#you might want to read on ao3 at this point

[snooperzz]

Back on You

Robert "Bob" Reynolds x female!Reader/OC Word count: 5.9k Warnings: angst, reader/oc has self esteem issues Note: this is written in third person & reader/oc is unnamed! you can also read this story on ao3 :) Summary/Excerpt: She liked Bob. She liked hearing about his favorite characters in the book he was working his way through, or the crazy stories from his time working at a bail bonds company as a sign-spinning chicken. She liked spending time with him and seeing his dorky smile, and she didn’t want to ruin that by telling him how much she liked it. How much she liked him. (i.e., A former member of the Guardians of the Galaxy, now a member of the New Avengers, has a crush on Bob.)

They had cornered her. 

“They” being Yelena and Ava. She had just gotten out of training with Bucky, and all she wanted to do was take a shower and disappear into her room for the rest of the day. But, of course, Yelena and Ava spotted her raiding the pantry and had now made it their top priority to make her talk about the one subject she avoided at all costs.

Bob .

Not that it was really his fault. He was just possibly the sweetest person that she had never met, and he unfortunately was not hard to look at. It was embarrassing, really, how often she was caught sneaking glimpses at him from across the room. It seemed like everyone was onto her. Well, everyone except for Bob, thankfully. He was oblivious, from what she could tell, and she did not plan to do anything to mess that up.

They were good friends. Ever since the New Avengers were announced, and she found herself moving from her closet-sized apartment into the Watchtower, she and Bob had been spending more and more time together. But that was just out of convenience. It wasn’t her fault his room was right across the hall from her own, and they just so happened to leave their rooms at the same time every morning. And it definitely wasn’t her fault they developed a habit of concocting smoothies together each morning, testing out new, sometimes questionable, combinations (this morning’s was strawberries, bananas, and jalapenos).

She liked Bob. She liked hearing about his favorite characters in the book he was working his way through, or the crazy stories from his time working at a bail bonds company as a sign-spinning chicken. She liked spending time with him and seeing his dorky smile, and she didn’t want to ruin that by telling him how much she liked it. How much she liked him .

So, she avoided the topic altogether. At least, she tried to. Just like she was doing right now, shoving whatever snacks she laid her eyes on into her arms in an attempt to get out of the impending conversation with Yelena and Ava as fast as possible.

“Save some for the rest of us,” Yelena teased, causing her to turn around. She could already feel her face turning hot.

“You’re ravaging this place like you haven’t eaten in weeks,” Ava commented. “Which I know isn’t true because I was forced to try the disgusting smoothie you and Bob made this morning.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” she muttered, placing a family-sized box of cheez its back onto the shelf.

“Speaking of Bob,” Yelena began, giving her a knowing look. “How is he?”

She shrugged, jostling the remaining snacks in her arms. “I don’t know. You should ask him.”

They both looked at her suspiciously. Then at each other. Then back at her.

“We just noticed you guys have been spending a lot of time together,” Ava hinted, raising her eyebrows. “So we thought you might know.”

“I haven’t seen him since this morning. I’ve been training with Bucky all day, so I’m starved,” she laughed awkwardly. 

They groaned at her excuse.

“Come on,” Yelena sighed. “We all see you guys looking all goo-goo eyed at each other. It’s disgusting.”

“What?! I don’t—”

Ava interrupted her, stating her name sharply.

“You do,” Yelena continued. “You definitely do, even Alexei is getting annoyed.”

“Why don’t you say something?” Ava questioned her. 

Her face was burning under their pointed gazes, and she shifted from side to side, unsure how to respond.

Ava said her name again, waiting for the girl to look up at her before continuing. “You’re a badass, and he likes you. You’ve got nothing to be afraid of.”

“I don’t know—”

“Oh my God,” Yelena groaned, walking up to her and grabbing the snacks out of her arms and putting them back in the pantry shelf. “Why don’t you invite him out for food instead of stuffing your face with cheese crackers.”

She grabbed the girl’s shoulders and gently pushed her out of the kitchen.

“And take a shower! You stink!” Ava called out after her as she rushed back to her room. 

The two women watched her scurry away before looking at each other, unable to hide the coy smiles growing on their faces.

When she got back to her room, she had hoped she would feel some type of relief. She wasn’t under the prying eyes of Yelena and Ava anymore, but her mind was still racing. Did they really believe that Bob had feelings towards her too? She had sometimes thought maybe he did, like when he stayed up with her until the next morning on movie nights. Long after everyone else went to bed, they would make home on the couch, a bucket of popcorn in between them, having their own movie marathons.

Last week, Bob had introduced her to Back to the Future . Well, she had heard of it before but had never had the time to actually watch it. 

She hadn’t grown up on Earth. She was raised by Ravagers and grew up surrounded by dingy ship walls and bitter outcasts. Her parents had abandoned her as a child, and she was on her own for a while. Until one day, a little boy not that much older than her with fiery red hair picked her up and refused to let her go. Peter Quill became like an older brother to her. A piece of family she never thought she would have. He taught her how to shoot a gun and break out of a jail cell. He showed her which vents in the Ravagers’ ship led to the kitchen and where Yondu kept his spare arrows. She missed him. More than she thought she would when she decided to stay on Earth while the rest of the Guardians travelled back into space with Thor. 

She remembered saying goodbye. Peter almost refused to leave, but she had always been more stubborn. After each Guardian insisted on having their turn to hug her, Peter approached her again, handing her a small box.

“What is this?” she had asked, eyeing him with a quirked brow before taking the box from his hands. When she opened it, she found his walkman along with some other device.

“I can’t take this,” she said immediately, automatically ripping it out the box and pushing it onto his chest.

“Nah, you have to take it,” he chuckled. His eyes were glassy, and his smile was teasing, almost mournful. “You gotta have something to remember me by. Remember how you abandoned me with these losers.” He put the walkman back in her box.

“Then what’s this for?” She picked up the second device.

“That’s a pager. I put my number in there in case you ever want to reach out.”

She smiled, holding the box of gifts close to her chest. She tried to ignore the burning in her eyes. “Does it work even if we’re on different planets?”

“You’ll have to test it out,” his eyes were watering too, and he pulled her in for a final hug.

She hadn’t seen him since that day, and she hadn’t reached out either. Sometimes she would find herself just sitting with the pager, her mind dancing with the decision of sending Peter a message. But she could never do it. She usually ended up slipping on his old headphones and listening to one of his mixes on the walkman. It reminded her of home. Her old home on the Milano. This happened more often, though, before she met Yelena, Ava, and the rest of the Thunderbolts.

She felt happier now. She liked being on Earth. It was something she never got growing up. She also liked her new friends. Her new friends that became more and more like family everyday, no matter how much they tried to deny it. And, as much as she tried not to think about it, she really liked hanging out with Bob.

Sighing, she shook her head.

Fuck it.

She would say something. Tell him how she felt. But only because Yelena and Ava seemed so sure he reciprocated her feelings.

She spent her entire shower trying to find the right words to ask him to dinner, but nothing sounded right. She felt stupid. She had fought side by side Iron Man and Captain America to defeat Thanos. She could fly a spaceship. Was she really going to let the idea of talking to a boy scare her?

No.

Ava was right. She was a badass. She reminded herself of this as she walked towards her bedroom door. All she had to do was open it up, walk across the hallway, and ask Bob if he wanted to get burgers or something. She took a deep breath and swung the door open, only to find a figure already standing there, arm raised as if he were about to knock on her door.

It was Bob. Bob in his navy blue sweater and corduroy pants. Bob with his curly hair framing his face, with that dorky smile that always made her face turn red. He swallowed nervously, letting out an awkward laugh as he slowly brought his arm down.

“Hi,” he said, his voice almost a whisper as he looked at her intensely.

“Hey,” she squeaked back, her confidence from five seconds ago quickly depleting.

He cleared his throat, his hands clasped tightly together in front of him. Despite his efforts to make himself seem smaller, his broad shoulders felt like they took up her entire door frame. She tried not to think about how good he looked.

“I was wondering if maybe you wanted to grab dinner with me?” His words came out quick, like if he didn’t say them now, he probably never would. “I heard the burger place down the block also has good milkshakes.”

She didn’t say anything at first. Really, she was shocked. He asked her before she had even gotten the chance to approach him. When she didn’t say anything for a moment, he began to look worried.

“We don’t have to, though, if that’s too wei–”

“No!” she interrupted him quickly. “I would really like that.”

“Really?” A soft smile began to grow on his face.

“Of course.” She smiled right back.

So, they went to dinner. They both ordered a burger, fries, and a milkshake, hers chocolate and his vanilla, of course. They talked about anything and everything. Bob caught her up on the current book he was reading (Bucky had recommended The Hobbit ), and they made plans to binge all of The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings movies once he finished all of the books. She told him about her adventures with the Guardians and all of the stupid arguments her old teammates always had. He was still fascinated by the fact that she had not only been to space, but she had also grown up there too. That, and the fact she also knew a talking racoon.

They spent hours at the diner, talking and sipping on their milkshakes, until finally, a waiter came over and told them the restaurant was closing soon. Bob picked up the check, refusing to let her pay no matter how much she insisted, and they walked back to the Watchtower.

She thought about holding his hand, but she didn’t want to push it.

When they got back to the team’s penthouse, it was quiet. Not quite ready to go to bed, they sat down on the couch. She tried not to think about how close they were to each other. How their legs were brushing against one another’s. They sat like that for a while, quietly. It was a comfortable silence for the most part, but her mind was racing, the butterflies in her stomach picking up.

She wanted to kiss him. She really did. But she had never kissed anyone before. Before she was on Earth, she never really had the time. Or the want. She saw how many women Peter tried sneaking into his room, and she never really understood why. She had never been interested in anyone like that. 

Not until she met Bob. 

But now that she knew she wanted to kiss him, she also knew that she had no idea how to kiss anyone. It was embarrassing, really. Most people her age had been in relationships already, and she had never even had her first kiss.

Bob whispered her name so quietly she could barely hear it, but she still jumped in surprise as his voice pulled her from her thoughts.

“Thanks for getting dinner with me,” he smiled shyly at her, and she returned his look.

“Thanks for asking.”

“Maybe we could go again tomorrow?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I'd like that a lot.”

They were quiet again for a moment, but before she could spiral into her thoughts for the second time, Bob spoke.

He said her name softly as he shifted his body on the couch to face her head on. His eyes were serious, and they shifted between looking at her own eyes and her lips. He leaned in closer, placing a hand softly onto her thigh and the other on her waist.

She froze. This was it. He was going to kiss her, and she wanted him to kiss her. But she also had no idea how to kiss him back.

He leaned in even closer (somehow that was possible) and stopped for a moment, looking at her, waiting for a sign that she was good, that he could keep going. She took in a shaky breath and gave him a small nod.

When his lips finally touched hers, they felt surprisingly warm, assured. The complete opposite of how she was feeling. She felt like a bumbling mess. She had no idea what to do with her hands. She had always heard not to think about how to kiss someone and just to let it happen. But that felt impossible at the moment. She tried to let him guide the kiss and simply follow his lead, and that worked for a moment until suddenly, he wasn’t there anymore. And neither was the silence they had found comfort in.

In its place was the thunderous sound of thousands of heroes and aliens charging towards each other, attacking each other all around her.

Then she saw it. Herself. Fighting the Chitauri, shooting down every alien that she could, but she was running out of time. They were starting to corner her. She remembered when this happened. It was years ago, in the Avengers’ final fight against Thanos. 

Then she saw him. Peter. After five years of not knowing if he was alive. After hearing from Nebula he had been turned to dust. He was there, in front of her and alive. She remembered how happy she was, how thankful she was to see him.

She watched as he helped take down the remaining Chitauri that had her trapped. She watched her past self as she ran toward him, jumping into his embrace. They gripped each other tightly, and her past self laughed almost hysterically as she fought against tears.

Then there was a shift. He paused. He had seen something else. Someone else . His grip loosened, slowly releasing her, and her past and present self turned to look at what he saw.

It was her. Gamora.

Peter had left her side now, walking slowly towards Gamora, his eyes wide in awe and admiration. He left her alone to watch as he ran back to Gamora. Again. 

It wasn’t that she was jealous of Gamora. She just felt intimidated anytime she was around. And a little bit sad. Forgotten, maybe. She had grown up with Peter, watching him bulldoze through thousands of hookups and one-night stands. Sure, it was annoying, but at the end of the day, she knew she still had him. He would always look out for her, always have her back. Not to say that after he met Gamora he didn’t look out for her anymore, but things were definitely different. He started going to Gamora for second opinions instead of her, and started only looking for Gamora’s approval of his ideas.

So, it hurt when he ran straight to Gamora after not seeing him for years. And watching it all over again, those feelings came right back.

She shook her head violently, wanting to be anywhere but in that memory. She closed her eyes tightly, pushing against her tears and her own brain. She wanted out, out, out .

Then, it was quiet again. A panicked voice was calling her name, and a hand nudged her shoulder softly. She opened her eyes to see Bob again, a worried look on his face. She looked all around her, taking in the environment. She wasn’t in the past anymore. She was here, in the penthouse, with Bob.

“A-are you okay?” Bob asked, his voice laced with concern.

She nodded quickly. She was pretty sure she was fine. Her face felt wet, though, and she wiped her cheeks with her sleeve. Had she been crying?

“You went somewhere else, didn’t you?”

She looked at him dumbly. She felt like an idiot. She had spent the past few months thinking about kissing Bob, and when she had finally gotten the chance, she blew it. Maybe if she hadn’t been in her own head so much, she wouldn’t have ruined it.

“I’m sorry,” Bob muttered, his eyes down cast. He scooted away from her, not wanting to touch her. Not wanting to accidentally send her into another bad memory.

She shook her head, watching as he moved away. Even though she didn’t really want him to. “It’s not your fault,” she tried to reassure him, but she could tell he didn’t believe her.

“I’m gonna, uh,” she continued. She stood up, hugging herself. “I’m gonna go to bed. I’ll, uh–I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She rushed out of the living area and back to her room, wishing she could disappear.

The next few days felt never ending. She sunk herself into her training, using it as a distraction from the fact she hadn’t spoken to Bob in days. He was clearly avoiding her. Every morning when she made her way into the kitchen, he was already there, eating a bowl of cereal and refusing to even glance in her direction.

It hurt, but she understood. She had run away after he kissed her, with no explanation. And, in all honesty, she had been avoiding him since that night too. She just missed him. Missed getting to spend time with him every day. 

Instead, she spent time in the gym. And when she wasn’t attacking punching bags or trying not to die on the treadmill, she was in her room. Alone with her thoughts and Peter’s walkman. She tried to use the music to drown out the old memories flooding her brain. Ever since seeing her past self that night, she kept remembering her life before being on Earth. Before the Blip. Before the Guardians, even.

Back when Yondu would send her on smuggling missions once Peter was too big to actually fit in the vents anymore. Back when Yondu deemed missions “too dangerous” for her to join him and Peter, and he would leave her behind. Stuck with the rest of the Ravagers. The Ravagers that would leave her on less-than-safe planets for “fun,” forcing her to find her way back on her own. When she did eventually find her way back, they would still taunt her relentlessly, telling her she would never be a real Ravager. Not that she even wanted to be anyway.

She wanted to be just like Peter. Peter, who was charismatic and good at taking down whatever enemies got in Yondu’s way. Peter was always Yondu’s favorite, and she was always the second choice. The one Yondu would take along only when Peter was too busy with another mission.

She had finally left the confines of her room, choosing to go sit outside instead. She was sitting on the edge of the landing pad, her feet dangling over the streets of New York. She held her pager, staring at the number Peter left for her.

Maybe she should finally reach out. It had been a few years since the Guardians left on their search for Gamora. Maybe they had found her. Her fingers hovered over the device. A small part of her told her to just do it. To not think about it and send him a message. It didn’t have to be anything crazy or deep, maybe just a simple “Hey, how are you?” But, a bigger part of her was scared. Scared to reach out to him only to never hear back.

That was where Bucky found her, sitting at the rails of the helicopter pad. The rest of the New Avengers knew something was up. They had noticed she and Bob were never together anymore, annoying the rest of them with their constant, yet somehow oblivious, flirting with each other. They noticed that she had also spent less and less time with them as a group, choosing instead to hide away in the gym or her room.

He had been looking for her that evening. They had just finished eating dinner, and she opted not to join them once again. So, he took it upon himself to make her a plate and bring it to her room. When he knocked on her door, though, she didn’t answer. She wasn't there, and he also didn’t find her in the gym either. He asked around, to see if anyone else knew where she was, but all he was met with were shrugs. 

That was until he ran into Bob. Bob, who quietly informed him he saw her make her way outside to the landing pad. And, sure enough, that’s where he found her.

He called her name softly, and she turned to look at him, watching as he sat down beside her and placed a bowl of mac and cheese in between them. 

“I brought you some food.” He looked at her carefully, as if he was trying to figure out what was going on inside her head. “We missed you at dinner.”

She scoffed. “Thank you.” She looked back down at the pager in her hands.

“What’s that?” Bucky asked, nodding towards the device.

“Pager,” she responded. Her brows furrowed. “Shouldn’t you know that? Aren’t you like a hundred years old?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Over one hundred, and that’s actually past my time.”

She smiled, “Right.” 

There was a beat of silence between them.

“It’s from Peter,” she spoke again. “He was one of my friends before being here. Before the Blip.”

Bucky nodded, but he didn’t say anything. He just waited for her to continue.

She took a deep breath. “He gave it to me in case I ever wanted to reach out. Put his number on it.”

“Have you?”

She shook her head.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I guess…I guess I’m just afraid he won’t answer.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t give you his number if he wasn’t going to answer.”

She shrugged. “He’s probably too busy to respond, anyway.”

“How would you know that if you haven’t reached out?”

“What are you doing?” she huffed. “Did you come out here just to lecture me?” She looked at him, her furrowed eyebrows turning into a scowl.

His head dropped. “No. No, I came out to make sure you’re okay. We’re worried about you.”

She turned to stare at the streets below them. “I’m fine. Just…tired I guess.”

“Did something happen?”

“What do you mean?”

“You haven’t been around. You missed movie night yesterday. I don’t know, I just feel like something’s up.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, and he said her name again. “You can talk to me.”

She thought about his offer, chewing on her lip. She knew she could trust him. Bucky was there for her after the final battle with Thanos. He took her under his wing, offering her a place to stay. But she knew he had his own demons, his own battles. She didn’t want to be a burden on him, so when she finally got a job, she moved into her own place. Then, they found each other again. Through Valentina, of all people.

“Me and Bob…kissed,” she said finally, so quiet he almost didn’t hear her.

“Really?” Bucky mused. “How’d that go?”

She grimaced. “Not great. I ran out on him. Left him alone on the couch.”

“Ouch.”

“Wait, no! It wasn’t his fault. It was me,” she stammered. “I mean, he was great.”

Bucky tried and failed to hide his smile. “I’m sure he was.”

She felt her face burning. What was she doing?  

“Geez,” she groaned, hiding her face in her hands, the pager dropping to the floor beside her. She lifted her head to look at it again, the memories of Peter and the Guardians rushing back into her mind.

“When we kissed,” she continued. “It took me back to a memory. From when we fought Thanos for the last time.”

Bucky nodded, letting her continue.

“I saw myself. And Peter. I hadn’t seen him in five years at the time. I thought I would never see him again. When we saw each other, we hugged each other so tight. I didn’t want to let go.”

She could feel the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

“But then he let go. Because he saw her. ”

Bucky looked at her carefully. “Who?”

She laughed dryly. She sounded ridiculous. “Gamora. His girlfriend . He ran straight to her. It didn’t surprise me, really, but it still hurt. You know?”

Bucky nodded.

She went on, “I didn’t know it at the time, but he thought she was dead. Well, technically she was . But he didn’t think he would ever see her again, and then he did. And I understood that, I thought the same thing about him. But I just…”

She paused for a moment, gathering her words. “Ever since Gamora came into our lives, and we became the Guardians of the Galaxy, it felt like I lost a piece of him. Like I used to be his number one. His best friend. And then that became…her.

“And it was fine. I mean, I made new friends too, but…my new best friend was a talking racoon. And his best friend was a tree.” She laughed pathetically. She felt stupid, sitting there crying in front of the Winter Soldier about having no friends. He must have had better things to worry about.

He shifted closer to her, placing a firm hand on her shoulder and squeezing it gently. “You’re being too hard on yourself,” he said softly.

She sniffled. “I’m just tired of always being everyone’s second choice. My parents abandoned me. Then my fake-dad liked my fake-brother better than me. And then my fake-brother decided to get a girlfriend that was ten times better than I was.” Her words came out in hiccups.

Bucky let out a quiet, “Come here,” before pulling her into a tight embrace. She hid her face into her hands, tucking herself into his side.

“You’re not everyone’s second choice,” he told her, adamant. “We all care about you. We all want you here. You’re an asset to our team, and you’re a great friend.” He squeezed her to his chest, letting her release all of the emotions she had been holding back for years.

He didn’t let her go until she pulled back on her own.

“For what it’s worth, I can definitely think of one person who considers you their first choice.” Bucky paused, pretending to think. “Hmm, yeah. You are definitely their favorite out of our little group, although,” he grimaced. “Your competition isn’t that great, so I don’t know how flattered you should be.”

He nudged her shoulder playfully, and she laughed, her sniffles fading away. “Oh yeah? Who’s that?”

He looked at her as if it was obvious. “Oh I don’t know, the one person that knew exactly where to find you when I asked.”

She nodded her head and looked down, attempting to hide the smile sneaking onto her face. “Bob,” she whispered.

“Bob,” Bucky confirmed. Another beat of silence. “You should talk to him.”

She took a deep breath in. “I don’t think he wants me to do that. He avoids me like the plague, he can’t even look at me.”

“Okay, now that,” he pointed at her. “That is a lie. He cannot take his eyes off of you. He’s just good at hiding it.”

She shook her head, eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t kn–”

“I’m serious,” he butted in, giving her a sharp look. “Just at least try. Please. Okay? If not for your sake then for the rest of ours.”

She nodded. “Okay, I will.”

“And eat this,” he continued, picking up the bowl of mac and cheese and plopping it down on her lap. “Before it gets cold. Yelena worked too hard on it for it to go to waste.”

That night, she found herself pacing back and forth in her room, trying to muster up the courage to go knock on Bob’s door. It reminded her of just a few days ago, when she was convincing herself to ask him on a date. Except when she opened the door this time, he was not already there, waiting for her. So, she took a deep breath and made the short trek to his side of the hallway. Before she could even think about turning around and running back to her room, she lifted her hand and landed three soft knocks on his door.

She waited for a moment, nothing happened. She couldn’t hear anything on the other side of the door. Maybe he was out. Just as she was turning to walk back to her room, the door swung open, and Bob’s voice called out her name.

She turned to face him. He was in his pajamas, a hoodie pulled over his head. “Is everything okay?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yeah, I, uh,” she ran her hand through her hair, trying to release some of her nerves. “I wanted to talk to you.”

He swallowed, nodding quickly. “Sure. Do you wanna…” he trailed off, opening his door a little bit wider. He motioned inside.

She nodded back, stepping into his room. It wasn’t her first time in there. There was one night where she had woken up from a nightmare, unable to fall back asleep. When she went to the kitchen to grab herself some water, she found Bob already there, raiding the fridge for a midnight snack. Since they both knew sleep was not in the cards for them that night, they grabbed a Monopoly board from the living area and took it back to Bob’s room. They played Monopoly until six in the morning, and both ended up falling asleep on the bedroom floor.

They stood there for a moment. Bob waited for her to speak, but she was wrapped up in her own thoughts, remembering that night. Finally, she broke the quiet tension between them.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry, Bob. For leaving you the other night. And for ignoring you the past few days. I was just…scared I guess.”

He watched her for a moment, then said, “I’m sorry for scaring you.” 

Her eyes grew. That wasn’t what she meant at all .

“No!” she said suddenly, startling him. “ You didn’t scare me, Bob. I just…when we kissed, you disappeared, and I saw myself. Myself from years ago. It was a memory I forgot about, one pushed down, but it came back that night. and I’ve kind of just been…wallowing since then.”

“That was my fault,” he argued. “That still happens sometimes when I touch someone. They see things they don’t want to. They have to relive memories they hate. I knew that it could’ve happened to you, but I kissed you anyway.”

“I knew that, though.”

He stared at her, eyebrows creased in confusion. “Wh-what?”

“I knew that there was a chance it would happen, but I didn’t care.”

“You didn’t?”

“No, I didn’t. Because I like you, Bob. And I wanted to kiss you,” she was rambling now, the words flowing out of her like a waterfall. “And I’ve missed you the past few days. A lot.”

“I like you too,” he confessed. She could see his cheeks turning red, and she could feel her face heating up.

She went to grab his hand, but he backed away from her touch. He apologized. “I don’t want to send you back there again.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think you did. I think I did.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was so nervous that night. So in my own head. I had never kissed anyone before, and I was so worried about messing it up. About not being good enough. I think all those negative thoughts are what brought that memory back.”

He nodded, taking in her words. Trying to understand. “You could never not be good enough,” he promised. 

His words caused her face to heat up even more, and she looked away, trying to hide it. He said her name, and she turned to look at him again.

He stepped closer to her, grabbing the arm of her sweatshirt. “Would you maybe want to try again?”

She didn’t even have to think about her answer. She nodded softly, her breath hitching as his hand moved from her sweatshirt to her neck, cupping her jaw, his other hand placed on the small of her back. She was still nervous, yes, the butterflies dancing around her stomach made that obvious. But it was a different kind of nervous than before. It was more of an anticipation. She wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing him in closer until, finally, their lips touched. She didn’t even have to think about it this time. It was natural. Right.

The kiss started off tender, sweet. But soon, it turned into something more hungry, like they had been waiting months to explore each other in this way. And honestly, they had.

After what felt like hours, they finally broke apart, but they didn’t let go, still holding each other close.

“You still here with me?” Bob breathed, his hands traveling down her sides to rest on her waist.

She laughed breathlessly and nodded, their noses bumping together with her movement. “I’m here,” she whispered.

He leaned in again, and she could feel the smile in his kiss.

“For someone so worried about messing up, you’re pretty good at this,” he teased, squeezing her sides.

His words sent heat through her body, and she shoved him back playfully. “Shut up,” she rolled her eyes.

He laughed along with her, and they both settled into a comfortable silence.

“Maybe now everyone can get off our backs about this,” he said, pointing between the two of them.

“God, yes,” she groaned, shaking her head. “Yelena and Ava would not leave me alone.”

“It was John for me,” he chuckled.

“You’re kidding.”

“I really wish I was. That guy’s an asshole.”

“...Sooo, how are we feeling about getting some milkshakes right now?”

“I was about to say the same thing.”

[presidenthades]

Fandom PSA: Fanworks Permission Statements and why you should make one if you’re a fic writer!

At some point, most of us fanfic writers have probably thought, “I wish someone would make fanart/podfic/fanvid/translation/etc. about my fanfic.”

For this to happen, first there must be a reader who enjoys the fic enough that they feel compelled to make a derivative fanwork. This is a necessary condition—but not a sufficient one!

Most of the time, this potential podficcer or translator will also seek permission from the fic writer to make their derivative fanwork. As a writer, you might think, “Of course I’ll give permission! Why wouldn’t I? I would LOVE to have a podfic/translation/whatever.”

However, this fact is not actually obvious to others. Some writers don’t want people to make derivative works based on their writing. Some writers have certain conditions that they require. The podficcer/translator/whoever has no idea of knowing what these conditions are unless they:

ask the writer for permission, or

can find the writer’s permission statement.

You might think, “Option A sounds simple. If someone is interested, they can just ask me for permission, and I’ll tell them any conditions I might have.”

Well…that might be simple for you, but it isn’t as simple for the person approaching you.

Consider the POV of a hypothetical podficcer. They read your fic. They love it! They want to make a podfic of it! But when they check the notes on your fic and your AO3 profile, they find nothing indicating whether you would even be receptive to a podfic.

They have several options, depending on what means of communication you have made available:

Comment directly on the fic asking for permission to make a podfic. Wait and hope that you respond quickly enough that the podficcer still has the requisite enthusiasm to record the podfic. (Enthusiasm can wane the longer they wait.)

Send you a message on another website, like Tumblr or Reddit, assuming that you’ve shared your username somewhere easily accessible on AO3/the fanfic website. Again, wait and hope that you respond quickly enough.

Decide they would rather not bother with the hassle of waiting and hoping, so they move on to another fanfic whose writer DOES have a permission statement.

If the podficcer had known upfront that you would be OK with a podfic, they could have just recorded the podfic ASAP while they were at the height of their enthusiasm. If the podficcer reallyyyy loves your fic, they might be willing to do Option A/B and wait anyway. But sometimes, Option C is just simpler, especially if there are other fics that the podficcer is interested in recording.

Hopefully you are now thinking, “A permission statement makes sense, so I can maximize the odds that someone will make a podfic/translation/etc. But how do I write a permission statement? What do I include? Does it have to be a blanket permission statement, or can I add conditions?”

There are resources that can help you! One that I’ve seen recommended is this Fanworks Permission Statement Builder, which helps you create a personalized permission statement in just a few steps. You can edit the output with whatever additional conditions you might have. There is also a Directory of Fanwork Creators with Permission Statements if you want to consult it for examples or other resources. I have a permission statement on my AO3 profile.

You should, of course, be comfortable with your permission statement. If you would not be comfortable with a blanket permission statement, then include the conditions that you would like to request/require.

Keep in mind that more conditions/obstacles might lower someone’s enthusiasm to make a derivative work. For example, let’s say a podficcer is deliberating which of two fics they want to record.

Fic 1: The writer has a blanket permission statement on their AO3 profile allowing fanworks like podfics. They just ask that the podficcer use the “Inspired By” feature upon posting on AO3. The podfic can be posted elsewhere, but the writer would like for it to also be posted on AO3.

Fic 2: The writer has a permission statement on their AO3 profile which requires that the podficcer reach out beforehand to explicitly confirm permission to record whatever fic the podficcer is interested in. The podfic can ONLY be posted on AO3 and cannot be posted anywhere else.

Based on what I’ve heard from several podficcers, if all other things are equal, they would prefer Fic 1 over Fic 2. Fic 1’s permission statement is straightforward: just make sure to appropriately credit the original writer, and post the podfic on AO3.

Fic 2 is more complicated. The podficcer has to take the extra step of reaching out to the writer, with no guarantee that the writer will respond promptly. The waiting time means that the podficcer might lose the spark of inspiration for “spontaneous podding,” as one person called it.

Also, the requirement to only post on AO3 can be confusing. AO3 cannot host audio files. The podficcer must host the audio file elsewhere, and then they link to that file when they publish on AO3. Does the writer understand the difference between hosting and posting? Will the podficcer need to clarify what the writer intends? This also means that if the podficcer wants to post on another website, they no longer have that option.

If the podficcer has to jump through several hoops to record Fic 2, they might just move on to a simpler option, like Fic 1.

This does not mean that you, the writer, must write a blanket permission statement! As stated above, you should make sure you’re comfortable with your own permission statement. Include all the conditions that you would be satisfied with. Just keep in mind what the potential artist/podficcer/translator/etc. might be considering on their end.

As an example of a multivoice collaborative podfic, check out MG101: Intro to Other Magics, a Merlin x HOTD crossover that I helped create!

If this post inspires you to make your own permission statement, please let me know! I am participating in a podfic event called Voiceteam 2025, and I get bonus points for every person whom I inspire to make a permission statement. 😊 You can just let me know in a reblog, comment, or DM whether you’ve made a permission statement.

[gamerbot-22]

🎰 Foolish Words🌿

Contains: Aventio <3, banter, teasing, new-ish relationship, these two idiots are so very dumb and so very in love, they’re also horrible at communicating but are working on it, a bit of Aventurine Backstory Flavored Trauma, a lil suggestive but no blatant NSFW, a variety of smooches, Aven is described as having some melanin, barely proofread and I appreciate spellchecks!

Word Count: 4,940

A/N: The boys won the poll!! And by a fucking landslide, might I add, they had a little over half the votes lol. This was partially inspired by this post by @/qinsens because… oh my god it’s so cute, I love it. ALSO HOLY FUCK THE WORD COUNT--

Likes and Reblogs appreciated (reblogs > likes) and Requests are Open! Read this story on Ao3 here! Buy me a Ko-Fi here!

Related Work: Something Sweet for Someone… Sweet?

The dividers in this post were made by @/gamerbot-22 (me!) ☆

© All rights reserved by miHoYo

Veritas Ratio isn't supposed to care.

That's the myth, legend, rumor, whatever-you-want-to-call-it that's been spread around across the Galaxy. Dr. Veritas Ratio, like most geniuses, would-be or otherwise, is not supposed to care about people. He's meant to care only about math and science, with humans only coming up in the biological, and maybe psychological sense, as little points of data in a sea of variables. Even the people close to him held that belief. Veritas remembers the look of shock in his peers' eyes when he brought gifts for holidays, simple but meticulously thought-out, or remembered the drink preferences of acquaintances when research sessions ran long.

It's been like this for years, and ironically enough, Veritas has stopped caring for the most part. It's not his fault that his affection doesn't come with the coddling, flowery words that everyone seems to worry so much about. The words aren't the important part, it's the doing that matters.

...So then why has he felt so strange calling Aventurine "gambler" recently?

"You'll catch your death of cold," Veritas murmurs.

With no ceremony he stands closer to Aventurine, bringing him under the canopy of the doctor's umbrella. The rain isn't beating down, per se, but they've been walking back home for a while now, and Aventurine is beginning to resemble a soaked kitten, even with his jacket pulled up to cover his head.

"Aw, Doctor," Aventurine nearly coos in that honey-sweet tone of his. "I didn't think you cared."

Veritas huffs to himself, turning his gaze back to the street ahead. The puddles in front of them dazzle like stars, reflecting back street lights and glowing signs in shop windows. It seems much warmer in all these little cafes and hobby stores, but they'll be home soon enough with their own latte and mug of black coffee, so it's not worth getting distracted now.

"I don't want you sneezing late into the night." Aventurine is always miserable when he's sick, and unfortunately even the Genius Society hasn't found a cure for the common cold. "You won't get any sleep."

Aventurine rolls his eyes, letting annoyance slip through for just a moment before that showy glimmer returns to his jewel-coloured gaze. It always turns into a lecture...

The blonde lets his soaked-through coat fall back onto his shoulders, idly teasing the fur trim around the collar in an attempt to look decent despite the pathetic veneer the rain has given him. "If I start sneezing, I can just sleep out on the sofa with the cats, you know." He says it in an almost chipper way, like he's excited at the idea of sleeping apart from Veritas for once. "Save you the headache of fussing over me."

Veritas' brows pinch as he holds the curved handle of his umbrella a little tighter. "That's not necessary. It's..." He can't believe he's about to say this, and that it makes him pause. "It's your bed, as well. You have just as much right to lay sick in it as I do."

"So you'll take the couch then?" There's a certain pride in the way Aventurine cocks his head back to look up at his companion, like he's won a game that Veritas didn't know they'd been playing. It doesn't help that a bookstore's warm lighting makes his tanned skin shine like gold around the curve of his cheek.

Veritas sighs deeply, hoping that the golden light isn't making the heat rising to his face any more obvious than it already feels. "No, because it's my bed, too. It's our bed, gambler." The doctor feels his stomach sink.

Aventurine shrugs. Veritas watches as his pride melts into something closer to neutral as he reaches to hold the umbrella himself, gloved fingers resting over alabaster knuckles, and gently tugs his companion along down the shining sidewalk. "Well, I'll be less likely to ruin our precious sleep the sooner we get back home. I want out of these wet clothes..."

There's not much more talking the rest of the way to their flat, but there are echoes inside Veritas' head all the same. He's been calling Aventurine "gambler" since they met, and never once has he thought twice about it. It was an accurate moniker -- still is, of course -- and Aventurine has never said a genuine thing about it. In fact, it wasn't like he was any better, calling Veritas every variation of "doctor" he can think up, and for all the rolling eyes and quiet huffs, Veritas doesn't mind that much either.

So then why has Veritas been thinking about it all day?

His thoughts only move on when he feels Aventurine squeeze his hand idly.

They get home with no fuss, as usual. Veritas sheathes his umbrella in the woven holder by the door while Aventurine kicks off his shoes, letting them clatter to the side as he peels his jacket off. It's dripping rain water all over the floor, and he only makes it worse when he balls up his jacket to more easily carry it off to the washer. "I'll mop it up in a second!" He calls before anyone can get the chance to tell him to.

Another huff, this time with a little smile for just himself as Veritas steps out of his shoes and politely trades them in for the house slippers he keeps by the door. On rainy days like this, the floor gets uncomfortably cold unless the oven is going in the kitchen, and these were rather nice protection against that.

"I'm making coffee." Veritas calls over his shoulder. He takes a left to go from the little entry hallway across the back corner of their open living room, then goes around the standing money plant that Aventurine still hasn't found a better place for right into the kitchen. He's already got the machine running, lining up their favorite mugs when he hears Aventurine's footsteps approaching.

"Coffee at this hour?" He asks, his smile audible as he rounds the square island in the middle of the kitchen to stand beside his housemate. "And you were worried about ruining our sleep."

Aventurine is in his pajamas already, which is hardly surprising considering how thoroughly drenched he'd gotten from walking four blocks in the rain. He has one of their little towels from the bathroom in his hands to help dry his hair, which has gone from a bright, flaxen colour to a sort of copper shade from the water. It actually doesn't look half bad on him.

"A little coffee won't kill us," Veritas returns. In the comfort of their own home, he doesn't shy away from reaching to brush a lock of Aventurine's damp hair behind his ear. "And you need something warm after trailblazing through the rain."

Aventurine's head lulls into the doctor's hand, letting out a single, solitary note of a pleased hum that makes Veritas hum back with a little quirk at the corner of his lips. His warm, broad palm is a welcome change from the cold rain, and it actually takes quite a bit of control for Aventurine not to just go full cat and nuzzle into his companion’s touch.

“You spoil me, Doc.”

“One would argue it’s my job to.”

Aventurine’s eyes flash like jewels. “And would you?”

Heat pools in the doctor’s face.

Veritas’ attention is pulled away by the soft chime of the coffee maker. He had gone out of his way all those months ago, when the two were first moving in together, to get a machine that didn’t make that blasted beeping noise Aventurine’s cat cakes hated so much, and by pure stroke of luck, he found this model. Of course, Veritas is more pleased with the fact that it makes damn good coffee, but the gentle melody it sings once it’s finished is a plus for even him in this moment.

Aventurine lets out a sigh as Veritas turns away. He drapes his soft towel around his neck and watches, idly, as the good doctor pours most of the rich coffee into his own mug, and then about half as much into Aventurine’s.

“What gives?” He asks, tilting his head with a wry smile pulling at his lips. “Only a little bit for me?”

“You don’t take your coffee black,” Veritas replies matter-of-factly. “I’m saving room for milk.”

Aventurine huffs a laugh to himself and leans closer, prodding a bit at Veritas’ personal space with that same casual playfulness he always displays. “You’re being so nice to me tonight, Doc. Is there some kind of special occasion I’m forgetting about?”

The doctor looks down at his companion with a sort of unreadable expression, save for the obvious confusion pinching his brows together. “Am I not nice to you, Aventurine?”

He plays off Veritas’ confusion with a shrug, running his thin fingers through his flaxen hair in a horribly unsubtle act of preening. “You are. You just normally don’t do so much in a straight shot like this. Makes me think you’re after something.”

“Gambler—“

Aeons curse him, there he goes again—

“Are you after something?” Aventurine hums, boldly swooping into Veritas’ personal space now. He walks the doctor back a step or so, leaning forward so he’s hovering just a few precious inches away from his chest. “Because, you know you can just ask.”

He has this uncanny ability to catch Veritas off guard and one day, the doctor swears it’ll actually drive him crazy. He shuts his eyes and sighs, letting his brain take a second to just… take stock of all the feelings that are welling up inside him. There’s the warmth of having Aventurine so close, as well as the annoyance of being caught off guard so easily, and underneath all of that is that same strange guilt that’s been plaguing him all day, brought on by that slip of the tongue, the use of the name “Gambler” for yet another time.

“Actually…” Veritas says, exhaling deeply. “I do have something I’d like to ask you.”

“Yes?” Aventurine cocks his head to the other side, only moving closer to Veritas with that proud, Cheshire smile. He can see the usually straight-laced doctor fighting to keep himself level, and it’s giving him endless joy, as it always does.

Veritas sighs again and opens his red eyes, looking right into his partner’s face. “Would you mind getting your milk from the fridge while I get the stove going?”

Aventurine blinks owlishly, his smile dropping. “That’s it?” It’s almost not even a question, just a bewildered statement.

“Yes.”

He backs up, standing straight now with a pout on his face so slight he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. “…Fine. Sure, I can get you the milk from the fridge.”

Aventurine turns on his heels like a little tin soldier and struts right over to the big, shining appliance to open it up. As he does an entirely unnecessary scan of its contents, he allows himself a moment to think, although stew would probably be a more apt description.

Veritas has been like this all day. He’s been physically present, which of course Aventurine knows he should be grateful for -- and he is -- but more often than not his dear doctor’s attention has been miles away. Usually when Veritas isn’t paying attention to Aventurine, he’s obviously thinking, his head in one hand and his brows knit together as he turns theory over formula over variable in search of an answer, but lately it’s just been distant staring off into the horizon, with his arms crossed tight over his chest or his fingers twiddling at his side. It’s unlike him.

That plus his advances being so soundly reject is starting to make Aventurine’s stomach sink. Was it something he’d done?

The clicking of the stove off to his right brings Aventurine back to his body. He quickly shakes his head and gives a little wave with his free hand to dismiss the thoughts. ‘Stop being needy, Kakavasha,’ he scolds himself in his head, then he grabs the carton of milk from the fridge door and shuts it a little harder than he means to.

“Here you are, Doc,” Aventurine says flatly, swinging the carton casually up onto the granite counter. He nudges it closer to Veritas both for ease of access and to free up some space for him to lean as he watches his latte get made.

“Thank you—“ Veritas obviously cuts himself short. It doesn’t take Aventurine, with his honed-by-experience skill of reading people’s voices and body language to notice that.

Neither man says anything. Veritas just pours the milk into the waiting pot on the stove while Aventurine stares, no better than a bonded cat.

The silence is agony on Aventurine’s mind. His bag of tricks has been thoroughly emptied out for the night, leaving him feeling a touch vulnerable in the light of his own kitchen. Everything he’s tried so far has simply been redirected, if not shut down right away, and now Veritas can’t even spare the breath to say a sentence naturally. It’s crazy to think and Aventurine knows it, but the sinking feeling in his gut is only serving to remind him that nothing good in his life has ever lasted for very long.

“You’re staring.” The doctor’s low, cool voice cuts through the tension.

He blinks, then huffs, turning his face away from his companion. “Am not.”

“You are.” Veritas is a little more insistent now as he flicks the stove top off. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” Aventurine brings his towel back up to his hair, trying to pat it dryer than it already is. “There is absolutely nothing the matter with me.”

Veritas takes a breath. For a g— for a man who gambles so often, Aventurine has such obvious tells when he’s in distress. His voice becomes much more measured, his eyes flick elsewhere, and the brilliant, loud, peacocking persona that Aventurine thrives in shrinks away into near nothing, leaving only a very tense looking young man in its absence.

Veritas saw it happen once in Penacony. He hates seeing it happen again in their home.

The doctor carefully brings Aventurine’s mug closer to the stove. It’s much more novel than his own, sporting a shape not unlike the cat cakes snoozing in their tower back in the two’s shared bedroom. It’s not Veritas’ style, personally, but he’s always thought it was cute in its own way.

He adds the milk to the coffee, not bothering with any of the bells and whistles that can be found in the cafe two doors down, and carefully holds it out to Aventurine.

Now’s as good a time as any to say something sweeter.

“Here you are, love.”

Aventurine takes his mug in one hand, turning his head back towards his companion. “Thank y—“

His breath hitches. Or maybe he gasps. Does the difference even matter, now that heat is pooling into Aventurine’s cheeks like swirling steam from the stove top. All he knows is that that single word — that pet name — has hit him like a truck and it’s taking every ounce of his focus not to drop his coffee or keel over or do anything else that would further embarrass himself.

Veritas wonders if Aventurine might be broken now. “Darling, are you—?”

“Aaah! A-haha, I heard you the first time!” Aventurine sets his mug down and brings a hand up to his face, although he’s not sure if he should cover his eyes or his mouth or his whole face as he teeters back a step. His heart is pounding in his ears like a drum as both those words swirl in his mind. “Oh, that’s—!”

Even with his tanned skin, Veritas can see his cheeks darkening. The doctor is really starting to wonder if he did something wrong. He reaches to touch Aventurine’s shoulder, only for his partner to fully turn on his heels again, hand pressed tight over his mouth.

He’s only facing away for a moment before he spins right back around, his jewel-coloured eyes wide and shining and his smile trembling with barely contained energy as he warbles out “Is that why you were being quiet all day?”

Veritas pulls his hand back, a bit sheepish himself. “You noticed?”

“Of course I noticed!" There is precious little that Aventurine wouldn't notice, Veritas should have figured that out by now. "I thought I did something wrong!”

“What? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“That’s what I thought but then you kept getting all—“ Aventurine makes a vague gesture with both of his hands, really lending to the frazzled, indescribable look on his face. This is getting impossible.

"Alright, all of that doesn't matter." Ever expressive, Aventurine tosses the conversation off to the side, dismissing it almost entirely save for the cause of all this. "Were you spending all that time coming up with what pet name to call me?"

He's never seen Veritas get so red in the face so fast. Usually his blushing was reserved solely for the tips of his ears, but it seems to have breached containment into his cheeks and neck.

"Well..." Veritas plucks up his own mug of coffee and brings it to his lips, desperately trying to come across as the sane, sophisticated Genius Aventurine knew him as. Or, well... Knew him as on paper.

"I felt that it was only appropriate," he finally settled on saying after sneaking a quick sip. He's been thrown, slightly, by Aventurine's reaction to something as seemingly normal as being called "darling" and "love," but he's good at explaining, so a recovery is possible, yes? "We live together, we work together, we... are partners, are we not? Partners call one another things sweeter than just 'gambler.'"

Aventurine looks away again, turning his head over his shoulder to try and breathe without having to meet Veritas' eyes to do it. He knows it's normal. Of course it's normal. He's heard all those ridiculous, cliched nicknames thrown around all his life. The "Darling"s, the "Love"s, the "Honey"s, everything. He's been called them himself, even, but never like this. Hearing "darling" pass so effortlessly from Veritas' lips, like it was no more special than the latte -- or, really, the coffee with warm milk -- that he had passed to him. It wasn't like the "sweetheart"s that have been tossed at him casually by overly-chummy clients or... the "precious"es that still come to haunt his dreams at times. This feels warmer. Realer. It's almost too much all at once and it's only two blasted words.

It's so unlike him to be quiet. Veritas sets his mug back down and takes a single step forwards. "...Have I upset you, Aventurine?" Even if he despises a pet name, Veritas is not going to go back to calling him 'gambler.' Not when he's become someone he worries about upsetting.

Aventurine turns back quickly. His face is still red, but his smile is calmer now, less indescribably manic. "No, Doctor, you haven't upset me. This is just something that requires adjusting to."

Veritas' brows furrow in confusion again. "'Requires adjusting to...?' Since when have you--"

"Look, this is all just a bit out of my wheelhouse." Aventurine can hear the corporate language spilling out of his mouth and it's taking every ounce of his focus not to cringe. "Mind if we just... circle back to this in the morning?"

"Er... Alright?" Veritas decides to take Aventurine at his word, a decision based entirely on the fact that he has never heard Aventurine use phrases like "out of my wheelhouse" and "circle back" in the comforts of his own home. He clearly needs some time to gather himself. This is what Veritas gets for catching Aventurine off guard.

The Doctor sighs. "Do you want to finish your coffee? Or are you done for the night?"

Oh, he'd almost forgotten--

Aventurine picks up his mug, giving it an idle swirl before swinging it up to his lips and taking a quick gulp. His head's still going about a thousand miles a minute, but his drink's still a little warm, and it's been carefully prepared by someone he does care deeply for, so it helps. Just a little. He does know his limits though, and offers the drink back for Veritas to take. The doctor takes it carefully, and dumps it and the remainder of his own down the kitchen sink. It's a waste, maybe, but that thought isn't at the forefront of either of their minds.

The two head off to bed together in awkward silence. Veritas, as always, gathers up his pajamas and heads off to get changed in the bathroom, leaving Aventurine to sit at the edge of their bed with his beloved cat cakes. Without his gloves on, the strategist can't hide the fading callouses on his fingertips, but his pets never seemed to mind, purring under his touch all the same like the sweet little radiators they were. He looks down at the cake sitting in his lap, leaning back on one hand and tilting his head to better meet its innocent yellow eyes. Speaking to it would do very little for his nerves, but he can pretend that they are having a fulfilling little conversation as he waited for Veritas to come out.

So he waits.

And waits.

And waits some more.

Aventurine sighs and moves to lay on his back on top of the blankets, dragging his pet along with him to rest on his chest. "I hope you haven't drowned in there, Doctor!" He calls, running his fingers through his cat's short, black fur.

"Don't be crass." Veritas calls back. Aventurine only chuckles to himself.

"Hurry up! Or the cats and I will claim the whole bed for ourselves!"

Veritas rolls his eyes. Beds, again? He takes a deep breath and steps out of the bathroom, his hair brushed and face washed and the nice pajama set Aventurine gifted him fitting him as well as it always does.

"You wouldn't dare," he greets as he flicks the bathroom light off behind him. Living in the city their bedroom is never quite dark, even so late at night and pouring rain, so it's easy for Veritas to find his way. All he has to do is move towards the silvery line of streetlights that outlines each wrinkle in the covers, most of them drawing back to where Aventurine is laying on top of them.

"We would if you had taken another minute." Even with the air so heavy, it's much too easy to slip right back into their usual banter.

Veritas kneels one leg on his side of the bed, tossing back the covers as best he can with Aventurine weighing them down. He sighs. "Darling, could you-- hm."

He almost expects Aventurine to laugh again, to sit bolt upright and start spewing that corporate swill he defaulted too out of nerves, but instead he's quiet.

And he moves.

Aventurine gets up off of the bed, cat cake cradled to his chest, and draws back the covers as well, leaving the bed primed and ready for the two to crawl into and rest after such an eventful day.

"Now who's staring, Doc?"

Veritas hadn't even noticed. When he glances away, Aventurine chuckles a little harder than he normally would.

The sheets are cool to the touch as they lay down together, and despite the awkwardness that lingers from just moments before, Veritas still opens his arms and Aventurine still nestles between them, letting the cat move to its place at the foot of the bed. The two lovers lay there, quiet and still for only a minute before--

"I didn't mean to upset you--"

"Sorry I got all weird on you--"

They both stop. Veritas chuckles dryly and Aventurine feels some heat rise into his face again. "You go first, Doc."

"Alright." Veritas nestles in closer to their pillows and almost shyly slips the hand that had been resting between Aventurine's shoulder blades up to the back of his head, running his alabaster fingers through his pale golden hair. "I upset you earlier. When I called you darling. I didn't mean to and... I'm sorry."

Aventurine leans into his touch, resting his forehead against Veritas' chin. "You didn't upset me, you just... caught me off guard. I'm not used to you calling me stuff like that."

"Did you not like it?"

"No, that's not it..." Aventurine shakes his head gently, just so Veritas can feel it. "It's just... I don't know. A lot of things. All at once. It made me sort of panic and I said some strange things."

Veritas makes a gesture with both hands, lifting a few fingers but not removing them from Aventurine's hair and waist. "You did say some odd things. I felt like I was in a business meeting for a moment--"

"Alright, quit teasing me, I already feel like dying--"

Aventurine feels his doctor's arms squeeze him in silent apology, a rumbling laugh in his chest.

"So," Veritas murmurs into Aventurine's hair, "shall I stop then? Go back to calling you things like 'gambler?'"

"What's wrong with gambler?"

"It feels cruel, given the circumstances."

"'Given the circumstances,'" Aventurine repeats back, only half-mockingly. "I think, given tonight, we can call this what it is."

"Which is...?" He's not stupid, Veritas just doesn't want to jump the metaphorical gun and make Aventurine feel even worse about this.

"Aeons, you're impossible today," Aventurine grumbles, turning his face fully into Veritas' throat, his nose pushing up against his skin in a huff. "I just... don't understand the sudden change."

Veritas sighs -- sympathetic, not frustrated -- and gives his partner another squeeze. No more teasing. This is going to be an honest conversation now. No matter how painful that might be to execute.

"It does feel cruel to me to only call you 'gambler,' now that we're... together this way. It feels cold and distant, and for once..." Another sigh as he presses his face to his lover's soft hair, still smelling of rain. "...I'd rather not have someone think of me that way. Especially not someone who... I've come to care for. So very deeply."

It's so sentimental it makes Aventurine want to cry. And that fact makes him want to cringe. He never thought he would be the type to enjoy a moment like this. To be so privileged as to have a partner who cares enough about him to call him something sweet, and to do kind things for him like share an umbrella and make him coffee on a cold, rainy night after spending the whole day together in the city. It feels too easy. It feels like more than he deserves. It feels nice.

The silence lingers. Veritas fills it first with a kiss to the crown of Aventurine's head. "But if it will make you jump every time I say it, then I won't force any of my own sentimentality onto you. We can go back to 'gambler' and 'doctor.'"

Aventurine hums. Veritas' lips lower to his temple. "I will still hold you like this every night if you let me."

A shaky breath. A kiss to his cheek. "You will always have a place here. Regardless of things others call you."

Aventurine's eyes squeeze shut. Veritas bows his head to peck his lover's already sun-kissed throat. "I love you, Aventurine. You knowing that... is what matters most to me."

He lifts a hand to his face, a breathless laugh shaking his shoulders. "You're kissing the tears out of me, you monster."

The doctor lifts his head, a touch of real panic gripping him as tightly as he has Aventurine. "I didn't mean t--"

"Aeons, stop--"

Calloused hands find Veritas' head purely by memory, fingers sliding between the loose waves of his hair like that's where they're meant to go. Veritas doesn't fight it when Aventurine pulls him into a proper kiss that's just a touch harder than he was expecting.

They remain there, locked together, for a good while. Veritas lifts his hand from Aventurine's waist to stroke his soft cheek while the other stays resting on the back of his head, holding him close. He's measured, tempered, used to taking his time, while Aventurine has energy beneath his skin just waiting to burst out. He has felt so many things tonight, and craps tables and roulette wheels be damned, the euphoria of this moment is nearly unmatched.

The doctor is the first to pull away, his first breath warm across his lover's face. When his red eyes open, he sees what remains of silvery tear tracks running across Aventurine's face, pulled sideways by gravity. He brushes them away without hesitation, and considers teasing about how he definitely kissed the tears out of Aventurine now. He decides to let him have that one.

Aventurine nuzzles into Veritas' hand and holds his wrist to keep him close. "Call me whatever you want, Doc," he murmurs, trying to hide the way his voice has thickened. "Gambler, darling... whatever. I'll be happy either way. Promise."

Veritas smiles and guides Aventurine's head back to his neck, holding him just as close as before, if not a little closer. "If that's what you want, my love, then that's what you'll have."

"God--"

He pulls back to look at his partner's face. "Too sentimental?"

Aventurine snorts and pulls him back down. "Of course not, I just have to get used to it. Now let me get some rest, my heart's been on this roller-coaster for long enough tonight."

"Alright, alright. Goodnight, Aventurine."

"Goodnight, Doc. Sweet dreams."

"Mm..."

[wetdeadroses]

Hearts Healed

“This’ll only get worse if you don’t let me do anything,” Law said with an exasperated sigh. “I told you, kid,” Corazon said as he placed a hand on Law’s shoulder, “I’m fine. I’ve always been like this.” His lips spread into a broad smile. “I don’t need a doctor.” Law decides to heal the injuries he found as the source of Cora's clumsiness. Corazon isn't sure how he feels about it.

wc: 2.3k

tags: corazon & trafalgar law, corazon is a heart pirate, mild hurt/comfort, chronic pain mentions, corazon's clumsiness is caused by injuries, corazon and law have just been through so much together

i wrote this piece as part of a trade for @the-red-butterfly and am so pleased to share it here as well! thank you so much for this amazing prompt. i'm so honored to have put this together for you!

read on AO3, if you prefer

Law’s concern for Corazon’s health started with something as small as a passing thought, but like a pebble tossed into a still body of water, that concern rippled and spread over time. He noticed how often Corazon would trip over the same foot, or how his wrist would ever-so-slightly buckle when he was ashing a cigarette. Corazon never complained, so Law let it be. That is, until he saw Corazon wince on his way back up from a fall one day. It was fleeting – a split-second of a furrowed brow and a twitch of his lips -- but Law saw it. 

Once Law knew Corazon was in pain, there was nothing he could do to stay quiet about it. When Corazon turned down a check-up, Law tried to inquire more about any major accidents he might have had before they met, but he was met with a brick wall, which only fueled Law’s temper.

Today was no different. Law and Corazon were on the deck of the Polar Tang when he stumbled, nearly launching himself over the railing and into the sea. Law intervened in time, but Corazon landed on the deck with a tumble anyway. 

Law supposed that as a doctor, he couldn’t help saying something each time it happened. He struggled to understand why Corazon wouldn’t utilize Law’s medical skills to evaluate the cause of his clumsiness. 

“This’ll only get worse if you don’t let me do anything,” Law said with an exasperated sigh.

“I told you, kid,” Corazon said as he placed a hand on Law’s shoulder, “I’m fine. I’ve always been like this.” His lips spread into a broad smile. “I don’t need a doctor.” 

Tired of having the same conversation after Corazon’s slips and falls, Law bit his tongue, but not before letting an annoyed tch slip out. There was no denying that Corazon was strong, but over the years, Law felt a breaking point was growing near.

Satisfied with Law’s agreement, Corazon turned away, lighting a cigarette. “Besides, I’m sharper than ever. I feel great!” 

“Cora-san!” Almost instantaneously, Corazon’s sleeve caught on fire. Law didn’t miss the precise movement that caused the incident, his eyes watchful of every twitch, every ounce of stiffness.

Once Corazon had been extinguished, Law straightened, adjusting his stature to look Corazon in the eyes. “Why do you brush me off every time I bring this up? Do you not trust me?”

Corazon softened as he held Law’s stare. “Of course I trust you, kid.” He took a drag of his cigarette, which was slightly rumpled in the commotion, and shifted his gaze from Law. “It’s just not worth your time to look into. It doesn’t bother me.”

“Don’t lie.”

“Law, you have to let this go.”

Law would not – could not – let it go. He didn’t know how to explain to Corazon why it was so important to him that he took care of himself. His fists tightened. Law wanted to argue, to grab Corazon by the shoulders and shake him until he understood, but he wouldn’t give in.

“After everything you have done for me, you must understand why I can’t do that.”

Corazon stiffened. The slightest hint of surprise played across his features, along with another expression which Law couldn’t place. 

“Please, Cora-san. Let me help,” Law pleaded. “At least let me get to a diagnosis.”

Corazon’s silence stretched over the Polar Tang toward the never-ending blue horizon. It wore so thin that Law wanted to gasp for air, but he held firm, allowing the space for Corazon to listen, to understand what Law was truly saying.

“A diagnosis,” Corazon finally drawled, tasting the idea between his lips, a tendril of smoke quivering in response. “Fine. But don’t waste too much of your time on this, kid. I don’t want you distracted from your dream.”

. . .

The sick bay was frigid and meticulously organized. Some referred to it as an extension of Law himself, although the captain believed that was a superficial statement, and that the bay was specifically designed for efficiency and safety. Cold as it was, Law felt a bead of sweat roll down his back as he explained the examinations he would perform on Corazon. 

“First, I’m going to test your range of motion, and follow with an X-ray,” Law explained to Corazon, who sat awkwardly on the exam table. “I’d also like a more thorough understanding of your medical history.”

“I don’t have one.”

“You’re telling me you have no idea what kind of medical conditions you’ve had in the past? Injuries? Anything?” Law took a step toward Corazon. Corazon shifted away from him.

“I couldn’t possibly begin to list my injuries,” Corazon said, pursing his lips. “I didn’t exactly keep track of them.” 

Law supposed that wasn’t entirely out of character for Corazon, considering his colorful past. “Fine.” He motioned to the open space of the sick bay. “Stand up.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Nothing, at least for this first part. I’ll have you practice a few movements on your own. If I see any signs of limitation or pain, we’ll do some assisted movements.”

Corazon’s face grew flushed as he bent and stretched as per Law’s instructions. When the exercises switched to his legs, Corazon was sweating with concentration. Before he could complete the first movement, he stumbled. 

Law used his shoulder to brace Corazon, guiding him back to his feet. “That’s enough standing for now.”

Corazon shrugged Law off of him the instant he regained his balance. “I’m fine.”

Law’s brow creased, a retort crawling up his throat, but something in Corazon’s expression stopped him in his tracks. He rarely avoided looking at Law when they spoke, but Corazon had been looking in any direction except his since they started. He seemed… guarded, in a way that Law hadn’t quite seen before. 

Law cleared his throat, softening, as Corazon returned to his seat on the exam bed. “You don’t have to be,” he murmured. “If you’re not.”

Some weight came off Corazon’s shoulders — ever so slightly, but he was lighter all the same — as he registered what Law was saying. “It’s that obvious, is it?” Corazon chuckled.

“That’s not what I meant,” Law argued. He wasn’t necessarily known for his bedside manner. But for Cora, he would try. “I was trying to say that if you’re nervous or if you’re in pain, then you can tell me. I’m not here to judge you.”

Corazon stared at Law, taken aback. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out, so he closed it again. Law’s words merely hung in the air, wrapping around Corazon in a considerate embrace.

“Just don’t hide it anymore, okay?” The words came out with more gentleness than Law planned.

Law’s surprise at his own voice must have been all over his face, because a hearty laugh poured out of Corazon, straight from his chest. He could only stand there, clenching his fists as Cora’s eyes watered with roaring howls of entertainment.

“Alright, doctor,” Corazon said as his laughter faded. “Let’s keep going.”

With minimal complaints, Corazon allowed Law to manipulate the joints in his legs, from hip to ankle. He couldn’t help but twitch a few times at the strange sensation.

“Do any of these movements hurt?” Law asked.

Corazon pondered the question as Law bent one of his knees. “It feels the same as it always does.”

Law stiffened. “Is that a yes or a no?”

“Yes,” Cora sighed.

After gently releasing Corazon’s leg, Law turned away, considering. “Let’s move on to your X-ray.” 

After giving Corazon instructions and calling upon his devil fruit ability, Law performed the X-ray, studying the bones and joints throughout his body. He nearly bit his tongue as he took in the sight of it. It was a map of every damage Cora could ever have taken - and it was… a lot.

Law’s thoughts tripped one over the other. How could Cora have ended up like this? Nothing in his imagination would have aligned with Cora's countless injuries. 

His eyes fixated on one particular deformity on Rosinante’s left tibia. It was clear that the bone had broken at least twice, and the breaks had obviously healed incorrectly. There were similar cases in several areas of Cora’s body. What concerned him more was the scar tissue that seemed to have encased countless areas, especially in his joints. 

Law’s hand twitched. He knew Cora had a higher threshold for withstanding pain, but this… He hadn’t the words to describe what it must be like to live in this state. Why didn’t you tell me? All these years, Law could have helped. 

“Tell you what?” Cora said, his hushed voice riddled with concern. 

The question hung in the room, turning the air stale as Law realized his thoughts escaped him. Law clenched a fist before releasing it with a sigh. It would do more harm than good to go after Corazon for hiding his struggle. It mattered more that they were dealing with it now. 

“Nothing,” Law breathed. “I’ve seen what I needed to see.” 

Corazon eyed Law momentarily, as if sensing the hesitation Law had worked through. He couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious after the examination, but he was more grateful for Law’s patience than anything. 

He took a breath, steadying himself, before standing. “I need a smoke.” 

. . . 

The waters carrying the Polar Tang were choppy, each ripple and movement glistening in the afternoon sun. Corazon sat before Law as he took long drags of a cigarette, his expression unreadable.

Law figured it would be most efficient to get straight to the facts. This part, he was reasonably certain about. “Your diagnosis is straightforward. You have several fractures that did not heal in the correct alignment, which impedes your balance, gait, and other aspects of your mobility.”

Corazon merely watched the water in the distance, motionless. 

“The reason I describe it as straightforward is that it is a relatively simple process to repair. Then, there will be an adjustment period in which you will need to strengthen your body to adapt to the new formation of the bones.” Having completed his summary, Law shifted his weight, assessing Corazon’s reaction.

“Doesn’t sound simple to me,” Corazon muttered on an exhale. “Sounds like you’d be spending far too much time cleaning up a mess that isn’t yours.”

“Just because it isn’t mine, doesn’t mean it isn’t worth helping. You don’t have to carry this burden alone,” Law sighed. “We’re in this together, don’t you know that?”

Corazon’s eyes shone as he considered. Yes, they’d been to the end of the world and back, and Corazon would do it again to save Law, but it felt like a different experience to receive that care in return. Selfish, even.

Before Corazon could try and wiggle his way out of Law’s care, Law smiled at him, as bright as the rays of sunshine cascading down on him. “You won’t have to live in pain anymore, Cora-san.”

Ah, that was it. The joy of Law’s peace of mind was worth a thousand times more than Cora was about to undergo. That singular missing piece fell into place as he pictured Law with one fewer worry, one less fear. Corazon couldn’t help but give whatever it took to make that happen.

“You never give up, do you, kid?” Corazon chuckled. “When do we start?”

. . . 

The procedure went exactly as Law said it would - it took several hours of operation to fully mend each old fracture; and simple didn’t necessarily mean easy, but they only needed to go through this once. One procedure, and a journey through recovery, but Corazon and Law would not have to do it again. 

Several months passed after Corazon’s surgery, and he could not deny the immense relief he felt. While he still struggled with his hand mobility at times, he was able to walk on inclines without the wobbly feeling in his steps, and that was a major shift in how he experienced the world.

Teaching his body to move all over again was no easy feat, and he often felt far more vulnerable than he had been in his old clumsiness. Ultimately, while there were “great” days, there were ones where the frustration of learning how to use his body got to him. Again, he was startled to find that he was met with compassion.

Today was much the same. The crew had just finished breakfast, and Law had sat with Corazon to talk while Corazon had his post-meal smoke. 

“How are you feeling today?” Law had asked. 

Corazon struggled with his lighter once, twice, three times, before the spark caught. “Fine,” he mumbled.

“Did you do your hand exercises this morning?” 

Cora strained to avoid Law’s knowing look - the one that said don’t lie or I’ll know. “I’ll do them later.”

“That’s what you said yesterday,” Law pointed out. “And now you’re paying for it.”

Corazon groaned. “It’s not getting any easier.”

“Improvement isn’t linear,” Law grumbled. “It won’t always feel like you’re improving, but you must keep going. If you stop when you think you’ve hit the ceiling, you’ll never know if it could be better.”

“Is this how you felt when you were a kid?” The thought had just occurred to Corazon.

“What, you mean feeling like I was relentlessly pushed to work hard and get better by some crazy person, even though I didn’t always want to?” Law gave him a mirthful grin. “All the time.”

“Damn,” Corazon muttered. There was no getting out of it then - not when Law gave him the benefit of the doubt all those years ago. 

Cora supposed he was lucky; luckier than he ever thought he could have been, to have taken a chance on a kid who deserved better. As it turns out, they both did.

[fantasybooksandtealeaves]

I will lay them down (a Gwynriel oneshot)

Image credit

Summary: An exploration of Gwyn's and Azriel's love story, from their first meeting to Gwyn's acknowledgement of, and ability to, accept the bond. Told entirely through their eyes (literally).

WC: 1.2K

Warnings: Implied/referenced SA and discussions of PTSD.

» read on Ao3

The first time she saw him, she was a broken vessel. A shadow of the fae who had once held hands with a dark-eyed mirror image of herself, who laughed like bells, who drank up the feeling of being alive as one might gulp down the juice of a ripe Summer fruit.

The first time she saw him, she was drenched in blood and tragedy. He landed enclosed in darkness, wrapped his arms and cloak around her shaking, brittle bones, and let a litany of “you’re safe, you’re safe, I’ve got you” s fall from his lips. He flew away, and with each beat of black wings that separated her from the temple where she’d been both raised and wrecked, she left behind pieces of her soul. 

The second time she saw him, she could not look away. Still more shadow than man, a fallen angel that stood taller than life and quieter than the library she now called home, Azriel glided through the ring as her eyes consumed him whole. Somewhere deep inside her chest, in a crevice she did not know existed, Gwyn felt an old, latent anger — at life, at the world, at the Gods themselves — for having ever deprived her of such a savagely beautiful sight.

The second time she saw him, his litany came back to her and hit her with the force of ten thousand Illyrian swords. Reality melted away, expanded and contracted around her, and she closed her eyes to bring her surroundings back into focus. When she opened them again, everything was just a little bit brighter.

She kept seeing him, and somewhere in this strange canvas where she was painting her new life, there were splotches of inky black interspersed with cobalt blue and honeyed hazel where playful jabs and late-night training lessons were bold enough to exist. There was a midnight hour at Winter Solstice where shadows danced with her breath and a low chuckle made her skin prickle. There was a look of fierce admiration and quiet encouragement when the sharp snip of a blade echoed in the wind after a ribbon was cut and a Valkyrie was born.

She kept seeing him, and every time she did, she wanted to see more. She kept seeing him, and every time their eyes locked, she felt compelled to come closer, to make him laugh again (forever, every day) , to take his maimed hands in hers and never let go. But he did not belong to her — he would never belong to her — so Gwyn held onto her weapon instead, and pretended the scabbard of her sword was a constellation of scars.

-

But then, the past collided with the present in a cruel, agonizing patchwork of irony, and Gwyn was thrown into a nightmare. The canvas that was her new life ripped as she was taken in the night, kept ripping as she thrashed and cried, it was shredded into pieces as she fought, screamed, and unloaded her sorrows at her sisters’ feet before she collapsed and everything went dark.

-

It was then, between blood-soaked legs at the temple in Sangravah and shattered bones at the top of Ramiel, in that nexus of worst fears coming true and old horrors coming back, that Gwyn swore she would never lay down her weapons again.

She was not who she was at the temple before she was violated and watched her sister’s head being split from her body. And she was no longer the priestess who slept in Emerie’s bed before they bound and gagged her. She was forged anew, with coldness and anger and violence that were all, if she cared to look deep enough, nothing but fear, fear, fear. 

They made her woman in a world where being woman was as good as a curse. They made her woman, and in her womanhood, chose to point weakness and exploit, bruise, take. So she would be savage. She would rip out throats with her bare teeth, and expose her body as the battlefield they decided it should be. Now she was devoted to her pain and she refused to let go. 

She would sit with her grief and would hold it between clenched teeth to spite Hybern, the Illyrians, the Gods that willed it to be so.

And yet he saw her. He kept seeing her as she abused her healed-over knuckles and grunted and drip drip dripped pools of sweat onto the mat. He saw her as she let a stoic mask (so like his own) take over her features and painted on frail smiles when her friends asked her if she was alright. He saw her. Her unspoken fear and disgust and sadness and the bone-wrenching tiredness. But also the laughter like bells, the thirst for life, the canvas she’d poured over for so many months. He saw, he saw, he saw ( everything. All of her. ).

He saw her, and every time he did, he always said — every day, he said — you’re safe, I’ve got you. 

But now he added, you’re home. 

He saw her and he wanted to say more. He never did, but he kept showing up and letting her beat him to a pulp, he kept showing up and letting the born-again litany fall from lips, he kept showing up and rubbing, rubbing, rubbing at his chest as he looked.

-

Every time Gwyn saw him again, it mattered less and less how well she was able to steel her features. How good she could be at pretending not to feel, not to want. Every time his eyes landed on her she was consumed, torn open, and scabbed raw. Her body ached with the need to step outside of her rage and into the world, into him , into the fallen angel whose low whispers and unmoving features spoke of a landing yet to come. 

He had fallen five hundred years ago, and he was falling still.

Gwyn wanted to catch him, to have her own litany for him, one that told him of devotion, of fears conquered and returned, of letting go. Let go, let go, let go, and I promise I will let go with you, the ancient voice in her chest beseeched her to scream.

She saw him a hundred times in the flesh.

A thousand times over in her dreams. 

She saw him in the before and the during, and now she saw him throughout this uncertain after. Though she could not say when in the middle of those hundreds (thousands) of times, Gwyn found — felt — saw — her walls faltering. And as each brick fell, she wondered if she could walk into another unknown where different ghosts might creep up and swallow her whole, if she could face everything with renewed hope and relish, even knowing (always knowing, this is the price of being alive) that she might be beaten down and expose old wounds that still bled to more vicious lashings. 

You can, you can, you can, the voice kept whispering, rumbling from within the space where her worn-out heart was beating still and a ribbon of light unfurled and tugged and begged. 

-

She could. She could, she decided one day, when she looked around the ravaged — beautiful, powerful — halls of her soul and realized her walls were nothing but ruins, and everything she was in the before and the during came together, barreling through and intertwining with the after until she was every version of herself at once. 

She could. For him, for them, she could. 

Her sword and shield had served her well. They would continue to do so. But for Azriel, she would lay them down and let them rest.

She would tell him, “I’m safe. You’re here. I’m home.”

She would tell him. 

Her mate.

[sparkletastic-cookiedough]

The worst part about polling is that I’m rarely able to answer simple questions with simple answers. Hence why I wrote an entire essay about your question instead.

This post has some vague spoilers for Yellowjackets Season 1, but it’s honestly so vague I’d struggle to call it a spoiler. I list a few examples of media where people die, but I do it in such vague terms that nothing is actually said.

My reaction to death in media really depends. A lot of my favorite fics are all very comedic, and would use an unexpected death as a source for a lot of jokes. Macabre humor, very Addams family style. I wouldn’t care much, and the character might even come back as a ghost later in the story.

I don’t think that’s quite what you’re asking about.

Death is a complicated thing when it comes to writing. It’s the ultimate tragedy, it’s the ending of a character’s journey.

Written poorly, death feels arbitrary. It feels like something that happened because the author ran out of ideas.

(I have to confess to using death to cut a story short, but that was for a class project that had a due date. I simply couldn’t spend another fifty hours working on the project, there wasn’t time for that).

Used well, death feels purposeful. It can wreck you emotionally. A death can be the entire point of the work, written into fate from the moment the characters were first on the page.

Sometimes, though, a death isn’t the best option for dramatic effect. There are many tales of tragedy or horror that end on fates far worse than death. Orpheus doesn’t die at the end of Hadestown, but I am still wrecked by his fate. Some of the most haunting episodes of Twilight Zone end in a purgatory of endless suffering.

When it comes to Ao3, I don’t usually go for longer works that focus on slow-burn drama. That’s not my cup of tea. For my beloved handful of longer dramatic pieces I am subscribed to, the death of a major supporting character would be a step of growth for the main character. I’d be intrigued on how the author intends to write through the process of grief.

It feels almost instinctual for a writer to place a death at the end of a story- death can be more interesting placed at the beginning or somewhere in the middle. Does a characters death mark raising stakes (Yellowjackets S1E10 does this really well, but it’s also a plot point in most slasher horror films.)? Perhaps it’s the inciting incident for a revenge plot (I’m pretty sure this is the plot of John Wick, but I haven’t seen it). Perhaps it’s the death of the home they once knew, giving them no choice but to journey in a different direction (Star Wars, Lion King). Perhaps the death of a companion is the consequence of a main characters foolishness, a permanent reminder to not make the same mistakes again (this is in a book about wizards, I just can’t remember what it’s called right now. It’s also Yellowjackets S1E10). That last one is a bit delicate. The entire point is that the death is preventable, which might be aggravating for people.

Naturally, some people may not like media that features death. Some people might not like intense dramatic stakes. I’m one of these people sometimes. After a long day at work, I don’t want the emotional stress of being absolutely wrecked by tragedy.

If I’m in that mood, I don’t seek out content that would come near featuring death. I read fluffy comedies. It would be a massive tone shift to have a death played seriously in any sort of fluffy comedy piece- imagine if Phineas and Ferb had Candice die. That would break the plot. The piece would probably have to shift forever, no longer able to continue like those deaths didn’t happen. It would take a lot of good writing to return to a fluffy comedy after a death. It’s possible- the Simpsons has had multiple deaths- but it would be nearly impossible if it’s a major character (which is why they can’t kill off Homer Simpson).

No one is paying you to write fanfiction. You don’t have to conform to any sort of expectations. If you want to kill off every character to make a point, then do it. Who cares what your audience thinks? You’re making art. Sometimes the purpose isnt just to make people happy. Sometimes, characters have to die. Sacrifice your characters for the art.

[phoenixcatch7]

Loz fandom stop being angsty and give the daydreaming kids on big fun adventures with a cool glowing sword some actual whimsy and joy challenge

[septimusmoonlight]

You doing ok?

hi

[escapingarchives]

Consider:

Nureyev’s going undercover as a hypnotist for a show at a grand party of the wealthy (somewhere in the estate is a safe with some very important schematics he'd like to get his hands on).

He researches extensively, first pouring over books and then spending hours choosing outfits, rehearsing flourishes and precise movements. He’s also researching the heist itself, of course. But this time, Juno seems more annoyed with all the time he spends on his research. Juno lounges on the bed watching his boyfriend practicing his entrance over and over, only interrupted by occasional dives to double check his books.

Juno huffs and breaks the silence.

“What a bunch of bullshit, can you believe people actually think this hypnosis shit works? Controlling other people with your voice, my ass.” He rolls his shoulders, they've been tense for days, and the pain is worsening his mood.

“Oh now, it’s a performance like any other,” Nureyev replies, “but my research shows people can be put in a trance, can be hypnotized, provided they want it themselves. One cannot make someone do something against their will. They must want to be hypnotized, to let go and be open and obedient. It's quite interesting."

“Can’t see why anyone would want that at all.” Juno says in a snappy retort, but he considers it in his head. Being in a trance, mind blank, just floating and being open to... whoever’s in control. He’d hate it, of course, he’d feel way too vulnerable. Even more so in front of a crowd, at a show of all things. He needs to always be alert.

But…

Sometimes he just wants a break from it all, even his own head. Especially his own head. To relax and leave himself in the hands of... well. Maybe he can see the appeal, just a little.

He doesn’t say any of this out loud, of course. Nureyev just hums, practising how he'll pick his pendant out of his front pocket.

“Juno,” he says after a while, “since you’re not receptive to actually being hypnotized, can I test the act on you? Then you can tell me how it looks, without being distracted.” He smiles, one of his canines peeking out.

“Yeah, alright,” Juno replies, trying to sound nonchalant. He sits up at the edge of the bed, stretching a little, ignoring the little jump of excitement he feels for a brief moment. “But I’m still gonna tell you whenever you sound way too ridiculous.”

Nureyev's smile widens, and Juno's eye focus on his sharp teeth. “Wonderful, Juno.”

Nureyev starts with his grand entrance, speaking to the imaginary audience. Juno’s both in awe at his confidence and ability to glide seamlessly into the role, through the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

He resists the temptation to make a snide remark when Nureyev adresses an invisible audience member with the tales of his past deeds.

“… and I shall do it all, with this!” Nureyev reveals the crystal pendant he’s fastened to a chain in a dramatic flourish. “Now, esteemed audience, please quiet down so I can demonstrate my abilities on this lovely lady.”

He sits on a chair in front of Juno. “Now please Juno, focus on the crystal. Let your thoughts clear. All that matters is to keep your eye on the crystal, and listen to my voice…”

Juno rolls his eye, but still leans forward. Nureyev holds the crystal up by the chain so it catches the light, and starts swinging it slowly back and forth.

"That looks really stupid," Juno remarks.

Nureyev shushes him.

It’s a pretty jewel, probably worth quite a lot. Juno wonders where Nureyev stole it. It’s a deep violet that shifts from a sparkling, deep blue, into a gold-speckled pink. It naturally grabs his attention, swinging back and forth. The swinging part still looks stupid. But maybe it would be nice to...

The pendant swings, and Nureyev keeps talking in his smooth voice. This might not be so bad, after all. Juno doesn’t feel vulnerable, there’s nothing to be worried about, he knows he’s safe with Nureyev. Who’s currently speaking, but Juno can’t recall what he’s been saying. He focuses on Nureyev’s steady voice again; he loves listening to that melodic voice.

“You feel the tension leave your jaw, your neck, your chest, arms, that’s it, relax…”

It’s surprisingly easy, Juno thinks, to relax. Usually it’s hard to let go of all the tension that sits in his body. It's such a constant part of him that it almost feels strange how easy it melts from his limbs.

“… your stomach, your legs..."

He's breathing more deeply now, he notices. It's comfortable where he sits on the bed, letting his eye follow the pretty pendant that catches the light. He's safe here.

"...very good, relax for me, you're doing so well."

Juno feels warm at that. He's glad he's doing well. Nureyev's voice really suits this kind of thing, he thinks. Smooth and low and inviting. Juno wants to tell him he sounds nice, but he's so relaxed. It can wait. He struggles to keep his eye open.

"... even more relaxed and sleepy, and you'll only let go on my count - wait, Juno?"

The pendant stops for a moment. Juno lets out a low, protesting sound. It's very hard, but Juno lifts his heavy eye to Nureyev's face. He was doing well, wasn't he?

"Are you really -?" Nureyev says softly.

Juno's so relaxed and comfortable, he felt so close to letting go and now he's confused about what Nureyev's even talking about. He manages a questioning "hmm?"

Nureyev stares at him for a long moment, considering, and then he smiles again, showing his sharp teeth. He cups Juno's face, and it feels nice, so Juno leans into it.

"Oh Juno, you are too lovely, " Nureyev says and holds up the pendant again, swinging the beautiful crystal. "Look back at the crystal and keep listening. That's it, well done, and you feel yourself gliding back into the comfortable feeling. Just focus on my voice and how good it feels."

Juno's eye is following the jewel again, how it catches the light, his breathing evening out. He feels like he's enveloped in a soft blanket.

"When I count down, you will feel even more relaxed at every step. When I reach zero, you will sleep for me. You'll be fully under, open, and relaxed. No need to be distracted, just be in the moment, no need to think of anything else..."

Distantly, Juno hears Nureyev speak for another minute, then he starts to count down from ten. For every number, he feels heavier, and more and more comfortable. It's so easy to let go. He wants to let go, to let Nureyev take care of him. Vaguely, he realizes he's wanted it ever since Nureyev introduced him to his newest con. Blank, soft, mindless. Quiet. Juno wants that, and he trusts Nureyev. Of course he does.

"Zero. Sleep for me, Juno."

Juno does.

[northernstcr]

light fires at night (to fill the void) by inthesea is required reading for andreillers

[tumblinglikeduckling]

I wanted to know how many words I had read this year bc I feel sort of guilty of not reading the physical books I have been wanting to finish and… I- I’ve read around 1.300.000 words in fan fiction .. this year 😭😭😭 when did I have the time to do that??? How do I still have the time?? I thought I didn’t read that much but just for the last few months it was 250000… I’m kinda scared😭😭

[sai-int]

TICKET TO PLAY | john price

Sheriff Price has a habit of pulling you over, and you have a habit of seeing how far you can push him. It’s a game you've been playing for years—a harmless one, until he gives you exactly what you’ve been asking for.

⤿ based on this | [ AO3 ]

18+ AU, fem!reader, small town vibes, porn with minimal plot, smut, oral (m receiving), dom!john (back and forth between hard and soft), bratty—sort of pathetic reader, fingering, squirting, public sex, smidge of voyeurism, size kink if you really read the fine print, implied slight age gap [ 6.6k words ]

You weren’t going that fast.

Maybe nudging 35 in a 25, but the road was empty—just you and the soft, golden light of a July evening slipping into dusk. The cicadas hummed their lazy symphony, crickets chirping in harmony, while the air carried the scent of fresh-cut grass and summer warmth. It was the kind of night that wrapped around you like a blanket, slow and sweet, the kind that made you want to roll the windows down and let the world drift by.

But then the sirens sliced through the calm, sharp and jarring, shattering the stillness. Red and blue lights flashed in your rearview, splashing the road ahead in a chaotic swirl of color. Your hands tightened on the wheel, that familiar knot twisting in your gut. You didn’t even need to check the mirror to know who it was.

Sheriff John Price.

The small-town Sheriff (asshole) that had a sixth sense for catching you when you weren’t even doing anything wrong. The guy who’d written you up for a rolling stop at an empty intersection, or a right on red at 2 a.m. when the streets were dead silent. Sure, maybe you were five over on a straight stretch of road, but come on—did he really have nothing better to do than hassle you over that? It was starting to feel like he was just looking for excuses to pull you over.

At this point, you figured you were practically on a first-name basis. Hell, you were probably the most frequent flyer on his ticket roster. But that was the trade-off for living in a town where the sheriff knew everyone’s business—and apparently, yours most of all.

You eased the rickety old Nissan Skyline to a crawl, tires screeching softly as you pulled onto the shoulder and shifted into park. Your fingers moved on autopilot, fishing the registration out of the center console before he even asked. If John Price had one talent, it was knowing where you were before you did—and you’d learned the hard way to keep things within arm’s reach.

The music blared for a second longer before you killed the volume, the sudden silence pressing down on the summer night like a weight. You rolled down the window, letting the warm, sticky air flood the cabin, thick with the scent of grass and distant rain. Leaning back in your seat, one hand resting lazily on the wheel, you waited. Same old song and dance.

First came the slam of his cruiser door, sharp and final, like he was already annoyed at the prospect of dealing with you. Then the crunch of his boots on the asphalt—slow, deliberate, each step dragging out the inevitable. It was almost comical, the way he took his time, like he wasn’t the one who’d flipped on the lights and sirens.

The window hissed as it rolled down, the sound jarring in the quiet, and before you could stop yourself, a smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth. You didn’t bother hiding it this time. If you were walking away thirty dollars lighter, you might as well make it entertaining.

"Evenin’, John," you drawl, letting the words hang in the air with a playful edge that makes his jaw tighten.

He leans in, his arms braced against the window frame like he owns the whole damn road. His face is all sharp lines and shadows in the fading light, the faint scent of cigarettes and worn leather wrapping around you, mingling with the heavy, humid air of the summer night.

“Don’t call me John,” he grumbles, his voice rougher than usual, like gravel under tires.

You raise an eyebrow, your lips curling into a grin. “Why not?” you tease, letting your fingers trail lazily along the steering wheel. “Thought we were friends, John.” You bat your lashes, adding a pout for good measure, laying it on thick just to see how far you can push him this time

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t even blink. His eyes narrow, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he leans in closer, his presence crowding you. “We aren’t ‘friends,’” he says, his voice low, almost a growl. “You know why I pulled you over?”

It’s not really a question—it’s a challenge, and you can’t help but rise to it. You tilt your head, letting your gaze linger on him, your smirk widening. “Hmm… maybe ‘cause you’re a sucker for a pretty car?” you suggest, your tone dripping with sarcasm, sweet enough to sting.

John’s lips press into a thin line, but the subtle shift in his posture tells you everything you need to know. His gaze is unrelenting, sharp enough to cut through the cool facade you’re trying so hard to maintain. Internally, he’s fighting not to laugh—you can see it in the way his shoulders tense, like he’s holding back a cackle.

“If this—” he steps back, his eyes sweeping over the exterior of your car with deliberate slowness before landing back on you, “—is your idea of a ‘pretty car,’ I might have to issue you a ticket for driving without glasses.”

You lean back in your seat, arms crossing over your chest, your mouth hanging open in mock offense. Just because Fergie was old didn’t mean she was ugly. “Has anyone ever told you you’re an ass?”

He stands there for a moment, just watching you, his expression unreadable. It’s like he’s weighing how much more of this he’s willing to put up with. Finally, he tilts his head, his voice dry as dust. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a brat?”

“Touché.”

You two had been here before. Over and over again. Ever since you’d come back home from college, he’d been hot on your trail—always showing up at the worst possible moments, right when you thought you might’ve gotten away with it.

This was your town. You’d grown up here, knew every road, every corner, every face. It was small, sure, but it was yours. And then John Price showed up. Sparkling, brand new hot-shot sheriff, fresh off the Mayflower. Sworn in by all the touch-starved wives and swooned over by every teenage girl in a fifty-mile radius. Ever since he’d arrived, it was like Elvis all over again

You figured he didn’t have the right to boss the locals around like he owned the place. No shiny badge or gun on his hip was going to earn him any respect from you. This wasn’t some big city where the badge meant everything. Out here? You could be just as stubborn as he was.

Still, he had a knack for showing up when you least expected it, always lurking in the background, keeping an eye on you for reasons you couldn’t quite figure out. No one could explain it, but there he was, always hovering like you were some kind of problem. But you never did anything wrong. Not really.

“I bet you 50 bucks there’s about five disgruntled teens smoking pot under the high school bleachers as we speak,” you say, leaning back in your seat with a grin tugging at your lips. “Surely, they deserve your devotion and attention more than little ol’ me.”

He pauses, clearly weighing your words, and you can see the flicker of recognition in his eyes. “I don’t want your money,” he mutters, his tone dry but with a hint of amusement—and something else you can’t quite place. “Besides, I doubt you’ve got 50 dollars to spare, considering how often you’re in the precinct paying off tickets.” He leans in just a little, his gaze sharp, like he’s daring you to argue.

You shrug, playing the part, even though you know he’s right. “Hey, I’m just saying. You’re wasting your time with me. I’m practically a model citizen. Those kids under the bleachers, though? They could be causing all kinds of trouble.”

You give him a sidelong glance, letting the playful challenge hang in the air between you. “I’m just trying to help you out here, Sheriff.”

Your tone is sweet—too sweet—and you can almost see the gears turning in his head as he tries to figure out whether you’re messing with him or just being your usual self.

He takes a slow breath, clearly trying to keep his composure. His hand pinches the bridge of his nose before he exhales, the sound heavy with exasperation. “Oh, I’m sure you are,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Big help, givin’ me that advice.”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward just enough to close the distance between you, your voice dripping with mock sincerity. “What can I say, Sheriff? Someone’s gotta make your job worthwhile.”

For a moment, the world seems to narrow to just the two of you. The air grows heavy, charged with something you can’t quite name, and the silence stretches taut between you. But then the faint hum of a car engine cuts through the stillness, tires rolling past on the asphalt—a sharp reminder that you’re not alone out here.

“Step out of the car.” His voice is calm, steady, but there’s a flicker of something darker beneath the surface, a low undercurrent that sends a shiver down your spine.

Your jaw tightens, anger flaring hot and sudden in your chest. He’s never asked you to step out of the car before, and the demand catches you off guard. You can’t afford to be arrested—not with a shift at the diner at 6 a.m. tomorrow morning, not with the way your life is already balanced on a knife’s edge. The thought of cuffs, of being hauled into the precinct, makes your stomach churn.

But you don’t move. Not yet. Instead, you meet his gaze, your own sharp and defiant, and for a heartbeat, the two of you are locked in a silent standoff.

You don’t say a word, just reach down to unclick your seatbelt with an indignant sigh, movements slow—like dragging out the inevitable might change the outcome. The latch pops, the sound too loud in the quiet, and you open the door, letting the evening air rush in, cool against the heat prickling at your skin.

You step out, tugging your shorts down where they’ve ridden up, keeping your gaze on the ground, on the cracks in the pavement, anywhere but at him. You try to keep your breathing steady, try to act like this is just another bullshit stop, just another way for him to waste your time and break your wallet. But your heart’s already racing, faster than you want it to.

Then his hand is on your hip.

Firm. Unmoving. Not quite guiding, not quite restraining. Just there. A weight that lingers, like a silent reminder that he’s the one in control here, no matter how much you want to believe otherwise.

For a second, you freeze.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just watches you. The silence stretches, thick and heavy, charged with something you don’t want to name.

You swallow, still refusing to look at him. “Gonna write me a bullshit ticket, John?” Your voice is casual, flippant—too much so. You know it, and so does he.

He doesn’t answer right away, and that makes it worse.

Because the truth is, you’d rather he just do it. Write the damn ticket, hand you the fine, and send you on your merry way. That would be easy. It’d be normal.

But nothing about him has ever been easy. And this? Whatever this is? It sure as hell isn’t normal.

His fingers tighten—just slightly—but it’s enough. Enough for you to catch it, that flicker of something dark and barely restrained. His jaw tightens, his nostrils flare, and you realize he’s at his limit.

Like he’s weighing his options. Like he’s wondering if he should just give you the damn ticket and walk away. 

You tilt your chin up, finally meeting his gaze, like a challenge. Would he?

His voice is tight when he finally speaks, low and strained, every word biting through the air.

"You think this is a game?"

You pause, letting the question linger as you ponder. Is it a game? Is that what this has always been? This back-and-forth, this constant chase—where you go about your life, minding your business, and he shows up, lurking, watching, like he’s got nothing better to do than make you his personal problem.

Would he really arrest you? Pin you against his cruiser and throw you in the back? Take you downtown like you’re some criminal? The thought sends a slow, involuntary shiver down your spine, but the more you think about it, the more ridiculous it sounds. If he was going to do it, it would’ve happened already.

He’s just a big softie. A stubborn, gruff, self-righteous pain in the ass who acts like he’s got the whole town in a chokehold but has spent too many years shadowing you for it to be a coincidence.

And deep down, you reckon he must have some sick, weird crush if the only way he can muster up the courage to see you is by stuffing a white slip of paper under your windshield wiper, like he can’t even be bothered to have a conversation without the safety of bureaucracy to hide behind.

You don’t even have to think about it anymore. 

This is a game.

You keep your gaze steady, watching him. Watching the way he’s fighting to maintain that authority, to keep control. And through the harsh headlights from his car, it’s almost cute—the way his jaw tightens, the way his nostrils flare ever so slightly, the way his fingers twitch against your hip like he’s waging a war with himself. Like he thinks he can win.

But he can’t.

Not really.

His grip on you tightens, fingers pressing deeper, slipping beneath soft flesh to squeeze the bone. Like he’s trying to ground himself. Like he thinks if he just holds on tight enough, he can remind himself who’s in charge here.

But you see it—the shift in his expression, the cracks forming right in front of you. His eyes are darker now, narrowed with something he’s still pretending isn’t there, and his teeth grit like it physically pains him to keep standing here.

You just can’t resist.

You lean in just enough, close enough that your breath tickles his cheek, and with a slow, knowing smirk, you whisper, “You’ve been dying to get your hands on me, haven’t you, John?”

The words hang between you, sharp and saccharine, and for a moment, it’s like the world holds its breath.

His eyes go dark, that flicker of anger flashing through them like a warning. But it’s not just anger anymore. It’s something else, something raw. For a split second, you’re certain he’s off the deep end.

Before you can even blink, his hand moves. It’s fast, and suddenly, he’s grabbing you by the arm, yanking you toward him with a force that steals the breath from your lungs.

“Get over here,” he growls.

The words are rough, guttural, scraping against his throat like he’s been holding them back for too long.

The next thing you know, he’s dragging you to the hood of his cruiser, his grip tight and bruising as his fingers wrap around your wrist, effortlessly dwarfing it. The cold metal of the hood bites against your skin as he shoves you down, bending you over the car.

And then he’s on you.

His chest is solid heat against your back, his weight pressing you into the hood like he’s making sure you stay there. Your breath catches, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven movements as you try to process just how quickly the shift between you has turned into this.

“Talk so fuckin’ much,” he mutters through clenched teeth, his voice a growl of frustration and something deeper, something rougher. His breath fans against your ear, hot and unsteady, sending a shiver down your spine.

One hand clamps over your wrists, holding them firm against the small of your back, while the other tangles in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to expose the vulnerable line of your throat.

The grip is possessive. Unforgiving, like he’s staking a claim.

“You think you can just keep pushing me? Keep fuckin’ with me like this, hmm?”

A soft whimper tumbles from your lips, and you bite down hard on your bottom lip, the rest of the sound dying in your throat. His hand pulls on your hair, making your neck arch back, and the sharp tug sends a jolt straight to your cunt. You try to choke back the reaction, but it’s impossible—the way he’s holding you, the way he’s pressing into you with every word, every move.

His body presses into yours, the intensity of it all making your pulse race. Despite everything, despite the situation, a shiver runs down your spine. You can tell he’s holding back by the way his teeth grit, the sharpness in his voice. 

You smirk, tilting your head slightly to meet his gaze from the side. “By the way John Jr’s more sprung than a rainy day in April, I’d say you like it,” he groans and you chuckle, “You do like it, don’t you, John?”

The words slip from your lips, taunting him, and you can feel the shift in his posture before he even moves. His grip on your hair tightens, pulling you back further, forcing you to arch your neck more as he leans in, his breath hot and heavy against your skin, each exhale brushing over you like a warning.

“Think you’ve got me figured out?” he growls, teeth grazing the curve of your ear, his words a promise and a threat all at once. “Since you’re so fuckin’ knowledgeable, tell me something…”

Your pulse quickens, the anticipation like the loaded gun in his waistband. “Tell you what?” you ask, your voice quiet, almost breathless, but your eyes never leave his.

“Tell me what I do t’dumb girls that don’t know how t’speak only when spoken to,” he murmurs, his grip shifting, pulling you in closer, his body pressing against yours in a way that makes it impossible to ignore the growing bulge in his pants. 

You can feel his cock twitch with interest in his jeans, and instinctively, you roll your hips back into his. The firm bulge presses against your pulsating cunt, offering just the smallest bit of reprieve from the ache in your clit and you can’t help but whimper. “You give them a ticket and send them on their way?”

“Nice try, love,” he says, the words dripping with disappointment, like he’s genuinely let down by your guess.

Before you can even react, his hand leaves your hair, and you hear the cold click of the cuffs snapping around your wrists.

You jerk against the restraint, but it’s useless. You turn to look up at him, but the look on his face—hands on his hips, blue eyes locked on you—makes you stop.

No smirk, no joke. Just intensity.

“Get on your knees,” he says, voice low, rough, without hesitation.

You bite your lip, the urge to snap back hitting you. But instead, you swallow it down and push yourself up, kneeling before him on the pavement. The roughness of it bites into your skin, the cuffs digging into your wrists, each pull reminding you of just how much control he has in this situation.

His boot taps lightly against your thigh, the sound sharp in the quiet air, a silent demand for your attention. You glance up, meeting his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes makes your breath catch. It’s a look that makes your pulse quicken, as if he can see right through you, into everything you’re trying to shovel deep..

“Sit,” he commands, the word simple, authoritative.

It takes you a second to realize what he means, but when his boot nudges against your clothed cunt, you get it. 

You lift your hips slow, like you’re not sure but can’t help it, settling atop his boot. The sensation makes a shiver run up your spine. His fingers find your hair again, firm, enough to tilt your head back and make you look up at him.

“This’s been a long time coming, hasn’t it, dove?” His voice is quiet, almost a whisper, like he’s savoring the sight of you—knees to the ground, wrists bound, eyes wide as you stare up at him. He can’t help but palm himself at the sight.

Your heart pounds against your ribs, heat simmering in your cheeks with anticipation. “I’m not gonna beg,” you sneer, defiant like your cunt isn’t already drooling for him. The lie sits thick on your tongue, heavy enough to choke on.

He smirks—slow like he’s amused, but there’s something else there, like he’s already decided how he’ll play with you.

“That’s cute,” his fingers tighten in your hair, tilting your head back just a little further. Your lips part on instinct, a quiet, pained mewl slipping out before you can stop it.

“but you will,” he hums with a smile so saccharine, it makes you want to smack it off his face. His free hand reaches for his belt, fumbling with the leather as he pulls it out of the buckle. You can feel your body buzzing with anticipation, the tension building in every nerve of your body. Everything in your mind is screaming at you, telling you how wrong this is, how this can’t happen. But deep down, you know he’s right. This has been a long time coming.

But fuck, he’s a literal cop, the Sheriff. This has to fall under some public indecency law.

But despite everything, despite all the warnings your mind throws at you, the pull is stronger, too real to ignore. And you can’t stop yourself from leaning into it.

He peels down the zipper of his blue slacks and the sound echoes in your ears. You’re on your knees on the shoulder of a road, the last vestiges of daylight fading, and God help you, your mouth waters when you see the outline of his solid cock through his boxers.

He doesn't break eye contact, his other hand still tight in your hair, daring you to even try to look away. The recklessness, the sheer audacity of him whipping out his cock in the middle of a traffic stop. It’s all so palpable, like a stack of weights on your chest. He tugs down his boxers in one fluid movement, his cock springing free, and you can’t help but try to back away at the sight. 

He's massive in every sense of the word. Dark curls trail from his navel to the base of him, thick but neatly kept. His cock hangs low and heavy between his legs, thick and long with a few veins and just the softest blush of pink at his tip. There’s no way you can take him all, let alone in your mouth. 

He could see the shift in your eyes, the sudden apprehension in your demeanor, and the hand in your hair loosened. He trailed his fingers from your scalp to your cheek, his thumb wandering to the plump flesh of your parted lips.

“You can say no, dove. I won’t hold it against you,” he says softly, giving you an out. His blue eyes soften as they meet yours, and you know he wouldn’t force you. But the way the hard leather of his boot presses through your shorts, firm against your clit, has you fighting the urge to grind against him. You want—No, need him. Badly.

You bow your head to meet his cock, tongue darting out, hungrily swiping up the drop of precum dangling from his tip. He automatically groans and his hands find their way back to your scalp, feeding his cock into your mouth. Your lips tighten around him immediately, suckling as he presses in and stretches you out. 

“Fuck— that’s it, love, so fuckin’ tight,” he babbles as he watches his length disappear in your mouth over and over. His eyes flutter shut as he tips his head back—he knew if he looked at you any longer he’d blow his load too soon. Your tongue is just so hot. He hadn’t expected it to be ice, but God you were sweltering. He nestled himself in the back of your throat so nicely, tickling and toying with your gag reflex each time you bobbed your head. You coat his length with slick spit, the sounds of your gags subconsciously making him push your head down even further. 

You focus on steady breaths through your nose as his grip tightens. Your hands strain against the cuffs, aching to touch, to feel, to at least stroke where your mouth can’t reach. So pretty like this, he thinks. The way you look up at him, defiant yet desperate. The way your breath catches and your throat flutters around his mushroomed tip.

It drives him crazy—how much he wants to break that control, to make you lose it completely. His groans only spur you on further, your tongue moving with purpose, tracing the prominent vein along his underside.

Your hips jerk against his boot as spit gathers at the corners of your mouth, knees grinding into the asphalt, but you barely notice the sting. All you can think about is the way it makes heat pool in your cunt—sends sparks up your spine. 

You can’t help it—your hips keep moving, grinding against his boot, the rough leather driving you wild, and you’re sure you’re leaving a wet spot. The friction is delicious, and you’re so lost in it that you almost miss when he speaks.

 “Look at you,” he says, smirking despite how badly he needs to cum. “Can’t even help yourself, can you? Just a needy little mutt, humpin’ my boot.”

His hand tugs your strands, not rough but firm, just enough to make you gasp. “Just need your pretty pussy touched, that right?” he tuts softly, pulling you off him, a thin strand of saliva connecting your glistening lips to the tip of his cock.  “On your feet, come on.” He guides you up, your legs shaky and chest heaving but his grip steadies you. “There you go, sweetheart.”

The sky’s a deep blue now, the sun long gone, the cruiser’s headlights casting faint shadows. He shoves you back against the hood, the metal cool against the backs of your thighs. His hands are on you immediately, rough and demanding, squeezing your thighs, your tits, like he’s marking his territory. 

You bite your lip, trying to steady your breathing, but it’s useless. His fingers dig into your flesh, and your hips jerk instinctively, craving more. “So quiet now, hm?” he hums, his face centimeters from yours. “What happened to that smart little mouth of yours?”

The way he switches from caring to being so dominant, it makes your head spin. You glare at him, but he doesn’t care. His hand slides under the waistband of your shorts, fingers dancing over your soaked panties, and you can’t stop the way your hips roll into his hand, desperate for any touch he’ll give. “All this for me, sweet girl?” he mutters, middle finger slowly circling your sensitive clit, “All wound up, yeah? Need me to set you straight?”

“Fuck—,” you whine, your hips bucking into his hand, you can feel his breath against your lips as he chuckles. He deftly pulls your panties to the side, groaning when his fingers slide through your folds. His lips find your neck and he mouths at the sensitive patch of skin above your pulse, sucking a dark, red splotch into your skin as if you’re his. 

You instinctively toss your head back, letting him lick hot, wet stripes from your clavicle to your jaw. He slips a single finger into you and your cunt squelches embarrassingly. 

“Feels so good, John—,” you whine into the evening breeze as he pumps his finger in you, curling to hit your g-spot with precision you’ve never experienced. He smiles against your skin before enveloping your lips with his.

It’s hungry, messy, and desperate. His tongue crowds your mouth trying to drink you whole, like he’s been parched, waiting for you to quench his thirst since he first met you. He swallows your whines and pleas for more as he works you open, grinning when he slips in his ring finger alongside the middle and you gasp.

It’s a pathetic attempt, really, to kiss him back—to try to match his fervor. He has you at his mercy and you’re near collapsing into him as he finger fucks you, low heat pooling in your belly as the coil tightens, as you claw at the hood of the car, wishing the cuffs weren’t there—wishing you could claw at him instead.

“Feel you gettin’ all tight ‘round me, dove. Gonna cum? Gonna soak my fingers, doll?” He questions against your lips. Your walls are squeezing him so tight, sucking him in and keeping them there. So greedy, he thinks.

You nod vehemently, biting your lip so you don’t scream—or sob, you aren’t sure how to feel—into the air. He grinds the heel of his palm against your clit, and that’s all you need to finally break. You near black out when you cum, sparks shooting up your spine and making your vision go black for a moment, his fingers lazily working you through your orgasm as your legs shake and your walls damn near break his fingers. 

“That’s my girl, knew you could do it,” he hums against your temple, wiping away tears you hadn’t known fallen. 

You hadn’t cum that hard in your life. Not by yourself, and most certainly not by any of the lame frat boys you fucked in your college days.

But John isn’t in a frat.

And he certainly isn’t just a boy.

He gently slips  his hand out of your pants, bringing his fingers up to his lips before popping them into his mouth. The way his eyes flutter shut, eyebrows pulling together softly as he groans at the taste of you on his tongue, it’s all fucking sinful. You watch him, mesmerized as he pulls the glistening digits out of his mouth with a pop. 

He dips his head to yours, kissing you again, but much softer this time, less hungry, more savoring. You can taste the subtle tang of your own juices on his tongue, and you’d be a liar if you said it didn’t turn you on further. 

John subtly tugs your shorts and panties down, the fabric whispering against your skin. He fishes for a small key in his pocket, before using them on the cuffs. They open, releasing your raw wrists with a near-silent snick. You feel the moment the cuffs fall away, and your hands move as if drawn by an invisible force, reaching for him, clutching at his jaw, pulling him closer with urgency. Your fingers roam his shoulders, his neck, tracing the hard lines of his body as he spreads your legs, tossing your discarded shorts aside. He settles between them, lazily pumping his cock with his free hand. 

“You want this, love?” he whispers against your lips.

You nod almost imperceptibly before crashing your lips back to his, like you just can’t get enough. 

He kisses you back like a magnet, but just as quickly, he pulls away again.

“Words,” he says sternly.

You huff, ever the impatient brat. “Put your fucking cock in me or I swear to God, I'll get in my car and drive right out of here.”

“That right?” he scoffs, "You gonna drive off?" He brings his angry red tip to your sodden folds, teasing your sensitive clit with each brush, making you jolt, “You want t’act like a brat,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. “Then we can do this the hard way.” He leans in, his lips brushing against yours. “Unless,” he murmurs, ghosting the head of his cock into your hole, “you'd like to ask nicely.”

You bite your lip as you watch him tease you, fighting a groan at the way your cunt squelches and stretches around just his tip. 

“She’s so greedy, already tryin’ to suck me in,” he coos, “don’t want to deprive her, now do we?”

You whine as he notches just the head in. He pauses, waiting for you to speak before he moves any further. ​You open your mouth and your voice just breaks as you leak and drip around him and onto the hood of the car. 

“Please, John, Please, I need you—Please, I’ll be so good,” You break and claw at his shoulders and back, desperate to pull him closer to you, to have you flush against him, chest to chest and full of his cock.

“See how gorgeous you sound when you’re nice? See where that gets you, love?” He coos as he inches his cock into you. Your walls are already fluttering, still all worked up from your last orgasm. He has to fight the urge to cum right then and there, gritting his teeth as his grip tightens on your thighs, fingers dimpling the fat as he spears you open. 

You’re slack jawed, eyes glassy as he bottoms out. You’ve never been so full and stretched in your life. You can feel him in every orifice of your body, you feel him in the pits of your stomach, in the hollows of your lungs, in the cavern of your throat. His tip nudges against your cervix and all you can manage is a strangled sob. 

“Oh none of that, lovie, none of that,” he hums, pecking your lips and wiping the tears from your eyes with the pads of his thumbs.

 “Gonna fuck you real nice,” the thumb he used to wipe your tears away travels south, finding your clit and drawing soft, slow circles that have you gushing and relaxing around him, “Just be a good pet and take it.”

You nod as he cradles your head in his hand. He gently moves his hips, inching his cock out of your cunt before sliding back in, squeezing the air out of you like a fucking balloon. 

Gasps fall from your lips with each stroke, not entirely from discomfort, but from the sheer intensity of the feeling. He repeats the motion, a slow, deliberate push and pull that sends shivers down your spine. He keeps his thumb on your clit steady, making your legs shake, a burning heat already blossoming low in your belly. You grip his shoulders, your nails digging into his clothed frame as you try to anchor yourself against the rising tide of sensation.

He continues, his movements becoming more insistent, more demanding. Each thrust is deeper, faster, steady plaps from where his hips repeatedly meet yours. He knocks the breath out of you, each stroke forcing a soft mewl from your lips, your body trembling with anticipation. The world narrows, focusing on the rhythmic movements of his hips, the feel of his skin against yours, the sound of your ragged breaths mingling with his.

He leans, his lips brushing against your own. “That's it, doll,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “Take it all.”

His words ignite a fire within you, a raw, primal need that surges through your veins. You arch your back, meeting his thrusts with a ferocity that surprises even yourself. His pace quickens, his movements becoming more urgent, more erratic, and you know he’s getting close. The burning in your abdomen intensifies, spreading outwards, and throughout your body.

His name falls from your lips in a litany—John, John, John, john—a prayer, both a plea and a demand as his cock plows into you with staggering precision. Your cunt clenches around him, milking every ounce of pleasure from each stroke. He groans, cursing as his grip tightens on your hips, until you wail, toes curling and clawing at his back, your voice hoarse as you squirt all over him. He continues to move, his rhythm relentless, until he too reaches his peak, groaning as his body shudders, as he spurts hot ropes of cum deep inside your cunt.

You’re breathless, spent, your limbs heavy and relaxed. The dampness of sweat cooled on your skin, a pleasant contrast to the lingering heat between your legs. The world slowly comes back into focus and a soft smile plays on your lips as you trace the line of his jaw with your fingertips.

“That was…” you murmur, your voice still rough.

He nuzzles your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “A lot,” he finishes for you, his voice low.

You hum in agreement, tightening your grip on his jaw just slightly. You don't need to say more. The silence that settles between you is comfortable. He shifts slightly, and it reminds you he's still there, sheathed inside you.

You close your eyes, savoring the warmth of his body against yours, a comforting heat that seeps into your skin. Every nerve ending still fires, buzzing with aftershocks.

Slowly, he inches out of you. It feels weird to not be full of him, a sudden emptiness that makes you instinctively clench. He's out, and the cool air against your skin is a stark reminder of the reality of the situation. Of the fact that you’re literally on the side of the road. John reaches for your discarded clothes, picking them up with a casualness that borders on audacious. 

He starts with your panties, briefly bending down in front of you as you step into them. He pulls them up your legs, snapping the elastic against your hip. “Sheriff’s discretion,” he murmurs, his eyes glinting with amusement as he fastens your shorts too. “Wouldn't want you getting a ticket for indecent exposure.” Fucking knew it.

You raise an eyebrow, a smirk playing on your lips. “You were just as indecent as I was, if I recall.”

He shrugs as he tugs up his own pants, a picture of nonchalant authority. “Evidence suggests otherwise, doll,” he counters, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Besides,” he adds, his voice dropping to a low rumble, “I'm the one writing the tickets.” He finishes buttoning your shorts, his fingers lingering against your skin. 

The world sways for a moment, your legs still a little shaky. He steadies you, his arm around your waist. He walks you back to your car, the silence between you comfortable, filled with unspoken understanding. He stops just short of the driver's side door, his hand resting comfortably on your back.

“Drive safe,” he says, his voice softer than you've ever heard it.

You nod, your eyes meeting his. You stand on your tip toes and kiss him, a soft, lingering peck on his lips that’s got him feeling like a teenager again.. He responds in kind, other hand moving to cup your cheek. Judging by how he holds you close, he’s reluctant to pull away.

But he does, and he turns and walks back to his cruiser. Eventually, You watch his car fade away, a strange mix of emotions swirling within you. Then, with a deep breath, you turn and get into your car. The door shuts and you just exhale, replaying everything that just happened. 

You reach to crank the keys sitting in the ignition and your eyes fall on a small white rectangle tucked under the windshield wiper. You get back out of the car and pull it free. 

It's a ticket. For speeding.

Asshole. 

[honey-tongued-devil]

[Arcane preference]reacting to their s/o calling them husband/wife for the first time

I’ve finished the first chapter of the long fic about Universe 7 (Anytime it rains). As soon as my second beta reader gives me the okay, I’ll post it. While I wait, I’ve written the first headcanon (out of three I’m definitely planning to write and post in the next few days) and picked up the drawing of Steb I’d left unfinished. I’m slow, as usual, but English isn’t my first language, and I’m juggling a lot of things at once. Enjoy!

socials: | INPRNT | | Tip Jar | | X | | BlueSky | | Ao3 | poster: | Jayce poster | | Silco poster | |Silco +self insert poster 1| | Steb poster | if you want to read the fluff longfic with vander and his happy family + Silco x reader you can find it here! ↠ Masterlist

Jayce:

-This man is planning to put a ring on your finger as soon as possible, okay? -Between the academy, public appearances, and both theoretical and practical studies, there isn’t a single moment when he’s really in the right mindset to bring up the topic -The worst part is that, deep down, he’s terrified of putting pressure on you -That’s why, the first time he hears you refer to him as “my husband” during a gala with noble families, he almost chokes -He has to gather all his strength not to grab the interlocutor by the shoulders and ask if they also heard you say that word -He’ll try to keep his composure, maybe responding to your remark with, “Yes, exactly. Her husband really did say/do/design that.”

Viktor:

-It’s not a thought he’s ever really entertained; it never crossed his mind -Part of it is that science is his priority, and part of it is that marriage doesn’t seem like something meant for people like him, -The first time you call him “your husband”, that thought suddenly becomes real in his head, and he can’t help but lean against a wall and wait for the other person to leave -“So, I’m your husband now, huh? Mmm… I don’t mind, a bit pretentious, though…” he jokes, making you roll your eyes -Now, more than ever, he has no idea what to do. He’ll give you a bronze ring from a machine he’s building -“Until I can get one worthy of you.”

Ekko:

-Yes -That’s it -The end -Okay, seriously. The idea of being certain that something will last forever is probably his greatest wish -The first time you call him your husband, he doesn’t see it coming -“Wait, you’re married?” -“I was talking about you, Ekko.” -The moment you say it, he points to his chest, you see his lip tremble slightly, and his eyes grow shinier -He won’t stop talking about it for a week, and at least once a day, he’ll ask if you still want to marry him, if you’re sure, if you love him -No rings before S2; the promise is made by drawing something for each other on your masks and clothes -After S2, he still can’t afford a ring, but now that life is more stable, he can start thinking about a more traditional gift, like a piece of jewelry

Vander:

-This man is ravenous for any family role you might offer him—fiancé, father, husband. Anything goes -The first time you call him “husband”, he plays it cool but will seize the first opportunity to return the favor by telling a customer you’re married -As soon as he can, he’ll squeeze your hand, even under the counter -The idea of being married and having a complete family is everything he’s ever wanted -He won’t stop calling you “my beautiful wife/husband” from that moment on.

-You said it first; you can’t take it back. Now you have to get married

Silco (old man):

-This man’s only sin is loving too much, but I’ll save that reflection for another post -Having no ties other than his illegitimate daughter doesn’t make him someone who’s particularly keen on formalities -The first time you call him “your husband” is in front of Sevika, and he slowly turns to look at you, while she slowly turns to look at him -“Did I... miss something?” Sevika asks, but he doesn’t reply, still perplexed, before glancing at her and saying, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” -He’s relieved but doesn’t show it. He can’t afford to just yet -As soon as he confirms you were serious, your name will be flamboyantly forgotten—he’ll constantly refer to you as “my wife/husband”

Silco (young):

-The man who survives on love -The first time you call him your husband is in front of Vander, and while Vander bursts out laughing, Silco chokes on his drink -“Are you serious?” He’s so happy that his pale iris are completely swallowed by his dilated pupils -He grabs a pen and draws a ring around your finger -To his credit, he works in a mine, so it’s hard to do better than that, but it becomes the goal that keeps him going -Completely focused on family, the future, and anything that sees the two of you together and happy

Steb:

-The first time you call him your husband is at a dinner among enforcer families, and being mute doesn’t stop him from stealing the spotlight -He whips around, blinking slowly with only his third eyelid in a gesture of confusion -When he’s 100% sure he understood what you said, his eyes widen, the small membranes under his eyes flutter madly, and even the barely visible gills near his jaw gasp for a moment -Someone says, “I didn’t know you were married,” and he immediately nods enthusiastically, not giving you time to take it back -Within 48 hours, he’ll have the ring ready

Jinx:

-The first time you call her “your wife”, she freezes -“What did you just call me?” -She’s used to being a little sister, a big sister, a daughter—she’d never thought she could be a wife. Family ties aren’t chosen, but the idea that someone would want her in their life so much they’d marry her feels incredible -“You want to marry me? Really? Why?” -She bursts into tears, and it’ll take at least 24 hours of cuddling in bed to calm her down -After that, she’ll run to her father to announce that she’s now a married woman

Vi:

-She might not be Silco and/or Vander’s blood daughter, but she’s inherited their deep desire for family -From her family’s tragic fate to Vander’s, she’s always seen family as the ultimate aspiration -When you call her “your wife” for the first time, she doesn’t notice right away, but a full minute later, she whirls around to look at you, as if to ask for confirmation -“Say it again.” -“...You need to buy bread?” -“No, all of it.” -“My wife needs to go buy bread.” -“Again.”

-"My... wife?"

-"Again"

Caitlyn:

-Has she thought about it? Yes -Was she planning to act on it? Not exactly -Caitlyn struggles with emotions and feelings, which is why she hesitates and takes her time -But when you first call her “your wife”, her brain completely shuts off—she just stares at you, unable to hear a single word being said -If you or someone else asks her a question, she’ll snap out of it and respond, -“My wife/husband said everything.” Even if it makes no sense as an answer, making you laugh and leaving the other person baffled

Mel:

-Not a single flicker of surprise—the first time you call her “your wife”, she remains completely composed -“So, I’m your wife?” she asks as soon as you’re in private, approaching you like a feline. You can almost hear the purr in her voice -She’s amused but also intrigued by whatever game you’re playing -The idea of marriage is complicated for her—on one hand, it feels like it would limit her freedom to act, while on the other, unresolved family issues seem to devour her at the mere thought of starting a new cycle -She’ll tell you to go ahead, to get married, but she’ll also ask for time -In the meantime, though, she’ll start using the term “husband/wife” with you—she likes the way it rolls off her tongue

Sevika:

-Between the work she does, the environment she lives in, and all the interesting circumstances of her life, marriage has never been on her radar -Not to mention that in Zaun, it’s not exactly a common practice—people just move in together and build families when they can, without much fuss over formalities or bureaucracy -The first time it happens, she’s playing cards with the other goons, and you casually ask if “your wife is winning” -Her first reaction isn’t even hers—it’s the others’. Dustin, the blond goon with the lazy eye, almost starts crying, embarrassing her -Don’t worry, she’ll make you pay for it at home -She won’t ask to formalize anything, but in true Zaunite fashion, she’ll consider you married, plain and simple

[unripe-lemon]

how to use tumblr:

- follow the gimmick blogs. thats literally it they reblog good shit

- I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH, reblog posts (dont just like them thats lame.)

- there is no algorithm.

- interact with people!!! SEND ASKS (SEND ME ASKS SEND ME ASKS)

- when blocking porn bots, mark them as spam instead of sexual content. i read somewhere on here that gets rid of them faster

- check trending every now and then to see whats going on. bonus points if spn is trending (its the only way i get news)

- get involved in fandom! thats the whole site

- make sure you are having fun :)

- hydrate

- who cares if you have followers? nobody. this is no mans land baby! live like its 2010 but 10 years later!

- if you’re really new, customise your profile. people might think ur a bot if u dont. u will get blocked

- nobody cares what you reblog. if you want to reblog 20 billion posts about loki then do it! its your blog!!!

- spread positive vibes. be nice. its not that hard.

- no ai.

- go read some yaoi nerd

- use tags, at least on original posts

- use gifs

- if you make a post and somebody reblogs your post and you like their reblog? you just liked your own post lol

- don’t like, don’t read/interact. same goes for ao3 and literally anything else. its not worth your time babe move on.

me n the gang on tumblr:

[meowmewmews]

𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

minors don’t interact!!!!! 18+ only mature content under tab

synopsis : sol was obsessed with you the moment he laid eyes on you. you were his soulmate. he’d make sure no one else would touch you. he is the only one who can satisfy you. don’t you know that?

warnings : yandere, masturbation, obsessive behavior, stalking, somnophilia, cnc, dubcon, predatory behavior, smut, long word count, drugging, grinding, penetration, very rough sex, whiny submissive Sol at one point, and dominant Sol at another point.

author’s note : if you just want to read smut skip to sections with the 🍋 icon

long word count (11.7k+ words) i mean this might as well be split into different chapters but i don’t want to do that, also i decided to change him referring to you as pumpkin to something else sorry. gave him a tongue piercing because it sounded fun >:3 also i hate tumblr formatting so read on ao3 if you want . (gloomy_kitty)

also not 100% lore accurate

thanksss to my friend who proofread this for me!!

Sol was obsessed with you and had been since you first arrived at the school. The moment his scarlet eyes landed on you something strange was awakened within him. It felt like love at first sight—no it was love at first sight. Did you remember your first encounter? No, it was so long ago you probably hadn’t. He did though, he remembered how he felt so vividly. His heart pounded in his chest, butterflies fluttered in his stomach, and his breath hitched making it difficult to breath the moment he had seen you. That cute library assistant that worked on campus. He remembered how he had walked up to you at the counter, asking for a book for class. How you went out of your way to help him find it, not complaining a single time.

“You absolutely need this book for your class right?” You asked him, sighing in defeat after nearly an hour of searching the library.

“Yes, but if you can’t find it don’t w-“ Sol began, a bit irritated that this was required for his passing grade. But he’d just ordered it online and prayed it arrived on time before finals.

“No. I know we have it. Don’t worry I’ll find it. Just give me another day. Here write down your info and I’ll give you a call once I do.” You said determinedly, sliding a sticky note and pen towards him. “O..okay.” He mumbled and wrote down his information. He fully expected you to not ever find the book or just forget to call him to let him know of your findings. But the very next morning he received a call from an unknown number. “Hello?” He answered.

“Hi this ______ from the school’s library. I found the book you were looking for. It’s reserved at the front desk. If I’m not here just let whoever is at the counter know your name.” You said, he could tell that you were quite happy.

Sol’s eyes widened in shock, you really found it. He responded back with a simple thanks and during a free period he went to the library. There he saw you shelving away books, a content expression on your face. Awkwardly he walked up to you clearing his throat, when he realized you had an earbud in. You jumped in surprise, dropping the book you were holding. Then, at the same time you and Sol reached down to grab the book. Your hand on top of his for a brief second before you pulled away. It felt like a bolt of electricity shot through him. “Whoops! Oh hey you’re the guy from yesterday!” You laughed quietly as he handed you back the book. With that you checked him out reminding him that late fees would occur if he didn’t bring it back on time. You explained how you stayed over an hour after your shift to find what he was needing, then it turned out it was in the completely wrong genre! A historical book tucked away with comics, how egregious!

When Sol asked why you did that you shrugged, simply saying, “I don't want anyone to fail their first semester because I was too lazy to find a book for them. It’s my job after all.” You flashed him a smile. As you handed it over your fingers brushed over him for another brief moment. That same electric feeling coursed through his body. It was that moment something had awakened inside Sol. He was obsessed now.

That memory played in his head for over a year, he had found out your first name. One day when sitting in the library “studying” he overheard you telling a blonde girl about how excited you were for your art class in the fall then you explained what period it would be. Since there was only one introduction to art class that fall semester for the period before lunch, he was going to enroll in art class regardless so might as well make sure he was in yours. Everything had been planned out. Sol didn’t leave any detail forgotten.

He got to class early, sitting in the back of the classroom. He placed his backpack on the chair next to him and anyone he tried to sit next to he glared at, causing them to scurry away. Now he just needed to wait for you to arrive, you’d have to take the only available seat open next to him in a full class.

Like he planned There were no more seats left in class, you had arrived a bit late, only barely beating the bell. He watched as your eyes darted around the classroom looking for somewhere to sit, then a relief look washed over your cute face when you spotted the open seat next to him. Quickly you made your way over pulling out the chair, “Is this taken?” You asked him, already beginning to slip off your backpack.

“N..no.” Sol replied avoiding your gaze, he was focused on his sketchbook, his pencil tapping against the book as he tried to control his breathing. “Oh thank god.” You sighed in relief, finally taking your seat. Rummaging through your backpack you pulled out all the essentials you’d need for art class. It worked. His plan went perfectly!

Sol found it difficult to concentrate on the professor’s words as he discussed basic art fundamentals, he just kept glancing over at you. Your perfume smelled so intoxicating, it drove him wild. The way you studiously jotted down notes was so adorable. Then class ended much to the man’s horror, he hadn’t written down a single thing but most importantly you gathered your things to leave without saying a word to him. He lingered in the classroom a bit, slowly shoving his sketchbook back into his backpack.

A couple days passed before he could see you again, and the whole time he found it difficult to think about anything else other than you. Sol was a bit angry at himself for not even speaking to you, that was his chance to reintroduce himself. He would talk to you next time, he promised himself.

The next class came and you were once again in the same predicament as last time. Arrived to class right before the bell went off and the only seat opened was next to the same guy as before. Not that you minded, he seemed nice enough. “Hey.” You greeted him quietly as you sat down before taking a seat. “Hi.” He returned your greeting quietly. He once again didn’t speak to you and that cycle went on for some time, before finally he had an excuse for the two of you to speak. He wasn’t sure why he kept shying away from you. Shit, he could barely even concentrate in class.

Then the next class came. “Everyone, please pair up with the person beside you, I want you and your partner to discuss today’s chapter.” The professor mumbled as he took a seat back down at his desk, immediately kicking his feet onto the desk and tapping away on his phone.

Turning around with a sigh you looked at your partner with a smile, “Hi. Thanks for always saving me a seat. I’m ______.” You introduced yourself, then gave the dark haired man an encouraging nod to speak. I know what your name is. He thought. Sol rubbed the back of his neck, nervously avoiding your eyes, his gaze fixated to the side. “Yeah it’s no problem. I’m..Sol.” He introduced himself back, hoping that maybe you remembered him.

“Nice to meet you, Sol.” You chimed in reply, holding your hand out. He looked at your hand, then back at you before he shook your hand back. “Yeah, same.” He said, a small smile making its way to his pierced lips. The moment your hands touched, he felt his heart do a leap, and without meaning to he held onto your hand for a bit longer than usual. Though upon realizing that, he quickly pulled his hand away. Either you didn’t mind or just didn’t notice it, as you immediately turned your attention back to the textbook. So you didn’t remember him, that was okay it’s not like he ever went out of his way to speak to you at the library.

“So, this chapter…” you began as you pushed the textbook to the center of the table so you both could share. Sol didn’t speak too much, he was more interested in what you had to say, he nodded attentively and hummed in acknowledgment when he agreed with something you said. The professor didn’t seem too interested in teaching class, so the reminder was spent just conversing. You giggled as Sol said something as you playfully slapped his arm, “What, no way? You did not!” You quietly exclaimed as Sol told you a story. He nodded, “Yeah I really did. It’s embarrassing but it’s the truth.” He laughed softly. Every single fucking thing was so adorable about you; your name, laugh, appearance, personality, every single thing was so adorable. Then just as Sol was about to open his mouth to speak again, the bell rang.

Jumping up in your seat, you pushed the chair back, quickly gathering your belongings. “I gotta go, Sol. But you’ll save me a seat again right? I really enjoyed talking to you.” You asked, looking at him with the cutest expression. “Yeah of course.” He reassured you. “Thanks, you’re the best!” You said and with that, you rushed out of the classroom.

As Sol finished gathering his own belongings, he noticed something sitting on your chair. Your jacket was left behind. He grabbed it and quickly walked out of the classroom to see if he could catch up to you, but of course you were nowhere to be seen. ‘I’ll hold onto it. Give it to her next class.’ He thought to himself.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

“Woah, that's a cute jacket! You seeing a cute girl?” Hyugo asked his friend. The pair sat at their usual spot on the rooftop eating their lunches. Sol rolled his eyes, “No. The girl who sits next to me in art left it, I’m going to give it to her next class. I just didn’t want it to get lost.” He explained as he continued to eat. He could bring it to you at the library where you worked part time but no, he just wanted to hold onto a bit longer. It was a cute jacket, he couldn’t lie - it was black with striped sleeves and an adorable black cat patch was ironed onto the front. It suited you perfectly.

“Aren’t you so sweet?” Hyugo teased, causing his friend’s face to heat up. Sol grumbled under his breath as he just ignored the comment and continued to eat, only causing the other to laugh. As the bell rang, signaling that their final class of the day would begin and marking the end of their lunch break, the pair stood up. Sol gathered the bento boxes, placing them in his backpack.

“Are you doing anything after class?” Hyugo asked before they parted ways. Sol wasn’t, but he needed to spend some time alone, there was an issue he needed to take care of. “Yeah.” He simply responded. “Aw okay, I’ll just go to the arcade by myself then.” He shrugged before walking off.

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It was dark already when Sol arrived back to his small studio apartment, the short winter days meant it would always be night when he got home. The dark haired man sat his bag on a chair, taking out the bentos to wash. He remembered your jacket was still in his hands, so carefully he placed it on the top of the couch. And so he did his usual evening routine; cleaning dishes, cooking dinner and lunch. The television was playing a show he really had no interest in watching, but it was good background noise.

But he just couldn’t stop thinking about you, eyes flicking to the jacket on the sofa as he prepared his and Hyugo’s lunches. Sol felt the crotch of his pants tighten uncomfortably against him, he swallowed the lump that formed in his throat as his heart rate accelerated. But he remained focused just hurrying to finish dinner as soon as possible so he could shower and lay in bed. Tomorrow was early classes after all.

Finally after some time Sol had showered and flopped onto his bed, an exhausted sigh escaping his lips. He closed his eyes as he tried to focus on anything other than you. But his boxers were so incredibly tight, his erection wouldn’t go away no matter what he tried to do. It felt wrong to touch himself to you, so resisting the urge Sol finally fell asleep. Tonight at least he was able to resist the urge.

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The next day of classes came and nothing extraordinary happened. Sol couldn’t spot you anywhere, he supposed he would have to wait until tomorrow to see you and return the jacket. His evening routine was more or less the same, but as he laid in bed tonight, the urges were getting harder and harder to resist.

Sol tried to squeeze his eyes shut, trying to think of anything else other than the raging erection in his pants right now. His gaze kept flickering to your jacket, he was reminded of how amazing you smelled. He just wanted to smell the perfume again, there was no harm in that…right? Quickly getting out of bed, he snatched your jacket from the couch, immediately pressing it to his nose. Oh god, you smelled so fucking good. He was intoxicated by the scent, his eyes rolling back as he took in your smell, and without even realizing what was happening, his hands trailed down his torso until they slipped under the waistband of his boxers. His long slender fingers immediately wrapped themselves around his erection.

Sol began to pump his cock, a whimper leaving him as his thumb grazed over his tip. Precum was already pooling at the slit, his face still buried in your cute jacket. He could only imagine what it would feel like to have his face buried in your hair, neck…your pussy. He fantasized how amazing you would taste as his face was between your thighs, he’d make you feel so good. He had wanted you for so long now.

“_____…._______….” Sol whimpered your name, scarlet eyes fluttering shut as his pace quickened. At this point he was panting heavily, a complete mess and if your mere scent was doing this to him, he couldn’t imagine how he’d act during the actual act. His cock twitched in his hand and legs trembled; he collapsed onto his knees. He was now thrusting himself eagerly into the palm of his hands, precum lubricating his cock. Sol’s moans echoed throughout the apartment and he felt the warm sensation building up in his core, then with one final thrust he came loudly. “Oh fuck ______!” He cried out, his cum making an absolute mess of his boxers.

Riding out his orgasm he finally came to a stop and dropped the jacket onto the floor. His chest moving up and down as he tried to catch his breath, the whole of his body was a hue of red and warm to the touch. Dark hair sticking to his face from the beads of sweat that had formed. He made sure to toss your jacket onto the couch before he removed his hand from his boxers. A wave of embarrassment and guilt washed over him when he saw sticky cum coating his hand. I shouldn’t have done that. It felt so good though. He thought with a sigh as he stood to his feet. I should go wash up.

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Class was the next day, and that meant Sol could finally see you, he could return your jacket. He waited until after class, when you both were in the hallway. A part of him debated on not giving it back, he wanted it forever, to always have you with him, but he decided against it and it was worth it. The look on your face when he had handed you your jacket back was worth it. “Oh my gosh, Sol. I was so worried I had lost my favorite jacket forever. Thank you so much!” You exclaimed as you hugged him briefly, before you slipped it back on. “Yeah..of course. I tried looking for you yesterday to return it but I couldn’t find you anywhere.” He explained. A tinge of red evident on his pale features as he was reminded of what he did the night before with it. He violated your poor jacket, but of course he would never tell you that.

You shook your head, waving your hand dismissively, “Sorry about that! I was in such a rush to leave. My other job needed me to cover a shift.” You explained. You had another job besides the library?

But he didn’t mind; he was just glad he could keep your jacket safe from anyone else. Fumbling in the pocket of your pants you pulled out your cell phone, “We should exchange numbers! Just in case one of us needs to get into contact with each other.” You suggested, swiping your finger across to unlock the device. He watched as you typed away on the screen before handing it to him.

Sol’s heart was beating so quickly now, you were really asking for his number? He looked a bit uncomfortable, like he was rejecting your offer, because you began to pull away your phone looking at the floor embarrassedly. “S-sorry. I shouldn’t ha-“ you began but he cut you off, gently snatching the phone from your hand. And within seconds he typed in his number, he already noticed you made a contact name for him. Sol ☀️

But something else caught his attention as he felt the phone vibrate in his hand.

Crowe 🐦‍⬛ : You’re still coming over tonight, right?

Something inside of the dark haired man awakened when he saw that text. He froze in place, his blush that tinted his features now went away. Who the hell is Crowe? He thought bitterly. Your boyfriend or a coworker? He only snapped out of his thoughts when you retrieved your phone back, your thumbs danced across the screen then he felt his pocket vibrate.

“Did you get it?” You asked curiously, tilting your head so cutely to the side. “L-let me check.” Sol quickly said and pulled out his phone. His boring black phone background was illuminated with your text.

Unknown: hii! it’s ______ :D

Without a moment of hesitation he saved your contact. ______ 🌙

His contact was saved with a sun by his name so it only made sense that you were the moon. With that, you two said your goodbyes and Sol watched as you walked down the hall, he stood in his spot with a small smile on his lips.

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It was the weekend which meant Sol would do his weekly cleaning of his apartment. Loud music echoed throughout the apartment as he cleaned, humming softly to himself. Something caught his eye as he was vacuuming under the couch, a small piece of rectangular plastic glittered as it caught the light from the ceiling fan. Crouching, he picked it up and his eyes widened instantly when he realized what it was. Your ID had fallen out from the pocket of your jacket, he assumed. And all of your information was on it.

“______ ______..” Sol whispered your full name. He didn't know what it was before. Your address was there too, and it looked recent, judging from the picture and expiration date. The card shook ever so slightly in his fingers as he was practically salivating that he would now be able to find so many more things about you.

Halting his cleaning for the day, he shut off the music and instantly opened up his laptop to begin searching your name online. Hours had passed, day turned into night. Sol’s scarlet red irises were glazed over, his lips dry and mouth a bit parched. He hadn’t left his laptop screen in hours, too engrossed with finding out every single detail about you. Your social media wasn’t private, how foolish of you. And he scrolled through the dozens of pictures you had posted, finding out everyone you associated it with. The page refreshed and a new picture was posted. You are with a group of people at what looked like a bar, with the caption: Love my friends!! Tonight was so fun, let’s do it again!! :D

Sol remembered the text from this “Crowe” earlier and he began to examine the picture, trying to find out who this Crowe was. His eyes narrowed when he saw the man next to you in the picture. A long haired brunette with tan skin, he swore he had seen that face before. This Crowe was behind your frame, hands resting on either of your shoulders. To anyone else they would have assumed that you and the man were friends, nothing in the pose indicated anything romantic, but to Sol it was too much. He didn’t want to see another man behind you touching you like that. Standing up he slammed his laptop shut and decided he needed to go to bed before he got too consumed by his jealousy and anger.

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As days turned into weeks, then eventually into months, Sol and you grew closer. You were regularly texting and hanging out. He had found out that your lunches consisted of junk food, and that was even if you brought lunch to campus. So he decided to start prepping your lunches, and even dinners as soon as he found out you ate cup noodles nearly every night. God, you were cute albeit a bit useless, he didn’t mind cooking for you, it only made him feel wanted - and the look on your face every time you ate his meals just made him filled with so much joy.

You were so kind and introduced him to your friend group, Crowe was kind enough and he kept his hands off of you in Sol’s presence. But he knew that man looked familiar, and Crowe looked at him with suspicious eyes and a fake smile. Sol only remained cordial with your friends though, if they made you happy he’d pretend to be friendly with them. But the man never returned your ID, it was his now. You complained about having to buy a new one, but he made sure to slip some extra cash into your backpack one day when you weren’t looking. The text he received that night was so adorable. “Omg Sol I found some cash at the bottom of my backpack. I’m eating good tonight! >:3”

It was so worth it. But Sol had a dirty secret that he couldn’t tell a living soul. He was slipping sleeping medication into the dinners he made you, he made a copy of your apartment key, and he was letting himself into your home every night. It was all in an attempt to make sure you were safe!

“My neighborhood is so unsafe. I really need to find somewhere else to live. There’s been so many recent break ins and assaults, and I live at ground level.” He remembered you complaining.

“You can stay at my place, _______. It’s a decent neighborhood. Lots of old people, so it’s quiet.” He offered.

“Sol! No, I can't do that. You already do enough for me. I got new locks on everything and alarms.” You retorted with a pout. He knew you wouldn’t change your mind, you weren’t that type of girl. You were independent, but that was okay. Sol would still keep an eye on you. Knowing you kept a spare key hidden away, he found it and while you were at work he had a copy made, then placed the key back without you being none the wiser.

Tonight wasn’t any different, Sol waited until you were asleep and he slipped into your quiet, dark apartment. He could navigate your home in the dark. That's how familiar he was with the layout, but the dim street lights also did aid him. Your bedroom door was slightly ajar and he quickly made his way in.

The streetlights illuminated your room, he saw your sleeping form on the bed, one hand hanging off the side of the bed and your blankets messily thrown on top of your body. In fact, the blankets barely covered any of your body. You wore an oversized t-shirt and the cutest panties - the shirt was raised and exposed your bare torso. “Were you waiting for me dear?” He whispered as he knelt down at your bedside. Folding his hands on the edge of the bed, he rested his chin on top, his gaze was so loving - but there was something so dark about the way he looked at you. Raising a hand up, Sol’s slender fingers brushed aside the hair on your face. “So cute…” he breathed out.

You shifted, your eyes squeezing shut as a quiet groan left your lips. When you moved through, your shirt lifted just a bit more, revealing your breast partially. Sol felt his face grow warm and he tried to avert his gaze, but it was like you were practically begging for him, looking so cute and innocent. He choked back a moan as he felt his dick get hard, his fingers wrapped around the wrist of your limp hand and he placed his cheek into your warm palm. His eyes fluttered shut as he let out a content sigh, “You're asking me to do something, huh dear?” He mumbled. That had to be it or why else were you wearing such an outfit is that why you left your bedroom door opened? You were inviting him in, right?

Sol leaned down to press a kiss to your exposed neck, he nibbled softly at the skin. A quiet whimper escaping you as your brows furrowed. So cute. He thought, still nipping at the skin, leaving a faint red mark. His hand trailed down your neck until his fingers reached your breast, he gently massaged it for a brief moment. Another quiet whimper came from you. He let your hand that was cupping his cheek fall onto the bed for a moment, as his fingers fumbled with the belt of his pants and with a swift motion his dick was out. Already hard from anticipation, he positioned himself in your hands, he laced both your and his fingers together. He let out a moan feeling your fingers wrapped around his dick.

His whole body shuddered in pleasure at the feeling, and he buried his face between your breasts to quiet his moans as he began to rock his hips back and forth. His sensitive tip fucked your palm as he moaned out your name from between your breasts. Tears pooling at the corner of his closed eyes as pathetic needy whimpers left him.

“You’re mine. Mine..you’re mine ______. I love you so much.” He cried as he felt himself about to cum. Then, with another thrust he came hard into your and his laced hands. As he calmed his breathing down he slowly lifted his head up, you were still asleep, oblivious to the lewd act he just made you do. “You’re so beautiful, dear. You feel so perfect.” He whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

Standing up he pulled his pants back on, then walked to the bathroom to wash his sticky hands. Grabbing a rag he wet, he walked back to clean up the mess he left on your hands. “Crowe..the paper...” you mumbled in your sleep. Sol’s scarlet eyes widened in shock at the name, why were you talking about him when he was right here. His fists clenched and eyes narrowed, a dark cloud casting over his face. “You really ought to stop talking about him, dear. Crowe doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t understand you like I do.” He hissed through gritted teeth. You were just confused - that’s okay, Sol was patient. He leaned down to press a kiss against your lips once again before wishing you a good night. With that, he quietly slipped out of your apartment.

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The final day of class before winter break came the next day. You and Sol sat in art class together, sketching your final assignment. The classroom was quiet as everyone worked. You kept glancing at the dark haired man next you, a faint blush on your face as you remembered the brief dream you had of him last night. You dreamt that he was having sex with you, you heard his moans as he fucked you. Then, just before the dream actually got good, your mind decided that all of a sudden you were going to dream about you and Crowe finishing up your finals paper for English class that you had done earlier yesterday. God! Why did his stupid pretty face have to ruin the best dream you ever had!

Class couldn’t end any sooner and the Professor motioned for everyone to turn in their assignments. He reminded the students to check their emails during the winter break to see their grades. You quickly stood out of your seat, the chair nearly falling back as you fumbled with putting your things away. Sol noticed that something was off about you, you wouldn’t look at him at all. Surely you didn’t know what he did with you last night, right? He slung his backpack over his shoulder as he watched you as you zipped up your backpack. “Want to go to the arcade?” He asked you suddenly, “Hyugo and I are going since classes ended early today. Like right now.” He added.

Snapping your head up, you actually looked at him for the first time today. Your eyes meeting his, “O-oh…umm. I’d love to but I don’t have any…money.” You mumbled, voice trailing off at the end. “Campus library let go of all the part timers a few weeks ago, remember? And my other job cut my hours. So it’s tight right now.” You sighed sadly. “I wasn’t asking you to pay. I just asked if you wanted to come with us?” He said.

Sol noticed a strand of hair hanging in front of your face so reached a gentle hand up to brush it aside, tucking the strand behind your ear. “I’ll pay. You know I’ll always take care of you, ______.” He reminded you with a kind smile that made your heart flutter. It was something he always told you, you weren’t sure why he was so kind to you when you had nothing to offer him in return. You were a broke college student who couldn’t even cook your own meals. A faint blush dusted your cheeks as you shyly looked away, “O..okay. Then yes, I want to go.” You shyly said as you tugged at the sleeves of your favorite jacket.

“Alright, good. Here I’ll carry your bag. Hyugo should be waiting at the entrance.” Sol said, taking your bag from you with a swift motion. You tried to protest but he was already walking ahead so you were more focused on catching up to him.

The walk to the arcade didn’t take long, but you were shivering from the cold winter breeze. Sol noticed you shivering and he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, bringing you close to him. You looked up at him before looking away shyly. Once inside the arcade, the three of you played games for some time. You pointed at a claw machine, wanting to win the cute cat plushie, you tapped at the glass before looking back up at Sol with big pleading eyes. “Aw, it's so cute. Do we have enough coins to win it?” You asked excitedly. Sol patted his pockets and sighed, shaking his head. “No, but I can go get some more if you’d like?” He asked, he just wanted to see you happy.

Hyugo nodded, “Yeah let’s play some more games! Oh, let’s get some food too. I’m starving!” He exclaimed, nudging Sol’s side. Sol looked at you, waiting for your answer. “That sounds good to me. While you two do that, I’m going to head to the bathroom. I’ll meet you back here.” You said. The pair nodded and with that you went your separate ways.

You found the restroom. It was located in the back of the arcade and once done, you hummed quietly as you made your way back to the claw machine with the plushie you wanted. But you unbeknownst drew unwanted attention to yourself; you hadn’t even stepped a few feet back out of the bathroom when you were immediately cornered by a much taller and bigger man than yourself. He backed you in between two large pinball machines, leaving you trapped. “Hey sexy. You got a boyfriend?” He slurred, it was obvious he was drunk. He had both of his arms on either side of your head so you could barely move. “Not interested.” You spat as you tried pushing him away, but to no avail. That seemed to only anger him more as he lowered his face to be at eye level with you. “Come on, don’t be like that. I’ll treat you nicely.” He said, though this time his voice was much darker. The stench of alcohol lingered with every breath he took. You turned your face to the side, but that seemed to only anger him and this time he grabbed your jaw roughly in his hands, forcing you to look at him.

“Don’t turn away, sweetheart. Just come on let me sh—“ he began, but suddenly his hand was ripped away from your face and you closed your eyes, fully expecting to get hit. You heard shouting and skin hitting skin, you still kept your eyes shut, flinching with every sound. The noise of the arcade was too loud and you slid down the wall, covering your face with your hands as you buried your face against your knees.

“Don’t you fucking touch her! I’ll kill you!” You heard a familiar voice shout, it was then you uncovered your face and your eyes widened in shock as you saw Sol fighting with the man, both with bloody noses. Hyugo pulled Sol away while a random person held back the other man. The two men were still shouting curses at one another, though you were so overwhelmed you could barely understand what they were saying. You noticed Hyugo was having trouble holding back Sol, so you quickly scrambled to your feet and stepped in front of the dark haired man, pressing your hands against his chest. “Sol! *Enough!*” you pleaded, tears forming in your eyes. The drunk man had lost his balance at some point and fell to the floor, but he was still threatening you and Sol. The man called you every name in the book, and he was mocking you - but you didn’t care. You just wanted to get out of here. There was a terrifying look in Sol’s scarlet eyes and it turned your blood cold. “Sol *please,* let’s just go.” You pleaded with him once again.

As soon as Sol heard your voice waver, he stopped and his eyes widened in a mixture of horror and guilt as he realized that you were crying. He cupped your face in his hands, shaking his head, “No, no, no. Please don’t cry. I’m done. We can go.” He said in a panic, “He didn’t hurt you, right? He didn’t touch you?” He asked. You shook your head, “No. I’m okay.” You reassured him, just wanting to leave. Your lip quivered as you looked up at him and you simply nodded, taking his hand in yours as you dragged him out of the arcade. Though when Sol was certain you weren’t looking, he turned back to the man and spat at him before he followed you out.

Once outside you wiped your tears away with your jacket sleeve, smearing your makeup a bit in the process, but you didn’t care. You didn’t dare let go of Sol’s hand, afraid that if you did he would turn back and actually kill the man. Hyugo sighed, rubbing his temples, “We should leave before the cops get called.” He mumbled. Sol clicked his tongue in annoyance, “We didn’t do anything wrong. That low life touched ______. I just defended her.” He spat back. You tugged Sol’s hand, “I want to go home.” You sniffled. “I’ll walk her home. You go ahead, Hyugo.” He said. The blue haired man raised a brow, by the way he looked at his friend you sensed that maybe he didn’t want to leave him alone. “You’ll call right? As soon as you dropped ______ off at home?” He asked, his brows furrowing.

Sol had already wrapped his arm around your waist, your and his backpack slung over his shoulders. “Yeah, I will. See you later.” He said pulling you along to walk off in the other direction. Hyugo just nodded watching as you two walked off.

Sol didn’t let go of your waist for the whole walk home, he held you protectively, glaring at anyone who looked in your general direction. Once you arrived back at your apartment you fished around in your jacket pocket for your keys, eventually finding them and unlocking the door. “Do..do you want to come in?” You asked Sol shyly. You were really inviting him inside! He felt his heart skip a beat and he swallowed nervously, “Sure.” He smiled and stepped inside after you, setting down the bags onto a stool by the door.

You untied your sneakers and left them at the door before you looked up at the tall man. “Do you want tea? Coffee?” You asked him.

“What do you want? I can start the water.” He asked you back.

“Tea sounds good. Something relaxing.” You replied, motioning him to follow you into the kitchen. You poured water into the electric kettle on the countertop as you reached into the cabinets to grab two cups. “Make yourself comfortable. I’m going to change real quick.” You smiled before walking off towards your bedroom to change. Sol already knew where everything was located, so he grabbed two tea bags, setting them into the ceramic mugs as he waited for the water to boil. Then a thought ran through his mind as his hand absentmindedly rested on his front pocket. You didn’t get to eat the dinner he made you for tonight which meant you wouldn’t sleep well.

So before the water was done boiling he pulled out a small bag in his pocket, and broke apart the sleeping pill, letting it dissolve in the hot water. He just wanted to make sure that you’d be able to sleep tonight was all.

When you walked back out of your room, your tea was already made and Sol was sipping on his as he leaned against the wall. He looked at your outfit, did you wear something like that on purpose to tease him? You wore tight shorts, a tank top, your favorite jacket unzipped, and the cutest bunny shaped slippers. “Thank you so much, Sol.” You smiled at him as you held the mug in your hands and slowly sipped on it. He nodded, “Of course. Anything for you.” He said returning your smile. You chatted with him for a while it was obvious that you were just stalling, you didn’t want him to leave. You were still shaken up from earlier, from both how Sol reacted and to what may have happened if he wasn’t there to save you from that man.

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You sat on the couch, legs crossed as some random show played quietly in the background. Sol sat across from you, you both had long finished your tea. He could tell you were getting a bit more sluggish, “I’m sleepy, Sol.” You yawned. “You should go..it’s getting late. Hyugo is probably worried about you.” You mumbled, rubbing your eyes with your sleeve. Sol frowned, “It’s okay. I don’t mind. I want to make sure that you’re okay.” He replied back, he didn’t want to leave you alone.

“I’m okay. I just don’t want to be alone..” you sniffled. “I think someone has been breaking into my house.” You then said, flicking your gaze up to look at him with a worried expression. Sol froze, his breath hitched in his throat. “W..what? Why do you think that?” He asked, trying to remain calm. Folding your hands together in your lap, your eyes darted around before landing back on him, “Sometimes things are out of place.” Is all you said, “So please don’t leave me alone.” You then pleaded, suddenly leaning over towards him on all fours.

Sol’s eyes flickered to your face and to the gap between your shirt, he could see you weren’t wearing a bra and he shifted awkwardly in his spot on the couch as he tried to remaining eye contact with you. Placing a hand over his crotch, he let out a cough, a dark red blush making its way to his pale features. “Okay. I won’t. I’ll stay as long as you want me to.” He responded, a look of desperation in his eyes. You smiled, feeling butterflies in your stomach when he said those words. Then your mind wandered back to the dream you had last night, you sat back legs now folded underneath you.

“Can you come lay down with me in bed?” You asked him, looking away shyly. “I don’t think I’ll be able to stay up much longer. Plus it’s more comfortable than staying out here.” You added. Sol found it hard to even speak now, he nodded and bit his lip. You stood up and began to walk towards your bedroom, turning off the lights along the way. Before you rounded the corner you noticed that he was still sitting on the couch, “Are you coming? You don’t have—“ you began only to be cut off by him springing up, “I am.” He mumbled shyly as he followed you into your familiar bedroom.

Your bedsheets were messily strewn about on your bed, like always. Clothes tossed haphazardly throughout the room, he watched as you shrugged off your jacket, tossing it on the vanity chair and you kicked off your slippers. You crawled into bed, pulling the sheets over your cold body. “What do you usually wear to sleep, Sol?” You asked him curiously, waiting for him to come lay down as yet another yawn left you.

“My..boxers.” Sol replied shyly, rubbing the back of his neck as he avoided your cute gaze. “You can sleep like that here. I don’t mind.” You mumbled motioning with your hand for him to come lay down. “A-are you sure?” He stammered, already unbuckling his belt, his hands shaking a bit in anticipation. “Mhm.” You hummed reassuringly, squeezing your legs together tightly. Sol wasted no time in taking off his clothes, it was a shame the room was so dimly lit so you couldn’t see him. He sat at the edge of the bed, still unsure of what he needed to do.

You tugged at his wrist, “Lay down with me. Under the blankets.” You encouraged him in a sleepy voice. He let you pull him down onto the bed, his heart was racing so fast he found it hard to breathe. As you both now laid under the covers he could feel your body heat, you were so close to him. Your bed wasn’t big by any means, so your bodies were practically touching. “I really like you, Sol.” You suddenly said, you weren’t sure why you blurted that out, maybe it was your drowsy drugged state that made you say something you didn’t mean to.

Sol’s eyes widened in shock as he turned his head to face you. He could make out your soft features from the dim city streetlights that peaked through the curtains. Your hand now was on his chest, you could feel how fast his heart was beating. “You take care of me. You’re so kind. I’ve never had anybody care for me like you do.” You mumbled, leaning over until your noses touched.

Sol raised a shaking hand to cup your face, his thumb caressing your cheek. “I’ll always take care of you, ______. I’ll be here. No matter what.” He whispered back. His words were so kind and gentle, yet there was darkness in which he spoke. You blushed and looked away, your eyes closing shut as you finally closed the distance between your lips. You were a bit unsure on how to kiss him, not wanting to mess with his lip rings too much, but as soon as your lips met something clicked inside the raven haired man.

He returned your kiss desperately, not wanting to stop. Were you really doing this? Was this seriously happening?! He thought. It was a shame you were half asleep, but it still didn’t stop you from your next move. You rolled onto of him, your legs straddling his waist as you cupped his face in your hands, kissing him with inexperience. It wasn’t like Sol minded though, he was also just as inexperienced. His hands were on your waist, fingernails digging into your soft skin as he let out a needy whimper when he felt you grinding against his dick.

“Do you like me, Sol?” You asked him, breaking away from the kiss for a few moments as you continued to grind against him. When he took too long to answer you paused and lifted yourself up about to get up. Feeling utterly rejected by him, humiliated. But his hands slammed you back down on top of him. A crazed look on his face, “Y-yes I do. I like you. You’re my soulmate, ______.” He desperately spoke, his eyes flickering trying to read your expression. All you heard was “yes”, as you began to fade in and out of consciousness, despite desperately trying to stay awake.

“G..good.” You mumbled against his lips, beginning to grind against him again as you cupped his face. Sol returned your kisses as he let out whiny moans of your name, begging you for more. He wanted to feel your pussy, god knows how long he had waited to fuck you. His hands let go of your hips and now tugged at the waistband of his boxers. He managed to slip them off and when he felt how wet your panties were a pathetic whimper left his lips. He pushed your panties aside and now he could really feel how wet your pussy was. His dick pushed between your folds, you shivered as you felt his tip slide over your clit. “S-sol.” You whimpered his name.

Oh god, just you saying his name so lewdly was almost enough to push him over the edge. “A-ah.” He cried out as he felt your pace quicken. He loved the way you were using him, like he was nothing more than a toy for you to hump to reach your orgasm. The head of his dick was so sensitive and he felt your clit rubbing against it. “I..I’m gonna cum.” He warned you. Sol’s fingers digging into the plush skin of your thighs as he bucked his hips upward. “I-I wanna fuck you…please. Feel your pussy…please.” He begged, biting your lip. But you ignored him continuing to grind against his hard dick as your moans became a bit louder, your thighs shaking. You could feel yourself about to cum, but Sol suddenly let out a yell. “A-ah ahh ______.” He cried as his hot cum shot out. He threw his head back, eyes squeezing shut as tears pooled in the corner of them, his back arched, and fingernails scratching your thighs enough to leave a mark and draw some blood. His body shook under yours.

You felt the warm sensation rising from your core, your clit becoming more sensitive by the seconds. Sol’s thick cum now providing more lubrication. His whimpering of your name and pleading was enough to push you over the edge and moments later you joined him in his orgasm. You cried out his name as you buried your face in the crook of his neck, holding onto him tightly as you rode out your orgasm. Honestly you weren’t sure if you were or not, your mind was so hazy. Then you suddenly came to a stop, your body shaking a bit as your eyes closed shut.

Sol caught his breath, his hands rubbed up and down your back and he realized you had fallen asleep. The medicine had taken its full effect. He wrapped his arms tightly around you pressing a kiss on top of your head a content smile on his lips. “You’re mine. Mine…you’ll never have to be alone again.” He mumbled against your hair. His scarlet eyes gazing at the ceiling as you were fast asleep against his chest. At some point he fell asleep still holding onto you, with his dick between your thighs.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

You had awoken the next morning a bit groggy, you realized you were in bed with someone and you stared down in horror as you realized that you had slept with Sol. You only remembered bits and pieces of the nights before, and your sticky panties confirmed that you two had been intimate in some way. You wiggled out of his strong arms as quietly as you could and rushed to the bathroom, grabbing your phone careful to not wake him up.

After you cleaned yourself up and changed, you sat on the ledge of the bathtub typing away rapidly on your phone.

Crowe I NEED YOU NOW!!!!

What’s up? You okay?

NOOO. I think I just messed up. I think I ruined a friendship.

Woah calm down, ______. Is this about him?

YES. Can we meet up at the cafe? Please. Right now.

Yes. I’ll be there in a few.

Thanks.

With that you clicked your phone shut and quickly got dressed into your clothes from yesterday, not wanting to disturb Sol’s sleep. You peeked into your room and still saw him resting. You left the house getting your wallet and keys and tossing them into your jacket.

Sol woke up not long after you had left the house and when he didn’t feel your presence he immediately shot up in bed, panic beginning to set in. Where were you?! He grabbed his phone getting ready to dial your number when he saw a text appear on the screen.

I’ll be back soon. :3

He calmed down a bit, laying the phone in his lap as he ran a hand through his messy hair. Why didn’t you tell him you had somewhere to go? Why would you leave alone in the morning after everything that had happened last night? It was then he felt a bit angry, wondering why you were sneaking around. Snatching his phone back up he called you but you kept ignoring his calls, finally though you answered.

“Hello.” Your voice came through on the other end, there was also another voice on the other end too. It was one he recognized. It was Crowe. He felt himself grow even more angry as jealousy filled him. Why the hell are you with him?!

“Who are you with?” Sol asked, his voice as sickly sweet.

“Shhhh be quiet. Yeah, hi Sol, I’m with a friend. Don’t worry, I’ll be back home soon.” He heard you shushing Crowe. His grip tightened on the phone, if he squeezed any harder he may have shattered the screen. “When will you be back? Where are you?” He asked, this time his tone wasn’t as sweet.

“Sol…please don’t worry about it. I promise I’ll be back home soon. I gotta go.” You reassured him before hanging up.

Sol was furious, he slammed the phone face down onto the night stand, the glass screen shattering. Why is he interfering? Why does she keep hanging out with him? Doesn’t he know ______’s mine?! So many jealous thoughts flowed through his head as he quickly got dressed. He freshened himself up before he left your apartment, storming on the busy streets. What you hadn’t known was that Sol had installed a tracker on your phone many nights ago. He was really trying to give you the chance to tell him where you were without having to resort to using the tracker, but you wouldn’t tell him. He had no other choice but to use it, and make sure you were okay. He had to make sure that filthy Crowe wasn’t touching you. And he needed to show the brunet who you belonged to.

It was a rainy day and he didn’t care if he got wet, he was determined to find out where you were. The tracker led him to a busy coffee shop where he saw you and Crowe sitting near the window. His scarlet eyes met bright blue ones, belonging to the last person he wanted to see. Sol’s eyes narrowed, and all the brunet did was return a sly smirk before mouthing something to you. You whipped your head around just as Sol stormed into the coffee shop, immediately making his way to the table you two sat at. He tried to maintain his composure, his chest rising with every deep breath he took as he glared at the man sitting across from you.

“Sol? H-How did you know I was here?” You asked him in shock. He ignored your question continuing to glare daggers at Crowe, who sipped on his coffee nonchalantly. “Hey there. Care to join us?” He asked with a polite smile, motioning with his hand to the available seat.

“No. ______, we’re going home. Now.” Sol demanded, now turning to look at you. He grabbed your wrist and you tried to jerk away, “Ow, Sol!” You cried out, which caused him to immediately drop your hand. “Are you okay?” He asked, his angry expression now etched into worry. You frowned, rubbing your wrist, “Y..yeah. I told you I’d be gone later. Please stop this.” You pleaded, looking at him with big eyes.

“You should be gentle with her, Sol.” Crowe scolded half heartedly. “______, you should go. Don’t keep him waiting. We can talk soon, I have to get to work anyways.” He smiled warmly at you.

“But I—“ you stammered, but the brunet cut you off with a wave. “Seriously, it’s fine. Just remember what we talked about, okay?” He winked, it was purposeful, he was trying to get under Sol’s skin and it was working.

Sol grabbed your wrist a bit more gently this time as you stood up, “We’re leaving. Bye.” He spat, glaring at the man as he dragged you out of the coffee shop. All the while Crowe watched with furrowed brows and a forced smile. He didn’t like Sol, he didn’t like him at all. But whatever made you happy, he’d tolerate.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ 🍋

Sol was dragging you down the street as you squirmed under his tight grasp on your wrist. The whole time you demanded to know what had gotten into him! This wasn’t the Sol you knew. Ever since the arcade, you noticed a sudden shift in his personality, it was instantaneous. As you two arrived back at your apartment, he shoved you inside with a forceful hand, slamming and locking the door shut. “What the hell is wrong with you, Sol?!” You screamed at him as you tossed your phone, keys, and wallet onto the kitchen counter.

Sol’s eyes were narrowed still as he walked towards you, instinctively you stumbled backwards until you found yourself with your back pinned against the wall with nowhere to go. His tall frame towering above you. “What’s wrong with me? You’re the one sneaking around with that bastard.” He hissed as he slammed his palms on either side of your head, pinning you between his arms. “I’ve tolerated him long enough. Doesn’t he know you belong to me?! I’m the one that’s caring for you and protecting you. While he does nothing.” He snapped angrily.

You cowered beneath him, beginning to grow a bit scared, “Y-you’re scaring me, Sol.” You whimpered. He clicked his tongue in annoyance; he didn’t like you pretending to be innocent in all of this. Perhaps you and that bastard needed reminding of who you belonged to. Sol crashed his lips against yours roughly, you felt his tongue trace the bottom of your lip. But when you were tightening your lips together to deny him, he bit your lip causing your lips to part open in surprise and with that his pierced tongue forced its way into your mouth. One hand on your jaw forcing your head to tilt up. You tasted like coffee and sugar, he didn’t mind at all though. It suited you.

You cried against him. He was being so forceful it was terrifying. He pulled away panting heavily, a string of saliva connecting your and his lips. His hand was still firmly holding your chin. “I don’t think you realize, dear. That you’re mine. No one else can have you. Ever. I won’t allow it.” He muttered. He noticed that your eyes were watery and a sympathetic smile made its way to his pierced lips. “Aww..please don’t cry, baby. I don’t want to make you cry. I promise I’ll make you feel good. You just need to be reminded that you’re mine.” He said in a gentle voice as his thumb wiped away your tears.

“I’m scared.” You whimpered.

Sol leaned down to press a much more gentle kiss to your lips, “You won’t be for long. You’ll be feeling so good in a minute.” He purred and with that he picked you up holding you so gently in his arms bridal style as he continued to kiss your lips. Once inside the bedroom he tossed you onto the bed and hovered over you beginning to tug at the waistband of your pants. “N-no Sol.” You whined but your arousal said otherwise. The truth was you were so turned on by him. You had wanted him in this way for so long.

Sol ignored your pleas and within a couple minutes he had you stripped of your clothes. You laid on your back on the bed as you looked at his nearly naked body, he stood only in his boxers. And now with the sun peeking through the blinds basking the room in a bright light you saw just how big Sol was. His body was well toned, just perfect. You saw the erection in his pants and you swallowed nervously at just how big he was. You weren’t sure if he was even fully hard yet.

You didn’t get to stare at him for too long though as he got to his knees, kneeling in front of your legs. “I’m going to make you feel so good dear. You won’t ever think of anyone else but me.” He said it almost came out as a warning. His slender hands pushed your legs apart and the look of pure lust was on his face. You tried to cover yourself up with your hands but he wouldn’t let you. “So pretty.” He whispered. God, he dreamt for so long to be buried between your thighs eating you out.

You jumped when you felt Sol’s tongue licking your pussy, the muscle dragging slowly between the slit. You felt the cold metal piercing drag along sending a shiver up your spine. He let out a moan as he tasted you. God, you tasted better than he could have ever imagined. He pushed your legs further apart and spread open your pussy, you squirmed a bit at being so exposed. Your hands balled up the fabric of the bed sheet beneath you as you felt the ball of his piercing roll over your clit, causing you to let out a loud moan. You knew you messed up when you gave him that reaction, because he immediately began to suck at your sensitive clit, rolling his piercing over it every single time causing you to moan louder. His tongue moving from teasing your clit to probing your wet hole. He wanted to taste every bit of you, this was pure bliss for the raven haired man.

“So good.” Sol praised. It was hard to focus as he sucked the sensitive bud, your head spinning as your legs quivered. He wouldn’t let you close your legs, no matter how much you tried. His tongue worked so expertly, he knew exactly how to get you whimpering under him. “Sol!” You yelped when you felt his tongue enter you, causing your hips to buck and your back to arch. It was such a strange feeling but god it felt so good. He was trying to fuck you with his tongue. Your hands tangled in his dark loose hair as you tilted his head back up to focus on your clit. “I-I’m gonna..” you gasped, squeezing your eyes shut as the warm sensation began to build more and more. Your breathing became more frantic and with another roll of his pierced tongue against your clit, your legs closed, Sol’s face still between your thighs as you held him there cumming all over his face. You were practically screaming his name as he continued to suck on your overstimulated clit. You begged him to stop, so he did and instead decided to clean you up.

Sol’s tongue lapped up every last bit of your juices, you tasted so amazing. He was drunk off of your scent—taste. Everything about you drove him crazy. He could spend the rest of his life buried between your thighs, licking your pussy and letting you cum all over his face. He was yours to use. “N-no more. Please.” You begged, your body falling limp.

Sol gave you one last taste, his tongue swiping up the full length of your pussy before he sat up. He licked his wet lips, “See..I’m the only one who can make you feel this good, dear.” He said matter of factly. He stood up pulling down his boxers revealing his hard dick. When you looked at him you nearly choked on your own spit. How the hell were you supposed to take him? He hadn’t stretched you out with his fingers to prepare you. “I-I can’t take you without—“ you began. But Sol leaned forward kissing you, shutting you up. “It’s okay. I’ll be slow.” He mumbled against your lips.

His tall frame towered above you, it was so intimidating, the way he looked at you with half lidded eyes and a small smile on his face. His arms were on either side of you pinning you between him. You felt the tip of his dick poke at your entrance. Sol continued to gently kiss you as he pushed himself inside you, he let out quiet whimpers as slowly filled you up. His body shuddered at the sensation, your tight pussy was everything he had ever dreamed off. “Fuck…oh god you feel so good, ______.” He moaned as he sat up now. Placing his hands on your inner thighs, he spread your legs apart as far as he could without hurting you. He wanted to see how well you took him.

Inch by inch Sol sank into you, it was agonizing how slow he went but by the look on his face he was savoring every moment. He was panting quietly trying to control himself, he did want to hear his soulmate after all. You squirmed under his strong grasp as he filled you up beyond belief. You weren’t ready to take him, he was so big it hurt. “S-Sol.” You cried, tears pooling in the corner of your eyes as you felt the tip hit deep inside, causing you to flinch in pain.

“It’s okay. You’re doing so well, dear.” He praised you. And without warning Sol snapped his hips back and slammed back into you, causing you to yelp. He couldn’t resist himself as he began to roughly fuck you. His fingernails digging into the soft skin of your thighs and quiet moans left him. He stayed quiet because he wanted to hear your sweet sounds.

He watched the face you made as every single time he hit that sweet spot of your pussy. The way your lips parted as you moaned his name and the how your back arched as he fucked you. The way your breasts bounced up and down with each thrust. He noticed the creamy white ring forming on the base of his cock. You felt so perfect, it was as if..”We were made for each other, ______.” He whispered. Sol let go your thighs, confident that you’d keep your legs spread out. He now cupped your breasts, fingertips lightly teasing your perked nipples as he watched you shudder under his touch.

Sol frowned, “Something’s missing.” He said in between pants as he continued to relentlessly fuck you. His pace was not slowing down at all, you were exhausted already, your pussy ached from how hard he was slamming into you. You weren’t sure you’d even be able to walk in the morning. “W-what?” You asked confused by what he meant but he didn’t answer you, instead leaned down to bite your neck. You cried out in surprise. He actually bit you. He nipped and sucked at the sensitive skin on your neck, not caring if he hurt you. After all, everyone needed to know you were his.

Your hands tangled in his hair as you squeezed your eyes shut, tears now running down your face. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he slipped one hand between your thighs. You body twitched when you felt the pad of thumb rub your clit, all the while he never stopped fucking and marking you. He let out a low laugh when he felt your body twitch underneath him.

Sol could tell you were close to coming, by how your breathing became more erratic, how you held him closer. “Are you going to cum for me, dear?” He asked. You didn’t say anything, which annoyed the dark haired man. He sat up, ripping himself from your grasp and stopped rubbing circles against your sensitive clit. “You need to answer me.” He growled and just to emphasize the point, he pulled nearly all the way out before he snapped his hips forward. You cried loudly, biting your lip and nodding eagerly, “Y-yes. I wanna cum for you, Sol.” You whimpered, looking up at him with the cutest expression.

Sol smiled lovingly at you, satisfied with your answer, “You’re so cute when you beg, dear.” He spoke gently and with that he returned to stimulating your clit. Your mind was hazy as you felt your orgasm building up, you were only focused on one thing and that was coming. Your hands reached up to dig their fingernails in the skin of his bicep. “You’re so close. I can tell. Just cum for me. Please. I want to feel it so bad.” Sol begged in a whiny, desperate tone as he quickened his pace. And just like that you practically screamed his name, your body shaking as you came around his cock.

You orgasming and screaming his name was the most beautiful thing Sol had ever witnessed. He had dreamt of this moment for so long, it was better than he could ever imagine. He felt your pussy tighten around him and soon after he was coming too. Sol threw his head back as his dick twitched, coating your insides with thick cum. He was buried deep inside you, holding your thighs firmly so he could adequately fill you up. “You’re so beautiful. So pretty, full of my cum.” He mumbled, gazing down at you now.

Sol gently pushed your legs apart as he pulled out of you and watched in awe as his cum leaked out of your tight pussy. It was a heavenly sight. He sighed in satisfaction, flopping down onto the bed as he wrapped his arms around your tired body, pulling you onto his chest. You buried your face into the crook of his neck as you clung into him tightly. “No one will ever make you feel this good, dear. You were made for me. We’re soulmates.” Sol said barely above a whisper as he gazed at the white ceiling. “You’re mine. I won’t ever let anyone come between us. Ever. I love you so much, ______.” He said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. His embrace tightening around you when he said that.

There was something threatening about the way Sol spoke. You were a bit scared, but you had no reason to be, right? He just loved you and you loved him. “I love you, Sol.” You sniffled. Sol just smiled at your words. He finally had you all to himself.

[chahnniesroom]

too close to home

pairing: none (platonic ot8 & female reader)

summary: as the only female of stray kids, you've always felt a little out of place. this comeback, the comments and criticism seem to hit a little too close to home and you start to think that maybe the group is better off without you.

word count: 8.5k

tags/warnings: 9th member au, hurt/comfort, angst, mean fans, anxious thinking, insecurities, overthinking

a/n: this is my first fic for my appreciation event! big thank you to everyone who has supported me and sorry this took so long to post.

special shoutout to @kangaracha who is basically the only reason i was able to finish this fic! she was my biggest cheerleader throughout my writing and if you would like to read an amazing 9th member fic, please please go read queenmaker.

where the heart is collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

You had known from the start that it would be difficult being in a co-ed group. It was rare, especially in K-pop. But being outnumbered eight to one? It was unheard of.

You had been just as surprised all those years ago, when the company had pulled you into a room and offered you a position in the boy group that they were about to debut.

You had heard about the team that Chan had put together, every trainee had gossiped about how JYPE was trying something new with a self-formed team. You hadn't paid too much attention to it, you were busy enough with preparing for your own evaluations and the possibility of being included in what everybody had thought was a boys group hadn't even crossed your mind.

You had accepted the position almost immediately.

At that point, you had been a trainee for almost three years, but had only been considered for debut less than a handful of times. You knew with each line-up that hadn't worked out, you were closer to being forced to give up on the idea of becoming an idol. If you rejected the offer this time, you might not get another and you had been ready to do anything to achieve your dream. 

Plus, you knew there was a high chance that they'd drop you from the group anyway. The position brought a lot of interest to the group, but you knew the company would be watching closely to determine whether it was worth the risk or not. 

It had been a bit of a rocky start, but now the nine of you were close, you had to be when you spent most of your waking time together. You considered the boys to be your second family and you knew that they felt the same way. 

It was just that there was clearly a difference in the dynamic when you were and weren’t with the group. It wasn’t necessarily bad just… different. The boys never excluded you or made you feel like you weren’t part of the group and you had great individual relationships with each of the members. 

It was inevitable though, you had never shared a dorm with the group, especially earlier in your career when you were less familiar and it would have been entirely unacceptable. You knew that this was the main reason you didn’t feel quite as part of the group, there was just a level of closeness that was formed when you actually lived with someone.

Well, it was that and the nagging guilt because you knew that Chan had hand-picked every member of Stray Kids himself.

Every member except you.

While the members had promised that they were the ones who had the final say, you knew it wasn't quite what they had expected. All of you had been desperate to debut though and even if it wasn't ideal, nobody was going to say anything that might jeopardize this chance.

Still, you could tell that the boys did their best to include you and for the most part, they succeeded. Even early on when things had been a little bit awkward between you, they were fiercely protective. In interviews, they insisted over and over that they wanted you in the group and it had been nice to hear, even if you knew they were just saying it for the cameras. 

They frequently invited you over for dinner or just to hang out, but you couldn't help feeling jealous when it was time for you to leave at the end of each night. It wasn't anything you could change though, so you just tried to appreciate their company while you had it.

So when the company brings up the idea of new dorm arrangements, you're surprised and a bit confused when they don't immediately inform you of where you'll be staying and kick you out of the meeting room. You've never participated in the discussions that the boys have regarding roommates, there has never been any reason to. 

You're shocked by how easily things fall into place, even more so when Chan approaches you, asking if you'd feel comfortable living with him and Jeongin. They assure you that any of the pairings would be happy to have you stay with them though, and that they'd also understand if you preferred to live on your own.

You were hesitant at first. It had been out of the question when you had first debuted. Even if you and the boys had been comfortable with it, which you weren’t, the company would have totally rejected the idea of one girl living with eight boys.

Instead, their solution had been to force you to remain in the trainee dorm even after your debut which meant constantly listening to jealous girls criticize anything and everything about you. It had been exhausting, partly because you were getting used to balancing schedules with practice, but also because you couldn’t find it in yourself to be mad at them. You were all too familiar with the disappointment and frustration that came with watching the people around you succeeding.

You had briefly considered asking about sharing with the boys when the dorms had split in half because you knew you needed to get out of the toxic environment the other girls were creating, but then the company had offered you an apartment to yourself. It had been one of the easiest decisions you had ever made. 

It had been too good to be true, though. The apartment had given you the privacy that you had craved, there were a multitude of issues that almost made you miss being in the trainee dorms. Whether you moved to a new apartment on your own or into one of the dorms with the boys, you knew that it would be an improvement.

You’re curious what living with the boys would be like and honestly, you’re a bit lonely in your current apartment. It only takes a day or two of thinking before you confirm that you’d like to join them.

The moving process is quick too, at least for you. The boys offered to help you move, but you adamantly refused. Your place had been so tiny that you didn't have the space to store many things and you didn't like shopping that much anyway so all of your clothes fit into the couple of large suitcases that you kept under your bed. Since most of the furniture had come with the room, you were able to bring everything over to the new dorm before the boys had even finished packing.

It's hard to settle in at first. You don't have any siblings and have never had to live with boys so it takes some getting used to. Luckily both Chan and Jeongin are quite careful about being respectful of your space. 

It's also a relief that you get to divide up some of the housework that you used to have to do all on your own. Even though it's not too much, it's nice to have more time in your day for other things and the three of you have developed a system that works well and feels natural.

Chan is meticulously clean and although you don't think you're that messy, you’re more careful to keep things in the right place. The worst part is that you know Chan won't complain or nag you if you leave your things around, he just quietly cleans up your messes which makes you feel both touched and a bit guilty.

You have no regrets about moving in with them, especially when you start to get more busy. It's nice to be living with people who have the same or similar schedules to you so you don't have to worry about losing track of time and being late to things. 

Not only that, but you feel like you have more support. Jeongin reminds you to eat regular meals and Chan checks in when he notices that you're up later than usual. The three of you chat more than you did before and now have a number of different inside jokes.

You're especially grateful because you can already sense that this comeback is going to be hard on you. It's not the songs that have you concerned, all the recording finished smoothly and you're more than happy with how your parts turned out. You also really like the concept that's being proposed for the cover art and all the music videos.

It's the dance that's the problem.

As a trainee, you had always excelled in dancing and had actually had been assigned the role of main dancer in some of the girl groups that you were considered for. It made it especially hard to come to terms with the fact that when you had joined Stray Kids, you weren't even included in the dance line. You knew that your singing was nice and your voice added diversity to the group, but it had never been what you were most confident in and you felt inadequate compared to Seungmin and Jeongin.

But when it comes to this title track, it's especially obvious why you're not considered as one of the lead dancers. By lunchtime, everyone has memorized the moves, you included, but the choreography is definitely more suited for male dancers. No matter how much you focus on trying to match the style of everyone else, you're sticking out like a sore thumb. 

Most of the members take a short break for lunch, but you're determined to keep practicing and Minho is willing to coach you through the parts that you're struggling with the most. On a technical level, you're hitting most of the moves, but you still haven't been able to do a runthrough that doesn't elicit at least a few corrections. You can tell that Minho is running out of patience and you're even more frustrated than he is.

Luckily the rest of practice is working on the different formations and angles for filming the music video, dance practice, and future performances. The details are less important and everyone is mainly focused on not crashing into each other.

You try to sneak in as many solo practice sessions as you can, but by the time filming for the dance practice rolls around, you’re still not feeling confident. In fact, you’ve been dreading the schedule for days and you feel a little queasy every time you think about it. It's far from your first dance practice filming, but something about this one just feels more daunting.

The morning of filming, you force yourself to eat a decent breakfast, knowing that skipping it would just make dancing more difficult for yourself. Chan had woken up early to prepare a simple meal while you and Jeongin had helped set the table and clean up afterwards. You're a bit more jittery than usual and you're pretty sure both of the boys have noticed, but they don't comment which you appreciate.

Everyone goes through hair and makeup fairly quickly, there's no elaborate outfits and crazy makeup for a more casual video like this. Your bad feeling for today just worsens when you see that while the rest of the boys are in their usual loose fitting sweats and shirts, you've been given a tight fitting outfit that reveals a bit more of your midriff than you usually like to show off. Even though you can't deny that it's a flattering look, it just makes you self conscious, feeling like you stood out even more than you usually did standing beside the guys.

Determined to power through filming, you warm up as quickly as you can so that you can spend as much time as possible reviewing the moves with the rest of the boys before the crew finishes setting up.

Your stomach is a flurry of butterflies as you get in position to start filming, even though you know that usually the first try is a throwaway. Not only is this the first time filming for the day, but the group hasn't actually done a performance of your new single, only practices.

You monitor the recording carefully. There's a few things to improve with the camera angles and position, that was to be expected, but you still have the nagging feeling that something about your dancing doesn't match the rest of the group.

You try to make your movements bigger in the next run through, while still looking natural and staying in time with the music. It's not quite right though and each time you try again, there's more and more things that you're unhappy with.

You can tell the rest of the group isn't pleased with how things are going either. You've been doing this long enough that these dance practices usually only take a couple hours to record, but now it's been at least three and none of the takes have even been considered as a keeper. A few times you haven't even been able to make it to the end of the song before someone messes up.

Your choreographer is in the back of the room and although he hasn't explicitly called you out, you can feel his gaze on you the longer this takes. 

“Come on guys,” Minho complains after a short break. “Focus! Let's get it done this time.” You watch as his eyes flicker towards where you're standing for the faintest of moments as he says it. It feels like a blow to the stomach.

You hate disappointing people, you're only human after all, but something feels even worse when you know it's the other members that you're letting down. Especially when it comes to dance, because you've always wanted to impress Minho and his notoriously high standards. The guilt sits heavy in your stomach as you push through your growing fatigue and take your position in front of the camera again.

As soon as both the director and choreographer announce that you're finished for the day, almost everybody collapses on the spot. One-takes are always the most exhausting and everybody has to focus on keeping their movements sharp because it's extremely obvious when you aren't in sync.

You, on the other hand, make your way to the screens where they're showing the playback. Sweat is dripping from your neck and forehead and you absent-mindedly swipe it away as you watch. Someone drapes a small towel over your head and you look over to see that Minho and Hyunjin have crowded behind you to take a look.

“It's good,” one of the managers comments.

Instead of agreeing, Minho hums noncommittally. You feel yourself tense up.

“What?” the manager asks. “Don't tell me you want to do it again.”

“No, no, it's fine.” Minho says mildly. 

“We can do another take,” the director offers. From behind him, one of the camera people groans quietly. You try not to wince at the sound and only partially succeed.

“I think this is the best we're going to get,” Minho replies, before he turns and walks back to where his things are, effectively ending the discussion.

“Sorry for making everyone stay late,” you say quietly, bowing quickly before trailing after Minho. Hyunjin eyes you weirdly as he keeps pace.

“Why'd you say that?” he asks as he packs his bag.

“I felt bad that they had to stay so long,” you say, confused. “We normally tell them that if filming goes over.”

“No.” Hyunjin pauses his movement to study you. You can't help but shrink away, feeling a bit like a bug under a microscope “We normally thank them for their hard work. You made it sound like it was your fault.”

“It's just been a long morning,” you deflect. “Are you heading back to the dorms now?”

“Yeah.” He runs a hand through his wet hair, flicking sweat everywhere. “Have to shower and I have a bit of time before my vocal lesson. Want to head back together?”

“You go ahead first,” you reassure him. “I have a couple things left to do at the company so I'll stick around for a bit longer.”

“Sure. If you're finished early, feel free to drop by. We can have dinner or something together,” Hyunjin offers.

“Sounds good! I don't know if I'll have time, but I'll definitely see I can join,” you promise.

Lying always leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, but you know there's no way you're going to sacrifice time that you could be using to improve the dance just to hang out.

You stay late in the studio that night. Your only other schedule for the day is fittings for the music video and all the music shows, which finishes pretty quickly. Since you don't have much of an appetite anyway, you choose to skip Hyunjin’s dinner offer to continue practicing more. You had asked one of the managers to send you a copy of the dance practice and each time you replay it, the pit in your stomach seems to grow.

You lose track of time, picking apart each and every move to try and figure out what you're doing wrong. It's not until Minho knocks on the door and enters, startling you in the middle of yet another runthrough, that you realise how long you've been practicing.

“You still have so much energy?” Minho calls out as he walks closer to you.

“Just had a few things I wanted to fix up before I went home,” you explain in between breaths. 

“And?”

“And what?” you ask.

“Did you fix them?” he replies, raising an eyebrow as he scans your sweaty form and the empty room. “Have you been practicing this whole time? You've been here so long that even Channie-hyung went home. He asked me if you were at our place.”

“What? I-”

“It's almost 2am,” he says gently. “It's time to go home.”

“Can I do one more run through?” you ask sheepishly. “Actually, it’s good that you’re here, I just want to make sure-”

“You've been practicing long enough.” Minho's voice turns stern and he grabs your hand to lead you to the couch to sit. “Did you even eat?”

“I wasn't hungry,” you say quietly.

“Y/n-ah,” Minho scolds you. “You need to fuel your body if you're going to work it so hard, you know we've talked about this.”

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to practice more,” you say, staring down at your hands. You’re not allowed to pick at your nails since you just got them done, so you settle for fidgeting with one of the rings that you’re wearing. The sharp edges of the gemstones prick at your fingers but you can’t get yourself to stop. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I just couldn’t get the dance right today. We had to film it so many times.”

“What are you talking about, Y/n-ah?” Minho asks, bewildered. “We weren’t- you weren’t the reason we had to redo the dance so many times.”

You look up at him finally and don’t see any of the annoyance that you were expecting. The concern and genuine confusion that you find instead catches you off guard.

“What? But- On our fourth take during the second chorus, my legwork was so sloppy compared-”

“Hannie literally forgot which direction we were supposed to move and he almost knocked into me,” Minho interrupts. “There was no way we were going to be able to use the footage, that’s why we stopped early.”

“Oh, I didn’t notice.”

Minho taps a finger to his lips, deep in thought.

“Fifth take, well that was my fault, so we're not going to talk about that. Sixth try, Yongbokkie and Innie both missed a cue and crouched later than everybody else, that one made me want to pull out my hair.” He shakes his head.

“That’s when we took a break,” you realise.

“Yeah, we were hoping it would help us have a clean run. Jinnie had sweated through his makeup and needed touch-ups anyway.”

“I thought you guys were annoyed at me,” you say in a small voice. “You didn't seem happy with the final video.”

“It wasn't my best take,” Minho admits. “I kind of wanted to do it again, but I didn't want you guys to have to stay even later.”

“Did you even see yourself?” You reach for your phone and unlock it to show the paused dance practice video. “Look, I've been trying to copy how fluid you moved in this part. See there? I looked so stiff compared to you, it's awful.”

“Y/n-ah,” Minho says carefully. 

“And look at this move,” you say, skipping ahead a couple seconds. “I couldn't quite-”

You cut yourself off mid-sentence when Minho leans forward to pluck your phone our of your hands and throw it off to the side. You don't even fight him, just stare with wide eyes, scared of what he's going to say next. 

“You were fine, you did well. But even if you did mess up, it's okay. This dance is tiring, it's challenging. We all have bad days and it's okay to make mistakes.”

When you don’t say anything in response, he slowly moves closer and envelops you in a tight hug. You sniffle a little bit and when he starts to rub slow but firm circles onto your back, you can't stop the few tears that escape.

“Hey, what's going through your mind, huh?” he asks in a low voice. “Why are you being so hard on yourself?”

“I just don't want to let you guys down,” you say.

“Y/n-ah, you're not letting us down if we have to do a few more takes on a dance practice,” Minho says incredulously. “Is that all that's been worrying you?”

“Yeah,” you lie. “I was just nervous about filming the dance and disappointed when it didn't go like I wanted it to.”

“Silly girl,” Minho says, ruffling your hair affectionately. “You're doing just fine. It's okay to be nervous, but you don't have to be pushing yourself so hard. Come on, it's time to go home, we have an early schedule tomorrow.”

You follow him meekly as he leads you out of the building and to where a driver is waiting to take you back to your dorm. Even though you feel a bit better knowing that you weren't the cause of the schedule overruns, you're still not satisfied with how you're dancing, but you know that it's pointless to pick a fight. Not only is Minho just as stubborn as you, he's not afraid to bring in reinforcements and you'd hate for the rest of the group to catch on to how you've been spending most of your free time. They already have enough to worry about, the last thing you want is to add to that.

Moving forward, you don't stop practicing, but you do take more care to try and pretend that it's not eating up all your free time. You stop using your favourite studio, you know the dance so well that most of the time you don't even have music playing, and you make sure not to stay out late enough that it's noticeable.

You start to feel a little silly with how much time you've devoted to this, significantly more than the rest of the members, especially when the music video filming goes by without a hitch. By the time the Studio Choom video is filmed, you're a lot more confident about the performance and even starting to enjoy yourself.

The rest of the preparations for the comeback start to fly by, especially after the album announcement goes live. There's not a day that goes by that's not filled with different photoshoots or interviews.

Before you know it, the album is released and even though your schedule is absolutely packed, you spend all your free time reading through comments and reactions. Maybe it was cliche to say, but you really did treasure hearing from Stays and comebacks were always when you felt closest to them.  You especially liked being able to interact with them on a more personal level.

You were almost certain that you were the most active member on Bubble, you liked to send daily updates on what you were doing and reminders to Stay about maintaining their health. It did sting that you were also pretty certain that you had the least subscriptions and likely some of them only stuck around because you thought it was funny to send candid photos of the boys every so often.

You had always looked forward to fan signs the most though. Before you had debuted, you had loved seeing footage of the cute accessories, silly pick-up lines, and heartfelt messages from the fans. Not only that, but it was the only chance to speak to fans in person, even if it was only for a minute or two.

You were immensely grateful for everyone that supported you, but maybe it was your eager anticipation for fan signs that left you feeling so disappointed and empty. You had slowly grown used to Stays ignoring you for the boys, for always being the one that didn't receive any gifts to play with, for having the smallest stack of letters at the end of each event. But somehow you were always hopeful that the next time would be different.

Of course, it wasn't like you resented everybody else in the group. In fact, you were genuinely glad that they were enjoying themselves because they deserved it. They worked hard, were amazing performers and talented at creating music, and as a result, the fans loved them.

You, on the other hand, were just missing something, and it seemed that nothing you could do would change that. You had bounced through different positions, focused on vocals, dance, rap, music production, writing lyrics, and had enjoyed yourself thoroughly the whole time. If only the fans had liked it as much as you.

At least with fan calls, it wasn't as blatantly obvious that you were the least popular, least favourite member of the group. In fact, sometimes you were glad because you knew the boys often had crazy fans who had absurd or cringy requests while most of the time you spoke with someone who was politely feigning their interest.

It's almost funnier when the company sits you all down in the same room for the calls like they do today because you get to witness and subsequently tease the boys for the aegyo and silly poses they're forced to do. It's not like any of you can refuse anything the fans ask you to do, not with the staff breathing down your neck the whole time.

As expected, most of your calls are fairly generic and you're grateful for it. You have easy conversations about the album, which dances are your favourite, and you get to share some stories from the tour that you recently finished. You're maybe halfway through the calls when things start to take a turn for the worst.

“I even think that you would have done great as a solo artist! Are you thinking of releasing any solo music soon?” the girl that you're talking to asks excitedly.

“Oh, thank you.” You smile back even though the innocent question makes your chest ache for some reason. “I- well, solo music-” You take a deep breath to gather your thoughts. “I don't know about the future, but right now I really can't imagine releasing anything other than music as a part of Stray Kids. I love working and performing with the rest of the members and I wouldn't want to change anything.”

It's how you actually feel, but you can't help the way that your eyes dart over to check on the staff member that's supervising your call. You feel a bit better when you see their nod of approval and try to focus on the fan to finish the rest of the conversation.

Thankfully you get a quick break before the next call. You know the fan was probably trying to be encouraging, she had started off the call praising your skills and was probably just curious. Still, there's a voice in your mind that tells you that she'd prefer it if you weren't a member of Stray Kids. Or rather, she'd prefer that Stray Kids didn't have you in it.

You try to bring a positive mindset into your next call, but it's with a Stay that’s decidedly less interested in talking to you. You exchange greetings and make small talk until she seems to get an idea that makes her sit up straight all of a sudden.

“I have a question for you,” she says, eyes glinting in a way that makes you a little nervous, even though you're not sure why.

“Go ahead,” you encourage her because you're mostly feeling a bit relieved that she's finally showing some emotion other than boredom.

“Which of the boys would you say is best in bed?” she asks slyly.

You stare at her dumbly, thinking that you must have misheard her.

“Sorry,” you say, laughing uncomfortably. “I don't- I don't think I understand your question.”

“You heard me,” she scoffs. “What's the point in having you in the group if you're not sleeping with at least some, if not all of them?”

“No, I- It's not like that, I don't-” Flustered, you stare desperately at the staff, hoping they'll step in and end the call. Instead they just motion for you to continue. “I mean, we're close, but not-”

“If you want, you can just tell me your favourites,” she giggles, as if she's just asked you what songs on the album you liked. “It must be either Chan or Jeongin, if you decided to live with them.”

“No!” you exclaim.

“So it's not either of them?” she says, tapping a finger against her lip in thought.

“That's not the kind of relationship we have.”

Mortified, you find that you're tearing up a bit. You've heard the theories before, know that there's a lot of gossip and rumours because you're in a group of men, but you've never been outright accused to your face like this.

From the corner of your blurry field of vision, you see Seungmin wave bye to whoever he's talking to. He must hear the distress in your voice because he glances over, then does a double-take when he sees just how bad you're doing.

“What's going on?” he demands, stalking over. Before the staff can do anything to stop him, he leans forward and disconnects the call without a warning. “Why didn't you do anything, isn't it obvious that something’s wrong?”

“Y/n-ssi was handling it,” the staff member says. “It’s not fair to the fans if you cut a call short without reason.”

“No reason? Do you have eyes?!” Seungmin motions to where you're surreptitiously trying to blot away the tears without smudging your makeup. He's gotten the attention of everyone in the room now, even the members who are still in calls and have to pretend nothing is happening in the background. You can only hope that the phones aren't able to pick up anything being said.

“Min,” you say, voice barely above a whisper as you tug on his sleeve lightly. He glances back at you, eyes softening slightly. “It's okay, I'm fine.”

You're grateful that he's stood up for you, but all the scrutiny is getting a bit overwhelming. You just want to move on and pretend nothing happened because the last thing that you want is for the company to think you're a liability who can't even handle a nosy fan.

Seungmin crouches in front of you and studies you carefully. You're still clutching onto the sleeve of his sweater. You take a deep breath to compose yourself, then give him a watery smile.

“I was just being really sensitive today, I promise,” you plead. “Just let it go.”

He starts to say something, then cuts himself off, eyes watching something happening over your shoulder.

“Let's just take a quick break from the calls,” Chan says evenly. You didn't even notice that he came up being you and is standing behind you protectively. “We'll be back in 10 minutes.”

It's a command, not a suggestion, something that the staff would normally push back against, but for some reason they stay quiet, allowing the nine of you to filter out of the room unimpeded.

Nobody says anything until you find an unoccupied dance studio. Minho is quick to lock the door after you all pile in.

“Hey,” Seungmin says softly from where he's been stuck to your side. “You holding up okay?”

“Yeah, I don't know what happened. I'm fine now,” you say.

“Are you sure?” Felix asks from where he's sitting on your other side.

“Really, it was nothing,” you assure him.

“If you were upset, then it's something,” Seungmin insists. “We promise we won't think it's silly or anything. It's probably something we've all heard before anyway.”

You have to turn away from the way that he's looking at you with his huge, pleading eyes. But the rest of the group is also gathered around, concern lining their faces.

“She implied that the only reason I'm in the group is because I'm sleeping with all you,” you say stiffly, regretting it immediately when you feel both Seungmin and Felix freeze in place. “Which obviously is not true, so it's not a big deal.”

“Y/n, you know that's unacceptable, right?” Chan says slowly, through what sounds like gritted teeth. You finally tear your eyes away from where you've been staring at the patterns that you can see in the grain of the wooden flooring, to see that his jaw is clenched, neck muscles pulled tight. 

“Fans say inappropriate things all the time, it's not like I haven't read things like that before. It comes with the job.” You shrug.

“That doesn't make it okay. This is serious. You shouldn't have to-” Chan cuts himself off when he notices that he's started to raise his voice and just pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Listen, I know. I just- I don't want this to be a big commotion. It sucks, I didn't respond well, whatever, let's move on,” you say. “She's going to post about it online, but in a few days, nobody is going to remember anyway.”

“Hyung, can't we just end the call if they do anything inappropriate?” Changbin complains.

“You know that we can't,” you remind him before anybody else can say anything. “It's part of our contract.”

“I hate these stupid fan calls!” Hyunjin passionately declares from where he's sprawled out on the floor. “Channie-hyung, can we just cancel the rest of them?”

“Don't say that,” you scold him mildly. “You love fan calls the most out of all of us.”

“I love some of them,” he argues back. “But not if that's the way you're going to be treated during them. Plus, if another person asks me to call them mommy then I'm actually going to quit being an idol.”

“Ew, your fans are weird.” Jisung wrinkles his nose in disgust.

“They're your fans too!” Hyunjin shoots back.

“Okay,” Chan claps his hands together a couple times before things devolve further. “Unfortunately, we do have to continue with the rest of the calls and we can't delay things too much. It's time to head back.”

There's a bit of casual chatter as everybody heads back, but you can tell everyone is still feeling a bit tense. Seungmin only releases your hand when he absolutely has to and you squeeze a couple times before you let go to try and reassure him that you're going to be fine.

The second you sit down, a makeup artist descends on you, tutting her tongue when she sees that you've accidentally wiped away some of your eyeshadow. You obediently stay still, watching as Chan approaches your table too, stopping to lean down and say something in the ear of the staff member that has been monitoring you. The blood slowly drains from her face and she nods rapidly in agreement with whatever he tells her. He claps a hand on her shoulder and even though it's a light and friendly gesture, you can see the way she flinches slightly.

You raise an eyebrow when he looks your way and he just smiles innocently in return and makes his way back to his seat. You don't comment, not even when you notice that the staff's fingers are trembling so hard that it takes her a couple tries to connect you to the next call. You know that it's not her fault, she's just following instructions from the company after all, but you're not feeling very sympathetic at the moment.

Instead, you just try to focus and take on an upbeat persona in the hopes that nobody realises how upset you truly feel. You're hurt and a bit wary of what the fans might do next, but you don't want to take it out on the people who haven’t done anything to you yet.

Fortunately, the rest of the calls are rather uneventful and you leave the company feeling drained, but not as terrible as you had expected.

You spend the rest of the day thinking about what you could have done differently, how you could have handled the call more gracefully, what kind of answer you should give if something similar ever happens again. But no matter what, you just get stuck pitifully thinking to yourself that it's not fair, you shouldn't have to deal with these kinds of questions in the first case. You're sure the company will give you a briefing and some scripted lines tomorrow anyway, so it's probably for the best that you just try to pretend nothing happened at all.

That evening, you try your best to avoid social media, but you knew that some of the other boys had seen videos based on the stormy expression on Jeongin's usually smiley face when you got home and the way that Chan comes back from the gym with more bruises than usual from his boxing session with Minho and Changbin.

They never say anything, but they have been extra careful around you. Chan has brought home your favourite takeout without you asking and Jeongin jumps up to clean up the second that everyone has finished eating. After you decline to watch a drama with them, you can hear one of them pacing past your bedroom every few minutes, pausing right outside your door before continuing on.

You have just decided to muster up the courage to actually watch the recording of the video, it was embarrassingly easy to find one, when Seungmin video calls you. You immediately click away from where your own stupid looking shocked face is paused on screen to answer because you know Seungmin knows that you prefer to text unless it's an emergency.

“Hey,” you greet him warily. “What's up?”

“Felix is trying to kill me,” Seungmin complains.

“What now?”

“Just look!”

Seungmin changes to his back camera to reveal their kitchen, which is littered with baking supplies and seems almost hazy for some reason.

“Is that smoke?” you ask, sitting up in bed.

“I said not to film!” Felix's voice comes from somewhere outside of the frame. Seungmin pans over dizzyingly fast to show where he's crouched in front of the oven, streaks of flour smudged on his clothes and in his hair.

“I'm not filming,” Seungmin comments, unbothered by the fact that Felix is pulling out a pan of what looks like they should be cookies but look alarmingly similar to lumps of coal. “I'm on a call. Show Y/nnie what you made,” he prompts.

“What?? Noooo,” Felix whines. “Y/n don't look!”

“What are those supposed to be?” you laugh.

“I wanted to make something to cheer you up,” Felix says miserably. Seungmin cackles, moving the camera closer so that you first get a close-up of Felix's face, then a better look at the burnt baking sheet. You keel over, stomach starting to hurt from how hard you're laughing. “I was trying to clean up while they baked and didn't hear the timer go off.”

“Well I appreciate the thought,” you say, when you can finally catch a breath. “And you definitely succeeded in making me feel better. Didn't the fire alarm go off?”

“We just got it to stop,” Seungmin says, switching the camera so that you can see his face again. “It's freezing in here now, we had to open all the windows to air out the place.”

“You poor things,” you coo, leaning back onto your bed now that you aren't concerned that they're in immediate danger. “Do you want to come over to our place?”

“I want to, but someone has to make sure that sunshine over here doesn't burn anything else.” Seungmin rolls his eyes, making you laugh again. You hear Felix yell something in the background. “I just wanted a witness in case I don't make it to our schedule tomorrow. I think I gotta go.”

“Yeah, I think you'll be busy cleaning up the rest of the night. See you tomorrow!”

You end the call, plunging your room back into darkness. You lie on your bed for a few moments before unlocking your phone again.

Even though you knew that it wasn't wise, like clockwork you found yourself scrolling through social media after every comeback. It used to be worse, when you had been living alone and would spend countless hours curled up on your tiny bed, face only illuminated by your phone. 

The rest of the members all know that you had private social media accounts, they all had them too even though you technically weren't allowed to. What they didn't know was how many nights you had wasted away, watching funny compilations, reaction videos, and analysis of performances. Sometimes, it even felt like you were subconsciously searching for the negative comments, wanting to understand better the mindset of the haters.

It was an old, but bad habit, so you had tried your best to stop once you moved in with Chan and Jeongin. But tonight you just couldn't sleep. After wandering into the kitchen to get yourself a glass of water, you end up getting distracted by your Youtube recommendations.

You don't know what kind of strings the company pulled, but by some miracle, there's no clips of your disastrous fan call circulating any more, although there were still a lot of people talking about it.

There had been mixed comments. Some of the clips had excluded the terrible questions and people commented on how bad your media training must have been, but a majority of people were furious on your behalf and complained about how out of bounds the comment had been. 

You should be relieved that the videos have been taken down and you are to a certain extent, but just a couple days ago the dance practice that haunted you had been posted. Just one more thing to worry about. As you feared, while a majority of the comments were nice, there's already people picking apart your performance, comparing you to the boys. 

You click from one comment to another, then move onto fan made videos, inevitably falling down a rabbit hole of the many edits that exist where you had been cropped out or digitally removed. It was almost mesmerizing, watching videos of how well the group worked without you, how natural it looked to see what it would have looked like if it was just the eight of them. Some nights, you could almost forget that the edits were exactly that, edits and not the reality.

“Hey,” Chan interrupts. He is obviously trying his best not to scare you, but you were startled anyway, dropping your phone on the counter. “What are you up to so late?”

“It's nothing,” you said quickly, fumbling to lock your phone so that he can’t see the video that’s playing, but Chan had scooped it up before you had the chance to pick it back up.

“What's this-” You could see the moment that he pieced things together, the way that even in the dim lighting you could tell how his brow had furrowed and his hand had tightened around your phone. “How come you're not in these videos?”

“Hm?”

“You were definitely in this performance,” Chan says, studying the paused screen. “You're supposed to be… They removed you.” He finally realises with horror. “Why are you watching garbage like this?”

“I just want to know what Stay are thinking.” You shrug. “I saw this video and couldn't help but watch. It’s not a big deal, I was just curious.”

“They're not Stay if they're not supporting the whole group!” Chan startles you with the sharpness of his voice. He catches sight of your wide eyes and softens his tone. “Sorry, I just hate akgaes and seeing these kind of posts.”

“Oh come on,” you say. “You're telling me that you've never thought about what the group would be like if you weren't being dragged down by me?”

“Dragged down- Y/n-”

“Don't lie to me, oppa. I know you've seen what people are saying about the group, about me. Have you seen some of these edits? Stray Kids looks good as eight,” you admit.

“I’m not lying! None of us would want to be making music or performing without you,” Chan insists.

“You don't have to say that just to not make me feel bad.” You shake your head.

“We’ve been together from the start, why would I have chosen you to be a part of Stray Kids if I didn't actually want you to be on the team?” Chan asks, sounding frustrated, but also genuinely curious.

“Because the company added me to the team at the last minute?” you say, as if it's obvious. Because to you, and basically everybody else, it is. “I know I wasn't part of the group that you picked. It's okay-”

“What are you talking about? You know that I chose you too, right?” he asks slowly. 

“But the company-”

“They couldn’t have just added you to the group without our say.”

“No, I know that you guys agreed it to, but-”

“Y/n-ah, we didn't just agree to it. They told me they wanted us to consider adding a female member to Stray Kids. We thought about it and said yes. I was the one who wanted that member to be you.”

You stare at him, dumbfounded. 

“What?”

“Why are you so surprised? I saw your evaluations, you were one of trainees strongest in dance, probably the only one that could keep up with us, your singing has always been stable, and I know that based on your personality and work ethic, you would get along well with the rest of us. It was the obvious choice.”

“Oh.” Is all you can say, mind racing.

“You really thought the company just added your name onto the roster and we went along with it?”

“I don't know, I guess so?” you say sheepishly. “I was just so grateful to debut, it didn't matter at the time. It felt so out of the blue.”

“You know that one of the reasons that JYP didn't have you on that many of the girl group line-ups was because he was considering making you a solo artist, right?”

“Huh? There's no way,” you immediately deny. “Nobody ever mentioned that-”

“He told me when I brought up your name to add to the group. I guess they never wanted to get your hopes up.”

“I thought they were going to drop me soon,” you admit, scratching at the back of your neck. “I uh, I thought maybe I would do at most one more year of training and then move back in with my family. I had even started filling out university applications to keep my options open.”

“Y/n, you were consistently having amazing evaluations, you were being praised so much by everyone. Why would you doubt yourself?”

“Three years as a trainee and nothing to show for it. You know what it was like, how hard it was to see people come and go. It didn't matter how great my evaluations were if I never got to debut.”

“But-”

“Don't tell me that you never thought about quitting. Oppa, I thought that you of all people would understand what it was like.” You hate the way that your voice cracks.

“I thought about it all the time,” Chan says. “Sorry, I didn't mean it like that.”

“It's fine,” you mumble.

“Y/n-ah,” Chan asks tentatively, like he's afraid to learn the answer. “All these years that we've been together, did you really think we didn't want you?”

“Yes? Well, not really. I didn't think you guys disliked having me in the group per se, I just always thought that maybe you would like it more if I wasn't? And I guess it didn't help that there are a lot of people who thought the same way.”

“I'm sorry we didn't reassure you more.” Chan runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “How did we not see that you felt this way?”

“Because I didn't want you to? It's not like it was your fault anyway, I was just overthinking.”

“You know we're going to have to make it up to you, right?” Chan says, looking a little mischievous. 

“Oh please no,” you say, backing away nervously thinking of how much coddling and smothering you're about to endure. You're pretty sure you're already one of the members that's doted on the most. “Things are good as they are.”

“Nope, I refuse.” Chan approaches you, reaching out and catching your wrist so that you can't get away. “We're going to give you so much love that you're not going to doubt yourself ever again.”

“No!” you squeal, trying to tug away from his grip. “I already-” 

The rest of your sentence gets cut off as Chan pulls you into an embrace and your face gets smashed against his shoulder. He squeezes you tightly and contrary to your words, you just relax into his hold.

“What are you guys doing? You're being so loud.”

Both you and Chan freeze, then turn to stare as Jeongin shuffles into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes with his hair all mussed up. You turn back to Chan for a second before he replies.

“Just having a bit of a heart to heart, Innie. Come here, join us,” he invites.

“Ugh, why would I want to hug either of you?” Jeongin complains, wrinkling his nose before immediately walking over and enveloping both of you in his arms.

Even though you know you're going to have to leave for a schedule in a matter of hours, with both Chan and Jeongin's arms wrapped tight around you, you feel lighter than you have in months. You feel secure, at ease, and finally, like you've found a home in these boys.

where the heart is collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist