#you know you didn’t earn that. you’ve done nothing to earn that food

[jjklvr9]

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮

⇢ " 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨; 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴, 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘥 "

18+ minors dni !!

pairing: heeseung x older fem!reader (by a year)

genre: smut, slight romance

warnings: slight praising, mentions of blood, fingering, cursing, unprotected sex, do let me know if i missed anything!

wc: 5.3k

a/n: my first ever heeseung fic !! i have not been writing in a very long time so i'm kinda rusty and i'm trying a little different style of writing ;_; but! i still hope you all enjoy it <3

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You often wondered if there was more out there for you. Something that would make your mind and nerves twist in excitement, something that’d make you yearn for more. Something that would never make you think twice about, something that wouldn’t obscure your thoughts with uncertainty and ‘what ifs’. 

A deep sigh escapes your lips as you shake your head, aiming to clear your mind. It's time to focus on getting that pending work done so you can relish in the relief of passing in bed. It was a Friday night after all. 

It’s been a year since you graduated from university and the momentary happiness of completing a goal you’ve set flushed away when you began your first new job. The pay wasn’t too bad and it was the only way you’ve been guided to headstart on a career. Head start your life more so. You were beyond glee when you read the acceptance email, calling around your family members and best friends to tell them the good news. Yay! You’re finally earning money and doing something. The excitement didn’t last long, for the first two weeks on the job already took a heavy toll on you. The countless meetings, paperwork, overtime. Not to mention the commute home on the bus was dreadful after a late night. It became a routine you despised, slowly killing you from the insides and sometimes it showed on your face. 

Your life beyond the confines of work bore a striking resemblance. The majority of your friends were entangled in their own busy lives and careers, leaving little room for regular meetups. Furthermore, your family resided inconveniently in an entirely different city, making it impractical for you to freely come and go as you pleased. Not that you’d have the energy to do so anyway. On most of your days off, you found yourself indoors, indulging in the solace of leisurely idleness. There was nothing better than being able to sleep without the expectation of an alarm blaring to wake you up too early in the morning for your liking. 

But it was also getting dull. You couldn’t deny that life was pretty dull. You were grateful most times, having the security of a job and home was everything that was enough. Though occasionally, you longed for more. More to feel what life and this world could present. Even for the tiniest second, you desired to feel something different. 

9:30 pm. Finally, you turn your laptop off for the night and raise your arms to stretch the extremely tautened muscles straining your shoulders. You’ve been working non-stop since your lunch break ended, dinner didn’t even occur to you till small growls churned in your stomach. Packing up your things, you decided to head down to the convenience store in the building before leaving to catch your bus ride home. Maybe some onigiri or a bento box would suffice. 

Treading into the well-lit store, the cashier welcomes you with a smile along with the rush of the cold draft from the air conditioner hitting your skin at once. That woke you up a bit, forgetting how cold it would be in actuality outside of this building. It was winter after all. Your eyes survey through the food section, set on that last tuna mayo-flavoured rice ball before extending your hand to pick it off the shelves; when another hand seemed to beat you to it. This interaction caused you to jolt a little on your feet, waking you up fully now as your eyes dilated slightly at the man standing beside you. His hand was still next to yours by the shelves, only his successfully holding onto the onigiri. 

“Oh, sorry. Did you want this?” he asks softly, or rather he seemed, apologetic with his eyes staring back into yours. “It’s fine...I’ll just..” you trail on, glancing back at the array of rice balls before aimlessly picking another. “take this one.” The man blinks instantly in surprise, you can tell, but what about you weren’t sure. “Y/n?” with your name slipping out of his voice, your eyes widened once again and this time you were surprised. What? 

“You are..?” Not wanting to confirm straight off the bat just in case it was a stalker danger situation or something, you crease your eyebrows in question. “It’s me, Heeseung. From the basketball team.” Heeseung…Heeseung? Oh. Right. Heeseung. Once his facial features registered in your fatigued brain, recollections of university life played in your mind like a movie trailer. Were you truly this depleted that you didn't recognize this earlier? Unbelievable.

You knew him briefly through your group of friends who were also part of the basketball team, glimpsing him in the socials and games you attended, merely ever acknowledging each other with “heys” and greeting smiles. Heeseung was a year younger than you but it was hard to tell with his domineering height and build. Despite his rapport with your closest friends, you two never seemed to escalate the acquaintanceship. Yet, there was always a subtle exchange of prolonged glances between you two. You often notice his gaze and you'd find yourself looking back at him. His captivating charm and attractive features were no secret to anyone, and you were well aware of the magnetic allure he possessed around people. Well, those glances held no deeper meaning; they were just moments, fleeting and devoid of any significance, or so you believed. 

“Ah…Heeseung. I didn’t realise it was you with your hair all black now. Sorry, my brain is kind of fried..” you convey with a slight smile, mixed with comfort and apology. It had only been a full year and a half since you last saw him, at one of the parties the basketball team threw before a big game. It was apparent he changed; grew a few more inches and his shoulders looked larger too. Black strands covered some of his eyes now, which differed the most drastically from the blonde he used to have. He looked really good even sporting in just a hoodie and sweatpants, you couldn’t refute that. Heeseung lets out a chuckle, taking the onigiri from your hand and strides his way to the cashier without another word. “Oh?” was all you could say, flickering your eyes in surprise as you followed him. “You don’t have to! I should be the one buying.” He chuckles once again; never realised his voice sounded temperate either. As he thanks the cashier and hands you the plastic bag filled with the tuna-flavoured rice ball you wanted initially and an extra orange juice, a smile curves up his lips. You thanked him quietly and showed a smile back, both of you now walking out of the store into the cold air of the night. 

The darkness encompassed your surroundings, yet the glow of the streetlights and moon shine compensated for the lack of clear sight. “Hey, you didn’t have to..you know. But thank you again Heeseung. I should pay you back though..” The man looks at you with the same smile still plastered on his face, his hand pushing back his hair slightly. “Instead of paying me back, why don’t we grab a bite sometime?” Did he just ask me out? No, he’s just being friendly. 

You weren’t certain if you were more exhausted than you thought, but you sensed a slight leap in your heart. You weren't exactly unnerved by the inquiry, but it certainly deviated from the norm for you, especially now that you're fully engrossed in the corporate grind. Work accumulated on too much of your life and mind, as well as on people around you that nobody ever had any time to do such things. Sure, you’ve been asked out for lunch and coffee, sometimes even dinner with a colleague but this felt different. 

“Oh, yeah, okay.” you weren’t sure on how to react, nodding your head along with your words. You were shy. Heeseung chortles once again, noting this obvious expression from you. “Tomorrow sound good? Here, give me your number.” He says, passing you his phone. Was he always this straightforward? He did seem the type to be but encountering it first-hand was heating your ears and cheeks. You hope he doesn’t realise this, assuming it was from the cold. Nodding slowly in agreement with his suggestion, you take the phone from his hand and fill in your contact information. For some reason, your phone number seemed scrambled up in your head, causing you to doubt if you're even keying in the right digits. Saving it and handing the phone back to him, you retained your eyes on his. The sound of the bus huffing to a stop nearby broke your gaze, realising it was your ride home for the night. “Okay well I um, I have to catch that.” you tried not to sound awkward, pointing at the bus a few steps away as you took some in that direction slowly. “Ah, alright, I’ll text you!” Heeseung graced you with yet another warm smile, this time radiating even more brightness than before. He watches as you get on the bus and settle on a seat in the back, waving slightly when your eyes look out the window to him. You wave back as the bus drives off, his silhouette gently fading away into the obscurity of the night. It had been quite a memorable evening for you, as the sight of an old familiar face reignited something within you, much like the gradual lustre of a dried-out candle; and indeed, the flames do begin to flicker and glow anew.

As sunlight sifts through the curtains and gently tickles your face, its warmth prompts a soft, contented whirr to escape your lips as you continue to slumber peacefully. If that wasn’t enough to wake you, the buzzing sound of your phone sure did. It was a quiet Saturday morning, or rather, afternoon, considering the clock struck 12 pm. At this hour, the stillness persisted, and you were expecting a respite from incoming messages. Everybody was either too occupied catching up on their sleep and lives, but you’d forgotten there was a new number soon to be added to your contacts. Seizing it from the side table, you open one eye to take a peek at the notification illustrated on the screen before opening both in surprise. Perhaps even excitement, reading the words out loud in your head.

“Good morning Y/N :) Heeseung here.”

A bashful smile began to play on the corners of your lips, and your cheeks blushed once more at the mere thought of the text. The fact that he probably just woken up too to text you ‘Good morning’ at this hour; the fact texting you was the first thing he did when he woke up. You swiftly replied, not forgetting to replicate the smiley face he added to his good morning text. Within a few minutes, your phone buzzed again, leaving you no space to bask in the joy of having received that initial message. 

“I hope you rested well :) What are your plans for the day?” 

There's that smiley face again. Why did he have to message you like that? Such simple words yet they made your smile grow bigger. You turned your body to the other side, back facing the window now with your legs wrapped around the bolster. It felt like reliving high-school days being a young girl in love, smiling and giggling as you read the exchanged messages between you and your crush. You weren't entirely certain if your feelings for this boy amounted to a crush just yet, but there was an undeniable sense of something growing within you.

Heeseung was sweet, and he was really funny. It’s around 5 pm now, having been texting each other the whole day with a dinner plan for the night, you found yourself giggling once again as you read the joke he made this time. All you managed to do today was eat lunch and take a shower, with half the other time spent typing your fingers away on your phone. Over the course of a few hours, the bond between you two clicked instantly and deepened, ease and comfort settling enough for Heeseung to have flirted a little bit here and there. You did appreciate his gestures, noting his flirtatious manner, which leaned more towards showering you with compliments and engaging in innocent teasing. Glancing at the time once more, you figured it was time to get ready for the dinner he had planned for the both of you. 

Gazing at your reflection one final time in the mirror, a smile graces your lips as you adjust your flared-sleeve top and skirt to perfection. The sound of your phone ringing caught you off guard, stumbling a little as you hurriedly put on your jacket and picked it up. “Hey, I’m outside.” Heeseung sounded like he was smiling over the phone, the hint of excitement couldn’t be missed from his tone. An involuntary smile finds its way to your lips, peeking through the window to see him standing outside with his back resting against his car; dressed handsomely in a pair of loose black pants, matching it with a black collared shirt and jacket. God, even in simple clothing or dressed up, Heeseung always looked good. Despite hours of conversation, a flutter of nervousness still lingered within you. Heart beating louder and quicker with every step closer you took to him, the sight of his glinting eyes seemed to relax you. 

Breathe. It’s just Heeseung. 

“You’re so pretty.” He blurts out as you become clearer in his line of sight; and with the subtle reddening of his cheeks, you discern that he hadn't intended to express it so candidly. He blinks slowly as if he was coming back from a daze, clearing his throat. “Come on, let's go.” the boy says, opening the car door with one hand and the other leading you to get in.   What a gentleman. 

“Y-you look really good too.” Did you just stutter? Pursing your lips in embarrassment, you tried to save face by giving a small smile. Cute, he thought and as usual he chuckled in response. The ride to the restaurant turned out to be less awkward than anticipated, and as the night unfolded, you discovered yourself becoming more and more comfortable in his company, easing into the evening with each passing moment. Engaging in conversation, you delve into the recounting of shared experiences in university and reminisce about mutual friends, weaving a tapestry of memories and connections. Diving deeper, you navigate through a multitude of topics, slipping past the surface to explore more facets of each other's lives. Amidst soft laughter that punctuates the conversation, you discover that there's an inexhaustible well of things to talk about with each other. 

 In that fleeting time, everything felt perfect and your heart did the leap once more. Whenever there was a minute of silence between the two of you, Heeseung would look up to you with a smile, reaching his hand out across the table to hold onto yours. You found yourself pondering whether he might be experiencing the same nervousness as you, despite his outwardly composed and confident demeanor. Yet, every now and then, you caught a slight flush creeping up to the tips of his ears, offering a glimpse into his inner thoughts.

Nothing could’ve beat the night you had, if you had to compare it with all the others you spent rotting alone at home in your bed. With everything running smoothly, what could go wrong? It felt like you two grew closer not just emotionally but physically as well, being cosy enough to hold hands as you walk out of the restaurant together now. 

“Oh shit, I think I left my phone on the table.” Heeseung says, patting down his jacket and pant pockets a few times, apologising to you as he hurriedly walks back in. You giggle a little at his clumsiness, standing at the side of the restaurant waiting for him to come back. It was getting later in the night now, the cold air tingling down your skin making goosebumps rise. No amount of clothing or jackets was enough for the temperature that drops at night. 

Bits of the evening kept replaying in your head and you couldn’t help but smile a little to yourself. It was yet to end until Heeseung sent you home but you were already reminiscing the time you shared. He surprised you in a way; with how effortless it was to talk to him, to share with him the things you’ve always had in mind. He made you feel accommodated and heard; like he really wanted to know you. Like he really wanted you to know him. There undoubtedly was a paradoxical sense that you and he had an enduring connection as if your souls had been intertwined for eternity. What took you so long to finally talk to him? It made you excited, knowing there would potentially be more of him in your life after this. 

“You alone?” a slurred-out voice pulls you out of your thoughts, surprising you, even more, was the tall man standing in front of you now. He didn’t look too old, nor did he look too young, but he did look wasted. You were seemingly scared and decided not to pay any mind to the stranger, hoping he’d just walk away and stop bothering you; but to no luck, the man remained there. Pestering and being persistent in having a conversation, he started to annoy you. Annoy more than how scared you felt before. Annoyed about what's taking Heeseung so goddamn long to come back. Before you could muster the words to dismiss the man, he unexpectedly takes hold of your wrist, as if intending to lead you away. “Come, let's go get some drinks!” 

“Let her go.” Tone harsh and low, Heeseung was evidently angry at the stranger bothering you. He made sure to be delicate, grabbing your waist to pull you off from the man’s grip and fall back close to his chest. “Who the fuck are you?” The stranger retaliates, puffing up his chest as if he were trying to scare Heeseung off. It would take more than just a little show to get him to back down from guarding you, not even a mere attempt at a punch in the face could. Heeseung scoffs in spite, unfazed at the hit; his own fist curling up to show the man how it was actually done. You gasp softly, being pushed to the sidelines as Heeseung lands his hard knuckles on the man’s face. It clearly did the damage he meant to, seeing how the man was now wincing and scurrying off in pain and curses. You felt a wave of relief wash over you as the dispute came to an abrupt end. “Heeseung, are you okay? Y-you’re bleeding!” A small red hue illuminates from the corner of his lips, quickly being licked off by his swift tongue. Though the bleeding continued to slowly seep through. “I’m fine if you’re fine. Let’s get you home.” 

You weren’t going to lie, besides the worry you felt for Heeseung getting into a physical altercation, the sight of him all strong and protective like that kind of made your insides turn. In a good way. Never mind that he was younger, the fact he was protective towards you and even took out a hit for you; ten folds attractive in your eyes. The whole ride home remained shrouded in silence, with a subtle tension lingering in the air. His hand held yours firmly as he drove, a silent reassurance amidst the quiet unease. Caressing your hand with his thumb, indicating he was worried for your well-being and this soothed you immensely. Pulling up to your driveway, Heeseung turns to face you, hand still firmly clasped with yours. 

“I’m sorry you had to go through that. I just didn’t want you to get hurt.” He starts, hanging his head down low as if he was ashamed to meet your eyes.

You give his hand a little tug, signalling him to ease up. “It’s okay. You’re the one who got hurt though..” unconsciously (or not, you weren’t even sure yourself anymore) your lips form a small pout, eyes wide focused on Heeseung’s face with slight glances at his bleeding lips. He notices this, and instead of wiping them off, Heeseung slowly leans his face closer to yours till your noses brush against each other and he pauses there. His breath wandered around the air near you, the warmth emanating from his body exuding into your skin and creating a calming closeness. His scent was undeniably pleasing and so close, the black strands of his hair softly poking on your own cheeks. Electrifying, both heartbeats getting louder and louder you could almost feel it claw its way out. You held your breath at that moment, fearful that any wrong move might cause the enchantment to disperse. You’ve never felt like this before, and you’d do whatever it takes to keep feeling it. 

Your thighs seemed to rub against each other, warmth burgeoning in your stomach and extending downward. In one brisk second, Heeseung plants his lips onto yours and immediately you reciprocate. It felt tender and pacifying, radiating sincerity and solace.

You could feel the speck of passion pouring into your heart, flowers blooming as the garden grows. It grows, wilder with a pinch of fire now, as Heeseung pushes for more with how deep and harsher his lips felt. Your sanity erupts into a chaotic symphony, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all. His hands had seemed to find themselves on your bare thighs, gripping them like his life depended on it. Fingers tracing up your skin till it reaches the hem of your skirt, you feel it daringly push the fabric away and climb higher. With the soft touch of his finger on your now-soaked underwear, a soft moan escapes your lips. Your hands encircled his neck, drawing him nearer, the desire for more amplifying with each lingering touch of his piers. Heeseung pushes his tongue in at the brief parting of your lips, licking your cavern wet and continues to weave both of your tongues together, sucking on them ever so roughly.

 Breaking the kiss, now messy and sloppy with saliva running down your jaw, you somehow felt your lips still parched. As if it were insufficient, leaving an unquenched longing for his flavour. Tracing your tongue on the edges of his crimson-covered lips, you sniffle a moan at the taste of him. Despite the tempting urge to nibble more onto them, you resisted, mindful of not wanting to inflict any more hurt upon him than he had already endured.

Inclining into him again, his finger resting on your underwear has started to make its movements; nice and slow. He rubs them in a circular motion; wanting to tease you a little bit more. You moan in between kisses, your own hands now gripping onto his shirt to tug and pull him closer, bodies pressing against each other. With that eagerness coming from you, Heeseung holds your underwear to the side with his thumb, pushing two fingers into your folds without breaking the kiss. You gasped at this, unconsciously biting onto his lower lip a little bit too hard than you intended. It created a little bloody mess, but nothing you couldn’t fix. 

You tenderly murmur a soft apology, delicately licking away every trace of red left on his lips, seeking to soothe any discomfort. 

“You’re such a good girl, cleaning up after your mess. My good girl.” the man coos under his breath, fingers pushing themselves further into you, accelerating the pace as the seconds go by. My good girl. There's that heart leap again. A fleeting moment of uncertainty crosses your mind as you ponder whether he expressed those words in the heat of the moment

or if he meant it, but the way he handled you and kissed you earlier seemed to pivot the pendulum towards it being honest. At least, that's what you wanted to believe. 

The muffled sounds escaping you grow more pronounced, escalating in intensity with the hold on his shirt tightening within the grasp of your fingers shortly before they sneak downwards to the growing mound in his pants; gently but firmly grasping its contours. This prompted a hiss from him, his lips pressing even deeper into the yours than before. 

You've never encountered such an exhilarating feeling like this, as Heeseung's firm fingers gradually heighten the vigour of euphoria seeping up your senses. "Ah, more..more." 

The man smirks in response to your desperate plea, forcefully pushing his fingers deeper before withdrawing them completely. Dismayed at his retraction, your eyes fluttered as you leaned back from him, gasping for the breath you had momentarily lost. 

"More what? What is it that you want, baby?" 

With a raised eyebrow, he questions, attempting to suppress a grin that you catch in his expression. Ignoring the blush taking shape on the apples of your cheeks, you briefly scrutinise him; his shirt bore a charming dishevelment, his tousled hair adding a touch of allure, making him exceptionally more attractive in sight. The burgeoning bulge beneath your clammy palm subtly twitches, drawing your focus to its presence; making it known to you of his equal excitement at what you're about to say. 

"I want you to fuck me, Heeseung. Please." 

A groan escapes his lips in response to your words. Without uttering another sound, he withdraws from you and begins lowering his pants and boxers down to his thighs; springing out his ever-so-eager cock free. Damn, what a sight. Heeseung clearly overpacked on your anticipations in this department. 

How much more pleasure could he bring you now, considering the sensations his fingers alone prompted? Your insides ignite further at this view, body flushing with heat and throat drying at the mere thought of how he would taste and feel inside of you. 

"Like what you see?" With his grin no longer concealed, the man wastes no time in pushing his seat back to create space, pulling you up to straddle his lap, facing him. A loud grunt breaks free past his lips at the pressure, sending a thrill of giddiness through you. Each time his subtle noises reached your ears, it professed that you were doing something right, eliciting a sense of satisfaction for the pleasure you were giving him. "It's not even in yet." you giggle softly, pulling your own underwear down to your thighs. "Someone's impatient." Though he started with the tip of his erection gently brushing against your clitoris, he swiftly proceeded to thrust himself inside your entrance.

"Fuck." 

Both of you utter the same word, yet in two distinct tones – yours emerging as a whine of pleasure, and his as a gratifying groan. The folds of your clit envelope him completely, with every quickening thrust he pushes in constricting yourself around his cock. 

The strands of his hair, once framing his face, now clung damply to his forehead, hooded eyes barely peering through them yet intensely staring into your orbs. Countless thoughts inundated your mind under the weight of his intimate gaze, leaving you unable to focus on any single one. In this moment, concentration eluded you entirely; even the disbelief that Heeseung was pounding you out in his car right now. This is crazy. I'm crazy. 

"Damn, you feel so fucking amazing." his hands wander underneath the back of your skirt, grabbing the flesh of your ass ever so roughly as it bounces up and down his stripped thighs. “Oh fuck me-faster please..!” you squirmed in painful ecstasy as the wetness of your gushing clit slides his erection in and out of your tightness with ease. Heeseung accelerates his pace even further, seemingly preempting your unspoken demands. With your hands wrapped around his neck, you pull his chest closer to brush the tip of your hardened nipples beneath your top, and that causes you to moan out his name. The heated boy buries his face in the crook of your neck now, leaving soft brushes of his tongue against your skin and sinks his teeth into them rough enough to leave distinct marks. 

"You taste so fucking good too. You're just perfect." You hear his raspy voice mutter under his breath, face still grazing on the skin of your neck as if he was savouring your scent. Feeling the tip of his cock pushing itself exactly into your right spot, you whine out his name repeatedly. The back of your body arches, your toes curling at how hot the air stands; all sorts of emotions strike you at once as your sight goes blurry, mind growing hazier by the second. 

"Mmhm..faster Heeseung. Your cock feels so good in me.” this time, you moan even louder, indicating that you were on the brink of reaching the climax of your high very soon. Heeseung took notice of this, quickening his thrusts as he was about to reach the same destination. 

"Cum with me, baby. Together." 

Hoarse, low groans escaped from his lips with each accelerated movement; the cry of pleasure lamented out both your breaths the moment he blew in one final deepened jab at your spot. A surge of warm fluid cascaded through you, blending seamlessly with your own essence, propelled by the sheer bliss you've just shared. The air was filled with the sounds of heavy, hurried breaths, your lungs working overtime. Your eyes remained fixed on Heeseung's face as you endeavoured to recover composure and catch your breath. Finally, a sense of clarity returned to you as your thoughts regained focus. Did that really just happen? Everything seemed surreal, as if plucked from a dream.

Somehow it appeared like he could read your mind when he laughed at your countenance, his hands now accommodating on your waist to pull himself out of you slowly. As you lean in, finding comfort by resting your head on his chest, the rhythmic thumping of his heart surrounds your ear. The sound was loud and hastened, almost palpably carrying the nervous anticipation in its rapid beat, reminiscent of your very first kiss together. Well, you've done so much more than that now. Freeing his hands from your waist, Heeseung tenderly cradles you with one arm while the other softly strokes your head, radiating care and affection in his touch. He showers your forehead with soft pecks, each one a tender expression of adoration, accompanied by whispered sweet confessions that linger in the air.

"You're really beautiful, I've always thought that." 

 You both stay like that for a while, reluctant to disrupt the intimacy you shared. However, the reality of your semi-nude state in the confines of a car eventually nudged you both to acknowledge that the moment couldn't last forever. Not right there. The unexpected series of events that unfolded tonight, stemming from your fateful meeting just the day before, had taken a turn you hadn't even considered viable with him. In retrospect, those exchanged glances at the parties and games back then seemed to carry a newfound meaning now. Life wasn't so dull anymore.

Gently disentangling yourself from his embrace, you meet his eyes once again before placing a tender kiss on his cheek. "Let's go inside." you chuckle, sliding off his lap and back to the passenger seat while fixing your clothes. In sync with your decision, Heeseung follows suit, concurring with the idea of heading back inside your house; as the rest of the night evolved with an abundance of conversation and lots and lots and lots of cuddles. 

#enhypen #heeseung #lee heeseung #lee heesung x reader #heeseung smut #lee heeseung smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen x reader #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #heeseung x reader

[blackhairedjjun]

rebound and restoration

pairing: choi yeonjun x fem reader | genre / tropes: angst -> fluff, friends to lovers, post-breakup, non-idol au; ft. soobin + mentions of the rest of txt; reader is yeonjun's age (soobin calls reader "noona") | word count: 5.4k | warnings: post-breakup heartbreak, profanity, food, kissing

additional note: fic is mostly written but contains a few texts

summary: with his heart still aching after just getting dumped, yeonjun turns to you, one of his closest friends, for comfort. that is, until he kisses you - and your friendship starts to change.

author's notes: honestly i feel like if i don't post this soon i'll be dissatisfied with it forever and edit it endlessly and it'll never get past my drafts LOL perfect is the enemy of done!! anyway i wrote this while i was feeling stressed and insane during the holidays and wanted... an angsty kiss for whatever reason. lmao yeah

(support by reblogging banner by @cafekitsune)

when yeonjun arrives at your apartment, it’s still early in the evening; the two bowls of pho you ordered for takeout are still hot, and you’ve left your laptop open at a selection of cheesy netflix rom-coms. perhaps the selection is a bit ironic, but you mused that the feel-good escapism is just what he needs.

he pulls you into a hug and you give him an extra squeeze and a few pats on the back. you can’t help but ruffle his hair a little as he pulls away. 

“hey, jjun...”

“y/n!”

“how are you feeling?”

“ah, a bit better, i think.”

he gives you a slight smile, and you’re too relieved to notice that it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. it’s a miracle to you that he’s even smiling again two weeks after his breakup. you still remember the cracks in his voice when he called you after it had happened, the rims of his eyes red with crying when he finally crashed at your place half an hour later. that night you held him tight as he told the story to you in between sobs: hana had broken up with him over a call that lasted less than a minute. she was bored and tired of him and just stopped caring, she said, if he were a toy she could throw away if she didn’t want to play with it anymore.

you swallowed back the anger in your throat back then, though you couldn’t help the tears of your own that fell. now you push the anger back down again as you lead yeonjun to the small table at your kitchenette, one of the bowls of pho steaming in front of him. now is not the time for indignation; your friend needed comfort, and it’s comfort you will give.

yeonjun’s eyes light up at the sight of the pho. your heart swells, and you don’t hold it against him when he sits down ahead of you and picks up his chopsticks, ready to dig in. in between slurps he grins like he’s just received the best present of his life. “this is so good!” he said in between mouthfuls of noodles. “it’s been way too long since i had this.”

“i know! feels like we haven’t had this in ages.”

“remember when we tried to make our own?”

“oh god, not that!” you laugh, dropping your chopsticks. “we got impatient and that broth tasted like nothing.”

“your kitchen smelled like ginger though,” yeonjun recalls with a giggle. “it was nice visiting for a while.”

“my kitchen smelled like ginger more than the actual broth, jjun.”

“maybe we can try again one of these days? and if we mess up, at least you’ll have a nice-smelling kitchen again.”

all you can do in response is laugh, and for a moment you forget that you stopped having pho nights together when hana entered his life.

he fills you in on video game night with soobin and kai, shopping with beomgyu, and his so-called revenge gym day with taehyun; he beams with pride while describing his new weight record just as much as he does when talking about managing a hard-earned victory over soobin at tekken. you laugh along with him, knowing that his friends blocked out their schedules just to comfort him for a day. and when you talk about your new project at work and the new books you bought yourself as a treat, his eyes fill with that indescribable look you’ve seen before. you can’t quite place what it is, but it reminds you of afternoon light, of summer days, of lingering hugs after a long day together.

you don’t need to ask for yeonjun to help you clear out the table and pick up the snacks you set aside for your movie, and you make no effort to resist. there are no words exchanged: he simply places all the disposable pho bowls and chopsticks together, and you reach for a clean garbage bag and put them all in. the only communication between you is a shared look and a nod.

perhaps it’s just your imagination, but that look lingers a little longer than you’re used to, and you can’t help but give him a satisfied smile.

you’ve seen him look at hana that way, too many times to count, especially during that early-dating phase when the thrill of emotions was still high. you wondered what it was like to be on the receiving end of that gaze, for yeonjun to look at you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. and you wondered if hana really was that precious 一 if she were just as precious to him as you, his best friend, if not more so.

you let yeonjun select the movie. at first you doubt your idea to present him with rom-coms, of all things, but you let out a sigh of relief when he happily chooses one of them. both of you have seen this one many times over, but you don’t mind. there’s comfort in knowing that a happy ending is guaranteed to happen.

the two of you are slouched on your couch together, the laptop balanced on a pillow between the both of you. yeonjun sits close to you, an arm around your shoulder, a gesture that he hasn’t done with you since he started dating. you let yourself lean against him (so that you can see the screen better, you tell yourself). the two of you start a running commentary on the movie 一 “why would he say that?!” “aww, they look so cute together,” “oh god, that was so stupid!” 一 and both of your laughter fills the apartment, the sound like a duet in harmony.

it’s so easy this way, you think 一 just you and your best friend in your own little corner of the world. you steal a glance at yeonjun while he’s absorbed in the final confession scene, a soft smile on his lips and his eyes gleaming with anticipation for the big kiss. a string of memories flash before you before you can help yourself.

“she said yes,” he says, his whole face flush with excitement. “she said she’ll be mine.”

his hands are on your shoulders and he gives them a gentle squeeze. “there’s no way hana can’t like you. you’re one of my best friends, i’ll make sure you get along.”

“i think hana’s mad at me,” he tells you as he fiddles with the beanie in his hands. “but don’t worry about it, we’ll talk it out, i promise.”

his head is in his hands as you sit across him from a restaurant booth. “i don’t know what i did wrong, she looked so bored through the whole date...”

you hold him close as he sobs in your arms, his whole body shaking. “sh-she said she’s... tired of me…”

“y/n?”

you snap back to reality as yeonjun glances at you, his head tilted. the ending credits of the movie have started to play. “are you okay?”

“i-i’m fine.” you reach out to touch his cheek, then hesitate. “are you okay?”

“i’m fine, y/n.” he picks up on the meaning of your words. “i know i looked really bad that night, but i’m getting better, i promise.”

“good.” your eyes meet his, and your cheeks grow warm. “we can have nights like this as many times as you want until you feel better, okay?”

“yeah, i know. i missed having nights like this, actually.”

“me too. i really liked it when we did this all the time...”

“i know. i’m sorry. hana didn’t like一”

“hey.” your hand comes up again and this time, you gently hold on to his cheek. “it doesn’t matter what she thinks anymore.”

“y/n... i’m really sorry. i feel like i neglected you, and you’ve been my friend for so long...”

tears form in his eyes, and you feel them warm against his cheek. you wipe them away with your thumb as you move closer to him. he continues to ramble as you do.

“i feel like an idiot. like a total dumbass.” the pitch of his voice begins to rise. “god, i was so convinced that hana and i were the perfect couple, that we’d be happy. i-i thought about her more than she d-did about me, y/n, and i stopped hanging out with you一 when you’ve always一”

“jjun, please don’t apologize anymore,” you say, your voice trembling. “i’ve never been mad at you over her, not even once. i just want you to feel better, okay? i... i just want to see you be yourself again.”

you want to see the yeonjun you’ve always loved.

you’ve lain awake at night wondering if he’s ever sensed your feelings for him, and if he’s ever felt the same way. on the day he told you that he and hana were officially together, you spent that night sobbing in your bed, convinced that your friend would never see you as a lover. and yet you said nothing of that night, and of other nights similar to it, because you told yourself that if hana made him happy, then you would be happy too.

and now you want more than anything to see him happy again.

yeonjun says nothing, but instead places a hand on top of the one you have resting on his cheek. you feel it trembling, but you don’t resist as he grasps your hand to intertwine his fingers with yours. he swallows hard to push back the rest of his tears, and his eyes soften. once again there’s that indescribable look of his that makes you feel light.

“y/n...”

he says your name softly, as if in reverence. his face inches closer to yours and you don’t pull away; instead you feel lighter than ever, your gaze falling to his lips as your eyes flutter shut. everything that follows feels slow, gentle; his nose brushing against yours, then your lips on his.

he kisses you slowly at first, but as you kiss him back you fill with a new fervor, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting him wrap his arms around your waist to pull your body flush against his. warmth blooms in your chest, and every movement of yours betrays your feeling: your lips moving against his, your hands making their way into his hair. you want to kiss him until the pain he feels has been replaced by the love you have for him 一 i love you, i love you, i love you.

you’re completely absorbed in him and let out a soft sigh when yeonjun snaps out of it 一 he breaks apart from you, breathing hard, eyes wide as he’s hit by what he’s just done.

“shit, y/n一” he gets off the couch, one hand running through his hair over and over again. “i’m so sorry. fuck, i shouldn’t have done that一”

you’re snapped out of your trance as you stand up to chase after him. “jjun, hey, wait! listen to me—”

he’s picking up his bag from the foot of your couch. he can’t even look at you, instead occasionally letting out a shit or two under his breath.

“yeonjun, please一”

you stand in front of him to block his way from the exit. at first his head is bowed, avoiding your gaze, but when he finally looks up his expression is solemn.

“you are not a rebound to me,” he says at last. “please don’t ever think that i just used you to make me feel better.”

“i never accused you of that! look, i’m sorry too, it was my fa一”

“i’m really sorry, but i can’t stay here anymore. i’ll make it up to you, y/n, i promise.”

“wait一”

yeonjun walks past you and before you can protest any further, he’s out your door. you push it open and try to chase after him, but after a few steps you stop, thinking better of it. what would stopping him even do?

you walk back inside and slump back down on the couch. the screen of your laptop faintly glows, and a half-eaten bag of chips has fallen to the floor. all at once the reality of what happens sinks into you: the kiss, his words, his departure.

you are not a rebound to me. the words echo in your mind.

a strange tension fills you, and you can’t even tell what emotion it’s supposed to be from: confusion, frustration, anxiety. with your whole body seemingly on edge, you grab a throw pillow from the opposite side of your couch and press it into your face.

you sob into it the tension crashes down on you in full force.

一

for the next few nights the scene replays in your dreams: yeonjun leaning in ever closer towards you, your lips meeting his in a fervent kiss 一 each night’s dream-kiss more fervent than the last 一 and him suddenly pulling away. you awaken each time just as he breaks the kiss, the shock and confusion coursing through you again, and immediately after you reach for your bedside table to check your phone.

still no text from yeonjun.

you consider texting him again, but each time you type a new message you erase it, the blinking cursor driving you mad. how would you even know what to say? do you want to apologize? to beg for his forgiveness? to ask if you can still be friends?

you hate to admit it, but every morning you lie in bed for a few moments more to allow the dream to sink in. the look on yeonjun’s face appears vivid to you, from his eyes blown wide to his mouth slightly agape. your mind travels back to the moment he breaks the kiss, as if a sudden force pushed him away, the shock of it hitting you. then it wanders to the kiss itself, the feeling of his lips soft against your own, his arms warm as they hold you by the waist…

you shake the memory away, drag yourself out of bed, and continue on with your routine: breakfast, shower, get dressed. you resist the urge to check your phone for as long as you can. you stare at the little contact photo you set of yeonjun and remind yourself: you’re his friend. you need to help him heal. 

you recount your worries to soobin over snacks one day.

“i feel like i’m being selfish,” you say in between munches of potato chips. “he hasn’t even moved on from hana”— soobin winces at the acridity you mutter her name with—“and now one of his closest friends kisses him like she’s madly in love. how is he supposed to move on? he’s hurting enough as it is.”

soobin sets aside the bag of chips you just finished. he rubs his face with his hands as he tries to choose his words carefully.

“you’re not being selfish, noona. you sound like you’re trying to be careful so that you don’t hurt him,” he says at last. “and yeonjun hyung feels just as bad about it. he feels bad that he even started the kiss, and for making you feel like a rebound. you two sound like each other, to be honest.”

“i know he feels bad, it’s just 一 i don’t know how that will fix...” you wave your hands wildly in the air, “this.”

“you can start by talking to each other?”

“he didn’t reply to my last texts. and i… i don’t know if i should text him again.”

a moment of silence. soobin opens a pack of candy and chews on it, just to give himself time to think. he fiddles with his phone as he does, absentmindedly scrolling through his old texts, when one of them catches his eye.

“so, there’s this new restaurant that beomgyu wants to check out.”

“really, soobin, what does this have to—”

“he was thinking of inviting all of us there to hang out,” he continues. “including you and yeonjun hyung. we can plan for it a week or two from now so that you have space? and then you can get used to talking to him again there. if things get awkward, i can ask beomgyu to fill in.”

you purse your lips. “i dunno, i might cry if i see his face again.”

“if you don’t feel like it, just call in sick.” soobin’s mouth twitches into a small grin as he says it — you know he’s used that excuse to get away from social situations he doesn’t want to be in. now you’re starting to see the appeal of it.

“okay. i’ll think about it.”

—

ultimately you do decide to go, and two weeks later you’re the first to arrive at the restaurant. you can feel your hands trembling as you push the door open and your heart hammering in your chest. in your head you’ve prepared what you want to say to yeonjun and you mentally rehearse your words for the hundredth time.

you slide right into the booth and take a deep breath. you check your phone to keep yourself busy, letting yourself calm down until your hands have stopped shaking. as you’re scrolling through your camera roll looking at some memes beomgyu sent you, someone slides into the booth seat opposite yours.

“hey, y/n.”

yeonjun gives you a shy smile and the nervousness in your stomach kicks into overdrive. he looks much better now; the bags under his eyes have lessened, and his smile seems genuine. still, you can’t help but remember the last time you saw him, and you shudder.

he sees your reaction and winces, averting his gaze. when he speaks, his voice is soft. “y/n... are we okay?”

the question breaks you and whatever words you have prepared fly out of your mind. as you try to grasp at them again, tears prick at your eyes.. “yeah... yeah, we’re okay,” you say. you take a gulp of water to hold back the tears. “i was never mad at you, jjun, i’ve been worried out of my mind一”

“i’m sorry i never replied to your texts.” he places his hands atop your trembling ones. “i just felt so ashamed that i didn’t know how to face you.”

“and i’m sorry i never tried texting you again, i just didn’t know what you thought of me, and i was so scared that i lost you...”

“i was so scared that i lost you.”

you sniffle. “that makes both of us then. god, we were so stupid.”

“i missed you, y/n.”

“i missed you too, jjun.”

you let out a laugh of relief and he laughs too. with the sound of his laughter melding with yours, everything else seems to melt away: the tears in your eyes, the other noises of the restaurant, the baggage of the last two weeks. sitting before you is your old friend, holding onto your hand to comfort you, laughing together with you just like you always have. 

and just as always, you want nothing more than for your friend to be happy.

“so,” you begin, giving him the most reassuring smile that you can muster, “let’s start over?”

yeonjun glances down at the table, but you can see his eyes crinkling as they usually do when he smiles. “yeah, let’s do that.”

when beomgyu enters the restaurant right afterwards, all it takes is one glance at the scene before him to understand what happened. he turns his head towards you, meeting your gaze, and you give him a nod.

it’s going to be okay.

一

the kiss becomes an unspoken part of your history together, never mentioned and never acknowledged. you stop searching for hidden meanings to it, and instead settle on the explanation that it was simply a spur-of-the-moment reaction from pent-up post-breakup emotions. it doesn’t matter to you whether or not this explanation is true; it’s the explanation that gives you the most peace of mind, and that’s what matters. as the days pass, you think of it less and less, and eventually it is filed away in your memory, like a book never checked out of the library collecting dust. 

in the meantime, you pour your energy into rebuilding both your friendship with yeonjun as well as his fragile heart. the first few hangouts with just the two of you are awkward with a tinge of melancholy, with conversations feeling a little too short. fortunately, your shared friends are there to help: you and yeonjun are invited to video game nights at soobin’s, or a cute new cafe that kai wants to check out, or just a walk around the park. the silences feel less awkward when it’s quickly filled by a joke from beomgyu or witty remark from taehyun.

from time to time you see the shine in yeonjun’s eyes disappear, even for just a moment, when he encounters something that reminds him of “the ‘h’ word” (as beomgyu refers to her): a park bench where they had a date, or a dress on a passerby that looks a lot like something she would wear. sometimes one of his friends would recognize it and quickly divert his attention elsewhere. soon those diversions occur less and less often as fewer and fewer things remind yeonjun of her.

but things don’t truly feel normal to you until a month and a half later. your project at work has gone well, and yeonjun has completed the first draft of a mixtape he’s making. just as you muse to yourself that a reward would be nice, your phone buzzes.

that afternoon you and yeonjun stroll down the shopping district a few minutes away from his house, trying on this and that. it isn’t long before you find yourself spending over your budget; it’s hard not to when yeonjun is constantly egging you to buy something you really want. “c’mon, y/n,” he whines as you put back another cute button-down on the rack. “you deserve it! you can wear it to work for the next phase of your project!”

he giggles when he sees your eyes light up at his words. “we do have another presentation for it,” you muse.

still, you draw the line when you spot an elegant tan jacket worn by one of the storefront mannequins. you stare at it longingly as if you’ve found your soulmate, and yeonjun sweet-talks you into entering the shop and trying it on. but when you see the hefty price tag on it, you sigh.

“i can’t justify this, jjun…”

“but you look great in it! and you want it so much. you’ll feel worse if you don’t get it.”

“maybe…” you glance down at the shopping bags in your hand. “i dunno, i’ve spent so much already.”

you sigh in defeat and turn back to the store exit before you can second-guess yourself. yeonjun doesn’t follow immediately, but instead watches you go as he lingers a bit longer.

later that day, the two of you sort through all the things you bought (mostly clothes and accessories, but also a vinyl for yeonjun and a novel for yourself) in between giggles and wide eyes and a shower of compliments. yeonjun puts on a completely new outfit for you and struts down his apartment like a runway model, and he pulls you up from the floor to do the same. soon you’re laughing and clapping at each other’s performances, and yeonjun even whips out his phone to take photos of each other’s best looks.

as you rummage through your haul for one more outfit to assemble, your eyes land on a familiar spot of tan fabric. your mouth falls open when you pull it out and see that jacket — the one you’re pretty sure you didn’t buy. you glance up at yeonjun and he licks his lips before forming a mischievous grin.

“jjun, is this...”

“it’s yours.”

“you didn’t have to一”

“i saw the way you were looking at it, y/n. i just had to get it for you. c’mon, put it on.”

hesitantly, you take off the jacket you’re already wearing and put on the new one. it fits perfectly, just a little loose to let air flow in, and you love how it frames your figure. yeonjun is still smiling at you, but it’s a different smile. he looks at you as if you’ve transformed in front of him.

“you look really pretty,” he says. “let me take a few pics, okay?”

he snaps a few photos of you and you pose for the camera, and a comforting warmth settles over you. if this happened a few months earlier, you would have blushed and your heart would be doing somersaults, but now all you feel is a light flutter. everything feels fit in, like the final piece of a puzzle slotting into place.

you lock eyes with yeonjun as he takes the last photo and puts his phone away. as you whisper “thank you” to him, the gleam in his eyes is reflected in your own. there it is, that indecipherable look of his that makes you feel warm.

you still love him 一 there’s a part of you that still knows that. but over the last month and a half you’ve simply learned to live with your feelings, letting them fill you with lightness for a few moments and then letting them go. feelings or not, you’re just glad to have yeonjun in your life again. even as a friend, his presence is a soothing balm against the stresses of life.

一

months later, yeonjun is sprawled on your couch again, his head on your shoulder as you scroll through your list of rom-coms on your laptop. at one point the two of you resumed your pho and rom-com nights, and you’re glad for it; few things give you as much comfort after a long week of work.

after scrolling back and forth a few times, you pause on the same movie you’ve always watched together and give him a quick look. he simply smiles.

“don’t you get sick of this one?” you ask.

“not really, the ending always feels nice. are you… tired of it?”

“no no, i— i was worried that you’re tired of it.”

“me? never.”

“perfect, ‘cause i’m not either.” you give him a knowing grin and press play.

at this point you both know this movie so well that you recite along to every line. you do the female lead’s lines, yeonjun does the male lead’s, and you even sing along to the soundtrack. yeonjun stretches out on your couch even more, his head ending up in your lap, and in the movie’s quiet moments you find yourself playing with his hair. when the big confession happens you can feel him holding his breath and then releasing it in a laugh when the two leads finally kiss.

the credits roll and he glances up at you, smiling in satisfaction. you smile too and hum along to the end credits song. as the movie ends, you let yourself bask in it: you stretch out your arms, yeonjun sits up to lean on your shoulder again, and you lay your head atop his. the two of you remain like that for a while, sitting in comfortable silence.

“don’t you ever get jealous of them?” you ask.

you feel his head shake a bit as he chuckles. “i hate to admit it, but yeah. rom-coms always make getting together look so... fun.”

“right? i wish my life was like that.”

“god, me too.”

“i swear, it drives me insane,” you huff. “every time i watch this i want to start dating again or something.”

a few more moments of silence. yeonjun lets out a soft exhale and you feel his body grow tense. the air in your apartment seems stuffier.

“speaking of which, i have to tell you something.” 

“me...?”

you’ve never heard yeonjun sound so solemn. his head weighs down on your shoulder. “y’know, i’ve been uh... thinking of dating again.”

“oh... where are you dating this time? did beomgyu set you up again?”

he shakes his head, looks up at you for a split second, then looks down at his hands. you see the tips of his ears turn pink.

“actually, i... i have someone mind. someone i want to ask out, i mean.”

with those words the feelings you’ve brushed aside for so long come back in full force. your heart beats so hard it feels like it’s slamming into your chest. when you speak, your voice shakes.

“oh... who’s the lucky one?”

“i-i’ve known her for a while. she’s sweet and fun to be around... we’ve been hanging out a lot more often these last few months. we get along really well, at least i think we do...”

“sounds like you have chemistry with this special girl,” you say, the words heavy on your tongue. the hammering of your heart floods your ears. “so what’s stopping you from asking her out?”

yeonjun sits up to face you fully. you sense the effort it takes for him to look at you 一 has he ever been like this around you before? 一 and you reach for his hands. they’re trembling, and his ears go from pink to red.

“a long time ago,” he starts, voice shaking, “i kissed her. i kissed her after my last breakup. and i wasn’t thinking straight, i was just so lonely that i wanted to be loved again 一 but i can’t do that to yo— to her, she’s one of my best friends, i don’t want yo— her to be a rebound 一 but then you said we could start over so we did and i dunno, at one point i started liking you, i fell so hard i don’t know wh一”

you interrupt him with a kiss, your lips gentle on his. you feel him kissing you back, his movements gentle as his hand comes up to hold your head in place. you find yourself pressed against him and he’s even warmer than you remember, warmer than those dreams you had so many months ago.

when you break apart, his eyes are glazed over in a look of pure admiration. 

“y/n...”

“jjun, i...” heat spreads across your face. “i’ve loved you for years.”

“then why didn’t you say anything?”

“how could i? what if you didn’t feel that way and it ruined our friendship? and with all the other guys too?” your heart is still beating fast but you let out the words while your boldness still has a hold on you. “and then you dated hana and i cried but i wanted you to be happy 一 then you broke up and you kissed me and i liked it, and i hated myself for liking it because you were 一”

yeonjun pulls you into him, arms encircling you, and as you keep rambling into his chest he soothes you with one hand combing through your hair. his other arm grips you firmly, and your own arms find a firm hold around his neck.

“i love you too, y/n,” he whispers into your hair before leaving a kiss there. “it’s okay.”

“i love you, so much...”

he pulls apart to get a good look at your face. as he sees a few tears start to roll down your cheeks, he brushes them aside with his thumb.

“so this girl,” he says, affection lacing his words, “after we kissed, she said we could start over. and we did. and i’m really glad we did, because i fell for h一 for you so hard.”

you lean your head forward so that your forehead touches his. “really?”

“really. and i...”

“do you want to kiss her again?”

yeonjun’s breath hitches and his eyes meet yours. there it is 一 that same look of his that makes you feel light. the one that, you realize, makes you feel loved.

“can i?”

“please,” you whisper.

he closes the gap between your lips and his, and this time you feel only relief and bliss.

#txt x reader #yeonjun x reader #txt x you #yeonjun x you #choi yeonjun x reader #kpop x reader #txt imagines #kpop imagines #yeonjun imagines #txt angst #txt fluff #yeonjun angst #yeonjun fluff #tomorrow x together imagines #txt fic #txt fanfic #bhj originals

[anadiasmount]

can u make a small blurb of jude coming back to his and y/n’s apartment finding her passed out from studying so much. he wakes her up, sets up a bath for her, orders her food, and just takes care of her overall. 🙏🏼

okay bye… cause why is this actually me rn?? i’m so so so exhausted from uni and work i need to sleep for 2874828 days…🥲🤍

wc: 1.3k | masterlist | jude's masterlist

it was weird you hadn’t responded to any of jude’s calls or texts from the last hour. he found it strange you didn’t at least read or made contact since the morning when he last texted you. he had a full day of recovery and media shooting with the team and all he wanted was to be with you.

“hi baby… erm- it’s me… i’m starting to get worried that you’re not answering my calls, did i do something wrong? just please call me back when you get the chance, i miss you darling…” jude said into your voicemail once again, resisting the urge to freak out or overthink.

from jude:

are you okay?

y/n you're starting to worry me

call me back please

okay I'm headed to your place right now.

he sent you one last text before finally deciding it was just best to make sure everything was okay and go to your flat in person. he grabbed some of your favorite takeout and a book you’ve had on your list before finally heading over.

jude slowly knocked on your door with no answer, waiting impatiently and biting the inside of his cheek to hear a response but nothing was heard. he knocked again, calling out for you, and then wasted no time to slide the extra key you gave him into the slot, twisting it open rapidly and opening the door.

“y/n?”

he looked around and saw your office door open, setting the food and book down before sprinting to you. a full panic mode in him as his pulse raced at any scenario of you being left alone or something happening to you.

"y/n? are you okay?" jude asked carefully as he was faced with you slumped on the huge bean bag asleep. your hair in a messy bun, glasses almost falling down your face, ipad full with notes, a spreadsheet and planner open with your pencil on the floor, and a video lecture continuing to play as you slept soundly.

jude chuckled before crouching down and pressing kisses on your head, a small groan escaping your lips as you wiggled around in the bean bag. "y/n... wake up my love..." jude laughed as he felt you pull him closer to you, taking your glasses off and grabbing all your school stuff and setting it onto your desk.

"jude? w-ha-t what are you doing here?" you yawned squinting your eyes before rubbing them to get used to the lighting. "cmon up up up, stretch your muscles out, you were sleeping in an uncomfortable position baby," jude said as he helped you up. "no no," jude chuckled as you hugged him tight and almost made him lose balance.

"i missed you too," jude snuggled you closer, kissing your head repeatedly as you muffled your words. "how come you didn't tell me you were coming? i could've made something," you said with your eyes closed, snuggling into his neck as you breathed in his cologne.

"i did! i left you like five voicemails, and so many texts because you didn't return my calls," jude says still smiling at your sleep state. you gave him a confused look, detaching yourself and looking through your watch and seeing all the missed notifications from your boyfriend.

"oh my god! you did! i'm sorry jude, i didn't mean to make you worry handsome. i was studying for my test and i must've slept through all of them," you ran a hand along your face clearly upset and fatigued from the past exhausting few days. "i think i fell asleep right after our call this morning."

"if anything i'm glad you were sleeping and catching up on rest. all you've done this past week is uni and then study, study, study. you know how proud i am of you always for being dedicated to school, but you also know how much i hate seeing you overwork yourself," jude kissed your hands softly and then pecked your lips twice lovingly earning a hum from you.

"and before you say it, i know how hard the term is and how much you have to pay to every single detail, but right now i don't care. i'm going to run my beautiful girlfriend a bath, and after she's done her favorite takeout will be waiting for her, okay? how does that sounds?" jude said in a sincere voice making your heart melt with adoration and feeling grateful for him.

"that... actually sounds very nice..." you sighed out a breath of relief, following jude who was now in your restroom. jude touched the water to make sure it was hot to your liking, adding epson salt, some of your favorite scented oil, and a vanilla bean bath bomb.

jude helped undress, kissing every inch of your skin, and muttering praises how beautiful and proud of you he was, helping you get into the bubbly bath. "i'll be in the living room okay? going to order some food and those red velvet cookies you love so much," jude felt you squeeze his hand thanking him.

"thank you jude."

"just sit back and relax.”

“that was actually so nice…” you say drying your hair with a towel walking into the kitchen, feeling refreshed without worries of uni or work. you look around and gasp, seeing candles lit and a fresh bouquet of flowers sitting on your island. “what’s all this?” you ask jude who is leaned on the counter with his arms crossed.

“if it’s going to be a proper self-care night, we need candles lit, the house to smell like flowers and maybe this?” he pulls out a book from your wishlist. jude sees your eyes go wide full with excitement, “oh my god? how did you know i’ve been wanting this?” you try to each for it but he lifts it up in the air.

you squint your eyes at his teasing matter, “nuh uh. you made me think i had done something, and the last i want is to spend my night with my girlfriend dug into her deep book instead with me,” jude shakes his head seeing your frown. “to my defense, i was getting my well deserved sleep, no?”

“and you ignored my calls…”

“jude.”

“y/n.”

“fine you win,” you say rolling your eyes, placing the towel on the chair before leaning up and kissing him like a starved women. jude releasing a groan and slowly bringing his arm down to wrap around your waist, “can’t get enough of you y/n… especially when you smell so good.”

“let’s eat, cookies will be here before we finish eating. i’ve already set up the living room with warm blankets and your favorite soap opera,” jude says with a small smile, earning a squeal from you and clap of your hands. “you tried to deny about liking the show, saying you hated it, but what do we have here?” you tease as you sit down in the chair. “for someone who slept the whole day you sure are blabbering a lot,” jude scoffed playfully.

after eating dinner and finally being able to read at least the cover and back page of your new book, jude laid on top of you as you watched the tv, two uneaten cookies and your empty mugs on the coffee table. “are you feeling better?” he asks, looking up seeing you almost sound asleep. “mhmm, just feeling tired now…”

jude traced his hands on your are thighs, drawing small shapes and his name as you drift off to sleep to soothe you. his eyes grew heavy, but wanting to finish the episode to find out who the main character would end up with to tease you the next day. “don’t watch it without me. i see you falling asleep, so sleep,” you deadpanned slapping his shoulder gently and turning the tv off. “love you jude. goodnight.”

“goodnight beautiful.”

#jude bellingham #judey thoughts 5️⃣ #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham blurb #football fanfic #footballer #football x reader

[fanofseabassanddorito]

Dear Chris Evans,

I’ve waited and watched. I’ve gone back and forth with Real vs PR. I’m just a fan, of your work, but I also because of what you seemed to stand for and acted like a real person. I think I’m done now.

There has been questionable ‘sightings’ even though you claim to want to be private. Your friends and hers have posted the two of you. You have posted her twice yourself. But then you seem to hide her. That isn’t a good look. If you are in love with someone, you don’t hide them because you want to be private yet leak photos and hints to keep your fans spiraling when you know how some can be.

We all know celebrities use social media for what they WANT fans to see. Why? Because they want privacy, as they should, to separate their work world from real life. I completely agree with doing so, BUT I don’t agree with going back and forth. You owe fans nothing except maybe the respect that goes both ways. After all, your fans have been the reason you have your paychecks. I think we deserve a little bit of respect not to be played by what you say in interviews vs. what you show yourself to be through your actions.

There are so many examples of couples being private but NOT hiding significant others like they are embarrassed to be seen. A real private couple does things together but do not post montages on their socials, like scare videos and couples pictures. People do not call paparazzi unless they want to be seen. A real private couple does still go to things together, they don’t hide but they don’t bring attention to themselves. Real private couples do not let things drop during a special date for something else. One example, the NYC pap walk on the day that Warrior Nun season 2 dropped right after SMA.

Tabloids run on things they are given. There have been more articles about you and this girl than Harry and Meghan, Jennifer and Ben, etc., etc., etc. your reps have never confirmed anything. IMDb does not list her as your wife. Your mother liked a tweet about the girl being racist.

I had no issues at first, thinking you wanted privacy, which I thought was a great idea, given your fandom. I gave you the benefit of the doubt for a good while. But then it seemed like her friends and yours, her mom, along with the likes on IG, proved this isn’t private. Certain social media sites have been the only ones to randomly get these pictures that are nowhere to be found. It’s only a few, and they usually come at specific times when there is doubt. Friends posted from Lisbon, Avengers in MA, and the wedding rumors began. I’m sorry, but when there is an NDA, then the wedding news should not have leaked because the NDA would cover that. And if you have to ask people to turn in their phones to attend, that’s rude and you’ve invited people you don’t trust.

Showing up to a convention, with a ring on but you can’t say her name. Just ‘Go Portugal!’ And then go on about Dodger.

Let’s not even get into photoshopped or not photoshopped because I don’t even know anymore.

I could go on and on but it saddens me. I cannot be a fan of someone just because of their projects, and that’s just me. I have kept quiet, because it’s none of my business what you do with your life. What is my business though, is who I give my hard earned money to. Barely getting by on what I make, medications and food for my kids continue to rise in cost, but they also enjoy Captain America because he seemed like a good guy in real life too. Now they come to me with things they’ve seen online like Captain America’s new wife nude in the shower. They have seen people posting about her friends and their previous tweets, and things they’ve said. Why? Because you have played games with your fandom and they got pissed and exposed things. Let’s be honest, kids get online and see things even if they aren’t supposed to. Luckily they didn’t see your ‘slip’ up, because your fans cleaned that for you quickly, but the shower pictures continue to be passed around. They also said in some of the pictures they saw you post that they thought you had a daughter but found out it was your girlfriend.

I would make sure you don’t have any more slip ups because I feel like your fans are limited at this point. The ones that see your work the day it comes out. That’s one reason why Ghosted flopped. Before this, your fans would have said you did wonderful even if you didn’t.

After the new picture of the two of you at the Globes after party, I CHOOSE to not be a fan and hand you my money. I know it isn’t much, but I will choose to spend it on a different movie or person at a convention. Maybe I just won’t have a favorite anymore because it seems like a lot just tell fans what they want to hear.

I don’t know if it’s Real or PR and don’t care but it’s the game you seem to be playing that I don’t like. I don’t care what people think of my opinion and have not posted anything about a side. I just know you look like such a hypocrite and lose fans by the hour now. So many blogs and pages that are team PR or Team Real and they argue over who is right and wrong, because you and everyone around you are playing with them. You are using them for free publicity and that is sickening. I didn’t believe it was happening and you were just trying to protect your love life. But, eventually, it was just so obvious with the tiniest bit of things creeping in on the same sites and coincidences on dates. Mostly, I just don’t want to watch all the drama that has become part of being your fan. I like to escape the real world by looking at my favorite celebrities and what they are up to or their movies etc. I don’t want to see the gross mess you have become. She looks like your daughter, so I choose to leave. You don’t know me or care because I’m just one fan, but I do know who you want people to see you as now and I don’t like this version. Be private or just don’t hide. Look happy, not miserable. Treat her like your love and wife, because I would never allow my boyfriend/husband treat me the way it appears you are treating her. To the public, she looks like a mail order bride that jumps as soon as you tell her too. It’s gross.

So, it’s been a long, fun ride being your fan until now. Enjoy traveling back and forth and wear sunscreen to the beach, because boy are you white. Research the word ‘privacy’ and maybe get those NDA’s to the people leaking things if you want privacy or take their phones from them when they are in your proximity. Invest in energy drinks next, she’s a lot younger and likes to travel and have sex (maybe check out her soft porn). Let Buddah know she did a film with a demon having sex with her. Maybe purchase a plane and get a pilots license, because older dogs don’t travel as well as they age and that’s a long ride to Portugal. Remind your wife to keep her clothes on and keep your 🍆 in your pants because I think Team Real is even over this mess and don’t want to see it. Thanks for the laughs and smiles over the years. I wish you luck and hope you’re happier than you actually look.

Sincerely,

An Ex-Fan of Christopher Robert Evans

#Chris Evans #chrisevans #albabaptista #Chris and Alba #Chris Evans and Alba Baptista #Christopher Robert Evans

[corazondebeskar-reads]

of rage and ruin - chapter two

of rage and ruin series

chapter two

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

werewolf!alpha!Joel Miller x f!omega!reader

word count: 3.3k

summary: you come face to face with the beast.

chapter warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, a/b/o, alpha/omega dynamics, omegaverse, captivity, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, horror themes, graphic violence, allusions to/threats of torture, abuse by captors (not by either joel or reader), depiction of injury, body horror, typical raider/hunter behavior, mention of cordyceps, angst, viewer discretion is advised,

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

They were careful never to touch you. The exam you’d been given when they first brought you here was done with thick rubber gloves, and no one has touched you since. 

But there are plenty of ways to teach you compliance without touching you. 

Before they moved you, you didn’t see a soul for two days. No one delivered or removed the cloth strips, food, or water. No one woke you up with a loud buzzer or dragged you outside to hose you down. 

No one hurt you.

The first few hours, you sit and do nothing as usual. You don’t really notice.

After that, though, you start to wait. This deviation, this anomaly, was far more terrifying than the wretched routine. And with no meals, you’re bereft of a way to count the passing of time. There’s no sunlight down here, after all. 

To your deep relief, the lights still go off at night. Until you’re lying awake in the dark and realize they’re probably on a timer. So maybe all your captors are dead. Made a stupid mistake and got their asses handed to them by FEDRA.

Which would be nice, but also, you’d still fucking die. Because you’re trapped in this godforsaken grimy ass basement, and somewhere on the other side of it is the only other resident you know of. Him. 

So either you starve to death, or he eats you. Or both. 

You spend the next day hoping to see Cheryl’s smug bitch face. 

When someone finally comes for you, it’s not Cheryl. It’s not Jim, either, but that’s not a surprise. He doesn’t like you, doesn’t like whatever Cheryl’s doing with you.

Not because he has any objections to the captivity or abuse. No, Jim’s been clear—you’re a waste of resources. 

Anyway, it’s fucking Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber who show up. They’re not real twins (you’re not even sure they’re brothers), but they’re a damn good argument for nurture over nature. Spending the apocalypse together has them moving in tandem, grunting and jerking their heads to one another in a language all their own. They’re built like oxen and about as polite. 

You don’t fight anymore, but they still tie you and drag you around. You haven’t so much as argued in weeks. You’ve heard that everyone breaks from torture eventually. You waved your flag from the start. 

You’re not made for this. 

They tie you up without touching your skin; hands layered in gloves just in case. They leave a length of rope from your wrists to pull you by, leaving the rope around your feet as it was. You had earned that six inches of slack, just enough to stand and walk to the makeshift toilet instead of crawling, after a solid week of good behavior. 

When you figure it out, though, you try to run. Every electric screaming nerve in your body says to go. Go where? Who fucking knows. Anywhere. Away. Run. 

The room they’ve brought to you is saturated in oaky musk, and you only need a glimpse of the little cage within before you’re jerking backward.

They must have gotten used to your compliance because the rope flies from Tweedle Dumb’s grasp. The three of you stand still for a moment, all shocked by the turn of events. 

You turn to run, but it’s too late already. One of them swept your fucking legs like this was an action movie, and bound as you are, that’s the end of the fight. You crash and earn yourself some new bruises, and they drag you into the room by the rope between your feet. 

One of them—you’ve forgotten who had which nickname in all the hubbub—snaps out a baton.

“Get in the fuckin’ cage, or I’ll break your ankles.”

It’s a strong argument that you have no desire to see if he’ll follow through on. Already hurt and humiliated, you crawl into the cage.

They lock it behind you and leave without another word. The lights go out with a buzz, casting everything you hadn’t taken in yet in total darkness. 

When the lights come back on, you wish they hadn’t. 

At first, you don’t even realize they’ve flickered to life, because what they’ve revealed isn’t real. 

It’s a big, brown Rorschach blob. It’s an oil spill. It’s moving, in a jerky, fluid way that should be impossible. The limbs have pointed bony joints, and you can only describe the way they crawl as spidery, though they’re thick and bulky. 

Jim is standing on the other side of the gate, holding onto a thick chain that rattles and creaks dangerously as the beast strains against the thick metal band around its neck. He looks bored, but he usually does. 

Cheryl, however. The way her lips are curled, eyes wide and bright… this must be him. 

“Don’t you know what happens to the others? The alphas?” she had teased the night of all the howling. She had laughed at the traitorously dumbfounded look on your face. 

You do now. 

A long pink tongue has unfurled from his massive jaw, flopped over far too many teeth, and dripping thick saliva onto the floor. The… fur, for lack of a better word, around his muzzle is matted with something dark that you can’t look at anymore. 

Jim yanks him by the chain, and the creature lets himself be pulled to the door, barely holding still while the padlock and chain are removed from his collar and the cuffs from his paws. 

He’s at the end of your cage before you realize he’s moved, and you scream, scrambling back as much as you can into the corner. The spaces between the bars are thin enough for just his… good god, are those fingers? They certainly aren’t canine toes. They’re tipped in thick, long claws packed with soil and detritus.

“Hey,” Jim barks, and the beast side-eyes him. “Remember what I fuckin’ told you. You break or eat her? That’s it. I’m not getting you another one.” 

Eat? Eat?  

Oh god.

Your stomach swoops and falls, abdomen clenching and drawing attention to your too-full bladder, unlocking a new fear that you’re going to piss yourself if he comes closer. 

He does. You don’t. But just barely.

That long, dark snout pushes against the cage, as if it could nudge through to reach you, pink tongue lapping against the air. The oak musk is so strong now that it lines your throat and makes you gag.

You choke back a retch-turned-sob and he rumbles, a strange vibration that rattles the bars where he’s pressed against them. He rises, stretching up up up on his hind legs until he towers over your little cube, enveloping you in his shadow, and you can’t help it. You start to cry. 

He can’t reach you, not when you’re tucked back in the corner of your cage. But he can smell you, and he can smell the rich iron soaking into the ropes around your wrists. It’s not yet visible, but the skin squishing through the edges is red and rough. 

He whines, pushing his muzzle against the bars, long tongue flopping out like he can reach. 

The sharp battery acid edge of your fear spikes, and he growls. Stupid girl. Stupid fucking omega. He’s trying to help you, and you’re—you’re— 

You’re starting to cry again. 

He can’t make human words like this, can’t enunciate or even really remember them. He tries to reach you through the bars again, snarling when they burn against his knuckles. Even the distended bony fingers of his full form can’t reach you there, not even with the tip of his claw. 

You’re shaking now, body twitching and jittering beyond your control. Everything inside you is screaming white-hot and dissolving; vomit tickles the base of your throat, and you just can’t stop crying. It hurts; it’s ripping your throat and lungs to shreds. It’s a violent, tumultuous thing, and you can’t stop the wounded keening of your cries. 

He’s pacing in front of your cage now, the beast, on four mangled limbs too long to be canine and too warped to be human. His huffs startle you, long snout returning, again and again, tongue darting out for a taste. 

A little drop of blood slides down your hand from where the rope’s edge cuts into the bottom of your palm.

He freezes, nostrils flaring. You freeze, barely breathing. 

He looks right at you and then tips his head back to howl, the sound like icy water through your veins. 

You can’t help yourself. You scream, broken as your voice is from all the tears. 

Between the cacophony, Jim stomps into the corridor and slams his hand on the wall. “Shut the fuck up, both of you!” 

“Help me,” you yell. 

I’m trying, the wolf howls. 

“Please, please help me,” you gasp, sobs reaching new highs alongside your panic. 

“If you don’t quiet the fuck down, I’ll open up your goddamn cage and let him eat you,” Jim snaps. “I said you were going to be more trouble than you’re worth, and I was fuckin’ right.”

The beast snarls, snapping his sharp teeth at the air. 

Jim regards him with a sneer. “And you! Giving her a heart attack counts as breakin’ her.”

The words don’t make sense, but you don’t really hear them, anyway. “Please, I want to go home, please, please,” you whisper. 

But no one’s listening. 

The Wolf is listening. 

He prowls back and forth on all fours, which really, isn’t any more or less terrifying than when he rises up on his haunches. Neither image capitulates to your need to make it make sense. There is no sense, no logic, no reality that can hold him.

The wolf, for really, that’s what he is, isn’t he? God, you don’t want to say it. Unbidden, a memory works loose in your brain, slipping out of the crates of nonsense stored away in favor of survival, and rattles around.

I know what you are. But you won’t say it. 

Did you bring this upon yourself for reading trashy supernatural romance novels? Did you watch Underworld too many times? Did the shot actually put you in a coma, and you’re living in some kind of nightmare?

The wolf is watching you. There are no whites in his eyes, just pools of gasoline on muddy puddles. 

You close your eyes and pretend you can’t hear the way his claws click against the tile. 

While Laura had fed them stew, she told them about the trials. 

They had been the first. The first taken, before volunteers were called. Before they knew they’d need secure places to hold them, they had been gathered for observation in an old YMCA, packed in racketball courts so the doctors could stand outside the large wall of glass and watch them all at once.

They stood outside that glass and watched them change, in one way or another. The ones who turned, as she called it, went first. The ones who would become test group alpha. More than half of the overall subjects, who became suddenly, violently ill. 

They left them all in there with the rest, waiting, watching them cry out, watching them vomit and sweat and break impossible fevers. Temporal thermometers reading 105, 106, before they’d succumb to unconsciousness. 

If they woke, they were… inhuman. Something more. Something hungry. 

A lot of the first round of test data was lost when the subjects were eaten. But some were lost to the turn. Test group beta, Laura’s brother among them, didn’t survive the fever.

Laura’s husband turned but didn’t lose himself to the beast. Something in him stayed present, alert enough to protect his wife from the others. Or rather, something in her kept him that way. Something that had turned in her too, albeit without the violence, into something more than she’d ever been before. 

“They drove us out of the QZ,” she said, picking idly at a gouge in the table’s surface. “To shoot us where they could burn all the bodies and forget.”

“And what happened?” Tommy asked, leaning forward with his elbows on the table.

“We ate them.”

They come back for him that night but he’s not waiting for them. He’s sat with his big, furry back to you, close enough to the cage that you could pet him. The thought crosses your mind in a moment of delirium. You could stick your fingers through the little bars and feel the coarse hickory hair. You know, if you were clinically insane. 

You’re not about to offer him a little snack. 

He’d given up on reaching you a few hours ago, content to sit there unmoving once your tears dried up. It’s only slightly less terrifying.

But when they take him out, you only get to sit with the relief for a moment. Minutes pass in the dark and silent room, but you regret letting your guard down when footsteps echo through the cavernous halls beyond. 

The Idiot Twins are back, and they’re not taking chances with you this time. Oh, no. When they unlock the cage, you’re faced with the barrel of a handgun that doesn’t leave your temple as they pull you out by your bound hands.

They don’t bother to stand you up or give you a chance to move on your own, just dragging you out of the room and across the hall. You’re sprawled on your stomach across the frigid floor of the new room, with the door slamming shut behind you without so much as a word. 

The rusted pipes on the wall in the beast’s room make more sense now, once you take in your shadowy surroundings. This room has the same shitty tan tile over every inch, but the walls are lined with blue (or what used to be blue) lockers. Not a single one is intact, whether rusted or dented or doorless, but they’re unmistakably lockers. 

There are two lines of seamless benches, though half are rotted to oblivion. But it’ll be a better bed than the floor.

This is practically paradise. There’s a tray by the door that you don’t see for a while, but when you do, you almost cry again. Might have, if you hadn’t spent the day in tears. 

It’s just broth and water, long gone lukewarm and dusty, but you set upon it like a vampire upon a vein. Wait, no, you really don’t want to think about that right now. But it’s not your fault you’ve got monsters on the brain.

Your reprieve is not long. The sun rises. 

The beast returns.

Oh, and he’s pissed that you’re gone, based on the fucking racket that brings you back to the waking world. 

“Oh, did you think you’d been good enough lately for a treat?” Cheryl taunts him. 

The steel doors between you aren’t enough to hide the sounds of his fury. 

“You’ll have her back when you’ve earned her,” she tells him amidst the cacophony of snarling and gnashing. 

It’s ten days before they return you to the cage. Ten days of poking around the abandoned lockers and finding nothing. Ten days of broth delivered at dawn and dusk. Ten days of your back no longer appreciating the bench to stretch out on. 

Ten days of listening to the nonstop scratching and growling and whining from across the hall. And worse. Oh, much worse. Wet squicks and splatters and harsh groans. You’re not sure if he’s eating or masturbating or what, but it sends shivers through your whole body each time. 

It also sends the weird, sticky slick pooling between your thighs, but you ignore that. It’s been happening since the shot, one of the weirder side effects, but it’s gotten downright fucking annoying since you got here.

You try not to think about it. 

It’s not long after they drag you back to the little cage that they drag him into his. For that’s what this room really is, you know that, even if it doesn’t make you feel better about being in there with him. He’s trapped, too, but you’re the one in danger.

They haven’t untied your wrists since the first time, which have blistered and bled and scabbed until the ropes rubbed the scabs raw and started the whole thing all over. 

He smells it before he sees it, any interest in the slippery sweetness on your thighs gone when he tastes the blood in the air. 

Hurt, he whines, though you can’t understand. Help.  

You don’t cry this time, don’t split the sour tang with salt, but the fear and pain and exhaustion are enough to center him. If he tries, if he could just focus…

And there it goes. You watch, mouth agape and eyes blown wide, as he shifts in front of you for the first time. He backs away while it happens until he’s on the other side of the room and sits his very bare ass on his bed. 

You watch the way his bones jerk and his body shakes and cracks and huffs out sharp, agonized grunts until he’s just a man. Just a man, nothing more. Just a beast masquerading. Worse than a wolf in sheep’s clothing, you think, because you know he’s the wolf, but right now? 

He’s just a pathetic, broken human. Bruised and bloodied, though his marks are rapidly fading as the healing takes over, but his face is edged in nothing but pain and sorrow.

“M’not gonna hurt ya,” was the first thing he croaked out. 

You startle, rattling the cage a little, which makes you wince. 

But he stays on the other side of the room. He’s sitting on his mattress, legs bent up and crossed, as if he had anything left to hide. As if you hadn’t seen too much already.

He tries not to think about it, but jesus. It’s a fucking struggle. As he takes you in this way, unclouded by the hazy moon, it still punches him back. Your smell. 

Joel’s never really liked tart things. Too much of a secret sweet tooth, of a deep yearning for the char and depth of anything fresh from the grill. 

But even now, even nearly fully man , he’s salivating at your green apple tang. Of uncovering the sweet ‘n sour burst of you on his tongue. Of letting his sharp teeth fall sharper through the tough act you fail to wear right, too bruised and soft underneath. 

To feel the way you’d give beneath him. The way you’d spill down his chin. No. He has to get a fuckin’ handle on himself. He can’t even look at you, not now that he knows you can smell the salt of his own slick where his swollen cock sits sobbing, neglected and furious. 

“I’m not,” he protests against your silence. 

He’s not sure who he’s trying to convince. 

But he doesn’t stay himself for long. Not after he thinks instead, suddenly, of autumn. Of the sweet smell of the orchard. Of taking Tommy’s truck up up up into the places where seasons meant something. 

The roads sprawled like veins and they followed them with no end just to see the way the trees curled overhead, branches reaching and burning with dying leaves—a sight so devastating that Joel considered leaving Texas behind for somewhere he could start to take this beauty for granted. 

Chasing the colors led them first to a field of corn, blustering amber in the setting sun. They had returned the next day, fresh from the motel with burnt coffee and warm flannels, parting with precious dollars for the privilege of picking pumpkins and apples and a little corn husk doll. 

He’d have paid every cent ten times over to see Sarah smile like that again. 

This is where the man breaks and bows out. Where the wolf at its weakest is still stronger than Joel. He gives in, gives into the grief, gives into the wolf, and shifts back. He stays curled up on his bed, though, and doesn’t look at you.

He doesn’t speak to you again for a month.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #alpha!joel miller x omega!reader #alpha!joel miller #werewolf!joel miller #a/b/o dynamics #a/b/o verse #fic: of rage and ruin #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfic

[owlespresso]

the golden ivy which clings

omega!luocha/beta!reader you are a beta courier. one of your clients is more interested in you than you'd like. tags: blackmail, coerced intimacy done as a part of @lorelune's a/b/o collab.

Your legs ache. Your muscles twitch with the extended exertion. The last five hours spent on your feet are catching up to you. It’s a trapping of the occupation. Being a courier on the Luofu means you regularly bounce up and down its many layers and areas, rushing from district to district, from the boughs to the canopy. After three years, you’ve long memorized the thin corridors and hardly beaten paths, mapped every vein and pipe and ligament in your seemingly endless pursuit of planning the optimal delivery routes.

Faces blend together in your line of work. You doubt your clients remember much anything about you. You’re a muddy sparrow flitting from branch to branch, a bee gliding from flower to flower, as nameless as any other customer service worker. You earn more than most of your peers, but that’s mostly because you’ve extended your services to stations and ships beyond the Luofu orbit.

…And also because of your status as a perfectly even beta, liberated from the debilitating symptoms of heats or ruts. You have no need for bimonthly off days, and needn’t fear the voracious gazes or grasping claws of wayward alphas. No one is likely to notice a lone, scentless courier, even in areas where the Cloud Knights frequently patrol.

Today’s business sees you on the far ends of Aurum Alley, where night has slipped over the artificial skies like silk over skin, streets steeped in deep shadow. You stick to the walls, underneath awnings and through narrow side paths. Silvery moonlight dapples through a canopy of sunset orange leaves, touching the aged stone path, the askew benches next to the food stalls.

On the furthest side, mist billows from the waters and onto the red wood docks. Quiet, still. Hardly a customer to be seen. It’s been the very same every other time you’ve visited. The only people you’ve seen have been members of the IPC. They’re surely thrilled at the minimal returns the businesses here are receiving. Filthy hawkers, intent on contaminating every locale unfortunate enough to make contact with them. You hope they never see another coin in their entire lives.

Not that it’s any of your business. You’re just a courier. It’s in your best interests to keep your head down and keep your eyes from wandering, lest you attract their attention… or the attention of any other governing body who would disprove of the wares you ferry from place to place.

Near the docks, where the wind churns the briny waves, stands the blond man. A repeat customer, a man you’ve come to know as ‘Luocha’.

“You didn’t have to wait out here,” is the first thing you say to him, adjusting the straps of your heavy bag. Your shoulders have started to ache from the strain of the day's long treks. “It’s cold, isn’t it?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he assures you. He has a delicate kind of beauty, the kind you see in fairytale picture books or depictions of soft omegas in gravure magazines. His cheeks are thin, set of his nose regal. His lips are soft rose, petals curled into a winsome smile. His lashes, thick and blonde, fan against his cheeks every time he blinks. It’s all at odds with his imposing height and strange, cold aura. “Shall we head inside?”

“It’s whatever you want,” you reply drolly.

“Inside, then. You look... tired. Have you been on your feet all day long?” Luocha’s hair sways when he turns and bobs which each sway of his hips. Dim lantern light catches on the ornamental pin which holds his strands in place. Just as striking as the rest of him. You really don’t know how he’s come this far without finding a mate. He surely turns the head of any alpha who catches a whiff of him. Even with your muted sense of smell, you still detect undercurrents of that delicate sweetness. Frosted finger cakes and clean face powder. It’s buried under something bitter and medicinal—only able to be caught in the tender hours of the night. After his work is long done.

“That’s just the job. It doesn’t bother me,” you assure him. The apartment building is darkly lit and nondescript. He doesn’t look like he belongs here, in all his whites and golds, pristine and put together and perfectly pressed.

“Still,” he glances back at you. “You won’t be able to do your job at all if you don’t get enough rest. And I would hate to be deprived of my favorite courier’s company.”

You don’t know what kind of face you’re making, but he takes one look at you and laughs quietly.

“My apologies. Given my occupation, it’s practically second nature for me to be concerned about these sorts of things.” He says with a small shrug. You don’t reply, lips nettling into a frown. If you were kinder, perhaps more naive, perhaps you would have mistaken the sentiment to be genuine. 

He doesn’t live in the hollow apartment he leads you to. It’s too ramshackle, mostly undecorated space with a couch, a table and a mismatched arm chair when you walk in. He’s dressed too nicely to tolerate moth-eaten curtains and layers of dust.

“Pardon the state of this place—I don’t actually live here. If it were up to me, we would hold our meetings in a nicer place.” he sighs. You don’t know why he feels the need for small talk. He hasn’t always been like this. During the first few months of serving him, the only words exchanged between you both were basic greetings and fleeting formalities.

“It’s fine. ‘S not like you live here,” you wave him off and deposit your bag onto the leather. It’s an earthy green, the color nearly the same as the worn upholstery. It squelches at the impact, and you tug it open by the zipper. The vacuum of created space is chilled around your arm, goosebumps rolling over your skin. A square package wrapped in plastic, off-worlder medicine banned aboard the Luofu, favored by certain members of Sanctus Medicus.

“Are you a member of Sanctus Medicus?” you’re not sure why you ask.

“Oh? I can’t recall you ever asking me such a personal question,” Luocha observes, a mote of mischief in his voice. “Why? Would you dislike it if I was?”

“No. It’s not my place to police anyone's beliefs—but the members I’ve met seem…” you trail off. It isn’t like you to give your opinion so freely, but you can’t imagine someone so discerning falling in line with those quacks.

“Sanctimonious? Self-righteous? Gullible?” Luocha lists for you, leaning against the back of that dowdy couch. He doesn’t move to accept the package, even when you pointedly zip the bag back up. His smile is unreadable.

“All of those things,” you agree, making the three steps it takes to reach him. “Though, I can’t really blame them.”

“And how could you? The long-lived of the Luofu will be roaming the galaxy and enjoying its many fruits hundreds of years after they’re dead and gone. It’s only natural to pursue that which they feel has been hoarded from them.” Luocha plucks the package from your waiting hands, eyeing it with mildly fond intrigue.

“I suppose,” you hum. You’ve already spoken too much. This isn’t a discourse you should be involved in. Sanctus Medicus, despite their incompetence, is still a faction of individuals with enough outreach to meddle in your business, should this conversation get back to them. 

Long fingers wrap around your wrist. Your eyes blow wide as you stumble into his chest—sturdy, so different from what you’d expect from someone so beautiful, built well beneath his layers. There is no presage, no forewarning.

Underneath the chamomile slides forth the tender, ambrosial scent which betrays his status as an omega. Your pulse hums in your ears, body frozen stiff—but you remain unblemished by the adrenaline.

“Mister Luocha?” you say.

“So steady, even now,” he observes with infuriating tenderness, breath warm against the shell of your ear. “I suppose I should have expected that from an emanator of Harmony.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, unable but to be proud of how steady your voice remains. Every meeting you have ever had with him replays in your head, rolls by all at once like jittering strips of old-timey film as you pull them from the rusty bank of your memory. What could have given you away in the brief moments you’ve shared together? What in the way that you’ve handed him his contraband belied your true nature? Nothing, you’re sure. He’s discovered this piece of you on his own, and that worries you the most.

“Come now,” Luocha coaxes, the euphony of his voice slipping into something softer and sweeter. “You can be honest with me. We’ve already shared so much with each other, haven’t we?”

“The only thing I’ve ever shared with you are the poisons you order,” you inform him, hands braced against his chest. He tuts at you, and his scent grows all the sweeter. Even you can recognize the excited pheromones he pumps into the air. Your senses are replete with him, tongue made sticky by the devious croon of his voice.

“And you give so much of yourself with that alone,” he insists. “Your willingness to pass illicit drugs into the hands of your customers tells me far more about you than any small talk ever has. A shame, really. You have such interesting thoughts, whenever you deign to share them.”

“What do you want from me?” you ask flatly. Your eyes narrow with undisguised suspicion.

“A great many things, but to start...” His fingers tap a gentle drumbeat atop your shoulder. You shrug him off. A contemplative sound hums deep within his chest, quiet but loud in the dusty still of the room. “Share more of your thoughts with me, Courier.” he beseeches. “You’re always so quiet, when we’re together. I think we’ve known each other long enough to hold better conversations.” His hands slide off of you, smooth and quick as oil slick. It’s a concentrated effort to not bolt out of his reach like a startled fawn. 

His gaze bores into your back as you take several measured, extremely normal and calm steps over to your abandoned bag, zipping it back up with renewed zeal.

“I think that was extremely inappropriate.” you share generously.

“I apologize. I only meant to tease, but it seems I’ve pushed too far,” he confesses, genuinely contrite. There is something else about his inflection. Something which sparks alive the long distant urge to soothe. “I don’t often forget myself like this. You must bring it out of me.” 

You frown. The feeling dies. It’s not your responsibility to comfort this weirdo. He’s done nothing to earn your sympathy. Pesky biology, however, would dictate otherwise.

“You’ll be delivering to me again tomorrow, won’t you?” he asks, tilting his head. Your internal discourse snaps to a halt, instinct shafted to the side to make way for the sacred tradition known as “doing business”.

“Of course. Same ingredients, same amount?”

“Yes—and a Core Esse, if you’ve the means to procure one—”

You give him a look, but you nod regardless. “Understood. I’ll meet you at the docks, tomorrow—” It’s not professional to walk away while making arrangements with a client, but you very badly want to be out of this stuffy apartment and away from the new, bizarre scrutiny he looks at you with.

You typically avoid knowing anything about your customers beyond the bare basics. However, you can no longer afford Luocha that same distance. Just how much does he know? And where exactly has he pulled your precious secrets from? 

The investigation begins tonight. You’re hesitant to call on her, but you may very well need to reach out to a particular contact.

—

Hours worth of feverish research inevitably lead to you just calling the Stellaron Hunter who owes you a favor. You have not the slightest clue where Luocha procured such private information, or how much of it he has. Penacony’s travel logs will be the first place to look. If your bothersome merchant has been there before, it’ll be no mystery where he figured you out. Does The Family still talk about you? And do they look back on your brief term of leadership with nostalgic fondness or embittered hatred?

You care not. Those mistakes are long behind you. The Luofu is a kinder place, somehow easier to navigate despite its Abundance soaked innards, where only the engineers dare wander. Without the protections they are outfitted with, you suppose you’re more vulnerable to mara exposure and all it entails, but you never dwell longer than half-an-hour at a time.

Roots and vines cling to the aged metal paneling and jutting pipes, green and gold particles sour the dim air. The pipes rattle and groan, portions of something neon yellow shooting through the complex web of them at irregular intervals. Flowers sprout from the ropey greenery, some bulbs shut and others agape. Pale petals of pink and white and periwinkle peeled wide open against slick silver and rusted brown. The closed bulbs look oddly wooden, but you’re not stupid enough to touch one.

Luocha could surely excuse you for being mara-struck. The Cloud Knights, on the other hand…

Well. It’s not worth thinking about. The overworld welcomes you back with a gust of fresh wind, washing away the acrid tang of the tunnels. The shallowest of them have several discreet exit and entry points. Crevices in the walls swallow you whole and deposit you in nondescript locations across the Luofu, random alleys and average apartment buildings where it’s easy to sink into the crowds.

Today, it’s a high end district, populated by the high-end homes of diplomats and ranking officials from the Luofu’s sister ships. They come to roost in these behemoth manors a few times a year at most, meaning the streets are emptier than you’re accustomed to. There’s not a soul to be seen or heard, not one resident there to share the wide open road with you. The houses leer at you with wide windows and lacquered doors, sat fat and happy behind their tall gates and gaping lawns.

Luocha calling you here, after all of those clandestine exchanges in that dowdy shell of an apartment, is a statement in itself. Is he threatening you with this obscene display of opulence? You can’t begin to fathom why he’d bother with bothering a simple courier. What does he possibly hope to gain?

The address he sent is among the smallest houses you’ve seen so far. One of the least extravagant, which is to say, still pretty fucking extravagant. The latticework fence is wreathed with delicate cotton roses and the yard is a veritable Eden in comparison to the other lots. The path forward is lined by patches of vibrant wildflowers.

The air is cleaner here, and for the first time since entering the district, you can hear birdsong echoing from the tops of the trees.

How much of this did he plant himself? And how have his neighbors handled living next to a miniature forest? You reach out, palm sliding over the closest oak’s trunk, the bark coarse under your cold palms. Beyond the path, to your left, you hear the babbling of flowing water. The yard isn’t large enough to have a creek, you reason, and the time of your appointment looms close—but you figure you have enough legroom to at very least sneak a glance. Your curiosity for once gets the better of you, sending you through the thicket of green, beyond a copse of trees lined up like appointed sentinels, and over an emerging path of flat stones.

The forest opens into a small clearing. A massive, rock-lined pond nests at the center, surrounded by cattails and watergrasses and other waterfaring plants. The babbling, as you expected, comes from a filtration system stealthily hidden amongst the many reeds.

Sunlight shivers across the gentle waters, stirred up by the afternoon breeze.

A chair has been left unfolded beneath the low-hanging branches of a stout, red maple—a splash of crimson among earthy greens and cool browns.

Cautiously, you pick your way down the slope to the pool, squinting at the fish which flicker and dart between rocks and lotus stems. Mostly koi. Pretty, glimmering things which likely cost an arm and a leg. You’ve been to many aquatic markets, even ferried a few live specimens yourself. You settle by the edge, elbows resting on your bent knees. Cautiously, you extend outstretched fingers towards the water, dragging along the silken smooth surface.

A hand lands on your shoulder.

“My, my—”

You don’t hear the rest of what he says. One moment you’re above water and the next under, your startled flailing sending you straight over the lip. 

Luocha is at very least apologetic about your unfortunate (humiliating) spill. He shows you to the washroom and closes the door with a contrite little smile. You run up the water bill for your trouble, the shiver chased from your drenched frame as you step under the hot spray. The shower has room enough for three people, easily. There are two heads and a bunch of silver knobs and dials you don’t feel like fucking with. Rich people and their needlessly complicated household appliances.

You don’t know exactly how long you spend in there, but the mirrors have fogged over by the time you get out. Only once you’ve properly scrubbed the pond water from your skin and tended to your hair do you turn the shower off. The mist sticks to your skin even after a decent toweling. You go through two until you give up and throw on the plush robe he so generously provided. It’s as fine quality as the porcelain tub you spy nestled against the western wall.

The brass glows near gold beneath the warm light. The entire bathroom is all golds and black. Utterly resplendent, but it doesn’t really seem his style.

Is this even his home? You can’t help but wonder as you stroll out the bathroom and into the rest of the house. Most of the interior chambers are linked by wide circular arches. The furniture is cream cushions paired with lacquered dark wood. A sweet smell hangs in the air, but you can’t tell if the potted white lilies on the table beside the sofa are the source.

Luocha stands by the window. Beams of sun hit his face and cast his hair in vibrant gold. He’s ethereal in those shades of sun. He looks delicate, somehow, curves of his body lean under the flowing press of his silken robe.

He looks at you. The dreamy green of his gaze clears your brain of the remaining fog, leaving you cold and alone with the fact that you are alone, together, in an empty house. In a mostly empty neighborhood.

“Your clothes are in the wash,” he smiles. “They’ll be clean in around an hour. Once again, I apologize for startling you—”

“Don’t. I shouldn’t have been skulking around in your front yard in the first place.” The sooner your humiliating slip is forgotten, the better. “Let’s just get down to it. You wanted something delivered, right?”

“All business with you, even now,” Luocha sighs, forlorn disappointment wrinkling his brow. “You don’t have to be so uneasy around me, you know. Why don’t you take a seat? I’ll brew us some tea.”

You do not sit. “You called me here for a reason. I deserve to know what it is.”

“Is your company not reason enough?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. He’s closer now, close enough for you to see how glassy his eyes are. The cloying, sweet smell grows stronger with each step taken, reckless pheromones enough to send a shudder down your spine. Is he… “What if I said I simply wanted to see you?” he breathes, gently cupping your chin. “Should I admit that you’ve haunted my near every thought for the past month, or would that be going too far? Would it frighten you?”

A ruddy flush paints his pale cheeks, cracks in his composure beginning to show. He’s always been the perfect picture of composure, to an irritating degree. The certain grace he moves with used to almost annoy you. So steady, in a world contaminated by constant disruption and imbalance. The very pinnacle of perceived harmony. Perhaps you envied the way in which he carried himself or the freedom he enjoyed as an interstellar merchant, but now—

Now you can say you hardly envy him at all.

“I would say that you should wait until your heat is over before making any confessions,” you observe, resisting the urge to swallow and make the problem worse. Omega or not, he still looms large over you. 

“I’m in pre-heat, where I’ll most likely stay for the next few days,” one of his hands graces your right shoulder, thumb rolling delicate circles there. “I won’t ask you to… service me through the heat itself, but your company would help soothe the symptoms.” The touch wanders down your upper arm, a smooth, repetitive caress. It feels more like an unconscious gesture or a nervous tic than anything else. A self-soothing sort of motion.

“I’m a courier, not an on-call heat partner,” you inform him. How desperate must he be, to seek out the assistance of a courier of all people? “And I’m a beta. I can’t help you in the same way an alpha could. You know that.”

“And how do you know what will and won’t satisfy me?” he replies cooly, haughtily, as if he did not just sing your praises and plead for succor by your hand. “Betas are known to be particularly adept heat and rut partners due to their versatile nature—”

“I too have read the ‘Galaxy Hitchhiker’s Guide to Dynamics and All their Intricacies’. You don’t need to quote it verbatim to me.” you reply flatly, sounding as unconvinced as possible. Luocha is—dangerous. He is handsome, and he seems very sweet, and always seems well of manners, but you know he hides his daggers deep in his sleeves. The moment you realized you are considering his offer, you feel apart from yourself. Because it is ludicrous an idea.

Luocha’s eyes close. His bright lashes fan against flushed cheeks. “No sexual intimacy has to be involved. While skin-to-skin contact is the most effective method to ease the pain, simply being in the same room as you will suffice.”

The heat of him slips onto your skin, the layers between you thinner than you realized. An absentminded hand roams to the sash tied ‘round your waist, idly toying with the knot. His palm, after a moment of fidgeting, settles on the round of your hip. He gives you a gentle squeeze, but it reminds you more of a cat flexing its claws than a gesture of simple appreciation. He inundates you with scent and touch, pins you like a butterfly to a board, wings splayed open for his searching eyes. 

Not that you’ve really tried to fly away at all. A flush of newfound heat encompasses you, unbidden as his scent washes over your palate. You draw him into your mouth and swallow, thighs pressing tight together. It’s ridiculous, really. Inane. Who is he to make you feel so unbalanced?

You find him so utterly vexing. No other man could do this to you, you think. You wouldn’t dare step foot into anyone else’s private home. You wouldn’t consider breaking the strict code of propriety you keep with your customers. But for Luocha, denizen of the Abundance and keeper of your most precious secret, you fear you may do anything.

“I’m a beta,” you repeat quietly.

Luocha remains undiscouraged by your disquiet. Baffling creature, bold beyond reason and reckoning behind his steady, at times coquettish mien. “You can still help me, if you would like. I’m not in the practice of taking unwilling partners.”

You let a poignant pause settle between you, as if you are legitimately considering his request. He leans in, ever so slightly, as if leering at you from three centimeters away is any better than leering at you from five.

Then, finally, after remaining silent for at least thirty long seconds. “Do you prefer blackmailed ones?”

He smiles. The corners of his eyes crinkle with it, entire face lighting up with genuine fondness. So utterly vexing, this man.

“Do you really want an answer to that question?” he asks. When you don’t answer, he presses a kiss to your temple.

—

It isn’t as awkward as you thought it would be. Perhaps it’s because Luocha seems to lack shame in almost everything he does. True to his word, he doesn’t touch you without permission. The rest of the day is spent sitting together in the lounge. He reads a book while you sit on the couch, half-paying attention to the news program you’ve put on. Dinner is takeout. The conversation is… bearable. It helps distract you from how close he is, pressed tight to the side of his body.

You stay in the living room until the sun sets, vivid orange light descending to dusky twilight. Eventually, Luocha stands to head to the washroom. A chill replaces the space he once occupied. You don’t allow yourself to mourn the loss. Instead, you haul yourself onto your feet. Black spots swim at the corners of your vision as your body lags a few seconds behind your brain. 

It’s just more time wasted, as far as you're concerned, so you push yourself. You stagger until your eyesight clears, intending to make a break for the guest room that certainly must exist. Somewhere. A house this extravagant must have a guest room.

You manage to peek into two rooms, one a particularly extravagant closet and the other a sunroom. 

You sullenly retreat back into the main hallway and head for the next door. Luocha slides out of the bathroom and fixes you with a questioning stare. “Where are you going?” 

“Isn’t there a guest bedroom?”

“Ah,” he stands there and looks at you for a long moment, like you are a stranger in his home. Which is partially true, you suppose. You are little more than strangers. “There is, but I was hoping…” he looks off to the side with a pointed sigh. “you would spend the night in my bed.”

You stare at him like he’s grown a new head. He stares back, completely unrepentant.

“Because skin-to-skin contact helps?” you supply wryly.

“Right,” he smiles, as though glad you understand. “During pre-heat, an omega craves the constant companionship of a trusted person, preferably a mate, but that label doesn’t apply to our arrangement. Remaining isolated during this time could cause anxiety, depression, feelings of worthlessness, headaches, migraines—”

“You’ve gotten all the pity you’re gonna get out of me.” you inform him crisply. You relent anyway. The wooden floor is chilly as you pad towards him.

Your stoicism “Wonderful. Thank you for accommodating,” At very least, he seems to know that he’s putting this upon you. Luocha’s bed, you think, is far from the worst place you could spend your night. He’s far from unappealing. He smells good. He’s been weird to you, before, but he’s also unwaveringly polite and currently weaker than usual, hazier. 

Not like you have much of a choice.

He could easily leak your location to your former allies. The Family’s connections span the universe wide. They could easily track you down and cause you all sorts of trouble, maybe even get you kicked off the Luofu. It’s best to cooperate with him, for the time being. And it’s not like he’s terrible company. He holds the door open for you even now, when you’re here for his sake. 

His bedroom is as luxurious as the rest of the house. The floor is dark wood and the walls are black with golden accents. Tapestries hang over tall windows, blocking out the moonlight. A porcelain vase sits atop a combination dresser-vanity, its knobs and gnarled claws a warm bronze. The rest of the furniture is similarly colored, and of similar quality. 

What draws your attention the most is the bed. It’s a wide mattress held aloft atop a platform. Gauzy black curtains hang from the top of the thin gold frame, parted to give you a good look at the mountain of pillows and blankets stacked atop of it. This, you recognize.

“Ah, that’s…” you begin, not quite sure how to phrase it. Aren’t some omegas super touchy about their nests? You haven’t the slightest clue as to which compliments to pay and to which part.

“A nest. I typically don’t indulge in the baser instincts that come with heat, but the urge was stronger than usual,” Luocha informs you, padding over to the mattress. He flops backwards on it, swimming through silks and satins like a minnow up a stream. Soon enough, you’ve lost him in the pile. “There isn’t much else for me to do besides twiddle my fingers, and I can only watch television for so long. So I thought: why not? It’ll be as good a way to keep busy as any other.” 

There’s a small pause. Luocha hesitates by the vanity, drumming his slender fingers atop the hard wood. There’s something uncharacteristically fretful about the gesture. “What do you think?”

“It looks comfortable,” you nod sagely.

“What glowing praise,” he says, almost beaming. You’re kind of annoyed at how… no, you won’t call him cute. Not even within your own internal dialogue. “I’m glad to hear that. Why don’t you join me?”

He rests up against the headboard, lines of his body lean and lithe. He looks like something out of an old painting, long locks and pale limbs flowing over the dark sheets like 

The green of his eyes is startling in the dim of the room. He looks you over, haughty like a monarch on a gilded throne, until his eyelids dip and his head tilts.

“Come here,” he beseeches again. “Please.”

And you do. You cross the threshold of the room, slipping past the open curtains and into the bower of his bed. The mattress dips plush under your hands and knees. Once you’re halfway across, you sit back on your knees—but this is not close enough for him. He needles and pleads with you until you’re close enough to grab. One of his hands wraps around your upper arm, the other at your hip as he tugs you to him, fitting your back snuggly against his front.

You still, but the tension remains wound tight in your shoulders. You’re more amazed at your own stupidity more than anything else. Wasn’t it you who insisted on keeping your clients at arm’s length? All of that haughty professionalism was tossed out the window the moment you succumbed to his pleading—if it could even be called that. He asked nicely. 

Your eyes flutter shut. You lean backwards into his chest. His wide hands slide over your body, thumbs rolling circles onto your hips. A soft and sticky feeling settles underneath your skin as his thighs (bigger than you imagined) cradle your own, silken fabric of his robe pooled over the sheets. A low sound rumbles in his chest, suspiciously close to a contented purr. 

“I’m so glad you decided to spend time with me, courier.” he coos. His hand glides up your arm to cup your own, long fingers interlacing with yours. A contemplative hum rumbles within his chest as he turns it over. His thumb traces the lines and creases of your palm. “You have no idea how much this means to me.” 

“I suppose I don’t.”

“And that’s why it means all the more to me that you stayed,” Luocha murmurs. He reaches over to the nightstand, and the lamp flickers off. The room is plunged into matte darkness, hardly a glimmer of moonbeam slipping in. “I think that you’re more considerate than you pass yourself off to be. Does that frighten you?”

“I didn’t think you’d be able to talk this much,” your brow wrinkles. “Aren’t you supposed to be too horny to think?”

“I’ll remind you that I’m currently in pre-heat—a process my body uses to prepare for the actual heat.” he says with a light sigh. “Believe me. If I were in heat,” his breath brushed against the shell of your ear, a warm and heady caress. “You would know.” He delicately presses the shell between his teeth, nosing the space behind it with another pleased sigh. 

You shudder, and close your eyes. “And what’s the difference between heat and preheat?”

“Ah, I suppose you wouldn’t be able to tell… The pheromones for one,” Luocha squeezes your hand. “Are different. They’re similar to the ones we give off when under threat, a signal that we’ll need help soon… Not all omegas go through it—only an estimated forty percent.” 

“I see.”

Luocha smiles, the curve of it pressed against your throat. You don’t like not being able to see him. A predator looming in the dreary dark of his den. “The desire is still present. Less a raging storm, more the gentle lapping of the waves.”

“Poetic. But I still don’t get why you picked me. They have services for this kinda thing. People who know more about it than I do.” If you doubted his sanity before, you certainly do now. What kind of sane omega enlisted the help of a postwoman above paid professionals? 

“I would rather you than an unfamiliar alpha some service decided would be an adequate match. Even if vetted, a stranger is still just that. A stranger.” Luocha idly toys with your fingers, thumb rubbing circles onto your palm. It’s a touch too familiar, too tender for what you are. But Luocha permits himself to it, and the rest of your body, with a natural ease. You can’t help but feel lulled by it. 

“I see. And you feel safe sharing a bed with your dealer?” Tempting as the siren song of slumber may be, you retain enough wit to pry. The whole thing is too absurd to not badger him a bit more. The arm wrapped around your waist tightens in reply.

“I trust someone who has never been late, never sold my personal information or purchase history and has been nothing but courteous to me.” Luocha lists off your credentials with ease. They feel like they’re straight out of an EULA, or some sort of contract. Out of place in a situation as delicate as this. You could easily tell him as much, but he’s starting to sound sleepy. You would rather he get his rest. And be quiet.

“Of course,” he squeezes the space above your hip, making your pulse spike. “Having the endorsement of an Aeon helps. Especially if said Aeon rules over the Harmony. What a lovely and orderly path to tread, courier. She chose you so well.”

“You should have told me that this thing was gonna make you delusional,” you grumble, writhing in his hold to simply signify your displeasure. A part of you wants to come clean and ask where the hell he learned your secret. It’s obvious that he won’t change his mind, or be swayed by your protestations. But you’re still too stubborn to admit he’s right.

You’re almost annoyed by how comfortable this is. He laughs, breath brushing the crown of your head, but he says nothing else, perhaps sensing that he’s reached your tolerance threshold for silliness. His breathing evens out a few minutes later, chest rising and falling beneath you.

You adjust yourself, settling into his side. Over the next few minutes, he contorts around you, the weight of his arm settling around your waist. Time slips away from you, after that.

The rampant pounding of your heart at last begins to slow. You’re almost calm, wedged between the blankets and body. Your sleep shirt is still wrenched upwards, his bare arm pressed against your stomach. The contact is a boundary crossed, a spark to a hunger you didn’t know you had been harboring. You don’t like it. Some part of your hindbrain rejoices at seeing this man’s needs met, and that delight worries you more than literally anything else Luocha has done or said today.

You stare across the room at the covered window. Slowly and steadily, you untangle your legs, curling them to your stomach. Outside, a frog croaks. The pond babbles in the distance. The air above the blankets is cool on your face and legs as you gently kick the covers back. The chill caresses your skin, sneaks between your robes to give you bumbling gooseflesh. The walls of the nest vent out the worst of the cold. Maybe you’ll ask him about cracking a window open tomorrow. Just a little bit.

—

You wake up a few hours later, and blink into the dark. Luocha stirs next to you. He’s awake. You don’t know how you know, but you can tell. His finger curl ever so slightly against the soft core of you. A shiver ripples across you, robe parted just enough for his fingertips to touch your bare skin.

“...Did you plant the garden outside?” you don’t know why you ask, but you do. 

Luocha hums into the crook of your neck.  He strokes your stomach, petting you.

“I did,” he answers after a moment, a contented sigh ruffling your hair. “Now get some rest.”

—

You leave the next morning, without breakfast. Luocha is a surprisingly deep sleeper, though perhaps you owe that to his current affliction. You’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. You’re also not going to be lured into skipping work by your own foolish sympathy. He can take care of himself for a miserly ten hours.

The day goes as any other does, at first. You take the shortest route you can find through the Luofu’s abundance-ridden innards, starting at the lower decks first. Packages and envelopes pass hands with little delay.

One of your clients, a buxom woman who owns a silk shop, covers her giggling mouth with an oversized sleeve. You eye her with suspicion. She notices, and giggles harder.

“I don’t mean to offend you, dear courier—it’s just—I hadn’t taken you the type to so openly… wear that kind of perfume.” she says, as if elaborating. You don’t understand what she’s talking about, and you don’t particularly care. You leave her to her frivolities and spirit away, merging back into the crowd with casual ease.

The next few clients each make some degree of face at you. One goes wide-eyed, before schooling his features into his typical, customer-service smile. The next looks at you like you have just thrice cursed his family line, nose wrinkled and eyes narrowed into a beady glare. You resist the quite mean-spirited urge to remind of the legality of his purchases, shoring up your mental fortitude by recalling the sumptuous tips he usually gives.

Your seventh customer meets you beneath the crimson awning of a local cafe. You’re glad to be out of the beating sun. 

“Congratulations, by the way,” she says with a smile, nursing a cup of iced tea and ah—you realize, something about you has really changed.

“Thank you, but may I ask what you are congratulating me for?”

“Oh!” she looks startled, and then sheepish. “On the relationship? I didn’t mean to presume….but your scent, today…” she trails off, looking awkwardly to the side.

Fortunately, you don’t need her to elaborate. The context clues snap together with sudden, startling clarity, the peevish behavior you’ve endured all day granted perfect context. Of course, evidence of your business with the merchant would be more apparent to those with keener noses. Your cheeks blood with abashed warmth. You resist the urge to shrivel like an old apple peel, overwhelmed all at once with humiliation, with indignation at yourself and the man who cast this misfortune upon you. 

Heavens, how outrageous you must have seemed, walking into the esteemed establishments and parlors of your clients bathed in that ridiculous fellow’s scent! It’s but another consequence of yesterday’s poor decisions. You fume silently as you leave, making a beeline for your apartment. It’ll delay the rest of your deliveries, but that can’t be helped.

Your phone jitters in your pocket as soon as you step through the threshold of your dwelling. 

You drop your bag onto the grey throw rug. It lands with a mighty thud, loud enough to make you silently hope the downstairs neighbors had not been enjoying an early afternoon nap. Your jacket gets tossed onto the sofa, keys thudding onto the upholstery. Then, you roundabout to the door. A row of locks catch stray rays of sun. You swiftly latch each one and give the door a rough, cursory shove. 

Then, and only then do you check your messages.

You left without saying goodbye.

Your brow furrows. You’d never taken him to be this needy. Every other message above this exchange is polite, but ultimately curt. Most of his recent prying has been done in person.

You were still asleep

It’s alright. When will you return?

After work. Around 8 hours

That long? Could I persuade you to return sooner?

I can’t just skip out

I’ll buy you out. How much do you earn in a day?

Honestly, the nerve of this man! You type a series of poignant expletives out before tactfully deleting them.

It’s more than the money. my clients are powerful. i cant lose those connections

A few poignant moments pass before his reply comes.

Alright. I’ll see you later.

The tension drops off your shoulders. You expected him, in truth, to let loose a most potent threat to ensure your immediate return. A part of you, small and illogical, fears he’ll do his worst regardless. The thought of The Family learning your whereabouts nauseates you, bile churning at the very base of your throat, but surely a man possessed of his many sins is too wise to open his mouth about yours. 

Without even realizing it, you have completely trapped each other. 

What did he ever do with that Core Esse?

It’s better not to think about it. You have hours more left to move, and your line of work demands utmost focus, lest you drop an organ into the wrong customer’s hands.

Fifteen minutes, you afford yourself. The water chases the sweat from your skin, soap and sponge raking your skin raw. The evidence of him washes down the drain with the suds, leaving you remarkably less agitated. Because, really, who gave him permission to linger on your skin and on your clothes and in your thoughts—who gave him leave to evoke your fear and sympathy and intrigue and misplaced affections? Not you, that much is for certain!

You determine yourself free of the vexing beast’s cloying scent and return to the Xianzhou’s busy streets.

—

Arrogance is one of humanity’s most populated wheelhouses. Next door, its foundations built by fools and geniuses both, stands proud senselessness. If you had to name a tenant they share, then with abrupt acuity, you would surely name the Stellaron Hunters, who, as far as you can ascertain, base their stratagems off the ravings of a lunatic. As you wander to the edge between land and space, you cannot help but wonder what his credentials are, and if anyone has ever laid eyes upon them. 

You don’t care enough to ask, though, when you reach the jagged edge. The end of the cargo hold, where the Xianzhou’s artificial sky breaks. Fragments of pale blue and white float amongst the void, growing smaller and sparser until none remain. The ground ends in a series of jagged, shiny edges, as though the metal had been cut clean through. You duck underneath a smattering of ships and starskiffs and cranes and cargo containers. Cold, silvery chrome gives way to the cold, open empty. That is where the man in black waits.

“Blade” is his name. He is a vision against the star-scattered expanse of the empty. Stood beneath a bright, red star, unbothered hy the thin oxygen levels and freezing temperatures. Tall and looming and perhaps irredeemably beautiful. It could be the lack of air talking. You like him more than you like Silver Wolf. She wastes your time with always unnecessary and often personal questions.

“Here for Silver Wolf, I assume?” you ask, already rifling through your bag for the cables and strange, circuit-board devices which she has ordered from you.

“Yes,” he nods, and you appreciate how he says nothing else. 

“Alright. Here you are, then. Make sure she knows that she owes me another favor. These things were hard to find. She’s getting the discount of a lifetime.” you hand him three small boxes and he leaves with a nod. A polite and concise interaction. As distant as mostly-strangers should be.

—

“Home” is after that. The skies have gone a bright gold, nighttime looming in the near distance. 

Luocha’s home is not your home. You refuse to identify it as such, for doing so opens dangerous doors and implications which are most inappropriate for what you have. You make a brief pit stop to your apartment to gather a night bag, changes of clothes haphazardly crammed into the black canvas alongside a toothbrush and other necessary toiletries. 

You nudge the door open with your hip. Pale orange light falls across the threshold and into the dimly lit living room. Luocha sits on the couch, or rather, he lounges. The silken collar of his robe drapes over his right shoulder, exposing a frankly indecent amount of his chest. You pay his naked skin no heed, plonking your bags onto the floor. It’s a welcome weight off your shoulders. You wish you could lay on the floor. A good sleep on that fine, polished wood would fix you.

“Welcome home,” he greets you, daintily depositing the book he’d been reading onto the side table. “I never realized just how long your hours are. You must be exhausted.”

“I’m used to it,” you reply, but you flop onto the opposite end of the sofa regardless. A heavy sigh punches out of you, weary eyes shutting. 

“With how much you charge me, I would think you could afford to shorten your shifts,” he says, with sympathy you know is feigned. You crack an eye open to cast him a cursory look—but the room shifts around you in a blur as long fingers curl around your wrist and pull, tugging you onto his side of the couch.

You land with a disgruntled squawk. Your hands curl into silken fabric. and you realize belatedly that you’ve all but been dragged atop of him, left laid out between his legs. You twist, top half of your body turning to the side to level him with a nasty glare. 

He’s flushed, is the first thing you noticed. More so than yesterday. His cheeks are dusted in pale pink, a delicate blush that runs all the way to his shoulders. He’s warmer, too. You can feel the heat of him pressed along your body. 

“You didn’t have to do that. You could have just asked,” How does someone who looks so willowy have such a strong grip? It’s beyond you, truly. 

“Forgive me,” Predictably, he looks completely, and utterly, unrepentant. “You were just so unsuspecting, I couldn’t help but want to surprise you…” You make a point of looking as surly as possible, and the fiend laughs. Quietly, and behind his oversized, crimson sleeve. Unbidden comes to you the shape of his lips around that euphonic sound, what they might look like when parted by soft breaths and dulcet moans— “Ah, please don’t make that face. It only makes me want to tease you more.”

“Enough of your insanity. ” you bite out, pointedly pressing your elbow into his side. You wriggle in his arms. His grip curls tighter around your waist and he sighs, pressing his face into the crook of your neck to take a long inhale. “Let me up!”

“Just a few more moments?” he asks, words mouthed into your skin. You feel hot all the way down to your shoulders. You muster all your resilience with a swallow, but it isn’t enough. A hush falls over the living room. 

Against your better judgment, you find yourself lulled by the gentle sound of his breathing, by his warmth at your back. Nearly ever part of you aches. Your legs throb, the tight muscles of your thighs worn and throbbing from a long day’s labor. The scorching pains dig deep into your shoulders and your back—you’re due a nice, long shower, you think. 

The dappled sun against the adjacent wall writhes and shifts with the artificial breeze. You can hear the winds shifting through the canopy outside. A songbird sings a trilling little tune. It’s easier to focus on these things while you indulge him and wait to be let up, even if he is being unusually quiet. You’re wise enough to not necessarily be glad for the silence. 

His hand cups your hip, shifting you even closer. It’s only a centimeter or two, but it lets you feel the pointed hard thing jutting into your back in greater clarity. Unbidden, your cunt throbs between your thighs. The arousal and exhaustion makes your mind sticky, concrete thoughts difficult to come by among the haze. 

“Luocha,” you murmur, and he moans softly, breath brushing against your tender skin. Goosebumps flare across your shoulders and arms despite the heat—the sound the shock you needed to get moving. “This is—” you cut yourself off with a swallow as his lips press to the column of your neck. Your already flagging resistance whimpers out into nothing. Each heavy inhale draws him further in, the scent so sweet and cloying in spite of your muffled senses.

“You must have had such a hard day. Doesn’t it hurt? Always going home to that empty apartment?” he purrs, voice indulging, dripping with a delirious sort of fondness. And isn’t that always the trouble with these sorts of situations? Does he want you, or are you the closest warm body available for him to rut into? How strong is his grip on reality? You writhe in his lap and he gasps. His grip tightens in response, holding you fast with surprising strength. “You must be so lonely…”

“I’m not, really,” you nearly snarl, finally losing patience with your clinger’s affections. Your voice, alongside the elbow you jab into his side, jars him from his twisted reverie. He chokes, and muffles a groan into the collar of your jacket, at last lifting his lips away from your skin. The breath whooshes out of him at the force of the blow, but his grip barely loosens. “Behave. Or I’ll leave.” 

He inhales quietly, and shudders.

Over your brief stay in his lavish home, you have perhaps twice (or thrice) wondered if keeping to your principles was worth it. Why not sink into his touch? Why not drink deep of the physical affection he saturates you in? The fact that you’re contemplating the subject at all is deeply ruffling. Little less than two weeks ago, you would have scoffed at the idea.

Alas, the creature at your back is more siren than man. It wounds your pride. You aren’t just any beta. You’re a prime beta, a beta noticed and beloved by Xipe herself. The gift of Harmony should allow you to smother the scents around you completely. It should grant you immunity to the bothersome urges which so often get in the way of business. He weakens your shored-up defenses, somehow. 

“Of course… My apologies.” he sounds contrite, and despite yourself, you soften. Just a tad.  “It’s just—well, a little difficult to hold back when you smell like that.”

“Like what?”

Luocha evades the question, without even pretending to humor it.

“Your last customer was an alpha, wasn’t he?” He lifts his head from the hollow of your throat, looking down at your intertwined fingers over your shoulder. His thumb brushes along the back of your hand before he flips it over. His fingertips brush over yours, before curling into a fist around your pointer and middle, giving a gentle tug. He idly toys with your hand while he speaks. Voice a light, low murmur. “A tall man. Black hair, pretty red eyes… They look like candle wicks, don’t they?” He says it fondly, and your heart sinks into your stomach.

Of course he knows Blade. Why wouldn’t he? 

You’ve never bought anything from Luocha, but you can tell from what he orders that he’s a merchant who idles in the same, seedy markets as yourself. A man who had asked you to trade him an organ brushing shoulders with a Stellaron Hunter somewhere in the darkest corners of the Luofu sounds completely and utterly plausible. A group of little coincidences which occurred just to be a thorn in your side. How did they meet? You can’t help but wonder. How well do they know each other? What kind of relationship do they have?

You don’t ask any questions. It’s not your place. Getting involved anymore than you already are is just asking for more trouble. 

“And if I did meet him?”

He pauses, and laughs a little.

“Well. I am almost in heat. Perhaps I just became… a bit defensive when you came back, smelling just like him. Omegas in heat can be just as territorial of their dens as alphas in rut, though that's often overlooked in the social narrative. We’re supposed to be weak, dainty little things, you know?” If he feels self-conscious about this, he doesn’t show it. He has a tighter leash on himself, now. He sounds more contemplative than resentful. 

“You, weak and dainty? I have to laugh,” you don’t. 

“I appreciate how open-minded you are,” he says sweetly. 

A brief silence falls over the room. You take in the soft sound of the breeze outside. The steady shifting of the trees’ canopies. The steady breathing of that small ecosystem he has birthed and nurtured. 

He’s hesitating. A question hangs in the air, tangles on the tip of his tongue. You can’t see his face, but you have a sixth sense for these sorts of things. That, and it’s typical of him to demand more than you’re willing to give. No more ground will you cede to him. If he begs again for you to remain during the duration of his heat, he’ll find himself succinctly refused. 

Still, you’d rather not have to go through the uncomfortable hassle of rejecting him. But he clearly thinks better of it, because he stays quiet—only breaking the contemplative quiet to ask you what you would like for dinner, his thumb rolling circles onto your palm.

#hungering for hsr #luocha/reader #luocha #imagine hsr

[l0vergirls]

i think i'm in love with you.

— tim drake x gn!reader

— summary: you and tim confess your feelings for each other on a regular afternoon.

— a/n: probably ooc tim idk, no plot just vibes tbh

Sunlight spilled through your bedroom window, landing perfectly on your undone bed. Your abandoned but completed school work lay still on your desk. You let out a deep sigh– you weren’t supposed to be done this early. The sound of your alarm woke you up the second the sun rose– This is a day of productivity, you said. Only, you didn’t count just how much work you had to do, and completely overestimated it. The subjects you worked on were easy, nothing you couldn’t handle alone. Now, you had an entire day free, but you didn’t know what to do with yourself. 

Until the soft ping! of your phone had stolen your attention. You dragged your hands across the wrinkled blankets, and grabbed your phone from the night stand. Your little device had been left unattended for the hours you kept yourself busy, causing a flood of notifications, most of which were from your best friend, Tim. 

bestest buddy <3: y/n??? hello??? 

bestest buddy <3: HEY where are you

bestest buddy <3: can i come over

bestest buddy <3: ok doesn’t matter i'm coming in a couple hours anyway

His comical series of texts made you smile. There was never a dull day if Tim had anything to do with it. Sent 12:38 pm, it read. It was currently 2:00 pm, where was he? Unless he got told off by his father, or just suddenly decided not to come (highly unlikely. he likes the food in your kitchen too much), he should be here, if not sooner. 

You hurriedly made up your bed, not caring whether it was messy or not, and pulled on some hoodie you found laying on your chair. Leaving your room, you were met with the smell of your mother’s delicious cooking. You took quick steps down the stairs, and made a beeline for the kitchen. However, before you could head to the kitchen, you saw a rather amusing sight at the dining table.

It was your best friend, currently eating lunch with your mom. They seemed to be enjoying good conversation. Or your mom did, at least. Tim mostly just sat quietly, too focused on his food to speak. You always underestimated his appetite.

“Wow, eating without me? Thanks, guys,” you teased, ruffling your best friend’s already messy hair, earning a chuckle from your mom. 

“When did you get here?” you turned your attention to Tim, who took his sweet time finishing his plate. He dressed comfortably, you noticed, as always. Not that it ever affected how good he always looked. Plus, under all the fairly loose clothing hid a pretty toned body thanks to his nightly activities. You’ve had the pleasure of getting a peek or two before. 

Tim’s fond gaze went from the food on his plate to your eyes, a smile on his lips. “Not too long ago. Your mom just finished cooking when I came,” he tilted his head to the side very slightly, “and I was pretty hungry, so… I had to eat before I went up to you.”

You couldn’t help but let out a chuckle, “Oh, nice to know where your priorities lie.” You took a seat across him, your mother at the head of the table. 

The rest of lunch was filled with catching up, gossip (courtesy of your mom), and talks of school, unfortunately.

Now, here the two of you were, in your room. You weren’t doing anything, aside from doom scrolling (much of your attention span had been ruined long ago) through various social media apps, and so was Tim, who you were currently admiring.

The sunlight perfectly accentuates the curve of his nose, the color of his eyes that you can (and would gladly) easily get lost in. His dark hair frames his features just right. Your eyes somehow drop down to his lips, a pretty and pale pink and currently in a small pout. You wonder if he realizes this. 

To most of the world, he was Tim Drake, adopted son of the billionaire Bruce Wayne. To criminals, he was Red Robin, a fearsome vigilante. To you, he was just Tim, your best friend who likes cracking jokes that you swear aren’t funny (they are, sometimes, but you’d never tell him that), accompanies you to the supermarket to do the groceries, and stays up all night with you when you can’t sleep. And you’re pretty sure you’re in love with him.

Tim feels your eyes on him. You don’t know this, of course. But suddenly he’s aware of his breathing (too fast? too slow? oh, his heart’s moving quite quickly now), his posture (is he slouched? that’s no good. but he can’t be too stiff either–), and his hair (is it messy? is that why they’re looking? oh, god–)

“Tim?” 

You’re very close to him now. Too close. Not that he minds. He never does, as long as it’s you. He feels your elbow against his, as you both sit up on your bed. He feels your shoulder lightly bumping against his.

“Yeah?”

You let out a small sigh, unbelieving that you’re doing this right now. 

“I think I’m in love with you.”

“Oh.”

It takes him a while to register what you’ve said, but you don’t mind waiting. You understand.

You hear him let out a shaky breath, and you wonder if you’ve made a mistake. 

“I’m in love with you too.” 

Your eyes meet his, and you feel yourself lean into him. You give him a small smile, but your eyes give you away; they’re brighter than they’ve ever been.

“How long?”

He mirrors your smile, only a bit bigger. No, a lot bigger. He can’t really contain his feelings right now. His hands find yours, a gentle warmth radiating from his. You felt safe; you always felt safe with him. 

“A while, I think. You?”

“Not sure. A long time, maybe. I just felt like telling you now.” 

“Wanna go on a date?”

“Right now?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, but you’re paying.”

“When do I not?”

#— yan writes. #tim drake x reader #tim drake #dc universe #red robin x reader #dc comics #red robin #— dc. #— the bats.

[flooffybits]

Full of Color

Idol: Dreamcatcher

just another marshmallow passing through: So I just thought of the cutest thing but like you don’t have to write it.. so like 8th member of DC, has tattoos and while she’s asleep one of the younger members colours them in because they were bored and reader was asleep. When they realise what they’ve done they freak out because they don’t want closed off/cold member to be mad. But the reader just coos and babies them because it’s cute and they actually like it shocking the members?

Word count: 2.3k

☕buy me a coffee☕

“Isn’t it a little early to be asleep?” Yoohyeon hears the amusement laced in the dancer’s tone before turning her head to find her gaze directed to your slumbering figure curled up on the couch.

“Let her be. We’ve all been busy and we had a long flight a couple days ago.” Minji scolds lightly, humming when she brushes your hair from your face and then adjusts your blanket so you don’t get too cold.

Yoohyeon notes their attire and furrows her brows together in curiosity. “You’re leaving?” She questions and Bora nods her head. “We’re just going to the mall to relax. It’s not everyday we get to go out of the country.” She responds casually when she adjusts the hat on her head before slipping her shoes on.

The puppy pouts a little at that and slumps back against the table. “I wanna go out too but I feel so lazy today.” She groans, earning a laugh from Bora when she stands back up and grabs her purse. Minji has to silence her just so her voice doesn’t wake you. “If Y/n wakes up, have her come with you.”

“But unnie is tired.” She reasons, hesitant to ask you since she knew how you could be whenever you were running low on energy. She didn’t want to possibly ruin your mood more.

Minji is already dismissing the thought with a wave of her hand. “Just ask. And if she doesn’t want to, you can always ask the others when they come back.” She suggests when they head for the door. “We’ll see you later.”

“Take care.” Yoohyeon calls after them, staring at the door once it’s shut and she lets out a breath, a pout resting on her features as she looks back at you. She honestly has no idea why you decided to leave your bed to sleep on the couch, but she can’t really do anything to make you go back since she would feel bad about having to ruin your sleep.

Yoohyeon knows how little you’ve been getting lately so she does her best to keep quiet just so you can rest.

Judging by your tired expression, she knows that you would be needing it for the rest of the tour.

..

It’s been well over two hours since Yoohyeon had been alone with you. Yubin entered the room at some point and left some food on the table, but as soon as she did, Gahyeon was coming to collect the rapper so they could both go sightseeing, explaining that Dong was already waiting in the hall.

And while they did ask Yoohyeon if she wanted to come with them, a quick glance at you had her shaking her head and stating that she would be fine at the hotel.

They merely smiled at her before saying to call if she needed anything.

She wished that she went with them, because not even ten minutes after they left, Yoohyeon was bored out of her mind, having given up on her phone and finished her little study session.

When she peeked over at you again, she assumed that you were finally awake. But you only stirred a little and moved to your side before sleep once more took over. She had to hold her breath the whole time before sighing heavily.

At first she found it funny how much you were sleeping today, but after a while and some noise from her clumsily tripping over a chair and you had yet to react, she was a little more worried than anything.

You weren’t exactly a heavy sleeper, but it was clear that you were more tired than you let on.

By the third hour, Yoohyeon finds her back against the couch, her phone playing a little bit of music while she randomly draws on the notebook she had packed with her for this trip. Some of her thoughts would be strewn about, nothing specific, a doodle of Pie and even Cherry in another page before she finally ended with a blank.

Pouting at the lack of inspiration, Yoohyeon turns her head, your arm on clear display with your tattoo in her sights. The idea came before she could even think it over and one of her markers was soon on your skin, filling some portions of your tattoo with color as she hummed along to the song.

She remembers you first getting this one. It was the very first of many and she smiles a little to herself when she remembers how much you stressed about getting it. Since it was something you would forever have on your skin, you took months into considering the design before finally deciding to get it, much to your fans and members’ delight.

She was happy to see the contentment on your face when you showed it off the first time. She didn’t understand the sentiment at first, but after countless probing from not only the girls, you ended up explaining the tattoo in one of your vlives.

As quiet as you were, the girls knew how far your imagination could reach. But the meaning behind your tattoo would probably be one of her favorites of your stories when you told them how it symbolizes the people in your life.

Like a puzzle piece, you told them, every one of them fit into your life and made you whole. She’s embarrassed to admit that she teared up when you told them, but you had only given them all a smile afterwards.

The simplicity of the design held something deeper and that was enough for you.

It’s only when Yoohyeon reaches for the third color does she pause though and take a proper look at her handiwork. When she followed the length of your arm and saw your face, her own was drained of color and she promptly dropped her marker. Dread filled her entire body when she finally realized what she’d done and she scrambled to gather her things and flee from the scene before you could wake up.

“Yah! What are you doing?”

Bora’s sudden entry, along with her panicked state, causes her head to collide with the coffee table right after picking her marker up, and the rest of her things scatter to the floor, the noise being enough to finally wake you up.

She was so screwed.

Yoohyeon whines while rubbing her head, pouting as she sits on the carpeted floor before the sound of your groggy voice reaches her ears. “Yoohyeon?” She swears she wants the ground to swallow her whole at that given moment when she slowly turns her head, a nervous smile on her face when she looks up at you whilst the rest of your members enter the room.

Siyeon looked a little surprised when she saw your now colored tattoo, but before she could say anything, Yoohyeon was already scrambling to her feet and distanced herself in the event you grew upset.

“Unnie! You’re finally awake.” She tries not to get you to notice when you stretch and then rub your eyes. “What time is it?” You ask while reaching for her phone and everyone watches as everything goes in slow motion for Yoohyeon.

By the time you held the device in your hand, your eyes caught the now colorful puzzle piece on your arm, forcing you to sit up to properly assess yourself whilst Dong shot the panicking puppy a worried glance.

You had to do a double take since your mind was still a bit hazy, but once you saw that it was indeed colored in, you took a quick look at your members, the confusion plastered over your face before you’re turning your gaze to the scared girl who was already bowing with apologies spilling from her lips.

“You colored my tattoo?” None of them can quite read your expression as you stare at the design again, so Siyeon moves to join you on the couch just so she could hopefully soothe you in the event it was needed. With her head on your shoulder, she takes a look at the tattoo with you and smiles a little to herself.

“Hey, that doesn’t look so bad.” She offers and Yoohyeon wants to stop the vocalist from saying anything that could possibly get her to her grave faster, only to pause when she sees the ghost of a smile playing at your lips when you nod your head. “It is.”

“It… is?”

She wasn’t sure if it was her fear tricking her into thinking that you weren’t upset, but seeing the surprise on everyone’s face promised her that it wasn’t just hers as she hesitantly came back to the couch where you gladly welcomed her.

“You did a really nice job, Yoohyeon.” You praise and she takes a look at the tattoo again before your face lit up. “Hey, what else were you adding on this?” Everyone was caught off guard by the question and Yoohyeon struggled to find her voice, looking up and meeting Yubin’s equally lost gaze for a moment before the rapper shrugged her shoulders, gesturing to the markers right after.

Carefully, she turned back to you before answering. “I was just coloring it.” She mumbles and you hum before extending your arm in her direction, puzzling her for a moment while you just grinned softly at the younger girl. “Mind showing me the whole thing?”

Gahyeon looked to and from before she faced the two eldest members, seeing that they’re both just as dumbfounded by the turn of events. Frankly, they were prepared for the worst as soon as Bora caught Yoohyeon filling your tattoo, but seeing how you attentively watched the blonde fill it with new ink, adding a few comments here and there to tell her that you liked the design, they all relaxed before finally proceeding further into the room.

Minji even giggled when she finally let the whole thing sink in. This would surely be another story that InSomnia would find amusing in the future. But as Siyeon took a peek later on to see how you and Yoohyeon were doing, the older members all smiled when they saw that you’ve now been accompanied by Yubin, talking about the tattoo and its new design.

This was probably one of the rare times they’ve seen you so relaxed, giggling along with the rest of the maknae line as all four of you, since Gahyeon complained about being left out, happily chatted about your plans for the following days.

..

“I had lunch with my brother yesterday.” Yoohyeon shared, seeing that people were asking for a TMI. “I was joking about him treating me, but he really didn’t let me pay anything.” She said with wide eyes, a faux amazed look on her face as she threw a thumbs up and Gahyeon agreed. “Seriously, he’s cool.”

“You’re boasting about your brother again?” You chuckle when you enter the room, joining the pair, but they happily welcome you, waving you over and gesturing for you to sit down. “They were asking for TMI.” The maknae explains and you nod your head in understanding, looking at the screen to see various people commenting your name.

You smile a little and wave before Yoohyeon nudged you. “What about you?” She inquires and you have to think for a minute, racking your brain for anything interesting to tell everyone before you snap your fingers. “Oh! I went back to the shop a couple days ago.” You tell her, and Yoohyeon looked a little confused before you rolled up your sleeve to reveal your now colored tattoo.

“It’s pretty, right?” Yoohyeon’s face exploded in a million shades of red when she recognized the design while Gahyeon marveled at the sight, peering at the inked skin in wonder. Overwhelmed, Yoohyeon lightly smacked your arm, forcing it down and away from view. “Yah! I didn’t know you were going to color it!” She screamed and you can only give her a confused look while rolling your sleeve back down.

“I told you that I liked it.” Was your simple answer before you looked back to the camera as though it wasn’t a big deal. “Yoohyeon colored it when I was sleeping one day-”

“I was scared.”

You wave the comment away with a playful shrug and then continue whilst Gahyeon giggled in the background. “You should have seen Yoohyeon unnie’s face that day.” She claims. “She colored my tattoo because she got bored, but the outcome was really nice.” You went on when Gahyeon took your arm again to inspect the design. ”I didn’t tell the members about it yet, so this is the first reveal everyone.” You tell them and Yoohyeon went quiet for a few good minutes, flustered that you had actually enjoyed her design so much to have it added into your already meaningful piece.

She was hit with a strong feeling of happiness and she couldn’t help but cling to you for the entirety of the live. She had gotten a little shy while you and Gahyeon interacted with your fans, though the latter did send her teasing little grins every now and then.

“The unnies’ tattoos all look so pretty that I’m considering getting one.” She pouted, feeling a little envious of the designs you had on your body. “But it’s so hard choosing a design.” She adds before you lightly pat her head. “You can try sketching out some designs of your own or you can search for stuff online.”

The conversation is lost in Yoohyeon’s head until you all decide to head back to the dorm. Even when she sees you conversing with the rest of the members, Yoohyeon can’t fight off the feeling of pride swelling in her chest whenever she would catch sight of your new design.

“It added more meaning to what I already had. Not only am I complete, but it’s like there’s more life with how much color there is in my life.”

#girl group #girl group scenarios #girl group imagines #dreamcatcher #dreamcatcher imagines #dreamcatcher scenarios #dreamcatcher x reader #jiu #jiu scenarios #jiu imagines #sua #sua scenarios #sua imagines #siyeon #siyeon scenarios #siyeon imagines #handong #handong scenarios #handong imagines #yoohyeon #yoohyeon imagines #yoohyeon scenarios #dami #dami scenarios #dami imagines #gahyeon #gahyeon scenarios #gahyeon imagines

[madameminor]

In More Ways Than One, Part 6 - Bad Batch x F!Reader - Hunter

Summary: You thought it would be a night out. Hunter decides it's finally time for your night in.

Tags: Smutty mcsmutterson. 18+. NSFW. "Basically, all the good stuff."

Warnings: Oral (m/f receiving), sub space, voyeurism, blindfold, bondage, unprotected PiV, anal play, nicknames, mentions of polyamory

EDIT 12/27/2022 Something wasn't sitting right with me, so I updated this chapter changing 'Master' to 'sergeant' on AO3. You kind find the updated chapter here. Whichever you prefer, please continue to enjoy. *bow*

Notes: Y'all. When I tell you that this was a fuckin' journey. When I tell you that this took me months and months of rewriting and scrapping whole plot lines, and perfecting and perfecting until I could not stand the word cock anymore. GUH. And so, so worth it. I give you- the Hunter chapter. This is not the final chapter, I have so much more slutting around in my brain (is that a word? it is now) and it will be glorious. First, though, I'ma take a rest and enjoy the damn holidays. Thank you everyone who cares enough to read, comment, reblog - it all blesses me. I am truly honored. ALRIGHT SHUT UP MADAME GIMME MY PORN. Ok, ok, sheesh. SPECIAL THANKS to @fandumbug and @kaminocasey for being my Beta readers through all 5 months of this!

Word Count: 6K+

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 3.5 Part 4 Part 4.5 Part 5 Part 5.5 Part 6 Part 6.5 Part 7 Part 8 Part 8.5 Part 9 Part 9.5 Part 10

Hunter sits at the top of the steps into the Marauder, leaning against the door frame of the hatch and watching ships glide through the faded yellow sky of Brohet. Various droids waddle and wheel around the docking port that houses the wounded ship, sparks flying occasionally from the aft of the exterior as they tinker and toil. Organized insanity in a fairly small space.

His brain isn’t much better, so he feels comfortable.

His talk with Wrecker out on their mission had given him… ideas. Really, really naughty, incredibly hot ideas. Ideas that had been floated casually into conversation- and received very, very well. And now that they were free and clear of danger, albeit banged up, he was free to… meditate on them. He lay his head back against the door frame, trying to focus his thoughts on current events and anchoring him back to reality.

The mission had been a success. The squad had managed to stay intact (minus a shot to Wrecker’s shoulder), free to tell another story of a harrowing escape, but the ship, well, had not been so lucky: the poor Marauder had limped its way into friendly space with way more damage than Echo and Tech could take care of in a timely manner. They had done what they could before heading to Brohet, leaving the rest to the tireless droids here at the dock.

Commander Core, the reg with their current standing orders, was happy to see them alive.

“Just a flesh wound? That's a relief. That one wasn’t easy,” the Commander said with a satisfied sigh. “Glad it was mostly the ship. How long will that put you out?”

‘With this many droids, shouldn’t be more than a night or two,” Hunter reported from behind tented hands and interlocked fingers. “We’ll be on our way by midnight tomorrow, latest.”

The holo-image nodded. “Better than I thought. In that case, take a night in town. Get some good food, sleep in a real bed. You’ve earned it.”

Hunter smiled. You would be pleased. “Is that an order?”

The commander’s laugh was a bark, more jovial than harsh. “HAH. It is now.” He threw a quick informal salute. “Keep out of trouble, I’ll see you when you get here.”

Hunter smirked to himself as he ended the transmission. Didn’t the commander know? His squad was nothing BUT trouble.

He glances over to where his squad waits close by – Tech talking with Echo. Wrecker is benching one of the boxes full of parts despite his injury. Crosshair’s sitting on more boxes, looking up at the sky and chewing away at his toothpick. All waiting patiently for you to grace them with your unarmored presence- even if it took an extra 30 minutes. It was usually quite worth it, and you said you had a new outfit you wanted to wear…

You know, they wouldn’t mind if you kept her in tonight.

Hunter shoos the voice away, sitting up a little straighter. Perhaps they wouldn’t – but he can hold out a bit longer. He’s waiting for something, he doesn’t know what, but he’s patient. He’d know the moment. His instincts have never failed him before, it would be silly to start doubting them now. Reassured, he settles in to wait- just in time to hear footsteps coming from the bunks. Guess it was time.

“Ready to go, Sarge?”

He looks over to you, ready to tease about how he has BEEN ready to-

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rest of the squad pauses as Hunter looks into the Marauder- and freezes. 

Tech glances at Echo, who shrugs before glancing back at their leader. Without looking at them, Hunter throws out the bag of credits they’d be using for the night, caught in midair by Crosshair with a quizzical lift of an eyebrow.

“Sorry fellas. Looks like you’re on your own tonight.” Hunter says, standing up. He glances out at them with a smirk, a satisfied glint to his eyes. “And, uh… probably best you don’t come back til tomorrow.” With that he pulls a lever, the ramp slowly closing and sealing shut with its tell-tale hiss-

And just like that, they’re alone.

There’s silence for a moment…then two…then three…

“FINALLY!” Wrecker exclaims, dropping the box and turning with his hands behind his head, starting to walk out of the docking area. “What’s good to eat around here?” The others follow him, one smirking around a toothpick, one smiling into a data pad (already looking up local fare)- and one chewing his lip, lingering a moment behind before following the rest.

 —--------------------------------------------------------------------------

You weren’t quite sure what to expect when you walked out in this new outfit. 

You knew you looked good. You’d chosen this look because it balanced well- enough skin to feel sexy, but enough fabric to still appropriately represent the G.A.R. The color was one of your favorites to wear because you worked it well. You know that if you’d shown this to your friends at home, that would be cat-calling you all the way to the register. You didn’t know if the boys were really interested in what you wore- you mostly dressed for yourself anyway, but hopefully there was a nod, or a smile, or even a long, appraising look.

So you weren’t sure what to expect - it certainly wasn’t this. 

You had walked out flouncing, flirty, ready to go - only to be completely pinned to the spot by the heated interest of your Sergeant. You couldn’t move as he stood, sent the boys away, closed the hatch. You watched the door to the marauder raise up, sealing away the outside world.

Now Hunter turns to look at you - and the excitement in his eyes makes you shiver. Oh. This is it, that moment he’s been waiting for. And all you can do is stand there.

His eyes t r a c e up your body, gaze caressing everything he sees. He walks up to you without a word, savoring your palpable anticipation. Stars, can he hear how quickly your heart is beating? He’s so close, his hand tracing across your cheek. “Hunter…?…”

His lips find yours, kissing you until you’re up against the wall. One hand weaves into your hair, tightening deep in your roots, not for pain, for control. It’s tight and taut and you’re overwhelmed by the sense of desire, passion, power that pulsates from his body pressing against yours. He releases your lips gently, fingers still tight, his nose to yours. You hear him growl under his breath, against your lips, like he’s savoring the word that rolls off his tongue.

“Mine.”

You have no words, only shivers pooling through your higher brain functions, calming, relaxing, sedating- so that the rest of you can feel, adapt, enliven. He watches your eyes start to glaze over, his domination already taking effect.

“You trust me?” He rumbles against your lips, barely keeping himself from ravaging them.

“Yes, sir.” You aren’t doing much better. Your body begs against his, baser desires sending pheromones dancing through the air. His eyes narrow with dark, roiling lust, his other hand tracing up to your neck and gently pressing against your throat. You moan as your head falls back towards the grip in your hair, begging him to continue. 

His voice wrestles with restraint. “Safeword?”

“Meiloorun-,” you squeak. And without thinking... “-Master.”

His eyes flick to yours, and where you were afraid there would be distaste, there is only surprise- surprise that cools into a simmering, delighted satisfaction. 

“Say that again. My title.” 

“...Master.”

His hand pulses tighter around your throat, pushing out a wanton moan. He growls through a grin,watching you beneath him.

“Sounds so perfect when you’re so… breathless.”

He kisses you once more, slower, more possessive, back under his own control. You feel his smirk as he pulls away from you, releasing you from his grip- but not before looking down into your eyes and commanding- “Show me what you wore for me.”

You almost whimper as he releases you and sits in the cockpit chair just behind him, eyes dark, hungry, ready. Only training keeps you from falling at his feet and begging him for more. That- and the blossoming burning desire to please him.

He’s removing his gloves, eyes still trained on you. You let everything fall back the way it looked pre-ravishing, feeling the stroke of his eyes as you start to turn for him, relishing in his attentions.

“Beautiful,” he muses behind you, with true reverence in his voice. You smile as you finish your turn, basking in such simple praise.

“Thank you, Master.” So SO keen to please him, to feel him press up against you again…

“Now. Take it off.”

The tone in his voice leaves no room to do anything different. Hands drift to undo zippers and buttons, hinting at more flesh with each release of fabric. Making sure he’s watching, you slowly turn your back. Glancing over your shoulder, you let it all drop, leaving nothing but the lace panties you bought for shoreside framing your ass the way it looks best.

His sharp intake of breath sends your sub side simpering- he liked that. You turn back around to await further orders, and to let him stare at what belongs to him.

His gaze lingers, taking you in, relishing in what he sees. His eyes soften, though still filled with heat. He holds out his hand to you, inviting you forward. You take it carefully, feeling his warm, rough skin enveloping yours. He pulls you on top of him- thighs straddled, arms on his shoulders, face inches away. He gently strokes the side of your face with his fingertips, thumb stopping at your bottom lip as his hand curls to gently hold your chin.

He kisses you possessively, gently biting your lower lip as he pulls you in closer. With a whimper you let your tongue seek entry, and he grants it. Shivers overwhelm you at the feeling of his tongue meeting yours, the tenderness burning to passion with a satisfying flood of pleasured moans. His fingers trace over your body, your thighs, your lower cheeks and up to your back- your hips, against the swell of your breasts. Every curve feels seen and caressed by his steady hands, massaging, tracing, kneeding, in more ways than one. So careful and caring and kind, taking their pleasure so patiently…

But you want MORE. And you’re starting to get impatient.

You find the clips of his breastplate, craving his bare skin beneath yours – only to feel his hands take yours, pulling you away from him despite your  petulant whine. His look is stern, but not unkind.

“Not yet. Knees.”

You try not to pout, you really do, but you want him now. He raises an eyebrow, and the thought of his displeasure cows you immediately. You reluctantly move to slide between his thighs, his strong arms balancing you until your knees find the cool durasteel. His near-smile is almost reward enough, hand caressing the side of your face as you settle. You lean into it, dreading to be so far away from your Master’s warmth.

“That’s my girl,” he reassures you. But there’s a glint in his eye. “Your turn to watch.”

Your hands clench where they’ve come to rest against his thigh plates. Your punishment for getting impatient? Just to watch?

He starts to take off his upper body armor, a piece at a time – not as a show, but not in a rush. You watch his languid movements as he finally pulls off his under armor shirt, revealing his tawny colored torso, his muscles flexing in the low light as he slides the shirt up, over, and onto the ground. You catch your breath at the rippling, one hand moving forward reflexively to touch him before you stop yourself, pulling your hand back towards your chest.

He can feel your excitement at watching him, can’t he? His smile is small, recognizing your obedience. He leans back into the chair, hands finding a place to rest over his head, leaving him bare under your gaze.

“Go on.”

Your eyes flick up to meet his for a moment, confirming his permission. Gently, lovingly, you slide your hands over his stomach and up to his chest, following the valleys of his muscles. He’s so gorgeous like this, so perfect. So kissable. You bring your lips to the center of his chest, trailing delicate kisses down to his belly button, nuzzling between the bumps of his abdomen. His chest lifts in a satisfied sigh. His hand slowly cards through your hair as you revere him, worship him, glancing up to see him hungrily watch you lavish everything that he is.

You trace his stomach with your hands, tracing the outline of muscles as they lead down to his groin. Beautiful. Sculpted. Breathtaking. You can feel the warmth pooling in your low belly as you lean forward to kiss along the valleys between muscles. Your kisses drift lower, meeting fabric and plastoid.

You look up to where he’s watching you, one hand on the head rest, the other still in your hair. He nods, granting you permission. Your fingers find the clips holding his codpiece in place and deftly free them with a click, moving the plastoid piece to the pile next to him with eyes still fastened to the bulge kept at bay by black fabric. You carefully pull back the pliant material, his cock springing eagerly to your hand.

Your breath catches as you take in the most intimate part of him. You look past it to him. He smirks, satisfied with your interest. You gently take him in your hand with an experimental pump or two, reveling in the quiet gasp hissing through his teeth at the contact. His pleasure sends your whole pussy aquiver, the shiver running up and through you.

You start where you can, licking the tip clean with your tongue, looking up at him to make sure he’s watching his good girl taste him for the first time. Oh the pleasure in those delighted eyes as he watches you taking the head into your mouth, tongue snaking down and around his ridges and veins.

Your tongue traces up his frenulum as you openly lavish his cock, taking him into your mouth and slowly sinking down his shaft, letting him feel your soft lips envelop him. He swears under his breath while he watches, hands gripping the head rest above him to let you work unmolested.

You start to bob at a gentle pace, hand following close behind your mouth for added pressure, slicking him with your spit, clenching as you think about riding him just like this. Your head starts to move faster, hungry to taste more of him, to have him inside of you, the first time he fills you. You quicken your pace at the thought, moaning, caring little for how you look or sound, solely focused on enjoying the grunts and strained moans coming from above you.

“Look at me.”

You look at him, unwilling to slow down, you want it so bad. 

“Yes, like that. Good girl.”

 He holds your head up by your hair and starts to thrust on his own, groaning up to the ceiling before bearing down on you again. His breath quickens, his hand tightens. You look up to him with pleading eyes. He’s so close, so close to giving you what you want so desperately.

He meets your eyes, bucking up against your uvula. “I’m going to cum. You’ll be good and take it all, won’t you? For me?”

You whimper around his cock in reply.

With a deep breath you open your throat and let him in. He cums with a strangled groan, thrusting each time as far as he can, your nose touching flesh. His heavy breathing fills the space around you as his thrusts get shorter and shorter, eventually stilling with a satisfied sigh. You slowly slide up and off, bobbing your head once as a parting gift, before releasing him.

There’s almost a growl as one hand grips your chin. He leans forward to kiss you, capturing your tongue with his, tasting himself on you. You mewl into it, trying not to gasp as his other fingers find your vulva, tracing through the juices practically weeping from your pussy.

“I could hear you clenching.” He growls against your lips, still held to him by your chin. “Could smell how wet you were getting from taking my cock like that.”

You can only buck into his hand, his fingers wetting themselves as one starts to slide into you. His grip on your chin keeps you from looking away, his eyes holding yours as you moan out his title. “Master-”

An incoming com beeps from the pile of armor. Without removing his finger from inside you, he releases your face to answer it.

“Echo.” Calm, not angry, eyes back to yours while he slowly pumps the finger in you.

“Sorry to interrupt, sir, Tech insisted on sending food, wouldn’t bring it himself. I’m leaving it here on some supply crates by the front.”

Hunter’s eyes glint, a flash for only you to see. “You’re inside the docking bay?”

“Yes sir, food is just inside to the left.”

“Let me make sure I see it.” The hand with the live com braces against your hip, but his other hand doesn’t move from your pussy. He lifts you up, sitting you on his lap, facing away from him- then he spins, and you’re facing outside the ship. And looking right at Echo.

You see him go still as he realizes what’s happening, what he’s seeing. Your face begins to burn, but so does your pussy, living for the look of desire that is slowly surfacing on your lover’s face.

“Perfect, I see it.” Hunter says into the com, his hands strangely absent, probably relishing how this is making you feel. “Do me one more favor, keep her distracted.”

Wait, what?

You barely see the red of his bandana before it clamps over your eyes. Your body tenses at how intensely everything is magnified- you can smell the sex in the air, Hunter’s scent, can taste him on your lips. You can feel his warmth behind you. So warm, so solid. He pulls you back against him, fingers returning to your soaked hole, and you suddenly remember: Echo is watching. Echo is watching.

You hear a thump, the com landing on a neighboring seat, his warm hand returning to hold one of your thighs up, his lips nestled by your ear.

“He’s still standing there, watching you take me.” You hear the smirk in his voice as his fingers trace through your lips, spreading them for his own access. “Can’t look away.”

You clench with a gasp- he’s still watching, wanting to watch you taken by his Sergeant- “it makes you even more beautiful.” Fingers slide into you, gently working against your tender spots, pumping through your slick.

Hunter’s own lust starts to take over. “I left the com line open,” he says, with a nip to your ear lobe. “Tell him how good it feels.”

Your head falls back with a moan. Is this really ok? “S-So good. Master’s fingers feel so good, Sir. Pumping me open like this…”

Kriff, Hunter likes this too, you can hear it in his voice, feel it against your lower back. “Do you like him watching you?”

Even more beautiful. You give in, letting him work you open for all to see. “Y-yes I love when he sees me taking you like this. Sees me taking our sergeant like this.” Kriff you are so close so quickly just by him watching.

“Good. Say his name, then.” You can hear the lewd wet of his slick fingers over your moaning whimpers as they pump you to completion. You had no idea you could fly this high.

“Echo…” you cry, nearly in tears as you feel yourself start to cum. “Echo, please, it feels so good. Please watch me cum on his fingers, Echo!”

Quietly, over com, you hear a fevered plea dressed up as a command. “Cum for him, cyar’ika…”

You cry out as you cum, clenching in spasms around the fingers working you through, imagining wide, lust-blown, amber eyes from a pale face aching to see more- 

Fingers slow as you come down before withdrawing, leaving you panting in warm, safe arms. 

“You did very well, mesh’la,” Hunter says into your hair. You whimper in reply, curling up against him, face buried in his neck. He raises his voice, tone amused. “Thanks for the assist, corporal.”

The reply is strangled, overwhelming desire in its throes. “Of course.” 

The com line closes.

You feel Hunter spin the chair around and pick you up in his arms. You cuddle, panting, into his chest as he stands, making his way to the back of the ship- to your bunk.

You’re lain down in your bed, warm lips finding yours to settle you, reassure you, pressing you into the mattress. Your fingers nestle in his hair, strangely bandana-less, perfect for you to hold while nuzzling in this brief mid-after care. 

Very brief. “Master?” You whisper against his kiss, enjoying the feeling against your lips

You feel him smile. “More?”

“More, please.”

You feel him take your hand and place it on the small of his back.

“I’m taking off the rest of my armor. Don’t break contact. Keep your hand on me.”

You do as you’re told, imagining what he must be doing from the sounds in your ears- sitting on the edge of the bed, his boots, his knee pads, his thigh gauntlets, his under armor…

Then he’s turning toward you, your hand taken and kissed before being guided over his shoulder as his warm skin slides over yours, his mouth gently trailing kisses from your collar bone up your neck. A small cry escapes you. You can’t help the quiet noise at such a gentle touch so magnified- kisses trailing up to your ear.

His fingers are in your hair again, gently moving your head to face away, lips finding the crook of your neck with teeth just behind. You can’t stop the wanton gasp as he nips- not strong enough to leave a mark, but enough to make you buck against him, grinding up against where your pelvis meets the top of his. “Master…”

He takes a deep breath, face burying itself in your neck. “I know, pet. You just smell…amazing.”

Far be it from you to be the one to keep him from his pleasure. 

He holds your hands up above your head as his lips seek yours. “Crosshair told me you might need… a bit of help at showing restraint.” Fabric slips over your hands, firmly tightening around your wrists- not enough to hurt, but enough to know you aren’t going anywhere. You whimper lightly, testing your bonds, but he’s there at your ears, at your neck, kissing, soothing. “I’m here. You trust me?”

“Y-Yes Master.”

With your hands safely secured above your head his kisses start to trail down, nuzzling among your breasts, nipping at their curves, eliciting tiny wiggling whimpers before continuing towards your belly button. The contrast between smooth and sharp has you twisting in your bonds, testing their hold on you and attesting to your Master’s skill with knots. It becomes harder to stay still as he kisses lower, nips softer, until he’s just above your panties, soaked through, still trying to do their one job. You feel the wet of his tongue over the fabric separating him from your lower lips, your head falling back in a longing moan.

He raises your legs up so your lingerie is lifted off- but he doesn’t let them come back down. Instead you feel fabric wrapping behind each knee, legs spread not uncomfortably, but definitely not demurely. As he leans away, your legs stay where they are- tied up and open. Your pussy pulses with nervous, aching excitement.

There’s silence for a moment.

“M-Master?”

“Still here, pet. You just…you look stunning like this.” His voice sounds heavy with desire. “Good enough to eat.”

As if to emphasize his point, you feel lips on the inside of your thigh, one hand based just below you as you feel him slide his body down before you, his warm breath finding its way in kisses down towards your weeping pussy. You grab your wrists’ bonds to help you stay still, hips aching to buck, to entice him lower, where you crave him the most, where you need him the most.

“Your smell is just…” a kiss at your hip, “It’s always been just…” a nip at your inner thigh, “Stars know how I was able to resist you for this long…” his nose nudging your clit ever. so. gently.

-You feel him taste your pussy, yelping at the pleasured intensity of his tongue amid your folds, your head thrown back as he starts to devour you thoroughly. His fingers tighten around your thighs, pulling your hips closer to him. “Karking hell, you taste amazing. Knew you would.”

Something about not being able to see, to touch, makes you louder, makes you so much more reactionary. You scream, you moan, you cry, you try not to buck up against him, but its so hard when he knows just how to ride your gyrating hips.

Without meaning to, you come once, then twice in quick succession, almost incapable of stopping the blissful waves crashing through you as his tongue tastes inside of you. You feel what must be him rutting into the standard issue mattress supporting you both, like he could cum by just eating you out so thoroughly. His tongue lavishes your clit, fingers gently returning to your messy hole to stretch it even more, curling up to hit that unreal point of pleasure that sends you crying into your third orgasm. You feel yourself gush over his fingers, feeding his ravenous moans. “That’s right pet, good girl, give me another one.” Then he’s fucking you with two fingers, opening you, hitting as deep as he can while his mouth closes around your clit, slightly pulsating you through to a fourth.

Thank the gods for these bonds- you’re limp and boneless, unable to do anything but feel. And there’s so much to FEEL. Endless pleasure, pleasure without end. With your nerves so focused like this, you feel you could fly forever.

You can feel his finger start to trace over your lower hole, soaked with your own juices. You gasp as his digit presses against the ring of tightened muscle while his mouth continues to lavish your lower lips. Its strange, but not unpleasurable. Slowly, carefully, he slides his finger inside of you, kissing against your thigh.

“Relax, pet. I’ve got you. Just my finger today.” You moan at the sensation of him starting to slide in and out of your ass, taking you with your own wet and opening you up for his use, his pleasure. You relax around his finger with a groan, giving in to being completely at his mercy, under his control. Nervous energy falls away as you let your legs relax into your bonds. Your moans sound in tandem with his thrusts, your hips moving to meet each pulse as you relax around the new size.

You feel him kiss the inside of your thigh, breath heavy, a growl emerging as he watches you take his whole finger deeper with every thrust. “You’ll take all of us in here before long, won’t you? Let us take you two, even three at a time?”

“Y-Yes, Master, oh please don’t stop, Master I’m going to come with you like this.” He laps at your pussy with renewed hunger, eager to taste you gush again. Fuck, his finger, his tongue, his pumping, his presence, its so much, its so damn much and it feels so amazing and you’re about to fly so high you swear you may never come down-

You feel him groan against your pussy, voice lust-laden and needy. “Karking hell, woman, your pleasure feels so damn GOOD.”

You feel your whole body convulse around him, his fingers, this feeling- The moaning cry comes from deep in your throat, whole bodied, unabashed and raw, a cry of pure, unadulterated pleasure as you cum for the fifth time. 

His fingers leave both holes relaxed and empty, almost sated- until you feel his cock at your entrance, slicking himself in your wet. His voice is a low growl, speaking to himself more than you.“Don’t think that I’m done yet. Fuck, do you feel how hard I am? How much I love watching you give yourself to me so completely?” He groans into his words.

In the silence that follows, filled only with your mutual panting, you feel him breach you, starting to push in, one wet inch at a time, stretching you to take all of him. “Master… MASter! Oh gods, so big. You’re so big!”

 He bottoms out with a gruff moan. “Fuck so tight, and you sucked me right in. Pussy so hungry for my cock, aren’t you?”

The darkness around your eyes lifts as his bandana is thrown to the floor- you’re looking up at your Master, his eyes so dark with lust and pleasure, all for you. His clean hand cups the side of your face as he starts to fuck into you, breath heavy with groaning, his forehead pressed to yours, his lips hot and hungry as his tongue plunders your mouth. Tied up as you are you can’t reach out to him, only let him take you, plunder you for your sweetness, for his pleasure. He emerges panting, thrusts still slow but strong. He groans through his teeth, head falling to your neck, fingers wrapped in your hair as he picks up the pace, frantically pulsing into you as hard as he can.

He’s hitting you right there, right karking there, just the way you need it to build up again, and as you feel yourself shudder into your orgasm, your body starts to unravel. “Gods I’m coming I’m coming sir it feels so good I can’t stand it Master I’m falling apart I’m coming so hard Master please.” You’re crying with the sheer intensity of it, the joy and pleasure of cumming around his length hitting you in a spot almost unreachable, tears running down through your hair as you surrender to this man, this Master of yours who can make you feel so fucking alive by just obeying orders. He comes with a growling cry, pounding in to you as far as he can go, hot seed coating your eagerly waiting walls. You’re frantically panting as your orgasm rolls on and on, the two of you coming together longer than you thought possible. You’re whimpering, completely losing all composure, bonds catching you as you melt.

And then there are his lips against yours, loving, kind, gentle, finding your pieces and putting them back together again, moving gently in you to be sure you’re riding out your high. A kiss that reaches down to your toes, claims you body and soul with its affection. His forehead stays to yours as you both breathe into each other, feeling the other coming down off of the blissful ride you both took.

He cups your face, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb.

“I want to hold you. Let me untie you?”

You lick your lips, checking in to hear what your body needs. “…Yes, please. Just… don’t pull out yet?”

His eyes soften, grateful you’re asking for what you want. He presses his forehead to yours again. “Of course, mesh’la.” He stays leaned against you, holding you to him while he gently unties your wrists with a quick pull. He kisses them as they’re released from their bonds, making sure you see with your eyes the care he is giving to them. He places your hands on his chest while he leans back, lightly tugging on the bonds at your knees, carefully guiding each back down to your bed, massaging them gently to ease any soreness. Only then does he pull out, slowly, so you have time to adjust

He lets his body press against yours, grounding you while you come down, staying calm, present, aware. Your eyes flutter as your body starts settling in, your brain high on the plethora of chemicals swirling around. You breathe him in, the smell of him heady and soothing as you settle into the calming gravity of his presence. You reach up to touch his face, tucking his hair behind his ear and tracing lines over his tattoo.

Its hard to say anything. You don’t WANT to say anything. What do you say after something like that? The words you think to use are…too soon, probably motivated by the space you’re emerging from. So all you do is gaze, tracing his tattoo, memorizing every line of his face. He smiles, kissing your hand and leaning into it.

“Do you need anything?”

Your eyes search his face, evaluating, taking stock of how you are. You can’t help but smile at your own answer.

“Just you.”

Hunter smiles, feeling your heart slow. He settles beside you, clean hand pulling up covers and caressing skin. “Right here, your majesty.”

You turn on your side and lean fully into his chest, breathing in his calming presence, kissing whatever skin you find, unable to stop showing adoration for this man lying before you. Right here, right now, you can feel it - he’s yours here. Not your Sergeant, not your Master, just Hunter, pulling you to him, longing for you, only satisfied with your touch. He kisses you from his heart, reaching down into your soul to fill you, caress you. He nuzzles you, whispering softly for only you to hear.

 “Mine.”

Verbally its a declaration, but he’s asking you. His, for his brothers, for his squad. His to care for, his to protect. You’ll follow him because you trust him, and he’ll let you because he trusts you. For life, or at least, however long it works.

You don’t have to think long about your answer.

“Yes, sir. All yours.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s several hours before either of you can pull away. You talk, you laugh, you share your feelings and insights and previous misgivings, but you don’t pull away. Something that intense is almost magical, and you can’t help but feel claimed. More claimed than bite marks on your neck, or claimed in front of your peers. Claimed down to your soul. All of them are with you now, the circle complete. A strange commitment, an unspoken vow. Hunter was the final seal on your heart. 

Gross. How are you even thinking like this?

You mention it to Hunter, and he laughs along with you. Mushy? Maybe. 

True? Definitely.

“Why do you think we did it this way, your majesty?” He smirks into your hair.

You snuggle in closer, feeling his heart beat against your nose. “I like that you still call me that.”

His voice is amused. “You think I wouldn’t?”

“Well…” How could he, after everything that just happened?

"Hm. I still enjoy that part of you, mesh’la. That won’t change. I just…” His hand squeezes around your thigh, his voice growing a shade darker. “like you on your knees too.”

You receive it all with a delighted gasp. Everything you could have wanted.

“Hunter,” you look up at him, struggling for the right words as he waits with a smile. Taking your time, that's what you had both just enjoyed so thoroughly. But how could you say what you wanted to say without leaping ahead? What were the words you wanted?

Mmm. Those will do.

“...I’m happy,” you beam up into his eyes. “I’m really, really happy.”

He smiles back, nuzzles you, kisses your waiting lips with his forehead to yours. 

“Us too, pet. We are too.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Echo left his brothers downstairs. It had been hours and he still couldn’t get the sound of your cries out of his head. Fuck, it was so hot, thinking about what you were doing with Hunter, but HEARING part of it was… SEEING part of it was… it didn’t help that he was drunk now, imagining what you were going to look like in the morning, hearing the boys talk about how you squealed, or how your eyes rolled back, or how you tasted.

He couldn’t hold it anymore- he feigned exhaustion, “too drunk”, to get away to his room. He didn’t even bother taking off his armor, just unfastening his codpiece as he lay in his bed, grateful for his own space tonight.

He played the snippet that he’d caught from Hunter’s com, unable to hear it without touching himself any longer. Fuck you were cumming now, cumming for him again. He groaned, as he feverishly pumped his cock.

“That’s right cyar’ika. Oh kriff yes, that’s right, be good for me cyare and cum. Let him make you come, come on cyare, that’s it, that’s my cyare, cum for me again baby. FUCK you’re doing so good, one more for me baby, one more. Let me hear him take you higher one more time. Thaats it, good girl cyare, that’s my cyar’ika. Fuck I’m going to… just like that cyare, let me cum listening to him fuck you so good. My cyar’ika getting fucked…so…good…’

He came with a shudder, making a mess all over his hand and his hips. He breathed deeply, letting himself enjoy the moment before the embarrassment settled in. He hadn’t told anyone but you how hot it was to think of you with other men.

But Hunter knew. Of course Hunter knew. And he’d used it to such amazing ends. But was it… really ok? How much he loved to see you moaning for him at the other end of a brothers soaked fingers…

He felt his dick stir again and he started ripping off his armor, desperately getting himself to the fresher.

It was going to be a very long night.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

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@nunanuggets @in-the-crosshairs @mywheezingisalertingtheguards @allhailkingboba @valiantlyminiaturecreature @ladykatakuri @ben-is-a-hoe @klay97 @kaitou2417 @dumfanting @kuromisheart @koifish08 @echo-is-worth-more-than-2000 @badbatch-simp24 @pointy-sharp @rainytears2 @gabile18 @nedxwynert @chopper-witch @nightscissor

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[genyasglockk]

warnings: brief mentions of suicidal thoughts. like very brief. this is a steve whump. nothing super awful but i do make my boy very sad.

Nobody was there to celebrate Steve Harrington finally getting his high school diploma. Steve didn't look out to the crowd and search for familiar faces when he walked across the stage. He knew he wouldn't find any. Nobody came to the ceremony just for him. There wasn't an uproar when his name was called. There wasn't anyone proudly shouting that's my boy! Steve wasn't anyone's boy. He was barely anyone's son. After the final speeches and the "congratulations class of '85. you've made it. we know there's so much in store for all of you," Steve drove himself home. He pushed through the clusters of families and slowly made his way to his car. He tucked his diploma into the passenger seat and pulled out of the parking lot. The radio didn't play, and Steve didn't notice.

He decides to stop at the diner and treat himself to some pancakes to go. When the waitress brings him his box of food, she smiles and asks "Oh, you just graduate? Congrats! These are on the house then, big guy." Steve had forgotten he was still wearing his cap and gown. He desperately wished he'd remembered to take them off as he sat in the car and tried not to cry over the fact that some stranger decided to be nice and give him some free shitty pancakes because he graduated and that's something worth celebrating. Steve had spent every day for the past month telling himself that he didn't care about people celebrating him today. He didn't care. He didn't want anything from anyone, and he didn't need anything from anyone. Especially not today.

He graduated from high school. Big fucking deal. Plenty of people get that done all the time and they do it way better than he did. Graduating was something he was supposed to do. He wasn't special. Today was not special. It's not like he fought tooth and nail to be able to walk across that stage. It's not like earning his diploma felt more special than surviving literal monsters did. Because Steve hadn't expected to graduate. He hadn’t expected to scrape by the way he did. When he realized he’d actually passed, he was surprised. The kind of surprise that wasn’t present when he survived his first Demogorgon. Don’t get him wrong, the thought of holy shit I’m gonna fucking die had most definitely crossed Steves mind a few times during every encounter with the Upside-down, but deep down, Steve knew that some interdimensional monster wouldn’t be the thing to end him.

That would’ve been too kind. Too merciful. Life was too cruel to Steve Harrington and that’s why he was so sure it wouldn’t let him have the easy way out. Steve wasn’t suicidal. He’d never kill himself. His will to live was just weaker than others. The only reason he tried so hard to keep himself alive was for the sake of protecting his kids.

The diploma in his passenger seat meant more to him than the life flowing through his veins. And wasn’t that just sad? 

The drive home was long and silent. Steve could barely remember pulling into his driveway and making his way to the front door with his pancakes and diploma in hand. He didn’t come back to himself until his back hit the couch. 

The house was as quiet and sterile as he left it. Pathetically, a small part of Steve, the part of him that was still young, had thought that maybe his parents would come around this time. That he’d see his dad’s car parked out front and his parents would be waiting for him inside with a cake. Waiting for him with a kiss on both cheeks from his mom and a pat on the back from his dad. As if his parents had ever bothered to do anything like that before. As if they’d care.

Steve opened his box of food and decided to dig in with his fingers. He chewed quietly and stared forward at nothing. His pancakes had gone cold. He was still wearing his cap and gown. 

“Congratulations to me.” 

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington whump #ao3 #this has been sitting in my drafts for a while so i decided to finish it #i love stuffing this little guy with trauma

[astranne]

— i love you to eternity but you never will.

fandom. genshin impact

pairing. kaedehara kazuha x fem!reader

content warnings. angstish, unrequited love, reader is younger!sister of alhaitham, written several months ago, not edited nor proofread because i’m lazy

word count. 726 words

notes. scrolled through my tumblr drafts and found this. idk why it was never posted, i completely forgot about it… yeah, have this and maybe i will return back to genshin

As the younger sister of Alhaitham, many expectations were demanded from you. Your brother was smart, shouldn’t you be too? Your brother was a student and scholar of the most esteemed Akademiya in whole Teyvat, shouldn’t you be too?

And you were. But you weren’t exactly happy with it. You wanted to be an adventurer, someone who wandered from one nation to the other, taking commissions to get food on the table and just enjoy life, being free of all responsibility. 

For the longest time, it seemed nothing but a dream. This is why you decided to take up the sword, but even there Alhaitham bested you. So you choose to learn the bow, then the spear, and in the end, you finally mastered the Claymore. And still… it seemed nothing but a dream.

Until you've received a vision. An electro vision- a vision, people haven't received for a long time. Why were you the honored one, why did you receive one?

Ambition and drive filled your heart again, you were determined to master your vision and maybe, maybe you could finally do whatever you wanted. Be free of your brother's shadow and the expectations of your family.

But you still went to Alhaitham to ask him for guidance. He owned a vision after all, and this much longer than you. And he knew how to use said vision with a sword, something you thought would be the best for an electro vision.

And the moment you mastered your vision, you left. You left everything behind, with nothing but a small note to your family, with your packed things in a bag swung across your back, leaving everything you've known your whole life behind.

Everything you dreamed yourself together in a life of adventurer was true and yet you weren’t prepared. Most commissions you took were easily done, but some of them were the most ridiculous things you’ve ever heard. Still, you completed them without any complaints and earned your money. 

And so you traveled from nation to nation, from Sumeru to Natlan, then a short stop in Snezhnaya only to leave for Mondstadt and then Liyue. 

Years passed, you collected scars and memories alike, hardening yourself as a true adventurer and even creating a name for yourself. And while sometimes were hard, money just barely enough to buy food and shelter, you were finally free and happy. 

You made friends with merchants, simple people, soldiers and sellswords, creating memories and stories with them. It was a simple life you lived, but it was a fulfilling one. 

When you heard concerning rumors about Inazuma, you first wanted to travel to the islands. But getting there was already complicated and by the time you finally made it to Liyue Harbor, the nation was already in a Civil War. 

It made you worry and nervous. You didn’t know what to do with yourself and so you just took commissions in Liyue Harbor, trying to get the news always at the closest source. 

Captain Beidou. The fellow electro vision owner was a fearsome woman and travelled with her ship and crew to the Nation of Eternity more often than enough. 

But she brought back nothing but bad news and only a few fleeing people. The war continued and Beidou was once again weeks away, until she finally returned back to Liyue Harbor. 

This time with another vision holder, a man you met and lost your heart to the first time you saw him. Kaedehara Kazuha. 

He was somber, silent and yet full of poetic words, carrying himself with an elegance unknown to most. His way with words and his sword was something would’ve never encountered. He fascinated you, kept you in a magic spell with his sad looking eyes and soft hair. 

You never told him how you felt, how you lost your heart to him, how you fell hard and fast for him. Instead, you cherished his presence, his stories and poems, and got to know him better as a friend. 

Now it was a common sight seeing Kazuha with you, the two of you wandering around in Liyue Harbor and beyond. Side by side but not truly together as you wished. But it was alright, even if it pained you, because you were together with him, just not as near enough as you dreamed it to be.

taglist. @keyz-writes , @obsidianjewel , @keqism , @stellumi , @wanderersbell , @k-zu

if you wish to be added to the taglist, please read this infopost!

ASTRANNE 2023

#yaepublishinghouse #kazuha x reader #kazuha x female reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin x female reader #kazuha x fem!reader #kaedehara kazuha x reader #kaedehara kazuha x female reader #kaedehara kazuha x you #kazuha x you #kazuha imagines #🪐 galaxy milky way

[karatekels]

Disorderly Conduct - Chapter 1

I am so, *so* excited to be writing for another TIG character! While The Kidnapping/Black Friday has... a lot of issues (mostly not enough TIG and his backstory, imho), I love Cash so much!

This will not be anywhere near as dark as "Unjust Reward"; this is more of a thriller/drama/(romance?) that I have 6 posts planned for! Chapters will also likely be shorter than what I usually post (probably between 2k-4k).

TW: (for the fic, nothing in this chapter) Police corruption, police violence, unlawful seizure and detention (holding someone against their will), violence, bondage, possible dubious consent

---

Chapter 1 - Suspect:

---

“–We’ve got to be hypervigilant, follow any hint of a lead; if those drugs hit the street, I don’t even want to think about what it’ll mean for violent crime in the area. So, keep pounding the pavement, everyone, and let’s make this bust before we miss our chance. Dismissed.”

You join the throng of other officers leaving the briefing room after your morning meeting, stopping in the kitchen to top up your coffee before returning to your desk. Finding a spot for your mug amongst the mountains of case files, you take a seat, looking at the piles of unsolved cases with a sigh.

You knew you were a good cop; a lot of your fellow officers were great cops, but there were only so many of you, and only so many hours in the day. The crime rate in the city was at an all-time high, and you were all constantly working overtime, even though you weren’t always paid for it.

You’ve been an officer here for a couple of years now. Initially underestimated as a smaller, female officer, you had slowly but surely made a name for yourself in the precinct as a scrappy, determined woman who always got her perp. You were fueled by a strong sense of justice, something you had had for your entire life, and while it had earned you the reputation of being uptight or a killjoy in your early life, it had served you well in your career.

You bring your computer out of sleep mode, sweeping your hair into a messy ponytail that didn’t quite keep the hair out of your eyes as you start to review the report you had been typing up when you first got in this morning. It was a straightforward B&E, it wouldn’t take you long to finish.

A shadow falls over your desk as a tall, broad-chested officer walks past you without a glance or a word of acknowledgement. Your eyes follow the man as he moves to his desk, all the way on the other side of the precinct, and you sigh.

Cash…

You had been partners for nearly a year upon your addition to the police department. More than that, you had been friends… or so you’d thought. You’d been a great team, and had a higher rate of solved cases than any other pair of officers in the precinct. You had so many memories associated with him: “take-out stake-outs” where you’d gorged yourself on Chinese food while waiting for a perp to appear, working a case late-night at your desks and spit-balling ideas until you’d cracked it, celebratory beers at the local watering hole that all the cops frequented when you solved a case.

But that was before his suspension.

You still didn’t know what he had done to warrant the suspension; no one would tell you. It had all happened so suddenly; you had been working a case, splitting up to follow separate leads, and he had gone radio silent. Upon your return to the precinct hours later, Cash’s desk across from yours had been cleared out, and the Chief had called you into his office telling you that you would be getting a new partner, that Cash had been suspended.

The Chief had adamantly refused to tell you what had happened, only that you were being reassigned and that Cash would be back in a few weeks, pending approval by the review board.

When he had returned, it was like he was a completely different person. Before, he had been energetic, eager to talk, laugh, get the job done. Now he was quiet, and angry, and didn’t seem to want anything to do with anyone, especially you. It was like he had completely shut you out of his life overnight without so much as a goodbye, let alone an explanation.

In the beginning, you had been persistent, trying to get him to crack a smile or laugh with you at first. But nothing worked. He would walk away whenever anyone approached him, keeping his head down; the only person you’d seen him speak to other than the Chief (and even that was only when necessary) was his new partner, Glen, and they didn’t seem to work much together, often working separate cases in silence.

Your eyes are still on Cash as he takes his seat at his desk; you can’t help it, you’re worried about him. You missed him, as both a partner and a friend.

His pale blue eyes lock with yours, and he stares at you intensely for a moment before giving you a brief glare, then pointedly looking away.

You’ve been feeling uneasy for awhile now. Cash had shared your sense of justice when you had been working together; it was one of the things that you’d had in common. The few case reports of his you’d managed to get your hands on since his suspension had mentioned reckless, unpredictable behaviour, and it had you worried.

For awhile now, you’ve been trying to figure him out, and you think you may have an idea of what he’s up to. You wouldn’t put it past him to do something dangerous, a ‘Hail Mary’ where he would put himself in harm’s way to save the day, and get back into the department’s good graces. Because he often worked alone, Glen off doing his own work, no one would be there to check him, keep him from doing something stupid.

You had been debating going to the Chief with your concerns about Cash over the past couple of months. You had no evidence to support your claims, just that gut instinct that had served you well on the force numerous times before. Unfortunately for you, Chief Levinson was the definition of a by-the-book, no-nonsense police officer; he didn’t operate the precinct based off of hunches.

Still, you had done great work since joining the department, and maybe your spotless record would give him reason to take you seriously, despite your lack of evidence. You owed it to Cash – at least, the memory of the Cash that he used to be – to give it a shot. You would hate yourself if you didn’t at least try to look after him, especially if he wound up doing something stupid.

You grab a random casefile off of your desk, using it as a pretense to go and speak to the Chief. Locking your computer, you get up, walking over to the Chief’s office and knocking on the open door.

“Officer L/N. What can I do for you?” Chief Levinson asks, looking up from his desk after a moment of you awkwardly hovering in his doorway.

“Got a second, Chief? I’ve got something I want to run by you,” you ask, clutching the casefile more tightly than necessary, making sure that he can see it.

“Sure thing, come on in.”

Cash’s piercing gaze tracks your movements as you walk into the Chief’s office, closing the door behind you.

---

You take a seat across from the Chief, his ornate wooden desk between you, and try not to appear nervous.

“So, what’s this all about? What case are you working?” he asks, skipping the pleasantries. Chief Levinson had never been a man who liked to waste time being cordial.

“Actually, Sir… this isn’t about a case.”

You don’t miss the way that his jaw ticks. He had quite a short fuse when he was stressed, and the quarterly report he’d recently submitted to the Commissioner had been less than satisfactory. It wasn’t as though the department wasn’t solving crimes, but the sheer volume of them as of late had been overwhelming the precinct.

“I certainly hope you’re not here to talk about the weather, L/N. We’ve got more open cases than we know what to do with; I don’t have time for idle chitchat. You certainlydon’t have time for it,” he chides you, and you bite your tongue to keep your face carefully neutral.

“I understand, Sir. This isn’t for a case, but it’s something that I think needs to be brought to your attention.”

“Well, spit it out then, L/N. I haven’t got all day,” he tells you gruffly.

“It’s about Cash, Sir.”

“Officer Ewing? What about him?”

“I’ve been concerned for awhile now that he’s going to do something risky. He lives for this job, Sir, and he’s changed since his suspension. I think he may do something drastic to try to earn the department’s respect back. Your respect, Sir.”

The man leans back in his chair, surveying you quietly for a moment with a contemplative expression.

“I see. And what evidence do you have that makes you suspect this?”

“I worked side-by-side with Cash for months, Sir. I really feel like I know him.”

Or knew him, a cruel voice whispers in your head. You ignore it.

“I asked for evidence, L/N. We don’t deal in speculation in this precinct,” he tells you firmly.

You’re mildly worried you’re going to make yourself bleed from how hard you’re biting your tongue.

“I understand, Sir. I… I don’t have any evidence, just a hunch.”

“I can appreciate your concern, Y/N,” the Chief says kindly, and you stiffen at his use of your first name; it came across to you as patronizing, though you’re fairly sure he’s not trying to be. “I know that it hasn’t been easy for you since Cash’s suspension, and that you don’t like being kept in the dark.”

“It’s not about me, Sir, I –” you start to protest, but he interrupts you.

“But I sincerely doubt that Officer Ewing will do anything that isn’t strictly by-the-book. He knows he’s on thin ice after his suspension, and he won’t want to rock the boat.”

“But Sir–”

“Do not concern yourself with Officer Ewing, L/N. That’s an order. Now, I suggest you get back to work – I’ve seen the amount of open casefiles on your desk.”

“Yes, Sir,” you say through gritted teeth. “Thank you for your time.”

You leave his office without another word, refusing to look across the room to Cash.

You spend the rest of the day angrily typing up reports.

---

The evening finds you sitting alone at Hank’s, the local cop bar, nursing a beer. You’re still grumpy about how your chat with the Chief went, staring into space as you try to figure out what more you can do to get him to take you seriously.

“What’s got you all surly and seething?” comes a voice from behind you. Turning your head slightly, you see Cash standing next to you, still towering over you even from your tall perch on the bar stool. He’s wearing his dark leather jacket on top of his uniform, and lightly tinted sunglasses, despite being indoors at night. What a tool, you think to yourself.

“Are you speaking to me, Officer Cash?” you ask with mock surprise, your eyes wide as you put a hand on your chest. The sort-of nickname slips from your lips easily; he’d always hated his last name, so you’d taken to calling him Officer Cash when you’d first started working together. “To what do I owe the honour?”

It’s been months since he’s bothered to say a word to you, months since you stopped trying to reach out. To your surprise, he takes the seat next to you, and you silently raise a questioning eyebrow up at him. He says nothing, and you gnash your teeth.

“That seat’s taken,” you snap at him, irritated.

“By who, your imaginary friend? Grow up.” He holds up two fingers to the barkeep, who slides him over two beers. Cash wordlessly pushes one over to you as you finish your first, and pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head.

“What do you want, Cash?” you ask him tiredly, pointedly ignoring the proffered beverage.

“Why do you assume I want something?” he asks, cocking his head and staring at you, eyes unblinking. You look away first, lowering your gaze to the chain he wore around his neck.

“I don’t know, Cash. Maybe because you haven’t bothered to speak to me in months,” you growl at him angrily, still refusing to meet his eyes; you don’t want him to see how much his absence has affected you.

“Crime’s been on the rise. We’ve both been busy,” he replies, clearly avoiding the actual subject.

“Don’t give me that crap. You’ve been avoiding me ever since you got back from your suspension.” You scowl, snatching the beer he’d passed to you off of the counter and taking a swig.

“We’d been reassigned partners by the time I came back,” is all he says, and you roll your eyes at the weak excuse.

“We were also friends, Cash!” you hiss, trying to keep your voice down, but you’re getting angry. You’ve been wanting an explanation for ages now, but the opportunity to hear one finally presenting itself to you while in the presence of alcohol wasn’t ideal; you tended to get mouthy when you drank.

“We were friends,” you repeat softly, a wash of sadness coming over you as you speak the words. “It shouldn’t have mattered that we were reassigned.”

“Yeah well, things change,” he retorts, refusing to elaborate. You glower at him, anger replacing your grief in an instant. Cash had always been able to set you off, even back when you had been working together.

“Clearly. Whatever you did to get suspended must’ve involved you shoving your head up your ass.”

“Don’t talk about things you don’t understand, Y/N,” he warns you, his voice tight.

“Of course I don’t understand! No one will tell me what happened! You won’t tell me what happened. Forgive me for wondering what my so-called partner did to nearly get himself kicked off the force!” you seethe, jaw clenching as you feel your throat constrict, the way it tended to when you were about to cry. And you would not be crying in front of Cash Ewing; not tonight, not ever.

But damn, him abandoning you with no explanation had hurt you even more than you’d thought it had.

“You know that what goes on in disciplinary hearings has to remain confidential.”

“Yeah, yeah. It still doesn’t explain why you haven’t talked to me since coming back. You’re always disappearing, going off by yourself, and I’ll be honest with you, Cash: I think it’s sketchy as hell.”

You emphasize the last sentence, wanting to let him know that you were suspicious about what he was doing and that you had been keeping an eye on his movements, and he stiffens. The look he gives you is honestly terrifying – a wide, piercing stare, like he was trying to read your mind – but you refuse to look away first, setting your jaw. After a long moment, he lowers his gaze, taking a swig of his beer.

“Mind your own damn business,” he snaps at you, and that sets you off.

“I was, up until you decided to deign me with your presence. Why’d you even bother coming over here?”

He takes a long drink, looking past you with a thousand-yard stare.

“Wanted to ask if you needed help with that case you went to the Chief about,” he says knowingly, and something about the intense way he’s looking at you sends a shiver down your spine. What had he heard?

“…But forget it. Forget all of it, Y/N,” he suggests firmly, his mouth twisting into a cross between a grimace and a smile. He quickly polishes off his drink, sliding the bottle over to the barkeep and leaving without a word. You stare after him as he walks out the door, feeling frustrated.

That last thing he said had sounded awfully like a warning to you…

He was up to something.

You’re going to find out what.

---

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Not really a fun fact, but Cash’s character doesn’t have an official last name (neither does Glen’s, which is CRAZY to me since cops are usually called Officer L/N), so I used the last name of the character from TIG’s first acting role, Catlin Ewing.

(Side note: Has anyone watched him in Another World? I’m not really a soap opera person, but I mean, it IS TIG, so let me know if I should check it out!)

#thomas ian griffith #cash #cash x reader #black friday 2007 #the kidnapping 2007 #dark desires october #disorderly conduct #eventual smut

[ladyofspoons]

hmmm… the thoughts…

executive dysfunction time…

got lots to do today… had plenty of time to do it when i woke up…

aaaaand all i have done is sleep and eat and scroll and play a little viddo game

but because i’ve managed to play game, and drive to get food

makes me feel that perhaps i’m not really depressed or executively dysfunctional

and perhaps

merely lazy

perhaps because i was able to do something

even if it wasn’t the thing i needed to do

but because something got done

then perhaps i could have done something else

and then maybe

i could have taken care of myself a little

done the dishes, taken a shower, brushed my teeth, put on lotion, cook, do the homework that has been sitting there waiting for me for a week now and is about to become overdue even though it’s the first assignment of the semester and it’s super easy and i could do it at any time

i could do it at any time

i could

do it at any time

but i didn’t

because i’m not really trying, evidently, then i must be unworthy to claim that i’m depressed

i don’t want to be one of those people claiming mental illness for clout or internet points or attention

but i do want attention

just, the kind of attention i want is not the kind that i need, and it feels unearned, because nothing has gotten done today

i’ve lain on the bed, and on the couch, and on the bed, and on the couch

and on the bed

and on the couch

and now here i am

back in bed

writing what might qualify as a poem, but certainly lacks any polish or flavor

it wasn’t necessary supposed to be one, a poem

just a text post

maybe something akin to a journal entry

and there’s no reason, either, for me to be feeling this way

nothing went wrong today

nothing except my brain i suppose

or did i imagine that?

for attention

as an excuse

another way out of the things i don’t want to do

i want somebody to pull me out of this, but i can’t accept their help

what have i done to earn it? i didn’t even try today, why should i ask someone else’s energy to do my tasks

and yes, my friends will probably rush to help

but i’ll never feel like i deserved it

here i am

laying in bed

cuddled up to a plush shark, covered in blankets, head resting soft on a pile of pillows

feeling alone

and cold

running out the clock, until i have to go to work

and using that obligation as an excuse for failing to make any progress whatsoever

my partner, my friends, maybe even my parents will all ask me what i did today, how i’m doing

and i’ll tell them lie to them

like i always do

“oh you know, i’m fine,” i laugh lie

“just busy,” another lie

“lots of work,” a half truth “so i couldn’t finish that schoolwork,”

that chore,”

that task,”

that thing that would help,”

that thing that you’ve been asking about for months,”

every time, a lie

or at least that’s what it feels like

but it’s second nature at this point

as natural as breathing, hell, moreso

why

i don’t want to hurt these people

even posting this will be a challenge

i know they’ll see it

and they care about me, and want to help

but if i let them solve my short term problems, the long term ones pile up

i’m so used to lying about what’s happening in my life, just to avoid disappointing the people who care about me, who have invested time and emotion and resources and love, into me

and i don’t want them to give up

to know that it’s all been a waste

to understand that while there is, something wrong with me, something broken inside that makes life just that much harder

i have a hard time noticing

amidst my own self sabotage

“i’m broken,” i lie to myself “i can’t do this as easily as everyone else,”

an illusory comfort, allowing laziness, forgiving my complacency and removing any reason to change

“i’m fine”

incapable of distinguishing lie from truth within my own mind, i tell these people

and greatest sorrow, they believe me

i tell them i’m not fine enough for them to believe it when i finally say that i am

not a single person has ever noticed

not even myself

[give-soup-please]

SOUP !!!! HIHI THIS IS MY FIRST TIME ACTUALLY SENDING AN ASK M SO PROUD OF MYSELF !!!!

Could you do a headcanon thing with Father Figure Narrator finding out Reader has been refusing to eat after seeing them get dangerously underweight, noticing the patterns and comforting them?

Of course, if this is too much, just ignore the ask !!! Have a great day, and heres some soup 🍲 !!!! <3

Father figure narrator and a reader who struggles with eating

Triggering content under the cut: Eating disorders, not eating, starving oneself.

Your collarbones didn’t always stick out that much, did they? Did your veins always protrude from your arms like that, or is that a new development as well?

You seem to be getting cold more frequently as well, or at least, the narrator sees that you’re shaking more than you used to.

The narrator tries to think. When was the last time you had eaten? The narrator loved mealtimes with you, it was an excuse to talk uninterrupted while you were occupied with food. It’s… been a while since the two of you have sat down together. How long?

He worries quietly, noticing that you’re not eating. The narrator decides to plan an ambush. The next time you lie down on the couch, he’s at your side in an instant. “Reader, we need to talk.”

You stare up at him, and at this angle, he can see the gauntness of your face. It’s worse than he thought.

“I notice… Look, you seem exhausted. And my research on humanity shows that calorie intake is an important part of your physiology. When was the last time you ate something?”

You avoid his eyes. You don’t have an easy answer for him.

“This is something we can work on together, reader. I don’t know exactly how to help, but there must be something I can do. So, what are you in the mood to eat?”

You give a half hearted shrug, and turn over so you’re facing away from him. “Now, reader-” You can hear the sternness in his voice, and you swallow against the emotions rising in your chest. “I insist on you eating. It doesn’t even have to be healthy, your body can work with whatever calories you give it, as long as you give it something. Let me see what I can find.”

You hear him clattering around in the kitchen. He comes back with a few items for you to choose from. He brings back applesauce, some crackers, and some fruit. You’re still turned away from him.

He puts his hand on your back, and rubs gently. “Please, reader. I can’t exactly chew and swallow for you- we aren’t that close.” He chuckles weakly at his own joke. You say nothing. He continues, “You deserve to eat. You do know that, don’t you? Food and rest aren’t earned. You deserve to have food that makes you feel good, and nourishes the body, not because of anything you’ve done, but because your worth is inherent.”

If it were a more comedic situation, he would have started leaving crackers on your head in an attempt to get you to eat. This isn’t funny at all.

“Come now, just one bite? Surely you’ll be moved by my howling fits of anxiety. Surely you won’t destroy yourself-” His breath hitches. You turn to look at him, confused.

“I suppose this has left me rather worried. Your situation isn’t about me, as much as I may try and make it so. I don’t know what goes on in that head of yours. I can’t tell why you aren’t eating. All I know is that I will stay by your side until you do. So-” he offers you the dishes of food. “Please, choose.”

He waits. And waits. And waits. Shadows move across the wall. You don’t know how long he’s been there, waiting for you to make a choice, but it’s been at least half an hour. You let out a long sigh, and grab one of the dishes.

The narrator is relieved. “Oh thank god, you are willing to listen to me.” What you don’t know is that the narrator is extremely stubborn. He would have waited for you as long as it took.

He silently vows to keep a closer eye on you, to make sure your intake is better in the future. He can’t do much from his position, but for you, his child, he’ll put everything on the line. He keeps his outside tone light.

“How about a story to accompany your meal? Dinner and a show? Right, this story is about…”   

#the stanley parable #tsp narrator #headcanon #tsp #answered ask #stanley parable #narrator #tw ed relapse #tw eating issues #tw illness #tw food mention

[daechwitatamic]

Chapter 3: That's Life || KTH

(banner by @itaeewon)

Title: What Was Hidden (Masterpost)

Rating: explicit, minors DNI pls

Genre: college!au, angst, eventual smut, strangers -> friends -> lovers -> idiots -> lovers

Pairings: Taehyung x female reader, MYG x OC

Summary:  This is how it all starts: Taehyung is flunking Western Lit. You’re assigned to tutor him. His paper on Strindberg’s The Ghost Sonata could pass or fail him for the semester. As you and Taehyung slowly become friends, then more, you learn that there’s a lot more to him than you originally assumed. Together, you navigate your own experiences with the play’s themes: one’s “true self” versus one’s “shown self”, darkness behind the facade, and how people can be quite literally haunted - and it has nothing to do with ghosts.

//

In which Taehyung really struggles with Strindberg's themes.

Chapter Warnings: cursing, drinking

Word Count: 5k

I saw the sun and thought I saw what was hidden The Ghost Sonata | Scene III August Strindberg

Chapter 3: That’s Life

Thursday, November 8th

By the time Taehyung’s next tutoring appointment comes - at six o’clock the next evening - you’ve had such a day that you’re about ready to throw in the towel.

For starters, your schedule on Thursdays is so weird - you have a 10 am class and then nothing until 2:30; it’s this odd chunk of time where you’re never really fully able to get much done and you also can’t enjoy yourself because your brain knows your next class is looming. 

Then, your tutoring hour with Rebecca is utterly exhausting. Lord, but that girl can talk. You spend the entire hour trying to get her to focus on her history homework and instead listening to her rant about her roommate drama - lights being left on, loud partying late at night, music without headphones, even some food-stealing. 

(“Sounds egregious,” you murmur. “Speaking of egregious, let’s turn our attention to the start of World War II…”)

When you get to tell her that time is up and you have another appointment waiting, you’re relieved. So when Taehyung approaches your table, pulling his laptop out of a crossbody bag, you’re almost happy to see him. Because at least he’s not Becky.

“Hey,” he says, placing his laptop on the table and moving to hang his back from the back of the chair. 

“Hi,” you say easily, giving a little wave before pulling up his files on your laptop. You’re obligated to provide documentation after each session, you guess to prove that you’re earning what they pay you, and maybe also to prove that the academic probation students are actually making an effort. 

“I recorded Western Lit today,” he tells you, saving you from having to ask. 

“Great!” you tell him. “Have you looked at the homework assignment yet?”

He logs in and pulls up the assignment, and you spend the first half hour going through each question together. You give pointers on where to start for each one, and Taehyung writes down your tips, intending to work on them later. 

“I can work on these with you, if you want,” you offer. “Just in case you get stuck, especially since you didn’t do the reading yet?”

“I think I’ll be okay,” he says. “I really need your help with the paper. It counts as an exam grade.”

“That’s fine,” you say. “What’s the topic?”

He turns to rummage in his bag, coming back up with a tattered blue book, definitely bought second-hand at the school’s bookstore.

You feel your eyebrows skyrocket. “Strindberg? Shit.”

He sighs. “Was that a bad choice? The title looked cool… I started reading it last night… there’s a ghost and a mummy. I like spooky stuff.”

You smile, reaching over to pull the small text closer. The Ghost Sonata. You’d done your paper on it the previous winter, before all the stuff with Davis went down.

“Alright,” you say, looking back up at Taehyung. He’s looking down at your hand on his book, his black hair falling over his eyes, face serious. “So from what you read, did you notice any themes? Symbols? Any kind of pattern?”

He frowns, chewing on his bottom lip as he thinks. “I thought there was an interesting thing where the house looked really fancy from the outside but inside everything was decaying…”

“So that’s a good theme,” you say, pointing at him. “The facade and the reality behind it - that things aren’t as they seem, that they’re darker and grittier underneath it.”

His eyes flick up to yours and then back to the table, lightning quick.

“If you wanted to pick that for your paper,” you tell him, staunchly ignoring the flutter in your stomach, “you totally could.”

“Doesn’t it apply to the characters too?” he asks, frowning. “Like… if the theme is ‘how things are versus how they seem’...” He trails off, having had half the thought but struggling to complete it.

“Well, yeah,” you say, helping him out. “Many of the characters have that going on - what they seem at first, and then what you find out about them as the story continues. Plus, add in there many of them have the ghost or vampire or mummy thing - that’s another level of symbolism.”

“I never see symbolism on my own,” Taehyung admits with a sigh. “Once someone points them out to me, I get it. But I never read something and think ‘Oh, that’s a symbol for something’.”

“That’s fine,” you assure him. “That’s why my researching trick works. Look up what symbols other people found, and then look for the evidence yourself.”

You glance at the time and notice that your hour is almost up. “When’s the due date for this?” you ask.

“Two weeks,” he tells you.

“Okay,” you say, starting to pack up your loose papers. “Go through and highlight every time you see the facade theme, and then take notes about each part you highlighted. We’ll go through the notes on Wednesday when we meet. And feel free to email me if you get stuck on the Ibsen homework.”

He flips his notebook to an empty page and starts to write - your directions, probably. You watch as the glare from the overhead lights moves along the thick, shiny scar on his hand as he moves the pencil across the page. 

“Don’t stare at it,” he murmurs, not taking his eyes off of his paper.

You straighten up, caught. “Sorry - I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I was just zoning out-.”

“It’s okay,” he says quietly, looking up at you now. “Just… it makes me feel weird. Don’t worry about it.”

He closes his notebook and his laptop, putting both carefully back in his bag. “You headed up to the caf for dinner?” he asks, eyeing the clock. 

“Yeah,” you say, glancing at your phone to confirm. “My roommate is waiting for me, actually.”

“I’ll walk you,” he says easily, the seriousness that had hung over him for the last hour slipping away with ease as soon as he latches his bag.

“You don’t have to do that,” you say. “It’s a three-minute walk.”

He shrugs. “I have to eat, too,” he says.

So, for the second time, you leave the library together and head towards the concrete steps that lead to the cafeteria. It’s dark this time, and clouds cover what stars you should be able to see. A thin mist hangs around, illuminated by the orange glow of the streetlights that line the paved paths around campus.

You wave goodbye once you’re inside the cafeteria, and you scan for Kiko, who texted you that she was waiting. When you spot her at a two-person table near the back, you give her a little wave before going to get your food.

When you place your plate on the table and sit, she slides her phone into the pocket of her hoodie. She looks exhausted, deep bags under her eyes. You wonder if she’s been letting her courseload get the better of her.

“Hey,” she says, picking up her fork. “How was tutoring?”

You roll your eyes and tell her about Becky. She listens along and laughs at the right moments, but you can tell she’s got one eye on her phone, which lights up a few times while you’re talking.

“You can check that,” you tell her, smiling. “It’s fine. I’m not offended.”

She shoots you a grateful look and grabs the phone with both hands, typing quickly. As she finishes, she glances at you over the top of it.

“What about the second session?” she asks. “Didn’t you have two today?”

“Yeah,” you say, pushing a cherry tomato around your plate. “The second session was normal. We worked on a paper for a lit class with Watanabe. It’s actually one of the guys from Jin’s house - Taehyung? He’s here somewhere, he walked up with me.”

Kiko blinks at you, clearly trying to keep her face impassive. She’s not very good at it. “Oh yeah?” she asks. “Do you guys, like, talk a lot?”

“We talked a lot about Strindberg,” you say, smiling a little. “It’s my job, I’m not there to hang out. Besides, I’ve got him all figured out after that party last weekend. We wouldn’t have anything to talk about outside of the assignments.”

“Oh,” she says, deflating a little. “Gotcha.”

But as the two of you clear your plates and head back towards the dorm, you find yourself wanting to text Nina about tutoring with Taehyung. What for, you’re not sure. What would you even say? You enjoyed your hour of talking about 19th century plays? Of course you did, you loved lit classes. Nina would focus on the Taehyung of it all, and you don’t feel like getting all defensive right now. 

 When you let yourself into the room, Bridget is laying on the floor, watching something on the tv. “Hey babes,” she calls. “You ready for Thirsty Thursday?”

“I’ll have to pass,” you tell her. “I just spent two hours at tutoring, I have to finish a paper before class tomorrow.”

“Booooo,” she says, rolling to look at you both. “Kiko?”

“Why not?” Kiko says. “My homework is done. Unlike some people.”

“My homework isn’t not done because of poor time management,” you say darkly, shooting her a pretend scowl. “I had work. Some of us have jobs.”

She waves you off with a, “Yeah, yeah,” and sits by Bridget. They talk in low voices about the plan for the night as you sit at your desk and turn your laptop on, ready to get to work. 

You’re still typing when they leave an hour later, the door shutting behind them with finality, leaving you with nothing but the sound of your clacking keyboard.

Friday, November 9th

You bail on Kiko and Bridget on Friday night, too, feeling more behind on a bigger project than you’d like to be. Usually it’s you partying with Bridget while Kiko begs off to study, and this switch-around feels strange.

When you whined about having to miss the fun two nights in a row, Bridget promised you’d all go out on Saturday, and you’re banking on her keeping her word. 

You turn off the brighter overhead lights and turn on your twinkle lights and your small desk lamp and turn on some lo-fi music as you sit down with an open notebook. You’re about half an hour in when your phone lights up on the floor beside you, and you pick it up quickly, figuring it’s Kiko complaining.

[10:12 PM] Unknown Number: hey Y/N

[10:13 PM] Unknown Number: this is Taehyung - I got your number from Yoongi, I think he asked your roommate for it

[10:14 PM] Unknown Number: sorry if thats creepy, and also i know you’re off duty right now but I am stuck af on this paper ☹️

[10:15 PM] Unknown Number: do you mind helping me real quick? Like five minutes, i promise

You don’t answer for a minute, just staring at your screen, processing. One, Taehyung in on a Friday night to work on his essay seems very out of character. Two, Kiko and Yoongi are close enough now that Yoongi felt comfortable asking her for your number for Taehyung? It might be time to break your own rule and start asking some personal questions.

[10:19 PM] You: Hi Taehyung. What’s the problem with the paper?

Instead of a new text, your phone buzzes a long buzz, your screen coming alive with an incoming video call. What the fuck.

You swipe to accept the call, but you leave your phone on the floor so Taehyung has a nice view of your ceiling.

“Taehyung?” you inquire. “Is a video call really necessary?”

He laughs. “Sorry,” he says. “I really hate texting and calling. That was the most texts I’ve sent to anyone in weeks.” He’s clearly lounging on a couch in a grey hoodie, the hood scrunched up to cover only the back of his head. He looks… comfy. 

“What are you stuck on?” you ask, wanting to get off this call as soon as you can. 

He groans, rubbing at his face with his free hand, the one not holding the phone. “I typed up everything from my notes on the facade theme and I still need like two and a half pages.”

You nod, even though he can’t see you - he’s still only getting your ceiling. He might be comfortable being on a video call when he’s in comfy mode, but you aren’t. “Okay,” you say slowly, thinking. “I guess you need to talk about one more theme. If I give you a few ideas, can you do the same thing you did already and go back to look for the evidence yourself?”

“Yeah,” he says eagerly, obviously thrilled that you’ll do even that much for him. “That would be amazing.”

You think for a minute, trying to remember what you’d done for your own Strindberg paper, almost a whole year ago. “There are also themes of disillusionment… and also, the idea of hauntings and how we as people are haunted.”

He looks at you flatly. “It’s like you just spoke another language.”

You laugh, and he smiles in response. “Disillusionment is a big one,” you tell him. “Think about the main character from the beginning to the end - what he learns is that life sucks, right? He goes in really positive and by the ending he’s accepted that life is just darkness, there’s no one that gets out unscathed or unaffected.”

He licks his lips, looking away from you, clearly thinking about this. “Right,” he says finally. “And the hauntings?”

“Well,” you say slowly, “I thought about all the things we can be haunted by, as people. Like, in real life. I mean, what haunts you?”

When he doesn’t answer this, you explain. “Mistakes can haunt you… regrets… sometimes even your own expectations, like the future you thought you’d have, the person you thought you’d be. In that sense, you can haunt yourself.”

Taehyung doesn’t answer, just watches you evenly, so you continue. “You can even be haunted by… I don’t know, people you’ve lost? People that aren’t in your life anymore?”

Taehyung clears his throat. “That’s… wow, that’s a lot.”

You shrug, forgetting that he can’t see you. “That’s life.”

He shakes his head. “How does it connect back to the text, though? Beyond that there’s a ghost, I guess.”

You start to tell him, referring back to different characters and their own personal “hauntings”, and he shifts, clearly setting the phone against something to keep himself in the frame, but you can hear the tapping of keys as he types notes on what you’re saying. When you’re done explaining, he looks back at you, brow furrowed. You figure you’ve probably just broken his brain.

“Sorry,” you say with a small laugh. “I know that’s intense. Choose one - the disillusionment or the hauntings, and take your notes. I can look them over with you on Wednesday, that leaves you plenty of time to type it up before it’s due.”

“Yeah,” he says, and his voice sounds strange, a little distant. “Thanks for the help, Y/N. I know you really didn’t have to.”

“I’ll send you the bill,” you joke. 

He thanks you again, and you say goodbye, his face vanishing from your screen.

You lay back, heart pounding for no discernable reason. After a few minutes, you lift up your phone in the air so you can see it, and you save Taehyung’s number.

Saturday, November 10th 

The next night, Saturday night, you finally get to make up for spending Thursday and Friday doing homework. 

“We’re going into town,” Bridget tells you after dinner, her eyes on her phone, where the plans are being made. “You in?”

“Fucking yes,” you tell her. “Jin’s house?”

“No, we’re actually going to one of the bars downtown.”

Kiko is already out, so you text her as you heat up the curling iron to see if she wants to join you guys. She answers quickly, telling you she’s busy. Just you and Bridget tonight, which is fine.

You split a Lyft with two girls who room down the hall that you’re friendly with. The driver gives you girls a grin as she pulls up to the curb across the street from the bar. “Make good choices! Watch each other’s backs!” she calls to you as you all clamber out onto the street.

It’s crowded already, but not as bad as you know it will be in about two more hours. The girls you came with wave goodbye and head to the dancefloor, but you and Bridget push onwards to the bar first, ordering up a few rounds of shots. You two keep your spot at the bar for a long time, talking to groups of guys and other girls as they filter in and out to order their own drinks. You’re not a big dancer, but this feels fun - definitely better than standing around Seokjin’s smelly basement trying not to get splashed with beer.

It’s at least an hour later, your buzz strong and steady, that Bridget leans closer to you, eyes wide and she sees something behind you. 

“Isn’t that Jungkook?” she asks, and starts heading that way, reaching for your hand as she goes. You let her drag you along, not knowing who Jungkook is, but when you get close enough to see the guys you wish you’d stayed back at the bar.

It’s Taehyung’s friend with the piercings and tattoos, and of course Taehyung is with him. So is Jimin, and a fourth guy you’ve never seen before.

Jungkook greets Bridget brightly, and you wait for Taehyung to try and act super chummy with you, but he doesn’t. He lifts his glass as a hello, but says nothing. 

“Have you guys met my roommate?” Bridget asks.

“Most of us met last weekend,” you tell her. 

“Not me,” says the new guy, reaching out to shake your hand. He’s got a nice voice - deep - and a firm grip. “Namjoon.”

You introduce yourself, shaking his hand. Bridget and Jungkook have turned their backs on you guys, heads together as they carry on a conversation. Jimin excuses himself and heads towards the dancefloor, and Taehyung follows him wordlessly, leaving you standing awkwardly with Namjoon.

“Do you live at Jin’s too?” you ask, just to make conversation. You watch Taehyung separate from Jimin and lean against the bar, then you remind yourself to pay attention to the conversation you’re having.

He smiles. “No, I have my own place in town. Close to here, actually. You go to the university?”

“Yeah,” you say. “I’m in my third year. Almost done. How do you know the guys?”

“I’m friends with Yoongi,” he explains. “So I’m at the house a lot. I know your roommates, but I never met you.”

“Oh, I - wait, roommates? You know Kiko too?”

His eyes widen, as if he’s inadvertently given away a secret. “I mean - uh - yeah? She’s been at the house with Yoongi almost every day this week?”

You’re floored, fucking flabbergasted. How had you not noticed? She’d been home every night, and even met you for dinner multiple times this week! When had she had the time to be gallivanting off-campus with Yoongi? And did Bridget know? Were you the only one who didn’t?

You suddenly realize that Yoongi isn’t there with the rest of the guys either. That must be where Kiko is tonight, why she told you she couldn’t go out. 

 “I need another drink,” you tell Namjoon, and you turn to head back to the bar. He follows you, leaving Jungkook and Bridget still talking animatedly about god-knows-what. 

Taehyung is still at the bar, so you head towards his spot. He glances at you, then at Namjoon, and shifts over to make room for you. You catch the bartender’s eye and order three more shots, intending to share. 

Taehyung’s arm is suddenly over your shoulders, heavy, and you realize for the first time that he’s already super drunk.

“This girl, Joon,” he says, shaking his head conspiratorially. “Be careful. She’ll just come out of nowhere and ask you shit like ‘what haunts you’-,” he mimics you in a sultry voice, and you’re not sure how to feel about that detail, “and then carry on like nothing happened. Shit, what haunts you, what the fuck was that?” he demands.

“An essay thesis?” you say, unsure. “It was an idea for an essay thesis?”

“You’ll have to excuse Taehyung,” Namjoon says, smiling, patting his friend on the shoulder. “He’s not his best self tonight.”

“The fuck I’m not,” Taehyung replies hotly, and then his arm is gone from your shoulders. He throws back the shot you bought for him and disappears into the crowd without saying goodbye.

When you and Bridget make it home - sometime after the bar closes at two - Kiko isn’t there. 

[3:01 AM] You: are you safe?

[3:02 AM] Kiko✌️: yes, thanks for checking

[3:03 AM] Kiko✌️: see you tmrw

[3:06 AM] You: hey can you ask Yoongi to make sure Taehyung made it back okay? He was traaaaaaaaaaashed

[3:08 AM] Kiko✌️: …………….who said im w yoongi

[3:09 AM] You: 😇😇😇 ur secrets out babe

[3:12 AM] You: so???? Taehyung???? home safe???

–

[3:20 AM] Taehyung: ur worried about me? thats adorable

[3:22 AM] You: if u die i don’t get a paycheck 🤗🤗

Sunday, November 11th

When you wake up on Sunday, it’s after noon. Kiko’s still asleep (you never heard her come in, and you went to bed sometime around four in the morning) across the room. You can hear Bridget rolling over in the bunk above you, but it’s hard to tell if she’s awake or not. 

You grab your phone from the charger and make sure you haven’t missed any calls or texts (you haven’t). After a few minutes, you get up and get dressed, stopping in the bathroom to pee and brush your teeth. Then, you make your way downstairs and outside.

It’s mid-November, and the weather got the memo. The sky is grouchy grey, the clouds hanging low. The wind nips at your exposed neck, and you pull your jacket tighter around your body as you speed-walk down the steps to the student center, and the cafe inside.

You expect it to be more crowded than it is, so when the barista hands you your coffee, you take it to a small corner booth instead of back to your room. You’re sitting there, spacing out a little, hands wrapped around the hot coffee cup, when your phone lights up on the table.

[12:57 PM] Taehyung: hey

[12:58 PM] Taehyung: Joon says I was a little much last night

[1:00 PM] Taehyung: so i wanted to apologize if i said or did anything out of line

You answer quickly and hit send before really thinking it through -

[1:01 PM] You: no worries, u were cute

You look at what you sent with wide eyes. That was… probably not the best choice of words. You rush to do damage control, adding -

[1:03 PM] You: it was funny, nothing out of line. I appreciate the concern tho

[1:07 PM] Taehyung: okay good. I honestly dont remember a lot of last night 😑

[1:09 PM] Taehyung: i don’t make a habit of doing that… jsyk

[1:12 PM] You: its not really my business 🤷‍♀️ see you wednesday, ok?

[1:19 PM] Taehyung: k.

–

When you return to your room, a hot refill sloshing around your cup, you can see the light from Kiko’s phone illuminating her face. She gives you a sleepy wave. You set your coffee down on her desk and kick off your shoes. You curl yourself into an L on the end of her bed, on top of the comforter, your head resting by her stomach. 

“Hi,” she whispers. Bridget must still be asleep. “How’s the coffee?”

“Magical,” you whisper back, closing your eyes. 

You’re both quiet for a minute, and then you look up at her. “Kiko? Anything you want to talk about?”

“Not really,” she says, apologetically, and it’s this tone that tells you that there are things worth talking about, and she is apologetic for not wanting to talk about them with you. 

“You’ve been hanging at Jin’s a lot?” you ask casually, purposely leaving Yoongi’s name out of it.

“Mhm,” she says. 

You wait. 

Nothing.

“You’re okay, though?” you say finally. “Like, everything is alright?”

“Yeah,” she says softly. “Everything’s… really good.” She smiles down at her hands, and you roll over her legs to vacate her bed. You know a lost cause when you see one. She isn’t going to tell you anything she doesn’t want to, and that’s fine. You look at your side of the room; you really don’t feel like sitting over there in silence while Bridget sleeps and Kiko keeps her secrets. You don’t have homework to do, either, since you knocked it all out on Thursday and Friday night. You decide to take your refilled coffee and go to your favorite spot, cold weather be damned. 

At the end of the trail - the one you take to the train station - you can either stay on the paved trail and continue into town, or you can take a left onto a dirt path and enter a wilderness preserve with a lot of walking paths. There are quite a few of them, but they all loop around to meet in one central spot, kind of like spokes of a wheel. Your favorite spot is a bench at the end of one of these trails, overlooking the water there.

It’s a fifteen-minute walk to even get to the trailhead, and then another fifteen out to Your Bench, and by the time you get there your coffee cup is empty. You barely pass anyone the whole way there, because it’s freezing and all the smart people are inside. 

You sit. You breathe. You watch the edge of the water lap at the muddy banks, rhythmic, like the lake is breathing in and out, steady and sleepy. Branches bob gently overhead, devoid of leaves, bare little arms defenseless against the November winds. Some ducks paddle around aimlessly, waiting to see if you’ll throw bread. It’s even better when the sun is shining, the trees are green, flowers blooming - but you’ll take it this way too. You exhale, feeling at peace again.

Until your phone buzzes against your palm.

[2:06 PM] Briiiiig: kiko thinks ur upset

[2:07 PM] You: i’m not

[2:09 PM] Briiiiig: she’s just private

[2:10 PM] You: i know.

[2:15 PM] You: did u know, tho? 

[2:17 PM] Briiiiig: only bc the guys were gossiping abt it. she didnt tell me.

Well, that’s fair. A little bolstered, you decide to call and check up on Nina. Despite it being well after two o’clock, she answers sleepily.

“Hey,” you say. “What’s new?”

“Nothing,” she says through a yawn. “How about you?”

“Just at my spot by the trail,” you tell her, still watching the hopeful ducks. Nina yawns again. “Big night?” you ask.

“House party,” she tells you, still sounding mostly asleep. 

“Nice,” you saw, toeing the dirt a little. “How was it?”

“It was awesome,” she tells you. “Hey, speaking of house parties… guess who texted me?”

“Who?”

“The guy from your campus? Hoseok?”

“Wow,” you say. “I thought you didn’t get his number.”

“I didn’t, but he found my insta and messaged me.”

“So are you guys talking now?” you ask.

“I don’t know,” she tells you. “I guess a little. I don’t know how into it I am.”

That sounds like Nina.

“Well, on a related note,” you say, “I’ve been talking to his housemate a bit -.” You’re about to add the because I’m tutoring him part, but she doesn’t let you get there.

“The guy from the party?” she interrupts. “Seriously?”

You pause. There’s an edge to her seriously that you’re not sure how to take.

“Is that a problem?” you ask flatly. You and Taehyung aren’t even talking - not the way the conversation implied, anyway - but that isn’t the point. The point is that if you were, this is how’d she’d react, apparently. 

“No,” she says quickly, all innocence. “Just weird for you. You haven’t talked to a guy since Davis. And the guy from the party was so… fratty. Just doesn’t strike me as your type, that’s all.”

“I don’t think I have a type,” you say. 

“Well,” she says lightly, “it’s nice to see you finally moving on from Davis. I’m happy for you. This is a good first step.”

It’s on your walk home, twenty minutes after telling Nina goodbye and heading back towards campus, that you realize you never did explain to her that you and Taehyung weren’t talking talking in the first place.

Next

Thank you so much for being here! I appreciate every single like, reblog, comment, ask, or DM!

A thank you, as always, to my fabulous beta @kookstempo for the beta-ing and for putting up with my complaining all week as I've been sick!😘😘😘

#taehyung x reader #dailydaegu #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfic #s2l #taehyung angst #college au #f2l #bts fanfic #bts fic #fic: what was hidden #taehyung smut #(but not in this chapter for full disclosure)

[blushstories]

hi <3 first i wanted to say how much i love your works!!! you have so much talent seriously and your hurt/comfort is so so comforting and it makes me feel so warm idk if that makes sense ajshs

i adore how you write for steve and i have a hurt/comfort request for him! maybe about him comforting r who's been ghosted and blocked by a someone she considered a really close friend and she feels like she did something wrong and like it's her fault?

thank you so much and have an amazing day <3

ahhh you are so so kind, thank you so, so much <3 that makes me so happy !! of course i can do this!

“Can you stop pacing, please?” 

You pause, snapped out of your spiralling thoughts. Chewing on the tip of your finger, you glance at your best friend, who had papers and beige files spread around his space on the couch.

Without a word, you cross the room to your abandoned phone on the chair. The lock screen remains void of notifications, making the coil in your chest tighten painfully. 

“What’s wrong?” He’s put down the file he’s been reading, leaving it on his lap in favour of crossing his arms. His head tilted to the side and his creased eyebrows reveal his concern at your uncharacteristic silence. You shake your head. 

“Nothing,” you say, before swallowing around the knot in your throat and blinking away tears. You check your phone again. Nothing, making you exhale heavily. Papers crinkle behind you. 

“Are you sure?” Steve asks softly, sensing the disturbed atmosphere around you. You drop into the seat nearby, running your hands over your face and through your hair a few times, but not being able to bring yourself to tell him that you’d been ghosted, and that it was totally your fault. Would he still want to be friends if he knew what an idiot you’ve been? It must have been something you’ve done, right?

“You don’t have to tell me, alright? Just tell someone. Maybe Tony, or that guy you’ve been talking to, what was it, uh…” He snaps his fingers in the air, trying to keep the mood light, but he drops the act when you peer at him over your fingers, eyes rimmed with red. 

He forgets his hand in midair, “What is it?” You shake your head, hiding your face again. 

Footsteps. A warm pressure on your knee. You spread your fingers over your face, freeing your eyes. 

“I’m so stupid, Steve,” you murmur into your palms. His thumb strokes your kneecap, tender and patient. 

“You’re not stupid.” 

“I’m an idiot. His name was Jake, by the way, and it wasn’t like that,” you insist. Steve shifts into a more comfortable position, anticipating a longer conversation than he previously expected. He opens his mouth to protest but you pull your hands away from your face and say, “I’m an idiot because I liked someone who not only ghosted me, but blocked me. I thought we were friends.”

Steve inhales sharply, thinking. “Ghosting is like ignoring, right?” You nod. “When was this?” 

“Literally half an hour ago. If you’re sick of my pacing, take it up with this guy. I keep checking my phone, maybe he’ll realise he made a mistake or something. But he’s definitely read it, and I don’t know, maybe I said something stupid.” Steve narrows his eyes. 

“Like what?”

You fall back into the chair dramatically, pulling a pillow out from behind you and pushing your face into it, releasing a less than flattering groan. 

“Can’t ‘member,” you say into the pillow.  

“Y/N.” His clothes crinkle. There’s a dent in the pillow in front of your eyes, and the top of Steve’s face appears. 

“You don’t have to tell me, but I know you’re not stupid. You’re not responsible for his actions, sweetheart. You’re never responsible for a man’s actions.” He gently coaxes the cushion out of your grip. “In my day—“ you snort at the turn of phrase, earning a playful look back before he continues. 

“In my day, we didn’t have this tech, you couldn’t block anyone. You’d call, you’d go out, maybe have some food, you know.”  “Sounds easy.” “Easier, not easy,” he says.  “Ah. Our problems are equal, then,” you say. He chuckles, places a hand over yours and squeezes. 

“Forget about him. Do you… wanna get some food?” He asks. You swipe at your eyes one last time, wiping your hands on your clothes and smile.  “Absolutely, I do.” 

#steve rogers #marvel #mcu #steve rogers x reader #x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers x you #marvel fanfiction #marvel x reader #captain america #captain america x reader #steve rogers blurb #steve rogers drabble #chris evans characters