#you get to pick up on his feelings at the same time he does

[headdinthewall]

HEADCANONS ── a.buttle ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

summary : where i give you headcanons of the relationship between alfie and his girl notes : i love getting these types of asks bcs i love expanding on the type of girl i think would fit each ukyt boy content : established relationships ,, slight sexual content ,, a lot of fluff taglist : @italianclarke @clarkeyscherry @sdmnpact

─────── WHEN YOU POSTED your first Instagram post and/or story together, everyone was very shocked. His fans were wondering how he managed to pull a girl like you and your fans were wondering why you went for a guy like him. You’re complete opposites in every sense of the word, but that’s what makes you work.

༊*·˚

You cook and bake for him because his diet genuinely concerns you. You doesn’t think it’s weird or degrading that he has you cook for him, you tend to enjoy the quiet of the grotto since you cook while he goes out to the gym so it’s ready for when he comes back. Sometimes if he doesn’t go to the gym, he’ll sit at the table and talk to you and occasionally get up to show you a funny tiktok.

He’s always posting instagram stories about your baking, whether it’s brownies, cookies or cinnamon rolls, there’s always an image with a caption along the lines of ‘my mrs at it again’

༊*·˚

You influenced his music taste a lot. If you’re in the car, you get the aux, if you’re just lounging around the house, you’re in charge of the Alexa. The moment he tries to change it to something you don’t like he gets a ‘No, Alfie’ and he laughs, because he only does it to annoy you.

༊*·˚

You 100% drag him to all the thrift and charity shops you find, constantly looking for little trinkets and vintage items to decorate the windowsills and shelves since he just puts all his clutter on them.

If he’s out and notices something you might like, he sends you a picture of it with ‘?’ so you can pick if you like it or not because sometimes you can be quite picky about what goes in the grotto or not.

You had a conversation with him about this once and he just looked at you blankly.

‘What about this one?’

‘No, it’s ugly.’

‘It’s the same as the one you just picked up but a different colour.’

‘Exactly. Different colour. It has to fit the aesthetic of the grotto, Alf.’

‘Whatever you say, girl.’

༊*·˚

Since he streams a lot, you spend majority of the time in the living room, or if it’s a particularly nice evening, you’ll sit outside and read while the sunsets (and then complain to him about getting bitten by midges the next morning)

Sometimes you’ll sit in the back of his streams on your phone. On the off chance that you’re feeling oddly clingy one night, you might sit on his lap and watch him game until you fall asleep, which creates a lot of cute edits on tiktok, whether it’s of him adjusting you so you’re comfortable and then into a couples edit or just one of you being adorable in his vlogs and on stream

༊*·˚

Speaking of vlogs, you’re featured in all of his at least once. Either you have a conversation with him that he keeps in or it’s just a clip of you dancing or being in the background. Sometimes you’ll take the camera off of him and do a get ready with me and end up having your own part in the vlog.

༊*·˚

Because he’s in London a lot for shoots, his call log on his phone is constantly just facetimes between the two of you. You’ve never understood those couples that can go days without talking to each other because if he wasn’t in London, you’d be attached to his hip.

If you do go with him, you end up going on a mini shopping spree every time. Because he gets majority of his clothes from his Young LA brand deal, he doesn’t have to buy them, so he ends up spending his money on things you want.

London’s a very busy place in general, but compared to the little village you two live in, it’s a drastic change. You’re constantly hanging onto him, sometimes that means a full hand-hold or just your hand wrapped around his finger as you drag him along.

༊*·˚

You don’t really go on big, romantic dates. He’ll take you to a fancy restaurant if you’re in London together, but you go on daily walks together and will visit the local cafe if you want a change in scenery.

You much prefer the little walks because you get to fill your camera roll with pictures of flowers and the sunset (his is filled of you talking said pictures).

༊*·˚

You get a new bouquet of flowers every month. At first you used to buy them yourself so the dining table had some sort of decoration on them, but after a month or so, he started noticing the type and colour of flowers you’d buy, and purchased them himself.

༊*·˚

He’s definitely a casual dominance type of person; getting things off the top shelf for you, carrying you to different places even when you don’t ask, letting you lie on top of him on the sofa or in bed (on the sofa he takes up all the space so you have no choice but to sit in his lap) (kind of what he’s playing at). Also constantly kissing you, if you’re cooking, he’ll wrap his arms around you and kiss your neck, if you’re sat on his lap, it’s cheek kisses and if you’re lying next to each other after a long day, it’s slow, long kisses.

༊*·˚

He’s a big cuddler. Spooning 100% every night. You’re little spoon because you love the way his arms wrap around you and his bicep is right next to your head (he’s victim to the occasional out of pocket bite)

You’re an early bird but he’s a night owl, so him being the big spoon is quite convenient because he can just slip into bed behind you and wrap you up.

But when you go to bed at the same time (rarely) you get at least one round in before you sleep.

༊*·˚

Your sex life before Alfie was really boring, but since you became sexually active with him, you’ve done things you never thought you would’ve, positions you never thought you would’ve done.

If you’re in bed, he’s a big fan of missionary but with some changes. He’s a ‘Im gonna hold your legs open’ kinda guy, 1) because he finds it really attractive seeing his hands on your body 2) he loves you watching you stretch around him. Missionary is also good because you both get a good view of the belly bulge (he’s fucking massive you can’t tell me it’s not big).

He also enjoys prone bone, there’s just something about being able to lie completely on top of you from behind while also being able to tak low in your ear.

If you’re in the shower, it’s from behind. He’s holding your arms behind your back with one hand and holding onto your neck with the other. Sometimes he’ll pick you up and have you against the wall, but he’d much prefer backshots.

On the sofa you don’t tend to have actual intercourse, it’s mainly foreplay, ie. lots of making out, oral (both receiving), fingering, making out, handjobs, did I mention making out? When you two make out, there’s a lot of wandering hands and groping (he cannot keep his hands to himself).

༊*·˚

At first, you were really shy with him. He was definitely nervous too, but he could sense that you were more so and made sure to prioritise your needs (not that he doesn’t anyway). He had to move your hands a lot, guide them where he wanted, whereas he would touch you and ask if it was okay. Sometimes if he was too shy and you were feeling a little extra bold, you’d move his hands to your tits or ass.

༊*·˚

In terms of kinks, it’s mainly you who has them, and they gradually grow on him.

Size kink; duh. He’s massive — 6’1 and hench. This one grew on him quite quickly, especially when he would start to notice it just day-to-day and not only during sex.

Oral fixation; also duh. He talks about getting head a lot on streams, and while he’s joking at times, it’s usually 100% honest. When he first met you and you told him that you liked giving just as much as receiving, he swore you were sent to him by the heavens. He’s prone to putting a finger or two in your mouth as well.

Slight dumbification; not to the point where you’re upset or crying, but when you blush a little extra or tighten around him, that’s when he knows he’s done it right. He’d never do anything that emotionally or physically hurts you, so he knows his limits.

Slight dacryphilia; only when you’re giving him a blowjob and tears start coming, or if you’re crying because it’s really good. If he gets any hint that you’re crying because you don’t like it or it hurts, he stops immediately.

༊*·˚

Aftercare is a big thing too. Sometimes you’ll be too exhausted and your legs feel like jelly, so in that case, he’ll get you water and ask if you need anything else. If you want, he’ll run you a bath, but if you just want to lie down and sleep, he won’t argue with that either.

[satoblue]

something you realize right away about yakuza satoru is that he is almost never alone. even when it’s just to take you to get coffee or go on a walk, there is always someone nearby — those strong and broad men in expensive, tailored suits. they feel like bodyguards, though he calls them his “friends” — but they don’t act like friends. they stand just far enough, stiff and quiet and oddly distant unless spoken to.

you try not to overthink it — maybe they’re just snobby rich guys or work associates? but you recall one time when one of them had slipped up and almost called him “boss” in front of you. the way his face drained of color — like he’d just signed his death certificate — made your stomach flip. you caught it, eyes flickering between them in confusion. but satoru had just smiled, huffing a short laugh before cracking a joke to brush past the moment. though, his smile was a little too tight.

and the next time you see satoru, the same guy isn’t around. when you casually ask about his whereabouts, satoru just hums and says, “ah, he’s on vacation.” a part of him is a little bothered you even noticed someone so insignificant, but he hides it well like he does his entire line of work. you do, however, pick up on the way satoru doesn’t mention exactly how long — but something in his tone makes you feel like the man’s absence will be permanent.

[rinis-rift]

CONGRATSSS ON 200 MY BELOVED SPOUSE ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ I have a req. Uhm.

can I get uhm uhhh jinu and a demon gn!reader 😍 being little shits 😍😍TOGETHER 🤞 #freakuency 😂✌️ does this count as crack?? maybe. bullet-form headcanons, if you can

basicallyyyy reader is a prick. BASTARD even. steals lollipops from babies. (I love it when the reader insert has evil and mischief in their veins okay...) and them and jinu are like... scheming... cartoon villain style. (feel free to deviate from this as much as you'd like!!) TYYY YOU'RE SO PEAK RINI MWAMWA

Too Slow Loverboy

ꕥ do you like the word play i did for the title :3 + I LOVE YOU MY SPOUSE THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR REQUESTING + i love your type of reader hehe, this was so much fun to write aklsclsnjlkdn + added a little surprise..

gn!demon! reader x jinu saja, crack, ANGST NO COMFORT

200+ FOLLOWER EVENT

Gonna be honest, you don’t remember how you became friends with this guy.

Nah, you’re lying, you remember exactly how: he accidentally took the blame for pissing off an ogre by taking his snacks, Jinu taking the fault in your place. You remember exactly where Jinu had that big bruise and remembered generally how long he had it for.

After that, you started popping up in his life (unfortunately), haunting him like a vengeful spirit. 

You stole his hat and fed it to starving imps, poured lukewarm but murky water onto his head from above, tripped him every time you both would cross paths. And every time he’d call you out on tripping him, you just patted his shoulder and looked at him straight in the eyes:

“And you took it like a good boy”

Then you walked past him like nothing, he sputtered, pausing in shock, trying to register your words AND your audacity- he’d chase after you, trying to make a point that was drowned out by his own stutters and your smug smiles that rubbed him the right way.

“You’re wayyy too slow loverboy, gonna have to speed up to catch me!” the nicknames slip out like you’ve known each other since kindergarten, it flusters him, but he pursues you anyway.

Soon your operations of mischief stopped being a one demon job, roping him into your messes too- at first he denied that he was trying to get involved (he totally was), but as time strings along, an unspoken truce bloomed between the two of you.

Now, instead of using him like an overused scapegoat, you started dragging him by the garbs hanging off his elbow away from the raging aquatic demons, laughing with glee as explosions would combust behind the two of you.

He didn’t really like how much your laughter rang in his head after a few centuries of being partners in crime. Occasionally, he notices his own lips twisting the same as yours when he’s alone, his pulse flickers with an emotion he refuses to name, even after all this time.

That snarky little “Hehehehe” laugh came from you, what a diva.

Meanwhile he thinks your maniacal laughter is all in his head, you’re actually laughing in the distance, making a fake summoning circle, painting your skin a strange hue of cyan to jumpscare Jinu, throwing some ashes about, when he arrived upon your invite, and you managed to get him good.

He laughs at the memory nowadays. Though his laughs are a little quieter now.

One time this snarky little brat ravaged your little hut and ruined all your things, so out of rage you stalked and found HIS home and started bashing his shit, Jinu caught you mid-stomp. You explain. Now he’s smashing with you.

Now let's talk about your banters. God they’re stupid as hell, one time you were watching over two random centipedes that crawled into his little abode, right next to his bed- he barely was conscious. And as usual, a stupid question came out of your mouth.

“You think they have penises?”

“Please.. Just shut up…HOLY SHIT KILL IT?!!!” He jumps out of his seat, screeching behind you, at that, you pick one up and move it close to his face. That sick grin twisting your lips, and if it weren’t for that horrifying insect or whatever in your hands, maybe he would’ve thought you looked good- attractive? No? Too far? Alright Jinu… whatever you say…

One time you both were on the run, you decided to run a little slower than him because of course you were the faster runner, he basically screams your entire government name as you point your thumb at the riot (this riot consisted of your enemies, people you’ve wronged for petty reasons) screaming death threats behind you with this dumbass smirk on your face.

“The is the proof of my rizz, Jinu, you wish you could bag these many chicks,”

“RUN FASTER YOU FUCKING IDIOT!” he screams, pulling you by the arm, you narrowly miss a staff being whacked into your ribcage.

Every step you took, it felt like he wasn’t that far behind. Being an enabler of sorts, your grin infected him to smile as well and that made it easier to convince him to indulge with your rotten acts.

It was- you were the smallest break Jinu had to being a little free from his miserable existence of becoming a scum of bitch demon, you were the last bit of his humanity he felt like he could hold on to.

But humanity doesn’t last forever, its temporary presence is why it's so special and that's why its humanity and the reason why nothing else could compare to it.

Jinu has seen that naughty expression of yours for centuries and he was expecting to see it for the centuries to come.

But your pride became too great, you caused too many problems, stirred the pot until it spilled over the sides- and this was your punishment.

Being held back by two bigger, stronger demons by his elbows, he could only scream and beg at the sight of your body being lifted and dropped into the vibrant flames, the second thing that could kill a demon- the demon king.

And somewhere in between his tears and the flames of your maker, you flashed him a smile, the same dirty smile you’d give him before doing something stupid. One last little smirk like you were some hero and you just saved him from some threat.

You aren’t a hero, so wipe off that stupid heroic smirk. Right now. Please. 

Don’t smile like he’s going to see you again. 

Don’t smile like you’ll be right there for him again because you won’t.

You’re dead. 

Once again, too slow loverboy.

+ hope you enjoyed my evil twist >:DD this is justice for @tired-xyra-urstruly + the angst potential was there so i RANN + LUKEWARM MENTION SO SAE ITOSHI MENTION

I KINDA GOT CARRIED AWAY AND THESE LITERALLY AREN'T HEADCANONS... ITS JUST JINU'S DIARY WITH POINTS...

also i lowkey got emotional writing the end holy fuck

ALSO DOES SOMEONE KNOW HOW TO FIX THE IMAGES BECAUSE EVERYTIME I WANT TO PUT A CUT IN THE POST, IT MAKES MY IMAGES STACK UP LIKE FUCKING BRICKS FUCK

your fuckass loser man boyfriend man guy

#freakquency is joining my vocab by the way

[moonqz]

COMMUNICATION : Yeon Sieun

pairing : Yeon Sieun x american!fem!reader

genre : fluff

description : As a transfer student to Eunjang, and not speaking Korean very well, Sieun takes it upon himself to find different ways to talk to you.

requested by : anon! thank you so much lovely! 🤍

note : anything sieun says would be in Korean unless i’ve specified otherwise 🤍 (this probably isn’t very good but bare with 😞)

Sieun doesn’t talk much. You were pretty much the same as him in that sense. Except instead of choosing not to talk, it was difficult to talk in another language in a school of people you didn’t know.

Not to mention you didn’t know a lot of Korean. The sentence structure was confusing, the particles were brain hurting. But you understood more then you could say.

Familiar words would come up and you’d pick up what the mean. And you knew enough to get by. Sorta.

Like Hello, thank you, no, yes, excuse me, please.

Moving from America was difficult enough, but trying to study when the homework was in a different language?

You had asked most your teachers if they could translate the homework for you or get an English version. To no avail.

Google translate it is.

You’ve only been in Korea for a month, and already the walls of Eunjang feel taller than they should.

The syllables your classmates speak blur together like static. You nod a lot. Smile even more. Laugh when someone else does, just to keep up.

Not at first.

Yeon Sieun doesn’t speak to you.

He doesn’t avoid you, just watches quietly when the teacher asks you a question and you freeze, but pretends he’s not watching.

When you whisper into your phone’s translator. When you scribble a vocabulary word three times in the margin of your textbook like maybe repetition will make the meaning stick.

You hadn’t heard the rumours of him around school. The ones about him killing his classmate. You didn’t understand what they were saying but it was obvious to tell that it wasn’t good.

Who were you to judge? The boy didn’t seem harmful or cold. More misunderstood. Everyday was the same, sitting with his head on the desk in most lessons, most of the time asleep. At least that was what people were fooled to believe.

He wasn’t asleep most of the time, how could he?

You were assigned to sit next to him. You didn’t mind. It was more peaceful then when people would try to talk to you and you had to pretend to understand.

But on a Tuesday that smells like chalk dust and rain, your pen ran out of ink. Your last one of course.

Glancing to your side, there’s one boy who’s busy talking to his friends. And they don’t seem like the kind to be considerate of the language barrier.

Your only other option was Sieun. He wouldn’t mind right? The boy must have at least ten pens on him. You’ve seen the way he clicks his pen and grips it tighter in his hand whenever someone’s frustrating him.

His head was on the desk as usual but you could tell he wasn’t sleeping. He seemed more emotionally drained then physically. You could understand that.

Gently, half hesitant you tapped his shoulder. And the first time he ignored you. Until you muttered a dodgy, quiet ‘excuse me’ in his mother tongue with an accent.

Sieun looked up, eyes not as cold as others say. And you can feel the eyes of some people staring at you two as if to say ‘why are you talking to him’

You motioned towards your pen, slightly awkwardly hoping he’d understand, adding a small ‘please’ in Korean to be polite.

The boy looked at you for a moment, his eyes not giving anything away except for a rare tiredness he couldn’t put into words.

Not that you would understand it anyway.

Then he gave you his pen. The one he was using. Before getting a different one for himself and going back to his work.

You slightly nervously say ‘thank you’ before going back to your work. Honestly it was hard having to switch from the translator to the page.

It was just writing the same thing twice but one in another language.

The next day was the same. Wordlessly translating meaningless words, ignoring the looks of other people seeing a foreigner in their class, either one of disgust or odd intrigue.

You sat back on your seat, noticing that Sieun wasn’t here yet. To be honest you were a couple minutes early to this class. But Sieun seemed to always be there before anyone else.

Then as if on cue, he walked in. His eyes still carried the exhaustion, and his bag hung loosely off his shoulder. He walked towards his seat, not even glancing at you.

He placed a blue sticky note on your textbook before going back to his seat next to yours.

You blink.

In deep ink, he wrote,

책 = Book

Book, you repeat in your head. That’s one more word to your vocabulary at least. And it was appreciated more than he knew. Or maybe he did know.

You glance up.

His head is already buried in the uncomfortable wood, and his eyes are closed tightly, as if he was trying to rid of a headache.

That afternoon, he doesn’t sleep through lunch. Instead he finds the empty stairwell you go to during breaks.

It’s quite, empty. But it doesn’t feel omelet. Just a break from the all too overbearing boys there.

You don’t look up from your phone when you hear the door open. Just assuming it was someone trying to get through.

Until he drops next to you, legs out in front of him, backpack abandoned next to him.

“You okay?” he spoke, unsure if you would understand. Luckily it was a word you had heard enough to get.

You nod with a small, polite smile unsure why he was here, but not exactly disliking the company.

He doesn’t say anything else for a while. Just pulls out his phone, same as you, but doesn’t scroll. You catch it from the corner of your eye, his screen’s blank. Just dim light reflecting your outline beside him.

You think maybe he’s waiting for you to leave.

But when you shift your bag to stand, his hand suddenly moves, not touching you, but palm facing out like a stop sign. Then he opens the translator app on his phone.

He types something. Tilts it toward you.

“You always come here?”

You blink, then nod. You tap your fingers twice against your knee, thinking, before gently nudging your own phone toward him. He passes his without question.

You type slower than he did.

“Quiet. Easy to breathe here.”

He reads it for longer than necessary, mouth tugging into the faintest almost-smile. Then types,

“You don’t like the cafeteria?”

You shake your head.

“Noisy. And… hard to listen. Fast.”

He nods like he understands, not just the words, but the feeling under them. Then, as if out of nowhere, he pulls something from his bag. A small, beaten-up paperback.

He flips through the pages. Not in Korean. English. A translation copy of some old Korean novel, pages full of scribbles and circled words. He taps a sentence, then hands it to you. You squint down at the faded line under his thumb,

“Sometimes, being near is louder than being loud.”

You look at him. He’s not looking at you, just resting his head back against the wall, eyes half-lidded. But you get it.

He didn’t come here to talk.

He came here to be near.

And for the first time since coming here, your heart calms in a way you can’t explain with any of the words you know yet.

The following week, the folded notes stop.

Instead, he brings you something else.

A small stack of flashcards, clipped together with a binder ring. You blink down at them as he hands them over, plain, rectangular cards, some already marked with faint creases like they’ve been flipped through too many times.

You glance at him. He doesn’t explain. Just nods, nudges his backpack to the side, and sits like always, legs out, back against the wall.

You flip the first one over.

A doodle.

A square stairwell, two stick figures sitting side by side, and a little speech bubble with a heart drawn outside of it, not inside. Almost like he’s saying, this isn’t about words.

The second card, a drawing of a tray of food. One side scribbled out, the other circled in soft highlighter.

You grin. The cafeteria again. He’s teasing you.

Third card, a sad face with spiraling lines above its head. You touch your temple.

He nods, understanding, headache.

But it’s the fourth card that makes you pause.

Just a sketch of a coffee cup. Steam curling from the top. Below it, a tiny envelope drawn open, like it’s meant to contain something. A message, maybe.

You turn it toward him, silently asking.

He pulls out a second stack. His set.

One by one, he flips his own cards, stopping on one that matches yours, the same coffee cup, same steam, same open envelope.

He taps it twice with his thumb, then leans his head back and closes his eyes. Not asleep. Just… resting.

You mirror him, pressing your shoulder just slightly closer this time.

And just like that, the system forms,

No language yet. Just picture cards. Shared symbols. Matching decks.

Some cards are more complicated. One day, he shows you a sketch of a hand holding another. No faces, no background. Just the gesture. Then places it between you both without saying anything.

You don’t pick it up. You don’t need to. You let your pinky hover near his on the cold stairwell step, barely brushing.

It says enough.

Another day, you walk in to find a card already placed where you sit.

An open book. But one of the pages has a bandage on it.

He doesn’t look at you when you pick it up. Just waits, eyes on the far wall, unreadable.

You hold it, studying it quietly. Then you slide out your phone, open your drawing app, and sketch your reply with trembling fingers.

A closed book.

Bandage removed. Page wrinkled, but healing.

You show it to him.

He finally looks at you, and you see something shift behind his eyes, like the moment when clouds break and sunlight filters through, slow and pale.

Still no words. Not a single one exchanged. Yet, at least. You didn’t mind that though. Throughout the school days you could both tell the other was too exhausted or drained to communicate properly. So maybe this way was easier in that sense too.

But it’s more than enough.

That’s how it goes.

Some people build a friendship on conversation. Get to know each other solely on words you can’t promise are true.

You build one in the white space between sentences, in quiet drawings, flicked glances, and unspoken invitations.

In this stairwell, silence isn’t empty.

It’s fluent.

What neither of you realise throughout this though, is that you were both learning each others language. Slowly, but surely.

Not that the effort wasn’t enough already, but it would be nice to understand each other through words too.

Sieun honestly was learning English quicker then you were Korean. But that was to be expected when the homework he had to balance was already in his language.

You however, were trying to balance learning a new language, and translating your homework into your native one.

Another couple weeks later. You had picked up the language technique - if you could even call it that - way better then before. And it was more fun than anything. Maybe drawing what you felt was easier than saying it.

You know what the card means before he even gives it to you.

It’s a door. Drawn a little crooked, but clearly open, just slightly, just enough. A keyhole with no key. A welcome, not an ask.

He slides it across the step toward you. No eye contact. Just his usual slouched posture, hood half-up, fingers twitching faintly from cold or nerves. Maybe both.

You look at it. Then at him. His soft, dark eyes looked even more hypnotising through the lighting of this room.

Then you nod once, a hint of a smile on your face.

And that’s all it takes.

His apartment is exactly what you expect.

Sparse. Neat. Quiet. Everything placed like it has a reason to be there.

The shoes by the door lined up. The blanket on the couch still folded in sharp corners. The books stacked without titles visible, like he doesn’t want to be asked about them.

He watches you walk in without saying anything. But when you stop in the doorway, uncertain, he raises one hand, flat like a barrier.

Then curls his fingers slowly, beckoning.

Come in.

No words. Just the same language you’ve built between you.

He motions toward the floor cushions near the coffee table. You settle down, glancing around while he ducks into the kitchen.

A beat later, he returns with two mugs of something hot. You try to thank him in Korean, quietly, and he pauses.

Then replies in slow, clumsy English,

“Warm. Good for… um. Cold.”

It’s not smooth, but it hits you square in the chest. You knew he understood a tiny bit of English but you could tell that this was something he truly cared about getting.

You grin, can’t help it. He glances down, ears going pink with the fear of getting something wrong. Or maybe the sight of your smile and slightly crinkled eyes had more of an effect on him than he would let on.

You take a sip, hum a little, “mmm,” followed by a thumbs-up. More than grateful that he was trying.

It’s more than most people have done before for you. Who would attempt to learn a whole language just to understand someone they spend time with.

His shoulders ease.

And for a while, you just sit like that. Cross-legged. Quiet. Familiar. Steam rising. City noises muffled by the window.

Then, Sieun opens the small notebook sitting next to his phone. He flips to a page and turns it toward you.

What do you call this?

Below the question is a sketch of the tea kettle.

You blink. Then answer, spelling it slowly aloud, writing it in your own little travel notebook, the one you’ve been secretly building since the second week you met him.

Then you point to the same drawing and ask, in halting Korean,

“And… Korean?”

He pauses. Smiles faintly.

Says the word, slow. Clear. You repeat it. He nods.

Then he points to the word you wrote.

“Tea,” he says.

It goes back and forth like that.

No pressure. No lessons. Just gentle exchange. And the fact he was trying to understand you better meant more to you then he could ever realise.

You were in his home country, the effort should be from you to him. And whilst you were doing everything to understand the language and culture more, it felt safer knowing you had someone who was helping you along the way.

Sieun looks at you. Really looks at you. The kind that says he’s paying more attention to you than anything else in his world.

And whilst most of the time, his eyes are unreadable, you understand it more than the words in your vocabulary.

“I like you” He speaks in easy English. Practised. And it almost takes the wind out of you. Because before you could reply, he’s leaning forehead and placing the most gentle kiss to your cheek.

He pulls back quicker then he leaned it, slightly awkward sitting there waiting for a reaction.

Had he read the situation wrong?

Instead of ignoring the turmoil in your mind right now, you smile, barely visible and return the ministration, your soft lips placed upon his upper cheek.

Yours was more stable. Slower, More sure now that you knew that your feelings were mutual.

Sieun could’ve forgotten how to breath right there if it wasn’t for the fact his heart was going a hundred miles per hour.

Your faces were close now. Not close enough to be considered romantic but enough to suggest something intimate.

“I like you too” You reply. In Korean. And when you had learnt them words just a few nights ago, you realised you recognised them. Not from around school, or on TV. But from Sieun.

When he would murmur quiet Korean in the safety of the stairwell, as if he didn’t even realise he was doing it. Soft mumbling, barely audible, things you didn’t understand yet. But you recognised them words when you learnt them.

For someone who doesn’t smile much - at all - Sieun’s eyes are glistening with something more heartfelt than before.

Adoration.

And the corner of his lips are turned up slightly, not a smile, but almost. And you notice it straight away, point it out as if it was the rarest sight on the planet. And maybe it was.

He attempts to brush off the fact he was close to breaking his facade, furrowing his eyebrows slightly as if he was confused, but the ghost of a smile still plays at his lips.

And you giggle. Soft, warm, warm enough to fully break the mask behind his eyes and he smiles, really smiles.

Something he hasn’t done in a long time. Not since Su-Ho.

[starlightkwan]

clopidogrel- zayne li

in which feeding clopidogrel and its friend gives you the courage to confess.

info: confessions, literally the beginning of their relationship, clopidogrel has a friend, zayne lowkey being jealous of clopidogrel

fluff, word count: 855

warnings: none (pls lmk if you spot any!)

notes: am i the only one who enjoys looking back at zayne's posted moments and realising how far they have come? zaynie is so cute

As you stand by the large window in Zayne's office, a four legged furry creature catapults itself to the outside ledge. Clopidogrel. “I know you're a squirrel and all, but what if you don't make the jump from the branch to the ledge? Please don't give me early grey hairs, Clopi!” You put a hand on your chest, slightly shaken from the brown squirrel's mighty jump.

You open the window, placing a few walnuts from your hand onto the white window ledge where Clopidogrel sits. Clopidogrel happily picks up the walnuts with its paws, stuffing its mouth. The walnuts you gave soon end up in the hungry squirrel's spacious cheeks, the outline of the walnuts visible even from the side.

“I see someone was too occupied with feeding this greedy little squirrel that they didn't even notice my presence.” A smooth voice fills the silence.

“Doctor Zayne! You scared me!” You turn around, looking at the culprit who gave you your second scare of the day. “And Clopi is not a greedy squirrel, look at it!” You point to said squirrel, who is chomping down on the walnuts.

Way to prove my point, Clopi.

“How many times have I told you that you don't need to call me Doctor Zayne? Zayne works perfectly fine. Why does Clopidogrel have it's name shortened but I still have to be called Doctor Zayne?” He reprimands.

“Right, sorry Zayne.” You give him a toothy grin, correcting yourself. “Clopidogrel is such a long name, especially for a squirrel! I'm just saving my precious breath.”

“Yes, you are precious.” Zayne mumbles quietly, facing the window.

Did I just hear that correctly?

“Sorry Zayne, what did you just say?” You look up at him.

“I was talking to myself. I wanted to know where I put Clopidogrel's walnuts.” He checks his trousers pockets, talking about how he thought it was where he last left them.

Suspicious. But nevertheless, you bring your packet of walnuts between you both. “Here, we can share.”

Zayne takes a small handful and tries to grab Clopidogrel's attention but fails. “Zayne, look! I think Clopidogrel is trying to introduce us to one of it's friends!” You tap his shoulder, your fingers following another squirrel who makes its way to the window.

“Yes, it seems like Clopidogrel has expanded it's social circle. It's next to their friend. Just like us.” He says, giving the smaller squirrel a couple walnuts.

“Yes like us. Friends.” The words leave a bitter taste in your mouth. The taste of being friend-zoned is absolutely horrible.

But technically, he didn't specify if the squirrels were 'just like us' because of them being friends or if he meant how close they physically were.

Does this mean I still have a chance?

“Are we really just friends though?” You ask carefully. Your heart stammers in your chest, the feeling similar to walking on a very thin line without any safety equipment.

“No.” He takes in a sharp breath. “I have always pictured us as more than just that. But I wasn't sure how to get my feelings across to you, how to bring up the fact that I adore you. So much.”

Without wasting even a second, you crash him into a tight hug with Zayne almost losing his balance in the process. “You don't understand how long I've waited to hear those words from you, Zayne. I'm so happy.”

“I'm so glad to know that you feel the same way, ___.” He pulls you in closer, enough for you to get a trace of his warm, cotton scented shirt. The scent is so inviting, you tighten your embrace around him and the sound of a crinkly plastic packet and light tapping on the window drowns out the sound of Zayne's heartbeat.

Confused and very flustered, you let go of him, trying to figure out the cause of the tapping on window.

Clopidogrel. What a greedy little squirrel.

“I can't believe that two squirrels are the reason we confessed.” He chuckles, shifting the glasses frame higher on his nose bridge.

“I'm sorry for calling you a potential reason for my early grey hairs, Clopi.” You pout. “Please take the rest of the packet and share it with your friend as my apology.” With the packet in hand ready to pass the walnuts, a quick paw swipes it, and a frenzy of loud screeches comes from Clopidogrel as it hurriedly chases after its friend.

“I also cannot believe the squirrels don't have the patience to wait for us to finish our hug.” Zayne crosses his arms over his chest, annoyed.

“I think they're just like you.” You say, your hands behind your back like a giddy child.

“Really? Humour me.”

“They know exactly what they want.” You flutter your eyelashes at him.

“I do. Great observation, but do you know what I want?” He asks, bringing his hands down to your waist.

“Does this answer your question?” Getting on your tiptoes, you wrap your arms around his neck, re-closing the distance between you as you brush your lips on his.

“It does.” He hums, attaching his lips back onto yours.

𐙚. ݁₊⋆❀˖° pls don’t be afraid to interact! reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated :) dms work too! if you have any feedback or requests, pls lmk! <3 enjoy the rest of your day/ night!

[littlegochu]

age gap 2 │ jjk 18+

"they said i was too young for him. that he should know better. but he loved me carefully — and i loved him like i had nothing to lose.”

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: strangers to lovers, age gap, slow burn

rating: 18+ (explicit content — sexual themes)

synopsis: you met when you were a bartender. he was a mystery. now you’re his girl — and sometimes, it still doesn’t feel real

him handling you in the club

the bass is loud enough to rattle your ribs, violet lights flickering like static, everyone in the vip booth drowned in alcohol and ego. jungkook is leaned back on the couch, legs spread, one arm tossed lazily behind you, the other resting on your bare thigh like he owns it.

because he does. tonight, you’re draped over his lap, sipping something sweet, eyes heavy, lips parted in a smirk as you feel the weight of his touch on your skin.

and someone across the room doesn’t like that.

you feel the stare before you see her.

tall, tight dress, too much perfume—you could smell it even from where you sat. she’d been watching you all night. watching him.

you clocked her hours ago. but now she’s walking over, fake smile painted on like gloss, heels clacking with way too much purpose.

“didn’t realize they were letting just anyone into vip tonight,” she says lightly, eyes skimming over you.

you blink once, unfazed. “guess you made the cut too, huh?”

her smile wavers. not gone—but cracked. “jungkook’s tastes really changed.”

you hum as you take a sip, slow and deliberate. “still bitter?”

her brow twitches like you struck something. “must be a phase,” she mutters, more to herself than anyone else. “he’ll get over it.”

you let out a quiet laugh, then look her dead in the face. “guess he already got over you.”

and that’s all it takes.

the drink comes fast. a sharp splash of cold straight to your chest, soaking your top, dripping from your collarbone like punishment.

you don’t flinch.

you blink once, glance down at the mess, and set your glass on the table—quiet, steady.

“oh, bitch—”

you lunge.

but before your fingers so much as graze her, an arm catches you—strong and fast, wrapped around your waist like a steel bar. your feet leave the ground in a clean, effortless lift, your body hauled back into something solid.

jungkook.

you’re still thrashing, wild with rage. “let me go,” you hiss, squirming hard. “kook—let me go.”

his arm locks tighter across your middle. unshakable. commanding. his other hand slides up—calm, smooth—and grabs your jaw, thumb pressing into your cheek, tilting your face gently but firmly back toward his chest.

not rough. not aggressive.

just controlled.

he leans down, lips at your ear, voice so low it barely exists above the bass.

“y/n. baby. stop.”

his tone is like ice—chilled steel, quiet and final. no emotion. no chaos. just that steady, unreadable calm he slips into when things go sideways.

it’s the same voice he used when you tried to storm out on him that night at the bar. when you picked a fight with some guy who looked at you wrong. when you pushed every one of his buttons just to see what would happen.

and every time, he doesn’t yell.

he commands.

your breath catches in your throat. the room feels too quiet, like the music’s suddenly underwater. your skin’s still wet, your heart’s still racing, but your limbs still anyway. not because you want to calm down.

but because he told you to.

that’s what jungkook does—he doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t fight for control. he is control. and when that energy locks in on you? everything in your body listens.

his grip doesn’t ease up. he holds you there, grounded, caged, until the fire in your chest stops shaking your hands.

then, without even looking at her, he speaks.

his voice is louder now, but still cold, still casual in the most unnerving way. “leave.”

she opens her mouth—probably to fake some wide-eyed apology—but he finally turns his head.

just once. just enough for her to see that look.

jaw tight. eyes dead. that quiet danger in the way his lips don’t move unless it’s worth it.

“before i make you.”

she disappears. no questions. no protest.

and you?

you’re still in his hold, your pulse loud in your ears, your chest tight against the wet fabric clinging to your skin. your breathing’s uneven. your mind’s still catching up. but his hands don’t leave you.

he slowly sets you down, like the storm in you has passed, but keeps one hand warm and solid on your waist. his thumb brushes over your hip in slow, grounding strokes.

he doesn’t say anything at first. doesn’t rush to ask if you’re okay. doesn’t speak just to fill the silence.

he never does.

he just looks at you like he’s waiting for you to come back to yourself. and that’s somehow worse. somehow hotter. somehow more him.

you grit your teeth, brushing water from your chest, still seething. “i was gonna handle it.”

his thumb presses a little deeper into your hip. his smile—lazy, small—curves up, just barely. not teasing. not proud. just knowing.

“i know.”

you glance up, jaw clenched. “then why—”

he leans in again, lips brushing the corner of your jaw. warm, calm. patient in the way he never is when it comes to anyone else.

“because you’re mine,” he murmurs, voice curling into your skin. “and i handle what’s mine.”

his jealous side

it starts quiet.

you’re curled up on the couch in his hoodie, legs bare, phone in hand, mind somewhere else. music playing low from the kitchen speaker, warm lights making the apartment feel soft. calm. you barely notice the sound of jungkook coming down the hall—barefoot, fresh from the shower, hair still damp at the ends, silver chain clinging to his collarbone, black sweatpants sitting low on his hips. his walk, as always, is unhurried. silent.

you should be used to it. the way he carries himself. the way he moves without needing to take up space, because space already bends around him. but even now, even when you’re scrolling, pretending not to care, your eyes flick up briefly just to admire him.

he’s fucking beautiful like this.

fresh-faced, jaw tight, neck tattoo visible through the low scoop of his shirt. there's something about the contrast—how soft he looks right out of the shower, and how sharp his presence still is. it always does something to you. and right now, so does the cold in his stare.

he walks past you once. then again, slower. and you don’t even look up the second time.

but he sees it.

the message.

a guy’s name. a message banner sitting at the top of your screen just long enough for him to catch one line. 'you looked good yesterday.'

you don’t reply. just scoff at the screen and scroll past. but that’s enough.

he doesn’t say anything. just moves into the kitchen, grabs a glass, fills it with two fingers of whiskey like it’s routine. like he didn’t just get handed a reason to snap. he returns to the living room and drops onto the other side of the couch. slow. composed. glass in hand, ring tapping once, then again against the side. you don’t look over. you don’t feel it yet.

but he’s already spiraling.

"he text you often?"

his voice is low. too casual. and it cuts through the room like a crack in the glass.

you glance up, not fully clocking the shift. “what?”

his eyes stay on the tv that isn’t even on. “that guy. the one who said you looked good.”

you lower your phone, narrowing your eyes. “you checked my notifications?”

he doesn’t look at you. just takes a sip, sets the glass down, jaw flexing like he’s trying to stay calm. “you gonna answer?”

you study him now. the clean line of his jaw. the tightness in his neck. the way his fingers flex on his knee like they’re aching to clench something harder. “you’re mad?”

his tongue presses into his cheek, jaw locked. he lets out a breathless laugh—sharp and humorless. “i’m not mad,” he mutters, still not facing you. “i just think it’s funny.”

you tilt your head. here we go.

you grin, already recognizing the signs—the shift in his shoulders, the bite in his voice he tries to hide. “jealous?”

his jaw ticks.

“you’re so dramatic,” you add, playing with the hem of your sleeve, biting back the smile pulling at your lips. “i think it’s cute.”

his stare cuts over to you—finally. unreadable. cold.

"you think this is funny?"

you shrug. “a little.”

his eyes narrow slightly. then he murmurs, “you ever smile like that when i tell you you look good? or you save that for strangers now?”

you blink, pulse kicking. because even if it’s a dig, it hits deeper. and you know it.

“maybe you don’t say it enough.”

he sets his glass down. slow. deliberate. and stands.

not fast. not angry. but you feel the shift instantly.

he walks toward you, and you feel your heart pick up, but your face stays the same—bratty and smug, chin tilted just high enough to provoke.

he stops in front of you, arms loose at his sides, towering over you like he knows exactly how this ends.

“you wanna act single?” he asks, voice flat. “go text him back.”

your breath catches.

“but if you do,” he continues, gaze dark, tone heavier now, “don’t crawl into my lap tonight like nothing happened. don’t kiss me like you mean it. don’t sit on my fucking dick like it belongs to you.”

you hold his stare, refusing to flinch. “hmm. sounds like someone’s scared to lose me.”

his hand moves fast.

not rough—but firm.

he grabs your jaw, thumb sliding beneath your chin, angling your face up toward him. his eyes burn into yours—sharp, dangerous, completely unreadable.

“no,” he says, voice barely a whisper. “i just don’t like sharing what’s mine.”

you smile. slow and sweet, like you’re not at all affected. like your chest isn’t burning from how close he is, how good he smells, how tight your legs are pressed together.

“you’re so cute when you’re mad.”

he doesn’t move. just breathes through his nose, trying to stay still, like he’s deciding whether to kiss you or ruin you. like he hasn’t already made up his mind.

“you think this is cute?” he murmurs, eyes dropping to your lips. “me standing here thinking about breaking some random guy’s teeth because he made you smile?”

you hum, lashes fluttering. “little bit.”

he scoffs once, almost amused. “fuckin’ brat.”

you bat your lashes. “your brat.”

his jaw relaxes. then his fingers do. he lets your face go only to cup your jaw softer, thumb stroking along your cheek now. his other hand slides down to your thigh, grounding you. reminding you.

but his eyes?

still dark. still dangerous.

“you piss me off,” he mutters, lower now, like it’s a secret only meant for your skin. “but i’m obsessed with you.”

your breath stutters.

he leans in, forehead pressing against yours.

“you don’t need to look at anyone else,” he whispers. “i’ll give you everything. just don’t forget who you belong to.”

you blink up at him, throat tight, heart full of something you’re too stubborn to name. “i’m yours.”

his hand squeezes your thigh. possessive. warm.

“then don’t make me remind you again.”

he kisses you then—slow, deep, laced with warning—and everything else melts.

because you love him like this.

toxic, jealous, hot, unbothered—until it comes to you.

then he burns.

and you'd let him.

every time.

he helps you in the shower

you’re brushing your teeth in one of his oversized shirts — your hair’s tied up messy. your eyes are tired. the bathroom’s half-steamed already from the shower he just turned on.

he’s leaning against the doorframe behind you. shirtless. sweats low on his hips. chain resting against his collarbones, damp hair sticking to his forehead.

he hasn’t said anything since he came home.

just walked in, kissed your temple, and started the water like it was muscle memory.

now he’s watching you through the mirror, eyes unreadable.

you rinse your mouth. “you okay?”

no answer.

he steps behind you — slow, deliberate. arms wrap around your waist from behind, pulling you back against his chest. his lips graze your shoulder, not quite kissing. just breathing there.

you rest your hands on the sink. wait.

his voice is rough, low. “come in with me.”

and you nod.

because whatever happened tonight — whatever made him like this — he’s not ready to talk about it. not out loud. not yet.

so you strip slowly, let him undress you the rest of the way. his hands trail down your arms, your back, your hips — not teasing, not sexual. just needing to feel you. needing you close.

when the water hits your skin, it’s hot enough to sting. steam wraps around both of you, heavy and comforting. jungkook pulls you under with him, his hand on the back of your head to keep you safe under the spray.

he tilts your chin up. wet hair clings to your cheeks.

then he reaches for the shampoo. pumps it into his palm. lathers it slow.

he washes your hair like he’s memorizing every part of you. fingers scratching softly at your scalp, massaging behind your ears. not a word. just breathing.

your eyes flutter closed. your heart hurts for him.

you whisper, barely audible over the water, “tell me what happened.”

his hands pause in your hair.

but he doesn’t speak.

just leans forward, rests his forehead against yours. water running between your mouths.

you don’t push.

he rinses you gently, guides your head back under the stream with a soft “there you go, baby.” his voice is quiet now. like if he says too much, he’ll break.

after, he pulls you back to his chest. arms tight around your waist. chin on your shoulder.

you tilt your head back and kiss the underside of his jaw.

his voice is a whisper. “i just needed to feel you.”

you nod against him.

he kisses your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. slow. unhurried. like he’s grounding himself in you.

your hand reaches down, fingers brushing his abs, the cut of his waist, the way his body tenses beneath your touch.

he exhales hard.

not just turned on.

needy.

for you. for comfort. for the kind of closeness that says, i’m yours. and you’re mine. and we’re safe here.

you turn to face him. press your chest to his. wrap your arms around his neck, fingers carding through his soaked hair.

you kiss him. deep. slow. not to start something — just to feel.

his hands fall to your thighs, lift you effortlessly, your back hitting the fogged-up wall. your legs around his waist. his forehead rests against yours again. he breathes you in.

“you’re everything,” he mutters.

then kisses you again.

deeper this time.

"this reminded me of you"

he’s standing in line somewhere — grocery store, maybe, or some dumb streetwear pop-up taehyung dragged him to — and suddenly it’s there. your scent.

warm. sweet. soft vanilla and something floral, just barely. it’s faint, coming off the girl in front of him.

and he feels it in his teeth.

his chest tightens. not because of her. but because the memory is too vivid.

you. on his lap. that scent on your neck. him burying his face there when you whine too much. when your voice gets bratty. when he’s two seconds from losing it and all he can do is inhale you, like that alone will calm him down.

he clenches his jaw.

leaves the store early.

by the time he gets home, his phone’s already in his hand.

[9:53 PM] jungkook: i miss you

[9:57 PM] you: something happen?

[9:59 PM] jungkook: i smell you. im coming over rn

and when he shows up twenty minutes later, seeing you in your oversized tee and lip gloss half-faded?

he lifts you up without a word and buries his face in your neck.

when hes fr pissed off

just a casual night out with friends, nothing crazy. you left in his hoodie and a miniskirt, said you’d be home by ten. jungkook didn’t argue. he just hummed in response, eyes flicking up from his phone for a second before nodding once, unreadable.

but it’s past midnight now. and you haven’t replied in two hours.

u good?

baby

where ru?

dont make me check ur location

he did. of course he did.

he’s in the car within five minutes. grey sweats, black tee, chain out, brows low, jaw locked. no music. just the sharp click of his turn signal and the low hum of his engine.

your pin isn’t even far. some rooftop bar you didn’t name, music thumping down to the street, girls laughing near the entrance.

and then he sees you.

you’re standing with a group, phone in your hand, still smiling at something your friend says. like you didn’t just give him an hour of silence. like he wasn’t pacing the living room wondering if he was being overprotective or just protective enough.

he doesn’t text. doesn’t call. just pulls up, one hand on the wheel, the other resting over his mouth, eyes burning holes through the windshield.

your phone buzzes. finally, you glance down.

get in the car now.

you freeze a little. heart stuttering.

when you meet his eyes through the windshield, your smile fades.

he doesn’t move.

you don’t even say goodbye — just whisper something to your friend and slip down the steps, legs suddenly feeling a little less steady.

the passenger door clicks unlocked as you reach it. you climb in. shut it quietly.

silence.

he doesn’t look at you. just pulls off the curb, one hand on the wheel, the other clenched against his thigh. his jaw ticks once. twice.

the air is thick.

you shift in your seat. “i didn’t mean to—”

“why’d you stop answering?”

his voice is low. too calm.

“i was just with—”

“don’t do that.” he exhales sharply, shaking his head, still not looking at you. “don’t act like i’m crazy.”

“i’m not.”

“you said you’d be home at ten.”

you bite your lip. “i didn’t think—”

“exactly. you didn’t think.”

you fall quiet.

the silence stretches again. the only sound is the turn signal and the occasional drag of his fingers across his lower lip, like he’s stopping himself from saying more.

your voice is soft. “i’m sorry.”

he doesn’t answer.

you look down. hands in your lap. hoodie sleeves covering your fingers.

he pulls into the lot. parks. doesn’t get out. just sits there, hands gripping the wheel like it’s the only thing keeping him from unraveling.

his voice is lower now. more tired than angry. “if something happened to you…”

you glance up, heart aching.

“i’m not controlling you. you know that, right?”

“i know,” you whisper.

“then why the fuck wouldn’t you just text me back?”

you pause. “…i didn’t mean to ignore you.”

he finally turns to you.

and that look? that unreadable, lowburn fury mixed with genuine fear? it stings more than yelling ever could.

you swallow hard. “i’m sorry.”

he stares for a second longer, eyes flicking between yours.

then — finally — his features soften. just barely.

he sighs, reaches across the console, and rests a hand on your bare thigh, thumb dragging slowly over your skin.

“i’m not mad you went out,” he mutters. “i’m mad you made me feel like i had to worry.”

you nod. “i won’t do it again.”

letting out your inner child

it’s almost 1 a.m. the party’s over. the music’s off. the apartment smells like burnt candles and sweet liquor and you. jungkook’s stripped down to just his boxers, chain still clinging to his chest, hair messy from too many hugs and too much heat. you’re wearing one of his old tees, no bra underneath, and your thighs still have faint handprints from where he held you in the kitchen earlier.

he’s sprawled out on the couch, head tilted back, legs spread wide, arm out like he’s waiting for you to crawl into it.

“come here,” he mumbles, voice low and scratchy. “wanna hold you.”

you roll your eyes fondly, wiping down the last glass from the counter. “you’ve been holding me all night.”

“not enough.”

you smirk, tossing the cloth down. “you’re such a baby after birthdays.”

he doesn’t deny it. just looks at you—half-lidded, glowing in the lamplight, skin flushed from alcohol and your touch.

you make your way over, barefoot, hips swaying, and he pulls you down instantly. your thigh drapes over his, chest to chest, your hands on either side of his jaw as he buries his face in your neck.

“missed you all night,” he mutters.

“you were literally beside me the whole time.”

“but not like this.”

his palm slides under your shirt, resting on the small of your back, the other hand creeping down to your thigh, fingers pressing into the softness. he’s warm and big and possessive, breath slow against your collarbone.

you shift your hips, teasing. “you’re hard.”

"hmm,"

his voice is lazy. heavy. he’s not even trying to hide it—he’s touchy and needy and about five seconds from flipping you over and grinding into you on the couch cushion. and you’d let him. in a heartbeat.

but instead, you whisper near his ear, “wait… i didn’t give you your real gift yet.”

his brows twitch. “i told you not to get me anything.”

“shut up. you’ll like this one.”

you untangle from his grip—he grunts in protest—and reach for the little gift bag hidden behind the couch. it’s plain, no ribbons, but the moment he sees you holding it, he sits up straighter.

“you’re sneaky,” he says, eyes narrowing.

you just hand it over.

he opens it slow. pulls back the tissue. pauses.

then—still. completely still.

his lashes flick up, then down again. he doesn’t speak. just stares at it.

the lego set. the one he glanced at two months ago in the toy aisle when you were shopping for his niece. the one he admired for maybe ten seconds before shaking his head and walking away like it didn’t matter. like he hadn’t wanted it since he was ten.

you watch him now. bare chest rising and falling slowly. jaw slack. chain glinting in the lamplight. and something in his face just... shifts.

“you remembered,” he says, so quietly.

“you always remember what i like,” you whisper. “figured i’d return the favor.”

he looks up at you. and you swear—for a second—he forgets how to breathe.

then he’s pulling you back into his lap, this time even closer. thighs caging you in. arms wrapped around your waist like he needs to feel your heartbeat through skin.

“you didn’t have to,” he mumbles into your shoulder.

“i know.”

his hands glide down your back. smooth. slow. reverent. “you’re too good to me.”

you grin, fingers combing through his hair. “you deserve it.”

he exhales, lips brushing your collarbone. “you’re my whole fuckin’ world.”

you kiss his cheek, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. “happy birthday, baby.”

his voice comes out rough. “best one i’ve ever had.”

and you stay there. just like that. your bodies tangled, the lego box forgotten for now, his hands roaming but not rushing, his lips finding yours again and again—soft, lazy, needy.

[dreamsteddie]

Stretch Zone

Part One, Part Five, Part Six (you are here)

Also on Ao3

We got a long one, boys!

Divider credit: @steddiecameraroll-graphics

Eddie is, by every measure, freaking the fuck out.

Thursday had been crazy. Bat shit. A fever dream if he ever had one.

He had been determined to seek Steve out. Eddie might not consider himself very brave, but he wasn’t about to squander even the smallest chance he had with a guy like Steve. Yeah, they didn’t know each other very well, but even outside of his unprecedented lust for the guy, something about him made Eddie want to reach out. To grab his hand and never let go.

But then Steve came in late, setting up in the same spot as normal college-esque rules of ‘everyone has a seat even if there are no assigned seats’ persisted in Chrissy’s jock classroom. And then he was up and across the room before Eddie could finish cleaning his mat. And then he was locked in conversation with Chrissy.

Did it start a strange gurgling feeling in his stomach, as if his body was physically digesting any kind of hope he had built up as an act of self preservation?

Yes.

Until Chrissy was turning his way, telling him that Steve had invited them to go out after class next week.

Which quickly devolved into a one-in-a-lifetime act from God’s most beautiful mime, some truly terrible lying, and unspoken promises of violence from his best friend.

It turned out that not only was Steve beautiful and kind enough to pick up unfit men off the floor, but he was also clever and giving and just a little bitchy in a way that made Eddie feel feral. He went home that night and wondered if that little bout of defensiveness, Steve’s unimpressed but not unkind regard for his dramatics, was more his personality than Eddie initially thought.

God, he hoped so.

He’d been so blinded by biceps and smiles and wide hands on sturdy hips that he’d put himself in a situation.

—--

“What if I told you I had a bit of a proposition for you, Stevie?” Jesus H. Christ, Steve was letting him get so close. Eddie could smell him again. Cedar and sweat. Mmmmm.

“What kind of proposition?” Steve was saying something. He should tune back in.

“Huh?” He asked, completely distracted. Was that vanilla? Maybe some spices?

Oh, the crossed arms were back. Eddie liked those. Really showed off the biceps. And the moles on the biceps. And the dark hairs and the - “You just said you had a ‘proposition’ for me.” Steve said, air quotes implied in his tone of voice. That lilt of delicious bitchiness back. Yummy. Aaaaand he’s still talking. Focus! “You alright, man?”

Eddie blinked back to himself, leaning back out of Steve’s space to preserve his own sanity and whatever was left of his dignity. Get it together, you perv . “Yes, ah, of course, my proposition,” he spluttered. In all honesty, he had kind of lost the thread. Oh, right. “Seeing as you and I both have a vested interest in the happenings of two young scholars, I think a little sleuthing might be in order.”

Eddie got to watch in real time as Steve’s brow furrowed, making one adorable little caterpillar Eddie really wanted to bite. He never really got it when people said scrunched noses were cute, but he was very quickly learning. 

“What?”

He smiled, the familiar buzz of impending trickery bubbling up under his skin.

“We should spy on their date,” he said, smile stretching across his face. The one Wayne always said meant trouble.

Steve’s face cleared, a smile of his own blooming under Eddie’s watchful eye. If Steve was the kind of guy who enjoyed a bit of mischief, Eddie was really a goner.

“Hell yeah, man.”

Oh boy.

—--

Now it’s the day before class, and he’s freaking out.

It’s not a date. He’s not delusional enough to think that, but it’s something. Real time spent with Steve outside of yoga class. Does he dress up? Should he bring some kind of offering? It’s not a date, but if he plays all his cards right and emulates his most charming self, maybe it could turn into one.

Chrissy is already suspicious, so he’ll need to pack an extra set of clothes if he wants to look nice, which he does. He’s on thin ice with her as is, if she suspects that he’s got non-Wayne related plans later that evening, she’ll have his ass, and there’s really only one person he’d like to hand his ass over to at the moment.

So he’ll need to bring some kind of gym bag. He could barf. Him, with a gym bag. His own mat that Chrissy bought him, complete with strap. High ponytails, Walmart gym shorts, and a fucking gym bag with a water bottle and a change of nice clothes for after his workout.

Who has he become?

But it’s all worth it. The exercise, the lying to Chrissy, the betrayal of his ideals, for one prize beyond price.

Steve’s phone number. Saved in his shitty Motarolla, upping its resale value by at least a million dollars.

Eddie would sell his soul any day for that phone number. Who needs ideals when they have a direct line to Venus?

And he’s going to make good use of it. Not to be creepy, no, but a little conversation never hurt anyone, and Eddie has questions. Pressing, immediate questions. And he and Steve are practically friends now. Aquatences with plans to hang out and spy on their lesbian best friends. It’s a romance that practically writes itself.

Eddie: What’s the vibe of the restaurant? Fancy? Lowkey? Fast casual dining? Bar?

Eddie: Do I need to break out the wingtips?

Cool. That was cool, right? Casual. Just a little funny. Cheeky even. Boys liked cheeky, he’s pretty sure he read that once. Steve is going to be eating out of the palm of his hand in no time.

He is decidedly not prepared for Steve’s swift response. The buzz of his phone in his hand making him panic. Throwing it across the room is a perfectly natural response. Thank Dio for off-brand OtterBoxes.

Steve Munson <3: This Eddie?

Steve Munson<3: I let Robin pick. It’s a vegan place, real cutesy. Kind of a bistro without the brooding vibe. Jeans and a clean shirt should be fine.

Cutesy, Chrissy loves a cutesy vegan vibe. Eddie can hear wedding bells. Maybe a double wedding, then. Eddie and Chrissy in matching dresses and Steve and Robin in matching suits. It could be cute.

Eddie: Damn, so no slutty shorts? 😔

Too much, too much, too much. Steve does not want to think about him in slutty little shorts. It’s a well established fact that he’s got a pancake back there.

Steve Munson <3: Sorry. Next time we’ll hit the club

Next time. Next time. Implying future outings. Implying future instances in which Steve will bless him with his presence outside of a 45-minute yoga course he was forced into. Maybe in a slutty outfit. Maybe he’ll let Eddie talk about DnD and the book he was reading and —

Bzz

Steve Munson <3: I’ve been looking for an excuse to break out the mesh crop top anyway.

Jesus H. Christ on a cracker. Eddie was going to explode. Or melt on the floor. Or pass out from lack of blood flow to his head.

He scrambled for a reply, not wanting to give Steve any reason to backtrack.

Eddie: Promises, promises. I’ll hold you to it, big boy

Thirty seconds, then a minute, then two minutes pass, which in virtual time might as well be an hour, pass without a response. He’s in the middle of typing out a rushed apology, complete with insistence that a demon had possessed him for a brief moment, when his phone buzzes again.

Steve Munson <3: I keep my promises, Munson.

This can’t be real.

Eddie: Good 😜

—---

Thursday dawns bright and sunny, a perfect spring day primed for romance.

Eddie starts his day with a call to Wayne. Eddie had clued him in to the plan as soon as he left with Steve’s number last week. Chrissy was sure to call and confirm his alibi for herself. Wayne loved her and they were in consistent contact. He’s pretty sure Wayne answers more of her texts than his.

Luckily, that love was something Eddie could play off. Wayne wanted them both to find partners, and he was more than willing to play along to set her up with someone Eddie approved of. Technically, he’s never met Robin himself, but there were enough glowing reviews from Steve and Chrissy that he felt like he could give her the stamp.

Eddie makes sure to project his voice just a little bit more than usual. He knows Chrissy is listening in.

“Yeah, yeah, old man. I’ll be there. 6 PM sharp.” His voice is too loud, he knows. High school theater didn’t prepare him for this.

“Boy, I don’t know if I should be disappointed or proud that I raised such a bad liar,” Wayne gripes. They both know this phone call is bullshit.

“Shut up.” That one was real.

“You gonna let me get off this phone any time soon?” Wayne grumbles. The man is semi-retired and spends all his free time out in the garden. He’s probably thinking about the “dew point” and “getting out before the sun peaks” or whatever. No time to spare for his only son. What a grouch.

“I’ll tell Chrissy you said hi. And thank Jeremy for me. Appreciate him dropping you off.” There, natural. Ms. Willson would be proud.

“You better. I want to hear about this date. You’re calling me tomorrow,” Wayne says.

“Alright, old man. See you later.” He hangs up with little flair.

He’s got an outfit to plan.

—---

Class progresses as normal. Chirssy spent the whole morning giving him the side eye, but she didn’t say anything before she left for work. All in all, the best he could have hoped for from his nosy best friend. She was probably too busy thinking about her own outfit to impress Robin with.

He got to watch Steve come in to class from his spot on the floor. He was wearing the yoga pants again. Everything was tucked away properly, but nothing could fully hide that bulge. Eddie knows he has a big dick, he just knows it. He may have never seen any besides his own outside of porn, but he has a sense for these things.

Steve gives him one of those little waves again before turning around to set up. The lady next to him gives an audible sigh as he turns around, peachy ass on full display. 

Solidarity, sister.

To his utter dismay, the class is actually getting easier. He can feel the muscles in his arm firming up and the ever present ache in his hip loosening with every class. He will never, ever tell Chrissy she was right.

He makes a show of silently packing up his mat as they go into the cool down. It’s usually his favorite part of the whole afair, anything called corpse post was bound to speak to him, but he told Chrissy he had to leave early to make it back to Hawkins in time. It serves the dual purpose of selling the ruse and saving both him and Steve from potential scrutiny when they left together. Eddie would be parked down the street in his van, where Steve would meet him.

For their not date.

He cranked the AC and jumped in the back. He didn’t risk stopping for a shower and taking too long, but he came prepared with his gym bag in the back. He stripped down, changed into his dark red, plain t-shirt with a little pocket on the front with no utility, and his nicest black jeans. A fresh application of deodorant, the return of his rings and guilar pick necklace, and the addition of his favorite sword earrings made the look complete. 

He looked pretty hot, if he did say so himself.

He only had to wait a couple of minutes, drumming out the beat of Rainbow In The Dark before the passenger door was yanked open.

Steve outside of his workout clothes is bad for his heart. He’s exactly as pretty and jockey as Eddie imagined him to be. 80s style polo, light wash Levi's, perfectly white sneakers. If Eddie thought he smelt amazing after the workout, it was nothing compared to this freshly touched up version of him.

Spice and vanilla and cedar. Eddie hopes it lingers on the seat.

“Man, you should have seen Chrissy’s face. Red as a tomato, I swear. This is going to rock.” Steve was animated, clearly excited by the success of their plan.

“Don’t celebrate too soon, my good sir. There is much merriment yet to be had this night!”

Steve laughs. Full bellied and definitely too much for the half joke. He’s different from how Eddie has seen him before. Looser. Last week, he’d been stressed. Most weeks he was focused, in the yoga zone, and after Eddie’s little tumble, he had been gentle.

This Steve seemed boisterous. Fun. Eddie really hopes he got to see more of him tonight. He’s so lost in his own admiration that he almost, almost, missed the appreciative look Steve sends him from the corner of his eye.

Score.

“I reckon we got twenty minutes before Chrissy heads out. She’s probably going to touch up her eyeshadow and let her hair down. Robin is going to be begging on her knees.” He doesn’t acknowledge the look. Not too fast.

“I don’t doubt it,” Steve says, laughing as he pulls a sturdy brown leather watch from his pocket to fix back on his wrist. Eddie can’t help but be charmed by it. Not a lot of people are out there wearing watches these days, not with phones always close at hand. Eddie, perpetually late as he is, has worn Wayne’s old piece since he was 11.

It makes him think of a future with ten-year anniversary gifts. Matching watches, their anniversary etched into the back. Maybe it won’t be with Steve, even if he isn’t letting go of the absurd hope that it will be, but he thinks the sentiment will stay with him. Something to hold on to, even if it’s doomed to crash and burn.

“Alright,” Steve snaps him out of his reverie, bringing his hands together in a single loud clap. ���Let’s get this show on the road. I want to get the perfect spot in the bar room. Robin always picks a place in the dining room. Should be a perfect view.”

“Let’s get this chariot on the road!” Eddie puts the pedal to the metal, Steve grabbing for the oh shit handle and cursing him out. Eddie cackles, easing off the gas. “Sorry, sweetheart. Didn’t mean to spook ya.” Eddie feels giddy.

“Whatever, Munson. Just don’t kill us before we get there. Robin is my emergency contact, and that would totally kill the vibe.” His tone is annoyed, but that beautiful smile hasn’t left his face.

—---

Steve was right. Roots is all pink walls, light wood, and hand painted signs. It’s cute in that pretentious “we charge $20 for our cocktails” kind of way. AKA, the kind of place Chrissy will love. Eddie is going to love it too, because Steve insisted that dinner and drinks were on him tonight.

The hostess walks them to the actual bar, but Steve asks for one of the little tables in the corner. It’s a little thing, but it makes Eddie’s heart pitter-patter. For all his bravado, he’s the kind of guy who won’t send things back to the kitchen even if they’re raw. Steve makes his request with ease and kindness.

Their table is tucked away, but has great sightlines to the main room. It’s even got some conveniently placed plants in various sizes, hopefully enough to hide them from early detection. He makes a show of pulling out Steve’s chair. Enough of a gesture to be kind, goofy enough not to be taken too seriously.

“I get the chickpea faux chicken sandwich. It’s amazing. Doesn’t taste like chicken at all, though, so be warned.” Steve says, looking down at the menu after they’ve settled in and gotten the spiel from their server.

Luckily, Chrissy has been vegetarian since they graduated high school. He’s been to his fair share of vegan and vegetarian spots through the years and knows his way around these coded menus.

“I’m eying this coconut kung pao. Seems weird.” Eddie likes to try strange foods every now and then. Keeps him young and alive.

“Whatever you want, man, but I’m not sharing if you hate it,” Steve says. There’s no sting in his words, just light teasing.

“Oh, ye of little faith. If it’s the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth, I’m not giving you a taste. How about that?” Steve gives him a pointed look. Eyebrows raising a little like he wants to make an inappropriate comment but is holding back.

Uh oh, too much. Abort. His brain can not handle hearing a dirty joke come out of Steve’s mouth. It would kill him.

He coughs loudly, making a show of thumping his chest. “Uh, anyway! How long have you known Robin? You said you live together?” Steve is kind enough to give him the out.

“Summer job. Well, it was a summer job for her. It was a normal job for me.” Steve rubs the back of his neck, eyes distant as he pulls up the dusty memories. “We went to high school together, but we didn’t talk or anything. I was kind of a dick, and she was al band kid.” It’s a familiar story, in a way. Chrissy and him only collided in Eddie’s last senior year, two people on opposite sides of the social scales.

Steve talks with his hands. Waving them around to emphasize his point, his mood more discernible by his movements than his face. “Anyway. We didn’t get along at first. Then there was this whole…thing. A fire while we were closing. Got trapped together for a while and became best friends, Soulmates, really.” He averts his gaze, looking out into the bar to avoid Eddie’s gaze.

That was…a lot. Like, Jesus. Eddie’s no stranger to trauma, but trapped in a burning building on the clock is kind of next level.

“That’s rough, man. I mean, I’ve been through some shit but that’s heavy.” Was that condescending? Is he making it about himself? Not-dating but trying to date is hard. “But, at least you got Robin out of it. She seems cool.” That, at least, seems to be the right thing to say. Steve brightens up, the distance in his eyes closing.

“She’s the best. Like, so smart. She’s one of those, fuck I forget, a polymorph? Someone who’s crazy good with language.” He’s so cute, Eddie could just eat him up.

“A polyglot?” He asks. One of his NPCs two campaigns ago had been a polyglot.

Steve snaps his finger, giving him that dorky finger gun again. “Yes, that’s it. She’s studying –” He’s cut off by their waitress coming around to take their orders. He has to resist the urge to glare holes into the side of her face. Steve was in the middle of talking, rambling even, and Eddie had been happily soaking it in.

They placed their orders. Steve getting his sandwich and a fruity peach cocktail and Eddie pairing his kung pao with a huckleberry mule. 

“You were saying?” Eddie suddenly feels like his time is running out. This feels so much like a date. Steve, so handsome, sitting across from him, paying for his meal, and telling him about his life. The girls will be here any minute, but he wants to sit in this moment for a little longer. Make the most of it before the bubble bursts and their focus turns to their friends.

“Oh, yeah.” He seems surprised, like maybe he expected them to drop it. “She’s getting her degree in linguistics. I didn’t even know, but apparently there’s a bunch of native languages are like, going extinct. She wants to work with a bunch of tribes to keep the languages alive.” He looks so fucking proud of her, it makes his heart clench. He hopes he looks half as proud of Chrissy when he talks about her. She deserves it.

“That’s really cool.” He knows he must have a love sick look on his face, but at this point, he doesn’t care. Let Steve see.

He gets to watch as Steve’s face flushes, just a little. Freckles shining sweetly on top of pretty pink cheeks. Eddie lets himself lean in, letting the silence build as he leans his head on his hand, content to stare at the man in front of him.

It’s Steve’s turn to cough, lifting his fist to his mouth like a cartoon character. Eddie just smiles more. “So, uh, how’d you meet Chrissy?” He’s so cute, not looking Eddie right in the eye. Just a little childish. 

“Kind of similar story, actually. Chrissy was –” and then it’s his turn to be cut off. Not by their waitress, but by Steve’s own hand, covering his mouth.

“Shit, sorry. But also, shhh .” Steve brings his finger up to his lips, and suddenly Eddie doesn’t give a shit if Steve is pushing his top lip into his teeth. What a view. Perfectly plush. “They’re here.”

Oh, right. Eddie had just about managed to forget. This is a mission. Not a date.

He turns his chair sideways, peering his head around their convenient potted plant.

Chrissy came ready to kill. She’s in one of her favorite pleated skirts, the blue one with the loop she had Eddie sew on so she could put cute charms on it. She’s got her lesbian flag, the Keroppi charm Eddie harvested from an old earring, and their school mascot. She’s wearing one of those high-neck shirts without sleeves that makes Eddie wonder about bras and where they disappear to.

She’s smiling. The perfect one that made half the school leave love letters in her locker and had Eddie questioning if he wasn’t as gay as he thought for a fleeting moment in senior year. You got this, Chris.

Robin isn’t exactly what he imagined, but upon further thought, she’s exactly the kind of girl he could see Chrissy with. She’s tall, at least half a foot taller than Chrissy. She’s toeing so many lines, Eddie is happy to admit he’s impressed. Stunning and mousey. Masculine and feminine. Confident and unbearably anxious.

Even from far away, he can tell Robin is freaking out. Her mouth hasn’t stopped moving and she’s already downed half her water, almost tipping over the rest with a wave of her hand.

Steve has sooted closer, leaning his head in near Eddie’s for a better view. He can feel his breath on the back of his neck, raising the hairs there. He can also hear his pained groan loud and clear, even as he collapses back into his seat to hide behind one of his large hands.

“She’s doing the thing again,” he groans.

Before he can ask, their waitress comes back with their drinks. She gives them a bit of a look at their strange seating arrangement, but doesn’t say anything. Eddie gives her his most winning smile.

He takes a sip, amused by Steve’s distressed muttering. The drink is good. He has no idea what a huckleberry is, but it makes a nice $17 beverage. 

“So what’s the thing?” He asked, letting his amusement leak into his voice. This is fun.

Steve lets out another loud groan. Luckily, the crowd had picked up enough that there’s no way the girls heard him across the room. He takes another look, smiling as he sees Chrissy twirling her hair around a finger. She’s definitely into whatever Robin’s deal is.

The pursuit of alcohol is enough to get Steve to unveil those pretty hazel eyes again. He makes a face. Guess the peach drink isn’t that great. 

“It’s the rambling. When she’s around a pretty girl, she gets nervous. Can’t make herself stop talking. I thought, since she sees Chrissy in class, maybe it wouldn’t be too bad.” He lets out a little breath, a reluctantly fond smile tickling the corners of his mouth. “It would be cute, but sometimes people think she only wants to talk about herself.”

Eddie looks back again. Chrissy is smiling, talking animatedly while Robin looks at her with stars in her eyes. He pulls the foliage aside a little, clearing the view for Steve. “I don’t know, man. Chrissy doesn’t seem to mind,” he says. 

Steve looks at the duo with soft eyes, love for his best friend shining through his every pore, shoulders relaxing into his seat.

Eddie is so deeply fucked

And he loves the feeling.

------

Next time: Part two of the "not-dates"

Tag List

@aroseandherthorns @child-of-cuthulu @lumoschildextra @warlordess @zzzzesty @watermelonmite @ignoretenderness @pretend-theres-a-name-here @waelkyring @irishbeings @dontslayfay @depressed-andobsessed @exasperatedsighohmy @imacowboy3 @that-one-gay-crow @stranger-things-yapper @wheneverfeasible xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @practicallybegging @yesdangerpls @glitterytyrantchopshop

[obsidiancreates]

None Of Us Are Out Here On Our Own

(Follow-up to This Fic, TL;DR is basically everyone remembers the events from Namsan Tower and the girls did an interview about it.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bobby’s first thought after Gwi-Ma was defeated and he looked up into the sky was exactly as he’d said aloud- “I love my girls!”

His second thought was, ‘I need to make some changes to the schedule.’

He’d climbed up to the stage as his girls drifted back down, not to crowd them but make sure they didn’t get crowded– and he wasn’t the only one with the idea, several familiar security guards they’d hired in the past either climbing up with him or starting to try and file people out of the venue. His phone was buzzing in his pocket the whole time until he finally turned it off entirely– that could all wait until he could at least start to process everything.

“BOBBY!” He doesn’t get to turn around all the way before he’s pulled into a hug by all three of his girls. He hugs back as much as he’s able to, and part of him is surprised it feels the same as it always did– part of him isn’t, because he’s always known the girls were special talents anyway, even before their voices literally reached into his soul and drew on his faith in them to– uh. Well, do a lot of things, all at once, that should sort of be shattering his world but it’s hard to feel shattered when they’re literally holding him together.

“We’re so glad you’re okay!” Zoey pulls away. “That was not us on stage during the Takedown performance!”

“I figured,” Bobby says, but he does slump and smile with relief at the confirmation. “You were amazing, that was just… you have to take that spa trip this time! I mean it, you need to promise me.”

Mira’s brows furrow. “You’re… not going to ask about everything?”

“Oh, I have a million questions, but they can wait until you get a break.” Bobby waves some of the volunteer familiar security over. “You just saved all of Seoul, Korea, I’m guessing the entire world! Go enjoy your couch and I’ll set up the hiatus, we could probably get half a year before the network–”

“Whoa, Bobby, that is way too long,” Rumi protests. “The new Honmoon seems strong, but we need to make sure it stays that way.”

“How long do you girls think you need, then?” Bobby looks up into their eyes, and watches them have a silent conversation with a few glances between themselves.

“Three months?” Rumi offers, Zoey and Mira nodding in agreement.

“Three months it is.” Bobby ushers them to follow security offstage. “You can count on me to hold things down in the meantime, just rest up!”

“Bobby, do you even know what you’re telling us to rest up from?” Mira asks. 

“Not totally, but it’s pretty clear it was a big deal with a lot of history behind it.”

“Generations of history!” Zoey confirms. “... You’re not mad that we didn’t tell you about any of it?”

Bobby shakes his head. “I know you must’ve had your reasons. I am upset that you’ve all been fighting and learning all our choreo at the same time and I had no idea. I need to look into more high-protein snacks for the last minute pick-me-ups!”

“Awww.” Zoey spins on one foot to turn and hug him again. “You’re the best, Bobby!”

Isn’t that a wild thing to hear from someone who just saved the world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bobby doesn’t bother them with questions for their entire hiatus. They’re all already so bad at sticking to it– they do an impromptu fan meet-up on the way back from the bathouse the first day– and he thinks those three months are well-spent processing what he already knows, anyway.

All the times they were late, the ‘surprise special effects’, the theme of their entire image and lyrical discography– somehow it all immediately makes sense and clicks into place slowly. The broad idea fits like a glove, the little details taking time to line up like a glove that got left in the wash and shrunk by a size or two. More than once he finds himself in the middle of a call or meeting or just a meal having a sudden realization that ‘Oh. That was probably demon fighting.’

The interview is truly the first time he learns any of the finer details. His girls are so open, but it’s clear they hold a few things back– especially about Celine, and Rumi’s childhood with the patterns. Good, he’s glad his girls set those boundaries and didn’t share more than they were comfortable with. 

After the interview they’re delayed getting home by the entire crew thanking them each personally, so Bobby blocks out the next morning for some extra sleep-in time. It’s late by the time they get home, and as he rides up in the elevator with them yawns are passed around like samples of fresh-made kimchi before it’s closed up for fermentation.

“Great job today girls,” Bobby praises as the doors open and they all go for the couch. His eyes are glued to his phone as he reads through reactions to the interview, and he stays standing because it’s usually about this time that the girls flop onto the couches for a pre-sleep nap after a long day freshly back from a break. “I’ve never seen so many posts with heart emojis in them, even in the shipping spaces!”

“Bobby.” Rumi’s voice isn’t half-asleep. It’s very awake, very clear, and when he looks up they’re all sitting on one couch with space across from them. Zoey pats the open couch, smiling softly.

“Girls?”

“We’ve got one more interview.” Rumi waves him over, and Mira lightly pushes him to sit down where Zoey had gestured.

“Open book,” Mira says, sitting back. “You deserve to know any extra stuff we didn’t talk about already.”

“That can wait until you get some sleep.”

“That won’t be happening for a while,” Zoey says, yawning but buzzing with nervous energy at the same time. She crosses her legs and beams at him. “Want to see our weapons up close?”

Admittedly he does– they’ve used them onstage hundreds of times (holy crap, they’ve fought demons onstage hundreds of times and he thought it was special effects, just let the realization wash over and focus) and they’re such a striking mix of ethereally delicate and solidly powerful. But…

“If we’re doing this now, I do have a list,” he admits, opening the notepad app on his phone. “First things first– should I start looking into shamanistic artifacts or rituals to keep on hand so you don’t have to worry about interrupting yourselves to protect show crew?”

They all blink, caught off guard. “Uh… no?” Rumi shares a look with Zoey and Mira, who both shrug. “We’ve never really done anything to fight but sing and, um, fight.”

Bobby types ‘Maybe’ next to that one. 

“Do you want to know anything about the Honmoon?” Zoey asks, rocking in place a little. 

He does, where is that note– ah, there. “Can we be spacing things out so you get more breaks but it stays as strong as you need it to?”

Mira’s confused pinch of her brow almost makes her look angry. “We’re working on figuring that out already, actually.”

“Oh, good to hear,” Bobby says with a genuine sigh of relief. He strikes that question out. “Keep me updated on it. Okay, how often do you lose sleep doing your demon hunting?”

“Actually, I’m usually awake anyway,” Zoey says, lifting up her phone and shaking it a bit. 

“It used to be, a lot,” Rumi admits, flinching a little not from fear but to dodge some of the guilt she fears from Bobby’s distressed expression. She uncurls a bit, though, when Bobby just nods, and she continues. “Um, but through the hiatus it’s been… quiet.”

Mira rolls her neck, a few pops heard. “So quiet. It’s super nice.”

Bobby taps his screen with his knuckle. “That’s great news, but I’m still putting a Nap clause in your contracts from now on just in case.”

“Nap clause?” Rumi shakes her head a little, putting her hands out. “Wait, Bobby, these aren’t really the questions we thought you’d have.”

“But these are the most important ones! You girls have been doing twice as much as I thought with less than half the care you needed for it!”

“Now that’s not true.” Mira sits forward, looking intensely into Bobby’s eyes. “You know you’ve been our manager all this time because you do a good job, right?”

“For an Idol Group, not for superheroes.”

“For both. We needed a good manager who could help us balance our duties to the Honmoon and fans, and you did that without even needing to know all this. You kept fans happy when demons delayed us or… we had to no-show, for reasons.” Rumi’s hand lightly brushes over her throat. “That helped keep things working smoothly enough that the Honmoon wasn’t weakened by damaged connections.”

“And now that I do know, I can double-down on that! Speaking of– do we need to do anything to strengthen security? Should they be on the lookout for demons?”

Zoey shakes her head. “Actually, with the new Honmoon, it seems like… nice demons, are the ones coming through? Oh, we should introduce you to Jelly! We met him over the hiatus when we went to the hot springs, he was pretty upset about the SajaBoys but in a, well… fan way. He’s super sweet!”

Mira nods. “Turns out something like, half the demons didn’t even want to do things for Gwi-Ma. They don’t even need to eat souls without him around anymore.”

Bobby rubs at his chest even though he can’t feel his soul, or see it, but thanks to the Namsan concert he knows that’s where it is. “Should I hire medical professionals for our team full-time?”

Mira smirks. “We usually don’t need it.”

Zoey grins sharply, Rumi smiling with determination, all three giving fist-bumps. 

Bobby can’t help but also smile proudly. “That’s my girls! Okay, how about–”

“Bobby, we’re fine,” Rumi interrupts, laughing a little now. “We’ve got everything we need already with how things are set up.”

“But, we’ll let you know if we think of anything extra,” Mira adds. “We promise.”

“I don’t just want things to work fine, I want to give you as little to have to worry about as possible. It’s my job!”

“And you’re already doing it perfectly.” Rumi sits back a little, putting her arms around Mira and Zoey, patterns shining in a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of colors under the warm lights. “See? We’re all better than we’ve ever been. This time for real.”

And they are. Bobby feels it as much as he sees it, really, because even after their voices had shaken him from that trance three months ago and he looked up to see them flying, a slight hollowness had stubbornly clung to his heart. You couldn’t keep them together. It wasn’t his fault and he knows it, has known for months, but knowing and feeling are so different.

Except for right now. Right now, they align. He knows and he feels that his girls are the best they’ve ever been, he’s doing his best for them, and it’s more than enough.

He turns off his phone and tucks it into his jacket pocket. “I’m so proud of you all.”

“Thank you, Bobby,” they chorus, and all four of them laugh.

Zoey leans forward a bit, eyes sparkling. “Now that we’re past all the logistics… still want to see our weapons?”

“Oh, absolutely!” Bobby leans back a little when the girls all reach out and summon their shimmering crystal-like blades. The girls stand and run through quick practice routines to show off their skills even though they know Bobby’s seen them fight time and time again, and it is different seeing it and knowing it’s all real. He applauds as they strike finishing poses.

His girls are just incredible! 

Zoey flips one of her shin-kal knives so that the grip is towards Bobby. “Want to hold it?”

“Uh, I’m not sure–”

“Just don’t throw it and it’s totally safe!”

Bobby glances at Rumi and Mira, who both spin their weapons defensively to prove that even if something goes horribly wrong somehow they can block just fine.

Bobby grabs the grip like he’s afraid it’ll bite him and afraid it’ll shoot out of his hand by its own accord at any moment. He’s not sure what he expected, but… it’s just normal-feeling. Lighter than it looks, maybe, except it’s magic so it looks light and heavy at the same time. Zoey moves to reposition his hold on it so that his hand is placed a little more naturally, but it feels unnatural anyway because this is not Bobby’s area of comfortable expertise.

Still, it’s pretty cool.

“I can’t believe I thought these were props for so many years!”

“Want to learn how to throw it?” Zoey’s smile is bright and wide and a little manic with sleeplessness as she slowly raises her hand with two more daggers up to by her face.

“Oh absolutely not.” Bobby sets it down gingerly on the table between the two couches. “I’ll leave that stuff up to you three.”

Zoey looks disappointed, but Mira and Rumi give Bobby thumbs-ups. He has a feeling they’d actually be happy to teach him a few things too– if it wasn’t so far past time to sleep. He’ll never ask them to, he’s very happy for his battles to be purely between wits and will with stubborn venue owners, but it is nice to know it’s an option.

“And you can leave everything else up to me.” He stands, pulling his phone back out. “You girls gets some sleep, and I’ll get the photoshoot pushed to the day after tomorrow. Oh, and there’s some samples of high-protein versions of your ramyeon flavors set to arrive in the afternoon tomorrow! If you like them we’ll get them on shelves in time for the next single release!”

The girls cheer. It’s a great plan.

They almost crush Bobby in a group hug just like the one at Namsan, and he waits for them to head to their rooms before getting in the elevator to head home himself. 

These last three months have been a lot to process, a lot of change behind them and more coming up. But one thing stays the same, no matter how complicated Bobby’s life as the Hunter/x manager gets.

He loves his girls.

[crazylittlejester]

If the chain was in a water park, who would be doing what? (And who’s on chair duty?)

oh this is a fun ass question thank you (in this scenario i’m thinking its a big outdoor water park with pools and slides and food and everything)

(sorry for spelling errors or missing words if there are any)

Time is cowering in the shade somewhere, reapplying sunscreen to avoid death, and hiding under things in the pool to scare the shit out of the others. He’s not really in one spot for too long, if somethings wrong the chain isnt even bothering looking for him like “dad help” because “dad” is in line at the scary water slide one minute and beating Twi to death at some pool volleyball the next minute and then he’s disappeared off the face of the earth for an hour after that. He may be the oldest but his ass is not the most mature and he absolutely “accidentally” picks up Wind and throws him in the pool at some point before running away

For the vast majority of the day, War is comfortably lounging on a chair by the pool getting wonderfully tan and taking a nap and it’s the nicest afternoon he’s had in a while. He’s getting little drinks every so often (or more accurately SKY is getting him little drinks, the only time War is getting up is when he decides the lazy river is calling to him), he’s reliably in the same spot. He has the sunscreen and the towels and the bandaids and if someone trips and falls or needs an adult or just needs to find someone, there’s War, there he is. Reliable. A bit tipsy but reliable

Twi hasnt had a chance to get the zoomies out like this in a long while and he’s running around like fucking crazy, get him on ALL the slides. Pool volleyball, he’s swimming laps, too much energy for the lazy river he for sure got kicked out, life guard has yelled at him to walk no less than five times, he ate a whole pizza at one point, and when they get back to the hotel or wherever they’re staying he crashes and sleeps like hes fucking dead. he is dead he has died

When Sky Isn’t running War drinks (and getting himself little treats in the process) he’s making sure the others aren’t drowning. He’s the one actually keeping an eye on people (Twilight is too but Twi’s more likely to run off on his own for a bit and Sky stays with the others for the most part). He does quite enjoy relaxing though so he spends a lot of time just floating in a pool, but he likes the slides and he likes being silly

Hyrule and Wild are just going on the slides over and over and over and over and over and over and over again with zero sign of dying energy. That’s all they do. After the group goes home they get upset because they didn’t even notice half of what else the water park had because all they did was go down slides

Legend surprisingly does spend some time sticking by War, especially during the hottest part of the day. He’s gotta reapply his sunscreen so he doesn’t get burnt to death and explode and when the sun’s super high in the sky he’s under the umbrella over one of the chairs War has reserved for everyone’s stuff. War is, ofc, asleep (because he feels comfortable completely falling asleep with Legend there watching over him) so there’s no bickering out of those two until Sky comes over to check in and War wakes up. Legend definitely spends a lot of time with Sky as well, they have similar energy levels where they have that “I NEED TO RUN AROUND!!!!” voice but their bodies can’t quite keep up due to chronic pain/fatigue so they take it easy

Four spends a good portion of his time in the lazy river completely zoned the fuck out, but when he’s not there he’s getting drowned trying to play volleyball or he’s going on the slides

Wind rotates who he hangs out with because yes he loves water and water parks but its more fun to be with FRIENDS. He does convince War to go down one of the big slides (by lying to him) and gets Sky to watch the stuff, and he spends some time with Wild and Hyrule as well. He’s the one who sees the most of Time sneaking around

Who left the water park with a nice, noticeable tan? War, Twi, Sky, and Wind

Who left the water park with a super uncomfortable burn? Legend

Time left a little pink but not in pain, Wild and Hyrule did tan but it wasn’t super noticeable, Four was completely unaffected by the sun he put his sunscreen on and didnt tan OR burn

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Meg behind the cut; “the one where omegaverse fucks up Red Hood’s life”. content notes/warnings: Batcest, omegaverse, mating cycles/in heat. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

"S'not a relapse,” Dick rasps. “Not–I can smell him, B.” 

The corner of Bruce's jaw tightens, this time. Jason’s teeth itch. Jason’s trigger finger itches.

“It isn't him,” Bruce says, vocoder-beta and vocoder-neutral and in a voice that isn’t even fucking his, and a voice that was the first one Jason had let himself trust after he’d woken up and found his mother–his one and only mother, his real mother, the one who’d tried so hard but could never get there, who Gotham had fucking ground up the same way it does all every single one of them; even the bright and shiny socialites and spotlight-bright celebrities; everyone who’s ever lived their whole damn lives in and for it and any unlucky stranger just passing through it feels like, who’d loved him and left him and–

His mom hadn’t quit, and Bruce hadn’t saved him, and he forgave them both for that a long time ago.

But he can’t forgive the first voice he’d let himself trust after he’d woken up to find his one and only fucking mom cold and empty in the last nest he was ever in before he made this shitty excuse for one tonight–he can’t forgive that voice being right here, right now, and not recognizing him.

“You need to get up,” Bruce says still in that exact voice, as certain as always being caught after every single fall; as inevitable as only being caught until the last fall. “Let the omega go, Nightwing.”

Jason goddamn hates him.

Everyone in this room knows they let go of him fucking years ago, whether Bruce recognizes him or not.

“It’s not a RELAPSE,” Dick hisses through his alpha fangs in his alpha voice, and Jason doesn’t know what the fuck they’re even talking about, but it doesn’t– 

“You’re on top of an omega who told you to get off of him,” Bruce says flatly. “You’re in that omega’s nest after he told you to get off of him.” 

Oh, this theoretical assault the bastard fucking cares about, Jason thinks maybe-hysterically, and knows it’s not even fucking fair to think even after goddamn Garzonas, even after–

Dick’s whole spine stiffens, his whole body freezing, and his eyes flare behind his mask, and Jason–Jason just goddamn hates everyone in this room, actually. 

“For fuck’s sake,” he bites off, and throws his gun arm around Dick’s neck before the other actually–before he thinks–

Just–before. 

Bruce still isn’t fucking looking at him, because of fucking course he isn’t, because of course he never did, because of course he never saw him even then and wouldn’t see him even now, but just–fuck, it’s such goddamn bullshit. It’s such–

Of course. Of course Bruce cares about that kind of shit now. Of course Bruce cares about a goddamn stranger over literally anyone who should goddamn matter to him. When the fuck did the bastard not pick the mission first? He thinks Dick’s fucking hallucinating right now, and he’s worried about a goddamn stranger he doesn’t know a fucking thing about except for the fact that goddamn “stranger” has already held a gun to Dick’s neck? Really? Even Dick he can’t goddamn get over his fucking useless crusade for, even just for long enough to fucking say the right thing to him even fucking once? 

Fucking–bastard.

[artigas]

Top 5 Rabbot fics?

This was the first ask I got and it's such a tough one because you're really spoiled for choice when it comes to amazing robby/abbot fics. here is a small sampling -- not in any specific order and definitely not an exhaustive list!!

All of Nothing by Alethia - this was the first Robby/Abbot fic I read and it is single-handidly responsible for taking me from curious about this ship to absolutely rabid about them. Jack does a wellness check on Robby and there's a moment in this one where he seriously considers the possibility that something seriously nightmarish has occurred, but faces it anyway because of the depths of his love for Robby. hurt/comfort perfection, gorgeous prose, lovely characterization.

Safe Haven by Alethia - you really can't go wrong with @alethialia's fics and I certainly can't choose favorites, but this one has a special place in my heart particularly because i'd just come back from an academic conference that's infamous for people hooking up at when i read this lmaooo. SUCH a gorgeous multichapter that perfectly balances internal and external conflict. so much pining that, when Jack and Robby finally do get together (spoiler!), you'll want to leap right up over the moon.

Healing Hands by Astronomical_Light - i've gone back to this fic a handful of times. @astronomical-light is such an incredible writer and i think this fic is one of many that showcases so much of what i love about her writing. i mean, okay, the premise of this fic is so fun and hot so that's a blast!! but also the vivid details are so evocative. i mean, i blush every time i read it because this fic takes its time building tension. it's so bodily in the most gorgeous way. truly like . . . gold tier example of how to write desire and sexual tension.

Through The Fall by Addandsubstract OOOH i love this one and cannot wait to re-read it after I post this. I'm someone who can read the same fic concept done a million times over, so the wealth of interpretations of how Jack and Robby would begin their relationship endlessly entertain me. This one is SO good for a million reasons, but I especially love the dialogue -- there's an understated, almost . . . careful quality to how Jack and Robby size each other up in this story, reading one another for tells before finally playing their hands. I can practically hear the dialogue. It's SO good.

Dawning by Sarapod - Another one of the first fics I read for this ship!! And I didn't even realize until now that it was a story written by the lovely @sarapod!! I adore the characterization here: writing a believable story where Robby goes to therapy is no small feat. I think it takes a really skilled writer to write this story in a way that doesn't get too hallmarky too fast and well -- Sara is that skilled of a writer! Part of what I love here is the realism: everything from Robby's relationship with mental health to his feelings for Jack feel so lived in and authentic and convincing. This is also a fic that imagines Jack as a gay man which I also really enjoy as a characterization choice; I cannot wait to read more fics of Sara's that dig deeper into Jack's identity and I can't waaaait to re-read this one.

Man of War by dreadthenight - okay you asked for five but I gotta give this one its roses as a bonus. A fic that centers on Jack Abbot, this one is written with such a profound and thoughtful attention to detail that I cannot get enough of; it really cracks open the small bits we know about Jack -- he's a veteran, he's a widower, he's got this uniquely intimate relationship with Robby -- and makes a world out of those details. There's a stunning second part to this that is equal parts tender, heart wrenching, and unsettling and everyone should bully @idreadthenight into writing a third installment!!

okay. again. there are SO many gorgeous fics I could've plugged in here --- several, in fact, from each of these authors alone!! picking a "top" five feels like picking favorites amongst your children. but i hope these selections are a fun place to start! if you have recs to share, my friend, please do send them my way!!

[evilpumpkincatz]

thinking…

Dean, a thirty something year old alpha, is a killer.

A serial killer.

And he has a type; soft, brown-eyed, delicate, and young. Specifically young.

He hasn’t gotten his fill in a while and decides it’s time to do something about it.

Taking a huge chug of happy juice, he speeds down a highway, headed to wherever the wind takes him. There’s plenty of omegas to fill his needs.

He doesn’t make it far though. A cop tries to pull him over and before Dean knows it, he’s in a chase.

It goes bad.

Bad as in “I-just-crashed-and-rolled-into-a-ditch” bad. Dean, half lucid, doesn’t wait for the cop to try and get him so he gets out of his wreaked baby and makes a run for it.

Into the woods.

He doesn’t hear anyone chasing but still doesn’t relent. He runs til the sun starts peaking through the tallest barks and stops when he feels a sense of deja vu hit him.

He’s been here before. And that cannot be good. Dean makes sure he doesn’t hit the same town twice. He’s smarter than that.

He follows a trail that he recognizes and feels a twinge of sadness and guilt settle over his gut.

Here is the place where he lost Sammy.

He lost his baby brother to a man here, and he’s never forgiven himself for it. He’s made sure to never return back here once he looked through every nook and cranny of the shitty town, but here he is.

He’s about to take one final footpath to get off camping grounds when he hears a very familiar voice coming from a nearby tent.

“Dean! I told you, it’s not a diary. It’s a journal and it’s mine!”

His heart drops and he skillfully hides himself from the two running teens.

“If it’s not a diary then why hide it from me!?” Dean hears his younger self tease back. How he regrets this stupid taunt.

Because that’s the last thing he ever says to Sammy.

Dean hears Sam groan very loudly, call younger Dean a “dickwad” and run the opposite way of where he was currently hiding.

Dean’s breathing picks up, knowing that this younger Dean won’t know anything about Sam’s disappearance until it’s too late.

So he does what any other time traveler would do in his position. He makes a run towards Sammy.

*

Sam doesn’t get far, he’s by a stream of water, throwing rocks into it, when he feels eyes on him.

The kind of eyes that both his dad and brother had warned him about.

He’s a young, unmated omega. His hand immediately shoots up to cover his neck, as if his scent hasn’t given all that away.

“Who’s there!” Sam shouts, standing up and backing away from a tree he know for a fact wouldn’t normally trigger his fight or flight.

A tall, handsome man comes out of hiding.

An alpha.

Hands up in surrender and a very forced smile on his lips. “Sorry baby, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just…”

The strangers voice waivered for a bit and Sam could almost swear he saw him tearing up.

“Anyways,” the stranger coughs, “I was passing through and just wanted to tell you to go back to your dad and brother. It’s not safe out here.”

Sam took in a shaky breath and fisted his fists together. “So you’ve been stalking me? And you expect me to believe that’s all you want me to do?”

The man in front of him nodded, “Yeah.”

“Just because I’m an omega and you’re an alpha doesn’t mean you get a pass at telling me what to do! I get enough shit from my dad and brother, so you can fuck off!”

*

Dean’s alpha puffed out its chest, satisfied at his omegas reaction to a stranger. But it was about to change its tune if Sam kept this little charade up.

“Down.” He didn’t want to use commands on his baby brother, but it seemed as if Sam was about to bolt any second now and he wasn’t gonna have that.

He immediately regretted not being there to catch him because his baby brother whimpered as he fell to his knees on the rocky ground. Probably hurting himself.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry.” Dean rushed to Sam and held his smaller frame to his, nose burying itself in the small of Sam’s neck.

It was orgasmic.

How he had missed this. He scented Sam for what could have been hours but was only a few seconds.

Sam froze and in a whispered tone asked, “Dean?”

And Dean’s alpha, too fucked out on his omegas pheromones, simply purred, “Sammy.”

*

The command on his body wore off soon after the older alpha began scenting him and Sam wasted no time in trying to resist.

Demon, shape shifter, a monster. He was crazy when he called this man Dean. This couldn’t possibly be Dean.

“Get off! Dad! Dean! Help—“

He got cut off by the alpha on top of him, who looking at closer now, was the exact replica of Dean. Just older.

“Sammy,” he spoke, “I’m here. I’ll protect you, baby.”

He stroked his hair out of his eyes and face and placed a tender kiss on his cheek.

Sam trembled, petrified. He was crying now. Great.

The older alpha teared up when looking at his tears, “Sammy, you know I’m weak when you cry.”

Sam couldn’t help himself, his body rocked as he cried, and the alpha took his hand away from his mouth and replaced it with his own mouth.

It was a chaste kiss. But it was all Sam needed to recognize that this was in fact Dean.

His Dean.

*

Dean took him into town and bought a first aid kit, fixed his knees up with a few bandaids and a bottle of whiskey.

Sam asked all sorts of questions about the future but Dean ignored every single one.

So he was quiet when afternoon hit and Dean was taking him back to the camp.

As a final goodbye, Sam asked the question weighing down on him the most.

“Why do you smell like that? Your scent has changed so drastically that I hardly recognized you at first.”

Dean pondered for a bit then gave him a smirk, “I finally popped a knot, grew into a man, scents change when you do that.”

“Really?! I thought Dean had already mated with Stacy Hugo, two states ago.”

“He told you that?” Dean shook his head, remembering the lie he had told to Sammy when trying to make him jealous.

“Dumbass couldn’t even get hard looking at another girl, how could he when you were right there?”

“M-Me?!” Sam looked shocked.

Dean barked a laugh, “C’mon Sammy! Don’t tell me you don’t see the way he looks at you, the way I look at you.“

Sam turned beet red and stayed quiet the rest of the walk back.

When they were about to part, Sam grabbed Dean’s neck and pulled him down into a kiss.

Dean, with everything in him, tried resisting. Turning his head away.

Sam looked hurt. “I thought…” he coughed when his voice almost cracked, “Do you not want me anymore?”

Dean pinned him to a tree and stared into his eyes, eyes dark, and rubbed his lower half onto Sam.

“It’s taking everything in me right now to not ravish and fuck pups into you.”

Sam could feel Dean and he wasn’t lying. Dean was hard. And Sam wanted.

“Then please. Please, alpha.” Sam bared his neck to Dean and Dean groaned.

“So perfect for me.”

*

Dean wasn’t going to go looking for Sam just because he was being whiny but dinner time was rolling around and he still hadn’t shown his ugly mug.

His dad ended up berating him for letting Sam go off on his own but Sam wasn’t some baby, he was 15 and knew how to use guns and knives better than most hunters.

He was fine.

Dad was over reacting.

And Sam had a crush on some shitty alpha that he wrote about in his little diary.

He was going to pluck out those “shiny, green eyes” off of the fucker when he found him.

An hour passed into two and then three when Dean returned to the tent, full blown panic attack.

“He’s gone! I can’t find him!”

*

Dean managed to steal a car off of a diner and was opening the passenger door for Sammy when he heard a roar.

His roar.

He turned around and saw his younger self running towards the car and couldn’t help the growing smirk on his face.

He got in and turned the radio to the soft rock station.

“Let’s get outta here, Sammy.” He petted his mates head and gave it a quick kiss before ripping out of the tiny parking lot.

Sam, newly marked and thoroughly fucked, smiled and nodded before shutting his eyes closed.

*

if u made it this far, ur a goddamn rock star! thanks for reading this shitty one shot :)

[saetiate]

sae x cora AUs!!

warning that some of these AUs cover dark content. this is largely because normal corae is very fluffy and sweet, so these are just different explorations of our dynamic. also sorry this is super messy right now ahaha

normal au

full masterlist here. normal modern & blue lock au corae!!

shoujo style senpai sae x kouhai cora

(I used japanese since we are talking about anime but in the languages i speak at home we have our own mirroring terms for these too!!)

situation one: i tell him I’m really worried about having to carry all the boxes for my committee meeting, only to show up at the committee meeting and it’s done. I pass by someone else who tells me they saw sae doing it

situation two: sports event where he’s participating and I’m helping out and I get sprayed with water all over my white clothes 😭😭 so he gives me his button down to wear (he is in his sports uniform so we are all good :D)

younger sae x older cora au

(for context in normal au we are both the same age!!) credits to ari aka user summer-oil and ave aka user venustrvck for helping me draft this ily <3

I tend to be a little more careful w people who are younger than me bc I feel a sense of responsibility and I often kind of want to take care of them. I think when I first meet sae I call him kid once and brush him off. and then he flips it on me and takes the lead. this is like normal corae except I’m like 5x more stressed lmao 😭😭 because I’m worried about the fact that he is at the peak of his career and the immorality (we’re both adults it’s just my perception of dating someone younger) of it even though the age gap is not that big (largely bc of my own trauma w people older than me hitting on me & pressuring me but anw). sae does not gaf btw 😭😭 he’s very unabashed about it. just like yes this is my girlfriend/wife. what do you want.

and he does indeed flip the hell out of my usual taking care of people thing 😭😭 he’s protective & possessive & very good at taking care of me and things in general.

sae and I kind of have similar personalities in the sense that we are both people that think we know better than others. the difference is that he’s more self assured about it whereas i am more flexible about it (I don’t think either is better/worse)

he doesn’t say it but his pov is like. I’m an adult and I can make my own choices. and there are dialogue lines such as: “don’t use my age as an excuse. you either want me or you don’t”. yeah wauh. I think sae is much more adamant about wanting me in this au which I find very sexy

childhood friends to lovers cw: possible pseudocest

I am rin’s only friend in his class and sae is very grateful bc he was worried about rin and both of us have parents that aren’t really around. this is very much like the combination of parentifying and older brothering sae lol we kind of become a pseudo family. I go to him for so many things after that and call him big brother and I imagine like. going to him for my first period and he researches everything and takes me to the aisle and helps me pick pads for the first time. and then when we’re both adults he teaches me how to masturbate and have sex oh okay anyways waughehjdjd

[draft of the fic i alr half wrote for this below]

You were Rin’s first friend.

Sae remembers how worried he was, when Rin told him everyone said he was weird. How being isolated hurt children for years, something almost unfixable by teachers.

So he breathes a sigh of relief when he sees you, drawing pictures with Rin in the sand. You, putting your shoes away next to Rin, asking him what’s in his bento box, talking to him about that dinosaur vs robot cartoon he likes to watch.

When you meet Sae as he comes to pick his brother up from school, he bows to you, low, and it shocks you to your core.

“Thank you for taking care of Rin.”

You stammer and tell him that it’s no problem, that you love Rin, that you and Rin are friends and it’s what friends do for each other.

It’s Sae that asks his parents if Rin’s friend can come over for dinner, Sae who asks you your favorite thing to eat, and then Sae who gets the groceries and helps his parents make it.

That kind of gratitude sticks, a memory so clear to you even as the rest of childhood gets hazy. It sticks to Sae and Rin too. Even as Rin gets popular after picking up football, as girls start to notice his pretty looks as swooping eyelashes, he still makes sure you come over for dinner.

~

So it’s no surprise, really, that it ends up like this. With Sae behind you, his hands on the inside of both your knees, pulling you up and down Rin’s cock.

Rin gets like this. Loses himself in how good you feel, moans and pants until he stops thinking about technique and only thinks about the squelch of your pussy, how tight it wraps around him.

“Thank you,” Sae presses a kiss to your cheek, “for taking care of Rin.”

older sae x younger cora au

retired sae who does coaching on the side and cora who is just about getting there w her career waugh. this is my least established au rn I will develop this more later

more to be added!!

[yayasvalveplay]

As the newest manager in the mines Orion keeps his identity as Sentinels son a secret with only the higher ups knowing his true identity. (Took soms Apothecary Diaries inspo here)

D-16 and the rest of his crew arnt impressed by this new manager at first, especially Elita who had applied to that role. But over time the new manager "Optronix" proved himself as a good manager and coworker. Advocated for quality tools, updated safety regulations, and adequate break times. And something that shocked everyone was when "Optronix" followed D-16 into an unstabalized mine to save Jazz. It's also after this that D-16 develops a crush in the new manager. With "Optronix" feeling the same.

Another thing is that Optronix found B-127 early on when he found a lone mech on the roaster working in the mostly empty sublevel 50. He was curious and wanted to check on the mech, and what he found wasn't good. The loneliness that B-127 displayed similar to his carrier, the Prime trapped up high in the towers and the miner trapped down below. He decides to have B-l27 given the position as miner or his part-time secretary. Just to give the yellow bot the opportunity to leave his lonely sublevel and interact with other bots. B-127 or Bee is grateful and sees "Optronix" as his first real friend.

I do like to think Orion would of given them his full name. No one knows who Orion Pax is. The only reason he got the job so quickly is because the higher upside were at Sentinels party's.

"Does your sire know you are doing this little lord?"

"You won't be telling my sire slag. Keep your mouth shut. " the earth shakes in the room. And the promoters can't say anything else he's a prime, and primes have the power to talk to Primus, they will not piss off a Prime.

So he gets assigned to the best mining team kicking Darkwing down to the second best. Orion tries getting along with his team. At first no one respects him/ respects him enough In that 'I don't want to be fired.' Way

They all do however start to respect him more and more as he starts picking up those things. Better equipment, rations, and brakes. The last one to see he is alright and trust him is Dee. And Dee falls hard seeing Orion push the rock up from Jazz's leg, yelling at Dee to grab Jazz.

They make it out of there. All alive, Prowl running to Jazz to check his injuries. And Orion is making sure Dee Is OK.

Dee may of had fallen harder then Orion who has had a semi crush on him. Dee starts to take him on small dates, what ever he can afford. And this is when Orion learns he's a megatronus fan. So he stats buying him merch.

A bit later, up on the roof top. Orions last frame upgrade comes. And he's horny. Very horny. they do it right there on the roof. Dee fondling Orions big breast, suckling on them as he thrust hard and rough into his puffy valve.

Getting his seal removed, he's surprised interfacing feels like this. It helps Dee Is also fucking right into his forge each time.

As for Bee. I can see him snatching him up.

[sepublic]

The misogyny and racism towards Luz is insane like what do you mean she is consistently, successfully kind and supportive towards Hunter as he continues to only benefit from her compassion, while Hunter consistently lets Luz down, drags her into traumatic situations, makes her efforts to go home harder, pivots the situation towards his feelings, or else just soaks in Luz’s encouragement without offering the same.

And yet I’ll see far more fanon about Luz making Hunter feel like shit over his Hollow Mind secret than I’ll see people acknowledge and explore how Hunter canonically made Luz feel like shit over her Hollow Mind secret onscreen. Like help pls are we gonna talk about what that cracker did or will Luz always be doomed to fail him no matter how much she’s done meanwhile Hunter always gets the excuse of being traumatized and manipulated (If it’s even acknowledged!!!) like Damn I don’t see that effort for Lilith!

Fandom always manages to pivot the subject to Hunter’s feelings and it gets to a point where they can create pointless subtext about his hands yet need canon to explicitly spoon feed them that Luz feels guilty about helping Belos meet the Collector because it led to the coven system and the sigils that shaped her friends’ entire existences (hell, spawned Hunter’s entire existence) for the worse as well as the Day of Unity and them being trapped in the human world while all their loved ones and home are at the whims of a seemingly genocidal all-powerful entity. Luz literally saw people die because of this in Hollow Mind. But nahhh let’s pivot the discussion to Hunter’s feelings of guilt over purely hypothetical murders we have zero confirmation of him ever doing!

This may seem silly but like. I saw that trend about a character coming out with a horrible secret while their friends expect them to come out of the closet. And my first thought is Wow Hey that works with Luz! Not only does she have a horrible secret that tears her apart from within but the others actually pick up on it via her behavior and on top of all that has an actual canon onscreen Coming Out scene! Her sexuality is in the story and not as acknowledged by the creator a Word of God statement!

Luz’s secret and her revealing it is ultimately treated with way more pathos and focus and struggle and the guilt lasts into the finale, whereas Hunter had a much easier time with his secret and its reveal isn’t even that big of a deal for good reason and his final storyline isn’t even really about that! It’s about, again, how he keeps pivoting the topic to his own trauma and being a dick towards his supportive friend for it!

But then I internally groaned inside and knew. I knew. That the popular TOH take on the latest meme would be about Hunter. It happened with “Not what I’m called” and all of the other funny trends. The one that gets reblogged the most isn’t the one with Luz or some other character that’s more fitting or at least more prominent within the actual canon. It’s the Hunter version.

I’m not even checking TOH’s tag and I see a Hunter version of the Coming Out meme with a few thousand notes and nothing on Luz. Huh wow. What a surprise.

Don’t even get on my ass about how I need to be the change I see in the world!!! I contribute to the Luz discussion way more than 99% of fandom I’m allowed to have breaks and backup and support! I’ve said it before but if you think some aspect of Hunter some angle for him is unexplored you just need to take a nap and when you wake up ten other people have already done it in their own compelling ways. If you want to see people explore the foundation of the main character’s arc by god you end up having to do it yourself or it doesn’t happen!!!

And with the recent discourse over how Tumblr is overwhelmingly white and people acknowledging how it’s been hostile to PoC and harassed them off of this site and all of the wonder of Why is this so White is Tumblr’s own damn fault. Yeah. Nobody will take this seriously. Nobody will want to take this seriously until years later the white people and their supporters will scratch their heads and wonder, how did it get to this? If only we had been told how to prevent it!

[cheesechilifreye]

Dad Headcanons for Jean Loo Pissoir

(Because I’m insane)

Crediting @sleepy-strawberry for helping me out with some of these <33

Potty humor counter: 1

1. Freaked out when he found out

The last thing Jean Loo thought was becoming an accountant. Something that didn’t even cross his mind was YOU being pregnant. Of course Jean Loo isn’t some.. some deadbeat! Comment pourraient-ils penser à une telle chose! So it shouldn’t have been a surprise he’d have packed up and shown up on your doorstep. Wanting to be apart of his Bébé’s life.

As well as a pile of whatever baby supplies he could purchase with his limited budget.

2. Super protective

During the entirety of your pregnancy, Jean Loo has never once left your side. Aiding you during your troubles with picking things up, emotions, and other matters that could be an issue. Though that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been a pain to deal with.

Often times he could be a bit denser on your needs and he had to completely revamp his mindset on caring for you. (The industry never showed THIS side of pregnancy.. putain de merde)

But he makes it work! He’s Jean Loo Pissoir after all!

3. Sings to the baby (or craps lol)

Ever since his return to your home. Jean loo has been nothing short but helpful… in his own way. Late in the nights, when the back pain won’t go away no matter how many pain pills you take and your stomach feels heavy on your bladder. A quiet melody fills the air, painted nails gently scratching and kneading your belly. His accent clings to his lips as he speaks, “Relax, mon amour, let me speak to them, fatherly instincts you would say?” Before he presses a gentle kiss to your cheek and moves down.

Rubbing your belly more and comforting the child growing inside you. Singing sweet lullabies or silly verses that comes to his mind. You could swear the lyrics are comforting them in their own way.

But to see it in person? Your newborn infant bundled in a soft blanket held by him as he rocks them to sleep. A wonderful experience

4. Matching outfits!

Of course! Jean Loo’s child has to wear the same cloth as him! It wouldn’t fit his brand if his child was dressed in some basic onesie— no, no! Only the best for his little crapper! Bestowing the nickname “lil crapper” to his child (much to your displeasure) came with their own gold chain, shoes and much more “merchandise.”

Unfortunately, your child loved it all. They didn’t understand it. Just happy to have all the attention on them and their little gold vans.

This wouldn’t be the last matching outfit either with Jean Loo.

5. “Super Macho” he isn’t.

He’s about as tough on them as the slime gif above. He tries to! How do you say, tough love? But… his little one is sensitive. They don’t understand teasing yet and often times they tear up at the idea of it. Making Jean Loo baby them to hell and back.

Though the little one is a rascal at times. Using their father’s soft heart to their advantage and getting the attention they so rightfully deserve.

Who’s to say if they got it from you or Jean loo?

6. Shares his favorite things constantly. Hopes they’ll latch onto it

Just as they share outfits and “some” personality traits. Jean Loo desperately wants their spawn to like the things they do— especially CRAP! Though they are only so many months old, it’s always good to start em’ young! Oui!

By kindergarten his kid is already ripping out sick burns and rhymes.. though that does lead to a visit to the principals office after their use of “potty mouth” language.

Jean Loo couldn’t be more prouder.

7. Hates Diaper Duty

The one thing Jean Loo does not miss from the baby era— Diaper Duty. After previously being a toilet himself, he developed a sort of phobia for bodily fluids. Couldn’t be helped after all. Though he had to get desensitized again with it once the baby came.

It didn’t make it any better as time went on. He was just grateful they picked up potty training so fast. After all, Jean Loo Pissoir is the best teacher! He taught you the art of crapping!

While his child taught him the other version of crapping…

8. Loves taking trips

Jean Loo’s only been a human for little over a year. So he gets to experience everything for the first time with his family! Including, but not limited to, many, many, MANY, trip to the aquarium. Sometimes the pool, beach, but none come close to the aquarium. Though you do wonder if these trips are for your baby or for himself. It is nice to see him.

All calm, staring at the water illuminated by the lights as the fish swim around in the realistic coral. This is where he should be. Not in some stuffy office.

He won’t ever admit it. But this is the real Jean Loo. You’re happy, he’s happy and the baby’s happy. You and them, in this little spot, watching the fish.

9. Tries new things constantly for them

Though there are good sides, there are also.. not so good sides. Practically horrible! But he has to help his baby get used to them. The car seats, the itchy socks, nap time— Oh, c'est si étinsant! But they have to do it to help them. The car seats keep them safe. Itchy socks keep them warm. Nap time keeps them well rested.

That’s the truth that Jean Loo has come to accept. Even if his little one doesn’t understand it right now.

He hates socks too.

10. His little (c) rap star!

No matter the amount of dirty diapers they run through. The hours of non-stop crying or the teenage angst. They’ll always be his baby. His little crap-Star.

—

Hope you guys enjoyed the dad headcanons! Most likely Vaughn next lol