#or trying to do both at the same time and miserably failing at both

[annyeongffs]

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫. || 𝖍.𝖏𝖘 (ᴍ)

𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄: 𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠.

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✶ . ⋆ 𝒐𝒏 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒕: "𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺" (𝘴𝘬𝘻) ⋆ . ✶

𝐰𝐜: 𝟽.𝟸𝚔

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳! 𝘩𝘢𝘯 X 𝘧𝘦𝘮. 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘶, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘪’𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯, 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯.

𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫: 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵.

the poster for tonight’s concert promises to be life-changing.

you shiver fiercely as you draw your jacket tighter around you, trying & miserably failing to fend off the chilly october rain. huddling closer to the body beside you, you shoot your best friend a death glare and continue to trudge through the puddle-laden street.

"rosie, i swear to god, we'd better be getting really damn close." you swear at her. she nudges you with her hip and offers you a saccharine sweet smile. gesturing to the brightly-lit marquee hanging above the building far ahead of you at the very end of the road, she answers breezily, "it's right in front of you, silly, we're almost there."

you swear again, the building appearing much further away than it truly is due to the downpour. so much for the hour you spent straightening your hair; you wonder if your mascara has yet begun to trail down your cheeks.

the two of you are currently making your way toward the venue of tonight's concert, the third in a series of spontaneous going-out plans you and your friend have made for the fall. rosie has insisted that you'd do well to get out of your shell more often, and while you hate to admit it, she's right; since your not-so-recent breakup this past february, it seems you've been becoming more and more of a homebody, happy to hibernate in bed with only your cat, a good netflix binge, and a lit candle. which was still much more preferable than what you were doing now.

"you couldn't have picked a better place to park, huh?" you mutter under your breath even as the place draws nearer and nearer, earning yourself an elbow to the side. rosie quickens your pace; and despite your stream of grumbling complaints, the two of you reach the building in no time.

you stop under the overhang to put yourself back together from the rain, pulling your damp hair out from where you had it tucked under your leather jacket, fluffing it out and smoothing over your skirt to make sure everything is in order before rosie grabs you once again.

you blame her entirely for tonight's ensemble- a black miniskirt, deep red sleeveless top to match the color swiped on your lips, complete with boots and an oversized black jacket the same shade as the dark liner adorning your eyelids- but two things are quite apparent: one, she was absolutely right for choosing these clothes. you looked smoking. and two, the jeans you had originally planned to wear would have been nothing short of horrible in this weather.

"come on, y/n!" she tugs your hand and pulls you through the front doors, where bouncers had already glanced your way and deemed you old enough to enter- and thankfully had not spotted the two beers your friend had smuggled in her own jacket. "i'm sure the place is jam packed by now! let's try to find a good spot before the show starts."

and while the standing-room-only auditorium was packed, you both were still able to weave your way through the sea of people until you were only a few arms lengths' from the raised stage's right side, stopped at the railings of a barricade. tendrils of fake smoke- likely from a fog machine- curled slowly out across the air from behind the screen separating the expansive room from backstage, and beams of light from red & purple lasers chased each other around the crowded room from projectors dotting the high ceiling. as simple as it appears, you have to admit that it certainly sets the right tone for a hole-in-the-wall rock concert venue.

you pull out your phone and check the time as rosie beams excitedly at you, handing you a drink. with only a few minutes until the show is set to begin, you turn to her and ask quietly as she opens up your beers, "what's the name of this band, anyway? i didn't have time to look them up before we left."

you pull up instagram with your free hand and take a sip of the drink, typing to find said band's account once she responds with an excited squeal, "it's 3RACHA, they're based a few hours away from here. i knew the second i saw the poster on the website. i can't believe you've never heard of them, y/n! they're, like, huge right now in the music scene. it's a miracle i even got our tickets." you snort a little at that last part. rosie can be a bit delusional when it comes to her favorite artists; they're usually not as 'huge' as she thinks they are. but you're sure she means it as a compliment.

"look, i found their official account." you show your phone to her, "and knowing you, you're obsessed with at least one person in this group. who's your favorite member?" rosie's grin turns slightly feral, and she taps on a photo and turns the phone back for you to see. a buff-looking man with a megawatt smile fills your phone screen, his childish grin contradicting the broad muscles revealed by a tight compression shirt. you look back at your friend for an explanation.

"his name is seo changbin, he's the drummer. just look at him, y/n! isn't he so handsome!" she practically swoons. you study the photo with a little smile, shaking your head at her antics. while the guy on your screen is certainly attractive, he's not quite your cup of tea; but you're here for the music, not the men.

you close your phone without looking at any of the other pictures on 3RACHA's account, choosing instead to be surprised when they come out on stage.

as it would happen, that was the best decision you could have made. you just didn't know it yet.

—

the overhead brights finally dim a short while later, and the crowd all around you begins to cheer while rosie nudges you excitedly. the stage powers up on either side with long beams of red, flickering lights, nearly blinding you if you were any closer to the front, and the smoke begins to pour out more steadily from the machines, casting the room in a seductive haze.

the buzz of a backing track starts low and gradually increases, setting the mood; you feel anticipation begin to pool in your blood, eager for the start of the show. rosie jumps up and down excitedly, squeezing your arm so hard you're worried it might lose circulation.

just then, the screen behind the stage lifts to reveal the band themselves. and you've never seen three rockstars this hot before in your life.

your best friend's favorite, changbin, is first to take to the stage. and even if he wasn't exactly your type, you nonetheless have to check your mouth for drool at the sight of him in real life. he strides out to the drum set that has been lifted to the stage, taking a seat and making rosie scream like a banshee right next to your ear.

she wasn't joking about her obsession with him, the sounds emanating from your best friend becoming only slightly concerning.

but you don't really mind. you're too distracted by the next man walking onto the catwalk from one of the eaves. microphone in hand, he struts to the center of the stage, all rolling muscles and cut angles in his tight black sleeveless tank.

you fan yourself dramatically as rosie informs you that this man is named bangchan. again, the rockstar on stage isn't quite the kind who gets you all hot and bothered, but that's alright- you've got bigger things to think about than that.

because almost as if the universe has saved the very best for last, your jaw drops to the floor and never recovers once the third and final member appears. and you immediately know: you're in trouble.

the deafening sound of the crowd fades into second stream in your mind at the sight before you. you forget the noise, you forget the people, you forget where you are- hell, you forget your own damn name in favor of the man who is now walking down the right side of the stage in your general direction, a long-necked, deep maroon, electric guitar slung across his unbelievably broad shoulders that form a perfect contrast to his lean waist.

his dark hair is curled just above his half-mast eyes, and the smirk cast upon his lips is beautifully sinful. the glinting silver chain slung around his waist beckons anyone viewing to tug him closer, matching the necklace resting on his tight shirt; and suddenly, you realize you've never seen anything like this man now standing a mere few yards away from you on stage.

you're more interested in him and his insane demeanor than you think you've ever been in a man.

there are not enough adjectives in the english language to describe the passionate, powerful aura rolling from his body and filling the entire room with his presence. his steps are sure and confident, not a nerve to be found as he grins mischievously out at the gathered crowd.

and though the other two men have lights on them as well, the spotlight seems to love this one in particular. not that you can really blame it.

he opens his arms in a grand sweeping gesture, grabs the mic stand that you hadn't bothered noticing when he walked out, and says loudly, "seems like everyone's excited to see us tonight, yeah? let me hear some fucking noise!"

the crowd erupts into applause, ratcheting the energy in the room up to atmospheric levels. people are yelling and cheering with all their might in every direction, but you're frozen in place like a deer caught in headlights, eyes stuck on and unmoving from the drop dead gorgeous guitarist.

he takes a minute to introduce the band as a whole- you think you catch the name han jisung- and before you know it, he's grabbing that sleek maroon guitar and thumbing his way through the opening chords of a song, bangchan now singing loudly and changbin hitting the drums with enthusiasm.

and fuck, if you can't feel the bass from the notes he plays in every inch of your body. it becomes physically impossible to look anywhere but him; you're instantly entranced with the possessive grip he has on that guitar, those broad shoulders and dark curls, and that wild, devil-may-care grin taking up his handsome face.

some distant part of your brain registers rosie talking in the background, discussing the order of songs or the names of bandmates with some of the people around you. you can't find it in yourself to participate in the conversation. not when there are better things to do- things that include you making unintentionally direct eye contact with 3RACHA's guitarist.

his smirk grows impossibly wider still and he blows a kiss your way, though there's no telling if it was meant for the crowd or just for you. his dark eyes remain glued to your own, looking like sin and sex personified; and you swear you feel your knees start to buckle from the tension soaring between you, buzzing to life thick and heavy like a syrup to your senses, muffling the world around you until all your focus narrows onto him.

you think you may faint, and you aren't even being dramatic. the musician is still looking at you, heavy lidded eyes gleaming with mischief, his figure stalking slowly down the stage through the haze.

the song picks up and you start moving absentmindedly to the beat, never once letting your gaze wander, getting lost in the lights and the sounds and the sight of this man you've never met.

he eventually breaks your stare, instead pouring his focus into playing off an intense riff as the song crests and boils over into an addictive, wild tune. shredding chord after chord, his tongue comes out to play, ever so slightly peeking out and licking at his lips, sweat beginning to visibly bead at his brow with the effort.

he plays the riff out flawlessly; and when it's all said and done, he goes in for the kill, strumming one final reverberating beat that echoes into every crevice of your body, and then he tosses his head back with an inaudible laugh of ecstasy— all sweat and muscle and sex — like a god taking in the chaos he created.

his face takes up the screen behind the stage, and you can see every rivulet of sweat dripping down his vein-lined neck, every crinkle of emotion next to those captivating eyes, every glossy strand of messy hair falling into that perfect face.

it paints a picture in your mind that you know you won't ever be able to forget- a picture of sin, of want, of wild.

and that's all it takes for you to become hopelessly, irrevocably smitten. that toss of his head, that devious, toe-curling smirk, it all spells out your doom. you're obsessed.

the rest of the song passes with you watching him reverently- and so does the next, and the next, and the next; until, in what feels like a blink of an eye, the concert is nearly over. every song has made you feel some type of way. every song has seen you going absolutely insane with sheer emotion and feeling, never before having heard such incredible music.

in your awestruck daze, you couldn't feel the time passing you quickly by. now, bangchan announces that there's only one more song left for the night. you watch in wonder as he trades spots with the handsome guitarist, who now stands center stage next to the chair that appeared as a prop somewhere halfway through the show.

"thank you all so much for coming out to see us tonight," he addresses the crowd in that deep voice you've only heard every now and then throughout the evening. "it means so much to us that you took the time out to come and listen to our music. i hope you have time for one more."

without warning, he pulls up the chair and sits, and you use up every ounce of your willpower trying not to drool all over yourself at the sight. the leather material of his pants accentuates powerful thighs everywhere his guitar fails to cover up; muscles flex and ripple in his legs and arms at the change in position, driving you & the rest of the crowd completely, ridiculously nuts.

he puts his guitar pick in between his teeth and smirks, knowing the next couple chords will change the mood of the entire venue.

and change it does.

he strums a few bars, and you nearly swoon. this new song is much different from the last few. where they were loud and upbeat and energetic, this one is slow, seductive, and... sultry.

the red lighting and smoky haze filling the air certainly helps make matters worse, and you can't draw yourself away from the almost explicit look on the musician's face, eyes shuttered in lusty darkness and scarlet shadows from the stage effects. he's dripping sweat, still taking up the large monitor screen on stage, and those eyes sweep over the crowd like a homing beacon of sin. you could see yourself living and dying for that sensual gaze alone, trapping your attention like a moth to a flame.

he grabs the pick back out from his mouth. leaning over his guitar with determination creasing his features, he plays a few short riffs in quick succession, tongue out once again as he nails every single note with ease. you've never seen anything hotter than the way his tongue flicks at his upper lip before his mouth curls into another devilish grin.

the notes ring out clear and sharp through the room, and it's like every single being around you is now hypnotized by the same spell you've been under the entirety of the show.

and then- he begins to sing.

and while you've heard him earlier in the night giving backup vocals to bangchan, or rapping in succession with changbin over the drums, it's nothing compared to the gloriously smooth, silky vocals coming from him. the venue is filled with his music, every lyric teasing insanity and stirring up a swirl of deeply inappropriate emotions in you.

he shifts from his seated stance, standing tall with one boot braced up on the rickety metal chair beneath him, and you can't help but stare as his thigh flexes beneath leather, as his fingers coax melody from the guitar like it's an extension of his body; like it's a weapon, and he's already chosen his target: you.

the lyrics are sensual, dangerous, feeling full of late-night promises and bad decisions. he sings them like it's nothing- like it's casual. like he knows exactly what he's doing to you and can't be bothered to apologize.

his voice is surreal and effortless, lethal even; capable of killing with only a note, only a lyric. death by song feels inevitable to you now. the sultry lines dripping obscenely from his mouth speak of nights well-spent, of caving in, and of wanting more, more, more.

the words wrap around your spine and slither between your ribs, lingering at your every pulse point like he's challenging your body, daring you to just try and breathe in his presence.

he's sweating, chest heaving slightly, eyes still at half mast and locked on the middle distance — or maybe on you, as he gazes almost longingly into the camera. every movement he makes is practiced chaos: the way he flicks his tongue against his lips when they curl into another note, the subtle flex of his ring-clad fingers along the neck of the guitar, the dangerous smirk that never leaves his captivating face.

at one point, he leans back just slightly, exposing the long, delectable expanse of his throat, and you swear your knees almost give out from under you.

your mind is fulled with sudden- yet not unwelcome- fantasies of him baring that throat of his for your eyes only; images swirl to life in your head of licking a long, slow line up the length of it, maybe even earning yourself a sigh deeper than the ones he's given the crowd tonight. wondering if he'd be as loud for you behind closed doors as he is when he performs.

you aren't even sure if you're hearing the song anymore or if you're just feeling it like a drug in your bloodstream. it pulses to life within the most neglected parts of you, whispering "come hither" to every nerve in your body, lighting up every cell with undeniable, unmistakable need.

and the worst part? you knew it from the moment he walked out on stage- this was need all along. you needed his song and his stare like you needed the very breath in your lungs.

soon- much too soon for your tastes- he finishes on a held note, that voice of silk and sin ringing out high, clear, and unreasonably pretty. the final chord echoes in every atom of your being, your soul humming with the vibrations of his powerful bass, seemingly awakening and being brought to life at his fingertips.

the crowd goes wild, roaring with applause and shouts of praise and appreciation. he grins, just barely. lips twitching upward, satisfied. pleased with himself. and he should be.

and still — somehow — it's not enough.

but it's over.

he ruined you.

he ruined you.

-

hardly a moment after the stage screen descends and signals the end of the evening, rosie hugs your side and playfully nudges her hip into yours. "so? what did you think?"

you open your mouth... and nothing comes out. your throat feels dry. your lungs feel wrong, like you haven't truly breathed in nearly an hour. like somehow, without him on stage, your body has forgotten what it was meant to be doing with itself.

she laughs — full of adrenaline, all spark and motion — while you stand there, wrecked, ruined, feeling an otherworldly level of exhilaration that maybe doesn't quite belong in this room. rosie takes one look at your helpless, wordless state, and breathes out a laugh. "yeah. that's what i thought." you don't have the heart to roll your eyes at her.

the crowd is still thick, but the energy has softened — not gone, but warmer now. thicker. like a blanket over your senses, the fog lingers in the hazy room, steam curling up off the floor and sticking to your sweat-laden body like a second skin.

the few people who make no move to leave just yet are talking, buzzing, exhilarated. a few girls near the barricade are already tearing up, clutching their phones like relics- and honestly, you can't fault them for it.

but you?

you can still feel him in your skin.

han jisung.

his voice in your ears.

his fingers on the strings, dragging sound from his guitar like sin itself. awakening long- forgotten parts of your body, spirit, soul like he was calling out your name on that stage, like there was no one else in the room but you and him.

like with every chord he stroked, he was caressing your mind, coaxing forth fantasies, and darkness, and sheer, undeniable want.

rosie is still talking. you faintly register her complimenting someone's jacket. her voice flutters through your haze like a breeze you can't quite chase, not strong enough to break the trance you've been left high and dry in.

but a few words do make it past the fog in your brain, trying their best to pull you back down to earth. "i'll go get the car," she says, noticing the rain now cascading down like molten silver under the streetlights outside the venue. "no point in both of us getting drenched; i'll swing around to the front. you good?"

you nod slowly. too slow. the world still feels like it's moving in molasses, like time has come to a standstill without 3RACHA's lead guitarist performing for all to see. you're still floating in a breathless state of post-concert awe when rosie exits your line of vision, leaving you clutching the rails of the barricade near the stage like it might just have the power to break your spell. but it doesn't.

you don't want to leave; not yet. you don't even know what you're waiting for, only that tonight changed something within you. something solidified, crystallized, and snapped into place when he was playing song after song in this red-streaked room, something you can't put a finger on but can still feel in your very bones.

you don't want to lose that feeling yet... so you don't leave. you don't turn and walk away.

instead, you curl your fingers tightly over the cool metal railing in a desperate attempt to cool the warmth that sings in your blood, failing to think of anything that isn't him.

the venue is increasingly empty now, only a handful of stragglers hanging back, likely feeling the same daze you do. the ringing in your ears finally fades, replaced now by the low hum of equipment being packed and the soft murmur of the people lingering.

the barricade is scattered with a few hopefuls, their makeup smudged, their eyes wide, whispering in bated breath like they're waiting for someone to appear.

and then- with no warning at all, sending shockwaves down every inch of your spine- he does. he appears.

at first it doesn't register: just a silhouette breaking through the fog that obscures the entrance to the backstage area, a ripple passing through the group near the stage, subtle and breathless. a shift in gravity.

you follow it with your eyes.

there, emerging from the shadows backstage, is han.

not on fire now. not soaked in red light and reverb. just han.

his shirt still clings mercilessly to his body, a damp towel slung like a second thought around his neck. those untamable curls are sweat-slicked, his handsome face lightly flushed.

gaze still deliciously dark, he stops once the small swarm of heart-eyed fans circles him, chattering and sighing like he's some kind of miracle sent to them from the heavens. and maybe he is.

he signs small somethings offered up to him for the fans with one hand and runs the other through his hair, lazy and unbothered. he barely looks twice at the small crowd around him, nodding and smiling politely as though his mind is elsewhere.

he gets a reprieve when the other two members of 3RACHA, changbin and chan, walk out from backstage behind him, and the swarm quickly moves to encircle them once they have what they want.

you don't bother tearing your eyes from the guitarist, though- he's all you can see. all you can think of. he fills up your senses, steals your breath with his lazy prowl, walking out of the fan's bubble with a searching gaze; eyes scanning the room like a man on a mission.

and then he sees you.

his lips part subtly once his eyes land on you, brows quirking up ever so slightly, as if to say there you are. the faintest trace of a smirk ghosts across his mouth, that mouth that was singing all those sultry promises into your ear just a few moments ago.

he says something — quiet, offhand, to no one — and then starts walking. not fast. not slow, either. just an intentional pace, stalking closer to you beat by beat, your heart kicking up into a high-speed tempo.

every step is a pull. every second he draws nearer to you is a siren call, a trap, an unspoken promise that you won't be leaving this room unscathed. and you want that. oh, you want that so badly. and as if he can hear your thoughts, that smirk spreads, sidling up to you and leaning casually on the railings of the barricade just out of arm's reach.

you don't breathe. you don't blink.

neither does he.

you're finally, finally face-to-face with the man who was on that stage not twenty minutes ago. you feel the breath leave your lungs, and it's not because of the sudden proximity. it's because this man is insanely gorgeous.

the handsome guitarist hangs back just out of reach of your personal space, the smell of smoke and sweat adorning his clothes, and a roguish half-smile tugs at his full lips. tousled hair falls to thinly veil his dark eyes, the strands slightly slick with the room's humidity and so soft-looking that you find yourself leashing the urge to lift your hand up past those broad shoulders and run your fingers through it.

he looks so lithe and lethal; and you know now — the sight of him has already become your addiction. what’s even worse? you want more. and more. and more. you want it all- anything he'll give you. anything he'll allow you to take.

"hello, beautiful," his raspy voice all but croons, eyes dragging down your figure like he's reading the lyrics off your skin. "how'd you like the show?" he addresses you like you're not really strangers; like he knows exactly who you are. exactly what you are.

and in a way, he does know. because you're his- even if you don't know it yet.

you blink. you've been hoping, praying, that you'd get the chance to talk to him in, building this moment up in your mind from the very first second you saw him — but now that he's here, real, with that voice curling around your spine like a dark promise you can't wait for him to break? you can't help it- your brain goes soft, making you putty in his hands.

"it was..." you clear your throat, searching for anything to say that won't betray the heady rush that still buzzes in your veins, "...loud."

he laughs, low and amused, like you let him in on a secret joke. "loud's not always a bad thing." his eyes drop to your mouth for the briefest second; almost like he's imagining exactly how loud he could make you. like he's contemplating what he'd do to hear it.

you hate how easy he can read you- how your breath stutters, how your pulse quickens once his gaze flicks back up to your eyes, how your body lights up in response to even the simplest of his words, of his actions. and you hate it even more that he notices.

but what you hate most of all is that you want him to notice.

every reaction. every breath stolen right out of your lungs. every heartbeat skipping ahead of your control and pushing itself right into his waiting palms- you want him to feel it. to own it. because maybe he already does; and maybe, just maybe, you're okay with that. more than okay.

"you looked good out there," you say, breathless yet still trying to claw back even an ounce of control. he takes your scrambling compliment in stride, pulling a cocky expression that shouldn't work on you- but does.

"just 'good'? not astounding, showstopping, superb?" he asks, sultry voice laced with a teasing lilt. and damn you; that smirk- that self-satisfied tip of his head like he knows he already lives in your bloodstream- it threatens your undoing. or maybe it just speeds it along.

"don't make me flatter you," you murmur, hiding the way your internal self is shaking with anticipation and clinging onto his every word. "i'd hate to feed your ego."

"too late," he says with some kind of finality. "you've been feeding it since the moment you walked in."

your stomach drops — in the best way.

"what?" you try not to sound stunned; but it leaks out of you anyway, the question hanging in the thick air between you.

"that look," he says simply, as if it explains everything. you wait for him to elaborate.

he goes on, "like you were starving. thought maybe it was the lights messing with me, but..." his gaze drops and he gives you a once-over, as if assessing the way you lean into his presence ever so slightly; as if he's noting the way your breath stutters again and saving the information for later. like he's counting the beats of your pulse while it taps out his name in morse code.

"...nah," he concludes suddenly, head tilting with a flash of that dangerous grin. "you're still doing it."

you try to look away only to find that you can't. your brain screams say something clever, but all your mouth seems capable of forming is his name — as if your body's trying to manifest it again. as if it's all you know, all you care about. and that's not exactly a lie.

"are you always like this after a show?" you ask, voice thinner and more airy than you want it to be.

"depends," he says quickly, tossing back replies like he's passing notes with you in secret. "are you always this easy to read?"

your heart spikes. you feel it: that flinch of arousal, disguised weakly as indignation.

his hand brushes the rail beside yours, casual — but close enough to feel the static. you find yourself aching for him to drag it against yours, if only to feel the electricity spark into a flame. he leans just slightly closer, eyes scanning your face, not smiling anymore as you lose any words that might've been on the tip of your tongue.

"don't get shy on me now, sweetheart," he says. "you're not gonna pretend that wasn't real, are you?" you swallow hard at his admission- at the confirmation that he's feeling whatever this is, too. at the sudden delight that zaps down your spine with the knowledge that he's right there next to you on the edge of obsession and fantasy, just as caught up in the waiting as you are.

there's sweat drying on your back and an insatiable heat curling in your stomach. you've had zero control since he walked out on stage; but now he's this close, and somehow it's worse. or better.

"you've got this look on your face," he murmurs when you still say nothing, taking the reins you don't know how to hold. he goes on, "like you're trying to convince yourself this isn't happening."

his voice drops, rough silk scraping over your every sense. "you're doing a terrible job."

he smirks a little wider when your breath audibly catches. he knows he's got you hooked- you both know it- and he's wildly unapologetic, instead savoring the way you react to his every syllable, heart threatening to beat right out of your chest.

he moves ever so slightly further into your space, hand never quite meeting yours on the cold railing of the barricade, deeply enjoying the devoutly curious gleam to your eyes and the almost reverent tilt of your lips.

you're rendered speechless once more- you couldn't think of something else to say in this moment even if there was a gun to your head. that's how attractive he is.

the man in question has no issue with the lengthy, charged. he looks you up and down again, just once, and something flickers in his stare as he drags it from your legs back up to your eyes.

"are you not burning alive in that heavy jacket, sweetheart? i mean, it isn't exactly chilly in here, is it?" he asks darkly.

you can't help but notice the depth in his voice. nor can you ignore the way your throat tightens, a single shiver running down your back at his tone. he knows exactly how to rile you up, how to make your pulse scatter into the furthest joints of your body, and how to put it right back together just so he can go and wreck it again.

you should hate it. you should be walking away and trying to find your ride home. but you only want one ride, and it's one he knows he's silently offering up to you. one you still don't know if you trust yourself to take, but you're rooted to the spot.

you suppose his question is a fair enough thing to ask, considering that the air in the venue is still thick with humidity, sticking to your hair and clothes; though it seems you're incapable of registering anything that isn't about the gorgeous guitarist. humidity and warmth be damned.

and like his simple question has sent sparks racing through your veins, you give a brazen once-over down his body and find that your skin is starting to sear at the sight.

you wouldn't really consider yourself to be a bold person, but there's something about his gaze and words and the smoke still curling around the room that makes you brave enough to slowly slide the jacket off your body, letting the leather material drift further and further down your now-bare arms to reveal the planes of your collarbones and the tightness of the skirt your friend had picked out for you.

inch by inch the humid air hits your skin, and the singer's eyes are drawn to everywhere the jacket leaves behind. perhaps, you think to yourself, the red top you'd settled on wearing was a perfect choice for tonight.

you let the coat fall off your arms completely and catch it by hooking a finger, leaving it to dangle as you return what is, without a doubt, the most lustful stare you have ever had the pleasure of receiving.

your body feels like it's slowly catching fire, embers of a sensation you've not felt in months awakening inside of you simply by being in this man's overwhelmingly attractive presence.

you cock your head to the side and allow your tongue to come out and trace the edge of your lip, an action he certainly doesn't miss. with a coyness you never knew you were capable of until tonight, you ask plainly, "better?"

a soft curse that sounds a lot like fuck me leaves his mouth. "absolutely." he gives you another smirk, pushing himself slightly further into your space until your faces are separated by mere inches. "what's your name, gorgeous?"

"i'm y/n." you tell him, his heated gaze slowly mounting to be too much for you. you feel it everywhere: the way his eyes linger, soaking you in, taking. like no one else was ever meant to see you in the first place.

you fight back a shiver as he tests your name out on his tongue, not knowing it could sound the way it does when his voice is the one saying it.

"y/n. god, you're gonna be the death of me," he mutters, that last part mostly to himself. his answering smile is charming, even if it borders on orgasmic, and he finally takes your hand in his- not gentle, not firm. just holding, capturing, as if to signal that you're his to move, to guide, to lead.

and you both know the truth- you already are. "you already know my name, yeah?" it's not even a question, but you nod anyway.

he lifts your hand to his mouth- that wicked mouth- and kisses the back of it, letting his lips just barely skirt the skin there. you're instantly flooded with warmth; sparks shoot out across your body from every point of contact as he holds still for just a breath, letting anyone watching think he's being the perfect gentleman. but you know- he's anything but.

there's a hungry gleam in his eye, a silent vow, telling you that your obsession is mutual.

you don't know if you want him to kiss your hand again or help you drag it down his chest. the buzz weaving its way through your veins is entirely his fault; he knows it, and he's proud of it. he lifts his head but doesn't drop your hand just yet, chuckling darkly when your fingers twitch in his grasp- with want, with the need to curl tighter around his own, even if you're still trying desperately to hold yourself back.

"you're staring," you whisper like it’s a scandal, attempting- and failing- to steady your voice. he lets your hand fall even as his is itching to touch you again, already addicted to the feeling.

"you started it," he counters, "i'm just finishing the view."

you're once more stunned into silence, barely even breathing.

"can i have your number, y/n?" he murmurs suddenly, voice lower now, like it's only meant for you- and maybe it was. it's like the rest of the room has dropped away. you two could be the last people left in the venue, in the country, on the planet; and you wouldn't even know it.

he steps even closer, closing the last inch between you and your ever-fading sanity. his presence is magnetic, stifling, suffocating in the best way; it steals every thought from your mind, every word from your lips, every beat from your heart, and turns you into a living flame, made of nothing but want, nothing but need; nothing but more.

your body moves long before your mind catches up. you nod, reaching for your phone with shaking hands that feel foreign, like none of your body fits together quite right without his touch. the device is buried somewhere deep in your pocket, and it takes longer than it should to find it, unlock it, open your contacts — all under the pressing weight of his gaze.

when you finally hand it over, his fingers brush yours again. soft. deliberate. like he's teasing you, and himself, with the simple movement; letting you run wild with sudden fantasies of what those hands could possibly do.

those long fingers fly across your keyboard, silver rings catching the red lights still bouncing across the sticky room. he turns it to show you the name he's saved: "han(dsome)."

your lips twitch at the wisecrack. his smirk deepens.

you pause — heart still running laps, lungs barely working, spine sinking under the lack of his touch on your skin — and finally ask the one question itching at your throat. "why me?"

to his credit, he doesn't miss a single beat. "you looked at me like you'd already decided," he says, eyes on yours. "like you'd already said yes. even if i hadn't asked yet- even if you didn't know what i was asking."

you don't respond — not because you don't want to, but because your body already has. your lips part, breath caught halfway, eyes wide and hungry. your teeth catch your lower lip, almost as if to hold in unholy sounds; or maybe to hold back a plea of his name, a plea to see him again.

his gaze flickers to your mouth again at the action, slower this time.

"that lip," he murmurs, voice bordering on manic- caressing your ears like wafting smoke. "you keep biting it like you want something."

you do it again — without thinking. his eyes darken. and then he leans in.

not all the way; not quite. he has no intention of giving you what you want- not tonight.

he hovers, heat to heat, breath to breath, but still no touch. you can feel his smirk before you ever see it.

warm breath drags across your lips, just a sigh away from his own, driving you into endless pools of madness, the attraction solidifying into a dark water below you; beckoning you to jump as it swirls with desire and filthy devotion.

you're about to shamelessly dive in, begging him with your eyes for something you can't live without now that you've seen him, touched him, felt his lips upon your skin.

"not yet," he warns like he can read your thoughts. "i want to hear the way you ache for me."

he straightens suddenly — like nothing happened. like you're not on the edge of collapse; like he didn't just wreck your body with the barest of touches. then his hand comes up, confident, almost lazy; and he drags a single finger under your jaw.

barely there. a touch that brands. a touch that changes your fate forever, recklessly throwing itself into his open hands.

"see you soon, y/n." it's not a whisper. not a shout. it's a promise.

and just like that, he walks away — leaving your heart in your throat and your soul caught between his teeth.

—

𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽: @skzfflovers @jj-one @aris-c0rner @mochirecs @starlostjisung @m-325 @pochacco-baby @thvsuga @victoriaaf @hansxcheesecake @bbyhyunjinie @hanversace

[xenglitch]

monhun wilds good..... monhun wilds fun....

[okwonyo]

OPEN ARMS 𓋜 𝗂’𝗆 𝗌𝗈 𝖽𝖾𝗏𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎.

♥︎峠 when you don’t want them to leave ｡

notes. enhypen is whipped ─── fem ! rea 8OO fluff domestic 先兆𓈒 kissing skinship library

REBLOG FOR A KISS!

HEESEUNG

he wakes up to the warmth of your body against his own. he holds his entire world in his arms, snoring quietly, barely budging at the alarm on his nightstand. he doesn’t want to move nor does he want to leave— but he needs to if he wants to avoid the alarm waking you up.

“shh,” he smiles when you whine at the way his embrace gets loose, how slowly gets away from you. gets out of bed and stops the alarm in time, and he catches your sleepy frown before he can go in the bathroom. he allows himself to stay a little longer, to admire your beauty is slumber and his kisses your forehead, “i love you.”

JAY

ever since he started dating you, he has never been at work in time. he knows he should change that. it’s not like he doesn’t have the willpower to change his morning habits but he doesn’t try to, he barely talks about it because he doesn’t want to.

“i really need to god,” he chuckles, still, he doesn’t put any effort in getting away from your hands cupping his face. he lets you kiss his mouth gently, then his nose, his chin and his cheeks. it quickly ends in your hugging him and kissing his lips— you don’t want him to go and he doesn’t want to either.

JAKE

“good bye, my love,” he tells you, leaning down to reach your level— while you are sitting down on the table, eating breakfast— to peck you on both of your cheeks then on your lips sweetly, as he always does. “i love you.”

you giggle at his usual cute antics, but you don’t say it back. only a merely audible ‘m’kay’ as he walks away. he takes a few seconds, taking a double take before fully coming back to you. he looks at you with side wide eyes to wish you shrug, “if you leave, there is no i love you.”

SUNGHOON

call him overdramatic but he thinks he hallucinating, dying even, when you wipe your face away from his as he tries to give you a goodbye kiss. his eyes grow wide— thinking that it is the first time something as devastating as you not wanting to kiss him happened to him.

“sweetheart,” he puts his hand on heart, a little theatrical. he leans in more and more, “i’m going to crash the car if i don’t get a kiss from you before leaving,” you don’t indulge him. he is impatient and won’t leave without what he wants.

SUNOO

“i’ll have to go eventually,” he laughs quietly. he has been getting ready for work since early in the morning and he did everything in his power to not wake you up— but he miserably failed. you were awake ten minutes after him, and have been following him around for a while now.

he doesn’t protest when you wrap your arms around his neck. he doesn’t protest either when you act like a dead weight, when you let yourself be dragged all over the house. however, he is a bit surprised when you let him go. as expected, not for long, because you jump on him a minute later to make him fall on the bed. burying your face in his neck, you mumble; “please don’t.”

JUNGWON

he swears he needs to go, but his heart is longing to stay there and stare at you all day. “you’re cute,” he coos, poking on your puckered lip softly. at his move, you give him a quite mean look to which he can’t help but burst out of longing to. it is so lovely, how hard you are trying the fact that you are a tad sad.

he cups your face, pressing his palms against your cheeks to make your pouty lips even more puckered— perhaps for a kiss or to make fun of you a little bit more, perhaps to do both and at the same time. after his lips kiss yours, he pulls away, just a few inches, “i will be back soon, m’kay?”

RIKI

he tries to avoid it at all costs. he makes to not pass by you too more or give you enough time to speak or even look at him properly. he puts all his strength in avoiding your gaze as he gets ready— he knows it, how much you wish for him to stay home and cuddle, he wants it too, but he can’t.

he fails his mission quite miserably because he wants to look at you before leaving for work. but, you are frowning, looking at him with wide sad eyes and he groans at the jab it does at his heart. he drops his bag and comes hug you before leaving, “don’t look at me like that please. i’ll miss you even more.”

taglist. ( open ) &daily

[teddybeartoji]

18+ mdni; gn!reader

thinking about playing truth or dare with seijoh 4 and then getting dared to kiss mattsun right there in front of them all mmmhmmm you know he would love that shit – there's a permanent smirk glued to his lips as you climb onto his lap, his hands tugging on the material of your shirt to pull you flush to him. he's so fucking cocky and it gets so messy so fast but it's not like any of the other boys are gonna tell you to stop either. their eyes are low and their pupils grow bigger with every passing second, their throats dry as they watch you swap saliva with the dark-haired man. they can hear everything over the soft music that's playing in the background and it's so hard not to focus on the way you're starting to grind back and forth on mattsun's lap.

your fingers play with the unruly hairs on his nape while his dig into your plush skin and as you're getting more and more into it, mattsun's ego blooms. his one hand moves to the back of your head to deepen the kiss even further and as he does so, his eyes flick open and he's met with the filthy gazes of his three best friends. he hums proudly into your mouth at the sight of a blushing makki, who's hand is resting suspiciously close to his lap, a seemingly spiraling iwaizumi, who's trying his best not to look at what's happening before him but is failing so miserably that it's almost funny, and an overly keen oikawa, who's sat there with his lip caught between his teeth. they're all red in the face and mattsun thinks it's adorable really, how worked up you always get the poor guys.

they all want a taste, they all want to feel but for the time being, this little show the both of you are putting on will have to suffice. mattsun tugs on the waistband of your jeans and iwaizumi has to force down a groan as his eyes land on your ass. the lewd thoughts flood his mind and he feels awful – you're one of his closest friends and this is how he thinks of you? how you even feel if you found out.. would you be mad? would you be disgusted?

while he's fighting with the demons in his head, makki and oikawa are doing just about the same. makki's zoned in on the way your chests keep rubbing together and he can't stop imagining about how good it'd feel to have you rubbing up against him like that. and oikawa's busy listening to the sounds. not a single gasp or mewl goes unnoticed in his ears as he tries to memorize them as best as he can with the intention of going home and humping his pillow to the heavenly melody that's your needy whines until he's crying tears of pleasure.

so when he hears you whisper into mattsun's mouth, his cock twitches in his slacks.

"are they still watching?"

you don't think they're overstepping, you don't think that the men you've grown so close with over the years are disgusting perverts for getting off on the sight of you making out with one of them – you want them to watch. you're the one that's getting off on it, you're the one with all the power. oikawa realizes that no matter how much mattsun wants to act like he's the one that's making this happen, he's probably rock hard, too. he's no better than his friends, he's just glad that he's the one that gets to actually kiss you. but there's a reason for that aswell – neither makki and iwaizumi wouldn't've been able to handle it and well oikawa himself...

his and mattsun's eyes meet once more across the dark room and he knows his playing right into your hand. of course, he's going to figure out what you're doing – that's exactly what you want. he's the next person to fall, he's the next you're going to pull in.

pulling your lips from mattsun's, you grin to yourself as you watch him chase after you for another second. but then you're craning your neck to glance at oikawa over your shoulder; you let your eyes drop to his crotch before flicking back up again, reveling in the way he turns another shade darker. he refuses to look away though – he's gladly stepping into the trap you've set for all of them, and so when you curl your finger at him, beckoning him closer like some siren, he's quick to spring up on his feet and make his way over, leaving makki and iwaizumi staring at his back in bewilderment.

still sat on mattsun's lap with his hands on your body, you lean back enough just to give oikawa the room to inch closer. you reach for his face and pull his lips down onto yours with mattsun right there, just a breath away. he's sweeter than your last kiss and you can't wait to let them all know how they taste later.

you can't wait to have them all. one by one.

[meanderingwistera]

Suguru is the hottest dad in the kindergarten pick up line. He has a charming personality and is always on time. His car is always first in line, blasting Black Sabbath and Metallica as he waits, leaning back against the car. His arms crossed and his sleeves riding up to show just a hint of ink on his upper arms.

It really is no surprise that all the Mothers (both single and not) flock to him like moths to a flame. They try not to be too obvious about it and make up little excuses to talk to him, like getting that cookie recipe he made for the school bake sale a few months ago and so on.

You are not completely oblivious to his magnetic pull but your position as the girl’s teacher puts you in a bind. You really don’t want to date one of the Dads of your kids. As much as you would love to give into his advances you want to keep it professional.

Sadly you are failing miserably at it.

His funny little quips and deep chuckles turn you into a blushing mess. He seems to enjoy that, pushing you as far as he can get. Suguru always has an innocent smile on his face as he shamelessly flirts with you as you hand over the twins. You feel like you may have a heart attack if this continues.

After a particularly hard week your car breaks down. You don’t exactly know what is wrong with it considering you only know how to change a tire and absolutely nothing else. Luckily you aren’t too far from a car shop.

You call the car shop and they send someone out to tow you in. The man sent out, who you can see from his name badge is Sukuna, is gruff and barely talks to you as he instructs you to put into neutral so he can hook up your car to the back of his truck.

You sigh in relief once you are at the car shop. Sukuna doesn’t say anything after his job is done, he just walks away. He is a little rude but at least you aren’t on the side of the road somewhere so you don’t mention it.

“Well-” Suguru’s teasing voice comes from behind you, “I never thought I would see you here.”

His grin is wide and shows off a pair of silver snake bites you have never seen before. He looks up and down horribly slow. You try to formulate a basic sentence but come up short.

“I- umm- I- broke down.” You offer to him and he chuckles.

“I see that. Let me take a look at it.”

You watch as he checks your car over. He knows what he is doing and you just hope that he can fix it so you don’t have to get a new car. Getting a new car on teacher’s salary would suck.

“It’s the battery-” Suguru wipes his hands off with a rag as he tells you his diagnosis, “the battery has also damaged the alternator so we will have to replace both to make sure that the alternator doesn’t damage a new battery.”

You nod with a dejected expression, at least you don’t have to get a new car.

“Also, I will need to keep it here for a few days while we wait for a new alternator.” He says and you try not to panic.

How will you get to work? You need your car!

“I know that it will be difficult to find a ride so do you want me to take you? We do go to the same place every day.” His offer is genuine and a little nervous if you look closely.

Maybe accepting his help won’t be so bad.

“Sure.”

[slimepuparibaba]

it's another 18+ NSFW caleb ramble anyway

caleb when finding out you might be just as much of a freak as him suddenly decides to assign you homework:

list down all the kinks you have, what you want to try, what you really like, what are some hard no's, maybe any toys you wanna use in the bedroom, etc

he gives you a time period, a due date, and once he has that list, he'll compare it with his own mental list of his own sexual preferences, going through the list you gave him with meticulousness. colonel of the farspace fleet knows how to keep order and how to strategize, his sex life is no different.

man literally goes through your list with green, yellow, and red highlighters. green is an absolute yes, yellow is "will try, not against it" and red is a hard no on his end. he'll take note of what you like, what you don't like, see if he's on the same page, before returning to you with his copy of the list.

then you both go over it together again and start discussing any aspect of the list—are there any no's? why is it a no, and is there a specific reason? what about the yellows? why are they yellow, what's stopping it from being a green or a red? shared research like what are some safety precautions, how do you actually ensure you're practicing this specific kink properly will also ensue. it's a legitimately very intimate yet serious discussion that caleb insists is necessary (last thing he wants is to hurt you, physically or emotionally)

this is when you both also discuss things like where you feel safe to do it, what precautions there are, aftercare rituals, signs to show you're up for it (he's always up for sex almost 24/7, he's largely following your lead on signals), safe words, etc

then you get to the "supply list", he's over here shopping with you online for anything you might want to buy to use in the bedroom (also if you ask to turn one of the rooms in his house into a sex dungeon, he will not complain, i am saying this right now, that man has so many spare rooms in his house)

yes, caleb loves having sex with you. yes, he has some twisted desires, and you can match his freak. but safety and comfort is always first, and above all, sex is just another way of him showing how much he loves you and cares for you. if you aren't safe and happy when having sex, then he failed you miserably.

caleb is absolutely head over heels for you (please let him fuck you he's just a little guy)

[wileys-russo]

Not sure if you’re taking requests but I’m a sad and anxious American who could use a bit of happiness rn. Thank you in advance but also no worries if this doesn’t spark anything.

Just a little fluffy something with Leah or Alessia at home, “there’s no way these are vegan” after surprising them with homemade brownies

special brownies II l.williamson, a.russo

"less you can't eat brownies, we have a match tomorrow." leah reminded sternly as you carded your fingers through the moody strikers hair, her head resting in your lap as she groaned loudly at your other girlfriends words.

"yeah leah a match i have to play on my period! at least let me eat some sort of warm chocolate if i can't curl into a ball and die." alessia mumbled miserably, rolling over and pushing her face into your hoodie covered stomach.

"don't!" you mouthed at the older girl who scoffed and was clearly ready to say something that absolutely would not help the situation. "i'll make you brownies for after the game tomorrow baby, i promise." you assured alessia, rubbing her back gently as she huffed, clearly not happy but somewhat accepting of the offer.

"with ice cream?" "with ice cream." "that vanilla bean ice cream in the blue container?" "yes lessi, i will make sure to buy that exact ice cream just for you."

"you're going to bake brownies from scratch?" leah snickered, lifting your shared girlfriends legs and settling herself onto the sofa, alessia digging her heels into leahs thigh mumbling about a foot massage, making the defender roll her eyes but oblige none the less.

"yes i am. are you going to try and tell me i can't? little miss 'childrens menu'." you narrowed your eyes skeptically, feeling alessia chuckle lightly before leah squeezed her foot too hard and her head popped up to shoot her a glare.

"well babe i think we all remember the last time you tried to bake. i, at least, can admit that i am not a good cook. which is why i'm dating one and a half of them!" leah grinned, quickly assuring the grumpy striker that she was the one and you were the half.

"half!" you protested, a little pinch to your thigh meaning you resumed scratching alessia's back where you'd paused momentarily, glaring daggers at the other girl a few cushions down.

"you do your best baby, and your best is good. but maybe you could just buy some brownies? that little cafe leah loves does them with the chocolate chips, we can grab a coffee and then heat them up later after the game." alessia mumbled into your chest, patting your thigh in an attempt to show support.

"do you both really think i'm that incapable of making brownies?" you asked in disbelief, the silence in response practically deafening. "wow! well the truth comes out." you scoffed in offense, both blondes heads snapping toward you as you attempted to wiggle out from alessias grip.

"no come on love don't be like that! baking just isn't for everyone. same as football isn't for everyone or maths isn't for everyone, its fine!" alessia held on tightly, tugging you back down and shuffling her body to lay on you more as you crossed your arms.

"everyone has their own special skill set baby girl, yours just doesn't include baking. more like...burning? hey i bet if we were ever stranded on a desert island you'd be able to get a fire going!" leah was clearly trying to be on the same supportive track as your other girlfriend but failing miserably as even alessia cringed at the attempt.

"no baby she didn't mean that don't-" but this time you managed to pull yourself free and roll out from beneath alessia, shooting up to your feet and taking turns glaring at the two blondes still laid up on the sofa.

"tomorrow i will not be coming to your game. i am going to spend the afternoon here baking and you will both come home to the best fucking brownies you've ever tasted-no actually the best vegan brownies you've ever tasted because i am that confident that i can do it. even without dairy!" you announced, stomping off to go sulk by yourself and look up some recipes.

"wait but babe you're still going to get regular ice cream right? not vegan ice cream? right? babe!"

~

you'd been so confident, you really had, which had made the fall from grace and back into reality a difficult one.

the reality that your girlfriends doubts weren't so far fetched and you might not actually be capable of baking, all the more prickly an acceptance to swallow.

which is what had lead to this disgustingly sneaky switch, the evidence of your previous three attempts scattered strategically around the kitchen for your lovers to see, and the evidence of the store bought brownies you'd rushed out to buy instead well hidden at the very bottom of the trash bins.

you'd just taken them out of the microwave to warm them up, very carefully stacking them up on a plate when you heard alessia's car in the driveway, leah playing passenger princess today.

they'd done their best this morning to grovel and sweet talk and try their very hardest to change your mind about coming to the game but you were stubborn by nature and once it was made up there wasn't much to be done to change it.

so they'd trudged off to the match like kicked puppies and you'd spent your afternoon burning chocolate and yelling at the oven trying to shift the blame before inevitably accepting your fate.

however you'd made such a fuss and a point both last night and this morning about your abilities that you may have accepted your fate, but you had no intent on letting your girlfriends do the same, the art of deception hopefully saving you the further embarrassment of eating your words with an audience.

"you did it!" alessias eyes lit up as she entered the kitchen first, hair damp and scraped up into a bun. "congratulations on the hat trick baby." you smiled, pecking her lips a few times before her loving gaze dropped down to the sweet treats on the counter.

"i think she plays better on her period." leah mused as she wandered in, the younger blonde shooting her a dirty look in response as leah kissed her cheek apologetically and wrapped you in a hug.

"you're so much prettier when you don't talk." you teased, squeezing her face in your hand with a wink as leah pulled a face and blew a raspberry on your cheek.

"less!" you laughed, turning around a few seconds later and already finding the striker with a mouthful of brownie, crumbs down the front of her hoodie and a blissed out look on her face.

"what? i was promised these!" she defended still with a mouthful of food making you wince and push her lightly. "yes you were babe and you more than earned them." you chuckled, leah reaching around you to take one for herself.

"babe there's no way these are vegan!" the milton keynes local scoffed after a mere sniff causing your eyes to roll as she took a cautious bite. "are too." you gestured your arms around to the plethora of substitutes piled around the kitchen as leah hummed skeptically.

"just tell her she did a good job, shut up, and stuff your face with chocolate leah." alessia defended, hugging you from behind as you smiled gratefully and kissed her jaw, pushing away from her as she shoved the other half of the baked good into her mouth and sent crumbs showering down on you.

"well i need a quick shower but ice creams in the freezer-" you kissed alessia's cheek since her lips were preoccupied making out with a brownie.

"-whipped creams in the fridge." you pecked leahs lips knowingly. "oi!" the defender grabbed at you as your hand collected with her ass with a wink, escaping to the bathroom for a shower and leaving them to their brownies.

which may have been a mistake.

when you returned it was to a welcomingly quiet living room, both of your blondes laid on the lounge watching a film, which judging by the bored look on leahs face and the concentrated one on alessia's, the film had been the strikers choice.

offering them both a cup of tea which was met with a resoundingly quick yes from each you disapeared to the kitchen, not hearing leah get up to follow you much to alessia's grumpy protests at being left alone.

"you know babe i noticed something very interesting about your brownies." leah hummed causing you to jump a little not having thought anyone was with you, flicking the kettle on to boil and raising an eyebrow at her questioningly.

"well you know i love a good jigsaw, yeah?" leah questioned, grabbing the plate of brownies which was remarkably untouched given alessia's desire to inhale the lot of them just moments before you ducked off for a shower.

"but with a jigsaw, all the pieces...have to match up." leah nodded down as your eyes dropped, leah having lined up the brownies which sure enough weren't even close to matching up together the way they would if you'd baked them in the tray you'd claimed to.

"well thats because-" "oh no no my girl, i wasn't asking." leah interrupted with a shake of her head and a finger pressed to your lips. "i know you didn't bake those, and they sure as shit aren't vegan." leah smirked knowingly, pulling your body closer into hers as she leaned down, lips ghosting your own as right as you tried to kiss her she pulled away, smirk growing wider as her hands slipped up your hoodie.

"the only question i want the answer to is, how are you going to make it up to us for lying baby?"

[neiptune]

like real people do

cw: 2.8k wc, female reader, friends to lovers, literally black cat x labrador dynamic, you showed up one day and are still part of his life, it’s an axiom he would never expect to change. until one day you meet his brother for the first time and rin shits himself

“We should hang out tomorrow. Are you free?”.

“No”.

You frown.

“Would you have said yes, if you were?”.

Rin takes a moment to reply.

“Probably not”.

The grin you offer right away doesn’t surprise him, if anything it makes him roll his eyes with fake exasperation.

“I love how you never change”.

He nudges your shoulder with his arm, hands buried in the pockets of an expensive coat.

“You’re annoying”.

“I know, it’s my whole thing. You kinda agreed to it when you accepted me as a friend”.

“I never did such thing. You showed up one day and never left”.

Your giggle echoes across the empty street and Rin finds himself basking in your usual affection, something he’s well aware he hardly deserves.

It’s true, though. One day, back in high school, you were assigned to the same group project with two other classmates and that’s when the information of being in the same class in the first place was presented to him. You talked too much and smiled too often but when it came to doing actual work, you turned into a weirdly serious, responsible student. Instantly, too. Which would’ve been an interesting aspect of your personality, if he so much as cared.

You both ended up being the only two putting in real work to finish the project but the only thing Rin could think of was that he was relieved his perfect grades could stay perfect despite the dead weight. Except, you didn’t leave him alone ever since, apparently happy (always way too happy) to have found a new friend. He doesn’t remember how many times, throughout his high school years, he had to repeat that you two were not friends. Over and over again, the deterrent had failed miserably.

Rin has kinda made peace with your presence in his life by now, despite adulthood and your careers playing a significant role in keeping you apart, whenever he visits his hometown you’re there and whenever you happen to be where he is, you insist on seeing him. Stubborn as he’s always been, in his own mind Rin stands his ground that there’s nothing tragically wrong in allowing you to consider him your friend, still. There’s also nothing particularly dramatic in letting himself indulge in someone else’s obstinate fondness.

You’re a good person, he knows that much. Patient, generous, always the first to offer help and the last to ask for anything. You’re stupid. And gullible. Way too easy to take advantage of. It’s why he, to this day, still keeps an eye on you, walks you home in the middle of the night, doesn’t shut the door like he’d do with anyone else when you show up uninvited to his house. Sometimes he brings you something too, little mementos from his travels that hold no real meaning, despite the way your eyes shine with wonder when he begrudgingly hands them to you.

Rin knows you like him. Or at least you used to, so many years ago. He remembers hearing you confessing the secret to one of your closest friends. You never really told him, a good person but still too proud to give him the satisfaction of rejecting you, stood by his side when no one else would put up with his pissy attitude, always disregarding your feelings. Even when he had girlfriends you were there, feigning nonchalance. Stupid. He remembers how he immaturely tried to get you to admit it, shared petty details of his dates, told you he thought he was falling in love with other girls. Your smile barely faltered.

Why did you do that to yourself all that time, he still wonders. But then again he’d have to ask himself why his impatience, or rather lack of understanding, led him to kiss you when you were both visiting your families for the holidays, back from college.

Rin remembers the snow, the umbrella you were holding trying to clumsily cover him too. He remembers you were babbling some nonsense about how proud you were of him, of his career, the way you always knew he was destined to great things, his blue lock jersey still stored safely in the back of your closet. Rin remembers the way he took your face in his hands and pressed his lips to yours, dry and chapped from the cold. Was that truly the only way to get you to shut up? He doesn’t know. He just knows he didn’t expect you to take a step back, thank him for walking you home. The kiss was never mentioned again, the following day you acted like it never happened and he was glad he could carry on without the burden of weird expectations. Well, almost completely glad.

He didn’t kiss you because he liked you or desired something as unnecessary as a relationship, he’s sure of that. He just wanted to, in that moment. A stupid whim. And if the urge of shutting you up in the softest way has possessed him multiple times after that day and throughout the years, out of mere curiosity or simple convenience, he’s never really admitted it to himself. 

You showed up one day, never left, are still part of his life. It’s an axiom he’d never expect to change. Perhaps he finds some comfort in it.

“You really can’t hang out tomorrow? ”, you’re doing that thing you always do when you’re disappointed, furrowed brows over big eyes that are rapidly losing their usual glow as you blink a few times. He sighs.

“I really can’t”.

“How long are you in town for?”.

“A few days”, he pauses for a second, then decides to concede, “we’ll have plenty of time”.

The way your lips immediately curl into a sweet smile almost makes him crack one too. Rin also loves how you never change.

“Oooh, you wanna hang out with me so bad!”.

“Shut up”.

“We’ll have plenty of time! Because I’m your best friend in the whole, entire world!”.

“Now you’re really pushing it”.

You laugh again, something tender settling over your features. He once more recognizes the affection in your gaze and has to look away.

Rin has hated October 10 for as long as he can remember.

It wasn’t always like that, as a kid it was a special day he got to celebrate his favorite person on. His brother went from being his personal hero and best friend, to a stranger he couldn’t recognize, to an adult he tries to have a decent relationship with, now. Still, October 10 is a hassle. If Sae is in town, something he tries to do for their sake, their parents always insist on having a small birthday celebration at home.

His mother spends hours decorating the living room, orders a cake so big it would require at least ten additional guests, they have so many gifts ready and wrapped by the table. For the past few years, Rin has been getting his brother a gift too. Not exactly a peace offering but the promise of getting there, perhaps.

It infuriates him that Sae still acts perfectly normal around him, never hostile, indifferent at best. They barely talk to each other but Rin doesn’t want to spend his entire life seething, he doesn’t want for one single feeling to define him anymore. So he also accepts the birthday gifts his brother sends him on September 9.

It’s just a day, he mentally repeats, it will be over soon. But he doesn’t expect the doorbell to ring, everything has already been delivered and they didn't invite anyone.

Rin certainly doesn’t expect you, standing on his doorstep with a million dollar smile and clearly hiding something behind your back.

“What are you doing here?”, he’s frozen, in disbelief. You’re not supposed to be there.

“Surprise!”, you grin, “look what I finally found!”.

You’re suddenly holding something so close to his face he has to take a moment to focus to understand what he’s looking at. It’s a horror game, one he’s looked everywhere for because they don’t sell those anymore. Rin only mentioned it once but of course you mentally took note and conducted your own, personal research. It must’ve costed you a fortune. You’re such an idiot.

“It’s not a good time”, he takes a step back, hoping you’ll get the hint and do the same. Your smile falls.

“I know. I just wanted to drop this off. Here”, you hand him the neatly packed gift. Rin takes it, then meets your gaze for a second. He wants to say something, apologize, but you’ve already turned your back to him and are quickly granting his wish of being left alone. He asks himself how much patience you have left, how close you are to abandoning him and his asshole ways for good.

“Who are you?”.

Rin freezes a second time, the voice behind him so close and oddly interested. You stop in your tracks, whip around to look at someone who isn’t him. Something hard flashes across your features but it’s quickly whisked away when you offer one of your usual, polite smiles.

“No one, I was just passing by”.

Something inside Rin cracks. No one? You can hardly ever shut up about being his friend. 

Sae hums.

“You should come in. There’s extra cake”.

When their mom catches sight of you, she also invites you in and there’s really no turning back from that. You’re too well mannered, too acquainted with his family to refuse. So you indulge them.

From the kitchen, he observes something he never thought would (or should) happen. Sae, the most infuriatingly detached, impassive person on the planet, is sitting next to you on the couch, where you’re making polite conversation. He’s listening. Rin knows he’s listening because he keeps his eyes on you, stance relaxed. Who knows what nonsense you’re rambling about this time, unfinished cake in the paper plate balanced on your knees. He says something, you chuckle. Rin focuses on his own unfinished cake, suddenly nauseous.

All these years, this is the one thing he didn’t want to happen, you meeting his brother. It’s petty and childish and Rin isn’t even quite sure why the desire to keep you from him has burned ardently this entire time but the fact that his efforts have vanished in the space of one afternoon brings a strange weariness.

By the time you excuse yourself, his parents are begging you to stay over for dinner. You refuse, thank them, thank Sae the most and wish him the happiest birthday. He dismisses your formality with the vague wave of a hand, says he hopes to meet you again. You smile sweetly.

“There’s no need”.

Rin ignores your objection similarly to how you ignored him the entire afternoon, finishes buttoning up his coat instead. He always walks you home and today will be no exception.

The silence between you two is so uncharacteristic it irritates him, to the point of affliction. Are you that upset with him? Ah, the magic must’ve finally flickered out.

“So, how was it?”, he spitefully pushes, “meeting the legendary brother”.

You keep your gaze on the street.

“It was okay”.

Rin scoffs.

“Just okay? You two really hit it off”.

“He was kind to me”.

“I’m sure he was”.

You finally stop in your tracks to look at him.

“Just because we’re friends it doesn’t mean you get to be an asshole all the time, you know”.

Rin stops too, lips parted, breath condensating into a tiny cloud by his mouth. The serious look you’re fixing him with makes his shoulders slump ever so slightly.

“I’m sorry”, he murmurs. Your gaze softens and he hates it, how easy it is for you to cut him some slack.

“Can you tell me what’s really wrong, Rin?”.

He feels like throwing up.

“Nothing is wrong”.

You hum, pensive, take the time to kick a tiny rock with the tip of your boot.

“I really think you should give yourself some grace. You deserve some peace”.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”.

“It means you’re so focused on protecting yourself from imaginary threats, you can’t see”.

“See what?”.

You offer a sad smile.

“How bright you shine”.

Rin is so taken aback he doesn’t know what to say, surprise paralyzing his entire body. He hasn’t felt like this in a while, perhaps years. It’s not fair that you have access to such a vulnerable side of him, it’s not fair that he can suddenly sense a weird lump in his throat.

“I don’t shine-”, he spits the word out, disgusted.

You’re usually very careful about his boundaries, whether they’re a hoax or not. But this time? You do something you’ve never done before, roughly take his face in your cold hands to make sure he keeps his gaze on you instead of avoiding it like a coward.

“You shine, Rin. I’m so tired of you being the only one refusing to see it. You’re the most resilient, talented, hardworking person I know. You did good. But the challenge is over, there is no war anymore, you don’t have to persist in this stubborn seclusion”, your eyes are suddenly wet, tears precariously collecting in your lash line, “you get to rest, now. Please, be proud of yourself and rest. There’s nothing to be on your guard against”.

He doesn’t remember his heart ever squeezing as painfully in his chest before, the urge to take your face in his hands making the pads of his fingers itch. He doesn’t remember the last time he came so close to let a few tears fall.

He’s gonna take you too. Just like he takes everything from me.

The thought takes his breath away for a moment. He feels your thumb gently stroke his cheek.

“You’re the legendary brother to me, anyway”, you smile, then sniffle.

Has he split himself wide open for you or are you simply that good at reading him? Rin can feel his hands shake when they fist the fabric of your plush jacket.

“Why are you telling me this?”, he can barely recognize the desperation vibrating in his own voice, “why do you even put up with me?”.

You blink a few times, astonished. Then smile again, warm and bright like the sun. Oh, he doesn’t shine, you do.

“Because I love you, obviously”.

And Rin doesn’t have to ask, doesn’t have to wonder what you mean. He knows. He’s known all this time.

“Why did you never tell me?”.

“Because you wouldn’t have let me do it in peace”, you chuckle, “you don’t like me like that so you wouldn’t have let me love you. As if I needed something in return. As if loving you as a friend couldn’t possibly be enough, anyway”.

His fingers are hurting from how tightly he’s still fisting the fabric of your jacket. It feels like his insides are exploding with a million different emotions and he doesn’t have nearly enough time to interpret them. But does he really need that, after all? Time. He’s known you for so long. 

“Stop putting up a fight, silly”, you let go of his face but flick his forehead, to which he grimaces, surprised, “let me love you. I’m your best friend in the whole, entire world after all! Who cares about your stupid brother? No wait, that came out mean, I just meant I care more about you than-”

Rin’s sudden embrace is suffocating, you’re pressed against him so tightly you genuinely struggle taking a single breath. You don’t remember him ever hugging you, the most noteworthy intentional contact you can recall is his arm around your shoulders when you insisted on taking a cute selfie, once. Every other hug, you had always initiated. His arms were always loose around you, cautious, despite his forehead often resting on your shoulder.

His clothes smell nice. He smells nice. You close your eyes, bask in a warmth so strange yet familiar. You don’t think you’ll ever love someone the way you love him.

“You’re so stupid”, Rin murmurs against your neck. With a smile, you nuzzle your face further into his chest.

“So I’ve been told”.

He thinks his heart might be seconds away from slamming itself free from his ribcage.

“Can you tell me again?”.

“What, that I don’t care about your brother? Sure, fuck Itoshi Sae. Oh no, that was also way too mean, don’t tell him I said-”

Rin pulls away abruptly, hands kept on your shoulders to keep you there or maybe to steady himself. You shut your mouth, don’t comment damp cheeks dusted with pink. It may be the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen him.

“Not that, you idiot”, his pitch is gentle, with a hint of amusement. One of his hands cradles your cheek, thumb gently skimming over your lips.

“I love you”, it comes out less bold now, timid. Something melts in his chest all the same.

“Will you pretend it never happened, if I kiss you now?”.

Your exhale is shaky.

“No”.

All these years and this is the first time you’re seeing Itoshi Rin truly, openly smile. The sight does something funny to your stomach.

“Good”.

[shaiyasstuff]

just give me your forever | zayne

synopsis : Zayne has loved you, from the day he met you in high school when he was seventeen, all the way to the present where he finds that you are still the person he silently fell for through stolen glances in the hallway, and laughter between study sessions. content : FLUFF, zayne x non-mc!reader, non-cannon!au, just fluff, and fluff, and more fluff, maybe sprinkle of comedic elements.

It was a quiet winter night, the kind that made the city lights shimmer a little softer and the world feel a little slower.

You were walking ahead with your friends, bundled in your coat, laughter spilling from your lips like music carried by the cold wind.

You looked happy—unguarded, bright, alive.

He trailed behind his own group, just a few paces back, fresh from a dinner reunion with familiar faces from years past.

But it was you he saw—really saw—glowing beneath the streetlamp, laughter like delicate wind chimes, drawing something dormant in him to stir again.

“Hey,” his friend leaned in with a knowing grin, nudging his elbow. “Didn’t you used to have a massive crush on her back in high school?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, more in surprise than annoyance, but he masked it with a half-hearted glare.

“Relax,” his friend chuckled, raising both hands in mock surrender. “Just saying—she’s single now. If you ever thought about trying…”

He hesitated.

The idea lingered longer than he expected, curling around his ribs like warmth against the winter air.

But then he exhaled softly, almost wistfully. “She wouldn’t feel the same.”

His friend gave him a look, brow lifting. “Never try, never know.” He shrugged, casual as anything, then added with a sly smile, “Besides, pretty sure everyone knew she liked you too.”

That made him stop.

His eyes snapped to his friend, disbelief written all over his face.

His friend only laughed, clapping him on the back. “Why do you think she always ended up in your classes? Come on, man. You really never noticed?”

And suddenly, the past didn’t feel so distant anymore.

The way you’d glance his way when you thought he wasn’t looking.

The way you always sat just close enough.

The way you smiled like you were waiting for him to say something he never did.

He looked down, lips parted slightly, the cold forgotten as something warm flickered to life inside him.

Maybe, just maybe it hadn’t been one-sided after all.

His friend nudged him again—sharper this time, a not-so-subtle push that nearly sent him stumbling forward. “Go, before you regret it. She’s leaving for Switzerland soon.”

He froze. “She’s leaving?” The words came out too quickly, too startled.

His friend only shrugged, hands deep in his coat pockets. “Said something about studying.”

And just like that, the air around him shifted.

He didn’t think anymore.

Didn’t weigh the what-ifs or brace for rejection.

His legs moved before his heart could catch up.

He jogged toward you, each step punctuated by the sound of snow crunching beneath his boots and the echo of your laughter lingering in the cold.

He hesitated when he reached you, just for a moment, trying to decide how to say everything he’d left unsaid for years.

Then he reached out—lightly, carefully—and tapped your shoulder.

You turned, confusion flitting across your face at first. But then recognition sank in, softening your features.

Your lips curved.

“Zayne…” you said, voice tender, smile warmer than the night deserved.

His name had never sounded like that before. It slipped from your mouth like it belonged to you. Like maybe it always had.

“I—” he began, but the words tangled in his throat.

Your brows pulled together, concern rising in your eyes. “Is everything okay?”

He swallowed, gathering the courage that had always felt just out of reach. “I’d like to take you out, before you leave.”

The air held still between you.

Your eyes widened just a little. Behind you, your friends were trying, and failing miserably, to stifle their giggles, but you didn’t turn to them.

You were looking only at him.

“I…” A smile bloomed on your lips, hesitant, lovely. “Sure.”

He stared for a heartbeat longer, trying to commit the moment to memory—how the cold had flushed your cheeks, how the snow dusted your hair like stardust, how you looked like something out of a dream he used to have in high school.

“Then, I’ll see you next week,” he said, voice a little breathless, “at the café we used to study in.”

You laughed softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah, I’ll see you.”

And with that, you turned back to your friends, their laughter wrapping around yours as you walked off.

Just before you disappeared around the corner, you glanced over your shoulder and gave him one last smile—quiet, knowing, enough to make him feel like he was seventeen again.

“See, told you,” his friend’s voice rang out behind him, smug as ever.

Zayne didn’t even bother to look back.

He just shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips as he stared at the place where you’d been.

“She’s still breathtaking.” He mutters to himself.

—•

Saturday arrived slowly, each hour dragging like wet leaves on pavement. Zayne sat at the edge of his chair, thumb pressed to his lips in a nervous habit he hadn’t indulged in years.

His phone rested beside him on the table, the screen lighting up every so often—not with a message, not with your name, but with the time.

Mocking him.

He checked it again. Then again ten minutes later.

Just to make sure the date was right.

Just to reassure himself he hadn’t imagined the whole thing.

He exhaled hard through his nose, running a hand over his face.

This is ridiculous, he thought. You’re a surgeon. You perform open-heart operations. You speak at conferences. And now you’re here, pacing like a teenager waiting for a crush to call?

Still, the nerves didn’t ease.

Because this wasn’t just any Saturday.

It was the Saturday.

The one where, for once, he let himself believe in something fragile.

A second chance. A maybe.

The possibility of something that could’ve happened ten years ago if he had just reached out instead of staying silent.

Now he stood outside the café, the one that had once been filled with textbooks and quiet glances across coffee cups.

The wind was sharp, tugging at the edges of his coat, but he barely noticed.

His eyes swept the street again, slow and deliberate—though he wouldn’t admit how desperately he was searching for a glimpse of you.

He shifted his weight, glancing at his phone once more before slipping it back into his pocket.

The café buzzed quietly behind him, couples drifting in and out, laughter trailing through the door each time it opened.

Still no sign of you.

His heart thudded a little louder in his chest.

She wouldn’t have bailed… right?

As if right on cue, you appeared.

You crossed the street with a careful grace, your minidress peeking out beneath a coat that stopped just above your knees. Black leg warmers disappeared into winter boots, and a soft white scarf curled around your neck like a whispered promise of warmth. Snowflakes clung to your hair, glittering under the muted afternoon light.

And just like that—Zayne forgot how to breathe.

For a moment, the years folded in on themselves.

Gone was the surgeon, the calm professional, the man who spent his days in operating rooms and sterile halls.

In his place stood the boy who had once looked across a high school corridor and saw someone who made the world feel quieter, softer.

He stared, transfixed.

You hadn’t even noticed him yet, but his heart had already started racing, his thoughts scattered like pages caught in the wind.

It was like seeing you for the first time all over again.

“Hey!” you called out, your smile blooming the moment your eyes met his.

Zayne froze for half a second, breath catching as you jogged toward him with a kind of eager warmth that made the cold blur into nothing.

There was something so you about the way you moved—unthinking, open, like the world hadn’t ever taught you to hold back.

Your scarf trailed behind you, hair dancing in the breeze, cheeks kissed pink from the chill.

And as you drew closer, he felt it—the sudden, unmistakable pull in his chest.

You were radiant. Familiar.

A little different, a little older, but still you.

And in that moment, watching you rush toward him like you’d never hesitated, he felt seventeen again.

Awestruck.

Wordless.

Like you were the first girl he’d ever fallen for—because maybe you were.

You stopped just in front of him, cheeks flushed from the cold, smile still as dazzling as ever. It hit him like a wave—how little had changed, and yet how much more breathtaking you looked up close.

“Did you wait for long?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.

Zayne blinked, lips parted, but no words came out. He was too busy taking you in—the way your breath curled in the air, the sparkle in your eyes, the softness of your voice.

Everything about you felt surreal, like a memory he wasn’t ready for but never wanted to forget.

You squinted, amused, and waved your hand in front of his face. “Zayne?”

He startled slightly, blinking out of the haze.

“I—sorry,” he said, voice a little hoarse. “No, I just got here a while ago.”

You giggled, light and effortless—and somehow, it sounded like summer. Like sunlit afternoons and open windows in a classroom, the kind of laughter that once echoed down high school hallways and made him turn his head without thinking.

Even now, surrounded by snow and frost-kissed air, you brought warmth with you.

And Zayne swore he could feel it bloom in his chest.

He cleared his throat softly, trying to steady the storm inside him, and stepped forward to open the door to the café.

The warm scent of roasted coffee and something sweet drifted out into the cold, but it was nothing compared to the warmth you brought with you.

You smiled as you passed him, the corners of your eyes crinkling slightly. “Thanks,” you murmured, your voice quieter now, softer—just for him.

As you moved past, the faint scent of dandelions clung to the air around you. It hit him instantly—nostalgic, familiar.

The memory was immediate.

Golden fields, textbooks open under the sun, your laughter drifting through the breeze while you lay beside him, feet bare and hearts still untouched by time.

And just like that, he was undone again.

You both found a quiet corner by the window, the kind of seat that invited slow conversations and lingering glances.

The server took your orders—two coffees, something sweet to share—and drifted away, leaving you in the soft hum of the café’s warmth.

You shrugged off your coat and unwound your scarf, sighing contentedly as the heat settled into your bones.

The cold still clung to your cheeks, but your eyes were bright—twinkling like they used to when you’d catch him staring during study breaks under the sun.

You looked at him with that same familiar curiosity, the kind that made it feel like no time had passed at all.

“How’ve you been?” you asked, your voice light but sincere. “We didn’t get to talk much that night, did we?”

He swallowed, shifting in his seat slightly.

No, you hadn’t.

He’d been seated a few chairs down, close enough to hear your laughter but too far to do anything about the ache it brought.

The whole evening, he’d watched you—just like old times—while his friend tried, and again, failed to suppress his laughter beside him while he sat there in silent, wide-eyed longing.

Now, you were sitting right across from him.

And this time, you were looking back.

“Yes, you were having fun, I didn’t want to disturb,” he replied coolly, leaning back just slightly in his seat, fingers wrapped around the warmth of his cup.

His tone was steady, smooth—even casual—but inside, his heart was thudding loud enough to drown out the soft clatter of cutlery and quiet music around them. You smiled at him, clearly unconvinced by the calm exterior he wore like a tailored suit.

There was a glint in your eyes now, teasing and familiar, like you could hear the truth behind the quiet restraint in his voice.

“I heard you went to medical school right after we graduated,” you said, your fingers wrapping around your cup as the waitress gently placed your orders down in front of you. You gave a polite thank you, then turned your full attention back to him.

Zayne nodded, lifting his coffee, using the motion to buy himself a second of composure. “Yeah,” he said, eyes meeting yours over the rim of the cup. “Didn’t leave much room for anything else.”

There was a quiet weight to the words—one he didn’t mean to let slip. But with you, it felt impossible to hide behind half-truths and polite smiles.

Especially when you looked at him like that.

Like you saw him.

Like maybe you always had.

You nodded, a soft, understanding expression settling over your features.

“I’m heading to Switzerland to finish my nursing course,” you said, your voice gentle, but steady.

Then you smiled—small, almost shy, but proud too. It lit up your face in that quiet way he remembered. A smile not meant to dazzle, but to share something of yourself.

Zayne stared for a beat too long, something warm tugging at the edges of his chest.

Of course you were still the kind of person who wanted to care for others.

Of course you were still chasing something meaningful.

“When you come back, maybe I’ll recommend you to my hospital,” he said—too quickly, too eagerly. The words tumbled out before he could rein them in.

His eyes flicked away for the briefest second, as if embarrassed by the suddenness of it, the way it betrayed how much he wanted you to come back. Not just to the country.

To him.

But you only laughed, soft and surprised, a smile curling at your lips as you tilted your head.

“Is that your way of saying you want me to come back?” you teased gently, eyes glinting with mischief.

Zayne let out a quiet breath of a laugh, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. “Maybe,” he murmured. “Maybe it is.”

You laughed, the sound warmer now, bubbling up as if his words had stirred something soft in you.

“Well, thank you,” you said between small chuckles, eyes crinkling with amusement. “For the recommendation.”

Zayne smiled—really smiled this time—unable to look away. You always did that. Took the tension right out of the air, replaced it with something lighter, something brighter.

And just for a moment, sitting there with you in that quiet café, he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like if this wasn’t temporary. If you weren’t leaving. If this was only the beginning.

“When are you leaving?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost hesitant.

You took a sip of your coffee, then hummed thoughtfully. “Hmm… in about a month.”

A month.

Zayne nodded slowly, trying to mask the way that timeframe settled in his chest like a ticking clock. Thirty days. Four weekends. Not long—but maybe long enough.

Long enough to see you again.

Long enough to try.

Long enough to wonder what might happen if you stayed.

Then—almost too eagerly, before he could stop himself—he leaned in just slightly, the words escaping like a breath he’d been holding too long.

“Would you mind if…”

His eyes searched yours, hopeful, unsure.

“…if I spent your remaining time?”

The moment hung between you, suspended in the quiet hum of the café. He looked at you not as the boy from ten years ago, but as the man who had waited too long to say something, hoping it still wasn’t too late.

Your fingers paused around your cup, and for a second, you just looked at him—really looked at him.

And then you smiled.

When you nodded, that smile still playing gently on your lips, you said, “I’d love that.”

Simple. Sincere. No hesitation.

And just like that, Zayne felt his heart soar—swift and sudden, like something inside him had finally broken free.

The noise of the café faded into the background.

All he could see was you.

All he could hear was those three quiet words echoing through his chest, anchoring him in something that felt dangerously close to hope.

The conversation drifted easily between you, weaving through memories of awkward high school presentations, cafeteria disasters, and long-forgotten inside jokes.

You were laughing—really laughing—head tilted back slightly, your eyes glowing with nostalgia.

Zayne listened, adding in a comment here and there, but mostly he just watched you.

The way your expressions shifted with every story, how your hands moved animatedly when you got excited, how your smile lingered even in the quiet moments between words.

He sat there, a soft smile tugging at his lips, his coffee long forgotten.

To anyone else, he might’ve seemed distant—but inside, he was entirely present, caught in the gentle pull of a memory made real.

You were here, across from him.

Laughing like you used to. Smiling like maybe, just maybe, you still remembered the boy who had once loved you in silence.

—•

He walked you home afterward, the two of you moving slowly through the quiet streets, the snow crunching softly beneath your feet.

The sky was painted in hues of gold and rose, the last light of day casting a warm, mellow glow over the world. It wasn’t cold enough to rush, and neither of you wanted to. The sunset stretched the moment out, like time itself was taking a breath.

You walked close, shoulders occasionally brushing, boots leaving twin trails behind you.

There was something tender in the silence between words, something that didn’t need to be filled.

The city was hushed beneath the falling dusk, and Zayne found himself stealing glances at you—how the fading sunlight kissed your skin, how your eyes caught the glow, how your smile still lingered even without a word spoken.

He didn’t want the walk to end.

Didn’t want this to end.

So when you reached your apartment and turned to him with that soft, familiar smile—one corner of your mouth tilted just so—and said, “Do you want to come in for a bit?”

Zayne felt his heart skip.

He nodded, carefully, calmly. “Sure.” His voice was steady, but the spark in his eyes betrayed him.

Internally, though? He was a storm of quiet excitement, doing everything he could to keep it from showing on his face. Because even though he was older now—composed, polished, practiced—somehow, with you, it still felt like the first time.

And the thought of one more moment with you—just one—was enough to make the world feel a little more alive.

He stepped inside, the warmth of your apartment wrapping around him instantly. It smelled faintly of vanilla and something floral—something soft.

Something you.

His eyes roamed the space slowly, taking it all in. The cozy scatter of books on the coffee table, the plants thriving by the window, the mismatched throw pillows, the delicate string lights draped along the wall.

It was intimate, lived-in, quiet in the way a safe place should be.

So undeniably you.

His lips tugged into a small, almost wistful smile as a memory flickered to life—your younger self, hands waving excitedly in the air, eyes sparkling as you told him about your dream home.

“I’m going to have a window seat, right there,” you’d said once, pointing to nothing in particular. “Lots of books, soft lights, a kettle always on. It’ll feel like peace.”

And looking around now, he could see it. You’d done it. You’d built it.

“You really got it done,” he said softly, still smiling. “Just like you always said you would.”

You smiled at him from behind the kitchen counter, your fingers tugging off your gloves, then unwrapping the scarf from around your neck. The setting sun filtered through the window behind you, casting a golden halo around your figure.

“Yep,” you said, with a proud little grin. “Took me a while, but months of savings can be miracles.”

Zayne watched you, a flicker of admiration softening his gaze. There was something deeply endearing in your honesty—in the way you didn’t boast, just quietly celebrated what you built with your own two hands.

He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed loosely, and murmured, “Worth every second, I’d say.”

And he wasn’t just talking about the apartment.

Later, with tea warming your hands and the quiet of the apartment settling around you, the two of you drifted to the couch. You sat close, but not quite close enough to touch—just enough space to feel the gravity pulling softly between you.

The window let in the last traces of sunset, casting long shadows across the floor. You spoke here and there, laughter low, voices softer now, like the world had grown too still for anything loud.

Zayne stared into his cup for a moment, then glanced at you, something shifting in his expression. A memory had crept in—one he hadn’t thought about in years.

You, outside the school building, shoulders curled in, your body shaking while your friend held you tightly. He hadn’t known what to do then. He’d stood frozen, heart caught in his throat, wishing he had the courage to go to you.

His voice was quiet when he finally spoke.

“What happened that day?” he asked.

You blinked, the question catching you off guard—not invasive, just gentle. Honest. A piece of a past he never got to understand.

He wasn’t asking out of curiosity.

He was asking because, even now, he still cared.

You gave a sheepish little smile, eyes lowering to your tea. “It was nothing… I was so young.”

Zayne watched you, quiet, patient—he could tell it wasn’t nothing, not to you, not back then.

You turned to him gently, your voice softer now, laced with a quiet kind of nostalgia. “The guy I had a crush on didn’t like me back. Or… so I thought.”

Your gaze drifted then, not quite meeting his, as if the memory still held a weight you hadn’t fully let go of.

There was something knowing in the way your voice trailed, something that brushed the edge of truth—and left it hanging delicately between you.

Zayne’s breath caught, just a little.

And for the first time, he wondered if all those years ago, you had been crying for him.

You let out a quiet chuckle, the sound wistful. “Thinking back,” you said, swirling the tea in your cup, “maybe if I were a little bit braver, I would’ve told him.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and this time, they didn’t waver. There was a quiet intensity behind them, a softness laced with something unspoken—as though the words you didn’t say carried more weight than the ones you did.

It wasn’t just a memory.

It was a question.

One you didn’t ask aloud, but Zayne could feel it—settling between you like the final piece of a puzzle long forgotten.

And for a moment, the air between you shifted—gentle, expectant, and full of things that had never been said.

His brows knit together slightly, subtle but unmistakable. Not in confusion—more like hesitation, like the weight of your words had landed somewhere he wasn’t expecting.

Zayne looked at you, really looked, as if searching your face for some kind of confirmation. His fingers tightened slightly around the mug in his hands, the warmth grounding him while his thoughts spun in quiet circles.

He didn’t speak right away.

There was something vulnerable in your voice, in your gaze, and he could feel it—how close the truth was now, how easily everything could shift with just a few words.

But instead, he just sat there, caught in the stillness of the moment, not quite ready to let it fall one way or the other.

Soon, the conversation shifted—naturally, gently—drifting toward lighter things. You both let it, neither of you acknowledging the delicate line you’d just tiptoed along.

The moment settled into the quiet like snow on branches, untouched but felt.

Eventually, Zayne glanced at the clock, his expression tightening just slightly.

“I should head out,” he said, his voice low, reluctant. “It’s getting late.”

You nodded, trying not to show your disappointment. “Of course. Long day tomorrow?”

He gave a small smile, standing and slipping his coat back on. “Always.”

But as he looked at you—framed in warm light, tea still cradled in your hands—he wondered if maybe, just maybe, he was leaving with more than he came with. And a part of him already missed the quiet between you.

You waved lightly as he left the apartment.

A small smile played at your lips at the encounter.

—•

The next weekend came quicker than expected, and as promised, Zayne took you out again. This time, it was to a bookstore tucked between a flower shop and a tiny café—one you had once mentioned in passing, your voice laced with quiet excitement.

He remembered. Of course he did.

The sky was overcast, the kind of gray that made colors pop, and the faint chill in the air gave the moment a kind of softness, like the world had slowed just for the two of you.

When you arrived, your eyes lit up the way he hoped they would.

The storefront was quaint, lined with old wooden shelves visible through the window, books stacked in uneven towers like little secrets waiting to be found.

“You remembered,” you said, turning to him with a smile that made his chest tighten.

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but the way his lips curved betrayed him. “Of course I did.”

And as the bell above the door chimed and you both stepped inside, it felt less like a second outing—and more like the start of something.

He bought you your favorite books without hesitation, slipping them onto the counter before you could protest. You turned to him with wide eyes, a mix of surprise and delight lighting up your face.

“Zayne,” you said, laughing, “you didn’t have to—”

But he was already smiling, that rare, quiet kind of smile—the one that softened all his sharp edges.

“I know,” he said simply, watching the way your fingers clutched the bag to your chest, like it was something precious.

You thanked him excitedly, almost shyly, and he couldn’t help but admire how something as small as a book could light you up so effortlessly.

Then the two of you stepped out onto the sidewalk, the cold brushing gently against your cheeks, but neither of you seemed to notice.

The world around you moved on, busy and distant, while the two of you fell into a familiar silence—one that didn’t need to be filled.

Just walking side by side, hearts a little fuller than before.

“Y/N,” he said suddenly, your name slipping from his lips with a quiet urgency.

His footsteps slowed, and instinctively, so did yours. You turned to look at him, mid-sentence—something about love, marriage, the kind of life you wanted someday.

But the way he said your name—it stilled everything.

There was a shift in the air, subtle but undeniable. A sudden surge of confidence burned in Zayne’s chest, unexpected and unshakable.

Maybe it was the way you looked at him, eyes so open, so trusting.

Maybe it was the fading light casting soft gold along your cheek.

Or maybe it was simply that he’d waited too long already.

You blinked up at him, curious. “Yeah?”

He hesitated only for a moment—just long enough to remember the weight of every word he didn’t say back then.

“I’d like to be that person,” he breathes, the words soft, almost carried away by the wind.

He steps closer—slowly, deliberately—until you’re just a breath apart. His eyes meet yours then, fully, without hesitation, and for the first time in a long time, he isn’t hiding behind silence or timing or fear.

“That person who loves you like in the books,” he adds, voice barely above a whisper, but certain. His smile is small, gentle, and achingly sincere—like he’s offering you something sacred.

Not a confession.

A promise.

Your lips lifted into a gentle, almost bashful smile, eyes softening as you looked at him—truly looked at him.

A breath of laughter escaped you as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture tender, almost instinctive.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment for too long,” you said, voice quiet but steady, laced with something real—something that had waited years to be spoken aloud.

And just like that, Zayne felt the world shift around him. The past, the waiting, the almosts… all folding into this. Into now.

He reached out, slowly, and took your hand in his—his touch warm, steady, reverent. His thumb brushed over your knuckles like he was grounding himself in the moment, in you.

“I want you to know,” he began, voice low and earnest, “I’ll always be there, right by your side.”

You looked up at him, eyes wide, breath caught somewhere between surprise and something far deeper.

“I want to be the person who kneels before you,” he continued, stepping just a little closer, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly.

“And whisper confessions and words of comfort,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper now—raw, sincere, every word a piece of his heart laid bare.

Like he wasn’t just speaking of love.

He was offering it.

“I know you’re going away soon,” he said, the words catching slightly in his throat.

He paused, looking at you—really looking—eyes searching yours for something steady to hold onto. Then he took a breath, quiet but certain, like he was anchoring himself in this one fragile truth.

“But as long as you promise me… forever,” his voice softened, thick with feeling,

“I’ll wait for you.”

There was no desperation in it, no demand—just devotion. A quiet vow offered beneath a winter sky, his heart in your hands, and not a single part of him afraid.

You smiled—softly, slowly—like the weight of his words had settled into your chest and made something warm bloom there.

Your eyes never left his as you gave the smallest of nods, but it said everything.

“I’d love that very much,” you whispered, voice laced with emotion, steady and sure.

And in that moment, with your hand in his and the promise of forever hanging gently between you, time seemed to pause—just long enough for two hearts to find their way back to where they’d always belonged.

—•

The day of your departure arrived, quiet and gray, the kind of morning that felt suspended in time.

Zayne stood at the airport, just beyond the glass, watching as you disappeared slowly into the terminal. His hand lifted in a small wave—soft, a little sad—but steady.

His eyes didn’t leave you, not even as the crowd began to swallow you whole.

The final weekends had been filled with everything but goodbyes. The two of you had spent them in laughter and stillness—racing each other at the arcade, sprawled across your living room floor with board games half-finished, sharing stories under the dim light of late evening.

There were no heavy words, no teary promises. Just presence. Just you and him, savoring what you had before the flight, before the months apart.

And now, as he stood there, alone but not lonely, Zayne didn’t feel fear.

He felt sure.

Because you had smiled and said “I’ll come back,”

And he knew—without doubt or hesitation.

That you would.

masterlist

[emeraldspiral]

So another interesting thing about Jane Eyre is its take on relationship inequality.

Like, Jane is 18 at the beginning of the story and Rochester is said to be something like 35-38. And it's not casually brushed aside like that was normal back in the day. It wasn't. Concerns about the age gap are raised within the text. But the story emphasizes that Jane feels comfortable accepting Rochester's proposal, despite the age difference, the class difference, and him being her boss, because Jane feels that Rochester regards her as an equal. When they converse, Jane doesn't feel any tension, like she has to impress him or try to read his mind and say whatever he wants to hear. She feels that he respects her and values her thoughts and isn't compelled to use his power against her if she says something to displease him. Around the midpoint of the story, Jane believes that Rochester is going to marry another woman, and resolves to leave because she's heartbroken, believing that because she is poor and plain Rochester can't possibly be as hurt by their parting as she is, and he'll forget her and move on long before she does. But it turns out to be the opposite. After finding out about Bertha, Rochester begs Jane to stay and insists he'll be miserable forever without her, while Jane, still thinking she's too poor and plain to ever attract someone like him again, resists all temptation and leaves him. And she does this specifically because she feels that if she were to compromise her morals and self-respect to be Mr. Rochester's mistress, then he would lose respect for her and the relationship would fall apart. It was only by maintaining her integrity that the relationship could stay in-tact when the reconciled at the end.

St. John Rivers on the other hand, I don't think is given a definite age, but I think he's intended to be a much younger man, probably in his early 20s. He is poor and without relations aside from his sisters or any other connections, just as Jane. Jane finds out they're actually cousins at the same time she learns she's come into a vast fortune that was willed to her rather than the Rivers, but decides to share her fortune equally with them. So she arguably had more social capital, even though she made an effort to put St. John on equal footing with her, because the money was hers by right and she could've presumably cut him off at any time, just as easily as Rochester could've terminated Jane from her job.

And yet, Jane's relationship with St. John is vastly more unequal than her relationship with Rochester. Even though Jane practically worshiped Rochester but only cares for St. John as a brother and is acutely aware of his faults, she still finds herself desperately craving his approval in a way she never did with Rochester. And St. John is willing to exploit that intentionally. He asks her to do things she doesn't want to and make sacrifices for him just because he knows she'll do anything to please him, and that's why he thinks she's the perfect wife for him. Where Rochester tries to explain himself and persuade Jane not to leave him by addressing her concerns, St. John basically tries to command Jane to marry him and refuses to accept her "no" as final. He withholds affection from Jane as a tactic to get her to compromise in order to reconcile with him when he's the one who should be apologizing to her and considering her needs and not just his own. Jane knows that she can't ever be happy with him because he doesn't respect her and his lack of respect only makes her want to seek his approval, which he is all too happy to exploit for his own benefit.

But Jane ultimately stays firm and rejects St. John's proposal of a loveless marriage, just as she rejected Rochester's proposal of an unlawful marriage, because both situations were doomed to fail if she didn't put her own self-respect first.

So this novel from 1847 was really saying that power dynamics aren't pure black and white. Age and class and wealth and status can be a factor in making a relationship unequal, but you can also be equal on pretty much all social axis and still have inequality in a relationship. What's really important is that there's mutual respect.

[kiszjuli]

↳ trust me the way i trust you .ᐟ n.jm

(재민) ; childhoodbestfriend!jaemin x afab!reader

──in which you and your lifelong best friend have one of your traditional sleepovers, yet something about you two is different this time. he’s more clingy, you’re more bold..it’s just simple bantering..what could go wrong? oh yeah, and you have an immense crush on jaemin but he doesn’t feel the same- you think.

genre. fluff. (kinda) college au. best friends to lovers ; tags. just mc is a little frustrating lmao bare with her. jaem is a total flirt. calls reader love. somewhat unrealistic lowk. ; w.c. 4.6k

jaemin, your best friend, was over at your house for your monthly sleepover. you had been friends for as long as you could remember. your parents had told you years back that you two originally met at the park and immediately became attached at the hip. everyday since then you two were seen together. he was your best friend. you went to him about anything and everything, as he did, you.

since you had known each other so long and your families had grown close, they let you have sleepovers as of about 2 years ago. during these sleepovers, you would always start with a movie, having your quirky traditions of rating the movie afterwards and voicing your comments and opinions as if you were professional reviewers.

then you would move on to something else as your attention span had grown shorter. usually you guys would go for a walk, or try to learn some random choreography, or even just talk.

this time around was no different; you were both upstairs on your bed. you, sitting crisscrossed typing away on your laptop, and him laid out diagonally on his side facing you scrolling on his phone.

every now and then you would look up from your screen and see him looking down at his phone, seeing the light illuminate his handsome face.

oh yeah, you also had an excruciatingly huge crush on jaemin.

it started back when you were in 5th grade and he stood up for you from boys teasing you at recess. there was something about it that made you see him in a different light ever since that day (now being a sophomore in college) but you would never tell him. you liked what you had with him; it was something not everyone got the chance to have.

breaking you from your pause in typing, your mind having wandered, you hear his phone it the bed and a frustrated groan from him.

you looked up questioningly.

"could you please give your attention to me now?" he sat up and scooted next to you looking over your shoulder to your laptop. he leaned his head on your shoulder, causing your heart to twinge with affection. he had always been comfortable being affectionate with you which only made it increasingly harder to conceal your feelings all these years.

you grinned at ahis pouty tone.

“you sound like a child,” you said and tried to focus on your laptop again.

you heard him scoff next to your ear. "even still, you've been on there long enough," he countered. he shifted his head and rested his chin on your shoulder now. jaemin glanced at your screen seeing a bunch of words typed that he didn't care to read.

"just let me get this done, it's for school, and right now is the only time i have the tiniest bit of motivation," you groaned yourself, knowing that you really didn't want to do it either.

jaemin raised a brow at your words. "is it really that important that you can't even spare a minute to talk to your favorite person?" he said as he slowly shifted closer trying to get comfortable. he didn't really care if you were trying to focus or not.

you sighed. "just 10 more minutes, then my attention is all yours, okay?"

he let out an overdramatic groan before reluctantly leaning away. "fine. 10 minutes, that's it," he pointed a finger at you. he watched as you went back to typing, trying to focus and understand what you were doing, but failing miserably. his main focus was on the digital clock in the corner of your laptop watching as the minutes slowly passed by.

soon enough, the promised 10 minutes passed by and he spoke up. "finally," he sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "times up, now your attention is all mine," he smiled like a kid.

you sighed as well and stretched your back. "yeah, yeah." you brushed off and glanced on him. seeing the way his brunette hair fell so perfectly over his eyebrows, you looked away.

shutting your laptop, you put it on your small nightstand, while he moved to sit in front of you mirroring your position.

"at least now i don't have to share your attention with a damn laptop," he grumbled, causing a laugh from you.

"since you wanted it so bad, now you finally have it," you teased smiling at him.

"alright, you make it sound like i was begging," he scrunched his face.

"weren't you?" you asked. you both always enjoyed the playful banter between you guys. there was almost never a day where you didn't.

he thought for a moment. "okay, and your point?"

you shook your head with a content smile before moving to get off your bed.

"where are you going?" he asked sounding almost fearful of your leaving.

"to the kitchen, jaem, i'm hungry," you said motioning to the door of your room.

"you would rather go get food, than be with me? i'm hurt," he said in a dramatic tone, putting a hand to his heart.

you rolled your eyes and started to walk out of your room, "i'll be back in a minute,"

he watched you walk away until you couldn't be seen anymore and leaned back on your bed. laying on his back he waited (im)patiently.

while you were in the kitchen, your parents told you they were going out to see some friends over dinner, and would be back around 10pm. saying goodbye, you took your plate of snacks back up to your room.

by the time you returned, jaemin had flipped over on his stomach with his feet hanging off the bed. you smiled at the sight, seeing his face squished against a pillow. moving towards the bed, you set the plate down and climbed onto the bed sitting over his legs.

him not reacting, prompted you to scoot up further and sit over his butt, with your hands on his back lightly. this is what made him speak.

he lifted his head to look back at you and rolled his eyes, yet making no effort to move you off. he secretly enjoyed the way you were sitting on him all casually. "𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 are you doing?" he asked feeling your weight on his butt.

"sitting? what are you doing?" you asked with a slight smile, playing coy.

jaemin rolled his eyes again, shifting a little to get comfortable under you. "do you not realize that you're heavy? if you were anyone else, i would've complained and made you get off,"

you raise a brow. "i am not heavy," you say hitting his back.

he let out a pronounced 'ow!' then looked back at you through the corner of his eye. "don't hit me! and you are heavy, especially for my poor back," he whined in a mock-suffering tone.

"maybe you're just weak," you said shrugging and slightly rubbed his back instinctively.

he perked up at this. "i am definitely 𝘯𝘰𝘵 weak," he argued suddenly getting an idea. was it a good one? maybe not but he'd figured he'd risk it anyway. somehow, he managed to swiftly roll over onto his back, keeping you up right. the movement catching you by surprise as you now sat straddling his lap. he hands casually going to your hips, keeping you stable.

"i think you forgot who the stronger one was, love," he smirked up at you, as you stared with a dumbfounded look back at him.

you decided to keep your cool as best you could. 'whatever," you brushed off before reached to the table to get your plate. you assumed he thought you were trying to get off, as his hands tightened slightly on your hips.

you leaned back how you were, missing the way his face contorted a little at the movement. placing the plate on his stomach, not wanting to hold it, he speaks up.

"admit it, you weren't expecting that were you?" he continued to smirk up at you.

"no, i wasn't," you admitted, but your expression not faltering.

he watches intently as you start to eat some of your snacks, as if you were sitting at the kitchen table.

"you know you really have no idea what you do to me sometimes," he trailed taking in your details. your shorts, which had ridden up due to the way you were seated, your hair that was in what you called your 'signature style', and the way you seemed so unbothered.

"what are you talking about?" you question keeping your eyes on the plate, not daring to look at his eyes in fear of heat rushing to your cheeks. even you couldn't believe how calm you seemed on the outside, compared to your heart that was currently racing.

he chuckled at your obliviousness, his hands fighting the urge to move to your thighs.

"you're sitting on top of me right now, looking like that, eating food, and you're still gonna ask me that question?" he questioned with a slight hint of disbelief in his tone. he tried his best not to let his eyes roam over your body.

you think his words made it all actually click. the fact that you straddling your best friend's lap right now finally making you realize the situation. usually being something a couple would do you pursed your lips. "well you seem perfectly fine," you deflected.

he watched as the realization sunk into your face and scoffed at your words. "i look perfectly fine to you?" he chuckled glancing at the plate conveniently on his stomach for you.

looking down, you noticed the slight difference in his eyes. choosing to ignore it, you spoke again. "yeah, you look like normal jaemin to me," you shrugged.

he snickered. "well thanks for letting me know i look like myself," he said sarcastically before moving his hands up just slightly, almost as if to test the waters.

"always here for you," you smiled. you felt his fingers move, trying to ignore it. feeling his touch there was not something you weren't used to, yet it was different this time. which again wasn't something friends did.

jaemin chuckled at your words, his thumbs still gently caressing your clothed skin. "when did you become so snarky, hm?" before you could come up with a rebuttal, he spoke up again. "you know, best friends don't usually sit on each other like this, right?" almost like he read your mind you paused.

"i'm aware, which is why when i'm done eating, i'm getting off," you said, as if it made the situation any better. and to be fair, he was the one that put you two in that position.

smiling at your response, he raised a brow. "and what's stopping you from getting off right now, if you're so aware of our situation?" he teased, his hands tightening on your hips slightly.

you motioned to the plate that was still on his stomach. "i'm eating, duh,"

laughing at your casual attitude and excuse, jaemin kept his eyes on your face.

"most people also don't eat sprawled out on top of their best friend?' he kept his tone light and teasing, finding the whole thing amusing. he definitely wasn't complaining about the slightly intimate situation you were in.

once again shrugging you glanced at him. "since it seems to bother you so much, why haven't you told me to get off?" you raised a brow.

jaemin looked back up at you, a slight smirk playing on his lips as he replied. "who said it bothers me? i was simply pointing out the regular best friends sit," he shrugged in return. though, his thumbs still stroking your hips, betrayed his more innocent words.

you paused thinking for a minute. "if you think about it...a lot of things we do, other best friends- probably don't," you trailed thinking of the countless other times you two could've appeared like a couple.

he chuckled, nodded in agreement. "yeah, you're right.. we're almost too comfortable with each other for 'just best friends'," he said, knowing in his mind that he didn't mind.

you spoke up quieter this time. "maybe we should...change that," you said, almsot done with your assorted plate of snacks.

raising a brow in curiosity, as he spoke. "change what, exactly?"

"the way we act, idiot. what else?" you glared playfully.

"you're awfully sassy for someone who's sitting on top of me, you know that right?" he said with a small smirk, his fingers tracing little shapes on your hips.

seeing you only shrug in response he speaks again. "you're so casual...acting like it's the most normal thing in the world to sit on your best friend,"

"you're casual too," you pointed out, locking your eyes on his. "letting your best friend sit on top of you like this,"

"touche," he narrows his eyes.

looking back down at your plate, you give him the last of your snack, him opening his mouth to take it from you. (again something a little too intimate for people that weren't a couple)

"that felt awfully intimate, too...almost a couple like thing?" he added with a playful hint in his tone. he knew that he silently enjoyed that too, though.

you laughed lightly. "we just cross all kinds of boundaries, don't we?" you asked while picking up the plate from his stomach and setting it aside. as you were done, you reluctantly started to lift off him.

jaemin's hands gripped your hips a little tighter, silently telling you not to get up.

"you don't have to get up just yet, you know..." he trailed.

"don't i?" you asked, however, stopping your movements.

"he shook his head no. "not really, no. i don't mind, love," he said with a smug look on his face.

"you should," you countered, but nonetheless, sitting back how you were.

jaemin, chuckling at your response, moved his hands up a little to rest on the area just below your shirt. "why should i? you were perfectly comfortable where you were,"

you rested your hands on his stomach, which you noted that was quite toned. "it should bother the both of us actually...friends don't do this, not even the close ones like us," you somewhat rambled.

he smiled at your slight denial. "you're right," he paused. "but then again, we haven't ever really been a normal pair of best friend's have we?"

you tilted your head. "what do you mean?"

jaemin held a soft smile o his face as he spoke. "well, we're extremely close, to the point we don't mind being physical with each other like this, i could go on," he squeezed your hips a little before continuing. "we both know that we act more like a couple than just friends,"

"hm," you hummed before looking down, and picked at a piece of lint on his t shirt. now lost in thought, you don't hear him until he squeezed your hip. "what's going on in that pretty mind of yours?" he asked, his usual tender yet slightly flirty tone present.

"nothing really...it's just- it's nothing," you said keeping your eyes down. your conflict evident in your words.

watching you for a moment, he took in your expression. "well then it's obviously something. c'mon, talk to me," he urged, gently coaxing you into telling him what it was.

pursing your lips, you looked back to his eyes, thinking for a moment. "well, like...hypothetically, i was just wondering if...like- if this is how it would be if we were a couple...or dating,' you revealed, struggling to find your words. "that's all,"

he was intrigued, yet surprised to say the least. a small smile hanging on his lips, he asked, "and what was the conclusion of your 'hypothetical' wondering?"

smiling a little yourself you looked up at him again. "i didn't get that far,"

"well, if we were a couple, would you be sitting on top of me like this?" he asked wanting to continue the thought.

after a moment of quiet, you spoke softly. "probably...would you let me sit here if we were together?"

he smirked thinking about your question. "yes, of course i would. as often as you want. you wouldn't even have to ask, honestly." his words making your stomach flip. you couldn't believe you were having this conversation right now, much less while sitting on his lap.

you laughed and thought looking up. "let's see, what else?"

chuckling along with you, jaemin thought too. "well, for starters, i'd hold you like this even more...and touch you whenever i wanted to,"

rolling your eyes you spoke. "you do that anyway,"

he chuckled at your reaction. 'true, but it would be different with you as my girl rather than my best friend," his thumbs still continuing to trace small circles on your skin.

you felt your heart flutter at the mention of being his girl., even if it was hypothetical. "hm," you hummed and straightened your back, sitting up a little.

"you were imagining yourself as my girlfriend, weren't you? you liked the sound of that?" he teased, catching on to your reaction.

you scoff and countered him. "obviously, i had to with what we're talking about right now,"

chuckling, jaemin knew you were deflecting from the truth. "oh c'mon, don't deny it, you know you liked hearing yourself being referred to as my girl,"

"you're full of yourself," you teased, fighting the flush you felt rising in your cheeks.

he laughed along with you before teasing again. "can you blame me when i have a pretty girl sitting on top of me?" he was shamelessly flirting at this point.

"shut up, and stop flirting," you point.

jaemin shook his head with a smile. "no i don't think i will. not when i have you all flustered right now from that flirting,"

"oh, so you admit you are flirting?" you asked raising your brow.

"of course i am, that's what i do," he admitted. there was a short silence before he spoke again eyeing you closely. "i want you to admit something too, though"

you felt your heart beating a little faster. 'okay.." you narrowed your eyes. "then i'm gonna put my plate up,"

he nodded once before speaking. "alright, answer this then: do you like the thought of being my girlfriend? hypothetically speaking, of course," he asked looking up at you.

you looked to the side already knowing your answer but trying to find a way around admitting you liked it, even not hypothetically. "i don't particularly mind it, no,"

smiling warmly, jaemin caught on to your attempt to down play your answer. "yeah? i think you like it more than you'd like to admit," his fingers pausing then slowly tracing along the skin of your thighs. the feeling making you breathe in.

you shrugged. 'maybe i do, but it doesn't matter because it's all hypothetical," you smiled sarcastically and quickly got up from his lap before he had the chance to keep you there.

"wait-" he called and grabbed your wrist just as soon you stood up from the bed. you turned back to him, with the plate in your other hand. "why can't it be real? not hypothetical, but real. us dating," he asked searching your face.

'jaem, are you crazy? it's me, you don't wanna date," you laughed brushing it off. you didn't know why but you couldn't accept the idea that maybe your crush on your best friend wasn't so one-sided.

you moved out of his grip and started out of your room down the hall.

jaemin's expression faltered a little as he got off the bed to follow you. "why wouldn't i wanna date you? you're my best fried. i know you better than anyone. and not to mention, you're incredibly attractive-"

"we're not having this conversation," you cut him off, as you walked down hall to the staircase. jaemin followed close behind, determined to talk about this. he caught up to you as you made it down the stairs into the kitchen. "yes we are. why are you so against the idea of us dating? i don't understand." he crossed his arms.

putting your plate in the dishwasher you spoke. 'because we're best friends," you said before standing back up straight and looking at him across the counter.

jaemin let out a frustrated sigh, his expression still firm. "that's not a valid reason. why does that have to get in the way of us being together? we're already so close and comfortable with each other," he paused walking around the counter to you. " plus, think about it, wouldn't being best friends make it better? we already know each other so well, so that gives us a strong foundation to build from," he explained.

you sighed. "it's...what if it didn't work out? i don't want that to be the reason i lose you...our friendship means too much to me to take that risk," you said breathing out. you said that, but you knew this conversation would change your friendship no matter what.

jaemin's expression softened at your response, understanding the thought and point behind it. he took another small step closer, his voice softer now. "i get that, i really do. the thought of risking our friendship is scary. but you have to think about the fact that we already risk our friendship by flirting with each other. and blurring the lines of friendship and something more." he paused, his eyes locking onto yours. it's already there- the risk," he added. you knew he was right but still. sighing you rubbed your forehead. "that's...different," you still argued.

he shook his head chuckling. "no, it's not different. and i think you know that." you looked up at him conflicted, yet you still didn't know why.

"deny it all you want, but what we're doing already has the potential to ruin our friendship. so why not take the chance, and go all the way?"

you tilt your head. "what? and i mean- are you saying you would have a relationship with me? a romantic relationship. you would want that?" you asked needing the clarification.

jaemin's expression stayed earnest and and serious as he spoke. "i would love to have a romantic relationship with you. i wanna spend more time with you, take you out, hold your hand, kiss you-" he listed. "is that what you wanna hear?"

you shook your head. "no, you don't jaemin.." you denied it for some reason, despite the flutter in your heart.

he sighed, getting frustrated with your denial. "yes i do. i really do. you keep telling me how i feel, as if you know better. but the truth is i have never wanted to be with someone as much as i wanna be with you," he confessed. you froze. he stepped forward again, now standing so close, he could feel your body heat.

you didn't understand why you were going against him. against your heart. you knew you wanted it too, if not more. but you just couldn't.

jaemin watched you close, seeing the turmoil behind your eyes. he could read you like an open book, knowing that you were struggling with your thoughts.

"you know we want the same thing. why are you fighting it? what is holding you back?" his voice holding frustration, but still gentle. he brought his hand up slowly putting it on your cheek.

you wanted to lean into his touch. instead you continued to fight it. "i can't do this with you, jaemin. we've already talked about it too much," you sighed and stepped away from him, moving out of the kitchen.

jaemin watched you you walk away, feeling a mix of frustration and disappointment. he followed after you, voice firm. "why can't you? why are you so determined to deny what right in front of you? what we could have together?" he asked almost sounding hurt. you turned around, now at the bottom of the steps. "because i'm scared, jaemin!" you raised your voice a little. ""i'm scared it won't work out, and i could lose you. or that, i'm not gonna be good enough and someone better comes along, or i won't be a good girlfriend, or-"

"hey, hey...shh," he cut you off, grabbing your arms grounding you. his face softened. "you have nothing to be scared of, okay? i'm not gonna get tired of you and there isn't anyone better for me than you. do you hear me?" he asked, searching your eyes.

keeping your eyes on his, you nodded slowly but didn't speak. at your lack of response he gripped your arms a little tighter.

"i need you to believe me. you have to understand that you're everything i've ever wanted. we just need to take that leap," he paused, his thumbs rubbing your skin soothingly.

"trust me, love. trust me the way i trust you,"

looking between his sincere eyes you nodded more sure this time. sighing you speak. "okay," goosebumps rose on your skin from his touch.

a small wave of relief washing over him as you spoke. "good, that's good. i promise you have nothing to worry about. we can take things as slow as you want, but i wanna be with you. i want you to be mine," he said full of emotion.

feeling your heart thumping loudly in your chest you keep your eyes locked on his. "i wanna be yours too.." you mutter softly.

jaemin couldn't believe that he was finally hearing those words from you, as his own heart raced. "say it again," his voiced just as hushed as yours. his hands slowly moved from your arms to your waist, pulling you closer.

leaning into his touch, you spoke. "i wanna be yours, jaemin..and i want you to be mine,'

his heart soared as he heard your words, his arms wrapping around your waist fully and pulling you even closer to where your bodies pressed against each other.

"you have know idea how long i've waited to hear you say that," he confessed looking down at you, admiring your features. you smiled up at him, finally feeling your tense resistance from before, slipping away.

"yeah?" you asked with a small smile.

"yeah," his voice filled with certainty. "now, you're mine, and i'm yours. only yours," his beautiful smile flashing, as he gazed down at you.

after another couple seconds he spoke up again. "can i do something, i've been itching to do for a while now?' he asked with a, now teasing, smile.

"what?" you tilted your head looking up at him, your arms having found their way around his broader shoulders.

"promise you won't hit me?" he says with a cheeky expression. his tone was kept light, yet there was a hint of something else. a desire; a want.

"depends," you narrow your eyes at his change in tone.

he chuckled then spoke as he leaned closer. "guess i'll have to take my chances," he said while glancing down at your lips before crashing his to yours. the feeling catching you slightly by surprise, but nonetheless, you melted into him.

feeling his lips move against yours, creating a spark in your stomach. you broke it leaning back slightly, his forehead leaning against yours. his eyes still looking down at your lips before leaning back in, capturing your lips again. before you knew it, his hands moved from your waist and hooked under thighs, pulling off the ground. you broke the kiss once again with a small gasp as he carried you the stairs with a teasing smile on his lips.

"what are you-what are we doing?" you laughed, clinging to him.

"exactly what we talked about earlier," he smiled as he made it you your room shutting the door with his foot.

let's just say, ‘sitting’ wasn't the only thing that happened.

[secretivemessenger]

okay im way too far into brainrotting about an amputee bf that i wrote a whole thirst thing about it.

☆ cw: top m!reader , cock-warming , calling a hole 'cunt' like once , belly bulge

★ not proof-read

☆ dark nsfw content ahead

Imagine being with someone whose both legs are amputated. He's completely dependent on you as you feed him, carry him around, fuck him like a worthless slut.

Imagine him whining and thrashing around as you have him cockwarm you while you tap around on your phone. Manhandling him into your lap, easily slipping his shorts off to gain easy access since he doesn't wear any underwear, shove him down firmly on your cock and feel him tightly clench around you. His little, tiny cock would squirt pre all over his stomach as he whines and whimpers while you focus solely on your phone. Whenever he would move, you would tightly hold his waist and give a harsh smack to his ass, making him gasp and stay still as you whisper sweet words to him about how good he's doing for you.

Imagine doing your little office work to see him crawling over to you under the table, he would use his hands to help him up, but he still wouldn't be able to reach. Won't you help the poor man up? You would if it wasn't so fun watching him struggle and cry out for you to help him. Whoops, and your hard just from seeing his tears and his miserable state. You would slip down your pants and boxers all together and grab him harshly by the hair, pulling his whole body up till his mouth is just on your tip as you tell him, "Get to work; I'll help ya stay up."

Imagine his lips sloppily wrapping around the head of your cock as you hold up his body. Swirling his tongue around the tip, slurping on it like it was the most delicious dessert he ever tasted, shoving his tongue inside the foreskin and pushing it back to finally reveal the head. Using his hand to fondle your balls while he focuses solely on your head. Yes, adorable and all, but it's not enough for you. Hold his head in place and thrust into it like a sex toy, no matter how hard he cries and begs for you to slow down while your cock fucks his mouth. His small cock leaking pre would be your indicator that he's loving it. Not like you need one; you know he loves it when you fuck his throat like a cheap whore.

Imagine being unable to pay any attention to him as you're very tired; he would beg and try to seduce you into fucking him, but you can't. So you lay down and drop down your pants and tell him to do it himself. You would watch closely as he strokes and plays with your cock to get you hard and into shape, then he would use his hands to support himself onto your cock; he doesn't even have any need to prepare himself as your yesterday activities were enough to have his hole ready to take you at any time. But he still needs a bit of adjustments as he tries to slowly lower himself on your cock using his only method of support, which is his hands, although he's not very strong when you're not helping him, so you would grunt when the power in his hands fails him, making him drop balls deep on your cock. A loud scream could be heard as you felt a warm liquid on your stomach, realizing he came just by being impaled on your cock. God, you wanted to watch him struggle on your cock more, but how could you just lay there while he looked this miserable?

Imagine losing all morale at that scene, not like you had any. Just grab a hold of his waist with your hands and bounce him up and down your cock, thrusting up at the same time fucking him fast and deep. Not long, and he's cumming all over himself again. It never fails to amaze you how tight he can get, like his only purpose is to be a milking toy for your cock, a reusable 'cunt' for you to dump all your fluids into. How much time has passed? You haven't a clue, all you know is that you came so many times deep inside of him. You manhandled him into many positions, hugging his waist and fucking into him like he was a sex doll, pressing him against the mattress, fucking him hard enough that he almost fell off the egde bed, so deep inside of him his stomach bulged with your cock. Press on it and watch him cum all-over himself once again. After you were finally satisfied, you would just leave him panting and crying on the bed with a dildo almost as big as your own cock lodged inside his hole, preventing even a single drop of your cum to slip out as you went to shower, leaving him to lay in the dirty bed surrounded by his own filth.

oh man i may be going insane i need more of this, idk what happened to me but i felt the sudden urge to write this forgive me.

[wendichester]

｡𖦹°‧ across the room³,

summary.you’ve seen sam around. he’s seen you too. all you’re both waiting for is the perfect opportunity to go from strangers to something more.

pairing. stanford!sam winchester x reader  genre. still giggling

wordcount. 848

notes. yes, i'm already writing part 4

ᯓ★ read part 1, part 2

It’s the week after the kiss.

You’ve replayed it about eight hundred times—on your walk to class, while brushing your teeth, in the middle of a lecture you definitely should’ve been taking notes in. It’s branded into your brain: the softness of his mouth, the nervous little hitch in his breath, the way he looked at you like you’re it.

And now?

Now you’re sitting in the back corner of the campus library with him again, tucked into a too-small table with your laptops open and exactly zero actual studying happening.

Sam’s legs are too long for this table. You’ve told him so, multiple times. He just shrugs like this is his burden to bear, quietly suffering the injustice of cramped knees and pretending he’s not playing footsie with you under the table.

You haven’t kissed him again yet.

Not properly.

A couple of cheek pecks. A forehead smooch that made your lungs collapse. But nothing like that first kiss.

You’re both pretending to focus. There’s a whole psych chapter open in front of you—highlighted and everything—but you’ve reread the same sentence five times because his hand keeps brushing yours on the table. And every time it happens, your heart acts like it’s in a CW drama, all fluttery and obnoxious.

“Okay,” you say finally, pushing your laptop away and slumping into your chair. “Be honest. How much of this are you actually retaining?”

Sam looks up from his notes, sheepish. “Mmm… some?”

You snort. “That’s a no.”

He grins, leaning back, stretching until his hoodie rides up just enough to show a sliver of his stomach. Which is. You know. A lot.

“Not my fault,” he mutters. “You keep making those little noises when you read. It’s distracting.”

Your eyes go wide. “What noises?”

“Like…” He tries to imitate you, failing miserably. “That little ‘hmph’ you do when something doesn’t make sense. And the way you tap your fingers when you’re trying to concentrate.”

You blink at him, stunned. “You memorized my concentration habits?”

He shrugs. “You’re easy to watch.”

Oh.

Okay.

Someone call campus security because your heart just exploded.

You try to look unimpressed, but you’re ninety-seven percent sure your ears are bright red. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you like it,” he says easily.

You want to argue. You really do. But then he’s reaching across the table, brushing his fingers along yours again—only this time it’s on purpose. This time he holds on.

And there it is again—that pause. That moment where the rest of the world quiets down and it’s just the two of you, sitting in a too-small library cubicle like it’s the center of the universe.

“Wanna ditch this?” he says after a beat, his thumb stroking gently along your knuckle.

You arch an eyebrow. “Ditch studying? Sam Winchester, I am scandalized.”

He leans forward, conspiratorial. “We both know I’ll still guilt us into studying later. Just… maybe somewhere comfier?”

Your heart flutters like it’s got wings. “Your place or mine?”

He hesitates. “Mine’s closer. And, uh—my roommate’s gone for the weekend.”

Oh.

Oh.

You should be panicking. But somehow, you’re not. You’re just… warm. Nervous, yeah—but not in the scary way. In the this-could-be-something-real way.

His dorm room smells like detergent and something earthy—cedar, maybe. Or just Sam. His bed isn’t made, but he yanks the comforter into place as you walk in, muttering a flustered, “Sorry—wasn’t expecting... ya' know,”

You sit on the edge while he clears off a textbook and a half-empty coffee cup from the nightstand. It’s quiet for a second. Comfortable.

And then you feel it again—that magnetic pull. That something in the air that’s been building since the party, since the coffee, since the kiss.

Sam turns to you. Just stands there for a moment, like he’s working something out in his head.

You tilt your head. “What?”

“I’m trying not to be that guy who rushes things,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I’ve been wanting to kiss you again since last weekend.”

Your heart hiccups. “What if I’ve been waiting for you to?”

He stares at you for half a second. Then crosses the room in two strides and kisses you like he means it this time.

Like he’s been holding back and finally gave himself permission.

It’s deeper now. Warmer. Still soft, still sweet—but there’s a confidence under it, something steady and strong. His hands settle on your waist, tentative but sure, like he’s learning the shape of something he wants to memorize.

You melt. Obviously.

By the time you break apart, you’re half in his lap, hands tangled in the hem of his hoodie, breath caught somewhere between a sigh and a giggle.

“So,” he murmurs, nose brushing your jaw, “still think you’ll pass psych?”

You grin. “If I fail, I’m blaming you.”

“Fair,” he says, pulling you closer. “But I’ll help you cram.”

You pretend to groan. “Don’t say cram right now. It’s too suggestive.”

Sam blinks—then laughs so hard he nearly falls off the bed.

And you think—yeah. You could get used to this.

Whatever this is.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[deadhands69]

Laundry Detergent

MDNI

loser!Shigaraki x reader

One last fic for the year! Happy New Years!! Contains: gn reader/maybe afab if you squint, cussing, pacifying loser/sub!shigaraki by sitting on his lap/teasing him, light choking, male orgasm. [quick read; wc: 1k]

Shigaraki has been in a mood lately, which means the whole league is miserable. After the last failed mission, he’s been taking it out on everyone and everything for a week now. Between his snide comments and sulking, you’ve all had enough of it.

It was all your fault, really. Or so he decided. If you hadn’t worn that scent he liked, it would have been fine. You know, the one he would kill for. The one that makes him want to drop down on his knees for you and beg you to touch him. 

‘My laundry detergent?’ you once asked. 

Yeah, that. Or whatever. In any case, it drives him crazy and it’s definitely your fault the mission wasn't going as planned.

The idea was easy, or it should have been if he didn’t have a massive erection stealing the blood from his brain the entire time. All he had to do was decay four city blocks. He only made it through two before running off and ducking away somewhere private to deal with something. Leaving the rest of you to handle his task and your own.

He wouldn’t admit that part in front of everyone else (or to you) but the passive aggression continued to linger through the week.

After the last meeting abruptly ends with him rage quitting, you’re left in a room of your coworkers (if you could call them that.) They all stare at you.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do,” you assert, “he’s the one who blew the mission now he’s pissed at all of us.”

“I don’t know, fix it,” Dabi snaps before walking out.

Everyone shuffles back to their own spaces, in varying levels of anger. On top of this, no one has been sleeping well lately because Tomura keeps you up all night barking at his video game and slamming the controller on his desk every time he dies. Which is often. 

It really has been getting to you all.

Later that evening, you’re walking past his room. The muffled sound of him grumbling at his most recent death radiates through the wall. And, like clockwork you hear the controller crack as he quits for the next five minutes to pace around his room in anger.

This has gone on for too long, you need to fix this.

“Shigaraki?” you try knocking.

No answer. Of course.

“Tomura,” you shove the door open, slamming it behind you. 

“What the fuck, [y/n] get out of my room.”

“Not until you calm down, you’re making everyone miserable.”

It’s true and he knows it. He doesn’t have anything to say in defense so he settles for dropping back onto his chair, crossing his arms, and glaring at you. 

Even when he’s like this, you get the feeling he would do anything you say.

“Do you want to tell me why you’re still in such a shit mood?” you ask, bridging the gap between the two of you to where your knees nearly touch his as you stand above him.

“No,” he grumbles, eyes shifted down. He adjusts his sweatpants in a way he thinks is inconspicuous, but of course you notice it. 

In response, you slide your hoodie off. Lightly grabbing the hem with both hands while you slowly tease it over your head and throw it on his bed. The fresh laundered scent drifting towards his face. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, looking increasingly flustered.

Leaning forward, you whisper in his ear, “keep your hands on the armrests.” 

“Huh?” He stares up at you, eyes filled with confusion and nerves.

The same eyes widen immediately when you sit on his lap. Twisting your torso to press his face into your chest. 

You feel the drool of his lips as he gasps into the skin above your low-cut tank top. His chin nestled lower while he takes huge breaths. Inhaling the scent of you. His erection pressing into your ass as he tries desperately to hold his hips still. He’s not even trying to hide it anymore.

He could probably cum right now, but you have ulterior motives. You pull back and watch as his pretty lips quiver at the loss.

“Are you going to be a good boy and calm down?” you ask, index finger and thumb pinching his chin to force his face up towards you.

“Uhnhuuh,” he moans.

“You sure?”

“Yes,” he chokes out, “yeah. Anything.”

“Good,” you reply. “I’m not fucking you,” you say, then more quietly whisper, “at least not today.”

“Wait, you w- aahhhh”, he moans as you slide your hips back into the painfully hard bulge he tucked into his waistband. 

Your hand slides down his chin to the soft skin on his neck. Grabbing tighter than polite, but you know he loves it by the way he squirms under you. His hips jutting up into your ass involuntarily. 

Licking your lips, you twist your face to his. Mouth only millimeters from his and there’s nothing he can do but whimper.

Shifting your weight, you rub against him again. This time he gasps and grips his chair so tight you worry he might decay it. While he catches his breath under you, you watch the wet stain creep through his thin t-shirt. 

That was fast.

Smoothly, you climb off his lap and head for the door with one last glance over your shoulder to admire the mess you made. Shigaraki is so fucked out his eyes struggle to stay open. Hands still dangling over the edge of the armrest. You did good, you think as you head back to your room to lay in bed. The whole place is quiet. Everyone in the league really owes you for that one.

Ten minutes later, your eyes shoot open.

Fuck, you forgot your favorite hoodie.

m.list

[world-of-aus]

This One's For You

Pairing: hockey player!bucky x NHL Photographer! Reader

Warning: Bucky barnes being a heartthrob

Authors Note: another snippet of Bucky and hotshot 🤭

The arena is a buzz of excitement; gold and black line one side, red and blue line the other, the two colors meeting and molding in the middle of each side. You’re at ice-level behind the protective barrier of Plexi-glass as you wait like the many fans for the game to start. Your equipment sits on your chair – a lone stool that has unfortunately seen better days. As you go to get your camera set up you feel your phone vibrate in the confines of your jean pocket.

Plucking your phone from your jeans you see an unread message from Natasha waiting to be opened. A picture of your jacketed back stares back at you, the message below reading,

‘You’d look so much better with your jacket off, a certain right defenseman would agree with me.’

‘It’s cold!’ you shoot back.

‘I left the apartment with you this morning, you have a long sleeve under, black one, remember?”

You curse your roommate under your breath, another message popping up below that one.

‘Take it Off or I’ll personally go take it off!’

‘Shouldn’t you be taking pre-game photos?’

A moment later a photo of Bucky walking in through the backstage of the arena is taking up your screen, he’s wearing a tailored suit, his hair lazily slicked back as he winks at the camera, his all too pink lips curled in a wicked smile. Your heart skips a beat in your chest, your teeth capturing the smile that threatens to break through.

‘Now take it off.’

‘So bossy’ you mutter under your breath as you take off your jacket, your jersey that she gifted you for your birthday now on full display.

‘Happy now?’

Her text takes a while to come in and only then do you realize why when her text comes in with Bucky’s contact attached. A picture of you adorning his jersey pops up a message appearing shortly after.

‘See now that looks so much better! Woops wrong chat..’

You whip your head around trying but failing miserably to find the blonde in question. Your phone vibrates in your hand.

‘Looking Good Hot Shot! Drinks on me after the win..”

‘At least take her to dinner first Barnes.. 😉’

Your cheeks are warm despite the cool air of the arena nipping at your skin as you read the messages transpiring between the two.

‘He didn’t mean it like that Tasha! Besides he’d need to secure a win against the Rangers first.’ is your odd lame of an attempt to dust away any feelings between the two of you your friend is trying to make appear out of thin air.

‘The win was in the bag the second you stepped foot into the arena Hot shot, you wearing my name was just an added bonus, oh I totally meant it like that but can the drinks be on you instead?’ 😉'

‘With all those puck bunnies sporting your last name throwing themselves at you I doubt you’ll remember, but given the chance you remember drinks can be on me.’

“Stop sabotaging yourself.” You jump slightly, hand on your racing chest as you look over your shoulder finding Natasha, her gear tossed over her shoulder, lanyard laid against her chest. She gives you a pointed stare, “you and Barnes have been doing this same old dance for some time now and it’s getting tiring y/n.” She shakes her head at you, “Not like that, this whole will they won’t they, we’re rooting for the two of you y/n. He’s not Brock,” she murmurs her hand reaching out for yours. “He’s reaching, barring his hand to you – you just need to meet him halfway and trust that he’ll catch you, we all know he will, we’re all just waiting for you – he’s waiting for you.”

You suck in a breath at her words, she knew where your uncertainty came from when allowing yourself to feel anything for the bruin's player, “but what if he doesn’t, you saw how -” you shake your head not willing yourself to go back there.

Both your phones vibrate in your hands but you only see yours,

‘Not letting you back out now hotshot because the only bunny I’ll be chasing is you tonight, hopefully the drinks taste as sweet as you.’

Natasha’s grin is evident as she closes in on you one arm going around you as she hooks he chin on your shoulder. “You see!” she points at the screen you still look at. “You’re not wrong about all the puck bunnies sporting his name wanting an inkling of his time, but he only has eyes for you, let him know you see him right back y/n.”

She’s grinning squeezing your arm as she reads your reply,

‘Hope you run just as good as you skate Barnes.’

Natasha throws her head back on a laugh as you pocket your phone reaching for your camera as you get into position the announcements popping up on the screen. “This game just got so much better!”

Red and blue lights flood the arena, the sea of Rangers fans standing tall, getting loud as their teams players flash across the screen. The players glide onto the ice from their opening, circling the arena as they hype their crowd. You’re quick to take notice of a few of the players lingering on your side egging the opposing teams' fans on. It’s short-lived as the screen changes, shades of black and gold flashing, the Bruins players coming onto the screen. The crowd behind you roars in excitement Natasha joining in as you lift your lens, they come in fast and hot as they circle the arena in the same manner. You’re quick to get shots in rapid succession, focusing in on a few personal shots at the player’s that are closest to you.

You spot Sam, the camera finding him easily as he does what he does best. He always gets a kick out of warming up the crowd, getting them riled up for the game. It puts him in the headspace he needs to ensure his team a win. Your camera spots Steve next, he’s gliding closer to where you and Natasha are, a grin pulls at your lips, heartwarming for your friend who gets herself closer to the glass. You capture the moment he comes to a stop in front of the Plexi-glass his gloved hand pressing against where her’s already rests waiting. You lean back a bit to get both of them in the shot you know Natasha would be requesting that photo by the end of the night.

“Kick some ass out there Rogers, give me something to celebrate tonight.”

The dirty blonde taps the glass throwing a wink her way, “Good luck out there Stevie!” you call out, as he turns to skate to where Sam is. A tap on the glass has you turning your head in the other direction, the crowd seemingly getting louder as Bucky approaches you from the opposite side of the glass. You bring your camera up to capture him, a breathtaking smile cutting his lips as he stares at you through the lens of your camera. You notice he doesn’t get as close as Steve does, but he only has eyes for you as he glides across, “this one's for you hotshot!”

“Good luck out there B!” You hide your smile behind the lens of your camera capturing the grin that splits his lips before he’s turning to the call of his name.

The referee's whistle kicks off the game, and its as good of a game as Natasha said it would be.

You don’t set your camera down for a single second of the game as you focus on the players on the ice and capturing ‘the shot’. You’ve managed to dodge a few pucks and players that have flown your way into the glass. It’s fast paced, brutal even as both teams fight to secure that win.

It’s down to the wire now, the crowd is tense as they watch their teams leave it all on the ice. Your cameras resting against your chest, Natasha gripping your hand in hers as your eyes follow the players. “C’mon c’mon, bring it home!” she pleads. You catch the moment Steve begins his move for the winning shot, your camera coming up to follow the game behind the lens of your camera. Bucky and Sam stay in Steve’s line of sight as he passes the puck to Sam, Sam then glides forward Bucky just a few feet off to his side to get the puck from the left defenseman. Capturing the moment Sam makes the pass, you hold your breath as Bucky swings, the buzzer sounds a split second after, the roar of the crowd loud behind you as Natasha jumps into your side her own yells of victory loud in your ear.

“He did it! Y/n he fucking did it!!” She screams shaking you.

You can’t find your voice as your camera shutters away, but the way your heart races, the smile parting your lips gives way to the emotion filling your chest.

“C’mon let’s go!” Natasha urges pulling you along to get the two of you out onto the ice.

You thought the excitement was palpable behind the glass, but it’s electric out on the ice with the celebrating team. You’re capturing as many images of the teams victory as you can before Natasha spots the guys urging you on. You let her go capturing the moment Steve gets her in his arms, the kiss the two share between them. You find Wilson next he’s all smiles at you and your camera as he glides towards you. You lower the lens momentarily to let him pull you in for a bone crushing hug, “you guys did it, I’m so proud of you Sammy!”

His lips press to your head, “it was all for you hotshot, I’ve got to say when your boys determined, he’s determined,” he grins as he pulls away to look down at you.

“It wasn’t just for me, it was for the fans, for the team.” You lamely argue.

His grin only grows, “yeah? Tell him that then.” And then he’s gliding off to the side towards where Natasha and Steve wait. Bucky stands feet away from you grin on his lips, his hair a sweaty mess, your camera comes up. Each shutter brings him closer to you till you have no other choice but to lower the device and take all of him in. He’s barely got his arms open enough before you’re eating up at the last foot between the two of you your arms going around him.

“You did it B, you won!”

His arms wrap tighter around you, his nose buried in your hair, “I told you hotshot, this one was for you and I meant it.”

You lean back taking in the right defenseman, there’s that smile, the one you always find directed at you. “You did, didn’t you,” you breathe unable to look away. “Guess the drinks really are on me tonight.”

He chuckles grin splitting his lips further, “don’t think that’ll be the only thing on you tonight,” he murmurs pulling you closer, his head lowering to yours, he stops just before his lips brush yours. “you gonna let me catch you hotshot?”

“Yeah B. I think I am.”

[pinklotushere]

Bat fan

Tim's eyes widen as he takes in the sight before him, his brain slowly processing the pictures.

"You're a bat fan," he says, his voice a mix of disbelief and amusement

Danny looks away, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

"There's literally a picture of me mid-grapple across from us. Dude, your blankets are covered in my family's symbol," Tim points out, his tone caught between exasperation and fondness.

Danny's face flushes as he mumbles “I’ve never seen that picture before in my life,” danny lies. “And—and you happen to share the same symbol as this space group from russia, total misunderstanding, I can see how you’re confused—"

Tim can't help but grin as he watches Danny squirm, caught red-handed in his superhero fanboy moment. It's adorable, really, how this powerful ghost boy turns into a blushing mess at the mere mention of Tim's vigilante alter ego.

Tim's eyes glitter with mischief as he moves closer to Danny, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "So, you used your powers to stalk us, huh?"

Danny squirms, caught between embarrassment and the warmth of Tim's body.

"Maybe a little," he admits, barely audible, his lips brushing Tim's ear. "But it wasn't for long-! Like only a few times and-"

Tim kisses him, just to shut him up. He keeps his eyes open, if only to watch the way danny’s face melts under tim’s touch.

“You’re our biggest fan,” tim teases

Danny hides his face in tim’s neck. “You guys are so cool,” he complains, shy and soft-voiced. Tim hums, and his smile broadens; he has the cutest boyfriend. A cute, ghosty boyfriend who could dead-lift trucks. Yum

"Okay, fine," he mumbles, barely audible. "I might be a teensy bit of a fan."

Tim can feel the heat radiating from Danny's cheeks, and he can't help but grin. His boyfriend, this powerful ghostly being who could probably level a city block if he wanted to, is blushing like a schoolgirl over some superheroes.

"You guys just do so much good, y'know? It's hard not to admire that," Danny continues, his voice soft and shy.

Tim's heart melts a little more with each word. He pulls back slightly, just enough to see Danny's face, all flushed and adorable.

"You're ridiculous," Tim says fondly, unable to keep the smile off his face. "And absolutely perfect"

He playfully pokes Danny's side, relishing in the soft giggle it elicits. "You better not have any of the other's merch. you're all mine, ghost boy"

"Well..."

"That's it, you're not getting cujo in the divorce"

"Oh, come on," Danny whines, his eyes widening in mock horror. "You can't take away Cujo! He's our ghostly baby!"

Tim snorts, trying to keep a straight face but failing miserably.

"Fine," he concedes, rolling his eyes dramatically. "You can keep the spectral pooch, but I'm confiscating all your Nightwing posters."

Danny gasps, clutching his chest. "You wouldn't dare!" he exclaims before breaking into a fit of giggles.

Tim joins in, their laughter echoing through the room. As it dies down, Danny leans in, pressing his forehead against Tim's. "You know," he murmurs, a mischievous glint in his eye, "I might think jason is hot, but you'll always be my favourite Robin."

Tim groans but can't hide his smile. "You're impossible," he mutters, pulling Danny in for another kiss.

"I can't belive you just told me you think my brother’s hot"

Danny presses a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Forgive me?"

Tim pretends to consider it, tilting his head thoughtfully before a grin breaks across his face.

"I suppose I can let it slide... this time." He punctuates his words by capturing Danny's lips in a deep, searing kiss that leaves them both breathless and dizzy.

When they finally part, Tim's eyes are dark with something that makes Danny's non-existent heart race.