#why do i always want to write the most when it's late at night and im too tired to do so

[yvesssssssss]

HAIII I love ur writing sm it tickles my brain heh...could i rq blue lock (anyone it's ok!! but heh..kaiser kunigami, sae and bayou are my favs) x manager reader that's usually blunt forward n quiet but she actually got the warmest smile ever when she smiles??? idk if u have seen when life gives you tangerines but oh my gosh park bogums smile on the series Geniunely had me having a heart attack everytime he was on scene

Blue lock x manager! Reader

—Michael kaiser, sae itoshi, barou shouei, kunigami rensuke

Thank you so much! The way I wrote this is honestly so cringey, but I tried. T_T Still, I hope you like it💞

Michael Kaiser

Kaiser wasn’t used to being ignored.

Not when he walked into rooms like a spotlight followed him. Not when his smirk had fans screaming and cameras snapping. And especially not by someone who worked with him every day.

You were quiet. Not shy—just efficient. Calm. Blunt.

“Why do you always look at me like that?” Kaiser asked one day during training, jogging up to you with that usual glint in his eyes.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re picturing how fast you could bury a body.”

You blinked. “Depends on the soil. You done flexing?”

His teammates wheezed behind him. He was left blinking for once.

You were the team’s manager—always showing up before the players, organizing their chaos into something functional. You gave out water bottles and brutally honest feedback like it was part of your salary package.

Kaiser thought you were amusing. And annoying. And kind of hot in a terrifying way.

⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔 ݁ ˖

What got to him the most, though, was that he’d never seen you smile. Not really.

A twitch at the lips when Isagi tripped over a cone. A raised brow when Barou called himself royalty again. But never a full-on, warm, heart-hitting smile.

Until one afternoon.

The team was clearing out after a grueling match, Kaiser sprawled on the bench, shirt off, absolutely done—but watching you. As always.

You were checking gear, murmuring thanks to a junior staff member, and then—you turned slightly, eyes crinkling, lips curling—

And smiled.

Kaiser actually dropped the energy drink he was holding.

It was blinding. Soft and rare, like a dawn over war-torn fields. Your entire face lit up—calm, warm, kind. Not sarcastic. Not forced. Real.

It wasn’t even aimed at him, which made it worse.

“Who the hell was that for?” he demanded, walking up to you like a man betrayed.

“Huh?”

“That smile. The one that looked like it could end wars.”

You blinked at him, back to your usual deadpan expression. “You want one?”

He opened his mouth.

Paused.

“…Yes.”

You tilted your head. And slowly, like the sun peeking from behind storm clouds, you smiled again—just a little. At him.

Kaiser’s ears went red.

“I—uh. Okay. That’s illegal,” he muttered, pointing at you like you were a loaded weapon. “I’m gonna sue. Emotional damage.”

You were already walking away.

“Then stop acting like a victim.”

His heart actually did a backflip.

“…I’m gonna marry you,” he whispered under his breath.

Kunigami rensuke

Kunigami never minded blunt people. In fact, he appreciated them. It was better than the fake smiles and flattery he sometimes got from media staff or fans. But you? You took blunt to a new level.

“You look tired,” he said one morning, wiping sweat from his forehead, trying to make small talk during drills.

“I am tired. You guys don’t clean up your trash and I’m not your mother.”

“…Right.”

Still, he liked talking to you. He liked how steady you were, how nothing ruffled you—not the pressure, not the chaos, not even Kaiser being a diva. And when you did speak, it was short, snappy, and always honest. Refreshing.

But no one had ever seen you smile.

Not once.

Until that late night at the training camp, when everyone else had cleared out. Kunigami had stayed behind, double-checking his gear. You were near the bench, organizing towels and muttering about how someone left their socks inside-out.

He looked up from lacing his shoes—and there it was.

Your laugh. Soft. Sudden.

Someone had texted you, maybe. Or maybe something genuinely made you happy for once. Either way, your lips curled up and your eyes lit from within. It was quiet, gentle, and lasted all of three seconds.

But it knocked the breath out of him.

“…You smiled,” he said, almost in awe.

You turned, expression returning to normal. “Yeah. I do that sometimes. I’m not a robot.”

“I thought you were. Or like—part ghost.”

You gave him a long stare, and he realized too late how stupid that sounded. But then—

You smiled again. Just a little. Just at him.

Warm, unguarded.

“You’re not as dumb as you look, Kunigami.”

He coughed into his fist, ears going hot. “Y-Yeah? Well—cool. Thanks. I think.”

You chuckled—low and genuine—and went back to folding towels.

He stood there a moment longer, staring like a man hit by divine revelation.

God help him, he wanted to see that smile again. Every day. Forever.

Tomorrow, he decided, he was getting up early. Earlier than usual. Maybe you’d smile at him again.

Maybe, if he was lucky, you already liked him a little.

Even if you’d never say it out loud.

Sae itoshi

Sae didn’t pay attention to most people. He had no reason to. Most were too loud, too fake, too eager to get in his space for the wrong reasons.

But you were different.

You were quiet. Not shy—just observant. Efficient. When someone forgot a jersey, you had a spare ready before they noticed. When the coaching staff missed a scheduling error, you were already fixing it. You rarely spoke unless necessary, but when you did, your voice was calm. Unshaken.

And your blunt honesty?

He respected it.

“You looked bored out there,” you told him one day after practice.

“I was.”

“I could tell. But if you're going to half-ass it, at least make it look convincing.”

He’d blinked. Once. Then laughed under his breath.

After that, he paid more attention to you.

You never hovered. Never smiled for no reason. You just worked—always a step ahead of the team, always unbothered by chaos. But you had this quiet way of looking out for people. You noticed when someone was limping and handed them an ice pack without a word. You stood in front of rookies when reporters got too pushy.

It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t loud.

But it was kind.

One day, he stayed behind after drills. Not for any real reason—just sat on the bench, watching the sky go soft with sunset. You were nearby, cleaning up the med kit, checking supplies.

“You always work this late?”

You didn’t look up. “Someone has to.”

“…You like this job?”

You paused, then glanced at him.

“I like helping people who don’t expect to be helped.”

He looked at you properly then. Not just the usual glance—really looked. You weren’t just efficient. You cared. In that quiet, unnoticed kind of way most people overlooked.

Then, for the first time, he saw it.

You smiled.

It was small. Barely there. But warm. Real. The kind of smile that slipped out when you weren’t thinking too hard. The kind that made your eyes soften, just a bit.

Sae didn’t react outwardly, but something in him stilled.

“That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile,” he said.

You blinked. “…Probably.”

“You should do it more.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched again, like you were holding back another one.

“Then try being less boring.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“Fine. I’ll work on it.”

And he did.

Not for the cameras. Not for his reputation.

Just maybe—for you.

Barou

Barou didn’t like being managed. Or ordered. Or reminded to hydrate like he was a child.

But you didn’t treat him like that.

You were quiet, direct, and didn’t waste time. If he forgot to stretch, you’d just say, “Your hamstring’s gonna snap,” and toss him a band. If he got too heated during practice, you handed him a towel and said, “Chill. You’re scaring the interns.”

You didn’t hover or nag. You weren’t afraid of his temper, either. You were… calm. Unfazed. Like you’d seen worse than a guy yelling about meat buns and “kingly” training schedules.

He respected that.

One day, after a particularly frustrating scrimmage, he kicked a cone halfway across the field and stormed off. The team gave him space. So did the coaches.

But not you.

You followed him to the locker room, carrying a wrapped rice ball.

“You didn’t eat,” you said, holding it out like it was the simplest thing in the world.

“I’m not hungry,” he growled.

“Then be angry with a full stomach.”

He looked at you like you’d grown a second head. You weren’t sarcastic. You weren’t mocking him. Just… offering him food, like it was obvious. Like of course you cared, even if you barely spoke half the day.

He snatched it from your hand, grumbling under his breath, but didn’t look away.

And then—he saw it.

You smiled.

Soft. Barely there. But it hit like a punch to the chest.

Not because it was perfect or dazzling. But because it wasn’t. It was quiet. Warm. Like it wasn’t meant to be seen. Like it slipped out because, maybe, you cared more than you let on.

“You’re not as scary when you smile,” you said, tone casual.

Barou blinked. Scowled. Looked away too fast.

“Tch. Don’t say weird stuff.”

You turned to leave.

He glanced back at the rice ball in his hand. Then at your back.

“…Thanks,” he muttered.

You didn’t stop walking, but your voice carried:

“You’re welcome, Your Majesty.”

[wbbfannnnnn13]

Motion Sick // Chapter 7

Theme: jealous homoerotic friendship angst

A/N: actually not sure how i feel about this chapter, got done writing it and wanted to scrap the whole thing, just don't feel like it's my best... but i said i would get a chapter out tonight and it does move plot along so I won't do that to you guys, hopefully it'll still be a fun read... and for those wondering, there is no box/gift reveal this chapter lol

WC: 5.2K

Warnings: angst

**** Chapter 7 ****

Word traveled fast on campus.

Faster than she expected. Faster than felt possible, honestly, considering no one actually saw her kiss anyone or leave with anyone or do anything remotely scandalous that night at Ted’s. But apparently, all it took a few drinks and Lexi Reyes showing off her biceps in a crop top for the entire women’s sports community to suddenly decide Azzi Fudd was having a queer awakening.

(Which—fair. But still.)

She hadn’t even been flirting that hard. At least, she didn’t think she had. It was mostly laughing. And leaning a little too close during darts. And maybe touching Lexi’s arm once. Twice, tops.

Not her fault Lexi had great arms. Or that she laughed in a way that made it feel like the whole room fell away for a second.

What surprised her most was how fast people picked up on it—like there had been this collective pause around her lately, everyone waiting for her to catch up to herself. Like they all knew before she did.

Even more surprising?

She didn’t hate it.

It was terrifying, yeah. And weird. And definitely not something she’d ever pictured herself navigating at the start of the school year. But still, for the first time in a long time, Azzi felt like she was actually herself. Not Paige’s maybe. Not someone’s favorite sharpshooter. Not the girl everyone expected to smile and nod and keep her head down.

Just… her.

Fully. Honestly. Finally.

And if some girls were suddenly smiling at her in the dining hall or sliding into her DMs with sparkly emojis and suspiciously well-lit selfies—well. That was new, too.

But not bad.

She spotted Lexi outside the dining hall, leaning against the brick wall like she had nothing better to do. Hair pulled back in a messy bun. She looked dangerous in that annoyingly casual way she always did—like a dare and a joke at the same time.

Azzi had meant to just say hey. Keep it simple.

But Lexi fell into step beside her, bumping her shoulder lightly.

“Oh look,” she said, grinning. “There’s the sharpshooter.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself. “Don’t start.”

“Too late,” Lexi said. “You started it at Ted’s.”

Azzi didn’t answer. She just shook her head—and didn’t move when their arms brushed again.

She was still getting used to this. Not the flirting exactly—though that was definitely new. But the feeling that she could take up space. Laugh a little louder. Be looked at and not shrink under it. That she could like the attention and not feel guilty about it.

And weirdly, it was showing up in her game.

She’d been playing better. Looser. More confident. Not reckless—but unafraid.

Coach had noticed. Her teammates had, too. Even her shot felt different—like it had more air behind it. Like she trusted it to land.

It wasn’t about Lexi. Not really. But something had cracked open in her this season. Like she’d stopped waiting for permission to become whoever she already was.

She didn’t know what that meant yet. Or where it was heading.

But today, right now, it felt good.

Paige

It was the kind of night that felt like a dare.

Bright lights, sticky floors, a faint smell of feet and nacho cheese in the air—and Paige, somehow, was standing in the middle of all of it, wondering how her life had managed to spiral into this specific flavor of awkward.

Kathryn was perched on the edge of the plastic seat beside her, legs crossed, her lip gloss catching the overhead lights every time she laughed. Lexi was halfway through a monologue about why no one should ever bowl with bumpers past the age of ten. And Azzi—Azzi was off to the side, lacing up her shoes like they were her sworn enemy.

One big happy group outing.

If your definition of “happy” included unresolved history, romantic confusion, and exactly one person (Paige) having a slow-burn existential crisis behind her carefully neutral facial expression.

"You're up, Bueckers," Lexi said, nudging her with the side of her sneaker. “Try not to embarrass your lineage.”

"She's got this," Kathryn added, soft and encouraging, which only made Paige feel worse for absolutely not having this.

Paige stood, adjusted the sleeves of her hoodie like they were armor, and picked up a ball that looked radioactive under the neon lights. It was green. Shiny. Slightly chipped. She was pretty sure it was judging her.

Behind her, someone laughed. She didn’t know who. She didn’t look back.

You are a grown adult woman. You are fine. It’s just bowling, she told herself, which was objectively a lie, because nothing about this was fine.

The ball hit the gutter like it had been magnetized to failure.

Lexi let out a cackle so sharp it echoed. "Daaaaang. You sure you a D1 athlete?"

Kathryn laughed too, trying to soften the blow with a quiet, "It’s okay, babe," but Paige was already smiling too hard, the way you do when you're two seconds from spiraling and need everyone to think you’re okay.

Azzi clapped once, the way you do when someone drops a fork in the cafeteria and you’re pretending it was impressive.

Paige turned around and gave a little bow. “Your applause means the world to me.”

Then she sat down too hard on the bench and let the noise blur around her for a second. The music, the pins crashing down in the next lane. Her palms were warm. Her stomach was off. She could feel herself slipping into that familiar Paige place: where everything was technically fine, but also not at all.

She reached for her drink. Drank too fast. Let the carbonation sting.

She could’ve been in sweatpants, curled up in bed, halfway through a bag of TruFru and watching whatever basketball game was on that night. Instead, she was here—trapped in a four-person fever dream that felt suspiciously like a double date, with the girl she likes, the girl she never really got over, and Lexi, who was somehow the most annoying person she’s ever met.

There was only one logical explanation, and it started, unfortunately, with lunch.

****

It was supposed to be a normal lunch.

Not “normal” like her schedule had ever actually been normal, but still—she was aiming for predictable. Grilled cheese, a corner booth, and maybe a half-finished reading assignment if she didn’t get too distracted people-watching.

Kathryn was already there when Paige arrived, smoothie in hand, lips pink from whatever fancy berry mix she liked lately. She greeted her with a smile and a granola bar, sliding it across the table like they’d been doing this forever. Easy. No pressure. Just... something.

And then, just as Paige was starting to relax—starting to think maybe this really could be easy—Kathryn’s expression changed.

She was mid-sip of her smoothie when she said, “Oh hey,” lifting her hand in a small wave, casual and sunny.

Paige turned, and immediately regretted it.

Lexi. Carrying a tray that held two cookies and absolutely nothing else. Talking too loud, grinning like she owned the building.

And right behind her, Azzi.

Hair still damp from practice. White t-shirt, no sleeves, headphones hanging around her neck like they belonged there more than she did.

Azzi saw them. Saw her. And didn’t even blink.

She looked away like Paige was just... scenery.

Lexi, on the other hand, lit up like someone had just rolled out a red carpet.

“Well well well,” she said, zeroing in on their table. “This looks exclusive.”

Paige tried not to wince. “It’s soup.”

It was, in fact, tomato basil. And it had gone cold.

Lexi slid into the booth before anyone had a chance to stop her.

Paige had maybe spoken five words to her before today—most of them at post-game mixers or passing in the hallway, and at least one of them had been “huh?”—but apparently that was enough to get promoted to group lunch status.

Kathryn smiled like this was completely normal. “You guys want to sit?”

No. Not really.

Azzi hesitated for half a second, then slid into the spot next to Lexi without a word. Paige’s stomach did something deeply unhelpful.

She forced her eyes back to her tray. Soup. Salad. Not the girl who used to kiss her like it meant something and was now sharing a bench with the human version of an Instagram caption that said “it’s giving chaos.”

She pushed a crouton around her plate. “Wait—do you guys know each other?”

Kathryn looked up, casual but a little too measured.

“Kind of. She used to hang out with… some of the girls on my team.”

There it was. That slight pause. Just long enough to mean something.

“Oh,” Paige said, trying to keep her voice level. “Right…”

Kathryn nodded slowly, like she was editing the sentence in real time. “Yeah. The soccer and softball teams are kind of… close.”

Close.

Paige didn’t miss the pause.

Or the way Lexi smirked just a little into her straw.

She didn’t say more. She didn’t need to.

And Paige didn’t press, even though a dozen questions sprang to mind immediately—like who, and when, and why Lexi. But she just nodded, like this didn’t bother her. Like she wasn’t suddenly remembering Azzi at Ted’s, laughing too hard at something Lexi said and leaning in like her body forgot who it used to belong to.

Lexi took a loud sip from her straw and kicked her feet up onto the seat rung under the table. Paige tried not to roll her eyes so hard they got stuck.

It was fine. Everything was fine. They were just four people having lunch. In a sitcom. Written by Satan.

She was in the middle of composing a mental monologue about how maybe the world was, in fact, conspiring against her—complete with a soundtrack and opening credits—when Lexi cut through it with her mouth half-full of cookie.

“So. How’s the knee?”

Paige blinked. “Still attached.”

“Good start.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. Or to Lexi in general, honestly. The girl had the energy of a cracked open soda can—bubbly, unpredictable, maybe about to explode.

“You doing pool workouts yet?”

“Yeah,” Paige said. “Twice a week.”

Lexi leaned back, satisfied. “So you’re mobile. Which means you can bowl.”

There it was. The curveball.

Before Paige could say anything, Kathryn chimed in, bright and interested. “Wait—what bowling?”

“There’s some school thing tonight,” Lexi said, licking cookie crumbs off her thumb. “Look—” she tapped the laminated sign propped up in the middle of the table, like it had been there the whole time. “Free games, bad pizza, excellent people-watching. Theme’s glow-in-the-dark or something. There’s a cartoon bowling pin wearing sunglasses, so you know it’s legit.

Kathryn perked up. “That sounds kind of amazing.”

And Paige could feel it happening, like a slow-motion car crash—Kathryn looking at her with that easy, open smile, Lexi already half-inviting herself again, and Azzi just sitting there. Not saying anything. Not even looking at her.

Lexi grinned. “You should come. Show off those rehab reflexes.”

It was a joke, kind of. But also a challenge.

Before Paige could answer, Azzi spoke for the first time in a while—voice low, dry, just a little sharp around the edges. “I don’t know if bowling counts as PT-approved.”

It wasn’t rude. But it wasn’t nothing either.

And Paige, who had been doing a decent job of keeping it together, suddenly felt like she couldn’t remember how to hold a spoon.

Kathryn nudged her knee under the table. “It could be fun. We should all go.”

And just like that, Paige was cornered.

All of her instincts screamed no. But Kathryn was still smiling, hopeful, unaware. Lexi was waiting. And Azzi—Azzi was now staring directly at her, expression unreadable, like this was a test Paige didn’t study for.

She swallowed. “Sure. That could be... chill.”

“Sweet,” Lexi said, finishing her cookie like this was the most casual conversation in the world. “Athlete bonding, plus weird shoes. What more could you want?”

Azzi reached for her water. Didn’t speak. But her jaw tightened just enough to make Paige want to crawl under the table.

She stirred her soup. It still hadn’t gotten any warmer.

****

Paige’s second frame went only slightly better than the first. One pin. It wobbled dramatically, as if weighing its options, then decided to stay standing just to humiliate her. 

Kathryn clapped in support. Azzi didn’t even pretend to look.

And Lexi?

Lexi stepped up to the lane like she’d just been personally invited to save bowling as a sport. Her socks didn’t match. Her wind-up was dramatic. Her throw was perfect.

Strike.

Because of course it was.

She turned around like she expected a standing ovation. “It’s a gift,” she said, as if she’d just cured world hunger with her thumb and middle finger placement.

Paige stared at the pins and thought about crying. Or leaving. Or maybe starting a petition to outlaw bowling altogether.

Instead, she muttered, “It’s a fluke.”

Lexi beamed. “You wish.”

When it came back around to her turn, Paige adjusted her grip on her neon green ball, which now felt like it weighed twelve hundred pounds and also possibly hated her.

“Try aiming at the pins this time,” Lexi called out, grinning.

Kathryn giggled. Azzi said nothing.

Paige smiled without turning around. “You know what’s wild? I don’t remember asking for commentary.”

“Sorry,” Lexi said, absolutely not sorry. “I just assumed the brace was cutting off circulation to your strategy.”

Paige rolled.

One pin. 

That’s it. 

Lexi laughed so hard she leaned into Azzi for support. Azzi didn’t even flinch.

It wasn’t the laughter that got to her—it was the leaning. Like it was casual. Like that kind of closeness came easy now. Like Paige hadn’t spent months trying to forget what Azzi’s shoulder felt like under her hand.

She walked back to the table, trying not to make a face. Her competitive side—usually fun, usually harmless—was starting to melt into something else entirely. Something messier. Something that looked a lot like losing control.

Kathryn handed her a water bottle with a sweet, encouraging look that made Paige want to scream. “You’re doing great.”

“I’m doing something,” Paige said, too brightly, twisting the cap open like it had personally wronged her.

Lexi slid into the seat next to her, looking like the human embodiment of the words so what if I’m the villain. She stretched her arms overhead, popped her knuckles, and smiled.

“You know,” she said, voice lazy and a little too smug, ““All that hype and you can’t land a strike?”

Paige stared at her. “I will literally pour this water on you.”

Lexi grinned wider. “Bet you miss.”

And the worst part—the actual worst part—was that Paige could hear herself in Lexi. The sarcasm, the smugness, the let-me-poke-you-until-you-break tone. It was like talking to a funhouse mirror version of herself, one with better hair and a lot less shame.

It was infuriating.

And Azzi wasn’t just sitting there anymore—she was leaning in now, elbow on the table, eyes locked on Lexi like whatever she was saying was actually interesting. Her smile was soft. Lazy. The kind that unfolded slowly. The kind Paige knew better than anyone.

Lexi said something dumb—Paige could just tell by the way she gestured—and Azzi laughed. For real. Head tilted, chin tucked, laugh lighting up her whole face.

Then Lexi nudged her knee under the table, and Azzi didn’t even flinch.

She smiled wider.

Paige felt something low in her stomach twist.

It was stupid. She knew it was stupid. This wasn’t anything. It wasn’t like Azzi was doing it to her. But still. She sat there, watching the two of them flirt like it was effortless, like Paige hadn’t ever mattered. Like she hadn’t ever been the one Azzi smiled at like that.

And suddenly the room felt smaller. Too warm. Too loud.

Like she couldn’t breathe in it anymore.

Lexi bowled again. Another strike.

Because apparently God was off duty tonight.

Paige clapped, slow and sarcastic. “Wow. So impressive.”

“You’re jealous,” Lexi said, tossing her hair like this was a shampoo commercial.

“I’m disturbed,” Paige shot back. “There’s a difference.”

Kathryn snorted into her drink. Azzi didn’t look up, but Paige caught the subtle curve of her mouth—like she was smiling, but didn’t want anyone to see. 

Kathryn went next. She bowled with the exact same energy she did everything else—with effort, but no real strategy. She sort of lobbed the ball like it was a casual suggestion to the pins. A few fell. She fist-pumped like she’d won gold.

“You’re consistent,” Lexi called. “Mediocre, but consistent.”

Kathryn flipped her off with two fingers and a grin. Azzi actually laughed at that—out loud. It was quiet, but it felt like thunder in Paige’s ears. She leaned into Paige’s shoulder. “You’re up, Az.”

Azzi stood, quiet, unreadable. Her expression didn’t change, but Paige swore she could feel something tighten in the air. Azzi stepped into the lane, smooth and unfazed, and launched the ball with a clean snap of her wrist. Seven pins dropped like it was nothing.

“Okay, calm down, showoff,” Lexi said, grinning. “Trying to make us all look bad?”

Azzi didn’t even hesitate. “You’re just mad I look better doing it.”

Lexi leaned back, slow and deliberate, eyes trailing over Azzi like she was sizing her up—or unwrapping a present. “I mean… if you’re trying to distract me, it’s working.”

Paige blinked like she was trying to reset the entire simulation.

Azzi just smiled—small, but real. Dangerous.

Then she sat back down like she hadn’t just casually lit Paige’s entire nervous system on fire.

Paige stared straight ahead, pretending to care deeply about the bowling scoreboard, which at this point felt more like a list of personal failures than a fun team activity.

She told herself it wasn’t a big deal. That Lexi flirted with everyone. That Azzi probably didn’t even realize what she was doing. That none of it mattered.

Which was all true, technically. And yet, she was gripping her drink so hard it creaked.

It wasn’t the flirting. Not really. It was the ease of it. The fact that Azzi never used to do that with anyone else. That Paige had spent months thinking she was the only girl Azzi looked at like that.

And now it was Lexi. With her shiny hair and stupid jokes and smug little grin.

When it was her turn again, Paige stood without saying a word. She breathed in, squared her shoulders, and tried—desperately—to remember what it felt like to not care.

Spoiler: she couldn’t.

She bowled.

The ball veered left at the last second—like it had a personal vendetta—and clipped one lonely pin.

One.

Again.

The sound it made wasn’t even satisfying. Just a sad little thunk, like the bowling alley itself was tired of her.

Paige stared at the lane like it had betrayed her. Like maybe the problem wasn’t her form, but the floor. Or the laws of physics. Or whoever decided they should go bowling in the first place.

She wanted to scream. Or throw the ball through the neon scoreboard. Or teleport to a different planet where no one had ever heard of Lexi Reyes and Azzi Fudd didn’t smile at other girls like that.

Instead, she turned around, smile tight, hands clenched, pretending she was still a normal person and not one bad frame away from emotionally combusting in front of everyone she was trying not to care about.

Lexi was already grinning. “I mean… it’s giving consistency.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “It’s giving shut up.”

Azzi laughed. Not a small one, either. It was full and easy and bright in a way that made Paige’s chest feel tight. Like she was watching something she used to be part of from the other side of the glass.

There was no biting the inside of her cheek. No holding it in. Just Azzi, laughing like she didn’t owe anyone anything. Like this night wasn’t tangled up in anything else.

Paige looked away. Too late.

Because the sound of it had already sunk in.

And something in her just snapped.

The words came out cold and too loud, sharper than she meant, but not sharp enough to stop herself:

“At least I’m not trying to sleep my way through the athletic department.”

Silence.

Real silence. The kind that sucks the air out of your lungs and makes the room feel ten degrees colder.

It landed like a slap. Like glass breaking on tile. Fast. Final. Shattering.

Lexi blinked, frozen mid-step like someone had hit pause on her whole personality.

Azzi straightened, slow. Not defensive. Not angry. Just… still. And staring.

Kathryn looked like she’d just swallowed her own tongue. Her hand curled around her cup too tightly, eyes wide and searching Paige’s face like she was trying to figure out if this was a joke. If any of it was.

Paige couldn’t move. Her hand was still hanging in the air, like maybe if she stood still enough, time would give her a do-over. A minute back. A second. Anything.

But no one laughed.

Not even Lexi.

Paige stood there, every inch of her burning, and—because she couldn’t help herself—added,

“Yeah, I caught the whole softball-soccer comment earlier. I get it.”

Eventually, she tilted her head and said, “Wow. Okay.”

No venom. No sass. Just three syllables that cracked Paige’s stomach open.

Azzi didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Her eyes were like ice.

Kathryn started fixing a napkin that didn’t need fixing. Tearing the edge. Smoothing it. Tearing it again.

And Paige—still frozen, still burning—felt the regret crawl under her skin like it belonged there. Like it had been waiting for this exact moment to move in.

No one said anything. No one looked at her.

And somehow, that was worse than yelling. Worse than judgment. The silence felt like someone had turned her inside out and left her there, blinking under fluorescent lights.

She didn’t sit back down.

Didn’t say a word.

Just grabbed her soda can with a shaky hand and muttered something about needing air—though she wasn’t sure anyone heard it, or believed her.

No one followed her. Not right away.

She left her rented shoes half-laced under the table. Left her pride somewhere between the lane and the moment her mouth opened. Left whatever this night was supposed to be in a heap at her feet.

The music kept playing. The pins kept falling. But Paige was already out the door.

The door thudded shut behind her, and Paige didn’t stop walking until she hit the edge of the parking lot—just far enough that she couldn’t hear the music anymore. Just far enough that she could pretend the night hadn’t happened.

Her breath came out too fast. Too sharp. Her heart was still in lane seven, thrashing around like it wanted to climb out of her chest.

She leaned against a lamppost and stared up at the sky like it could give her an answer. It didn’t. It was just black and cold and uncaring, like the rest of the world.

Her palms were clammy. Her throat was tight. And all she could hear—over and over—was her own voice saying the worst possible thing at the worst possible time.

At least I’m not trying to sleep my way through the athletic department.

God. She hated herself a little bit.

Footsteps echoed behind her, quick and hesitant.

“Paige.”

She closed her eyes. Pretended she hadn’t heard.

For a second, she'd let herself hope it was Azzi. The sound of footsteps behind her, the way her name came soft and unsure—her brain reached for Azzi before it even made sense to. But it wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t.

Kathryn’s voice came again, softer now. “Are you okay?”

Paige let out a breath that wanted to be a laugh. “Totally. Peak mental health. Five stars.”

She didn’t look at her. Couldn’t. Because if she did, she’d have to acknowledge the part of her that actually cared about Kathryn’s answer.

Kathryn stopped a few feet away, hands shoved in the pockets of her jacket. “What was that back there?”

Paige shrugged, arms crossed tight across her chest. “What was what?”

Kathryn raised her eyebrows, like—Really? “You basically called Lexi a—what? A player? A slut? I don’t even know. It didn’t feel like a joke.”

“It was a joke,” Paige said, biting off the words.

“It didn’t sound like one.”

Paige looked off toward the road, toward anywhere but Kathryn’s face. “Maybe she should learn how to take one.”

Kathryn stepped closer, her voice rising a little. “Seriously? That’s your defense?”

Paige could feel the heat rising again. In her cheeks. Her chest. Her fists. She was embarrassed and cornered and mad about both.

“Why are you even mad at me right now? It’s not like I said it about you.”

Kathryn blinked like she couldn’t believe she had to explain this. “I’m not mad. I’m just... confused. It came out of nowhere.”

It didn’t come out of nowhere.

It came from Ted’s. From Lexi’s arm around Azzi. From the way Azzi laughed like Paige hadn’t existed first.

It came from watching them all night and feeling like the floor was tilting underneath her. From pretending it didn’t bother her. 

But Paige didn’t say any of that.

Instead, she shrugged again, like it didn’t matter. “Lexi bugs me.”

Kathryn frowned. “Because she flirts with people?”

“Because she flirts with everyone.”

“So?”

“It’s annoying,” Paige muttered.

“To you,” Kathryn said again, more firmly now. “But she’s never been anything but nice to me. She’s actually funny. And smart. And, I don’t know—fun? I don’t get it.”

Paige clenched her jaw. “She’s just one of those people who needs to be liked by everyone.”

Kathryn tilted her head, eyebrows raised. “You don’t?”

Paige opened her mouth. Closed it again. She was spinning now—circling the truth like a drain but refusing to fall in.

I can’t stand the way she looks at Azzi. I hate that she’s effortless and charming and takes up space like she belongs in every room. I hate that Azzi let her in.

But she swallowed all of it. Let it burn her tongue instead of the air.

“She just rubs me the wrong way, okay?”

Kathryn studied her for a second, arms still crossed. Her expression softened, just a little. “Is this... like, a best friend thing?”

Paige blinked. “What?”

“I don’t know,” Kathryn said, shrugging one shoulder. “You and Azzi are close. Maybe you’re just... protective of her?”

She said it gently. Not accusing. Like she was trying to give Paige an out. An explanation that made everything make sense.

Paige could’ve said yes. Could’ve laughed and leaned into it. Could’ve said, Yeah, totally. Azzi’s like my little sister. I just don’t want her getting caught up with someone who’s gonna break her heart.

But her throat felt tight.

And all that came out was: “Maybe.”

Kathryn nodded slowly, but something behind her eyes flickered. Like she didn’t quite buy it—but didn’t want to press. Didn’t want to turn this moment into something Paige wasn’t ready for.

And Paige? She let the silence stretch between them, arms still folded, heart still hammering.

Because if she said any more, she knew exactly what would come out. And it wouldn’t be maybe.

Azzi

She didn’t see it coming. Not like that.

Sure, Paige had been weird all night. Tense in that way only she could pull off—smiling too much, talking too fast, pretending bowling was fun instead of some slow-motion torture chamber of feelings no one wanted to talk about.

But still. She hadn’t expected that.

At least I’m not trying to sleep my way through the athletic department.

It landed like a brick dropped in the middle of the lane. Loud. Off-topic. Weirdly theatrical.

Azzi didn’t flinch. She didn’t feel hurt, exactly. She felt... confused.

She sat back in her chair, blinking like she’d just walked into the middle of a conversation she wasn’t invited to.

It wasn’t about her. She knew that much.

It was about Lexi. And Lexi hadn’t done anything Paige hadn’t done herself a hundred times—teasing, showing off, working a room like it owed her something.

Honestly, the more Azzi thought about it, the more obvious it seemed:

Paige probably just didn’t like Lexi because they were kind of the same. Loud. Confident. A little extra. People who said too much and felt even more and made it everyone’s problem.

Azzi could understand that. She could even laugh at it.

Because if Paige’s outburst had been something else—if it had been jealousy, if it meant Paige still cared—well, that would’ve changed everything. That would’ve cracked something open Azzi wasn’t sure she was strong enough to hold.

But she didn’t let herself go there.

Because Paige was happy now. With Kathryn. With sweet texts and forehead kisses and that obnoxious “babe” that she said without thinking.

Because Paige had set boundaries. She’d closed the door—gently, but clearly. During that talk, in that dim hallway, with that look that said don’t wait for me.

Because Paige never said anything about the birthday gift. Never even acknowledged it.

Azzi had spent too long imagining how she might. A glance. A smile. A thanks whispered during warmups.

But nothing ever came. Just silence. Just space.

And Azzi respected it. She had to.

So no, she wasn’t going to read too much into tonight. She wasn’t going to assign meaning to a moment that might’ve just been Paige being dramatic and cracked around the edges.

She wasn’t going to hope.

And anyway, she hadn’t even wanted to come.

Bowling hadn’t sounded appealing—neon lights, themed pizza, four-person awkwardness. But Paige had said yes. Paige had nodded when Kathryn looked at her like she wanted this night to be cute, and easy, and couple-coded. And Azzi had seen that. The way Paige agreed like she didn’t really want to—but wanted Kathryn to want her to.

So Azzi said yes too. Because showing up felt like the right thing to do. Because if Paige could be cool about it, then so could she.

Lexi let out a breath beside her—half-laugh, half sigh. “Okay then.”

Kathryn said nothing. Just stared at her lap like maybe it held the answers.

And Azzi just... sat there.

Her ball was still on the return rack. The pins still standing. The game still going.

But she didn’t feel like playing anymore.

She rested her elbows on her knees and stared at the floor.

And even though she didn’t say it out loud, she could feel it deep in her chest—tight and quiet and real:

Whatever that was... it didn’t feel over.

[livingdeadmlm]

you know those young ladies who bath Arthur in the game, when you go to a hotel/saloon and pay to use their bath tub? male reader assuming that position for X reasons, Morgan being freaked out in a positive way that another guy (younger than him, but obviously +22) is going to touch his naked body, then reader ends up consensually giving Arthur the best hand job he has had in his whole life…

had a dream exactly like this and I don’t think I’ll forget it anytime soon. had to share it with someone mb

So real for having a dream like this anon I had a dream of Javier a bit ago and I’m thinking about writing it but it was a while ago 💔 I was a tailor working on some clothes he came in laid it on heavy and things got crazy on a vanity idk! But here we go lol!!

You worked only the night shifts, spending your hours in a dimly lit side room with the other bathswomen. It was a space filled with smoke and laughter as you all exchanged stories and idle chatter to pass the time.

Most nights were average, with only two men coming through, making the hours feel long and unproductive. Fridays, however, brought a welcome surge of activity; on the best nights, you had as many as ten men coming in.

But tonight was Wednesday, and the air felt heavy as everyone waited. The clock ticked steadily when, finally, the hotelier knocked on the door

“There’s a gentleman in room two. Get to him soon!” The women groaned; room two was code for wanting a Bathman instead of a woman.

You rolled up your sleeves and undid the first few buttons of the shirt. There were a few “ooos” and giggles as you stepped out into the hallway. The shirt was pretty fancy, made of a silky material that hung just loose enough around your frame to fall forward when you leaned down.

You looked at yourself in the foggy metal plate of the door. You knocked twice. “Do you need any help in there?” There was a moment of silence before the man said, “Sure, why not?”

The room was warm and steamy. You stepped over the abandoned clothes on the ground. The man's head was resting against the tub, his eyes shut.

‘He’s very handsome,’ you thought as you perched on the tub and began to wash his hair. The suds from the soap slid down the sides of his head.

“What’s a big man like you doing out here so late?” The lather of the soup was thick, the man seemed to enjoy the work of your hands, and his head leaned back completely. “Just ran into some bad luck recently. Needed to take a night for myself.”

You rinsed the soap off and adjusted your seating to be more comfortable. “It’s real good to treat yourself.”

Your hand slowly traveled down to his broad shoulders, massaging the muscles as the man sighed and opened his eyes. There was a shocked look on his face when he finally looked at you and spoke, “Yer a man?”

You could feel your heart sink. Had somehow a man managed to accidentally say the code word and wind up with a man? “I am… I’m sorry. I’ll leave and get you one of the girls instead.” Your voice was shaky; you were fearful of the potential anger this man could be feeling by being touched by a man.

You tried to stand quickly, to get out of the steamy room as soon as you could. But his hand caught your wrist. “Hey, now I didn’t say I was upset, just,” he waved his hands, “surprised.” You nodded slowly and sat back down.

Beginning to wash his arm, he sank more into the water.

“I didn’t know men had these jobs.” He was back to his usual talking tone, and you relaxed and chuckled, rinsing off the soap bubbles.

“Men have always been working these places, mister.” You reached across his chest, trying to ignore just how much you wanted to stare at the way his skin was glowing. “Just the first time you’ve seen us.”

The man hummed and sighed, “I think I’m liking the fellers more, you’re using the right amount of pressure.” Massaging the knots in his back would take you a lifetime, but you hesitated on his legs, favoring to clean his neck and chest before going lower.

“Course I use pressure, not like you’re exactly, fragile, mister.” This was a big mistake, running your hands across his chest, his pecs were well-formed but soft under your fingers. How distracting.

“Arthur. Arthur Morgan.”

You lightly squeezed his chest, “It’s not like you’re exactly made of porcelain, Mister Morgan.” He laughed, an excellent sound as he kept eye contact with you.

“You touch all the men like this?” The water splashed slightly around him, “just the handsome ones.” You grinned and poured warm water across his chest.

“If I ask for more, is that extra?” Your heart stuttered. You really weren’t supposed to, but the hotelier said what happens behind the doors doesn’t concern him unless you’re hurt. And the only thing that hurt now was passing up the offer of getting to see a handsome man come undone.

“For you, Arthur, it’ll be on the house.” You whispered as your hand dipped into the water, slowly trailing his stomach as his breathing picked up.

You felt the weight of his hard dick, taking it into your hand and feeling his stomach tightened at the contact.

“Yer—hands, they’re real—real-soft,” Arthur groaned, a faint shiver of pleasure escaping him as his lips trembled when you settled into a steady rhythm.

The gentle lap of the water around your arm created a soothing white noise, softly enveloping the room and partially muffling Arthur’s sounds.

“Thank you, mister,” you replied, your voice steady and warm. As you focused on the task at hand, you couldn't help but notice the way the light danced across his face. The way his chest glistened thanks to the water.

You chewed on your bottom lip as Arthur's head lolled back. His eyes screwed shut as your thumb gently circled his tip. “You’re real handsome, Arthur.” Your voice blends seamlessly with the tranquil ambiance. It made Arthur's mind melt, getting so much attention from a younger man, no less, was more pleasurable than he’d ever fully admit.

But it was evident to you as his hips lifted in tandem with your strokes.

Arthur let out a soft, broken chuckle, his voice thick with both surprise and delight. “You’re gonna kill me talkin’ like that,” he murmured, words nearly lost in the wet hush of the bathwater and the low creak of the tub. On one hand, calloused from years of rough work like most men who'd wandered in here, reached out, unsure for a moment before resting lightly on your arm, his touch reverent, grateful.

“I ain’t tryin’ to kill you,” you said with a small smile, thumb brushing gently the prominent vein on his dick making his whole body jolt. “Just makin’ sure you feel good. You deserve that.”

His breath hitched again your words went straight to his cock you effortlessly took care of, but it wasn’t just the physical contact that unraveled him—it was the kindness. A quiet sort of intimacy he hadn’t realized he’d missed until now.

“Don’t reckon anyone’s said that to me in a long time,” he admitted, moans interrupting his sentence, eyes flickering open, soft and unsure as they found yours.

You leaned in a little, your face close, your voice even softer. “Well, they should’ve. I see you, Arthur. And I like what I see.”

For a moment, he didn’t speak. Just looked at you like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. Then, with a drawn out quiet grunt, he came with a weak thrust into your grip. He pulled you just a bit, forehead resting against yours. The warmth of the bath water surrounded him like a thick blanket, but the heat between you that left him breathless.

“You’re somethin’ else,” he whispered. “Reckon I’m lucky tonight.”

Your hand lightly trailed back up his chest, groping his supple skin along the way. You could feel his heartbeat through his hot skin; the rhythm was steady and hard.

“Mmm, long as I’m here, you're lucky as often as you'd like, cowboy.” You kissed his cheek, and the stubble on his face poked your lips.

His hand didn't quite let go as you walked away with a sway to your hip. He'd almost follow you out of the bath if he didn't need to dry off and redress.

Stepping into the hallway, you gasped for air. You needed some fresh air urgently.

Speeding outside the hotel, your manager asked where you were going.

“Handsome men are so suffocating!” All he did was wave you off with a sigh as you stepped out.

You were almost painfully hard as you took a drag of your cigarette. Arthur Morgan. You'd have to remember that name.

He was the first man in a long time to make you feel like this.

To make you feel so eager to please, almost making you forget this job is all for money.

Shit

The money.

[death-ofpeace-ofmind]

Noah Sebastian(YOU!AU) x Reader: Chapter II

Trigger Warnings: Obsessive thoughts, stalking (online and physical), manipulation, toxic behavior, emotional voyeurism, possessive mindset, references to past emotional abuse.

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Banner: @xmads-omensx

WC: 1052k

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Taglist: @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @lil-garbitch @blade-dressed-in-red @fadingintothegrey @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @heyyoplayer @klutzy-kay24 @chey-h @collidewiththesav @supersquirrel1996 @shayeanna-ashlie @xmads-omensx @miwomens @lacy1986 @pipidoll @ami--gami @astronoids @bloody-spades @renegadebirch @miwomens @dontwantthemoney

Divider by: @silent-stories

Chapter II: “I Know You”

————————————————————————————Noah’s POV

There’s a difference between curiosity and obsession.

Curiosity is wanting to know what someone listens to.

Obsession is staying up all night to watch every Instagram live they’ve ever done.

And I’ve watched all of them.

You, in your tiny apartment off Melrose. You, barefoot in your kitchen, half-drunk on cheap wine, strumming a dusty acoustic guitar with chipped red nail polish. Your voice warbles through a voice memo app and pours from my laptop speakers like blood from a fresh wound. Unfiltered. Honest. Real.

You post a photo at 2:13 a.m., a moody black-and-white mirror shot. Oversized shirt. Collarbone exposed. You caption it: “writing demons out of my head again.”

Demons. Yes. I see them too, Y/N. I see the hollow in your eyes when you think no one’s watching.

But I am.

I always am.

I scroll past your friends,some barely post, most don’t matter. But him, Andy.

Of course it’s Andy.

Every girl like you has an Andy.

He’s in old photos, sometimes tagged in the background of your late-night shows. He was there when your voice cracked in that open mic at Dirty Laundry, wasn’t he? But he didn’t hold you. He laughed. I saw the way he commented: “You’ll get it next time.”

Next time. That passive dig. That’s what he does, makes you doubt yourself. Belittle wrapped in faux encouragement. Texts you at midnight. Vanishes by morning. Comes crawling back whenever he thinks someone else might take his place.

Not me.

He doesn’t know you anymore.

But I do.

I walked past your apartment for the third night this week. I tell myself I’m just passing by. That I like this part of town. That the gas station on the corner has better coffee than the one near me.

But then the lights go on. Your window, second floor, right side. You pull the curtain back and stand there for a moment, backlit like something holy. You’re not wearing much, just a tank top and those threadbare shorts that have your ex’s hoodie tied around the waist. Why do you still wear it?

You bite your lip. Pacing. Frustrated.

You pick up your guitar but set it back down seconds later.

Writer’s block? Or maybe you’re haunted. I hope it’s the second one. It means there’s still something broken in you. And broken things… are easier to keep.

Thursday, July 28th.

I make it look like an accident.

It has to be perfect.

I time it to the minute, 6:47 p.m. on a Thursday. You’re always at Honeybee Records around that time. I walk in, hoodie up, hands in my pockets, and there you are again, flipping through the “Alternative” bin like you’re flipping through your own heart.

You don’t notice me until I speak.

“Didn’t think you were a repeat offender.”

You glance up, startled. And then, recognition. That smile. That fucking smile.

“Noah,” you say, like the name means something now.

Like I mean something.

“Could say the same about you.” I nod toward your full tote bag. “Running out of shelf space yet?”

“I like the hunt,” you say. “Sometimes I find things I didn’t even know I needed.”

A perfect line.

A perfect metaphor.

You didn’t know you needed me either.

You tell me you’re working on a new song. That it’s not coming together. That your inspiration’s gone cold. I offer to walk you home. You hesitate, but only a little. That’s okay. You say you have to stop by the liquor store first. I already knew that. I was there last Thursday, too, remember?

You walk with your head down, boots scuffing the pavement. You smell like vanilla and tobacco and something lonely. I listen, let you talk. You mention Andy without saying his name.

“He said my voice is ‘too angry’ lately. Like that’s a bad thing.”

I smile. That guy again.

“Maybe angry is what they need,” I say. “The world doesn’t want another polished product. It wants something real. You’re real.”

You look at me.

Really look.

And something shifts. I feel it.

The first crack in your wall.

You live in an apartment with a creaky front gate and a dying succulent by the stairs. You invite me up, say it’s just to drop your stuff off. I pretend to hesitate.

Inside, your space is exactly what I imagined, records stacked haphazardly, a string of dead fairy lights on the wall, torn pages of lyrics taped beside mirrors. An incense stick burns in the corner, and a cat I already know is named Boots curls around my ankle like he’s giving his blessing.

You offer me a beer and turn on something lo-fi. You sing along absentmindedly.

“Ever think about putting out your own stuff?” I ask. “More than just Instagram clips?”

You hesitate. “Thought about it. But who’s gonna care?”

“I do,” I say.

You laugh, so soft, so unsure. But you don’t look away.

You sit on the floor, back against the couch. I sit beside you.

And for a while, we’re quiet.

But I’m listening.

To the rhythm of your breathing. The crackle of your knuckles. The way your thumb keeps brushing that chipped nail polish like you’re trying to erase something.

I’ll find what it is.

I’ll find it and burn it down for you.

You don’t kiss me that night. That’s okay.

This isn’t about rushing.

It’s about roots.

It’s about becoming so deeply entangled in your life that when the vines twist, you don’t realize they’re choking you.

Not until it’s far too late.

You walk me to the door, say, “Thanks for tonight. It was… nice.”

Nice. That word again. It’s always the start.

“You’re welcome,” I say. “Get some sleep. You’ll write better tomorrow.”

You nod like I’ve just solved something for you. Like I’ve slipped inside a space no one’s dared to reach in a long time.

And as your door shuts behind me, I already know what I’ll do next:

Delete Andy from your past.

Erase him.

Make him vanish.

Because villains don’t wait for the story to end.

They write it themselves.

[v3lvet-midnight]

𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖙𝖔𝖔 𝖒𝖚𝖈𝖍 (40𝖘 𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖌𝖊𝖆𝖓𝖙! 𝕭𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖊𝖘 𝖝 𝖌𝖓! 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗)

Brooklyn has plenty of people he can pick for a partner, but his sights are set on the most beautiful of all. warnings: other than a very vague mention of gods and sickenly sweet fluff none

Bucky was a flirt; it came so easy too him like second nature. However, none of the many ladies whom he made swoon could ever compare to you the beautiful baker from up the street.

He's seen you around for years and in that time, he found that you were smart, you weren't afraid to correct him on things he got wrong unlike the rest of those he swooned with just a few words. No, not even close. You didn't hesitate to tell him when he said something you didn't like. God, he adored it. He missed your interactions while he was away at war, he couldn't stop thinking about you, no matter how hard he tried. When he was alone, he would think back to your many interactions. Memories would flash of your smile, the way your eyes lit up when you laughed at one of his jokes, or even the way you'd playfully jab his shoulder when he purposefully said something he knew would annoy you. 

He was counting down the days until he got to do all that again. Every night he would stay up Missing you, His heart full of longing for you which was a feeling so unfamiliar to the man who had the reputation of charming everyone he's met. Why did he feel this way? He asked Steve before because this feeling was driving him crazy. 

"God it's like they're all I think about ya know? It's like they're haunting me, Steve. I'm not even sure I can say they take up my mind anymore, Its theirs now with how full of them it is" 

"You're in love with them buck, that simple" was all Steve said back to him when he asked followed by some light teasing. 

Those words stuck with him for months, and suddenly the late nights he'd spend thinking of you and your moments together made sense. He did love you, and that realization was pleasant to him, not as scary as he expected. He welcomed it and ever since he did 

You were the first thing on his mind every morning and you were his last thought at night. If there were angels and gods, they'd be the only ones who knew just how much he thought about you while he was alone and just how much he would pray to whoever was listening that you'll be his when it was all over. He'd give anything for it. Hell, if you said the word he would gladly leave behind the war and just spend the rest of his life tucked away in a small, beautiful home with just the two of you. All he wants now is to be yours, for as long as you'd let him.

Some nights he'd lay awake wondering if you thought about him too, and you did. His annoyingly sweet charm and that boyish grin always made the bakery shine a little brighter, now while he was gone it lacked it, and the place felt like it was missing something. Perhaps it was the jokes he'd make leaning over the counter as he watched you, or that flutter in your chest each time he'd praise or compliment your work. you had no idea what it was, but you did know one thing, and it was just how much you missed him without realizing it. You wished you would have asked around for where you could write to him. But what would you say? Plus given his reputation, he probably has plenty of letters already. You decided to wait until he came back, all the words you had to say to him would be better face to face anyway. Youd wait as long as it took to finally utter those 3 words that have been haunting your mind for months now. 

When bucky made it back from deployment you were fighting the urge to just drop everything and go see him. But he was probably tired so you decided to wait until later, to give him the chance to settle in after so long.

But the sergeant had other plans. The moment he arrived he already knew he was going to go see you first. The same person who has consumed his every thought since he left and the same person who without knowing has captured his heart. As fast as he could he immediately rushed over to the bakery, still in uniform not caring about anything else but being able to see you. 

Once he made it to the bakery he didn't hesitate to step inside. 

"Here instead of goin' to welcome me back? I'm hurt doll, and here I thought I was important to ya"

You immediately recognized that voice, hell you could see that damn charming grin without turning to see who was speaking.

"Back already Barnes? I was just starting to enjoy the peace and quiet around here" 

you turned around and there he was, that same boyish grin that made your heart flutter.

"ah, there's that pretty face i missed so much" 

He began to move closer to you and with every step he took you could swear your heartbeat quickened and now that he was right next to you it was so fast you swear, he could probably hear it. 

"Oh, and by the way doll its sergeant Barnes now"

Before you could respond you felt him take your hand in his.

"Your the first person I came to see once I came back ya know"

he spoke his tone a soft whisper you haven't heard him use before it was almost vulnerable and genuine, yet it was quiet like he wasn't too sure what to say next.

"You're gonna call me crazy for this doll, but i couldn't stop thinking about you while I was away. Its like you have me under some sort of spell." 

you opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off before you could even mutter a single word

"I love you doll, and it took being away from you for so long to realize it. I cant tell you how many nights I stayed up thinking about your laugh, your smile, especially that little pout you make when I say something to bug you. I love it all doll. More than I've loved anything in my life more than i thought possible. "

The confession was so sincere, his tone still soft but there were points where his voice would crack from all the emotion behind it. It was obvious he was speaking from the heart, and the words he said?  They were enough to take your breath away. Bucky looked at you intently trying to see your reaction to his words already bracing himself for a possible rejection.  His hand still holding yours like it was the only thing keeping him from drowning in his own emotions.

"Say you'll be mine doll, I cant think of anything I want more than that. You have me wrapped around your finger and you don't even realize it. I love you way too much to leave without you loving me back, so please doll"

"I love you too" 

You didn't need to say more, not to him those three words were enough. His hand holding yours gently pulled you even closer and into his arms where he felt you belonged and he wrapped them around your waist, the embrace gentle and loving. His hand let go of yours gently resting on your cheek holding you like you were a delicate flower and then he pressed his lips to yours kissing you. His lips moving against yours so gently like you'd break if he was too rough. It lasted a few moments before he pulled away.

"You have no idea how long I've spent wishing for this"

he spoke softy against your lips before pulling you in for another kiss.

[just-a-little-unionoid]

forever a so unfair injustice that if I want talk with people about my fic I actually have to write it before

[xyywrites]

Writing Grief Without Romanticizing It

Grief is raw, messy, and deeply personal. It doesn’t follow a neat arc or fit into tidy narrative beats. While stories often use grief as a dramatic device, romanticizing it can cheapen the emotional reality. Writing grief authentically means embracing its discomfort and unpredictability, not sanitizing or idealizing it. 

What Romanticizing Grief Looks Like

Characters who seem emotionally wrecked but always manage to look graceful in their suffering.

Overly articulate monologues that sound more like a eulogy than a real moment of loss.

Depictions of grief as a singular, cathartic event instead of a long, jagged process.

Romanticized Grief:

“Every day without you is like a piece of me fading away into a tragic, beautiful void. I’ll carry this pain forever, for it’s all I have left of you.”

This might be poetic, but it lacks the authenticity of how most people actually process grief.

Realistic Grief:

“I forgot your birthday. I didn’t mean to, but when I remembered, it was already too late. And then I hated myself because forgetting felt like erasing you.”

Writing Grief Authentically

1. Show the Physical Toll

Grief isn’t just emotional—it’s physical. Insomnia, headaches, exhaustion, or even the inability to move can be part of the experience.

“She woke up in the middle of the night again, choking on the air. Her chest felt like a cinderblock had been wedged inside, heavy and unmoving. It was three days since the funeral, and she still hadn’t slept longer than an hour.”

2. Let Grief Be Messy

Grief isn’t a perfectly linear journey. There’s no logical progression from denial to acceptance—there are setbacks, breakdowns, and even moments of denial long after healing has started.

“He yelled at his mother for throwing out the cereal box. ‘It was his favorite,’ he said. She didn’t remind him that it had been expired for months. She just handed him the trash bag and walked away.”

3. Avoid Glossy Sentimentality

Sometimes grief isn’t poetic; it’s ugly, blunt, and devoid of grandeur. Characters might lash out, shut down, or isolate themselves.

Romanticized: “I’ll cry every day, but I’ll keep going because you’d want me to.”

Realistic: “They said time would heal it. But it didn’t. Time just put more space between me and the life I knew before.”

4. Let Grief Manifest in Small, Unexpected Ways

Grief isn’t always about sobbing—it can show up in mundane moments: hesitating to delete a voicemail, holding onto an old sweater, or instinctively setting the table for someone who’s gone.

“She turned to tell him the joke, the one about the broken lamp, and stopped halfway through. The silence hit harder than the punchline ever would.”

5. Highlight the Absurdity of It

Grief can be absurd and disorienting. Characters might laugh inappropriately, obsess over trivial details, or feel disconnected from reality.

“At the funeral, all she could focus on was how crooked the flowers were arranged. She kept wanting to fix them. If she didn’t, she thought, none of this would feel real.”

6. Explore How Grief Changes Relationships

Grief doesn’t happen in isolation—it affects relationships, often in unexpected ways. Some people pull closer, others drift apart.

“Her friends stopped asking how she was doing after the first few weeks. She didn’t blame them; she didn’t have an answer. ‘Fine’ wasn’t a lie—it was just easier than saying, ‘I still can’t breathe when I see his empty chair.’”

7. Show the Longevity of Grief

Grief doesn’t end when the funeral does. Let it linger in your story, showing how it ebbs and flows over time.

“It had been five years, but she still called his number when something exciting happened. She didn’t know why. Maybe it was just habit. Or maybe it was hope.”

8. Allow for Moments of Respite

Grief isn’t constant agony. People still laugh, find joy, and go about their lives—sometimes feeling guilty for it.

“She smiled for the first time in weeks, and then immediately hated herself for it. It felt like betrayal, like forgetting.”

[moyazaika]

housewife syndrome

yandere! rockstar x fem! reader

cw; possessive + obsessive behaviour, severe mental instability, paranoia, anxiety, violence, heavy nsfw themes, mdni 18+

genie's notes; commissioned piece by a very sweet anon ♡ thank you so much for trusting me with this absolutely stunning idea. i’ve always been a fan of domestic horror, especially of the spiralling housewife variety, so it was fun to explore a new dynamic and fresh writing style. <3

"welcome home, sweetheart!" the television runs on low volume in the background as you greet your husband with a knowing smile. you run through the motions as you always do, make sure to ask with the most innocence you can muster, "how was your day?"

feroze can make out the sound of gallant applause that indicates you'd been watching reruns of last night's award ceremony.

"such a fucking drag." your husband pulls you into his arms, buries his head into the crook of your neck with a long, satisfied sigh and takes his sweet, sweet time to breathe you in. "couldn't fucking wait to come home to you, meri jaan."

his answer remains the same as it is every other day, and you can't help but smile against his lips when he pulls you in to steal a little kiss; you sigh into his mouth, and feroze is so fucking overwhelmed by gratitude for the familiarity and comfort of this little routine the two of you have seemed to settle down into so well.

"i love when you call me that," you confess; my life.

you know just as well as him that, well—it wasn't always this easy.

"yeah," feroze hums. "i know you do, baby."

you weren't always so lovely for him, were you?

-

you're quiet.

though the two of you are sitting across from each other at the dining table, your attention is clearly elsewhere. conversation is slow, if not stagnant. it's a far cry from how talkative you usually are; and though he would never fucking admit it, least of all to you, he worries, for a fraction of a second, that things are slipping.

"meri jaan?" he sets down his fork very carefully, reaches for your hands over the table.

you blink, pulled away from wherever you'd been lost in your mind and back down to this moment that stretches on before you.

"oh, sorry, my love. what was that?"

feroze watches your eyes quietly track the movement of his fingers, sliding over your wrists, lingering, momentarily, on your pulse—nice and steady—before they intertwine with your own.

your gaze lands on him, then, expectant. he drags his thumb over your knuckles, glad to find they're soft; unmarred by any labour. he loves having you here, tucked away within the walls of this home he built just for you, away from the rest of the rotten world.

such a darling girl like you deserves to have everything taken care of for you. as far as he's concerned, the only thing on your mind should be him.

which is why the silence is beginning to irritate him, now. he's not really upset with you, doesn't have a reason to be, just yet—he's just wondering what it is you're so focused on. where do you keep going back to in that head of yours, and why aren't you here with him?

is this where it all falls apart?

—again?

"rosy?" you try. "is everything alright?"

"yeah," feroze's hazel eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles, endearingly patient. "i just wanted to know how your day was."

"ugh, don't remind me." you stick your tongue out. "it was so boring. i woke up so late today and didn't really do anything interesting."

"shit, i'm sorry to hear that, baby."

your husband nods towards the television, still playing from inside the living room across the hall; the screen's bright colours reflect against the glass windows that take up half the wall. though the program is muted, he can still hear the echoes from the cacophony of applause ringing loud and true.

the four hour program's been running on loop on some of the smaller channels, and you really seem to enjoy tuning in, he's noticed.

it would be more difficult not to notice this new habit of yours, really. because if he's been counting right, this is the seventh time you've seen the whole thing through to the end.

"seems like you were at least watching the music thing again."

"well, when my stunning husband won half of the awards," you shrug coyly. "how could i not?"

"flattery won't get you anywhere," feroze deigns, though neither of you mention the involuntary curl to his lips as they lift into a small, self-satisfied smile.

"huh, that's strange," you frown, pull your hands away from his own and make a show of examining the elaborately stacked engagement ring and marital band wrapped around your finger. "if i seem to remember correctly, flattery is exactly what got me this ring."

"oh," he laughs. "is that so?"

"uhuh," you nod, still admiring the rings. they're big and they're flashy and there's no fucking chance anyone could ever miss the sight of them; make the mistake of misunderstanding what they mean. you're so obviously his, and fuck, it suits you so perfectly to belong to him.

i love you, he thinks fiercely. i fucking love you.

"you've got an ego, rosy." your knowing gaze flickers back to him, accompanied by a teasing smile. "bit of a praise kink, too."

"and yet, darling wife," he'll never tire of calling you that; never really overcome the thrill that overwhelms him when he sees you adorned in the markers of his devotion and tucked away all safe and sound. "you're the only person whose words mean anything to me."

"ohh, is that so?" you taunt, "whatever happened to 'flattery won't get you anywhere?'"

feroze takes in the sight of you. you're dressed casual, donned in a baggy old shirt and a pair of his softest sweats hanging low off your hips. comfortable in your own home, as you should fucking feel, you have no makeup on, and your hair is unkempt; overdue for a shower; but fuck if he cares.

feroze decides, within a moment, that he needs you—

now.

"come here, meri jaan. i'll show you."

"you greedy, greedy man," you chastise lightly, rising from your seat. "i've just fed you dinner and you're still salivating at my table."

feroze watches you make the small effort of pushing your chair in, before turning on your heel. you pause in the doorway for a second, spare him a knowing glance over your shoulder; "well? aren't you hungry, darling husband?"

he knows that none of it evades you; the nervous bob of his adam's apple as he swallows. the way his fingers are digging into the edge of the table to keep from sinking inside of you right here. his heart is racing; his pants are tight. though you're so willing to be his now, he remembers it wasn't always this easy.

"my love." feroze grits out, "i'm fucking starving."

you disappear into the hallway, mellifluous laughter like the loveliest song, echoing off the walls—inside of his head, for fuck's sake—as your husband follows faithfully behind you when you lead him into the bedroom.

dinner goes cold on the table. you never touched your plate.

upstairs, minutes later, your husband bottoms out inside of the welcoming warmth of your sweet cunt, just as your fingers brush against the butcher's knife tucked right underneath your pillow.

-

feroze gets you to come twice before he decides he has his fill. he's rummaging through your nightstand for the contraceptives he knows you keep in there. it's got less to do with what he wants and more to do with what he believes is best for the two of you.

it's not that he doesn't want children; he dreams of them often. a little baby swaddled in the softest fabrics, wrapping its entire hand around just one of his fingers. the sound of a second pair of footsteps excitedly running down the hall every time he comes home from the studio, from tour. something more to take care of. to keep you busy.

but your husband knows you.

and though he's always been selfish, he can't risk kids until—well, until he knows you won't try to kill them.

it's taken you years to accept him. he won't undo that.

feroze, so caught up in his thoughts, only really registers the blade until it's slicing into his skin, the sharp edge of it pressing against the side of his neck with just enough pressure to draw blood.

he is disappointed, though by no means surprised, to find you on the other end wielding the knife.

he turns to face you, abandoning his search. you're holding onto the hilt of your makeshift weapon with trembling hands, and though he's suddenly overcome by exhaustion—because, baby, how many more times are you going to pull this—an involuntary shiver runs down his spine at the sight nonetheless.

"jaan," he tries to reason with you in hushed tones; oh, love. "what are you doing?"

you dig the knife in just a little deeper, and he winces; "i hate you, feroze." the words sting, though the relative lack of conviction they’re laced with serves as a promising sign of reconciliation.

"i know, baby. can you please just put the knife down so we can talk like adults?"

he glimpses the almost imperceptible change immediately.

the lines of hesitation on your face; a flicker of uncertainty in your eyes. when your hold on the weapon looses just the tiniest fraction of an inch, he wastes no time in gently but firmly prying the knife from out of your trembling hands; tosses it underneath the bed where it lands out of your reach.

he’s getting better at this. gets through to you so much sooner than he used to.

you’re listening, now, aren’t you?

the thought of it makes him oddly proud.

"there we go," feroze says. you're still shaking, and though he wants so fucking desperately to pull you closer and console you—he's learnt to tread the waters carefully in times like these. you're evidently scared. obviously upset with him. he can give you a little room to breathe. “now do you want to use your words and talk to me properly?”

“i keep rewatching the awards show. every other winner had someone there with them. some girlfriend or wife they kissed before they went on stage. you’re the only one who—” you swallow, voice wavering. “i’m the only one who wasn’t there. i’m the only one who’s kept hidden away.”

“you don’t want to show me off.” the tears fall almost immediately. “you’re ashamed of me.”

there are millions of words in the english language, and millions more in his own. he’s put into words every fleeting feeling you’ve made him feel; spun both the most magnificent and mundane of emotions into beautiful songs and compelling lyrics and composed entire albums from nothing—and yet, somehow, in this moment all of it evades him.

"i spend all day stuck here w-waiting for you to come home, and when you do—i keep thinking about all those ceremonies and galas and parties you go to, rooms i can never follow you into—and i hate you. i hate you for how much you hate me—”

“i’m sorry,” feroze’s hands run up your spine, to lightly curl his fingers around the back of your neck. he tilts your head up so that you’re meeting his gaze; leaves you nowhere to look away, “meri jaan.”

his touch is so soft and so, so cold against your skin. you've always run warmer than him; but he thinks you might be burning up right now. maybe you've got a fever; or maybe you're just this delirious even without one. it doesn't fucking matter, doesn't change anything.

“i’m sorry for ever leaving you alone long enough to even think that. let me make it up to you. let me show you how much i adore you. let me build you back up again.”

“you can’t fix this,” you whisper.

he smiles, but it’s strange; doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “so you said the last time.”

-

hours later, you’re less of a sobbing wreck when he’s got you perched in his lap, and all curled up under his chin. “okay… then…” you sniff. your words are somewhat muffled as you bury your face into your husband’s chest. “i’m sorry, too. i didn’t mean to hurt you, rosy. i was just scared, i-i promise.”

"i know.” his knuckles wipe away the tears drying on your cheeks. “give me a kiss, please.”

and ever the sweet wife, you do; but your lips are trembling.

fuck, that’s—

shit.

—not going to work, is it?

with a gentle but firm hand, he pushes you down onto the bed and watches you land on your back amidst the dozens of pillows that decorate the bed. even then, the softest thing here is you. he forgets that, sometimes. let this be a lesson, he thinks to himself, to keep your fragility in mind. this is only further proof that you need him more than he'd even realised.

but you picked the right man, didn’t you? because none of that scares him.

the two of you have faced far more difficult times together; this is just a little hiccup in your life as a married couple. some story you’ll look back on and laugh about, when you’re all better.

so when you look up at him with wide, wet eyes and ask, "its just—can you promise me you still love me one more time?”

feroze regards you closely. you’re so beautiful. so fucking perfect that it overwhelms him. sometimes, he wishes you could see yourself the way that he sees you. though he’s always believed that may just scare you; knowing how deep his devotion really runs. things are fine as they are now.

well, mostly.

he has decided that he will retire from music completely, but the two of you can broach that topic when you’re in a better headspace for it. it’s been a long time coming. work keeps the money coming in, and he wants to spoil you but—he wants you to be happy, above all. you don’t really know what you’re asking for right now, but he has every intention of giving you exactly what it is you wished for.

he can’t give in when you beg to come along with him—but he can come and hide away next to you in this little pocket of the world that solely belongs to the two of you.

"you drive me to madness, my love. nothing about this life means anything if i can’t keep you happy.”

the two of you never had a white wedding; because he wanted to honour your union the right way and celebrate you as his culture deigned. so, yes, he never got to read you any vows, but he'd like to think you've come to know him well enough to understand he doesn't necessarily need to say something so sacred out loud for it to hold true.

"do you understand? i love you," he lowers his forehead against yours. “till death does us apart.”

you put your heart in his hands one more time, looking so small, so vulnerable beneath him. "you promise?"

"i promise," he closes his eyes and revels in the soft, sweeping feeling of your lashes fluttering against his own. "always and forever, meri jaan."

feroze loves you, of this he's certain.

he also knows that you fucking terrify him.

it's a small price to pay, if it means keeping you—

besides, he thinks, reaching once more for the contraceptive pills on the nightstand.

—marriage is all about compromise, is it not?

[purinfelix]

constellation - n. riki ✶⋆.˚

summary: a late night, sleepy half-formed thoughts and quiet touches ──────── Niki x reader (established relationship) || sfw, super duper fluffy and wholesome idk im in my feels || w/c: 1k

a/n: GUESS WHOS BACK (no one remembers me) ... anyways i was rewatching the colour analysis enoclock ep and heeseung mentioned Ni-ki's seven moles on his back and i just thought it was such an endearing feature i wanted to write smth about it !!!

"You've got a lot of moles on your back."

You're not even sure why you say it, and it's only once the words leave your mouth that you realise it's a bit of an odd thing to point out. To be fair, though, it's starting to become one of those nights when you're so sleepy that you can't bother filtering your thoughts. Niki turns to look at you, halfway through pulling on a shirt, and even though his brows are raised, you can tell he isn't entirely surprised by your words.

"Oh, yeah," he says calmly, "you've never noticed before?"

"Hm, I've seen them but," you hum, lazily letting your head fall back onto the bed where you're lying, watching him, "it just never occurred to me how many you have."

He laughs softly, pulling his shirt over his head, and soon you feel the mattress dip beside you as he sinks into it. You instinctively shuffle over to make room for him, but Niki, always wanting to be closer to you, finds his way right up against you - his arm brushing up against yours.

"Hey," you mumble, turning to watch as he lifts his face from the pillow, "let me see them again." The way you ask is almost childish, but even through your half-lidded eyes, you can see how he's a little taken aback by your request.

"The moles?"

"What else, dummy?" you scoff, stifling a yawn. Despite your jab he does as you say, tugging the hem of his shirt up so that you can see his back again.

Even though the room is dim, you can make them out just clear enough - small and dark against the pale skin of his back. There's something so quietly beautiful about them and the fact that not many other people would get to see them up close the way you are right now.

Maybe it's that realisation of how vulnerable he's letting himself be around you that pushes your hand out to press a gentle finger to the one highest on his back, just above his shoulder blade. He tenses slightly, clearly not expecting your touch, but soon calms.

"They're like stars," you say, barely above a whisper.

Normally, and if it were with anyone else, Niki probably would've protested, laughed and told them that they were overthinking things. But in this low light, in this bed with you and with the feeling of sleep pulling at his eyelids, he can't find the heart, or energy, to say anything to spoil this moment.

"I guess so," he hums back, but once he feels your finger begin to move, tracing a shape on his back, he can't help but let out a quiet laugh. "What are you doing now?"

"Making a constellation," you say, in such a matter-of-fact tone that Niki finds himself unable to say anything more - he just resigns himself to feeling the sensation of your finger against his back, slow and steady, almost soothing.

"They're pretty," you say once you've finished your path, satisfying your curiosity and gently pulling his shirt back down. You flop back onto the bed next to him, watching as he turns to face you, cheeks flushed the slightest shade of pink.

"You know they say that your moles are where your past lover kissed you the most," you hum, and he just laughs softly.

"You really believe that kind of stuff?"

You make an effort to shrug, as if to say why not? Silently, you pull your hands out from under the covers and cradle his face gently, tracing your thumb over his features like you have so many times. You stop a couple of times - at the mole on his chin, under his eyes, on his cheek.

"You must've been really loved in your past life," you whisper, and like everything you've said that night you're not sure why you say it. Still, you can feel his gaze on you, soft and with an endearment you know he reserves only for you.

"You think so?" he says, finally breaking the silence.

You nod ever so slightly, fingers still resting on his cheekbone. "You must've been lucky."

He brings his hand up to grab yours, intertwining his fingers with yours in a motion that feels so familiar now that it almost feels instinctive. With his other hand, he pulls you closer, pressing his forehead to you - the entire time his eyes never failing to meet yours despite the vulnerability in his expression.

"I think," he whispers, "I still am."

It's your turn to scoff at his somewhat cheesy response, but the sound is quickly swallowed up by his lips meeting yours - soft and sure, like he's been waiting the entire night for this moment and now that it's here, he clearly has no intentions of rushing it. Your fingers tighten in his as you sigh into the kiss, even after months of being together you're not sure if you'll ever get used to the feeling of him taking your breath away.

When you finally pull apart, you only do so enough to catch your breath, which you're sure Niki can feel on his face.

"You're so weird sometimes," he finally says, a lazy smile hanging off of his lips.

"You love it," you whisper back, pressing your nose to his as you let out a soft giggle.

He only chuckles in response, though it's enough for you. Silently, and still with his hand tightly gripping yours, he pulls you in closer so that your head is tucked under his chin, the blankets wrapped around the two of you. Gently, his thumb brushes over the stretch of your hand with a steady rhythm that lulls you to sleep and before you realise it, your eyes are half closed.

You shuffle, pressing your face further into his neck. The last thing you hear before drifting of is his voice again, though with how quiet he says it you're not sure if he's talking to you, himself, or the universe.

"I’m glad it’s you."

And even if he feels you smile against his chest in response, he doesn't say anything — just holds you tighter, like he never plans to let go.

taglist (for niki fics! <3) @miniw0nz @microwvdstrawb3rri3s

[taeslarityy]

outage ༄ joel miller one shot (18+)

-> pairing: no-outbreak joel miller au x female curvy reader

-> word count: 4.3k

-> summary: after a citywide power outage, you're left to deal with the scorching texas heat. until, the well-respected neighborhood dilf — joel miller — lends you a more than generous hand.

-> warnings/tags: sarah is 10/11 so joel had her a bit older, power outage, texas heat, yes this is a warning because its not a joke, reader has a cat!!!, age gap (reader is 24, joel is late 40s), curvy/mid/plus size reader, brief fatphobia, reader has self-image/parent issues + is a lonely gal, fluff, SMUT (18+), unprotected piv, creampie, oral + fingering (f!recieving), squirting, body worship, brief ass play, daddy kink, big ole tits, spanking, spit kink, praise kink, a bit of belly bulge, cockwarming, pet names galore (darlin, sweetheart, baby, _ girl), joel has a huge dick (not canon!)

-> a/n: hi hi! i have been so anxious to begin writing again and currently have some wips that i am just not confident with. so when i saw the lovely @hellishjoel post her #hotdilfsummerchallenge, i was positive i wanted to join in! such a pleasure to be involved in this — thank you kylee for creating such a fun way for this community to get involved! as a curvier woman, i wanted reader to reflect that. because... joel miller is a handsy mf and loves to just grab himself some wide hips, thick thighs and phat tits <3 but ofc, this is can be for various body types. please please please, leave your thoughts and even constructive criticism! <3 DILF NEIGHBOR JOEL, YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS!!!!

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. 

You release a groan of annoyance as the visual of your TV, coffee table lamp and humming of the refrigerator all flicker off into silence. The frills on your throw-blanket settle, as the ceiling fan no longer produces the small gusts of wind that have caused you to be rather chilly on this hot, humid and rainy summer night. 

When you made the courageous decision of moving across the country for a new teaching opportunity in Austin — you were never informed on the true brutality summertime unleashed onto Texas residents. More-so, you really had nothing to do but be caged up in the comfortable AC of your home. You’ve been here for roughly 14 months and the only "friends" you’ve made have been the 28 fourth graders you had the pleasure of teaching last school year. Tragic. 

Your coworkers, did not handle your arrival pleasantly. Young, beautiful, freshly-educated and determined. That’s what your grandmother referred to you as when you called her sobbing after your first week. Informing her that the seasoned teachers won’t even bat an eye at you, and when they do it’s a look of disgust. Whispering amongst one another. Like you were in middle school again, trying to befriend the popular girls. 

“I was foolish to think things could be different for me down here, so stupid of me.”

“Now listen to me, you are the most intelligent woman I know. More than anyone in this family. Bullies like that, it stems from an unknown jealousy and overbearing insecurity. Don’t let a few sour grapes ruin this outstanding career for you. Your students adore you already, and so do I. Just continue to be yourself and if that isn’t enough for them, so be it.”

Your grandmother always knew how to make you feel better. She had been instilling your own sense of confidence since you were a little girl. The only adult in your life to do so. If only her words were enough. Your coworkers just never let up. After overhearing them gossip about you during lunch break, you gave up your attempts indefinitely. 

“She really thinks she deserves a place here?”

“Look at her back rolls in that shirt…”

“She really needs to put that sandwich down.”

“Why is she so quiet? It’s freaky, honestly. No wonder she’s always alone.”

You’re not a stranger to being alone. You practically have been your entire life. Your parents never really bothered to form a genuine relationship with you, always so focused on your younger sister. She was the prettier, thinner, more impressive version of you. You have only had one best friend throughout your long 24 years on this earth. She was smarter than you and moved away from the timid small town you shared in Northern Maine, choosing an out-of-state university. So, being alone was a familiarity. You have made peace with it. But being lonely — that’s a whole other ball-park. 

The booming thwack of thunder startles you from your thoughts. Your sweet calico boy leaps from your warm lap and scurries under the dining table — tail puffed in fear. “Milo... it’s okay,” you whisper. He just gleams at you with his jet-black saucer eyes. Even you don’t believe your own words. You are not used to storms like this, and you didn’t really prepare. You read some articles online about stocking up: having plently of batteries, candles, non-perishable foods. Yet, you didn’t do any of that. 

Rubbing away the moisture from your damp upper lip — the heat inside your home already becoming unbearable. Deciding on a whim, you can head to a nearby hotel for the night. Unsure how long you will be without power and don’t wish to succumb yourself or your cat to the searing temperatures of the night. 

The rain has slowed down, as you feel the soft patter on your umbrella. Throwing your purse and water bottle in the front seat, you begin to dread unpacking all this stuff when you get to the hotel. Bags, cat litter, cage — scrutinizing yourself mentally and deciding you better fucking prepare for the next storm. 

“Where ya headin’ sweetheart?”

Your heart jumps at the deep smooth Southern voice that fills your thoughts at night. When your hands would find their way in between your quivering legs. Throughout the day. Pretty much all the time.

Joel Miller is the only person in this town that has ever filled the lonely void you can never seem to fill. When you moved to the quiet suburban street, he was the first to come greet you as you struggled to pull your mattress out of the U-Haul. Immediately lending a hand, and proceeding to lug all of your remaining boxes, furniture, miscellaneous items into your new home. 

“Pretty lady like you, shouldn’t have to lift a single finger.” He remarked when you blushed and assured him you could handle the rest, not wanting to be a burden. Even though the sweat dripping down your back was apparent and 5 minutes prior you had no idea how you’d be able to unpack the remainder of the truck. He then assured you — there was no way in hell you were being a burden. Words that were a rarity. 

Later that afternoon, he invited you for dinner at his home. You met his lovely daughter, Sarah. Where everyone learned that you were her new school teacher. What were the odds? 

Following that, seeing Joel was frequent. From parent-teacher conferences, backyard barbecues for the neighborhood, or even small intimate dinners with Sarah at each others homes. Sarah would even spend the night at yours on occasion. When Joel had a late night at the construction site, or when she just needed some girl time. You adored that little girl, and vice versa. 

You also adored the fuck out of Joel. 

So when you looked up at his porch, finding him in nothing but a pair of plaid pajama pants.. your throat went dry. His tanned skin gleamed softly from the street light — little speckled freckles adorned his waist in various spots. And that darkish grey hair on his chest and fat of his lower tummy that flowed underneath his pants. Your brain fuzzy at the thought of your face pressed against it as you swallow his cock. 

But you were not a fool. Joel would never express an attraction towards you. A man like that? He deserved the perfect woman. 

“Darlin’?” He speaks again, a bit louder. Disturbing your wandering thoughts. 

“I- I was gonna head to a hotel for the night, my house is too hot already. And I don’t want Milo to be uncomfortable.” 

Joel’s eyes wander down your body as you explain — the plush jiggle of your tits in that small tank. Nearly spilling out. Slightly damp from the rain or humidity. The chub of your tummy spills slightly from your leggings. A sight that makes his cock swell unbearingly. An act that occurs more often than not when he sees you or even thinks of you for the countless minutes of his day. 

“No way. Not gonna let ya drive in this weather. Plus, most hotels nearby are gonna be overbooked. I got the generator up n’ working, got the spare room too. You’re stayin’ over.” 

“No! No, Joel. I can’t.”

“N’ why not?” His hands have found his way to his hips, popping a knee out and giving you that classic dad glare. Not angry, but confused as to why you’re even protesting when he’s already decided. 

“I don’t want to intrude and I have Milo. You and Sarah are allergic.”

“Sarah left yesterday to stay with her mom in California for the rest of the summer. Besides, Milo loves me. I can handle a runny nose as long as I know the two of ya are safe.” 

To this, your stomach nearly flips inward on itself. You’ve never been alone with Joel in his home. Not for this long. The few times you’ve come over to help him with dinner before Sarah got home from soccer practice, have always been excruciating. Staring at him without worry. Watching his muscles flex through his t-shirts. Big hands chopping vegetables and plating food. His hand lightly touching your waist when scooting by. 

There’s no possible way you can survive a night in Joel’s home. 

But, he’s already grabbing his umbrella and walking over to you. He grabs your stuff from the car and tells you to go grab Milo. So, you do.

Joel slips on a t-shirt after he put your stuff in the spare room, disappointedly enough. You nearly told him to keep it off, but held your tongue. You made yourself comfortable at the island barstool as you typed up some early lesson plans, Milo at your feet. 

He patters over to Joel who is now leaning against the counter, brushing against his leg. He then leaps onto the granite and purrs against Joel’s arm. 

“Psst! Milo get do-“ you beg, embarrassment coloring your cheeks. 

“S’ okay, sweetheart. He’s not botherin’ me,” Joel attempts to settle your nerves. Petting Milo’s soft fur and scratching under his chin, that special spot all cats love. “Can I get you anythin’ to drink?” He nods towards the coffee he’s brewing. 

“Coffee would be nice, thank you.” You beam at him. Joel’s heart skips a beat every time your cheeks puff up ever so slightly when you smile at him. It’s something he swears is the most endearing thing about you. Of course, he’s only ever shared that with his daughter. Who begs her father to just take her favorite teacher on a date already. 

Joel grabs some sugar and oat milk from the fridge, your favorite. He learned from the few breakfasts you guys had shared. A bit of sugar and a nice gulp of milk softens the dark roast color in the mug, he slides it over to you as he grabs his plain black coffee. 

“You remembered!” You giggle slightly at the Number 1 Dad title that adorns the mug, taking a sip. You moan at the taste, exactly how you like it. 

“Of course I did, darlin’.” You almost hate how easily those pet names roll of his tongue. You summed it up as his southern hospitality, figured he calls any woman those special names. “So, you ready for this new school year?”

An icky feeling settles in your stomach. The thought of returning to the painful and toxic work environment you can only escape when you’re with your students.

“Not without my Sarah girl,” you swiftly change the subject towards the one person he can talk hours about.

He smiles proudly at her name. 

“Ya know, she still all mad that you wouldn’t flunk her so she could have another year with ya.” Both your laughs quickly fill the empty house. 

“Well, even if I tried to, that girl is too smart for her own good. She should skip a grade in my opinion.” You state, and you’re truthful at that. Sarah Miller is as intelligent as she is quick-witted. 

“Yeah, she gets it from me.” At that you roll your eyes playfully. Typing something up before closing your computer and taking another sip of coffee. “Although I love boastin’ over her, I guess I meant are you excited to go back? They treat ya good there?” 

Joel watches the color drain from your soft skin. Realizing he touched somewhere that might be too personal. Too raw. “M’ sorry sweetheart, shouldn’t have asked.”

“No- no uh, you’re fine. Um, honestly? No. I’m not excited. The staff there aren’t exactly the kindest bunch.” You confess, slight unease crawling over you. 

Joel’s eyes scrunch in confusion. Mind blank on how the kindest soul he knows, could be surrounded by complete opposite. “Whatcha mean?”

You sigh letting the anxiousness settle a bit before speaking again, “they hate me. I don’t even know why, really? I have tried my hardest to get them to accept me but nothing seems to work. Whether it’s jabs at my appearance, teaching style, they’re never satisfied.” Your eyes are burning slightly, haven’t confessed this burden you constantly carry to anyone. “If it wasn’t for your daughter and my class, and… you.. well, I think I wouldn’t have made it through. I try to be strong, I try to be everything that people expect from me but it’s just so hard, Joel.” At that, the fat tears begin to stream down your face.

Joel was frozen in shock. Or maybe anger. Protectiveness. He wanted to hurt the people who made you feel like this. The least deserving of any pain. He sets his mug down and snatches you in his embrace. Holding your head with his hand, stroking your back with the other. He lets you sob almost uncontrollably into his firm chest. 

“I just hate being so alone.” You whisper, clutching onto him. You can’t even be embarrassed anymore, you’re so overthrown by his scent, his comfort. Comfort you’ve not felt in so so long. 

Joel kisses your temple softly, "promise you're not alone, sweet girl." He nudges your head to look up at his own sorrowful expression. His thumb running over your full lips, a bit swollen from your teeth biting down on them in an attempt to muffle your sobs. "So beautiful." He murmurs as he leans down to place a kiss on your left cheek, his lips skim over yours before he places another on your right.

Joel just barely hears the whimper from the back of your throat when that feather light skim happened. He leans back half an inch, staring into your glossy eyes. "Tell me not to, and I'll let you go upstairs and get some rest. Tell me, sweetheart."

It feels like a whole minute passes by. The soft patter of the rain, the smell of coffee beans from each others breath, the same slow breathing that overwhelms the little space between you both.

Desperation.

Your fingers tighten on his shirt, "don't let me go upstairs, Joel."

Joel smashes his mouth into yours, his guttural groan flying into your soft whimpers. The softness Joel expressed a moment ago is long gone. This kiss is messy, teeth-clanking, tongue inside your mouth. Like he wants to devour you from the outside in. He releases your lip with a pop.

He threads his thick fingers through the base of your hair and yanks it back gently, tongue on your neck. Biting the skin there. "You're so soft, baby. Just need me to mark ya up, is that right?"

You nod as hard as you can despite his harsh grip on your locks.

"I need you to use your words, sweet girl. Let me know what you're thinkin'."

"Everything you do is okay. I want more. I need it all. Please."

"Oh baby, cm'ere," he wraps your lavish thighs around his waist and hoists you into his arms. Easily. Like you're just the most delicate thing he's ever held.

As he walks to his bedroom, you smile into his neck. Arms wrapped over his shoulders, hand rubbing ever so softly at his greying curls. You bite at the skin under his ear and he gives your ass a huge squeeze. Groaning at how his big hands barely hold all the meat there. He couldn't wait to touch and gnaw at this body he loved.

At the foot of his bed, he taps your leg as if telling you to get down. You stand in front of his massive overbearing figure, staring up at him lustfully. You grab the bottom of your compression tank top and pull it over your head, revealing your unsupported chest. Your heavy tits fall a bit.

"My god," Joel falls to his knees in front of you, face nearly level with your pebbled nipples. Both his hands grab a fistful of each, rolling them in his palm. Your sweet noises fill the room and he swears he might've just came in his pajama pants right there. He takes his teeth and bite at the fat above your leggings, licking and sucking at a sensitive part of you. Literally and figuratively.

Joel abandons your chest to yank your leggings and panties down in one move, coming face-to-face with your prickly oozing pussy. He can't restrain himself much longer, spinning you around he pushes you down into his mattress.

He spreads your ass open with both hands, the chub of your lips open ever so slightly as the slick between them strings together.

"Perfect cunt." That's when you feel the chill of liquid spat right onto your puckered hole, dripping down to your clit. He leans in, tongue catching the tangy mixture of your slick and his saliva, right on your throbbing clit.

You screech into the sheets, so turned on from his actions. As he licks up to dip his tongue into your hole, one hand that's holding you open sneaks up your back, to your neck and yanks your head up.

"Nu-uh, let me hear you, baby girl." He demands as he pauses to throw his shirt off as fast as possible — not wanting to leave your cunt for too long without the warmth of his mouth.

He sloppily makes out with your cunt as it clenches and unclenches under his tongue, his beard prickling at your skin. Like he wants your scent all over him for as long as possible.

"Ohh daddy, more more," you whisper hazily, hand reaching back to grab his head desperate to have him as deep as possible.

Joel stops as he processes your choice of title. "What was that, darlin'?"

You freeze at his serious tone. Just now realizing what you've called the man. "Oh my god, I'm s-" Joel grabs your wrist and pins it against your lower back — thick middle and ring finger hooking into you with no warning. Your wetness aiding in the rapid slide of them.

He spits on your puckered hole again and abandons your wrist to land a harsh smack against your ass.

"Only dirty girls say that word, baby. Are you daddy's dirty girl?" He edges you on as he spanks you again on the opposite side. Hard. Unsparing. A side of Joel you've never seen. And oh, does it make you feel that coil tightening within you.

"Mmmm yes yes 'm your dirty girl, daddy!" You groan loudly, eyes swelling with fresh tears. But not tears of pain from earlier, pleasure.

Joel's fingers fuck into you harder, thumb now rubbing at your clit as he leans forward to prod his tongue at your asshole. "Cum for me, my nasty sweet girl. Drench my face. Let me taste you even more." He halts his fingers knuckle deep, hooked inside your cunt as he presses into that spot on repeat. Like he's stroking it out of you.

That's all it takes for you to silently scream as you squirt all over his lower beard covered face and your thick inner thighs, that nearly squish his head from how hard you're coming. Joel just keeps himself situated, never letting up. Allowing you to completely let go and rut back into him, telling him you need more.

"Thaaat's it, my good fuckin' girl.” He praises as he kisses your cunt and ass, he leans over your face capturing your lips in a kiss so messy and depraved. “Open that mouth.” Spitting roughly onto your tongue with a groan as you taste your sweetness that he knows he will forever be addicted to. No chance of recovery.

He ruts his thick bulge into your ass as you whine needly.

"Really want you to fuck my face, now." You beg, hand reaching down to grope him through his loose pjs.

"Mmmmm," he murmurs as his hips keep rutting into you. "Tonight is about you, baby. M' gonna stuff your tight cunt so fuckin' deep you'll feel it in your throat, don't worry." And with that promise, he releases himself, throbbing cock slapping against his lower tummy. You flip onto your back just to see it and your eyes widen at the sight before you.

You always knew it was huge just from perception, but god. It's thicker than your wrist, and looks like it would prod into your cervix. Painful even. Joel senses the worry on your face as he pushes your legs back against your chest. Admiring the way your stomach folds into itself, soft roll after roll. And the thickness of your inner thighs lays heavy. He just wants to get down and feast on you again but he might die if he doesn't feel you wrapped around him.

"You're in charge here, sweetheart. Understood?" He explains as he rubs his fat cock head up and down your swollen slit — notching on your opening with every downward stroke.

You nod slowly, peeking down at the monster between your legs once more. He squeezes your ankle, subtly reminding you to vocalize.

"Yes daddy, I understand."

"Good." And with that, he pushes into your fluttering hole. Your eyes roll back immediately, head thumping onto the soft duvet. He pushes in deeper, barely halfway in and he sees your feet and eyes scrunch a bit. It almost feels like he could rip you apart. Maybe it's because you haven't been fucked in a hot minute — or maybe it's just that Joel is so fucking hung. More than any guy you've slept with.

“Deep breath for me, sweetheart.” He soothes you, as soon as he sees your chest fall — he slams the rest of the way in. Hips flush with the back of your thighs. Cock fully sheathed in your warm soaked cunt. Heavy brimming balls pressed against your little puckered hole. “You feel so damn good. Dripping for me.” Joel’s eyes close at the feeling of you hugging him so tight. He suddenly forgets the feeling of any other woman he’s pleased. Utterly devoted to you from here on out.

When he pulls out all the way to his fat tip — it notches on your opening. Like he has to put in that extra effort to fully remove himself from you. But he doesn’t, and starts fucking into you fully. Never half way, never pulling completely out.. but always making sure he reaches the end of you.

“Da- daddy oh, harder please.” You plead, squeezing his forearm at the overwhelming feel of him nudging your cervix with every thrust.

That confirmation of pleasure is all Joel needs to push your legs back even more — ankles by your head — and began a brutal relentless pace. Grabbing a fistful of your jiggling tit and messy hair, he pulls your head up so you can watch how he ruins you for anyone else.

“Ya see that, see how swollen your gettin’ already?” Joel questions as he holds your head perfectly to observe the slight lifted pudge on your tummy. Paired with the way his coarse hair rubs against your swelled clit — it’s a drool worthy sight.

“Cus’ your so big, Joel.” You sigh, eyes fluttering from the primal force he’s using on your body.

A smug grin flicks across his face at the view. Mind consumed by the most perfect woman. Eyebrows turning inward, the little lines between them deepening as you try to comprehend all the emotions in this moment. Removing his hand from your head, he finds your clit and swipes it upward. Over and over. Leaning down, he sucks as much of your breast into his mouth as humanely possible. Tongue flicking the pebbled area, coercing your orgasm from you. “Cum with me, baby.” His muffled command shoots straight to your filled core.

As he feels you spasm around his thickness, he stills balls deep. “There it is, baby…” Spilling his cum inside your warmth. Plugging you, keeping you full of him. Joel relaxes his body against yours, finding your mouth to kiss you gently. Sweaty foreheads against one another. Joel goes to push off of you, his comforting body heat about to be ripped away.

"No! Wanna feel you longer, please."

Your protest makes Joel's heart surge. "Of course, sweet girl." Wrapping his large arms around you, he flips you both so that your soft plush body lays above him. The new angle makes his spent cock nudge a bit deeper, you both moan at the faint squelch of his cum overflowing your cunt. "You're so perfect," he mutters.

Smiling into his full chest, you leave a swift kiss. "So are you. Thank you for this. For.. everything."

Joel's hands finds your back as he begins gentle strokes onto your supple skin, his head resting atop your own. "Thank you, darlin'. I want you to understand something, you might just be the finest thing that ever happened to Sarah and I. Y'know, she didn't really want to see her mom. Never had the best relationship with her. She just wanted to spend the remainder of the summer havin' ya over everyday to swim and all. That girl admires you more than anyone."

Eyes foggy, you shift to gaze up at him. "And what does her father think?"

Joel pauses briefly, rich brown orbs beaming into yours. "Think she's damn right. She didn't want me to tell you this, but she left so I could have some alone time with you — take ya out. Scolded me sayin' by the time she's back, we better be together." He laughs at the thought, you join him. Picturing that 4'9 ball of fire lecturing her father on the rules of dating.

"So, you're asking me out Miller?" You question with a heavy hopeful heart.

"Should've done it forever ago, darlin'." He confesses, placing a delicate kiss on your temple.

And with that, you place your head back onto the warm chest of the man you've craved your entire life. Realizing, ever since that day where he first greeted you with that sultry gentleman voice — you were never truly alone.

thank you truly for reading! let me know your thoughts below or in asks!! reblogs are greatly appreciated <3

[seumyo]

the art of loving bakugou katsuki’s name.

You loved his name.

You remembered the first time you had heard it—Bakugou Katsuki. It wasn’t an uncommon name, but it was his. His name was easy to remember, sharp on the tongue, and impossible to forget.

And that’s the funny thing about names, isn’t it? No names were ever truly the same. It could be written with the same characters, spoken in the same pronunciation, but the person behind them made it unique.

His was different.

His was his.

Getting to know Bakugou’s name had been one of the most exciting parts of meeting him. The way it rolled off your tongue the first time you said it out loud. The way he grumbled at you when you got too familiar too quickly, scowling at you and scolding you—telling you to say it right or don’t bother at all.

You grew to whisper it in the quiet of study halls, writing it absentmindedly in the margins of your notes when you were too exhausted to focus. You had yelled it across battlefields when you were still young and reckless, had murmured it in moments of vulnerability when it was just the two of you—when the world felt smaller, safer—because he shared the world with you.

It softened over the years, how you said his name. How he let you call him Katsuki when no one else could.

You loved his name.

Because it had been yours to say back then.

And now, he shared it with someone else.

It was a cruel thing, really. To love a name, to cherish it, to include it in a solemn prayer every night just as you’re about to fall asleep, only to have it slip through your fingers.

The wedding was beautiful. Grand, as expected for someone like Bakugou.

The kind of celebration is fitting for a man who had always been larger than life, someone who fought hard and loved even harder. The bride—his wife—was stunning, radiant in a way that made you feel something you didn’t want to name.

“Do you, Bakugou Katsuki, take your—“

His name sounded different now.

You had imagined this moment before, once, a long time ago. Not like this—never like this.

You forced a smile when they exchanged vows, when they kissed, when the crowd erupted in cheers.

You lifted your glass when it was time for the toasts and laughed when it was appropriate.

You played the part of an old friend, a guest who had long since moved on.

Because today was all about him. Not you.

But when the celebration stretched into the late hours, you found yourself stepping out, out into the quiet of the evening just outside the reception hall. You had too many thoughts and too little drinks acquired at the mini bar to drown out this incessant feeling.

You closed your eyes and whispered his name once, just to hear it. Yours.

“[Last Name]?”

Your breath hitched.

You turned, and there Bakugou Katsuki was—standing at the threshold, half in shadow, looking at you the same way he always had. His tie was slightly undone, and his suit jacket draped over his arm. He looked tired. But more than that, he looked at you like he still knew you.

Like he still saw you.

That version of you that only he met and got to know well.

“Hi,” you greeted. “Congrats on getting married, by the way. All my congratulatory messages are in your gifts.”

He scoffed, though it’s quiet, barely audible.

“Right.”

. . .

His gaze lingered, searching. Searching for something that he will never find.

“You okay?”

“Of course. It’s your wedding day. Why wouldn’t I be?”

The answer was too quick, too . . . prepared.

Bakugou didn’t retaliate right away. Instead, he stepped closer, just enough that you could see the way his brows furrowed, the way his jaw tensed.

“[Last Name]—“

“Katsuki.”

His name left your lips before you could stop it, like muscle memory. Like a prayer.

You had intended to call him by his last name. A formality. A distance.

Bakugou stiffened.

You had spent years getting to know his name, understanding every way it could be spoken. The anger in it, the laughter, the quiet tenderness in the dead of night.

And now, for the first time, you didn’t know how to say it.

Because words shouldn’t hurt, they shouldn’t feel like your throat’s being repeatedly stabbed.

. . .

“I never wanted things to end like they did.”

You let out a slow breath. “Neither did I.”

But it had ended. And you both knew why.

Careers. Distance. Bad timing.

Then it all just got too much to fight for.

Because love, even if it’s meant to fight for, gets exhausting when you can no longer love that person the way you used to.

And no matter the reason, endings were still endings. It can’t be erased and rewritten. It isn’t a story on paper that can be edited with a simple pencil and eraser.

“You ever think about—“

“I don’t.” Not anymore, at least, you wanted to add.

Because thinking about it now—on his wedding day—is like disregarding all that he made for himself after you. Disregarding his wife, the one he vowed to love ‘til hell freezes over and whatnot.

“You should go,” you smiled once you heard his wife calling his name.

He lingered for a second longer, as if debating whether to say more. Then, with a nod, he turned and walked away.

You watched as Bakugou joined his wife, the woman who now shared his name, the name of the person you had loved with every fiber of your being.

The name you thought you’d share with him—and once dreamed to keep as yours.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[borathae]

If I Was Your Boyfriend

"If he was your boyfriend, he would give you the actual world. Sadly he is just your best friend with the biggest unrequited crush ever."

Pairing: Jungkook x f.Reader

Genre: Unrequited Crush!AU, Idiots in Love!AU, Best Friends to Lovers!AU, Slice of Life, Fluff, Romance

Warnings: OC is scared of a bug (me fr), he kills it for her, he would do anything for her, yearning, unrequited feelings (? mhhm ?), listen. he may be a lil bit dense when it comes to reading signs jsjjss bless his heart, i need him as my boyfriend, so much tension between them, jsjsjs this is pure torture i want them to kiss!!, brief mention of adult toys, miscommunication because he suuucks at love confessions, protective & slightly jealous!Kook, he is the greenest flag though like seriously, the happiest end hihi, the inspo was seven mv kook, she is shorter than him because i have the hugest size kink with him and this is so self-indulgent <3, once again i need him as my boyfie

Wordcount: 10.5k

a/n: sometimes i have ideas for one specific trope without wanting to write the whole book lmaooo, so enjoy this lil slow burn fluff scenario which is so self-indulgent and fanfiction coded. also, it was inspired by a real life event where i found a bug in my bed and i had to kill it on my own :( i was being very brave about it 😔 ps: this is very unrealistic 'cause like why would you only be best friends with HIM? that wouldn't be an unrequited crush if that was me. happy birthday to kookie 💛

The call comes around two at night. Jungkook picks up with the first ring. He was working out before that.

“Hello? Are you okay?” he asks, resting his head against the edge of the sofa as he is currently sitting on the floor. He was doing sit ups before that, trying his hardest to regulate his sped-up breathing right now.

“Kook, please help me.”

Jungkook sits up straight.

“Where are you? Are you safe?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s following me. I locked it inside my room but I can still hear it.”

“Stay with me, I’m getting dressed”, he says, jumping to his feet to hurry to his front door.

“Please hurry please. I’m so scared.”

“I’m coming, don’t worry. Are you home?”

“Yes. Hurry please.”

“I’m coming, stay strong. Yeah?”

“Yes, thank you”, you say and end the call.

Jungkook curses, shoving the phone into his pants pocket. He puts on his jacket as he runs down the hallway and puts on his beanie once he is inside the elevator. He is restless in the small space, wishing for it to go quicker. It’s too slow.

“Come on, come on”, he stresses it, knowing that it is fruitless.

You are his best friend. Well, at least that is what you would call him. Best friend. Jungkook sees so much more in you. His best friend, his person of trust, his crush. He would never tell you his feelings because he doesn’t want to make it awkward. But if there were no consequences for speaking up, Jungkook would tell you that you are his dream girl. You are funny, sweet, caring, talented, intelligent, wonderful, perfect, amazing, beautiful, pretty, stunning. Yes, Jungkook thinks that you are all of these things and more. When he is close to you, his heart races and he wants to keep looking at your face. When you are sad, he wants to make you happy again and when you smile, he wants to keep it on your face. When you aren’t with him, he misses you and when you are with him, he hopes that time stops passing. You are the person he updates on the most mundane of things and whose text messages always bring a quick flutter to his chest. Your voice is the voice he could listen to for hours and your face is the face he doesn’t get tired of staring at when you and he video chat late night till you and he both run out of things to say. And at the same time, you are the person with whom Jungkook never runs out of things to talk about, if he didn’t have to breathe, he would continue to babble to you until your ears wore off. Jungkook swears that if there were no consequences for his words, he would tell you all of this. 

But alas, there are consequences and so Jungkook is left keeping his true feelings hidden.

The outcome of tonight’s phone call obviously wouldn’t have changed whether or not he had romantic feelings for you. Jungkook loves you as a friend as well. And he will always be there for his friends. Especially when they are clearly scared by something.

Jungkook rings your bell. You open the door as if you were waiting for him, grabbing him by his wrists to drag him inside. Jungkook’s entire body flutters at the feeling of your touch. 

“Finally you are here. Come in quick, please”, you tell him.

You must have been sleeping already. You are in your pyjamas and have no make-up on. Jungkook swears that you have never looked more beautiful before. 

“What happened? Did someone break in?” he asks instead of telling you that you are beautiful.

“Worse.”

“Worse?”

“Kook, there is a huge bug in my room. Please kill it.”

Jungkook stops in his tracks. You call him over for that? You stop when you feel his strength all of a sudden, looking over your shoulder. He has his right brow cocked up.

“What?” you stress.

“You give me a heart attack for that?”

“What? Of course. It’s a bug.”

Jungkook sighs in annoyance, “seriously?”

“Yes, seriously.” You round him to shove him by his back. “Kill it for me, please Kook.”

“Fine, I’ll kill it”, he gives up and groans, letting you shove him to your bedroom. Jungkook would never dare to think this way, but right now he wished that you were shoving him to your room for something else. Nothing dirty of course, just cuddles. Lots of cuddles. He would literally trade both his kidneys so he could hold you in his arms until you fall asleep just once. He would make sure that you were warm and that you felt safe in his embrace. He would kiss your face and tell you sweet nothings like how he thinks of you when he listens to love songs and how he wishes that it was you and he whenever he sees a romantic scene in a movie.

God, Jungkook is so done for. 

“Where is this stupid bug?” he acts annoyed to make the yearning a little easier. It is difficult when you have your hands on his back and they are so, so warm.

“In there.” You open the door carefully and look around. “Follow me”, you say, tiptoeing into your room.

Jungkook follows you, smiling fondly. You are cute when you are acting like this. 

“Where is it?” he asks, trying his hardest not to think about how he wants to snuggle you for being cute.

“I don’t know. It was right there when I last saw it.”

“Maybe it’s already gone.”

“No, it was-” 

The bug flies past you, you scream instantly, jumping at Jungkook for help.

“The bug! Eeeek Kooook! I hate bugs!” you squeak, hiding away in his chest.

Jungkook hopes that you can’t feel his racing pulse, because it is racing. You never touched him like this before, let alone snuggled so close to him. 

Act cool. Act cool. Act cool. 

He wraps one arm around you, patting the back of your head. 

“There, there you big baby”, he teases.

“I hate bugs so much”, you whine, snuggling closer.

He glances down at you, feeling every beat his heart takes.

Act cool! Act cool! Act cool!

What if he wrapped both arms around you? Would that go too far? He wouldn’t mean anything dirty behind it, he just really wants to hug you and feel you melt in his arms.

“Kill it, Kook please”, you whine and move your head so you were looking up at him. Your eyes lock.

Jungkook bites down on his tongue, forgetting to breathe for just a few moments.

ACT COOL! ACT COOL! ACT COOL!

What if he cupped your face right here and now to kiss your nose and cheeks and forehead and chin and lips and eyes? What if he did that?

“Please kill it.”

“I am, you gotta let go for that”, he gets out, surprised at how normal his voice sounds eventhough he is currently losing his mind.

Please don’t let go. Please don’t let go. 

You let go. Disappointment from his side. You hide behind him and grab his waist for moral support. Butterflies in his tummy, his knees buckle a little. Holy moly. Holy moly. Wow. Oh wow oh wow oh wow. 

“You’re seriously so brave for this”, you tell him.

“Yeah, yeah or maybe you’re just a scaredy cat.”

He has no idea how he is able to talk properly right now when you have him literally messed up. 

Jungkook inches close to where the bug is sitting on the wall while his thoughts and heart are racing. He has to act nonchalant about the situation. You are only holding him like this because you are scared.

“Do you have a shoe?” he asks you, hating his hand for shaking when he presents it to you.

You bend down and take off your right slipper, “will this do?” 

“Perfect.” 

Jungkook takes the slipper and carefully moves closer to the bug. Your fingers tighten on his waist.

“Careful now”, you comment.

“I am” he gets out, concentrating vigorously. He can’t mess up now, you are counting on him. 

“Almost there. Almost there”, you cheer him on.

Jungkook slams the shoe down. The bug has no chance of escape. You scream.

“Gotcha.”

“Did you get it? Is it dead? Kook, is it dead?”

Jungkook lifts the slipper and looks at the squished bug on its sole. He shows it to you.

“Dead.”

“Yay, it’s dead. Ew how nasty, you can see the intestines.”

“Right. Give me a minute, I’m cleaning it.”

“Use acid for it. Just to be sure it doesn’t come back.

He chuckles, “sure, I’ll use acid.”

He leaves you in your bedroom to hurry to the bathroom. 

Your apartment is familiar to him. He spends a lot of time here. Mostly to chill on your couch and watch shows with you. Sometimes you also cook dinner together and then eat it by the table, while other times you do a workout together. Seriously, you are his fucking dream girl. 

One time as you and he were cooking together, he needed something from the shelf above you, but you couldn’t step away from the stove. So he got it while you were right in front of him and his chest brushed against your back and he swears that he heard your breath hitch for a moment. Jungkook wanted to hug you back then. When you later that evening turned to let him taste the cooking only to use the same fork to taste it yourself, Jungkook almost kissed you. 

One time when you were watching a show, you got cold hands and Jungkook offered to warm them for you. He didn’t think you would accept, but you did and so he ended up with your cold hands under his hoodie as you warmed them up on his skin. Jungkook swears that he wanted to pin you against the sofa and kiss your cute face back then.

One time when you were doing a workout together, you struggled with a movement and asked him for help. He ended up having to hold you by your hips as he guided you through the movement. He wanted to flip you and kiss you senseless back then. 

He never felt like this before. He was scared of these feelings at first, but now he can’t get enough. You are a foodie, a romance lover and a lover for couple workouts and it’s so impossible for him not to be in love. You are seriously his dream girl. There is no fucking way around this.

Jungkook knows that tonight will be such a memory as well. the kind of memory which tingles, but which also makes him regret that he didn’t act differently. When you cuddled into him, he wanted to hug you properly. When you grabbed his waist he wanted to turn in your grasp and kiss you against the door. But he knows that he can’t. He would ruin what you are having and he could never get over this heartbreak.

Jungkook looks at your toothbrush as he cleans the shoe. Sometimes he thinks about how it would feel to be represented in your bathroom as the second toothbrush right next to yours.  

Jungkook bites down on his tongue, burning holes into the empty space next to your toothbrush. He would put so much effort into taking care of himself so you could always look at the best version of him. He would do skincare nights with you. He would try out hair masks with you and rub body lotion on the spots you can’t reach. He would brush his teeth, floss them and use mouthwash religiously just so his kisses would always taste good. He would do all of this if it meant you had an attractive boyfriend.

Jungkook looks away. He is doing it again, he is getting delusional. He shouldn’t do that. It isn’t his right. 

He turns off the water and leaves the bathroom so he could return the slipper to you.

You are in the kitchen, looking at him instantly.

“Is it gone?” you ask him.

“Yup, it’s gone. Your slipper.”

“Thank you seriously. You just saved my life”, you say and lift a bottle of his favorite beer. “Thank You Beer?”

He shakes his head, “I need to drive.”

“Okay. Then a Thank You Water?”

“Yeah, I can drink that.”

Jungkook accepts the offer because he can stay with you longer that way.

“Coming right up. Get comfy in the meantime.”

Jungkook waits on the sofa, but stands up when you come inside the room. He accepts the water and sits back down. You plop down right in front of him, pulling your legs onto the pillow. Your knees are almost touching the side of thigh.

“You seriously saved my ass tonight. I was already in bed when I felt something tickle my arm and then I turned on the lights and it was right on my arm. I screamed so loud, you have no idea.”

“That sounds traumatic.”

“It was traumatic.” You shudder. “I hate bugs.”

Jungkook laughs softly.

“What? Are you laughing at me?”

“No, just laughing ‘cause I agree. You really hate bugs.”

“I do. Awful things, seriously.”

He laughs and you laugh as well. Your eyes meet again. He takes a sip of his water then asks a question which scares him a little.

“Why did you call me?”

“Why not?”

“I, I mean”, he stutters, feeling his heart do somersaults.

“You were my first thought. It’s probably because you’re always keeping me safe.”

Jungkook swears he wants to kiss you right now. He is the first person you think of when you need help. He is your safe person. Wow, wow, wow.

“Is that weird to say?” you ask him shyly.

“Not at all”, he gets out in a terribly hoarse voice.

“Okay phew. I knew that I could count on you.”

Jungkook gives you a smile. One you retort with a vast glance at his lips.

Jungkook brings the empty glass to the kitchen to clean it after he finishes it. You follow him. 

“You don’t have to clean that”, you tell him, trying to reach for the glass but he moves it away.

“I got it”, he assures you, looking at you over his arm.

You and he are so close again. He can’t stop looking into your eyes. He knows that he is delusional, but in his mind, your eyes are so bright when you look at him. But it’s not real and he is acting stupid when he is staring like that. He turns his head away, blind to the few more seconds your eyes seem to linger on his face.

“What were you doing when I called you?” you ask him, watching his hands as he washes the glass.

“Working out.”

“Really? At this time?”

“That’s when I get energised.”

“Of course you do. What were you doing?”

“Just stuff on the floor.”

“Nice. Like push ups and stuff?”

“Yeah and sit ups.”

“That’s cool.” 

He has his back turned to you, putting away the glass. He is wearing a white oversized shirt, but the movement makes it stick to his body, showing not only his skinny waist but also his built, muscular back. His shoulders grew so much over the past seven months. (Seven months ago was when you decided to download a dating app and told Jungkook about it. Jungkook started working out harder since then.) 

He closes the cupboard and turns. 

“Something wrong?” he asks, somehow oblivious to your stares. 

“Nothing, no uhm.” You look to the side. “You probably wanna leave now?”

He doesn’t want to leave.

“If you still need me here, I can stay”, he offers.

Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say yes.

“Really?”

He nods his head, giving you a sweet smile with teeth. He would do anything for you, even mess up his sleep schedule.

“Maybe there is another bug, you know?” you say, playing with your own fingers shyly.

His heart is jumping in joy. He can stay longer. 

“That could be possible, yeah. Should we check?” he offers as calmly as possible.

“Yeah, please.”

Yay! Yay! Yay!

“I know I sound so stupid.”

“You don’t. Come on, I’ll check.”

You and he go to your bedroom together. Jungkook wants to hold your hand, but knows that he can’t. You close the door to your bedroom. His pulse flutters for a moment. In another lifetime, this would be the moment you pull him into a kiss. But Jungkook knows that stupid things like different lifetimes are stuff of movies, not reality.

He has to act as your best friend who doesn’t have a crush on you if he wanted to or not. He lifts your blanket and shakes it out.

“No bugs”, he comments.

“That’s good, yeah. I should probably check the pillows.”

You crawl onto bed and make it your job to flip each individual pillow. Jungkook looks at you for a moment. He hates that things like different lifetimes are stuff of movies. Because in a different lifetime, he jumps onto bed with you to hug you. He listens to your giggle and makes you giggle even harder by tickling your sides.

You, oblivious to his longing stares, flip yet another pillow. 

“No bugs here, thank god. I probably sound insane to you, but I’m actually so scared that there’s a whole bug family in this room.”

“You don’t sound insane. I’ll take care of them if we find them.”

“You’re seriously my hero.”

Jungkook is thinking. Maybe he could still make you laugh, he thinks. Not by showering you in skinship, but differently. 

“Hey, check this out”, he says.

“What? Did you find another bug?!” you gasp, whipping around instantly.

“I’m a bug. Bzzz”, he says and jumps onto bed, flapping his arms as if he was a bug flying.

You cough out air, following it up with a loud laugh.

Jungkook flops onto his back and wiggles his limps.

“Now I’m flipped onto my back and can’t get up”, he says, squirming from side to side stupidly. “Help me. Bzzzz.”

You laugh to the point it becomes just a little ugly and way too loud. At least you would call it that. Jungkook calls it the most beautiful sound he has ever heard. He loves to be goofy when it means that he can make you laugh. Some people call him childish and tell him to act his age, but Jungkook doesn’t care about these people because you love the way he is. You always smile and laugh so much when he gets goofy and childish and it is so worth every rude comment he gets. One time, he played around with a snapback hat, acting silly with it until you cackled loudly. Another time he showed you a card trick with goofy sound effects, basking in the giggles you gave him. He knows that he looks stupid in these moments, but he would literally turn into a silly jester if it meant that you could laugh just one more time.

“Help me, I’m a bug and I can’t get up”, he whines dramatically.

“Wait, I’ll help you”, you joke and place your hands on his torso. One on his chest, the other on his stomach.

He tenses up like a board of wood, forgetting all about being silly. His limbs drop, as does his heart. You are touching him! This never happened before when he acted goofy. What should he do? What is the correct reaction to this?

“Why are you such a heavy bug? I can’t flip you”, you are still being playful with him, but Jungkook can’t find humour anymore. He is starstruck. 

He chuckles deeply, letting out a breathy, “yeah.” 

You glance at him. The second your eyes meet, his heart is racing. You are so fucking beautiful. 

“Heh”, he lets out and places his hand over yours, eyes flitting to your lips unknowingly.

“Hm”, you let out, studying his gazing eyes. Your lips feel kissed just from his look. 

“Mhm”, he hums and smiles, shimmying his head just a little closer to you. He feels your minty breath swirl over his face like this, squeezing your hand in reaction. What if he just did it? What if he just kissed you right here and now?

Your smile falls.

“Sorry”, you whisper, pulling your hands back and sitting up. 

Jungkook gasps for air, coming back to reality. What was this moment? Is he going crazy? Why would he do that?

Your eyes meet for a brief second then you look away again, rubbing the side of your neck.

Jungkook sits up, “I should, uhm, probably check under the bed too, right?” he tries to change topics and rolls over to stick his head under the bed. He might die of heart palpitations.

There are a few boxes under the bed, some shoe boxes and an exposed adult toy. Jungkook does a double take. Oh god, panic.

Jungkook shoots back up, staring at you with big eyes.

“What?”

“You uhm…”

“What?” You crawl to the edge and bend down to look, shooting up again within a second, “What did you see??”

His entire face flushes, he looks to the side instantly, right hand coming to rub the side of his neck. Your entire face feels on fire, you want to die on the spot.

“I, I didn’t see anything I swear”, he stutters.

“Kook, please don’t remember this”, you insist, shaking him by his shoulders.

“It’s seriously fine”, he assures you, panicking so so much.

“This is so embarrassing.”

“No, it’s okay. Sorry for invading your space like that.”

“I’m actually gonna cry, please don’t remember this”, you beg him.

“I didn’t even see anything”, he lies, feeling his heart give up. For real, it will give up. He feels so guilty. You are so upset and uncomfortable and it’s all his fault. “I’m sorry.”

“No you, I guess, I don’t know, I just”, you stutter, unable to form any coherent sentences.

Jungkook feels just as awkward as you, suddenly needing to stand up.

“I think I should go”, he says.

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s getting late.”

“Oh, yeah. Totally.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. You fucked it. You are internally panicking, blind to the fact that Jungkook is panicking as well.

His face is so red and it’s making him scared that you can see it. He doesn’t want you to think that he is imagining you like that, because he really isn’t. But for just a second it crossed his mind and it managed to dye his face so red that he feels like crying. Of course he wants to stay with you. Of course he wants to spend every single second of this night with you, talking and laughing and looking at you, but he might not be able to get rid of this blush right now. He needs to leave.

You follow behind him, panicking more and more. You let him put on his shoes and his beanie, you watch him close his jacket unable to say anything. You swear that you always clean up after yourself, but you were busy this morning and forgot to put it away after sanitizing it. Jungkook was never supposed to see it. Not him. Everyone but him.

“I’ll text you once I’m home”, Jungkook tells you.

“You’re not disgusted now, are you?” you finally get the scary words out.

“What?”

You are both dragging out the inevitable. 

“I don’t know, just…I tried the dating app stuff. I met people, you know?”

Jungkook feels like dying when you talk about this stuff. He stands in the apartment complex hallways, looking at you as you tell him about your hook ups and he wants to fucking die as he does. He has been loyal to you ever since he started this stupid crush on you. Of course he knows that it is impossible of him to expect the same from you. But he has been so fucking loyal to you that you literally broke his heart seven months ago when you told him about your newest download. He wasn’t strong enough to get over his crush, so now he dies all over again each time you tell him about your hook-ups.

“And it just felt weird. I couldn’t do it”, you confess.

“Really?” suddenly what happened before is wiped from his mind. You never went through with it? His loyalty was reciprocated? Jungkook knows that he is being so delusional right now and yet he still hangs on to your every word like a worshipper of your syllables, staring at your lips as you talk.

“Yeah, but I still have needs, you know? Oh god, why did I say that? This didn’t make it better. Just forget I ever said anything.”

“I, I didn’t hear anything”, Jungkook stutters, feeling weak-kneed. The wall between him being a good person and a reckless person is as fragile as a sheet of fresh ice. One wrong step from you and he might actually confess how he really feels.

“Okay good, let’s keep it at that.” You push at his chest. Jungkook swears he actually whimpers as you do it. “Go home and let us forget about all of this, please.”

Should he do it? Should he be reckless?

You step back, now standing in your apartment.

Do it! Open, mouth!

“Text me once you’re home, okay?”

“Okay.”

No! This isn’t the right thing to say! Be reckless!

“Thank you for tonight, sleep tight.”

“Sweet dreams.”

Tell her! Fucking tell her!

The door closes.

Jungkook falls out of his fearful trance, gasping for air. His heart tells him to knock for another chance, his mind tells him not to. He turns and leaves, hitting his own head as punishment for being the most stupid person that ever existed. Tonight could have gone so well. He could have had more time with you, he got the confirmation that you never tried the dating app thing, he had everything and he has to ruin it by being a creep. Why did he look under your bed? That’s where most people store their sexy stuff. Why did he have to make you uncomfortable? What if you never want to see him again? What if he ruined your friendship without ever doing the one thing he always wished to ruin it with? In his dreams he always ruined it by confessing his feelings, but his reality was because he was a creep.

Jungkook cries in his car on his way home. He forgets about texting you and spends a sleepless night regretting his choices.

Maybe he did fall asleep, otherwise it would be impossible for his phone to rip him awake the next day. He barely opens his puffy eyes at first, but opens them widely when he sees that it is you calling him.

“Hello?” he picks up hastily.

“Oh thank god. You didn’t text me last night and I was worried.”

The text! Jungkook slaps his own forehead, sitting up straight.

“I’m so sorry, I…”

“It’s okay, I already had a gist that you forgot”, you assure him, “do you have time?” 

“Of course, what’s up?”

“You know, uhm.” You laugh in embarrassment. “Last night was a mess, wasn’t it?”

“No uhm, it’s fine.”

“You wouldn’t be down for a grocery trip with barbeque and beer afterwards, would you? My treat, as an apology for traumatising you.”

“Of course, I would. Today?”

“Yes, in like two hours? I’ll get off work soon and could go straight to the store.”

You and Jungkook often go grocery shopping together. You already have a favourite store to go to. Jungkook loves these moments. He loves to carry the heavy bags for you and get the stuff you can’t reach. He loves to push the cart while you tell him about your day and then load the groceries into the bags with you. In another lifetime, you and he push the cart together and he steals kisses between aisles. In another lifetime, he holds your hand and the bags in the other. And in another lifetime, you and he go to your apartment to cook dinner for date night on the couch. Jungkook really wishes to live a different life sometimes.

“Two hours sounds great”, he agrees in a cool voice even if he wants to squeal. He gets to go grocery shopping with you! How amazing!

“Nice, then we’ll see each other there.”

“Yes, we’ll see each other. I’m really excited for it.”

“Me too. See you later, yeah? My boss is coming back.”

“See you later. Good luck at work.” 

“Thanks, Kook. Bye bye.”

Goodbye, my everything, my dream girl, my love. He thinks.

“Bye.” He says.

The phone call ends. Jungkook drops back into the pillow and lets out a yelp of celebration, following it up with excessive kicking and punching of the air as well as  squeaky giggles. 

He didn’t ruin everything and he will see you in two hours. Today is the best day of his life! But wait! Jungkook gasps and jumps out of bed.

“I need to get ready! Shower and wash my hair and pick an outfit! And do my skincare and brush my teeth! There is so much to do, oh god” he talks to himself, running through his apartment.

You are pacing in front of the store. Jungkook isn’t late, you are just early. Early enough to become painfully aware of your nervousness. You wonder how it will be between the two of you after last night. You could barely fall asleep because you were so embarrassed. Work didn’t distract you either, your thoughts kept repeating what had happened last night. You hope that he doesn’t look at you differently after what he had to see. It would literally ruin you.

Jungkook is your best friend. But if someone asked you honestly, you would say that he is the boy of your dreams. He is everything you ever dreamed of and everything you will never be able to have. He is too perfect for you. If there were no consequences for your actions, you would tell him how you really feel. You would tell him that you think that he is the most attractive man and person you have ever seen, that he is the kindest soul with the sweetest heart. That he is talented and amazing and the funniest person ever. And that you feel safe with him. 

You would tell him that every time he comes to your place or you to his’ and you spend time together, you wish that it was a date instead. You want to tell him that every time your bodies touch, your heart jumps out of your chest. You want to tell him that you keep repeating all the moments with him over and over again and that sometimes at work, you text him because you can’t stop thinking about him. You also want to tell him that you thought about killing the bug yourself before deciding to call Jungkook just to have him close.

And the worst of it all? You want to tell Jungkook that the only reason why you downloaded the dating app was to get over your feelings for him because you knew that someone as perfect as Jungkook would never want to have you. But actions have consequences and so you call him your best friend whilst secretly wishing for him to just be reckless and kiss you.

Jungkook appears on the horizon, swerving through the crowd in a stoic expression. Your heart speeds up instantly. He is wearing black pants with a stripped shirt and a black jacket today. His hair falls on soft waves, his skin glows in the sun. He is so dreamy and handsome. 

His eyes find you in front of the store, his face lights up and he lifts his arm to wave at you. You wave back, bouncing on your tiptoes. He saw you! He is waving at you! 

He hurries through the crowd faster than before, reaching you within moments.

“Hey there”, he says.

“Hey”, you tell him and give him a hug. 

Jungkook short circuits. He gets no time to react before you already step back again. You just hugged him. Holy moly, wow. 

“Sorry, was that not okay?” you ask, studying his frozen features.

“What?” He flinches back to life. “No, it was amazing, I mean, it was okay. I uhm, I have this for you.”

He lifts a bouquet of sunflowers.

“Sunflowers? For me?”

“Yeah, I saw them and thought of you.”

“You did?”

You accept them with shortened breath and a quickened heart. You are currently screeching inside. You feel on cloud nine.

“A-as a best friend of course, because we’re best friends.”

“Oh. Yes.” You clear your throat. “We are. Thank you for the friendship flowers. I’ll put them in water once I’m home. Hopefully they’ll survive till then.” 

“I’m sure they will. That’s why I put the paper towel there.”

“I know, I saw. That’s so clever.”

“Yeah, thanks.” He does a little twirl so he stands next to you, hands stuffed into the pockets of his pants in a cute way. “So what do we need? Any particular groceries in mind?” 

You and he start walking to the store. He opens the door for you, holding it until you are inside. He follows and goes straight for the carts. You are next to him.

“Yes, I’m out of multigrain rice so I’m buying all of them to make my mixture again and I wanna stock up on udon because they have a sale going on.”

“Neat, a sale. I’ll get some too”, Jungkook says, leaning his elbows on the cart as he pushes it. “I wanna see if they have the lychees again. They were so yummy last time.”

“They were. Especially with that sauce you made.”

“I can make them for you again.”

“Really?” 

He nods his head, “sure, you could come over Saturday and we’ll watch a movie. I heard that there’s a few new movies to stream.”

“I should be free on Saturday.”

“Nice, then you’ll come over.”

You and he exchange a look, breaking it quickly to look at opposite sides. Unbeknownst to either, you are both panicking. Jungkook is so excited to have you come over but is also terribly nervous about the aspect of it. You can’t wait to visit Jungkook but are also scared of the yearning. 

A moment of silence where you each fill the cart with stuff you want. You and Jungkook always fill up the cart together and then separate the groceries afterwards. In another lifetime, you don’t need to separate the groceries. In another lifetime, you share the same bag and fill the same fridge to cook from the same pots and eat on your shared couch whilst a show was running. 

“How was your day?” Jungkook asks because other lifetimes don’t exist and in his real life, the only shared thing he gets with you is time.

“It was okay. Yours?”

“I woke up like two hours ago.”

You chuckle, “of course you sleep while I have to work my ass off.”

“Hey, I’m on a well-deserved break, I earned the night owl lifestyle”, he throws back, making you laugh with it.

“I’m not saying anything against it. I need a break soon.”

“Is work stressful?”

“Yeah, quite. There’s been lots of new projects coming in.”

“No, I’m sorry. If there is something I can do, let me know.”

You look at him. 

“I will, thank you.”

In another lifetime, you would hug his arm and rest your head against it and you would tell him that you don’t mind a stressful workday when it meant spending time with him afterwards. 

Jungkook meets your eyes. His heart flutters nervously, speeding up more when you look away. If he was your boyfriend, he would hold your hand and tell you that you looked beautiful after a long work day. 

“I like the way you did your hair today”, he says instinctively. He has no idea why he said that because he never says stuff like that to you. He panics because of it. His tongue worked quicker than his brain. 

You reach up to feel your hair, “you do?”

“Yes, it fits you really well.” 

“Thank you”, you murmur and cross a corner without warning, leaving him alone for a few seconds.

Jungkook follows after you hastily, confused as to why you so abruptly fled. Oh no. He went too far with the compliment. He definitely creeped you out again. 

You are squatting down in front of the grain section, reading the labels carefully. Jungkook parks the cart next to you, standing still. He tries not to, but still looks at you. You shift your eyes to him, widen them and look away again. Jungkook swears he might cry. He made you uncomfortable. 

“I’m sorry for saying that. I, I meant it as a friend.”

“Hm? Ah, it’s okay. Thank you for saying it, I liked it”, you say and stand up, filling the cart with the grain. Jungkook’s heart flutters happily. He didn’t mess up. Yay!

“Got everything you wanted?” he asks.

“Yep, except black rice. Do you see it somewhere?”

“Up there”, Jungkook says, pointing at it. The lower racks are empty, only the racks which are clearly for staff to reach so they could refill the store are stacked with the rice. 

“Nice.” You try to reach it, but fail. “Kook, can you get it?”

“Sure, let me”, he says, stepping right behind you to get the rice from the staff rack. His chest brushes against your back. You gasp. He feels dizzy, but acts nonchalant.

“There we go your….rice”, Jungkook says, eyes flitting down to you looking up at him. He didn’t even realise that you turned. 

There is almost no distance and so Jungkook tries to step back to be respectful because friends don’t stand this close. You grab him by his jacket, making him gulp and panic greatly. His left hand grabs the edge of the shelf, his chest lifts in a deep gasp. You are taller today because of the shoes you are wearing. The shortened distance between your lips is making him dizzy.

“About last night”, you begin, but he interrupts you before you apologise for something you have no reason to.

“It’s alright. I shouldn’t have snooped, I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t snoop, I just…I clean up, I was just busy and forgot and I”, you exhales deeply, “I’m not making it any better talking by about it, am I?”

He laughs softly and reaches down to cup your hand, caressing your knuckles softly. The lines blur more and more. You both feel weightless. You can smell his cologne like this, he can smell your perfume. It’s like you are high on each other.

“If it makes you feel any better, I have some toys too”, he says, making your eyes widen. You look to the side and let out a giggle. Jungkook knows that it is of shy nature and so he giggles with you. “Did that help or did I just embarrass myself for nothing?”

“No, it helped.” You meet his eyes, fingers squeezing his jacket. 

Jungkook holds his breath, fingers tightening on the shelf. He is being so greedy. It’s so unfair to you. 

“I, uhm.” He clears his throat and slips his hand from the shelf to present the rice to you. “Your rice.”

“Oh? Thanks, uhm, put it in the cart.” 

He steps back. Your hands slip from his jacket, his fingers stop holding you. They tingle in the memory of how it was to cradle you this way. His thoughts are racing, trying to calculate the weight of his confession. If he confessed, what would he lose? Your friendship, your time, the movie hangouts, the cooking together, the shared workouts, your texts and calls and video chats. All your laughter and smiles and giggles. Jungkook gulps. The loss is too great. He can’t confess. Nope, never. 

He grips the cart and pushes it, hoping that walking it off will help with the heart palpitations. You walk next to him, resting your hand on the metal cage part of the cart.

“Did you sleep well last night?” he asks you.

“Can I be honest? Not really. I was so embarrassed.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I’m just awkward.”

He chuckles, you chuckle with him. You give him a glance.

“I think I don’t have to ask you if you slept well at night because you never sleep at night.”

He laughs, you do as well.

“That’s not true. I can sleep at night too, I simply choose not to. Oh wait. I need buckwheat noodles.”

You and he stop in front of the section. You stay by the cart while Jungkook browses the options. 

“Should I make you makguksu?” he offers mindlessly.

“Today?”

“Yeah.”

“So you don’t wanna go for barbecue and beer?” You chuckle and nudge his arm, sending tingles all over his skin. “Did you already forget again, you doofus?”

“I might have.” He gives you a sorry, cute smile.

Jungkook makes you laugh with it.

“Kook, you little scatterbrain you”, you chuckle, leaning into him. 

Jungkook leans closer, placing his arm around your waist without touching you. In another lifetime, he would close the last distance. But not in reality. He looks at your lips, asking himself why you seek him out today and why he takes the chances so greedily. He shouldn’t do that. You are just friends, nothing more.

“Uh, sorry”, you say and step away again. 

Jungkook gulps, gasps for air. He doesn’t understand what today means, but whatever you are doing is actually messing with him. He hasn’t been able to breathe properly ever since that hug you gave him. You seem so clingy, but he doesn’t understand why. 

You grab the cart and push it.

“I think I have everything I need. You?”

“Yeah, yeah sure”, Jungkook stutters, stumbling after you like a lovesick puppy. He doesn’t know where to put his hands and so he ends up stuffing them into his pants pockets while his eyes are glued to the back of your head. He is seriously under your spell. Every part of him.

You load the groceries on the conveyor belt together and then load them into separate bags. You pay for all of them and wish the cashier a good day. Jungkook carries the bags like always, while you are allowed to walk freely with the bouquet of flowers cradled in your arms.

“I’ll pay you back at home”, he says, swerving outside as you hold the door open for him.

���Today’s on me. As a thank you for yesterday and an apology.”

“What? But I bought so much”, Jungkook gasps, pouting sadly.

“It’s fine. I have money.”

“But-”

“No buts. I’m paying.”

Jungkook pouts, huffing out air in defeat.

“Fine, but I’ll pay for your stuff too one day.”

You chuckle, “deal.” 

You and he walk together.

“You should really start accepting when I offer. It’s not a competition.”

“I just feel uncomfortable making you pay.”

“Why?”

Because you’re his dream girl and you should never have to pay for him. He should be your wallet whenever you are out together, he should fulfil your every wish. 

“I don’t know, just so. You work so hard for your money.”

“You work just as hard”, you say and chuckle. “Kook, you’re so competitive.”

Jungkook smiles, shaking his head in defeat. 

“I guess am.”

You grin, hugging the flowers tighter. With a little skip in your steps, you close the distance. Just enough that one small movement would be enough for your arms to brush. 

Jungkook glances at you. You are gazing at the flowers, smiling so brightly that your nose scrunches up. He could swear that your eyes are sparkling. 

The lines blur again. He wonders if it would be okay for him to be a bad person, if he was allowed to slip his hand into yours even if you never gave him consent for it. There is not much he can still take.

You lower your nose into the flowers and smell them, closing your eyes in a happy squint. The metaphorical glass of how much Jungkook can take floats over.

He says your name and knows that the next words are coming out of him before he can think them through.

“Yeah?” You look at him.

He is nervous and scared, but still talks, “can we talk about something?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

Panic. His situation finally sunk into his consciousness. 

“I uhm…uh…I have a crush on someone.”

Microexpressions wash over your face. Shock, surprise, disbelief, jealousy, hurt, friendliness. A smile curls your lips. It doesn’t reach your eyes.

“Yeah? It’s about time you do”, the words and your voice carry a hint of teasing, but most of all forced friendliness.

You lower the flowers, carrying them in one hand by your side. They look sad like this. Jungkook doesn’t notice because he is staring at the road in front of him because otherwise he would pass out in nervousness. He is almost twenty seven, but feels sixteen again.

“She’s like really, really great and awesome and amazing and wonderful and so kind and perfect”, Jungkook continues, heart racing to the point he feels dizzy. He saw this kind of confession in movies. He always thought that it was so cute when the guy did it. It isn’t obvious enough to ruin everything just in case you didn’t feel the same, but it is still cute enough that you can’t help but be giddy.

“Mh-hm”, you hum, nodding your head. 

“And I keep thinking about her. She is so pretty when she laughs and I love being in her presence. She likes my jokes and she always makes me laugh in return. Yeah…”

“That’s great.”

“Yeah, she is so great. I really wanna ask if she feels the same.” Jungkook falters in nervousness. He is going to ask the question. He is so scared. “If you were me, what would you do?”

You take a deep breath and release it loudly, “I don’t know. I haven’t had a crush in so long.”

Jungkook falters, heart tightening. Oh no. Oh no, oh no. Oh. This is bad. This is really bad. 

“Ah, I see.” He gulps.

“But let me know if you figure it out. Then we can go on a double date.” 

Wait. Wait. This is bad. Double date? This is so bad.

“What do you mean?” he asks weakly.

“You know, you and your girl and me and my boy.”

“You have a boy?”

“Yeah, soon. I’m talking to this boy on the dating app. He is very cute.”

“But…didn’t you say that you gave up on the app?”

“No uh…no, it’s just that I only talk to this one boy now.”

Jungkook bites back tears.

“I see.” 

“Mhm, yeah. Let’s go on a double date.”

No. No this is all wrong. No this isn’t what was meant to happen. No. 

“Please.”

Jungkook doesn’t even realize that he begged out loud until you look at him in question.

“Please what?”

You and he stop. Strangers stream past you like you and he were two rocks in a river. You are facing each other, so close yet so far away. 

You lied to him. There is no other boy. There never was and never will be. But there will always be other girls for him while you stay his best friend. Lying is all that you have at this point. 

“Please what?” you repeat the question.

“I…” Jungkook breathes. “I…nevermind.”

Silence. Your eyes are locked so deeply that the world around you is blurry.

“Okay?”

“Mhm yeah.”

His jaw tightens and he breaks the eye contact, looking to the side with his tongue in his cheek. He seemed angry. You would be lying if you said that you weren’t feeling angry yourself. You turn away from him and continue walking. You don’t want to be next to him right now. It hurts to only stay his best friend.

He looks at the back of your head and how it becomes smaller and smaller from distance. He doesn’t understand you. He thought that the way you looked at him in the store meant something. And yet all this time you had another boy. He feels so betrayed that for just a second, he considers walking the other direction and leaving you to wonder where he went. However, two things hold him back; his competitiveness and his honest feelings for you.

He won’t stay your best friend any longer. He just decided that. He is going to fight for you, make you fall for him and forget all about the stupid boys you meet on this stupid dating app. He is better than any of them. He could treat you better, make you laugh harder, give you better hugs and kisses and provide you with afterglow so addicting you will get hot cheeks at work just thinking about it. He is your best friend, goddamn it, and he knows you better than any of these strangers ever will. And he is not going to lose you to some boy.

He jogs to catch up with you, calling your name with a certain harshness.

You turn. Your eyes meet. Jungkook’s brain short circuits.

“What?” you ask him, sounding small because of being called so harshly.

“I, I was just wondering, uhm, should we get ice cream after?” he asks because he panicked.

You shrug your shoulders, “I guess.”

“It’s on me, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Jungkook inches closer, saying your name softly.

“What do you want?”

“I messed up before.”

“What do you mean?”

“I, I just. I thought that I was doing a good job, but I think I made you think something else.”

“Jungkook. I had a long day, please don’t talk in riddles.”

“Don’t date other boys.”

“Excuse me?”

Jungkook gulps, panicking because of your offended and harsh tone.

“I, I, I just”, he stutters, widening his eyes.

“No. What do you mean? I can date who I want.”

“I know, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant that, oh god, I meant that I don’t want you to see other boys.”

“Huh?”

“Ah no, wait.”  He slaps his own forehead. “Wait.”

You cross your arms in front of your chest, “what makes you think that you can tell me what I can or can’t do?”

“No I didn’t mean it like that. Wait just give me a moment, please I’m panicking.”

You purse your lips, studying his face intensely.

“Are you also so nervous?” he asks.

“What’s with you all of a sudden?” you ask him, honestly worried. His face is as red as ripe strawberries.

Jungkook closes the distance and takes your hands, eliciting a gasp from you. He squeezes them gently, staring into your eyes as deeply as possible.

“This wasn’t how I always imagined this to go, but I can’t stay quiet anymore. ___, the girl I have a crush on is-”

“Seriously?”

You and Jungkook turn around at the angry voice next to you.  

“Suho? What are you doing here?” you ask.

“Who’s that?” Jungkook says.

“Kim Suho. I met him on the dating app. We went on like one date a month ago”, you explain and slip your hands out of Jungkook’s hold to turn to the other guy, “what are you doing here?”

Jungkook stares at him darkly, clenching his jaw. You told him about this dude in passing. He hates him so much, hating him even more now that he interrupted this moment.

“That’s what you’re going with? Seriously?” Suho throws back.

“Yeah, you-”

“What the fuck are you doing with him? I told you to stop being friends with him, didn’t I?”

Jungkook looks at you with big eyes. You never told him that. You always said that you lost interest in Suho because of different hobbies, but never mentioned that he could have been the actual reason.

“And I told you that you can’t tell me what to do. Jungkook is my best friend and I won’t give him up for a man.”

“Yes but I wasn’t any man, I was your man.”

“Huh? No you weren’t. We went on one date and you totally lost it when I told you that I had a male best friend.”

“Because he isn’t just your friend. You’re in love with him.”

Jungkook swears that he passes out standing up for a second. Feelings? You have feelings for him? Did you tell Suho that or is he assuming because he is one of those weird men that think women aren’t allowed to have male friends? What does all of this mean?

“What?” You laugh nervously. “No? Of course not.”

“Oh don’t be ridiculous. I followed you from work and through the store. I saw everything.”

“Huh? What?” you gasp, hurrying to Jungkook instinctively because you know that he will keep you safe.

“Dude, what the fuck? You creep, stay away from her”, Jungkook says harshly and steps in front of you, feeling the fire of protectiveness start to burn in his chest.

“I saw what I saw. You have feelings for each other”, Suho says, pointing an accusing finger at you and Jungkook.

Jungkook and you exchange a look. 

“No I…”

Suho scoffs and looks at Jungkook.

“And you? Gonna fucking pretend that you’re just friends or should I start punching you?”

“Dude, I’ve never even met you”, Jungkook defends himself, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“I’ll still fucking punch you.”

“Don’t you dare”, you hiss at him.

“Shut up, ___.”

“Hey, don’t talk to her like that”, Jungkook speaks up loudly, making himself bigger. He doesn’t care when people are aggressive to him, but he cannot accept aggression towards you.

“Or what?”

“You wanna find out? Don’t talk to her like that.”

Suho rushes to Jungkook and pushes at his chest. He thought that he could move him, but he can’t. Jungkook just gawks at him in utter surprise.

“What are you doing?” he asks confused.

“Why aren’t you budging? Fall over you idiot”, Suho growls and tries again with all his might. 

Jungkook takes a small step back but then stays unmoving. 

“Dude, seriously. What are you doing?”

Suho growls and punches Jungkook. Except that he is so bad at it that Jungkook can easily dodge him. He reacts calmly to the aggression, redirecting Suho by turning him and giving him a gentle push away from him.

Suho stumbles and whips around.

“You-”

Jungkook steps closer, “give it up, man.”

Suho shifts his attention to you, pointing his finger at you. He tries to get to you by swerving past Jungkook, but the latter steps in front of you again, stopping Suho with a firm hand on his chest. He didn’t show it, but the contact was definitely made with strength because Suho stumbles back from it.

“I said. Give it up. I’m not gonna repeat myself again”, he warns. For just a second his voice was deeper than usual and his eyes darker. You can’t stop staring in awe, feeling so attracted to him that it is difficult not to grab him right here and now.

Suho ignores him, talking over Jungkook’s shoulder.

“It’s over. I’m breaking up with you.”

“Huh? We weren’t even together in the first place?” you say very confused.

“Yes, well…. Now it’s really over. And just so you know, I’ll block you on everything.”

“I mean, okay.”

Suho turns and runs down the street clumsily.

A moment of silence. Jungkook turns to you. He is ready to take you into his arms if you need support.

“Everything okay?” he asks hesitantly.

“Honestly? I couldn’t care less about this tantrum. What the fuck was that? We went on one date and it sucked ass. I mean, who in their right mind expects someone to give up their best friend? I don’t even know this dude.”

“Would you have done it if you liked him?”

“What? No, of course not. I like you, not him.”

“What?!”

You look at Jungkook with big eyes.

“I, I mean…” you look at his lips and Jungkook finally notices.

Holy fuck. Suho was right.

He drops the grocery bags and closes the distance, cupping your face. To his delighted surprise, you practically melt into his hands, gazing at him with dreamy eyes and your fingers closing around his wrists greedily.

“Was he right?” Jungkook asks, looking between your right and left eye. “Do you have feelings for me?”

“I’m scared”, you whisper.

“Scared of what?”

“You are so perfect and I’m not. I don’t want to know how you feel about me, so just…let’s just forget about what happened please.”

“You’re not perfect? What the fuck? You’re literally perfect. If someone’s unworthy, it’s me.”

“What?”

Jungkook gulps. 

You touch his chest.

“Kook, what?”

“You’re my fucking dream girl, ___” he finally confesses and now can’t be stopped, “I get excited when you text me and get sad when I don’t hear from you. Each time we hang out, I kinda wish that we somehow magically end up together. I repeat every little touch and shared laughter and look. Sometimes I can’t fall asleep because of you, but wish to do so because in my sleep I can meet you in my silly, wishful dreams. Do you have any idea how in love I am with you?”

“Are you serious?” 

Jungkook nods his head, forcing your tears to finally flow. He gasps and begins wiping them away instantly.

“I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry. Please don’t cry, I promise I won’t try anything. You, you won’t lose your best friend.”

“I’m just happy. So happy.”

“You are?”

“I feel the same for you. I have done so for a long time.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” You sniffle. “You’re my dream boy too, Jungkook.”

“Oh my god. Oh my god! Yippie!” he exclaims and overtaken by happiness, he swoops you off your feet to twirl with you, making you squeal happily as you hold onto him for dear life. Strangers definitely look at you weird, but you couldn’t care less. They are non-existent for you and him. He likes you and you like him back. This day is the best day you and he ever had.

He sets you down after the twirling, cradling your face so he could hold it still for way too many kisses. He gives you kisses everywhere except your lips, making you giggle and laugh and tingle the entire time.

“I’m so happy, you’re so pretty and perfect and amazing and pretty and amazing and I’m gonna kiss you there and there and there and oh my god you’re so perfect, I’m gonna kiss you there and there, wow oh wow…” he babbles between kisses, truly sending your heart into overdrive.

He probably would have continued his babbling for hours if you hadn’t stopped him by lacing your fingers in his hair and pulling his mouth into a kiss.

“Andmhgmh”, he lets out, gawking at you first before the realisation of his situation sinks in. His knees buckle, his left hand grabs your hips and his right hand cradles your head, eyes falling closed. He is kissing you. He feels weightless, floating in time and space. His heart races so much that he feels it throb against his ribcage, the butterflies in his stomach are unbearably exciting. He dreamt of this moment a million times before, fantasised about it twice as much and yet he still wasn’t ready for it. Your kiss is like heaven on earth. He swears that he gains new life through it. He wants to kiss you until his lungs run out of air, but you break it.

“Was that okay for me to do?” you ask him shyly.

Now it’s his turn to spill tears and for you to wipe them.

“I’m sorry, I should have ask-”, you don’t get to finish your sentence, getting kissed again by Jungkook.

“I’m so fucking happy, you have no idea”, he murmurs, showing you his feelings one deep kiss at a time. “You taste so good.” Kiss, oh so deep. “Your lips are so soft.” Kiss, the kind which makes your knees wobble. “You’re perfect, you’re so perfect.”

You giggle, gazing up at him droopily. Jungkook giggles as well, peeling his eyes open to gaze dreamily. You and he cup each other’s faces, resting your foreheads together.

“I’m happy.”

“I’m happy too.”

“Wow, I’m so happy.”

“Me too. So happy.”

You giggle together, swaying from side to side. Nothing, truly nothing, has never felt as right as this.

“Were you trying to confess to me before Suho interrupted us?”

“Yeah.”

You giggle as you talk, “you were really shit at it. I thought you were talking about someone else.”

“I know, I panicked so bad. I was so nervous”, he is giggling too, “are you actually talking to another boy?”

“Of course not, you doofus. I lied.”

“Oh my god, I’m so relieved”, he gets out and sweeps you off your feet again, carrying you under your butt. He twirls with you, smiling up at you as you squeak and laugh with your head thrown back.

“Jungkook stop please, I’m getting dizzy.”

He sets you down, but keeps touching you, seeking your closeness by rubbing his nose against your cheek. He is so close that the sunflowers are getting squished between you and him. It is a price you sadly have to pay in exchange for finally being able to be glued together.

“I’m so happy, I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Kook. So like barbeque and beer? Is it a date?” you ask.

“It’s the datiest date that has ever dated”, he says, making you giggle because he is so cute and funny and you like him so, so much. He giggles with you because you are so perfect and perfect and perfect and he likes you so, so much.

“I feel like we have a lot to talk about.”

“Yeah, oh god.” He kisses your cheek multiple times. “You have to tell me all the thoughts you had when we hung out. Were you also so giddy, oh god, I was always so giddy and I kept looking at you because you are so pretty. Were you looking at me too? And, and did you also wish for me to be reckless? I always wanted you to just kiss me. I’m talking so much, wow, I’m so happy.”

You giggle, cuddling into him, “you’re the cutest person ever. I can’t wait to tell you everything.”

You nudge him to leave, but stop when Jungkook exclaims a loud “wait!”

“What’s wrong?”

“The groceries. I almost left them here”, he says, bending down to get them.

“Oh god, you’re so cute”, you snicker, hugging his arm and nuzzling into him like you always wanted to do.

[bejeweledinterludes]

givin’ it all.

OR touch starved ! dean, part 2. you ask, i answer <3

my masterlist

read part 1 here!

「 pairing 」 : touch starved ! dean x fem ! reader

「 word count 」 : 5.9k

「 content / warnings 」 : late seasons sad n soft!dean, vulnerability to da max (again), emotions, emotions, EMOTIONS, past trauma, confessions?

you have one ( 1 ) new message from the author ! ↓

surprise! here is a lovely part 2 for the people that asked and in honor of my bday month starting! BUTTTT most importantly, this is a thank you for 600+ followers !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i hope all of you know that i appreciate every single one of you that enjoys and interacts with my writing! it means the world, truly. once again, thank you all so much for the continued and ongoing support + love! i hope you all enjoy this one! and special thanks to @emeraldcrs + @maddie0101 (even though i ended up not doing what i said i was going to LMFAO <3)

𖤐 ─────────────────────────

dean’s touch problem was getting out of hand.

ever since that night in your bedroom, he’s wished he could be there again, laying next to you every night— he’d even actually got the courage to get out of his bed one night when he couldn’t sleep to go to your room, but he never knocked on your door.

he did, however, sit down next to it in the hallway until he got tired enough that he had to fight to keep his eyes open, then went back to his own room. 

you hadn’t even treated him any differently, either. you had still smiled at him when he walked into the kitchen that morning when you were already sitting with sam, like you always did— and you hadn’t said a word about the night before, when you held him like he’d always wanted to be held.

and god, did he want more. 

dean wanted everything, actually. anything you had to offer. he’d take a squeeze on his shoulder, a ruffle of his hair— but hell, you did that pretty regularly already. and who was he to just ask for more?

dean winchester did not ask for things. he wasn’t allowed. he’s done just fine up until now without the touch of another human being, so why couldn’t the ache in his chest go away after your fingers left his skin? after that night?

it felt pathetic, wanting to need it. and to make matters worse, dean wanted all of you. it was selfish. you didn’t deserve someone like him, he knew it. but then again, you never flirted with anyone at the bars, ever. even when you all first started hunting together. and when he’d asked you about it (not so casually), you shrugged and told him the truth, because you always did— that as crazy and stupid as it sounded, you’d wanted something, someone real.

and dean?

he wanted to be the one to give that to you.

that’s when he knew he was in trouble. 

because of too many things, really— what if you died, again? what if he died, again? and what happens when you ultimately rejected him, because if dean winchester was anything, it was unloveable.

but charlie said she loved him. sam told him once in a while, too— and you’d said it the first time you ‘died’, then came back. he never brought that up. neither did you. but he just wanted to hear you say it again. 

so he could say it back this time. 

dean hated the way he felt when the people he loved actually showed him that they maybe cared about him, too— like the way a person feels when an entire room is singing ‘happy birthday’ to them and they don’t know what to do with themselves.

and yet, time and time again, dean found himself desperate for it. and he didn’t even know what ‘it’ was half the time. 

but being around you when he felt like that helped. a lot.

dean didn’t know what it was, or when it even started, but he always gravitated towards you. always had to be around you, be near you. and you never once pointed it out. you just let him into your space, your bubble, even your hobbies— and sometimes, doing literally nothing at all. 

it was one of the reasons dean loved you. yeah, yeah, he said it, whatever. leave him alone. it seemed like any time you were near, he was more relaxed. not fully, of course— but his shoulders felt less tight and his jaw wasn’t sore from clenching it so hard.

he breathed easier. without realizing it, you helped dean take his mind off things (but of course you damn well knew that. why else would you have invited him to go to the post office with you?). 

and he craved it. 

if dean got captured by a jinn right now, you’d be there. you’re all he’s wanted. you, maybe a house— screw anything else, honestly. if you were there, so was he. but he’d definitely prefer you sitting on the hood of baby— yeah, his two girls. that was a little strange analogy though, because he’s thought about fucking you right on top of baby. or inside, on the seats. maybe even under—?

this djinn-fantasy thing was starting to sound a lot like just a sex dream. 

wouldn’t be the first time dean had one about you, though. 

besides. you were all he dreamed about, anyway. 

but this night, he was wishing he had a dream like that. no. tonight, he was having yet another goddamn nightmare. 

the barely-lit light on dean’s desk (he says he ‘accidentally’ leaves it on once in a while, but he really uses it as a makeshift night light. don’t tell anyone i told you that) cast soft dim glow on the concrete walls of his bedroom. the room was quiet, except for the occasional hum of machinery coming from somewhere in the bunker.

yet dean's mind? anything but peaceful. images, smells, sounds, and memories were piercing his mind— hell, purgatory, failed hunts, you name it. and the faces of people he’d lost, people he’d tortured were clear as day— the pain, the hurt, it was all there, as usual; but ten times worse tonight, it seemed. screams, snarls, gunshots, and his father’s voice echoed off of the traumas he was reliving. 

he doesn’t know when his eyes had snapped open. but now dean was sitting up pin-straight in his bed, his breathing more like choppy gasps as he held and pointed his gun at— nothing. and his throat hurt, why did his throat hurt—?

oh. 

it wasn’t just screams of other people.

it was his own this time. dean had screamed out loud. 

a few rooms away, you were also jolted awake by dean's scream. it was so loud that it had even carried through the thick concrete walls of the bunker that were separating you both. you shot up from your bed, years of instincts kicking in and legs moving before your sleepy mind could catch up— or think twice. 

because the only thing that was going through your freshly-awoken mind?

the absolute worst.

you made it to dean’s door in record time, swinging it wide open with your own gun at the ready to fight something— but the sight you were met with was not the one you had been expecting.

at all.

dean was still sitting up straight, but now barely-relaxed, rapidly blinking his eyes with his trembling hand still holding his gun, adjusting to the still-dim but brighter light flooding his room, to feeling damp in his clothes instead of all bloody and broken, to the echoes of screams being replaced with the white noise of the bunker– 

and to… you. 

yeah, you. standing in his doorway, hand on the edge of his door (you’d caught it as it bounced back from you essentially tearing it open), your own gun now at your side instead of drawn. your hair was all messy, clothes a little bunched up in places, breathing a little unevenly, yet not as much as him— but you still looked breathtaking, nightmare aside. 

dean didn’t know what the hell kind of water you were drinking to make you look like that. even being freshy pulled from sleep like him, you looked beautiful. pretty, gorgeous, stunning? dean couldn’t find a word, and he doesn’t think he ever will.

and him.

oh, him.

dean always looked good— to the point where it bordered on you wanting to rip your hair out, most days. and despite what de’d just gone through, he still looked good. kidding aside, you craved the times you were able to see him like this more than you cared to admit to yourself. 

not because he was in pain, or suffering the traumas of his less-than-peaceful life— but because it reminded you that even dean, for as everything that he was: a hero, larger than life, better than any hunter, still had moments like… this. when the memories became real life again. when the thoughts and his past actions echoed in his mind like taunts.

when you saw him like this: sweat all over, hair sticking up, eyes like they didn’t know what was real, you saw a piece of dean that few— or none at all had seen. most times, it felt like you were intruding on something private, sacred. and every realistically-thinking cell in your body screamed that you shouldn’t be here, seeing this. seeing dean. 

but that little voice in your head just wouldn’t listen. 

it never did. not when it told you that maybe dean didn’t touch you like he did everyone else— because hell. 

he never touched anyone else. only you. 

he’d do it all the time, so frequently and without a word that you weren’t sure he was aware he was actually doing it. dean sat so close to you what seemed like 24/7, like a magnet. in a booth, at a bar, wherever. you’d gotten so used to it, it had been unusual not to have the solid warmth of dean next to you when you’d gone off on your own to interview witnesses on a case. 

and you would catch him playing with your hair on more than one occasion. and while dean got all embarrassed, you just smiled a little, then went back to reading the old-ass book you’d been poured over (but not without first nonchalantly adjusting yourself so he got more access to your hair). 

dean would never forget it. 

because that’s who you were, essentially. taking all the pieces of him in tow with you. all the dirty, messed up, strewn-about shards of him, scattered like a discarded shattered vase on the floor— and just accepting it. 

and you never tried to ‘fix’ him, but in some way, you still somehow were. without really ever talking about it, or maybe even knowing. but when those times that only occurred on a rare occasion that dean would talk, the words spilling out and overflowing— but you never judged him. only listened. spoke when it was needed from you. 

it meant everything.

and more. 

dean would hug you almost every five minutes when he was too drunk to stand straight, you had learned one night early on in your friendship. when his ‘hey, maybe we shouldn’t do that’ voice in his head was silenced, he was kinda (a lot) all over you. because yes, he was much touchier when he was drunk, especially around you. 

even now, after years since it happened, you still remembered the way his broad, loose frame had crumpled against you— and you caught him.

just like now.

you’d snapped over whatever the hell just came over you— and you weren’t sure how long you’d been standing there, but you hoped it wasn’t as long as you thought it to be, then slowly shut dean’s door behind you with a click, enveloping you both in the dim light this time. 

because no way in any world were you about to leave dean alone after seeing him like this.

you pad across his room like you’d done a million times before— but never in this way. this late in the night? sure, but not like now. 

you weren’t really thinking. because let’s be honest here: for every critical and rational thought you had, dean seemed to just… make them all disappear from your mind.

not in the survival sense, but in the ‘really, what’s stopping me from just kissing him’ viewpoint. so much so that you had to literally force yourself to not do anything. to not cross that line. you weren’t sure if he even knew that he was aware he was doing it to you, yet it still happened. a lot.

but back to now. back to dean’s room, to the light being returned to normal, and dean’s wondering why the hell is it so cold? he was still just a complete mess, his frayed and raw nerves only being held together by skin, blood and bones. he shut his eyes and kept them like that, trying to banish the memories from his mind, to just snap the hell out of it. he could hear this ringing in his ears, and it was so loud, he just wanted it to stop—

and suddenly, it did.

dean didn’t even realize you’d started holding him until the scent of you finally flooded his senses. until he felt how warm you were. until he felt your hair on the side of his face. until he felt and heard your breathing. 

during the aftermath, you’d somehow managed to gently pry dean’s gun out of his hand, setting yours and his on his desk before you’d gotten on his bed and sat with him, hugged him.

when his eyes finally opened, just for a split-second— the only sight he was met with wasn’t the pit, or purgatory, just the guns. the metal had glinted off of his desk light, his vision only slightly impaired by your hair.

your hair. why did it smell so good. and why was it so soft. the world may never know, dean thinks. well, he does know. you’d told him one night while putting something in your hair, and he had been walking past the doorway. he’d teased you about your ‘girly stuff’, but you didn’t even bat an eye. 

that was another thing he’d noticed about you. you didn’t change yourself based on other’s opinions. you were secure in who you were, and didn’t need approval from anyone else to feel your best. it was one of the things dean wished he could do for real and not just as a front, as a defense. 

you were confident, but you still asked him once in a while if you looked okay, more so in the most recent years.

and dean could never lie to you. he always said “‘course y’do”.

but that night, you’d shrugged, then just told him about whatever the hell you were putting on your head, explaining it in a way he’d understand if he’d been listening— but dean had been a little to focused on your lips moving and not enough on the words actually coming out of them. 

dean found himself burying his face into your hair now, half into your neck and chest, his breath coming out uneven and in short pants against your skin. he allowed his eyes to flutter shut again as he just let himself sink into you, resting his head on your shoulder, arms finding your waist. he felt the adrenaline wearing off, but his heart was still pounding in his chest, and he felt his shoulders trembling. his mind was starting to adjust, but he felt like he’d just gotten off a treadmill after running on it too fast. 

and dean felt so weak. even more so now than he ever had. a shell of himself, a whole grown-ass man crumpled into you like he was a little kid again, scared of the dark.

if his dad could see him now.

if sam saw him right now. oh, sam would finally see that his brother wasn’t the tower of light, safety he’d always viewed him as. he’d treat him differently, for sure. dean was no longer the protector, the one who watched over everyone and everything. too much had happened to sam, to the people he loved for that to be even a fraction of true anymore. 

what was true, though? 

dean was a failure.

in every sense of the word. he’d failed innocent people, family, friends— everyone more times than he could count.

but his mind remembered. 

and it reminded him every night. 

dean used to have the sense that he was at least doing something right, but as of late, everything he’d done so far was nothing short of one disappointment after the other. it was pitiful, really— he was a freakin’ hunter, for god’s sakes. you’d think he’d get a goddamn win once in a while. but not for a long time, it seemed. 

and this was just yet another failure, another thing he absolutely sucked at. dean couldn’t even get back to normal after a nightmare without someone being there to hold him. it was pathetic, humiliating— but he couldn’t bring himself to let go of you. 

somehow, that was his breaking point. the last straw. 

dean finally just… broke. 

you didn’t even realize what was happening until you heard the smallest strangled, trapped noise came out from the man you were essentially holding together, muffled against you— but you still heard it.

all it took for dean winchester to cry these days? 

a hug, apparently.

the tears had been welling up in dean’s eyes faster than he could will them away— and he just couldn’t do it anymore. couldn’t put up the front he’d always been able to. he tried, god he tried so hard, but he was still shaking, for christ’s sakes— and he’d just woken up. 

the more dean thought about it, the more your arms seemed like a good place to finally let it all out. you’d always treated him with kindness he didn’t deserve, so he just prayed that you wouldn’t push him away. that you would just let him have this. he doesn't think he could handle you rejecting him in this way right now.

and when you hear a slight sniff against you, you almost couldn’t believe it. dean didn’t cry. he got angry, upset, went non-verbal– but the one thing you hadn’t seen him do (at least in front of you) in all the years you’d known him, is cry.

but you weren’t leaving.

no, you just held him tighter, adjusting your grip and the way you were sitting so dean was more comfortable. you didn’t lay down, but you pulled him closer to you, running a hand up and down his back. 

it’s not like you could say anything. what the hell could you say?

well.

one thing did come to mind. 

so with your hand still gently rubbing dean’s back, you moved your head just a fraction so it could rest on his, whispering close to his ear.

“i got you.”

and that was it. 

dean’s eyes screwed further shut, lip wobbling as he gripped way harder onto you, like you were the only lifeboat left in a choppy sea. like you were going to keep him here, like he’d suddenly fall apart, die if he let go. 

and he let go—

figuratively.

you’d never heard a sob come out of dean before, but that night, you decided you never wanted to hear it after this. because it was physically hurting you to hear dean right now. 

but you didn’t dare let him go. you held dean in your arms, still running a hand on his back, and he cried into your chest like he was four years old again, his entire body trembling against yours with the force of how much his sobs were wracking through his form. 

this wasn’t just about dean’s nightmare. this was everything. the decades of holding things in, pushing them down, then moving on without ever unpacking it— it was all bursting through the floodgates, roaring in his ears, his senses.

broken sounds left his throat, almost choking on them. they were coming straight from the place dean dared not to ever touch in his heart. but he didn’t care how loud he was anymore, or how embarrassing this must be, how humiliating—

because you said that you had him.

and you wanted nothing more than to take every ounce, every inch of pain, heartbreak, suffering, and loss that made up the man you loved away from him so he didn’t have to deal with it.

dean didn’t deserve any of it. he deserved to be normal.

to have a life. 

and damn you wanted to give that to him, so badly.

but for now, you’d just hold him. give him a place to rest. to let everything go.

to be the solace he needed, he deserved.

neither you or dean knew how long he’d stayed like that, but you both didn’t say a word the entire time you held him— the only sounds that filled his room were his less-than-quiet sobs (god he hoped sam hadn’t made it home from elieen’s yet) and the faint rustle of his sheets. 

but at some point, with a final sniff, dean lifted his head from your shoulder, but didn’t meet your eyes. couldn’t.

he was so ashamed of himself, his actions. it didn’t matter that you guys had been friends however long, this was not supposed to be the side of him you saw. he’d seen you comfort dozens, maybe even hundreds of crying people on cases— because of lost loved ones, or because they had seen something too scary. 

dean just never thought he’d be one of them.

you didn’t say anything at first. dean, eyes and face still wet with tears, was looking down between you both, eyes fixed on your pyjama pants’ pattern. he was avoiding the obvious, the pill he had to swallow. he’d just cried like a baby into you.

he could see the wetness on your shirt from the corner of his eye, but he dared not look up all the way. god, this was humiliating. you’d probably move out of the bunker after this.

because no way does dean come back from a stunt like he just pulled. staying in your bed is one thing, but the fact that he just broke down in front of you? you’d never see him the same, never look at him the same– and even if there was any chance of it  before, no way in hell were you ever going to look at him in the way he wanted you to look at him.

he’d messed up big-time— again. the only thing he swore to never ruin, to never take away from himself, it all just unraveled because he was a goddamn crybaby. an idiot. why did he do that? just let himself? was he seriously that braindead that he couldn’t—

dean’s pulled out of the spiral of thoughts he’d conjured up for himself when he feels a hand under his jaw. 

your hand. 

dean’s breath was all out of whack, courtesy of crying— but his next inhale literally gets stuck somewhere when your free hand uses your fingers to wipe the tears off his face.

you hadn’t really registered the fact that you’d even started doing that until you see dean’s glassy and red-rimmed eyes meet yours in his barley-lit room. all you’d been thinking was that you wanted to see him. and when you saw all the wetness on his face, how ashamed he looked, you didn’t think. 

case in point: you never did.

not when it came to dean.

and dean just melts all over again. you could’ve teased him, poked fun, even just got up and left— but instead, your arms are still halfway around him. you’re leaning over by his nightstand, grabbing a tissue for the snot and larger tear tracks. 

he should feel embarrassed. at least a little gross. 

but he didn’t. 

he just felt you.

dean let his eyes flutter shut, because this had to be a dream now. he wasn’t expecting this from you, but damn if he didn’t need it. every gentle brush of your fingers on his face felt like pure gold. like you were putting him back together. 

dean’s still trembling under your gaze, under your touch. but seeing him react the way he did stirs at that feeling inside your tummy that always seemed to spike when dean was around. you toss that urge away, along with the tissue you’d used on his face.

but you don’t take your hand away. 

your hand was so warm, so soft was all dean could think, feel. you weren’t taking your hand away, so dean just melted like a pad of butter in a pan into your fingers that were cupping the side of his face, his eyes still shut. he could feel the slight burn of them from crying, along with the pressure in his face so high— but your thumb absentmindedly brushing on his cheek was starting to make him feel like he was floating instead.

and because he’s greedy, because he’s weak, dean’s own hand releases its hold from your shirt and finds your wrist, keeping your hand on his face. the one that used to be under his jaw had dropped when you knew that he wasn’t going to look down again.

no one’s shown dean care like this. your presence was like a blanket, like the warm, soft light of a candle. he couldn’t get enough. he never wanted it to end. 

dean doesn’t know how long he stays like that— could’ve been seconds or hours. but he finally breaks the silence with a quiet, raspy “thank you”. he doesn’t open his eyes yet.

because he’s afraid that you’ll be gone when he opens them. 

but you weren’t.

no, in fact? you did something much stupider.

you leaned forward and kissed dean on the cheek that your hand wasn’t currently holding.

dean’s eyes snap open in surprise at the contact if your soft lips on his skin, his trembling breaths getting stuck in his throat again— because holy hell. whatever he’d been guessing you’d do, it wasn’t even close to that.

like everyone knows now: you weren’t thinking.you just wanted him to feel better. you just didn’t know how to do that for him.

dean’s red-rimmed eyes were still wide as you leaned back, your hand on his face faltering when you see his expression, because that didn’t seem like he enjoyed it— but he didn’t drop his hand from your wrist. he wasn’t going to let you let go. you’d only kissed him on the cheek one other time, and that was when he was dying for the third, maybe fourth time? it was too long ago for him to remember, but honestly, he had been happy just dying like that, too. you’d kissed him, and that was what he needed. he didn’t want anything else from this world.

and you just did it again.

the only thing he said?

“do that again.”

now it was your turn for your breathing to stop working.

but you didn’t hesitate. 

you leaned forwards once more and pressed your lips on dean’s cheek again, lingering for a second too long before you reluctantly pulled away. because you wanted more. you wanted everything, honestly. but you’d never ask that of him. 

you don’t know how you’ve lasted this long, pretending not to want one of your closest friends for as long as you can remember. you can recall a time when you didn’t feel like this— back when dean winchester was just some hunter with his brother. you helped them out once in a while, since they were your age and seemed nice enough, but somewhere along the way, after an apocalypse or two, sam and dean were always kind of just… there. it was like you were on parallel paths, going in the same direction— and both had intersected at some point. 

now here you were. 

it was times like these you wished that dean would just pick a side. he never truly hit on you, only for a case once in a while— and he couldn’t even look at you after he did that. he never made a move, and honestly, you were fine with that, for a really long time. you’d deemed dean much too out of your league anyway, since he didn’t really flirt with you like he did every other woman that came across his path— and that was odd to you, because dean flirted with everyone.

just not… you. 

and while it stung, you just pushed through it. i mean, it’s not like you haven’t been let down before— but you couldn’t place why your heart felt like it was being shredded up in your chest when you’d met lisa for the first time.

but you knew. 

deep down, you knew exactly why. 

you knew why your gut twisted whenever he chatted up a waitress, or a witness. you knew why your friends gave up on talking to you about him, because you were a lost cause. 

because you were so stupidly in love with dean, it was almost humiliating. 

every single person, even some monsters you were literally hunting had called you out on it.

and you didn’t know what the hell to do. 

there were too many variables, too many outliers, and certainly not enough confidence to even consider the fact of telling him. of manning up and just taking what you wanted. because what would you even say? do? what happens after he rejects you? and what if—

your thoughts are interrupted by a warm hand on your face.

dean’s hand.

your hand was still on his cheek, one of his own still holding your wrist— but the other was now brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

and then it just… stayed there. on the side of your face. 

just like you were doing to him. 

you’re gonna die, you think. 

once again, you found yourself wanting dean to just do something. he’d been blurring the invisible line you’d drawn for yourself, the one you swore to never cross—

unless dean wanted you to. 

it was getting much harder to tell if he wanted you to or not, especially in the most recent months.

and it was killing you. slowly but surely.

“what’re you thinkin’ about?”

the words leave your mouth before you even have time to think, because dean’s hand is so warm, so big against your face and it’s really hard to focus when his own thumb is brushing on your cheek— 

“you.” 

the answer leaves dean’s mouth without hesitation, without another thought. it wasn’t a lie— because you were all he thought about.

dean didn’t deserve this. you. any of this. and yet, he couldn’t refuse it right now. not when you were so close to him, and your skin was so soft—

“are you—” the words get caught in dean’s throat. “are y’thinkin’ about me?”

oh, why did dean just say that. why on chuck’s green earth did he ever say that. how did he even sound more pathetic than he’d just been when he was crying in your arms? and his voice was so small, so unlike him— plus it was still raspy from his stunt he’d pulled earlier. he was an idiot. a fool. he sounded like an insecure freakin’ teenager. it was pathetic. he was pathetic—

“yeah.” 

dean’s eyes flicked back up to yours— and that was a mistake, because your hand was still mirroring his own on his face, and you were looking at him like you meant what you’d just said. like he meant something. 

“yeah?” the breath left dean’s mouth before he could stop it, and he hated how hopeful he sounded. he’d moved a fraction closer to you, but it felt like he just traveled a mile. 

“yeah,” you nodded, a little dazed, voice barely above a whisper. because dean was so close to you now, you could feel his breath on your face. you could barely think straight, because all you wanted to do was just lean in a little further— “i don’t really, uh… stop. thinkin’ about you.”

and dean’s gonna die. 

he is going to die, because you said that and you were looking down at his lips and you smelled so good and your hand was still on his face—

dean was a simple man. that’s all he’ll ever be. he’d never ask you to do something you didn’t want.

but god, he wanted you. 

so the words fell out of his mouth in another exhale—

“me, either.”

oh. 

oh. 

the way you were looking at him right now? after he said that in response?

you wanted him, too.

you’re both not sure who moved first, but your lips were on dean’s after you leaned in and he used his hand on your face to tug you to him, closing the remaining space between you both on his bed. 

the first thing you noticed?

dean tasted like home. 

you didn’t kiss him too fast. neither he with you. because you wanted to map out every inch you could, and because you were half-sure that this was some fantasy your mind had cooked up out of a state of delusion. your hand on dean’s face snaked deeper back, burying into his hair, and he groaned into your mouth at the action. 

that did something to you. the same thing happened when dean’s hand went into your hair, too— you made this little noise on his lips.

that did something to him.

kissing dean was actually gentle at first. not hesitant, but like you already knew how. but then after you’d both made those noises, it’s like a switch flipped. suddenly, there was way too much space in between you both— and you gripped onto the front of his shirt, tugging him towards you as you let your back hit his sheets, taking him down with you. 

this wasn’t like anything you’d ever felt. no, this was going on a decade of wishing, wanting, hoping for something, anything to come of you and dean besides friendship. 

and dean? dean pressed right into you, one of his hands and barely bothered to keep himself upright. he needed to touch you, feel you. another groan escapes you and him involuntarily at the friction between you both— because you’d spread your thighs, his torso fitting right between you.

and it felt good. 

you couldn’t take a full breath anymore, but you didn’t dare take your lips off of dean’s. you just tugged him closer, hand still in his hair, the other on the back of one of his shoulders.

both your lips broke with a pop, you and dean taking in the same breath of air, his nose brushing against yours and eyes fluttering, because wow.

dean didn’t know he’d said that aloud until a smile tugged on your lips, eyes looking up at him like he still wasn’t real. like this wasn’t real. 

“you know how long i’ve been waitin’ to do that?” dean breathes against your lips, eyes threatening to shut again. 

your smile gets wider as your own eyelashes flutter at the closeness, relishing in the contact of feeling dean on top of you before you respond:

“you know how long i’ve been waiting for you to do that?”

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tags: @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @ambiguous-avery @maddie0101 @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @sunsbaby @emeraldcrs @h8aaz @honeyryewhiskey @supernotnatural2005 @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @bruisedfig @mostlymarvelgirl @amaris444 @kaz-2y5-spn @littlesoulshine @starzify @velvetparkerx @eggggggggggggggggggggsblog @fuckedupfate @liiiilsss @angelblqde @vmiina @mahi-wayy @viarasvogue @tinas111 @0ccvltism @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @lunaleah @saintfaux @kimxwinchester @bettystonewell @honeyyxxbee @harlekin705 + if i missed anyone OR if you want to be added/taken off, please let me know! <3

[ghostedgwen]

under that attitude | j.potter

note : I'll have you know it was very funny to take breaks from writing this to create rollercoasters on my roblox theme park tycoon that I managed on the side, I cannot just do one thing lately - at least it was productive

warnings : some angst and a lot of overthinking, pining, misunderstandings (only a bit), two dumb idiots avoiding their feelings, idiots in love, a whole lot of fluff despite the denial

You were always good at keeping secrets - especially the one about your Legilimency. No one could know, because you didn’t have a solid prediction of how the wizarding world would react to that information. But everything changes the day you hear the truth behind his insults - the way his heart stutters when you argue, the desperate, half-terrified way he wants you. 4.9k words

. . . Like, I want you, bless my soul, and I ain't gotta tell him. I think he knows.

Like how most depressing things are, it was worse at night.

The castle breathed in the dark - long, slow sighs that rattled through stone and bone alike - and it was then, in the hush between curfew and dawn, that the voices were loudest. Not aloud. Never aloud. In your head. Flickering, always uninvited.

You leaned against the cold wall outside the Slytherin common room, your head tipped back, eyes closed. The torches burned low, sputtering against damp stone. Somewhere down the passage, you could hear the slow drip of water, the groan of ancient pipes. Familiar sounds.

The other ones - the ones that weren't supposed to exist - you kept locked tight behind your ribs.

You hadn't meant to become a Legilimens. Hadn't studied it, hadn't even known the word when it first happened. It had just. . . started. It started as barely audible whispers at first. At eleven years old, you'd thought everyone heard them - snatches of feeling, flickers of thought that didn't belong to you.

It wasn't until second year, during a Charms duel, that you'd understood: when your opponent raised her wand and spat a hex - and you had already known she was going to - because you had heard her panicked mind scream "Left - aim for her left!" before she ever moved.

You’d dodged without thinking. You won without even expecting an upper-hand thanks to hearing her thoughts and you’d walked back to the Slytherin huddle under curious eyes, your skin cold with the realization that something was wrong.

There were rules about things like this, from everything you have read so far.

Legilimency was dark magic in most people's eyes - an invasion, a violation - a talent reserved for those who couldn't be trusted. Monsters wore polite faces. Mind readers didn't get second chances.

So you told no one. Not even your dormmates, whose secrets you could taste sometimes when they laughed too hard.

And most days, it was fine. Manageable. If you stayed guarded. If you didn't look too closely. It only slipped when people were loud inside - when their feelings boiled over and the world around you blurred at the edges and suddenly their thoughts weren’t behind their teeth anymore, but bleeding out into yours.

You hadn't meant to overhear anyone.

But here, in the long velvet dark of Hogwarts, the mind had no walls.

Potions was a war zone on a good day. On a bad day, when the Gryffindors shared the clasroom with Slytherins, it was mutually assured destruction. Why the professors allow for this inter-house collaboration was beyond you, if there was a house the snakes mildly respect other than themselves - it would be the Ravenclaws.

You sat at your usual table near the back, carefully slicing a bundle of valerian roots, pretending not to notice James Potter throwing glances your way like hexes. He was always known to prank Slytherins, and you were not straying his radar with how you competed on the pitch often.

You anticipated it but still braced yourself for impact.

"Careful, ____," he drawled loud enough for half the room to hear. "Wouldn’t want you brewing up something - oh, I don't know - illegal."

You didn't even flinch, you saw the insult coming a mile away and barely rolled your eyes at how lame it was.

"Touching concern, Potter," you murmured, not looking up. "Planning to report me to the authorities or just desperate for my attention again?"

A few Gryffindors snickered. Lily Evans shot James a warning glare over her cauldron. He ignored it with practiced ease, an amused smile playing at his lips.

He strode closer, arms folded, the portrait of a boy who’d never been told no. Which is funny given how he's very much like a spoiled pureblood heir, only his robe colours were different. 

You neglected to point out how great he would be in your house, he’d thrive alongside the other snot-nosed pureblood brats.

"Just making sure the dark wizard training program’s running on schedule," he said, smirking. "Be a shame if someone as - what's the term? Frighteningly competent - wasn't putting in the hours."

You looked up then, meeting his gaze coolly and that was when it happened.

The world shifted - not outwardly, not visibly - but inside your head, the way it always did when someone's emotions rose too high and their mind got too loud. And James Potter, his mind was practically screaming at you, demanding to be invaded.

James's smirk stayed fixed on his face, not faltering even when your sharp gaze held his - full of mockery and bravado.

But beneath it, like a crack in the ice, you heard:

"Look at her. Smug. Brilliant. Bloody hell, she's so pretty it’s infuriating."

Your knife slipped, slicing too hard through the root. You caught yourself enough for anyone to not notice the stumble - steady hands with no visible flinch - but your heart jumped painfully against your ribs.

Stay calm.

Stay normal.

Outwardly, you quirked a brow. "If you spent half as much time on your coursework as you do worrying about me, Potter, you might actually pass your exams."

More laughter. A few Gryffindors - Sirius Black among them - hooted loud enough to make Slughorn look up from his desk.

James flushed slightly, his smirk faltering before he masked it with exaggerated affront.

You went back to your valerian root, slicing with vicious precision, pretending your ears weren’t ringing with the echo of his mind’s betrayal.

He hated you, he said. You were rivals, he said.

And yet.

"Bloody hell, she's so pretty it’s infuriating."

You didn't even want to think about what else he might be shouting inside that head of his.

You just had to survive the rest of class without cracking first.

The library was supposed to be a safe place - for you. Just you and the books and the quietness, somehow people's thoughts are quieter here. They get too focused that your abilities were not being demanded by their thoughts.

Low voices, scratching quills, sound of parchment - no loud Gryffindor boys itching for a fight. No accidental mind-reading incidents. Just quiet.

Or it should have been.

You hunched over a thick tome on advanced defensive charms, trying and pathetically failing to focus. The words blurred, your mind replaying Potions over and over.

'Look at her. Smug. Brilliant. Bloody hell, she's so pretty it’s infuriating.'

You shook your head sharply.

"No," you muttered under your breath. "No way."

Maybe you'd misheard. There was absolutely no way, the lack of sleep from slaving over N.E.W.T.s and the nearing Gryffindor vs Slytherin Quidditch match was getting to you, taking its toll. You convince yourself that was all.

Maybe James Potter didn't actually think you were. . . that.

You sank lower in your seat, dragging a hand across your face. 

You had rules about this. You never took strong flashes from someone and assumed they were true. Minds were messy, complicated things. Thoughts didn't always mean anything.

Still. You started noticing it.

The next day in Charms, you caught James looking at you across the room, chin propped on his hand, staring. When you met his gaze, he immediately dropped a book on the floor and made a big show of retrieving it.

Later, walking down the corridor between classes, you heard him before you saw him - laughing too loudly with Sirius, knocking shoulders with Peter Pettigrew, and the second he spotted you, his whole posture changed. Straighter. And then, predictably, he opened his mouth.

"Watch it, snake," he called, as you passed.

You rolled your eyes and kept walking, but your fingers twitched at your sides. Because even though his words were full of spite, his mind had been humming loud enough to burn:

"There she is. Merlin, she’s - "

You cut yourself off before the thought fully formed. You didn't want to know.

James Potter was many things - loud, insufferable, reckless - but he couldn't actually like you.

Could he?

You buried yourself deeper into your books, trying to drown out the noise - both outside and inside your head.

But the thing about secrets was: they had a way of refusing to stay quiet for long.

The air still smelled like grass and almost-rain when you cut across the pitch, broom slung lazily over one shoulder.

You’d only come to watch - Slytherin practice had ended hours ago - but somehow you’d found yourself lingering, pretending to study the Gryffindor formations. Pretending not to watch a certain messy-haired idiot loop the sky like he owned it.

You should have left.

You should have.

Boots scuffed behind you. You didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

"Well, well, well," James Potter's voice drawled, closer than you expected. "Didn't realize Slytherins were so obsessed with Gryffindor athleticism."

You snorted, not bothering to face him yet. "Don't flatter yourself, Potter. I was studying your mistakes."

He caught up easily, falling into step beside you as you made for the gates. His hair was still damp from flying, sticking to his forehead. There was a smudge of mud across his cheek, and he grinned like he hadn't a care in the world.

"Sure you were, sweetheart."

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt - but your heart stuttered.

Because even before it hit you fully, you could feel it - the swell of emotion, bright and reckless, practically leaking out of him.

And then you heard it:

"If she knew what I really thought of her, I'd die. I'd let her hex me if it meant she'd touch me."

You stumbled.

Just a little. Just enough that you hoped he thought you tripped on the uneven ground.

But inside? There is absolute chaos brewing in you.

You recovered quickly, shooting him a scathing look, but James only laughed - like you were the most amusing thing he'd seen all day. Given the track record of his thoughts, there might be some weight to that.

He ruffled his already-ruined hair and gave you a wink that nearly made you want to hex him on principle.

"Careful, snake. Wouldn't want you falling for me."

You scoffed. "As if."

But your mind was spinning.

Because it was real. All of it - the glances, the smirks, the insults that were less venom and more cover.

James Potter didn’t hate you. He hated how much he wanted you.

The night was unbearably still, the only sound the quiet ripple of the Black Lake against the shore. You sat by the water, your knees drawn up to your chest, staring at the moonlight dancing on the surface. Your breath came in slow, measured patterns, but inside, it was chaos.

You liked coming here to help calm yourself - the sound of the soft ripples of water, the loneliness of it all as the moon shone brightly. Finally, it's quiet - truly quiet.

No person around whose privacy you could invade.

You had never wanted to know what others were thinking. You had never asked for this. But it had happened. You were a Legilimens.

And now, you knew too much.

James Potter likes you. He wants you.

The thought shouldn’t have had the power it did. It shouldn’t have twisted inside you like this, leaving you cold and unsettled. But it did. And you hated yourself for it.

You could still hear his voice, taunting you in Potions, the insults he threw your way. "Dark wizard in training," he'd called you, his words sharp and cruel. But it wasn’t his words that hurt, was it? It was the thoughts beneath them.

"Bloody hell, she's gorgeous when she's angry."

You froze, the echo of those words still too fresh, too sharp.

But you couldn’t tell him. You couldn’t let anyone know as it would open a pandora’s box of undesirables you dared not explore outside the wee hours when your head feels like it might cave in on itself.

Legilimency was a curse. It was rare, dangerous, and feared. Wizards who had been caught using it had been cast out, exiled to live on the fringes of society. Families had been ruined, careers destroyed.

And worse - those who could read minds were feared. There were whispers about what those with the power could do with it. How easily they could manipulate people. Control them.

Or perhaps the articles and books you have read were just laying it on very thick, making a spectacle out of something that was out of what society considered ordinary but you couldn’t risk it.

As a Slytherin, it was in your nature to always preserve yourself. Your well-being came first, so every action is well thought-out for your benefit - including hiding your ability away in shame.

People don't take kindly to having their minds read, the mind is one very powerful thing - a vast vault of secrets. You could very well weaponize people’s thoughts and secrets against them.

You’d keep quiet. Keep pretending you didn’t know. Even if it gnawed at you from the inside. Even if every part of you screamed to just tell him, to confront him, to understand what the hell was going on in that arrogant Gryffindor head of his.

You swallowed hard, standing up and brushing your hands off on your robes. The weight of your secret settled like lead in your chest.

You’ll pretend. You’ll keep it secret. And maybe - just maybe - you’ll survive.

Because that is why the hat sorted you to wear green robes, because you were not the type to grab James Potter by his tie to confront him and demand some explanation for the things he thought about you.

You walked back toward the castle, the darkness wrapping around you like a cloak. The sound of your footsteps on the cobblestone echoed in the quiet night.

The cauldron before you is bubbling with that familiar greenish glow, steam rising like smoke. Your fingers are quick, precise - just the right amount of crushed powdered moonstone, stirred counterclockwise, steady, controlled.

James Potter is sitting across from you, as always, only this time he's making a show of it. His elbows are planted on the table, chin in his palm, eyes fixed on you. And that smug expression. The one that makes your insides twist.

"Look at her. She’s so - "

You shut the thought out. It is your absolute misfortune that he settled on sharing a table with you when the Professor demanded some inter-house collaboration for today’s class due to Dumbledore’s insistence.

It doesn’t matter. You have a potion to finish.

But, of course, James never misses an opportunity to make you hate him just a little bit more - if hate is truly what you have been feeling.

“You’re stealing looks at me, _____. Thinking of what unforgivable to use, eh?”

You barely hear the words, your mind too focused on the process in front of you. But you hear the tone. You always hear the tone. And that’s enough.

You don’t look up from your potion, but the words slide out of your mouth like a reflex, sharp as ever. “What’s your problem, Potter? Can’t keep your mouth shut for one class?”

The words are meant to sting, meant to remind him that this rivalry isn’t just one-sided. But as you snap at him, the air thick with the tension of old wounds, your own mind is buzzing with something far worse.

"Merlin, she smells amazing."

The thought - completely out of nowhere slams into your mind like a train. Your hands falter for a second, a stray drop of essence splashing over the edge of your cauldron. You curse under your breath.

But that’s nothing compared to the way your heart jumps in your chest.

"Stop thinking about her like that, Potter. Just focus."

It’s like his voice is in your head - no, not just his voice. It’s his thoughts. His internal struggle, raw and unfiltered. And it’s all about you, as if all the time spent learning at Hogwarts were useless when all he could think about was you, you, you.

You almost choke. Almost spill the entire potion.

But you don’t. You manage to keep your face cool, eyes fixed on your cauldron. You won’t let him see the effect he’s having on you.

James doesn’t see the way you flinch, the way you want to scream and laugh all at once. He doesn’t know that you can hear every stupid, misguided thought racing through his head.

He’s still talking, probably making fun of you, probably insulting your potion-making technique. But inside, it’s all just a blur of "please don’t notice", how good you smell and "how is she this good at everything?"

You can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep pretending you hate him, when his equally-annoying voice spouted compliments and confessions in your head. Like he was right by your ear screaming them.

But you have to. Because you know. You know what he’s thinking. What he really thinks about you. And it’s driving you mad - as much as he is driving himself mad.

"She’s making it look so easy. Stop it, James."

You don’t flinch this time. You just keep your hands steady, your face calm, pretending like none of it’s happening. Pretending like the weight of his thoughts isn’t burning through your skin, making you want to dunk your head into the boiling cauldron.

It’s maddening. And you’re beginning to wonder how much longer you can keep pretending you don’t know.

The Quidditch pitch was alive with energy, the roar of the crowd drowning out all other sounds. Gryffindor versus Slytherin - the match everyone was waiting for, one that had your Quidditch captain on everyone’s rears all semester.

The teams soared high, the Quaffle exchanged between players as they raced towards the goalposts. It was fast, furious, and wildly competitive.

You gripped your broom tightly, eyes locked on the Quaffle as you swerved past a Bludger. You were focused, focused enough that you could almost tune out everything else - everything, except for him.

Merlin, despite the heat and chaos of the match, you could still hear him through them with how absolutely loud he was as if he was projecting his thoughts to you on purpose.

James Potter, the Gryffindor starchaser, was on the opposite team. The moment you locked eyes, he flashed that insufferable grin, like he’d already won. He was always cocky, always loud. But this time, it felt different. There was something in the way he was watching you.

"Watch out, snake!" he shouted, a taunt just loud enough for everyone to hear as you flew past him.

You didn't flinch, too used to the hostility. Instead, you focused on the Quaffle, your eyes scanning for an opening. You threw it, perfect precision, straight through the left hoop. Score. The crowd erupted into cheers, but the sound felt distant compared to the pounding in your ears.

But there it was again. His voice. Not in the air, but inside your head.

"She’s so good at this. Bloody hell, how does she do that?" James’ thoughts interrupted everything, like a crashing wave. "She moves like - like she was born to fly. Makes me want to just - "

You clenched your jaw, trying to force the thoughts out of your head. This was bad. So bad. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t block out the next wave of thoughts that flooded your mind.

"I want to snog her senseless."

It hit you like a jolt to the chest. You had to swallow the sudden rush of heat in your throat. You didn’t dare look at him, not with the intensity of what was going on in his head.

The game was still raging on, but your focus was slipping. You were just trying to keep it together, trying to pretend this was normal - that it didn’t matter that James Potter, the James Potter, was thinking about you like that.

He wasn’t just mocking you any more. His admiration was clear, cutting through every insult and joke. It made everything ultimately worse.

You caught another pass - biting the insides of your cheeks, dodging a Bludger, and went for another shot. But now it wasn’t just about the game. It wasn’t about scoring or winning.

It was about trying to control your emotions - when everything in you wanted to break the rules. To reach out. To tell him what you were hearing.

But you couldn’t.

Because the last thing you needed was for him to find out just how much you felt the same.

You were unsure how to process the realization that not only is James Potter besotted with you, but you liked him back. You, the Slytherin chaser who he exchanged insults with on a daily every Potions class was just as besotted.

It is truly a doomed plot written out for some sick god’s entertainment watching you run around like a headless Hippogriff.

So here you are, ending up yet again in the black lake during wee hours, escaping the castle undetected yet again. It is the only place that could truly calm you down when even your own ehad gets too loud.

Unbeknownst to you was the Gryffindor hiding under an invisibility cloak, watching you. His eyes studied your face that seemed much more softer in the dead of night, how all the frown left you and all that remained was your features all bare.

He felt the strong urge to reach out, but that would reveal the fact he followed you. He noticed you leaving the castle on the map, and out of concern snuck out to follow you under the cloak. He knew the dangers outside the castle walls, he just wanted to make sure you were safe.

He did not expect to invade your privacy as you looked out into the lake like a person who had the entire weight of the world. He wonders just what could be going on inside your mind, wishing he could peer into it and maybe, maybe he could take some of that weight off.

He gripped his wand, feeling defeated. 

He can’t even let you know how much he worries about you, how much he wonders about you - because that would be confronting the fact he has fallen for the enemy. That he would be going against his beliefs.

James Potter is an idiot. And he wanted nothing more than to snog you but instead he always resorts to insults, failing to do right by the bravery prided by his house.

You couldn’t hear his thoughts under the cloak, so you remained unaware of the boy watching you with so much love in his eyes that you were two hopeless idiots dancing around it.

“Merlin,” you breathed out exasperatedly. James Potter is not someone to lose sleep over, you knew that much should be true but nothing is working. No essay on Ancient Runes could distract you enough.

The school year was nearing its end. Despite yourself, you still managed to dodge out of confronting your feelings for one annoyingly-persistent Gryffindor and made it through passing your N.E.W.T.s with flying colours.

You had a decent set of “O” and “E” from your results, not getting anything less than Exceeding Expectations. Your parents are satisfied, not that you have ever failed them. Being a Slytherin is basically being bred for perfection.

Your academics and pureblood duties were already weighing on you but then - 

“Oi, snake!” right.

James Potter is that one itch you can’t quite scratch enough to get rid of. A very handsome itch with a perfect set of teeth, that is. 

“Sod off, Potter,” you roll your eyes as if following a perfected script by now, “I have better shit to do than deal with your childish antics.”

He frowned, something about the way you said it alerted him. There was no bite from that, all he heard was the exhaust from your voice as if you had forced those words out of you. He wanted to ask if you were okay, he thought it.

Before he could ask, you already gave an answer.

“I’m bloody fine,” you scoff. “Since when did you care?”

His frown deepened, impossibly so. He hadn’t asked it yet. You heard his confused pool of thoughts and your mistake began to dawn on you, you look at him, panicked and backed away before he could get another word out.

He must have called out your name, you weren’t sure. So you just made a run for it to avoid whatever he was about to say. 

He ran after you, not bothering to entertain Sirius’ confused inquiry as he watched his best mate chase after a Slytherin. He didn’t think it was anything James needed backup with so he only watched, nudging Remus next to him who also watched.

“What do you think that’s about?” Sirius asked, face unreadable.

Remus let out an amused chuckle. “That, mate, is young love blossoming.”

Sirius gagged, which was the reaction Remus anticipated, wording his phrase that way. “Prongs and that snake?”

“Blimey, you are bloody clueless.”

James had managed to catch up to you before you could turn and see the dungeons common room. Grabbing you by your wrist and pulling you back so you could face him, he called out your name again but your heart was too loud.

“Can you stop running away?” he asked, barely raising his voice. “What’s wrong?”

You turn at him, glaring. Tugging at your wrist to free it but he was not letting you go, you let out an exhausted groan and you only paused when a look of worry painted itself over his features as he watch you struggle out of his grasp.

“____?” he called out, his voice impossibly soft when saying your name that it almost made your knees buckle.

You blink at me. “Say you hate me,” you tell him and you wanted so badly for it to also be echoed in his head.

“What?” he couldn’t explain your actions and it was worrying him beyond belief. You could almost feel your eye twitch at him.

“Say you hate me,” you tug at your wrist, “and mean it, Potter. Fucking say you hate my guts, and also think it in that thick skull of yours.”

“Merlin, ____,” James sounded desperate. “What is going on with you? Lost your wits after N.E.W.T.s?”

You felt unbelievably angry at this moment but it was more directed at yourself than him. Though he thought it was aimed at him, so he threaded carefully. Slowly letting go of your wrist and it dropped limply at your side.

“Yeah, Potter, totally went nuts after the exams so I’m demanding you express your hatred for me,” you remark sarcastically, he did not appreciate it one bit. “Just say it.”

“No,” James replied right away sternly. “You are losing it.”

“How can I not?” You point angrily at him.

“____ - “

“You say one thing and you think another,” there was no going back now as the tears welled up in your eyes, all his confusion left him and all that was left was worry. “I can hear you, your thoughts.”

All the words he knew left him. Jaw slackened, he remained standing in front of you, unable to say anything. All this time, you heard him - how? That doesn’t really matter, his head is now replaying every thought he had of you.

Fucking hell.

Fucking mumbling, bloody hell.

“I didn’t mean to, I know it’s your privacy and I wasn’t going to - “ you cast your eyes down, afraid to see how disgusted he’d look when he realizes what you were confessing. “I couldn’t control it.”

James allowed a beat to pass, just a pregnant pause between you two as the hall remained empty, much to both of your delights. Then finally, he found his voice. He cleared his throat, afraid his voice would crack.

“You mean - you’ve heard all my thoughts about you.”

You managed to smile despite the tension, “Yes, including wanting to snog me senseless,” you saw the smile tug at his lips. You still refused to meet his eyes, “Your mind is very loud. I couldn’t shut it out even if I wanted to.”

James surprised you by what he did next - crossing the gap between you two which you had expected to keep growing until he was impossibly out of reach. Instead he closed in on you, capturing your lips in his and he did right by his words - 

You felt like he was stealing every breath away with how he kissed you like it could explain everything away. You kissed him back, finally allowing yourself to do one brave thing and confront your feelings instead of swallowing it all down.

His arm wrapped around your middle to pull you impossibly closer as he continued making your head lighter and lighter and only when you tapped in surrender did he pull away. You were heaving, breathless as you eyed him all bewildered.

“You -”

James Potter managed a smirk with swollen lips. “Snogged you senseless, didn’t I?”

“You twat.”

end. masterlist

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

FAVOURITISM. [PART ONE]

tangerine x fem!reader

wc. 1956 summary. tangerine was put out of work following the events of an accident. as a result, he created his own business, applying all of his knowledge. you work as a secretary cross technical assistant for him and working very closely to the big bad boss catches the eyes of your peers. one day he notices a change in your workwear — proving to you, he’s been paying a lot more attention than you originally thought. boss x secretary. disclaimer. the images at the bottom are just a reference of what I picture the reader wearing. they are not a reflection of how I write or see yn (colour and body type) it’s merely a way to show you what I envisioned

MY 2 YEAR ANNIVERSARY! it’s only right that I write for tan seeing as it all started with him xx also a big big loving thank you to @pretty-little-mind33 for the idea and brainstorming with me. literally would not have done this without her <33

SERIES MASTERLIST

⎯ ☆ ⎯

It wasn’t often that you’d find yourself not looking forward to work — feeling anxious to get in. Your love for what you do always seeming to overshadow any discomfort.

For the last several months, you’ve been working as a technical assistant cross secretary for your boss, Tangerine. No one knew of his real name, and you were starting to think that’s the way it’ll always be. 

Last night after your shift, you were brought to HR for an unexpected meeting, being called up on a dress code violation. Multiple complaints made around the office about your bright tights and flowy shirts, being told that it was ‘unfit for work’ and a ‘distraction.’ You knew you weren’t exactly well liked around the office — the sneers and scowls made your way making that evident. But never did you think they would go so far out of their way to complain about you. 

Their dislike for you felt territorial — judgy eyes always seeming to follow you as you attend to the needs and wants of your boss. The attention you gain from the broody, grumpy man in charge, simply asks and tasks you agreed to in your job description. The repetitive calls for your name only ever consisting of tea requests or computer help. It left you feeling confused and isolated, constantly wondering why they hated you so much. You were only ever doing your job. Doing what was asked of you. 

So, as you sit in your car before the start of the workday, you use your spare few moments to collect yourself, preparing for those same judgemental stares. You look down at your legs briefly, noticing the lack of colour — your usual patterned tights now being replaced with grey, drab trousers. All of your vibrancy and exuberancy —personality— stolen when told to make this change. 

You exhale, giving yourself one last second of sanity before you’re getting out of the car, juggling your bags and cups of coffee in hand. Stepping into the building and into the elevator with a small crowd, you become invisible, blending in with everyone — becoming what you’ve always dreaded: a lifeless office zombie, sharing the same apathetic, dull expression with all those around you. 

You reach your floor and exit with the few remaining others in the lift. You deviate from your colleagues and head for your bosses office at the back, giving his door a couple of knocks. 

“Yeah?” he calls out, and you slowly push the door open.

His usual rigged, intimidating gaze softens as his eyes fall on you through the gap, his attention landing on you over the top of his computer.

“You’re late,” he says, the words a reprimand for most, but for you they were more of an observation — a casual, flyaway statement. 

“I know, I’m sorry. Traffic was a nightmare,” you apologise as you step into his office, avoiding his eyes like you were ashamed. 

You look down to the coffees in hand and pass him the one without the lipstick mark, extending an arm as you move to stand beside his desk.

“Don’t worry about it. It happens,” he reassures. And as he takes the cup from your hold, he glances down, noticing the lack of your familiar flamboyance. “What’re you wearing?”

You look down confused, brows pulling together as if to show you didn’t understand his question.

“The trousers,” he looks up at you, gaze almost harsh. “Why're you wearing them?” 

He has never seen you wear trousers.

“Thought I’d shake things up,” you shrug with your lie, not wanting him to know the real reason.

You didn’t want to give your peers more reason to hate you by tattling to the boss — complaining about them being mean to you, so you decided against it, keeping him from the truth. Though it’s far harder than you anticipated, his eyes ever so demanding as he remains fixed on you above. 

“So no smiley face is also part of you shaking things up?” he questions, showing you the blank cup — your usual sharpie smileys nowhere to be seen. 

You wince slightly, embarrassed by the whole ordeal. You weren’t sure if the embarrassment was from the fact he noticed or that you forgot. But humiliation was felt either way.

“It’ll save us the ballache if you tell me why,” he takes a sip of his drink and places it aside, giving you his full attention. “I can call a staff meeting, but I reckon they’ll get suspicious after seeing us talk,” he playfully blackmails, offering you a faint smile to show you his bribe holds no such malice.

You turn and look out through the window of his office, picking up on dozens of sets of eyes glued to you through the gap of his blinds. All of which briskly turn away upon the glance of Tangerine, his eyeline following yours — scaring your peers back into work.

“What’d they do?” he asks, redirecting your focus back to him.

“I just got a complaint, that’s all,” you shrug, trying to minimise it as much as possible.

“Why?” he asks bluntly, neck craning to keep your eyes on him.

“They don’t like the way I dress apparently,” you laugh faintly, the noise sounding far more hurt than you intended. “I mean I get it,” you deflect, trying not to slip into a habit of seeking him for assurance when people in the office turn against you. “I get what they mean.”

He’s quiet as he looks over you, head shaking disapprovingly as he mumbles something incoherent. He inhales deeply and then coughs to clear his throat, sounding like he was preparing for something. 

“I gotta meet with some people, but I’ll see what I can do,” he says as he stands, reaching for his briefcase. “Don’t let these miserable lot get to you,” he smiles weakly as he collects his coffee cup, heading towards the door until he stops, and turns around to face you. “They hate that I don’t hate you, that’s all.” 

Your eyes follow after him as he leaves his office, leaving you standing there alone to process his words. You’ve never really picked up on the hinted favouritism like your colleagues have — never seeming to notice the allowances and kindness your peers aren’t granted with. But you were only ever doing as told, why would that warrant any special treatment? 

And with that thought in mind, you head towards your desk just outside of his office, setting your things on your neatly, organised table. Placing your hot drink in his designated spot besides your computer, you log on — attending to emails and to things on your extensive to do list.

A few hours pass you by.

You’re interrupted from all work when you feel the presence of someone standing behind you, your boss now back from his meeting with a pile of papers in hand.

“Need you to sort these out for me,” he says as places the stack beside your hand. “Please,” he adds, trying to keep up with the habit he’s trying to enforce by showing his appreciation. But only to you.

You look down to the pile, noticing a gap in between the blank, plain papers. You look up at him briefly, like you were asking permission and then your eyes fall back onto the stack. And as you go to lift the upper chunk of papers, Tangerine is moving from you and into his office, a new bag —a shopping bag— held within the hand of his briefcase. You take little to no notice and turn your attention back to the pile, a square paper bag hiding within the fake forms. The perfect cloak of disguise. 

You didn’t need to look inside to know what it was, the warm circle giving it away immediately. It was a cookie. You swivel in your chair to look into his office, his eyes already on you through the gap in his blinds. The gap you’re now starting to believe holds another purpose. You smile at him sweetly, mouthing thanks before resuming with your work — wanting to get it all done before the end of the day.

And as five pm soon rolls around and as everyone begins logging off and packing up for home, you turn to look back at Tangerine, a pained expression on his face as he rolls his shoulder. His old injury you know very little about seeming to give him grief.  

The floor begins to clear and you collect your things, walking those few steps until you’re in front of your boss's door. You give it a light tap and enter when welcomed.

“You off?” he asks, turning his attention to you in his doorframe. 

“Yep,” you smile, lingering for a moment. “Thank you for the cookie, by the way.”

“It’s alright,” he gently smiles, head bowing almost bashfully. “Hang on and I’ll walk you out. Don’t want you out in the dark by yourself.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you deflect, not wanting to be a bother. “Really it’s okay, my car is only outside.”

He shakes his head at you as he gives his desk a quick tidy, packing things up for the night. Tangerine stands and collects his belongings, picking up his coat from the rack and small bag from the side before he’s heading to you, guiding you along. 

You each walk towards the open elevators and head in, standing side by side —close— within the confined space. 

He twists inwards to face you. “I uh,” he starts, extending the shopping bag from earlier to you. “I picked something up for you.”

Your brows tug in the middle, looking up at him like you were questioning the reasoning why. You take it from his hand and look inside. 

“No,” you whisper, sheer disbelief in your voice as you pull out the gift. “These are beautiful! Where did you even find them?” you question, looking over the tights, marvelling at the pattern. 

He keeps his head cast downwards, looking between his feet as he smiles, appreciating your appreciation. “It’s a secret.”

The elevator dings, cutting your time short and you both look at each other, the glance brief. He holds his arm out, gesturing for you to step off first,  and you do. You linger, waiting for him to join so you could walk besides one another. 

The walk towards your car is slow, as if both of you are trying to savour the short journey, hang on to it. Small chuckles and shy, stolen glances being the only form of communication during your minute long walk.

You reach into your bag and pull out your keys to unlock your car, the dozen chains and charms jingling and clattering with the movement of your hand. 

Tangerine reaches for your door, pulling the handle to open it for you — nodding you inside. You smile at him sweetly as you get in, placing your bags on the passenger seat. 

“You get home safe, alright?” he says, grinning softly.

“I will,” you look down coyly, smile faint.

He nods once. “Good.”

“See you monday?” 

“Mhm-hm,” he hums, expression gentle as he goes to close your door. “Have a good weekend,” he says before shutting you inside.

You exhale shakily within the quiet sanctuary of your car, the lack of noise allowing your mind to run rampant with repeats from the last few minutes. You glance down to your gift, trying to process it all until your eyes land on the tag — his name, his real name squiggled on the note.

The favouritism you’ve struggled to notice becomes as clear as day. Every interaction from the past now being thought of differently as you look back on it all. 

⎯ ☆ ⎯

in my mind she’s very penelope garcia/ louisa clark/ jessica day/ phoebe buffay coded (more so in dress sense) she’s cute and i love her

[ PART TWO ]

[romanticintheory]

Hello!!!! I was wondering if you could write an angst with Ghost/Simon where the reader was too clingy after having a bad day and he lashed out on her but he didn't think anything of it because the next day the reader was acting normal. He only noticed after a few weeks when reader became more distant and quiet. Feel free to ignore if it's too weird or you don't like it!!! ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

this one is dedicated to all the ones who were hurt and never got that apology. hope this alleviates the pain.

simon "ghost" riley x gn!reader || masterlist || request rules

-there was no one specific reason as to why today turned out to be a bad day. it just was.

-from accidentally burning yourself trying to make breakfast after waking up late to having to deal with the most insufferable customers, it just wasn't your day today.

-but it was okay, because you had simon to return to when everything was said and done.

-the frown on your face immediately softens the moment you see him walk through the door to your shared home. as soon as he pulls his mask and boots off, you make your way toward him and engulf him in a tight hug.

-you are painfully (but understandably) unaware of the thin veil of his patience and the frustration that had been brewing within him in the past few hours. he half-heartedly returns the embrace.

-"how was your day, si?" you ask him gently.

-"fine," he responds shortly, hoping there isn't more to the conversation.

-even after you pull away from him, you trail behind him as he moves around the house. this wasn't irregular behavior from either of you. simon wasn't usually the most talkative person in the room, anyway, but he loved to hear your voice. that was one of the things he loved about the two of you together; you filled the space he couldn't.

-today, though, was different. he was pissed off at all different kinds of people. for some reason, couldn't bring himself to tell you that he was having a bad day and needed some space, especially because it was evident you were having a bad one yourself.

-so when he turned on his heel after listening to your rambles for as much as he could take and lashed out at you, he tried not to think about the unbearable amount of guilt seeping into his veins.

-"would you just stop clinging to me for five minutes? god, 's like i can't get away from you or your constant fucking talking!"

-you had heard stories, mostly from simon, about the kind of man he could be when pushed to his limit. mostly, it was of violent, physical acts when it came to work or protecting the ones he loved. other times, he would tell you about when he'd lash out at others just like he did to you, now, and he always told it to you with a quiet fear. there was an unspoken meaning to him telling you about the times he's acted out: i don't want to do the same to you. i don't want to hurt you.

-but here he was, towering over you with a coldness in his eyes and a dryness in his throat from the sheer volume of his words.

-averting your gaze from his, you let out a meek, "'m sorry," and watch as he slams the door in front of your face.

-when he slinks into bed next to your sleeping form later that night, ridden with shame and guilt, he misses the tear-stained face hidden from him. after his outburst, you felt like all of the energy in your body had been taken away from you and retreated to bed early. you cried on and off for hours.

-you always thought you had a clinging problem. it was an insecurity you carried with you starting from childhood. friends would become acquaintances and family would keep you at arms-length. after years of believing the issue was you, simon walked into your life and told you different.

-if you stopped talking because you thought he stopped listening and was uninterested, he'd always turn back to you and genuinely ask why you stopped talking. whenever you apologized for hugging him for too long or asking to spend time with him for the third time that week, he'd always tilt his head at you and say in that low, sincere voice, "but i love you?"

-for all those reasons, you tried to give him the benefit of the doubt despite how much he hurt you. so, when he tries to bring it up the next morning, you do your best to brush it off. he was having a bad day. that was all. no need to make a fuss.

-"listen, love," he calls to you as you pop your piece of toast out of the toaster. "about last night-"

-completely disregarding his words, you look at the clock and stuff your phone into your pocket. "it's fine. honestly, simon," you tell him with the best smile you could muster. "i'm gonna be late. i'll see you tonight."

-you were so adamant on getting out as quick as possible that simon had no time to respond. he thought to himself that maybe he was making a bigger deal out of it than you. maybe there were no hard feelings and you were completely fine. after all, he was always overly worried for you, anyway.

-so, when you came home, he didn't mention it. it was as if last night didn't happen, and the two of you were perfectly fine. there were times where simon thought you were being a bit more restrained in your movements or words, but he tried to chalk it up to just him being overly paranoid. you said it was fine, so it was better not to push you on it, right?

-at first, you were doing really good at keeping yourself from overthinking the situation. however, as time went on and you paid more attention to how you acted around your boyfriend, you began to wonder if you were really that clingy.

-as the week progressed, your state of mind would deteriorate. what if it wasn't just a bad day? what if that was what he thought the entire time and was just waiting for the right moment to tell you? had he just been trying to cheer you up about your insecurities the entire time? and if he was, how much of this relationship was even real, then?

-the more you thought about it, the more distant you became. the last thing you wanted to do was make simon feel like he was being suffocated by you. you slowly stopped initiating physical affection with him, restricted talking about your day to a few sentences, and tried to answer simon's questions in one word when possible.

-he notices. of course he notices, it was like a stranger was living where you were supposed to be, and he missed it. he missed you.

-he asks you about your change when you're getting ready for bed, pulling the rest of your nightshirt over your head. despite being exhausted from work and looking like you were sitting out in the wind, he thought you never looked more ethereal than you did now.

-"(y/n)," he said.

-"hm?" you hummed to him, not turning toward his direction. you sat down on the edge of your side of the bed, turning off the lamp at the same time.

-your lack of emotional presence was starting to eat at him. he sat down next to you, the mattress dipping beneath his weight and forcing you to lean toward him.

-"you alright?"

-"yes. why?"

-"i dunno, you just seem..." his eyes tried to find yours, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze. "quiet."

-it was then that you looked at him, and it was scary to simon because he couldn't make out the emotion in your expression. there was nothing he could read.

-"isn't that-" you had to pause to try and stabilize your wavering voice. "isn't that what you wanted?"

-there was a tension-filled silence that settled in the room, and for a second you were worried that what you said was somehow incredibly offensive.

-finally, he chokes out, "i'm sorry."

-again, you try to muster up a smile. "it's fine, i already told you. i should've known you wanted space."

-"no."

-"no?"

-"it was my fault," he explains. "how could you 'ave known? i didn't tell you i wasn't in the mood that day, and that's not even considering the way i talked to you. i shouldn't have- nothing excuses what i said to you."

-still, you were convinced you were to blame. "well, i have a history of being clingy, so," you were trying to come up with more excuses for him. for most of your life, you had decided that you were the issue. it couldn't be any other way, right?

-"i know. it's one of the things i love you for," he says quietly. "not to sound cheesy but it's what makes you you, and i don't want you to lose that jus' 'cause i'm still shitty at communication."

-you knew in some capacity he was right. there was no excuse for how he talked to you, but the next words you wanted to say evaded you.

-simon thought about talking some more. instead, he grasped your back with one hand and slid his other underneath your legs, repositioning you on his lap. it was like a silent plea from him, a way of proving that he wanted to be close to you just as much as you wanted to be close to him.

-"you're sure i'm not too clingy?" you ask tentatively.

-"positive," he reassures you, rubbing small circles on your back with his thumb. "you wanna know something?"

-"what?"

-"if i wasn't so fucked up-"

-"you're not fucked up."

-"right." you never let him talk badly about himself. that was something he was still getting used to after all this time. being loved and learning to love himself. "well, if i didn't grow up the way i did and became the person i am, i'd probably be way clingier than you."

-"that's impossible," you deny, unconsciously letting yourself lean into his touch.

-"you don't know how much i want you. if my mind and body would let me, i'd be close to you all the time, showing you the attention you deserve."

-"you give me plenty."

-"agree to disagree," he stops with the circles and pulls you impossibly closer to his body. "but 'm trying. 'm trying to learn to let you love me and to not be afraid to love you. 'm sorry, love. i stopped trying that night, and i think it'll be the death of me."

-you let his words sink in, a thoughtful look on your face.

-"next time you'll tell me, right? what you're thinking?"

-"pinkie promise," he agrees, letting the hand under your legs slide out and raise his pinkie finger toward you.

-in return, you link your pinkie with his to seal the promise, and it feels as though the heavy tension in the air has cleared away.

-"i love you," he says, feeling bold from his previous admission.

-"i love you, too." there's that smile on your face. he never realized until now how he probably couldn't live without it.

-he kisses you on the lips, and for a moment the two of you just stay there in each other's arms, forgiving the past, healing the present, and dreaming of the future together.