#very possible that they forgot or maybe it was cut?

[kanda-franca]

the way that joel needed no introduction. im pretty sure i've watched all the imp and skizz interviews and they've asked their guest to introduce themself every time lol

[ilikeevilblondes]

Wide Open

18+ MDNI!

Summary: After a long day of work, Joel expects nothing more from the evening than getting some shut-eye. Fate has other plans, however, because the daughter of the family next door forgot to close her blinds again and is putting on quite the show.

TL;DR: Joel gets off watching you get off.

W.C: ~2.8k

Warnings: pervyneighbour!joel x reader, he's a tiny bit of a creep, accidental voyeurism (kind of…), mutual masturbation, dildo usage, lowkey a tiny breeding kink, implied age gap as per ushe (late-40s, early-20s), (no outbreak!)

Note: this is your daily reminder to close your blinds, y'all. unless joel miller is your neighbour. then maybe don't, and fuck with him.

Part One | Part Two

Joel always said he’d retire ‘soon’. 

Though as the years flew by, ‘soon’ remained ambiguously distant.

Presently, he had just come home from an unnecessarily hard day at work where some Einstein had misread the blueprint and cut every single piece of lumber half an inch too short. 

Joel was pushing fifty now. If asked toward his earlier adulthood, he’d have claimed that fifty-years-old balanced right on the precipice of retirement. And by sixty, he’d be golfing daily, attempting to read something other than the backs of DVDs, and not worrying about stupid shit like redoing an entire section of framing because of Romero’s shitty-fucking-eyesight.

“Fuckin’ Romero,” Joel mumbled to himself as he locked the door behind him and tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter.

With heavy footsteps, he ambled toward the fridge, praying he had the foresight the night before to leave a can or two of Modelo for his future self.

The unwelcoming sterile glare of the fridge light greeted him as he yanked open the door. Worse, it greeted him with its contents, or lack thereof.

No Modelo. 

Not even a lone, pitiful can of Keystone Light that Joel may have bought in desperation as a crappy substitute for literally any other beer.

Making a mental note to pick up a six-pack sometime tomorrow and, further down the line to maybe cut down on the beer, Joel trudged up the stairs to his bedroom.

His bedframe whined with a metallic creak as he sat on the edge, rubbing his hands down his face and feeling the scrape of his overgrown stubble on his worn palms.

Joel was more than ready to call it a night, he thought, as he leaned over to draw the curtains.

But he froze upon seeing you.

The two-story craftsman next door, formerly a ‘fixer-upper’, had been home to you and your parents ever since you moved in from the city a year ago. Your parents were mild-mannered neighbours who sent the street Christmas cards and kept the porch light on and took part in the neighbourhood watch patrol.

And you? You never made your bed, always had a book in your hands before sleeping, and more importantly, had a very noticeable habit of neglecting to close the blinds of your bedroom window.

Joel knew this, of course, because the bedroom of the two-story craftsman facing his house just so happened to belong to you.

“Shit,” Joel heaved a heavy sigh, still clutching the drawstring with notable tenseness.

Your cream-coloured blinds were slanted completely horizontally, allowing a direct view into your bedroom. And Joel found himself helplessly entranced, watching the back of your silhouette pull your shirt over your head and fling it across the room.

Fuck, you were very possibly wearing his favourite bra. The lacey ones that pushed your tits up real nice–

No. No, Joel, didn’t have a favourite bra of yours. What kind of neighbour would keep track of the family next door’s daughter’s bras? 

You turned around and, to his delight, confirmed that you were wearing the exact pair.

Him, evidently.

Joel squeezed his eyes shut and leaned back, running a hand through his greying hair and letting out a deep exhale.

You continued undressing, seemingly oblivious to the state of your blinds and the lack of privacy that state entailed. And further, oblivious of the old man next door watching intently as you unzipped your jeans and stepped out of them.

A thong. You had chosen to wear a thong that day. Because, of course, you had.

Bright red and stringy and covering virtually nothing, which left no part of your lower half to the imagination and Joel was able to see most of your perfect fucking pussy from the house over—

“The fuck am I doing?” Joel mumbled to himself and decidedly tore himself away from his window.

What was he doing? 

It wasn’t like you were strangers. He knew you. He came over to barbecues hosted in your back garden, fixed the leak in your kitchen sink when your dad had called, and watched the Superbowl in your living room that one year.

And, as much as he may have indulged in watching you before, he had never lingered as much as just did. Usually, he’d be sated with a few seconds of your half-dressed state, and would only later conjure up that image in the shower to fuck his fist to.

The tightness in his pants seemed to disagree with that plan, and Joel was overcome with an overwhelming need to settle his problem down south immediately.

Joel turned back to his window, determined to draw the curtains shut once and for all and then quickly jerk off to the mere thought of you (not that that was a noble action in and of itself), when he, for the second time that evening, froze at the sight of you.

Your bedroom was furnished in a way that had your bed facing your window. So, your wonderfully respectful neighbour could easily have direct views of you lying on your bed chatting on your phone, or reading, or spread out and running your fingers through your slick folds.

If Joel thought he was hard before, he was definitely, painfully, rock-hard now.

As careless as you may have been in the past, you have never forgotten to close your blinds to this degree before.

And, owing to that logic, you would never slip up like this again.

So, one would be incredibly stupid to not take advantage of this rare opportunity.

“Fuck it,” Joel inhaled sharply.

He scrambled to undo his belt and unzip his jeans and pull them down just enough to tug his raging erection out of his briefs, all while desperately keeping his gaze set on you.

Bracing one hand against the wall, he let the other wrap around his cock, fisting it leisurely as he watched you take open-mouthed breaths while your fingers traced up your seam to rub at your clit, your thong haphazardly pushed to the side.

You looked so pretty like that; lying on your bed and touching yourself as if you had pent-up emotions of need you desperately ached to satisfy.

You went slowly, dragging your fingers down along your wet cunt and against your throbbing clit, likely savouring the intensity.

Joel matched your pace, his fist sliding in a lazy tempo around his aching member.

Fuck, he’d do anything to grind his cock against your pussy; feel it shiver and clench around nothing and coat his length with your seeping slick. He’d bet all his money he could make you come without even putting it inside, too. Needy fucking slut.

And then you dipped a finger inside. 

Then another. 

God, with the way you seemed to be shaking around two of your own slender fingers, Joel was sure you’d be a mess riding his. 

Fuck, he’d even give you a third just to see you lose your fucking mind.

Maybe you’d beg him to stop, crying prettily and gasping in pitchy breaths that you just couldn’t take any more. But Joel believed you could, and he’d tell you so as he slipped his index finger to join the other two, feeling you clench around them—

Joel’s dick twitched in his hand and it was all he could do not to come early and let the show go to waste. Instead, he adopted a faster tempo, trying his damnedest to follow yours, however erratic it was.

Your mouth opened in a silent moan and you tossed your head back against your pillows as your fingers sped up in their ministrations.

Shit, you probably sounded real fuckin’ sweet, all overwhelmed with pleasure.

Again, your mouth parted, letting out a syllable of something Joel couldn’t hear, your tongue flicking out momentarily as you sounded it out.

Maybe it was Joel’s twisted imagination, but he was somewhat sure you had just moaned his name.

You probably didn’t, but it was a nice fucking dream, anyway.

He’d do just about anything to hear his name on your lips, whispered like a prayer or screamed like a plea as he relentlessly pounded into your tight fucking pussy. And, if given the opportunity, he’d fuck you so hard, a slurred babble of name would be the only thing you could say.

A familiar warmth began to pool at the pit of his stomach and his cock tensed even more.

Fuck, he was close.

And, he assumed you were, too, owing to the sheen of sweat on your body glistening under your lamp and the giant breaths you were heaving in.

“C’mon, babygirl.” He encouraged aloud despite being a good distance out of earshot, his voice coming out raspy and low. “Come for me,”

He watched you carefully, waiting for the moment your eyes fluttered shut and your hand stilled so he could close his eyes and imagine fucking his load into your spent cunt.

But no such series of events occurred.

Unexpectedly, however, you pulled your fingers out and flopped over on your stomach to reach for the bottom drawer of your bedside table.

What… the fuck?

Did you come already? Without Joel noticing? Shit, he definitely was too cocky in his familiarity with the female body if he didn’t clock your orgasm.

“Goddamnit.” Joel sighed, his hand coming to a complete stop.

Maybe it was better this way. 

Maybe Joel could still salvage what little morality he retained and beg for forgiveness from the higher powers above—

And no, actually, he couldn’t because, being the dirty fucking whore you were, you pulled out what he recognised to be a dildo from your nightstand.

You stopped fingering yourself to get a dildo from your nightstand.

“Filthy girl,” Joel tutted through a depraved smile, watching with hazy, lust-flooded eyes as you sat back down, spat directly on the tip of the sex toy, and positioned it in front of your weeping pussy.

Who knew that the sweet girl next door, the one who always offered to help carry groceries or to water his plants while he was away, kept a thick fucking dildo near her bed.

Not just any dildo, either, Joel realised.

It must have been his lucky fucking day, because, upon squinting at the unholy sight, Joel discerned that the shade of which the toy was painted almost exactly matched the rich tan of his skin tone.

In other words, it was now going to be much easier to imagine himself fucking you when a close replica of his cock was pistoning in and out of your pretty cunt.

“You gonna put it in, sweetheart?” Joel sighed, his grip tightening around his length as he watched your dawdling.

Fuck, he was going to get humanity’s worst case of blue balls if you stretched this out any longer.

“C’mon, baby. Jus’ put it in. ‘S not that hard,” He all but whined.

He, a man pushing fifty, basically whined. Good lord, what kind of fucking temptress were you?

Thankfully, it seemed as though you heard his words, because right after, you had slid the first few inches inside your walls, gasping at its girth.

“Yeah, there you go.” Joel sucked in a sharp inhale as he thrust up into his fist. “That all? Oh, babygirl, you can give yourself more.”

As if reading his mind, you slowly began feeding yourself the rest of the tanned dildo, throwing your head backwards and chanting that syllable that was so dangerously close to Joel’s name.

For the purpose of that night, Joel took the liberty of imagining it was, in fact, his own name as he fucked up fully into his fist.

When you finally took the toy to the hilt, its fake carved balls pressing against your ass, you started moving it in and out of your drenched seam at a steady pace.

Joel let out a string of incoherent curses under his breath, which quickly turned into strained groans as he mirrored your rhythm, practically feeling the way your pretty pussy clenched around that fake dick.

Your chest was expanding and contracting frantically now and you were no doubt releasing breathy moans from the sensation of fucking yourself with those eight generous inches.

Joel wished he was in that room with you to give you the same and then some. 

He’d kiss his way down to your tits and take a nipple into his mouth, tasting the sweetness of your skin as he bent you in half and made you see stars.

He wouldn’t even have cared too much if you passed out, as long as, when you woke up, he was still driving into you and kissing your cervix with each thrust, sending you barrelling into orgasm after unbound orgasm.

He’d hold out as long as it took to get you completely sated, and even a little more after. Maybe he’d even pop a certain little blue pill just to watch himself fuck his come deep inside you again and again after rounds of laborious exertion.

Joel’s dick twitched again at the mere thought.

And again, upon seeing the sight of you pulling the soaking dildo out of your tight hole and manoeuvering yourself to hover above the thing like you were about to sit on it.

Christ alive. You were going to ride your dildo.

“Shit,” Joel breathed, his eyes widening slightly. God, this would be a treat to watch.

Worrying your teeth on your lower lip, you began to slowly sink down on the toy, a silent scream leaving your parted lips as you steadily took it all the way to the fucking hilt.

Joel, he imagined you to have mewled. Joel, you’re so fucking big.

“‘S okay, sweetie, you’re doin’ real well.” Joel sighed, watching you adjust to the size. “Brave girl, doin’ so good. Now, go on and ride that cock. C’mon, baby.”

And so you did.

Bouncing up and down on the toy, your mouth opening in a steady stream of what seemed to be expletives, and your tits springing from your efforts.  

Fuck, in his forty-something years of life, Joel had never seen such a pretty sight.

And, there you were, repeating that mystery syllable like your life depended on it.

Joel, Joel, Joel, he envisioned you whimpering.

You were close again. He was sure of it. If it wasn’t already painstakingly obvious from the way you were eagerly swiping at your swollen clit.

And so, he finally gave in and began fucking up into his fist—his hips intensely chasing his hand—at the ferocity at which he dreamed to ram inside you, dragging against your velvety walls and feeling as you shivered uncontrollably around him.

He was close, too. Very fucking close.

“Come for me, sweet thing. C’mon. Be a good … fuck, be a good slut for me and come around that cock.” Joel breathed, eyes glued to the display of you feverishly riding the toy.

Then, suddenly, your mouth opened in a long scream as you nearly went cross-eyed.

Shortly after, your face scrunched up in pleasure and your body fell still on the dildo, the only movements being small rolls of your hips against the rubber length as your breathing began to even.

You came.

Fucking finally. 

Joel shut his eyes and pictured driving into your throbbing, dripping cunt, hearing your pitchy whines as he shushed you with little follow-through.

Gonna come inside, he’d tell you in between heavy, strained breaths. To which, you’d frantically alert him of the fact that you weren’t on the pill and the two of you had chosen to forgo the assistance of a condom.

But Joel’d come inside you anyway. Mark up his pretty girl with pearly ropes of his come. And he’d keep you filled up as long as he fucking could.

Before he knew it, Joel was coming hard and fast into his fist, wildly jerking in and out of his grip as he rode out his high.

It took a few more moments for him to slow down, and a good number more for him to stop fully.

“Fucking hell,” Joel sighed as he took a seat on the edge of his bed, reaching over to a nearby table and plucking a few pieces of tissue out of its box to clean himself up with.

Satisfied, he crumpled up the tissues, tossed them into a nearby trashcan and gently tucked himself back in.

His head hung low as he caught his breath and tried not to linger on the dubious ethics of what had just transpired.

While that had possibly been the best jerk in his life, it was undoubtedly very non-consensual. At least, on your side.

After all, you hadn’t explicitly given him permission to fuck his fist to the sight of you doing… whatever fucking marathon that was.

At least, he didn’t think you did.

Until, bing!

Joel angled his head to catch sight of his phone lighting up with a recent notification.

Unsure of who could be texting him at that hour, Joel took it in his hands and unlocked it with a quick swipe of his passcode.

It was a message from you.

You: you gonna keep jerking off across the street or are you gonna come over?

Joel’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. 

So, you had seen him. Possibly even orchestrated the whole ordeal; neglecting to close your blinds on purpose, wearing that bra, and, well, fucking yourself right by your window.

Shit. Well, he couldn’t just come over and fuck you silly … could he?

Then, another text came.

You: home alone.

Joel never put on his shoes faster.

[welcometoyunosworld]

Missing you, pick up Aein

𝘊𝘩𝘰𝘪 𝘚𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘨-𝘏𝘺𝘶𝘯 / 𝘛.𝘖.𝘗.

When you worry about him and you can't help but call and send more texts than intended because you overthink :<

Warnings: 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘦𝘳, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘤 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘬, 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘏𝘺𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 :<

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

At exactly 2:13 in the morning, you were wide awake. You couldn't sleep at all, Seung-hyun wasn't home because he was off for a recording and more. He told you multiple times before that he'd be away for a lot of times, but of course he makes a shit ton of time for you too, and you absolutely appreciated that. Hell, even when he knew he had shit to do he knows he can't just leave you out like that.

And here you are now, alone in bed, which felt colder and very empty without him. You didn't know exactly why you were thinking like this or feeling like this. Your heart was racing, your mind can't stop making up the most bullshit stuff that a small part of you knows damn well those shit won't happen, but still, you can't help but take short deep breaths.

You were hugging the pillow tightly, hugging it just exactly like how you'd hug Seung-hyun when you slept together. Your hands clutched the pillow tightly, your brows furrowed and your small whimpers and short breaths alongside the sound of the wind outside were the only sounds your ears could hear for now. Your eyes were closed shut, tears daring to form at the corners of your pretty eyes that Seung-hyun loves to look at.

“Aein..”

Your small voice whispered weakly to the silence of the bedroom, your little sniffles were muffled against the pillow until you couldn't take it anymore and finally shifted and sat up. Breathing getting heavier and tears starting to stream down your cheeks as small sobs escaped your lips. With trembling hands, you hesitantly reached out and grabbed your phone.

Your overthinking just got worse.

Seung-hyun hasn't texted or called at all. Why?? Was he still busy? Or was he practicing? Maybe he was still recording? Or just having fun with the rest of the boys? Or what if they went out for a bit? What if a girl—

“Goodness no.” You cut off your thoughts before you could even think of anything worse. Your shaky hands opened your phone, hoping the notifications were just delayed or you accidentally turned on Do Not Disturb. Your heart dropped when you realized Seung-hyun really hasn't sent a text at all or even a call.

You didn't wanna call so suddenly, what if he was busy? It wouldn't hurt to give him a call, right? You were just worried and besides you missed him so much, it's been nearly two weeks since you last saw him, you missed his voice that would tease you and whenever he showed you what he got for breakfast, for lunch and for dinner. Even the boys would peek and say Hi to you or snatch his phone and run off laughing with you giggling on the other side.

You didn't even realize how many texts you sent already and how you already tapped on the call icon and you were waiting for him to answer. And you can't control your tears or sobs anymore, you missed him so much and you badly wanted to know why he didn't even message you since yesterday. You waited...

“Jagiya?” His deep voice instantly made you sob, which got Seung-hyun nearly choking on his drink before he cleared his throat and told the boys he had to step out for a bit. “What's wrong, Jagiya? Why the tears?” He spoke again, softly. He was obviously worried but at the same time he was nervous, he was well aware he couldn't text you at all since yesterday. But he also knew you understand that he was very busy and possibly forgot to text you or he thought he texted you but he actually didn't.

“I was worried.. A-And i miss you.” Your murmur was nearly incoherent due to your sobs and sniffles, but Seung-hyun understood and he spoke gently, “I know Jagiya, I'm so sorry i didn't text you at all, i was so busy i thought i-”

“It's okay Aein.. I know you were busy.. it's just that I got worried and missed you so much.. I.. I was overthinking..” You admitted as you tried to ease your breathing but it only got worse and that didn't go unnoticed by Seung-hyun. “Deep breaths, Jagiya. I'm here, I'm okay.. Deep breaths, okay?” His deep yet soft voice spoke through the phone as you listened and tried to match his breathing even though you could barely hear it. But it was helping you anyway.

“There you go.. A few more, in and out. Until you can breathe properly again, then tell me what happened.” He explained softly, wishing he could just hold you right now and feel your smaller frame in his arms again, he swore you never fail to help him relax after a long time of being busy and with the exhausting touring.

After calming down and telling him everything, his desire to cuddle you again only got stronger. He really got you overthinking that bad, he felt guilty for it and apologized immediately and explained himself like he always does. The call lasted for about an hour and a half, with Seung-hyun going back inside and the boys saying hi to you.

And before he ended the call, “I love you Jagiya, I'll be home soon okay? Soon, i promise. Get some sleep now okay? Please? I'll make sure i send you a text. Good night, Jagiya. Mwah.”— "AWWW HE SAID MWAH!” Dae-sung's voice chimes making you laugh softly. “I love you too Aein, Mwah mwah.. Good nighty! I'll see you soon!”

And the next morning you woke up with a text from Seung-hyun.

Aein💗:

Good morning Aein, I'll be heading for rehearsal today. I'll text you again later. Love you ❤

∘₊✧───∘₊✧───∘₊✧──────✧₊∘───✧₊∘───✧₊∘

𝘏𝘐 𝘉𝘈𝘌𝘚!! :D

[colorfulrook]

i saw you opened a request…

if possible can you write Mafia Jin-woo x reader?

Like sunshine and sunshine's protector

loves your writing ❤

The light in the shadows [SJW x Reader]

[A/N]: Hello love! Thank you so much for your ask, I really enjoyed writing this!! Also I want to take the chance to say that I almost reached 100 followers, which I find so fucking cool, I am so grateful! I was thinking about doing something special to celebrate! Stay tuned my loves - Rook

(fuck me I almsot forgot the title)

Genre: Mafia AU | Romantic with a sprinkle of my usual angst. Pairing: Sung Jinwoo x Reader Lenght: 2.6K words, i let myself gooo

"A kind bar owner unknowingly becomes entangled with Sung Jinwoo, a mysterious and dangerous man from a hidden world of power and violence"

The first time you saw Sung Jinwoo, it was definitely memorable. Maybe because it was in the back alley of your bar—oh and covered in blood too.

The hot summer air clung to your skin, thick and humid as you pushed open the back door, a heavy garbage bag dragging behind you with a dull scrape. It was an eventful night at work and you decided to keep the bar open for another hour, now after hauling sack after sack you were starting to question your own choice.

On your way back inside, your foot caught on something—someone. Not a corpse, thankfully, but a very much alive body slumped against the wall, breathing ragged and stained in blood.

He didn’t flinch when you yelped, nor when you fumbled and dropped the garbage bag, contents spilling across the pavement. Instead, he blinked up at you slowly, like you were the one who’d interrupted his night.

"Sir! Are you okay? What happened? Wait here I'll call the am-"

“...Sorry,” he muttered, halting you from taking another step, voice low and hoarse. “Didn’t mean to scare you, please don't call the ambulance I'm fine"

You stared at him, unsure if you were more concerned or confused. Fine wasn’t exactly the word you’d use for a man who had splotches of blood on him. Your eyes darted on the gun holsters hung under his arms, thought devoid of any weapons.

His left side glistened red, soaking through the fabric like an abstract painting. And yet, somehow, his expression was calm. Stoic. As if this wasn’t even the worst part of his day.

You crouched a little closer, keeping your distance, hands out in front of you like approaching a wounded dog. “You’re bleeding,” you said gently. “A lot.”

“I’ve had worse.” His head tilted slightly, dark eyes meeting yours. Despite his condition, there was a sharp awareness behind them. Watchful. Dangerous.

Yet something about him pulled at your chest. Not fear. Something softer. Something stubborn.

“Well, you can’t stay out here.” You rose to your feet. “Look, I won’t call an ambulance, but let me at least get you inside. Just for a bit, okay? Maybe I can help you out".

With gentle hands you helped him up and brought him inside.

You managed to sit him down on one of the chairs, first aid kit in hand as you examined what could you do to help, thankfully it looked that not all of the blood was his.

You tried not to stare at the way his shirt clung to the lean lines of his chest, the hint of muscle beneath as you peeled the fabric away from the wound. Your hands moved carefully, fingers brushing his skin like he might shatter if you weren’t careful.

“This might sting,” you warned, though your voice was as soft as the cotton pad you pressed to the jagged cut.

He didn’t so much as wince.

Jinwoo looked at you then—really looked at you. For a moment, his eyes lingered, taking in the gentle crease of concern in your brow. You were pretty, he thought, like warm rays of sunlit peeking from the curtains at morning, quiet and comforting.

“You don’t talk much, huh?” you asked, gently cleaning around the wound. Your fingertips barely grazing him. He was warm, a living contradiction of how he was in his field of work—quiet and dangerous, and yet sitting so still under your care like he belonged there.

“Not much to say,” he murmured, voice low.

"I guess you won't tell me how did you end up like this, am I right?"

“You’d be right,” he said, his voice still that quiet gravel, though something in it almost sounded amused. “It’s… complicated.”

You gave a small smile as you finished wrapping the last bit of gauze, hands steady despite the thrum of curiosity dancing under your skin.

“I figured,” you replied, gently pressing down to secure the bandage. “People don’t end up bleeding in alleyways behind quiet bars because of simple things.”

He let out a soft sound, not quite a laugh, not quite a scoff. Just a breath, like he didn’t know what to do with you. Most people would’ve run, called the cops, shut the door and pretended he wasn’t real. But you—sunshine in human form—you helped him.

"Is your home near?" he asked suddenly, eyes flicking toward the back hallway of the bar.

You blinked, caught a little off guard by the question. “Upstairs actually, it's uh... It's convenient. Plus, the rent’s unbeatable when you’re the one running the bar.”

He nodded once, then shifted, testing his weight. You reached out instinctively to stop him, your hand pressing gently to his chest. “Hey, you probably shouldn’t move too fast. You’re still bleeding under that shirt.”

His breath hitched just slightly at the touch, and so did yours when you realized how close you’d leaned in. His eyes flicked to your lips for a heartbeat, but he didn’t say anything.

"Ah! Sorry, please don't move around so quick, I tried to patch you up but you still be gentle"

He shook his head. “No. You’re… fine. More than fine.”

The words left his mouth before he could stop them. Honest. Quiet. And somehow heavier than they should’ve been.

You tilted your head, smile tugging at your lips again. “You sure you’re not concussed?”

That earned you a real smile. Small. Lopsided. The kind of smile that felt like seeing the sun rise after a long, cold night.

“I’m Jinwoo,” he offered suddenly. “Sung Jinwoo.”

You blinked. “You didn’t have to tell me.”

“I know, but I wanted to." He said before vanishing in the midnight breeze, leaving you hoping for another encounter.

———

He started coming back.

Never uninvited. Always after hours. Sometimes with bruised knuckles and a stitched brow, sometimes just to sit in silence in the dim light of your bar’s back room. You started keeping an extra plate warm. Left a bottle of water near his usual seat.

He never said what he did and you had never asked.

But you weren’t naïve.

The way he moved—sharp, alert, a predator even when relaxed. The clipped tone of his voice when he answered hushed phone calls near the back exit. Sometimes you caught glimpses of ink beneath the cuff of his rolled sleeves—faint lines of tattoos that whispered of something far more dangerous than his calm smile let on.

And then there were the new patrons.

They came late—never drunk, never loud. One of them, tall and still like a statue, always sat at the same table near the window. He read classic novels in silence, rarely speaking unless it was to quietly compliment the taste of the whiskey you poured. His name, or at least the one he gave after he started being a regular, was Igris

The other? A bit harder to forget.

He slouched across chairs like he owned them, spun bottle caps between his fingers, and flirted harmlessly with the jukebox. His laughter was easy, strange—but never quite reached his eyes. You once saw him fold a coin in half with nothing but his thumb. Said his name was Beru, with a grin sharp enough to draw blood.

They came in just before midnight and always left before closing. Never caused trouble. But something about the way they watched the room—watched you—felt intentional.

You didn’t press, you weren't stupid.

And still, they never brought trouble to your doorstep. Never stayed too long, never made any demands, and never pushed for anything more than a polite chat and a glass of something strong. But there was always something a little off—a lingering sense that they were keeping track of more than just your bar.

You caught a glimpse of them once, after you began closing the bar, as they met Jinwoo as he was coming for your now usual night talks. The way they looked at him and bowed politely was something more than a simple greeting.

You didn't know what kind of relationship there was between them, because at the end of the day Sung Jinwoo to you was just Jinwoo.

The man who fixed your broken liquor shelf without being asked. Who stood behind the bar with you one night, sleeves rolled up, silently drying glasses while the rain poured against the windows. Listening quietly as you spoke about the day. Who once crouched in the alleyway for over an hour when your neighbor’s dog ran off—and brought it back with a quiet, proud little smirk.

You were sunshine, people told you. Too soft for this world. Always laughing, always gentle, always making the regulars feel like kings.

And Jinwoo?

He looked at you like you were something from a better world. Something untouched. Something he wasn’t supposed to reach for, especially now that you were getting closer to him.

"You shouldn't be so close to me" he said one night, it was late after your shift, the bar was closed to all except you and Jinwoo. You wanted him to try a glass of your new drink, peach liqueur and gin, just the way he hinted that he liked.

"Why not?" You looked at him a bit confused at first, doe eye shifted to him.

“My world… people like you usually don’t last in it.”

You felt the words settle in the air like ash, bittersweet and familiar. You didn’t flinch. Instead, you walked around the counter slowly, closing the space between you and him with soft, steady steps.

And then, with gentle fingers, you reached up and fixed the crooked collar of his coat—tugging it straight like you’d done it a hundred times before.

“Then maybe your world needs someone like me,” you said softly. “Maybe it needs something warm. Something that doesn’t come with blood on its hands.”

Jinwoo’s breath caught.

He looked at you like he’d been holding it for years—like he didn’t know what to do with something so kind, so real. His eyes flicked between yours, searching for doubt, fear, anything that said you didn’t mean it.

But there was none. Just you. Bright and unwavering in front of him.

He didn’t touch you. “I don’t want to ruin this,” he murmured. “Ruin you.”

You gave him a sad little smile, like you knew he’d say that. Like it hurt, but you understood.

“You won’t” you said, your voice like honey, a quiet, hidden sadness was present in his eyes as he looked at you.

———

You didn’t see him for a while after that night. You told yourself not to worry, that he was just busy with his work,

But worry crept in anyway—every time you passed the stool he always sat in, or found yourself making an extra drink out of habit. You even thought about calling the number he scribbled on a napkin once, but you didn't. You felt as if trying to keep him close you managed only to make him push you away and that hurt, a lot.

Tonight was one of those night where you were mulling over calling him or not, dejected once again you were ready to go upstairs when the front door of your bar shattered open.

Gunshots. Screams. A flash of steel and snarled voices yelling your name made you cower in fear.

You dropped behind the bar, ears ringing and your hand firmly pressed on your mouth. You didn’t know who they were—just that they were looking for you. Tears began to form as they kept yelling for you.

Looking for Sung Jinwoo weakness.

You.

You barely had time to think before the lights flickered—then died, leaving you alone with the darkness and the pack of strangers.

And then came the sound of boots. Dozens of them, sharp and sure, stomping through the chaos like a storm.

They didn’t yell. Didn’t scream. They didn’t need to "To be quick and silent" was their only order.

They moved with lethal precision—tactical, silent, devastating. A dozen men in all black, armed to the teeth, swept into the building like a wave. You heard bodies drop. Heard cries cut off mid-breath.

And then—

“(Y/n).”

His voice.

You looked from behind the counter, his voice was a magnet.

Jinwoo stood in the middle of the wreckage—calm, bleeding but alive. His black coat was dusted in smoke and gunpowder, blood on his collar, his dark hair tousled from the fight. Around him, his men—the ones who called him boss, who’d kill for him without hesitation—secured the room.

They looked so efficient and loyal, like shadows in human form.

Among them you recognised your recent new patrons.

Igris tall and regal in a black tactical coat edged in deep crimson, eyes sharp like blades—a contrast to his mundane self, with all of his books. His loyalty radiated like armor. He didn’t look at you long, but when he did, it was with silent acknowledgment: you were safe

Beru on the other side was a bit more chaotic—hair tousled, smile sharp, a slight twitch to his fingers like he missed the sting of combat. His eyes saw you crouched and trembling, he holstered his weapon and gently extended a handkerchief to you, he had the same warm smile as when he picks a song on your jukebox.

“Boss gets angry when you're hurt,” Beru said, in a voice far too smooth for someone with blood on his boots. “And you wouldn’t like him when he’s angry.”

Then Jinwoo was there—arm outstretched, fingers stained in red but steady. Waiting for you like he always would be, eyes flickering with concern.

You took his hand without question.

———

Later, after the bodies were gone and the cops looked the other way like they were paid to, you sat behind the bar, curled up in the corner booth with a glass of something warm in your hands. Your knees still shook, your ears still rang. You were safe now, but that didn’t mean your body believed it yet.

Jinwoo stood near the doorway like a ghost unsure if he was allowed to stay.

“I should’ve kept my distance, I'm so sorry dove” he said, voice hollow, blaming himself for this mess. “I knew they’d come for you sooner or later. I knew what I was putting you in.”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “But if you had stayed away, I’d still be behind that bar. Dead. Don't you think so?”

You looked up at him then, warm but sure.

“I’m not scared of you, Jinwoo. I’m scared of a world without you.”

He blinked—like he hadn’t considered the possibility of living in his world with you safe at his side. Like he’d spent so long convincing himself that anyone who touched his world could only ever be consumed by it. That you, warm dove in his tainted world, would be better without him.

You stood and walked to him, taking his hands in yours, fingers quickly slotted together like you timidly done so many times before. They were rough, strong, stained by what he had to do to survive. But they trembled when you held them.

“I care about you,” you said, voice quiet but sure. “Whether you’re running an empire or just sitting in my bar at 1 a.m., it’s you. That doesn’t change.”

Jinwoo leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours like a vow, breath uneven against your cheek. “I’ll protect you,” he whispered. “From everything. No one will touch... my angel”

Your heart beat faster at the way he said it—but there was no fear. Only warmth.

“Then let me protect you too,” you whispered back. “Let me be your peace.”

That was when he kissed you.

Slow, deep, reverent. Like he finally allowed himself to fall—and knew you’d be there to catch him.

———

After that night, the bar changed.

Not in ways your regulars noticed—though they seemed to swear the place felt safer, warmer, untouchable. The type of place even the worst trouble wouldn’t dare step foot in.

But you noticed.

You noticed Igris quietly sitting near the front window most nights, sipping espresso and reading a book. Never saying much, but always watching.

You noticed Beru, spinning a barstool playfully and asking customers for riddles, but standing like a loaded gun the second someone raised their voice.

And you noticed Jinwoo.

At peace, for once.

He still wore the crown of shadows. Still ruled an empire. But when he walked through your door now, he smiled—genuine, rare, something only you got to see. He touched your waist like he was afraid to wake up. Kissed your temple like a man who finally knew what home was.

And the world?

It no longer tried to tear you away from him.

Because the King of Shadows had made it clear:

You were his light.

And nothing in this world—or the next—would be allowed to dim you.

[merakiui]

123: breathe; an interlude of peace.

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: subtle yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, codependency, captivity/stockholm syndrome (for azul), delusion, obsession note - for your eighteenth birthday, you ask something grand of azul. if there's one thing that's ever been clear to him, it's that he could never say no to you. // connected to this story.

Deep into the night, Azul wakes to a whisper. It crawls through the room, not loud enough to reverberate in echo, but stressed just so that it disturbs the tranquility of the room. It reaches in muffled waves of sound, tickling his ears beneath the saltwater depths of his pool.

“Azul, can you hear me?” A pause that lasts ten seconds, followed by a hiss of sound. “Azuuul!”

He blinks through the darkness, pale eyes adjusting relatively quickly, and begins his slow, sleep-addled ascent. Bogged down by the weight of the world and his ruined slumber, he surfaces up to his chin. You’re kneeling at the poolside, fingers curled around the tiled edge. 

“(Name)?” He squints and slowly you morph into a clearer shape. “It’s still late. Why are you up before the sun?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot.” You pout at him, and all three of his hearts twist into one. “I was so excited I couldn’t possibly get back to sleep. I had to come see you as soon as it turned midnight.”

Immediately he knows what this is about. Shelving his sleepiness, he’s just awake enough to find his wit. A smirk sits lopsided on his face.

“Oh, that’s right. There was something important about today.” A tentacle slithers up from out of the gloom to tap thoughtfully at his chin. “Hmm. A shame it evades me. It must not have been very important after all.” He lifts his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug.

“Do you really not remember, or are you just trying to be funny?” you snap, adorable pout now sharpening into a scowl.

He cuts through the water to meet you at the edge. You look like you’re ready to bite his head clean off, and maybe that would deter him—give him adequate reason to tuck himself away in hiding—but you’re human, harmless, and therefore he’s unable to keep away. Like the very tides influenced by the moon, he’s drawn to you. An undulation of come and go, rocking to and fro.

He thinks he knew that feeling once, in a distant life. But that’s long gone and now there’s only the present. Only you, peering back at him with glossy eyes. 

It softens the mean streak sizzling beneath his skin, and he halts his lighthearted cruelty. 

“Of course I didn’t forget,” he whispers, reaching to touch you and then catching himself in hesitation.

In a way, your top half isn’t so different from his. You have a face, a mouth, ears, eyes. You have a neck and a torso. Arms and hands. It’s what lies lower that’s different. That pretty pair of legs and feet. So strange. So anti-aquatic. There’s more to your anatomy than he thought, and if the textbook you left behind in your rush is anything to go by it’s a beautiful mystery.

“Happy birthday,” he says instead, lowering his hand. He rests his arms on the edge and smiles up at you, earnest.

Relief seems to flood into your system then, for your entire body droops. He can almost smell it on you. “You really did remember.”

“I’d never forget your birthday.”

And he means it. The date is engraved in his head. Every year is even more extravagant than the last. Only the best for a princess. He thought the entire ordeal was troublesome at first, but he’s come to appreciate the way you light up when your servants fawn over you. Spoiled, he thinks, but he finally understands. Who wouldn’t want to spoil a princess like you? If your bright smile is what I’ll receive in return, it makes me want to gift you all the treasure in the Coral Sea. 

You’re worth spoiling, which is why it doesn’t bother him when you ask, “Did my favorite friend get me anything special for this once-in-a-year day?”

I’m your only friend, he wants to say, but he’s not so sure that’s true. He’ll never know what exists outside of this pool, just beyond these walls and their stained glass. You could have two friends or an entire kingdom’s worth at your fingertips. It’s impossible to approximate just how many souls you call companions.

For tonight, I’m your everything.

“Are my well wishes not special enough?” he teases because he can’t help it. “And I thought they were perfectly suited for this occasion. Very few receive such grand gestures from me, you ought to know.”

You roll your eyes towards the dome skylight built into the vaulted ceiling. “How generous.”

“And aren’t you avaricious?”

“Only on my birthday.”

He chuckles. And every other day.

“Then I have no choice but to celebrate my greedy princess accordingly.” Aiming to mimic the suave and charming princes he’s read about in storybooks, Azul rests his cheek against his palm and gazes at you through his lashes. Maybe it looks wrong from your angle. Maybe he’s more predator than prince. A siren luring you to your doom with the lull of his voice. “For your birthday, I shall grant one wish of yours. Whatever it is you desire.”

“Really? You can do that?”

“For you, I’d do anything.”

You sit back on your haunches, suddenly pensive. “Hmm. You’re giving me a lot of freedom. Whatever will I ask for?”

He hums, content to watch you mull over his tempting offer and the unspoken confession seamlessly sewn into its folds.

Decisive, you slam your fist into your palm, mind seemingly made up. “I know.”

“That was fast.”

“I know what I want.”

“Do you?”

You lean down to look into his eyes. It takes all of his restraint to remain there, meeting your determined gaze, instead of flinching back like his prey instincts tell him.

“For my eighteenth birthday, I’d like to have sex.”

He stares at you. A speechless second stretches into a minute and then more, all of them interrupted by the soft shush-shushing of the pool fountains.

“Sex,” he repeats, tasting the word.

That’s…copulation. Mating. He hopes the room and its shadows are murky enough to veil the blue darkening on his cheeks. Very intimate business.

“You can do that for me, can’t you?”

His eyes drag over your face, down the column of your neck, and he realizes you’re in your nightgown. It’s borderline sheer, just erotic enough in its bodily cajoling. He suspects the article would come apart in pieces if it was thoroughly soaked through with saltwater, and then it’d be useless. Then he’d see all of you as the damp fabric clings to your body. He swallows thickly at the thought, dizzy from the filthy vision. 

“I…can. May I ask why you want that and not…” he trails off, unable to find a better phrase to replace the quiet space. 

“I trust you, Azul, which is why I want you to be my first.”

Trust is such a powerful, baffling thing. He’s not sure if he’s deserving of it.

Though he dislikes the concept, he feels almost lucky to be able to call himself your friend and closest confidant. No one else will ever know the joy and power of being your first. That will belong to him. Only him.

It thrills him all the way to his gills. He sinks beneath the water to wet them, to give himself the space to breathe. A vaguely human concept, he’s always thought, for he doesn’t need to worry about coming up for air when the water is his home. He doesn’t need to struggle for breath when it comes so naturally down here.

When he returns, you’re still waiting. “It’s okay if you’d rather not. I understand it’s a big ask… You might not even know—”

“I do,” he blurts. “Know, I mean. I have prior knowledge after having read a few things. Enough to be prepared.”

He’s inclined to brag about it—about how obviously smarter he is, always the clever one—but sex is uncharted territory for him. Blue hues rake over your body like waves lapping the shore. He can do this. He wants to do this. Prove to you that he can please you in every conceivable manner, far more than any lion prince ever could.

Azul isn’t royalty. He’s just the hopeless octopus your kingdom fished from the sea, but tonight he can pretend. Tonight, he can try a luxurious palate. An appetite for royalty. 

You nod along with what he’s saying. Azul starts to wonder if you left that anatomy textbook near the pool solely for this moment. Was that your sly way of sending a sign? An invitation? Were you hoping to entice him back then?

It worked.

“Are you certain?” he asks because he needs to extinguish the seed of doubt before it takes root. “I don’t want to hurt you…”

“You’d never.”

“I… I’m not human. I don’t have the same sexual organs a human male has. Or, rather, it’s different. There’s also the issue of size and strength.”

His biggest fear, he realizes, is that you might pull away the minute a tentacle drapes over your body. Not that you’ve ever done so before when he grasps your hand or wrist, your legs captured in an obsidian coil. But the circumstances are different now, charged with an underlying sensuality. He doesn’t want to ruin this one good thing with his body and the language it so subtly speaks. A want like no other.

You giggle, and immediately he feels silly for overthinking it. “You don’t need to be human. I like you as you are.” 

To soothe him or maybe patch up his wounded spirit, he’s not sure which, you shuffle forward and dip your feet into the water. A shiver races up your spine. He tracks the movement with rapacious intent.

Slowly, a tentacle curls around your ankle. It crawls up the length of your leg like a creeping strand of ivy. He wants to warm you. He wants to pull you into the water and sequester you in a comfortable corner—in a makeshift grotto, where darkness blankets all—and spoil you until the world ends. But your lung capacity is laughable compared to those who dwell in the ocean. You couldn’t survive. You’re forever trapped on your feet, attainable only when land and sea meet like this. It’s dreadful and unfair.

He hates it.

You’re watching him with bated breath. Azul doesn’t know if he should fill the silence with his voice or if he should continue the climb up your leg. You taste faintly of soap and lotion, of imported oils—an assortment of flowery flavors that brings forth the image of you sitting in a deep bath, legs outstretched as deft hands work the cosmetics into your soft skin.

A second tentacle wraps around your other leg. He slides them apart easily. With one arm propped behind you, keeping you upright, your free hand reaches for the hem of the gown. He reacts without a second thought, seizing your hand tightly.

Startled, you look at him. Questions lift your brows.

“To hold onto,” he babbles quickly. “Should you wish for me to stop, you need only give it a firm squeeze.”

Your thumb rolls over the smooth surface of his tentacle. A smile flickers on your lips. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Allow me to do everything tonight. Consider it an extension of my gift to you.”

“Ooh, how kind.”

A few appendages latch onto the side of the pool, and he anchors himself there so that he can focus entirely on you and not the rings of water undulating with his every movement. 

“Aren’t I just?”

“Don’t get too cheeky.” You tap his tentacle in playful scolding. It responds by nuzzling into your warm palm. 

“I can’t help it. I have the honor of being the princess’s first. Isn’t that dangerous for the ego?”

You roll your eyes, but he feels the way your body warms beneath his touch. He studies the rise and fall of your chest, the slight part of plump lips, the wild ba-thump of a heartbeat.

You’re beautiful…and all mine.

He holds your thighs apart. Your gown is hiked up to your stomach, revealing a pair of pure-white panties. The tip of a tentacle curls around the waistband. 

“May I?” he asks, glancing your way.

“Go ahead.”

He drags the garment down and there it is—your private place. The textbook called it a vagina and the diagrams were visually stunning, if not a veritable pit of information he hadn’t encountered before, but none of that can compare to the sight before him. Yours is markedly different from the diagram, uniquely shaped, more tempting than any sweet he’s ever been shown in the land cookbooks. He labels its parts as he sees them—the labia minora, the labia majora, the mons pubis, the clitoris. It’s that last one—the little nub he mistakes for a pearl—that catches his attention. The book said it was the most sensitive reproductive organ.

To test the validity of that, he prods it with the tip of his tentacle and lifts a hood he hadn’t realized was there. Your reaction is instantaneous: shoulders tensing and then relaxing, back arching, limbs melting. You hiss air in through your teeth and lower yourself to the tiled floor with a shivery breath.

Fascinating, he thinks, taking all of this in like it’s a painting he’s meant to ponder. Such a small thing and yet it brought you to pleasurable ruin in a snap.

The sucker-lined side of his tentacle attaches itself between your legs. As soon as it laves over your pretty place, a rush of foreign tastes invades his senses. Slightly acidic with a subtle hint of sweetness, finished off with metallic notes. He thinks of blood. The book said you bleed from this space every month. Is that what he’s tasting? The beginnings of blood?

It’s heady. He wants more.

He peels the tentacle back to check and, coming away with gossamer strands of your arousal, exhales softly in amazement. The suckers grasp and cling, gathering the exact taste of you in hypersensitive precision. You’re hugging the tentacle twined around your arm, bringing it against your chest. It slides beneath your gown to rest comfortably between the valley of your breasts, splayed right over your heart.

“Oh!” You startle against the underside of the tentacle, a keening cry ripped from your throat when one sucker affixes itself to your clit. It nurses on the bud and prompts another delightful whine from your trembling lips. “Oh, Azul…”

He never realized just how delicious his name could sound coming from your pretty, perfect lips, spoken in a single breath, a shivery gasp… It’s hypnotic, the hold your every reaction has on him.

Toes curling, you scrabble to hold something. Another tentacle slides beneath your back to support you, and it raises you ever so slightly off the cold, uncomfortable floor.

I wish I could gather you in my arms. 

“Are you all right?”

“M-Mhm. I’m fi—ooh!”

You curl in on yourself, limp like a wilted flower, and an unexpected tremor shakes through you abruptly. Sweetness soaks his suckers and the delectable nectar nearly blanks his brain and reduces him to a delirious octopus led by basic instinct. He has to fight through the hazy cloud of carnal energy telling him to breed, breed, breed and exercise a smidge of restraint. If he doesn’t, he’ll have you plastered to the tiles in seconds, legs forced apart and hectocotylus driving home.

Gentle, he reminds himself. A princess like yourself deserves only the finest birthday treatment. 

He zeroes in on the part of your lips with each pant, revealing the tiniest sliver of tongue.

“Is this how your kind does it?” you ask in between gasps.

Your kind. You don’t say it in a disparaging tone, unlike some of the whispers passed around by the servants. You treat Azul with immense care and respect. After all, it was you who lobbied your father for this pool and all of the wonders within it. Azul doesn’t need the other servants, nor does he care much for what they think or feel. He only needs you.

Sometimes he wishes he could trade places with one of the humans in this palace. Then he’d have two legs of his own, and he’d be able to travel up and down the halls, explore the many rooms beyond this one, and walk a path that leads to you.

If he could be human for just one day…

Or maybe it would be better if you could join him under the sea. He imagines you with fins of your own and sighs. Both are outlandish thoughts. The only reason he’s allowed to have them is because he doesn’t have anything else.

You’re all he’s ever needed, though, so perhaps it doesn’t matter as much anymore.

“Would you like to find out?” he asks, a devious smile sharpening on his lips.

“How could I possibly refuse?” you retort, a challenge laced through the words. “Didn’t you say you’d be the one doing all the work?” 

“Of course. That’s a guarantee.” His eyes flick up to meet yours. He holds your stare long enough for a spark to smolder. “Don’t be nervous.”

“I’m not.”

He clicks his tongue in disagreement. “You’re tense, Princess. I can feel it—taste it on you.” A tentacle coaxes you to sprawl against the few propped beneath you. “Relax. I’m here with you.”

“You can…taste that?”

“I can taste all of you.” A wicked grin sprawls lazily on his lips. “No matter how much you hide, you’re an open book beneath my suckers.”

“So that’s how you do it… Impressive.”

To further demonstrate—more realistically, pull another heaping of praise from your throat—he curls a tentacle around your forearm to pull it from your side. Sensing his intent, you raise your arm just enough so that the tentacle can travel higher towards your armpit. And then those suckers are sticking and sampling the sweat from the area. A gasp ricochets through you, leaving your body trembling once again. 

“F-Feels weird,” you whine, eyes squeezing shut. “Tickles…”

“Salty,” he concludes, detaching the appendage. It moves with a mind of its own, coiling possessively around your breast spilling out from disheveled lingerie. A sucker is poised at your perky nipple.

You grip the one twined around your palm, an anchoring lifeline. “I can’t imagine that’s any good.”

“On the contrary, these tastes are all very refreshing.” And then he flicks a slick tentacle at you, misting you with pool water in the process. “And why wouldn’t it be good? It’s just you.”

“Easy for you to say. This is probably new and exciting for you. If it were anyone else…” Your gaze strays elsewhere for a second, pinned on the stained glass just behind him, before weaving back to him. “You sure know how to make a girl feel treasured, icky fluids and all.”

“There’s nothing ‘icky’ about you! Why, that’s just egregiously false. If other humans can’t see how precious you are—every lovely inch, from your head to your feet—then they are undeserving of calling themselves yours.”

A musical hum slips past your lips. “And you are?”

“Hm?”

“And you get to be called mine?”

Thoughtlessly sure of himself, he offers a sage nod in response. That quickly crumbles when he realizes just what it is he’s agreeing to, and he makes a show of clearing his throat even when you start to laugh.

“Y-Your friend,” he corrects, afraid of blurring the boundaries between friend and more. This—tentacles curled around you in all ways erotic—most certainly counts as more, though.

“I’m just teasing you.” And a tease you are when you stretch your legs out and rest them upon his shoulders. He’s trapped between them, brought face to face with your pussy. “Revenge for all those times before.”

It’s all playful, lighthearted. Maybe this is human courtship. Peeling the tentacle away to expose the slick fruit beneath, he thinks, if there ever was any courtship to be had between the both of you, you’ve definitely surpassed that point long ago.

“Is that right?” He matches your crooked smile with one of his own, a mischievous spark now kindled in his eyes. “Perhaps I should return the favor…”

“You wouldn’t deny the princess her pleasure, would you?”

He gasps, offended by the implication. “I would never. I’ve made a promise and I’m going to see it through. Whether you can walk after this is entirely up to your body.”

“Someone’s confident.”

And that’s new because even he doesn’t know where this bravado is coming from.

“I want you to feel good,” he admits in a quiet breath of honesty. “It would be poor manners to take back a birthday wish I said I’d grant. It’d break all three of my hearts to do that to you. Really, it would.”

And I want to be your first, but he doesn’t say it because what if you don’t reciprocate after this?

“Then…thank you, Azul.” You sit up and reach for him, and the next thing he feels is your palm against his cheek. Your thumb rolls over the bump of bone in appreciation. “For being so kind to me.”

He blinks at you. “Always.”

He’d do more than lavish you with endless kindness, but then he thinks that might already be apparent with how gently he’s handling you. His determination outweighs the tangled pile of nerves sitting heavy in his stomach. He’d push through layers of anxiety and self-doubt if it means you’ll smile, call him yours, admire him beneath your palm.

Anything for you.

Maybe it would be better to carve that phrase into his chest so you’ll know the power you have over him—so you’ll know of his loyalty and how it must surpass that of your fiancé’s. If he’s ever been loyal to you at all.

It’s the tip of his hectocotylus prodding at your folds that curbs his bitter mood before it can spiral into something truly hateful. Long ago, the squishy, vulnerable octopus who’d hide away in ceramic pots and ink whenever he was startled believed in storybook romance.

You watch him with bated breath. He wants to yank you towards him and press his mouth to yours and know the taste of you there—the feel of your lips on his, a hungry sort of desire matched between maws. But then he snaps back to himself and realizes you asked for sex, not marriage. 

It may as well be a marriage of your bodies, if anything. Perhaps it’s possible to wed your hearts and brains with carnal connection.

Maybe if he gives you a reason to stay by his side forever…

There are no fantasies of Happily Ever After for him. There’s just an ending in solitude. Which is better? A predetermined ending, in which sorrow is guaranteed, or one where it may be nonexistent so long as it’s one of his own design.

He knows which one he’d prefer. A dozen endings could stand between you and him, and he’d still reach out for what he’ll never have.

“It’s…big,” you whisper, and he can’t tell if the strain in your voice is from excitement or fear.

Azul recalls the pathetic images from the human anatomy textbook and pride zips through him. It disintegrates as soon as a shadow passes over your face. He can tell you’re working out whether or not it will fit.

“I���ll be gentle. I won’t hurt you,” he promises, a tentacle under your chin to bring your gleaming eyes to his. “And if it does hurt, say so.” The appendage wrapped around your hand tightens in reminder: Squeeze if necessary.

“Just…” Your pulse picks up beneath your skin. He can taste the thundering hum of it, feel it reverberate through each of his suckers. “G-Go slow. I’ve never… N-Never had anything like that inside me before…”

He tries his hardest to curb a pleased smile. Perhaps it brightens his eyes instead—the desire to possess all of your firsts just as you should have all of his. He’s already taken your first kiss.

What else can he treasure?

What else will he take?

“It’s all right. I’m here for you. I would never let you know pain.”

“H-Here—let me help.” Your free hand slides down to spread yourself open for him. A velvety invitation. 

He watches your throat bob with your swallow and realizes he, too, is just as clumsy in this intoxicating moment. Should he whisper comforting words? Should he hold and kiss you, pressing your bodies as close as they can possibly get? Should he coax you into the water? He considers each of these while two tentacles nurse idly on your breasts, suckers sticking to hardened nipples. A pleasured spasm rolls through you, accompanied with a sigh so dreamy it leaves him temporarily transfixed.

“On three, okay?”

“Mhm.”

You brace yourself, shoulders tensing. Two unoccupied tentacles immediately slide beneath your nightgown to rub the knots from your upper back. Within seconds you’re melting, all the tension drained from your body.

He eases the tip in, shallow and so careful. “One, two… And three,” he counts, watching your face shift in the shadows. “Just breathe, my dear. I’ve got you.”

And then he’s pressing in. It’s warmer than he was expecting and so wet. Immediately your gummy walls clamp down around him, and he can’t tell if it’s an attempt to keep him trapped there or if it’s supposed to tighten whenever anything’s put inside. The image of you playing with this pretty part all alone, fingers pushing deeper to reach some uncertain depth within, flashes into his mind.

“Feels—” you struggle around a gasp, your back arching up to meet the tentacle draping itself over your stomach— “A lot…”

Azul watches as your pussy stretches to accommodate this new, intrusive thickness. He presses down against the softness of your tummy, wondering if it’s possible to feel himself inside you. He’s almost woozy from the thought.

So this is what mating looks like for humans. It’s…softer than I imagined.

There is no looming threat or fear of a fight. No snapping jaws, starved and cruel. It’s almost impressive how quickly you wither against him, as if something inside you has been weakened the moment he joined your bodies like this. Maybe the anatomy textbook has information about that. He’d like to understand it better—this sudden submission.

“Does it hurt?”

You shake your head, only to throw it back when he pumps another inch in. “Oh! So mean… W-Warn me before you…”

The rest of that sentence never makes it out. Soon, he’s rocking his hectocotylus in and out. Lewd squelches permeate the air, joined by your own cries and his soft panting. Amidst it all, animalistic desire descends and he feels himself grinning wildly. This is it. Your first time. His first time. Shared together as nature intended. All his. Forever his.

You hug a tentacle close, peppering the tip in kisses. He falls all over again. You’re the only human he knows he could cherish him with so much sincerity and not flinch away in horror when wrapped up in the arms of a beast.

You’re the nicest human I’ve ever met.

The first tear tracks a quiet path down his cheek. Another soon follows, and then he can’t stop the rest.

You’re so kind to me. You’ve been nothing but ever since we met.

A pair of hands finds his face next.

“Azul… My sweet Azul, don’t cry,” you soothe. Your thumbs swipe his tears away, and still he chokes over it. The tenderness in your face twists into something frigid, and suddenly you’re frowning. “Really, stop blubbering like a baby. I should be the one crying, you know.”

A pang in his hearts. Something isn’t right.

This isn’t right.

You’re not right—not at all. You’re…malicious. A bully. Not the (Name) who cared for him so fondly, like the glorified pet he became because it made you happy. Because it made him happy once he accepted it.

“Monsters like you don’t deserve to cry.”

And then the illusion swirls into nothingness. Like rings of water spreading out from disturbance, it eventually settles.

Azul snaps awake in bed, drenched in an ocean of salt. It’s been some time in this new body, but he still can’t get used to the filthy phenomenon that is sweating. He feels like a sea sponge. Gross. Too much fluid.

His heart—an amalgamation of three smushed into one—thrums in erratic rhythm. He grabs at his shirt and finds it’s sticking to his body, pasted on by sweat. Sitting hunched in the dimness of early morning, he turns his shaking hands over and then peers past them at the pitiable tent in his trousers, poking up through the sheets.

“A…dream,” he whispers to himself, catching his breath. A strangled noise is squeezed out of him next. He needs to breathe. Calm down and breathe. 

One, two, three.

It was just a dream. 

Breathe.

He can breathe. He needs to. In and out. Take in oxygen. Humanly. So humanly.

He drags his hands through his tousled hair and then he falls back against the pillows. Muffled sounds of movement reach him from down the hall. An inn is exceptionally busy even before the sun has risen. His senses are compromised in this body, not so laser-sharp, laughably weak. Still, he can hear.

Peering up at the ceiling, he sucks down great gulps of oxygen. His chest rises and falls with the motion—the human action that is breathing.

Once you’re in my arms, he repeats to himself, I can breathe easily.

Once he has you all to himself, he can make his dreams reality.

[biteyoubiteme]

Omg congrats on 1k!!!

Soobin in the killa and gbgb performances have been killing me lately.. 🫠🫠 can i request a fic where reader goes down on him after his performance for either of these songs? Seriously never wanted to drop to my knees and suck a dick this badly in my life before this man 😵‍💫

baby, now, now, now, now

soobin x gn!reader

synopsis: he just looks too hot after a performance.

warnings: 🔞!!! oral (m!rec) prob forgot some sorry

wc: 1k

an: thank you so much! it was actually so hard to pick between gbgb and the killa for this lol but these photos spoke to me and picked themselves out. I go crazy watching these performances so I get you on a deeply personal and spiritual level okay and I rewatched the killas stage so many time to get inspo for this and omfg thank you for this ask I love watching that stage. but I hope you like this! not proofread forgive me sweet angel im forever indebted to you

[m.list] [1kevent m.list]

It was not the first time you’ve seen the performance but it was the first time you’ve been there in person. This was entirely different from all the practices you’ve sat in on, every misstep followed by yeonjuns guidance, the soft laughs shared between the people in the room aiding the relaxed feel of the studio. 

But here, sitting in the little private suite overlooking the stage you’re at a loss for words. No one should look that hot on stage, not even your own boyfriend. Maybe it’s the lights that hit soobin just right, the way they keep catching his hair; shiny with sweat. The big screen zoomed into every detail, black tank top stuck to his skin, his bicep flexing just enough to make the wrap around his arm look as if it would pop off from the force. 

It’s enough to make the crowd go wild, the echoing cheers and screams louder than you imagined them. Every single one of them fawning over the way he looks, the way he moves, so in sync with yeonjun. It's almost impossible not to keep your eyes trained on soobins hips. Shirt cut just long enough to reach the waistband of his pants, just short enough so that every time he moved his arms or rolled his body it lifted up, exposing his midriff. Watching them dance during practice, Soobin was mostly dressed in sweats and a hoodie, unbothered by appearances when no one was around to see. Now here it's the opposite, your mouth watering at the way he's moving. 

You're familiar with the way his hips move without anyone around, here with everyone watching it only makes jealousy bubble up for a second. And when he stretches back, arms above his head, so much of his skin on display for the camera to catch. It was addicting to witness. 

When the two of you finally met backstage soobin couldn't tell if you were angry or tired. Never did he expect you to lead him over to the nearest dressing room, the lock twisted before you pushed him against the door. 

“I'm all sweaty,” he chuckles, hands instinctively on your body already, head rolling back as he lets you kiss up his neck. 

“I don't care,” you mutter, hand reaching down to palm him over his pants. 

It took very little for him to get hard when it came to you. Just knowing you were watching him set his nerves aflame, but he worked so well under the slight pressure. He knew what got to you, knew the possibility of this very thing happening now, he could scope your neediness as easily as he could his own, both of you tethered together in that department just fine. 

When you got down on your knees before him, fumbling with the button on his pants, he was whimpering, and already praying no one would walk past and hear him. The second you got your hands on him he was moaning in the back of his throat, pursing his lips as if that would help any with the sound. 

You don't even have to work to build up any spit, your mouth watering on its own just having his pretty cock in front of you. Your thumb rubbed over his slit, spreading the beading precum around his pink tip. “You looked so good out there,” you say in between kisses along his shaft, “performing so well I couldn't stop thinking about sucking you off,” 

You trace your fingertips across his veins, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath he takes. “You sounded so pretty on stage, will you make sure to let me hear you while I make you feel good?” 

He doesn't even get to finish his nod before your mouth is on him, so hot and wet he can't help the moan that leaves him. You hum in response, the vibration traveling up his spine and down his knees. He could buckle under the feeling alone, your free hand not circling what does not fit into your mouth is wrapped around his balls adding enough pressure to make him see stars. 

Reaching out to the door handle for leverage, he needs anything to keep himself up, his head rolling back as you try to take him deeper down your throat. Even just the wet sounds of your working mouth makes his thighs tremble. 

You move to pull away for only a second, enough so that you can go back to using both your hands when he pushes his hand into your hair. “No please don’t stop,” he whines pushing you back down onto his cock. You give a muffled yelp that has him moaning when he hits the back of your throat, so slick with your saliva he pumps in and out of your waiting mouth with ease. You don't even care about not breathing, on the cusp of just about to choke and pure bliss as he uses you. His hips work just as well as you knew they would, your hands wrapping around his thighs to help keep yourself still for him as he thrusts. 

He's a mess of whimpers as he feels his orgasm build, your nails digging into the fabric of his pants, “oh god- I’m about to cum- I’m- I’m cumming- I’m-” he lets your head go as he cums, body slumping against the door as his cock twitches on your tongue, mouth flooding with his release, the saltiness so familiar to you as you swallow.

When you pull away his cock is slick with your spit, rivulets still connecting you to him as you giggle. You give him a few loose tugs, his hips jerking back at the stimulation to his sensitive tip where you place light kisses. 

He reaches out to brush his thumb across your cheek, tracing it down to rub at your just fucked red lips. “You're so good to me, what did I ever do to deserve this mouth?”

taglist 🏷: @kissmekissykissme @bts-txt-ateez @apeachty @seungfl0wer @lunesdesire want to be added to the taglist? check out my rules to see how to join! want to be taken off the taglist? send an ask! also a little thank you to @beomiracles for looking at this and not letting me set myself on fire over it

[dykeadvocate]

— hate sex with mobboss!ellie

CW; dark themes, mobboss!ellie, mobboss!reader, hate sex, dubcon, mutual hate, arguments, dom!ellie, sub!reader, gun threats, cutting clothes with switchblade, arguments, nipple sucking/pinching, dirty talk, pain kink, fingering (r receiving).

a/n; i put dubcon bcuz it's hate sex and there are times when it seems it may not be consensual but i pinky swear it is!! (creds to @caspervi for the banner art :3)

"I'm not coming to that conclusion," You spoke through gritted teeth, "Pick an alternative."

"I don't want an alternative. I told you what I want, and that's all I'm offering." She slumped down in her chair. She looked almost bored, but you knew that wasn't the case. She was furious. You both wanted different outcomes, but that wasn't possible.

You took in a deep breath. God, this woman was going to be the death of you.

As badly as you wanted to point your gun at Ellie and threaten her with her life, you knew that would go sideways. Ellie was a fighter, she wouldn't stand down from a single threat. There would be a violent bloodshed.

"I understand-"

"I'm not fucking changing my mind, Y/n."

You don’t know what overcame you in that moment. Maybe it was her language, maybe you were just so fed up with her bullshit, or maybe you just wanted to put her in her place. No matter what the reason was, you found yourself with a fistful of Ellie’s hair and forcing her to look at you.

You weren’t even able to get out a word before Ellie’s hand was wrapped around your neck and she shoved you into the table. You cried out in pain as your front slammed into it.

“Is that how you wanna play, huh?” Her lips were close enough to your ear that you could feel her breath fanning against it, “You wanna get all fuckin’ handsy and hurt each other, is that it? Because we both know who’s gonna win at that.”

“Get the hell off me, Ellie.” You tried wiggling away from Ellie but she grabbed onto your arms and pinned them behind your back.

With Ellie’s hand still around your neck and now your arms pinned to your back, you found yourself in a very vulnerable position.

“Answer my question.”

You bit your lip, staying quiet. Ellie didn’t like that. She flipped you onto your back and pinned your hands above your head, standing between your thighs.

As much as you wanted to, there was no denying the warmth in your stomach wasn't because of this position.

"You've always been such a pain in my ass, you know that?" Ellie suddenly held her switchblade in her hand, twirling it.

"Not my fault that you're so easy to annoy and piss off." You snapped.

You tried wiggling out of Ellie's grasp again but quickly stopped when Ellie placed the switchblade on your chest. In one swift motion, Ellie cut through your shirt and bra, revealing your chest to her.

"What the fuck, Ellie!" You screeched, desperately attempting to wiggle out of her grasp again.

Ellie didn't respond; her eyes were glued to your chest. Her fingers brushed against your nipple, causing them to harden immediately. She smirked, her fingers pinching your nipple and you yelped in surprise.

"So reactive," She muttered, almost like she was talking to herself but you knew she was talking to you.

"Get your filthy hands off me," You growled.

She lowered her mouth to be hovering over your breasts and looked up at you. She was asking for permission.

You swallowed roughly. You wanted to deny her and make her look like a fool. But you couldn't, not when there was a wet patch forming.

Ellie took your silence and grumpy face as permission and wrapped her perfect lips around your nipple, sucking lightly.

You groaned and tried to pull your hands down to bury them in Ellie's hair but forgot she still had them pinned.

"Let me go of me."

"Beg." She mumbled around your nipple.

"I'm not begging-"

"Fucking beg or I'll put a bullet through your skull."

It disgusted you how reactive your body was to her awful words. Nobody should be getting off to such a sickening threat, yet, you moaned at them.

"Please, Ellie. Please let go of me. I wanna be able to touch you."

You felt pathetic begging for Ellie. She was a sworn enemy; you only worked with her because it benefited you. If she stopped benefiting you, you would gladly have her killed.

But here you are, begging to touch her while she sucks on your nipples.

Ellie removed her hands from your wrists and you immediately buried your hands in her hair, tugging her closer to you. She moaned loudly at the pain that spread across her scalp.

You heard the sound of the switchblade clattering to the table.

Ellie's fingers tug and pinch at your other nipple and you whimper at the pain. Your whimpers only encouraged her to hurt you more.

With a final bite to your nipple, Ellie pulled away from your chest with a grin plastered on her face. Before you had time to create a snarky remark, she crashed her lips into yours.

The kiss was messy, almost like a high schooler's first time kissing. There was no flow. But you fucking loved it. You loved the way Ellie's lips and tongue captured yours, and you loved how she moaned each time you took the slightest control.

Whilst still kissing you, Ellie removed your pants and panties. You shivered at the cold air against your cunt. Ellie and you both moan as she swipes two fingers through your slick.

"You're fucking drenched, baby." Ellie kissed down your neck, leaving marks in her tracks, "Did I turn you on that much?"

You didn't want to boost her ego but couldn't help the pathetic "Yes." from leaving your throat.

Two of Ellie's fingers circled your entrance, teasing you. You bucked your hips into her, desperate for even the tips of her fingers. Finally, after what felt like decades of teasing, Ellie pushed two fingers inside of you.

You moaned at the intrusion and stretch.

You expected Ellie to go slow and let you adjust to her fingers, but she was merciless. She was hard and fast, curling her fingers with each thrust.

The sudden pleasure was overwhelming.

You try to tell her to slow down, but you can't get a word out. All you can do is whimper and moan.

Ellie continues to leave dark marks on your neck; marks that you know you'll need to cover with makeup. If people found out the two bosses of a mob were fucking, there would be problems.

"We gotta wrap this up, baby. I got another meeting to attend in half an hour." Ellie sighed against your neck, "You gonna cum for me?"

You nodded. You were close and Ellie knew it. She could tell by how you fluttered around her fingers and how your moans got increasingly louder.

It didn't take much longer to fall over the blissful edge. Your back arched off the table and your vision spotted white. Ellie covered your mouth with her hand, not wanting you to be heard by others in the building.

Once you came down from your high, Ellie pulled her face from your neck and grinned at you.

"So, are you going to agree with me now?"

You rolled your eyes and kicked Ellie in the leg.

"Go get me another shirt, idiot."

—

@mystellenia @n0t-elliewilliams

[princeoftheeternalbog]

Really sleepy and so like sleeping with you headcannons lets go

I'm not sure half of these are even on the same vibe so uhm like do with that what you will, this is so long and it's atrocious but oh well. Also sorry if its ooc😻

I think maybe one line of suggestive in Franky's and Namis.

I feel like i forgot someone tbh..

Luffy

Sleeps anywhere and everywhere but sleeps better and longer next to you. Thus he is obsessed with sleeping with you and whenever he wants to sleep now you have no choice you must take sleep too. He snores and drools but that's kind of a win because then he doesn't care if you do yk? Loves taking naps with you and it's a way he likes to connect with you. Always kisses you before you sleep and after you wake up. He's so comfortable to lie next to because he's so squishy and he holds you in like every way possible because he doesn't have to worry about circulation being cut off or anything.

Zoro

Again he will sleep literally anywhere. He sleeps like a log but somehow you are the only person able to wake him up, Robin theorises it's his observation haki keeping an eye on you but whatever it is you are Zoros designated alarm clock. However, there is about a 30% chance that when you wake him up, he will just snatch you to cuddle and go back to sleep. You cannot escape his hold and if you keep trying to wake him up he'll just bite you(gently) idk he's feral. Depends on his schedule if he's comfortable or not, usually when he's bulking up he's squishier and it's nice to cushion your head on.

Sanji

Never naps and it's so alarming. How does he survive on like 6 hours everyday we will never know. Anyways he's very clingy when he's sleepy but in like a 'I don't want to bother you so I'll just sit over here looking really forlorn', just take the man to bed. Is somehow so comfy to sleep with it's actually annoying because after a certain point you just can't sleep alone anymore. Always tucks you in if you don't get up at the same time as him and he'll leave little snacks and drinks on your bedside table for when you do wake up. Sanji has a more lean muscly build so it's more comfortable to have him lie on top of you and he is not complaining in the slightest.

Nami

Loves cuddling in the winter, hates it in the summer. She's really sensitive to the temperature yk it's that innate sense of the weather, so when it's hot she is hot. But she really likes being able to touch you, so after a certain point she just forces franky to install(invent) air conditioning and it makes the summer so much more bearable. After this there's no escape, you will be cuddling every night (unless boundaries yk). She always tries to convince you stay in bed in the morning...and it always works. She's very persuasive okay. Lets you use her as a pillow, like her chest or thighs or tummy, she just wants to be next to you.

Usopp

Really shy about sleeping with you the first time. Only the first time. After that well lets just say you created a monster. He's really good at telling when you need a nap, especially when you won't admit it. He just subtly ushers you to a comfy spot and then oh what a surprise your eyes are getting really heavy and hm Usopp wouldn't mind if you leant on him for a bit and then snoreville. He thinks you're so pretty when you're sleeping because you look so peaceful and relaxed, so even if he's not tired he will always agree to a nap. He will carry you to bed. And he's so casual about it too, I guess because you're not like watching him directly so he's just like really chill.

Robin

Actually has a nap schedule with her sleep schedule, she usually takes a very short one after lunch because her power can be quite draining and so once you find this out it's just a big cuddle session which she loves. She tends to keep you to a sleep schedule too but she won't force you if you are really insistent on staying up, but she will say I told you so when you're grumpy and feel sick the next day. So lovely to sleep with, she barely moves, never hogs the blanket, doesn't snore and somehow always stays very cool even in the summer. She also always makes sure you get into bed safely if you're drunk or ill, even if she is too, she really cares about you.

Franky

I won't lie...he builds himself an entire like cushion add-on thing so you can comfortably sleep next to him. He looks like a giant marshmallow man it's so funny. But also it's so cute because he takes your comfort so seriously and he runs multiple tests to make sure it's the absolute comfiest he can be for you. Loves naps but absolutely adores actual bedtime because of the whole like rituals and because he knows he doesn't have to get up in like an hour. Sometimes he will seriously overwork into the night, but on those occasions it's fairly easy to coax him to bed(😚). Also he wears one of those stupid scrooge hats tbh. And yes he says super in his sleep.

Brook

Really insecure about sleeping together because he thinks he'll be uncomfortable to lie next to or cuddle :(. On the other hand, you're also really worried because you don't want to accidentally hurt him while he's asleep, so for the first few months you sleep in beds that are close enough to hold hands instead. Eventually when you both become comfortable with the idea, you end up sleeping together almost every night and you occasionally nap together too. He wears really soft padded pajamas to make sure you're comfy. It's surprisingly more comfy to sleep next to him than you thought it would be.

I won't lie sometimes you do shit yourself waking up and seeing a skeleton.

Jinbei

So responsible, absolutely will stop you from napping if it's too close to bedtime. He knows sleep is important but he also knows a routine is important...and he can't bear watching you sleep alone so if you mess up your schedule then you're messing up his. This also works for if you try to stay up late too, he'll straight up snatch you off the ground and just carry you to bed no matter how much you complain. Really good cuddler, like really good. He always knows how much pressure to use while holding you and when you want more or less contact, knows when you need extra blankets, when you want to sleep in a hammock instead of a bed. He's got a sixth sense for your sleeping habits (read: he's desperately in love with you).

Law

Really grumpy about it. And really shy. Also he's a hypocrite, he'll stay up working till early hours of the morning but if you dare even try he's stood there staring at you like the mf eyes of notre dame. He always wants to cuddle but absolutely despises asking so again he just stares, you can always tell though because his ears go really red. Once you're in the bed though he's suddenly mr suave i will arrange everything, he will literally pick you up to manoeuvre you both into a better sleeping position and doesn't even bat an eye. He will nap but you have to trick him into it, he secretly loves it and lets you do it even when he knows what's happening.

Kidd

Needs like 15 million blankets to sleep. Uses one of said 15 million blankets to wrap you up like a burrito if you refuse to come sleep/nap with him. But actually it kinda does hurt his feelings so you can make up for it by playing with his hair until he falls asleep. Loves napping, he's like an overgrown cat and he'll sleep literally anywhere. But if it's anywhere other than his or yours (or killers) room he somehow? manages? to scowl? in his sleep? Yeah I don't know but it just stops his crew from messing with him because he looks so angry. Like Zoro he will literally just snatch you if you're in his vicinity, like you walk past for two seconds and then suddenly your vision flips and you're just stuck in this iron grip. He won't let you go and the crew just walk past you too.

Killer

You literally don't sleep together until you've been dating for like a fucking year. He really values his privacy and you really respect it which culminates in neither of you asking for such a long time that you both forget its a common couple thing. Until someone asks why you don't sleep together and then you guys are like huh idk and then that's the day you finally do. He's a good cuddler but he's a blanket hogger and you have to braid his hair before bed or it will end up in your mouth. On the plus side, he will make and leave breakfast or coffee (or anything you want) on your bedside table if he wakes up first. Also he always picks the best bedsheets and eventually buys two quilts so you can at least have some blanket when he snatches it all.

Ace

Naturally runs like a furnance and is hell to sleep next to in the summer. But he gets really grumpy if you dont sleep next to him so the crew make you suck it up I'm sorry. Literally you're like clawing at the walls as they throw you in and lock the door. Anyways he's a really good cuddler and so comfy to sleep with, and he always takes naps with his head in your lap. He loves to have you sleep on him too because he loves to look at your face and stroke you hair, idk he likes being slow with you even though he's really energetic. Being naturally sleepy and like a little radiator also tends to make the people around him sleepy so you two are banned from working next to each other because you both just end up napping.

Marco

He doesn't sleep a lot because well he doesn't really need to. But he adores sleeping with you. It's one of his like favourite 'bonding' activities, especially if you haven't been able to be alone for a while, he just loves being that close and the intimacy of sleeping in each others beds. On another note he's obsessed with making your bed really comfy because as a doctor he knows sleep hygiene is important and as a bird...well yk...nest. He's not shy about it but don't tease him because it will hurt his feelings and he won't tell you to save your feelings, beautiful sweet man that he is. LOVES a good nap/cuddle especially in the winter, if you both have spare time he just bundles you both in a big fluffy blanket and just exists with you for a bit.

Izou

He is surprisingly a really undignified sleeper, which is why you don't sleep in the same room for months when you first get together😭. When you finally do, you wake up with his arm in your face, his hair is everywhere, there's a pillow across the room, the blanket is somehow under the bed, you're just like wtf how. And Izou is just (⁠ ⁠´⁠◡⁠‿◡⁠`⁠). But he gets better over time because his brain becomes more aware of your presence as you become more important to him and then bedtime settles into comfy chaos. Pillows still end up everywhere but he is now your cushion so you don't really care. He doesn't really nap anywhere that's not his room but if you do then he carries you to bed :).

[internetdaddy98]

The Ties That Bind Us - Chapter 7

Previous | Next

[Series Masterlist]

Content Warning: workplace crush; heart eyes -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

There were a thousand things Y/N Williams could focus on.

Charting. Trauma protocols. Medication interactions. The bottomless inbox of consult notes that kept appearing no matter how many she finished.

But instead, her brain had decided to fixate on one person.

Again.

Dr. Michael Robinavitch. Robby. The attending who could intubate a coding patient without flinching, who once carried an unconscious kid through three hallways because transport was too slow, who somehow made an over-washed navy hoodie and a well-trimmed beard look like something out of a magazine.

You sighed and leaned your forehead against the cool surface of the breakroom table.

This was bad. This was very, very bad.

It had started like nothing. A flicker. A moment. A stupid flutter in your chest the night he’d handed you a protein bar without a word during a shift so busy you hadn’t peed in nine hours. And now?

Now it was a problem.

You looked at the time on your watch—4:12 p.m.—and groaned softly into your folded arms. The second wind had died somewhere around 3:15. The ER was finally quiet. The kind of quiet that didn’t last. And you should have used the lull to catch up on documentation, but your brain refused to cooperate.

It was replaying things. Stupid things.

Like the time Robby had let you take lead on a gunshot trauma and hadn’t hovered. Just watched you, trusting, arms crossed at the edge of the room with that small, private smile he only wore when he was proud of someone but didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.

Or how he always remembered your coffee order and would slide it toward you during brutal double shifts with a gruff, “Drink this before you crash.”

Or—God help you—the way he looked when he was tired. Sleeves rolled up, hair mussed from running his hands through it too many times. How his voice went gravelly at the end of a shift, like whiskey soaked moonlight. How he’d say your name sometimes—Y/N, not Dr. Williams—like he forgot they weren’t alone.

She sat up quickly, cheeks hot.

Nope. Absolutely not.

This wasn’t a rom-com. This was real life. Real, messy, professional life. You were a first-year fellow, still cutting your teeth on high-stakes trauma. He was your attending. Your mentor. Your friend.

And older.

You weren’t naive. You knew what people saw when they looked at you—young, driven, still proving yourself. Still figuring it out.

And Robby? Robby had already figured it out. He’d lived in this ER for nearly a decade. Everyone respected him. Trusted him. He didn’t just walk through chaos—he anchored it. With him around, things felt possible. Survivable.

He was the eye of every storm. And you were the girl who kept forgetting her own umbrella.

He’d never look at you like that.

You knew it. You knew it.

And yet...

Your fingers toyed with the edge of your ID badge as you stared out the break room window, the city still asleep under a blanket of sodium-yellow light.

The worst part wasn’t the hopelessness of it. It was the fact that—deep down—you didn’t want it to go away.

That flutter in her chest? It made her feel alive. Warm. Like maybe the job hadn’t hardened her all the way through yet.

“Can’t stay awake either?”

You jumped, nearly knocking your coffee over.

Robby was leaning in the doorway, arms folded, eyes bloodshot but alert.

“Jesus,” you breathed. “You can’t just appear like that.”

He chuckled, stepping inside with slow, quiet footsteps that somehow made your stomach knot.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, sitting in the chair across from your. “Thought I’d find you passed out under a pile of discharge summaries.”

You shrugged. “Brain won’t shut off.”

He gave you a knowing look. “Trauma insomnia?”

“Something like that.”

They sat in silence for a minute. Just the low hum of fluorescent lights and the distant beep of monitors on the other side of the wall. Robby tapped his fingers against his coffee cup.

“You’ve been quiet lately.”

You stiffened. “Have I?”

“Mmhmm.”

You tried to laugh it off, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Just tired, I guess.”

He didn’t push. That was one of the most maddening and gentle things about him—he always knew when not to push.

But the weight of his gaze lingered, steady and too perceptive.

You looked down at your hands.

“Do you ever feel like... you’re pretending to be someone smarter than you are?” you asked suddenly.

Robby tilted his head.

“All the time,” he said. “Why?”

You shook your head, trying to smile but not quite pulling it off. “I just... sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be that person. You know? The one who’s calm no matter what. Who doesn’t hesitate. Who knows exactly what to do and just does it.”

“You mean the person you already are most of the time?”

Your eyes snapped up. “I—what?”

“You don’t see it,” he said, leaning forward a little. “But I do. Every shift. The way you handle pressure. The way you think on your feet. You’ve got instincts I didn’t have at your age. Hell, some people never get them.”

You stared at him, your chest suddenly too tight.

“Robby...”

He sat back, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to—just... I notice. That’s all.”

You smiled softly, a little broken at the edges. “Thank you.”

You sat for another moment in that too-heavy quiet, and you knew you had to get out of the room before you did something stupid. Like reach across the table and kiss him.

So you stood up.

“Well. I should get back to it”

Robby stood too, and for one breathless second, they were too close.

Close enough to see the flecks of gold in his irises. The faint greying of his beard. The way his lips parted like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure if he should.

Your heart pounded in your throat.

And still—nothing.

Because of course not.

He wouldn’t.

You turned quickly, moving past him. “See you out there, Robby.”

“See you out there, Y/N.”

You didn’t stop walking until you were three hallways away.

[loveu2themoonandsaturn]

“SLUT!”

loosely inspired by the taylor swift song.

steve harrington x fem!reader

a/n: tried to get the word count but I fear I lost track at 3k and that was maybe only the halfway point 😭 also sorry for the potentially shit formatting, I’ve never done this before and I typed the whole thing in the tumblr app. hope it doesn’t ruin the reading experience 😅 all credit for dividers goes to @strangergraphics!

angst, hurt/comfort, fluff(ish), no use of y/n, second person, office gossip, way past upside down but hawkins is still that same small town, very 80s/90s attitude toward sex, slutshaming, sort of miscommunication trope (more like meddling jackass trope) minor injury (no blood), reader is mentioned as having meat in her freezer and consumes dairy once, only kinda beta’d because every time I try I just end up ADDING THINGS, smut 18+ MDNI, filthier tags below.

contains: porn with an unreasonable amount of plot, protected piv fucking (girls we cannot afford children in this economy, wrap it before you tap it), soft pleasure dom!Steve, needy Steve who may or may not be real big on talking you through it, oral (m+f), fingering, some ball sucking, intimacy, love confessions (i’m sorry😭), eye contact, hickies like a motherfucker, no body type mentioned, no hair type or length mentioned, y’all prolly know most of the drill.

hope you enjoy! 🩵

Steve swore he felt his soul leave this side of heaven when he felt a fist slam against the front desk of the Family Video, right next to where his head so happened to be resting, wrapped up in his own arms. Whoever just did that was about to hear a piece of his mind.

“Hey man, what the hell- oh. Hey,” He relaxes for a moment when he sees that it’s you, but only for just that moment.

Because then he sees your face.

Hot, angry tears are streaming stoically down your face from a pair of red, puffy eyes. He panics at the expression that paints the face he so adores.

His immediate instinct is to fix it.

“Baby, what’s wro—”

“Don’t you fucking call me baby right now,” you cut him off. Your voice is cold, almost devoid of emotion. It worries Steve. “Why would you say those things about me, why would you lie?”

Steve’s head is spinning now. Lies? Talking about you? Was he still asleep, dreaming? Had he accidentally shifted into another dimension? Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, slow down—”

You scoff. “I don’t believe that for a second. I believed you when you said you’d changed, that you weren’t that same douchebag we all knew back in high school,” you pause, throat catching on the lump nestled deep within it. “But I was wrong about that. I won’t make that mistake twice.”

Steve felt his heart shattering, and he didn’t even know why, didn’t understand what on earth was going on.

“Wait, no, I’m serious, I don’t know what we’re talking about here, please!” He’s desperate now, needs to know what he did, what transgression he forgot that he must now atone for.

“You expect me to believe you don’t know what your good friend Tommy got up to this morning?”

Tommy? Tommy Hagan? Steve hadn’t so much as spoken to that toxic jackass in years, what could he possibly have to do with anything-

“Because I walked into work today and was greeted by him, in front of all my coworkers, announcing that he had a gift for the new town whore,” you choke out, voice no longer cold, but bitter. Angry. Sad. “And he handed me what must have been the deadest, most rotten bouquet of flowers left from the supermarket, with a card. ‘To the SLUT, courtesy of King Steve,’” you say, voice raised enough to catch the attention of several now-nosy movie perusers.

Steve stands slack-jawed, floored at the mere thought. He wasn’t even sure how Tommy knew he was seeing you, let alone what he could have done to give him the impression that you had slept with him.

Unfortunately for Steve, you don’t take his silence for the shock that it is.

“Nothing to say for yourself? My reputation is in shreds, my boss won’t look me in the eye and my coworkers haven’t stopped whispering since 9 a.m., yet you have nothing to say for yourself?” you spit, incredulous.

Steve’s brain finally gets with the program and makes his mouth move.

“Honey, I didn’t know anything about this,” he pauses when you roll your eyes, crossing your arms in front of your chest, “I haven’t talked to Tommy since high school. I have changed, I’m not the person that I used to be, and even if I was still friends with Hagan’s sorry ass, I would never, ever lie about you like that. I like you. I care about you. I would never put that in jeopardy.”

Steve’s eyes are pleading, which you might notice if you could even bring yourself to meet them.

“God, Steve, please don’t treat me like I’m stupid-”

“I’m not, I’m not!,” he cuts you off. “I swear, I don’t know how he got that idea into his head, but I would never do that to you!” Steve is fighting the urge to raise his voice. You deserve his gentleness, even during a fight, he thinks. That gentleness is clearly not mutual, though, at least not right now.

“Is it because I said I wasn’t ready?” you say, voice at a low volume.

Steve feels his heart thud restlessly in his chest, hurt and pain lashing at the muscle.

“Wh… What?” He’s giving you an opportunity to back out, clarify, say you don’t mean what he thinks you mean. But you double down.

“Is Tommy doing this out of some weird bro-code respect for you because I said I wasn’t ready to have sex with you.” You ask it like it’s a statement, a sure thing, no real questioning to your tone.

He’s hit with a wave of this sick feeling in his stomach, this inescapable dread at the thought that you might believe even for a second that he would stoop that low. He swallows, a thick feeling as a lump in his own throat starts to make itself known.

“You really think that poorly of me?” he mutters out, pained.

You shake your head, tears falling faster now.

“I didn’t Steve. All my friends told me I was being stupid, too trusting of you, giving you too much benefit of the doubt, and I…” you prick your finger into your own chest, bone meeting bone as the digit presses into your sternum. “I told them they were crazy. That they were stuck in the past and that you were so different now. I defended you.” You let out a mirthless chuckle. “And look where that got me. Do you know what half the town will think by this time tomorrow? They’re gonna that I spread my legs for the first man to show interest in me, for the man who has a well-documented history of taking what he wants and leaving, and they’re going to think I’m pathetic and easy for it.” He’s never seen you like this. It’s agony.

“In a way… the truth is almost worse. Because I was stupid enough to let ‘King Steve’ come and pretend to be all sweet and gentlemanly and brand-spanking-new. I guess the punishment fits the crime, right? I believed you, and now nobody is gonna believe me.” You start to turn on your heel, halfway ready to walk out the door.

“Wait, wait!” Steve is frantic now. “I don’t know how this happened, but please, give me a chance, let me fix this for you,” he begs.

You squeeze your eyes shut, hands finally coming up to wipe away some tears so you can at least leave with some dignity.

“I don’t think this is something you can fix.”

And with that, the best thing in Steve’s life walks out the door.

Hurt doesn’t even begin to describe how he feels. But it’s quickly replaced by rage, blinding anger that someone would do this to you. More anger yet that Tommy-fucking-Hagan of all people would crawl out of whatever hole he’s been living in to, to what? Ruin his chance at happiness with you since Carol dumped him the second she went away for college? Hurt you just for being associated with Steve and a better future, not his past? What the hell is this?

He’s dialing Robin’s number before he can even think straight, asking if she can do him a favor and stay the last hour at the store, close up. He mindlessly agrees to whatever condition it is she sets; he’s hardly paying attention, because now? Now he has business to attend to.

The night is young, and Steve knew he’d luck out eventually by just going from filthy dive bar to filthy dive bar. After all, there were only so many places in Hawkins where a burnout could go to delude himself into thinking he’s not there to drown his sorrows.

It’s at the fifth one that he lays eyes on Tommy, looking worse for wear. He’s surrounded by a couple other guys that walk and talk and dress like Steve used to in high school, Tommy’s obvious attempt at replacing him. He almost wonders if he’ll find a pseudo-Carol somewhere in the crowd, waiting to dote on him.

Steve overhears Tommy talking, who clearly does not know he’s even been found and is being watched.

“I mean, you guys should have seen the look on her face. Harrington’s girl was basically a puddle, I guess she knew she got caught. You know what they say, though boys—”

“Yeah? What is it they say, Tommy?” Steve’s sudden interruption brings a mix of shock and satisfied jeers among the little crowd. Tommy turns whistles, rubbing his hands together in satisfaction.

“Well look what the cat dragged in! Big King Steve back from his latest conquest. What’s wrong, your girl can’t handle the consequences of her own actions?”

Steve’s jaw gets tight at that; he’s trying damn hard to maintain some semblance of control. All he can think about is how bad he wants to punch that smirk off Tommy’s face.

“And just what do you think you know about her, huh Hagan? Or did that half semester of college give you time to get into shitty creative writing?” Steve grits out.

“Oh, please Harrington, don’t act like half the town didn’t see you two heading into your place this weekend. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together,” Tommy says, cocky as ever.

A moment of realization hits Steve then. He had brought you to his house, at night, and you two were alone. He’d let you sleep in the guest room when it got too late. It never even occurred to him that someone was watching, let alone would assume something went down between the two of you and spread that assumption around.

He feels like such a fucking idiot.

He knows this town, knows these people. They love nothing more than a scandal. Something to gossip about. He should have been more careful with you. His own anger with himself turns into rage at the sorry excuse for a man now standing before him.

“You’re such goddamn dumbass, Hagan. She’s not a whore, a slut, an anything. She slept in the guest bedroom, and she only spent the night in the first place because I said it was too late to drive her home.”

Tommy and his gaggle of trust fund babies, one of whom surely paid for the flattening beer he takes a swig from, all elbow each other, exchanging knowing glances.

But they don’t know shit, Steve thinks.

“Listen, Harrington, it’s cute that you want to ‘defend her honor,’” Tommy mocks, “But at the end of the day, nobody in this town was born yesterday. I’m sorry her feelings got hurt just because people noticed how easy she is, but that’s how it i- what the fuck dude??”

Tommy is cut off quickly and finds the edge of the bar jamming into his spine, with Steve Harrington having rushed in and wrapped his fists into Tommy’s shirt collars.

“She is anything but easy, you son of a bitch,” Steve seethes, pushing Tommy back again for emphasis. “Six months we’ve been dating, and I haven’t touched her. You know why that is? Because I actually give two shits about her, I have respect for her, something you’re not capable of doing or having for anybody.”

Tommy is thrown off guard, but quickly recovers, slapping that smirk right back on his face. Steve decides then and there that he hates that smirk.

“Listen buddy. We all remember your track record when it comes to anything that involves fists,” Tommy sneers. “Unless you wanna get your ass handed to you, I suggest letting me go. It’s not like anyone would believe she’s the choir girl you want us to think she is.”

Steve laughs, the sound dark. He laughs, and that confuses the hell out of Tommy and his crew.

“Maybe you peaked in high school and forgot that other people grow past who they were at 18, but the rest of us didn’t. So if I were you? I’d get to work fixing this shit, unless you want to have to fix your goddamn teeth, buddy,” Steve says, his threat only cushioned slightly by his sarcastic remark.

“Like hell I will,” Tommy yells before shoving Steve off. He swings, and color quickly blooms across the apple of Steve’s left cheek. “Now get the fuck out of h-”

Tommy doesn’t get to finish. Or do much of anything, really.

With one solid, square hit to the chin, Steve lays Tommy out, leaving him with nothing more than a sure concussion and a nice sticky spot on the bar floor to come to on.

Tommy’s herd of friends stand in stunned silence, a strong juxtaposition from their earlier mindless chittering. It’s satisfying, if Steve is honest with himself.

Steve steps closer to them, causing a few of them to back off, clearly not wanting to be next.

“When he wakes up, you tell your little friend here to fix the mess he made, and that if I so much as have to hear someone utter his name again for the rest of my life, I’m coming back and beating his ass, and next time I won’t stop once he’s on the ground. Oh, and make sure he leaves me and my girl alone, yeah?”

Something about Steve’s energy is enough to have them nodding, no questions asked.

Steve storms out of the bar, only one mission left for the day.

You’re home in your apartment, taking your feelings out on a bowl of ice cream and watching Pretty in Pink for what must be the ninth time, when you hear knocking at your door.

You find yourself wondering who the hell would be knocking at this hour, only irked at the possibilities running through your head.

You’re already yelling through to the person on the other side as you make your way to the door.

“I don’t want to buy whatever you’re selling and I already know Jesu- Oh.”

You swing open the door to find none other than Steve Harrington, looking a lot more bruised than the last time you saw him.

Both of his eyes look apologetic, pitiful, and the quickly forming mark beneath his left one certainly isn’t helping your resolve.

You have the urge to kick him to the curb, but find that, in spite of what you believe he did, you didn’t leave your feelings for him at the doors of the Family Video when your hightailed it out of there earlier that day.

So that’s how you get here, with Steve sitting on your kitchen counter, right fist squishing into a bag of frozen peas, left hand pressing a freezer-burnt steak into the respective cheek. Your movie is forgotten, frozen in time, and what remained of the ice cream has been left to melt.

You’re silent, plaid pajama pants and your softest T-shirt hanging on to your form, only shielded somewhat by the fuzzy robe that sits open, mostly just draped around your shoulders. As you lean against your fridge, you take a long sip from your mug, warm liquid soothing as you fight to break the silence, the tension that seems to suffocate the room.

You don’t ask where those bruises came from. Curious as you are, you find you’re not sure if you really want to know. However, you’re not left to wonder for long.

“I’m pretty sure I put Tommy Hagan in the emergency room tonight.”

Your eyes nearly fall out of your head with how wide they get, head snapping up when he says that.

“I, um, got real pissed when you told me what he did to you, and I went from bar to bar until I found him. I told him to fix it, and he acted like it was some big joke, and I was just seeing red, but in my defense, he hit me first,” he rambles, gesturing vaguely to the slowly thawing slab of meat currently taking up half the real estate on his face.

You continue to stare at him, bug-eyed and unmoving. Steve finds himself unable to stop talking under your gaze.

“He said he or, someone, I guess, saw you come into my house the other night and never leave and so they like? Assumed the rest, and I’m sorry, because I definitely should have thought about how it might look before offering you the guest bed, or I should have taken you home, or I should have slept on the goddamn sidewalk so it was incredibly clear nothing was going on but I didn’t so I told him, or I guess I told his friends to pass along the message, to fix it and he was just out cold on the floor of the bar and I-”

“Steve.”

He finally stops, looking at you. He sees tears welling up in your eyes and immediately assumes it was something he said. He starts to apologize, but you hold up a hand, shaking your head.

“I just can’t believe you would do that for me,” you mutter, at a loss for words.

Steve, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, says, “I mean, of course. You’re my girl and someone was mean to you. I’m crazy about you, why would I let anyone hurt you just to take you away from me?” He cocks his head when he asks, eyes innocent. “And I mean, it doesn’t hurt that Tommy is the biggest jackass in all of Indiana and has been earning that knockout since we were like, 16,” he laughs out.

For a moment, the cognitive dissonance is winning out. You’d fought with yourself all day about the kind of person Steve Harrington is. Who, until very recently, he always was. All day, you’d let the voices of high school friends permeate your head, losing trust in your gut, in your own instincts, in what you thought and believed. You had yourself convinced that you’d allowed yourself to be blinded, had just wanted the attention, the affection, and that Steve had never ever changed, just got better at hiding it. But maybe the truth wasn’t so simple.

A tear falls. In assuming he had broken your trust, had you broken his?

You know it’s not your fault. Not really. That blame belongs squarely on the shoulders of a loser who’s going to have to explain to a less-than-nice nurse just why he came through the doors of the emergency room with a concussed head and a dislocated jaw.

But you fell for it. A few mean looks, some workplace gossips whispering in the break room, and you fell right into Tommy’s trap. Hook, line, sinker.

What was it that made you so easily believe the worst of the man who has, throughout your relationship, shown you nothing but affection and kindness?

Guilt gnaws at you, because you think you know.

“I’m so sorry for not believing you. And for all the things I said earlier. I was… I was cruel. I was mean and defensive and let some pseudo-high school drama put me right back in that place mentally, put you right back to who you were in my mind, and that was unfair. I was punishing you for your past, and you didn’t deserve that,” you say, looking over at Steve now.

But Steve is having none of it.

“I spent years being the worst version of myself to everyone around me whose pants I wasn’t trying to get into. I was vindictive and, sometimes? Flat out evil toward people who weren’t high enough up on the social ladder for me. If I had been in your position, I would have thought the same thing, because I have thoroughly earned that reputation. I don’t expect you to get rid of that past version of me in your head. I know you can’t just forget. You’re only human.”

He slides off the counter, frozen goods abandoned as he crosses over to you where you lean and looks you in your eyes.

“It’s my job to make up for it. To prove I’ve changed. That’s not trust that forms easily, it’s hard earned, and I intend to do everything I can to win it fair and square. To earn the right to be yours.”

You feel heat burn behind your cheeks at his sweet words. “So does that mean you forgive me for being a real bitch to you in front of customers today?”

Steve laughs, the sound jovial and refreshing after the day you’ve had.

“Sweetheart, there’s nothing to forgive, but how ‘bout I say all is forgiven if you can forgive me for being a huge dumbass?” His lopsided grin and the way he’s looking at you, all heart eyes and pure adoration… all of it is too much, too good, and all you can do is nod, a small, hopeful smile on your face.

“Good. Now, would’ya c’mere and let me comfort you? Let me take care of my girl after the shitty day she had?” He holds his arms open to you, hands waving you in.

You roll your eyes just a bit before giving in, immediately accepting the familiarity and warmth of your boyfriend’s arms. You’re so glad he’s still your boyfriend.

He kisses the top of your head and lets your face press into his chest, allowing his own heartbeat to soothe you as he holds one arm firmly around your waist, letting the other rub a flat palm up and down your back.

“Sweet girl, you didn’t deserve how they treated you today…” he mutters just loud enough for you to hear. “Only deserve good things… gonna give you all the good things to make up for it, yeah?”

The sheer relief you feel being here, with him uttering sweet nothings into your ear and treating you like the you’re the only thing that matters in the whole wide world, it makes up for it all, you think. Maybe tomorrow will be hard, maybe people at work will still suck, but you won’t be facing it alone. You’ll have Steve. That feels like enough.

You let yourself peek out from where you’d tucked yourself in so you can look up at this wonderful man who did so much today to prove that he’s not who everyone thinks he is. He looks back down at you and just smiles, staring into your eyes.

It may have been less than a day.

But, God, you had missed him.

So you indulge yourself, removing one of the arms from around his body and placing a hand far back on his neck, just enough to be able to run your fingers softly through the short pieces at the base, brushing your thumb along his jawline.

His smile falters for just half a second, replaced by the shivers you give him.

Encouraged by his reaction, you don’t hold back, using your hand as leverage to drag his face into yours for a sweet kiss. Your lips lock, and neither one of you moves away or lets go until the need for oxygen wins out. It’s stupid and sappy and exactly what you needed.

When you do finally have to let go, you’re both breathing hard, but Steve still finds it in him to make a suggestion.

“I think I left some sweats and a T-shirt here back when I helped you move in that new couch,” he gestures to the spot where you had just been wallowing, “How ‘bout I change and we get comfortable on the couch and you tell me every thought on that pretty little mind?”

You two do exactly that. He’s pleasantly surprised to find you’d laundered the very clothes he’d left over, something you shyly justified with the possibility that he might get stuck and need to spend the night, a concept which clearly flustered you to no end.

So there you are, curled up in Steve’s arms, same paused movie frame still on the TV, and you just rant about your day.

“…And if all of that wasn’t enough, she had the nerve to whisper one last snickering ‘whore’ to me on my way out! I don’t know where she gets off, especially since it was just last month that everyone heard she got caught sneaking out of the supply closet with the assistant manager!” Steve chuckles at that, “But it just sucked! I don’t mind being the center of attention, but good grief, not like this! These people are like vultures! It made me sad and mad and just a bunch of other things and it was ridiculous because it was all for something I didn’t even do!” you finish, Steve pressing comforting kisses into your temple.

“That’s just not right, honey. I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he says.

You lean into his chaste kisses, hands playing with his fingers where they sit clasped in your lap.

“I just… it’s ridiculous. I mean, half the reason I told you I wasn’t ready for sex was because I was so anxious, so terrified that somehow people would know and then they would judge me for it,” you shake your head. “And I know, that’s like bullshit, but it’s where my head was at. Today though? All I could think to myself all day was, I wish I would have just done it. I didn’t do anything and they still talked all their shit. If I’m going to be called a slut, a whore, easy, I should at least have gotten something out of it. Give ‘em something real to talk about, make the their bullshit worthwhile,” you muse. “Maybe I still should.”

You’re so lost in those musings that you barely notice the way Steve is staring at you, wondering if he’s had a stroke.

“What do you mean?” he says, certain he’s misheard.

He definitely knows what you mean. Being called on it, however, has you almost backtracking, your face so hot now he would surely get burned if he touched it.

You don’t look him in the eye, instead appearing very focused on each individual finger on his hands as they sit in your lap. You’re unfortunately noticing that he takes very good care of his nails, keeping them short and clean, perfect for— Stop that, you chide yourself, finally responding to your boyfriend, who is maybe having an aneurism behind you.

“I mean, just… it’s so stupid, the only reason I didn’t do something that I really wanted to do was because I was worried what people would say about me. That all seems pretty moot now so, I dunno… maybe we should… do it… sometime,” you mumble out, not sure if you’re embarrassed more by your seriously weird concerns about the opinions of others or the fact that you’re all but asking Steve to have sex with you.

Steve is not thinking about either option, though, being ever the opportunist.

“I would take you right now.”

Maybe you’re the one having that stroke?

You whip your head around and look at him, that same hungry look, the one he always gets when the two of you make out for just a liiiiiiittle bit too long, now gracing his face.

You whisper out, “Are you serious?”

He nearly scoffs at that. “I don’t play games when it comes to you,” a phrase that has a more than one meaning after his bar-side activities this evening, “I’ll always wait for your yes, and I’ll always stop at your no but… for that time in between? I’m making love to you like it’s my last day on earth.”

Your breath hitches, something deep within you warming and stirring at his words.

“Can I tell you something, Steve?”

“Always, gorgeous.”

You gulp.

“You’ve got my yes.”

Suddenly, you’ve been moved. You’re laying on your back on your couch and your very gorgeous boyfriend has one leg between your thighs, holding your face between both hands as his spine arches over your body and leans his face toward your face so he can kiss the air right out of your lungs.

You two had made out before but compared to this? Jesus H.

You hear the sound of your own soft whine as he readjusts and the movement presses his strong thigh firmly against your core. You watch as he breaks the kiss just to groan, already so satisfied, so intoxicated by you.

“That’s right pretty girl, just let yourself feel good, I’m gonna take care of everything, gonna take real good care of you,” he rambles, eyes squeezed shut as he nods at nobody in particular.

“You want that, baby? You gonna let me make you feel like you deserve?” He forces his eyes open to stare at you. Good God. You nod, another desperate sound that could maybe pass for a “Yes” pressing its way out of your chest.

“Atta girl,” he says before tearing his own shirt off, the garment landing somewhere on your living room floor.

He pushes his fingers beneath the fabric of the robe you’re still wearing, slowly slipping it off of you, saying, “Now anything you don’t want me to do, anything you want me to stop, you let me know, yeah? Let me hear you, baby.”

The robe is quickly abandoned beneath you as you all but blubber out a “Yeah, yes, Steve, I will.”

He stands up, leaving you confused for a moment.

“I’m not doing this with you for the first time on your couch. C’mon, sweet thing, up,” he says, reaching for your hands.

You take his and let him lead you to your own bedroom, shutting the door behind the two of you despite your living alone. In a way, it’s perfect, isolated in a way that makes you feel like it’s just you and him.

He turns to you, walking up to your form and kissing you again, his hands reclaiming their space on the sides of your face. You’re sure you’ll never get tired of that feeling.

His kisses last long, but almost not enough, his lips moving down to your jaw, your neck, searching for that spot that makes you—

“Oh, fuck, Steve.”

Found it.

He hones in on the spot, kissing and licking at it gently. His aim isn’t to leave a mark — not here, anyway — but just to make you feel good.

By the way you’re panting in his ear? He’s pretty sure he’s succeeding.

He walks you backwards, careful, only detaching himself from your neck to help lay you down gently. He crawls over top of you, his body caging yours.

Your shirt has ridden up, revealing a touch of midriff to Steve. It only makes him more feral.

He plays with the hem of your shirt, warm fingers brushing against the skin below.

“Can I take this off for you?” he asks.

You’re nodding, already moving to help him strip the fabric from your form. You weren’t wearing a bra because, truly, why would you be wearing one in your own home, so his eyes are free to land right on your chest and watch the soft jiggling as you breathe in and out.

You had worried that he might pick out spots on your body that made you insecure, but that worry flies out the window when you see that same hungry look back in his eyes.

Frankly, he looks so desperate, you almost feel bad.

“It’s okay, Steve, do what you want. I’ll tell you to stop if I don’t like it,” you say, encouraging him.

You truly do not have to tell him twice.

First he’s kissing that spot on your neck again, earning a breathy sigh and a pleased smile from your lips. Then he travels, lips attaching to your collarbone, and you feel it as he kisses his way down to your breast, sucking a nipple into his mouth, thumb rubbing over the other one as his tongue works at this one.

That earns a good bit more than a sigh.

“Holy shit, Steve… that feels so, ah,” your voice grows pitchy as you bite back your moans. Your refusal to let him hear you doesn’t bother him one bit. It just means he has to work harder to pull those pretty sounds from you.

He switches his lips to your other breast, mouth laving messily over this nipple as his other thumb slips and slides across the one he just left.

You already feel so good, but you know he’s just getting started. The thought makes you shiver.

Once he’s satisfied with the attention he’s given to your nipples, he expands his journey across the map of your skin and starts sucking at the underside of your breasts, leaving marks only you and he will ever get to see. Whichever breast he’s not busy leaving darkening splotches on is being squeezed and squished, only adding to the feelings that all seem to be directed right at your quickly-soaking cunt.

Having left you littered with marks, some even landing on your torso and the soft skin of your belly, Steve looks up at you, lips swollen and wet from his hard work.

“Please say I can go down on you,” he sighs out, sounding like he’s in another world.

You balk at that for a moment, worried.

“You don’t have to Steve, I know guys don’t really like-”

“I want to. So, so fucking bad. I want to make you feel good and I need to taste you or I might actually explode. I don’t care how you keep it or what it looks like, I just, fuck!” His voice is pleading, his desire bleeding through every syllable.

He takes his kisses down to your hips, pushing your sweatpants and panties down just a touch to reveal more of your entirely-too-kissable body. He’s sucking at the thin skin there, leaving his mark on yet another inch of you.

“Please baby, if you want it, please let me,” he whines out, an incredibly sweet and needy sound.

Well shit. Who are you to say no to that?

“Okay, yeah, yes, you can, Steve,” you rush out, turned on beyond belief.

“God, yes, that’s my girl,” he mutters out, not even pausing to consider the effect those words are having on you.

You’d find it inconsiderate if it didn’t make you want him so much more.

His fingers are quick to hook back into both your bottoms, tapping the side of your hip so you’ll lift them as he all but tears the clothing from your legs. He easily spreads your now-bare limbs, eyes laser-focused on the absolutely sopping wet pussy that he unveils.

“Holy shit… is this all because of me?” he questions, experimentally sliding a finger through your folds, gathering your slick.

You laugh, breathless. “Have we been in the same room this whole time? I don’t think I’ve ever been this turned on in my life.”

His dick has been hard for a hot minute now, so that confession earns an almost painful twitch.

He can’t find it in himself to ask any more questions, just sliding your pretty thighs over his shoulder, kissing them as he makes his way down to where you need him most.

The first lick is thorough, but gentle. A trembling whimper leaves your lips, then the sound of his name.

He finds himself moaning at your taste, desperation to drink you in winning out.

He presses his tongue right into your waiting hole, occasional moans against you earning him yet another flood of your juices to taste, a tantalizing squeeze of your walls around him only complimenting the flavor.

He moves to lap at your folds, greedy, head only coming to a stop once he’s got the flat of his tongue rubbing circles over your clit. You finally lose the battle you’d been fighting, letting out a moan that makes you thankful your last next door neighbor just moved out last week.

Steve, cheeky as ever, smiles at this, hot breath from a laugh billowing past his tongue and onto you. He’s almost too good at this.

He gives thick, teasing licks to your clit, each one serving as punctuation as he talks to you.

“Best fucking pussy… Fuck… could eat this pretty pussy… mm… for the rest of my life… so good,” he murmurs, absolutely drunk on you.

“Steve…” you whine out, needing him so badly it nearly hurts.

“Oh, darlin’, I know,” Lick. “I know, pretty girl,” Lick. “Just need’ya,” Lick. “To be patient for me,” Lick. “Doing so good,” Lick. “Making me so proud.”

He picks right then to properly dive in, licking and sucking on you until you can hear your own heartbeat, feel it in your throat. The sounds you make for him are downright debauched, curses and expletives floating in between the sound of his name. He couldn’t be happier.

You’ve been clenching around nothing for some time now as been pleasuring you, though, and that doesn’t sit right with him.

So, before you know it, Steve is working one, then two fingers into your dripping heat, reaching farther inside of you than you ever could. Your hands quickly seat themselves among the roots of his hair, holding his head exactly where you want him.

Your cries ring out freely through the air, a weak, “I’m so close,” the only interruption. Your thighs have begun to squeeze around Steve’s head. He’s not sure if you’re trying to keep him there forever or shut him out but, it’s all the same to him. He’d happily wear you like a pair of earmuffs for the rest of the night. Best damn pair he ever owned, if he did say so himself.

He holds steady with his actions, moving his fingers just so inside you, repeating the same motion of his tongue against your clit until it hurts, but he’s well rewarded for his efforts.

“Oh, fuck, Steve, I think I’m… fuck, I’m gonna—” you’re forced to cut yourself off as an orgasm overtakes your body, pouring pounds of pleasure over you all at once like one of those giant buckets at a water park. It’s electric, overwhelming, and so, so good. Your moans lilt out, high pitched and shaped something like Steve’s name.

He works you through it; he doesn’t stop until you peel his head from between your legs, pulling him up for a kiss that leaves you both lightheaded, exchanging moans between each others mouths as your bodies press together. You can taste yourself on him, something you didn’t expect to make you as feral as it does.

Steve breaks the kiss, sitting back on his knees to admire his handiwork. Gorgeous, angry little hickies have already begun to bloom beneath your satin skin. He’s excited for the day they fade so he can go back and replace them.

You watch him, laying breathless while he ogles you with a smirk, scanning your body up and down to appreciate the beautiful mess he’s made of it.

It makes you decide that payback may be due.

Steve stands, ridding himself of his bottoms, hard cock swinging free. You can’t help but think to yourself how pretty he is, how unfair it is that he’s so pretty everywhere.

You move to get up on your knees in front of Steve where he stands next to the bed, kissing his face, his jaw, his neck, his chest, his—

“Wait, wait, baby, wait,” he stops you mid-descent. “As hot as it is that you want to return the favor, I don’t think I’ll last and I really, really need to be inside you.”

It’s your turn to smirk now, but before you do, you turn those same pleading eyes he weaponized against you right back at him.

“Please, Stevie? I’ll be gentle, I’ll go real slow,” you say, fluttering your eyelashes up at him.

He presses his palms into his eyes, losing the fight for control going on in his head.

“…Fuck, just please be careful, no funny business, yeah?” he sighs out, looking down at you.

You let on that smirk now, and finish kissing your way down his body, laying on your stomach. Your tongue just barely teases the tip, a small kitten lick that grants you a drop of precum. He tenses at the feeling, sheer pleasure already making him regret his own weakness toward you. It’s all he can do not to blow his load at just the idea of what’s going on right now.

Gently, you place a hand beneath his dick, feeling the weight of it, your mouth watering. You wrap your fingers around it, careful not to use too much pressure. You look him in the eye as you pull just the head into your mouth, moaning around him.

“You’re gonna kill me, holy shit,” Steve says.

You giggle a bit, moving your mouth up and down just a bit, cautious of any sudden movements that might prove too overwhelming.

“Feels too good baby, won’t be able to keep going like this,” he pants, sensitive and whining.

You pull off of him with a soft pop. “Compromise, then?”

He’s not sure what you mean until-

“Jesus fucking Christ baby, holy shit, shit, shit!” Steve is fighting for his life at the sight of you softly stroking his cock with one of his balls pulled securely into your mouth.

You can tell by that reaction and by the purely distraught look on his face that he won’t let you stay down here for much longer, so you make the most of it.

You suck gently, continuing to stroke. You switch to the other side, but not without licking a fat stripe from his base to his tip, earning a strangled noise of pleasure.

“God, you’re cruel,” he whimpers out, unable to contain his own soft moans and sighs as you work.

Steve feels himself getting a little closer than he’d like. “Alright, that’s enough of that for you, missy,” he says as he pulls away from your touch, laughing at the noise of protest you make as he does.

“Don’t worry darlin’, just lay back for me,” he says, walking over to the jeans he had discarded earlier.

You do as he says with only a slight grumble, but can’t help yourself as you watch Steve walk. Even his ass is pretty, you think as you watch him bend over and pull out his wallet, plucking a foil packet from its confines.

He turns around then, and you’ve been caught staring.

Steve smirks when you rush to meet his eyes, feigning nonchalance. “Perv,” he teases before getting back into the bed with you.

You’d protest, but then his hands, those hands, are working deftly to unwrap a condom and roll it on, and suddenly you find yourself entirely uninterested in your status as a pervert.

He crawls back on top of you, moving to kiss you softly, a sharp contrast to the intensity of the moments you two just shared.

He breaks it only to say three words: “I love you.”

Forehead pressed into his, you know you should be shocked, but you aren’t. It feels right. You tell him, too.

“I love you, Steve.”

He smiles at you dopily, and you’re sure a matching smile adorns your face.

“Are you ready, baby?” He asks, interlocking one of his hands with yours, nothing but adoration and loving concern in his eyes.

You nod. “I want this, I want you,” you tell him honestly.

Steve presses one last sweet kiss to your lips, selfishly savoring the taste of them for just a little too long. He breaks it with a sigh. “I’ll go slow at first, sweetheart. You let me know if you need me to stop.”

You hum in agreement, focus resting between the two of you where he’s got your legs spread, kneeling in between them as he guides his cock to your entrance.

Slowly, almost too slowly, he pushes himself in, both of you groaning in relief when the head is in. He presses forward, meeting little resistance from your slippery heat. He sighs happily once he’s seated in you fully, just enjoying being enveloped in your warmth.

He probably would have stayed there if it wasn’t for the wiggle of your hips and the sudden clench he felt from inside of you.

“You can move, Stevie. Need it,” you sigh.

He takes the instruction, and both of you are wrecked as he works into a rhythm.

Your eyes flutter shut as you moan, but that won’t do for Steve.

“Nuh uh,” he says, dropping the hand he’s holding and getting down, shifting his weight to his elbows so he can hold your face in his hands. “Eyes on me. I don’t want to miss a thing.” His tone urges your compliance, so you give it to him, looking into his eyes.

Fuck.

The way your eyes bore into each others is nearly too much, the feeling of his hands splayed across your cheeks, your jaw, your temple… your senses are being flooded, and all your brain can compute is Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve.

He can see every reaction you give him, every hitch of your breath, adjusting until he’s in the perfect position for you, the squeezes of your fluttering cunt driving him wild.

You’re helpless, being held captive by your own pleasure, and Steve is only adding to it, talking to you in ramblings of his own pleasure.

“God, you know what you’re fucking doing to me?”

“Feels so good, sweet girl. Never wanna fuck another pussy again, only yours.”

“That’s it, baby, take it, take it. Doing so well for me, my gorgeous girl.”

“You like that? That feel good? Oh, I bet it does, huh?”

“Taking me like a champ, always knew you’d be good for me.”

You want to respond, you really do, but the way he’s talking to you, the way he’s pounding into you just right, the way he’s looking you right in your eyes as he speaks this utter filth, has left you wordless, only moaning and whining out little ah, ah, ah, fuck’s that only spur him on.

You feel your undoing start to form and begin to reach down, needing some attention on your clit to cross there.

“Don’t do that baby, let me. You close?” he says as he shifts all of his weight now to the one elbow, keeping your face in that hand as the other snakes down to rub circles just where you need them, making you whimper, fighting to keep your eyes open.

You nod at his question. “So close… gonna make me cum again, Stevie,” you manage to get out, snaking your arms around his neck, clinging to him desperately.

His eyes never leave yours. “Tell me what you need. Wanna feel you when you cum, feel you soak my cock.”

“F-faster.”

You barely get the word out before he starts to nearly double his speed, desperate to get you there, sharp, shallow, fast thrusts leaving you to just wail.

“Oh, fuck, Steve, please, please, fuck, please,” you ramble out, unsure what you’re begging for.

“C’mon, give it to me, you’re right there, cum for me.”

The perfect circles on your clit, the pistoning of his hips, the way he stares at you so intensely, egging you on? It all proves to be too much, and you feel yourself thrown off that cliff and into pure, sweet pleasure as your release rolls through you, Steve’s name on your tongue.

Steve cants into you desperately, rhythm breaking as he chases his own high, which is coming on much faster largely because of you. Feeling you grip him like a vice, and having watched just how angelic you look when you cum? He wasn’t going to be able to hold back much longer.

Overstimulated and desperate, you start to egg him on the same way he had egged you on.

“Please, cum, Steve, I wanna feel it. Need to feel you finish so bad, feels too good, please, baby,” you breathe out. “Do it just for me, yeah?”

That’s a wrap for Steve. His thrusts grow lazy as you feel him twitch inside you, condom filling quickly with his load. He keeps thrusting until it hurts, only then settling down, pressing his forehead into yours, kissing all over your face gently as you both bask in the afterglow.

“You’re so perfect,” he mutters, his desperation for you to hear him, believe him, making his expression look almost pained as he squeezes his eyes shut. “It’s always gonna be you for me, you know that?”

You’re unsure how to respond, really. You find yourself so wrapped up in a warm, buzzy feeling, your adoration for him leaking all over your brain’s wiring, causing it to short circuit. So all you do is nod and close the distance between your mouths, giving him a kiss so gentle and loving that catches him in the moment. He wishes he could stay like this forever.

You both fight to end the kiss several times, but each time either of you pulls back even a little bit, you find yourselves pressing right back in for just one more.

When it finally does break, you look up at him and see the man you always knew, deep down, was here to stay. Your Steve.

“Thank you.”

He cocks his head. “You’re welcome, but what for?” Ever the gentleman.

“Just for being you.”

The two of you lay on your couch, Pretty in Pink over and quickly exchanged for When Harry Met Sally, an appropriately raunchy film for present company and previous activities.

You called out of work for the next day shortly after the two of you finally peeled out of bed. Steve had wrapped his arms around you from behind, pressing soft encouraging kisses into your neck, your back, your shoulder as you rang your boss. You didn’t care if they thought you were only calling out because you were embarrassed; you know the truth doesn’t matter to these people, so you won’t waste it on them. All you want to do tomorrow is spend the day with your boyfriend, so you decided that that is what you’re going to do.

So there the you are, curled up in Steve’s arms for the foreseeable future, lips occasionally pressing into his wrists and hands as you held them. He hadn’t bothered with putting his shirt back on, and you let your robe sit where the two of you had ditched it earlier in favor of the warmth radiating from the chest against your back.

Sally fakes her orgasm in the diner, earning a laugh from both of you.

“I’m sure glad that I don’t ever have to question if you actually came,” Steve mutters, prompting you to tease.

“About that…”

“Bullshit!”

You giggle as his arms squeeze you in tighter, his lips attacking the side of your face and neck.

“Alright, alright, I yield, I yield! You are a true man in a sea of boys, you had me coming like a freight train, you win!”

His attack softens, smiley kisses becoming more intentional. He doesn’t let go of his now-tightened hold on you, though. He just likes having you close too much.

Steve mutters into your ear, shaking you gently in his arms to make his point. “I meant what I said earlier, you know. It wasn’t in the heat of the moment, I do love you.”

Somehow you find yourself far more flustered when he says that to you with his clothes on, but you know you feel the same.

“And I love you, Steve. Thank you for everything you did for me today… and I do mean everything,” you say, only a bit cheeky.

He nips at your ear, but still says, “Anytime, pretty girl. Anytime.”

You turn just a bit, hands tracing over his bruised knuckle and face, worry forming behind your eyes, just a small frown playing at your lips.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to try to cover those up for you? A quick run to the pharmacy and I’m sure I could find what I need to color correct,” you muse, but Steve just shakes his head.

“Nah, I kinda dig them. Makes me look a little badass! If anyone asks, I’ll just tell them they should see the other guy,” he pauses, but then says, quietly, “Plus, it’s pretty much like a shining badge of having defended your honor. Why would I ever cover that?” There’s a teasing tone behind his words but you can tell he really means it.

“Alright. You’re sweet. But please defend my honor without fists next time, I don’t want to have to look Hopper in the eye when I bail you out.”

“No promises, sweetheart,” he says, mischievous. You can hear his grin.

You roll your eyes, but you still smile.

You think you could get used to a life like this.

Thank you for reading! 🩵

[igotanidea]

New rules: Damian Wayne x reader

part 4 of "Family rules" series.

A/N: bit of a filler, cause it's been 3 months(!!!!), but promise next part will be more eventful :D

***

„What is this?!” her father yelled, almost throwing the Gotham newspaper in her face.

“I—”

“Let me tell you what this is! This is you kissing Damian Wayne! And your face is all over the newspapers’ front pages!”

“Stop screaming at me!” she spat back feeling her self-control slipping.

“You better tread carefully young lady. Last time I checked you were still living in my house.”

The nightmare began the second she got back from school, still reeling from everything that happened in the principal’s office. Y/N could barely step over the threshold when a tight grip on her shoulders yanked her back, pushing her into the chair in the living room, with a very angered Mr. Y/L/N hovering above her. Felt like a freaking interrogation because she dared to behave like a teenage girl falling in love for the first time in her life.

If her mother was still alive, she would understand. She would sit down with her, ask a lot of questions, let Y/N blush and be supportive as a mother could.

Instead the young girl had to deal with her father, who clearly forgot that part of the role, focusing only on acting as a CEO, whose daughter was fraternizing with the enemy.

And it made her feel guilty.

Guilty for her own feelings, as if falling in love was something shameful. As if he had to pick the right person to whom her heart should start beating. Or not. Not that she could have experienced that, yet¸ but judging by the screams and rage she could say that in the future her father might try to marry her off out of reason.  

“Dad, please listen, I –” her pleading tone was supposed to make the man realize that she wasn’t just a bargaining chip in his business’ development.

“I understand.” The response was cold, emotionless, almost ruthless, leaving no space for arguing.  

“No you don’t understand! You don’t understand! How could you possibly understand love when even mom was nothing more than a trophy wife for you-!“

Her outburst was immediately cut off by a slap and sharp stinging on the cheek followed by the reddened skin and pulsing blood.

“This is what your mother’s upbringing caused.” Her father hissed “ungrateful, stupid, snouted brat. But let me tell you something. This ends here. And if you want to keep living on my expense, you will do as I tell you!”

“I’m 17! I’m underage, you can’t just cast me out!”

“Unless you want to find out what I’m capable of, I advise you to listen to the plan you’re just a pawn in.”

***

“What is it, Damian?” Bruce asked his youngest son when he came back from school. If there was any anger or disappointment in him, he did a great job hiding it.

“It’s nothing.” Said youngest muttered bellicosely.

It obviously had to come to this stupid awkward conversation with his father but Damian was not going to admit anything easily. And the fact that the boy only just realized that he might be slightly in love with Y/N Y/L/N was causing him to act even more coldly and aloofly than usually.

“Son…”

“I said it’s nothing!”

“So you kissing that girl was just you having fun? Or maybe you were trying to humiliate her?”

“What? No!”

“Look, you are a boy. It's okay if you want to blow off steam. It’s understandable.” Bruce smirked, clearly setting a trap for Damian with the reverse psychology trick.

“You understand? Because you had so much blowing off steam when you were younger?" Obviously the boy raised by Thalia Al-Ghul and Ra’s Al-Ghul was smarter than to fall for something so childish. “Besides, it’s such a humiliating experience. I have no interest in primitive youthful pleasures and amorous activities, father.”

“You sure about it?”

“Positive.” Damian crossed arms over his chest, having his face expression under perfect control.

“Good. Get ready for patrol then. We’ll be leaving soon.”

Damian nodded and with stern look and pursed lips left the room, allowing Bruce to finally let out a sigh of worry. His son may have been a skilled vigilante trained in restraint of emotions, but he could not trick Batman himself. It was impossible to notice how Damian’s eyes were focused on that little Y/L/N during all of last night’s gala. Showing much more than just resentment. And then the dance, which Bruce didn’t even have to force him into. And the way his boy was holding that girl. It was almost obvious that Damian had in fact an interest in amorous activities.

And unlike Y/n’s father, Bruce was not mad about it. In fact, he was quite relieved. As long as possible the relationship would not detriment Damian’s Robin duties of course. But seriously, as a father of a 17 year old, Bruce knew that it was only a matter of time when dilemmas and problems related to love and adolescence would come forward.

And unlike Y/N;s father Bruce was going to watch it carefully, intervening when needed, giving a push here and there, but without obvious control.

***

She was crying a waterfall, holding onto the bruised cheek wondering how to best cover it up so no one at school would ask silly questions.

Locked in the room on the first floor, making the most stern resolution to avoid Damian Wayne for dear life. Even if that was the last thing she would do in her life, she wouldn’t get closer than three rows of desks in the classroom.

For what Y/N cared, Damian Wayne was now officially dead to her.

***

He was sitting on the branch of a giant tree next to her house, dressed in Robin costume, observing how the girl walked into her room with a hand on her cheek, though the distance didn’t allow him to uncover why. Was she sick? Would she be at school tomorrow? Maybe the press got to her and she hurt herself running away from the paparazzi?

“Damian.”

AH! He almost fell to the ground.

“Yes, father?”

“What are you doing?”

“Observing.”

“What?”

“The target.”

“Hm.”

“What now?”

“Unless the target changed age, gender and appearance—”

“Our criminal is currently running down 34th street.” Damian cut his father off abruptly and roughly “his tires are about to burst in about 100 meters due to the explosive I planted there. The explosion will give us enough momentum to jump into action and catch him with the stolen goods in his trunk. That is if we get into action in 3…2…1…” he swiftly shot into the air without paying attention to his companion and even less to his words.

As if Batman was trying to suggest Damian might have been watching her.

Huh! Ridiculous!

***

“Hey Y/n, what happened to your face?” The same girl that used to laugh her out about ending up on the pages kissing Damian, guffawed the next day seeing the poorly covered bruise on Y/N’s face.

“None of your fuckin business -“

“Oh, such bad words coming out of the little princess' mouth, isn’t it?”

“Get lost Lisa!” Y/N shut the locker and tried to walk past her bully.

“You will not ignore me!” Lisa hissed and yanked the other girl’s hair back.

“GIRL FIGHT!” someone yelled and in a blink of an eye the corridor was filled with students cheering on one or the other girl as they started to circle around each other waiting for the moment to strike. Before teachers arrived Y/N was on the floor, blocking the hits that Lisa, who was sitting atop her kept on throwing.

“GET OFF ME!”

“YOU WILL RESPECT MY POSITION IN THIS SCHOOL!”

“YOU’RE A BULLY!”

“I’M A QUEEN!”

“OF MENTAL SICKNESS!"

“HE’S MINE!”

“Wait… what?” Y/N stuttered and the moment of confusion ended up in the perfectly aimed nose punch and a quite decent bleeding. Followed by Lisa’s vindictive smile.

“Now your nose matches your cheek.”

“ny-noze….”  tears pricked from Y/N’s eyes from the combined pain and shock. It was not just about the fight, but everything that happened in the last couple days. Her father’s abuse because of falling in love and now Lisa’s torment because of pretty much the same followed by a girl’s jealousy.

“What is happening here?” Fuck, why were the teachers always appearing  after the drama happened.

“She attacked me!” Lisa exclaimed, putting on an innocent face. “So aggressive, I suppose it’s because she was raised only by one parent.”

For a second the principal and the tutor were looking between untouched Lisa and beaten up, bleeding Y/N. It was clear who was the casualty, nonetheless it was Lisa’s family who’s been giving generous donations to school.

“Get up from the floor Y/N.” she was finally instructed and on shaky legs and with dizziness she clumsily stood up still clutching her nose. “This is your second stunt this week. You’re coming to my office and this time, I won’t go lightly on you.”

“It was not her fault.” Someone from the crowd of the students dared to speak up and the people parted, revealing the fuming….

Damian Wayne.

“it was Lisa—”

“Oh, I don’t feel well!” Lisa exclaimed accidentally falling right into Damian’s arms “I feel like I’m going to faint—”

“Mr. Wayne, take Mrs Thomas to the nurse’s office so she can be tended to.”

“What-?” Damian swiftly avoided Lisa’s fall and the girl almost ended up on the floor. “No.”

“N-no?”

“No. Y/N was the one who was attacked. And for crying out loud, she’s the one bleeding and needing medical attention. So no, I’m not taking her—” he threw a glance at Lisa “anywhere when there’s someone else in need.”

“U-uh…” the principal still had in mind the humiliation he was subjected to last time when he had Damian and Y/N talk to him. “Fine! Fine, you take her to the nurse, though it’s completely unnecessary and –” half a sentence and two of them were already halfway away “Fuck. I mean, you all go back to your classes! There’s nothing to see here! Now go, before I put you all in detention!”

***

So her resolve to avoid Damian was broken on the first day. 

And it was about to get even harder from now on. 

_________________________________________

part 5: Cracking

@6000-fandoms @beyond-your-stars @mikyapixie

@heartz4miz @crookedmakerfury @mariam12344 @celestair

@faimmm @hornyslasher @urdarlingali

[writersblockiskillingme]

Peace | Coriolanus Snow

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x reader (fem!District12!Baird!reader)

Summary: Coriolanus Snow never thought that he would find peace, until he did.

Warning/s: Snow being in love, Snow being Snow, talk about death (reader is alive, don't worry), possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: Inspired by one and only Taylor Swift.

Our coming-of-age has come and gone

Suddenly the summer, it's clear

I never had the courage of my convictions

As long as danger is near

And it's just around the corner, darling

'Cause it lives in me

No, I could never give you peace

Coriolanus Snow could swear that the rustling of the grass beneath his shoes couldn't be louder as he walked in the Meadow.

However, even though he felt an odd irritation towards that, he felt good. He was finally able to get rid of his Peacekeeper white uniform which he replaced with a simple white shirt and some gray pants that he found. His dog tag was still hanging from around his neck. He forgot to take it off from all of the haste when he was trying to find you as fast as he possibly could once his shift ended for the day.

The wind was dancing gracefully across the leaves on the trees surrounding the always oh so peaceful Meadow just a little outside of the border of District 12.

District 12.

Coriolanus Snow was still a little bit doubtful when it came to the loser District.

He could remember his hated towards, well, everyone and everything when he found out that he was going to be deported for the Peacekeepers. He could still remember that empty feeling when he sat at, what seemed like, the most uncomfortable chair in the world as someone started to cut his blonde locks away.

He lost everything. Every hope for the better.

That is up until it was reported to him that he could chose any District in all of the Panem that he wished.

Coriolanus could've been deported to a nice, clean District like 1 or 2. Yet he chose the poorest District of all. The words "District 12" left his mouth without the second thought when the authorities asked him where he wanted to be deported. He didn't even speare one single thought as he said it.

He asked himself, why did he do it? The question wouldn't leave his mind. It haunted him every day. It clouded his ever racing mind.

Why did he do it?

Yet now, he finally spotted a figure sitting on a giant rock, playing the guitar while muttering the words as she tried to write yet another masterpiece that he was going to cherish forever.

Your hair was flowing around in the wind as your fingers graced the strings of your guitar that Coriolanus got for you from the Capitol.

He tried to stay as quiet as he possibly could. He didn't want this moment to end. He didn't want you to stop singing so he froze once he got close enough so he could listen to you for a bit.

Even the mockingjays on the trees seemed to quiet down as you played the guitar. They were soaking up every melody, every note that you decided to grace the word with.

"And it's just around the corner, darling

'Cause it lives in me"

Your melodic voice rang around the Meadow. So quiet yet so powerful. Graced with softness and pure care. He didn't deserve you. He knew that.

Suddenly nothing mattered anymore. The only thing that truly mattered was the fact that you were alive.

Every doubt he had racing, cursing, his mind vanished forevermore as he listened to you sing and play your guitar, when he saw you performing with the rest of the Covey, your family, the night after he got deported to 12.

Right now, nothing was more important to him than you. He didn't care about his deportation, about Dr. Gaul, about Highbottom.

Maybe he was clueless. Maybe it was his fault for letting himself feel vulnerable in this very moment in the Meadow outside of 12. Or maybe he was just young and dumb for finally letting his guard down... but he felt like there was hope for him at last. Because you were here. You were alive, and if he had to mess up his reputation and lose everything once more just so he could here the sweetest of melodies leaving your lips he was sure that he would do it.

"No, I could never give you peace"

But I'm a fire, and I'll keep your brittle heart warm

If your cascade ocean wave blues come

All these people think love's for show

But I would die for you in secret

The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me

Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

Coriolanus felt himself freeze completely.

His brain nor his body was working anymore as he watched the screen along with the rest of his classmates that were chosen to be mentors for this year's tributes in the Hunger Games.

The scene was tough to watch. He wanted to look away yet he found himself unable to do so.

No matter how hard he tried he couldn't rip his eyes away from the screen that showed reaping the tribute he was supposed to mentor.

A girl from District 12.

He felt uneasy the moment he found out who he was supposed to be mentoring, he felt like his hope was lost. His hope for winning the Plinth Prize and repearing his reputation was ruined. He was ruined.

But now, as he watched you step in after your name was called out, he felt unfamiliar feeling of pure warmth growing and spreading in his chest, consuming him completely. The feeling was unknown, it made him feel weak. Out of control. He hated it.

Yet, as Coriolanus watched your hair bounce as you stepped out of the crowd in the middle of the square, he felt like he would fight the devil himself just so he could make sure that you were safe, that you were going to get out of the arena alive.

He watched your expression and your posture. You were trying to appear as calm and unbothered as possible. You were successful in your attempt, but he saw right through it.

Perhaps it was because he found himself in the similar position as he watched you or perhaps he simply observed a bit too closely.

Whatever it was, it did not prepare Coriolanus Snow for what was about to happen.

°

Why am I here? What am I doing?

These are the questions Coriolanus asked himself as he unintentionally, yet at the same time quite intentionally, tried to seek some warmth from his red Academy's uniform in his pathetic attempts to warm himself up a bit in the middle of a very cold night on his way over to the zoo where you were forced to stay before the games started.

The food wrapped in a handkerchief that had his father's initials on it started to feel too heavy in the pocket of his uniform.

Feeling the cold shiver run down his spine he realized that it's not from cold or from the fear of the Peacekeepers blocking his way over to you in the middle of the night. No. It was something else. Something he was aware of, but couldn't yet admit it to himself.

He watched every step he took so as to not startle you in the cage of the zoo.

As he got closer, he realized that he saw a figure in the dark leaned against the bars of the zoo's cage.

It was you, of course. You were looking up at the sky as your hair slightly flew around in the light, cold night's breeze.

At first he thought that his plan to play star-crossed lovers was a dumb call. That it was bad. Mentor falling desperately, hopelessly in love with his tribute was just madness and quite a desperate attempt to draw some good public's attention to give you a shot at surviving in the arena was quite pitiful, truly. Where was his head at, at that moment? Who would ever fall for that nonsense?

But as he saw how the people thrived for a tragic pair of star-crossed lovers and as he realized that good citizens of the Capitol loved a good tragic story, he came to a conclusion that maybe all of this was actually worth it.

More importantly, as he called out your name quietly as to not startle you and alert other tributes he figured that it was a right call after all.

Especially when, even tho a part of him didn't want to, as he came over to you on the other side of the bars, gave you food that he smuggled from the Academy, wiped your long lost tear as it streamed down your beautiful cheek, as he soked in your beauty, admired your gentil kindness and finally as he kissed you like he needs you more than an oxygen that he has to breath over the empty space in the middle of the bars, he wasn't really pretending after all.

Yet when it was time for him to go home just so his absence doesn't go noticed by grandma'am and Tigris, he asked you one thing that was bothering him, eating him alive. One thing that caused him absolute despair from the moment he met you.

"Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?" He whispered in the darkness as he held his hand against your cheek like you were the most delicate rose.

Your integrity makes me seem small

You paint dreamscapes on the wall

I talk shit with my friends

It's like I'm wasting your honor

Coriolanus Snow was hurrying towars the room in the Capitol's Academy in which he will be able to monitor the games along with some of his classmates.

He had to stay at home to help his grandma'am much longer than the would've liked. He was in such a hurry that once he got to the door he literally pushed it open with full force.

He strolled down effortlessly over to his chair so he could look over you as he heard the voice of one and only Lucky Flickerman.

"Now that is an entrance I'm jealous of."

Coriolanus ignored him.

He sat down next to Sejanus Plinth as he reasted his head on his hand as soon as he did that, the look of pure stress overflow his features as his piercing blue eyes locked themselves on the screen watching you.

"I may be wrong." He heard the voice of Sejanus Plinth as he stared at the screen, not looking away. "But it seems to me that you actually, genuinely care about whether or not she makes it out alive."

Coriolanus felt himself freeze for a moment, but he quickly forced himself to gain his composure back.

"I don't-"

"Don't lie to me, Coryo."

He kept his mouth shut after that.

And you know that I'd swing with you for the fences

Sit with you in the trenches

Give you my wild, give you a child

Give you the silence that only comes when two people understand each other

Family that I chose, now that I see your brother as my brother

Is it enough?

Coriolanus Snow could still remember the feeling of slight cold breeze as he hoped off of the train in 12 for the first time ever.

His boots stepped right into mud and he closed his eyes for a moment in slight annoyance. What an amazing way to alive here and do the things he was ordered to do.

He gripped more tightly just in hope to gain more confidence that he could actually pull through with this.

He stepped forward, letting out a puf of breath to steady himself.

Just as he was about to step after the rest of the new recruits as the one who is last in line he heard something that he hoped he would hear again. A voice which belonged to the person for whom he decided to go to the poorest District, paying the last bit of money he owned.

"Coryo!" Your voice shouted and he turned around slowly, almost not believing that you're here.

You ran as fast as you could just to get to him as fast as possible.

Your hair was flying around as your ran, the back of your dress dragging itself after you. The lightness of your steps, the graceful way you carried yourself, your eyes, your lips, you.

You collided against him, throwing your hands around his neck as you gripped on his shoulders as tightly as you possibly could, afraid that he will disappear from your grasp once again.

You looked so out of place. You were like a finest, most beautiful rose of all, but that rose grew in the middle of the mud. It fascinated him.

He wrapped his arms around you instantly, gripping your body strongly yet at the same time gently as he brought you to his body even closer. You felt like if he pulled you any closer the two of you would become one person.

He hid his face into your neck, breathing in your flowery scent. It smelled like home. Home which he was forcefully ripped away from, but now he was finally able to return.

"How did you-? What-?" He stuttered, couldn't get the words out.

"Tigris told me you were about to become a Peacekeeper." You got out, still holding onto his arm, your gripp still tight, afraid of losing him again. "However, Sejanus told me that you would arrive to 12."

This took him a back a little.

"You spoke with Tigris?" He asked, his voice not hiding his utter, but non the less happy, shock.

"We wrote to each other." You answered with a smile. "She's amazing, truly."

He couldn't be happier at this moment, he was so happy that it scared him.

But maybe, as he watched your smile and took your hand into his, pressing your palms against each other, he realized that just maybe life in the poorest District won't be as bad as he was afraid.

But there's robbers to the east, clowns to the west

I'd give you my sunshine, give you my best

But the rain is always gonna come if you're standing with me

One thing was for sure, life after the games was not easy.

You would have nightmares. He didn't know about them, you wouldn't told him. That is up until the rest of your family met up with him on a picnic day.

You looked so tired, so pale, you weren't acting like your usual self. It scared him.

That's when Lucy Gray pulled him aside after she saw his worried gaze on you the entire day. What she told him ripped his heart and shattered every piece.

"She's screaming at night." Lucy Gray whispered just so you wouldn't catch them, not that you could, you were so tired you were barely awake. "She has nightmares about the arena."

When he later on confronted you about your nightmares just so he could help you somehow you broke down.

You told him that maybe it wasn't the best idea for him to be with her. You were sad a lot more often, the screaming because of nightmares and everything else haunted you.

Before you could say anything else, tho. He kissed you like he would die without you.

"You're safe with me." He mumbled against your lips. "We can have a future here together, that is if you will have me."

"Of course I will Coryo, but-"

"No but's, then, my love." He told you, taking the handkerchief out of nowhere as he wiped away your tears that continued to stream down your face.

"Here, away from every harm, away from the games... maybe I could finally give you peace."

Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

->

->

->

TAGLIST:

@hellonheels-x @especiallythewomenandthechildren @prettyinsatiable @caroline-books @runningfrom2am @10ava01 @thecrowdedstreetin1944

[nyssasorbit]

What's Up With Subaru: My Thoughts

I've been seeing a lot of theories as to what may be up with Subaru acting so suspiciously, and as usual, I want to throw in my two cents since I haven't seen anyone else make a post I 100% agree with yet.

So far I've seen people say either Subaru is anxiety-ridden and possibly suicidal or he's the traitor and he's faking it, hiding something much darker instead.

Personally, I think it's a little of both, especially since I know of a certain spoiler that confirms my suspicions about him. I'm not going to go into my theories about that particular detail too much though.

I think Subaru is very anxiety-ridden and struggles to be polite because he knows he's violent and prone to violence. As we learned in Episode 15, he got out of showbiz due to violence against his junior, which I also have seen people say he may have been framed for, but I think he did it himself. However, I do think he is ashamed about his own nature to some degree, and that may or may not have to do with his hidden [spoiler] behaviour.

My reasons for this are:

In the first Hotarubi story, Episode 5, we see Subaru react very quickly and without mercy to the ghost child doll that attacked Haku. While he did apologize for it, the look on his face seems to tell a different story. And, imo, this is a bit of an odd reaction for someone who consistently mentions how much he loves and defends anomalies.

(Sorry, my phone was lagging and I couldn't get a screenshot without the text box, lol)

2. During the same chapter, we get our first reveal that Alan killed Dante and we see Dante's scars. I feel like most of our commercial breaks from the main plot are somehow relevant to the current episode (correct me if I'm wrong), and this feels somewhat out of left-field if you think about it.

You could attribute it to just being a secret in an episode about secrets, and I think that is part of it, but I like to think it was placed in this chapter because it's an early and very subtle comparison of Alan and Subaru's violent tendencies.

3. The expression he had when being provoked by Leo in Episode 11. He seemed to be crushed by anxiety up until a certain point where Leo crossed the line, and Subaru's expression dropped like he was about to snap. This could have been just a verbal snap, but I could also very much see Subaru resorting to violence like he did with the anomaly from Episode 5. I mean, this looks like a man about to cut a bitch, right?

4. Subaru's acting scenes in Episode 15, plus the blatant reveal of his love for all things horror. I don't think Subaru chose something from the horror genre to quote for no reason. And clearly, he is very good at acting creepy as hell. (Forgot to screenshot his Hell Flower costume image, but you know the one. Also just...that card in general.)

I don't think this is just acting, I think Subaru is tapping into that "darkness" he has as well to pull this off. Horror is something he's interested in and something he feels at home with and can do very well at emulating (conjecture).

5. Subaru's stigma and the Tree of Severance. I've seen a lot of theories that Subaru is suicidal and plans to use these scissors for some purpose, but I don't think that's the case. While I agree this may be a hint at him severing himself from his past, I also thought at the time that maybe Subaru was using his stigma to indulge in the violent pasts that each pair of scissors holds. Since his love and interest for horror was drawn out, and he was able to "act himself" in Episode 15, I think he decided to stop dipping his toe in the pool and threw himself into the indulgence of the real life horror stories that he can easily find without having to touch or inconvenience anyone. Though, tbh, we also don't know how long he may have been doing this, or if it truly was the first time he decided to approach this tree.

(I forgot to add but, Subaru's interests could also be a coping mechanism for him to satisfy his own tendencies while keeping them in control.)

And, overall, while Subaru's politeness seems sort of excessive, I don't think it's all a lie or an act. Like I said, I think he's trying to hide the darker side he knows he has and is ashamed of, because he doesn't want to come out of a fugue state and find that he's hurt someone again, even though it seems as if he struggles with a sort of emotionlessness towards other people/things in general (given the lack of light in his eyes at all times).

I think you could also tack on:

6. His association with Lyca. Subaru is trying to teach Lyca how to act like a human. What a coincidence, eh? In a way, it seems like what Subaru tries to teach Lyca may be somewhat of how Subaru himself has learned to blend in with people despite his emotional/personality disorder. This is a personal theory, but I like to think that Subaru is lying about Lyca, that Lyca did hurt someone in his past, but Subaru sees himself in that and/or empathises with Lyca's situation, and is covering it up saying that Lyca did nothing wrong. I'm not sure if Darkwick knows he's lying, but I think they may be highly suspicious of it still, which is why Lyca specifically remained in that cell beneath Ultio for so long.

[zerosconsort]

Zero's Fic Binding - Sixpence In His Shoe

Sixpence In His Shoe by scifigrl47 [@scifigrl47]

Fandom: Marvel (Comics) Ship: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark Start Date: 02/05/24 End Date: 01/21/25 Pages: 253

I am, honestly, probably the most proud of this cover. This might be the most detailed, delicate, intricate thing I’ve made - ever. I know I haven’t been doing this long, but this? This is really good.

The amount of layers in this bitch is astounding. Sometimes I yearn for the embrace of a better graphic software then Canva. We’ll get there. Anyway.

There is an Owlcrate special edition of The Longest Autumn that inspired the shit out of me for this, along with the version of The Fine Print that i saw in Target that was this beautiful lined foil design. The idea of a mirrored, hyper intricate lace-like cover that wove all the individual parts of the story together drove me crazy. 

The vinyl is foil - which, if you are new to HTV and want to use it to make book covers, LISTEN: This foil sucks. All foil HTV sucks. It’s going to suck to cut. It’s going to REALLY suck to iron on. It will be worth it, but it’s going to try and drag your soul out of your body by your fingernails the entire time you’re using it.

Alright, lets talk about the process and the typeset. 

The entire theme of this fic is marriage - in both that the characters got married, are having a wedding, and are desperately in love with each other despite not actually telling each other that before said marriage and wedding. I initially was going to do a blue and white theme, more along the lines of really flowery modern wedding invitations - but then I read the fic again.

I forgot about the first chapter. Reading again, I paid more attention to what everyone around them was doing to celebrate marriage being legal. The process of it. The traditional feel of how it was done. And that’s the hook that I followed instead. 

Sixpence doesn't have chapter names - so instead I pulled some of the wedding traditions that I researched and used those as my chapter foundations.

Each chapter gets one, where I use the motif as the header and the scene breaks in the chapter. I also added the iconography to the chapter numbers in the header.

I made three of these in total. I fought this book every step of the way - I really needed to be a more experienced version of me to make this book the way I wanted to, but honestly? I literary did the best I could, and even I can tell that I did it.

The first copy of this book went to Sci - Its got a little extra character from being the first version, but out of the three sisters I made of this print run, she turned out the best looking. I'm keeping the most fucked up version (which is otherwise perfect, really, save for the fact that I put the FUCKING SPINE ON BACKWARDS), while the littlest sister is going to go to one of my best friends for a VERY belated gift.

This was a surprised gift for Sci - who had reached out to me almost 4 months ago and asked if they could maybe, possibly, have a copy of Maybe Tomorrow. I knew immediately that I wanted to make this for her too; I had the typeset in my Want To Make file since FEBRUARY OF 2024. So I dusted it off, dumped my other project to the side, and hyper focused on this book for about a month and a half. 

Sci - I admire the fuck out of you. You are a gift and a treasure, and I hope you are ok with me getting my little racoon hands on your fics. Thank you for being open to my interpretation of your work. It’s a privilege and an honor to bind them.

If by some miracle, you have not had the pleasure of reading Sixpence In His Shoe - or any of Sci’s work, #1 what the fuck, #2 please start here.

[tsxkkis]

# kageyama tobio - private

a/n: not proud of this, because i didn't truly know how to end it. also i've been searching for a job lately and it's so damn hard to find one help T-T i still gotta try though because i want money for figurines and mangas :33

summary: your relationship with kageyama was a secret from the public, but it can't be private forever.

warnings: none really

tobio kageyama never answers his phone while training.

his mind was always set on one thing - volleyball. it's like everything else was secondary to his beloved sport, to his safe space, which he adored and treasured dearly. there was only one thing he loved just as much; but that was kept a secret from the world.

along with being a professional athlete came the fame, and with the fame came lack of privacy, something that kageyama seemed to hate from the very beginning of joining schweiden adlers. he vowed to himself that his private life will never become a topic of public discussion, that he'll control every information that comes out to the media as much as he possibly can.

'they're writing about you.' ushijima's voice echoed through their changing room as he handed the black-haired boy his phone, an internet article opened up on one of the most popular gossip pages. upon seeing the title and content of the article, the look on his face instantly changed - he looked irritated, almost insulted. kageyama's nose scrunched in dissatisfaction as if he's just seen another picture of hinata and oikawa hanging out in brazil.

'ooh, let me see!' hoshiumi snached the phone away, curious eyes following the text on the screen, a small gasp leaving his parted lips every now and then. kageyama was quick to get the phone back with an annoyed huff, suddenly putting his shoes on much quicker than before.

the white-haired man looked like he was about to say something, but he was quickly cut off before he could even let a word out.

'don't even mention it.'

'you have a GIRLFRIEND?!'

the changing room fell silent, the only two men left there besides kageyama standing still, awaiting an answer. but as they noticed the tips of tobio's ears turning into a color similar to a rose and his gaze avoiding their glares, they realized they didn't need one.

they weren't exactly shocked by their discovery - tobio was always a private person, and he didn't really talk about his life much, much preffering conversations about volleyball instead of one's that circled around him.

a notification popped up on his phone, disrupting the silence between the three men.

it was you.

'i'm waiting in front of the changing room like i told you yesterday :33'

'hurry up!'

tobio realized he completely forgot about his promise to you, and as his cheeks flushed pink, he suddenly realized that maybe the whole situation wasn't so bad after all.

'you want to meet my teammates?'

kageyama's stood in your shared room's doorframe, a curious look on his face. 'why the hell would you want to meet these idiots?'

'i want to get to know the people my boyfriend hangs out with.' you mumbled, putting down the book you were currently reading. 'you know, i understand that you want to protect your peace from the outside world, but i don't think you have to hide your entire life from your work friends. they seem trustworthy, for all i know.'

the black-haired man plopped onto the bed right next to you, choosing your arm as a perfect pillow for himself. the room fell silent for a few minutes, but you didn't pressure tobio to answer you right away - from the look on his face you knew he was thinking, rather intensely at that, so there was no point in disrupting his trail of thoughts.

'how am i supposed to break it to them, though?' he asked, a genuinely confused look on his face. 'hey, i've been in a relationship for the last four years and never told you, sorry.'

a giggle left your mouth, your hand softly brushing through your boyfriend's hair, twirling the short strands around your fingers.

'i can just come to meet you up after practice and introduce myself. it'll be less awkward for you that way.'

kageyama hummed in response, as if he was deciding on whether he should go with your idea or not. he knew that your relationship being uncovered was inevitable - that sooner or later, they would find out anyways. so maybe your idea wasn't so bad.

'tommorow?' he mumbled, head leaning into your soft hands, almost as if he was pleading you to play with his hair just a tad bit longer.

'fine by me.'

you stood in one place, patiently awaiting your boyfriend as you scrolled through your phone, invested in a particularly hard game of sudoku. as you heard the door crack open, your eyes quickly shot up, hoping to be met with your boyfriend's tall figure. instead, a way shorter, white-haired man showed up right in front of you, bright eyes scanning your figure from head to toe.

'i know you! you used to be karasuno's manage-'

'give her some space, hoshiumi.' a tall man appeared from behind him, one that you recognized to be ushijima almost immediately. you remembered both of the men from your times in high school, and yet you never truly had a chance to meet them properly - not until now, that is.

as you greeted tobio, who emerged from the changing room shortly after, you weren't even surprised that he opted for a hug instead of a kiss - although an adult already, kageyama was still awkward with any public displays of affection. he preferred to keep those special moments to himself.

'have you seen the article?' he hummed quietly, his eyes glued to your face smiling at your confused look.

'what article?'

although a little dumbfounded by your lack of knowledge of it, kageyama quickly pulled out his phone and handed it to you, the article opened up on the screen.

'oh.' your face went blank as you eyed the words in front of you, suddenly connecting the dots. 'so that's why there's so many reporters and paparazzi in front of the building.

reporters? paparazzi?

'shit.' he mumbled under his breath. 'how many of them?'

'around ten, maybe eleven.' kageyama's smile dropped almost immediately upon hearing the number. you carefully scanned his face, hand going up to gently ruffle his hair. 'we can wait for them to leave if you don't want them to see us. i don't mind.'

he thought for a hot minute, rethinking every possible scenario that could happen, every option available. was he truly ready for his private life to become so... public?

kageyama wasn't exactly sure. you've been together for so long that he knew this relationship would last through anything and everything, but at the same time, he didn't want things to change. he hated changes - they never truly meant anything good, and he would always avoid them as much as possible.

but this change was inevitable.

'it's alright.' he said, breaking the moment of silence. 'it would've happened sooner or later. might as well have this behind us, right?'

'are you sure?' you asked quietly, squeezing his hand as you saw kageyama already heading towards the door. his head quickly turned to face you, giving you a small nod before his hand landed on the handle.

'not entirely.' he admitted, eyes darting away from your gaze. 'but i can do it as long as it's with you.'

'hey, don't forget about us!' hoshiumi's stated, your boyfriend shooting him a deathly glare for interrupting the moment between you two. 'maybe we should all grab some dinner, what do you say? i'm sure you're all hungry.'

'come to think of it,' ushijima barged into the conversation, his usual monotone tone. 'i know a restaurant where the paparazzi won't bother us.'

you exchanged looks with tobio, a barely noticeable smile on your face being enough for him to know that you agree.

'let's do it.' the black-haired man said, solidifying the idea once and for all.

'what if they won't leave us alone?' he could see that your anxious side took over, suddenly stressed out about going outside. kageyama gave you a reassuring look, smiling softly.

'then they'll know how amazing my girlfriend is.'

'oooh, how corny-' hoshiumi mumbled, stopping when he saw kageyama's annoyed glare. 'alright, lovebirds, i'll be quiet.'

'you'd better.' you giggled at your boyfriend's words, his hand once again on the handle. he looked your way, softly smiling down at you. 'ready?'

you looked up, eyes meeting his.

'with you by my side? always.'

taglist: @moonswolfie

[chogiwow]

hold me, heal me | jake sim

pairing: jake x gn!reader (ft. jay's cameo)

wc: 9.1k+

genre: angst; sickfic; hurt-comfort

au: exes to lovers

warnings: both mc and jake are emotionally constipated for most part of the fic, jake is sick, mentions of food, yn is a sort of brusque caretaker, mentions of nudity, kissing and making out but jake is still sick ew but that’s on being in love ig, jake also contemplates murder (it's just my attempt at humor), not proofread 

a/n: i’m sick atm so yayyy :d anyway, busted this out in one sitting idek what happened

one.

jake contemplates ignoring the doorbell, the very sound of it making him snort out in mild annoyance. the weighted blanket around his frame feels warm, his feet peeking out against the soft kiss of the spring breeze.

he smells kind of mouldy, like a day-old dusty bookshelf, his fingers sport a fine sheen of oil when he rubs it across his face and his lips feel too dry. the bell rings again – he contemplates a silent murder this time.

against his will, he finds himself dragging his body out from under the comfort of his toasty blanket, sniffling and letting out a violent sneeze and somehow that hurts his throat. still, he persists, stumbling across the cool tile floors of his tiny apartment, heaving his body in his feverish state and unlocking the door with a heavy sigh.

the frown on his face drops too quickly – and again, it is against his will. not that he’s complaining this time around, because it’s you. you’re standing there; even after he blinks his eyes and squints at your face, you’re still standing there. it’s you. and he had just contemplated your murder not even minutes ago – he suddenly wants to apologise.

jake doesn’t know what to say. his throat is scratchy, thick with the remnants of sleep and sickness, but even if it weren’t, he’s pretty sure words would still fail him.

because you’re here, and he doesn’t know why.

his feverish brain scrambles for an explanation – maybe you forgot something here (impossible, you never leave things behind), or maybe you’re lost (equally impossible, you know your way around his place better than he does), or maybe you’[re here to finally cut him out of your life forever (uh, probably possible).

jake swallows. his throat protests, burning raw.

“you look disgusting,” you say, finally breaking the silence.

wow, you’ve really outdone yourself. maybe you’re taking the ‘just friends’ part a bit too literally, but even so, you won’t say that to any friend of yours. but this is jake, your ex – your ex you met again after a year not even two months ago, your ex who you had a long deep talk not even two weeks ago, your ex who, in said talk, spilled his guts out for you (literally and figuratively) over a late night drink, your ex who reluctantly promised to stay friends with because he would do whatever you told him.

jake exhales a short laugh, the sound raspy and strained. “glad to know i’m still leaving an impression.”

you roll your eyes, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. there’s something tight in your chest, something uneasy about the way he looks – pale, sweat-damp, like he’s been marinating in sickness for hours without bothering to take care of himself. which, knowing him, is probably exactly the case.

“you haven’t eaten, have you?”

jake, stubborn as ever, lifts his chin. “i had a banana.”

you glance past him, into the dim apartment, where his couch is buried under a heap of blankets, and his coffee table is cluttered with an empty cup and what looks like an unopened packet of instant ramen.

“right,” you deadpan, stepping forward without waiting for an invitation. he moves aside automatically, like he’s too feverish to even pretend to stop you.

the air inside is warm, a little stale. you wrinkle your nose, setting the plastic bag down on his kitchen counter before turning back to him.

“you look worse than i thought.”

“you mentioned that already,” he mutters, rubbing his temple. “why are you even here?”

that question. you expected it, but it still sits heavy in your stomach.

“i was in the neighborhood.”

jake gives you a flat look. “you don’t live anywhere near here.”

you press your lips together. fine. he’s not going to let you get away with that one.

“i heard you were sick.”

this is a truth. honestly, it was your precious weekend after a long week of gruelling workload, you were planning on staying in and commit fully to the homebody tag you proudly wore like an honor, but ever since getting an urgent call from jay – who was the usual caretaker in your friend group – informing you in a voice filled with worry that he was out of town and somehow jake had ended up sick and how he couldn’t be there and how jake wouldn’t let anyone take care of him anyway, you had ended up pacifying your friend that you would drop by at his place.

jake lets out a slow breath, leaning against the doorframe. the way he looks at you makes your throat tighten – like he’s trying to decipher something, trying to read between the lines of what you’re really saying.

he won’t push, though. he never does.

instead, he just nods, running a hand over his face. “well. that explains a lot.”

you arch a brow. “like what?”

“like why i thought i was hallucinating when i saw you at my door.”

your lips twitch, but you bite back the urge to smile. “maybe you are.”

jake hums, as if seriously considering that possibility. his feverish eyes flicker over you, lingering like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he blinks too long. you can’t blame him. this – being here, stepping into his space again – is uncharted territory, and neither of you know what to do with it.

you clear your throat, turning away before the weight of his gaze unsettles you too much. “sit down,” you say, already moving toward his tiny kitchen.

jake doesn’t argue. he trudges back to his couch, collapsing onto it with a groan. he watches you from beneath his blankets, eyes hooded with exhaustion.

“you don’t have to do this,” he says after a moment. his voice is quieter now, almost careful.

you pause, rummaging through the bag you brought. “i know.”

it’s the truth. you don’t have to be here. you didn’t have to spend your saturday trekking across the city, picking up soup from that overpriced place he likes, remembering that he doesn’t like ginger in it, showing up at his door despite every logical reason not to.

but here you are.

you hear him sigh, long and tired. maybe he understands that arguing is pointless. maybe he’s just too sick to fight you on it. either way, he doesn’t protest when you kneel in front of the coffee table and open the container of soup, letting the steam curl into the air.

“eat,” you tell him, pushing the spoon toward him.

he looks at it, then at you. “you’re kind of bossy.”

“you’re kind of impossible.”

jake chuckles, though it quickly turns into a cough. he takes the spoon from you, fingers brushing against yours for the briefest second. it doesn’t mean anything. it doesn’t.

you tell yourself that as you watch him take the first sip, his shoulders sagging as the warmth settles in his chest.

“better?” you ask, voice softer than you mean for it to be.

jake doesn’t answer right away. he just looks at you, something unreadable in his fever-glazed eyes. then he smiles, small and a little lopsided.

“yeah,” he murmurs. “better.”

jake eats slowly, his movements sluggish from the fever. you sit across from him, arms crossed, watching the way he cradles the bowl in his hands like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered. it’s strange – being here again, in his space, close enough to remember how he used to lean against your shoulder whenever he was sick, how he always got clingy when he had a fever, how he used to–

you stop the thought before it can go any further.

“you’re staring,” jake mutters, glancing at you over the rim of his bowl.

“i’m making sure i keep up my end of the promise i made to jay. seriously, you can't still be this childish, refusing to even go to a hospital. what do you expect, that you’ll just get better if you rot in a bed for a few days without anyone to look after you–”

your words are harsh, you can feel them scratch your throat with their thorns, but they come out of a place of genuine concern and mild bewilderment at jake’s stubbornness. so you hope that at least a few of those thorns get stuck in your throat, for his sake at least.

“what about you?”

you blink at the interruption, lips parted midway forming your sentence. jake notices, shoving a mouthful of soup that burns his tongue before explaining.

“when you were in japan, you lived alone too. what did you do when you got sick…or, was there someone to take care of you?”

it's easy to pass off the quietness with which the question comes out to his raspy throat, but it does  nothing to soften the sudden drop in your stomach that resounds like a gong in your ears.

“how did you know i lived alone?”

i asked jay.

“jay told me.”

jake blows on his next spoonful of soup, waiting patiently for you to answer. did you have someone to take care of you?

you hesitate for a moment, caught between the truth and something easier.

“no,” you finally say. “i took care of myself.”

jake hums, like that answer is enough. like it doesn't leave a hole in the conversation. you expect him to drop it, but then—

“that must’ve been hard.”

you exhale through your nose. “it was fine.”

“liar,” he says, not unkindly. he sets the bowl down with a quiet clink, watching you with that same unreadable expression. fevered, but sharp. "you always hated being sick. said it made you feel helpless."

the words come from somewhere too familiar, a piece of history you thought had been buried. because he’s right. you did say that – once, a long time ago, wrapped up in his sheets with a fever of your own, curled up against the warmth of his body as he pressed a damp towel to your forehead. you hated it, the vulnerability of it all, the way it made you feel like you couldn’t move forward. jake had laughed back then, brushing the hair out of your face, promising you’d get through it together.

but there was no together anymore.

"excuse me?" your voice is sharp, defensive before you can stop it. but jake doesn’t flinch, doesn’t backtrack. he just keeps looking at you, feverish but steady, like he’s seeing through every wall you’ve built.

“you hate being alone,” he says simply. “you always have.”

your fingers curl against your palm, nails pressing into your skin. the room feels too warm now, the scent of soup thick in the air, pressing against your ribs. you don't know if it's his fever or yours, but suddenly, it feels like you can't breathe.

“i got used to it,” you say, and it’s meant to sound indifferent, like a shrug. but it doesn’t. it sounds tired.

jake watches you carefully, then sets the bowl down on the table with a quiet clink. his fingers trace the rim absentmindedly. “doesn’t mean it stopped hurting.”

you push yourself up, dusting imaginary lint off your jeans. "i’ll get you some water."

jake doesn’t stop you, but you can feel his gaze following you as you move around his tiny kitchen, familiar in ways you wish it wasn’t. your hands know exactly where to reach, where the glasses are, how the faucet squeaks if you turn it too fast. it’s ridiculous.

and he wonders what you might have gone through yourself. here, he had the safety of his friends, a reliable, if not burdensome indulgence for him. one call, and he was sure one friend or another would drop by if he was sick.

you however, had been all alone in a new country. new job, new people, new place, an unfamiliar language and no friends to call upon. did you let yourself rot in bed too? he wanted to ask you so much, but he still didn’t feel like he had the right to pry into your life yet.

it’s been a year since you broke up, two months since you met again, two weeks since you had that conversation – one where he admitted things you weren’t sure you wanted to hear, and you promised things you weren’t sure you could keep.

and now you were here, refilling his glass like no time had passed at all.

jake watches you carefully, his fever-flushed face softening in a way you don’t quite know how to deal with. his gaze lingers – not in the sharp, teasing way he would look at you, but in a quiet, searching way, like he’s seeing something in you he hadn’t noticed before.

placing the glass on the table, you make a final attempt at saving yourself. you’re not sure what you need saving from, jake is the one who’s sick, if anything you have the upper hand here (again, you don’t why you  need a upper hand in the first place), but jake’s sudden intervention had rattled you nonetheless. the way he kept on seeing through you like he knew you better than the back of his hand, even when all your cards were tucked safely in your han and the table in front of you was empty. 

“it’s not like i had a choice.”

“yeah,” jake murmurs. “i guess not.”

a silence settles between you, neither awkward nor comfortable, just there. you could fill it with something light, something inconsequential, but the weight of the moment keeps you still.

jake sets the bowl down on the table, leaning back against the couch. his head tilts slightly, exhaustion tugging at his expression. “you should’ve called.”

you frown. “what?”

“when you were sick,” he says simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “you should’ve called me.”

a bitter laugh rises in your throat before you can stop it. “right. because that would’ve been appropriate.”

jake doesn’t flinch, he just looks at you, steady despite the fever dulling his edges. “i wouldn’t have cared about “appropriate.”

you open your mouth, then close it again. because what can you even say to that? you hadn’t called him. of course, you hadn’t. it had been a year. a whole year of learning how to exist without him, of burying old instincts, of teaching yourself not to reach for your phone when something reminded you of him.

but now, sitting here, watching the way his fingers twitch like he wants to reach for you, you wonder if you ever really unlearned any of it.

you exhale, shaking your head. “just finish the soup, jake.”

his lips twitch, barely a ghost of a smile. he doesn’t argue.

maybe it’s the fever, or maybe it’s just him, but he doesn’t stop watching you. even as he eats, even as the warmth returns to his face, even as you sit there, pretending this is normal.

you don’t look back at him. you can’t.

because something about this – about being here, about taking care of him again – feels too easy. about the way he so easily manages to remind you of the past despite yourself, how he easily manages to look past you, through you, at you with those same kind eyes you had fallen in love with all those year ago. and you don’t know what to do with that.

so you do what comes to you naturally when your mind is crumbling on itself. you move, you work, you take action. you make yourself busy.

shrugging off your jacket, you push the sleeves of your shirt up and rummage through another plastic bag. pulling out a packet of fever reducing medicines, you pop one out of its pellet and hand it to jake.

“have this, then go to sleep.” there’s determination in your voice, you’re already planning out what to do, “i’ll clean up here and check on you later, so just go get some rest and don’t worry too much about it.”

jake doesn’t want to argue, but he doesn’t want to waste his time sleeping when he knows you’ve already made up your mind to stay in his apartment for the time being. also, he doesn’t want to make you clean up after him.

“wait y/n, you don’t have to clean up–”

“jake, for all i know, you’ve been marinating in your own sickness for two days straight,” you deadpan, already picking up the leftover dishes off his table and striding towards his kitchen, shaking your head at the sinkful of old dishes, “go to sleep, i’ll wake you up in a few hours and you can take a shower then. i’ll change your sheets while i’m at it too–”

you ramble off about the list of things you’re mentally taking note of and it makes jake dizzy. this is a side of you that is new to him. it’s like you’re giving him no chance at making a move. he sees you deal out your cards, it’s so clear to him, but he feels powerless right now, your back facing him like a sturdy wall.

he follows the line of your shoulders, the tension taut in them as you continue with your work, your hands moving on their own as you rinse dishes and rearrange the kitchen, though you’re not really seeing any of it. the soft clink of plates against each other fills the quiet room, but your mind is miles away.

behind you, you hear jake shift on the couch, a low sigh escaping his lips. it’s soft, the kind of sigh that says more than words ever could. you try to focus on the task at hand, but every time you move, you feel his eyes on you. it makes your skin feel too tight, your thoughts too loud.

you hear his footsteps receding as he makes his way to his room, the sound of his movements getting muffled the further away he moves. he doesn’t shut the door behind him, instead, getting in bed and letting himself be lulled into a sleep with the sound of your own movements in the kitchen. and it feels unreal.

jake is half certain that he would wake up and realise that this had all just been a fever dream, that he had indeed been hallucinating your figure, tat he had conjured up your voice from the depths of his memory, that the frown on your pretty face had been his karma – even in his dreams, you were upset at him. and for a while he tries to stay awake, fighting his heavy eyes and the soreness in his limbs and the weight of the blanket over his frame. 

you hear the soft creak of the bed, the rustle of sheets. it’s a quiet reminder that jake is still there. that he’s still so close, even though you’ve tried to keep your distance. he’s not the one who’s avoiding you anymore. you are. and every moment you spend not looking at him, not addressing what’s hanging between you, it feels like a crack getting wider.

a distant groan from the bedroom snaps you out of your thoughts. jake. his voice, thick with the fever, is a reminder of how everything is spinning out of control. you pause for a moment, eyes flicking towards the hallway, your heart tightening in your chest.

you didn’t call him when you were sick. you didn’t need to. you couldn’t. but right now, you’re here. you’re standing in his kitchen, pretending you’re not trembling with every second that passes, pretending you’re not dying to check on him. to feel something, anything, other than this cold distance you’ve forced between you both.

but you simply dissociate. your movements grow more mechanical as you tidy up, but you know that you're running from something. running from the truth, from the flood of emotions that threaten to break the fragile dam you've built. the truth is, you’ve been avoiding him for so long – maybe longer than you even realized – but the cracks are showing now, and it's making everything harder than it needs to be.

you try not to think about the past, the things you’ve buried, but it’s impossible. because here you are, again. taking care of him. watching him. being drawn to him despite everything that should keep you apart.

the silence stretches, only the sound of water and cutlery keeping you company. if you strain your ears, you could probably hear the laboured breaths in the bedroom. 

the glass in your hand feels heavier now, like it’s a vessel for everything you’ve kept inside. you’re holding it with too much force, fingers tight around it, but you don’t want to let go. you’re afraid that if you do, the dam will break. that all the words, all the thoughts you’ve buried so deep, will flood out and you won’t be able to stop them.

two.

somewhere in the middle of a restless sleep and the sense of a lingering presence, jake finds himself being shaken awake.

there’s a gentle pressure on his arm, squeezing his skin comfortingly and coaxing his eyes to flutter open. his head feels lighter this time around, weighed down by a damp cloth that feels like a balm across his skin, but its the hand around his arm that he really zeroes in on the moment he’s up.

so you hadn’t been a fever dream after all. that means you had been upset at him in reality. well, that’s a concern for later. all he registers is that you hadn’t left. yet. 

“hey,” your voice is tentative, just like your fingers curling around his arm as if you’re afraid you’re going to startle him back into consciousness, “you should get up and take a shower, i ran you some hot water”

your voice, it’s so quiet and sweet. your fingers graze against his skin when you remove the towel off his and run your fingers across the long strands of hair across his forehead – he shivers. your forehead puckers into a frown, palm flattening against his head again. a small sigh escapes his lips, the feeling so welcome, he lets his eyes fall shut again, but you move your hand again and all jake feels is the emptiness lying heavy against his skin.

jake blinks slowly, the sleep still clouding his vision as he processes your words, the absence of your touch a sharp contrast to the warmth you’d left behind. he swallows hard, pushing himself up with effort, the weight of exhaustion still clinging to him.

the cool air from the window brushes against his damp skin, and he can hear the soft rustling of the room as you move around, no longer hovering. you’ve given him space, and yet, he feels more crowded than ever by the silence between you two. the quiet hum of the room is deafening.

his hands reach for the towel you’d left behind, the fabric still warm from the contact with his skin. he presses it to his forehead again, and for a fleeting moment, he thinks about how this small gesture – this simple act of care – might have been enough if he hadn’t messed it all up.

when he shuffles into the bathroom, you're already there, standing at an awkward angle away from the showerhead as you twist and turn the knobs, one hand under the water to test the temperature.

“just a sec, it’s a bit too hot right now,” you barely glance at him as you continue with his ministrations. and jake? he’s honestly still too tired to want to read into your actions but that doesn’t mean his chest doesn’t twist in a weird way.

once you’ve determined the right temperature of the water, you move towards jake who’s leaning with his head against the bathroom tiles. the room itself is tiny, a two-by-two metre cubicle that feels too crowded with the both of you inside. jake sniffles, raising his arms in a pathetic attempt to take his jacket off but he’s obviously unsuccessful.

you don’t even spare a reaction, naturally moving to help him, maneuvering one arm out of his jacket, then the other. and it’s with this same instinct that your fingers reach for the hem of his shirt too, ready to pull it over his head but you stop at the very last second, almost abruptly, it gives you a whiplash.

instantly your eyes meet his. he’s already looking at you and unfortunately you can read his emotions all too well.

the shower runs in the background, steam curling up into the air, and you both stand there for a moment, hesitating. part of jake wants to stay lost in the haze of exhaustion, to let you take the call and help him take his shirt off. but another part – the part that knows you woldn’t dare unless he pushed you – wants to step forward with his arms stretched out, telling you to take it off for him.

jake swallows again, this time louder, his throat dry. he could let you take over, could surrender to the care you’re offering, let you guide him through the motions. it would be easy to let go, but there’s something about the way you’re looking at him – something raw and real – that makes him second-guess.

“i… i can do it,” jake says hoarsely, his voice quiet and rough, like it hasn’t been used properly in too long. his hands hover, reaching up toward his shirt but faltering at the last second. you see him pause, the conflict in his eyes, and for a split second, he wishes he could pretend it was just the exhaustion talking. but it's not. it’s more than that.

you stand there, frozen, hand still poised just inches from his chest, the tension between you two becoming almost suffocating. but despite the silence, there’s an unspoken understanding that lingers between you, a fragile thread that hasn’t snapped yet.

finally, you take a step back, releasing a quiet breath as you straighten up. you glance down for a moment, biting your lip, then look back at him with a mixture of resolve and something softer. "you should... you should take care of it yourself," you say, your voice a little strained, as though you're holding something back.

jake wants to argue, to tell you it's fine, to just let him lean into whatever you've been offering. but instead, he stays quiet, his gaze not leaving yours. he takes the final step toward the shirt, the fabric slipping off easily, but for some reason, the act feels heavier now. the weight of the decision, the weight of what it means to ask for help or not.

your eyes avert on their own, catching but a momentary peek of his naked skin. this shouldn’t be that weird, you shouldn’t be this flustered. you’ve seen him like this before, hell you’ve seen and done much more than this before, but that was then. this is now – you’re taking care of your sick ex who you’re just friends with.

you wish there was a guidebook for this sort of situation.

you swallow hard and try to keep your voice steady when you speak. "i’ll get you something to eat after," you say, your voice almost too soft, barely reaching him over the water.

there’s a pause. a beat that feels like it could stretch on forever.

"yeah," jake murmurs, his voice low and tired. "thanks."

you can’t quite tell if he means it, if it’s just the exhaustion talking, or if it’s something more. you don’t ask. the weight of his answer is enough. he’s waiting for you to leave before he can get into the shower.

almost against your will, your gaze flickers to him – just a quick look, a fleeting glance. and it’s enough to leave you breathless for a second. his back is to you, but you can see the way his shoulders tense, the curve of his spine, the way condensation already starts setting, dampening his skin with a thin layer of mist from the shower. 

you wish you could stay; it's a thought that startles you and embarrasses you. but it's also a thought that sobers you up in an instant, startling you out of your reverie and making your feet finally move. the door shuts behind you with a soft thud, but you don’t hear the soft click of the lock turning.

the moment the door clicks shut, you press your back against it, letting out a breath you didn't even realize you'd been holding. your hands are trembling slightly, and you quickly clasp them together, squeezing them tight to keep the unease from showing. you force yourself to breathe, to steady the racing thoughts in your head.

you’re just friends now. that’s what you promised, that’s what you agreed on. but why does everything about this feel so far from simple?

the faint sound of the shower running leaks through the thin walls. a knot tightens in your stomach. you press your palms against the door, the coolness of the wood grounding you for a second. this is supposed to be temporary, you remind yourself. just a few more hours, a couple of days at most, and you’ll both go back to your separate lives. you can’t afford to let yourself slip back into this space. not now.

jake stands still in the shower, the hot water cascading over him, though it does little to wash away the frustration building inside. his thoughts race faster than the droplets falling from the showerhead, each one a sharp reminder of how easy it was to slip back into this. the moment you stepped into the apartment, everything shifted. even though you'd kept your distance, it didn’t take much for him to feel the pull again.

he shuts his eyes tighter, pushing the water away, wishing it could drown out the thoughts swirling in his head. why? why was it so easy to let you back in? how did you always know the right thing to do? 

then again, he had always blindly believed you back when you were together, trusting your decisions like they were the bible itself. maybe that had been his downfall in a way, when he had reluctantly but respectfully agreed to the breakup. thinking about it now, you were wrong. you had been so wrong, and he had resented you for it. he had resented himself for believing you just because he was in love with you and he realised not much had changed, because he had let you fool him again by making him promise to be just friends with him. even after a whole year of repenting, resolving and regretting, it had been that easy for you to crumble him in your hands – all because he still loves you.

and he thinks that is reason enough to let himself be wavered by you – your imploring eyes, your worried lips, the frown on your face, the plea in your voice – he’d give in to you and your demands any day and every day.

but he doesn’t think he wants to. right now, standing under the warm water you had run for him, it enraged him a little how he had just stood there letting you do your thing while he waited. no, in fact, its not the waiting that set him off, he would wait for you for however long you made him, it was the way you had such an easy say in his life. how you could just do something, and he wouldn’t question it.

why should we remain friends?

he should have asked you that rather than agreeing along with you. you had given him no logical reason, but he had sensed the emotionally turbulent place it had come from, so he had left it at that. but now he wants to know. now he wants to know why you should remain just friends? why would you be here taking care of him when he’s sick? do you not still love him?

your voice from earlier lingers in his ears: i’ll get you something to eat after. the way you said it was soft, almost like a promise. but he can’t help but hear the unspoken words between the lines. it wasn’t just about food. you were offering something more, but you were hiding it behind the guise of something mundane. you were offering care, but you were also offering distance.

jake grips the edge of the shower, knuckles white as he exhales sharply. the water no longer feels comforting. it’s just another distraction. another way for him to bury his feelings.

"god," he mutters to no one, his voice barely above a whisper. "why do you still do this to me?"

he’s angry. angry at the situation, angry at himself for still caring, for still wanting you in ways he shouldn't. and yet, underneath the anger, there's an ache – a yearning that refuses to be ignored. he wants to reach out, to pull you back, to make you see that he still matters. that they both still matter.

but instead, he grits his teeth, trying to keep the heat of his frustration contained. no more waiting, he thinks. no more pretending.

when the water runs cold, he steps out of the shower, his body shivering slightly, but it’s nothing compared to the chill creeping under his skin. he pulls a towel around his waist and stares at his reflection in the foggy mirror. for a second, he barely recognizes the man in the glass. the person he used to be – the one who thought everything would just fall into place after the breakup, the one who convinced himself they could both move on – feels like a stranger.

but he’s done pretending now.

jake pulls open the bathroom door and steps into the hallway, the soft hum of the apartment the only sound. he doesn’t have a plan, but he knows one thing for sure: he’s not going to let this go without asking the questions that have been haunting him. not anymore.

you’re sitting on the couch, your knees tucked under your chin, a blanket draped over your lap. you’re only half paying attention to the television, head peeking up every so often to check the pot of soup boiling over the stove. the sight almost makes him turn back. almost makes him halt in his steps and rethink what he’s about to do. does he really want to break this moment?

i mean, he could retreat now, disappear into the quiet of his thoughts, and then return to let you serve him the warm cup of soup. he could play it off, pretending not to read too much into it, maybe even use the moment to ask about your time in japan. you'd tell him about how much you loved it, carefully sidestepping any mention of the loneliness you’d carried with you, dodging his prying questions with practiced ease. after that, you'd clean up again, hand him the fever-reducing pills, and tuck him into bed. he’d wake up feeling better, and you’d finally leave. and when you did, things would go back to what they were before. just friends. just the way it had always been.

and then you’ll keep being ‘just friends’.

but he doesn’t. instead, he walks towards you, his footsteps steady despite the whirlwind inside him. his naked torso feeling the brunt of his actions as the cool breeze pricks his skin.

"you’re not going anywhere, are you?" the question slips out before he can stop it, his voice rough. he’s barely even aware of the way his heart pounds in his chest.

you look up at him, surprise flickering across your face, but it doesn’t last long. you meet his gaze, steady, cautious, before they trail along the path of his body – his naked body, save for the towel around his waist. what the fuck.

"jake," you start, but your voice falters, unsure of how to navigate this new situation, “i’m right here, so can you please go put something on, you’re gonna get sick again if y–”

but he’s not going to let you hold back. not anymore.

"no," he interrupts softly. "i need to know, right now. why are we still pretending?"

three.

the room holds its breath, the tension almost tangible in the quiet after jake’s question. for a moment, neither of you speaks. your eyes flicker between him and the door, as if you could somehow slip out of this without answering. but you know you can’t. not anymore. not with the weight of his question hanging between you.

he’s let you convince him to put on clothes for the moment, but he refuses the bowl of soup you set in front of him.

“answer me y/n, i’m not eating anything until you answer my questions tonight.”

you can already feel a headache creeping up your neck. you sit on the other end of the couch, burying your head in your hands and letting out a weary sigh. jake had picked the worst time to be his stubborn self again.

you clear your throat, trying to regain control of the situation, but your voice feels small, fragile. “jake… i – i don’t know what you want me to say.” you stand up slowly, hands still gripping the blanket around you, though the warmth of it feels distant now. “you’re sick. you should just rest.”

but jake doesn’t look sick. not in the way he did when you first found him, feverish and weak, barely able to sit up. he sits across you now, your bodies separated by just a few feet. there’s a fire in his eyes, something raw and insistent that makes it hard to breathe.

“you’re avoiding the question,” he says, his voice low but firm. “why are we still pretending? why are you really here?”

“where is this coming from? i thought you were fine with me being here–”

“yeah, i was sick and barely in any condition to argue with you.”

“oh. oh, so now that you’re feeling better you think you can–”

“i can what?” jake’s voice is still raspy, but it's firm. it rattles you. jake has always been the more emotional one in your relationship whereas you took the reign of being the logical counterpart. yet now, you can’t find yourself coming up with anything close to a logical explanation.

you hesitate, the words swirling in your mind but never quite making it past your lips. his question cuts through everything you’ve been holding back, and you feel exposed, raw. this isn’t the same dynamic anymore. jake’s eyes bore into yours, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface, and you can’t look away.

“i – i don’t know what you want from me,” you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. “i thought... i thought we were just getting through this. i’m here because i care about you, jake. i always have.”

jake’s jaw tightens, and he takes a step forward, his presence looming over you. his gaze doesn’t soften; it only grows more intense, more insistent.

“no,” he says quietly. “you’re here because you can’t let go of whatever we were, but you're too scared to admit it. you’re scared of what happens next, scared of how things might change if we stop pretending.”

the words hit harder than you expect. you recoil slightly, trying to maintain your composure, but the tension in the room feels suffocating, like you’re drowning in the weight of your own fear. you can feel your pulse in your throat, each beat hammering against your chest.

“i’m not pretending,” you murmur, but even to your own ears, it sounds hollow. “i’m... i’m just trying to make sure you're okay.”

jake doesn’t let you off the hook. “and what about you? what are you doing, huh? what about what you need?” his voice cracks just a little at the end, the vulnerability slipping through. you’ve never heard him sound like this before, and it shakes you to your core. the certainty in his eyes falters for just a second, but when he speaks again, it’s like he’s trying to bury it. “i can’t do this anymore. i can’t be the one who’s always waiting for you to come back, for you to decide if i’m worth it.”

you flinch. his words strike deeper than any physical blow could. he’s right, in a way you’ve been refusing to face him. you’ve been holding him at arm’s length, never fully letting him back in, always waiting for something – anything – that would make it easier to walk away without feeling like you’re suffocating. but jake’s not giving you that luxury anymore.

“what the hell are you even saying jake,” your temper rises now, you’re not sure if its the way jake deems the way you regard him or whether it's the truth of everything he is hitting you with all of a sudden, “you are worth everything i have ever put my life upon, don’t go around making me the bad guy. i have never deemed you any less than what you deserve, and you’ve always deserved the best.”

these words are unfiltered and sound almost childish in your ears. gone is the grace with which you pride yourself in forming sentences, now everything you’re saying sounds like some third grade rendition of a love letter. you burn in embarrassment and anger, because in the end, jake has reduced you to this state.

but jake doesn’t regard it as such, if anything, he’s gotten you to finally talk.

“what are you afraid of?”

you look at him, your throat tight, and suddenly, it feels like everything is crashing down. it’s always been easier to lie, to hide behind excuses, behind the safety of distance. but with jake right in front of you, his question still lingering – for the first time, you can’t push it away. you can’t hide from it anymore.

“what am i afraid of?” you repeat the words softly, like a question to yourself. but deep down, you already know the answer, and it terrifies you.

“i’m afraid of what happens when we stop pretending,” you confess, voice cracking. you can’t look at him as you say it – can’t bear to meet his eyes, because everything you’ve been burying under the surface comes spilling out in the form of this one fragile truth. “i’m afraid that if we really look at this... at us, there won’t be anything left to hold on to.”

jake’s silence is deafening. you risk a glance at him, only to find him staring at you with something close to heartbreak in his gaze. his lips press together, and for a moment, you think he’s going to say something, but then his chest rises and falls with a sharp breath, like he’s swallowing everything he feels.

“you think... you think that if we let go, we’ll be nothing?” his voice is quieter now, almost lost. but there’s still that fire in it, just softer. “is that what you really believe, y/n? that everything we had means nothing if it’s not perfect?”

you wish you could say something, anything, to make this easier – to make him understand. but it’s all coming out now, too much and too fast.

“i don’t know what i’m doing, jake.” the words tumble out, helplessly, just like the tears that start rolling down your cheeks, “i... i don’t know how to stop being afraid that we’ll just break again. that i’ll break, and i’ll hurt you, and then there won’t be any coming back from it.”

you hesitate, taking a shaky breath, and the real reason – one that’s been buried so deep for so long – slips out before you can stop it. “i was so scared of losing you, jake. but i realized that if i kept holding onto you like that maybe i’d end up suffocating you.”

jake’s jaw tightens, and you watch his expression shift. you don’t know if he understands completely, but something flickers in his eyes. you think about the time you walked away, the way you chose to close off instead of facing the fear of losing him to your own need for control. the thing you were so afraid of – the thing that led to your breakup.

“the thing is,” you continue, voice cracking, “i wanted us to be this perfect thing, but i couldn’t let go of the part of me that was terrified. i kept pushing you away. and then... when we finally did break up, i thought i was saving us both from more hurt. but all i was really doing was hurting you.”

jake’s hand inches towards you, afraid that you would pull away before he could reach you. when his fingers finally find yours across the couch, he holds on firmly. you don’t pull away.

“i thought you just didn’t need me anymore. that you were pushing me out, choosing to shut me out because you didn’t want to deal with the mess of everything we were.”

he looks at you, and it’s like his eyes are pleading for you to see it. “but i was just trying to be there. for you. i tried everything i could, y/n. you wouldn’t let me in. every time i pushed, you pulled back. and in the end, i felt like i was nothing but a burden to you. that was why i stepped back...because i thought it was what you wanted. i thought i wasn’t enough.”

the truth of his words settles like a weight in your chest, heavy and sharp. the weight of his hand on top of yours feels burdensome, but then his fingers start caressing your skin, thumbing circles across the soft flesh of your wrist.  and then you realize: all that time, while you were protecting yourself from the pain of losing him, you were pushing him into a corner, suffocating him with your need for control. and it destroyed the connection you had – your walls went up, and his came down.

“you thought you weren’t enough?” you whisper, the tears keep rolling, “i’m sorry. i was so scared... scared that if i let you too close, i’d lose myself in you. i needed to keep control, jake. but i never wanted to push you away like that. and i... i didn’t see how badly i was hurting you until it was too late.”

jake now turns to you entirely. all his yearning oozes out of him desperately, maybe it’s because you’ve finally had this talk, but he can feel the tiredness returning in his limbs, finally relieved. he expects you to completely push him away, but he reaches out regardless and maneuvers you with gentle hands across his lap.

“if you know now that you hurt me, take responsibility for it.” he says, letting you ease yourself in his hold. you’re hesitant at first, but with every stroke of his fingers across your cheeks, you settle down and let him wipe your tears away.

he buries his face against the crook of your neck and it's a feeling you don’t realise you’ve missed. the sigh that tumbles out your lips is just a testimony of you finally giving in to this feeling.

“jake,” your voice is a silent whisper, “you’re still sick, you shouldn’t be–”

but whatever it is that you think jake shouldn’t be doing is suddenly a thought flung right to the back of your mind when his lips meet yours in a silent plea. just the soft touch of his chapped skin against yours. it ends as abruptly as it starts.

“fuck,” he curses, slightly out of breath even though he hadn’t done much, “you’re right, i’m sick, i shouldn’t be kissing you–”

oh but who cares. it’s just a mild fever, so what if you fall sick too?

you’re pressing your lips against him too, shutting him up with a kiss that he surrenders himself into despite his own protest against his sickness. because you’re here, in his arms, kissing him like that's all you’ve wanted to do. and for once, jake doesn’t complain, because you’ve never kissed him like this before. you've never shown him just how starved you are for him. and he understands this feeling, he’s felt this way for you forever, but he’s also slightly dumbfounded at the way you hold him tight and kiss him breathless.

he feels dizzy again, but not for anything in the world is he going to stop you right now. he simply latches on to you tighter, pulling you impossibly close and moves his lips with yours, letting you bruise his own.

you both finally pull away, breathless, eyes searching the other like you’ve been lost in the dark for too long. the weight of everything that’s been unsaid, everything that’s been holding you both apart, is still there, but now there’s something else. a sense of clarity, an understanding that feels so fragile, like the first light breaking through a storm.

jake presses his forehead to yours, a soft laugh escaping him as he steadies his breath. “god, i’ve missed you like this. i’ve missed us.” his voice is low, raw with emotion, and you feel that familiar pull in your chest again – the one you’ve been trying to ignore, trying to convince yourself isn’t real. but it is. it always has been.

you pull back slightly, still tangled in his arms, your heart racing. “jake, i... i don’t know how to fix all the damage i’ve done. i don’t even know if i deserve to ask for another chance... after everything.”

his eyes soften, his thumb gently brushing over your lips like he's memorizing the way they feel against his skin. “y/n,” he says, his voice steady and sure now, “you don’t have to fix anything all at once. we don’t have to pretend like everything’s perfect, because it’s not. but i’m willing to try again, if you are.”

your chest tightens at his words, the weight of everything still hanging between you, but it feels like the first step. it feels like a chance to rebuild, even if it’s not easy, even if it takes time. he’s offering you the space to breathe, to come to him when you’re ready, but with no expectation that you have it all figured out. 

“i’m scared, jake,” you admit, your voice trembling. “i’m scared i’ll push you away again. that i’ll hurt you again.”

he shakes his head, a small, reassuring smile playing at his lips. “you won’t. not if we face it together.”

you feel a strange sense of calm settle over you, like a weight lifting off your shoulders, even though the future is still uncertain. but for the first time in a long time, it’s not so terrifying. maybe because you’re not facing it alone.

“can we... just take it slow?” you whisper, your fingers curling into his shirt. “can we rebuild this, piece by piece? i don’t want to rush it.”

jake smiles, despite the sudden dull thudding in his head.

“you’re asking for slow after you just kissed me like that?”

you know he’s teasing you, you feel the warmth flush your cheeks but before you can reprimand him, his hand moves to the back of your head, pulling you in for another gentle kiss; this time slower, deeper, like he’s memorizing the way you feel against him. when he pulls away, there’s a look in his eyes that tells you more than words ever could.

“slow’s fine with me,” he murmurs. “we’ll do it at our own pace. whatever it takes.”

you bury your face in the crook of his neck; it feels like home.

“thank you,” you whisper, even though you’re not entirely sure what you’re thanking him for yet. for understanding? for being patient? for loving you despite everything?

you don’t know. but you’re grateful.

“i’ll make it right, jake,” you say, your voice muffled against his skin. “i’ll find a way to make it right.”

and for the first time, you truly believe it.

epilogue.

a week later, you’re sprawled on the couch, tissues scattered around you, feeling miserable. jake walks in, grinning, holding soup and medicine.

“you really went for it, huh?” he teases, setting the soup down. “kissed me, and now you’re sick.”

you groan. “you didn’t have to kiss me back so passionately.”

jake laughs. “what can i say? i had to make up for lost time.”

you roll your eyes but can’t help smiling. “well, it’s your fault. i was fine until you—"

“don’t even try to blame me,” he cuts in, sitting beside you. “we both know you loved it.”

before you can retort, jay pops his head out from your kitchen, shaking his head. “you two seriously couldn’t wait a week to not get sick?”

you throw a pillow at him. “shut up, jay.”

he grins. “i’m just saying, you couldn’t have waited at least a week, or at least till he got better? are you guys animals, did you have to make out right then?”

you groan and pull the blanket tighter around yourself. “jay, please, you’re killing me.”

jake chuckles, clearly amused by jay’s teasing. “i’m sure it was worth it.”

jay raises an eyebrow. “it better have been. you’re both out of commission now. y/n’s got the cold, and i’m stuck being the responsible one. like i don’t have enough to deal with.”

you glance at jake, still leaning into him for comfort, and say in your best innocent voice, “you could always leave, jay. let us suffer in peace.”

jay gives you a mock glare. “oh, i see how it is. i come over to check on you, and now i’m the bad guy.”

jake smirks, clearly enjoying the banter. “you’re lucky we didn’t need you to play nurse. we’ve got it covered.”

jay rolls his eyes dramatically, then turns to leave. “fine. but if you two are going to be in here swapping germs and cuddling like an old married couple, don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

before he can disappear completely, you call out after him. “hey, jay?”

he pauses at the door.

“next time, bring actual medicine. not just your sarcasm.”

jay grins, tossing a playful wink over his shoulder. “can’t help it, y/n. it’s what i do best.”

with that, he’s gone, and the silence between you and jake is comfortable, warm. you look up at him, giving him a half-smile.

“i guess it’s just us then?”

jake kisses your forehead gently. “just us.”