#the term you are looking for is “girlfriend”

[adieutristana]

Could you do how Jinx would react If you would give her a Love confession similiar to the one lexie gave mark in greys anatomy headcanons?

of course! thank you for being my first request! i’d like to preface this by saying i’ve seen 0% of greys anatomy. i did watch a clip and do some reading but there may still be some inaccuracies, i apologize </3 i did also take a few creative liberties for the sake of drama

i started writing this before act 3 dropped (no spoilers, dw) and now i'm finishing it to cope. LMAO

summary: headcanons for jinx receiving a confession similar to the one mark received in greys anatomy.

characters included: jinx

tags/warnings: fluff, slight hurt/comfort, (happy) crying. lots of fluff

men dni.

✧.* you and jinx were both working under silco before he passed. the news of his passing hit you like a pile of bricks. you had grown relatively close to him- well, as close as one of his employees could grow to him. but you cared for him.

✧.* however, the position paid well, even after silco's passing. so you decided to stay.

✧.* you had also, for lack of a better term, completely fallen for your coworker, jinx.

✧.* unfortunately for you, you had come to this realization while you were in a relationship with somebody else.

✧.* it came as such a shock to you, because you were happy, your girlfriend adored you. you adored your girlfriend. but the more you fell for jinx, the less you could stand to be with your girlfriend and hurt her.

✧.* so, you broke up with her. you told her that she was incredible, that she was a lovely person and you were sorry you couldn’t do more for her. but you were in love with somebody else.

✧.* and that leaves you here. with your colleague who has captured your heart, who you've just finished a successful mission with and wants to celebrate with you. and the fact that she has no idea of your feelings eats at you.

✧.* jinx beaming at you, the rare smile on her face as she makes her way towards you, jumping in excitement.

✧.* the two of you had just made it back to jinx's hideout, surrounded by her colorful wall tags and assorted gadgets.

✧.* "oh, did you see the look on their faces?! that was incredible, (y/n)! it was so-"

✧.* you just couldn't hold back. tears were welling in your eyes, your hands were trembling, and you couldn't bring yourself to meet jinx's gaze.

✧.* jinx stepped forward, her concern written across her face. "you okay?"

✧.* "i love you." you blurted out, now lifting your head to look jinx directly in the eye. you were delirious, you were confused, you were relieved. relieved to finally tell her.

✧.* "oh my god, that was so sudden, it just came out- i love you. i love you, jinx." you continued, your voice shaking. now that you had started, you couldn't stop. just how long had these feelings festered, deep inside of you? how much longer could you hold onto them?

✧.* jinx's expression was unreadable. her mouth agape, her pink eyes were blown wide. her shoulders were strangely tense, but you could tell that her full attention was on you.

✧.* "i love you. i love you, and i've been trying not to say it.. but i can't. it's so hard. it's so hard to repress it, to ignore it, to act like everything is fine but the truth is that i love you more than anything."

✧.* tears started falling from your eyes, yet you went on as if nothing was happening. "my ex was a great girl, she's incredible, she's gorgeous, and she isn't a master criminal- and she loved me. but it was never gonna work out."

✧.* jinx stepped closer to you, slowly, achingly slowly.

✧.* "i- i love you. i'm so in love with you.." tears kept falling, falling, falling. but the words kept coming. "it's like i'm infected by jinx." you chuckled dryly, using your arm to wipe underneath your eyes.

✧.* "i can't think of anything, or anybody, i can't sleep.. i can't breathe. i love you, jinx. all the time. now and forever." you concluded, your breath coming in heavy pants after your tirade. you mustered up the best smile you could for the woman across from you, taking agonizingly slow steps toward you.

✧.* when jinx finally was in close enough proximity, her face mere inches from yours, both of her hands gently cupped your cheeks. the pads of her thumbs swiping underneath your wet eyes. the corners of her lips turned upward ever so slightly.

✧.* "you... love me?" she whispered, voice low.

✧.* and at this, you genuinely were in disbelief. you laughed, heartily, only for a minute. jinx's eyes went wide yet again, and you could tell she was beginning to panic. what if she had misheard you? was this a dream? was she-

✧.* "i think i've made that pretty clear, jinx. yes. i love you."

✧.* the worry washed away from her, and her arms wrapped around your waist. holding you ever so gently, as if you were made of porcelain. as if she was afraid she would break you if she held on too tight. you've never seen her be so delicate with somebody.

✧.* she pressed a chaste, lingering kiss to your cheek.

✧.* "that's good." jinx replied, turning her head to the side to rest it on your shoulder. "because i think i love you too."

[persphonesorchid]

Echoes Of Nebula - MYG

Summary: Some people say that soulmates are made of the same star, a part of each other, one and the same. Stars don’t live forever, Yoongi found, but they do burn forever.  

Genre: Exes to lovers, angst, fluff

Word Count: 5.5k

Warning(s): I don't think there's any, but let me know if I've missed! Any mistakes are my own, I proofread this one (1) time 😭

Masterlist

Notes: Eep, hello! Here's this lil thing I've been working on! Also, Yoongi and Mc didn't end on bad terms, their separation was somewhat mutual and they're all good :)). Feedback is always appreciated and encouraged! Enjoy!

“Make sure to eat, okay?” 

Snow swirls along the train tracks, following a gust as a train pulls into the station.  There’s the bustle of people getting on and some getting off, bundled up warmly against the winter air. Some are going to see their families, some are taking a break from theirs. Some of them are stepping onto the train to never step foot in this town again. Some of them are just starting the first day of their adult lives. 

Min Yoongi? He’s moving to Seoul.  

Your hands tuck the ends of his scarf securely into his sweater, staring at him like you’re trying to memorize his face. Your tears make tracks against your cheeks and dry quickly in the cold.  

Min Yoongi is breaking up with his girlfriend.  

“Eat on time. And I don’t mean ramyeon because you’re too lazy to cook.” You sniffle, and Yoongi wipes under your eyes with his thumbs. His glove has a hole in it. Not that it matters much right now, he’s trying to get you to stop crying. “Sleep on time, not when the sun’s coming up.”  

Min Yoongi is trying not to cry.  

“Okay.” He holds you still because he’s trying to memorize your face. He’s got pictures, even the silly ones that he took and promised to delete, but they won’t compare. “I’m sorry.” 

He must’ve apologised for the millionth time. He doesn’t know what else to say.  

You nod, smile — sadly, tears on your waterline — and, “I understand.” for the millionth time.  

He’s moving to Seoul, a long way away from Daegu.  

A mixtape he made for shits and giggles took off and pulled him with it, and he has no choice but to follow. Your life is in this little town like a ship in a bottle and like a captain you’ll go down with it. You can’t follow.  

You both talked about it for days, compromising, bargaining, but in the end, your lives are going separate ways.  

Stars either explode or implode when they die, and Yoongi feel like the star you’re both made of has finally reached its end. It’s imploding, folding in on itself and pulling everything with it.  

He has five minutes left to take you in, how the tears shine in your eyes despite his efforts, the string of the necklace he won you at a fair peeking from behind your scarf. The way you smile and your eyes squint, the way he could feel the chill of your hands through his gloves.  

He wants to stay right here in this moment and never leave if it meant he could take you in for five minutes till eternity.  

“Remember to...” His throat feels raw, but it’s because of the cold and definitely not because he’s crying. The lump in his throat makes it hard to swallow. He looks somewhere above your head to give himself a second, things like these are always hard for him. “Remember to dress for the weather.”  

He squeezes your hands, takes a breath that he almost chokes on, and looks back at you. “Don’t skip meals. Get warm when you feel cold. Always carry an umbrella in July.”  

Sometime later, Yoongi will wonder if the things he reminded you to do made much sense, if they mattered at all. Wonders if you’d actually remember. The umbrella one is really important; you always forget.  

He sat where he could see you when his five minutes were up and eternity never came. Waving from behind a glass and missing the warmth of you and the sound of your voice. He watches you wipe your tears and smile big and you walk alongside the train when it pulls off and then you run, and then, Yoongi could no longer see you.  

Min Yoongi broke up with his girlfriend and left her in the middle of winter chasing a train.  

July is always rainy. 

And every time it rains, Min Yoongi remembers the love he left in winter. He wonders if you remember to carry an umbrella. It’s been five years; he wonders if you remember him at all. 

He watches the rain splash into puddles and listens to the patter against his umbrella. Seoul bustles on, indifferent to the weather, its crowds meandering through the mid-summer downpour. Despite the season’s warmth, a stray breeze slips past his collar and reminds him of colder days. He’s grateful his gloves no longer have holes. 

He walks along the sidewalk, carried by the crowd’s flow without much thought.  

There’s not much that he wishes for anymore, not much he can wish for when he’s got everything. He lives in a high rise, works at the top music production company. Sometimes it’s a bit hard being the most sought-after producer in Seoul. Life has been good; he can’t complain. That mixtape opened doors he thought he’d be knocking on forever, and he’s worked hard to keep them open. 

Min Yoongi doesn’t need much of anything else. 

But on days like this, when the wind is just a little chilly and the sky’s opened up and crying, he misses you. 

Sometimes he looks back on that day and feel guilt. He knows it was just as hard for you as it was for him, the pain in your eyes that you smiled through. 

For a while, he’d call you every night and update you, made sure that you were doing well. For a while, he’d keep up with you and made sure that you’re doing well. For a while, he’d call you every now and then, see if you’re doing well.  

For a while, it had been a while and life, and then five years slinked on by.  

Yoongi sighs, and there’s guilt in it. He got busy, as one gets being a producer in Seoul with a shit ton of expectations. He’s changed phones over the years, lost your contact, and he got busy. 

Of course, he’s dated — mostly blind dates his friends set him up on — and he’s tried his best to push forward. There’s no point living in the past, he’s sure you’ve moved on and on by now. Sometimes he’s fine, and sometimes he’s back on that train station platform, wishing he’d begged you to come with him. 

It would’ve been the selfish thing. It wouldn’t have been fair to you had he done that. When he got to Seoul, he’d buried himself so deep into his work he barely found himself. He would’ve dragged you out here, made you give up everything just to sit on the side-lines.  

He misses you sometimes, anyways. He’s forgotten the sound of your laugh, but he still remembers the way your nose scrunches when you do. He’s forgotten the scent of your favourite perfume, but he remembers the way you lit up when he saved up and bought you a bottle forever ago. 

Min Yoongi wonders if you remember him at all. 

As Yoongi turns the corner, his umbrella catches a gust of wind and flips inside out. He fights with it for a moment before giving up, letting the rain soak his hair and the front of his jacket and jeans. He can’t help but laugh at the irony, standing there drenched, remembering the countless times he reminded you to carry an umbrella. 

In the distance, he spots a small café and decides to seek shelter. The bell above the door jingles as he enters, and the warm, cozy atmosphere wraps around him like a comforting hug. He shakes off his umbrella – finally pulling it back down – and steps up to the counter, ordering a hot coffee to chase away the chill. 

As he waits, his eyes wander around the café, taking in the rustic décor and the soft hum of conversation. A bulletin board on the wall catches his attention, filled with flyers and photos. His gaze lands on a familiar face, and his heart skips a beat. 

It’s you. Your photo, smiling brightly, pinned among various advertisements and announcements. You’re standing next to a large canvas, looking proud. He steps closer, reading the caption beneath your picture: “Local Artist Exhibition - Featuring Works by ________.” 

Yoongi’s mind races as he takes in the information. You’re here in Seoul, and you’ve been showcasing your art. A mix of emotions floods through him—relief, excitement, and a twinge of nervousness. He jots down the address of the gallery from the flyer without much thought and leaves without his coffee. 

As Yoongi steps out into the rain, a million thoughts swirl through his mind, each one more turbulent than the last. He wonders why you never sought him out. Seoul is vast, but you’d known he was here, making waves in the music scene. Did you ever think about him? Did you ever miss him? 

The realization hits him hard: he never knew you were doing art before he left. In all your conversations, all your late-night talks and shared dreams, you never mentioned a passion for painting. He feels a pang of guilt. Had he been so wrapped up in his own ambitions that he failed to notice yours? The thought stings, and he can't shake the feeling that he should have been there for your journey, supporting you the way you always supported him. 

The gallery isn’t far, and soon he’s standing in front of it, his heart pounding in his chest. He takes a deep breath and pushes the door open, the sound of soft music and hushed voices greeting him. There’s quite a bit of people mingling about in quiet discussion, taking photos of the art mounted on the walls under ambient lighting. 

Inside the gallery, he feels out of place. The walls, adorned with your art, are a testament to a part of your life he knows nothing about. Each piece is beautiful, but they also serve as a painful reminder of how much he’s missed. He wonders how many late nights you spent creating these, how many times you might have needed someone to share your successes and frustrations with. 

Yoongi wanders through the gallery, the sound of soft music and hushed voices creating a backdrop to his thoughts. The rain outside has left him feeling introspective, and as he takes in the various pieces of art, he feels a strange mix of pride and sadness seeing how far you’ve come. 

Each painting tells a story, each one a glimpse into your life over the past five years, a life he wasn’t a part of. 

His gaze is drawn to a large canvas on the far wall. The colours are bold and dramatic, the brushstrokes chaotic and full of emotion. As he steps closer, he realizes with a jolt that the scene depicted is achingly familiar: a train station, snow swirling in the air, and two figures standing close together, wrapped in scarves and winter coats. 

His breath catches in his throat as he takes in the details. The style is unmistakably expressionist, the exaggerated forms and vibrant colours capturing the raw emotion of that day. The figures are abstract, but he knows them instantly: one is you, and the other is him. 

He remembers the way you tucked his scarf into his sweater, the tears that made tracks down your cheeks, and the way you both tried to memorize each other in those final moments. The painting captures all of it, the pain and the love, the sorrow and the hope. 

Yoongi feels a lump in his throat as he stares at the piece. It’s a testament to your skill as an artist. He wonders how long you carried the weight of that moment, how many times you revisited it in your mind to create this masterpiece. He’s overwhelmed by a wave of emotions: regret, longing, and a deep, unspoken connection. 

The title of the painting, written on a small plaque beside it, reads “Departure.” It’s fitting, he thinks, for the moment it captures, but also for the way it marks the beginning of your separate journeys. 

As he stands there, lost in thought, he hears your voice nearby, and for a moment, he simply stands there. Your words meld together and he isn’t hearing much of what you’re saying, just the sound.  His heart pounds against his ribs as your laugh — it sparks a memory and adds sound to the ones that were muted — bounces off the walls and around in his head.  

He turns and sees you, in a corner, your back to him talking to a taller man, discussing a point of space where you’re standing. The sight of you, so vibrant and alive, sends a mixture of relief and nervousness fluttering around in Yoongi’s tummy.   

Gathering his courage, he takes a step forward, then another, until he’s standing just a few feet away. You turn and startle, staring at him like he’s a ghost. There’s a brief moment of surprise — he gets it — and then you blink. 

���Yoongi,” you breathe, and turning to the man next to you, you smile gently. “Taehyung...Can you give us a moment?”  

The guy looks between you both for a second with a raised brow before he’s gone, walking off to some other part of the gallery. Yoongi’s mind is too occupied taking in the sight of you to wonder what that man’s presence may mean. 

“Hi,” he replies, his voice soft and filled with all the words he’s wanted to say for years. Despite this, he doesn’t actually know what to say, he didn’t actually think this far ahead. He glances back at the painting of the train station platform, then back at you. “I saw your painting.” 

You follow his gaze and nod, your smile tinged with a hint of sadness. “It was a significant moment for me. For both of us, I think.” 

It’s a lot awkward, with him just standing there, not sure what to do with himself. You look the same, though now your hair is styled professionally and not the frizzy, wind swept mess it was when he last saw you.  

There’s so much he wants to say but he feel like he doesn’t have enough words, or the right ones, so he takes it easy. “I saw a flyer...in a café. Um... It’s amazing...your work.”  

“Thank you,” you say, your eyes reflecting a mixture of pride, nostalgia and a certain sadness. “I didn’t know you’d be here. It’s... good to see you.” 

The conversation goes slowly, awkwardly. There are long pauses and nervous laughter, each of you trying to bridge the gap of five years with small talk about your art and his music. 

“You’ve done well,” he says, gesturing to the paintings around you both. “I didn’t even know you were into art.” 

You smile, the same just barely there sad smile from earlier. “It was something I started after you left. It helped me cope.” 

“Oh...” His heart aches at the thought of you turning to art just to fill the void he left behind. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You shake your head and shrug. “We both had our paths to follow. It’s just... life.” 

He nods, but the guilt lingers. Life had taken you both in different directions, but he can’t help but wonder what might have been different if he had stayed, or if he had at least tried to stay in touch better. 

Min Yoongi is an idiot and he’s always told himself so. He’s an idiot and he sucks at this sort of thing. 

As the gallery starts to empty out, Yoongi looks at you, the rain pattering gently against the windows. There’s a part of him that wants to apologize, to make up for all the lost time, but he knows it’s not that simple. 

“Do you have time for a coffee?” he asks, hope and uncertainty mingling in his eyes. 

Your smile is a little hesitant, but you nod, “Sure.” 

You excuse yourself to grab your jacket and an umbrella — you remembered, he smiles privately —, and then you talk to the man from earlier for a minute before Yoongi follows you out of the gallery and onto the wet street.  

The walk is quiet, filled with the awkwardness of five years’ worth of missed everything’s, and Yoongi holds tight to the handle of his umbrella. There’s a confidence to your step as you weave your way through the crowd, head straight forward and not looking down at your feet like he remembers. 

You’re not the girl he left on that platform five years ago just as he’s not the guy that left you there.  

You walk back to the cafe he’d come from, and he realises that you’re probably a regular here. The barista behind the counter greets you with a smile and asks if you’re having your usual. You order a coffee and Yoongi asks the girl behind the counter to reheat the one he bought earlier, and the barista’s eyes dart between you both. 

You lead him to a cozy corner table after the order was called, and as you settle in, the conversation starts up slowly again. 

“How long have you been in Seoul?” Yoongi asks first, his voice a little hesitant, not sure if he’s allowed to ask.  

“Almost three years now,” you reply, looking down at your coffee cup, the tiniest furrow between your brows. “It took a while, but I got settled.” 

Yoongi takes a moment to observe you, trying to reconcile the person in front of him with the memories he’s held onto for the past five years. You don’t look much different, your hair’s in an up-do, your cheeks are a little fuller, but that’s as much as he notices.  

The silence that rings between you both is louder than the other customers in the cafe. Yoongi can only imagine what this scene looks like to others; two people who are barely looking at each other, like awkward strangers forced to share a space.  

His coffee is still hot, and it burns his tongue when he sips at it, but at least it’s given him a distraction. He steals glances at you, watching the way your eyes comb the cafe and avoid his gaze.  

Unfortunately, Yoongi is naught but a man, and there’s a nagging sound at the back of his brain. It grows louder until he fidgets, the nerves of his free hand feel like they’re dancing and he takes a breath. He looks down at his coffee cup, glances at you and then back to the cup. Then, he asks a question that made him want to crawl out of his skin.  

“So...that guy back at your gallery seemed nice...”  

He knows it’s been five years, and a lot can change in that time.  As toxic as it may sound, the thought of you moving on with someone else stirs a mix of emotions in him. 

He knows he has no right to be upset if you’ve found happiness with someone else. It’s not his business anymore, not after all this time.   

Still, the fear is there. He doesn’t want to admit how much it hurts to think of you with someone else. He can’t deny the pang of jealousy at the thought, but he tries his best to ignore it. He has no claim over you. You deserve to be happy, and if you’ve found that with someone, then he’s happy.  

He sighs inwardly, pushing the thoughts aside. He wants to focus on the present, on the fact that you’re sitting in front of him right now. Whatever happens, he’s happy to be here, he hopes he can be a part of your life again of you let him, even if it’s only as a friend. He doesn’t want to ruin this, whatever it turns out to be. 

You stare at him for a moment and Yoongi can’t tell what you’re thinking, “He is...he’s got an eye for art.”  

Yoongi nods slowly, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee cup. He hums softly, and now it’s his turn to pretend you’re not looking; he finds interest in the light fixtures above.   

His next question sits on his tongue trying to pry past his teeth. He feels like a kid trying to find the right moment to ask his parents if he could go play outside. There’s a nervous churning in his tummy that isn’t at all pleasant. How does one ask their ex of five years if they’re seeing someone?  

Yoongi imagines they’d just ask, out of curiosity, and get it out of the way. He could play it well. Maybe lean back into his seat and appear more casual before he says the stupid words. Maybe he could stop staring at the lights like a damn moth, and act like a being with a fully developed frontal lobe.  

“Are you two...close? Or...you know...” He waves a hand and then lays it on the table. The sound of his ring knocking against it is kind of jarring, but it gives Yoongi an opportunity to look away again. 

You make a quiet sound, and Yoongi finally meets your gaze. There’s amusement in your eyes, it’s obvious you’ve figured him out already — he wasn’t exactly being subtle. Which is unfortunate, because now Yoongi could feel embarrassment tapping on his shoulder. 

You say nothing of it, even though he knows you want to. He could feel it.  

“As close as business partners can be, I suppose.” You say, and Yoongi can see the beginning of a smile as you lift your coffee to hide it.  

“Right...Sorry.” Yoongi says sheepishly, though, a weight lifts off his chest. As he looks at you, he notices something that makes his heart skip a beat.  

You’re still wearing the necklace he got you all those years ago, the one he won for you at the fair. The twine that the little pendant hangs on looks worn, fraying a bit at some points, but you’re wearing it.  

You kept it. 

He clears his throat, the words he’s been holding back spilling out. “I’m sorry I lost touch. I got so busy, and then it felt like too much time had passed to reconnect. I lost your contact, and… I didn’t know how to find you again.” 

You nod, your fingers brushing over the necklace like you sensed his gaze on it. “It’s okay. Life happened, for both of us.” 

“But why didn’t you seek me out when you got to Seoul?” Yoongi asks, his voice soft, devoid of accusation; genuinely curious. 

“I thought it would be for the best,” you say, equally as soft, staring into your coffee as though it would give you the words you’re looking for. “So much time had passed, and I didn’t want to disrupt your life. You were doing well.”  

You look so sad when you say it that it almost breaks Yoongi’s heart.  

“You know I wouldn’t have...” He wouldn’t have turned you away.  

“I know, I just...” You sigh, your eyes dart somewhere to his left, and then back at him, “...I really missed you.”  

Yoongi wants to reach out and take your hand so he does. Your fingers are warm from the coffee, squeezing his own, and tears beads at your waterline.  

“I missed you too.” His gaze is soft and he knows it, but he doesn’t care because its you. You’re still you and he’s still him, and he misses you and the girl he left on that platform.  

You’re both still made of the same star. It’s imploded but still glowing, and your necklace pendant catches the above head light.  

His finger brushes over your knuckles, he stares at them, the shape and colour and all the little things about them that makes them a part of you. All that with his heart in his throat because he wants to ask something.  

“Do you think…” His voice is barely a whisper, as if he’s afraid the wrong volume might shatter whatever delicate thread holds this moment together. “Do you think there’s a chance… that we could try again?” 

You stare at him, your eyes wide, and he feels the subtle pressure of your fingers in his. He knows it’s a lot to ask,  but the longing, the sense that maybe something beautiful can still be salvaged from the pieces, presses him to keep going. 

Hope catches on the glint of your necklace pendant, and he clings to it. 

“I don’t expect anything to happen right away. I just… I want to be in your life again, even if we start slow. No pressure, just… what feels right.” 

You’re quiet for a moment, and then a soft smile curves your lips, almost as if you’ve been waiting for him to say something like this.  

“We could try,” you murmur, the words tentative but filled with the same cautious hope Yoongi feels. 

And from there, the pace is unhurried. You both ease into each other’s lives like rivers that find their way back to the same stream.  

Some days Yoongi feels like he’s been whacked on the head with a giant stick. Anyone could tell by looking at him, when he’s got that stupid look on his face. Like he’s seen a goddess and she spared him a glance. He feels like he’s dreaming, and the last five years without you seem to blur.  

He starts small, a text here and there; good morning and good night. Even if he’s busy he’d keep up with you, except when his work demands his focus. There are some days when you’d disappear, and Yoongi understands when you explain you’ve been in your studio for hours.  

Your gallery isn’t far from his work, and as much as he could he’d go see you. He finds himself drawn to small gestures—bringing you lunch or a cup of coffee, or sometimes a sweet he thinks you might like. Each time he steps into the gallery with something for you, he feels a warmth settle in his chest. 

It’s an excuse, he knows, to see you smile, to watch you light up at the thoughtfulness of it. And each time you look at him with that gentle, appreciative gaze, he feels his hope grow a little stronger. 

You’d tell him all about your creative process, how you’d spin and weave what’s in your head onto a canvas. He’d listen attentively because he’s interested and he owes it to you. All those nights spent burning the midnight oil, steeping in his frustrations; you were there. You’d listen to him rant and cry when things weren’t working out the way he wanted. 

He owed you much more than that.  

He feels like he has to learn you all over again, which, in a sense, he does. Even if the bases of you are the same, there’s new facets. Little shards that fit into the mirror that reflects you, some pieces are a little dusty and worn with time and others are new and shiny. Yoongi has to take his time cleaning the old ones to see them again, and get used to the new ones that twinkle his eyes.  

He invites you to his place for dinner, something simple and easy, and the conversation flows a lot better than it had a month before.  

There’s no awkward sentences that cut off somewhere in the middle. Yoongi knows what to do with his hands and he has a better time looking you in the eye now. He feels a lot like he did back then, like a school boy taking his crush to meet his parents. His hands are a little sweaty, but the food is good and your eyes sparkle like they did back then, too.  

You seem so sure, like you’re not worried one bit. Like you knew you’d meet him again and you’d be here in this moment; sipping on white wine – something new he’s learned – and chucking over stories set in the past.  

The day he let a pet name slip was the day Yoongi wished a chasm would open up and swallow him. He had his excuse ready; the clock’s pushing one in the morning; he’s tired. The truth? It’s so easy to slip back into old ways, like nothing changed at all.  

Like a smouldering fire in a hearth. It’s not quite out yet, and if you throw some sticks in there, they’ll catch.  

After a while, on some sunny evening, Yoongi invited you to his studio. 

“This is where I spend most of my time.” And he means that, letting you into his studio. There’s a blanket tossed haphazardly on the black couch that lines the wall near the door.  

There’s day old take away coffee cups that never made it to the bin, cluttered in a designated spot. The bin he meant to empty is overflowing with scraps of paper and crushed takeout containers. That’s as far as the clutter goes. Though, Yoongi’s embarrassed now – he prides himself on keeping tidy. He wasn’t thinking when he asked you over, didn’t expect you to agree either.  

So now he’s clearing up his desk and tying a knot on the waste bag. You make yourself comfortable on his couch like you’ve been there before, throwing the blanket over your lap as your eyes dart about to take everything in.  

You’re impressed, he could tell by the gleam in your eyes and your little down turned smile. He’s come a long way from his old computer and MIDI.  

“Its nice, cosy. Beats camping out in your bedroom.” You smile and Yoongi chuckles, nodding.  

“Damn right.” He agrees, but he wouldn’t trade in those days for anything. Truthfully, he’s been here for three days, only going home to shower. Inspiration on an all time high and he’s just been riding the wave, you’ve been his muse for the past month. It isn’t the first time, at moments over the years gone you’d float into his mind like a mirage, and he’d get stuck on you.  

He’s grateful for the break, though, there’s nothing much to do and he doesn’t want to bore you with rambling about what he’s working on. So he orders something, and lets a movie play on his laptop.  

The clock ticks softly in the corner, its sound nearly drowned out by the hum of the desk lamp — he should really get that replaced. You’re still curled up on his couch despite the hour, the blanket pooled around your legs, your eyes scanning a painting on the wall he doesn’t remember hanging. 

“It’s peaceful here,” you say, your voice quiet but steady, like you’re speaking directly to the heart of the room—and to him. 

Yoongi glances up from the cluttered desk he’d been half-heartedly straightening; resorting his things because he can’t sit still. He watches the way you seem to belong in his space, your presence settling into the corners he never realized were empty. The faintest smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. 

“You think so?” he asks, moving to lean against the edge of the desk. He crosses his arms, the soft light from the lamp catching on the fine lines of his face. “I always thought it was too chaotic.” 

You turn your head, your gaze locking onto his. “Chaos can be beautiful. It just takes the right eyes to see it.” 

The words settle between you, their weight both gentle and profound. Yoongi feels something inside him shift—a small piece of armour finally cracking and falling away. 

He takes a step toward you, his hands slipping into his pockets, his expression tentative. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” 

You sit up a little straighter, tilting your head. “What is it?” 

“Would you…” He hesitates, his fingers brushing against the edge of a USB drive in his pocket—the same drive that holds the tracks he’s been working on for weeks. “Would you let me write something for you? About you?” 

Your surprise shows in the slight widening of your eyes, followed quickly by a soft, warm smile. “You already do that, don’t you?” 

Yoongi chuckles under his breath, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment. “Maybe,” he admits, with a small smile that meant more than he could say. “But this time, I want you to know it’s for you. No hiding it in metaphors or beats no one else understands. Just…you.” 

You rise from the couch, the blanket slipping to the side as you close the small distance between you. Standing so close, Yoongi count all the things that make you you.  

“Okay,” you say softly, your fingers brushing against his. “But only if you let me paint something for you, too.” 

Yoongi takes your hand because he wants to, and his fingers make home in the spaces between yours. It feels like déjà vu and an epiphany all at once: five years ago you were this close and he was saying goodbye. His gloves had holes. Today...he’s saying hello again, and it feels like no time had gone by. And he kisses you now because he didn’t kiss you then, and you sigh into it like you’ve been waiting a lifetime.  

Some people say that soulmates are made of the same star, apart of each other, one in the same. Stars don’t live forever, Yoongi found, but they do burn forever.  

Tagging: @hoseoksluna @xpeachesncream @amon-rei @allhobbitstoisengard @euphoricfilter @madbutgloriouspond

[futuremrscameron]

ready set go!!! (rafe x biker!pogue reader)

content warnings: threats of violence (not between reader and rafe), mentions of grief, classism, blood, use of c word (c*nt), unresolved sexual tension, past relationships, emotional cheating, reader is not a good person, slut shaming, arguing as flirting, horniness is a disease and rafe is terminally ill

a/n: not beta read (just me and my google doc pointing out grammatical errors against the world)

he should’ve known you'd be there; racing was always your first love; there was no way you'd pass up the opportunity even if to. you two were not on speaking terms, but that’s no excuse.

the announcer’s grating voice stops him from spiraling further: “ladies and gentlemen, we’ve got a special guest racing with us today!”

“that’s right, a local who made it big on the mainland!"

"everyone put your hands together for lady death!”

the familiar revving sends chills down his spine, but everyone else cheers the crowd as you drift into view. he watches you slowly remove your helmet, brushing back stray hairs. your back-lengthed box braids tied up in a ponytail safe for two strands tucked behind your ears. you’re rocking a white leather jacket with pink stripes. you unzip your jacket, revealing a white bikini top that hugs your breasts. his hand tightens into a fist as he looks down and sees pink cowboy boots with red hearts on the side—it’s the pair he got for your birthday.

“fuck.” rafe whips his head to the right at the sound of his best friend’s awestruck voice. topper remains entranced by the beauty of his friend’s ex, leering, blissfully ignorant of the glare his friend levels at him. 

rafe looks around, finally noticing that you've caught the attention of most of the men there. their salacious stares make him sick; he wants nothing more than to gouge their eyes out and drag you back to his place. before he can spiral further, he’s brought back to reality by a familiar, bright, infectious laugh.

he doesn’t even have to look to know it’s you, but the clawing in his chest urges him to find you and the thing that made you laugh.

it’s a guy. he should’ve known; of course, it’s a guy. you’re twirling your hair and smiling at him the way you used to smile at him. he tells himself that the guy’s probably not even that funny, and you’re just giving him a pity laugh ‘cause he’s a total fucking loser or a pervert. there’s no way you actually like him; you would never entertain a guy like him, not even to make him jealous. 

“hey!” his voice breaks you out of your pre-race zone. 

"fucking hell," you mumble under your breath as he shoves his way through the crowd of spectators, not paying their shouts of anger and annoyance any mind. he looks like a man on a mission. it’s kind of hot. you disembark from your bike and begin your stretches, hoping to any god that is listening that you're mistaken and that his attention is pointed elsewhere. 

he stops in front of you, gripping the straps of his vest so hard he can feel them through his gloves. he looks down at you with furrowed eyebrows and his mouth downturned in a frown. "we need to talk."

you continue stretching your leg before switching to the other one. “if it's not about strategy, no, we don’t.”

he scoffs, "strategy? you mean slutting yourself out?” his cold tone would hurt if not for the heat in his gaze as he looks you up and down, letting you know how he really feels.

you look at the racers and spectators leering and shrug. "i'd say it's working, wouldn't you?” you smirk as you rise from your stretch.

the vein in his neck looks just about ready to pop; he swallows down a retort. “i’m trying to look out for you. you wanna be taken seriously; don’t dress like a flag girl.”

you chuckle at his heated state, veins bulging from his neck and everything. you don’t try to hide your smirk and raise an eyebrow at his boldness. “wow, you talk to sofia like that?”

he glares at the mention of his new girlfriend; his face burns with frustration and embarrassment. “don’t.”

“line up racers!” the announcer's voice pops the former lovers out of their bubble. topper runs up next to rafe obviously not reading the tension between the two. “hey!”

“hey top.” you mimic his surfer bro voice and smirk, “how’s ruthie?” 

he frowns and opens his mouth to answer, but your focus is already turned back on rafe. “see you at the finish line, cameron.” you wink before steering past him and taking your spot near the back on the sand.

topper is taken aback by your not so subtle hostility. he turns to rafe; a questioning look adorning his face. “what was that about?”

rafe watches her walk over to jj, ignoring his friend’s question to avoid lashing out at him. “do me a favor, man, shut the fuck up.”

you walk over to jj, your interaction with rafe still fresh on your mind. the hold he has on you seems to have never left. your met with a knowing look from jj, you groan. “what?”

he scoffs,“what? what was that? you’re fraternizing with the enemy now?” jj’s mischievous smirk betrays the cold glint in his eye; he’s upset about something, and your interaction with rafe made it worse.

you don’t have time for his judgment; you roll your eyes as you bend down to inspect his bike. “spell ‘fraternizing’ jj.” he flicks you off, and you return the gesture.

he chuckles and scratches the back of his head, a telltale sign that something else is weighing on his consciousness. you frown as you inspect the chain on his bike; it’s rusty and barely moves when you tug it. “god, you and last minute shit. why didn’t you bring this to me sooner? i would’ve fixed this up, you know? but now? jj, you know you can’t fucking race on this.”

jj throws his head back and groans dramatically, "oh, come on, i’ve raced on worse.”

“yeah, and how did all those times go?” you tighten one final screw on his bike before standing up and meeting his eye, hands on your hips, head tilted, waiting for his answer. he opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out; he frowns.

you chuckle, "exactly." you turn and make your way back to your bike. he grabs his bike’s handles and follows closely behind. “i didn't say shit!”

you shake your head, “‘cause you know i’m right!”

“are not!”

you stop suddenly and turn around to face him, one eyebrow arched. “jj, you got a tricycle because you wanted to be like me.”

he blushes, embarrassed at the memory, and mutters something under his breath about liking tricycles before you came along. he nods and looks around the beach; he’s avoiding eye contact. “yeah, but this time is different.”

something’s up. you cross your arms, “okay, jj, what’s up?” a serious expression, “is it luke? did he bet on you?”

he frowns at the word ‘bet’ but as quick as it’s there, it’s gone, replaced by a smirk. “no! god no, it's nothing really. i don’t know why you would think something’s up; nothing’s wrong; just wanna win, you know." he chuckles, but there’s no heart in it. “shove it in those kooks' faces.” 

he’s trying to change the subject; you tilt your head in disappointment. "jj."

he pats your shoulder, “hey, i’m fine. really.” he gives you a smile, but it lacks it’s usual warmth. you want to stay and get to the bottom of whatever’s going on with him.

“racers, get in position!” 

of course.

jj nods to himself; he’s noticeably anxious but swallows it down with another smile. “we’ll talk later, okay?” he’s skipping away before you can reply.

“jj-”

“i’ll see you at the finish line!” and with that, he’s on his bike, getting into position. 

you sigh defeatedly but make your way back to your bike. you’ve already mapped out your strategy, having raced long enough to predict how this race will go. the positioning is always as follows: the cocky bastards, rookies, and amateurs always position themselves in the front, which leads to stumbling, falling, and knocking into each other as soon as they hear the word 'go,’ which gives you a chance to speed past them. those in the back are either like you, professionals, or knowledgeable enough about racing to know not to start at the front or lack confidence.

“bikers, start your engines!” you rev your engine, staring ahead at the wide open space in front of you.

“on your mark!” in your mind, a highlighted track that lays out every twist, turn, speed bump, and shortcut appears on the sand.

“get set!” you lower your helmet’s visor and drown out the sound of the cries and focus on the head of your bike.

“goooooooo!”

you zoom past ruthie and some other kook girl you recognize from rafe’s parties. you take sharp turns and land jump over hills and trees like it’s nothing; you ease past topper and jj, glancing back at the duo engaged in some conversation before focusing on your real opponent.

rafe is somehow still in the lead; you know you won’t beat him this way, so you take a shortcut to get ahead of him. 

“cheating now, huh?” you can hear the smile in his voice without looking at him.

“nothing in the rules says we can’t take shortcuts as long as they’re on the track rafey.” you wink at him as you speed up. the finish line is within view as you race across the sandy beach. everything seems to come to a halt when a shadow appears above you. you look up; it’s jj.

“and the runt of the litter, jj maybank takes the lead with that amazing leap of faith!” the announcers, now back in hearing range, seem just as stunned as the racers and crowd at jj’s bold feat.

“i can’t believe my eyes, can you?”

“no!”

you can’t help but laugh at his death-defying stunt. “woohoo! let’s go jj!" you speed up, feeling a burst of energy at his literal leap of faith.

“fuck that.” that voice sends chills down your spine. you turn to find rafe behind you, but you don’t even have to turn completely. he’s next to you. he speeds past you and bumps jj’s hind wheels.

he’s gonna get them both killed him if he keeps this up. “hey!” 

“ladies and gentlemen, it looks like this just got personal.”

jj kicks out at rafe, causing the older blonde to tilt every so often. your breath catches in your throat every time his bike leans over. “jj!”

“that’s right, jj and rafe are neck and neck.”

rafe and jj bump into each other like they’re in go-karts.

“pogue vs. kook.”

in your head, you curse the announcers for feeding into this, “stop it, rafe!”

all it takes is one more bump for the duo to go flying in the air, and you feel your heart drop.

“jj!” you slam on the breaks and jump off your bike when it comes to a complete halt. you run over to jj, not caring as the other racers speed past you for the finish line. you rip off your helmet and throw it aside before turning to him and frantically checking him for injuries. “hey, hey, you’re okay, you’re okay.”

jj angrily brushes you off, “i’m fine.” he’s not fine; he winces when he rolls his shoulder and cracks his neck. you're taken aback and hurt, but you’ve known him long enough to know that it’s nothing personal. he doesn’t want to lash out at you, so he’s trying his best to keep his distance.

he gives you a once-over, "you okay?” his mouth is downturned in a frown; it takes you back to the days when he’d knock on your door asking to stay the night because luke was passed out on the couch and moved the second key.

you give him a soft, reassuring smile and rub his arm, “i’m okay.” 

he opens his mouth to say something else; he wants to tell you the truth, you know it. but nothing comes out; instead, he slowly backs away before turning around completely. you watch as he ignores his friends’ concerning gazes and desperate questions and stops at the far end of the beach, kicking at sand and throwing his helmet down. yeah, something’s definitely up.

“hey!”

great. rafe shrugs off sofia’s arm, helping him up, and wobbles over to you. you feel bad for her truly, but you can’t deny that it feels good that he seems to only have eyes for you, even when next to his girlfriend. you finally see him up close, and goddamn, he looks like shit. he has a scartch on his cheek, a noticable limp, and rolls his shoulder every other step. he stops in front of you and looks you up and down. “you okay?”

the audacity of this man, “are you trying to ask if i’m injured, you piece of shit?”

he throws his hand up in surrender and offense, “the fuck did i do?”

you’ve never wanted to strangle someone so bad. how could he be so selfish? so reckless? so stupid? “are you fucking kidding me? the fuck did you do?” you shove him, “you could’ve killed each other; do you even fucking care!? i don’t care how much you hate each other; you don’t fucking do that!” your voice cracks from the strain yelling has put on you; tears form in your eyes from anger and the fear of almost losing them both.

he reaches down and wipes your tear. you push his hand away. “i’m sorry.”

“are you?”

“i-”

“aww, rafe, your puppy pogue came back for seconds.” the memorable grating voice comes from one kook only, topper’s new girlfriend, ruthie; she mockingly pouts, not even trying to conceal her smirk. she looks proud to have topper’s arm around her waist, like she’s not playing second fiddle to his ex.

your anger is now fully redirected at her. you take some steps towards her. “the fuck did you just call me!?”

she chuckless. “you heard me, pogue.”

the way she spits out the word ‘pogue’ does not sit right in your spirit. you take a step towards her, but rafe holds you back. 

you look up and meet his eyes; you hate the way he looks at you. he shakes his head, “don’t let her get to you.”

you scoff, “oh, that’s rich coming from you.”

“it is; trust me, i know, but she is not worth your time.”

you frown at his newfound maturity, not knowing if it’s genuine or not or if it’s just to keep you out of trouble. “fine.”

he looks back at the couple with a cold stare that you’ve thankfully never been on the receiving end of. “yo top, get your bitch under control.”

she removes herself from topper’s side and steps up to you two. “excuse me?” topper tries to pull her back, but she shrugs him off. "you know, rafe, you used to be cool before you started slumming it.”

you stomp over to her and get in her face. the height difference has her literally looking down at you, which makes your blood boil; the shit eating smirk doesn’t help. “up yours, cunt! you’re just a sarah reject.” topper chokes on his water and rafe smirks, barely able to stifle a laugh.

her smirk is gone now, replaced by a nasty glare, and her face is beat red with embarrassment and rage. “excuse me!? what the fuck did you just say!?”

“you heard me.” you smirk at her reaction. she pushes you; you punch her square in the jaw, causing a ripple of commotion. you lunge at her, but rafe holds you back. you spit at her before she’s out of reach, but it falls short. the act still enrages her. 

rafe mean mugs ruthie as he drags the smaller girl away from the couple.  you kick and scream as rafe drags you away, gaining the attention of pogues and kooks alike. jj shouts at him and runs toward them when you push rafe away. “get the fuck off of me!”

rafe finally lets you go, and you take a few steps away before turning and getting in his face. “what the hell is your problem!?”

his eyes widen, unable to comprehend your lack of thanks. “my problem!? i just stopped you from spending the rest of your twentys in an orange jumpsuit!”

you shove him, “i don’t need your help!” your anger takes him by surprise. you roughly wipe the blood from your nose on your jacket. “i’m not your problem anymore, rafe.”

jj catches up to them and puts himself between you two before checking your for injuries. he puffs his chest out and stares down rafe. “you didn’t hear her telling you to fuck off? all that coke’s fucked with your hearing?”

you touch his back, trying to reassure him that all is well. “i’m fine, jj. i can handle this.”

jj looks back at you; you nod; he nods and slowly retreats.

“yeah, fuck off." you curse rafe and his annoying need to get the last word in as jj stomps back over.

“hey!” you put your arms out, stopping their chests from touching. “jj!” he looks at you, tears building from anger and sorrow over losing the race. “just go. it’s okay, i’m fine.”

rafe notes your voice softening and frowns. jj gives him one last glare and once over, warning the kook king not to mess with you. you turn back to him once jj is out of earshot, “what the fuck is wrong with you? do you get off on pissing me off or something?”

“that’s rich coming from you. all that talk about being there for me in my time of need, and where were you?”

“i was giving you space like you wanted!” 

“you abandoned me!” he roars, making you recoil. “you abandoned me when i needed you the most. you knew what that would do to me. you knew!"  

you can hear the heartbreak in his voice; it shines through the way his finger shakes when he points at you. or the tears falling freely and his face red from the fury he must have been pushing down. “i just lost my dad, and i needed you, and you weren’t there. too busy doing fuck knows what with goldilocks and his friends.” 

“he just came back from south america, where he was hunted down by trained killers, and watched someone die—he needed me!” 

“i needed you!”

“i’m sorry, okay! how many times do i have to say it until you believe me?”

“i don’t believe you, rafe!” you sigh and rub the bridge of your nose. you look at rafe, and he finally sees the exhaustion in every movement. “i'm done playing games.”

“i’m not playing games; i love you. i know i was wrong and i was sad and angry, and i know i took it out on you, but i’m-” 

“sorry?” 

he frowns.

you shake your head in defeat, “i know.”

you get on your bike and put your helmet on. you peel off, leaving him in the dust watching your fading figure.

______________________________________________________________

as always let me know your thoughts, criticism is always welcome (just keep it classy) <3

[artytaeh]

I couldn't tell if I was. Blaise girly before but DANG he's actually kinda.....

no because hear me out this man's love seems silent at first, but as soon as you pick up on his little acts of love it's actually so clear, so loud!

blaise was raised by a woman, and i don't see mrs. zabini being one to suffer for love; such a thing transmitted some values to blaise: one, there's always someone out there that will appreciate you, even if this one didn't work out; two, happiness can't (won't, and doesn't) depend on a romantic partner.

even though blaise won't be one to endlessly suffer of romantic love, he will put his best effort on doing whatever he can to make things happen, or end, with the best terms. blaise definitely isn't the type to regret, because he makes sure to leave situations with a peaceful mindset— he did whatever he could; if it didn't end well, then it wasn't supposed to happen that way.

that being said, it's not that blaise doesn't feel. he does; however, he's someone with a certain level of practicality and rationality on these situations. why suffer, if there's nothing to regret, nothing else to do about it? he might be sad, and he will grief for a short moment, before moving on.

i can see blaise being friends with some ex-girlfriends and flings. this king seeks PEACE, and sometimes to achieve it, you have to give the correct closure. so, yes; genuinely a friendly acquaintance of his previous relationships.

however, i don't think that blaise puts such an heavy value on the title girlfriend. it doesn't have to be the one, the girl he'll marry; if blaise has a crush on her, if things are reciprocal and there's a good chemistry going on, then hell yeah, let's date! blaise doesn't have a problem over breaking up, if he perceives the relationship as something that, no matter what, won't be able to develop into something that makes him happy, makes you happy, and doesn't become toxic.

chill guy. i think that blaise has such a good self-esteem! he's momma's beloved boy; mrs. zabini raised a young man capable of take accountability for his bullshit, but also a boy who knows his worth.

i develop this on a draft that has headcanons about slytherin boys in quidditch settings, but blaise doesn't get that pissy over losing a match. if anything, it only makes him more determined to find a strategy and play even better next time.

so, babes... making him jealous? that's a huge turn off. blaise doesn't have the patience for petty, childish games like these, people testing his love for them. blaise wouldn't make you jealous either; trust, tranquility, a gentle love that sounds like waves greeting the shore— that's how it must be for him.

( short extra, but uhm, rizz. idc, blaise is so smooth. side-eyes and gives nasty looks to other male quidditch players, but to them ladies? damn ladies, you know you look FINE. good game, good game— and goes to their celebration parties if he's invited to them by female quidditch players. )

[bad268]

hey i have an idea for a pepe fanfic so basically its after pepe has a crash during a race while leading his girlfriend conforts him? btw i really love your fanfic <3

Join Me (Pepe Marti X Reader)

Fandom: RPF/F2/F3

Requested: Clearly (grazie mille <3)

Warnings: bathing together, spicy ending

POV: Second Person (You/your)

W.C. 1303

Summary: Pepe has a bad weekend, so the reader comes up with a plan to make him feel better.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Pinterest)

He just wanted to forget this weekend. He wanted to forget this season. Nothing had gone his way, his team was not supporting him, his teammate was not being a team player, and he was ready to quit racing altogether. It was something he had started contemplating a while ago, but when Isack took him out of the race, he’d had it. 

You had stayed back at the hotel because you had some work you needed to catch up on, so you had to watch your boyfriend get taken out, once again, by his teammate. You had to sit there and listen to both radios. The one from Pepe being calm but basically saying “what the fuck” in nicer terms. The one from Isack, crying that Pepe needed to stay out of his way and that he had a championship to win. All of the bullshit he was spuing really fed into your major dislike for him. Before this, you merely tolerated Isack. Now, you would not be so kind. If you ever saw him again, it would be too soon.

You didn't need to hear from Pepe to know how upset he was. It seemed like Isack was always starting trouble and Pepe was left being the most affected every time. You just waited until he came back to the hotel since he would be badgered by the media, and you knew he wouldn’t have access to his phone anyway.

Sooner than you thought, Pepe opens the door and sets his bag off to the side. He looked around, but he couldn’t find you anywhere. You were just getting back to the hotel from a short trip to a nearby store. You picked up some snacks and treats that would, hopefully, cheer Pepe up a bit. You got back into your hotel room, humming along to a song you had heard, and it did not take you long to realize that Pepe was back. Your shock didn’t last long as you saw him face down on your bed in the middle of a much-needed nap. You took this opportunity to finish setting up what you had planned.

You lit a couple of small candles you bought from the store around the bathroom. It was something Pepe did for you whenever something big happened to you, so you took it upon yourself to return the favor. You filled the tub with water and bubbles and dimmed the lights. Then, you left to get Pepe, who was semi-awake. You walked up to the bed to see him lying on his back now, rubbing his eyes harshly before you laid next to him and rubbed his arm gently.

“Hey, baby,” You whispered, getting his attention by moving your hand up into his hair, pushing it away from his eyes. He turned his head to face you with a small smile as he closed his eyes again, relaxing in your presence. “Hi, Pepe.”

“Hey,” he sighed as he stretched his arms over his head again. “Was I out long?”

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly. “I’ve only been back for ten minutes, but I have a surprise for you. Hopefully, it’ll make you feel better.”

“If it’s what I think it is,” he trailed off as he looked you up and down, “I don’t have enough energy for that.”

“I didn’t think so,” You gave him a pointed look before standing and pulling him up with you. “That’s why I got your favorite snacks and made a relaxing bath for you. Thought it would help you feel better.”

You led him to the ensuite before helping him discard his clothes and get in the tub. You finished dimming the lights and set up your laptop on a chair in the corner. You pulled up Pepe’s favorite movie, knowing it would help him forget this shitty weekend. By the time you looked back at Pepe, he was already lazily looking at you with a small smile on his lips.

“Have I ever told you I love you?” Pepe commented as he rested his head against the side of the bathtub, leaning further into the water.

“Once or twice, you’ve said it,” You chuckled lightly, moving over to leave a kiss on his forehead. You stood back up before glancing around, making sure everything you bought him was within arms reach for Pepe. The movie was already playing, and everything was in its place. “Is there anything else you need from me before I let you relax?” 

“Join me?” Pepe asked as he brought a hand out of the water to grab your wrist. He looked up at you and pouted his lip, “Just for a little bit? I could really use your cuddles right now.”

“Only because you’re cute, and most of our stuff is already packed for tomorrow,” You sighed as you started taking off your shirt. “Want me in the front or back?”

“Wherever you want,” Pepe whispered as he sat up straighter, gauging where you wanted to sit. “I don’t care as long as you’re in here within 10 seconds.”

“That’s a bit bossy, don’t you think?” You teased as you shredded off the last of your clothes. He just looked up at you without commenting, so you gave him a pointed look. “Scoot forward before I regret agreeing to this.”

Quickly, Pepe moved forward to make space behind him for you to step in and sit behind him with your legs on either side of him. Pepe leaned back into your hold with a sigh as you wrapped your arms tightly around his shoulders. The water was just below the edge of the tub, so you mentally tried to keep the shifting to a minimum. The last thing you wanted was to clean up the bathroom floor just before an early morning flight. 

“Thank you,” Pepe muttered after a minute or so of silence. He had closed his eyes after you wrapped your arms around him, and he was well on his way to falling asleep in the water. “I know you don’t like baths, but thank you for staying with me. Thank you for being you and always here for me. I love you.”

“And I’ll always be here for you, Pepe. I love you, too,” You comforted as you brushed a hand against his cheek and placed a kiss on his temple. You lay with him in the slowly cooling water with his favorite movie playing in the background, snacks forgotten. About halfway through the movie, you suddenly become aware of the extra weight on your chest and the light snores coming from Pepe. “Please don’t fall asleep on me. I already feel claustrophobic in the water. I don’t need you blocking me in too.”

“I’m not asleep,” Pepe slurred as he sat up again to let you readjust. You jokingly glared at him when he looked back at you.

“You were snoring,” You deadpanned.

“I was resting my eyes?” He offered with a sheepish smile before trying his best to hug you despite him facing the wrong way. “Thank you for not throwing me off. I know you don’t like them, but having you here with me made me feel so much better. Thank you for making me feel better after this shitty weekend.”

“You don’t need to thank me for doing the bare minimum. I’ll always join you when you need me,” You whispered against his lips as you left a short kiss. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we should get out now. We need to be at the airport in like 4 hours.”

“That’s enough time for me,” Pepe smirked as he pulled you in for another kiss, this one more heated and passionate. “Let me show you how much I appreciate you.”

~~~~~

© BAD268 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[casey--owens]

"i'm saying that i already would've put a baby inside of you if we would've had time." casey and coral's relationship was still on great terms on ground level. the lack of intimate moments was becoming a bit a problem though. it seemed every time that he tried to get close to his girlfriend somebody (mainly celeste) would end up becoming a distraction. casey couldn't complain because his daughter was the best thing to have ever happened to him, but damn, he was missing coral on a deeper level than he was admitting. it wasn't even through lack of trying to get those moments. life just wasn't giving them alone time. casey's smile softened as coral mentioned wanting another kid soon. "i still can't believe that a girl like you wants to have kids with me." casey couldn't only dreamed about a girl so cute liking him back. coral topped the attractiveness scale to him. she was perfect looking. celeste looked just like coral in his eyes too . the two had the same button nose, the pretty colour eyes and the big pouty bottom lip. casey could see that celeste took his face shape slightly more though. she was definitely coral's mini me at this precise moment. casey's head shook from side to side as coral told to start behaving. "i don't know. i'm kind of blaming you for this one! who looks at their boyfriend with a mouth full of white ice cream and thinks it won't do anything to him?" coral knew that casey's love language was touch and that sight probably should've been called sweet torture for him since he couldn't do anything about it. he was trying to be so good out here too. casey kept trying to think of things to try and get rid of his problem. weird thoughts. random thoughts. just to get it gone. coral didn't know how much a simple look or the way she worded something could make him feel though. she ignited something inside of him that would refuse to burn out. a constant feeling inside of him - always. "you really don't know what you do to me."

coral rolled her eyes playfully at his words. she didn’t know a casey who cared about what people thought—he’d probably been that way since he was a kid, and honestly, she loved every second of it. the way he wore his heart on his sleeve, how transparent he was—it made it so easy to read him, and that was something she’d come to really appreciate over time. "you're definitely not," she chuckled, shaking her head as she took a bite of her ice cream, careful not to let it melt onto her hand. she loved the balance they had—coral being the calmer one and casey bringing the spark to her life. she couldn’t imagine a quiet life. ever since meeting him, she needed everything that came with him: the loudness, the boldness, and everything in between. at his words, she laughed. "there's no higher level of craziness beyond loving me?" she teased, glancing at him over her shoulder. "you'll have to find someone crazy enough to love you as much as your daddy loves me," she said to their little girl, who of course didn’t understand a word. she couldn’t help but wish that her own child would be as lucky as she was when she grew up. "oh, the only thing we need is time, we have you all worked out already," she teased, shaking her head as casey pulled them closer. "so... are we saying that celeste could maybe have a little sibling if we find the time?" she asked, her eyes filled with love as she looked at him. she’d loved every second of having celeste—well, maybe not the birth part—but she wouldn’t want anything more than to have another child with casey. motherhood suited her, if she was being honest. sure, she'd have to get back to work soon, but with what she did, she could take celeste with her or leave her with the band—those guys loved their little niece so much. "now i want another baby," she groaned dramatically, before teasing him again. "oh, you should stop, or you'll get even harder, and people will notice. pressing me against you won't help," she said with a playful kiss on his cheek. "what a sweet torture," she added, sticking her tongue out at him.

[sillyfudgemonkeys]

Omg...... Like Mother, Like Daughter is doomed Yuri (half yuri? One sided yuri?). TT0TT Sol doesn't feel the same way I'm pretty sure (sadly), but Som is DEF down bad. TT0TT And Som's not exactly the most mentally stable jakfjdksalfj (I think she has a bit of a "Sol's my pet" vibe going on as well. Som means well but she is NOT healthy either jfakslfj oh this is just going to be a fucking wreck I'm ready let's GO!)

(spoilers under cut, also under cut cause length and pictures)

Like she saw the boy Sol is hanging out with and was just ">:("

*sobbing* She is SO DONE when she finds out they are dating TT0TT

*sobs* ahhhh! klasjfdk OhmyGOAD SHE is tREMBLING as Sol tells her how she got with the guy TT0TT

She is literally SULLEN that Sol and guy have been dating FOR A MONTH! she looks os SICK TT0TT

My poor girl is literally doing the Arthur fist clench with her fist TT0TT

Som! Som! Girlie! I don't think this is just a friendship for you anymore.

LKFJDASKLFJKLAJFKL WAIT

"Anyone can see at first glance that he's good for nothing. But how does she not see that?"

OHHHHH MY GOD SHE'S LIEK 'HE SMELLY. HE STANK. HE POOR. HE BROKE. HE TOO NORMAL FOR HER." GURL! GET OFF THE FLOOOOOR!

"To be honest, I wish they'd break up" NO YOU DON'T SAY???? nEVER WOULD'VE GUESS!

Oh I was just here for the matricide but I've been blessed with more angst! Let's goooooo!!!!!!!!!

[valyrfia]

I need to talk about Max's soft smile in that "just an inchident" RBR tiktok, because I can't be the only one who's noticed that he's got a very specific, bashful, gentle, almost-shy, Charles smile that he only pulls whenever he is speaking to Charles or Charles is mentioned. It's like his entire demeanour goes soft and light and gentle, he's like a cat suddenly flopping belly-up.

[teddybeartoji]

o wait before i start posting any pics.. i was thinking that maybe.. you guys could help me liquify this gender some more by switching up what you call me.... DON'T GET ME WRONG I LOVE . LOVE LOVE LOVE WHEN YOU USE HE/HIM AND JUST OVERALL LIKE MORE MASC STUFF THAT'S SOOO MMMMMMMMMSO FUCKING GOOD like i don't get to feel that irl at all so it really does make me so happy but i've just been thinking abt TRYING to switch it up more yk? does this even make sense...... . hhhh anyway i might won't even like it and i'll want to just go back to hehim but i wanna try... JUST TO SWITCH IT UP.

[fuchsea]

.

[katyspersonal]

1 Insight: Djura's third companion is Josef

15 Insight: Josef is just a cooperator variant of the NPC type 'Izzy's Successor', Djura's third companion is that corpse you pick Charred Set from

40 Insight: 'Djura's companion' might not even necessarily mean Powder Kegs. For example, Djura's Ally doesn't have any Powder Kegs weapons but is clearly included! Even then, there were multiple Powder Kegs, why just three specific ones? Maybe 'companions' refers to his polycule divorces closest friends or whatever. Could that mean Bestial Hunter who is from Oto Workshop (beta Powder Kegs workshop)? Could that mean Valtr since his weapon was made in Powder Kegs? Could that mean Izzy? Who knows!

60 Insight: Djura's third companion is an OC spot because developers forgor/had no time and we've been doing blue curtains effect this whole time

99 Insight: Djura's third companion is a Blood-Starved Beast that Djura's Apprentice fights with, they left Old Yharnam together and this one was poisoned with Ashen Blood all along and eventually turned

0 Insight: You've been fighting Brainsucker in Upper Cathedral Ward's corridor for too long lol

[darlingghoulette]

something something biker!eddie and his flirtation via motorcycle 

Eddie buys the damn death trap of a Kawasaki after a particularly good couple of months dealing and Steve hates it. He absolutely refuses to allow any of the kids to get on the contraption, even after he’s promised that Eddie has practiced and knows what he’s doing. Won’t budge on the subject at all.

...until Eddie wears him down enough to try it for himself and then make the judgement on whether or not the kids will be in grievous danger by a spin around the block.

Steve is already in a mood the night they try it, staring at the huge, shiny black beast of a machine, with a matching helmet Eddie had pushed into his arms propped up on his hip. 

He would never admit that he might be just a tad grumpy that Eddie looks way too hot in the leather and straps that make up his jacket. He already had an inconvenient crush on the man enough without adding the way the helmet on Eddie’s own head was kind of doing it for him. Steve will examine that particular reaction later, when he wouldn’t be hashing out his new found kinks in the middle of the street. 

“We really don’t have to do this if you’re unsure,” Eddie’s already perched on the bike, kickstand up and balancing it perfectly with his feet. A professional. The bastard. 

His voice, which had previously been teasing and “What’s the matter? Scared, Harrington?” had softened to something gentler. A peace offering muffled from underneath that fucking sexy helmet. 

Steve knew that if he were to back out right now, that would be it. Eddie would drop it and wouldn’t hold it against him at all. Wouldn’t even make fun. Because that’s just how Eddie was. A unmitigated asshole when he was joking around with his friends--and a fucking sweetheart if he knew something really mattered. 

It moved Steve’s feet forward, climbing on and settling himself on the pad just behind the dipped driver’s seat. He eases himself down fully, noting how Eddie keeps the bike solidly balanced the whole time despite the shift of weight. 

“Shut it, Munson, I’m not scared. Just would really prefer not to crash into a tree, so keep your eyes up front,” He put on the borrowed helmet, pushing at Eddie’s shoulder to stop him from craning back around to look at him. “Eyes front!” 

Eddie laughed.  “We’re not even moving!” 

“I don’t care! It’s like a loaded gun. Always assume it’s loaded! Always assume this thing could kick up at any moment and make us smears on the pavement.” He grumbled, but it was halfhearted. He was mostly distracted now with what to do with his hands. Eddie lifted his leg and brought it down swiftly, kicking the motorcycle on in a way that was...undeniably confident and hot. Oh, Jesus Christ. 

“I promise to keep us in one piece, your majesty. Nothing crazy, but you’re definitely going to want to hold on to me,” The machine under them roared, making Eddie yell just a bit to be heard. He reached back to pull one of Steve’s hands to his waist only for it to be immediately pulled away.  “Uh, it’s fine. I’ll just--”  “Steve,”

“I’m good, you can go!” Steve braced both hands on either side of himself, digging his fingers into the padded cushion beneath him. They didn’t speak for a few beats, the engine rumbling carrying on relentlessly, until Steve saw Eddie’s shoulders shrug in an exaggerated way and then he--

The bike revved and lurched forward a few feet, throwing Steve’s balance out of the proverbial window. He yelped and fought against the momentum throwing him back by yanking forward and plastering himself to Eddie’s back. 

There was no space between them now, with Steve’s arms completely wrapped around the body in front of him, fingers digging viciously into Eddie’s waist. Despite his nervous system still working through the scare, Steve had to admit to himself that he did feel more stable like this. Like they were one person on the bike, now. Balance aligned, weight together. 

Eddie had them braked safely again, feet on the ground and the echo of his laugh in Steve’s ears. Once the jock got his breath back again he was really going to have some words to say about that. Most of them curse words. Their helmets knocked together slightly as Eddie turned his body and flicked up his visor. Their position made it difficult to be face to face, but Steve caught the corner of Eddie’s smirk and a flash of a chocolate brown eye.  “There, much better. Now, you just hold on like a good backpack and let me take you for the ride of your life, ‘kay?” 

Before Steve could even process that the visor was back down and they were taking off, his heart pounding against Eddie’s back for reasons that were only partially to do with the bike underneath them.

He really hated this thing.  (He loved it. The kids were allowed to get rides, occasionally. That seat became Steve’s.) 

[burger-goblin]

.

[destinyandcoins]

fuck anyone who tries to sneer at needing background music or an audio book or whatever to concentrate. human beings have been using storytelling and music to pass the time while they Accomplish A Task for literally all of human history, and it is in fact one of the distinguishing traits of humanity that allowed us to get this far.

sorry if I need to listen to a podcast while plugging these numbers into a spreadsheet, linda, it's just that the hunk of soft tissue firing millions of electrical impulses a minute to animate my entire body can't distinguish between this tedious task and the slow mind numbing process of chipping a rock into the desired tool that I need to more efficiently hunt or make fire and allow me to evolve from survival to a conscious appreciation for life and the wonders of imagination

[echothelover]

There were three stages to my development as a Juri fan.

Stage one, you are 100% pro Juri and too emotionally close to the conflict, and thus it hurts when Shiori does anything. Wtf was Ruka's part of the story even about.

Stage two, you relate to Juri just a liiiitttle too much. And you become a Shiori apologist. Shiori may be mean but she's not THAT bad. I mean, Juri is pretty cold to her too. Surely there's a REASON Juri liked her in the first place. Also Ruka GET AWAY FROM THEM.

Stage three, you are now a fan of both Juri and Shiori but please please please stay away from each other til you've both got years worth of shit figured out. Shaking Juri by the shoulders- i get it, i understand, but GET OVER IT. Cheering loudly at the scene where the locket is cut off. Appreciating Ruka's narrative for shaking them out of their patterns (but still hating him so so much and laughing when he dies offscreen). Get therapy please girls. And then, if after lots of self reflection and improvement you still love each other, THEN... you should keep going to therapy but also add couple's therapy into the mix.

[haystarlight]

trans lesbian straight men who can't get laid by a woman

That's not even remotely right

Straight men don't usually dress feminenly

Lots of trans lesbians have girlfriends, idiot