#or his lovely boyfriend and be able to process it properly

[hyperfocusthusly]

Buck: I’ve just done something that sent someone to the hospital and I’m worried that the saving him aspect was accidental because all I consciously remember is wanting to cause that person harm and I’m scared of where my overwhelm and impulsive decisions leave me

Everyone else: 💃🪩🕺💃💃🪩🕺🕺🪩🪩💃💃✨🪩💃✨🕺

[miumura]

KISS ME, JUST SAY OH!

types of kisses with enhypen !

pairing bf!enhypen x gn!reader genre fluff, angst (if you squint), comfort, established relationship

warnings reader is crying in heeseungs, reader is sick in jays word count varies 0.3-0.5K+ per member ( 2997 words total )

📩 ‘ NOTE ’ in honor of enhypen’s cb, you know i had to write something related to the title track !! i love xo so this had to be done 😋 anyways, i do hope you enjoy ^^

HEESEUNG — top of the head kisses

top of the head kisses are just so cute i HAD to assign to heeseung because he actually fits it so well??? like he’d think top of the head kisses speak volumes of both love and comfort, which is something he’d often do.

Heeseung didn’t know what to do. He had rarely seen you cry, but there you were in the apartment with red, puffy eyes. As panicked as you were, he was probably even more worried. Seeing you try to quickly wipe your eyes and hide the reason for your tears broke his heart even more. Unsure if he was processing things correctly, he immediately went to wash his hands as he had just come back home, barely drying them as he hurried to have you in his embrace.

“Come here,” he said softly, getting onto the couch and extending his arms to you. You moved into his embrace, and his arms wrapped around you tightly. Heeseung didn’t pressure you to tell him what was wrong, understanding from the start that you didn’t want him to see you cry. He had just happened to come to your place early.

Instead of asking questions, he rubbed your back in soothing circles, offering his silent support as comfort, which you deeply appreciated. Even if he thought his gestures didn’t mean much, they meant the world to you. Being in his presence made you feel comfortable enough to finally let yourself cry while he continued to worry silently. He didn't want to overwhelm you, so he had to calm himself for your sake.

"I'm here for you," Heeseung murmured softly, his voice steady and reassuring. "You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. Just know that I'm here."

It didn’t take long for you to finally spill everything to Heeseung, who listened attentively and offered comforting words and advice. His patience and understanding helped ease the burden you were carrying. After you finished, you thanked him quietly, remaining in his arms, enjoying the soothing silence together. His gentle back rubs relaxed you, and you found yourself slowly drifting into a daze.

Feeling safe and comfortable in his embrace was a comfort you couldn’t take for granted. Heeseung recognized this as a sign of your trust and appreciation, and he smiled softly to himself. He gently caressed your hair, pressing a soft kiss on the top of your head. Eventually, both of you drifted off to sleep together, wrapped in the warmth of each other's presence.

JAY — forehead kisses

ohhh i associate jay with forehead kisses so bad!! they are just so quick but sweet / intimate, so i can just imagine jay often giving forehead kisses. i feel like he would definitely view it as a special thing, so it’s something he just can’t pass on.

“I told you to take care of yourself, didn’t I?” Jay tsked, entering the room with medication and a wet towel. “Look at you now—in bed, sniffling and barely able to sit up properly.”

“Okay…but I don't usually get sick,” you sniffled, your nose running as you looked at Jay, who took a seat by your side.

“That’s still no excuse not to take care of yourself,” Jay sighed, reaching over to feel your forehead, frowning at the heat radiating from it. “Now you’re stuck with a fever.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to trouble you with your work today. I just had to—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Jay interrupted firmly. “I’m your boyfriend. I’d drop anything and everything to make sure you’re okay. I want to be someone you can reach out to without hesitation, alright?”

You nodded, managing a small smile at his reassurance. “I wish I could kiss you right now.”

“Well, I can’t afford to get sick,” Jay smiled, reaching out for your hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze to make up for the lack of intimacy. “Who will take care of you if I do, hm?”

“You’re right,” you sighed. “I wouldn’t want anyone to have this throbbing headache I have right now.”

Jay leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin as he gently brushed a few strands of hair away from your forehead. He pressed a tender kiss to your feverish skin, lingering for a moment as if willing his strength into you. “You’ll get better soon,” he murmured against your skin. “Just rest and let me take care of you.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his kiss and the comfort it brought. “Thank you, Jay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “That was nice.”

“No need to thank me,” he replied softly, placing his hand back onto your forehead. “I just wanted you to know that I’m always here for you to give what you need. Now, let’s get you some medicine so you can rest and bring that fever down.”

He handed you the medication and helped you take it, his touch gentle and patient. The combination of the medication and your fever was already making you drowsy as Jay pulled the blanket over you.

“Before I sleep,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “Can I get another kiss?”

Jay chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re insatiable,” he teased, shaking his head slightly. He put and adjusted the damp towel on your forehead, making sure it was in place. “I’ll give you more kisses later. For now, rest and get better, alright?”

You nodded, feeling a sense of comfort and warmth from his presence. “Okay,” you whispered, your eyes growing heavier by the second. As you slipped into slumber, you felt a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead, Jay’s silent promise that he would always be there for you.

JAKE — lip kisses

this guy is definitely super clingy, so there’s no way he’s going to be missing out on lip kisses!! he’s definitely the type to want several to be content 😭 OOUU i bet he’d even pout his way through to get them BUT honestly, he has super nice lips anyways so it would be hard to refuse in the first place 🙂‍↕️

“Come on, Jake, it was just a prank!” you kept trying to explain to your boyfriend, Jake, who was “angry” about the stunt you pulled on him today. “I didn’t mean to give you that huge of a fright!”

“That huge of a fright? It was bugs—and you know how much I hate bugs,” Jake said in disbelief, recalling the fake bug you had placed on the floor, getting the shivers just thinking about it again. “And you just watched me try to ask you for help to kill it, forcing me to ‘kill it’—only to place another near my foot! I almost passed out.”

“And you screamed so loud, saying there was now a family of bugs living in our house,” you said, now unable to hold back your laughter. “You should’ve seen your face!”

“You wouldn’t have said that if you didn’t know they were fake!” Jake protested, trying to sound stern but unable to hide the amusement creeping into his voice.

“Oh, come on, you have to admit it was a little funny,” you teased, still giggling at the memory.

Jake crossed his arms, trying to maintain a stern expression but failing to hide the slight twitch of a smile at the corner of his lips. “You nearly gave me a heart attack,” he said, feigning seriousness. “I seriously cannot forgive you.”

You tried pleading over and over again, trying to get Jake’s attention, but he remained unmoved, intentionally facing away every time you tried to get into his view. He was determined not to let you off easily.

“Jake, come on,” you begged, attempting to step into his line of sight once more. “I’ve said I’m sorry a million times!”

“That’s clearly not enough,” he pouted, crossing his arms once more. “I’m going to need more convincing.”

“Convincing? Like what? I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, the hint of a mischievous grin on his face.

“Anything within reason,” you replied, eyeing him warily. “What do you have in mind? I don’t like that grin on your face…”

Jake pretended to think it over, tapping his chin theatrically. Then, in a swift move, he wrapped his arms around your waist, eliciting a surprised yelp from you. Before you could process what was happening, he began smothering you with kisses, making sure you couldn’t escape.

You tried to put up a “fight,” but Jake was persistent in getting what he believed was his revenge, or rather, his favor. He finally stopped by giving you one last kiss on the lips, pulling back with one of his dorky smiles, his arms still wrapped around you.

“Seriously—this is what you wanted?” you asked, breathless from the playful struggle.

Jake nodded, still grinning. “Yup, it was all part of my master plan,” he said, tightening his hold on you affectionately. “The only way to forgive you for that prank of yours.”

“Whatever,” you said with a roll of your eyes, but you couldn't help smiling. Your response elicited another giggle from him, and he leaned in to give you another kiss.

“I mean it,” Jake said softly, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. “I’ll forgive you for anything if it means I get to do this.”

SUNGHOON — hand kisses

i don’t think sunghoon would HATE showing intimacy, but i feel like he could be more awkward with it. he would still want to show some form of intimacy, so hand kisses would be the way to go! because, one, it’s pretty cute and, two, it’s easier for him to hide his face after doing something more romantic.

“Seriously, Sunghoon, that guy was just an old classmate of mine,” you reassured Sunghoon, who kept insisting that he didn't mind, but his slight pout proved otherwise. “I didn’t want to ruin the mood of our date—he just suddenly came over and wanted to chat.”

Sunghoon shrugged, trying to appear indifferent, but you could see the hint of jealousy in his eyes. “It’s fine, really,” he said, though his tone betrayed him.

You gently nudged him, smiling softly. “Come on, I could tell you weren’t thrilled about it. But I promise, it was nothing.”

He sighed, finally meeting your gaze. “Okay, maybe I was a little annoyed,” he admitted. “I just didn’t like how he was taking up your attention.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I think he didn’t know we were on a date, or even that we were dating.”

Sunghoon wasn’t too expressive with his intimacy, as it was something he was still trying to get used to. But the thought of you with that old classmate of yours only seemed to upset him more, and he wanted to do something about it. He really wanted to show that he loves you, even if he couldn’t always put it into words.

“I’ll work on it,” he said, grabbing your hand and placing a soft kiss on it. “So that people like him don’t interrupt our dates again.”

You smiled at his gesture, getting ready to tease him. “So you were jealous after all?”

“I was not,” he insisted.

“Hm, sure,” you said with a grin, watching as his face turned a shade of pink. “What can I do to get an actual kiss?”

“Don’t push it,” he said, trying to maintain his composure but unable to hide a small smile. He felt more relieved than he was earlier and was determined to work on giving you all the kisses you deserved.

Sunghoon glanced at you, a newfound confidence in his eyes. “I’ll get better at this, you know. At showing you how much you mean to me.”

“I know you will,” you said, returning back the same hand kiss that soon caught Sunghoon in another pink mess.

SUNOO — cheek kisses

CMONNN sunoo and cheek kisses have to be literal perfection. like they go hand to hand and they definitely suit sunoo very well. i could see him doing it quite often and wearing a big smile on his face while doing so. it’s pretty self explanatory as sunoo’s image & personality speaks for themselves ^^ i love him

“Can you even believe he would say something like that?” Sunoo exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air and showing you a dramatically exaggerated facial expression. You nodded, trying to keep a straight face but soon smiling at him despite yourself—his “upset” expressions were just too cute.

“I know, right?” you replied, trying to match his enthusiasm. “The nerve of some people!”

Sunoo sighed, flopping down onto the couch beside you. “It’s just so frustrating sometimes,” he said, pouting a little. “I mean, who does he think he is?”

You chuckled, bringing him closer to you. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it in a bad way. But honestly, I love how expressive you get about these things.”

“What?” Sunoo asked, a little incredulous.

“I mean, you’re so cute,” you said with a smile, planting a couple of kisses on his cheek. “It’s hard to listen when you’re this adorable.”

“Were you even listening to me complain about him?!” Sunoo protested, trying to sound offended but failing to hide his amusement.

“Of course I was,” you assured him, grinning. “I just got a little distracted by how cute you are.”

He sighed dramatically, though his eyes were sparkling with laughter. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or annoyed.”

“Let’s go with flattered,” you teased, giving him one more kiss on the cheek. “Besides, you know I love listening to you.”

“Fine,” Sunoo conceded, finally breaking into a smile. “But, you know I can’t be the only one on the receiving end, right?”

You gave him a questioning look while his smile continued to grow wider. He soon cupped your face, planting a series of kisses on your cheek. Any memory of what he was complaining about was quickly forgotten as he focused entirely on showering you with attention instead.

Sunoo pulled back slightly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I think you also need to be reminded of how adorable you can be, too.”

JUNGWON — neck kisses

i believe in clingy jwon 🙏 i feel like since he’s always around you, he’d probably do it subconsciously, oblivious to your reddened face until you say something about it. and if you didn’t say anything, i fully believe this man would continue to latch onto you and could stay that way forever … no complaints!

"It's been so long since I've seen you," Jungwon said, walking out of the bedroom and taking a seat at the counter. You hummed, chuckling as you continued cooking one of his favorite meals.

"It's only been a week," you replied, glancing over your shoulder with a smile.

Jungwon sighed dramatically, resting his chin in his hand. “A week without our cuddle time—something you still haven’t given me.”

“Come on, you’re hungry. I have to cook you something, don’t I?” you laughed, shaking your head. “Let me finish, then we can eat and cuddle all you want.”

Jungwon pouted slightly, watching you with a mix of impatience and admiration. “You’re going to take a while…”

You glanced at him with a playful smile. “Patience, my love. You’ll get what you want very soon.”

You heard him hum in response as you continued focusing on the food you were preparing. But you should have known not to take his silence for granted. Before long, Jungwon came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist.

You felt his warmth against your back, and a smile spread across your face. “I told you, just a bit longer,” you said, still stirring the pot.

Jungwon rested his chin on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. “I know, but I couldn’t resist. Your cooking isn’t the only thing I missed.”

You laughed softly, turning your head slightly to look at him. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it,” he murmured, tightening his embrace. He soon kissed your neck a couple of times, which made you giggle slightly as it was quite ticklish.

“Okay, stop,” you said, trying to suppress your laughter. “You’re going to make me mess up.”

Jungwon pulled back just enough to see your face, a playful smile on his lips. “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.”

You shook your head, smiling despite the slight disruption. “Just wait a little longer. The sooner I finish, the sooner we can cuddle.”

“Alright, I can wait,” Jungwon said, giving you one last gentle kiss near your collarbone. “I’m still going to hug you though.”

“Then what’s the point of waiting,” you chuckled. “Aren’t we practically cuddling right now?”

Jungwon grinned, resting his chin on your shoulder. “True, but it’s not quite the same as when we’re both settled on the couch together.”

You decided not to question him anymore, letting him hug you as you finished cooking. After all, you missed him a lot too and appreciated the closeness.

“Okay then, but no more neck kisses—that’s only going to distract me,” you said with a playful grin.

He tightened his embrace slightly, his breath warm against your neck. “I’ll take it,” he murmured. “I’m just happy to be close to you.”

NIKI — butterfly kisses

i feel like he would have to get used to showing intimacy so he would probably be a little awkward at first. i feel like butterfly kisses are something that suits his teasing tendencies so he does it to get your attention. sooner or later, butterfly kisses have just became something he does often, as he enjoys it and you find it cute as well.

“Ever heard of personal space, Niki?” you said angrily to the guy who had randomly plopped onto you on the couch. Niki just giggled, ignoring your protest, and you sighed, trying to continue watching your show on TV. You knew from experience that scolding him would only encourage him to push your buttons further, so you decided to let him do his thing. After all, he usually got bored and left you alone eventually.

But today, your lack of response seemed to annoy him, and he clearly wasn’t satisfied yet. As you kept your eyes glued to the TV screen, he secretly shifted his position, moving closer until his face was right in front of your neck. He planted his face in the crook of your neck and started fluttering his eyelashes against your skin, giving you butterfly kisses.

You squirmed, trying not to react but finding it increasingly difficult as the tickling sensation spread. “Niki, stop!” you laughed, unable to hold back any longer. “That tickles!”

He pulled back slightly, a mischievous grin on his face. “Finally, a reaction!” he declared triumphantly.

“I was trying to ignore you,” you said, swatting at him playfully. “But you’re way too persistent.”

“Of course I am,” Niki replied, sitting up with a satisfied smile. “I know how to get your attention.”

“Well, now that you have it, what do you want?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Niki leaned back against the couch, pretending to ponder the question. “Hmm, good question. I didn’t really think that far ahead.”

You shook your head, amused. “Typical Niki. You just wanted to annoy me, didn’t you?”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, laughing. “But also, I was thinking we could do something more fun than just sitting here watching TV.”

“Like what?” you asked, curious despite yourself.

Niki’s eyes lit up with excitement. “How about we go out for ice cream? My treat!”

You considered it for a moment, then nodded. “I thought you wanted a kiss or something,” you teased. “Alright, ice cream sounds good. But only if you promise not to bug me for the rest of the day.”

Niki chuckled, standing up from the couch. “A kiss would be nice too, but I guess I can settle for ice cream,” he said, giving you a playful wink. “And I promise I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“Good,” you said, getting up to join him. “Because I need at least a few hours of peace.”

“Don’t worry,” Niki assured you, holding the door open. “I’ll keep my promise—as long as you don’t change your mind about that kiss.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you followed him out. “You never give up, do you?”

“Not when it comes to you.”

💬 — royalty is my song ☝️

ENHA PERM TAGLIST (1) — @flwoie @ixomiyu @haruavrse @shinsou-rii @bearseulgs @ilovewonyo @yenqa @dimplewonie @bubblytaetae @wtfhyuck @ineedaherosavemeenow @ml8dy @starikizs @wonioml @chirokookie @xiaoderrrr @neozon3nha @en-chantedtomeetyou @millksea @enhaz1 @eundiarys @hyeosi @ja4hyvn @judeduartewannabe @j-wyoung @thia-aep @vampcharxter @softpia @officiallyjaehyuns @itsactuallylina @hsheart @sweetjaemss @ahnneyong @hanienie @jwnghyuns @kpoplover718 @jiawji @rikizm @haknom @yeokii @wvnkoi @whoschr @teddywonss @shinunoga-iie-wa @isoobie @skzenhalove @misokei @s00buwu @ox1-lovesick @miercerise @litttlestars @enhapocketz

[hannieehaee]

finding out you're pregnant - pu

hhu, vu, pu

content: mentions of pregnancy, mentions of marriage, established relationship, initial negative reactions, fluffy outcome for all of them.

wc: 480

a/n: for context, the original prompt was what their reaction would be if they had a bad reaction to it at first and then tried to fix things 😭 personally i dont think any of them would make u feel anything but reassured at being pregnant specially considering their ages lol

masterlist

jun -

he'd be in such immense shock he would have no idea how to react, standing completely still for a long while before giving you a very frustrating reaction such as yelping in shock or just asking 'what?' he'd immediately regret not giving you a better reaction, but he wouldn't be able to get over the shock, causing you to storm away either in annoyance or hurt.

he'd snap out of it eventually, stammering as he followed after you and begging for forgiveness. he'd be so over the moon about it upon processing it, thinking back to his younger brother and how much he loved watching him growing up. he'd be sooo happy to know he'd get to raise a child with you.

soonyoung -

he's a little slow to process things sometimes lol so he'd probably be too in his mind to realize what you said, asking you to repeat yourself multiple times and eventually driving you to frustration. you'd think he was acting obtuse on purpose, when in reality he was far too shocked by the news.

it'd take him a little while for the news to settle and for the happiness from the news to really show. would have to gruel and apologize to you endlessly, feeling horrible for not having had a better reaction for you. literally cries when the news settle, far too happy at knowing you're carrying his child.

minghao -

i genuinely cannot imagine him ever having any type of negative reaction or being too caught off guard by it, but if that were to happen, i think you'd have to have told him in a blunt way that had him maybe bothered by how casual you were about it. maybe that would cause him to be far too shocked by the news to react properly, making you think that he might not be really happy about it.

he'd never let it go too far without clarifying how happy he was, making sure you were happy about it too. would maybe even cry from happiness at the thought of starting a family with you and thinking about what itd be like to see a child of his own grow up with the two of you.

chan -

maybe he'd make some comment about how soon this all was since he's still so young, but i dont think he'd mean it in a negative way, but more so in a shocked way. would have an 'oh shit' moment when he realized he mightve fucked up by not reacting properly, realizing that you must be under so much stress/nerves at the news yourself.

would slap himself over and over at not being a good boyfriend and being comforting about it. would apologize endlessly and reassure you that he was so happy with it all. that if he ever envisioned himself having a baby, it was with you.

[daydreamingatnight209]

Me actually writing and posting? What??? 😱😱😱

Enjoy some Colson content my lovelies 🥰

As usual Feedback is welcome, HATE is not ; if you don’t like it, don’t read it. ✨💕

“I’m Here, Go Back to Sleep”

MGK x Female Reader

Warnings - None. Just pure fluff!

——————————————————————————

Waking up to an empty bed these days wasn’t unusual these days, with the album deadline slowly creeping up day by day, Colson spent almost all of his hours in the studio, working himself to the bone to produce an album everyone can enjoy.

With your own workplace continuously overworking you, sleep or time didn’t come easily to you either. You couldn’t remember the last time both you and Colson had actually spent more than a few minutes at a time together in the same room and it was starting to become very lonely.

Leaving the cold and empty bed, after another night of hopeless tossing and turning, you sigh and drag yourself downstairs to the kitchen. Preparing for another day to survive on coffee you make one for both yourself and your boyfriend who didn’t even leave the studio last night. It was most likely he fell asleep there in the very early hours of the morning.

While the lack of sleep wasn’t new for Colson, it certainly was for you and you could feel it slowly starting to affect your mind and body.

You grab him a change of clothes, a blanket for yourself and his favourite aftershave before crossing over from the house into the converted studio space.

With the band already in session, you slipped in almost undetected, but as always, your eyes caught Colson’s immediately. You give him a small smile and walk over to give him what you had brought over.

“Babe, what are you doing up so early? You look exhausted” he whispers as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You let out a small laugh and set yourself down on the closest chair.

“Gee, thanks Col”

After a quick clothes change and the others leaving in search for food, Colson calls you over to the desk he’s working at.

“Come, let me hold you” he mumbles, stretching his long arms out in your direction.

Wrapping the blanket tightly around you, you walk over to your lover and wrap yourself around him so you were straddling him. He holds you tightly and sways gently.

“You need to get some proper rest, baby, you are going to make yourself ill” he tells you softly.

You giggle to yourself at his concern for you, knowing full well he wouldn’t take his own advice even if you begged him.

“I’ll rest when you do” is your answer and you can practically feel him rolling his eyes at you, despite not actually being able to see him as you rest your head in the crook of his neck.

The two of you sit there quietly, as colson continues to sway you and hum a track from the new album into your ear.

Despite not being able to sleep properly, something about being in colson’s arms after so long, settles you and you cannot fight the call of sleep that beckons you. Your eyes close slowly and without protest as you rest against the frame of your man, the feeling of safely enveloping you.

Colson smiles down at you, tenderly, the look of frustration and stress leaving your features as you snore lightly.

He would be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t missed these small intimate moments with you and did feel quite guilty for not making more time for you while in the process of doing this next album. You never once complained and took everything in your stride which is on of the many things he loved about you.

He couldn’t wait to look after you and treat you to something special as a way of thanks for all your support when the album was complete.

His train of thought was interrupted as he heard everyone coming back to continue the session. He panicked slightly as they all barged through the door and glared at them in an effort to silence the rowdiness they were currently displaying.

“Shhh! She hasn’t slept properly in weeks and I swear if any one of you wake her up! …” Colson hisses at his friends, before looking down at you to ensure you were still peacefully sleeping.

Slim is the first to put his hands up in mock surrender, a smirk plastered on his face as he leads the group back out the door, but he was secretly glad that this would mean Colson would be forced to take a break, even if it was just an hour or so. He knew he definitely needed one.

Once alone again, Colson lifts you up with ease and carries you over to the sofa, laying you down and climbing in beside you. He wraps his arms back around you settles in. The movement causes you to stir slightly, your eyes still closed you mumble for your boyfriend not to leave you.

“Shh baby, I’m here, go back to sleep”

[euseokz]

can i request some sungho hard hcs?

@ sungho — you just know exactly what i like, don’t you baby ? . cws : oral (f) . fingering . creampie . wc : 0.9k+ . genre : smut

a/n : turned this into a little drabble because i got a bit too inspired, but i hope you don’t mind it and still like it nonnie !! mwah mwah

BOYFRIEND! SUNGHO who is just so easy to please.

you know him like the palm of your hand, know exactly what buttons to push to make him feel so good he almost forgets his own name — or better yet, know what to do to leave him in such a lust-induced high it is basically all he can think about. all you need to do is kiss that one spot down his neck, bite that exact place on his jaw, or even suck on his tongue a bit more desperately, and he’ll be exactly where you need him to be mentally to fuck you into oblivion.

sungho likes intimate sex, likes when it feels like you two are the only people in the world and nothing else matters, so the atmosphere surrounding you also matters a lot to him. he likes when you are in your room, the space dim-lighted with maybe a few candles spread around. he’ll kiss you so passionately, lips pressing and sucking on yours eagerly, wanting to taste every inch of you. he’ll pin you to the bed, either by cupping your cheeks and using his weight on top of you to keep you in place, or by simply gripping your wrists and keeping them on either side of your head, making sure that all that surrounds you is him whichever route he choses. he likes that, when your head is clouded by him, when you’re as hazy with lust for him as he is for you — because for sungho that’s how it should be, or else it’s almost not worth it. you should want each other so bad it almost hurts, that’s how he likes it, when your desperation turns physical and you can’t help but want to be all over each other.

when he does eventually fuck you, sungho will only do so after he has prepped you well enough. he likes to make you cum on his tongue or around his fingers, likes how you whine with each thrust of his digits into you and when he presses the pads of his fingers against that sweet spot inside you, or when his tongue swipes over your clit and you can’t help but roll your eyes back in pleasure — or better yet — when he mixes both up and you reach your first climax almost all too quickly, not able to hold your pleasure back due to how insanely good it all feels. sungho likes to make you feel good, getting so hard his erection strains against his underwear painfully as he fucks his fingers into you and plays with your clit, his cock aching for some stimulation too but his focus still mainly on you and on leaving you as relaxed as possible first, only when he does that being the time to allow himself to properly fuck you.

sungho likes to have you completely undressed under him, not too fond of the idea of either of you being clothed, liking to see your body, to be able to kiss any spot he wants, the restraining of clothes unnecessary in his opinion when you can be fully pressed against each other, your warmth comforting as he lines his dick with your cunt, ready to thrust into you and finally get some release.

at first, sungho always likes to go slow, to take his time in letting you adjust to his girth as he moves slowly, his hips going into yours and then pulling back languidly, repeating the process until all you can do is mewl his name under him, begging for more, for him to go faster, to actually fuck you — and how could sungho ever deny you of anything, already too pussy-drunk to not want to do exactly what you were asking of him. he’d start moving faster, his cock dragging deeper into you, his tip pressing against all the right spots with every thrust. sungho could get so into it he’d almost be a bit rough, slamming his hips against yours almost mercilessly, grunting into your neck, mumbling about how good you felt, how much he loved the feeling of your pussy wrapped so snuggly around him, as if you were made for him.

even while he was caught up in his own pleasure, sungho still managed to put you first, only happy when he made you cum at least once around his cock, only then finally thinking of his climax too. his favorite places to cum were either inside you, enjoying the thought of filling you up with his milky cum, almost in a possessive manner, or all over your pussy, thinking the view of you covered in his seed was just too pretty, the way your clit twitched as his cum spilled down your folds leaving him almost hypnotized, unable to take his eyes off your pussy until his orgasm-induced high started to fade out, only then looking up at you, immediately moving to kiss you, desperate all over again for you, to taste you, to have his tongue pressed against yours — although this time sungho would prefer to take things slower, kissing you just as passionately and eagerly but letting each kiss last a bit longer, allowing himself to fully enjoy the moment, wanting to take his time as you both calmed down, afterwards focusing on getting you all cleaned up, and only then cuddling up to you, enjoying to end it all with you in his arms, breathing slowly against him, relaxed in his hold.

[anystalker707]

I knew it

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x [gender neutral] Reader Summary: Zoro likes you, and his feelings are clearly returned, but both of you seem oblivious to it. Tags: Clingy Zoro / But he sucks at expressing his feelings / he's dumb and grumpy but also very loving / Usopp thinks he's funny a/n: not proofread

MASTERLIST

          “You literally have anywhere else to do to sleep,” you mumbled, mostly distracted by the newspaper in your hands than the way Zoro had just made his way over to lie down next to you to nap again. It’d been built into a habit once he got able to move again after the Mihawk incident. “The hammocks are actually more comfortable. Even the couch.”

“Did I ask?” Zoro said with the same flat voice as always.

Even if you were sitting on the floor of the front deck with your back against the wall, Zoro still showed up to lie down nearby with his head on your hip, almost on the side of your thigh.

The rude answer made you click your tongue and slide to the side; his head hit the ground as a result. “Fuck off,” he grumbled as he moved closer, so he could resume his previous position.

“Stop being so annoying.” You tapped his forehead—not strongly, but still enough to make him scrunch his nose, scowling. He moved over and rested his head on your lap properly, just out of spite. Asshole.

Sometimes, Zoro would fall asleep so easily that it was impossible not to envy him. It only took him a couple of moments before his breath was even and his face in a neutral, relaxed state again. You continued reading the newspapers, checking the news, until you heard Sanji call out that he had prepared something for the crew to eat until lunch was ready. Luffy probably insisted too much, and Sanji wouldn’t cook something like this exclusively for Luffy, even if the captain still believed so.

Only the smell of whatever meal it was made your mouth water, but Zoro didn’t seem like he would move an inch now. Your leg even felt a little numb.

“No,” you groaned as you looked down at Zoro, but then you saw someone walk past, rushing down the stairs to get food as well. Thankfully, it was Usopp—you didn’t want to get charged extra berries by Nami or have your food stolen by Luffy. “Usopp! Usopp!”

Usopp stopped in his tracks, almost tripping as he finally stopped and looked back at you. He raised an eyebrow as he glanced at Zoro, but dismissed it as he nodded, questioningly.

“Could you pretty please get me some food? The idiot is not letting me get up so soon!” You motioned to Zoro with a sigh.

“Oh!” Usopp grinned and winked at you with a grin, making an ok sigh with his hand. “Count with Go D Usopp!” He jogged off to where Sanji stood in front of the galley door and soon came back with a small plate, handing it to you. “There you go! Also grabbed some for your sleepy boyfriend!”

You were about to thank Usopp when you paused and raised an eyebrow at him, slowly taking the plate. “What?”

“No need to play clueless with me.” He winked before he ran off again.

The words stuck to your mind for a while as you sat still, looking at nothing in particular while processing Usopp’s words. Zoro? Your boyfriend? You clicked your tongue, feeling your cheeks grow red at the thought. Why would you like a bastard like that?

A sigh escaped your lips as you brought your legs up, thighs close to your torso, inevitably making Zoro’s head fall to the ground again. His eyes immediately shot open as he sat up, rubbing the back of your head. He scowled while looking at you.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“With me?” You scoffed. “What the hell is wrong with you? I’m not your personal pillow!”

Zoro clicked his tongue and looked away for a moment, shaking his head.  “Stop talking nonsense.” He could notice something off and urgent about your manners—did he really make you that angry?

“Want some?” You were holding the plate in front of his face before he could conclude his reasoning.

The way you’d practically shoved it on his face made Zoro lean back a little, eyebrows furrowing as he inspected what was on the plate. It seemed like mochi. Matcha mochi, if he were right, and those were great. They were nice without being too sweet. He grabbed both mochis and ate them without thinking twice.

You furrowed your eyebrows before looking at the plate, and then your face fell blank. “You ate the two.”

Zoro blinked, tilting his head a little. “Yeah?”

“One was mine,” you said through gritted teeth, narrowing your eyes at him. “You suck, Zoro, really?” You hit his head lightly with the plate; it wouldn’t be a surprise if it made a hollow sound. “I really wanted those!” It was the very first time Sanji had prepared those, and you were always eager to try the stuff he prepared for the first time. Even if it wasn’t something you didn’t usually like, Sanji’s cooking made you wish to try it, depending on what it was.

“Ow!” Zoro held his head, scowling as he looked at you. “I didn’t know! You should’ve grabbed it first if it were yours, then! You shoved it all in my face! What was I supposed to think?”

You sighed in frustration, observing the empty plate, then glanced up at Zoro. He still sat next to you, but now leaned on a hand, more to his side, while still looking at you, expecting an answer. When your eyes met his own, though, he clicked his tongue and looked away, rubbing his face.

“Don’t look at me like that!” He sighed sharply.

“Like what?” You scoffed.

“Like that!” He motioned to you, but it was as much of a help as if he’d stayed silent.

“Zoro!” You breathed, shaking your head. Man ate your food, and now he’s the one angry at you? You didn’t think he’d actually start being stubborn today.

“Damn it,” Zoro grumbled as he stood up, hand on his swords as usual, while he stepped away. What did that even mean?

A sigh escaped your lips as you just observed Zoro leave. Okay, then. You were sort of used to his nonsense behavior, but it still managed to impress you from time to time. The crew had some sort of trend going on.

“Damn it,” you mimicked Zoro as you stood up and took the plate back to the galley.

The nice smell of food already filled the deck, but it felt even better inside the galley. Your stomach shifted with it, your mouth watering. Eating decently was like heaven—you made a mental note to thank Sanji for accepting to join the crew.

Sanji was by the stove, stirring the food that boiled and cooked in the pans. He glanced at you, raising an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“I really wanted the mochi,” you mumbled.

“Oh, no,” Sanji sighed as he glanced at you again. “Did Luffy eat yours? I made sure to make enough for everyone!” He tapped a wooden spoon on the rim of a pan before he set it aside.

“Zoro did,” you mumbled, moving to grab the plates from the cabinet. A little help wouldn’t hurt and, even if Sanji denied it, he did appreciate every little help he got.

“Huh?” Sanji furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head with a sigh. “That stupid moss head. Sorry about that. I can prepare it for you later if you’d like.” He smiled as he turned off the stove and started preparing the dishes’ presentation on the platters.

“No, no,” you said softly. “It’s fine. Thanks, though.”

It felt like it was a sick prank that the only free spot for Zoro was the one next to you. He did sit next to you at first, yeah, even serving himself and starting to eat along with everyone else. Halfway through it, though, Zoro covered his face with a hand. He said something under his breath, but all you could make out were the curses he said before taking his plate and leaving the galley to go eat on the deck.

You stared at the empty seat for a moment with the same indignant look from earlier. Was Zoro going crazy or something? Fuck off, you deserved to have a moment of peace.

“(Y/n)?” Sanji’s voice pulled you off your thoughts. “Are you really alright?”

It took you a few seconds to ground yourself again. Your eyes averted to Sanji as you went back to eating, slowly nodding. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks for worrying, though.”

No one really said anything, despite the looks. At some point, your eyes met Usopp’s during lunch—he clicked his tongue with that grin of his, shaking his head as if wordlessly telling you that things would be okay. It made you remember his comment from earlier, and you had to do your best not to jump at his throat with the knife.

          The afternoon went by quite slowly. You didn’t have a lot to do after you helped Nami a little just to kill the boredom, listening to her explanation about her maps and her process of making them. None of the information actually stuck to your mind, but it was nice seeing how she liked talking about it.

At the lack of what to do, you sat on the main deck again to watch the sunset, this time. You sat on the wooden boxes off to the wall, so you wouldn’t be on the ground again, but with space to cross your legs. Better than the floor and with more space than the chair. The sunset was a little off to the left, but you still could have a good view of it from where you were.

The waves were calmer today, so the reflection of the sky seemed clearer on the sea. It was always so pretty to watch the sunset from different places you sailed to, and—

“There you are,” a voice cut through your thoughts, and the pressure on your thigh made you look down to see Zoro was there again.

You widened your eyes, double-checking to see if it was really happening after all that happened. Was this going to become some sort of trend? Pushing you off and then coming back as if nothing happened? He was everywhere and with you all the time, which made you wonder why, since he would often just freak out and leave like that. It was all comfortable and nice until he decided you were freaking out and left, like he did a couple of times already.

“Damn it, Zoro,” you mumbled with a sigh but didn’t do much anymore as you turned your head to watch the sunset again. Who or what did he think he was? A damn cat?

Time went by as you held your hand up against your chest for a little too long, not knowing where to place it with Zoro there. However, with the way it started aching, you didn’t have much choice but to let your hand down over Zoro’s shoulder at first. Your hand twitched a little as you cogitated whether you should do it or not. Zoro didn’t typically like to be touchy. The way he didn’t react at all, though, made you confident to just rest your whole forearm across his chest, despite still being a little tense.

The sunset was beautiful, as always, but still unique. The sun eventually disappeared down the horizon, giving place for the stars to cover the sky. You’d only noticed how late it became when you heard Luffy complain about dinner being too late while Nami talked about turning the lights on.

Apparently, you weren’t the only one brought back to reality.

“Fuck,” Zoro groaned as he stirred awake, chest rising under your forearm with a sharp inhale—you didn’t know you’d let it relax on his chest. “God, is it so late already?” He clicked his tongue, rubbing his eye. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Am I supposed to?” You scoffed, poking Zoro’s shoulder a little. He groaned and tried to push your hand away.

“It’s your job,” he mumbled.

Was he joking? A chuckle escaped your lips as you shook your head, but you silenced yourself. You didn’t want him to push you away again.

Zoro sighed before he looked up at you, still with his head on your lap. “What’s wrong?”

You pressed your lips together, thinking about it for a moment. “Maybe I should be the one asking you that,” you whispered. If he heard it, it’d be a cue to talk about it. If he didn’t, you’d just let the subject go again.

“What?” Zoro sat up with a sigh, shifting to sit right beside you. “What’d be wrong with me?”

You stretched your legs, letting them hang from the edge of the wooden box. It ached a little with the change of positions. The thought that Zoro could judge you for any little thing made you look away, facing the sea as you spoke. “Could you just stop pushing me away? Like, I’ll let you sleep on my lap and all, but you don’t need to keep pushing me away.”

“Pushing you away?” He furrowed his eyebrows, leaning forward a little to look past you to check what you were looking at.

Really? You turned to Zoro with a scoff—he widened his eyes a little and leaned back lightly. “You refused to sit beside me at lunch for no reason! Why wouldn’t that be pushing me away? And you got mad at me after you ate my mochi?” You made a vague motion with your hand at the loss of words to explain how confused you were.

Zoro furrowed his eyebrows before he looked away, clicking his tongue. “It’s your fault!”

“My fault?”

“Does it seem like it’s my fault you’re so beautiful?” He snapped, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, looking at the ground. “I’m not supposed to endure the way you look at me! All— All cute and…” He shook his head.

Beautiful? Cute? The words ran in your mind, making your face feel hotter.

“What are you talking about?” You breathed.

Zoro glanced at you. “You’re doing it again,” he complained, and you wondered if he would have an attack when he glared at you because of the confused sound you made. “I really suck at this,” he mumbled, adjusting his posture. He took a deep breath before he faced you. “I, um…” Zoro’s eyes averted to the side. “I like you. Like, I like like you,” he mumbled, half hoping you didn’t hear that.

Your mouth opened and closed a couple of times as you processed it. “You like me?”

He sighed, looking at you with a glare. Okay, he couldn’t handle this, nor could you.

“I…” It felt hard to express it, to finally put your feelings in order after disagreeing with Usopp’s assumptions so much. “Fuck it, I like you, too,” you finally confessed.

Zoro nodded, pressing his lips together as he looked down. “So?”

“So what?” You raised an eyebrow. “You just gonna—”

“I really suck at this…” He whispered mostly to himself as he looked away for a moment, seconds before he finally pressed his lips to yours.

The sudden kiss caught you by surprise, making you tense up and almost pull away, but you decided to fight your thoughts and slowly return the kiss. Your hand rested on Zoro’s shoulder, maybe holding him a little too tightly. Both the tension and surprise had you a little more breathless than you should be, breaking away from the kiss a little too soon, but not pulling away.

Zoro’s eyes scanned over your face as if taking in the details, and you couldn’t help but do the same. This was so much better than anything you could have fantasized about before going to sleep. Silence hung in the air, but you knew better than to say anything—you were the one to close the distance this time. The new kiss was slow, with a gentleness set by you as you cupped the side of his neck and tilted your head to deepen the kiss a bit, trying to enjoy every second of it.

Honestly, Zoro’s lips were clumsy. You didn’t exactly know what to expect from him, in the first place, so it wasn’t exactly a surprise nor something that you actually minded. He could be someone who only focused on training and never even thought about one-night stands, just like he could also go around all the time without any actual commitment.

There was a short pause before you two were kissing again. Zoro’s hand was on your knee as he leaned forward while kissing you, this time daring to let his tongue run along your bottom lip. You parted your lips open, but his tongue only managed to barely slip inside your mouth before both of you heard someone clearing their throat; it made you jump on your seats, pulling away and looking at the direction it came from.

From all the people you wished it were, Usopp was probably the last one.

“Well…” Usopp laughed, looking at you with his arms crossed over his chest. He had that knowing look, eyes playful when they met yours.

“Shut up,” you said at the same time as Zoro, somehow.

Usopp gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. “Come on, I barely said anything! I’m just here because everyone’s been wondering where the lovebirds— Ahem, I mean, the duo has been because dinner’s going cold.”

You slowly nodded, looking at the ground for a moment as you played the last events in your mind. “Yeah, right,” you sighed, getting on your feet.

Despite how you left, Zoro continued sitting there, so it was a clear opportunity for Usopp. He chuckled as he caught up with you. “I knew it.”

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

[god-has-entered-my-body]

What time you coming out? - M.H x Reader // pt.1

A/N: Lenas writer debut??? Omg??? This has a bunch of references to fics like the cellophane house (written by the lovely @vinylandcoffeecollection, srsly check out their work!). It's a bit angsty? Not really but angst will come this is a chaptered fic. Based off fallingforyou, hence the title. Thank you @beforeyougo-turnthebiglightoff for beta reading and putting up with me xx

wc: 11k

part two

February, 2008

“I'm not sure we should be doing this, neither of us is a professional hairdresser in any capacity” 

Mötley Crüe’s ‘Public Enemy #1’ blares through the small speaker set on top of the toilet lid, the music reverberating off the bathroom's tiled walls. Matty attempts to brush the bleach onto your hair, narrowly missing your eyebrow for what felt like the sixth time. You'd prefer to not come out of this situation looking like 90s madonna if you could help it. 

“Could you maybe not get the stuff on my face? I'm not sure I'd look as amazing as I do with bleached brows,” you say, flicking Mattys hand away from your hair, straightening your posture on top of the sink. Your elbow accidently knocks into the faucet and you curse out loud. 

“You're right love, you'd look well hideous without brows” Matty retorts, laughing in your face. He's right, doesn't mean he has to say it.

“At least I have any sort of eyebrows, I'd get yours filled in if I was you.” Now it's your turn to laugh at him, his jaw hitting the floor at your comment. He clutches his chest with his hand, bending over for dramatic effect as if to say: “You wound me”. You fall into each other's arms, fighting over the ipod once again.

The song changes, and Matty resumes his attempts at bleaching your hair properly, failing once again. It had been a stupid, stoned impulse decision to buy the bleach at all. The local drugstore sold it for cheap, and you had some pocket change on you. Matty wanted you to buy the red dye, and you dismissed him immediately, because even he knew you'd look absolutely terrible as a redhead. 

You hum along softly to David Bowie's “Suffragette City”. Bowie was your Idol. The song reminds you of him. Of Matty. It reminds you of when you first met.

—------------------------------------------------------

You were 15, pacing the street late at night, your boyfriend was blowing up your phone. Insincere apologies and “i love you”’s filled your screen. 4 missed calls. Tears were streaming down your face, making you not quite able to see straight. 

The song playing, was blaring in your headphones, almost deafening. The song didn't fit at all to your current situation, but that didn't bother you.

It wasn't long before you reached a bus stop, sitting down. You didn't even know where you were. 

Suddenly, like it was out of your control, you let out broken sobs, no longer silently crying. How fucking embarrassing.

You're not sure how long you’d been sitting there, in the dark, shivering in the cruel November weather. 

You hadn't even noticed the person walking up to you. 

He’d positioned himself in front of you, twisting his neck to get a look underneath your hood.

“You alright?” his voice sounded soft, concerned even. Through muffled sobs, you managed to look up at him. 

He had a thick, fluffy jacket on. Oddly feminine for bloke, and you were pretty sure it was a women's coat. It basically swallowed him whole. You almost laughed at the sight. It almost made you forget about the night's events. 

You’d had yet another fight with your boyfriend, Phillip. The two of you fought a lot, but never like this. Sure, he’d said some hurtful things, things you maybe shouldn't have forgiven as quickly as you did, but he had never, ever, gotten violent with you. Until tonight.

You'd barely registered it when it happened, your brain not properly processing his actions. In the midst of his screaming, he raised his hand. Raised. his. hand. 

It came down with a crash against your left cheek, the sound echoing through the house. Because he did, in fact, have his own flat. Because 24 year olds usually have that. 

Everything hit you at once. You'd managed to pick yourself up off the ground at a speed which would have given even world record holders a run for their money. You didn't bother grabbing anything else, you just needed to get out, now. 

You could faintly hear his voice calling out from behind you, begging you to please, please come back. And what? Let him put his hands on you again? No way. A rare moment of clarity.

Fucking cunt 

You’re brought back to reality by the sound of the stranger's voice. 

“I’m Matty.” he offered his hand, and you shook it. “What're you doing out here in the cold? Its fuckin’ freezing.” He's right, it was cold. It hadn't occurred to you to take your coat with you.

You stuttered out a pathetic response of your name, barely making eye contact with him. A few beats pass before Matty starts ruffling around in his coat pockets. Raising your eyebrows, you watch him.

You can hear the faint sound of keys in his right pocket, and it's not long before he pulls out a joint from his left. It looks crumpled and old, like it had been there for a while. 

“Spliff? It looks like you need it more than me.” He chuckles, and it somehow makes you feel better. He makes a move to sit next to you, and you twitch slightly when his shoulder touches yours. The bench is quite narrow, so you know it's not on purpose. It doesn't bother you quite as much as it should, given he is a stranger. 

He takes out his lighter. It looks old and used, the black plastic chipping off around the top. It looks like it's a miracle it even works. You can see white writing along the side of it. M.H. Initials? His initials? Matty H something.  

He starts burning the tip. Rotating the joint to get an even burn, you watch his movements closely, taking in some of his features. 

His hair was curly but frizzy, you could tell he didn't pay it much mind. His features seemed soft, almost feminine. He was clean shaven, his pale skin a stark contrast to the dark brown of his hair. 

Matty lets you take the first drag, stating “The first hit’s the best, and I've always been a gentleman”, flashing a grin your way. That made you laugh. You take a drag, letting the warm feeling spread through your body.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked timidly, his voice lowering. 

“Absolutely not.” You mutter, looking him straight in the eyes for what seems like the first time that night. A smile.  

—-------------------------------------------------------

“D’you think I'd look good as a blonde? I feel like I'd smash it,” Matty says, inspecting his hair in the mirror behind you. He has gorgeous locks, and you're constantly telling him to try and take care of them, he just doesn't listen. You study his features before giving him an answer.

“Maybe. Either that or you'd look like a bad hooker,” Matty gasps, shoving your shoulder in protest. The movement  makes your elbow bang against the faucet again, but you ignore the pain this time 

“I'll let you know i'd make an amazing hooker, thanks very much,” He proclaims quite loudly, making the both of you burst into a laughing fit. 

You take the brush from Matty, twirling in your hand. George had taught you how to do that. An idea pops into your head. 

“We could give you a few blonde highlights, just to try it out. There's no need for you to go full Elle Woods immediately” A giggle escapes your lips, picturing Matty with long, blonde hair. That’d be a sight. 

“Let's do it, right now,” he breathes, visibly excited.

“Really? Adam’d take the absolute piss out of you, you know.” Matty rolls his eyes obnoxiously before he speaks. “Well then let Adam hold on to his toxic ideas of masculinity, I need a change.” This piques your interest. Matty? Need a change? Weird. 

“What, did some bird break your heart this time? That's new, even for you Matthew,”

You can see him visibly cringe at your use of his full name. You know he hates it, and that is exactly why you do it. Getting a rise out of him is your favorite pastime. 

“Switch with me then,” you say, and he obliges, letting you hop off the counter. You mix up a new batch of bleach and part off his hair into small sections. Little pink hair bands hold his curls in place. You shoot him a look and he nods, giving you the go-ahead. The bleach goes on smoothly, your practiced hand much less prone to mistakes than Mattys.

It doesn't take long before you're both sitting on your bed with foils in your hair. You manage to snap a picture of Matty on your polaroid camera. The light reflects off the foils, distorting the picture slightly. Matty demands to see it, but you decide to keep it for yourself. Can't get everything you want.  

It's Mattys' turn on the music. 

You've decided on a turn system for music when you're together, to avoid the gnarly fights you used to have over who gets to control the ipod.

He picks the latest Deftones album. It's not really your taste, and you tell him as much. 

“S’not my fault your music taste consists of pop trash. Get well soon”, now it's your turn to shove him, and he almost falls off the bed. Your fights over music happened frequently. He insisted on listening to real music, while you couldn't care less if it sounded good. 

The timer dings and you both get up to wash your hair in the sink. Water splashes everywhere, absolutely soaking the bathroom. You don't care. It's just water. 

Towels litter the bathroom floor, soaking up the mess. Matty helps you dry your hair after you promise to help with his. The warm air feels nice on your neck. 

“I like it, it makes me look camp,” Matty states, admiring himself in the mirror. Of course he'd say something like that. 

“You look great, now get dressed, I've messaged Hann. He's picking us up at half 11” 

Adam was one of your best mates, and the only one who had a car. You and Matty were still in school, along with George, another one of your friends. Adam and Ross shared a flat on the outskirts of the city. Adam's mother had gifted him a car for his 18th birthday last year. A bright red Kia. Bumper stickers littered the back, your favorite reading ‘Vehicle of legends” 

Matty had borrowed one of your tops, specifically, a mesh top you'd gotten from Hollister a few weeks prior. It was adorned with a black tank top underneath, paired with the black skinny jeans you're convinced have fused with his legs at this point. 

His hair had dried, dark curls now in contrast with blonde streaks. They framed his face. He looked good. 

You’d gone for a more colorful ensemble, opting for baggy jeans instead of skinny ones. The bottom had already been well ripped up from years of dragging them on the ground. You paired said jeans with a wine-red off the shoulder jumper, the black strap of your bralette peaking out. You’d always loved that color. It reminded you of your favorite flowers, red roses.

The window closed softly, and you silently thanked God you lived on the first floor. Adam was already parked down the road from your house, impatiently waiting for the two of you. The radio was playing as you got in. Matty immediately started going on about how pop music has ruined the music scene and how it was all 'soulless, meaningless droning' and 'had no feeling anymore'. He always did this, and you'd learned to tune it out by then. 

The drive was short, and you arrived at your destination not long after you’d set off. The air smelled like water and wet pavement. It had been pissing down earlier in the day.  

‘The spot’ was an abandoned paper factory, affectionately renamed “Caroline's house” for any eavesdropping parents.  

Carolines had been abandoned for well over 5 years before you started hanging out there, not many knew about it.

The three of you had already made your way through the back entrance. The front had been blocked off years ago, a futile attempt at keeping kids out. There was one specific room you always went to, and that was the office. It had a huge terrace with an amazing view of the city below. The glowing lights made you feel small and irrelevant in the vastness of the world. 

The night was bright under the full moon, making it easy to see outside. Adam always brought an emergency flashlight with him when you went to Carolines. He was the voice of reason in the midst of the chaos. The responsible one. He always made sure everyone got home safe, talked your way out of situations with coppers on multiple occasions, and knew when to tell the bartender to switch drinks to water or juice. You’d always thank him the morning after. 

“What even is your shirt, mate,” Adam asked with a grin on his face. He loved to take the piss out of Matty for his camp-ness. No harm no foul, Matty would do the exact same to him when the opportunity presented itself. Eyeing him up and down, he shook his head and went back to picking at his nails.   

“She let me borrow it for tonight. Looks good, yeah?” Matty shoots back. 

“Yeah sure, that and those white streaks in your hair make you look like a proper girl, you know” 

You have to laugh at his statement, because it does ring true. From a certain distance, anyone could mistake Matty for a woman. 

“You wish I was a girl, it’d make you feel less guilty about your sex fantasies, innit?” Matty cackles at his own words. Adam chucks a lighter at him, and misses. It instead bounces off the railing of the terrace and clatters down onto the ground somewhere behind you. 

That was your cue to take out the small baggy from the pocket of your jeans. Going to look for the lighter Adam had just thrown, you turn around to see he’d already snatched your papes and weed, and started to roll a spliff. 

“Oh come on, I look away for a second and you steal my weed. What, are you too broke to buy your own?” You huffed, sitting down on the floor next to him. 

“Girls don't roll their own spliffs. You should know that by now, love” he said with a wink. 

Cue eye roll. 

“Oh thank you so much, what would I ever do without you, Hann? Fuck off.” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. This was never a display of chivalry, it was simply Adams' way of trying to get under your skin. Your stubborn self wouldn't let him, of course. Flashing him an award winning smile, you lay back on your elbows and eye him as he rolls your joint for you. 

Matty was preoccupied with gathering enough cardboard so he could sit on the floor comfortably. The three of you couldn't be arsed bringing in furniture from the office, so you were left with the cold, unforgiving concrete floor of the terrace to sit on. 

The minutes ticked by and Adam took his sweet time, presenting the spliff with a look of pride. You reach for it, seeing as you already had the lighter in your hand. Instead of handing it to you. Adam shakes his head. 

“Girls dont light their own spliffs, either” You scoff at that, though deciding against smacking him upside the head. You hand him the lighter.  

Mattys giggles can be faintly heard over your bickering, and Adam finally lights up. The distinct earthy smell fills up the air around you. They both let you have the first drag, stating something along the lines of “Ladies first” another eye roll.  

“Fucking wankers”, you mutter under your breath, and finally, you inhale. It hits you almost immediately, a soft, fuzzy feeling that reverberates through your veins into every inch of your body. The two of them let out a laugh at your expression, utterly euphoric. 

Adam takes the next drag, hitting him just as hard as it did you. He leans against the glass sliding door, letting his eyes droop closed. 

“Fucking hell, this is some strong weed.” He lets out a rough cough, “Where’d you even get it from?” 

“Oh y’know, just some guy. Same as always I s’pose,” 

Matty spoke “What, d’you shag him or something? No one just gives out this type of premium stuff on a whim,” 

This makes you chuck the grinder at him. It hits him square in the chest. You hum contentedly, grinning at him in amusement when he doubles over in pain. You bicker back and forth, calling each other names. Adam passes the spliff back to you, and you take another hit. 

Time passes slowly. The clouds slowly reveal more and more of the full moon. It is quite beautiful tonight, you notice. 

Adam produces a bottle of tequila from his ‘gay-ass tote bag’ as Ross calls it. You take turns taking swigs straight from the bottle, Matty managing to spill some onto his mesh top, making quite literally everything reek of alcohol.

You felt good. The high mixed with the healthy amount of tequila made you feel like you were floating. You could tell Matty was just as hammered as you, seeing as he was now straddling Adams lap, trying to kiss him. 

After multiple attempts at getting him off, Matty stood up on his own, stating that he didn't want Hann to pop a boner au cause de his womanly features.   

The three of you laugh and laugh until you finish the spliff. You’d never had a good tolerance for anything, whether it be weed or alcohol. You weren't particularly small, it just always hit you way harder than Adam or Ross. Even Matty managed to pull himself together when the situation called for it. You, however, were stumbling and tripping over your feet the entire walk home. It had been pissing down the entire morning. Puddles littered the streets, not an ideal weather for someone who was too wasted to even have any sort of depth perception.  

Adam had to leave suddenly, picking up a last minute shift at the shop he worked at. It was in the opposite direction of where you came from, leaving you and Matty to walk home. 

It wasn't a long walk, 30 odd minutes or so. It was made significantly longer by your inability to walk in a straight line to save your life. Echoing laughs filled the streets as Matty helped you trudge along. Your pants dragged on the floor as usual, which meant they were also dragging through the numerous puddles, soaking them. 

You stop suddenly, looking down and pouting at the darkened material of your pants. For some inexplicable reason, this made you stomp your feet like a child. Matty broke out in uncontrollable laughter, tears forming in his eyes. You were actually acting like a child.

“I don't know why you insist on wearing those insanely baggy pants. Look at me! My pants don't get wet AND my ass looks phenomenal in skinny jeans” He twirls around you, making you feel slightly dizzy.

“Oh fuck off!! Not everyone is an attention slag like you, have some decency for once in your life!” You retort, shoving him out of your line of sight. Due to your state, Matty quickly catches up to you. 

The steps of your house come quicker than expected. Both of you make your way to the east side of the first floor, where your bedroom window remains slightly ajar. You'd wedged an old shirt between it to keep it from closing all the way. You'd gotten sneaking out down to an art, always knowing when, where and how. Your mother had caught you once. It was your first time. You knew not to make those same mistakes again.

Matty helped you hop onto the windows ledge, his hands grabbing at your sides. While he looked frail, Matty was actually quite strong, lifting you up without breaking a sweat. 

You're sitting on the edge, slightly taller than him now. Peering down, you reach your arms out. The two of you hugged tightly, whispering quiet “goodnight”s and “sleep well”s. Saying goodbye after a night out often felt strangely melancholic, you never wanted the other to leave. 

You've been attached at the hip since that night. He’d convinced you to break up with Phillip, stating he was a bastard who shouldn't be allowed near women ever again.

Matty went on to introduce you to his mates after you’d found out you went to the same highschool. That was nearly 3 years ago now. 

Late nights often make you wonder what would have happened if you hadn't gone to that specific bus stop and met Matty. If he had ignored your crying instead of offering you weed and sitting down next to you. He’d always been charming, like a magnet, he attracted everyone around him. Sure, he was a bit pretentious at times, but everyone has their faults. 

You roll over and try to sleep, slowly coming down from your high. You made a mental note to take it easy next time, maybe pace yourself. It was hard to know your limits when it came to substances, and Matty was the same way. Adam was the ever responsible one, never too drunk or high, always the parent. You were grateful for him, knowing what situations you'd be stuck in if Adam had not been there to smooth things over. 

The tiredness hits you in waves. Glancing at the clock left of your desk, it read 3:26 am. Fuck. You try to ignore the fact that you had to be up in about 4 hours. You close your eyes, welcoming the rest. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

A harsh knocking sounded from the direction of your window, scaring the shit out of you. You bolt up, pissed at the disturbance. Turning to face the window, and are met with a familiar grin. Matty. 

It takes all of 5 seconds of him being in your room before you start cursing at him for waking you up like that. He simply shrugs his shoulders and sits in his designated chair. A maroon sofa chair in the corner in front of your bed. It even has M.H carved into the wood, because Matty had some sort of fetish for carving his initials into things. A sign of ownership? It made you wonder. 

Shuffling around the room, you kick your still wet jeans off into the corner, instead picking up a denim skirt. You’d wanted to wear that same red top to school, but seeing as you had fallen asleep wearing it, you chucked it into the same corner as the pants. 

A pink baby tee caught your eye from the chair Matty was sitting in. You silently point at it and he passes it to you. This isn't the first time you've changed in front of him. It didn't happen often, but what was the point of kicking him out? It's not like he was actively staring anyway.

After quickly changing, you go to put on some makeup. Makeup made you feel pretty, pretty enough to go outside. The only person who sees your bare face regularly is Matty. Maybe George. You didn't go anywhere without it.

You can feel Matty looking at you from the corner of your eye. Raising your eyebrows at him, you ask him what he's staring at. 

“D’you reckon i can try some of that?” he gestures vaguely at the eyeshadow brush in your hand “I think i’d look class with my new highlights.” he twirls his hair around his finger, giving you a look.

You look at him skeptically, before breaking out into a smile. Matty smiles back. It's not long before he’s sat in front of you, wincing whenever the brush makes contact with his eyelid. You tell him hes just not used to it, and to just stay still, for fucks sake. 

Once you're done, you take a step back to admire your work. You have to admit, he looks good. Really good. His eyes were lined with a dark purple shadow, making them appear slightly bigger. He takes his fingers, slightly smudging the out corners, giving him a catty look. 

“I think you might even look even better than me,” you say, looking him up and down. This is one of those rare moments where you can't read Mattys' expression at all. Finally, he opens his mouth

“No one could look better than you, trust me,”  

A beat of silence before he speaks again

“I do look ravishing though, d’you reckon Adam'll like this more than the highlights?” He always manages to make himself laugh. Then in typical Matty fashion, he pulls out a beat up looking joint from the pocket of his too tight jeans. 

“Fancy a spliff?” 

“Matty, for christ's sake, we have school in about an hour, and you want to smoke now?” 

“It's the only true way to get through Mr. Henderson's maths class, you know it'll be unbearable if we don't.” translation: please smoke with me. He gives you a look, because you know he's right. 

It was too late to protest. He’d already made his way to open your window, knowing how much you hate stinking up your room.

An exasperated sigh leaves your lips, and you find your place next to him. 

The wind and rain had calmed down, so Matty had no difficulty lighting it. The smell filled your senses, almost overwhelming you. You were thankful for the fresh air.

He placed the spliff between your lips, watching you intently as you inhaled. Your orange lip gloss had rubbed off the filter, and transferred onto his lips. The weed wasnt as strong as last nights, but still, the sight of Mattys glossed lips made you break out into a fit of giggles. Time seemed irrelevant up until the point you had to run to catch your bus. Sweaty and out of breath, you sat down in your usual spot. 

You can hear comments and insults being thrown at Matty from the back of the bus, but neither of you paid much mind. Matty was high as a kite, and too loopy (hungover) from the previous night to offer up one of his witty retorts. Instead, both of you gave them the bird from over the seat.

Matty was leaning against you, his arms hooked into yours. Neither of you spoke, listening to the soft rumbling of the bus. You stank of weed, anyone could smell it on you. Remembering a perfume bottle in your handbag, you take it out and douse yourself, as well as Matty in it. 

“Oh for fucks sake, now everything smells like Jimmy Choo Illicit!” Matty whined, burying his head in his hands. “Couldn't you have picked a manlier perfume? I'm already walking a very thin line with all of this” He vaguely gestures to himself. 

“Would you rather get kicked out after coming to school smelling like a fucking dispensary? Think ahead, Matthew!” He cringes visibly

“No need to get out the full government name, jesus” he shuffles up against you, and you can see his eyes are a light shade of red. There's no way the two of you would get through first lesson unnoticed. 

George was already waiting for you guys at your stop. Greeting him with a hug, you try to avoid eye contact, yet somehow, he knows. 

“Hey, you alright-?” He cranes his neck to get a better look at your face 

“Are you–? Are you high??” He laughs out loud, smacking your arm to stabilize himself. You shoot him a death stare, but you can feel a laugh coming too. Matty let out a sarcastic haha before kicking George as a way to say get on with it, we have class.

The walk to the room through the sea of people in the halls feels like a claustrophobic hell. B.O ridden teenagers rub up against the three of you, some even (quite violently) shoving past. 

It's a miracle you make it without Matty losing his mind at one of the hecklers. School was actual hell for Matty, and by proxy, you. Insults were thrown at him without a second thought, and the makeup he’d adorned today surely didn't help the comments.

He never let it truly get to him. He didn't care, and that's what you loved so much about him. This part of the city was set back about fifteen years in terms of acceptance and progressivity, so his flowery backpack and femininity wasn't exactly welcomed.

Adam had always taken the piss out of him for his outfits since they were boys, but he never, ever meant it seriously. They were like brothers, those two, and no amount of shit from other people (irrelevants, as Matty would put it) would be able to break them apart. 

The way the room was set up, there were six tables of four, with two people always facing another two. You had sat in the seat next to George, with Matty sitting (well, more like laying) across the other two chairs opposite you. Mr. Henderson had given up on trying to get Matty to sit right a long time ago, instead just flat out ignoring him. It was always easier to fail than to teach. 

“Fucking poofter, that one,” you can hear someone saying from behind you. You know they mean Matty. 

Matty blows them both a kiss before getting flipped off by the shorter one. He loved taking the piss out of the people who insulted him, throwing them off. 

George questions mattys makeup, and you tell him it was his idea. George had always supported Matty, using his insanely tall stature to fend off anyone giving him a hard time. 

The lesson was going by at a snail's pace, with Matty being his usual self, interrupting at every possible moment. It was so obvious he was off his tits, and Mr. Henderson looked suspicious. A particularly loud laugh from George had prompted him to throw you all out. You couldn't care less, getting up immediately.

Matty picked up his things from the floor, making a show out of bending over in front of the two boys that had insulted him earlier. They both scrunch their faces in disgust, muttering under their breaths. A giggle escapes you as they stare daggers.

“Fucking cunt,” one of them says, and now it’s your turn to blow them a kiss. 

The three of you trudge down the halls, slowly but surely coming down from your highs. George suggests going to Ross and Adams flat, seeing as it's just a few bus stops away from the school. They share a flat above a Sainsburys, which is optimal for late night munchies. Adam even works there, so there's always opportunities to sneak a packet of crisps or a can of cola.��

The bus stinks of sweat and mildew, as did all buses in britain. You get used to the stench after a while, your legs propped up onto George and Mattys laps. The back seat was always your favorite, giving you ample space to stretch a bit. You and George share headphones while Matty takes a quick power nap. He always lets you pick the music, and today it was Radioheads ‘No Surprises’. The music plays softly as buildings and trees pass by the window. The day was quite sunny, the light reflecting off of the windows of houses and offices. You'd sobered up enough to be able to think clearly by now. 

These days were the best. They felt calm, like you could forget every other fucked up thing in your life. Your mother, your coursework. Nothing else existed in your little bubble except the people you were with. It felt peaceful, like a breath of fresh air. 

Matty stirred awake as the bus halted to a stop, yawning for dramatic effect. He loved to exaggerate, ever the performer. George was the quiet, brooding type, trying desperately to go unnoticed, which proved rather difficult. Although he was barely coming up on his 18th birthday, he had grown to a staggering 6 '4, with a voice at least 3 or so octaves deeper than Mattys. 

It had proven useful, you aways had someone to send into the smoke shop to buy fags or liquor, even if it always took a pep talk to even get him through the front door. George was convinced he didn't look older, even though he had never been carded. Ever. 

Usually it was Adam who bought it for you, even though both Matty and Ross were also already 18. Matty had already been banned from most liquor stores in the area, so he proved rather useless in situations needing a bit of booze. 

Mattys violent knocks against the flat door brought you back to reality

“C’MON OPEN UP ITS US,” his voice booms through the hallway. You can hear banging and shuffling coming from the other side of the door. It's so obviously Ross bumping into every available surface because he hadn't turned on the light yet. He was an avid day sleeper, mostly working night shifts. A particularly loud crash is followed by glass breaking. 

Matty taps his foot impatiently, waiting for the door to finally open. Ross emerges, looking disgruntled and tired of Mattys shit. 

“Mate, tell me, what possessed you to come knocking about at this hour, don't you have school-? I swear you're going to be the end of me one day” he rubs his eyes, getting the sleep out of them before moving out of the way to let the three of you in. 

“First of all, it's like 11am, so not exactly the ungodly hour you were describing,” Matty starts “Second of all, we’ve been kicked out of class, so where better to come than here?” 

The inside of the flat reeks of cigarettes and laundry detergent. Ross refuses to smoke on the terrace, deeming it too cold even in the middle of summer. Adam always smokes on the terrace, scared of staining the walls like in those addiction documentaries. A futile attempt, but at least he tries. Matty immediately lights a fag, sighing happily when the nicotine hit his system. School had always been an endurance test for him. Getting him to sit still for 2 hours without going for a cigarette proved nearly impossible. He was already itching by the 45 minute mark.

“What did you even do to get kicked out before 12?” He looks at George, who tells him exactly what happened with tears of laughter in his eyes. Matty rolls his before sitting down on the comforter located to the left of the TV, ashing into one of the various ashtrays situated around the house. George sits on the sofa next to Ross, and you make your way to your favorite spot, the table. Sitting cross legged on the table made you all face each other, which you quite liked. 

“Brew?” George asks, looking up from his Ipod. Everyone nods, and he gets up to put on the kettle. Idle conversation fills the air, and Matty starts chatting about the new “groundbreaking” Metallica album. Matty was, if anything, a music snob. No one could stop him raving on about albums or artists, whether he was praising or criticizing them. Once he started, you couldn't stop him to save your life.

Minutes tick past when George brings back mugs of tea. Mattys mug has got the words “I ❤️ cum” on it. Ross has his usual Macclesfield Town mug, and you and George have the plain green ones Adam bought in an attempt to make the flat seem somewhat civilized. 

Hours pass and Matty finally shuts up. You end up on top of him, sitting on the arms of the comforter. You're all watching Skins on the telly, and Mattys hand makes its way to your back, keeping you steady. He’d always been touchy like that, so it didn't bother you. You look at the sofa and see Ross passed out, drooling onto George's jumper. George, polite as ever, lets him sleep. It was a miracle Ross hadn't started snoring already. 

You suggest to Matty that maybe it was time to get going, seeing as you lived on the other side of the city. George's place was right around the corner, so he decided to stay and look after Ross a bit before Adam got home from his shift. Britain's sweetheart. 

Getting up as quietly as possible, making your way towards the door. Ross stirs as Matty almost knocks over his mug. The two of you make eye contact, silently laughing at Ross’ position, basically on top of George. He flipped you off, rolling his eyes and reaching for the remote, turning down the telly.

It was still fairly dark inside, so gathering everything proved a bit of a challenge. The curtains were drawn shut, the yellow material of them painting the house in a warm yellow hue. 

You had spotted Mattys flowery bag in the corner next to the stove, and grabbed it along with a bottle of cola that was set on top of the kitchen counter. Hydration was important, after all, even if you knew Adam would be livid that you were stealing his shit again. What are mates for?    

Matty grabbed both of your coats, mouthing “lets go,” before making his way towards the front door. 

The bright light of the hallway burns your eyes. How do they survive coming out here when that fucking flat is always so dark? You think to yourself. You wonder if Ross has a vitamin D deficiency from the inherent lack of sunshine in his life, yourself excluded. 

The bus ride home is rowdier, filled with kids from surrounding schools. The both of you hid in a corner towards the front, away from the dickheads that usually sat in the back row. You were both too tired to deal with anyone but each other. 

He was right, everything did smell like jimmy choo now, and maybe you shouldn't have sprayed so much. 

His hand wanders to his eyes, rubbing a bit of the eyeshadow off.

“Does it still look alright?” he asks, looking up from your lap. It had smudged a bit, melted off after a full day of wear. It's not like you used your expensive waterproof stuff, after all.

“You look fine, pretty actually,” You give him a tired smile, stroking his hair absentmindedly 

“Can you even call a guy pretty? Isn't that, like, inherently degrading?” Matty mutters, a grin spreading onto his face. 

“It's only degrading if you let it be. You Matthew Healy, are pretty. Pretty like a girl” 

A laugh escapes you, imagining Matty as a woman. Knowing him, he’d be into it. 

“Does it bother you? Y’know, me being feminine and wearing makeup.” The question surprises you. It's a rare thing seeing Matty this vulnerable. He doesn't care what other people think, but he does care what you think. 

“You know I don't care, I actually prefer you this way.” you assure him.

“Though it's still my mission to convince you that the backpack is not the move you think it is.” 

That earns you a frown from Matty. “It is! I'll let you know the lady at the store told be it very in this time of year” its always funny watching him get defensive over his fashion choices, even if he knows he’s fucked up and its hideous. 

“Yeah maybe it's trendy... for 8 year old girls! But you do you mate, don't let me judge you,” that gets you an elbow to the gut. 

The walk home is one you always take together. Arms hooked into each other, walking, sharing headphones. It's your turn on the music, putting on ‘This Charming Man’ by the smiths. 

“You know, Morrissey sort of reminds me of you. You're really similar in your campness”  Matty choked on air, shooting you a faux offended look. 

“Did you seriously call Morrissey camp? He'd have your head for that.” 

“You're both attention slags, so there's at least one similarity.” Matty doesn't say anything, knowing your words do, in fact, ring true. Matty loves attention, and man, is good at getting it. 

He draws people to him like moths to a flame. Always the loudest, always the most interesting. 

That one saying; “You can't be the prettiest girl at the party, but you always be the drunkest” is a personification of Matty. He tips back wine glass after wine glass, not caring about the stains on his shirt or the red ring around his lips. He then makes it a poor Hanns job to make sure he doesnt get into a scrap with three much bigger guys (which actually did happen last summer outside of a pub in london. Matty got out scot free, while Adam nearly suffered a heart attack). 

You hug Matty goodbye, giving him a peck on the cheek. 

You always dreaded coming home. 

They say your biggest critic is your mind, but yours was your mother. You knew she had already gotten a call from the school saying you cut class. The moment you stepped into the living room, the yelling started. “How can you do this” and “What are you even doing with your life” turned into “Look at yourself, you look like a whore and you're going to school like that?” or “Were you out with that little gay boyfriend of yours again?”

You try to tune it out, not letting it get to you. She's been like that for as long as you can remember, never letting up for even just a second. You weren't the best kid, but she sure isn't helping you “get on the right track” as she liked to say.

Tears well up in your eyes when you finally shut your bedroom door. Your first instinct is to call Matty. He picks up after two rings, immediately hearing the quiver in your voice. 

He tells you he’ll be there as soon as he can. 

Minutes pass by slowly until you hear a familiar, although uncharacteristically soft, knock at your window. Matty.

Your puffy eyes meet his and he can tell you’d been crying. No words were exchanged as he took you into your arms, his hands soothingly stroking your hair as you let out muffled sobs into his chest. It broke his fucking heart to see you like this. You were extensions of each other, the others' pain was always your own.    

“It's all so shit. Why cant she just be normal one fucking time.” your voice audibly shakes, partially out of anger and partially out of exasperation. 

“I know i suck, I know I'm a bad daughter but-,” Matty cuts you off. “You’re fucking amazing, you know that?” His words only make you cry harder. 

He holds you close, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, the sound of his voice similar to the way he spoke to you that night. His hands feel cold against your skin, and you know he’d rushed to your house without grabbing his coat. You look up at him, seeing his hair was unruly, curls falling into his face. The blonde highlights littered his dark hair and he ran his hand through them, brushing them to the side to get a better look at you. 

“D’you want to sit down? We can listen to music. Whatever you want, and won't even comment on how shit it is, promise,” He knew you didn't want to talk about it then, you never did.  

You sit in silence, your face still in his chest, staining the light blue material of his shirt. You quietly apologize, knowing how much he loves that shirt. He tells you to shut up, and that it didn't matter. 

He had gotten it in Barcelona at some tourist shop for 50 quid. Insane price for a tshirt that just said “Barcelona” on it, but he held it dear to his heart. It reminded him of his childhood summers. 

“There's a bottle of um…,” you trail off, gesturing to the second drawer of your nightstand. Matty understands, and reaches over you to open it. The drawer is filled with half eaten granola bars, bracelets, jewelry, the odd vape for when it was too cold to go outside. Matty always took the piss out of you for having them, saying they were ‘so fucking girly it hurt’. After a second of rummaging, he took out a half drunk bottle of Bacardi. It always sat in your nightstand for when you needed it, and you definitely needed it now. 

“Only you'd have a giant bottle of rum in your nightstand,” Matty says softly, searching your expression. The corners of your mouth tug upwards at his words, and you crack a smile.   

He opens it for you, and grabs an abandoned cup from your desk. The cup he had gifted you on your 17th birthday. It was covered in flowers and stars, very Matty. Very you. Pouring a healthy amount into the glass, he hands it to you.  

“To shitty situations” He raises it, clinking it against your cup. He takes a swig straight from the bottle. You down the whole thing in one go, wincing as the alcohol burns down your throat. 

“You feel better?” he asks, pouring more into your cup. You nod, before taking another drink. “I just need to get drunk and forget,” you sigh. Matty starts to speak again.

“That's an unhealthy way to go about it. Soon enough I'll be picking you up from corners because you can't handle your liquor. It's a recipe for alcoholism, innit?” you cackle at his words prompting Matty to raise his eyebrows at you.  

“Oh come off it!,” How many times have you been so drunk you couldn't find your own dick if you tried. Sort yourself out before criticizing my drinking habits.” you scoff  

You decide ‘Wonderwall’ by Oasis is the right soundtrack for the night. You lay down next to Matty, your shoulders and thighs touching each other. You look up fondly at the dozens of yellow stars littering your ceiling. Reminiscent of your early childhood, you couldn't bear to take them down. You still felt like a child, your heart yearning for the same innocence you no longer possessed. A distinct naïveté you missed dearly. After your breakup with Phillip you'd realized that the world wasn't all it was cut out to be. People wanted, and they took. It didn't matter to them if they hurt others, because as long as they were satiated, nothing else mattered. 

You turn to your left, draping your arm over Mattys stomach. He let out a deep breath, raising his right arm to draw light circles onto your back. His nails had grown out longer than usual, but the sharpness of them was comforting through the thin material of your tank top. The edge of your small twin bed dug into your back. 

The two of you laid like that for hours before sleep took over your body. The stars on the ceiling blurred as your eyes started to shut. You let out a soft hum, settling into Matty even more, holding him close.

You don't know how long he stayed, but he was gone when you woke up. You feel a sticky note attached to your forehead, the glue rubbing off on your skin. You could barely read Mattys erratic handwriting. The note read: you fell asleep, hope your hangover isn't as bad as mine. left you some Advil on your dresser xx. 

Your hand reached next to you, feeling two tablets. You wash them down with water from the sink. Your cell phone lights up with a text from George 

“We’re meeting at Hanns flat, be there in 30,”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The windows were rolled up, trapping the smoke inside. Your eyes were glazed over, barely able to make out Ross’ face in front of you. Watching as Matty took another hit, you made a ‘give it here’ motion at the zoot, prompting him to hand it to you. Rhianna blared through the radio, a far cry from Adams usual taste in music, but no one seemed to care. Even Matty had managed to keep his mouth shut, instead moving his head in time with the music. 

Adam was sitting in the driver's seat, as always. He’d never let anyone else drive his girl, not even Ross. He was insanely protective over his car, even if it was an old piece of junk. 

George was in the passenger seat, holding a pink, polka dotted ashtray in his hand. The colorful ceramic proved quite the contrast against his dark clothes and messy blonde hair. It was a gift from his older sister, and the only ashtray he ever used. 

You were perched in the middle seat, your elbows on the console between Adam and George. Matty sat on your right, and Ross on your left.  

“No joke, I once had a bird offer to give me a footjob. Can you imagine that?” Adam spoke loudly, almost too loud. Ross let out a disgusting snort, the mental image of Adam getting a footjob making him properly lose it. You make a face. 

“That can't feel good at all, innit? Aren't the soles of feet rough?” you ponder. “Only if you have George's hobbit feet, that is,” Matty said, ducking to avoid yet another lighter being chucked at him. You were going to run out of lighters at this rate. 

“I'll show you hobbit feet you fucking cunt,” George retorted, sticking out his tongue like a child.

“I had a girl once who wanted me to properly bite down on her nipples, like hard. Can't imagine how much that would've hurt.” you share. She’d been quite the odd one up until she was in your bed, so you were already expecting some sort of weird kink. Nipple biting was definitely not on that list. Not that you were kink shaming.  

George spoke first: “What d’you mean girl? You're telling me you've been with girls?” You raise your eyebrows at him. “Erm, yeah? Didn't I tell you-?” Everyone shook their heads except Matty. You had already told him this story months before, the both of you laughing at your misfortune. Smiling at the fond memory, you meet Ross’ eye. 

“We didn't know you were like, proper gay,” he says quietly, not wanting to sound abrasive. You suck in a deep breath before answering. “I'm not proper anything, and besides,” you point at Matty sitting next to you, “This one’s snogged loads of blokes.”  A collective “What???” fills the car, with everyone's eyes now on Matty. 

“What if I have? It's not my job to notify you of all my sexual endeavors, innit?” Matty looks slightly uncomfortable, giving you a look. You frown at him, and he shakes his head. Slight signs of a smile linger on his face. It's fine he mouths at you, resting his arm on your shoulder. 

The three of them talk loudly over each other, with Ross asking some very explicit questions on the mechanics of gay sex. 

“How do you even, like, properly shag? It's not like you have anything you can shove into the other girl,” Jesus christ. 

Matty taps Ross’ shoulder, bringing the attention to his hands. He brings them up to his mouth, sticking his tongue out between the V-shape his fingers had made. Wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, the whole demonstration makes Ross visibly cringe. 

The car suddenly starts. Adam makes the short drive to Carolines, stating that the hotbox was getting to be too much for him. George has a go at his age, calling him an old man. Hann was in fact, about 2 and a half years older than George, and a solid year older than the rest of you. Old man was right. 

You had rolled down the window on Mattys side, hoping some fresh air would help Adams driving skills. The erratic swerving had begun to make you sick. 

Finally trugding up the stairs to the terrace, Matty says something about it being too fucking cold. Ross says “That's the price of being built like a male Kate Moss,” and Matty nearly shoves him down the stairs. 

It is colder than usual, and you had opted for a dark gray zip up, the material hugging you tightly. You were pretty sure it was Mattys. A pair of green wash jeans hung low, revealing the lightning bolt tattoo on your right hip bone. It was a copy of Bowie's on the cover of ‘Aladdin Sane’. You had gotten it done by another one of your mates, Rome, who was an aspiring tattoo artist. It looked a bit shit, the lines slightly crooked, but it was yours. 

You had convinced George and Ross to carry the sofa from the office onto the terrace. They were the tallest and strongest, and Mattys arms would have snapped like twigs if he tried to carry anything, you said to them. George laughed his octave defying laugh, while Ross let out an annoyed grunt, shoving past you. 

Adam was right behind them, carrying a small wooden coffee table. “For you- I know how much you hate sofas,” he says quietly. You called him a softy, but inevitably thanked him for bringing it out. He had his rare sweet moments, and you appreciate them 

Once you had all settled, you took out your tobacco and papes, starting to roll your first cigarette of the night. You honestly needed a break from all the weed, because jesus. 

Matty let out a groan, taking the piss out of you for bringing all that instead of just buying industrials. 

“I know you think you're better than us for rolling, it's quite pretentious.” he sucks in a breath before talking, moving his hands erratically “Don't tell me it ‘tastes better’ because that's simply bollocks, it all tastes the same!” 

“Pretentious? Her? That's rich coming from someone who raves on about William Burroughs like anyone knows who is!” Matty looks hurt, and you give Ross a look that says you really don't know who William Burroughs is?

The conversation continued without you, too preoccupied with rolling to add anything. All was well until George decided to open his giant mouth again. 

“If you're not fully gay,” he started, “how do we know you're not secretly crushing on any of us?” he raised his eyebrows, looking at you expectantly.

You let out a snort, it slowly morphing into laughter until you look at him, his expression deadly serious. 

“You can’t actually mean that?” your voice is slightly hoarse. “For all we know, you could be harboring secret affection for Matty with the amount of times you’ve slept in the same bed.” 

Mattys perks up at this, shooting George a glare that could kill a man. He told him??? 

You don't know what came over you. Maybe it was the weed, maybe you were just groggy from the lingering hangover. You lick the cig closed, setting down next to the others. Uncrossing your legs, you get up and walk towards Matty. You can see the grin plastered onto his face, and he is definitely not sober.

You stumbled over Adam's foot, kicking it out of the way. Ross moved away from Matty, giving you some space. 

The terrace was dark, but the moonlight illuminated some of Mattys features. Specifically, his eyes. They seemed to glow, following your every step toward him. I'll show you secret affection you thought to yourself when your hand made contact with Mattys face. The stubble on his chin scratched your fingers. He never could grow a beard, and the faint shadow was as long as it would get. 

He sat with his legs spread, skin peaking out through the single rip in his jeans. His arms rested on the sofas back, splaying out to the side. He wore a black v-line jumper, the knit of it almost see-through.  

The makeup from the previous day was still smudged on his face, giving him a rockstar-esque look. The eyeshadow framed his eyes, glittering in the faint light. Your hands cupped his face, lightly stroking his jaw. The grin had been wiped off his face the moment you had settled between his legs, kneeling on the edge of the sofa. 

You didn't think, just moved, your lips smashing against each other. It seemed to take Matty by surprise, and it even took him a second before he kissed you back. One thing nagged at you. Why did you like it?

There was no time to think when you heard George wolf whistle at the both of you. 

You want a show, I'll give you a show you thought, slipping in your tongue and taking over the kiss. He seemed into it, but then again, Matty would fuck anything with a pulse. You smile against his mouth at the thought. It suddenly felt hot, even though you were outside. His hand snaked its way into your hair, tugging slightly. This didn't feel platonic. Was it?

“Alright, alright, we didn't sign up for a porno,” Ross says, his hand covering his mouth. You were the one who broke the kiss. Matty let out a soft groan when you parted, loud enough for only you to hear. His eyes pierced yours, and you moved to get off of him. 

Your heart thrummed against your ribcage, and you felt dizzy. What the fuck?

You wiped your mouth, your lipgloss having smeared all over your face. Wiping the back of your sticky hand against the sofa, you turned and walked back to your spot on the table. 

“See! Absolutely no ‘secret affection’ as George so kindly put it.” you say to the group, going back to your pile of fags, taking one and lighting it. If you had looked at Matty instead of being preoccupied with Hanns bickering about the prissy new manager, you would have noticed a faint shade of red caressing his cheeks. He felt around for his own cigarettes, and took out a pack of parliaments. Spotting the lighter next to you, he reached for it, lighting the cig as he inhaled the smoke eagerly.

It was already half two when the five of you finally piled back into Hanns car. The prominent stench of weed made you scrunch up your nose. You decide to light a cigarette in the car despite various protests and threats to your life if you even dared to ash onto the leather seats. Switching seats with Matty, you ash out the window instead, resting your head against the rim of the car. 

Ross and George were having yet another meaningless debate on whether mixing ketchup and mayo was a cardinal sin or totally acceptable. Every other word was an insult, and you knew they would never come to an agreement, ever.

You had already established that you’d be sleeping over at Mattys, saving Adam time and petrol not having to drive both of you home separately. Denise and Tim were out on a press tour, so he had the house to himself. 

His room was dark, the curtains drawn shut. If you knew Matty, you knew he hated the big light with a burning passion. Instead, a small lamp was turned on in the corner, illuminating the various posters that littered his wall. Band posters, prints, tapestries, the occasional quote. Everything screamed Matty

His room was filled with so much music. CD’s, vinyls, even the odd cassette tape. His purple record player sat on top of a dresser next to his desk, surrounded by various small trinkets of his. It was his prized possession, a gift from his mother for his 14th birthday.  

You had already helped yourself to a cola from his fridge downstair. His house was huge, way bigger than your own. Your parents weren't actors, after all. The walls of his room were stained towards the corners, just another side effect of Mattys near constant chain smoking. His bed was big, and you both fit comfortably on it. The wardrobe next to it had a pile of your own clothes in it, but none to sleep in. Your eyes dart around the room looking for one of his to wear, landing on his bright pink durex t-shirt. He had worn it once to school, promptly getting kicked out of literature class by a very conservative Mrs. Sexton.

Soft music was playing in the background as you unloaded your bag onto Matty’s insanely cluttered desk. Out came multiple pens, makeup, not one, not two, but three lighters, and finally, makeup wipes.    

You sat on the ground in front of his full length mirror, wiping at your eyes and face. Matty was making the bed, giving the both of you each your own duvet, a must after too many fights over the blanket. You weren't a peaceful sleeper, constantly tossing and turning, occasionally even kicking Matty in the back. 

Washing your face, you hear the bathroom door click open. Matty went and sat on the closed toilet lid next to you.

“Hand me my toothbrush, will you? And some toothpaste.” he asked, stretching his hand out. You do, even wetting the toothbrush for him. 

He sat there, brushing his teeth and flipping through a recent issue of playboy while you put moisturizer on, and then a serum. 

“I dont get how you can be arsed to put all that shit on your face, it takes way too long,” his comment makes you roll your eyes at him in the reflection. 

“Not everyone is naturally blessed with clear skin like you, people like me have to put effort into their appearance, knobhead.” A wave of insecurity hits you as you inspect the acne on your face. 

You had been a chronic face picker in your early teenage years, and the consequences of that were gnarly acne scars covering most of your face. They were not prominent, but they were there. 

Matty was fortunate enough to have had maybe three zits ever, his clear skin the stuff of dreams. 

Matty watches you pick yourself apart in the mirror. He hated when you did that. It made his heart ache in his chest. He wished you could see what he saw. What did he see?

“You’re quite beautiful, really,” he says, making eye contact with you through the mirror. You’re taken aback, not quite sure how to respond. You open your mouth to speak. 

“Oh bugger off,” you say, your voice breathy and annoyed. You didn't want to sound annoyed, it just came out that way. 

Matty raises both his hands in defeat, and spits the toothpaste into the toilet bowl, flushing. The hairbands sitting on the bathroom counter eventually end up in your hair, holding together two braids on either side of your face. You stare at the mirror one more time, examining yourself. The pink fabric of your (well, Mattys) shirt clung to you like it did Matty. Taking off your bra, you go back into his room. He had changed into a loose Kiss t-shirt and black boxers. The light of the corner lamp helped you find your phone, sitting on the nightstand next to you. 

The atmosphere was calm, calm enough that you’d almost forgotten about the kiss. Almost. 

Matty reached over to turn the lamp off, lighting a candle for light. Cinnamon. 

“You know it's dangerous to sleep with candles lit? We could catch on fire and die,” Matty had rolled over on his side, now facing you. A grin spread onto his face. 

“If it kept me from ever seeing Hanns ugly mug ever again, i’d gladly let cinnamon spice scented flames burn me to death,” 

You giggle at his words. Poor Adam, always taking the worst of Mattys jokes, if you could even call them that. Accepting his decision to keep the candle lit, you pull the blanket over your shoulders. Your eyes shut and you can feel butterflies in your stomach. Butterflies, really? Jesus fucking christ. 

You're scared to open your eyes, scared to even look at Matty. Maybe it was a mistake. He's your best mate. That kiss didn't mean anything, especially not to him.

A million thoughts race through your head, and you shove them into a small corner of your mind. Ignore ignore ignore, it didn't mean anything. He's just some wanker who picked you up at a bus stop three years ago and somehow became your best mate. He's just some guy you share a bed with sometimes. He's just some guy who lights your spliffs for you. He's just some guy who you kissed on a terrace overlooking the city. 

Fuck. 

[vrystalius]

Sweet, sweet revenge

Akaza keeps tormenting you about being weak and never able to match his strength, so you decided to shower him in compliments as a revenge!

Pairing: Akaza x hashira!fem!reader

Akaza is very ruthless during training. He doesn’t care if you’re a woman, since you’re a hashira, you’re supposed to be strong and powerful, able to match his strength in battle. The demon sure loves you, but he sometimes doubts that you are a true hashira. Maybe you have been lying and trying to scare him off the first time you two met, in an attempt to shoo the Upper Three demon away with your status. Obviously it didn’t work since the same demon has been crawling into your sheets every night, demanding to be held.

But right now, you were really struggling to believe that the cuddly Akaza you held for hours on end was the same aiming powerful attacks towards you. He was punching you without a care, and sometimes you feared he might punch a hole through your stomach by the sheer force he was using. You knew he was capable of it and held back severely, but still! He can go even gentler, can’t he? The force of his punch knocked you onto the dirt with Akaza looming over you. A smirk grew on his face.

“You’ll never catch up to me at this rate, bunny.”

You were done with his constant bullying snd teasing. How about you give that attitude back at him, just sweeter? You knew how badly he handles compliments and praises, you’ve seen his blushing face many times before. The cutest part is how angry he gets when you praise him, too.

“Oh Akaza, you’re so mighty and strong!”

You arched your back slightly and pouted, trying to appear more cute or sexy. Your boyfriend crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. You lifted your eyes to look at his face properly. There was no blushing yet, just pure confusion.

“You’re so amazing! The way you dodge every single one of my hits like it’s nothing… Your form is just flawless.”

Finally, you saw how Akaza’s gears began to work inside his mind, processing what your honey-dipped words. He wasn’t sure how to react, his face beginning to heat up slowly. You saw his arm muscles tensed slightly. He was just about to open his mouth and question you if you had hit your head, but you were quicker.

“How do you make it look so effortless? It’s like you’re not even trying and yet you make it look so easy! And attractive nonetheless…”

“What are you up to? Did I hit your head on accident?”

You got up from your position and dusted off your uniform before wrapping your arms around his neck. He let out a nervous grunt, his hands instinctively finding their way to your waist, holding you securely. He was slightly leaning away from you while you leaned into the distance he was creating with a grin.

“I bet if I trained for a thousand years I won’t be able to catch up with your strength, ‘kaza. You’re just so graceful, so strong, so incredible!”

Your sweet revenge finally paid off as Akaza pushed you away gently and hiding his face behind his large palms. He was severely embarrassed and flustered by your compliments. You felt how hot his skin got underneath your touch wich made you giggle and finally stop your antics. You weren’t sure how much your demon could handle anymore.

“Enough, you’re distracting me, idiot.”

“You can’t escape the truth, you’re amazing Akaza!”

He huffed and slightly rolled his eyes before turning his back on you, crossing his arms again.

“Whatever. Training’s over, you can go back to bed now.”

You ruffled his hair slightly and placed a featherlight kiss on his shoulder, making him squirm.

“Only if you join me.”

“Tch, fine.”

🎃

Flufftober prompt: Getting Revenge

Only one week until October ends! I have 28 requests sitting in my inbox, ready to be worked on. I am looking forward to it!! Also, my little trick or treat event is happening soon~

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <3 Thank you for being so patient with me!

My event masterlist and the trick or treat event 🎃

[wibben]

The Fine Print

Nanami Kento doesn't get jealous... he just doesn't like parties where people get handsy with his boyfriend.

↳ pairing: hiromi higuruma x kento nanami

↳ warnings: no real warnings, established relationship, love bites, marking, PDA, jealous!nanami, lawyer!higuruma, alt universe - no curses,

↳ wc: 4,205

↳ notes: this one was just a silly little brain worm. jealous nanami is so very dear to me. Higuruma art by @/amico173 on twitter, Nanami art by @/nekonii.

Nanami Kento is not a jealous man. 

He was not jealous when he and Hiromi readied themselves for the evening, both stomping around their shared apartment with the energy of men preparing for a funeral procession rather than a social event at Hiromi’s firm.

As he tied his tie, he shot Hiromi a glum look, which was met with a gaze equally mournful. Each movement weighted with reluctance, like two prisoners of war dressing in finery for their death march. 

Nanami shrugged on his blazer with a silent plea to the universe, watching as Hiromi stepped into his shoes with the same resigned sigh. They exchanged a glance that did nothing but stall for time, silently begging for a miracle—permission from each other to skip the evening, divine intervention to cancel the event, or even a stray bolt of lightning to strike them both down and free them from this obligation.

“--can’t believe we have to waste a perfectly good evening on this,” Kento muttered, fiddling with his cufflinks.

“I’d rather sit through an eight-hour deposition. Which is what my Monday looks like, by the way.” Hiromi grumbled, smoothing down his jacket.

Kento huffed, straightening his collar that he knows is already seamlessly ironed. “I’d rather reorganize the entire office.”

“I’d rather read the entire tax code. Twice.” Hiromi shot back, a self-defeating smile quirking his lips lopsided. If that were an option, he would take it. Gladly.

“At least that wouldn’t require pretending to enjoy pointless small talk.”

Hiromi stopped in front of a mirror in the hall, wrinkling his nose as he combed a hand through his hair, turning his head this way then the other, making sure it was properly slicked back with gel. A sin, he thought. He should not be gelling his hair on a Friday evening.  He sighed, shoulders slumping dramatically as the jingle of keys echoed through the room—he asks not for whom that particular bell tolls, it tolls for fucking him. Kento plucked them from the hook beside the door, his movements deliberate and resigned, both wearing twin expressions of grouchy sufferance. 

Hiromi trudged over with a storm cloud hung heavy over his head, feeling both the executioner and the condemned. He stopped in front of Kento, fiddling with the yellow spotted tie on his chest as if it needed any further adjustment.

It was a subtle way to delay their departure and an excuse to touch him… something that feels so much more valuable now that he won’t be able to for the rest of the evening.

Hiromi sighed again, tugging on the lapels of his jacket as if to straighten those too, and pulled him down by them, a press of lips that carried more weight than words. Kento’s mouth was warm and steady, grounding, and for all of Hiromi’s melodrama it felt every bit a goodbye as they massacred their relaxing weekend routine with a visit to the gallows… otherwise known as work. It hardly mattered that Kento was coming with him.

“Just a few hours. We can manage that, surely?” Hiromi murmured against Kento’s lips, unconvinced.

Kento’s hand came up to gently rest on Hiromi’s cheek, his thumb brushing softly across his skin. “Barely,” he replied, a small, affectionate smile reluctantly forming on his lips. He’s skeptical it’ll be anything less than miserable, but they’re in it together, even if neither of them want to be there at all.

Nanami Kento is not a jealous man.

He sips his drink, the third of its kind, at the bar station across the room, a monolith of beige amongst a sea of black and whites. He’d never thought his proclivity for his dull outerwear would ever make him stand out, but here he is, the sorest of thumbs.

And the rest of him is just generally sore as he observes Hiromi across the room whilst waiting for the man's drink to be made, remaining on standby to swoop in and deliver it.

Across the room, Hiromi is engaged in conversation with one of the firm’s clients, a woman whose face is familiar in the way many famous peoples faces are, but whose name escapes Kento into the realm of obscurity. At first, it seems like any other interaction, filled with polite laughter and nods. This is, after all, a networking event, and Hiromi is in his element no matter how he may grumble and protest the notion. Kento takes another sip of his drink, appreciating the way Hiromi’s eyes crinkle slightly at the edges when he smiles even out of polite platitude.

Hiromi doesn’t command the room with the presence of a greater man, and Kento knows this is by design. He doesn’t relish the attention, much less at events like these. He doesn’t relish the attention, because with attention comes scrutiny and for all of the power Hiromi commands in a courtroom he is still just a man, not a giant. A woeful introvert, just like him, and he doesn’t need to control the room to control Kento’s shamelessly fond appreciation. 

But from Kento’s birdseye view of the room, standing ever sentinel even at a distance and even for one who doesn’t need watching, he still notices. He notices how the woman's laughter grows louder, even at this distance—or maybe he’s just sensitive to it from how he stares. More frequent too, every time Hiromi speaks it seems like. And for as much as Kento loves Hiromi, he isn’t that funny. At least, not to anybody who hasn’t soaked in the brand of dry wit and humor Hiromi wields like a blade. Not to anybody who isn’t him. Her hand casually rests on Hiromi’s arm as she speaks, and Kento’s grip on his glass tightens imperceptibly, chasing down the strange burn in his chest with the much preferred burn of alcohol in his throat. The flicker of irritation is immediate, unwelcome but undeniable. He tells himself this is normal—this is what people do at such events. They laugh, they touch, they connect. This is networking, and Kento is familiar enough with this game of social tightrope-walking that he shouldn’t be bothered. 

Still, he watches the exchange with riveted interest and—god,how long does it take to make a damn gin and tonic? The woman leans in just a little too close, the brush of her hands turning a little more insistent. Hiromi, ever the professional, maintains his composure with the steadfastness of a man much too tired to care about such advances even if he were in a position of interest. But Kento knows him, he sees the subtle signs—the slight tension in Hiromi’s shoulders, the fleeting frown that pulls at the corners of his mouth that neutralizes the smile lines that decorate his eyes.

Nanami Kento is not a jealous man, but seeing this stranger encroach on Hiromi’s space, his space, quickens something uncomfortable and unfamiliar deep in his marrow. The serenity with which Kento seems to coat himself starts to crack, and it’s all rather ridiculous, isn’t it? Because he isn’t jealous. Finally though, finally, the bartender returns with Hiromi’s drink, the cool glass feeling almost hypothermic against his heated and sweat-slick palm. He gives the man a curt nod, and with a slow breath his decision crystallizes further into his mind, fractals rooting into his brain and spurring him into motion before he can think about it a moment longer.

This isn’t about distrust, nor is it about something so petty as jealousy. It’s about maintaining boundaries. Respect. And Kento does not demand much but he does demand respect paid to both him and his boyfriend in equal measure. It’s about Hiromi’s visibly fraying comfort, and his own peace of mind.

So Kento leaves the comforting shallows around the bar with long purposeful steps away from the school of loitering plus ones, a minnow journeying against the current and into the sea of suited sharks. His presence is a calm but obvious force, broad shoulders and long legs carrying him with a surprising amount of grace as he slides around bodies and suits and dresses with a drink in each hand. As he approaches, Hiromi glances up as if drawn to the aura that intrinsically surrounds him, their eyes meeting.

There’s a moment of understanding, a flicker of weariness in Hiromi’s eyes that makes something bitter curdle in Kento’s chest. He hands him the drink, their fingers brushing in a fleeting touch, almost accidental in its brevity and yet not at all.

“Thank you,” Hiromi says, steady and warm.

Kento gives a small nod, his lips pulled taut in an unamused line but his eyes reflecting a warmth typically reserved for home. “Of course, Hiromi.” The use of his name is with territorial intent, his gaze remaining on his partner rather than the woman who stands at the apex of their freshly formed triangle.

For as polite as Hiromi is and has to be, Kento is under no such obligation. And his capacity for respect is matched only by his capability for seldom seen pettiness. He stands at an angle, his chest to Hiromi’s shoulder, his focus solely on the other man. If he pretends it’s just the two of them, then surely she’ll go away. “I’m sorry for the delay, everyone and their mother is at the bar at the moment.”

“Mmm—” Hiromi hums around a mouthful of his drink, brow furrowing as he forces the swallow to respond properly. “Well it’s an open bar, I’d be there too under regular circumstances,” the smile Hiromi fixes upon Kento is something much more genuine than the obligatory kindness afforded to his client, and that sets Kento at ease somewhat. But that smile turns brittle as glass as a shrill peal of laughter cackles much too close to them both for comfort.

Kento was right—she’s laughing at everything. That wasn’t even a joke. “Oh, Hiromi, don’t be rude! Introduce me to your friend!” She coos, leaning forward to drape herself over his arm — she drapes herself over his arm — and fuck did he just crack a molar from how hard his teeth snapped and ground? The nerve of her to touch him so casually, to say his name. “Partner, actually.” 

Hiromi corrects while Kento fights to reel his self-righteous rage back in, spooling it neatly before it can spill out onto the floor in a way that would be shamefully embarrassing for them both. The correction sends a smug thrill through his veins, and though he doesn’t smile for it, his eyes soften with satisfaction that he hides behind a sip of his own drink. There, now stop touching him— “Ah, of course! You must be new though, I don’t remember a partner of the firm like you during my case.”

Oh, that almost does Kento in. 

And he can see that Hiromi wouldn’t be far behind from the way his polite-but-strained smile crumbles into something utterly deadpan, completely aborting his attempt at a friendly air. Everybody here is a fucking partner, dimwit, Hiromi chastises himself. With the alcohol flowing and the somewhat vague phrasing, Hiromi’s assertion flies completely over her head.

“No, what I meant was—”

“Nanami Kento,” Kento interrupts suddenly, extending a polite hand. This is Hiromi’s job, it’s okay, he’s a professional, it’s okay. His free hand gently brushes over Hiromi’s back, smoothing over the black fabric in a gesture of reassurance.

She grasps his hand daintily in hers, manicured fingers curling around his own and the rather weak quality of her shake makes him think she expects him to bend the knee and kiss her knuckles instead—he would rather die.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Kento—”

“Nanami.” He corrects immediately.

The woman seems a bit taken aback from his rebuff, blinking owlishly up at him. She’s clearly not used to being admonished, much less by an apparent nobody like himself. 

“Right… Nanami,” she laughs, and it’s obvious it isn’t the same laugh she’d been using to butter up to Hiromi—more placating. “You must know Hiromi pretty well working so closely together then, right?”

He can feel the frustration drifting off Hiromi in waves, the lowering of his brows over tired eyes and he knows he’d rather be anywhere else but here, stuck in a situation where he’s so tightly chained to propriety that he can’t even properly slap the wrist of this woman who bankrolls his employer. 

“Yes.” Kento says, “I know him decently well, I should think.”

If he wasn’t so annoyed, he might find the whole ordeal more entertaining. Yes, I know my boyfriend, he thinks bitterly, I know how he takes his coffee in the morning, and when our laundry needs to be done so he can wear his favorite loungewear, and how he smells first thing in the morning and last thing at night, I know him much better than you. 

But as it stands, this woman is not entertaining; she is a nuisance. One who still hasn’t taken her presumptuous hand off Hiromi’s arm, prompting Kento to act. He lowers his own hand from Hiromi’s back, his fingers feather-light as they drift over his waist. His thumb grazes Hiromi’s hip before ending its gentle assertion on his sacrum. Kento’s gaze remains sharp and unchanged, maintaining an outwardly unflappable composure while gently asserting his presence. He won't be going anywhere. She smiles, seemingly pleased, cherry-painted lips peeling back over blindingly white teeth. Her smile is dazzling, practically made for the camera, but to Kento, it appears as the bared teeth of some wild animal. "Well then, you must know that he's too professional for his own good!" She tips her head back and laughs again, and he isn’t sure he’s ever heard a more grating sound. She leans forward, as if expecting Kento to laugh along and join in her teasing at Hiromi’s expense. 

He does not think Hiromi is too professional, he thinks he is professional. It’s admirable, one of the many traits of Hiromi’s he’s come to respect and adore. A trait that they share, at that. 

At this range, he can smell the drink on her breath, and he briefly considers doing everyone, primarily and selfishly for himself and Hiromi, a favor and calling her a cab.

“Before you joined us, I was insisting he tell me more about his personal life—but he kept circling straight back to the firm! Isn’t that right, Hiromi?” Her voice is tinny and sharp, each word a needle prick into the ever-inflating balloon in Kento’s chest and god it's going to pop sooner or later. 

Hiromi manages a strained chuckle, avoiding her goading by taking a healthy sip of his drink. As he tilts his head back, he looks to Kento with eyes that silently plead: if you ever loved me, please kill me. Kento meets his gaze with a look of profound sympathy. When they got home, he would make it up to Hiromi in spades. He would listen to him complain about the evening for as many hours as he needs, make his favorite tea with a shot of brandy, and he was already planning the massage he’d no doubt need to give—

Undeterred by Hiromi’s evasiveness and Kento’s stoney stoicism, she shifts her focus back to him, eyes twinkling with playful curiosity. Her tone is light and conspiratorial, as if they were all in on a delightful joke.

“Is he hiding a secret girlfriend from us, Nanami?”

The carefully constructed poise with which Kento operates shatters under the weight of an adversary he wasn’t prepared to confront: weaponized idiocy. His irritation ignites like a kerosene-fed wildfire, an almost instant and intense anger flaring through every capillary in his body. His teeth clench so tightly that a sharp pain shoots through his temple, and he feels a vein throb violently with an instant migraine. A girlfriend? Does Hiromi have a girlfriend? 

His forehead creases deeply, brows knitting together in a tight scowl that rolls over his face like an impending storm. He feels as though his very skin is vibrating with frustration at the injustice of it all as he inflates, seething with broiling rage. It’s only then that he notices Hiromi’s shoulders shaking, his breath escaping him in a sudden, loud burst of laughter. The sound is so unexpected, so out of place, that it momentarily disarms Kento, leaving him stunned and disoriented like he’d been socked in the jaw.

For a moment, the client looks at Kento and he looks back at her—a brittle alliance formed in the face of complete and utter bafflement. His hand on Hiromi’s back tightens into the fabric ever so slightly, the furrow of his brow deepening but now with concern. ”Hiromi…”

The client looks confused, her brow furrowing as she glances between them. “What’s so funny?” she asks, clearly perplexed.

Hiromi takes a moment to regain his composure, his fingers tightening around his glass while the other quickly snicks away a tear with his knuckle. “Sorry for the confusion,” Hiromi says, his tone steady but warbled with stricken amusement.

He smiles, really smiles for the first time since they arrived as he presses a reassuring touch to Kento’s wrist. “When I said Kento’s my partner, I meant it in the personal sense, not the business one. He’s my boyfriend.”

For a moment between the three, you could hear a pin drop.

The woman’s eyes widen in realization, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson. She stammers, her polished exterior cracking like eggshells, and it’s a thing of beauty to have her on the other foot. “Oh! I- I see… I’m so sorry,” she mutters, taking an awkward step back, releasing her grip on Hiromi’s arm as if the contact she seemed to relish only moments ago suddenly burns her. “I didn’t realize… sorry for misunderstanding.”

Kento’s intense scowl softens slightly as he watches her flounder, tempered only by the real-time display of karmic justice; he's positively gleeful. Good, he thinks. Now go away.  He keeps his hand on Hiromi’s lower back, his thumb gently stroking in a soothing manner, more for his own benefit than Hiromi’s who seems delighted with this opportunity of weaponized truth-telling. “No harm done,” Hiromi says, waving the whole ordeal off with much more ease than the bitter blonde beside him.

The client promptly excuses herself, mumbling another apology and something about “monopolizing their time” before disappearing into the crowd, her heels clicking on the polished floor.

All is silent. Hiromi turns to face Kento with a slow, sardonic raise of his brow.

Kento meets his eyes and raises his own brows, deadpan, and simply brings his own drink to his lips before looking off into the crowd—the picture of angelic innocence as if he hadn’t been moments away from a catastrophic total composure collapse.

He doesn’t need to look at Hiromi to know the expression on his face; he can practically feel the amusement and exasperation rolling off him in waves, lapping at his shoes with a silent tension that inevitably draws his gaze back. Hiromi grins around the rim of his glass when Kento finally looks him in the eye, but he has the decency to hide it behind an agonizingly long sip of his drink.

Hiromi begins, his voice low and tinged with amusement, “I think we could both use a breath of fresh air.” When Kento doesn’t speak or make a move to follow, Hiromi rolls his eyes and claps him on the back, using the force to nudge him into motion. “Outside.”

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

It’s almost a religious experience stepping out into the cool night air. Out from the oven-like smog of too many bodies packed like sardines and fueled by burning alcohol through quickened veins, and most importantly away from the impression of their joint discomfort burned into the venue's floor. City lights flicker around them as both men take a greedy breath of air that's never tasted quite so fresh.

And Kento can almost, almost pretend it never happened at all. 

In fact, that’s exactly what he tries to do as Hiromi glances at him sidelong, and his expression ever-impassive is the only shield that guards the knowing drop of his stomach against the mischievous quirk of Hiromi’s lip. “I never thought I would see you jealous.” 

“Don’t be absurd,” Kento scoffs immediately, too immediate really, and if he were in the right state of mind he may have felt the sweaty inkling of being utterly busted tickling up his spine. But he’s still wired, feeling the oddest concoction of mild intoxication and adrenaline pulsing through his veins over what was absolutely nothing. “I wasn’t jealous.”

Hiromi chuckles, the sound gravely and warm, fixing Kento with a stare that peels back the layers of him like wet paper. “No?”

“No.”

“God, it’s almost funny how bad you are at lying to me.” Kento’s glare could wither flowers as he pointedly knocks back the remnants of his own drink which only presses Hiromi to needle him harder. “It was kind of adorable actually.”

Kento grumbles but there’s not a lick of real heat in the sound. Instead he reaches out, his hands steady as he adjusts Hiromi’s tie, straightening it with deliberate care. Outside, where they stand in the shadow of the building and the only eyes to see them would have to be truly prying, Kento is far more liberal with his touches. “Imp,” he accuses with his voice undeniably fond.

“And yet, despite your better judgment, you love me anyway,” Hiromi snickers, “—enough to come to this shitty party, at that.”

Kento doesn’t respond with words; instead, his fingers slip to the back of his neck and he leans in to press a lingering kiss to Hiromi’s forehead. His lips are warm and firm against his skin, eyes narrowed to slits over his head as if daring anyone to interrupt.

“So you were jealous,” Hiromi reasserts plainly.

Kento’s response is a low, rumbling hum; the closest thing to acquiescence he’ll afford the man. Yes, he supposes he was jealous. Needlessly, baselessly, frustratingly jealous. He would have to examine that particular thread of himself later… because for now, he would rather indulge it. He shifts his focus to Hiromi’s neck with burning eyes. 

His mouth dips to Hiromi’s temple, then to the soft spot just beneath his ear, to his jaw and lower still just beneath the harsh curve of it. Each press of his lips is deliberate, an apology for his unruly behavior back then and now; a show of his devotion he would rather call it, but even he knows it was juvenile envy. 

Nanami Kento may not be a jealous man, but for Higuruma Hiromi he would make an exception.

Hiromi’s breath hitches, a sandy sigh escaping his lips as Kento’s teeth graze his skin. A prelude of heated touch before his teeth catch and snag lower down towards the crease of his suit. 

“Maybe I should give you a collar, hm?” Kento mumbles between kisses, his words an indiscernible concoction of teasing and genuine thought, muttered in that flat way he does that keeps Hiromi from knowing if he’s actually serious.

Kento continues, his lips tracing a path over Hiromi’s neck. “So nobody else can make the same mistake—and so maybe…” he murmurs, punctuating each word with another kiss, another mark sucked into the warm skin of his neck, spiced with sweat and his cologne of patchouli and bergamot, “... I won’t have to be so jealous.” Or maybe a ring would be more appropriate, Kento considers, not for the first time. Fiancé does have a nicer feel to it than boyfriend.

Hiromi groans beneath the onslaught of Kento’s affections. The nipping snags of his lips and teeth, the raspy growl of his words and the slightly exhibitionist thrill of doing this just outside with mere feet of wall space between them and his colleagues. “You… are a mess,” Hiromi hisses through gritted teeth and sky-cast eyes. This is entirely uncharacteristic of Kento—but he finds that he doesn’t mind it at all. “Am I?” Kento rumbles, delivering a final nip to the veiny junction of throat and jaw before withdrawing. He sighs, low and brassy like the billow of a furnace, yet wholly tender as his calloused fingers brush over the garden of blooming flowers he’d sucked into sensitive skin.

He pulls back slightly to admire his handiwork, the trail of love bites a visible declaration of his. His collar, crafted by his own hand to be fastened around Hiromi’s neck.

“What do you think, Higuruma?” Kento hums with his familiar flavor of dry playful delivery. “A secret girlfriend, perhaps?”

Hiromi’s fingers lift to rub at his neck, eyes narrowed and appearing utterly scandalized, but the pretty pink that stains his cheeks and nose betray his look of disapproval. “Well I can hardly go back in there now,” he laments.

Kento tilts his head in disappointment. “Oh no.” The thrill in his eyes does not match the tone of his voice. “I suppose we’ll just have to go home, then.”

That’s all Hiromi needed to hear to practically collapse with relief. “Fuck yes, we go home, Kento. Right now.”

[diyasgarden]

it’s definitely head-cannon that Patrick is a certified lover boy

-he defs cuts his hoes off once he knows he’s emotionally invested in someone

People assume that he’s a fuck boy because of his high body count & the activities he’s done when single but relationship Patrick? He’s ALL IN & it lowkey hurts his feelings that people can’t think of him as a serious boyfriend or being committed to someone that he truly loves & cares for

AGREE AGREE AGREE!!! I have some thoughts on this too

I think if you’re friends with Patrick when he realizes he likes you, he gets a bit distant from you at first. His feelings are a bit overwhelming and he needs time to process what he is feeling, but he can’t do that when you’re around. When he finally feels comfortable being around you, he doesn’t want you to realize how he feels. He’s afraid that these feelings could change the whole dynamic. What if you didn’t like him back? He starts to tease and annoy you more than usual to make everything seem normal. Naturally, you find this weird itself.

If you were friends with benefits or just casually seeing each other, he also gets distant. He ends up ghosting you, and tries to get with some other people. Of course it’s not the same. He thought having sex with other people would help him get his mind off you, but It takes longer for him to get off. When he finally does he ends up saying your name and the other person slaps him for that. This happens multiple times. You’d also notice his distance in this situation.

In both situations, you’re the one who has to confront him about his odd behavior. Mostly because it’s confusing and you know something is up. And either way, his behavior kinda hurts your feelings.

He doesn’t even admit it when you do. He panics and acts like you’re overreacting, which just upsets and annoys you even more. After that, now you’re the one who starts avoiding him. This really freaks him out. He feels guilty but also scared he’s lost you completely, but he isn’t surprised. Everyone leaves him eventually. What else could have been expected from you?

If you’re not able to talk about your feelings, Patrick becomes the one who got away. (He feels the same way about, although he wouldn’t admit it)

If you are able to do so, you do end up contacting Patrick again. You guys get into an argument again. He still claims you’re the one being weird, but you maintain your position. Eventually the tension turns sexual and you end up making out with each other. One thing leads to another and you’re both in bed. He finally tells you how you feel about you when you’re laying down next to him. At first you think he may be saying it because of the sex, but you quickly realize he is being honest when you see his expression.

You both agree to try dating properly. He cuts off everyone else he was seeing without a second thought. He isn’t the best boyfriend at first, not really sure how to behave with you. If you were friends before this, he is still worried about what could happen if your relationship doesn’t work out. He’d lose you as a friend then too. If you were friends with benefits or casually dating, he is worried that you preferred just sex with him and may want to go back to something like that. In either case, he thinks losing you as a partner is very possible, and it stresses him out. It can make him somewhat clingy, which is annoying but eventually you’re able to set some boundaries (or you just get used to it). He’s also a bit self destructive, and sometimes it’s clear that his thoughts about your relationship falling apart is more of a self fulfilling prophecy than anything. He may find reasons to pick a fight with you, even when nothing is wrong. It’s up to you to deal with this.

Your friends make fun of your relationship every once in a while. It’s a joke, because they know Patrick’s past, but this just upsets him too. He isn’t one to care about what other people think about him, but this feels different. It’s not about just how they see him, it’s about how they see your relationship. He starts to wonder if everyone is just assuming is waiting for you both to break up. He rants about this to you, and again you’re left to deal with it.

You have to do a lot to show you actually love him. That your relationship isn’t just about sex (which is what he thinks he is best for). You do this by actually telling him how you feel, but also through your actions. Like showing up for his games and practice. He is also a big physical touch person, so you’re always touching or holding him in some capacity to show how much you love him and appreciate his presence. He is also constantly holding on to you in public. Holding your hand, hugging you. Squeezing your ass every once in a while. Sometimes you catch him twirling your hair around his finger. (You love it)

[twirlyleafs]

“Scaredy-cat”

William Nylander x reader

TW: alcohol, slight angst

~~~~

“You wanna dance?”

You tore your eyes away from the happy couple to look at your boyfriend, your eyebrows raised. He simply just stared back, a small smile on his face, awaiting your answer.

“I don’t dance, William.” You clarified, reaching to take a sip from your champagne flute.

“Aw come on, it’s a wedding.” He exclaimed, turning eagerly towards you. His knee bumped into yours and his hand automatically patted your leg, as to say sorry. You couldn’t help but smile at the gesture, which he most definitely wasn’t even aware of.

“I don’t know why that would matter.”

“Because people dance at weddings. Especially people who are in love.” He dragged out the word at the end, almost giggling. When you locked eyes with him you could see how they were slightly glossy, his cheeks a rosy shade. He was obviously more tipsy than you had realized. It was adorable.

“And we’re in love?” You teased, earning an exaggerated frown in response.

“Of course we are.”

You laughed and leaned over to press a kiss to his lips, the frown on his face dissolving. Parting your lips you hoped he would forget about his inquiry, but when he pulled away you knew he wouldn’t let it go that easy.

“Come on Will, dancing is really not my thing.” You sighed, taking another sip from your glass.

“But I’m your thing,” he whined, pushing his bottom lip out. “And I want to dance with you. Please?”

You scanned his face for a few seconds, mind trying to come up with literally any excuse. Sighing, you realized you wouldn’t be able to say no to his big, blue eyes. So you just nodded. William grinned widely and practically jumped up on his feet. As he brushed off his trousers you downed the rest of your drink and put the glass down. Grabbing his outreached hand you let him pull you over to the dance floor that was quickly filling up. Without a word he placed your hand on his shoulder, grabbing the other with his own. He pressed a kiss to it as he wrapped his free arm around your waist. You couldn’t help but smile.

“See? It’s not that bad.” Will argued, swaying the two of you to the beat. You just hummed, glancing down at your heels. “It’s okay if you step on me.” He added.

“Shut up.” You chuckled, looking back up at him. He smiled widely, pulling you somehow even closer to him. You head rested comfortably against his shoulder and after a while you weren’t even thinking about moving, you just followed his lead. Will leaned his cheek against your head and you felt his breath on your hair.

“This is actually nice.” You admitted, breaking the comfortable silence between you.

“I told you.”

“Yeah but this is barely dancing. We’re just swaying.” You pointed out, trying to defend your earlier position on the matter. Will laughed and agreed with a kiss to the top of your head.

“When we get married we’re gonna have to learn how to properly waltz though.”

He must have felt how your whole body tensed up, and even if he didn’t he definitely noticed how you almost tripped, gripping his shoulder tighter not to fall. You mentally slapped yourself for reacting so harshly when he pulled away slightly to look down at you.

“Are you freaking out because I mentioned marriage or are you just a really bad dancer?” He asked, trying to ease the sudden tension with something resembling a joke. When you avoided his gaze, still occupied with processing his earlier statement, his shoulders slumped. “Oh, right.” He stopped the swaying, slowly letting his hands fall from your body. William took a small step back, reaching up to scratch the stubble on his cheek before pulling his hair back. Your mind was racing. It was an overreaction, you knew it was, but you couldn’t stop yourself. The thought of marriage had never been on the table for you, not since you were a kid, and even though you loved Will very much it had never even occurred to you that you’d one day be husband and wife. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to marry him, it’s just that the way he said it so casually threw you for a loop. You weren’t ready for it.

“I’m gonna go get a drink. You want anything?”

You blinked and looked up at the man in front of you. Now it was his time to advert his gaze. He had pushed his hands into his pockets, rolling back on his heels.

“Willy-“ you began, moving closer again. You placed a hand against his abdomen, unconsciously toying with the end of his tie. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t stop you. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” You could tell that his smile was forced and it made your heart physically hurt. “I should’ve known better than to just throw that out there, I know you scare easily.” He pressed a calm, reassuring kiss to your forehead, but you could feel his heartbeat through his shirt. Will once again stated that he wanted a drink, this time adding that he’d bring you back a glass of wine, before walking away. You stared after him, cursing yourself for hurting him.

~

“It’s fucking freezing out here.”

You turned your head to see William walking towards you, two glasses of wine in hand. One of them was almost empty, he placed the other one on the balustrade in front of you. After he left you on the dance floor you escaped through the balcony door, hiding out in the dark since. William didn’t sound mad, or particularly sad either for that matter, and you almost wondered if he had forgotten about the whole thing. He didn’t meet your gaze, but discarded his suit jacket and handed it to you without a word.

“You don’t-“

“Take it,” he interrupted you, not rudely but with a soft and determined voice. “I’m guessing you’re out here thinking and I’m not letting you freeze to death before we’ve had a chance to talk about it.”

He had not forgotten. With a sigh you accepted the jacket, slipping it on while quietly thanking him. You could feel him watch you for a bit before turning and leaning down over the railing, looking out over the dark garden. You did the same, sipping carefully on your wine.

“What’s on your mind?” He asked after a while. You closed your eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” When you didn’t answer him William sighed. He shuffled closer, until your arms were touching, and bumped into you softly. “It’s fine babe. I shouldn’t have said what I said, I know better than to surprise you like that.”

You knew he was trying to make you feel better, to shift some of the blame from your shoulders to his, but his words only made you spiral.

“You said that earlier too.” You put you glass down and turned enough to look at him. Will raised an eyebrow. “Why do you say that? Do you always feel like you have to think about what you say to me?”

Your boyfriend watched you for a second, contemplating how to handle the question. With a slight shrug he turned to lean his back against the railing, eyes still on you.

“I don’t know. Maybe a bit.”

“Why?”

“Because you react the way you do. The first time I called you my girlfriend you didn’t talk to me for a week.”

“You were on a roadtrip.” You tried to defend yourself but the look William gave you had you press your lips shut again.

“You didn’t answer my calls. When I told you I love you for the first time you freaked out too, asking me to take it back for days before you finally accepted it.” He reached to grab his wineglass, taking a sip. You stared at him for a few seconds before you had to look away, trying to comprehend what he was saying. You knew you had the occasional trouble with, say feelings, but you hadn’t realized that it was so obvious until now. Your boyfriend was standing right next to you, calling you out for being emotional unavailable, and you felt the familiar feeling of utter disgust for yourself settle in your chest.

“I’m sorry.” You said again. Will turned his head to look at you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes.

“For what?” He asked again and you had trouble deciphering his voice. He could be mad, or sad, or completely unbothered.

“For being difficult.”

Things were quiet for a second before Will moved. At first you thought he was walking away but then he placed his glass down before pushing away from the railing. A moment later he was standing right in front of you, hands smoothing down your arms before they landed on your hips.

“Look at me.” You shook your head, but William squeezed your hips to let you know he wouldn’t budge. “Look at me.” When you finally did he was staring down at you, the softest expression on his face. You felt your cheeks heat up.

“I don’t mean to be so-“ you started, but William hushed you with a gentle shake of his head.

“Listen to me.” When he could tell you weren’t going to disrupt him he began, voice mellow and sweet. “You’re not difficult. Peculiar? Yes. Confusing? Sometimes. Jumpy? Sure. But not difficult. Sure, sometimes I wish that you felt secure enough to not have to second guess me, or us, or anything else. But you do, and I know you do, and I know you can’t help it. It’s not difficult, it’s the way you are and I love you, apprehensiveness and all.”

“But I don’t want you to have to catch yourself before you speak around me.” You sighed.

“I don’t. Or, well I kind of do. Sometimes. Rarely.” When you didn’t seem convinced he reached up to gently cup your face, thumbs stroking over your cheeks. “Look. Sometimes I refrain from saying certain stuff because I know it’ll make you anxious. Sometimes you do the same to me, like after a bad game, right? It doesn’t bother me. Think of it like proof of how well we know each other, how much we care.” Your eyes flickered between his for a moment and you knew he was being genuine. When you offered a small nod, showing him you accepted the explanation, he smiled. William wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tight against his body, and you tucked your head in underneath his chin.

“You’re so good.” You mumbled, hands gripping his shirt. “Too good.” You really meant it. You’d never thought you’d find someone like him, someone so soft and kind and gentle and funny and understanding. He was the whole package, everything you needed.

William hummed, pressing a few kisses against the top of your head. “You’re pretty good too, you know.”

[all-about-kyu]

Summary: Both you and Taeyong love waking up to slow, soft sex early in the morning. Pairing: Taeyong x fem!reader Tropes: established relationship au, soulmate au (mind link/shared dreams) Genre: smut Rating: R 18+ Warnings: soul links, language Smut Warnings: unprotected sex, somnophilia, grinding Word Count: 600 Host Tags: @sanjoongie @thelargefrye Note: sorry this is late!! Things happened at home Before You Interact February Filth Masterlist

Listen to ♡ Velvet by EXID

You wake before Taeyong does most days. Most days, you both are up and running out the door for work. Then, there are days like today. The rays of the sun shine through the sheer white curtains. (After coming home late last night, you forgot to draw the heavier ones that block out the light.). Taeyong’s soothing breathing adds just the slightest bit of noise to the quiet space. You hardly awake yourself and debate falling back to sleep. Instead, you catch a glimpse of your soulmate’s dream through your mind link. It’s just the two of you on a cute little picnic date in some flowery field. It’s cute in every sense of the word. Normally, you don’t intend to see Taeyong’s dreams, often times you leave him to his dreams in peace. For some reason, today, you just couldn’t block it out. You roll over and look at your boyfriend. He seems entirely peaceful other than his eyebrows being furrowed.

Letting out a soft breath, you close your eyes and mentally step through the link between your minds. The doorway of sorts is wide open. You find yourself in Taeyong’s dream a moment later and are pleasantly surprised to see what he dreams about. Immediately you’re greeted with the feeling of your boyfriend fully inside you. His face is tucked into your shoulder as he smoothly and methodically thrusts into you.

That’s another thing about your mind links, when you step into the space, you are actually a part of the dream or any other content that occupies the space. You’ll often find Taeyong stepping into the shared space to just hang out and talk when you’re apart. Now though, you’ve taken the place of your dream self and are so happy you did.

Clinging to him, you let out a broken moan. Each thrust is perfectly angled to brush up against your g-spot. Taeyong starts placing placing kisses along your neck and shoulder. The sensation sends chills up and down your spine.

“Hi, sweetheart, you finally join me?” He gasps.

“Yongie–” you moan, “Feels so good.”

“I should’ve gotten you in here quicker, fuck, I’m not gonna last.”

You wrap your legs around his waist, hoping to urge him to go faster. The heat in your belly is starting to become a fire. You’re still very much sleepy, but the feeling of your boyfriend inside you has you more desperate than you could ever describe. Taeyong gently pulls your legs around his waist and pulls you onto his lap. Now you can properly see the landscape of his dream. You’re in a stunning, vibrantly colored valley. Taeyong doesn’t give you long to process your surroundings before he’s thrusting up into you at a pace that makes you see stars.

“Fuck– I’m gonna cum, baby.” Taeyong groans, peppering kisses against your chest.

Before you can respond, you’re startled out of the dreamscape. You open your eyes to see yourself cuddled up against Taeyong’s chest. He groans and rubs his eyes before looking over at you. He doesn’t say a word; instead, he leans in and kisses you softly. Rolling over to be over you, he lets one of his hands wander down your side to rub small circles into your waist. You gasp as he slots himself between your legs and starts grinding against you. Nothing could beat mornings like this. The feeling of your soulmate loving you and you love him. Being able to share such a strong connetion without any words being exchanged. All of it was so velvety and warm. You never want to leave.

COPYRIGHT STARLITMARK 2024© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED — reposting/modifying any fic or piece of original writing posted on this blog is not allowed. Translations are not permitted. 

Networks: @cultofdionysusnet @kwritersworld @k-vanity

Tag List: @bratty-tingz @yeosangiess @minjaeluver @abbietwilight @wooyoungmybelovedhusband

[twistedchatterbox]

insatiable

Summary. No plot

tags. Jade Leech. This gets suggestive though it is not explicit, GN-ish reader? This was written for me by me though, You/your pronouns, your boyfie sleeps without his shirt on, he hides his sweater so that you gotta cuddle him instead, some making out? idfk, fluff, slice of life, domestic fluff, college AU if you know me, SFW intimacy, skin-to-skin contact, cuddly loverboy for you, no beta we overblot like men and this drained me of life, tumblr refused to process it for over seven times ffs

Wordcount; 2000+ | Masterlist & Taglist

Cold; it's late at night, or too early in the morning, but either way you lay awake in the arms of your soulmate, clicking away at a console to tire yourself out until you can sleep again. The winter time weather's thawing meant for more rain, yet the white noise couldn't be further from your mind, not able to relax as his body unconsciously and habitually sought after yours, your touch, clumsy in his sleep yet yearning for you.

His body feels warm against yours, though cooling off, most likely leeching off of your warmth. The thought makes you huff in amusement, faintly shaking your head against the pillow, making yourself comfier in the process, and making him seemingly more aware of you as well. Touch of his nose against your shoulder blade makes you tense at how cold that part is specifically, eliciting shivers down your spine when he cuddles up right against your back, holding you against his body with nothing separating skin-on-skin contact between you two. Well, the knowledge of your boyfriend sleeping shirtless and hooking his limbs around was surely stirring you awake into what could be considered a good time as well as torture for your racing heart. Whether fueled by you, or his ever curious wandering hands, you are not sure, but you will settle for the answer of both, swaying in favour of the latter when he lazily repositions himself, caging you within his body, curled up like a shrimp as if trying to protect you in his sleep. The idea makes your gaze soften in adoration, even if your feeling heart continues to march on far too fast for your liking; unable to hold still as the object of your affections nuzzles and cuddles his face further onto the spot where the side of your neck meets your collarbones. You unhurriedly save your process before turning off your console, feeling that you won’t be focused enough to get anything useful done somewhere in the back of your mind. Carefully placing it back into its holder within your nightstand, a plastic divider separating it from the couple of jewellery boxes that held your boyfriend’s piercings and such, you close the drawer. The half asleep vicewarden half-trills, not awake enough to stir from your momentary reach, he settles for gently squeezing you as he cuddles you back into place like a body pillow, acting very adorably similar to a koala. You smile at the passing thought, momentarily pausing to slow down and properly admire such a cute mental image closer as it fills you to the brim with the happy feeling you’ve grown to call love. Some days you feel so emotionally fulfilled knowing that only you get to see him like this. And that train of thought abruptly reaches a stop when he slips in his knee, bringing you out of your love dazed daydream, his thigh moving between your thighs and drawing up until it reaches the apex between, unsure of how awake he is, you try to hold as still as you can. Thankfully, he was happy enough in dreamland to settle for that, for reasons unknown to you. You take another moment to note how he has subtly shifted in place while you were deeper in thought, namely, the way his face now rested comfortably against your hair, making you unable to ignore the warmth breathes that traveled down your neck. Sighing, you close your eyes and simply let yourself rest against the bicep below your head, your hands just resting idly next to your body. High waisted, soft pyjama shorts unaccompanied of the matching blouse, you lean back into your boyfriend’s body for warmth under the covers. Knowing him, he stuffed his sweater, your favourite, under his pillow, making it more convenient to cuddle him instead. Not that he’d ever admit if you called him out on it, but really, there was no reason to. You enjoyed having a convenient excuse to enjoy this, it was mutually beneficial banter if anything; and some part of you rolled eyes at that train of ideas, perhaps the benevolent dorm of dubious arrangements brought the worst(best) out of you in this regard. Your thoughts began to act as your white noise. Unable to pinpoint when the white noise turned static, resting hearts and soft breathing filled the room. You dreamt of something idle, dreaming nothing, yet accompanied by the smell of mushrooms and coffee, the serenity-inducing scent of rain and earth mixed like a wonderful blend of things that felt a lot like love. Something in the back of your mind stirred out of sleep, barely dragging you up with it, far too warm to consider opening your eyes until a pair of cold hands made way onto your bare skin; making your soul flinch out of your body like a knee-jerk reaction, as your thighs trapped his where it idly rested. Damn-near fully conscious, you blink once, twice, slowly allowing your mind to catch upon your body. Your boyfriend hugging you was one of the first things, feeling his bare chest against your back made you shiver for reasons unrelated to the cold night time temperatures of octavinelle. And as your mind cleared enough to focus on sound, you heard trills. It almost sounded like crooning noises, muffled by his face buried in the tangled mess of hair he surely contributed to the making of. Next, the sheets, which were a jumbled mess, unlike the now-rare times he slept on his own, the soft comforter and everything were folded and skewed around, pulled and pushed off, half-half, so-so and most definitely a mess. The sweatpants he put on the prior night ever so slightly slipping off by the side of his hip, which you can feel very clearly, yet choose not to for the sake of your own clarity, Surely, not meant to last for long if he had a say in it, leaning down to nuzzle and press sloppy, sleepy kisses up and down the pulse beating against your neck. The beat of your heart raced– but maybe it wasn’t yours, maybe it –your heart–, really was for him to keep. Some part of you becomes sure of it when you feel the rows of teeth, sharp, giving you the softest nip he can manage. Not wanting to prick you by accident, and perhaps it was habitual, if the rumbling noise from his chest in response to you tucking hair out of his way is anything to go by. You blink away some sleep caught in the corners of your eye, opening them properly.Morning.. you attempt to say, to greet him, yet It’s barely a whisper, drowned out by the drowsiness and the sea of sleep in your body...you sighed; alright, you could improvise. Above your shoulder, you can see.. light rays peeking through the curtain. Light often does not reach the octavinelle dorms, for most people, the dorm is resided and encased in cold, deep depths beneath the waters’ surface, though some days you find yourself amused by the idea of it having a comedic vendetta against your beloved; as it passes through the curtains, landing right on his eyes. You swear you feel bad, you swear you do internally to yourself but you must laugh if not at the comedic irony, then at the sour, pouty expression of Jade’s, and the way he stubbornly hides himself from light’s way by acting like a cat, nuzzling onto you, face first. Jade makes an immensely upset and sulky noise, though you can hear it in his voice that it’s not against you. He really is not a morning person, you giggle, placing your palm above his eyes in mercy. He sighs,content with your touch, and being as cuddly as he is, makes no resistance when you softly tug onto his arm; making himself comfortable and snug with his arms wrapped around your hips and waist, leaning on one cheek as his head rests on your collarbone, right above your chest; comfortable with your new arrangement, you wiggle a little to make it cosy and settle your hands within his hair, soothing it out in slow, relaxing motions that make him trill and croon. Once again, you compare the cunning, widely feared vice warden to a cuddly, lovey teddy bear. Or.. teddy-eel? Well, you weren’t awake enough to care about shower thoughts. As the idle, repeating motion goes on and you are lulled by the white noise of water, too awake to fall asleep again, yet unwilling to leave the bed, you resort to watching the aquatic life of the dorm’s outside waters, reflected by the mirror on the door with half-lidded eyes. And, really, the feeling of your boyfriend’s sizable hands- now warm, you sigh in relief- redirecting your attention towards him was to be expected from you, knowing just how cuddly he really is; only for him to squeeze the skin and softness in his palms ,making you more flustered than you’d like to admit for how often it’d happen. His hands repeated his previous gesture, softer. His voice was whispered and mumbled against your skin, the volume akin to his soft breathing, yet you found it so easy to focus and hear over your own heartbeat, which beat like a drum in your ears. He murmured mostly to himself, half awake and nuzzling his cheek against the pulsing vein on your neck, clearly enjoying himself. His talented, uncalloused hands rubbed circles on the sides of your hips, letting go so that he could properly hug you from behind, encircling his arms around you. Slowly, you reach out to him with one hand, following muscle memory to tuck the long stand of his hair behind his ear, relishing in the way he nuzzles into your palm, making you lose your breath as you can sort out the distinctive feel of a smile on his pretty face. You do not hear the words, but you feel them on his lips, and you feel the rumble of its soft nature resting against his lungs. Good Morning. You feel the rumbling of it against your back, it’s pleasant. He slowly closes in on you, unhurried, sleepily and guided by muscle memory, closing the gap between your lips and his; you meet him in the middle where a sigh melts into an exchange of feather light kisses, only when the kisses begin to last longer, when he keeps diving in for more, you close your eyes under his intense gaze.Feeling the air in your lungs grow thin; finding a stable hold on his hair, you try not to tug too hard, pushing lightly when you need to pull away. He slowly lowers  himself to rest his forehead against yours, nuzzling his nose onto your cheek in amusement when he opens his eyes, not even sure at which point he closed those, and sees you well-kissed, well-blushed, and certainly well-loved. Feeling dizzy by the end of the exchange, no longer sure where it began or ended, you let him settle as he wishes, obviously happy with himself as he held you like a little spoon, once again.

Nuzzling against your hair, Jade lets out a sigh that sounds far too relieved to be unintentional, and you swear his pupils have dilated enough to cover the colour of his two toned eyes back then- though it was hard to tell with his eyes being nearly closed. ”-You just look so tasty-” he mumbles with a chuckle that only means trouble, the playful kind that makes both of you late on any other day, he faux-nipped onto a lock of hair, making sure not to make a mess of it, “-I might just never have enough” ; and you might just be starting to believe him if he keeps whispering these things against your ear. it was all entirely silent from there, the waters as white noise and humming tunes.. Until; Jade smile against the crown of your head, mischievous in tone, “Hm~ Darling, We were quite.. pressed up close and personal in our sleep, it seems” He hints, “it was quite lovely to wake up to.” Jade emphasizes, pressing his knee against the back of your legs- Oh.  “Oh fuck you-” You laugh, hsyterical when you meet Jade’s gaze and see his playful expression as he raised his eyebrows. “I might just take you up on that offer next time, my treasure-” he says, probably jokingly in a sing-song tune, and you lose it; while he gazes tenderly, nuzzling into your hair. 

[starlostt5]

Jeans

pairing: spencer reid x f!reader

summary: you have a breakdown over finding new jeans

a/n: hello! my first fic on this acc I have a marvel acc that I have neglected so I'm starting fresh! This is for the girlies with killer thighs who I assume have had the same problem as me finding the jeans that fit properly!!!!

warnings: probably mistakes English isn't my first language and also I haven't written anything for months so I'm rusty

___________________________________________

"Fuck!"

Spencer pokes his head from the bathroom at your profanity, checking to see if everything is okay.

"Sweetheart, you okay?"

You look at your boyfriend and he can tell something is wrong, not because he's a profiler but because there's tears threatening to spill.

"These are the fourth jeans this month alone."

The jeans you've just now ripped were the last ones you've had, which only could mean one thing. Jean shopping was necessary.

"Baby, that's okay I'll take you to get new ones. It's okay."

Spencer knows he said something wrong when you give him the look - annoyance and frustration in your eyes.

"You just don't get it."

Maybe you sound dramatic, and yeah, you know he wants to help, but that wasn't what you wanted to hear so you dramatically flop on the bed and sigh.

"Okay, tell me what can I do for you?" You groan into your pillow.

"Nothing Spence, let's just go get new jeans."

Spencer texts Emily that there has been an emergency and he won't be able to come to work today, which you tried to stop him from doing because this could wait - apparently not.

"Let's go." Spencer grabs your hand and leads you out.

Spencer severely miscalculated the amount of time it would take you to find jeans - you did tell him this is a process, but he didn't expect that after 3 hours you've gotten 0 jeans.

"I give up. This is hopeless. " You walk out of the fitting room trying so hard not to cry, but this always happens.

"They don't fit properly everywhere. They are either too tight on thighs or they are too wide on my hips or both, or they're too long or short, they have no pockets and if they do they are too small. Oh and get this, when you go to the plus-size store, they get more expensive. Why?I can't even order anything online because the sizes are different everywhere and I-" Spencer pulls you into his chest and caresses your back, drawing circles trying to calm you down.

He never thought about this because he's never had that issue and now it makes sense you've been upset this morning. Now he was even upset at himself for not understanding earlier.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm sorry I didn't understand. Tell you what, let's take a break for ice cream or whatever you want."

Sometimes, you don't believe Spencer is real and even better he's yours.

"Okay sounds good."

While taking a break, Spencer has been thinking about you and how stressful this is for you both physically and mentally.

"What you thinking about so hard, Doc." Spencer chuckles at your pet name for him, you love Back to The Future and Spencer, well he has some issues with how time travel was done, but he likes the pet name anyways.

"I'm thinking how to fix this. Why are jeans so hard to find? That's not fair."

"Spence, you can't just fix the system. This is just how it is. Besides, this wasn't so bad you were there."

Spencer frowns. How many times have you gone on a hunt for jeans without him, if this was "not so bad" how does it look when he's not here.

"Baby, that doesn't help. Is there anything I can do for you?" Spencer asks, holding your hand.

"Uh, you're the fbi call every single company that makes jeans and tell them to make better jeans." you joke, but Spencer gets an idea.

"You know what you're right."

You look at him quizzically, trying to figure out what your genius is going to do.

"Don't worry about it let's go home we're done for today."

*some days later*

Spencer gets the notification that his package is almost home, and he's genuinely excited for you to get this gift. Unfortunately, he won't be there to open it with you, but he's sure you'll love it.

As if on cue his phone rings.

"Hey, Spence, something arrived in your name, I didn't know you ordered anything?" you look at the box in your hands trying to figure out what it is.

"Yeah, I forgot to tell you." you scoff, Spencer is literally unable to forget anything.

"Okay, I lied, that's a surprise for you, but promise not to open it before I'm able to face time you okay?" Spencer can feel your excitement and impatience from miles away, but after some sweet talking, you finally promise not to even take a peek.

"Loverboy, the surprise go well?" Derek asks, ruffling Spencers hair.

"I don't know yet. I am like 90% sure that she'll like my surprise but there's always a chance she doesn't so." Everyone rolls their eyes at his reply and continue talking about the case.

Finally, after getting to the hotel, Spencer showers and calls you, excited to have you see the surprise.

"Hi, honey." Spencer chuckles at seeing you with a box opener in your hand and box inches from you.

"I wasn't gonna open it."

"Sure you weren't. Go on, baby." You huff and open the box carefully, hoping there wasn't anything breakable. You might have shook it a couple of times but he didn't need to know that.

Your eyes open wide in surprise, you look at the box and then at Spencer and then again at the box.

You pull out the pair of jeans from the box and look at them.

"Try them on."

"Spence what is this?" you ask looking through the box counting 6 pairs of jeans with no tag or size on them.

"They're jeans for you! Remember how you said I'm the fbi and I should call everyone and tell them to make better jeans?" the disbelief on your face makes him smile.

"Well I didn't do exactly that. But... I did use some connections in the fbi. Anyways try them on"

Not knowing what else to do, you just do that.

"Spencer."

"These are perfect like they fit like they were made for me."

"It's because they were, and if some of them don't fit, let me know if I need to have a talk with the person to fix them."

You can't believe your boyfriend literally went out of his way and had someone make you a perfect pair of jeans.

"I... I don't know what to say. You're literally the best and no these are perfect. How?"

"Well, I had Garcia research some people and then I found them and then had Derek meet some of them to threaten them to do a good job and yeah."

He says that like it's the most normal thing to say, like he's listing groceries.

"I love you. Not because of the jeans just-"

"I know, I know, but try all of them on. Also, I personally wouldn't mind if you lost the shirt you know because it's gonna overshadow the jeans you know?"

"Spencer!"

[the end]

__________________________________________

hope you enjoyed.

likes comments and reblogs are appreciated <3

[steventhusiast]

more autistic steve with ARFID (avoidant restrictive food intake disorder) because i’m having the worst time i think i’ve ever had in my life and can only cope by projecting :] CW: disordered eating

part 1

—

steve’s pretty sure he’s never hated himself more than he does in this moment.

he’s perched on the edge of the couch, one knee bouncing with anxiety, and in front of him on the coffee table sits a homecooked meal. eddie’s gone through the process of making him a plate of mac and cheese from a box, which is a big deal because eddie is not a great cook. but he still made this for steve.

so there’s this lovely, warm meal sitting in front of steve that he used to love, and all he can do is stare at it. in the background, sounding somewhat fuzzy and muted to his ears as he continues his staring, he can hear eddie singing to himself as he cleans up the kitchen, and the sound of a sitcom laugh track as family ties plays on the tv.

after a minute, eddie comes to sit next to him, and gently puts a hand on his knee to help slow down the bouncing.

“hey, no pressure, okay? you eat what you can.” eddie says as he rubs his thumb back and forth over steve’s knee. the words should feel comforting, but they sit like guilt in steve’s gut.

he desperately wants to eat the food, knows it will make him feel less tired and sustain him more than the junk food he’s been managing recently, but it’s hard. it’s like he can hear boss music in his mind as he picks up a fork and stabs a single piece of macaroni.

he manages to put it in his mouth, counts to 20 as he chews and works himself up to be able to swallow it, and then has to jump up from his seat and pace as he feels it go down his throat. eddie startles a little as he does so, and he shakes his hands out at his sides as he walks back and forth, back and forth in front of the tv.

it feels like cement in his throat, doesn’t feel like it goes all the way down as the sensation of food being in his throat and chest lingers uncomfortably.

“stevie, can you take a breath for me?” eddie tries, but steve shakes his head vehemently and continues his walking. as the seconds go by, his steps get slower and less frantic, and eventually he picks up the fork again, repeats the process.

this is the first time eddie’s really seen him struggle with food properly. steve knows he knew, because they’ve talked about it a lot, but this is the first time eddie’s seeing it. steve’s filled with embarrassment, but he can’t cope with the task of eating without his pacing, without his hands flapping, without fighting back tears and feeling like he’s choking each bite down.

it doesn’t go like this every time. there are safe foods that are easier to get down, and some days where eating feels more like a normal part of his every day. but today? today it feels like he’s been tasked with eating rocks.

“can’t do it.” he whispers out after five pieces of macaroni.

he falls back onto the couch, and eddie’s hand is immediately pulling him into him by the waist so he can try to comfort him. steve’s a little shocked to feel tears on his face as he smushes it against eddie’s shoulder.

“can’t, can’t, can’t…” he whimpers, and eddie’s hand settles on his hip, rubbing gentle circles into him.

“shh, it’s okay. i’m proud of you for trying.”

steve shakes his head against eddie’s shoulder. how pathetic is he, that his boyfriend has to be proud of him for managing to eat five pieces of food from a kids meal?

eventually, he stops hiding his face in eddie’s shoulder, and vacantly watches the tv. tears are still dripping down his face, slow and steady, but now that he’s stopped eating, he feels like he’ll be okay. he just has to give his body an hour and he won’t be able to feel the measly amount he ate sitting like rocks in his stomach.

hopefully, anyway.

-

part 3

[ladysif8]

Something Sweet

•Pairing: Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes

•Rating: General Audience

•Tags: Recovering Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, Captain America Steve Rogers, Bucky is learning to cook/bake, Domestic Bliss, Fluff, Boys in love, kissing, cuteness

•Summary: In the wake of Bucky's liberation from HYDRA, he and Steve have settled into a quiet small town in upstate New York, making a home together. Bucky is dedicated to his recovery, driven by his desire to better himself for both his own sake and for his loving, patient, and kind boyfriend, Steve. As Bucky reflects on his journey, he realizes that he has never properly apologized to Steve for the pain he caused. Determined to express his remorse in a meaningful way, Bucky decides that the best way to say "I'm sorry" is by baking a cake.

Bucky sits at the small wooden table in Steve's apartment, eyes fixed on the laptop screen in front of him with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity. The soft hum of the machine seems almost menacing to him. Despite being kept up to date on technology by A.I.M. and HYDRA, this is the first time he's ever freely been able to use a computer, and even that freedom feels precarious. His fingers hover uncertainly over the keyboard as if the laptop might spring to life and attack at any moment.

The room is dimly lit by a single lamp, casting shadows that dance across the walls and give the space an almost surreal atmosphere. Steve is in the kitchen, giving Bucky space but keeping an eye on him, ready to help if needed. The thought of General Ross and the Accords looms large in Bucky's mind. He knows they are chomping at the bit to get their grubby, dirty government hands on him, watching his every move even now. The weight of their surveillance is a constant pressure, turning this simple act of using a computer into an act of defiance.

He takes a deep breath, reminding himself that he's safe here and that Steve has his back. But the anxiety lingers, a reminder of the shadows of his past. As he finally begins to type, the clack of the keys feels like a small victory, a step toward reclaiming his autonomy.

Bucky's fingers tentatively move over the keyboard as he types "cake recipe" into the search bar. Memories of his mother's cakes surface, the warm, comforting aroma filling their modest home during the Great Depression. Those cakes were simple, made from whatever scarce ingredients they could find, but they were a rare treat that brought a sense of normalcy and joy in hard times.

Now, in this new age, he knows that food has evolved, that flavors have been enhanced, and recipes perfected. As he scrolls through the search results, images of decadent, elaborately decorated cakes make him feel both excited and a bit overwhelmed.

He can't help but chuckle as he thinks about his ongoing disagreement with Sam about bananas. Sam insists they taste the same as always, but Bucky is convinced they're different now, their flavor altered by something intangible but noticeable to him. Then again, he muses, Sam's judgment is questionable. After all, Sam did choose to help Steve save his ass, a decision that might not have been entirely based on sound logic.

He clicks on a recipe that looks promising: apple cake with an apple pie filling and cinnamon buttercream. The combination of flavors sounds both comforting and delicious, a perfect blend of old and new. Feeling a surge of confidence, Bucky decides he can definitely handle this.

Reaching for the notepad and pencil next to him, he starts jotting down the ingredients:

- Apples

- Flour

- Sugar

- Eggs

- Butter

- Cinnamon

- Baking powder

- Salt

- Vanilla extract

- Brown sugar

- Powdered sugar

- Heavy cream

As he writes, he envisions the process: the smell of apples and cinnamon filling Steve's apartment, the satisfaction of creating something from scratch. It's a small step toward reclaiming a sense of normalcy and peace.

Bucky is so absorbed in his list that he doesn't hear Steve approaching. Steve's hands on his shoulders startle him, and he quickly closes the browser and covers his notes.

"What're you up to?" Steve asks, peering over Bucky's shoulder.

"Nothing," Bucky replies, looking up with a forced smile.

Steve raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical but thankfully deciding not to press the issue. "Sam and I are heading out for a few hours. You wanna come?"

Bucky wrinkles his nose at the idea, making Steve chuckle. "Didn't think so," Steve says, dipping his head down to give Bucky a quick kiss.

Before Steve can pull away, Bucky grabs the back of his head, holding him there to deepen the kiss, savoring the moment. When they finally part, Steve's smile is softer and more understanding. "Alright, see you later," Steve says, giving Bucky's shoulders a reassuring squeeze before heading out.

As the door closes behind Steve, Bucky watches him go, a smile lingering on his lips. Steve has been incredibly patient with him these past several months. Though it's technically been a year since he was liberated, adjusting to this new life hasn't been easy.

Bucky's court-appointed therapist, Doctor Raynor, has diagnosed him with PTSD. They called it combat or battle fatigue back in the day, but Bucky is thankful that mental health care has made significant advancements since then. He's been dealing with nightmares, dissociation, and a pervasive sense of being disconnected from reality.

Doctor Raynor has emphasized the importance of positive touch in his recovery. Simple gestures like holding hands, resting his feet on Steve's lap, or letting Steve massage his feet have become crucial parts of his healing process. These moments of contact help ground him, reminding him that he is safe and cared for.

Bucky pads to his and Steve's bedroom, the wooden floor cool under his bare feet. He opens the closet and grabs a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, then heads to the bathroom. Turning on the shower, he steps under the hot water, letting it wash away the lingering tension from his muscles.

He showers quickly, savoring the warmth, then wraps a towel around his waist as he steps out. Standing in front of the mirror, he shaves his face with practiced precision, then works some product into his short hair, styling it just the way he likes. Pleased with his appearance, he glances at his Vibranium arm, its sleek design a constant reminder of his past and his resilience. He's starting to not remember a time when he didn't have this arm; its presence is now a familiar part of him.

With a deep breath, he walks back into the bedroom and gets dressed, the comfortable routine grounding him further. Ready for the day ahead, he feels a small but significant sense of accomplishment.

Bucky grabs his wallet, phone, and keys, almost forgetting his list in the process. He quickly snatches it from the table and heads outside. The bay door is open, and Steve's motorcycle is missing from the garage. He hopes his boyfriend has a good time with Sam.

Unlocking his gray 2021 Chevy Tahoe, Bucky climbs in and immediately starts the air conditioner, relishing the cool air. He backs out of the driveway, spotting his neighbor Lydney sitting on her front porch with baby Jenson. Bucky gives them a wave, receiving a friendly smile in return.

He drives through the quiet streets of Beacon, a charming town in upstate New York. The serene atmosphere and friendly community have been a balm to his mind. As he heads towards the grocery store, he takes a moment to appreciate the peacefulness of his surroundings, feeling grateful for this small slice of normalcy.

Bucky parks the Tahoe and steps out into the warm afternoon. As he walks into the grocery store, the cool, conditioned air is a welcome relief. It's a sweltering 97° outside, the heat index makes it over 100°. He grabs a cart and pulls out his list, ready to gather the ingredients for his apple cake.

Navigating the aisles, he quickly finds the basics: flour, sugar, eggs, butter, cinnamon, and the other essentials. As he reaches the produce section, he carefully selects a few apples, making sure they're firm and fresh. He spots a display of zucchini and pauses. He thinks about the steaks waiting in the fridge in the bourbon marinade he threw together at home and decides to grab a couple of to go with them.

Bucky feels a small sense of satisfaction as he checks off each item on his list. With his cart nearly full, he heads to the checkout, ready to return home.

As Bucky places his groceries on the conveyor belt, the cashier greets him with a friendly smile. "Hey there, how's it going?" he asks while scanning the items.

"Good, thanks," Bucky replies, offering a polite smile in return.

"Man, it's been a hot one today, hasn't it?" the cashier continues, making small talk as he works.

"Yeah, feels like summer's really kicking in," Bucky responds, trying to engage despite his usual aversion to small talk.

The cashier chuckles. "Tell me about it. I've been counting down the minutes until I can get out of here and hit the lake."

Bucky nods, appreciating the cashier's enthusiasm. "Sounds like a good plan. Hope you get to cool off soon."

The cashier scans the last item and starts bagging the groceries. "What about you? Got any plans to beat the heat?"

"Just gonna stay inside and do some baking," Bucky says, holding up his list as if to prove it.

"Baking in this weather? Brave soul," the cashier teases, handing Bucky his receipt. "Well, good luck with that. Have a great day!"

"Thanks, you too," Bucky replies, loading the bags into his cart. He heads back to the Tahoe, feeling a bit more accomplished for having engaged in a bit of friendly banter, however small.

Bucky stands in front of his KitchenAid mixer, eyeing it a little dubiously. The shiny, red machine gleams on the countertop, its various attachments neatly laid out in the cabinet next to it. It was a recent gift from Steve, who had noticed Bucky spending more time in the kitchen and thought he could use a top-notch tool to help with his culinary experiments.

He hasn't had a chance to use it yet, but today feels like the perfect opportunity. "Why not?" he mutters to himself, determined to make good use of Steve's thoughtful gift.

Bucky grabs his laptop, setting it up on the counter beside the mixer. He pulls up the apple cake recipe and begins measuring out his ingredients. Flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt go into the bowl first, followed by a careful measurement of cinnamon. He cracks the eggs and adds them to the mix, followed by softened butter and vanilla extract.

He takes a moment to look at the instructions again, ensuring he's not missing any steps. Satisfied, he attaches the paddle to the mixer and secures the bowl in place. With a deep breath, he turns the mixer on, but he must have set it to a higher speed than intended.

The mixer roars to life, and within seconds, flour and other ingredients are catapulted out of the bowl. Bucky's eyes widen in shock as a cloud of flour engulfs him, covering his hair, face, and clothes. The mess doesn't stop there—ingredients splatter onto the kitchen cabinets, and a fine layer of flour settles over his laptop screen.

Bucky stands frozen for a moment, then bursts out laughing at the absurdity of the situation. He's covered in flour from head to toe, and the kitchen is a disaster zone of scattered ingredients.

"Well, that's one way to use it," he mutters, shaking his head as he starts to clean up. Despite the mishap, he can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. It's a new kind of battle, and even though he's ended up covered in flour, he's ready to try again.

Bucky has finally cleaned up the mess, wiping down the counters, cabinets, and his flour-dusted laptop. With everything back in order, he takes a deep breath and prepares to try again. This time, he sets Marvin Gaye's "Got to Give It Up" playing softly from his laptop, letting the smooth rhythm fill the kitchen and lift his spirits.

He re-measures the flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt, carefully adding them to the mixer bowl. The eggs, butter, and vanilla extract follow, and he attaches the paddle to the mixer once more. With a cautious hand, he turns the mixer on at the lowest speed, watching as the ingredients blend smoothly together.

Relief washes over him as the batter comes together perfectly. The oven is already preheated and ready to go. But just as he's about to pour the batter, he realizes he doesn't have any cake pans. He rummages through the cabinets, searching for something suitable. Finally, he spots a square disposable metal pan tucked in the back.

He shrugs. "That'll do," he says to himself.

Pouring the batter into the pan, he smooths it out evenly and slides it into the oven. The kitchen is filled with the comforting scent of baking cake, and Bucky can't help but feel a sense of accomplishment.

As the cake bakes, Bucky turns his attention to the cinnamon buttercream. He pulls out the ingredients: butter, powdered sugar, cinnamon, vanilla extract, and heavy cream. With a determined smile, he begins the process.

He softens the butter in the mixer bowl, this time being extra careful to start on a low speed. Gradually, he adds the powdered sugar, watching as it blends smoothly with the butter. Next comes the cinnamon and vanilla extract, filling the kitchen with a warm, spicy aroma. He adds a splash of heavy cream, increasing the mixer's speed slightly to achieve a fluffy, smooth consistency. Satisfied, he tastes a bit and nods in approval. Perfect.

With the buttercream ready, Bucky sets it aside and starts on the apple pie filling. He peels and chops the apples, then places them in a saucepan with some brown sugar, cinnamon, and a hint of nutmeg. As the mixture begins to simmer, the apples soften, and the sugar caramelizes, creating a rich, fragrant filling.

He stirs the apples gently, ensuring they cook evenly. The smell of cinnamon and caramelized apples fills the kitchen, blending harmoniously with the scent of the baking cake. Bucky takes a moment to appreciate the comforting aromas, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction as he prepares each component.

The cake is nearly done, and with the buttercream and apple pie filling ready, he knows he's close to completing his culinary creation. He checks the timer, eager to assemble the cake and see the final result.

With the cake finally cooled, Bucky knows he needs to improvise. He carefully removes the cake from the pan, using a knife to cut it in half horizontally. Gently, he lifts the top layer off and sets it aside. He spreads the apple pie filling evenly over the bottom layer, then carefully places the top layer back on, pressing down lightly to secure it.

Realizing he doesn't have all the baking tools he Bucky makes do with what he has. He spreads the cinnamon buttercream over the top and sides of the cake, smoothing it as best as he can with a spatula. He then adds a few drops of black food coloring to a small amount of the buttercream, mixing it until it reaches a rich, dark color. He scoops the colored icing into a Ziploc bag and cuts a tiny corner off, fashioning a makeshift piping bag.

As he stands there, ready to decorate, he ponders what to write on the cake. Logically, he knows Steve understands that he's sorry for everything he did as the Winter Soldier, but he's never actually said it out loud. It's something Doctor Raynor has encouraged him to do—expressing his feelings and doing things he wants to do.

Taking a deep breath, Bucky starts piping the words, his hand a bit unsteady but determined. The black icing forms the letters carefully: "I'm Sorry." He steps back to look at his work, the simple yet powerful message standing out against the white cinnamon buttercream.

The cake is far from perfect, but it carries a weight of meaning that makes it special. Bucky knows Steve will appreciate the effort and the sentiment behind it. He smiles, feeling a sense of accomplishment and a small, hopeful step toward healing.

Steve walks in the front door, hanging up his keys on the hook by the entrance. "I'm home!" he calls out, expecting to hear Bucky's reply. He checks his phone and notices a $456 charge from Amazon on his credit card, frowning in confusion. "Buck?" he calls out again but still gets no answer.

Walking further into their cozy two-bedroom, two-bath house, Steve finally spots Bucky out on the back deck, tending to the Blackstone griddle. He opens the door and steps outside, saying, "Hey, baby."

Bucky looks over his shoulder as he flips the steaks. "Hey," he says, a smile spreading across his face. "Did you have a good time?"

Steve leans in to kiss Bucky softly, but Bucky gets a little greedy, pulling Steve back in for a deeper kiss. When they finally part, Steve breathes out, "Yeah, I did. What are you up to?"

"I did some baking," Bucky replies, his eyes twinkling with a mix of pride and mischief.

Steve raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "Baking, huh? Can't wait to see what you've made."

Bucky grins. "You'll see after dinner. Now go get washed up," he says, giving Steve a playful swat on his perfect ass.

Steve chuckles and heads inside, the affectionate touch lingering warmly. Bucky has definitely been lately, seeking physical connection in ways that go beyond Doctor Raynor's recommendations. It's a welcome change, and Steve feels a thrill of anticipation as he washes up, eager to see what Bucky has baked.

Back outside, Bucky tends to the steaks with a newfound lightness in his heart. He can't wait to see Steve's reaction to the cake and the message he's carefully written. It's a step toward healing and an expression of the deep love and regret he feels.

Steve steps back outside, freshened up and ready for dinner. He looks at Bucky with a curious expression. "By the way, do you know anything about the Amazon charges on my card?"

Bucky shrugs casually, a playful glint in his eye. "Yeah, I did some light shopping for the kitchen."

Steve blinks, a bit taken aback by Bucky's choice of words. "Light shopping, huh?" he replies, raising an eyebrow. "I guess that's one way to put it."

Bucky just smiles, trying to keep his expression innocent as he continues to tend to the steaks.

Bucky and Steve sit at the table, the aroma of their meal filling the room. Their plates are generously loaded with bourbon steaks cooked to a perfect medium, sautéed zucchini, onion, and squash, and loaded baked potatoes. Bucky had outdone himself, and the spread looked delicious.

As Steve takes his first bite, his eyes light up. "Buck, baby, this is incredible. The steak is cooked perfectly, and these potatoes are amazing."

Bucky blushes at the praise, a pleased smile spreading across his face. He cuts into his own steak, savoring the flavors, while Steve continues to rave about the meal.

"You know," Steve says between bites, looking at Bucky with a soft smile, "you're really pretty when you blush. Makes everything taste even better."

Bucky's cheeks flush even deeper, his smile growing shy but happy. "Thanks, honey," he murmurs, feeling a warm glow from both the compliment and the successful dinner.

The evening continues with easy conversation and laughter, and the love and affection between them are as evident as the delicious meal Bucky prepares.

Steve pushes away his plate with a satisfied sigh, patting his full stomach. "That was amazing, Buck. You really outdid yourself," he says, leaning back in his chair.

Bucky chuckles softly as he starts to clear the plates. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," he says, picking up the dishes.

Steve begins to stand, but Bucky gently puts a hand on his shoulder. "Stay seated," he says with a smile. "I'll handle this."

Bucky leans down and plants a tender kiss on Steve's lips. "I'll be right back," he adds, his voice warm and reassuring.

Steve nods, a contented smile on his face as he watches Bucky clear the table.

Bucky returns to the table with the cake pan, his face beaming with pride. He sets the cake down in front of Steve, who looks up with a mix of curiosity and anticipation.

Steve's eyes scan the cake, and a smile slowly spreads across his face as he reads the inscription: "I'm sorry I blacked out, then tried to kill you and got us arrested." Unable to contain his amusement, he covers his mouth with his hand to stifle a chuckle.

Bucky's cheeks flush with a blend of embarrassment and affection. He watches Steve's reaction closely, his heart pounding with a mix of nervousness and hope.

Steve finally looks up, his eyes shining with both laughter and love. "You know," he says, his voice tender, "it might not be the most conventional apology, but it's definitely one of the most heartfelt."

Bucky's blush deepens, but he smiles, relieved that Steve appreciates the gesture. "I just wanted you to know how much I mean it," he says softly.

Steve reaches out and takes Bucky's hand, squeezing it gently. "And I appreciate it more than you know." he brings Bucky's hand up to his lips and kisses it. "Now, let's dig into this cake."

Steve cuts a slice of the cake and looks up at Bucky with a curious smile. "Is this what I think it is?" he asks, eyeing the layers and the frosting.

Bucky's smile widens with pride. "Yep, it's apple cake with apple pie filling and cinnamon buttercream."

Steve's eyes light up in delight. "You spoil me, baby," he says, taking a bite. The combination of the tender cake, spiced apple filling, and creamy buttercream is as delicious as he had hoped. "Fuck, Buck, this is amazing."

Bucky watches eagerly as Steve savors the first bite, the satisfaction in his gaze clear. "I'm glad you think so," he says softly, feeling a warm sense of accomplishment.

Steve nods, his expression one of genuine enjoyment. "It's perfect, Buck. Thanks for making this, baby."

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