#ill be sharing the full thing at some point

[vpshinra]

I've been trying to collect my overall thoughts on Rufus Shinra in a document talking about how the whys of his personality. I'll likely make a proper video and/or share the full thing when I'm finished, but I figured I'd give a peek as to what my thoughts are, without considering Remake + Rebirth continuity. Wholly from what is revealed from OTWAS: Episode Shinra, as well as some tidbits in TKAA, and a lot of ground covered in Before Crisis. I hope someone out there can get some enjoyment out of someone on here caring about Rufus this much, haha.

Analysis (tidbits, but still substantial) under the cut!

To fully comprehend where Rufus comes from and why he is the way that he is, we have to go back to his childhood. In On the Way to a Smile: Case of Shinra, it’s outright stated that he didn’t see his father very often, and faced neglect. The few times his father did come home, he was typically very angry with Rufus and would tell him to go back to bed, as it was late. Rufus, in all likelihood, had no real parenting from his father. His mother seems to not have been a very present force in his life, either. Given President Shinra’s proclivities and tendencies to sleep around, particularly with his secretaries, as Rufus notes himself, this does not surprise me.

A particular instance that is detailed in Case of Shinra is one where Rufus is five years old. His father has, for once, let Rufus take part in talks about Shinra as a company. He was delighted when his father showed him the blueprints to the President’s office, but here we see the beginnings of a trait that would be a common thread in every action he takes henceforth. He looks at the blueprints and, instead of giving baseless praise, wants to find a way he can improve it. He wants to prove he’s intelligent, and wants to one-up his father in some small way. While here it isn’t malicious, later it would become as such. Here, it’s just a childish desire to seek praise for coming up with something that his father might not have thought of.

This backfires terribly, and Rufus redoubles his efforts to get out of the situation. President Shinra embarrasses him by implementing the idea Rufus had, but not for himself, notably. It’s for Rufus specifically, and it has a mark that Rufus cannot forget. ‘L’ for ‘Loser’. The idea that if he ever needs to run from his battles in the future, that’s a failure, and he’s a loser in his father’s eyes. That’s something imprinted early, and Rufus compensates by being able to be martially powerful, too. He learns to fight as well as the Turks in time, and outright battles Cloud atop Shinra Tower at the end of the Midgar segment of the game in the original.

What is also interesting here is the idea that even at five, Rufus has been told that the position of Shinra Company’s President is not promised to him. While I doubt he was aware of the fact that his father was producing heirs in case Rufus didn’t make the cut at this time, he becomes aware later on. Nothing is promised, and any one of Shinra Senior’s children could have taken Rufus’ spot had he proved impotent. This is highlighted later when one of President Shinra’s children, Lazard Deusericus, is made the director of the SOLDIER division of the military. As well as, when Rufus was around 6 years old, President Shinra had a child with someone more “special”, that Rufus posits was meant to be his replacement if Rufus himself didn’t make the cut, something he did not become aware of until many years later, but something President Shinra did nevertheless. This need to prove himself was drilled into him from a very young age.

---

Something notable within Chapter 9 of Before Crisis is that neither Veld nor President Shinra could fathom Rufus being the traitor. President Shinra wrongfully suggests it’s Veld, and when the activity continues despite Veld’s change in position, blame is then shifted to Hojo. Despite Rufus’ questionable actions thus far and clear resentment of his father, President Shinra still views him as wholly loyal. Whether this is because of some latent trust or whether he believed he “raised Rufus better” is left up in the air. Regardless, Rufus is not suspect yet at this point in time despite his clear questionable actions.

---

Interestingly, this is the first sign of Rufus being interested in the Promised Land as well. While Rebirth made it clear that Rufus has little to no interest in the Neo-Midgar project, I think that Rufus wants to find the Promised Land out of spite rather than any of the reasons his father wants it. He wants to find it before his father does to prove that he’s capable and different. That he isn’t less than simply because he’s younger.

He speaks about a plan to bring Aerith in using military force, talking to his father about the amount of resources and time wasted due to being “careful”. This is a more callous Rufus talking, one that’s more impatient. His father's dallying about Aerith’s situation makes it easy for Avalanche to come in and take what they want. Rufus, obviously, doesn’t actually want Avalanche to succeed. He uses Avalanche as a means to an end, to push President Shinra into action rather than sitting atop his heap of gil and growing complacent. It’s a push to get President Shinra to listen to Rufus about how the company should be run. An attempt to back President Shinra into a corner and get what he wants. Eventually, this turns into Rufus outright asking Avalanche to assassinate President Shinra. To cut out the middle man, so to speak, and give Rufus free reign to do what he wants without having to do these machinations behind the scenes.

---

I think more interesting than any of this though, is Rufus’ complete lack of understanding why Cid would want to fly his airplane before the rocket launch. Cid was meant to be the pilot of the rocket, and would be taking part. But he flew the Tiny Bronco because he enjoyed it, and Rufus can’t wrap his head around doing anything out of enjoyment, least of all with so much on one’s plate. Cid has a great deal of preparation to do before lift off, and Rufus views him as shirking his duties. He can’t fathom doing anything but work at this moment. I think this speaks again to how President Shinra must have raised him. Again, from a young age, President Shinra was trying to drive home how important “working hard” is. Rufus likely took this to heart, and has little time for “play”, as it were. It would do a lot to explain his rigid attitude. He doesn’t understand why you would choose to do something enjoyable or fun when there is the opportunity to work. Having been pushed into this mindset his whole life, he begins to look down on others who do this. Because if he can’t have fun, then no one should be able to, at least without criticism.

The full exchange Rufus has with Cid is enlightening, to say the absolute least, and speaks volumes to both of their values. Rufus tells Cid that he’s firmly against the space program, that it’s a waste of resources and time. That there are more efficient ways to expand business. And Cid, interestingly, says that Rufus is young, but lacks passion. Something, according to Cid, President Shinra has in spades. Whether President Shinra is doing this for the sake of his own dreams is still in question, but it’s interesting that Rufus is already so disillusioned from doing anything simply because he wants to. He views everything in terms of what is the most efficient way to achieve his goals. He doesn’t ever stop to think about things like morale, at least not here. It’s interesting to see how this stance changes later when Meteor is overhead, when he sees a panicked people and finally understands what these big, grand displays do, and what their purpose is. Especially because this is a point in time where trust in Shinra is low because of what’s happening with Avalanche.

It speaks to his immature view of the world that the only thing he has to say to Cid about what President Shinra has done with the company is to not bring his father up in front of him.

---

President Shinra is taken off the spot when Cid outright says he doesn’t care if he dies so long as he can achieve his dream. Rufus’ words once again go unheard, his ideas go ignored. Rufus, in honesty, likely didn’t care whether or not Cid lived or died. He put on this show to try and show how corrupt his father was in front of Cid, so that the rose-tinted glasses he has can fall off, and he can see how callous the president really is. This never happens, though. It’s Cid’s fervent wish to go to the moon, no matter the cost.

Upon hearing this, Rufus changes up his tactic. The immeasurable damage a failed launch would have upon the company. President Shinra is doing this launch for a morale boost and for trust to return to Shinra. Rufus sees this as a needless, pointless expense to keep favor. What Rufus proposes isn’t artificial trust. When he says he wants to run the world through fear, he means it. I don’t think he was truly interested in seeing Shinra succeed as a company. He wants to prove that he can do it better than his father, and that’s it.

Rufus doesn’t have enough experience to understand that ruling with an iron grip, with forcing people to respect and trust you, doesn’t work. This is blatantly evident with Rufus’ actions throughout this game, even. President Shinra ruled Rufus through fear. Raised him with fear, made Rufus afraid of him so that Rufus would, in turn, respect him. This simply didn’t work long-term, though. While it may have worked when Rufus was a child, Rufus is an adult now, and sick of being afraid. He revolts, thrashes, fights back in his own way. Shinra had no choice but to fall under Rufus’ leadership, because he has no idea what it really takes to be a leader. He sees failures, and sees from an outside perspective how to fix them, but without the burden of the public on him, he can’t imagine what it’s like. President Shinra, ironically, has a point with what he says to Rufus in this scene.

Rufus, thus far, has no idea how to run the company. The most efficient way is not always the most effective. President Shinra, during his time as president, understands this and does what he can to keep public favor alive so that the gil can continue rolling in. Actions that Rufus deems frivolous and unnecessary are necessary for the longevity of the company.

---

By the end of the game, the executives are still pushing for the Turks to be disbanded. Thus, they are put on trial in the president’s office, when none other than Rufus comes to put a stop to it and ask that his father reconsider.

While it isn’t wholly an altruistic decision, Rufus still does this because he, on some level, has grown to care about the Turks within the last four years. He knows their worth, knows how valuable they are to the company. He knows exactly how lost Shinra would be without them. He’s seen them work from within their headquarters, has talked to them, strategized with them. By helping them, he has earned their loyalty and respect. He knows that he can depend on them in the future. They’ve made sacrifices for each other, and the respect is mutual. Rufus sees in them a potential that President Shinra is blind to.

This is the very last thing Rufus has to say to the Turks before the end of the game. Trust in anyone is something he’s been lacking all his life. People he can depend on, people who elevate his strengths and can help make up for his deficits. This bond they all share isn’t something so easily erased. As we see, even post-FFVII, the Turks remain wholly loyal to Rufus. Even when everyone has turned his back to him, even when he gave each and every one of them an out, they stuck by him. This bond is something lifelong and runs deeper than blood. It’s beautiful to see a character like Rufus, who is so focused on efficiency and so stuck on what he can do personally, is able to forge these bonds. Of course, he still tries to do most things on his own. But when he can’t, he knows that his Turks have his back.

---

These are just my thoughts after a rewatch of Before Crisis, and I hope it proves enlightening somehow! I want to continue on to talk about how he is in FFVII proper, as well as all the supplemental material in time.

[gu6chan]

99% just my autism speaking here but something ive been noticing lately that im sorta kinda 😶 about is when ppl are like "I think you'll like this" but not bc they ACTUALLY think you'll like it, rather they just got into it and want you to also get into it so "I think you'll like this" is a nice personal hook. i love chill stuff as much as any other person ofc but given i don't divulge that EVER, what makes you think my berserk reading, made in abyss watching, drakengard playing ass would like YURU CAMP????

[alphalesbian]

Youll just be minding your own business when all of a sudden the inherant intimacy of solo instrumental music is realized upon you. Like youre just supposed to proceed normally after

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon, virginity loss, degradation, abuse of power, Christianity, blasphemy, medieval times, corrupt priest, torture devices, abuse, punishment, misogyny, public humiliation, execution of non-named characters

♡ FEM reader

A scold's bridle, sometimes called a witch's bridle, a gossip's bridle, a brank's bridle, or simply branks, is an instrument of mirror punishment utilized by the church to publicly humiliate women who speak out of turn.

And you’ve unfortunately been deemed one of them…

You can only regret it now—wish you’d kept your mouth shut—wish you’d just held your tongue and spared yourself the poetic justice. You’d even been warned—that’s the dumb part, the part that makes the regret even more bitter. You’d been told gossipping would only land you in a world of hurt, and you, brave-faced and foolish, had ignored the advice. And now you’re facing the consequences.

Branks, an awful contraption, act as a muzzle in an iron framework, caging the head—quite like a helmet—a heavy helmet. Tight and trapping, it’s enough to make your head ache after a mere minute of wear. But that’s not the worst part. No, the worst part is the bridle-bit—a metal wedge about two inches long and one inch wide in size, of which they slide into your mouth, pressing down on top of your tongue—silencing you entirely. 

But being unable to talk is only the first and least of many discomforts—as it also makes your jaw cramp up, and makes a humiliating amount of drool run wild down your chin—making you look like some or other rabid street mutt that’s ben muzzled for its own good.

The chunky metal collar you’re made to wear doesn’t help negate that imagery, nor does the bell attached to it—drawing in the crowds to the town square where you’ve been put on display, fastened to the tron for public judgment and ridicule.

Oh, and they are full of it today.

Standing there, an army of justice—warped faces and pointed fingers. The kids throw rotten fruit, and the elders fouler words—calling you a Jezebel. 

At least you’re not alone up there but sharing the burden with a handful of other miscreants. One’s bent over in the pillory beside you—another three stand next to him up on the gallows, shaking in their piss-soaked boots, noose loosely around their necks—soon-to-be hangmen. 

Thank God the worst things are thrown their way—at least they’ll be set free of it soon. 

The poor sinners hang there still as the sun starts to set and most of the crowd’s gone home for the day, crows picking at the jelly of their dead eyes while the town’s church officer leads you away by leash.

With your hands and arms bound behind your back, you stumble barefoot and gracelessly through the streets—yanked along all the way from the town square up the hill to the church at the top for your final ruling. 

You’re made to kneel on the cobblestone where the clergyman chains your iron collar to the wall.

You’d always pitied those put in the jougs, though you’d also thought them deserving—never knowing you’d be one of them someday. Now you know first-hand what being deserving means. In a town as small as this, where word travels as quickly as you can speak them, only a few ill thoughts will turn everyone against you.

Everything is in a state of discomfort, but at least you’ve finally escaped the town people’s heckling—now secluded in the peaceful quiet of God’s house to reflect in solitude. 

Or… at least, that’s the standard procedure for such offenses.

“Alright then, little magpie,” the church officer announces while unscrewing the cruel headpiece.

It’s surprising. You’d for sure thought he’d leave it on. It was your understanding that it’s common for the scold to wear the bridle until morning and only then be freed. 

But in any case, be it by pity or mercy, you’re ever grateful nevertheless and won’t complain. 

But then, promptly after freeing your mouth from the bit, the man takes hold of your exhausted jaw and gives you a grave warning in its replacement, “Speak out of turn again, and it will go back on for another day in the tron.”

Goosefleshed and ashen from the spoken threat, you do your best to abide by it and remain quiet like the other church mice.

To which the father hums pleasedly, “Nod your head for me if you understand now, magpie.”

You do, looking up at him obediently—hoping he’d see it as enough and deem your punishment fully served, maybe even remove your bonds and collar as well.

“Good.” 

He smiles knowingly, then drops your head. Scoffing loudly, “But of course… a bitch will always prefer being free from the muzzle… Don’t necessarily make ‘em well-behaved.”

You flinch at the words, eyes wide, looking up into his gaze, feeling small under the weight as he leers down his nose at you worse than that of the crowd earlier. 

But what really makes your stomach curl are his ringed hands and how they move to his robes.

“Let’s see if this newfound virtue of yours is true and not just another one of your brazen tricks, shall we?” he suggests, leisurely undoing the knots to his drapes.

“When I’m done, and if you have managed to hold your tongue, I’ll consider you disciplined enough to return home,” he explains, dropping his attire unceremoniously by his feet before taking hold of your chin again. “If not, the bridle will go back on, and we will continue the lesson in the morning and every day onward until your mouth is as honest as if in the confessional.”

Your eyes flicker between his and peaking forward, barely withstanding whimpering when laying your eyes on it—the thing below his belly nearing your face.

“Remember now, magpie, no making a sound—neither word nor moan. I want complete silence.” 

The grip on your chin tightens, and your eyes dart back up to his. 

“Now open that gossiping trap of yours and accept God’s judgment.” 

His other hand holds it in a gentler caress from your face, giving it a few languid rubs before knocking it against your sealed lips, ordering them to open. 

It shocks you—enough to have you swallow a gasp—almost making an illicit sound that would all but seal your fate with the scold’s bridle for another day of suffering.

“Did you not hear me, girl? I said–” Impatient and roughened by his anger, he lets go of your jaw and deals a sharp blow to your cheek next. “Open your no-good sinning mouth!” 

The hand goes to your hair next, tangling within the tousled locks to give your scalp a hard tug.

Again you’re in danger of making a sound but manage to stifle it by screwing your eyes shut—quickly baring your tongue for the priest and pliantly accepting the salty offering placed upon it soon after as if receiving communion on any other Sunday mass.

“That’s it, magpie—” he says then, softer now in praise. “No more tall tales, no more nagging.” His grip eases up but remains to hold you steady as he slowly and rightfully slides his length down to the very back of your throat. Groaning, “Just be a good girl, now. Close your lips around me and suck—and you’ll soon be forgiven.”

You obey, locking your lips around him, tasting the sweat and tang, withstanding gagging as you force yourself into suckling and swallowing the foreign flavors down. 

“Good. You see?” he sighs out in a groan, pleased while fucking your mouth. 

Tangling both hands in your disheveled hair, he sets a rhythm of pulling you away and reeling you back in close—a tempo more than fair for an amateur throat like yours—only just deep and fast enough to make his weighty balls swing and graze your chin on every thrust. 

“If all a woman does is run ‘er mouth—only using it to bitch and moan—they’ll never learn what it’s truly good for,” he gruffs, sinking deeper and settling there, holding your skull in place from pulling back. “But I’ll show yah—don’t worry.”

Your head soon heats up—bleeding red and thick with it—feeling tight and trapped and in dire desperate need to draw air—or at the very least, make some sort of discomforted sound in lack of it—yet under strict order to remain deadly silent. 

“Good god, girl—I’m going all the way down that tight, hot guzzle—” he drawls, bullying deeper—and deeper. Hissing as he bottoms out, “Just the way God intended!”

His hips stutter, wearing your throat like a holster—lips stretched around his fat shaft, kissing his pubes with your nose buried in his well-fed belly.

With eyes rolling back beneath tightly shut lids, seeing spots of light in the enclosing void, you can’t help but flinch when hit with the glob of spit that falls and splatters between your brows. But at least the laughter that echoes throughout the church hall drowns out the sound of your heaving for air once he finally pulls out and frees your throat.

Maintaining a fist in your hair, he keeps you close—your temple to his hip, nose-kissing his strung shaft—struggling to catch your breath while his chuckles die down into humored hums.

“I’ve never had a throat that deep before,” he scoffs with a cruel smile—yanking your hair once again, pulling it back to make you face up. “One might call it witchcraft.” 

Another hard slap is dealt in the same spot as earlier. 

“Are you a witch maybe, magpie?” 

And a third smack. 

“Do I haf’to tie you to the stake next—have ourselves a roast?

Feeling your cheek sting white-hot, you shake your head—fighting to keep your whimpers at bay as silent tears dampen your cheeks—puffing up and rushing with blood post-strike, dulling to a numb yet lingering ache.

He doesn’t show mercy. Instead, it seems the pitiful display only makes him more rowdy—shoving you down to the cold cobblestone with an evil gleam in his eyes.

“Then let’s see you praise the Father,” he barks. “Bow and kiss his holy floor. I’ll judge whether you're a witch or not.”

You’re leash only barely gives you enough leeway to lower yourself. Hands remaining bound up tight behind your back, balled up and shaking in their knots as you bend over until your lips brush the dusty church stone.

“No, not a witch… but—” he hums, though not entirely convinced yet. “A true Christian would savor the taste of God's house.”

Your brows cinch, but you still do as suggested—producing your tongue and dragging it across the filthy tile—collecting dry silt and larger grains of sand—leaving behind a darkened wet trail on the otherwise ashen rock.

“That’s it, magpie,” the clergyman croons with a sneer. “Put that gossipping little tongue of yours to better use.”

You obey, eyes closed, continuing to lick the floor like a dog—fearing worse things would come if you didn’t. Wanting it all to be over and figuring if you just listen, it’ll be done quicker and as pain-free as you could hope.

“But do you deserve it?” he asks then, after a pause of watching you with his cock in hand, tugging it with raspy breaths getting rustier—continuing with a gritty tone, “An unwed woman can only serve the lord if she’s pure.”

His other hand returns to your hair for a third time, pulling you up by the tresses in a stinging grip.

“Are you pure, magpie?”

Goosefleshed by his darkened tone, you cower under his pointed glare. Keenly nodding your head as much as his hand allows.

Still, he doesn’t seem convinced. Huffing, “We’ll see.” 

He drops you again. Now, with a new order, “Turn and bow with your tongue back on the floor.”

You do as he says, though shakily. Gut folding and churning within—throat tight, even under the metal collar, snaring—making your head pound with alarm as you shift on your knees until you’re facing the wall with your back to him, lowering your head down until your swollen cheek neatly squish against the cool stone—tongue splayed out on the earthy rock once again—with your rear raised for the priest’s inspection.

Your nails sink into your palms in the same painful crescents as before while the clergyman lifts your greyed and tattered frock like he’s unveiling a blushing bride—and, similarly to the groom, throws the skirt atop your sloped back, bunched up with the rest of your dirtied dress—leaving your legs and thighs and ass bare to his preying eyes.

He rumbles heavily, pleased by the sight of your pretty little virgin cunt—quivering in the crude and callous open air.

Crouched behind you in perfect level with it, you can all but feel his eager leer rake through you before his finger does—slicing through your pussy-lips and quickly disappearing inside your formerly untouched hole.

You flinch, squirming at the unfamiliar feeling—breaths damp against the ground as you await the verdict.

“It’s tight,” he grumbles, assessing you with a knuckle-deep digit, before scoffing, “But surely… no true virgin is this wet.”

Your eyes widen at the accusation, and he slips his finger out again and stands up with a sigh, “I can’t make sure with a finger alone.”

Then suddenly, he grabs onto of your hanches and lifts your hips higher until your thighs straighten up—and promptly lays his still-hard and hot-blooded member to rest between the cheeks. With his knees bent, a toppling tower over you, he slides through the crevice, rubbing upon your scrunched asshole as he does.

You stir for the first time, but his hold tightens in turn.

“Keep that tongue out, magpie. And don’t you dare make a single sound, y’hear? Or else the branks go back on.”

You fall still—scared in place—eyes screwed shut as his cock falls from the peak of your ass down to your glistened entrance, prodding the small opening with the tip, trying to force it inside, but kept at bay until the narrow ring of muscle finally gave and allowed him to tear through.

“Wheew—undoubtedly a virgin!” he whistles with his head gaining purchase. Groaning at the close fit. “Taut and tight and sensitive—and just perfect for taking seed.”

Meanwhile, you suck in a gasp—tongue still pinned to the floor—only barely managing to suppress the cry that had wanted to follow. 

Choking it down, you nurse yourself through it with a string of deep breaths instead—even as he starts prying further inside—letting your cunt hold the head as he gives it shallow digs, working you open to take his full length.

“That’s it—good magpie,” he moans, pulling you back on his cock by your hips, treading you on like a sleeve. “Take it deep.”

He starts thrusting, and your breath weakens into thin stutters—tongue hanging limply from your mouth all on its own. Eyes glazed, looking toward nothing—rocked steadily as the corrupt priest pounds you like a cheap whore—sore cheek scraping against the stone floor. 

And still, you’re silent—as if having taken a vow.

The only sounds echoing throughout the church are the clergyman’s grunts and the steady fwop fwop fwop of his balls clapping your sopping cunt—almost reminiscent of the church bell’s clangoring.

“Almost there now, magpie,” he chimes from above. “Milk my cock and take my seed in your womb, and you’re forgiven.”

It almost sounds too good to be true. Even as everything aches and you’ve become certain you might just remain mute forever onward, the thought of freedom is enough to bring new hopeful tears to your pitiful eyes. So, as the warmth of his release soils your inside, it’s also joined by overwhelming relief.

A moment or more passes. You don’t take your tongue off the floor, and he remains above you, pumping his load into your deep, dumping it all at depth as if burying some dirty secret. 

At some point, he pulls out—cock now sluggish and spent. You feel its spillage matte on the inside of your thighs—also hidden as he drapes your skirt back in place.

Unbothered with his own clothes, he stands there before your bowed body—now with an accent of full-bellied satisfaction as he pronounces you free of sin in bad Latin—crossing his chest and kissing his knuckle before looking up to the ceiling at the God you’d grown sure he didn’t even believe in.

“Rejoice, magpie,” he mocks while leaning over you to untie your hands. “You’re now free to go.”

But as you lift your head, he still holds out on removing your collar. 

Holding your chin instead, he looks down at you like before, saying, “But it would do you good to remember…” His free hand taps your cheek, softer now but hard enough to make you cringe. “You run that bitch mouth again, and in my church on your knees is where you’ll end up. Understand?”

And just like before, you nod your head for him—still as silent as a church mouse eager to escape the beast’s ugly jaws.

He seems pleased with that and gives you a crooked smile, purring, “Good.” 

He then fishes the keys to your collar from his heaped robes and, at long last, unlocks it from your throat.

And by God, as you wobble out of the church, it feels as if you've been let free from hell.

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[paperstarwriters]

to Hear, to Feel, to Know

Inspired by @muletia’s Obsessed Optimus fanfics—they just so so so so good!! The yearning, the ill-buried desire, Optimus chaining himself in place like some dog with a biting problem when all he wants to do is love you???? OUAGH so so good!!

Asdfghjkl I wanna try my own hand at a fic looking at Optimus’s tendency towards obsession in love, but for now, I’ve been thinking about Optimus as a bot who tends to listen….

Pairing: Optimus Prime x Reader

Warnings: n/a

Summary: Optimus is a bot who's exceptionally good at listening. What he likes listening to most of all though, is you.

Masterlist | Transformers Masterlist

Word count: 1,106

───♡-♥-♡-♥-♡-♥-♡───

There was no denying that Optimus had a keen eye, and an even keener attention. His ability to promptly decipher texts based on key words or phrases allowing him to understand the greater picture from his days as an archivist served to train him well in noticing patterns of behaviour if he focused his attention on it. The ongoing war certainly helped as well, forcing him to zero in on what would allow them to survive. Forcefully training his eye to fall to keep points in any battle field.

And yet as trained as his eyes were, Optimus was always keen to listen.

Or perhaps absorbing was a better comparison. How despite being a leader, despite giving commands, Optimus was almost always better suited to listening to the people around him. The information that they shared, the feelings they expressed. Ratchet always used to say he would make for a much kinder medic than he if he took a role in that field. Perhaps it could have served him even better as a leader, but there was little he could change through the tides of time.

It’s why he clings to these things, saving them in the event that one day they may save him. From another attack or another encounter with Megatron, to even a stretch of boredom or loneliness.

It is why he clings to your every word.

Why he loves it when you sit atop his shoulder. So close to his helm, it is as if you’re speaking directly into his processor, filling his thoughts with your words—your delights, your frustrations, your sorrows, your needs. A direct feed like some constant supply of energon into his lines.

Both, he supposed would make his spark stutter a bit.

Ah, just thinking about it brings to mind the many times you’ve pressed yourself against his audial, leaning against his helm or purposely cupping his audials as you whispered sweet words his way, words for him and him alone, a gift sweeter than any energon could ever be.

You didn’t even have to be saying something sweet. Scathing secrets and vicious critiques against some other’s back from the mistreatment you received in the hands of a cruel stranger or an even crueler co-worker, or even some coy remark against a teammate, the fact that you chose to whisper your words to him—to confide your secrets and burning emotions to his audials.

Even being chosen as a Prime was a lesser honour than this.

But perhaps the thing he enjoys listening to most, though your every word delights him and your laughter makes his spark feel so light it might burst from his chest, the sound Optimus likes best it’s the soft thud of your heartbeat and the whisper of your breath.

He recalls when he first heard the sound, mass displaced at your request as you showed to him your beating heart after he showed you his whirring spark.

There is meaning to the action, to show one’s spark to the other, but Optimus felt he need not explain it to you, knowing full well you wouldn’t be able to return the gesture.

And yet somehow you did.

Even if you could not pull back the viscera from your chest the way he did the plates of his chassis, you brought his helm to your chest, pressed his audial against you, and implored him to listen.

And he did.

In the caverns of your chest, Optimus heard as air filled your lungs, swelling with every breath you took, and for a moment he mistook that steady beat for an abnormal twitch, until you began to explain.

“That’s my heart.” You had told him. “The ‘thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud’.”

And pressing just a bit harder, Optimus stilled his fans to listen to the faint beat.

And he heard it.

Loud against his audial the drum of your heart pounded against your chest like an insistent knock, or the demands of a captive begging to be freed.

Though perhaps that’s just wistful thinking.

He hears it in his full form sometimes, when you lean your back against his helm or when you cling to his audial in a moment of fear or excitement. A gentle faint rhythm, that sings that you’re alive.

He wishes some days that it would accompany him in his berth, as he lies under the midnight silence hounded by the whispers and wails of the dead of the living he must fight, of the humans he’d never know. They all rattle and sob frying his processor as he starves himself of a proper recharge, but then, some days he hears something this in the base. Perhaps it’s his own movement, perhaps something falls—once even it was the rumble and stroke of thunder and lightning overhead. All the same, it brings to his mind the thump of your heartbeat, and like a spring being unwound, he replays your words in his head. Every praise, every sweet word, every secret you’d give him. Your smile your laughter, your delight and glee he’d play them all over and over in his processor, lingering on the compliments you’d direct his way, every smile you’d make when your eyes met his.

All with the background theme of your heart singing its little song of life, your every breath an instrument to the symphony.

You were here, you were alive, you were with him.

Ah, but sometimes those moments stung worse than the wailing dead.

You were not here with him now, and all he had was the echo of your heartbeat. If he could hum its melody he would, but the sound doesn't comply with his voice box. Still he taps it out with a digit sometimes or a pede even, a little reminder of a precious tune.

He hasn’t had the chance to listen to your heart again. To mass displace and press his head against your chest, to listen to that sound, and maybe listen to you speak as he follows the gentle beat. He hopes one day he might get the chance. He hopes one day to tell you what it means when one shows the other their spark.

One day, he dreams, he’d tell you what it meant, and you’d smile, perhaps in rapt delight, perhaps shyly, but you’d open your arms to him and allow him to listen once more, let him listen as he lets you watch his glowing spark.

Until then, he basks in what he can get, faint as it is against his full form, listening to the soft beat of your heart, feeling you warm and pressed against him, resting assured in the knowledge that you were here, you were alive.

[sanguinesmi1e]

A Round Door Like a Porthole, Lazarus Green Pt. 1 Pt. 2 (you're here) Pt. 3 Pt. 4

Art of LBM

Danny was still lying under the Specter Speeder, mind reeling as the words “they opened this portal with a child sacrifice, and bound his death and all the lost life potential to their bloody machine to create a perpetual gateway to the Infinite Realms” ran in a loop through his head. Could that really be true? Is his death attached to the portal, forever lodged in the doorway, preventing it from closing?

The guy clearly knew what he was talking about. The bit about why his ghost friends and frenemies caused so much chaos as they unleashed their obsessions on Amity Park made so much sense. It would certainly explain a lot of his interactions with ghosts after he died. 

 Danny silently cursed himself for not destroying everything in the lab before they got here. He and Jazz hadn't worried about the portal schematics, because they honestly didn't have any way to open a portal, only cycle energy in a recursive loop that shouldn’t have done anything. No one, not he and Jazz, not their parents, not Tucker or Technus, had been able to figure out why it had worked when Danny was inside. But if the machine was able to sustain a portal that was already opened. . . He wondered idly if he could light a fire that looked accidental and would both destroy the lab and leave the two men enough time to escape. It’d probably be too risky. And who knew what destroying the portal would do to him. Fully kill him? Destroy him completely and shatter his core? It might be worth it to prevent anyone from gaining this knowledge. 

No wonder Lex Luthor was interested in this business. A child was murdered in this basement, and for all Tim knew, the child’s soul could still be trapped here fueling a Lazarus Pit that connected the world of the living to the afterlife. What Luthor could do with an interdimensional portal or even a single sample of Lazarus water. . . Tim shuddered to think.

On the one hand, he was grateful that Wayne Enterprises secured the business before Luthor had the chance. On the other hand, he felt rather ill to think his family had directly enriched mad scientists who performed child sacrifices. At least he had full faith that between him and Oracle, they’d hunt the Fentons down and make sure justice was served.

“What is to be done for the child?” Tim asked Constantine. “Is his soul tied to that machine?”

“I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure it’s just his death.” 

“You’re gonna have to explain the difference to me, ‘cause I’m not sure I see the distinction.” Tim said wryly. 

“I guess. . . Hm. You could think of it as the moment of transition drawn out endlessly like a plucked string whose note never stops vibrating. Like life is the anchor point of one end of the string, and the afterlife is at the other end, and the child’s death is the note created when his soul crosses from one side to the other. The soul is the bow causing reverberations, but the reverberations are the actual death itself. The effect of the soul’s passage. And in this case, the portal is amplifying the death so it doesn’t end like a normal death ‘note’ would.” Constantine leaned in to examine some of the runes that were part of the array. “Not a perfect metaphor, obviously, since you bow perpendicular rather than parallel to the string, and death and souls are nothing like music, but you get the idea, right?”

Tim was still caught on John Constantine saying the words “death note” together unironically in a sentence. He was going to have to share that with Steph later. Maybe with the whole family group chat, even. “Yeah, the metaphor makes sense, as much as any of this occult stuff does to me.”

“Whatever. As for whether there’s anything we can do for the child, I think we’ll have to try and summon him if we can.” The Brit started pulling items out of his trenchcoat’s inner pockets. “We need to ask what the spirit wants done, before we go messing with things we don’t understand.”

“Alright, need anything from me?”

“Yeah, move this stuff out of the way so I can draw a circle.” Constantine directed Tim to shove aside a few stacks of boxes, something called a Fenton Ghost Weasel, and together they shifted a coffin-shaped iron maiden that for some reason was labeled Fenton Stockades. Then he set to work chalking a circle and runes on the ground.

Finally he sat back and dusted chalk off his hands. “That should do it.”

“Will this be bright too?” Tim asked warily.

“Eh, might be? Shouldn’t be too bad.”

Tim grabbed an auto-darkening welding helmet with a green “Fenton” sticker on it off the workbench and slipped it on.

“Alright, here goes.” Constantine began the summoning ritual.

While Danny debated arson, the other two had finished clearing a space and chalked some kind of circle onto the floor. He tuned back into the conversation when he heard the trenchcoat guy begin a traditional incantation for a summoning. Were they trying to summon him? Danny really hoped it wouldn’t work. 

When people tried to summon the Ghost King he could almost always ignore the pull. This pull, however, was very strong and immediate. It seemed proximity made a difference, or this guy was just better at summonings than the average cultist. Before Danny could accept the inevitable, he was pulled bodily — literally! — out from under the vehicle and across the floor, still flat on his back on the Fenton Under Car Creeper, with the Specter Speeder’s ecto-engine hugged tightly to his chest. The wheels of the Fenton Creeper (not to be mistaken with the Fenton Anti-Creep Stick) sped him straight to the summoning circle. Still very much in human form. 

This was his first real look at the guy called Constantine, and he couldn’t help a horrified yelp. “Eugh!! What the fuck is wrong with you, dude!?!!” 

His lapse in attention made him lose the battle with the summoning spell, and it gripped him, pulling him through the convolutions of the spellwork even though he was already lying half across the circle, and forcing him to change into Phantom in the process. It was such a disgusting sensation, like he was one of those squishy water filled tube snake toys that look like a fleshlight, and someone squeezed really hard and abruptly so he turned inside out and went flying to go splat against a wall (or in this case, against the ground inside the circle of chalk). He tried and failed not to retch.

The younger man in the crisp suit whom he’d already identified as Mr. CEO-Timothy-Drake-Wayne looked at him in startled bafflement, while the older blond, still smoking his cigarette, (gross, and was that thing never ending?) was probably looking at him. Maybe. It was really difficult to tell, because he was a frankly vile sight. Danny winced and swallowed down nausea. “What have you done to your soul?”

“I — what?”

“Trypophobia central, man! Ugh that’s gotta be the grossest thing I’ve ever seen. Can’t you cover it up?”

“Who are you?” Timothy Drake-Wayne interjected.

“I’m the dead guy? You literally just summoned me.”

“Constantine said you were a child”

“I mean, I was?” Danny looked down at his obviously twenty-something year-old self and rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s been a while since I was fourteen though. These things happen.”

“Not typically, no. The dead tend to be pretty unaging.” Constantine said. 

“Dude I’m not having a conversation with you while your soul looks like Escher’s swiss cheese nightmare. Anyways, some of us do. Heck, I know a guy who constantly shifts from infant to old man and every stage in between. It’s pretty distracting when you’re trying to get him to let you fix the timeline again.” Danny continued to look anywhere but at the blond man. “But if it’s so important to you, I can —” He got an abstracted look, and slowly de-aged himself until the two men stood over a fourteen year old boy with snow white hair and glowing green eyes.

“That does not help. No.” The guy whose soul looked somewhat like a bleeding tooth fungus said. He turned away and started doing something magical. Danny hoped it would mask his soul in some way, but so far all it did was make Danny feel like he needed to pop his ears.

He also felt particularly uncharitable, so he didn’t revert to his natural age, and instead tried to see how young and cute he could make himself appear.

“So are you just haunting this basement? Seems hazardous, given the former proprietors.” Timothy tried to redirect the conversation. He didn’t seem nearly as distressed to see the ghost of a child, but his eyes darted surreptitiously to the Lichtenberg figure Danny used to always hide under gloves.

“Nah, haven’t been back here in years. I mostly live in my Infinite Realms haunt these days.”

“You . . . live? Is that just a figure of speech?”

“It’s rude to ask about a ghost’s nonliving status, you know. Highly taboo to ask how a ghost died or poke into the circumstances of our deaths without permission.” Danny admonished. Making himself younger than fourteen took more effort than he expected.

“Alright, I’m sorry,” Timothy raised his hands placatingly to the boy who now looked younger than Damian. “What brings you back to Amity Park?”

“Uh, you summoned me? Are we still not clear on that?”

Tim looked pointedly at the Fenton Creeper and the engine Danny still held. He’d shrunk down to the size of a four year old, and the engine really should be crushing him given it was bigger than his torso now. He quickly set it aside, and turned his biggest puppy dog eyes on Tim.

“You were in here already, and you looked pretty alive for a moment there.”

“I can look lots of ways!” Danny focused really hard on looking as cute, small, and nonthreatening as possible. He thought it was working when all of a sudden there was a pop! and he was smaller than he’d ever managed before. 

Timothy Drake-Wayne looked like a giant. The other guy, who had thankfully managed to put away his soul somehow, wore scuffed oxfords bigger than Danny. Hell, he could probably fit his entire self into one of Constantine’s shoes if that wasn’t a bizarre thing to do, and they weren’t already full of stinky feet. Holy shit what happened to him!?

Tim blinked down at the cat? Snake? Ghost. . . thing at his feet. What the fuck. A moment ago he was talking to an adult man whom he’s pretty sure was dead and he’s very sure was trolling them. Now his interlocutor had turned into an adorable creature with soft white paws, a long twisting tail, big pointed ears that swiveled like a cats, and a humanoid face that should’ve been creepy but was actually eliciting cute-aggression in him. Tim blinked again. The little baby ghost creature blinked enormous green eyes back at him. Then it yawned, revealing three rows of needle sharp teeth that looked like a cross between what you’d find in the mouth of a shark and a cat. Yikes.

“Does that mean the interview is over?” Tim asked him.

The creature just blinked up at him again, then zeroed in on his shoelaces, pupils expanding until only a narrow band of green ringed them.

Yup. The interview was over. Those paws hid some wicked claws which could apparently slice through leather with ease. Oh, Tim really hoped ghost scratch fever wasn’t a thing. At least the ghost looked sufficiently contrite after he yelped, and it waited while he removed a shoelace to sacrifice as a toy.

If Damian ever met him, there would be a new member of the family. Maybe he should name the creature preemptively so they didn’t have a cat-snake named Bat-Ghost in Wayne manor. 

“Do you have a name, little baby cat-snake ghost? Little baby ghost man?” He cooed as the miniature monster dashed back and forth, intent on shredding his shoelace.

The ghost paused long enough to chirp, “Li’l baby man!” before launching himself at the string. Even shocked, Tim’s reflexes had him whisking the toy out of the way, and the ghost went careening under a cabinet.

He wedged himself in the gap, landing face first in a dust bunny, and quickly wriggled backwards with an indignant squall. His wordless protestations cut off as he fell into a violent sneezing fit that thankfully dislodged him from beneath the cabinet.

Tim suppressed his laugh, and asked, “Little Baby Man? Is that what you want to be called?”

The ghost pawed most of the dust away from his nose, but spider webs covered his face and a big dust bunny perched atop his head like a fascinator with a cobweb lace veil. He looked Tim right in the eyes and nodded, dislodging the dust in his hair and setting off more sneezes.

“Li’l Baby Man” he confirmed. He placed a paw on Tim’s shoe and chirped, “Tim!” Then he pointed his tail at Constantine and said, “Gross!” with narrowed eyes.

[thechy-fychannel]

I saw a few other blogs doing this so I thought I'd share my input on what I think would happen in the House MD universe in 2024:

the constant jokes abt house and wilson's relationship turns into the fellows jokingly writing fanfic abt their boss and his boy best friend. somewhere along the way they all get very serious abt the quality of it and it turns into a Whole Thing, a 150k+ novel that they vow to take to their graves.

house discovers the fic by accident and sends it to wilson. wilson discovers things abt himself and then he and house discover each other shortly thereafter.

house purposefully posts the fic online and credits the fellows by their entire full names so it embarrasses them more than house and wilson. It's never spoken abt again but it gets way more online attention than any of them expected.

wilson doesn't get how the Cloud works and accidentally uploads his and house's nudes to the google nest hub on his desk. He doesn't notice it until one of his sweet little old lady cancer patients points it out to him during their appointment. He throws the google nest hub into his trash can until he can figure out how to get the naked pictures off of it.

house has an alexa and abuses the hell out of it. sometimes ppl hear him screaming at someone in his office, only to walk in and find a robotic voice replying with "sorry, I didn't get that" and house throws it off the balcony.

wilson gets addicted to online shopping. house has to stage an intervention bc they do not have enough room in their closet for another pair of prada loafers and their kitchen is full of shitty gadgets that wilson bought off temu or something.

some right wing social media influencer comes in with a mysterious illness and ends up getting castrated as part of the solution. 13 personally does the procedure herself and house watches like a proud dad.

a patient reveals chase's grindr by shoving his phone at him and asking "is this you?" abt the headless profile with the ripped abs that says Dr. Feel Good, 0 feet away, in front of the rest of the team.

foreman finds the team doing tiktok dances bc house told them to learn it in order to understand their 15 yr old patient better.

chase medically murders mitch mcconnel and the entire hospital celebrates ding dong the witch is dead style.

there's a whole episode where house faces his transphobia bc of a trans patient that he connects with. the patient tells him to fuck off and go face his own problems instead of pretending to make it right by being nice to one trans person. And house does, even if he's not perfect, he really tries to do better.

13 gets her medical marijuana card and accidentally becomes the team's plug. her main customer is wilson who still supplies it to certain terminal patients. She hears "hey, can I hit your pen?" at least four times a day.

foreman buys a tesla and it blows up in the parking lot. they spend the entire episode trying to figure out who tried to kill foreman, but it turns out that teslas just do that sometimes.

there's an episode where house finds out that netflix is removing his favorite obscure tv show that ran for 2 seasons in 2002 and wilson recruits the team to hunt down a dvd copy of it without house finding out. they somehow manage to find one and spend a ridiculous amount of money on it, only to open the dvd case and find a copy of the porno wilson starred in that one time instead of the dvd of the show. park saves the day at the last minute by finding a copy of it in a box of dvds in her parents house.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

good boy

words: 1.5k

warnings: established relationship, marriage, protective!rafe, (guard??) dog, fluffy

“rafe, it's literally two weeks. ill be fine!” you say, folding his clothes, having dumped out his suitcase onto the bed to reorganize it when you saw how he packed it, just chucking things in.

“two weeks where im a hours away from you by plane.” rafe sighs, watching you carefully repack his suitcase as he pouts on the bed, not wanting to leave you.

“you know, cameron, i lived a whole 20 years before meeting you.” you point out, knowing while rafes concern comes from his love for you, it will completely overwhelm what is supposed to be an enjoyable family vacation and leave him miserable the whole time.

“i don't see why you can't just come with me.” rafe groans, flopping back against the bed. you smile and round the bed to where his head is resting against the pillows. you press a smooch to his forehead, rubbing your hand over his head, petting at his soft hair.

“baby, it's just for your family. you know that.” it's not like you don't want to accompany rafe to a tropical paradise, but you would feel way too awkward intruding.

“what if something happens to you? and im not here to protect you? id be the worst fiancee ever.” rafe grabs your head from rubbing his head, holding up the ring on your finger for him to admire.

“nothing will happen. nothing ever happens here.” you laugh. you're not sure what crime is like on the other side of the island, but your neighborhood is incredibly safe.

“im still worried.” rafe sighs. “you in that big house all alone.”

“im gonna spend 99% of the time wedding planning.” you hum, thinking about the tabs pulled open on your laptop of different venues, dresses, and color palettes.

that finally gets rafe to crack a smile. “can't wait to marry you.” rafe says earnestly. he only proposed a month ago, some people would say that you were too young to get married, but rafe knew when you came into his life and turned everything around for him that he had to put a ring on your finger.

“i can't wait either.” you bend down to press a kiss to rafes lips. “but seriously we need to talk about your packing before we tie the knot, why do you only have one pair of shorts packed for an island?”

-- two years later --

“remember those two weeks you left before we were engaged? it's not really much longer. you should go, baby. it's a good opportunity.” you are sat on rafes lap, back pressed against his chest as he scrolls through his email.

“it's just work, and it's a whole lot longer than two weeks. i don't want to leave you here alone for over a month.” rafe closes out of the email, making you sigh.

“i was fine for those two weeks, ill be fine now. promise. i think you should go! it's a big conference.” you turn sideways on his lap so you can look rafe in the eye. “besides, it's still six months away. plenty of time to prepare.”

“prepare?” rafe raises his eyebrows. “so you'd be good with security cams around the whole house and personal security?”

“cameras on the outside and hell no. you don't want some random guys watching after me do you?”

you can see the gears turning in rafes head as he frowns. “yeah, you're right. no men.”

“so you'll go?” you smile. rafe closes his eyes for a brief moment before nodding.

“yay!” you squeal. you're not excited to be left alone, and you love being around your husband more than anything, but the work trip is a big deal, and you know he'll be kicking himself if he misses out on such a good opportunity.

--

“rafey?” you call, eyes sweeping across the living room as you enter your shared home, a head full of fresh highlights.

“hubby?” you call out, continuing deeper into the house until you see movement through the glass door leading towards the backyard, but it's not the typical roll of the ocean against the shore.

“rafe?” you question as you open the door. you expected to find him in his office, where he was before you left for the beauty salon.

rafe smiles, waiting for your eyes to look down, and when you finally see what is sitting at rafes feet, you let out a gasp.

“oh my gosh!” you squeal. 

“wifey, meet max. our new australian shepherd.” rafe gives a command with his hand, that has max running towards you.

you sink to your knees as the young dog excitedly greets you, licking at your hands as you pet him.

“hi maxey.” you coo at the dog, you're guessing around two years old, with max being full size but still having some young features.

“rafe, you didn't tell me you were getting us a dog!” you stand up, max following close behind as you rush to give your husband a hug.

“i have a confession.” rafe says, his hands looped around your waist. you frown, worried that max was just a foster and you'd have to give him back, or that something went wrong with the adoption. you often talked about getting pets before getting married, but wanted to wait a little bit, and then time just slipped away and before you knew it, you were over a year into your marriage. 

“what?” you whine out.

“ive been working with a trainer behind your back. i wanted to make sure max was ready before we chose him for sure. he knows commands, me, your scent, our house. everything. he knows his primary responsibility is to protect you and our property.”

“oh my gosh!” you slap rafe in the chest, surprised that he was able to keep such a secret from you. “how could you do all that without telling me?” you laugh, not angry, but surprised that he was able to orchestrate everything.

you don't wait for rafe to explain how he was able to find so much time, stepping out of his hold to kneel down and continue petting max.

“we have some more training sessions so he can learn with you as well.” rafe further explains, also leaning down to pet max behind the ears as he pants excitedly at his new owners.

--

“what is it maxy?” you ask as he lifts his head up, looking around the living room. “you miss your daddy?”

you sigh as max lets out a sad sounding huff, petting your hand over his head, scratching at his neck which you know is his favorite. rafe has been gone on his business trip for a month now, with only a week and a half left until he returns home.

max suddenly jumps off the couch, eyes on the backyard. he lets out a bark, claws clicking on the hardwood floor as he moves to the glass door. he lets out another bark, making you stand.

“what is it boy?” you ask, looking out the window.

max lets out another bark, this one the familiar territorial bark that he’s practiced in his training with you and rafe. you know the only reason that rafe feels safe enough leaving you home is that max is a great guard dog.

you get closer to the window, squinting your eyes to try and see in the darkness when you sudden jump back with a scream as a squirrel runs across your patio, causing max to bark and run along the glass door until it scatters into the yard.

“holy shit, maxy, you scared the shit out of me.” you press your hand to your chest before kneeling down, scratching behind his ears. “it was just a squirrel.” you reassure him with a pat.

your heart rate is just starting to calm down from the fright when you hear the front door open. max instantly takes off with you following after him, letting out a sigh of relief when you see rafe standing in the foyer.

“baby.” he sighs happily, setting his suitcase down as you run into his arms, pressing your lips together. “i missed you so much.”

“i missed you too, what are you doing home though?” you ask, giving him another kiss before he can answer.

“they didn’t need me for the rest of the week, decided to get home to my lady.” max barks, making rafe lean down to pet him, still holding you up. “and my good boy too, of course.”

“so happy to have you home.” you nuzzle your nose into rafes neck, inhaling the familiar scent that you missed so much. 

“happy to be back with you, wifey.” rafe says, carrying you further into the house.

“oh, and you will be very happy to know maxy did a great job protecting me while you were gone.” you tell rafe. it mostly involved max barking in warning at any delivery guy or car turning around in your driveway, but his presence did help making you feel safer and less loney.

“hopefully not too good.” rafe huffs as he looks at your pet. “can’t have him replacing me now.”

you giggle, surprised rafe can manage to be jealous of your dog. “never.” you swear, pressing another kiss to his lips.

taglist: @winterrrnight @bejeweledreverie @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @emma77645 @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk

[00valentina-writes00]

How about sevika with a terminally sick gf. I really loved the one you wrote for vi

♡♥︎Sevika with a terminally ill girlfriend♥︎♡

♥︎ Sevika doesn’t show much, but she’s absolutely destroyed when she finds out. There’s a crack in her usually unflappable armor, a flicker of vulnerability she tries to bury beneath her usual hard edges.

♥︎ She doesn’t talk about it much, but she starts keeping tabs on doctors, researching treatments, and trying to get her hands on any illegal or experimental cures she can afford. She won’t let you give up, even if you’re already resigned.

♥︎ Her usual harshness turns into something colder. She doesn’t waste time with anything unnecessary. If she’s going to help you, it’s going to be in the most effective way possible. No sentimental words, just straight to the point: “I’ll fix this. You’re not dying on me.”

♥︎ When you start getting weaker, she gets more demanding. She pushes you to eat, to stay awake, to fight. She’s relentless because if she doesn’t see you fight, it breaks her apart

♥︎ There are nights when she stays up late, arms crossed, staring out at the dark streets of Zaun, thinking about ways to make you better. Even the shimmer she injects into her system doesn’t offer any comfort when she watches you fade.

♥︎ She spends hours researching obscure treatments, bargaining with shady figures, doing whatever it takes to extend your life, even if it’s just a few more weeks or days. It doesn’t matter how much it costs.

♥︎ At some point, she starts finding herself hovering at your side all the time. She doesn’t want to leave. Not even to sleep. It becomes a strange routine for her, a kind of forced comfort where the silence between you is full of things neither of you are brave enough to say.

♥︎ If you’re awake enough, she’ll push your hair out of your face, but she won’t look you in the eyes. She doesn’t know how to handle the emotions you bring out in her, and it terrifies her.

♥︎ She never asks you how you’re feeling or if you want to talk about it, because she’s afraid you’ll say that you’re giving up. She can’t handle hearing it from your lips, even though she knows deep down you’re right.

♥︎ She starts to get more agitated, snapping at people who are just trying to help because nothing feels like it’s good enough. If anyone says something remotely positive about your situation, she shuts them down hard. She can’t pretend like there’s hope when there’s none.

♥︎ When you can’t leave the bed anymore, Sevika starts bringing everything to you. Food, water, medicine, books to distract you—anything to keep you from slipping further into the darkness.

♥︎ She never shows her tears, but sometimes when she thinks you’re sleeping, she finds herself staring at you, face etched with raw pain, her jaw clenched tight to hold back the wave of emotions that threatens to drown her.

♥︎ Her temper is worse than usual. She’s quick to lash out at others, mostly because she’s so incredibly fucking scared. Scared of losing you. Scared of not being able to save you. And she hates herself for not being able to fix it.

♥︎ She makes herself scarce around people when it gets worse. She’s quieter, more brooding, because the weight of her guilt and helplessness is too heavy to share. The only place she feels even a little bit in control is by your side.

♥︎ On the nights you’re too weak to speak, she holds your hand with a tightness that borders on painful. Her touch is demanding, like she’s afraid you’ll slip away in the blink of an eye.

♥︎ She doesn’t let you see her fear. Every day is a reminder of how much she’s failing you. And every time she sees that spark of hope in your eyes, it drives her mad because she knows she can’t keep it alive forever.

♥︎ As things worsen, she starts avoiding the topic of your death. It feels like a betrayal every time someone mentions it. She ignores the reality, pretending there’s a chance things will magically improve.

♥︎ When you do finally die, it feels like she’s been hit by a freight train. The finality of it leaves her in a state of shock, unable to process it. She doesn’t cry in front of you, not even when she closes your eyes for the last time.

♥︎ Sevika keeps busy after your passing. She throws herself into work, into anything that will distract her from the empty space beside her. She stops sleeping, drinking herself into oblivion, until her body can’t keep up with her broken heart.

♥︎ There are days when the memories hit her in waves. She can still hear your voice in her head, your laugh, the way you’d complain when she pushed too hard. And every time, it feels like a weight she can’t shake.

♥︎ People stop asking her how she’s doing because it’s obvious. She doesn’t need words anymore. The silence speaks for her. She’s the same outwardly—cold, distant—but internally, she’s unraveling, a mess of emotions she doesn’t know how to deal with.

♥︎ She tries to convince herself it’s better this way. You aren’t suffering anymore, and she can’t deny that you were getting worse. But she also knows she’ll never be the same again. That part of her is gone, taken by something she could never control.

♥︎ In the long run, Sevika doesn’t let anyone get close to her again. The wound you left in her will never heal, and she doesn’t think anyone could ever fill the hole you left behind. Not that she’s ready for that anyway

♥︎ But every now and then, when she’s alone, she lets herself think back to you. To the time you spent together, how you made her laugh, how you made her feel alive again. And she lets herself grieve the woman who was once hers.

[mxnhoo]

hopeless daydreams (l. hs)

synopsis : and they were roommates~ genre : romance, fluff, angst maybe, roommates to lovers !!!!, talkative x listener kinda, childish x mature LOWWWKEYYY, concert romance TEEEHEEE, word vomit cos i just wanna write pairing : heeseung x reader (mentions of yichan & chungah from twinkling watermelon, mentions of newt from the maze runner, chan from skz) w/c : 6.8k warnings! : SOME twinkling watermelon spoilers, name calling (attention whore etc), LMK IF I MISSED ANYTHING OUT a/n : plot is LOWKEY inspired by watermelon sugar by wonryllis, check it out it's genuinely amazing! main character is inspired by me cos i'm insanely delusional😚 can u tell i love confession tropes. ALSO i think this is fr the last thing ill post in a while cos of school, so hope this feeds yall well

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Lying on your bed, you were kicking your legs as you were watching the new episode of Twinkling Watermelon. The room was dark as the light wasn't turned on, the only source of light being your phone and the only sounds that could be heard were your giggles, and the audio from the drama.

It was the scene where Yichan brought the cat to Chungah.

"I'm afraid you'll be alone. I specifically chose a cat that looks like me" Yichan said as he pointed to his mole, Chungah looking at the cat who has a similar mole placement.

You paused your phone and squealed, covering your mouth as you giggle, kicking your legs even more.

"I'm afriad you'll be alone, specifically chose this cat that looks like me!" you imitated, lowering your voice to match the actor's one, laughing at yourself afterwards as you hit the mattress repeatedly.

Before you could continue watching your drama, knocks were heard on your door causing you to shoot your head up towards your door.

"Come in." you voiced, slightly annoyed that your drama-watching session was interrupted.

Your door opened, and without warning your light was turned on, flashing your eyes and you groan as you shut your eyes, looking away.

"God.. how can you see like this?" a daily voice spoke out.

You slowly opened your eyes, adjusting to the new lighting as you turned to the person.

"C'mon Hee, you could've warned me before you turned on the light..." you sighed. You looked at your roommate, which was Lee Heeseung, and he could be seen folding his arms, leaning against the bed frame with his eyes slightly frowned.

He completely disregarded what you said, "Time for dinner."

You groan once more, but quickly responded as you got off of your bed, dragging your feet towards him. Your hair was slightly messed up from laying down all day, and you scratched your stomach. After turning off the light, you and Heeseung walked towards the shared dining table, seeing all the food being placed and prepared.

"Sweet! You cooked fried rice?!" You squealed, the pitch of your voice increasing and you ran to the dining table, quickly sitting yourself down as you smelled the scrumptious aroma of the food.

"Mhm, your favourite." Heeseung said, setting himself on the opposite side of you on the table.

You looked at him, giving him a big smile as you quickly grabbed the metal cutlery on the table, preparing to indulge in the food. He returned a small smile as he looked back down on the food, doing the same as you.

"Let's eat!" you announced, digging your spoon and fork into the dish, bringing a big portion to your own plate and consuming it.

You could hear Heeseung giggle at you as you quickly devoured the food, him slowly taking his own portion and eating at his own pace.

"So how's Twinkle.. Sparkle whatever Watermelon going?" Heeseung asked, raising his eyebrow at you and your eyebrows raised, excited to talk about the details of the new Twinkling Watermelon episode.

You were about to speak until he stopped you, "Chew first, your mouth is full". He chuckled at you, tilting his neck as he watched you struggle to chew your food faster. Once you gulped your food down, you drank the cup of water that was nicely prepared already, you heaved a sigh of relief.

"Okay! So—" You rambled on about the new Twinkling Watermelon, using a lot of hand gestures and hitting the table in excitement once you brought up cute moments, like the cat scene you saw just now.

"Let me imitate the dude!" you said before clearing your throat. "I'm afraid you'll be alone, that's why I specifically picked a cat that looked like me" you imitated once again with your lowered voice, laughing afterwards at how stupid you felt.

Heeseung only looked at you and smiled, head tilting as he rested his head on his hand. He wasn't even eating, just watching as you talked about something you loved so much.

"And do you know how they confessed their feelings?! They were alone in a band room, and the dude was looking at her sketchbook, and he suddenly found a sketch of him!!" you said enthusiastically, pointing at him as he continued to listen to you. "And then he asked her in sign language — not really sign language, but like he asked her if she liked him! And I was expecting her to deny her feelings BUT SHE NODDED?!?!" you raised your voice, giggling violently afterwards.

"Really? What do you mean by 'not really sign language' though?" Hee asked, still staring at you, smirking.

"Oh! Like he asked like this!" you replied, afterwards doing handsigns.

The first handsign was you pointing towards Heeseung. The second handsign was you holding up a heart with both hands. The third handsign was you pointing towards yourself.

"Ahhh, and then she nodded after he did that?" he asked, understanding the context better.

You nodded aggressively at him, happy that he made an effort to understand the significant scene you could talk about for days.

"Let me try." Heeseung said, his facial expression becoming serious as he sat up straight, gaze locked onto you.

Using his hands, point to you heart point to himself

You furiously nodded your head and flashed him a smile, "Yes, exactly like that! That's one way to be romatic—" giggle "oh man, it seriously makes me so delusional." You giggled to yourself, and Heeseung raised an eyebrow at you, grinning.

"Enough talking, eat your food." Heeseung nagged before he spooned up some of the food and held his spoon up to you, raising his eyebrows to indicate you to eat it. You casually let him feed you, and you chewed the food.

"Hank yu!" you muttered in an attempt to say 'thank you' while your mouth was filled.

After both of you finished eating, you initiated to wash the dishes — after all, Heeseung was the one who cooked. Heeseung sat on the couch to scroll his phone as you washed the dishes. Since it was late at night, you announced that you wanted to take a shower.

"Oh dang, I haven't taken a shower too.." Heeseung mumbled, his eyes looking at you, signalling you to let him shower first. You gave him an irritated look, pointing at him "You literally could've showered while I was washing the dishes????".

"Oopsies. I forgot." Heeseung shrugged his shoulder, holding his hands up as you looked at him with an annoyed expression. You both instantly knew how to settle this — who would win the ability to shower first. Settle it right here, right now.

"Scissors, papers, stone!" you both chanted at the same time, throwing out a hand sign at each other.

Heeseung held up rock. You held up scissors. Rock beats scissors.

"Fuck yeah!" Heeseung cheered before he quickly snatched his towel from one of the corners of the living room and dashing for the bathroom, slamming the door loudly and locking it. You rolled your eyes and sat on one of the chairs near you, holding up your phone to scroll through social media.

This was your life. Wake up, school, go out, watch drama, eat dinner and occassionally play fight and eat dinner with Heeseung. Of course you did chores around the house too, but if anything, you were a full-time fangirl. You were a fangirl to all sorts of things.

You loved reading manga, comics, Webtoon, fanfiction; watching shows, J-Drama, C- drama, K-drama, anime; loved boybands whether they were English, Korean, Japanese; and practically just everything.

Heeseung on the other hand didn't really like anything specifically. One thing in particular though is that he enjoys music, like a lot. He listens to his own artists, but would listen to the music from your favourite boybands with you.

However, one thing that Heeseung absolutely disliked were your boyfriends. He once commented, "are you dating or doing charity work?" when you brought one of your boyfriends back home, and you always brushed it away, defending your boyfriends with all your might.

Spoiler alert! Your boyfriends always end up being trash.

Once, a boy broke up with you because his parents found out and his parents didn't allow him to be in a relationship, like seriously? Are you a toddler? Another time, a boy broke up with you and the reason was actually valid, but a weeks after he ended up dating a boy. Like it had you questioning. Were you that bad that they moved on quickly AND they switched up? You always ended up crying to Heeseung about it, and no matter what, he was always there for you, even if it was your fault for ignoring all the red flags.

This time, you have another boyfriend and you actually feel like he could be the one. But remember "Wake up, school, go out, watch drama, occasionally play fight and eat dinner with Heeseung" from a few paragraphs ago? The fact that you always eat dinner with Heeseung is kinda weird, 'cause you could be having a dinner date with your boyfriend or something, but it never could happen because apparently your boyfriend had 'night duties' to do. You didn't want to be pushy, so you never questioned it and lived with it, even if it kinda made you feel lonely. But at least Heeseung was there with you, so it's okay in a way?

After a while, you heard the bathroom door unlocking and you tilted your head up, watching the door open as you saw Heeseung walk out, shirtless with a towel covering his lower body. His hair was still wet and dripping, his torso still slightly glossy from it still being slightly wet. His body was well-defined since he had been going to the gym recently, and for some reason, you just couldn't take your eyes off of him. He quickly noticed you staring, and giggled.

"Ain't gotta stare like that.. I know I look good." he giggled, resting his hands on his hips as he smirked, looking back at you.

You quickly realise that you were staring at him and that you were caught, making you look away. "You're so full of yourself.." you rolled your eyes, trying to cover up the fact that you were just looking at him. It was normal for Heeseung to be walking around shirtless sometimes, but you don't know why this time he seemed a bit more attractive than usual. Mentally you were cursing yourself for checking Heeseung out, but there was just this thing with him that made you feel so flustered.

Trying to brush your thoughts away, you quickly snatch the towel that was on the table near you, walking past Heeseung into the bathroom, trying to avoid looking at him at all costs. You were about to close the door until Heeseung spoke out.

"Movie night?" he asked. You peeked your head out of the door before you nodded your head. "Okay." he responded, and you closed the door, locking it afterwards. You stared at at the bathroom mirror before you ruffle your hair in frustration, screaming silently.

"Why did I have to look at him? Why did I have to stare at him? He's always shirtless, why did I just have to stare this time? Am I cheating? Wait fuck no, I don't even see Heeseung that way. Oh my god" you sceam-whispered to yourself, taking deep breaths as you stared into the mirror after aggressively messing your hair up. You sighed in defeat, and started stripping to shower.

After you had finished your shower, you wrapped a towel around your body and quietly unlocked the bathroom door, peeking your head out to see where Heeseung was. After looking around, you notice the back of head appearing on the couch. You tried to tip-toe back to your room when he called out to you. "Done? Took you long enough." he teased, you stop moving and turned to him. He wasn't facing you, so you took the opportunity to hold up your middle finger and curse him off, whispering a very aggressive 'fuck you!' only for you to hear.

You entered your room, quickly dressing up and ruffling your hair with a towel. After a while, you stepped out of your room and joined him on the couch.

"Hey." he greeted you, putting his phone down to look at you up and down. This time, he had a shirt on so you felt more at ease.

"Yo." you smiled at him, trying to feel less awkward. You made your voice lower in an attempt to sound 'cool'.

".. What are you doing with your voice" he judged you, breaking out into laughter, and you joined him, the atmosphere being less tense and awkward. Thank god it's not awkward like just a while ago.

"Shush, stop judging." you playfully smacked him on the shoulder and he smiled, looking at you.

"Okay okay, so what movie we watchin' tonight?" he asked, picking up the remote as he turned on the TV and entered Netflix.

"Can we watch The Maze Runner?" you asked, looking at the TV screen.

"Let me guess, it's so you can see Newt again?" he asked since a few days ago you both already watched The Maze Runner. "............ maybe...."

He sighed before pressing a few buttons on the remote. You got comfortable beside Heeseung on the couch, slightly leaning your body on him. Some may say that it was weird at how you two were close, but this was a norm for the both of you. You knew Heeseung before all of your other boyfriends, so you and him inevitably had a strong bond. He turned on the movie that you had requested, and he quickly turned to you to flash a small smile.

"Thanks Hee, you're the best~" you giggled, locking your gaze onto the TV screen.

There was a silence as the movie started, and you were thrilled to rewatch your favourite movie and also see your favourite character. (newt girlies rise!)

"I just realised we don't have any snacks for the movie." he said, breaking the silence as he shot his head to you. Dang, you were so excited that you forgot one of the most very important things while watching a movie — snacks.

"Ah shit, do we even still have any snacks left?" you took the remote to pause the movie, setting your feet to the floor and standing up. You walked towards the pantry, and opening the cabinet, you are met with nothing. "Dang, we're really out." you groaned.

"I'll go downstairs" he said, getting up and walking to his room, probably to get his wallet.

As he entered his room, you sighed and you walked back to the couch, sitting down on it again. You waited for Heeseung to come out and he was now wearing a cap, jacket and holding his phone and wallet. He was making his way to the front door until you called out to him, "Let's go together." You don't know why but you just wanted to go. For the snacks, am I right? No it was for Heeseung.

Heeseung slowly turned around to face you, amusement showing on his face. "I'm not complaining, let's go," he said while holding his hand up and curling his wrist, telling you to get up. Still staring at him, you quickly got up and walked towards him. Once you both were side-by-side, you both started walking to the front door and he took his key that was hanging, opening the door.

It was dark and chilly. The walk to the nearby convenience store was silent, and once you both reached it, you looked at him and he looked at you.

"I'll get the drinks" "I'll get the snacks" you both said of the same time. You said drinks, he said snacks.

"It's settled, I'll pay this time." he smiled and you returned it. "Okay," you replied softly before turning your back and walking towards the drinks section.

Once you were at the drinks section, you opened the glass door of the refrigerator and took a bottle of Milo, a blast of cold air slapping you. You shivered a bit, and you instantly closed the door. Before you could walk over to the soda's section for Heeseung's drink, you saw someone familiar, and to your surprise, it was your boyfriend.

"Chan!" you called out without hesitation, running up to the boy. However, he wasn't alone..? The boy immediately turned around to where your voice sounded, and his eyes widened when he saw you, and he blinked rapidly. He quickly whispered something to the person he was with before you stood right in front of him, and now you both were face to face.

"Who's this?" you looked at the person beside him, and it was a girl. You raised an eyebrow and you started to feel uneasy.

"S-someone from my school. We were just doing a project I swear." the nervousness in his tone was obvious, making you feel uneasy. You didn't accuse him of anything, so why was he being so defensive? And why does he not look happy to see you?

"Uhm.. okay." you responded, your heart starting to feel slightly heavy as you started to overthink.

"Well! What are you doing here, then?" he asked, and you could see him start to sweat. You raised an eyebrow at him, occasionally looking at the girl beside him who was desperately trying to avoid eye contact with you.

"Um.. I was getting snacks with Heeseung." you replied, trying to cover up the fact you felt slightly jealous and hurt.

"Oh. Heeseung." his face suddenly darkened.

"Got a problem?" someone voiced behind you, and you instantly turned around to see who it was, and it was your roommate. Your roommate did not look happy at all, his eyes glaring at Chan as he held bag of chips in his hand.

"Hey, you're done?" you ask Heeseung, trying to clear up the tension. Once he looked at you, his gaze softened and he smiled at you, "Yup, got the snacks you liked, you done with the drinks?". You shook your head, "Nope, I was about to get your drink until I saw Chan". Immediately at the mention of your boyfriend's name, his smile dropped, and he looked back at Chan.

"Doing your 'night duties' in a convenience store with a girl I see?" Heeseung taunted, clearly angry at Chan. You looked back at Chan and he was returning Heeseung the sour look, and now the only thing you had to worry about is if a fight was gunna break out.

You whispered to Heeseung, "Hee.. stop..", but he ignored you. "Are you sure that it's right to be hanging out with a girl who isn't even your girlfriend this late at night?" he striked once again at Chan, and you could visibly see Chan get angrier, his jaw clenching.

"It's none of your business, besides, aren't you doing the same thing?" Chan retorted back. Heeseung scoffed and his tongue poked his cheek. "It's different. Me and Y/N are roommates. What's your excuse?" he fought back.

You whispered again, the anxious feeling inside you growing even more, "Hee.. stop.. please..". Chan smirked, "Oh yeah? Are you sure you only see Y/N as a roommate? I see the way you look at her, you want to snatch my girl away from me, right?". You looked at Chan, features of worry on your face.

"So what?" Heeseung voiced. You widened your eyes and looked back at Heeseung, not able to process the information you were hearing. "I'm her roommate, yet I treat her better than you. You're her boyfriend for fuck's sake." You couldn't just stand there and do nothing. With your free hand, you grabbed Heeseung's arm and pulled him to the other end of the store where the paying counter was. You aggressively snatched the snacks that Heeseung was holding and placed them down along with the single Milo bottle that you got. The cashier gave her colleague a side-eye, sensing the tension between you and Heeseung, scanning your items afterwards. You paid despite Heeseung initiating to do so earlier, and after your items were packaged in a plastic bag, you quickly snatched it and grabbed Heeseung's wrist, pulling him out of the store.

Once the two of you were out, you glared at him but he looked back at you with a soft expression. The sun has completely set, the only source of light being the street light.

"Are you feeling cold?" he asked genuinely, zipping down his jacket and removing it. Before he could wrap it around you, you smacked his hand away and stepped back.

"Hee, what was that about?" you asked coldly, features of anger on your face.

"What do you think?" he raised an eyebrow before continuing, "I was basically letting your boyfriend know how shitty he is." You wanted to slap Heeseung, but in the corner of your eye you saw Chan and the girl exiting the store. You quickly called out to Chan and waved, and Chan approached you.

Chan spoke up, completely ignoring Heeseung who was giving him the death stare, "We're still on this weekend, right babe?". He purposely spoke louder so Heeseung could hear him loud and clear. You nodded, smiling at him. Chan leaned in to peck your lips before leaving, and you were in a daze as you watched him leave. Chan was still beside that girl, but you could care less.

From your way of thinking, if Chan pecked you, he definitely loves you because he was giving you attention.

You look back at Heeseung and his facial expression showed he was displeased. Your smile drops and you walk ahead, not wanting to face Heeseung.

"Why him? You definitely know that the girl he's with right now is not just some 'project partner'." He voiced out loudly, causing you to stop walking. He continued, "We've been through this before Y/N, don't hurt yourself again."

You immediately turned around, "Hee, you can't control who I get together with. I'm happy, okay? I'm happy with Chan." You turned back, walking to your apartment without looking back at Heeseung.

As you were walking back, you couldn't stop thinking about what had just happened. You admit, you were happy that Chan kissed you, but you had so many questions.

Why was he with that girl late at night? What happened to his 'night duties'? Why did he say that Heeseung wanted to steal you from him?

You reached back your apartment, and you were about to unlock the door until you realised you didn't bring a key. You groaned in frustration because now you had to wait until Heeseung was back, and you also had to face him. You sat on the floor beside your door, throwing your head back to recall the conversations that happened just a while ago.

You were about to get lost in thought, until you heard footsteps approaching you. It was Heeseung, and he was holding the key. He seemed pretty shocked to see you, and he definitely wanted to talk to you, but he couldn't find the right words to say. He unlocked the door, and you immediately went in, trying to avoid him. "Y/N" he called out to you, but all you did was ignore and slam your room door. Heeseung felt guilty and he wanted to talk to you, but considering how you couldn't even face him, he just thought that he should give you a day or two.

The next day, you still ignored him, and he was getting bothered by it but he didn't want to rush you. Everytime he tried to touch or talk to you, you would instantly walk away and go into your room. Instead of eating dinner together, you would eat instant noodles in your room, leaving him alone on the dining table. Showers were never a problem because you always showered when he was still out in school.

Basically, you and Heeseung never talked, and the tension was suffocating. Finally, the weekend came and it was a day that you had been looking forward to for the longest time.

It was the day that you and your boyfriend were supposed to meet. You wanted to surprise your boyfriend with concert tickets of his favourite artist, and you were excited to see his reaction. Heeseung knew you were going out with Chan from the time at the convenience store, but didn't know any details. You didn't want to tell him because you both were not on good terms, and even if you two were on good terms, he would still nag at you.

Your plan was to bring Chan to a cafe nearby the concert venue, and then you'll show him the tickets and bring him to the concert. You had kept it a secret from him for 4 months, and you were imagining his reaction. Maybe he'll hug you, kiss you, pick you up and carry you, who knows?

You sat in the cafe, all dressed up. You did your hair, make-up, and chose an outfit following the concert's theme. You were waiting in the cafe, frequently picking up your phone to check the time. 3pm was the meeting time, and it was currently 2:56pm. You tapped your feet, fidgeted with your fingers and hair, and kept looking at the door everytime it was opened. You waited for 4 minutes and no one came.

"Maybe he's just late?" you mumbled, an uneasy feeling growing inside of you. You quickly texted him,

y/n : channie y/n : are you reachingg?? y/n : i cant wait for you to be here hehe

You waited for a response, but it never came. You waited a few minutes, and those minutes quickly turned into 10 minutes, 30 minutes, to an hour. Did you just get stood up by your boyfriend? You called him multiple times, but your calls were all unanswered. You were about to start crying until you got a phone call back. You immediately looked at the screen, and read the caller ID.

" HeeHee(seung)! "

Feeling completely detached from reality, you just picked up, ignoring the fact that you and him were on bad terms.

"Y/N, where are you?" he sounded breathless, and you felt confused. "W-why..?" your voice cracking, tears still building up in your eyes. "Please, let me go to you." If anything, you would've ended the call, but you were so hurt at the fact that you got stood up by your boyfriend that you didn't care anymore. "I'll send you my location." you said before hanging up and sending him your location.

After 10 minutes, the cafe door opened and a figure ran inside, panting loudly. The figure caught the attention of everyone in the cafe, and it was your roommate. Heeseung frantically looked around until his eyes met yours. His eyes were full of concern, and seeing you, he immediately ran up to you and grabbed your shoulders.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

You wanted to say yes, say you were fine, but you were not. Tears broke free from your eyes and you sniffled, hyperventilating as you start to cry. You cried out loud and Heeseung wiped your tears, looking at you with such worry. Everyone in the cafe was glancing at you but neither you or Heeseung could give a fuck. Heeseung brought you into an embrace and patted your back, whispering sweet-nothing's into your ears. The warmth he gave you was so comfortable, and you felt guilty about being so cold to him.

Your cries continued, but after 15 minutes, you slowly started to calm down. Heeseung's shirt was drenched with your tears, and realising that your breathing started to slow down, he gently moved backwards from you. He then sat on the chair opposite of you, where Chan was supposed to be.

"Y/N." he called out, causing you to look at him. Your nose was red, and your eyes were glossy and puffy.

"You're safe with me, okay? I'm sorry for what I did earlier this week." his voice was gentle and comforting.

You slowly nodded, unable to speak after crying for a long time.

"But, could you tell me what happened exactly?" he asked, and you were pained at remembering that your boyfriend had stood you up.

"Chan." you managed to say after a while, "He stood me up."

Heeseung was about to speak, until you continued, "I was supposed to surprise him to a concert today. I've been waiting for so long to surprise him, and he doesn't turn up?".

"I've waited so much money, so much time." you said, voice cracking towards the end.

"You and me, let's go to that concert, okay? When is it?" Heeseung said, causing you to raise your eyebrows.

"It starts in.." you checked the time on your phone "12 minutes."

Heeseung's eyes widened before he stood up, pushing the chair he was on backwards, and he took your hand that was resting on the table. "Then we have to go, now!". You blinked rapidly, clearly confused, but you slowly stood up. You took your bag that was on the chair and looked at him. You both left the cafe, and both started sprinting for the concert venue. Laughs filled the air, and you interlocked your hands with him. You had to get past a lot of people, and after 10 minutes of running, you reached the venue with him. You both were laughing while panting at the same time, your hands resting on your knees. It was almost as if you didn't ignore him for the past few days.

"C'mon, let's go in! You have the tickets right?" he asked, equally as breathless as you. You nodded and rummaged through your bag, pulling out a pair of tickets and handing it over to him. He held your hand again and pulled you to the entrance gate of the concert, showing the security guard the tickets and bringing you in. As soon as you and Heeseung stepped into the standing pen, the bright light in the venue that was flashing instantly disappeared, darkness filling the whole room. Loud cheers could be heard, and you joined in as well. The concert was starting, and even though it wasn't with the person who failed to be there, it was the person who never failed to be there.

5 songs have been played, and it was currently a ment where the artist was talking to the audience. Heeseung looked at you, and happiness was taking over you as if you weren't just crying your eyes out a while ago. Suddenly, music started playing again, and the artist yelled, "Everybody here with their partners, hold onto them tight for this song!". Without warning, Heeseung wrapped his hand around your waist, pulling you closer, and your eyes widened. You remained completely still, processing what just happened. With the song starting, Heeseung slowly swayed side-to-side, and you followed him. Your heart fluttered at his cuteness, and you put your arm around his waist too.

You couldn't focus on the concert, you were just thinking about the boy beside you. Was he your roommate, or was he someone you liked? Right now, the warmth you felt in your heart was like no other. The feeling in your heart was something new, and it made you feel so confused, flustered, excited, and all sorts of things. You were just crying about Chan and ignoring Heeseung just a while ago, but now you were holding onto him, so what happens now?

You glanced at Heeseung and to your your surprise, he was already staring at you. His stare was intense, and you also noticed that he was looking down on your lips.

"Y/N." he called your name, and it made your heart skip a beat. "I know you're still dating Chan and that you're still angry at me, but I really want to kiss you right now. Can I do it, please?". Without saying another word, you turned your body to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him for a kiss.

His soft lips met yours and it was almost as if it was only the two of you there, becoming completely unaware about your surroundings. Both of your eyes closed, tilting your heads to get more access. His hands went up to cup your face, bringing you closer, your heart now racing as you melted into the kiss.

After a while, you pulled back and rested your forehead against his, looking directly into his eyes and smiling. "I wanna stay like this for a while" you mumbled, and he looks back at you, giving you such a loving gaze.

"Me too."

It was the end of the concert, and you were now hand-in-hand with Heeseung. You checked your phone to see 19 notifications, and it was from your boyfriend — well, soon to be ex boyfriend..

8 Missed Calls

channie! : u fucking bitch channie! : u got heeseung to beat me up didn't u?? channie! : you're such an attention whore channie! : u only asked him to do so because u were jealous of that girl right channie! : that mother fucker left me in an alley way channie! : i admit channie! : i've been cheating on you with her

And before you could read the last few messages, you showed your screen to Heeseung. At first, Heeseung was afraid that you'd be hurt by Chan's words, but all you asked was, "You beat him up?" with your face completely unphased.

"....Yeah.... Don't get me wrong! Today, I saw him.... kissing that girl from before, and I just had to do something, y'know?" he pouted, not wanting you to get angry at him again and becoming all defensive.

You laugh at him before squishing his cheek. You looked back at your phone screen and clicked on Chan's notification, reading the last few messages you missed out on.

channie! : you're so overbearing channie! : she's way better than you channie! : i'm breaking up with u btw lol channie! : you'll never find anyone like me

You smirked, rolling your eyes before quickly letting go of Heeseung's hand to type a reply.

y/n : that's a relief y/n : bye

You snorted and showed Heeseung your reply, him giggling afterwards. You turned off your phone and inserted it in your pocket, holding Heeseung's hand again. The atmosphere was so loud, considering that the concert just ended and there were hoards of people trying to leave, but with Heeseung with you, you felt protected.

"I really looked like an idiot, didn't I?" you referred to when you were crying your eyes out for Chan before the concert. "Yeah, but a pretty idiot." "Oh? Mr Flirty.." you chuckled, blushing at his words. All your anger for him had vanished. "No but really, you look so pretty with that hairstyle.. that makeup and outfit." he said, looking the other way to avoid eye contact. It was dark, but the streetlight was making his redenned ears obvious.

You both continued to walk hand-in-hand, finally walking to an area that had lesser people, making the atmosphere calmer.

"How do you feel about me?" you asked.

There were seconds of silence, and you were about to apologise for such an abrupt question, until he spoke up.

"I feel crazy over you. I was going insane over the fact that you were having all these other boyfriends that treated you like absolute shit when I was right there. I could've been giving you wanted, Y/N. I enjoy every single moment with you, and that means a lot considering we literally live with each other. From those moments we go grocery shopping, to when we have movie nights, to when we fight over the smallest shit, I really enjoy all of them."

You nodded at his response, a smile creeping up your face. You interlocked your hand with him and squeezed his hand.

"How about you, Y/N?" he squeezed your hand back.

"I feel safe with you. I've had many partners, but they never made me feel as comfortable as you make me feel. I just assumed that it was because we're roommates, and that we feel close to each other since we see each other everyday, but I don't know.. I've always secretly craved for something more." you confessed, feeling embarrassed that you were completely vulnerable right now, but you wanted to be honest.

"That makes me feel so happy." he smiled at you, and you returned the smile.

"I'm sorry for being so cold to you this week." "It's okay. I understand."

After a while, the two of you finally returned home. Earlier expecting to be brought home by Chan, you were instead brought home by Heeseung, and it made you feel more content.

"I'm gunna go shower.." you told Heeseung, walking towards the bathroom.

"Can we shower together?" he asked, and you turned around, you looked at him weirdly with an eyebrow raised. "Weirdo.." you reply. "Whaat??? It's not weird at all!" he fought back. You rolled your eyes and snickered, walking into the bathroom.

A week has passed since you had broken up with Chan, and well, since you and Heeseung confessed to each other. In the dorm, you and Heeseung got even closer, sleeping together on the same bed every few days and having movie nights more frequently, but you and him never made it official. Both of you were honest about how you felt, so does that mean you two were dating? But nobody asked the big question, so does that mean the two of you were friends.. with benefits?

You were in class and it was the only thing you could think of, making you irritated. You couldn't focus, and if you went home to relax, the person making you lose focus would be there. As soon as the lecturer announced that class was over, you quickly closed your laptop and packed your bag, dashing for the door. You dashed home, praying that Heeseung wasn't home yet and wanting to just sleep your worries away. Since you and Heeseung were living in dorms, the time taken to walk back home wouldn't be long, so after 10 minute of walking, you reached the front of your door. You pull out your keys and unlocked the door, opening it and stepping foot into the house.

The first thing you noticed was the aroma. It smelled sweet, like.. chocolate cake? You loved chocolate cake. You quickly locked the front door behind you and put your shoes on the rack, stepping into the kitchen when you are met with a cake set on the table, "Will you let me be your boyfriend?" written with icing and flower petals around it forming a heart shape. Your heart instantly melted.

Suddenly, you heard a scream behind you and you instantly turned around, a confused look plastered onto your face. The scream came from Heeseung, who was just leaving his room and his eyes widened.

"HUHHH?? YOU'RE BACK HOME ALREADYY???" he whined, dropping a letter on the floor.

"What's all of this?" you giggled.

"I WANTED TO SURPRISE YOUU.." he whined again, fake-crying.

You giggled at the sight in front of you. Usually Heeseung put up a mature front around you, but you couldn't help but find this side of him extremely adorable.

"Well, that's unfortunate" you giggled, amused at how his face became fully red in an instant. You walked up to him and held both of his hands.

"So, what were you going to ask me?" you raised your eyebrows, anticipating to a specific phrase you've been wanting to hear so badly throughout the entire week.

He sighed, looking away since he felt embarrassed that his surprise failed. He mustered up the courage to look at you and finally ask the big question, "Y/N, will you let me be your boyfriend?"

You hummed, looking up to the ceiling, portraying that you were 'thinking', but you only wanted to tease him. You felt ecstatic that it was all going to be official.

"Don't tease me!" he whined, feeling impatient.

"Maybe.... yes?" you finally replied, and he looked at you with such a jubilant expression. He pulled you into a kiss, his hands wrapping around your waist, and you kiss him back.

"I'll treat you so well Y/N, better than all those bastards and those characters you fangirl so much over, okay?" he pulled back, cupping your cheeks.

You nodded and leaned in once more for another kiss.

[aquamarixx]

sweeter the second time around

married out of convenience, you and your best friend, Kita Shinsuke share a not-so-normal married life, intil Kita realizes he never wants to let you go

‎‧₊˚✧ TURNING POINT 2025 ENTRY ✧˚₊‧ pairing kita shinsuke x reader word count 2.9k words tags post timeskip, aged up, friends to lovers, somehow established relationship, hurt/comfort, bit of fluff, marriage of convenience, navigation

You and Kita Shinsuke have always been close—steady, reliable friends who could depend on each other through anything.

It started back in high school, when you crossed paths as the student council secretary and he, the volleyball club’s captain. Even after you moved to Tokyo for university and later got a job there, you never lost contact with him. Through every milestone, every struggle, and every little moment in between, Kita remained a constant in your life—one of the few things that tethered you back to Hyogo, aside from your family.

He’s always been the person who listens without judgment, the one who quietly understands you in a way most people don’t. He knows everything about your life, from the smallest details to the most frustrating realities. Like how your love life, despite your best efforts, has always been disappointingly stagnant.

You’ve tried dating over the years, but relationships never seem to work out. No matter how promising they start, something always feels off. It’s like you’re chasing a connection that just won’t stick. 

Kita, on the other hand, has never seemed interested in romance. He’s always been content with his responsibilities, with the joys of his rural life as a rice farmer, never feeling the urgency to settle down.

And then, everything changes.

Your mother—your single mother, the woman who raised you on her own—falls terminally ill. And suddenly, time, something you always thought you had, begins slipping away.

One evening, in the quiet of her hospital room, she smiles at you, eyes warm but tired.

“You used to drape the blankets around yourself like a wedding dress,” she murmurs, voice fragile but full of fondness. “Always twirling, saying you’d be the most beautiful bride in the world.”

You let out a small, breathy laugh, remembering the image vividly. But there’s something in her voice—something wistful.

She squeezes your hand. “I always thought I’d get to see it."

Your throat tightens.

She doesn’t say it as a plea, not as something she expects or even asks of you. It’s just a quiet confession, a bittersweet acceptance that she won’t be there when it happens.

The weight of it presses into your chest, heavy and suffocating.

You try not to cry. Even the tears threatening on your lash line, with all your might, you hold yourself back from sobbing. Instead, you hold her hand a little tighter, as if that alone could slow down time. And you wish it would.

Marriage has never been something you’ve chased. You figured if it happened, it would happen naturally. But now, with her words echoing in your mind, you feel lost.

Later, you tell Kita about it. You’re not sure why. Maybe because he’s the one person who never judges, who always listens. Or maybe because, deep down, you already know he’ll say something that makes it easier to breathe.

He doesn’t respond right away. He just sits with your words, letting them settle between you.

And then, in that calm, matter-of-fact way of his, he says, “Why not marry me, then?”

You blink. “What?”

“I’ll marry you.” His voice holds no hesitation. “It doesn’t have to change anything. If it’ll bring her some peace, we can do it.”

Your heart lurches. “Shin, you don’t have to—”

“I know.” His gaze meets yours, unwavering. “But I want to.”

You stare at him, still trying to process, still trying to find the right words to refuse because this is—this is too much. 

“But what if you meet someone?” you blurt out. “Someone you do want to marry?”

“I won’t.” His response is simple, final.

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. He doesn’t even say it with sadness. Just with this certainty, like he’s always known.

“We can figure it out later,” he continues, reassuring you. “Right now, what matters is your mom.”

“But still, Shin, this is—”

Before you can finish, you see him reach into his pocket. You watch him as he tinkers with it in his hand before placing it—whatever it is— in your palm.

You glance down. It’s a small, makeshift ring, twisted from a strand of hay, clumsily looped together.

A surprised laugh bubbles up before you can stop it. “Shin—what is this?”

“A proposal.” His lips quirk up slightly, just enough to tell you he’s amused.

It’s ridiculous. A hay ring, of all things. Yet, for some reason, your chest tightens.

Your fingers curl around it, warm against your palm. “You’re serious about this?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t.” His voice is quiet, steady.

And just like that, the argument dies on your lips.

Because this is Kita Shinsuke. The boy who has always been there in your life.  The one who never makes promises he doesn’t intend to keep.

This isn’t a romantic proposal. There’s no nervous confession, no grand gesture. Just the certainty of a man who doesn’t think twice when it comes to doing right by the people he cares about.

And that’s how you find yourself married to your best friend.

Your wedding is small and intimate. Less of a grand affair and more of a quiet gathering of the people who love you both. There are no extravagant decorations, no towering cakes, no lavish venues. Just a modest shrine in Hyogo, the scent of fresh flowers in the air, and the warmth of familiar faces surrounding you.

You rented a beautiful white gown. It’s not the kind you dreamed of as a little girl, but something simple and elegant, something that feels right.

Your friends from Inarizaki High are there, the Miya twins bickering as usual, Suna looking unimpressed but still wearing a pressed suit for the occasion. Kita’s other former volleyball teammates and his grandmother sit near the front, watching everything unfold with quiet joy.

And then, there’s your mother.

She sits in the first row, her hands clasped together, her smile trembling at the edges. Her eyes shine with unshed tears, her face alight with love and pride. This moment isn’t perfect—not in the way you once imagined—but it is enough. Because she is here. She gets to see it.

Only a handful of people know the truth: that this is not a love story, not in the way everyone assumes.

To most, it looks like something out of a dream. Two best friends who have always been by each other’s side, finally finding their way to one another. The way people whisper about how it was inevitable makes you laugh under your breath. If only they knew.

And yet, when you stand at the altar beside Kita, it feels… surreal. Not wrong, not forced, but strange. :ike stepping into a life you never planned for.

You don’t know how to feel.

But when you look at him, standing there in a crisp black suit, something shifts.

Kita has always been composed, always steady, but right now, there is something in his gaze that you’ve never seen before—yearning. Like you are the most beautiful bride he has ever laid eyes on.

It steals the breath from your lungs.

He watches you as if you belong there, as if there was never a version of his life where you wouldn’t end up here, standing next to him.

The ceremony moves forward, words exchanged, vows spoken. You repeat them without hesitation, your voice calm and sure. When it comes time for the ring, Kita slides it onto your finger with the same deliberate care that he does everything. With intention, with certainty, with the kind of patience that makes your heart ache.

Then, the final moment. The kiss to seal your vows.

You barely have time to react before Kita’s hands move. One cradles your face, fingers brushing lightly against your skin, while the other snakes down to the small of your back, pulling you close. His lips meet yours in a long, firm kiss and somehow unexpected in its intensity, yet still so him.

For a moment, the world fades.

His touch is gentle but unyielding, the warmth of him pressing against you in a way that feels almost… real. Your hands, almost instinctively, grip at the fabric of his suit, anchoring yourself.

And when he pulls away, you are left breathless.

A faint red tinge colors Kita’s cheeks, a rare sight, and you find yourself laughing softly. He exhales, lips twitching slightly in amusement.

The moment is fleeting, but it lingers, settling somewhere deep in your chest.

This is the beginning of something new. You don’t know what, exactly.

But it’s something.

You resign from your job in Tokyo, choosing to stay in Hyogo indefinitely, dedicating yourself to your mother. And throughout it all, Kita is there.

He is there in the mornings, helping you prepare your mother’s meals, making sure she takes her medicine even when she insists she doesn’t need it. He is there in the evenings, when exhaustion weighs you down, guiding you to bed before you collapse from lack of sleep.

He is there when you break, when the reality of what’s coming hits you so hard you can’t breathe. He doesn’t try to fix it, doesn’t offer empty words of comfort. He just holds you, steady as ever, as you cry into his chest.

For six months, you live as a married couple.

You cook together, fall into a quiet rhythm of shared responsibilities, navigate the difficult days with patience and understanding. It’s not traditional. It’s not normal.

But it’s yours.

And when the seventh month comes, your mother slips away in her sleep, peaceful and warm in her bed, and the grief is unbearable.

Kita holds your hand at the funeral, fingers wrapped tightly around yours as if to keep you from unraveling. He makes sure you eat when you forget, sits with you in the silence of your shared home, never forcing words where they aren’t needed.

He is there. Always.

And when the dust settles, when the world finally stills, you and Kita remain married.

Eventually, you return to Tokyo. You find a new job, move back in with your friend, and step back into the life you left behind.

But every weekend, you take the two-and-a-half-hour journey back to Hyogo.

It’s a routine you’ve had for years, even before the marriage, and it doesn’t change now.

Kita’s grandmother welcomes you back each time with warm smiles and teasing remarks, treating you as if you’ve always been part of the family. Kita never expects you to play the role of a wife—not in the traditional sense. He never pressures you, never makes you feel obligated.

He doesn’t even mind if you take your ring off.

But you don’t.

You wear it always. Not because you have to, not because anyone expects you to. But because it feels right.

During the weekdays, Tokyo wears you down. The endless crowds, the rush of work, the constant noise—it’s exhausting. By Friday night, your body feels heavy, your mind clouded with stress.

But the moment you step off the train in Hyogo, the air feels different. Lighter. Quieter. Coming home to Kita is like stepping into a world that moves at its own pace, where time slows and nothing feels urgent.

Your married life is simple. Shared dinners at his house, soft laughter over tea, the quiet understanding of two people who know each other well. Chores fall into place naturally, neither of you needing to ask. Some afternoons, you bring him snacks in the fields, watching as he wipes his hands before taking the food from you with a quiet smile. Other days, you visit the market with his grandmother, weaving through stalls and listening to her stories.

When it’s just the two of you, he never forces anything. He doesn’t expect you to be a perfect wife or demand anything beyond what you’re willing to give. The touches he allows himself are simple—his hand finding yours, a light press to your lower back as he guides you through a doorway, a steadying hold on your waist when he moves past you in the kitchen. And then, there are the kisses.

They don’t happen often, but when they do, they linger. He never rushes, never takes more than you give, but there’s something about them—about him. His lips are firm, patient, but starved in a way that always leaves you wondering. Wondering if it’s just habit. If it’s just for show.

Or if it’s something more.

Not that you’re complaining. Because no matter how much those kisses leave you wanting, they also leave you waiting.

Waiting for something you can’t quite name.

It’s easy. It’s comfortable.

It’s enough.

Or so you think.

One evening, the two of you are having dinner at Onigiri Miya. The scent of fresh rice and seaweed lingers in the air as you pick at your food, laughing at something Osamu said. Kita sits beside you, relaxed as always, his hand gently caressing yours.

Then the door swings open, and Atsumu walks in, loud as ever, with a few MSBY Jackals in tow. Their voices fill the small restaurant, easy grins and playful banter making them impossible to ignore.

Kita steps outside to join Osamu, leaving you inside for a moment.

That’s when one of the MSBY players slides into the empty seat across from you, flashing a charming grin. “Didn’t think I’d see a woman this pretty around here.”

You glance up, amused. “Is that a pickup line?”

He shrugs, undeterred. “Depends. Is it working?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. He’s harmless, just being friendly, but before he can push further, you lift your left hand slightly. The silver band on your ring finger glinting under the restaurant lights.

“Sorry,” you say lightly. “I’m married.”

The shift is instant. He exhales a short laugh, hands raised in surrender. “Damn. Lucky guy.”

Through the restaurant window, Kita watches.

He watches the way you smile, the way you casually hold up your hand, the way the man across from you takes a second too long to look away.

And for the first time, something unfamiliar stirs inside him.

He’s never thought much about the nature of your relationship before. You are his best friend, his wife in name, his partner in a quiet, unspoken way.

But you are also a beautiful, kind, and capable woman. Someone who could be loved by another man.

You come home to him every weekend, walking up the dirt road to the house with that tired but relieved smile, greeting his grandmother with warmth that never fades. You fit into his life so seamlessly, as if you were always meant to be there.

And Kita realizes what he could lose.

Osamu exhales beside him, dragging out his words. “You look like a man about to do something real dumb.”

Kita ignores him. Maybe it is dumb. Maybe it isn’t. But he’s never been one to hesitate once he’s made up his mind.

So he steps back inside.

You look up as he approaches, something shifting in your expression, as if you can sense the change in him. Kita doesn’t acknowledge the other player—he barely even registers his presence. Instead, he reaches for your hand, his fingers finding yours, warm and familiar.

You blink at him, confused. “Shin?”

“Come outside with me.” His voice is steady, but something in it makes your pulse quicken. You don’t argue, don’t question, just let him lead you out the door and into the quiet night air.

And as the cool breeze brushes against your skin, Kita watches you under the dim glow of the streetlights.

For the first time, he wonders what it would be like if you weren’t his.

And for the first time, he doesn’t want to find out.

So he just goes for it.

“I want us to stay married.”

Your head snaps up. “Wait—what? I’m not divorcing you or anything,” you say, genuinely confused.

Kita lets out a small sigh, shaking his head. “That’s not what I meant.” He looks at you, his expression unwavering but… nervous?

“Let's get married.”

You blink. “Shin, we’re already married.”

“Not out of convenience,” he clarifies, his fingers brushing against yours. “For real this time. Because I love you.”

Silence. Your brain short-circuits.

It’s the first time in your entire year of marriage that Kita Shinsuke has said I love you to you directly.

You stare at him, blinking rapidly. “Wait. Hold on. Back up—you love me?”

He nods. Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You squint at him. “You sure?”

Kita exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “Would I be proposing again if I wasn’t?”

And then, he pulls something from his pocket.

A ring. A makeshift one, out of hay.

You gasp, in mock disbelief. “Again? Shin, why do all your proposals involve farming materials?”

His lips twitch, almost smiling. “Didn’t really plan this one either.”

You snort, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Guess that makes two of us,” he says simply, still holding out the ring.

You bite your lip, pretending to think about it, just to mess with him. “Hmm. I dunno. You haven’t even taken me on a proper honeymoon.”

He deadpans, “You don’t even like traveling.”

“True,” you admit, laughing.

Kita just waits, patient as ever, steady as ever.

You look at him and you thought, how could you say no?

“Of course, yes,” you say, grinning. “For real this time.”

You don’t give him time to respond before you pull him in for a kiss.

And this time, when he kisses you back, with such yearning just like the kiss on your wedding day. 

And somehow, the proposal, the kiss, and everything about this moment feels sweeter than the last time.

amari's notes: kita shinsuke is, if nothing, the best husband anyone can ask for. posting this on my birthday and on the last day i'm writing for my turning point event. anyway, I’d love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to leave a reply or drop an ask or even a request! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

taglist: @inu1gf

[kislnd]

Please do some george dating headcannons babe 😘

dating george clarke~

tysm for the request anon!! i had a lot of fun making this, i hope you enjoy xx

-> his love language is definitely either physical touch or quality time. i feel like he would always want to be with you and would always much rather stay inside cuddled up with you over going out.

-> that probably also comes with a slight possessiveness, because he prefers to have you all to himself it would be hard for him to not feel jealous sometimes (but he would try not to show it because he would know it wasn't your fault).

-> such a gentleman - always opens every door for you, sometimes literally jogging ahead if he has too. would get so offended if you opened your own door without waiting for him.

-> absolutely does not let you do anything when you feel ill, he would insist on completing every task singlehandedly and if you try to do even the tiniest thing he would nag you to stop and would do it himself to save you any discomfort (& so you recover more quickly).

-> similarly, he knows exactly when something is wrong, like he has a sixth sense for you. always very attentive and trying to get to the bottom of the issue so it can be fixed. a very firm believer in 'a problem shared is a problem halved'.

-> i definitely think be would be the type of guy to plan dates for you so no matter how busy you are in your work or personal lives, you always have time set aside for each other.

-> loves to play with your fingers/hands, even absentmindedly. you would find him lacing his fingers into yours frequently, during conversations with others, when you're watching something, he would always want an excuse to touch you - but without inconveniencing you too much.

-> he remembers every little thing about you. sometimes it would even shock you, it could be something you had mentioned once in passing that you don't even remember, but he would know and if he could ever get anything you mentioned, he would give it to you. he might even have a note in his phone containing lists of things you like, maybe even your exact order at your favourite takeaway.

-> his camera roll is full of you - all kinds of pictures too - pictures together, candid ones of you, ones that you would really want him to delete but he doesn't because he loves them anyway.

-> he wouldn't let you be insecure for a single second, he would constantly compliment you and the moment you mention you don't feel pretty or anything like that he would immediately reassure you over and over.

-> he would text you as soon as anything reminds him of you (that's a lot of things) to let you know that he was thinking of you.

-> playful bullying - i feel like this is just in his nature and part of his humour. you could both have digs at each other without hurting each other's feelings, he would absolutely know where the line was and never would never cross it.

-> somehow manages to bring you up in every conversation with his friends to the point they tease him for being a simp. it wouldn't bother him though because he knows they're right and doesn't want to shut up about you.

-> despite teasing him, his friends and family really like you and think you are the perfect fit for george - simultaneously the female version of him but also very different to him.

-> would probably go feral like a teenage boy the second you wear anything slightly revealing, he wouldn't be able to get enough of you (this is a whole other fic i fear).

[biblically-accurate-dca]

full breakdown of the daycare attendant's color scheme & minor design details throughout their apperances

bc im mentally ill abt them lol

warning: this is a very long post and will probably only interest a very specific audience of people

3d model

(source)

their body follows the pattern of having a "primary" color, a "secondary" color, and an "accent" color. this pattern shows up for all of their apperances.

the primary color is the one applied to the crescent moon on their face, the right half of their torso, the upper half of their forearms, the middle "in between" sections of their fingers, and their legs.

the secondary color is the one applied to the other half of their face, and the other half of their torso.

the accent color is applied to their lower forearm, their palm, and their finger tips.

sun's color scheme is a pale tan color(primary), a light orange color(secondary), and a light grey(accent). notably, sun's 3d model's palms are colored with their primary color instead of their secondary.

moon's colors are a pale white, a blueish black, and bright dark blue respectively. also the white of their upper arm fades out into the blue of their lower arm before ending at the elbow, but this doesn't show up on sun's arm. (also also, moon's eyebrow & eyelash are colored in with their secondary color, while sun's isn't colored in at all.)

the buttons on their chest tend to fall more in line with the main colors of their clothes, except for moon's 3d model which is their body's secondary color instead.

nothing major to say about their clothes, so here's a thought about their color schemes: even though moon shares a lot of colors with sun (red, orange, and yellow), sun's design doesn't have any of moon's blue. (though sometimes sun is shown with blue eyes? so who knows.)

their ruffles and ribbons all tend to stay the same color (red), all except for the ruffles on moon's neck which turn blue. this is a consistent detail throughout all of their designs.

their little elf shoes are orange and stay the same color regardless of which form they're in. there's a crescent moon on the inner facing side and a star on the outer side. the crescent moon's two pointy parts(?) are pointed towards their heel.

i will not talk too much about their head/face, but here are some details that are different in other iterations: their eyes do not move, sun's rays cannot rotate and can only move inwards and outwards, and moon's hat goes over their forehead.

also their ribbons have no physics in this game LOL

concept art

(source)

covering this first because the general color scheme and the placement of those colors is nearly identical to their in game model (albeit with brighter, more saturated colors). the overall design is also highly similar, but with a few notable discrepancies:

one major detail that's different in all their drawn iterations is that their torso is one solid piece instead of two separate parts like it is with their 3d models.

moon's arm gradient is still present on their concept art, however sun now has a lighter colored gradient on the end of their arm to match moon's coloration! (this could always be shading but it feels too specific for this to be the case). (also, moon's arms, fingertips, and stars seem to almost glow? which is potentially what their unused emission textures are based off of.)

sun's palms are colored grey! also, the middle sections of moon's fingers are colored dark grey on the concept art (pretty much everything with their primary color is colored like this ((except their face)), but it's probably just due to shading this time since it's not present anywhere else but here.

they seem to have a little circular panel near where their arm bends that isn't present on their 3d model. same with a rectangular panel on their leg.

their clothes, ribbons, and shoes are mostly the same except for a couple small things: moon's pants have faint lines on them to match sun's, their shoes have no symbols on them, and the bit of ribbon on the ends of their pants is colored yellow instead of red. (also moon's shoes are colored darker.)

their face has a lot of notable differences too, but one of the biggest ones is that they have no left cheek! their grin stretches a lot farther up on that side of their face because of this (they have no lips on that side of their face either!). the circular indent on their cheek is colored in on sun's face, their eyes aren't being squished by their cheeks anymore, and they also have a lot more teeth (which don't stretch into the corners of their mouth, and are colored differently than the rest of their face.) lastly, they share the same color for their eyebrow and eyelash!

official art work

something important to note is that all of the dca's (current) official art will have this color scheme and all of the same details due to them either being drawn by the same artist, or because all other current official artwork of them is based off of this design and/or the concept art. (any and all additional artwork i mention can actually be found on their wiki page, but i'll link to it here if i feel it's important.)

one of the most notable details of their official art is that their accent color has been changed to a light grey color for both of them (albeit slightly warmer or colder to match their respective color schemes). though, interestingly enough, moon's palms (similarly to sun's 3d model) are colored with their primary color instead, despite both designs having this detail in the concept art.

additionally, something that was changed from the sketch for this drawing, is that (like their concept art) their shoes lack the little symbols on them, and the ribbon tied on the end of their pants was colored yellow instead of red. something that wasn't changed though is their lack of a left cheek.

moon's button aren't visible here, but other artworks (such as their claw machine artwork) show them as a blue color to match with sun's red.

sun's arm still has the little circular panel near their elbow that can be found on their concept art.

their face has a lot of similar details to their concept art, while still being stretchy and cartoony. they have a lot more craters spread around their face, and sun has consistently been shown to have a chipped tooth... it's cute.

before i move on, i'd like to talk a little bit about their various eye colors! there are several instances of sun with golden colored eyes (e.g. this drawing here, their in game plush, their claw machine art, their piñata from ruin, their actual design from ruin, and an exclusive design from steelwool's store.), while there are only two instances of sun with blue eyes (the sunnydrop candy poster and their icon on the daycare pass).

moon's eye color (when their eyes aren't just... closed) tends to just be red, but there are still a few instances of them with a blue right eye (their plush and piñata, with their claw machine art's eyes being entirely blue).

there's actually even a few specific instances of their eyes being black (their 3d model, the golden moon plush, and the golden sun plush... however that one is more brown than black.)

there's also that one book cover of moon with the pink spiral eyes but that was more of a one off thing.

ruin

this is where my bitching session starts

very noticeably, their eyes move around in this game. did they finally get the glitter glue out of their eyes after the earthquake or something? does no one care about their dead fish eye swag...

speaking of eyes it's actually kind of lame they have yellow eyes instead of blue. the blue eyes actually have some additional meaning to them when you consider moon, but the yellow eyes are just... well, they're already super yellow. what makes them so special. make moon's eyes yellow for a change.

ok actually relevant: they use a mix of both sun and moon's primary colors, while using exclusively moon's secondary colors... both of their accent colors are used too with sun's on their right and moon's on their left.

suddenly their unused emission textures decide to join the party... this was a weird decision for them to make when those textures weren't even visible before. but ok.

all things considered they're actually not even that damaged. the most major damage is to their outer casing and their leg... like, compared to the others this is pretty good? even compared to the original shattered animatronics this is good??

wait is their hat just sitting on the very top of their head? is that because of the rays? are they holding it up? why was this a thing that was changed.

hw2

ok well the hat is even farther back now. what the hell. why

iirc their eyes don't noticeably move around as much as they do in ruin, but they do still move around sometimes (iirc they spin around after sun's cartwheel?) which i guess is fine. whatever. im the only bitch who would care about this anyway

they nerfed moon's ultra bright high beam eyes in this one... sad!

this is such a non problem but sometimes (especially in sb) when you shine a light on moon their pants have this little purple shaded section on the inner thigh parts and it looks. weird. in this picture it's not visible due to the shaders but it's very noticable in the daycare section of sb when you get a good look at them with the flashlight.

actually you ever realize how their design literally makes no sense whatsoever. how does their casing change color, and why is their coloring so inconsistent between the two without visibly affecting the other? how do their CLOTHES change color like that?? where the hell does the hat come from??? why do specifically and only the neck ruffles change color???? where do their pupils come from????? i will stop talking about this now

jack o' moon

they do have moon's color patterns, they're just shifted around a little. they even sort of have the lack of a texture on the sun rays that moon's model has! but this time it's actually intentional.

their face has the world's shittiest paint job which i think is really funny. i guess it does sort of look like a pumpkin yeah.

idk how the hell their glowing mouth overlay works but it's certainly a thing they have. the glowing eyes are also pretty cool looking admittedly. and the insides of their eyebrow, eyelash, and craters glow a little bit too.. that's cute.

the ruffles on their neck and waist, and the ribbons around the bottom of their pants are green, while the ribbons around their wrists are purple (but a small part of the ribbon on their right wrist is still red)? their shoes are similarly purple.

potato sack pants ♡ it's a really good part of the whole look actually

basically their design is like if bbw eclipse was stupid. but like in a funny and endearing way WAIT ACTUALLY SPEAKING OF THAT

balloon world eclipse

bitching session is officially OVER

first off: sun's faces! so the first face very obviously takes inspiration from their in game artwork while still having the general face shape for their regular look. the scattered look of the craters on their face and the color of their eyebrow reflect this as well. sun doesn't have their trademark chipped tooth but overall it's a very nice look and it serves it's purpose very well.

since sun's 2nd face and moon's are the same i'll go over them both here... this look is very much based off of their concept art look! but it's more noticable in the shape of their eyes and the way their teeth are drawn this time, because they actually do have a left cheek... but the corner of their mouth still stretches up the same way it does when they don't have one! also, the base color for moon's eye is a little purple here which is always fun.

now ECLIPSE... brightly lit yellow eyes with red flickering pupils... the light being pushed out between the cracks of their teeth... a menacing color scheme too dark for sun but too bright for moon... the faint color of the illuminated crescent moon hidden inside the darkness of their face... their complete and utter lack of a left cheek because it never got added onto this sprite... this is PEAK eclipse design

also, this isn't about their design but i edited these sprites for something a while back and noticed that some of the pixels were just ever so slightly off color? which leads me to believe this was done in a regular art program not made for pixel art, and that whoever made these isn't super experienced with it.. however that honestly just adds to the charm for me. i really love these sprites.

harvest moon

oh mmy god look at it

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

Are You Sure?! Episode 4 observations

8.5/10 ☆

When will Army cancel Jimin and Jungkook? When will ot7 jikookers and vminers and vminkookers make call out posts for them? Jimin and Jungkook should express that all encompassing love for the entire members of their group all the time. Pointing out throughout the entire first day that Tedros is their guest or that they he should leave if he doesn't like it, that he's looking for attention or that AYS is their show, not for other people, was giving mean girls behavior. How is that nice? They love their guest but they're shading him. I think we should totally cancel Jikook!

But how the tables have turned once the kid that tagged along went to bed and the adults could play. Oh, we were back to Connecticut vibes once again. Which are basically the usual jikook vibes in where every little game needs to have a hint of flirtation (I wonder what Jimin would have done if Jungkook wouldn't have warned him about the glass part in the pool? Jimin was in slytherin mode the minute he took off his clothes).

From enganging in intricate rituals to touch each other (as always) to go through a long negotation over eating ramyeon or not (what's ppeuriri got to do with everything? I love their inside jokes and hate them at the same time. Let me in!!!! I was waiting for the bj brothers and when they deliver even some innuendos, it riles me up).

I'm not a BL fan of regular watcher, but this looks like the beginning of one of those steamy scenes where they show them fuck on some balcony or in the pool. Just sayin'.

Say yes and eat the damn ramyeon, Jungkook!

I like Jikook's nighttime routines. Although so far they have been quite tame, no drinking or other shenanigans. They do teeth brushing yoga or they cuddle up and talk about work and their schedules before bed. And there's no bed without Jimin's legs all over Jungkook (I'm sure he must be dreaming of those thighs at this point).

Can it get more domestic than Jungkook talking to his mother and her already knowing about their schedule?

I have a feeling she and Jimin text each other regularly. Oh, if only they had filmed just a bit during their Chuseok weekend in Busan (I do assume Jimin went too, but 🤷‍♀️). I need to see Jimin with Jungkook's mother. She would dot on him and Jimin would be so respectful but shy and oh, I get all giddy just thinking about him. Busan boys, please visit your home town one day and share that with the world!

I refuse to accept the existence of Jimkook, sounds ugly, forced, it doesn't roll off the tongue. But Jikook? Yeah, that works. And they were in full jikook mode on the boat. That embarrassing CPR manouver by Jimin is yet another sign that they will remain that cringe couple. How did Tedros survive on that boat? No wonder he took a step back from all that up until the end.

The entire afternoon on the boat really gave us a glimpse into their original plans and how once again, they just click. They never push it, they want to do the same things and they have fun. And we still got the cuddle and drawing whales out of clouds without that moment turning into something else.

When Jimin is in top shape, without any other illness looming over their vacation, then we know we're in for some entertainment. He's much more engaging and laughs at everything while Jungkook is right there next to him, ready to joint whatever Jimin wants to do.

(Who would have thought that Tedros headbanging the first day would make him take a step back and allow them to do their own thing how they originally planned? I have lots to say about him, but for another post, there's too many nice things that happened and I focus on that at first)

And now, a few more highlights:

What is this? Cutie Jiminie who can also get angry while stuffing his face with rice and noodles and chicken all at the same time? You are what you eat. Or whom 🤭

Jungkook has always been an expert at such lines, how can Jimin still be surprised after a decade? That's what you get. You have the tattoed guy who's really into bikes and Jimin who is clearly into all that, but he's gotta take the lame lines too.

[xlettex]

In This Life and The Next||wakatoshi ushijima The Second Lifetime

You slipped into Wakatoshi's life so effortlessly, as if you had always belonged there. Love with you was steady, certain—something he never had to question. But fate is cruel. Bound by a love that transcends lifetimes, he’s haunted by the feeling that this isn’t the first time he’s had to say goodbye. Some loves are too strong for just one lifetime. But in this one, their story is doomed to end the same way.

pairing - wakatoshi ushijima x reader genre - tragic romance rating - 13+ chapter word count - 4.6k content warning - angst, grief, loss, terminal illness, emotional distress

Authors Note: Something about wakatoshi ushijima screams writing an angst story to me.

the first lifetime <- the second lifetime -> the last lifetime

Wakatoshi never believed in fate—only in discipline, precision, and effort. Love had always seemed like an afterthought, a distant thing meant for others. Then he met you.

It wasn’t dramatic—no sparks of destiny, no grand revelation. Just an autumn afternoon, the scent of freshly brewed coffee curling through the air, and a stranger who changed everything.

He had seen you before, hovering at the café counter, your presence always accompanied by an air of curiosity. But today was different.

This was the first time he noticed the delicate silver star hanging from a thin chain around your neck. The small pendant caught the café lights, glinting like something familiar, though he had no reason to recognize it. 

Then, without hesitation, you slid into the seat across from him, arms full of books, your lopsided grin filled with something both confident and teasing

"Are you always this stoic, or did I catch you on a bad day?"

He blinked at you, momentarily caught off guard. "I’m not stoic."

You tilted your head, unconvinced. "Debatable."

And just like that, his world shifted.

You became a fixture in his life before he could even question it. Your meetings weren’t planned, yet you always found your way to him, slipping into the chair across from him as though it had been reserved for you all along. 

Some days you came armed with questions about the book he was reading, challenging his thoughts, playfully disagreeing just to watch him counter your points. Other times you brought your novels, quietly sipping your coffee beside him, content in the shared silence.

And sometimes, when you were lost in thought—your fingers would brush over the star pendent absentmindedly—he would catch himself staring, a strange unease settling deep in his chest.

He never asked you about it, but the feeling lingered.

The first time you didn’t show up, he noticed.

The café felt too quiet, the air lacking the warmth you so effortlessly carried. He told himself it didn’t matter, that you were just some passing presence in his routine, but the next day, when you reappeared and dropped into the chair across from him with an exaggerated sigh, complaining about a missed train, he felt his chest ease.

That was when he realized he had been waiting for you.

Your love grew in the spaces between conversations—shared glances over coffee cups, the way your laughter softened the edges of his world, the quiet walks taken down lamplit streets, your hands brushing together like magnets pulling toward one another. 

He never reached first, always hesitant, but you were fearless in the way you touched him—light nudges when you made fun of him, casual hand-holding as you walked, arms linked when you pulled him toward a shop window to admire something he hadn’t noticed before.

One evening, you reached for his hand without thinking, intertwining your fingers as you crossed a small bridge. The river reflected the city lights, shimmering in the dark like scattered constellations.

You were mid-sentence when you noticed his silence.

“What?” you asked, glancing up at him.

He didn’t answer right away, instead, he stared at the joined hands, the warmth of your skin pressed against his own.

You laughed softly, following his eyes. “You act like I haven’t held your hand a hundred times before.”

Maybe you had–maybe in some other life, this was just another moment in an eternity of reaching for one another.

His grip on your hand tightened slightly, then his gaze drifted—to the delicate silver star resting just above your collarbone, glinting softly in the glow of the streetlights.

You always wore it.

Even now, as your fingers curled easily around his, your free hand instinctively brushed over the pendant, rolling it between your fingertips

“That necklace… you never take it off.” His voice was quieter now, contemplative.

You glanced down at it, thumb grazing over the tiny charm. “I don’t know why… but I never do.”

There was something distant in how you said it as if you weren’t entirely sure of the reason. But the way you held it—the way you needed to hold it—sent a strange ache through his chest.

“You’ve got this whole mysterious, brooding thing going for you,” you teased, nudging him playfully, lightening the air again. “But I know you have a soft side.”

He raised an eyebrow. "Do I?"

You squeezed his hand, your smile turning softer. "Yeah. I see it in the way you look at me."

Wakatoshi had never been good with words and had never known how to articulate the depth of how he felt. But at that moment, he wanted to tell you everything—that you had become his home, his anchor, the one thing that felt constant in a world that never stopped moving. Instead, he cupped your face, leaned down, and kissed you, letting the press of his lips speak the words he couldn’t.

You moved in soon after, seamlessly slipping into his life as if you had always belonged there. Your presence was everywhere—your books scattered across the shelves, your laughter filling the spaces between the walls, your scent lingering in the fabric of his sweaters when you borrowed them. You left notes on the fridge, playful reminders, and small affections scribbled in your looping handwriting.

Eat something before practice. I love you. Did you know you talk in your sleep? It’s adorable. I stole your hoodie. Again. You’ll survive.

You hummed in the kitchen as you made coffee, your soft melodies carrying through the apartment. Sometimes, he would find you curled up on the couch, one of his oversized sweaters draped over your frame, a book resting open in your lap as you waited for him to join you.

But it was the quiet moments he loved most. The ones that didn’t seem significant at the time but stayed with him long after.

Like the way you got ready in the morning—still wrapped in a blanket, still half-asleep as you leaned into his side while brushing your teeth beside him. You never said much in those moments, just murmured a sleepy “morning” before wrapping your arms around his middle. 

And maybe, just maybe, that was what love looked like to him—sleepy grumbles, warm embraces, and the quiet comfort of knowing someone was always there.

He wasn’t always good with words, but he showed love in the way he always made sure your phone was charged before bed, in the way he shifted closer in his sleep just to keep you warm, in the way he adjusted your blankets in the middle of the night without waking you.

You understood him without needing grand gestures. He didn’t need to tell you he loved you every second of the day—you already knew. Because love was in the smallest things, in the way his hand always found yours in a crowded space, in the way he memorized your coffee order. And in return, you made his world softer, warmer.

Mornings became your favorite part of the day. He was always up first, a creature of habit, but you weren’t far behind. You would shuffle into the kitchen, still heavy with sleep, your hair tousled from the night before. He started making your coffee just the way you liked it—honey instead of sugar, a little too much milk. And every morning, you would smile at him over the rim of your cup like it was the best thing you had ever tasted.

"Perfect, as always," you would say, pressing a kiss to his cheek before settling into the chair across from him.

And he would watch you, coffee in hand, memorizing the way you looked bathed in the early morning light as if he could trap time in those moments.

One evening, as you lay tangled together in bed, you murmured, “What would you do if you could live a thousand lifetimes?”

He was quiet for a moment, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns along your spine. Then, in a voice so steady, so certain, he answered—

“Find you.”

As if it was the simplest thing in the world.

And maybe it was.

Because love—your love—was something that had always existed. Even before this life. Even after it. And deep down, maybe he had always known that, too.

You fit into his world so seamlessly that he forgot what life had been like before you.

And yet, no matter how tightly he held onto you, no matter how deeply he loved you, it would never be enough to stop what was coming.

It started as a simple cough—harmless, fleeting. You brushed it off with a wave of your hand, laughing when he frowned.

"Just the change in weather," you assured him. "I’m fine."

But it didn’t go away.

At first, it was subtle—small moments he almost convinced himself weren’t real. The way you cleared your throat too often. The way you pressed your palm against your chest absentmindedly. The way you seemed just a little too tired after a long day, resting your head against his shoulder earlier than usual.

"You should sleep more," he murmured one night as they lay in bed, his fingers brushing through your hair.

"Maybe," you hummed in response, eyes already drifting closed.

He told himself it was nothing. That you were simply overworked. That the seasons were changing. That you would be fine.

Then the coughing fits came. Deeper. More persistent. Some were so strong they left you winded, struggling to catch your breath.

"Maybe you should see a doctor," he said one evening, watching as you rubbed a hand over your throat.

You waved him off with a smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek as if that could ease his concern.

"It’s nothing," you murmured. "Just a little run-down."

And he let himself believe you.

Until the morning he woke to the sound of your coughing—deep, wracking, painful.

The kind of cough that tore through your chest, rattling in your lungs. The kind that made the sheets tremble with your small frame.

He turned over in an instant, eyes heavy with sleep before quickly sharpening in focus.

"Baby?"

You were gripping the blankets, your body curled in on itself, your face pale. When you pulled your hand away from your mouth, his stomach clenched.

Blood.

It was just a smear of red against your palm. Small. Almost unnoticeable. But to Wakatoshi, it was enormous, the weight of it crashing into him like a tidal wave.

You stared at your hand for a long moment, as if you couldn’t quite believe it either. Your breath was uneven, eyes flicking up to meet his own.

And then, finally, you sighed.

"Okay," you whispered. "Maybe I should see a doctor."

The waiting room was sterile and cold, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones, making you feel as if you’d never be warm again. The walls were a lifeless gray, the soft hum of fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead.

Wakatoshi sat beside you, his fingers intertwined with yours, gripping them too tightly. He could feel the bones beneath his palm, how delicate they suddenly seemed. You had always been small compared to him, but now, you felt fragile.

You leaned into him, exhaustion clinging to you like a second skin.

Neither of them spoke.

When the doctor arrived, his words were careful, and cautious, as if they might soften the blow of what he was about to say.

"It’s advanced."

A pause.

"We’ll do everything we can."

Another pause.

"We can fight it, but…"

But.

That single word sliced through him, jagged and unrelenting.

Wakatoshi barely registered the rest, his ears ringing, his breath tight in his lungs. He only noticed the way your hand had gone still in his, how the room felt unbearably small, closing in on them with every second.

He clenched his jaw, barely suppressing the tremor in his fingers.

"We’ll fight it," he said, a promise, a plea, a desperate refusal to accept what they were being told.

You exhaled slowly, your lips curving into something that was meant to be a smile.

"Yeah," you murmured. "We will."

But you knew.

And deep down, so did he.

The days following the diagnosis felt like they were moving in slow motion.

You went through the motions of treatment, but there was something different in the way you moved. A quiet acceptance in the way you carried yourself. He hated it.

He wanted you to fight. He needed you to fight.

So he researched.

At night, after you had fallen asleep, he sat in the dim glow of his laptop screen, reading every article, every clinical trial, every treatment option that could give them hope. He called doctors, and hospitals and reached out to people he hadn’t spoken to in years, searching for something—anything—that could fix this.

"You’re not eating enough," he murmured one morning, setting a plate in front of you.

You smiled at him, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

"I’m just not hungry."

"You need to eat." His voice was firm, the same unwavering certainty he used on the court, in the weight room, and in every area of his life where effort equaled results.

But this wasn’t like that.

Because no matter how much effort he put in, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fix this. You reached for his hand instead of the food.

"Toshi."

The way you said his name—soft, understanding—sent a sharp pain through his chest.

"You can’t make this go away."

His jaw tightened, his fingers twitching slightly in yours.

"I can try."

Your gaze held his for a long moment before you finally spoke, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I know you want to, but… some things just aren’t in our control."

He didn’t want to hear that, didn’t want to accept it.

You were his. And he had always believed that if he worked hard enough, pushed hard enough, he could hold onto the things that mattered.

But this was slipping from his grasp, and no amount of strength could stop it.

So he did the only thing he could.

He held you.

He held you when you were too weak to stand. He held you when you cried in frustration at your own body betraying you. He held you in the middle of the night when the pain was too much, when you clung to him, shaking, and whispered apologies into his chest as if you had any reason to be sorry.

"I hate this," you confessed one night, your voice trembling.

"I know," he whispered back, pressing his lips to your forehead.

He wanted to tell you that he would trade places with you in a second. That he would take the pain, the exhaustion, the sickness if it meant you could stay. But words felt useless, hollow. So instead, he held you tighter, as if he could tether you here just by will alone.

But he was losing you.

Day by day.

Your body grew weaker, exhaustion settling deep in your bones, the color slowly draining from your cheeks.

But still, you wore the necklace.

He noticed it more now.

The way your fingers drifted to it absently, rolling the delicate silver star between them, as if grounding yourself in something unseen.

The way you clung to it in your sleep, fingers curled around the charm as if it held a promise only you understood.

The way, even as your body betrayed you, you never once took it off.

One night, as you lay curled against his chest, he traced the chain lightly, where it rested against your collarbone.

"Why do you always wear this?" His voice was quiet, uncertain.

Your fingers found the pendant instantly as if they had always known where it was.

You smiled faintly but didn’t answer right away.

"I don’t know," you admitted softly. "It just… feels like I have to."

There was something in the way you said it—a quiet certainty in an answer that didn’t quite make sense—that sent an ache curling through his chest.

He didn’t press further.

Didn’t ask why your fingers always held it a little tighter when you thought he wasn’t looking.

Didn’t ask why, even as your body failed you, you never once thought to take it off. 

He just watched and memorized.

Memorized the way your fingers curled around the charm in your sleep rolling it absentmindedly between them– like a habit older than time itself.

Later, he would understand…

..when it was far too late.

The months stretched on, and you grew weaker. 

Your laughter became quieter, your steps slower, your touch featherlight. But still, you smiled for him.

"You’re not supposed to cry," you teased one evening, brushing your fingers against his cheek. He hadn’t even realized he was crying.

"I don’t want you to be sad," you whispered, your voice raw from the illness stealing you away.

"How could I not be?" His voice was steady, but something was breaking beneath it. "You are my whole world."

You chuckled softly. "You make it sound like I’m vanishing forever."

He said nothing because the truth was too unbearable. He wished he could stop time, and hold you a little longer. But the reality was cruel.

There were good days, and Wakatoshi clung to them like lifelines. One afternoon, you twirled in the living room, laughing as you pulled him close. 

"Dance with me."

He held you carefully, afraid you might disappear right there in his arms. And for a moment, nothing had changed. You were still here, still warm, still looking up at him with the same brightness in your eyes that had captivated him from the start.

Then there were the bad days. The laughter faded, replaced by coughing fits that tore through your small frame, your body curling inward as you struggled to breathe. Panic clawed at his chest as he held you upright, rubbing soothing circles into your back, his voice murmuring, “Breathe, baby. Breathe.”

You gasped against his chest, shaking your head, your fingers clutching onto him as though you were terrified of slipping away. By the time it passed, your body was limp, exhausted, your face pale and damp with sweat.

That night, he carried you to bed, cradling you like you were made of porcelain like you might shatter if he wasn’t careful. He lay beside you, tucking the blankets around you as if they could protect you from what was coming. His fingers brushed over your knuckles, his lips against your temple, whispering "I love you, I love you," as if saying it enough times could root you to this world.

But love wasn’t enough.

You prepared him in the only way you could—leaving notes hidden in places you knew he would find them long after you were gone.

Some were folded in his gym bag, others tucked between the pages of books on the shelves, and one—sealed inside the pocket of his coat.

I love you. You’ll be okay, even if you don’t believe it now.

He found them too soon.

Days after finding your notes, he sat beside you, the weight of them still heavy in his chest.

The hospital lighting was harsh—too bright, too sterile—casting cold shadows against the walls. It made everything feel unnatural, as if this moment wasn’t real, as if you weren’t fading before him.

The machines hummed softly, an IV drip slowly feeding into your veins. The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor was steady, a quiet reminder that time was slipping through his fingers. You reached for his hand, your grip weaker than it had ever been. He immediately laced his fingers with yours, grounding you both. 

"Read to me?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

His throat tightened, but he nodded, reaching for the book you had always loved. His voice was steady, and measured, even as his chest ached with every word.

Your eyes fluttered shut as he read, a small, tired smile gracing your lips. Your free fingers drifted to your necklace, rolling the delicate silver star between them as if anchoring yourself to something unseen.

Next time," you murmured, your voice so faint he almost missed it. "In our next life, let’s meet sooner."

His grip on your hand tightened.

"We will."

And he kept reading.

But before he could finish the next page, you shifted slightly against the pillows, your voice soft but laced with something undeniably you—that teasing familiarity, even now.

"Toshi?"

He stopped mid-sentence, eyes flicking to your face.

"Yeah?"

You smiled—weak, tired—but still so vibrant.

"Can you get me some of that terrible hospital jello?"

For a second, he almost laughed, a breath of relief slipping through his lips at the sheer normalcy of it.

"Yeah, love. I’ll be right back."

It was such a simple request. Such an ordinary moment. And he let himself believe, just for a little while longer, that there was still time. That you would still be here when he came back.

That this wasn’t the last time.

He left the book on the bedside table, stood up, and stepped out of the room. It took him only minutes to return—barely enough time for the gelatin to wobble in the flimsy cup he carried.

But as soon as he stepped inside, he knew. The untouched jello slipped from his fingers. The small plastic cup hit the ground with a muted thud, red pooling across the sterile white tile.

But he didn’t notice.

Didn’t care.

Because everything was still.

Too still.

He hesitated in the doorway, gripping the frame as if it was the only thing keeping him upright. The air felt thick, suffocating, pressing in around him with a silence that felt wrong.

He tried to push past it.

You're just asleep, he told himself. You're resting. You're still here.

But then he realized—he couldn’t hear it.

The steady beeping of the heart monitor. The quiet, rhythmic sound that had become the backdrop to every moment spent at the hospital.

It was gone.

His stomach lurched.

Your pillow was still indented, the blankets carefully tucked around you—just as he had left them. The book he had been reading to you remained untouched, its last words still hanging in the air—never to be heard, never to be finished. The cup of coffee he had made that morning sat untouched, long gone cold.

Everything was the same. And yet, everything had changed. His feet felt heavy, like wading through water, like if he walked too fast, reality would catch up with him.

His hands shook as he reached for you, heart hammering, whispering a plea before he even touched you—

Please, please, please—

"My love," he whispered, reaching for your hand.

Still warm.

But limp.

His fingers closed around yours, squeezing gently. You didn’t squeeze back. His stomach dropped. He tried again, this time a little firmer, searching for any sign of response.

Nothing.

A sharp breath punched from his chest, his throat burning as he sucked in air that refused to fill his lungs.

"Baby?"

You didn’t move. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay calm, to be rational, to not fall apart—not yet.

He lifted your fingers to his lips, pressing a desperate kiss against them, but they remained limp in his grasp. His free hand ghosted over your cheek, then curled under your chin, tilting your face toward him.

You looked peaceful. Your lashes rested lightly against your skin, your lips still slightly parted, as if you had only just exhaled.

A strangled sound escaped his throat.

"No."

He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his body shaking as his arms wrapped around you.

"No, no—baby, come back."

But you had waited for him to leave before letting go. The realization hit like a knife to the gut, twisting deep.

You had known. You had known and hadn’t told him. Had let him walk out that door, let him believe he had more time, let him think he could return to you still breathing.

You had done this for him. You had spared him the pain of watching you die. And somehow, that only made it worse.

"Why?" His voice was hoarse, broken, barely more than a whisper. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

Why hadn’t you let him be there? Had you thought it would hurt him less? Had you thought it would make it easier?

Didn’t you know that losing you—again—would never be easy?

A sob wrenched itself free from his chest, sudden and forceful, sending his whole body lurching forward. His forehead pressed against your shoulder, his fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt, clinging to the last traces of warmth in your skin.

"I should have stayed," he choked out. "I should have known—I should have—"

His voice broke entirely, dissolving into something unrecognizable.

If he had just been here. If he had held you, whispered to you, told you one last time how much he loved you If he had stayed.

If, if, if.

But he hadn’t.

And you were gone.

He needed someone to blame.

The universe. The doctors. Fate itself.

But when the silence stretched on, swallowing him whole, there was only one name that echoed back at him.

His own.

He had left you.

And now, you had died alone.

His shoulders shook violently as he buried himself into you, gasping for air that wouldn’t come. His hands grasped at you, desperate, helpless, his body curled around yours as he could somehow keep you anchored to him if he just held on tight enough.

But you weren’t coming back. The room was unbearably still. And then he saw it.

Next to you, lying carefully atop your final note, was the silver star necklace.

The chain had been unclasped, the delicate charm placed gently on the folded paper—not discarded, not forgotten, but waiting. As if, even in your final moments, you had known.

As if you had left it for him. His hands shook as he reached for it, lifting the tiny star into his palm. You had taken it off.

For the first time.

As if you had known he would need something to hold onto. As if you had wanted him to keep this piece of you.

His breath hitched, vision blurring, as his thumb instinctively brushed over the charm, rolling it between his fingers—just as you always had.

A shudder ran through him.

The motion was familiar.

Too familiar.

It was muscle memory. A habit that had never belonged to him. And yet, his fingers knew exactly how to move.

Something inside him cracked.

A battlefield. A letter never answered. A love waiting in vain for a soldier who never came home.

The memory slammed into him like a tidal wave, rushing past the walls of time, drowning him in the weight of something he had long forgotten.

But you hadn’t forgotten. You had known. You had waited for him then, just as you had waited for him now.

And just like before, he hadn’t made it in time.

His breath came sharp and uneven as his trembling fingers unfolded the note beneath the necklace.

There were only five words.

Yours, always. In this life and the next.

Fate had stolen you from him.

Again.

In this life.

In the one before it.

In every existence, they were given.

A cruel, relentless cycle, where no matter how tightly he held on, no matter how desperately he reached for you, something always pulled you away.

It was always like this.

Loving you.

Losing you

Finding you again, just to lose you once more.

Left behind, holding onto ghosts, remembering a love that was never meant to last.

But even through the gut-wrenching grief, through the unbearable weight of regret, he knew this wasn’t the end.

Because some loves are too strong to be bound by just one existence.

And in the next life, he would find you again.

And next time—next time—he would not let you go.

[roguerogerss]

complaining

pairing: coriolanus snow x reader

w/c: 3.6k

warnings: literally full on SMUT, bit of swearing, underage drinking but only if ur american, coriolanus is a warning in himself.

a/n: help my smut writing has gotten so good the past few months this popped off so hard. been obsessed with coryo since the movie came out (you cant expect a mentally ill woman not to fall in love with him. you just cant.) so here’s this. i’m disgusted by myself too. bye. (requests r open, send me stuff here)

-

Livia Cardew's 18th birthday had been a mistake to attend. The party had been held at Pluribus Bell's nightclub, a place in which you only found yourself when you made an appearance at your friend's birthday parties, and the entire club had been packed, not only with Livia's family and your classmates from the academy, but with their friends and families, too.

Overall, there must've been three hundred people there, all tightly packed together, some drunkenly pressed against eachother, dancing, others swaying silently by the bar or stood by one of the table booths, yelling in eachother's ears to get their points across. You thought that, of the three hundred, you might only have known thirty.

Livia, unfortunately, considered you as a close friend, which was certainly true when you were young children, but, as the years had gone by, you'd actually found her, and most of the other girls in your class, to be almost insufferable. Nevertheless, you'd managed to land yourself an invitation to her family's mansion before the party had started, and you'd pretended to be having a good time, even although the crystal glasses that you were drinking from and the buffet that Mrs Cardew had set out on the gold-trimmed marble dining table, had settled a queasy feeling into the pit of your stomach.

The only other face in the Cardew's enormous living room that wasn't constantly grinning, was Crassus Snow's own son, Coriolanus, who you'd make eye contact with on occasion, and he'd send a small, knowing smile, and an eye roll back in your direction.

You liked Coriolanus, a lot, actually, you considered him to be your best friend, sometimes you even dabbled with boyfriend. But your classmates couldn't know that, simply down to the type of bond that you shared, and so, after every bout of eye contact, every blush-inducing smile, you'd simply turned your body away, back to Clemensia, or Livia, or Arachne, and waited for the next time you'd catch Coriolanus' eye. Of course, he was almost always staring - he thought you were the only thing in the room worth looking at - even while speaking to his fellow classmates, and so, every time you turned around, you'd repeat the process over again.

"Are you even listening to me?" Arachne would say, voice as booming as ever, and Livia would intervene, calling your name to have you rejoin the conversation.

The party had been terrible to begin with, the opulent nature of the Cardew household having you feeling sick, right from the get-go, and had only gotten worse when you'd all left and gotten into chauffeur-driven cars to be taken to the nightclub. You'd been sweaty just looking at the crowd when you arrived, and saying hello to classmates that you didn't like but had to pretend to for the social status of it all had exhausted you even further.

But the night had ended the same way it always did, with you leading Coriolanus Snow back to your apartment, hands loosely intertwined with eachother.

You and Coriolanus lived in much the same circumstances, both in the same apartment building, where the exterior and most of the homes inside were packed with marble and precious stone, the two of yours being an exception to this.

You'd both come from rich families, of course you had, this was the Capitol after all, but, after being orphaned in the war, you lived alone, in an apartment that seemed to have crumbled more every time you arrived home, with pieces of plaster falling from the ceiling day by day, and new cracks appearing in the walls as often as every hour.

Coriolanus was only slightly better off than you were, what with Tigris and the Grandma'am still living with him.

Ever since the war, you'd been on eachother's side, no matter the circumstance. If either of you had chance to sneak food from the dining hall of the academy, you'd share it between you, and if there ever came a cold winter, Coriolanus would invite you over, and let you share the scarce warm clothes and blankets he and his family owned, topped with a bowl of cabbage soup from Tigris.

You supposed your sleeping together after the very occasional night at Pluribus' nightclub had come naturally, and the sleeping together most every night for the past few months had been only the normal progression. You didn't mind it, but, of course, no one at the academy was ever to find out. It would only spark rumours, which would certainly mean that, soon enough, your classmates would find out about both of your financial positions, which could absolutely not happen.

Your nights together remained simply intimacy in the dark, and you supposed you were both okay with that.

Coryo had his first two fingers interlocked with your last two, and your arms swung between you as you walked ahead of him. Neither of you were particularly drunk, a personal choice rather than an inability, as Livia's parents had paid Pluribus Bell extra for their daughter's party to feature an open bar, which could've been taken full advantage of by the pair of you, considering you'd never have enough money to even get into Pluribus' normally, nevermind buy enough drinks to make you both feel lightheaded.

But the Cardew's were high up in the Capitol, and Livia's entire family was in attendance, which meant that, with them, came the rich and famous, government officials, celebrities. The two of you, not having rich parents to fall back on, couldn't risk getting blackout drunk. It was the kind of thing that was funny if you were affluent enough, but embarrassing and ill-mannered if you weren't.

"You know," Coriolanus gave your arm a particularly hard swing, "I think we're getting pretty good at that."

"Good at what?"

"The whole, pretending we don't really know eachother, thing."

You scoffed and turned your body slightly to face him. "We don't pretend we don't know eachother."

"Well, whatever you'd call it. Pretending we're just acquaintances?" Coriolanus moved his tongue around in his mouth a little, mulling over the words like he'd only been asking himself the question. And then he gave his head a shake. "No, we're definitely pretending that we don't know eachother."

"It was your idea." You shrugged. Your conversations seemed to often be pointed, but it was all in good spirits. You knew that you loved eachother really.

"I'm not saying it wasn't." You laughed at his remark, "I'm saying we're good at it."

"And you're happy to do it?" You raised an eyebrow at him and he shook his head almost too enthusiastically. Maybe the posca was stronger than you'd thought.

"Not particularly, but if it means that this keeps happening, and you keep sharing the food that you steal from the hall, then I could keep going." Your mouth fell open in feigned hurt, and you clamped a hand over your chest.

"You're only sleeping with me for stolen leftovers?"

Coriolanus shook his head and grinned at your joke, looking down at his feet, which were aching with how tight his boots were. "I'm kidding, obviously. Of course I don't like it, but you know what everyone's like."

"Yeah, but it wouldn't hurt to be friends in public." You swung your hands between you for a few seconds while Coriolanus considered your proposal. You were nearing your apartment, and you fumbled in your coat pocket with one hand for your key-card.

"No. No it probably wouldn't." He said finally and you gasped.

"Are you agreeing with me for once?" You'd reached your apartment complex, now, and the LED lights on the archway into the building were almost blinding when paired with the crystal chandeliers that lined the lobby. The pair of you began climbing the marble staircase that brought you to your apartment, which was situated on the second floor. You always found it almost comical, how the Capitol had kept it's glory in apartment buildings but that the people housed within some of them were one missed rent payment away from eviction.

"I always agree with you." Coriolanus laughed, giving your hand a tight squeeze. You pressed your keycard against the lock-pad and, the second the door buzzed open, you'd untangled your hand from Coriolanus' to undo the buckle on your too-high heels which had once belonged to your mother, who's feet were only one size bigger than yours and so you were able to just about get away with wearing her old, but still stylish, shoes.

"Only when we sleep together." You gave him a seductive wink which had him laughing.

"Which seems to be more often than not these past few months." Coriolanus took off his blazer and tossed it over your tattered sofa, which was beautiful in it's glory days, but was now cracked and moulting.

Your face had broken into a cheeky smirk as you approached him, your back still to the door as he faced you. "Are you complaining, Snow?"

In one, swift movement, Coryo had backed you into the door and had one hand on your waist, the other above your head. He cocked an eyebrow at you in a way that had you weak in the knees, "Do I seem like I'm complaining?"

"I'm not sure, pretty boy, you'll have to do better than that." Your smirk was still present, and, without hesitation, Coriolanus' lips were crashing down onto your own, with just as much hunger for you as you were used to.

He moved fast, he always did, and he'd removed your coat from your shoulders and thrown it to the floor without even a second thought, and was now twirling the straps of your dress between his fingers teasingly. Your hands roamed his chest, blindly searching for the buttons of his shirt, and, when you found them, you fumbled with them until you'd undone them all, and then you pulled it from his arms, so that he was in nothing but his father's old black slacks.

Your dress was Livia's - you'd told her you just couldn't decide what to wear, and she'd offered it up - and it was huge and puffy and made you vaguely resemble a cupcake, and so, when Coryo's fingers finally slipped under the straps and began peeling them down your shoulders, you felt an incredible sense of relief to finally be out of the thing.

When you'd stepped out of the dress, Coriolanus almost dropped it on the floor, but you stopped him, "Ah, ah! That's Livia's, I can't get it ruined. Her father would probably skin me to make a new one. Can you put it over the sofa?"

He laughed and obliged, he always did, draping the dress neatly over the arm of the sofa before coming back to kiss you, this time even rougher than before. His lips trailed down your neck, hands roamed your body, fingers familiarising themselves with the black lacy set you'd worn under your dress, the only reason being that you knew Coriolanus would be the one taking it off of you that night.

He pulled back from you for a second, admiring your form, how your waist dipped in and you curved back out at the hips, how perfectly the bra sat on your chest, and, most of all, how you were all for him in that moment, how you seemed to always be all for him. "Oh my God." Was all he seemed to be able to muster.

The underwear had actually been stolen from a boutique near your house, one owned by Coriolanus' own cousin's boss. But you figured he didn't need to know that.

Coryo's head had dropped to your collarbone, and his lips travelled all the way across your chest, occasionally sucking or biting, which had your breath hitching in the back of your throat. "You're taking your time tonight." You observed.

"Mm." He hummed against you and then brought his head up so that his icy blue eyes were staring straight into yours, "Do I still seem like I'm complaining?"

"Oh, shut up, Snow." You giggled and grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him back down to kiss you again. Coriolanus seemed satisfied with his teasing of you, because his hands had started to travel south, until his lithe fingers had pushed your underwear to the side and he'd pressed one of them inside of you, earning a mewl of approval and making your back arch away from the door.

Coriolanus chuckled against your lips. "Every time."

"Again," You tried to sound convicted but whined when the tip of his finger brushed against a sensitive spot, "Shut up, Snow."

Your hands reached for his belt and he didn't stop you as you made quick work of unbuckling it and pulling it from his belt loops. As soon as it was on the floor, the button on his pants was undone and they were on the floor, too.

"Eager." Coryo remarked and you moaned as he added a second finger and increased his pace. Normally, by this point, he'd have you on your bed, or at least the sofa, but it seemed he wanted things to be different tonight.

As soon as a third finger found it's way inside of you, you were a moaning, whining mess, and your teeth sunk into Coriolanus' shoulder as you tried to stifle your whimpers. Your knees had started to buckle and you knew your legs would give way any moment now. "Coryo...Coriolanus, I can't...I can't stand up." You were so breathless that even trying to get a sentence out was next to impossible.

Coryo's free hand held you steady by the waist, fingers gripping your back and thumb pressed firmly into your stomach. "You can take it, honey. Know you can."

His words had you melting and you felt yourself nearing the edge as he curled his fingers inside of you. "Coryo, I'm gonna...God, you have to stop-"

"I'm not stopping. Want you to finish on my fingers before I fuck you." He'd never spoken so lewdly to you, ever, and it had you wondering what had gotten into him, at the same time as it had you clenching around him.

"Coryo!" You called out as you felt yourself getting there. "Fuck, Coryo-"

"I know, baby. I know, come on." He looked you right in the eye as he said, "Cum for me."

That was all you needed, you came undone right there, pressed against your apartment door, moaning so loudly you were certain that Tigris and the Grandma'am would hear you, ten floors up. You, once again, sunk your teeth into his shoulder to try to quiet yourself, but it was hardly of any use.

Your legs had given out halfway through your orgasm, and Coriolanus' hand had dug into your waist harder to keep you held up. When you'd finished, he grinned at you, breathless, and scooped you up with minimal effort, only to dump you onto the sofa. His underwear was gone in seconds, and you were still wearing your set, but he was hovering over you, seemingly ready to sink into you and make you feel even better than before.

His lips found your neck again, and he was saying right in your ear, "You did so well, sweetheart. So well."

He was one for praising, and you were one for receiving, so it only made your pupils dilate even further. "Are you ready?"

His eyes were locked onto yours, fingers wrapped around your chin, always so caring, whether he'd just finger-fucked you against a door or not, always making sure you really wanted it. You nodded, "Yes. Ready."

"Okay." He kissed you again, "Let me know if you need to stop, yeah?"

"I will. You know I always do." He'd pushed your underwear aside again, and slipped into you with a slight effort in no time, which really reinforced his, 'sleeping together more often than not', statement, as it had taken at least a few minutes and some words of encouragement the first couple of times.

You gasped and dug your nails into his back, which had Coriolanus' face screwing up slightly. He'd always liked when you dug your nails into him, the pain feeling more pleasurable than anything. "You feel amazing. You always feel amazing." His hands found your breasts, squeezing them through the sheer lace.

"Do you want me to take my underwear off?" You asked through breathy moans. Coryo shook his head quickly and kissed over your bra.

"No." He said, almost authoratively, and thrusted into you harder, faster, as his hand wandered over your body and his eyes raked over you. "Want it on."

You nodded and obeyed, unable to do anything but almost scream his name, with how fast, and rough he was pounding into you. "Coryo, I'm getting close again-"

"You can hold it." He threw his head back in pleasure and a guttural moan left his throat. "I'm nearly there too. Can't hold it, seeing you like this." He gestured to your underwear.

"You like it?" You asked seductively, earning another moan and a nod from Coriolanus. "Got it for you, wore it tonight for you. Knew you'd like it."

"Fuck, who's all this for?" You knew he was close now, could feel him twitching inside of you. You were close too, but you liked the hold you had over him.

"Sorry, I'm not sure what you mean." You teased, still breathless but with a smirk on your face. Coryo shook his head at you, convincingly disapproving, and then his hand was on your throat. Lightly enough that it didn't hurt, but just hard enough that your breathing was slightly laboured and he had more power over you than you had over yourself.

"Who is this for?" Coriolanus asked again, voice harder this time. You weren't sure where this was all coming from, but you certainly enjoyed it. You were cocky at the best of times, and you liked having someone keep you in check.

"You, Coriolanus." He groaned and thrusted into you so hard you were seeing stars. "Fuck, Coryo, it's all for you. I'm always all for you."

"Good girl. That's a good girl, all mine." He gave your throat a light squeeze and then released you, leaving you gasping for air. "Shit. Gonna cum." He dropped his head again, still unrelenting in his pace or roughness. "Are you there?"

"I'm there too." Your moans were strangled, so loud you could hardly even quiet yourself by clamping a hand over your mouth. "God, Coryo!"

You came for the second time, Coryo following right behind you, and you felt his load come out in ropes inside of you, only making your high even higher. Coryo collapsed on top of you, both of you breathing heavily and bodies shaking together. "That was amazing, Coryo." You cooed, hand stroking his white-blonde curls back from his forehead.

"Might've been the best we've had." Coriolanus was so out of breath he could barely form a full sentence. You hummed in response, nodding your head and then letting it fall back against the arm of the sofa.

"So you liked this?" You teased, plucking your bra strap from your skin and then letting it ping back on you. Coryo's face turned a light pink colour and he laughed.

"So what if I did?" He lifted his head, chin resting against your belly, "I liked it, a lot. Think you're beautiful. You know that."

You nodded. "I do."

Coryo shook his head, really laughing now, "There's the arrogance."

"Arrogance? You live in the Capitol, Coryo, there's many more arrogant than me." You hadn't stopped stroking his head, and Coriolanus thought he could've fallen asleep, your voice always calmed him, someone safe, and the added touch and his physical exertion made sleeping sound even more appealing.

"I'm kidding. You are beautiful, you should know that." His voice was soft, quiet, and you were glad that his eyes were closed, because your cheeks felt warm and you were certain you were blushing. "Do you think we should start acting like we know eachother?"

"I'd like that." You admitted. "Should we introduce ourselves? Maybe tell eachother two truths and a lie?"

"You know what I mean." Coryo finally stood from where he'd been laid, between your thighs, and gave you a kiss on the forehead as he bent down to retrieve his discarded clothing. You sat up aswell, fixed out your underwear, and reached for your dress. "I'd like people to know that I know you."

"In this kind of way?" You gestured to both of your nakedness as Coryo pulled his underwear back on. Your cheeky grin was back, the one he loved so much. Your constant teasing made it hard to know whether or not the pair of you were actually in love or just best friends sleeping together, but Coryo didn't mind too much, as long as he had you, he was happy.

"Maybe this can wait until we've passed first base in public. Cant skip straight to fourth, you know?" You'd put your dress back on by now, and Coryo had just finished zipping his trousers and was fussing over his hair. You crossed the room to him, and his hands settled on your waist and he pressed a small, fleeting kiss to the tip of your nose.

"Oh, that would be dastardly." You checked the time on your mothers watch, which you still had encircled around your wrist.

"Pluribus' doesn't close for another two hours, should we go back?"