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gf2bellamy · 3 days ago

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hiii!

i was wondering if you could write spencer x reader, where she’s having a really bad day but spencer is coming home from a case and is exhausted, mentally and physically so she feels guilty that she would bother him with her mood

So she just hides away and is on the verge of a panic attack and spencer finds her and is all “you save me, so pls let me save you” and just comforts her (and calls her angel because 🫠)

thankyouuu so much (you dont have to do it if you dont want! no pressure at all!) i love your writing, it’s so incredibly cute and endearing <3

exhaustion — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader crying a lot , reader feeling guilty / tired / exhausted, spencer calls reader angel a/n: hii thank you so much for your request !! i hope you like this <3

The apartment was quiet—too quiet. You sat on the couch, curled up in one corner, staring blankly at the empty space in front of you. The TV was off, the big overhead light was off, and the only light came from the small lamp on the side table.

You hadn’t moved in what felt like hours, your mind swirling with the events of the day. It had been one of those days—the kind where nothing went right, where every little thing seemed to pile up until you felt like you were drowning under the weight of it all.

You missed Spencer. A lot. Especially right now.

He had a way of making everything feel better. You longed for his comforting hugs and the way he’d listen to you ramble about your day.

But he wasn’t here. He was at work, buried under mountains of paperwork and case files.

The sound of keys jingling in the lock snapped you out of your thoughts. You jumped up from the couch, your heart leaping in your chest as you hurried to the door.

Spencer stepped inside, looking disheveled and exhausted. His tie was loosened, his hair was a mess, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He dropped his bag by the door with a heavy thud, and before you could say a word, he pulled you into a tight hug.

You melted into his embrace, your arms wrapping around his neck as you buried your face in his shoulder. He smelled like coffee and faintly of paper. For a moment, you just stood there, holding each other.

“I missed you,” Spencer mumbled into your hair, his voice muffled but sincere. His hands rubbed soothing circles on your back.

“I missed you too,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You didn’t want to let go, but after a moment, he pulled back slightly, his hands moving to cradle your face. His thumbs brushed gently over your cheeks.

“Today was horrible,” he said with a sigh, his shoulders slumping as he let go of you to shrug off his jacket. He ran a hand through his hair, looking more tired than you’d seen him in a long time.

You bit your lip, hesitating. “What happened?” you asked softly, following him as he moved further into the apartment.

He sighed again, sinking onto the couch and leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Just… paperwork. So much paperwork. And then Garcia’s computer crashed, so we lost half the files we needed, and Hotch wanted everything reorganized by tomorrow morning…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “It was just one thing after another.”

You sat down next to him, your heart aching as you watched him. He looked so drained, so unlike his usual self, and you felt a pang of guilt for even thinking about burdening him with your own problems.

Today had been hard for you, but it sounded like it had been even harder for him. The last thing you wanted was to add to his stress.

So instead of talking about your day, you reached out and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “That sounds awful.”

He gave you a small, tired smile, his fingers intertwining with yours. “It’s okay. It’s just… one of those days, you know?”

You nodded, your throat tightening. You did know.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him. Instead, you shifted closer, pulling him into another hug. He leaned into you, his head resting on your shoulder as you ran your fingers through his hair.

“How was your day?” Spencer mumbled, his voice soft and drowsy as he leaned back against the couch, pulling you with him.

You settled against his side, his head still resting on your shoulder as your fingers continued to gently card through his hair.

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated for a moment, your hand stilling briefly before you forced yourself to keep moving.

“It was… good,” you said, your voice carefully neutral. You tried to inject a note of cheerfulness into your tone, but it came out sounding hollow, even to your own ears.

Spencer hummed against your shoulder, seemingly too tired to notice the slight falter in your voice. “I’m glad,” he murmured, his words muffled as he nuzzled closer to you. His warmth was comforting, but it did little to ease the tightness in your chest.

After a moment, he shifted, pressing a soft kiss to your temple before slowly sitting up. “I’m going to get changed,” he said, his voice still heavy with exhaustion.

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze before standing and heading toward the bedroom, leaving you alone on the couch.

As soon as he was out of sight, the lump in your throat returned, thicker and more suffocating than before. You bit your lip hard, trying to hold back the tears that had been threatening to spill all evening.

But it was no use. The dam broke, and before you could stop yourself, you were on your feet, hurrying toward the bathroom.

You shut the door behind you with a soft click, leaning against it as the first tear slipped down your cheek. Then another. And another.

Soon, you were crying , your shoulders shaking as you tried to stifle the sobs that threatened to escape. You muttered curses under your breath, frustrated with yourself for not being able to hold it together.

“Get it together,” you whispered harshly, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes. But the tears wouldn’t stop.

The tears kept running, your shoulders shaking as you tried to stifle the sobs that threatened to escape.

You felt like a mess, your face hot and your chest tight. But just as you were about to try to pull yourself together, you heard footsteps outside the bathroom door, followed by a soft knock.

“Hey,” Spencer’s voice came through the door, gentle and concerned. “Can I come in?”

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. You didn’t know what to do. Part of you wanted to tell him to go away, to spare him from seeing you like this, but another part of you desperately needed him.

You muttered a curse under your breath, wiping at your face with the back of your hand before slowly getting to your feet.

You opened the door just enough to peek out, your eyes meeting Spencer’s. He was standing there, his expression soft but worried. His hair was still a mess, but his eyes were focused entirely on you.

“Hey, hey,” he said immediately, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?”

You sniffled, your throat tightening as you tried to find the words. “I—” you started, but your voice broke, and you shook your head, unable to continue.

How could you even begin to explain? Everything was wrong. The entire day had been wrong, and now you felt like you were falling apart.

Spencer didn’t push. Instead, he reached out, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek, wiping away a tear. His touch was so tender that it only made you cry harder.

“Come on,” he said softly, his hand slipping down to take yours. He gave it a gentle squeeze before pulling you with him, leading you out of the bathroom and down the hallway.

You followed him numbly, your fingers intertwined with his as he guided you to the bedroom. He sat you down on the edge of the bed and knelt in front of you, his hands resting on your knees as he looked up at you, his eyes searching yours.

“Talk to me, angel,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “What’s going on?”

The nickname made your heart ache, and you shook your head, fresh tears spilling over. “I didn’t want to bother you,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “You had such a bad day, and I didn’t want to make it worse.”

Spencer’s expression softened, his hands moving to cradle your face. “You could never make my day worse,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And you’re never a bother. Not to me. Not ever.”

You shook your head again, your hands gripping his wrists as you tried to steady yourself. “But you were so tired, and I didn’t want to—”

“Hey,” he interrupted gently, his thumbs brushing away your tears. “You save me, I save you. That’s how this works, remember?”

You nodded slowly, your breath hitching as more tears spilled over by just hearing those sweet words. Spencer leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before pulling you into his arms.

You went willingly, burying your face in his shoulder as he held you close. His hands rubbed soothing circles on your back, and you felt some of the tension in your chest begin to ease. After a while he slowly let go, but his hands remaining on your arms.

“Tell me about your day,” he said after a while, his voice soft but insistent. “What happened?”

You hesitated, but the way he was looking at you—so patient, so understanding—made it impossible to hold back. So you told him. You told him about everything that had gone wrong.

And he listened, his hands never leaving yours, his eyes never wavering from yours.

When you were done, he pulled you into his arms again, holding you tightly against his chest. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “I’m sorry you had such a bad day. But I’m here now, okay? And I’m not going anywhere.”

You nodded, your face buried in his shoulder as you clung to him. For the first time all day, you felt like you could breathe again. Like maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his shirt.

Spencer pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “Always, angel,” he said softly. “Always.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x you #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst

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always-just-red · 3 days ago

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Oh I forgot to add 😭😭😭 be it fluff like jelly sylus but fluff maybe he trying to make the mc jelly too ? I’m going wild with ideas, I will be quiet

(Part 1 of ask) FINALLY finished this fic oh my goshhh I've loved it so much but writer's block was my constant companion for this one 🫠 Thanks for your patience!! Sy is jealous but I'm still pushing my 'Sylus is the softest man alive and would die before hurting MC' agenda, so I had to get a lil creative! Hope I've pulled it off idk 😭😭

Be Mine

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: Sylus is getting a little tired of sharing you with the other men in your life (and he doesn't mean Luke and Kieran 🙃)

Genre: lil bit of angst, comfort and fluff

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, jealousy, other LIs mentioned, brief allusion to Raf's self-harm tendencies, cheating mentioned, some intimacy & kisses-- more soft than spicy!

| Word count: 4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Sylus has spent centuries waiting for you, so he’s going to give you another minute.

Patience is not a virtue; it’s an old acquaintance he greets with a false smile whenever he’s forced to pass it on the street. Sometimes outside your building, whilst you’re chatting with a neighbour from the apartment above yours. Sometimes when you’re running late from a doctor’s appointment.

Patience has been cropping up a lot these days and gods, he’s sick of its face. Even now, it sits with him at this table for two as he sips at a glass that’s almost empty. There’s poetry in stalling, in savouring what’s left, especially as a waiter hovers anxiously nearby, anticipating the need for yet another refill (it would be the third).

Dregs of blood-red wine swirl with solemnity. Sylus is a patient man, a man who waits, but he doesn’t want to be. He wants the reward of it: the pot of gold at the end of that insipid rainbow. Hasn’t he waited enough?

He lifts his drink to his lips again.

“Sylus!”

They curve as he swallows the final drop.

“I’m so sorry,” you stammer, flinging yourself into the seat across from him so quickly that he’s cheated of the chance to rise and help you with your chair. “Sit back down,” you usher, because he had made a start on it, “really, Sy, I’m so, so sorry. Things at work just got crazy, and I—”

“You don’t have to explain, sweetie,” he smiles as he signals the waiter. He’ll have that refill, now, and he orders your favourite drink as you shrug off your coat and fumble with your bag, looking for something. “I’m more than familiar with the Association’s… dedication to a cause.”

You glance up with an amused smile. “We’re keeping you on your toes, huh?”

“Mmm. There is one hunter who’s proving to be a real thorn in my side.”

“You on top of that?”

“Most evenings, yes. Some mornings, too.”

You poke your tongue out at him. You’ve retrieved a compact mirror and you use it to study your dishevelled reflection. “Is everything all right at work?” he asks as you fuss over your hair.

“Yeah,” you puff. “Long story.”

“We have time.”

With a warmer smile, you stash your mirror away and sequester your bag by your feet. “You sure?” He gives you a look. “Fine,” you chuckle. “Basically, Xavier forgot to write up some reports. He’s been away on an ultra-secret, special mission or whatever—” you tap your nose conspiratorially— “which I didn’t just tell you, okay? But yeah, the reports weren’t done, and they were due tonight, so…”

Sylus raises an apathetic eyebrow. “He asked you to help?”

“Begged me, more like.”

Of course he did. The waiter arrives with your drinks and Sylus has never been gladder for a distraction. His mouth is full of pettiness, bitterness, so he drowns it with wine. You could have called. Texted. “So kitten’s been playing secretary, hmm?” he goads instead.

“That would imply kitten could keep track of time,” you pout, “so no. And speaking of playing a part—” you poke his nose— “you’re allowed to be mad at me. I should have called you. Texted. So let me have it, yeah? I feel bad enough already without you being all… perfect.”

You’re only teasing, but Sylus doesn’t feel perfect. He’s thinking about you working late with your partner, laughing at his jokes, poking him with your pen to keep him from falling asleep on his paperwork. He smirks, regardless. “What if I want you to feel bad?”

“Oh, gods,” you slump forwards, face-down on the table. “How long were you waiting?”

“Years.”

You fake cry into the tablecloth. “Don’t, Sy. Just tell me the truth. How bad was it?”

“Really, years,” he insists again, folding his arms on the table and sliding forwards, too. His chin is resting on his hands, and he blows at the top of your head. “Look.” Your face lifts so you can peer at him. He pinches his hair. “I’ve even gone grey, see?”

You sit up the tiniest bit more and your noses are almost brushing. “It looks nice,” you whisper.

“You think so?”

“Mmm. Suits you.”

Your eyes are every gem— every jewel in an illicit auction Sylus has to steal away from the rest of the world, because something that pretty just has to be his; it will find no worthier home than his hands. His devotion fills vaults. Aren’t they spilling with emeralds, rubies, sapphires, diamonds— those reckless imitations of your gaze? No-one else could deserve them, adore them like he does.

And they’ve nothing on the real thing.

Someone clears their throat and Sylus tracks the noise begrudgingly. The anxious waiter is back, clutching menus this time. You sit up fully, laughing to break the tension, and sure enough, Sylus feels less like hurling the man through the nearest window.

He’s still thinking about it though. He tells the waiter as much with a smile, and the menus are passed over with shaking hands. When Sylus says, “thank you,” it sounds like a bomb, ticking.

“Play nice,” you tut, once the waiter’s cleared the blast radius.

“Sweetie, when do I ever not play nice?”

You blink back at him disbelievingly. This should be good. “How about the time that you—?”

A familiar ringtone interrupts you, and your eyes widen in apology as you grab at your bag, rifling around for your phone. You find it— check the call and decline it— but relief is hiding, refusing to set foot on stage. Not yet, it confers to Sylus darkly, because it knows what comes next.

“Do you need to…?” he asks anyway.

“Nah, it was just Rafayel. Thanks, though.” You set the phone down. “Where was I?”

“You were about to tell me what a terribly bad man I am, sweetie.”

“Right!” you giggle. No, not yet. “So how about the time that you…” The phone rings again. You check it. Decline it. “How about the time that you—ugh!” It’s ringing again.

Sylus taps a finger on the table, impatiently patient. You can’t mute the wretched thing: the next call you miss would be a Wanderer, tearing through an orphanage or the like. It’s the reason you check, even when there’re no orphans at stake— just a pest of an artist with too much time on his hands.

Except… “Oh,” you say, glancing downwards, “it’s Zayne. I should probably—” Sylus gives a half-smile of blessing, but you weren’t waiting around for it— “hey, Zayne! I can’t talk right now, unless— Raf? What the hell? How did you get Zayne’s phone?”

You pull yours away from your ear as a string of whines come through:

“— ignore my calls, don’t even text me to ask what’s up, and then pick up his call right away? You hate me, right? Just say that you hate me, cutie.”

“I don’t hate you, Raf.” The phone is back to your ear. “I’m busy. Now seriously, how did you get— oh, hi, Zayne. Why is Raf…?” Sylus can hear a deeper voice answering your questions. “He’s at the—? Shit, is he okay? Ugh, tell him I can hear him. Tell him I know he’s not dying.”

You meet Sylus’s eyes as conflict erupts on the other end of the call. Sorry, you mouth as static filters through, interspersed with broken words and curses. The doctor’s voice prevails. “Yeah, Zayne,” you speak back to it. “I’ll call Thomas, get him to pick him up. Mmhmm? Oh!” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I forgot, he’s at that stupid art thing. Look, maybe later, I can…”

The artist’s shrill tone is protesting.

“I know it’s my job, Raf!” you counter. “But gimme a break, please. If it was any other night, you know I’d be there. Of course I wanna be there! But I can’t—”

It’s just a slip of the tongue— words you don’t even realise you’re saying— but Sylus still feels his heart sink. He hates it. A heart is so difficult to argue with: it’s long gone before you can talk any sense into it. He stands from the table, those priceless eyes of yours pursuing him. When you tilt your head, he musters a smile, then a weak excuse: “I’m just stepping outside for a moment.”

You nod, a follow-up question on the tip of your tongue, but then there’s a voice in your ear again— two voices— and you’re you, so of course you listen.

…

Sylus waits on a bench outside the restaurant, closing his eyes as he waits for his heart to come back.

It’s only been a few minutes. He’s thinking about your eyes, your nose and lips— an inch from his— and how he should have closed that gap before it grew treacherous. Shouldn’t he be done with this? This… longing? You’re his. You’ve told him you’re his, over and over again, but he finds himself needing to hear it once more; the ghost of your voice is starting to lack persuasion.

He is yours without exception, but you? There’s always a caveat. I’m yours, Sylus. But only so long as the city is quiet. I’m yours, Sylus. Until someone else calls. The door to the restaurant opens— he can hear it— but he doesn’t open his eyes. He wants to pretend.

I’m yours, Sylus. No caveats. No exceptions.

“Sylus.”

He swallows the dread in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” you entreat softly. His eyes open, and you’re wearing your coat, holding your bag. “I have to run to the hospital— it’s this whole thing. Raf, like, passed out or something. He’s not been eating again. Zayne said when something like this keeps happening, it’s a sign that… yeah. He just… needs someone. And he hasn’t got anyone else, you know?”

“I understand.” You’re worried about your friend. That’s all it is.

Why can’t he believe that’s all it is?

You come over and sink down on the bench beside him, looping your arm through his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Don’t you know that he’s afraid? That a selfish, spiteful part of him wants to hide you— with the rest of his treasures— away from the light, so he can love you in the dark?

There’s a sigh as you lean against him, savouring his touch like the wine one swirls in a glass when their thoughts are elsewhere. It’s gone in a mouthful; you check your watch, and he hopes it’s bitter.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

No, he would rather be sweet for you, but look at you— making him lie. “I’m okay,” he says, and it doesn’t have a drop of conviction. He’s tired of philanthropy.

…

“What are you gonna do? Come on, tell us. Tell us! What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know, Luke. Give me a second, okay? Jeez.”

You literally just got here. Your pace is brisk and the night air still clings to you— you shed a layer of it by peeling your arms out of your coat. Luke and Kieran are close behind, keeping to your heels like terriers hoping you’ll trip with a plateful of food. They’ll take even a crumb at this point.

“You gonna fight him?” Kieran nudges, but your lips stay tight.

“Oh, you’re so gonna fight him,” Luke takes away from the silence.

You don’t know what you’re going to do. You’ve reached a decadent lounge, lavished with black and gold, and you throw your coat over the arm of a chair before starting to wrestle off your combat boots. You’ve been off work for hours, but it doesn’t feel like it. One call-to-duty after another; first the hospital, now this.

Mephisto caws in greeting from a nearby perch. “I’m not gonna fight him,” you say as your second boot drops with a clunk. “I just need to—”

“Say no more,” Luke cuts you off. “We want in.”

With a tired sigh, you gaze up at the twins at last. Kieran is readying a fist: punching his hand softly, the beak of his mask low and threatening. Beside him, Luke swings a baseball bat over his shoulder. He didn’t have it a second ago. Where did he even—?

You put your hands on your hips. “You guys got a death wish or something?”

“Yes!” they enthuse together, nodding excitedly.

You haven’t got time to ask. Your focus drifts to Sylus’s bedroom door, where music is leaking with honeylike light. You can’t count the number of times you’ve fallen over that threshold, exhausted— always slightly broken. You want to crawl into cool silk sheets and a warmer embrace, but there’s one small problem.

The text that had brought you here, anxious and out of breath:

Boss is with someone.

“What’re you thinking?”

You’re closer to the door, now, and Luke’s whisper makes you jump. You spin, twisting the bat from his fingers and pushing him back until the tip is pressed to his throat. “Get back,” you hiss, before levelling the weapon at an encroaching Kieran, “both of you.”

Luke leaps behind his brother— swinging him between you for protection. The baseball bat stays hovering, and Luke peeks over Kieran’s shoulder, swatting at it like an indignant kitten.

“Stop it,” you scold, poking back at his hand and his masked face. “Begone!”

“Yes, boss!” Kieran goes to move, but Luke is holding him in place. He’s dragged backwards: a human shield until they can both scurry around the turn of a corridor.

You smile fondly. You forget, for just a moment, that you’re alone and full of uncertainty. The song in the next room lulls, at its inevitable end, and then you can’t forget. You’re stood in silence, staring at a door you’ve never had to knock before. Another song starts up.

Whatever this is, you can handle it.

You use the baseball bat to tap against the dark wood. “Sylus?” you call.

He makes you wait. You can hear him, moving around— unmistakably taking his time— but you don’t mind. You’re running scenarios through your head. Is he in on this, too? Or…?

He opens the door and oh, he definitely is. His silk robe hangs haphazardly over his figure, one side threatening to slip from his shoulder and the belt dangerously loose at the middle. A flush is tinting his face, spreading down through his neck, past his collarbone and lower, you think, but you’re trying not to look.

“Sweetie,” he purrs in the way that tells you he’s up to no good, “what a pleasant surprise.” His eyes flit downwards. “And you’re armed, too.”

There’s a breathlessness to the observation, and your ability to breathe briefly eludes you as well. His hair is damp and unkempt, his skin warm, his gaze hot. Is this a test? It feels like a test.

“Are you alone?” you snap, because he’s clearly put some thought into whatever it is, and you’re a good sport, so you’ll play along.

“No,” he says, but then: “You know you’re always with me in spirit, kitten. Even if not in—” another downwards glance— “body.”

“Sylus.”

“Mmm?”

“I’m going to ask you one more time.” You catch his chin with your free hand, forcing his gaze back to your face. “And I want a real answer.” He swallows thickly. “Are you alone?”

His submission is fragile. He lifts his hand, wraps his fingers around your wrist like a reminder of the fact. “Careful, sweetie.” His grip tightens as his voice drops. “Think about what you’re asking.”

“I know what I’m asking.” You snatch your hand free and step closer. “Get out of my way.”

Sylus narrows his eyes, but soon relaxes. He sweeps a hand through his hair, chuckling as he obeys— moving aside to let you past. You storm through, looking over every visible inch of his room. There’s nothing to see, of course. No clothes that aren’t yours pooled over the floor. No lover wrapped up in his bedsheets.

“Just what exactly are you looking for?” he asks smugly behind you.

“Save it, Sylus.” Your pretend patience is gone. “The twins told me everything.”

So you start searching more strenuously. You make your way over to his bed, baseball bat slung over your shoulder as you check behind the far side— even stooping to peek under it. You open the wardrobe. Nothing. Use the baseball bat to push back the curtains, letting in more blood-red moonlight. Nothing. You huff in frustration.

“You know, don’t you?” Sylus says quietly.

He’s leant against the doorway, arms crossed, and you spare him a glance. “Know what?”

“That there’s no-one here.”

It sounds like defeat. “I’m taking this very seriously, actually,” you dismiss as you roll open the drawer of his bedside table, where no-one is hiding. You move on to even more absurd places: lifting flowers out of their vase to glance about inside it, peering into the horn of his vintage gramophone.

You’d hoped your antics would elicit at least a short laugh, or a scoff of amusement. There’s nothing, though, so you plonk onto the bed— defeated, yourself— and look to the man as you set your weapon down.

He looks back with an insincere smile. “How did you know?”

“That you weren’t really with someone? Because you’re you, Sylus. The key to a good prank?” Your fingers twinkle in the air beside your head. “Believability. Besides—” now a forefinger taps at your temple— “nothing gets past this.”

“Your ego?” he guesses with a smirk that is sincere, if nothing else.

“My brain, Sy.”

“Ah.”

Your ego— tsk. Your feet are dangling from the bed, playing with a slipper they’ve fished out from underneath it, and you have half a mind to launch it at him. This doesn’t feel like one of your usual games, though, and you’ve had a whole ride through the N109 Zone to figure out why.

“I really hurt you, didn’t I?” you speak like a confession, staring down at the floor so you don’t have to meet his eyes. “That’s what all this is about, right? You wanted to get back at me for dinner?”

“No, I—”

“I get it.” Your feet find the second slipper. “I do. I mean, it was a really shitty thing to do— walking out on you like that. Especially after you waited for me. You went to all that effort, and I— ah.” You’ve toed one of the slippers out of reach.

“Allow me,” comes a voice that’s suddenly close. Sylus’s figure looms over you before he’s crouching, kneeling by your feet. He still looks like a mess of sin, but he’s gentle as he retrieves the slipper for you. Removes your socks for you. Slides a slipper onto each of your cold feet. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he mutters.

You let out a sigh. “Sylus.” You’re scolding him, and he gazes up at you, his eyes garnets of adoration only you could afford. “You can tell me anything, you know.”

“I know, sweetie.”

“So why won’t you tell me how you feel?”

He sits back on his knees, his thumb drawing circles on the inside of your ankle. The ministrations are mindless, and so are his words: “How I feel is not important.”

“Of course it is!” You pull away from him. “Don’t say things like that.”

“But I thought I could tell you anything, kitten.”

It’s a nick from a blade that could do much worse; he wants you to feel how sharp it is. His smile is a warning and he’s waiting for the hunter in you to strike back, because violence is what you’re good at. What you’re both good at. It hurts, but it’s easy.

You shift forward on the bed. “Sylus… you don’t need to protect me. Not from you. Not from anything you feel. I want you to be happy, to tell me if you’re unhappy. I don’t need you to—” your fingers skirt over his chest and you falter inexplicably— “to sacrifice yourself for me.”

Sylus looks down to where you’re tracing the shape of his heart on his skin. He lets out a long, beleaguered breath, then leans closer to you, his head turning away as he settles it on your lap. Your hands find his hair instinctually, threading through it in slow, meandering motions.

“I want you to be mine,” he admits on another sigh.

He can’t see you smile, but he’ll hear it in your voice: “I am yours, Sy—”

“No— just mine.”

He won’t make it a demand. Even asking you nicely has him breathless and still, like the drawn-out pause of a finished symphony. Your hands stop moving, out of respect for the quiet. You’re remembering the times you’ve been late out of your building because you’d stumbled into Xavier in the lobby. The doctor’s appointments that always overrun, and Rafayel’s ‘emergency’ phone calls.

“Come and sit with me,” you mumble, patting the bed beside you.

When Sylus does, it’s with the same reluctance a cat surrenders a sliver of sun. Lazy and listless— still warm from the light. The bed sinks under his weight and you turn to face him. His robe’s collar has fallen further, so you hook a finger under it to draw it back up to his neck. Then you straighten the lapels, smoothing them over distractedly.

He’s watching your face, not the movements of your hands. Your cheeks feel warm. “I was speaking to Rafayel earlier, and we—”

A groan, and Sylus is no longer at your fingertips; he’s flopped down backwards on the bed, his hand over his face. You can’t help giggling— you’ve broken the big, bad boss of Onychinus, it seems. Is that all it takes? You grin as you lie down with him, settling on your side, propped up on an elbow. He doesn’t stir when you fix a few stray strands of his hair.

“We talked about boundaries,” you continue. “How I can’t be on call twenty-four seven, and how he’s going to take better care of himself, so I don’t have to be.”

Sylus has moved his hand, ever so slightly.

There’s more: “I’m gonna call in sick to work tomorrow. I made a deal with Xavier, that’s why I stayed late today. He’ll cover for me.” You shift closer. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I know I can’t always be with you, but I am always thinking of you, I promise. You’re always with me in spirit, Sy, even if not in—” you press a quick kiss to his chest— “body.”

He chuckles at the words, or maybe the touch tickled.

You grin down at him. “I’m yours. Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

“No! Ugh, just—” Smart-ass! You flick his forehead as he laughs quietly. “Not the words ‘I’m yours’, say that I’m—”

His hand is at your face, pulling you in so he can kiss you. It’s slow and it’s patient; he’s taking his time, and you won’t slip away. You can feel his smile. “You’re mine,” he murmurs when he finally withdraws. One more kiss, lighter, on the tip of your nose. “Just mine.”

Always. You let him pull you into an embrace, snuggling into his warmth like you’ve been wanting to from the moment you last left it. You can hear his heartbeat beneath the lullaby of his breath. “Sy?” you whisper.

“Hmm?”

“You look really hot when you’re pretending to cheat on me.”

He scoffs, but a yawn comes before his response. “Don’t get any ideas, kitten.”

Your quiet is pensive. “I have this lunch with Zayne later this week. I really should text him to find out—”

The grip around you constricts, and a voice is in your ear, soft and possessive:

“What did I just say?”

#🖋rach is actually writing #sylus x reader #sylus #love and deepspace #lads sylus #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #qin che #sylus x mc #sylus x you #lads x reader #lads #lnds #l&ds

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ylangelegy · 1 day ago

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true hate’s kiss 💋 chan x reader.

★ footnotes: first seen in svt x reverse tropes. dedicated to @chanranghaeys and, of course, the birthday boy himself. word count: 905.

It started with the ribbiting.

The first time it happened, Chan had thought it was a hiccup. Some weird sound caught in the back of his throat. But then it kept happening, and happening, and happening, and no amount of water could fight it down.

What a horrifying thing to realize— that he was slowly but surely turning into a frog.

It’s the type of fuckass situation that Chan thought only existed in fiction. He’d seen the Disney movie, of course. He even gave it four stars on Letterboxd.

To have it happen to him, though? Insane.

All because he’d gotten into a spat with someone at the park. He’d thought the old hag was crazy when she screeched about being a witch, when she waved a stick at him and claimed he could only be cured by ‘true hate’s kiss’. Not true love, mind you. True hate.

There was really only ever one person that Chan loathed with every fibre of his being.

You’d understandably been skeptical when he came up to you. In hindsight, starting off with “I need you to kiss me” may have not been one of his stronger openings.

“This is a weird way to confess,” you had shot back, and he laughed so hard he thought he might cry.

He called you delusional. You retaliated by slamming the door in his face with a scathing remark of “Enjoy being a fuckass frog, then! Ribbit ribbit, bitch!”

‘Ribbit ribbit’ he has been doing, much to his utter distaste. The trilling has been driving him mad. He’s convinced his palms are getting more clammy by the day. And is it just him, or is his skin taking on a more greenish tint?

Chan swallows what little pride he has left and does what he has to do: He grovels.

He gets on his knees and grits out pleas for just one kiss. (No tongue, even, he says, unless you want some. That earns him an upside smack to the head.)

He promises to leave you alone for a week, a month. That’s not enough; he can tell by your stoic, unwavering expression.

“Anything,” he blurts out. “I’ll give you anything.”

It’s a dangerous thing to promise, but it’s what lands. “Anything?” you repeat, tilting your head to one side.

You’re the perfect picture of everything he’s despised. Composure, ridicule, smugness.

Chan shifts from down on the ground, his knees pressing into the cool wood of the floorboards. “Anything,” he confirms with the solemnity of a man accepting a death sentence.

You feign like you’re thinking about it, fingers resting at your chin. The litany strikes up in Chan’s head. A chant of I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I—

“Deal,” you say.

He blinks. Dread shivers down his spine, though it’s quickly replaced by something more akin to relief. Better one bad kiss than be a frog for life.

“Okay.” His words are an exhale as he scrambles to his feet, drawing himself up to his full height. “Alright, then.”

Chan has never been more grateful to be a couple of inches taller than you. It’s always been the topic of his jabs, and now it gives him both literal and metaphorical leverage.

“Let’s make this quick,” he grumbles even though he’s in no position to be making demands when he’s the one cashing in a favor. He can only hope and pray that the anything you might want is somewhat reasonable, that it won’t shatter his already wounded pride.

You roll your eyes. He bites back a snarky remark on the tip of his tongue.

Chan rests his hand on the column of your neck, because if he’s going to do this, he’s going to do it right. Don’t overthink it, a voice in the back of his head wryly advises, and so he doesn’t.

He squeezes his eyes shut and leans down, bracing for the worst. I hate you, I hate you, I hate—

—green apple lip balm.

The refrain screeches to a halt. Chan never thought he’d use the word ‘soft’ to describe you; he knows you for your rough edges and sharp wit. Nothing about you is subtle or mellow, most especially when it comes to him.

And yet.

You’re not even touching him. You haven’t laid a single finger on him, and yet Chan is holding his breath like he’s underwater.

When your mouth parts ever so slightly— he doesn’t have the time to analyze that, to wonder if it’s impulse or pleasure— he responds in kind, his tongue briefly tracing over your lower lip.

His earlier jab must register in your mind because you begin to pull away, your part of the deal fulfilled. The feeling of loss is instant.

Don’t overthink it, his conscience had yelled. He didn’t realize it might translate to Don’t think at all.

Chan’s fingers flex at your neck. If kissing you felt like being underwater, being apart felt like gasping for air.

Gone is the chorus in his head. Why did he hate you, anyway?

He doesn’t have to say a thing. His body acts for him; instinctively, he leans forward, chasing your lips for another kiss.

(Later: A doctor’s visit reveals that the ‘ribbiting’ was, in fact, hiccups. An electrolyte imbalance, the attending tells a mortified Chan. Might be good to drink Gatorade.

When Chan’s first thought is the apple-flavored variant, he knows he’s screwed.)

#lee chan x reader #chan x reader #dino x reader #lee chan imagines #chan imagines #dino imagines #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt imagines #seventeen imagines #(💎) page: svt #(🥡) notebook

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satellite-evans · 3 days ago

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Hi! Could I please request a one shot where Harry is sick maybe during tour and his gf has to take care of him? Thank you! I love your writing!

a/n: thank you so much for liking my work, it truly means a lot! it's a little short but I still hope you'll like it <3

sick on tour

The hotel room is quiet except for the noise of the air conditioning and the occasional sniffle from the lump of blankets curled up in the middle of the king-sized bed. The curtains are drawn, shielding the bright city lights outside from intruding on the peaceful, dimly lit space. Harry has always liked his hotel rooms cozy—candles on the nightstand, his favorite hoodie draped over the chair, and the softest pillows he could find. But tonight, none of it seems to bring him comfort.

You stand at the edge of the mattress, arms crossed, watching Harry sulk into his pillow. His curls are a mess, sticking to his slightly damp forehead, his nose a little pink from the fever, and yet—despite looking absolutely miserable—he’s still trying to convince you he’s fine.

“I can do the show,” he rasps, voice hoarse and scratchy. He attempts to prop himself up on his elbows, but the movement sends him into a fit of coughing. You sigh and press a hand to his chest, gently urging him back down.

“Baby, no. You can barely sit up.”

He frowns, brows knitting together like a petulant child. “S’just a little cold.”

“You have a fever, a sore throat, and you sound like you swallowed sandpaper,” you point out, smoothing your fingers over his clammy forehead. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Harry grumbles something incoherent and burrows further into the pillows. You can tell he hates this—hates being taken care of, hates being seen as anything less than strong. But the thing is, to you, he’s always strong. Even now, curled up in a nest of tissues and blankets, he’s still the man you love more than anything.

Tour has been brutal on him lately. Night after night of performing, giving his all to the crowds that adore him, leaving every ounce of himself on that stage. He never complains—not about the exhaustion, not about the jet lag, not about the toll it takes on his body. But you see it in the way his shoulders slump when he thinks no one is looking, the way his voice is a little more raw each morning, the way he clings to you just a little tighter when he finally collapses into bed at the end of the night.

“I can’t cancel, though,” he whispers after a long moment, his voice laced with guilt. “They’ve probably spent so much money—flights, hotels, tickets, clothes and waited months just to see me. I can’t let them down, I just can't.”

You soften, understanding where his frustration is coming from. Harry has always carried the weight of his fans' happiness on his shoulders, always put them first. It’s one of the many reasons you love him—but right now, he needs to put himself first.

You take his hand in yours, rubbing slow, comforting circles over his knuckles. “Harry, sweetheart, I already spoke to Jeff. He and the team handled everything. They put out a statement, rescheduled the show, and made sure the fans know how much you care about them Not that they need a statement anyway. They know how much you love them.”

His brows furrow. “You—”

“I took care of it,” you interrupt gently. “So you don’t have to worry, okay? The fans love you, but they love you healthy and not sticky. You can’t give them the show they deserve if you push yourself too hard now. That is not what they deserve.”

Harry lets out a slow breath, his tense shoulders easing just a fraction. He still looks guilty, but there’s also relief in his tired eyes. “You really talked to Jeff?”

You nod. “Of course. Your health comes first, baby. Now please let me take care of you."

You slip out of the room quietly and return with a damp cloth, gently dabbing it against his forehead. The coolness makes him sigh, his tense shoulders relaxing under your touch. Then, you hold up a spoonful of honey-laced tea to his lips. He scrunches his nose but accepts it, swallowing with a soft grimace.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice slightly clearer now.

You smile and brush your fingers over his cheek. “Of course, my love.”

After making sure he’s warm enough, you reach for the small bowl of soup on the nightstand that you kindly asked form the hotel staff. “Just a little, H. You need something in your stomach other than medicine.”

"The fans would've probably ask for me to sing medicine tonight but they can't because I need it. The irony." He said, trying to lighten the room up with a joke but cough wave that crushed him once again.

"Drink Harry." You said sternly.

He looks at you like he wants to argue, but he knows better. You lift the spoon to his lips, and after a moment’s hesitation, he leans forward and takes a bite. A small, content sigh escapes him, and you can’t help but grin.

“You’re good at this,” he mutters, sleep beginning to weigh heavy on him.

“I'm just good at loving you lovie,” you reply simply, brushing back his curls as he lets his eyes drift shut.

His fingers reach for yours under the blanket, giving them a weak squeeze. “Love you more.”

You sit beside him, pressing a soft kiss to his fever-warmed temple. “Just rest, my love. I’ve got you.”

And with the way he sighs, relaxing into your touch, you know he believes you.

Tomorrow, he’ll probably try to argue again. Try to tell you he feels fine, that he’s ready to get back out there, to put on another show. But for tonight, he’s yours to take care of. And you wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #fluff #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles x female reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles x y/n #harry styles love on tour #harry styles fic rec #fic rec

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mybelovedsylus · 2 days ago

Text

Another day another smutty drabble. You know the drill, no minor interactions please. I’m a Sylus girlie who still quite enjoyed the unhinged Caleb - so I got to thinking. Sylus would definitely want to make sure Caleb knew that you were taken - granted a little OOC cause he likes these intimate moments to be private, but I couldn’t get the idea of him calling Caleb while fucking MC to prove a point… so well that’s what this shit is and that’s your warning. Hope you like it - not edited as always. I'm still working on my smut writing too so forgive me

_______________________________________________________________________________________

Sylus knew he was a possessive motherfucker. Of that he had no doubt, but if he did he knew for sure when he had your ankles draped loosely over his shoulder as your phone dialed next to your head on speakerphone.

"You can not be serious right now," you gasped, hands clutching against nothing as Sylus' evol kept them pinned to the bed. Couldn't have you hanging up prematurely now could we? Not when there was a point to be proven.

"Pipsqueak, what's up?"

Sylus sneered as soon as he picked up, like that wasn’t exactly what his intention was. He looked from the phone to you and raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to respond. As you opened your mouth, he slammed all the way home causing a moan to rip out of your throat, which you were quick to try and muffle by biting down hard on your lip. Sylus looked downright gleeful, the red of his eyes practically glowing.

"You okay over there?" Caleb's voice came through gentle but questioning.

"Ye-yeah, just stubbed my toe?" you gasped out but it sounded unsure. Well now that wouldn't do. Sylus leaned down, essentially folding your knees into your chest, which in turn pushed him even further into you which you couldn't help but groan at. His mouth latched on to your peaked nipple, flicking and tweaking it as his hand reached up to lavish the other with similar attention.

"You must have really stubbed it good, do you need me to bring dinner and some medical aid?" Caleb offers sweetly.

"NO!"

There's silence on the line and you glare as Sylus chokes back a laugh as he leans back, resuming a lazy pace and wiping the hair out of your eyes. The sweet gesture is a stark contrast to the debauchery happening here. Sylus is drawing it out, giving slow lazy thrusts that drag every vein and inch over your sensitive spots, dragging you closer and closer to that precipice. You need Caleb to hang the fuck up before that happens.

"I appreciate the - fuck - offer, but really I'll be okay."

You know it comes out like phone sex, airy and deep, but that's because it's like Sylus can read my mind and is trying to get me over the peak as quick as he can - like he wants Caleb to hear just what he does to me. This possessive motherfucker - but also what does that say about you that you find yourself getting wetter at the idea?

"Uh, okay, was that all you called to tell me? That you stubbed your toe, but otherwise you are fine?" Caleb asked. You could tell he didn't believe a word of what you were trying to sell.

"Mhm," you gasp out as Sylus draws tight circles over your clit, picking up the pace of his thrusts. You are starting to wonder if the slap of skin and the rough slide through your wetness is echoing on the phone like it is in your ears.

"Okay," he draws out, suspicion evident in his tone, "I'm just gonna let you go then."

It's too late though. Between the bruising and pistoning pace,and the flicking of your clit, there's not much you can do to hold it back. You try to bite your lip to hold the noises at bay, but Sylus pulls it free with his other hand. He holds your cheeks in a grasp that holds your mouth open, and you cry his name out as your vision goes white and everything in your body pulls taught with your orgasm. He laughs breathlessly, leaning down to suck at the skin of your neck. He turns his head slightly towards the phone, groaning out your name as his hips stutter and he meets you at the peak. He leans more deeply on you, keeping the two of you joined as he reaches over for the phone.

"Aw, looks like your “gege” hung up," he mutters, tossing your phone off the bed as he looks down at you with what you can only say is a boyish smile.

"You are such a possessive asshole, oh my god, how am I ever supposed to look him in the eye again?"

"You can protest all you want, but you were gushing- looks to me like my kitten might have a bit of an exhibitionist in her," Sylus responds with a sly grin, his hand giving a lazy tweak to your overabused clit that makes you jump. You try to pull away and he makes a tsk noise as he follows, ensuring he remains firmly within the snug confines of your walls.

"Where do you think you're going, when did I say I was done with you?"

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lads #lads sylus #sylus love and deepspace #sylus #love and deepspace smut #love and deep space smut #sylus smut #love and deepspace Caleb #overuse of the nicknames probably but here we are

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neeeooon · 2 days ago

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heyyy can you do blue lock guys with reader who adjusts with any situation without complaints or making demands because reader thinks they don't deserve their love? For example, if the guys cancel dates, forget an important date or can't make enough time for them. I hope you understand what I'm trying to say lolol 😭

okay i think i got it but i struggled a bit so if not pls lmk 😭🙏 thank you for the request!

when you go with the flow ;

bf bllk x gn!reader

itoshi sae

-> “where are you going?” “out. i’ll be back later. do you need something?” “… no, i’m good. have fun!”

-> you shouldn’t be surprised that sae forgot your anniversary, but it still hurt

-> sae appears at your door an hour later with flowers and a wary smile. “… i’m sorry i forgot our anniversary. i know it’s late notice, but can i still take you to dinner?”

yukimiya kenyu

-> “i can cancel, y/n, i don’t mind—“ “no, don’t cancel! we can go out some other time.”

-> you were not about to let your boyfriend miss a doctor’s appointment, even if it meant having to cancel your date

-> you didn’t mind waiting, but kenyu suddenly grabbed your hand and pulled you to your feet. “do you want to come with me?” you smile was genuine as you said, “yes.”

barou shouei

-> “i’m sorry, y/n. maybe next week?” “that’s okay! really, i don’t mind :)”

-> you do mind. you just refuse to complain about it to barou because you feel unworthy of his love

-> thankfully, he’s not an idiot. “no, it’s not okay. i promised you we’d go out today, so we’re going out today.” “i really don’t mind waiting—“ “they can wait.” “… okay <3”

kiyora jin

-> “is it okay if we hang out next week instead?” “… sure! everything okay?” “yeah, just dance stuff. i’ll text you.”

-> you were used to getting blown off like this, but you didn’t mind. just getting to call kiyora your boyfriend was enough for you

-> the next time he had practice, you didn’t ask where he was going. “y/n?” “yeah?” “… do you want to come with me?” you try to keep your excitement contained. “yeah!”

nagi seishiro

-> “i’m tired. can we call instead?”

-> you sighed but responded that it was fine. nagi sent back a simple “:)” and the date ended there

-> on your call, you were listening to nagi talk about his game when he suddenly got quiet. “… does it hurt your feelings when i’m tired?” “sometimes? but there are times where i feel like i don’t deserve you, so even this is enough for me :)” “… okay.”

#requested!#return of the wheel ii #bllk #blue lock #bllk x reader #blue lock headcanons #blue lock x reader #bllk x you #itoshi sae #yukimiya kenyu #barou shouei #kiyora jin #nagi seishiro #bllk sae #bllk yukimiya #bllk barou #bllk kiyora #bllk nagi

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treatbuckywkisses · 3 days ago

Text

The yearning and tension are so well written:( this made my tummy hurt in the best way😭😭 all mixed in with a very enticing side story this was so incredible it felt like I was really there in the room !!!!

Your stomach twisted at the words, the culpability of your actions threatening to eat away at it. Even after everything you said, even after running away from him and deserting him at the fair, he still only wanted to know you were safe. There were so many things you wanted to say. Nothing, however, was a good enough response in your mind. There was nothing you could say that wouldn’t leave a door open for more. No matter what you told him it would either crush his heart or give him hope. You didn’t dare do either. :( when we start with the angst it really gets me😭 the last part of this is SO good

Natasha sighed, her lips in a tight line,” Y/n, you’re joking right? You two have already been something more to each other for a long time now. Please, none of us are blind to how you two favor each other over the rest of us.” You took a second to let her words sink in. idiots in love 💕 I'm a SUCKER

But in this case, it was okay, because at least in this case you were the bad guy. You were the heartbreaker and everyone can hate you. No one has to pick sides because you made it easy for them to choose Bucky, and you were okay with that. baby:( this paragraph punched me in the gut so hard

Bucky was one of those people. When your eyes locked as you looked out into the sea of the trial audience he sent you a small smile and gave you an encouraging nod. That was all you needed to knock your closing statement out of the park. UGH WHEN IS THE LOVE COMING I'M SICK THEY ARE SO IDIOTS IN LOVE😭😭

“You’re scared of things changing, but can't you see they already did?” iconic nat always so smart

There was a slight shifting sound on the other side of the door before he spoke, “Look, these past few weeks I tried really hard to push my feelings away, but I was only getting more frustrated with myself. In pushing my feelings away, I pushed you away and I don’t want that. I miss you,” his voice broke toward the end and he paused before continuing, “I want you—no, I need you to be a part of my life even if it's just as friends. Y/n, don't think for one second I regret taking you on that date because I don’t, but I can’t keep going on acting like we don’t know each other anymore.” shutup im crying:( this is sooooo precious:(((((( my heart is HURTING for him

You were in love with Detective James Buchanan Barnes. GOOD YES FINALLY😭😭😭😭 IT'S LIKE I CAN BREATHE AGAIN

The cookies were to sweeten up your apology, which was a long thought-out one you wrote in the notes app on your phone before going to bed. It could honestly rival any speeches you had ever given in court. so relatable (I live in my notes app)

The apologies, the loneliness, the anger, the sadness, the frustration, and everything in between melted away leaving only the love that was blossoming between you two behind. I love angst with a happy ending ( this made me physically ill and if I didn't read love soon I would DIE ) this is so cute I love them: ( even though it hurt

love them love you🫶🏻

Conflict of Interest - II

Pairing: Detective!Bucky Barnes x Lawyer!Reader

Summary: After deserting Bucky at the fair, you are left dealing with the consequences. This becomes difficult as you are all assigned to a new case.

Word Count: 8.5k

Warning(s): crime show level of violence / homicide investigation details / drinking / angst / fluff / mentions of a car accident and injuries, but no major details / slight cursing / anxiety / overthinking / insecurities / lots of back and forth / misunderstandings / angst with a happy ending

a/n: It has been a while, but part 2 of this beautiful duo is finally out! ❤️ I hope the length of part 2 can make up for how long it took me to finally finish writing it. It’s angsty with a happy ending, although the happy ending doesn’t come so easily. 👀 Thank you for reading! ❤️ Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!! 💕

➵ Prequel Drabble // ➵ Part I

You tossed and turned in your bed once more, the sunlight peeking through your blinds, disturbing your sleep. The events of last Saturday weighed heavy on you. So much so, that you hadn’t gone to work in the past two days—today would be the third. You claimed you came down with the flu, putting on the best performance you could when Natasha called you. You were never able to lie to her face, but over the phone wasn’t as hard. Eventually, however, you would have to go back.

Eventually, you would have to face him.

Bucky called you a few times that night after you deserted him at the fair. The guilt set in almost immediately and you were too ashamed to answer him. You managed to read one message before silencing all of the notifications on your phone.

Can you at least let me know you got home safely?

Keep reading

#detective bucky #the love of my life

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rafesbuzzcutseason · 3 days ago

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chasing city lights

chapter 11 - flatline

synopsis: you move to new york to start fresh, hoping to find comfort in the city’s atmosphere. that’s when you meet sarah cameron, where she takes you to a concert and you catch sight of the lead band member, rafe cameron. it only takes a moment for you to realize you’re captivated by him. as sarah helps you navigate your new life in the city, you start to get pulled deeper into rafe's world—the music, the fame, the chaos. the more you get to know him, the more you realise that rafe is not just the rock star he seems to be. he’s wrestling with his own demons, and the last thing he needs is someone like you getting close.

masterlist

cw: language

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

after your day with rafe yesterday, the girls had so many questions and you told them everything, down to the song he wrote for you. what you didn't expect however, was that the song was going to be released in a few days time.

"i genuinely can't believe this," sarah started, "i mean him opening up to you? the commincation? the song? where is rafe and what have you done with him." she giggled.

"no y/n i don't think you understand the extent of this. like we've all been friends with rafe for a good 6 years, and i have never seen a girl have this affect on him before."

"guys stop you're making me think i'm some kind of miracle." you laughed with them.

"that's because you are a miracle." cleo joined in.

"so do you think you'll become official soon...?" sarah questioned.

"i don't know, the fans already think we are." you stated.

"the fans are fucking crazy. you'll get used to that i promise. when me and pope started dating everyone went bonkers over it." cleo reassured you.

"i guess so, it's okay i don't mind it, it's just getting used to seeing my face whenever i open twitter." you said. "whatever, we've got a flight to catch." you all finished your last minute packing and made your way into the car that was waiting for you outside the hotel.

part of you was sad to be leaving the state you had made so many memories in, but you knew heading back to new york all together was just the beginning for this new chapter for you and rafe.

once you made it to the airport, you found the rest of the boys who had left earlier as they all entered 'dad mode' and were getting stressed, john b to blame for that.

"finally you're here!" john b began as he saw you walk through the door.

"yeah thought we were gonna have to leave without you." pope said sarcastically.

"enough. we're here now aren't we?" cleo said rhetorically.

"yes ma'am" jj joined in, everyone was in agreement that cleo was the boss of the group.

you made your way to say hi to topper, who was slowly starting to become his usual self again, you assumed him and rafe had a conversation to try and clear the air.

but you eventually made it to rafe, who looked like his was patiently waiting his turn to get your attention, "hey you" he said.

"hey" you replied with a slight blush, "i didn't know you were actually going to release the song." you rushed out.

a look of concern took over him, "do you mind?" he asked worriedly.

"no! no i'm happy" you started, "but the fans are a little crazy."

"yeah i know they are and i should've warned you about that, but the best ones mean no harm and all you can try and do is ignore them." he replied.

"hard to ignore them when they're commenting on everything i post." you quietly said.

"i can say something if it really bothers you, okay?" he softly reached out to give your hand a squeeze.

"okay" you smiled at him, always putting you at ease.

"ok love birds pack it in," jj hollered "i don't think this plane is going to wait for us."

"whatever dude" rafe grinned, "ready?" he turned to you.

"ready."

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

a/n: sorry guys i made this chapter a lot more smau, just as i had the idea to do the thread (which took me ages LAWD) and also wanted to get the song mentioned ! 5 points to anyone who knows the actual song and band🙈

taglist: @hoefordrewstarkey @marleymarleymarleymarley @bee-43 @cherryhoneybabe @skye-44 @drewrry @drewrry @yesterdaysproblemm @pogueprincesa @dylsdaily @rafeysworldim19 @valyrianflower @kaiparkerwifes @judesgfirl @4urvalidation @chillgal135 @drewstarkeyslover @yesshewrites1@amterasuu@babykhloutofthisworld @blushmimi @moonywhisp3rs @rafeysworldim19 @marleymarleymarleymarley@sabrina-carpenter-stan-account@vcnillafairy @bambii1i @sammyrenae68 @popou61

#outer banks #obxsmau #boyfriend rafe #rafe cameron x reader #obx #rafe cameron #drew starkey #rafe obx #chasing city lights #smau

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revelboo · 3 days ago

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hey, hope this months been good to you thus far and that january ended on a good note for you. appreciate you a lot ✌️✌️

Thank you! I hope your year is off to a good start, too

It Had to Be You Pt 17

TFO Megatron x Reader

• Draped against him, one of his hands is resting against your spine, sliding slowly up and down before his servos tangle in the hair at the back of your head. Making a soft noise, you wiggle on top of him, feeling his spark thrumming under you. That steady rhythm soothing you. As familiar now as the beat of your own heart. Still feel off balance from that contact with his spark. The glimpses you’d gotten of his memories feeling as real as your own. “You held back from me,” he says, red optics sliding to you then away as his jaw works. “Why?” Confused, you reach up to touch his bottom lip and his head turns away.

• Thought you’d finally trusted him. That the two of you had gotten past the fighting. Past resisting each other, but you’d not submitted to him when he’d bonded you. Hadn’t given him everything. And your expression is confused when you prop yourself up on your elbows on his chassis to look down at him. “What’s that mean?” Like you don’t realize what you’d done. What you’d denied him. Spark aching with that missing connection, with what should be.

• What’s he in a mood about now? See his lip lift slightly to show denta before he gently thumps the back of his helm against the berth a couple times. “The bond,” he growls, servos shifting against the back of your head, cupping it. “It’s not complete. You have to feel it.” Frowning at his tone, you remember being tangled in him. Overwhelmed as he’d coaxed you, wrapping himself about you. And you’d ignored that sweet pull humming through you, ignored his coaxing.

• “It was a lot,” you mutter, avoiding his optics now. Venting tiredly, he tries to let go of the tension. It hadn’t been a no. You hadn’t denied him. Can feel the imperfect bond prickling through his spark. Demanding to be completed. That he tangle himself so fully in you that you’ll never be free of him. But this isn’t something he can just demand or take. It has to be given willingly. And patience has never been his strength. “I didn’t really know what was happening. You didn’t warn me.”

• “A lot,” he echoes, voice strained. “I offer you everything and it’s a lot.” Servos restlessly playing with your hair, his optics shutter. “I’m trying. You have no idea how hard I’m trying.” Leaning up on him, you brush your mouth against his and he finally looks at you. Annoyed and hopeful all at the same time as his other hand lands on your hip. There’s a vulnerability in his expression that reminds you of the glimpses you’d seen of D 16. Of who he’d been before Sentinel’s lies had broken him of trust. And he’s trusting you, giving you the ability to hurt him. But You hadn’t been able to do the same, you’d balked, because it had felt like losing a piece of yourself giving in to him.

• “I’m trying too, okay.” Those eyes he gets lost in are so serious as you brush another kiss against him that feels like an apology. Knows he should have explained first, should have stopped you from touching him without understanding what you were committing to. Another Cybertronian would have known. Wouldn’t have given up their freedom to tie themself to him willingly. And he’d taken advantage of your ignorance to get what he wanted. To make a permanent claim on you. Would you have still chosen to reach out and forge that imperfect connection if you’d known what it meant? He’s not sure and a hurt part of him isn’t capable of just asking. Afraid of what the answer might be.

#tfo megatron #megatron x reader #transformers x reader

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insomniadreamzz · 3 days ago

Text

Is this real?

Arcane Alternate Ending Fanfiction

Contains Jinx x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of death, blood, angst

Jinx can still remember the moment that made her heart shatter and the little glimpse of happiness in her fade away forever. You were about to help Vander with Victors help but the Noxians had to destroy your hope of a family reunion. The moment Isha grabbed Jinx‘s gun, rushing towards Vander and aiming to shoot, you running after the girl, knowing she meant so much to Jinx but then there was the explosion and Vi dragged her sister Jinx away from the explosion, wanting to save her.

The explosion was the last thing she remembered before everything went down. Jinx had lost the two people she truly loved and who gave her happiness for once. Now it was all gone and she couldn’t help but blame herself for this. She should have saved you and not letting Vi drag her away but all she could do in that moment was scream your name and scream for Isha. There was no point for her to keep going. Jinx gave up, letting the Enforcers put her into jail for everything she did in the past, paying for all her crimes. Being alone in that cold cell without shoes, without her belt weapons, it made her feeling lost. The silence was very loud, Jinx started hearing voices again, getting back to her old behavior since the two persons who silenced them are gone now.

She fumbled with her braids until she undid them fully, her long blue hair spread across the floor, fingers bloody by the non stop pinching on the skin around her nails. As if that wasn’t enough, Jinx even starved herself. The food wasn’t even disgusting at all, it was good compared to what you would get down in Zaun but Jinx had to will to live at this point anymore, spending the time sitting curled up in the corner, hurting herself and crying a lot until there were no tears left to cry anymore.

…

„Come on you can do this!“ You said as you carried the little figure in your arms, Isha’s and your own clothes being smeared with blood as you rushed home. You didn’t know what happened to the others, you only knew they weren’t here. Jinx wasn’t here. This didn’t matter right now, you had to focus on taking care of the girls wounds first and then think about finding Jinx.

Isha had a wound on her head and stomach but she wasn’t the only one being hurt. Since you tried to get the gun away from the little girls hands, the explosion damaged your hand. All that was left on your left hand now was only your thumb and ring finger, all the other three fingers got damaged too much, your small finger got blown off completely whily your index and middle finger got halfway blown off. These conditions you were in made it hard for you to take care of Isha’s wounds since you needed two hands. „Fuck!…“ You grumbled under your breath, ignoring your own pain as you focused on cleaning Isha’s wounds with your right hand.

„May I help you?“ A familiar voice echoed through Jinx’s hideout, it wasn’t your lover but someone you knew you could trust.

„Sevika!“ You shouted, tears in your eyes as you saw the older woman getting close to you. It was really her.

„Damn kiddo I know the feeling of losing limbs caused by explosions.“ She continued as she looked down on your left hand, making a hurtful expression, scrunching up her nose, knowing the pain.

„It don’t matter. Please take care of Isha first. I can use my right hand to stop the bleeding until you can help me wrap it up okay?“ You mentioned and Sevika just nodded, taking care of Isha‘s wounds. „Youre lucky. Her wounds aren‘t that deep but I guess she fainted from the shock which is understandable for a little girl.“ Sevika mumbled under her breath, soon finished cleaning the little wounds and wrapping them up before putting a blanket over her little body, then she focused on your wound.

You hissed every time the cloth with alcohol hit your wound, the stinging pain making you want to scream but you kept yourself back from that. It took Sevika a little time to wrap the bandages tight enough your hand so the blood will stop running, it hurt you but you knew it’s only for your own good. „Damn you really saved a life. I am proud of you.“ Your eyes widen at hearing Sevika saying this. You expected anything but that. „Thank you…I just couldn’t let this happen…but I need to find Jinx.“ You said and Sevika gave you a understanding nod. „Please take a rest. If not for yourself do it for Isha because she needs the rest. Then you can find Jinx.“

You weren’t satisfied with that, knowing Jinx was very unstable and might do something, you can’t let her think you are dead. „No Sevika I am losing time. Please stay here with Isha I beg you. Take care of her until I come back and I promise I will take Jinx with me.“ You insisted and Sevika just nodded in response with her arms crossed. „Fine but take care of you kiddo.“

…

Jinx heard footsteps getting closer, thinking it was just one of her hallucinations or a guard. She didn’t even care to look, keeping her head buried into her arms that rested on her knees. The only thing causing her head to snap up was your voice.

You felt your eyes water at the sight of Jinx being in there, all alone on the cold floor. It broke your heart. „Jinx…?“ You carefully said, her head snapping up to look at you, eyes wide, her dark makeup all messy under her eyes. She looked like she cried for days and you know she didn’t just look like it, she did cry for days.

„Stop…n-no. No you are not real.“ Jinx panicked, she already had a hallucination of Silco before and now you? No way she couldn’t take it. „Go away! I beg you get out of my head. I can’t do this anymore!“ She held her head, hands grabbing a fist full of her own hair as she shook her head, body shaking in fear.

„Hey…it is me. I am real. I know you think I died but I am alive, I am not dead.“ You tried to explain but Jinx clearly shut down. It was impossible to get through her like that so you used the keys Vi gave you and opened the door to her cell. Stepping inside, you saw Jinx looking up with fear at you which made your heart ache but you already knew her in that state so you did what you always do, being calm as you crouched down in front of her. „I will give you time. Just calm down…“ You said with a low, calm voice.

Jinx muttered something to herself, not really audible for you but you didn’t mind, staying there until she noticed you weren’t going to leave, making her slowly look into your eyes and then look down at your damaged hand. „You…are hurt…“ She mumbled and you gave her a little sad smile, nodding. „Yeah…the explosion caused it. I am sorry you thought we are dead. I wished I could find you earlier but…I needed to take care of Isha.“ You told her and when you mentioned Isha, Jinx‘s eyes widened. „Isha! Is she…?“ You interrupted Jinx with a smile. „Isha is alive.“ With that, Jinx cried but this time out of happiness as she leaned forward to hug you so tight, her fingers clutching onto you as if she was scared you would slip out of her hands. „God! I was so scared…“

You hugged her back, keeping your love as close as possible. „It’s okay Jinx…it’s all okay. Isha is with Sevika she is taking care of her while I went to search for you.“ You reassured her, happy tears running down your cheeks as well.

You kept staying in each other’s arms for a while before she pulled back, cupping your cheeks to admire you. „It is really you. You are real. You are not just in my mind right?“ Jinx was still not fully believing this. You out your hands on hers, keeping on smiling at her. „Of course it’s me. The real me.“ You said once again and there it was again, the happy spark in her eyes before she crushed her lips against yours, kissing you so deeply. You immediately kissed back and both of you shared a loving, deep kiss, never wanting to part again.

…

It wasn’t over yet. Jinx and you spend a lot of time preparing for the last fight after you got her out of jail. She was ready to use her knowledge for building things for good. After Jinx made sure to see Isha again, she got even more motivated. Her happiness came back again after the emotional reunion, having Isha back into her arms again, seeing she was doing well except the little scratches on her body. Thanks to you, she survived and all three of you were together now and Jinx swore to herself she won’t ever let anything part you.

Jinx made you mechanic fingers just like she had which was, like she said ‚something she can fix‘. And you loved them. You adored how much she wanted to help you and do good things, not only building weapons to kill.

„Now it’s time to kick some Noxian asses don’t you think babe?“ You heard Jinx‘s voice, turning from painting the last things on the balloon which will help this whole old fan to fly. When you looked at Jinx, your eyes widen. She literally cut her hair short, only her long bangs being left of her old hairstyle, you immediately noticed the little pink colour in them, referring to Vi. „Wow someone really want to change things up huh?“ You chuckle, loving to see your girlfriend like that, she looked perfect to you no matter which hairstyle.

„Yep! But we need to make some more changes.“ Jinx said with her usual cheery voice before she ripped your shirt, making a crop top out if it. „Wha-…“ You started to complain but she cut you off with a little kiss on your lips. „No talking toots! We need to focus.“ She said before taking off her own shirt, replacing it with her belt to cover her nipples and part of her breasts, leaving you speechless.

„No way you gonna look this sexy in front of Isha.“ You managed to say but the blush on your face told her you really liked the view and wanted to eat her and kiss all over her body but there was no time for it.

„Ah fine.“ Jinx was easy to convince which was a surprise but you didn’t mind. Instead you wrapped a bandage around her chest before spraying a pink ‚x‘ on it, smiling satisfied at your work. „There better.“ You mentioned and with that you brought her to another idea. You both ended up chuckling as you painted on each other’s bodies and clothes, leaving kisses every now and then. It was a beautiful intimate moment you shared, something that meaned even more than sex. It was just beautiful.

When both of you were finished with your little doodles on each other and making matching hoods for each other that looked like a shark which was her favorite, you finally were done to help the others getting rid of the Noxians which caused enough trouble between Piltover and Zaun like you already had.

„Are you ready my love?“ You asked and Jinx smiled with a nod before pecking your cheek. „Yes I am and I won’t let you out of my sight, we either win or die together.“ Jinx said but you shook your head. „We will live together. Both of us will stay alive I promise that.“ You stated, squeezing your lovers hand gently.

You were so ready for this.

#fanfiction #female reader #x reader #x fem!reader #short imagine #lgbtq #arcane #arcane fanfic #jinx #jinx x fem!reader #jinx fanfic #jinx arcane #jinx x reader #jinx and isha #isha arcane #alternate universe #lgbtq fanfiction #wlw post #arcane imagine

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darlingdaisyfarm · 3 days ago

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This honestly might be a downer or stupid, but I just got fired and I am having a really hard time. I just want to bury my head in Stan's chest and sob. I was wondering if you could write how the Stan and Ford might react to the reader being suddenly fired and maybe how they'd comfort them? I'm also really excited for the next chapter of your fic!

✧˚⋆ Stan & Ford supporting you when you need it most ⋆｡♡˚

oh sweetheart, im so sorry ur going through this, holy shit. just the moment i received this ask, i knew i had to write smth when ill get free time today, because i feel so sorry for you. i hope these two old men gave u even a tiny bit of comfort, please be kind to urself right now, youre gonna get through this, i promise. sending u all my love !! stay strong please 🫂🫂

STANLEY

the thing about Stan is that he gets it. he gets the feeling of being chewed up and spat out, of having doors slam in your face, of working your ass off and still being told you’re not enough. he gets the quiet humiliation, the bitterness in the back of your throat, the way your hands shake when you try to act like it doesn’t matterm

you don’t even remember how you got here. your feet must’ve carried you through the streets, past strangers whose lives weren’t just ruined, past cars honking, past buildings that still stood while the whole world inside you had collapsed.

“hey, hey. what the hell, sweetheart, breathe, alright? you’re okay, you’re right here.” his rough but worried voice reaches you when you slam mystery shack's door open, standing in the doorway with shaking hands, red-eyed.

“i got fired, Stan. j-just gone, outta nowhere. i don’t know what to do, Stan, im so lost.” your throat burns

before you can say anything else, he's opening his arms. “c'mere.” and you don't even hesitate as you crash into him like a wave, burying your face in his chest. and he holds you, one big arm wrapping around your back, the other hand coming up to cradle the back of your head

“there we go. you don’t gotta keep it all in, sweetheart.” the words hit you harder than you expect. you're so used to holding it together, to swallowing everything down, to being strong. and Stan, who’s built himself up from nothing, who’s taken every punch life threw at him and still kept standing, he’s telling you it’s okay to break.

so you do. you bury your face in his chest and cry until you’re dizzy, until your breath stutters and shakes, until all the anger and hurt and fear bleed out of you. Stanley doesn’t rush you or tell you to stop. “let it out, sweetie, s’gonna be okay.” he holds you close tightly because he’s spent his whole life holding people who needed it more than he did.

“it’s not fair,” you gasp, clutching on his clothes.

“no, it ain’t.”

“i worked so hard.”

“i know.”

“i feel like—like nothing i do is enough—”

Stan tightens his hold, pressing his chin to the top of your head. “hey. you listen to me.” his voice turns serious. “some suit in an office makin’ a crap decision got nothing to do with who you are. they're dumb. absolute morons for lettin’ you go. betcha the whole place is gonna fall apart without you because you were the best thing about that shithole. if they couldn’t see that, then screw ‘em. they lost you. not the other way around.”

you shake your head, clenching your fists. “but—“

“no buts,” he growls and then, softer: “you're not trash just ‘cause some idiots don’t know how to treat their workers. you're not worthless just ‘cause some suits decided you were expendable. you are not nothing.”

Stan pulls back to tip your chin up, making sure you’re listening. his thumb wipes a tear off your cheek. “i mean, you still got me, sweetheart. ain’t no job in the world that could change that.” he smiles genuinely at you.

you close your eyes, giving him a tiny sad smile back. you let yourself breathe, let yourself believe it, hiding your face in his chest again. Stan's grip stays strong and unshaking, shielding you from the whole world as you cry until you’re too tired, so all what you do is sob into his chest. you’re just leaning into him, exhausted, letting him hold you up.

Stan sighs, resting his cheek against your hair. “ya ever heard the story of the biggest screw-up in New Jersey?”

you sniffle. “what?”

”lemme tell ya, kid grows up in a house that don’t want him. gets kicked out. loses every job he ever had. ends up in a broken-down shack in the middle of nowhere. total loser.”

you shift against him. “Stan—“

“but he keeps goin’. and somehow, somehow, that dumbass loser ends up with people who love him. ends up holdin’ someone who needs it. ends up tellin’ the best damn person he’s ever met that they’re gonna be okay.”

he lets you lean into him again, lets you breathe him in, lets you stay as long as you need. tells you stories about all the bosses he’s scammed just to make you laugh.

at some point, when the tears have slowed and the weight in your chest isn’t crushing anymore, Stan ruffles your hair and leans back, arms crossed.

“y’know, i could use an extra set of hands around the shack.“

you blink up at him, sniffing. “what? you. . .you want me to work here?”

“yeah, id rather have someone i actually like workin’ here instead of hiring some random kid who’s just gonna rob me blind.” his usual gruff tone is back, but his gaze is what speaks louder, soft and certain, making it obvious that you belong here.

you open your mouth, but he cuts in, pointing a finger at you. “and before ya say some crap about not bein’ good enough or whatever, shut up. i’m the boss, i decide who’s good enough, and i say it’s you.”

you let out a shaky laugh, wiping your nose. “wow, such a heartfelt offer.”

he smirks. “hey, that’s as heartfelt as it gets, sweetheart. but seriously. think about it, okay? i got a spot for ya.” Stanley is not just offering a job for you, he’s offering a place, a place where you’re wanted, where you’re needed, where you don’t have to prove yourself to anyone.

you take a deep breath, feeling lighter for the first time all day. “yeah. yeah, i’ll think about it.”

“good,” Stan smiles and ruffles your hair again. “now, wanna eat somethin’? watch a dumb movie? beat me at cards? or you want me to egg their car?” about the last thing, he's joking, probably. but if you say yes, you know he’ll do it.

STANFORD

Ford finds you sitting at the kitchen table, arms crossed on the surface, face buried in them. you haven’t moved and spoken in a while, just sat there, motionless, like a puppet with the strings cut.

he clears his throat, stepping closer. “i, ah. noticed you didn’t come in for dinner.”

you don’t respond. his brows knit together, concern creasing his forehead. he takes the seat across from you, folding his hands on the table. “would you like to talk about it?”

for a moment, nothing. then, muffled: “i got fired.” slips from your mouth. so that's what happened. Ford doesn’t say oh. doesn’t say im sorry. doesn’t say what happened? he understands you because Ford Pines knows what it is to be discarded. he knows what it is to dedicate yourself to something, only to be told you are wrong. to be shoved out, unmoored, drifting in the space between who you thought you were and who they’ve decided you are now.

he knows what it is to look down at his hands and wonder if they are still meant to build something. after being betrayed.

he frowns thoughtfully. “that was. . . rather sudden, wasn’t it?”

you nod weakly. Ford exhales through his nose, gaze sharpening, analyzing. you. your sadness. the whole situation.

“it must feel unfair.“ he doesn’t just acknowledge the loss, but the injustice of it. and it makes your throat close up.

you lift your head slightly, looking at his face. “it- it is. i tried so hard. i put so much effort into that stupid job, and now it’s just—just gone.”

Ford hums. “tell me something.” he leans forward, putting elbows on the table. “do you think your value was in the work you did?”

you blink at him, but he doesn't even let you answer. “because if that were the case, then the moment you lost that job, you would have lost all worth as a person. but that’s not true, is it?” his voice is always so calm, full of absolute certainty.

you shake your head slowly, unsurely and Ford nods, satisfied. then, after a brief pause, he stands. “wait here” you don’t have the energy to question him. you just sit, staring blankly at the tabletop, until he returns a moment later with a notebook and pen.

he places them in front of you.

you glance up, confused. “what’s this for?”

Ford takes his seat again, tapping a finger against the cover. “do me a favor, darling. write down five things about yourself that have nothing to do with your job.”

your face looks tired and skeptical. you stare at the paper. “Ford, i—“

“anything,” he says softly, smiling at you. “everything. what you love. what you’re good at. what excites you, what makes you feel something. what matters to you.”

your fingers tighten around the pen. at first, you don’t know where to start. but Ford doesn’t rush you, just patiently sits beside you.

so you write. you write about the things that make you you. and at first, it feels stupid and awkward. it starts small, your favorite books, your favorite songs, the way you love thunderstorms, the way you always make extra coffee just in case someone else wants some.

but then it gets bigger. the things you’ve created. the things you’ve learned. the times you were kind when no one was looking. the people who love you, who see you. the way you keep going, even when it’s hard

Ford watches as you write, nodding approvingly at each entry.

“now tell me: did losing your job take any of that away?”

you stare at the words. the little pieces of yourself you hadn’t even thought about in the wake of everything. softly, you shake your head

Ford’s expression gentles. “then you’re still you. and you’re still worth just as much as you were yesterday. because no job, no institution, no single event defines you.” you swallow hard. Fords voice drops lower. “you are more than what you do, more than what you produce, more than what some company decides you’re worth. you are your thoughts. your curiosity. your kindness.” he gestures to the list. “you are all of this and nothing can take that from you.”

your breath wobbles. Ford’s gaze softens further. “come here, sweetheart.“ you hesitate but only for a second, then stand and he meets you halfway, arms wrapping around you. and Ford isn’t Stanley, isn’t someone used to giving big, open, thoughtless affection. but what he lacks in ease, he makes up for in intent.

because he means this. his big hand moves up and down your back slowly. “you’re not alone in this,” he murmurs into your hair. “we’ll figure something out. and until then. . . you are still extraordinary.“ his voice is so certain, and suddenly you don’t feel quite as lost.

“th-thank you” you bury your face in his sweater, hands gripping his sleeves

“and don’t let anyone ever tell you you aren’t smart or brave or worthy enough.”

you stay there a while. until Ford gives your shoulder one last squeeze and pulls back, adjusting his glasses. “now. i assume you haven’t eaten?”

you smile at him, shaking your head. “no, wasn't in the mood.“

“come, sweetheart, let’s fix that.”

#gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls x you #x reader #ford pines x reader #stanford pines #stan pines x reader #grunkle stan #stanley pines x you #stanley pines x reader #stanford pines x you #stanford pines x reader #stan pines smut #ford pines smut #stanley pines #stanford pines headcanons #gravity falls fanfiction #stan pines x you #ford pines x you

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bbdeongi · 3 days ago

Text

Blurry Words, Clear Feelings

☆PAIRING: Childhood Bsf! San x Fem! Reader

☆WARNINGS: Angst, fluff, fake friends, Y/N is drunk, pet names (Angel, Precious, Darling.), Suggestive at the end but not too much, friends to lovers au.

☆SUMMARY: your trust is shattered after discovering your so-called "friends have been using you. Drunk and upset, you turn to your best friend, San, who is there to comfort you.

☆WORD COUNT: 8.9k

☆A/N: AHH I'm so happy I finally completed this!! this is a request from @/atzlov-r. Thank you so much for waiting!! And this is the longest fic I've made.. jsjs

The night had started out innocently enough. You had gone out with your “friends,” hoping to have a good time and maybe forget the weight of everything you had been dealing with lately. It was supposed to be a fun night—laughter, drinks, music, and maybe some dancing. But as the night wore on, things started to feel... wrong. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it happened, but it became undeniable. Your friends weren’t really friends. They were just people who took advantage of your kindness, of your willingness to buy drinks and keep everyone entertained.

When you overheard their conversation outside the restroom, you felt the sharp sting of betrayal. The truth hit you like a ton of bricks. “We can get her to buy us more drinks. Why not?” “She’s just so easy to manipulate. I mean, who else is going to pay for it?”

It hurt more than you expected, a mix of anger, embarrassment, and confusion. You had spent so long trying to make them happy, trying to fit in and be liked. But they didn’t care about you—not at all.

Without thinking, you stormed back to the group, your chest tight with emotion. You wanted to scream at them, to make them feel what you were feeling, but all you could do was yell, your voice breaking as you confronted them.

“Why are you using me?!” you shouted, not caring who heard. “I’m not your personal ATM! You don’t even care about me!”

The group froze for a moment, clearly startled and shocked by your outburst. A few of them exchanged uncomfortable glances with each other, but none of them seemed to truly understand the weight of your words. One girl, the one who had been laughing the loudest earlier, rolled her eyes as if your outburst were just a minor inconvenience.

“You’re being dramatic, Y/N,” she said dismissively. “We’re just having fun, okay? Stop being so sensitive.”

“Sensitive?” You couldn’t help it. You scoff, Your voice grew louder, slurred from the alcohol but full of hurt. “You’ve been using me this whole fucking time! I’ve been buying drinks for all of you, running around, making sure everyone’s having a good time, and this is what I get in return? Being laughed at behind my back!?”

A couple of them shifted uncomfortably, their faces a mix of guilt and annoyance. But no one spoke up. No one apologized. They didn’t even try to make things right. The girl who had dismissed you earlier just shrugged and rolled her eyes once more.

“Look, it’s not a big deal. You’re overreacting,” she muttered, before turning away to chat with someone else. “You're acting childish, it's annoying, Y/N..”

That was it. That was the moment you knew you were done. You couldn’t stay here, not with these people. They weren’t worth your time, your energy, or your trust. With a shaky breath, you turned on your heel and walked away from the group, feeling the familiar sting of humiliation in your chest. You felt a tear roll down the side of your face. You didn’t care if they were watching. You didn’t care about them at all.

You made your way to the bar, pushing through the crowd. Your legs felt wobbly under you, but the anger and sadness kept you moving. You couldn’t stop now. You couldn’t go back to those people who you called your "friends". Instead, you just needed to drink. Forget about them. Forget about everything.

As you reached the bar counter, you barely noticed the bartender behind it. She was busy talking to another customer, her back turned for a moment. But you didn’t care. You were too focused on your own thoughts, and your own emotions. You needed another drink. You needed to drown the pain.

When the female finally turned to you, her eyes scanning your face, you gave her a small, tired smile. It felt forced, but you hoped she wouldn’t notice.

“Can I get a... double whiskey?” you slurred as you wiped the tear off of your cheek, your voice thick with alcohol.

The bartender raised an eyebrow, looking you up and down. She hesitated for a moment, clearly weighing whether or not she should serve you more alcohol. But then she shrugged and started to pour your drink.

“Here you go,” she said, sliding the glass toward you. You picked it up and took a long gulp, the burn of the whiskey doing little to dull the ache in your chest. It was numbing, but not nearly enough.

Your hands trembled as you reached for your drink again, ignoring the way your vision blurred. Maybe if you drowned yourself in enough alcohol, the pain would fade, the ache in your chest would disappear, and you wouldn’t have to think about it anymore. You could just disappear in your own mind. Get away from the real world and the problems that come with it.

So you took another sip.

And another.

You didn’t know how much time had passed before you ordered your next drink. But it felt like everything was moving in slow motion. One drink after another, until the female worker seemed to just be going through the motions. You didn’t even know how many drinks you had by then—five, six, seven? The alcohol was starting to take hold of you completely, your mind fuzzy and clouded, but you didn't give a shit. Your anger had turned into a numb, empty feeling, a void that seemed to swallow everything around you.

Every time you looked up, the same faces from your “friends” were still there, laughing and chatting. But none of them cared. They were just focused on themselves. You could feel their eyes on you, but you didn’t care. You didn’t care about anything except getting more drunk. "fucking selfish" you thought to yourself. that's what they were. Selfish assholes..

At this point, you barely noticed the bartender behind the counter. She had been watching you for a while, and as she made her way over, she seemed more concerned and worried than before. She stopped in front of you, a frown pulling at the corners of her mouth.

"Hey, sweetheart," she said, her voice gentler than before. "I think you’ve had enough."

You blinked up at her, trying to steady yourself. "M'fine," you slurred, though the way your body swayed slightly said otherwise.

“That’s enough drinks for now,” she said again, firmly, her tone almost maternal.

You blinked up at her, confused. “What?”

“I said, that’s enough,” she repeated, shaking her head. “You’ve had more than enough drinks for tonight.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words got stuck. You didn’t want to listen to her. You didn’t want to hear anything right now. You just wanted to keep drinking, to forget everything that had happened, to forget how badly you had been used.

But the woman didn’t back down. She placed a hand on the counter and leaned in a little closer, her expression softer now, though still firm. A sigh fell from her lips as she looked at you with serious eyes..

“Listen,” she said, her voice gentle but serious. “I don’t usually do this, but you’ve had too much. I know you’re upset, but drinking more isn’t going to help you. It’s just going to make things way worse.”

You looked up at her, eyes blurry and unfocused. You didn’t want to admit it, but she was right. The alcohol wasn’t helping. It was only making everything feel more intense, more painful. But still, you didn’t know what else to do. You couldn’t handle everything that had happened. You didn’t know how to fix it.

“Do you have someone who cares about you?” she asked softly, her eyes locking with yours. “Someone you trust? Someone who’s there for you?”

You thought about it for a moment, the haze of alcohol clouding your thoughts. But then the name came to you, like it always did.

“San,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath. “San...”

Her eyes softened. “That your boyfriend?”

You snorted, though it was weak. “No. My best friend.”

The bartender studied you for a long moment before exhaling through her nose. “Good. Because you need a real friend right now.” Then, before you could protest, she pulled out her phone. “Tell me his number.”

You frowned, the alcohol making your brain hazy. “Why?”

“Because, sweetheart, you’re drunk off your ass, and I’m not letting you go home with people who don’t give a damn about you.” The bartender gave you a soft, knowing look. “I think it’s time to call him. Let him help you.”

You nodded weakly, your heart sinking. You hadn’t wanted to rely on San, but now, it seemed like the only thing you could do. He had always been there for you, always been your rock. You just hoped he would be there for you now, after everything.

The bartender took your phone from your hand, giving you a reassuring smile. “I’m going to call him for you, okay?”

You didn’t have the strength to argue. You just sat there, letting her take the phone from your unsteady and shaking hands. She quickly found San’s name in your contacts and dialed the number, bringing the phone to her ear. You could barely make out the words when the phone picked up, but you could hear the familiar sound of San’s voice on the other end.

“Hello?” he asked, his voice sounding worried.

“Hi,” the bartender said. “This is a bartender at the club. Your friend is here, and she’s had a little too much to drink. She’s upset, and I think she could really use you right now. Can you come pick her up?”

There was a brief pause before San’s voice returned, sounding much more alert. “Y/N?.. Is she okay?”

“She’s fine, but she’s drunk and needs you. I’m not letting her stay here like this. Can you come get her?”

“Yeah. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

The bartender smiled softly and nodded at you. “He’s on his way.”

You felt a strange sense of relief wash over you, like a weight lifting off your chest. San was coming. He would be there to help you. Everything would be okay. Everything will be just fine...

“Thank you,” you whispered to the bartender, your voice barely audible.

She gave you a warm smile. “It’s no problem. Just hang in there, okay, dear? He’ll be here soon.”

You nodded again, feeling your eyes grow heavy. It felt like everything was finally starting to calm down like the storm inside you was slowly fading. You just needed to wait a little longer. San would be here soon. And everything would be okay.

San was already halfway out the door before the bartender could even finish explaining.

“She’s drunk,” she had said through the phone, her voice low and concerned. “And those people she’s with? They don’t have her best interests in mind.”

That was all San needed to hear.

His chest tightened as the words echoed in his mind. He’d told you, warned you about those people before. But you hadn’t listened. You’d always been too trusting, too kind. You’d thought they were your friends—good friends. But now, he was seeing just how wrong you had been.

His grip tightened on the steering wheel as he navigated the busy streets, the city lights flashing by in a blur. He knew you were strong. He knew you didn’t need anyone to protect you. But this—this was different. You were vulnerable. You were upset. You weren't in your normal headspace. And right now, you are alone in a crowded bar with people who don’t care about you.

The thought made his stomach churn.

San pushed open the heavy doors of the bar, the sound of music and laughter spilling into the night air. He scanned the room quickly, the crowd of people barely registering in his mind. His eyes locked onto you almost immediately.

There you were, slouched over the bar counter, your cheek resting against your folded arms, tears slowly rolling down your flushed face. Your fingers still loosely wrapped around the glass in front of you, the remnants of your drink barely visible. You looked so small, so fragile in that moment. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of you, the weight of the situation finally hitting him. You were hurting, and it killed him to see you like this.

His jaw tightened in frustration, and his fingers flexed at his sides, itching to do something. How could they have done this to you? he thought. How could they use you like that?

The bartender, noticing him standing there, waved him over. She was a tall woman, her demeanor calm but concerned. “You must be San,” she said, her tone even but with a hint of understanding.

San nodded quickly, his eyes never leaving you. “How bad is she?” His voice was tight, almost urgent. He was worried about you.

“She’s had too much,” the bartender replied, her gaze flickering to you before landing back on him. “And from what I overheard, she just found out those friends of hers aren’t really her friends. They’ve been using her, taking advantage of her.”

San’s heart sank at her words. He knew, deep down, that this was what had been happening all along. But hearing it out loud made it real in a way that hurt him more than he expected.

Shaking his head, San forced his emotions down. There wasn’t time to dwell on it now. He needed to focus on you. He crouched down next to you, his warm palm gently landing on your shoulder. His fingers brushed the fabric of your top as he tried to rouse you.

“Hey, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice softer than he intended. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

At the sound of his voice, you stirred slightly, your head lifting just enough to blink at him through bleary eyes. Your gaze seemed unfocused for a moment, as if trying to make sense of the world around you. Then, recognition flickered in your eyes, and you managed to lift your hand, reaching out to touch his arm.

“S- sannie?” Your voice was small, barely above a whisper.

San’s breath caught in his throat at the sound of his name slipping from your lips, but he didn’t let it show. He forced a smile, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Yeah, it’s me,” he replied softly, fighting the wave of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. “I’m here, angel. Let’s get you out of here.”

You let out a small hum of relief, your lips curling up in a small smile that made his heart ache. “I- I knew you’d come...” you mumbled, your voice thick with alcohol and sleepiness.

San’s heart clenched painfully in his chest at the words. Of course he would come. He’d always come. But hearing you say it like that—so vulnerable, so trusting—made him want to protect you more than ever.

“Of course I came,” he said, his tone low, almost tender. He brushed another strand of hair from your face, his hand lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. “You think I’d leave you like this?”

You pouted, your brows furrowing in that adorable way that always made him laugh. “No…” You sighed, your voice sleepy as your eyelids fluttered closed momentarily. “But I didn’t w- wanna bother you…”

San scoffed, though there was no real bite to it. He couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. “You’re never a bother to me.” His voice softened at the end, his words laced with an unspoken truth. He would never see you as a burden, never in a million years.

Before he could coax you to your feet, your body swayed slightly, and you slumped forward in a way that made his stomach lurch. His reflexes kicked in just in time as he reached out and steadied you, his arms catching your waist before you could fall off the stool.

“Alright, that’s it,” he muttered under his breath. His voice had a resigned tone to it, but he didn’t hesitate. He bent down, his strong arms sliding under your legs as he effortlessly lifted you up onto his back. “You’re not walking like this.”

A little squeak left your lips, and San couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh as your arms instinctively wrapped around his shoulders. Your body felt light against his back, but the sensation was strangely comforting. It felt... right, in a way.

“Ohhh… piggyback ride!” you giggled, your voice slurring slightly as you rested your head against his shoulder.

San shook his head with a quiet laugh, securing his grip under your thighs. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, though his tone was fond, “Just hold on tight, alright?”

You hummed happily, your arms tightening slightly around his neck as you buried your face into the curve of his shoulder. “Y- yay! Piggggyybackk..!” San could feel the warmth of your breath against his skin, making his heart race just a little bit faster. He tried not to focus on it, on how perfect it felt to have you so close, so vulnerable in his arms.

He thanked the bartender, and she waved back. He was glad that a trustworthy person found you, and stayed by your side. Who knows what could've happened if you just stayed alone.

He adjusted his grip on you and started walking toward the exit, his pace steady and sure, despite the weight of you on his back. The whole situation felt surreal, it felt like a dream he never wanted to wake up from. But as much as he wanted to stay in that moment, he knew there was still one more thing to deal with.

That’s when the rambling started.

“I’ve.. always thought you were sooo perfect,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against his shoulder. “Like.., San, you’re jus- so... so... pretty... And hot. God, you're so hot.”

San’s entire body froze, his eyes slightly widened, his breath catching in his throat. The words tumbled out of you, slurred and slow, but they hit him like a freight train. His heart skipped a beat as the weight of your drunken confession sunk in.

Did you just say that?

You didn’t seem to notice the effect your words were having on him. You just kept going, completely unaware of how much he was trying to keep himself together. He ignored you and continued walking. Maybe you didn't mean it. But you continued..

“You’re a- alwayyysss there for me.. Y'know? Always. And you’re so kind... and you’re strong... but like, in a... in a way tha's not too much, y'know?”

San’s chest tightened, and he let out a shaky breath. He didn’t know how to respond to that, didn’t know what to say. Part of him wanted to laugh it off, to tell you that you were just drunk and didn’t mean it. But another part of him—the part that had always cared for you, the part that had always been there for you—was starting to feel something he wasn’t sure he was ready to face.

You continued your rambling and yapping, completely unaware of the emotions racing through him. San’s thoughts were a whirlwind, his heart hammering in his chest as he focused on getting you to the car. The last thing he wanted was for you to see him like this—dazed, uncertain, and maybe even a little afraid of what all of this meant.

But one thing was for sure: He would never let you go. Not now. Not ever...

You eventually reached his car. He opened the passenger's side and carefully set you down on the seat.. you groaned softly as you leaned back against the cushion. He reached over you and buckled your seatbelt in. He gently shut the door and walked over to the driver's side. He got in and buckled his seatbelt.. A sigh left his lips as he started the car, looking at you making sure you were okay.

San sighed as he maneuvered the car onto the road, one hand gripping the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift. The neon streetlights cast long shadows on your face, highlighting the way your head wobbled slightly as you tried to sit upright. You stared out the window, your eyes following each pink and blue light.

The drive back home was quiet, except for the soft hum of the car's engine and the occasional hiccup that escaped your lips. San's grip on the steering wheel tightened as he focused on the road, his gaze flickering over to you every now and then. You were still resting against his shoulder, your face still flushed from the alcohol.

Every time you hiccupped, a small giggle followed, making San's heartache in a way he didn’t expect. Your giggles were cute and carefree, but there was an edge to them—a tenderness that made him feel both protective and… something more.

You hiccupped suddenly, your whole body jolting from the force of it, and a sleepy giggle followed immediately after. “whoopsies,” you murmured, swaying a little as you leaned your head against the cool window. “’M’drunk…”

San huffed out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah, angel, I know.”

You turned your head to him, blinking a few times like it was hard to keep your eyes open. Your lips pushed into a small pout, and you let out a dramatic sigh. “But… but Sannie, just ’cause I’m drunk… doesn’t mean I’m lyin’,” you slurred, dragging out the last word as if it took effort to say.

San's grip on the wheel tightened, his knuckles whitening slightly. He could already tell where this was going. Though you didn't drink much and tried to avoid it, you always got like this when you were wasted—overly affectionate, a little too honest, and completely unaware of how much your words affected him.

"Y/N," he warned, glancing over at you, but you weren’t paying attention to his hesitance.

You suddenly gasped, sitting up straighter—though the movement made you wobble slightly. “Ohhh my God,” you drawled, eyes wide as if you had just come to some life-altering realization.

San arched a brow. “…What?”

“You’re jus’—” You hiccupped again, a giggle bubbling past your lips. “You’re jus’ so… perfect, Sannie.”

San inhaled sharply, his knuckles going white against the steering wheel.

Oh no.

He really needed to get you home before you started saying things he wouldn't be able to forget.

"You always take care of me," you mumbled, your head rolling slightly as you stared at him with big, unfocused eyes. "You're so… so nice. Like… sooo nice. The nicest person ever. Like, for real. I dunno what I’d do without you…”

San swallowed, keeping his gaze locked on the road. “Y/N, you’re drunk,” he repeated, his voice lower now, more controlled.

You ignored him completely, waving a hand in the air as if dismissing his words. "An’ you—" Another hiccup. "You have the best shoulders.”

San blinked.

His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He turned to you for a brief second, only to see you staring at him—your expression deadly serious.

“…What?”

“Your shoulders," you repeated, slurring slightly. "They're sooo big. Like… stupid big.” You reached out clumsily, your fingers poking at his upper arm before sliding up to pat his shoulder as if testing its size.

San clenched his jaw. “Precious, keep your hands to yourself,” he muttered. He secretly liked how clingy and touchy you were, but he had to keep you grounded at this moment.

But you only pouted, retracting your hand with an exaggerated sigh. “Jus’ sayin’,” you mumbled under your breath, slumping back against the seat. “S’not my fault you got shoulders like a… like a…” You trailed off, blinking in thought. Then your face lit up.

"Like a mountain!" you announced loudly with a stupid smile on your face.

San let out a long, exhausted sigh. “A mountain..?”

"Yeahhh," you giggled, wiggling a bit in your seat. "Like, if I ever got lost, I think I’d be able to find you, ‘cause your shoulders are like… like a landmark.”

San pressed his lips together, fighting back his blush, but he couldn't help it. You were a mess. A completely ridiculous, drunk mess. And you had no idea how close he was to losing his mind over you.

You hiccupped again and let out a dramatic groan. “Ugh, why’re you so pretty, Sannie?”

San stiffened.

Oh, no. He was not having this conversation with you right now.

"You’re jus’ so pretty," you slurred, batting your eyelashes, blinking at him in awe. "Like, it’s not fair… your face is so—so nice, and your eyes—Sannie, your eyes—" You turned to him with an exaggerated, pouty frown. “They're so brown.”

San let out a strangled noise. “I mean… yeah? That’s kinda how eyes work, Y/N.”

You huffed, clearly unsatisfied with his response. “Nooo, but your eyes are like, warm brown. Like… melted chocolate. Or… or a sunset, if a sunset was brown—wait, no, that doesn’t make sense…”

San squeezed his eyes shut briefly, inhaling deeply before forcing himself to focus on the road.

"You really need to sleep," he muttered, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel.

"But I’m not tired!" you protested, even as your head wobbled dangerously close to the window.

San scoffed. “Yeah? Then why are you slurring all your words?”

You blinked lazily at him before shrugging. “M’just… relaxed…”

San shook his head, letting out a quiet chuckle. "Precious," he said, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. "You're really drunk. You don’t even know what you’re saying. You’re not sober, Y/N."

You furrowed your brows, shaking your head—though the movement made you wobble even more. “Well…” You hiccupped again, pressing your palm against your face as if trying to steady yourself. “I’m sober ’nuff to know I mean it.”

San’s breath hitched, his heart stalling for just a second.

He knew you were drunk. He knew that. But there was something in the way you said it—something that made it feel too real.

You smiled, clearly pleased with his response. But then, a moment later, your face softened, and you sighed, resting your cheek against the window. “Sannie…”

San hummed in acknowledgment.

"You’re my favorite person," you murmured, your voice softer now, sleepier.

San's fingers twitched against the wheel.

His throat felt tight. He knew you were drunk, knew you probably wouldn’t even remember this conversation in the morning. But damn it… it still made his chest ache in a way he didn’t know how to deal with.

“…You’re mine too, angel,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You made a content little noise, eyes fluttering shut. “Good,” you mumbled. “M’glad.”

San swallowed thickly, stealing one last glance at you before refocusing on the road.

Yeah, he thought, me too.

San exhaled as he pulled into the parking lot of his apartment complex, the tension in his shoulders finally easing just a little.

The entire ride had been filled with your drunken rambling, your words a mixture of heartfelt confessions and ridiculous observations about his mountain-like shoulders. He had tried his best to ignore the way his face heated every time you sighed about how “safe” and “solid” he felt, but it wasn’t easy when your voice was so soft and full of admiration.

But now, as he parked the car and glanced over at you, he noticed you had sobered up—just a little. Your eyelids were still heavy, and you swayed slightly when you moved, but your words weren’t as slurred anymore. The giggles had quieted, and instead of the drunken daze from before, there was something else lingering in your gaze—something softer.

San sighed and stepped out of the car before making his way to your side, opening the door and crouching down slightly.

“Alright, darling,” he murmured, his voice gentler now. “Up we go.”

Before you could even process what was happening, he slid an arm under your legs and lifted you onto his back again.

A small gasp left your lips at the sudden movement, but you didn’t resist. If anything, you melted against him, your arms draping lazily over his shoulders, your cheek pressing against the back of his neck.

“You do this too much,” you murmured, voice still laced with exhaustion.

San huffed a quiet laugh, adjusting his hold under your thighs. “You keep getting yourself into situations where I have to.”

You made a tiny noise—a whine in protest, but the warmth of his back was too comforting for you to argue. Instead, you relaxed, letting him carry you toward the building.

The moment he stepped into his apartment, a familiar sense of calm washed over him. The dim lighting cast soft shadows across the walls, and the faint scent of vanilla from his candles still lingered in the air. He didn't have time to blow them out since he was so focused on getting to you and bringing you back here.

He walked straight to his bedroom, the lamp on the nightstand cast a dimly lit glow, the curtains covering the night sky.. He gently set you down on his bed before stepping back and looking at your tiny self. He couldn't deny how cute you looked.

“You need to change,” he said, already moving toward his dresser. “I’ll grab something comfortable—”

“San.” Your voice stopped him in his tracks.

His fingers froze just before touching the drawer handle, and he turned to look at you, expecting to see your usual sleepy, drunken expression.

But you weren’t just drunk anymore. You were looking at him with clarity.

“I mean it when I say I like you.”

San felt the air leave his lungs.

His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He just stood there, his entire body frozen as your words echoed in his mind.

You weren’t laughing. You weren’t teasing. You were serious.

“I’ve meant it for a long time,” you continued, your fingers gripping the blanket beneath you. “And I know you think I don’t know what I’m saying because I had too much to drink tonight, but San, I swear, I know.”

San swallowed hard, trying to keep his heart from completely spiraling out of control.

“Darling…” His voice was careful, hesitant. “You’re still a little drunk.”

You frowned, frustration flickering in your eyes. “I know that,” you muttered. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t mean it.”

San inhaled sharply, his grip tightening at his sides. He could feel how much you meant it. He could see it in the way you were looking at him.

And that terrified him. Because for years, he had told himself this would never happen.

For years, he had buried everything, convinced that his feelings for you were one-sided, that you only saw him as a friend, that he had no right to want more.

And now here you were, sitting on his bed, looking at him like he was your entire world.

“I don’t want you to wake up tomorrow and regret saying this,” he admitted, his voice quiet but firm.

Your brows furrowed, and you pushed yourself up slightly, propping yourself on your hands. “Why do you always do that?”

San blinked. “Do what?”

“Doubt yourself,” you said, shaking your head. “Doubt me.”

San’s chest ached at the frustration in your voice.

“It’s not that,” he murmured. “I just don’t want you to—”

“Regret it?” you finished for him. “San, I won’t.”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

Because if he did—if he let himself believe you—he wasn’t sure if he could hold himself back anymore.

You stared at him for a long moment, your breath uneven. Then, suddenly, your jaw clenched, and before he could react, you reached forward, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him toward you.

And then you kissed him.

San froze.

Your lips were warm, soft, and desperate—like you were trying to prove something to him. His brain short-circuited.

For years, he had imagined this. Wanted this.

But nothing could have prepared him for what it actually felt like.

Your hands gripped his shirt tightly, as if you were afraid he’d pull away. But God, he had no intention of doing that. Not when you were kissing him like this.

His hesitation cracked.

San exhaled sharply through his nose before he finally—finally—moved.

His hands found your waist, pulling you impossibly close as he kissed you back, his movements slow but deep. He could taste the faint remnants of alcohol on your lips, but beneath that, he could taste you. And it was intoxicating.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him closer, and San let out a quiet groan against your lips. His head was spinning, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure you could hear it.

This wasn’t just some drunken mistake. This was everything.

When you finally pulled back, your breath was uneven, your lips slightly swollen. Your eyes met his, and there it was again—that look. The one that made his entire world shift.

“Still don’t believe me?” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

San swallowed hard, his hands still resting on your waist.

“I believe you,” he admitted, his voice rough.

Your lips curled into a small, knowing smile.

And just like that, he was done for.

Your breath was still uneven when you leaned back slightly, eyes searching his face. San was still so close, his hands resting on your waist, his lips barely parted as if he was still trying to process what had just happened.

And maybe you should have stopped there—let the moment settle, let him breathe.

But you didn’t want to. Because for years, you had wanted this.

And now that you had him here, looking at you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded, you weren’t about to let him run away from this.

So you kissed him again. This time, there was no hesitation.

Your fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt, pulling him in as your lips pressed firmly against his.

San inhaled sharply through his nose, his entire body going rigid. But he didn’t pull away.

No—he kissed you back.

And this time, there was no careful restraint.

His grip on your waist tightened, his fingers pressing into your skin just enough to make you shiver. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that sent heat rushing down your spine. It was slow but deep, each movement drawing you closer, making your head spin.

His warmth, his scent, the way his hands held you like he was afraid to let go—it was all consuming.

You felt weightless. Dizzy. Desperate.

A soft, needy sound escaped your lips, and that was when it happened—San froze.

His lips stilled against yours, his entire body stiffening before he abruptly pulled away, breath heavy.

Your brows furrowed. “San—?”

His hands were still on you, but his grip had loosened, as if he was forcing himself to let go. His jaw was clenched, his eyes dark, but beneath that, there was something else—a storm of emotions he was clearly struggling to keep under control.

His gaze dropped to your lips for half a second before he quickly looked away, exhaling sharply.

“Angel,” he murmured, voice low but strained. “You’re still a little drunk.”

You pouted at that, lips still tingling from the way he had kissed you just moments ago. “I told you—I know what I’m saying.”

San shook his head, his hands slipping from your waist, though it looked like it physically pained him to do so. “I don’t wanna lose control.”

You swallowed, heart pounding. Lose control.

You weren’t naive. You could feel what that kiss had done to him. You could see it in the way his chest rose and fell, in the way his fingers curled slightly like he was restraining himself from pulling you back in.

And it thrilled you.

Because you had done that to him.

You had never seen him like this before—so close to unraveling, yet still fighting to hold himself back for your sake.

Your frustration grew. “San,” you whispered, reaching for his hand. “I want this.”

His breath hitched, but he didn’t move.

“I want you.”

His fingers twitched under yours. God, he was fighting so hard. And you were determined to break him.

San barely had a second to react before you grabbed the front of his shirt and tugged him down onto the bed with you. He let out a startled grunt as his back hit the mattress, his hands instinctively finding your waist to steady you as you climbed onto his lap.

“Angel—”

You cut him off with another kiss, this one messier, more desperate. Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging lightly as you deepened the kiss, pouring every bit of emotion you had into it.

San groaned against your lips, his grip on your waist tightening as his self-control slipped further. You could feel the way his heart pounded beneath your touch, the way his breath hitched every time your hips shifted against his.

You knew he wanted you just as badly as you wanted him.

And you were determined to make him lose that last shred of restraint.

You trailed your lips away from his, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, then down his neck. San sucked in a sharp breath, his fingers digging into your hips.

“Y/N…” His voice was a warning, but it was weak—shaky.

You smirked against his skin. “What is it, Sannie?”

A curse slipped from his lips as your teeth grazed against his pulse point, followed by a sharp inhale when you sucked gently, leaving a mark behind.

You felt him tense beneath you, his grip on you almost bruising now.

“Precious, you’re playing with fire,” he muttered, his voice rough, strained.

You hummed against his skin, trailing another kiss lower. “Maybe I want to get burned.”

San’s breath stuttered, and for a second, you thought he might finally give in.

His hands slid up your thighs, his fingers brushing beneath the hem of your shirt. His nails scraped lightly against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

But then—he exhaled sharply, squeezing his eyes shut before gripping your waist and flipping you onto your back in one swift motion.

A gasp left your lips as he hovered over you, his breath coming in uneven pants. His dark eyes were locked onto yours, a mix of frustration and want swirling in them.

“Angel,” he said, voice lower than before, “I swear to God…”

You swallowed hard, your chest rising and falling rapidly. “Swear what?”

San clenched his jaw. His thumb traced slow circles against your hip, his other hand braced beside your head, keeping himself from completely pressing against you.

“That if you weren’t still a little drunk, I’d show you exactly how much I want you.” His words were a low murmur, his lips just inches from yours.

But you didn’t stop. Instead, you pressed another kiss just below his jaw, your tongue flicking out to taste his skin before you sucked lightly, determined to leave a mark. A quiet groan rumbled in his chest, and you smirked against his skin, feeling victorious.

“You don’t fight fair,” he muttered, his hands sliding up your thighs, fingers teasing the hem of the shirt you wore.

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your eyes heavy with desire. “Then stop fighting.”

Something in San snapped.

His grip on you tightened, and in the next second, he flipped you onto your back, his body pressing firmly against yours. His lips crashed onto yours, no longer gentle—this was different, raw and filled with need.

A gasp escaped you as he deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips to taste you. His hands roamed your body, mapping out every curve, every inch of you that he had wanted for so long.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough.

You grinned, breathless. “Good.”

He let out a low chuckle, but it was cut off when you tugged him down by the collar of his shirt, kissing him harder, more desperately. His weight pressed you into the mattress, and you arched against him, wanting to be impossibly closer.

San’s lips trailed down your jaw, then your neck, his teeth grazing over the marks you had left on him just moments before. “You like marking me up, huh?” he muttered against your skin.

You hummed, threading your fingers through his hair. “You look good like this.”

His lips curled into a smirk, and then, without warning, he nipped at your pulse point, drawing a gasp from your lips.

Your fingers tightened in his hair as he continued his assault on your neck, pressing kisses, sucking lightly, then soothing each mark with his tongue. Your skin burned under his touch, your whole body alive with electricity.

“Sannie…” You whimpered, rolling your hips against him.

San groaned, his hands gripping your thighs to still your movements. His forehead dropped to your shoulder as he breathed heavily, trying to steady himself.

“You’re dangerous,” he whispered, voice thick with want.

You grinned against his temple, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Then what are you gonna do about it?”

San lifted his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, he just stared at you, his expression unreadable.

Then, in one swift motion, he pinned your wrists above your head, his smirk widening when you let out a surprised gasp.

“I guess,” he murmured, lips brushing against yours, “I’ll just have to teach you a lesson.”

And then he kissed you again—deeper, hungrier—no more hesitation. No more holding back.

But just as you thought you were about to get what you wanted, San exhaled a heavy breath, his lips brushing against yours in a brief, teasing kiss. His hands still hovered at the edge of your dress, not yet moving, as though trying to find the strength to hold back.

You heard him murmur, barely above a whisper, “Tomorrow.” He said. He was serious this time. He wasn't about to let you win this battle, nor his mind.

You froze for a moment, your eyes searching his face. The words hit you harder than you expected, like a punch to the chest. You couldn’t believe it. After everything that had built up, after the heat between you both, he was pulling away.

"Tomorrow?" you repeated, voice tinged with disbelief and frustration. You pouted a bit, but it didn't work on him.

San’s lips curled into a soft, apologetic smile, though there was something gentle in his expression, a softness that you didn’t expect. “Yeah, tomorrow,” he repeated, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “You’ve had enough for tonight.”

“But San…” you whined, a hint of desperation in your voice. “I don’t want to wait… I want this now.” You tried giving him those puppy eyes, and as much as they always worked, not this time...

His hands moved to cup your face, his thumbs gently brushing over your skin. “I know you do, love,” he murmured, his voice low but firm. “But tonight isn’t the night. You’re still a little drunk, and I’m not gonna take advantage of you. Not like this.”

You pouted, feeling a mix of frustration and disappointment flood through you. You had wanted him so badly, wanted to feel the warmth of his touch without hesitation. But even as you felt that desire stir within you, there was something in his gaze that made you pause.

San wasn’t doing this out of indifference. He was doing it because he cared, because he wanted to make sure that when this moment came, it would be right for both of you. And for that reason, you could almost forgive him.

“I’m not that drunk,” you muttered trying to convince him once more, your voice still soft, though the pout on your lips remained.

San chuckled lightly, shaking his head as he leaned in closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I know, darling. But tomorrow, when you’re sober, it’ll mean more.”

A whimper escaped you, and you looked up at him, eyes pleading. “But I want you now… please, San…”

He smiled, a mixture of tenderness and determination in his gaze. “Patience, baby. Tomorrow, I promise. But tonight, let’s just be here together. No rushing. Just… us.”

You huffed, exasperated, but the soft affection in his voice settled the rest of your emotions. You weren’t quite ready to let go of the heat between you, but you knew—deep down—that San was right. This wasn’t about just tonight. It was about something more, something deeper than the rush of desire.

“Fine,” you sighed, leaning back against the headboard as you looked up at him. “Tomorrow, then.” You knew you couldn't fight back anymore.

San gave you a satisfied smile, brushing his thumb gently over your cheek. “Good girl,” he whispered, his voice quiet and soothing. “Get some sleep now. We’ll take our time tomorrow, I promise.

You huffed again, but there was no real bite to it. Despite your disappointment, you knew he was right.

San stood, his expression softening as he looked down at you, still lying in his bed, a little dejected and pouty from the earlier conversation. He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead before heading toward the closet to grab a change of clothes for you.

He returned with his favorite oversized hoodie and a pair of his boxers, the fabric soft and worn from the many times he’d worn them. As he approached the bed, you sat up slowly, still in your dress, feeling the weight of the night beginning to sink in. You had tried so hard to push the thoughts from your mind, but they kept resurfacing, like waves crashing relentlessly against the shore. The truth of what had happened—how your "friends" had used you, manipulated your kindness—seemed so much more painful now that the haze of alcohol was starting to lift.

You tried to keep your composure, but the sting in your chest was undeniable. Your fingers twisted in the fabric of your dress as you glanced up at San, who was kneeling beside you, his face soft with concern. He gently placed the clothes in your lap, but before you could respond, the emotions you’d been holding back all night began to swell up again. You swallowed thickly, trying to hold back the tears, but they were already threatening to spill over. You let out a tiny whimper.

“Hey,” San said, his voice soft but steady. He reached out to touch your shoulder, his fingers warm against your skin. “It’s okay. You don’t have to hide it.”

You shook your head, fighting to keep it together. “I just… I don’t know why they’d do that to me,” you muttered, the words feeling heavy in your throat. “I thought they were my friends, but it turns out they only wanted me around for drinks, for the fun. They didn’t care about me at all.”

San’s expression hardened, his jaw tightening. But he didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he took a deep breath and slowly helped you out of your dress, his hands gentle, as if trying to keep you from falling apart. You were gorgeous he thought. You were so beautiful. Sometimes he thought why didn't you have a boyfriend.. But now he had a chance. You loved him and he loved you.

Every movement, every brush of his fingers against your skin felt like an anchor, pulling you back from the storm swirling inside your chest. But the hurt was still there, gnawing at you, and the tears couldn’t be stopped.

Once you were dressed in his oversized hoodie and a pair of boxers, you climbed into his bed, curling up beneath the covers. The warmth of the fabric, the scent of him all around you, should’ve made you feel better—but it didn’t. Not yet.

San followed you into the bed, slipping under the covers and wrapping his arms around you. You nestled against his chest, trying to find solace in his warmth, but your mind refused to let go of the images from earlier. How your "friends" had abandoned you, laughed about you behind your back, and used you when it suited them. You had trusted them. You had believed in them. But it had all been a lie.

“I don’t get it, San,” you whispered, the tears falling freely now. “I don’t get why they’d do that. Why didn’t they just tell me? Why didn’t they treat me like I mattered?” You felt a tear run down your face.

San’s chest tightened at the sound of your voice cracking, and he pulled you in even closer as if trying to shield you from the world and everything that had hurt you. He didn’t speak right away, allowing you the space to cry, to release the pain that had built up in you for so long. It wasn’t about the drinks, the party—it was about the betrayal. It was about realizing that the people you had opened your heart to had never truly cared.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” San finally spoke, his voice low but firm. “You cared. You trusted. That’s not a mistake.”

“But they… they used me, San,” you choked out, your words shaking. "They were never my friends.”

“They never deserved your friendship,” he said quietly, his voice full of conviction. “You were always just too good to them. You didn’t deserve that, Y/N. Not from anyone.”

You sniffed, wiping your eyes, but the hurt wasn’t going away. It felt like a weight on your chest that was too heavy to bear. You felt exposed—vulnerable. You had always tried so hard to be there for people, but in the end, they had all just taken what they could get and left you empty.

“But why did I have to find out this way?” you asked, your voice soft and broken. “Why couldn’t they just be honest with me from the start?”

San’s arms tightened around you again, his hand running soothingly up and down your back. “Because people who don’t know how to appreciate what they have, they always take. And when they take everything, they leave you with nothing.”

You nodded slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. The anger was still there, but it wasn’t as sharp as it had been before. It was more of a dull ache now. The betrayal was fresh, and it still hurt—but somehow, with San holding you, with him comforting you, it didn’t seem as insurmountable. He made you feel like maybe things could be okay again, eventually.

“You don’t have to be alone in this,” San whispered, his voice full of a tenderness you weren’t used to hearing. “Not anymore. You’ve got me, Y/N. You’ve always had me.”

You pulled away just enough to look up at him, your teary eyes meeting his. There was so much unspoken in the air, so many things left unsaid, but somehow, the silence between you both felt like an unbreakable bond. The pain, the rawness—it was still there, but there was also something else.

Something deeper.

“You’re the only one who’s ever really been there for me,” you whispered, your voice breaking as you met his gaze. “I don’t want to lose you, San. Please don’t let me go. I… I need you.” You whimper out.

San’s hand cupped your cheek gently, his thumb brushing away the fresh tear that had fallen. His gaze softened, but there was a hint of hesitation in his eyes. He took a slow, steady breath, his expression unreadable for a moment, before he spoke.

“Y/N, you don’t ever have to worry about that. I’m not going anywhere.”

You felt a little comforted by his words, but the storm inside of you wasn’t quite over yet. As you closed your eyes and leaned into him once more, the weight of everything that had happened—the hurt, the betrayal, the anger—still lingered like an invisible cloud. It wasn’t gone. And as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, it was hard not to wonder…

San’s hand stroked your hair as you leaned into him, your head resting against his chest. “Let’s go to bed,” he murmured. “I’ll be here with you. No matter what happens, I’ll be right here.”

You nodded, feeling the exhaustion beginning to catch up with you. It wasn’t just physical fatigue—it was emotional, the weight of everything you had experienced tonight. And yet, despite it all, you felt a sense of peace settle over you as you allowed yourself to let go of the fear, just for a moment.

“I love you, Choi San..”

“I love you too, my perfect angel...”

As San tucked you into his side, he gave you a kiss on your forehead and then a peck on your lips., your mind wandered back to earlier—to the betrayal, to the hurt, to the people who had never deserved your trust. But now, lying next to him, feeling his warmth and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

you realized that maybe, just maybe, you could let yourself trust again...

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