#i hope it fixes itself easily

[marigoldendragon]

One of the best parts about having a frankenstiens pc is that I can just upgrade a part whever something breaks.

One of the worst parts is trying to interface a whole lot of old and new jumbled tech bits and you bump a cord under your desk and all of a sudden I have to get under there tomorrow to do cable management troubleshooting to see if I need to buy a new monitor or 2 >:/

But whatever that's tomorrow-me's problem.

[ruvviks]

// oc deep dive.

tagged by; @aztarion and @devilbrakers, thank you so much!!

tagging; @mojaves, @deadrlngers, @ordinarymaine, @claudiawolf, @adelaidedrubman and YOU!

What common/uncommon fear do they have?

Nathan has a lot of fears stemming from his paranoia. Tangible ones such as getting captured or killed by MOBIUS, his friends walking away from him, or someone following him home; as well as more unrealistic ones, such as somehow ending up back in STEM, or getting stuck in a time loop, or a giant sinkhole all the way to the core of the earth opening up right at his feet.

It also happens often enough that certain actions don’t necessarily scare him, but make him uncomfortable or highly on edge (often with good reason); think of someone locking the door of the room he’s in– especially when it’s just them two– or getting too close without warning. He often fears people he gets too close to will end up treating him like the Administrator did, which is why it takes a while for him to let Sebastian get any closer physically, despite warming up to him relatively fast.

A more uncommon fear he has is waking up one morning and having lost one of his senses or his ability to speak. Aside from the mental erosion that had become a growing issue among Union citizens, MOBIUS observed a similar kind of process in its agents who regularly jumped in and out of STEM for general maintenance and the like– presumably caused by the constant changes in brain activity, which more than often led to exactly what Nathan’s fear mentioned above describes. While he was among the agents who worked both in and outside of STEM on the Union environment, he was lucky enough to never suffer the consequences.

Lastly, he is deadly afraid of Anima. Despite not having shown any other symptom of succumbing to the STEM domination process, Nathan would have started seeing her around sometime before Lily vanished– presumably got her attention after some of his escapades in the secret labs in the Marrow– and he has not been able to sleep soundly in STEM ever since. While his fear of her mostly acts up when he’s in a STEM environment, it definitely translates over to the real world as well; during bad mental health episodes he has auditory hallucinations of her, and she makes regular appearances in his nightmares too.

Do they have any pet peeves?

When people are too passive. Nathan can’t stand it when he’s expected to initiate everything, from conversations to taking action, both in a work context (scheduling meetings, deploying new code) as well as personal context (scheduling to hang out, doing household chores). He also doesn’t like having to constantly ask people to do what they’re supposed to do– though this irritation more than often extends a little too far, to things he is expecting of people but never told them about.

Loud and unexpected noises, especially when done on purpose. Fireworks would be a great example of this, and they piss Nathan off no end. He gets snippy when people raise their voice at him for no reason, or when they keep banging their fist on a surface to get others’ attention.

Getting cut off in traffic. Nathan’s road rage is easily awakened and he can get a little drastic with it. His reflexes are fast enough to brake on time to avoid ending up in someone’s trunk, but will in that same breath speed right back up to crash into them on purpose as revenge for pissing him off.

What are three items you can find in their bedroom?

A large ring binder full of old code snippets, notes from various projects he worked on back at MOBIUS, and all his research ranging from neuroscience all the way to electrical engineering. Nathan is a little old-school in that regard– he’d much rather have all his research physically with him than save it all to some online storage platform and risk losing it like that.

A jigsaw puzzle, made entirely out of different pieces that he’s collected over the years (stolen from others’ puzzles, found in various locations, stolen directly from the store, etc). The full piece would total up to nearly 2000 pieces, though it is still missing a large chunk in the center; the result is an abstract piece containing mostly darker colors, though with various bursts of color scattered around like flowers in a field. Nathan isn’t the artistic type, but the project keeps him busy and he considers it a type of self-expression.

The knife he killed his parents with when he was sixteen years old. He’s not entirely sure why he kept it all those years– perhaps to remind himself what got him to where he is now, or because it’s the only thing he still has from that time of his life. Either way, it’s kept safe in the top drawer of his nightstand, easy enough to reach in case someone breaks into his apartment.

What do they notice first in a person?

First: State of mind, overall mood. How approachable do they look; can he afford to lower his guard or does he need to tread with caution, can he get close without worrying about a knife to the stomach or should he keep his distance? Nathan rarely shows immediate interest in someone’s overall personality, he would rather want to know which of their emotions he’s gonna have to deal with during their interaction(s).

Second: Body language. Ties in with the first thing mentioned– cautiously watching for threats, waiting to see if they make a move to touch (or harm) him so he can step out of their range. But it also extends a little further; Nathan tends to mimic others’ body language in conversation to make himself appear more approachable. If someone gestures a lot, he will do the same.

Third: Their smile, if relevant. Smiling is an eye-catching action to him, since he’s not one to quickly do so himself. It’s attractive to him; if someone smiles at him, you’ll be able to catch him staring.

Fourth: Scars, and other (skin) details. Nathan isn’t one to ask about them, of course– but they’ll catch his attention anyway, for a brief moment, since some of them already tell a story on their own even without words.

Fifth: Nervous tics, if relevant. By this point he’s been in conversation long enough to pick up on the little details– a slight thrill or shakiness to their voice, a thumb running over the side of their index finger, a nose twitch. In some cases it eases his mind, knowing the other person isn’t confident in their conversation either; in other cases it sets off alarms in his mind, and makes him wonder if there’s more going on than what they’re showing or telling him.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how high is their pain tolerance?

Physically: 7. While he doesn’t quite look like it, Nathan can take a hit or two. Most of his injuries happen in STEM– though with the way the technology works, the pain is very much real, and in some cases the scars are lasting even in the real world despite the damage having been sustained in STEM. To an extent, Nathan even enjoys the pain; it’s grounding for him, and keeps him from dissociating. When it gets too much to handle he simply drinks it away.

Mentally: 10. Nathan’s life has been a constant downward spiral; sent to a youth detention center after being wrongfully accused of killing his younger sister, and he was bullied relentlessly there, which continued until long after his release both at school and at home. At MOBIUS, he was required to work shifts in their HQ as well as in the Marrow, in the Union STEM environment– he was required to be mentally strong, or he would have already started suffering from mental erosion by long-term STEM exposure after his first few trips in. It takes a lot to break him (or so he likes to believe).

Emotionally: 4. Once you get past all the barriers, Nathan is pretty sensitive. He doesn’t deal well with rejection or misunderstanding, and is prone to assuming things are all his fault the second something goes wrong. It’s easy to upset him, though he won’t easily show; but the damage often takes a while to repair.

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure? (Or freeze or fawn?)

Fight, more than often; though it may appear as flight at first, since Nathan’s favored combat approach is stealth and he will always find cover before doing anything rash. In certain cases, however, he would be more likely to freeze; especially anything related to Anima or an enemy type like her, where fighting is out of the question, and he knows that a single wrong move can mean his demise.

It translates to non-combat situations too– often willing to talk to people but his initial response is to get defensive and close himself off, and if not given a moment to regain himself it can lead to either fighting or freezing; biting back with similar ferocity or shutting down altogether, unable to pick up his rational train of thought in the heat of the moment.

It really depends on the type of confrontation, though; taking his own state of mind and who else is involved into consideration. He’s known to fawn when a situation starts feeling a little too familiar– generally surrounding the abuse he suffered from partially his parents, but mostly the Administrator.

What animal represents them best?

Wolf; bordering on dog motif, but cautiously so, requiring infinite patience and understanding to win his trust. Nathan is loyal and guarding to those he cares about, but he values his freedom– his choices and decisions are his and his alone, and anyone who tries to take that away from him will suffer the necessary consequences.

How would a stranger likely describe them?

Curious, above anything else. Distant, reserved; surprisingly well-spoken, almost technical in his interactions with others as if the whole conversation is pre-programmed in his mind. Nathan isn’t necessarily cold towards others, but people would also not be quick to describe him as kind; though there is a certain warmth to the way he speaks and looks at people, despite the fact he very rarely smiles and isn’t one to quickly compliment someone else.

Appearance-wise, people tend to notice the white strands in his black hair first. They’re clustered at the front of his head, and match with the white hairs in his left eyebrow and the white eyelashes in the outer corner of his left eye. Nathan has very pale and rough skin, patchy but dark facial hair covering up most of his acne (/scarring); and part of the skin around his left eyebrow is lacking pigment, though it’s a little hard to see. He has very pale and bright blue eyes, which can be a little unnerving when staring at them for too long. Many people cannot maintain eye contact with him for very long.

Do they have any hobbies?

Nathan’s career is directly intertwined with his hobbies, and he enjoys working on code even long after cutting ties with MOBIUS. Software development, application optimization– his laptop runs on an operating system that he coded entirely himself, and whenever he has some time to spare he can be found tweaking and optimizing it and adding new features.

To no one’s surprise, he’s a gamer. Shooters, roguelikes, survival horror– he does not play all too often as his schedule often doesn’t allow for it, but he generally doesn’t have a hard time playing on higher difficulties and enjoys the challenge. Nathan has tried his hand at game design and development too, but stopped quickly when he found it too similar to developing the Union environment in STEM.

And last, surprisingly, would be writing. Journaling, some sort of attempt at poetry, or articles he would want to send in to some website or appropriate magazine but never does– a lot of Nathan’s writing is for his eyes alone, but it helps as an outlet, it keeps him grounded. For a while after leaving MOBIUS, he worked on writing tech manuals for various employers to earn some extra cash, which also ties directly into his interests.

[brokenrefraction]

welp the stylus old tumblr dashboard addon broke

im forced to use this god forsaken twitter layout now

[just-aake]

Friends Don't Kiss

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Friends spend time together. They share inside jokes, quiet moments, maybe even late-night movies. And sometimes…they kiss. That’s normal. Right? At least, that’s what Natasha keeps telling herself.

Warnings: fluff, light angst

Words: 4140

“Would you kiss me?”

Steve chokes on his coffee, spluttering mid-sip. He coughs violently, thumping his fist against his chest as he tries to catch his breath.

Across the kitchen, Natasha doesn’t flinch. She stands coolly with a mug in hand, one hip leaning against the compound’s countertop, her expression unreadable.

“You know,” she adds, far too casually, “as a friend.”

Steve finally manages to recover, blinking at her like she’s grown a second head. 

“I’m gonna need a little more context.”

Natasha shrugs, gaze fixed somewhere past him. 

“Just making a point. I’ve kissed you before. We’re still just friends.”

“That was different,” Steve says slowly, carefully, like he’s not entirely sure where this conversation is headed. “We were on the run. It was for a mission.”

“Right,” Natasha nods quickly, seizing on that. “Exactly. So sometimes a kiss doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Steve sets down his coffee, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Did you kiss someone, Nat?”

She scoffs immediately, a sharp breath meant to dismiss the question, but her shoulders stiffen, betraying her.

“No,” she says too quickly, brushing past it. “Why would you ask that?”

Before Steve can press further, the kitchen door slides open.

You step in, pausing just briefly when your eyes meet hers. A flicker of something passes between you—then it’s gone, replaced by your familiar, easy smile.

“Morning,” you say, grabbing an apple from the counter before sliding easily into the space beside her. “You two solving world peace already?”

Natasha’s grip on her mug tightens. Her pulse trips over itself at your closeness, at the casual brush of your shoulder against hers.

“Morning,” she mutters, not quite meeting your eyes.

“You’re up earlier than usual,” Steve returns your greeting while watching both of you now with a curious gaze, noticing the subtle shift in the air. 

You shrug lightly.

“Decided to turn in early last night,” you respond before turning to Natasha. “Sorry, I didn’t see you when you got back, Nat.”

Natasha shakes her head, brushing off the apology.

“It’s fine,” she says simply. 

But it’s not. Not really. She had looked for you last night when she came back from her mission, hoping for your usual smile at the hangar. Instead, FRIDAY informed her you were already asleep. She’d swallowed her disappointment and told herself it didn’t matter.

Natasha takes another sip to keep herself occupied from further conversation. Unfortunately, it seems you have no intention of letting her do that.

“Can I have some?”

Natasha glances at you with a raise of her brow, and you give her a small smile as you nod at the mug in her hand.

“There’s more brewing,” she responds, gesturing to the coffee machine in the corner.

You don’t move her gaze from hers.

“I know,” you grin. “But I want yours.”

Natasha sighs, long-suffering but fond, and hands it over.

You take it with a bright smile in thanks, drinking the last of it with satisfaction.

Natasha watches you as you finish, her lips twitching slightly into the ghost of a smile before she can stop it.

Something about that simple exchange makes the room feel smaller. 

Steve observes you two quietly, picking up on the subtle tension that hums under the surface like a taut wire. You and Natasha have always been close. That’s not new. But something feels different now.

“Well, I’m heading to the training room,” you announce, handing Natasha back the mug and tossing the apple in your hand once before catching it again. “See you two later.”

You’re gone before either of them can respond.

The silence that follows stretches.

Steve leans against the table, watching the doorway you disappeared through before turning his eyes back to Natasha. 

“So,” he says, voice even, “something you’d like to share?”

Natasha scoffs, rolling her eyes as she pivots to rinse out her mug. 

“This has nothing to do with her.”

Her tone is dry and dismissive. But her mind betrays her.

She remembers the way the two of you had been curled up on the couch in the common room just a few nights ago. 

A rare, quiet evening with no missions, no alarms, just shared stories and laughter over absurd field mishaps. Your knees touching hers. Her arm draped along the back of the sofa. 

You leaning closer, head tilted back slightly as you laughed, completely at ease.

Natasha remembers the way her fingers twitched with the urge to touch you. 

How, without quite realizing it, her hand lifted to cup your cheek. 

The moment stretched, her breath caught, and then she leaned in.

The kiss was soft, hesitant in the way that Natasha had not fully comprehended what she had done.

When she does, she goes to pull away when you suddenly kiss her back.

Your hand had come up, anchoring against her shoulder, the other sliding to the back of her neck as you deepened it, slow and sure. 

Then, the elevator chimed.

And the moment shattered.

Instinctively, Natasha pulls back, jumping to her end of the couch by the time the other team members come into the room. 

Next thing she knows, you were swept up by a conversation with Wanda while Natasha sat there frozen, lips parted, heartbeat wild, her hand brushing over her mouth in disbelief. 

The warmth of your kiss still lingering on her skin like a brand.

You never brought it up again.

Neither did she.

And now, days later, she finds herself standing in the kitchen convincing herself that friends kiss sometimes. 

That it doesn’t have to mean anything. That it didn’t mean anything.

“Sure, Nat,” Steve says slowly, watching her a little too closely now. “A kiss doesn’t have to mean anything...”

Natasha relaxes slightly, but before the relief can take hold in her mind, Steve continues nonchalantly.

“…unless you want it to.”

Natasha doesn’t respond. Her jaw sets just slightly as she stares into her empty mug. Then, with a sigh, she curses herself for even asking Steve.

His words just brought up a flurry of new problems for her.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

She did it again.

She’s doing it again.

What started as a simple spar at your request had quickly escalated—one move leading to another, until she had you pinned flat on the mat. Her knees straddled your hips, hands locking your wrists above your head with effortless control.

You were both breathless, sweat-slicked skin flushed from exertion.

Then you smiled up at her, teeth flashing, that same teasing spark in your eyes that always got under her skin, and Natasha couldn’t look away. Couldn’t think past the heat in her chest. Her gaze dropped, lingering on the curve of your parted lips as you panted beneath her.

And before she could stop herself, she leaned in.

The kiss wasn’t hesitant this time. It was hungry, claiming, as if making up for every second she hadn’t let herself think about the feel of your lips since that night on the couch. Her grip loosened, hands sliding from your wrists to your sides, fingertips brushing over the sliver of skin just above your waistband.

Like before, you didn’t pull away.

Instead, your arms curled around her shoulders, pulling her closer with a quiet urgency. 

Her mouth moved against yours again, and again—slow, deliberate, until your breath caught and you exhaled her name in a moan that made something in her pulse stutter.

“Natasha…”

Her name on your lips.

It cracked through the haze like a whip.

And she freezes.

Reality slams back in, fast and merciless. 

Natasha pulls away suddenly, breathing hard as her eyes search yours. Her hands lift, hovering like she wasn’t sure where to place them anymore.

“Shit,” she mutters, shaken. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

You blink at her, dazed and confused, lips still parted.

But before you can say anything, the door slides open.

“Damn,” Sam’s voice calls out as he steps into the training room, towel slung over his shoulder. He pauses at the sight, then lets out a low whistle and smirks.

“Give her a break, Romanoff. She’s already red in the face.”

Natasha straightens back instinctively, only to realize the flush on your face wasn’t from exertion.

You let out a breath of laughter, dragging a hand through your hair. 

“I’m fine,” you say, voice light, easy. “She didn’t do anything wrong.”

Your palm lightly taps Natasha’s thigh—a subtle, casual cue.

She blinks at you, still hovering above, startled by how calmly you are taking all of this. Then she shifts, climbing off with fluid grace, but her mind still reels. 

Why weren’t you reacting differently? Why were you acting like what just happened between you two was normal for friends?

You push yourself to your feet and turn to offer your hand down to her.

Without hesitation, she takes it.

Your grip is warm and steady as you help her up. Before she can say anything, you brush your hand over her shoulder, flicking away the dust from your earlier scuffle. Then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, you pat her cheek twice, a gentle, reassuring touch.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you repeat, softer this time.

And then you walk off coolly and composed, leaving her standing there.

Staring.

Processing.

“What the hell…” Natasha mutters under her breath.

Sam moves beside her, picking up a dumbbell nonchalantly like he hadn’t just walked in on something.

“Hey, Sam?” she asks, still staring after you. 

“Yeah?”

“Friends can kiss, right?” she asks. “Like… that’s a normal thing friends do sometimes?”

Sam pauses mid-curl and turns to look at her with a slow grin. 

“What kind of friends you got, Romanoff?” he chuckles. “’Cause I’d love an introduction.”

Natasha doesn’t respond.

Her eyes are still locked on the door you disappeared through, her thoughts a whirlwind of tangled lines she couldn’t figure out how or if she wanted to untangle.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The movie plays on, its flickering light casting soft shadows across the darkened room. But Natasha isn’t watching it.

She’s trying to. Or at least pretending to.

Her eyes are on the screen, but her mind drifts, tangled in thoughts she can’t quite sort through. The question loops endlessly in her head like a broken reel.

Can friends kiss? Should friends kiss? Did it mean anything?

You shift slightly beside her, and the motion draws her out of the haze. Then comes a soft sound—a small yawn, muffled behind your hand. 

Natasha glances down at you.

Your head rests gently against her shoulder, your body curled comfortably into the side of hers. You’ve been like that for most of the movie—close, warm, familiar. Nothing new for the two of you. 

But now, it feels different. Everything feels different.

She tilts her head toward you slightly. 

“We can stop here if you want,” she offers, her voice low. “You’re tired.”

You shake your head with a sleepy smile, eyes barely open. 

“It’s fine. It’s almost finished anyway.”

Natasha studies your face for a moment longer, searching for something beneath your words. Then she relaxes, leaning her head against yours again, letting the rhythm of your breathing soothe her.

But only a few minutes pass before she feels your body grow heavier against her, your breath evening out. She shifts subtly to glance at you, and sure enough, your eyes are closed, mouth slightly parted in sleep.

A quiet exhale escapes her lips.

She lets the laptop finish playing the credits, then carefully reaches over to close it, setting it on the nightstand without disturbing you too much.

As she leans back again, her eyes linger on you, peaceful and completely unaware of the storm still quietly waging inside her.

She hesitates.

You’d probably sleep better in your own bed. Less risk of a sore neck.

“Hey,” she whispers, brushing her fingers lightly against your arm to wake you. “Want me to carry you to your room?”

You stir, eyes fluttering open, still half-lost in sleep. You look up at her, your gaze soft and unguarded.

“Can I sleep here?”

Natasha stills.

The way your face is tilted toward hers makes her heart stutter. You’re so close, lips parted slightly, your breath warm against her cheek.

Her fingers tighten against the sheets.

She should say no. But she doesn’t.

“…Sure,” she says instead, voice barely audible.

You smile in that sleepy, content way that always makes her chest ache, and shift to lie back more fully on the bed, your head finding the pillow beside hers like it’s always belonged there.

Natasha stays seated for a moment, just watching you. Studying the soft lines of your expression. The trust etched so easily into every part of you.

Then your eye cracks open, lazy and amused, and you pat the empty space beside you.

“Come on,” you murmur. “You should sleep too.”

Natasha swallows.

She moves beneath the covers slowly, cautiously, like the sheets might burn her. The moment her weight settles, you immediately scoot closer, nuzzling into the curve of her body with a comfort that’s almost too much.

She freezes.

Her arms hover mid-air, unsure where to land. Her instincts war with her confusion about the situation.

But then you sigh softly, and it eases something in her. She lets her arms wrap around you, tentatively at first, then fully. Her hand rests lightly against your back.

Your body fits against hers like it was always meant to.

Her heart beats too loud. Her thoughts race too fast.

But your breathing, soft and steady, grounds her.

You’re not overthinking this. You’re not avoiding eye contact or spiraling like she is. You’re just there. 

Maybe she is overreacting.

So she presses her lips to the top of your head, just barely a kiss, light and reverent.

And tells herself it’s fine.

That it’s just something friends do.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The corridor outside the tech lab is mostly quiet, the hum of machinery muffled behind glass walls. Natasha had only meant to drop by to check on some routine data upload from her last mission, but she slows as she rounds the corner and catches sight of you through the glass.

You’re leaning against the counter in the lab, your stance relaxed, familiar. A quiet, polite smile plays on your lips as you speak to one of the newer lab techs, who is a little awkward in their stance and clearly trying to flirt.

Natasha pauses at the entrance, something instinctual anchoring her in place. 

“I just figured,” the technician says, nervously fidgeting with their hands, “maybe we could grab a coffee sometime?”

Natasha blinks. Her fingers tighten unconsciously around the datapad in her hand.

You let out a soft chuckle, not unkind. 

“That’s sweet,” you say, your tone warm but edged with gentle finality, “but I’m actually already seeing someone.”

Natasha frowns, her heart skipping heavily.

Since when?

The lab tech falters only slightly, nodding good-naturedly.

“Ah. No worries. It was worth a shot.”

“We could still be friends,” you offer kindly.

They chuckle lightly as they gather their things, nodding in agreement.

“Well, if they mess up,” the tech jokes, “you know where to find me.”

You smile again, a brief lift of your brow.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

They leave, footsteps fading down the hall.

Natasha stays frozen for a beat longer, her brain racing as she tries to understand. A strange, unfamiliar tightness lingers in her chest, something sharp and green and burning low.

Why didn’t you ever tell her you were seeing someone?

The question echoes through her like a bruise, throbbing harder the longer she thinks about it.

A few seconds pass before she finally moves, stepping into view from where she’d been half-hidden around the corner. Her approach is quiet, boots soft on the tile, but you look up at the sound anyway.

“Nat, hey,” you greet, still casual, like you hadn’t just said something that made her stomach drop unexpectedly.

Natasha crosses her arms across her chest.

“Were you ever going to introduce me to them?”

You blink at her, brow furrowing.

“Who?”

“The person you’re seeing.”

There’s a flicker of confusion in your expression, your head tilting slightly as if trying to piece together something obvious that you’ve somehow missed.

“That’d be…difficult,” you answer slowly.

Her heart skips again—this time not from surprise, but from something closer to hurt. 

“Why?” she presses, a little sharper now. “You don’t want them to meet your friends?”

Your mouth parts slightly. You study her, eyes narrowing faintly, not in anger, but in realization. 

“Is that what you are?” you ask quietly. “Just my friend?”

Natasha hesitates. Her arms tighten around herself, defensive.

“I thought I was,” she says with a shrug that tries too hard to be casual.

The silence that follows isn’t long, but it feels like it stretches forever.

You nod slowly, the movement small and almost imperceptible. 

“Right,” you murmur. “My mistake.”

And even though you smile, easy and familiar, there’s a flicker behind it. Something small and wounded that vanishes just as quickly as it appears. Like it costs a little more this time to offer it.

“I thought we were something more.”

Natasha’s lips part in stunned silence.

You shake your head slightly, not in denial, just…regret. 

“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding.”

Before she can find her voice, before she can reach out and ask what you mean—what she means to you—you step past her.

“I’ve got to prep for my mission,” you say quietly. “I’ll see you after, Nat.”

And then you’re gone.

The hallway seems impossibly still.

Natasha doesn’t move.

She just stands there, frozen in place, her eyes still on the space where you’d been just seconds ago.

I thought we were something more.

The words echo in her chest like a hollow ring of glass about to break.

Natasha presses a hand lightly to her sternum, as if she could push the ache away.

But it lingers. Deep and burning.

She knew it.

She knows it now more than ever.

Friends don’t kiss.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The hangar is nearly silent at this hour, long past the time anyone should still be awake.

But Natasha is.

She leans against a metal railing in the far corner of the bay, arms crossed loosely, her mind racing in quiet loops. The empty stretch of concrete around her does little to ease the restless energy in her body. She’s been replaying your last conversation for hours now, trying to decipher what it meant, what you meant.

The distant hum of turbines pulls her attention up.

The Quinjet descends slowly, its engines quieting as it settles onto the landing pad. Her spine straightens involuntarily. She catches herself smoothing her palm against her thigh, like she’s bracing for something.

The ramp lowers with a hiss, and then there you are.

You spot her the moment you step down.

Your steps falter just a bit, surprised but not displeased. Your expression shifts into something soft and unreadable before you offer a faint smile.

“Hey,” you greet lightly. “You’re still up?”

Natasha picks up on the subtle wariness in your voice. Not distrust, just a layer of confusion she knows she put there.

“I wanted to talk,” she says, quieter now, her arms unfolding slightly. “If that’s okay.”

You pause. Then, after a breath, you nod.

“Yeah… we probably should’ve had this talk before I went around thinking we were something other than friends,” you joke, a little self-deprecating, but not cruel.

Natasha winces, her mouth twitching. She knows she earned that.

You exhale and tilt your head toward the hallway. 

“Come on. Let’s talk in my room. I need to get this mission stink off me.”

She follows without hesitation, grateful for the return of your usual teasing tone.

“Yeah, you do,” she quips back.

You gasp in mock offense, throwing a look over your shoulder. 

“Wow. Brutal honesty? No mercy, huh?”

Natasha just smirks. “Would you prefer lies?”

“Only the flattering kind,” you call as you enter your room.

Natasha follows in after you with a small chuckle. She sits at the edge of your bed, hands in her lap, waiting as you disappear into your bathroom. She hears the rush of water from the shower and feels oddly tense like she’s waiting for a mission to start, but this one requires emotional precision she hasn’t quite mastered.

When the bathroom door finally opens, and you emerge, a towel draped around your shoulders, skin still damp and fresh from the steam, Natasha’s thoughts short-circuit for a moment.

Her gaze catches on the curve of your neck, the soft line of your collarbone—

She tears her eyes away, scolding herself silently.

This is exactly how things got so muddled.

You shoot her an amused look as you dry your hair with the towel. 

“You gonna stare all night or talk?”

Natasha clears her throat, suddenly focused on her hands again. 

“Right. Sorry. I just…wanted to ask something.”

You toss the towel aside as you nod.

“Ask away.”

She hesitates. 

“Why…why did you think we were dating?”

You blink, surprised at the question. Then you let out a soft breath and sit beside her on the bed.

“Well,” you begin, voice easy but edged with a thread of honesty, “months ago, you asked me to go to the Avengers Festival with you. We spent the whole day together. Just us.”

“I thought you’d enjoy it,” Natasha replies quietly.

“I did. And I was even more excited when I thought you were asking me out on a date.”

You glance at her, gauging her reaction.

Natasha’s lips press into a thin line. 

“Only it wasn’t… to me.”

“Right,” you say, a hint of disappointment in your tone before you continue with a sigh. “But then you invited me to that new restaurant for dinner the next night.”

“You mentioned it once. I thought you’d want to go.”

“I did mention it. To Wanda. I didn’t expect you to remember something I had said in passing.”

Natasha lowers her gaze. 

“I do,” she murmurs.

You smile faintly. 

“Then came movie nights. Every week. Just us.”

“You hadn’t seen any of the classics. I thought it’d be fun.”

“And it was,” you say before teasingly adding as you lightly nudge her shoulders. “Especially learning you know all the lines.”

There’s a pause. Then your voice softens.

“Then…you kissed me.”

Natasha’s breath catches.

“Twice,” you continue.

Her eyes flick to yours.

“Three times,” you correct with a small smile, “if we’re counting the one where you got nervous and bailed halfway through, settling for the top of my head instead when you thought I was asleep.”

Natasha swallows, stunned into silence.

“Well?” you ask gently. “You gonna explain? Because last time I checked…”

You shift toward her, slow and deliberate.

“…friends don’t kiss.”

She searches for an answer. Any answer. But none of them feel true. Not the ones she told herself, not the ones that let her avoid the real thing.

“These past days I've been trying to convince myself that kissing didn’t have to mean anything,” Natasha admits, voice small. “That I could just…”

She trails off.

“Avoid what you actually felt?” you offer, your tone gentle, not accusatory.

She meets your eyes then, and something in her cracks. 

“Maybe I just didn’t want to admit I wanted something more. Because if I did…and you didn’t…”

“I did,” you interrupt softly.

Your hand lifts to her hair, your fingers brushing a few loose strands back, tucking them gently behind her ear.

“I do.”

Her breath trembles.

You stroke her cheek with your thumb, grounding her.

“No more mixed signals, Nat,” you say with a playful edge, though your eyes are sincere. “You’re gonna have to be more direct, or I’ll start thinking I made it all up.”

She doesn’t hesitate this time. Her hands slide to your waist as she pulls you closer, steady and sure.

“Tomorrow night…will you go out with me?” she murmurs.

You grin, raising a brow.

“On a date?”

She nods, smiling now too.

“On a date.”

You lean your forehead against hers.

“Then I’d love to.”

There’s a beat of stillness, warmth blooming in the quiet between you. Then Natasha’s gaze flicks behind you toward the bed and back at you, one brow rising.

“Can I stay here tonight?”

You raise an amused brow.

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

You smirk playfully.

“Because, in case you’re unsure…” you whisper, tilting your head closer to hers. “…friends don’t typically sleep with each other either.”

Natasha’s eyes sparkle, a soft smile forming on her face.

“Then it’s a good thing,” she says, drawing you in, her voice a low murmur at your lips, “that we’re not just friends anymore.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: a little something as I procrastinate on my series 😅 thank you for reading!

[dearceleste]

astro obs pt 6

hey guys! I hope you all are fine :) hope you enjoy this post

Mars in Aries people are super fast and almost in a hurry to do anything actually. Most of them have this “I’ll do it now if I’ve to do this later”. That can be completing assignments to maybe even breaking up with someone. I won’t necessarily say they are “rash” but they do act very much on their impulses more than other people. Don’t avoid confrontation and aren’t afraid to confront heads on. Do no harm, take no shit lmao.

Mars in Taurus people are actually a good balance between being chill and actually not being chill lmao. I’d explain, many of them have a domicile mars in sidereal so it does add to that. Moreover, they make slow decisions but once they’ve decided on something, baby you can’t move them lmao. They don’t get super irked or mad easily, but if they do, the grudge is to their grave. Very consistent, they don’t really quit something they’ve fixed themselves on until there’s a strong, I mean STRONG reason to, but at the same time, committing to something is a very thought of and takes a long time in itself. Could get caught up in dead end stuff for this reason, they hate giving up or changing what’s worked for them. Men and women, both with this placement are super masculine and a desire control. Conflict resolution is very tough since they’re very avoidant. Not exactly avoiding accountability but, avoidant. Very good at comforting and giving security too. Not a fan of change and look for long term stuff and like predictability since letting go isn’t easy for them.

Mars in Gemini can be super into raps, and also for some reason, they like stopping conflicts and arguments between two people? Also, I see these folks have this attitude of If you wanna fix me, then let's break up here and now lmao. They want arguments to be winded up super quick lmao. They can also have a hard time picking sides, commits as easily and leaves things incomplete as easily. A big fan of change.

Mars in Cancer for some reason are quite passive. I spoke about how Taurus Mars doesn’t avoid accountability but are avoidant to confrontation, but most people I’ve seen with Cancer Mars just fold during arguments, like they won’t direct the blame but not take it either? They want to maintain peace but at what cost lmao. That can make them tough to be with people who are willing to change behaviours through accountability for their betterment tbh. But as expected, they are super protective OVER you and their loved ones if they’re really into you or else they avoid arguments lmao.

Mars in Leo are people who go big. In love? BIG promises. To themselves for accomplishing things? BIG promises and goals. Very ambitious, and depending on how diligent they are, they would fulfil those. Low-key flashy with what they have lmao. Very good at comforting and giving security too. Hard to let go of things if that was something they genuinely wanted and it wasn’t just ego boost. Tough to admit things lmao, not that they never.

Mars in Virgo people are so good at talking back lmao. Very hardworking and persistent, and very much at service of others. Very helping and kind by nature. One thing I’ve seen is they really end up saying things they don’t mean during arguments. Also let go of arguments very quick.

Mars in Libra are very competitive I’ve seen. And it’s not in the sense of covet, it’s just something natural? It’s almost like they have this attachment to being the best everywhere, maybe even at places it’s not quite necessary? Very good at winning arguments and also getting things on their side. Very much a vibe of “Ladies don’t start fights but can finish them”.

Mars in Scorpio are such intense people omg, they are a different intense than Mars in Aries people, who leave things pretty fast as it cools down and don’t attach personal meaning to everything. This absolutely isn’t the case with Mars in Scorpio people, they DO attach personal meaning to their struggles, goals, arguments, everything and can get absolutely intense in such ordeals, much like their sister sign, Mars in Taurus, things are etched in their hearts and minds. Very passionate but also super moody, they don’t have a ritual to let things go, it can happen over years or in a minute, unexpectedly, that’s what makes them super unpredictable. The energy currency is spent to their liking and is driven by pure emotions and less logic. They can worship and tarnish, both really well.

Mars in Sagittarius people usually never admit their fault lmao and I also see they don’t really take things very seriously. Always to the next best thing in life, they don’t hold on to stuff and sulk more than necessary. Learn things very well, and always have a life lmao, either it’s a big friend group or maybe hobbies or maybe binging stuff, they don’t centre their life around anything or anyone lmao. Very opinionated.

Mars in Capricorn are very similar to Taurus Mars but also different. Let me explain, these people are actually SUPER opinionated and don’t budge, at all, like not at all. It’s like running in circles, you can reason with them, they will reason with you, but the conclusion is always the same lmao of course until THEY randomly feel you’re right. Their self worth is attached to how much they have, and can give you. Security is major and is something important more than you could imagine. Someone who’d say “I’d only be with you if i can take care of everything” but then amidst all this, they forget other important things, like feelings and interests and other things that probably are as if not more important. They don’t give up on anything ever. Don’t take criticism very well but would think about secretly. Very protective and also….possessive. The difference between them and Taurus Mars is majorly emotional intelligence, I’ve found Taurus Mars to be far more emotionally attuned making easier to deal with.

Mars in Aquarius have so much energy and potential but they also have 261472017 things they want to do so they’re never able to fix themselves and ground their energy into one thing particularly to reap rewards and that’s the tough part because they need to attribute to something consistently to reap rewards, which are usually big. They should not give up suddenly and randomly and waste their own efforts over instant gratification and wanting the best of ALL worlds lmao.

Mars in Pisces people are very confusing to me in the sense that, I somehow feel they are always wanting to show their best, show how they’re so worth it even to people who shouldn’t matter. There is this almost a need to appear strong and unbothered? They’re actually very sweet. Men with this placement can sometimes have this concept of being masculine that can sometimes turn toxic, and make them seem superficial and manipulative with their efforts and intentions, which really depends.

[fear-is-truth]

I know this might be a little weird, but first let me say I love your stories! They're just sooo amazing. SO my weird ask is what if clark and the reader are so in love that clark is actively with her consent obviously trying to get her pregnant to start a family? If that's too weird I am so sorry!

warning : established relationship・fem!reader・baby fever・unprotected p in v · not proofread | MDNI 18+ note. i need to get HIM pregnant

CLARK KENT had never lacked love to give.

not to people. not to animals. not to the world at large. tenderness came to him so easily, vast and inexhaustible in its reach. children, in particular, arrested him. he admired their unfiltered wonder, the raw candour of their questions, and most of all—their conviction that kindness could fix anything.

he’d always assumed he would have a family one day. but the thought had remained schematic. it existed in the distant future, the way people envision retirement—pleasant and inevitable, deferred until the work was done.

superman, after all, had obligations.

what he hadn’t expected, was how visceral the desire became once he fell in love with you.

it revealed itself in strange intervals. not always; but often centred around your interactions with children: you, crouched on a subway platform, tying the sneaker of a crying girl and speaking softly to settle her distress. you, in the corner of a thrift store, running your fingers across a stack of muslin blankets with absent care. you, trying to hold back your laughter when a stranger’s baby tried to share a soggy cracker with you.

suddenly, the future was no longer a blueprint, but a furnished room already bathed with sunlight: a cotton onesie slung over the radiator, soft lullabies sung into downy hair and fontanelle, the damp imprint of drool at his shoulder, a tiny hand curled tight in the collar of his shirt.

he’s deeper than usual tonight—both of you acutely aware. each thrust tilting the room on its axis. his control endures right until your moans fractures. a hand slides between your legs—he intends for you to come first.

and as always, you do. only then does clark relinquishes. finishes buried to the hilt, unmoving, hips locked to yours as he spends himself in full, forceful surges. viscous heat floods your core in rhythmic bursts, until he has nothing left to give. afterward, limbs entwined beneath the sheets, his palm rests over your lower abdomen, as if coaxing life into existence. a kiss grazes your temple, followed by a smile pressed into your hair.

“think we’ll get lucky this time?”

you chuckle—a quiet, hopeful sound—then reach up to frame his face. your noses touch.

“maybe.”

[d4nshyp3r]

it’s not living if it’s not with you || bucky barnes one shot

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

summary: what happens if you ditch a party to smoke on a balcony with your best friend bucky barnes.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: MDNI!, porn without plot, smoking, drinking, a bit of swearing, p in v, unprotected sex, sub!bucky, softdom!reader, creampie, idiots in love

a/n: guys… i haven’t written anything since 2022 but this man is plaguing my mind i can’t do this anymore. anyways, i hope you enjoy!!

As you made your way to the elevator, you smoothed your dress down before hitting the up button. Tony was hosting his annual party commemorating the Battle with the Chitauri and additionally, the beginning of the Avengers. The tower was filled with handpicked reporters, chosen by their merit in journalism and how well they could make Tony look. Apart from that, anyone who had ever fought with the Avengers and knew them personally, socialites and politicians and other billionaires you couldn’t name.

The whole thing was a show for Tony and his friends; he always went all out but he made sure everyone had a good time. Regardless, you tend to feel overwhelmed in large and loud crowds so it was understandable that you had made your way downstairs to smoke on the balcony. You were secluded enough that no one could find you, but still able to hear the music and chatter a few floors up, so it was the perfect spot to get lost in for a few minutes.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened, revealing a concerned pair of steel blue eyes. Smiling softly you joined him,  the comfortable silence between you falling easily. James Buchanan Barnes, former Russian assassin, and one of your closest friends though you wouldn’t admit it to anyone. Truth is, you knew you were one of the few people he was close to and chose to trust, so that must mean he considers you his friend, right? Still, the topic of your friendship with him was one you avoided commenting on with everyone, because you couldn’t talk about him without revealing how in love with him you were. 

You weren’t embarrassed, but it was shameful how speechless he could make you, a grown woman, just by smiling and saying good morning. You hated feeling like a schoolgirl with a crush, but you couldn’t stop thinking about him if you tried; and you’ve tried. 

Trying to ignore the slight blush creeping up your cheeks by how good he looked, you turn to the mirror and pretend to fix your hair and make sure the straps of your dress were secured; already feeling too exposed as you caught his eyes roaming the open back your dress had. Thankfully he didn’t comment on it, choosing to start some light conversation for the short moments of silence you had.

“You know those things will kill you, right?” He glanced at you, sniffing slightly, noting the smell of cigarettes clinging to you. The light smile on his face telling you he was only half joking.

You slightly turned to him, leaning on the wall behind you, “Well, something has to eventually.” You both laughed lightly, remembering the countless missions and near death experiences you’ve shared. “Trust me, you’ll be begging for one as soon as you set a foot in there.”

“Oh, you know how all of Tony’s parties are, it can’t be that bad.” He stated, the doors opening and depriving you of answering and the sweet bubble you found yourself on with him. He was never one to be excited for parties or large gatherings, keeping to himself and his routine, but surprisingly he was very optimistic about any event that presented itself. 

The immediate roar of laughter and music and chatter filled the once quieter elevator. You look at him and catch his expression falter slightly, making you giggle to yourself. One should never underestimate Tony’s parties.

You stepped out before him, being pulled into a conversation between Bruce, Yelena and some woman shamelessly flirting with her. Not caring much what the topic of discussion was, you turned around to find Bucky, sad to discover he had already been pulled in the sea of overexcited party-goers.

A few hours had gone by and you still hadn’t found Bucky. To say you were disappointed was an understatement but you didn't make it that obvious, engaging in any conversation that emerged and inquiries from the reporters to keep you distracted. 

 You squeezed your way through the crowd and found yourself at the bar, thanking Tony for the endless supply of alcohol helping you get through the night. As you waved the bartender down and asked for the fourth refill, you felt someone sliding next to you.

“Sergeant Barnes, you seem to be enjoying yourself.” You said turning to him, noting the blush on his cheeks and the light smirk he couldn’t seem to shake. 

“Thor is to blame for that. He brought enough mead to share with the whole continent.” He commented, slightly leaning in. You had seen Bucky drunk probably a handful of times, since he usually chose to stay behind when the group went out. Still, it was an amusing sight.

You couldn’t help but notice how he mumbled more than usual and his eyes glistened a bit; along with the pink on his cheeks, the blue of his eyes seemed brighter than you had seen them before. The closeness and his unwavering gaze on you made your heartbeat pick up, your ears turning hot. 

You looked away trying to regain your composure, looking over at Thor entertaining Alexei and Peter with another one of his countless stories. The bartender brought your drink and as you turned back, you caught Bucky glancing at your back again. You take a sip of your drink, noting how he seemed to be enjoying the sight very much. You could use this to your advantage and play with him a little bit.

“So, what’s on your mind, Soldier?” You say as you set your drink down, slowly meeting his eyes and stepping a little closer. The alcohol was making you way more confident than usual, and he noticed yet didn’t comment on it. 

Instead, he copied you, stepping closer until your breaths almost became one, quickly glancing down as your tongue wet your lips. “Is that offer from earlier still on the table?”

Surprised, you only smirked before grabbing your drink and his hand, heading to the elevator once again.

The combination of the light breeze on the balcony and the smoke in your lungs soothed you immediately, although Bucky’s unrelenting gaze made you squirm in your seat.

“Told you so, by the way,” You say in hopes that some conversation might distract you from the way his half-lidded eyes would not leave you. “Admit it, I was right.”

His eyes trailed over to your lips as you took another hit, licking his own before replying. “Never in a million years, Doll.”

Choosing to ignore the way your heart sped up by the nickname rolling off his tongue like honey, you look away laughing, “Oh come on, your pride will still be intact. I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

He didn’t reply immediately, and now, in the silence, you noticed that he wasn’t entirely drunk, but the drinks had clearly affected him enough to loosen his mouth. 

“God, that dress is killing me.”

Your smile dropped, unsure how to respond, you only looked at him.

He took that as his sign to continue. “I mean, wearing that in front of a hundred-and-ten year old man is just cruel. Are you trying to kill me?” He didn’t laugh, no smile in sight; just pure and honest. His gaze held yours, the words spilling out of his mouth shocking you even more.

“Boldness suits you, Soldier. You should try it more often,” You tried regaining your composure, joining him in the dangerous yet exciting dance that emerged between you. In any other situation, your words would’ve failed you, and thanks to the alcohol coursing through your veins right now, you found the confidence to follow his lead.

He had always been reserved, even with you. Keeping to himself and his thoughts, only speaking when necessary or when he felt comfortable enough to add something with the group. So many times had you imagined what it would feel like to cross the line with your relationship; stepping into the dangerous waters of seduction and flirtation. The darkness enhanced your feelings, imagining what he would say, how he would say it and how his reaction would be to your approach. Yet in the countless daydreams and hopes you held, you would’ve never imagined him to be so direct, honest and shameless.

“What can I say? You bring out the worst in me.” He smirked, clearly seeing through the brave facade you put on trying not to crumble at his feet. He leaned in as he said this, not caring about the shameless way he stared at your lips.

That’s all it took for you to give in, not bothered if this ruined your friendship any longer. If you were sober, you would’ve given it more thought, surprised by this new side to him you were unfamiliar with. But that was not the case, so without letting another second pass, you closed the mere inches between you and pressed your lips to his.

He wasn’t taken aback, eagerly reciprocating your kiss. It wasn’t messy or rushed. He took his time, letting his cigarette fall on the table before taking your face in his hands. It was slow yet rough, as if years of waiting and uncertainty finally came to a tipping point. He kissed you like he needed the very air in your lungs to breathe, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you as close as physics would allow.

He slowly moved the two of you near the wall, pressing you gently against it as one hand moved to the back of your neck, guiding your movements. The other gripped at your waist, as if it was the only thing keeping him grounded. Small whimpers left your lips, becoming overwhelmed with how his arms engulfed you entirely. You were both breathless but refused to pull away, getting drunk off of the kiss.

He moaned lightly, pressing his hips into you as he grabbed one of your legs and wrapped it around his waist. Always a gentleman, he pulled away heaving and pleading at you with his eyes. “Please, darling. Please, I need you. I need you so bad.” His lips then moved to your neck as he continued begging, making you moan with every word that left his lips. “Please, please doll. Don’t do this to me. I can’t handle it any longer.”

You knew he hadn’t gone out with many women after he got out, but you never expected him to be this needy. It was a sight you could get used to, the way his voice got higher, the nonsensical rambling and his eyes completely glossed over. You were enraptured by him and didn’t think once for a second to turn down his requests. 

His head dipped down to your cleavage, his composure completely gone by now as he kissed his way down your chest. He was falling apart, acting like a starved man; the way his pants shook his whole body and his head fell, eyes closed and brows furrowed. You had seen him this way before but strictly after particularly taxing missions, never once had you imagined the sight of him being this affected just by being so close to your tits.

Your hands fell from his hair, trailing their way down his chest and stopping at his belt. His head snapped towards you, before he helped you undo it. He removed his suit jacket and threw it somewhere behind him before dropping to his knees in front of you. His hands trailed up the back of your legs, finding your panties and pulling them slowly down your thighs as he kissed his way up your inner thighs. The sight made your knees buckle, his eyes held pure adoration and devotion, as well as raw desire and hunger. 

Although you wanted to keep him there as long as possible, you were as desperate as him, needing to feel him inside of you immediately. You grabbed his chin with your hands, pulling him up. “Come here,” The simple command had him standing up, as if he would do anything you asked of him at the moment. “That can wait.”

You grabbed the hem of his pants, undoing the button and pushing down the zipper. You took it upon yourself to push his pants and underwear down, just enough that you could pull his cock out. It felt heavy in your hand, the tip so red it was almost purple and already leaking precum. He was surprisingly trimmed, something you wouldn’t expect from such an old fashioned man. The sheer size shocked you, but you were wet enough that it could just slip in easily.

He helped you by pulling your dress up, grabbing the fabric and keeping it tightly around your waist. You guided his cock towards your weeping pussy, teasing yourself with his tip as well as him. “C’mon Doll, you’re really trying to kill me. Please stop teasing me, you don’t know how long I’ve been holding back. Please darling, let me fuck you.”

Cutting off his rambling, you pushed him in, letting him finish the job and bottoming out. A throat-rattling gasp left your lips, making you throw your head back at the feeling. Not only was his cock impossibly thick, but you hadn’t fucked in a while and the last guy was certainly no comparison. He whimpered looking down at where your bodies met, groaning at how your pussy pulsed around him, making him leak more precum into your soppy hole.

After a few seconds, he started moving. The stretch burned in all the right ways, making you grip onto him for support. You tried not to be too loud, not caring about the party-goers upstairs, but at the neighbors who might still be awake. He was fighting his own battle. After so many years he was practically a virgin again, trying his best to make the moments last and not cum too early. The once highly trained soldier now at complete mercy for your cunt.

He took it slow at first which you appreciated, slowly building up the knot forming in your cores. The feeling of his heavy cock being strained by your pussy was enough to make you cum, but it only got heightened when he brought his fingers down to your clit, slow and precise circles making you pull him even closer.

Your breaths mingled together, sharing kisses here and there and unintelligible phrases about how good it felt. Neither of you could form a proper sentence, completely lost in the feeling and sharing the same breaths. His head went back to your neck, peppering kisses from time to time and a breathless so fucking tight every few thurst.

Your breaths shortened and your moans became louder, as his movements became sloppier and the circles he made on your clit became faster. You were both close and you knew it, both disappointed by how quickly it took you to come undone, yet it was unstoppable given how long you had both waited for this. “Are you gonna come for me, honey? You gonna fill up my cunt with your cum? Wanna make a mess for me?”

He was too busy trying to remember how to breathe, nodding as he mumbled in agreement, whimpering as you pulled his hair, taking his head away from your neck. You kissed his forehead, then his cheek and finally his lips, grabbing his cheeks with your hand and making him pout. His lips were pink and his face flushed, completely fucked out and willing to do whatever you asked.

You moaned loudly as your orgasm took over you, kissing him as he followed right after. His movements slowed down as your cunt milked him for every last drop of cum, making him squirm from oversensitivity. He slowly put your leg down and helped you put your panties back on, before tucking away his cock into his pants. 

You grabbed his face and hissed him, this time gentle and satisfied, completely spent out by the events. “Fuck, I really wanted to take my time with you and make it last.” He sounded defeated but he laughed lightly, pressing his forehead against yours.

You giggled before kissing his lips once again, “Don’t worry, there’ll be plenty of time for that.”

“God, you’re perfect.”

[linoxpudding]

Intern (Pt 5)- Lee Know

summary: as the final month of your internship begins, keeping your emotions separate from your professional role becomes harder than ever, with the collaborative concert drawing near, tensions rise—not only on stage but between you and minho, who’s desperate to salvage what's slipping away

pairing: lee know x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff, humor

word count: 5261 words

a/n: thank you so much for loving this series! I think this might be my most popular one and it honestly means the world, I really hope the wait was worth it! Love you always, my puddings ♡

Intern Series - Part Four

~°~

Your shoes echoed softly against the polished wood floor as you slipped into the staff room. Thankfully, it was empty. The moment the door shut behind you, you exhaled like you’d been holding your breath for hours. You stood there in the middle of the room, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, as if you were trying to physically hold all your emotions in. You didn’t even know how your legs even carried you there. Your heart was still hammering in your chest, your pulse deafening in your ears. 

What just happened?

Your chest burned. Not with sadness but with fury. You were angry. No, scratch that, you were livid.

How dare he say those words—so easily, so suddenly—like he hadn’t spent weeks pushing you away. Like he hadn’t left you in that gray zone, hovering between hope and heartbreak, constantly questioning if you were the problem. You’d convinced yourself to move on. To detach. To protect your own heart. And now, after all of it, he wanted to say I love you? Just like that?

After everything. After making you feel like you were the fool for reading too much into the way his eyes lingered, the way he looked at you like you were everything—and then turned cold the moment you stepped a little too close, dismissed you like you were the problem, the one who “flirted too much.” You’d swallowed that hurt. You moved on. You forced yourself to. And now, suddenly, he loves you?

You let out a bitter laugh, pacing the room.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. Slowly, with trembling hands, you grabbed your bag from the shelf where you’d left it earlier that morning. You needed to leave. Now.

*******************

Minho didn’t even realize how long he’d been standing there, his fingers tangled in his hair, his heart hammering in his chest like it wanted to escape his ribs. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, and every moment since you’d walked away played on repeat in his head, like a broken record.

I lost her.

The thought echoed in his mind, louder with each passing second.

He didn’t hear the footsteps at first. It wasn’t until Hyunjin’s voice cut through the thick silence that Minho finally snapped back to reality.

“Hyung?”

Minho didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed on the ground, his body hunched in on itself, trying to hold himself together when everything inside him was falling apart.

“Hyung, what’s going on?” Hyunjin asked again, softer this time, stepping closer. He bent down beside Minho, concern furrowing his brow.

Minho shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “I lost her, Hyunjin... I don’t know what to do.”

Hyunjin’s heart twisted at the sight of his hyung like this, a shell of the confident, playful Minho he’d always known. The way his hyung’s hands gripped his hair tighter as he let out a pained groan, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. It was raw—painful.

“You didn’t lose her yet,” Hyunjin said, his voice firm but gentle as he put a hand on Minho’s shoulder. “I know it feels like you did. But you can still fix this.”

Minho’s face twisted in anguish, his lips trembling as he let out a breathless laugh, but it was hollow, empty. “I don’t know if I can. I... I hurt her, Jinnie. I pushed her away when all I had to do was be honest. And now... now she’s gone. She walked away from me.”

Hyunjin stayed quiet for a moment, taking in Minho’s words. He could see it now—the weight of regret, the desperation in his eyes.

“I don’t think she’s gone,” Hyunjin said carefully. “You’re both stubborn, hyung. You’ve been dancing around each other for so long. You didn’t want to admit it, and neither did she. But I don’t think it’s over. Not yet.”

Minho looked up at Hyunjin then, his eyes searching, hoping, desperate for any kind of reassurance. “But what if it is? What if I ruined it beyond repair? What if she doesn’t want me anymore?”

Hyunjin paused for a moment, then spoke quietly, “You’re not the only one who’s scared, hyung. She’s scared, too. But you’re the one who has to be brave now. Not only for her— but for yourself too. Because if you don’t try, you’ll regret it forever. You know that.”

Minho let out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging. Hyunjin’s words hit harder than he expected. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe there was still a chance, but only if he had the courage to act.

Hyunjin stood up, offering his hand to Minho. “You’re going to fix this, hyung. But you have to start with telling her the truth. About everything. And you’ve got to be ready for whatever comes after. Don’t let her slip away without fighting for her.”

Minho’s hand trembled as he took Hyunjin’s, pulling himself up to his feet. His heart still ached, but the words hit something deep inside of him. Maybe it wasn’t too late.

*******************

You barely remembered how you got home. The keys slipped from your fingers twice before you finally managed to unlock the door. The moment you stepped inside, your knees gave out and you slid down against the wall, feeling the weight of everything crash over you.

Your phone wouldn't stop buzzing. Hyunjin kept calling again and again. You pressed your forehead against your knees, willing yourself not to break down, willing yourself not to hope. And when your phone buzzed for the tenth time, you simply reached over, turned it off, and tossed it into a corner.

You couldn't do this. Not right now. Maybe not ever.

The next morning, your body moved on autopilot. You typed a message to your supervisor with trembling fingers, lying easily.

“I have a bad migraine. Won’t be able to work on fittings today. I’ll continue working on the designs remotely.”

A polite response came back almost immediately—“Take care. Focus on feeling better.”

You needed space—space from him, from the suffocating weight of everything. It was already the final month of your internship. Just a few more weeks, and you wouldn’t have to see him again.

You told yourself that over and over like a mantra as you buried yourself in sketches, swatches, sewing patterns. The living room became your sanctuary. You stayed hunched over your work for hours, sketching until your fingers cramped, trying to come up with excuses to tell your supervisor so that you do not have to step anywhere near their dressing rooms. Anywhere near him for the remaining internship period.

One step at a time—you just had to get through this.

The major stage collaboration was coming up, the biggest project of your internship, the one that could launch your career if you gave it your all.

Let the countdown begin.

*******************

48 Hours Before the Concert

You returned to work with your heart armored in ice. 

The company was in chaos. The stylists were rushing, the managers were running, the boys from both groups were rehearsing endlessly. No one had time to notice that you’d disappeared from their orbit—well except for Minho and Hyunjin.

You avoided their practice room like it was a battlefield. Instead, you locked yourself away in the design room, sketching out costumes, adjusting stitching details—anything to keep your hands busy, anything to keep your mind from wandering.

Minho tried to talk to you. At first, you heard his footsteps. You caught glimpses of him hovering by the door. Once, when you dared to glance up, you saw him standing just outside the window, his face tense, uncertain. But you dropped your head back down before he could gather the courage to step inside. You didn’t give him a chance.

Hyunjin also tried texting, looking for you after rehearsals, even poking his head into the design room but couldn’t find you since every time, you made yourself smaller, quieter, easier to miss.

You weren’t ready to face Minho. You weren’t sure if you ever would be. 

At some point, even Hyunjin gave up trying, swept away into the madness of final rehearsals, concept checks, and the insane pressure of the collaboration stage they were preparing.

You thought you were safe. You thought you could make it to the end.

24 Hours Before the Concert

Minho was unraveling. He didn’t even bother pretending anymore. He was searching for you like a man possessed. Between rehearsals, between fittings, between breaks—his eyes flicked around desperately, always hoping to catch a glimpse.

He sent messages—one after another.

Minho: "Can we please talk?" Minho: "Just for a minute. You don’t even have to say anything. Please." Minho: "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Y/N."

You stared at the notifications, feeling your chest clench painfully.

You left them unanswered.

Because you were afraid. Because you didn’t know if you could survive hearing more empty words. Because some wounds weren’t meant to be picked open again.

That night, Minho sat in the darkened practice room, back against the mirror. The others had gone home. He stayed. The blue glow of his phone lit up his face, your unread messages staring back at him like ghosts.

He typed. Deleted. Typed again.

His thumb hovered over the send button for a long time before he finally pressed it.

Minho: "I miss you."

Short. Honest. Bare. You never replied.

12 Hours Before the Concert

The final rehearsal was a whirlwind of noise and energy.

Seventeen and Stray Kids crisscrossed the stage, voices overlapping, last-minute notes flying as everyone tried to perfect every second. Everyone was running around doing their assigned tasks– sound engineers hovered by the sides of the stage, tweaking mic volumes and running emergency checks, stage managers paced with clipboards, calling out timing cues and adjusting placements, stylists were doing last-minute fittings.

You stayed hidden behind the racks of costumes, keeping yourself busy threading last-minute repairs on stage outfits, sketching alterations for the collaboration stages. Minho saw you once—just a glimpse—and started towards you immediately.

You ducked behind a different aisle and disappeared before he could even call your name.

He slumped against the wall, dragging a hand through his hair. His heart ached. He was trying. God, he was trying. But you wouldn’t even look at him. And he knew he deserved it.

That night, he sat alone again. Hyunjin found him there, in the same spot, legs pulled up, forehead resting on his arms.

"Hyung…" Hyunjin said softly.

Minho didn't look up.

"I don’t think she hates you," Hyunjin added after a while, voice low. "She’s hurt. But she doesn’t hate you."

"I hate myself enough for the both of us," Minho murmured.

*******************

Day of the Concert 

You were up before sunrise and rushed to the company, it was going to be a long day. You began helping the senior stylists prepare everything. You kept your head down, blending into the background.

Minho tried to find you again, between makeup, between fittings.

Once, you walked right past him. You felt his eyes—burning, aching—trailing you, but you didn’t turn around.

He watched your retreating figure with a helpless kind of yearning, his heart feeling like it was being squeezed dry.

He typed one last message.

Minho: "If you don’t want to forgive me... I understand. But I love you. I love you, Y/N."

He didn’t expect a reply. He just wanted you to know.

You read his message, but your fingers stayed frozen above the screen. You couldn't trust yourself to reply. Not yet.

Soon after, it was time to leave for the concert venue.

Everyone from your company piled into multiple vans, buzzing with pre-show nerves and excitement. Seventeen would meet you all there, coming straight from their own company.

You slipped into one of the vans early, picking a seat at the very back. You tucked your bag close, phone clutched tightly in your hands. Minho hurried behind you, heart hammering in his chest.

There was a small opening beside you. He didn't even think—he moved to sit there.

He was about to slide into the seat beside you but at the very last second, you shifted, scooting away from the aisle, pressing yourself impossibly closer to the window. Pretending like you needed more space.

Minho froze mid-motion.

He stood there, awkward, shattered, the empty space where you had been just a second ago feeling colder than anything he'd ever known.

His hand tightened around the back of the seat for a second, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. Without a word, he dropped into a seat several rows in front instead, boxed in between Jisung and Seungmin.

The van door slammed shut, the engine rumbled to life—but Minho barely noticed. He barely heard the others laughing, hyping each other up. He barely felt the road vibrating under the tires. All he could feel was you—silent, turned away from him, just a few feet out of reach.

When they finally pulled up behind the venue, staff started piling out. You were the first one to slip off the van, blending into the chaos of bodies and equipment and flashing lights.

Minho lingered for a second in the seat, swallowing thickly as he watched you disappear into the crowd.

He had the urge to call out your name. He almost did. But he bit it back, lowering his head, heart cracking silently in his chest.

*******************

The air backstage crackled with adrenaline—stylists rushing, cords tangling, outfits getting last-minute steamed.

You were helping your supervisor adjust Felix’s jacket, smoothing the sleeves, checking the fit one last time. Your hands worked automatically, your mind floating somewhere far away.

Across the crowded room, Minho kept staring at you longingly. For a second—just a second—he thought maybe you’d let him. Maybe you’d glance at him. But when you shifted away, without even looking at him, it felt like a punch to the gut. Like watching a door slowly, painfully close in his face.

He sat down numbly at the makeup table, the bustling room fading into the background and all he could think was:

"I don’t blame you... but please, just once—look back at me."

Meanwhile, Hyunjin, sitting a few chairs away, was locked in the makeup artist’s grip, a brush sweeping across his cheekbones. But he still tried. He still tried to catch your eyes, frantic and desperate, needing you to see him. You lifted your head, sensing the weight of his stare and all you could offer him was a small, polite smile. Nothing more.

You could tell Hyunjin wanted to call out to you, to jump out of his chair, to explain everything he hadn’t been able to. But the makeup artist was sternly holding his chin still, murmuring warnings about smudging his foundation. He couldn’t move.

And so he watched you quietly, heartbreak pooling in his chest, as you finished adjusting Felix’s jacket...and turned away without another glance.

*******************

1 Hour Before the Concert

You had just grabbed a coffee from the catering area backstage, trying to escape the buzz of frantic preparations. The area was buzzing with energy, crew members darting from one spot to another, but you found a small moment of calm amidst it all. The food table was lined with snacks, coffee, and drinks, where you’d managed to find a brief respite. You were leaning against the counter, sipping your drink slowly, when the door to the room burst open with a loud bang.

Hyunjin stormed inside, his eyes wild and intense, looking like he had been running through the entire venue. His hair was slightly tousled, chest heaving with quick breaths as if he was on a mission.

Before you could even react, he reached for your wrist, gripping it firmly and pulling you out of the room.

“Come with me,” he commanded, urgency lacing his voice.

"Hyunjin—!" you gasped, stumbling after him. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"You’re done hiding!" he snapped, not even slowing down.

He pulled you into an empty band room backstage, and shoved the door shut behind you, trapping you inside. You barely caught your balance, turning to glare at him—but the look on Hyunjin’s face made your heart falter.

He looked furious. And desperate.

"You need to stop running, Y/N," he said, voice sharp, shaking slightly with emotion. "You think you’re protecting yourself? You’re just hurting both of you."

You crossed your arms, biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from crying. "It’s not that simple, Hyunjin—"

"YES, it is!" he cut you off, voice cracking, "You’re mad. You’re hurt. I get it. But Minho hyung—"

His voice broke again and he punched the wall lightly with the side of his fist, breathing hard.

"He’s dying," Hyunjin said, lower now, almost broken. "He’s breaking in front of us. He can't sleep. He can't eat. Every time he sees you, it's like someone rips another piece out of him."

You squeezed your eyes shut, fighting the tears threatening to spill.

"You think you’re the only one hurting?" Hyunjin asked, stepping closer, so close you could feel the sadness vibrating off him. "He’s been tearing himself apart for days, trying to find a way to fix this, and you won’t even LOOK at him."

You shook your head helplessly, voice cracking, "He’s the one who—"

"He knows," Hyunjin cut you off desperately, "He knows he fucked up. He hates himself for it. You think it’s easy for him to stand there and watch you pretend like he doesn’t exist?"

You stared at him, heart pounding, breath shaking.

Hyunjin whispered, “He loves you, Y/N.”

“No, he doesn’t.” you shot back. “He saw Mingyu and got territorial. That’s not the same thing as love.”

Hyunjin’s voice softened a little, but the intensity stayed, "Listen to me. Minho hyung…he’s dying inside. He’s been trying to talk to you for days. He's not playing games. He’s not saying those things because he's jealous of Mingyu or whatever else you think."

You bit your lip, hard. "Then why, Hyunjin? Why now? After everything?"

"Because he’s an idiot who thought he didn’t deserve you," Hyunjin said, voice raw. "He pushed you away because he was scared he’d ruin you. Because he thought you’d be better off without him."

Your heart stuttered painfully.

"And seeing you laugh with Mingyu made him realize exactly what he was about to lose," Hyunjin continued. "Not because of jealousy. Because he saw you happy and he wasn’t the one making you happy anymore."

The lump in your throat grew unbearable.

"He really loves you, Y/N," Hyunjin said simply. "He’s loved you this whole time. He just didn’t know how to believe he was worthy of it."

Your vision blurred.

Then, Hyunjin went on to explain everything — how Minho had been in love with you all along, how he had been miserable every time you avoided him backstage, how he stayed up at night overthinking every glance you refused to give him. How he regretted what he said at that freaking party every single day, hated himself for it, how the weight of it had been crushing him more and more every time you turned away.

Hearing it laid out like that shattered something inside you. It wasn’t just regret in Minho’s lingering stares. It was love — raw, desperate, aching love. And it had always been there, even when you were too hurt to see it.

You felt suffocated. 

"Don’t do this," Hyunjin whispered, almost pleading now, "don’t walk away without hearing him out. If you ever loved him…even a little, give him the chance to explain."

You felt your walls crumbling under the weight of it all. Without another word, you tore past Hyunjin, sprinting down the hall.

You didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. Not until you found him. You tore down the hall, nearly tripping over your own feet, chest heaving, heart racing so hard it hurt.

You didn’t know where you were going—you just knew you had to find him.

*******************

The greenroom was quiet—eerily so. Everyone else was getting hair and makeup in other room, doing last checks, hyping each other up. Minho sat there alone, away from everyone, for a moment. 

Meanwhile, you kept running— the backstage corridors blurred as you rushed past, heart hammering, breath coming in short gasps. Somewhere, you could hear the muffled sounds of last-minute chaos—stylists calling for touch-ups, managers barking out directions, the low hum of excitement—but it all felt far away, like you were underwater.

Finally, after checking room after room, your footsteps faltered in front of a greenroom tucked away from the rest. The door was slightly ajar, and you prayed he was inside. You pushed it open with trembling fingers, and your breath caught painfully in your throat.

There he was. Minho.

Sitting alone on the bench, fully dressed in his final concert outfit, the dark, sleek fabric molding perfectly to his figure. His mic was already clipped to his collar, earpieces in place, as if he were ready to go onstage any second. But he wasn’t moving.

He was hunched forward, elbows resting heavily on his knees, staring blankly at the floor like the world had already ended and he was the only one left to mourn it.

The second he heard the door creak wider, his head snapped up.

He whispered your name, "Y/N..."

So soft. So broken. Like he didn’t believe you were real. It shattered you.

Before you even knew what you were doing, you rushed across the room, and before he could even speak, your hands were cupping his jaw and your lips crashed into his.

Minho stiffened for half a second, completely shocked and then his arms were around you, pulling you flush against him, kissing you back with everything he had. Your fingers tangled in his hair, your lips trembling against his with everything you hadn’t said, hadn’t dared to feel until now. 

When you finally pulled back, panting, you pressed your forehead to his and whispered, “I hate you.”

He laughed, hoarse and teary-eyed. “I know.”

“I hate how long it took you.”

“I hate me too.”

“But I love you.”

Minho stilled.

And then his arms wrapped around you tighter than they ever had. “I love you more,” he murmured. “And I swear I’ll prove it every day from now on.”

You smiled, your eyes full of tears and joy and relief. “You better.”

Minho’s voice was rough, barely a whisper as he spoke. “I’m sorry... I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

You blinked, your chest tightening with all the emotions that had built up. "I know, Minho. Just... show me. Show me you're not going to run away again."

His hand gently cupped your face again, his thumb brushing over your lips softly. “I won’t run. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Slowly, he leaned in again, this time more carefully, his lips brushing against yours with a softer, more deliberate motion, like he was savoring the moment, as if this was the first time.

The door slammed open.

"AHHHHHH! MY EYES!" Jisung screamed, dramatically throwing himself against the door frame like he was shielding himself from radiation.

You jolted apart, both of you wide-eyed and breathless.

Felix appeared behind Jisung, peeking into the room with wide, curious eyes.

"Hyung," Felix said, "We need to be on stage in like twenty five minutes." Then he glanced between you two and grinned brightly. "Also, um, HOW did this happen?"

Jisung gasped, "Like LIKE… you were literally at war yesterday! HOW are you kissing now? I need DETAILS!"

"Was it a secret make-up plan?? Did someone blackmail someone? TELL ME EVERYTHING—"

"Channie hyung’s gonna kill us if we’re late!" Felix laughed, tugging on Jisung’s sleeve, but he was also bouncing on his toes, eager for gossip.

"And Y/N, you have to explain later, okay? Like every single detail. Every single one."

Somewhere down the hall, you heard Chan’s voice yelling, "WHERE THE HELL IS EVERYONE?"

Minho groaned under his breath, leaning down to quickly kiss your forehead—just one soft second—and then he grabbed his mic pack and jogged toward the door.

But as he passed you, he whispered under his breath, only for you to hear, "Don’t go anywhere. I’m not letting you slip away again."

You stood there, heart pounding, lips still tingling, while Jisung whined the whole way down the hallway, “Yah! I’m serious! I'm coming for answers after the show!”

And you just laughed, happier than you had been in days.

*******************

The final performance was just moments away. Ten minutes give or take. You stood backstage, heart racing—not from nerves, but from everything that had happened.

Minho adjusted his mic, glancing at you with a silent question in his eyes. You stepped closer, pulling him aside for a moment, fingers gently brushing against his as you whispered, “Earlier, when Mingyu and I were talking… he wasn’t flirting.”

Minho blinked, caught off guard.

“He said he could see something going on between you and me. That he’d back off. And… that maybe I hadn’t noticed it myself yet.”

Minho let out a breathy laugh, hand raking through his hair. “God. I really need to control my damn jealousy.”

You smiled softly, Minho flushed slightly before saying, “He wasn’t wrong, though. About the heart eyes.”

You blushed then gently nudged his arm. “Come on, make peace with him. You two are too handsome to be fighting in the middle of rehearsals.”

Minho rolled his eyes but smiled, nodding. He walked over to Mingyu, who was talking with Joshua by the corner while adjusting his blazer, and you watched from afar as Minho gave a sincere apology. Mingyu accepted it with a grin and a clap on Minho’s shoulder, flashing you a wink behind him. Everything just… settled.

And then, the concert. The adrenaline. The stage lights. The roars of the crowd.

Both the collaboration stages and the groups' individual performances were breathtaking— hours of relentless energy, passion, and magic spilling out onto that stage. The entire venue was electric, a sea of waving lightsticks and screaming fans, every second more exhilarating than the last.

You danced and moved like nothing else mattered. But every time your eyes found Minho’s on stage, there was a knowing smile—one only meant for you.

After the final bow, the cheers still ringing in your ears, you were barely backstage for a minute when Minho grabbed your wrist gently and whispered, “Come with me.”

"Minho," you giggled breathlessly, "where are we even going?!"

"Somewhere no one will find us," he muttered determinedly, glancing around until he spotted a half-open door.

Without warning, he pulled you inside.

“I’ve been waiting all night,” he said, breathless.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t shy. It wasn’t careful.

It was urgent, desperate, his hands cupping your face as if he’d been starving for your lips. Your back hit the wall lightly as you gasped against his mouth, hands sliding under his jacket and gripping his shirt.

His lips moved feverishly over yours, like he was trying to pour every emotion he’d buried into this moment. When he finally pulled back just enough to breathe, he whispered against your lips, “You have no idea how crazy I’ve been going… not being able to do this.”

You let out a breathless laugh, tugging him back in. “Then don’t stop.”

He didn’t.

That kiss was everything—the apology, the promise, the confession, and the beginning. All in one.

*******************

The concert had ended, the cheers still echoing faintly in the corridors as everyone bustled around, packing up, high-fiving, celebrating.

Mingyu leaned against the wall near the dressing room door, sipping water and scrolling through his phone when a voice interrupted him.

"You were amazing up there," she said, her tone warm and teasing.

He looked up to see one of the stage crew members—someone he’d briefly chatted with before—smiling at him, her hands tucked behind her back, eyes bright.

Mingyu blinked, a little surprised. “Oh thank you. You too, the transitions were super smooth today.”

She giggled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I did my best. But I was watching you the whole time.”

Mingyu raised a brow, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips. “Oh yeah?”

She stepped a little closer, playfully nudging his arm. “You always smile so much when you perform. It’s contagious.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess that’s a good thing.”

She tilted her head. “You doing anything after this?”

For a second, Mingyu glanced toward the dressing room, where laughter echoed—where his bandmates were chattering.

Then he looked back at her, his smile softening. “Not yet,” he said. “But I could be.”

Her grin widened.

And just like that, maybe Mingyu’s heart started to heal too.

*******************

Minho’s lips trailed kisses along your jaw, his hands framing your face as if he still couldn’t believe this was real. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, breath mingling as you leaned into him, every inch of space between you practically non-existent.

The air was hot, your heart pounding louder than any concert speaker. His forehead rested against yours, breathless as he whispered, “I’m not letting go of you again. Ever.”

You smiled, pulling him back into another kiss — slower this time, but no less intense. The kind that made your knees weak and your brain fuzzy, the kind that left no question about how badly he wanted you — and how badly you wanted him.

Your hands tangled in his hair, his arms locked tightly around your waist, pressing you against the wall.

It was messy and breathless, both of you still slightly shaking from the adrenaline of the concert.

"Missed you," he murmured against your mouth between kisses, voice hoarse.

You were just about to mumble "me too" when a loud knock rattled the door.

Minho froze mid-kiss, groaning against your lips. You stifled a laugh.

“Hyung?” Han’s voice called, too amused for your liking. “Minho hyung, will this continue all night or should we leave snacks outside the door?”

You buried your face in Minho’s chest as he exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Minho hyung is seriously down bad,” Hyunjin chimed in, voice loud and dramatic.

“Excuse you,” Han called out, raising an eyebrow. “Your bestie Y/N is equally down bad.”

You playfully smacked Minho's chest, laughing into his shirt. “Did your wife just out me like that?”

Minho groaned, forehead dropping against your shoulder in defeat, "Kill me," he muttered. "Right now. Just kill me."

You both heard Han and Hyunjin start bickering again — something about who was more down bad between you and Minho — and you couldn't help but giggle quietly against Minho, your heart feeling so full you thought it might burst.

“YAH!” Minho finally shouted, voice filled with exasperated affection. “You want to die? Leave us alone!”

A pause.

Then shuffling footsteps and exaggerated gagging noises as they walked off. You and Minho looked at each other and were shaking with laughter, tangled in each other and unwilling to part.

You sighed happily, still held close. “We really are that bad, huh?”

Minho leaned in, brushing his nose against yours. “Maybe. But I’m not sorry.”

Minho tightened his arms around you, swaying you both lazily, “I love you, you know,” he murmured, so gently it melted into your skin.

A big smile broke across your face.

“I love you too, Minho,” you whispered back, like it was the easiest thing in the world — because with him finally, it was.

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

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[lizardboiii]

WHATTA MAN

꒰ ft. Vinsmoke Sanji x reader

꒰ synopsis: Slipping up while drunk and admitting you wanna have his baby♡

"You so crazy, I think I wanna have your baby." -Salt-N-Pepa

│cw: 18+, SFW, suggestive undertones, no use of y/n, fluff, f!reader

│wc: 1k

│notes: i feel like Sanji's character is always misinterpreted as only a freaky gooner in the anime i hope in future episodes they start showing his character justice. i had a lot of fun with making him silly yet charming. enjoy <3

│AO3 Link!

The room was surprisingly quiet. Only Brook’s faint singing drifted through the crack of the door. The muffled symphony was accompanied by pots and pans clinking softly against each other as Sanji scrubbed away the remnants of dinner.

Yet, your mind didn’t focus on the background noise. Instead, your eyes remained fully entranced with Sanji’s arms. More importantly - his hands.

Beads of soapy water slowly cascaded down his thick forearms before tapering off at his wrists. Said forearms flexed with his every movement. Their toned muscles were fully on show now that Sanji had rolled up his sleeves. 

Kicking your legs back and forth under your stool, you allowed your spinning gaze to lower. Sanji’s large hands continued to work at one of the many plates. His veins protruding against his pale skin. 

Drunk, and ready to make poor decisions, you called out to him without thinking, “Sanji.”

The tall blond male dropped his work immediately. His discarded porcelain splashed into the sink with an audible “plop”. Spinning around in some sort of tornado of love, Sanji dramatically placed his thick hands on top of the counter, “Yes, My Swan~”

You watched his speedy form in a daze. The unethical amounts of plum wine you consumed over dinner seemed to eradicate any sense of shamelessness. But that was for “morning you” to deal with.

Hiccuping, you allowed your inner thoughts to spill, “Has anyone ever told you..”

Sanji’s cigarette hung loosely from his plush lips. The darkening ash simmered down its paper wrapping, cascading gently through the air.

“You’ve got nice hands?”

Abruptly, Sanji’s teetering cigarette fell to the floor. His mouth agape, you could see the gears twisting and turning inside of his head.

Then, Sanji suddenly cupped your hand in his. Your eyes widened at the action, immediately focusing in on the feeling of his rough hand against yours. His larger hand practically engulfed your own. Firmly holding you in place.

“Mademoiselle,” Sanji’s thumb caressed over your knuckles, “...Are you complimenting my hands?”

You jolted at his tender touch. Forcing your gaze away from his hand, you meet his fixed gaze timidly. Their striking blue easily pulled an answer from you.

“I think they’re beautiful.”

Your statement gut-punched any prince charming mannerisms Sanji had left in him. Clasping his hands together, a loopy smile plastered itself on his face as he swayed in place.

“My Swan!” Sanji’s eyes turned to hearts as he seemingly fangirled, “I had no idea you felt that way! I promise to always take good care of them for you!”

A giggle fumbled out of your mouth as you watched him. His lean frame pranced around the kitchen, new vigor entering his body. That was until he managed to slam his head against one of the many pans hanging above the counter.

Your soft giggle easily turned into full blown laughter. Wiping the tears from your eyes, you jumped down from your wobbly stool. The wooden seat spun on its legs threatening to fall over itself.

In a drunken stupor, you fumbled your way to Sanji’s side. Kneeling down next to his embarrassed form, you offered a lopsided smile.

“Are you okay?” Your question came out more garbled than you liked. Laughter and wine mixing up your speech.

Sanji’s rich laughter matched your own. Pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, Sanji gave you a soft smile, “Of course I am, Mademoiselle.”

Strangely, your stomach flipped when Sanji’s fingers brushed against your ear. The feeling of your heart beating in your chest was starting to become hard to ignore. 

You took in a shaky breath, “...I’m glad.”

There was a small silence between you for a moment. Yet, it wasn't the awkwardly suffocating silence you felt when watching Zoro train alone. Nor was it the boredom inducing silence when reading with Robin.

It felt comfortable - natural even. However, as quickly as you started it, Sanji ended it.

“You're far too sweet to me, Mademoiselle.” Sanji threaded his thick fingers down the lock of your hair tucked behind your ear, twirling the end of it. Your face burned when he suddenly brought the piece of hair to his lips, placing a chaste kiss against the strand, “I’m nervous you’ll ruin me for anyone else.”

You weren't sure what 'Plum Wine God' possessed you.

“You so crazy.”

But you were certain the words that left your mouth could never be taken back.

“I think I wanna have your baby.”

You don’t think you have ever seen Sanji’s eyes get so wide. His jaw slack in shock. If he hadn't already lost his cigarette he most definitely would have now. Then, the nosebleed that bursted out of him really had you considering grabbing Chopper.

You could only watch in horror as the taller man practically malfunctioned in front of you. Face a deep shade of crimson, he almost frothed at the mouth. 

Cautiously touching his shoulder, you reeled back in surprise when he abruptly snapped up from his love-induced seizure. His usual uncovered eye was casted in a dark shadow. You swallowed thickly at the sight, sobering up slightly.

“Sanji?”

Your limited cognitive functions could barely process when Sanji rapidly stood to his feet, taking you with him. He spun you into his arms, carrying you in a predictable princess style.

“Mademoiselle, I can’t begin to express how honored I would be to be the father of your children.” Sanji’s grip tightened on you, “But you and I both know you're not in the right state of mind right now.”

Though his tone was slightly playful, his eyes held a sense of seriousness you had only seen in battle. You couldn't help but smile. Such serious eyes paired with a blood stained nose was wholeheartedly Sanji.

Nuzzling into his chest, you mumbled teasingly, “I wanna have your baby sober or drunk.”

Sanji let out a deep sigh, biting back another outburst, “It's time for bed, My Swan.”

Wavering in and out of consciousness, you could feel Sanji carry you across the ship. The quiet echo of crashing waves against the ship's side mixed with the salty breeze easily lulled you further into sleep. 

Eventually, you felt Sanji gently set you down onto your plush bed. He pulled your silky covers over your exhausted form before he placed a tender kiss on your forehead.

“Goodnight, Mademoiselle.”

You snuggled into your pillow, “G’Night.”

There was no doubt - you were really going to regret this tomorrow.

・❥・

[girlinterupptedsblog]

♤Just Ask, Sweetheart

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x painfully shy reader

Warnings: Extreme fluff, teasing, and a painfully shy reader. Mild embarrassment (but in a cute way).

Summary: you are too shy and soft to ask for things. And you hated asking for kisses or even holding hands

You hated asking for things. It wasn’t even the act of asking itself—it was the way it made you feel. The moment you even thought about voicing a request, your entire body tensed, your stomach flipped, and your face got unbearably warm. You didn’t know why it was so hard, but it was. And unfortunately for you, Rafe loved it. No, he lived for it.

He could always tell when you wanted something, even when you tried your hardest to play it cool. He could read you like a book, and rather than make it easier on you, he always had to tease first, stretching out your embarrassment like it was the most entertaining thing in the world.

Like today.

You and Rafe were out together, walking through town under the late afternoon sun. It was a perfect day—warm with a slight breeze, the scent of the ocean lingering in the air. Your fingers twitched at your side as you walked, a silent yearning bubbling in your chest. You wanted to hold his hand.

But you couldn’t just ask.

So you waited. And hesitated. And waited some more.

You slowed your pace slightly, hoping he’d get the hint. Maybe if you got close enough, he’d just grab it on his own. But Rafe, being Rafe, noticed the way you kept sneaking glances at his hand, the way your own hovered just inches away before retreating. And instead of just giving you what you wanted, he smirked.

“Something wrong, sweetheart?”

Your breath caught in your throat. “No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. Too quickly.

Rafe chuckled, watching you with those sharp blue eyes that always saw too much. “You sure? ‘Cause it kinda seems like you wanna hold my hand.”

You nearly tripped. “I-I don’t,” you stammered, looking anywhere but at him

“Ohhh, really?” He drawled, stepping a little closer. “Then why do you keep looking at it?”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

“I wasn’t.”

Rafe laughed, reaching out to brush his fingers against yours, just barely. You sucked in a sharp breath at the contact, feeling your face go hot. The corners of his lips curled up in amusement, like this was his favorite game. “So, if I just walked the rest of the way without holding your hand, you’d be fine with that?”

You clenched your jaw, eyes fixed on the ground. “Yes.”

Rafe clicked his tongue. “Liar.”

You whined in frustration, making him grin even more. “Rafe,” you huffed, shifting awkwardly on your feet.

“What?” he asked innocently, though his expression was anything but.

You could feel it coming—the inevitable, crushing embarrassment of having to say it. Your fingers curled into fists as you swallowed your pride and mumbled under your breath, “I wanna hold your hand.”

Rafe tilted his head. “Huh?”

Your heart squeezed. “I wanna hold your hand,” you said again, still too quiet.

But Rafe wasn’t going to let you get away that easily. He leaned in slightly, cupping his ear. “Sorry, didn’t catch that.”

“Rafe,” you groaned, covering your face with your hands.

He laughed again, clearly enjoying every second of your suffering. But before you could run off in humiliation, he finally grabbed your hand, threading his fingers through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. His palm was warm against yours, grounding, steady. You exhaled in relief, relaxing just a little.

“There,” he said, swinging your hands between you playfully. “Was that so hard?”

You shot him a glare, cheeks still burning. “Yes.”

Rafe smirked, bringing your hand up to his lips to press a soft kiss against your knuckles. “You’re too cute, you know that?”

You mumbled something incoherent, looking away. Rafe just squeezed your hand tighter, utterly amused.

[goddamnitmahtin]

Jason is a Teenage Dad

Woke up to see my phone open to my notes app and all it says on it is:

Jason is a Teenage Dad

- Jason is 15 and fucking dies.

- Clockwork shenanigans

- Jason drags his body out of the Lazarus

- Meets the eyes of a 3 year old Danny playing with the Joker’s decapitated head.

- Jason takes the child home. It is his now.

So, obviously, I gotta write about it. Enjoy this post based on the vision of delirious 4 am me.

……………….

Clockwork was bored. You would think the ability to see everything everywhere all at once would be overwhelming but it’s actually boring. There’s no suspense when you always know what’s going to happen. But that was all part of his job as the Ancient of time.

Every universe was scripted out. Each one was slightly different from the last, but it still had the same major things in there. For instance, there was always a Gotham in every universe. Sometimes the city itself, sometimes a comic book about the place as if it were fictional. The same with Amity Park except that one universe made it an anime instead of a kids show which was…. A choice.

Most of the time Clockwork just had to make sure that catalyst events happened no matter what the timeline. Like the adoption of Jason Todd. Or the death of Danny Fenton. The meteor that killed the dinosaurs. Stuff like that. Universes that didn’t have enough catalyst events like that tended to implode on themselves if some new event didn’t take its place.

Clockwork was looking at a universe at the moment that was definitely close to being expired. Could he let it happen? Sure. He could. But that wouldn’t have been much fun to watch.

In the universe he was looking at currently, Danny Fenton has all but disappeared at least according to the locals of Amity Park. Which wasn’t that bad. Easily fixable. However the much larger problem was that Jason Todd just died the wrong way. In most universes where his death took place, it always happened that same way as it was a catalyst event for that universe. Jason gets beat up by the joker and then dies in an explosion. Then he gets revived and healed by some assassins in a pit of really fucked up ecto. Standard procedure.

However in the universe Clockwork was looking at, Jason died due to the crowbar. There was no bomb. Infact, Batman didn’t even arrive to the scene until much later than he did in every other universe. The strangest part though, was that after killing Jason Todd, the Joker threw him into the Lazarus himself. There was no downtime or buffer. This kid was going to be alive again by the end of the week and unless Clockwork did some timeline adjustments, it was enough that the entire universe was inevitably going to fall apart.

Obviously fixing it wouldn’t be hard to do. If he did it the easy way. To rewrite Jason’s death. But that was kind of boring. So, Clockwork had a better idea.

…

Jason gasped suddenly and he felt liquid enter his lungs. He opened his eyes to see green. All around him. Shit, if he inhaled anymore liquid he could drown. So he started to try to swim towards what he thought was the surface. His body felt odd and disconnected from his brain making it hard to move but he kept going. He had to keep going. He didn’t want to die.

Finally, he felt his hand break the surface and latch onto a ledge. He pulled himself out of the green glowing Lazarus, trying to cough up as much liquid as possible.

Memories started to flood back to him. The fight. His mom. The Joker. The fucking crowbar. And most notably, no Batman. Batman never came. He was going to kill B for that.

Jason took a few deep breaths and let himself look around. His eyes immediately locked onto a child. Looked to be about 3. Pale with black hair and blue eyes. The boy was sitting with his legs crossed, covered in blood. He was playing with… something?

Jason couldn’t help but worry for the kid, hoping he did t fall into the pit. It was a dangerous place to be especially alone. Jason sat up to get a better look.

The moment he did, he saw the toddler’s eyes dart right into his own, the blue overpowered by a sudden glow of green. Lazarus green. A look of fear ran over the boy’s face as he froze in place.

Jason felt something in his chest churn, almost as if he could feel the fear dripping off of the child. He didn’t want to scare him. He didn’t want to hurt him. He wanted to get them both somewhere a bit more safe.

Jason stared at the boy, trying to not look menacing. He wanted him to know he could trust him. He felt whatever that new something inside his chest was also try to reach out. Jason didn’t notice when his own eyes turned green, but he did notice that the boy’s attitude shifted very quickly.

The toddler’s eyes went back to blue as the look of fear mostly washed out of his face. There was still some apprehension but it seemed that the two of them had silently come to an agreement of sorts that they were not enemies at least.

Jason looked down from the boy’s eyes and into his hands and whatever animosity Jason had within him was completely washed away. This kid had been through something horrific. In the toddler’s small arms was the decapitated and now decaying head of the Joker. Jason’s murderer.

Jason suddenly felt like this child in front of him was more important than anything else. Whatever he had gone through to land him in this place with that head was fucking over. Jason was going to protect this kid until the day he fucking died. Again. This child had gone through unimaginable things and Jason inherently knew that even though he knew nothing about this kid’s story, he was was going to be one of the very few who could really understand what he was going through.

“What is your name?” he asked as softly as he could.

The boy quietly responded in almost a whisper, “Danny.”

This kid was his kid now. To hell with wherever he came from. Jason was now a dad.

…

Bruce was distraught. Devastated. Completely inconsolable. Jason, his son, was dead. The Joker had confirmed it with a video of him laughing over the dead body. That was a week ago now. Bruce didn’t know what to do. He failed Jason. He wasn’t there when he should have. He couldn’t save him.

He had gotten delayed when he found out where Jason had gone and tried to go after him when a kid he’d seen at a few galas before, Tim was dropped out of the sky landing right on top of him with a post it note safety pinned to his back. He ignored it at the time as he was a little preoccupied.

After he got up again after the initial shock and realized it was just a kid, he tried to calm the nerves of young Tim who described watching his die and then being teleported into the sky and dropped. There was a chance that if Batman’s body hadn’t cushioned the fall, he would have been seriously injured.

He knew he couldn’t leave the young kid there by himself. And he knew that he had to find Jason. He didn’t want to bring him along either but the boy insisted that he wanted to come. Was it smart? No. Did he end up bringing Tim with him? Well yes. He was running out of time after all.

But Batman didn’t make it. The place was empty except for the dead body of Jason’s mother and a lot more blood that was undoubtedly his son’s.

Bruce was currently lying in his bed. He hadn’t gone out to do anything except for patrols. It was the only thing he could focus on. It was the the only thing he could bring himself to do. Bruce Wayne had the time to grieve for Jason Todd. Batman on the other hand did not have that. He had to remain vigilant and consistent. More importantly he had to find the Joker and send him away for killing Jason. Which would have been a lot easier if he hadn’t completely disappeared.

Bruce stared at the nightstand. It had the post it note that Tim had on his back when he fell. He had read it hundreds of times. But he didn’t want to believe it. It was just more proof that Jason was dead.

He took the post it note from the nightstand and read it again, hoping it was different. It was not.

Take this kid home. He’s Robin now :)

…

Tim didn’t really know what to do. His plans had come to fruition much faster than he had anticipated. After watching g his parents die, he had sworn to himself that he would find Bruce Wayne, the Batman, and convince him to let him help fight the evil of the city. But he didn’t expect that the moment he made that decision he would he plucked off his feet by unseen hands and then suddenly dropped from the sky.

That was over a week ago. Now, he was sitting on a large sofa in Wayne Manor. He was thinking. All he really had time to do was think. He had seen his first crime scene at Batman’s side and afterwards was brought back to the manor. He was left alone. He hadn’t seen Bruce hardly at all.

He wanted to do more. Go out and help with something. Anything. But Alfred wouldn’t let him go anywhere. So all he could do was think.

Did anything that had happened since his parent died make any sense? No. Joker deviated from his MO. But why? It was so different than anyone would have expected. There was no spectacle or epic battle with the Batman. He was just gone with a dead body behind. Nothing else.

And that was AFTER Tim was teleported into the middle of the sky. If he just had more resources, maybe a computer or some books that he could dive into to, he could figure it out. There had to be SOME reason. Right? But he had already checked the books in the manor library and Alfred wouldn’t let him into the poorly hidden Batcave. He only had his own thoughts.

He would grieve his parents with that time but he could also just as easily do that later. Besides, he had already decided he was going to become a vigilante and help the Batman. And most importantly, there was a puzzle in front of him that he wanted to solve more.

…

Jason knocked on the door the manor. He was nervous to see B again. Since according to newspapers he had been gone for a week. He knew his dad was gonna be mad that he went to see his mom. And mad he was gone so long. Jason knew he was going to get chewed out for it but he just wanted to be home. Especially since he was going to need help raising Danny. He didn’t know how adoption worked and Jason was only 15 but he was sure B knew how to do all that.

Danny was currently in his arms. He was so small compared to Jason now. Before he had died, he was wasn’t nearly this big. Jason had muscle sure but he was still relatively lean. Now, Jason was built more like a brick house. His shoulders were wider than a typical doorway and he was much taller, at least 6’4.

Danny was sleeping at the moment. He still had the Jokers head in his arms. He hadn’t been able to convince the kid to let it go. Which was fine. Jason didn’t really know what to do with it anyways.

Some shuffling was heard and then the door opened. Alfred was staring back at him.

“Hey sorry I was gone,” Jason said, not really sure what else to say.

Alfred looked from Jason to Danny to Jason, double take on Danny. His face was hard to read. Jason was kind of nervous.

Alfred stepped out of the doorway. Behind him was B.

“Jason!?”

“Yeah. Hi.”

Part 2 Part 3

[gojoidyll]

behind his back | prince!jinwoo x maid!reader

many people teased and mocked the prince behind his back for how weak he is, but not you. never you.

You enjoyed being Jinwoo’s friend even if his status was far higher than yours. Ever since childhood you both would sneak around and play together, and as you both grew up, well, the sneaking around didn’t happen as often, but you enjoyed any little piece of time with him you could get.

“They’re talking again,” Jinwoo muttered as you fixed his hair.

“They always do,” you said as you made sure none of his strands were tangled and his haircut was as he wanted.

He shook his head, “no…, their words are louder than usual. They always say how weak I am when we go to the dungeons, and I…”

You stopped messing with his hair and went to stand in front of him, “none of that now, prince. After this dungeon you will be crowned king of this land, and besides, who cares how strong or weak you are, you go out there to protect us – the people who can’t even wield the amazing power that you have.”

His smile was small and you wondered if you were getting through to him, you hoped that you were.

“You’ll also one day cure your mother, your sister will be so well off she won’t have to worry about a thing, and you’ll even meet a beautiful woman who you’ll cherish forever.”

He closed his eyes when you bent down to wrap him up in a hug, “and I’ll still be your maid cheering for you and taking care of all those pesky chores.”

“Right…”

You went to stand behind him again and made sure everything was in tip-top order, “now future king, it’s time for you to go!”

He stood up from his chair and turned to you, “you’ll still be here when I return, right?”

“Always.”

You and Jinwoo were eighteen years old when he and his group left for the dungeon that day. You remembered it quite well as it was marked the day that the crown prince disappeared along with all who went with him.

Six years later, on the anniversary of his disappearance, you expected nothing to change as you set about your chores for the day. You dutifully tutored his sister in her schooling, took care of his sick mother, and of course tended to most of the chores. It was going to be another long day it seems, you thought almost solemnly as you carried the new bedsheets to Jinwoo’s room.

His sister would often go in there and cry herself to sleep on some days that were tougher than others, so you always made sure to give her clean sheets so she wouldn’t get sick.

Turning the knob and letting the door swing open, you were momentarily frozen in place, your lips parting slightly as a man you didn’t recognize was sleeping peaceful on the bare mattress.

“You-!”

The man stirred a little as he sat up, a yawn escaping his lips.

“How dare you! This is the crown princes’ room!”

After rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he had glanced at you, his eyes blinking for a moment before he smiled, “you haven’t changed at all.”

That voice… it was deeper than you remember, but you still recognized it.

“…Jinwoo…?”

“The one and only,” he said before plopping back into his bed causing you to make an immediate fuss.

“Hey! At least let me put the sheets on first!”

“Later,” he mumbled.

“No, now!”

You went over to him and pulled at his sleeves, his new muscular build not going unnoticed by you, but you focused on the task at hand.

He ignored you and instead shot his hand out to grab your wrist. The grip he put into holding your wrist scared you a little, but you weren’t let to dwell on that fear as he hastily pulled you forward causing you to drop the bedding and fall onto the mattress with him where he snaked his arms around your waist and held you close to him. His face easily smooshing itself into your chest as you panicked.

“Jinwoo-“

“You’re the only one, you know,” he mumbled against your chest. Your clothing did little to shield you as you could still feel the warmth of his breath, “you’re the only one who never talked behind my back, the only one who kept coming to the place that I disappeared from, the only one who bothered to take care of my family. Why?”

“Because,” your voice shook a little, “we’re friends… always have been.”

He tilted his head up to look at you then, “and if I wanted something more?”

You couldn’t look directly at his face, why was he so hot?!

“We- we can’t”

“Why not?”

He reached up to turn your face back to look at him.

“I’m just your maid,” your voice wobbled out almost weakly as if that excuse alone wasn’t good enough not with the way he was looking at you with such a determined face.

“You don’t have to be,” his arms tightened around you as he pulled you down a bit which surprised you. He wasn’t strong enough to pull you like that before-

By now, your noses were brushing against each other, your eyes level, the intensity of his stare was too much for you, you never really did well with eye contact to begin with.

“Won’t you, be mine?”

“People will talk…”

“They always do,” he fired back easily.

“But your reputation-“

“Is already ruined, but I’m strong now, stronger than I was. Nothing they say will change how I feel about you. Because I don’t want you to be just a maid who cheers for me or takes care of me.”

He turned your face again to look at him, he was determined to keep your eyes only on him, “I want you as my wife.”

[witchywithwhiskey]

Hi molly! For the conversation hearts (thank you so much for doing this 🥺🥰):

Jake Jensen + Kiss Me

off-limits

pairing: bodyguard!jake jensen x female reader

summary: you're spending your valentine's day at home alone with your bodyguard, who you have a major crush on. when you start to wonder if he might like you as well, you use some conversation hearts to find out his true feelings.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, dry humping/dry sex, breast play, nipple sucking, biting, cumming while fully clothed, orgasm control/permission, light bdsm, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names (princess, dream girl), aftercare, non-graphic allusions to more sex

word count: 4.4k

a/n: thank you for sending in a prompt, Essie!! i always enjoy writing for Jake—he's just such a fun character to play around with, and he's a perfect fit for the "idiots in love" trope, which is one of my favorites. plus, he's always so sweet, which lends itself perfectly to some sweet and smutty valentine's shenanigans 🤭 thank you for playing my sweethearts game, i hope you enjoy ♡♡

sweethearts game masterlist

Jake Jensen was off-limits. He was so far off-limits. He was your bodyguard, for fuck’s sake. But that didn’t seem to matter to your pitiful heart. You were hopelessly crushing on the big, broad-shouldered mercenary with the goatee and glasses, and the charmingly crooked smile that made butterflies take flight in your belly every time he flashed it in your direction.

And no matter how much time you spent with Jake Jensen, no matter how much you whined and wheedled to get to know him, until he was keeping you updated about his sister’s terrible boss and his niece’s soccer team’s excellent record, your crush just wouldn’t go away. 

You were infatuated with the exact shade of sapphire of Jake’s eyes, and the nervous laugh that fell from his lips when he was flustered. You were downright smitten with the way he’d talk to your stuffed animals when he thought you weren’t looking—and the way he’d give them all funny little voices when he knew you were watching him do a sweep of your room. 

You couldn’t stop yourself from imagining Jake in your bed, his strong arms wrapped around you and his face buried in your neck while you woke up. You’d have bet anything that Jake was the best at cuddling, and you could so easily picture the way you’d wiggle your ass in his lap, enticing him into some slow morning sex…

You shook your head, clearing that wildly inappropriate thought from your mind and tried to focus back on your TV. A romantic comedy was playing on the screen, the lights in your living room dimmed low, and there was a whole spread of festive snacks and candies on the coffee table. None of which had been touched.

Admittedly, you may have gone a little overboard for a Valentine’s Day spent home alone with your bodyguard, watching movies while candles flickered romantically around the room. But, in your defense, Jake hadn’t been meant to work Valentine’s Day. It had been Roque’s turn in the rotation, but the gruff man had come down with something at the last minute. 

You knew Clay had called all the others before he’d called Jake, but Pooch and Cougar were busy, and since he didn’t want to play babysitter himself on Valentine’s Day—no matter how many favors he owed your father—he’d finally called Jake. Jake, of course, had no other plans and had happily agreed to take the shift watching you.

He’d turned up so quickly at your doorstep, relieving Clay to go get ready for his date, that you couldn’t help but wonder if Jake had broken some speeding laws getting to your apartment. He’d been wearing his usual puppy-dog grin and gave you a box of conversation hearts before wishing you a happy Valentine’s Day while Clay rolled his eyes. 

The head of your security team had fixed Jake with a pointed look before leaving the two of you alone. Even though no words had been exchanged, even you could tell Clay had given Jake some type of warning, though you couldn’t imagine what it could’ve been about. Jake was always polite and respectful when he was with you. 

It was you who had all the inappropriate thoughts about your bodyguard.

On the TV, the romcom leads were bickering about something. It was still early on in their love story and they were still convinced they hated each other. However, it was painfully obvious to anyone watching that they both had feelings for the other. 

You’d seen the movie plenty of times, so you risked a glance at Jake, who was lounging comfortably on the other end of your couch. You caught his blue eyes darting away from your face and had the distinct impression he’d been looking at you, though you decided that couldn’t be true. 

Surely you would’ve noticed if your bodyguard had been staring at you. Wouldn’t you?

The question gave you pause. You’d grown so used to being watched, whether it was by the mercenaries your father had hired as your bodyguards or by any of the strangers who stared at you and your entourage with curiosity when you went outside. You supposed you’d long since stifled whatever sense people got when they were being watched.

As you ruminated on the idea, you were staring at Jake, which you didn’t notice until he leaned forward suddenly and grabbed a handful of popcorn from a bowl on the table. He shoved the whole lot into his mouth and cut a glance in your direction, coughing when he realized you were still watching him. He gave a laugh, the one he always let out when he was flustered, and it hit you like a lightning strike.

Jake Jensen liked you. 

Your eyes watched him closely, taking in the slight pink tinge of his cheeks and the way his bright blue eyes kept cutting over you to like he was uncertain. His fingers pushed up his glasses and he coughed into his fist. 

He was nervous. Of that, you were sure. But given who your father was, it wasn’t out of the norm for people to be nervous around you. You had to know if Jake was nervous because of your father, or because he liked you.

Turning back to the spread of food on the coffee table, you spotted the box of conversation hearts and a plan began to form in your mind.

As casually as you could manage, you grabbed the box and ripped it open, your eyes fixed unseeingly on the TV as you tried to pretend to be watching the movie. For a few minutes, you sat in silence, making it seem like you were engrossed in the movie, though you were much more interested in watching Jake out of the corner of your eye. 

He kept looking over at you. Long, lingering looks that didn’t seem to have anything to do with making sure you were safe. You couldn’t believe you’d never noticed it before—you must’ve been too wrapped up in your own thoughts about your bodyguard to see it.

Your heart raced in your chest with the possibility that you were right, that Jake Jensen might like you just as much as you liked him. But you knew you had to be careful. You didn’t want to spook your bodyguard—not if you wanted him to be so much more than that.

“Do you want one?” you asked, forcing your voice to remain casual as you turned to Jake and held up the box of conversation hearts. You shook it for good measure. 

Jake’s eyes darted between your face and the box, like he could sense a trap. But when you refused to give anything away with your expression, he sighed and reached a hand out. 

“Sure, princess, I’ll take one.”

A small smile played around the corners of your lips and you peered into the box, rooting around until you found one that had a message you wanted to convey to Jake. Finally, you found a pink one that said Kiss me, and your heart lurched excitedly in your chest.

You grabbed the candy and dropped it into Jake’s palm, a shiver racing down your spine when your fingertips brushed against his warm, calloused skin. Little tingles of awareness darted through your body and you had to bite back a gasp as you drew your hand back, watching intently as Jake brought his hand to his mouth. 

But he wasn’t even looking at what the heart said! How was your plan supposed to work if he didn’t even read what it said? 

A little distressed sound fell from your lips and you cried, “Jake!” 

The big bodyguard froze instantly, his head whipping around and blue eyes darting sharply toward the door like he was expecting a team of mercenaries to barge into your apartment and threaten your life. When he couldn’t find any danger, Jake turned his gaze on you, his blue eyes bright with panic behind the frames of his glasses.

“You can’t eat a conversation heart without reading it first,” you said, infusing your voice with an innocent playfulness while you rolled your eyes at him, as if it was a hard and fast rule of eating the Valentine’s candy and he was breaking it. 

The side of Jake’s mouth pulled up in a crooked smile—sending butterflies fluttering and swooping in your belly—and he glanced down, taking care to turn over the little heart in his palm to read what it said. You could tell when he had because he went still again, a light pink blush tinging his cheeks.

“Princess,” he grumbled, keeping his head ducked while his finger traced the candy in his hand. 

“Y’know, I heard it’s bad luck to ignore the words on a candy heart given to you by someone you care about,” you said in what you hoped was an innocent tone. You turned your head back toward the TV, but kept your eyes on your bodyguard, wondering what he was going to say or do to that.

“Princess.”

That time, your pet name was a groan from Jake’s lips as he tipped his head back and closed his fist around the candy. Despite the torture in his tone, your body lit up, responding to the gruff way he said the pet name. Your mind instantly wandered to other ways you could make him groan it like that. Maybe with your mouth pressed to his bulge…

Jake was staring at you, his blue eyes blazing with heat and hunger and so much restraint, it cracked something open inside you. It wasn’t like you to allow yourself to be vulnerable around anyone, but there was something about the way Jake was looking at you that made you think you could take a chance with him.

“Please, Jake,” you murmured, your voice quiet and pitiful as you begged him openly. “It’s just a kiss—and I haven’t been kissed in so long.”

Jake groaned again, and your body was lighting up all over again, tingles dancing along your nerves and butterflies soaring in your belly. But your bodyguard distracted you from your body’s reaction by grabbing your hips and dragging you across the couch until you were right next to him. 

Your bare thigh was flush against his, your skin pressed to the rough jeans he was wearing. You almost couldn’t tear your eyes away from the sight of your leg pressed against Jake’s, but he made a sound and you looked up at him.

Jake loomed over you, his blue gaze darkening as they flicked between your eyes and your mouth, like he was considering giving you exactly what you’d asked for. That realization made your breath catch in your throat and you leaned into his side, basking in his warmth and letting the spicy scent of his cologne fill your senses. 

“Just this once,” Jake said sternly, his gaze roving over your face like he was trying to memorize every bit of it and commit it to his mind. “Clay’s going to fucking kill me,” he muttered, but you didn’t have a chance to wonder over what he meant by that.

Because, in the next moment, Jake was ducking down and pressing a soft kiss to your lips. 

Fireworks exploded behind your eyes, a sizzling, sparkling feeling of delight filling your body from the tips of your toes to the crown of your head. It was better than you ever imagined, and you couldn’t get enough, chasing after Jake’s mouth when he tried to pull away, sucking on his lower lip and feeling the tickle of his goatee when he kissed you again, harder.

Your fingers twisted in the soft cotton of Jake’s t-shirt, pulling him closer while you stretched and arched into him. Beneath your fingertips, you could feel his heart racing in his chest, matching the quick rhythm of your own, and you smiled against his lips.

All too soon, Jake was pulling away, his hands cupping your face and easing you back when you tried to kiss him again. 

A disgruntled noise fell from your lips and you followed Jake as he retreated, sitting up and swinging a leg over his thighs. Before you even knew what you were doing, you were sitting in Jake’s lap, both of you blinking at each other like neither of you knew how you’d gotten there.

Jake’s hands idly kneaded your hips through the lounge shorts you’d worn to look cute and casual on your Valentine’s Day in, and your eyelashes fluttered at the feeling of his firm grip on your body. It was enough to have heat pooling between your thighs, wetness gathering and dripping into your panties, but you forced yourself to focus. 

You grabbed the candy heart that read Kiss me from the couch cushion where it had fallen when Jake had kissed you and you pressed it against his full lower lip. Wordlessly, Jake opened for you, and you placed the candy on his tongue, watching greedily as he closed his mouth around it.

The two of you hung in a suspended moment, your eyes fixed on Jake’s perfect mouth and deciding whether you wanted to try to lick the candy from his tongue. Jake’s hands squeezed your hips hard, and you glanced up into his eyes, finding his pupils blown so wide, they nearly blotted out the bright blue of his irises. 

“Princess,” he rumbled, his voice full of warning. Inexplicably, though, his tone only made you squirm in his lap, biting back a gasp when your core grazed against something hot and hard in Jake’s jeans.

“Jakey,” you whined softly, looping your arms around his broad shoulders and pressing your soft tits against his hard chest through your oversized sweater. You pouted up at your bodyguard from under your lashes, giving him what you hoped was both an innocent and enticing look. 

Jake cupped your cheek and he grinned crookedly, ducking down to press a kiss to your lips. 

“You’re gonna get me fired,” he murmured teasingly when he pulled away, but you tugged him back, kissing him more firmly.

“I’d never let Clay fire you,” you said fiercely, drawing back enough to stare into Jake’s eyes. His glasses were a little askew and you fixed them carefully, smiling softly at him. 

Jake huffed a laugh and grabbed the box of conversation hearts from the other side of the couch. You sat back, curious about what he was doing, but also a little excited that he was clearly continuing your idea of communicating through candy. 

He cupped his hands, preventing you from seeing what candy heart he was picking out until he found the one he wanted. Then he grabbed your hand and held it palm up, dropping one of the conversation hearts into your palm, which you eagerly pulled closer so you could read it.

Dream Girl.

“Jake,” you breathed on a delighted sigh. Looking up, you caught him smiling that crooked grin at you, the butterflies in your belly rioting with happiness as you smiled back at him. “Am I really your dream girl?” you asked a little shyly, ducking your head and looking up at him.

“Yeah, you are,” he said softly, snagging the candy from your hand and pressing it to your lips. He watched you take it on your tongue and close your lips around it. 

Jake gave you a moment to suck on the candy and revel in the chalky sweetness of it before he was cupping your face and tugging you in for another kiss. He licked the sugary sweet taste from your lips, making you moan softly into his mouth as you melted into him.

That time, there was no pulling away. There was none of Jake trying to hold himself back and you chasing after him to make sure he didn’t put distance between the two of you. There was only your mouths fused together, your tongues exploring each other, your breaths mingling as you kissed and kissed and kissed while the romantic comedy played in the background.

After a while, the heat that had built up in your body became nearly unbearable, and your hips squirmed on Jake’s lap restlessly, needing something. Your core brushed against the hard ridge of Jake’s bulge in his jeans and you moaned obscenely into his mouth, pressing down hard enough that you could feel him twitch against your heat.

“That’s a good girl, grind on my cock, princess, take what you need,” Jake muttered, pressing hot kisses to your neck while you rocked on him. His glasses got knocked askew and he took them off, putting them aside with one hand while the other guided your hips to grind harder on his lap.

“Jakey, you feel so good,” you moaned, rolling your hips and grinding your wet slit down on his bulge through your clothes. A part of you wanted to tear through all the fabric that was separating your bodies, but you couldn’t seem to stop yourself, the pleasure too good and quickly driving higher and higher. “God, it’s been so long, I’m gonna cum so fast.”

Jake made a rumbling sound, like hearing that pleased him, and his hands grabbed your hips more roughly, his strong fingers kneading your ass and helping you hump harder on his cock. 

“Good girl, wanna feel you cum on my cock, princess,” he rumbled, his sweet praise making your body hotter and your slit wetter as you rode him through your clothes. “Want you to make a mess all over my lap.” 

“Jakey, Jakey, Jakey,” you whined, leaning back and changing the angle of your hips as you ground down on his bulge. Your fingers clung to the back of Jake’s neck and you panted as your body strained, rocketing toward your release, but you knew you wouldn’t get there without something else. “I need…” you huffed unhappily, not knowing what you needed. 

“I got you, princess,” Jake murmured, pushing your sweater up and pressing a hand between your shoulder blades, lifting your tits to his mouth. His lips wrapped around one pebbled nipple and he sucked, flicking his tongue over the hardened peak and making you cry out. “Fuck, you’re so fucking perfect, princess, you’re my fucking dream girl.”

“Oh god, oh Jake, that feels so good,” you babbled, shoving your chest into Jake’s face and pressing your pussy down on his rock hard cock. You began grinding your clit down on his hard length, and you knew you’d reach your release in moments, your lips parting with a gasp as you asked, “Please, can I cum, Jakey?”

Jake froze for just a second, then he was giving your nipple one last affectionate flick of his tongue before moving to the other. He wrapped his lips around it, sucking the hard peak and the softness of your breast into his hot mouth as he stared up at you with his bright blue eyes. 

“You need my permission, princess?” Jake asked teasingly, letting your tit fall from his mouth so he could lean up and cup your face, pressing a heated kiss to your lips. 

“Yes, Jake, please,” you begged in a tight voice, holding yourself back from cumming. 

“You have it,” he rumbled, a ghost of his crooked grin on his lips. “In fact, it’s an order—cum on my cock, princess, let me feel you come apart in my lap.”

Jake’s fingers pinched your nipple at the same time as his hips thrust up from beneath you, his other hand holding you firmly on his lap so his cock was wedged perfectly between your thighs. It was too much and too good and too perfect and the tension in your core snapped. 

You shattered apart with a sharp cry that Jake swallowed with another kiss. His arms wrapped around you and held you tightly as your body shook through the pleasure of your release. Your hips stuttered and your pussy clenched around nothing, and you moaned obscenely into Jake’s mouth until you needed to pull away to gasp for air.

“Oh fuck, you’re so fucking pretty, so fucking gorgeous cumming on my cock,” Jake babbled, pressing kisses to your jaw and neck and cheeks and anywhere he could reach. “I’m gonna—oh shit.”

He groaned loudly, pressing his face into the valley between your tits, his goatee tickling your sensitive skin while his hips rutted up into you from below. Between your thighs, you could feel his cock twitching and a growing wetness pressing into the heated flesh of your legs. 

It took you a long moment for your pleasure-dazed mind to realize what had happened, but when you did, you wrapped your arms around Jake’s neck and raked your nails soothingly through the short hair at the back of his head. 

“Jakey,” you purred, enjoying the way he shuddered through the remnants of his release, his cum sticky through his jeans and cooling rapidly on your inner thighs. “Did I really just make you cum in your pants?” 

“Yes.”

The word was grumbled against your tits a moment before Jake sank his teeth into the soft flesh, making you squeal and writhe on his lap. You may have just gotten off, but you already wanted more. You wanted Jake’s cock buried inside you, filling you completely while he made love to you slow and hard, whispering praises in your ear. 

“You’re too fucking perfect, my fucking dream girl,” Jake muttered, licking his tongue over your skin to soothe the place where he’d just bitten. His tone was a little resentful, and you could tell from the way he was refusing to meet your eye that your big, tough bodyguard was feeling a little insecure about cumming in his pants.

“And you’re my dream guy, Jakey,” you murmured, squeezing him tight and dropping a kiss to his forehead. 

Your words made Jake finally look up, though it was only to give you a dubious look. You laughed lightly and raked your nails through his hair, petting him affectionately.

“My dream guy is someone so obsessed with me that he’d cum in his pants just from watching me cum in his lap,” you explained, grinning down at Jake and lifting him up for a kiss that felt like a promise. “I love that I made you cum, Jakey—especially since it means we have to throw your clothes in the wash now.”

A wicked grin curled your mouth as you pushed yourself up on shaky legs and stood from the couch, dragging Jake up after you. He grabbed his glasses and put them back on, then let you drag him into the laundry room off the kitchen in your apartment. His eyes darkened as you knelt down and undressed him, a groan slipping from his lips as you took your time cleaning him up with your mouth.

When you finally made it back to the couch, the credits were rolling on the movie you’d put on, so you started up another one, barely glancing at the title. You were too distracted by the sight of Jake in one of your t-shirts and a pair of oversized sweatpants that fit him just snugly enough that you could see the outline of his cock through the fabric.

The sound of candy shaking in a cardboard box pulled your attention away from Jake’s lap and you found him searching through the conversation hearts again. You curled into his side and waited patiently while he picked one out, then held up your hand eagerly when he gestured for it.

Be Mine.

Your heart thumped happily in your chest and you popped the candy into your mouth before leaning up and kissing Jake, sharing the chalky sweet taste of the candy with him. 

“I’m all yours, Jakey,” you promised, whispering the words against his lips, unable to stop yourself from grinning wildly. 

“And I’m all yours, princess,” he echoed, pulling away only long enough to pull off his glasses and set them aside. Then he was pushing you down onto your back on the couch and settling between your thighs. “You’re my dream girl.”

“You’re my dream guy,” you said, pulling him down for a kiss. 

It was a long time later when the two of you finally came up for air. Jake’s cell phone was buzzing on the coffee table and he grabbed it, glowering at the screen before typing a response with one hand. He tossed it back down before returning his attention to you. 

“We’re going to have to tell Clay about us, aren’t we?” you asked, giving Jake, then his phone, a wary look. 

Jake huffed a laugh and buried his face in your neck. “Apparently, he already knows,” he muttered.

That gave you pause, and Jake must’ve felt the change in your body because he lifted up, giving you a wry smile. “They all know I’ve had feelings for you since we started this security gig,” he explained. “Clay was saying my lack of timely responses prove Roque’s matchmaking efforts finally worked.”

Your eyes widened as you understood what Jake was saying. Roque hadn’t really been sick, he’d been trying to get you and Jake together on Valentine’s Day. You felt a sudden surge of affection for the gruff man, and even for the leader of the security team, since it seemed he didn’t mind you’d definitely acted inappropriately with your bodyguard.

But that made you wonder, “Will you still be my bodyguard?”

A crooked grin spread across Jake’s face and he ducked down to kiss you. “Of course, princess,” he murmured, squeezing you tight in his arms. “Clay knows I’ll take even better care of you now—I’ll be the best bodyguard you’ve ever had.” He brushed a kiss to your cheek, making you giggle at the tickle of his goatee. “He’s sending Cougar over to watch our backs, though.”

That made you giggle and pull Jake’s face back to yours for another kiss. “Good,” you said in between pressing kisses to Jake’s mouth. “Then I don’t have to worry about distracting you too much.”

You giggled when Jake attacked your mouth, and the two of you sank into each other again. It wasn’t long before you were tugging each other’s clothes off and exploring each other more fully. 

For the rest of the night, you enjoyed your time with Jake, getting to know him on an even deeper, more intimate level—and learning he was just as good at cuddling as you imagined.

It was the first of many Valentine’s Days with Jake Jensen, your bodyguard and boyfriend, and each one was more special than the last because your crush had grown into real feelings, which he returned. He was no longer off-limits. He was yours and you were his.

sweethearts game masterlist

[aceecee]

Insatiable - Chapter Ten

TW: blood mentions

Synopsis: You meet Xavier for the first time, but can the same be said for him?

WC: 3.3K

Masterlist

Xavier was the fifth one to meet you.

He was the first to be surprised by you.

You’re supposed to be salvation, not his ruin. Be careful of what you do next, you’ve been warned. 

There’s something in the corner of the room.

It’s always around.

He’s not sure when it had become a comfort.

Most days it’s stagnant, not moving an inch from the position it had assigned itself. 

But then comes the moments where he cries and cries and cries.

What else can a weak child do?

Too weak to protect the one he loves, too weak to save her every time she’s carried in the arms of scientists, wailing out his name in hopes he’ll save her.

A hope he wishes will die out for it will never come true. He’ll never be her hero.

It moves when the first tear drops down his face. Its steps are always slow - cautious. 

Arms encircle his frame, his head pushed into a chest, held in a soothing grip.

It disappears with the last tear, back the next day in the corner of the room.

Years pass and he brushes it off as a result of a traumatised mind.

Until his fingers twitch uncontrollably around his new neighbour. Who he claims to hate yet burns with the need to touch.

To feel the sensation of those familiar arms wrap around him again.

“Don’t laugh!” the girl pouts at you.

You try to hold it in but it’s impossible. Her scowl deepens and you didn’t think it was possible for her to get even more red. Eiden’s stronger than you, he’s holding it in and looks not at all affected but you take notice of the way he’s clenching his hand and the smile he’s trying to bite down. Caleb is standing by her side, just as red and looking away. He’s sort of to blame for this, just a little.

But you would never tell him that.

You and Eiden had been waiting by your front door for the two of them, so you could commence your daily routine to walk to school when the other two joined. The reason for your laughter is the mess atop Mara’s head. “Gran is out,” she had tried to explain, “Caleb thought he could do my hair.”

Your laughter dies down when you see tears in her eyes, now you feel bad. “Oh, Mara, I’m sorry. Don’t feel bad,” you rush at the girl, dropping your school bag on the floor so you could comfort her. Eiden picks it up for you.

The feeling inside you when she pushes your arms away is indescribable. It’s the first time she’s ever denied your attention and you don’t know how to feel. Your fingers twitch at your side as your insecurities run wild.

You’d fucked up and now she doesn’t want you anymore, your voice screams in your head. How many times until you learn that you’re a failure meant to be discarded?

You take a step back and quickly throw on a mask, unbeknownst to you, your brother notices the blank face you had tried to cover up. His lips straighten but he doesn’t say a word. He quietly watches the flash of anger in your eyes when Caleb comforts Mara instead. 

You take a deep breath and try again. “I am sorry, Mara. I didn’t realise you were serious,” you gesture to your house. “Let me fix your hair.”

That has her attention on you again. “But…we’ll be late to school then,” she whispers. “Then we’re late,” you shrug. It would be a first for the four of you so you’re confident they’ll let you off easily. 

You feel a sense of relief when the tears in her eyes are gone, replaced by a bright grin. She turns to Caleb, “You go on then, I’ll see you later.” Caleb tries to disagree but his words fall on deaf ears, you step in for him instead.

“Let him stay, I’ll teach him some styles so this,” you point at her hair, “doesn’t happen again.”

The aforementioned boy just watches you silently in that regular way that makes you uncomfortable. You don’t know what his deal is but every time his eyes fall on you, it’s like he’s dissecting you, almost analysing you in a way that makes you afraid he’ll see the real you. More often than not you keep your guard up around him, just in case.

It takes you almost thirty minutes just to untangle her hair from the mess on her head, it’s not made easy by the fact that she has curly hair. The same hair that had been on Gia-

You offer her tips on how to take care of her hair. Another thirty minutes is spent on showing a variety of hairstyles she can do, Caleb who had taken his seat on your bed inched forward every hairstyle until he was practically falling off the bed just so he can memorise it all. You nearly laugh at the focused look he adorns, moments like these remind you that he’s just a child trying his best for the girl he cares about. 

“You shouldn’t feel bad,” you whisper to him, hoping no one else hears. He looks at you confused but you just send him a smile and go back to the task on hand.

Caleb isn’t sure why he feels his face heating up. 

You decide it’s best to not let a single soul know what destiny befallen on Finn. Maybe it would’ve been a good idea to let someone know that an entity of sorts lives inside you and can control you. But you have yet to wrap your mind around the thought itself. It’s too much.

Has this been the result of whatever was done to you?

You try to talk to it inside your head but it’s been two days now and still no response. You tell yourself that perhaps you’ve just remembered the situation wrong and if it responds, you’ll change your thinking. But for now, it’s all thrown to the back of your mind.

You’re back in the N109 zone. No other missions await you. You receive no congratulations from anyone either. 

Good.

Mary had texted you that the renovations had been completed. You let her know that you’ll be by today to see them. And see the kids. You missed them.

Is it wrong to use the comfort that little kids provide by being dumb and cute? Probably but you’re in desperate need for them to ask you stupid questions while clinging to you with sticky hands. 

You stop by the base, changing into a simple hoodie and sweatpants. You’ve learnt that no matter what you wear, you will be leaving with it in stains. It’s something you’ve long accepted.

“Going somewhere?”

Sylus’s voice doesn’t shock you. You had heard him moving around, slowly towards you. 

[“Orphanage.”] 

“Let’s go then,” the man waves his keys at you, walking by while leaving you standing in the middle of the hallway. You stare at his back, it would be just like him to invite himself into your plans as he pleases. 

And yet you continue to let him.

You’re jumped on the second you enter, bright smiles all around. Sylus watches on the sidelines, amused.

He watches the warm look in your eye, the gentle way in which you handle the kids, the way you try to communicate without your words. Something ignites in him, seeing you like this. It’s a new side of you he’s never seen. So patient and understanding. 

You’d make a good mother.

You feel a shiver up your spine, looking at the direction of the white-haired man. The look in his eyes makes you pause.

You’re in danger. 

“You wake her up,” whispers Kieran to Luke.

“No, you do it!” whispers Luke back.

“You’re older!”

“Says who?”

“Wake who up?”

The two masked men jump and scream at the sudden voice behind them. “Boss-man, shhhh,” Luke puts a finger to his mouth, “you’ll wake her up.”

Sylus glares at them, almost offended. “I’m whispering. You’re the ones shrieking.” 

The twins glance at each other and he sighs, it’s never good when they mentally communicate with the other. “Out with it.” 

He’s starting to think he should have just turned around and left when he saw them standing outside their own bedroom. He should know better than to be involved in anything they do. He should have stayed curious because explain to him why he’s being pushed into the bedroom, being used as a shield while the twins hide behind him.

“Look,” points Kieran at his side of the room, right at his bed. 

Now in too deep, Sylus has no choice but to go investigate. He immediately notices the lump on his sheets but stops as he gets closer. He can’t stop the look of shock (and jealousy) on his face.

Why the hell are you sleeping on their bed?

He looks back at the two nuisances who just usher with their hands for him to get closer. They’re not going to be any help.

He moves towards you, lips quirked up as he takes you in. You’re normally a composed person, the only time he can recall seeing you otherwise when he first met you. You had made sure since then to never appear a “mess” again. Sylus never said a word, he understood better than most your need to never show weakness. 

But not even you can control how you look when asleep. Your hair is a mess, covering your face. He had watched you enough on those cameras to know that there’s drool either on your face or on the pillows. You’re sleeping at such an odd angle, he’s sure your body is going to ache when you wake up. 

How cute.

He walks closer and gently nudges you on the shoulder. It’s barely a pat but it’s all you need. His little bird blinks slowly at him before glaring at the man who woke her up. Jealousy settles deep inside him, no one else deserves to see you like this. Only him.

Sylus moves himself so his body hides you from the two other pairs of eyes in the room, he sits down on the bed. “I hope you’re aware that you’re sleeping on Kieran’s bed?” 

You just nod and fall asleep. 

He’s left staring at your body, envious that you felt comfortable sleeping in the twins room and not his.

This won’t do.

He’s quick to scoop you up in his arms, the twins watch with no words as he leaves their room and walks right into his. They have the sense to not ask questions. Sylus places you gently on his bed and watches with satisfaction as you settle in. 

A groan stays stuck in your throat as you feel sleep leave despite your wishes. After so many years of insomnia, waking up after a good night’s sleep is even more torture than what you had gone through. Furthermore, there’s a comforting smell soaked into the pillowcases and bed sheets around you. The scent doesn’t belong to the twins, you know exactly who it does belong to. 

You had slept each night you had been with Zayne. After experiencing being so well-rested in years, you’d rather die than go back to your original state. So, you had come up with a theory that the smell of a person you trusted might help. And it did. 

You slowly open your eyes, taking in the room. It’s the first time you've been in here. Everything in it screams Sylus, the man has excellent taste. You look around for said man until your ears pick up the shower running. The perfect time to snoop. 

Ten minutes later, you’ve been nearly through the entire room with nothing to show for it. Sylus has nothing interesting in his room, you pick up the water turning off and rush back into the bed just as the bathroom door opens. 

Your eyes don’t leave his body, all he has is a towel around his waist. You shamelessly watch the water run down his body. Your fingers twitch as you see his muscles, you’ve always been one to appreciate fine art. 

Sylus smirks as he notices your eyes on him. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

[“No. You’re boring.”] 

He lets out a laugh at your statement, moving closer to you. “Or…I’m smart enough to not keep secrets in my room.”

[‘So, you do have secrets?”] your eyebrows raise.

“Want me to tell you one?”

[“Yes.”]

“Then say my name.”

The request gives you pause. You tilt your head in confusion. 

“You said that doctor’s name,” his voice is deeper when he lets out ‘doctor’. “Say my name,” it comes almost as a plea, he gives you a look that almost seems like desperation. You can’t tell if it’s like him or unlike him. 

You clear your throat. He perks up, it reminds you of a puppy waiting for a treat.

“Sylus,” it comes out much better than when you had said ‘Zayne’, no stutter too.

Before you can move, you’re thrown back on the bed, a heavy figure looming above you.

“Again,” his eyes don’t leave yours. You think you might have just done something that has changed the trajectory of your relationship.

You swallow.

“Sylus.” 

You say it so quietly that if you hadn’t spoken the words you don’t think it could even be heard. But, it seems to be enough for him. His head moves dangerously close to yours. Lips almost touching. He doesn’t move further than that. With the way he’s looking at you, you know the next move is yours.

You don’t hesitate. 

Your lips move desperately together. He’s devouring you in a way that you’re sure he’ll never be satisfied and will take. Again and again. Never stopping.

You break apart but he’s determined to take even your breath as he moves down to your neck, leaving soft kisses and as many marks as possible in his way. 

A hand gently grabs her wrist.

“No more,” Xavier softly commands. He takes the hunter watch off her wrist and pockets it. “You need rest.”

She doesn’t even have it in her to fight. The exhaustion has won. Neither of them say a word as he leads her into her apartment. They settle down on her couch. 

She fidgets with the ugly beaded bracelet on her wrist. In times of emotional crisis, it had become a clutch for her. The orange colour on one of the beads had become so faded in these last few months. 

“What does it mean to you?” his soft voice snaps her out of it. She looks in his direction to see him eyeing the bracelet. She finds herself wanting to answer. It’s shocking how close they’ve become in such a short time. Mara has no idea when Xavier stopped being a co-worker and became a friend. 

“My angel gave it to me.”

His eyebrows furrow a little in confusion. She understands, she’s never muttered the words ‘my angel’ out loud since you disappeared. It feels refreshing. It feels right.

She answers his question before he can even ask it. 

“She left me too.”

The watch on his arm beeps.

He’s not working today but a metaflux has been detected nearby and if he’s received the message then it’s just him alone. He’s informed that backup is twenty minutes away. A message that would give most hunters pause but he’s been alone for a long time, he can rely on himself. He knows he’s capable. 

The wanderers that appear before him are weak but strong in their numbers. One manages to slash him across his back. He grunts in pain but pushes through. His evol works with him to incinerate as many as it can. The fatigue settles in quicker now that he has activated it. How much sleep will he need after this? He’s too caught up in fighting to notice the wanderer that sneaks up on him, it’s too late for him to even teleport when he does. He waits for a pain that never comes up.

It’s then he notices the vines surrounding the wanderer’s body, holding it tightly in their grip. Before his eyes, the wanderer is ripped apart. Every other wanderer he can notice is in a similar predicament.

He’s not alone anymore. There’s a woman standing a few metres before him. She’s far enough that he can’t notice any distinct features. He makes his move.

From a distance, it looks like the sword he throws is meant for her but the woman doesn’t even flinch as it embeds itself into the wanderer behind her. With a loud thud, it falls before disappearing. Numerous protocores flop on the ground around them but neither party cares, too focused on the other.

The green shield around her disappears when he’s confirmed that there’s no longer a threat. The woman gives him a nod and turns to leave. Only for him to move much closer to her.

He doesn’t say anything, just taking her in. His heart beats fast as he looks her over, her hair, complexion, her clothes. He memorises everything. 

His throat suddenly feels dry as he notices the deep scar around her neck. That sense of peace and comfort he had given up crashes into him.

It can’t be…

After what feels like forever, he opens his mouth to speak. “Who are you?”

Why do you look like it? 

How do you exist?

He doesn’t ask those questions, too scared of the answers he might receive. 

The woman taps her mouth and then crosses her arm in an ‘x’ in an attempt to get her message across. It works. 

“You…” he takes a step forward, confused until realising. “You can’t speak?” 

The woman nods in confirmation.

The both of them stare at the other in awkward silence before the woman throws up a goodbye wave and runs away.

Xavier is too baffled by the situation to remember he can teleport. 

Throughout all his life, he finds himself before the statue.

As a kid when being a royal would get too much, after a gruelling training session and recently when he learnt the truth of his world…of his family.

The statue isn’t much to look at. One of the many in his family’s vast collection. Tucked away in the corner of a store room. He had stumbled upon it as a child, when he had tried to run away from his future as a King. 

It was covered in a white sheet but it called to him. With bated breath he had removed the sheet, eyes wide at what he saw.

It resembles a woman. One unlike any he’s come across. She’s beautiful.

No…

It’s too little a word to describe her. She’s a type of beauty that can’t be described for it would only limit her. 

He tried to ask around for any knowledge on who sculpted her, in hopes that maybe she exists and he could find her?

But no one knows anything.

“That statue? I don’t really know, your highness. It just appeared one day.”

“I’ve never seen a statue like that.”

“I have no idea, your highness.”

Even his father is no help. Neither are any texts they have. The mystery of the statue keeps him intrigued. It becomes a sort of comfort over time. He finds himself before her whenever life gets to him, ranting about it all. Anyone else would think him crazy but sometimes it feels like it’s listening.

Above all, one thing about the statue always stood out. The only crack on such old stone.

It was across her neck.

AN: I have to keep reader's interactions with Xavier and Rafayel short cause we need MC for more. Sylus has a breeding kink and you can't tell me otherwise, actually they all do. What nasty freaks.

Sorry for the late chapter, not only do I have three assignments due, I'm also sick!

Tag List: @serenity-loves-red @crimsonmarabou @reni502 @r0ckb1n @queenkymmie @plzdonutpercieveme @perqbeth @mephisto-with-a-knife @tumblingdevils @angelwhizpers @eolivy @yuurisfavblog @miuangel

[cvnntagious]

:: babydaddy!matt finally confronts brat!reader about her sudden distance, but it doesn’t quite go as expected

conversations like these were hard for matt, to say the least — he hated to feel like he was overstepping boundaries you'd so carefully set in any way, but he had to. everything was going so well between you two. for it to all suddenly slip between his ringed fingers like water? he couldn't just sit back and let you push him away like this.

with the silence in the living room, save for the cartoon mazzy had fallen asleep watching beside matt, he felt a familiar yearning in his chest. now had to be the time. he was done psyching himself out of words like he had the past week now.

standing from his spot, careful not to wake the sleeping toddler, matt practically tip-toed over to your bedroom. your head snapped up when you heard the three soft knocks on your door frame, assuming it was matt getting ready to tell you he was heading home for the night, like had become recent routine. matt then cleared his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets in a brief moment of silence. "you're gonna have to tell me what's wrong eventually, " he finally spoke up, heart pounding in his eardrums like they never had before.

"what?" was your immediate reply, playing dumb as your deadpan facial expression remained unwavering.

matt's eyebrows immediately furrowed, knowing you were just playing games with him now. he couldn't be too upset though, or else he'd never get to the bottom of all your weird behavior. "baby, is it something i did?" he questioned, completely disregarding your clueless act, "we can talk this through; we always do. you just have to tell me what's wrong."

the way you looked at him - like he were some sort of lunatic standing in front of you - he couldn't say it didn't hurt. always being 'mr. fix it' was getting exhausting, and for probably the first time since he met you, matt began to wonder if it was all really worth it. all the games you played, tugging at his heart strings and using your guys' child to manipulate him... there had to be something more out there, right? was driving him crazy fun for you?

a clear desperation wrote itself all over matt's face, his expression as he stood so timidly in your doorway making you want to crawl out of your skin. “matt…” you trailed off, shifting your seated position in your bed.

“what?” he replies, voice coming out in an almost whine-like manner. he felt this insatiable sense of dread wash over him, like he somehow knew what you were going to say before you even said it.

but when you remained silent, he just couldn’t take it anymore. “y- y’know what, forget i even said anything,” he finally breathed out, an empty feeling at the idea of giving up so easily — there was nothing else he could do, though. he knew how you were: if you didn’t want to talk, you simply weren’t going to. that’s what he told himself.

and he began to turn away, one hand clinging to your doorframe as if it were telling him he needed to stay. “matt, come sit.”

he stopped in his tracks, ears practically perking up at the sentence. his head instantly snapped in your direction, bright blue eyes widened in surprise when they caught you patting the empty space of your bed in front if you. he almost didn’t believe it, all the negative emotions that had once rushed through him in painful waves seeming to instantly subside as a glimmer of hope fluttered in his chest.

maybe that was stupid of him, but this was a real step for you two. a big one, he was sure of it. he wasted no time in taking a few steps across the room to reach you, carefully sitting in front of you. watching as matt bit the inside of his cheek in anticipation, a nervous habit he’s had all the time you’ve known him, you took a deep breath to prepare yourself.

matt was so ready. he needed to know what was wrong, eyes eagerly scanning your face at the idea of you finally opening up to him after all this time. “you know you’re a great dad, right?” you muttered, your words much different than what he’d expected.

that caught him off guard, a small twitch in his features telling you he was a bit confused. he wasn’t sure what mazzy had to do with any of this. you two were co-parenting just fine, always have been, whether you were on good terms or not. but he kept quiet, silently urging you to explain yourself.

“and you’re so loving–full of emotions that…” you paused, trying to think of the right words.

somehow, matt was catching on, no longer so pleased with the idea of you ‘opening up’ to him anymore. it was like you’d taken him on a roller coaster he didn’t sign up to ride, and he hated that. “…that i can’t handle.”

right, he knew that. matt knew you were never fond of his big emotions, always telling him he can be too much at times. and he understood. he never wanted to put whatever he was feeling onto you. he wasn’t, though; he knew he wasn’t. so what’s all this about?

it took a moment for matt to think up a response, sighing a bit before he cleared his throat. “i don’t get what that has to do with you acting all weird. i’ve only been trying to keep us together… as a family,” he opposes, shrugging a bit to seem less caught up about this than he actually was.

too quick for matt’s comfort, you nodded, a small hum following. “does that apply to the sex, too?”

almost taken aback, his mouth opened as if he were ready to say something, but nothing came out. “you suck at no strings attached, matthew. i know what you’re thinking every time you come around,” you added, each word like a barbed blade stabbing at an open wound. was this too cruel? no, it couldn’t be—you were only telling him the truth, and god, did he need to hear it. “you think that whenever we’re sleeping together, we’re on ‘good terms’, like it’s grounds for fixing everything and becoming one happy family where your daughter’s parents are happily in love.”

you had him there and he knew it, but for you to just sit and tell him all his efforts are for nothing so easily? he knew there had to be something more to it. you weren’t telling him something. “but when we’re not-”

“it doesn’t work that way. now go home, matt”

and don’t ever say matt was in denial because he’s not… at least, that’s what he told himself as he did the walk of shame from your apartment to his car, that nagging feeling of yearning he’d felt earlier somehow worse now.

w/c : 1.1k

a/n : there will be no part two

-love, your grandma cvnty ☆!

[moonstruckme]

Hii! I love your fics so much and I was wonder if you could do a emt marauders fix where the reader gets a concussion? I just got another one and it’s really taken a toll on me. (Again, I love your work SO MUCH!! It’s so comforting!!)

Hi my sweetheart! I'm so sorry, I swear I highlighted emt marauders when I was writing this request but somehow along the way I seemed to forget that it was supposed to be the au, I hope this is still alright (I'm very down to do another for emt specifically if you would like)! And I really hope you're doing okay!! Concussions are so rough, I hope your recovery is going well <3

cw: concussion

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

Sirius wakes to shushing sounds from down the hall. Bright sunlight has snuck in through the cracks in the blinds, laying itself down in slats across the bed. He’s laying nearly sideways with no one else to shove him away, one of his feet dangling off the side of the mattress and his head on the opposite pillow. 

He gets up though his body doesn’t want to, following the sound into the living room. The curtains are drawn closed here, too, though it’s light enough for Sirius to make you both out clearly, you sitting on the couch and Remus with your hands in his, speaking to you in a hushed voice while slow tears dribble off your chin. 

“Hey.” Sirius’ voice betrays his lethargy, but you don’t seem to notice. You look up with shiny eyes as he steps into the room. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” 

The answer takes time to come to you. Sirius isn’t sure if you’re searching for the words or if your thoughts are just evading you as they have been since you got hurt, but his heart twinges when your brows bunch in concentration. 

Remus only looks at you steadily. He’s been the most patient with you; Sirius and James both have the urge to guess at the ends to your sentences when you get stuck, but Remus only waits, letting you parse it out in your own time. 

“I’m sad. Frustrated,” you decide, though you look more glum than angry. You sniff. “I want to be better already.” 

Sirius nods in both understanding and sympathy, going to sit behind you on the couch. He knows Remus isn’t the most tactile, but it kills him to see you with your shoulders shaking and no arms wrapped around them. He’s quick to remedy this.

“We were playing cards,” Remus explains in his quiet way (a way Sirius has been trying to mimic to accommodate your sound sensitivity, though it doesn’t come easily to him), “and she just got a bit upset when she didn’t remember whether aces were high or low.” 

Sirius tsks, nosing at your cheek. “That’s common enough, darling. It can go either way.” 

“That’s what I said,” Remus tells him. His thumbs carve twin paths up the sides of your palms. “It hardly matters, I’m happy to play with them high or low.” 

“I just wish I knew like usual,” you say, though you already seem to be calming. Your voice has taken on that distant quality again. It still sounds like you, just a tad dazed, like when you first wake up in the mornings. 

Sirius rubs up and down your shoulder, pressing his lips to the side of your chin. He can’t imagine it’s comfortable, feeling so unlike yourself. Worse to know it’s not changing soon. You hit your head a few days ago, and it’ll probably be some time until you feel completely normal again. 

Sirius has been told he can be dramatic, but when you’d fallen he honestly thought for a second that you were dead, you were so still. In the pandemonium of sirens and doctors and waiting rooms that had followed, James and Remus each took a bit of time to process things, get their emotions in order, but Sirius has never been able to cry in public. When they finally got to take you home, he’d gotten in the shower and cried so hard he thought he’d throw up. He’s honestly not sure if he’s ever been so terrified in his life. After you got into bed that night he’d hugged you so hard you’d called him James, and your boyfriends had all laughed before they realized you weren’t joking. 

He and Remus hold you in silence for some time. None of you seem to mind. Sirius is still too sleepy to get bored, you’re presumably too concussed, and Remus is still Remus. He can look at the two of you all day and never need a diversion. 

The room seems to come alive when James gets home, not only because of his sparkling personality but also because he lets in a bunch of sunlight and a cacophony of street noise with him. 

“Hello, my loves,” he says, adjusting his volume halfway through the sentence. He shuts the door behind him with care, dropping his rugby bag onto the floor with far less. “How are we doing?” 

“I’m doing horrible,” Sirius says, though it’s obvious he was really only asking about you. “I haven’t had anything to eat yet today.” 

“You have just woken up,” Remus points out with a droll look, but James indulges him. 

He sets a big hand on Sirius’ head and kisses between his own fingers. He smells like dirt and sweat, gross on anyone else but hot when it’s him. James gives you the same treatment next, palm stroking down the back of your head protectively. 

“You alright, lovie?” he murmurs. 

You hum. “Why?” 

“Nothing.” His eyes slide to Sirius, a question in them. “You look as though you might’ve had a cry, that’s all.” 

“Water under the bridge,” Sirius assures him, giving you a firm squeeze. “We’re all good now, just very hungry and in need of someone to make sandwiches for lunch. Right, baby?” 

You nod amenably, but Remus fixes you with a curious look. 

“Are you hungry, dove?” he asks. 

You take some time to mull this over. Sirius bites the inside of his lip to restrain himself, and he can see James doing the same to his cheek. It’s a good thing that you’re taking such a thorough inventory of yourself, he supposes, but it’s agonizing to watch how much effort it takes you. After a while, you say, “I think so.” 

Remus nods. “Alright. We had a snack a bit ago, but if you’re hungry you should eat. I can make sandwiches,” he shoots Sirius a teasing look as he starts to stand, “since I’m not in the habit of taking advantage of those who’ve just got home from training.” 

“No, sit.” James urges Remus back down with a hand on his shoulder, squeezing fondly. “I’ve got it, I’m on an adrenaline roll right now anyway. Egg and cress all around?” 

“Yes, please,” Remus says. You echo a moment later. 

Sirius can’t seem to detach himself from you, which isn’t unusual but has been worse since your injury. He dots kisses along the edge of your jaw to amuse himself. 

“Are you feeling tired?” Remus asks you. “You haven’t had a nap yet today.” 

Sirius waits for the inevitable joke about your nursing home schedule, but it doesn’t come. You must not be feeling up to it. 

You shrug, mumbling, “I’m okay.” 

“Have a nap with me after lunch,” Sirius says. “I’m knackered, and I could use a cuddle buddy.” 

You make a confused humming sound. “Were you just asleep?” 

“I was,” he admits readily. “And it’ll be even better the second time around, with you there.”