or worse, you didn’t know yet. But one thing was for sure: it wasn’t over.

enha campus series

[weneeya]

falling for you m.list | rules

pairing. one piece x reader

characters. zoro, law, sanji, ace

note. i haven't write with those boys since so long but i'm so back in one piece so be ready to see them! please request with anyone from one piece <3

Zoro

you might be the only one not aware of what is going on between him and you 

he doesn’t care much though, it’s fine by him to stay like this 

he’s always keeping an eye on you during a fight, just to be sure

he knows you can defend yourself well, but he can’t help it 

he lets you steal his food without arguing much, which is weird because he tries to kill Luffy each time he tries 

the crew teases him about it but he brushes them off everytime 

he’s a big shy boy, but he just doesn’t care if anyone knows about his feelings for you

he has a huge soft spot for you and he doesn’t even tries to hide it 

there’s no real realization because he knows why he’s doing this 

he would die for anyone in the crew, but he would definitely burn the world down if you asked him to

Law

realization hits HARD 

he’s not the type to show a lot of emotion, at least he wasn’t until he began to travel with the strawhats

and you? you get him stressed 

he didn’t realize it until robin pointed it to him 

maybe she wasn’t wrong, but no way he would admit it like this 

yes he lets you stay around him a lot, even allowing you to touch him without complaining too much 

and yes you’re always stealing his coat when you’re cold and he doesn’t bother him

but falling for you? no way

he can’t be falling for someone, especially not you 

yet, he can’t take the idea out of his mind since robin’s words 

he notices the way you scrunch your nose when you smile 

or how your face lights up at the idea of visiting a new island 

you’re adorable, and his heart can’t take it 

damn, maybe he’s down bad finally

Sanji

he loves women so much so his behavior isn’t questioned a lot at first 

he’s a simp, it’s not weird that he’s treating you better than anyone else 

until he began to prioritize you over everyone else

even the other girls 

makes your favorite dessert all the time

even asks you what you want to eat and does his best to make it with what he have

nami is the first one to talk about it, and he feels his heart stop at the thought 

is he really in love? like, real love

he’s a romantic guy, that’s it, he can’t be feeling those things 

he can’t, right? 

but the way you’re so gentle with him, never pushing him away when he treats you like the most precious thing on the sea

well, he realizes he might feel something more for you

Ace

the boy is blind, even more than you are 

he’s naturally clingy and touchy with people, a joyful boy 

yet, he seems worse with you 

he always keeps an arm around your shoulder, talking you about his dear brother a lot 

when he falls asleep out of nowhere, it’s usually on your shoulder or even falling on your back

the day he was drunk and put his hat on top of your head? everyone knew it was over 

if anyone tries to tell him about it, he just stays with his eyes open wide in shock 

he blinks a few times, slowly processing the words 

a shrug of shoulders and he just accepts it like this 

fine, perhaps he’s in love, but so what? 

he doesn’t change anything, it just means he can be even closer to you than before

thank you!

[meowdei]

(temporary) birthday blues — ft. sylus

tara doesn’t mean any harm when she tries to set you up on a blind date—she doesn’t know it’s sylus’s birthday, or that he’s yours. but the thought of you sitting across from someone you’re actually allowed to be seen with hits him harder than he wants to admit

❤︎ word count: 6.6k words — at least it’s an even number

❤︎ before you read: female reader ; takes place after sylus bday card but you don’t need it to understand ; reader is a hunter and is implied to have his myth’s lore ; jealous and slightly insecure sylus ; hurt/comfort ; praise (lots actually. almost corny amounts) ; reader wears lingerie ; he picks reader up ; cunnilingus ; hand jobs ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; painfully soft sex ; not proof read

❤︎ commentary: happy birthday to my angel boy ever. but more importantly — I MADE IT IN TIME LETS GOOOOO

You and Sylus return home from his birthday date just as the sun sets. 

By Sylus-standards, the day has hardly begun—he still has roughly a little under half the day left before it’s his (ridiculously late) bedtime. By your standards, since it’s your boyfriend’s birthday, you have to spend his entire day with him, even if his clock works a little differently than yours. 

Will you be staying up until six in the morning? Yes. But you planned accordingly. You took an entire extra day off just to sleep in with him tomorrow and spend as much time together as possible. It’s your first birthday with Sylus. You’re the only one who knows it’s his birthday at all. Work is important, sure, but sometimes you have to reevaluate your priorities a little.

Boyfriends are a pretty important priority—well, only if they’re Sylus. He’s the only boyfriend that matters. The rest of the boyfriends in the world are not quite so impressive, so they don’t deserve the same privileges as your uniquely, one-of-a-kind special one.  

“Did you have a good day today?” you ask softly, curling your arms around his neck as soon as you both enter his bedroom. (Your bedroom—you practically share it like it’s co-owned. The only thing that fully stops you from moving in with Sylus is that it would make your work commute a very tiresome one. Other than that, you’re here every chance you get.)

He hums, hands planting themselves on your hips and giving them a gentle squeeze, pulling you close and flush against his chest as he pecks the corner of your mouth. “I did,” he murmurs, “although I don’t think having a bad day is possible with you—unless you’re being moody. That’s another story.”

“I would get moody with you just for saying that, but I am a firm believer in being nice to birthday boys. Wait until I get my hands on you once today is over.”

“Oh?” he grins, chuckling as he kisses along your jaw, “I should prepare myself for the claws of a feisty little kitten, then?”

“You should prepare yourself for some groveling to get on my good side again,” you huff. “And maybe some expensive gifts.”

He laughs—not that low, deep, rumbling sound that sounds like light amusement. It’s that loud, booming laugh that sounds like joy and warmth and falling in love over and over again every day. Feeling it start to bubble and fizz as the sun rises, and watching it overflow from the top by the time the moon is out. You grin at the sound, pulling him into a kiss where you giggle in between the presses of your mouth to his, and he laughs because your joy is too infectious not to fall victim to. 

“I have to shower,” you whisper between his hungry bites on your lips. He hums in protest.

“Is that really a necessity right now?”

“Yes, I rolled in the grass with you.”

“Fine, we can��”

“No, no,” you push his mouth away with a palm, feeling his lips practically pout against your skin as you do, “we are not going in there together. That will take way too long because you never behave, and I still have plans we have to get through.”

“What sort of plans,” he grumbles, “surely they can’t be that different from what the shower would bring.”

“You are shameless, Sylus,” you scold, slapping his shoulder with hardly any bite at all, “you don’t get to know until it’s time. Now be good while you wait—and charge my phone while you’re at it. It’s about to die.”

With that, you leave him sulking alone in his room, watching your figure as it retreats into the bathroom without him. Grumbling to himself, he grabs your phone to charge it like you asked—he knows better than to make you hiss at him when he wants things. (He wants a lot of things tonight. Quite a lot of things that require your good side, and he intends to milk this nice, spoiled treatment out of you with that innocent birthday boy charm, so staying in your good graces is his wisest option at the moment.)

He grabs your phone and plugs it in…and then he wishes he didn’t. As soon as he does, and the screen lights up, he thinks his birthday is ruined for the next decade with how bitter a taste the messages on your screen leave in his mouth. 

Tara💗: don’t be mad. i set u up on a blind date

Tara💗: well not exactly a blind date. a double date with me and that guy i met when we were out the other day. he has a friend

Tara💗: u can’t say no he’s cute and he has a cat. you’ll like him i promise

It’s official. Sylus does not like this Tara girl anymore. 

He’s met her briefly before, and vaguely, he’s introduced himself, too. She doesn’t know he’s your boyfriend because Sylus is at the top of your job’s wanted list. Telling a girl who is, arguably at this point, your closest friend that you have a boyfriend while having to keep that boyfriend hidden to a certain degree is not a plausible set of wishes. Tara will naturally want to know more. She’ll ask to see pictures of your dates, perhaps. She’ll invite him for drinks, and activities, and parties, and after-work events because she’s the kind of person who cares about the people her friends care about. And Sylus? Well…again, he’s at the top of your job’s wanted list. You can’t let Tara, who is your coworker first and foremost, get to know your boyfriend’s voice and face too closely unless you’re asking—practically pleading—for trouble. 

So she doesn’t know you have a boyfriend. 

It’s a lie that is for the betterment of everything all around. Instead, she meets him once fleetingly, and she thinks he’s your friend who sells fruit and makes a pretty penny off his business that’s taken off. That’s about all she knows. 

At first glimpse, she seemed like a nice girl. A friend whom Sylus was grateful you had and could count on if things got heavy in your line of work. She seemed kind. Dependable. Trustworthy. Maybe not the strongest physically, but certainly a good friend to ease his mind that you have good people in your circle. (Although, he does hate your stupid partner—but at least that loathsome sleepy bastard who rots in bed for half the day is strong. If worst comes to worst, Sylus can at least bet that the boy would sooner let his own head get ripped off than let anything happen to yours. He’s at least grateful for that.)

But he hates this Tara girl deeply now, and hatred for someone he hardly knows is not a common feeling for Sylus. That’s irrational, and he’s hardly irrational. In fact, it’s because he is so rational that he’s so level-headed when he deals with threats. He hardly hates his “enemies.” Most of the people who make an enemy out of him amuse him—they don’t particularly pose a threat to him, and he has quite a bit of fun making an example out of them for the next bothersome bunch that wants to try something with him. Being enemies with Sylus is usually a one-sided thing—he may be someone else’s enemy, but they’ll always just be a fool to him. A regular sorry little idiot who got a bit too cocky and decided to try their luck against him.

He barely has enemies. The few people he does hate are people who deserve it. Terrible, evil, sinister people who go beyond an ethical code that even Sylus will not cross. 

He barely has enemies. He’s a businessman. A leader. A good fighter. A good boyfriend, too, if he gives himself a little bit of extra (but honest) credit. All of which require a good head on his shoulders, a calm demeanor, and a very, very adequate sense of rationality. Sylus is rarely ever irrationally emotional—unless it has to do with you, of course. And this time, it does. 

So he hates this Tara girl. He hates her deeply. She’s landed herself on his enemy list. 

Just as he sets your phone down, you step out of the shower, wrapped in nothing but a towel as your skin glistens from the fancy little lotions and body care items he has lying around in his bathroom that you help yourself to. Any other day, he’d tease you about it. About using him for his fancy, lavish lifestyle. About that skimpy little towel that you choose to step out in when half of his loungewear is in that bathroom for you to also help yourself to. About how cute you look when you walk out looking like a small, wet kitten. 

But none of those things happen—red flag number one. Red flag number two is that when you go to poke at his side and give it a pinch, he doesn’t stop you right away before you can.

Something’s on his mind. You know that as soon as you see him.

“Hey,” you cup his cheeks, “miss me that bad for fifteen minutes? You look like you’ve aged ten years instead of one with that expression.”

“Very funny, sweetie,” he hums, clearly still distracted, “I thought you made it a point to be nice to the birthday boy.”

“I am being nice to the birthday boy,” you say to him, cheekily leaning up and kissing his jaw, “this is a very nice view to give to a birthday boy.”

He smiles. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Something is wrong—something so, so painfully obvious happened while you were in that fifteen-minute shower. As far as showers go, it might not be the shortest amount of time, but it’s certainly not a long one. What could have possibly happened in fifteen whole minutes to make his eyes clouded with that look? A look that looks so stormy and upset and irritated. 

Something’s on his mind. You know it by simply looking at him. 

“Hey,” you pull him closer by the hands on his face, pressing his forehead to yours, “Sylus, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, sweetie,” he breathes, hands squeezing your hips as he pulls you close. “Just distracted by what a pretty little kitten I have.”

And then he kisses you. It’s…a kiss unlike any you’ve ever had with him. Not bad, of course, but different. Sylus is a confident guy. A terribly cocky, self-assured, and secure guy. He knows he’s handsome by most people’s standards (and definitely by yours), he knows he’s smart and intelligent, he knows he’s strong and capable, and he knows he’s stable in his lifestyle. He’s a confident guy, and you’ve always known him to be.

But he’s kissing you pretty desperately. Not the kind of desperation when he’s just plain needy, or when he’s been worried about you, and rescues you just in time, or when you’ve been away for too long. 

No.

This kind of desperation feels like he has something to prove. Like he needs to kiss you so well, you never want to kiss anything else. It’s a sort of desperation that almost feels…scared. 

“You’re not yourself,” you breathe in between presses of his mouth, gasping when he leans down to nip at your collarbone. “Hey—”

“You’re overthinking it,” he mumbles, “just let me have you to myself, sweetheart—”

“Sylus,” you say firmly. He pauses. “No.”

He lets go as soon as you say the word, letting his hands drop while you gently take them off your hips. He looks unhappy about it—maybe even a little rejected, but he doesn’t protest. He never does. Not if it’s something you say. Some boundary you set. Some line you draw.

“What happened?” you ask gently, hands returning to his cheeks and gently rubbing the skin tenderly with your thumb, “this is supposed to be your day. I…I didn’t mean to upset you if I did. I’m sorry. I just…I just wanted it to be special—”

“It is,” he interrupts, planting his hands on top of yours and keeping them in place, “it’s been great. It always is with you—I promise.”

“Then what changed?” you frown, “and don’t say it’s nothing. Don’t give me that unbothered, nonchalant attitude and pretend to shrug it off—I know you. I know you better than anyone else does, so don’t even think about lying to me like I won’t see right through it.”

He’s silent. For a second, you think he’s not going to say a word. That he’s not going to open up and share and trust you like you wish he would when things are clearly sitting heavily on his mind. Sometimes he gets a look—one that feels like he’s lived a life you don’t even know about. Like it haunts him and curses him and weighs down on his chest. He never shares. Not about his burdens—not with you. You don’t think it’s because he doesn’t trust you, but because he thinks he shouldn’t have to. That he shouldn’t trouble you with things about him because he lives for you.

You wish he didn’t do that. You wish he’d change that habit. You wish he’d live for himself and let you live for him, too. 

But then, he quietly asks, “Do you ever wish you could tell your friends about…us?”

“Huh?” you frown.

“We go back and forth between the outskirts of Linkon and the N-109 zone, and we don’t ever get to do things that involve the people you care about—doesn’t that bother you?”

“...No?” you say in confusion, “does it…does it bother you?”

“Of course not,” he says instantly. He throws on that smug, carefree face again, even though you see right through it. Some people just don’t like putting their defenses down when they’re cornered, no matter how safe they are. Sylus is one of them. “Now, why would I want to share my little kitten? Not everyone can handle her sharp claws.”

“Sy,” you let out a breath, “you know I can see right through you. Just talk to me—telling me how you feel is something you’re usually good at. It’s what I like most about you…why’s it so different this time?”

Telling you how he feels about you is easy. It comes naturally like breathing. It’s as simple as using his evol to move something through the air, manipulating energy to surround you and show you the depths of his feelings. Telling you he loves you and cares for you is a vulnerability that he takes as a privilege. Telling you that the thought of you being with someone more practical, more fitting than him…it’s not as easy. It’s too vulnerable in a way that makes him pathetic, not devoted. You chose him, after all, didn’t you? Isn’t it questioning your own devotion and your own loyalty to him to tell you: I hate the idea of someone deserving you more than I?

That’s what he’d be doing, wouldn’t he? Wouldn’t it be to question you, to doubt you and your love and your choice, all on the same day that you went out of your way to make him feel special? 

Telling you this is not so simple. Not to him. Not when you love him, and he knows it, and yet, for some reason, he can’t help but feel like you’re making a mistake by loving him. Him. The top wanted criminal on your organization’s list. Most targeted person in the N-109 zone with the most “enemies” after his back. A guy that, against every principle that tells you: no, you choose to be with. 

He should just be grateful that you say yes. And he is. But also, he can’t help but wonder if you’d be happier if you didn’t.

“Don’t you trust me?” you whisper.

He breathes—slow, shaky. “I do,” he mumbles, closing his eyes. “I trust you the most. You know that.”

“Then tell me. Please? I just…I worry about you.”

You shouldn’t. But you also should. You were always meant to, right?—even if it wasn’t always supposed to be that way. You did. Once upon a time, you only worried about him. And you do. And you will. And he wants it. Needs it. Craves it. Craves you and your attention and your care and your concern. He should be the one you’re concerned about—but maybe concern is all he ever brings over.

It’s silent for a moment longer before you gently kiss the tip of his nose and say sweetly, “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But I love you, so if you ever want to share something, I will always—”

“Your friend Tara seems to be tired of your stagnant love life, sweetheart,” he interrupts. He doesn’t really mean to blurt it out like that—Sylus is usually rational about what he says and when he says it. But…well, the idea of you sitting across from some normal guy with a normal life alongside your normal friend on a normal date has him acting very abnormal. “She’s…well, you go ahead and see for yourself.”

Your phone is pressed to your hands. You look at him in confusion, but his eyes all but beg for you to just look at the screen and end his pure misery by not making him say the words out loud. So you look. The first things you see are her messages on your screen, sitting there as unopened notifications. 

Oh, you think as you read them. Oh. 

“Oh, Sy,” you say softly, setting your phone down. “You know I’d turn that date down in a heartbeat for you—”

“It’s not about that,” he grumbles, swallowing thickly. This is a type of vulnerability he hates. The type of vulnerability he doesn’t ever have to feel. The type of vulnerability where he feels less than—not deeply devoted and open, but just…not enough, despite his devotion. He isn’t used to ever being not enough. At least not when it’s with you. 

“Then what’s it about?”

“Your friend is a meddler.”

“She doesn’t know about us,” you defend Tara gently, “you know she’d never if she did.”

“Well, sweetie,” he drawls with a tight, bitter smile, “I suppose she never will, so I might have to get used to worrying that you’ll need to save a few dresses for some other blind dates here and there, don’t I?”

“I’d never go on a date with someone else,” you reason, “you know that, right?”

“How long are you going to pretend to be single?” he points out blandly. 

“Forever,” you say confidently. He wavers, eyeing you in weariness. You cup his cheeks and squeeze them together as you murmur, “I would pretend to be single for the rest of my life for you if that’s what it takes. As long as you’re mine, as long as you stay mine, I don’t care what I have to tell everyone else.”

“That’s not very practical,” he grunts.

“I don’t think we’re a very practical couple, but I don’t think that’s ever been bad,” you chuckle, “I think we’re good. Really good. As good as things ever get.”

“But not great?” he teases, cracking a small, taunting little smile. You know him well enough to soothe him with another kiss to his nose. 

“Perfect,” you hum, fingers toying with the small hairs at the nape of his neck, touching him so casually, so absent-mindedly, it’s almost like it’s ingrained in your nature. In your DNA. In your biology to be his and to want him. “You’re perfect. To me. For me. With me. You’re perfect and I love you. I love us. We are perfect, and it doesn’t matter if other people see that or know about it. As long as you know, then I’m good.”

“I don’t like your friend Tara,” he breathes, burying his head into your neck, “she seems like trouble.”

“She’s harmless, you big baby,” you tease. Because that’s what he needs—to be teased into knowing he’s not so fragile. Too much of it makes him turn around and retreat, like an animal that’s shown its belly for too long and is at risk of its fragile, precious organs being torn apart from limb to limb. 

You give him a teasing little nibble on his nose, and he cracks a small smile that pulls him out of that weird space in his head. Because that’s you and that’s him. That teasing banter that folds love and devotion in between every taunting remark and every smart little retort. Every second you spend getting under the other’s skin is spent making home there—nestling under that layer of each other, and crawling into the parts that no one else has ever seen. No one else has ever been in. No one else has ever been allowed in. 

“Oh?” he murmurs, “you’d side with your friend over your boyfriend on his birthday? Your priorities are intriguing, sweetheart.”

You’d say something equally as playful back, but instead, you say: “I love you.” You remind him with an awed smile as you take him in. Him and his brute strength and his carefully built empire and untouchable self. Him and his gentleness and all that love he holds in his large hands that no one can take away before he slips it into yours. You remind him. You don’t want him to ever forget.

“I love you, too,” he chuckles, closing his eyes as you press soft, open-mouthed kisses to his jaw. Your hands grab his own from your waist, pulling them up to the top of your chest where the towel wraps around you. 

“You have one more present for tonight, you know—if you’re up for opening it.”

“Is that right?” he grins, “I’d never turn something down from my sweet little kitten. I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

“You’ll like this one,” you beam, “I picked it out just for you.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it,” he eyes the small, peeking bit of red lace as his hands slowly unwrap the towel, pupils dilating as he slowly exposes you from its coverings. “You always do know me so well, don’t you?”

A red lace set that hugs your curves perfectly. The stockings are just tight enough around the middle of your thigh that the skin bulges just a bit at the top, spilling over it with pillowy flesh that he wants to spend hours digging his fingers into as he holds you close. Here. With him, right where you belong. Where, whether anyone knows it or not, you are happiest and safest and tailor-made to belong. You always belonged with him—alongside him, where you can be his and he can be yours, and the world would have to stop spinning on its axis before he was convinced that it was wrong. 

“Well,” you pout playfully, “you’re not saying anything—do you like it? There’s still a return period, I think I could make an exchange if—”

“Don’t always be such a tease, sweetheart,” he breathes, leaning down to pull you into a slow, meticulous kiss. Unlike that last one, this one is desperate to know you exist. To be slow and take his sweet time and know that you’re here and you exist in the same timeline as him, and you’re not going anywhere. To rush it would be to waste the seconds he was given to savor. 

Sylus is a man who savors things he likes. Good wine. Good music. Good company—he savors every little part of you like it’s a luxury he shouldn’t take for granted. 

“Happy birthday, my birthday boy,” you whisper, “I’m all yours tonight. Every night. All yours, aren’t I?” 

“Yeah,” he groans, nipping at your collarbone. “All mine—aren’t I just lucky?”

Suddenly, you’re picked up with one strong, muscled arm, the bicep curling around your thighs and hoisting you up faster than you can process as the world is suddenly lower than you remember it. Two seconds later, and your world shifts some more as you’re suddenly eye to eye with the ceiling, and there are soft, satin sheets under your back with a soft mattress to curve around your spine. 

Sylus is hovering over you, hungry and excited, and his eyes lit up like a kid ready to blow out candles. You giggle, holding his face and bringing him close, pressing a kiss to his nose, to both of his cheeks, to the corners of his mouth before the center of his lips, to his forehead until he’s laughing that sweet, happy little laugh that makes your heart skip a beat.

“I love you,” you confess, so quietly, it’s like you don’t want anyone but him to know because it’s only for him. Only for him to hear those words because no one else should know what your love feels like, what it sounds like. “Love you so much, Sy. My perfect boy.”

“If I told you my birthday was actually tomorrow, would you be this sweet to me all over again?” he grins in amusement. You huff, and he chuckles, leaning down to kiss the purse of your lips before he mumbles against them, “I love you, too. No one will love you as pure as I do, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say quietly, “I know.”

That’s all it takes for him to finally snap into Sylus. Your Sylus. Cocky, self-assured, confident Sylus. Sylus, who takes what he wants because he knows nothing can stop him from having it. He wants you—and you’ll never tell him no. 

He’s moved to bury himself between your legs in a split second, so that you hardly have time to process that he’s moved in the first place at all. By the time you attempt to argue that it’s his birthday, and it’s about him, he’s already huffed something about getting the final say as the birthday boy, and this is what he wants. 

And…well, who are you to deny him? 

“Fuck, sweetie,” he groans, pressing his nose against your clit through the fabric. He plants a gentle kiss on the delicate bundle of nerves, smiling when you twitch and whimper at the sensitivity. “All this for me? I’m a spoiled man, aren’t I?”

“S-Sylus—”

“You smell good,” he breathes, inhaling the sweet, rich scent of you, “bet you taste even better.”

With that, he gently peels the lace panties down your legs, little by little, inch by inch, discarding them from you before carefully tossing them to the ground as your bare cunt is exposed to him. He runs a large hand up and down your thigh, squeezing the plush skin just where it collects at the top of the stockings. 

“Mine,” he breathes, “just for me, huh?”

“Only for you,” you pant, impatiently bucking up into the air and waiting for his touch.

He chuckles, but doesn’t have the heart to tease anymore. With a quick motion, he’s throwing your legs over his shoulders, hands cupping your thighs and holding them in place as he buries himself into your core. You’re dripping—the sweet slick pooling and coating your inner legs that he licks off before licking a stripe between your folds. 

“Fuck, Sy,” you gasp, “o-oh—”

He’s good with his tongue. Expert at devouring you the way you need to be devoured and going between fucking his tongue into you and lapping away, and flicking it over your clit and teasing it with his wet, warm muscle. You squeeze your legs around his head, and he groans in approval at the pressure to his skull like it’s a gift to be crushed between your thighs. (It is. To him, anything you give him when you’re pleased is a gift. He likes gifts from you—he takes them readily.)

“You’re sweet, you know,” he sings against your heat, “taste good—we should skip the cake next year. I just want this, yeah? I’ll lick you clean.”

“Stop,” you whine, “you’re being filthy!”

He laughs, the low, deep rumble of his voice vibrating against you and making you shudder. “Yeah? If you don’t like that, then why are you pulling me closer?”

He’s right—you are. Your hands are tangled into his hair and you’re pulling him impossibly closer to your pussy, grinding against his face so his nose bumps against your clit as his tongue fucks into you and explores your folds and licks them from the dripping essence of your arousal. 

“S-Sylus, ‘m…‘m s-so close—”

“That’s it, sweet girl,” he groans, “that’s exactly what I need. Can you do that for me? Let go? Let me taste you, yeah?”

Those words against your cunt, spoken through warm breath that lingers over your sensitive heat makes the steadily building pressure in the pit of your belly snap, a soft, delicious ache spreading through your walls as they quiver, through your lower belly as it flutters, through your spine and every nerve as your back arches off the mattress and you whine into your mouth and chant his name. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—’s so good, make me feel so good, Sy. Hah—”

“My beautiful, beautiful girl,” he moans, licking the last drops of your release and pressing a kiss to your fluttering cunt before the waves of your high finally retreat. 

Your ears are ringing, and your eyes are blurry, but you can still hear the praise and make out his contented, dazed expression as he rests his cheek against your thigh and looks up at you. Your fingers card through his hair, smoothing through the soft locks as you ground yourself with the feeling of them while you catch your breath. 

“Hi,” you breathe, staring at him in awe. 

He grins, lazy, smug, and bright. “Hi. Back down to Earth with us?”

“Don’t be so arrogant,” you huff. And then, with a gentle tug to his locks, you signal him to crawl up, face to face and eye to eye with you as his body hovers over yours. 

You reach over, rubbing over his clothed erection and feeling him shiver as his eyes flutter closed and he lets out a soft, breathy moan. He’s so pretty like that—when pleasure is easy to see on his face, and he feels good, and he lets you see it. You love it when you get to see him. All of him. 

It’s a slow, intimate thing, removing his clothes. You bring his shirt up over his abs, gently pulling the fabric over his shoulders, before he helps you tug his arms through the sleeves and expose that chiseled, slightly tanned skin (despite never being in the sun) to you. He’s pretty. Gorgeous. You hum in appreciation as your hands run along the planes of his muscles, raking your nails along his abs and rubbing up and down his sides while he breathes heavily over you. It’s slow—there’s no rush despite the lingering, building ache between both of your legs. You want to admire him, and he wants to let you. 

You want to feel him, and he wants to bask in the feeling of being wanted.

“You’re perfect,” you murmur, “happy birthday. I’m glad it’s me, you know? That gets to say that. And be here.”

“It was never going to be anyone else,” he pants, groaning as your hand finds the tent in his pants and gives a soft squeeze.

Unbuckling his belt and taking his pants and boxers off is less of a slower ordeal than his shirt—he’s a little more quick to get rid of them and let his hard, leaking cock finally be free of its confinements. He hisses when the cool air hits the warmth of his length, but you’re quick to bring the warmth right back as your hand wraps around him, smearing his pre cum along the tip and shaft, stroking slowly as he shudders over you and moans. 

“Feel good?” you kiss his nose. 

“Mmh,” he nods, swallowing thickly as you run your thumb through the slit and feel him twitch in your hand. “Y-yeah. Good.”

“Good,” you smile, “it’s about you tonight. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he grunts in time with a squeeze of your fist around him. 

He lets you stroke him like that for a bit, just the feeling of you touching him. Just the feeling of you surrounding him and undoing him slowly, gradually, just the way you know he likes. You know him so well, and he likes being reminded. Know what makes it feel good for him and what doesn’t—know that he likes when you speed up and focus around the tip for a bit before switching to long, languid strokes along the entirety of his length before giving his base a small squeeze. 

“Ngh,” he pants, shuddering over you as his face twists into a pretty little scrunch of pleasure, “I…I think that’s—that’s enough, sweetheart. I want you now—the real thing.”

He’s close when he says it. You can tell because there’s a small twitch in your hand of his heavy cock that lets you know the build-up is about to hit the crest of good and fall over the edge and into better. You stop, looking at him fondly as he shivers at the feeling of it all coming to a halt before you press a kiss between his furrowed brows to soothe him as he holds onto his composure. 

“Then take me, my birthday boy,” you coo.

“You want it, sweetheart?” he asks softly, just to be sure. “Tell me now before I lose my mind.”

“I want you,” you plead, “want you so bad—give it to me. Please.”

He does. As soon as you say it, it’s like a switch is flipped and he can finally do as he pleases—so he grabs your hips and leans in to kiss you deeply, a hot, open-mouthed clash of lips and teeth and tongue as his fat tip presses against your entrance. He’s pressing into you and splitting your folds open—one inch, then two, then three, and slowly, he’s fully filling you to the brim. His tip presses delicately against that soft, spongy part of your walls that’s especially sensitive, and you mewl at the feeling while he groans at the tight fit. 

“Fuck,” he pants, “fuck, you’re so tight—take me so well. Fit me like I was made for you. I was, wasn’t I? Tell me I was—that we were made for each other.”

“We were,” you whine, nodding as your fingers dig into his shoulders and leave small crescent indents into his skin, “we were—we were made for each other. You’re mine, Sy.”

“I am,” he inhales sharply, “all yours. Always.”

The first snap of his hips is slow. He pulls out almost fully, until just barely the tip is still buried into you, before he slides back in with a firm, swift thrust of his hips. It leaves you lightheaded, wind knocked from your lungs by how good it feels to be split open by him and feel every ridge of his cock drag along your walls. You feel like you’re floating—suspended somewhere between pleasure and bliss as nothing but his body cages you into the mattress, and nothing but him invades your senses. 

Then the second snap of his hips comes in, hard and fast and rougher than the initial, and he starts to set a pace that’s not as gentle. You don’t want it to be—you want to feel him raw and hard and fast. 

“Fuck, baby,” you whimper, “like that…just like that—hah.”

“Yeah?” he chuckles breathlessly, “already so fucked out? You feel that, don’t you? How good you take my cock? You’re taking it so well—that’s a good girl. My good girl.”

“S-so deep, Sy,” you sob, “more. Please, more—more!”

“More?” he raises a brow, closing his eyes and inhaling sharply as you clamp down on him at a particularly rough thrust. He groans, the sound tapering off into a shaky little exhale. “You want more, huh?”

“Yes,” you stare up at him with plump, pouty lips and wet, teary lashes. It’s enough to make him snap and lose the last bits of his composure. 

Sylus has always needed you. 

He was born into this world to find you, and he needs you before he can leave this world, too. He needs you if he wants to find something worth living for. He needs you if his heart wants to find some form of peace and rest. He’s just half of a soul tethered to this planet with longing and no purpose without you. He’s always needed you—body, mind, soul, heart, everything. When you’re gone, he hears the echoes of your laughter in his empty halls. When you’re here, he feels human only when you smile and press your skin to his. It feels like his flesh is not rotten or tainted, only when it has the privilege of touching the soft, precious silk of yours. 

Sylus has always needed you. His purpose in this world is to love you. To be loved by you. To do it right because that’s what you both deserve. He’s nothing if not an empty body with a broken soul taking up the space of him without you. 

Shakily, he whispers, “I love you. You’re all that I love—I…I love you.”

Distantly, he hears you repeat the words back to him. Soft hands are roaming his skin, gliding along the curves and dips and contours of his body, and mapping every detail to memory through your warm palms. Gentle pressure coaxes his head into your neck, letting him take sanctuary in that spot that lets him hide away and be free of whatever clings to his back like a second, haunting skin. 

“I love you,” you both whisper in breathless, heated exchanges. Because there is nothing left in your brains—no other coherent thought besides the fact that there is love and that’s it. You love and he loves, and that’s all that holds you together. 

It’s enough. This time, in this life, it’s enough. 

You come undone first—when his thumb finds your clit and rubs a few quick circles, you fall apart while whining with your head pressing back into the pillow. Your legs wrap around his hips and pull him forward, further and deeper into you as his thick, blunt tip drills into your sweet spot and pulls yet another orgasm out of you. This one is more devastating—this one makes your body still, quivering under him with a force that almost makes it hard to breathe.

The pressure of your walls spasming around him pulls him into his own release, a low, deep groan that draws out as the first few twitches of his cock start to fill you with thick, hot ropes of his cum. He pants, rolling his hips in messy, rhythmless motions as he desperately tries to work you both through the highs of your pleasure. 

“S-so perfect,” his voice comes out strained, “you…you feel so perfect—ngh.”

“S-Sylus—oh.”

He paints your walls white with more of his seed, spilled into you and fucked deep into the back of your cunt with every sharp slam of his hips until finally, with a shaky little breath, he finishes and rides out the last earth-shattering waves of his orgasm.

He slumps over you. You welcome his weight with open arms, rubbing over his back with shaky fingertips. 

“I love you,” you remind him again���because really, you can never remind him enough. “Happy birthday, baby.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart,” he mumbles, kissing your shoulder blade, nestled close and deep where only he fits.

Next year, he’ll fit just as well—maybe even better. 

FOR ONCE I POST A BDAY FIC ACTUALLY ON THE BDAY HAHAHAHAHA I WIN

[resident-gay-bitch]

Post upside down Steddie become kinda friends, they hang around eachother a lot because they both like to hang around the freshmen (they’re both anxiously attached to the kids and need to keep them safe 24/7)

Steve kinda thinks Eddie’s cute and dorky but doesn’t really give it much more thought because it’s pointless and Eddie is trying to get over his pointless crush on Steve because even though he’s actually not an awful person anymore he’s still Steve Harrington and that’s embarrassing for Eddie

Until one afternoon Eddie starts giving Lucas shit because he wants to play a oneshot with the kids but the weather is nice so Steve asked him to shoot some hoops and Eddie can’t believe Lucas would — again — choose stupid sport over D&D - goes on his whole laundry baskets spiel

And Steve just Doesn’t wanna hear it.

“Hey man, I get it alright, jocks fucking bullied you in school, sure you can have a problem with that but You’re a fucking bully foo Eddie. You talk about prejudice against those different to you, how about you hating anyone that’s not a fucking freak? You can’t just hate someone cause they like playin ball. Grow up man, get over yourself. You think it’s impressive that I changed since highschool? The day that You change and get some compassion will be the day that pigs fucking fly! Come on Lucas, let’s get out of here”

And Eddie just… he just… he falls in love immediately. He’s never had someone brave enough to talk to him like that before (besides Wayne and Hopper), can’t believe Steve has a big enough heart that he’d go off at Eddie like that, not to mention he’s even hotter when he’s mad and that anger is directed right at Eddie. And so he begins to Pineeeeeeeeeee. And he also thinks about what Steve said to him, talks to Wayne about it, realises that Steve’s actually right and starts to make a change.

After that day, Steve’s crush Dissapears. He can’t believe he ever was attracted to an asshole like that, someone that spent his whole life being made fun of for his interests going out of his way to make fun of someone else for his interests. Steve just doesn’t like that at all.

And so, the slowburn of Eddie growing and making himself a better person and genuinely making those changes in his life, and trying his best to play it cool around Steve, and Steve begging to see those changes in Eddie’s growth and begging to fall in love with him too.

And once they’re together, because Steve is a big believer in second chances so long as you prove you deserve one, Eddie admits that Steve was the first person to ever really stand up to him without fear, and that he really respects Steve for it, and so Steve will always tell Eddie when he’s in the wrong and Eddie really appreciates it and makes that change. And Eddie does the same for Steve too.

They just make eachother better because they believe in being better. They believe in kindness and forgiveness and compassion.

[the-autistic-jedi]

okay. i’ve had time to cool off. i’ve seen rafe address some questions. i’m not in shock anymore. so let’s have another look. calmly and rationally. tldr: pray for season four!

it does seem like the reason for siuan’s death was sophie’s schedule, and that does track. i don’t think i really believed that “bury your gays” was in play here, not with rafe. so i’m thinking about it in terms of needing to write her out of the script, the same as with mat in s1. do i think they could have written her out better? maybe. if they were planning on having siuanraine endgame, just stick her in jail in the tower for however many seasons and then have her rock up at the end of the Last Battle and reunite with her wife. but if they weren’t planning to have her survive, then it does make more narrative sense for her to die here.

so let’s assume that, as in the books, she was always going to die. this is the best place for that to happen i think. we were never going to get any more fishwives content anyway because they would still be separated for the rest of their arcs. rafe has said that he wants to see more of them, and whether that’s flashbacks or even (fingers crossed) the next turn of the wheel, think about it this way: this was all we were ever going to get. yes, it was sudden. yes, it really hurt. but we also got to see siuan, who only ever wanted to live with her wife on the river, publicly admit her love for moiraine in front of the whole white tower in her final moments. that shit is powerful. don’t deny her that last stand.

in conclusion, am i still angry? a bit, yeah. but a lot of it is the shock, and the reason it’s shocking is because the books were different: the show definitely set this up. i think we remain in good hands with rafe and rosamund, and i will be watching s4 if we get it. and considering how invested i am in this show (and my desire to get a few more crumbs of fishwives) i very, very much hope we do.

[orimuraa]

‧₊˚ 梦┊Sweet dreams come after hours - Nishimura Riki ↳ ┊: sweet dreams (feat. miguel) - j-hope

꒰ 𝔖𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 ꒱┆you were always the light in riki’s life, but but what happens when you needed that light most? ⨾

۶ৎ grumpy boyfriend!riki x sunshine fem!reader┆fluff, comfort, angst┆petnames, kisses, mentions of parental issues, ni-ki is a sweetheart deep down┆wc 822

⤷ 𝐲𝐞𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: sigh. i think i made this hit too deep- this is prompt 14 from this list!

prompt 14: "you smiled! i saw it, so no denying it!"

꒰ঌ ℬℴℴ𝓀𝓈𝒽ℯ𝓁𝒻 ໒꒱

you had known riki since the start of your high school days and somewhere in those years, you started catching feelings for him.

he was a quiet, pessimistic boy who had no right being as tall as he was. the only positive thing in his life came in the form of a person, aka, you.

you kinda forgot how it all happened and when it happened but at some point along the line, you started dating nishimura riki.

he was a gentle, kind, and caring boy when he was around you and the rest of his friends. however, other people? not so much.

on the other hand, you were basically the brightest person alive. you smiled to everyone in the halls, waved to people who you knew, and always had a cheerful smile on your face.

riki's friends always loved to tease you guys about how it was a perfect "grumpy x sunshine" trope. they weren't wrong, but it always made riki scoff while it made you giggle.

there was only one time that made his lips twitch into a small smirk when his friends were saying how you both looked like a dream couple.

"you smiled! i saw it, so no denying it! c'mon ki!! just admit that you're soooo down bad for me~" you giggled, eyes turning into little crescents as you smiled.

"i didn't smile! and i'm not that whipped!" he playfully scoffed, pretending not to care.

but deep down, you knew riki did in fact care very much for you, he just preferred to show it through his actions rather than words. you could tell by the way he always bought your favorite drink when you two had study dates, or when he would always hold your hand in crowded spaces so he wouldn't lose you.

and maybe, just maybe, it was because of you. you were the light in his dark world that made him softer around the edges. and that was something he was eternally grateful for.

however, he never knew how to be as bright and cheerful as you were, infecting people with your radiant light.

so that's his dilemma now. he wasn't sure what was going on with you but it was obviously something.

the way your smile didn't quite reach your eyes and the way your lips had a slight frown tugging at them, it concerned him.

so once you two made it back to his house after school, he decided to ask you what was going on.

"sunshine? what's up? you weren't your usual self today," he asks cautiously, his raspy voice still managing to give you butterflies despite your sorrow mood.

"kiki..." was all you managed to get out before feeling tears prick at your eyes. you looked up at riki and he swore he felt his heart shatter. how could he stand seeing his little sunshine so upset?

he quickly pulled you into a tight embrace, adjusting you so you were now on his lap, your head against his chest.

"shhh baby, i've got you, it's okay," he tried his best to comfort you despite not having much experience with these types of situations.

"i-it's my parents...they're a-always fighting and- kiki what if they don't love each other any more?" you sob, looking up at him with tears streaming down your cheeks. you still managed to look gorgeous even when you were crying.

"oh sunshine...i'm so sorry," he whispers, his heart breaking all over again as he wipes the tears from your eyes.

"i-i'm sorry for being such a mess right now.." you cry, feeling guilty for dumping such a heavy situation on riki.

"no no no! baby! i want you to tell me these things! i want to be able to help you and comfort you! why didn't you tell me sooner?" he asked softly, his eyes full of sympathy.

"i didn't want to worry you..i thought that if i was sad, you would be sad..and i didn't want you to be down because of me.." you sniffle, wiping at your eyes.

"baby, you could never burden me with your problems, okay? we overcome these challenges together, alright? i would never forgive myself for just letting you suffer with your own issues without ever knowing what was going on," he says, kissing your temple.

"you bring me so much joy and i know i'm definitely not the most joyful person ever, but i'm so so so grateful for you everyday for being that brightness in my life."

you didn't know how to respond as riki's words made your heart swell with emotions, appreciating how riki opened up his whole heart to you.

"thank you kiki...i love you 3000," you smile weakly, tears welling up in your eyes again. except this time, it was because you were so madly in love.

"always sunshine. i love you 3000 and 1," he says, sealing his words with a kiss on your lips.

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬: @en-diaries, @k-films, @k-nets

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ 𝐉𝐢𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @vmpivory, @yuvany, @seozii, @pinknjm, @greentulip, @jomisu, @nxzz-skz, @ancnymcnzjy, @hyukabean, @annybah, @ijustwannareadstuff20, @chaeneu, @17ericas, @firstclassjaylee, @riribelle, @right-person-wrong-time, @cheruphic

[noctiva]

Pleaseeee NSFW alphabetssss PLEASEEEE

okay! don’t gotta twist my arm!

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Toby Rogers | NSFW Alphabet

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CW: 18+ content, explicit sexual content (duh), masochism + sadism, mentions of unsafe sex, degradation, mentions of BDSM kinkplay, mentions of a blood kink!, blood and injury, very minute mention of murder lol

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NSFW under the cut! Minors do not interact!

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A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

The KING of aftercare.

You’ll read about this more later, but Toby can get kind of mean in the bedroom lols - but he’s aware of that.

BUT he’s also not an actual asshole, so he WILL be making sure that you’re completely happy afterwords and that he didn’t go too far.

He’ll clean and patch up any wound he might’ve left on you, and place a kiss over the bandages when he’s done.

He’ll feed you water while he pets your hair, murmuring in your ear how beautiful you looked and how well you did for him.

Massage your sore muscles until he can feel them relaxing under his touch.

When he can see the fog clear from your eyes, he’s asking you if there was anything you didn’t like, anything you’d want him to change

And then he’s snuggling up next to your side and pulling you in close, nuzzling into your hair as his whispers out more and more sweet praises

(PS. If he’s subbing, you’re gonna have to do the same for him. His low self esteem leads to pretty bad subdrop if you were even the slightest bit mean, so you’ve got to pamper him afterward)

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His self-esteem is shot so he really doesn’t have a favourite body part on himself tbh :(

If he had to pick, he’d say his hair - because he got the colour from his mom, and it almost feels like he’s carrying around a piece of her because of it.

But if you say that doesn’t count then… Probably his arms. Pretty strong and toned from swinging his hatchets around all day, and they let him effortlessly pick you up <3

On his partner, it’s either thighs or lips. Loves sucking and biting at your lips until they’re red and raw, and leaving hickeys up and down your thighs might just be his favourite pass time.

(If you’re a woman though, your tits are HIGH on the list too)

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He is always going to want to cum inside you. If you don’t like that, or aren’t on the pill - expect him to be a big sulky baby about it.

It’s the intimacy of it, the possession - marking you as his in a way no one else can.

And when he pulls out, he’s using two fingers to scoop up anything that dribbles out of you and fingerfucks it straight back into you.

He’s got no shame either, so he might just crawl between your thighs again and lick you clean instead.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He’s thought about killing you while fucking you before.

He’d never ever ACTUALLY DO IT, but he is a serial killer dude, so the thought’s definitely crossed his mind. especially when he gets his fingers wrapped around that pretty throat of yours - wondering to himself what shade of blue you’d turn if he just… didn’t stop.

He will never admit this to you.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I expect to be crucified for this - I do not think Toby is a snivelling virgin. I will die on this hill.

I THINK that becoming a proxy gave him a stupid confidence boost, and the perfect chance to fulfil everything he missed out on prior.

He’s a bit of a slut, actually. so needless to say, he knows what he’s doing.

And yet…. He still manages to be pathetic about it. Just a drooling mess of grunts and groans, with hands that are always grabbing just a liiiiittle too tight.

Will literally cum in his pants just from some dry humping. Lowkey if he told you he was a virgin it would be super believable. He’s a mess. Gets too excited because he never dreamed he’d actually get laid, so now that he is he’s just a shaking mess of desire whenever it happens.

But! He’s a quick learner too! Once he finds your g-spot he’s mentally bookmarking it and abusing it until you’re a mess of drool and tears. Will roam your entire body just to figure out where your most sensitive places are, cataloguing each and every one of them.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Reference this post for more deets lol

But honestly he isn’t picky when it comes to positions, he’s down for anything - even the wildest shit if you suggest it to him.

He just wants to be inside you, so as long as that’s part of the equation he really won’t have any complaints

(BTW! He WILL bottom. He has just necer really considered it before - toxic masculinity blah blah blah - but if you suggest it he will definitely try it. He won’t be able to get the idea out of his head until he learns for himself what it feels like)

(He doessss like seeing your face though. Loves that fucked out, hazy look you get in your eyes)

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Hmmmmm this is kinda tough

Toby’s not really serious per se, but he does get into a sort of headspace when he’s fucking you.

One that loves to tease you, loves to say the meanest things in the sweetest tone possible

Goofy? I’m gonna say no. Mocking and cruel? That’s gonna get a yes.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I’ve mentioned this before, he does not give a flying FUCK about hair - for both you and him.

If you ask him to trim a little, he will, but never ever expect him to go clean shaven. And his happy trail is NOT GOING ANYWHERE.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

HE IS A LOVERBOYYYYYYY

He will probably say ‘I love you’ over a million times while he’s deep up in it. He’s heart eyes practically the entire time, showering you with praise over and over again - especially if he’s being particularly rough.

“Y-You’re so good for me - fuck - you’re perfect.”

“What did I do t-to deserve you?”

He didn’t get a whole lot of love growing up, so finally being on the receiving end of it feels like a dream. Turns into a mushy puddle of goo if you moan out how much you love him back.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Reference my headcanons about this topic for a more in depth analysis lol

But, he’s a gooner.

His sex drive is HIGH, regardless of if he’s in a relationship or not.

If he’s not, he’s rubbing one out at least three times a day. If he is, he’d much rather have you, but if you’re not available for some reason - he’s jacking it to the thought of you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He’s got a few!

Sadist - I feel like I’ve said this a million times by now, but his inability to feel pain really drives a morbid fascination towards inflicting it on others just to see the reactions.

Also a masochist? - I put a question mark because it’s like, he can’t feel the pain, but he loves it if you’re just as rough on him as he is on you. Pull his hair hard enough for his scalp to throb, claw at his back until he bleeds, give him a few bites to match yours. Toby is big on intense sensation. His desire is all consuming, so he loves to see you try and devour him right back.

Dacryphilia - This one pairs with his sadistic nature. Loves to see you cry. Thinks it’s when you look the prettiest; eyes all red and puffy with tears clinging to your lashes.

Blood - Yeah. He likes biting you hard enough to bleed, then lapping at the wound and shivering from the sweet taste of your blood. Just the sight of it alone really gets him going. He won’t shower after going on a hunt just so that he can leave crimson handprints against your unblemished skin.

Salirophilia - This one pairs with his blood kink. He just loves getting you dirty. Ruining how pure and perfect you look compared to him. He wants you to be an absolute mess by the end of it all - panting and trembling while covered in a mixture of spit, cum, blood, and tears.

Praise - Pretty please just tell him how good he’s doing, he will fold like a lawn chair. Tell him how much you love him, how good he makes you feel, how full he gets you, and he’s going to struggle not to cum on the spot.

Body worship - Remember how I said he’s got low self-esteem? That’s where this comes in. Kisses all across his skin, your soft voice murmuring about how beautiful you think he is, all your favourite parts of him. He will struggle to function. This will get him the subbiest. He’ll be reduced to a blushing mess of whimpers that can barely even look you in the eye because he’s so flustered.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere he shouldn’t LOL.

He’s a WEE BIT of an exhibitionist, so doing it anywhere he could easily get caught reallyyyy gets his blood pumping.

Tugged off into a deserted alleyway, some random gas station bathroom, in the kitchen if you have roommates - he is a nasty fuck.

It’s his possessiveness coming into play. He actually could care less if someone walks in on you two - ACTUALLY, he encourages it. Let everyone know who you belong to :)

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Um, anything and everything?

Lols I kid, but I’m also not. He is like, perpetually horny. Turning him on is as easy as flicking on a light switch.

He reallyyyyyy likes watching you when you’re super focused on something though. Think, driving, cooking, working on a hobby of yours.

It’s that look of concentration and that cute little furrow in your brow. It is very difficult to get work done around him because he’ll be pawing at you like a bitch in heat just because he’s spent the last 30 minutes watching you work.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Please, for the love of god, don’t call him ‘daddy’

His dick is going limp in five seconds flat if you ever try it. It’s quite literally the opposite of sexy to him.

Also, no face slapping. He can be mean in a lot of other regards but this is where he draws the line.

Physically can’t bring himself to do it, and if you really try to convince him it’s just going to end up pissing him off.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He is a giver through and though!!

He loves getting head just as much as the next guy, but his favourite thing in the world is getting to watch his partner crumple to pieces just from his mouth alone.

For women - he will be down there until you quite literally have to beg him to stop. Going until his jaw locks up type beat. It’ll be a little personal game for him to see just how many times he can make you cum before he even slips a finger in. They type to go into the relationship with brunette stubble and then it’s pussy bleached blonde after only a few weeks.

He’s like the king of foreplay. He genuinely cannot fuck you without getting a taste of you first. Making you cum two, three times before he even gets inside you.

Also a big fan of face sitting. Having his head squished between your thighs with your cunt right up in his face is quite literally his version of heaven.

For men - his gag reflex fucking sucks LOL but that’s not going to stop him from trying! In fact, he’s not going to be content until he trains himself to take your whole cock, because watching that whole body shudder you get when you slide down his throat is just exquisite.

You would quite literally never have to ask him to, he’s just dropping to his knees whenever he gets the urge (which is often).

His oral fixation ass would just be content with you letting him lazily mouth at your cock while you both watch a movie or something.

Big fan of you cumming on his face too. He likes when things get messy.

I also wouldn’t put it past him to eat ass lol. Anything to get his partner squirming and whining on the bed below him.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

You’ll read about this more in a second, but his stamina is whacked, so the pace depends on what round y’all are on LMAO

He’ll usually start off nice and slow though, just to get you warmed up. Languid, deep strokes, nuzzling into your neck as his hands roam your body.

He always gets rougher as time goes on though. He’s just erratic by nature so it’s a little difficult to keep himself in check. Whole bed moving from the force of his thrusts type guy.

Absolutely bruising grip on your hips as he fucks you like a damn animal, his whole body curled over yours as he pants and grunts into your ear.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He’s got a love-hate relationship with them.

Loves them, because he’ll jump at any chance to get himself buried in you (andddd he loves cumming in you then tugging your underwear back into place so that you have to walk around with his spend dripping out of you)

But he always wishes it could last longer. It’s just never enough with you (un)fortunately.

It’ll definitely put a spring in his step for the rest of the day, but he’ll probably still be pouncing on you later that night to finish what he started.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Yes. Anything that’s not listed in the ‘no’ section he’ll probably be game to try if you bat your pretty eyelashes at him.

He just love love LOVESSS to get you messy so honestly there;s not a whole lot that you could suggest that he would turn his nose up at. (Word of wisdom: suggest bondage, he’ll never know how much he loves tying you up until he actually gets to do it)

Risks: also yes. I already mentioned that he’s got an exhibitionism streak going on and it’s the risk that really gets him going when it comes to that. Loves to feel like he’s doing something he shouldn’t. Gets off on the idea that he’s doing something really dirty.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Freakishly high stamina. You will not outlast him, so do not even try.

How quick he cums depends on if he’s letting himself be a little more subby or not. If he is, and he’s got you kissing up and down his body while showering him with praises - he’s busting FAST LMAO

But regardless, he can go for as many rounds as you want. Soreness and achy muscles don’t exist for him, so if you want to go all night then he’s all for it!

(But expect to hear him complain about feeling like he got hit by a truck the next day)

He’s also got a good refractory time ;) Give him like, five minutes of eating pussy and he’s hard again.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Probably doesn’t own any for himself, except for maybe like… a warming lube. He’ll use it to jack off because it heightens the sensation even more.

For you though, he’ll probably only introduce them into the bedroom if you suggest it.

His ego is fragile, so at first he’ll pull the whole ‘oh, am I not giving it to you good enough?’ BUTTTT when you explain it to him and get him on the same wavelength he’ll be down.

Loves using vibrators on you. You’ll see why in the letter below.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He’s actually not the worst surprisingly!

He really just likes watching you cum, so he’s not one to tease you horribly or edge you. He just wants to watch you crumble.

Where he gets unfair is that he will totally overstim you. 100%. Giving you more and more to the point where you’re shaking and whimpering beneath him.

“I-I know, baby, I know it’s t-too much. You should see how pretty you look right now though.”

“Just one m-more? For me?” (‘one’ actually means two to three more)

He’s also more teasing (or mocking? I guess) in his words more than his actions.

He will be degrading you. Will be telling you how pathetic you look, how much of a slut you are as you choke on his cock.

Anything to get those tears building faster.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

LOUD. VERY.

If he’s not letting out absolutely whorish grunts and groans then he’s babbling on and on about the absolute nastiest shit imaginable.

“Hah- l-look how wet you are.. Fuckin’ soaking my cock.”

He likes it when you’re loud too though! Lets him know he’s doing a good job! If you try to stifle your moans it’ll lowkey irritate him.

He wants to hear you. Hear how your voice cracks when you get closer and closer to your peak. How your words slur together and your moans get higher in pitch when he hits just the right spot.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He likes to fuck in front of mirrors.

Likes to see everyyyything that’s going on. How your eyes roll back when he hits it from behind, how your skin ripples when you bounce on his lap - he loves it.

Will totally force your head up so that you get to see how pathetic you look when he’s fucking you to pieces :)

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Packing!

He’s a tall scrawny white boy this is simply the way of life.

I’m gonna give him a solid 6.5, not insanely girthy but enough to really feel the stretch.

Curves to the left just a little, and flushes a pretty shade of pink at the tip when he’s hard. I’m gonna say he’s got a couple moles and freckles down there too.

Undecided if he’d actually keep them or not, but I would like to say he pierced his own nipples on a whim.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

I mentioned this already in the letter ‘J’, but high lol. Very high.

Unable to feel pain, Toby feels pretty numb to the world on a day to day basis - so pleasure is the one thing that cuts through that all.

Dude LOVES sex because of this. Really makes him feel… Human, again, I guess? It’s the one intense sensation he can actually feel, so he is lowkey (highkey) obsessed with it. Definitely hypersexual.

If you’re in the mood, there is a 99.9% chance he is too. It takes literally the lowest effort possible to get him riled up. He’ll get horny just from watching you brush your hair in the morning LMAO

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He’s not falling asleep until you do first, even if he’s dead tired.

Mentioned alllllll the way at the start, he’s big on aftercare, so he wants to make sure that you’re happy and content before he even thinks about dozing off.

He’ll rub your back and play with your hair, snuggling you up against his chest to let the sound of his heartbeat lull you to sleep.

But once he’s 100% sure you’re asleep he is conking TF out. Finally letting all of the fatigue catch up to him as his body goes limp against yours.

(And he sleeps like a fucking log. So good luck trying to wriggle out of his grasp if you need a glass of water in the middle of the night.)

[astroellies]

˚༄࿔ more singer ellie (ft. actor reader) headcanons

warnings! happiness and fun.

⭐︎ you know that one video of oscar isaac and jessica chastain? yeah ellie likes doing that when you two are on red carpets together. she’s shameless and lovessss to show you off, especially when you’re feeling hot.

⭐︎ likes to take 0.5s or other unflattering photos of you during commerical breaks at award shows. she likes to post them for your birthday or anniversary (to keep you humble of course).

⭐︎ she likes you to star in her music videos. especially if they’re short films or otherwise telling a story. if you’re fem(me) she loves when you have a hyper-feminine vibe or if you’re more masc she thinks it’s so hot to butch out with you. her videos are essentially thirst traps but she’d never admit it.

⭐︎ AND the fans absolutely eat up the bts of the music videos. you like to bring a camera to set to film her. cute videos of her getting her makeup touched up and smirking at the camera saying hi baby. or silly ones of her talking in a thick southern accent dressed as a cowboy saying something like howdy, partner.

⭐︎ pre-eras tour ellie says that she isn’t a swiftie but you drag her along to the concert and catch her doing a frat-flick during we are never ever getting back together. (also she heard champagne problems live she became evermore’s #1 fan!)

fans see her too and definitely give her friendship bracelets and post videos of her dancing to tiktok. the masses are saying that ellie and taylor need to collab (no matter how different their music styles are).

⭐︎ speaking of ellie liking taylor swift she loves to hype up the other music girls. she was definitely spotted at chappell’s gov ball set wearing heart sunglasses and screaming after midnight. i feel like she’d dream of collabing with sabrina carpenter and being freaks together. ALSO megan the stallion is her biggest celebrity crush like watch out if she ever meets her it’s over for you two. specifically loves big ole freak.

⭐︎ sings with joel all the time. whether he’s famous or not (nepo ellie?) he’s featured on at least one of her songs. they’d definitely do a cover of like country roads, take me home or something.

⭐︎ you two would somehow end up doing like a wired autocomplete interview together and they have to cut the footage because you two are flirting or just being silly together. like pedro pascal and oscar isaac’s but romantic.

⭐︎ there are definitely some paparazzi photos out there of her looking just straight up silly lol. i’m talking one of those i’m not a gynecologist but i’ll take a look shirts, huge ass adam sandler shorts, mismatched socks, and crocs. and she’s like on a grocery run or walking a dog or something.

⭐︎ has done calvin klein or perfume ads that have people going crazy. close ups of her eyes and her tattoo. in a sports bra. hair slightly slicked back.

⭐︎ your biggest fan ever when you win awards. full standing ovation, kissing you all over before you can actually go on stage and collect the award. will post a picture of you two at like dennys or some 24/7 diner post-oscars. your hair and makeup messy. you’re wearing her blazer. the trophy sat next to you on the table. and the caption is like so proud of my girl.

⭐︎ if you kept your relationship private before getting married the internet would lose their shit. like you post a singular picture of her, tattoo peaking out from under her suit, ring on full display and hand wrapped around your waist. saying something like best day of my life with the best wife(!!).

⭐︎ i think she’d love sending edits of you, herself, or both of you to you. she’d be like babe we’re so hot. (if you have opposite aesthetics people definitely edit you to style by taylor swift!)

⭐︎ she’d probably get her instagram password taken away after posting like it was her spam account. like maybe she unintentionally spoils a new movie you’re in by posting a bts photo of you in her photo dump.

⭐︎ no matter how famous she gets, black converses will always be her go-to performance shoe. and she wears them to the DEATH. it doesn’t matter if you buy her a new pair she will wear the old ones until the sole is falling off and then she will wear the new pair. her fanbase definitely jokes about this similarly to how the tlou fandom does. like tiktoks of the most fucked up shoes and they’re like this is so ellie williams core.

⭐︎ she goes on like jimmy fallon or some late night show and they show a clip of her after getting her wisdom teeth removed (or some other procedure that makes you loopy)…

and she’s crying because she called you really pretty but she has a girlfriend and she feels so bad about it. but you’re behind the camera telling her you’re her wife. which makes her cry harder because you’re so so beautiful and perfect. and joel’s in the front seat, driving, and laughing his ass off.

⭐︎ you two get to go on snl together, you’re hosting and she’s the musical guest and you two fuck up every skit you’re in. like as soon as you make eye contact with her you’re bursting out laughing (how could you not when she’s dressed like an 80’s rockstar or a stereotypical nerd).

[froggiewrites]

Ties That Bind (1)

Pairing: Zoro x Reader

SFW

Summary: You have spent your entire life preparing to meet your soulmate. Even with the words inked on your skin, you could never have imagined how badly your other half would hurt you, nor how much you'd want him anyway. Content: GN!Reader, Angst, Soulmate AU, Imprisonment, Medieval AU, Yearning, Unwanted Soulmates, Eventual Happy Ending Word Count: 3.2k

They were embedded on your ribcage, just above your heart. Your mother had always thought the placement was romantic, proof that your soulmate was going to be strong and steady, just like your heartbeat. 

Your father was more concerned with the content of the phrase, afraid for your future safety, what the context could be.

I’d kill you this instant if I could.

The words scrawled across your skin marked you as someone’s other half, part of a perfect, unbreakable pair. 

Your mother often insisted you were lucky. She reluctantly admitted your words weren’t ideal, but at least you had them. Some people were born bare, nothing to guide them in the world. Maybe they’d never meet their soulmate, or maybe they never had one at all. But you? You were promised something great.

You tried to share her optimism at first, but the older you became the more you questioned it. What happiness could you find with someone who would say something like that to you, let alone have it be the first thing they ever said to you? A soulmate mark didn’t guarantee you love, necessarily. It simply promised you an equal, another half. Maybe for you that was a combatant.

You never told anyone why you first picked up the sword. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that you were good at it, great even, and no man or woman that the universe sent to you would take you down without a good fight.

It only felt natural that you’d join the military when you came of age. That you’d have few friends, too focused on the battle ahead. On preparing yourself, no matter how painful of a process it was.

Your words were kept a secret. From the few friends you managed to keep, from your superiors, from those foolish enough to try to court you. Out of shame or fear you didn't quite know. You just knew that you couldn't stand the idea of seeing that familiar look, the one on your father’s face when you mentioned them, like your life was over before it began. Maybe it was.

You were a machine of war. You didn't need fate, you would insist. But you dreamed anyway. Of kind hands, loving smiles, gentle lips meeting yours. You chased them away in the morning, but they always found their way back.

You hated the smell of blood. The sound of metal upon metal, the sound of crushing bones. But you were terribly good at bringing these things about. So you kept moving up in the world, kept gaining accolades you didn’t care for. Maybe someone else would appreciate them more. Maybe someone who wanted them didn’t deserve them. But things that could be don’t matter as much as things that are.

General, they called you. You often wonder if most of them even know your name.

You don’t know if the steps you took lead you here or if this fate is what determined those steps. Maybe it doesn’t matter, considering the destination is the same. But you’d like to imagine there was some choice to it.

The enemy Commander is fury incarnate, slashing through your men like they’re paper. Despite the carnage, you can’t help but admire his strength and grace. There’s something almost hypnotizing about the way he moves, like a dancer.

He’s unarmored. A foolish move, but one you can’t help but admire. Facing death like that is no easy task. He’s a brave man, or a stupid one. Sometimes you think there’s no difference between the two. They live and die just the same.

He easily grows closer, twisting and twirling through the crowd, leaving devastation behind him. You wonder if he knows those men have families they’re leaving behind. You wonder if he cares.

You see no trace of guilt, no hesitation in his swings. For a moment you think you may hear a laugh carried by the wind, one filled with a mania that frightens you. But that cannot be true. No man can take joy in such carnage.

You’re forced to turn your attention away, to clash swords with another man who snuck between your defenses. You may not be stronger than him, but you’re certainly more skilled. You down him quickly, spilling red onto the soil and depriving yet another mother of her son. You stop for only a moment, just one. Just to catch your breath, to remind yourself that you too have a mother waiting for you, a family who would mourn you. It was him or you, you tell yourself, as you always do.

Before you realize it, there is a sword between your ribs.

He is in front of you, menacing and glowing against the vivid orange sky behind him. The sun is setting, obscuring most of him. A shame. You’d love to get a close look at the man who killed you.

You wait for him to retract his blade, to feel the blood start to pour out in earnest. You expect to christen this field with your blood, die with dignity like you were meant to. A warrior’s death is a fine one.

But he doesn’t move.

Instead he leans forward, allowing you to see the sharp cut of his jaw and the cruel twist of his smile.

“I’d kill you this instant if I could.”

Your heart skips a beat at his voice, rough with fury, a deep timbre that rattles you down to your bones.

You look up to see the eyes of your soulmate, a deep and vibrant green, as they glare at you with hatred.

He's beautiful, even more than you imagined.

He wants you dead.

“But you’re needed elsewhere, General. Take care not to bleed out before we get there.”

He doesn’t remove his blade, even as he easily pins your arms behind your back and ties them, even as he carries you as though you were little more than cargo. Trying to stem the flow of blood, you suppose.

You don’t recall most of the ride back. There are horses involved, a carriage or two. Hands poke and prod you, but you can hardly feel them. People speak, but not to you.

You don’t know how long you sleep. You wake up aching, your side burning, your head resting against a cold stone floor. There’s a blanket over you, if you could even call the pathetic scrap of fabric that, and a thin straw mattress under you. You’re behind bars, a zoo animal on display. There’s a tray of moldy bread lying near you. You feel as though there’s acid tearing through your stomach, but you don’t dare to eat.

You try to sit up, but the searing pain quickly tells you that’s a bad idea. You’re trapped here, waiting for whoever or whatever is coming, if anybody is coming at all. Perhaps the Commander simply decided you deserve to rot down here, wanted to deprive you of the warrior's death you deserve.

It feels like hours before you hear the creak of a door somewhere in the distance. You pray that it’s the reaper, come to release you, but you’re not that lucky. Those footsteps march to the beat of war; a soldier is coming for you.

“Good morning, General.” You can’t see him, but you recognize his voice instantly. You can hear his smug grin, the teeth he most definitely has on display. 

You open your mouth to answer, but then it strikes you. You haven’t said a word to him.

He doesn’t know.

He’s captured his other half, his destiny, and locked them in a cage, and he’s none the wiser. If he did, would he free you? You doubt it. Disloyal soldiers with weak hearts, those that can be swayed, rarely reach the rank of Commander. Commanders will give their lives to the cause. Why wouldn’t he give yours?

You could tell him anyway. Torture him with it, let him know everything he’s giving up, everything he’s cursed you both to. A lifetime alone for him, one cut woefully short for you. 

Or you could…spare him. A small act of mercy. You could carry the burden alone. Would he even have words, if you never spoke to him at all? Maybe he’d simply think he didn’t have a soulmate, live the rest of his life not knowing what he’s lost. Maybe that’s for the best. He can be normal. Happy. And while it’s hard to wish for happiness for a man who wants you dead, it’s quite easy to wish it for the man you’ve been waiting for.

You close your lips, closing your eyes and focusing on nothing but the sound of your own breathing. You can be merciful. You can be kind. Someone has to be.

“What, you’re ignoring me? How disappointing, General. I heard great things about you, I didn’t think you’d do something so childish.” There’s irritation in his tone, but something deeper as well. He’s disquieted by your silence, and he doesn’t know why. Maybe even though the man doesn’t know you, his soul does. It reaches out to yours, begging you to speak, begging you to finish the connection the universe has prepared it for. Your own soul does the same, your heart pounding as words threaten to spill from your lips. Nothing with meaning, just mindless babble, anything to let him know. But you wouldn’t be a soldier if your willpower was so weak. You do not speak.

“You know, General, I really respected you. I saw the way you fought. You cut people down without hesitation.” You wince at that. “But you aren’t cruel about it. That’s important in a warrior. The joy of a fight shouldn’t come from the inevitable death.”

There is no joy in fighting for you. It’s easy not to revel in cruelty when you can hardly stand to hold a blade in your hands after you pull it out of some poor bastard’s chest. You can’t imagine finding anything worthwhile in the heat of battle. You’re only here because of him, a curse put in place by some higher power that’s enjoyed watching you struggle, enjoyed watching you retch and sob after your first kill, the way the light left your eyes the same time it left the body.

You squeeze your eyes shut tighter. Those memories are of no use to you now. You need to find out how to either get out of here or speed up your execution so your suffering isn’t prolonged.

“It’s a shame to watch a worthy opponent die in such a shameful way.” It hurts worse, the way he sounds like he means it. There’s genuine pity in his voice, a sort of kindness his hardened exterior can’t hide. “But orders are orders, I suppose.”

You want to disagree, but the orders that put you in this cell aren’t that different from the ones that put you on the battlefield, and you hate to be a hypocrite. You shift, trying to put less pressure on your broken ribs, but you simply make the pain worse. You can barely bite back a whimper. You hear a sigh behind you, a small sign of defeat.

“Don’t kill yourself before one of us can, General. And try to roll onto your left. You have less bruises on that side.” Those marching steps lead away from your cell, down the hallway and back out into the sunlight you’ll never see again. With great effort, you roll onto your other side to find it is more comfortable that way, or at least less agonizing. You may be able to sleep this way, if you’re lucky.

The Commander doesn’t return before you fall asleep, but a meek little footsoldier brings you sustenance at some point. You hesitate to call the strange foul-smelling broth food, but it’s something. You can’t sit up to eat it yourself, so the poor lad props you up slightly, wincing when you groan.

“Sorry,” he murmurs nervously. “You need to eat.”

“No need to apologize. You’re not the one who stabbed me.” You huff out a laugh, which only makes it hurt worse. He stares at you with widened, fearful eyes, and you’re not sure if he’s scared you’ll hurt him or that you’ll drop dead on the spot. When he brings the mug to your lips with shaking hands, he does so a little too quickly, and you can feel the unpleasant sting of a burned tongue. You don’t bother to pull back or to stop drinking. What’s one more injury?

He only pulls the cup away when it’s entirely empty, before quickly standing and beginning to scurry out. He pauses for a moment once he’s past the bars, safe from the injured beast trapped behind them. “Someone will be back to change your bandages soon.”

“No, they won’t.” They don’t actually intend to keep you alive in here, you know. Sure, you making it to your scheduled execution would be a nice morale boost, but they’re not going to waste resources on treating a prisoner of war.

He doesn’t respond, and you can hear him skittering out of here, away from the stench of your blood and the rotting cot beneath you. It’s too soon to say the place reeks of death, but the stale air is a reminder that it will come soon.

You’re asleep when the next person enters, and you haven’t even had the chance to open your eyes before there are hands on you. You whimper, from the pain and the fear, the exhaustion weighing you down, but a familiar voice gently shushes you. “It’ll be quick, I promise.” The Commander’s hands are callused and rough, but they’re soft against your skin, and pleasantly warm. You manage to crack open your eyes to see his handsome face above you, his good eye narrowed in concentration as he takes in your state. “It’s going to hurt, but you’ll feel better after.”

You can see bandages on the ground next to him, as well as a set of clothes. They seem a bit too big, but it’s certainly better than the bloodied rags they left you with after they stripped you of your armor. He moves with the confidence of someone who has done this hundreds of times before. Was the Commander once a wartime medic, patching up his fellow soldiers? Or was he simply adept at patching up his own wounds?

“This is going to be the worst part,” he murmurs. You feel something cool against your torn skin, a pleasant chill running through you before the burning starts.

You scream.

It’s embarrassing, really, a soldier being reduced to screaming and sobbing simply from a bit of antiseptic. But whatever this is stings much worse than the salves back home, and your wound is much worse than any you’ve suffered before. You feel the burn down to your bones, piercing your marrow and turning it to ash. You’re losing something vital, part of your foundation, threatening to collapse you entirely.

It isn’t until his hand brushes your cheek that you realize you’re sobbing.

“I know,” he whispers. Part of you is furious at the pity in his voice. Another craves it, craves any sort of gentleness or comfort, any distraction from the pain. “It’s awful, it really is. It’ll be over soon, and then we won’t have to worry as much about infection.”

You’re not worried about infection. You’re not worried about making it out of here at all right now. You’d gladly welcome the executioner’s axe, embrace the hangman as though he was your oldest friend. Anything to make it stop. Anything at all.

It feels like hours before the burning subsides, but logically you understand it couldn’t have lasted more than a minute. In that time, you seem to have grabbed his hand, and strangely, he allowed you to. It is only once your whimpers quiet that he removes his fingers from yours and gets to work redressing you. The scratch of the gauze against your exposed muscle and viscera feels like a gentle kiss compared to your earlier suffering. He has to lift you to fully wrap you, his rough hands pressing against your very broken ribs as he unhurriedly pulls your bandages tighter. While he does not rush, he does not linger to revel in your pain.

He pulls the oversized shirt onto you, and the scent of soap envelops you. A welcome distraction from the stale air. It’s a little stiff, the texture a little rough, but you certainly won’t complain. For the first time since you arrived you feel protected, as though they hadn’t stripped you of your armor. A loose pair of pants follows, but the best gift the Commander has given you today is a warm pair of woolen socks. You can finally feel the chill from the stone beneath you begin to fade, a soft warmth beginning to fill you. You don’t know if it’s from the fabric surrounding you or from the gesture, but either way you cannot help the smile that makes its way onto your face, the picture of contentment.

“Feeling better?” His voice is kinder than you expect.

You just barely stop yourself from expressing your gratitude, the pain and subsequent relief blurring your mind and softening your heart. The clarity only comes when you see a small light in his eyes as your mouth opens, an innocent excitement at the idea of hearing your voice. Even though he doesn’t know why he so desperately wants to hear it. You press your lips together, instead giving him a tight small and a nod.

He sighs, his gentle bedside manner dissolving nearly instantly. An enemy remains. “Still not speaking?”

You shake your head softly, giving a small shrug and hissing through your teeth at the sting that follows the movement.

He lets out an offended huff. “You spoke to one of my men.”

You nod.

“But not me?”

Another shake and an apologetic smile.

“I see.” His lips press into a tight line, disapproval radiating off of him. He clearly thinks this is some kind of snub, an act of rebellion. You were never prone to such things, but how could he guess that? You’re a stranger, no matter how tightly you’re linked by fate.

He doesn’t speak again, silently ensuring your bandages aren’t too tight and ensuring the clothes fit as well as they can. You can see him quietly simmering with rage, upset by your apparent rejection, but you can’t feel it in any of his actions. He’s putting it aside for you, even as an ungrateful stranger. There’s a small ache in your chest, a small shred of longing you try to bite down. You had always hoped your soulmate would be kind.

He leaves without a word, only a small grunt that you think is his form of goodbye. 

There’s nothing left to do but wait. For tomorrow, for his next visit, for your inevitable end. And so you allow yourself to fall back into a fitful sleep, dreaming of a different life; gentle touches, warm smiles, and the way the sunlight would dance in green hair.

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece @shy-writer-999 @dreamcastgirl99 @tochillwithamockingjay

[reddesires]

Bucky Barnes Headcanons

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Tags: soft!Bucky, established relationship, sexual content, overall fluffy

A/N: Here's some headcanons I categorize with Bucky. It's mainly cutesy boyfriend vibes that I think he would exude when those therapy sesh' finally hit lol

○ He has the most expressive eyes, it definitely gives him away no matter how hard he tries. The slight scrutinized scrunch of his nose and squint when he's trying so hard not to judge or not even bothering to, Bro is so judgy but honestly, he usually has every right to be. But more often than not, he has the softest eyes directed towards you, borderline puppy dog eyes that melt you from inside out and you just want to kiss him every time he gives that doe eyed look, he knows the effect it has on you though he'd never admit just how much he uses it to his advantage.

○He only allows you to cut his hair, otherwise he's cutting it by himself. You've come to understand that he feels particularly vulnerable with anything to do with his head and he definitely has strong boundaries about it. You are the only one he unconditionally trusts with cutting his hair, touching his neck and gentle hair pulling. He practically purrs when you play with his hair, lightly scratching your nails along his scalp, like yeah, mans is out like a light. And God, don't get him started on the rewarding neck kisses you give him when he asks you to cut his hair. You pavlov'd him, and he's absolutely screwed.

○ You've learned to be attentive to him, he's the kind of person that more often than not will suffer in silence just so he doesn't burden anyone. It damn near breaks your heart to think of how far he's willing to go just to protect you from his struggles in fear that it would be too much than you can handle. So you have to be lovingly stern, reminding him that you're not going to stand by while he is in pain, that he's yours and you're willing to do anything for him, he's not a burden, he's the love of your life. 

And the man was too stunned to speak! 

That's one sure fire way to get him all misty eyed and lip trembly, and he's finally telling you what he needs or what's been ailing him, all whilst allowing you to take him into your arms.

○ His Love Language minus as well be all of them, an old school kind of love. A love that can't be contained and must be expressed in every way he can possibly express it whether that be through touch, gifts, acts of service, you can bet your ass he's gonna do it. He's a man that was molded by his father's love for his mother, regaining those precious memories of how much his Pa would dote on his Ma fueled that sense of expectation he held for himself when it came to his love for you. And you're so touched and utterly in love with this man that you pick up all the love languages for him too. It deepens your bond and it can't be helped, being in love looks good on the both of you.

○ He finds your scent comforting, there's something about it that soothes him both mentally and physically. He used to be embarrassed when he caught himself breathing your scent in deeply whenever you were within his close proximity but now he'll unashamedly bury his nose into your hair and inhale your scent greedily, all the tension from his body draining out of him by the second and you don't mind it at all because as your face is pressed against his strong chest, his scent invading all your senses, it's borderline heaven. Leather, aftershave and his own natural smell filling your lungs and making your head go fuzzy, his arms pinning your body against his as your knees go weak.

○ He picks up on your humor. He's already sassy and has a dry cut sense of humor but combined with your modern slang and jokes, he starts picking up on it naturally. Sam will tease him and claim that your a bad influence on him but it's all in good fun since he only gets more quick witted with his responses, every once and while he'd resort to his glare and stare when he doesn't have a good retort, you and Sam never pass up the opportunity to poke fun at him during those times.

○ Is the type to give a serious side eye towards others if they do any type of PDA all while pulling you into his side with smoothness, his arm lovingly wrapped around your shoulders. sometimes pressing a quick kiss to the side of your head just cause. The longer your relationship, the more bold he is when showing you affection in public, hand holding, quick kisses and flirting just cause he feels like it.

○ Let's you wear his dog tags, he trusts you so wholeheartedly that it feels right to see you wear the one most personal evidence of his past. The way he sees is that you-his future, is carrying a piece of his past and it's okay for him to be accepting of both, that it's okay for him to want more for himself than to keep mourning his past and all that he's lost when he can regain the love he's been longing for from you, the love you are so willing to give him each day.

And he loves the way the dog tags sway and clank against your body as you ride him. Like a second accessory to his metal hand that lightly grasps your neck, his thumb pressing on your jugular notch with gentle pressure. His flesh hand on your hip, guiding your hips movements pulling those delicious moans and the twinkling of the tags with every thrust of his hips slapping against you sinfully. His groans increasing and his eyes rolling to the back of his head at the sight of you, so achingly disheveled, so beautifully adorned with his damn dog tags. He's forever ruined by you.

○ A bookworm. If you're also a bookworm then reading together is his favorite bonding time with you, seeing you take a interest in what he's so enthralled by makes him a little flustered, a boyish grin pulling at his lips and a pink settling in the tops of his ears while he explains the plot of his newest read is worth more than any precious gem in this world. And he enjoys seeing your facial expressions as you get absorbed by the pulling words in your own book, the slight scrunch of your nose when your bewildered or the widening of your eyes when your curiosity has been sated, it's all so endearing to him and he wouldn't change it for the world. And when you ask him to read to you, you behold his heart within your hands as you lovingly gaze at him as he becomes your personal audio book.

○ He can be possessive and he can be jealous. Never does he take it out on you, he would never direct his distaste at you when someone flirts with you or looks at you in a way that makes his hair stand on end and clench his jaw. He could have the most deadliest glare directed towards someone who dared to get close to you and when you seek him out, needing to be within his bubble then he's all puppy dog eyes and gentle talk. You're not dumb, you can see the jealousy gleaming ominously in the stormy color of his eyes, the way his strong brow dips and shadows his face but by god, does it make the tingles in your stomach awry and your head fuzzy to see him in such a way. If he's particularly wound up then he's sticking to you, using his height and strong stature to intimidate any other person away from what is his.

○ Is absolutely your boy toy in the best way possible. Loves being pampered by you, allowing you to put your face masks and other facial products on him. Not minding your silly little game where you put red lipstick on just to leave kiss stains all over his face, he likes pulling you into a heated kiss so the lipstick smears and you look thoroughly disheveled afterwards.

He's absolutely a sucker for you and your antics and that little game of yours usually leads to red kiss stains trailing down his chest and down under the waistband of his sweats. A sinful ring of red from your lipstick at the base of his dick further cementing his willingness to your every whim.

○ He's all about you being independent, he in no way wants to control or make you feel incapable of anything so he watches from a distance, ready to step in whenever you need him. He's protective of what's his and he'll be damned if he lets anything happen to you on his watch. When you are being especially stubborn, he gentle parents you into seeing it more rationally which he can admit he's a hypocrite to because he can be so hard headed too, but he's a super soldier and he can take a harder hit and he prefers that you take no hit at all if it can be helped.

○ There's nowhere that compares to the safety he feels when he's in your arms. The tension is nowhere to be found when he's embracing you, his arms wrapped around your back and his face pressed into your chest. Feeling at ease enough to fall asleep, whether that's to take a nap or when it's about time to sleep for the night. He used to be anxious about sleeping next to you but when he found salvation in your arms at night, he couldn't bear the idea of not sleeping with you by his side. Missions away are especially hard for him so he took it upon himself to buy the scent you usually wear to spray on his pillow just to have some sort of comfort during those long nights.

[spaceyaemonds]

anon said: hc: jack as a dry joke suggests the name Michaela and BM really likes it much to his and Robby’s (who she thinks is named Robby because it took a while for them to meet) dismay, he manages to dissuade her but it ends up as her middle name.

also so many jokes in the ER (not to jacks face, never) about his child bride. Just the incredulous stares from Collins, Langdon, Shen, Ellis and Mohan. I think Robby is lowkey glad because this would be when He and Collins are going out and this takes the heat off of him.

I like this kind of kinship between them, they-against all odds- pair really well together. Like in the beginning he would be at her place a lot to hang out, family time, even hookup/unwind but he’d still maintain that boundary because he needs complete solitude to work through those tough shifts and his ptsd meanwhile she’d be really okay with that wanting to make sure he was comfortable but also her own insecurities about being a burden to him.

I think it’s so sweet he’d take to sleeping on the floor of the nursery, as like a form of security and comfort, it’s really adorable. And he’d unwind after a night shift with the police scanner at the kitchen table spooning yogurt and berries in his daughter’s mouth, gahhhh the cuteness.

ngl i was hoping for a boy too but the girl is so cute, he’d be such a funny girl dad. He’s such a cynical and moody guy, he strikes me as the type to prepare his daughter for survival for any situation, as a form of fear and love. Teaching his daughter how to do a tourniquet, how to start a fire all in a tutu/pink sparkle light up shoes (her mom). She’d be such a tomboy lol 😆

“Hi Uncle Robby”

“Hi princess, ready to take your dad home.”

“Yeah me and daddy are going to play doctor.”

“Oh is that so sweetpea…”

“Yah! We’re going to practice a tourney-bet.”

“A tourniquet…”

Dana and Robby turn to Jack with a deadpan stare.

screaming!!!! many many thoughts and just rambles under the cut!!! idk why tumblr hates me and won’t let me respond directly to the ask!!!!

reader loves robby! after the initial awkwardness, which there is a lot lol, they get along surprisingly well! it’s mildly annoying to jack. i think he’d bring it up in kind of a snippy way, probably all out to eat or something after a shift. collins almost dies of laughter when reader says “omg i love it!!! but who is michael??” both jack and robby spend a long time trying to get her to change her mind, and eventually she finds a name she likes better, but michaela sticks as the middle name. as she gets older, robby learns to really appreciate it.

SHEN NEVER SHUTS UP ABOUT IT!! day shift tends to at least keep it more subtle, but shen nearly always gets the caught!! collins can just never fully wrap her head around it, and even after her and robby break up and she sees more of reader just around, she’s never not shocked. langdon is probably the most obvious with his glances LOL.

even before baby is born, i think he goes to her place to unwind and check on her after every shift. he likes feeling the baby move against his hand too. once the baby is born, he spends even more time there. never gone too long. he sleeps in readers bed a lot, but sometimes she finds him either asleep in on the nursery floor or awake in the middle of the night on the couch, just sitting in the dark. the first time she caught him on the couch, he left when he noticed she was awake. he was back early the next morning, sitting at the table with the baby. reader doesn’t ask, but he eventually does tell her. him leaving so suddenly eats at her for a really long time, and she thinks about it more than she would care to admit.

hard shifts and long nights almost automatically have him sleeping next to his baby’s crib. at first, reader told him the monitor was good, it would pick any noises up. eventually she realized it was more for his piece of mind, so she stopped fighting it. every once in a while, she ends up in the floor next to him.

UNWINDING AFTER A NIGHTSHIFT BY FEEDING THE BABY AND LISTENING TO THE POLICE SCANNER I AM CRYING😭😭 that is just utter perfection. no other words🥺 the baby gets excited and babbles if they get something that sounds exciting on there.

reader tries as she might to have a girly-girl, but that girl is all her dad. she may look just like her mom, but anyone from a mile away can tell that she’s her father’s daughter.

i think he was terrified to have a daughter. having a child was a scary enough thought. but a daughter? oh boy. he thinks he may be too tough, too rough around the edges. but reader knew there wasn’t a thing to worry about. and as always she was right.

bonus: robby and jack talking about the tourniquet while watching mom, baby, and dana chat:

“you can’t teach your daughter how to use a tourniquet,”

“i’d rather her know how to use it and not need to then need to know and not know how,”

note: this was mostly me just rambling, so i’m sorry if none of it seems like it makes sense😭😭 but i love talking about this with you guys, so feel free to send more asks with your thoughts!!!

[writeriguess]

heey, I really love you writing and I wanna do a request Bakugo x Reader where Reader and Shinso are bff, but Bakugo and Shinso don't like each other, every time they meet they fight, over petty things like: "I know that I'll be at her wedding, 'cause I'm her best friend, but what bout you?" And Bakugo gets angry or every time Reader and Bakugo are in some intimate or affectionate moment, Shinso gets in the way (even without meaning to) and makes fun of them saying it's too much sugar. Basically, Bakugo it's jealous and Shinso loves to tease him, and the reader is between the devil and the deep sea. Just if you can do that🫶

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

You knew from the very first introduction that Bakugo and Shinso would never get along. It was instinctual—like two alley cats hissing at each other over territory they didn’t even need to fight over.

And unfortunately for you, you were the territory.

Shinso had been your best friend since your first year at U.A., back when he was still in General Studies and had to prove himself every day. You were there through it all—his training with Aizawa, the doubts he had about his quirk, the grueling entrance into the hero course. You were ride or die, and he was the same for you.

Then, there was Bakugo. Your loud, explosive, short-fused, absolutely infuriating boyfriend. It was a miracle he had fallen for you, even more of a miracle that he had admitted it. And an absolute disaster that he and Shinso couldn’t be in the same room for more than five minutes without launching into some stupid argument.

Which led you to now—sitting on the couch of your shared apartment, sandwiched between Bakugo and Shinso, who had decided to drop by unannounced with food in hand, as he often did.

"You again?" Bakugo grumbled, arms crossed, glaring daggers at Shinso.

"Yeah, me again," Shinso said with a lazy smirk, setting the takeout bags on the coffee table. "You’re not the only one allowed to spend time with her, you know."

"The fuck does that mean?"

"It means I was here first," Shinso said smugly, grabbing his food and leaning back. "Best friend privileges."

Bakugo’s eye twitched. "Tch. Like I give a shit about that. She’s my girlfriend, dumbass."

"And I’m her best friend," Shinso countered. "So I’ll be at her wedding for sure. What about you?"

You watched Bakugo’s face go from irritated to downright murderous in two seconds flat. His hands clenched into fists, and you could practically hear the way his teeth gritted together.

"You wanna fucking repeat that?"

Shinso just smirked, chewing on a fry like he hadn’t just ignited World War III.

You groaned, slumping in the middle of them. "Can you guys not?"

"No," they said in unison.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. You loved them both, you really did, but this constant bickering was going to be the death of you.

—

It didn’t help that Shinso had a habit of showing up at the absolute worst times.

Like now, when you were sitting on Bakugo’s lap, arms wrapped around his neck, exchanging lazy, drawn-out kisses after a long day.

"You taste like cinnamon," you murmured against his lips.

Bakugo smirked, squeezing your waist. "Yeah? Maybe you should get another taste, then—"

"God, get a room, you two."

You flinched so hard you nearly fell off Bakugo’s lap. Bakugo, on the other hand, groaned loudly, throwing his head back in frustration.

"For fuck’s sake, Shinso, do you have a fucking tracker on her or somethin’?!"

Shinso leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, the ever-present smug look on his face. "Nah, just good timing."

"Good timing, my ass!" Bakugo barked. "You do this shit on purpose!"

Shinso shrugged, stepping further into the room. "I dunno what you’re talking about. I just happen to walk in when you two are acting disgustingly in love." He made a gagging motion. "Seriously, it's like watching a rom-com in real life. Too much sugar."

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Hitoshi…"

Shinso only grinned. "What? Just calling it like I see it."

Bakugo’s hand tightened on your waist, pulling you possessively against him. "You jealous or somethin’?"

Shinso raised a brow. "Jealous of what?"

"That she’s with me and not with your smug, sleep-deprived ass," Bakugo sneered.

Shinso actually looked mildly offended for once. "Excuse you, I get plenty of sleep."

"You nap like a goddamn cat all the time. That don’t count."

Shinso scoffed. "Whatever. Point is, I just don’t like third-wheeling in my best friend’s life." He shot you a teasing glance. "You used to be cool before you started dating a raging porcupine."

Bakugo looked ready to explode. "THE FUCK DID YOU JUST CALL ME?!"

"Guys!" you shouted, slapping both of their arms. "Can you stop? Just for one day?!"

Bakugo grumbled under his breath but kept his arms firmly around you. Shinso held up his hands in surrender but still had that smug little smirk on his face.

—

The worst fight, though, came when Shinso found out about a certain nickname.

It was supposed to be a peaceful night. You and Bakugo were curled up on the couch, watching a movie, your head resting on his chest as he absentmindedly played with your fingers.

Then your phone rang.

You glanced at the screen. Shinso.

"Hey," you answered, putting it on speaker.

"Yo," Shinso greeted, his voice relaxed as always. "Wanna grab some food? I know this new place that—"

"She’s busy," Bakugo cut in, tightening his hold on you.

You sighed. "Katsuki—"

"What, I’m just answering for you since your dumbass best friend can’t take a hint."

Shinso scoffed. "Y’know, for someone who supposedly likes you so much, he’s kinda possessive."

"Shut up, Brainwash."

Shinso chuckled. "Oh? Cute nickname. But not as cute as Teddy Bear."

Dead silence.

You swore you felt Bakugo's soul leave his body.

"The fuck did you just call her?"

Shinso grinned through the phone. "Teddy Bear. You didn’t know? I’ve been calling her that since first year. It suits her, doesn’t it?"

Bakugo's entire body went rigid beneath you. "Why the fuck would you be calling her that?!"

"Because she's soft and cuddly," Shinso answered casually. "And because she always used to carry that little keychain bear on her bag. You still have that, don’t you, Teddy Bear?"

You gulped. "Uh…"

Bakugo shot you a betrayed look. "The fuck is this?! Why didn’t I know about this?!"

Shinso laughed. "Damn, so she never told you? That’s rough, buddy."

Bakugo shot up so fast you nearly tumbled to the floor. "You motherfu—"

You grabbed his face before he could launch into a full-blown explosion. "Babe. Babe. Breathe."

His eye twitched. "Teddy Bear?"

Shinso chuckled through the phone. "You sound jealous, Bakugo."

"I’M NOT FUCKING JEALOUS!"

"Liar," Shinso sang.

"I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD, SHINSO—"

You sighed, already dreading the next inevitable argument.

Between the devil and the deep blue sea, indeed.

[pazziiiiiiii]

This is my first fic and I don’t even know if this is good or no but lmk if you want another part cause if you like it I’ll make it a series but we’ll see!! I like a lot of angst cause otherwise I find stories boring so there will probs be a lot.

This is like their whole life starting from quarantine so because of that it’ll probs be a longer series if y’all like it but lmk idk about it cause if y’all don’t like it I won’t continue. Be completely honest with me I don’t care if it’s mean!!

Word count: 2.3k

2020 - Paige POV

Paige Bueckers and Azzi Fudd have always been inseparable from the day they met in the team USA tryouts. That day where they were both shaking with nerves and were put on the same team to scrimmage. Instantly it looked as if they had been playing with each other for years, somehow knowing where the other would be at all times and able to get an easy bucket. That’s what sparked their friendship through the whole tournament. Until they found out they were being separated after it.

However, even when they lived on other sides of the country it was like they were still together. They FaceTimed every chance they could and were talking to each other constantly (if not it was about the other to their family). They had late night conversations that went on for hours into the night, until someone fell asleep and they woke up in the morning with the call still running. On the few times it was Paige who stirred first (because she always slept in later), she would wake up confused at first to see her phone screen shining, but then would notice the person on the screen and her heart would flutter the slightest bit. She always gets this feeling looking at Azzi, since the day she saw her. But these feelings were long pushed away because Paige was too afraid to admit what they were.

But, even if they talked constantly, they were still itching to actually be with each other so they could prove who was the better hooper, instead of trash talking through a screen. This was a dream they knew would never come true considering how far away they lived.

That was until Paige had an idea. A crazy one, but a good one. She was going to surprise Azzi. She was going to come live with the Fudd’s in quarantine. Just the thought made Paige excited.

Paige loved Tim and Katie Fudd, they were amazing. They had been at the entire USA tournament and because Azzi and her had already become so close, she was introduced to them. And they welcomed Paige in immediately. They saw how Azzi and her were together and knew they would be best friends. So they quickly supported Paige liked their own daughter. They loved her and Paige knew it.

This made Paige even more eager to come stay with them, because this kind of love was different to her own home. She lived with only her dad and hid new wife because her mom left when she was 3. Her dad loved her a lot, yes, but he also was quite lost in how to support his child. So Paige was distant from him, very. She didn’t express her feelings or anything of that sort to him. Leet alone anyone else.

Except Azzi. Even though it was not much Paige told her, and it took Azzi a lot to get anythibg out of her, it was more than anyone else. Because she listened and understood Paige. Knew when something was off and how to fix it. Which made her appreciate Azzi even more.

But with all this in mind, Paige was still nervous of how living months with her best friend would go. It wasn’t like the Fudd’s were scary or anything, of course not. But whenever Paige saw her she was forced to push down the feeling that she was scared to admit. That she could never admit.

So when she texted Katie to ask if she could stay, it took a lot longer than expected.

After a lot of tries, she finally settled on:

Hey Katie, it’s Paige. I was wondering if I could stay with you guys for quarantine and surprise Azzi? If you guys start tomorrow I could get there then? I really think it would be a good idea if it’s ok with you?

When she finally clicked send, she tossed her phone to the side, trying to let her mind rest and her nerves settled.

After a couple minutes a buzz vibrated through her phone and Paige picked it up straight away. Of course it was from Katie:

Hey Paige, that sounds like a great idea! We’ll pick you up from the airport tomorrow just text us.

Paige let out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding. She quickly responded to Katie and booked her flight for the earliest one she could. She could just imagine Azzi’s face when she saw her. Her beautiful, brown curls that matched her brown, doe eyes and her lips that-

Paige had to stop these thoughts. She couldn’t think about her best friend like that, it was wrong to like her like that. Especially when she was going to live with that girl for at least a couple weeks.

Once Paige had finally stopped thinking about that, she realised she was going to have to tell her dad. The dad who doesn’t know how to parent her. The dad who is very religious. The dad who doesn’t know how to properly to talk his child, so instead he resorts to yelling at her. Getting mad at her for the slightest things. It’s not like he doesn’t love his daughter, but he just doesn’t know how to be a parent.

Paige decided she just had to get this over with, so she set her phone down and slowly started to go downstairs. She didn’t know how she was going to tell him. Should she ask or just tell him without a yes or no option. She decided on the second one cause, well she already booked her flight and also she didn’t want him to say no (which he was going to do anyway).

When she saw him he was at the table, glasses on and looking at his laptop. He didn’t even look up, not a care in the world, as if she didn’t even exist. Paige slowly went up to him and was forced to start the conversation herself.

“Um bob- I mean dad…” She slowly said, her father’s real name slipping from her mouth like usual. She usually just couldn’t bring herself to say dad because of how little he was as one.

Bob hummed in response, still failing to look up from his laptop. He looked like he didn’t want to talk to her, as always.

“I was just gonna tell you,” Paige started, not bothering to give him warning. “I’m gonna say with Azzi and her family for a while during quarantine. I’ve already told Katie and Tim and booked my flight and stuff, I leave tomorrow morning.” She rushed out, as if it would end this conversation sooner.

Bob finally looked up, his expression blank, only his brows were furrowed, showing the only sign of emotion. Anger.

“You weren’t even gonna ask me at all, just decided to do it without any permission?” He said firmly, the anger obviously rising through his tone.

“I just really want to go and I don’t want to stay here. I haven’t seen Azzi in so long and I’m gonna surprise her.” Paige replied, not even bothering to be respectful about it.

But then, Bob said something Paige would have never thought he would say. Making her wish she never even said anything in the first place.

“Of course you wanna visit Azzi, why don’t you just go live with her and ask her to be your girlfriend. You better not ask her or you can stay there forever.” He said strongly, his voice raising to a yelling level.

Paige stood in front of him, still. Frozen in shock. She didn’t think he thought about it that way. Didn’t think he would take it that far. I mean she knew something was different and she thought about girls differently, but she had been pushing it down for so long, forcing herself to not feel that way. Now he said it, being very religious he would never forgive her if that was the case.

They both stared at each other for what felt like hours, until Paige finally spoke up.

“I’m leaving at 6:00, I’ll get an uber. I’ll see you when I get home.” She said flatly, turning around and going back to her room, ignoring his voice yelling at her behind her shoulder to come back.

When she got there, she just layed down, staring at the ceiling with her thoughts filling her mind. She knew Azzi was expecting her to call, and Paige was going to, but she didn’t know what to say. Azzi would know something is wrong, that’s just how she is. But Paige knew Azzi was the only person she could to talk to right now.

So she picked up her phone and clicked on ‘Az’ instantly. The line only rang twice when she saw the younger girls face pop on the screen.

“Hey P, took you long enough, it’s literally midnight.” Azzi said with a teasing tone.

“Sorry, was just talking to my dad.” Paige tried to get the words out strongly, attempting to push the lump forming in her throat down. But that was not the case, and Azzi, of course, could tell.

Her face softened almost instantly, knowing what her dad was like, she knew it was something bad, otherwise Paige would never have talked to him in the first place.

“What’s up P?” She asked, voice laced with concern.

“Nothing I’m fine,” Paige answered a little too quickly.

Knowing Paige’s walls she built were very difficult to break, Azzi quickly replied.

“Just answer Paige I know somethings up, you can tell me I’m here.” When Paige didn’t reply, Azzi added, “you have to let me in P it’s not gonna help you.”

Paige knew she should tell Azzi, should tell her what was wrong and how she was feeling. But Paige couldn’t, she had so much built up anger that she couldn’t stop from coming out, so she let it out on Azzi.

“Just stop Az, you don’t always have to know what’s happening I can figure it out on my own, I’ve done it plenty of times before.” Paige knew she shouldn’t have even let the words come out of her mouth as soon as they left.

Azzi’s face froze for just a second, but Paige caught it. She saw the hurt and confusion that flashed through her eyes, but was also gone as soon as it was there.

A long moment passed before Paige spoke up again, the anger settling in her as she pushed it down.

“I’m sorry Azzi, I shouldn’t have said that. I just…” Paige stopped to think about her words, looking down at her fiddling hands that wouldn’t stop moving, before continuing, “I just need to figure it out on my own, he got mad is all, I’ll tell you another time, but I gotta go.”

Paige knew it wasn’t true. And so did Azzi. They both knew that Paige would stay on for hours if she wasn’t feeling so many things at once. Just looking at Azzi made her calmer. But she couldn’t, she needed to stop talking to her best friend before the things her father were saying happened.

“Tell me when you can P, I’m here.” Azzi said softly, the same hurt all over her face as she hung up the call.

Paige stared at her phone for a moment as her screen turned black. She was panicking, the voice of her dad’s words echoing in her mind. Repeating the phrase over and over again. You better not ask her or you can stay there forever. The words had hit Paige harder than she should’ve let them. Deep down she knew that what he said was true. But she had pushed it down for so long, now wasn’t the time she wasn’t going to let up on that. Not now, not ever. Azzi was straight anyway, she would never think that way about her. It was something she had just excepted.

When Paige finally took her eyes off the screen in-front of her, she was breathing heavy and fast. She needed fresh air.

Whenever Paige felt like this she did one of two things. Go play basketball because it was the one thing she loved to do. Or when she couldn’t do that, she would sit on her roof. So that is what she did.

Paige opened the window and stepped out, the cold Minnesota air hit her face instantly, but she wasn’t fazed. Once she got to the top of her roof her breathing instantly slowed. This was the one way (besides Azzi) Paige could get rid of her racing mind, even just for a small time, it was everything to her.

She stared up at the night sky for a while, not thinking about anything but the stars above her.

Azzi POV

Azzi knew exactly what Paige was doing right now. She couldn’t go out to the court and hoop because it was snowing (not that it’s stopped her before), so the only thing she could be doing was sitting on the roof looking at the sky.

Being able to understand Paige and know what she was doing came easily for Azzi. It was like she was made to do it.

In this moment she knew something was wrong. Paige hadn’t told her too much about her father, but it was more than she’s told anyone ever, and it was enough to understand what happened to her in the conversation they had tonight.

But in moments like Paige was having now, there was nothing Azzi could do to stop her. She had already built the walls around her, she had tried to break them down but they never let up, so she just had to wait for her. Even though Azzi knew it wasn’t healthy for Paige to do, she couldn’t do anything about it.

[moth-murdock]

My heart takes up all my strength (Frank castle x pregnant!wife!reader)

My masterlist | Series masterlist

a/n: writing my first series! This is kinda scary NGL!!!

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Summary: a fight with your husband, and a surprise

Warnings: spouses arguing, canon typical swearing, reader finds out she's pregnant, fem!reader

Other tags: Bearded Frank my beloved, but he starts out with the skin fade, Max the dog!!, frank being frank, he's living as Pete rn

Word count:2.7k

To say Frank Castle was traditional was an understatement. From the very beginning, you knew. He was the kind of guy to pick you up for dates, bring you home, and even wait until he saw you walk in the door to make sure you did get home safe. He would buy you flowers. He introduced you to his rescue pitbull, Max. He took you to places you had mentioned in passing. He had asked your dad for his blessing, like you were in a movie.

The day you were married, he refused to be in the same room as you until you were both at the chapel. He rolled his eyes and laughed when he found out you had secretly been training Max to walk with Matt down the aisle, a sight that your husband will never forget or let his friend live down. He actually honest-to-god carried you over the threshold of the small house you two had bought a few weeks ago, despite how you giggled and squirmed.

The house itself was still halfway done, needing spackle and paint in a few places. It was barely furnished, mainly just the bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen. But since you two were on your honeymoon, it's not like you'd really need any of the other rooms anyway.

Now, as cute as that is, you're still both only human. You have your faults, and things you do that bothers the other person. The current issue is that Frank, god bless him, is horrible at updating you on time estimates for when he'll be home. You knew about his life and his past, so you had asked him to let you know when he'd be home from work tonight. He told you no later than 5. It is now 6:30. You check your phone, but there's still no update. Only the messages you've sent him.

You almost home? 5:12

Is everything okay? 5:37

I'm getting worried, honey 5:55

Hello?? 6:07

Are you even alive???? 6:26

Dead silence from him. You knew he would often get too focused on his work and forget to check his phone, but he promised he would more often. So, you did the one thing you knew would get through to him. You got petty. Rather than wait up for him, you ate your dinner, leaving his plate uncovered on the table to get cold. You put up the leftovers, take a hot shower, not caring if there would be enough hot water left for him.

After your shower, you put on a proper set of pajamas rather than sleeping in just a bra and underwear the way you know Frank loves it. You crawl into bed, your back towards Frank's spot. You check your phone one last time, seeing that your husband, your fucking husband, has left you on read. On. Fucking. Read. Not even a simple apology, not even an 'im alive', nothing.

Oh, you were fucking fuming. You grabbed his bare essentials that he'll need for the night, dumped them on the couch, and called Max in to sleep in his place. You crawl right back into bed, silencing your phone and shutting your eyes.

Frank gets home, knowing he fucked up. It was barely 8pm and you were already in bed, a single plate left on the table, Max nowhere to be found, and his stuff dumped on the couch. Fuck. He went to the guest bathroom, taking a lukewarm shower. Fuck. You two hadn't fought a lot, much less fights that were this big, so he knew that when you didn't even care to leave him some hot water, he was in the doghouse.

And he knew why, too. He had promised to tell you when he'd be home, and you made him pinky swear to give you an update if that changed. And he didn't. So he had two options now. Either he apologized to you and admitted he messed up, or he could wait to see if you would forgive him anyway.

You are now on day 12 of being angry with Frank, because you'll be damned before you let this one slide. You've let him sleep in bed again, but you make it clear that any affection is off the table until further notice. It kills the both of you to not be able to wrap your arms around eachother, feeling an uncomfortable amount of space every night. You wake up as you have for the past 12 days, cold and disappointed.

You get out of bed to brush your teeth, hearing Frank's buzzsaw snoring cease about halfway through. Eye contact is avoided as you leave the bathroom, grabbing a change of clothes out of your dresser. Today, you thought, you were going to push it to the limit. The thing you knew would finally break him.

"Sweetheart, can we-" he starts, but you cut him off.

"Good morning to you too, Pete."

Oh. Now that got to him. He shuts up immediately, and with how fast he disappears into the bathroom, you wonder if you took it too far.

As per usual, you two hardly speak throughout the rest of the day. Frank grabs his lunch, which you have started to pack for him again, not saying goodbye before leaving for work. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.

You're on edge all day at work. You snap at your coworkers, you drop stuff, you make mistakes with simple math. It's just out of the ordinary for you. What makes it worse is when you get a text from Frank about halfway through the day

Need to talk at home tonight.

Shit. God damn it. Of course he send a text so fucking unreadable in tone.

Okay you reply, putting your phone back into your bag. It feels like a live bomb, so it's a good way to make sure you aren't checking it while working.

You go through the motions of the rest of your work day, though you can feel the anxiety and nervousness boiling inside you like a soup that was left on the stove too long. It makes you feel nauseous, and you don't even touch your own lunch that day.

When you get home, you see that Frank has sent a single message.

5:30

Okay. That's fine, right? He's just telling you what time he'll be home, right? Maybe you read it in the wrong tone. What if he's super pissed? What if he hates you? What if he regrets marrying you? What if-

You are pulled out of your thoughts when a cold, wet nose presses against your leg. Max.

"Hi, baby..." You coo, petting him and watching the big dumb pittie smile spread across his face.

"You wanna go potty?" You ask absentmindedly as you reach for his leash and harness that hang by the door.

By the time you get back from your potty trip with Max, it's already 5. Only half an hour left. You take Max's harness off, making a mental note to give him a bath at some point within the week. Not knowing what to do with your time, you settle on putting the dishes from yesterday away. By the time you're done, it's 5:15. Fuck. Nothing to do but wait.

After the most tense fifteen minutes of your life, The front door opens almost silently. You might not have noticed it if Max hadn't barked and if you weren't actively watching the door from the table. Frank enters silently, petting the dog for a second before hanging up his jacket and turning to you. His gaze is heavy and intense, but you hold it. You are going to show him how much this affects you.

"So, you actually followed through this time." You speak pointedly

"For Crissake-" he huffs, running a hand through his hair

"No, Frank. Don't even fucking start with that. Do you know what that was like? For three fucking hours I got complete silence from you! You never do that! And then you don't even have the decency to reply? You left me on read, Frank! I didn't even know if you were fucking alive! You could have been bleeding out on the sidewalk, and I'd have had no idea!"

"Why would I be bleedin' out?"

"Because I know you, Frank! I know you walk into fights with minimal protection, and I've stitched up enough bullet holes and slashes and I've put your goddamn bones back into place, and- and-" you start to trail off, tears welling in your eyes because of how angry you are.

Frank goes soft for a moment, thinking you're crying because you're worried.

"No! Don't fucking do that! I'm just pissed off at you!" You clarify as you wipe your tears.

"You can't expect me to update you every second of the day, doll." He says in a neutral tone, putting a hand on his hip and the other dragging down his face

"Not every second, smartass. You know that all I ask is what time you'll be home. I don't give a shit about any reasons or other factors. Just tell me when you'll be home. I'd go fucking pick you up if you needed me to. But you and I both know very well why I worry. So don't act like the goddamn victim here."

Frank stays still for a second, processing that you're upset because you wanted to know that he was okay. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, which are chapped since you haven't been reminding him to put chapstick on.

You watch in silence as Frank makes his way over to you, his steps so quiet and yet so heavy all the same. You hiccup in a breath and wipe your tears again, opening your mouth to add another point. Before you can say anything, he had his arms around you and his face in the crook of your neck.

"M'sorry."

It's barely audible, and it doesn't even technically qualify as a word, but it speaks volumes. You want to make him say specifically what he's sorry for, but you also don't want to push it after 12 whole days of fighting.

"It's okay..." Your sniffled response is instinctual. that's just what you're supposed to say when someone apologizes.

"No, it's not." He doubles down

"I shoulda told you I was gonna be late. And m'sorry it took me this goddamn long to figure out why."

Wow. From anyone else, this would be the bare minimum. But coming from Frank? This was a big step.

"I just... I know what you've been through... And... I know who you've pissed off before... So I just wanna know when you'll be home, if at all. I feel like that's not too much to ask, right?" You sigh

"Never, doll. I shoulda been keepin' you updated from the start. That's my bad." He speaks softly, pulling back to cup your cheek gently.

You bring you own hand over his, pressing his hand further into your cheek as you press a soft kiss to the calloused skin of his palm. It's gotten worse since you haven't been reminding him to moisturize.

You two stand there for a moment, just holding eachother in your dining room. Then Frank presses the softest of kisses to your lips.

"M'sorry." He repeats as he rests his forehead against yours, your lips mere millimeters apart

"It's okay." You whisper back

"It's not."

"I forgive you anyway." You murmur before initiating another kiss, only breaking it to pinch his side

"- as long as you don't do that shit again."

Frank winces and let's put a gruff laugh, but he nods. He leans down to kiss you again, his hands trailing down to your waist. He paused for a moment, but when you gave him the go-ahead, he proceeded to spend the rest of the night making it up to you.

Frank made a promise to himself that night, that he'd never let a fight last that long again. Sometimes, he really didn't understand what he was apologizing for, but you would explain it and accept the apology anyway. Neither of you wanted to do that again.

(Three years later)

At your request (and because you hid the electric shaver), he had grown out his hair and beard. You absolutely loved it. When the two of you would watch a movie, he'd lay his head in your lap and you'd massage his scalp until he was sawing logs along with Max. His beard would tickle you when he'd press kisses to your neck, and when he'd bury his face between your thighs. His hair would also come in handy there, giving you something to tug and use for leverage as you ground your hips into his face. When you would tug it a certain way, he'd groan right into your sex, and it would rumble from his chest all the way to your core.

All was well in your guys' little world, living as Pete Castiglione and his wife. You had gotten Frank to adjust to a more domestic life, and he was more than happy to come home to a loving wife, man's best friend, and a home cooked meal almost every night (because some days you really do just need to order some takeout). Your guys' relationship was thriving, both in public and in the bedroom. He just had a way of making you a stupid mess that you couldn't get enough of.

If you asked Frank what his favorite part about you was, he'd say your smile. It was his home screen, his lock screen, the picture in the rearview mirror of his truck, everything. But inside the bedroom? It was the feeling of you wrapped around him, nothing in the way. Before you were married, he would always wear a condom just in case. But on your wedding night? He nearly came just from finally feeling you without the damn latex.

He loved to fill you up. He loved the way you'd beg for it, the way you shivered when he did, hell, he's even filled you up just to eat it right back out of you until you were crying. You were on birth control anyway, so there wasn't a risk. Right?

You notice it when you wake up one morning to the familiar notification on your phone.

A new cycle begins today!

You roll your eyes at the cheery message from your period tracker, making your way to the bathroom. But it's not there. Your app is never wrong, it adapts based on your past logged periods and adjusts accordingly. It's always right. But your period isn't here.

You decide not to panic, because for all you know, maybe it'll hit later today? Surely, that'll be the case. So you wait. But it didn't come that day. Or the next, or the day after that. On the fourth day, you're really starting to panic. You're officially late. And not the kind that can be excused by blaming traffic.

You don't tell Frank right away, not wanting to sound a false alarm. That night, you're sitting on the bathroom floor with a timer on your phone and a sleeping husband and dog in the living room. To say you were nervous was the understatement of the century. You weren't scared about being pregnant (yet), you were more nervous about Frank. You knew about Maria, Lisa, and Junior. You knew that was something he hadn't truly healed from yet.

What if he freaks out? What if he doesn't want it? What if he leaves you? What would you do? How would you pay the bills on your own? What if-

Your thoughts are interrupted by the timer on your phone going off. You quickly shut it up, lest it wake your sleeping husband. you're silent for a moment, glad to hear that he's still snoring like a chainsaw. Your hands are shaky as you reach for the small plastic device on the sink, and you almost don't want to see the results. You take a deep breath for your nerves before flipping it over. Two pink lines.

Oh boy.

[sharktooth-jacket]

Well I said I'd never make another tumblr after I left during the whole porn ban fallout but here I am askhgsj!! PLEASE tell me there's an active OFMD fandom over here because I finally finished watching it over the weekend and I learned that apparently there's an Ed and Stede shaped hole in my life and I'm about to drive everyone I know insane talking about them aslkglaksjjk

anyway MY TAKES!!!

so first of all this show is actually gay. like for real real. I watched the first season with a friend who's pretty big into shipping (no shade, I'm just not into that kind of fandom) and I fully expected this to just be queerbait. FRIENDS I'M STILL SHOOK ABOUT THIS akhgaj, I haven't been able to stop smiling since I finished it!! Because they're actually gay! And that's the point! THE POINT IS IT'S A LOVE STORY ABOUT STEDE AND ED HELLLOOO CAN ANYONE HEAR ME!!! Seriously I hadn't known how much I needed this show until I had it, I've never actually felt like the target audience for a show before

they could have made Ed and Stede so boring and one note AND THEY DIDN'T! I was sure from hearing my friend explain the premise that Stede would be this boring posh guy who's scared of everything, and Ed would be all tough and badass and boring, and that would be it. But no. Stede's a total weirdo who says "buckos" and picks up noses off the floor with his bare hands and Ed's an adorable dork who is scared of his own spider tattoo. I love them your honor akghaskj

also can i just say. Ed's fashion sense. Yes I get that the whole show is about masculinity and he's forcing himself into a style of masculinity that's restrictive and reductive. But consider: IT LOOKS HOT akshgakj I'm obsessed with his jacket with the shark teeth on it (as you can probably guess by the username lol)

SPEAKING OF ED I'll admit I hadn't thought of this until I saw people talking about it but reading his story as a trans man allegory works SO WELL! It's ABOUT him trying to live up to an impossible ideal of masculinity and killing himself in the process and being enraptured with a guy who's soft and learning to find a kind of masculinity he's comfortable with! I'm chewing my own arm off! I loved Jim (canon nonbinary rep holy shit) but as a trans man I just love this read for Ed's character so much 🥹

This is unrelated but my friend had also been trying to get me to watch The Last of Us and the two shows kinda melded in my mind I think? I figured it out eventually but at the end of season 1 episode 3 after Stede's been stabbed and there's the dramatic lighting and everything I was not thinking "oh boy Stede's about to meet the love of his life," I was pretty sure it was zombie time and thinking "oh no and now he has to deal with the zombies too???" alsghaklgk. I was all "is Blackbeard a zombie hunter" and my friend was like. "WHAT" akghjkjgkk

I watched season 2 on my own and my friend had warned me that there were budget cuts and cut episodes and w/e, and obviously I'm sad there's no third season to look forward to but I still really liked the ending and if I hadn't been told there was anything up with the season I don't think I'd have guessed!! They're safe and they're together and they just get to be Ed and Stede now :')

my friend did warn me I probably wouldn't like where they took Izzy in season 2 and...they were right akhgaskfj, it wasn't bad or anything and I liked that Izzy apologized at the end and stopped being so shitty to everyone but I just couldn't get past what he did to Ed in season 1. Plus he just didn't feel the same when he wasn't being weird all the time 😔. I didn't really like Jim's line about how "he was Ed's friend," like Jim. my friend. WAS HE LMAO my friends don't usually call the British Navy on me and stab my boyfriend

on that note though I made the mistake of logging onto Twitter for the first time in like two years to see what people were saying after I watched season 1, and I got a bit worried when I saw people saying that Ed's actions in season 2 made him irredeemable. But uh. He told them to eat cake and then made them kill him, it sucked but I was expecting way worse asksksksgk, I just felt bad for Ed honestly (which I think was intended obviously)

I am so picky with TV shows but everything about OFMD was just so fucking GOOD! The writing, the acting, the cinematography - everyone came into this show to do A GOOD JOB and it SHOWS

STEDE BONNET IS MY BEST FRIEND look at how far he came!!! He was so scared to even talk about running away with Ed in season 1 but now he's all in too 🥹🥹🥹

and I know I already said this but if you told me ten years ago my new favorite show would be one that was entirely about the central gay couple and they canonically kiss and have sex and love each other I wouldn't believe you!!! THIS SHOW IS SO GOOD

OKAY I'm sure I've got more to yell about later but that's my thoughts for now and I wanted to make a post so people know I'm not a bot alkghalkkj, if you like OFMD and love Ed and Stede too let's be friends!!!

[invinciblerodent]

Are people playing the same game I did? What do they mean "Rook has done nothing to earn Solas' loyalty"? Given what Solas did to Varric, and just the general threat Solas' plans represent, Rook is well within their rights to give zero shits about his loyalty. Why are they concerned about Rook earning Solas' loyalty to begin with? Solas wronged THEM not the other way around??? What did Rook even do? Stop the ritual? The ritual which was going to cause apocalyptic destruction? You can't blame Rook for not having all the facts. The one who does have all the facts (Solas) has been keeping them to himself. It's not Rook's fault if they only know what they've been told. What are they supposed to think given that demons are literally popping up all over the place? Solas hasn't exactly given Rook any reason to trust him. Did they forget Solas has a whole track record of being untrustworthy??? And even that considered Rook still makes plenty of effort to understand Solas? That entire quest with Solas' memories? Various companions weighing in based on their perspectives? I don't understand where they're getting this impression that Rook is some unreasonably judgemental dickhead. I'm sorry for ranting I'm just so tired of going into the VG tags and seeing people put the most unwarranted Rook hate in the main tags. How do people have the most bad faith takes about their own character? Are they role-playing them like that??

Dude, I totally get what you mean. These are all the same questions I'm asking myself every time I happen across a take like that. (Adding the link to my prev post about the take in question.)

If you'll allow me some room for pondering, my guess is just that... they are kind of roleplaying them like you say, but they're not truly roleplaying. Or better said, they're not playing the role of Rook.

I think that these people posting takes like that, they're playing as themselves, not taking up the perspective of a character within the story but looking into the story from the outside, AND they're doing so filtered through the lens of having previously also played Inquisition (and their Inquisitor) the same way.

What I think may be happening here is that the Inquisitor's (and by extension, these players') experience with Solas is, by design, drastically different from that of Rook, and many of those who have loved the character they knew Solas as for a long time (a decade at this point) find Rook's and Veilguard's perspective of him and his role in the story irreconcilable with what they know.

These players see Solas as a companion, a friend, a lover, a character who is fundamentally a protagonist in the story (regardless of the fact that Trespasser explicitly states that him achieving his goals would cause massive devastation and the end of Thedas as we know it, plus that much of the face that he showed in Inquisition, he himself admitted was either shown under false pretenses or was an outright lie), and with that being their version of the truth about him as far as they are concerned, they find conceptualizing him as an antagonist very difficult, or even impossible.

Which means that the neutral/wary attitude that Rook (a character who was written as someone who never before interacted with Solas, spent the better part of the year pursuing him with the intention of stopping him, and now has goals that are explicitly contradictory to his ultimate goal) puts them in a place where the player's point of view character is one they think of as an antagonist.

That's why they think that Rook is the one who should win Solas' trust and loyalty, that's why they're frustrated that Rook has no option to immediately believe and trust everything Solas says and prioritize helping him, and in some fringe cases, that's why they think there should have been an option to let the Veil be brought down and let Solas succeed.

Simply, I think that these people, they aren't engaging with the story as written, but they are constantly fighting against their own protagonist, which creates this sort of... I guess moral dissonance(? can I call it that?) between them, and the point of view that the game asks them to embody.

I don't know how much sense this makes (I've been microwaving this in my head for a long time, I think it may be a bit burnt at this point), but I feel like it lines up with the posts that have broken into my isolation chamber. Granted I don't purposefully engage with these types of posts and I'm pretty sure I've blocked a large chunk of the people posting this stuff, but...

I mean, to me it makes sense, lol.

It's kind of that theme of fact and truth and history changing depending on who tells it (which permeates the entire setting) seeping into the real world, and into the fandom.

That has kind of an almost poetic irony to it.