#i was running out of space but i also wanted to add that i think i had a rlly unhealthy attachment to him/this friendship especially bc

[woongelaatin]

ON SCREEN M.JH

Pairing: Jaehyun x reader

Synopsis: Suddenly seeing your ex from a bad breakup on TV wasn't something you never thought would happen, but now he's on screen, flashing that smile you used to love.

Genre/Warnings: angst, second chance, a bit of drama, fluff, will mention other Kpop idols

Word count: 2.2k

Note: I thought of this idea because my friend was talking about Dubai and then her feed was suddenly filled with Dubai content lmaoo (this has been sitting on my drafts for SO long, writers block was killing me) Also I've decided to make this into 2 parts or more cause I'm so drained lmao, AND school starts in 2 days for me so... Anyway, I'll try my best to keep writing :((((

» JUNE 10, 2023

Having a sleepover with your friend Moka wasn't rare. If anything, it's like you're living with her. This day was no exception. Moka is in the living room watching TV while you're in the kitchen, about to get a few snacks from her cabinet. Suddenly, Moka calls out your name, making you groan. "Y/n! You wouldn't believe who I'm seeing on TV right now!"

"I'm coming!" Seeing that Moka's snack pile is already empty, you go back to the living room, and see Moka looking at the TV like it commited a crime. "What is it that you want me to hurry...?" Finally, you look at the screen, and you see someone familiar. "Is that...Jaehyun?" Your ex, Jaehyun, was on TV, with that smile you're so familiar of.

"This was from yesterday's live! He debuted in a group? That's insane." Moka rambles, but you can't hear her while looking at the screen until you realize how long you've been looking. "Uhm, Moka, you ran out of snacks, by the way. Should we buy some?"

She looks at you, and stands up, walking to the kitchen. "But I bought groceries last week, it should be fu—WHY IS IT EMPTY?!" She runs to her room and comes back a few seconds later with her wallet. "I'll go buy some snacks, you just can stay here, I'll be back fast!"

"I can come with—" before you can finish your sentence, she closes the door shut, leaving you alone. You go back to the living room and sit on the couch, the TV still playing the replay of the show last night. It shows a group of people, who are now known as 'boynextdoor'. One of them was talking to the mic, thanking their fans for their support, but on the side of the screen, Jaehyun was playfully nudging the guy next to him. He looks really happy compared to the last time you saw him, which made you frown.

» AUGUST 8, 2021

You have decided to break up with Jaehyun. He's a trainee, who have big dreams and a career to persue, you didn't want to be in the way, in his way. It was in a library on a rainy night when it happened. You were studying for an upcoming exam, and Jaehyun is going to pick you up, he sounded so happy on the phone, and it makes you feel more guilty for what you're about to do. Just as you are about to clean your space, Jaehyun approaches you and is already taking a few of your things, helping you. You say nothing and continue cleaning up.

After putting everything in your bag, you wear it on your shoulders, until he takes it from you and walks away, then looks at you as he stops. "Darling, let me walk you home." But seeing your frowning face makes him worry. "... Are you okay?" You slowly put your head down, you never want to look emotional in front of people, especially Jaehyun.

"We should break up."

"...What?" Jaehyun looks at you with a confused look, while you stand in front of him, finally looking up and firm. "It's not working out anymore." You add, and you notice his eyes starting to look glossy, he's about to cry. "Did I do something wrong? Please darling, I'll do anything to make this right..." He reaches for your hand, but you take your hand away from his touch. "Jaehyun, just stop. I—I just don't feel anything for you anymore..."

"You don't mean that..." You walk up, take your bag from him, and walk away, but stop in front of the door. "This is for the better, don't even think about reaching out anymore. Goodbye Jaehyun." With no explanation, every single memory you made with him was left behind, along with a confused and heartbroken Jaehyun.

You ran in the rain, almost slipping a few times, but you got home safely. As you took a shower, all you could think of was Jaehyun, who looked so vulnerable earlier. After showering, you change and lie down on your bed, your thoughts consuming you. Slowly, tears start running down your cheeks, and finally, you let your feelings out.

» APRIL 17, 2025

Taking a walk to the not-so-really-near convenience store to buy a treat for yourself at midnight wasn't really normal, but also, you're hungry. It doesn't help that your fridge is empty, other than that one cup of yogurt sitting inside it. It's just a 6-minute walk from your apartment, no big deal. You turn around a corner and see the store.

You open the door, and the bell makes a chiming sound, and a person you're getting familiar with greets you. "Welcome to 9 convenience store!" Keeho always greets people as energetically as possible. you don't know how he always manages to do that, but you're grateful, it makes you feel better sometimes. You give him a small smile, just enough for him to see, and go around to find something that catches your attention, but instead of weird flavored chips, it's Jaehyun.

And as quick as you could, you turn around to the aisle near you to hide. Luckily, he didn't see you. You wait until he goes to the counter to pay for his things, and roam around to find something to eat. As you hear the bell chime, you immediately relax. You went to the counter to pay, and Keeho greets you again. "I saw that you were hiding from that guy earlier. Is he someone you know? Maybe an ex?" You awkwardly laugh, and he looks at you suspiciously. "Wait, is he actually your ex?"

"Keeho, just let me pay for my burger..." He takes it as a sign not to push you any further and scans your food. After paying, you leave and walk back to your apartment. The whole time, you thought of Jaehyun, which, in your part, is kind of pathetic if you think about it. He looked more relaxed and mature, which was an obvious statement. You remember in in high school, when he still wore glasses. When you saw him earlier, he wasn't wearing one, and it's definitely what made him look more mature. (He looks cute with glasses though.)

You're already in front of your apartment when you realise how long you've been thinking about him. You shake your head and even slap yourself. 'Y/n get it together, you're being so weird!'

Going inside your apartment, you take your shoes off and quickly run to your refrigerator. You open it and take the only thing you literally have in your fridge, the yogurt. "I'm having a burger and yogurt as my snack. I've hit rock bottom." You take a pen and a sticky note on your shelf, and write a reminder to buy groceries tomorrow.

» May 17, 2025

It's been a month since that encounter with Jaehyun, and you're still embarrassed about it, so embarrassed in fact, that you didn't even tell Moka. Something slipped off your mind, though, until Moka mentions the high school reunion in a few days. "Y/nnie, can you help me pick an outfit for our batch's school reunion?" You blinked, and panic replaced the calm look on your face. "THE REUNION WAS THIS SATURDAY?"

Moka starts laughing, and it's not her usual laugh, it's her stupid laugh (yes, she has different kinds of laughs, what about it). "No way, did you forget? I asked you to go shopping with me a few days ago to buy a few things for the reunion!" you stand up in disbelief. "No!? You didn't mention any reunion, Moka!"

"That's cause you hung up before you let me finish," she deadpans, and in response, you groan. "This, this is the worst—wait, wouldn't that mean..." "That the love of your life, Jaehyun, would be there?" Moka teases, and you nudge her. "Stop that, also yeah pretty much! It's going to be so awkward, I mean, for me, I don't know about him, but still—"

Moka puts her hand on your mouth to get you to stop talking. "Y/n, you're overthinking it. It's been 4 years, he's definitely moved on. Also, you can't skip it, or I'm dragging you there myself. I'm going to be lonely if you're not there!"

"Don't we have our old friend group coming?" Moka frowns, upset that you keep making excuses. "Yeah, but we won't be complete if you don't come, please Y/n, it's been a while since we saw everyone..."

"...Just for you to stop pouting, I'll go."

"I LOVE YOU SO MUCH LET ME KISS YOU!" She tackles you to the ground and starts attacking you with kisses. "Moka! stop or I'll take it back!"

"okay sorry!"

"...I love you too, by the way." Moka giggles, and after that, you help her pick out her outfit.

» May 24, 2025

The day you'd dreaded for a while was now here. Sure, you get to see your friends from high school, laugh about every single inside joke that was made, and talk about what has happened in your lives. It's just a gathering with people you were familiar with, but that includes Jaehyun. Though a part of you wants him to be there, you're just too scared to admit it to yourself.

You arrived at Moka's house since you agreed to get ready together. You didn't need to knock for Moka to know it's you. She's in her room, and when you went in, she was doing her makeup. "Y/nnie! Will you let me do your makeup??" She stares at you from the mirror, and she is clearly excited for this reunion, you didn't want to disappoint her. "You already know the answer to that." You smile at her from the mirror, which makes her cheer.

After an hour or so, you look at the mirror and see yourself. "Woah, I actually look pretty." Moka walks up behind you, grabbing your shoulders. "Don't beat yourself too much, you've always been pretty! Now let's go."

You take your phone and call an Uber. When it arrives, you and Moka go inside and tell the driver the location.

As you go inside the building, you see people you recognize, including your friend group from high school. You nudge Moka and point at your friends sitting at a table. She looks at you and grins, taking your hand and walking to their table. "HI GUYS, I MISSED YOU!" Everyone starts squealing and shouting, clearly happy that the old friend group has finally reunited. You smile among the chaos, which reminds you of how it was back then. They still act the same, but are more mature now.

"Y/n! You look so beautiful, trying to impress someone?" Yunah teases, and you sit next to her. "Nah, Moka just did her thing." It doesn't take long for everyone to start reminiscing about high school.

"Remember when Yujin tripped and landed on top of Sullyoon? I felt so bad for her!"

"Stop bringing that up, Wonyoung! It's still so embarrassing..."

A few minutes later, someone goes up on stage and greets everyone. "Hello, everyone! It's great to see familiar faces," As he continues talking, you excuse yourself from your table and go to the bar counter. You sit on a stool and tell the bartender your order, until someone sits next to you. "Hi Y/n." When the person calls you out, you turn around and see Jaehyun. You feel chills up your spine, the person you used to love the most (maybe you still do), Jaehyun, is now in front of you.

"Oh, hi." You try your best not to stay calm but your heartbeat is going crazy. "...How are you?" His voice drops, which startles you. "I'm...fine." You glance at him and it seems like he's also nervous. "You don't have to talk to me you know." you mutter without looking at him. He nods but you didn't notice, which makes him speak. "Yeah, but still..."

You can practically feel the awkwardness, but still, you reply. "Okay, uh...I heard it's been two years since your debut, congrats." You look up and properly face him and Jaehyun smiles, which made you smile. "Thanks, but it gets really busy, like really busy. I'm okay with it though, I get to do it what I love." The bartender hands you your drink and you take a sip. The more you talk with Jaehyun, the awkwardness slowly went away and now you're talking with him like old friends, not exes who ended in bad conditions.

Your friends notice that you haven't gotten back in a while so they decide to find you. "Where's Y/n? Shouldn't she be back now?" Yujin points out. "Didn't she say she was getting a drink? What if something happened to her?" Moka then stands up and excuses herself. "I'll find her, just wait here." She walks away and went to the bar counter. She sees Y/n sitting on a stool, as she was about to approach her, she notices that she was laughing with someone, it was Jaehyun. She stops walking and turns around, walking back to their table.

Moka goes back and they question her where Y/n is. "Why'd you come back? Did you find her?" Moka shakes her head and sits down next to wonyoung. "Yeah, but she seems happy with the person she's with, didn't wanna interrupt her."

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[stonecoldmarimo]

I'm tired cuz I just woke up but jfc this is such an awful take I can't help but respond.

1. Straight-up an "Oops I'm sorry I know what I did was wrong" doesn't fix jack shit when Caitlyn literally commits police brutality and chemical warfare on the entirety of Zaun's population (I see you reblogged a post that stated "SHE ONLY TARGETED CRIMINALS" which holy shit no she did not. In the tasteless police brutality music video there's literally a scene where it shows her using the Grey (a substance which she knows has horrible health effects on anyone who breathes it in) on fleeing Zaunite bystanders, which is then compared to a monster chasing villagers, not to mention the forceful "security" checks she established at the gate which Isha destroys for the very reason that it's fucking fascist lmao.) In this sense I'm well aware that she verbally apologizes I'm talking about the fact that she never tries to actually ever redeem herself through actions because the writers simply thought one verbal apology was enough to counteract the egregiousness of all her crimes. And yes, I think Vi readily accepting that apology was bad writing because it's abundantly clear that she still loves her home and had an extremely traumatic childhood experience with Enforcers where her *parents* were killed in a similar act of police brutality and yet Cait decided to turn into someone who enacted that same sort of violence herself.

2. Idk how many times I gotta pull this out but Vi deciding to join the Enforcers is in fact shitty writing. Her whole reason for joining is because Caitlyn offered her a position on the force, which she weakly protests with "oh but they killed my parents" but she *loooves* Caitlyn so she decided to put that aside (in spite of the fact that Enforcers were also the reason she landed in prison without due cause AS A CHILD) to help her. Vi already made it clear in S1 that she didn't need a Piltoveran's help to find her sister so that reason falls flat too. Really the only reason she joined was because of Caitlyn which in the midst of all the tragedy they try to incorporate into Vi being a victim of literal fucking police brutality this is such a bs reason. Having it so that her parents were killed by Enforcers for the sake of making CaitVi happen (yes one of the writers did actually say that) rather than trying to leave any sort of criticism about police-run-states is in the same vein of Disney making a character that has two seconds a screen-time gay because they wanna claim to have leftist ideals while in reality they were always centrist at best. Arcane wants the aesthetics that leftist spaces bring, but they don't actually want any of the struggle and conflict which caused the art and music to be created in the first place which do I even have to explain to you why that's exploitative af???

3. This kinda was already talked about in 1, but I'll add by saying I'm sure the Zaunites that were gassed really appreciated how Caitlyn helped Vi free her sister as a means of saying sorry for using chemical warfare on them. Thanks Cait! Also don't worry about the fact that Cait physically assaulted Vi because letting Vi free her suicidal sister is totally an apropos apology. And now the writers are gonna make them have sex even though Jinx literally implies that she was gonna kill herself not moments before!! What a good resolution W|W win!!!

4. You're right. The way the show ends it's not about revolution, and that's why it fucking suuuucks. Here you have Ekko and Vi, two characters whose central themes are about trying to retaliate against Piltover's oppression over Zaun and (this is arguably more Ekko's thing but still) wanting to improve Zaun so that the people there have a better way of life, and what happens to them?? One gets whisked away to Isekai land where the writers reduce his entire character into "I love Powder I'm so sad I can't be with Powder like this. Oh also I invented time travel. The tree's dying what tree I will never speak about the tree or helping my people again after this. Instead I'm gonna go punch Jesus in the face with my new time machine". And the OTHER character is now "I'm so sad my family is dying around me and all I have left it you now Caitlyn my girlfriend please don't ever leave me you're all I have left I'm so tragiiiic". As I stated before Arcane LOVES to use leftist aesthetics to make their show look as appealing as it does (Graffiti, messages of revolution and martyrdom. Fighting against the police), but they also don't have the balls to actually convey the message that all these aesthetics are actually meant for, that marginalized communities used these as a way of trying their damnedest to finally have their voices be heard against their OPPRESSORS (you know, the ones sending hordes of police to beat them into submission. Piltover in case you missed it). That's why it feels so flashy and cheap that they ended it with "Well the Zaunites didn't ever actually try to become Piltover's equals aside from the one seat the Council just tossed to Sevika like a consolation prize after that, cause now the most arguably prominent face of our revolution, Ekko, is too busy pining over Jinx. Oh well!! At least we got a we're all in this together scene where Zaun and Piltover got to team up against Big Bad Ambessa and godlike Viktor!!"

I honestly don't even know what you stand to gain from making a post like this cuz like... I like CaitVi lmao that's the whole reason I made this post. You can like a ship while still being overtly critical of the media's flaws. You can LIKE something and still be critical of it lmao. I hate how they wrote Vi AND Cait's arcs because it never actually felt like they resolved into anything that was relevant or meaningful to them as characters. WHY make Caitlyn a fascist if you never intended to show her trying to atone for what she did by making things better for the city? WHY make Vi simply resign to being Cait's girlfriend when you showed that she still had passion about protecting Zaun and Vander's legacy?

Here's a video that probably explains it better than I do. That said I don't agree with everything in it, particularly some of the character analyses, but it does a good enough job explaining how Arcane uses leftist messaging to further its own visual appeal instead of providing anything of political substance. But then again you seem to take anything that disagrees with your viewpoints very poorly so maybe you shouldn't watch it lol.

I need people to understand that liking a ship doesn't always mean that there is agreement with how it was played out. IMO Arcane is one of those shows that has infinite amounts of potential but was sadly squandered and the writers never even realized a fraction of that with the way they handled resolving the story and characters. For instance, CaitVi as it ended in S2 left things between them with a massive, unhealthy power imbalance (Vi having literally nothing and no one else except Ekko with whom for some reason the writers never mention their relationship again?? Meanwhile Caitlyn still has all her wealth and her father at least), and Vi is in a vulnerable state where she never seeks any sort of apology for Caitlyn's actions despite her crimes against both her and Zaun.

That said, it's abundantly clear that the writers' intentions were to end with showing CaitVi as a relationship between two people who have overcome adversity and healed from trauma together (despite their god-awful failed attempts at demonstrating that by just... never addressing Vi's trauma with Enforcers or Caitlyn's police brutality again so that everything "conveniently" ends up okay), which is what a lot of people choose to interpret the relationship as, and I think that's okay because frankly it's not their fault that the writing became so messed up that CaitVi actually turned from an incredibly popular ship into a controversial one through tone-deaf character arc "development" and how there was absolutely no conviction whatsoever behind the politics that Arcane loves to show off for aesthetics but never actually follow through on with ANY of the characters you know... actively engaging in revolution or political change (and if they DO *cough cough Ekko* *cough cough MEL* then they're whisked away to isekai timeout while the rest of the characters get oh-so-cleverly manipulated by the Big Bad Ambessa, an outside threat there to conveniently unify Zaun and Piltover together without any sort of internal revolution or ANY of the issues with how Piltover treated Zaun addressed at all!!!).

Anyways, I think CaitVi as it stands still had the potential to be one of the best sapphic ships in media, it's just sad that it was never fully realized due to shitty writing.

But that's what fanfiction and headcanons are for, amirite?

[silent-sentinels]

...Considering names... Burden/Obligation is still fine. But a lot of us have been choosing human names, so... Francis, Rogério, Rafael, Jericho, Rivere...? Possibly others, I'm... unsure.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[scarlet97531]

Love these tags. Ever since we realized some of us had accidentally given ourselves secondary therian identities and started identifying as otherlinkers, the way it’s treated in therian and otherkin spaces has bothered us a lot.

We’ve come to dislike the overwhelming emphasis on “involuntary” experiences in defining all kinds of identities. The nature of an identity does not change because of it’s origin. If you identify as an animal you identify as an animal. Otherlinkers tend to have all the same experiences as therians do, the phantom limbs, the mental shifts, kin memories, species euphoria and even dysphoria. The only difference is where the identity comes from, and personally i dont think thats important enough to warrant being defined as something entirely different.

What i dislike even more than the separation of the communities on it’s own is the *reason* for that separation. The reason there is such an emphasis on involuntary experiences in the first place is essentialism. As in the belief that people are born a certain way and cannot change. This emphasis on involuntary experiences is an attempt to avoid being forced to conform by saying that conforming is impossible. The problem is that this does nothing to challenge the real problem, the source of bigotry itself, the belief that the norm is ideal and anything outside of the norm is bad until proven otherwise. The belief that if it is *possible* for you to conform then you should.

The problem with trying to conform to this belief by defining yourself by what you cant change is that it does nothing to help people that *can* change but dont want to. For example plural people, people with CDDs. The default treatment goal for plural people is final fusion, conformity, despite it being known that final fusion is very very flawed and for some systems outright impossible, often causing more problems than it solves. Meanwhile the *option* of functional multiplicity is right there, and much better option for most systems, and yet most professionals will not even mention it and it is often seen as “anti recovery”.

Making the *choice* to not conform is seen negatively by most of our society, so minorities try to frame their experiences as essential, something they were born with and cannot change, in an attempt to avoid being changed. In the process they throw voluntary, chosen, non essential identities under the bus, believing just like their own oppressors that anyone who has the choice to conform should, and anyone who doesnt is inherently *different*, and less “valid” for doing so.

Feel like we should normalize have a choice about who we are!

You choose to be a lesbian? That awesome!!

You choose to be a boy? Good for you, I hope you're happy.

You choose to be a paraphilia? That amazing!

You choose to be black? Amazing, come by if you want any tips for me.

You choose to have ADHD? That's great!

People don't have to go through dysphoria to know who the really are! You CAN be transgender be choice, you CAN choose your sexuality, you CAN be who ever you to be by CHOICE.

[seumyo]

how easy it would be to forge itoshi rin’s signature.

“What’re you doing?”

Rin sat on your bed, his back pressed against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him. Your dorm was decent, neat in some areas, and cluttered in others—nothing too bad to the point where it was concerning. The desk was stacked with books and loose papers, a mug of half-finished tea sat forgotten on the little kitchen counter, and the walls were decorated with a mix of posters that he remembered you saying that you liked, candid polaroids, and lots of memorabilia.

You sat cross-legged beside him, practically bouncing as you shoved your scrapbook into his lap, your excitement bubbling over like always. Rin had long since learned that when you got like this, there was no stopping you—only surviving.

Surviving meant just going with whatever it is that you wanted.

“You have to sign this page,” you said, pointing eagerly at a newly decorated spread.

“It’s for today, so I don’t forget it.”

Rin glanced down.

The page was filled with doodles—some of him, some of a soccer ball, and what seemed to be a very lopsided drawing of a goalpost. You’d also glued a small Polaroid of you two together from earlier, where you had ambushed him for a selfie after his practice.

Without a word, he picked up the pen (a glittery navy blue one, if he may add) you handed him and flipped to the empty space at the bottom of the page. He’d done this enough times that he didn’t need to think about it. With fluid, precise strokes, he wrote his full name: Itoshi Rin.

No embellishments, no fancy loops, just his name.

As soon as he finished, you leaned over to inspect it.

You blinked.

Then blinked again.

“That’s it?” you asked, tilting your head.

Rin frowned. “What?”

“I mean…” You pursed your lips, squinting at his handwriting like you were analyzing a piece of evidence. “Your signature is so simple. I could probably forge it.”

Rin immediately shot you a warning look, as if already giving you an internal monologue. “Don’t.”

“But it’s so easy,” you said, dragging out the last word as you grinned. “Like, I could totally get away with it.”

He sighed, running a hand down his face.

“Why would you want to?”

“Well,” you hummed, tapping your chin in exaggerated thought. “What if I need to sign something important on your behalf? Like, let’s say you’re too busy being a famous soccer player, and I need to approve some official documents for you.”

“You don’t.”

“But what if?” You smiled, leaning closer, eyes gleaming with mischief. “What if a brand deal needs your signature, and you’re not around, and the deadline is right now? I could save the day.”

“You’d get arrested for fraud.”

“Would I, though?” You poked his arm, and Rin shrugged with a quick, quiet sigh. “Because I’m pretty sure your manager would just be like, ‘Wow, what a responsible lover! Always taking care of Rin!’”

Rin’s face fell flat.

“No, they’d be like, ‘Wow, what a criminal. Get them arrested immediately.’”

You laughed, completely unbothered. “Okay, fine, I won’t forge your signature for business deals. But, hypothetically speaking, what if I had to? Like, say I get kidnapped—”

Rin groaned, already regretting engaging in this conversation.

“Why are you kidnapped now?”

“Because!” You gestured dramatically.

“Some rival team wants to use me as leverage against you. They tell me, ‘If Rin doesn’t throw his next match, we’ll make you disappear!’”

He let out a slow breath. “Then I’d just find you.”

“Oh?” You awed, tilting your head. “You’d come rescue me?”

Rin didn’t even hesitate.

Why would he?

“Obviously.”

For a brief moment, you paused, your playful demeanor faltering as you stared at him. Then, just as quickly, you shook off the thought and cheekily smiled.

“Okay, okay, new scenario,” you continued. “What if you get kidnapped—”

“Why am I getting kidnapped now?”

“Because you’re Rin Itoshi! Maybe some crazy fan takes you hostage, or a rival team wants to sabotage you, or, I don’t know, some billionaire wants to add you to their private collection of elite soccer players.”

“That’s not how people work.”

“Well, whatever the reason,” you said, waving a hand, “you’re held captive, and they demand that you sign a fake retirement letter so you can never play soccer again. But! You refuse because you’re stubborn, so they bring me in and tell me, ‘Forge his signature, or else!’”

Rin leaned his head back against the headboard, closing his eyes. He could feel you draping your legs over his, and he made no move to try to move them away. “I hate that you put this much thought into these things.”

“Come on, it’s fun.”

“No, it’s exhausting.”

“Well, since you refuse to make your signature harder to copy, you better hope no one actually tries to forge it.”

He cracked an eye open to give you a skeptical look. “Are you planning to?”

You gasped, placing a hand over your heart like he had just accused you of the worst crime imaginable. “Me? Your beloved? I would never commit fraud against you.”

Rin didn’t look convinced.

“Okay, okay,” you relented, leaning back against the pillows. “I won’t forge your signature. But you should really think about making it cooler. Maybe add a little flourish?”

“No.”

“An underline?”

“No.”

“A small soccer ball doodle at the end?”

“No.”

You pouted. “You have no fun.”

“And you have too much.”

You laughed again before turning your attention back to the scrapbook. Running a finger over his signature, you muttered, “Still, I bet I could copy it.”

Rin reached over and flicked your forehead.

“Ow!” You swatted at him, though there was no real force behind it.

He clicked his tongue, though softly. “Try it, and I’ll make sure you never get to hold my autograph again.”

You gasped dramatically. “You wouldn’t!”

“Try me.”

You huffed before flopping onto your stomach, burying your face into the bed. “You’re so mean.”

“And you’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but you like me anyway.”

Rin rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he reached for your scrapbook, flipping through the pages filled with their memories. His name was already scrawled across several of them, marking the proof of your time together.

“Next time,” you said, peeking at him, “I’m making you sign in cursive.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No.”

“Just wait and see, Rin. I’ll wear you down eventually.”

Rin exhaled slowly. If it were anyone else, he would have dismissed the idea entirely. But this was you. If there was one thing he had learned about you, it was that you were relentless.

And, somehow, he didn’t really mind.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[throttleheart]

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

Little big spoon

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: ~1k

Summary: Lando is your little spoon.

⸻

Lando has never been the little spoon.

It’s not that he’s against it—he’s just always been the one pulling you close, the one wrapping you up in his arms after a long day. He likes it that way. It makes him feel like he’s protecting you, keeping you safe.

But tonight, you have other plans.

“Turn around,” you say, tugging lightly on his arm as you both settle into bed.

Lando blinks sleepily, looking over his shoulder at you. “Huh?”

“I want to be the big spoon,” you say matter-of-factly.

His brows furrow. “You what?”

You grin. “Come on, just try it.”

Lando scoffs. “I don’t know, love. I think I might be too big for this role.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, please. There’s no height requirement for being the little spoon.”

“I just don’t think I’m built for it.”

You laugh. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Still, he hesitates, his hand drumming lightly against your hip as he contemplates it. You know he’s stalling, trying to come up with a reason to say no without actually saying no. Lando is stubborn, but you know him better than anyone—he’s also a sucker for you.

So, you play dirty. You pout. “Just one night? For me?”

His whole body deflates instantly. “That’s unfair,” he mutters, already rolling onto his side to face away from you.

You grin, victorious, and immediately wrap yourself around him from behind. Your arms settle around his waist, pulling him close until his back is flush against your chest. He’s warm—so warm—and for a moment, he stays perfectly still.

“…This is weird,” he mumbles after a beat.

You hum, pressing a soft kiss to the nape of his neck. “You’ll survive.”

He shifts slightly, as if testing out the position. At first, he’s tense, clearly not used to being held like this. But you let your fingers start tracing slow, lazy circles on his stomach, your hand splayed out gently against him, grounding him. He lets out a slow breath, melting just a little bit more.

A few moments pass in silence before he speaks again, voice softer this time.

“…Okay, this is actually kinda nice.”

You smile, resting your head between his shoulder blades. “Told you.”

Another beat of silence. Then, in an even quieter voice, he adds, “Feels… safe.”

Your heart swells.

“Good,” you murmur, hugging him a little tighter. “That’s kind of the point.”

Lando doesn’t say anything else, but the way he relaxes into you says more than words ever could. His fingers lazily find yours where they rest against his stomach, tracing little patterns over your knuckles before his hand stills completely. His breathing evens out, slow and steady, and you realize—he’s already falling asleep.

You grin against his skin, pressing another soft kiss to the back of his neck.

Lando shifts slightly in your hold, letting out a sleepy hum as he presses back against you. You smile to yourself, enjoying the warmth of him, the way he fits so perfectly against you despite all his earlier protests.

“You’re really settling into this, huh?” you tease, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lando lets out a tired chuckle. “Maybe,” he admits, his fingers absentmindedly playing with yours where they rest against his stomach. “Not saying I love it yet, but…” He sighs, utterly content. “I can see the appeal.”

You press your face into his back, laughing softly. “You’re such a liar. You love it.”

“Shhh,” he mutters, voice thick with sleep. “Let me have my moment.”

You roll your eyes but let him be. The room falls into a comfortable silence, the kind that feels natural and warm, where neither of you needs to fill the space with words. Your fingers continue their slow, absentminded patterns on his stomach, and every now and then, you feel the smallest of shivers run through him.

“Hey,” Lando mumbles after a while, his voice groggy. “Promise we can do this again?”

Your heart swells. “I thought you weren’t sure if you liked it?”

He shifts slightly, one of his hands coming up to loosely rest on your arm, keeping you close. “Shut up,” he mutters, half-asleep now. “Just promise.”

You smile against his skin, hugging him just a little tighter. “I promise.”

Lando hums in satisfaction, already drifting off completely.

Lando sleeps soundly in your arms, his breathing slow and steady, his body fully relaxed against yours. It’s a rare sight—he’s usually the type to toss and turn, mumble in his sleep, or wake up at odd hours. But tonight, he’s still, completely at ease, like he’s been the little spoon his whole life and just never realized it.

You can’t help but smile, running your fingers lightly up and down his arm. “So much for ‘not being built for this,’” you whisper playfully, even though he’s too far gone to hear you.

A few minutes pass, and you start feeling yourself drift too, lulled by the warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his breathing. But then, Lando stirs slightly, shifting in your hold. For a second, you think he’s waking up, but instead, he just presses back into you even more, like he’s making sure you’re still there.

“Mm… stay,” he mumbles groggily.

You chuckle softly, tightening your arms around him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He sighs, his fingers sleepily brushing over yours where they rest against his stomach. “Good.”

And just like that, he’s gone again, sinking even deeper into sleep.

You stay awake a little while longer, just enjoying the feeling of holding him like this. Lando has always been the type to take care of others—to be the strong one, the comforting presence. But right now, in this quiet moment, he’s letting you take care of him, and it feels… perfect.

As sleep finally starts to pull you under, you press one last soft kiss to the back of his neck and whisper, “Told you you’d love it.”

Lando doesn’t respond—he’s already too deep in his dreams—but the small, content smile on his face tells you everything you need to know.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

[dreamersparacosm]

under the checkered flag - epilogue blurb 1!

prompt ; in which your boyfriend, who’s normally all confidence, cockiness and self-assured, turns into a pouty, jealous mess when he remembers how much of a catch his girlfriend really is.

warnings ; unprotected sex, lil bit of oral (m recieving) (also this is not even a blurb. this is a whole ass story. also wrote this hungover so if there’s grammar errors… welp. idk how i got so ahead of myself pls help)

request ; linked here

part of the under the checkered flag universe

You’re not entirely sure why you agreed to this.

The room is packed: it’s loud, buzzing with conversation, glittering lights and expensive diamonds you could never dream of affording, filled with the kind of people who look like they walked off the cover of Vogue. Jungkook, of course, is in his element, shaking hands, flashing his signature grin, seamlessly weaving through the crowd like he was born for this.

Meanwhile, you are hiding behind him like a child.

“Baby,” Jungkook murmurs over his shoulder, amused. His hand rests against your hip, keeping you tucked close as he greets another executive, another industry legend who already knows exactly who he is. “You gonna say hi or just use me as a human shield all night?”

You huff, clutching onto the sleeve of his tailored suit, peeking past his shoulder just enough to offer a shy, “Hi.”

The older man chuckles, shaking his head. “Cute one you got there, Jungkook.”

Jungkook beams, unbothered. “I know, right?” His fingers tighten around your waist, clearly very proud of you, and he wants everyone in this room to know exactly who you are.

And, to be fair, they already do. Your face has been plastered across every media outlet since his last race a few weeks ago, the headlines barely able to contain themselves. “Jeon Jungkook Off The Market: Meet the Woman Who Stole His Heart.” Paparazzi shots of him running to you after his win, kissing you in front of thousands, wrapping you in his arms like you’re his greatest trophy. Really, it was getting a little overwhelming.

You smile up at him as the aforementioned man turns away to entertain another person “Why are you doing this?”

He bites back a smirk. “Doing what?”

“Introducing me to every single person like I’m some mystery. They know who I am, Jungkook.”

“Do they?” He grins, leaning down, voice dropping just enough for only you to hear. “Because I don’t think they know you’re the love of my life yet. Want me to make a bigger announcement?”

Your face bursts into flames. You slap his side, making him laugh as he pulls you closer, not letting you escape even an inch.

“Relax, my love.” He presses a kiss to your temple, warm, grounding, very much second nature now. “Just wanna show you off a little.”

You groan, burying your face in his shoulder. “I hate you.”

“Liar liar pants on fire.” He says it so easily, so confidently, because he’s right. You’re completely, stupidly in love with him actually. However, the worst part of that? So is everyone else in this damn room.

The buzz of the party hums around you as you trail behind Jungkook, hands still lightly clinging to his arm like it’s your lifeline. He doesn’t seem to mind, laughing lightly as he introduces you to every person who approaches, all the while keeping one eye on you, making sure you’re still there, still close. You’re the quiet one, always in the background, but tonight? You’re sticking to him like glue.

The chaos around you only adds to the sensation of feeling out of place, and your mind pulses with the need to break free for a moment.

“I’m gonna get some champagne,” You tug on his arm to get his attention, hoping he won’t follow, aching for just a second alone.

“Alright,” Jungkook says, winking at you. “Dont wander far, I’ll miss you too much.”

You roll your eyes, the slight teasing in his voice making you smile despite yourself.

And finally, with a little space between you two, you head for the bar, where the bartender is already pouring multiple glass of champagne, a brand you hardly recognize besides the times that Jungkook has sprayed it over your head in his locker room after a win. You grab one, thank him with a smile, clutching your drink tightly, letting the warmth of the alcohol loosen some of the tension in your shoulders. You lean against the bar, taking in a deep breath, trying to shake off the intensity of the room.

You shift slightly, your heels pinching the back of your feet. Even though Jungkook is across the room now, deep in conversation with some high-profile men, you can still feel him, like a phantom touch, like gravity pulling you toward him even from a distance.

You’re halfway through your first sip when someone leans in beside you. His voice is warm, easy-going.

“Is it safe to assume you’re with Jungkook?”

The voice comes from your right, definitely belonging to someone who’s good at conversation.

You glance up, blinking at the tall, well-dressed man beside you. He’s… handsome, you suppose. Friendly. Dressed in a navy suit, collar slightly open, drink in hand. Polished, but not in an obnoxious way. He leans against the bar with a casual kind of confidence, the kind of presence that blends in rather than commands the room.

“Yeah, I am,” you admit, still feeling a little shy. “I’m his… well, girlfriend. Sort of.”

He raises an eyebrow, amused. “Sort of? That’s an interesting answer.”

You huff a small laugh. “I mean, yes. I am. He just… likes making a big deal out of it.”

“Yeah, that sounds like him,” he chuckles, taking a slow sip of his drink. “I take it you’re not used to all this?”

You shake your head immediately. “Not even a little.”

He laughs, genuinely, like he understands. “I get it. These events can be overwhelming.”

You tilt your head slightly, curiosity creeping in. “You say that like you’ve been to a lot of them.”

He grins, and that’s when it clicks. You suddenly recognize him, the familiar face.

“Wait—” Your eyes widen. “You’re a driver too, right? You raced today.”

His smile turns a little playful. “I did. And I did alright, if I say so myself.”

“You placed third, didn’t you?”

He blinks, slightly impressed. “Didn’t expect you to know that.”

You blush slightly, shrugging. “Well… I may have learned a thing or two from Jungkook.”

“Ah, so he’s been turning you into a racing expert, huh?” He teases.

“Not even close,” You laugh, shaking your head. “But congratulations. Third place is still huge.”

“Thanks,” He says, tipping his glass toward you. “Though, I have to admit, Jungkook is damn near impossible to beat. The guy drives like he’s invincible.”

You smile softly, the kind of smile that only comes when someone you love is being praised. “Yeah… he does.”

“You must be proud of him.”

“I am.” The words fall out before you can second-guess them, before you can hide them behind your usual shyness.

That much, you know is true. You are proud of Jungkook, more than he’ll ever know.

The man watches you for a second, a knowing look flashing in his eyes. Then, he smiles, shaking his head slightly. “He’s got a good one.”

You tilt your head. “What do you mean?”

He gestures toward Jungkook, who’s across the room, entertaining the guests, bright and effortless. “I mean, it’s not every day you see him this… settled. The guy used to be a bit of a wildcard.”

Your stomach flutters. You know that. You know exactly who Jungkook was before you.

You swallow, about to respond, when his next words catch you off guard. “Though, I have to admit…” He leans in slightly, voice dropping just a bit, teasing but still measured. “It must be tough, standing next to him all the time, knowing you stand out. ”

You feel your heart skip, your fingers tightening around your glass. You’ve always been completely oblivious when it comes to flirting. It’s not intentional—you just never assume anyone would be interested in you like that. Compliments fly over your head, teasing remarks get brushed off as jokes, and subtle advances? You don’t even register them.

Even with Jungkook, it took months of playful taunts, agreeing to do whatever you wanted, and blatantly flirty texts before you even considered the possibility that he might actually like you. And now, standing here at the bar, faced with a man who is clearly steering the conversation into dangerously suggestive waters, you’re a little slow to catch up. The moment finally clicks a beat too late, the realization washing over you like a delayed shockwave—oh. He’s not just making conversation. He’s flirting. And you? You walked right into that trap.

You let out a soft laugh, playing with the hem of your dress, trying to ignore the way his words sit uncomfortably in your chest.

“I mean, yeah,” You say lightly, swirling the champagne in your glass, forcing yourself to play it cool. “Jungkook has a lot of eyes on him. That’s kind of the deal when you’re one of the best, right?”

You try to steer the conversation back to Jungkook, hoping it’ll naturally fizzle out, but he gives you a look. A slow, appreciative glance. The kind that lingers just long enough to make your stomach twist in anxiety.

“That’s true,” He muses, his voice casual. “But I think most people would be looking at you tonight.”

Goddamnit.

Your fingers grip the glass so roughly it might shatter in your hands as you blink at him, processing. You laugh again, but this time it’s a little awkward, a tad nervous, like you’re trying to buy yourself a moment to think.

And then, as naturally as breathing, you look for him. Jungkook.

Your eyes search the crowd, scanning past the fitting dresses and tailored suits, past the photographers and the industry elites, until they land on him.

Of course, he’s right at the center of it all.

He’s laughing, head thrown back slightly, looking so alive, so magnetic, exuding the kind of confidence that made the world fall in love with him (and you as well, for that matter.) His suit jacket is long gone, probably thrown off on the back of a chair somewhere, replaced with a perfectly tailored white button-up, his sleeves pushed up just enough to tease the tattoos running along his forearm. He looks stupidly good.

He’s glowing, genuinely happy, his eyes crinkling as he talks, hands gesturing animatedly, completely and utterly in his element.

You bite your lip, a new kind of frustration blooming in your chest. How is he over there, completely fine, while you’re over here trying to figure out how to escape this conversation without being rude? Why must the universe put you, of all people, in the ring of fire?

“So,” The driver’s voice pulls you back, making you blink and turn your attention back to him. “How did you and Jungkook even meet? I don’t think I ever heard the full story.”

You shift again, clearing your throat, desperate to reroute the conversation away from yourself. “Oh—uh, through work, sort of. It’s actually kind of funny—”

Focus. Focus on Jungkook. Keep it safe. Keep it neutral.

You take another sip in between your sentence, the champagne fizzling against your lips, but the tightness in your chest doesn’t ease. You keep your focus on the man, trying to steer every single word back to Jungkook. It’s a delicate balancing act, keeping the conversation polite while dodging every veiled compliment, every lingering glance, every slight shift in tone that threatens to turn friendly into flirtatious.

“Yeah, it’s kind of funny, actually,” you pick up where you left off, still trying to keep it collected. “I had no idea who Jungkook even was when we first met. Everyone was freaking out about him, and I was just..”

You pause, shaking your head with a soft laugh. “Well, completely clueless.”

He chuckles, leaning in slightly, interest still flickering behind his eyes. “And now you’re wearing his jacket, front and center at every race.”

“Guess I learned who he was real quick,” You joke, though your fingers tighten slightly around your glass.

He tilts his head, like he’s about to say something else, perhaps even heavier, when two warm hands slip around your waist. They’re firm, familiar. A voice, deep, steady, and close enough to feel the breath of it against your temple. “Didn’t realize you two were getting so close.”

You blink, your entire body reacting before your mind even processes it. His presence is instant, all-consuming. You barely have time to react before you feel him pull you back against him, his grip on your waist just tight enough to send a message. The warmth of his chest presses against your back, solid and unwavering.

And when you tilt your head slightly, looking up at who you know damn well is your boyfriend — Oh. Oh, he’s not happy.

His jaw is tight, his lips pressed into a firm line. His usual easy-going expression is replaced by something darker, sharper, a quiet intensity simmering behind his eyes.

The man clears his throat, shifting awkwardly. He knows. Everyone in this room knows. Hell, even the higher powers know better than to mess with Jungkook’s girl.

“Jungkook,” he greets, nodding slightly. “Good race today, man.”

Jungkook doesn’t move. Doesn’t nod. Doesn’t blink.

He just keeps his eyes on the man in front of you, expression unreadable, until he finally speaks.

“Yeah?” he muses, voice deceptively smooth. “Guess I’m lucky I had my girl with me.”

His hold on your waist tightens, just slightly, as if reinforcing the point.

Your pulse spikes, warmth creeping up your neck as you become painfully aware of how close he is.

You’re not usually the center of attention. But right now, you may as well be standing in the eye of a storm.

The tension lingers for a moment more. Jungkook’s hands are possessive, fingers pressing slightly into the fabric of your dress. His presence is impossible to ignore, a wall of warmth at your back, his cologne—deep, musky, with some woodsy notes—wrapping around you like a second layer of skin.

The man shifts, clearly picking up on the shift in atmosphere. Still, he offers an easy smile, nodding toward you.

“She’s beautiful,” he comments, like it’s the most obvious fact in the world. “Guess I can’t blame you for keeping her close.”

Jungkook hums smugly.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly, like he’s weighing his next words carefully. “Prettiest girl in the whole damn room.”

Your stomach flips violently, a cage of butterflies releasing themselves in your body. You’ll never get used to the way he speaks about you.

The driver gives one last chuckle, his eyes flicking between the two of you before wisely deciding to move along with his night. He excuses himself, raising his glass towards both of you before scurrying away as quick as his legs can take him.

And then it’s just you and Jungkook.

You exhale, not even realizing you had been holding your breath, still feeling the ghost of his touch on your waist.

You’re about to say something, but before you can, he turns to you, leans down, presses a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek. The warmth of it spreads across your skin like wildfire.

He pulls back, just slightly, his lips hovering over your skin, his voice dropping into something quiet, “You really let that guy talk to you for that long?”

Your eyes widen. “What? I wasn’t—”

Jungkook pulls back, finally looking at you, and he’s pouting. Actually pouting. The 27 year old man. Lips jutted slightly, brows furrowed, his usual confidence slipping juuuust enough to reveal the jealousy simmering beneath. It might be the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.

You can’t help it. You giggle, heart swelling in your chest.

“Jungkook,” You breathe out, leaning up, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

He grumbles something under his breath. You kiss him again, again… one more time for safe measures. Tiny, peppered kisses, soft and teasing, trailing across his cheek until you feel the tension in his shoulders start to ease. He exhales slowly, tilting his head, still acting like he’s suffered through the potato famine, furthering your agenda on the sassy man apocalypse.

“I just don’t get it,” he mutters, dramatic. “Why does everyone love you?”

You giggle again, nose brushing against his as you murmur, “Maybe because I’m soooo beautiful?”

Jungkook scoffs. “You think I don’t know that?”

And for the rest of the night, Jungkook doesn’t let you go. Not for a millisecond.

His arm is wrapped around your waist like an iron band, keeping you flush against his side as he guides you through the afterparty. He greets people, nods along to conversations, but his attention never fully strays from you.

Every so often, he leans down, his lips brushing against your temple, the shell of your ear, whispering things only for you.

“Having fun, pretty girl?”

“Gonna keep breaking hearts tonight, or am I enough attention for you?”

“Can’t believe you almost let some other guy steal you away. The blasphemy.”

You laugh every time, eyes sparkling, cheeks warm from the champagne and from the way his voice wraps around you like velvet.

By the time you’re finally in his car, it’s even more obvious.

The moment he pulls onto the empty streets, one hand gripping the wheel, the other immediately finds your thigh. You’re all giggles and smiles, alcohol-induced laughs spilling from your lips as you shift beneath his touch.

“You’re being so touchy,” You tease, voice teasing, light, dripping with warmth.

Jungkook barely glances at you, but you see the smirk pulling at his lips. “Don’t see you pulling my hand away.”

You roll your eyes, but your skin betrays you, heat pooling everywhere his fingertips graze. His thumb circles slowly, rubbing absentminded patterns into your thigh, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

“You’re ridiculous,” You mutter, biting back another laugh as you lean against the headrest, the world outside the car nothing but passing trees and shadows.

“And you’re also tipsy,” Jungkook counters, stealing a glance at you, his eyes dark, amused, playful.

He licks his lips, the silver of his piercing catching the streetlights, and you hate how mesmerizing it is.

“So?” you huff, crossing your arms in mock defense.

“So,” he drawls, fingers squeezing slightly around your thigh, watching with interest as you visibly react. “You’re all giggly and sweet right now, and I think I like it too much. My bad for wanting to get my hands on my girlfriend.”

Girlfriend.

God, the word rolls off him so easily it makes you dizzy.

“You like me all the time,” You poke his hand that’s on your thigh.

“Yeah, but I like you even more when you’re like this,” He plays with his lip ring as his eyes focus on the road.

You peek up at him through fluttering lashes, watching the way his jaw flexes, the way he glances at you just a little too long at a red light. And then, without thinking, you lean toward him, voice dropping into something soft, just shy of teasing. “You’re really that possessive, huh?”

Jungkook’s fingers flex, grip tightening, and for a split second, he looks like he might mount you in that car. “Oh, you have no idea.”

And, he proves it to you. The second his front door swings shut behind you, there’s barely a beat of silence before his lips crash onto yours. It’s immediate, it’s urgent, all-consuming from the tip of your scalp to your toes.

His hands are already on you, fingers digging into your hips, pulling you in like he’s been starving for this. You gasp against his mouth, the taste of champagne still lingering between you, and it makes you giggle yet again like a little high schooler. “Jungkook—”

“Mm,” He hums against your lips, not even bothering to let you finish.

“You’re so cute when you’re needy ,” You chortle in between, barely able to keep up with his pace. Jungkook groans, grinning against your lips before kissing you again, longer, slower.

“What did I tell you about calling me cute?” He mutters, voice low (definitely playing up the octave to seem even more menacing.)

“That it’s true?” You tease, bubbly from the way he won’t stop kissing you.

In a single swift motion, Jungkook grips your thighs and lifts you off the ground, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, and a squeal exits your mouth.

“Jungkook!” You yelp, arms looping around his neck in surprise. Except it’s really no surprise, because the man has made it clear he’ll throw you around like a rag-doll. He’s already moving, already carrying you toward the bedroom with so much ease your head is spinning.

“Tired of you running from me,” He murmurs, smiling cheek-to-cheek, his bunny teeth poking out as he shuffles quickly down the hall.

You can’t stop laughing, light and heady, fingers threading through his dark hair as he all but sprints the rest of the way. He nearly flings you onto the bed like you’re deadweight.

The laughter is still spilling from your lips when Jungkook slots your mouth with his again, swallowing every giggle, every teasing remark before it can fully form. He kisses you like he needs you to stay quiet, like he’s trying to erase every last trace of your playful remarks before they slip past your lips.

But, you are not letting him off that easy.

“You were so jealous tonight,” You whisper between kisses, smiling against his lips.

Jungkook groans, tilting his head back just slightly before diving back in, his mouth brushing yours in a way that feels punishing.“Maybe. Or maybe I was just passionate.”

You roll your eyes, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt as he leans into you.

“It was kinda hot,” You mock. “You couldn’t stand it, could you?”

Jungkook grumbles something under his breath, his fingers pressing into your waist, pulling you closer, as if kissing you harder will shut you up. But the moment his lips trail down to your jaw, your pulse leaping beneath his touch, you decide to take control.

In a swift motion, you push against his chest, sliding out from underneath him and standing up.

Jungkook stumbles back onto the bed, eyes wide for half a second before something darker, more intrigued, flickers through them.

You smirk down at him, your confidence surprising even yourself.

“Oh?” Jungkook muses, grinning as he props himself up on his elbows. “Taking charge today?”

You hum, sliding onto his lap, your knees pressing into the mattress as you settle yourself atop him.

“I think you need to be reminded,” You murmur, your fingers ghosting over the silver chain around his neck before trailing downward, nails grazing the buttons of his shirt.

“Of what?” He questions, eyes dark, eager, watching your every move.

You lower yourself, pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth, not quite kissing him, just kind of floating.

Slowly, with a purpose, you start kissing down his jaw and the column of his throat. “That I’m all yours,” You whisper against his skin, letting your lips brush over him with every word.

“All mine?” His voice is rough, strained, his fingers practically imprinting upon your skin. He needs to hear it again.

You pull back slightly, rolling your eyes just a little. The man knows very well you’re all his, but the desperation in his voice has you a little more soaked than you’d like to admit.

“Yes, baby,” You breathe out, cupping his face, your thumbs brushing over the faint pink tinge dusting his cheeks. “All yours.”

Now, Jungkook has seen many sides of you. The quiet, reserved girl who hides behind him at events, the sweet and hesitant thing who blushed at every flirty remark he threw your way, the one who overthought every touch, every glance, every lingering silence between you. However, that’s not to say he’s not thoroughly enjoying how unbelievably attractive you looked sitting on top of him.

The girl—the one who is straddling his lap, fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt, murmuring sinful things in that soft, teasing tone, the heat of breath sending shockwaves straight through him—he does not recognize.

His heartbeat pounds in his ears, blood rushing to his cock. He can hardly breathe or think, all logic stripped away. Jungkook watches, wind knocked out of him, as you shift in his lap, your hips rolling against the growing bulge in his pants. He is ever the patient man; almost as if he wants to see how far you’ll take it.

He continues to stare as your fingers reach behind you, tugging at the zipper of your dress, the soft fabric peeling away from your shoulders, slipping lower, revealing more, more…more. Good lord.

The room is silent except for the soft rustle of fabric, the faint collective gasp in his breath as your dress pools around your waist, leaving your bare skin kissed by the golden lamp light in the room. Jungkook is entranced, his pupils dark. He’s still propped up on his elbows, yet he’s barely keeping himself upright.

Your body is soft curves and slow movements, every roll of your hips against him smoother, more confident than the last, every movement calculated and precise .

His head tips back against the mattress, his long lashes fluttering, his cock throbbing beneath the confines of his pants. Just when he thinks he might combust, you lean down, your lips hovering near his ear, whispering something he doesn’t even hear properly through the haze in his mind. He doesn’t even know what language you’re speaking.

Every teasing shift of your body against his, every brush of bare skin against fabric is driving him to the brink of insanity.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” Your hands trail up his chest, slowly undoing every button, nails barely scratching the heated skin beneath his shirt. Your jaw slightly drops as you let out a soft, needy whimper, a sound so devastating it makes his cock twitch beneath his slacks. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

Jungkook’s resolve crumbles, and his hand flies up, fingers wrapping around your jaw. He tilts your face toward his, making sure you see him. His eyes are feral, his pupils so black and wide they nearly swallow you whole. “Want my cock in your mouth.”

The words send a bolt of heat straight to your core, your body clenching instinctively. There is a small part of you that’s not all that experienced, despite your past boyfriend and you having sexual experiences. It’s just.. different with Jungkook. You think he expects more, although he tells you he doesn’t. But you’ll do your best for him, like you always do.

He moves up, sitting against the headboard, and you wiggle down, your lips parting just slightly, like you’re already imagining how he’ll feel pushing past them, how he’ll taste on your tongue, which you 100% are.

Your fingers work slowly, methodically, undoing the zipper of his slacks with a deliberate precision that has Jungkook shaking beneath you.

The sound of the zipper unfurling is deafening in the quiet room, drowned only by the unsteady rhythm of his breath, the way it stutters every time your fingers brush against him, every time you shift or press a kiss just a little lower. The man is putty in your hands.

You slip his pants down his thighs, fabric pooling around his ankles, and you throw them somewhere in the room; it doesn’t even matter. What matters is beneath them, he is hard, aching, straining against the waistband of his boxers, the fabric doing nothing to hide just how much he needs you, letting you take control while he teeters on the edge of losing it completely.

Your lips press softly to the fabric, your breath warm, your hands gliding up his thighs, fingertips tracing the defined muscles there, feeling the way they tense under your touch, how they twitch with anticipation.

Jungkook watches you, his dark lashes heavy, his chest rising and falling too quickly. He gathers your hair for you gently, fingers running through the strands, pushing them away from your face, tucking them behind your ears, cradling the back of your head, making sure he can see you completely.

For the first time in a long time, you want to be seen.

You want him to watch as you shift, as you lean back, as you slowly kick off your dress, letting it slip down the length of your body, letting it pool onto the floor in a forgotten heap, leaving you bare and exposed.

The black lingerie set you had worn underneath is still intact, a stunning contrast against your skin, the delicate lace barely covering anything at all, making you feel utterly unbreakable under his gaze.

You finally pull his boxers down. His cock springs free, the thickness of it always making you gulp. It’s flushed an angry shade of red, the tip glistening with precum, leaking and throbbing.

You swallow, your mouth already watering, your thighs pressing together as you wrap your fingers around him, feeling the weight of him in your palm. “F-fuck, baby,” Jungkook gasps, his head tipping back against the headboard, his hands gripping your hair tightly.

You stroke him slowly, taking your time, watching every little reaction, fascinated by how his body responds to you, by how his hips barely lift off the bed, chasing your warmth, chasing more. There’s normally a slight hesitation from you, but between the mix of the champagne and how fucking good he looks, you lean in. The first kitten lick to his tip is tentative, barely a flick of your tongue, just a taste.

Jungkook groans, his body jerking, “Jesus fucking Christ,” he curses, his voice shaking, his grip trembling against your scalp.

You hum softly, the sound vibrating against him, your lips parting slightly, your tongue flattening against the tip this time, lapping up the bead of precum that had gathered there, savoring the salty, musky taste of him on your tongue.

“That’s it, baby, fuck, so good,” Jungkook moans, his thighs tensing, his abs clenching, eyes screwing shut, then flickering open again, desperate to watch you, desperate to see you taking him, loving him, making him fall apart in the most beautiful way possible.

His praise makes you braver, makes you bolder, makes you want to see him even more undone, even more at your mercy. You press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to his tip, feeling him pulse beneath your lips, hearing the way he gasps sharply.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” He whispers, his voice awe-struck that you’re letting him have this piece of you.

His cock is heavy, filling your mouth so perfectly, stretching your lips as you slowly bob your head, taking in as much as you can. You feel the weight of him glide over your tongue, your throat relaxing, your jaw straining in the best way possible.

“Shit, baby,” Jungkook groans. You’ve always loved how vocal he gets for you.

You steal a glance up at him, and that’s when your eyes meet. His gaze is so dark, pupils blown out, his lips parted, damp. The moment he catches your heavy-lidded, pleading stare, something in him breaks like a live-wire.

“F-fuck,” He chokes out, his abs flexing as his breath breaks. “You’re so beautiful like this.”

You get the urge to keep going, faster now, the wet, lewd sounds of your mouth working him filling the room. Your tongue flattens along the underside of his cock, the heat of your mouth searing, your hand wrapping around the length that won’t fit, pumping in time with your movements.

“So, so good, so fucking good,” He pants, voice cracking like a prepubescent boy, his self-control hanging by a thread.

You feel it when he starts to twitch on your tongue, when his hips stutter, when his grip tightens, when he pulls your hair just slightly, as if he’s trying to stop himself from spiraling completely.

“Shit, fuck, wait—” He pulls you off him suddenly, his cock leaving your mouth with a wet pop, a string of saliva still connecting you. Your lips are swollen and glossy, your breath ragged as you look up at him, dazed and a tad cock-drunk.

“But…” You sigh, your voice small, your fingers still gripping his length, feeling the way he pulses in your palm. “I wanted to keep going.”

Jungkook groans, pulling you up onto his lap where he needs you most. His lips find your cheeks first, then your nose, your forehead, your jawline, kissing you everywhere, like he’s seconds away from breaking.

“I know, baby, I know,” He pants, barely coherent. Before you know it, he’s positioning you, guiding you to straddle him, to let him sink inside you where he belongs. “But I need you to sit on my cock, baby, please.”

His forehead presses against yours, his lips brushing against your mouth, his breath mingling with yours. “Need to feel you, need to be inside you.”

You whimper against him, the words sending a shudder through your body. Your core throbs and aches for him, whole body on fire like you’ll die if you don’t have him.

You align yourself, rolling your hips just slightly and letting his tip press against your folds. You glide it through your slick, coating him in you. It’s disgusting how aroused you are by him, but there’s comfort in knowing he feels the same way about you.

The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure through you, and your head tilts back, your mouth falling open, a soft, breathless moan slipping past your lips as the friction sparks along every nerve in your body.

Jungkook is completely gone, eyes glued to where your bodies meet, his jaw clenched so tight. He’s doing everything in his power to not completely lose control before he even gets inside you.

You sink down, slow, so slow, inch by inch, your walls stretching and molding to accommodate him.

The moment his thick length pushes inside, Jungkook groans, low and broken, while he holds you steady. The slide feels endless, like it always does, stretching you out like you’ve never taken him before, and he’s still struggling to ground himself, trying not to explode right then and there.

“Oh, f-fuck,” He hisses, his thighs tensing beneath you, his muscles coiling so tightly. He’s barely keeping himself from thrusting up into you, from taking what he wants, from losing himself in you completely.

You are getting split in half. Or, it feels like it. Your walls squeeze around him, your body shuddering.

“That’s it, baby,” he pants, his voice low, as his fingers trail up your spine. “Taking me so f-fucking well, feel so good, so tight.”

You only really sit comfortably when your clit presses against his pubic bone, when he is fully, completely inside you, when his cock is buried to the hilt, stretching you so perfectly, so devastatingly deep that it feels like he’s become a part of you.

“Oh my fucking god,” He chokes out, his grip on you bruising, completely lost in the feeling of you milking him already, pulling him in deeper, deeper, deeper. “I almost, fuck, I almost came just from that—”

The thought of it, the idea that you could make him cum just from sinking onto him, has your brain on autopilot.

You start to move, hips rolling in smooth undulations, dragging yourself up his length, feeling every ridge, every inch, before sinking down again. It’s a steady rhythm, one that has you both gasping for air.

But you don’t let him look away from you.

Nails pressing into his shoulder blades, you keep him anchored to you, your body flush against his. You tilt his face back up, your lips ghosting over his. The eye contact sends a shudder through him, his pupils blown wide, begging without words.

“You’re mine,” You murmur, your voice soft but firm, dripping with possession. Your hands trail up to cup his face, holding him there, making sure he hears you.

“Yeah?” he pants, his voice slightly slurred and drenched in adoration “Show me, baby. Let me feel it.”

Your walls squeeze him with every movement, every drag of your hips. And it’s all too much: his cock reaching even deeper, grazing that spot that paints stars in your vision.

“You’re so fucking good to me,” He groans, his voice choked, eyes desperate.

Your hands slide into his hair, tugging slightly, and he whimpers, his lips grazing over you, kissing wherever he can reach, mouthing at your skin. “All yours, baby, fuck. No one else, just you.”

Your heart swells, his jealousy from earlier feeling so distant, so insignificant, when he’s begging for you like this.

“Mine,” you whisper again, your lips ghosting over his ear, your hips picking up the pace, making him writhe beneath you.“Always fucking mine.”

Jungkook shudders, “Yours, baby.” And the words are just being repeated over and over like babbles, barely coherent to either of you as the feeling of being full by him overtakes all.

His hands lift you slightly, just enough for you to feel the drag of his cock leaving you, before he pulls you back down, filling you again in one smooth, deep motion. You cry out, your walls fluttering around him, the pace shifting from teasing to something more consuming, more needy.

“That’s it, baby,” he mumbles, his hips meeting yours now, pushing deeper, guiding you exactly how he wants you. “Just like that, ride me just like that.”

“Kook,” You whimper, nearly shaking, nearly crying from how good it feels, your hands sliding down to press against his chest.

You’re practically soaking him, your slick glistening at the base of his cock, collecting there, and he might need to be put in a mental institution after catching sight of it.

“Look at what you’re doing to me,” His eyes lock onto yours, hand slightly moving your face to avert your gaze elsewhere. You glance down, and fuck, he’s right. He’s glistening, his cock shiny with your arousal. Every time he pushes back inside, there’s more slick coating his length, dripping onto his thighs, pooling at the base of him like a sinful masterpiece.

“You feel that, baby?” he whines,“This is all yours.”

Everything becomes messier, sloppier, you’re not even sure where you are anymore. Jungkook is barely holding on, his thrusts erratic, his hands tight on your waist, slamming your hips down over and over again.

Your walls are fluttering, pulsing around him, the pleasure so intensethat you can barely even think or form any thought that isn’t jumbled.

“Jungkook, fuck,” You sob, your body jolting forward every time he drives into you, every time he hits that perfect spot inside you, over and over and over again.

“I got you, baby, fuck, I got you.” And then you really can’t take it anymore when he says things like that. Your hand flies between your legs, fingers pressing to your clit, rubbing furiously. You’re trying to tip yourself over the edge, trying to chase the orgasm that is so close, building like a wave, curling at the base of your spine, ready to crash over you at any second.

Jungkook watches, lips slightly parted. He can’t tear him away from the way you touch yourself, how you look so absolutely fucked out on top of him.

“You gonna cum for me, hmph? Hm, baby?” His words send a shockwave through you, his pace stuttering for just a second before he pounds up into you without a single ounce of restraint left.

“Fuck!” You cry out, your release inevitably waiting for you. Jungkook grins, knowing how close you are, already used to how you look when you finish.

The pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave, drowning you in pure, white-hot ecstasy. Your entire body locks up, breaking apart as your orgasm rips through you with violent force.

“Oh, Jungkook,” Your walls are squeezing around him so tight it nearly forces him out, your head tipping back, mouth falling open, but no sound coming out. Your fingers slip from your clit as your body gives out, but Jungkook doesn’t stop. His hands are locked onto your waist, his hips still driving up into you, prolonging your orgasm, forcing you to ride it out until you’re whimpering.

“Holy fuck, squeezing me so tight,” He’s shaking with restraint, his muscles taut.

Watching you fall apart like this, feeling your walls clench around him like a vice, holding him, owning him, milking him—it’s a lot.

Jungkook grits his teeth, his grip on your waist turning bruising, his chest rising and falling in frantic, erratic pants as his orgasm hits him like a fucking wrecking ball.

“Fuck, mineminemine,” He gasps, and for the first time since you two started dating, he doesn’t ask for permission to finish inside of you. Doesn’t wait for your sweet little nod, your usual whispered “yes” into his ear.

No, not tonight. Tonight, he needs to claim you, needs to remind you, remind himself that no one else is going to have you.

Tonight, he slams you down onto his cock one final time, burying himself as deep as he can go, he spills inside you, filling you up.

“Take all of it, baby,” He gasps, his hips jerking up, riding out his high. Your bodies tremble together, both of you completely wrecked. Yet still, he stays inside you. Still buried to the hilt, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against his sweaty body. His lips press lazy, open-mouthed kisses to your temple, your collarbone.

The room bathes in the warm afterglow of post-sex air. Your limbs are tangled with his as you lay with your head sprawled across his chest, his heartbeat still hammering beneath your ear. For a long moment, neither of you speak. Just deep, ragged breaths. The faint hum of the city outside. The lingering warmth of his hands tracing slow, absentminded patterns across your bare back.

“So… still wanna deny how jealous you were tonight?” You laugh, the words muffled slightly against his skin.

Jungkook groans, his arms tightening around you instinctively. “Don’t start.”

You grin, tilting your head slightly to catch the faint pink creeping up his ears.

“No, but really,” you hum, your fingers lazily tracing the chain around his neck, feeling invincible. “You almost lost your mind over a five-minute conversation. Kind of insane, actually.”

Jungkook lets out a low, gravelly laugh, the sound vibrating through your ears. “You don’t understand how fucking attractive you are. Seriously.”

“Jungkook—”

“No, really,” he kisses your forehead, watching you so intently you feel like he’s seeing right through you. “You walk into a room and I lose my goddamn mind. Every single time. You could have anyone, and yet… you chose me.”

He exhales slowly, lips brushing against your forehead in a way that feels so domestic. You don’t know what to say to that, so you sit with the words for a minute, let them reverberate through your chest. And it almost feels like your chest can’t contain it, like the pressure is building too fast, too much, like your ribs might crack beneath the weight of it. Behind them, your heart swells, expanding at least three sizes larger than its usual.

You pull him back down, lips curving into a soft smile as you kiss him again. “Always gonna choose you, Kook.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

[em1i2a3]

I Do Love You

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Bob go to the mall to find a gift for Bucky’s birthday party, only to get sidetracked with a different goal by the end of the trip. (This is a continuation of ‘The Air That I Breathe’)

Warnings: None, just pure fluff, and the established relationship between Bob and the reader, but that’s already known lol.

Author’s Note: I really wanted to do a little continuation of this, just a little fluff for a Friday. Just to ease back and relax a bit. I also enjoyed writing the first part so I really wanted to add to it :) (Literally running out of Bob gifs lol, I’m grasping at straws!)

Word Count: 3,802

The mall was unusually quiet for a Saturday.

Not completely empty–just…Hushed. There were still groups of people drifting in and out of shops, with fingers skimming over fabric racks, and occasionally you would hear voices rising near the escalators–but the usual chaos that weekends brought to a standalone mall was missing. No screeching kids tugging at their parents arms, no lines trailing outside of the newest pop up stores, no teenagers crowding the food court in packs. It was just a soft, steady rhythm of footsteps over tile, the low hum of dimmed overhead lights, and the familiar hiss of the air conditions kicking on in long pulses.

It wasn’t what you expected. Youhad braced yourself for the crush of bodies and the wail of pop music blasting from every storefront. Instead, it was all muted colors and diffused light, like someone had dimmed the saturation of the world. The skylights overhead stretched long and pale, casting thin streaks of daylight across polished floors that gleamed from fresh wax. The indoor trees–fake, but convincing if you just glanced at them–were strung with twinkle lights that hadn’t been removed since the holidays. A janitor pushed a cart quietly past the fountain, which was still running strong despite the chipped tile at its base.

You and Bob walked in step with one another, hands clasped in the space between you, fingers laced with the kind of casual intimacy that had become second nature over time. Your free hands were occupied with your respective drinks–yours a black iced Americano in a clear plastic cup that you sipped absently, letting the bitterness bloom on your tongue like an anchor to the cool quiet of the day. Bob’s was a frozen vanilla cappuccino, already half-melted and turning to slush at the bottom. He’d chosen it after much deliberation, mumbling something about wanting to try something “f-fun and different,” and then proceeded to complain that it was “a l-lot sweeter than expected,” though he hadn’t stopped drinking it since.

The two of you rounded the corner past a perfume store, the sharp floral scent bleeding out into the walkway. Bob wrinkled his nose subtly, and you glanced sideways, noticing how his eyes scanned the stores as you passed–not with the sharp focus of a man on a mission, but the distracted softness of someone enjoying the moment too much to rush through it.

You hadn’t forgotten why you were here though because the original plan was still the same: find something for Bucky’s birthday that didn’t suck.

You and Bob had spent the last few nights curled up together on his bed, bathed in the dim glow of your phone screens and the quiet static hum of the compound’s late-night silence, clicking through endless websites. Etsy, Amazon, specialty gift sites, forums you weren’t entirely sure were even safe to be browsing–if it could be searched, you’d searched it. Bob would type every keyword you could think of, while you suggested ideas.

It wasn’t that Bucky was difficult to shop for–he wasn’t. Not in the way that, say, Alexei was, where the safest bet was to just get something oversized and vaguely related to food. Or Yelena, who just flat out told you what she wanted. No, Bucky was simple, but he refused to give any ideas because he didn’t even want a party in the first place.

You wanted something he could actually use. Something he wouldn’t just tuck onto the far right of his bookshelf next to the unopened shaving kit and that random bonsai tree John gave him as a joke. You’d considered knives, obviously, but he already had too many–and frankly, so did everyone else on the team. A leather jacket? Too obvious. A watch? He didn’t wear the one he had. Something from his past? That was even harder. You had an entire tab open dedicated to ‘gifts for men from 40s,’ and most of it felt either too kitschy or like it belonged in a nursing home catalogue–or it gave you an ad for a nursing home even.

Eventually, you had sighed dramatically and turned to Bob, who had a chip between his teeth and a frown carved into his forehead like the pressure of picking the perfect gift might take him out permanently.

“We’re going to the mall,” You surrendered. “It’s the last resort.”

So here you were. On a reconnaissance mission. Tired, slightly over caffeinated, and hoping divine inspiration would strike between the candle shop and whatever kiosk was now selling bedazzled phone grips.

Bob hadn’t complained though. Not once.

In fact, he’d seemed almost grateful for the excuse to get out with you, his hand warm and steady in yours, his thumb brushing lazy lines over your knuckles while you wandered past storefront after storefront.

“Y-You sure he’d want s-something practical?” Bob asked as the two of you paused outside a camping supply store, where a full-sized mannequin in camouflage held a cooler in its hand with a fishing rod hanging behind it.

”I think he would use something practical,” You replied, taking a sip of your drink, “He just wouldn’t admit to liking it, but at least he would be using the thing, and that would be proof he liked it.” Bob hummed thoughtfully, glancing between you and the window.

”So…M-Maybe something like a weighted blanket m-might do? He’s g-got sleep issues.” You tilted your head, eyeing the mannequin like it might come alive and offer you unsolicited advice. Bob was still looking at you, one eyebrow raised with that quiet kind of curiosity he reserved just for you.

“It sounds like a good idea,” You admitted, “But summer’s coming up…” You took another sip of your Americano, letting the ice clink against your teeth. “He’s gonna be sweating bullets if we get him something with that much insulation. And we both know he already sleeps like he’s one nightmare away from flipping the mattress.” Bob nodded slowly, brows furrowed in thought as he sipped the last of his cappuccino slush through the straw. The sound was loud and final.

“I’m p-pretty sure they have cooling o-ones. We c-can go look in o-one of those ‘A-As Seen On TV’ stores…I-If they have one in there.” You sighed and gave Bob’s hand a light squeeze.

“You know I can’t say no to you…” You muttered, though the corners of your lips twitched into a fond smile. “Alright. We’ll check. Worst case scenario, we get a knockoff Snuggie and a weird back massager we can pretend is from Alexei.” Bob chuckled, pleased with himself, and then you perked up slightly with a new idea.

“Wait–what if we did, like, a gift basket? Not one big thing, but a bunch of little things. Stuff that’s useful or fun. Like a tactical care package.” Bob’s eyes lit up.

“Th-That actually…K-Kinda sounds perfect.” You nodded, a little more energized now that you actually had somewhat of a plan coming together.

” A cooling blanket, maybe a multi-tool thing, some weird little gadgets that’ll make him roll his eyes but secretly love.” You gestured down the corridor. “C’mon. Let’s hit that ‘As Seen On TV’ store. Bet we’ll find all the gifts in there.” As you turned down the next wing of the mall, you passed a jewelry store.

You didn’t mean to glance.

But you did.

Just a flicker of a look—enough to catch the glint of warm light over polished silver, gold, and rose gold. A neat little display of rings rested front and center. Not gaudy or flashy. Just elegant. Meaningful.

Your eyes lingered on one in particular. Something small. Subtle. A band that glinted in the light with a barely-there pattern etched around its edges.

And that’s when Bob noticed.

You didn’t see him looking at you, but he did. Just for a second. His gaze shifted from the display window to your face, catching the soft change in your expression. That quiet, contemplative breath you took. The way your fingers curled gently around his. You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

He just kept walking.

But his hand didn’t let go of yours.

The “As Seen On TV” store was tucked into a corner of the second level, sandwiched between a sunglasses outlet and a place that exclusively sold oversized hoodies with cartoon frogs on them. Inside, it was a chaotic collage of flashing signs, colorful boxes, and product demos looping on grainy monitors.

Within ten minutes you and Bob had collected a whole array of things in your arms. A compact ‘6-in-1 tactical pen’ that could break glass, shine a light, open bottles, and also had a hidden knife on the end of it. A cooling weighted blanket made with ‘NASA-Developed temperature control gel,’ Bob mentioned he was probably going to look into it when they got back to the compound, but you both knew Bucky would like it. You added a hand-held muscle massager because he complained a lot about shoulder pain, and you also got him a little fidget ring, as you noticed he would wring his hands a lot when he was focused.

By the time you got to the register, you were confident you had the makings of a half-sincere, half-affectionate care package that Bucky would grumble about, but use .

Afterward, you wandered to the food court, the late afternoon light softening as it filtered in through the high windows above. It was quieter than you expected. Most of the tables were empty. The two of you grabbed hot pretzels and a bottle of water to split, settling into one of the corner booths overlooking the fountain below. Bob tore a piece of pretzel and popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

“S-So we have t-to put in the cake order still, right?” You raised your eyebrows.

”Shit. Right. We need to do that.” He nodded, licking salt off his thumb.

”Yelena m-mentioned it needed to be a s-sheet cake…D-Do you know how many people a-are showing up to this thing?” You bit the inside of your lip as you tore off a piece of the steaming pretzel, popping it into your mouth quickly and chewing.

“They say it’s going to be around fifty people, apparently,” You said around a mouthful of buttery salt. “I don’t know where they got the idea Bucky would want a fifty-person birthday party, but…You know Yelena and Ava.”Bob winced in agreement.

“O-Oh, I know them…”He said, eyes wide in mock horror. “I c-can tell they want this to be a b-big thing for him…” You snorted.

”If they ever find out when my birthday is, please, for the love of God, attempt to prevent them from doing this to me.” Bob smirked and reached across the table, taking your free hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles like a slow, secret comfort.

“I-I’ll do my very best…” He said softly, “But…N-No promises.” You groaned, head thunking lightly back against the seat.

“Who am I kidding…You’ll fold like a lawn chair because of Yelena.”

“She has a convincing tone,” Bob admitted sheepishly, then took another bite of his pretzel and chewed in thoughtful silence.

For a while, neither of you said anything. The hum of the fountain nearby filled the quiet space between you, soft and steady. You could see a small kid tossing coins into it from afar, his mother half-distracted by her phone. The air smelled faintly of cinnamon sugar and frying oil, the kind of comforting scent that belonged to places like this–transient and nostalgic.

Then Bob shifted slightly in his seat, and the movement pulled your attention back to him.

“B-Before we go to the bakery to p-put in that cake order…” He began, carefully, like he was choosing each word with precision. “W-We need to make one more stop.” You tilted your head and raised your brows.

“Yeah?” Where?” Bob’s smile twitched slightly at your question, shy but steady.

“J-Just finish your pretzel,” He said, nudging your foot under the table. “I-I’ll take you there.” You arched a brow, tearing another piece of buttery dough and popping it into your mouth.

“Didn’t think you’d be the type to surprise me,” You replied with a teasing glance, chewing slowly, “You always get too nervous and end up telling me halfway through your plan.” Bob snorted through a crooked smile, eyes dipping to his lap for a second before glancing back at you.

“I-I can be sneaky s-sometimes.” He commented, with the smallest bit of pride in his voice. You both laughed–soft and easy. That kind of shared laughter that came with knowing each other’s rhythms, with time and trust and more late nights than you could count. It filled the little corner of your booth like a secret, golden thing. For a moment, the stress of the party, the people waiting for you back at the compound–none of it mattered. There was only the sound of the fountain, the warmth of your joined hands, and the last few salty, satisfying bites of a hot pretzel.

When you were both finished and had tossed the wrappers, Bob stood, pulling you gently to your feet. His hand stayed in yours, thumb brushing against your skin like a grounding line. Then he stopped a few steps from the table and turned to you.

“O-Okay…” He said, a little breathlessly now. His free hand rubbed the back of his neck. “C-Close your eyes?”

You tilted your head, curious now. “Really?”

“R-Really.”

You studied his expression for a beat–soft, a little nervous, but sure–and then gave in with a tiny smile, dropping your gaze and shutting your eyes.

“Alright. I’m trusting you not to walk me into a mall fountain.”

“N-No promises,” He muttered under his breath, just loud enough to make you snort. The next few steps were slow, careful. His hand was firm in yours, guiding you through the open concourse. The hum of the escalator faded behind you, and you could feel the shift in light–how it brightened a little with each step as you neared one of the storefronts with big windows and carefully positioned spotlights.

You felt him pause.

Then, just barely above a whisper: “O-Okay…Open your eyes.”

You blinked.

And found yourself standing in front of the jewelry store. The same one you passed on the way to the ‘As Seen on TV’ store. The one with soft gold lighting and velvet-ringed displays. The one you’d dared to glance at for too long. The one he hadn’t said a word about–until now. You looked at the store, and then at him. Your brows lifted slowly, your mouth parting just slightly.

“Bob…” His cheeks were flushed, but his eyes–those impossibly open, sea-glass blue eyes–were steady. There was a tremble in his hand, but not in his voice when he finally spoke.

“S-Since we have time…” He said, quiet but certain, “I thought maybe we c-could…Ring shop.” You didn’t answer right away, because the lump forming in your throat made it hard to breathe. But then your hand squeezed his, your smile softened, and you nodded once.

“Yeah,” You whispered, heart thudding somewhere beneath your ribs. “Let’s do it.”

And just like that, he stepped forward with you, into the golden light.

The store smelled faintly of polished wood and something floral–freesia or lavender, maybe–soft and expensive in that way that made everything inside feel just a little quieter. The lights were warm but diffused, and the cases gleamed beneath them like little glass temples, each one home to tiny artifacts of love and promises.

You stood beside Bob just inside the entrance, hands still laced, the silence between you held like a thread made of gold.

It was the kind of store you’d walked past a thousand times but never stepped into. You suddenly became very aware of your shoes, your breathing, the fact that you were holding half of Bucky Barnes’ birthday present in a tote bag. Bob gave your hand a little squeeze, and you looked up at him,

”You o-okay?” He asked, voice low. You smiled, a little stunned.

“Yeah. Just… I’ve never done this before.”

He leaned a little closer. “M-Me neither.”

That made you both laugh–nervous, but soft. It broke the tension just enough that you both stepped forward.

The glass counters curved around the perimeter of the room, broken up by matte black display stands that held small, velvet-lined trays of rings. Some with diamonds. Some without. Some that looked like they belonged in a royal family’s vault, others so simple they almost looked like silver wire bent into a promise.

Before either of you could make a move toward any of them, a store associate appeared–young, sharply dressed, and carrying an air of practiced calm. She smiled gently, eyes warm as they glanced between you and Bob.

“Welcome in,” She chirped. “Looking for anything specific today?” You hesitated. Bob, however, cleared his throat and took a small step forward.

“W-We’re just…Uh, l-looking,” He replied, shifting his weight slightly. “I-I mean–we’re here for rings of course. B-But not like–well…We’re g-getting ideas.” The associate didn’t blink.

“That’s a perfect place to start,” she said. “Anniversary? Promise? Something custom?” You opened your mouth, but Bob beat you to it.

“I-I want something that…That’ll represent our relationship,” he said, his voice gaining confidence the longer he spoke. “We m-may not have time to get married for a while–but…” He trailed off, causing the associate to smile and gently cut in.

”You wanted to make it official.”

“Y-Yeah. Exactly.” Something fluttered in your chest at how easily she understood. And how quickly Bob had agreed. She gestured to one of the nearby trays.

“Alright then,” She started, “Let’s look at a few options. Something durable but meaningful, right? Not too flashy?” You nodded.

”Sounds about right.”

“Great. We’ll focus on comfort-fit bands–platinum, white gold, titanium, something simple that could last through…Well, anything.” Her gaze flicked knowingly to Bob’s frame. “You two strike me as people who live a little out of the ordinary.” Bob laughed, soft and sheepish.

“Y-You don’t know the half of it.” She began laying out a few bands in a neat row–some with subtle etchings, others smooth and classic. She slid one tray forward toward you, and another toward Bob, encouraging you both to take your time. You picked one up between your fingers, the metal cool and slightly heavier than expected.

“Is this weird?” You asked quietly, glancing up at Bob. “To do this now?” He looked at you like you’d asked if the sky was real.

“No,” He said. “I-It’s…It’s us. That means it’s not weird.”

You smiled, ducking your head to hide how hard your heart was thudding. Bob’s fingers hovered over the tray for a long moment, eyes scanning the rings with a kind of reverent attention–like they were artifacts he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch.

Then, he reached out and gently picked one up.

It was a rose gold band–slender, but not dainty–with a single oval-cut tourmaline set into the center. The stone caught the warm lights above like it had been waiting for them all along. It shimmered with shades that shifted each time it tilted: black at its base, deep amber at the edges, and flecks of deep sapphire swimming just beneath the surface. Like a nebula sealed in glass. Like light and shadow arguing quietly.

Bob held it between his thumb and forefinger for a long moment, studying the way it shimmered. Then he turned to you and, with a shy tilt of his head, extended it in your direction.

“C-Can you try it on?” he asked, voice just above a whisper. “J-Just so I can see what it…what it’d look like on you.”

Your heart skipped.

He didn’t say it was an engagement ring, but he didn’t need to. You could feel the weight of what he meant in his gaze–how tender it was, how full of things that hadn’t been spoken yet. You smirked a little, but your fingers were steady as you took the ring and slipped it onto your finger.

It slid over your knuckle with a soft resistance and settled at the base like it belonged there. The stone shimmered in the warm light, casting rose gold tones into your skin and splintering them into color. Bob stared for a second longer than he probably meant to. Then his lips curved into a soft smile.

“It s-suits you,” He said, breathless. “The colours do t-too.”

You tilted your hand, watching the way the light shifted through the gem–deep shadows at the base, that strange gold glow, and a flicker of blue right at the center. Your head tilted, a thoughtful smile curling at your lips.

“It’s the colours of you, Sentry and the Void.” You pointed out softly, Bob’s eyebrows drew together slightly.

”I-I’m not blue though…” He replied, almost in a mock defence. You turned to him, with your brows raised. A smirk appears on your lips.

”Yeah, but your eyes are, you little Bozo.” That got him. He huffed a short laugh, eyes crinkling as he tried to suppress a bigger grin, but failed.

“O-Okay. That’s fair.” You both laughed then–soft and unguarded, laughter that cracked open the nervous stillness of the moment like sun breaking through clouds. The associate across the counter smiled faintly but stepped back a respectful distance, letting you both have it.

The moment.

The breath between laughter and everything it meant.

Bob glanced down again at the ring, then up at you, the glow of the store lights catching in his eyes. Something in him shifted–a soft settling, like he’d made some quiet decision in his heart even if he hadn’t said the words aloud yet.

“D-Don’t get too attached,” He teased gently, tapping the edge of the ring with a fingertip.”M-Might have to wait for the day where…You know…I m-make it official.” You blinked once. Then smiled, slow and wide, heart full and fluttering.

“Guess I’ll just have to wait and see then,” You murmured, voice low and full of something golden, as you continued to stare at the ring in absolute awe.

[tbaluver]

May I request lovemaking headcanons with LADs boys (fav positions, kinks ,what they would never do)? ,hehe <(￣︶￣)>

Love ya♡

Their Favorite Positions + Kinks- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader genre: 18+, suggestive content, MDNI a/n: hihi anonnie! there might be more that i might add so i might make a part 2 („• ֊ •„)੭ i hope this was okay and that you enjoy and i love ya too (ꈍᴗꈍ)♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

Missionary. It's the intamacy that he loves about it. He also just loves to be able to hold eye contact with you and this position offers many sweet kisses with you. It's the way his hands can wander all over your body and feel your skin against his.

Spooning. He loves to hold you against him and being completely in control of the pace even if you do get a little whiney and want him to go faster. He loves to slip inside behind you while you're laying on your side, his hands feeling you up while he starts to grind into you. He just also loves that he can kiss, bite, and leave marks all over your neck because he loves seeing you shudder and clench around him. Also this positions allows him to burry his face in the back of your head or neck while he slowly fucks you from behind.

Morning Sex. Or just sleepy and lazy sex in general. It's the idea of just waking up and fucking you in the early morning hazy and the sheets are more messy now. There's no better way to start the day with a multiple orgasm.

Body Worship. Takes his time running his hands over you, kissing and licking your thighs, stomach, hips, breasts, or wrists. Leaves marks everywhere in your body and some of them are even a surprise when you look in the bathroom mirror. He'll tell you how beautiful and how good you taste on his mouth. This can be enjoyed during foreplay and when you two are fucking.

Nipple Play. His hands will always be on your breasts. Does this in foreplay and leaves lingering hickeys and marks around them. He'll lick, bite, pinch, and knead your tits. When he's thrusting into you, he'll stimulate them by pinching and rubbing them and it'll have you throwing your head back.

He would not be into public sex. I just don't think he wants anybody to see your shared intimate space. He just wants you all to himself.

Zayne:

Cowgirl. There's just so many reasons why he loves letting you ride him. He loves watching your body bounce on his cock while your hands rest or trace on his toned chest. Also loves it when you lean down and kiss him. Someone needs to call a different heart doctor because you're going to be the death of him. This position allows him to have a view of your body and he can touch you. He would have his hands and mouth everywhere while you're riding him. One hand cupping your breast while the other breast in his mouth, sucking and swirling on your bud. You wouldn't be surprised by how much marks there would be on your chest. He also loves to watch your expressions and hear your noises. He'll study how your muscles roll, the way your chest stretches and constricts as you move up and down. He'll even know when you'll reach your limit so he'll keep you upright and let you ride the wave of pleasure until you collapse and he'll catch you. He is a patient man. But there will be times where he will take matters in his own hands where his hips might buck up or flip you over and get you where you both need to go.

Missionary. A simple yet such an intimate position. In this position he loves that he can kiss you and cover you with marks from his mouth. He can suck on your tits in this position too as he fucks into you. He also just loves looking down and seeing your reaction as he thrusts in and out of you. If he's tired right after, he can lay on you and nuzzle into your neck and hold you in his arms.

Brat-Taming. You can be stubborn with him. So he'll have to teach you a lesson. He'll have you face pressed down into a pillow and get railed until you're a sobbing mess just begging for more.

Praising. When you're not being a brat he loves to tell you that you're "so obedient" "such a good girl for me" or things like "just like that" while you're a whimpering mess under him or in any position with him.

Breast Worship. He just genuinely loves your tits. No matter the size or shape they are just made for him to kiss, lick, and obsess over.

Over the counter/ On the desk. The thrill of it of getting caught if one of his colleagues walks in on you completely disheveled on his desk. The top of your shirt unbuttoned to expose your breasts that were peeking under your bra that's been pushed up. Skirt pulled up to your hips while he rams into you on his desk.

Lingerie. Thinks you look so beautiful in a satin outfit with sheer material. The sight alone leaves his ears burning red and his cock throbbing through his bottoms, aching to get out. Would compliment you telling you how you look so beautiful wearing it but it's too bad it'll be off in a minute. He'll be extra careful not ruin the material. Sometimes he might not want to take it off because he might want to fuck you while wearing it.

I don't think he would be into pegging. I just don't see him as a man that would want to be pegged.

Rafayel:

Cowgirl. He loves this position so much. He just loves your visuals and it's nothing compared to all the masterpieces he has seen or created. It's no doubt he's a pillow prince. He loves being able to just lie back and watch your pretty face get fucked on his dick. It's not only just the view that it offers but the ability to touch and allow you to take care of him. His hands will definitely be all over you, rubbing your thighs, gripping your hips, playing with your tits. He might just see his Lemurian ancestors soon. He doesn't mind dying this way with absolutely zero complaints. He is a babbling and whimpering mess underneath you, begging you to move faster. He just loves having all this access to your body and this position is just perfect to him.

Lotus Sex Position. Another intimate position that brings your bodies much closer for you two. He'll lean back, one arm around your waist to keep you steady while your arms are wrapped around his neck while you slowly grind on his dick. He'll rock or grind with you while he holds you tight. What he loves about it is the eye contact and endless kisses in this position while you rock or grind on his dick without compromising the closeness between you two. It's a little more like cowgirl but more intimate.

Shower/ Bathtub. He's a Leumurian and he's in love with so his sense are heightened during sex and in the water. His tongue glides over yours and water sloshing around your bodies as you both fight to be in a more comfortable position. Once you do, you're in his embrace, holding you so close. His breaths comes in ragged gasps, each inhale is desperate as his chest rose and fell unevenly. You can feel his hardened length against you but first his fingers found their way between your legs, stroking you in the right way to have you gasping and moaning his name.

Praise Kink. He loves to be praised whether it's outside of sex or during sex. It turns him on more than anything. Tell him he's so handsome and how good he looks while he's underneath you. Tell him how good his cock feels in your cunt. He loves to hear how much you like seeing him, touching him, and just being with him. Tell him more and more and don't stop. Obviously this will be returned to you as well. Saying things to you like, "You take my cock so well baby."

Watching you masturbate in front of him. The way you circle your swollen clit with your fingers or how you thrust your fingers into your slick opening just for him. Watching you whimper and moan about how much you want him inside of you turns him on. Sometimes he'll interrupt and he'll take care of you himself but sometimes he'll just watch, palming his own length.

I don't think he would enjoy humiliation kink. I think you would just have an upset Rafayel and I don't think he would find pleasure in it.

Sylus:

Missionary. An intimate position that is included of one of many favorite positions he has with you. It allows him to keep eye contact and watch your expressions. He loves being able to see you below him, his hands either holding your wrists down or intertwined together. The way your breath speeds up, chest heaving up and down, your mouth parting, and breathless moans is just a sight to behold. The way your hair pools around your head and the reaction of your face the longer he looks at you. He is patient man and wants to keep this for as long as he can but sometimes he can be quite impatient. He just wants to see it all and I think this position gives him everything he wants.

Bondage. Whether it's you or him, he'll enjoy. He liked watching you try to take control of him when he was all tied up one time. But when it's your turn, he teases you a lot. Loves to see you all tied up and squirm all pretty for him.

Edging. He can be giving or receiving but mostly on edging you. He's edged you many times before you have an earth shattering orgasm.

Hand Holding. Loves to lace your fingers with his while you fuck. He loves to pin his arms above your head with your hands intertwined. The intimacy about that almost makes him fill you up and he hasn't even done much work.

Face Sitting. He loves it. He was more than happy to do it when you asked him too. Does not care about your protest, just sit on him already.

Head between your thighs. He just loves to eat out your pussy. The idea of you lying on your back while you let his tongue do all the work. Sometimes he'll peer up to see how much of a mess you are while he keeps one of his fingers plugged in.

Size kink. He loves that he's taller and much bigger than you. He just loves to watch his thick cock disappear into your small pussy.

Lingerie. He's always amused to see you wearing such sheer clothing for him on your shared bed. The familiar smirk you know is worn on his face as he walks up to you. It's like a holiday and you're his present and he gets to slowly unwrap you. He'll pull you into his lap, lips brushing past each other. Just tell him what you want and need and he's already on it.

He does not like quickies. He likes taking in the intimate moment you two share and taking his time with you. He loves to build up the pleasure.

[himasgod]

Oh my godddd I love your writing🙏🙏🙏 from twst to Genshin!!! It's so muwah

I saw your requests are open so...! !! Can I request characters with a reader who's very energetic and chaotic(also very pink and adorable feehes) .. They're all around a good person and bcs of their personality they're considered popular?

(Malleus, Rook, and Sebek you can add more if you want but just incase anyone is fine as long as Mal Mal is there HAJSHWJSH😓😓)

Anyways.. Thankyoisomuchhh I will go on and binge read your stuff peace🙏

Where you are energetic and quite adorable and cute

Malleus, Rook and Sebek x Reader

Malleus met you the first day after the ceremony, when you were late arriving at Diasomnia because you got lost, and when you—running as always, a pink ribbon trailing behind you and a cupcake in your hand—stumbled into a hedge.

"Oops! That was alive! …Sorry, Mr. Bush!"

He watched you curiously. You had entered his space with laughter and a little sugar on your cheeks. Anyone else would have been scared to see him, but you just smiled broadly.

From then on, you became his favorite little chaos. The light that flickers in his gray world.

Malleus, so solemn, so restrained, didn't understand how someone could be so small and cause such a commotion in his chest.

Your voice was like little bells. Your hands always moved when you spoke, your eyes lit up at the slightest cutesy thing, and you would sing cheesy songs while baking dragon-shaped cookies.

And the strangest thing was… he wanted to hear you sing.

Always.

Even if you were a little off-key.

One day he saw you dancing in the rain without an umbrella, twirling with your arms outstretched, soaked from head to toe, laughing as if you owned the world. And then he knew: he had never loved anything as much as that moment.

Not power, not respect.

Just… you. With your soaked boots and your pink laugh.

“Aren't you going to get wet, Mal-Mal?” you asked him, and without waiting for an answer, you took his hand.

That was the first day Malleus Draconia laughed out loud, without holding back.

And since then, every time he hears your laughter, he believes in miracles a little more.

Rook knew you were special when he saw you stop in the middle of the hallway to put a bow on Trein's cat… while Crowley chased you for bringing cakes into class without permission.

Your eyes sparkled, your hair was covered in frilly bows, and you had a sticker stuck to your hand that said, "You did your best!"

And to Rook, that…

Took his breath away.

"My chèrie, how is it possible that someone like you exists in this gray world?"

He watched you like someone contemplating an impossible flower in the middle of winter.

Your energy enveloped him. Your sweet voice, your eccentric ideas, your desire to paint hearts on windows when it rains, or put stickers on someone's notebook in class to "brighten someone's day."

You were everything Rook loves: the dramatic, the passionate, the overflowing with life.

But you also had that dreamy sweetness that slowly melted him.

He wrote you letters in golden ink and floral verses. He left you flowers with messages like, "To my rose with sugar thorns."

One day, while you were making flower crowns for everyone, you placed one in his hair without thinking.

And he, without blinking, took your hand and said

"My little chaotic muse… do you even know how cruel it is to exist knowing that you walk this world without even being mine?"

Sebek considers you… a threat. But not a bad one.

A threat to his self-control. To his discipline. To his peace of mind.

How do you expect him to train in peace when you're always running around campus with pom-poms and saying "Do your best, Sebek!" in a totally adorable, sweet voice?!

And why are you greeting him with air kisses?!

And why does his locker smell like strawberries now?!

At first, he saw you as a nuisance. Then as a mystery. And now…

Now he sees you in his dreams. And that scares him more than any dark spell.

He never tells you, but he loves the way you seek him out. The way you stand on your toes to greet him.

The way you hug him without permission and then give him a crocodile-shaped cookie: "It's just like you! Strong but adorable!"

And he feigns indignation, but stares at the cookie for hours before eating it.

It had too much sugar, but he enjoyed it anyway. Sort of.

One day you surprised him by leaving him a scented letter with dragon and butterfly stickers. It only said:

“Thank you for being so strong and protecting us all! I love you, Sebek! 💕”

He turned so red that Silver thought he was sick.

He still treasures that letter. Sometimes, when he thinks no one is looking, he takes it out and reads it with a small smile on his lips. And then he puts it away with the utmost care, as if it were the purest proof that someone as brilliant as you believes in him.

[theseinfernalangels]

Heavenly - Bodhi Durran

Synopsis: Four times in which you almost kissed Bodhi, and one where he did it for you.

Includes: Fluff, angst, Reader has some issues, maybe a teeny bit suggestive at the end? Friends to lovers, almost a relationship but not quite, mutual pining. Takes place mostly during Fourth Wing and ends in Iron Flame.

A/N: AUGH this is my baby. I’m in love with this one guys. Also, pretend what I wrote about Tyrrish culture is 100% canon and not totally made up for the vibes.

You always liked the snow.

It was gorgeous; the little white specks of frost glided through the air with what looked like practiced ease, littering your flight leathers with faint, watery markings. You enjoyed the fact that it was silent, unlike the rain, which sometimes made entirely too much noise for your liking — it made it so much easier for you to sit on a distant windowsill and stare into space for what felt like hours at a time. Unnervingly, you also liked how it bit at you, the cold. You’d lay in the snow with your lightest leathers on just to feel the wet chill sink into your bones instead of dry, all-consuming heat that seemed to trail you wherever you went.

Most of all, you like the sight in front of you: Bodhi Durran, in his tall, tawny glory, looking particularly…pretty with little flurries settled in his dark curls. A small part of you aches to run your hands through them, to knock the speckles out — but, you decide, he looks like the pinnacle of perfection like this.

Said man peers down at you with a look of cool concern. “You’re going to freeze,” he accuses.

You smile serenely, your eyes tracking the falling flakes as they descend upon you both. 

“Maybe,” you reply. “It would be worth it, to stay out here.”

At once, Bodhi’s eyes soften. He knew your ordeal with heat and fire all too well. 

“Still,” he chides, slipping a toned arm around your waist and pulling you into him. “C’mere. I’d prefer it if you didn’t get hypothermia because you like to stand in negative temperatures without your flight jacket.”

You tense for a moment before slowly allowing yourself to melt into his warm embrace, bracing your face on his chest as you both watched how the snow fell in the late-January sky. No words were needed between the two of you when all you needed were gentle touches and the chilly air.

You feel his eyes on you, so you reluctantly peel your face away from his jacket and tilt your head up to face him. Predictably, he’s smiling — but not a full on grin like usual. No, he’s wearing a smile of pure fondness as his gaze meets yours. You can’t help but catch your eyes on his lips, though; Bodhi has always been handsome, even as a younger boy, but the atmosphere combined with his fuller features make him look downright ethereal.

“A penny for your thoughts?” he prompts you gently, nudging you in the ribs.

The touch makes you flinch a little before you straighten and raise your chin. “How much to keep them in?” you challenge.

He chuckles and raises his free hand innocently. “You got me there. Just wanted to know what’s got your eyes all hazy.”

You barely noticed it; your eyes, although you’d been observing the snow keenly, were less focused on the environment around you and more in tune with the shape of his mouth, the little scar on his lower lip, how his mouth moved when he smiled…

How his pretty lips would feel on yours.

You hum. “Nothing much. Just daydreaming again, I guess.”

Silence. Waiting.

“And,” you add, “the weather is making my eyes water.”

Bodhi lets out an exasperated but affectionate huff and moves away from you briefly to peel his flight jacket off and sling it around your shoulders.

“You know,” he drawls, “you’d think being a Wingleader would establish some sort of self-preservation in you.”

Instantly, you’re enveloped into pure heat, but not the kind that usually bothers you. No, this heat is warm and velvety, soothing in a way that is purely Bodhi.

“Nah,” you reply with the faintest trace of a satisfied grin. “Quite the opposite, actually. It makes you willing to risk everything for this sort of stuff.”

You keep it vague.

This sort of stuff.

The peace you feel as you watch snow fall like ashes.

The chance to have a quiet moment for once in your too-chaotic lives.

The moment of clarity you feel when you stare at Bodhi and pray to yourself, “Loial, I’ve had too much taken from me already. Please do not touch him, too.”

༘⋆༄.°⋆

The air around you is charged and slightly humid as you watch a pair of first-years, two boys, fling each other to the padded ground of the sparring gym. It’s rough, hard, and ruthless…Everything you’ve come to enjoy about training at Basgiath.

It’s usually easy to predict who will come out on top with these sorts of matches. One of the guys, Cael McCleary, had clearly been holding back out of pure nervousness when he stepped onto the mat. You sympathize with him — but you also know that sympathy would get him nowhere, especially against a man like Jamilian Sirko, who you’re pretty sure is half war cannon the way he towers over almost all of the cadets here like a bull in a china shop.

Surprisingly, though, McCleary holds his own against Sirko, using his anxious energy as a means of dodging and weaving faster than the taller boy is able to strike. It’s impressive, no doubt about it — but it’s also a test of endurance. Where Sirko is strong and built like a great wall of pure, dark muscle mass, he can’t use that to his advantage against McCleary, a lithe and reedy guy, for much longer before he eventually tires out. Neither of the two look like they’re ready to drop, though — not by a long shot.

You sigh. Looks like you’d be here for a while.

“Good, you two!” you call from your place on the side. “Hurry it up a little, would you? You’re the only thing preventing your squad mates from leaving.”

A quiet brush of footsteps behind you tells you that someone has come to stand by you for the time being — Bodhi, as told by his gleaming grin. 

“Look at you, being all commanding,” he greets you, drawing out the last word dramatically. “Gods, how long have they been going for?”

You break your gaze away from the fighting cadets to glance over at the clock on the wall. It’s 11:23.

“I think we’re going on fifteen minutes now,” you murmur. “McCleary is really trying to drag this out to get Sirko down. I can’t say I like the timing, but I do admire his strategy.” You pause. “What are you doing here?”

Bodhi nods, his gaze turning analytical. “Of course,” he adds, completely ignoring your question. “I think he needs to find a place to end it. A good kick to the back of the knees or even the throat would do Sirko in good.”

You’re about to repeat yourself and insist he answer your question when a flash of silver catches your eye — a small dagger being slid from the sideline towards the sparring cadets, its hilt extended to where Sirko would most easily be able to snatch it, if he had the balls.

You freeze. Bodhi nudges you gently with his elbow. “What did they agree to beforehand?”

McCleary, although his fingers twitched anxiously, raised his chin and nodded to his friend, who held three small knives between his fingers. “No weapons?” he asked, raising a hand in need of shaking.

Sirko raised an eyebrow before smiling easily, grasping McCleary’s hand with practiced ease. “No weapons,” he repeated, sealing the deal before they backed away from each other in waiting.

“Oi! Break it up, both of you,” you call over to the boys, who are panting and looking a little more than eager to finish it. You gesture to the little blade that both cadets have yet to notice pick up. “Were you not paying attention to their terms? No weapons for this round. I don’t want to see that shit again.” You quickly use your signet to bend the air around the blade and bring it to you for you to grab. 

You sweep it to your outstretched hand and inspect the knife. It’s indistinguishable, really, with no remarkable hilt or quality.

Little tendrils of wind spin the blade by its hilt before you sigh and clear your throat again. 

“That’s enough, you two,” you yell over to McCleary and Sirko. “I appreciate your persistence and endurance, but a match should be over before the twenty minute-mark. Good on both of you.”

A tide of complaints and cheers arise from the sideline, and you stalk over to the first-years with a little look of disapproval on your face.

You hold up the knife so they can all see it. “Who was it?” you ask with a scowl. “They agreed on no weapons, and if you think I’ll let attempts to cheat slide, then you’re sorely mistaken. Tell me who it was and I might even let you walk out of here with all your joints intact.”

The first-years all look jolted for a moment before one is pushed to the front — Opal Keenan. She’s pretty, with flame-red hair that must reach to the small of her back when it’s not in a entirely too-complicated braid. She looks embarrassed for a moment before she schools her face into a look of pure ignorance.

“Please,” she sneers. “Anyone would have been grateful if someone picked it up and used it. Preferably Jamilian — McCleary was bound to lose anyway.”

You immediately bristle, raising your chin and fixing an icy glare on the cadet. 

“Did I ask who you preferred to win?” you snap. “No, Keenan. If you wanted to see the outcome of the match, you should have considered the consequences of trying to aid a cadet in cheating. The crime you’ve just committed is easily punishable, you know. I’d hate to have to carry out the consequences myself.”

Keenan’s taunting smile widens. “A crime?” she mocks, earning a few glares and hisses from the cadets around her. “That’s rich coming from you, you traitorous bitch. I bet your father—“

Her words are cut off swiftly, and you know it’s because Bodhi has come to stand behind you, standing tall and angrily from a few steps back.

“I’m sorry,” he says sharply, pinning Keenan in place with a glare that looks too unnatural for his warm, brown eyes. “Did you not hear your Wingleader? Cheating on either side of a match is punishable by a dishonorable discharge at its lightest. You should be glad she hasn’t already gone to Emetterio to report this. In fact, I should go do that right now. You’re a shameful example of a cadet, Keenan.”

Keenan opens her mouth again, probably to jeer at you again, before she’s cut off again, this time by you.

“I don’t want to hear that shit out of your mouth again. That’s strike two for you. Test me a third time, and I’ll have no trouble letting Leadership know that you’re interfering with matches and being a downright bitchhead to your squadmates and Wingleader.”

For good measure, you allow your power to flow out of you just a little, little tendrils of air wrapping around Keenan’s throat. She startles and lets out a little choked whimper, losing all of her bravado in what feels like milliseconds. You could kill her like this, if you really wanted to — but you feel a warm hand splay on the small of your back protectively, so you lighten it up just a little. “Do I make myself clear, cadet?”

Keenan nods as quickly as she opened her mouth before you release her after a few seconds of drawing it out, just for your own benefit. She stumbles back with a gasp, her hand flying to her throat and staring at you in horror. You just meet her eyes head-on, steely and cold.

“You’re all dismissed,” you order in a low voice. “And keep this in the back of your minds. I don’t care if you think I’m a traitor or not, but if you think you can get away scot-free with cheating in a match for a reason as stupid as that, then you’re clearly not cut out for this quadrant.”

The first-years waste no time in clearing out of the sparring gym, either because of your order or because they don’t want to be the next one choked out by a Wingleader. Opal Keenan is out first, running like the cowardly little bitch she is, and everyone follows, shooting you looks of fear, surprise, and surprisingly enough, a few grins from the people who agreed that the ginger cadet needed some humbling. You sigh and scrub a hand over your face, suddenly exhausted.

The hand on the small of your back wraps around your waist, pulling you into a chest of taut muscle before Bodhi winds his other arm around you, essentially trapping you against him. His chin comes to rest on your shoulder. 

“You handled that really well,” he tells you in a soft voice. “Do you deal with that every day?”

You lean back into him a little. “Not really,” you reply, fixing your eyes out the window and staring into the late-morning sky. “Usually they know to keep their mouths shut around me. I guess someone just wanted to be bold today.”

His quiet snicker by your ear sends a rush of warmth down the skin of your neck. It dies, though, once he catches the edge of your expression.

“Hey,” he prompts. “You want me to tell Emetterio? I’m sure he’ll dish something deserving out for Keenan as soon as he hears.”

You mull over the thought for a few moments before shaking your head. “No. I’m not going to tattle on a first-year just for being a little too uppity. I can handle it.”

Bodhi’s thumb strokes the leather over your stomach idly. “You can,” he affirms. “And you did. You’re strong as hell, Levine.”

His voice lowers. “But I wouldn’t mind kicking her ass if you asked me to.”

You snort and gently jab him in the side with an elbow, only being met by a sputtered protest. “I appreciate the offer,” you assure him. “But I’m gonna let someone else do it in their own time.” You go quiet for a moment before you remember your conversation just a little bit earlier.

“Bodhi,” you grab his attention again, twisting out of his hold to stare at him. “What are you even doing here? This isn’t your squad, and it’s definitely not your wing.”

“So?” he huffs, backing up a little to give you some room. “I’m on break, and I wanted to see you.”

Oh, Amari bless his heart. Bodhi was probably the only man who would ever do such a thing for you. And the way he looks at you right now, like him hunting you down in the middle of your duties was the most obvious thing he could be doing right now, makes you almost brave enough to stand on your toes and press a grateful peck against his cheek.

You restrain yourself. 

“Fair enough,” you concede, and he grins sweetly. “But it’s —“ You turn and glance back at the clock. “11:45. Don’t you have to be at land-nav by 11:50?”

His face falls immediately. “Oh, fuck.”

༘⋆༄.°⋆

The only two things keeping you awake at a time like this is your dragon’s gentle reassurances in your ear, and the fact that you haven’t seen Bodhi in approximately 27 hours. You lay in a long-sleeved slip, glaring at the moon through your window.

“You don’t have to lie to me, Zephyr,” Spéir rumbles. For once, she is less proud and more…sisterly, in a way. “I know you are worrying about the Bright One.”

“…And if I am?” you ask, your mental voice coming out more passive-aggressive than you mean to. “Am I wrong for it?”

A low chuckle ripples through the bond. “Of course not,” Spéir replies. “You are mine, Zephyr, but before I chose you, he was within your grasp and kept in the inner workings of your heart. He is your human no more than you are mine. No need to jump to his defense.”

You sigh in frustration, tearing your eyes away from the glow of the moon before you stare at the door. If you had it your way, Bodhi would be sleeping right next to you, his curls spilling down his face messily as he dreamed. But he wasn’t next to you — and you had a sneaking suspicion as to why.

As if your thoughts had caused it, a faint rapping at your door draws your attention. You flick your wrist to summon a mage light, the glow a soft lavender, before you slip out of your bed and creep towards the door.

“Is it—“

“Yes. He came straight for you.”

You rip the door open, and sure enough, Bodhi leans against the threshold, his battered body looking like he’ll fall at any moment. 

He stares at you, slightly dazed, before he manages a breathy whisper. 

“A thaisce. I’m sorry, but—“

You cut him off by tugging him through the door and pushing a small breeze out to shut the door quietly. You push him over to your bed, urging him to sit on your soft sheets. His knees practically fold in on themselves, making your heart ache. You feel more awake and alert now than you have since he disappeared.

“Easy,” you murmur. “Hey, mhuirnín, easy. Don’t apologize. I take it you just had RSC, huh?”

His gaze meets yours, and for the first time in a long time, he looks exactly like he did when he was a child: Nervous, disoriented, and exhausted.

“Is that what that was?” he asks hoarsely, grabbing at your hands to run his thumbs up and down your wrists. “I thought they would just…I don’t know, have us take notes about it.” He inhales sharply. “But one moment, I’m heading here, and the next, I’m tied up and hazy and our signets aren’t working and Cuir won’t talk to me—“

You hush him, coming to stand in between his legs and running a hand through his tousled hair. “It was the water,” you explain gently. “They drug you to dull the bond so it’s as realistic as possible.”

You crouch a little, forcing him to meet your eyes while you inspect his body for any intensive damage. To your surprise, he looks relatively unharmed past extensive bruising and a split lip. You bring your little tendrils of wind to a warmer temperature and cushion him as you search him. “Anything need to be looked at?”

He shakes his head wearily. “No. They went kind of easy on me. They went after Iris, though. I guess that’s because she has more of a mouth than I do.”

Your eyes narrow, but you say nothing before you do another once-over, just for peace of mind. Bodhi averts his eyes and quietly says, almost sheepishly, “If you want me to go, I can.”

Immediately, you shake your head. “Hell no,” you mutter, nudging his head up with a little breeze. “I’m not letting you leave. I’ve been waiting for you, asshole.”

His face brightens a little, the usual gleam starting to reappear after what must have been hours. “You waited for me?”

“Of course I did.” You scowl a little, nudging his thigh with your own. “I’ll always wait for you, idiot.”

His entire body seems to relax for a few moments before you poke him. “I still have some of your clothes in here. You probably don’t want to shower, but at least change into something comfortable.”

He leans into you in an odd side-hug before rising to his feet. You know he knows his way around your room, so you turn around and close your eyes to let him change without the burden of your intense stare.

“Zephyr,” your dragon prods. “Cuir would like to tell the Bright One that he is here and is sorry that he could not be there.”

“Spéir says that Cuir is sorry he couldn’t be with you,” you tell him, your eyes still squeezed shut. Bodhi looses a rough laugh, and before you know it, the mattress is dipping and he’s tugging you to lay down, now changed into a simple pair of sleep pants and a black shirt. You allow him to pull you down before you grab him in turn and ease his head on to your shoulder, your hands automatically moving to his head to run your fingers through his hair. He shudders appreciatively and wraps a weak arm around your stomach.

The two of you just lay there in the pale lavender light, enjoying the silence of each other’s company. It was unlike Bodhi to be so quiet, but after the ordeal he just went through, you can’t imagine him being lively enough to talk about anything. You resist the urge to dip your head and press your lips to his forehead, although he probably needs the affection right about now.

After what feels like hours of nothing but soft breathing, Bodhi says your name in such a tone that your eyes instantly snap to his.

He hesitates, looking equal parts pleading and embarrassed. “Can you…talk to me? In the Old Language, I mean. I-I don’t care what it’s about.”

You barely suppress an affectionate coo before you nod, smoothing your hands over his back. “Of course,” you say in Tyrrish, your tone growing a tad bit higher-pitched in your native tongue. “I’m proud of you, you know? You look barely scathed, mo laochain.”

His breath catches a little, and you feel a pang of adoration hit you in the gut as he tucks his face into your neck.

“I don’t feel very strong right now,” he admits. “I feel like I could’ve done something to help. To divert attention from the others so they wouldn’t be as hurt.”

“Hey, no,” you say firmly, rubbing his shoulders with a surprising gentleness. “I’m glad you didn’t. I don’t care if that makes me sound selfish, but I’m glad they went easiest on you. Amari knows I’d lose my cool if they did anything else.”

Bodhi stifles a laugh, and then a small groan of pain. You extend a warm cloud to rest over him and ripple over his cuts and bruises.

“Easy,” you say again. “Do not move too much. We’ll go see the healers tomorrow and see what they can do for you — probably more than I can, at least.”

The younger boy’s head rises from the crook of your neck so he can stare at you, his exhaustion apparent in his half-lidded eyes.

“None of that,” he scolds you, as if he’s not the one laying in your arms right now. “You do more for me than any of them could attest to. That’s why I came here and not there with the others.”

“Besides,” he adds, “I missed you. I don’t know how I went years without talking to you, because I think I was going insane by the fifth or sixth hour they kept us.”

For a moment, all you see is him. Not your bedroom, not the glow of your mage light or the moon, and certainly not the silhouettes of roaming dragons out your window. The only two people here, who exist in real time and space, are the both of you. You lean your head to lay against his and ghost your lips right above his ear — the closest thing to kissing him that you’ll allow yourself.

“Well, you’re here now,” you assure him. “And we can talk as much as you need. You should probably sleep, though. I need my favorite person to be somewhat alive tomorrow so that I can keep myself sane.”

Something closer to an actual laugh, a Bodhi Laugh, finally leaves him, making a smile of your own grace your lips.

“Right, Wingleader,” he says in mock-submission. “You talk so I don’t go mad, and I’ll sleep so you don’t, either. Sound like a plan?” 

You flick him in the shoulder blade, but it’s not out of annoyance — more like, in your opinion, thankfulness, because you know what you need at a time like this, alone and in need of someone to lean on.

“Deal, mhuirnín.”

༘⋆༄.°⋆

The sun blazes in your eyes, nearly blinding you in the late July heat. Your head rests on Bodhi’s thigh, his fingers sifting through your hair softly as the two of you watch the sun set on Navarre.

Bodhi looks down at you and frowns, moving his hand from your head to splay it directly in your line of vision. Your eyes flit to his, and he shrugs. “It would really suck if you went blind on your birthday.”

You make a small noise of understanding and smile, curling into him a little more. “Happy birthday to me; I get an honorable discharge.”

Bodhi grins and resumes his motions in your hair, taking care to try and keep the sun out of your face. “I think you mean dishonorable,” he corrects you, “since you going blind is completely preventable if you’d just keep your eyes away from the sun.”

You scowl and shoot a lick of ice cold air down his tunic, causing him to emit a soft shriek of surprise. He glares down at you and flicks your forehead.

“Not funny,” he pouts. “Dammit, Levine, that was cold.”

You try and keep your face still, but the stoicism is short-lived as a smile of pure delight takes its hold on you.

“My bad,” you bluff, staring at him with absolutely no shame whatsoever. “I was aiming for your head.”

Bodhi’s eyes narrow, and you know instantly that he’s about to try to pin you into the grass. You roll out of the way with a yelp, but he’s always been just a tad bit faster than you, so he’s upon you in an instant, wrestling you to the ground while all you can do is hold him off of you. After a few moments of struggle, his hands clamp down on your shoulders, and you’re flat on your back before you know it. The position you’re in is unfamiliar; one hand cradles the back of your head so that it doesn’t slam into the ground, while the other holds him up over you. He’s close — closer than what you’re used to, his nose just an inch or two above yours. His eyes fall to your lips, and he swallows before murmuring, “Got you.”

Your cheeks heat up at the proximity, and you involuntarily sent another brush of wind down his back — this time, more gentle, something of a more affectionate nature that you rarely show. You force yourself to blink and ignore the fact that he’s quite literally eyeing you like he wants nothing more than to slam his mouth on to yours. 

You stick your tongue out at him. “You had an advantage. I was unprepared.”

He breaks from his staring and snorts, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “Right,” he says dryly. “An advantage. You can call it that, sure.”

You scowl but don’t say anything. It feels a little awkward, seeing as he won’t move from his position above you. You don’t dislike it — not by a long shot — but what’s a girl to do when she’s pinned under her best friend (who she definitely doesn’t want to kiss. Not at all.)?

Bodhi blinks as if coming out of a trance before he clears his throat awkwardly and lets you up, leaning back to sit down. You roll up into a sitting position and lean into him. He feels a little stiffer — probably from prior awkwardness, akin to that of the same nature from when you both were tweens and he was still visibly nervous around you. He’s quiet for a second before he starts.

“So,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I know you said you didn’t want anything for your birthday...”

You go still. “You didn’t.”

He waves his hand as if to dismiss your protest. “It’s not big,” he insists, reaching into his pocket. “I know you don’t like gifts very much, and you get overwhelmed by big gestures. I just wanted to do something, since this is your twenty-third birthday.”

In Tyrrish culture, 23 was the age where you were officially considered a woman — not in the physical sense, but in the spiritual sense. It was the aois na laochra, the age of a warrior. You’d almost forgotten about it, since you’d barely taken note of your birthday since your sixteenth — the last birthday you’d been able to have with your entire family.

Your eyes soften, and you swallow the lump in your throat that threatens to make it crack before you respond. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Bodhi shoots you an easy smile. “I know,” he replies casually. “But I wanted to. I wanted to keep the tradition alive, even if you’re the only one it happens for.”

He pulls out what was hidden in his pocket — a small wooden box — and drops it into your palm. “Open it.”

Your thumb brushes against the wood — cherry, sanded and smooth — and on the initials that are carved into the top with a delicateness that’s more than impressive. You have a feeling you know who did this part, and Bodhi confirms it. “He didn’t ask for anything in return.”

You smile before taking a deep breath in and slowly opening the box, your hands a little shaky from the nerves that plague you. Your breath hitches, and you blink down at what lays inside the box: A small ring of onyx with a glittering red gem in the middle. Your fingers hesitantly touch it, and Bodhi is suddenly closer to you, rushing to explain.

“I know you don’t really like big things, so I settled for this. The band is onyx, and the gem is garnet, your birthstone.”

He pauses. “Turn it over?”

You raise an eyebrow but do it anyway, hooking your index finger into the ring and bringing it out so you can turn it to the other side.

You choke out a gasp when you see what he’s nudging you towards, tears previously left unshed brimming in your waterline.

A knight. Two twin wildcats. It’s your family’s coat of arms — the one you haven’t seen in close to ten years. 

You swallow again, your voice breaking. “Bodhi—“

“Hey,” he says gently, pulling you into his lap with practiced ease. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. I just thought it’d be nice, so you could have a piece of them on you whenever you wanted.”

You couldn’t even begin to imagine where he found the time to find something like this, to put the sheer effort in accomplishing something like this.

For once, you don’t care. You just bury your head in his shoulder and allow yourself to sob quietly, shivering when his hands come up to cradle you to his chest.

“Thank you,” you whisper to him in Tyrrish. “Thank you.”

His heart twists, and he clutches you ever closer to him. “Anything for you.”

༘⋆༄.°⋆

Bodhi’s heart pounds in his ears as he runs through the halls of Riorson House, blood spilling into his mouth from just how hard he’d bitten his lip just a few minutes beforehand. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t have time — not when he’s got a very important matter to attend to.

Xaden had scared the shit out of him when he’d suddenly appeared from what felt like out of nowhere, his dark eyes huge and sparkling. 

“Bodhi,” he’d breathed. “She’s here. Go to her.” It didn’t take a genius to know just who he was talking about, and Bodhi had taken off in a flash, abandoning whatever the hell he’d been doing for Jesinia in her little bookish habitat. His legs couldn’t push him faster, and he suddenly wished he could wield distance like Garrick, so he could get outside much faster than the rate he had going for him.

“Cuir,” he gasps, tugging on the string of his bond. “Is it true? Is she here?”

The dragon lets out an affirming rumble. “Yes, Gréine; Spéir and the girl are injured, but they have returned from Morraine alive.”

If it’s at all possible, Bodhi forces his legs to work harder, pump faster, to book it outside with hardly a glance behind him. He finally bursts through the front entrance and skids on the stone path, whipping his head around to look for you — his girl, his love, his light. He spots Spéir first, her massive black form standing tall next to two other dragons. One of her wings is bloody, and some of her scales have been ripped clean off, but she looks relatively fine other than that.

Then, he spots you and books it toward you, not giving damns nor shits about the three dragons that aren’t his that surround you. You’ve barely looked up once he makes it to you, throwing himself into you and pulling you protectively into his chest.

Nine months. It’s been nine months since you’ve been stationed in Morraine. Nine months of not seeing or speaking to you. He doesn’t know how he could stand it. 

Your arms crush him into a hug, and your knees almost buckle from the sheer force of how you hold each other.

He holds you like it’s the last time he ever will, like every promise he’s ever made and will ever make is sealed into your skin with every fleeting second that he presses into your form. No one could take you from him if they tried — not a general’s orders, not even Malek, if he could help it.

You pull away, and he finally gets a good look at you. You’re gorgeous, as always, even with scars lining your jaw and blood covering your face. He doesn’t think he’s seen a more wonderful sight in his life. He presses his forehead to yours, searching your eyes for…Well, just about anything. He’ll take everything and anything he can get from you.

“Bodhi,” you whisper, his name falling from your lips reverently. “Gods, I don’t—“

Your eyes widen as he silences you. Not with words, though; your lips are sealed the moment he grabs your jaw and slams his mouth on to yours, effectively shutting you up. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

His lips are chapped and bloody, courtesy of how hard he bit them earlier, but the metallic tang is the last thing on your mind as he kisses you fiercely and desperately, like you’re his oasis in a desert of nothingness. His light in a vast ocean of shadow. Your lungs burn from the lack of breath, but you don’t have it in you to care, not when he’s kissing you like this.

He finally breaks away after what feels like forever and nothing and presses his forehead back to yours, wiping some of the blood on your face with a calloused finger.

“A thaisce,” he whispers in the Old Language, long-suppressed tears running down his cheeks at the mere sight of your face. “Mo leannan. Mo Shíorghrá. I am never letting you leave my side ever again. Never again. I promise.”

Tyrrendor is where Bodhi grew up, and Basgiath is where he became a man, but in your arms, with your lips locked with his? Bodhi has never felt more at home.

[logansdoll]

I have so many ideas but I'm not a talented writer so here's one

-your logans wife pre striker you get taken by striker after logan gets shot as a way to kinda get back at him. Logan always had visions of a woman that he doesn't remember glimpses of domestic bliss. When striker attacks (in x2) striker name drops or says smth like "your wife has been waiting" as a way to antagonize logan.

Also, a cute detail to add if a fic takes place before he loses his memory would be the reader to call him james

I really love how your reader in has a plant mutation. Everything you write is just so good

I hope I wasn't to detailed feel free to take bits and pieces.

contingency

running through the base at Alkali Lake, Logan stumbles across a top secret room... only to find his whole entire world inside.

CW: suggestive, profanity, takes place during X2, has some elements from X-Men Origins: Wolverine, reader has been through some shit, Logan is so relieved, you don't really need to squint to see the angst, i'm iffy on how this turned out, etc.

'Think, dammit! What the hell was he talking about?'

With a roar of frustration, Logan unsheathed his claws, sprinting around the bend and slicing right through the stomach of a nearby soldier, waiting until the man fell with a disgusting plop before continuing on his way.

Why couldn't he just remember?

He knew that, for whatever reason, his memories had been tampered with, and that he couldn't recall anything about his life before the claws.

But ever since his run-in with Stryker back at the mansion, he couldn't help but feel like he was forgetting something especially important.

Something crucial.

"Wolverine..." Stryker grinned, eyes widening stepping forward out of the shadows. "I must admit, you are the last person I'd expect to find here."

Logan's claws revealed themselves with their signature shink, his brows furrowing as he warily stalked closer.

"How long has it been? Fifteen years?"

Stryker let out a small chuckle, but Logan was having a hard time finding what was so funny.

In fact, he was having a hard time with everything about this man—confused as to why he seemed so familiar.

"(y/n) says hello," Stryker goaded, adjusting his glasses. "Or, at least... I believe she would... If I'm being honest, she's feeling a little under the weather at the moment."

A sadistic smirk settled on his lips, his eyes glinting with sick satisfaction.

"But then again... there's seldom a time where she isn't feeling under the weather these days..."

"DAMMIT!" Logan barked, slamming his fist into a wall.

Not knowing was tearing him apart.

Who was (y/n)?

What were you to him?

And how the hell did he end up on the complete opposite side of the compound?

All questions that he furiously wanted to be answered.

Though, somehow—through his fit of blind frustration—he managed to stumble across a door, which had printed in big, bold, yellow letters:

CAUTION: KEEP OUT. HYDROSTASIS IN PROCESS.

"Hydrostasis?" Logan cocked a brow.

He didn't know why, but whatever was housed inside seemed to be pulling him in, silently urging him to open the door and investigate.

'Fuck it.'

Using one claw, he stabbed the retina scanner, the thick lock clicking with a satisfying beep.

He pushed past the door with ease, entering a seemingly large, dark, and oddly cold room, a lamp on one of the workbenches the only thing illuminating the space.

Cautiously, he approached it, sniffing and snapping his head around to make sure he was alone.

Yet he knew he wasn't.

He'd caught whiff of a faint scent emanating from somewhere further into the room, but it was so familiar, it seemed almost instinct to pay it no mind.

For some reason, he knew it wasn't hostile—and if anything, it calmed him, soothing his spiked nerves.

Reaching the table, he found that right next to the lamp laid a file labeled EXPERIMENT 25-8: CLASSIFIED.

He snatched it up with lightening speed, quickly skimming over the latest entry.

EXPERIMENT 25-8 a.k.a Weapon X Contingency

Name: (y/n) (l/n) Age: Unknown Sex: Female Height: X" X Weight: X Rank: Class 5 Report: 25-8 reviles authority. But her connection to Weapon X and general strength makes her a perfect candidate for Project Contingency. Her mutation and overall will to live have rejected all known forms of mind control. Will be kept in hydrostasis until new methods found. Conclusion: Further research required. Could possibly be the only creature known to man that can stop the Wolverine besides the Wolverine himself.

"(y/n)..." Logan tested out the name, confused as to why it sounded so natural.

So home-like.

Looking away from the pages, he glanced down at the table, catching sight of a large switch not too far away.

Without hesitation, he flicked it, the lights in the room suddenly cutting on, along with the lights to your chamber.

And there you were right before him—unconscious and floating in vibrant blue water.

Looking upon you, it felt like he was suddenly hit by a freight train, years of love, care, and warmth flooding his mind.

"James!" you squealed, unable to dim your smile as he hoisted you over his shoulder. "Put me down!"

"Not a chance," he smirked, carrying you toward your shared bedroom. "You know what you did..."

"No..."

"C'mere. I need a taste tester," you smiled, cupping your hand under your fork as you held up a chunk of steak.

He grinned, placing down his newspaper and taking a bite, groaning at the good taste as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

"Well?" you asked, nervous.

"Baby..." he paused for dramatic effect, wanting to see you squirm. "This is the best damn steak I've ever eaten."

"You ass!" you scoffed, playfully slapping him in the shoulder as he laughed, rocking you back and forth.

"I can't..."

"I love you, y'know that?" he asked, holding you close as you both relaxed in the bathtub. "I feel like I don't tell ya enough."

"You tell me every day, baby," you smiled, looking up at him as you rested your back against his chest.

"Well, then," he smirked, his hand rising from the water, holding a beautiful diamond engagement ring. "You alright with me tellin' ya a little bit more?"

Your eyes went as wide as saucers, and you gasped so loud the neighbors (which were three miles away) would certainly hear.

"YES!" you squealed, scrambling to turn around and give him a kiss, the water sloshing around violently.

"Careful, hon! You're gonna knock me out the tub!" he chuckled, steadying you as your lips began peppering kisses all over his face.

"She can't..."

"James," you started, timidly, tracing mindless shapes in his chest as you both laid in bed. "That man you told me about... Stryker... he came by the house today."

Logan tensed at the name, his grip around you tightening.

"He didn't do anything, did he?" he asked, tone rising.

"No," you shook your head. "But he asked for you. Said it was important that you come and talk to him."

He sighed, taking your hand in his, smoothing his thumb over your knuckles.

"I'll go over tomorrow. Straighten everything out," he assured.

"I don't think you should," you quickly denied, nervous. "This man... I don't trust him... He gives me a bad feeling, y'know?"

He cracked a small smile, placing a tender kiss on your forehead.

"I promise you, he can't do nothin' to me that hasn't already been done."

"RAAAAH!" Logan roared, blindly slashing at the table and all nearby equipment.

How could he have ever forgotten you?

Fury consumed his being in every sense of the word, the anger swelling inside him in a way he had never felt before.

Sparks flew as Logan destroyed any and everything in his path, teetering on the edge between rage and regret.

He could remember so clearly now.

You were his world—his reason for drawing breath, his reason for existing.

No matter how bad things got—angry, frustrating, or lonely—you were there.

You were his escape, his safety, his peace.

Comparing his life from before to the current, he couldn't fathom how he'd survived so long without being in your presence.

Through his slicing, he managed to cut something important, a loud warning siren blaring before all the water began draining from your pod, rapidly pouring onto the floor.

With a loud hiss, the door opened, sending you falling out the chamber.

Logan rushed over faster than he'd ever done anything, catching you in his arms and cradling you bridal style.

He looked upon you as if you were a ghost, a figment of his imagination.

After years and years of separation, he was finally allowed a chance to see your face, now able to recall all its fine details with perfect accuracy.

The softness of your cheeks.

The kindness of your eyes.

The plumpness of your lips.

Suddenly, you let out a loud cough, spitting up some water as your eyes snapped open, frantically looking around.

Logan couldn't find the words.

The love of his life was sitting in his arms and after fifteen years... and he had no idea what to say to her.

"James?" you asked, weakly, disbelieving of the sight before you.

That's right!

James!

His name was James!

"Yeah, baby..." he nodded, bitter-sweetly, getting a bit choked up. "It's me—"

You threw your arms around his neck without a second thought, pulling him into a bone crushing hug as tears began pouring down your cheeks, your shoulders shaking with cries of relief.

"I thought you weren't coming!" you sobbed.

Your throat felt swollen as you stuttered, scrambling to say all the things you've been wanting to for so long.

"Oh, God, I love you, Jimmy! I love you so much! Please don't leave me again!"

"I'm so sorry, baby! I'm so, so sorry!" he sputtered, his hand finding home in your hair as he rocked you back and forth, stray tears escaping his eyes. "I shoulda been here! I shoulda protected you!"

He buried his face in your hair, peppering the side of your head with kisses.

"I love you so much, honey... I'm right here. I'm not goin' anywhere."

Suddenly, you went limp in his arms, panic and fear spiking up his spine.

"(n/n)?!" he pulled back, frantically scanning over you to see what was wrong."(y/n)?!"

Quickly, he pressed his ear against your chest, thanking whatever god in heaven that your heart was beating.

'It might be a side effect of the chamber... or maybe she's tired...'

Without warning, the entire compound began to shake, a familiar blue devil popping up next to him out of nowhere.

"Zere you are!" Kurt exclaimed, quickly grabbing onto his friend. "Vee must go! Zee place is goink to flood!"

In an instant, the three were back with the others, the mysterious woman in Logan's arms posing a question to everyone.

"Logan?" Ororo raised a brow, confused, as they began running toward the exit.

"Who the hell is that?" Scott asked, much blunter than Storm intended.

Logan looked down at your peacefully sleeping face, brushing a stray strand of hair out your face.

"She's my wife..."

bonus !!

"SHE'S YOUR WHAT?"

[obeymeluv]

Been thinking about this eel and wanted to explore his character some.

-- Floyd realizing he likes you/falling in love with you --

Not proofread because it's late.

I was going to add two more but I'm tired and wanted to put something out.

Trying to decide if I'm going to put out more new stuff or circle back around to older stuff.

I.

Floyd is used to things being in black and white. No nuances. It's like survival of the fittest--you live or you die. You're living in one of the harshest environments and his brain is constantly circling back to HOW? It baffles him because you have no claws, your teeth aren't designed for raw catching, and he hasn't met a lander alive that could run fast enough to catch their food unless it was near death.

So HOW are you doing this with no magic?

Under the sea if you couldn't provide for yourself, you made yourself useful. If you worked for his family, that meant serving as muscle or as an informant. You looked better for getting information out of people than you did squeezing them.

Well, not the way he and Jade squeezed people, anyways. You squeezed them with kindness.

Yeah, he'd heard rumors that you were doing odd little jobs like the Savanaclaw runt. Mostly making little lunches and snacks. Sometimes you'd do a 'dorm night dinner' where you went over to another dorm and cooked!

Azul had been begging you to cook for the Lounge, to do a limited-time meal deal, but you could make more money cooking for the dorms. It was funny to see the Octomer practically foaming at the mouth as he tried to calculate earnings versus an enticing deal to get said earnings.

As long as they're not doing anything else, Floyd's relaxed eyes sharpened as his brows knotted together in a suggestion of annoyance. But why did he care, right? The law of the ocean, of the mers, was doing what you needed to do, right?

Why did it bug him so much? He knew you weren't doing anything else but why did the idea that you would--or could--make him want to take someone down in a death spiral?

The spaces between his fingers began to itch as the webbing threatened to emerge.

You shuffle your way into History of Magic wearing something that Crowley slapped together; it doesn't fit you as well as it could but Trein is the last one to make an issue of it. Floyd's gold eye twinkles with interest as he spots the cup in your hand. He likes to think the tea he smells is from Jade since you work at the Lounge with them but it could also be from Kalim or Goldfishy.

The fact that you can have tea, a small luxury in this foreign world, impresses him.

Yes, you do quite well, don't you?

"Hey Floyd," you sit down with a sleepy smile, setting out your meager supplies before holding the cup happily in both hands.

Ah. That's how.

Your smile makes him squirmy and he wonders if that's what his prey feels like before they meet his pharyngeal jaws.

---

II.

He only gets into fights because he's bored. Usually. Every now and then he and Jade will be called down to the Coral to help their father with a 'business venture'; that's an exception. The only other exception is when Azul sends them on a 'last call' visit.

Except for the occasions where he and Jade defended Azul himself, of course. That was way back in their childhood when he and Jade would terrorize the absolute shit out of those hateful mer-brats! Memories of pulling their scales off without getting caught or biting chunks out of their pretty tailfins when trying to go after smaller fish bring a smile to his lips.

Today he found a fourth reason he didn't expect: you.

He wasn't surprised to see Savanaclaw harassing you, not totally. These beastmen were at the mercy of their instincts and traits, too. Mainly stupidity, but having creature influence didn't always help things.

Just like he couldn't help himself from striking when it was convenient. When he was sure he couldn't lose. Moray eels were consumed with cowardice unless conditions were favorable and on land all fights were in his favor. The beastmen were strong, sure, and physically fit but there was a difference between being built for power and built for speed.

Jade may have taken to his land legs first but Floyd was still nimbler than people gave him credit for. The long legs were deceptive, he knew. It also helped that he spent a lifetime in the Coral where the sea sculpted muscle and got him used to dealing with a resistance that didn't exist on land.

"Kinda dumb to mess with the hand that feeds ya, huh?"

Leona would have their ASSES if he knew they were corning you and trying to bully you. Maybe cop a feel? Floyd swung his fist forward the second one of them turned their head to acknowledge him and it was one.

It was a blur but he was used to that. The Coral had obscuring kelp beds, bursts of water carrying all kinds of debris, and seafloor sediment that provided nice cover when needed.

All you needed were teeth and claws. And the scent of blood.

One of them was bound to get a good lick in. He'd be disappointed if they didn't, honestly. The one who tried to grab his earring would know he did something wrong tomorrow; at least two of his fingers were broken. Broken fingers don't matter to an unconscious guy, though.

"I didn't need your help!" you're glaring up at him. Floyd can't help but laugh. He blinks blood out of his eye. Somewhere near his eyebrow there's a wound throbbing.

"'Course ya did, shrimpy!" Floyd leans towards you, genuine smile showcasing pointy teeth.

"No, I didn't! They were starting to back off!" you hiss, pointing up at him.

"And now they're all the way off." Floyd shrugged, poking one with his foot.

"I'm telling Jade," you scoff. You both know Azul won't let him into the Lounge like this. Floyd detests the infirmary and had to be dragged there when he fell ill with his first stomach bug (Jade and Azul thought he was dying). The nurse gets on his case and the area smells too clean and chemical-y for his liking.

He flops down, waiting patiently and highly amused as you rummage through your thrift shop bag for medical supplies. You'd learned to start carrying stuff on you between Grim's overzealous fire-casting and Riddle's overblot. Floyd hums contentedly as you blot his face, nose wrinkling reflexively when he smells the alcohol wipe. You dab ointment on the wound above his eyebrow, scoffing and pulling his chin out of the crook of your elbow. Floyd snorts, pressing his cheek against your arm.

You smack a band-aid over the wound and he clicks his teeth as you glide your finger over the tender part. "You're such a good shrimpy, taking care of your moray," Floyd teases you, yelping when you pinch his cheek before starting off for the Lounge.

He lets you get a good distance ahead before launching off the ground. "Floyd?! Floyd, no! Stop! Don't do it!" you made the mistake of turning your head to look at him as the grass crunched under his shoes, breaking out into a run.

You shouldn't dart off in front of a predator. That activates the hunting instinct.

His laugh echoes as he catches you effortlessly, scooping you up and throwing you into the air like a toy. "Don't worry shrimpy, I got ya!" Floyd laughs, tossing you again.

---

III.

You're hard to find on your days off and that's really annoying to him. Sometimes Vil whisks you away for a spa day, sometimes you're holed up with that blue-burning recluse playing video games. Floyd has turned up empty-handed more often than not, which is impressive considering he's a hunter by nature.

The prey is illusive. And kind of offending him since you're dating but you're not here right now. He'd come find you if it wasn't that time of the month where they were stuck in their true forms, waiting restlessly for the latest delivery of the transformation potion.

No one knows how it happened, really, not even him. Most mers trade trinkets or hunt for their partners but he didn't do any of that. Not officially. He'd cook you something the second you stepped into the Lounge and comb the waters around Sage's for interesting stuff to give you but you didn't acknowledge those courting attempts so they didn't happen. You thought the way he opened and closed his mouth was just a sign of boredom and never did it back.

So yeah, it took forever for you guys to be a thing by mer standards.

You guys were dating by lander standards, though. Little things like you keeping him awake in class and him walking you to the next. He'd buy you something to put in your hair and you'd wear it the next day. When Azul found out you were the only one who could tie his bowtie without him complaining or undoing it, it was his favorite part of getting ready for a shift. If Crowley wasn't so stingy with the phone he gave you, Floyd would be blowing it up.

He continued his lazy laps in the Octavinelle pool, clicking his teeth and sighing sadly. A moray really shouldn't be without their shrimpy. It was cruel.

As if he'd summoned you, you showed up with a float. It meant you wouldn't be swimming with him today but Floyd could live with that. "Don't even think about it!" you warn, hearing the water pitter behind you as he breaks the surface. Floyd has yanked you in more than once on your 'float' days, blaming it on his predator nature. Leaning down to look through the awkward tent of your arm, one foot splayed across the float and trying to draw it close as you wiggled onto it, you met Floyd's mischievous gaze.

The fins at the side of his head flutter, your boyfriend ducking down until his heterchromatic eyes just touch the water. He pulls strong arms slowly and dramatically from the water, setting them softly on the deck as he flexes the muscles of his hands and lets the light play on his claws. "Think about what?" Floyd can barely get the question out, laughing already. His pupils thin as you successfully push off on the float, sending yourself across the water.

Just like that, he's gone. You peer over the top of your float to keep an eye on the lazy, winding shadow. He moves faster than that, you've seen it! What is he--

"Delightful to see you!" Jade pops up at your back and you yelp, losing your grip on the top of your float. If not for Floyd being on the other side and slinging his corded arms over you, you'd be in the water. He laughs at your near-heart attack and the little scrunch in your nose as water flings all over you. "Sam hasn't gotten our order in, I take it?"

"No," you glare at Jade. "He hasn't."

The calmer twin smiles in his usual unbothered way. You've learned to see the sadistic delight in it now. "I'll let Azul know. We'll be working on things below if you need us. Thanks for keeping my dearest brother company." Jade makes his way down and doesn't miss the chance to flick more water on you with the last bit of tailfin. You hiss, rolling over into Floyd's waiting lips.

"Shrimpy!" he sings, genuine delight slipping into a low purr as he peppers kisses up the side of your face and heaves his slick body onto your float. He's unexpectedly soft due to the weird 'hydration' coat they make. It doesn't dull the prominence of his scales and the feel of scale and slick against your skin makes your spine tingle.

He's either going to drown you or shred your float. You're bobbing in and out of the water, head thrust up to try and keep something dry. Floyd knew your prey instincts would kick in and make you flail; he's practically purring at the fact you've wrapped your arms and legs around him. He throws himself back, arms behind his head.

You relax when you realize he's become your personal float. A float that's very happy with himself. You've ridden on his back before but lying on his chest was new; even with your arms around him it still amazed you how strong his back was. Especially his shoulders.

"Happy?" you lay your cheek on him, eyes drifting along the swirls of blue and teal that surround the whitish-gray of his chest.

"Happy!" Floyd hums.

[sevikaslatinawife]

Soft Sevika Headcannons

Saw someone post they wanted more fluff for Sevika. Here’s my addition because I also believe we need more Sevika fluff.

NOTE: It has been brought to my attention that I added Sevika as “blushing”, and that it would not be visible on her skin tone. I will do better on this next time when writing.

ᡣ𐭩 — Forehead kisses.

Won’t ever admit to it but whenever you two are cuddling and you kiss her forehead, she melts. She just grunts and buries her face in your chest or anywhere where you won’t notice her blush.

You notice because even her ears get pink-tinted, but you never say anything. You just kiss the top of her head instead, liking the smell of her hair. This just receives another grunt for her and – maybe you were dreaming – feeling her lips quirk into a soft smile against your skin.

ᡣ𐭩 — Cuddling/Hugging.

She isn’t used to being held, not even something she grew up with, so the first time you hugged her, she felt light. She hugged you back and leaned her chin on your head while she held you. That is, after the initial shock of what was happening wore off.

She felt like she was vibrating and you pointed it out.

“You’re shaking,” you had said in a soft, concerned voice. She simple said, “I'm cold,” which you both knew was a lie. So you just smiled and hugged her tighter.

Whenever you two found yourselves with enough space, mostly a couch – specifically in Silco’s office – she would hug you close and bury her face in your hair or the crook of your neck.

She just takes calming breaths of your scent at your pulse point. She doesn’t think you’re real or with her, so smelling the heat of your skin and the ways it smells distinct, it calms her down.

ᡣ𐭩 — Having her hair played with.

Sevika was kind of taken aback the first time you touched her hair. Not because she didn’t like it, but with the softness that you did it with.

Now, she would lay on your lap and happily close her eyes while you played with her hair. When she had it longer, you’d take the ponytail off and run your fingers through the strands.

But now, she liked how you would rub the shaved part of her haircut with your fingertips. How you push the strands back to get a glimpse of her face because they couldn’t be tucked behind her ears as easily.

ᡣ𐭩 — Praises/Compliments.

The first time you told her she did a good job, was after she was grumbling about making being scolded by Silco – not an error she commited, but being told not to “Dissapoint him again.”

She looked at you like you were stupid but it made her heart race that you would think that of her. You could see the way her eyes shone, how glassy they looked when you said it.

So you kissed her cheek and told her again. “You did a good job, my love. Don't worry, you were wonderful.” You felt how she leaned into you when you cupped her cheek but only slightly. As if she didn't really believe the words you were telling her, like she was on edge you were just trying to soothe her and not really meaning to praise her. “You did do a good job,” You reassure. “You're my strong, wonderful girl.”

And maybe she melted and leaned her face into your hands while pulling you closer. You made sure to always praise her when you had the chance from then on.

ᡣ𐭩 — Your smell. [Curly Girl Edition.]

If you have curly hair and use products that smell a specific way, she buries her nose in your hair or neck where the smell clings to. Since it’s where your curls would brush against your skin and would leave it smelling the strongest.

Once you even caught her clicking the bottle of cream and sniffing it, frowning because it just wasn't the same. It smelt similar to you, but it smelt better on you, on your skin.

You didn't say anything, though, because you knew she'd never admit it, even after being caught.

Wanted it to be longer but couldn't come up with more :'( Please lmk what you think, if you'd like more and any headcannons you'd want me to add!

[obbystars]

Drown in the Deep

Synopsis: Drown your sorrows away into the deep dark ocean where it can’t be found. Feel its cold embrace and let the water in. Maybe then, you’ll see him again when you no longer feel anything.

CONTENT WARNING: The reader very much intends to die/get themself killed, detailing how they’d love to drown in the abyss.

Notes: Sebastian Solace x GN!Reader / Spoilers for Sebastian’s backstory / Possibly OOC / Established relationship, can be interpreted as either married or not but they are living together / Angst (Hurt w/ eventual comfort) / Death + blood (not the reader despite the synopsis and content warning) / Not really a happy ending honestly

(This is VERY self-indulgent I love hate Sebastian. Also a bit of experimentation and playing around with his character. I’m not so good on romance stuff, so I hope what’s here is to your liking. Also rewrote some parts A LOT due to idea change/read up on lore and realized things didn’t add up here. I think I’ve got most of it covered though. Anyway I love how a few runs of playing Pressure for the first time, I died to A-60 HAHAAAAA kill me.)

Credits: Dividers by @cafekitsune

A chance to be freed from your criminal record, and a reward worth to last for a very, very long time. As they always say, “High risk, high reward,” and the risks were certainly high. You could very much die. It was a chance anyone crazy enough would take.

But you didn’t sign up for this for the reward. You didn’t care about it in the slightest. To you, this would be an easy way out. An escape from this dreadful life fate had decided for you. So here you are, sitting in a submarine with three others in silence. There’s no telling on how deep you’re going, they never bothered to tell you how exactly far it was nor the possible dangers you’ll be facing. You’ll welcome anything if it means you won’t wake up again.

Still, you wondered why things went the way it did. Everything was fine until your partner was framed for a murder he didn’t commit. Nine murders, to be exact. You were there for the trial. You saw and heard everything. You kept your cool throughout all of it. You were hoping, praying to whatever god is out there to show them he was innocent. None of it mattered in the end.

After the trial, you went straight home, not even bothering to listen to your family who was also there. By the time you entered your shared home and locked the door behind you, you stood in silence for a while. You didn’t know what you were feeling at that very moment. You felt hot tears beginning to swell up, and your vision beginning to blur. Your legs eventually give out and you fell to your knees. You muffled your sobs with your hand as you curled up on the floor.

You couldn’t get yourself to calm down for a while. You don’t even know how long you were laying there once you feel your tears dry up and the sound of your heart beating rapidly leaves your ears. You don’t know what to do.

He was imprisoned and sentenced for execution for the nine murders you know he didn’t cause, but that didn’t matter. You weren’t there when it supposedly happened. You couldn’t prove anything. You were powerless to do anything.

Many early mornings were spent struggling to even leave the house, let alone the bed itself if you even managed to drag yourself to bed. You were too exhausted to even try for most. When you did manage to begin your day, you quickly became aware that everything is so much more irritating. People talking to you, certain noises you hear, how your food tastes… You just wanted to go back home and waste away.

As for majority of your nights, they have been spent just curled up in bed and crying until you eventually exhausted yourself. Gripping anything that resembled or had traces left of him and holding it close, hoping just the mere fleeting scent of him lulls you to sleep. Feeling the cold and empty space beside you and being reminded he’s gone, as if the reminders from your family weren’t already enough.

You know your family has been trying to contact you, sometimes even coming to the house, but you’ve ignored them every time. You don’t want to see them. You don’t want to talk, to hear, or to even think about them. You just wanted to be left alone.

A few years had gone by since then but you didn’t feel any better than before. You weren’t sure if you felt worse. Maybe it was because you felt numb nowadays.

Before you knew it, you soon find yourself behind bars. What you did, you don’t know. If you really did it, you didn’t care. You don’t know how long your sentence is, but you don’t care. You don’t know if whatever you did caused any deaths, but you don’t care. You don’t care anymore. You just wanted to drown in your despair, and this… “job offer” seemed promising. Retrieve a crystal deep inside a facility hidden in the deepest parts of the ocean.

To be so deep underwater to where the sun does not shine, to drift endlessly as water fills your lungs and it becomes so unbearably cold. To where you can’t feel anything anymore, not your body nor your emotions. To just feel the cold water and see nothing but darkness as the water pulls your body to wherever it so desires. Perhaps your remains could become the next meal for whatever lurks in the ocean’s abyss. Your body would never be found. You’d be gone without a trace.

So you signed up, knowing they don’t expect you to return. You don’t either. You don’t plan on getting that crystal, and you don’t plan on returning alive.

The shotgun shell directed at your neck on the diving gear given to you seemed promising as well.

If there is an afterlife, maybe you can see him again there. That sounded nice. You just wish you weren’t sent down with three other people. You never thought it’d be so hard to die in a place where risks of death were incredibly high. Perhaps it was because they wanted to use each other to get the reward for themselves, so they kept each other alive as long as possible. Covering each other’s eyes when the shark was outside the window, turning off another’s flashlight when an odd black figure appeared in the dark, saving each other from the creature inside the lockers… They weren’t going to let such easy bait be killed so easily, not this early.

Still, you strayed close behind as they often checked if you were still there. You kept your head low, until you heard another pair of footsteps from behind you.

Strange… The other three are already in front of you… And they’re just looking through drawers for anything useful.

The footsteps are getting louder and faster. You turned around just in time to see a strangely humanoid, armless figure running at you. It yelped the moment you locked eyes on it, immediately turning tail and running away.

“What the hell was that?!” One of the other expendables exclaimed.

Both of you walked back into the previous room to see where it possibly came from. There was a hole in the wall, shaped exactly like the creature they just saw.

“So they’re really in the walls, huh…” they then lightly punch your shoulder, “Hey, good job. I didn’t even hear it until it made that weird sound before it ran off,”

You say nothing.

“Come on, let’s keep going,”

You looked at them as they rejoined the others then back at the hole. You wished you didn’t turn around.

After a few more doors, the lights suddenly flickered. The one closest to you grabbed you and had you hide in a locker. Maybe they picked up on what you’ve been trying to do. You did willingly look into the eyes of the shark just outside the window, and they had to cover your eyes and drag you along with them. You also opened a locker that was already occupied by a strange creature coated in black and, what you assumed were, purple eyes. You hoped they’d leave you behind to be devoured by it, but you were pulled out and was patched up as best as they could do it. The damage wasn’t too severe, but still. There just had to be a spare medical kit in the room.

Maybe you weren’t being so discreet about it.

There were only three lockers in the room you were currently in and none in the room prior. They pressed on to the next door ahead. You were about to open your locker to step out into the path of the oncoming creature, but it zipped by you in an instant. It was much faster than what you’ve been dealing with.

You hear the others leave their locker followed with a quick flash of the flash beacon. You slowly step out of your locker and follow them into the next room to meet up with the other person. The one in front of you pulled out their flashlight, but ended up tripping over something. You stopped walking as they shine their light over what made them trip.

It was the one who ran ahead to find a spare locker. There was no blood or any signs of injury, but they weren’t moving and their eyes were still wide open. The other two tried to get them to respond, even shaking them, but they remained unresponsive. It was almost like they were just left an empty shell.

You restrain yourself from speaking as you would’ve called them an idiot for giving up a hiding spot in favor to make sure their bait stayed alive for a little longer, only to get killed in the process. Only 27 doors have been opened. Surely not all of you can survive much longer.

By the 35th door, one of them had used a code breacher to open a door without the keycard. Once the door slid open, a large creature with a smiling grey mask was seen on the other side of the door. Before they could react, it lunged towards them and instantly killed them on the spot before retracting their hand as it gets caught in the door while it was sliding shut. The blood splattered all over the floor and even reached you and the other expendable beside you.

By the 47th door, the lights flickered as you searched through a room off to the side. You can hear what you can describe as a distorted chorus faintly echoing down the hall, and soon a loud scream followed with multiple banging against a locker. The noise stopped as you walked to the door leading back to the path you’re supposed to take and you only see the aftermath. A fresh pool of blood and a destroyed locker. There was no body. The creature responsible is no where to be found.

You were alone now. Finally.

You kept your head low as you continued on, not bothering to search through the drawers for anything. Your body is starting to ache at this point. You opened the 50th door leading into a dimly lit corridor.

“Need to stock up?”

You looked up as you see the vent’s cover fall over. You turned around, then back towards the vent. You can see the next door ahead that requires a keycard, but you can’t find it from out here. You didn’t have a code breacher either as the others you were previously with had used them up.

“Come on, I won’t bite,” the strangely familiar voice beckons.

Had he not spoken twice, you would’ve thought you were hallucinating. Or maybe you are right now. A sort of “false hope,” so to speak. Not to mention how you can just barely recognize the voice. You’re having a hard time processing it after everything.

With no where else to turn, you walk to the vent and slowly crawl through. The room was dark, but lit up as you made it to the other side. You managed to get a good look at him, not exactly expecting some sort of fish-human hybrid.

“Ah, there you-” you see how his smile quickly disappears and his eyes widened once he sees you.

You only stare at him, tilting your head slightly to the side. He looked like he had just seen a ghost which wouldn’t be so far off considering what you had to witness for the past 49 doors, but why was he looking at you like that? He cautiously lowered himself down, close enough to your height but still far enough for some space.

You instinctively, though slightly, moved away as his hand moved closer to your face. That was until he finally spoke.

“[Name]..?”

You stepped back upon hearing your name leave his mouth. You narrow your eyes at him, “How do you…?”

Then it finally registered in your head. You’re not just hearing things, that voice was his.

Your eyes widened, now feeling his cold hand against your cheek, “S-Sebastian?“

“Yes…! Yes!” He nods, smiling widely, “It’s me!”

You couldn’t hold back your tears at all. The moment he confirmed it was really him was what finally broke down your walls. The last time you had cried this much was when he was to be executed. You had to hold onto his hand to keep yourself standing. He seemed to sense that as his third limb pulled you closer to him and held you in a tight embrace. You buried your face into his shoulder and sobbed until his grip on you got a bit too tight.

“W-Wait, Sebastian-!” You cried, “Let go!”

He gasps, immediately pulling away. You winced as you gently rubbed your arm. You looked up at Sebastian again and smiled.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you’re still alive. I have so many questions. Can I-?”

Sebastian stops you there, “Hang on. Before I get to answering your questions, I have one tiny question for you,” he suddenly towers over you as he yells, “How the hell did you get here?! And why the hell did you sign up for this?! Didn’t they tell you the risks? That you could very much die?”

You jumped at his sudden change in tone and almost fell back. His tail had went to cover the opening of the vent in case you ultimately decided to make a run for it. What do you even tell him? That you signed up just to die? No other reason. How could you tell him that?

“I-I… Well, yes, they did. I just- It’s because…” you don’t know what to say.

“Tell me the truth,” he demands. You swear you heard a hiss in his voice, “Of all people, why did you have to end up here?”

“I signed up for this because…” you paused, “Specifically because I wanted to die. I knew what I was getting myself into, Sebastian. They didn’t tell me anything specific,”

“Of course those idiots didn’t…” He scoffed, “They don’t expect you or the others to return,”

“I never planned to. I couldn’t care less about this so called crystal they told me I was supposed to retrieve,” you looked away, “Honestly, I don’t even remember what I did to end up here… Maybe I did something that killed a few people, or maybe I was framed like you,”

Sebastian calmed down a little and had moved back as you spoke. He repositions himself so that his back was against the wall and his tail would nudge you towards him.

“You said you signed up with the intention to die here,” he then says, “Why?”

You sit beside him as his tail slightly curls around you, “You were sent for execution and confirmed to be dead. I just couldn’t live with the fact that I couldn’t see you,”

His looks at your bloodied clothes and noticed bandages through some of the holes in your uniform. He points to it, “Are those..?”

“It’s from this weird black tentacle creature in a locker. It’s nothing too serious, if that’s what you’re wondering,”

He muttered a name you didn’t quite catch and he quickly moves on, “And the blood?”

You shake your head, “It’s not mine,”

He lets out a sigh of relief at that. It was finally your turn to ask questions.

“Sebastian, how did you survive?”

“Was picked up by Urbanshade before I was supposed executed. Guess they decided it’d be better if I was officially declared dead,”

“And you became this during that time?”

“You could say that. It’s, uh… It’s a long story,”

He doesn’t want to discuss it and you knew that was the case. So, you didn’t question it further. You have a good feeling you may have an idea now that you noticed a document on the table. Whatever was in there might have the answers to most of your questions, but you’re not sure if you even want to read it if he lets you. The mere thought of what could be mentioned in there makes you sick.

There’s still one other that you desperately want an answer for.

“We’re… not leaving this place, are we?” You questioned, not looking at him, “At least, I’m probably not thanks to this diving gear… One shotgun shell pointed directly at my neck, and if I even try to take it off, tamper with it, or leave this place,”

You stopped there. Both of you knew. Sebastian didn’t say anything for a moment, “I can get both of us out of here. I just need more time,”

More time. How much more time before your body can no longer keep going? You want to believe him, you really do, but you really might actually die here.

How ironic. You came here because you wanted to die. You watched the others die before your very eyes without much of a reaction. All of a sudden, you feel your stomach drop.

You’re afraid to die.