#I probably should sleep because I have to wake up in five hours | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

unclewaynemunson · 11 months

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Eddie can hear from Steve's breathing that he's sleeping deeply and he's wondering how the hell he can possibly be asleep right now. His own mind is spinning and he kinda feels like he might throw up soon. Steve went to sleep with his back to Eddie and now Eddie can do nothing but stare at his silhouette in the dark.

He doesn't really understand what happened: they had this big fight and the word slipped out of his mouth before he even realized it did. The one word he had promised Steve to never say to him. And then Steve stormed out and Eddie just fucking stood there, unable to move and nauseous as hell, tears prickling behind his eyes. By the time his brain started working again and he realized he should probably go look for Steve, he could already have gone anywhere.

Half an agonizing hour later he returned; Eddie didn't give a shit about their stupid fight anymore and tried to apologize, but Steve... wouldn't let him. I know you didn't mean it like that, was all he said. It's okay, but I'm really exhausted, so let's go to bed first and talk about it in the morning.

The worst part is that he doesn't know what he should prepare himself for. Steve has never done anything like this before, but Eddie sure as hell recognizes the signs: waving him off, attempting to make him feel safe, so he'll let his guard down and then it'll all come crashing down on him. He can hear his mother's voice again, so clearly that she might as well be standing right at his bedside:

No, of course I'm not mad at you, Eddie. You couldn't help it, it's not your fault.

Have you already forgotten about what you've done, Eddie? Looks like I have to punish you after all.

The worst one had been after his dad got locked up, five whole years of jailtime ahead of him. He had never been behind bars for more than a couple months on end before. And Eddie had been with him when it happened. No, worse: he had run away.

You couldn't help it, Eddie, you were scared, and you couldn't have gotten him out of it anyway.

He had been grateful for his mom's understanding words, had finally lowered his guard when she even made him a hot cocoa before bed. It only took one restless night of sleep until he'd find out what she really thought about him: a coward, a sissy, someone who didn't know what loyalty was. Didn't he love his father? Would he like to see his own dad rot in jail? She was often cruel with her words, but the times she was cruel with her hands were a rarity.

Eddie had never viewed Steve as being anything like his mother, but with yesterday's events in his mind and Steve unreachable on the other side of the bed, he supposes it's more than justified. However shit will go down tomorrow morning, he will most certainly deserve it.

------

He must've somehow drifted off in the early hours before morning, because he wakes up to light pouring through the windows and - an empty space on Steve's side of the bed.

He quietly slips out from under the blankets and tiptoes to the door, but when he peers around the corner, he finds the living room empty. Upon further inspection, the kitchen and the bathroom both turn out to be abandoned as well. Steve's nowhere to be seen. A new wave of nausea washes over Eddie when he realizes that things must be even worse than he was expecting.

He remembers those times, too: the times when his mother would disappear, sometimes for a couple hours, sometimes for days on end. When he was little, he'd get hungry. As he grew older and learned to take care of himself, he'd only get scared. When she'd finally get back, she'd tell him that he shouldn't be so dramatic, that surely she'd told him where she was off to and for how long she'd be gone. Sometimes, she'd even tell him that no, she hadn't been away for three days, she had only gone to the store, what the hell was he talking about?

When the realization hits him that Steve might never come back - the same realization that used to cause the paralyzing fear whenever his mom disappeared - it becomes difficult to breathe. He staggers and stumbles into the bedroom, where he starts randomly pulling the doors of their closets and dresser drawers open in a desperate attempt to see if all of Steve's clothes are still there. His polos are hanging in a neat row in the closet, and his underwear dresser is filled just fine. His toothbrush is still in the bathroom, just like his shaving cream and his medication: that should be enough confirmation that at least he'll come back but maybe that's exactly what he wants Eddie to think and he can't breathe anymore and -

-------

A good night's sleep and a morning run are the perfect cure for just about everything, if you ask Steve. He comes home all sweaty and short of breath, but feeling better than he has in days. His head is clear and yesterday's fight suddenly seems almost insignificant. He opens the door, ready to make some coffee and finally properly talk with Eddie, who was still fast asleep when he left the house two hours ago.

But when he calls out a "Hi, babe!" the apartment stays eerily quiet. There's no trace of Eddie in the kitchen, nor in the living room, and Steve wonders if maybe he has gone out to get some snacks. He shrugs and walks into the bedroom to take off his sweaty sports clothes - and chuckles quietly to himself when he sees the mop of dark curls above the blanket.

'Eddie, it's almost noon, man,' he says while walking up to the bed. It's only then that he notices that all their drawers and closets are opened, as if Eddie had been frantically searching for something.

'Have you been sleepwalking again?'

He goes to sit down on the bed, right next to the lump of the blanket that is Eddie's sleeping body. When Eddie still doesn't move, Steve gently combs a hand over the curls and then pulls back the blanket.

'Hey there.'

He traces a thumb over Eddie's cheek, which finally causes him to jolt up. Steve immediately clocks that there's a look on his face that can only be described as concerning: something frantic and fearful is radiating from those big brown eyes he knows so well.

'You came back,' Eddie sighs out when he sees it's Steve who woke him.

Steve frowns. 'Of course I came back. Are you okay? Did you have a nightmare?'

'How long were you -'

There are tears in Eddie's eyes now, and he looks more scared than Steve has seen him look in years.

'Oh, baby, it's okay, I'm here,' he says, opening his arms to catch Eddie in an embrace. 'I was only gone on a run. Yesterday was pretty intense, remember? So I wanted to clear my head while you were sleeping in. I've only been away for two hours or so.'

Eddie slumps heavily against Steve's chest; his whole body is trembling like a leaf.

'What happened, baby?'

'What day is it?'

'Jesus, Eddie, you're scaring me. It's Saturday.'

Eddie lifts up his head; his cheeks are red and puffy and wet.

'Saturday?' Eddie repeats, voice sharp and frantic again. 'Is that true? Are you telling the truth?'

'Yes, what's going on, Eddie? Why would I - oh.' He doesn't need to finish that question to understand exactly what's happening, and he quietly curses himself for being so blind to it. 'Oh, fuck, Eddie, I didn't mean to - I'm so sorry.'

Not giving a shit about his sweaty sports clothes, he pushes Eddie a little bit to make space and crawls under the blanket beside him. He pulls him in his arms, cradling his head with his hand, and keeps repeating sweet-nothings like I'm here and I'm not going anywhere and I love you and I'm sorry for scaring you until Eddie has finally stopped trembling and his breathing is back to normal again.

'You're here,' Eddie finally says. His voice is creaky in a way that's breaking Steve's heart.

Steve leans forward to press a kiss against his temple.

'I'm here,' he repeats. 'And I promise you I would never do anything like the shit your mother used to pull, alright?'

'Watch out with that,' Eddie says. 'I also promised to never call you bullshit.'

Steve utters a sound that's somewhere between a sniff and a huff. 'Was that - a joke? Did you seriously just go from full breakdown to cracking jokes?'

Eddie hums something unintelligible and lets his eyes fall close while he nestles himself into a more comfortable position in Steve's arms.

'Why did you think I would ever do something like your mom?' Steve's question is almost a whisper.

Eddie sighs deeply. 'Because yesterday,' he says, burying his head against Steve's chest. 'It was too easy. You should've been mad, but you forgave me right away. And then you went to sleep with your back towards me and I - I had the whole night to spiral further about it. And then I woke up and you weren't there and - I dunno, my head was running wild, man.'

Too easy. That's exactly what it feels like, sometimes, with Eddie. To hear him say bullshit and know he doesn't do it to intentionally hurt him. To have a fight and know that they still love each other through it all. To come home in the apartment they share and have coffee together every day. It's too easy, too good to be true. Not something either of them ever thought they could have with someone. But they do. Even if they both take their damaged hearts with them. Even if they've both been raised on cruelty instead of love. Maybe it's not too easy after all; maybe they simply need to learn the difference between easy and too easy. Maybe easy is exactly what they deserve to share with each other.

Steve brushes some stray hairs out of Eddie's face. His cheeks are still swollen and his eyes are red. And it's never been easier to love him.

#don't mind me rambling about stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #fruity ficlet #tw child abuse

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pinguwrites · 19 days

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𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔' 𝑺𝒚𝒏𝒅𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒆 ⸻ Chapter One

series masterlist. next chapter

𝒑𝙖𝒊𝙧𝒊𝙣𝒈 | francis mosses x reader

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 | 1.5k

Warnings: none

A/N: I promise it'll get more exciting later lol

The elevator dinged, and your heart raced. It was dark out, and so the lobby was dimmed — that blue hue that came right before the sun’s rising. After peeking a small look to the side, you quickly went back to the newspaper you were reading, as if you hadn’t noticed the sound at all. Though you didn’t need to hear or see to know who it was. No one else in Sama Place got up this early, except perhaps for you. It was you and Francis Mosses, every day alone at five in the morning. Perfect, wasn’t it?

“Mornin’,” he said, tipping his hat slightly. It was white, with the words “MILKMAN” etched onto the front. If anything, that added detail made him look even more handsome — uniformed, well-put-together, with just a hint of authority. Everything you liked.

“Good morning, Francis,” you greeted, resting your elbows on the desk in front of you. Placing the newspaper aside, you focused your attention on him, but when he approached you, he took it between his fingers and flipped to the page you were at.

“Crossword? It’s a bit early for that,” he mused, eyeing all the columns and rows you filled in. It was a hard one, but nothing you couldn’t handle. Besides, what else were you supposed to do, stare at the wall waiting to say ‘hi’ to the next person who came by?

“I like puzzles, they get me thinking . . . you know, you should do something like this, too.” Francis furrowed his eyebrows, just slightly. “Not puzzles, necessarily. But a hobby.”

It just occurred to you at this very moment that he probably did have a hobby, but as someone who was just a doorwoman, you weren't privy to that information.

“I’m sure you do,” you added with a chuckle. “It’s only that I never see you doing anything but work. You’re so tired all the time. How much effort does being a milkman really require?”

He bit his lower lip. “More than you think. I used to get up at one.”

The idea that whatever company he was working for forced him to do this made you upset. Francis deserved nothing but freedom and long vacations and waking up to brunch, not whatever coffee he drank in the morning to get himself going.

“One?” you repeated, absolutely stunned. “Well, I’m glad you managed to change your shift. Most bosses I know aren’t flexible with that sort of stuff.”

“I was actually doing fine with my original hours. I just changed them because . . .”

“Because what?”

He thought for a moment, his cheeks dusted pink. “Wanted to enjoy the world a little. Can’t very well do that if you have to sleep at seven in the afternoon.” He paused. “I have to go, I’ll see you later tonight, ma’am.”

“Alright. Have a nice day, sir.”

You watched as he left, a longing gaze. In your mind, you imagined spending time with him, whether it be to see a movie or just walk around the city. You found that highly unlikely, though. Mostly because you could never bring yourself to ask him, and never thought he would ever ask you.

+++

“Really?” you said, a little disappointed. “I’d hate to see you go.”

Dr. William Afton shrugged, a grin across his lips. “I mean, it’s quite the modern idea, don’t you think? I think there ought to be more family restaurants out there. And with my engineering background, I think I’m just the right man to create something fun for children.”

“Your idea sounds like a science fiction novel,” you admitted, “but I like it. What does Mia think?”

“Oh, I had to convince her a little, but in the end, she’ll do as I say. Besides, we’re not moving very far. Just closer to the suburbs.”

You nodded. “I’ll miss you. Make sure to stop by again when you can.”

He agreed and went on his way to finish moving the rest of his belongings to his car. It was silly to want him to stay, but that was how it felt here. Everyone knew everyone, it was like a family. You’d made more friends here than you ever did before. Change wasn’t something you enjoyed.

+++

The day had passed by quickly. You took your lunch break and then went straight back to work. You made a few calls to make sure things were in order. If anything was wrong with the plumbing or if the wallpaper had chipped — things like that — it was your responsibility to fix it. Taking calls for potential renters, being in general a polite and pleasant person, it all came with your job.

It was unusual for a woman to hold this kind of position. Women barely worked at all. Most were housewives or teachers or secretaries. The fact that you even got this job at all was a miracle. And the fact that the people in this building were so pleasant was a blessing.

After your father died you thought everything was over. He left you a house, a small, one-story building with a nice lawn and a small backyard. It was closed off from the rest of the street, the way he liked it. Away from others, with his own peace. You supposed that trait passed down to you. Other than a simple conversation, you preferred to be by yourself rather than out with a large group of friends, partying at risqué clubs. Besides, even if you liked that kind of stuff, your father would never have approved.

You were dependent on him, right till the very end. Though you graduated from college, you didn’t know how to get a loan from a bank, drive a car, or even do your taxes. The easiest thing to do was to find a husband, but it was just so difficult. When you saw that sign outside of Sama saying ‘HIRING NOW’ you knew that was where you had to go. A new start. New opportunity. For the first time, you could make your own money, support yourself, and live the life you want.

You sighed, thinking about everything as you leaned back in your chair. The weather was hot today, so you set the fan beside your desk on. It was blowing through your hair, the coolness brushing against your skin with relief. It made your skirt rumple at the ends, but whenever it did that you just straightened it out, pulling it over your knees once more.

“Hey,” a voice said behind you.

Startled, you sat up straight, only to realize it was just Anastacha, the girl from the second floor. She lived with her mom, who was a cook at a restaurant, but apparently trying to make it as a chef. She had pigtails in her hair like always and was wearing a simple plaid dress.

“You scared me,” you said, tone both playful and scolding. “Don’t do that again.”

“Sorry,” she apologized, but she didn’t seem very sorry. “I need help with my homework. Mom says you had a good education, and that if I ever needed help I could just come to you.”

You smiled warmly. “Sure. Pull up that chair over there, and I’ll see what I can do.”

You looked through the folder. It was just basic algebra, nothing too difficult. You remembered doing this in middle school. For the next ten minutes, you both read through each problem and solved it together. She had a lot of questions — annoying ones — but it was fine. She was just a kid, and you were happy to help.

Just as you were explaining the last part to her, the front door opened.

It was Francis.

Distracted, you glanced up and down his body. Was it odd that you found him the most beautiful man ever? His long, Roman nose, and his smooth, pale skin. The way the veins in his hands flexed every time he moved them, the light blue dress shirt that hugged his slim, muscled arms, and that dark, tousled hair, widow’s peak dipped in the middle of his forehead.

He passed by you with a short nod. It almost hurt that he didn’t bother to stay longer, but you could see the bags under his eyes and his sluggish movements. He was tired. And to be fair, so were you.

When the elevator door closed, Anastacha exclaimed, “Oh, he likes you!”

“Shh!” You didn’t need people hearing that. “He does not. Do you want to finish this or not?”

“He does,” she insisted with a giggle. “You saw the way he looked at you?”

“You can’t determine things based on a single look.”

“Yes, I can. Mr. Mosses is nice, but he kind of just ignores everyone. He doesn’t do that with you.”

The thought that Francis may like you was an intoxicating one. He was just a man, one that you never exchanged many words with, yet he managed to make you feel all sorts of ways. Was it possible that Anastacha was right? That he really did like you?

“I bet you like him, too.”

You glared at her. You did not need Anastacha spreading rumors about how you were in love with the milkman, however true that may be.

“No, I don’t. Focus.” You pointed the pencil back at her homework. “Now, in order to find x, you have to subtract . . . . . .”

Taglist: @Meetmeatyourworst @hanawrites404 @Emimurphy2008

#francis mosses #francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #francis mosses x y/n #pinguwrites #that's not my neighbor #fanfiction #lovers' syndrome

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starstruckmoony · 8 months

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Can I get a FIC abt the reader being Theodore’s gf and best friend and she’s embarrassed and alone in her dorm bc of cramps and they are REALLY REALLY bad and he just comforts her and they snuggle and he gives her his hoodie and fluffy!! (I’m dying from my cramps in my bed rn 🙏 I need comfort from my book bf)

thank you for this request anon!! i am so so so sorry for taking longer than i should have but i've just been all over the place with requests and in just general this past week 😭 so yeah i am a little late but i hope you're feeling better and that this meets your expectations <333333

in between.

masterlist , requests

pairing - theodore nott x slytherin!reader

trope/tags - fluff

word count - 1.7k

warnings - descriptive period pains

waking up in time for class was always difficult for you. not even because you were lazy or didn't care about your grades enough, but mostly because theodore, your boyfriend and number one favourite person in the world, had an annoying little habit of staying inside of your room until pansy chased him out because she wanted her beauty sleep. most of the time, that would be somewhere around two in the morning. and you had to get up at six. four hours of sleep. wonderful. usually, you didn't mind. you didn't like getting out of bed, anyway.

but this morning, you very much minded. your eyes snapped open, you weren't entirely sure what had woken you up. you grunted, irritated, and disappeared under your two blankets to shield yourself from the cold of the dawn, sighing when your realised you that you'd have to get up in no less than ten minutes. with transfiguration as your first class, too. how you loved having to turn tables into chairs first thing in the morning.

but then you felt it. a terrible sensation in your abdomen, so harsh it felt like sharp knife was slicing through you. it took everything in you not release a pained moan. the discomfort spread almost all the way to your upper thighs, coming in constant strong waves. you groaned, hiding further under the covers and curling yourself up into a ball.

you wanted to cry. not only were you exhausted, but you were also in a tremendous amount of pain. you had got your period the night before, and it was going kind of smoothly... as smooth as they go... so you weren't really expecting to wake up with a dying wish to pass the hell away barely five hours later.

pansy's footsteps sounded throughout the room, and you heard the bathroom door shut. you didn't move a muscle. a few moments later, it opened again, and she paced around for a bit, shuffling through her trunk and then your own when she couldn't find a clean pair of socks. she was humming some tune as she got ready, seeming to be in an okay mood, but then she scoffed. her steps got louder as she neared your bed, pulling the covers off of you.

"bitch, you'll be la– oh merlin, are you alive?" she was a little startled seeing you resemble the appearance of an ill victorian child, but nevertheless took a seat at the edge of your mattress, "no." you dragged out, retrieving your precious blanket. you couldn't recall the last time you felt this bloody awful.

"period cramps, huh?" she made a sympathetic face at you, very familiar with that struggle. you only nodded. she hugged you and stayed like that for a bit, before standing up and walking over to her drawer. she dug out a few chocolate frogs and tossed them over to you.

you muttered a strained thank you, collecting them all. you placed them onto your night stand, grunting. you knew that they probably wouldn't help as much as you wished for them to, but you still appreciated your friend for trying. it was the least she could do in those circumstances.

she sighed, picking up her bag and throwing it over her shoulder, "i'll tell mcgonagall you won't be coming in today." you sat up immediately, getting a bit stressed, "don't tell theo."

"huh?" she deadpanned, eyeing you like you had gone mental.

"i don't want him to worry." you explained with a shrug, wincing when the cramps got stronger. you knew what your boyfriend was like, meaning you were aware that he'd come running right to you if pansy were to tell him about the dreadful state you were in. you didn't really want him to see you like that. your head was beginning to hurt, too.

she rolled her eyes, "as if he won't come looking for you the moment he sees you aren't with me." she bent down and picked up a dirty stocking, throwing it at you. and she was right. theodore loved you more than all of his friends combined, so you could already picture him bolting through the dungeons and straight through your door after seeing that you were missing. he wouldn't even have to be told why you weren't present.

pansy left then, leaving you to suffer all alone. you were barely able to get out of bed to clean yourself up. even moving around was hard. it took you about two minutes to drag yourself to the bathroom and and another fifteen to leave it. managing your hygiene had never been more exhausting.

just as you collapsed back into your bed, ready for a few more hours of torture, the door of your room opened. there went theodore, holding one of his hoodies, a bunch of period products you weren't sure how he acquired, and some chocolates he had stolen from lorenzo's drawer. your heart may have simply melted.

"hi." you peeked at him from beneath the covers, your voice small and tired.

"oh, love." his face twisted with concern as he took in the sight of you. he quietly shut the door and was next to your bed in a matter of seconds. he clumsily set all of the things he brought onto your nightstand, eager to have you in his arms as soon as possible. he shrugged off his robes, kicking his shoes away too. you tried to sit up, and once you did, he took the opportunity to take the shirt you had slept in off of you. he replaced it with his hoodie before settling down next to you. it smelled like him, which was also one of your favourite things in the world. you sighed, a warm feeling overwhelming you.

"tell me if you need anything and i'll get it for you, okay?" he brought the blankets all the way up to your neck, throwing an arm around you and pulling you close. he was willingly missing out on classes for you. could you just let that slide?

"theo–" he placed a finger against your lips to hush you, "i can take one day off, it's not like it's gonna kill me." he retrieved his hand.

"but–"

"no buts." he made you get closer, and you let out a startled giggle, momentarily forgetting about the pain you were in.

you laid there in silence for a little while. theo was rubbing comforting circles into your back, pressing a kiss to your forehead every now and then. it eased you a little bit, and you weren't feeling so terrible anymore. the pain was still there, but whatever he was doing made it a little easier to bear.

"is it really bad?" he questioned after seeing you had scrunched your face up. you hummed and he sat up, reaching under your bed. "where is it– oh." he pulled out the hot pack he knew you sometimes used in similar situations, heading for the bathroom to fill it up with warm water. he returned rather quickly and reclaimed his position on the bed. he adjusted your pillows and placed the hot pack against your stomach, throwing an arm around you again. it made it a little difficult for him to pull you completely against his chest, but your own comfort mattered more to him.

"thank you." you sighed. he gave you a look, not a particularly annoyed one, but one that told you that you didn't have to thank for him doing things like that. he pecked your nose, the urge was too difficult to resist. you exhaled comfortably, taking a hold of his hand and intertwining your fingers.

he began massaging your knuckles, and you shuffled closer, as close as it was possible, burying your face into his chest. he kissed your hand this time before releasing it, and tangled his fingers in your locks instead. you loved it when he played with your hair, and he loved it just as much, mostly because you were giving him a fantastic excuse to touch you.

"what explanation did you come up with for missing classes today?" you questioned, suddenly feeling curious. your cramps slightly reduced in their intensity, so you didn't mind talking or even getting up for a bit.

"i just told it as it is." he shrugged, continuing to play with your hair. he tucked a strand behind your ear, smiling at you.

"what?" you chuckled in surprise.

"i told mcgonagall my girlfriend wasn't feeling well and that i wanna take care of her." he was so, very causal about it. you were surprised he actually knew what to do to help you. you did assume he asked pansy, but it at least meant that he cared. and it made you that much more happy to have him there with you.

"really? what did she say?" you raised an eyebrow.

"she was a little annoyed but she understood what i was getting at," of course she did, she couldn't not, "and then she told the other boys to take notes," he grinned proudly, "draco especially."

you burst out laughing, "that did not happen."

"yes, it did," he snickered against your cheek before placing a big, loud kiss against it, "you can ask anyone." he pulled back, but did not move away. you were so close that your noses were touching.

"hm, i think i'll take your word for it." he smiled again, and you pecked his lips, another way to thank him for doing all of that for you, "i love you." you whispered.

"i love you more." he gave you a cheeky grin.

"wrong." you retorted playfully, poking at his chest.

"that's up for debate." he put his hand over yours, holding it in place.

"do not argue with me." you warned, not very seriously, though.

he snorted at your teasing reply, but didn't push the discussion any further. on a different day, he probably would have. that one adored getting on your nerves more than anyone else in the world, but he wasn't so stupid to do it when you were having such bad period pains. there were other things to be done. he said he'd give you cuddles, and kisses, and hugs, and snuggles, and even more kisses and everything in between. and he did just that. that one time, and all the other times.

#theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott headcanons #theodore nott smut #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott scenarios #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott fanfiction #pansy parkinson #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction

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selfindulgentpixies · 7 months

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Soothing words and decaf

Satoru Gojo x Reader x Suguru Geto one shot

When nightmares wake you up once again your boyfriends decide they can't just leave you to sit up alone. Gn!reader, reader wears glasses and has bad eyesight, not stated where in the timeline this is. It's an AU where Suguru never left though. This is really just to comfort myself because my nightmares have been bad lately and making sleep super difficult. It why i've been slow on writing stuff because i'm tired a lot. Also i couldn't decide on just one of them for this comfort fic and needed to be doted on by both. Pls excuse any typos or mistakes

You wake with a start, a stuttering in your chest and a choked gasp. You gaze blearily up at the ceiling, your current location slowly invades your senses and pushes away the personal hell your subconscious had been creating for you. There’s warm breath fanning over the crown of your head. It would probably be ruffling your bangs if not for the fact they were plastered to your forehead by the sweat. You glance to your right and see that at some point in his sleep Satoru had decided you were his personal teddy bear. Your eyes then drift to the left and you jolt slightly to find that Suguru is blinking back at you with a combination of tiredness and concern.

“Another one?” He asks, voice low and thick with sleep. This had unfortunately become routine.

You go to speak and nothing comes out the first try but upon clearing your throat slightly and trying again you let out a small. “Yeah.. Go back to sleep, Sugu.”

He huffs a little at your words and how you begin to try and wiggle out of Satoru’s arms without waking him. An impossible task given that all three of you weren’t what anyone could call heavy sleepers. Trauma will do that afterall. So it’s unsurprising when Satoru grumbles and tightens his grip on you. “You should take your own advice.” Satoru’s voice is just as gravely as Suguru’s and when you glance up you see him peering down at you with his impossibly bright eyes.

“You know I can’t do that… Let me up and the two of you can get some sleep.” You scoot up to a sitting position, Satoru's arms wrapped around your waist making your task of reaching over him to the side table to get your glasses a far harder task than it needed to be. You whine and flop on him. Fine you’d just be blind. You wiggle down and under his arm, surprised he allowed you to do so as you slide to the end of the bed to get up.

You didn’t feel like giving Satoru a chance to change his mind about letting you go so you don’t walk past him to get your glasses and instead just pad your way into the kitchen. Your shared apartment with the two men was so familiar you could probably navigate it wearing Satoru’s blindfold.

Once you’re close enough to the microwave to make out the little glowing numbers you let out a huff. It wasn’t even five am yet. You’d maybe managed to get four hours of sleep which was becoming painfully typical. Today would be another day of surviving off coffee and hopefully slipping in a nap as soon as you got a chance. Your nightmares seemed to happen less when you slept during the day.

You’re shuffling around the cupboards getting down what you need to make coffee when you hear quiet foot falls, perhaps near silent for someone else but your ears were sensitive and seemingly more so when you chose to mostly forgo being able to see. Anything beyond a couple feet away from you losing all clarity and blurring around the edges. Impressions of objects you only recognized based on familiarity.

Well mostly. “That’s the sea salt, love.” Suguru whispers against the shell of your ear as he takes the long cylindrical container from your hand to place back on the shelf and then grabs a very similar but not identical container that houses the sugar.

You grumble. “Why do we even keep them next to eachother on the shelf?” Suguru’s hair tickling your neck makes you twitch slightly but you don’t brush it or him away as he leans over you, enveloping you in his warmth, resting his chin on your head as he bends at the waist and wraps his arms around your middle.

“Normally you’re wearing your glasses and can tell the difference.” there’s the smallest hint of amusement to his voice.

You sigh. That was true. It annoys you but it’s true. You rock back on your heels and lean into his chest. “Really you should get more sleep. Go cuddle with Satoru, I’m sure he’s lonely trying to sleep alon-”

A loud yawn cuts through the kitchen as Satoru walks in. “Too late, already here.”

“Seriously you both should-”

“If we should be sleeping so should you. So either you come back to bed with us, or we’re all starting our day at this ungodly hour.” You feel Suguru’s jaw moving against the top of your head as he talks.

You frown deeply, slouching in his hold. “I… can’t sleep okay? If i go back to sleep it’ll probably just start again.”

Suguru hums and rocks the both of you back and forth. “Then it sounds like we’re all getting up then, right Satoru? “ He turns you both so you’re facing Satoru who’s much closer now.

Another yawn. “Sounds about right.” And as he says this he places your glasses on your face, bringing his own into focus for you. Satoru is beautiful as always but definitely looks like he needs more sleep. But you know very well how stubborn both he and Suguru are, they’re worse than you are.

You cave. “Fine, stay up if you want then.” You wanted to sound petulant but instead you just sound tired. Suguru Squeezes you before rising to his full height and releasing you. “Go relax, I’ll make the coffee.”

Before you can respond he gives you a small nudge in Satoru’s direction who doesn’t give you time to protest as he scoops you up and carries you toward the plush living room couch. He flops both of you down before rolling you so he’s squishing you into the plush fabric. “Satoruuuu-” You try to protest as he nuzzles into your neck. If you were more awake you might have caught on to what the two men were doing since in the kitchen Suguru put away the regular coffee and switched it out for decaf before brewing it. They still had some hope of lulling you back to sleep and caffeine wasn’t part of that. They knew you well enough that you likely just needed to be soothed and given time to get out of your head so you could be directed back to bed.

“Mmm don’t want to cuddle me?” He pouts at you.

“You’re squishing me, you big menace!”

The two of you go back and forth, you sinking back into the couch and giving Satoru his way despite complaining when what feels like suddenly Suguru is there holding two mugs of coffee and judging by the heap of whipcream on the third mug a cup of hot chocolate for Satoru. He kicks one of Satoru’s legs. “Move over and quit crushing them. “

Satoru grunts and starts to complain until he looks At Suguru and spots the mug topped with whipcream. He sits up quickly, suddenly looking angelic which earns a sigh from both you and the long haired man. You sit up and give Suguru a grateful smile as he passes you one of the steaming mugs. “Thank you, Sugu.”

“Of course.” He leans forward and brushes his lips over your forehead. He gets you to scoot over slightly and as you often do you find yourself squished between the two men. You didn’t need to be squished, the couch was big enough, Satoru just seemed dead set on not moving further than he had to.

You don’t really talk as you quietly sip at your coffee, instead listening to Satoru and Suguru talk about the upcoming day, voices low and soothing. You hardly notice when your mug is pulled from your hands and placed on the coffee table before you can spill the remnants of your drink on your lap. You blink rapidly realizing you’ve been completely zoned out only now to have Satoru’s face directly in yours. It’s brief because the next thing you know he’s picked you up for the second time that night, or rather morning. “Satoru-” You cut off in a yawn and wrap your arms around his shoulders, body shaking slightly with a stretch.

“I think it’s time we head back to bed. Suguru and I have been talking to you and you haven’t even noticed,” he says amusement clear in his voice. You can hear Suguru in the background putting your mugs in the sink before following the two of you.

“Mm sorry,” you mumble against his shoulder, your glasses being pushed askew though you couldn’t care less. You feel more than hear Satoru laugh. And it feels like in the next blink he’s laying you back in bed, and gently slipping your glasses off before crawling in after you, wrapping you in his arms. It’s only a couple moments later that Suguru follows. A rough warm hand sliding under your sleep shirt to splay over your stomach.

You’re finally back asleep then, safely tucked between the two of them where no harm can come to you, even if your dreams make you feel otherwise. The two of them will always be there to remind you that you’re safe.

@nanamikentoseyebags @strawberrystepmom @icy-spicy

@gojoest

#satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #suguru geto x reader #gn!reader #jjk x reader #geto x reader #satosugu x reader #gojo x reader x geto #rossi writes

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faeriekit · 6 months

Text

Health and Hybrids (XVI)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWOis here PART THREE is here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here PART EIGHT is here PART NINE is here PART TEN is here PART ELEVEN is here PART TWELVE is here PART THIRTEEN is here PART FOURTEEN is here PART FIFTEEN is here and this is sixteen *SixTeen theme plays*

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts

Where we last left off... Martian Manhunter finds out that,yeah, dude, when your brain is missing chunks, you can't write or access data without the hardware to store it. My dude remembers nothing.

Trigger warnings for this story: body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) | my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

Days pass. Nights pass.

(He thinks.)

He gets a new room. This one has a window. He can’t stare at it all the time, but when he does, he can feel himself growing stronger. Steadier. The change in his body is borderline tangible.

If only it was physical. He’s still too weak to lift anything but his arms, and not even all the way. Moving his head is tiring. Lifting his head is impossible.

But he tries.

A lot.

The doctors and the lady have to make upset noises with him when he does, but he wants to be able to see everything they’re doing to him. So far it’s a lot of tubes and needles, but what if they become scalpels and clamps?

…Danny tries to assure himself that they probably won’t be.

But they might. Things could change.

And that eats at him constantly.

Someone puts a big circle on the wall in his room. It’s large. It’s a little fuzzy at its distance on the far wall, but it’s got little arms on it, and little dots in equal degrees around the circumference. It takes him almost two napping periods to realize that it’s a clock.

Danny squints. He can...almost read analog. (Probably.) It sure doesn’t help that he has no idea when night is and when day is, though. He sleeps at one hour and wakes up at another, and the room will look entirely the same. Was it a few hours’ sleep, or a day’s? Was it longer? The world spins outside his window, big and blue, and he spins against it in a station on a lonely moon. There’s no way to tell.

Someone eventually notices that he’s bored, though, because he gets a television and a remote.

It’s a super thin television. At first, Danny spends time wondering why they put a screen with no system in his room, and then hour later the lady starts pressing buttons on the remote, and the screen lights up with a news program.

…The TV is too far away to see all that clearly. He can see some of it when he squints, but then all the colors turn lime green.

The banner on the bottom of the screen scrolls with headlines, and cool, it looks like they invented new letters while Danny was asleep. Fantastic. His head hurts from trying to squint to read, but it kind of looks like a kindergartener scribbled all over an otherwise serious news report.

Great. Now he’s getting a headache.

But the noise is…nice. It’s distracting. The news anchors chatter seriously as Danny gets yet another IV swapped out in his arm, and the heavily geared-up doctors have started telling Danny things he doesn’t like to listen to too much because if it is threats, great, he should ignore that; if it’s not threats, then, well, Danny’s bored of it all anyway.

“—Wel?”

Danny blinks. Well. That sounds like ‘Well’.

He shifts just enough to make eye contact. A doctor looks down at him from their place at his bedside. Their scrubs are kind of blue-green, with little flowers on the trim.

They have human eyes. The sight of soft, brown eyes probably ought to be reassuring, but they just make Danny more nervous.

“Eow eart wel?” They ask again, soft and slow. That middle bit sounds kind of like ‘art’. Ha. Old timey Shakespeare. ‘Art well,’ like ‘you art well—‘

Wait. Danny takes a deep breath. Blinks. His chest arcs up, just a little—just enough for the doctor to realize that Danny’s more than just looking, he’s paying attention. Are they asking him if he’s well?

Danny reflexively opens his mouth and flexes his throat, tries to answer—

Nope. Ow. The noise he makes sounds like the garbage disposal is backed up with angry blob ghosts. It hurts just to make. But the sound makes the doctor look at him; they see him.

“Inne cwic tima!” Danny hears, and then they’re jogging out of the room, and Danny is left alone. His throat hurts.

His head thumps back onto his pillow. The news program plays on. There’s a damaged city he’s never seen before on the news.

…And then the doctor comes back. Danny’s head is swimming, so he almost doesn’t notice their return, but they’re holding something, and that something has a sippy straw.

Danny is perfectly happy with a sippy straw.

The straw is put into his mouth. Danny goes sippy sippy.

…The water sloshes a little weirdly through his throat. Some of his tubes might not be where they ought to be, which is weird. Isn’t he supposed to be human right now? Or. Uh. Kind of human? Human equivalent? …Close enough…?

Danny drinks. When the pain in his throat goes to normal pain levels instead of new and angry pain levels, he lets go of the straw, and the doctor lets him.

Their fingers carefully brush Danny’s hair. Not very hard. A little too slowly. Just at the hairline. But it reminds Danny so much of sitting at home with Dad on the couch, home from school with a fever as Muppets tapes play in the background, that tears leak out of his busted eyes. The tears are probably just as green.

“Eow eart wel?” the doctor asks again. So gently. So careful.

“I’m tired,” Danny rasps.

The effort of speaking crashes into him in seconds. If things are happening around him, he doesn’t understand any of it. Nothing reaches him. He’s so tired.

He’s out before he knows it.

#Martian Manhunter: he's bored. Give the boy a television #Medical: :0 Sir yes sir!!#Medical when they hear Danny: HE SPEAKS!!! :D #Medical when they realize they can't understand him: OH NO!!! D: MM COME BACK PLEASE #health and hybrids #dp x dc #danny phantom #dpxdc #dcxdp #tw gore #tw medical #tw body horror #dcu crossover #Danny realizing he didn't know how to read analog even when he was well: shit. >:(

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anonymous-dentist · 8 months

Text

Or. The Among Us au.

Now, Cellbit thinks that there may be a problem when he wakes up one Tuesday morning to find tentacles bubbling out of his mouth. Because he’s reformed, see. He went to prison. He went to therapy. He did his time. He’s better now, and so, really, he should be human. He’s gotten very good at it.

But it’s also the morning after his arrival on the ISS Quesadilla, himself being one of five new crewmates sent by the Federation to explore the galaxy and look for… something. He doesn’t know what, exactly; he doesn’t have high enough clearance yet, and he never will if he doesn’t get his fucking tentacles-

On the bunk across from him, Mike groans and throws a lumpy pillow at him.

“Stop being an alien, God,” he groans. “Go back to sleep, our shift doesn’t start for another three hours.”

And, well. Cellbit can’t argue with that logic. He’s probably just nervous, that’s all. He’ll be back to looking like a human when he’s calmed down some.

Cellbit closes his eyes, lets out a long, artificial breath (aliens don’t need to breathe, after all), and he lets himself relax. It’ll be fine.

It isn’t fine. It’s five hours later and his tentacles are gone but his teeth have sharpened into four rows of fangs and it’s very hard to talk. Luckily, his helmet is covering up most of the nasty stuff. Luckily, almost everyone on his shift already knows he’s a secret alien except for Forever, and Forever seems smart enough not to snitch if he knows what’s good for him.

The problem is that Cellbit knows why he’s suddenly devolving. He knows exactly what’s going on, and he really doesn’t know how to feel about it. Because he was alone in the universe two days ago, and now his internal biology is registering the presence of another alien somewhere on the ship, and it’s horrifying.

Cellbit can’t concentrate like this. He keeps biting his lips when he tries to communicate with his team. The wires in the electrical panels aren’t making any sense all of a sudden. His hands are shaking too badly for him to be able to swipe his I.D. card. He explains it to his Federation supervisor as space sickness and Pac and Mike back him up, and he assures Cucurucho that he’ll be in working condition by the end of the week, he promises!

But then it’s lunch, and Cellbit is eating alone in his and Pac and Mike and Forever’s cabin because his mouth is a biological garbage disposal.

This sucks.

Cellbit picks at his food, unable to even digest it in the state he’s in. Aliens, unlike humans, can’t eat vegetables. They eat flesh. Any kind, but Cellbit grew up eating human flesh. But that was then, and this is now, and, now, Cellbit is looking at a tray of frozen space vegetables and he thinks he’s going to be sick.

Knock-knock!

Cellbit’s first, instinctual response is a hiss as he flinches. His jaw splits in half down the middle, fangs bared, but then he remembers, wait, humans don’t fucking do that.

So he forces his jaw shut with his hands and pulls on his helmet. Just in case.

“Hello?” he calls.

“Hola?” is what he gets in response, and his stomach clenches because this is a very human-sounding human. “You are Cellbit, right?”

Cellbit ponders. Then, “Yes. Why?”

“Okay, yes! So Cucurucho sent me to bring you to medical-”

Oh, God. A scan is the last thing that Cellbit needs right now.

So Cellbit immediately interjects. “No, no! I’m fine! I told them I’m fine!”

“Oh, you’re fine,” the human sarcastically says. “You’re wearing a helmet, culero, I can hear it from out here. Come on, man, the faster you do this, the faster it is over with.”

Well. He does have a point. Besides, Cellbit has fudged his way through plenty of scans before. This one will just be a little more difficult, that’s all.

Cellbit puts his lunch aside and he opens the door and he stops pretending to breathe. The other crewmate is also wearing a helmet, but, through it, Cellbit can see the most beautiful eyes in the galaxy.

Said eyes crinkle up in a smile as Cellbit steps outside into the hallway and closes the door behind him. The helmet’s visor only allows access to the eyes, but Cellbit has a feeling that this man’s face is just as captivating.

“Great!” the human cheerily says. “You don’t look dead, at least!”

He laughs, and Cellbit finds himself laughing along with him. It’s catchy. This is fine.

“Come on, you’re new, right?” the human asks. He turns around and starts down the hallway to the left towards… medical? “I’ll show you the way.”

Cellbit swallows a tentacly lump in his throat and follows, two exact steps behind.

“It’s always good to get new people,” the human says. “We lose a lot of crewmates.”

“I’ve heard,” Cellbit politely says. He bites his lip again and winces. Attempt seventeen of trying to will his teeth into their human forms, go!

It’s true, though. The Quesadilla goes through more crew members than any other ship in the Federation’s fleet. It’s probably why nobody in Cellbit’s group had actually been interviewed before they were hired. Amateurs…

“It’s crazy, man. They’re dropping like flies!” the human exclaims, hands gesturing wildly.

He turns his head back to look at Cellbit, crinkled eyes glittering.

“Good luck,” he says.

Cellbit smiles back. Thank goodness for his helmet, because he can feel his jaw begin to split apart again.

“Thank you,” he weakly says. At least his vocal cords are working… and at least he doesn’t actually need his mouth to speak. “Maybe we’ll even get to work together in the future.”

He hopes so. He hopes that he can find this other alien and try to work with them to get themselves (because he knows that the other alien has to be having the same problem as him right now) together. Then Cellbit can actually do his job, and then he might even get a promotion. One step closer to his goals, and one step closer to-

The human clicks his tongue. “Now, now, don’t you know who you’re talking to?”

He taps at a badge on his chest with a gloved finger.

“‘Roier’,” Cellbit reads.

“Uh-huh. I’m Cucurucho’s favorite.”

“I didn’t know that they could have favorites.”

The human- Roier- sniffs haughtily. “Yes, and I am one.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t ever work together,” Cellbit says.

He dares step closer until he and Roier are next to each other. They’re about the same height, he notices, though he can tell even through the bulky spacesuit that Roier is far more built than Cellbit has been since he was a teenager.

“I don’t know,” Roier replies, shrugging. “Maybe. Who knows? Cucurucho is picky, you know?”

Cellbit remembers the disdainful look send in his direction when he had failed his first card swipe. Yeah, he knows.

The conversation slows to a comfortable silence, mostly because Cellbit is tired of almost biting his own face off.

And then they’re at Medical.

Cellbit pauses outside the door. Roier rolls his eyes and yanks him in, announcing their presence with a loud, “Ay, Missa!”

The medical staff on shift, a tall human in a black spacesuit with his helmet off, screeches and tumbles out of his chair.

Cellbit bites back a laugh. Roier doesn’t bother even trying to stay professional. He even walks over to Missa’s crumpled form and kicks him lightly in the side.

“Roier…” Missa complains.

“Do your job, pendejo, Cucurucho sent us.”

At the mention of Cucurucho, Missa scrambles to his feet, pale. He picks up a clipboard off of his desk and moves to close and lock the door.

Cellbit shuffles awkwardly to the side. Okay, deep breaths…

“Space sickness,” Roier explains.

“But I’m fine, really,” Cellbit tries.

Missa shuts him down with a firm shake of the head.

“Strip,” he says.

And then he flushes a bright red and stammers, “I- I mean your suit! You can hang it in a locker!”

Clearly embarrassed, he points toward a line of lockers against the far wall.

Cellbit gulps. But he… strips, gloves first and then his suit. Last, his helmet, which really should’ve been done first, but…

Luckily, his face is mostly under control again. He doesn’t feel too inhuman as he adjusts his hair in the reflection of a nearby data screen. He may be about to receive a death sentence, but he can at least look good doing it.

He turns around and faces the scanner, blushing just ever so slightly as he hears Roier gasp to himself. If he was human, he wouldn’t have heard it, it’s so quiet. And so, since he’s supposed to be human, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Just step on up, and we’ll get you done,” Missa says. He smiles, trying.

Cellbit offers a closed-mouth smile back, not trusting himself to show teeth.

He steps onto the scanner and closes his eyes, desperately hoping that it comes up as human as the ones back on Earth did-

“Oh, shit,” he hears Missa say. “It isn’t- oh, shit!”

Of course.

“What is it?” Roier demands. “Tell me!”

“I need to call Cucurucho, Roier, call Cucuruch-”

He coughs and slumps to the floor and slides off of Cellbit’s sharpened tentacle before Cellbit even realizes that he had transformed.

Oh, fuck.

Panicked, Cellbit recalls his tentacle and flinches at the taste of blood, delicious and disgustingly familiar, and his eyes open instinctively but he can’t see, it’s all just a blur, and he backs off of the scanner and-

“Hey! Cellbit! It’s fine, okay?” he hears Roier say. His voice is distant, like a dream. But Cellbit latches onto it, anyway.

Two heavy hands settle on his shoulders. Cellbit hisses, eyes narrowing and jaw splitting and fangs emerging, but then-

“Calma,” Roier gently says. “Hold on. Let me show you something.”

Cellbit can’t move. Roier is letting go of him and reaching for his own helmet, still unremoved. And then he removes it, and Cellbit is so shocked that he can’t keep his tentacles from falling out of his mouth again.

Roier is beautiful. High cheekbones, freckles, smiling eyes, soft hair, and fangs the size of toothpicks forcing his mouth ajar.

“See?” Roier asks, and that’s when Cellbit realizes that he isn’t talking in any human language anymore. This is their language, one Cellbit thought he was the last living speaker of. “It’s fine, okay?”

He smiles, and it’s terrifying in its beauty.

Cellbit manages to suck his tentacles back up, and then he smiles back.

“I thought I was alone,” he says.

“How do you think I felt, huh? What are you doing here!”

Roier lightly punches Cellbit’s shoulder.

There aren’t any security cameras in the Quesadilla, Cellbit had made sure if that before signing up for the trip. And if he can’t trust another alien, then what’s the point of this biological homing device? Aliens stick together, that’s how it always has been. Well. Had. (It’s a little hard to stick together when you’re all dead.)

So he doesn’t hesitate at all before saying, “My best friend is on board this ship. He was kidnapped.”

Roier’s eyes widen. “Oh, shit! Is he-”

“He’s human.”

“Oh.”

It’s just the two of them.

“Okay,” Roier says. “So now there’s two of us.”

“Yes. And it’s a little inconvenient having to deal with the, uh…”

Cellbit glances towards Roier’s fangs. Are they sharper than his? God.

Roier shrugs. “Eh, it’ll be fine. We just keep our helmets on until our bodies decide to calm down.”

Well, he isn’t at all concerned. He should be. He absolutely should be. But… there have been a lot of disappearances on the ship.

Roier, it seems, is very good at playing human.

Cellbit lets out an excited, nervous breath. He glances at Missa’s corpse, surprise and fear still written on his face.

“We need to report this,” Cellbit says.

Roier raises an eyebrow. “Por qué? Why? He is dead.”

“Yes, and it’ll look worse if we don’t tell anyone.”

This, Cellbit is more than used to. He may be reformed, but he had a very long time to hone his craft.

Slowly calming down, Cellbit goes to start pulling his suit back on. He even manages to get his fangs to shift. Okay.

“Okay,” Roier agrees. “If anybody asks, we were coming in here for sex.”

Cellbit’s face splits open in shock.

Roier cackles, and Cellbit can only wonder if this is truly what fate has brought to him.

#spiderbit #guapoduo #qsmp fic #a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose.#fucking among us au ig #guys I did it

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elysiumarchieve · 1 year

Note

Got any Scara sleeping / cuddling headcanons? ♡

sleeping scara is a blessing honestly

scaramouche sleeping/cuddling headcanons

warnings: scaramouche's past, angsty fluff?? it's mostly fluff but it's scaramouche what do you expect at this point

✧ scaramouche does not have a decent sleeping schedule

✧ in fact, being a puppet formerly created to hold onto a gnosis, i don't think he actually requires sleep in the same way that normal humans do - it was something that already bothered him during his time as the nameless eccentric wanderer

✧ unlike all other humans, he did not feel sleepy or tired in the same way they did. emotionally drained, yes, and there was also this dull aching in his chest, but no signs of weariness

✧ however, closing his eyes nowadays brings back memories he would rather like to forget and bury in a dark place within his mind, memories that remind him of how cruel betrayal was and how much he despised everyone

✧ and considering that he was seemingly tossed aside by his own creator for crying in his sleep, he even hates sleeping, so have fun trying to get him to rest his eyes

✧ scaramouche refuses to sleep nor to rest near you. he doesn't require it, so why should he lay down? is he supposed to bore himself to sleep for eight hours straight?

✧ if you sleep, that's completely fine with him. you're human and it's only natural for your weak body to rest - otherwise you might end up suffering even more from your lack of sleep (and he doesn't need to have a tired and groggy s/o tagging along)

✧ the rare moments in which you'll ever keep a glimpse of how he presumably could look like while he's asleep is when you wake up in the middle of the night

✧ with one arm around your shoulder and gently holding you close to him, you can't even feel a muscle move or a single sound from him - at first you might even believe he's actually dead because he doesn't even breathe (does he even need to breathe is a legitimate question at this point)

✧ in case you're lucky enough you might even have to chance to glance up at his face to see how his face actually looks relaxed

✧ his eyes are closed and his eyebrows aren't knitted together as when he's talking to anyone below his value

✧ it almost feels unreal to see him like this, calm and not snapping at people who bother him; especially since most of the time, you'd find him staring into nowhere particular and he'd call that 'resting'

✧ you have no idea what he dreams of and neither would he ever tell you. his dreams aren't worth mentioning and besides, why do you even believe the balladeer of all people dreams?

✧ you might catch his eyebrows move a little before his eyes just violently snap open and he's back from 'resting his eyes' for five minutes. he almost looks,, sad? there's a look in his eyes that whatever he just saw were things he actually wishes to leave behind

✧ if he catches you staring at him, he'll ignore you and simply tell you to stop gawking at him. if you managed to remain undetected however, you can practically feel how his hand around your arms tightens a little - not to hurt you but to actually feel that you're right next to him

✧ scaramouche doesn't really 'cuddle'. he doesn't see the necessity for it and thus deems it as unnecessary for him. but if his s/o wishes to cuddle him to go to sleep, he'll probably groan but do it anyways

✧ cuddling with him is kind of,,, complicated. he's stiff, doesn't really know where to put his hands and in the end, he'll only complain about it which makes this entire thing even worse

✧ he genuinely has no patience for any of this and he thinks it's below him to learn how to 'cuddle' with you. however, since it's you, he'll try (while complaining and groaning about the entire ordeal)

✧ while he's somewhat stiff, he tries copying what you do to him - but he's completely silent while doing it which makes it somewhat uncomfortable. in a way, you two look absolutely ridiculous

✧ if you happen to fall asleep on him, congrats, he ain't having it. what if he needs to move and you lay right on top of him? he can't have that

✧ however, what is rather sweet of him is that he wouldn't simply push you off of him - if you fell asleep on him he'd try waking you first. if that fails, he'll do his best to get you off almost too carefully before putting you in your bed and leaving you there while he goes about what scaramouche does in his free time

✧ scaramouche, however, never thought however how comforting it was to just lay there and feel the steady beating of your heart when he holds you, and just listen to it - no thinking, no tragic memories crossing his mind, just the besting of your heart and your gentle snores if you had fallen asleep

✧ in fact, it's enough to make even him drowsy enough and help him close his eyes even for a few minutes (hours?). when his eyes usually open again it's bright outside and he curses you for cursing him in such a cruel manner (what if you disappear or betray him? is he getting weaker again?)

✧ actually, he doesn't even understand how you manage to fall asleep with him, but he always makes sure to remind you that you look stupid in your sleep (you don't)

#genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin #kunikuzushi #headcanons #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader

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daytaker · 2 months

Note

Congrats on 250 followers! ^_^ Could you do the 'only one bed' trope with Lucifer?

At long last, I come bearing a drabble. Thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy!

The Puppetmaster

Ship: Lucifer/Reader Genre: Humor and fluff Word Count: 825 CW: Dubcon but it's cuddling? Also (joking) mentions of peeing as a kink. I'm sorry I'm like this.

[Part of my 250 Followers Mini Event!]

You were suspicious from the start, because it wasn’t like Lucifer not to plan ahead.

Now, you’re not even suspicious. There was no way that Lucifer, the Avatar of Pride, would be spooning you if he didn’t absolutely intend to. His brothers? You could buy any of them claiming they just grabbed onto you in their sleep, or at least accept the room for reasonable doubt. But Lucifer? Never. Not in a thousand years. This was intentional. This was premeditated. This was planned.

You should have known this was going to happen.

You did know, actually. You would have been fully prepared if not for the mind tricks of Lucifer, the all-seeing Puppetmaster.

“Unfortunately, it seems like our accommodations tonight will be lacking in one respect.” Lucifer nodded apologetically to you as you made your way to the hotel room you’d be cooped up in until morning. He unlocked the door, and the moment you stepped inside, you saw the problem: the single queen-size bed, and nary so much as a sofa to serve as a substitute.

“It’s…fine,” you’d said, trying to brush it off as insignificant, even as your instincts began whispering to you that something was amiss. “It’s just for one night, and I trust you not to pull anything weird.”

Lucifer smiled at you when you said that. Not a kind, appreciative smile. No, it was the smile of the wise man humoring the fool. It made you uneasy.

“...Lucifer,” you said in a warning tone you normally reserved for Mammon.

“Hm? What is it?” He was taking his pajamas out of his suitcase, and his voice and expression were so nonchalant—dull, even—that you started to second guess yourself on that look you thought he gave you.

“Uh… I was just going to ask to use the bathroom before you step in to change,” you said, thinking to yourself what a nice save that was. Lucifer bowed his head and politely gestured for you to proceed.

…Oh, he would gaslight you into thinking you hadn’t seen anything, all to serve his twisted, demonic ends of cuddling you when you least expected it, at a time when you’d wake up, dazed and with a full bladder and no escape in sight. In fact, he probably made that initial, wolfish expression for the exact purpose of then playing innocent so convincingly that you’d stop suspecting him. He was just playing mind games with you at this point. He was toying with you.

As the two of you climbed into bed for the night, you each kept respectfully to your own sides. After a brief and awkward goodnight, he turned off the light, and you laid awake and stared at the ceiling.

Why…was there just one bed?

The question wouldn’t stop nagging at you.

Lucifer didn’t book this room in advance. The circumstances that led you here were unexpected delays that meant you couldn’t make it home at a reasonable hour. But… But…

Would Lucifer allow this to happen if he didn’t want it to? No! Absolutely not! Lucifer normally would have taken the chance of delays into account in his travel plans. He would have been prepared for this eventuality.

More than that though. In what sane world would Lucifer allow himself to be subjected to the humiliation of sharing a bed with you for any reason that didn’t include his deliberate, conscious choice? In which case, what was he pulling right now? You didn’t really think he was going to attempt anything truly nefarious, but your unease didn’t go away.

Nor should it have.

It’s about five o’clock in the morning, you need to pee, and you’re being prevented from making a smooth escape to the bathroom by Pride himself. The Machiavellian bastard. The way he played you like a fiddle.

Maybe you should just let it out. Maybe that would teach him.

But what if he knows about that too? What if this is all playing into his hand? He’s not into that, is he? What if he is? What if this entire scenario was orchestrated carefully from the beginning to get you to this point, where you’re trapped in his arms and feeling spiteful enough to wet the bed?

You feel a huff of breath behind your ear, then you hear the low pitched grunt of a baritone-voiced demon waking up.

“Lucifer!” you hiss.

“Mm?” He releases you, stretching his arms over his head calmly. “Good morning. Did you rest well?”

“Why were you hugging me?” You shoot an accusatory glare at him. You know about the piss kink. You have your ammunition locked and loaded.

“Because you’re lovely and warm, and I enjoyed the proximity. I hope I didn’t offend you.” He meets your gaze with an expression of such good-natured and genuine affection that your heart almost comes unmoored.

It’s a masterstroke. You have been defeated. Red-faced and groaning, you slip out of bed and shuffle to the bathroom.

#writing event #i have almost 500 followers now and i still have another one to do for the full five count of drabbles #boy i suck #obey me #obey me fic #obey me fanfic #obey me drabble #obey me lucifer #obey me x reader #obey me lucifer x reader #lucifer x reader #lucifer #daytaker fanfic

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watermelonlovershigh · 8 months

Note

Can you write something where Reader had taken care of Harry all night because he was sick and then she has to wake up to care for their child and maybe the child wants to give Harry cuddles to make him feel better.

Sick Daddy /concept/

AN: had this in my inbox for a while but am trying to clear some of my requests out so here you finally go. its very short because this ask just felt like it didn't need to be crazy long. hope you enjoy still. send you feedback. xoxo

This story contains: mentions of throw up, the rest is fluff

{ husbandrry - dad!harry - any harry era }

word count- 566

You and your son Oliver make Harry a breakfast to hopefully feel better because he'd been sick the previous night. Then after Harry's better, you and Ollie catch the same bug and Harry takes care of you both as you did for him.

You'd been up off and on with Harry all night. He seemed to have caught some type of stomach bug and nearly every hour of the night woke up to be sick. Though Harry insisted you just stay in bed, of course you were gonna be right by his side. Placing a little clip in his hair to hold his bangs out of his face and rub his back as he heaved over the toilet.

Now it's eight in the morning and your little one, Oliver, who's five, is awake. Though you're dead tired from you lack of sleep, you go into Ollies bedroom and help him get dressed and brush his teeth. Once that's all done, Oliver asks, "Where's daddy? Wanna go see him."

Kneeling down to his level, you reply, "Daddy's feeling a bit ill today, loves. He'll probably be in bed for a while. But, how about you help mummy make daddy some tea and toast to hopefully feel better."

With a concerned look on his small face, Oliver nods, "Alright, mummy. Then can I cuddle daddy? Daddy cuddles me when I don't feel very well so it might make him feel better."

Thinking for a moment, you answer, "Maybe. We'll have to see. I don't want you catching whatever bug he has though."

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

Oliver helped you prepare an easy breakfast for Harry. One that will hopefully not bother his stomach. Once it's ready, you carry it on a tray and Ollie walks up the stairs beside you, excited to finally see his daddy today.

When you walk in the bedroom, Harry is curled up under the covers sleeping, a thin layer of sweat coating his skin. You set the tray down and nudge his shoulder, "Harry babe, wake up for me. Got you something to drink and eat that you'll hopefully be able to keep down."

Harry slowly turns over and sits up. With his very messy bed-head, he croaks out, "Awe, thank you, m'love. I'll try to eat some of it. Not really that hungry though."

Oliver steps to the side of the bed and asks, "Daddy sick?"

Harry looks down and answers, "Yeah baby, daddy's tummy hasn't been well. But mummy is the best doctor around so I'm sure I'll be good to go in no time."

Harry sat in bed and munched on his plain toast and sipped his tea while you and Oliver sat at the foot of the bed to keep him company. After some persuasion, you finally let Oliver cuddle Harry. You knew it was a risk of him getting sick too but you were also at risk from just being in the same house as him.

Luckily Harry was able to keep that food down and with some more rest, got to feeling better within twelve hours. Unluckily to you and Ollie though, two days later you both woke up to sick tummies and it was Harry's turn to play doctor. With the amount of vomit he had to clean up he should become a professional cleaner.

It got so bad that he had to migrate everyone to the living room where he could watch you both at the same time. One moment holding up the barf bucket for Oliver and the next moment holding it up for you. He gave y'all tons of cuddles and extra love and within a day everyone was well again.

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

(no more tags are allowed because i've hit my number limit. sorry : ( )

tag list: @one-sweet-gubler // @harryscherrysugar // @hsfanficsrecss // @lollypopsx // @harrycanyonmoonn // @itfeelslikemytherapisthatesme // @damnasstyles // @mrsstylesharry // @softmullet // @meetmyblondemuffins // @thegirlnextdoorssister // @stanleystyles // @haarrrys // @michellekstyles // @skyangel57 // @the-gardener-31 // @lhharrylilpumpkin // @yousunshine-youtemptress // @clairestylessss // @kissmyaxe140 // @goldenmelonsugar-hi // @kaitieskidmore97 // @florencepughily // @alienorknight //@dancearoundthelivingroom // @swiftmendeshoran

// @luv-flor7777 // @alohastyles-x // @tenaciousperfectionunknown // @sleutherclaw // @siredtohybrid // @whoscamila // @a-strange-familiar // @golden-elodie // @mrspeacem1nusone // @goldenkhae // @lntwithhrry // @shadowygladiatorlight // @manifestrry //@mendesblurb // @sunshinemoonsposts // @depersonalizationsucks // @academiaghost // @zendayassimp // @reveriehs // @vsnnstuff // @dancinsunflowerkiwi // @quinnsgrapejuice // @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite // @justlemmeholdyou // @hsonlyangelxo // @luvonstyles // @howdey

______________

My Masterlist Masterpost

#harry styles #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles concept #harry styles short story #harry x reader #dadrry #dad!harry #husbandrry #husband!harry #softrry #soft!harry #harry styles sick fic #sick fic #harry styles fluff #requested

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babydollmarauders · 1 year

Note

can we have jacky having skin time with baby el?

throwing it back to el’s birth for this one!

exhaustion plagued me as i watch my newborn sleep in the hospital bassinet. Jack wanders the halls to try and find a vending machine to get me a quick snack before i finally take a nap.

ten hours of labor, approximately two hours of pushing, and she’s finally here. it’s only been about forty-five minutes since she made her arrival, but after not sleeping for twelve hours, i need a nap. she just finished feeding for the first time, so the nurse said now would be the best time to sleep.

“they didn’t really have many options, but i got you some chips and a twix. i figured i can have Luke stop and grab you something substantial when he comes by when you wake up.” Jack announces, stalking back into the room. “any suggestions?”

i shake my head, my eyes never leaving our baby.

“i’m not picky.” i tell him.

“well, we both know that’s not true. but okay.” Jack jokes, coming to stand beside the bassinet. “oh puck, how long has it been?”

i giggle at his new creative way of not cussing around the baby. i’ve tried telling him once already that she doesn’t understand cuss words yet, so it’s okay to wait to avoid cussing until she starts talking, but he claims he has to adjust himself to the new vocabulary.

“forty-seven minutes.” i tell him, glancing at the clock.

“alright.” he responds, walking over to the open hospital room door and shutting it before stripping off his shirt.

“what are you doing?” i question, watching as he picks up the baby and sits on the small couch in our private room.

“skin-to-skin.” he tells me, his voice soft as he moves her blanket so that her bare body is pressed against his top-less chest.

“it’s recommended to start it within the first hour after the birth. research shows that the first hour is the most crucial for maximizing bonding experience between the parent and child through skin-to-skin contact.” he explains.

i nod along, listening to him speak.

“you got it with her when they handed her to you after they dried her off. and when you were feeding her, i guess, technically.” he continues. “but i still need to do mine. i should hold her for about an hour, but probably no more than that because unlike your breast tissue-”

i scrunch my nose at the term ‘breast tissue’, making Jack chuckle.

“-which can cool down or heat the baby’s temperature. men’s breast tissue only heats her. which means if i do it for too long, she can overheat. it’s a fickle thing.”

“where did you learn all this?” i ask.

“parenting books.” Jack responds, his eyes already having left me in order to gaze down at our daughter as she lays upon his chest.

my eyes soften, my heart beating rapidly at the knowledge of how much research he did. i thought we read the same couple books, but i guess he read a few more than i did.

“i love you.” i tell him, my tone laced with adoration, making him smile at me.

“i love you too, sweet girl.” he blows me a kiss. “now eat, and get some rest. my parents get here in about two hours.”

i nod, opening my chips and snacking as i watch my husband hold our baby to his chest. every couple minutes i catch him whispering to her, random reassurances that he loves her and will always protect her, which makes my heart skip a beat.

#el!hughes au #jack hughes x reader #ask faithlynn ✨

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nauwuna · 1 year

Text

calling in the middle of night for a nightmare~

Warning: English is not my first language also this is the first time I write something like that

Shinichiro Sano/Izana Kurokawa/Manjiro Sano

Part 2 Part 3

Shinichiro

You wake up from a nightmare, you're sweaty and your body won't stop shaking

You want to call your sweet boyfriend, you want to hear his voice but at the same time you don't want to because is literally 1 A.M.

you pick up the phone nervously and find his number

<<mh? Y/n? Why did you call me at this hour>> his sleepy voice make your heart warm but you also feel selfish for call him and wake him up

<<I'm sorry Shin, I just want to hear you>>

<<is something happen my dear?>> you smile when he calls you in that way

<<I have a bad dream...>> you confess to him, Shinichiro stay in silence waiting for you to continue

<<i- I see y-you...>> you stammer as tears wet your cheeks

<<I'm coming>>

<<what?>>

<<wait for me, I'll be there in five minutes>>

<<wait Shin!>>

Shinichiro ended the call and get up to his bed, he gets dressed and take his motorcycle

he rides the bike to your house

<<you really come? It's really late Shin you don't have t->> he stop you with a hug before you finish

He kiss your lips

<<now I'm here, you don't need to worry>>

<<Shin...>> you almost cry for his sweet words

<<let's go to sleep darling>>

You two spend the night cuddling together

After that you couldn't sleep without him, you like have his arms around you all night and Shinichiro doesn't mind at all

Izana

He was awake when you call him

Sometime he have nightmare too, he dream about you leaving him, like his mom did

This boy is sweet and possessive, you are like a shining star for him that he want to protect

Sometime this little one is scare of himself too, like he is very good to destroy the good think but he don't want to destroy you because he loves you

For the first time he loves someone, and he want to protect that special one

He answers your call right away but as soon as he hears you sobbing he freezes

<<Y/n!? Ehy princess what's happened?>>

He literally panic

<<I-izana...>>

In than moment Izana get dressed while he was at phone with you

<<I'm coming>>

<<w-what?>>

<<you crying...I'm coming, wait for me>>

When you open the door your still sobbing

Izana hugs you and give you a sweet kiss

<<who made my princess cry?>> he whisper while he wip the tears on your face

<<just a bad dream, i- I'm so sorry if I make you come here for something so stupid>>

<<it's not stupid>> he start to kiss you

slowly you start to relax

He takes you to your room holding you like in a bride style

you two spent the night chatting and cuddling

Mikey

Like Izana, he was awake

He probably finish one of his metting when you call him

<<are you still awake?>> he asks while eating a Dorayaki

He freezes when he hear you crying

<<y/n?>>

Your tears don't want to stop

<<M-mikey it's nice t-to here your voice>> you sobbing

<<I'm here darling>>

You two stay on the call for a while talk about something else except why are you crying until...

<<open the door>>

<<huh?>>

<<I'm outside Y/n, let me in>>

You run to the door and open it to find Mikey staring at you with worrying eyes

He never show his fear or his weaknesses

But for you it's different

You hug him and start crying again in his arm

<<it's okay>> he pat your head <<you should sleep, I take you in your room>>

He stays with you all night

through the night he doesn't stop hugging you

#tokyo revengers #tokyo manji gang #sano mikey manjiro #manjiro headcanons #shinichiro x reader #mikey x reader #tokyorev izana #tokyo revengers izana #izana x reader #shinichiro sano #tokyo rev headcanons #tokyo rev x y/n

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madi-writes-things · 20 days

Text

Nobody Pt. 2

(C.Sturniolo X Reader)

Summary:

Chris and Y/N never seemed to get along, but sometimes help comes from the most unexpected places

Word Count: 577

TW: Cursing, SH (not in detail, but it is talked about), Blood, Violence, Hurt Comfort, Panic Attack, Crying, Nightmare, Not Edited

A/N: I hope the time jump isn’t too confusing, I figured y'all probably didn't want to read five paragraphs about her crying in her bed for hours.

-Madi <3

“”“”“”“”“”

As Nick stormed upstairs, I ran to Chris’s side. “Oh my god.. I’m so sorry, this is all my fault.” He looked disoriented, but he quickly shut down my apologies. Chris pushed me away, telling me to go find Nick. Once I made sure that Matt was staying with Chris, I ran upstairs banging on Nick’s locked door.

“Go away Y/N!” This can’t happen, I can’t lose Nick… I keep knocking, pleading with him to let me in. After what felt like an eternity the door swung open. My best friend stood in front of me, his face red and covered in tear tracks.

“How long Y/N?” I couldn’t even think of a response before he continued. “I know that you’re a virgin… so you either let my brother lie and say that y’all slept together for some reason, or you have been hiding a relationship behind my back!” The realization finally clicks… shit.

“Im so sorry…”

Think quick Y/N.

“We never meant to hide it for this long.”

Why can’t I just tell him the truth? Everyone would be happier if I did… but I can’t stand the thought of Nick looking at me like I’m some broken doll, fragile and lonely.

The door slams shut in my face, making me jump.

I can’t breathe.

“”“”“”“”“”

I barely hear my door creak open, not registering that someone entered until Chris is sitting in front of me. I don’t even know how long I’ve been curled up in my bed crying, but Chris seems to be patched up. A bruise has blossomed across his cheek, with a small cut in the center of the purple.

His hand reaches out to wipe a tear from my cheek. “I’m so sorry, I never meant to make things bad between you and Nick” He stared practically into my soul. “I just panicked, and I promised you that I wouldn’t tell… I can tell him the truth if you wa-”

I cut him off before he can continue. “I told him we had been secretly dating for a while…” he just stared at me. “He’ll get over it…I think, but I can’t stand it when he looks at me like I’m broken.”

Chris looks like he’s thinking for a second before he finally chooses to speak. “Ok… I’m staying in here tonight.” He responds before I have a chance to object. “I’ll sleep on the floor, but I'm sure as hell not leaving you alone right now."

With that, I rolled over and went to sleep.

“”“”“”“”“”

“You’re fucking pathetic!” Nick screamed in my face. “I can’t believe you thought me and my brothers liked you… we only tolerate you, because we don’t want to take the blame if you kill yourself.”

No.

“Maybe you should…”

Stop

“Everyone would be happier if you would just kill yourself”

STOPSTOPSTOPSTOP

STOP

I shoot up out of my bed.

I can’t breathe… I need some sort of relief.

I get up out of my bed, careful not to disturb Chris on the floor. I know I should wake someone up, but I don't want to bother anybody.

As I reach for the doorknob I feel arms wrap around my torso, holding my hands back from the door. I melt into Chris’s arms, slowly falling to the ground.

After a little while he picked me up, placing me gently in my bed. He climbed in next to me, and held me until we both fell asleep.

“”“”“”“”“”

@unbruisable

#madi makes things #madi writes things #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo imagine #chris x reader #sh!reader #angst #hurt/comfort

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h0neybunns · 9 months

Text

Sleep/cuddle headcanons headcanons

Ft.,illumi,Hisoka,Gon,Chrollo,Killua

Send request plz——————————————————————

Illumi

•I headcanon illumi liking his peace and quiet so getting him to agree with your idea of cuddling is pretty hard but let’s say he did agree.

•Cuddles with illumi are kinda weird ngl he’s a back sleeper and doesn’t move a muscle

•You can barely hear him breathe because it’s so quiet

•he’s a morning person he wakes up at like 4 in the morning even if he has nothing to do that day

•he expects you to wake up when he wakes up. If you said something like “5 more minutes” he would pull the covers off of you and force you up.

•I don’t rlly know what he would wear to sleep.

•can go to bed at 3:45 and wake up at 4 like he got a full night‘s rest

•Veryyy cold

Hisoka

•sleeps naked 100%

•moves a lot in his sleep and has a iron hold on you

•he doesn’t snore loudly it’s more like soft snores here and there

•I don’t really headcanons him as a morning person, he's probably the one saying “5 more minutes” that then turns into a whole hour.

•If you try to get up after he says five minutes he will not let you up.

•side sleeper or big spoon

Gon

•Snores so loud

•cannot say in one position for the life of him one minute he’s all over you then the next he’s about to fall off the bed.

•can be a morning person but at the same time sleeps in A LOT

•has 50 alarms set and somehow doesn’t wake up

•really energetic when he wakes up like full on jumps out of bed

•really warm like a personal heater

•has Minecraft pajamas (1000% CANNON NOT CLICKBAIT‼️‼️)

•Doesn’t cuddle just lays on top of you

Chrollo

•softest and biggest bed ever

•morning person but won’t force you to wake up he”ll kiss you until you wake up or if you have somewhere to be important.

•some days he’s a back sleeper other days he spoons you really depends

•doesn’t have any alarms but wakes up at the same time sharp everyday

•sleeps with socks on

•Wears silk expensive pajamas

•makes you breakfast every morning or has a chef make it

•100% sleeps with white noise that sounds like a jet engine

Killua

•body temperature changes a lot one second hea really cold and the next minute you're sweating

•sleeps in all the time

•has like a 100 wrappers of candy in his room

•Blanket hog but then blames it on you for taking all the blanket(s)

•snores but not as much or as loud as gon

•when he wakes up he’ll put his phone on full brightness and plays some loud game

•probably like gon and just lays on you

•kicks in him sleep

——————————————————————

Hi hi!!! I keep writing this is like my third post of the day LOLL idk if I should slow down or not 😭😭

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effortandmore · 1 year

Text

worth all your while (ch.3) | knj x reader

chapter summary: you realize you and namjoon don't really know each other, and you work on that - a first date + vmin appear

pairing: namjoon x f!reader

rating: explicit (18+ please)

genre: smut, fluff, light angst, au: famous, but not an idol

chapter warnings: smut, alcohol, maybe a swear. oral sex (f!receiving), mentions of bruising and biting (like hickeys), masturbation, a hint of come eating 😇

chapter word count: ~5.8k (total 18.2k)

a/n: i got unusually insecure about this chapter and this fic sometime in the last week. thanks to @ugh-yoongi for the plot advice and @the-boy-meets-evil for looking this over in it's very first rough (horrifying) draft. love you both.

previous chapter | next chapter | read on ao3

It’s dark, dark, dark when you wake up.

That’s the first thing you notice. Before you get your bearings, you think it might be the middle of the night still—you’ve only been back in Seoul for a couple days and your sleep schedule is completely fucked.

The next thing you notice is that it’s warm in your bed. Or, you realize as you start to understand your surroundings, not your bed.

“Hmm… ‘s early.” Namjoon flops over a half-turn with a groan and buries his face into the pillow, his nose in your hair. He slides his arm around your middle, warmer still. It’s the cutest and weakest protest you’ve heard in a long time.

Something about this moment feels surreal. The blackout curtains in his bedroom don’t help the disorientation, but it’s also just a sensation that you’re noticing comes along with being with him. Everything in the inky morning seems undefined: the place where possibility and doubt intersect. It’s thrilling, in a way.

And it’s stifling.

You wiggle out carefully from under his arm and grab your phone for a light so you can shuffle your way to his bathroom to brush your teeth.

Your phone and the light spilling into his living room tell you it is not, in fact, early. It’s past noon, you’re due to cover a new gallery opening at five, and you only have the clothes you wore to his apartment two days ago with you since you weren’t planning on spending the night. Or the previous night.

You should go.

You should go because you have things to do and you should go because…

It’s hard to know where you stand with him, you think, as you pass his closet and debate stealing one of his shirts to cover yourself.

He’d already given you one to wear around his apartment the day prior, so you don’t think he’d mind, but aside from the absolutely mind-blowing sex you’ve been having, you don’t really know one another.

This whole thing is a daydream—there’s a part of you waiting to simply snap out of it and figure out it’s all in your head. It’s not helped by you two not really… talking about it. There’s probably some irony in you being a writer and him being a songwriter and neither of you willing to stop fucking long enough to have a proper conversation—two people who normally have so many words making a semi-conscious choice to not talk about the things that matter.

You snag the closest button down and toss it on. If it is just a fling, then you won’t care what he thinks in a few weeks anyway. If it’s not, well… If it’s not, maybe he won’t care that you’re making yourself comfortable in his space.

As you brush, you see yourself in the mirror, small bruises and bite marks on your neck, your collarbone, your hips… It’s a lot to take in. He’d been insistent that you come over when you landed, whining when you told him you wanted to shower, change, and sleep after twenty hours of flying. You caved quickly, easily swayed when he reminded you of his wish to get you in his bed, of the things he wanted to do to you. Part of you had thought it was just lip-service, things he said during phone sex that he didn’t really mean, but a couple hours after you’d been buzzed up to his apartment, as he was coaxing your second orgasm out of you with just his tongue, you realized he meant it.

“You look good,” he says, breaking you out of your thoughts. He’s leaning in the doorway, all raspy voice, fluffy hair, and big, broad chest.

A daydream. It’s hard to resist the notion to pinch yourself to check.

You cover the side of your mouth and spit into his sink. “Morning,” you say.

It must come out like an invitation, because he steps into the bathroom, and slots himself behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and letting his hands wander over your bare chest under his shirt. “Like you in my clothes,” he whispers, leaving kisses along the side of your neck under your ear.

“Good, ‘cause I don’t have any clean ones of my own, and I need to head out soon, so this one’s coming with me.”

He finds your eyes in the mirror and frowns. “You can’t leave,” he pouts.

“I have work,” you say, dropping your head back against him. “Gallery opening.”

“I’ll come with you.”

You laugh—he sounds like a kid. Whiny and soft and sleepy. It’s adorable. “No, you won’t.”

His chin rests on your shoulder and he nods slightly. “Okay, but please note my protest.”

Still so cute. “Noted.”

“Want breakfast?” he says, “I already ordered, should be here soon.”

It’s so fucking domestic, and nice, but… strange. You’re strangers. “Namjoon,” you say, turning around to face him in his arms. “What’re we doing?”

“Eating breakfast,” he shrugs.

“You know what I mean,” you say, your voice softer. “We don’t really even know each other.”

“Oh,” he breathes. He leans back a little, studying your face, and looks like he’s thinking about what you said, like it hadn’t occurred to him before. “Well, let’s fix that.”

You tilt your head and wait for him to offer the rest of his thought.

“Let’s get to know each other… You know, outside of my bedroom, maybe.” Of course he has the audacity to look bashful, nervous even. You can’t believe he’s lived his whole life as this incredibly endearing person and was still somehow single when you met him.

“Okay, you mean… like… dating,” you say cautiously.

“Hmm…” he murmurs, pulling you in tighter so that your chests are pressed together and his lips are by your ear. “What’s more than dating? What’s the word for when I want to know everything about you?”

And for what seems like the thousandth time since you ran into him at the airport, you realize you’re completely and utterly fucked.

You’re giddy through breakfast, and so is he, with your new arrangement slowly taking shape. On the floor in front of his sofa, you eat and make plans for the coming week. He’s got work, and so do you, but you agree on dinner at least once, and a bike ride combined with a concert over the weekend. It’s a lot of planning if you want to be out in public, you realize, but he promises he’ll make it work, that he’s done it plenty of times before and it’s not that big of a deal. Something in you churns at that—of course it’s not totally straightforward (you’re not naive) but it’s strange to hear him mention it so casually. It makes you understand that this is important, that work goes into it and he must see something in you to want to make the effort. It’s flattering and it’s a lot to process, and it just adds to the feeling that your life is the human equivalent of a Magritte: almost everything as you would expect with the addition of some glaringly obvious bit of magic.

After you eat, you talk—he tells you about Yoongi and Hoseok, who he makes music with, and you give him stories about your roommates, Jimin and Taehyung. It feels a little silly, sitting in his giant, beautiful apartment and having to tell him you still basically live like a university student. But Seoul can be expensive, and you like your roommates, so you haven’t really seen a reason to change your situation. The three of you together can afford something much nicer than you would on your own, so there’s at least that. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem phased by it at all, telling you he thinks they sound fun, and like they’re good for you. They are.

“When do you have to leave?” he asks. “Your roommates must be wondering where you are…”

“I texted Tae yesterday and told him something came up, so I don’t think so. They’re kind of in their own little world, usually. But I should probably go soon so I can get ready for work.”

Namjoon pulls your legs into his lap and grins. “Soon, but not right now. So… we have a little time?”

You can’t help but smile back, pleased with the attention, with the way his hands feel on your calves, then traveling up your thighs. It’s only been a few times with him, but he’s smart—he pays attention, and he’s already learning all the things you like. It’s devastatingly hot. “A little,” you agree.

He smirks, and before you know it, he’s on top of you on his sofa, his knees bracketing your thighs, and his lips on yours. You make a small squeak of surprise, and he smiles against your mouth. “This okay?” he whispers.

“Mmhmm,” you murmur. It is okay, but if you’re honest, you’re still a little sore from the night before, and the day before, and the night before that. You’re not sure you’ve ever had so many orgasms in such a short amount of time, and he’s not exactly… small, and you haven’t exactly been careful with each other. The sex the last couple of days has been eager, more rough and a little dirty than romantic. No complaints, really, but it’s hard to believe he’s not tired yet—tired in general, of you, of this thing between you. “Just maybe… gentle?” you ask quietly. “You’ve kind of wrecked me already.”

His smile grows at that, dimples out in full force when he leans down to whisper right in your ear, “Good. I can be gentle.”

There are warm, open-mouthed kisses that trail down your neck, at your throat where he’s left marks, then moving lower as he spreads open the plackets of his shirt you’re wearing to leave your chest exposed. He looks up at you as he sucks a nipple into his mouth, tongue teasing and swirling while you start to squirm beneath him.

And because your life is too good to be true lately, you seem to have the same thought at the same time when he says, “This angle isn’t going to work—” and you ask, “Can we go back to bed?” You both laugh, and he pushes himself up, then pulls you with him, turning you around and giving you a smack on the ass.

Down the short hallway, he can’t keep his hands off you, teasing and grabbing at you as you scramble into his room and then fall into his bed (again).

You throw yourself right in the middle, laughing and waiting for him to join you, but he stands at the foot of the bed just looking at you. You can’t tell exactly what the look on his face is—lust, curiosity, pleasure, some combination of those things maybe.

“What?” you ask, knees folded together to maintain whatever remaining dignity you have, even though you haven’t had pants on in two days.

Namjoon just shakes his head, like he was lost in some thought you dragged him out of, and crawls up the bed to kiss you. When he pulls back, he says, “You look like you belong here.”

You think your heart stops.

“I do?” you ask quietly. Maybe a stupid question, but he makes you feel a little stupid with all the silly, romantic things he says.

He nods and slides down your body, leaving a trail behind with his lips before he finds your core. Briefly, he licks around your clit and then lifts his head. “And I think I belong here,” he says smugly. Then, as you laugh, he brings his tongue back to you.

It should be no surprise that he is good at this, like he’s good at a lot of things, responsive to your smallest moans and keeping track of what works and what works slightly less well (he hasn’t, this whole time, done anything that doesn’t turn you on at least a little bit—you don’t even question how easy it seems between the two of you).

This time, he has his hands on the insides of your knees, spreading you wide for him. Your hips move up as he fucks you on his tongue; you asked for him to be gentle, but you already want more.

“Sorry,” you whisper when he moves to suck softly on your clit and you jerk your hips up particularly hard.

He pauses and lifts up to look at you, his chin and lips wet. “Don’t be. I like it when you fuck my face,” he says matter-of-factly, like it isn’t the best news you’ve ever gotten. Then he’s back to work, tongue circling your clit, quick and short strokes interspersed with longer ones where he drags the flat of his tongue along your folds.

When your hands tug him closer by the roots of his hair, he moans into your cunt, and the vibrations from it pull you even closer to yet another peak.

His focus moves to soft but quick movements around your clit as you get closer, and he slides one long finger inside you. It’s practically perfect—you’re not sure you could take his cock again right now anyway after all you’ve done over the last couple of days. Not if you want to walk right later, anyway. But this is just enough, and he seems to like it too. When you sit up on your elbows so that you can see him, you notice that he’s palming himself over his joggers with his free hand, and still making little sounds of pleasure against you.

And that, the idea that he likes this as much as you do, is enough to bring you all the way to another orgasm. You let out a small whine as you come, dropping your head back on his pillows and squeezing your thighs around his head.

“Fuck,” you say, as intelligently as you can muster.

“Was that okay, baby?” He sits up when you let your legs fall again, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

“So good. How are you so good at that?”

“I like to make you feel good,” he says simply. “Makes me feel good.”

“I see that,” you say, laughing a little. Because you do—he’s obviously hard, you can see the outline of his cock through his joggers. “Want some help with that?”

Namjoon comes up to kiss you again, and then says, suddenly shy, “Maybe I could… come on you?” He’s conspicuously eying the way his button down that you’re wearing is open, lying at your sides and covering absolutely nothing. And his kisses taste like you, and you don’t hate that he wants to mark you a little bit, and you really don’t hate that he seems nervous to ask for what he wants. It makes you want to give it to him.

Leaning close to his ear, you whisper, “Wanna come on my tits, Joon?”

He groans and shoves his joggers down in a rush, cock bouncing at the movement. “Fuck, yes. Please, baby?” He’s already stroking himself, fully hard with precome dripping from his head.

“Yeah, you can. Want to watch you.”

He’s on his knees between your legs, eyes extra dark and cheeks flushed as he moves his hand faster. You weren’t lying; you do want to watch him touch himself—you’d been thinking about it since you listened to him get off over the phone after your sister’s wedding. The real thing, being able to see it with your own eyes, is infinitely better.

It’s not long before he’s rambling nonsense—he likes to talk. You like it, too, how all the words that spill out are just filthy praise. About how good you look in his clothes, on his bed, about how he loves the way you taste, how he thinks about you all the time since London, how he doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of you.

And at least you’re on the same page. You think about him all the time, too.

As he gets closer, his abdomen flexes with his movements, and you see the veins in his forearm more pronounced with his effort. You’re touching yourself before you even realize you’re doing it, two fingers moving over your sensitive clit, but you don’t think you’re too overstimulated yet—you know you can come again.

“Oh, shit.” His eyes widen a little when he sees what you’re doing. “That’s so hot.” It spurs him on, stroking faster and faster, and you can see practically imperceptible tremors running down the muscles of his thighs.

“You look so good, Joon. Can’t wait to see you come,” you say, almost breathless as you both chase your pleasure.

That encouragement seems to be all he needs, because within a few seconds, he’s twisting his wrist just below the head of his cock, his come spilling onto your chest and stomach as he falls forward, bracing himself over you with one hand. While his eyes are closed, you run a finger through it and pop it in your mouth, tasting him a little bitter and salty on your tongue.

“What the—” he’s caught you, and he’s staring intently.

“What?” you ask after you pull your finger out of your mouth.

“You’re a fucking dream,” he says. “Thank you.” Then he’s pressing kisses all over your cheeks and forehead and chin as you giggle.

“I’m a mess,” you counter, wiggling around under him, trying to escape more pecks. “Let’s shower.”

And so you do. It’s quick and less sexy than you always picture things like that, but it’s nice to have him smooth soap into your skin reverently, thanking you too many times for staying with him the last couple of days. When you’re both clean, he finds you a shirt that fits a little better and doesn’t have his come on it, which is a welcome improvement.

You gather your phone and a book you’d left on his coffee table the day before and then shove your dirty shirt and thong deep into your bag. It’s not like you’re exactly “going out” presentable in jeans you’ve already worn once, no underwear on, and your… “friend’s” shirt on, but you think you can at least get to your apartment without feeling too gross. Especially when Namjoon tells you he called you a car, so you don’t have to be crushed into a subway car with dirty underwear in your purse.

Small favors.

You get another flurry of kisses and appreciations at his door, and when you leave, laughing, it's with a literal pinky promise that you will call him after you get home from work. He’s unfailingly cute.

The whole way home, you feel like you’re floating. (Anytime now, you’ll wake up, you’re sure of it.) It’s heady and dizzying to be around him, to be with him. He makes you feel so good, so wanted. And even in the moments you’ve just been talking, he’s always listening to you intently, like everything you say is important—he’s not one of those people who just wait until it’s their turn to speak again. It gives you a little bit of hope that there’s something blooming between you—that combined with the idea that he’s willing to go a little out of his way to take you out in public. Maybe, just this once and just a tiny bit, you can let yourself feel excited about what’s to come, hopeful even.

That thought makes you feel even lighter as you approach your apartment, but now you have to worry about what to tell your roommates about your disappearance. It’s a Friday afternoon, and you know Jimin won’t be home since he teaches classes, but you’re not sure about Taehyung. You are sure that if Tae is home, you won’t easily escape to your room with no questions asked; he’s about as interested in your personal life as someone can be, and you may have couched that fact slightly when you were explaining to Namjoon about your roommates. Because he definitely will want to know where you were, and he definitely will want more details than you’re willing to share.

Unfortunately for you, he is home, and it takes him less than ten seconds to clock the bruises on your neck and practically shove you down onto the sofa, begging you to tell him what you’ve been doing for two days.

“It’s kind of obvious, don’t you think?” you tease.

“Right, but who? I have to know,” he pleads.

“No.”

Tae sits back on the couch. “That’s a pseudonym, right?”

“God, you’re an idiot,” you say. “His name isn’t ‘no.’ I mean, no, I’m not telling you anything about him. It’s too soon.”

“Too soon to tell your best friend and most favorite roommate ever, but not too soon to let him suck your neck like you’re starring in a bad vampire movie?”

He would have a point except… “Jimin’s my favorite,” you say. “And Seokjin’s my best friend.”

Taehyung pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re a jerk.”

“And you’re nosy. I’ll tell you more if it goes anywhere, though. I promise.”

This seems to placate him a little. “Fine. We have to leave soon, anyway.”

You didn’t even consider that Tae would be assigned the same event, but it makes sense. He’s one of a few staff photographers where you work, and you get paired up fairly often. Everyone knows he’s got an interest in art, more than any of the other photographers, so he tags along to shoot for your articles more frequently than anyone else. You met at work, formed your friendship over long nights in museums and galleries, gossiping about the new money patrons and the celebrities. You’ve probably gossiped about Namjoon, actually. You don’t remember anything specific, but you’d both been at enough events that he had been at… It’s certainly a possibility. One that’s a little weird to think about.

The opening is quiet—there isn’t much fanfare. All the usual suspects are there since the gallery is new but the two artists they’re featuring are already popular locally. It makes it easy for you and Tae to get what you need and get out fairly quickly, allowing yourselves one glass of champagne each when your work is done. You think you could probably write articles like this in your sleep at this point. You’re not a critic, so no one generally cares what your opinion on the art is, but you have a few this time. You’ll keep them out of the article; but you have a fleeting thought that you wish Namjoon was there so you could talk about it with him.

It’s silly though, you’re just fucking. Maybe. It hadn’t even been an hour after you talked about getting to know him better that you were back in his bed, so maybe he’ll never be the person you chat about art with. Too early to tell, you decide.

You hear Tae’s bright laughter next to you and it brings a little relief. It’s reassuring to know you always have him and Jimin and Seokjin, so you’re fine no matter what you and Namjoon end up meaning to each other.

Or not meaning.

But when you both finally get home from the gallery, Friday night traffic making it take way longer than it should have, you have a message from Namjoon.

Namjoon [20:32]: How was the show?

Maybe you didn’t need to worry after all.

Vaguely, as you message him back from your spot in the corner of the sofa, you hear Taehyung say, “She’s got it bad.”

“Huh?” You snap your head up to see him and Jimin staring at you from the kitchen.

“Nothing!” Jimin smiles in a way he probably thinks is sweet, but he really just looks like a menace. He is a menace.

“You should see her hickeys,” Tae says. “Like a teenager.”

“Gross,” Jimin replies.

“You’re gross,” you huff, which causes the two of them to break down in snickers behind you.

“Good one.” You can practically hear Tae’s eye roll. It’s fine—it was a terrible comeback anyway.

Hauling yourself off of the couch, you announce, “I’m going to bed.”

“Tell loverboy we said hi,” Jimin calls after you.

You shut your door before you can give in to the urge to tell him to fuck off.

Over the next couple of days, your life gets a little bit back to normal. Your body adjusts again to the timezone and the humidity. You and Namjoon talk over the weekend, not much since you’re both working, but enough to have you always thinking passing thoughts of him. It’s a little maddening, the way he occupies this space in your brain. But, so far, if the frequency with which he messages you is any indication, you’re having the same effect on him.

On Tuesday night, you meet him in Sinchon at a small spot off of the main roads. It’s a little vegetarian place, sort of uncommon outside Hongdae, and not crowded. Very not crowded. Not a single other patron. In fact, you’re not even sure if it’s supposed to be open, since when you enter, someone who you presume is the owner greets Namjoon and quickly scoots you to a table in the back, making sure the door is locked behind you.

“I used to come here a lot,” he says by way of explanation. “They make sure I’m taken care of.”

You nod, like you can relate (you can’t), and try not to let your eyes show that you think it’s wild you’ve shut down a small restaurant just so you can have dinner with him without an audience.

“What do you think?” he says, almost shyly.

“It’s quiet,” you reply. “I don’t think I’ve ever closed down a restaurant…” This is when your inability to not say what’s on your mind takes over—you don’t want to make him feel weird about it, but it’s just the truth.

“Oh… Is this okay, then?” His knee bounces under the table and you can hear it with no one else around to drown out the rhythmic tapping of his heel.

It hits you suddenly—he’s nervous. It is your first date, technically, and when you think about it that way, you get a little nervous, too.

“It’s great, Joon. Thanks for bringing me here.” You try to sound as reassuring as you can because it is great, and you are glad to be there with him. Things haven’t truly been awkward between the two of you since he was leaving the Heathrow bathroom, and now with you both nervous, it’s starting to be just that.

He flags down the woman who let you in and orders for both of you, then seems to reconsider, looking over at you with minor panic. “Is that okay?” he asks, a little frantic. “I totally respect you, of course. So if you want something else, you can say so. I’m sorry.”

You want to scream. You want to scream because he’s cute, because you hate that you’re nervous, because you hate more that he’s nervous. You just want this to go well, you think. It’s becoming clear to you as you both get weirder around each other that this is actually really important to you. He is maybe really important to you.

“It’s fine,” you say, sliding a hand across the table, palm up—an invitation. “Hey, I’m a little nervous.” You wiggle your fingers at him so he gets the idea, and he gives you a sweet smile in return as he puts his hand in yours.

“Me too, fuck. So nervous.” Both of you laugh a little, relieving some of the tension, and he squeezes your fingers. “Glad we got that out of the way,” he says. “Should we do normal first date stuff?”

“Like getting our friends to call as a way to bail us out if things go south?”

“Oh!” he says, eyebrows lifting, “Should I text Yoongi and tell him not to do that?” He tries to keep a straight face, but you see his left dimple start to show as he finishes asking.

“Not funny, Kim.”

“A little funny.”

After that, things start to feel good between you again. That same ease you’ve gotten used to returns. Your food comes in waves, and the owner seems to (thankfully) be totally content to let you eat slowly while you laugh and talk. It’s almost like being back in the airport with him—before you knew you should be nervous, before you knew he might start to mean something to you. It’s really nice. You share a bottle of makgeolli while you eat, and by the time you’re full of jjigae and pajeon, you’re pleasantly warm and just tipsy enough to be laughing more than normal at his (consistently kind of terrible but in the best way) jokes.

He pays, and you try to get him to let you leave the tip at least, but he refuses to take your money—until he pauses, apologizes with his head bowed, and starts rambling about benevolent sexism and of course you can pay if you want to or leave the tip or really anything and he’s such dick for even assuming—

“Namjoon?” You put a hand on his shoulder.

His eyes shoot up, his cheeks are pink and he looks sort of mortified. “Yeah?”

“Thanks for dinner,” you say, moving your hand down his arm until you can thread your fingers with his. “Want to walk for a bit?”

The relief on his face is obvious, and instead of apologizing again, he tightens his fingers around yours and says, “Hotteok?” And then he bounces a little with excitement when you nod your head enthusiastically.

Together, you walk hand in hand down the streets. It’s dark and chilly, but the place where your palms meet is rom-com warm—feels like it’s keeping your whole body cozy. A few blocks from the subway station, you turn onto a main road where there are actually other people around and Namjoon drops your hand, giving you a squeeze first and what you think is an apologetic smile under his mask after.

“Sorry,” he says. “It’s just…” He doesn’t have to finish the sentence; you already know. He waves his hand around in a gesture explaining there’s too many people.

“I get it, you don’t have to explain,” you say.

And you mean it. It’s still nice to walk with him, both of you with your hands now shoved in your pockets, scarves pulled up tight around your chins. He’s telling you about all the places he used to frequent when he was in university, pointing out his favorite convenience store, a record shop, a cute used bookstore. You like getting a picture of a younger him, the one before the producing credits and art patronage and sold-out concert halls. It feels private, reserved for people he trusts, and it’s really, really good. You know you like talking to him, like sleeping with him, like the way he listens to you… But the more you listen to him, the more you start to remove the specific things you like from those sentences and you think you just like him. Completely, and in a way you haven’t liked anyone in a while.

You have time to mull that over as you lean against the side of the oddly fancy hotteok shop (which actually has a whole indoors and seating—you’d just been expecting an outdoor stall). You like him and he’s kind and thoughtful and handsome and you’re starting to think you might be in way over your head.

He’d asked you to wait outside if you weren’t too cold; said he had a surprise. You’re just starting to shiver when he comes back out of the shop with the biggest smile on his face you think you’ve seen yet. Even under his mask.

“Here,” he says, proudly sticking a thick paper wrapper out toward you.

And if there was any doubt in your mind that you might be falling for him just a little, it’s gone when you take the pink, heart-shaped hotteok from him. “What is this?” you ask quietly.

“Sarang hotteok,” he says around the bite in his mouth, cheeks already a little full and eyes wide. “I thought it fit.” He starts to walk, and your brain (a couple beats behind because you’re still trying to process things) doesn’t tell your feet to move for a moment, so you have to take a quick couple of steps to catch up to him.

But when your mind does catch up, it’s settled. You have a giant, unmistakable crush on Kim Namjoon. “Cute,” you say, almost under your breath.

“Aren’t they?”

“They are also cute,” you mutter, just sort of overwhelmed.

Namjoon laughs. “Are you alright?” he asks.

And what do you even say to that? You like him so much you think you might cry. Or throw up, or do something even more embarrassing like confess that you’re falling for him on your first actual date. You don’t even know if you’re alright—can you be so much better than alright that you aren’t anymore? Now you’re lost in your thoughts, and you know you’re just looking at him kind of helplessly and chewing your hotteok which not only is the cutest thing you’ve ever seen, but is also delicious.

When you swallow, you say the only semi-articulate thing that comes to mind. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Namjoon replies. “Literally. I wish I could tell you I wanted to hang out with you every day and not have that be weird.”

“It’s not,” you chime in quickly, making his brows lift again. “It’s not weird. I want that, too.”

“Oh… good, then. That’s good,” he says, nodding along. Then, after a beat, he adds, “So the ‘getting to know each other outside of my bedroom’ is going okay for you?”

You try very hard not to giggle. “Definitely, yes.”

Namjoon doesn’t look at you when he speaks again, just stares ahead as you near the lot where the car that dropped him off is waiting for both of you. “It’s going better than okay for me.”

“Good,” you echo.

“And I think I don’t want this date to be over,” he says.

“What’s next then?”

“Come home with me? For talking, and coffee… and whatever else, but no pressure. We don’t have to go into my bedroom. Shit, we can pretend I don’t even have a bedroom. Or a bed, or a couch, or a living room floor, or a kitchen counter…” His list of the places you’ve already slept together is probably embarrassingly long for only having known each other a little while.

“Joon?” You cut him off and he finally turns to look at you. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Mmhmm. And we don’t even have to pretend half your apartment doesn’t exist.”

Namjoon looks happy. Really fucking happy. It’s going to be addictive, you decide, to put that look on his face. You want to do it all the time. Then, as he opens the car door for you, he says so only you can hear, “Then maybe we can add some more rooms to the list.”

He has the best ideas.

Later, when you’re lying naked on the floor of his giant closet and you’ve just about caught your breath again, you tell him so, and you get that ridiculous, full-dimpled smile in return.

There’s no question: you’re addicted.

The feeling that you’re dreaming is still there, but you’re going to let it settle into your bones. When dreams are like this, who wants to wake up?

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