#what could be more indisputably 'yours' than your own body

[scottguy]

If women got in to power and passed laws banning Viagra, men would instantly start whining about "the right to control own body!" and "the state making private medical decisions for me!" 🙄

And no one would even be dying from blood loss or infection in those situations or having the crushing responsibility of raising a child forced upon them.

[c-e-d-dreamer]

I Can Take the Upper Hand and Touch Your Body: Part One

A/N: it's here! It's officially @acotar-omegaverse-week party people! Did you know there is a serious LACK of Nessian omegaverse? It's a crime. So you know I had to come out here and represent us Nessian girlies. So I hope everyone enjoys Nesta and Cassian "turning up the heat" in hopefully the best way 😉 Seriously, this is very filthy. The plot? Not really there. But there is plenty of smut 😇

Read on AO3 // Next Part

The first thing Nesta notices when the elevator doors open on the fifteenth floor is the scent. It’s unmistakable, a sweet mix of pheromones that is all too indisputable; although this particular scent seems to be tinged distinctly with pine, with the wind kissed breeze that blows off the mountains. Already, Nesta’s body begins to respond as that scent floods her senses, heat flaring through her veins and down to her toes, but she’s quick to snuff out those flames, refusing to let even an ember continue to breathe.

Presenting as an omega had been everything Nesta’s mother ever wanted for her. Since as early as she can remember, it was all Elinor Archeron ever seemed to speak about. She’d brush through the long strands of Nesta’s hair, braiding them back with the same harshness she took to parenting, and remind her eldest daughter that a good omega could secure the best alpha match, ensure the family’s security.

Her mother always made it sound like it was powerful to be an omega, but to Nesta, it felt more like a life sentence. A cold iron collar settling around her neck, around her wrists, shackling her to a life condemned as a trussed up broodmare.

A blessing from the Mother. That’s what Elinor had said when Nesta presented much earlier than most girls. What she said when she threw a ball to celebrate the presentation. What she said when she paraded Nesta around the room, when alphas twice Nesta’s age leered with too sharp teeth and too eager eyes at her body, pawed at her dress and her arms. It took all of Nesta’s willpower to hold her tongue against the word she really wanted to utter the whole night.

Curse.

So when Elinor finally passed, when Nesta was finally free, she became everything her mother would have hated. Cold. Callous. Stubborn. She swallowed enough suppressants until she could push through university and up the corporate ladder. Instead of the simpering, sweet omega the world expected, Nesta became one that snarls and bites. Returned every look she got from an alpha with a sneer of her own, every honeyed word with clipped ones, until alphas preferred to steer clear of her.

Nesta Archeron decided that she may be an omega, but she was in control.

Sighing softly, Nesta weaves her way down the hall and toward the source of the scent. The closer she gets, the thicker that scent becomes. She swears she can feel it wrap around her throat, swears she can taste it on the back of her tongue. It prickles across her skin and beckons her closer still. Nesta has to take a moment to close her eyes and breathe through her mouth, fighting back the fire she can feel threatening to crash over her and flush her skin, the shutter daring to skitter up her spine.

She rolls her shoulders and straightens her spine, continuing down the hall, but her steps stutter to a stop when she realizes exactly which office she’s being led to. Of course. Of course, it would be his office.

Alphas are large by nature, but Cassian Valdarez seems to take it to another level. He’s all wide shoulders and chest, all large hands and thick thighs. With dark waves of hair tumbling down to his shoulders and stubble scraped along the hard cut of his jaw, he looks like the sort of rugged male that belongs deep in the mountains. And yet, despite his size, he always seems quick to disarm with easy smiles and a warm laugh.

Nesta had hated him on sight.

Every cocky smirk that tugged up his lips, every drawled sweetheart that tumbled past them. Every time he called her Nes despite her correcting him on numerous occasions. It all fueled her endless annoyance with him. It didn’t help he’d been all but handed this job, adoptive brother to the CEO of Night Inc. apparently. Alphas were always just handed things.

Nesta doesn’t think she’ll ever forget his first day, when he ran into her in the breakroom. She had snapped at him, as she often did when an alpha dared to look in her direction, but rather than get that wide-eyed shocked expression, the unimpressed curled lip that usually came when she stepped over the line of omega expectations, he had merely thrown his head back and laughed, hazel eyes sparking as though the whole thing was delightful. It was infuriating.

Almost as infuriating as right now.

Nesta doesn’t even bother knocking. She swings open the door and strides right into the office, demanding, “what are you doing here?”

“Hello to you too, sweetheart,” Cassian drawls, looking up from his work with that cocksure smirk of his. “Did you forget that I work here? You’d think my name on the office door would remind you.”

“You know that’s not what I mean,” Nesta hisses, rolling her eyes. “I could scent you all the way from the elevators.”

That comment has Cassian’s grip tightening around his pen enough for his knuckles to turn white. “I’m fine.”

“Bullshit. Go home.”

“Is that an order? Last time I checked, I didn’t take them from you.”

“I’m not fucking around, Cassian. Go home and fuck your rut out with your omega,” Nesta bites out, stalking closer toward Cassian’s desk.

She doesn’t miss the way that stupid smirk of his starts to slip for a moment, the way he glances away from her. There’s no other way to describe the expression other than shame and embarrassment. It draws a derisive snort out of her.

“You cannot be serious. You don’t have an omega to help you through your rut?”

“I was working on it,” Cassian growls lowly from between his clenched teeth.

“You’re pathetic.”

The bite in her words is enough to pull his eyes back to hers, the hazel of them blazing around his dilated pupils. “Careful, Nes.”

“Or what?” Nesta drawls with a roll of her eyes. “It is pathetic. What kind of alpha doesn’t have an omega for his rut?”

Cassian pushes up from his office chair, and Nesta is reminded just how large he is. He stands almost a head taller than her, and she has to tilt her chin up to maintain eye contact. With his wide frame, he practically looms over her, and this close together, all Nesta can do is breathe in lungfuls of his scent, feel that scent wrap around her limbs and send goosebumps prickling across her skin.

“Is that an offer?”

“You wish,” Nesta snaps.

She shoves hard at his chest, but of course he doesn’t even move an inch. Instead, his hands curl around her wrists, holding her there. The warmth of his touch and his dizzying scent still flooding her senses is almost too much. Already, she can feel her body betraying her, can feel flames licking low in her gut.

“You say that,” Cassian says, bending his face down until his breath fans across her lips. “But you forget that I can scent you too. Getting wet and slick thinking about me, Nes?”

With a growl, Nesta yanks her arms free of his grasp. “Fuck you.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to let you do.”

The words are enough to give Nesta pause, but it’s all the opening that Cassian needs. He presses right back into her space, his arm sliding around her back and grasping her waist this time. He pulls her flush against his body until she can feel every hard line of muscle hiding beneath his shirt, until she can feel the hard line growing between his thighs.

Clearly, his rut has well and truly taken hold.

He tips his head down and focuses his attention on her neck, breathing deeply and groaning. His fingers flex, fisting into the fabric of her blouse, and Nesta has to swallow hard as it pulls her closer still. His nose slides over the gland on her throat, and there’s no stopping the whine that tumbles free past her lips, the way her breath hitches in her throat.

No stopping the rush of slick she can feel.

It takes all of her willpower to push him away again, Cassian actually stumbling back this time. His eyes have darkened, a flame sizzling amongst the greens and golds, and that burning gaze is pinned fully on Nesta.

“Sit down,” Nesta demands, forcing the words around the breathlessness threatening to pull her under.

Surprisingly, Cassian obeys, walking backwards and collapsing back into his office chair. Only when she’s sure he doesn’t intend to move again does Nesta reach up under her skirt. She hooks her fingers under the waistband of her panties, slowly sliding them down her thighs, over her knees, and down her calves. She hears the distinct creak of wood as she steps out of them, and when she looks up, Cassian has a death grip on the arm rests of his chair.

She smirks as she walks her way around Cassian’s desk. She pushes the papers there aside, making room for her to jump up. She takes her time sliding back on the desk enough that she can spread her legs and plant her heels on the edge. Makes a big show of lifting up the hem of her skirt until her cunt is fully exposed, reveling in the soft growl that rumbles from Cassian’s chest.

“Mother save me,” Cassian groans, licking his lips. “Look at you.”

Nesta traces her hand down until she reaches between her thighs. She slides a finger through the slick that’s already gathered there, just that small, teasing touch leaving her gasping. She touches herself with more purpose on the next swipe, adding more pressure and continuing upwards until she can trace a circle over her clit. She moans softly, eyes fluttering closed and hips jumping against the pulse of pleasure.

“Gods, you're drenched already, sweetheart. So wet thinking about my cock and my knot, aren’t you?”

Nesta dares to bring her fingers lower again, dares to sink one into her cunt. She’s already produced so much slick, already so keyed up, that she meets almost no resistance. She pulls back and presses in two fingers next, whining high in the back of her throat. She moves her hand just how she knows she likes, pressing deep and curling her fingers, her hips rocking to meet every drive of them.

“Add a third finger. Get yourself nice and ready to take my knot.”

Nesta huffs at the command, but there’s no denying that inherent part of her that wants to be good for an alpha. The part of her that preens at an alpha’s attention. The part of her that claws with desperation for more, that demands to be claimed no matter how much Nesta has tried to suppress that instinct. It’s that part of her that has her squeezing in a third finger beside the other two, her entire body tensing at the stretch.

“Good girl.”

The praise has Nesta moaning again. She opens her eyes, finally looking at Cassian again, but it’s instantly a mistake. No longer are his eyes the bright hazel she’s come to know. Instead, they’re dark, the pupils blown out and swallowing his irises. His curls hang loose around his face, only adding to the shadows cutting across his jawline and the stubble lining the skin there, and with every heaving breath, his nostrils flare. She can see his throat bob with every swallow, see the muscles of his forearm flex where his sleeves have been pushed up to his elbow as his grip tightens against the arms of his chair.

He’s clearly holding himself back, and it’s unfair how attractive it is. How attractive he is. It’s almost instinctive, almost involuntary, the way her cunt clenches down around her fingers. The way another whimper is pulled straight from her chest at the sight of him.

“You take your fingers so well. Are you going to take my cock that well, too?”

Nesta huffs, even as she presses her fingers deeper desperately. “Who knew you were such a talker.”

“You like it.” Nesta wants to deny it but can’t, not with the way her body continues to respond to the deep timbre of his voice. “You like when I call you my good girl. Like being my good girl.”

Nesta tosses her head back again, but not before half heartedly rolling her eyes. She continues to drive and curl her fingers, continues to rock her hips against them, but it’s not enough. She tries to press her fingers even deeper, tries to spread them to achieve that stretch she craves, but she’s stuck right on that precipice, release glimmering in sight but still so out of reach.

“Please,” Nesta whispers, her hips jumping off the desk. “Please. I can’t– I need–”

With a growl, Cassian pushes to his feet. His fingers curl around Nesta’s wrist, tugging her fingers free and lifting her hand toward his mouth. Nesta’s breath hitches in her throat as he guides her slick coated fingers between his lips, as his tongue drags slowly over each digit, as his eyes flutter closed and a groan reverberates from deep in his chest.

“Please,” Nesta echoes again.

“Please what?” Cassian asks, even as he reaches for the belt of his pants, deft finger working to unfasten them. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“It’s not enough. I need your knot.”

It’s hard for Nesta to be annoyed at the return of that infuriating, cocksure smirk of his when she’s still so on edge and desperate. When she feels so empty. It’s hard to think of anything else when Cassian finally finishes unfastening his pants, shoving the fabric of them and his boxers down the thick muscles of his thighs. Hard to think of anything else when the hard line of his cock is finally free from its confines.

Her mouth practically goes dry at the sight of it.

She’s not sure what exactly she was expecting, but she certainly wasn’t expecting the wide girth of Cassian’s cock. She wasn’t expecting the veins that run along the sides of his cock before circling around the center. Wasn’t expecting the thick head already purpling and weeping with his own arousal. She can feel another rush of slick dripping between her thighs in anticipation.

Cassian’s hand curls around his cock, stroking it lazily, but he doesn’t move any closer, doesn’t give Nesta what she needs. What she knows they both need. Instead, that smirk of his only seems to grow with each teasing stroke of his hand. So Nesta spreads her thighs wider still, pressing her hips closer to the edge of the desk. An offering.

“Please, alpha.”

“Fuck.”

Gone is that smirk, his chest heaving with a hitched breath. He finally steps closer into the cradle of Nesta’s thighs, dragging the head of his cock through the mess of slick and arousal gathered there, dragging until he can tease at her clit. His free hand reaches for her jaw, the large span of it enough that his fingers curl down around her neck. He drags his thumb across her bottom lip, leaning in so that his warm breath fans across her cheeks.

His lips slotting over hers is Nesta’s only warning before he presses his hips forward, the tip of his cock sinking into her. Nesta gasps into the kiss, but Cassian merely uses the opportunity to press his tongue into her mouth, to bury his cock another inch. The way he fills her already is unfair.

She owns almost every best knotting toy on the market to help her get through her heats, and yet still, it’s nothing compared to this stretch, to the feel of those veins dragging along the walls of her cunt. Even with how much slick she’s already produced, even with the way she rode her own fingers, he still has to slowly rock his hips before he finally feeds her the rest of his cock until just his knot remains, already swelling at the base.

Cassian pulls back from the kiss, and Nesta is like a marionette with her strings cut, falling back down against the desk with a quiet whine. Cassian doesn’t seem to mind. His hands find her thighs, fingers digging into the flesh as he hoists her legs to hook around his hips.

“Look at how my good girl takes me,” Cassian praises, Nesta clenching down around his cock at the words. “Oh, fuck, Nes. That’s it. You were made to take your alpha’s cock, weren’t you?”

When she doesn’t respond, he pulls his hips back just to snap them back forward again, still teasing his knot. His hand trails further up her thigh, calluses sliding deliciously against her skin, until he can press his thumb down against her clit. Nesta cries out at the sensation, her hips bucking up, but Cassian’s hand on her lower stomach keeps her pinned in place.

“I asked you a question.”

“Yes!” Nesta gasps out, her voice bleeding into a moan when Cassian rewards her by moving his thumb, tracing circles over her clit.

She’s already too keyed-up that when Cassian continues his ministrations against her clit, when he starts to rock his hips again, she doesn’t even have time to warn him. Her orgasm tears through her, and she clenches down hard around his cock, a moan of Cassian’s name falling from her lips as she tosses her head back.

“Fuck, that’s it. You’re so fucking gorgeous when you come all over my cock.”

Cassian continues to move his hips, working her through and stretching out her release until it starts to bleed into overstimulation. But he doesn’t stop. He plants both his hands on the desk, Nesta’s splayed legs now draped over his forearms, as he snaps his hips at a brutal pace. Nesta reaches a hand back over her head, gripping onto the edge of the desk just so she has something to hold onto, to keep herself from sliding back too much, a mess of high pitched whines and moans as Cassian continues to drive his hips into her.

Every forward thrust has Cassian’s knot catching, teasing, and Nesta’s thighs start to shake in anticipation, more slick adding to the mess already between her thighs. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she’s aware of the breathy pleas, the moans begging him, that continue to pour from her throat but she can’t find it within herself to care, not with the steady thrum of pleasure coursing through her body and drawn forward by the very man fucking into her hard.

A few more snaps of his hips, and Cassian drives home, burying his knot in her cunt. Nesta isn’t sure she’s ever felt more full in her life, letting out a choked gasp at the utter stretch of his knot pressing against her walls. She dares to clench down around it, and Cassian groans lowly, rocking his hips shallowly as his cock floods her with the warmth of his own release.

Nesta slumps back against the desk, Cassian finally setting her legs back down. She lets her eyes flutter closed, set on catching her breath while they wait for Cassian’s knot to go down, but then she feels his hands slide up over her hips, over her waist. Her eyes snap open again when those hands move across her chest, his fingers finding the buttons of her blouse.

“What are you doing?” Nesta asks, craning her neck enough that she can peer at Cassian’s hands in confusion.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to get my hands on these,” Cassian explains, tugging the fabric of her blouse apart.

He pulls down the cups of her bra, but Nesta barely has time to gasp at the cool air of the office on her breasts before his warm hands enclose around them. His hands are large enough that each palm cradles the whole swell of her breasts, and he uses that to his advantage as he kneads and squeezes.

“Can you come again just like this?” Cassian asks, sliding his thumbs across her nipples. “I bet you can.”

“Fuck,” Nesta whines, her body already responding, that heat already building again and pooling low in her gut.

“Come on, sweetheart. I want to feel you really milking my knot.”

It’s a bit awkward with the way they’re still joined, but Cassian is able to lean over her, his mouth closing over her breast. His tongue drags and swirls around her nipple, Nesta arching up toward his face with a loud moan. He keeps his movements slow and languid, his teeth grazing teasingly along her skin. With his knot still pressing securely against the walls of her cunt, all the sensations are almost too much.

“Cass… Cassian,” Nesta pants, burying a hand in his hair, her nails digging into his scalp and fingers tugging at the dark strands.

The response only has Cassian doubling his efforts. Every slide of his tongue, every groan that reverberates against her chest, every drag of his calluses as he kneads her other breast with his hand, it all sends Nesta careening higher and higher. Cassian dares to rock his hips again, to press his knot even deeper, and it’s like a dam breaking. She comes again with a shout, tears prickling at the corner of her eyes at the pleasure that ricochets through her veins.

Cassian releases her breast with a quiet pop. “Good girl. Squeezing my knot so well.”

Nesta whimpers at his words, at the way she can feel his cock twitch again where it’s pressed so deep, can feel more warmth from his seed filling her cunt. It has another aftershock rocking through her, and Nesta tosses her arm over her eyes, her head feeling dizzy with the high of it all. Her heart pounds in her chest, her body already feeling wrung out, but still that instinctual part of her mind, that omega piece of her always clawing for release, begs for more.

His knot finally subsiding, Cassian pulls his cock free, and it takes all of Nesta’s willpower to swallow down her whine at the loss. She feels so empty, that inner part of her all but raging at the lack of an alpha’s knot keeping her stuffed full.

“Fuck, we made quite a mess, didn’t we?”

Nesta does whine when Cassian’s thumbs spread her cunt wider, and she doesn’t have to look to know the truth of his words. She can feel the combination of arousal, of slick, of Cassian’s seed leaking out of her and making a mess of her thighs and his desk.

“We can’t have that, can we?”

A quiet thump echoes in the office around them, and Nesta pushes herself up into a seated position in alarm, only to find Cassian now on his knees before her. His hands grasp at her thighs, tugging her further across the desk until she’s half hanging off the edge. It’s the only warning she gets before Cassian buries his face between her thighs.

Nesta’s feet scramble desperately at his shoulders, her hand shooting out to clutch at the dark strands of Cassian’s hair, but whether it’s to keep herself balanced or to keep him exactly where he is, she isn’t sure. He devours her with a ferocity that Nesta can barely wrap her mind around. His tongue fucks into her and curls, gathering all that mess, all while his lips continue to move against her. He lets out a groan, and Nesta swears she feels the reverberation all the way down to her toes.

It’s obscene, the way he works his mouth and eats her out. The way he keeps his darkened gaze on her the whole time while he does it. Even from between her thighs, Nesta can see that smirk of his. He turns his attention to her clit, the hot, wet slide of his tongue swirling circles across the bud, and Nesta’s whole body bows forward with a choked off moan. She’s not sure if she wants to rock her hips or pull away. Not that it matters, anyway, Cassian keeping a firm grip on her thighs and holding her to his face.

Heat courses through Nesta’s entire body, and she already knows she’s not going to last much longer, not with the way Cassian continues to play her body. He licks a thick stripe over her cunt, and when he returns to her clit, he sucks it between his lips.

Nesta’s release hits her with enough force, so quickly, that it takes her by surprise. Her throat feels hoarse from all her shouts and moans, her cunt still clenching and fluttering through the aftershocks even after Cassian pulls away. It seems almost unfair, that he’s had her orgasming so many times when it’s meant to be his rut she’s helping him through.

She slides her hand out of his hair and to his shoulder, fisting her fingers in the fabric of his shirt. Surprisingly, Cassian follows her silent command, standing up when she tugs, and he allows her to push him back into his chair. Her legs are wobbly as she slips off the desk, but thankfully, it’s not far to clamber onto the chair and straddle his lap.

Nesta reaches down between them, curling her fingers around Cassian’s cock, already hard again. She strokes up slowly, feeling the hot weight of him in her hand, the way he twitches against her palm in response to her touch. She drags her thumb across the head of his cock, daring to press teasingly at the slit and reveling when Cassian’s hips jerk up against her.

“Ready for my knot again already, Nes?” Cassian still drawls despite his body’s reaction. “You’re absolutely desperate for it, aren’t you?”

“Shut up.”

Nesta crashes her mouth against his, determined to keep his mouth preoccupied, but she can’t deny the accusation, either. As amazing as his mouth had been, it was nothing compared to his cock, to his knot. It’s dangerous the way need has clawed up her chest, the way its twined around her ribs and dug a space there. It’s all she can focus on, the way his cock stroked against the walls of her cunt, the way his knot stretched her, the way his seed filled her.

There’s no suppressing the omega within her now, no denying her alpha.

She presses up higher onto her knees, guiding and holding Cassian’s cock steady as she sinks back down. There’s no keeping up the kiss. Nesta can do nothing but moan in relief against his lips at finally being full again. She clenches down, her toes curling at him pressing so deep.

Cassian lets out a groan of his own in reaction, his head dropping back against the chair. “Mother save me, nothing feels like your sweet cunt wrapped around me.”

Slowly, Nesta starts to circle and rock her hips, her clit dragging against Cassian’s pelvis with every movement in the most delicious way. But it’s not enough. It’s not what she needs. Planting her hands on Cassian’s shoulder for balance, she starts to move more earnestly, fucking herself on his cock.

“That’s my good girl.” Cassian’s hands settle at her hips, squeezing. “My sweet omega taking her alpha’s cock so well.”

Nesta keens at the praise, especially when Cassian plants his feet, snapping his hips up to meet her every movement with a hard, brutal thrust of his own. The pleasure is everything, fogging over her mind until all she can focus on is Cassian’s cock, on the feel of it slamming home over and over and over. On the sticky mess of slick and seed she’s made of both their thighs. On the wet slap of skin and her high pitched moans echoing off the walls of the office.

There’s a ringing in Nesta’s ears, and it drives Nesta to move her hips faster, to chase that sweet release until she realizes that it’s not in her head. It’s a phone. The phone on Cassian’s desk is ringing. She slows her movements, glancing over her shoulder toward the device, but a slap to her ass has her yelping in surprise.

“Ignore it,” Cassian chastises, his fingers squeezing and soothing away the ache of his slap. “Don’t stop now, Nes. Not when you’re riding my cock so perfectly.”

The ringing subsides, the call clearly having gone to voicemail, but then it just starts anew all over again. Cassian growls out a frustrated huff. His arm snaps around Nesta’s waist, holding her to his lap, keeping her on his cock, even as he reaches forward with his free hand to snatch up the offending device.

“Are you a fucking idiot?” Nesta doesn’t need to see the screen of the phone to recognize the cool, clipped tone of Night Inc.’s CEO. “We have cameras in every office. What in the fuck were you thinking?”

“Fuck off, Rhys,” Cassian snaps into the phone.

“Go the fuck home, dumbass.”

With that, the line clicks, the call clearly ended. Cassian shakes his head and tosses his phone back on his desk, returning his hand to Nesta’s thigh as though he can’t keep his hands off her, even for the short time it takes to speak on the phone. He nuzzles his face into the junction between her throat and shoulder, skating his nose across her pulse point, and Nesta can feel that tell-tale smirk of his pressing against her skin.

“Whoops. Looks like we got caught, sweetheart.”

—

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[paarthursass]

Reversing Ceremorphosis

There is an interesting debate to be had about whether mind flayers experiencing extreme partialism (the Emperor, Tav/Orpheus/Karlach depending on the ending) are truly the same person they were before ceremorphosis. According to 5e's lore, when a person undergoes full ceremorphosis they die and the tadpole takes full control. They normally experience none of the host's memories except in rare cases, where a phenomena known as "partialism" occurs.

Even in a non-magical setting "is something that experiences all your memories the same person as you" would be a tricky question, and in a setting where there are indisputably souls that depart the body upon death...that question becomes even stickier.

And that all brings me to my main point, which is: what is the best way to reverse ceremorphosis?

So we have two options in front of us:

Option 1) Though the tadpole may retain all the memories of its host, it is not them. The host (Balduran, Tav, Karlach, etc.) dies during ceremorphosis and what is left is a mind flayer tadpole experiencing their memories as their own. But their soul is gone, they are dead.

Option 2) The tadpole is experiencing the host's memories indistinguishably from its own. For all intents and purposes, it is the same person.

The game itself does not give us clear answers to this. Ansur speaks to the Emperor as if he were Balduran. Gale wishes to still marry you after ceremorphosis, indicating he at least still views you as the same person. The other characters don't seem to be of this viewpoint. The look Lae'zel gives you before she flies away with Orpheus is such a sad look that it reads, to me, like she views you as dead. Everyone talks at length about your "sacrifice," and it is clear they mean more than just your appearance. A romanced Wyll speaks about your future together like it is a lost dream, like you are already dead even though you're right there. There is no clear answer.

Which brings me to my second question...

What is the best way to reverse ceremorphosis?

Because the way I see it, there are two main options (not including Wish, which I will get to in a bit)

Option 1) True Polymorph. An illithid (or someone else of appropriate skill level) could cast this on them and polymorph them back to their original form. After an hour the effects are permanent, and they're not a mind flayer anymore! However, how "valid" this cure is depends on whether or not you consider the tadpole with the host's memories to basically be the host. Their soul has gone from their body, but they are not a mind flayer anymore and they have all their memories so...what are they? Are they Them, or are they something new?

Option 2) True Resurrection. This requires no body, nor any fragment of the body, and can be used so long as the target hasn't been dead for longer than 200 years. Especially considering Gale was able to get his hands on one scroll of True Resurrection, it doesn't seem all that unlikely (if perhaps a little difficult) that he and the others could get their hands on another.

But an illithid restored via True Resurrection would only have their memories right up until ceremorphosis killed them. They would have no recollection of defeating the Netherbrain and everything that came after (such as traversing Avernus, if they decided to go with Wyll and Karlach.)

And, more importantly (and horrifically) the mind flayer with their memories is still there, too.

Think about that for a moment. You remember dying, you remember the agony of your body becoming something else but then your friends brought you back from that, they saved you. But that thing is still there; walking around in what used to be your body, with your memories rattling around in its head.

And how does that feel for the mind flayer left behind?

You still think you are you, but then...there you are. Your friends wanted you back so badly but not you, no the other you, the you were before, the you they clearly think is the real one. You are not yourself, in spite of everything you have shared, everything you have done...

And as for the Wish spell, that is a notoriously finicky option. The spell description itself states "wishing that a villain were dead might propel you forward in time to a period when that villain is no longer alive" and "wishing for a legendary magic item or artifact might instantly transport you to the presence of the item's current owner."

So...who is to say that using Wish to restore someone from ceremorphosis would not simply bring the person back, the second before they transformed, with the mind flayer still there as well? Who is to say Wish would not simply do what a True Polymorph spell would do, and transform the mind flayer into their previous form without restoring the soul of the original owner?

I don't have any good answers for this, but I am fascinated by the implications of it all.

[notamewsed]

Don't Blame Me

Pairing: Enver Gortash x Tav (Original Female Character)

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Word Count: 13,956 (Ongoing)

Description: Gortash always had a knack for seizing the upper hand. This time, he earned himself the Hero of Baldur’s Gate. For Aurea, her nuptials for the life of a stolen companion was an easy bargain to make, but one that didn’t come without acridity.

Tags: Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Power Imbalance

Aurea was thrown to her knees at the head of the vacant audience hall, made to kneel before him.

Perched on the throne, Gortash looked down upon her for a moment before descending to address her.

“Think you’re clever, do you? That you can parade around my city, mocking the terms of our bargain? Making a fool of me?” He drew his index finger across her jawline, then firmly pressed his thumb into her chin, holding her mandible in place.

“Sabotaging my Iron Throne, I could almost look past. But the ruthless destruction of my Steel Watch does not come without consequence.” He admonished, examining her.

She wrenched her head from his grasp, lip curling in disgust.

He scoffed and let a beat pass before he swiftly seized her by the neck, his gauntlet digging into her soft skin.

“Were I any less benevolent, you’d be rotting in that tavern you’ve been calling home.” He growled, almost relishing in the thought as she gasped for breath in his grasp.

“Lucky for you, I am not the tyrant you so wish me to be.” He callously discarded her, and she fell to her hands and knees, puffing and wheezing.

“I am a leader of reason and mercy. And to prove that to you, I extend a tantalizing offer - one you’d be a fool to refuse.” He circled the room, outstretching his arms in a self-satisfied manner.

Her eyes clung to the gaudy red carpet, while waves of anger coursed through her.

The clanking of metal armor shattered the stillness of the room. When Aurea looked up, Lae’zel’s body hung lifelessly in the arms of a Flaming Fist, subdued by some form of sleeping spell.

Though his face was masked under a helmet, the Fist’s eyes were black, brimming with evil fantasies as he held her own greatsword to her throat. The work of the Black Hand, no doubt. There was a colorful shimmer upon her neck, the blade glinting the light from the painted window.

Aurea lurched forward with a keening cry. Gortash looked down on her pitiful display with a moue of exasperation.

“Now, now, you have a chance to save her.” He baited.

“The life of your treasured Gith…for your hand.” His brow arched and a grin crept out from the corners of his lips.

The next few seconds stretched on, as if time itself was holding its breath.

She had prepared herself to be tortured for her actions, executed even, but a marriage proposal hadn’t crossed her mind. It felt like a ruse.

“What?” was the only word Aurea was able to conjure up, shaking her head in desperation.

“Tsk. Don’t act so surprised. Beyond all that impudence, you are useful to me yet.” He admitted with a sigh. “The soon-to-be Hero of Baldur’s Gate. And with you at my side, my reign over the city will be indisputable.”

She took a breath.

“I agree, and you will return her to our camp, unharmed?”

“She won’t even remember a thing.” He assured, wearing a Cheshire smile.

“And the rest of my companions will remain safe as well?”

“So long as they don’t interfere with the well-being of Baldur’s Gate - any more than they’ve already done.”

She wasn’t even sure why she bothered to ask. She didn’t believe a word uttered by his deceitful tongue, but it didn’t matter. Her choices were scarce.

“Fine.” She whispered, hoping he wouldn’t hear it.

“Fine?” He tittered. “I’d expect my future bride to be a little more enthusiastic about our impending courtship. Is that the best you can manage?” He taunted with a patronizing tone that one might reserve for an unmannered child.

For a fleeting moment, the temptation to retort with a cutting remark surged within her. Yet, recognizing the gravity of the situation, she conceded.

“I…would be honored by such an agreement, your lordship.” She ground out through clenched teeth. Her gaze bore into him with an unrelenting heat.

He loomed over her once again.

“Good. Now, while I would love nothing more than a little less paperwork, I’m afraid it is necessary, given your track record.”

Punctuating his sentence, two circular portals opened, unleashing unholy, purple flames that erupted from the stone. Two devils burst forth. One with skin the color of ash, silver hair cascading down his back like a stream of silk, and pupils ablaze in orange against the profound blackness of his iris.

The other’s body was bathed in a lustrous amethyst tone, horns straight and sleek, like daggers. Tousled black hair framed her face, gently resting against her chest. The mere presence of them seemed to shroud the room in an oppressive cloak of darkness.

A contract unrolled before her with a snap of their fingers. The infernal script blazed upon the page.

“Now, this contract states that in exchange for sparing your companion's life, you will promise yourself in marriage to me.” He interlocked his fingers, pacing the width of the room.

“You are expressly forbidden from discussing the details of this pact with anyone but me. Failure to uphold your end of this agreement or any attempt by you or your compatriots to harm me will result in the forfeiture of your soul to the Hells.”

She nodded in solemn acceptance.

He moved to clasp her hand, delicately extending her pointer finger, and with an imperceptible motion, pricked it with a needle. Startled by the sting, she instinctively recoiled, attempting to withdraw her hand. Yet, before she could free herself, he tugged her closer, drawing her into an unsettling proximity.

He then gently directed her bleeding appendage to the blank spot on the parchment before releasing his hold.

Drawing a heavy sigh, she anointed her blood upon the scroll, the material radiating a subtle glow in recognition of her sanguine sacrifice.

When she finished, the contract refurled in a billow of smoke, vanishing instantly. The devils shared a smile, a wicked satisfaction overcoming their otherwise cool demeanor. The flames from their portals surged once more, swallowing their forms whole.

It was just Aurea and Gortash then - the Fist and Lae’zel having disappeared into the depths of the castle.

He plucked the netherstone from his gauntlet, approaching her as she extended cupped hands. The intensity of his gaze sent a shiver up her spine.

He nested the stone into her palms with meticulous care, as if he was afraid it might cease to exist the moment it left his grasp.

“Now, my betrothed, finish your little adventures and return to me once the brain has been handled.” He strode out of the audience hall without so much as a parting glance.

And then she was alone, with the gravity of her decision settling on her conscience. Author's Note: This is just Chapter 1! Check out more below :)

[cavetigrim]

Okay, so I saw the new lion movie.

Things I liked:

No demonization of hyenas, even if I think it's utterly bizarre to show them peacefully capitulating to both Mufasa and Simba at different points in the timeline. I'm assuming that Shenzi's clan rebelled at some point, got exiled, and then Simba let them back in after they spared him from having to commit avunculicide.

Kiros is a fun villain, even if trading hyenas for white lions is kinda iffy in and of itself????? His villain song is actually a little bit of a banger. I like his horrible sisters.

The facial expressions and body language were a little bit uncanny valley at times, but are leagues ahead of 2019's TLK remake. I honestly really like how they managed to get a far wider range of expressions out of these super-realistic character models without it looking forced.

The movie genuinely looks gorgeous.

Most of the songs were pretty cute and catchy.

I like that Taka's betrayal does have some genuine nuance to it. I've heard people complain about how it "comes out of nowhere", but I really think the movie managed to not make it entirely about the love triangle, and planted the seeds of Taka having been set up to fail from the beginning, while also making it clear that he raised to believe he could do no wrong.

Taka's relationship with Mufasa is actually more believable than I thought it would be. Taka clearly thinks of their relationship as one where he's indisputably the superior of the two from the very beginning, and and I feel like this viewpoint, combined with how it fails to align with reality, have more to do with Taka's betrayal than Sarabi (which was more like a "straw that broke the camels back" thing).

Sarabi was cool.

Obasi and Eshe were neat and I like how they clearly have a very different pride "culture" than what we're used to seeing in these movies.

I wish we saw more of Mufasa's parents before they got separated. I also really wish they cut one of the endless Timon and Pumba gags, and had a scene where Mufasa's dad tells him about the great kings of the past instead.

Taka's pride were cannibals, and they got killed by Mads Mikkelsen.

Things I dislike:

“Mufasa must die for Kwisatz Haderach to rise. Don’t be frightened. Don’t resist. When you take a life, you take your own.”

Timon and Pumbaa's role needed to be trimmed down significantly. I don't know which disney exec needs to hear this, but the photorealistic warthog is not the same kid appeal character as the cartoon version. There's no reason to make adults sit through this.

Zazu is also a little unbearable at times.

Okay, why is the pacing in this movie so breakneck? It was the same thing with TLK2019???? Is there something about the CGI that makes it so that scenes have to be run at 2.0x speed???

Again, why would Rafiki think that this is a good bedtime story for a royal lion cub who's unaware that her parents have fucked off to give birth to her new baby brother? Girl's gonna throw that newborn off of pride rock.

The songs were fine, and they utilised the scenery a lot more to make the choreography more interesting....... but it's still just photorealistic animals prancing around each other.

Taka putting on the evil Scar voice the second he does a face heel turn is incredibly funny and not in a good way.

Mufasa and Sarabi's love song is possibly the most confusing song I've ever heard in a movie or show. What the fuck were they even talking about?

WHY WAS THERE A FUCKING RACE SCENE HOLY FUCK????? WHY DO THE PEOPLE WHO MAKE ANIMAL MOVIES THINK THAT EVERY ANIMAL STORY NEEDS A SUPERFLUOUS SCENE WHERE THE CHARACTERS HAVE A RACE I SWEAR TO FUCK

How long after all those prey animals helped to save Mufasa's dumb hide do you think he waited before he started eating them?

I like how the film basically writes an entire narrative about how leaders should be chosen by merit and not by divine right, but this is juxtaposed with clips of the daughter of Mufasa's biological heir, who rules entirely by divine right.

Shere Khan wasn't in it. Kiros and him would be drinking buddies though..

It's actually a surprisingly solid movie. I'd give it a good 6.5-7/10, but bear in mind that I tend to be pretty forgiving of these movies. Kinda think that there's a REALLY good movie on the cutting room floor here, but it got cut to make way for infinite slapstick segments with Timon and Pumbaa.

Why were Timon and Pumbaa even in this movie? If Kiara needed babysitting, why not just let some lionesses take care of her?

[asherbakugou]

Mirror - We are born of love; love is our mother

Morro had always believed – or rather, he'd thought he'd known – that he'd been abandoned by his parents, but he'd pushed that aside in his need for survival. And then Sensei Wu had found him and things had changed for a short while. He'd had a home, where his belly was always full, a room that was all his own, and a closet of clothes just for him.

But he'd been abandoned – no, that wasn't right, he'd abandoned Wu, in his pursuit to be the Green Ninja, but he'd thought it an indisputible fact. His parents, or maybe just one, had abandoned him in the streets of Jamanakai Village. And now . . .

When Morro had first looked at that picture, it hadn't seemed all that special, but when he had looked closer to see the Master of Wind . . . She had looked nothing like he imagined, all things considered. When he'd imagined the previous Masters of Wind, they hadn't looked so . . . kind, or gentle. They'd always looked mean, or stone-faced, in his imagination.

Eteri – his mother, the one he'd thought had abandoned him – had looked so kind, more like Lloyd with his bleeding heart, rather than Morro. Rather, he looked more like Aryan, the Master of Smoke, with his downturned brow, and sharp, angular features.

He couldn't take it, so he fled, but he only found himself in a wing of the Monastery that had more drawings of the previous Elemental Alliance. Not all were of them in their GI's, and he found hinself staring at one in particular.

Eteri was sitting against a cherry blossom tree, cradling a baby in her arms, looking down with a smile and adoration in her eyes. The picture was done in watercolor, and he wondered what his mother would have looked like in real life.

Her hair was the same inky black as his, with pale green streaks the color of jade – which were darker than his own emerald streaks –, falling around her face in slight waves. Her eyes were grey – no, green or . . . They looked like river stones covered in dark green moss, so different from his green-black eyes of rotting undergrowth.

Her skin was a beautiful shade of light brown with a reddish undertone the near opposite of his own sickly white pallor. In all, he didn't think he looked anything like her and his heart burned as if he was being dragged beneath the waves of Stiix again.

Biting his lip in his efforts to keep himself from crying, he didn't notice the blood beading or Garmadon coming around the bend. Morro's entire body tensed when the man came to stand at his side, looking at the picture with an exhaustion and an ache.

"You look so much like her, I am surprised I did not realize who you were sooner," Garmadon admitted, seemingly not noticing how his words – those simple words – had Morro's lungs freezing.

"I think you've gone blind!" Morro snarled, forcing hinself to speak past the lump in his throat. "I don't look anything like her!"

Garmadon turned to look at him, dark brown eyes glinting with a dark red sheen that seemed more threatening than ever, "I fought alongside Eteri for nearly 23 years, spent more time than I can remember training with her or simply spending time in her company. You look very similar to Eteri."

Morro drew himself up . . . to what? Yell and scream? When had had that helped? When had it become so much harder to be angry?

"How? How do I look like her?"

"Your eyes are the same," Garmadon began, smiling slightly at the sneer he recieved. "I do not mean color. Eteri was the gentlest of us all, until she was pushed and then all bets were off. You could always see every emotion going through her mind in her eyes, just as I can with you."

Morro reeled back, confused, before he remembered all the times Lloyd would stare into his eyes and then, he would either push harder or back off, as if he knew which one he needed.

"You are taller than she was, but otherwise you could be siblings. I have no doubt in my mind that she's smacking Aryan around for making her son so tall," Garmadon laughed to himself.

"What happened?"

That took the mirth out of Garmadon.

"The Emporer sent an army, and we attacked to keep them away from the Monastery but we didn't realize it was a trap. He had some of his soldiers sneak into the Monastery in the hopes of taking away the two babies that lay within. You and Lily. They only succeeded in taking you, and for that they suffered."

"Never had I seen Eteri so angry. Jiang was as well. Together they summonded a storm so powerful that no soldier from his army survived that day. The rivers were dies red for days from the massacre but we succeeded in weakening the Emporer. Over half of his force had been apart of that army and we began to prevail."

"Aryan and Eteri worked tirelessly to find you . . . And that was their downfall. I do not know all the details, but I know they were outmatched and exhausted but they won. It came at the cost of their lives. When we found them, Aryan – Aryan was already gone, and Eteri begged Keahi to find you, for her."

"He died searching for you."

Morro frowned as the image of red, bloodstained and cracked armor flashed in his memories. "He– Did he wear a necklace with a jade amulet?"

"Yes. How did you–"

"He got me to Jamanakai but he died from his injuries," Morro said, giving a bitter laugh. "I thought he was just someone I'd dreamed of but . . ."

"Keahi was your godfather, and he loved you as his own."

"Yeah, lot of good that did him." Once again, Morro stalked off.

Instead of wandering in the Monastery, he left, unable to be in this place that had once hosted his parents, his family.

[wintermarmalade]

Content Warning: Blood, Self-Harm

~ This is darker than my normal stories and has a lot of descriptive self-harm in it. It was mostly just made as a vent story, so please read at your own discretion. ~

*What does it mean to be sacred? Divine?* She recited this musing to herself once more before beginning her ritual. *It was not the presence of a soul, even the most wretched beings still had a soul, nor was it purity or innocence; such things are quickly lost when any conscious entity experiences this world, they're pointless ideals to strive for. A body can only be as sacred as the soul that dwells within it, but one can still allow their body to corrupt the soul.*

*Sacred.... means to be clean, desired, valuable. To be precious and protected from vile things. To emit goodness into an evil world, be a comforting light in the darkness. A divine being is something that wholly and perfectly embodies these concepts, an entity that is completely and indisputably sacred.*

As she recited these ideas in her head, she was once again prodded by doubts that she could actually create such a thing from herself. Despite her uncertainty, she had to try, nothing of value was being put on the line after all.

She had already made the body, the materials were irrelevant as long as the utmost care was taken to make them, but she still chose to mold it from the finest porcelain she could obtain, had hand-made an elegant dress of white lace and swan feathers, and threaded silvery wyvern hair to it's head. It wouldn't need any mechanics to help it move other than it's ball-joints, the magic alone should be strong enough.

She admired the perfect body of her doll from one end of an ornate pentagram chiseled into the tiled floor. She had posed it across from her to sit on it's knees with it's hands delicately set together over it's legs, as if patiently waiting. A large candle carved with elaborate runes lit the space between them at the center, with an old but well cared for ritual knife placed in front of it.

She wasn't going to make this doll the usual way of pulling energy from the ethereal plane, there were too many stray fragments of corrupt entities and ideals wandering through the otherworld. She was going to create this soul by fragmenting her own. She was to take all the sacred parts of herself and embed them into this new body, a body untarnished by the evils of the world, untarnished by the evils of herself. She knew she held some amount of divinity within her, but it had become despairingly twisted and dirtied throughout her life by such things. Even what little was left of it had no place in this profane body of her's.

Extracting the necessary pieces of her soul was expected to be an extraordinarily painful process for most, but she was no stranger to self-dissection, and knew how to properly sharpen a knife. She moved her blade with certain intent and a relaxed, steady hand, not even making an indent when piercing the soft skin of her lower arm, unbothered by the warm streams of blood that began to flow over her. She moved up and down her skin, carving elegant sigils past each winding row of blood before moving to her upper arm and doing the same. Every bit of blood that escaped from these marks was new life for her doll, sacred energy to be put into her new, divine soul. Once her entire arm was adorned, she repeated this process on her opposite limb.

Next were her legs. She started high, near her hip, making similar winding etchings while the blood slowly crept down the rest of her thigh. The columns of red fluid grew wider and faster each time her blade crossed them. She patiently made her way down her leg until she finished by marking a ring just above her ankle. Her foot now rested in a shallow puddle of blood.

She was beginning to feel light-headed. Not from the sight of her ritual, she was all too familiar with the sight of her own blood. This was simply a lot to lose, even for her. But she kept breathing, relaxed her grip, and started on her other leg.

It wasn't long after that she stopped feeling the individual cuts, as they all blended together into a dull burning ache all over her body. She didn't mind, it felt good, satisfying even. This was simply the surgical removal of precious fragments from a tarnished medium.

As the puddle at her feet grew, she rested her knees in it to sit, afraid she might fall over soon if she kept standing.

Next was her face, a simple crest on her forehead, and two lit eyes on her upper cheeks. She saved her face for nearly last, right before the difficult part.

The sealing was much more intimidating, but it had to be done before she released her divine fragments. She held her blade over the decorated candle until it emanated a faint, threatening glow. She mustered all the bravery she could, held her breath, and slowly ran it diagonally across her chest. No blood escaped this time, as the wound instantly cauterized. She took several deep breaths, knowing she still had more to do. She heated the knife again, gritted her teeth, and with white knuckles dragged it in an opposite diagonal to form a large X over her chest. She took a moment to rest, but with the blood loss, smell of burning skin, and blood starting to drip through her eyelashes, she knew she couldn't take very long. She steeled her resolve, heated the blade again, then made a large upside down cross starting from inbetween her breasts to a few inches beneath her belly button. *Deep breaths, just one more.* She heated the knife one final time, and passed the bottom of the cross with a long arc going from hip to hip. She dropped the knife, finally done with the worst. Her face felt cold as she wiped a mix of blood and tears from her eyes, but she felt accomplished. All of the unclean parts of her soul were now sealed within her body.

She gave herself only another moment of rest before picking her knife back up with trembling fingers and holding it over her heart. *One final rune.* It was only meant to be a simple encircled star, but her hands were weak and she was struggling to keep the blood out of her eyes long enough to see what she was doing. She tried to feel for where she was cutting, but the sting of each stroke was immediately lost to her senses, mere drops in a lake. She struggled for much longer than expected to finish the simple rune, questioning whether or not she had even done it correctly, her vision too blurry to tell.

Before she could dwell on it any more, all of her senses were suddenly overtaken by a searing, white light. She lost sense of where her body was or what it was supposed to feel like, her entire being was being contorted and ripped apart over and over and over. She could feel her soul and mind being repeatedly separated and mashed back together in the chaos, losing more pieces of herself each time. Then, just as suddenly, she was tossed back into her body.

She collapsed on her side, every fiber of her being saturated with a deep, sickening dread. It felt as though there was a hole in her chest that the rest of her being was trying to collapse into. Every thought and sensation painfully ripped through her consciousness, each individual cut across her body burning in anger. Through the blurry red mess left of her vision, she watched the white figure of her doll begin to stand upright. It was..... radiant. It felt so distant, but blissfully divine and made of hope. She desperately wanted to reach out to it, never had she craved anything more than to feel it and experience just a touch of it's radiance. But she couldn't, she couldn't fathom her horrid body touching something so pure, tarnishing it's sacred form by getting even a speck of her vile blood on it.

Still, she mustered enough strength to shakily raise her fingers from the ground, even if just to say goodbye. To her horror, the divine being reached towards her and gently held her bloodied fingers. Rather than feeling herself corrupt it's divinity, she felt it reach within herself, filling her with a familiar warmth and peace that she had never been able to fully grasp. For the first time in her existence, she felt wholly and deeply safe. Her consciousness was fading, she wanted to sleep. She closed her eyes, and simply focused on her fingers in it's hand before slipping into darkness.

[paraliveimaginesblog]

Hi can I ask you 20,18,21,29,5,18,2,25 with shion and kei sorry if it's a lot 🫶

(Some of those Shion ones are in another ask!)

Kei Miyama:

2. ♥ When they have a crush on someone, how do they let them know?

Kei doesn’t really think about letting you know. It’s probably something best kept to himself as romance wasn’t really at the top of his priority list but… He’d spent so long in captivity unable to experience ‘normal’ things as his life was that of a carefully cultivated experiment, so he can’t help but be curious about what it may be like to date. You think he’s a little more flirtatious with you than others but it was hard to tell his intent when he was a former idol.

5. ♥ Do they wait to be intimate until after marriage or break all the social rules?

Kei is a fan of waiting, at least a little bit longer than what some couples might consider normal even if it isn’t completely until marriage. He wants to know your heart and soul first to see if you mesh on that level before raising the intimacy to the next step.

18. ♥ Do they have a ‘type’?

Kei doesn’t have a type. It’s not something he had ever thought about and even the two closest to him have drastically different personalities. What he looks for in a person is someone he feels a spark, a connection, with and who can understand the goal he has in life.

20. ♥ How did their relationship start?

Through your own perseverance. Even with a connection a relationship is not guaranteed and while you’re lucky enough to know him on a personal level, he’s a bit slippery. It almost feels like he came up with a laundry list of excuses as to why the relationship won’t work out, but he cannot deny his attraction to you and the alien feeling of wanting to be with a person who wasn’t a former victim of the facility.

21. ♥ What was the most romantic time they had with their partner?

Kei doesn’t often have a lot of spare time, between caring for the others in 1Nm8 and composing songs, you rarely got his attention to yourself. Your relationship with him certainly isn’t traditional in any sense of the word. He doesn’t come up with specific dates but generally shows up at your home with little no warning, asking if you had time for him; depending on your answer, you normally took a stroll through different areas, with Kei asking various questions about what you had been up to. There was one time where Kei mentioned the future, making a promise that when he achieved his goal, he'd start giving you all the attention you deserved, and you've thought about his words every day since.

25. ♥ If they could choose their partner again, would they choose the same person?

This was certainly a question that made Kei think. Humans are just a summary of all the things that happened to them, their paths written by not just fate but what fate delivered on their doorstep and how they chose to deal with it. There’s never a guarantee that everything will go the same in the next life, if he was a different person with different experiences, he doesn’t know what choices he would make. But that makes this relationship that much more special because the reality you’re living in is the one where he’ll pick you over and over.

29. ♥ How do they express their love to their partner?

Kei just tells you how he feels unfiltered. As meaningful as his lyrics are, the words he used in daily life aren’t drenched in honey or reminiscent of prose from an epic poem. He gives his feelings to you like indisputable facts, direct, to the point, and straight from his heart with no unnecessary additions needed.

Shion Kaida:

2. ♥ When they have a crush on someone, how do they let them know?

Shion is naturally very flirty, batting his pretty little eyelashes, smiling with a devious glint in his eyes. When you’ve become his prey there are telltale signs, like his eyes being only for you as well as the gentle caress of his hands on your arms or lower back. He thinks words can ruin a moment, hoping you’ll pick up on his body language instead.

18. ♥ Do they have a ‘type’?

Shion finds interest in all sorts of people, but those who are too loud or annoying can draw his ire. He does like to tease those types of people but he doesn’t seem them as a potential partner. He likes someone who is reactive to his flirting and who shows their emotions on their face, but he can’t help but be fascinated by the opposite as well as a blank face certainly keeps him on his toes.

25. ♥ If they could choose their partner again, would they choose the same person?

Shion was never one for ‘what-if’ scenarios because it seemed pointless, a way to hurt one another rather than be grateful for what you do have now. He can think of a legion of other sex partners he could’ve had if that’s all he was after, but when it comes to love, his brain only ever associates the word with you.

29. ♥ How do they express their love to their partner?

Through touch, of course. He’s so starved for the feel of your body, the shivers that shoot down his spine when your skin touches, so much so that it doesn’t have to even be suggestive in nature to leave him satisfied. He gives kisses to the tip of each finger, then each knuckle, his lips exploring every exposed and vulnerable piece of skin he can reach.

[puppypeter]

(Omega!Roy / Alpha!Jamie anon)

You absolute legend, you've done it again. It's like you have an access point to my brain and can literally transcribe my thoughts!!! EVERY. LAST. TAKE. IS ABSOLUTE PERFECTION‼️‼️‼️💯💯💯💯

My brain is going a hundred miles a minute so buckle up, because this is possibly gonna be the longest ask you'll ever receive:

YES to youth sports culture being WEIRD AF for having an incredibly invasive control over kids' bodily autonomies, ESPECIALLY within an ABO second gender essentialism type way!!

And OOOOHHH Omega Grandpa is absolutely PERFECT!!!! It would set up such a jarring culture shift for Roy when he arrives at Sunderland, to go from a home lead by an Omega patriarch, only to come to a place where Alpha dominance is treated not just as a logical course of action, but as a biological TRUTH.

In my mind, Roy's parents are both emotionally distant but ultimately well meaning betas. Roy's family was implied to be quite poor, so in my mind they both worked, leaving Roy's Grandpa to do the emotional labour of raising Roy, even if Roy's parents were ultimately working to provide for him too. They probably saw Sunderland as Roy's best opportunity: housing, three square meals, access to training that could lead him to an extremely profitable career that they wouldn't be able to provide for him otherwise? It was probably the most practical decision for Roy's future interests, even if it had huge emotional consequences.

This would make it even sadder when Roys grandpa dies, because since both his parents are betas, he had no one to turn to that could understand what he was going through after he presented or show him another path other than the one Sunderland forced him on. And how could he be so ungrateful and go whine to his parents about Sunderland, anyway, when all either of them have ever done is work tirelessly to provide for him and his baby sister?? Thus begins Roy's emotional repression.

I ADORE your take on Roy's time in Sunderland, and I think his presentation would have been even more distressing because every one just ASSUMED that Roy would be an Alpha - since he's such an indisputable prodigy - and when he presented omega, it completely blindsided everyone, a total 'inconvenience', because they had to supply Roy with expensive meds, sort out the even more expensive legal work so the 'big secret' didn't get out, etc. This obviously sets up Roy's internalised idea that his omega needs are a chore and an inconvenience that needs to be catered for.

I also LOVEEEEED your takes on Roy's adult personality, ESPECIALLY about him being touch-starved. SOOO TRUEEEE, that man hasn't had a heat partner in his ENTIRE LIFE!!!! Go through the humiliation of having to rely on someone else??? Roy would literally rather die.

On that note, I think Roy would be both resentful of his own presentation, seeing it as his 'one weakness', but also kind of,,, ashamed? That he so clearly does not fit the typical omega archetype, making him both sneeringly judgemental of 'softer', more stereotypical male omegas and almost,,, jealous of them, of their obvious ease with their instincts and their bodies that Roy has spent an entire LIFETIME battling against.

I think this resentment towards other omegas would, as you say, make him not initially be an advocate for omegas in sports, which is why it'll be SO impactful for Roy personally when he DOES actually step out of the closet and advocate for Omega rights, because it'll be the most obvious sign of how far he's come!!

I also think Phoebe would play a big role in Roy unlearning his instinctive resistance towards his 'omega instincts', because how could loving and caring for and wanting to protect Phoebe ever be a BAD thing, how could it ever make Roy WEAK?

And OMGGGGGG are you a psychic?????? Because Jamie's backstory is absolutely PERFECT!!!! NO NOTES!!!!!! GEORGIES ROLE AND JAMES' INFLUENCE, ITS SO SO BRILLIANTLY EXPLAINED!!!!! 💓💓💓

And speaking of Jamie, an extension of Roy's omegaphobia has TOTALLY gotta be Roy struggling with his attraction to Jamie, at least in the physical sense. And this underlying attraction for one another is DEFINITELY driving up the tension in the hormone addled locker room as you said, lol, and will allllll come to a head when Roy accidentally goes into heat. (The idea of it being kick-started because of all the different medications Roy is on is absolutely BRILLIANT!!)

And OMGGG i didnt even THINK about subliminally bonded RoyJamie!!! That could also be why Roy would latch onto Jamie as a heat partner!!!! YOUR MIIIIINDDD!!!💖💖💖

I also fricking LOVE how this au so perfectly sets up Roy and Jamie as mirrors of each other!!! Because while Jamie struggles with feeling shame over his gentler/softer/more attentive side that is seen as 'not Alpha-like:, ROY struggles with the inverse problem, that his personality is too bossy/dominant/cold to be 'Omega-like'. And OMGGGG could you IMAGINE how cathartic it would be for both of them to realise that they complement each other's internalised issues soo well?? Roy needing a gentler, more submissive Alpha to feel in control and safe, and Jamie needing a more demanding, controlling Omega whose instructions he can follow to feed his attentive instincts and feel like he's providing for them.

Further ABO background: Roy's suppressant heats are short, a day at most, and on a regulated schedule, but they are EXCRUCIATING, cramps and fever and exhaustion and chills and delirium. Basically all the worst parts of a heat with none of the good. So can you IMAGINE how life altering a natural heat with Jamie would be?? Jamie, who would be soo attentive to Roy's pleasure, literally single-mindedly focused on making the experience as good as physically possible for Roy. It would literally blow Roy's MIND, and would most likely be extremely emotional. The idea that his heats can be purely about his PLEASURE? HIS wants, HIS needs? How could he NOT grow attached to Jamie after that???

I think this fic would be fast-burn in terms of Royjamies physical intimacy (because of Roy's heat), but the slow burn comes in with the EMOTIONAL intimacy. Sloooowly coming to terms with the fact that: no, I don't feel this pull towards this person because of simple base instincts like physical desire, it's because I actually LIKE them for who they are as a person, for how they make me laugh, for how they take care of me, for how they understand me more than i ever thought anyone ever could and uh oh im in love.

Thank you thank you THANK YOU for sharing your brilliant thoughts on this au, the effort you put in to responding to all my rambling asks is SO greatly appreciated!! 💖💖💖💖💖✨✨✨✨

I saw your ask earlier and it made me so happy even during this long long crappy day at work!! 🥰🥰🥰 Sorry for only getting to it now, putting it below the cut for the sake of everyone' scrolling but I love long asks!! 💙💙💙

I love how you expanded on the omega grandad thing, like that alone with baby roy could be its own stand alone fic of a series. Like that part of roy being brought up by an omega and two betas is so perfect. I feel like his grandpa would also have been the kind that is clear on what is expected of an omega but also very informed on omega rights, progress and would stand his ground against omega mistreatments by alphas etc which is what makes his grandad driving him to Sunderland even worse!! But maybe they had some connection to there and he initially got placed with a nice older omega lady since he was just a 9 year old, much younger than the other kids and it was expected he be around someone that could "mummy" him.

Maybe there was a change in the club ownership/management in the few years after or maybe when he came back from home at christmas post-grandad's death he was very much acting up, they placed him somewhere else, maybe a host family with other kids? And he was kind of labelled as being angry and mean (he was just grieving the only person who ever cared about him!) and problematic and they constantly reminded him what opportunity they were giving him etc and kind of brainwashed him about how he should be grateful to them and the team, since no one would be taking care of him otherwise.

And it only gets worse once he presents as omega of course. I have many times thought of possible storylines for roy's past and Sunderland as a place that laters gets outed for abuse is definitely on that list (regardless of omega/alpha stuff).

I do like your idea of both beta "well meaning" parents - there's a hell of a lot of emotional neglect that can come from that.

And what you mentioned about him feeling like an inconvenience goes so well with it. Because he would have ended up being super-independant, learning to avoid relying on other people which then applies to Jamie too (but on a slightly different note.. the shame/embarrassment of not really knowing what to do? His grandad would have given him the talk when he presented but he passed too early!!)

He definitely would have very complex feelings around being an omega. For starters, he does not fit the omega beauty standards. He might be leaner than other footballers, but he's not "delicate" or "pretty" (lie!! he's so pretty!!) and his body has also gone through changes due to the medication, like being very hairy (jamie is so horny for it)! And god knows he has not learnt how to take care of himself as a omega either, because he was trying to distance himself to not be found out so he does not know how to make himself pretty for his alpha, dress nicely, etc

I feel like him coming out and advocating for omega rights could be linked to reconnecting to his grandad in some way. Think post-Amsterdam bike ride for example, but perhaps he finds his grandad diaries? or someone finds him while doing a research paper/book on his grandfather contribution to some important policy change 30+ years ago (I'm looking at you Trent Crimm!!)

Something that would bring it full circle, make him realise that his grandad did not really abandon him in some way as he had done anything to ensure better rights for him even when he didn't know he'd be an omega (but grandad knew, he always knew... something something noted in his journal about the way a very very young roy cared for all living creatures, especially the small ones that couldn't defend themselves) >>> present day roy advocating for omega rights in sports, but in particular for the treatment of kids in academies as they are the ones who can't defend themselves. And yes, totally linked to Phoebe too and feeling that need to protect her. Something around meeting Georgie in Manchester and seeing an omega mother be so fiercely protective of her alpha son, making that almost aggressive protection be something to be proud of, something that doesn't make him a bad omega for speaking up and being loud and 'aggressive' towards abusers.

(I won't expand on jamie & georgie simply because he's a mummy's boy in every version ever for me and she's a baddie!!)

"Because while Jamie struggles with feeling shame over his gentler/softer/more attentive side that is seen as 'not Alpha-like:, ROY struggles with the inverse problem, that his personality is too bossy/dominant/cold to be 'Omega-like'." >>> you described it so well!!

I do think Jamie wants to do a very good job for his omega, he wants to dote over him and ensure he has everything he needs and is fed and warm and loved (some stepfather Simon influence there too perhaps)

I love your added angst of roy's suppressant heats being extremely painful (we love giving roy chronic conditions over here so). I do wonder if maybe there's some of this first, before they end up together, that jamie does witness him being in so much pain (lord i love the angst of a character witnessing the other going through hell and unable to do much). Maybe jamie knew already what it was or maybe not, maybe it was before they got closer and roy comes across as very mean and angry when he's just in pain. Maybe the first time they are together roy is so worried because if he normally hurts this much = he thinks the pain he goes through is what a normal heat is meant to feel like, imagine how much worse it will be if he has to put that thing in him (lolz) or have an alpha touch him all over when his entire body hurts.

But I also like the idea of them jumping straight into it physically vs taking their time emotionally! Always love a good slow burn (and hey, that could be part three of the series eheh)

[fantastickkay]

Album Review of the Week: Kelly Clarkson - Chemistry (2023) ☆☆☆☆

This year, we finally got the long awaited Kelly "divorce" album. In pop circles, these are known as typically the best albums in an artists' discography. Past examples include Britney's "Blackout", Adele's "30", P!nk's "Funhouse" and hopefully Shakira's upcoming disc!

I've always been on the sidelines of the Kelly Clarkson bandwagon. Her hits are great and indisputably iconic but I never really got into her albums. Once she started her "Kellyoke" series, I was absolutely blown away by every single cover! I never realized she was that talented. At that point, I listened deeper into the discography but I didn't find that the vocals exuded in those covers translated over to her own music. Therefore, while I am in awe and have total respect for her talents, the original music just doesn't quite resonate.

With this new album, I listened to it twice over (a third for this review) and again I have mad respect for the project but it still didn't resonate enough for me to buy a copy. With that said, this is still a fantastic album - it just doesn't fit my tastes enough.

Skip This Part is a scathing introduction that doesn't leave much to the imagination and yet the proceeding tracks dig even deeper! It almost feels like a violation of her privacy to be hearing such a raw account of the dissolution of her marriage. The lyrics are direct, yet poetic enough to straddle that line between revealing and artistic.

Mine is the big single and rightfully so. It digs deeper into the heartbreak and is a step up from a straight ballad with the backing choir and catchy chorus.

A couple tracks later, Down To You, brings up the tempo a bit without sacrificing the message. This track is more my speed and I definitely find myself grooving!

Favorite Kind of High is another more upbeat track reminiscent of the mid-2010s stylistically, in a good way! Although it is a very different subject matter than the rest of the album, but I suppose not every song has to involve dissolution!

From there, we have quite a few ballads that reiterate what has already been said - in some cases even having very similar lyrics in certain lines.

I Hate Love is the single that almost made me want to buy the album. It's cheeky and it is so much fun that Steve Martin is on there playing the banjo, especially since she calls out that she'd rather have him over a Ryan Gosling.

That's Right closes out the standard edition and it is a great choice to be a closer. It brings everything full circle by describing the post-relationship realization that you can enjoy your own things again without having to worry about what your partner thinks or might rather do instead. It is a liberating declaration!

Ultimately, it is a very good album especially for someone going through a major breakup. There are empowering songs as well as sassy ones perfect for any post-breakup stage of grief! As I had mentioned before, it does get a little repetitive and the ballads could have been trimmed a little bit or replaced as they tend to blend together and talk about the same things. It is a fine body of work!

I did not buy this album, original images sourced from Discogs

[flameradio2]

Effortless Health and Fitness Tips

Keeping fit and left over physically active together intertwine with great health. There are other critical factors such as nourishment and lifestyle of which also play indisputable roles in the make-up of good health. Way more than in any formulated nation, there are many consumers all over the US of which suffer tremendously based on health and fitness. Factors including poor nutrition, scarcity of exercise and inadequate lifestyle choices are extremely elements that participate in cataclysmic roles around poor health.

With a great majority of us living on-the-go lifestyles, it is simply no wonder that simply a minute few always find the time to keep on being physically active and perhaps remotely immersed inside health and fitness. Life under western culture can be very hectic. It's left many looking to eat fast foods from convenience, "saving" all of them time and effort. Many really do not even read the food information on food packing and shipping and this tends to cause excess sugar, sodium and unnatural toxins being consumed in a great many diets.

What is more, technical advancements have created some tasks appear effortless. So for ones vast majority of people, real work or adventure has now become a bit of a rarity. What exactly many people do not understand is actually that health conditions just like heart disease, Type 3 diabetes, bowel, your intestinal tract and other cancers, and other diseases can all of be eradicated if you are not greatly reduced along with sufficient exercise in addition to good nutrition : essentially, investing in fitness and well-being.

If you want to live your healthier lifestyle, this is a list of fast and simple tips you can begin to utilise.

First, examine your daily diet: Read food the labels to find out what that you are feeding your body, quite a few health deficiencies can be caused by unbalanced meal plans. The following is a difficult guide.

Carbohydrates include the body's own model of gasoline so to speak. Simply as a vehicle needs resource to embark on a good journey, so can the human body need gas to move. There are countless healthy food alternatives ın which one can obtain strength (carbohydrates) from. Browning rice is a great way to obtain carbohydrates and dissimilar to white rice; browning rice contains vitamin products and iron. Quite a few whole grain foods tend to be great sources of sweets (and fiber -- which helps you remain full and adjusts digestion). A person who’s active and regular exercise should consume on the subject of 60% carbohydrates.

Peptids is essential for the progress of cells along with for tissue restoration. It is indeed essential that you include enough amounts of protein towards your diet. Eggs, along with oily fish just like sardines are wonderful sources of protein (oily fish also are often good sources of omega 3 fatty acids). One of the many health benefits from omega 3 is often a reduction in blood burden and cholesterol values. Protein should make-up about 20% connected with an active person's diet regime.

Fats. What can these have to do by using health and fitness? Fats aren't the enemy. Also they are a necessary part of a good diet. They be working as a reserve of one's. Fats also look after body organs. A great way to obtain healthy fat can be through by using extra virgin oil, using this oil to earn meals or being salad dressing has got many health benefits. 1 health benefit is normally that olive oil could actually help reduce blood difficulty. Just remember to persist with healthy fats which is found in foods prefer avocados. Fats (unsaturated) should be about 20% of your diet much too.

Secondly, remaining working is essential for good well-being: Taking gradual however , progressive steps can be imperative. If you're non-active, try taking extended or brisk strolls, or if you're killing the curve and desire the support to a professional try visiting a local fitness premises. Remember to always consult with your physician before dealing with any strenuous recreation. The final step now's just to start on a person's journey towards much better health and fitness.

[anantaru]

— not saying “i love you” back

including scaramouche, ayato, alhaitham, cyno x gn! reader

꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff, we‘re evil (especially in cyno's part)

— scaramouche

"and please don't forget to buy some fruit!"

you sing over to your boyfriend, musing with a pacifying, settling timbre in your voice when scaramouche indisputably turned around one last time before leaving for the grand bazaar.

in any other occasion, the two of you would proceed to go together, hand in hand, strolling through the entirety of Sumeru City while sauntering in midst the many food vendors to stock up for the upcoming week.

"i will, stop repeating it all over again."

he's gutted, scrunching his eyebrows with indistinct wrinkles showing on his forehead, "i'm not stupid." obviously, kuni was barking back in his usual fashion, tiptoeing around the edge of your nerves.

"obviously you're the smartest."

you responded, with a crooked little grin accompanying your teasing, the taunting that had your boyfriend weak on the knees, making him all giddy but he wouldn't admit it, ever.

he sighs, acting a bit peeved, but in truth he could barely muffle a laugh, or a little giggle at least, "whatever, i'm leaving." your eyes follow him, watching as he walked towards the exit, speaking once more. "bye, love you."

"bye!"

okay, well, maybe you were evil after all.

you weren't sure what brought you to the realization that, yes, maybe now was the right time to poke fun at your boyfriend, provoke scaramouche to tickle a sweet, little reaction out of him.

the moment he had heard you speak, he didn't move, as if he was waiting for the last few sentences he was sure, you must've forgotten.

"really? is that all you got to say to me?"

scaramouche was swaying from leg to leg, left to right, killing time and fiddling his thumbs as his eyes dangerously proceeded to throw daggers on your resting frame, yearning for attention. "mhm!"

as it was, you didn't seem to care, at all, it was both irritating and off putting.

aside from how you were innocently resting on the couch while browsing and paging through a little picture book you bought a while back, you were still, ignoring him, thoroughly indulging in it.

right off the bat, his face tweaked, his left brow twitching in displeasure.

actually, there were two possible routes to take right now, he figured; one, he could either just brush it off and go on about his day or second, he'd go back and find out what he had possibly done wrong this time.

obviously it must've been something quite significant, because normally it's you who's saying 'i love you' first and he needed, no, he deserved to hear that, right now.

so .. how dare you forget about it just like that? without an inch of remorse?

scaramouche was standing upright, shoulders confidently jolted back, while walking to where you were sitting st, and you noticed, of course you did, yet you pretended you didn't, fully immersing yourself into your other activity.

"hey." he speaks lowly now, a little confused but he's got the sprit before carefully lowering himself next to you.

"what's so interesting about this?"

he's ignorantly swatting his hand towards the little book in your grasp, his eyes were now, a touch lower, as if he was sad and actually concerned. "weren't you going somewhere?"

you were expecting this, flawlessly guessing his next step.

yet you opted to burst the bubble before you'd end up giving your boyfriend a heart attack.

meanwhile scaramouche couldn't believe his own hearing, momentarily he was more than fed up, bewildered, "you know what? forget it."

he pursed his lips, you knew he wasn't good with words so when he made an effort to angrily get up from his seat, you quickly wiggled your arms around his waist to drag him down again, nuzzling into his back when scaramouche plopped back into the cushions with a low heave.

"i was just messing with you." you're clasping on him tighter, further when you noticed a slight shake in his body, "forgive me please."

you're mumbling, hardly a whisper, as scaramouche cradled his body to face you, his lips carved into a purse, it was visible on how displeased and worried he had gotten.

he's accepting your apology in his own ways, kind of.

curling himself into your hug and precisely positioning his lips so they’d ghost against your ear, "do this again and i‘ll get back at you." gently kissing your earlobe, "but so much harder."

— ayato

"i will be free to retire from my duties tonight."

ayato spoke in a tranquil approach while applying a moisturizer on his face, gently massaging it into his skin.

"i'll fetch you later so you can join me for dinner."

it was quite usual for the both of you to plan your day ahead post slumber, above that going over ayato's schedule in particular which was mostly tightly packed and overfilled.

"sounds good to me." you're quick to slip into a cozy garment before lowering yourself to the vanity in his bedroom, smiling and carrying on to finish your daily routine.

taking this into consideration, ayato was set to start his day, slipping himself into his jacket before walking back to you once more.

he's lowering his face to charmingly nudge your jaw, "i'll be leaving now." his knuckles gently stroked down your nape while pondering softly.

subsequently, he quietly settled his lips on your cheek to plant a chaste goodbye kiss on you, "i love you."

that being done, ayato stood tall to walk out of your shared bedroom because normally, in any other instance, you'd say it back anyways, no reason for him to wait.

"until later!" your fingers moved idly over your face, not gifting him a single look back, whatever it was— that was developing right now, ayato at first, had no clue about it.

especially once he's almost reached the door, he figured, wait a minute, how come you still didn't say it back?

strange, he thought.

ayato narrowed his eyes and turned around, carefully observing you, extending all his senses in efforts to get behind the little mystery, and then, in the blink of an eye, it clicked and resonated in him.

"oh." ayato put his deepest, commanding voice, his scent, still hovering throughout the entire room, making you nervous, "so that's the little play you have issued for me today."

you're clearing your throat upon noticing the slight vibrations on the floor, emphasizing that he was walking towards you.

"i don't know what you're talking about, baby."

feigning innocence, you so early deciphered that it was in vein, coming from the mere fact that now, your boyfriend had an amusing grin spread across his smooth lips. "you don't know?"

he slowly clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, quietening his steps once reaching your body and placing his hands on top of your shoulders, watching you through the mirror of the vanity.

he's leaning forward, his shadow overcasting a spell on your body that had all your earlier confidence dissolved into nothingness, you caught yourself panicking and cradled your head to the side to meet his own.

"you know i'm utterly displeased if you act this way."

along the thin skin of your jaw, he planted short kisses on your flesh, his warm, minty breath ghosting over your face, "what way?"

you really wanted to know it now, desired to jump into the cold water without any safety measures.

you took a hard swallow and prolonged the eye contact, "like a brat."

you crooked a smile and then laughed, breathlessly giggling at him.

"ugh, i thought i would win today!"

you, in defeat, dramatically leaned back into the chair to render yourself defenseless, next, cradling his cheek to kiss him tenderly, "sorry."

his animated smile turned your heart ablaze, he was so outlandishly handsome even though he had just woken up half an hour ago.

ayato returned your kiss at the same time, liquifying your touch into his own when he drew himself back, a little, with you still being capable to taste his lips.

"now." he pauses for a brief instance, just a bit, before feebly nudging your nose, "say it back."

— alhaitham

alhaitham had told you, consistently, to be more mindful about your surrounding, urging you to take of yourself, most importantly your overall health.

and at any time you would assure him that you will listen, yet only shrugging his solicitousness off as nothing more than a small scale characteristic of his 'protective boyfriend' nature which traits he would display occasionally.

yet there you were now, sadly— and much to your dismay, vastly nauseous from coughing your literal heart out and attempting to get rid of the gnawing burn in your throat, your stomach churning after every inch of your muscles pulsing.

obviously for alhaitham personally, it was quite funny in the beginning, after all he had told you numerously to look after yourself, that there was a serious flu going around in Sumeru City.

so .. for you to not listen to his advice after all? let's say he wasn't surprised.

"how's my patient doing?" you can hear your boyfriend sing from across the room as you narrowed your eyes upon noticing that damned grin induced on his face, especially at the amusing little ring surrounding the color of his voice.

"what do you want?"

you're speaking lowly, a little raspy while fighting the soreness in your throat, "did you get my medicine?"

you weren't sure if alhaitham purposely took his time to get your treatment or if it was you, in fact, who didn't have any patience left in your frail body.

"of course i did." he's forcefully rolling his eyes, acting all dramatically while childishly swaying the package in his hand.

"what would *you* possibly do without me?"

folding your arms over your body, you intently stared at him now, as if the sole reason he got up in the morning was to get the best of you, mess with you or maybe punish you for not listening sooner.

alhaitham dropped himself onto the bed where you were currently residing in, comfortably nuzzled up in your blanket when you noticed the apparent shift of weight on the mattress.

you're reaching your hand out for the medicine, an invitation clearly made in vein, "can i?" the chill in the air cuts through the haze and pain in your throat, bringing your boiling blood singing on the surface of your cheeks.

as alhaitham made no effort to actually hand it to you, you were on the brink of snapping, attempting to grab it yourself yet he quickly pulled it back. "now, now." he speaks, amused.

"what do we say beforehand?"

"you're joking." your words are short, clumsy and there was something utterly repellent about the hilarity in alhaitham's tone and mannerism, "i'm not."

you're huffing out an exhausted sigh, reflecting the situation in your mind as to how you could pay him back for this behavior, clearly you were aware of how your boyfriend tends to act, how he could be quite a smart ass to you, but mostly to everyone around him.

instantaneously alhaitham breathlessly laughed as he noticed you zoned out, carefully planting the medicine in your palm, "yes, i was joking." his hand drew itself to your cheek to playfully nudge the flesh when he continued his sentence to you, "you're lucky i love you."

"whatever." you spoke and abruptly closed your hand to plump back into the velvety cushions of your shared bed, fully averting his gaze.

"you can go now."

there is a pause before he said anything, your face was hidden in the pillow when he watched over your shoulder.

"so .. you won't say it back or?"

"nope." you were quick to shush him, "really?"

"yes."

"are you sure?"

"yes."

it was an instinct when he suddenly let out a laugh, but an inaudible one, the sound not echoing through the room when it unexpectedly went back to silence.

okay, well, maybe he was a bit harsh today, he figured, you were sick after all so your reaction was valid.

alhaitham carefully sank himself further into the bed so you could perceive his warm body flushed against yours, his broad arm lazily falling over your waist, "okay, okay, i got the message."

whispering in defeat, you suppressed a giggle, cradling your head so you could look at him, "what do we say beforehand?"

the mock in your voice was evident and he did not mind, replying with a chaste kiss on your forehead, "i'm sorry."

— cyno

when it came to something as crucial as playing tcg with your boyfriend cyno, he always urged you to never hold back, to ruthlessly crush him with your cards.

most of the times your boyfriend would get quite competitive as well and you, in all honesty, did not mind. It was cute, really, how his face would slightly scrunch up whenever you were able to land a pivotal hit on one of his cards.

but what was a game .. without some additional fun tucked into it?

especially since cyno was overall a protective boyfriend, you'd love to tickle a new reaction out of him that you never experienced beforehand.

"it seems your cards aren't working well together."

he speaks volumes, two little dimples appearing on either side of his mouth as he chewed on the insides of his cheeks, concentrating and figuring out his next move to take.

"you're always so cruel to me, cyno."

you suddenly blurted out, adding a little mewl.

at this, his eyes abruptly widen in irritation, it wasn't particularly the sentence itself that made him struggle to comprehend what you just said, but the way you had phrased it.

"what?" he says at last, slowly tugging his cards to his body, "you never let me win!"

the contents of his mind have been pinned to your face, eagerly, attempting to decipher what the hell was going on right now.

"and i thought you love me, hm, whatever."

you quickly had to hide your face from him, biting back an evil laugh that was just about to spill when he laid his cards down the table.

"wait." he's panicking and for a moment, you felt bad for even playing this little trick on him, or, messing with his emotions, "of course i love you."

your fingers were playing with the hem of your shirt when you acted reluctant to answer.

"oh, that's awkward now."

your mouth split into a half grin, unable to prevent yourself from keeping up your devilish scheme but archons, cyno's face was priceless, he was absolutely bewildered, as if your words alone gave him serious whiplash.

"speak clear to me now."

his words dried in his throat, agonizingly slow, looking just as horrifying as if he was in the midst of working his occupation as a matra, fighting to the brink of utter death.

"when did you plan to tell me that you didn't harbor the same feelings for me after all?"

cyno couldn't feel his heart anymore, yet it was thrumming expressively under his ribcage. 

you breathe in and hold it, nostrils flaring, before you bursted out in a long laugh in front of him, hiding your mouth with the palm of your hand.

"i was just messing with you!"

needless to say, cyno, didn't find it hilarious at all, clicking his tongue while aiming to get up from his seat when you were quick to jump out of your own, dipping him back into the cushions.

"i'm sorry!" you nervously hugged him, tightly wrapping your arms around his neck, "don't be mad."

if only you weren't so sweet or the love of his life then maybe, he could've stayed mad, or at least lectured you about your wrong doings.

but cyno, did not speak at all, rather did he draw himself into you before leaning in to meet your eyes, propping his chin on your shoulder.

"you're a menace." he exhales with a shuddery laugh, shaking his head in disbelieve and rubbing his eyes awake.

the look of deep concern was still vividly noticeable when he danced his hand over your back soothingly, "now's the time." he suddenly words to you, imploring the obvious with his lips barely moving an inch.

"the time for what?" you were confused, lightly pinching his cheek.

"to say it back." he gazes up, his eyes softening like liquid fire, "you forgot to say it back."

©2023 anantaru do not share, copy, translate any of my work

[somemydayy]

Cigarette

Summary: Aki realized his harmful addiction wasn’t just cigarettes.

“You smoke?”

Aki Hayakawa was many things. A young man without a family, a orphan to be more specific. A public safety devil hunter. A smoker. And now your ex-boyfriend.

“Aki don’t you know it’s bad for you?”

He recalled the many times you told him you hated the smell of cigarettes. How so many times you told him, to stop. It was killing him. That this addiction was harmful, and deadly. But so was his profession. And you found no whelms in that, but somehow you found it in his cigarettes.

“Can’t you stop smoking for me? Please…”

He knew you resented him, for not stopping. That this addiction was killing him, you would always tell him so. He knew death was inevitable, and he told you so. But all you could do was watch him with the saddest eyes, and the indisputable truth slipping past your trembling lips in frustration.

“Aki, just once please. Can’t you give it up for me? You can try if you put your mind to it.”

Aki did stop, but that was only for a short time. When you were hospitalized due to having health issues. He solely stopped because it was recommended by doctors, but mostly because you asked him to with the most sorrowful gaze in your eyes he had ever seen.

“Aki if your going to smoke, don’t do it in front of me.”

He knew it was selfish, but not long after you were recovered, and back home to your shared apartment did he start smoking again. He simply couldn’t help it. It was the pleasure of a long drag of his cigarette, pressed flush against his lips that made him relax. The notion of intoxicating nicotine was the only thing that helped him cope with lose, frustration but most of all the loneliness.

“Aki that shit will kill you.”

The mere sight of your frown was enough to have him put it out, whenever you caught him smoking. You could only shake your head as you saw him look away, avoiding your gaze. With those eyes full of regret and lingering feelings slipping out of them. Oh how many times had you seen him simply stare out in a daze whenever he smoked. It wasn’t like you couldn’t comprehend it, far from it.

“I hate whenever you smoke! I hate it.”

He lost loved ones. His family, and fellow Public Safety Devil Hunters that fought beside him. You tried to understand, but you couldn’t comprehend it. For you understood the pain of losing loved ones, the pain of having to see they’re lifeless bodies, and having to say goodbye as they are declared deceased. But never did you have to feel the weight of their lives in your hands, and losing them to a devil.

“Smoking again, really Aki.”

Be it your own frustration you wished he stopped because he was simply sending himself toward a early grace. He knew this to be the undisputed truth, even now. When he knowingly made a contract with the Future Devil.

“You never listen, do you? I told you to put it out. We’re having guests coming over.”

Honestly you hated how more often than not you found yourself washing his clothes. Desperately trying to have that smell go away. It was a bother, you knew, but you even avoided physical contact with him because of it. Because of his habits. And he more often than not took notice of the way you avoided his kisses, and touch whenever he finished smoking his cigarettes on the veranda.

“Stop smoking that shit before dinner, Aki!”

But he simply couldn’t comprehend for the life of him, why he simply continued to do it. Maybe it was in the way his old mentor Himeno got him hooked on the damn thing. Or how the loss, and suffering he endured lead him on this path. To finally be able to stop the Gun Devil. And he knew, he didn’t have long to live.

“It’s the same as you actively choosing to poison yourself! Damn it, Aki your killing yourself!”

And maybe cigarettes were the only way to deal with that indisputable fact. Maybe he liked drowning in his own smoke of his cigarettes than the sorrow of what he felt whenever he saw you slowly losing the love you once held for him.

“It’s me or your cigarettes. Aki, it’s your choice. If I don’t matter to you, should we just end it?”

With tears in your eyes, Aki could never know how to comfort you. Work, family, and life in general was hard enough. And maybe he added to that burden, maybe it was better to end it.

“Let’s break up, Aki. I can’t do this anymore, and neither can you.”

And end it you did, and maybe that was for the best. Because you were always standing on that line between giving up, and seeing how much more you can take.

“Goodbye, Aki. Take care of yourself. Please…”

Because you can’t sell dreams to someone who has walked through nightmares. And just maybe, just maybe you knew he would never change. But the love you shared with each other was nice while it lasted. Because the strongest drug that exists for a human is another human being. And Aki was that drug, the raging heart of the man you loved. But you loved yourself more. Well enough to hold that flickering light of hope, dreaming that he would change for you. But maybe it wasn’t just him, maybe you realized the same thing. This could only end badly, burned out and discarded just like his cigarette. So you left, before that could happen.

“I just wished you loved me, more than your cigarette for once.”

© Somemydayy 2022 | Please do not copy or alter this writing on Tumblr or any other platform.

[writing-for-marvel]

Why Are You Keeping Me Up?

Neighbour!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

< < PART 3 | Series Masterlist | {4.5} PART 5 > >

Summary: Your attractive neighbour struggles with letting you in.

Warnings: nightmares, violence - during a nightmare Bucky grabs reader and for a moment she struggles to breathe, but no one is injured, y’all this part is angsty, but it does have a happy ending, swearing, mentions of a shitty ex-boyfriend, steamy kiss, implied sex

Word count: 3.5k

A/N: this part is a lot longer than previous, but I needed the length to really delve into the angst and give a happy ending in this part - also, I know the titles are stupid, I just can’t help myself

Dividers by @maysdigitalarts

Main Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist | Library

From the night John made his brief reappearance in your life, it was no longer just you who comforted Bucky to sleep, he now had an excuse to stay over at your apartment each night, hold you close and remind you that if John tried anything like that again, Bucky would ensure he’d not live to see another sunrise.

He had even gone as far to buy and install new locks for your door just in case John had made a copy of his key from the time you were together. He was taking no chances when it came to your safety, which made your heart flutter with gratitude.

After that night, in which Bucky’s strong arms held you against his chest, placing a soft kiss to your hairline that didn’t go unnoticed even though you were on the brink of falling asleep, there was a change in the dynamic of your relationship - it was no longer I’m here to prevent you having nightmares, it had evolved into having you in my arms as we drift off to sleep is my favourite part of the day.

Granted, it had never progressed past cuddling in the same bed, the occasional forehead kiss when you thought the other were sleeping, and he couldn’t bring himself to reveal any information surrounding his previous nightmares, but you had never felt so safe and cared for in your entire life.

It had only taken James ‘Bucky’ Barnes three weeks from the day he moved in next door to steal your heart, and you were more than prepared to let him keep it.

But it was a night just over one week after the altercation with John that the perfectly happy bubble you and Bucky were living in popped.

The faint light of the full moon seeped through the window as Bucky started to stir in his sleep, the movement of his shoulders waking you as your head rested on his bare chest. His dissonant thrashes grew in severity as he started grunting and flexing the plates of his metal prosthetic.

“Bucky?” You asked in a sleepy daze, but your soft voice was unable to penetrate the merciless nightmare which was forming in front of your eyes. This was unfamiliar territory for you, every night you laid beside him he always slept peacefully.

“Buck.” You repeated his name, firmer this time, placing your hand on his shoulder, trying to shake him awake.

Before you had time to react, Bucky's left, metal arm had your own pinned across your chest. The weight of him now on top of you, pushing your arm painfully back into you, restricting the movement of your thorax, making it difficult to breathe. His eyes were now open, but glossed over, face expressionless, muttering words in a language you couldn’t understand.

“Bucky…” You tried to move underneath him, shove him backwards to provide your chest some room to expand, to take a deeper breath, but he was too strong for you to move solely with your upper body.

Kicking your legs, you managed to find a weak spot on the inside of his thigh, kneeing him with enough force that he recoiled for half a moment, long enough to strike him on the chest.

“Bucky!” Even in the almost pitch black room, you could see his consciousness invade his eyes at your scream, realisation at what he had been doing indisputably dawning on his features as his grip loosened completely.

You coughed and spluttered as you hopped out of bed, trying to draw as much oxygen into your lungs as possible.

“I’m fine, Buck. I’m okay.” You assured him before he could speak, turning on the room lights in some kind of effort to show him that you were indeed fine. With the new light in the room, you could now see the struggle playing out in his eyes, as if he wanted to be your source of comfort but was also too afraid to touch you at the same time.

“You need to leave.” Bucky demanded after a long period of silence as you caught your breath, although his voice lacked conviction.

“Leave? Bucky, I’m fine. I promise you, I’m perfectly fine.” You approached as he kneeled on the bed, hand reaching out to cup his face but he recoiled from your touch, breaking your heart more than the experience prior had.

“You need to go. You can’t stay here if I’m going to do that to you.” The lump which had formed in his throat while holding back tears was clear in his voice. Refusing to look you in the eye, he stood from the bed and walked into the living area.

“Don’t you think I should be the one to decide what is or isn’t enough for me to handle?” You argued, following him, only to speak to his strong, bare back. The scar tissue formed around his shoulder, a permanent reminder of his suffering.

“Do you not understand what I just did? I could have killed you, Y/N!” His voice shook with self-disgust as his fists clenched at his sides.

“You had a nightmare, that’s not your fault. And if you’re trying to push me away because you think I’m afraid of you, I’m not.” You tried reaching out to him again, but he evaded you. Still unable to look you in the eye, he walked up to and opened his front door, asking again for you to leave.

“What if John returns?” This was your last line of defence, knowing that if there was one weakness Bucky had, it was John posing a threat to you. “He’s the one I’m scared of.” Bucky’s eyes darkened as he seriously contemplated your words, and for a moment, when he took a large sigh, you truly thought he would relent.

“We’ve changed your locks and I’m right next door if he does choose to come back.”

“Bucky please don’t do this. I care about you, so much, more than I have been able to put into words these last few weeks. Please…” You couldn’t contain the tears slipping from the outer corners of your eyes at your admission. It was the first time either of you had verbally acknowledged that whatever was happening between the two of you meant more than just preventing nightmares.

He finally met your gaze, his expression difficult to read, but the conflict behind his eyes raging like a storm.

You had the strong urge to cup his face, crash your lips onto his and show him just how much he meant to you, when your words themselves clearly weren’t sufficient in helping him understand. You wanted to hold him, comfort him and repel every dreadful self loathing thought that dared enter his mind.

“You can’t be around me Y/N, it’s not safe.” And with an assured finality to his voice, he closed the door in your face.

You stood in disbelief, hand pressed against the door, staring at what moments ago had been Bucky but was now a solid wooden barrier that might as well have been made of 10-inch steel.

“Bucky, please.” You begged, only to be met with the sounds of locks snubbing and latches fastening, which was enough to tip you over the edge into a complete blubbering mess.

You didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. You couldn’t. Not only had Bucky’s strong arms become the security blanket you needed to fall asleep peacefully when you believed John could return wanting revenge for his broken nose, but simply the absence of his weight beside you, small snores and tendency to hog the covers meant you felt out of place in your own bed.

There wasn’t a peep from Bucky’s side of the shared apartment wall either. You speculated that he too was awake with a troubled mind, too tense to fall back to sleep. As horrible and selfish as it sounded, you hoped he was kept awake with the same discomfort you felt - because your mind didn’t want to contemplate that he could actually be sleeping peacefully without you, that he didn’t need you.

The next day as you hopped off the elevator and walked to your apartment, you checked to see if Bucky’s door was open. He would leave it unlocked for you so that you could enter once you had changed out of your work clothes for the day, before proceeding to spend the rest of the night together. Your heart sank when you found it locked, the handle moving up and down, but the hinges refusing to swing open.

“Bucky? Can you please let me in so we can talk?” You asked whilst knocking gently. You waited for a moment but there was no response. “We can listen to all the Jimmy Dorsey music you want. You know, I’ve been playing it for you so often my Spotify is now recommending other jazz music for me, completely messed with the perfectly tailored playlists I had created.” You let out a small chuckle which was only met with silence.

You knocked and called out his name again to no avail. Conceding defeat for that night, you took out your keys and entered your own apartment. You were so fatigued that you did manage to get some uneasy sleep that night, the type where you wake up feeling even more tired than before.

No noise came from the apartment beside you. In fact, it was so deadly quiet, you thought perhaps Bucky wasn’t in his apartment at all. However, that didn’t prevent you from knocking on his door the following day.

“Can you please give me a sign that you’re alright? I’m worried something’s happened. Do I need to report you as a missing person?” You were just about to give up on receiving any response when you heard the sound of a lock unfastening.

The door swung open fractionally, but the chain link lock only allowed the door to open a crack. One of Bucky’s dazzling blue eyes, which were distinctly his, along with stubble which may have been long enough to start calling a beard, peeked through the opening.

“I’m fine. Not missing. Can you please stop knocking.” You were so taken aback by the fact that he actually opened the door and responded to your question, you were stunned speechless. Before you could get a word out, your brain scrambling to find anything to say, the door closed again.

* * *

After an excruciating week, Friday finally came around, and you were plain exhausted. You probably didn’t have more than eight hours combined rest the entire week, and your resolve had worn thin not only by the horrible week at work, but also by not having seen Bucky.

There was a calmness you felt in his presence that couldn’t be replicated with anyone else, or even by yourself. You missed that feeling, the tranquillity which washed over you every time you saw his smiling face as you entered his apartment.

You longed to feel his strong arms wrap around you, the tingle of your skin as his leg touched yours under the blanket when you were watching a movie, hear his laugh as you tried to explain the meaning behind the new ten minute version of a Taylor Swift song which you were blasting on repeat, and the butterflies you felt in your stomach when you opened your eyes first thing in the morning to find that he was already awake, looking at you like he could wake up beside you for the rest of his life.

How could you let one man, whom you had only known for about a month, consume all your waking thoughts?

Thoughts that in the past week consisted of anxiety and worry for his well-being and if he would ever let you into his life again. The only piece of knowledge that was keeping you going at this point was that Bucky hadn’t had a nightmare all week - although you suspected that meant he also had a week filled with sleepless nights.

Your willpower diminished and lack of energy from having little rest all week, was topped off with despair as you heard the all too familiar groans and thrashing of sheets from Bucky’s apartment. Tears poured down your cheeks as his screams shook the walls.

You couldn’t even remember getting off your bed, but you found yourself banging on Bucky’s door, crying out his name in hopes that he would open the damn door. You could hear movement on the other side of it but you remained locked out.

“Bucky, I can’t do this anymore. It’s not even been a whole week and I can’t stand you pushing me away while you’re in there suffering.” You stopped knocking, turned around and slid down the door until you sat at its base, tears still flowing. “I care about you Buck, and it’s breaking my heart to be only an apartment apart, yet feeling a whole world away when I know I could be doing something to help you.”

You could hear his movements hault inside, and you could have sworn your heart stopped beating in that moment. He must have heard you, otherwise it was a very untimely pause. Throwing caution to the wind, you continued.

“I missed you Bucky. I missed everything about you. I missed waking up beside you, missed your smile and your laugh, missed your scowl when I turn on any type of music that’s not 40’s jazz, missed that embarrassed blush on your cheeks when you you aren’t sure how to cook something, missed that playfully agitated glint in your eye when I beat you in every board game, missed those shallow little breaths you take just as you’re about to fall asleep. I just missed you.” There was a long silence where you waited for a response - perhaps he missed you too? You waited in agony for his reply, that with every passing second seemed less and less likely to come. Just as you were about to stand, having given up, you finally heard his voice.

“Doll, move away from the door, I’m opening it.” Your heart soared with anticipation as you quickly stood, waiting impatiently for the door to swing open so you could find relief from your heavy sorrow in his eyes.

You couldn’t stop yourself, as soon as you saw his broken, tear filled eyes, you did the one thing you thought would comfort him, something you had waited weeks to do. Jumping into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck, you kissed him.

Your lips connected with his soft, plump ones as your eyes fluttered shut. You clearly caught him by surprise as it took him a moment to recognise what to do before responding to the movement of your lips, but the kiss only lasted a brief moment before he pulled away.

“I’m sorry. God, that was stupid. You didn’t even say you felt the same.” You mentally cursed yourself, cheeks heating with embarrassment.

“I do.” He admitted shyly.

“You do?”

“Of course I do, which is why if something happened to you, if I seriously hurt you, I couldn’t live with myself.” The anguish was clear on his face, and you suspected he had been grappling with that thought the entire week.

“But you are hurting me, Buck. By pushing me away, you are hurting me.”

“Doll…” He let out a large sigh, his internal struggle evident on his face, in his teary eyes, biting the inside of his cheek as he wrestled with finding the right words.

“You don’t have to say anything, you don’t have to tell me about what you went through, or why you have nightmares, okay? Just please, please, let me be here for you.” You cupped his face in your hands, eyes desperate, treasuring the feeling of his soft skin against yours, something you had missed, craved, the past week.

“Y/N, what they did to me - it’s in my nature to hurt people.” He feebly tried to push you away, but you stood your ground.

“I don’t believe that for a second.” You responded without missing a beat, your words soft and sincere.

“You saw me with John, my first instinct was violence-”

“Bucky he grabbed me, if you weren’t there he could have done so much worse.” You were now wiping away tears which escaped his eyes, stopping their trajectory before they could reach his scratchy stubble.

“And then that night I was- I hurt you. My hands…” He looked down to his open palms, examining the skin and metal as if the atrocities he claimed to have done were permanently carved into them.

“Every nightmare I had prior to your… assistance wasn’t just a figment of my imagination - they were memories. Replaying every brutal act and violent deed as clear as day in my sleep. That night, when I- when I grabbed you, that was the first time I couldn’t place the memory. And that’s because it wasn’t a recollection, my brain showed me killing you. Then when I woke up, I was on top of you, actually hurting you.” His voice broke and his hands shot to the hair at the front of his head, firmly tugging on the strands as he let out a devastated weep.

“Shhh…” You hushed, pulling his head into the crook of your neck, fiddling with his fingers to loosen the vice-like grip on his hair. You weren’t sure how long he stayed sobbing into your shoulder for, as you rubbed circles along his back, his hands moving to grip tightly onto your shirt instead of his hair, but ultimately, he managed to stop crying.

“You said ‘what they did to you’, who is ‘they’?” You asked as he pulled away from you, sweeping the stray tears from his skin with your thumbs. His puffy, red-rimmed eyes met yours, the agony behind his slate blue irises shredding your heart. “You don’t have to tell me, Buck, it’s okay.”

“Once you know that part of my story, what they did, what I did, you won’t want to know me.” Nothing could have prepared you for how defeated his voice sounded in that moment. Your thumb ran over a thin, white scar just below his bottom lip.

“Yes I will.” You assured, holding back your own sob.

“When I say that it is the most horrific, violent, murderous past, I’m not joking. I’m not exaggerating, doll. The things they made me do… I don’t know if I can say them aloud.” His eyes brimmed with tears again, and you instinctively brushed your thumb over his cheekbone, a gesture to remind him you were right here.

“Bucky, you keep saying they did this to you, they made you do things, were you in control? Did you have any say or choice in what happened?” You asked, hoping you weren’t overstepping with the question.

“No.”

“Could you have left without them threatening your life?” He shook his head. “Then nothing you did, no matter how extreme, was your fault. You hear me? None of it.” He looked at you with a mixture of adoration and as if you were absolutely out of your mind. Maybe he couldn’t believe that you thought the world of him, but you had come to know his tender soul and knew categorically that he was no villain.

“But none of that changes the fact that I could seriously hurt you.” Bucky detailed, never once breaking the intense eye contact you reciprocated.

“You were not made for cruelty Bucky. You are one of the most compassionate people I’ve ever met.” You said, placing a tantalising kiss to the side of his sharp jaw. “How ‘bout you let me show you how you can use these hands for much more pleasurable activities?” You whispered, moving to kiss the other side of his jaw as you grabbed his wrists, helping him run his hands gently over the curves of your sides, down to rest on your hips. You looked back up into his yearning eyes, silently requesting permission to proceed. With a slight nod of his head, your hands left his to delicately cup his face, your lips lightly brushing over his.

What started out as a gentle, slow kiss quickly became a passionate, open mouthed make out session. This time Bucky was most definitely prepared for the show of affection, his hands gripping your hips as yours tangled in his hair, sliding his tongue into your mouth.

His smooth metal hand was cool on your skin as his hands slipped below your shirt. He pulled you down to straddle him as he sat on the couch, only breaking the fervent kiss to tug your shirt over your head.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He remarked before kissing you again, but you were so eager to even the score in pulling his shirt off that the blissful feeling of his lips on yours only lasted a matter of moments.

“Bucky, please.” You moaned as his lips attached to your neck, sucking on your sweet spot.

“I missed you too, doll, so much.” He uttered against your skin which was hot under his touch, his hands running down your back as he laid you down on the couch.

“Show me.” If he missed you even a fraction of how much you missed him, you were in for the best night of your life.

{Part 4.5 > >} | Part 5 > >

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[nejibaby]

Small Details

Pairings: Neji x Y/N

Summary: Neji was a man of few words, even more so with you, and when he sees you with Naruto in a compromising position, he has troubles expressing himself.

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: And I finally managed to finish this! It took me so long! Today, I offer you a flustered Neji... 👀 I hope y’all enjoy it because I may or may not have melted after writing this 😚

✨Photo taken from this post by @yul-is-sparkling ✨

Naruto was finally back after two years of training with Jiraiya. Being one of his closest friends, you were excited to meet him and to see for yourself how much he’s grown.

Naturally, you challenged him to a duel the first time you saw him again. It was kind of your thing with Naruto — competing with each other on who’s faster, stronger, better in ninjutsu, anything really. Mainly because Sasuke, who he often referred to as his rival, would rarely indulge him with such things, and you did. You were both competitive like that.

In no time, you were both alone on the training grounds. You could already tell how drastic his improvements were within the start of the battle.

You were in awe at how the Legendary Sannins could bring out the best in their apprentices. But despite not being trained by them, that didn’t mean you were lagging behind.

In those two years when Sasuke seeked Orochimaru for power, Naruto trained under Jiraiya, and Sakura learned from Tsunade, you were the only one in Team 7 who remained under the supervision of Kakashi sensei.

Kakashi sensei may not be a Legendary Sannin, but he was a formidable shinobi — one of the best during his generation even. However, truthfully, he infuriated you at first, not because of how late he always was — you were pretty used to it to the point that you don’t question him anymore about his whereabouts and he stopped coming up with excuses as to why he was late — but because there were times when he was too laidback.

Sure, there were moments when he was hands-on: teaching you different jutsus, lecturing you about certain concepts, informing you on what you should always look out for, drilling your body past exhaustion, and the like. But more often than not he would be saying something like, “Find it out yourself” or “I can’t exactly tell you how” as he leisurely sits on a tree branch while reading the stupid Icha Icha books.

You were dumbfounded and furious at first but when your initial annoyance subsided and you had adjusted to his teaching style, you flourished.

That’s why you could take on Naruto even after his training with Jiraiya.

What started as a serious duel between you and Naruto was reduced to playful banter the longer the fight dragged on. At one point, both of you would just tease each other while throwing kicks and punches halfheartedly.

Both of you had your guards down. That was a mistake on your part, because just as Naruto aimed to kick your face and you bent over backwards to dodge it, you slipped. You lost your footing all because of a rock situated near your right foot.

It was a rookie mistake.

Naruto was quick to notice that you were falling so he immediately grabbed ahold of your hand. The problem was he failed to pull you back up. So you ended up falling down with him. And somehow, he ended up with his arms on the sides of your head so he wouldn’t crush you as you were underneath him.

You were both shocked. You were just blinking at each other. It took awhile for the two of you to gather your bearings. When you did, you both immediately laughed out loud. Naruto moved his body so he was lying next to you as you both continued laughing your hearts out.

“What the hell was that, Naruto?!” You feigned exasperation. “You wouldn’t be able to save a fly if you tried.”

“At least I wasn’t the one making rookie mistakes like that,” Naruto shot back. “Plus I tried to help, that’s what matters.”

You snorted. “Yeah, right. You could’ve at least focused your chakra on your soles so we didn’t fall!”

“And you could’ve paid attention to your surroundings, Y/N!”

You bickered with each other as you stood up and helped Naruto get up. What the two of you didn’t know was that your boyfriend Neji had watched the whole incident.

Neji wasn’t really the type to get jealous. He’s a very understanding boyfriend. He’s aware that you and Naruto have been best friends even before he met you. He even knew about Naruto’s feelings for Sakura. However, any sane person wouldn’t want to see his significant other beneath someone else, right? Granted, it was an accident, but still… It was such a compromising position to find you in.

He made his appearance as you playfully punched Naruto in the gut.

You instantly noticed him approaching. Your smile widened even more at the sight of your boyfriend. “Neji!” You called, skipping your way towards him. You would’ve tackled him in a hug if Naruto wasn’t around.

He maintained his stoic expression as he greeted, “Y/N. Naruto.”

“Oi Neji, it’s been a while,” Naruto waved.

Neji only gave a curt nod in response.

You asked, “What are you doing here, Neji?” but just as you ended your question, the answer immediately clicked on your mind. “Oh my god, I’m sorry I forgot!”

Over your excitement of Naruto’s arrival, you forgot that it was a Tuesday. Tuesdays were your lunch dates and sparring sessions with Neji.

“It’s okay.”

“Hold on.” you told him and then faced Naruto. “Gotta go, Naruto! Bye!” you said as you grabbed Neji’s hand out of habit.

Neji flushed, not exactly expecting your action, but you didn’t notice because it was something that you’re used to doing, although not in the presence of someone else.

“See you later!” Naruto waved.

When Naruto was out of sight, you dropped Neji’s hand unconsciously. “Sorry, I forgot about lunch. What time is it? Have you eaten?” You asked Neji.

He quickly responded and told you he hasn’t eaten anything yet.

“Well then, let’s go. I’m starving.”

Neji and you walked side by side out of the training grounds.

“So…” you started saying.

Neji stared at you. “Hm?”

“How was your day, baby?”

He cleared his throat and looked away almost instantly. Very rarely would one find Neji flustered, but calling him “baby” always worked. He wasn’t quite used to the endearment and every time you addressed him as such with tenderness laced in your voice, he would blush. You use it all the time just to see his cheeks tinted pink. It was a cute sight.

“What’s wrong?” You playfully asked while trying to get into his line of vision.

He refused to meet your gaze until he regained his composure. When he did, he told you �� in an impassive manner — what he had done in the morning before he went out looking for you.

Despite his expressionless face and his rather hushed tone, you listened intently to the words he was saying, the smile on your lips never leaving your face. Neji was a man of few words even until now that you were together so you made sure you paid attention every time he spoke, not wanting his words to go to waste.

He wouldn’t admit it to you but he loved that about you. You would remember even the little details of his stories, which in itself was a big deal considering you tend to forget a lot of things. You treasured his words, sentences, thoughts, ideas and plans, and kept them enclosed in your memory.

Neji loved that you focused on him. You made him feel like he was important and worthy, and that he mattered, in a completely different way than the others’ view of him.

The others only saw him as important because he was an asset both to the Hyuga clan and to Konoha. He only mattered to them because he has the strength and ability to protect them.

But you didn’t see him that way. You saw him as his own person — a man with a brilliant mind, a great moral compass, and a heart of gold. This was further confirmed when you told him that if his circumstances were different — if he was not a Hyuga or even a shinobi — you’d still fall in love with him as long as his character remained the same.

He knew you love him, there was no doubt about that. It was known; it was an irrefutable truth, an indisputable fact. But why did seeing you with Naruto trigger his insecurities that you had previously put to rest?

His mind was reeling, but he tried his hardest to be in the moment with you.

The thing was, he might have misread you a little. Because the attention that you gave him wasn’t solely focused on his words. In actuality, it extended to his actions and mannerisms as well.

This was how you knew that there was something that was bothering Neji today.

Unwelcome thoughts swarmed his mind, leading him to absentmindedly reach out to you. He was walking beside you closer than usual, with his hand on your lower back. While there was no doubt that he was listening to you when it was your turn to tell him about your day with Naruto, he had a faraway, vacant look on his face.

You may have missed the presence of a rock a while ago, but you certainly wouldn’t miss these small details about Neji.

These might come across as something normal for other people, but for someone like you who dedicated a lot of time admiring and memorizing every little detail of the certain Hyuga boy, it was easy to tell that something was on his mind from the way he was taking up a portion of your personal space. Almost as if his own restrictions were non-existent.

Normally, it would’ve been easier to confront him about it, but you were a shinobi, and if there’s something you learned from Kakashi sensei, it was that you have to gather more intel before actually making a move.

But you could only think of one way to confirm if there was something bothering your partner, and it was through his hair.

On regular days, Neji wouldn’t allow anyone to touch his hair, including you. But when there was something that was bothering him, or if he had a particularly rough day, he wouldn’t mind it if you threaded your fingers through his hair. In fact, he wouldn’t admit it, but he preferred it if you did that. It was something that calmed him down.

So while you continued telling him how your day went, you subtly angled your body towards him. Then you tentatively reached for the tips of his hair with your hand that was closest to him. You managed to grab a few strands of his hair between your thumb and index finger. You twisted them between your fingers.

You looked up to him to check if he was bothered by it, but it seemed like he didn’t mind at all. This certainly meant that his mind was elsewhere, despite the fact that he was nodding in the right parts of your speech and even correcting you when you used the wrong word to describe something.

You retracted your hand after coming up with your conclusion. You even stopped talking as you were thinking of what could’ve happened for him to be this distracted. Neji didn’t even notice you stopped talking mid sentence.

Somehow this just felt different from the times he was frustrated or anxious before, and quite frankly, you were worried.

By the time you had both placed orders and seated in a random restaurant, you decided to confront your partner. “So, Neji, baby, are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

He choked on nothing after hearing your question. Was he really that easy to read? Or was it easy just because it was you reading him?

He cleared his throat and feigned ignorance, “What are y-you talking about?”

You opted to give him a pointed look instead of a verbal response.

He didn’t stare back, looking anywhere but you. Most times, Neji would face you head on until you conceded; with you, he was comfortable being stubborn and unyielding because it came without repercussions. But today, he wasn’t up for the challenge. And if you looked more closely, he was once again sporting a faint color on his cheeks.

You waited a moment for him to answer, or at least to look back, but it was to no avail. With a sigh, you said, with the softest tone you could muster partnered with a reassuring smile, “Would you let me know when you’re ready, at least?”

Surprisingly, Neji looked at you then. “It’s nothing… It’s just… something silly.”

You gently grabbed a hold of his hand. “Don’t tell me it’s silly, I know it isn’t if it bothers you, baby. You don’t have to tell me now if you aren’t comfortable yet, hmm? Just know I’ll be here to listen to you.” You gave him a genuine smile and a small squeeze to his hand before letting go.

Neji’s eyes hadn’t strayed from then onwards. He had to admit sometimes he would forget how incredibly kindhearted you were, even more so when it came to him. You always made sure he was comfortable. You never forced him into doing or saying things that he wasn’t ready to do or say. You allowed him to make his own decisions and respected them, something that rarely came from being a subordinate of Konoha and a member of the branch family of the Hyuga clan.

Life as a shinobi was sometimes constricting, but you were his breather from all that.

It was your turn to be bashful from his stare. You could feel your face warming up from the unexpected, scrutinizing gaze. “Neji, stop it.”

“What?”

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Stop being beautiful, then.”

The words that came out of Neji’s lips startled you. It wasn’t everyday he would actually use words to tell you you’re beautiful. The way he expressed his appreciation to your beauty would come in the form of fluttering kisses or gentle brushes on your body parts — coincidentally, or not, on parts where you feel the most insecure about.

Fortunately for you, the food came at the right moment, since you weren’t exactly sure how to respond to his unexpected compliment. You both ate in silence then, occasionally peeking at each other  — almost like how it was when you first started dating each other.

When you were done with lunch, you expected to take the route towards the training grounds like you both usually did, but Neji’s hand has taken solace on your back once again and this time with intent to guide you to a different direction.

You were confused but you followed anyway. “Where are we going?”

“To my place.” A pause. “Is that fine with you?”

“Sure” was all you could say. Admittedly, you were quite tired from the duel you had with Naruto earlier and you didn’t really have enough energy to spar with Neji, considering he never went easy on you.

By the time you had entered his place, he graciously offered his couch to you, as if sensing your exhaustion. You immediately plopped down on his couch after setting aside your footwear by his front door.

“Tired?”

“Very,” you mumbled.

He handed you a glass of water, knowing you weren’t quite fond of tea. He sat down beside you just as you thanked him and sipped on your drink.

Setting aside the glass, you leaned back on the couch, only to be welcomed by Neji’s arms. A small smile automatically crept into your lips from the gesture. You snuggled into him as a reflex.

It was moments like this with Neji that you treasured most. While you enjoyed tagging around with him and the rest of Team Guy on missions, you preferred spending time with him peacefully like this, without the imminent threat of danger looming over your heads. It was rather a rare occurrence, after all, for two shinobis like you both were.

Neji was first to break the comfortable silence. “I saw you with Naruto a while ago.”

“You did? When?” You excitedly asked while trying to pull away from his embrace to look directly to his face. But for some reason, he kept you in place, your cheek pressed to his neck. “Did you see me kick his ass? Like literally.”

“Yes,” he answered flatly. It was a response that sounded so… dry. Usually when you both talked about Naruto, there would be a fondness from his tone. “But… I also saw something else…” he trailed off.

You raked your mind, trying to remember what had happened earlier. Then the memory of falling down flashed on your mind, and suddenly you felt embarrassed for Neji having to witness such a mistake. “Oh no!” You jumped out of his grasp, startling him in the process. “You saw me fall down! That’s so embarrassing!” You covered your face with your palms.

“Well, yes… but—”

You snapped your head at the tone he used. He didn’t sound like he was going to tease you for your mistake, in fact, it kind of sounded like he was worried.

“I’m fine though, if you’re worried,” you offered, assuming he thought you got hurt from the fall.

“I’m glad you are not hurt,” he said. Not long after you noticed him visibly gulping.

You could tell there was something else in his mind, and whatever it was, you had a feeling it might’ve been the thing that was bothering him a while ago. You tried to come up with guesses as to what it could’ve been. As you recalled how the conversation started and considered how he was acting, a plausible answer popped into your mind.

“Are you perhaps… jealous?” You hesitantly asked. He was the first one to initiate this conversation so you were assuming he was ready to talk about it. Despite that though, you didn’t want to force him to talk so you carefully and reluctantly asked him. He was always allowed to drop the topic if he wasn’t comfortable and he knew that.

Neji cleared his throat as soon as the words left your mouth all the while avoiding to meet your eyes once again. “Maybe,” he almost inaudibly said.

You were surprised by his answer. It wasn’t always that Neji got jealous. The only time he was was when a stranger was blatantly hitting on you in front of him while you were on a mission together.

“It did not sit right with me seeing you in an… inappropriate position with someone else.” He explained. The tone he used sounded like the one he used with the Hokage when he was taking responsibility for something that went horribly wrong on a mission.

“Don’t make it sound like it’s wrong,” you said softly as you cupped his face. “You don’t have to feel guilty about feeling jealous. Your feelings are valid.”

The gentleness and warmth in your voice made his heart flutter. If this was a conversation with someone else, he was sure he was going to get teased for feeling this way, but it was with you, and you had always been different.

“I love you, Neji,” you said before you kissed his lips.

It was amazing how the three words you used that preceded his name could easily wipe out the jealousy that had brewed inside him. This was another testament of how well you knew Neji — not only did you know the small details about him, but you also know the right words to ease his worries.

[gukyi]

the love project | jjk

summary: from running to mcdonald’s at 3am after a halloween party where the two of you dressed up as the teletubbies to timing how long it takes for him to drink a cup of monster mixed with mountain dew and iced coffee and then do fifty push-ups, you’re used to your best friend jungkook asking you to do all sorts of crazy things. but, of all the shit the two of you do, letting him follow you around for a week with a camera and take candid photos of you for a photography assignment might just be the craziest of them all.

{college!au, friends to lovers!au}

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader genre: fluff, comedy word count: 12k warnings: college antics, hopeless pining, slow burn a/n: me: this fic will be 10k max! also me: actually nevermind on par for the course of this blog, i hope you enjoy this fic! it was so much fun to write and it definitely got me back into the ~writing mood~. more fics coming soon!

These days, the weeks pass you by like trains on a platform. They whiz past you, the only discernible features being the beginning and the end of them, with the middle nothing but a blur. 

At least, that’s how it feels when you’re in college, and the days bleed into weeks bleed into months, and suddenly you’re one year closer to graduating, one year closer to figuring out what next to do with your life, even if you’re still missing that one general education requirement you forgot to take in your first year so now you’re trying to cram it into your schedule at the last minute.

Okay, you’ll admit it. Introduction to Astronomy is kicking your ass. That’s what you get for putting it off until junior year, when you’re supposed to have reached the point in your History major career where you don’t have to look at numbers anymore and the idea of doing basic math is absolutely unfathomable. History majors don’t do math. They just don’t. It vanished from your academic arsenal long before now, alongside your ability to interpret word problems and understand science textbooks. 

Perhaps in another universe, you would have actually retained those skills past high school, but that universe is not this one, and so your problem sets can solve themselves or not be solved at all. 

Your best friend would have to disagree.

“It’s not even calculus!” Jungkook exclaims over a mouthful of a Starbucks tomato and pesto panini, pointing to your laptop in exasperation, as if the answer has been staring you in the face for the past fifteen minutes. “It’s just algebra! All you’re doing is plugging the numbers into the formula and finding the missing variable!”

“Easy for you to say,” you huff, furiously erasing at the notebook in front of you as you get yet another incorrect answer. Who knew math could be so difficult? Oh, that’s right. You did. “You took that advanced differential equations class for fun last year. It’s not even required for your major. You’re just a masochist.”

“Says the person who convinced their advisor to let them take seven classes because they, and I quote, ‘all seemed so interesting’ and you ‘didn’t want to miss out.’” Jungkook rebukes pointedly. “Because your life would be so terrible if you didn’t take Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe.”

He’s got you there. Seven classes is a lot. In your defense, Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe was very interesting and you got a 4.0 that semester. So who is he to judge? Jungkook’s favorite pastime is pretending that taking three different computer science classes in a single semester isn’t going to single-handedly kill him.

Jungkook watches you struggle for a few moments more before he sighs, like he can’t take looking at someone so mathematically incompetent any longer. He stuffs the remaining third of his Starbucks panini into his mouth all at once like the ravenous beast he is before he reaches over the tiny table you’re sat at to look at your problem set himself. He turns your laptop towards him and grabs hold of your notebook, furrowing his eyebrows as he enters Work Jungkook Mode. 

Work Jungkook Mode is the mode of him you see most often during finals week or the rare occasions where you meet up to actually try and get work done. Work Jungkook has tunnel vision for whatever assignment is currently in front of him, which he will do either in one sitting or die trying. Work Jungkook lets his coffee get cold and forgets to answer your text messages, even when you’re sat right across from him and you know that he can see the notification on his laptop. Work Jungkook refuses to turn in anything that he hasn’t devoted his entire being to, even if it’s something as simple as a discussion board post. Some of his other friends say that when Jungkook is in Work Jungkook Mode, they won’t even try to contact him, lest their messages get lost in the flurry of his coding assignments. 

But you are not “some of his other friends.” You are his best friend. So rules do not apply to you. And Jungkook has long accepted that fact.

“Hey, don’t mess up my work—” You exclaim defensively, grabby hands reaching over the table to retrieve your notebook. “Wait, how did you do that?”

Jungkook scribbles something down in nearly-illegible font, determined to solve the problem in front of him. He thinks for a few more seconds before eventually jotting down an answer, circling it with his pencil. Holding the notebook out so both of you can see, he scoots his chair over to your side of the table, your shoulders pressed together in this tiny corner of the Starbucks, right by the bathroom, and explains, step by step, what he did. 

He does that for the following two problems in your set, walking you through the kind of math he was doing in freshman year of high school like it’s nothing, answering all of your stupid questions and giving you tips on how to finesse the system by taking as many shortcuts as possible. Teaching you things you never learned, or possibly had just forgotten. Things that a professor would think is idiotic to re-teach to a junior in university. Things that Jungkook wants you to know because he just wants you to have a little more faith in yourself. 

“Does that help?” He asks when he’s finished, still doubting his fantastic teaching abilities despite the fact that he just taught you more in the last thirty minutes than your professor has managed in a month and a half. 

“It actually does,” you tell him, pleasantly surprised. Looking back down at your notebook, what was once a shapeless blur of numbers, letters, and formulas is suddenly a clear and organized outline of each and every step to follow. “I didn’t know it was that easy.”

“Anything can be easy if you just commit yourself to learning how to do it,” Jungkook says, one of those random sentences that are too wise for a college student surviving off of RedBull and Starbucks food, the ones that always make you think Jungkook is secretly an immortal sage with life experiences far beyond your own. “Except coding. Which is hard no matter how good you are at it.”

“Aw, you can do it,” you rally, reaching up to pinch his chin in between your fingers and squeeze it tight. “It’s also too late to change your major now, so you’re stuck.”

“Wow, thanks for the encouragement,” Jungkook chides, hand coming up to rub at where you held his jaw, rolling his eyes. “You should let me help you with your Astronomy work more often. Gives me a break from Python.”

“I would have made you help me whether you liked it or not,” you tell him pointedly, because he is your best friend and he doesn’t get out of things as easily as he thinks he can. “But thanks. I’ll definitely take you up on that.”

“Of course,” Jungkook says with a good-natured grin, always so selfless and kind and giving. He practically signed himself up for a semester’s worth of TA-ing for Introduction to Astronomy despite the constant mountain of work he has himself. Just because it’s you. 

“My very own personal genius,” you muse, wrapping your hands around his arm and snuggling into his body, a whisper of a language only the two of you share. It’s something the two of you have long gotten used to, pressing your fingers all over each other’s bodies like it’s second nature. One of the things that makes you feel so certain about having Jungkook in your life. About wanting him to stay with you for the rest of time. “I’m never letting you go.”

Jungkook smiles, a warm hand coming to rest atop of your own. He breathes, in and out, chest rising beneath your touch. “Like I’d ever let you,” he says.

There is no question about it. Jungkook is one hundred percent, absolutely, undoubtedly, positively, indisputably smarter than you are. It’s something that the two of you used to jokingly fight about (because Jungkook claims that he’s a bad essay writer, even though he’s not), but at this point it’s cemented in stone—he’s a damn genius. A genius who is inexplicably good at everything. A double threat. Triple, if you count the fact that he’s built beyond belief and could probably chuck you into next week if you really, really ticked him off. 

The truth is that, ninety percent of the time it is you who is going to Jungkook for help. Whether it be an assignment you need assistance on (namely Astronomy, because Jungkook probably couldn’t help you on your Mesopotamian artifact and primary source analyses despite his best intentions), a date that was a lot worse than you were hoping it would be, or even just the right coffee to order from that expensive place on the corner. Jungkook knows how to fix everything. 

So when Jungkook slides into the seat across from you in the food court after his Mastering Photography class with that I’m in trouble look on his face, you know something is horribly wrong. 

“Are you alright?” You ask, concerned as you watch him devour the sushi takeout in front of him, stuffing the spicy tuna rolls into his mouth like they’re Skittles. His camera hangs haphazardly out of his open backpack, like he barely had enough time to stuff it into the pocket while he was making his way here. There’s a worried expression written all over his face as he fumbles with the chopsticks in his hand, losing his grip on them every ten seconds. 

It’s not until Jungkook has finished the container of spicy tuna rolls in front of them that he finally seems to work up the courage to answer you. 

“My Photography class is gonna be the death of me,” Jungkook exclaims, exasperated. 

“I thought you liked it,” you comment unhelpfully. Jungkook had been so excited to be enrolled in it, because you needed a recommendation from a different professor and you had to submit a portfolio in order to join the class, making it one of those exclusive (and thus, much better) courses. Not to mention the fact that Jungkook is basically already a professional photographer if his Instagram is anything to go by. He’s going to walk out of university with a Photography minor whether he realizes it or not.

“I do,” Jungkook insists, even if right now it sounds like the two of you both need convincing of that fact. “But this project is ridiculous. I don’t even know how my professor expects us to have the time to finish it.”

“What do you have to do?”

Jungkook sighs. Just thinking about it seems to stress him out. “I mean, it’s only really a week long. So I guess it’s not too bad. But we’re supposed to compile a portfolio of the same subject, taken over the course of the week, with them in all sorts of different poses and lighting and locations, to express a personal theme.”

You scrunch your nose up in confusion. “I might be wrong, but isn’t that what photography… is?” You ask cluelessly. 

“Yes,” Jungkook argues, “but also no. Photography is taking pictures of things just for the hell of it. Not because they necessarily speak to a part of your soul. You just like the look of it. You want to capture the scene. That’s it.”

“Oh,” You say dumbly. 

“And our subject can be whoever or whatever we want, but he recommended choosing a person because taking pictures of our water bottles in different places is boring,” Jungkook huffs, though his professor does have a point there. Modern history wasn’t made out of photographs of store windows and miscellaneous items. It was made out of people, out of events in their lives that shaped the rest of the world, out of personal experiences that changed their point of view. “But I don’t even know anybody who would be willing to let me photograph them for a whole week! I’d basically have to follow them around like paparazzi!”

“I’ll do it,” you suggest casually, because it seems like the most obvious choice to you. There’s no one Jungkook spends as much time with as you. 

Jungkook’s eyes pop out of his head. “What?”

“I’m serious,” you insist. “Think about it. You need a subject for your project that you can photograph in a wide variety of places and over the course of a week. Who else do you spend that much time with, other than me?”

“Well..” Jungkook begins, trying to fight your reasons with his own. “Would you even be comfortable with something like that? I mean, I’m literally going to constantly be taking photos of you.��

“Like we don’t already do that on our phones,” you tease, having amassed quite the album of terrible Jungkook pictures over the years. 

“A camera is different from a phone,” Jungkook protests weakly. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But I’m just saying. It won’t bother me,” you say with a shrug. Why is Jungkook being so… weird about your suggestion? You thought he would be jumping at the offer, especially considering it means he won’t have to go out of his way to find and photograph someone else for this assignment. But he’s being rather hesitant. You watch as he glares down at his empty sushi takeout box, eyebrows furrowed in that thick, nervous way. “But you don’t have to,” you backtrack. “It was just a suggestion.”

He breathes in and breathes out, expression solid. Even from here you can see the cogs whirring in his brain, placing each and every potential result into a pro and con list inside his mind, trying to work out whether the benefits will be greater than the cost. 

Quite frankly, you don’t know what all the holdup is about. 

“You’re… sure about this?” He asks, looking up at you, determined to ensure your comfort. As if that’s even an issue. “You’re cool with being photographed and everything?”

“Only because it’s you,” you tease lightheartedly, expecting some sort of equally cheesy response. Instead, it makes Jungkook do something weird. He freezes in place, darting his eyes away from your gaze for a split second, collecting thoughts you can’t see. “Yeah,” you say loudly, trying to bring him back. “I’m fine with it.”

He inhales, exhales, closes his eyes, and opens them. “Okay then. I guess it’s settled. You’ll be my subject,” he declares, an almost unnoticeable wobble to his voice. It’s probably nothing, so you don’t think too hard about it.

“Can you at least pretend to be a little more excited about this?” You ask, jabbing him in the chest with a wooden chopstick. “It’s the first time we’ve ever gotten to be part of a project together!”

“Yay,” Jungkook says, lifeless. 

“How about a photo to commemorate it?” You suggest, reaching over to pull the camera out of his backpack, pushing it into his hands. “This can be the start of your portfolio.”

“Fine,” he eventually caves, bringing it up to his eye as he turns it on, twisting the lens to perfect the focus. Even caught off guard like this, he looks like a professional, like someone who was born to be behind the camera. He’s a computer science major but you know that photography will always be something special to him.

You strike a dramatic pose, holding your chopsticks out, one in each hand, with a wide, excited smile on your face. “How do I look?” You ask, scrunching your eyes together. 

Jungkook’s finger hovers over the silver button. “Perfect,” he tells you, voice soft and honest. 

Click.

“So, how many photos are you supposed to take for this portfolio?” You ask as you flop around on Jungkook’s bed, pretending that the open tab on your laptop with your fifty-page reading doesn’t exist. You don’t even know why professors assign readings that long. Do they really expect you to read all of it?

From across his room, you can make out the top of Jungkook’s fluffy brown hair over his sleek gaming chair, one of the ones that look like high-tech airplane seats. “I don’t know,” he says. “He said at least twenty. And no more than fifty. Which really makes me wonder if someone once submitted like, one hundred photos for this project that he had to grade them on. But yeah.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” you say. When you’re around a cute animal, you can easily take twenty photographs. Granted, they aren’t exactly award-worthy photographs, but it’s not a physically demanding task. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “Hypothetically you could finish it in a day. But it looks really obvious.”

“Well, how many do you have now?”

It’s been a day and a half since Jungkook agreed to let you be his so-called muse, but already you’ve lost track of how many photos he’s taken of you. He loves his camera, you know that, but you didn’t realize exactly how much he loves his camera. And with you as the sole subject for his project, he’s practically letting it hang from his neck all day long, just waiting for the right time to snap a photo of you standing in line at the food court, frowning at your textbook, or waiting to meet up with him. Every time he sees you he snaps a picture, even if the lighting’s bad, even if you haven’t had your morning coffee yet, even if it’s midnight and you look like a zombie. In his mind, there are no bad pictures. Just memories.

You wonder what the hell he sees in you. 

“A lot,” Jungkook answers unhelpfully, making no effort to elaborate on that statement. 

“Have you counted?” You ask, getting off of his bed to join him at his desk. 

Jungkook doesn’t seem to realize what you’re doing until you’re standing right next to him, placing a hand over his shoulders as you lean down next to him. He fumbles around for a second, the mouse slipping through his grip, and you catch a glimpse of one of the photos he’s taken of you, a sliver of your pursed lips, the wrinkles between your eyebrows. 

It’s from the library yesterday. You didn’t even know Jungkook had taken a picture of you there. You had a stupid reading to complete last night, one that made no sense and was terribly-written, and you spent an hour just trying to figure out what the damn argument was, and Jungkook captured it. You were there for an hour and Jungkook was there too, watching you like it was nothing, waiting for the perfect moment. He was there, sitting across from you, camera at the ready. You didn’t even hear it click. 

He closes it before you get a closer look at the photo, frantically hitting the little red dot at the top corner of the window before you have a chance to ask why. 

“What, I’m not allowed to see?” You chide, a little bit hurt but more confused than anything else. Why is Jungkook being so secretive?

“No,” Jungkook spits quickly. making you raise an eyebrow in alarm. “I mean, it’s a surprise. You get to see when it’s finished. I still have to… uh, edit. And stuff.”

“Edit? You think I’m that ugly?” You tease, knowing that he probably means color correction but enjoying the way that he gets all flustered when he hears your voice.

Jungkook’s eyes widen at that, like he just realized he made a wrong turn and is desperately backtracking. “What, no! I don’t—I don’t think you’re ugly.”

You laugh, letting the sound of your voice ease the tension in his shoulders, reveling in the way his big doe eyes seem to soften when he realizes you were just teasing. He looks like a kid caught stealing a candy bar from a gas station, looks like one of those boyfriends in the viral videos where the girl reveals that she got him a present or something instead, all nervous and full of explanations. 

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” you assure him, rubbing up and down his arm to soothe him, calm his heart down. “You don’t have to show me. I’m just excited. No one’s ever taken photos of me like this before.”

“I would,” Jungkook speaks up softly. “If you asked. I would.”

“I know,” You say. You’re not sure if there’s a thing in this world Jungkook wouldn’t do for you, and you, him. If he asked, you would pluck the stars from the sky for him. Bring him back a piece of the moon. Stop time. Anything. Everything. Just for him. “I know.”

 “What are you doing?” Jungkook asks, changing the topic as he whirls around in his gaming chair. 

“Just another reading, like always,” you dismiss, because you’re positive the last thing Jungkook wants to hear about right now is your primary source reading on irrigation techniques in agrarian Europe. You don’t even want to hear about it. “But I could use some help on Astronomy.”

Without another word, Jungkook gets up from his desk and the two of you head over to his bed, where an untouched problem set waits on your computer. He grabs a notebook from his backpack along the way before sitting down next to you on the edge of his bed, bodies pressed together. Slowly, he begins to coach you through each problem, step by step, drawing pictures and diagrams if he has to, until you finish all ten problems. 

The truth is, you didn’t really need help with this unit. Astronomy’s gotten a lot easier now that Jungkook has taught you the strategies to tackle it. But Jungkook sometimes feels like a ghost when he works, especially when he’s sitting at his desk, quiet and focused and almost invisible. And call you clingy, but you like it when you can look up and see his face instead of the back of a chair, a little tuft of wavy brown hair. You like it when he’s right beside you, in a place where you know you won’t lose him, where you can hold on if things get rough. Where you can see his stupid brown eyes and his goofy smile and know that he’ll always be there for you. 

When he’s finished, Jungkook doesn’t get back up to sit at his desk. He flops down on his back, staring up at the white ceiling of his room, eyes tracing the cracks. You join him, side by side, pretending that there’s something there. Looking up at the sky would be nicer, but it doesn’t really matter, so long as you’re with him.

“I didn’t know you took so many photos,” you say.

“I never want to miss anything.”

“You should give me more warnings, next time. I feel like I look so ugly in some of them.”

“No, you don’t. Don’t say stuff like that.”

“You don’t think I’m ugly?” You ask him, for real this time. It’s not that you think he’s going to say that he does, it’s that you want to know what he really thinks. How he really sees you. You turn your head to him, back pressed against his comforter, barely a foot apart. And he turns back to you, and he’s right there, right there in front of you, big brown eyes wide and blinking. He’s right there, how could you miss him?

“No,” Jungkook says, honest and true. He looks at you, looks right at you, right into you, and he muses to himself, chuckling. “Why would I ever think that?”

At the end of the day, you can’t really be bothered to put on real pants in anticipation of Jungkook’s trigger-happy camera-taking tendencies. He’s seen you spill a boiling hot bowl of tomato soup all over yourself in the dining hall. He’s seen you at four in the morning in the library the night before finals begin, eyebags down to your knees and mismatched shoes on your feet. He’s seen you in the middle of a frat house, sweat dripping down your forehead and smelling of nothing but straight alcohol. Getting dressed up just for him would be antithetical to the very foundation of your friendship. 

You have, however, become keenly more cognizant in the last few days of when Jungkook is about to take a photo of you. Mostly because you glance up at your surroundings every three seconds to make sure you aren’t getting sniped from across the food court. Nobody else needs to see a picture of you picking up three pieces of sushi with your chopsticks and stuffing them all into your mouth at once. And, from what you can tell, you’ve been pretty successful, which either means you’ve gotten better at telling when Jungkook might be taking a photo of you, or Jungkook’s gotten better at hiding it. 

Either way, he’s got a lot more pictures of you reflexively flashing a peace-sign in his direction when you hear the telltale sound of his camera lens focusing, so you’re not really sure what that means for the fate of his portfolio. 

Besides your newfound hyper-awareness of the sound of a camera lens adjusting, the strangest part of you and Jungkook’s little project is how quickly the rest of your friends adjusted to this brand new dynamic. 

This is not to say this assignment is the weirdest thing you and Jungkook have done together, because there was once one week where you and Jungkook challenged each other to only eat bananas for every meal to see if anything would happen to either of you. Nothing did, but after that week you swore off bananas for the rest of your life and have had little appetite for them since. 

It’s more that your other friends have just accepted the fact that ridiculous, extravagant shenanigans are a necessary part of you and Jungkook’s relationship and have simply chosen not to question them anymore. At least, most of them have. 

“So, how’s you and Jungkook’s little photography fling going?” Maisie asks, and even through the phone you can hear the way she’s wiggling her eyebrows. 

“It’s not a fling, and it’s fine,” you hiss back, trying to keep your voice down as you pack up your belongings, phone pressed between your ear and your shoulder. “Stop speaking so loudly, everyone else in the library can probably hear you.”

“Good, because they’ve all probably noticed the way Jungkook’s been following you around like an unrestrained fanboy for the past four days taking pictures of you,” Maisie says pointedly, voice so sharp it causes you to look around at the other tables to make sure no one’s listening in. 

You frown, hoping your deadpan expression is audible through the phone. “It’s not like that and you know it.”

“Don’t you think it’s even a little strange that you’ve given Jungkook full permission to take photos of you like you’re a model and he’s some sort of weird, professional paparazzi?” You can practically see Maisie’s face in front of you, all wide eyes and raised eyebrows as she makes her point.

“No, it’s what we agreed on,” you remind her for the umpteenth time. There’s nothing weird about this. You’re helping him with a project, what more could it be? “Jungkook needed someone to take pictures of for his photography project and I thought it would be a good idea if I was that someone.”

“Hmm… wonder why…” Maisie trails off, deliberately vague and suggestive all at once. 

“You’ve been going on about this ever since Jungkook and I met, Maise,” you say with a roll of your eyes, tossing your backpack over your shoulder. “You know that Jungkook and I are just friends. Like we have always been.”

“Friends that take candid photos of each other under the guise of a project,” Maisie adds, and you can see the air quotes around the word “project” right in front of you.

“Friends that help each other out because that’s what friends do,” you correct. “You’re just going to have to accept the fact that Jungkook and I are always going to be just friends and nothing more. No matter how much money you’ve bet on us getting together.”

Maisie gasps. “I have not bet money on such a thing! This is slander!”

“Don’t think I don’t see you and Jimin’s damn Venmo history.” You pull up to the front desk of the library to check out a primary source book needed for one of your classes. It’s the first edition, and it’s battered beyond belief, but it’s better than paying for it. “Just this, thanks.”

“The only way you could convince me that you and Jungkook are just friends is if you go on a date or something,” Maisie comments snidely. “I don’t think I’ve seen either of you romantically interested in someone else the entire time you’ve known each other. Isn’t that proof enough?”

“You want me to go on a date with someone?” You demand, determined to get Maisie to hop off your ass about this. 

You and Jungkook are just friends. If swiping right with someone on Tinder and getting dinner and a movie with them is what will convince Maisie of that, then that is what you will do. It’s not as if being friends with Jungkook is mutually exclusive with you going out with other people. Should be easy, right? 

The boy behind the counter tells you your book is due back at the end of the semester, and you nod your thanks before heading out of the library.

“Fine, I’ll go on a date with someone. If it’ll get you to stop trying to convince me that Jungkook and I are gonna get married and have babies,” you declare, pushing your body against the door handles as you leave, five minutes to spare before your next class begins. 

“You guys would have really cute babies, I’m just saying,” Maisie points out like it’s nothing. 

You roll your eyes, taking the phone away from your ear as your finger hovers over the red button. “See you, Maise.”

You’re barely three steps out of the library, still rolling your eyes at the Call Ended screen on your phone when a voice catches your attention. 

“Y/N!”

You turn your head just in time to see Jungkook’s devilish grin disappear behind his camera, and you don’t even have time to blink before he begins snapping away, finger mashing the silver button at the top as your expression morphs from surprise to defeat, unable to counter his sniping abilities with a signature peace sign. Even from twenty feet away, you can hear Jungkook laughing as you take the opportunity to pose for a few moments, like you really are a model and he really is your personal photographer. The sound of his giggles fills the air, music to your ears, lingering between you like dandelion wisps, blown by the wind. 

Another voice breaks you from your trance. 

“And here we have our resident celebrity and her paparazzi,” Jimin says, motioning to the two of you as he speaks to an enormous tour group of potential applicants and their parents. Caught in front of them, the heat suddenly rushes to your cheeks as you instinctively cover your face, embarrassed to have been pointed out by Jimin, whose amicable, lovable personality is both a blessing and a curse when it comes to his part-time job as a tour guide. 

The worst part is how some of the parents and students seem to believe him for a second, that you really are famous and that Jungkook really is your photographer, looking at the two of you inquisitively as you shrink beneath their gazes. 

“I’m kidding,” Jimin quickly continues as Jungkook joins you where you stand, laughing at the way you look like a deer caught in headlights. “They’re just some friends of mine who we happened to catch outside the library, which is our next stop. But don’t they look so cute together?”

“Are you guys dating?” One of the students pipes up, asking what no one else dared to. 

Your eyes widen at the notion, wondering if you and Jungkook really are cursed to always be mistaken for a couple when you two have never been, and most likely will never be one. Shaking your head, you force out a laugh, “No, we’re just friends.” Beside you, Jungkook is noticeably silent. You suppose he’s gotten just as sick of explaining as you. 

“Bummer, right?” Jimin asks his group, earning a couple of disappointed nods from innocent high-schoolers that still believe in love. “But I’m working on that, so don’t worry. Anyway, this library will be your main destination for studying, book-reading, and everything in between, and is conveniently located two minutes away from the freshman dorms…”

The conversation finally drawn away from you and Jungkook, you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you had been holding in. “Weird, right? Even high-schoolers think we’re together.”

Jungkook doesn’t meet your eyes, fiddling with the settings on his camera just to keep his hands busy. The quiet makes you wonder what is going on up inside his head, makes you wonder what it is he’s thinking about, what it is you’re not seeing. Lately, it’s felt like there’s something on Jungkook’s mind you wish he felt comfortable telling you. 

“Hey, you alright?” You ask, giving him a little nudge with your side. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Jungkook says, voice soft, barely audible. It doesn’t make you feel any better. “No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Don’t you have class soon?”

“Oh, shit, you’re right, fuck,” you say, checking your phone only to find you have barely a minute to get to your next class. Guess you’ll be using one of your allotted absences today. “Thanks for reminding me. Dinner tonight?”

“I’ll text you,” Jungkook promises, and you nod your agreement as you dash off, determined to turn a five-minute walk into a one-minute one with the power of exercise. As you leave, you watch as Jungkook flounders outside the library, staring down at his camera and scrolling through his photos, and you still find yourself feeling like you’re missing something. What is Jungkook not telling you? 

What do you not know?

By the time you reach your class, two minutes late and completely out of breath, tardiness is the last thing on your mind.

This project was just meant to be a friend helping out a friend. So why does it feel like you and Jungkook are losing each other?

Using Tinder is easy. Dangerously so.

You’re no expert in app design, but its simplified “yes or no” mechanic has you swiping through people like it’s an extreme sport, barely giving some of them a second glance if their Tinder profile description doesn’t make you laugh within the first sentence. 

Tinder was, admittedly, not your first choice of potential date-finding methods. Call you old-fashioned, but whatever happened to asking someone in person if they wanted to get a meal with you? To showing up at their doorstep with a rose bouquet and a toothy white grin? Perhaps all of those old-timey movies you and Jungkook always watched have given you unrealistic expectations. But can you blame them? 

Even if Tinder wasn’t your first choice, it was certainly the fastest. It takes a second to look at someone’s designated Tinder thumbnail, two to read their description, and three to decide if they’re worth a swipe right. Compare that to actively meeting up with someone, getting their contact information, and then continuing to dance around each other until you finally decide to get dinner together. That’s the sort of thing that could take weeks. Maybe months. And in some cases, years.

Besides, it’s not like you had very many options at your disposal. You don’t trust Maisie to set you up with someone because she’ll probably just choose one of the many boys from her management class and call it a day. Asking someone yourself is absolutely out of the question. And, for some strange, unknown reason, the idea of getting Jungkook to hook you up with one of his friends just doesn’t sit right with you.

So, Tinder it is. And as it turns out, chivalry isn’t dead. It’s just archaic.

An hour into your mindless swiping, you get a message notification. Two hours after that, you’ve got plans with a nice senior boy whom you’ve never met. 

And for the first time in a very long time, there’s something to mark on your calendar for Saturday night.

The little blue block on your Google Calendar tab stares back at you from where your open laptop sits on your desk, the red line that signifies your current time slowly inching towards it as you fumble around in front of your mirror, more dressed up than you have been in weeks. Maisie was right. It’s been so long since you’ve gone out with someone that you’ve completely forgotten what the dress code is for something like this. A dress? Heels? Makeup?

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you will anyway. What if he’s wearing a hoodie and sweats while you look like you’re about to attend the goddamn Academy Awards? Maybe the eyeshadow was a little too much.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks it’s inevitable that you do. The door to your apartment swings open, and you can hear heavy footsteps making their way to your bedroom, that easy gait of his familiar as always.

“Hey, do you think we can just get some take-out and watch a stupid old noir movie, or something? I’ve had a day,” he shouts out, the sigh audible in his voice.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you definitely have when you turn around to see Jungkook standing right outside your bedroom in the floppiest sweater you’ve ever seen and jeans with holes in the knees, mouth agape as he stares straight at you. It’s impossible not to notice the way his eyes are blown wide at the sight of you, at the way they rake up and down your figure, like he can’t even believe what he’s seeing. It’s impossible not to notice how he seems to flounder at the sight of you.

The only thing that breaks the both of you out of your stupors, frozen in place like two criminals caught red-handed, is the sound of his hulking black backpack thudding to the floor. 

“Whoa.”

“Do you think it’s too much?” You ask, voice wobbly. God, why are you so nervous? It’s just Jungkook. 

“Too much for what?” Jungkook blinks, deliberate and slow, as if he’s determined to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him. “Where are you going?”

“I think we’ll have to do a raincheck for the noir movie and takeout,” you say sheepishly, pursing your lips together in fright as you force out a small, tense smile. “I’m… going out. With someone.”

“Like,” Jungkook begins, and even from here you can hear the way he stops himself, hear him breathe out every word, thick on his tongue. “On a date?”

“Yeah.”

It’s a one-syllable word and yet it takes nearly all of your willpower just to say it. Just to confirm what Jungkook’s already thinking. Just to tell him, your best friend, your ride or die, your number one, that you’re going out on a date. 

“Oh.” Jungkook’s voice is lifeless. “Do I know them?”

“No, uh, it’s just some guy I met on Tinder. I don’t know, I just wanted to see what all the hype was about, I guess. And I haven’t really been on a date in a while, so I figured I might just take up the opportunity, so we’re probably just going to go out to a restaurant and maybe go to a club afterwards if we’re still in the mood, and—” You cut yourself off, so nervous that you’ve resorted to your terrible habit of rambling to try and ease the tension. “Why? Do you think it’s too much?”

“You use Tinder?” Jungkook asks instead. It sounds like he’s shocked to hear this. 

“Yeah…” you trail off. “Why?”

Jungkook freezes at the question, but it’s not because it seems like he doesn’t have an answer. It’s because it seems like he does. Only it’s an answer he doesn’t want to share. 

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” he eventually settles on, shaking his head. “You, uh, you look good.”

“You think? I feel like it’s a lot. I don’t know how to dress appropriately for stuff like this anymore,” you ask, palms sweaty as you furiously straighten out the skirt of your dress. “Should I change into pants, or anything?”

“No, no, I think that’s fine,” Jungkook says with an honest smile. “You look nice like this.”

“It’s probably been like, a year since you last saw me in a dress,” you comment mindlessly, turning back to face the mirror as you fiddle with your makeup, finger wiping away a bit of smudged lipstick or a stray bit of mascara. “I miss my sweats. Hey, whoa, wait, what are you doing—?”

You whip around to find Jungkook slowly fishing out the camera from his backpack, hand gripping it tightly as he brandishes it in front of you. 

“I, um, I just wanted to see if I could maybe take a photo of you,” Jungkook says, a small, little grin decorating his features. “Since you’re all dressed up.”

“Seriously?” You ask in disbelief. 

Jungkook nods, holding the camera out in front of him. “Just one.”

He looks so small, standing across your bedroom. He looks so small and delicate and intimate, body curled in on itself ever so slightly as he looks at you, the yellow glow of your ceiling light reflected in his hazelnut eyes, drowning beneath his clothes. He looks like he has never seen a moment more perfect, never seen an opportunity as clear, looks like he thinks that if he blinks he’ll miss it. 

Looks as if a photo will be the only way to remember it. 

And you nod. Because he is your best friend, and who are you to deny him of something so simple? Of a press of a button? It doesn’t feel like a project anymore. It just feels like a memory. 

Jungkook brings the camera to his eye, and you smile at him, soft and gentle and warm. He grins back, focusing the camera lens before snapping away. 

You wonder what he sees. 

(You wonder if it’s as beautiful as what you see.)

“Have fun tonight, okay?” Jungkook asks of you as your Google Calendar notification sounds, letting you know you have approximately two minutes before he’s supposed to pick you up outside your apartment.

You nod. “I will. And if I don’t, then I’ll come over afterwards. And we can watch that stupid noir film.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Jungkook says with a roll of his eyes, a shrug of his shoulders. 

“But I want to. So I will. Okay? I’ll text you,” you promise. “Don’t think I’ll forget about you.”

Jungkook smiles at your little tease, at the way you cup the side of his jaw with your hand as you head towards your front door. 

“Wait, Y/N,” Jungkook sputters out, running after you. He reaches you right as you get to the door, hand grasping the doorknob. You turn to look at him, blinking. “I hope tonight is everything you dreamed of.”

There is something so distinctly sad in his voice. It makes you wonder who has broken his heart. Makes you wonder what you can do to fix it.

“Even if it’s not,” you say to him, taking his hand in your own and squeezing it tight, reminding him that, no matter what, you’re still here. “I know you’ll always be there to take care of me afterwards.”

Your phone buzzes with a message from your date, and you scurry out the door. 

For some reason, there’s a part of you that wishes you never even left. 

The date is okay. Not bad, but nothing to write home about. By the time you finished eating, it was obvious neither of you had any interest in continuing the night elsewhere, whether it be a club or a karaoke bar. He pays for your meal despite your insistence that you can handle the check perfectly fine on your own, thanks you for a nice night, and drops you right back at your apartment. And so goes your one and only Tinder experience, blowing away like a leaf in the wind. 

You look down at your phone. It isn’t even nine o’clock yet. 

[November 7th, 8:48PM]

You: you still game for that movie?

[November 7th, 8:50PM]

Jungkook: you finished your date already?

You: is that a yes or a no

Jungkook: my door is always open, you know that

You: you’re gonna get robbed one day and it’s gonna be by me You: i’m coming over

The walk from your apartment to Jungkook’s is six minutes and thirty seconds on a good day, and seven minutes and fifteen seconds on a bad day, which is usually dependent on if the traffic light over the main road has decided to be extra slow or not. You could walk the damn route in your sleep if you really wanted, having done it so many times in the last year and a half, ever since he moved out of on-campus housing and into his own place.

Tonight, it takes you nearly eight minutes to get to his apartment, but you mostly chalk that up to the heels you’re wearing. If you cared any less about your dignity, you’d probably take them off and walk barefoot like a defeated heroine in a romance movie, shoes dangling from your fingers as they hang low by your side. 

But you aren’t defeated. You didn’t have the world’s most spectacular date, but the night isn’t over just yet. 

Jungkook’s waiting at his front door by the time you arrive. 

“Eight minutes, huh? You’re getting old,” he asks snidely, looking down at the invisible watch on his wrist. 

“Your counting is just off,” you retort easily, falling into that same friendly rhythm, that familiar little beat that the two of you share. You push past him and into his apartment, instantly feeling more at home, shoulders sinking and heartbeat soothing as you soak in the scent of his room, of his home, of him. 

“How’d it go?” Jungkook asks, eyes hopeful as they watch you tug off your heels. They were hardly three inches tall and yet you still want nothing to do with them. 

You shrug. “Eh. It was okay.”

“Just okay?” Jungkook asks, sounding seriously upset for you. Upset that you didn’t have a good night even after you promised him that you would. Upset that it didn’t turn out to be everything you wanted. 

“I don’t know,” you admit, looking over at him, dejected. “It just—I just had this feeling that it wasn’t going to work out.”

Jungkook scowls to himself, eyebrows furrowing like he’s trying to figure out what exactly you mean by that. And the truth is, you’re not sure either. The date was fine, and he was nice, but even when you first met it felt like you weren’t going to get what you wanted from him. Like you were just going on the date to go on the date. Like you already knew that it would mean nothing. 

Jungkook was going to be waiting for you at the end of the night whether it went amazingly well or terribly bad. And knowing that, strangely enough, almost made you want the date to be horrible. Like it would make seeing Jungkook afterwards that much sweeter. 

“Oh,” Jungkook says lamely. “Well, I’m sorry. It seemed like you were really looking forward to it.”

“It’s alright,” you assure him. “Can we just watch this movie now and make fun of how sexist it is? Please?”

To that, Jungkook easily agrees. As he’s queueing up the movie, you raid his closet for a hoodie and sweatpants, desperate to strip yourself of your dress and tights and cozy up in clothes that are much more appropriate for your comfort level. At this point in your friendship, Jungkook doesn’t even question it when he sees you march into his room, fishing through his closet and drawers for your favorite matching set of his, this grey pair that he’s worn so much it still smells like him even after it’s come right out of the wash. 

He only stares back in awe when he sees you emerge from his bedroom wearing them. 

“Ready?” You ask, breaking him from his resolve.

Jungkook blinks wildly from where he’s seated on his dinky old couch, as if to clear his vision. “What? Oh, yeah, I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Then hurry it up, Mister,” you demand, sitting down next to him and curling into his body. It’s instinctual, at this point, wanting to be close to him. To feel the warmth of his body radiate upon your own. To feel his chest beneath the palm of your hands, his arm wrapped around your side. “All good?” You ask, looking up at him. 

Jungkook looks down at you, and you swear, you’ve never seen him more at home. “Always, when I’m with you.”

The movie is predictably good and predictably sexist, but your favorite part by far is when Jungkook reaches around on the coffee table in front of you for his camera, holding it up to his eye and snatching a picture of the television, the film grainy like an old polaroid, faded like an antique photograph. He clicks away at the scene in front of him before turning on you, the lens so close to your face you’re almost certain all he’ll manage to capture is your nose. You laugh, pushing yourself away from him as he snaps, and snaps, and snaps, image after image after image, until his camera battery has died and there’s no more room left on his card. 

“Guess I’ll have to charge this thing, then,” Jungkook sighs as he declares his camera dead, screen black. 

“You aren’t going to include any of those, are you?” You ask, an eyebrow raised. 

Jungkook shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Don’t you have enough?” You deadpan, thinking back to the hundreds of photos Jungkook must have taken of you over the past week, and even more that you don’t know about. There’s certainly no shortage of them in his current camera inventory. That’s for sure. 

“Never,” Jungkook says wickedly. He stretches out an open arm, and you don’t have to think twice about falling into it, letting him wrap you up in his hold, curling into his body. 

The black television screen crackles before you, DVD player waiting for Jungkook to turn it off. There’s no need for either of you to look up at each other. Not when you’re strung together like this. Not when you already know exactly where he is. 

“It’s due on Monday, right?” You inquire softly, fatigue slowly overtaking you. 

“Yeah. I’m almost finished, just have to do some curating and editing.”

“I want to see it.”

“What? My project?”

“What else?”

“It’s just a project, it’s not that exciting.”

You pull away from him at that, looking up at him with furrowed brows and scrunched-up nose. “What do you mean ‘it’s not that exciting’? It’s your photography project. You’ve spent a whole week working on it.”

“Yeah, but it’s just you, you know?” Jungkook objects. “Like, you know what you look like. It’s just going to be a bunch of photos of you, like I said it’d be.”

“That’s exactly why I want to see it,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You took pictures of me for a whole week. Don’t you want to share them with me?”

“If you really want some of the photos, I’ll send you some, but you don’t need to see the whole portfolio, you know? It’s just for my professor,” Jungkook says stiffly, surprisingly resistant. What’s the big deal? It’s not like there will suddenly be new information about you that you didn’t know before. You want to see what Jungkook has been working tirelessly on this entire week. Where’s the harm in that?

“Why are you getting so hung up on this? It’s just photos,” you say with a frown. 

“Why are you getting so hung up on this?” Jungkook challenges back. 

You sigh, sinking back into him, defeated. Even a little disagreement like that is enough to knock the wind out of the both of you, so you decide not to push it much further. 

“Do you promise to show me eventually?” You ask, hopeful.

Jungkook pauses for a moment, and you almost expect him to say no, considering how protective of his work he’s being. “One day,” he declares. “One day, I will.”

And that’s good enough for you. 

You lose track of how much time passes after that, feeling your eyelids getting heavy as the warmth of his body envelopes you, drowsiness settling in. There’s just something about this moment, right here, right now, that makes you want to fall asleep.

You’re on the verge of slumber when Jungkook’s voice breaks through.

“Why didn’t you think your date would work out?”

“I don’t know,” you respond sleepily, barely even opening your eyes. “It just felt wrong.”

“How do you know what feels right?”

Good question. Perhaps if you had the energy, you’d answer it. But right now, all you can think about is how cozy you feel in Jungkook’s hoodie and sweatpants, how the scent of him surrounds you, that indescribable, boyish aroma that can’t be replicated. Right now, all you can think about is how easily your body molds into his, like two pieces of a puzzle meant to fit together. Right now, all you can think about is him. 

The worst part about each and every week is when it ends. Because the end of one week signifies the beginning of the next, and when you’re in university, the beginning of the next week means a whole new batch of assignments that you have to complete and a whole new batch of due dates to meet. 

So, yeah. The weeks have been blurring together for you lately. But what else could you expect?

Sunday evening, as per usual, finds you right back where you always are: Jungkook’s apartment. 

The two of you have been regularly getting together on Sundays to study, ever since you both realized you work significantly harder when motivated by the other, determined to finish all of your work on time so you can spend the rest of the night fooling around by mixing Monster with as many unhealthy drinks that you can possibly think of. And it’s been working out well for the both of you so far. Jungkook powers through his coding assignments and you whiz through your readings, intent on keeping up to date with your tasks so they don’t all come crashing down on you at the end of the semester. 

Studying with Jungkook has always been easy, largely due to the fact that it’s the one allotted time during your friendship where the both of you deem it best to not speak to each other for the sake of your work. The moment one of you opens your mouth it’s over, so you sit on opposite ends of the room and pretend that the other person isn’t even there. 

Jungkook told you earlier today that he had already finished his photography portfolio, so there would unfortunately be no sneaky glances over his shoulder to see if you can catch a glimpse of one of the pictures. Which is fine by you, you’re just a little embarrassed that Jungkook had told you this outright. Not that you were planning to do exactly that, but you were planning to do exactly that. 

Part of you. more than anything, wants to know why Jungkook won’t just show you himself. Why he’s being so secretive, so protective of his photography project when you both know already exactly what’s in it. For God’s sake, he just spent the entire week taking photos of you non-stop. It’s like not as if any part of this is a mystery to either of you. What more could he have done?

Whatever. You aren’t going to force it if he doesn’t want you to. You suppose that maybe one day, far into the future, he’ll finally decide that the time is right. 

“I’m so fucking tired,” Jungkook declares lifelessly as he gets up from where he’s sitting on your bed, dead inside. “I need a break.”

“Are you going to the kitchen? Can you make me some tea, please?” You ask him, looking up from the laptop on your desk. 

Jungkook nods wordlessly before disappearing out of the room. 

You and Jungkook’s best study practice to maximize productivity is the taking of each other’s cell phones so that the other cannot be tempted to look at it. It’s worked plenty of times before and will probably work plenty of times again, because as they say, out of sight, out of mind. 

Unfortunately, it’s hard to pretend that your phone is out of sight when it’s been buzzing on your bedside table for the past five minutes, and your fingers have been itching to get over there and answer your damn notifications. So, while Jungkook is out of the room, you decide to cheat a little by dashing over there just to see what the heck is going on in the rest of the world. 

As it turns out, nothing much. Just Maisie texting you as she binges yet another television show, giving spoiler-free updates anytime anything remotely dramatic happens. You have a couple of new emails as well. 

The thing that actually catches your attention the most, is Jungkook’s laptop screen. 

There’s just a Word document open on it, but a Word document is a far cry from his usual coding program or Photoshop. Because you can’t help yourself, you peer over to see what he’s written. 

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Hard to say that I have. I don’t think I learned something about myself so much as I confirmed what I already knew, cementing it as a real thought in my brain, rather than just a daydream. Nothing changed in the way that my best friend and I interacted, and I can almost confirm that nothing changed in the way that she feels about me, just as nothing changed in the way I feel about her. I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her. 

What?

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Not as a reference but to remind myself of this very moment in my life—a single week over the course of my life that I felt was worth saving. I imagine that there will come a time, far in the future, where my best friend and I have separated a little bit, found our own lives and created our own families with our own people. And when that happens, I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now. 

This feels personal. Maybe you should stop reading. But there’s just one more question left on the page… 

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. If it meant getting to spend more time with her, take more photos of her, see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over. 

“Y/N?”

You hadn’t even heard the kettle whistling. 

“Jungkook,” you say, breathless, caught red-handed. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, placing your steaming cup of tea down on the desk as he stares back at you in horror, in surprise, in worry, in something. Something that gives you this imminent sense of impending doom. 

“Uh—”

“Were you reading my computer screen?”

It’s not like you could say you were doing anything else. 

“I couldn’t help myself, I came over here to check my phone since it’s been buzzing like crazy and your computer was right there and I just…” you sputter out, thoughts swirling inside your head. 

(I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now. 

If it meant getting to see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over. 

I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her.)

“What do you mean, how you feel about me?” You ask, because you can’t help yourself. Because the sound of his voices echoes in your head like the beat of a drum, over and over and over. Because you’re staring back at him and even if he just caught you snooping through his computer you can never be worried when it comes to him. Because everything he has ever done puts you at ease. 

“Y/N, that is private, why would you read something like that?” He asks, each word a sucker punch into your heart. 

“Because I just had to know, okay?” You shout back. “I had to know what you were hiding from me.”

“So you decided to snoop through my computer to see if you could figure it out yourself?” He demands, storming over to you. 

“So you are hiding something?”

“That’s not the point, the point is that—”

“What are you not telling me, Jungkook?” You cry out, watching as he approaches you, dark eyes piercing your gaze. “Why won’t you show me your goddamn portfolio? If there’s really nothing to be afraid of, why are you keeping it from me? I’m your best friend, I’m the fucking subject of your project? Don’t I deserve to see it? Why won’t you show me?”

“Because then you’d know!” Jungkook shouts back, leaving deafening silence in his wake. You look up at him, blinking. In front of you, Jungkook is out of breath, chest heaving. 

He looks so strained. So tired. Like he’s been carrying around this secret for months now, maybe even years, and this is the final straw. This is what has sent the both of you crashing down upon each other. This stupid fucking project. You’ve known Jungkook ever since the beginning of your freshman year, and never before have you seen him so hopeless. 

“Jungkook—?”

“You’d know, goddamnit,” Jungkook says, hand coming up to rub at his forehead, dragging down his cheek. “And I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that.”

“Know what? What would I know?” 

Jungkook closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. Opens them again. “That I’m in love with you.”

The words drift in between the two of you, hovering in the air like feathers. You see them, clear as day, in front of you, hear them echoing in your head, over and over and over again. Feel the way your blood is pumping, the way your heart is beating. 

“You’re in love with me?” You ask him. 

“I didn’t want you to find out this way,” Jungkook admits. “Or at all, really. But I have been, for a while now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was afraid that I’d lose you.”

You chuckle, a small, little thing from the back of your throat. “You must have known I’d never let that happen, hmm?”

Jungkook smiles softly. “I was scared. Can you blame me? You’re my best friend.”

“And you are mine,” you remind him. 

“It’s just—” Jungkook begins, like the gates of a dam are opening up. “We’d known each other for so long, and we have such a good thing going as is, always texting and calling and hanging out together, studying together on Sunday nights and seeing each other during the week, and I didn’t want to ruin anything. And then my professor assigned this project, and the only person I could think of to take photos was you, but I didn’t want to ask that of you in case you thought it was weird, but you suggested it anyway so I said yes, but I knew. I knew then that the moment I took one goddamn photo of you it would be obvious, and that if you ever saw you would just know. Stuff like that is easy to pick up in pictures, because a camera is like, tunnel vision for whatever it is you want to focus on most, and that’s you, that’s always been you, so I—”

“Jungkook,” you interrupt, reaching out to him, pressing a soft hand to his cheek. “Just, shut up, okay?”

And then you cup his head in both of your hands, and press a kiss to his lips. A small one, if nothing else, but a kiss nonetheless. You press your lips against his own and immediately you feel the sparks rush through you, this flash of heat that settles into something softer, something sweeter. It ignites and soothes you all at once, like a stray lightning bolt out on the open ocean. Like a single clap of thunder and the pitter patter of rain. 

You press a kiss to his lips and when you pull away, Jungkook’s eyes are closed, lips parted ever so slightly. And for a moment there, you almost think you did the wrong thing. 

But barely a second more passes before he’s scooping you up in his arms and pulling you in close to him, his lips finding yours like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. He holds you tight, hands pressed against the small of your back as he kisses you, warm and fiery and full, as if he can’t get enough, as if this is his only chance. You gasp into it before relaxing in his hold, cold hands on his warm cheeks, body melting at the feeling of him, of him all over you, of his hands and his mouth and his chest, this perfect, solid figure. 

He kisses you and it sends heat shooting through your body, filling you up from the inside out, like your heart has burst and filled your bloodstream with fire, with sparks of warmth that tingle all over. He kisses you, and everywhere his hands press is another sizzle to your skin, an electric shock that makes you giggle into his mouth. 

He kisses you and it feels like a storm has settled, feels like gentle rain after a hurricane, feels like waves crashing against the shore. He kisses you and it is the only thing you can think about. 

By the time you part once more, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Jungkook so blissed out. 

“See?” You point out softly. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

Jungkook looks positively dazed. “I think I need to lie down.”

“Ooh, was I that good?” You tease.

“I’m dreaming.” He shakes his head. “I’m definitely fucking dreaming.”

Jungkook sinks onto your bed, hitting the mattress with a thud. He stares mindlessly in front of him, like his brain needs time to process. 

You smile to yourself. He can have all the time in the world. 

“Is this real?” He mumbles when you sit down next to him, press another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Are you real?”

“Just like you,” you promise him. “I didn’t know this is what we had been missing, all this time.”

“It wasn’t missing,” Jungkook assures you. “It was just hidden.”

“I love you,” you whisper, watching him swallow the words like a glass of wine. “I think I always have. You just needed to say it first.”

“Oblivious as always.” Jungkook grins, smiling against your lips. “But I’m glad. If this is what it would take, then I’m glad.”

“You wouldn’t change anything?” You ask him, eyes wide and curious. 

It’s hard to know how long you and Jungkook have been secretly pining over each other. Hard to know how long Jungkook has known that he’s loved you, how long it’s been since you started to feel the same, even if subconsciously. It’s hard to know how long you would have kept going if not for this project. It might have been months. Years. Years that Jungkook was willing to spend holding back, if only it meant keeping you by his side. 

“No,” Jungkook says like it’s the easiest answer in the world. “I have you now. Why would I?”

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Previously, I had responded to this question by saying that I hadn’t learned anything, and felt that nothing changed in my life. Then, some things happened. And after those things, I learned that I am the luckiest man alive. To know my best friend is one thing. To love her is a privilege. To have her love me back is nothing less than a miracle.

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Every day for the rest of my life. I don’t think I’ve ever been as thankful to receive a homework assignment as I am, right now. I owe everything to this project. It is the reason I have her. 

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. I want to take photos of her for the rest of my life. I want to save every memory we ever share together. So that far into the future, we can look back on them together and say, “Remember that?”

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