#the shading is a bit softer too I think

[myokk]

💘

[vaguely-concerned]

it's so interesting that gideon opens his heart so quickly and completely and irrevocably to twig, while regarding mishka -- a parallel little sister/kid figure with some worrying hag magic attached, who also is in a situation similar to and has overlapping trauma with his own; they both have the scars of manacles around their wrists and are exploited for some inborn capacity other people want to make use of -- with such measured distanced distrust. and any reason you want to imagine there makes so much sense! it could be it's just too much like his own situation and he can't go there without getting into contact with things in himself he'd rather not feel or remember. might be instinctive flinch-away from still dealing with what happened to twig (and then jabberwock party wipe horror on top of that as a further attachment anxiety booster -- he didn't see kremy die since he's the first to go, but he sure gets to hear the story afterwards), and not wanting to risk that pain again so soon. twig meeting him at a moment where he was ready to let someone into his fiercely guarded in-group, and mishka didn't? just plain differences in personal chemistry (again... mishka is a lot like him in a lot of ways. perhaps. too much for comfort from some angles)?

if his trauma brain has decided that NO I've got kremy under one wing and twigsy under the other and sorry kid I only have two fucking wings, nothing is ever going to take this from me again while I'm alive to fight for it (the way they took my dad and my home and all those years of my life)... biggest FAIR ENOUGH GID! AS YOU WERE GID YOU DO YOU GID!! in history honestly even if it is a bit unfair to mishka

[lvrsfilm]

Lieutenant Simon Riley has a favorite nurse. She's sweet as sugar and polite, stitching up every bloodied soldier with gentle words and touches so light they barely feel the push and pull of the suturing. Appreciative, whether they return the soft conversation or not. He likes the way she floats around the medical wing, the way she smiles softly at everyone, even him. He's sure she knows what he's been doing, but she isn't stopping him, so he assumes she doesn't mind.

Every morning, without fail she gets up and comes into the wing in a different colored pair of scrubs. A new color every day, never the same one twice in a week. She sits at the front desk or at another station somewhere around and sips a can of ginger ale through a straw, pretending she doesn't see Simon's eyes on her while she works.

"Wha's it t'day?" Simon says gruffly as he approaches her, bypassing the other nurses almost completely. "Blackberry," She says softly, looking up at him and displaying the can. He takes a look at her scrubs, and of course, they're a dark purple, matching the can. It suits her, he thinks. Not an obnoxious shade, one that matches her skin tone well. "Good?" He asks her, like he always does. "Not my favorite,' she says as she sets the can back down. He hums lowly in reply as his eyes linger on the fabric of her scrubs, the way the cloth dips over her soft curves.

"You hurt?" She asks him cheekily, "Or just taken an interest in the medical field?" He grunts, pulling his eyes away from her scrubs and meeting her own. "Nae," He says lowly. "Just passing by," he adds, shoving his gloved hands into his pockets to keep from touching her. Or reaching out to smooth out a wrinkle in her clothing, or tucking some of her hair behind her ear.

He doesn't know what else to say, wanting to keep her attention on him. "Suits ya," He ends up saying softly, trying to sound as gruff as possible, but his eyes are trained on hers, his hazel eyes staring into her own irises. "The purple." He grumbles, cursing inwardly because why is he acting like he's never spoken to a pretty bird before?

"Thank you, Lieutenant." She says sweetly, a nice red tinting the apples of her cheeks. Simon shifts his weight from one foot to the other, unsure what to say next. Small talk hasn't ever been his strong suit, but walking away feels wrong, like cutting a thread that’s barely started to weave.

"You sure you're alright?" she asks again, but this time there's something softer in her voice. A note of genuine curiosity, her hands stilling on her keyboard. "You don’t usually linger this long."

He scowls—not at her, but at himself for being so obvious. "Dinnae know I was bein’ timed," he mutters, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets.

She chuckles, the sound low and warm. "You’re not. Just... noticed, is all." Her gaze flicks over him, quick and subtle, like she’s trying to piece him together without openly prying. She's familiar with Simon, knows how private he is. "Busy morning?"

He shrugs. "Same as usual. Training, Paperwork."

Her lips quirk upward in a faint smile, but there’s a shadow of worry behind her eyes. "Sounds like you could use a break."

"Aye," he says gruffly, a hand leaving his pocket to scratch at the base of his balaclava. "Reckon this is it."

Her smile softens at that, and for a moment, neither of them speaks. There’s a weight in the air, something unspoken that presses against his chest, and hers. He wants to say more, to keep her talking, but the words are tangled up in his throat.

"Y’know," she says after a pause, "I think purple might actually suit you too."

His brows furrow softly, squinting at her a bit behind the mask, and for a split second, he wonders if she’s teasing him. But her expression is sincere, her eyes glinting with a quiet kind of amusement.

"Me?" he scoffs, shaking his head. "Don’t reckon that’s in regulation."

She shrugs lightly, leaning against the desk. "Wouldn’t hurt to try. Maybe a mask or something. Just a little color." There’s a playful glint in her eyes now, and he feels the corner of his mouth twitch despite himself.

"Don’t think I’d pull it off," he mutters, though there’s a faint warmth creeping up his neck, hidden by the black fabric.

"I disagree," she says softly, and the weight of her gaze feels heavier than before. He looks at her then, really looks, and finds himself rooted to the spot.

"You always this cheeky with the patients?" he grumbles, trying to mask the fact that she’s gotten under his skin.

"Only the ones who hover around the nurses' station without a good excuse," she quips, her smile widening just a fraction. "But I don’t mind. You’re welcome anytime, Lieutenant."

His heart gives a traitorous thump at her words, but he swallows it down and grunts in reply. "I’ll hold ya to that," he says, his voice rougher than he intends.

As he turns to leave, her voice calls him back again, soft and lilting. "Oh, and Simon?"

He stops dead in his tracks. She’s never used his name before. Slowly, he turns his head to glance at her, his hazel eyes locking onto hers.

"Next time," she says, lifting her can of ginger ale in a mock toast, "you could at least bring one of these to share."

His lips twitch into something dangerously close to a smile. "Aye," he murmurs, his voice low. "I’ll see what I can do."

And as he walks out of the wing, he finds himself already wondering what color she’ll be wearing tomorrow.

[dior-luxury]

hiiiii hope you're having a good day! Can I request Idia, Azul, Ruggie, Jamil, Lilia, Ace + anyone else you like with a reader who has a crush on them but is utterly convinced there's no way he likes them back? Just "he's so cute and I love him but he's way out of my league, oh well back to daydreaming" Thank youuuu ~ 👾 nonnie

You Being Convinced They Don't Like You Back

( ✧ ) ────── pre-boyfriend stories . fluff - gn!reader .

- [𝐜𝐡.] ace . ruggie . azul . jamil . idia . lilia

- [𝐩:𝐬] Self-deprecating thoughts / Low self-esteem . Mutual pining . Angst with a happy ending . Romantic insecurity . Fluff

Note: I literally am in LOVE with this prompt hello 🥹 thank you so much for requesting 👾 nonnie! I hope my writing exceeds your expectations ( ´ ω ` ) .

Ace Trappola

The library was unusually quiet for a Thursday afternoon, the hum of distant conversation muffled by the towering shelves of books and the occasional creak of an old wooden chair. You sat in the farthest corner, your favorite spot, hunched over your notebook but not really writing. Not really thinking, either.

You were doodling again—him, of course. The slightly messy hair that was always a shade redder in the sunlight, the crooked smirk that came out right before he teased someone (or charmed them), and those stupid little hearts he sometimes made with his hands just to be annoying. Ace Trappola.

You sighed and dropped your pencil, watching it roll off the desk. “Ugh, why is he so cute,” you mumbled under your breath, face down in your arms.

It wasn’t like he knew you existed in any special way. Sure, you were classmates, sometimes group partners, sometimes sparring partners in flight class. He joked with you a lot, yeah. But he joked with everyone. He winked at everyone. He didn’t look at you the way you looked at him—soft, lingering, completely lovesick.

You were convinced Ace belonged in a whole different universe than you. He was bold, charming, magnetic. And you? You were… fine. Okay. Passable. Not his type, whatever that was. So you kept it inside. You giggled with your friends about how cute he looked in his uniform, you wrote little daydreams in your journal and then crossed them out, and you tried to survive the actual conversations with him without letting the pink in your cheeks get too noticeable.

What you didn’t know—what you couldn’t have known—was that Ace had been hovering outside the aisle for the past five minutes.

He’d come to return a book, seen you, and almost walked away. But your muttering had stopped him cold.

He leaned a little closer, his heartbeat just a bit too loud in his ears. Did you just call him cute? No way. You were probably talking about some manga character.

But then you sighed again and muttered, “He’d never like someone like me. Not when he’s... him.”

And something in Ace's chest twisted.

He stepped out casually, pretending like he hadn’t just eavesdropped on your heartbreak. “Yo,” he said, tossing the book on the return cart. “Didn’t know you talked to yourself. Should I be worried?”

You jolted upright, face turning crimson the moment you saw him. “A-Ace?!”

He leaned on the edge of your desk, eyes scanning your doodles. “Wow, that guy looks exactly like me,” he teased. “You got a little crush or something?”

You tried to cover the page, but it was too late. Panic surged in your chest, your throat tightening as every possible excuse dried up on your tongue.

Ace tilted his head, smirk fading just slightly into something softer. “Hey,” he said, quieter now. “Was that about me back there? What you said?”

You froze. Busted.

He laughed—gently, not the loud, showy kind. “You think I’m out of your league? That’s rich. You literally do everything better than me except math, and I still think about how you beat me in Spell Target last month.”

You blinked, stunned.

Ace grinned wider, leaning just a bit closer. “So... maybe I’ve got a little crush too. Don’t go writing me off like that next time, yeah?”

Ruggie Bucchi

It was late afternoon, and the Savannaclaw lounge was mostly empty—except for you, perched on the steps outside, and Ruggie, balancing a tray of snacks with a practiced hand. You’d offered to help, but he’d waved you off with a grin.

“Relax, I got this.”

You smiled politely, folding your arms tighter. Not that he’d notice the way your chest fluttered when he smiled like that. That sly, sleepy-eyed grin that made your stomach dip every time.

Ruggie was… everything you weren’t. Fast-talking, adaptable, clever, confident in a way you never could be. He made jokes even when Leona was glaring daggers. He knew how to turn scraps into something useful. And you? You were just you.

No way he’d be interested in someone who wasn’t cool, cunning, or at least a little dangerous. He needed someone who could keep up with his sharp tongue and trickster nature. Not someone like you who blushed too easily and got tongue-tied every time he looked your way.

You fiddled with a loose thread on your sleeve, sighing. “He’s way out of my league,” you whispered to no one.

Unbeknownst to you, Ruggie was returning from the lounge, just in time to hear that.

He paused in his step, the grin faltering as the words sank in.

Out of your league? Him?

He tilted his head, watching you. You looked… soft. Tired. Not just from today, but maybe from carrying that weight in your chest. The kind he knew too well. Ruggie bit the inside of his cheek and walked over quietly, plopping down beside you without a word.

You looked up, startled. “Oh! You’re back.”

“Yeah.” He offered you one of the sweet pastries he’d snagged from the kitchen. “You looked like you needed somethin’ sweet.”

You took it, hesitating. “Thanks…”

The silence lingered a moment too long. Then Ruggie said casually, “You know, I heard what you said.”

You froze.

Ruggie turned his head to look at you, his smile smaller now, more sincere. “You think I’m outta your league?” He snorted. “That’s a laugh. You’re the only one around here who’s nice to me without expecting somethin’ in return.”

You stared, lips parting, but no words came out.

“I notice things, y’know,” he continued, voice lower now. “How you bring extra snacks just in case someone forgets lunch. How you patch people up after training. How you always wave to Grim like he’s the main character or somethin’.”

You smiled weakly. “He thinks he is.”

Ruggie chuckled. “You’ve got no idea how easy it is to like you, do ya?”

The air went still.

He leaned a bit closer, a mischievous spark lighting back up in his eyes. “So, what d’you say we make this official? You stop pretendin’ I don’t like you, and I stop stealin’ snacks to get your attention. Deal?”

You couldn’t speak. You just nodded—furiously.

And Ruggie, with a smug little grin, nudged your shoulder and whispered, “Knew you liked me, too.”

Azul Ashengrotto

The lounge was closed for the night, lights dimmed, the usual chatter of customers replaced by the quiet shuffle of papers and the gentle clink of glass as Azul organized the bar. You sat alone at one of the side tables—he’d offered to let you hang out while he finished work, a kind gesture wrapped in professionalism. You didn’t question it. You were just happy to be near him.

Azul was perfect. Not in an untouchable way, but in the dangerously magnetic way. His intelligence, his poise, the calculating way his eyes always seemed to know more than he let on. He could make a deal with a king and still get the better end of it. He ran a whole business while juggling classes and contracts and never once looked like he was struggling.

Meanwhile, you were just… you. No cunning. No genius intellect. Just someone who barely passed alchemy and still got nervous speaking in front of people. Azul was miles above your league.

So, you admired him from afar. You listened carefully when he spoke in class, hung onto his every word when he got passionate about potion theory, and then pretended not to ache when he’d smile politely and move on without knowing how he affected you.

Tonight was no different.

You watched him from behind your drink, your heart fluttering as he adjusted his glasses, sleeves rolled to his elbows. You sighed under your breath, “He’s so beautiful. And way out of my league. Oh well. Back to daydreaming…”

Azul looked up.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but his mer ears were… sensitive. The words hit him harder than expected. You thought he was out of your league?

He swallowed hard, turning away quickly to hide the sudden redness in his cheeks. Was that a joke? Were you playing him? No, no—your voice had been too soft. Too sad.

He closed the ledger and made his way over to your table, rehearsing something casual to say. But he couldn’t do it. The usual charm slipped. He sat down across from you instead, unusually quiet.

“Everything alright?” you asked.

“Yes,” he said too quickly. Then, after a breath: “I overheard something just now.”

Your heart dropped.

“I didn’t mean to. But you said…” He paused, searching your face for any trace of irony. “You think I’m out of your league?”

You froze. Busted again. Why did the universe keep doing this to you?

Azul looked��� uncertain. Vulnerable. His fingers tapped the edge of the table in a rare moment of nervous fidgeting. “You have no idea how intimidating you are to me.”

You blinked. “Me?!”

“Yes. You’re so—genuine. You smile without scheming. You care without a contract. That’s not something I’m used to.” His voice dropped, soft and serious. “And I’ve liked you for a while. But I didn’t think someone as… sincere as you could ever return that kind of feeling.”

Your chest clenched. “Azul, I… I do. I have. For a long time.”

He gave a breathless little laugh. “Then perhaps… a real date? No contracts, no business. Just us?”

You nodded, overwhelmed but glowing. And for once, Azul Ashengrotto looked flustered. Adorably so.

Jamil Viper

The sun was setting over Scarabia, painting the desert sky in shades of gold and crimson. You sat at the balcony edge of the dorm’s main building, legs dangling, fingers absentmindedly picking at your sleeve as you watched the horizon burn.

Jamil was training below—moving with that smooth, graceful precision of someone who knew exactly what he was doing and exactly how much attention he was getting. But Jamil never asked for attention. He earned it quietly, consistently, and refused to let it change him.

You had it bad. So bad it was kind of pathetic.

He was calm, composed, mysterious in the way that made your heart race just a little. But also kind, thoughtful, and far too selfless for someone with his level of talent. You loved the way he took care of others, even when they didn’t realize he was doing it. You loved the way his eyes lit up when no one was watching and he actually let himself enjoy something.

And of course, you’d convinced yourself he’d never return the feeling.

You were ordinary. Not someone with elegance carved into every step. Not someone with a voice that could silence a room. You were nice, and dependable, but not the kind of person who got someone like Jamil Viper.

You sighed and murmured to yourself, “He’s so cool and so out of my league… but I love him anyway. Guess I’ll just keep dreaming.”

Unfortunately, your voice carried.

Jamil paused mid-step, hearing your words. The rhythm of his movements faltered for just a second. He glanced up, spotted you on the balcony, and blinked.

Your eyes met. Panic.

He jogged up the steps—not fast, but direct. Intentional.

You stood, heart racing. “J-Jamil, I didn’t know you—”

“I heard you,” he said, his voice even, but there was a flicker of emotion in his eyes you hadn’t seen before. “What you said.”

You turned crimson. “That was—I didn’t mean—well, I did, but not for you to—”

He held up a hand gently. “Can I be honest with you?”

You nodded, too stunned to speak.

“I’ve spent a long time trying not to like anyone,” he said slowly. “Because it’s easier. Because I don’t get to have things I want. People expect me to stay in the background, to be useful—not to be seen.”

Your breath hitched.

“But then you came along. You’re kind. You notice things most people overlook. You see me.” He looked away for a second, a rare flicker of vulnerability. “And I didn’t think I was allowed to want someone like you.”

You were stunned. “Jamil… I see you because I care. I’ve always cared.”

He looked at you again, softer now. “Then maybe we’ve both been idiots.”

You laughed shakily. “Definitely.”

Jamil stepped closer, a real smile pulling at his lips. “Then let’s stop pretending. I like you. And I’m not letting you drift away into daydreams anymore.”

Your heart soared. Maybe… just maybe… you were enough for him all along.

Idia Shroud

The glow of the computer screen lit your face as you sat cross-legged on the floor of Ignihyde's rec room—aka Idia's fortress. You’d been invited to a co-op gaming session, not unusual since you’d proven yourself in battle simulators, strategy MMOs, and the occasional horror VR run.

But what was unusual… was that Idia had invited you.

You kept telling yourself it wasn’t a big deal. He was probably just being friendly. Maybe he appreciated that you didn’t make fun of his Otaku shrine or that time he totally short-circuited a project trying to install AI voice lines of a waifu into Ortho.

Still, every time he laughed softly at one of your dumb jokes, or his fingers brushed yours when you handed him a controller—you felt that dizzy, heart-thumping feeling in your chest. And you reminded yourself, for the millionth time:

“He’s brilliant. Cool in a mysterious, tech-wizard way. That anime hair glows. He’s basically a boss-level character. And me? I’m just a side quest.”

So you kept your feelings locked behind your own firewall and resigned yourself to the background.

Tonight was no different. After you won a particularly chaotic match, Idia leaned back in his chair, hoodie half-draped over his head, giving you one of those rare, sheepish smiles. “Y-you’re really good at this… I mean, I knew you were decent, but like… whoa. T-totally NPC-crushing it.”

You smiled, heart fluttering. “Guess I just like playing with you…”

He froze. Not visibly, not obviously—but if you’d been watching closely (and you always were), you’d notice the way his avatar just… idled.

You were about to awkwardly fill the silence when you heard it—his voice, quiet, uncertain. “You know, I always thought you were… like… out of my league.”

Your brain lagged.

“Wait—what?”

Idia pulled the hood further over his head, hair flickering in shades of anxious pink. “I mean, you’re normal. Like, good at talking to people, and helping Ortho with projects, and you actually listen when I go off on anime world-building lore instead of hitting skip like everyone else.”

Your jaw dropped a little. “But I thought I was just the sidekick here! I mean—you’re… you. I figured there was no way someone like you could like someone like me.”

He glanced up, eyes wide and glowing faintly. “No. You’re not ‘someone like’ anything. You’re just… you. And you’re kind of my favorite player two.”

Silence stretched.

And then he blurted, fast and fumbling, “So—uh, do you wanna maybe do a… real date co-op thing? Like a—non-digital questline?”

You beamed. “I’d love to.”

And somewhere in the corner, Ortho’s little scanner lit up green. “Successful confession: confirmed.”

Lilia Vanrouge

The Diasomnia garden was especially quiet in the evening, the moonlight bathing the stone paths in silver as soft wind rustled the leaves. You often came here after a long day—it was peaceful, and you could just… think.

And of course, he was often there.

Lilia.

Sometimes humming an old lullaby. Sometimes practicing aerial flips. Sometimes just tending to the strange, glowing plants with that serene little smile. He was enigmatic, ageless, playful in a way that made your heart ache. He flirted with everyone, joked like he’d seen centuries of stories unfold—and maybe he had.

You were utterly, hopelessly, in love with him.

But you’d buried it. Because how could someone like Lilia Vanrouge—mysterious, powerful, ancient, and radiant—ever love someone like you?

“He’s basically immortal. I’m mortal, awkward, and sometimes trip over nothing. He’s been alive since kingdoms rose and fell. I’m just trying to pass my midterms without dying of stress. He probably sees me like a cute stray cat or something.”

So instead of confessing, you smiled, nodded when he teased you, and let the daydreams pile up where he couldn’t see.

Tonight, you didn’t notice him approach until he sat beside you, quiet and uncharacteristically gentle.

“Lost in thought, little one?”

You startled slightly, then laughed. “Yeah. Just… life stuff.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, gaze flicking over your face like he was reading something written across your skin. “You've been sighing a lot lately.”

You tried to deflect. “Guess I’ve just been thinking about someone.”

His eyes twinkled. “Ah… a crush, perhaps?”

You flushed. “Maybe.”

Lilia tilted his head, fangs barely visible behind his grin. “And what is this mysterious someone like?”

You bit your lip. “He’s… incredible. Playful but wise. Mysterious. Totally out of my league.”

That grin faded—just slightly. “Out of your league?”

You nodded, sighing. “Yeah. He’s someone who probably sees a million people every day and never notices someone like me. Which is fine. I’m just… daydreaming. That’s all.”

Lilia was silent for a beat. And then he did something you hadn’t expected.

He took your hand.

“You know,” he said quietly, “for someone who’s lived as long as I have… very few people surprise me anymore. But you? You always do. With your honesty, your kindness… and the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

You froze.

“I do notice,” he added, voice lowering, soft as dusk. “And I would be a fool not to return the favor.”

You stared, eyes wide. “Wait… you—?”

“Yes.” He smiled, a touch bittersweet. “And I’ve been waiting for the right time to say it. But it seems we’ve both been sitting in our little corners of longing, haven’t we?”

You nodded, heart hammering.

He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a featherlight kiss to your knuckles. “Well then… perhaps it’s time we step out of the daydream.”

[gf2bellamy]

hi!!! i’ve fallen back into a criminal minds phase and i’ve been binge reading all of your “secret relationship” fics and i would love to read a secret relationship fic but it’s basically told through each team member slowly realizing that spencer and reader are dating! but it’s finally confirmed when reader gets hurt or something and spencer is freaking out. maybe some light teasing from the team because they’re happy it’s finally out in the open?? omg hope this makes sense LOL!

signs — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: secret relationship, spencer thinking reader is hurt ( she's not ) , reader is drunk at some point , but the rest is just fluff a/n: hi hi ! i absolutely adore this idea <3 i hope you like this :) i feel like i haven't written a secret relationship fic in ages

Rossi: Rossi was in a mood.

It wasn’t often he didn’t get what he wanted — especially when it came to fine dining — but apparently, not even being David Rossi guaranteed you the exact reservation slot you preferred at one of D.C.’s most exclusive restaurants.

He clicked his tongue in mild irritation as he stepped through the entrance, the warm scent of truffle oil hanging in the air.

Ahead of him, a well-dressed couple stood waiting to be seated, murmuring to one another as the hostess sorted through the parties ahead. Rossi barely spared them a glance at first, too busy checking his watch and scanning the room. His date was running late — icing on the cake of an already disappointing evening.

He sighed, eyes flicking back to the couple in front of him.

And then he did a double take.

The man’s profile came into view as he turned to speak to his companion, and Rossi nearly choked on his own breath.

Spencer Reid.

Not just Spencer, but you too — standing beside him, completely at ease, smiling up at him as if no one else in the world existed.

Rossi blinked.

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, the profiler in him shifting into gear as he observed the two of you.

Spencer leaned in, saying something low enough that only you could hear. You laughed — not the kind of polite, professional laugh he’d heard around the bullpen, but something softer. Familiar.

Intimate.

Rossi’s brow arched. His eyes dropped to your joined hands — fingers lightly intertwined. His gaze traveled up again, catching the look in Spencer’s eyes as he watched you speak.

Well. That explained a lot.

Rossi was a menace. That much was painfully clear. But if there was one thing Rossi did best, it was push people’s buttons — especially when it came to secrets.

And so, true to form, he did what Rossi always did: He took the opportunity to be irritating.

With a mischievous grin tugging at the corner of his lips, he tapped Spencer lightly on the shoulder.

Spencer turned slowly, a bit confused, before his eyes landed on Rossi. You, beside him, did the same, your hand still gently resting in Spencer's.

The second your gazes met, Rossi’s grin only grew wider.

Spencer’s face went as red as the napkins they handed out at the restaurant — a shade of crimson that could only come from absolute mortification.

“Hello, you two,” Rossi said, his voice laced with amusement, eyes glinting as he looked between you both.

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, frozen, staring blankly at the older man, clearly at a loss for words. Rossi swore he could hear the mental gears turning in Spencer’s head, trying to process how the hell he’d been caught.

Rossi took an extra second, savoring the silence — the awkwardness. It was almost too easy.

Then, reality set in. The tension shattered.

Without thinking, you both let go of each other’s hands, almost instinctively, as if the sudden separation could somehow erase what had just happened.

“Hi—hello, Rossi,” you stammered, voice faltering in a way that told Rossi all he needed to know: You were completely flustered.

“We—uhm—” you paused, trying to put your words together, but clearly struggling to form anything coherent. “We just… saw each other by chance, y’know, in the city… and then we got talking and… thought we’d check out this restaurant.”

The explanation came out so jumbled and rushed that Rossi could barely keep up. You were stumbling over your words, clearly trying to spin a story that didn’t exactly fit, but also trying to avoid outright admitting what was painfully obvious.

“Exactly, yeah,” Spencer nodded—too quickly, too earnestly.

It wasn’t convincing. Not even a little.

Rossi crossed his arms over his chest, letting the silence do the heavy lifting. Then, with the ease of a man who had absolutely nothing to lose and every intention of stirring the pot, he asked calmly,

“So the two of you just happened to randomly run into each other outside one of the most exclusive—and might I add, most obscenely expensive—restaurants in the city… and just decided to walk in? Together?”

His tone was casual, but his eyebrows were doing all the work.

You and Spencer froze. No words. Just two deer caught square in the headlights of David Rossi’s nonsense detector.

Because the truth was so much worse than whatever lie you were trying to piece together on the spot.

Spencer had woken you up from a nap that afternoon—gently, of course, like he always did, brushing your hair back and murmuring your name. You’d grumbled something in protest, refusing to move. You had your head in his lap, perfectly comfortable, and all you wanted was ten more minutes.

But then he’d said it.

“I have something for us tonight. Remember that place you kept talking about? I made reservations. Months ago.”

You had shot up like lightning, groggy but very awake now, staring at him like he’d just handed you a golden ticket. You had been talking about this restaurant since before the two of you even started dating—back when you were still circling each other, just friends but barely.

And now here you were. Dressed up, excited, in love… and caught red-handed.

You dared a glance at Spencer. His jaw was tight, his eyes darting nervously like he was running through a mental database of plausible excuses.

Rossi, of course, was thriving.

He stood there like a man watching live theater, fully enjoying the slow unraveling of your carefully guarded secret.

You cleared your throat, nodded with way more confidence than you felt. “Yes. Exactly.”

Spencer turned his head sharply toward you, brow raised just slightly—as if to say, Really? This is the story we're sticking to? But to his credit, he didn’t call you out.

He just nodded slowly. “Yep,” he added, voice dry, “total coincidence.”

Rossi stared at the two of you in silence for a moment longer. The way one does when they’ve just witnessed something both deeply embarrassing and wildly entertaining. Then he raised his hands in mock surrender.

“You know what,” he said, grinning now, “sure. If that’s what you’re going with—absolutely. A total coincidence. Two colleagues running into each other at a five-star restaurant, in formal wear, with a reservation one of them booked months ago… Makes perfect sense.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. You were far too aware of Spencer next to you, standing stiff as a board, and the fact that Rossi had you both in a corner with nowhere to run.

“But hey,” Rossi continued, shrugging, “who am I to question the universe? Maybe fate did shove the two of you into the same place at the same time.”

He turned slightly, already starting to walk away. “I’ll leave you to your completely unplanned, not-a-date-at-all evening.”

Spencer muttered something under his breath that sounded like “we’re doomed”, and you could only manage a half-smile as you watched Rossi disappear into the dining room.

But not before he glanced back and added, “Order the tiramisu. It’s phenomenal.”

Then he was gone.

And you and Spencer just stood there, still frozen in place.

After a long moment, you exhaled slowly. “…We’re so bad at this.”

Spencer groaned. “We really are.”

JJ: JJ was late.

It wasn’t entirely her fault — Henry had launched a full-blown protest over the shape of his pancakes, and in the chaos, his tiny hands had knocked over an entire glass of orange juice, soaking her blouse and half of the kitchen floor. By the time she managed to wrangle a clean shirt, a semi-content child, and get out the door, she was already dreading the knowing look Hotch would send her way.

She hurried into the BAU bullpen, the sound of her heels echoing as she made a beeline for the conference room. The door was already closed. Great. She inhaled deeply, then pushed it open, words tumbling out before she could stop them.

“I’m so, so—”

She froze.

Just for a split second.

Her eyes dipped downward involuntarily, catching something odd beneath the table. She blinked, recovering fast, her gaze snapping to Hotch. “Sorry,” she said smoothly. “Henry was giving me a hard time this morning.”

He gave her a slight nod, and she slid into the empty seat across from Spencer and you. Penelope was already mid-presentation, clicking through slides.

But JJ wasn’t listening.

She was still stuck on what she thought—no, she definitely—saw under the table.

Legs. Not just legs. Intertwined legs.

Your ankle was hooked gently around Spencer’s beneath the table, casual and familiar in a way that made her eyebrows lift just slightly. She tried to shake it off — maybe it was just a coincidence, an accidental brush.

Then her gaze dropped to the ground again.

She “accidentally” let her pen slip from her hand.

“Oops,” she murmured, crouching down to retrieve it, though her eyes were doing more investigating than her fingers.

Yup. Confirmed.

Not only were your ankles still tangled together like teenagers sneaking around in study hall, but you were wearing matching socks. Well, not quite matching — complementary.

Yours had a little Snoopy in a Halloween costume dancing across the left sock. Spencer’s had the other half of the design — Snoopy’s pumpkin and Woodstock.

She blinked once. Twice.

Slowly, she straightened back up and sat stiffly in her chair, lips twitching. She didn’t say anything, not yet. Just opened her case file and pretended to focus, though her brain was screaming:

Oh my God. Spencer Reid is in a relationship. And it’s with you.

She stared at the two of you, watching as Spencer jotted down a note in the margins of his file and you leaned over just slightly to peek at what he wrote, your elbows brushing. It was so subtle, so natural.

JJ pressed her lips together, trying not to grin.

That’s when Spencer glanced up from his notes — and locked eyes with JJ.

He froze.

JJ wasn’t subtle about it either. She was staring right at him, one perfectly arched eyebrow raised — equal parts curiosity, amusement, and busted.

For a split second, Spencer froze—just long enough for JJ to see the flicker of panic in his eyes before he schooled his expression back into something neutral. But it was too late. She’d already caught it.

His fingers twitched against the edge of the file in front of him. A tell.

You didn’t look up, but he could tell by the slight shift in your posture that you’d caught it too.

JJ’s smirk deepened. She didn’t say a word, didn’t need to — her expression said enough. She turned her attention back to the file in front of her, but not before giving Spencer one last knowing look.

Spencer cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, trying to refocus on Penelope’s words — something about timelines and victim patterns — but his mind was racing. He could handle serial killers and psychological profiling, but JJ with a knowing look? That was borderline terrifying.

He scribbled something useless in the margin of his page just to avoid eye contact.

Across from him, JJ finally looked away, lips twitching like she was fighting back a full-on grin.

Two down.

The rest of the team? It was only a matter of time.

Derek: It was hour fifteen of a twenty-four-hour stakeout. Tensions were low, patience was lower, and the temperature had dropped just enough to make everyone thoroughly miserable.

Morgan was behind the wheel, spyglass raised to his eye, keeping watch on the darkened house across the street. Spencer was riding shotgun, his tablet balanced on his lap but currently ignored.

You were in the back seat, curled up like a sleepy cat, eyes barely staying open.

“It’s so cold,” you mumbled, voice soft and tired.

“No AC,” Morgan said without looking away from the window. “No heat. No engine. We light up this car, and we might as well wave at the unsub.”

“I know,” you muttered, wrapping your arms around yourself.

Spencer turned, glancing back at you with a gentle frown. “Your hoodie’s in the go-bag,” he said, nodding toward the floor. “And I packed some food, too. There should be—”

“Cookies?” you perked up immediately, already leaning forward.

Spencer’s lips twitched into a fond smile. “Yes,” he nodded.

You dove into the bag, pulling out the hoodie and tugging it over your head. The sleeves practically swallowed your hands, and you looked entirely too cozy for a car with no heat and no legroom. Then came the cookies—individually packed, of course, probably something Spencer over-researched before choosing. You popped one in your mouth, handed one up to him without a word, and then casually offered another to Morgan.

“Want one?” you asked, already halfway through yours.

Morgan blinked.

Slowly, deliberately, he lowered the spyglass and turned to look at Spencer.

Spencer tried to play it cool, but it was already too late. He looked like he’d been caught stealing classified documents from the Pentagon.

Morgan’s gaze drifted from Spencer, back to you—cozy in his hoodie, munching on his cookies like it was the most natural thing in the world—then back to Spencer again.

Spencer cleared his throat, awkwardly adjusting in his seat. “You should, uh… probably keep watching the house,” he muttered, gesturing vaguely to the spyglass like it was the most fascinating thing in the car.

Morgan didn’t move.

He raised an eyebrow. “You wanna run that by me again, pretty boy?”

Spencer froze.

Morgan leaned his elbow on the steering wheel, giving him that look.

“I’m just saying,” Morgan added, his voice low and casual, “most coworkers don’t pack each other cookies, hoodies, and act like they’re sharing a studio apartment back there.”

You blinked, finally tuning in, cheeks puffed out with cookie. “We’re not—” you began, trying to summon something that sounded remotely believable.

“Oh, don’t even try,” Morgan cut you off smoothly, his grin widening.

You glanced at Spencer—please say something that makes this better—and then back at Morgan, before letting out a quiet sigh and leaning back in your seat.

At this point, it wasn’t even worth fighting.

Spencer had already told you about the awkward moment with JJ in the briefing room—the look she gave him that had screamed I know something you don’t want me to.

And then… Rossi. And now Morgan. You could practically feel the secret unraveling thread by thread.

You had barely gathered the willpower to respond, but Spencer, in all his nervous, fumbling glory, was still committed to the bit.

“Well, I do,” he blurted suddenly, making both you and Morgan pause. “The cookies—they’re not just for her.”

Your mouth fell open, eyes widening in offense as you turned to stare at him.

Spencer didn’t look back. He just kept talking, rambling now, hands flailing slightly like he was in a debate with himself. “They’re for all of us. I brought enough for the team. It’s not—this isn’t a… it’s not what it looks like.”

Morgan raised his eyebrows. “Mmhmm.”

You slowly turned back around in your seat, chewing the rest of your cookie with exaggerated drama, then crossed your arms in silent betrayal.

Later that night, back in the warmth of the hotel room, Spencer had just barely finished brushing his teeth when he noticed you sitting on the edge of the bed with your arms still crossed.

“You’re mad,” he said, cautiously, towel draped over his shoulder.

You didn’t answer.

“Oh,” he blinked. “Still mad.”

You picked up your toothbrush in silence and marched into the bathroom like a woman on a mission. Spencer watched you go with a soft frown, then padded in after you, leaning on the doorframe as you aggressively brushed your teeth.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that,” he said gently.

Still brushing. Still ignoring him.

“…Okay, fair,” he added, “but I panicked. Morgan was looking at me with that look—the one that means he already knows and he’s just waiting for me to confirm it with a twitch of my eyebrow.”

You spit out the toothpaste, rinsed your mouth, and glared at him through the mirror.

“You said the cookies weren’t for me.”

“They were for you,” he tried.

You narrowed your eyes.

Spencer took a step closer, wrapping his arms lightly around your waist from behind. “I also packed the hoodie. And your favorite brand of gum. And that weird off-brand protein bar you pretend to like.”

You stared at his reflection, unmoved.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss just under your ear. Then another. And another. Soft, slow, and annoyingly effective.

You tried not to smile. You really tried.

But by the time he was kissing along your jaw, you caved—letting out a small, breathy laugh as you shook your head.

“That was so rude, though.”

“I know,” he mumbled against your skin. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You better,” you said, finally turning in his arms. “Or next time, I’m telling Morgan that the cookies definitely weren’t for him.”

Spencer laughed quietly, his nose bumping yours. “Okay. Fair.”

And just like that, the cookie betrayal was forgiven.

Garcia: Sometimes, boredom took over Garcia. And when Garcia was bored, it usually meant she was… poking around.

A little innocent internet rabbit hole here, a little harmless people-tracking there—y’know, just casual hacking using elite-level skills that probably violated several federal privacy laws. But whatever. She called it “passive wellness checks.”

So when the team was on a stakeout and she wasn’t directly needed, Garcia let her curiosity wander. Just a bit. She wasn’t looking for anything specific, but her fingers flew across the keys anyway.

A few clicks led to hotel reservation databases—normal stuff. She was just checking to make sure no one had booked a suspicious room under a weird alias like “John Smith” or “Not A Criminal.” That was all.

Then she paused.

Two reservations at the hotel. Standard. One under Spencer’s name. The other…

“Wait a sparkly second,” Garcia whispered, squinting at the screen.

Your name was right there, listed just one room number away from Spencer’s. Which wasn’t shocking in itself. The team often had rooms near each other. But—

Garcia’s eyes narrowed.

The hotel’s internal system allowed for some… minor enhancements. She tapped a few keys. There it was: a timestamp from housekeeping. Your room hadn’t been accessed in over 30 hours. Spencer’s had been accessed twice as often.

And the kicker? Two key cards had been used.

“Oh?” she whispered, eyebrows raising.

She double-clicked. The details popped up. Same check-in time. Same check-out. Shared billing. One queen bed.

Garcia sat back in her chair, blinking at the screen.

“Oh, my God.”

She clapped a hand over her mouth.

Oh. My. God.

The realization hit her like a freight train dressed in glitter and secrets.

You and Spencer.

She stood up so fast her chair rolled backwards and bumped into the wall.

“Oh my God, oh my God, Oh my God,” she whispered in rapid succession, pacing in a tight little circle like her office was suddenly too small for the sheer scope of this revelation.

You and Spencer. Together. Secretly. Sleeping in the same room.

She made a small sound that could only be described as a gasp crossed with a squeal.

“I knew it,” she hissed, stabbing a glittery-painted finger at her monitor like it had betrayed her. “I knew something was going on. And Derek said I was imagining things. He said I had ��conspiracy brain.’ ”

She spun around, snatching her phone off the desk. Her first instinct was to call you immediately and yell “How dare you keep this from me, I am your godmother in all things love and codependency”— but she paused, phone hovering mid-air.

Now, Penelope Garcia was many things: a tech queen, a fashion icon, an unapologetic drama enthusiast. She was also a terribly curious person who thrived off of a good love story, especially if it involved people she adored. Which this did. This was the pinnacle of gossip. The golden egg of secrets.

But.

She frowned, slowly lowering the phone to her desk.

But she also loved you. And she loved Spencer. And as much as she wanted to burst into your hotel room with a confetti cannon and matching t-shirts, she knew how private Spencer was. And how gentle you were with your heart.

Maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t her secret to explode.

“Ugh,” she groaned dramatically, tossing herself into her chair. “Why do I have to be so emotionally evolved?”

She stared at her screen. The room access logs, the billing details, the clear-as-day evidence of romantic entanglement. Her fingers hovered over the delete key, then paused. No, she wasn’t deleting anything. Not yet. She was just… letting it simmer. For safekeeping.

She flopped her head back and sighed deeply, like she was in a soap opera.

“I’m not gonna blow it up,” she whispered to herself. “I’m gonna be cool. Chill. Under control. A vault.”

A beat of silence.

“But I am dying inside.”

She clutched her chest and sank lower into her chair, muttering to herself.

“Y’all better tell me yourselves or I swear to God, I will hack your text history, compile a dramatic slideshow of your relationship timeline, and set it to Celine Dion. With glitter transitions.”

With that vow silently made , she took a deep breath, sat up straight, and went back to her screen—though every once in a while, she let out a tiny squeak of excitement, unable to keep the joy completely contained.

Because this was happening.

And if no one else had said it yet—she was so, so happy for you both.

Hotch: The evening was supposed to be a simple gathering at Rossi’s place—nothing too elaborate, just a way to unwind after a tough case.

You had no intention of getting drunk, but here you were, swaying on your feet with a cup of water in your hand, courtesy of Spencer.

It had all started innocently enough, just some light conversation with Garcia, but somehow, between the laughter, the teasing, and the drinks, you'd lost track of the evening. And now, you were definitely feeling it.

You'd been walking around Rossi's house, or at least trying to walk. "Walking" was a generous term considering how much you were swaying side to side, trying not to trip over your own feet.

Spencer had been eyeing you all evening, a mixture of concern and affection on his face, pushing water into your hands every time you seemed to lose focus or reach for another drink. You hadn’t even realized you were still holding the water glass until you stumbled into Hotch in front of a set of pictures on the wall.

“Hi, boss,” you mumbled, your words dragging a bit more than you intended.

Hotch looked at you with a slight frown, his brow furrowing as he processed your greeting. But then he noticed the way you were swaying slightly on your feet, your eyes glassy, and he didn't press the matter. Instead, he looked at your glass of water, which was still almost full.

“You should finish that,” he suggested with a small nod, his voice laced with that familiar tone of concern.

You glanced at the glass in your hand, then back up at him, furrowing your brows as if the glass was a mystery you couldn’t solve.

"Right… yes, I should," you muttered, a little confused as to how it even ended up in your hand in the first place.

“Spencer gave me this,” you suddenly remembered, nodding as if that explanation made perfect sense.

Hotch gave you an amused look, his lips curling slightly. "Yes, he did," he confirmed, taking a sip from his own drink.

You stared at the water in your hand for a moment, then your expression shifted as a realization hit you. “You know, it’s surprising you haven’t noticed yet,” you slurred a bit, your words coming out slower than usual.

Hotch raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Noticed what exactly?"

You nodded toward the room, your gaze catching Rossi across the way. "Pretty sure everyone else has,” you continued, the words slipping out of your mouth before you could stop them. “Or at least Rossi did.”

You took a sip of water and let out a sigh. “God, that was embarrassing.”

Hotch stared at you for a moment, looking between you and Rossi across the room. “Noticed what?” he asked, genuinely curious now.

Before you could finish your sentence, Spencer suddenly appeared at your side. His eyes flicked from you to Hotch with a mix of frustration and concern.

“There you are,” Spencer said, his voice carrying a hint of relief as he took in your unsteady stance. He had lost sight of you a few minutes ago and, naturally, had come to check on you.

You blinked up at Spencer, a wide grin spreading across your face. “Spence, I was just telling Hotch that you and I are—”

Spencer immediately cut you off, his voice strained but trying to keep it light. “Okay, we are getting you sobered up.” The red creeping up his neck was unmistakable as he quickly stepped in front of you, placing his hand firmly on your lower back to steer you away from Hotch.

You started to protest. “But—”

“Sorry,” Spencer mumbled, barely glancing at Hotch before he gently but firmly guided you away, his hand resting on your back with a soft pressure.

Hotch stood still for a moment, his gaze following you both. He couldn’t help but notice the way Spencer’s hand lingered on your lower back—how his fingers were splayed out, with his thumb lightly brushing the fabric of your shirt as he led you away.

Hotch's expression was unreadable, but there was an unmistakable flicker of realization in his eyes. He had caught the subtle gesture, and as much as he had his suspicions, seeing it in action made everything that much more clear.

As you two started to move away, Hotch took another long sip from his drink, his lips curling into a knowing, half-amused smile. He glanced over at Rossi, who was now watching the scene with mild interest.

Spencer was already doing his best to get you out of the room, though he couldn't completely mask the fact that he was desperately trying to keep you from saying anything else.

“Come on, let’s just get you some water and air,” Spencer said, his voice low but kind, steering you gently away.

And you—completely oblivious to everything going on—continued to smile up at him, grinning like you had just won some secret game, unaware of the small reveal that had just unfolded.

Everyone: It all came to light in a way no one expected.

It wasn’t a serious injury, not by any means, but it might as well have been the way Spencer reacted. You had been outside when the unsub started shooting. Thankfully, no one was directly hurt.

But a bullet grazed your vest, knocking the air from your lungs for a few seconds. That small hit was enough to send Spencer spiraling.

Morgan was quick to catch the unsub, who, thankfully, gave up without much resistance. As Morgan shoved the suspect into one of the waiting police cars, Spencer was already rushing toward you, his panic evident in the quick, almost frantic way he approached.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice almost cracking, his hands reaching to cradle your face.

The team was quiet. Everyone stood still, frozen in place, as they watched Spencer examine you, his fingers gently brushing over your cheek and jaw, ensuring there was no injury. Morgan glanced over his shoulder, pausing in the middle of cuffing the unsub, but didn’t say anything. Everyone seemed to hold their breath.

You reached up, placing your hands on Spencer’s wrists to steady him, your voice soft, trying to ease his panic. “Spence, hey… I’m fine.”

Spencer froze. His eyes, wide and frantic, softened a fraction as your words registered. He blinked a few times, taking a step back to fully absorb what you were saying, but before he could form a proper response, his body seemed to move of its own accord. Without thinking, he pulled you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

And then, in a gesture so tender, so full of emotion, he kissed your cheek and temple, his lips lingering for a moment longer than anyone would’ve expected.

The entire team stood there, mouths wide open, watching in stunned silence.

Hotch raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Rossi, who gave a barely perceptible nod. JJ’s hand instinctively went to her mouth, her eyes wide with surprise. Even Morgan couldn’t help but chuckle softly under his breath, realizing the truth now stood out in the open for everyone to see.

You slowly pulled back from the hug, your hand lingering on Spencer’s arm as you gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m okay, Spencer,” you repeated softly, trying to calm him down even though you could see the worry still etched on his face.

That’s when you heard Morgan’s voice, teasing yet amused. “Well, that’s one way to make it official,” he said with a smirk.

Spencer and you both turned slowly, your eyes wide as you took in the entire team watching you.

Their expressions ranged from surprise to amusement, but one thing was clear: they were all in on it now.

Spencer opened his mouth, probably to try and brush it off, but he quickly faltered. “Uh, she’s okay,” he muttered, the words awkward and forced as he cleared his throat.

Rossi shook his head in amusement. “Well, yeah, kid, you made sure of that,” he said, his voice teasing but warm. He raised a hand, gesturing between the two of you. “With your kisses.”

The entire team erupted into chuckles, a few low whistles coming from Morgan. Even Hotch couldn’t help but give a small, almost imperceptible smirk, his usual stoic demeanor faltering just a bit.

JJ, her eyes still wide with surprise, was the first to speak up. “Well, I have to say, that’s one way to make your relationship… very clear,” she teased gently, her smile soft.

You could feel the heat creeping up your neck, and Spencer was no better off. He shifted nervously, his hands fumbling slightly at his sides as he looked around at his teammates, his face flushed with embarrassment.

“Well, at least it’s finally out in the open,” you said with a small laugh, nudging Spencer’s side gently. “No more secrets.”

Rossi clapped Spencer on the back with a grin. “Finally,” he said. “Took you two long enough, but it’s nice to see you finally let us in on it.”

The teasing continued, but it wasn’t mean-spirited. The team was genuinely happy for you both.

Later that day, as you and Spencer walked into the bullpen hand-in-hand, you could hear Garcia’s voice echoing from the other side of the building.

"I knew it!" she screeched, her voice loud enough to make everyone within a 10-foot radius turn their heads.

"I knew something was going on between you two!"

[seasidefallenangel]

being fixated to you — that is the problem

they're so in love with you, but you just don't seem to get it ft. riddle rosehearts, jamil viper

notes: fluff, reader can't read between the lines, was playing amnesia and shin's whole "wanting to be seen as more than a little brother" thing... mhhhm

༄ riddle rosehearts:

napkins perfectly folded, pink flamingos elegantly roaming the lawn, hours spent practicing a tart recipe that you were sure to praise riddle for -

… instead replaced with you cooing at him like he’s some child.

“you’re so cute, rids!” you grin while pinching his cheek. if you were less close with him, you’d assume the cherry red of his face was from anger and not pure embarrassment. 

quite frankly, he’s at a loss. it couldn’t be more obvious that he loves you to the point of it hurting his chest. every attempt and compliment he gives you, earnest confessions of attraction, are simply met with laughs and something along the lines of him being, “like a cute, younger brother.”

it was mortifying.

setting his teacup on its plate, he grips the handle just a bit too tightly as his head hangs down. you’re about to ask if he’s okay when he mutters, “... is that really all you see me as?”

his hands slam on the arms of your chair and he leans in, eyes intense and expression deadly serious. it’s not as if riddle is a generally goofy person, but the sudden shift from your casual meet-up is a bit jarring.

“why do you refuse to take me seriously? am i not enough of a man for you?” he asks with desperation in his voice.

you’re taken aback at how earnestly he says it. there’s no hesitation nor even a hint of dishonesty in his words. such a blunt confession style isn’t really within his personality, but sevens is he tired of giving hints and pseudo-admissions of his unwavering devotion to you. 

“would you consider, even just once, that i truly have an interest in you?” he says, leaning in so close you would think he’s about to kiss you. he’d never do such a thing without explicit consent from you, but the thought of it is exhilarating. 

testing the waters, you offer him a teasing grin in response, boldly stating, “will you kiss me if i do?”

he freezes at your words, the severity of the situation sinking in - realizing just how much he’s invading your personal space. his typical red face is now a much softer shade of pink ; cuter, even. 

as the full weight of his actions invades every section of his brain, he opts to just mumble, “... maybe later,” before sitting back down and stewing in his own humiliation.

༄ jamil viper:

“you’re making a mess,” jamil chides you lightly, tenderly swiping a napkin across your cheek to clean the remnants of the dolma he made you for dinner. it was rare for scarabia’s dining hall to be deserted so early in the night, but you were grateful for a more peaceful setting than usual. (he told the entire dorm he’ll stick laxatives in every meal for the next month if a single one of them bothered you both tonight. none of them wanted to find out if he meant it.)

jamil’s eyes are trained on you while you lift the fork for another bite and a sigh follows him as more of the glaze drips down your mouth. he presses the napkin to you once more and quietly admonishes, “where would you be without me?”

you swallow and playfully poke his nose while responding, “lost, probably. you’re like a reliable baby brother, y’know?”

the smile on his face drops in an instant and he clenches his teeth, shutting his eyes for a few moments. the reaction is so unexpected that you’re unsure of how to even follow up until he speaks. “you’re an absolute fool.”

he slowly stands, placing his hands on the table with you in between them. his legs slot against your own and you can feel the wood from the table’s edge pressing into your back, but the pain doesn’t register as he gets closer to you.

“between you and kalim,” he says while holding your jaw between his thumb and pointer finger, “i must have a penchant for attracting idiots to my side. do you honestly think all of this was done simply in good faith and nothing else?”

to his credit, he has a point. jamil isn’t exactly a selfless person (not by choice, anyway) but he’s not easy to read either. if there was some kind of hidden intent, you sure as hell weren’t gonna find it.

“humor me for a moment,” comes his low voice while his forehead rests against yours. “if that’s all i’ll ever be to you, if you’ll never give me the grace of being viewed as a true suitor for your hand, then tell me now so i can stop wasting my time on inevitable failure.”

a proper answer evades you completely. jamil has never struck you as someone with romantic interest in anything, nevermind you specifically  — but that doesn’t mean you’re against being in a relationship with him.

“what if i do see you in that way, then?” you ask with a growing grin, curious to see how far this adrenaline rush will take him. 

when his lips eagerly descend onto yours, his thumb moving to press against the junction of your throat, you find out how tough it is to swallow your own words.

[pedgito]

𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄 | Jesse (TLOU) x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec 

summary | Anger finds you both in a moment of weakness.

author's note | Young Mazino's portrayal of Jesse needs to be studied. They plucked that man straight out of the game. Anyways, the girlies and I had a visceral reaction to his outburst last night and I had to fulfill my duties.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, angry!jesse, dom/sub elements, public sex, brief mention of injury and an attack, angst and tense arguments, vague backstory this is mostly pwp, taunting, unprotected piv, spit as lube, i know this man fucks nasty, that is all <3

word count — 3.3k

The way silence consumed him was terrifying.

Your patrol had gone awry. A simple check in with base and a quick sweep had swiftly turned into a fight for your life, neither of you at fault but an unwillingness to admit both of you could have avoided the situation altogether. 

The night was all-consuming, swarming around him in the dark and shaded protection of the stables.

He had been off his game admittedly, running on a few hours of sleep the past few days and may have missed a checkpoint or two on the way to the patrol area, but you couldn’t be angry with him – the area was always quiet, never gave anyone issues, it was safe.

Until it wasn’t.

You fell asleep during watch, something both of you were guilty of from time to time, but you never slipped too far into deep sleep, constantly on edge. But, with Jesse’s head leaning against your left hip while you had nestled up in the small alcove of the window, it was inevitable.

“We don’t talk about it,” you coax him into secrecy, watching as he slowly bandages the gash on your hand, his jaw set as he remains quiet, eyes flickering up to look at you briefly.

“Tommy should know,” Jesse says eventually, a stickler for rules and the distinct line of command that was unofficially set for the people running patrol—Jesse had become one of Tommy’s most-trusted leaders outside of him and his brother Joel.

It went against everything Jesse stood for—lies, he hated lying.

“They’re dead,” you remind him, “crisis averted, problem solved.”

“You think they’ll take you off patrol, don’t you?” Jesse pries, tying up the bandage so tight it makes you wince, but you know it was all in an effort to control the bleeding.

“The last kid I was with got bit and they took me off patrol for two months,” you retort back with a tinge of anger, “I’ve spent eight months building trust with them, proving I could lead just like you, but I can’t control some eighteen year old kid because he thinks he fuckin’ knows everything?” Jesse knew vaguely of the situation, knowing himself that the kid would be a problem, but less likely to disobey under Jesse’s command.

“It was a test,” you tell him, “I failed—I finally get a chance to do something I feel comfortable with again and we get ambushed, I’m injured—and they—he…he almost,”

“Hey,” Jesse lowers his voice, softer.

You hated it. You hated the pity.

You and Jesse had an unspoken understanding, even if you weren’t really friends.

You didn’t hang out with him outside of patrol, didn’t seek him out in the crowd during town parties and dinners, whatever connection you had with him remained outside the boundaries of Jackson.

You didn’t know how he ended up in Jackson, you’ve never spoken to his family or friends. You were reclusive, preferred being on your own. Joel had found you stealing from the kitchen, a stray with nowhere to go, a fearful look in your eyes as Joel had rangled you up and hauled you to his brother, presenting him with the problem.

You. You were the problem.

You’ve been proving yourself ever since, trying to match up to Jesse.

“I don’t need you to coddle me,” you snapped at him, his fingers still lingering on the back of your palm as he examined his work, watching the tinge of blood seep through the bandage.

Being vulnerable in front of anyone, let alone Jesse, was completely off the table.

The raiders had forced it out of you and now—well, you had nowhere to hide. 

“I’m not keeping your fuckin’ secrets,” Jesse barks, though his voice is low.

“Fine, go tell Tommy how you were being careless,” you challenge him, “skip a couple checkpoints—no biggie, it doesn’t matter,” you shake your head in annoyance as he turns his head and looks away from you, “you were nodding off the entire ride there, you know?”

“Does anyone ever tell you how irritating you can be?” Jesse asks, head snapping back to look at you and you smile in amusement, letting out a bitter laugh.

“Come on, let me hear it,” you taunt him, “tell me how Tommy did me a favor by taking me in, how I’m surviving on borrowed time, how much you can’t fucking stand me—oh, but you sure do love to mope about Dina when you’re fighting because really, who am I gonna tell? Am I only safe to be around whenever we’re outside of Jackson? Is it because everyone still looks at me like I’m an outsider?”

You couldn’t explain how long this had been building between you and Jesse, the inevitable outburst, thankful for an empty stable and sleeping horses, all of Jackson tucked safely in their beds while you wanted nothing more than to run.

Especially with the way Jesse was looking at you now.

“I think your refuse to trust anyone,” Jesse counters and your heart sinks in an instant, “I think all that matters to you is trying to prove people that you’re impenetrable, like you don’t have a weakness—”

You scoff, sliding off of the workbench Jesse had initially crowded you against, his pack still laying unzipped and strung open but he wasn’t letting you off that easy, his hand curling tight around your bicep to yank you back, your hand coming up quickly to counter his grab.

But, Jesse was skilled in hand to hand combat, so his counter comes just as quick, squeezing and twisting your arms up so tight that you’re immobile, stuck under his heavy gaze as you both breath into each other’s space.

“I never would have let him go that far,” Jesse admits, “and I know you were scared, but—”

“I wouldn’t have let him,” you challenge him, a stark reminder of your strength—Jesse could admit that, as unwilling as you were to appear human or show any tangible emotion, you could handle yourself in a life or death situation, you had a survival instinct that was vital in the current state of the world, “I let him touch me because it gave me an opening, not because I was scared,”

It was a lie, even Jesse could see through it.

–

Jesse had overpowered one of the two men that had attempted to ambush you on patrol while the other man had you held down, preparing to indulge in a lot more than just murder.

This man was so much stronger and the fight with the other assailant had led Jesse outside, his grunts echoing in your ear alongside the stiff and deafening crack of his fist against skin and bone.

You’re growling behind gritted teeth as his knee digs into your back, the deft sound of a belt unbuckling before a hand is diving under your jeans, giving you an opening as the attacker’s head bows and you rip off his ear with your teeth, an echo of a blood-curdling scream lets out before your hearing goes quiet and then rings as a bullet strikes him dead center, right through his skull.

Your eyes were wide with fear for only a brief second and the look of instant pity that Jesse had on his face was something you never wanted to witness again—but, there it was again.

–

Your lips pull into a thin line as you attempt to shrug him off, but he isn’t letting you go.

“What if I hadn’t shot him?” Jesse asks, eyes half-lidded as he stares you down.

Your eyes search his own for a moment, finding that his grip loosens as he tries to decipher whatever emotion you were currently feeling, but he is far too late when he finds that it was only anger, your hand rearing back to strike him, a slap that sounds inside the stables with a heavy crack, pulling back from him in an instant as his face refuses to change.

“Yeah, get angry,” Jesse encourages, “you wanna do it again?”

Part of you wants too, but you understand what he’s trying to do.

You needed an outlet, you didn’t have one, and he was willing to be that for you.

Your bottom lip temples slightly and Jesse nods, almost taunting.

When you finally do, feeling the rage in your chest swell as he goads you on, raising your hand back to slap him again, his hand is already there, stopping you in an instant.

There’s a split second, fearing whatever words were about to spill from his mouth before you decide to act, begging for any escape from this conversation, you silence him with your own mouth.

Your hand twists into his hair as you pull him to you, against you, his weight guiding you against the wall behind you as your bodies thump against hit, breathing hot and heavy into his mouth as split his lips with your tongue, hearing him groaning softly as his grip on your wrist loosens before trading for your waist, holding you tight against the wall as you were pinned between him and the hard surface of wood.

It was inevitable.

This—you and him.

It had been building, creeping in the shadows whenever you two would share a look or a touch.

You didn’t like complicated—and Jesse had that in droves.

Still, the silent gasps that escape him as your other hand shifts into his hair and tugs alongside the other, tethers you to him.

You want it to hurt. Deeply.

Not him necessarily—but the connection, this moment.

Because that would make it easier to hate yourself for wanting him so badly, even if it was nothing but a distraction or a means of avoidance.

He was apprehensive for a moment, almost pushing you away from him, but something in him relaxes as you moan softly into his mouth, less defensive as he presses the hard, solidness of his chest against your own and reciprocates the kiss with a sudden enthusiasm. 

Jesse kissed like someone holding something back—he always has, even in arguments.

It wasn’t to be secretive or manipulated, it was because he was controlled. 

Everything he did was a calculation. 

You press him harder, push him further, feeling his tongue drift over your split lip from the earlier attack, faintly aware of the sting as he lapped at the small drop of blood that had collected there.

He groans low in his chest as you break the kiss, resting your forehead to his as your eyes peer into his own, wordless but aching to speak—you do that for him, “Dina?”

“Off,” he says simply, knowing full-well what that meant—he was just as eager for distraction.

Jesse focuses on you quietly, hand rising until his thumb could brush across your cheek. 

You flinch—not from the touch, but from the tenderness.

You preferred the violence—his instinct for softness with you wasn’t welcomed.

“Don’t be sweet to me,” you whisper, shaking your head with the weight of your words.

His jaw tightens and his nostrils flare slightly, tilting his chin down to look at you.

His hand lingers at your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek once more before curling under your chin, lifting your face so you have no choice but to look at him, your eyes frantically searching his face.

“I’m not,” he says, like a growl—and you can feel the heat in his tone, strangled by his own instinct to control himself.

You kiss him again before he can say anything else.

Words complicate things.

Words make things real. 

But this?

It was instinct.

His mouth crashes into yours with a similar fervor, teeth knocking briefly. You bite his bottom lip hard enough to draw a gasp and enough blood to match your own, hearing him groan into your mouth, gripping your hips impossibly tighter as a hand spreads out over your ass, curling under your thigh as he hoists it up against his hip, his knees pressing into the wall to entrap you further, a fist landing a blow against the wall beside your head.

You grind down against the thigh slotted between your legs, chasing a desperate friction that seemed unattainable. Your hand threads around the collar of his jacket, yanking hard as you angle your hips against his and he grunts—short, rough—a sound that makes your stomach somersault. 

"Soft? With you?" he mutters, breath hot as he drags his lips down the side of your throat. “Fucking impossible,”

Your jacket's shoved halfway down your arms, mirroring his own before your hands find his belt, tugging with impatient and shaky fingers. Jesse curses softly against your neck as his mouth trails until he can feel your pulse against his tongue, blindly tugging your jacket the rest of the way down before his hands move underneath your shirt, his palms curling against your sides as he squeezes the soft flesh under his grip.

You rip his belt from the loops and toss it aside, quickly shuffling his jeans down enough that he stops his movements against your neck to do the same, consuming your mouth to avoid the inevitable longing gaze, unbutton your jeans and slipping his hands under the fabric of your underwear, shoving the fabric down in one swift movement.

"Turn around," he demands in a low tone, voice sounding raw, frayed.

Jesse doesn’t offer much time to answer before he’s spinning you himself, your hands reaching behind you blindly to slip under the waistband of his underwear and push them down, hearing him grunt softly as your hand grazes his cock—hard and heavy in your hand but soft, his hand snaking around your neck to tilt your head back, catching a glimpse of the way his lips part at your touch, eyes closed.

His breath is heavy, labored. It matched your own.

Jesse pointedly catches your gaze as you let out a high pitched and breathy gasp as his finger squeezes around your neck, licking at the fingers of his empty hand before he spreads the makeshift lubrication from his saliva over your cunt, only partially surprised by how wet you already were.

When he enters you, it’s with no hesitation, no slowness, no apologies. 

He was giving you exactly what you wanted.

You arch back against him, a harsh breath ripping from your throat as he sets a bruising rhythm, hands now gripping your wrists so tightly it borders on painful.

Perfect, you think.

He positions your hands above your head, forcing them to grab onto a hook nailed into the wall before he returns the pressure to your throat and silently forces your jeans further down until they’re pooling around your dirtied boots, snaking his hand around the inside of your thigh as he palmed at the flesh, greedy.

But you want it that way.

Angry and desperate, driven by pleasure and need.

“Fuck,” you gasp softly, a devastating slip-up.

“Shut up,” he seethes, “I don’t wanna hear a fuckin’ word from you, got it?”

You nod quickly, eyes fluttering shut as you could feel the frustration rolling off of him in waves, through his touches, the quick and sharp thrust of his hips as he fucked you into an inevitable submission against the wall of the stables, blearily aware that anyone could come in and catch you like this.

It didn’t matter. It didn’t fucking matter.

Nothing mattered, really.

Jesse's thrusts grew more erratic, punctuated by the low growls that escaped his throat.

He was wrestling with something internally, almost animalistic. 

The grip on your throat tightened slightly, your pulse thrumming under his touch. You pushed back against him harder, desperately and silently asking for more, go further, go harder.

“You were scared, I saw it,” he grunted, his breath hot against your ear, and you could only manage a fragmented whimper in response, “I still see it,”

You didn’t need words—your body spoke for you.

Each thrust drove him deeper into you, struggling to keep yourself quiet as you bit down on your bottom lip, already swollen from the earlier attack, but the pain was welcomed.

Your breath quickened, the sharp edge of your pleasure driven deeper with every merciless thrust. “I’m not scared,” you managed to breathe, defying his earlier order. Jesse's grip tightened in warning, a growl rumbling up from his chest.

“Fuckin’ liar,” he hissed, punctuating each word with a brutal thrust.

The stables around you faded into nothing, a dark abyss, the only sound that mattered was the heavy thud of his body against yours and the way he filled you completely, stretched you out and kept you anchored to him.

He leaned closer, mouth brushing against your ear as he whispered, “I see right through you,” he reminds you, “always tryin’ to prove somethin’—tough girl, unforgiving world, right?”

You growl in frustration, the heat of his words igniting something primal in you, “You don’t know me,” you hiss, but it only fuels him further as he drives into you harder, “no one does.”

“I know enough,” he taunts back, voice low and laced with a deep, dark pleasure.

Each thrust pushed you closer to the edge, eventually divulging into a mess of limbs as Jesse leaned against you, pushing you up against the wall as he thrust into you, free hand slipping under your shirt to roam over your chest, squeezing harshly over the fabric holding your breasts in, feeling your nipples pebble underneath the fabric with a sick satisfaction that he barely even had to touch you to get you like this—breathless and needy.

The world around you faded to a dull thrum in your ears as Jesse continued his relentless pace, the friction between your bodies becoming the only thing that mattered until his thrusts faltered, feeling your orgasm creep in before quickly slipping away as his pace slows, but as if he heard your silent plea, his hand slips between your legs without a thought.

“That kid was never your fault,” Jesse tells you, feeling your chest lock up in fear, “it could have been any of us—and today, we’re alive, right?”

You nod, mouth hanging open as a broken sigh slips out, his fingers moving expertly over your swollen clit, “I won’t tell Tommy,” Jesse agrees, “but, you will.”

You both slip into a silence as your orgasms crest—a mingling of breaths, cheek against cheek as your cunt spasms and squeezes around him so tight he nearly chokes, slipping out of you hurriedly as his comes spills over his fist and against the back of your thigh as you heave in a charged breath, releasing it shakily. 

After a moment, Jesse clears his throat, ripping off a fabric hidden inside his back before he approaches you, cleaning you up without a word as you examine him carefully, pulling up the layers of fabric with caution as his are hoisted up but hanging low on his hips, a remnant of what had just happened. 

“I won’t lie to him,” Jesse explains, “but, you seem pretty good at that.”

He silently adjusts his jeans, re-looping his belt before he’s reaching for his jacket and backpack.

“This didn’t happen,” Jesse tells you, “tell him or not—but if he asks me, I’m not lying.”

Integrity was everything to Jesse, but this blip between you both seemed to be his exception.

You had a choice—but you weren’t sure if making the right one was even worth it.

“Jesse,” you called softly, the sound barely escaping your lips as he turned back, eyes sharp and calculating. He was such a puzzle—difficult, infuriating. You don’t know why the words slip out so easily or why you feel them so strongly, “thank you,” you tell him, his face softening slightly.

The charged essence of what had just transpired seemed to bind you to him even tighter now, even if unintentional. It was an unbreakable thread forged in desperation. 

Unspoken, you were tethered whether you liked it or not.

“Let me know when you figure out what you’re thanking me for.”

Maybe it was for your life, maybe it wasn’t.

You weren’t sure if you even meant it.

[rosesnbooks]

❤️Scorpio placements🖤

💋sun in scorpio: scorpio suns are complex and those with this placement vary a lot. i have no trouble figuring out someone's moon in scorpio but it gets a bit difficult when it comes to the sun. either way, they always have a strong presence and they don't go unnoticed. people tend to form strong opinions about them, whether good or bad. their aesthetics can be different, with some even leaning toward softer looks. the women can be really cheerful and soft, but persevering. the men tend to be more on the "man of few words" side while trying to upkeep a masculine demeanor. they tend to have a great memory and they form strong attachements with their loved ones. they can be either shy or outgoing, but one thing they have in common is that they remain a mystery to a certain degree. they are full of life and they are very curious, and intellectual. they are funny and they love humorous people too. they are interested in many things and they like direct people who are fun to be with. the toxic ones can be really mean and gossipy, while others can be attentive and interesting. they appreciate the beauty in small things in life but they also have high ambitions and aren't afraid to dream big. they are responsible and mature for their age (obviously not everyone but yeah). they are hidden romantics and they have a crush most of the time

💋moon in scorpio: sensitive people with lots of emotions they try to keep hidden. they are very careful who they open up to and people tend to drain their energy, or they simply get tired of keeping up appearances. they want to have people in their lives who make them feel safe and they want someone they can confide into. they try to be independent but they want to rely on others sometimes too. they crave to be understood but they also want to remain a mysterious persona. they also crave a lot of passion in their daily lives and romance. they need hobbies and people that make them feel alive. those who do not manage to find such things tend to become obsessive with love and..yk...because it can give them that high. nevertheless, they are very passionate and creative. they are intuitive and feel other people's emotions but their emotional intelligence depends on their personal growth and their ability to be open-minded. they are prepared to do whatever it takes for their loved ones. i have noticed that they can be hard on themselves and that they wish to be more detached because it seems less complicated. despite craving privacy, i think many of them like attention, especially from the right people. they are yearners at their core.

💋ascendant/rising sign in scorpio: these people seem intimidating at first. they could have a soft aesthetic and everything and still not be easily approachable because of their aura. and yet, people can't seem to stop gravitating toward them. they usually leave an impression even in the shortest of interactions and people want to know what's happening in their mind. they are a lot more sensitive than they look. when relaxed and confident, their demeanor can be hypnotizing and they can turn on their charm easily. i have noticed that they find a fashion style they like and stick to it religiously. many prefer darker colors or more neutral tones they can combine with similar shades. the textures can vary but I rarely see them in any flashing colors. their eyes have a specific depth to them and you feel like they're always out of your reach somehow. they are a bit shy with new people but once they relax they can be humorous and talkative. others may think that they flirt a lot more than they actually do, which can get annoying. i've noticed that they attract emotionally immature people and men who show signs of toxic masculinity. they really like music and their alone time. food is also important to them!

💋mercury in scorpio-these people may not be of too many words unless they feel comfortable with you and even then, they are not yappers (in my experience). they observe people to form strong impressions. they are not the biggest fans of confrontation because they know things could get out of hand, so if they decide to fight with you, you must have pressed all the wrong buttons; especially if you hurt someone they love. they are honest and they like to get straight to the point. they talk with passion regarding the things they like. many of them really like gossip and their tendency to form strong first impressions can be impulsive and incorrect at times, so they need to be a bit more open-minded and patient with people. they are true skeptics sometimes because they need to believe in something 100% before acknowledging it. they also like taboo/darker topics. they are interested in the human nature and value truth even when it is uncomfortable and painful. they know how to read between the lines and figure out the true meaning of someone's words, so they are not easily fooled. they are not interested in small talk, in fact it drains them. i think journaling is amazing for all signs, but scorpios could benefit from it especially. basically, any outlet that lets them express their emotions and creativity without shame or fear, is good for them. it can be hard to compromise with them sometimes, and they need to work on that.

💋venus in scorpio-they want partners they can trust wholeheartedly. they may get entangled in some affairs because of their passionate nature and a deep desire for love. when they find the right person for them, they are dedicated, loyal and borderline obsessed haha. their partner becomes a part of them. i've seen some people write that scorpios can cheat their partners if they meet someone who provides the passion that is otherwise lacking in their relationship. i think anyone can cheat, so i don't have the need to comment on that. they probably had some karmic relationships in their life that taught them, the hard way, the kind of partner that's actually good for them. they are not afraid of seeing their loved one's dark sides. in fact, that just brings them even closer because they feel like they got to know them properly and they feel less ashamed of their own darker characteristics. these people are really sensual and they make their partners feel desired and wanted. truly not for those with weaker hearts. once again, they can be stubborn so they need a patient partner with a strong character. they need someone who will be a safe haven for them; someone intuitive, kind, honest, responsible, and well-tempered. they want a healthy relationship, the kind that feels like true love. people who value their freedom and alone time a lottt are not the best match for them, as well as those who lack empathy and healthy communication. in regards to their style i think it is more varied than people may think. people always say that they are romantic but i think this depends on the rest of their chart althoough in general, they are.

💋mars in scorpio-these people are very intense. they can be stubborn and they dislike obeying authority. if they think they're right about things, they can find it difficult to consider other perspectives. they put their heart into everything they do and they dislike doing anything half-heartedly. once they lose interest in something, it is hard to get right back to it, which is why they tend to excel in things that interest them, while performing more on the average side on things that don't matter to them/make sense. they are strong-willed and no matter the obstacles and the dark periods in their life, they persevere and learn from every experience. i've written once that they tend to be either hypersexual or on the asexual spectrum, haven't noticed anything in between much (and i still stand by it). when they get angry they feel consumed by it, and the feeling can stay with them for a while. that can be really tiring. they want to resolve things immediately but they feel blinded by their emotions so they usually have to wait to cool off and think about things before giving a healthy response. they can say hurtful things and hold grudges for a long time. i feel like they are fully aware of all the darker aspects of their personality. they can be overly protective and possessive. but, their love is deep and strong, so people feel lucky to have them in their lives. people can depend on them and trust them with anything. they like taboo topics/darker topics and they are interested in spirituality; they even find comfort in it.

💋saturn in scorpio-i don't know anyone with this placement but i've heard a couple of things along the years. it is no secret that these people are afraid of intimacy and exploring their emotions. they are afraid of being too much and saying the wrong thing, which gets in the way of their personal and even professional life. they can be stubborn, secretive, and quick to judge. they are scared of relying on others so they deal with things alone. life has not treated them kindly and they underwent many transformations. they are strong individuals who can overcome any obstacles and they are very careful and observant. they don't rush into things and they are quite smart. their emotions and intuition provide a rich inner life and a big and loving heart that just needs to give people a chance more. they understand others because of everything they've been through and they can be someone's rock in difficult times. people naturally respect them and listen what they have to say attentively. i've read that they are often responsible with their finances and other reponsibilities. once they decide to work on themselves, a bright future awaits because they will realise their strength and invite wonderful people into their lives.

💋jupiter in scorpio-these people do anything their heart desires even when scared. they are careful, smart, passionate, and loving. they have most luck when they welcome change in their lives. that's when they grow as people and find many good things and people on the way. they use their intense emotions as a tool that guides them toward the truth, which is why they often make the right decisions and trust the right kind of people. they are magnetic and attractive. their wilpower is amazing and they have a great intuition. a lot of them are interested in spirituality and astrology. tarot may be something they are interested too. they have the ability to use their strengths for a good cause or for their selfish gains. this depends on them entirely. life can test them more than others which might seem unfair, which can lead someone toward a path of distrust and manipulation, or courage and honesty (and love, obviously). despite it all, some of them can be victims of manipulation (through media or the ones closest to them). people may learn what makes them tick and what they love and adapt accordingly, only to fulfil their malicious plans for them. i know someone with this placement who uses their intensity to get what they want and it can be morally troubling at times (e.g. using fear and power). they need to nourish their confidence and relationships with others in order to keep growing. nevertheless, they are interesting people you can't seem to forget

♡Thank you for reading dear! A little disclaimer: I am not a professional!♡

©rosesnbooks

[dearsnow]

YOUR BAR BOYFRIEND

- after being harassed by a drunken stranger, your bar boyfriend swoops in to save the day (bob floyd x fem!reader, fluff, reader is intended to be on the quieter/more introverted side, but if you’re not like that you can ignore that one line ⚠️ verbal sexual harassment, drinking).

PART 2

word count: 1,206

a/n - tell a friend to tell a friend… SHE’S BAAACKKKK!!!! i’m so glad to be back to writing, y’all have no idea how much i missed it. i’ll probably be a bit rusty until i find my rhythm, so please ignore the not-top-quality writing until then. also, feel free to send in requests or chat!!

“Oh, no, I’m sorry, I have a boyfriend.” You utter apologetically, side-stepping the arm of the man in front of you. He reeks of beer and a hard day’s work, his scruffy face all too unkept in the lighting of the bar. You can’t even fathom exactly why you’re in the bar in the first place- you’ve never been one to explore, but this man is making you feel like you never want to leave your house again.

Your eyes scan the room, but no one seems to notice your predicament. The bar is full of Navy men, surely one of them would be fine with pretending to help you. “C’mon, sugar, one drink. Thas’ all ya have to do. If it goes well, hey, I wouldn’t mind one fuck either.” He grins, winking. The hope that you held in your heart is quickly dissipating. “He don’t have to know.” You feel your stomach drop as he moves to grab your hand, but an firm grip shoves his fingers away instead.

“Honey, is this guy bothering you?” A voice behind you speaks. You quickly turn around.

“I… yeah.” You stutter. You’re staring right into the face of a guy in a uniform, his jaw set as he glares at the drunk through his glasses.

He moves in front of you, creating a physical barrier between you and the significantly shorter man. Relief floods you. “Then I think he’d better leave before someone kicks him out, huh?”

The intoxicated man rolls his eyes, but frantically shuffles out the door of the bar. His gait was evidently terrified.

The tension is pulled from your shoulders, and you unintentionally sigh. The guy with glasses turns around to face you. His expression is softer now that the threat is gone, and his concern is almost cute.

“Are you alright?” He asks. “I’m sorry for the pet name thing, but I overheard you and I couldn’t really just stand there and watch. I’m Bob, by the way, Bob Floyd.” He reaches his hand out for you to shake, and as you do, his hesitates through his rambling.

You smile at him. “Thank you, Bob, I’m fine. And I don’t mind.” His grip is firm but not crushing, just like his presence. You introduce yourself, and he nods like he’s desperate to commit the sound of your name to memory. The respectful tone is honestly a breath of fresh air with the raucous energy of the Hard Deck, causing your cheeks to be a few degrees warmer when you pull your hand away. Our of the corner of your eye, you can see him wipe his somewhat clammy hands on the sides of his pants.

“Also, I’m sorry for taking the place of your actual boyfriend. I assumed you just didn’t know where he was, so I stepped in.” His eyes search for your own, holding steady eye contact. They’re the prettiest shade of blue you’ve ever seen.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. I don’t actually have a boyfriend, but I thought a lie was the better choice. You saved me, and that’s all that matters.” Your voice has a certain breathy quality to it. You’ve completely transitioned from terror to being deeply attracted to the person who spared you an even more intense confrontation. Bob’s eyes widen just slightly.

He takes his hands away from his sides and motions to one of the tables in the corner, his face just the slightest bit pinker. “Would you want to sit down?”

You nod, and he leads the way. As he’s pulling out your chair for you, you can’t help but wonder how your night turned out this way. You went from having the worst night of your life to dizzily encountering the person you could only describe as being your bar boyfriend.

You just recently moved to this part of San Diego for a newfound job opportunity, completely unaware of your proximity to the Hard Deck and a Naval base. You didn’t know anyone or anything, and as someone who isn’t necessarily very outgoing, it was hard for you to adjust. Not even your coworkers were easy to make friends with, so you slowly became more and more isolated.

The bar was kind of your last resort. You didn’t expect to find anything great, and you still don’t know what compelled you to go, but some hidden part of you figured that at least you could get some form of entertainment. Finding Bob, though, you never expected.

Conversation feels easy with him. He seems like a quiet guy, but he knows exactly what to say to keep you talking, and he offers insights of his own that just further the subject you’re talking about. Words fly from your mouths, and you can say that you’ve never enjoyed talking more. You bounce from common topics like work and hobbies to deeper breakdowns of memories and experiences, your smile growing wider every second. You’re completely in a world that was built brick by brick for you and him.

You’re so lost in the moment that you don’t even notice the woman who rests her hand on the back of your chair until she speaks. “Bob, you of all people? Never would’ve expected you to abandon us for a pretty girl.”

Bob reddens as you turn to face her. “Sorry, Nat.”

She holds a hand out to you, which you shake. “Call me Phoenix. He’s my backseater, and apparently a lady killer tonight.”

Bob stands as Phoenix gives him a pointed look. “Sorry to steal him away from you, but he’s taken way too long of a break from our pool game. I’ll give him back to you later.”

“You say that like I’m a robot.” He grumbles, showing just a hint of disappointment at having to leave your conversation.

You wave him away. “Have fun, Bob. I’d better go anyways.”

“Wait-“ he starts as you stand up, “-could I give you my number first?”

You secretly cheer inside of your head. You nod, and he takes a pen out of his shirt pocket. “Here.” He mumbles, writing it on a spare napkin and handing it to you. His fingers brush over yours, sending electrifying sparks throughout your entire body. You could get used to this feeling, you think. His hand hovers for a split second before regretfully moving away. “It’s, uh, it’s up to you, but I’d really like it if you called or texted. I had a nice time with you.”

You tuck the napkin into your bag, eyes soft. Bob thinks he’s never seen a sight so beautiful- the sun is setting behind you, and it casts you in a golden light as your mouth quirks up. “Of course I will. I had a nice time with you too.”

Your voice is quiet, but a sound that he relishes all the same. He could’ve gotten lost in you if Phoenix wasn’t impatiently tapping her foot next to him.

She pulls him away, and though he knows he’s up for a lot of teasing, Bob can’t find it in himself to care. He just knows that he needs to see you again, and you know that no matter what, you’ll make it happen.

[brunchable]

Santa Baby | S. R.

Pairings: Steve Rogers x F!Reader Themes: Christmas FLUFF, a bit of jealousy from Steve. Summary: At the annual Christmas gala, your flirty performance of Santa Baby leaves Steve Rogers captivated and a little jealous of the attention you're drawing. Later, under the falling snow on the balcony, Steve finally proposes, turning the festive night into a moment you'll cherish forever. A/N: Can be connected to "Secret Santa" if you want to connect it to each other haha. This oneshot is a part of my 4K follower Christmas Celebration. Also this one will be connected to Santa Baby that will be released next week. dividers by @saradika-graphics

The annual Christmas gala was in full swing—twinkling fairy lights, glittering ornaments, and the comforting hum of laughter set the perfect holiday mood. You had been assigned to entertain the crowd, your role as the night’s singer solidified when Tony loudly declared, “Y/N’s got the voice of an angel! She’s doing it, no arguments!”

You stood at the microphone in your long, sultry red gown, the epitome of old-Hollywood glamour. The satin hugged your figure, the thigh-high slit adding an edge of daring sophistication. The room quieted as the band started playing, the familiar playful melody of Santa Baby filling the air.

And that’s when you saw him.

Steve Rogers, sitting at a corner table, a glass of eggnog in his hand and a faint pink flush already warming his cheeks. Perfect target.

With a coy smile, you launched into the song, every word dripping with playful flirtation.

“Santa baby, just slip a sable under the tree... for me...” you sang, letting your voice take on a velvety quality as you held Steve’s gaze. His eyes widened slightly, and you swore his grip on the eggnog tightened.

You strolled closer to the crowd, letting your hips sway naturally to the beat. The teasing smile never left your lips as you zeroed in on Steve, directing every lyric his way.

“Been an awful good girl... Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight.”

Steve’s blush deepened as you approached. He squirmed a little in his chair, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck. But as your performance continued, you noticed the looks from the other men in the room. Some were outright gawking, and a few whispered to each other, their eyes locked on your gown.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Steve’s expression darken, his jaw tightening as he followed their gazes. Sam, seated beside him, smirked and leaned over. You couldn’t hear their conversation, but Steve’s curt shake of his head and the glare he shot Sam made you giggle internally.

Still, you couldn’t resist turning the heat up a notch.

“Think of all the fun I’ve missed...” You winked directly at Steve. “Think of all the fellas that I haven’t kissed.”

Sam burst into laughter, giving Steve an exaggerated nudge. Poor Steve looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor, his ears bright red now, but his sharp glare shifted back to anyone in the room staring too long at you. His possessiveness was adorable—and obvious.

By the time you hit the final note, Steve was practically a Christmas decoration himself—his cheeks a matching shade to your dress. The crowd erupted into applause, but you were only looking at him, grinning mischievously as you gave a little bow.

× × × ×

Not long after, you were walking through the festive crowd when a strong, familiar hand gently grabbed your elbow. You turned, meeting Steve’s sheepish yet determined expression.

“Mind stepping outside with me for a second?”

You nodded, letting him guide you to the balcony. As you approached the doors, Steve paused and slid his coat off, wrapping it snugly around your shoulders. The warmth of the fabric and the subtle hint of his cologne made your cheeks heat.

“It’s cold out,” he said simply, his voice softer now.

Your heart fluttered as you adjusted the coat and followed him onto the balcony. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine. Twinkling lights illuminated his face, and you noticed how serious he seemed, his usual shy demeanor replaced by something more intense.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” he finally asked, his tone caught somewhere between teasing and genuinely flustered.

“What?” you replied innocently, feigning surprise. “It’s a Christmas classic! Everyone loves Santa Baby.”

“Yeah, well, everyone wasn’t being serenaded like that,” he muttered, his jaw tightening again. “And… not everyone was staring at you like that, either.”

You blinked in surprise, your lips curving into a slow grin. “Steve Rogers, are you jealous?”

His blush returned full force, but he held your gaze. 

“Maybe I am. Can you blame me? You look…” He gestured helplessly at you, searching for words. “You look like a dream tonight, Y/N. And I don’t want to share that dream with anyone else.”

Your heart melted on the spot, but you decided to push him just a little further. “Well, good thing it was just a performance. You know, for everyone.”

“Y/N,” he said softly, taking a step closer. “I need to say something. And… I can’t wait anymore.”

You tilted your head, your playful expression faltering as you noticed the sincerity in his eyes. Before you could speak, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.

“Steve…” you whispered, your breath catching.

“I’ve had this for months,” Steve admitted, his voice low but steady, the faintest tremor betraying his nerves. “I kept telling myself I’d wait for the perfect moment. Then you walked out tonight, looking like that, singing to me like that, and I realized… every moment with you is perfect. What am I waiting for?”

Your breath caught as he knelt down on one knee, his strong hand still holding yours as if grounding himself in you. The soft glow of the lights around you reflected in his blue eyes, filled with a mixture of nervousness and unwavering love.

“You, Y/N,” he began, his voice growing quieter, more tender. “You’re the brightest part of my life. You make me laugh, keep me on my toes, and remind me every day what it means to live fully. I don’t want to go another second without knowing you’ll always be by my side.”

His lips curved into a small, vulnerable smile as he revealed the vintage-style diamond ring nestled in the box. “Will you marry me?”

Tears blurred your vision as his words sank in, wrapping around your heart like the warmest embrace. “Steve…” you whispered, your voice catching, but the joy in your chest pushed through. “Yes. Yes, Steve. Of course!”

He stood slowly, slipping the ring onto your finger with such care it felt ceremonial, almost sacred. For a moment, you both just stared at the ring, the weight of the moment filling your heart with a radiant warmth.

And then his arms were around you, pulling you into a deep embrace. His lips found yours in a kiss so soft, so filled with emotion, it made the world around you disappear.

But Steve wasn’t done. As if overcome with the pure joy of your “yes,” he suddenly lifted you off your feet, your gasp turning into laughter against his mouth. He spun you around effortlessly, his hold on you as steady as his love, while snowflakes fell softly around you, dusting his shoulders and catching in your hair. The kiss grew deeper, his lips pressing against yours with a certainty that made your heart soar.

When he finally set you back down, the world felt quieter, the snow falling like a gentle curtain between you and everything else. You stayed close, his forehead resting against yours as your breaths mingled in the chilly night air.

“I love you,” he murmured softly, his voice steady and sure, his gaze locking onto yours.

A smile tugged at your lips as you cupped his face, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “I love you too, Steve,” you whispered, your voice trembling with joy.

His hands trailed down to your waist, holding you firmly but tenderly, as if grounding himself in the reality of the moment. His gaze softened further, filled with a quiet awe that mirrored your own.

For a long while, you simply stayed there, wrapped in his arms as the snow fell around you, the soft hum of music and laughter from the party barely audible in the background. This wasn’t just a memory—it was the start of something extraordinary.

Tags: @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @strawberrybisou @alyana-luvs-u @rogersbarber @veronicapaula

@fynnwolff @bmyva1entine @thereoncewasagirlnamedjane @awaywithtime

[meinii]

“high school sweethearts”

summary: you and Sylus start dating while in high school ૮꒰ྀི⸝⸝> . <⸝⸝꒱ྀིა

content: fluff, use of nicknames (sweetheart, my girl)

୨୧･｡｡･♡･∴･♡･｡｡･୨୧

the first time you met Sylus, you never imagined he’d become the person you couldn’t live without

he was notorious around school—sharp-witted, effortlessly cool, and somehow always at the center of every bit of mischief. teachers either loved or hated him, depending on the day. classmates admired him, feared him, or wished they were him. but you? you were different. you weren’t caught up in his reputation, nor were you particularly fazed by the smirks and cocky remarks he threw your way

maybe that’s why he liked you so much

“hey, you dropped something” Sylus had said one afternoon, just as you were packing up your things after class

you turned, only to find him standing behind you, dangling your pen between his fingers

you reached for it, but he pulled it just out of reach

“say please” he teased, red eyes glinting with amusement

“Sylus.”

he chuckled, finally placing the pen in your palm. but instead of walking away, he leaned in a little closer, watching you with the kind of intensity that made your breath catch

“you always so serious?”

“you always this annoying?”

his grin widened “only for you, sweetheart”

and from then on, Sylus had made it his personal mission to become a permanent part of your life.

dating Sylus in high school was an experience all on its own

he wasn’t the type to hide how he felt. he was bold, unashamed, and completely, utterly yours

he made sure everyone knew it too

he’d drape his blazer over your shoulders whenever you got cold, despite your protests that he needed it. he’d walk you to class, even if it meant showing up late to his own. he’d lean against your desk during lessons, whispering things in your ear just to see you flustered, all while feigning complete innocence when the teacher caught him

“pay attention, Sylus” you’d hiss under your breath

“oh, I am,” he’d murmur, lips barely inches from your ear “just not to the lesson.”

you swore he lived to tease you, to push your buttons just enough to earn that exasperated look you always gave him

but Sylus wasn’t just trouble

he was also the boy who carried your books when your bag was too heavy, the boy who sat with you on the rooftop during lunch when you needed quiet, the boy who knew exactly how you liked your coffee and brought it to you without fail before early morning exams

he was the boy who kissed you softly when no one was looking, like you were something precious

one afternoon, you found him waiting for you by the school gates, hands in his pockets, looking as effortlessly cool as ever

you raised a brow “waiting for someone?”

he smirked “yeah. my girl.”

your face heated, but you rolled your eyes, already used to his shamelessness. “and if your girl doesn’t want to walk home with you today?”

he tilted his head, stepping closer “then I’d have to convince her”

before you could react, he reached into his bag and pulled out a small paper bag, pressing it into your hands

confused, you peeked inside. your favorite pastries

you looked up at him, skeptical “bribery?”

he grinned “persuasion.”

you huffed, but you couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips. “fine. but only because I’m hungry”

Sylus chuckled, throwing an arm around your shoulders as the two of you started walking “whatever you say, sweetheart”

one evening, as the two of you sat on the bleachers after school, watching the sky turn shades of pink and gold, Sylus nudged your knee with his

“ever think about the future?” he asked, gaze fixed on the horizon

you hummed “sometimes”

he was quiet for a moment, then, softer—“you think we’ll still be together?”

the question caught you off guard. Sylus rarely voiced his deeper thoughts, always covering them with smirks and teasing remarks

you turned to face him, searching his expression

“I don’t know,” you admitted honestly “but I’d like to think so”

his lips quirked up, but there was something different in his eyes. something vulnerable

he reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

“then I’ll make sure of it.”

Sylus was your high school sweetheart—the boy who stole your heart so effortlessly, the boy who made you laugh, who drove you crazy, who held you like you were the most important thing in the world

and years later, when you looked back, you knew

you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

[orimuraa]

• The sun’s engaged to the sky - 이희승 ↳ ┊: falling behind - laufey

꒰ 𝔖𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 ꒱┆you were shy and introverted, but meeting a certain someone made you want to try and be more his type ⨾

۶ৎ heeseung x fem!reader┆fluff┆heeseung is the son of reader’s parent’s coworkers┆petnames, slight insecurities?┆wc 973

⤷ 𝐲𝐞𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: this was supposed to be a short drabble but i got a bit carried away…thank you to the anon who requested! i hope you enjoy >.<

꒰ঌ ℬℴℴ𝓀𝓈𝒽ℯ𝓁𝒻 ໒꒱

"y/n let's go!" you mom called out from downstairs.

your parents often had business meetings that they would take you on just so you wouldn't be alone all the time. however, you loved being alone. you were on the shy side and you found socializing immensely difficult, making the work meetings awkward for you.

"our client has a son who's around you age, sweetie!" your mom says in her bubbly tone when you arrive downstairs.

"great...friends..." you say sarcastically, letting your shoulders droop just at the dreadful thought. you weren't sure if you looked too dark but you wore your usual color—black. it wasn't anything too fancy, just a black collared shirt and some black dress pants.

the car ride was comfortable as you were able to drown out your anxiety with music while your parents talked. it wasn't that you were incapable of talking to people, it was just hard as you were a serious introvert.

when you arrived, you slowly got out of the car, attempting to delay your parents as much as possible. unfortunately, it didn't work as the other couple was already waiting for you at the entrance.

there stood a couple that you hardly looked at because right next to them was the most gorgeous man you have ever seen.

he was in a casual white dress shirt but damn he looked good. his hair was a shade of deep red while his bambi eyes sparkled brighter than the sun.

"hi, i'm heeseung! y/n, right?" you nod. "gorgeous name for a gorgeous girl" he winks. god damn his stupid flirting skills.

"h-hi..it's nice to meet you," you blush, unable to think properly anymore. he was so pretty it made you nervous and you resisted the urge to dig a hole and hide it it.

“nice to meet you to, i’m lee heeseung,” he smiled, sticking his hand out to shake yours. god- even his hand was pretty-

“well, you kids have fun while we do the adult talking,” you mom jokes, making you scowl.

your parents and his walked into a conference room, leaving you and heeseung to keep each other company.

“sooo…what do you like to do?..” you cringed at your poor attempt to make small talk.

“i like to write songs,” he smiles, everything getting more perfect each time you looked at him.

“oh? really? that’s cool,” you reply, mentally slapping yourself for being so awkward.

“how about yourself?” he asked, his voice so smooth and warm. no wonder he was a singer.

“i like to do art,” you say shyly, feeling your ears heat up.

“that’s so cool! i’ve always admired people with artistic talent..i..i can’t draw whatsoever,” he laughs, his eyes forming into little crescents.

“maybe i could draw while you make music..i think our parents will be meeting a lot more,” you offer, fiddling nervously with the hem of your sleeve.

“that sounds lovely y/n,” he smiles once again, his voice now softer.

when you got home, you realized that heeseung seemed like a very outgoing person. definitely the type of person you weren’t. then your mind started to drift. would he ever date someone like you? if you changed, would he then consider you?

you spent the test of your evening watching videos on how to be social and also fixing your all black wardrobe.

so the next time you went with your parents, you were basically a whole new person.

each time, you tried to slowly change. more laughs, more smiles, more personality. you hoped it caught heeseung’s eye.

you finally decided to go full out this meeting. maybe then heeseung would notice you for someone more his type. you were giddy and excited to go, skipping out of your room clad in a pink sweater and a black skirt.

“oh- sweetie are you okay?” your mom questioned, blown away by the change in her daughter.

“eh, leave her, she’s having fun,” your dad said, chuckling as he got in the car.

heeseung was just as perfect as he was the last time you saw him—if not more so.

“hi heeseung!” you smiled, a huge smile on your face.

“hi y/n, you seem different today?” he asked, an amused hanging on his lips.

“o-oh? really?” you stutter, caught off guard.

“y/n, you don’t need to change to please me,” heeseung says gently, moving one of his hands over to yours. “you were perfect as you were the first day i met you. in fact- i think i enjoy the shy ynnie better.”

“you really think so? but you’re so- you’re so…i don’t know! perfect!” you blurt, your confession coming from your lips.

“me? perfect? please, nobody’s perfect,” heeseung laughs, pushing back his hair. “plus, if i’m perfect, you must be beyond perfect, angel.”

“gosh- i don’t know how anyone could keep that up for their whole life! that was exhausting,” you sigh, letting your shoulders relax a bit. “but you really think i’m better all shy and unable to socialize?” you question, feeling the blush creep up your cheeks.

"i thought it was cute," heeseung shrugged, smirking when he saw how flustered you got. "besides, i want to be fall for the real you, not this made up one."

"what- you...you like me?" you freeze, unsure if you heard him correctly.

"yeah, i mean- you're so sweet and i find it so cute how you get so shy," heeseung chuckles lightly. "maybe i could take you on a date, angel?"

you didn't trust you voice enough to respond so you managed an enthusiastic nod towards heeseung. "i would really like that..." you said, your voice barely over a whisper.

"i'm glad our parents work together, and i'm glad i met you, cutie," heeseung says, booping your nose like you were a little kid.

he could get used to making you flustered.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ 𝐉𝐢𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @vmpivory, @yuvany, @seozii, @pinknjm, @greentulip, @jomisu, @nxzz-skz, @ancnymcnzjy, @hyukabean, @annybah, @ijustwannareadstuff20, @chaeneu, @17ericas, @firstclassjaylee, @riribelle, @right-person-wrong-time, @cheruphic, @woniefication, @melodiessvy, @soona-huh, @kiwicup, @yuuuraaa

[anakinstwinklebunny]

Hi bunny hihi 🔥🔥🔥 Imagine teenage mom!reader crocheting or knitting some clothes for teenage dad!sam and vinnie for fun since she likes giving gifts to the people she loves, and with them accompanying her to shop for yarn or materials for her various hobbies from time to time 😭😭❤️❤️❤️

(I just need some fluff rn 💔💔💔)

- 💀

PAIRING: sam monroe x pregnant!reader

FLUFF ❦

author's note: awwwww missed you 💀 nonnie!! Hope you like it :)

SAM MONROE. A teenage dad who had never thought he’d know the different types of yarn. He always thought they were the same. But since dating you, his very skilled girlfriend, yeah...he suddenly found out some yarns are more fluffy, some arent good enough to knitt them, some are just ugly cheap. Never thought he’d stand in a craft store, rocking a sleepy Vinnie strapped to his chest in the baby carrier, while you debated the exact shade of “buttermilk yellow” or “eggshell cream.” to pick

Yet here he was.

“Babe,” he muttered, leaning over to whisper in your ear like he was kind of afraid of people listening to whatever he would say “they all look the same.”

You rolled your eyes and held up two nearly identical skeins. “They’re not. This one’s softer. Feel it.”

Sam blinked. “It’s yarn.”

“Just feel it, Monroe.”

He groaned but reached out and pet the skein like it was a small animal. And yeah… okay. It was kinda soft. Maybe even nice. Vinnie made a small huffy sound in his sleep. Chubbt cheek squishing even more into his father's chest. Sam automatically bounced him a little. “He’s gonna end up wrapped in a whole-ass blanket, huh?”

“No,” you smiled, holding up another ball of blue yarn. “He’s getting a little bear hat. You are getting a scarf. And maybe socks. If you behave.” a smirk tugged at your lips

Sam’s cheeks flushed faintly at the words hitting his ears. He swallowed hard, almost feeling exposed, emotionally naked before you as he let his hard mask slip off. But he tried to play it cool. “Whatever. I guess I could wear your weird yarn stuff. For the baby. Or..whatever.”

———

Vinnie’s all cute and giggly. It was all full-body, snorty little baby giggles that made his round cheeks puff and his eyes squeeze shut, tiny legs go kick-kick-kick like he couldn't physically contain the joy he felt right now.

And all because of the dumbest, cutest thing.

His little knitted bear hat.

You’d spent hours on it. Picked the softest brown yarn, stitched two tiny ears that stuck up just a little crooked, and sewed on a little face with sleepy eyes and a stitched nose. It was barely holding together, kinda lopsided, but God did Vinnie love it. His pudgy hands clapped against each other, proudly showing off his positive emotions.

Sam was sitting on the floor, leaning back on his palms, watching it all go down with that look. The one he swears isn’t a smile but totally is. You knew him too well. And well, you caught him too easily.

“You’re not safe,” you whispered as you crept behind him.

“What?”

You plopped the matching hat right onto his head.

He froze. “What is this.”

You bit your lip. “A matching bear hat. For the big bear.”

Sam groaned. “No. Absolutely not. I am not—”

“BAHH!!” Vinnie squealed, spotting Sam’s headgear. The baby waddled straight to him, arms in the air out of pure excitement, before collapsing on Sam’s lap with a breathless laugh. Those pudgy fingers clutched at the edge of his hat like it was the best thing he’d ever gotten. Which, for you, was the truth

“Okay. Fine,” he muttered, fingers adjusting the ear flap so it sat more even. “But no one better see this.”

You didn’t care, really. Quickly your hands grabbed your phone, unlocking it, before snapping at least ten pictures and sending it to Sam's mother

Vinnie babbled happily against Sam’s chest, still clutching the matching bear hat like it was gold. Sam rolled his eyes. “He likes it too much. You’re setting him up to be weird, y’know that?”

You kissed Sam's cheek, your arm wrapping over his shoulder. “He’s got you as a dad. I think I’ve already accepted his fate.”

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @babybell-cheese @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca @rubiesarepretty @luluartpop @cloverina @nikiloveshayden @cherriies-snake @skywalkerssgirl

[santaasi]

softest spring

pairing: film director!james potter x actress!reader

summary: you don’t tell anyone it’s your birthday. but james potter knows anyway. and he’s the only one who cares enough to remember

warnings: slow burn, fluff, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 1.7k

a/n: it’s my birthday today — yay! can’t believe how old I feel, haha. I wanted to share a little fluffy (and maybe just a bit self-indulgent) piece of Muse with you. hope you enjoy it!

prev. episode // next episode

YOU DON’T TELL ANYONE IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY. Not out of mystery. Not for drama or some secret thrill. It’s just easier this way.

It’s not that you want to be forgotten—quite the opposite, really. Somewhere beneath your ribs, something small and hopeful clenches at the thought. But you’ve learned that silence is safer than expectation. That if no one knows, no one can fail you. No one can ruin it by remembering too late or not at all.

So instead, you build yourself a quiet kind of fortress. One where nothing can touch you if you pretend not to care. You say nothing.

You wake with sunlight spilling soft and warm across your sheets, golden and forgiving. There’s one message on your phone — a midnight timestamp, glowing quietly in the dark of your notifications.

Happy birthday, sweetheart. Proud of you, always. x Dad.

Your mum sends a photo from home: your little brother holding up a “23” candle that’s slightly melted and leaning sideways on a store-bought cake. Your sister texts saying she’ll FaceTime later, promising wine and gossip and blurry laughter from her kitchen. You smile at your screen and pull the duvet higher, cocooning yourself in warmth and pretend-enoughs.

University has been — distant. Not unkind. Just… arms-length.

It’s not that you mean to keep people out. You just learned to walk into rooms like you already know no one wants you there. And people — sensitive to temperature — feel the chill in your posture, the heat of your boundaries, and decide they’d rather not burn trying to reach you. They don’t say it outright. But you’ve heard the careful phrasing. She’s a little aloof. Cold, maybe. Thinks she’s better than us.

You don’t. You really don’t. You just haven’t figured out how to be smaller to fit their liking. And honestly, you’re not sure you want to. But that kind of stubbornness doesn’t make birthdays easier. It doesn’t soften the hours or fill the silence between lectures.

And so, you carry this day like a secret tucked into your coat pocket. A flicker of warmth. A little ache. And the quiet hope that maybe — not today, maybe not ever — but someday, someone will remember without needing to be told.

You don’t have plans. You move through the day like normal. Class. Notes. A half-hearted lunch. You leave early, unnoticed, the hours slipping past without resistance.

At 16:59, you’re outside the post-production suite, bag over your shoulder, boots scuffed from too much walking. Your lips are painted a shade deeper than usual — a quiet act of rebellion, or maybe a gift to yourself. You’re not sure which. It doesn’t matter. It’s yours.

Inside, James Potter is already hunched over the desk, framed by the soft hum of machines and dust-speckled light. His curls are a chaotic halo, silhouetted in the low glow of the monitors. You expect the usual when he sees you — some clipped remark about the last edit, a flurry of thoughts about color balance or transitions.

Instead, he looks up and smiles.

Not the wide, charming grin he hands out like candy to everyone else. This one is softer. Warmer. It feels… private. Like he’s offering it just to you.

“Hey,” he says. “Happy birthday.”

You blink. “What?”

“I said happy birthday.” He stands, brushing his hands on the thighs of his jeans, suddenly awkward in his own skin. “I know you didn’t tell anyone. Figured you might not want a fuss. But I thought– well. I just…”

He gestures toward the corner, sheepish now, like he’s unsure of himself, like he’s handed you something too tender to name.

You follow his gaze.

On the side table sits a cake. Pale and golden. Lemon, you think. Your favourite. The scent drifts faintly through the edit suite — sunlight in sugar form, not too sweet, not trying too hard. Beside it sits a small glass bottle of elderflower presse and two mismatched mugs, one chipped at the rim. A blanket — your blanket, technically, the one you always steal when you fall asleep on the studio couch — has been folded neatly over the armrest.

You don’t move at first. You just look. Let the picture settle around you, soft and improbable.

“You don’t like chocolate cake,” James says quietly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You said once it’s too… chocolate. So, lemon. From that place near the canal–  the bakery you mentioned after the second shoot. You said their frosting tasted like summer.”

Your throat tightens. The room seems to hush.

“How do you even remember that?” you ask, not accusing, just... stunned.

He shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck, gaze dropping to the floor like it might help him stay steady. “I pay attention.”

There’s a pause. One of those long, suspended moments that stretches out like a held breath. You don’t know what to do with the weight of it, so you move, slowly, toward the table. The cake is small, elegant. One candle flickers at its centre; its flame almost absurd, burning steady in the dim quiet of a post-production suite.

“You lit it already?” your voice is smaller than you expected. Barely above a whisper.

“I didn’t want to ask you to make a wish in front of me,” he says. “Figured… you might hate that.”

You glance back at him. A laugh escapes, surprised and hoarse, catching on the edge of something else. “So you decided to give me a solo candle moment. In the editing room.”

He grins — wide now, bashful and boyish. “Dramatic effect,” he says.

Your heart aches. Not the bad kind. The kind that feels like something blooming too fast inside your chest. The kind that’s dangerous only because it’s real.

And then you see the gift.

Small. Wrapped in soft brown paper, the kind used for parcels and poetry. Tied with old black camera tape, like film spooled around a secret.

You lift it carefully, fingertips brushing the edges. Peel back the paper like it might bleed if you’re not gentle enough.

Inside is a book. Not new. Its spine creased, corners curled like it's been lived in. You know it immediately — your favourite novel. The one you’d quoted once, absently, while adjusting the aperture on a shoot at golden hour. The one you lent him a week ago when he was curious why you always reread the same book over and over again. You hadn’t even thought he would read it. 

But this copy isn’t yours. Of course, it’s not. It’s someone else’s. Filled with underlines and looping margin notes, sentences circled in ink like someone had fallen a little bit in love with every word.

Your fingers drift over jumping letters, tracing ink like it might tell you something his voice hasn’t. You don’t speak at first. The silence stretches — two seconds, maybe three — but it feels like the air itself holds its breath.

“This was yours,” you murmur finally, not quite a question, more a quiet discovery.

James nods. “Found another copy last week. Brand new. Clean. But it didn’t feel right. This one’s better. It’s got… history.”

You sit slowly, the book settling into your lap like it belongs there. A lump rises in your throat — small and sharp and impossible to swallow. James says nothing. Just reaches for the elderflower bottle, pours it carefully into one of the mismatched mugs, and passes it to you like it’s something breakable. Sacred.

“Why did you do all this?” you ask, voice barely above the hum of the edit suite fan.

He meets your eyes. Steady. Quiet. Shrugs, but not dismissively. “Because I wanted to. Because… I figured maybe no one else would.”

You look at him — really look. Not just the silhouette you’ve grown used to across editing desks and camera rigs. But James, as he is now: curls tousled, ink smudged on his wrist, the ghosts of sleepless nights clinging to the edges of him. He looks tired. He looks lovely. He looks like he’s waiting for you to see him.

And you do.

You don’t say thank you. You don’t need to.

Instead, you shift — just an inch — closer. Just enough for your shoulders to brush. You take a sip of elderflower, let the cool fizz settle the tremble in your chest. You cut a piece of cake. Pass him a slice without speaking.

You lean back into the couch, into the hush of the moment, into the flickering golden quiet he’s given you. And for the first time today, warmth fills  your chest — slow and certain, like rays of sunshine. Not just on your skin, but deeper, in the hidden places that had curled in on themselves. The parts of you that had learned not to hope.

Maybe this — this softness, this noticing — is what it means to be known. Not because you asked. Not because you earned it. But just… because.

Eventually, you murmur, “You going to show me the edit, or are we just going to sit here drinking elderflower like it’s a silent film?”

James throws you a look, all boyish charm and a smile; the kind you never quite mind when it’s him. Never him. “Right. Yeah.”

The room fades into the hum of old speakers and shifting light. You spend the next hour shoulder to shoulder, knees barely brushing, watching yourselves flicker across the screen in half-formed takes and golden flares. Your voice loops in stereo. Your laughter spills like water. A version of you lives there now — cinematic, bright-eyed, untouchable.

And James, always leaning in, voice low, reverent.

“That frame– God, the way you walked into the light. Like you knew it was yours.”

“You didn’t blink. You didn’t even breathe. That moment… killed me.”

“I think this is the one. The cut I’ll send to the festival.”

And still, the candle flickers. The lemon cake is down to crumbs. The elderflower tastes like summer held between teeth. And his presence, so close beside you, begins to feel like something stitched into the shape of your day. Something you hadn’t realized you needed until it was here — quiet, real, and impossibly kind.

You don’t tell him. You won’t. Not yet.

But something in you folds, just slightly, like a page turned down in a well-loved book.

You fall a little bit in love with him that day.

Not in declarations or grand gestures.

Just… enough to begin.

thankx for reading <3

i love my birthday. i always have. there’s something quietly magical about having a whole day that’s just yours — even if it’s small, even if no one makes a big deal out of it.

this piece means more to me than i expected. it’s the first time something i wrote has felt this personal. i didn’t plan it, but somehow i ended up writing a part of myself — tucked between the lines, folded into the soft, quiet moments.

and maybe, when those moments come — the ones where you feel a little forgotten, a little invisible — we all deserve a james potter. someone who notices the little things. who remembers. who makes something gentle and meaningful just because it’s your day, and because you matter.

thank you so much for reading something this close to my heart. love you all endlessly. and as always, i’d truly appreciate any feedback, whether in the comments or my inbox. :3

                                    – your santi 🪐

masterlist // muse script

[silent-stories]

𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐇 𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

Pairing: underground fighter! noah x reader

Series summary: You’re dragged to watch an illegal fight, and after the match, you meet Noah, a fighter who seems to be battling more than just his opponents.

Tw: mentions of deceased family members, drinking.

Series masterlist

The walls of the tattoo shop were full of framed flash art and faded photos of past clients, the front counter had stickers scattered across its glass surface.

Amber was sitting in the chair across from you, legs tucked under her, scrolling on her phone as you answered the phone: a woman booking a consultation.

Nick, as usual, was posted up near the back, focused. His gloves were ink-smeared, head down as he worked on the sleeve of some guy sitting stiffly in the chair.

You wrapped up the call, set the appointment, jotted a few notes, then hung up.

“So?” Amber prompted, “You were saying?”

You gave a small, tired huff of breath and leaned back in your chair, rubbing at your temple.

“I gave him the bracelet. He gave me back my shirt...clean, actually. And for a second it was almost… good. Like, normal-good. He even smiled. He was joking around.”

Amber blinked, skeptical already.

“But then I asked him why he still fights,” you continued. “He just...flipped. Said we weren’t friends. Basically yelled at me, so I left.”

You looked over at her. She didn’t look surprised. Not really, but still a bit disappointed.

“Yeah,” she said slowly, “sounds about right.”

You tilted your head. “What does that mean?”

“It means you should probably let it go, I'm sorry.”

"Yeah, I should." You said tapping your fingertips on your sketchbook.

The tattoo machine's sound faded as Nick powered it down. He carefully wrapped a layer of plastic around the fresh tattoo on his client’s arm and then peeled off his gloves.

The guy nodded his thanks, grabbed his coat and headed out the door, the bell above it jingling behind him.

“Really, stop thinking about him,” Amber said. “He's not worth it.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re right. The whole thing is pointless. We gave each other our stuff back, and that's it.”

Amber didn’t add anything else.

A few seconds later, Nick approached you, stretching his arms over his head. “Alright,” he said, raising a brow at the two of you. “What are you girls whispering about over here?”

You shrugged, giving him a faint smile. “Nothing important. Really.”

He tilted his head, unconvinced but not pushing. “Mmm. Okay. So. The butterfly, right?”

Amber smiled. “Exactly.”

Nick reached over the counter to grab his book of tattoo designs, but his forearm accidentally knocked your sketchbook off the table. It landed on the floor with a soft thud, pages flipping open.

“Shit, sorry,” he said, crouching automatically to pick it up. But then he paused, looking down at the open page. “Wait, these are yours?”

You leaned forward, a little flustered. “Yeah.”

“Damn. You’re good.”

You gave a modest shrug. “Thanks.”

Nick handed the book back to you, grinning as he did. “No, really. Now I'm scared you're gonna steal my job.”

You chuckled.

Nick turned his attention to Amber, flipping open his design book and gesturing to different butterfly styles.

“Okay, so...” Nick pointed to a geometric one in the book. “This one’s kind of sharp and very symmetrical. Good for forearm or ankle. Clean lines.”

“Too sterile,” Amber said, wrinkling her nose. “I want it to feel…alive.”

“Alive?” Nick chuckled. “Should it breathe too?”

As they began discussing placement and color, you sat back, flipping slowly through your own sketchbook.

If it had fallen open to the wrong drawing, Nick would have asked who the hell the guy on that page was. And Amber would have probably guessed it right.

Noah's face was drawn from memory, defined jawline, but not too sharp, dark hair falling just past his eyes. His expression was serious, but in his eyes there was something softer.

You’d shaded a darker halo around one of his eyes: one of the bruises that hadn’t yet faded. There was a small cut along his bottom lip, another along his cheekbone, and a bigger one on his nose, like the last time you saw him.

And then, almost invisible unless you knew to look for them: freckles. Just a light dusting across his nose and cheeks. You hadn’t even seen them until the morning in the abandoned building he called home, when the sun slipped through the broken windows and kissed his face in just the right way.

You flipped the page before anyone could glance over. Then again. And again. Until the drawing was buried deep in the middle of the book.

Amber laughed at something Nick said, and you looked up, forcing your attention back to the moment, tapping your pencil absently on the edge of the sketchbook and telling yourself not to think about him again.

The apartment door creaked open and slammed shut again in one fluid motion, the sound echoing through the quiet living room.

You glanced up from the couch, a blanket draped over your legs, your sketchbook balanced on your knees. The pencil you’d been idly chewing on stilled as Kole strode into the room, hoodie half-zipped, hair slightly damp from the drizzle outside.

“Hey,” he said, already halfway to the kitchen. “Just grabbing something to eat real quick, then I’m out.”

You blinked. “Out? Where...”

And then it clicked.

You sat up straighter. “Again? Seriously?”

Kole opened the fridge and pulled out a plastic container, something leftover from the night before. He didn’t even bother microwaving it. Just popped the lid, grabbed a fork, and started eating cold pasta straight from the container.

“Dean told me,” he said between bites, “there’s this guy fighting tonight, maybe Leo? I don't remeber his name. Says he’s got about seventy-five percent odds to win. Can’t pass that up.”

You stared at him, unimpressed. “Kole, this shit is not football. It's illegal.”

He snorted. “Come on, don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m not. I just…” You trailed off, setting your sketchbook aside. “You’ve been going quite a lot lately.”

“It’s not like I’m fighting,” he said quickly. “I’m just watching. Betting a little. That’s it.”

“That’s still your whole night.”

He paused, chewing slower, eyes flicking toward you. “I’ll be back before midnight.”

“That’s not the point.”

There was a beat of silence.

Kole sighed and set the container down, fork still inside and walked towards you.

“I know you don’t like it,” he said. “But it’s not forever. It’s just... a thing for now.”

You exhaled, crossing your arms. “A ‘thing’ that ends with somebody in the ER.”

He gave a faint smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Okay?”

You hesitated.

Then, finally, with a tired kind of resignation, you muttered, “Okay.”

“Okay-okay?” he asked, stepping closer. “Like... tranquility okay?”

You let out a reluctant huff of laughter. “I don’t even know what that means.”

Kole leaned down and gave you a light kiss, quick and familiar.

When he pulled back, his face was close, eyes scanning yours for a second like he wanted to say more. But he didn’t.

He just smirked. “I’ll text you if Leo gets knocked out in the first round, alright?”

You rolled your eyes. “Great. Can’t wait.”

He grabbed his keys from the dish near the door, then paused before stepping out.

“See you later, if you'll be still up.”

You didn’t answer. The door shut behind him with a dull click.

A moment passed. Then another.

Outside, the sound of his car engine hummed to life, then faded into the distance.

You sank back onto the couch, staring at the spot where he’d just been. The kiss still lingered faintly on your lips, but it didn’t bring much comfort.

You stayed on the couch for a while, wrapped in your blanket, the TV humming faintly in the background as some random movie played on Netflix. You weren’t really watching it. Every so often, you glanced at your phone, but there were no messages. Just the usual notifications: missed memes from Amber, TikTok updates, a promo email from a store you kept forgetting to unsubscribe from.

Eventually, you gave up on pretending to be invested in the movie and let your thumb wander over your phone screen, watching some tiktoks.

At some point, your eyelids started to droop. You barely noticed when your phone slipped from your hand and landed beside you on the couch. The last thing you remembered was a girl on your screen arguing with her cat.

And then—

bzzz... bzzz...

Your phone lit up, screen vibrating on the cushion.

You blinked awake, confused for a second, your neck stiff from the way you’d slouched into the side of the couch.You reached for your phone and squinted at the caller: Kole.

You answered on the second ring, voice scratchy. “Hello?”

“Hey.” His voice sounded… off.

You sat up straighter. “What’s wrong?”

There was a pause.

“I, uh… I’ve got a flat. Like, completely flat. Back right tire’s toast.”

You rubbed your eyes. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. I came out for a smoke and it was just… gone. Totally flat. I didn’t even notice at first, until Dean started laughing and pointed it out.”

You frowned. “Did you run over something?”

Another pause. Then: “I don’t think so.”

You stayed silent, waiting.

Kole sighed. “Look, I can’t say for sure, but I think it was the guy who owed me money. From the bet. He didn’t take it well.”

“Are you serious?”

“I didn’t see him do it,” he added quickly. “But he was pissed and acting twitchy. I wouldn’t be surprised.”

You let your head fall back against the couch. “Jesus, Kole.”

“I know. I know. But now I need you to come get me.”

You exhaled slowly, already swinging your legs off the couch. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Late,” he admitted. “But I wouldn’t ask if I had any other way back. I swear.”

“I’ll be there in like fifty minutes.”

“You’re the best,” he said, "I'll be inside drinking something with Dean and the others."

"Alright." You hung up and went to grab your keys.

When you arrived, you made sure to park not too close. You didn’t want your car anywhere near the place, not after what had happened to Kole’s.

When you stepped out, the air was cool but it had stopped raining.

Somewhere nearby, water dripped from a pipe in slow, rhythmic taps. As you walked, your sneakers scuffed lightly against the asphalt, each step echoing just enough to make you feel too exposed.

Outside the warehouse, three men lingered. Two were huddled in a corner, cigarettes glowing between their fingers as they murmured to each other in low tones. The third paced slowly while talking into his phone.

You approached the steel door and knocked twice, and the sound echoed, sharp.

You waited.

After a moment, the door cracked open. The same guy from the last time stood there, thick arms crossed. He gave you a once-over, clearly recognizing you. Then he stepped aside.

Inside, no one was fighting, not anymore. The ring sat empty in the center of the room, and around it, clusters of people lounged or leaned against the walls, drinking, laughing and chatting.

You scanned the room. And then you saw him.

Kole was sitting on a worn-out leather couch near the far end with Dean and two other guys you didn’t know. A bottle of something half-empty in his hand, head tipped back in laughter. He didn’t see you. Didn’t even glance toward the entrance.

No urgency in his posture. No guilt. No "I called my girlfriend out of bed at almost 2 a.m. and I'm sorry" energy.

You stayed where you were, trying to decide if you should storm over or just turn around and leave him there for the night.

Then something pulled your attention.

On the far wall, half-obscured behind an old speaker and a stack of folding chairs, was a makeshift gallery, dozens of photos taped up messily, some curling at the edges. All of them from the fights.

Close-ups of broken noses, fists frozen mid-swing, blood spraying in arcs. Some people screaming. Some smiling through bloody teeth.

You stepped closer. And then your eyes landed on one in particular.

Noah.

Frozen in motion. Shirtless, chest covered in tattoos, hands still wrapped, mouth parted like he’d just let out a loud scream for the crowd. He looked flushed, victorious, a cut above his eyebrow barely scabbed.

He almost looked like he belonged here.

Suddenly, a voice behind you made you flinch.

“Ugly, right?”

You turned.

Noah stood a few feet away. Black hoodie. Hood up. Hands deep in the front pocket. His posture relaxed. You hadn’t heard him come up.

He gave a small, crooked smile. “If you want, I can sign it for you."

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“No thanks,” you said coolly, nodding once toward the photo. “I don’t need souvenirs.”

Noah’s smirk faded.

“Can we talk for a minute?”

You blinked. “Talk? Thought you didn't want to see me ever again.”

“Just… a minute. Please.”

You crossed your arms, keeping your voice low. “I didn’t come here for you.”

“I know.”

“I came to pick up Kole.”

And yeah, you were still kind of mad at Noah.

Noah’s eyes flicked over your shoulder toward the couch where Kole still sat, now leaning forward, animatedly telling a story to the guy on his right. His bottle swung loosely in his hand. Dean laughed too loudly at something, nearly knocking over a cup balanced on the floor.

Noah raised a brow. “Doesn’t look like he’s in any rush.”

You followed his gaze. And yeah, he wasn’t. Not even close.

Your jaw tightened. You looked back at Noah.

“…Okay,” you said, reluctantly.

He didn’t say anything, just turned toward the exit. As he walked, he paused at the door and pushed it open, then looked over his shoulder, waiting.

You realized he was holding it for you.

You slipped past him in silence, the night air greeting you again with its damp chill. The laughter and noise of the warehouse faded as the door closed behind you with a heavy thunk.

Noah walked a few steps ahead, then turned down the side of the building and toward a short stretch of pavement lined with a single skinny tree. Beneath it, half-hidden in the dark, sat an old wooden bench. It looked warped from weather, one leg slightly uneven, but still standing. Still enough for two.

He gestured to it wordlessly.

You followed. The sound of your footsteps on wet concrete filled the space between you.

And then you sat next to him. For a few moments, neither of you spoke.

“You’re wasting your minute, fighter boy.”

Noah huffed a quiet breath, almost a laugh, then he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry. For the other day. I shouldn’t’ve snapped like that.”

You didn’t answer, just kept your eyes forward, watching the way the leaves on the tree above you trembled faintly.

“It’s just…” he went on, “I don’t like certain questions. That’s all. But that’s on me."

You glanced at him, just briefly. His jaw was set, but not in that defensive, shut-everyone-out way he’d had before. It looked more like he was holding something in, like it actually cost him to say that out loud.

You shifted slightly on the bench, crossing one leg over the other.

“It’s your business,” you said, not unkindly. “I shouldn’t have pushed.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s not your fault. Since the first time you saw me, you’ve been… I don’t know. Just, so fucking kind. No one's kind to me around here, not unless they want something.”

He gave a crooked, almost embarrassed smile.

You cleared your throat. “Well, apology accepted,” you said finally. “But mostly because I hope I get to see Alpine again.”

That earned a short laugh from him. “Figured that might be the only way back into your good graces.”

You looked over at him fully now. The hood still shadowed most of his face, but the edge of his mouth was curled up. The tightness around his eyes was less than before, like he was relieved that you were joking again.

“I still think,” he added, “you should stay away. From me. From this place but your boyfriend seems to love it, so I'm not sure I can do something about it now.”

"Yeah. I hate him sometimes." You realized how this sounded just after you said it.

“You ever tell him that?”

You sighed through your nose. “He knows I don't like this. All he does is laugh, make a joke and kiss me like it could fix everything.”

Noah tilted his head, studying you. “So why are you here tonight?”

“Because I still care. And because a flat tire in this part of town at 2 a.m. is a pretty shit situation, even for someone acting like an idiot.”

“Fair.”

After a quiet moment, filled just by the wind rustling through the leaves and the distant voices from inside the warehouse, Noah shifted slightly beside you.

“You work?” he asked suddenly.

You blinked, turned your head halfway toward him. “What?”

He repeated, slower this time, almost like he wasn’t sure it was a weird question. “I asked if you work.”

You gave him a flat look. “Oh, look at that. Mr. ‘You should stay away’ playing Twenty Questions now?”

He laughed, and god, you loved that sound.

It burst out of him unguarded, loose and warm, with that almost high-pitched edge that didn’t suit his face or his body or anything about the way he usually carried himself. But it was real. The kind of laugh you only got out of someone when you caught them off guard in the best way. When they forgot to keep their walls up.

He ducked his head a little like he was embarrassed by it, which only made you smile.

“I’m just curious,” he said, still grinning. “I don’t actually know anything about you.”

“Exactly,” you said, “And I don't about you. That’s the point. You don't tell me shit, why should I?”

He looked at you for a moment.

"If you answer my questions, I'll tell you something about me too."

"This could work."

"Good." He chuckled.

“I work in a tattoo shop,” you said eventually. “Receptionist, mostly. Scheduling, phones, paperwork. I wipe down the floor too.”

He nodded, watching you. “Cool.”

He leaned back a little, shoulder grazing yours for just a second. “You got any pets?”

You let out a breath, half amused, half thoughtful. “No. I wish. But it’s hard, you know? Taking care of something… breathing, alive… in your house.”

He didn’t say anything right away, but you felt him look at you.

Then: “I think you’d do a good job.”

That surprised you. Your eyes slid over to him. “Why?”

He shrugged, barely lifting one shoulder. “Just would. I can tell.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Come on. You’ve seen me, what? Three times? Don’t start getting poetic on me.”

He turned toward you more fully, eyebrows up. “I’m not being poetic. It’s just true.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I mean it, you have that.... something in you. Something good.”

You blinked at that. Your mouth opened slightly, like you might say something, but nothing came out at first.

Noah rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. I know that came out weird.”

“No, it’s just…” you trailed off, then offered a small smile. “Unexpected.”

He smiled back, just a little.

You gave him a slow nod. “Okay, your turn. Tell me something.”

You expected him to dodge. To crack a joke or say something vague and slippery, keep playing the part of the guy who never lets anyone in. You didn’t expect what actually came next.

Noah looked down at his hands for a moment, thumbs rubbing together, his hoodie sleeves pushed up just enough to show the scabbed-over edge of a healing scrape.

Then he said, almost too quiet to catch, “I grew up without my dad, I never knew him.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t interrupt.

“My mom died when I was twelve.” He said. “I lived with my grandparents after that. They took me in. They were... good.”

He paused. The silence stretched.

“They’re gone now too.”

You swallowed, your heart heavy all of a sudden. “Noah…”

He shook his head once, not sharply, but like he was brushing something off his own shoulders. “It was a while ago. I was maybe seventeen when my granddad passed. Nana lasted a little longer. After her, I just… started doing this. The fighting. And I didn’t have anywhere else to go, so…”

He trailed off. You didn’t press. You didn’t need to.

There was a long, quiet moment.

Your voice was soft when you finally spoke. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t know.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just nodded once, like that was enough.

You reached over, without really thinking, and let your fingers brush his sleeve lightly. A small touch. Not much. But he didn’t pull away. Didn’t even flinch.

You didn't hold his hand, even if you wanted. Didn't even touch it. But that was the closest thing to it you could do right now.

You knew it wasn’t the whole story.

You didn’t know why he kept fighting. Or why he had started in the first place, and why he didn't even consider other job offers.

You didn’t know why he refused help, why if you offered him a way out, he shut the door harder.

But this was a beginning, because he’d opened up, even if just a little.

“No reason you would,” he said quietly. “I don’t talk about it. Not with people here. Not with anyone, really.”

“Why tell me?”

He looked over at you.

"I told you there was something in you, didn't I?"

And just like that, as if you’d both quietly forgotten you were sitting just a few steps from an illegal fight club, where your boyfriend was probably still downing cheap alcohol with his idiot friends, you and Noah ended up talking for almost an hour, in the middle of the night.

The conversation had shifted less heavy aspects of your lives.

You told him about that one guy who came into the shop to get a hyper-realistic portrait of his girlfriend’s face tattooed on his ass cheek.

“Dead serious. Full shading. Dimples and all,” you said, grinning as you mimed the size of it with your hands. “And the worst part? She broke up with him three days later.”

Noah had laughed, really laughed. “That’s tragic. But also, if you’re getting someone’s face permanently inked on your ass, you gotta be prepared for heartbreak.”

Then there was the time you and your best friend got completely lost in Italy, accidentally boarded the wrong train, and ended up two towns over, arguing with a bakery owner who didn’t speak English but kept handing you pastries.

Noah listened, smiling in that quiet way he had, like he wasn’t just hearing the story, but tucking it away somewhere, saving it.

At some point, he’d pulled the hood down from his head and now his hair was falling forward, a little messy, loose in the front.

A few strands framed his face, brushing past his eyes the same way they did in the drawing on your sketchbook.

It softened him somehow. He looked less like the guy who took punches for a living and more like someone who used to be a boy, who maybe still carried the ache of being one.

He told you about his grandma, how when he was a kid, she used to make him peanut butter and pickle sandwiches, just for him.

“She thought they were disgusting,” he said, the fondness in his voice so clear it caught you off guard, “but she made them anyway. Every single time I asked.”

You made a face. “That sounds awful.”

“No,” he said, pretending to be offended. “It’s one of the best things I’ve ever eaten. I swear. The sweet from the peanut butter, the salty and sour from the pickles... it’s... genius.”

“It still sounds kinda gross.”

“I promise it's good,” he countered, a hand over his heart.

You were both smiling now. The kind of easy, involuntary smile that just happens when you’re having a friendly conversation with someone you enjoy spending time with.

He let out a breath, leaning back against the bench with a quiet sound. “I haven’t had one of those in years. Kind of miss it, actually.”

There was something gentle about the way he said it. It was not just about the sandwich, but everything it stood for, like moments spent with someone who loved you and wasn't there anymore, moments of safety, of being looked after.

And you found yourself wanting, absurdly, to find him a jar of peanut butter and the weirdest pickles you could, just to give him that again. Even for five minutes. Even if it was dumb.

You didn’t say that. You just looked at him, watching the way the glow from the streetlight hit the edge of his profile, softening every part of him.

From this angle, side by side, you could see the curve of his nose clearly. Sharp but soft at the same time, the kind of nose that made you want to draw his face over and over again, trace it with your eyes just to memorize the shape. It suited his face in a way that felt unfair. You wondered if it had ever been broken, and if so, how it had healed back still looking like that.

“You’ve got weird taste,” you murmured eventually.

He grinned. “You’ve got no idea.”

You didn’t realize how much time had passed until a sudden breeze cut through the quiet and you reached for your phone out of habit. The screen lit up with the time.

3:12 a.m.

“I should… probably go check on Kole,” you said softly, eyes still on the phone. “It’s past three.”

Noah glanced over, the faint lines of a frown tugging at his brows. “Right,” he said after a second, pushing to his feet. “I’ll come with you.”

Inside, the space had thinned out since you'd left. Most of the crowd was gone, the ring dark and still in the center of the room. A few folding chairs were tipped over. Someone’s hoodie lay abandoned on the floor. Dean was across the room, stacking empty crates with the kind of slow, distracted movement that suggested he'd been drinking too.

Kole was slumped over at a folding table near the corner, head tipped back against the wall, mouth slack. His arms dangled limply at his sides. A scattering of empty bottles formed a loose semicircle around his chair. One had rolled to the floor and lay spinning slightly from the draft you’d let in.

You sighed, already exhausted.

“Kole,” you said, shaking his shoulder gently. “Hey.”

He stirred, barely. Mumbled something incoherent into the collar of his hoodie and turned his face to the side like you were the world’s most annoying alarm clock.

“Kole, come on,” you tried again, voice firmer this time. “We need to go. It’s late.”

He groaned, made a weak attempt at lifting his head, then gave up and slumped back down.

You straightened up slowly as you looked at him, not really knowing what to do.

Behind you, Noah shifted.

You turned and met his eyes.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at Kole, then at you. Then he let out a long breath through his nose. The kind of sigh that said he couldn't care less about your drunk boyfriend, but he still was going to help. For you.

“Take one of his arms,” he said simply, already stepping forward.

You bent down, looping one of Kole’s arms around your shoulder. Noah took the other. Between the two of you, you hauled him upright. His head lolled forward, chin to chest, as dead weight as a sack of wet sand.

Noah adjusted his grip. “I got him,” he murmured, as Kole started saying something like ‘babe… m’fine…’ into the crook of your neck.

You didn’t answer.

And like that, the two of you carried him out into the dark.

Noah’s arms ached faintly from holding Kole up, but he ignored it. The guy was deadweight, reeking of sweat, booze, and some awful cologne.

Still, Noah kept a steady grip, matching your pace as you both half-dragged, half-carried him toward the door.

It had been the first time in years that Noah had opened up to someone. Even just a little. He hadn’t meant to. But with you...he hadn’t felt the usual tightness in his throat when he spoke. You felt safe.

Every time you two talked, just a little longer than the time before, he felt lighter. Like something was slowly being unhooked from inside his chest and set down, piece by piece. He didn’t feel fixed, but he felt better. And that was rare.

He kept thinking about your hand.

About how, for a second out there in the dark, you’d almost taken his. You hadn’t. Your hand had just hovered there for a moment before you brushed his sleeve instead, just the edge of his hoodie, like you’d caught yourself at the last moment. Like you’d remembered who you were supposed to belong to.

But Noah had felt it. That almost.

And now, as he walked beside you in silence, Kole’s weight dragging against him, all he could think about was how it might feel to actually hold your hand.

To feel your fingers, smaller and softer than his, sliding between his. Feel the contrast, your clean skin against his, covered in bruises and tattoos.

Would your hand flinch? Or would it fit?

He tightened his jaw and swallowed the thought.

Because now he was here, helping carry your drunk boyfriend out of a half-empty warehouse at three in the damn morning.

No, he didn’t care about Kole. Not even a little.

He remembered that night in the alley. Kole had looked down at him, grinning like a dumbass, and said thanks for getting his ass kicked so he could win a couple hundred bucks.

The guy didn’t deserve you.

Not your kindness. Not your laugh. Not your touch.

But Kole was still your boyfriend.

And Noah was doing this for you.

Because every goddamn day that passed, it got harder to pretend he didn’t care.

About you.

About the way your eyes lingered on him when you thought he wasn’t looking. About how you smiled when he tried to say something funny. About the way you’d sat with him tonight, listened to him, chatted like two people who met under better circumstances and were slowly growing closer.

He focused on putting one foot in front of the other, repeating himself that you still belonged to someone else, and that just because you didn't deserve someone like Kole didn't mean you deserved someone like him.

Noah leaned back as you finally got Kole settled in the passenger seat, the door clicking shut behind his dead weight. The guy slumped immediately against the window, cheek smashed to the glass, mouth slightly open.

You turned back to Noah, exhaling. “Jesus,” you muttered, rubbing your hands over your face.

“I give him... maybe a 3 for effort.” He said.

You snorted, the sound pulling a tiny smile from him. “Generous.”

You glanced at Kole, who made some unintelligible noise and shifted in his seat.

Noah made a face. “I hope he doesn't throw up inside.”

"Trust me, I'm hoping harder than you."

He chuckled and watched you settle into the seat, but you didn’t start the engine right away.

“Night, Noah.”

Noah gave a small nod, stepping back from the car. “Goodnight,” he said. “Drive safe, alright?”

You nodded, then reached out and gently pulled the door shut with a dull thunk.

He stood there, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, as your headlights swept across the cracked asphalt.

Noah stayed there until you drove away and he couldn't see your car anymore.

He exhaled, and finally, with one last glance down the empty road, Noah turned and made his way back toward his building.

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[hyunjincanraptoo]

gurl gurl gurl, Hyunjin with number 6, please 🥹

also congrats 😍

Hi, beautiful Je!! Tysm, baby 💜 I knew you would pick number 6 if you saw the list hehe I hope you enjoy it.

6. Midnight swimming in a hotel pool

Prompt list— open

Word count: 1.0k

Warnings: fwb to lovers, smut, sex in public

Alexa, play Off limits by BAYNK

You couldn’t sleep.

The words Hyunjin let slip hours ago— lost in a breathless post orgasm haze in a quiet voice— were still ringing in your ears, playing on loop:

“I think I’m in love with you”

You didn’t say anything.

Not because you didn’t feel something but because you weren’t supposed to, it was against your own rules. This thing between the two of you, it wasn’t supposed to get complicated. It was supposed to stay simple— just hands, heat, bodies, and soft moans under covers and inside walls that knew too much.

Right?

Frustrated by insomnia and fed up with your own thoughts, you slipped into a swimsuit, lazily draped a towel around your neck, and let your feet guide you to the hotel pool. The corridor was silent and the air smelled like chlorine. But when you pushed open the glass doors, you paused because you weren’t alone.

Hyunjin was already there.

He stood, waist dipped in the water, head tilted back, his buzzcut damp and glowing under the moonlight. The neon lights under the surface painted him in indigo and violet shades, and he looked like he came out directly from a fanfic— bare skin, flexed muscles, water drops tracing down his collarbones like they were meant to.

He turned at the sound of the door. His mouth curled, eyes lazy and unreadable when he saw you.

“Guess we share the same neuron after all”, he murmured.

You don’t say anything. Instead, you just drop the towel, step in and let the chill water wrap around your ankles. When you dove in and the world disappeared for a moment— the water embraced you gently, as if it knew how heavy your silence was.

When you surfaced, he was still watching you. You didn’t say anything, just swam toward him and wrapped your arms around his bare torso from behind, chest pressed to his back, cheek to his shoulder.

You heard his heartbeat increasing at your touch.

You just whispered, “Couldn’t sleep.”

Hyunjin hummed, soft but sarcastic, “No kidding”.

But he didn’t pull away. His fingers found your hands underwater, lacing with yours, holding you in place. His body was warm against yours, his silence louder than anything.

And then he turned. His eyes met yours and he opened his mouth, “Yn…”

“I’m yours”, you cut him with certain words. This time, not whispered, not hidden behind lust. Raw and honest feelings finally pouring out of you, “I didn’t say anything before because I was scared. But I heard you. And I feel it too”

For a second, Hyunjin didn’t move. He just looked at you, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. Then his lips twitched, amused, “Now you say it?! In a pool? At midnight?”

You stepped forward in the water, chest brushing his, “Are you gonna make fun of me now?”

He tilted his head, holding back a grin, “A little bit. You kinda deserve it”

You rolled your eyes and moved to pull away, but his hands caught your hips.

“Wait”, he said, voice softer, “Do you mean it”?

You shivered as his thumbs pressed circles into your skin, “I do. I’m yours”

Hyunjin groaned, pulling you closer, “Yes, you are”

And then he kissed you.

Not soft, but open mouthed, wet and messy. Tongue, teeth and desire. You clutched at his shoulders as he backed you toward the edge of the pool. His body pressed yours, hard and and trembling slightly from how long he waited for this moment. He wanted you whole, not only your body but also your heart and soul.

Your back hit the pool ledge, and he wasted no time, lifting your thigh around his waist, grinding into the space between your legs until you were gasping against his mouth.

“Still scared?”, he murmured, lips brushing your jaw.

“Only of how badly I want you. Right here, right now”

“Here?”, he whispered against your lips, surprised.

You smirked, biting gently his bottom lip, earning a low growl from him.

“God, I love you”, he breathed between sloppy kisses.

He reached between your bodies and lined himself up with you, carefully even when you arched toward him. The stretch was smooth but intense, your gasp swallowed by his mouth as he pushed inside slowly.

The water rocked with you as he bottomed out, buried completely. Your thighs locked around his waist and his hands gripped the ledge behind you for balance. You felt deliciously overwhelmed by the friction of the water, the taste of his lips, the way he filled you so perfectly.

Hyunjin groaned low as he began to move.

It started slow, hips grinding in gentle waves that matched the rhythm of the water, each thrust deeper than the last. Your nails dug into his shoulders, desperate to hold onto something as he built a fluid pace, the kind that didn’t need speed to leave you gasping.

You moaned softly into his ear, “Harder, Jinnie…”

He didn’t need to be asked twice.

He adjusted the angle, arms flexing as he began to thrust harder, rougher, water splashing around you as he chased the friction, the heat, the way your body exhaled desperation. His name left your lips in broken words, and he cursed under his breath as your walls tightened around him.

“I love you too”, you moaned, voice shaking, “Always loved”

That made him lose it.

With one final thrust, deep and hard enough to make you breathless, he came— groaning your name as he held you tight, your body trembling in his arms. You followed just seconds later, the wave of your own release washing over you with a loud gasp and a cry muffled into his shoulder.

You stayed wrapped around each other, bodies slack, faces pressed close like the tension from before never existed. Just you, him and the hum of the pool’s filtration system.

Then he whispered, pressing tender kisses on your cheek, “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that”.

You muttered against his chest, “You don’t have to wait anymore”

Brushing wet strands from your face, Hyunjin smiled, “I still can’t believe we just did that”

You laughed, “Me neither”

“It was worth it, tho”

“Good. Cause I think we just broke every pool rule”

He grinned, “Yeah, but if you ignore my feelings again, promise it ends just like this?”

You rolled your eyes, laughing right after. Breaking rules— yours and the hotel’s— never felt so right.

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