#i was supposed to be there half an hour ago

[loveesiren]

Choi Seunghyun x reader virgin🤭 (if you are comfortable)

𝙵𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚃𝚒𝚖𝚎

Choi Seung-hyun (T.O.P) x virgin!reader

synopsis: Y/n decides her boyfriend, Seunghyun, should be her first

warnings: smut, oral (fem receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, fluffy goodness

wc: 3.7k+

Lazy days like today were your favorite. There was something so blissful about having no obligations, no responsibilities pulling either of you away. It was your day off, and for once, Seunghyun didn’t have to be at the studio or in rehearsal. After months of back-to-back shows and endless travel, BigBang had finally wrapped up their tour, and all he wanted was to spend every possible second with you.

You still remembered the night you met him like it was yesterday. A year ago, you had been working a shift at the event center, slinging drinks for excited fans after the concert. He had walked up to the bar, all confidence and charisma, ordering a glass of wine with that signature smirk of his. What was supposed to be a quick drink turned into an hour-and-a-half-long conversation, laughter weaving between you like an unspoken connection. His manager had practically dragged him away, but not before he scribbled his number on a napkin and told you to call him. And now, a year later, three months into your official relationship, you had never been happier.

Both of you were private people, and that suited you just fine. There had been rumors, of course—whispers in fan circles, pictures snapped of the two of you together—but neither of you had confirmed nor denied anything. Instead, you lived in your own little world, undisturbed by outside noise. Seunghyun treated you like royalty, taking you to lavish restaurants, surprising you with bouquets of flowers and little gifts, constantly reminding you of how beautiful you were. He never pushed, never made you uncomfortable, always the perfect gentleman. It was almost too good to be true.

Today has been nothing short of perfect. The two of you curled up together on the couch, legs tangled, wrapped in the comfort of each other’s presence. The rain drummed steadily against the massive windows of Seunghyun’s apartment, casting soft, gray light over the room. Takeout containers littered the coffee table and a movie played in the background, its dialogue little more than a hum beneath the rhythm of the rain.

A particularly spicy scene flickered across the screen, and you shifted slightly, your mind drifting to thoughts that had been plaguing you for weeks. Since being with Seunghyun, something inside you had ignited, a desire unlike anything you had ever felt before. The late-night thoughts, the lingering heat pooling between your thighs—it was all because of him. Pleasuring yourself in the shower, like you had done for years, no longer satisfied you. You craved something more. Something real.

Seunghyun knew you were a virgin, and he respected that, never pushing for more than what you were comfortable with. But you wanted him. Needed him. Weeks ago, you had made up your mind—you were ready. You had been extra flirty, touching him more, giving him subtle hints, but he never took the bait. At first, you thought maybe he didn’t notice. Now, you were convinced he was holding back on purpose.

Frustration simmered beneath your skin, and you decided enough was enough.

Slowly, you shifted, turning to straddle his lap. His dark eyes flickered with surprise, but he didn’t move, watching you carefully. You cupped his face, pulling him into a deep, lingering kiss. He responded instantly, his hands finding your hips, his lips moving in sync with yours. When his tongue slid against yours, you let out a soft moan, pressing down against his thigh, seeking friction where you needed it most.

His grip on you tightened. “What are you doing, baby?” he murmured between kisses, his voice low, strained.

“I want you…” you whispered, trailing your lips down the column of his throat. You felt him tense beneath you, his breathing growing uneven, and when you shifted again, his arousal pressed against you, hot and hard even through his sweats. A satisfied smile tugged at your lips before you crashed your mouth back onto his.

Seunghyun groaned against your lips before suddenly pulling back, his hands gripping your waist to still your movements. “Mmm, fuck… baby, stop…”

You frowned, your brows knitting together in confusion. “Why?”

He let out a breathy chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “Because, you’re really turning me on right now.”

“That’s the point,” you countered, tilting your head slightly, eyes locked onto his.

His expression softened, but there was something else there, something deeper—conflict. “Baby…”

“I’m ready, Se,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “I want it to be you.”

He leaned back into the couch, his hands still resting on your hips. His eyes searched yours, as if trying to find any hesitation, any doubt. But there was none. All he saw was you—flushed, eager, beautiful. And in that moment, every unholy thought he had been suppressing came rushing to the surface.

He exhaled deeply, his grip tightening just slightly. “You don’t know how hard it is for me to hold back with you.”

“Then don’t.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The rain outside continued to fall, the movie long forgotten in the background. It was just you and him, the heat between you threatening to consume everything in its path.

And then, finally, he pulled you down, crashing his lips to yours, surrendering to the inevitable.

You smiled, pressing your body flush against his, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his clothes. His lips moved against yours with an intoxicating rhythm, tongues tangling in a slow, deliberate dance. Your hands, desperate and trembling with need, flew to his waistband, fingers fumbling with the fabric in an attempt to rid him of it.

"Settle, baby," he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with desire. "Let me take care of you first, yeah? Gotta get you ready…" He punctuated his words with a sharp nip at your neck, making you shudder beneath him.

"Okay…" you panted, breathless, your body already pulsing with anticipation.

His hand slipped beneath the waistband of your pants, his fingers tracing over the damp heat between your thighs. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as his middle finger ran teasingly through your slick folds, barely pressing against you. Your body trembled at the sensation.

"You tell me if you want me to stop, okay? At any point," he whispered, his lips brushing against your jaw, his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

"O-okay…" you stammered, barely able to form words. "Keep going, please."

Your plea was all he needed. His finger moved slowly, collecting your arousal before pressing inside your aching core. A sweet moan spilled from your lips, your head tilting back as pleasure consumed you.

"Shit… you're so fucking wet," he groaned, his voice dripping with restraint as he fought to control himself.

His finger pumped in and out at a torturously slow pace, the cool metal of his ring adding a delicious contrast to the heat pooling between your thighs. His free hand trailed up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your lips before pressing inside.

"Suck, baby," he instructed, his gaze locked onto you, dark and hooded with desire.

You obeyed without hesitation, wrapping your lips around his thumb and swirling your tongue over the pad. His eyes darkened further, a low growl vibrating in his chest as he watched you with a mix of hunger and adoration.

As his fingers worked you open, your hips instinctively moved to match his rhythm, rolling against his touch in slow, desperate motions.

"I'm gonna add another finger, stretch you out a bit, okay?" he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

"Mhmm," you moaned, nodding eagerly.

He slipped another finger inside, curling them slightly, and you gasped, gripping his shoulders as your walls clenched around him. The initial discomfort melted into pleasure, and soon, you were rocking against his hand, chasing the overwhelming heat building deep within you.

"This okay?" he asked, his gaze searching your face, his voice softer now, filled with concern despite the raw desire consuming him.

You nodded, relaxing against him. "Feels so good…" you murmured, resting your head on his shoulder.

He angled his fingers just right, pressing against that perfect spot, and your body jerked in response. A whimper escaped your lips, sending a rush of satisfaction through him. His thumb found your swollen clit, circling it in slow, tantalizing strokes, building you up higher, faster.

The tension coiled in your stomach, your breaths growing shorter, panting his name like a prayer.

"You gonna cum for me, baby?" he coaxed, his lips tracing the curve of your jaw. "Cum for me like a good girl…"

His words were your undoing. The knot in your core unraveled, pleasure washing over you in waves as your body trembled on top of him. Your walls clenched around his fingers, your nails digging into his shoulders as you let go with a cry of bliss.

"Fuck!" you gasped, your body pulsing against him, shuddering as he helped you ride out your high.

"That's my girl…" he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction, watching you with dark, lust-blown eyes.

As your body relaxed against him, he slowly withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his lips. His tongue darted out, tasting you, his eyes never leaving yours.

"That was amazing…" you panted, a lazy, sated smile tugging at your lips. "I want more."

Seunghyun exhaled a shaky breath, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "You sure?"

You nodded eagerly. "Please. I want to have sex with you."

A deep, guttural groan rumbled from his chest as his hands found your hips, gripping them firmly. "Fuuckkk…" he exhaled, his head dropping to your shoulder for a moment before lifting to meet your gaze. His hands slid down to palm your ass, his fingers digging into your flesh.

Then, with effortless strength, he lifted you into his arms. You gasped, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

"Where are we going?" you asked, your voice soft, innocent despite the fire still burning between your thighs.

He smirked, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips before whispering, "Your first time is not going to happen on the couch. I’m going to make love to you properly. In our bed."

Your heart swelled at the possessiveness in his tone, at the way he said "our bed" like it had always been yours, like you belonged there—with him.

Smiling, you tightened your hold around him, letting him carry you away, excitement building at your core once again.

Seunghyun’s lips molded to yours, slow and deep, before he gently pushed you back onto the bed. A surprised giggle bubbled from your lips as you bounced against the soft mattress, your breath catching when you looked up at him. The way he stood there, dark eyes locked onto yours, his chest rising and falling with slow, measured breaths—it sent heat rushing through your veins.

Then, with a deliberate slowness, he peeled his shirt over his head.

Your lips parted slightly as you took him in, the golden glow of the bedside lamp casting shadows over the defined ridges of his body. He was tan, toned, every inch of him sculpted like a masterpiece. You’d seen him like this before, but something about this moment felt entirely different—maybe because you knew you were about to experience all of him. No barriers, no teasing restraint. Just raw, unfiltered desire.

A shiver ran down your spine as he leaned down, hovering over you, his warmth seeping into your skin. His hand cupped your cheek, fingers tracing along your jawline with an almost reverent touch before he guided your lips back to his. His kiss was slow, intoxicating, his tongue gliding against yours in a way that made your head spin.

You moaned softly into his mouth, your body arching instinctively toward him. Sure, you’d kissed Seunghyun plenty of times before. But not like this. Not with this kind of hunger—like he was trying to memorize the taste of you, like he needed you to breathe.

His hand slipped beneath your shirt, fingertips featherlight as they traced over your stomach, your ribs, before settling on your breast. A sharp gasp left your lips as he massaged the soft flesh, his thumb grazing over your nipple before rolling it between his fingers. The sensation made your breath hitch, your thighs pressing together in anticipation.

“That feel good, baby?” His voice was husky, dripping with desire, his lips brushing against your neck, tracing a path down to your shoulder.

“Mhmm…” you whimpered, barely able to form words. “S’good…”

Seunghyun sat up slightly, his fingers curling around the hem of your shirt—well, his shirt, the one you’d been lounging in all day. He tugged it up and over your head, tossing it to the side. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you beneath him, bare and vulnerable, but entirely unafraid.

“You’re so fucking beautiful…” he murmured, his fingers ghosting over your skin as if he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

Warmth bloomed in your chest at his words. You believed him when he told you that. With him, you never had to second-guess, never had to doubt.

Still, you couldn’t help but tease him, arching your back slightly as you looked up at him through your lashes. “I wanna be sexy,” you murmured, lips curling into a playful smirk.

Seunghyun groaned, dropping his forehead against yours. “God, you are so. fucking. sexy.” His voice was strained, thick with want, before he crashed his lips onto yours again—this time, rougher, more desperate. His kiss left you breathless, lips swollen, body aching for more.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You think I didn’t notice how flirty you’ve been the past few weeks?” His hand trailed down your stomach, slow and teasing, before slipping under the waistband of your sweatpants. “Wearing those tiny shorts around the house… giving me those innocent little looks with those big, pretty eyes…” His fingers dipped lower, grazing over the growing heat between your thighs. “Pressing your tits together just to see me react.”

You gasped as he slid a single finger into you, your body jolting at the sensation.

“You’ve been driving me fucking crazy,” he growled, watching your reaction intently, his free hand gripping your thigh to keep you still.

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yeah?” you whispered, voice barely audible.

His smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming with something dark and knowing. “Yeah,” he murmured, slipping his finger out only to circle your entrance, teasing, taunting.

You let out a needy whimper, your body straining toward him. “So, what are you gonna do about it?” 

He sat back, hooking his fingers into your sweatpants and dragging them down your legs with a slow, torturous precision. He tossed them to the side without a care, his gaze locked onto you, devouring you whole. And then, with a wicked grin, he settled between your thighs. “Guess you’re about to find out.”

You barely processed his words before his tongue found your clit, swirling over your sensitive bud with a slow, devastating precision. A shuddering gasp left your lips as pleasure shot through you like a live wire, your fingers clawing at the sheets, searching for something—anything—to anchor yourself.

“Oh, fuck! Seunghyun!” Your voice was wrecked, desperate, a plea wrapped in pleasure.

Your hands found his hair, threading your fingers through it, tugging just enough to feel him groan against you. The vibration sent another sharp jolt of pleasure straight to your core. He devoured you like a man starved, every stroke of his tongue possessive, every flick of his lips insatiable.

“God, you taste so fucking good…” he murmured, voice thick with lust before diving back in, his tongue lapping at you like he couldn't get enough.

Your thighs trembled, the telltale knot in your stomach coiling tighter and tighter, seconds away from snapping. It was overwhelming, his mouth, his hands gripping your hips like he owned you, the heat pooling in your lower belly—

“Oh, God, I’m close—Seunghyun, stop!”

The words left you in a breathless rush, and instantly, he pulled away, his head snapping up in alarm. His lips were slick with you, his eyes wide with concern.

“What? I’m sorry!” His reaction was immediate, panicked, as if he’d done something wrong.

A breathless giggle bubbled from your lips as you reached for him, your fingers tilting his chin up. “No, it’s okay,” you reassured him, still panting. “I just want to cum on your dick.”

His pupils darkened, his lips parting slightly at your words. A slow, sinful smile spread across his face as he crawled up your body, his hands trailing reverently over your curves, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

“Are you sure you want this?” His voice was softer now, hesitant. His biggest fear wasn’t the moment—it was making you feel anything less than cherished.

Your hands framed his face, your thumb stroking over his cheek. “I do, Se. I love you. And I trust you.”

Something shifted in his gaze, something deeper, something sacred. His entire body seemed to melt at your confession, and he captured your lips in a kiss so slow and tender it stole the breath from your lungs.

“I love you, too.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but it was raw, unfiltered, filled with emotion.

He sat back just enough to rid himself of his sweatpants and boxers, his gaze never leaving yours. Your heart raced in anticipation as he settled between your thighs, his tip teasing your entrance, running through your slick folds.

Your breath hitched, every nerve ending in your body alive with anticipation. This was it—a moment you had dreamed about, wondered about, and now, it was happening.

He pressed into you slowly, his thick length stretching you inch by inch. The pleasure was laced with a sharp sting, your body adjusting to the new intrusion. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you gasped.

“Shit…” you breathed, trying to relax around him.

His brows furrowed immediately. “Want me to stop?” His voice was urgent, worried.

You shook your head. “No, no. Keep going. Just…slow…”

He nodded, placing a grounding hand on your hip as he continued to push in, giving you time to adjust. His breath came out in a shudder when he bottomed out, his forehead pressing against yours.

“Fuck, you’re so tight…” he groaned, his grip on you tightening as he fought to stay still.

You let out a shaky chuckle, the initial discomfort giving way to something warmer, something deeper.

“Feel okay?” he asked, his lips brushing over your jaw, his gaze searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

“Yeah…” you whispered, your body finally accommodating him. “Just…God, you’re big…”

A low, amused laugh rumbled from his chest, and he kissed you softly. “Just try to relax, okay? We can stay just like this if you need to.”

You took a slow breath, allowing your body to mold around him, to welcome him. His lips trailed featherlight kisses across your face, his patience endless.

Then, finally—

“Okay,” you breathed, meeting his gaze. “You can move.”

He searched your face for any uncertainty, but when he found none, he gave you a slow, deep kiss and pulled out just enough before thrusting back in. The motion sent a delicious spark through you, the pleasure beginning to eclipse the ache.

His movements were deliberate, slow and steady, giving you time to adjust, to feel every inch of him. And then, the pain was gone—replaced by something so intoxicating it had you gasping his name.

“You feel so good…” he murmured, his breath hot against your neck as his pace increased just slightly.

“Go faster, please,” you begged, your voice breathless, needy.

He groaned at your words and obeyed, his hips moving with more urgency, more purpose, hitting that perfect spot inside of you. A strangled moan escaped your lips, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper.

“Oh my God…” you panted, pleasure coursing through you in waves.

“Fuck, baby, I’m not gonna last long…” Seunghyun admitted, his voice strained, his control slipping.

“Me either,” you whined, eyes shut tight, the build-up sending you dangerously close to the edge. “I’m on the pill.”

His movements faltered for half a second, his eyes flicking to yours in shock. “What?”

A breathless smirk played on your lips. “Told you I was ready.”

Something snapped in him at that. A low growl rumbled in his chest, and he grabbed your leg, pushing it back just enough to hit even deeper.

“I fucking love you, Y/N,” he groaned before pounding into you with newfound intensity, his thrusts deep, desperate, perfect.

The coil in your stomach twisted tighter and tighter, your moans turning into cries of ecstasy as it finally snapped.

“Oh, Seunghyun!” You shattered around him, clinging to him as your body trembled through the waves of pleasure.

His thrusts became erratic, his breath ragged as he chased his own release. A strangled moan left his lips as he spilled into you, his entire body tensing before collapsing onto you, spent and breathless.

The world felt hazy, your bodies tangled together, the only sound in the room was your heavy breathing and the faint pounding of your heart.

Slowly, he pulled out, rolling onto his side and immediately pulling you into his arms. His lips pressed to your temple, warm and reverent.

“Was that okay?” he murmured against your skin. “Did I hurt you?”

You smiled sleepily, tracing lazy patterns on his chest. “That was fucking amazing, Seunghyun. Thank you.”

He exhaled, as if relieved, and wrapped you tighter in his arms, pressing kiss after kiss to your forehead.

“Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s take a shower, and then I’ll make you dinner, okay?”

“Mmm, can’t move,” you teased, your limbs still boneless from pleasure.

“Then I’ll just have to carry you,” he chuckled, standing up and scooping you into his arms effortlessly.

You giggled, curling into his warmth.

That night, as he cleaned you up, cooked for you, and held you close, Seunghyun couldn’t stop thinking about how much he loved you. And as you finally fell asleep in his lap, his heart full, he realized something—

One day, he was going to marry you.

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[reddtulips]

something something ghoap staying at johnny’s family farm that’s less than two hours away from glasgow.

they barely reach the damn place because simon insists on driving and takes a wrong exit on the highway and johnny has to piss a hundred times during the drive.

the air is crisp and cold and frosts the tips of their noses and simon forces indifference when johnny’s fingers brush simon’s to hold the duffel bag so he can close the trunk of the car.

johnny knocks on the front door and his mother rips it open, hugging his son and without a second to think, hugs simon as well and ushers them inside.

johnny’s father is a simple man and gives simon a firm handshake and a pat on his back and shows him the dining room, a feast set on the table and every salad under the sun overflowing in hand painted bowls that johnny’s mother made when she did pottery ten years ago.

johnny’s sisters are there, his niece and nephews as well, all children and simon sweats thinking how in the hell he is supposed to talk to them. are the boys at the appropriate age to know about guns and knives? or do they look at encyclopedias of greek mythology and dinosaurs? does the niece like barbie and dress up? or is she one of those girls that like to collect bugs and draw hopscotch on the pavement with colorful chalk and wipe the excess from her fingers onto her pants?

they watch him with eager eyes and giggles smothered behind tiny hands, and watch in awe when he lifts his balaclava to expose his mouth so he can eat.

johnny does the talking at the table and simon can’t understand a fucking word he’s saying because he’s gone full scottish with his family, only hums and nods occasionally. he wolfs down every piece of food, the human trashcan that he is (and because he doesn’t remember the last time he had a home-cooked meal), and nearly combusts for a second time that day as johnny’s mam places a plate with a thick slice of apple pie in front of him, vanilla ice cream melting over it and puts a hand on his shoulder, “johnny told me ye have a sweet tooth, so i made it especially for ye.”

simon who does silent breathing exercises so he doesn’t cry because he misses this so fucking much. to sit down with a family and enjoy a meal together with loved ones and not fight, nor scream nor yell nor cry nor throw food nor break plates and it’s just laughter upon laughter upon claps on the shoulders and clutching at arms and pulling each other into side hugs and light jabs that mean nothing and don’t break into full blown fights and simon thinks he’s going to vomit.

simon who gets to see johnny’s childhood bedroom. it’s decorated in superhero posters and hanging medals and trophies from gymnastics and competitive shooting competitions. johnny turns sheepish when simon points them out, teases him and likes and fears the swirl of warmth in his chest when johnny’s ears and neck turn red. he’s told “still a better shot than you,” and if johnny were anyone else, he’s be given toilet cleaning duties for the next three months.

simon who wants to pull out and empty every drawer, check every nook and cranny and learn and suck in every single piece of information and story there is about johnny and what — there’s pictures of you as a kid? with a mohawk? fuck off, soap, lemme see.

johnny opens the left door of his wardrobe and it’s covered in baby pictures of him and his family and simon’s chest tightens but he doesn’t break his gaze. Lo and behold, Johnny points out a picture on top and holy shit, it’s him holding a fat, orange cat the size of half his body and he’s sporting a long mohawk. His cheeks are stained with tears but there’s a forced grin on his face and blood on his chin. johnny explains it was his 7th birthday, he fell off a swing, hit his chin and his mam still wanted a photo. the cat’s named ‘fergus’ and he’s still alive and has lost most of the weight. he explains more photos but simon’s eyes keep coming back to the first one and he just wants to lean down and leave a gentle kiss on the scar covering johnny’s chin.

the kids don’t leave simon alone, as much as uncle johnny protests and tells them to get tae and let ‘em rest, he’s been drivin’ all mornin’ but watches them from the kitchen with a soft smile as simon walks around with the kids hanging and clutching at his strong arms like they’re monkeys and simon can’t get enough of their giggles and ooh’s and ahh’s when he tells them heroic and child-friendly war stories about their uncle. he also tells them that he sucks ass at taking orders and sharing his MREs and that they should listen to their parents and respect their elders and share with each other. johnny smothers a grin behind his hand as simon uses his lieutenant’s voice when speaking to the kids about these things.

johnny steals simon away then, “gotta show ‘em the horses”, and simon keeps his distance and doesn’t dare get up on one of them. the cockiest, “scared, Lt.?” with a shit-eating grin from johnny makes him grab the reigns and climb on. johnny leads the horse down the field and they fall into a comfortable silence. simon can’t get enough of the peace and quiet and chirping of birds and gentle yet chilly breeze on his hands and johnny is suddenly coming to a halt.

simon looks down at his sergeant, and his cheeks are flushed red and there’s determination and well-masked hesitation in his blue eyes and before simon knows it, he’s being pulled down by the sleeve of his jacket and johnny is cupping the sides of his face and pressing a gentle kiss over the material of simon’s mask. it’s innocent, quick, almost like it doesn’t even happen and isn’t registered. but their gazes meet when they part and it’s over for both of them because simon is fervently pushing his mask up and cupping johnny’s cheeks and they’re both leaning forward again and pressing kiss upon kiss upon kiss on each other’s lips and simon finally thinks,

i’ve found it. i’ve found home.

[kayrma]

See You At the Next Stop

Lily Evans meets a posh-looking bloke with messy hair on the way back to London, and for once in her life she actually enjoys a train ride. Maybe having a spontaneous seat partner isn't that bad after all.

Read on AO3 (2.9k words)

happy birthday, lily evans-potter! didn't have enough time to finish my punk!lily fic but i realized i never actually posted this fic from two years ago to tumblr so this is my contribution for today <3

Lily stared down the document in front of her, willing her brain to start writing words again. She had been on the train for nearly two hours now, travelling from Edinburgh to London. Visiting home had been yet another disaster, with Petunia continuing to judge Lily for moving to London after school and finding an inner-city job.  Her sister liked to say that Lily was wasting her money trying to live on her own (which was a lie, Lily had a lovely roommate named Mary), and that she’d be better off staying home and finding a husband. Sometimes, Lily thought Petunia was stuck in the nineteenth century, but she blamed most of that on her horrendous boyfriend Vernon, who worked for a drilling company or something else of the sort – it seemed far too boring to keep track of. 

Really, Lily had only gone home to visit their mum, following the two-year anniversary of her father’s death. His death had hit their family hard, despite them all knowing it was coming. Her father had suffered from cancer in his final years, but it still hurt knowing he was gone. Mr. Evans was Lily’s biggest supporter, encouraging her to attend Cambridge despite the monetary toll it would put on their family. He had helped her search for scholarships, and she ended up going to university for much lower than she ever could have expected without her father’s help. He was the one who helped her move to London, being there to help her move into her tiny flat despite him slowly growing weaker. She missed him every day, and she missed her mum, but she needed to be back in the city for work tomorrow.

Snapping out of her painful memories, Lily looked back at the half-empty document, with only a title and an introduction on it, not even in Times New Roman yet. She switched the font, the Arial irritating her, and leaned back into her seat. Even though she was on the high-speed rail, the train ride had felt impossibly long. She was seated next to some messy-haired Indian bloke, his glasses on top of his head and earbuds plugged in as he typed away on his own laptop. The man was gorgeous, to say the least, especially since he had unbuttoned the top collar of his dress shirt, and was wearing Converse with his slacks. Really, she couldn’t not admire him. Lily had a personal policy of not sitting next to men if she could avoid it, but he looked around her age and seemed relatively unassuming when he got on at Newcastle about an hour after her, and Lily found herself unable to say no. A part of Lily had wanted to ask him for his name, to know more about him, but he seemed to be a little bit of a mess as he got on the train. All he offered her was an apologetic smile as he struggled to shove his duffel into the overhead compartment as the train started moving. She smiled back at him, perhaps a little too eagerly in comparison to his semi-grimace. He had rolled up his sleeves as he sat down, and what was Lily supposed to do but stare at his well-defined tan forearms? He probably worked in some posh company, considering his attire (not that Lily could judge, she was still wearing business casual as well). Any time she peeked over at his laptop, he was typing furiously into some form of sheets that she truly could not decipher no matter how much she wanted to try. Looking away from him and turning her attention back to her own laptop, her brain felt like it was about to melt. 

Deciding to take a break, Lily closed her laptop, ridding her mind of thoughts about her struggling article. She pulled out her phone, and seeing that her plan was about to run out for the month, she started to play some silly game that didn’t require any data. At that moment, the messy-haired bloke looked over, saying “Oh, I love that game!”

He had said it extremely loud, presumably because he was blasting music in his earbuds, but Lily laughed and turned towards him.

“Really? All my mates make fun of me for playing it – what level are you on?”

“Oh, don’t worry, my mates do the same. They say it’s because I still act like a ‘bloody child’ but I think I just enjoy a bit of mindless fun, y’know?”

Lily nodded, glad to see that she had something in common with the gorgeous bloke. He hadn’t told her what level he was on, but his smile and enthusiasm more than made up for it.

“Regardless, I’ll let you get back to the game, this project might be the death of me.”

She slumped back as gracefully as she could, disappointed that he was busy, but she shot him another smile and went back to playing her silly little game. After exhausting her thumbs, she genuinely felt like she had lost brain cells, choosing to just put away her phone and relax with some music. Putting her head against the seat, she closed her eyes and tried to stop thinking entirely. However, no matter how much she tried to empty her mind, the bloke next to her kept popping into her mind. She ended up just embracing it, allowing her mind to fill with thoughts of who he could possibly be as she felt herself drifting off into sleep. 

Lily had no idea when she woke up, but she felt an impossible crick in her neck as she opened up her eyes. Quickly checking her watch for the time, she realized she had only been asleep for a little over half an hour, and sighed in relief – she’d still have time to try and work on her article again. However, as she tried to get up, she realized there was a weight on top of her head. Glancing upwards, she realized she had fallen asleep on the bloke’s shoulder, and he was leaning back on top of her head as his hands were stilled on his laptop. His shoulders were sturdy and broad, and Lily thought that she wouldn’t mind staying there forever. Not wanting to disturb him as he seemed utterly relaxed, Lily stayed put, hoping he’d wake up soon. 

After a few minutes (that felt like a lovely forever), his head lifted off of hers, and she took the opportunity to escape. Before she could even look at him, she heard the sound of his neck cracking as he stretched it, and Lily’s jaw dropped wide open. 

“That sounded like it hurt,” she commented discreetly, hoping he wouldn’t take it the wrong way. 

He smiled at her, glasses almost slipping off his nose now, rather than tangled in his messy hair. Shaking his head, he said “I always do it to wake myself up, it feels rather good actually.” The bloke proceeded to crack each one of his knuckles, and then his wrist. Lily grimaced at the noise, but couldn’t help herself from laughing. She figured she should probably apologize to him for falling asleep on him, even though she didn’t know how she ended up on his shoulder. 

“I’m Lily, by the way. Sorry I fell asleep on you. I’ve been working on an article and my brain genuinely felt like it might have melted if I hadn’t taken a break.”

“No worries Lily, it’s lovely to meet you,” he stuck out his hand, “Potter. James Potter.”

“Bond-like, are we?” Lily took his hand and gave him a firm handshake, trying to put on as serious of a face as she could in order to mirror his own expression. 

“Of course, milady Evans. What takes you to London this fine weekend?”

“Why Mr. Potter, I’m heading back to work. I visited my mum in Edinburgh, and I’ve got a roommate and a flat and a job to get back to tomorrow.”

“Is that so?” James flashed a smirk that would have brought her to her knees if she hadn’t already been sitting down. “Well Evans, I’ve just done the same, except that I visited my mum and dad in Newcastle, and am heading back to the flat I share with my brother and our friends, and a job as well.”

Lily giggled, of all things, and looked down to realize that their hands were still intertwined from when he had reached out to shake them. She dropped it before she could get too flustered, and tried not to notice the disappointed look on James’ face. 

“Right then, Potter, where do you work? I’d bet it’s somewhere posh, with the clothing you’re wearing and those sheets you were typing away on.”

Clearly surprised she had noticed, James’ quick reaction gave away that she seemed to have gotten everything right.

“Stalking me already Evans? And then falling asleep on me? Have you got some sort of ploy going on here, an evil scheme or whatnot?”

“Oh of course, I’m a journalist for The Daily Prophet, you see, and you’re the subject of my next story. James Potter: The Posh Bloke with Messy Hair and Unfinished Work.”

James let out a loud laugh at that, startling the other people in the full cabin. They all seemed to glare at him, despite his laugh being perfectly beautiful in her opinion.  He raised a thick eyebrow, questioning her with just that one expression.

“Alright, well you’re not the subject of my next article Potter, sorry to disappoint. But I do really work for The Daily Prophet, and I’m afraid I’m the one with unfinished work seeing as my article’s barely hit a page yet.”

“And you’re sure it can’t be about me? My messy hair just won’t do for The Prophet?”

“Afraid not, sorry, unless you’ve got a secret as to how you manage to keep it that messy. You’ve run your hands through it more than I can count in just the time we’ve been talking, and it’s not shown a single sign of being tamed.”

“Well Evans, I suppose I’ll let you in on a secret then.” He leaned in close to her, his lips almost brushing her ear as his breath made her shudder. “My dad’s actually the creator of Sleakeazy’s Hair Products, and I refuse to use it out of principle.”

Lily’s head snapped around so quickly it nearly gave her whiplash. She looked at James with an incredulous look on her face – there was no way he was telling the truth. But his face looked so earnest, completely devoid of his teasing demeanor, and Lily ended up just staring at him in bafflement. He snickered as she continued to stare him down, and his hands went right back up to muss up his hair.

“Yeah, I know. My brother ended up with the good hair genes, considering Sleakeazy’s has never really been able to do much for me anyways. Well, he’s not really my brother, we took him in after he ran away from his shitty family, but he’s my brother in everything but blood.”

James seemed like he was about to continue rambling, almost like his mouth was moving quicker than his brain. Lily reached out to put her hand on his wrist, but whether she did it to calm him down or for her own benefit, she didn’t quite know. 

“That’s really sweet of you and your family, James,” she gave him a small smile, “You’re clearly of the good sort. Maybe I will write my article about you after all. James Potter: A Bloke with Messy Hair and a Penchant for Being a Good Person.”

“All that from a bit of rambling, eh, Evans?” He was evidently smug, happy with the perception he’d given of himself. Something about his smirk made Lily want to wipe it clean off his face with a kiss, but it was far too early and far too public of an area to do that. Instead, she humored him with a laugh, and pulled her laptop out of her bag. 

Opening a new document, she enlarged the font into the awful old-Gothic newspaper style that came preloaded, and wrote up all the silly titles she’d come up with today. James reached for it slowly, wordlessly asking permission to take her laptop. She nodded and passed it to him, curious to see what he’d possibly type. He deleted all the words she’d put in, and changed the font to fucking Lobster, of all things, and then turned the laptop away from her. James seemed to be taking his time to think about what he was about to type, mussing up his hair yet again. After a minute or so of anticipation, he turned the laptop back to her, and it read: “James Potter: A Bloke with Messy Hair Who’d Like to Take One Lily Evans on a Date.”

Lily gave him what might have been the goofiest grin of all time, snatched back her laptop, changed the font to a respectable Times, enlarged it, and wrote in “Yes” so that it would fill up the page. James smiled back at her with the same reckless abandon, and leaned over to hold her hand. And then the computer nearly slipped off her lap.

They both reached for it, knocking heads in the process, but managed to save it from a horrific death on the train (she was a journalist, she needed to make use of her sensationalizing skills sometimes), and they both started laughing. They kept going even as she quickly put her laptop back in its bag. The passengers around them were definitely staring at them with irritation now, but that meant nothing to her if it meant seeing James’ smile. She leaned back into him and grabbed his hand to hold it properly this time, looking up at him like she could ravish him right there. He stared back at her with the same dark look in her eyes, and kissed her forehead and her nose. 

God, this boy and his ability to make her giggle. She whispered, “If you’d like to kiss me, you can just do it, y’know?”

He leaned in for a chaste kiss, “Right, but if I kissed you like I wanted to right now, we’d probably get a complaint for public indecency. Besides, it’s just another half hour to London, and my flat’s not too far from the station.” And then he winked at her. Lily gaped at him with an open mouth, and James pushed it back closed after a beat, saying “Don’t catch any flies in there, love.” Truly, James Potter was an enigma she could write an article on. 

“Well, I suppose I’ll get back to writing my article then. It seems I might be busy after we get off this train.” 

James stared her down as she pulled her laptop back out of its back, tied up her hair, and for extra flair, picked his glasses off his head and put them on. 

“Fuck, nevermind, you’re blind as a bat, Potter,” Lily blinked furiously, and shoved them back onto his face. James ruffled his hair (of course he did), and reopened his own work. Before he started working though, he reached over and pulled her closer to him, so much so that she was nearly on his lap, and then took his arm right back away once she was squished into him. Embracing the position, Lily opened a new document, abandoning the pages she had previously written, deciding that her next article would just have to be about something more lighthearted than the current foreign affairs of the UK government; her boss Minerva could probably appreciate some good news anyway. Pulling up the notes of an old interview she had done. Finally finding a rhythm as she typed away, Lily was startled by the “London, next stop!” that blared over the train’s PA system. She glanced over at James, who seemed just as rattled, and they both put their things away in unison. As everyone else on the trains stood from their seats to take their luggage, James immediately bumped his head as he got up.

“Bloody hell, these have no right being so low,” He grumbled as he stretched out and reached for his duffel.

“Sure you won’t need help with your bag this time, Potter?” Lily felt the need to tease him, just to humble him with her first impression of him from when he boarded the train. As if to prove a point, James swiped her bag off the overhead carry bin as well, and held on to both of them as the cabin started to clear out. Lily did a final check of their seats, and lightly jogged to follow him out.

“Well Potter, I recall you saying your flat wasn’t too far from the station. Are you planning on making good on that?”

“Of course Evans, what kind of man do you take me for? I’ll have you know I don’t put out on the first date though, I’ll be making you food since my flat’s got a stellar kitchen.” She raised an eyebrow at him, willing him to continue, because she wanted to know what he could possibly be making for her. “My mum’s aloo tikki recipe, I think you’ll like it.”

“This feels like a dig at me for being half-Irish, but I never mentioned that, so I’ll accept it. I look forward to seeing your cooking skills since you’ve got the sort of hair that would catch on fire in a kitchen.”

James gave her that stunning smile again, and grabbed her hand as they walked out of the station, and on the way to his flat. Lily had a good feeling about this bloke with messy hair and enough charm to create a whole new world.

[arkofangels]

Don't wait up II ch.2

summary: You never expected to see him again. After that night—patching up Jason Todd in your apartment as he bled out on your couch—you figured it was a one-time thing, a fleeting moment of chaos in a city built on it. But Gotham had other ideas. The next morning, he was back in class, effortless, untouched—like he hadn’t nearly bled out hours before. No limp, no wince, not even a trace of pain. And then, the messages started. A quiet reminder that he was still there. A cup of coffee left waiting on your desk. A scrawled note at your usual study spot.

Subtle. Unspoken. Impossible to ignore.

And for some reason, you didn’t want to.

a/n: I'm not in the best of mood because my family got rid of our dog, like that was my baby I raised him since he was little and they want me to be ok with it !?. So it be a while before I update this story again

You never thought you’d see Jason Todd again after that night. Gotham had a way of making people vanish, of erasing moments that didn’t fit into its relentless cycle of crime and survival. But Jason? Jason was different. He was a constant shadow, a presence you couldn’t shake, even when he wasn’t bleeding out on your couch.

You saw him in class the next morning, sitting in his usual seat at the back, his posture as casual as ever. No sign of injury, no limp, no grimace of pain. If you hadn’t spent half the night stitching him up, you’d never have guessed he had nearly bled out on your fire escape hours ago. He caught your gaze just once, his expression unreadable, before turning his attention back to the lecture.

For a while, you thought that was it. A one-time, adrenaline-fueled encounter. But Gotham had other plans.

It started small. A text message from an unknown number: *Thanks for the help.*

You should have ignored it. Should have deleted it and moved on, you really could’ve moved on like nothing happened the night before. But instead, you responded: *You owe me a new couch.*

After that, Jason had a way of showing up. Not in obvious ways—he wasn’t that kind of guy—but in ways you couldn’t ignore. A cup of coffee waiting for you on your desk before an early lecture. A note scrawled on a napkin at your favorite study spot: *Try the caramel latte. Trust me.*

He never stuck around, never lingered longer than necessary, but the presence of him was there, seeping into your life like ink on paper. And for some reason, you let it happen.

The next time you saw him in full Red Hood gear, it wasn’t on your fire escape. It was in an alleyway two blocks from your apartment.

You weren’t supposed to be there. You had left the library late, too absorbed in your project to notice the time, and now you were regretting it. The streets were nearly empty, the kind of quiet that wasn’t safe in Gotham. You were halfway home when you heard it—the unmistakable sound of a struggle, the heavy thud of a body hitting the pavement.

You should have walked away. Should have kept your head down and kept moving. But your feet didn’t listen.

Peering around the corner, you saw him.

Jason stood over a man groaning on the ground, his breath coming in sharp bursts. The Red Hood helmet gleamed under the dim streetlight, but even through the visor, you could tell he wasn’t in great shape. His stance was off, his left side tense in a way that suggested he was favoring an injury.

You stepped forward before you could think better of turning around. “You look like shit.”

Jason turned sharply, his gun halfway raised before he recognized you. He exhaled through his nose, lowering the weapon. “You really shouldn’t be out here.”

“And you shouldn’t be getting your ass kicked in alleys, but here we are.”

A beat of silence. Then, to your surprise, he chuckled. It was low, rough, but it was real. “Fair point.”

You crossed your arms, tilting your head. “You need help?”

“I’m fine.”

You gave him a pointed look. “Yeah, you said that last time, too.”

Jason sighed, rolling his shoulders. “It’s just a scratch.”

“Right. And I’m the Queen of England.”

Another huff of laughter. He studied you for a moment, something indecipherable flickering in his eyes. “You don’t scare easy, do you?”

You shrugged. “I live in Gotham. Last week, someone from my public speaking class got arrested for trying to rob a bank. You either grow a backbone or get swallowed whole.”

Jason nodded, like he understood that all too well. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “You’re into tech, right? If you’re serious about that tech stuff… meet me here tomorrow night.”

You took the paper, unfolding it to see an address scrawled in his handwriting. When you looked up, he was already turning away before you could even get a word in, his jacket shifting slightly as he disappeared into the night.

You stared after him, the weight of the paper heavy in your hand.

You had a choice to make.

And for some reason, you already knew what you were going to do. You were going.

The following night, you found yourself pacing outside the address scrawled on the paper. A nondescript warehouse on the outskirts of Gotham, its windows dark, its entrance barely visible under the flickering glow of a single streetlight.

What the hell were you doing?

Every instinct screamed at you to turn around, to pretend you had never taken that paper from Jason, never followed through on this ridiculous idea. Who in their right mind walked into a random warehouse in the dead of night to meet a vigilante? You should have been at home, buried in coursework, not entertaining the kind of choices that got people killed in Gotham.

And yet, here you were.

You hesitated, shifting your weight from foot to foot, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. Maybe you were losing it. Maybe Jason had hit you with some sort of weird, unspoken challenge, and your pride had answered before your brain could catch up.

Too late now.

With a steadying breath, you stepped inside.

Jason was already there, leaning against a table littered with weapons, schematics, and half-assembled tech. He glanced up as you entered, a smirk playing on his lips. "Didn’t think you’d actually show."

You shrugged, stuffing your hands into your jacket pockets. "Guess I’m full of surprises. So, what exactly did I sign up for?"

Jason pushed a small, modified helmet across the table toward you. "You said you were a tech designer. Show me what you’ve got."

You carefully took the helmet into your hands, turning it over as you examined the mechanics. The weight was balanced, the design sleek but reinforced for impact. You traced the edges where the visor met the shell, noting the precision in its craftsmanship. Whoever built this knew what they were doing—but you had ideas, ways to improve it, to make it even better. Your fingers found a small access panel, and without thinking, you popped it open, revealing the intricate circuitry inside. 

"Wow, this must’ve cost a fortune to make—especially with this level of craftsmanship and mods. Are you secretly a millionaire or something?"

Jason let out a short, uneasy laugh. "Yeah, something like that... or I just know where to find the right people."

You raised an eyebrow at that, but let it slide. Instead, you turned your attention back to the helmet, running your fingers over the circuitry.

"Some of these components are military-grade," you noted, tracing a wire with the tip of your finger. "And this sensor array—whoever put this together wasn’t just messing around. You didn’t just 'find' this, did you?"

Jason smirked but said nothing.

Then, after a beat, he sighed. "I was wondering if you could... take a look at it."

"Wow, straight to exploiting my skills? At least buy me dinner first, Mr. Todd," you joked, tilting your head playfully.

Jason huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. "You're relentless."

You exhaled. "Okay, fine. You want me to tweak it? What exactly are you looking for?"

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "Better responsiveness. The HUD glitches under pressure, and the thermal imaging is inconsistent. Can you fix that?"

You tilted your head, considering. "Yeah. But I’ll need some time, and I’m gonna need parts. Specialized ones."

Jason shook his head. "I’ve already got the parts. You just need to modify the helmet."

You blinked, caught off guard. "So you’re telling me I don’t have to go skulking through Gotham’s black market looking for illegal tech? That’s... refreshing."

Jason smirked. "I know people."

You exhaled, relieved but still wary. “Tell me you’re not secretly a terrorist or something."

He let out a short laugh. "Not even a little."

You picked it up, unfolding it carefully. Inside was a list of suppliers, some you recognized, others you didn’t. You glanced at Jason, suspicion flickering in your eyes. "These people aren’t exactly running legal storefronts."

Jason just grinned. "Welcome to Gotham."

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "Alright, fine. I’ll make the modifications. But if I find out you’re using this for anything shady—"

Jason raised an eyebrow. "Define shady."

You gave him a flat look. "Anything that lands me on a government watchlist."

He chuckled. "Relax. I only go after the bad guys, I swear”. 

That didn’t make you feel much better, but you let it slide. You set the helmet down and pulled a notepad from your bag, jotting down the tweaks you’d need to make. Jason watched you in silence, arms crossed over his chest.

"How long do you need?" he asked finally.

"A couple of days. Maybe a week if I hit any snags."

"Good. Just let me know when it’s done."

You glanced up at him, curiosity gnawing at you. "And what exactly do I get out of this?"

Jason smirked. "Besides the satisfaction of improving my gear?"

You rolled your eyes. "Besides that."

He considered for a moment before nodding. "How about a favor? You ever need something—protection, intel, maybe even a dramatic rooftop escape, call me." That gave you pause. A favor from the Red Hood could mean a lot of things. You tapped your pen against the notepad before nodding. "Deal."

Jason extended a hand, and after a brief hesitation, you shook it. His grip was firm, his skin rough with callouses. 

You glanced at the time on your phone and felt your stomach drop. "Shit, I have to go." Without thinking, you grabbed Jason’s helmet from the table, tucking it under your arm as you turned toward the door.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of your promise lingering in the air. The quiet hum of the workshop filled the space between you, the faint scent of oil and metal grounding you in the moment. Then, a buzz from your phone shattered the silence.

You glanced at the time on your screen and felt your stomach drop. "Shit, I have to go." Without thinking, you grabbed Jason’s helmet from the table, tucking it under your arm as you turned toward the door.

Jason raised an eyebrow. "In a rush?"

"I have an important project due at Wayne Tech, I really should go home and get some sleep” you said over your shoulder, already making for the exit. "I’ll bring this back when it’s done. Try not to get shot in the meantime."

Jason smirked, watching as you pushed open the warehouse door. "No promises."

[darbonime]

problems in paradise

contains: angst, arguing, difficult relationships, bit of fluff i suppose.

word count: 2.8k

Your eyes follow him leaving the house to have a smoke again, his white undershirt is crumpled, body stiff, making muscles more prominent, the golden chain glistens faintly and hair is slicked back but doesn’t seem to have the first freshness. Today is amazingly gloomy day, previous few days were sunny, and when you woke up, you caught by surprise with cloudy sky, and weather forecast woman said there is rain possible in the second half of the day. Not that you minded, you have no mood anyway.

It was only morning and before breakfast was ready, he already swallowed three cigarettes in himself, passing back and forth between the living room and the porch. He feels off and you never were good with making a first move, usually you keep silent while your soul eaten alive – unhealthy habit of yours. Alex no better, he prefers to be silent as a grave and suffer away from anyone.

You play with the last piece of scrambled egg on your plate, scraping plate with fork, irksome sound mixes with news channel on the TV, coffee was cold long ago. Overthinking is contagion, you try to get rid of, you are doing good until it’s him. With him you always care too much. With him every argument feels like it’s the end. Always waiting you are, it’s around the corner you believe. You look on the door through which he left few minutes ago, you see him outside in the window – he is smoking hollowly staring ahead of him.

The silent treatment, sudden and not expected, as usual, appeared three days ago. He got snappy and avoidant, avoidant not in his Alex’s way, when he tried to keep everything with a train of mystery, but in a way of stopping looking into your eyes and in way of going to bed much later than you, what already made you lose quite hours of sleep.

The problem is that you instantly start to think that you did something wrong, and if you did, you should fix it, but he is speechless as a fish. Making him talk is like making a corpse talk, especially if it is about something that bothers him. That sudden silence started happening often, too often for your own liking. Countless times, you told him to speak with you, but you can’t make a person trust you until the person itself starts want to trust you, can you?

Exhausting it is, with all love you have for him, you involuntarily started to think of the talk. The breakup talk. There’s always buts and stops. You are stuck in a dead point of uncertainty and hesitancy.

Thickly sighing, you pick up the last piece of food, shoving it in the mouth, not truly wanting to eat it. When you get up to pour out cold coffee, that lost any alluring taste to you, in the sink, he comes back, bringing all familiar bitter smell of cigarette smoke and palpable tension. You search on his face, for distant answers that his face could possibly give you, on all the questions you have. Alex plumps down on a chair that creaks under his weight unpleasingly, with blunt gaze looking at the screen of working television.

“You’re alright?” Gather up with courage you. Your voice is soaked with tremble, no matter how you try to hide it every time you mess it up.

“What d’ you mean?” His voice is rough; accent is tangible but in a bad way, not in the way when he is almost asleep, not in the way he’s drunk and all pent up with want for you, not in the way when he’s lazy and cuddly.

You inhale sharply.

“You are all silent. Smoke a lot.” Composed, but boiling and anxious at the same time inside. Lump blocks proper breathing, only short phrases born from your mouth, you don’t want to stumble upon the words. He knows himself nothing is smooth, you even made first step to him, he should meet you halfway, that’s how relationship works. Normal ones work that way, you are pretty damn sure.

His fingers running through his tousled hair with a heavy sigh, as if you aren’t his girlfriend but an annoying puppy jumping around him. Your patience running thin, his detached behavior makes you on edge, more than you’d like to admit.

“Jus’ no mood.” With a dull, he says.

That’s what he always says. A disguised reason. He tells you anything but not what actually feels. Never vulnerable or never vulnerable with you?

Crack.

“Alex, are you fucking serious?” You slam a cup on the counter, your voice, angry, mad and offended, like thunder crossing the sky, rings along kitchen, finally making him shoot his eyes at you, with sharp pure confusion.

Being too sensitive emotionally always brings problems in your life. You cry too much over romantic comedies, and flare with rage with a snap of fingers over any little and not little thing.

“I worry! You don’t speak, and I’m here just wondering what happened to you. Again!”

Deep down you know.

He is frightened to accept it, you are frightened to accept it even more, but two years of relationships were not from big love.

You love him and he patches up a hole inside of him by you, a band-aid, and a band-aid always gets thrown away eventually. There was nothing real. Never. Not for him. It got too far, that’s what happens when you decide to date your friend solely to have someone warm in your bed. The constant buzzing thought that he must love you because you cherish him leaves his mind for no second, haunts him constantly but ghostly. He likes to be loved by you, it’s a raw truth. The cost of loving and being loved. He should leave, but won’t, not by his choice. Your love is the forbidden fruit he shouldn’t have reached for, but it looked too appealing not to reach.

“What the hell ‘s this ‘bout?” His voice now raised too, furrowed brows still show fake turmoil and clear defensive mindset, fists clenched under the table, hiding there to keep himself calm with you as long as possible. It’s a rare sight for him to yell or raise voice even for a bit. Alex is bad with arguments, like a bird in a cage, he can’t escape, and he hates to have no choice, that’s how every argument feels with you, “Can’t I be jus’ silent?” Just silent. You let out a hysterical laugh, loud and humorless.

“Do you think I’m a fool, Alex? We both feel something is up!” Never his short nickname in the arguments. You scoff, shake your head, you attempt to regain control, but it only gets worse. “Why can’t you just speak? Use words for once!”

“Maybe, I jus’ need some bloody time alone, and there’s too much of ya, huh, babe?” He spits the last word more distinctly. Your eyes widen slightly in quick wave of shock, you can clearly feel your heart leaps down into toes with hurt and disappointment, “Leave me alone, for god’s sake, and mind your own business.” With a cold snap, he gets up sharply, nearly dropping the poor chair, that in a rough atmosphere has strange fragility to it. You can clearly hear him mumbling “bloody woman” as he strides to the living room trying to deal with fury tremble in a whole body, escaping the escalating heat of the argument.

Choking feeling envelops you from what he just said. Tears seem to find way in your eyes, stinging with pain and wrath, urging you to blink them away. Never he said things to you like that. Your stomach turns with an urge to break and shout, an urge to answer him with the same coin he did.

Alex tries to build a concrete wall between you too, push you away, hurt you that much, that you didn’t even want to get close to him. Push you away that much, hear curses from your mouth, make you hate him, make you leave yourself. If he wants to spit harsh words at you, both can play that game.

Curling with the wind, leaves on the trees tossing chaotically, as trunks bend with force of flow. Sky got even darker and somber than before. The rain is about to start pattering, the door to the porch forced to slam with gust, but neither of you winces because of it. The atmosphere thickened, rooms in the house acquired the bleak view of them. The world seems to fade away and lose color, blending into a mix of grey tones and the colorful filter replaced with noir one.

“Leave you alone?” You follow him immediately after with a ready to fight face, almost no trace of tears, only redness in eyes, “Last time I known you barely can exist on your own without someone else!” You hit right in the sour spot with sarcastic cruelty. His back is facing you, but that doesn’t stop you from feeling the anger flowing from him as steam emerges from the pot, his arms on his sides, hard and strained. Attractive, even now that thought rests in your mind.

“Alex, you push away everyone when people try to help you, but the only ways you deal with your own concerns— “ Words are punctured and straight, inexcusable.

“Don’t—” He grits through the teeth. He hates to hear how messed up his ways of solving problems are. No need to remind what he’s gotten himself into.

You don’t halt, crossing his words. “The only ways you deal with your own goddamn concerns are drinking to the full oblivion or smoking it all away!” You yell, raspiness scratches your throat, pointing your finger at him accusingly, trying to bruise him hard as possible.

Contention comes to a stop as he turns to face you, but briefly, only casts you an irritated defeated gaze and falls with a heaviness of stone on the couch. Now both of you pissed off and wounded. The pair of you did a great job, silence stuck between you two, and both your breaths aviating in the dense air.

His hand runs down his furrowed enraged face. Alex is aware that you are right, the instant you’d left, he would end up not in the best state of mind and soul. Even not loving you, by being near you calm him, keep him sane, don’t let him ruin himself completely.

He’s obsessed with the surface, he creates an image to follow, gets caught in his own trap, which makes him feel once again like a fool. Most of his life he tries to appear the person he is not, ending up feeling worse than before, hilarious clown in his own eyes. You are not an exception, to your unfortunate, even with you he tries to prove something indistinguishable. Something he isn’t quite sure of himself.

One day he came to a conclusion, that there’s nothing to maintain, everything inside of him got rotten to the extent when even the image he created, the one he needs he assures himself, ceased to look perfect.

You wait for him to say at least anything, just anything. But he keeps soundless. The argument made no sense in the very beginning, you understand that both of you are merely worn out to be connected to each other, but none of you risks quitting whatever you and him have gotten into. Tears get harder to hold back, air seems to stop finding way in the lungs and breathing becomes too hard to be an essential thing. It grips your throat to the ache, as you try to keep the tears to yourself, ears preventing any sound leaving only suffocating drone in them. You sit down near him, but yet far away, exhausted and given up.

He looks down at his own hands, to acknowledge that he is indeed here, to catch a breath for a second. Guilt crawls from behind over his back spiderly, straight to the mind together with realization, the words he said to you minutes ago, were not words you have common life with him for, not the words he supposed to tell as a loving partner. He knows it, he knew it even then, but let them slip anyway.

Alex looks up and catches a trace of your eyes glistening, getting glassy, his own eyes get foggy with full awareness. Ace in your sleeve, every argument is won by you when you start crying. He crumbles, feeling the immediate desire to hold you, to actually give you something real out of all his fake facade.

“No, c’mon, darlin’…” He sorrowfully gulps, “Come ‘ere. Come ‘ere. Jus’ don’t cry, you know I hate it.” Guilt and remorse, replacing his snake-like rude voice from before, he beckons you with his hand, straightening on the couch.

You break into quiet sniffs that grow into sobs as you climb on his lap like a beaten cat. He wraps his arms around you tightly, his clothes familiarly smoked, and embrace is warm. Sobs pierce right through his heart, pained and hopeless, breath catches in your throat, and you seem to lose it gasping for it, your cheeks red and stained with salt tropes. Alex hands brushing over your silky hair, soothing you, almost loving you. He mumbles quiet reassurances in your ear. Your head against his chest, hearing his heart beating so fast, is proof to you, the most evident one, the loudest one, that whatever it is he has for you, is here. He might hide himself till the end of the day, but heart always will tell the truth. You want to believe that.

Thump-Thump-Thump. Fast and worried.Knocking against the ribs.

Your sobs get quieter but still there, another minute there won’t be any of them. He doesn’t watch you, caresses your head, gives you time. His caresses apologizing for him as Ales keeps his eyes lifted and empty, he knows you hate to be watched when you are crying, but simply he feels ashamed. Ashamed of being the cause of your misery.

“Me a dickhead, yeah?” He whispers in your ear, feathering tiny kiss on the lobe of it, urging you to chuckle quietly through the tears, smile tugs the corner of his lips, “See? Ya laugh already… Wha’ a sunshine you are.” He pokes your tear-stained cheek. Gentleness is a bitter aftertaste in mouth.

Alex genuinely thinks that way. You are a ray of sunshine for him. The one he doesn’t really deserve.

Years ago, you couldn’t understand how a person could forgive rude words in the heat of the moment. Adamant and revolutionary, you refused to accept any apology. Love for him changed it entirely. Changed you. From rough on the edges to pliable. You would forgive him in a second after apology, would forgive him if he committed a crime, would forgive him even when he confesses that you are nothing but temporary replacement. He has that look in his eyes that speaks with shame and embarrassment, repentance and despondency. His eyes are showing a lot, that’s why he’s wearing shades practically all the time, you learned it in these two years.

Life with him wasn’t bad. Not minding, lack of feelings from him, he tried his best to appear the best man for you. Didn’t seem to cheat, at least you don’t know about it, and you avoided any thoughts about it, it would crash you. He kissed you, hugged you, fucked you. Suspicions that he doesn’t seem to love you were from the beginning, but he assured you and himself in different. You could see how he tries to find attraction for you. Kindness and beauty are you; Alex knows it, Alex loves it but not you.

You wipe tears, breath is still shuddering, his palm is warm and balmy, touch is soft and lulls you to sleep. You wouldn’t refuse a nap with him after that little scandal. That is what you both are going to do probably. Leave it for the next time. Outside it starts to pour, drops drumming against the windows demandingly, and you wait for him to tell a stupid joke of his. Most of them are so lame, but you find yourself laughing like a fool with your full heart.

“Oi, our arguments shake the weather, ya see?” He turns your face to the window, his fingers hold chin carefully, and you chuckle stupidly as you always do.

Lying your head back on his chest you close your eyes, odd intimacy leaks into the moment. His heart slows down, but you still feel his teeth clamped together and lips in a thin line. Your fingers hesitantly reach his chain, fidgeting with it, counting every link in it to yourself, trying to bring peacefulness through it, getting distracted by doing random thing. Alex sighs. Loudly and tiredly. His hands find your head again, stroking it, as if saying “It will end soon. Just wait.” You wait for the end, but it seems to come slower than you expected.

a/n: can't say i like this one very much, and can't say it has the ripping-heart-of-chest atmosphere, but i tried my best. it supposed to be an argument with a fluffy fluff in the end, and then idea of fake love came to my mind and couldnt leave it.

[nirikeehan]

wip whenever

thanks for tagging me this week, @anneapocalypse!

If anyone wants to share a lil late this week, I tag: @monocytogenes | @saltyowlets | @carnalapples | @sweetjulieapples | @theluckywizard | @breninarthur

Okay.....

So. I didn't play much Veilguard. I got about six hours in before I decided the game wasn't for me. So I admittedly didn't meet most of the NPCs. BUT.

I did read Tevinter Nights.

And some of the most interesting characters were the Antivan Crow characters. (And Neve Gallus, but that's a fix-it fic for another day.) Lucanis, in particular, really seemed to have something going for him that wasn't followed up on in the game, as far as I know. So I thought why not, okay, let me see if I can do something with that. And I think I dig him in his TN iteration??? It's smart, weird, deadly, little bit sarcastic? So this fic is me figuring all of that out. No Spite, just a guy with a bizarre ass moral compass having some sort of crisis of conscience. And Illario isn't a villain but just a concerned relative. (I could go on about how BioWare did Illario dirty but I will refrain.)

Few more bits of context: The end of his TN story, "The Wigmaker Job" by Courtney Woods, implies that since he's gone rogue and killed a bunch of Tevinter nobles at a party, he's caught the notice of some unsavory sorts with a lot of power in the Imperium. So I've had them kidnap him and hold him in a super secret Tevinter prison after faking his death. My non-rook OC, Meira, working for the successor to the Inquisition (cooler name pending) has been assigned to the team to break him out. It's her first mission and she was supposed to stay with the boat (she was the one who sailed the rescue team in) but some shit went sideways and she had to replace a downed party member. So anyway this is their first meeting LOL

Meira turned, only to be slammed against the wall. Gasping, she recoiled, but there was nowhere to go. Lucanis had her shoulder pinned with one hand. In the other glinted a piece of jagged metal. It looked homemade. For someone who seemed so emaciated, he was unbelievably strong.  His long hair cast a pall over his features, contorted with rage. He pressed closer, so that their noses nearly touched. “Who sent you?” The blade was cold, edged against the soft flesh below her jaw. Great way to slash someone’s throat and watch them bleed out — she’d heard that in training. Meira instantly forgot everything else she’d never learned. “The— the Inquisition!”  “The Inquisition disbanded six years ago.” The shiv pushed harder. “Try again.”  Who else was there? Divine Victoria’s secret agents didn’t have the same name recognition. Varric? No, he couldn’t know Varric, could he? No no no, Lucanis was nobility or something close— important Antivans wanted him home. “Your grandmother! Caterina.”  “Everyone knows who my grandmother is,” Lucanis spat.  Shit. Shit shit shit shit. “Y-your—” She couldn’t remember the name of his cousin for the life of her, couldn’t remember much about him at all, except that they did look a little alike. The man was suave and well-kept but carried himself with a deep sadness. Lucanis was a harder, rearranged version: all angles and dark, soulless eyes, breath foul from too many nights in this godless place. “Cousin.”  The words came from between gritted teeth. “I have many cousins, little girl.”  Maker, he was going to kill her, wasn’t he? Because she couldn’t remember his stupid cousin’s name. Even though said cousin stood in the briefing room and spoke for half an hour. stressing the importance of bringing this monster back alive, voice tinged with dismal hope. Meira could see him, the black doublet accented in scarlet, speaking bits of praise for his long-lost relative. Highly skilled, was one. Deadly precise was another. Not easily deceived yet a third. Perhaps prone to overzealous self-protection. Paranoid? Had he been saying Lucanis was paranoid? Maybe likely to slice any would-be rescuer to ribbons? So if you still need to convince him to trust you, just tell him— “Wyvern’s tooth!” Meira shrieked.  A code phrase. She’d thought it silly at the time.  Lucanis blinked once, then several more times. The hard edge of the blade eased, and he stood back, lowering his arms.  “Illario sent you,” he said softly.  “Yes! Illario! That is definitely his name!”  “Illario sent you?” He sounded incredulous now, but the kind of incredulous that struck someone when the wild truth in front of them was yet undeniable. 

[911onem]

Hey you!

Yeah, you. I heard you were thinking about reading something angsty. Can I offer you a fic from my drafts?

————

Buck was sitting in his jeep, frowning heavily at his phone as he waited impatiently for it to ring. He was supposed to be meeting Tommy tonight, more specifically half an hour ago, but the phone hadn’t rung and his calls had gone ignored. Matter of fact, he had called twice and they both went straight to voicemail, and he knew his boyfriend’s phone was never off for Tommy was too paranoid to be unreachable at any given time day or night.

This evening they had planned to meet at the house for dinner after shift, they both got off within an hour of each other and they agreed to meet in the driveway, last one to get home, the one to drive to the restaurant. Buck had brought his clothes with him to work, showered and ready to go as soon as shift was over. His team had teased him, Eddie with his whistles and Hen with a comb fixing up his hair as he tried to rush out the door.

“Hen-”

“Buck, you look nice, but you have to do something about these curls.” She sighed, fingers reaching out for finishing touches as he rolled his eyes playfully.

“Tommy loves my curls-”

“Yeah, we know. He’s always running his fingers through them, it's why they’re always so unruly.”

He sat still for just a few minutes more before pulling away, ignoring Chimney’s snicker from across the bay.

“Enjoy your date, Buckaroo! If you choke on bread again, at least me and Eddie will be here collecting over time to save you!”

He flipped them off as he walked past the engine, picking up his pace and racing to the jeep that he sped off in as soon as his key was in the ignition. His drive had been rather quick and within the hour he was seated in the driveway, still waiting for the familiar headlights to pull up behind him.

They lived on a very quiet street, so there was not a lot of traffic passing through, but every flash of light he swore it was the familiar truck, which only left him more disappointed.

“Babe, where are you?” He mumbled softly to himself, hand tightening around his cellphone as his head slammed back gently across the seat. His entire body was restless, he wanted to see his boyfriend as soon as possible, and he reached to turn up the radio to distract himself as best as he could.

He sat for an hour before his phone rang.

He frowned, seeing Eddie’s name and sighing heavily before swiping his finger across the screen. He didn’t have time for the man right now and honestly, he was growing ansty just sitting here waiting. Tommy was probably stuck on a call, so why not just meet him at Harbor? Shoving the car into drive he hooked his arm around the back of the passenger seat, sliding out of the driveway and making his way down the road. There had been many times Buck had been stuck at work unable to contact anyone to cancel plans or let them know he’d be late, so he wouldn’t mind just waiting at the station. It would make him feel a lot better waiting there than in his own driveway thinking up endless scenarios, or growing angry for reasons beyond either of their control.

By the time he got on the highway he found himself immediately in traffic, classic Los Angeles style. He let his fingers dance across the steering wheel, letting out a sigh as he got comfortable. At least this way they could avoid this traffic going out, the restaurant was close to his station anyway, so this could save them a little bit of time.

He sat in the line of cars for about half an hour when he saw the flashing lights, frowning at the clear signs of an accident. There was more emergency response on scene than a standard call, drawing him to turn down his music and stick his head a little further out the window. He heard his phone ring again, looking down and seeing Eddie’s name and picture pixelated across the screen.

“Hey, Eds-”

“Buck.”

He felt himself freeze, the sound of Eddie’s voice sending a shiver down his spine. In the small patch of silence he heard a siren, eyes lifting back toward the flashing red and blue lights in front of him.

“What happened?”

“Buck, it's Tommy.”

He didn’t let himself speak, body growing numb as a police car flew up the median to his left. The farther it got from his car, the louder he heard it through the phone and he shoved the car into park, leaving his phone on call as he flung open the door. Each step closer had his legs shaking, face losing color as he forced himself down the side of the highway. The loud wails of sirens were practically calling his name, begging him to pick up his pace and by the time he saw the familiar engine he was reaching screaming out Tommys name.

He saw Eddie first, the man still had his phone to his ear, but dropped it almost instantly. It hit the ground as he raced over, shoving Buck backward and shaking his head.

“Buck-”

“Where is he?” He begged, trying to look around the engine, but not having a clear angle.

“Chimney’s working on him now, you can’t go over there.”

The hand on his shoulder was strong, a clear warning for him to stay back, but he refused. He ignored the pleading in Eddie’s gaze, shoving him just as hard and he took the second of Eddie’s tumble to push his way toward the center of the car wreck.

And it was bad.

He saw the remains of Tommys truck and couldn’t fight the sob that had flooded its way up his throat. The vehicle was completely totaled, crushed between the median and two other cars on all sides. He could see Chimney on the hood of another truck, leaning over the open window and struggling to find an angle to get inside. He looked panicked, shouting for help as he struggled to get the rest of the glass out of the way to get to Tommy. Buck wanted to fall to his knees and pray, to beg anyone listening to save his boyfriend- but, he was a firefighter. He didn’t have time to waste and he reached toward the nearest truck, grabbing the jaws and racing over to the truck.

By the time he was close enough for Chimney to see he noticed the blood, growing nauseous of how much of it there was splattered across the windshield.

“Buck?”

Chimney looked like he’d seen a ghost, frozen as his brother-in-law came around the side of him and jumped onto the same car.

“What happened?”

Buck finally got a view into the car and-

Tommys eyes were closed.

His body was paler than Buck had ever seen him, the side of his head was dripping blood quickly, chest against the steering wheel unconscious and unmoving.

“What the hell happened?” He shouted, shaking Chim from his stupor before the paramedic shook his head, shoving Buck away and reaching for his radio.

“Cap, I need you here now- Buck you can’t be here!”

Buck couldn’t speak, vision growing blurry as he moved forward, pressing for a pulse as he gently tried shaking Tommy awake.

“Babe? Wake up! Tommy!”

There was a hand on his arm, trying to tug him backward, but it wasn’t until Bobby was there that his captain’s arms were around his waist, pulling him so hard he lost his balance, falling into the man’s chest.

“What are you doing here-”

“Let me go!” He demanded, struggling as another set of hands were piling on him, dragging him toward the engine as a paramedic rushed to help Chimney.

“What happened? I need to help- he’s alive! He had a pulse! I need to get in there!”

He watched Bobby open the door to the engine, trying to shove him inside with a shake of his head.

“You can’t be here- Buck, you can’t help him! You’ll only get in the way!”

“It's my job!”

“Not right now!” Bobby’s voice boomed, loud and with no room for argument, shoving him hard enough to where he found himself in a seat, sobbing as he felt himself begin to panic.

“You need to let us do our job!”

“He’s my-”

“I know! Sit down and wait here!”

“Bobby-”

“Wait here!” The door slammed closed, the argument coming to an abrupt end as Buck fell backward onto the chair. His hands rushed to his face, fingers latching against his hair as he let out another sob. The images of the truck were stuck in his mind, the idea of Tommy being in the middle of that terrifying him and he needed to help- but, his legs wouldn’t move. His entire body was trembling, vision completely blurred as he got lost inside his head, already planning a life without Tommy.

[crystalpallette]

so I finished side order recently

[xxplastic-cubexx]

Thinking about a character model height sheet from the TAS BTS book that had magneto be 6’10 and charles 4’8 when seated like girl ……….. why the fuck ……. greedy….

[suzukiblu]

a quickie lil' Saturday night kink meme! ✨️🍑✨️

( for reasons that totally don't have annnnnything to do with me being extremely ADHD and/or susceptible to anons randomly asking me about fun writing meme options when I was already halfway debating doing a writing meme this weekend. definitely not. )

Send me an ask with a kink and a DC character and/or pairing included, and I will write you a lil' bit of related kink and/or porn in return! Also open to just getting sent a kink if you want surprised, and I'll do dealer's choice for the character or pairing.

Also-also, not a mandatory thing, but bonus points for:

a) rarepairs,

b) KON rarepairs,

and

c) giving me a reason why you think the kink vibes with the character/pairing.

Multiple requests are fine; just please send 'em in separate asks, it makes it way easier for me to answer them.

[emelinstriker]

Here @hahawasabi- Have a lil treat for all the shit you also had to go through fhgnfhgfnhgf

I was so fuckin' upset that I wanted to doodle him as lil comfort for you- Hope this at least helps light up things even a lil :)

Just remember you're not alone. Those that have the capability of understanding got your back. And I can confirm there's many of 'em. Even if the majority is publicly silent.

[syl-stormblessed]

i have no CLUE what the general opinion of this book is because i’ve been really good about staying entirely offline but can i just say that despite the issues i had with it (there are several) i genuinely deeply from the bottom of my heart really LOVED wind and truth. i need to sit with it for a while longer, and im still operating on the adrenaline rush of kaladin saying “honor is dead but ill see what i can do” again, but i really did love this book so much

[bittsandpieces]

.

[ambivartence]

ISTJ ISFP 🐶

[the-gene-mile]

screenshot redraw for tonight's episode bc no original idea could ever top whatever the fuck is happening here

[smoosnoom]

corollary

“Okay,” Mike echoes. “So, I was – thinking. We should sleep together." Will, for some reason, still looks lost, but he looks cute – sweet, like that, pink cheeks and eyes wide and glossy and the slight furrow of his eyebrows like Mike has given him something outlandish. “I,” he starts, “don’t understand.”

Mike proposes a sleepover.

Unsurprisingly, no sleeping is done.