#work is bad enough without disruptions to routine...

[alackofghosts]

veel uneski hoiad mu käest ♪

[navybrat817]

I'll Be Okay

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: When Bucky accidentally harms you, he questions whether or not he's worthy of you and your love.

Word Count: Over 3.7k

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, accidental injury (small cut), mention of blood, mention of past injuries (not reader's), slight canon divergence (aftermath of torture, PTSD), self-loathing, angst, insecurities, feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: This idea hit me and here we are! The quote is a partial lyric change from "I'll Be OK" by Nothing More. Thanks to @yenzys-lucky-charm and @starlightcrystalline for their help. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411, but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky had an established routine before he went to bed each night. Screen time stopped an hour before he went to sleep so his mind and body could start to wind down. He changed into his pajamas, washed his face, and brushed his teeth. He read for fifteen minutes, nothing too intense or emotional since heavy topics would make his mind start to race again. The last thing he did were deep breathing exercises, imagining relaxing scenes as he inhaled, exhaled, and released the tension in his body.

Relaxing into the mattress, he smiled to himself. It took him some time to get accustomed to it, but he was glad he gave it a chance since he was determined to make his bedroom a safe haven. It took time and effort, but it worked. The atmosphere was relaxing and soothing. The blackout curtains helped him embrace the darkness since it was darkness of his choice. He hadn’t slept on the floor in months. He felt a sense of peace.

“Night,” you yawned.

It was difficult to see you in the pitch-black room, but he smiled more when he heard your heartbeat. The perfume you wore earlier today still lingered on your skin. Your hand touched his and he felt that sense of peace all over again.

The two of you started dating almost a year ago, short enough that it still felt new but also long enough that he felt comfortable. He didn't feel the need to hide his thoughts or feelings from you and you understood when he had his bad days. You were so patient, so caring. You were everything he wanted and nothing he deserved.

You didn't start spending the night until you hit the six-month mark. It worried him the first night because even sex didn’t disrupt his routine, and he didn’t want that to bother you. Just like you supported him in everything else, you were more than happy to support his evening habits. You even took a page from his book and started cutting out your screen time early so it wouldn’t disturb him. You were thoughtful like that, and he considered himself a lucky guy to have someone like you.

Especially when it came to his nightmares.

You were gentle and calm whenever he woke up from a nightmare, never trying to wake him abruptly and risk causing further distress. Respecting boundaries was something you both cultivated, so you never forced or pushed him to talk about his experiences or what he dreamed about. When he did, you listened without judgement and didn't dismiss his concerns or fears. No matter what, you were quick to offer comfort and help him get back to sleep or stay awake with him.

For all his crimes, he somehow ended up with a wonderful and understanding partner.

“Night,” he whispered into the darkness, pressing a kiss to your temple.

It didn’t take you long to fall asleep, your breathing steady. Closing his eyes, he slid his hand under his pillow and instinctively closed his hand around the small knife handle. His eyes opened immediately, his next breath caught in his throat. Why did he have his knife there?

Sleeping with a knife had been a coping mechanism and he typically did so on missions, but he tried to let it go at home once you started sleeping over. Tightening his grip, he remembered he had it there the night before because you had to sleep at your apartment. He swore he moved it to the nightstand before you came over. Did he… Shit, did he mean to do that and forget about it?

As much as his memory improved, he still had moments of forgetfulness. A likely permanent side effect thanks to the years of torture. It was one of the reasons why he liked having a routine. It helped him cope as well as improved his memory thanks to the repeated steps. Making lists helped, too.

“I’m safe. She’s safe,” he whispered.

The debate of having weapons in the bedroom was a tough choice since it was meant to be a safe space. He wanted to have weapons nearby for protection, but also wanted them far away in case something triggered him. He convinced himself that one knife was okay. One knife wouldn't hurt him.

But after his last nightmare, he didn’t think it was a good idea to have a knife under the pillow.

It had been a rough night, one of the roughest he could recall in ages. Surrounded by his demons and sins, he felt utterly alone. It was better that way. No one else should ever hear the agony or see the twisted horrors in his head. It was for an audience of one. But, still, he fought. He tried.

And his hand moved.

Bucky had been on autopilot, wanting desperately to fully wake himself up. His body tried to protect him while his mind continued to cling to his neverending nightmare. He just needed to open his eyes and be free for one more day.

He had sat up with a gasp, this haze in his mind finally lifting. “My name is James Buchanan Barnes. I go by Bucky,” he panted to remind himself that he wasn’t dreaming. “I was born on March 17th, 1917. I’m in my bed, and I’m holding a knife.”

He had been holding a knife.

And he sliced through the sheet where you would’ve been laying.

He barely made it to the toilet before he wretched. He had nightmares of you being tortured, your screams driving him to the brink of insanity when he wanted so desperately to save you. There were nightmares, too, where outside forces made him inflict pain on you. He swore he’d never harm you. If you had been asleep beside him… It made him sick all over again.

Which was why he tried not to sleep with a knife in bed anymore.

Carefully slipping his hand out from under the pillow, he kept an ear out for you. He didn’t want to risk waking or jolting you. He just had to put the knife away so he could cuddle with you and get some much needed rest.

But some higher being or life itself enjoyed messing with Bucky Barnes.

You rolled from your back to your side the second his hand moved through the air. He was fast, should’ve been faster, but it didn’t stop the blade from slicing your skin before he could pull his hand back. He knew the second you woke up, a startled and pained cry escaping. No… no.

He dropped the knife on the nightstand with a shaky hand and turned on the light. The first thing he saw was your face scrunched in pain as you sat up in bed and examined your arm. The crimson drew his attention next because he knew your body better than he knew his own and there shouldn't be a cut there… or blood. There shouldn't be pain etched on your beautiful face.

For a split second, Bucky thought he was having a nightmare. He wanted it to be a nightmare, didn't want it to be real, but the cry he heard wasn't in his head. It wasn't a dream.

It was a living nightmare.

“What did I do?” His voice shook. Tears stung his eyes.

God, what did he do?

Your lips moved, but he felt like he was hearing the words underwater. “Bucky? Did you have a nightmare? Are you okay?”

You were asking if he was okay?

“Oh, my God.” he whispered in horror, his eyes wide. “I…” He cut you. He hurt you. Something he vowed to never do. “I’m sorry. Fuck. Fuck. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you tried to assure him, clutching your arm closer like you were trying not to get blood on the sheets. “It was an accident.”

“It’s not okay!” he said, trying not to raise his voice. Frightening you was the last thing he wanted to do. “Fuck, baby, I’m so sorry,” he said, carefully rounding the bed and making sure he kept himself in your line of sight. “I-I didn't mean to. I was trying to move it to the nightstand. I thought I put it back.”

“I know you didn’t mean to,” you assured him, showing him the small wound. “But I need your help.”

He tried not to panic, but his heart wouldn't stop racing and his next breath felt ragged. “I…”

How could you possibly want his help? He was no longer the Winter Soldier, yet he was still a weapon who destroyed everything he touched. He fooled himself into believing that you were the exception, but look what he did? Your beautiful skin might have a scar now because of him, a constant reminder that he brought nothing but pain and destruction.

“Bucky, please,” you whispered, slowly lifting your hand. You let it hover near his cheek, silently asking for permission, the way you always did after he had a bad dream. He allowed himself to lean in, selfishly accepting it and taking from you the way he always took from you. “Help me.”

He dared to look in your eyes with the hope of centering himself and prayed he wouldn't see fear or disgust. There was none, only trust and love when you looked back at him. It was enough to push the panic away. He could be upset later. Right now he had to take care of you and fix his mistake.

“Okay,” he breathed.

He took your arm with infinite tenderness to examine it and blinked away the mist in his eyes. The cut, thankfully, didn’t look jagged or deep. It was a clean cut. In fact, it looked superficial compared to the damage it could've done. It still had to hurt since a sharp blade sliced your skin and there was still blood.

A wounded sound left Bucky’s lips when his gaze flickered up and he spotted a tear slide down your cheek. As if he had any right to make a sound like that when he caused you pain. The angel that you were, you offered him a soft smile. Any other night your voice and smile would’ve soothed him, but he didn't deserve that tonight. He didn't deserve comfort. He was unworthy of it, unworthy of any of your kindness or care.

“I don’t think you’ll need stitches,” he said, his voice rough. He wasn't a doctor by any stretch of the imagination, but he certainly experienced enough of his own cuts and stitched up enough wounds to know. “Can I carry you to the bathroom?”

Logically, he knew you were capable of walking there on your own, but he wanted to hold you. Make himself useful. You must've sensed it since you nodded without hesitation. “Of course.”

Picking you up in his arms, he felt numb as he carried you. Why couldn’t he have accidentally cut himself instead? He experienced plenty of wounds, and had plenty of scars. What was one more?

He took a second to breathe in your scent before he set you on the edge of the tub, worried he might not smell it again if you decided to leave for the rest of the night. “I need to apply pressure to it,” he said, saying the steps out loud for both of you as he washed his hands and grabbed the first aid kit. “Once the bleeding stops, I can clean it.”

You nodded, keeping your arm elevated. “Okay,” you said, your gaze going to his shaking hands. “Deep breath, Bucky.”

Breathing in slowly and releasing it, he willed himself to stop shaking. He didn’t realize the metal arm could shake, but it made sense since it was an extension of himself. Avoiding your gaze as he pressed the gauze to your wound, his teeth snapped together when he heard the wince you tried not to let out. As if he didn’t hate himself enough for the damage he’d done, you were trying to be brave and strong for him.

Once the bleeding stopped, he turned the water on. The sight of the red on the gauze made his stomach turn since it was your blood. “Soap and water next.”

You offered him a small smile again while he cleaned it, but he couldn’t smile back. “The cut doesn't look bad at all. Barely a scratch,” you mused once he finished and grabbed the tweezers. “What are those for?”

“It was a small blade,” he said, swallowing hard. “I know it isn’t a deep cut, but I’m just making sure there isn’t anything in it. We don’t want it to get infected.” Both of you kept the bedroom clean and he also took great care of his knives, but that didn’t mean dust or something else didn’t seep its way in.

You nodded again, letting him do what he needed to before he applied petroleum jelly. “That helps with the healing, right?”

His heart turned over. You were keeping him talking and not allowing his mind to slip into a dark place. “That’s right. I know you’re not a big fan of the word ‘moist’, but, well, keeping it moist helps,” he said, putting the bandage on. You wrinkled your nose, something he usually found adorable. Seeing you do it now, he wanted to cry. “I think that should do it. Do you… need anything for the pain?”

“You did a great job,” you smiled gently, which only made his heart ache more. “I don't need anything, but thank you for asking.”

“You sure you aren't being stubborn?” he tried to tease.

Cuts and bruises, he could handle those. Things like aspirin didn't do anything for him anyway thanks to the serum. What about you? What if your arm ached?

You laughed a little. “If I do need something, you'll be the first to know.”

You looked past your arm into the tub. He looked, too, watching the last trace of blood go down the drain. Or maybe he imagined it. The last time he came back from a bad mission, you helped him wash his hair and wipe away the remaining blood and dirt. You made him feel clean again as every speck disappeared. And what had he given you in return?

What good was he?

“Are you okay?” he barely whispered. God, he wanted you to be okay.

“I am,” you answered without hesitation, turning his face toward you. “Seriously, Bucky. It’s just a scratch, and it was an accident.”

“It shouldn’t have happened in the first place,” he said, pulling away from your touch. He feared he’d taint you if you kept touching him. “And you shouldn’t have to put up with me.”

You inhaled so sharply he thought you’d choke on your breath. “I don’t put up with you. I love you.”

How could your love break his heart?

Emotions whirled inside him as he sank to the cold floor. He hugged his knees to his chest and stared off with vacant eyes. Faces of the people he harmed and killed over the years passed in his mind. Blaming him. Telling him he didn't deserve you.

He didn't, did he?

He didn’t see you move to the floor beside him, but he felt your presence. It was his job to comfort you, make you feel better. Instead he began to shut down. He didn’t want to. Why was he allowing himself to go under?

“Bucky?” you asked after a few minutes passed.

His good and his bad days, you always stayed beside him. But you had to be afraid of him now, right? He wouldn’t blame you if you were. He also wouldn’t blame you if you never trusted him again.

“One of the happiest days of my life was when you and I started dating. Luck was finally on my side,” he said, remembering the smile on your face when he asked you to go out with him. He was on cloud nine when you said yes. “And then you eventually started sleeping over and I thought my luck was continuing to turn around.” He laughed a watery laugh. “I was going to ask you to move in with me soon.”

You placed your hand over his, not wanting to interrupt, but wanting him to know that you were listening and taking in every word.

“But I lied to you. I said I’d never hurt you and I did,” he said, biting his lip to the point where he almost drew blood. “You were the one person I was supposed to protect and take care of and…” He whimpered, doing his damnedest not to sob. “I can’t even protect you from myself.”

He couldn't even blame a nightmare for what he did because it was all him.

“You do protect and take care of me. You do it every single day,” you said. If he could see himself through your eyes, he’d believe it. “You're my hero.”

He finally looked at you and he didn't stop you from holding his face in your hands. How could he be your hero when felt like a villain? “Take care of you? Look what I did to your arm.” Tonight was a small cut and an accident, truly, but would if one day he did something worse? He still feared the day something triggered him and he went after the ones he loved the most.

You barely gave your arm a glance, like it didn't bother you at all. “That wasn't done on purpose. I would never hold something like that over your head and you wouldn't do it to me if the roles were reversed.”

The lump in his throat made it hard to speak. “But I’m supposed to be faster.”

Bucky faced his share of punishments when he wasn't the perfect machine. He wasn't supposed to feel. Only follow orders. It was hard to accept some days that he was truly free, that he was allowed to make mistakes. Being with you reminded him that he wasn't a machine, but that he was a human being.

And human beings weren't perfect no matter how hard they tried to be.

“You’re still fast. Still strong,” you said, your voice steady and firm, urging him to believe you. “But, Bucky, at the end of the day, accidents happen and we can't always protect each other from pain. That’s just not possible.”

He wanted to argue that he should keep you safe from pain, but he knew in his heart that you were right. “So we help and comfort each other?” he asked.

“Exactly. And I promise you I’m okay.”

“You’re really okay?” he whispered.

“I’m really okay,” you whispered back.

His shoulders dropped and tears spilled over before he could stop them. You weren't going to let him shoulder the blame no matter how hard he tried. “If you want to leave…” He couldn’t finish his sentence, but he’d get it if you wanted to go back to your place instead.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said, giving him renewed strength and relief. “Especially since you were going to ask me to move in. What kind of partner would I be if I just left?”

“You’re the best,” he swore. The best person, partner, everything. “And I’m sorry.”

He had to say it once more and he wasn't sure how he’d make it up to you, but he’d find a way.

“There's nothing to be sorry for,” you whispered, brushing the softest of kisses against his lips as you wiped his tears away. “But if you really feel like you have to say it, then I forgive you.”

He couldn't believe some days how forgiving you were, how deep your love for him ran. “You still love me? Because I love you so much.”

“Always,” you promised.

Your answer allowed him to cry harder. In the safe space of his home with the woman he loved holding him and not running away, he didn't have to suppress his emotions. He could embrace it, the bad and the good, the ugly and the beautiful.

“Thank you,” he whispered once his crying slowed. Tears fell from your eyes, too. He tasted them when he kissed your cheeks. “It really was an accident.”

“I know,” you softly smiled. “How about we add checking the bed for knives and anything else to your bedtime routine?”

“That’s a good idea,” he said. It would be easy to add that to his nightly list. “I don’t…”

He looked toward the door, not wanting to say he couldn’t sleep in the bed tonight. At least not until he changed the sheets, even if there wasn’t a drop of blood on them. Even then he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to sleep at all.

“Maybe we can curl up on the floor together with some blankets and pillows?” you offered, letting him make the choice.

There you went again being the understanding and patient partner, willing to curl up on an uncomfortable floor to make him feel better. “I’d like that.”

“Are you going to be okay?” you asked before he pressed a kiss to your lips.

It was a question you asked after every nightmare, every bad day.

He considered his answer before he uttered, “I will be.”

The truth was, he believed he had wounds that would never fully heal no matter how hard he tried. Something would come along out of nowhere and tear them open. If he were a better man, he’d let you go so you could find someone not so damaged. Instead he chained you to his side and dragged you down with him. But he remembered something you once said to him.

“We can learn to forgive and be forgiven by learning to heal with our hearts wide open.”

He opened his heart to you, and you accepted his love and gave it back tenfold. You took as much of his pain away as you could and made his days brighter. He was still learning how to be forgiven, but you helped him get better every day.

And both of you were going to be okay.

Oh, he deserves a hug and more. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[moonmaiden1996]

Making a Match- Part 2

Part 1

The contract arrived before sunset the next day. Not a servant’s hand, nor a footman’s shuffle—but Lahan himself, who entered just after Lakan, his adoptive father. They stood at your threshold, Lahan’s robes unwrinkled, hair fizzed from the day but his eyes bright as stood behind his elder.

Lakan was just as you imagined: monocle and all. Awkward and powerful. A man who commanded respect—or at least the kind of fear that passed for it. Second only to the Emperor himself, and here he was, grinning like a loon at your father and brothers. It made you feel almost sorry for them. Almost.

Under different circumstances, you might’ve laughed.Standing side by side, the resemblance between Lahan and Lakan was striking—the slant of the eyes, the cut of the jaw. If Lahan aged like his uncle, perhaps he wouldn’t grow fat or bald with time. Lucky you. There was something about those raven curls, slightly unkempt, that made your fingers ache to rake through them. Married life might not be as bad as you thought.

You exhaled quietly, a thin breath of relief, as the pair settled into the morning room, where your father and brothers called for drinks to celebrate. You remained seated on the veranda, eyes narrowed as they guzzled liquor like fools. They could barely see through the fog of their own greed—blind to the predators smiling before them.

Lahan did not sit with his adoptive father. Instead, he slid toward your seat at the edge of the room.

Without flourish, he handed you the scroll, his gaze flicking briefly past you toward the quiet of your private quarters. You didn’t bother asking if he’d worked through the night. Of course he had. Ink still clung faintly to his fingertips.

“I expect you to read it in full,” he said. “There’s a clause for annulment. One for inheritance division. Family support. Even a stipulation concerning the use of shared ink.”

You lifted a brow. “Shared ink?”

“I’m particular,” he replied, adjusting his glasses with one long, ink-smudged finger. “I don’t wish for you to disrupt my routines. While your handwriting is exquisite, I won’t have it corrupt my standards. I’ll see to it you receive proper instruments—as a wedding gift.”

You accepted the scroll, your fingers brushing his—warm, calloused, the hands of a man who wielded quills like weapons. For a moment, he lingered. Just a second. Long enough to make the air taut.

You laughed softly, trailing your fingers along the crisp edges of his perfectly symmetrical script. His gaze met yours—unblinking. It made you look away first, your attention snapping back to the parchment.

And with that, your betrothal began. No pomp. No fanfare. Just a scroll and your brothers and fathers getting drunker and drunker under Lakan’s watchful eye.

Your brothers and father didn’t even acknowledge you. Not a word. Not a glance. They signed you off to the La clan like livestock—without hesitation, without thought.

Your eyes skimmed the document. For what you were expecting, it was generous. Pin money far exceeded what your father had ever allotted you. There was control over the household budget—though supervised, of course. You paused at a clause.

“A house?” you asked.

“It’s the most economical,” he said. “Close enough for me to conduct business and attend court. Tradition favors a separate home for a married couple. I suspect you wouldn’t enjoy living with my father and his peculiarities.”

You snorted. “A fair assumption.”

“I’ve already ordered the master bedroom to be cleaned. It should do us fine.”

“A shared chamber?” you repeated, blinking. That was... unorthodox. You were fairly certain your mother hadn’t even seen your father’s bedchamber in a decade, let alone shared one.

“It’s efficient,” he said flatly. “Saves on fuel in winter and reduces laundering in summer.”

Despite his tone, you couldn’t help laughing.

“I suppose having a wife does have its benefits—beyond heating bills and cutting down on chores.”

He gave no answer. But the corner of his mouth twitched, just slightly.

Then he turned to go, heading toward the cluster of men and you followed 

“Wait.”

The drink had been flowing too freely—your father already halfway through his second glass before Lahan had even finished listing the clauses. He leaned back in his chair, grinning with the loose, thoughtless bravado that came with fermented confidence.

“We are honored by your choice of our daughter,” he said, raising his goblet lazily in your direction. “Obviously, a widow with no children yet. Married two years and nothing. But I’m sure she’ll provide good heirs, if she’s anything like her mother. If not, you can always sell her to a brothel. That’s all she's good for. Well—that and running a house.”

Your spine locked.

Lakan didn’t flinch.

“Perhaps,” he said coolly, “if her previous husband hadn’t been old enough to be my father, she might have been able to bear something more than shame. Lord Hun was a lecher.”

The room stilled.

Your father let out a brittle laugh, trying to shrug it off—until his elbow clipped his goblet.

The drink sloshed violently, a dark splash streaking across your lap and sleeves. The wine bloomed against your pale fabric, blooming like bruises in the wake of a slap.

You hissed and stepped back——and nearly lost your footing.

But Lahan was there.

His arm circled your waist with startling precision, the other bracing your back as though he’d anticipated the stumble before it happened. His fingers curled at your ribs, solid and warm even through the soaked fabric.

Your breath caught—not from the fall, but from his touch. The rough pads of his fingers, calloused from both pen and paper, brushed your side. And far, far too close to skin you’d only ever let a husband see and touch

Your thoughts betrayed you—treacherous, vivid. You imagined those same fingers pressing somewhere else. Inside you. Measuring, coaxing, cataloguing. Mapping your pleasure like a scribe recording sacred knowledge.

You cleared your throat. Stepped back. “Excuse me,” you murmured. The heat in your cheeks was no longer just from the wine. “I need to change.”

You turned and left before another word could be said.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

You didn’t hear him follow.

But when you stepped out of your dressing room, newly wrapped in fresh linens, he was already there—leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, his posture deceptively casual. Yet, your eyes caught the oddly symmetrical alignment of the ornaments lining the hallway, a silent testament to his unyielding precision even in the smallest details.

“Are you well?” Lahan asked, voice low, eyes steady.

“I’m dry,” you replied, arching a brow. “If that’s what you mean.”

His gaze dipped—brief, clinical—to the belt tied at your waist and below that. He said nothing, but his fingers tensed where they rested, a twitch barely visible beneath the fold of his sleeves.

You stepped toward him, unhurried. The robe whispered around your legs with every stride, soft against your freshly cleaned skin. “You seemed… displeased,” his said, voice light but probing. “At your father's comment.”

A flicker crossed your face—confusion, quickly masked. “What?”

“Your father,” Lahan said, slower this time. “When he asked about children and his vile comment should you fail to create them.’

Ah. That.

The words reopened something raw, something you kept sealed beneath careful indifference. Because everyone assumed the lack of an heir was your failure. That your womb was barren, that your beauty was hollow. They whispered behind their hands, wondering what flaw must have hidden beneath your fine silks.

When in truth, your late husband had been too old, too feeble, too far gone into decay to be any sort of man—certainly not a husband. It had been a mercy, really, the impotence. At least you hadn’t had to endure the press of sagging flesh and rancid breath being panted onto you. He’d only ever wanted the performance—your body beside his, your voice low and sweet, as you did what he couldn't.

You'd acted the part perfectly. But it wasn’t your failure, and certainly not worth selling you to a brothel.

“I assure you,” you said now, stepping closer still, your voice silk-wrapped steel, “I can provide an heir. If that’s what you desire. ”

You reached for him—just a touch. Deliberate. Your fingers brushed his wrist, where the calloused edges of his hand had earlier ghosted along your ribs. You traced that place now, slow, intentional, searching the marble perfection of his skin.

“My previous husband…” you began, and let the words drip with something darker, “was unable to perform. So I had to get creative.”

Your hand slid up, then down again, toying with the lapel of his robe.

“You’ll find I’m more than proficient.”

Lahan’s throat bobbed, his expression unreadable, though his stillness had shifted—no longer detached, but held in place by tension barely leashed. Still, he said nothing.

You leaned in, just enough to let the heat of your body press against the cool discipline of his.

“Tell me,” you whispered, lips near his ear. “You’ve never touched a woman before, have you?”

His jaw ticked again. He held your gaze—but didn’t deny it.

You smiled slowly. “How disciplined. How... frustrating.”

Still, he said nothing. Just stood there, cloaked in silence. But the quiet wasn’t passive anymore—it vibrated with something unspoken, something nearly feral. The air between you pulsed, thick with restraint.

“Well,” you murmured, your voice dipping into a sultry drawl, “you’ve chosen to marry. It would be such a waste if you didn’t... utilize your rights.”

A twitch—just the barest flicker—moved through one of his hands.

You closed the remaining distance, the hem of your robe whispering against the front of his tunic. “You’re a man of precision,” you said. “I trust, when the time comes, you’ll apply it... generously.”

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and smooth—velvet-wrapped steel.

“You presume it will be you who gives instruction.”

Your brows lifted, lips curving into a slow, dangerous smile. “Oh?Are you educated? Or…Do you plan to educate yourself? ”

His expression didn’t falter—but something in his eyes shifted. Narrowed. Grew colder. Sharper.

“No,” he said simply.

You tilted your head, mock-thoughtful. “Then I do suggest you get yourself educated.” You stepped even closer, your breath now mingling with his. “Experience, my lord,” you said, voice barely more than a purr. “Is the best teacher.”

Your fingers grazed the edge of his robe again—this time slower, bolder. “And I,” you added, “am an excellent tutor.”

You let your eyes drift lazily over his face as if appraising a particularly fine, if untested, blade. “Brothels are the usual places, I suppose…” You paused, pretending to consider. “But they tend to focus rather heavily on male pleasure.” Your voice turned languid. “Then again, I’m sure I can manage to satisfy myself if you’re not up to the task. After all—female pleasure does require... meticulous timing and precision.”

Your gaze flicked back to his, deliberate and daring. “Do you have that, Lahan? Precision?”

He blinked—just once. But it was real, unguarded.

“I assure you,” he said, voice a notch lower, “I am a perfectly adequate student.”

Your eyes dropped toward the corridor beyond him—toward the sound of distant laughter echoing faintly through the stone. “My father and brothers will be several cups deep by now,” you said. “Would you care to put that to the test?”

His head tilted, ever so slightly. The edge of his lip twitched, as if suppressing a response he hadn’t quite rehearsed. “I… require time to study,” he murmured. “I—cannot have this sprung on me! Where am I to take notes?”

You stepped in again, this time brushing your body deliberately against his arm. Soft fabric against firm muscle, linen against heat.

“There’s no need for notes, future husband,” you murmured, stepping into his shadow. Then, softer—more deliberate—“Just study me well, husband. I expect a thoroughly educated husband.”

His breath caught—quiet, but audible. His hand hovered at his side, uncertain. You watched it, half-smiling, as if daring him to use it. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved.

Then: “Do you mean to seduce me?” he asked, quiet and unblinking.

Your smile deepened, slow and dangerous. “No, my lord,” you said, turning just enough to let your shoulder graze his chest as you whispered against his skin. “I mean to see if you really are as quick as they say you are.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

You rocked your hips against his hand, the fabric of your robe bunched tight at your waist, legs straddling his thigh. His fingers moved inside you—slow, searching, deliberate—as if mapping every contour, every hidden response. Lahan’s hat had been ripped from his head in a flash of impatience, his unruly curls bouncing with each movement as you ground your body against his. The dressing chair beneath you was solid, sturdy enough to hold your weight—and the intensity of your motion.

His brows knit together, not in confusion but in deep concentration. You could feel it—that razor-sharp focus. Not lust-blind or frenzied. He was observing, calculating every shiver, every subtle twitch like a scholar intent on solving a complex equation perfectly. The tension in your thighs. The tremble in your breath. The tight clench around his fingers.

“Curl your fingers,” you gasped, voice trembling as you gripped his shoulder harder as you moved.

He obeyed instantly—no hesitation, no smugness—only pure, eager willingness to learn.The motion made you arch, your back bowing instinctively. A soft moan slipped past your lips before you could catch it, raw and honest. That one hit home—deep and tight—drawing a flicker of response you hadn’t expected to share.

“There,” you breathed, voice low and thick with heat, “just like that—”

His jaw flexed, the tension in his face shifting. A flicker of something broke through the calm surface—not desire, not yet—but interest. Scientific. Ravenous. Analytical.

“Keep watching me,” you said between shallow, ragged breaths. ‘’Your learning sooo well.’’

Another slow, measured thrust. Then a curling of fingers—perfect, precise. You moaned loud and unbridled. You thanked the spirits that your family were oblivious to when they were drunk. 

“You react most intensely here,” he murmured, pressing against that spot again, angling just right, probing deeper. “And when I do this—”

Another curl.

You whimpered, knees threatening to buckle beneath you, caught between the fire rising inside and the electric thrill of his calculated touch.

“Your inner walls tighten by approximately… two degrees of resistance,” Lahan murmured, his voice calm, measured—almost disturbingly clinical. “I cannot see well enough to determine which finger movement yields superior results. For accuracy... I will need you fully displayed.”

You should’ve been embarrassed.

You weren’t.

You were blazing—heat curling in your belly, fire licking beneath your skin. His words, spoken like a physician’s hypothesis, only stoked it further. He wasn’t just touching you; he was studying you like a rare, exquisite specimen. And gods help you, right now you wanted to be his favorite subject.

His touch was no longer tentative or awkward—it was methodical, like a cartographer mapping unknown terrain. Every subtle twitch, every involuntary clench was data, precisely recorded. There was no stumbling, no guesswork. Just relentless, unyielding curiosity.

“You’re ridiculous,” you panted, hips grinding insistently against his palm, urging him on.

“And you’re…” His voice softened, almost hesitant, “breathtaking. Perfectly symmetrical ”

Your head dropped forward, resting against his shoulder, a soft, broken moan slipping from your lips as your body clenched around his fingers—tight, pulsing, unbearable. The climax didn’t crash like the storm you once chased while mounting phallus. No—this consumed you differently. It was clean, final, irrefutable. A sharp cry tore from your throat as it overtook you.

Lahan held you through it, unmoving except for the steady, deliberate pressure of his fingers curled deep inside you, as though anchoring your body to its own pleasure, refusing to let go until every last tremor had passed.

You sagged against him, breath hitching, pulse fluttering wildly against his neck.

And then you heard it. A quiet exhale. Not satisfaction. Not admiration. Annoyed

You blinked, still panting, your body humming and spent.

“Is… something wrong?” you murmured, voice fragile in the heavy silence.

Lahan’s lips pressed into a thin, tight line. His eyes, which had moments before been wide with silent reverence, narrowed now in a puzzled, almost dismayed frown behind his glasses “One,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

“…Excuse me?” Your voice was a whisper, breathless and incredulous.

“One orgasm. Singular. It’s... unbalanced.” Lahan’s tone was clipped, as if the very idea offended his precise nature. “Odd-numbered. It lacks symmetry. Continuity. Completion.”

You stared at him for a beat, still sprawled over his lap, your robe slipping from one shoulder to reveal flushed, glistening skin—marked by the aftershocks of your release.

“You’re upset because I came once?”

He looked at you as though you’d suggested he misfile his ledgers—a notion as absurd as it was offensive.

“Odd numbers disturb me,” he said flatly, eyes sharp, voice earnest. “You’ve disrupted the sequence.”

Despite yourself, a laugh spilled from your lips—half disbelief, half delight, bubbling up like a secret triumph.

“You mean to tell me,” you said, trailing a fingertip down the sharp line of his jaw, “that unless I come twice, you’ll be too… unsettled to concentrate?”

He nodded solemnly, completely serious.

Your smile curved slow and dangerous. “Oh, I’m not the one who’s unbalanced,” you purred, smoothing your robe with a practiced, languid elegance. “I feel perfectly satisfied.”

His jaw flexed, a subtle muscle twitch betraying him. “You’re enjoying this,” he said, voice flat but edged with something unreadable.

“Mmm.” You leaned in close, your breath grazing the shell of his ear. “I think I like you best just like this—glasses slightly askew, fingers wet, and one orgasm short of a proper equation.”

His body stiffened. That did it. The twitch at the corner of his eye betrayed the crack in his armor.

You straightened, casting a slow, sweeping glance over him—still fully clothed, still composed, at least outwardly. Save from a rather impressive outline of his straining cock. But you knew better now. Knew how tightly coiled he was beneath that veneer of silk and calculation.

“Next time,” you said, voice smooth as silk, “I get to touch you.”

His fingers slipped free from where they’d rested against you—glossed with your essence.

You brought his hand to your lips, your touch deliberate.

Lahan stilled.

Your mouth closed around his fingers—one by one—your tongue tracing the length of each with slow, meticulous precision. His breath hitched—just once—and you felt it like a quiet victory. When you reached his index finger—the very one that had curled perfectly inside you—you gave it one last lingering lick before letting his hand fall back to his side.

With that, you stepped away, leaving him alone in the dressing room. The door clicking softly shut behind you.

Thank you so much for all your lovely comments. It made writing this so exciting. I hope you like it.

I might write more Lahan fics with my lovely reader. Please let me know how you found Lahan in this chapter. I am still trying to balance the right amount weird with nerd.

[yunoclips]

interruptions

Nerd!Haechan x reader

happy new year ;)

nsfw included

He remembers the first time he saw you. The sun was shining way too brightly and the heat was sweltering. It was a normal day on campus for Haechan. Following his normal routine of eating , studying and then getting to class. Leaving his dorm as quietly as possible trying his best to leave his roommate, Jaehyun undisturbed. Jaehyun was someone that valued his hours of “beauty sleep”. 

He remembers the last time he accidentally disrupted Jaehyun’s sleep. It wasn’t a pleasant experience. But none the less he manages to exit successfully. Everything goes as planned. He gets to class without any interruptions. Interruptions are actually something that he rarely ever encounters considering he doesn’t have the most active social life. 

Haechan has no friends—Not counting the ones he has online waiting for him in his overwatch server. 

But he has no actual friends. The ones that you can go out with. The ones that let you crash at their place just because. The ones that keep you company when you’re lonely.

And while that might sound sad to any other person , it actually doesn’t effect him. Well at least that’s what he believes. He has good grades , a decent place to stay , food filling his belly and a computer than can handle everything else. Who needs friends when you already have the essentials. 

Besides friends can drag you down. If he had friends he wouldn’t be able to get to class on time and sit in his favorite spot like he’s doing now. 

Some people would consider him a Nerd, and he doesn’t blame them. He gets to class on time every day , always participates , never hands in an assignment late , gets perfect scores and to top it all of he wears these thick rimmed black glasses. Being called a Nerd is expected and he doesn’t mind it at all. 

As usual class goes by quickly, with no interruptions of course. Haechan steps out into the sweltering heat once again. Using his hand to shield the sun that blinds his eyes , he starts walking to his next class. Everything goes smoothly with no interruptions. Until he feels something fall out of his back pocket. He turns around quickly and bends down to grab it but when he looks up he stares at the first interruption he’s had in a while.

There you were standing in the middle of the campus looking absolutely dumb founded. The light of the sun reflecting off of your skin perfectly. Your hair was beautiful , bringing out all the profound features of your face. Your body was mesmerizing. He knows he shouldn’t be looking at you like this but he can’t help it when he finds himself staring at your tits. Eyes wandering to your thighs. Every thought that he shouldn’t be having suddenly bombards his mind. 

He tries his hardest to look away but something about you is so captivating. Maybe it’s the way you looked so confused. Holding the campus directory out , switching between looking down at it and then looking up to try and pin point your location. If he was a normal person he would’ve walked up to you and offered help. But he isn’t normal. 

So he turns around and walks to class quicker than he normally would. That day he was 10 minutes early to class. 

The next week was full of interruptions. If it wasn’t bad enough that he couldn’t get the image of you out of his mind. You just so happened to be in the same statistics class as him. 

“Great”

Even more distractions for him. Today was the day he finally decided to stop allowing you to cloud his mind. He was just gonna keep his head down and do his work like always. You didn’t even know he existed. How could he be so obsessed with someone that doesn’t even know he exists. 

His plans were actually starting to work. He managed to actually get some useful notes down on his paper without pausing mid sentence to daydream about how you would look ontop of him. But as the saying goes — all good things must come to an end. His bubble is popped instantly the moment you walk up to him. 

“Hi, my name is y/n” You had this disgustingly bright smile on your face. It wasn’t disgusting because it was a bad smile , it was disgusting because it was so precious that it should be locked away in a safe and hidden from the world. Not just exposed like this in front of so many filthy people. 

“ I know this is probably a rude way of introducing myself. But I’m actually quite new to campus.”

How pathetic he must look right now, he thinks to himself. His mouth is hung open and his eyes are drilling holes into yours. Instead of responding he just stares. Not thinking much of it , you continue 

“Your name is Haechan right? It’s nice to meet you !”  

Taking his limp hand off the desk you intertwine it with yours and shake it before softly placing it back down. 

When you touch him he feels something inside of him jump. He doesn’t know if was his heart or his cock. Or both. 

Still not receiving any response other than a mindless stare, you keep going. 

“I actually came to you for a reason.”

There it goes. What a fool he would be to think you would actually come up to him just because you wanted to be friends. Of course you needed something. 

“I was talking to our professor just a minutes ago. I had to explain to him that I was considering dropping this course. Math isn’t one of my strengths and I just can’t deal with the added stress right now. He interrupted me though and told me that there was actually someone in this class that could help me out a bit. Nd now here I am.” 

You pause taking a moment to try and read his face. Trying to pick out any kind of reaction but you weren’t receiving any. 

“You know , it’s totally fine if you say no. I know this is again , kind of rude and abrupt. If you can’t help I won’t be mad or anythi-“

“No!” He says a little too loud. So loud that a few of the students that were close to him turned their heads quickly just to check if something was wrong. 

“Shit, this is why you don’t have any friends. What kind of response was that?” Internally scolding himself. 

“I-i mean no, it’s totally fine. I would be honored to help you. I-i mean not honored but glad. Honored sounds kind of creepy. A-am I making this weird , fuck you probably think I’m crazy. I promise I’m not it’s jus-“

Cutting him off , you put your hand on his shoulder and give him a comforting look. 

“It’s okay. It’s actually kinda cute.” 

Cute. You just called him cute. Something inside of him jumped again , this time it was definitely his cock. 

“So how about this Saturday at 1 ? We can meet in the park a few blocks down. It’s supposed to be really nice out. I can bring snacks and a blanket. It’s the least I can do considering you’ll be helping me out with something so short notice.” You finish with a smile painted across your face. 

All he can do is nod. Still stuck in a trance , he forces his self to answer. “Y-yea , Saturday is good. I can do Saturday” 

“Great ! See you Saturday Haechan”  

And just like that you disappear. The rest of Haechan’s day was absolutely unproductive. 

When he got home that night, he sprawled across his bed staring at the ceiling in darkness. That same night he jerked himself off with the hand you shook.

Removing his trousers with haste. The little glob of spit wasn’t enough to prevent friction. His hand was moving fast, faster than any other time. He was working so hard that his arm caught a cramp. 

His stomach was burning , knots of pure pleasure —and humiliation— forming. Coaxing himself through orgasm after orgasm. His head started to fog , he could hear his own heartbeat ripping through his ears. Mouth hung open in a silent scream. Thighs twitching , toes curled.

Only when his cock started to burn from the friction, did he finally stop. He fell asleep with his cock still in his hand. The only thing he could see in his dreams was you.  

The rest of the days leading up to Saturday went by like a blur. When the day finally came Haechan found himself sinking in desperation. For some reason the time leading up to your 1’o clock meet up was incredibly slow. He had made sure to take a nice shower with his good body wash that he spent way too much money on. He did his skin care routine , making sure to add an extra step. He even ironed his clothes , something he never does.  

He got to the park 10 minutes early. Although he’s always an early person for no real reason , this time he needed those 10 minutes to prepare himself.

How was he gonna greet you? Was he gonna stumble over his words like an idiot or speak in confidence? How did he look , was his shirt crisp enough? Did he smell fine? 

Just as he started to question himself more you walked towards him. That beautiful smile planted on your face , carrying a few bags and blankets. He was in a trance , and just like that everything he spent 10 minutes thinking about instantly disappeared from his mind. 

You finally reached him and plopped everything down. Leaning in to give him a hug you noticed how stiff he got. Maybe you should’ve asked first , you say to yourself. But little did you know , that small gesture alone sent blood rushing straight to his cock. 

“Fucking hell, get it together.” He says to himself. 

“Hi! I’m sorry for having you wait like this. The bus was taking longer than usual” genuine sorriness lacing your voice. 

“N-no , it’s fine. I wasn’t here that long”. And just like that a loud wave of silence washes over. He’s just staring at you like you have a spider on your forehead.

“Maybe the hug was actually way to much…” You say to yourself. 

“Well… How about we take a seat. I’ll open the blanket.” Breaking the silence. You bend down to start setting up. Shortly after you start, you see the other side of the blanket being spread open. Looking up , you see Haechan bent down to help you. How nice. 

The rest of the studying session goes smoothly. You come to learn that Haechan was indeed , very smart.  You understood everything he was saying , with the exception of some hardcore things. But you weren’t worried , there was always room for another session with him. 

After two long hours goes by , you sit up and pop a few grapes in your mouth. He seems to get the message and turns on his back, leaving the textbook forgotten. 

“Let’s take a break.” You propose. 

“Okay” Lifting himself up to face you , he continues. “I like breaks , breaks are cool.” 

He was so cute , you chuckle silently to yourself. 

“How about we tell each other one thing about ourselves. It can be anything.” 

“O-okay” hesitance evident in his voice. 

“I’ll start… I have this obsession with Kiwis. I know you’re probably thinking that I’m being over dramatic but no. I genuinely cannot go a single day without having one. It could be the middle of the night and I would literally wake myself up just to grab a kiwi , then go back to bed. It’s really weird I know… Actually you’re the first person that I’ve told. I guess today is your lucky day” Finishing off with a giggle. 

He feels like a pervert when the sound of your giggling goes through his ears and runs straight down to his cock. 

Clearing his throat , trying to calm himself down. He starts to speak. 

“My name isn’t Haechan. I mean it is Haechan but my actual name isn’t. It’s Donghyuck , but only my mom calls me that.” 

Donghyuck. What a nice name. It rings in your ears like the sound of wind chimes. 

“Donghyuck.. I like it , I like it a lot actually. Would it be fine if I called you that ?” 

At that moment he became even more obsessed with you than before. If that was even possible.

“Yea. I’d like that actually.” For the first time in a while , his heart is filled with warmth. 

“Well...Donghyuck. This was really nice. I should get going though , it’s getting dark out here and I don’t wanna get caught at the bus stop. How bout we do this again next week? Same place, same time ?” 

“Yes.” Answering almost too quickly. 

“I mean , yes that’s fine with me. Same place, same time.” 

Giving him a nod with a smile accompanying it , you get up. He follows after you, helping you pack up the snacks and the blanket. After you finish you give him one final hug. Leaning up to whisper in his ear. “Thank you again , Donghyuck.” 

And before he gets the chance to react you walk off. Leaving him there in shock with a painfully erect cock in his pants. It takes him 2 minutes to finally move and pick up his backpack from the floor. When he starts walking he almost trips over something. He looks down and it was your perfume. The same perfume that you use in class everyday. The perfume that smells like flower petals with hints of sweet fruit and a pinch of spice. The same perfume that he smelt when you whispered in his ear.

He leans down to pick it up. Staring at it for a few seconds he decides to just put it in his bag. Any normal person would’ve just quickly given it to you considering the bus stop was literally down the street. But Donghyuck is not a normal person. 

That night when he gets home , he does something so perverted. Something he’d never tell a soul about. He pulls out your perfume and sprays it all over his stuffed bear that he won at a raffle. Not even taking the time to get naked , he humps the toy with sloppy, inexperienced thrusts. His glasses fog up from the warmth of the room. His face is sweaty and sticky. He had drool seeping out the corners of his mouth. Mind gone completely blank. 

He came so hard, that he blacked out. 

When he regained consciousness two things were coursing through his mind. One of those things was him praying that his roommate didn’t hear him fucking himself silly. The other thing being that he was in trouble and it was all your fault. 

For the next couple of weeks , the two of you had these study sessions. They had went well and you were actually starting to understand the class. You and Donghyuck got closer too.

Ending every session with a fun fact about yourselves turned into full conversations about anything that crossed your mind. You would talk and he would listen. Thoughts of Donghyuck started clouding your head , even when you two weren’t together. 

Maybe it was because he never judged you for any weird thing you’ve said. Or maybe it was because he would let you talk your heart out — something nobody has ever done , and he would just listen happily. It could’ve also been the way he looks completely heart broken every time you leave him , like he’s worried you will never comeback.

 He’s also pretty attractive as well, soft black hair, beautiful skin, beauty moles that were spread so perfectly across his face and those thick rimmed black glasses. 

When you walked up to his seat in class that day , he assumed that it would just be for another study session. 

“Hi , we’re still on for saturda-“ 

“Do you wanna go out with me?” Cutting him off quickly.

“Like on a date.” You continue. You wait for a response but it takes a while. Maybe he didn’t understand you ?

But Donghyuck definitely understood. He understood so well that he thinks he’s dreaming actually. When the words “go out with me” flowed out of your mouth , his ears started ringing. He forgot how to breathe for a quick second. And for some odd reason he feels tears well up in his eyes. But before you think he’s trying to deny you , he forces himself to respond. 

“Are you asking me out ?”

“Yea I am actually” 

This can’t be right. The girl of his dreams asking him out , this has to be some sick joke. 

“Are you sure you weren’t talking to the person behind me , cause that would make sen-“

“No. I’m asking you, Donghyuck Lee, out on a date with me.” 

The tears were starting to fall now. Not of sadness but instead of Joy and utter happiness.

“Y-yea. I would be honored to go out with you, Like on a date of course.” Bringing his hand up to quickly wipe his cheek before you notice how pathetic he is. 

“Great ! I was thinking Friday , 5’ o clock ? There’s this really good looking burger joint around here.” There goes that beautiful smile again , so bright and big.

“Friday sounds good. I like Friday's …” 

“Good,” Pausing to take a good look at his face, you noticed his eyes were a bit watery. How cute.  “I’ll see you friday then , Donghyuck.” And just like that you disappear once again. 

When Donghyuck gets home that night , he cries in his pillow. He cries because he finally understands what it feels like to not be lonely— something that he’s been for so long. He cries and then humps his stuffed toy once again , until the only thought running through his mind is you. 

Friday came quickly. You two had met up a small little diner in the corner of town as promised. Everything was going perfect. The evening filled with jokes and you laughing at Donghyuck as he was having a mini panic attack after spilling ketchup all over his shirt.

The conversations were flowing so smoothly , it was like you two had known each other your entire lives. 

And yet again as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end. 

It was time to head back home but instead of taking the bus like you usually would you and Donghyuck decided to just walk.The entire walk was filled with you two telling each other things that nobody else knew. You felt this weird sense of comfort when you spoke to him. Almost like he was the only person who understood who you really were.

When you approached the front of your building you felt a wave of sadness wash over you. This was truly an amazing night.

“I usually don’t do this after the first date but… there’s just something about you Donghyuck.” For the first time since you met him , you felt nervous.

You were staring at the ground beneath you. You took a few seconds to recollect yourself. What was the worse that could happen? This is Donghyuck. Your sweet , understanding , shy , silly Donghyuck. 

“Donghyuck.. do you maybe wanna go out with me? As like… my boyfriend?” 

Boyfriend. The word boyfriend rang in Donghyuck’s ears. His breathing started getting shallow and his knees buckled a bit. A rush of euphoria washed over him , his mind was racing and his heart was beating out of his chest. The tears welled up in his eyes and started to roll down his pretty face like a waterfall. 

“Y-yea , I’d love that actually” Pausing to sniffle and wipe his face with the sleeve of his shirt. 

“I’d love to be your boyfriend.” 

“Are you okay hyuck ? You’re crying…” There was genuine concern in your voice. 

“N-no I’m fine. Just really really happy.”

What a dork. He was so infatuated with you that he started to cry when you asked him out. You found it endearing that he enjoyed you so much. A smile painted your face. There was an intense silence that enveloped the two of you in a box. It was as if you and Donghyuck were the only people on earth. Basking in each others glory. 

Staring into his captivating eyes you start to inch in closer to his face. Finally planting a soft kiss on his lips. He had completely stopped breathing. When you pulled away he looked absolutely stunned. Cute.

You give him a final look before turning away , walking to the entrance of your building. His eyes following you in silence.

Before you opened the door you turned around to say one last thing. 

“Goodnight , Donghyuck.” And just like that, you disappear. 

After you left him , he stood still in front of your building for 10 minutes. The world was revolving but Donghyuck was absolutely stuck. He needed time to comprehend what just happened , he had to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. 

That night when Donghyuck got home , he cried for a bit. Then he got on Overwatch to tell his buddies that he’d be gone for a while. Finally he sprawled himself out on his bed and stared at the ceiling. Occasionally bringing his hand up to rub over his lips, as if rubbing them would take him back to the moment you placed your soft lips on his. As the night got darker , his eyes got heavy. When he finally fell asleep he had a smile on his face and dreamed of you. 

Everything was perfect. 

[mochinomnoms]

i understand the simping for the fashion dilf believe me i do

but i come offering other non simping thoughts for now

i can imagine yuu just casually braking into other dorms to sleep when it rains bc their dorm is still…extremely broken (because the BIRD MAN WONT FIX IT)

so their friends (and possibly lovers depending upon your preference) just wake up the next morning to see yuu on on couch in their common area with grim sleeping on them

-🐝

I love this alot but especially if it's a case that no one can figure out how the hell you're getting into their dorms. Even though they're easily accessible through the mirrors, the dorms are probably locked from the outside for safety reasons.

At my dorms and for most of the buildings, they were open during the day and at night they would only be accessible though student id/key cards. I think the students at NRC maybe could use their wands as their key cards, but you don't have a wand, just Grim with his stone. And people forget that Grim, even though he's just a lil ceacher....is still technically a student that can get into buildings lol.

Heartslabyul is the main victim of your sudden appearances, which makes Riddle a bit conflicted, as he understands Ramshackle is desolate, and the roof might cave in on you while sleeping... But there are RULES, and you're not supposed to leave your dorm after a certain time, AND you need permission from your housewarden to sleep in another dorm. But technically you're your own housewarden...and you did come into his dorm right before the deadline (Idia can pull up the timestamped camera footage to prove it if you ask). Ace and Cater get a kick out of seeing you in the lounge and may or may not have the urge to draw silly things on your face in marker. Trey and Deuce feel a bit bad since you are using the couch pillows to cover yourself, so they start leaving throw blankets for you to use. Riddle will get over it, eventually, and will start involving you in the dorm's morning routine and chores if you're there often enough.

The next most common is Scarabia, mostly because their lounge is super luxurious and Kalim doesn't care that you sneak in. In fact, he starts anticipating it (he can be perceptive if he really pays attention) and will sit in the lounge waiting for your arrival for an impromptu sleep over! It only becomes a problem when Jamil wakes up and goes to get Kalim up for the day only to realize that he's gone and oh god where is Kalim did he get kidnapped oh shit Jamil is gonna get murdered by Kalim and his own—WHY ARE YOU SLEEPING IN THE LOUNGE—PREFECT????? You promptly get banned for a few weeks before the cycle continues again.

For the next dorms, it's a tie between Savanaclaw and Diasomnia. Mostly because they're not as comfortable, like yeah Savanaclaw has a pool in the lounge and Diasomnia is a cool gothic castle but...they're not comfy to sleep in. Scarabia gets hot, but at least the lounge is comfy, Savanaclaw doesn't have loads of cushions, pillows, and blankets. Leona doesn't care much though, and he had you over once before, so as long as you don't disrupt his sleep again, do what you want. And Diasomina, while you'd be welcomed with open arms by Malleus, is kinda creepy...especially in the lounge....and you've woken up with Malleus or Lilia hovering over you, unblinking, staring until you wake up. They just want to greet you good morning! It's...sweet...but unnerving. But if you can't go to Heartslabyul, and you've been banned by Jamil from Scarabia for a while, then it's a toss of a coin between those two.

Your last options, in order, are Octavinelle, Pomefiore, and Ignihyde. Octavinelle, well they have a very lovely lounge with lovely ambience and quite comfortable couches! But, last time you got found by one of the students, you got reported to Azul who promptly made you work in exchange for sleeping in the dorm without reserving a room. Yeah, you forgot that Azul has rooms available to rent out, you can't get around that by sleeping in the lounge, work off your debt! It becomes a game almost, to see if they can find you before you sneak out of the dorm. You've been unsuccessful, as Jade and Floyd has an uncanny ability to find you no matter where you are. Once, as a joke and in retaliation, you managed to sneak into Azul's office and sleep on his couches. You'd planned to wake up and sit in his chair so that you could turn around with Grim in your lap like a James Bond villain (Grim asked what a James Bond was), but you ended up passing out for a solid 10 hours from how comfortable you were. You woke up to your head in Jade's lap, petting you like a cat, and legs over Floyd's lap, as Azul worked on paperwork. When you woke up, very confused and groggy, he asked how you would like to split your ten owed hours of shifts.

Pomefiore, while lovely, is not your favorite choice. Mostly because you don't want to deal with Vil. He's actually the most concerned out of everyone that you've resorted to sleeping in lounges, it's not good for your health. And as we all know, he is very concerned with his dorm members maintaining a good health and general wellness. So the moment he hears that you are sleeping around in the lounges, he waits, even puts Rook on watch for you. The moment you pass out in his lounge? He's snatching you and nearly motherhenning you. He's pushing you to sleep in one of the dorms, most likely Epel's room, since you're familiar with each other. And now, you've also been tied in with the same routine and rules as Epel. You appreciate the concern, but you don't know how to tell Vil that you kinda like the fun of running around between dorms and freaking people out. He probably wouldn't be amused, so you manage to escape his grasp and stay at Ramshackle for a while to let him cool down (he's a bit offended that you wanted to escape, so now he's biding his time and waiting for you to eventually crawl back when the other dorms are occupied.)

Ignihyde is last because, quite frankly, that bish look cold! And uncomfortable! And a lot creepier than Diasomnia!!! And also, Idia and Ortho have that dorm covered in camera and security measures, so you're not getting in. Sorry I don't make the rules, Idia just really doesn't want to deal with you in the lounge, especially when he runs out for midnight munchies and has to hold back his scream when he sees a random person in his dorm and oh no it's just you. Prefect, what the fuck?

[big-ooof]

Dance With Me

non-idol!ni-ki x f!reader

You’re a part-time dance instructor, and Ni-Ki is the confident new advanced teacher who immediately disrupts your carefully guarded routine.

note: sexual content 18+

You’ve been teaching the Thursday night beginner hip-hop class for almost a year now. It's nothing flashy, just a side job that fulfills a passion. It pays the rent, keeps your body moving, and gives you something to look forward to after long days working at the café.

But now there’s Ni-Ki. Or Riki, as the studio insists you call each other in emails.

He's technically new, joined last month to teach advanced classes, but already has the whole place buzzing. Girls lingering in the hallway pretending to look at the schedule. Guys showing up to freestyle just to get noticed. You pretend you don’t care. You really, really try. But he’s good. Too good. The kind of good that makes your skin tingle just watching him stretch, headphones in, head down like no one else exists.

Tonight, he shows up to your beginner class. No warning. Just walks in during warm-up like it’s nothing. You blink. He winks.

“Wrong studio?” you call out, casually, like your pulse isn’t already racing.

“Nope,” he says, dropping his bag by the mirror. “Just observing.”

Your students look thrilled. You want to throw your water bottle at his head. He leans back against the wall, arms folded, watching you like you’re something he’s been meaning to figure out.

Class ends and everyone slowly drifts out, except him. He hasn’t moved.

“You sticking around to critique me?” you ask, toweling off the sweat from your neck.

He shrugs. “You’re not bad.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I mean,” he steps closer, voice low, teasing, “you move like someone who’s trying really hard to fly under the radar. But I see you.”

That makes your stomach flip. You scoff. “Maybe I’m just not performing for you.”

He steps close enough that you feel the warmth of him, the clean scent of his cologne mixed with sweat and the faint trace of mint. “I didn’t ask you to.” His voice is smooth. Dangerous. Inviting.

You look up at him, heart hammering in your chest. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t touch. Just waits. A slow smirk forming.

“Are you done watching?” you ask, chin tilted.

He leans in, close enough that your noses almost brush.

“Not even close.”

The studio clears out, the front lights dimmed, your body still humming from the last class and the charged conversation with Ni-Ki that left your brain short-circuiting. You should’ve left ten minutes ago. But you didn’t.

And neither did he. He’s still out there. Main room, music on low, gliding across the floor. You pause at the doorway, towel around your neck, pretending you’re only watching because you forgot your phone charger in the cubbies. But it’s a lie.

You're watching because he moves like he’s made of water. And he knows it. He spins, locks eyes with you like he felt your stare before he saw you.

“Didn’t peg you for shy,” he calls out, voice light but sharp enough to catch.

You lift a brow. “Didn’t peg you for an attention whore.

He laughs. A real laugh this time. Low, rich, boyish.

“C’mon,” he says, nodding toward the floor. “Five minutes. Dance with me.” You hesitate. He tilts his head, steps closer. “Unless you’re scared.”

Your fingers tighten around the towel. “Of what?”

He smiles. “What it’ll feel like.”

That does it. You drop the towel, step forward. “Keep up.”

The music shifts. Something smoother. Slower. Bass-heavy. You fall into the rhythm without thinking, body moving on instinct, training, adrenaline. His eyes stay locked on you, not controlling, just responding, reading every shift of your weight, every roll of your hips like he’s memorizing it.

You spin, your back to his chest, and that’s when he does it— lets his hand brush your waist, just a second longer than necessary. It sends a bolt straight through you. You don’t say anything. You just keep moving.

But then he does it again. And again. And by the third time, you turn sharply. Face-to-face, breath-to-breath.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” you say. Your voice is quiet, but your heart is loud.

He shrugs, but there’s no apology in his eyes. Just heat. “Maybe.”

You swallow. “This is a bad idea.”

“Most good things start that way,” he murmurs.

There’s a moment. Thick, charged, unspoken. Then his hand lifts to your cheek. Not a grab. Not a move. Just fingers sliding up slowly, brushing your jaw, like he’s daring you to push him away. You don’t. You can’t. So when he kisses you, it’s slow. Careful. Testing. And then it’s not.

You melt against him, hands gripping the back of his shirt like you’ve been waiting for this since the first time he smirked at you from across the floor. His mouth is hot and insistent, teeth grazing your lower lip, fingers pressing into your waist like he’s anchoring himself.

You barely register the moment your back hits the mirror, the cool glass contrasting the heat blooming under your skin. His knee slides between yours, and he groans low when you shift against him.

“You still scared?” he whispers into your mouth.

You look him dead in the eyes, panting. “Terrified.”

“Good.” His grin is wicked. “Means you feel it too.”

You barely remember the ride there. Somewhere between the stolen kisses in the hallway and the short walk to the train, your hands found his again, fingers laced tight like letting go might break whatever electric current had just started humming between you.

His apartment is small, modern, clean. Too clean. You raise an eyebrow the second you step in. “You really live like this?”

He grins, locking the door behind you. “I knew you were coming eventually.”

The tension spikes. You let your bag hit the floor. And then his mouth is on yours again, hungrier now. Less careful. You're backed against the door this time. But he still handles you like he’s memorized the shape of your body already.

His hands drag down your sides, slow and firm, like he’s grounding himself. When your hips roll against his, he curses under his breath, and the sound of it shoots straight through you.

“You’re so—” he pulls back just enough to speak, lips grazing your jaw. “God, I’ve wanted you since the first time you told me to fuck off.”

You laugh, breathless. “You mean last week?”

“Exactly.”

Your shirt’s off before you can respond. His follows fast. His skin is warm and smooth and yours to touch now, his toned chest rising and falling, golden in the apartment’s dim lighting.

He presses you into the wall again, both hands under your thighs now, lifting you with shocking ease. “Okay?” he asks, voice deeper now.

You nod, wrapping your legs around his waist. “More than.”

He carries you to the bedroom. Kisses trailing down your throat. Hands exploring, teasing, stopping only to pull off whatever’s in the way. When he lays you down, it’s not rough, it’s reverent. Like he’s been waiting to worship you properly.

“You know what’s unfair?” he murmurs, hovering above you, gaze dark and slow.

You blink up at him, dazed. “What?”

“The way you move like you don’t know how hot you are.” He kisses just under your ribs, dragging his mouth down to your hip. “Like you don’t know I’ve been hard for you for weeks.”

You arch into him, needy now. “Then do something about it.”

He chuckles. “Say please.”

You do. Barely. A whisper. It makes his whole body tense.

He sinks between your thighs like it’s second nature, like he’s meant to be there. His mouth is soft but skilled, teasing until your legs tremble, until you’re gasping his name, breathy and broken and wrecked.

And then he’s above you again, sliding into you with a groan so deep it rumbles through his chest. You feel him everywhere. Slow at first, like he wants to make it last. But that doesn't last long.

“Faster,” you gasp, nails dragging down his back.

He obliges. And once he does, once he loses that last sliver of control— you see why people orbit him. He devours. Kisses you like he’s starving. Fucks you like he’s been dreaming of this for months. One hand pinned above your head, the other gripping your thigh as your bodies collide again and again, sweat-slick and desperate.

Your name is a prayer on his lips. His on yours.
You come undone with your face buried in his neck. He follows moments after. Loud, unrestrained, raw.

You stay like that for a while. Chest to chest. No words, just the sound of your heartbeats finally slowing.

Until he finally speaks. “...Studio tomorrow?”

You laugh into his shoulder. “If I can walk.”

He lifts his head, cocky smirk returning. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You wake up warm. Sunlight filters in through the curtains, catching in the curve of Ni-Ki’s shoulder. His skin glows gold. One arm is still slung over your waist, loose and unconscious, like he never meant to fall asleep with you tangled in his sheets but didn’t know how to let go.

You take a quiet second to study his face. Messy hair, flushed lips, the faintest bruise on his collarbone you definitely left.

He’s younger than you, technically. Not by much, just a year or two— but enough that it flickers in your mind like a warning. Then he blinks. Finds you looking.

“You sleep weird,” he murmurs, voice gravelly with sleep.

“You drool,” you shoot back.

He grins. “I don’t.”

“You do.”

“Prove it.”

You don’t. Instead, you curl into his chest and close your eyes again.

The ride to the studio later is quiet, but not awkward. More like… a secret. Like you're both carrying something nobody else can see. Until someone does.

You're in the middle of warm-ups when another instructor, Yeonjun, who teaches locking and stares too long at any girl in leggings— walks by and lingers at your door.

“New playlist?” he asks, eyeing you with a smirk. “You always move different when you're into the music.”

Before you can reply, Ni-Ki steps out of Studio B behind you. You don’t see his expression, only feel it, like static at the base of your neck.

“Didn’t know you liked this kind of attention,” Ni-Ki says casually once you're alone near the water station.

You blink. “What?”

He shrugs, but the way he squeezes the cap of his bottle a little too hard betrays him. “Yeonjun. The way he talks to you.”

You scoff. “You mean the way he talks to anyone in leggings?”

Ni-Ki doesn’t laugh. Just stares. His eyes are darker now, sharper. “He doesn’t talk to them the way he talks to you.”

Something about his tone sends a thrill through your chest. “Are you jealous?” you ask. You’re teasing… mostly.

He takes a step closer. Close enough that if anyone else saw, they’d know something was going on. But no one does. Not yet.

“You gave me every reason to be,” he says quietly. “Then walked in like nothing happened.”

You exhale. “I thought we were keeping it quiet.”

He nods, slowly. “We are. But don’t make me regret it.”

Your breath catches. His voice is low, even, but there's something behind it, something real. You realize it’s not just about Yeonjun. It’s about the way you haven’t reached for him today. Haven’t looked at him too long. Haven’t acted like you still taste him on your lips from last night.

And you do. You look up at him, heartbeat in your throat. Then, low enough for no one else to hear: “I’m indifferent about this being quiet or not.” His jaw unclenches. You lean in slightly. “But if you want me to act like something happened… say it.”

There’s a beat. Then he smiles. A slow, sinful curve of his lips. “Oh you’re going to regret saying that.”

[princessesqcue]

Burn With Me

kind of yandere /toxic JJK x Reader (hints at reader being black)

summary : in which what yours is mine to Jungkook and what's his is infact Not yours

genre / angst for this chapter , dark romance, themes of exercised control

MINORS DO NOT INERACT!!!

🤍🤍🤍 🤍🤍🤍 🤍🤍🤍 🤍🤍🤍 🤍🤍🤍 🤍🤍🤍

Jungkook doesn't share

he will do anything you tell him to

He would become your servant if you allowed that

He was very curious about  you which meant that he had to be attached to your hip whenever he could that also to him and in his own merits of logic meant that he was allowed to be in your business as much as he wanted

You didn't even have to know

he was watching his own unspoken rules getting jeopardized at times especially when you did things like these

What belonged to you belonged to him and the opposite was a dead end

It wasn't just you , jungkook just consisted of too many possessive bones in his body

It's either he was just that good at masking his distaste for sharing or you just couldn't take a hint

He didn't even have the time to do s double take in his already livid state

see the thing is he was simply caught off guard

you had gotten into the mood to clean up the house which also meant that the laundry coul not be avoided

You and Jungkook were simply cohabitant new room mates and it has been a little over a month since a friend sent you in the direction of an empty apartment listing

Doing all in her might to get you out of her and her boyfriend's freaky way

Upon meeting your landlord you had been skeptical but you didn't have that many choices plus the neighborhood seemed safe and the rent was pretty fair so you moved in

You both got along fine ,quickly falling into a routine,the living situation was practically homey, marriage like sealed with a lot of tension.

his jaw was so tensed if you noticed you would think something was bound to snap,his reaction was simply an erorr detection in his exercised control

you had these instances where you stepped on his toes without even thinking twice

you were not being the most considerate in his eyes and this additional moment as if his day was not bad enough to you, why did you have to have your episodes right when he was livid

he was simply pissed off

and you just happened to be the first thing in sight , a winner of his bad moods by default as his eyebrows scrunch at your appearance

"Is that my t-shirt?"

You were a mess to say the least, your braids in a ponytail that fell down from a bun keep getting in your face disrupting the surface of the counter that you are currently wiping down at

in the background you hum to a song blasting on volume 29 , it's nearing 1pm in the day when the door ahead beeps and open revealing a slightly disheveled Jungkook

who had knocked off work earlier than normally

Something about his presence is not very friendly in this moment where his tongue pokes at the side of his cheek from the inside

You had never seen him like this before, a nervous light smile gracing your lips

When your eyes trail further to examine him his lip seems slightly busted

"Jungkook, what happened…are you okay?"

You simply ask concern fully evident in your widened shiny orbs

You are not sure what is happening exactly between Jungkook rolling his eyes, a dark chuckle, the quirking if his eyebrow and the impatience evident on his face all together

bringing you back to his initial and only words to you as it was your first time seeing him today

"Oh yeah, I was doing laundry and my clothes got drenched "

growing antsy under the weight of his gaze you assure him that you have plans to wash it and that it was safe

"So you wear my clothes, who gave you permission?"

if you ever thought your eyes could not get any bigger they could as well have been hanging out of their sockets in this instant

"I didn't think you would mind-'

He is stepping closer in slow strides and unwavering predatory gaze solely focused on you and you alone

you look like a deer caught in the headlights

"Who gave you the fucking permission to wear my shirt y/n ?"

He seems to be a different person as he stops a little distance from you eyebrows drawn together in an angry frown

you're still trying to be sure that this is Jungkook that standing in front of you, to keep yourself from running the hell out of sight

"I'm sorry, I -"

he chuckles in disbelief

"you can be such a selfish brat sometimes, I can't believe you would just help yourself to my clothes without my permission  what else do you fucking take from me when I'm not around, huh?"

It's a rhetorical question and

His words taking on a patronizing tone that triggers a defensive alarm in your brain

the way he drags his eyes across you makes you question your existence for a hot minute

and somewhere between the pitch of Jungkooks mean words , his gaze

and the ringing in your ears turning into a deafening  intolerable sound your eyes start tearing up and when you can no longer take any of it even the t-shirt feels like it's weighing you down and in the defeat of it all your hands reach for the hem of the shirt and you drag the t-shirt over your head shoving it in his chest before turning to hide away behind the protective walls of the one thing you infact had the full rights to in jungkooks shared apartment

You are simply too livid to realize the state you have him in in the span of the moment you throw his shirt at him

Tits standing pretty above your figure

He never thought he'd ever see this view

and when you turn away from him your pretty ass swaying makes him want to pull you back in to his arms just to feel the softness of your flesh against his finger tips

and another tip making his explosive mood into something more sinister than what he had been initially presented with

"Fuck "

he lets out under his shaky breath

The door slamming in a distance ahead

You don't come out of your room in the next four hours

Hopeful that he would leave again

You had fallen asleep somewhere in between your crying waking up around sun down to take down your laundry

you tie your robe around your figure and your door creaks at contact

You don't even make it far when you spot familiar closet colors that belong to you already folded neatly on the nearest couch to your room

You don't bother to look for him

Even when the kitchen smells nice and dishes clank there

You retreat back to your room

before exiting again to take a shower

When done you get back into your room not acknowledging his presence even though he's sitting right across the room

You were dressed up when you exited the room again, wearing your work attire with your braids flowing down your back and a satchel bag on your shoulder

He could tell you were off to work with your change of clothes in the bag that has some volume today hinting him something he won't even let himself consider

He's there on the kitchen island following your every move with his eyes

you know he is there so you ignore more

you see him as you look around for your preferred pair of sneakers that you are not sure where they went

The comfortable ones that tolerate your herrendous hours of standing

frustrated you go back into your room to check again settling on a  different pair

"Come and eat "

A voice you are ignoring announces from the kitchen

You ignore him

you are approaching the door when he stands in front of you

"Please "

"I'm not hungry " you say lowly

Your stomach growls for the nth time like a paid actor

his eyebrows knitted knowing that you had not eaten in hours

You try to push past him but he just stands in your way tall and broad as ever

You glare at him hoping he will get the message

Angel,I'm sorry ,"

he takes the opportunity to let out the word when your eyes finally meet his

"Yeah me too , could you move"

He won't budge , refusing to let you leave without eating

"I'm really not interested"

At least you were talking

"Please"

he has those sparkling eyes staring into your soul

"I already dished for two "

"Well now you got extra for tomorrow "

"You can't work on an empty stomach"

you ignore the last bit of his opinion continuing to scurry away and you don't even hear him approach you until he's dragging you to the counter opening a chair for you and putting a plate in front of you

You eat with him still avoiding him

You were always like this

You got scared to look people in the eyes whenever you had arguments

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean any of the things I said-

I was not even upset with you, you were just there"

You clear your throat before muttering a heavy apology that tugs at your heart strings

"I'm sorry-

I'm sorry for wearing your t-shirt, it won't happen again"

You simply got forward and out of lane earlier and that makes your appetite want to desipate

You were probably being unreasonable but what if he resented you for all he did for you as well

You surely despised feeling indebted to people

and you feared overstepping boundaries and overstaying your welcomes

"Thanks for the food "

You are on your feet to do the dishes when he does it again, he takes the dishes to put them in the dishwasher before you can make it to the sink

"Princess, look at me"

He was now stood in front of you too close for your bond to Jungkook that is under reevaluation

With a sharp inhale you meet his gaze , unreadable, almost unfamiliar

"I- I have to go"

He wants to place his arms on the counter to cage you there and never let you out of his sight

"Let me drive you there"

"thank but my ride is already here"

This was his least favorite category of brattiness from you and if you weren't already icing him out he would have pointed it out

You excuse yourself past him and rush for the exit your sneakers squeaking against the tiles

with each hypnotic sway of your hips

A part of him thinks you don't even know what you do to him

And

Truth is you had no clue what you had gotten yourself into

He was trying his hardest to change , learning to leave behind a method of love that burns and destroys him and anything he touches

This was no regular man, he was something far more than obsessive and he was scared that he was already getting too lost in you

You were right here under his nose now , you grew on him too quickly

What's yours was his and what's his was his, YOU were his you just didn't know it yet which was why he got pissed earlier when you fit perfectly into HIS t-shirt you disrupt an order of control that goes unspoken to him

wearing his t-shirt was just too hard for him to handle but fuck that image of your body is now engrained in his head and in the camera east corner of the apartment in the living room too small to be noticable

Well at least to your pretty eyes he thought to himself

Same pretty eyes that were glossy when you looked up at him earlier with just a pair of cotton panties on

another pair that you would be losing to Jungkook without a clue in the world

He had no interest to wash that shirt anytime soon, your bare nipples were pressed right against that fabric, his shirt for fucks sake

He wanted to lift you in the air and just fuck you then and there but !he was a patient man

however far that would take him

you were becoming like a deep ocean slowly sinking him to the bottom with an anchor that he tied himself securely to his own ankle

You didn't even have to do anything to have him wrapped around your little finger and that is how he knew he had no plans of letting you go

well at least any time soon

...

DON'T BE A SILENT READER , I'M HUNGRY FOR FEEDBACK 😭😭

do not translate ,copy / re-use .

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

Steve is normally pretty good at bouncing back from things. Minor inconveniences and catastrophic disasters alike, and then some.

Today is the fourth day in a row that Billy has come home to find him tucked into bed before five o’clock has even come to pass, when the sun is still a while off from setting and the crickets have yet to chirp.

It’s safe to say that whatever he’s hit must be sticky, because the bounce back isn’t coming anytime soon either.

Billy goes about his routine as usual. Unlaces and kicks his boots off by the door, empties his pockets on the entryway table, and makes for the bedroom.

The first tell-tale sign that something’s wrong is the darkness in the kitchen — nothing heating on the stove or in the oven, no spices lingering in the air or onion skins piled on the counter. Steve will open the windows and busy his hands washing vegetables in the sink, listening to the sounds of the neighborhood as he pours through one of several cookbooks, trying to make something new and interesting.

It’s part of his evening routine. Helps him decompress, in a way, because he can focus on the words on the page and using his hands without having to talk or listen to anything but the calm sounds around him.

Then once Billy gets home, he blabs on and on about whatever comes to mind, and Billy listens as he eats whatever’s been made.

It makes for a good night when Steve cooks.

When he hasn’t, like tonight, a significant ripple disrupts Billy’s routine. Only he couldn’t give two shits about the food being ready when he gets home.

He gently knocks on the doorframe before he pushes the door open, letting a rectangle of light spill into the room. A sliver of it touches the bed, enough to highlight a partial figure under the covers, and Billy’s brows crease together as he slowly approaches.

“Hey, Stevie,” he coos. Sits on the edge of the bed and reaches a hand out to feel over the blanket, palm resting against Steve’s bicep. “Long day again?”

“Mm,” Steve hums.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t beg for a kiss like he usually does, and Billy frowns.

“You okay?”

“Mm.”

“Did I do something? Feel like I haven’t seen you all week…”

For a few beats, Steve just lays there. Then, he sighs.

“No.”

“Then what’s wrong? I’m walkin’ on eggshells here because I’ve felt like you’re pissed at me.”

“Didn’t ask you to,” Steve grumbles.

Billy furrows his brows.

“Well, shit, Harrington, I’m glad we cleared that up. Next time I feel like caring about my boyfriend, I’ll just go fuck myself instead.”

He stands up and steps toward the door, stopping before he’s crossed the threshold. Behind him, he hears a sniffle, and sighs as he rubs a hand over his face. Turns back around and makes his way to the bed again.

“‘Kay, I didn’t mean that, I’m sorry,” he says. Sits back down and fiddles with his ring on his middle finger. “I’m worried about you, baby, but I can’t help if you don’t talk to me.”

It’s quiet between them for a moment. Steve sniffles again, and there’s movement under the covers — presumably him lifting his hand to smudge the tears away from his eyes.

Billy scoots closer and sets his hand on Steve’s arm again for reassurance, rubbing softly up and down.

“I’m just— I feel useless, I guess. I don’t know,” Steve says.

His voice is low and raw. Vulnerable. Billy wonders if he’d been crying before he came home.

“Feel useless how?”

“I don’t… I don’t have anything. I’m nothing.” Steve lets out a shaky sigh and curls closer to himself. Billy’s expression drops. “I’m not smart enough to go to school and make a future for us, and, like, I know working minimum wage isn’t bad, but I want to… I want to have more for us than this, y’know? I’m a failure at everything I fucking try, and I’m scared this is it.”

The brunet chokes out a hushed sob. Turns his head to bury his face in the pillow to muffle the sounds of his strangled breaths.

Billy leans over his partner in a half-hug, laying his head on his shoulder and pressing him down into the mattress. It has Steve taking a somewhat slower, somewhat calmer breath. The first of more to come.

“How long have you been feeling like this?”

Steve swallows thickly, and his throat clicks.

“A while,” he manages. “I try not to think about it.”

“Sweetheart, not thinking about it isn’t gonna help you. Trust me, been there.”

Below him, Steve huffs.

For the first time in a while, Billy’s mind wanders to places he thought were forgotten. Closes his eyes and nuzzles his cheek against Steve’s shoulder as he rubs over his back.

“Y’know, I never told you this before, but I used to think I was unlovable. Wasn’t anyone’s first choice for my whole life ‘til I met you,” he murmurs. Steve’s breathing slows, and Billy spreads a little smile. “If you don’t have anything, Steve, you have me. I’d choose you and our shitty apartment over some sugar daddy with money and a mansion any day of the week.”

Steve sniffles.

“Yeah?” he rasps.

“Mhmm, and you’re not a failure, and you aren’t stupid. Just ‘cause you have hobbies that you don’t make money off of doesn’t mean you aren’t talented either — your customer service skills are honestly scary and I think I’d gain five hundred pounds if you got any better at cooking.”

Billy cracks a grin when Steve snorts. Turns his face downward and kisses his shoulder.

“Five hundred pounds, huh?”

The blond quirks a playful brow.

“How many servings do you have to make when you cook for us, Bambi?”

“I dunno, like, four?”

“And how much do we usually have leftover?”

There’s a short pause, and then Steve chuckles.

“None.”

“Uh-huh, exactly.” Billy props himself up on his hands and gently pushes Steve’s shoulder until he rolls onto his back. “You’re smart, you’re passionate, you’re somebody, okay? If anyone ever tells you otherwise, I’ll buy a gun.”

Steve laughs, and Billy leans down to kiss just below his jaw.

“You’re a dork.”

“No, I just love you.”

Arms slide out from beneath the covers and drape around Billy’s neck, guiding him closer.

“I love you too.”

Steve tilts up into a kiss when Billy lifts his head. The blond hums against him, chewing his lip when they part.

“Wanna come heat something up and cuddle on the couch?”

Steve shrugs, his eyes lingering on Billy’s lips in the short distance.

“How about we order out and take a shower? You smell like motor oil.”

“You like it when I smell like motor oil.”

Fingers card into Billy’s hair, and he exhales a small sigh when they tug lightly.

“I like scrubbing it off of you even more, though,” Steve lilts.

Billy snickers and brushes their lips together again, melting down into his partner like sugar in a sun-warmed glass of tea. When they part, he lingers close, mere millimeters away from sharing another kiss.

“Lead the way, pretty boy.”

[lightlycareless]

A bit of an explanation as to why Naomi turned to be quite... Not distant but not as welcoming as she was in the beginning with Naoya, her father.. :))))))

related work: prequel 1. prequel 2. sequel.

Warnings: Angst. Mentions of pregnancy and childbirth. Maybe Naoya failed as a husband and father?

Naomi didn't really know what it meant to be an older sister. It's one of those things that can't be described, simply experienced to get the full grasp of it. And yet, she was as excited as anyone else for the arrival of the babies.

Or more like anxious, for she's never seen you so stressed before.

“Why can't I go with mama?” She'd ask, your sister guiding her to the waiting room by the hand, unwittingly away from you. “Is she ok??”

“Yes, she is. She just needs help from the doctor to deliver your siblings!” Hinata explains, attempting to comfort her. “Aren't you excited? Soon, you'll be a nee-san, just like me.”

But Naomi couldn't care to think of such matters, not when an even bigger issue has yet to be dealt with.

“.... Why isn't papa with mama?” your daughter asks with clear sadness in her face. It's only the second time she sees a disruption to her routine, but she already doesn't like it, not one bit. “He's always here whenever mama feels bad….”

Hinata swallows, trying her best to not feed Naomi's sorrow, quickly turning disappointment, any further.

It's true what she said. Naoya always made sure to be available whenever you needed him, one way or the other. But this time… this time he couldn't, and for one simple decision he'd come to regret later.

“He's on his way here.” Is what your sister responds. “He shouldn't take much longer to arrive.”

For Naomi's sake, she hopes he does. Because Hinata doesn't think she could take any more of seeing the always cheerful and bubbly girl growing quiet at her father's absence, or frightened when hearing your screams once you finally went into labor.

Preparing Naomi for the whole ordeal of pregnancy was difficult, for there were things you feared she wouldn't be able to understand without being traumatized by them. This particular part was the one that worried you the most.

But even as upsetting as it was, hearing you in pain wouldn't be the thing that stuck to Naomi the rest of her life.

No. It would be the part of Naoya eventually arriving at the hospital, a few hours after the twins were born, higkihjti his failure to be with you, his daughter, and newborn children when they needed him most.

“I'm sorry, my love. I'm really, really sorry. You don't know how much I regret—”

“You were supposed to be here for their birth” Naomi manages to overhear, as well as the heartbreak in your voice, the same one she was experiencing for seeing her parents argue for the first time in her life. “You promised you would!”

“I know.” Naoya laments, voice shaky, seemingly at the brink of crying. “I would've never missed this moment, but the mission—”

“You also said you wouldn't take any missions.” You reiterate, hurt. “Why did you do it? Why did you have to go on a mission when I needed you the most?! You knew how scared I was, especially after what happened with Naomi!”

“It wasn't supposed to take this long. They told me it was going to be a quick thing, but it went on and they needed me…”

“I needed you more. We needed you more.”

“I'm sorry.”

Naomi doesn't hear anything else from that point forward, either because Naoya kept quiet, understanding the gravity of his actions while offering quiet endless apologies, the only thing he could do at that moment.

Or because Hinata became aware of what was going on and quickly isolated your daughter from the situation, she had already gone through enough up to that point, the last thing she needed was to end the day on a worse note.

Thankfully, that wouldn't be the case, because after meeting her baby brother and sister, all conflict seemed to disappear from her mind at that moment, focused instead on loving them unconditionally, though mostly excited for her new playmates and all the things she couldn't wait to do with them.

But when looking at her father, well…

Something inside Naomi changed that day.

💀

[marjoch]

MAY YOUR DEATH BE SWIFT

slowburn ellabs fic set four years after santa barbara

early updates on ao3 @ josmarch

chapter 4

summary: abby taking care of sick ellie, domestic lev & abby life, just cute simple things

The weather outside looked like rain, but Abby knew Lev needed some time out of the house. These days he seemed restless, like sitting around would cause him harm. She thought it was a result of a lot of things: being outcast from the only society he had known, losing his sister, and working as a slave until Abby managed to get both of them exiled and sentenced to a sure death. He still didn’t know Ellie was the reason they were alive today. It had been four years, but she knew the past weighed on him as it did her. They were working through that together.

The pair of them started out from the house on foot. They had walked back from the gas station where they’d found Ellie last night, and they were used to walking most places. Abby and Lev made their way towards the main town, which was around a half mile from where they lived. Even in the shade, the late May weather was warm. Abby took off her windbreaker halfway through the short journey, revealing an array of healed but obvious scars made by a switchblade adorning her arms. She’d gained back some of the weight she’d lost in California, but she was a bit more lean as she hadn’t been working out as regularly. She was still in peak physical condition, and an asset to the town.

Both Abby and Lev were comfortable in each other’s presence, some relationship between maternal and sibling. They could sit for hours without saying a word, and be content. They’d been walking in silence for sometime before Lev finally spoke. “Why are you being so nice to her?”

Abby had given it some thought. Lev wasn’t aware of her research into Ellie, and she didn’t want to disclose all of it now. After Santa Barbara, Abby needed to know who Ellie was. The dialogue they’d had in the theatre in Seattle had become a blur, but she recalled it then. It was easy to piece it together once she had some semblance of an idea. Before Abby had deconstructed her preconceived notions of loyalty sometime around meeting Lev, she likely would’ve taken this grudge to the grave. Something in her had shifted. Lev cleared his throat, and Abby said, “I don’t know.”

“Didn’t she kill your friends?”

“I killed her father,” responded Abby, shaking her head. “I used to think everything was so black and white. This or that. I don’t know anymore.”

Lev looked curious. “Regardless of knowing, I think she has an effect on you.” They walked on, and he clarified, “Good or bad, I’m not sure.”

Abby wasn’t sure either. She also thought that she was thinking about it a little too much considering she was usually one for routine. Nothing in Santa Fe had been interesting since she’d settled here with Lev two years ago. At least, nothing disrupted her morning breakfast and falling asleep on the couch reading and her mind. She was beginning to wonder if she regretted going out for late night hunting that resulted in saving someone she’d tried to forget.

“She seems sick. I don’t want to be the one to shoot her if she turns out like everyone else.” Lev sounded serious.

“If you’re really worried, you can stay with your friends for a few nights. It would do you some good to get out of the house.”

Lev shrugged. “I’lll talk to Carmen once we get to town. I’d rather stay with them than get infected by your friend.”

“We aren’t friends,” Abby rolled her eyes.

“Same difference,” Lev replied. “Still weird that you’re helping her.”

They made it to town, then, so Abby dropped the conversation. It wasn’t something she wanted everyone else to hear. These people didn’t need to worry about the decisions she made. She hoped that Lev wouldn’t share anything about the situation, but she knew she didn’t have to hope, because they trusted each other enough.

The two of them went their separate ways once they were down the main street: Lev to his friends, and Abby to the armory. An old gym on the west side of the small town was home to the defense operations, and it’s where she reported her patrols. Overseeing the armory was Grace, a skilled sniper in her mid-thirties. She was a widow, having lost her husband in Dallas just two years prior. On her way into the gym, Abby held the door for a woman her age, and the woman thanked her by name.

“Just the person I was looking for,” said Grace as Abby entered. Grace was standing at the front desk, interrupting the conversation she’d been having with the man behind it.

“Glad we found each other,” Abby said. “I’ve got news for you, too.”

“You first. Walk and talk, I’ve got to meet with the new recruits in a few minutes.”

Abby joined Grace in walking towards the outside training grounds, through the back of the gym. “I think there’s a horde headed our direction. That old gas station had a bunch of infected, but Lev and I just checked it last week.There’s indications more are on the way.”

“Maybe we should start checking more often,” said Grace. “But you’re probably right about the horde. I’ll make sure everyone’s on the lookout.”

“Thanks,” Abby said. “Your turn.”

“I’ve got a new assignment for you, if you want it. The Johnsons had a small house fire last night. Nothing major, but it’s going to take some time to repair, and they’re both elderly. We’re planning to move them closer to the outskirts, but didn’t want to leave them out there alone.” They were approaching the training grounds now. “Would you do a routine patrol around the area daily? Just to make sure it’s clear. We don’t need infected in this town.”

Abby nodded. “Yeah, of course. Just get me the address.” They reached the training grounds, where five young men were standing and talking amongst themselves.

“You got it. See you soon.” With ease, Grace transitioned from saying goodbye to teaching a class. She put on a blank expression and studied each of the boys, who fell silent under her gaze. Abby left, then, determined to find Lev and get an update on where he would be staying.

Her efforts fell short and the sky grew darker in the distance. Abby knew the window of time to get home before the storm was closing, so she made the executive decision to head back home. Lev was with his friends, he was eighteen years old, and he was capable of both walking back later and defending himself if necessary. She was still getting used to him going off and doing his own thing.

Abby made it back right before the downpour began. She closed the door behind her, and immediately stopped in her tracks, noticing an absence in the living room. Ellie’s bag was on the floor beside the couch, but there was no sign of the woman. She wasn’t in the kitchen, either. Abby always had her gun on her, and she was prepared to use it if this really did go badly.

She decided to check the bathroom first, which felt like the most rational place. She knocked on the closed door. When she got no response, she called, “Ellie?” Nothing. She opened the door, and sighed. There was Ellie, sitting on the floor, head back against the wall, looking quite feverish. Abby put her gun away. She went to Ellie and knelt down, studying her. She raised her hand to Ellie’s temple with the intent of gauging her temperature, but Ellie swatted her hand away.

“Jesus, Ellie,” Abby rolled her eyes, trying again. She succeeded, and then sighed deeply. “You’re really burning up. Come on, I’ll get you some water.”

Abby stood up and held her hands out in case Ellie wanted some help. Ellie sat there until she noticed Abby was offering, and she stood up on her own out of defiance. Abby left the bathroom, waiting for Ellie to follow behind. After a minute passed, Abby went back in. Ellie was still standing there, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Abby imagined she was talking to herself, convincing herself to get to the couch without assistance. She’d done the same once.

Abby went to Ellie’s side, and silently offered to guide her. Ellie shook her head. Abby sighed, fed up with the Miss Independent routine. “Just let me help you,” she said. Ellie finally gave in.

Once in the living room, Abby led Ellie to the couch. She helped Ellie lay down, and covered her with a blanket. She went into the kitchen and brought a glass of water out, and put it on the ground by the couch. “Water,” she said. “You should drink some when you’re able.” Abby stood up. The sound of heavy rain droned on in the background. “The storm will probably last all day.”

Ellie said nothing, so Abby turned and went into the kitchen to make herself something to eat. When Abby came back through the room, Ellie was asleep.

The rain lasted the rest of the day as expected, so Abby spent it inside. She had been wanting to reorganize some things in her room, and she took the time to do it now. When the rain lightened up a little, she got a radio call that gave her the address to the home where the Johnsons were temporarily residing. She left right before dark, walking the short distance. She did a sweep of the area, and saw no infected. She made her way back home as night fell.

This simple routine had become her life now, and it felt good. She had grown up in these societies, and this one felt the most stable out of the three she’d been a part of. This one had no wars, no loss like she’d known before. Abby had been up against a few rogue individuals, but none strong enough to threaten the town. Everyone in Texline was happy and healthy, as much as they could be. Even Lev seemed comfortable, and they’d had problems with finding a settlement in the years prior.

Back home, Abby made her final meal of the day and checked on Ellie. Abby had to admit she almost looked peaceful while sleeping. Her features softened when she wasn’t endlessly lost in thought or stubbornly standing her ground over something minor. And, when she wasn’t trying to kill Abby, she was admittedly beautiful.

Loyalties had meant everything to Abby once. There was no wrong that could not be set right, no nuance between the black and white. As she’d gotten older, she’d become more aware of her biases. Something in her past was enraged at the idea of Ellie in her home, but something in her future dismissed the anger, so Abby went back down the hall to her room, resolved to carry on in her efforts.

[adhdnursegoat]

Premiere!

The first three chapters of The Edge of Us are posted to Ao3! I hope you enjoy! Chapter 1/the prologue can be found below. See link to full work at the bottom!

Enjoy, goats/kids!

The funny thing about power…once you’ve tasted it, it’s the only flavor worth craving.

Gotham: the city that feeds off its own decay. 

To the average mind, it’s just a place of misfortune, filth, and bad timing—a battleground where the worst parts of humanity crawl out from under the rocks to have their day. 

But it’s more than that, isn’t it? 

The world is rotten, but Gotham? Gotham perfects it. This city doesn’t just wear its grime; it drapes itself in it, revels in the stink. Criminals here don’t bother with masks, and the so-called “heroes” don’t look much different than the scum they claim to fight. They’re all actors in a play nobody wanted tickets to, shuffling through their parts, pretending the whole time that it’s something worth fighting for…

Citizens stumble over the cracks in the pavement, breathing in fumes that would choke anyone with a shred of sense. They shuffle through the streets, heads down, eyes half-open, thinking they’re safe if they don’t look too hard. They’re sheep, scurrying through a city that’s sick to its core, all the while the ones at the top keep them under their thumb, pulling their strings like marionettes. They don’t notice a thing. To them, this is just another day in Gotham—a little rough around the edges, sure, but manageable if they keep their heads down and stick to their petty routines.

The poison in the air, the rot spreading through every corner—it’s not just the smell of the streets, it’s in the people, too. They’d rather breathe in the stench of corruption than acknowledge what’s been rotting under their feet for decades. They don’t care, not really, so long as the dirt and decay stay beneath the surface, so long as the ugly truth doesn’t disrupt their comfortable numbness. They’ll let Gotham crumble, brick by brick, piece by piece, from the inside out, so long as it happens quietly. It’s easier that way.

Maybe they’re too far gone to see it. Maybe they’re just afraid to look.

But that’s the tragedy of this city, isn’t it? The more it rots, the deeper its citizens bury their heads in the sand. Denial is their coping mechanism, their security blanket against the truth, and they wrap themselves in it tighter every day. Even as the city darkens, they cling to the idea that nothing’s wrong, that this is just Gotham’s way. The cracks in the concrete, the garbage piling up in alleyways, the shadows encroaching—they treat it all like background noise, scenery in the theater of their denial.

And if that wasn’t absurd enough, now there’s a man jumping off buildings in a costume, dishing out his brand of justice from behind a mask. A bat in the night, lurking on rooftops, swooping down with his fists and his gadgets, as if he’s the answer Gotham has been waiting for. A vigilante, a judge, jury, and executioner all rolled into one, convinced he can set right what’s broken. Self-appointed justice wrapped in Kevlar and rubber, clinging to the belief that he’s some force for change, that he’s somehow better than the criminals he hunts.

But what does he know about change? About Gotham’s sickness, the filth embedded so deeply it’s woven into the foundation of every skyscraper? He thinks he’s making a difference by leaving broken jaws and bruises in his wake, but all he’s doing is treating symptoms, like bandaids on bullet wounds. 

And the people? 

Oh, they eat it up. 

Some love him. 

Some hate him. 

Either way, they are talking about him.

The silent victims wallow in desperation for a hero, for a savior in the dark, someone to make them feel safe without ever asking them to confront what they’re really hiding from. They don’t realize that a man in a mask can’t save a city like Gotham. It’s too far gone for that, too used to its own decay. Maybe they’d understand that if they’d take a real look at the city around them, if they peeled back the wallpaper to see the termite infested structure, if they treated the sepsis festering in their police department and city hall. But they won’t. Because they’d rather believe in a fairy tale, in a hero with wings who can swoop down and make everything right without asking anything to change.

 Ridiculous. 

If he’s being honest, he can appreciate the nerve. At least someone’s trying to push against the status quo, to make this city something other than the mess it is.

He respects the attempt.

But he could do it better.

And it eats at him, you know? 

This knowledge that he could be so much more, that he could do so much more if he weren’t confined to this box, locked in with these idiots who think they’re saving Gotham one speeding and parking ticket at a time. These police, they’re as blind as the criminals they chase, running circles around each other and getting nowhere. It’s a cycle, a routine as dead as the city they claim to protect. 

And he? 

He’s trapped here, forced to watch from the sidelines as they flounder, the only one who sees the truth, the only one with the intelligence and balls to think independently.

There’s a part of him—dark, simmering, waiting—that knows he’s meant for more. He is born to change things, to show Gotham what it could be if it weren’t burdened by the inept and corrupt. Yet here he is, cursed to work in shadows, unrecognized, unappreciated, his potential wasted in a city that wouldn’t know brilliance even if it had a bright, green, neon sign. And sometimes, he wonders if Gotham even deserves saving. This city, these corrupt officials, the police, these pathetic citizens who live with the sickness festering in front of them—they must be enlightened. Stripped of their illusions, their petty routines, rebuilt from the ground up by someone who understands.

But the problem with Gotham? 

It’s too used to its own stench to even try changing. 

Who is he, in all this filth, to try and show them the way? 

He’s a reluctant ghost in their midst, a man asking questions no one dares to ask, a man with answers they don’t even know they need, a man with a mind sharper than any weapon in this city, reduced to sitting in the dark, waiting for someone—anyone—to notice.

They’d call it desperation. 

He calls it purpose. 

And it’s this purpose that sets him apart from them, this knowledge that he can be more, that he should be more. He doesn’t need a cape or a mask to be dangerous. He only needs what he’s already got: his mind, a gift he’s wasted long enough. 

He can see it now, the power of information—of knowledge.

He can feel it coming, a change in the air, a hum of something new. He doesn’t fully understand it yet, this shift that seems to hover just out of sight, a challenge on the horizon waiting to be met. A curiosity lurking in the corners of his mind. He’s close, he can feel it, standing on the edge of something inevitable, something transformative. He’s about to be seen. He will be more.

I will be more.

Full work on Ao3 here!

[my-head-is-an-animal]

May I please request for some comfort fic with Plo? Reader having trouble handling her anxiety attack? Cue reader having ocd too if possible.

Hope this is okay for you!

Knowledge and Experience

Plo Koon x reader

Word Count: 615

Usually you could deal with anxiety attacks just fine, sometimes it would take a few goes at your breathing techniques, but you’d eventually always get there.

     This one was never ending! Your chest felt tight, it was impossible to get any air in, so you were forced to take shallower breaths if you wanted to survive at all.

     This was what you hated most, the lack of control, being forced to comply with the pathetic wishes of your mind that just couldn’t stay organised or calm to save your life.

     You let your head bow and rest on your knees as you sat curled against the wall of your small kitchen. Coruscant didn’t allow for many large homes, certainly none that you could afford, but you didn’t necessarily mind the smaller space, until the anxiety attacks took over, then you felt trapped and like the walls had begun closing in.

     ‘Just breathe.’ Plo’s warm baritone voice surrounded you for just a moment, enough to realise you’d been panting hard for far longer than you thought. Your chest was aching far too much. ‘You’ve done this before, you can do it again.’

     ‘I-I can’t.’ You panted, knowing that talking was a bad idea, it would only mean less air being used to inflate your already burning lungs.

     ‘We both know that is not true.’ Plo spoke low and quiet, keeping everything steady as he normally did, but it wasn’t working. You just needed to focus on surviving until it was over.

     Plo ran his hand over your arm, clearly understanding you just needed to be left alone for a moment. You were glad for it, until you heard him moving around your kitchen.

     You knew from sound alone that whilst he was trying to be kind and considerate, he was causing more disruption than actually helping. You could hear the way things were being put into drawers that it wasn’t right. You had an order to things and often Plo would allow you to go through your routines without trying to help, he knew you had a way of doing things.

     Eventually it was too much and you could no longer focus on getting the little air into your body as was allowed, he needed to let you focus.

     ‘Plo, please,’ you snapped, standing up to see the chaos he had caused. ‘I just need a moment to focus, can I please do that?’ You stared around at the kitchen, seeing small trinkets slightly misaligned with the counter tops, it wasn’t as chaotic as your thought, but it still bothered you. ‘What have you done?’ You shook your head feeling your annoyance flaring.

     You tried not to be too upset, but instead went about realigning everything so it sat neatly in place.

     ‘I’m sorry I got annoyed,’ you sighed. ‘I just need a moment to…’

     You looked up at Plo who was smiling, leaning back against the counter with his arms folded. ‘Yes?’ He raised his eyebrow, knowingly.

     ‘You sneaky bastard.’ You half laughed, realising that through focusing on the small chaos he’d created, you’d managed to allow your chest to open up enough to steady out your breathing and the anxiety attack was over.

     ‘So, you have previously said.’ He chuckled.

     ‘Of course, now we have to deal with my OCD.’ You said, breathing in deep lungful’s of air and finally feeling calmer.

     ‘I’m sure I can come up with another sneaky tactic to resolve that as well.’

     ‘Over-confidence?’ You teased his Jedi ways.

     ‘Knowledge and experience.’ Plo chuckled.

     It was true, he knew you very well and you had no doubts that he would find a way to help you through the next step.

If you liked this, please consider supporting me ☕ thanks for reading!

[r7leee]

a job well done | t.c.

i’m gonna start by saying this is for a friend’s birthday, there is absolutely no other reason i’d be writing this otherwise 💀 anyways, love u ava, u better enjoy 🤬

pairing: timothée chalamet x actress!reader

summary: it’s you and your boyfriend’s first day filming. timothée’s a sweetheart while he helps you adjust.

warnings: cursing, mentions of sex but no direct smut, actress!reader and timothée are filming something together, probably very ooc!timothée, basically just a bunch of fluff

word count: 965, should take about seven and a half minutes to read

listen to: banana pancakes by jack johnson

IT WAS UNUSUAL for you to be asleep this long. your boyfriend had been beside you awake for a while now, when usually, it was the other way around.

the way your schedule worked, you were used to early mornings filming or getting on flights that it just became a habit. so to say it concerned timothée when it’d been two hours since his awakening and you were still sound asleep next to him was an understatement.

he didn’t want to be disruptive, but he didn’t want you to stay asleep much longer. he started by gently shaking you, which didn’t work. he tried a bit harder, but again, that road led to a dead end.

“darling…come on, wake up…” he whispered, which again, led nowhere. “darling!” he tried a bit louder. he sighed when your eyes stayed shut. with one final, heavy push, your eyes shot open.

due to the light coming into the trailer, you immediately threw your hands over your eyes and groaned. “what’s the deal?” you whined. he just laughed.

“it’s 11:00 in the morning, honey. you gotta get up.” you quickly took your hands off your eyes, which was a bad idea, since the light made you squint. you looked him dead in the eyes while doing so, however.

“funny joke. why did you actually wake me up?”

“i’m not joking.” he grabbed his phone from the bedside table. “look.” you widened your eyes just the slightest bit to see that the lock screen did indeed read 11:16 am.

“oh my god…” you muttered. “i don’t know how that happened, i’m so sorry, you should’ve just done stuff without me,” you rambled.

“hey. look at me.” timothée placed his hands on your face. “it’s not your fault. it’s okay. i just didn’t want to be late to get on set.” he placed a gentle kiss on your lips.

you giggled and raised an eyebrow. “you sure?”

“100%.” he got up and started stretching. “you hungry? i can get us some breakfast before we have to leave.” you laughed at his little routine. “what?” he asked, stopping. all you could do was shake your head and laugh.

“oh, so this is funny to you, huh?” timothée leaned over next to you to grab a pillow. without warning, he threw it straight at your face. you just gasped.

“don’t start a fight you know you can’t win.”

“trust me, honey, i’m planning on winning.” you threw the pillow back at him, but he caught it.

more pillows got added to the mix, and soon enough, they weren’t even being used anymore; just you two wrestling on the bed. it was all giggles and laughs until you all but pleaded him to stop.

there was a moment of silence after that as you lay on the bed underneath him. the air was thick and heavy as he remained on top of you, panting. timothée brushed a lock of hair out of your face. you could see his pupils dilate. you, in turn, gently swatted his arm. “don’t try anything. we have places to be in a few hours.”

you crawled out from underneath him and started to walk to the kitchen. the pillow fight gave you a bit of energy to enter the trailer living area. you could hear him yell. “i wasn’t going to-”

“save it,” you giggled. you turned around, hearing him exit the room. his mouth opened, trying to say something, but you grabbed his hand. he looked down, confused. you grabbed his face to kiss him.

it was just a little peck to distract him. your plan worked as he stood with a small smile afterwards. “so, you’re getting breakfast?” you confirmed cheekily.

all he could do was nod. “on me.” you concluded it was a job well done.

AFTER THE BREAKFAST your boyfriend "very lovingly," in his words, ordered, you two got ready to head on set and meet your castmates. that was all it would be for the day, so you didn't know why you felt so nervous.

timothée noticed it as you walked out of the trailer. "you okay?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows. you nodded.

"ya," you quietly mumbled. you were playing with your hands, a habit he noticed you did when you were stressed. he grabbed one of your hands gently as an ailment.

"it's gonna be okay," he promised. you blushed at the simple touch and turned back to where you were walking. he smiled at this and ruffled your hair, only after giving the top of your head a chaste kiss.

meeting the cast wasn't nearly as bad as you imagined, and by the end of it, you actually wished you had more time to stay.

when you got back in your trailer, you mostly spent the evening unwinding. you two ordered more food since you were too bothered to make anything.

the night ended with you filing your nails after the picking you'd done at them earlier while you watched a movie. you were sitting on your boyfriend's lap as he braided your hair. the only light in the room present was the soft glow of your laptop with the movie playing.

you really weren't paying too much attention to it. you were too focused on timothée's fingers gently pulling strands of your hair over one other. it was a kind of weird thing he did in spite of boredom; he liked doing your hair. it came from watching his mother do his sister's hair. he was a fast learner from just simply observing. you teased him for being a hairdresser in a previous life.

"all done," he mumbled, snapping you out of your daze. you turned around, craning your neck to give him a gentle kiss.

"thanks, baby."

"anytime, honey."

[cowboyjen68]

Hi, need some advice

I’m 28 and my wife is 26, we’ve been married for 4 years and she’s wants a baby. She asked during our first year of marriage but I said no because I thought we were to young and I wasn’t financially stable enough, but honestly there were just excuses. She recently asked again and I don’t know what to say. I think we’re both old enough, I make great money at my current job, we have the space, but part of me is scared. What if I’m a bad parent. My parents were not the best, my dad was in the military and almost never around when he was home, and my mom left whenever my dad was home and would only show up when he was deploying. I work in a corporate setting so I make well over 6 figures, but I’m gone almost 3 to 4 months of the year due to business deals and meetings. And I don’t wanna be like my parents and never there for my kid. I wanna give my kid everything I didn’t have but I’m scared I’ll just end up like my parents( My dad). My wife has been so supportive of me and has helped me get to where I am now and I feel like the least I could due is give her baby, but I don’t know how to tell her how I’m feeling about it.

Wanting to have and raise kids is the first and best step to becoming a good parent. If you did not want kids or you were hesitating because you did not want the committment of children it would be a whole different thing. If you don't want kids don't have kids. If you are happy at the thought of raising a family and the work seems worth it and something you and your wife can handle together then absolutely move forward.

We are not destined to be our parents or repeat their faults, especially when we are aware of the mistakes they might have made, whether intentional or accidentally.

As far as travel is concerned, kids can handle that especially in this age of technology and things like zoom, facetime etc. I know families in which on parent travels quite a bit and they have built in to their routine Marco Polo videos, zoom calls and even letter writing as a way to stay engaged and have fun connecting without little kids getting too bored.

Your wife should have lots of on ground support in your absence. Having a built in (or two or three) emergency sitter just in case is a great relief. Make sure you have a good pet boarding facility and are in good standing if you have dogs or cats so that if something were to arise she has back up when you are away. Putting in place these kinds of support take a lot of worry off the table. A cleaning service can help as well as a decent list of good places she can call for things like car problems, plumbing and other household repairs.

Take time from your job (you probably get adoption or maternity leave even if you are not the birth mom) to bond with an new arrival, baby or not. The first few months are important to establish a relationship with both new borns or older kids in the case of adoption or foster.

When you are home you don't have to over compensate for your absence. Your child and wife will have a routine in place, don't disrupt that too much. It will stress you and them out. Just becasue you have been gone you don't need to "make up lost time" if you have been communicating with your family while away. Make sure you take time for your wife and don't feel guilty for getting a baby sitter once in a while, you still need your intimate connection (grown up time) with each other.

Lots of families are healthy and happy with both parents working 40 plus hours and barely making ends meet. If creating and nuturing a family is what you both want, go for it.

[potionwine]

For the Weird Asks : 11, 18, 58, 64, 96

Cimi I miss you (╥﹏╥)

How are things at your end? Is cece finally coexisting harmoniously with the other two? Is work still busy and annoying? Are you managing to spend time on doing the art that you hoped to do at the start of the year?

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day?

I pretty much have to have breakfast. I can go without of course, but only ever out of necessity and not by choice. The version of me who hasn't had breakfast is basically the crankiest, meanest, most unpleasant, most impatient version. And it stops (miraculously and instantly) only when/as soon as I get some food into my system, therefore you can see why breakfast is really important—if I get food only at lunch time, e.g. noon or 1 pm, that means four whole hours of rampaging inexplicably pissed-off potionwine as opposed to the pleasant, functioning, sympathetic, customer service-ready version who ate at 8 am or 9 am before work. It's that drastic and that noticeable. This effect curiously impacts only the first meal of the day. I don't get hangry over lunch or dinner like this. Those can be late, can be missed, can be delayed—I can wait, I can deal. In fact for most of primary school and high school, I usually went without lunch, just didn't feel the need. Guess it's something about facing a new day on a hollow stomach, like starting the day wrong and everything is bad. Usually a sandwich of some sort: ham and cheese, or tuna with mayo, or chicken with lettuce and tomato, or smoked salmon with avocado, or nut butter toast with eggs, etc. And a cup of tea. Always a proper cup of tea to finish breakfast.

18. ideal weather?

Low of 16ºC (60ºF), high of 21ºC (69ºF). Cool in the shade, warm in the sun, cool enough that I'm not sweating just from sitting still and minding my own business, warm enough that I can stay up late to write fic without my feet turning into ice blocks. Goldilocks temperature range that doesn't need artificial heating/cooling modifications (e.g. fan, heater, or air-con). In the city where I live, that usually means spring or autumn. Like right now (˶◜ᵕ◝˶) it's blissful today.

58. four talents you’re proud of having?

Aagh...... this is really difficult lol..... I guess, hmm... 1. I'm pretty careful as a person. I do things carefully. I'm not a half-asser, which means my work usually contains minimal mistakes and I carry out tasks in their entirety instead of leaving loose ends. I'm usually the person entrusted with handling fragile or delicate items. 2. I remember little details well, like people's names and random info from passing small talk. It's possible for me to meet an office of 30-40 people and match name to face correctly within 1 day. (They tested me once in a workplace icebreaker lol. I was new to the team, people kept saying "don't worry if you can't remember everyone at once", and I said "but I can", and they made me prove it, 35 people in a circle and I named every person correctly off the back of one brief introduction earlier that morning.) It's got nothing on top tier hotel concierges who can remember thousands of names and recall customers from a dozen years ago, but people seemed impressed nonetheless. 3. I can hold up my end of the conversation/I don't choke or freeze in social situations. Social interactions and social chats have patterns and rules—asking questions, showing interest, turn-taking, volunteering information. I navigate this elaborate dance just fine (whether or not I have the energy to engage is a whole other issue). 4. I'm great at convincing my coworkers that work is less important than tea time. It is very difficult to argue with cakes and baked goods like pastries and tarts and assorted sweet treats. I do my best to disrupt the work routine as much as possible by randomly supplying cake and tea so that I can legitimately and brazenly have a break. My high school teacher had a rule: "If you want to eat in class, you have to bring enough for everyone"—and she's right. Bring enough for everyone and suddenly it's not some illicit furtive thing but an event where everyone puts down their tools/leave their desks for half an hour to honour the hobbit way of life.

64. favorite website from your childhood?

Neopets lol. Hey it was huge okay, every kid was on that website.

96. desktop background?

A jellyfish! Luminous and ethereal. It would be worth being brainless to be that beautiful 😂

Ask me: weird asks that say a lot

[littlestpan]

Service With a Smile

James Potter x Regulus Black (Slow Burn)

A/N: Hello lovelies, here’s chapter seven! You can also find fan fiction on AO3 if you want to read ahead.

Chapter 6 (here) | Chapter 7 (You’re here) | Chapter 8 (here)

Chapter 7: Nimbostratus Clouds

The first week of April marked the one-month milestone of Regulus working at the Marauders’ kitchen. Although it isn’t a massive achievement like Sirius’ almost seven years, it’s important to Regulus nonetheless. He finds himself relying on the other crew members less, no longer requiring constant guidance and supervision; for that alone, Regulus is proud. The skills he’s learnt along the way, albeit not difficult, are a lot more practical than the ones he learnt in university. And even though Regulus' lack of experience wasn't beneficial in the beginning. His eagerness to learn and determination to prove himself made him the perfect blank canvas. Hiring Regulus was mutually beneficial; he was looking for work, and they were in the market for a new prep cook. Regulus turned out to be a better fit than either had originally anticipated.

As the crew swiftly approached their busy season, Regulus became more confident in his role within the kitchen. One of the roles Regulus is rather fond of is his little buddy role. Each core member of the staff has their designated, as Sirius calls it, ‘little buddy.’. In layman’s terms, it is someone that helps with smaller tasks that benefit the primary job. Often a little buddy would also have their own separate smaller tasks to complete but is required to assist when their core member needs it. For example, in Remus’ case, Sirius is his little buddy. If Remus was busy making the main course of a meal, his little buddy would focus on the prep work necessary to finish his job. He would focus on meat prep, like trimming, marinating, and seasoning. Sirius would focus on preparing any other needed ingredients. 

Before Remus, Sirius was James’ little buddy; Regulus can’t even imagine how they got anything finished. On a good day, James and Sirius goof off a healthy amount. On a bad one, the pair can’t go more than twenty minutes without distracting one another. 

Remus and Sirius, on the other hand, work like a well-oiled machine. Before Remus can ask for something, Sirius has read his mind and is already placing it into his open hand. The undeniable chemistry between Remus and Sirius became obvious when Remus was hired, showing that they were a better match. 

Naturally, they reassigned Sirius to Remus as his little buddy. Leaving James to rely on Marlene or Peter when he needed assistance, that is, until Regulus joined the crew. Similarly to Remus and Sirius, James and Regulus are a perfect match. Falling into his role in assisting James came naturally to Regulus. After a month of watching the man closely, Regulus can almost anticipate James’ need and supply him with what is required to finish the job. 

Regulus has always been the type of person that excels when on a set routine. Working for the Marauders was exactly the routine he needed. Every day Regulus starts his shift the same way. By greeting the staff already in the kitchen before heading to change into his uniform. Once changed, he returns to the kitchen and reviews the work sheets and prep list before starting his tasks. After finishing the lunch meals, the crew packs and delivers them. Often, James and Regulus work deliveries together, similar to the little buddy system. After they return to the kitchen, they then finish the prep work for the following day and clean. There is little deviation from the set routine but enough variety to keep it interesting. The core motion never varies: arrive, change, lunch, deliver, prep, clean, and repeat.

However, much to Regulus’ dismay, the first week of April disrupts his set pattern. When Regulus arrives earlier than usual to the Marauders’ compound, there aren’t as many vehicles parked in the lot as there should be. Entering the building, the usual crew members aren’t putzing about the kitchen like they normally would before the proper work begins. It’s rather odd for Remus to not be busying himself with Sirius yammering his ear off. Even Peter isn’t in his usual spot lounging on his workstation. 

Strange.

Yet, the convection ovens hum reheating, the LED lights are buzzing, and even the hood vent above the ovens whistles. The kitchen is full of life, but not a single breathing soul. Regulus does his best to ignore the liminal qualities the kitchen possesses when not occupied by bustling staff.

Regulus feels content when he enters the staff locker room to the sounds of a shower running. A sign of life in an otherwise eerily quiet building. Regulus hardly notices the running water stop as he removes his coat and hangs it on the hook in his locker. As Regulus reaches to pull his shirt over his head, he then stops. 

There it is, that feeling of someone’s eyes on him. 

A pleasant sight greets Regulus when he turns around. With a towel draped over his head, James is standing in his boxer briefs, covered in water droplets.

“Don’t let me interrupt. I was just starting to enjoy the show.” James offers with a cheeky smile as he leans on the wall dividing the lockers and the showers. 

Regulus pauses, taking in the sight that is James’ mostly naked form. He was just as attractive as the first time Regulus had seen him in a similar state of undress. He lets his eyes drift over James’ body.

There’s a tattoo of a quote above James’ right knee that Regulus can’t quite make out. However, his attention is quickly drawn to the waistband of James’ underwear, riding low on his hipbones. Just as they had been the first time he had met the man. More of the black tattoos are visible on James’ toned V-shaped abdomen, but not enough to tell exactly what they are.

Regulus, keeping his back turned away from James, pulls his shirt over his head.

“I’m surprised you can see anything from all the way over there.” He remarks, his expression is slightly amused as he refers to James’ lack of glasses.

“I know a sexy blob when I see one,” James responds with a chuckle.

Regulus’ shoulders shake gently as he laughs at the ridiculousness of being referred to as a ‘sexy blob.’. Only James Potter could make something so idiotic as ‘sexy blob.’ sound like flirting.

“I’m not opposed to getting a better look,” James continues drying his hair with the towel as he makes his way to his locker.

When Regulus turns to face James this time, the taller man is now wearing his glasses, with the towel draped around his neck. Regulus watches in amusement as James slips his jeans on, leaving them unbuttoned.

“And?” Regulus questions, folding his arms over his bare chest, a smug expression on his face. “What’s the verdict? Still ‘sexy’ even all the way over here?” 

“The sexiest,” James confirms, stepping into Regulus’ space and tucking a loose curl behind his ear. He then rests his hand on the side of Regulus’ face. 

“Mmm, right answer,” Regulus tells him, pressing closer into James’ space; he smells clean with a hint of eucalyptus.

Regulus is close enough that their lips are almost touching. He runs his hand down towards the waistband of James’ underwear. James closes the gap, pressing his lips to Regulus, kissing the shorter man gently as he shivers into Regulus’ touch.

Once he reaches James’ hipbone, Regulus dips his fingertips into the waistband. 

James pulls away from the kiss. “Reg,” he warns playfully.

Regulus pays him no mind as he shifts James’ jeans out of the way with his other hand. Allowing him the access he needs to fold the waistband down slightly. James watches as Regulus reveals one stag's antler low on James’ hip. It definitely wasn’t what Regulus was expecting, but he can’t stop himself as a filthy thought crosses his mind. If Regulus were on his knees, he would look like he had antlers. That is, if he were giving James head.

James finally cluing in on what Regulus’ intentions were. He draws Regulus to reality, questioning, “Thoughts?”

Regulus makes eye contact with James as a small smirk threatens to sneak its way onto his lips. “Don’t even, James, you know that you’re attractive.”

James is unable to hold back a grin. “Yeah, but maybe I want to hear you say it.”

Without breaking eye contact, Regulus lets the smirk spread onto his face. As he then pulls the waistband of James’ boxer briefs out. 

Regulus enquires in a sultry tone, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Before James could respond, Regulus releases the waistband quickly. Letting the elastic snap back into James’ skin. James’ body stiffens at the sensation; his eyes fall closed as he knits his eyebrows together, visibly affected.

“No disminuyas ninguna de mis aflicciones, solo dame fuerza para soportarlas.” James whispers to himself under his breath.

Regulus ignores James and turns back to his locker as if nothing happened. He does his best to keep his back facing away from James as he resumes changing into his uniform. Regulus is about to pull his work shirt over his head when he hears the door to the locker room open.

Standing in the doorway is Sirius, already dressed in his uniform. “Prongs, are you—” Sirius starts until he sees Regulus. He is mildly surprised to see Regulus in the kitchen so early. Sirius greets his brother, “Oh, hey, Reggie. You’re here early.”

Regulus turns his head to look at Sirius to greet him, “Good morning, Sirius.”

Regulus tries to turn his back toward his locker, but he’s not fast enough. Sirius has spotted it; it’s too late. He is storming across the room, crowding his space with a horrified expression.

Oh no.

“What the hell happened to your back?!” The man nearly shouts, his tone laced with genuine concern. 

Great, because this is exactly what he needs right now. 

“What? Siri, it’s nothing.” Regulus protests, pulling his shirt over his head. 

Sirius is grabbing Regulus by the shoulders, “Nothing, that doesn’t look like nothing. Let me see.”

“What is going on right now?” James perks up with a worried tone.

Sirius is forcefully turning Regulus to face James while Regulus tries to squirm out of his brother’s grasp. Regulus does everything in his power not to make eye contact with James. He knows the man has a concerned expression on his face, and Regulus doesn’t want to see it.

“Sirius, I’m telling you I’m fine.” Regulus protests, trying to stop Sirius from pulling his shirt up over his back. 

The pair are roughhousing like children, Sirius trying to undress him and Regulus trying to push Sirius off.

“‘Fine’? That’s definitely not ‘fine.’” Sirius insists, trying to gain the upper hand in the tussle.

“Sirius, let go.” Regulus shoots back in a warning tone, shaking one of Sirius' hands off of him.

“Your back is all black and blue.” Sirius readjusts his grip on Regulus, holding him in place.

“You’re being dramatic.” Regulus shifts his hold on the hem of his shirt.

“I’m being dramatic, am I? Look at you! Why won’t you just show me?” Sirius raised his voice in disbelief.

“Because there’s nothing to see.” Regulus tries to convince his brother.

James just stands there dumbfounded. He expected this kind of behaviour from Sirius, but he never in his wildest dreams expected this from Regulus. He watches the two brothers fight, uncertain what to do. Should he say something? Should he break them up? What should he do in this situation?

“Then you’ll have no problem showing me.” Sirius counters. 

Sirius then pulls away, removing himself from Regulus entirely. Regulus stumbles a little, regaining his footing while Sirius stands back with his arms crossed as though he’s already proved his point. Sirius knows how to push Regulus’ buttons like no other person. If there’s one thing Sirius knows about his brother, it’s that Regulus will never back down from a challenge.

“Go on then, if there’s ‘nothing to see,’” Sirius taunts.

Regulus shoots his brother a venomous look before he shouts in defeat, “Fine!”

Regulus lifts his shirt over his head, revealing his back to the pair. There, running horizontally across the centre of Regulus’ back, is a deep purple bruise. The edges of the bruise are starting to fade, but the centre of it is still rich in colour.

After a few moments of standing in silence, Regulus speaks first, trying to sound convincing. “I told you it was nothing, plus it looks a lot worse than it actually is.”

“Reggie, what on earth happened?” Sirius questions, his tone sounding more concerned as he reaches to touch Regulus’ back. 

Before he can, Regulus pulls his shirt down, covering himself again. “Really, it’s nothing, Sirius. You know, I bruise easily.” 

Regulus turns to face the pair, and for the first time since the argument started, he makes eye contact with James. James’ expression is almost unreadable; is he upset? Hurt? Regulus can’t quite tell. Sirius, on the other hand, looks very annoyed.

“That’s not what I asked, Regulus, and you know it.” Sirius’ tone is shifting to one that means business. “Did someone—” Sirius starts again, but Regulus doesn’t let him finish the thought.

“No, Sirius, it isn’t anything like that.”

“Then why won’t you tell me?” Sirius questions again, his voice more gentle this time.

Regulus’ eyes flicker to James for a moment before returning to his brother. It's a pleading expression. Sirius catches the look and turns to James with an expression of disbelief. Regulus isn’t sure what Sirius thinks is going on, but he knows for certain his brother has the wrong idea.

Sirius enquires in a dangerous tone, “James, do you know something I don’t?”

In all the time, Regulus has known about his brother and James’ relationship. He can’t remember a time he has ever heard his brother call James by his first name. It has always been ‘Prongs,’ never ‘James.’. That alone is worrisome. The tension is thick in the air as the three men stand in silence. 

Regulus looks between them; he tries to speak, “Siri—” Sirius raises his hand, effectively hushing Regulus. 

Sirius’ could slice clean through James with his gaze alone.

“James.” Sirius repeats himself, waiting for the tall man to respond. There is unquantifiable rage bubbling to the surface. 

James looks anxious. “Padfoot—”

“Don’t you dare, ‘Padfoot,’ me. If you know what happened to my little brother, you better tell me now, James. I want the truth.”

James’ face falls as he confesses, “It’s my fault—” 

Regulus cuts him off, trying to rectify the situation unfolding before him. “No, that’s not what—” 

Sirius interrupts again, his tone just as harsh, “Your fault?” Sirius is yelling now, “What do you mean it’s your fault?!” His anger spilling out of him like a pot of water boiling over.

“No! James didn’t—” Regulus tries again to explain becoming more agitated every time Sirius interrupts him.

“Regulus, enough!” Sirius bites.

“But Sirius—” Regulus tries again, looking between the men.

Sirius turns to his little brother, sending a frightening look in his direction. “Regulus, wait outside.”

“Sirius.” Regulus hisses, looking to his brother, then to James, with a worried look.

“Regulus. Arcturus. Black. Outside. Now.” Sirius demands. 

Regulus hesitates a moment, looking at James, but the tall man maintains his gaze on the floor in front of him.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” Sirius warns, pointing at the door.

Regulus turns without a word, doing as his brother instructs. He exits the locker room, walking out into the staff room. He doesn’t stop until he is standing on the stairs leading down toward the warehouse. Regulus sits on the top step, defeated and feeling rather numb. He can hear the faint sound of Sirius yelling in the distance.

It wasn’t James’ fault that Regulus got hurt; James protected him. He doesn’t understand why James is claiming responsibility for what happened at the bar. Had James not reacted as fast as he had, both Evan and he could have been seriously hurt. If Sirius had let him explain, this whole situation wouldn’t be happening right now.

After a short while, the yelling subsides, and Regulus can hear footsteps approaching; he doesn’t bother looking to see who it is. He already knows it’s Sirius.

“Reggie,” Sirius starts in a soft tone. He sits down next to Regulus on the top step, placing an arm gently over his little brother’s shoulder.

Regulus turns to the sound of his brother’s voice, his expression a little dazed. Sirius pulls him into a hug, resting his head on Regulus’ shoulder.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you. I didn’t mean to get so upset.” Sirius offers sounding genuine as he rubs soft circles into Regulus’ upper back.

Regulus sits there unmoving; he lets Sirius hug him as he explains.

“James knows better than to keep things from me, especially if it has something to do with you.” He continues. 

Regulus finally speaks up, “James did nothing wrong.”

“James shouldn’t—” Sirius starts again, but Regulus cuts him off.

“No.” Regulus says flatly as he pulls out of his brother’s hug. Regulus doesn’t let him get a word in, looking Sirius in the face, “It’s not James’ fault I got hurt. I don’t know what he said to you, but it isn’t his fault.”

Regulus places his hands on his brother’s shoulders, willing him to understand the words coming out of his mouth. 

“James protected me.” Regulus insists.

Sirius blinks at Regulus’ explanation, trying to make sense of the new information. He shakes his head almost as though he disagrees with what Regulus has told him. 

“That doesn’t change the fact that he kept it a secret,” Sirius responds. 

Regulus sends his brother a confused look. “How does that have anything to do with—” 

“This isn’t up for debate, Regulus. I dealt with the situation, and it won’t happen again,” Sirius tells him, moving away.

‘Dealt with the situation.’ Was his brother being intentionally cryptic?

“What do you mean?” Regulus tries to gain more information, but Sirius doesn’t budge.

Instead, he presses a kiss to the top of Regulus’ head. “I just wanted to say that I’m glad you’re alright and that I love you.” Sirius then stands and starts making his way down the stairs. He doesn’t give Regulus a chance to question him further. So Regulus sits there, stunned for a moment, trying to understand what just happened.

The second time, Regulus can hear footsteps approaching; he looks, knowing it’s James. Regulus stands as James presses past him, not making eye contact. James starts down the stairs but stops when Regulus calls his name.

“James.”

He turns to face Regulus from the lower step; they’re the same height now. James is looking down at Regulus’ shoes. He ducks down a little to force James to look him in the eye.

“James?” He questions in a softer tone, his expression mirroring his concern.

James finally shifts his gaze to look Regulus in the eyes. 

“Regulus,” he responds in a sombre tone.

There’s a massive shift in the man; his usual spark is nowhere to be found. As if someone had turned off the sun, something or someone had dimmed James’ light. That obviously had been his brother. What on earth did Sirius say to the man that would cause such a shift?

Regulus leans forward to caress James’ face like he had done the night at the bar. Just as he’s about to make contact, James’ expression shifts to one of pain. Reacting as though Regulus’ touch would burn him, James shies away.

“Did I do something wrong?” Regulus enquires, trying his best to keep his face neutral as he returns his hand to his side. 

Internally, Regulus is fending off wave after wave of anxiety. They crash over him, threatening to drag him down with the undertow. The look on Regulus’ face was enough to bring a little life back into James’.

“No, Reg—Regulus,” He corrects himself and then finishes, “You didn’t do anything.” 

“Did Sirius say something—” Regulus began, but James interrupted him.

“It’s alright, nothing to worry about. We’re good.” James shoots a half-sunny smile in his direction, avoiding Regulus’ direct eye contact.

It’s fake; James is clearly faking it. Regulus is having a hard time believing the words coming out of James’ mouth. Especially when the man is clearly not telling him everything. Regulus does his best to push his anxiety aside as he scans the man’s face. Slowly understanding why James didn’t want Regulus to touch him. There are cracks all over James’ armour; one touch from him and it would all come crumbling down. Regulus wants nothing more than to hold him close, but James is seemingly uninterested in any contact with Regulus, and that hurts.

They stand in silence for a moment before James speaks again, “We should probably join the others. We have a busy day at the stadium.”

Regulus is unable to respond; James is turning to walk away before he can. Even if he wanted to, Regulus isn’t certain what to say. He watches James make his way down the stairs. He follows, and the pair walks in silence.

Entering the kitchen, Regulus is surprised to find that everything is back to normal. The crew is busy working away at their tasks, getting everything ready for the day ahead. Looking at Sirius, even he is in a better mood; it’s as though the fight in the locker room never happened. Regulus could almost convince himself of that if it weren’t for James. 

The tall man won’t look Regulus in the eyes; every time he is close enough to touch him, James pulls away before they do. It isn’t until he notices Sirius’ intense gaze watching over them as they work that he clues in. Whatever Sirius had said to James was causing the man to keep his distance. Rather than press an already tense situation, Regulus does his best to give James the space he needs. 

James and he will be working alone at the stadium today. There, they will get another chance to talk without the added stress of his brother’s looming presence.

They continue to work in silence, speaking to one another only when necessary. Their productivity is unaffected by the odd tension surrounding the pair. The fake sunshine is still pouring off of James in waves. While Regulus does his best to not show how affected he is by James’ lack of attention toward him. Which seems to pacify Sirius’ looks until it’s time to leave for the stadium.

~~~

The drive to the stadium is awkward. The last time the pair had been in James’ truck, they were bantering back and forth in a flirtatious manner. Regulus would give anything to go back to that moment and as far away from this one as possible. 

James’ eyes are trained on the road as he cautiously navigates through the busy streets towards the stadium. Regulus wants to return to the conversation they had on the stairs, but solely based on James’ current expression, that wouldn’t be in his best interest.

When they arrive at the stadium, Regulus slings the badge he had gotten on his first trip here around his neck. They exit the truck and work in silence. Similar to his first time here, Regulus works on instinct alone. It's not as though James has made any effort to talk, let alone teach Regulus what he's meant to be doing. As much as he hates the idea, he’s winging it.

Four black Cambro boxes and two large portable hot boxes sit neatly stacked in the back of James’ truck bed. The Cambro boxes are just light enough for Regulus to lift without any assistance. However, the hot boxes are heavy, awkward to lift, and normally take two people to load and unload.

James opens the tailgate and pulls the trolley onto the ground. Regulus then begins to shift the Cambro boxes around, loading them onto the trolley one by one. While Regulus works, James reaches in and pulls one of the heavy hot boxes to the end of the tailgate. Without even so much as a word in Regulus’ direction, James lifts the first hot box onto the ground, wheels first. As Regulus is nearly finished unloading his boxes, he is about to help James lift the second, heavier hot box. Without batting an eye, James lifts it out with ease, stacking it on top, interlinking the boxes. 

Just as Sirius and he had done his first trip to the stadium, Regulus and James make their way towards the Gryffindor players’ lounge. It isn’t until the pair are pulling the food boxes through the lounge’s doorway that James finally speaks.

“Hot lunches are a little different from the cold boxes. We can’t just leave them and run like we normally would. These guys are like wild animals; there won’t be enough food for them all if we don’t serve them.” James explains as he pushes the hot boxes toward the staff area in the kitchen.

Regulus simply nods along, worried that if he speaks up, James might stop talking altogether. He follows James’ lead, pulling his trolley next to James’ hot boxes. He then lifts them from the trolley, stacking them in a neat row on the table in the staff area. 

As Regulus works, James keeps talking, “Lunch runs for two hours, from 1 P.M. until 3 P.M., no later. The guys work on a strict schedule around here, and if they aren’t back on the field by 3 P.M., they get a penalty.”

James moves towards the breakfast bar carrying three chafers from the staff area. Regulus watches as he lines them lengthwise along the breakfast bar buffet style. 

Shifting the placement until he’s satisfied, James calls over to Regulus, “Can you bring me six of those sternos?” 

“Sternos?” A confused expression on his face, Regulus questions, not quite understanding the request. He spins around in the space looking for anything labelled ‘Sterno.'.

“Right, I forgot you’re still new,” James states as he crosses back into the staff area, brushing past Regulus in the tight space. 

James reaches past Regulus into a box on the table behind him. He pulls out a small can with ‘Sterno’ written on the side. Holding it in front of Regulus in his open palm.

“Sternos are just portable heat sources; they keep the food hot during service. Can you go fill the pitcher next to the sink with water, and I’ll show you how they work?” James instructs as he moves back to the breakfast bar. 

Regulus does as he’s told, meeting James at the chafers. He lifts the lid of each chafer and instructs Regulus to fill each with water. James then pulls a lighter from the chest pocket of his chef coat and lights them. He then pulls one hotel pan of chicken, beef, and a vegetarian option from the hot box, placing them into the chafers.

After, James works alongside Regulus to unload the condiments from the Cambro boxes onto the end of the breakfast bar. A large bowl of shredded lettuce, one of shredded cheese, a bowl of homemade salsa, pico de gallo, sour cream, and everything one could need for the perfect taco. A large stack of disposable plates, a tower of serviettes, and a basket of tortillas are placed at the beginning of the breakfast bar. 

“We like to start the season off with a team favourite. The guys go wild when we do tacos, but it’s just leverage to convince them to play well. When they do well throughout the season, they’re allowed to pick their lunch as a reward. More often than not, it’s tacos. Mi abuela’s pico de gallo is to die for; the recipe is a family secret.”

Regulus watches as James rounds the breakfast bar, ensuring everything is in place. When he’s content, he reaches under the front side of the breakfast bar to pull out two stools. He carries them around the bar and places them against the pillar in the centre of the kitchen.

James then sits on the stool; he smiles, patting the one next to him, telling Regulus. “Come, it’s going to be a while before the guy starts showing up. We’re early.”

Regulus would have assumed this was the olive branch he had hoped for if it weren’t for that fake half-sunny smile. Identical to the one from the stairs, that irritating fake smile is affixed on James’ lips. Olive branch or not, Regulus accepts cautiously, settling down onto the tall stool. He watches James as the tall man makes himself comfortable against the wide pillar. He crosses his arms, leaning his head back against the wall with his eyes closed.

The pair sit in silence for a while, nothing but the sounds of Regulus’ heartbeat and James’ even breathing echoing in his ear. Regulus can’t help but feel like he’s missing his chance to talk with James about what happened this morning. His desperation to know the conversation that took place in the locker room far outweighs the anxiety he feels prickling under his skin. Regulus lets out a breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding.

“James,” Regulus starts.

James makes no sound, his facial expression neutral with his eyes still closed.

“Can we talk?” Regulus questions, shifting his body towards the other man.

“About?” the tall man grunts, not making an effort to seem even remotely interested in the conversation.

“About what happened in the locker room.” Regulus’ tone is low and cautious, as if trying not to spook a deer. 

Which seems to yield mild success in the form of James peeking at Regulus with one deep honey-coloured eye through his eyelashes.

Without turning his head, James responds, “There’s nothing to talk about, I told you. ‘We’re good.’.” Then he closes his eye again, returning to his restful, uninterested state.

“I understand that, but it would really mean a lot to me if we could at least clear the air.” Regulus confesses as though it weighs heavy on his chest.

It seems as though that was enough to draw James’ attention. James sits up, shifting to mirror Regulus’ body language, leaning in. Regulus’ words seemed to dispel some of the gloom that had clouded James’ usually sunny disposition.

Regulus starts, “James, I’m not stupid; I may not know him as well as I used to, but I know my brother well enough to know he can be a little much when it comes to me.” 

James is a little taken aback, but he sits in silence, allowing Regulus to get his feelings off his chest.

“As well-intentioned as my brother may be, he’s my brother, not my keeper. I’m more than capable of making decisions on my own.” Regulus finishes feeling more confident.

James then reaches a hand out and places it on Regulus’ knee closest to him. “If only it were that simple,” James says, implying that the situation is a lot more complicated than his brother’s involvement. 

Before Regulus can push the subject further, James pats Regulus’ knee and stands. He offers Regulus a half-sunny smile as the clouds return again. Regulus watches James wander over to the breakfast bar to greet a few men standing in line. 

The shorter man hadn’t noticed the small cluster of men entering the players’ lounge. They definitely look like rugby players at a glance. They’re tall, attractive blokes that are very in shape. Regulus can’t help but think that James would fit in well with this lot, being as fit as he is.

Regulus watches the interaction between James and the men for a bit. The tall man has slipped into his naturally charismatic role of server with ease. James looks as though he feels at home in the space; some of that naturally blinding sunshine is returning to James’ demeanour. 

The thought brings him back to his conversation about the no-dating rule. His brother’s words drifted through his mind: ‘He spent a lot of hours working at the stadium.’. It finally clicks to Regulus why James seems to have returned somewhat to his old self. These are James’ people; they know a side of him that Regulus’ has yet to have the pleasure of seeing. 

Regulus joins James at the breakfast bar; he stands as close to James as he can without James shifting away. Regulus doesn’t press the conversation further; tomorrow is another day; he’ll have other opportunities to talk with James. For now, Regulus wants to bask in James’ sunrays while they’re still shining. They spend the rest of their time at the stadium with not another word between them.

~~~

The rest of the week leaves Regulus trying to decipher James’ words, which plays out like a complex game of chess. With Regulus on the offence, trying his best to get James alone to talk. And James is playing defence, doing everything in his power to do the exact opposite. The moment James finds himself alone with Regulus, he would find a way out of the situation and as far away from Regulus as humanly possible. Which was a little hard considering they’re paired with the buddy system and they work the stadium shift together.

On Tuesday, Regulus waits patiently until he and James are at the stadium alone. When he tries to approach the subject surrounding the locker room fight again, James changes the subject. Albeit not the outcome Regulus was hoping for, he still counts it as a win because at least James is talking. Even if it’s small talk, anything is better than the sad eyes and cryptic response from yesterday.

On Wednesday, Regulus tries again with no advancements in his goal. If anything, James has taken a step back completely. James’ demeanour has shifted; the change isn’t enough to immediately alarm Regulus, but he notices James is considerably more withdrawn, cold, and distant. A hint of anxiety rears its ugly head at the sudden switch in the man Regulus was kissing no more than two days prior. The more time he tries to spend with James, the more James avoids him.

Thursday, James was a completely different man and in the worst way possible. Regulus wasn’t certain it was even possible for James to wake up on the wrong side of the bed. Thursday proved it was indeed, and then some. The tall man was curt with Regulus, speaking now only when absolutely necessary. Regulus’ anxiety is rising and is now at the forefront of his mind.

By the time Friday rolled around, Regulus was beginning to wonder if James really liked him at all. A week ago, there was no doubt in his mind that James felt something for him. Or, at the very least, James found him attractive. However, when James didn’t show up to work after almost a full week of increasing distance, Regulus was questioning where they stood. He may not fully understand what is going on with James, but he knows for certain that the man is avoiding him. This would have been an overestimation had it not been for a casual comment about James avoiding work to ‘escape unwanted tension.’. It was meant to be nothing more than Peter’s kitchen gossip; however, it had Regulus reeling the rest of the day.

Over the weekend, Regulus sulks around the flat, feeling utterly defeated. He mopes from his bed to the sofa and back again. An agonising loop that carries him from Saturday into Sunday. Regulus is infamous for his gloomy demeanour, but even for him, this was excessive. It’s almost as though he had taken some of James’ dark clouds home with him in his pocket.

Regulus lies sprawled out face-first on his bed with Evan sitting at the foot end of the mattress. Regulus’ duvet muffling his dramatic groans.

“Moping like this isn’t going to make the situation any better,” Evan tells him, crossing his legs on the bed. 

Which causes Regulus to groan again even louder.

“He’s still at it, is he?” Barty leans on the doorframe of Regulus’ bedroom, eating a banana.

“Yep,” Evan supplies flatly, looking from Regulus to his boyfriend.

“And he calls Sirius the dramatic one.” Barty snarks, taking another bite of his phallic fruit.

Not bothering to move, Regulus speaks a muffled sentence into his duvet. Neither Barty nor Evan can make out a single word.

“Reggie, we can’t understand you.” Evan tells Regulus, lightly tapping at the back of the man’s calf.

“Yeah, Reggie. You have to take the cock out of your mouth before you speak,” Barty adds in a teasing tone.

The first time Regulus lifts his head since Evan entered the room is so he can shoot a death glare at Barty. 

“I said, ‘Go fuck yourself, Bartemius Crouch Jr.’” Regulus replies in a sassy tone before flopping like a dead fish back onto his bed.

“No need, Evan did that earlier in the shower,” Barty shoots back with a shit-eating grin.

Which earns him the middle finger from Regulus pointed in the man’s direction. Barty chuckles, entering the room and making himself comfortable on the head of the bed next to Regulus, mirroring Evan’s posture.

“You certainly can’t avoid the situation. What are you planning on doing?” Evan asks, changing the subject back to the issue at hand.

Regulus moves into a sitting position, facing the pair. He looks exhausted. His hair is a wild mess, and his curls are flat in a few places.

Regulus shrugs and then simply says, “He’s avoiding me.”

“You can’t know that for sure,” Evan offers.

“He’s definitely avoiding you, Reggie.” Barty agrees with Regulus’ as he puts his banana peel on the nightstand behind himself.

“When’s he on the schedule next?” Barty asks, scooting closer to Regulus, leaning his back on the headboard.

Regulus pulls his phone out from under his pillow, opening the Marauders’ group chat. Barty leans forward to look over Regulus’ shoulder as the man scrolls to the schedule. 

“Monday. We work at the stadium together.” Regulus responds.

“Maybe you guys can talk then.” Evan supplies, trying to be optimistic about the situation.

Regulus rolls his eyes, throwing his phone on his bed. “Yeah, because that worked so well for me all of last week,” he says as he flops onto his back. “There’s no guarantee that he will even show up.” Regulus laments, covering his eyes with his palms.

“He has a point there, Ev.” Barty offers.

In response, Evan stretches across the space and lightly smacks Barty’s arm. Giving him an annoyed look that says, ‘You’re not helping.’. Barty shrugs his shoulders and shoots back a look that says, ‘What do you want me to say?’

Regulus pulls his hands from his face before he rants to the pair. “I have no idea what my idiot brother could have said to James to make him avoid me. If I could figure that out, then maybe I could somehow fix it. Because working alongside James has been torture. Not to mention my brother is dancing on my last fucking nerve.”

Evan rubs Regulus’ lower leg comfortingly.

“What did he say to you again, your brother?” Barty questions, running a hand through Regulus’ curls, attempting to flatten out the bird’s nest on the man’s head.

Regulus rolls closer to Barty, placing his head into the man’s lap. Then he responds in a tone mocking Sirius, “That he ‘dealt with the situation.’.” Regulus makes lazy quotation marks in the air around the words with one hand.

“What the fuck does that even mean?” Evan scoffs.

Regulus shoots up from Barty’s lap, “My point exactly!”

“Meanwhile, James just kept saying, ‘We’re good, don’t worry about it.’. Then when I finally got something out of him, he was like a fucking fortune cookie. Spouting some nonsense about how things aren’t that simple.” Rolling his eyes again.

Regulus falls back into Barty’s lap annoyed, “If it’s so complicated, why can’t he just make it simpler?” As he finishes, he pulls Barty’s hand back to his hair.

The two flatmates exchange a look as Barty plays with his curls again.

“I’d play it by ear if I were you. If he’s there, see if you can get him talking again. Maybe he’ll be more open to the idea of talking after his time away.” Evan offers.

“And if he isn’t there? What then?”

“Enjoy the fact that you’re not being tortured by the sexy idiot.” Barty adds with light amusement.

A silence falls over the trio while Regulus considers his options. When he comes up with no solution, he announces, “I’m tired; I’m going to take a nap.” 

He hints at the pair that he wants to be left alone. It’s not a total lie; he is tired. With less than four hours of sleep over the weekend, Regulus needs it.

“I’m going to get started on dinner; I’ll make your favourite.” Evan says, climbing off the bed. “I’ll check on you when it’s done.” He messes up Regulus’ hair before heading toward the door.

“Thanks, Ev.”

Regulus shifts as Barty moves from under him, untangling themselves from each other. Regulus makes himself comfortable on his bed again.

“Come on, Reggie, you’ve got this. Have a cry and a good wank, and you’ll be back to normal by tomorrow.” Barty says, offering his sage wisdom as he heads toward the door.

“Yeah, okay… I’ll get right on that.” Regulus deadpans with no intention of doing either of those things.

Barty is almost out the door when he turns back to sneak in one last comment. “Also, Reggie, do us all a favour and shower before tomorrow. This place is starting to smell of desperation and sadness.” Barty gestures around Regulus’ room with a chuckle.

Regulus props himself up onto his elbow, looking at Barty in the doorframe, “Fuck you.” He shoots towards the man with an unimpressed expression. “And take your fucking rubbish with you!” He shouts, picking up the banana peel from his bedside table and flinging it at the man through the doorway.

Barty catches it out of the air with a cheeky smile, “Remember: Cry, wank, shower. In that order.” He says in a teasing tone.

Regulus fully sits up in bed and launches a pillow in Barty’s direction. The pillow misses Barty as he ducks around the corner out of view. It lands in the hallway outside Regulus’ bedroom door. 

Barty peaks back around the corner, “Love you too, Reggie.” He tells the man, picking up the pillow and tossing it back onto the bed. 

Before Regulus can get a word in, Barty closes the bedroom door, leaving Regulus to his thoughts.

Laying back down on his bed, Regulus can feel the distinct prickling sensation of anxiety stinging under his skin. The steady rain clouds were rushing in to fill the empty spaces in his mind, at least not the spaces occupied with thoughts of James.

What on earth is wrong with him? How can a man he’s only known for a short while cause such a stir within him? The thoughts clawing at the back of his mind started to wriggle loose.

Maybe there’s a chance that Regulus likes James more than he originally assumes. Not that it makes a huge difference with James avoiding him.

The thought sends another thrash of anxiety through Regulus before he catches it and pushes it deeper down. ‘It will pass,’ he tells himself, not sounding very convincing as the rains begin to pour in his mind.

Translations "Mi abuela’s" - "My grandma's" "No disminuyas ninguna de mis aflicciones, solo dame fuerza para soportarlas.” - "Do not decrease any of my afflictions; only give me strength to bear them."