#which i am halfway through my first listen of

[bluesidez]

[The Ideal Gaze]

lab tester: @ichigosluvrr 🩻

pairing: DadBod!Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

summary: Miguel is feeling a bit out of your league, so you remind him that he’s just in your lane. 

content warning: established relationship (they’re married with kids!), domestic fluff, mild hurt/comfort due to Miguel being an idiot that does not understand The Female Gaze, some miscommunication between reader and Miguel, 18+ so MDNI, a little raunchier than I intended tbh but hopefully I presented DB!Mig well, body worship, heated tension, reader is like obsessed with Miguel’s new Dad Bod, deepthroat 😗, missionary position, unprotected p in v sex (WRAP IT UP 🫵🏾), the word Ma as a term of endearment from Miguel to reader two times

word count: 5.3k, halfway proofread

a/n: Fulfilling this first because this was technically my first request! I added a few more elements (thank you Miguel server!), so I hope you don’t mind. There were no specific requests other than fluff and smut, so I went with the flow. I hope you enjoy! (Also, I found the original artist's post here!! Go give them some love!)

Your blood is pumping as you round the corner, only a few more steps until you reach the driveway. 

The jog today was pretty refreshing. There were no calls from work asking about things that could wait until 8 AM, no toddler fussing about waking up, and no child whining about getting homework done. It was just you, your FitBit, your steamy audiobook, and the lingering thoughts of meeting your husband’s eyes this morning. Lately, it’s been like a little game to rile him up. 

You’ve been married for a few years and a family of four for seven years with a sweet little girl, a second grader with the attitude of an old lady, and a precious little boy, a preschooler with keen intuition. With your lives being consumed with work and taking care of the kids, you feel like your relationship has been put on the back burner. Long gone were the days in which you two made love at the drop of a hat, fucking on anything that could hold you. Now, you were lucky enough to get a little dry humping.

It was getting depressing, and more annoyingly, frustrating, so you started to put your riled-up energy elsewhere. You were up at the crack of dawn making everyone’s lunches and going on occasional jogs, you were using your PTO for brunches with the girls and spa days, you had regular pilates classes, the real pilates, and most importantly, you were finding small pockets of time for yourself. 

From buying yourself small gifts to filling your Kindle with romance books to pleasuring yourself on the nights Miguel worked overtime. You were sure to keep yourself busy. All of that, and you still couldn’t get the thought of Miguel entangled with you out of your head. 

You heaved out as you stopped at the end of the driveway, taking a few breaths to calm your state. The book you were listening to was on a particularly enthralling scene and you wondered if it was something that Miguel would be interested in trying. 

You looked down at yourself and decided to unzip the top of your athletic jacket, letting the tightness of your bra and the fabric push your cleavage up. One smooth swipe of your clothes and you were walking to the front door. 

It was 6:40 AM, so there was plenty of time to have a little quiet moment with your husband. 

You walked into the kitchen and saw him standing in all of his glory. A newspaper in his left hand, because some things didn’t need to be digitized, a “Best Papá Ever” mug in his right hand, black glasses on his face, and your favorite thing, a naked plush torso on display. 

In the first years of parenthood, his metabolism was through the roof. Despite him joining you for every snack, meal, and midnight dessert, he never lost that tiny little waist or those washboard abs. It wasn’t until your youngest was born and babbling that his appearance started to change. His arms became a mix of muscle and cellulite, his thighs were softer than ever, his chest was full and plump, and his waist widened gifting you with his soft belly and a happy trail that continued to his belly button. 

The early time didn’t stop the coil of neediness in your stomach from forming. 

“Good morning, hubby,” you say with a lilt to your voice. You walked closer to him, an extra bounce in your step, and leaned on the island. 

Sure enough, Miguel was peeking at your chest from over his glasses, mug hovering over his lips. 

You only smiled coyly, waiting for his response. 

“Good morning. How was your jog?” he puts the newspaper and mug down, folding his arms under his chest. 

You stared at his bulging arms, pressed-up pecs, and his tummy that moved with him and almost whined. 

“It was really good. Super nice and refreshing. Maybe a little warm,” you crossed your legs, impatient. “How’s your morning so far?”

“It’s better,” he says, making the short distance to crowd your space. He leans over you, hands going to the island. “My wife is here now.”

You smile at his words, hands itching to touch him but not wanting to ruin the stride. Instead, you look up at him and pan his lips. 

“I’m feeling better, too,” you whisper, waiting. 

Miguel leans forward to press his lips onto yours, the smell of coffee hitting your senses. You feel little fireworks go off as he starts to open your mouth. Everything felt just right in this moment. 

When his hand slid across your back, you almost jumped up to wrap your legs around him. You tilted your head and wrapped your arms around his neck. You could feel yourself slipping against the counter, but Miguel was right there to steady you. 

For what felt like hours to you after so long of a heated connection, the two of you made out on the kitchen island. Only some birds chirping, the occasional car passing by, and the hum of the washing machine could be heard next to the sound of you both breathing into each other’s lips

“Come with me to the shower?” you say, eyes heavy and pleading. 

You could feel Miguel tense up, back rigid as he moved back. 

“I better stay. Raul might wake up soon and he was having a hard time sleeping last night.”

Your heart dropped at the rejection. You were hoping that this would be the one, the moment that you’ve been anticipating for months. Some form of sexual connection. 

“Ok. I’ll be out soon,” you turn and go to the master bathroom, tugging the zipper down hastily. You felt a bit dejected and embarrassed, but you’re trying to let it go. Your mommy side knows that your youngest woke up in distress last night so it makes perfect sense that Miguel wants to be alert for his cries, but your wife side wants her husband back and can’t help but feel like he didn’t want you. 

With this brisk shower, you hoped this self-doubt and neediness washed away with it. 

You tapped your fingers against the desk, staring off at your computer. Work today was slow, which you didn’t mind because that meant you could frequent your watchlist, but your mind kept wandering off while watching some random K-drama. 

Last night, you woke up to what sounded like Miguel getting off in the bathroom. 

He got off work super late that day, so you took the initiative to get the kids to bed and go to bed early. 

What you didn’t expect was to wake up to the sound of his grunts coming through the bathroom door. 

At first, you were a little hurt that he didn’t wake you up to help him out, but then you were so overcome by the sound of him whimpering and moaning that you couldn’t help but pleasure yourself. 

He sounded so desperate and wanton, cursing every once in a while. You bit your lip as you imagined him right next to you, voice right in your ear. You wanted his weight on you. You wanted to feel his skin against yours. 

You lay in the empty bed rubbing yourself until you came, his noises stopping a while before you finished. You were hoping he would come out and see you so you prolong your orgasm to no avail, sleep coming to claim you before he did. 

When you tried to ask him about it in the morning, he kept avoiding your eyes, saying something about his stomach giving him the blues. 

You let it go then, but that didn’t stop you from thinking about it all day. 

In a spur-of-the-moment decision, you decide to text him a flirty message, running to the bathroom to take a picture to match. You waited a little bit, hoping that he could take at least a peek. 

“You look gorgeous, honey.”

Just gorgeous? Not hot? Not good enough to make him want more?

You scrunched your mouth to the side, asking if he could send a picture back.

“Baby, you know I can’t. I’m at work right now.” 

You huffed at that. You knew he was just in his lab by himself. There was plenty of time and solitude to take a picture. He used to send random pictures of himself all of the time. 

For the rest of the day, you were irritated, feeling slighted at the hands of your husband.

You took a break from trying to seduce your husband, tired of the pushback. You put your all into taking care of the kids and maintaining the house when you could.

“And how many sticks does that leave Cassie with?” you asked Gabriella. You both were at the dining table with her math homework sprawled everywhere while dinner was in the oven. 

“27!” she shouted, voice becoming more confident over the course of the math sheet. 

“Correct! You’re knocking ‘em out, girl!”

“Buen trabajo, mija,” Miguel said with vigor as he came by to kiss the top of her head. “You’re doing so well.” (Good job, mija.)

“Does this mean I can get a cookie?” she asked, quick to melt her father’s heart.

“Not before dinner, Gabriella, you know this,” Miguel bounced Raul in his arms, a little fussy and sniffly. 

“Please, papá!” she looked up at him with big brown eyes and a pout.  

Miguel sighed, unable to say no to her 9 times out of 10. 

He looked at you frantically, watching you snickering behind your hands, “You have to ask Mamá.”

Whenever he really wanted to say no, he used you as a trump card.

Gabriella’s shoulders drop as she turns to you, already knowing the drill.

“The answer is no. You can wait until after dinner,” you say, squeezing her cheek.

“You always say no,” Gabriella whines dramatically, slumping in her seat with her arms crossed, pout just like her dad’s.

“And you can always go to bed with no cookies,” you chide as you get up to go check on dinner. “Now go put your homework up and wash your hands, dinner is almost ready.”

She puts her papers back in her folder with the theatrics of a Broadway actor, sighing dramatically with each step she took to her room.

Miguel laughed at her actions watching her leave, “She’s just like her Mami when she gets like that. Fussy.”

You pause to put your hand on your hip, “No, she’s just like her Father when she can’t get her way. Whiny.” You open the oven and pull the lasagna out to the stove to cool a bit. 

“Well, I can’t say no to her just like I can’t say no to you,” he says, placing Raul at the table with a hand running over his soft hair. “You both have the same puppy-dog eyes.”

“You like leaving the hard parenting to me.”

“That is not true. I just tussled with a four-year-old to get him to take his cold medicine and made a promise of not one, but two bedtime stories,” he says, coming up behind you as you reached to get the dishes. He got them down for you instead, hand on your hips and stomach pressed against your back.

You bite your tongue in order not to will your negligent, horny brain from awakening. You didn’t have time for those thoughts, little feet were near, and every advance you gave him ended in failure. 

“Is he doing ok?” you say, referring to Raul he sat at the table with his head down, a teddy bear hugged against him as he pitifully moved his toy car back and forth. It was definitely a big shift from his usual talkative demeanor.

“We might have to go to the doctor again. His allergies are really acting up.”

You leave Miguel’s side to go squat down by Raul, “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

You rubbed his back, trying to see if he felt warmer than usual and sure enough, he was burning up.

“My throat hurts, Mama,” he said, little voice just about gone. 

“Oh, I know, my sweet baby,” you say with a soft voice. “Do you want me to make you some alphabet soup?”

Raul’s face twists up, lip a little wobbly, “But I want some cheese noodles.”

“Hey, it’s ok!. You can have some lasagna. I just want your throat to feel better. Hot things will make it feel better.”

“The cheese noodles are hot, too.”

You smiled, “That’s right, the cheese noodles are hot, but I mean a hot liquid.”

He stayed quiet for a moment, hands squeezing his teddy bear as he thought, “Can I have hot chocolate?”

“Of course you can. Can I give you a kiss?”

He nods his head slowly and you lean over to kiss his head. You needed to get him under the covers soon. Before you could pull away, he wrapped his arms around your neck, snuggling up to be held. You couldn’t resist holding your baby, especially when you couldn’t take his pain away. 

You get up to see Miguel helping Gabriella plate the slices of lasagna on each plate and setting up the side salad. Your heart filled with joy watching them giggle over the stretchy cheese. It was moments like this that reminded you that you were taking the right steps, that this was the perfect little life.  

As they set up the table with the plates and drinks, you kept Raul in your arms, ready to help him with tonight's dinner. 

“Thank you for the food, Mommy,” Gabriella said with a toothy smile. 

“You’re welcome, baby,” you say, cutting Raul’s food up even smaller, not wanting him to struggle any more than he had to tonight. 

The table was quiet, save for Gabriella and Miguel smacking their food occasionally and Raul’s wheezy breaths. 

By the time dinner was over, Gabriella was buzzing in her seat for cookies, and Raul was close to falling asleep in your arms. 

You couldn’t ask for anything better. 

With Raul sound asleep, Gabriella tucked in bed, and Miguel watching cable, you had a moment to yourself to think. 

Did today’s small touches mean anything?

You stood in the bathroom moisturizing your skin after a hot bath. You said you were going to stop trying to fish for your husband’s attention, but if you were honest, today’s brief moment of connection did it for you. You couldn’t stop your thoughts once you were alone.

You decide to wear just a pair of panties and one of his old t-shirts to bed: a look that wasn’t trying too hard to get his attention, but you’re sure he’s going to notice it. 

You sat on the bed and decided to read until he came into the room. You hope you were giving a sexy girlfriend vibe. Your skin was all smooth, you smelled good, and you knew you looked good. 

When Miguel walks in, he pauses at the door to stare at you. 

“Why are you looking at me like that? Come to bed,” you say. 

Hook, line, and sinker. 

Miguel shuffled over, eyeing you from head to toe. He looked delicious in his tank top, fabric stretched in the best possible ways.

He crawled on the bed next to you, “My band t-shirt?”

“Yeah! It’s comfy.”

He rubbed his hand up your naked thigh and your nerves started to sing. Any further up, and you might just wet your panties from his touch alone. You missed it so much. 

He leaned over to kiss the juncture your neck and shoulder, your neck, your cheek, and then he stopped. 

He just…stopped.

“Well, I gotta go in earlier tomorrow, so I’m going to sleep early. Is it ok if I turn this light off?

You felt your throat dry up, “Yeah, ok.”

He got under the sheets and switched his lamp off, leaving you in the dark with the faint light of your Kindle illuminating the room.

“Goodnight, honey,” he said with a yawn. 

“Night.”

You turned your Kindle off and just sat in silence, his snores breaking the illusion of the dark consuming you. 

You’re starting to think the worst. 

You kept up a number of tactics subtle to glaringly obvious to appeal to your husband from changing up your perfume to what you would say was an amazing strip tease. Absolutely nothing is working. 

He kept listing off excuses from the kids to his job to his parents to his brother, anything to avoid an intimate session with you. He even chose a night out with his boys over a night in bed with you which was jarring because he always made you feel good before going out to have a good time. 

Did he not find you attractive anymore? You knew childbirth brought a lot of change, but you were still the same woman he met and fell in love with. 

Did he not love you anymore? He often praised you for being a good mom and his pet names never stopped, but after that, his declaration of love for you had been very surface-level.

Is he cheating on you?

You really didn’t want to entertain that thought, but your heart couldn’t take any more pain than it already had. 

So, one day when you say you’re taking the kids to the park, you drop them off at your mom’s place instead, hoping that if there was something going on, no little hearts would be broken once you unleash a beast in the house. 

You pull back in the driveway to see that he’s still here, just as you suspected. You make your way quietly through the house, inching closer to you all’s bedroom. 

Your heart almost stops when you hear the sound of Miguel’s voice, high and breathy in a way that should only reach your ears. You don’t think when you swing the door open, adrenaline pumping high.  

Miguel yells, scared to death but alone. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, voice frustrated.

“What am I doing? What are you doing?”

You look at the state he’s in, shirt up, waistband under his dick, and a mystery fabric in his hand. 

“Were you getting off?” you say, hands dropping to your side. “Do you…do you not love me anymore?”

“What?”

“Do you. Not. Love me anymore. You avoid me every time I’ve tried to initiate something with you. We haven’t made love in so long. You keep making excuses to not be alone with me. You don’t even want to do normal things with me like send pictures or makeout until we’re out of breath. I’ve heard you in the bathroom during the night and now you’re here doing the same thing, without me, your wife.” Your eyes start to water after it all, feeling utter defeat. 

“Cariño, this is a misunderstanding,” he pleads, voice distraught. “I do love you. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

“Then why are you doing this to me?”

“Because,” he pauses, fixing his clothes to have some decency. “I…haven’t felt the greatest about my body.”

Your tears dry up as soon as the statement resonates, “What? What do you mean?”

Miguel sighs.

“Lately, it’s getting harder and harder for my old clothes to fit me anymore, I’m way too busy to hit the gym and more than anything, I think you deserve a man who’s a little less,” he gestures to himself, “let go.”

“Says who?”

He looks at you as if you’ve grown two heads, “Uh, everybody?”

“Well, who is everybody because I’d like to strangle them for letting you think that my husband isn’t good enough for me.” You walk deeper into the bedroom crowding Miguel’s space. “You’ll always be perfect for me. The vows I promised to you will not be broken over something so normal as weight gain.”

He looked like he could cry. 

“Why did you hide you were feeling this way, baby?” you hold his head in your hands scratching at his scalp. 

“It felt stupid and silly. You’ve been doing so well socially and physically, I wanted to see if I could fix it on my own before bringing you down with my problems.”

“Miguel O’Hara,” you say, gripping his jaw firmly. “I’m your wife. I might not be able to solve everything, but at the very least, you need to talk to me. Tell me how you’re feeling, express yourself with words. Don’t hide.”

He wrapped his arms around you, sniffling, “I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

You pressed a long kiss into his scalp, rubbing his back. 

“Oh my gosh,” you chuckled. “You were feeling so much internally, meanwhile I was practically screaming at you to fuck me. I thought you weren’t attracted to me anymore.” 

So much for communication. 

Miguel just burried his face in your chest while he groaned, “That’s the thing! You were driving me crazy with your tight little workout clothes and your lingerie. You looked so good, but I couldn’t get out of my own head. I’ve been…”

“You’ve been what?”

“I,” he got red in the face. “I’ve been using your underwear.”

You look down to Miguel’s crumbled up hand and it was in fact your underwear from the night you wore his band t-shirt, drenched in his essence.

Your stomach turned with excitement.

“So this is what you were doing in the bathroom in the middle of the night, hm? Using my panties? Giving them more action and attention than me?”

Miguel nodded, eyes hazy.

“Did it feel good?”

Another nod.

“I bet it did. I would wake up and hear you trying so hard to cum.”

You don’t know how, but his face got even warmer.

“You left your poor wife all alone, thinking about you on top of her until she came too.”

“I did?”

“You didn’t know?” you ask, playfully. “I was up all night imagining you walking out to see me. I wanted these arms to come and hold me.”

You squeeze at his arms on your sides. 

“I wanted your weight on me. I wanted your chest against mine.I needed you so bad.”

You move to sit in his lap, knees on the side of him.

“You do such a great job of being a father. This beautiful change in your body is only proof of your hard work and dedication. It’s proof of love for your family.”

Miguel only melted in your hands, face a cloud of emotion.

“I love you, Miguel. I adore you. I yearn for you. I want you.”

With every declaration, came a kiss to his lips.

“Can I show you how much I love you?”

“Please.”

With that, you took his shirt off and made your way down his chest. You lingered around his chest, holding his pecs as you kissed them all over. You couldn’t stop your moans as your tongue felt across the hairy planes of his chest, sucking and pulling on his nipples. Miguel shudders as you pay special attention to them, sensitive after not being with you for so long.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” you breathe into his skin. You slide onto the floor and just press your face into his stomach.

“You like it that much?”

“Love it. You look so yummy walking around. You could be just standing there and I get so,” you cut yourself off, trying not to overwhelm him with just how much you were feeling. “You’re hot, baby.”

You kiss down his happy trail to reach his pants, his stomach twitching. You tugged a bit too hard on his pants, causing him to laugh. 

“What’s so funny?” you say with a pout. 

“I haven’t seen you like this since we won that couple’s retreat.”

“Not my fault. You were all sexy up there, beating the other husbands with your big brain. It was doing something to me.”

You finished pulling and you could almost cry with joy when Miguel’s cock springs next to your head. The sound you make when you see it also has Miguel wound tight. 

Completely taken over by your neediness and desperation, you pull one of his thick legs over your shoulder, kissing and sucking on the skin while your fingertips dance around the entirety of his length. 

The display of strength shocks Miguel who drips and whines at your actions. 

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby. Do you want that?”

“Yes,” he whispers. 

You cup him while you take his head in your mouth. It felt like pure bliss to have that familiar taste in your mouth. With the way you were humming, Miguel can tell that you were about to put him to sleep. 

You took no time letting your tongue stretch to take more of him in. Your cheeks hollow as you go further, one hand kneading at the thigh you were holding and the other switching from fondling him to wrapping around the base of his length. 

“God,” Miguel’s voice filled the room, the loudest it had been for the past few months. “I don’t think I’ll last that long.”

You let go of him and lick down the sides, “That’s because you’re too busy fucking other things instead of me.”

“’M sorry,” he whined as you went back down on him. “I-I was still thinking of you and, ngh, wanting you.”

“Mm hm,” your voice sent shocks down his spine as you didn’t let go. He moved his hips steadily, dick sliding in and out of your mouth and pudge occasionally pressing against your face. 

The faster he went, the noisier the sounds got. He moved his hands to your head, thighs eerily close to tightening around your face. You couldn’t have it any better. 

You dug your nails into his hips, throat contracting in order to take him in. Even with your jaw slacked, it’s been so long since you took him like this that you gagged more often than not. With every sound of your throat struggling, Miguel shouted your name, hands gripping tighter on your hair.

You could tell he was close by the way his thigh was tensing on your shoulder, so when he said the four words, you took him to the hilt, face completely pressed against him. 

“Shit!” he felt like passing out as he released into your throat. You swallowed as much as you could, but you couldn’t take it all, saliva and cum esxaping down your chin to his balls. 

He grunts when he pulls you off, chest moving sporadically. 

You lick your lips and let out a satisfied sigh, “Finally.”

Miguel could only chuckle as he laid back on the bed. You crawled on top of him, sitting on his thighs with a smile. You rub your hands on the skin of stomach, slowly getting to his chest, “I’m like, really wet right now if you want some more painties to use.”

He growled as he pulled you closer.

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope,” you say, popping the P. “I really want you to do it in front of me. Maybe send me a video for the nights you work overtime.”

He had the nerve to look embarrassed as he wrapped his arms around your back, “I might be able to arrange that.” He kissed your lips to distract you from speaking on it further.

After Miguel returned the favor with his head between your legs, the both of you were enjoying a quiet moment together before having to go pick up the kids.

“I can’t believe you thought I was cheating on you,” Miguel said as you were drawing circles on his chest.

“Miguel,” you say, lifting your head. “I pulled all the stops. I did things that I knew you loved: the t-shirts, going commando, the flirty pictures. I even brought whipped cream to the bedroom and you told me ‘I can’t eat that, it’ll blow up my stomach,’ when you were literally in the kitchen taking shots of it the night before.”

“Ok. So I see how you might have gotten to that ludicrous conclusion, but did you not notice how much I’ve been staring at you?”

You clicked your teeth, “Yeah, but what does that mean when you don’t act on it?”

Miguel twisted his lip, “Will you feel better if I told you that your work pictures turned me on too?”

You pinched him resulting in a yelp, “I’ll feel better right now if you give me a shower round.”

He pulled you in his arms as he got out of the bed, “Let’s go before your mom calls.”

You giggle and swing your feet on the way.

After your afternoon of praising his body, Miguel emerged as his previous confident self. This meant more days with him walking around shirtless, more quickies in the morning, makeouts that ended in pleasure, him smacking your ass, you smacking his ass back, and sex. Lots and lots of sex.

Right now, Raul was down for a nap and Gabriella was enjoying her tablet time. 

You, however, were clawing at Miguel’s back like a cat as he pounded you into the mattress. 

“Fuck!” you shouted, eyelids fluttering as Miguel’s cock dragged across your walls. “It feels so good.”

“Quiet, mi vida,” he whispered. “The kids are in their rooms.”

You were quick to cover your mouth, moans muffled. It really didn’t matter because the creaks of the bed were just as loud as you. One change in position and the headboard denting the walls could be added to it. 

It was all too much. 

First, he woke you up with kisses down your body and a promise to lighten your load around the house. Then, he got the kids up and prepared breakfast with the help of Raul. Later while you were out running errands, he sent you a coupon for a spa that just opened up down the street and warm message. 

Now, he has you losing your mind with his hips slapping against yours, whispering praises in your ear.

“Miguel!”

“Hm? Talk to me.”

“I-I can’t-” your voice keeps getting louder unintentionally. He was so calm while he was reaching so deep inside. Your mind was hazy, wanting nothing more than him to keep going.

“You’re doing so good, Ma. You’re so good to me and the kids. You’re such a beautiful wife. Such a pretty Mama. Just wanna make you feel good.”

You felt yourself clench around him at his words, tears falling across your temples. He kissed your tears tenderly, strokes getting deeper. 

“M-Miguel,” you say with your heart full. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby. So, so deeply,”

That was all it took for you to suck him in and scream into his shoulder, nails digging into his shoulder blades. His release was soon after, painting your walls with his lips pressed against your ear.

“Papá! You have to be more careful,” Gabriella fussed with her hands on her hips while Miguel was in the kitchen trying to make the family a snack. “You got hurt at work!”

Miguel paused and reached behind his back, fingers roaming over the healing scratches on his shoulder from his last session with you. 

You covered your teeth with your lips as Miguel turned to look at you with his eyebrows raised. 

“It’s ok, mija. Papá is tough!”

“But you gotta put something on it,” Gabriella said with a huff.

“Thank you for your concern, nena. I’ll get Mamá to take care of it, ok?” he ruffled her hair as he handed her a plate of bunny-shaped apple slices. “Now go sit with your brother and watch some TV.”

Miguel huffed as he walked up to the side of you with his arms crossed.

“What? You should put your shirt on!”

“That’s not what you said when you-”

“Hush and go get the aloe.”

Miguel snickered as he gave your lips a peck, “Yeah, yeah.”

Life was wonderfully sweet.

With that, my first request is done! As always, like, reblog, and COMMENT. Let me know how you guys feel! 🩵

[luvjunie]

— headcanons. miles morales (earth1610)

MILES who somehow managed to pick you up with that corny little shoulder touch his Uncle Aaron taught him. Not because it actually worked and left you smitten and head over heels for him—but because in that moment, the dorky boy who stood in front of you had made you laugh so hard you’d nearly peed yourself. There was no way that with a sense of humor like his, he wasn’t getting your number.

MILES who has never missed a good morning or a goodnight text. While often they may not always be at the most ideal times, it’s the fact that he remembered that means the most to you. Even if he’s running late to school, shoes untied, and shirt buttoned unevenly as he bundles out the door of his dorm, he insists he can text and run to class at the same time. And at night, even if his eyelids feel as if they weigh a ton the minute his back finally hits his mattress after webbing the villain of the week to a light pole for the cops, he refuses to fall asleep without telling you he loves you first— though the message may include a few sleepy typos. “Goodnihgt aby i lov youuu” “shitno i meant baby not aby”

MILES who hand draws a card for you when the monthly anniversary of your relationship rolls by. Each one of them is different and creative in their own way and you’re always excited to see what it’ll look like this time. He’ll swiftly swing by your fire escape on his way to patrol, drop a box of chocolates, your favorite candy, or a bouquet of flowers on the steel metal along with the card, then switch arms and thwip another web to the next building in the same breath.

MILES who loves to draw you, especially when the two of you haven’t been able to hang out in a while, just so he can reminisce and pretend like you’re there, in his room with him. His sketchbook is filled with pictures of you, hearts usually adorning whatever space is left blank on the paper. He sees you in such a different light than you view yourself in, and he’s able to capture certain aspects of your features that you hadn’t even noticed before. He was so embarrassed the first time you saw his sketchbook laid open on his bed and tried to hide them from you, nervous he’d make you uncomfortable in any way. But you were nothing short of flattered, and reassured him of such by smattering kisses onto the expanse his flushed face and telling him how much of a sweetheart he was.

MILES who falls asleep in the span of two seconds. Usually when you can’t come over, you settle for long facetime calls so you can tell each other about your days, or watch a movie together. But he’s just so comfortable around you, and your voice is so calming, like a lullaby, so much so that he can’t help it when he falls asleep halfway into your rundown of events. After five minutes of silence, which is unheard of for a kid like Miles who is always filled with endless quips and jokes, you’ll scoop your phone off your bed only to see his ivory-colored ceiling instead of his face.

“Milesss!” You whine, the sudden sound of shuffling from the other end of the line erupting through your speakers as he frantically scoops his phone back up from his pillow, his sleepy face shifting back into view.

“Huh?” He mumbles, clearing his throat as he blinks the sleep from his eyes.

“You fell asleep in the middle of my story again.” You accuse.

“Nuh uh! I’ve been awake this whole time. I’m just a really, really good listener, m-hm. I am a wonderful and completely-awake, professional listener.” He nods, gifting you his signature goofy smile that‘s always a reminder that you can never be mad at him for long.

MILES who loves taking you to the new places he’s able to go around the city now that he’s Spiderman.

When you found out your boyfriend was Spiderman, you were in such disbelief that you immediately asked for proof, for him to show you anything that proved he was spiderman other than a suit and a mask. And proof you got, if the powerful gusts of wind in your face as he swung the two of you with web after web over the skyline of the city were anything to go by.

You were terrified the first time, legs glued around his waist and arms clamped so tightly around his neck that there was no way you’d fall. He would never in a million years let you slip from his grasp anyways, but if you did, you were damn sure taking him with you. He kept one arm around your waist for support and laughed at how you hollered almost the entire way to the clock tower, and whether they were screams of excitement or terror, he didn’t know.

It was beyond exhilarating, seeing the city from above with him, standing on the roofs of buildings you never imagined you’d reach. It had your heart pumping faster than you thought it ever could and your trust in him solidifying even further, and soon you found yourself asking him take you again, and again. And Miles would take you anywhere you wanted to go; open to doing anything just to see a smile on your face and to have you holding onto him like that again.

- please do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to any other platforms

likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated 💗

[sainns]

LIKE OR LIKE LIKE.

𝓢. ㅤㅤthis is the the first time you've ever gotten drunk and of course you go and confess to your best friend.

SJYㅤ✶ ㅤ (⠀femreader⠀) . . . best friends to lovers (kind of, they don't explicitly start dating), fluff, alcohol consumption, reader gets drunk, not proofread.ㅤ1428 words

“i’ve never seen her drunk before,” sunghoon points to where you’re leaning against the wall.

jake turns to look at you, watching as you talk to chaewon. you’re continously taking sips of your drink, a sleepy smile on your face as you listen to your friend’s (most likely) drunk ramblings. he can tell you’re tipsy, at the very least; your body is swaying, it seems like you’re having a hard time staying upright.

“yeah.. i’m gonna go lay her down before it gets worse. i don’t want her to wake up sick,”

sunghoon gives jake a knowing look, shrugging as he takes a sip of his own drink, “predictable,”

“what?”

“nothing,”

sunghoon grins, patting jake on the head before walking away to—jake assumes—bother his girlfriend. the older boy shakes his head, running a hand through his already messy hair, turning around once more to watch you.

this is the first time you’ve ever gotten drunk, he thinks. you’ve mentioned before that it’s because you’re scared of how you’ll act, not wanting to embarrass yourself in front of them. he’s glad that you’re more comfortable now, and at least you’re only here with them, your friends, and not at some party full of strangers and weirdos.

he watches as chaewon pats your back, albeit a little forcefully, before she leaves to find someone new to bother. he also watches you attempt to follow her but give up halfway through your first step. he smiles to himself, heading over to where you’re standing—or leaning.

“oookay, no more for you. you can’t even stand straight, dude,” jake takes the red solo cup away and out of your reach, giving you an amused smile. you pout but you don’t put up a fight—you can’t, not fully anyways. if you could, though, you would tell him that he’s being dramatic; six shots and half a cup of jungle juice is hardly anything.

“c’mon, you can go lay down in my room, you look tired,”

“okay,”

you make a move to walk by yourself but jake steps behind you, placing his hands on your waist so that he can guide you away from your friends. it feels like your senses are heightened to a dangerous level because why do you get goosebumps the moment he touches you? you squeeze your eyes shut, forcing your heart to calm down.

somehow you make it to his bedroom without stumbling a whole lot (this is 100% thanks to jake; you were sure that you wouldn’t have been able to do it yourself), and he taps your side, signaling for you to sit down on his bed, which you do.

he kneels down and pulls your shoes off, setting them on the floor. he pats your thigh, leaving yet another wake of goosebumps on your skin, “stay here, ‘kay? i’m gonna go get you some water,”

“i don’t want any,” you whine, “i’m tired, not thirsty,”

“yeah, well, you’ll be thirsty in a little bit,”

“no, i won’t,”

“yes, you will. you’re drunk,”

you huff, throwing yourself back on the bed, “am not. also you’re so annoying. i don’t want water, i always drink water,”

jake snorts at your antics, tucking his head away as he tries to keep from laughing too loudly. after a few seconds, he calms down and looks back at your figure, smiling fondly. you can’t see him, your eyes closed as you hum some random song that he hasn’t heard since he was ten years old.

you look so serene, he doesn’t want to disturb you. he figures he can just tell sunghoon or someone to come bring some water or he can wait for you to fall asleep.

“i’m sad,” you huff, sitting up slowly.

“why are you sad, hm?” he rests his head against your knee.

you frown at him. his words felt slightly condescending. not that you really cared, in fact it kind of made you feel dizzy. wow, he’s just terrible. looking at you all worried, taking care of you while you’re (not) drunk.

“because of you,”

he sits up at that. he looks like a dog who heard the word ‘snack’ or something. of course, he wasn’t happy. he looked more worried than before, in fact.

“me? what’d i do?”

“you’re just annoying,” you whine, “you know, i like you and it’s kinda funny ‘cause i’m, like, so obvious about it,”

“you like me? like like me?”

“well, actually, i love you,” you pause, “you’re not very smart, now that i think about it. how’d you even graduate? did you cheat? i think everyone knows but you. this is so awful, i can’t believe i had to go and like someone so oblivious. you’re lucky everything else cancels that out,”

“wait, wait, wait. you love me? that’s..” jake asks, his face flushed, completely disregarding everything you said after your confession, “yn, you’re.. you know, you’re drunk,”

“oh, okay,” you push his head away, “look, i’ll tell you tomorrow, ‘cos i really mean it and you’re so annoying and it’s, like, oh my god,” you say something else after that but he can’t tell what. not with you speaking as fast as humanly possible paired with drunken slurring.

he nods slowly, processing your words, “yeah.. okay. you can’t forget, alright?”

you grin, poking his cheek, “duh, i have an amazing memory,”

your amazing memory may be your downfall. surely, you had drank enough to wake up the next morning with zero memory. isn’t that what usually happens when someone gets so drunk they tell their best friend that they like them? not even like, you said you loved him.

and now you’re laying in his bed, face pressed into his pillow, absolutely mortified at your past self’s actions.

you’re never going to speak to him again. you’re going to get up, put your shoes on, and sneak out. yeah, it’ll seem like you’re doing the walk of shame, god forbid anyone catches you, but that’d be less embarrassing than having to talk to jake.

you don’t get the chance to attempt to escape, though, because jake walks in right as you’re weighing your options.

“hey, are you awake? it’s two in the afternoon,” you hear him place a glass on the nightstand as he sits next to you.

you could pretend that you forgot.

you feel his hand rubbing your back, “i heard you groaning, get up,”

“i don’t want to,” you mumble into the pillow, pressing your face into it harder.

“i can’t hear you, you know,”

you groan loudly, picking your head up, “i don’t want to get up,”

“why? are you embarrassed?”

“i didn’t do anything embarrassing,” yes you did.

he nods, “nah, you didn’t. i was just checking, you get embarrassed easily,”

you’re quiet for a moment after that. his hand is still rubbing your back and you can feel your heat beating against your chest. you want to pretend that you forgot about last night but for some reason you can’t. you want to bring it up despite feeling nauseous at the thought of being rejected.

“i like you,”

he smiles, “yesterday you said you love me,”

you gape at him and he laughs loudly. you want to kill both him and yourself.

“i’m sorry—i’m kidding.. i like you too,” he hums, tilting his head, “no, actually, i love you,”

you frown, “you’re embarrassing me,”

he laughs again which makes you want to both laugh and hide away from him, “god, you’re so cute. i kinda wanna kiss you, is that okay?”

you almost say yes before you remember that you just woke up not even twenty minutes ago and you are not going to kiss him with bad breath. especially not when you were drinking the night before.

“i just woke up,”

he leans forward, close enough that you can just barely lift your head and you’ll be able to kiss him, “so?”

“no,” it pains you to do so but you turn your head away from him. you know he won’t kiss you if you don’t want him to but you’d probably fold and kiss him if he kept staring at you like that, “you can.. uh, later. after i brush my teeth,”

he turns you over onto your back, smiling above you brightly. you gasp at the sudden movement, your heart racing yet again (you should go to the hospital), “promise? i really wanna kiss you right now,”

you laugh, reaching your hand up to move his hair out of his face, “yeah, i promise. i really wanna kiss you too.”

[lovebugism]

Hi!!!

Could you write jealous!eddie x reader…🫣

I’m down so bad for this man istg

ty for requesting :D i too am down bad for this man — grump!eddie can't believe other people get to look at you (jealous!eddie, established relationship, 1.7k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

Eddie thought the comic book section of Family Video was the coolest thing in the world until he met you. And it’s weird ‘cause now you’re all he can think about. He’s holding a collector’s item in his hands, but all he can see is you — and how close you’re standing to Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.

The boy lays two VHS tapes on the counter before you, each packaged in a thick plastic case. My Neighbor Totoro and The Land Before Time. He waits for you to make an impossible choice while you idle just ahead of him, elbows propped on the countertop with your head in your hands. Your wide-eyed gaze darts between the two options.

Your head shakes between your palms. “I can’t decide,” you conclude, rising to full height with a final huff. “It’s like choosing your favorite child.”

“Well, good thing you don’t have to,” Steve quips with a lopsided smirk. His nose scrunches, and it makes his honey eyes sparkle. “‘Cause you’re getting both. On the house.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you tell him, brows pinched in a quiet sort of protest.

He drops the tapes into a plastic bag, then shrugs like his hand slipped. “Too late.”

“Won’t your boss get mad?”

“What Keith doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“I don’t want you getting in trouble because of me,” you agonize, face twisted with every bit of it.

Steve meets your worry with a wider, pink grin. He bounces a shoulder and jostles the nametag pinned haphazardly to his emerald vest. “I’ll be fine, alright? I’m strong— I can take one of Keith’s stupid lectures.”

Your hesitant fingers brush his golden ones when you take the bag from him. “You’re so brave, Steve Harrington,” you lilt with a teasing glint in your eye, tilting your cheek to your shoulder to feign sincerity.

“The bravest, actually,” the boy jokes in return.

Eddie watches all this play out from where he lingers at the comic book stand. A whole rack of his favorite superheroes, and he isn’t paying an ounce of attention to a single one. 

He was only halfway listening at first, still mostly focused on the cartoon in his hands — if only to pretend he wasn’t completely eavesdropping on your conversation. But now he’s outright staring the two of you down, with an unabashed glare pointed at the asshole flirting with his girl. 

“God, he’s disgusting,” Eddie grumbles under his breath when Steve says something that makes you laugh.

He’s not talking totally to himself. Not entirely, anyway. Dustin’s crouched just beside him in search of one of the newer comics that he swears Keith is hiding from him. “He’s just being nice,” the curly-haired boy reasons with a shrug, obviously distracted as he flips through a stack of flimsy magazines.

Eddie scoffs and finally turns away from you to look at the boy below him. He blinks for the first time in several minutes as he shoots the kid a deadpan stare. “Oh, so it’s not because he thinks my girlfriend’s hot?”

“He’s definitely doing it because she’s hot,” Dustin answers without thinking twice.

“Watch it, Henderson.”

“You asked!” he argues, tilting his chin to look up at Eddie with a wide, ocean-eyed stare. “I’m just saying. Steve’s a good guy. He wouldn’t do that to you— Now, can you please help me find this stupid comic book before I lose my mind?”

Eddie huffs. He decides it might be healthier to distract himself with this metaphorical treasure hunt than stare daggers at you and Steve from across the room. “Which one are you looking for again?”

“Metamorpho— The original. Not the stupid reprint that just came out.”

The older boy stills. He closes the comic book between his palms with one pale hand until the cover of it flips down. Metamorpho, the vibrant cover reads, The Element Man. He’d been too busy looking at you, he hadn’t realized he’d been hiding the thing from Dustin for five whole minutes.

“Is this it?” Eddie murmurs, shoving the thing in the boy’s face.

Dustin’s head shoots up. He snatches the thing from the boy’s grip and gapes at it, with all his practiced teenage boy dramatics. “You had it the entire time?!” he shouts, but Eddie’s already sauntering to the front counter — where Steve’s still making you laugh. 

As pretty as you are smiling (so much that it makes his chest ache), there’s a simmering anger burning orange in his chest. Making you laugh is his job. Not Harrington’s.

You seem to notice his presence before he’s even wrapped you in his arms. You flash him a beaming grin that makes his stomach whirl. He gets sick with it — with nostalgia or something equally tender. 

The green of his envy starts to fade when he realizes you’re wearing his skull and cross-bones sweater, all bundled up in it like it’s yours. He feels a primal sense of ownership, knowing that you’re swaddled in something that belongs to him, knowing he has you in a way Steve doesn’t. It’s not every day the local freak gets to one-up the king.

“Ready to go?” Eddie grins, rosy and broad, as he wraps his arms around you in a loose, sideways embrace. The warmth of the proximity has your stomach doing backflips. The familiarity of his scent, musky and woody and smoky, makes your heart thud hard against your ribcage.

“Yep,” you nod, still smiling. “Steve’s letting me get the movies for free.”

Eddie’s lips smack against his teeth as his jaw drops in a feigned sense of awe. His wild curls bunch at his shoulder when his head tilts softly sideways, looking at the boy across the counter. “Aw,” he croons, high-pitched and sarcastic. “Isn’t that sweet?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Shut up before I revoke your comic stand privileges.”

Eddie squints. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me, Munson.”

Eddie, deciding to be the bigger person, chooses to abandon the petty argument. He feels like the bigger person, anyway — like he’s ten feet tall, walking out of Family Video with you under his arm. He could lose a thousand arguments and still feel like a winner as long as he gets to crawl home to you.

You can’t help but notice how weird he’s being, though. There was a foreign bite behind his words as he spat his sarcasm at Steve. The tension follows you even now, as he opens the passenger side door of his van for you. 

Eddie holds onto the rusted latch with a pale, tattooed hand. You turn to face him instead of planting yourself onto the chipping pleather seat. “Are you okay?” you ask, a subtle furrow between your brows when you peer at him from beneath your lashes.

The boy scoffs a boyish laugh, obviously overcompensating. “Yeah, I’m fine— what are you talking about?”

Your eyes narrow. “You’re being weird.”

“I think you’re being weird, doll— interrogating me outta nowhere.” 

He expects you to laugh. Then he could tell you how pretty you are, and you’d be so flustered by the compliment that you’d forget this entire conversation ever happened. You don’t laugh, though. You don’t even crack a smile. You just keep staring at him.

“I’m fine,” Eddie groans, wild curls billowing when a breeze rolls by. He still tries to smile, though the bright pink expression doesn’t quite meet his eyes. He shrugs and tries to play it cool because anything less than that is so not metal. “I’m just… I’m just a little annoyed. That’s all.”

Your chest stings and your stomach starts to ache. Your mind reels as you try to understand what you could’ve done because the oh-so-sensitive you feels like it must be your fault.

“Annoyed at me?” you press in a tiny voice.

“No!” Eddie booms instantly, much louder than you. He quietens, but his face still swirls with protest. He could never be annoyed at you. As far as he’s concerned, you’ve never done anything wrong in your life. “No— are you kidding? You’re perfect.”

He takes your face in his ringed hands, cradling your cheeks until they squish softly together. A perfect thing, indeed.

“Then what happened?” you mutter through your gently jutted lips.

The boy drops his chin to his chest and sighs. He hates that you care so much about him that you actually make him talk about his feelings. He’d much rather bottle them up and save ‘em for a rainy day. But no, you love him enough to pry the hidden emotion from his cold, black heart.

“I don’t know,” he answers first in an inaudible murmur, kicking at loose pebbles on the concrete because it’s easier than meeting your eyes. “Sometimes it gets annoying when… Other people look at you, I guess…”

He peeks at you beneath his long lashes, button eyes made of chocolate. They swim with a glittering emotion. Something tender and sheepish. He’s like a puppy when he looks at you this way. You can’t help but find him utterly adorable accordingly.

He’s a little surprised when his words make you laugh. He wasn’t joking, really, but he’s relieved to hear the honeyed sound. It runs over him like drops of summer rain and absolves him of all his envy.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think I can fix that,” you reply, smiling wide between his calloused palms.

“I know,” he whines, pouting softly. “And it sucks. ‘Cause you’re too pretty for your own good.”

You lean further into his warm hand. You blink at him with pretty eyes, and in a pretty voice, you wonder, “Would it make you feel better if I said that I only care when you’re looking at me? And that everyone else is basically invisible when you’re around?”

Eddie’s heart swells so much it starts to ache. You’ve awoken something in him — something that used to be dead before you came around, or something that didn’t exist at all. It’s something golden and made of velvet. Something warm and honeyed. Something that doesn’t have a name because you don’t even know you’ve invented it.

Despite trying not to smile too wide, a beam begins to pull at the corners of his mouth. A second later, and he’s grinning with all his teeth. He gets all shy, ducking his gaze as he nods at you. “Yeah, actually— that does make me feel a little better.”

You beam up at him, all lovesick and stupid. With your cheeks still in his hands, you rise to the tips of your toes and press a smacking kiss to the flushed apple of his cheek.

Eddie figures it doesn’t get more metal than this.

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR NINE

when you and eddie can't sleep, he has a bright idea. but only after he's lit a fire in your mind through a bathroom door. also, steve finally finds out what he said that night.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, allusions to male masturbation, minors dni

→ wc: 6.9k+

→ a/n: oops my bad. this chapter is dedicated to @jo-harrington i know it's not exactly what you'd joked about but... i did it. solo eddie for the win.

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

9:00 ─────ㅇ──────────── 24:00

DINGUS received a message from BIRDIE. 

BIRDIE: i found out what you said. 

-

HOUR NINE - 12:00 AM

When Eddie gets out of the bed, it wakes you up. 

In all fairness, you were sleeping lightly to begin with. It had only been about twenty minutes since his quiet confession, an apology that hovered in the air between you two, lingering and plastering itself to the ceiling. He was sorry for everything. And the optimist in you couldn’t help but count what exactly everything entailed rather than sheeps. You were certain it included the events of the night so far, but did it include Steve’s party? Did it include the cruelty exchanged the night this bet was made? Did it encompass the passing in time in which he’d tucked himself away from you after first meetings, letting a sheet of ice separate you? 

You’d fallen asleep halfway through the swirlings of ‘Did it…?’s, hardly realizing you’d left Eddie hanging after he’d whispered goodnight to you. You both knew you’d be waking up soon enough to send updates, or possibly receive a call from one of your friends. You both needed to utilize the time for rest – you were utilizing this time to rest. 

Until Eddie got up. Until you realized Eddie wasn’t sleeping, and now suddenly, you couldn’t even keep your eyes closed for more than ten seconds at a time. 

You listened to his footsteps as he left the room, as he crossed the hall and he shut the bathroom door behind him. When you did open your eyes, you focused intensely on the light pouring out beneath the small crack at the bottom of the door, waiting with bated breath for any sign of a shadow without luck. 

Five minutes. You’re awake enough to count the five minutes without any further noise or sign of him returning to the bed. 

You really shouldn’t be so nosey. He’s just using the bathroom in his own apartment. He’s probably just taking a piss, or more, and you hold no right to time him. But without him in the bed, there’s a cold you hadn’t expected. You hadn’t even been pressed up against him, the pillow wall still intact, and yet, his warmth had clearly reached you and kept you comfortable.

Maybe it wasn’t just his warmth. Maybe it was just his presence that made the room light up, swirling with something to wrap yourself up in rather than the chill of loneliness. 

The decision is made by your body first, brain second. By the time your thoughts have caught up to the choice that yes, you need to check on Eddie, your bare feet are already meeting his carpet. It takes mere seconds for you to cross the room, cross the hall. You raise your fist to knock and then– 

You stop. 

A sound completely stops you, freezes you mid-action. 

A whimper. 

Your stomach clenches. It wasn’t a whimper of pain. 

You’ve managed to cross countless lines with Eddie, both tonight and the entirety of knowing each other. You’d blatantly ignored boundaries he set in stone just as he did to you. The two of you had never functioned off of respect. 

It’s what you remind yourself when you take a step closer to the door, when you lean to press your ear against the wood. 

You nearly jump back when you catch onto the sounds coming from within the bathroom. 

Oh, yeah. He’s fucking jacking off. 

You’re familiar with that sound, hearing it both mocked in school and in pornos. The unmistakable sound of a fist gliding over flesh. Just as suspected, the whimper Eddie had let out on the other side of the door was by no means a sign of pain or distress – it was out of pleasure. 

You tell yourself that you’re only keeping your ear pressed to the door to fully load yourself with artillery to tease him with once the time comes. You tell yourself it’s a necessary evil, that you don’t enjoy it. You completely ignore the way your own thighs are beginning to press together when the sound speeds up. 

“Oh my- fuckin’ Jesus Chri- my God.”

Let it be known that you’ve never tried to picture what Eddie’s voice sounds like during sex. You’ve never fantasized about how many octaves his tone might drop, how breathy he might get from desperation, how his words might curl upwards with whines on the tailends. No, you’ve never thought about those things late at night. when you’re alone and have a hand between your thighs. You don’t have those thoughts about the guy you claim to hate. You don’t have the best goddamn orgasms of your life by picturing your hand replaced with his, the way the metal of his rings would nudge against your entrance. 

You don’t. You don’t. 

But something about the way he’s stuttering, sounding like a stereotypical porno in the way his voice is breaking, clearly close to finishing, has you pressing your thighs together tightly. It has your necks and cheeks flushing brilliant red as your chest heaves, recklessly trying to expand against the door you have pressed yourself against entirely now. 

“Fuck.” 

It’s muffled, led into by a heavy panting you can hear, even through the door, before being broken off by a long moan.  

Maybe you would give yourself the best goddamn orgasm you’d ever had again once this was over. And maybe that would be the soundtrack. 

You have to stumble back from the door, your entire body tight with frustration now as you back up away from the invasion of privacy you had taken part in. You don’t even have a chance to tell yourself it’s fine, because somewhere in your fumble to get away, your knuckles meet the door in an eerie resemblance of a knock, on accident. 

You can’t play it off. If you heard it, he heard it. 

“Uh, Eddie?” you nervously call out, cursing the way the words came out more like squeaks than tired syllables, “Everything okay in there?” 

You can hear his panic, between sudden shuffling, the slamming of the faucet turning on, the curses beneath his breath before he suddenly calls out, “Y-Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine! Just stubbed my toe!” 

“Okay…” you trail off, still breathing heavily, trying to return your heart rate to normal, “I, uh- okay. Just checking. Sorry.” 

You scurry, quite literally scurry, back into his bedroom. 

You shouldn’t have listened. You shouldn’t have eavesdropped, because now, this was all so, so much worse. Every fleeting detail of his living space passed by you, and all you could hear was a repeat of his harsh fuck he’d clearly let out on accident. When you’d found his playboys, it was all fun and games. He was a guy, and you knew what he did with those magazines, but you’d never been a door away from him doing that. 

You’re not a very imaginative person, but you’re still trying to picture how his hand wrapped around his dick might look, what his dick in general looks like, when he exits the bathroom and finds you sitting there. 

He looks even more embarrassed than you.

Your apology is on the tip of your tongue, an impulsive I’m sorry is stuck between your teeth. But saying those words is admitting to knowing he didn’t really stub his toe. It would be admitting to eavesdropping. 

You’d be taking this night to the grave to you. 

“How’s your toe?” you question instead, curling your hands into fists and forcing a weak smile. 

You’re a shit pretender. 

“Fine,” he breathes out, the edges of his bangs wet, probably with sweat, and his eyes wide in fear, “It’s, uh, fine. Sore.” 

It’s okay, though, because he’s a shit pretender, too. 

He makes no move to sit down, and you almost laugh at the palpable tension and awkwardness in the room. Both of your chests are still heaving, both of your cheeks are still burning, and both of you are flooded with distrust by your words. 

“I can’t sleep,” you break the silence with the worst possible conversation starter. If the roles were reversed, if Eddie said this to you, you’d just shrug in response.

Eddie isn’t you, though, thankfully, “You just were.” 

“And now I’m not.” 

“That doesn’t mean you can’t.” 

Some habits die hard. Even in the new waves of Eddie’s apology, even as you two entered uncharted territory of unspoken civility, there was still bickering to be had. 

“This argument is just waking me up more,” you sigh, leaning back on your palms behind you, “I’m definitely not getting any more rest.” 

Eddie’s eyes trail over you, head to toe, and your breathing stops completely, “Well, yeah, not wearing jeans. Did you bring anything comfortable to wear?” 

Did he just check me out? 

That starts a fire within your brain. The blush isn’t even a product of him making you flustered anymore, it’s the physical billboard to alert everyone of the flames that will surely consume you within the hour. A warning to Eddie, that if he doesn’t stop, you’ll be nothing more than a pile of ash caught between his carpet’s fibers. 

You’ve gotten lost in your thoughts until he’s snapping his fingers in front of your face, not too close but near enough to get your attention. 

Which hand did he use? 

You choke at the smokey thought, making him worry before you cough out a, “Sorry?” 

“Clothes. Did you bring any?” he questions as he looks down at you in concern, “Maybe some pajamas, or just something comfortable?” 

You don’t understand how it got to this point. How you’re the one so flustered, so embarrassed, when he was the one touching himself in the bathroom. Why are you the one with a fire blazing behind your skull, and why are you the one having to admit that no, you didn’t bring any clothes? 

Your silence is all he needs before he turns to walk to his dresser.

“Eddie, wait, no-” you start to protest but he’s already holding out a black pair of sweats, a similar style to the ones he’s wearing. 

“Here. I don’t know how well they’ll fit but…” he shrugs, almost shyly, before thrusting the clothing towards you with more intense purpose, “They’ve gotta be more comfortable than jeans.” 

“I-I-” I can’t. I can’t wear your clothes because I’m already thinking about your dick, and which hand you masturbate with, and how you’d sound hovering over me as you grind your hips into mine, and- “Thank you.” 

You take the damn pair of sweatpants, you swallow your pride, you continue to wade in his ocean. Maybe it’s all a game to him and he’s trying to break you (it’s working).

He continues to stand there awkwardly until you finally narrow your eyes, and take a single finger, waving it in circles to motion for him to turn around.

“What?” he asks, looking at your finger with wide eyes, still watching the circles it draws in the air. 

“Turn around, idiot,” you try to laugh lightheartedly, but it comes out strained.

You’re still thinking about him inappropriately. You’re still intoxicated by the idea of the sounds you can pull from him with the right moves, the right kisses. But you can’t, you know you can’t. 

You know he doesn’t think of you in that way. This feeling, unfortunately, is not mutual. 

He’s clumsy in the way he turns, even covering his eyes with his wide palm despite it being unnecessary. You notice the way he almost raises his left hand before he hesitates and chooses the right one instead. 

And now you’re convinced you have an answer to one of your burning questions. He uses his left hand, and instead of putting out some of the damaging flames within your mind, it fans them. You’ll definitely be nothing but a charred mess by the end of this night. 

You try not to take long, quickly yanking off your jeans and tossing them beside you before you work the sweats on quickly. Eddie has them a few sizes too big for himself, and it works out in your favor. 

You hate to admit it, but he was right – they’re comfier than your jeans by far. 

“Okay, you can look again,” you mumble as you bend down to grab your discarded jeans, working on turning them back outside right and folding them neatly. 

The turn to face you once more is even clumsier than his turn away from you, his hand dropping and slapping his thigh unceremoniously as he takes you in, “They… You… They, uh, fit. Good.” 

What was once cute tension and easily dismissed uneasiness is becoming too much. He’s still nervous, you’re still burning, and the room is too stifling when filled with both awkward emotions and swirling wisps of smoke that are thickening. 

So you do something about it. You choose to be the brave one and say something, “You’re being awkward.” 

He immediately scoffs, still stiff in his actions, “Excuse me?”

“You’re. Being. Awkward,” you enunciate each word with heavy emphasis, keeping up a faux mask of indifference as you turn for the bed, setting your jeans down on the floor by the nightstand before you climb back into the side you’d previously occupied. 

“I’m being awkward?” he’s following, taking the path from the end of the bed as he already has several times, leaving the wall of pillows intact, “You’re being awkward.” 

“That is such a childish response,” you tease him as you see him begin to warm up once again. The bathroom incident is forgotten, stomachs unclenched and jaws slacking as the two of you rearrange beneath the comforter. Both of you are careful not to disturb the pillows that weigh down the center of it. You convince yourself for a second his returning warmth comes from being closer to you, from being close enough to feel the heat of your flames. Or perhaps he has a forest fire of his own transcending his own neurons, and maybe the feeling is more mutual than you’d believed. 

If you never mention it out loud, he can never deny it, and you can continue to live in this newfound delusion and comforting fantasy.

You both still lie on your backs, mirroring each other with hands folded politely atop your stomachs and eyes glued to the popcorn pattern of his ceiling. It’s quiet. It’s nice. The only thing you can hear is his crashing waves and your crackling frames. You’re wading with your head above water still, not quite fully submerging yet, terrified that once you take the final plunge into him, the flames will be drowned out. Once he drags you under, he’ll settle the heat and the fever that has begun to haunt you, and you don’t know if what will be left in its place will be better or worse. You don’t know if you’re equipped to handle that unknown yet. 

“You remember how you asked about my motorcycle earlier?” 

His soft tone cuts through the white noise of it all. Every wave, every flame, every metaphor falls quiet for him. It’s suddenly just you, and just him. 

“Yeah?” you roll your head to the side, daring to look at him. He’s already staring at you. 

In the dark, you can make out a ghost of a smile as he says, “Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I like to take it out for drives.” 

“Oh?” You’re tempted to twist your body to fully face him, to prop yourself up on your elbow and give him your undivided attention. You don’t. 

“Yeah. I guess it’s why I prefer it over a normal car, or even a van like I had in high school,” his eyes are clouding over with thoughtfulness, with nostalgia. You can picture it fairly clearly; he seems like the type that would drive around an ominous van just to scare a town shitless. “It’s a pain in the ass because now I can’t lug around my own equipment for gigs, but there’s this parking garage that the bike can fit through the closed gates of-”

“Hold on, I’m sorry – gigs?” you take an extra second to process it, but you’re sure he just insinuated he’s in a band. 

He’s giddy, those eyes lighting up in the darkness. You can see the dimples, you can see constellations exposing themself amongst his pupils, “Oh, yeah. I’m… I’m in a band.” 

“How did I never know this?” 

You both know the answer. Because before tonight, there was a clear division between you and Eddie for your friends. Before tonight, you two had never really gotten to know each other, save for the first night. You don’t know if your supposed enemy is in a band. 

He doesn’t say that, though. And neither do you. Instead, he just whispers, “I don’t know.” 

You can’t let the obvious go unsaid. You’d defeated the awkwardness, and you could handle your own brain being on fire from his match strikes, but this? 

You couldn’t handle the heaviness of the past year in the room with you two. 

“I’m sorry, too, by the way,” you should look away, look to the ceiling as he had when he said those words to you, but you don’t. You finally do as you wanted; you turn onto your side, fully facing him, bringing your hands to be folding between the pillow and your cheek, “I’m sorry for… everything.” 

Everything. You wonder if it punches a hole in his chest, too. You wonder if you move like an ocean in his eyes, if your waves are beckoning him within those four syllables. 

Now that the constellations in his eyes have been exposed, they refuse to vanish from your sight. He mimics your position, his hand tucked beneath his pillow. 

When he doesn’t say anything, you have to fill the silence, just as you always do, “It doesn’t mean we have to be, like, friends or anything. I just… We were both jerks in the past. And you said sorry first, but- I’m not just saying it because you said it! I swear. You just deserve to hear that I’m sorry too. I regret it all, too.” 

He nods subtly, licking his lips, “I mean, I don’t regret it all.” 

Oh God, is he about to fuck it all up again?

“What do you mean?” your voice is impossibly small, a phantom of a whisper, clutched in fear and anticipation. 

Please don’t fuck it all up again. I don’t think I can handle losing you twice. 

“I mean… I… It was fun sometimes, wasn’t it?” he looks nervous now, blinking rapidly as if he’s fighting looking away from you, “You’re the only person who’s ever really given me a taste of my own medicine. Everyone else teases me, yeah, maybe banters from time to time, but you? I like the ‘no-bullshit’ policy you apply to me. Keeps me in line.” 

A sigh of relief. A weight off both your shoulders, a heaviness that vacates the room. 

“Fun?” your tone is confident, teasing even, once more, “What about me throwing a glass at your head was fun?” 

“I said sometimes, not all the time,” he laughs, as if the memory of one of the worst nights between the two of you was just a fond tale between friends. Maybe that’s what you two were becoming – friends. 

A brain on fire. Two lungs twisted in vines rejuvenating. He’s beginning to consume all of you, effortlessly, and you question if that’s what friendship is. 

His laughter dies down, and you sigh, breathing despite the greenery and the smoke, “I get what you mean. There was a month there that just sort of felt like it was our thing. Just banter, or whatever.” 

“Is it not our thing, still?” he raises an eyebrow, “I mean, clearly, we still argue. I think the day you don’t argue with me will be the day pigs fuckin’ fly, or whatever they say.” 

“Whatever you say,” you banter back with ease, putting on a face of complete agreement. “Do you need me to check the news for you? See if little Porky grew wings?” 

“Oh, shut up.” 

You’re both cackling as he reaches down to the wall of pillows, grabbing one at random, leaving a gap as he flings it softly in your direction. It hits your chest and you fall dramatically onto your back, wrapping your arms around the fluff of it while still giggling. 

The giggles linger as you pinch the corner of the pillow between your fingertips, rubbing as you glance down at the gap now in the wall. 

You can see his torso now. The sliver of skin that is his exposed hips, the waistband of his boxers. 

“You know, I’ve never met a guy with this many pillows,” you murmur, trying to steer your mind of his hips, his boxers, what’s beneath his boxers-

“I used to only have two. Then one time I brought a girl home, and she left because I only had two pillows.” 

You can’t help but let out a snort of your own this time, “What? A one night stand left you high and dry because you didn’t have enough pillows for her fancy?” 

“Yep. That’s exactly what happened,” he’s chuckling along with you at the ridiculousness of it all, “The next day I went to the store and bought all of these out of spite. Never saw the girl again, though. I like to think she’d be impressed.” 

“Oh,” you’re still laughing, with your entire chest as you subconsciously crush the pillow tighter to your body, “So impressed. You know you’re going to have to tell me all about it now, right? You can’t leave me hanging like that.” 

“I’ll tell you another time,” 

Another time. It almost goes over your head – the first time either of you have even entertained the thought of hanging out after the twenty four hours have ended. You don’t show him that you notice, and just continue on laughing. 

Somewhere amongst your delight, your head falls to the side and catches Eddie in the act. 

An act of total, utter softness. His features are melted butter as he stares down at you, seemingly entranced by your laughter and joy in his tale of a failed one night stand. It’s not the kind of look produced from forest fires, or turbulent oceans, or a garden of vines. It’s the kind of look that is a natural disaster all on its own. It’s devastating – something in the two of you immediately breaks, quietly, desperately. There’s no repairing the damage being done; there’s no want for reparations. 

The first bloom after a long winter finally sprouts on your vines. It’s bright and brilliant red – like scarlet blood, like hot and flickering flames. It’s watered by salt water, slow and warm and enticing. 

You start to believe that even if you plunge beneath his waves, the fire Eddie has lit within you will always remain. 

“We should go to sleep,” you whisper, eyes never leaving his. Trying to find the deep blue hidden within honey brown, to find seafoam green amidst wide, black pupils. 

“We should,” he agrees. 

“Goodnight, Eddie.” 

“Goodnight,” he pauses, and then he adds your name, as if he’s testing the taste on his tongue, as if he’s saying it for the first time.

It feels like he’s saying it for the first time. 

You look back up at the ceiling but still feel his eyes on you. A couple minutes pass, and neither of your eyes close. Just because you should go to sleep doesn’t mean you will. 

“You’re not even trying to sleep, are you?” 

You only hum in response, still clutching that pillow, still counting cracks in the ceiling. 

“Alright, fuck it.” 

Your eyes break to him as he suddenly is leaping off the bed, void of grace as he finally settles on his feet and races to his dresser. 

“Um, Eddie?” 

He doesn’t look up as he digs into a drawer, pulling out a long sleeved shirt, “Yes, sweetheart?” 

Sweetheart. A nickname that once filled you with venom now makes your insides twist in the agony of want. You want him to say it again. 

“What are you doing?” 

The long sleeved shirt flies your way, and he’s walking to grab a set of keys off the top of his dresser, “Getting you something warmer to wear.” 

“And… why…” you’re still lost, looking down at the shirt in confusion. It’s black and fairly thick, the neck hole stretched and a haunting white font sketching out the words Corroded Coffin, “Why do I need something warmer to wear? Your apartment isn’t that cold.” 

“Because it’s barely March, and it’s cold outside still,” he pauses and grins childishly, practically beaming at you as you continue to wearily eye the article of clothing. Once he realizes you’re still not getting it, he sighs dramatically and makes his way to your side of the bed, holding a hand out to you, “Neither of us can sleep. Let’s go for a drive.” 

His palm stares you in the face, an offer of something that should be considered a plain bad idea. There’s a million and one reasons to not go for a drive. And so you tell him exactly that, ready to list them off in rapid fire.

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“Perfect. Means no one else is on the street.” 

“We have to send a photo to the group soon.” 

“The place is five minutes away. We can take a photo when we get there.”

“Place? Oh my God, are you actually going to murder me? You’re taking me to a secondary location and that is in stranger danger 101-” 

Eddie stresses each syllable of your name as he says it, waving his hand that’s still stuck out for you to grab, “C’mon. There’s always a hundred reasons to not do something. Just… live a little. I promise it’s better than laying in my gross ass bed.” 

You narrow his eyes and challenge him, remembering his words about the way you two still argue. He was right – there may never come a day you don’t feel compelled to go toe to toe with him, whether it’s of ill-intent or not, “Why is your bed gross? Jesus Christ, Eddie-”

He moves suddenly. One moment, he’s just standing there, charming as ever with a daring palm that calls to you like his ocean. The next, he’s impossibly close, placing a hand on either side of you as he leans in dangerously close. 

“Change your shirt and meet me in the kitchen in the next five minutes, or I’ll come back in here and take your shirt off myself.” 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

If he had said those words to you nine hours ago, you would have castrated him. But the low tone of his voice, the brush of his breath over your cheeks, against your ears – you’re putty in his hands now as you nod dumbly. 

When he leans back, he even looks shocked in his actions and words. But then he catches that look on your face – the blank stare and wide eyes, the rapid rise and fall of your chest – and a shimmer of cockiness returns.

“Five minutes,” he reminds you, tilting his head as he takes slow steps back and exits the room. 

It takes you less than one. 

The moment the shirt is on you, you’re encased with a new Eddie smell. The scents of the bed, of the apartment, of him still cling to the fabric, but it now mixes with something of fresh linen, lemon and clean laundry. 

As promised, he’s in the kitchen, leather jacket on as he grabs his phone off a charger plugged in at the end of the breakfast bar lined with stools. 

“You charge your phone outside of your room?” you ask as you carefully pad in, immediately heading to grab your shoes and slip them on. He’s already got his boots on, laced tightly. They should look comical against the grey sweatpants, but he’s making the entire look work. 

“Saw some science magazine say it would help me sleep better,” he mutters as he flips the phone open, probably checking for missed calls or texts. 

“That really only applies to smartphones. When did you even plug it in?” 

You’re bursting with questions, nervous and eager to avoid what’s to come. 

Being on Eddie’s motorcycle. With Eddie. Probably pressed up against Eddie’s back. Probably wrapping your arms around Eddie’s waist. 

“When I came to wake you up on the couch,” he nods towards where you’re sitting, snapping the phone shut and shoving it into his pocket, “You ready?” 

You wonder for a moment how he’d respond to you snapping back something bratty. How far would you have to push him for him to threaten you like he did in the bedroom again? 

You’re not quite recovered enough from the first time, so you don’t press your luck, nodding in response to him. 

—

Apparently, by the time you two reach his motorcycle parked on the street, you have recovered enough to press your luck. 

He’d grabbed a helmet on the way out the door, and you’d just assumed it was for him. It made sense, considering the one time you’d seen him ride, he’d worn it. 

But then, he was suddenly thrusting it in your hand. And the argument ensued. 

“I’m not wearing this,” you try to shove it back into his hands, “You’re driving, you wear it.”

“Sweetheart, I’ve taken a dozen hits to the head in my lifetime. I can handle being banged up if something happens, but I’m not risking it with you. Put it the fuck on.” 

You almost spit for him to not call you sweetheart, but it soothes something in you. Something made of your flames, something drowning in his ocean. A conundrum, whatever it is, because he’s just irritating you now. 

“You could not survive a motorcycle crash without a helmet,” you snap. 

“And neither could you.” 

“Why don’t you have two helmets then?” you nearly toss the damn thing to the ground and declare that neither of you will wear a helmet. 

He finally breaks and takes the helmet back roughly, “Because I don’t normally have a passenger,” he’s rotating the bulky, black shell in his hand, the glass visor for the eyes shining under the street lamps, “Consider yourself lucky. Most aren’t tall enough for this ride.” 

You’re about to make an immature sex joke when he takes you off guard, smoothly bringing the helmet up over your head, not even giving you a chance to protest or fight him. 

“I hate you.” 

The words come out muffled to him, crystal clear to you in the helmet. But he still grins, and you can see it through the tinted glass. 

You don’t think you’ll ever be able to miss another appearance of those fucking dimples for the rest of your days. 

“Good. Glad to hear nothing’s changed,” he playfully jokes, rounding the motorcycle before he swings a leg over the seat and straddles it. You try not to watch and check your phone instead.

You’re getting kind of sick of imagining Eddie Munson naked. Something you’d never thought you’d have to think about. 

12:35 AM. Your phone clearly displays the time, just as a text comes in from Argyle. 

ARGYLE 😎: picture time, my dudes! say cheese (and send it our way) 📸

“Argyle just texted the chat, asking very politely for the photo,” you announce to Eddie, already holding your phone out so he could read the screen.

He’s kicked up the stand on the bike, balancing it with both feet on the ground, the entire thing leaning with him when he gets closer to read the text before simply saying, “Okay.” 

“Okay? We have to take a photo-” 

He snatches the phone from you, a terrible habit you needed to start scolding him for. “Well? Don’t just stand there, sweetheart. Get on the bike and smile pretty for the camera.” 

It’s impressive how quickly the man who still has a flip phone has learned to navigate your smartphone. He’s already got the camera open, flipped to be front-facing as he waits for you to climb on behind him. But you haven’t moved.

He turns and looks at you over his shoulder, “Something wrong?” 

“Nothing,” you squeak from beneath the helmet. 

Just the thought of being pressed up against you after I’ve suddenly started fantasizing about you without shame is madly overwhelming. And if I have to wrap my arms around your waist, I might burst into flames outwardly. 

“Okay,” he draws out, twisting further to watch you, “Need help, then?”

You don’t honor him with an answer, instead roughly grabbing his shoulders as you swing your own leg over the bike. You try to sit with distance between the two of you, but the curve of the seat won’t allow it, sliding you down until your hips are flush against Eddie. 

It’s at this moment it dawns on you that if you are fantasizing about him, if you are indulging in the memory of the bathroom incident, he’ll feel it. You can hide or brush off a blush, you can avert gazes, you can pine just about every way physically without him knowing – you can’t stop him from feeling the heat between your legs as it’s digging into his lower back. 

You swallow hard, and you pray that Eddie isn’t in a teasing mood. 

“Good?” he asks when you don’t remove your hands from his shoulders. 

Even through the fucking helmet you smell his cologne. If you had your phone, you’d be googling images of grandmas like a teenage boy, warding off your unsavory thoughts about the man in front of you. 

“Good.” 

You have to tilt to the side before you both come into view of the camera. Eddie realizes at the last moment that they can’t see it’s you, and he doesn’t even react as he casually reaches up to flip the window visor up, exposing your wide eyes and rosy cheeks. The photo is taken, your blush evident and his smirk not even close to being hidden. 

He doesn’t even consult you before he sends it and passes your phone back, taking to tying back his hair as you fumble to secure the device in your pocket. 

You still haven’t dared to wrap your arms around him as you know is proper protocol as a motorcycle passenger. Instead, one hand is still shoved in your pocket, and the other continues to rest on his shoulders.

“Alright,” he says, producing his eyes and putting them in the engine, not yet turning it, “Just put your feet up here,” he takes a hand to each of your calves and lifts, situating your feet on the small pedals designated for a passenger. Your skin burns through the layer of sweats – the flames aren’t just in your head. They’re everywhere now, licking and nipping and leaving your breathless. “And then hold onto me.”

You return your hand to his other shoulder, giving a squeeze on each for emphasis to say you’re ready. He makes no move to start the bike. 

“What?” you complain, “I’m holding onto you!” 

“If we hit a bump, you’ll go flying.” 

When you don’t comply, he’s rolling his shoulders, shrugging off your touch before both hands fly back behind his back and capture your hands on their fall to your lap. His fingers are tight, warm, secure around your wrists as he pulls your arms to wrap around him in the exact way you’ve been avoiding. 

It pulls you impossibly close to him. If it weren’t for the helmet, your cheek and nose would be painfully smashed into his shoulder. The heat of him radiates off his back, seeping through the sweatshirt he’d given you. 

“There. Now is that really so bad?” His tone is cocky and confident, getting under your skin in a new tactic neither of you had ever broached. 

Flirting. He’s flirting. He can feel the tremble in your palms, and he has the nerve to fucking flirt with you. 

“Awful,” you quip, having to focus an insane amount to not allow your voice to shake, “I might vomit, it’s so bad.” 

“Aw,” he tuts mockingly, hands finally letting go of your arms, clearly pleased when they stay in place as he turns his face to look you in your eyes, “Just aim for the street and not me, okay?” 

Fire and flames dance in his eyes, easily reflected from the flush of your cheeks and the falsification of your glare. He’s going to be the death of you. 

“I’ll try,” your voice does shake this time. You’re not as brave when he’s making eye contact. 

The two of you are playing a dangerous game now. The venom of hatred has leaked out of your words, and what’s replacing it has the capability of breaking both of you far easier. This is no longer a game of who can make the other bleed – it’s no longer a game of you versus him. It’s a game of the two of you versus fate. The world’s worst game of chicken to date. 

A natural disaster. A forest fire that eviscerates all common sense. A rowdy ocean that drowns every version of every possibility ever known. Nature taking back what was once hers, an abandoned haunt of a chest that is now back in full bloom against better judgment. 

You, him, and fate. You always knew he would be your inevitable downfall. You’d always just assumed it would be a lot more screaming, a lot more fighting, and a lot less fantasizing what his lips would feel like against yours. 

He reaches out, and you think for a second, his knuckle will brush your cheek and he’ll whisper that it’s okay for you to just give in, to let Fate have her way. 

He doesn’t. He flips down the visor over your eyes, he twists the keys in the ignition, and he calls out loudly over the roar of the engine, “Hold tight, baby!” 

Your arms tighten around his waist and you hope the flames that encase you char him all the same. 

—

DINGUS: what did i say? 

BIRDIE: it’s not bad.

BIRDIE: i promise.

BIRDIE: it’s just not great either. 

DINGUS: robin. tell me what i said before i come across the hall to your room and break every the smiths record you own. 

BIRDIE: jesus okay! hop off the violent train. 

BIRDIE: i’m going to call you and explain because… context. just trust me and answer, okay? 

DINGUS: jesus christ. okay.

—

The moment the girls have all left for the bathroom, each guy exchanges a look. Argyle nudges Jonthan, who then kicks Steve under the table, who takes his turn in facing his entire body in Eddie’s direction before tapping the boy on his shoulder.

He looks up immediately, only to be caught in the spotlight of his friends, “Uh… yeah? What’s up?”

“You like her,” Steve deadpans. 

“You like her, my dude,” Argyle sing-songs from across the table, “I’m about to start planning a bitching wedding, I swear.”

Eddie freezes up, face scrunching up before he shakes his head violently, “What? No, I just met her-”

“Subtlety isn’t your specialty, Munson,” Jonathan adds in his two cents, “Lost puppy dog eyes are, though. Which you’ve been making at her all night.”

“I have not-”

“You guys think they’re more of a summer wedding couple, or fall? No, no, actually, scratch that – they’re clearly a winter wedding couple, man,” Argyle is teasing, but the warmth of his personality is genuine as he wiggles his brows at Eddie.

A smile finally cracks on the boy’s face. 

Fine, maybe he did like her. Maybe he had been plotting subtle ways to get her number before the night ended. Maybe he had already been trying to silently catch Robin’s eyes to get her blessing without words. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Steve suddenly interrupts, “Tone down the teasing, alright, fellas?” 

Eddie curiously turns his head to him, hiding a smirk behind the lip of his glass, “Why? You’ve already got eyes on her, Harrington?” 

It was a joke. A stupid, stupid joke. A joke that never should have been made, because Steve was drunk and wasn’t in the business of using a filter once he was this many shots deep. 

Eddie knows deep down he didn’t mean harm by the words. He knows that they were the words of a drunk man. But don’t all drunk thoughts have truth to them? 

“What? Nah, man. Not anymore, at least. She was never interested. And I just don’t want us getting ahead of ourselves, because if she wouldn’t go for me, why would she go for you? I think we just-”

Eddie stops listening. Steve continues a drunken rant, and if Eddie had been listening closer, he’d hear about Steve’s grand plan to better feel out how she felt about him. He’d hear about how Steve would get Robin involved, maybe Nancy, how they could talk to her. 

He’d hear that Steve meant more than those awful words that immediately take up residency in Eddie’s mind. But the damage is done. And just like that, a fate between Eddie and this new girl has been decided. There will be no asking for her number. There will be no giddy late night phone calls or terrible nerves when planning a first date. There won’t be anything – Fate clicks with reluctance as Eddie Munson begrudgingly closes the gates to his heart once more. 

“If she wouldn’t go for me, why would she go for you?” 

Steve was right. Eddie shouldn’t have gotten ahead of himself. 

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @amira0303 @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @tlclick73 @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau @luvmunson86 @theherothesavior @keene200213 @hargrovesswifee @m-chmcl-rmnc @cherrymedicine13 @iunaelumen777

taglist is now closed.

[4pfsukuna]

Todo headcannons/drabble

The lack of love yall show Todo is INSANE, but its alright… imma do our himbo hottie some justice

Warnings: lil bit of smut, mentions of Todo being a much cause he for sure is.

Being Todos girlfriend was… indescribable.

You two meet senior year of college you were a fashion major and wanted to explore one of the most fasionable places in the workd…japan.

The only love on your mind was love for clothes not romance with any men.

So when a big beefy man is standing in the door way you barely pay him any mind even though hes flexing every muscle you pay him no mind.

He thinks its love at first sight from your beauty alone and he was going to introduce himself but the sweet intoxicating aroma of your perfume makes his brain short circuit and forget about stranger danger… and boundaries… and introductions. 

IT’s not until “my beautiful tiger lily a flower as delicate as you shouldnt be carrying such a heavy load allow me” to an unaware you whos more focused on where to get lunch from.

Hes talking about you carrying all the fabrics you have thats overflowing your bag from class  and not just any bag but your denim telfar and it all happens so fast.

Hes grabbing your bag thinking hes being a gentlemen (mans is delusional okay) but youre from new york and the last time a man touched your bag he was halfway down the train platform with it and your laptop.

So off pure instinct you swing as hard as you can.

This is no cliche experience where youre the first woman who can put him on his ass, no! The man is a brickhouse you basically punched a wall. The pain shoots through your hand faster than the curses can fly out your mouth and Yuji, poor poor Yuji is witnessing it all has to come to the rescue.

“I am so sorry about my— him” he apologizes as you craddle your hand to your chest fighting back tears. That was a punch that would have caved a man's chest in.

You have to wear a cast for 3 weeks and Todo takes it upon himself to become your personal servant and he seems more than happy to? You make not to ask Yuji what was wrong with him…again and if all men were like him.

No man is like Todo Aoi.

The man may wbe delusional but hes smitten. For the next 3 weeks he’s at your door 8am sharp ready to make breakfast and aid you in whatever you need and ogling every morning when you open the door at the different ways you style your hair and clothes.

You swear He almost faints the day you open the door and you two have on the same matching nike swishy joggers. He paired his with a white tee while yours with a black graphic tee tied up and a bucket hat. 

You’re also convinced he has stars in his eyes when he realizes its his tee that he left 3 days ago on accident not wanting to get messy while making you onigiri.

Oh yes this man cooks! and will cook 3 meals a day which isnt a shock look at how big he is?! He takes advantage of your dominant hand being in a cast and your lack of knowledge on how to use chopsticks to feed you. 

Of course you put up a fight but if a fine ass 6 foot 4 pure muscle chef wants to buy your groceries cook and feed you… who were you to deny?!

He listens to your music while he cooks but loves meg thee stallion. 

Back to you wearing his shirt He notices you didnt care youve known him for only 2 weeks and when your fashion mind got ahold of something your brain knew no limits. 

He loves hearing you talk about fashion and clothes and accompanying you on your shopping hauls, using carrying the bags as an excuse. So a few weeks later when your hand is fully healed and he’s still opening every door, carrying every bag and feeding you with chopsticks at a restaurant he just had to bring you to, your forced to realize you actually enjoy spending time with him.

Not only is he a foodie as much as you he takes the best pictures… Because he stares at you so much he knows all you’re best angles… all of them… And because he’s a native he knows the best photography spots.

Its when he takes you to a lounge restaurant that has music and food when you learn alot more about Todo, this man never said how much he loves to dance!

You call it his lil dancey dance which he IMMEDIATELY corrects and tells you “its the boogie woogie”

Dancey dance, like you said.

It’s almost 3am when the two of you leave and although you two had been drinking sake all night he seemed completely sober and maybe it was because he was so big. 

He goes completely tender, heart doing flips when you use his bicep as leverage to guide you down the street. It makes him feel like a man and with you being as strong willed and stubborn as you are, allowing him to lead,  makes him feel honored. 

Pulling a cherry blossom from a tree you two were walking under and it feels like a scene from a movie as you smell it and smile up at him his strength making more shower around you two. To him though this was how his world always looked when you were around.

Delusional or lover boy?

Todo is a heavy sleeper so when you Wake up to the sound of the alarm wrapped in his arms dressed in his tshirt your scarf on your head you’re shocked. What shocks you more is his usual bun isnt bunning his hair is sprawled around his face over his shoulders, long lashes touching the tips of his cheeks and has his lips always been this full and pretty? Were you catching feelings? Oh you were fucked.

For the rest of the day you can’t help but be awkward and sometimes you appreciate his obliviousness because he assumes you’re being strange because you’re hungry and goes to try a new recipe that he couldn’t wait to cook for you and you busy yourself with fashion…things.

You actually become submerged and your eyes can’t leave the screen not even when he request you taste what he’s made. You open your mouth leaning over to take whatever he made in your mouth not questioning what it would be until you notice it’s his fingers. He always fed you with chopsticks its when you make eye contact with him that— are his eyes in the shape of hearts?

You try to avoid him after that you didnt come to japan for romance you came for fashion. But of course hes not going for that this man knows your schedule, your habits, your hiding spots and your period cravings he would find you anywhere and he’s not letting you go until you tell him why you’ve been avoiding him.

Okay maybe he’s not that oblivious. So when you admit you’re feelings and tell him about your crush he’s back to heart eyes and the first thing out of his mouth is “let’s get married”

The man is Delusional. But the more you spend time with him after officially becoming his girlfriend you realize he’s delusional not dumb. 

Certified munch™️

Will eat you like the last meal before war.

Will suck your soul out of you like a crab leg.

He speaks sign language… with his tongue… on your clit.

And when your in the brink of conciousness thats when he pulls all 9 inches out. Nothing about this man is small or skinny.

Hes so… tender though. Has a worship kink and honestly youre not suprised. He wants to worship and caress every inch of your body every curve.

Hes also a jealous man, how dare another man think hes worth of your smile.

Jealous sex with him is always 12/10… its like hes trying to prove himself to you all over again pulling out tricks hes never done before.

Its when his jealousy goes to far putting you in an embarassing situation that you almost end his life.

You want to fold his clothes with him in it but…

The only thing better than jealous sex was angry sex and you commanding him trying to over power him  is the moment his soul no longer belongs to him. 

“Youre such a jealous man” you hiss riding his length one hand pressed into his abs for leverage the other switching from his bicep to his shoulder leaving the indent of your acrylic nails.

“And you know that yet still… baby fuck” he grunts his head in your shoulder trying to hold onto his release but your just so tight and warm and the squelching sounds mixed with your heavy breathing has his two brain cells fighting to form a sentence.

“Fuck… dont ever do no dumb shit mmmm like that again” you snap grabbing the nape of his neck pulling him up by the hair there and he almost cums like that.

He loves when you take control as much as he loves you taking your anger out on him his thumb goes to play with your clit knowing hes not going to last much longer.

“Like this” he smirks applying pressure and your hands slip but hes there to catch the pace pushing his hips up to match the rhythm you set. 

Your neighbors are not happy about your all night sessions but they wont say anything to the giant.

Aftercare is nothing less than special warm rag, massage, lofi music, the curtains open just enough to have the city lights on you and whatever 5 star meal he concocts up to make sure you eat before bed.

Tojis been a tenderoni for you since day 1.

[sailoryooons]

Knocked | ksj | (m)

☾ Pairing: Streamer!Seokjin x f. reader

☾ Summary: Living with people is difficult, but all things considered, your new roommate isn’t terrible. He cooks, he cleans, and if you had to be honest - incredibly attractive. But his habit of streaming until the early hours of the morning while yelling and making other questionable noises has pushed you to the limit. You’ve finally decided to risk your sanity and put it all on the line with a reckless bet in hopes of getting some peace and quiet at night.

☾ Word Count: 10,673

☾ Genre: Roommates to lovers, smut, humor

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Cheesy humor, Jin is an annoying gamer, a lot of game talk, stupid bets, explicit language, references to an ungendered ex partner, a very cheesy plot i like cheese, jin crossing a boundary but he apologizes okay!!! sexually explicit content including oral (m. receiving) vaginal fingering, nipple play, a lot of body fluids like a loooot of spit and drool, protected vaginal sex, fast sex because they’re both overwhelmed and honestly this is vanilla but they are CUTE!!!!

☾ Published: January 19, 2023

☾ A/N: SHE IS HERE AND SHE ISN’T BEAUTIFUL OR EDITED BUT SHE IS FINISHED AND CHEESY AND THIS JIN IS REALLY CUTE OKAY. My inner gamer went fucking nuts in this I am so sorry I really like playing Apex Legends and I got too deep into the game lore so hopefully people can appreciate that. These two were just thirsty for each other and both busted nuts quickly okay it has happened to me jgdhgijhd thats tmi okay HAPPY READING.

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Room for Rent Collab

A crash and a yell startle you in the kitchen, the spatula in your hand clattering into the egg pan as Seokjin lets out an unintelligible string of cursing and yelling. Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you try and center yourself in patience. It’s not uncommon in your apartment for two to hear him suddenly break out into yelling, and it surely won’t be the last. 

Kim Seokjin isn’t the worst roommate. Not by a longshot, when you consider the horror stories you’ve read in Reddit threads and seen on TikTok. He’s clean, he has an aesthetic eye for decoration, he’s an amazing cook, he pays his portion of bills on time, and he doesn’t steal food. Nor does he hog any of the common spaces in the house.

The negative? Seokjin is constantly gaming, which wouldn’t be a bad thing if he gamed quietly. Namjoon hadn’t warned you that Seokjin was a large-scale streamer before you moved in, focused on first-person shooter content and paid tournaments. 

It had taken about three hours into moving in when he screamed for you to realize that there was no fixing that bit. 

Meal finished and plated, you move to the dining room, sitting cross-legged in the chair and turning on the TV louder than necessary to tune out Seokjin’s hollering. You’ve come up with plenty of ways to tune him out, and listening to everything else on extreme volume is the easiest. 

Your neighbors must hate you. 

Halfway through your meal and eyes glued to RuPaul’s Drag Race, Seokjin comes trailing out of his room, drawing your attention. It isn’t a hard thing to do. For a grown man who is chronically wired to his PC, he is beautiful. The kind of beauty that is used in dramas and romantic comedies kind of beautiful. 

Dark, soft hair that is usually left shaggy and air-dried from the shower but you know looks dashing styled back for parties, equally dark eyes that shimmer with delight when he tells a horrible joke that he thinks is particularly amusing, full lips that would earn the envy of Aphrodite herself - Seokjin is painfully, artfully perfect. 

Except for the constant gaming. 

“Wow, didn’t offer to make me breakfast?” he asks. It’s more of a jest than anything, popping the fridge open in search of a caffeinated beverage. “How little do I mean to you?” 

“Check the microwave, nerd.” 

He looks surprised, meandering to the appliance in question and opening the door to see a plate of breakfast for dinner inside. “Wow,” he sighs dreamily. “You really are my favorite roommate.”

“I’m your only roommate.”

“Well, you’re better than Namjoon.”

“Mmm. That isn’t a hard feat, I don’t chronically break pieces of furniture.”

Humming his agreement, Seokjin shoves eggs into his mouth, munching happily. “When are you going to finally play some games with me, huh?” 

“Mmmm never.”

“You think I don’t know you have a little setup in there?”

“I like Animal Crossing. You like Apex.”

“Come on, I can teach you Apex.”

It’s a conversation you’ve had a million times. Gaming is the single thing that the two of you have in common. When you first discovered that Seokjin worked in the digital sphere and was a content creator for popular games online, you were a bit worried. It wouldn’t have been the first time you had been fetishized for so much as liking a game. 

Thankfully, Seokjin was alright. He didn’t make it weird, and after a casual comparison of the things you liked to play, he decided that the interests weren’t common enough to be a huge pain in the ass about it. 

He did really want to play at least once, with you though.

“I know how to play Apex,” you mumble, eyes flickering back to the TV. Your last situationship revolved around playing the stupid first-person shooter together. “I don’t like it.”

As in, you were absolutely never playing that game again after being worn out from it and having it associated with someone who kind of sucked anyway. 

“How can you not like Apex?” Seokjin mutters, more to himself than anything else.

Thankfully he drops the subject, distracted by your show. He shuffles to the couch, where you join him eventually, both of you tucked into the cushions as you watch the show. For the most part, Seokjin is quiet, only peppering you with questions during the commercial breaks. You’re happy to answer. 

It’s comfortable, your little life with him. You’ve almost lived together for a year, and despite the annoying gaming thing and his habitual bad jokes, you like living with Seokjin. You like having him as a friend, even. 

Things are good.

-

Things are not good. You clench your jaw as you re-read the email, feeling the tension creep into your shoulders. You can already feel the headache that has not yet happened but is predestined. 

If people would just read their emails before sending a snarky request with your boss CC’d- 

Mark: Come by my office, please. 

Sighing, you push out from the desk and head toward your boss's office. Your stomach flips uneasily, unsettled as you walked by the windowed offices of the executive staff. It isn’t that you’re afraid of your boss, but you certainly have been having a bad enough day without having to explain that if Alicia in accounting had just read your email she wouldn’t be confused.

At the appointed office, you tap lightly on the door frame. “Hi, still a good time?”

It’s obviously a good time, but for some reason, you feel the need to break the tension by clarifying. Your boss is a wide-set man who ushers you in with a wave. “Catch the door for me, please.”

The door shuts with a click and it feels like impending doom. 

Sitting quickly in a chair, you wait with a racing heartbeat as Mark finishes writing an email. The silence is awkward so you distract yourself by looking at the pictures of him and his family on his shelves as if you haven’t seen them a dozen times, and looking at his nameplate and literally any other object in his office to keep from feeling uncomfortable. 

The horrible 70s rock that plays softly in the background only makes it worse. 

With a final click on his mouse, he turns to you and says, “Sorry about that, trying to get through all these damn sales contracts.”

“Sounds exhausting.” You have no idea if it is - sales isn’t your area of expertise. “I know they’ve been busy.”

“Tons of new clients, which is always great but the paperwork is a killer.” 

“Makes sense.” 

“What is Alice in accounts losing her mind about? I saw that you’re missing invoices for radio stations and it’s way past the cycle?” 

“As explained in my email to Alice, the station in question filed for bankruptcy and has a halt on all their funds. This was something I communicated two months ago with accounting and legal. I believe you may have been on it as well, though perhaps I left you off.” You didn’t leave him off. You don’t leave him off any emails. “Those invoices are all going to be a mess until that’s sorted.”

“Look,” he sighs. “We all have a shit ton going on right now. One email letting us know that payment would be an issue isn’t going to cut it. You can’t assume that we see the emails. Was it flagged as high-importance?”

“Yes.”

And I mentioned it in three meetings and a sticky note, you think. 

“See, it’s just not foolproof. It’s your job to overcommunicate these things. You can't rely on accounting or me to remember these things for you.”

You give him one slow blink. Then another. 

“Understood,” you answer, throat tightening. “I will make sure to overcommunicate from now on, I apologize for the confusion.” 

“Thanks,” he says, a dismissal. “Door closed on the way out, I have a stupid call to jump on.” 

Door closed behind you, you wonder how anyone gets anything fucking done around this place. Because of course doing all of the things logical and reasonable to communicate a change in accounting isn’t reasonable. Going above and beyond and being responsible for other people not reading their email is now your job to compensate for. 

Steam blowing from your ears, you march back toward your desk in a blind rage, fists open and closing. You don’t see it coming when Yoongi smacks into you, eyes glued to his phone and fresh iced-americano now coloring your blue shirt a nice shade of mud. 

“Holy fuck I am so sorry,” Yoongi swears. “Shit - fuck - sorry.” 

Cold leeches through you like a knife. You rush to the bathroom, Yoongi’s cursing and apologies drifting behind you. The press of paper towels lifts a little of the yellow from your shirt, but it doesn’t fix the sticky-cold cling of fabric to your chest and the unmistakable stain down the front of your outfit. 

“Fucking perfect.”

-

Blessedly Seokjin isn’t home when you arrive stained in dry coffee, smelling like Starbucks, and sagging with a delightful mix of rage, wrath, and irritation. Like an angry little storm cloud, you move around the apartment, snapping cabinets closed extra hard and yanking your blouse off with a little more violence than usual. 

A hot shower makes most of the tension bleed away, but not all of it vanishes. Wrapped in a towel and turned into a prune, you reach for the clothes on the counter and realized in your haste to peel yourself out of Yoongi’s coffee, you didn’t bring any with you. 

It doesn’t matter anyway. Seokjin isn’t home, so you yank the door open and march toward your room, running smack into your second person of the day with a startled yelp and thankfully, a very tight grip on your towel. 

“Why are you all wet?” Seokjin shrieks, wiping his shirt as though he could get rid of the you-shaped wet stain. “And naked!”

“I’m in a towel! Why are you here?”

“I live here!”

“I meant right now! You weren’t home!”

“Well, I do come home, usually! And I yelled I was home when I got here so you would hear me!”

“Well, I was in the shower!”

“Obviously!” 

For a moment, the two of you stand there. You’re dripping a puddle onto the tile and the cold air has goosebumps breaking out all over your body. You shiver as Seokjin’s eyes flicker down for a split second before he’s looking at the ceiling and gesturing. “Well - go find clothes!”

“I will! Jeez!” 

You storm into your room, slamming the door and pressing your back against it. Your towel is gripped tight in your fist, heart hammering. You’re both adults and while being in a towel in front of Seokjin isn’t embarrassing or scandalous, it was unexpected and new. 

As you get dressed quickly, you can’t help but think of the way his cheeks tinged pink and the nervous way he shifted. It was… cute. 

With clothes on, Seokjin seems a lot less nervous around you. He’s still a little stiff, you notice. You bump into him as the two of you navigate the kitchen together and he ducks his head, the tops of his ears red. You file the information away for another time, feeling your cheeks warm when you go to reach for a pair of tongs but he already has them held out to you. 

It isn’t uncommon behavior. He’s known you long enough to know your habits around the kitchen, and you’ve cooked enough meals together to recognize the patterns in which the two of you move around the kitchen. 

Music plays in the background, Seokjin humming along. Occasionally, he sings the words, voice low and soft over the notes.

“You have a nice voice,” you note as you flip the oven off. He’s always had a nice voice, but you’ve never said anything before. He raises his brows as you grab oven mitts. “You do,” you insist with a grin. “I promise I’m not lying.”

“A great voice to go with a great face right?”

“Ew, here we go.”

He moves out of your way as you open the oven, leaning on the counter and crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Maybe I should sing on stream. Do you think they would like that? People already think I’m the most handsome streamer.”

“Sure, maybe do some sort of caroling or something for the holidays.”

He pauses. “That’s actually not a terrible idea. What if I just called my friends who were streaming on Discord and started caroling to them? I could make it a charity thing and select streams based on donations.”

Placing the hot pan on the top of the stove, you glance at him sidelong. “Do you do charity streams a lot?”

“All the time. Most of the long streams I do are for charities.” 

“So it’s not all just… earning cash?”

“No, I get plenty of that.”

“So why do you need a roommate?” 

Seokjin leans over you, to pluck a fry off of the pan. He doesn’t move away immediately, eyes dropping down to yours as he sticks the french fry in his mouth. The warmth of his chest radiates through your shoulder where you touch and suddenly, you feel a buzz at his nearness.

It’s impossible not to drop your eyes down to his mouth as he chews. For a moment, you’re dazed by his pillow lips - they really are a marvel to look at. Then he’s smirking and murmuring, “For the cooking. Did you get these out of a frozen bag? Ugh.”

Spell broken you swat at him and he laughs, leaning away again. “I don’t like to be alone,” Seokjin admits. “Having a roommate is nice. Granted, I was supposed to be living with Namjoon until he and Jungkook decided to be in love and all that. Now I have you filling out the rest of his lease.”

“So you can afford to live alone in this city and don’t?”

“Hey, I also save a ton of money. I will want to buy a house one day. Consider yourself as a part of my savings tactic.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

Rooming with Seokjin had been of convenience. Finding affordable living in the city was nearly impossible - especially on your salary - and when Namjoon had announced after only two months of living with Seokjin that he and his boyfriend were getting their own place, it had timed up perfectly. You had been vaguely familiar with Seokjin at the time, and you desperately needed cheaper rent.

You’d never really asked why Seokjin had a roommate at all. He had a work-from-home job at a software company doing something that went far beyond your understanding, and he made a ton from streaming. 

Seokjin plops down on the couch instead of the dining room table, a plate full of chicken nuggets and fries balanced on his knee as he pats the seat next to him without looking. You definitely went the easy route for dinner after your terrible day, and Seokjin seems to pick up on the fact that tonight is an eat-from-the-comfort-of-the-couch kind of vibe. 

“Ugh,” Seokjin sighs as he watches Shangela get eliminated from the top four on All-Stars 3. “That is heartbreaking. She worked really hard.”

Seokjin has never really voiced being a fan of the show, but you have a sneaking suspicion he watches it because you are, and it’s something to bond over. Maybe you should play a round of Apex with him.

Instead, you say, “Yeah, she deserved it.” You pause. “Thanks for watching with me, tonight. I had a rough day.” 

“Hmm. I can tell.” He leans and squeezes your bicep absently. “I’m here for ya.”

Though you say nothing, your insides do a little bit of a flip.

-

Glancing at the clock on the stove, you frown. Pausing your show, you pull up your phone, paging over to Twitch to pull up Seokjin’s stream. He’s been doing one of those stream-a-thon things again, and you haven’t seen him come out to eat since the morning. It’s well into the evening now. 

Seokjin’s stream pulls up and you see him in the corner of his screen, the familiar lighting in his room glowing in the background. His room is surreptitiously clean, free of any garbage and clutter. His bed is always made any time you see it, and the beautiful tiles of pulsing lights above it make a nice ambiance for his stream. 

Currently, he is focused, leaning a little too far toward his screen as he talks to his teammates. Taehyung and Jungkook, by the sound of it. There’s no evidence suggesting he has left his room today, which urges you to get up and head to the kitchen, closing out the stream.

In silence, you put together a small meal. A wrap, a small back of chips, and some damn water will do him some good. Pulling up his stream again, you wait until his match finishes and he’s leaning back, talking to chat. 

A little nervous, you walk with food in hand to his bedroom door where you can hear his soft voice. You knock lightly and he calls you in. Carefully, you stick your head in and see him turn. You’re out of shot from his stream, but he’s confused nonetheless. You never interrupt. 

Sliding the plate into view, Seokjin’s face lights up. He rolls away from the computer and comes over, his headset on his head still as he gushes, “Holy fuck thank you. You are literally the best. A goddess. A queen. Royalty. Angel among humans. I’m starving.”

“Yeah, it’s like seven at night idiot.” 

“Yeah, whatever. Thank you.” He bites into the wrap eagerly, taking a few minutes to chew and swallow. He pauses and glances you up and down before smiling. “Really, thank you. That was incredibly thoughtful of you.”

“Uh-huh.” You glance at his screen. “Have a good rest of your stream.”

-

Jin: Left lunch for you in the fridge. I made extra this morning. 

You look at the text and furrow your brow, toothbrush still popped into the side of your cheek. You continue absently scrubbing as you walk to the fridge and pull it open. Sure enough, there’s a glass dish with a sticky note on it and a smiley face. 

Plucking the note off the top, you read it. Thanks for taking care of me. Now I’ll take care of you. 

With a smile bright enough to light up the entire city, you go about getting dressed for work.

-

The smile doesn’t last long. Work drags on unsteady, tired feet, and once again, you are stuck in a slew of responsibilities that shouldn’t be yours, reading emails that are reiterating things already discussed, and joining meetings that should be emailed. 

By the time lunch comes and goes, you realize that you haven’t yet eaten. Tucked in the small cubicle, you nibble on Seokjin’s homemade meal, eyes glued to the neverending scroll of budget tracking and invoices. 

A raging headache lurks behind your eyes and though your lunch is superb - as it often is with Seokjin’s cooking - you can’t help but feel your frustration mount by the time your next meeting rolls around. 

Meeting after meeting interrupts your afternoon, and when you finish your last one long past the time to go home, your nerves are fried and a high-strung feeling follows you all the way to your car as you scroll through all of the emails you have yet to get to.

Because of all the fucking meetings. 

The trip home is silent. Your fingers ache with the grip on the steering wheel of your car and when you park in the lot of the apartment complex, you sit there for a moment, car off, world muted by the car doors. 

Head pressed against the steering wheel, you take a few steady breaths. It feels like you might cry, which isn’t typical after a work day. But you’re frustrated and tired, and that goddamn headache is still looming in the back of your eye sockets. 

Upstairs and in your apartment, you breeze past Seokjin who is in the kitchen. You mumble something about a migraine and he barely gets a moment to say anything before you’re in your room, door pressed shut. You lay in your bed without even taking your work close off, wrapping yourself in your blanket and closing your eyes. 

The next thing you know, there’s something warm pressed against your brow. You frown and groan, rolling over and feeling several joints in your body pop. Your eyes flutter open and you see Seokjin leaning over you, making you flinch slightly. 

“Sorry,” he laughs. “But it’s really late and you should eat. I know you have a headache so I brought you meds and a cold towel. And ramen. I make the best ramen.”

“Jungkook makes the best ramen,” you correct, sighing and leaning up a little. Your movements are stiff, tangled in a blazer and dress pants. “Ugh, I slept like this?”

“Jungkook does not make the best ramen. I will take that away.”

“Fine, fine.” You take the medicine from the nightstand and chase it with the water glass offered. “Thanks.” You look at all the things he brought you and your insides begin to melt. He lingers near the doorway, eyes soft, expression warm. “Thank you for thinking of me. I… wow.” 

He shrugs, suddenly shy. “No big deal. Now eat the best ramen in the world or I’m going to have a fit.” 

With that, Seokjin leaves you to eat your ramen in peace. The first taste is amazing, already warming you up. You realized you’re ravenous, pulling noodles into your mouth hungrily. Absently, you think that it is the best fucking ramen in the world.

-

“What’s with you?” Seokjin asks as you drag your feet slowly in the grocery store. Rarely do you shop together, but today is an exception. “You look like a zombie.”

You nearly shoot daggers at him. “I lost my headphones,” you snap. “Which means I have to hear your gaming all night.”

“Oh come on, I’m not that loud.”

“Watch one of your streams back, I’m sure you’ll disagree.”

He sighs, turning the cart as you walk down the spice aisle. “Sorry, I’m preparing for this huge Apex tournament. Jungkook and I have been practicing duos a lot and it’s been a bit frustrating. Everyone has fucking aim assist these days, I swear that console players are doing to ruin-”

“Jin.” He pauses his rant. “I’m just asking you to keep it down a little. I no longer have the means to ignore you… moaning weirdly during a game.”

“What?”

“You haven’t noticed? You kind of moan and yell. It’s… ask your stream about it.”

He stops walking, staring at you as you walk ahead. “I don’t do that.” You snicker and he makes a frustrated noise. “I don’t!”

Five minutes pass with Seokjin sulking about your comment. It’s when you’re in the milk aisle that he says, “So you’ve just been imagining me moaning on the other side of the wall, huh?”

“W-what?” 

“Admit it. You’ve been thinking about me moooaaaning you’re having dirty thooooughts.” He sing-songs this to you, poking at your sides as you open the fridge to get milk.

“I am not.”

“It’s totally cool. I get it, handsome bachelor right on the other side of the wall, you’re bound to get curious and - oof.” 

“Put this in the cart,” you deadpan, having hit him in the stomach with the gallon of milk. He takes it from you and obliges, though there is a shit-eating grin on his face. 

Seokjin isn’t right, but he isn’t explicitly wrong. When you first moved in, you had been shy and wondered about the attractive boy who lived just on the other side of the wall. Once you had fallen into familiarity, though, there had not been anything there.

Except recently. 

The last few weeks have felt like the two of you have reached a new level of shared living space. You had done things together before, but now you find yourself making all your meals with Seokjin, bringing him snacks during stream, waking up to him making you breakfast or having prepared you lunch. 

And now you’re doing groceries together, which was something uncommon enough to make you wonder.

You think back to the gentle way he made you dinner and brought you medicine when you had a headache, the way that your insides had turned cotton candy at the action and house these days, your eyes lingered on him just a little bit more. 

But no. Seokjin was your roommate, and you learned in your last situationship that you don’t shit where you eat. Which is why you moved out of the old apartment and in with Seokjin in the first place. 

The rest of your shopping experience goes with mild teasing. You’re still a little bit on edge, but not enough to be truly mad, especially when he offers to cook dinner. 

Once again, you find yourself nestled on the couch watching TV before he finally relents and announces he’s going to practice duos with Jungkook. He assures you that he’ll keep it down this time - he isn’t streaming, so you sure hope so - and vanishes for the rest of the evening. 

When you get ready for bed, it is mostly silent on his of the wall. No yelling, but you can hear the soft lull of his voice. Oddly enough, it’s soothing, and you end up falling asleep with the barest sound of his hum through the walls. 

-

Most nights, you can sleep through Seokjin’s yelling at the sudden sound of his knee hitting his gaming desk as he jumps up, a string of expletives laced with other unintelligible expressions of shock, horror, and frustration. Most nights, you can tuck your headphones in, and blissfully fall asleep to the sound of rain, hearing his insanity only once in a while.

Except now you’ve lost your headphones, you don’t have enough money to splurge on a new pair, and Seokjin has been practicing for a tournament for some extremely long stream he has coming up. 

So now, you go nights without sleep. Nights where you drift off to dreamland after a long shift at the bar or studying for your dissertation. Nights like this, where you teeter on the edge between awake and asleep, and you’re startled straight out of your bed from a shout. 

Heart pounding, you grip the edge of your bed, trying to get your bearings as Seokjin’s shouting echoes through the shared wall. You feel sick with the sudden rush of adrenaline and fear, closing your eyes for a moment as the room spins.

Gritting your teeth and ripping your blankets from you, you march to his room, stumbling as you try to get your bearings from waking up so suddenly. Your stomach does a nasty flip, churning at the unplanned activity as you pound your fist on his door.

“Open up, motherfucker!” You screech, hand slamming on the door without pause. “I swear, Seokjin, sometimes I just want to-“ 

The door rips open and you nearly knock him right in his chest. His very bare, very broad chest, lit up by the purple RBG lights on his headphones and strip lighting around his room to improve the ambiance of his setup. 

“Holy shit, woman! What?” 

You blink, momentarily dazed at what you came here for, distracted entirely by the firm curves of his pectorals, skin smooth and gold. Was Seokjin always this in shape or is it a figment spurred by the rush of adrenaline? 

Finding your words is hard, your brain is scrambled and near ready to make dial-up noises at the site of your roommate’s bare skin. “We just talked about this,” you manage to spit out. “And you’re literally going to start screaming the same fucking day we talk about keeping it down?”

“I mean I’m sorry but damn. You don’t have to break the door down.”

“Then stop screaming!”

“You’re the one screaming!”

“Because I’m trying to fucking sleep! I have dealt with you yelling, cheering, slamming the desk and hollering and doing your little moan-scream for almost a year without saying anything!” You yell back, fists clenched and rage boiling. “I’m so fucking over it!”

“Then why have you never mentioned it before? You know, like an adult!”

Your mouth hangs open at the clap back. “Be for real. I am not the problem here.”  

“Well if I’m the problem, why haven’t you communicated that? You’ve been here eight months and it took me asking you at the grocery store to fess up that I was bothering you.” 

“I mean. Yeah, but-”

“So don’t yell at me that I didn’t read your mind and I had no idea I was bothering you. Or get headphones.” 

“How about you start gaming at normal hours? Have you ever thought of that?” 

He rolls his eyes. “You mean my working hours?”

“I mean between the hours before 11 at night, Jin!” 

“Make me!”

“Fine!” You snap, rage pushing you over. “Shall we make a wager?” 

This catches him by surprise. He blinds a few times, tilting his head. “What are you proposing?” 

Crossing your arms, you nod to the computer. “You want me to play Apex so bad? Fine, we’ll make it a competition.” 

“There’s no 1 v 1 in Apex.”

“Duos. Whoever gets the most kills wins. No shields higher than blue, no turning on each other. Just strictly kill count. If win, you don’t get to game past 11 pm anymore.” 

“And if I win?”

“What do you want?”

“What can I have?” He pauses, looking you up and down. Something feels different as he does this. His gaze heavier. Darker. He licks his lips, your attention is drawn to the way the blue lights glittering on his wall turn the spit-slicked surface blue. “How about any favor at any time that I ask? Are we also trying to win as a duo?”

“Sure. No holds barred on how we get kills.” 

Again, he examines you, trying to puzzle something out. Wordlessly, he walks to his computer and grabs his headset. The door is open to his room, showing that he just has his basic setup turned on, with no intention of streaming. “Jungkook I’ll hit you up tomorrow. I have to kick my roommate's ass.” Jungkook says something on the other side and Seokjin clears his throat. “Yeah, no. Bye.”

He returns, phone in hand. Your phone pings in your room. “Add me on Discord, I guess.” 

Wordlessly, you spin and head to your room. 

There are still things Seokjin doesn’t know about you. Like how you played his favorite game for a year straight, trying to impress your last roommate-turned-fuck-buddy with your skills. While it partially worked in your favor, their failure to commit to you gave you a sour taste about the game. 

It’s been a while since you’ve played. Slower games are more your style, and you haven’t turned on your PC in a while, but as it starts, lights inside of the glass case glittering, you feel a shiver of excitement. 

Your setup is not nearly as advanced as your roommate's, who has three screens, a massive desk and hi-tech camera, a microphone, and a massive custom-built unit that could probably power a tank. Yours is pre-built but sturdy, and you have a single screen with a modest keyboard and headset to match. 

Glancing at the Discord user, you roll your eyes at what Seokjin’s written: WorldWideHandsomeJin.

“Weirdo,” you mutter. 

You add him anyway, getting comfortable in your chair and hitting the call button. He answers immediately, his voice making the hair at the back of your neck tingle as he says, “So are you going to be my Discord kitten?”

“Ew, don’t ever say that again,” you mutter. Navigating your desktop, you start to update the game. “Give me fifteen. I have to update.”

“Really? Newbie.”

“Sorry I don’t play this game every second of my life. I haven’t played since I moved out of the last place.” 

He hums, voice vibrating in your very nice headset. You turn him down a little bit, feeling just a little drunk from the rich timbre of his voice. “That was a… weird situation, huh?”

“A bit.” 

“They play Apex that much too?”

“Not as much as you do.” He hums again. “Who do you main?” 

“Loba.”

“Fine,” you answer as the program opens. “I’m playing Wraith.” 

The game menu blares in your ears, making you squeak and reset all of your old settings. It feels weird to log on, pointedly ignoring the familiar username as you navigate your friends list to add Seokjin. He pops up and selects duos for you. 

Your eyes nearly bug out of your head when you see his rank. “Diamond? Holy fuck do you touch grass?” 

“Says you! You played enough that you hit Diamond in your first season too, nerd. It shows your historical stats. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Whatever. Ready up.” 

Neither of you says anything as the system prepares to put you in a game. You look at his stats, raising your brows as you flip through. He’s historically hit the highest rank in the game, making you wonder why he’s dropped recently. He also has a ridiculous skin on his character, making you wonder how long he’s been playing. 

Apex Legends is a first-person shooter game with a battle royale format. Similar to Fortnite, teams load into the game and pick up weapons and other materials to fight other teams the ring of combat gets smaller and smaller. With Seokjin’s selection of Loba guarantees that you’ll be able to stock weapons and ammo. With your selection of Wraith, you can get in and out of situations quickly and you’ll know when an enemy team focuses on you.

As the map loads, you can’t help but feel the tremor in your hand. Your leg bounces up and down as you wait, watching the dropship come into focus. You give Seokjin the power to drop your duo anywhere on the complex map. You almost expect him to launch immediately, but you’re impressed to see that he has enough patience to drop you a moderate distance on the map.

Which means fewer weapons, fewer shields, and fewer teams to kill. You frown as you navigate your character to land near utility boxes full of weapons. Does he think you need to take it slow? Or maybe he’s worried about giving you too many people to kill easily. 

“Team to the north,” you comm, opening up boxes and selecting weapons, shields, and med packs. “What do you shoot?”

“Energy. Preferably the volt.” 

“Volt here. Let me know if you see a flatline or sentinel.” 

“You snipe with Wraith?” 

“When she says someone’s aiming at me, yeah?” 

He hums but does not comment the two of you use the map to navigate. You fall into a rhythm, using the controls feels sort of familiar. As you work your way toward the next ring, Seokjin startles you when he starts firing shots at a time looting that you miss. You flinch and whirl, but he’s already eliminated the pair. 

“Two zero.” 

“Whatever,” you growl, ignoring his smug voice.

Shooter, move your character in game commands. You dodge behind a box as an enemy team rattles off shots. Your heart pounds as you use a sniper to look in the direction of the shots, seeing the duo up on a tower. Lining up the scope, you click and hit a player. 

“Knocked,” you call automatically. The second teammate makes a bad call and tries to get their knocked pair up. You line up the shot and click twice. “Knocked. Out.” You move your mouse and finish the other teammate. “Out.”

“Yeah, yeah, good comms whatever. We’re even.”

You grin. “Just trying to communicate to my teammate.” 

He snorts. “Sure.”

For a few moments, the two of you navigate to a safe zone. When you see two teams clash, you don’t even think. Normally you’d wait for one team to finish off the other, but you’re in a competition with Seokjin, too. Suddenly, winning means more than just peace and silence.

“Knocked,” you call, sniping another player. “Out. Out. Knocked.” 

“You motherfucker,” Jin hisses. “You’re supposed to - out - tell me when we’re going to push a team.”

“Hey, that was my kill!”

“You only knocked him!” 

“Whatever. And I pushed them because I want to win.”

“I didn’t realize you were so good at this.” The two of you start looting the load out of the eliminated players. “You kept saying I don’t like Apex and here you are, really good at it.”

“Honestly, I used to like it.” Together, you traverse the map until you enter the next ring. Seokjin pauses to use Loba’s pop shop ability, a cache of weapons and materials in the local area showing up in front of you. As you sort through them, you continue, “But I used to play with my old roommate and I used to do it to impress them. As it turns out, being good at a video game does not a relationship make.”

“Hmm. Well if it makes you feel any better, I like you even without the Apex.”

“I meant I was trying to get them to like me romantically.”

“I know what you meant.” 

You pause. Seokjin does not explain his statement, humming lightly as he picks up ammo and leaves the little shop running. He skips down the hill with his character, his happy little tune deep in your ear. 

Nerves get the best of you in the next firefight with a team. You get knocked and screech into the headset, thinking that your chance to win is over. Seokjin, thankfully, takes pity on you and heals you after your near-death experience. But now he’s in the lead, and there are only five teams left. 

I know what you meant. 

The words sit heavy on you. While you are attracted to Seokjin you know it’s a bad idea. Roommates being anything more than roommates often brings other issues. You’d learned firsthand how poorly not defining a relationship could go. That was on you as an adult too but… you didn’t want something in between.

And you have no inclination of what he meant. 

Seokjin wasn’t a very flirty person. Teasing you came easily enough, and he was always nice. He had been a little extra nice recently since you’d been spending more time together, but there wasn’t anything that would suggest he saw you as more than a roommate. 

Two more people downed, and you were tied. The two of you were more into the game and less into the bet. Your interrupted sleep was long forgotten, and you leaned forward as you devised a plan, locking down a high tower where you could see enemy teams coming to escape the shrinking ring. 

“Glad you got that stupid sentinel,” Seokjin mutters. “Who snipes with Wraith.” 

“Shut up,” you shoot back, though you don’t really mean it. “Your second gun is a fucking wingman.” 

“Because it’s like a one tap to the head!” An incoming team distracts him from arguing with you. “Over by that dino cage.”

“Got it,” you comm back. The second you shoot, you draw fire. “Oh my god do they have a Kraber?” 

“Yeah, but they fucked the shot. You got this.” 

Taking a breath - a little dramatic, you realize as you scope them - you take the shot. You tap one, but they have red armor. You curse, pissed you installed a fucking armor limitation, and duck behind the wall as the other team misses the shot with their kraber again. 

“Best gun in the game and they can’t hit shots!” Seokjin laughs. “Imagine! Their buddy must be fuming.”

You scope again and tap the person again. “Knocked. Do we stand our ground or try and take them?” Another shot misses. “Can you keep a scope on that person you cracked and I can push? Other team is probably trying to wait it out.” 

“If they see you?”

“Then you’re fucked but they’re not going to engage between two snipers. Maybe? I don’t know. Just do your thing.”

And you do your thing as Seokjin runs off toward the enemy team. They no longer have shots on their gun - which makes you roll your eyes, it’s the best gun on the map - and keep focused. Either they think you’re moving or they make a bad call - the healthy teammate tries to pick up their knocked ally and you take the shot. 

“They’re both cracked.” 

“Got it- AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH OTHER TEAM.” 

His screech makes you slam your knee into the underside of your desk. No wonder he does this all the time, you think, realizing that the disrupting noise is a lot easier to make than you originally thought. “Let them take the kill then!”

“Fuck that I want to win!”

“Ew is this about the bet still? Now I want to win the game!”

“That’s what I’m talking about! Ye of little fAIIIIIITH!”

It’s hard not to giggle as he breaks off into yelling, entering a firefight while you try to provide cover and miss your shots. “Stop fucking portaling where I want to shoot!”

“Stop missing!”

“Knocked motherfucker!” 

“Got it!”

Seokjin finishes the two teammates as the knocked enemies on the other team expire. Both of you scream over your headsets. You shoot to your feet as the victory screen flashes. You don’t even wait - you bolt toward the door, your wired-in headset ripping off your head and nearly yanking you back as you go. 

The door is already open as he yells loudly, jumping up and down and grabbing you by the forearms, jumping around in circles with you. It’s stupid but it’s fun, and you can’t help but feel elated as he shakes you wildly, screaming, “Yaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” 

His hands are warm on your biceps, gentle and squeezing you excitedly. And then between one breath and the next, he’s pulling you toward him, pressing his lips to yours. 

A shock goes through you. You freeze for a moment, completely taken aback and unsure how to react. Seokjin realizes what he’s done and immediately backs away, running a hand through his hair and tugging at the strands as he says, “Shit - I am so sorry. That was wow - that was a line crossed without your consent and I’m so sorry.” 

Heat floods you from head to toe. Your heart slams against your chest and you stare at him as he fumbles over an apology, his face red as you feel. Your mind can’t catch up as the warmth spreads from your face to the rest of you.

“I’m genuinely so sorry, I just got really excited and-”

“What did you mean earlier,” you cut him off. “When you were all I know what you meant. Look I… really don’t want to make this living situation weird.”

“Totally understand, I’m so sorry.”

You chew on your lip, looking at him. He looks earnest, eyes round and expression pleading. Your lips tingle where he kissed you, so quickly that you’ve already forgotten. Part of you wants to tell him to kiss you again. It was nice. And the flip in your stomach was… good. 

But the part of you speaking now says, “I had fun gaming with you. Apology accepted. I am super tired though, so I’m going to go to bed okay?”

“Yeah. Listen, I am so sorry. That won’t happen again and I just - that was not cool of me at all.”

“It’s okay.” 

“It wasn’t.” 

You offer a smile, still nervous, fingers twitching. “I know you didn’t like, mean anything by it.”

He frowns. “Well I did but that’s my issue.” 

Your heart is a stone skipping on the smooth surface of a pond. “What does that mean?” 

“Look,” he sighs. “I don’t want to make things weird, alright? I harbor a bit of a crush on you and that was honestly absolutely not okay for me to just-” He gesticulates wildly with his hands. “It was an inconsiderate thing for me to do.” 

A crush. Your breathing hitches and you rub sweaty palms against your pants, nodding. “It’s - we’re okay. We’re fine.” 

Seokjin nods, nibbling on his bottom lip as he stares at you, red-faced and nervous. The silence turns awkward, your mind blanks and buzzes as you try to digest his words.

Crush crush crush crush. 

“I’m gonna go to bed,” you announce abruptly, needing to escape the room to breathe for a moment. He nods, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly as you rush out. “Night!”

Behind locked doors in your room, you cover your face, feeling the way your cheeks are flushed. You do some deep breathing, trying to regulate your heart rate as your brain spins its tires on Seokjin’s words- confession. 

He confused. That he has a crush. 

For a few moments, you just lean over and pant, trying to think how you feel. Your stomach is a bundle of nervousness and your hands are a little shaky. But you’re not upset. In fact, you smile a bit, thinking of the way that Seokjin had turned shy and the way his lips had felt soft for that split second of a chance.

Straightening, you stare at the wall between your bedrooms. Seokjin is right there. Has been right there. And has admitted to liking you and is sweet and kind and fun to hang out with and-

It might be a bad decision. You’ve been down this road before. It ended up with you nursing feelings and deciding that feelings with roommates was a bad idea. But your last roommate didn’t have feelings for you like that. They liked the sex, but that was where the attraction ended. 

So maybe -

You knock loudly on Seokjin’s door. There’s some shuffling on the other side and he opens it, brows furrowed and a little breathless. Before he can ask what you’re doing, you’re pushing past him and asking, “When you say you have a crush on me what do you mean? In the physical, only attracted to your appearance kind of way, or like the would date kind of way?”

“Well I am physically attracted to you,” he answers slowly, turning to look at you. “But I also like you. You’re funny and incredibly kind, and you’re easy to live with. I like the way that you make your hashbrowns a little extra crispy and crunchy, and I like that you think of me when you do things.” 

“So you like me?”

“Yes, I think I… included that?”

You lick your lips, taking a shaky breath. “So you don’t want to just fuck me no strings attached?”

He blanches. “No. I don’t. Look I know I made you uncomfortable-”

“Kiss me.”

“What now?”

“Kiss me!”

There is a fleeting smile Seokjin gives you that later, you’ll think on with a fluttering heart and breathless laugh. But now, all you can think about is the gentle touch of his hands as they cradle your face and the delicate way his lips press against yours, pillow soft and sweet. 

Seokjin smells like his body wash, the sage and juniper intoxicating as you wrap your arms around his neck. His skin is warm as you press your palms against his skin, his pulse throbbing underneath your thumb. 

The kiss is chaste, just a firm press of lips and a surprised noise shared between the two of you. Tentatively, you pull away, eyelashes fluttering as you look up at him. Seokjin’s eyes are swimming pools of darkness framed by long lashes. He’s so beautiful, but up close he’s deadly, flecks of gold glittering in his irises. 

“I just,” you whisper. “I don’t want it to be weird but I also… want.” 

You don’t have to explain. Seokjin’s grin is easy, nodding. He gets it. He gets you. So he leans down again and pulls you in by the waist, fingers curling in the hem of your t-shirt as he tugs you toward him. The motion makes you gasp and he takes the chance to turn the kiss from sweet to carnal, tongue sweeping into your mouth.

Seokjin kisses you slowly, tongue curious and gentle. Your head spins as you kiss him and you can barely breathe, so full of him and thoughts of him and the taste of him that you grip him tight, desperate not to fall over. 

The irritation from him waking you up is long forgotten as he tugs you closer. Your hips press against his, mouths sliding, a mix of gentle smacks, spit, and gasps for air. A buzz tingles through you as you nudge Seokjin toward his bed and he responds immediately, backing up and pulling you with him.

When the back of his legs hit the bed, he falls backward. The two of you become a tangled pile of limbs and kisses and giggles, but you find your place as you slot your knees on either side of his narrow waist, palms flat against his chest and the steady beating of his heart. 

There are stars in his eyes when he looks up at you. For a second, you just look at one another, his hands rubbing up and down your thighs and his eyes locked on your face. His lips and face are rouge, hair messy. You grin and lean down, pressing your lips against him again. 

Kissing Seokjin is invigorating. You can’t help but let little noises slip from your mouth. His fingers press into your thighs, dimpling the flesh as he groans, hips twitching upward for friction. The bulge through his sweatpants makes you squeak and you break the kiss, wiggling your hips down to press against his clothed cock.

“Ugh,” he moans, eyes fluttering shut and head pressing back into his mattress. “Don’t do that. I’m so fucking hard.” 

“Do you want some help with that?”

His gaze softens and his thumbs slide back and forth on your thighs, caressing gently. “I want whatever you want. Nothing, everything, something. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Well right now… I really want to suck you off.” 

“Oh yeah?”

“Uh huh.” 

Without breaking eye contact, you drop and slide your hand from where it presses against his chest downward. His abs twitch under your hand as you dance along his over-warm skin. His breathing has turned faint and breathy, body nearly trembling as you brush your fingers along the trail of hair leading into his sweatpants.

Watching him is hypnotizing. Seokjin’s lips part slightly as you slide your hand underneath the elastic, brows shooting up when you brush the sticky tip of his cock. 

“No underwear?”

“They’re - nggg - restricting.” 

His shaft is long and smooth, your fingers brushing along the underside, tracing a vein. You’re impressed by the sheer size of his dick, wondering if you’re going to manage to not choke, but the sound he lets you when you wrap your fingers around him and grip him tight erases the apprehension. 

“You sound so good like that,” you breathe, giving a loose-fisted stroke toward the crown, beaded with precum. “Also you have a sizeable dick.”

“Sizeable, huh?” You brush your thumb over the tip, nail gliding over his leaking slit and he lets out a loud moan, making you grin. “Take it out and see how fucking sizeable it is, hmm?”

It’s hard to take him seriously with how ridiculous he sounds, but you slide down the bed, gently getting onto your knees. Using both hands, you tug at his sweatpants, looking up at him through fluttered lashes. 

And… suddenly it’s not a joke anymore. Your mouth waters a bit at the side, his tip swollen and needy. His thick, and you know how good it would feel to just sink down on top of his length, filling up the throb that aches between your legs. 

Pressing your palms firmly into his thighs, you lift yourself up, dipping low to run your tongue along the thick vein that runs up the bottom of his shaft. He lets out a sinful growl, hands fisting the sheet and gasping as you watch him struggle. 

At the tip, you slid a hand up, gripping him firmly as you suckle the dark, swollen flesh into your mouth. His precum is salty on your tongue and you hum, eyes fixed on the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the blush blossoming from his neck to his pecs. 

Seokjin is beautiful under the assault of your mouth. 

Suckling gently, you watch his reaction as your tongue lazily circles around the sensitive tip of his cock. His hips wiggle back and forth but he never bucks up into your mouth, never thrusts deeper than you’re willing to go. 

“Please,” he whispers and it comes out as an almost whine. “More.” 

You give him more, gently sinking your mouth down on him. It’s a stretch but you manage, careful to mind your breathing as you bob gently, hollowing your cheeks for added suction. Expletive-laced moans drip from his mouth, his eyes squeeze shut as you continue to suck gently. 

Drool runs out the sides of your mouth. You let it, the stickiness of your spit and his presume slicking down his cock helps you take more of him in his mouth. When his tip brushes the back of your throat, he nearly growls, fully writhing underneath you now.

Seeing him like this is addicting, worked up and sweating, and falling apart. What you can’t fit in your mouth you grip with your hand, mouth, and fingers stroking together in time to work him up. Your mouth buzzes around him in a self-satisfied hum. 

Seokjin can’t help himself. His hands leave the sheets, one hand going to the back of your head, fingers pressed firmly. He doesn’t push or pull, his grip just firm and begging. The sound as you let him thrust a little is sinful and wet, the cough-choke of your throat accompanied by stilted curses. 

Suddenly, he pulls you up. Cum-mixed spit dribbles down your chin, mouth feeling stretched and swollen as you look up at him. His sweats are around his ankles, abs and thighs flexing as he leans forward, urging you upward. 

Your mouths meet in a heated smack of cum and spit and moans and teeth. Your mind is spinning as he cups your face fiercely, pulling you to your feet and up onto his naked waist. His hands pull at your shirt and you yank it fiercely, breaking your messy kiss just to toss it. 

Seokjin’s hands are warm and starving for you and vicious as he pulls your bralette off, adding it to the messy pile in his room. Steady hands cup your breasts, his eyes glittering as he makes a noise. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Come here.”

You fall forward but his hands steady you, lifting his head to catch a nipple with his mouth. It sets you alight, electricity snapping to life from the motion. You moan, head thrown back, eyes rolling as he nipples lightly on your nipple. 

“Fuck,” you squeak. The heat between your legs hurts, your cunting throbbing for him. “That feels so good.”

He hums, letting go of the hardened peak with a gentle scrape of his teeth, moving his mouth to lavish your other breast. His thumb brushes back and forth over the glossy peak, keeping it stimulated. 

You tremble in his grip, seated in his lap as he places luscious sucks across your chest. 

“You’re beautiful.” Seokjin’s words are mumbled in damp kisses against your collarbone. “You’re smart and sweet and generous and stunning.” 

“You’re beautiful,” you answer. It feels stupid to say, but it’s the only thing you can come up with. Everything feels fuzzy and you’re drowning in the praise. “Why is your discord WorldWideHandsomJin?”

“Shut up.” He rolls the two of you over, a whirlwind of limbs and giggles. “Cause I wanted it to be, and it’s true.” 

“It is,” you agreed, gasping as he slides his hand into your pajama shorts. His fingers brush over your damp panties, and he huffs a laugh when he feels how sticky wet you are. “More.” 

He hums and applies more pressure, but it doesn’t relieve the ache. “No,” you whine, clawing his chest. “Please.” 

“Because you said please.”

With a swift hand, he pulls your shorts and underwear down. You don’t have time to shiver at the cool air of his room hitting your pussy, his fingers brushing up and down. “God,” he groans, dropping his head against the side of your neck. “You’re soaked, baby.” 

Pleasure sparks as he thumbs your clit in gentle circles. You feel arousal flood the pit of your stomach, cunt aching and leaking as he slides a finger up and down, applying pressure to your hole before gently sliding into your cunt. 

It’s not enough. You get breathy all the same, the feel of his finger stroking your front wall making the world around you melt. Your limbs feel heavy and you shut your eyes, feeling the way he strokes your g-spot over and over again. 

“Another,” you gasp, hips bucking upward. “Please, more.”

“Yeah?” he asks. “Greedy pussy needs more?”

His filth makes your mouth pop open. He complies, though, sliding in another finger and fucking into you properly. He lets you roll your hips upward, trying to ride his hand as you chase the feeling in your stomach. 

It feels like you can’t get enough air, heat trapped between your bodies, static sticking to your skin. Seokjin feels like heaven and fucking hell, skin sticky where your bodies touch, thrumming with energy. 

And it’s so much - almost too much. You want him closer, want to be fuller, want the snap of his hips. You dig your fingers into his biceps, mouth brushing against his, words mumbled between pressed lips, “Please.” 

With a slick sound, he pulls his fingers from you. Immediately you miss the feeling, but you’re rewarded as he brings shine-slicked fingers up to his lips, sucking them into his mouth. He leers around his fingers, eyes dark. 

“Yum,” he whispers, bending down and licking into your mouth, letting you taste yourself on his lips. 

For a quick moment, he fumbles in his nightstand, pulling out a condom and breaking the foil with a soft crinkle. He’s painted a soft blue in the lights of his room, the changing colors making him a mirage of neons and soft colors, a haunting and stunning creature all at once. 

Seokjin shuffles you carefully up the bed, peppering your skin with kisses as he goes. Reverent hands stretch your legs wide open for him as he slots himself against you, giving shallow thrusts so that his cock slides against your messy fold. You whine, needed more stimulation, needing to feel full to relieve the ache. 

Grabbing the base of his cock, he strokes upwards again, letting his cockhead catch on your trembling hole. A stream of expletives falls from your lips as your head falls backward, your entire frame vibrating as he slowly slides in. You’re so wet that it helps, but the thick girth of him burns all the way until he is fully sheathed and your walls are fluttering around him.

“Shit, you’re fucking squeezing me.”

“Cause your cock is fucking big!”

“Am I supposed to apologize?”

“No, but please fuck me.”

You need the slide of his shaft against your walls, need to feel the way he hits so deep it’s like he’s in your fucking stomach. Seokjin starts a slow but purposeful pace, pulling all the way out before pushing back in, sliding his hands under your as to lift you slightly. The angle allows him to fuck your spot as he thrusts in, your limbs going slack as the feeling of an orgasm winds from just a few strokes. 

Seokjin fucks you with purpose, stroking a little faster. Sweat beads on his chest, hair clinging to his forehead as he bites his bottom lip, stomach flexing. You watch him through half-lidded eyes, your fingers wrapped around his wrist where he holds you, practically pulling you onto his cock as he fucks you open. 

It’s mind-numbing, everything else fading away as his room swirls in colors, punctuated by the snap of his hips against your wet ass and your high-pitched moans. 

You wish you could be more of a participant, but the way he makes you feel has the room spinning. He fucks you down into the mattress, the slide of your skin against his sheets added friction. Your head hits a pillow, knocking it sideways, your hand trying to find a grip on anything. It finds the wall and you press against it, feeling the squeeze of your breath in your lungs and the coil in your stomach. 

“That's it,” Seokjin urges, one hand leaving your ass to slip between your legs. He circles your clit and your eyes roll back in your head, the roaring feeling of your orgasm coming closer and closer. “Fuck your feel so fucking good - you look so fucking good just taking my cock like this.” He is the vision you think. Brow furrowed, lip tucked between his teeth, all tan, flushed skin and twitching muscles. You can't remember the last time you were fucked into mindlessness, no chance of cognitive thinking at your fingertips. The filth that leaves his mouth only sends you spiraling further, admiration-laced curses punctuated with moans.

You can only moan back in response, most of the sound stuck in your throat. You think you’re babbling now, mouth agape, eyes squeezed so shut that colors explode across your vision. He fucks you hard but at a medium pace, each thrust supported with his full weight, hitting so deep that you can’t breathe.

When you cum, it’s like a freight train hits you, the world going absolute white noise and numb. You lose yourself in the feeling, everywhere and nowhere all at once. You’re aware of the way your pussy pulses around his cock and through the buzz in your ears, you hear him curse, gasping your name as he cums just as hard. 

You have no idea how long it takes for you to come back down. You barely feel your limbs, the tingle in them like when your foot falls asleep but far more pleasant. You roll your head over to find Seokjin breathing deeply, skin glowing with sweat. His eyes flutter open as you stare at him and he grins, tired but genuine. Your stomach leaps. 

“I swear,” he mumbles. “Next time I will last way longer than that. But fuck.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever cum that hard,” you admit, voice hoarse. “I think that is why they call it le petite mort. Holy shit.” 

He laughs and he pulls you in. With the shift of your limbs, you feel how sticky and wet your legs are, thighs pressed together in the mess. You make a face at the feeling, no longer finding it attractive now that you’re not actively fucking, but he kisses you and you immediately forget about it. 

“By the way,” he mutters, voice deep. “I won the bet so you owe me a favor.”

You grit your teeth, realizing that he did win by a single kill. “Fine. What’s your favor?”

“Not much, just want to take you out somewhere nice. Buy you a beautiful dinner. Learn all of your embarrassing stories from middle school and if you had an emo phase.”

“Did you have an emo phase?” 

“You’ll only find out if we go on a date.”

You smile. Your mouth hurts from the kissing and the stretch of his dick, but it doesn’t matter. You brush the sweaty hair from his face, his eyes fixed on your reaction. “Of course, I’ll go on a date with you.” 

“Hmm. Good. Now come on, I wanna fuck you in the shower.” 

“That I can agree with.” 

[emmyrosee]

What’s up homeslice. I’m here because I’m on a Haikyuu bender and I know you’ve got the sweet sweet hookup.

So hear me out… I am a taller individual(5’8 to be more precise). We see a lot of content out there for ladies of average or shorter stature(I love all you small people out there, don’t you dare think otherwise) so I beseech thee: nishinoya, yaku, hoshiumi, Kenma, atsumu, hell maybe even suna. Any of these wonderful gents just being absolutely infatuated with a tall(ish) s/o.

If you don’t wanna do it, no worries my dude, I can smell what yer steppin in and I respect it, no problemo. Love peace and bacon grease my homie ✌️

Oh HELL YEAH MATE!!!! 5’9 representative 🥳🥳 also I want to eat this prompt for breakfast how could I NOT take it the hell you think this is??

Also as always my pieces are in timeskip but the gifs give me some organization so don’t @ me

-

Listen. Nishinoya would be in straight denial that you’d have reciprocated feelings for him because like. You’re you, okay; he worships the ground you walk on, but now knowing that you truly are into it, it increases tenfold.

“This isn’t even cat walking. This is goddess walking. This is queen walking. Here-“ he drops to his knees to give the ground, be it on cement or hardwood at home, a quick playful dust with his hands, shaking his head and relishing in the laugh you let out. “How could I possibly let my queen walk on the filth left behind by me?”

“Truly,” you snicker, and you lean down to meet him halfway for a kiss, which he rises on his haunches to reciprocate. “But I like your mess.”

“I like you,” he mumbles against your lips.

Yaku. My underrated loml. There’s minimal I wouldn’t do for this man. He’s so good to you and confident in himself that flirting with you came easy- turns out that you flirting back was his weakness.

He’s a complete victim of the psychology okay, you’re already taller than him, you already rock your height and are proud of it that you two just click.

And he’s so protective of you, it drives you wild; he knows your comfortable in your height, you far need him for protection, but that’s not the point. If anyone dare say anything about his beautiful lady, be it in any way but respectful, he truly turns into an attack dog, letting you watch in satisfaction as he completely tears apart whoever look at you the wrong way.

There was an incident you had to patch him up after a fight. But the way dazed and adoring eyes looked up at you, smiling a bloody smile and re-splitting his lip that almost makes his rare altercations worth it.

HOSHIUMI!!!! IS!!!! A NEW LOVE OF MINE!!!! CAME OUTTA NOWHERE FOR REAL!!!

And I so love to think he put the moves on you first, just flirting and sending you playful vibes because he’s a short king who’s confident in his height, and god it has you completely whipped.

He’s always so quick to hype you up in very Nishinoya-fashion, and he’s so unapologetic about having you on his arm, that anytime you enter a room, he not only opens the door for you, he steps ahead and yells out a swift “EXCUSE ME EVERYONE! Out of the way, please! Queen coming through!”

The sheer volume does have people parting to let you both come in, your hand laced with his and proud smirk on his face.

There’s very seldom a time that his cheeks aren’t completely painted with stains of tinted lip balms or lipstick, and he wears them like a badge of honor as you bend down to give them.

Woof. Atsumu. What else can I say about my pretty, goofy, dumb blonde?

What else can I say about the way he completely melts when you wear his jerseys, because they fall just slightly against your hips and when you reach up, a sliver of your skin comes out?

What else can I say about the way his eyes never leave you for long, be it when you’re in two day old sweats, or gown he splurged god knows how much on just to see you wear it?

What else can I say about how you rest your head on his shoulders while in line at the market, and he takes selfish inhales of your scent?

God. GOD.

Marking him up with lipstick and glossy marks isn’t foreign, even getting so cocky he merely taps his cheek no matter where you are, for a show offy kiss just to flex your height to everyone watching.

Okay. You know what’s up. Kenma is the og. He’s the number one. I LOVE this man. And he LOVES hyping you up in possessive, hot ways. For eXAMPLE, there’s a picture of you on his Instagram where you’re dawned in heels in preparation for a banquet for his sponsorships, towering over him with your back facing the mirror in your stunning form, and he’s merely smirking back into the camera. It looks chic, it looks smooth, and the caption has his entire fandom in a tizzy: “mom and dad say sit.”

Sure enough, when the comments are filled with suggestive comments and tons of “SORRY MOMMY-“ you scold him for his cheeky post, but secretly love the attention.

One time, you posed as Lady Dimitrescu, towering high over him, and he as Ethan Winters and by the time you woke up the next morning, it quickly rose to his most popular post.

What can he say? He likes being walked like a dog.

*sneezes* Suna’s is a lil dirty so minors pls go away for this part on, but here’s a Suna gif to make up for it

But. BUT-

I just relish in the thought of him not making you lift a finger; treating you like royalty for simply existing.

It’s why he never says anything as he sees you dressing up for sponsor events, instead guiding you to sit down while he fetches the brand new heels that go with the brand new dress he spoils you with. He tugs the seam of his pants up slightly before getting down on one knee and grabbing your foot and slipping the shoe on for you. His hands are gentle, and his lips leave adoring kisses along your knees and calves, tongue laving over your nylon covered flesh feverishly.

It makes you sink your teeth into your lip and tighten your thighs in need.

“You are fucking breathtaking,” he pants, letting his bottom lip draw along the length of your shin.

“I know, baby,” you whisper, matching his tone dominantly.

“You never cease to amaze me; made by the fucking gods, truly.”

“Rintaro-“

“Worship every inch of skin on this body-“

“We’re going to be late,” you snicker, rising to your feet and getting accustomed to the added five inches. He doesn’t move, merely smiling up at you, and you can practically see the invisible tail wagging behind him.

“I could stare at you forever,” he rasps. “I’d pay a sponsor to move his charity event if it meant I could rip this dress off you right now, make you scream my name.”

You giggle easily as he does, finally, get up, looking up at you with a bite of his lip. “If you behave tonight,” you begin, and he lets his eyes glaze over you one more time.

“I’ll let you.”

[theemporium]

Heyyyy,

Hope you’re doing well, i am literally obsessed with your works. And i am a certified Daniel girlllyyyy soooo 😘

Could i request a Daniel x Sunshine where Daniel is out on a boys night, and sunshine is out with her friends but they both can’t stop thinking about each other and end up leaving early to get home, and just as soon as they see each other they can’t stop saying how much they missed each other lmao

Thank youuu

thank you so much!! and thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

He was halfway through typing a message to you when he felt his phone be ripped from between his fingers. 

“Oi!” 

Daniel sent the Dutchman a pointed look, one that looked borderline murderous. However, Max just looked pleased with himself as he held Daniel’s phone just out of his grasp. 

“Mate, give it.”

“No!” Max scoffed and shook his head, passing the phone to Lando next to him. “You’ve been on the damn thing all night.”

Daniel rolled his eyes. “No, I haven’t.” 

“Yes, you have,” Charles piped in with his hands raised in mock defence when the Aussie’s glare whirled onto him. 

“I just wanted to make sure she’s okay!” Daniel defended. 

“She’s with her own friends,” Lando pointed out, almost a little too smugly. “Who are probably giving her as much shit as we are giving you considering you’re—oh, I don’t know—meant to be enjoying the night with us.”

The Aussie only scoffed slightly. “Sorry for being a caring boyfriend.” 

“More like a helicopter boyfriend,” Max grumbled under his breath, only to wince slightly when his teammate reached out to pinch his side. “Ouch!”

“Just give me back my phone,” Daniel asked with his hand extended out. “Please. I’ll send one more message and then I’m done for the night.” 

The boys all looked at each other, an unspoken conversation exchanged between the glances before eventually Lando sighed and handed him the phone across the table.

“One message,” was all he said and Daniel didn’t bother hiding his grin. 

However, when he looked down at his phone, he was surprised to find a handful of messages from you already, sent in the short amount of time he had been bickering with the other boys. His eyes glazed over the messages, suddenly glad the dark club couldn’t really pick up on his blushing cheeks.

sunshine: i miss you :( 

sunshine: these margaritas are strong af

sunshine: fuck i wish you were here

sunshine: i wish i could kiss you rn

sunshine: i wish i could do more than kiss you

You weren’t an overly affectionate person. It just wasn’t in your nature and Daniel had always respected that, he hadn’t minded all that much that you preferred to show your love behind closed doors where it was for him and him only. Yet, that being said, all of that went out the window the second you had some alcohol in your system. 

You had various personalities that popped out when you were drunk, but the most common one and Daniel’s personal favourite was your clingy drunk side. The side of you that just wanted to melt against him, to wrap yourself around him and kiss him every thirty seconds like you’d die without him. 

Selfishly, he wished he was with you the second he saw those messages, knowing that was the exact state you were in. He glanced around at his friends, a small pang of guilt working through him before he promised himself he would make it up to them. 

grumps: come home, i’m waiting for you

He slid his phone into his pocket, clapping his hands against the table to catch the other drivers’ attention before he gave them a sheepish smile. Lando was the first one to pick up on the meaning behind his expression. 

“Seriously?” The Brit whined. “We just got here!”

Daniel shrugged. “The missus gets what the missus wants.” 

Carlos rolled his eyes. “Is it what she wants or what you want?” 

“Listen, when you have a super hot girlfriend waiting for you, you’ll understand,” Daniel simply stated, ignoring the way a few of the boys opened their mouths to reply before he quickly made his way towards the exit.

He was home before you, which was unsurprising considering the club he was at was a walking distance from your shared apartment. The second he had made it through the door, he made his way into the kitchen to slide a pizza into the oven that would be done by the time you arrived home, though he decided against the glasses of wine he was about to pour. 

Daniel made a beeline towards the door the second he heard the lock clicking, a grin already on his face before you all but threw yourself against him. He laughed, sliding his arms around your body and lifting you off your feet as he hugged you close. 

“I missed you,” you mumbled against his chest before nuzzling yourself closer. “You smell nice.”

“Thanks, Sunshine,” he murmured with a grin, leaning down to kiss the crown of your head. “I missed you too.”

“Next time you’re coming with me,” you sighed.

“Or you come with me,” he suggested, laughing slightly when you lifted your head.

“My friends are more fun,” you said to him, glaring slightly when you noticed him struggling to hold back his amusement.

“Nah, you’re just still pissy that Max beat you at the shotgunning contest,” he teased, one arm still wound around your waist to hold you off the floor whilst the other raised to push some hair behind your ear. 

Your eyes narrowed. “He’s a cheat.”

“He won fair and square, baby,” he murmured before leaning down to kiss your lips before you could say anything else. “C’mon, the pizza is almost ready.” 

You sagged against him, the glare long gone and now replaced with a massive grin. “Did I mention that I love you?”

Daniel grinned. “Not nearly enough, Sunshine.”

.

[shellbilee]

Hello fellow Aussie! 🇦🇺❤️

It’s my birthday today and I was wondering if I could put in a request for a Glen Powell fic?

Maybe they’ve been doing long distance for a while (they met when she was in the US from Australia for a holiday) and Glen decides to surprise her with him turning up at her door for her birthday or something?

If you can’t..it’s all good 😊

Have a good night! 😁

I am a week late, but happy birthday Queen! I hope you had the greatest day and got absolutely spoilt rotten.

Apologies to all my Hey There Darlin' readers, the next chapter update was delayed because I wanted to put this together for my favourite fellow Aussie. (Next chapter will be up ASAP).

So here's my little gift to you @queenslandlover-93, which would never be enough to thank you for all of your constant support on my work. Much love to you sweets!🩵

---

One Afternoon in Austin

A Glen Powell RPF One Shot Pairing: Glen Powell x Reader Words: 5.5K

You glance down at your phone for the hundredth time, inhaling a long breath when you see no new notifications on the screen.

You sigh, lips stretching into a somber smile at the sight of your two smiling faces pictured on your home screen.

God you missed him.

It had been 18 whole hours since you'd spoken to Glen - not since he'd face timed you at 12.01am, determined to be the first to wish you a happy birthday. You'd answered within three rings, feeling your whole body warm when his gorgeous face appeared on the screen, teeth flashing in the effortlessly handsome, all-American smile that you loved so much. 

Glen.

Even ten months later, you still hadn't quite gotten used to the fact that you were dating Glen Powell, and if you were being honest, you weren’t sure you ever would.  If someone had told you a year ago that you’d be in a serious relationship with one of Hollywood’s most eligible bachelors, you'd have snorted and laughed out loud. 

You'd met Glen when you were solo traveling through the USA last June. You'd been about halfway through your twelve week trip, having started high on the west coast and working your way down South and across, making it to Texas. The plan had been to spend a few days there, first in Austin, then Houston and a couple of other places, before moving onto Louisiana to New Orleans.

Two days into your Austin visit - staying in a modern little air BnB not far from the city, you'd been coming back from a run through the suburbs when you'd come across a little tan and white dog standing alone on the sidewalk. You remembered stopping and looking around, waiting to see if anyone would appear, hoping that someone was walking their dog off lead and hadn't caught up yet. No one appeared to be out searching for it, the surrounding houses seemingly quiet.

You'd knelt down and whistled for the dog, smiling when it wandered over to you immediately, tail wagging and panting happily. You'd cooed at the tiny animal, patting its fluffy head, sitting down on the grass beside it so you could get a better view of its collar.

The dog's name had turned out to be Brisket, a fact you'd found both adorable and amusing, flipping over the metallic name tag to find a phone number engraved on the other side. Deciding that Brisket must have wandered out of his yard and was now lost, you'd picked up the tiny dog and walked the rest of the distance home to your air BnB. Letting Brisket out into your yard, you’d gotten him some water and set about calling the number from his name tag, sitting down on the back porch next to him as you’d listened to the phone ring. 

The phone had ended up ringing through to voicemail, and you’d soon discovered that Brisket’s owner was a man named Glen with a deep Texan accent. You still remembered smiling at the sound of his voice, some part of you internally swooning as you listened to him tell you to leave a message after the tone.

You’d left a quick message, telling him your name and how you’d found Brisket, and that you’d brought him home with you to get him out of the afternoon heat. You’d sent a quick text as well, detailing the same, in case he was otherwise indisposed and unable to take a call. 

Fifteen minutes later you’d been relaxing on the backyard grass with a trashy romance novel, Brisket snoozing peacefully by your side, when your phone had started ringing. Immediately recognising the number as Glen, you’d answered, not at all surprised to hear a panicked voice greeting you instead of the calm, easy going one that had spoken to you in a voicemail.

You’d reassured him that Brisket was fine, healthy and laying happily by your side, explaining that you didn’t have a car, but that you could get an uber to wherever he needed. Glen had offered to come to you but you’d politely declined, not entirely comfortable with giving your address to a stranger when you were traveling solo, instead asking where he was and insisting that you’d go to him. You’d soon discovered on your maps that he was only a ten minute drive from your air BnB, promising that you’d be there soon and that he had no reason to worry about Brisket as he’d thanked you profusely. 

Exactly twenty-three minutes later your Uber had arrived at what you could only describe as a modern Texas mansion, and you remembered the way your jaw had instantly dropped as your eyes had run over the sheer expanse of the property. Telling the Uber driver to stay put, you’d lifted Brisket into your arms and made your way up the palatial driveway, feeling the beginnings of sweat at the back of your neck from the hot Summer afternoon as you’d knocked on the enormous wooden door. 

The Texan royalty, as it turns out, was Glen Powell.

You remembered eyeing off the huge black Ram in the driveway, an expensive black SUV and a smaller white BMW next to it, deciding that you must have stumbled onto some kind of Texan royalty judging by the house and cars in front of you. You’d chuckled to yourself at the thought just as you’d heard the sound of the front door opening, turning around to find a sight that you’d not at all been prepared for.

You’d tried your best not to stumble over your words, certain you looked like a gaping goldfish as you'd introduced yourself and passed a happily wrigging Brisket over to him, thankful for your sunglasses as you’d looked back at him. You remembered thinking that he somehow looked even more handsome in person than he did on screen - a fact that you didn’t think was at all possible, assuring him that it was no problem when he’d thanked you again for finding Brisket. It had taken everything you had not to audibly moan at the sight of him, hoping that your blatant staring wasn’t totally obvious as you took in his stubbled beard and effortlessly charming smile, golden tanned skin and thick, muscled arms.

God.

What you hadn’t known, and would eventually discover weeks later, was that Glen was just as shocked to find you when he had opened his front door - a gorgeous young woman standing alone with a smile that had quite literally stopped him in his tracks and left him momentarily lost for words.

He’d thanked you again and you’d promised him that it was really no issue at all, offering a small wave as you’d turned to make your way back to your waiting Uber. Just when you'd been thinking that meeting Glen Powell had to be the highlight of your trip, you'd heard Glen call out your name and tell you to wait. You remembered turning around to face him then, only to find him taking a step towards you with Brisket still in his arms.

He’d proceeded to ask if you'd wanted to come in for a drink, adding that he had to somehow thank you for finding Brisket. You'd declined of course, reasoning that you had to get back to your Uber - and even now you could still remember the distinct feeling of every single fiber of your body screaming at you to reconsider as Glen continued to insist you stay.

“Please come in?”

He’d asked again, the look on his face making it near impossible to say no, emphasizing that the least he could do was offer you a drink and temporary reprieve from the afternoon heat. You remembered standing there for a moment, seemingly frozen in place, weighing up your potential options.

Get back in the Uber and go back to your air BnB.

Or;

Take up the offer for a drink with one of the most attractive men you’d ever met. 

Thinking back to that moment now, you wondered how you ever possibly considered otherwise.

Giving in to Glen, you'd jogged back to the Uber and thanked him for waiting, telling him he could go before making your way back to Glen at the front door. It was at that moment that you’d felt Glen’s eyes on you - running subtly over your figure, suddenly becoming self conscious that you were still sporting the shorts and tank activewear combo you’d worn on your run earlier. 

On the transcript of your life, this was certainly not the outfit you’d envisioned wearing if you ever came across a gorgeous Hollywood celebrity.

Anyway.

He’d invited you in and you’d accepted gratefully, instantly thankful for the cool of the air conditioner as you followed him down the enormous hallway. He’d since put Brisket down, the tiny dog now happily trotting alongside his owner, the sight making you long for Flynn, your three year old Australian Shepherd dog back home.  

The sound of voices at the end of the hallway made you stop in your tracks, Glen turning around and looking back at you concerned. You’d stammered wide eyed, telling him you didn’t want to interrupt if he had people over, instantly feeling like an intruder despite Glen’s genuine insistence that you weren’t. He’d stepped towards you then - close enough that you remembered the exact moment the scent of his sweet cologne hit you, his sage green eyes looking back at you earnestly and promising that you weren’t interrupting, that it was just his family that was over for a barbecue.

That new information had sent an instant tidal wave of nervousness crashing down your spine, your heartbeat immediately heavy in your ears. Now not only were you being invited into Glen Powell’s home, you were also seconds away from spontaneously meeting his family. 

Fuck.

You remembered laughing then - a short, giddy bubble of laughter, Glen’s face splitting into a smile as you did so. Your laugh had been one of incredulousness, your brain unable to fathom the situation that you were currently in.

Of all the things you’d imagined you’d do whilst on your solo travels, this was most certainly not one of them.

Glen had gestured with his hand for you to follow him and somehow your frozen feet were able to oblige, the hallway opening up into an expansive open kitchen and living area, complete with enormous glass french doors that opened onto a luxury deck and pool outside. 

You remembered not knowing where to look first - at the enormous turquoise pool, or the insanely stunning view of rolling hills and a lake behind it, the luxury styled interior of the house or the adorable little blonde girl in her swimmers that was staring curiously at you from the back doorway.

Almost immediately she’d spoken, pointing and asking her uncle Glen very loudly who you were, her voice making the rest of the people outside stop and look inside. You remembered your face flaming then, embarrassment flushing your skin as you'd fought the urge to sprint back towards the front door.

You didn’t have a fear of public speaking but in that moment it felt like you had spontaneously developed one.

Glen had informed his niece - who you’d soon discovered was named Gwen, of your name and explained that you were the girl that had found Brisket and brought him home, an older lady suddenly appearing from somewhere inside the house and clapping her hands happily when she’d spied Brisket at Glen’s feet.

As it turned out, it was Lauren’s and Will’s house - Glen’s sister and brother in law, and Witt, their son and twin brother of Gwen, had accidentally opened the back gate and Brisket had wandered out, unbeknownst to everyone at the barbecue. Glen, who had just finished grilling had whistled for Brisket to offer him a cut off of steak, only to find that Brisket had gone missing and that the back gate was open. Just as everyone had scrambled to find keys to go out and look for him, Glen had picked up his phone and seen the text from you, prompting everyone to relax knowing that Brisket was safe.

The lady had turned out to be Glen’s mother Cindy, Glen immediately introducing the two of you as she offered her own thanks for finding Brisket before pulling you in for a hug.The gesture had taken you by surprise but offered a surprising amount of comfort, the nervousness that had your knees threatening to give way slowly easing.

Fifteen minutes later, you’d been introduced to the entire Powell family and were seated on an outdoor lounge by the pool next to Glen’s younger sister Leslie, wine in hand and nominated an additional judge of the pool diving contest between Gwen, Witt and their dad Will. You’d clapped and laughed your way through it, thankful for your sunglasses for the second time in less than twenty minutes when Glen had taken his shirt off and joined as a fourth participant in the contest. 

God.

You remembered biting the inside of your cheek so hard you’d drawn blood, using every ounce of strength you had to look away when Glen had emerged from the pool, water droplets sliding down his golden, muscled form. 

Later you'd found yourself sitting and talking with Glen’s other sister Lauren and his dad Glen Senior, telling them all about your trip in the US so far and how you’d come to find yourself in Texas. They in turn had asked you about yourself and you’d shared about your home back in Australia, your job, Flynn and your family, Glen coming to join at some point later sitting down on the lounge beside you with a drink refill.

You’d talked and laughed with the Powell’s for the rest of the afternoon, all of your nerves from earlier having seemingly disappeared. It was like you’d known them all for months rather than only an hour, feeling right at home with the bubbly, extraverted, Texan family. They’d asked you about your plans for the remainder of the trip, offering their own tips and recommendations for the rest of your time in Texas which you’d accepted gratefully, making mental notes to adjust your itinerary.

Eventually the afternoon had faded into early evening, Glen Senior and Cindy saying their goodbyes and wishing you all the best for the rest of your trip, Leslie following suit soon after and making you promise that you’d say goodbye before you left Texas. 

You’d grabbed your bag announcing that you should probably get home too, Glen interrupting and insisting that he’d take you on his way back home. You knew better than to decline his offer, concluding that based on the day you’d had there was no reasoning with him. You’d said your goodbyes to Lauren and Will, thanking them for their hospitality for the afternoon, comforting Gwen with a hug when she’d gotten teary at you leaving - the two of you having bonded earlier when you’d told her that her diving was as good as a dolphin's and she’d told you that they were her favourite animal. 

Glen had driven you home then, the two of you settling into a comfortable silence, Brisket snoozing peacefully on your lap in the passenger seat. Pulling up to your air BnB, Glen had asked what your plans were for tomorrow and you’d informed him that you hadn’t quite decided yet - but you were tossing up between going out to see Lake Travis, or heading out into the hills to visit the country sights. 

Flashing you a smile that had made you momentarily lose your train of thought, Glen had offered you an alternative option - let him take you out for the day to show you a side of Austin from a local’s point of view. You remembered staring back at him then, your brain trying to ascertain whether or not you were dreaming that Glen Powell had just asked you to spend the day with him, looking at his perfectly handsome face and uttering an animated yes to his proposal.

He'd kissed you on the cheek and wished you a goodnight, telling you that he’d pick you up at ten AM before thanking you again for finding Brisket. You’d laughed and assured him for the tenth time that day that it was really no problem, thanking him for having you today and saying your own goodbye. He’d waited until you’d unlocked the door of your air BnB and you’d waved as you’d walked inside, your cheeks hurting from smiling as you’d closed the door behind you and leaned back against the wood.

Unbeknownst to you, the plans for the rest of your solo USA trip were about to be turned completely upside down. 

The next day with Glen turned out to be everything you’d imagined and more, the two of you talking, flirting and laughing from the moment he’d picked you up. He’d started the day by driving the two of you out to Lake Travis where you’d spent the morning stand up paddleboarding, Glen showing you his favourite spots on the lake and telling you about his family’s lakeside ranch a few hours out of Austin. Next was lunch from what Glen had promised was ‘the best Texan barbecue house’ in all of Texas, ordering his favourite steak sandwiches which quickly became the best meal you’d eaten on your trip so far.

After lunch he’d taken you on a hike through one of Austin’s national parks, the end of which had brought you to one of the most incredible sights you’d ever seen - a waterfall that spilled over a huge bowl-shaped canyon into a large swimming hole below. Glen had convinced you to walk the perimeter through the cave-like canyon until you were standing beneath the falling water, looking up at the natural sight in awe as Glen had snapped several photos of you and then the two of you together.

Looking out at the sunset, sitting beside Glen with his arm around your shoulders, you remembered thinking that this day - a day that would forever go down as one of the best days of your life, couldn’t possibly have gotten any better. 

After your hike he’d taken you over to wine country, where he’d introduced you to his good friends Daniel and Amy - owners of one of the most well-known vineyards and breweries in Fredericksburg. They’d given you a private tour of their venue before you’d sat down for drinks, looking out at the picturesque green vineyard and seemingly endless rolling hills, a stunning Texas sunset bathing everything in a gorgeous, orange glow.

And then, just like that, it had.

Glen had driven you back to your air BnB and you’d promptly invited him for a drink, not quite ready to end your day with him. He’d happily accepted your proposal, parking his truck and following you in, sitting down on the living room couch as you’d gotten you both a beer. 

What followed was an evening of more stories and laughs, more flirting and mischievous teasing, the tension only growing between you as the night went on. Eventually though, as if neither of you could no longer fight it, Glen had leaned in and kissed you, his lips moving against yours with a soft, passionate want.

That passion quickly became tangible, like a craving neither of you could satisfy, lips and hands growing desperate until you’d both lost several items of clothing and Glen was asking where the bedroom was. 

You remembered thinking in that moment - when Glen was carrying you to the bed, his lips pressing wet, open mouthed kisses to the hollow of your throat, that there would be no coming back from this. You’d sleep with Glen Powell, and tomorrow this would become nothing more than a fond memory for the both of you. 

After all, he was a Hollywood celebrity and you weren’t. 

He lived in Texas and you lived in Australia.

It would never work.

And so you’d decided, as Glen had laid you down on the bed and kissed his way down your body, that you’d forget all about tomorrow and just enjoy tonight.

Every single, sweaty second of it.

And all three delicious rounds of it.

When morning had arrived you’d fully expected to wake up to an empty bed, pleasantly surprised to instead find yourself wrapped in Glen's arms, his chest pressed firmly against your back. He'd felt you stirring, pressing gentle kisses to the back of your neck, his actions teasing soft moans from you that quickly turned into a tangle of sheets and naked limbs all over again.

What followed was two more days with Glen, the two of you spending almost all of your time together - him showing you all of his favourite things about his hometown, and even catching up with his sister Leslie again when she'd joined you both at a live music night that had ended with the two Powell's introducing you to line dancing. There'd been endless stories and laughs and adorable cuddles with Brisket, constant flirting and stolen kisses, and several more rounds of what had quickly become the best sex you'd ever had.

You'd proceeded to become only more and more infatuated with Glen, even despite the constant nagging feeling in the back of your mind telling you that this would soon all have to come to its inevitable end. You’d known that conversation was coming, like a looming tornado that threatening to destroy your happy bubble with Glen at any moment, and on your last night in Austin as you’d sat on Glen’s couch with Brisket on your lap and wine in hand, it finally happened. 

You’d told him that it was okay, that you had no expectations of him and that you’d known all along that this was only ever going to be a vacation fling, assuring him that you’d loved every single second of your time and adventures together with him. Glen had been silent for a long moment then, looking back at you as he’d sat beside you on the couch with his gorgeous green eyes boring into your own, eventually taking your hand in his and telling you just how wrong you were.

He’d told you that he’d never before met a girl like you.

He'd told you that he’d never felt the way he had about someone he’d known for only three days.

He'd told you that he’d loved every single moment that you’d spent together and that he knew if he didn't tell you how he felt, he'd be forever wondering.

You swore in that moment that you’d forgotten how to breathe, your heart in your throat as you'd realized the implications of what Glen was saying to you.

You remembered wondering if you were really going to do this, if you could actually be in a relationship with Glen - in a relationship that was not only long distance, but also with a famous celebrity. You knew it would turn your world upside down and back to front a million times over, but the longer you’d looked back at Glen, getting lost in the gaze that was seemingly looking right through you, you’d realized that above all else, you were willing to try.

You’d fallen into his arms then, falling into one another over and over again, first on the couch, and then the shower, and then finally in his bed, eventually drifting off to sleep wrapped around one another as the evening ended and morning brought with it the inevitable tomorrow.

The rest of your trip had seemingly flown by, seeing the sights and experiencing the best of New Orleans, Jackson, Memphis and Nashville, making your way north to Boston and later New York where your twelve week trip would come to an end. Though those six weeks couldn’t compare to the time you’d spent with Glen in Austin and you’d missed him terribly, you’d spoken to him almost constantly throughout the rest of your travels - sending photos and videos, texting and face timing, following his advice and recommendations of the best places to go and see. 

What you hadn’t known and would only find out upon checking into your hotel room when you’d arrived in New York, was that Glen had organized to fly up to surprise you. You remembered feeling like you’d won the lottery when the hotel concierge had advised that you’d received a complimentary room upgrade to a suite, and just as you’d thought that your trip couldn’t possibly have wrapped up any better, you’d opened the suite door to find Glen waiting for you.

When you’d finally gotten over the shock of seeing him again, after you’d jumped into his embrace and kissed him with all of the emotions that you’d held in since Austin, Glen had taken you out for a romantic night on the town - and continued to do the same for every night that followed for the rest of your trip.

Eventually your solo travels had come to an end, Glen kissing you tenderly and promising that you’d see each other again soon, holding you tight in his arms as you’d sat outside JFK airport on the day of your flight home. You remembered trying to take in everything about your last few minutes with Glen then - the smell of his cologne, the feel of his lips on your hair, the warmth of his chest as he held you pressed against him, desperate to prolong your last moments together not knowing when you’d next get the chance.

A tender goodbye that you swore you wouldn’t ruin with tears, one final kiss that you’d forever commit to memory and a promise that together you could make this work, you’d waved to Glen and made your way through the departure gates, boarding your flight home to Australia.

The months that followed had given you a new found respect for people in long distance relationships, missing Glen more than you thought possible - even with your constant communication. Some small part of you had expected your relationship to fizzle out a week after you’d arrived home - that your time with Glen would be nothing more than a memory, a story you told people about when they’d ask about your overseas travels, but just as you’d promised on your last day together, you and Glen had made it work.

He’d come to visit you three months after your trip, staying with you for two whole weeks in October. You'd shown him around your city in the same way he’d done with Austin, introducing him to your friends and eventually your family after your sister had all but begged to meet him, your dog Flynn loving Glen just as much as Brisket had you.

Those two weeks had been incredible, and as close to domestic bliss as you'd ever gotten, loving waking up to Glen each morning and falling asleep wrapped in his arms each night. Then there was the sex - both of you obviously desperate to make up for the three months apart, spending the first two days of his visit practically locked inside and christening every surface of your house.

All too soon it was time to say goodbye again, but not before you'd made plans to see each other for Christmas. You'd flown back to the states for the holidays two months later, the Powell family welcoming you back with open arms, Brisket especially happy to see you as he'd happily licked at your face. You’d gotten to experience your first ever Winter Christmas that year holing up at the Powell's family ranch, eating, drinking, dancing and laughing all the way through to New Years Eve, feeling nothing but love as you celebrated with Glen's sisters, parents and the twins.

The rest of that trip had gone by all too quickly, and soon you were saying your teary goodbyes all over again before you’d headed back home to Australia. This time you hadn't been able to plan your next visit with Glen - his latest film projects beginning and finally introducing you to life as a famous actor's girlfriend. You'd found yourself feeling consistently grateful for your job, friends and family then, their presence keeping your mind busy and away from thoughts of Glen’s chaotic schedule and the fact that you had no idea when you'd next get to see him.

It was at the Powell’s annual New Year's Eve party that Glen had told you he loved you, just as the clock had struck midnight and everyone had erupted into cheers of happiness. You remembered that moment vividly, your heart still racing whenever you thought about it, the two of you standing on the edge of the lake as Glen had wrapped you in his arms and kissed you, pulling away just enough so that he could whisper those three perfect words. 

And so, that had brought you all the way to June - nearly five months since you'd last seen him, as Glen had worked insane hours on a four month long shoot for his newest movie. Alongside the Australian Winter, made worse by the fact that you missed your boyfriend more than you'd previously thought possible, June had also brought with it something else seemingly upsetting - your birthday, also known as your thirty second lap around the sun.

Still, your friends had pulled out all the stops to celebrate your day - your three closest girlfriends taking you out on a spa date complete with a full body massage, facial and pedicure, followed by a tasting and lunch at the most stunning of vineyards which had continued well into the early evening. Your boozy, extended lunch had later turned into dinner and cocktails at a rooftop bar in the city, which soon turned into singing and dancing at a nearby karaoke bar despite your vehement protesting.

That's how you'd come to find yourself sitting in the booth with one of your friends, looking down at your notification-less phone as the other two girls performed an intoxicated rendition of It’s Raining Men on stage.

Though the girls had spoiled and pampered you on your day, it hadn't quite been enough to completely take your thoughts off of Glen and that fact that you hadn't heard from him all day. You knew he was busy with his shoot - having since learned that sometimes they could go for several hours at a time, knowing that there were many occasions where he just wasn’t able to have his phone on him in the middle of all the chaos. Still, despite not hearing from him since the early hours of the morning, he'd still somehow managed to spoil you on your birthday - organizing your favourite coffee and breakfast to be delivered to your door this morning, alongside the biggest bunch of stunning red roses that you'd ever seen. 

When you'd arrived at the winery for lunch later there'd been a second bunch of flowers, this one somehow bigger than the last, an exotic mix of eclectic tiger lillies and striking orchids, the colours bold, bright and beautiful. Alongside them had been a note, short and simple in the way that was classically Glen, telling you that he loved you with his whole heart and that he hoped you were having the best day with your friends for your birthday.

You and the girls had called it a night just before midnight, your own tipsy performance of Proud Mary signaling the end of your birthday. You kissed and thanked your girlfriends, incredibly grateful for the three of them in your life, waving goodbye to them in the taxi and making your way inside.

In any other circumstance, Flynn's lack of barking at your arrival would have alerted you to the idea that something was up, but in your several-drinks-too-many state you didn't quite pick up on that. So when you opened the front door to your house and found Glen standing in your kitchen looking back at you with the biggest smile on his face, all you could do was stare back at him momentarily - your brain a whirring mix of alcohol, surprise, overwhelm and love.

Eventually you separated enough that you could ask him what he was doing here and why he hadn't told you, Glen smiling and explaining between kisses that he was never going to not see you for your birthday. As it turned out he had the flight organized weeks ago, and had enlisted your friend's help to keep you busy while he made the long haul flight over, having planned all along to surprise you at the end of the night.

You ran at him then, bounding into his waiting arms and holding onto him with everything you had, burying your face in his neck as he whispered happy birthday baby in your hair. Depositing you on the kitchen bench he'd cupped your face and captured your lips in a tender kiss, both of you pouring all of the thoughts and emotions from your months apart into your intimate embrace.

Just as you launched into your next barrage of questions - about his latest project, about the film shoot, about his family and about Brisket, Glen had tilted your chin and silenced you with a slow, heavy kiss, the action leaving you breathless and momentarily lost for words.

“All of that can wait” Glen breathed, lips hovering over your own as his hand moved into your hair, “We’ll have time for questions later darlin’”.

“Later?” you asked, voice barely louder than a whisper, letting out a shaky breath when his free hand cupped the back of your bare thigh and pulled your body flush against his.

“Later” Glen affirmed, his silky voice low and his Texan accent thick, his intentions instantly clear when he rolled his hips into yours with a breathy, almost desperate groan, “First I’m gonna take you to bed and give my girl a proper happy birthday”.

---

TAG LIST FOR GLEN POWELL FICS:

@angclvings @auntiegigi @friedchips94 @memories-in-bw @maeleelee @jessicab1991 @bellaireland1981 @queenslandlover-93 @itsjustkhaos @kneelforloki @djs8891 @lovemesomevesey @entertainmentgirl80 @buckysteveloki-me @stankface @meldizzzle

[fuwaprince]

👉👈 Hi friends! I have a long, serious post made just for you(!) that isn't full of spoilers, smut or mooning lawn gnomes. Please read if you can, this is a 💥 mutual aid request 💥

It has been a horribly painful and long while as most people following/keeping up with me know. and in a few days I'm going to be down $1500, which is basically all my fucking $

I can't afford Christmas for anybody, which sucks and I'm very sorry. I can't even take care of myself and haven't been, which also sucks and I'm very sorry

Landlords spontaneously raised rent on me more than halfway through this month as punishment for not getting to my house chores and not communicating, to be totally honest with you. I feel ashamed and awful about it but I didn't want to clean the place while multiple ppl living here had tested positive for COVID and kept walking around unmasked... I am not fully vaxxed because I've been too depressed to get any kind of necessary medical care done and I didn't want to catch COVID in the middle of my finals week for the semester. I woke up to being angrily and rudely bitched at first thing after the last of my finals (I passed at least). It wasn't a humanizing text. Fuck the mistreatment though. Rent is now almost doubled and it won't be lowered

There was no room for negotiation and I truly believe they've resorted to pricing me out of living here because the group of renters psychologically tormenting me wasn't effective (actually- putting a picture of my rapist on the fridge rly was super effective in getting me to isolate myself in my room all day and so was outing me as trans to the transphobic ass neighbors.... But I didn't and still don't have any place better to move out to, like the way they were hoping I would. Yes, I have looked and BEGGED btw)

I want out of here NOW, but I can't leave. I tried and had to come back because it was the best option. I can't afford to stay in a motel/hotel/BnB just to get away from them for a day or two during Christmas. I don't have any friends who I can spend the holiday with either. During the semester, I resorted to convincing classmates with keys to locked buildings to let me crash in them while they worked at night and I would leave before anybody showed up. Now that school is out, I can't do that. I don't have any family I can reach out to for support or friends who I can depend on for immediate help. I have been crying day in and day out for weeks. I have records of it posted throughout my blog. Literally crying for days on end. I'm being so fucking transparent

All that lump of text is to explain to whoever is out there, who might be listening and willing and able, to please consider helping me, if and ONLY IF able. I know times are tough and if you'd rather use your $ for other reasons or just don't have any to spare, don't sweat it and take care! 🫂

I've thought about what I could do for a long time and have helped myself how I can. It isn't enough. I've applied for so much assistance. Been approved and been sabotaged by my inhumane mom (who does not love me) via stealing my legal documents and letters and hiding them for months. My mind jumps to grim places but I'm clinging for dear life to whatever hope I have left that says things will get better. I wish I knew somebody with a business that I could work for. Part of me feels so fucking terrible for asking for help because I feel like a waste of all your resources. I feel like I shouldn't ask, like I really do not fucking deserve help, but there are friends online who care, who I know mentioned being interested in helping in whatever ways they can

So to the people who care to seriously me, I'm ready to accept it: please send me nice words to get through this and feel less alone. It feels pathetic to ask but I would love a nice letter. A nice card even. Kind words of any kind would go a long way. It means more to me than food. I have felt so broken and every day feels like a test to figure out how badly I actually want to live

I'm also leaving my cash app and paypal here in case anybody would like to do more than what I'm comfortable asking but probably very likely will inevitably need very very soon. I will be left with fucking nothing and I will have no idea what to do once rent is paid

Thank you to those of you who have sent love, offered to listen and heard me out. I really wish it wasn't so hard to survive. I'm trying to feel better knowing there are people out there who are also without help and hoping the best, but it doesn't make me feel any better or comforted tbh. I just wish the help was there for us. I wish there was a place to go for spare love, care, compassion, empathy, kindness, humanity, generosity... I need that more than I need $. Call me stupid but that's what I live for. I don't live for paying to survive in terrible conditions. I live for love and to smile with friends

I hope to write back to the friends who have already been so kind as to message me soon btw. I'm sorry for not replying sooner. Your overwhelming support is sincerely sweet and sometimes I cry because I can't believe people are so nice (to me???). It'll give me something to do that doesn't make me feel like dying! :') so thank you thank you thank you *fist bump*

Hope you're all doing as well as you can and that somehow things get better. Hope anybody else struggling like me doesn't make the mistake of isolating like a sick and dying animal. You deserve love. You deserve support. Don't be like me. Have the courage to reach out to the people who care about you for help as early on into your emergency as possible. Don't let your situation snowball because you spend so long trying to figure out if you're worth it!!! This Random Tumblr user is here to tell you that YOU ARE. Sending my infinite everlasting unconditional love. Be nice to yourselves. Be nice to each other. Fuck the hateful assholes who wish I would just kill myself already. Tell your friends you love them. Happy Holidays!!!

And here's a single picture of a mooning lawn gnome at the very end, as a treat! I told you this post wasn't full of it.... It just ended with it 👉👉

[highlordofkrypton]

ACOTAR Omegaverse Week // Day 1 - Nesting (Submission #2)

Shoutout to everyone that requested Tamcien for @acotar-omegaverse-week! While this isn't the main Tamcien I have planned, please enjoy this amuse bouche while the real meal is being cooked for later this week 🙏

Thank you to @matrixsss, @lzrsaugust, @yaralulu, @thrumbolt and ESPECIALLY @achaotichuman for opening my ship horizons and getting me to write Tamcien!!

SUMMARY: Lucien has one rule. Inside his study, he has to work. Tamlin is very respectful of his space, but that doesn't mean he can't complain about it.

PAIRING: Alpha! Lucien x Omega! Tamlin

TAGS: Domestic Fluff, Domestic Bliss, Nesting

Read on AO3 or beneath the cut.

LIGHTWORK

"Are you done?"

"Not yet."

Lucien doesn't lift his eyes from the parchment before him. He's not even halfway through the stack. It's no one's fault but his own. Time management has always been important; it was drilled into him from a young age. Beaten into him, if he was too early or too late.

The Spring Court is much kinder to his failings, but that doesn't mean Lucien should get too comfortable. There is a debt to repay and he promised to keep this Court in order and represent his new home to the best of his ability, which includes addressing correspondences promptly without pressuring the senders. He times everything perfectly so that those reaching out to him may bask in their accomplishment of reaching out, and relax for a handful of days before he obliges them to respond with a response of his own. It is courteous to wait.

Tamlin struggles with the notion. He has been pacing outside of Lucien's study since this morning. He has left twice, once to get a snack, then to address a complaint in the gardens from the other denizens about the cherry tomatoes encroaching on their space. The bushes have bloomed far too much for the liking of the other leafy greens that are used to being the star of the gardens.

"Are you done now?" Tamlin huffs, pacing outside the door again.

It's not that he isn't allowed in the study, but they made a rule. Cross the threshold and it is business only. Too many times they have been distracted and far too many times Lucien has had to replace the desk. It's just not sustainable and it's wasteful. Those are Tamlin's own values, and yet when they're together, it's so easy to toss logic out the window.

Lucien can scent Tamlin—his anticipation, his eagerness and his desire.

He finishes up his last letter, feeding it to the sparrow at the window. It preens, flaring its leafy wings and plucking the letter out of Lucien's slender fingers before flying off.

"I am done and I have your daily report," he stands, adjusting the tails of his coat. Lucien picks up his list of important points that must be conveyed to the High Lord of the Spring Court. He approaches Tamlin who cannot stand still for a moment.

"First, we should discuss this season's—Oh," the Autumn son says softly as he's lifted and hauled over Tamlin's shoulder. The position gives him a direct view of Tamlin's ass. "Wonderful," he deadpans. The likelihood of Tamlin listening to a single word of his carefully crafted report has gone out the window completely. "Aren't I too heavy to tote around like a child?"

"No. This is light work."

Lucien sighs. He dangles over Tamlin's shoulder, tossing his papers in the air because what does it matter? After a moment, he is casually tossed into a very tall pile of leaves in one of the additional rooms with a fireplace. Underneath it, an immeasurable amount of pillows catch him. The fire crackles comfortably, despite Spring's constant perfect and tolerable weather. He scents the fragrant scent of pumpkins, cinnamon and other Fall scents. It reminds him of home.

He lays there as Tamlin climbs into the very messy pile of nature and comfort. Tamlin curls into his side, hugging him close. Lucien's hand automatically goes to his soft blonde hair, caressing him lovingly.

"This is very… autumnal."

"Mm," Tamlin hums. "I thought you might miss home."

"Spring Court is my home. I thought this was supposed to be your nest."

"It is. You are my home, whether we're in Spring, Autumn, Winter or Summer. I don't care." Tamlin has every intention to keep him at his side now and forever.

"You're not going to let me leave, are you?"

"Nope."

"You big baby," Lucien says with the utmost affection. "Come here and let me kiss you."

[ilyfynn]

and it's here. the boxing au, written for mcytblr aufest.

Feinberg does first place, and first place alone.

Welcome to the ring. We hope you enjoy the show!

kier @im-bored-so-i-draw's gorgeous, brilliant art, which is the basis of this work:

@mcytblraufest

thank yous and bonus fic beneath the cut (very long)

many many MANY MANY MANYYYYYYY thanks to:

the mod team for organizing and running the event. i'm unbelievably grateful for the time and effort it must have taken to keep all of this up and running, so thank you for fuelling this creation of ours <3

@theembergazer for perpetually being there for me and listening to yap on about the fic. you are goated and lovely, and i hope you don't hate me too much for it.

@bioluminescentfrog also for listening to me yap. i appreciate it goat <3

@goober890 again, ALSO for listening to me yap. i know i put you through intense torture talking about it. but it's here now. i appreciate you so much - you're one of the people who can boast of having read my works before i shifted focus. thank you thank you thank you <3333333333 the happiest of birthdays to you :3 (everybody wish him happy birthday right NEOW)

all of mcsrblr for having to put up with me going on about the fic. it must have been exasperating. sorry about hiraeth's multiple month hiatus. i love you mcsr - don't you ever stop being awesome ppflower

and last but most of all,

kier @im-bored-so-i-draw.

it has been the pleasure of a lifetime writing this au. i can still remember going fucking insane over whether i would get your frankly absolutely stunning gorgeous art. and then i did and it was absolutely unreal. when i walked into this i didn't expect to produce what i ended up producing. i never would've dreamed of writing a 22k+ fic in 2 months.

and kier, you have GOT to know this, half of the writing was done by you. if not in reality, then in spirit - all those times i thought i was going insane by staring at the doc, you pulled me out of it. i am absolutely, eternally grateful for your consistent presence throughout this entire journey. because that's what it was, wasn't it? a journey, starting with new beginnings and ending with - if i allow myself not to be modest for a moment - a masterpiece. this is my longest work to date. and i have you to thank for that. from complaining endlessly in the google doc to watching httyd together, you have been there the whole time, and i cannot stress enough how absolutely wonderful all this has been.

so thank you. thank you! thank you for everything. thank you for starting this gorgeous au with your art, and thank you for making it come alive in the same way. your art is absolutely, absolutely, absolutely, impeccably beautiful. i am in love with it.

thank you for choosing to participate in the aufest at all, and thank you for supporting me as i mentally collapsed struggled to write halfway through. thank you for your patience, and kindness, and all those words and emotes and gifs - they mean so much, and i will forever be grateful.

i could not have done this without you, kier. we've made it, see? we've made it! look how far we have come. only the Universe can see how thankful i am. i love you because you are love. you are one of the kindest, most brilliant people i have ever interacted with. remember that.

i hope the future holds more for the both of us. i absolutely hope that we will immediately recollab on - gets shot and dies

but i couldn't let this go without gifting you something you haven't seen yet. so. just for you, have silverrreign's side of the story.

enjoy :3 (for those who are not kier please read the main fic first there are spoilers 😭)

[crochetedblorbos]

"I am not now, nor have I ever been, adorable."

Character Name: Jonathan Sims, a/k/a The Archivist, a/k/a The Ceaseless Watcher’s Special Little Boy, a/k/a Snoop God’s Favorite Kid

Fandom: The Magnus Archives [Podcast]

Voiced/Written By: Jonathan Sims

Yarn Used: Shoes: CraftSmart Value - Dark Almond Trousers: CraftSmart Value - Taupe Cardigan: CraftSmart Value - Olive Shirt: CraftSmart Value - White Skin: CraftSmart Value - Coffee Hair: CraftSmart Value - Dark Chocolate, CraftSmart value - Grey Glasses: Ashland Decorative Wire - Black, 12 gauge

Basic pattern here.

Look. How can you NOT love this pathetic wet cat of a man. (And like most cats, he is also a bastard at times.) He really went through the wringer over the course of the podcast, both physically and emotionally. Thank God he had Martin there for him.

Jon differs from the base pattern as follows:

Shoes: I actually remembered to do the soles in a different color this time! Other than the color, they were done the same way as Joseph’s.

Trousers: I accidentally shortened them. I did not mean to shorten them, but frankly, I miscounted on the first leg and only realized it halfway up the second, so I stopped them at R27 instead of R29, so he’s just a tad bit shorter than normal. (Which is fine, and fits my headcanon for Jon.) I also…well, I’ve finally thrown my lot in on the Great Archival Ass Debate on the side of the Assless, so in R32 (what would normally be R34, but again, everything is two rows lower than normal), I put the decrease in the very back, rather than on either side of R41 as usual. Other than that, they’re the same as Joseph’s.

Cardigan and Shirt: I more or less used the same technique I used for Hux, except that I started a round lower (I think) to make the V deeper. I switched fully to the white for R50 (R52 in the base pattern), then did three stitches on either side of the center stitch of R51 in back loops only to give myself something to hook onto. I then went back later and stitched a collar by making a simple triangle in the front loops of those stitches. I also skipped what would have been R54 in the base pattern and, when I switched to the skin color, I went straight for the decrease to 12 sc around. I was hoping this would make his head less floppy.

Head: I used the loop method again. It’s just easier at this point, especially since Jon canonically has enough grey in his hair that he looks older than thirty. I gave him long hair and left it loose, but at least I got it the right length this time (sorry again, Hux). I was going to give him ears, but honestly, I made his glasses small enough that I didn’t need to. I didn't necessarily plan on giving him buck teeth, but I was in the middle of a D&D session while I was working on his face and white yarn was the only thing I had to hand, so rather than run back to my room for black or dark brown I just went with it.

Arms: When you’re crocheting a character who canonically has a very nasty burn scar on one hand, you have three choices. You can ignore it, you can attempt to replicate it in variegated yarn, or you can crochet a hand and set it on fire. And, well...

...I have a lighter and very poor impulse control. [Side note: I mentioned this to an IRL friend who also listens to TMA, and they said brightly, “Just like the Archivist!] (For the record, burning acrylic yarn doesn’t actually smell as terrible as you might think.) I also decided to cut out the final increase in his hands to make them long and thin. This also means I didn’t decrease for his wrists, which was fine, because I gave him shirt cuffs folded over the end of his cardigan as follows: R9: Join shirt yarn, ch 2, dc in outside loop of each st around, sl st in first dc (10 dc). R10: Ch 1, sc in outside loop of each st around, sl st in first sc (10 sc). R11: Join cardigan yarn, ch 2, hdc in back loop of each stitch in R9 around, sl st in first hdc (10 hdc). Continue rest of arm as normal.

Glasses: These definitely did not turn out like I expected, but eh, they work. I bent the wire into square spectacles and stuck them on. As mentioned, I did them tight enough (accidentally) that I didn’t even need the ears.

Bonus: I deliberately did Jon’s hands so he can hold hands with Martin, or tried to anyway. I realized only after he was complete that I matched the magnet in Jon’s right hand to the one in Martin’s right hand, and there’s not really room to turn them around. I might try pulling Martin’s arms off later and switching them around, but for now…well, at least they can hold hands the other way around.

[my-on-and-off-writingstuff]

Powerless feelings |Daemon x Reader

Request: can you please write more? Maybe their 2 older kids also got into the fight with aemond and he hits one of them with a rock on his head which caused him to pass out which made the reader go into an early labor. Some childbirth angst and drama that ends up with happy ending and her having a girl

Author notes: This is part two to the request mentioned above covering the reader going into early labor. Part 1 of the request can be found here! if you want to read it. I don’t think I really did the request justice but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

Warning: Blood, early labor, fighting. 

___

“My prince.” A voice is waking him from his slumber and before he realizes that he does not recognizes the voice he squeezes his wife closer to him. “Please the king has requested you.” The first words were enough to wake him up complete. “What happened?” he demanded this time turning to the voice standing next to his bed. “I am not sure; however, your children were involved, and the king has requested everyone to get down the hall.” You too have been awakened by the voice of the maids and immediately throw the blankets off you. Without sparing the maid a glance you run towards the children’s bedroom. You throw a glance into the room and notice that two of the bed are empty except for the bed of you littlest one. “Baelon and Aedon are gone.” Dread starts forming in the pit of your stomach and you start to shake while a hand goes to your belly. 

Daemon who was busy putting on a pair of pants immediately takes you into his arms. “Shh my love, we don’t what happened yet.” He tries to calm you down. His thumb is making circles on your back while he holds you tightly in his arms. “We have to go down, Daemon our babies.” He nods with his chin is resting on top of your head. You make your way out of his arms and throw a robe around yourself, so you at least look halfway decent. You were pregnant what else do they want from you. “You, stay here with our youngest and do not leave until we have returned.” He demanded of the maid that was sent to wake you. The poor girl looks terrified, but you have no time to sooth her as the only thing you want, is to see if your babies are fine.  

Daemon takes you by the hand as you make your way towards the hall. Halfway down the stairs you halt and a sensation you know all too well was making your way through your body. After three pregnancy you knew how your body was acting and  it felt like you were having a contraction, but it was too early. You still had a month to go. Way to early. Daemon looks at you in concern. “What’s wrong love?” you shake of the feeling that you were having contractions and to not worry Daemon further you do not mention it. “Just some cramps.” He nods and his free hand lays on your belly while he supports you down the remaining part of the stairs. 

Daemon threw the doors of the great hall open allowing you to enter. The hall was full of people from the royal family to the king’s guard and about every other guest of the funeral. Who all looked at the two newcomers curiously. “Aedon, Baelon?” You ask and to you relieve the two boys came running to your side. You kneeled down, ignoring the pain you felt in your lower back and hugged them to your body. Before examining them. 

You cringed at seeing the dried blood under Aedons nose and you fingers tilted his head to the side to see for any more injuries but other than the nose he did not look too hurt. His hand gripped yours and you softly squeezed it before looking at your oldest. He looked straight ahead at the conversation that was happening around you. But as soon as your hand touched his he looked at you. You gasped when you saw the blood on his hairline. “Who did this?” you ask softly not caring to listen in to the royal bitching, leaving that part for your husband. “Aemond.” Baelon his eyes darted from his father to you, who had taken his position in front of you all, and to the boy that caused it. 

You looked over the wound on Baelons hair by carefully shoving his hair out of the way. It did not look like it needed to be stitched but you could only be sure after the blood was cleaned. Another contraction like feeling waved over you, this time harsher and more painful making you grimace. “Mother?” Baelon asks in concern checking your face for any signs of discomfort. “Nothing loves” You straighten up after giving both boys a kiss and put your arms around the boys. 

You zone out when another pain hits you. The children around you start blaming each other but the feeling that something is wrong does not leave you. You were taken out of your state when the king called for silence. You focused on the platform where the king and queen were standing. The queen was quick to blame Luke for it but once again you attention was drawn away from the conversation. You moved your arm from Baelon to you belly and tried to draw some soothing circles on your belly. Something that always helped when Jael was bringing out his troublemaker side in your belly. At the loss of your arm Baelon linked up with his father. Tugging at his arm before discreetly looking at you. Daemon looked back at you and cursed underneath his breath. 

He could see the pain that you tried to hide. You were trying to stabilize your breathing. It was something you had learnt when you went into labor with both Aedon and Jael after given the tip by Rhaenyra. Your absentminded state and the rubbing of your belly made Daemon anxious. His eyes darted to the door, but he knew the king was not going to let you and their sons leave before he had found out the truth. Daemon moved to your side and slid an arm around your waist. To further increase his worry you felt warm, and your body was shaking. He tried to draw the attention of a maester but the one in question was too busy with stitching that little rats eye. 

He raised his brows at hearing the demands of both Rhaenyra and the queen as once again the legitimacy of Rhaenyra’s sons was brought up to question. Daemons eyes glanced around around the room and saw an older lady sitting in the chair nearest to them and without thinking he gestured her to move the hell out of the chair. “Excuse me?” She mouthed at him clearly confused and angry. “My wife is pregnant get up out of that chair, she needs it more that you,” he snarked to the woman showing no remorse as he was not following any of the etiquette rules that had been taught him by his teachers when he was younger. Not that he ever took notice of them. The older woman scoffed at him but quickly decided the seat was not worth fighting a prince for especially when he looked like he could feed her to his dragon at any moment. 

“Sit down love, please.” Daemon was guiding you to the chair. You did what he said and immediately went back to rubbing circles on your belly and trying to breathe through the pain. “This interminable infighting must cease. All of you!” At that your head shot up you looked at the king for the first time. Hopefully that this was all over and you could cuddle up with you husband. “We are family! Now make your apologies and show good will to one another. Your father, your grandsire, your king demand it!” It was over. You let out a sigh of relive. Your boys only needed to apologize there would not be a worse punishment. “That is insufficient.” You hear the queen say and you close your eyes one more the pain was getting unbearable, and you knew that something needed to happen quickly. As you could feel a pressure building up in your stomach. 

When you opened them again the king was addressing the crowd again. “And let it be known anyone whose tongue dares to question the birth of princess Rhaenyra’s sons should have it removed.” With those words it seems like this debacle is over and you carefully stand up from the chair. Daemon is hovering over you like a mother hen and your children are not far behind him. A shockwave goes through the hall when Alicent goes to reach for the knife and storms towards Rhaenyra. Everything is moving at lightning speed. People screaming, and commanding the queen to stand down. 

Daemon had been able to get you halfway through the hall before Alicent had stolen the dagger. But both of you halted at turmoil. Children were screaming as was the Kings guard commanding Ser Criston to stand back. He however does not heed the warning and makes his way to help the queen in her attack. Daemon interceptes Ser Cristons move, fearing for his niece life. You look around the room to find family against family and at that moment you felt water trickle down your legs. “Daemon!” you get out between the pains of the unfollowing contraction. 

Daemon immediately let’s go of Criston and rushes to your side. “My love” both his hands are on your cheeks forcing you to look into his eyes. “The babe is coming.” You are able to bring out “Now?” He asks almost frightened. “Yes now!” You clench your teeth through the pain. Something snaps in his head and you swear you have never seen Daemon so feral. “Maesters my wife has started her labor.” “And you.” Daemon seethed with anger turning to Alicent, who at least has the decency to look somewhat guilty. “If it wasn’t for you my wife would not be in early labor so if anything happens to her you better pray to those petty little gods of yours.” With those words he scoped you up and rushes to your chambers. The maester following close. 

As soon as he placed you down, he was shooed out of the room by the maesters and the midwife. “Daemon! Daemon!” you exclaimed in panic when you saw him being rushed out of the room. “I am here love, just holler when you need me, those old goats want me gone.” He stroked your cheek and placed kiss son your forehead. “Do not leave me please” you were gripping his hand tightly. Daemon took a good look at you and instantly he began to worry about you. You were looking sweaty and panicky; you have never looked like this in the previous labors. “Of course, not love.” He kissed your hand and threatened the maester to say anything with just one glance. “I will stay right here.” You nod and grab his hand tightly as if it is the only thing keeping you from drowning. 

“Okay milady push.” One of the midwives says and at the go ahead you start pushing. Your body knowing what to do, but everything still feels off. You try to remember the breathing exercise to lessen the pain, but nothing seems to help. Your head is against Daemons shoulder, and he is trying to talk you through it. “Milady, you have to push.” The maesters say when you weakly fall back against the headboard of the bed. “What do you think I am doing!” you manage to get out between breaths. You moan and you scream with each contraction, each push, but nothing seems to be working as if the babe knows it is too early and prefers to stay inside, ignoring the signs your body is giving. 

You scream out as you once again push at the same time squeezing Daemons hand to pieces. You are staring over the shoulder of the Daemon completely transfixes upon something else. Your ears are ringing, and you feel you mind disconnecting from your body. Slowly the pain is fading away to a dull ache. “Y/n” Daemon is shaking you, but you barely notice. Your eyes can only blink. Your face has lost all its color and you feel limps 

 “Maester!” the old man is immediately by his side but does little to dimmish the fear he is currently feeling. “Do something!” He screams at the maester. His wife is looking like she is in another state so much worse that the one she was in down in the great hall. “Y/N think about Baelon, think about Aedon and little Jael.” He is back to shaking you again. “Think about me.” The last part almost sounds like a sob. Terrified of losing you Daemon is stroking the wet hair out of your face. “Please what would I do without you.” His warms lips touch yours and you seem to come out of your state a little bit. Enough to start pushing again and the Maester notices it too. “Push at the next one milady.” And you do with all of your strength that is left. You let out one last scream and then it is all over. A small baby is makes it’s way into the world kicking and screaming but alive and judging on those little lungs healthy. All your weight shifts against Daemon, who is quick to lay you on the bed. your eyes follow the midwife who cradles you baby against here to clean it and snip the umbilical cord. As she goes out of your sight you try to keep your eyes open but to no avail. 

However, Daemon has only eyes for you. His eyes roam your face for any sign of that something is wrong, but he does not notice the blood streaming out of you at a alarming rate. One of the heavier midwives pushed him to the side without pardon as they roll you on your back. A wall of midwives and Maesters blocks him off any access to you and he feels his heartbeat at the top of his throat at the same time as his breathing being cut off. “What is happening?” he calls out, but he does not receive an answer. Instead, a tiny baby is pushed in his arms before that woman is also rushing towards you.

A little sound comes from the baby in his arms and his brain finally acknowledges the tiny bundle in his arm. His eyes look down at the tiny babe in his arms. So perfect, a little tiny but oh so perfect. Her little Targaryen white hair in little tuffs on top of her head. Her small little hand that is laying against his chest. He carefully tucks the blanket back and he closes his eyes for a moment. You had been right all along it was a little girl. It was a girl, and you did not even know. he felt something wet make his way down his cheek. Ashamed he wiped it off, not that anybody was watching him at this moment as they were concerned with you but he still felt ashamed. He is supposed to protect you and here you were possibly dying because he wanted another child. “You will never marry little one, nobody is going to do this to you.” He promises the little girl. “You will never know the dangers of childbirth.” He rocks her in his arms while at the same time trying to see you and find out more information. 

“My prince.” Daemon opened his eyes and stands up. Somewhere in between he was sent out of the room. Doomed to sit outside of the door while they were working on you. He moved around the Maester and walked to the door. He felt himself freeze when he was halfway across the room. He could now see you; they had washed you and covered you with blankets. The midwives now busying themselves around the room with cleaning and other tasks. You looked so fragile and peaceful, and he feared the worst. He slowly approached the bed but hesitated to touch you. Scared that when he died his life would shatter. But his heart won over his mind and carefully he touched your cheek. Another insidious tear escapes him when he felt the warmth of your skin. 

“Your wife needs to take a prolonged rest but other than that it will all be well.” Daemon smiles while stroking your hair softly. “And the Babe?” He asks the maester without looking at him. “The little one came early but does not seem to have any problems with deformities, breathing or her heart. But we will monitor her progress nonetheless.” Daemon could only nod while settling himself down on the bed next to you, the little babe in-between and his other hand firmly clasped in yours as if they would take you away from him if he would let go of you. 

 ___

You awoke to bright sunlight. Your eyes immediately scanned the room for your little one but it found Jael first. Jael had fallen asleep at the foot of the bed. He was curled up with his little dragon. You heard the voices of Aedon and Baelon somewhere in the room and finally, Daemon was laying on the bed next to you and in-between the two of you was your tiny little miracle. Ignoring the pain you stretched your arm to carefully maneuver her into your arms, but Daemon kept a tight grip on her so for now you would have to settle at only looking at her. 

She was perfect, like her brothers she had inherited the silver hair and while she was sleeping you were sure she had the beautiful violet eyes as well. Her little fist was resting against Daemons chest and moves with every breath he took. “You want to hold her?” You eyes shoot up to meet Daemons and you nod eagerly. Carefully Daemon places your daughter in your arms. “She is perfect.” You sigh while stroking her little face. “She is, after all she is taking after her mother.” You snort at his comment. “If she is any like her brothers she will be all you.” 

“How are you feeling?” You meet his eyes again and smile brightly. “As good as I can be.” Your answers seems to have the opposite effect as a frown makes his way on your husbands face. “I mean it, I almost lost you yesterday.” You laugh at him. “So do I, I am still here, with my daughter in my arms. I am feeling great.” He does not seem convinced yet but abandons the topic anyway not wanting to ruin your bliss. 

Aedon and Baelon had sneaked up at you side and were sneaking glances at the babe. “Come here boys.” You nod at them and both make their way onto the bed to join your little family of now 6. “What is her name, dad did not want to tell us.”

Long ago the two of you had made a pact he was allowed to name the boys with your approval of course and you were allowed to name the girls. Tears spring in your eyes at the notion that he had waited till you woke up to give her a name. “Alysanne.” You look up to Daemon for approval and he gives you a short nod. “Alysanne it is.” He kisses your forehead and promptly takes her out of your arms. You whine at the loss of your daughter but seeing your husband with her in his arms makes you, you weak on a whole other level. “Should we have another one?” You ask him and the tenses up. “Do you want me to be in an early grave?” “Certainly not but you look so good with a little one in your arms.” You smile at him while hugging your boys against you.

____

Tags: @wallace02sblog @cleverzonkwombatsludge 

[abilouwrites]

THE BEFORE, AND THE AFTER

3

series Masterlist

(Og draft got deleted I’m sorry pookies)

It takes Bakugo three months before he winds up in my ER once again. This time less injured, with a large gash on his abdomen. I’ve just worked a twelve hour shift and am dying to get home. But alas I get called in to the trauma room where he’s just sitting, “called for you” He smiles weakly but lifts his shirt to show a semi-deep cut just at his ribcage, “hoped you weren’t off”

I groan a little as I slip my sterile gown and gloves on, grabbing a suture kit and bringing it near where I’m sitting, “uh-huh, can I take a listen to your lungs?” I ask taking my stethoscope from my pockets.

“Yeah. Can I get more of the pain killers?” He asks, crimson eyes flick over my figure and how I’m hunched listening to his lungs. Which sound fine.

“No, I’m just gonna numb you a little bit and then stitch you up” I clarify, gentling numbing the area and slowly pulling the sutures tight.

I hear him wince and inhale sharply, “you do not have gentle hands”

“Uh huh” I nod, “I just wanna get home. I’ve promised my roommate that I’d be there for dinner. And I’ve broken my promises more than enough” I murmur; dumping my gloves and gown into the trash.

“You have a roommate?” He asks; sitting up and pulling his mask off- allowing stray blonde hair to fall into his eyes. Which he quickly brushes out of his face.

“Yeah.. not all of us make almost two mil every year. But shes great I love her” I murmur, “uh yeah you’re good”

“Why don’t I take you out to dinner” he asks and now I know the morphine is talking.

“Ha-ha” I joke a dry laugh, “I’ll see you around. Just take it easy for a while”

I’m tired and burnt out when I slink through the door, listening to some jazz pop as I unlock the door. I’m not surprised to see Suki asleep on the couch. Stove off and food in the oven. I don’t bother waking her. She has a job interview with this tech company in the morning.

I open my door, clothes on the ground. A messy room, with makeup on my desk and medical books holding up the uneven legs. The little trinkets on my windowsill.

I’ve been working the past 48 hours, non stop— doctors are working less hours, which means the nurses have to step up. I’m working harder than I ever have. For the same pay.

I have the feeble energy to put the remaining clean laundry I have away before I stuff my laundry basket full of dirty clothes.

I flop into bed and am grateful I won’t have to work until tomorrow night.

Halfway through my shift I go for coffee. Mostly because this is my favorite coffee spot but also because hospital coffee sucks. There’s a shorter line than usual, people know this place but not very well. The nurses know it best, but I’m still a little astonished to see him there. Hair a little damp and eyes red with irritation. In the bareness of his hero costume, no gauntlets. Still those dumb boots.

I pick up my iced coffee, relishing in that first sip. The sip doesn’t cure my exhaustion; or the fact I’m walking a little under a mile back to the hospital.

But Bakugo never misses, eyes keen he spots me. Murmuring my name against the crowd, sliding next to me as I walk out. Light green scrubs and black clogs. The ugliest shoes but also the comfiest, “dynamight I haven’t seen you in a while” I tease gently as he smiles. Not even bothering to get his coffee.

“I’m almost due for my next visit then? Aren’t I?” He asks. A faint smile of that softened jaw-line. He’s not much taller than I am, 6’2 to my 5’7.

“God no, we’re so understaffed.. I’m working 80 hours a week and I’m still struggling on grocery and car and just everything.” I murmur a little, looking over at him.

“I’ve heard about the strikes, everyone says hero’s are the foundation of society but it’s carried by medicine” he speaks, a soft voice against the few cars that pass the streets.

“I know.. I’m just exhausted.. y’know?” I’m still quiet, “how has the stitches been healing?”

“All healed. Just a little sore.”

“And the wrist?”

“Because we’re out of your work place.. what’s it gonna take for me to take you out to dinner?”

I shrug back a laugh, but smile at him, “a lot more than that”