#THE KISS AND COMFORT AND DO THINGS TOGETHER

[jaesblogstuff]

Here me out (mentions of pregnancy) From the moment Simon put a ring on your finger, you’ve been bent over every surface in the house. kitchen counter, dining table, even the washing machine mid-spin (i make myself laugh LOL) So it’s no surprise you ended up knocked up. Honestly, it was kind of the point. He wanted to see you like this. Full. Round. Swollen with his baby.

Now, months later, your back aches, your belly's heavy and your husband’s hands are right there, soothing, lifting, holding you together with a kind of reverence that makes your knees weak.

Because if it was his goal to get you like this… then it’s his job to take care of you now that you are.

-------

From the moment Simon put that ring on your finger, he made a quiet, devastating promise with his body as much as with his words.

You’d been bent over every surface in the house. The kitchen counter, hallway wall, the back of the couch, his lap in a dining chair, gasping his name into the crook of his neck, legs trembling while he kept you right there.

It was no surprise, really, that you ended up pregnant.

He'd wanted it. Wanted you round and full with it—his. Not out of ownership, but out of something deeper. Legacy. Healing. The need to build something softer than the war-torn world he came from.

Now, months later, your belly swelled gloriously with the proof of all that want. His want.

And tonight, it hurt.

Your back screamed from the weight, pressure clinging low and stubborn as you leaned over the kitchen counter in the dim glow of the fridge light. You were trying not to cry, not to wake him. But Simon always knew.

You heard his footsteps before you felt him, that quiet shuffle down the hall. And then—

“Back again?” came the rasp, sleep-heavy and warm behind you.

You nodded without turning. “It’s… too much tonight. I can’t get comfortable. I feel like she’s pulling my spine apart.”

Simon stepped closer, hands coasting over your hips, then around to your belly. He didn’t ask, just moved with quiet knowing, slipping his hands beneath the curve of your stomach and slowly lifting the weight off your aching back.

Your knees buckled slightly from the release, from how the ache dissolved under his touch. A long, broken sound fell from your lips, something between a sigh and a whimper and you melted into him completely.

“Oh my God,” you exhaled, your head tipping back to his shoulder. “Simon…”

Simon didn’t say anything at first, just held the weight of you both in his hands. His lips pressed to your temple, then down to your cheek.

“You carry her all day,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Let me carry you.”

Your heart ached in the best way as he held you there, hands beneath your belly, supporting all the strain, all the pain. You let yourself sag into his body, trusting him completely.

“You’re so good to me,” you whispered, arms curling back around his waist.

Simon was quiet for a beat, his voice soft as velvet when it came. “You gave me a home I didn’t know I wanted. You gave me this…” His hand splayed gently across the side of your belly, where your daughter shifted softly beneath the skin. “I’d do anything for you.”

The silence that followed was heavy with love. The kind that needed no words.

Eventually, he helped you back to bed, slow and careful, cradling your body like a sacred thing. And when you curled into his chest, belly pressed to his side, you swore you heard him whisper thank you into your hair.

Like he still couldn’t believe he got to have this. Got to have you.

[yukioos]

being on katsuki’s back while he’s doing push-ups

when you received a text from katsuki telling you to come over, you sat up in your bed without hesitation. you texted a quick reply and walked to his dorm, then knocked. he quickly opened it with a small grin, then placed his large, rough hand on the back of your head, and kissed your forehead. you closed the door with your foot and placed your lips against his, then pulled away with warm cheeks.

he walked to the center of his room, only wearing a black tank top and sweatpants, then crossed his arms. you asked, “why did you text me katsuki? you made me think there was an emergency, but there’s not.”

he huffed and averted his gaze, “i need to work out. lay down on my back and tell me about your day or whatever. wrap your arms around my torso if you need to.”

you tilted your head at the sudden command but didn’t think much of it. he probably just needed some extra pressure during training. the truth was, he just wanted more time with you.

so once he lay on the ground and propped his hands up, you lay down with him and kissed his neck, emitting a hum from the blonde. he began to go up and down, lifting you with him when he did push-ups. you began to giggle, loving how he felt a little odd on your body.

“did you do anything fun today, katsuki?” you asked, laying your cheek against his muscular back, arms comfortably against your sides.

he did many push-ups without difficulty, not even breaking a sweat until you began to talk to him. he replied with another question, “didn’t i tell you to tell me about your day?”

you grinned and nodded, “yeah, but i wanna see how long you can last while doing three things. push-ups, carrying me, and replying to my questions. if you can’t do that then it’s fine, it may just be too hard for you.” you teased him at the end, and he felt your lip twitch.

katsuki frowned and mumbled, “damn brat,” before going off about how he beat shoto when they were training together. you knew he saw him as a threat to his climb to be the number-one hero, so you applauded him.

you praised, “good job, katsuki. i’m really proud of you, you know?”

his focus faltered and he staggered with his movements. the tips of his ears turned pink and he mumbled something under his breath, almost too inaudible. you always knew how to catch him off guard, and he loved that about you. the blonde tried to keep the smile from forming on his face but failed, and let out a nervous chuckle.

he tried to flaunt his talent and rolled his eyes, “icy-hot’s real good but i beat him. took a while though, you know?”

you nodded, “is that why i heard screaming and crashing for around an hour?”

he nodded and tried to muffle his groans and pants, wanting to not make any noise besides words. you smiled and decided to tease him more, “you’re doing great, katsuki, just a little more.”

“s-shut up,” he groaned, making you blush at the sounds.

after you giggled once more, he gently slid you off his back. he claimed that was the one and only time he would let you lay on his back during training due to your reaction. of course, that was a total lie. you became part of his daily routine.

sorry if this wasn’t as fluffy or anything i js had this idea idk! i’m trying so hard to make this not too suggestive

[lvl1l1]

HEYYY can i please request LADS men when you sleep on the couch after a heated argument

LaDS men when you sleep on the couch after an argument

pairings: LaDS men x Reader(separate)

content: hurt/comfort, arguments

a/n: these are so long idk what possessed me

Xavier

You tried to just keep it a casual conversation, bringing up how you still felt like he was keeping things from you at times, like he still didn’t trust you with everything after you two have been together for so long but with how he kept his answers short and clipped, his expression as cool as always, trying to change the topic, things started to get more heated.

You didn’t like how he was brushing you off again.

“See this is exactly what I’m talking about, Xavier.”

His lack of response was really getting to you.

He stays expressionless, you keep saying things trying to get a reaction out of him but he doesn’t falter.

On the inside, he feels regret and seeing you angry at him upsets him, too.

“Fine. Whatever, be that way.”

He doesn’t feel relieved when you walk out of the bedroom, but he just doesn’t know what to say to make you feel better.

He follows after you, going into the bedroom, he freezes when he sees you grab the sheets and your pillow.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m sleeping on the couch, Xavier.”

You try to slip past him but he doesn’t let you,

“No, you’re not.”

You stare up at him and seeing the usual affection replaced with anger hurts him.

“Please, don’t.”

“I’m mad, Xavier. I don’t want to sleep with you tonight.”

The tremble in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed,

“I can’t sleep without you next to me. And I know you feel the same way.”

You try leaving again but he just won’t let you,

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t want to see you right now.”

You notice the hurt in his eyes and you feel kinda bad but you can’t back down now, right?

He nods but still doesn’t step aside,

“I’ll sleep on the couch then. You take the bed.”

Your shoulders slump, seeing as he resembles a sad bunny.

“Fine.”

You say and turn around, trying not to let this feeling get to you. You put your things back on the bed and hear him leave the room.

Confusion overtakes your features, why didn’t he take his stuff? You wait a minute and walk out after him, after some hesitation.

As you quietly go back into living room, you see him lying on the couch, no blanket, no pillow, eyes closed.

“Xavier, go get your things. You’ll catch a cold.”

He doesn’t open his eyes as he speaks again,

“It’s what I deserve. I upset you.”

Your mouth falls open at that, the ridiculousness of his behaviour almost makes you break out into a laugh. Almost.

“Xavier, even if I’m mad at you, I don’t want you to be cold and uncomfortable the whole night.”

He cracks one eye open, looking at you.

“But I want to be cold and uncomfortable for making you mad.”

You sigh, trying to fight the smile that’s making its way onto your face,

“You’re unbelievable.”

He’s looking at you with both eyes now, noticing the tension dissipate. Xavier props himself up,

“I’m sorry.”

You know he got you once you walk over and sit down on the couch next to him,

“I know.”

Reaching out with your hands to brush through his hair,

“And you know that I’ll forgive you once I wake up.”

He leans into your touch, testing the waters by lying his head in your lap.

“Thank you. But please don’t make sleep without you. I won’t intrude on your space, I just need to know that you’re still here.”

Scratching his scalp a defeated groan leaves your mouth,

“Go into the bedroom. I’ll be right there.”

His lips curl upwards, he begrudgingly lifts his head off your lap. He lingers, not getting up from the couch yet. You can guess why and knowing he needs the comfort just as much as you do, after everything that was said, you lean over and press a soft kiss to his forehead. A relieved hum forms in the back of his throat.

He then gets up, not trying to push his luck.

Xavier knows your feelings are valid and he would never want you to feel like they aren’t.

He doesn’t always handle things the right way but nothings more important to him than making it up to you. He’ll fix this, he’ll show you how much he truly trusts you.

Rafayel

You didn’t mean to leave him waiting, again.

Wondering where you are, if you’re okay and why you weren’t answering your phone.

This morning, you texted him, letting him know about today’s mission.

An emergency, there wasn’t much time and you had to get going now. You promised to come see him and call once you were back.

Rafayel kept himself busy all day, he noticed how you didn’t read his text, telling you to stay safe.

You also didn’t read any of his follow up texts and as the hours passed and there was still no answer from you, he started to feel anxious.

It was getting late, the sun setting soon.

He tried to call you and when it went straight to voicemail, he couldn’t help the concern clawing at him.

You should be done by now. You said you’d call him, once you were back. So, what was wrong?

-

It was dark out now, you had finally wrapped everything up.

Your phone had died in the middle of the mission, as soon as you had gotten back to the HQ you left it to charge.

You knew Rafayel was probably worried but you had texted him this morning, it shouldn’t be too bad. Or so you hoped.

Bidding your farewells to your coworkers, you left the association’s building, finally turning your phone back on.

The wall of missed calls and messages from Rafayel didn’t help your conflicted heart.

You tried to call him back, he wasn’t picking up.

You tried once, twice, it just kept ringing and ringing.

As you finally arrived at his art studio, you noticed the gate was closed.

Confused, you unlocked it and walked to the door.

You were thinking of how to apologise him, you didn’t mean to leave him hanging all day but it’s not like you did it on purpose.

Walking into his home, you saw him painting in the living room, back turned to the door.

“Hey, I’m back.”

You said quietly, placing your keys on the table, waiting for a reaction from your boyfriend.

You expected him to pout, whine, be upset but you were surprised, when… nothing came.

No reaction, he didn’t even turn around.

You approached him slowly, not knowing what to do.

“I’m sorry, Rafayel. My phone died and the mission turned out to be more difficult than expected. I left as soon as I got to the association.”

Usually, he’d be talking to Reddie now, acknowledging your presence in some way or another, making sure you know he was upset.

But still, nothing.

He just kept painting.

No hum, no change in his movements, no looking over.

You sighed, you knew you messed up but the least he could do was talk to you about it.

“Look, I know I should’ve been more careful, made sure my phone was charged or given you more details. I didn’t know, though. So, can we please just-“

“Just what?”

The first time he spoke since you’ve arrived and he still wasn’t looking at you.

“What do you expect me to do now? Throw myself into your arms, crying?”

You were taken aback by his tone,

“No, I didn’t mean-“

He cut in again, voice steady, words sharp,

“This isn’t the first time, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. Am I supposed to lose my mind everytime you pull something like this? It’s not like you keep your word, anyway.”

The accusation hung heavy in the air and you were trying to deal with this as sensibly as possible but he was making this increasingly more difficult.

“Rafayel, you know how my job is. I’d never ignore you on purpose. I kept you waiting and I’m sorry, I really am. But sometimes, there just isn’t anything I can do.”

A scoff escaped him and you could feel a headache forming. You were expecting him to follow up, come up with a retort, tell you how disappointed he was but he just went silent again.

You felt tired, your eyelids heavy and you simply didn’t have the emotional maturity to deal with this appropriately right now.

You went to get changed, as you were leaving the room, you heard him mumble something under his breath,

“As expected.”

You halted, standing still for a moment before turning back around,

“What was that? If you have something to say, speak up.”

You crossed your arms and he finally looked up at you, gaze completely void of emotion.

“Not like you care, anyway.”

Your eye twitched at that,

“I understand if you’re upset but if you’re not willing to talk to me like an adult, I can’t help you. If you want to act like a child, be my guest.”

An ironic laugh left him at that and his eyes went back to his painting,

“Im the one acting like a child?”

“I don’t have the energy to deal with this right now, Rafayel. I have to do my job, grow up.”

You spun around on your heel to actually leave the room this time, when you heard rustling behind you, he was getting up.

He grumbled under his breath again,

“Didn’t know being a hunter meant you have to ghost your boyfriend.”

You clenched your teeth at his condescending comment but decided to not dignify him with a response.

You quickly walked into your shared bedroom, changing into your PJs.

Finally catching a glimpse of yourself for the first time today, you looked rough.

Thinking about how Rafayel still treated you so harshly, after seeing the state you were in.

Impulsively, you grabbed your pillow and your blanket and stormed into the living room.

He wasn’t there anymore, probably having gone to the bathroom to get ready for bed as well.

You settled down on the couch, you knew you were acting petty but you just didn’t want to put up with his attitude tonight.

You laid on your side, back turned to the room, when you heard the bathroom door open.

Rafayel’s steps were loud, you could feel his eyes on you as he came to a stop. The urge to turn heavy but you refused to budge.

He inhaled sharply, you could hear him mumble something under his breath again but couldn’t make out what he was saying, even if you could’ve, you were done arguing.

When you still didn’t hear him move, you turned around, seeing him standing in the middle of the room.

He looked hurt, making eye contact with you but not saying anything else.

He turned around, walking into the bedroom.

You heard the door click shut and a feeling of hurt settled into your chest.

You laid awake for a while, tossing and turning, regret seeping in, you didn’t want to fight with him like this.

Soon, sleep found you.

Eyes falling shut, mind still stuck on the interaction with your boyfriend.

-

Your eyes fluttered open, taking in the darkness.

You wanted to rub your eyes, when you felt your left hand being engulfed by something warm and heavy.

As you looked over, you immediately noticed the mop of purple hair being on eye level with you.

The scene in front of you made a lump form in your throat;

Rafayel was sitting on the floor, one hand holding onto yours, face resting again the couch.

His long legs were crossed and his posture was atrocious, you knew he’d wake up sore like this.

Him setting his pride aside, seeking you out in your sleep, made your heart race, even after how he was acting earlier.

You knew he was trying to hurt you both in an attempt to put his walls back up, he was scared for you.

There was nothing he feared more than losing you, you disappearing again. He didn’t want to wake up one day, finding out you were gone.

And you admittedly weren’t always making it easy for him.

Your other hand reached out and ruffled his hair,

“You idiot…”

You got up to the best of your ability, with him still gripping your wrist, sitting down next to him.

You managed to wrap him up in the blanket as well as you could, pressing your head into his shoulder.

You two would make amends once he woke up.

You couldn’t help but press a chaste kiss to his cheek.

Zayne

You’ve been buried in work lately, barely having time for yourself. No time to cook meals, so you’ve been relying on take out. Coming home so late from work makes you feel like you’re not making the most of your day, so in turn you stay up late, watching shows, playing games, trying to keep up with your boyfriend’s schedule.

Zayne has been trying to be lenient, he doesn’t want to tell you what to do and what not to do but he could see how your unhealthy habits have been getting worse and how it’s wearing down your condition.

Once he brings it up, he’s objective, neutral, speaking as your doctor, not your boyfriend.

When you try to reason with him and explain how those little acts may be unhealthy but they’re the only comfort you have in the midst of so much work.

You promise him, these habits aren’t here to stay and once you have enough breathing room again, you’ll go back to doing all those things he puts so much emphasis on.

He’s unimpressed, urging you to rethink. You know it comes from a place of concern, he’s telling you these things out of love but it simply feels so belittling.

You’ve been so overwhelmed and he’s seen firsthand how badly you need some understanding more than you need health advice.

Seeing how he doesn’t back down, you start to feel irritated. He refuses to see things from your perspective and you refuse to back down now.

The argument spirals as you call him out on not being much better,

“Overworked? Bold coming from you.”

His voice is steady and his words are harsh as he doesn’t pay much attention to your feelings,

“Yet I still make sure to get my nutrients. I also don’t spend my free time rotting away in front of a screen. You barely go outside during your time off.”

Zayne notices the hurt on your face a little too late,

“You’re my boyfriend before you’re my physician, Zayne. Act like it.”

His brows furrow at that, not responding.

He leaves the room before this could escalate any further, telling you to calm down first, which naturally sets you off even more.

You weren’t done with this conversation but realising he won’t continue you this, you decide to back off.

You’re mad at him and you’re going to show him.

While he’s in the bathroom, you grab your things from the bedroom and bring them over to the couch.

After he’s done getting ready for bed, he walks out and sees you sprawled out on the couch, cuddled up with your pillow, clinging onto it, the way you usually would to him.

He lets out a sigh, he can’t see your face, but that sound aggravated you even more.

Zayne sits down next to you, you don’t look at him.

“Do we have to do this?”

You don’t answer, he stills for a moment before getting back up.

Your lips tremble, seeing how quickly he gave up but to your surprise he comes back with his own blanket and pillow in hand.

“It’s going to get cramped. But I don’t mind, if you insist on sleeping here.”

“Zayne, I wanna sleep alone.”

He shakes his head, putting his things down next to yours.

“We might’ve disagreed but I don’t want the day to end like this. If you don’t want to talk to me right now, that’s fine. But don’t push me away, please.”

You stay silent at first, not knowing what to say.

Your heart feels a little warmer,

“Almost forgot you can be thoughtful, after all.”

He chuckles at your snarky comment, showing he’s not irritated.

You push your pillow lower, making your eyes visible to him.

Your eyebrows are still furrowed but he can tell your gaze softened.

You turned away and scooted over, making some space for him.

He took the hint and laid down next to you.

You’re lying in the dark, breathing slowly, starting to miss your boyfriend even tho he’s right next to you.

It’s not like you enjoyed fighting with him, especially with how apathetic he could be when he thought he was right.

You knew he didn’t say any of those things with malice, he was worried and that was his way of expressing it.

Unable to sleep due to the emotional and slight physical distance to your boyfriend, the thoughts running through your mind and the tiny couch you were sharing with your freakishly tall partner, you opened your eyes again.

“Zayne?”

You whispered, being quiet in case he had already fallen asleep.

He hummed in response and you shimmied back a bit, wanting to feel him,

“I don’t want to fight anymore…”

He shuffled, wrapping one arm around your waist loosely, not wanting to overstep,

“I’m glad. Me neither.”

His voice was low, not disturbing the quiet.

“Do you think we could go back to the bedroom?”

You heard him exhale a laugh,

“If you’d like to.”

You nodded, still not turning around.

Before you could say anything else, Zayne spoke up again,

“I’m sorry. I overstepped earlier. I have no right to tell you what to do. However, I only want the best for you, even though I might not be the best at expressing that at times.”

You turned around, looking up at him in the dark, and he was still able to make out your features,

“I’m sorry, too. I wasn’t willing to hear you out at all.”

“The same goes for me. I wasn’t offering solutions, I was just lecturing you.”

Leaning your head against his chest, you snuggled closer,

“Honestly, you had some valid points. I should spend more time with you whenever I finally have some free time.”

Zayne cradled your head,

“Don’t feel forced to. I just think I could make you food whenever you home, you don’t have to get junk food. In hindsight, there’s nothing wrong with indulging once in a while.”

You nodded,

“Yeah, sounds like a good plan.”

The two of you basked in each other’s presence like this for a little while longer, before Zayne dragged you back to bed.

His main priority is looking after you, his love for you is unrivalled but he’s still new to all of this, he’s trying.

Caleb

You and Caleb rarely fought.

Ever since you were younger, Caleb was always willing to bend to your whims.

He’d always back down and let you have your way.

Whether it’d be about who got to go first in a game, who got to sit in the passenger seat of the car or who had to clean up after playtime.

The older you two got, the more serious your fights became at times but Caleb would still back down, wait for you to let your anger out at him.

Obviously, whenever he could, he’d try to mediate.

He never wanted to fight with you, it was the worst.

There was this irrational fear in his mind, that whenever you were mad at him, you’d leave, hating him, never wanting to see him again.

He knew it was stupid, unrealistic but he much preferred your loud anger, yelling at him, staring him in the face, not turning away and ignoring him.

It was the same reason he’s never truly been angry at you.

Yeah, he’s been irritated because of careless things you’ve done but that comes from a place of concern.

He loves you too much, feels too much for you to ever show his anger, however that doesn’t mean the mask doesn’t slip sometimes.

Still, he wouldn’t keep arguments going.

He’d serve as an outlet for your anger, he’d let you get everything off your chest and whenever he wanted to bring something up that bothered him, he’d do it in a way you wouldn’t notice his true feelings.

So, whenever it did come to an argument, you knew it was serious to him. But you simply weren’t used to having him not agree with you, especially because you knew you were in the right about this.

Well, so you’d say, if you could recall what “this” was.

You don’t even remember what the fight was about, you two have just been spiralling from one thing to the other for a while now. The tension was starting to become unbearable.

Especially because Caleb was doing what he’s always done, taking whatever you throw at him and just accepting it.

He’s willing to be the bad guy in your eyes, as long as it meant keeping you safe.

And you were starting to grow sick of it.

Caleb would never raise his voice at you, he’d never intentionally do anything that could hurt you, whether it be emotionally or physically.

A stark contrast to how you’ve been shouting at him for the past 20 minutes.

Everything was so different now, it was like you were both speaking a different language. Not like when you two were kids, not when it felt like it was you and him against the world.

You didn’t want him to just stand there and take it while standing his ground, insisting he knew better than you.

It was starting to drive you crazy, so the next thing you knew, was you angrily stomping out of the room.

Caleb stood in the living room, unmoving.

Replaying the argument in his mind, trying to think of where he went wrong.

As he was standing there, starting to wallow in self pity, you returned.

He was thinking of how to solve the situation, when he noticed the blanket and pillow you were holding.

You waltzed straight past him, plopping down on the couch, fluffing up your pillow in silence.

“Pipsqueak, c’mon.”

Not looking at him, still preparing your newly decided sleeping spot, you answer,

“We’ll talk in the morning. I don’t wanna be near you right now.”

His eyes widened slightly, moving towards you but keeping his distance, as to not set you off more.

“I understand that but I don’t want you to go to sleep upset.”

At that, you paused for a moment, fingers hovering over the pillow you were still adjusting, before you collected yourself and went to busy your hands again,

“It’s a little late for that.”

You heard a thud near you and you quickly looked up, worried.

You saw Caleb on his knees in front you, head hanging low,

“I’m sorry. You’re rightfully upset but please, let me fix this.”

You sighed, lying down.

“Caleb, go to sleep. We’re not doing this right now.”

Once he looked up at you, you felt your resolve waver. Just why did he have to resemble a kicked puppy so much?

You turned around, not letting your wet dog of a boyfriend get to you.

“Okay, I love you. Sleep well.”

He said but he got up really slowly, hoping you’d change your mind after all.

He went into your shared bedroom, leaving the door open behind him.

Caleb tried to sleep, he really did but he’s been laying awake for the past two hours.

It felt wrong to sleep without you in his arms. The right side of the bed shouldn’t be cold; you shouldn’t be away from him, especially after such a long time apart.

He didn’t want you to be mad at him, he didn’t even want to fight with you but you were just so stubborn.

Why couldn’t you just see he was trying to protect you?

He stopped his train of thought, knowing it was just putting him in a worse mood.

Surely, you were asleep by now, right?

And you’ll have cooled off by the time you woke up.

So, you definitely wouldn’t blame him if he joined you on the couch, would you? He just missed you so much, he couldn’t sleep without you.

He quietly walked into the living room, not wanting to wake you up.

When he saw you there, lying all by yourself, he felt something in his chest tighten.

It made him feel like he was a little boy again, like you were right here but so far out of his reach.

So, fragile and vulnerable, like if he touched you, you’d break, disappear.

He was pulled out of his thoughts, when you mumbled quietly in your sleep,

“…caleb, don’t..”

He couldn’t make out what else you were saying, but you were thinking like him, even in your sleep.

He never wanted you to go to sleep upset.

He slid in under the covers with you, wrapping his arms around you.

He couldn’t stand being away from you too long, he needed to make sure you were real, that you were with him.

And with that thought, he finally managed to drift off to sleep.

Sylus

This was the angriest you had ever been at Sylus.

He prided himself on being a man of his word, keeping all his promises, especially the ones he made to you.

So, when he showed up again after 4 days, you were making sure he knew how mad you were.

He had promised you, he wouldn’t repeat what happened with Tulla Island.

He wouldn’t disappear without saying anything, he wouldn’t leave you wondering whether he was dead or alive, but that’s exactly what he did.

He send you a cryptic message the morning of, not answering when you tried to figure out what he meant.

Mephisto was still around, but he was no help either.

So, when you decided to pull up to the base 2 days in, having Luke and Kieran explain to you, that your boyfriend had to leave on urgent business that they couldn’t elaborate on, you felt many things at once.

You’d been seething until he showed back up, acting like nothing happened.

“You promised, Sylus.”

He was sitting, while you were pacing around the bedroom, anger evident in your voice.

“This time was different. I didn’t leave without a trace. You ended up asking the twins, no?”

You stopped in your tracks, looking at him in outrage,

“And they were no help at all! I didn’t know where you were, I didn’t know what you were up to, actually, I still don’t know!”

He was trying to be understand and pragmatically approach the situation but you weren’t putting up with this.

“Sylus, you’re not listening to me at all. How many more times are you planning on pulling something like this?“

He raised a brow at you, having a hard time hiding his amusement, you thought he was mocking you, when in reality he felt relieved to know you cared about him so much,

“This isn’t much different from you leaving for your missions. You don’t tell me where you’re going, either.”

You crossed your arms,

“You can’t be serious. You can utilise your stupid resources and figure out where I am, you find a way everytime. It’s either Mephie showing up or you! How is that fair?”

He propped his chin up on his palm, looking at you with hooded eyes,

“Those resources are open to you, too, sweetie. What’s mine is yours. Besides, don’t you know the saying? Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Maybe you weren’t trying hard enough.”

You couldn’t deal with his sarcasm, not when you’d been worried for the past four days, wondering if he was alright, whether this was his way of disappearing out of your life after all, still feeling the anxiety you had the last time this happened.

The smugness on his face was just pissing you off more.

“Can’t you be considerate of my feelings for once? Is it fun to you to see me suffer like this? Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you.”

You knew you didn’t mean any of the things you just said, he knew you didn’t mean any of it, he was always bending over backwards to accommodate you.

His love for you was unconditional and whenever he kept you in the dark, it was for your own sake.

But his usual teasing was just setting you off.

You were getting more animated by the second, the realisation of how you had been feeling for the past few these really settling itself in your mind.

Sylus was just silently watching, not saying anything but seems like that was also not quite the right choice, as his silence irritated you as well.

At some point, Sylus started answering. His patience started to run thin, while it would never run out when it came to you, he didn’t appreciate the tone you were using with him.

He stood up in the middle of your sentence, walking towards the door,

“What, so you’re just going to walk away now?!”

“Yes. Before either of us say something we’ll both regret.”

And with that, he was out of the door.

You watched, dumbfounded.

Your firsts clenched, you felt like he wasn’t taking you seriously.

He was definitely underestimating your level of pettiness.

-

Sylus had left your apartment, thinking of how to make it up to you.

He understood why you felt the way that you did and he never meant to leave you worried but sometimes ignorance was bliss.

Admittedly, his business ended up taking longer than expected.

He originally wanted to be back sooner, before you even knew it but things played out more complicated.

Still, you should know he was essentially undefeated.

There was nothing, that could stop him from coming back home to you.

So, coming back to just to see you hurt like this, because of him, made his heart break.

He also didn’t dislike your angry side, he liked seeing you give into your emotions, showing what you truly thought.

What he didn’t like, was seeing you talk yourself into a spiral without letting him get a word in.

He thought it would be for the best to leave you to cool off, while he tried to get back into your good graces.

Now, what he didn’t expect upon his return into your bedroom, was the emptiness on your side of the bed.

He walked into the living room with quick steps.

And there you were, in all your glory, hogging the entire couch, duvet, comforter, multiple pillows, plushies included.

You were on your phone, paying him no mind.

“What’s the big idea, kitten?”

You just hummed, turning to lay on your stomach, kicking your feet up in the air, tapping away on your phone,

“I’m mad at you, so I’m sleeping here tonight. Good night.”

The laugh he let out vexed you even more, and of course, he noticed that.

“That’s funny, sweetie. Come now, get up.”

When you didn’t move, the corners of his mouth curled up in an entertained smirk.

He walked over to you and stopped right next to the couch, towering over you.

“Don’t make me say it again, kitten.”

You didn’t miss the amused lilt in his voice.

You barely spared him a glance,

“Sylus, I don’t want to sleep in the same place as you tonight. You managed for the past four days, I’m sure you’ll be able to handle it today as well.”

He let out a huff,

“My, that’s too bad.”

You thought that meant, he’d leave you be, so imagine the surprised noise you let out, as he picked you up and tossed you over his shoulder.

“Sylus, you jerk! I’m not joking around with you!”

Sylus tightened his grip on you, as you started thrashing around,

“I know.”

Your escape attempts were futile, he carried you back into the bedroom and dropped you onto your bed,

“You can be mad at me, scream at me but you don’t get to avoid me. That won’t make things right.”

You jutted out your lower lip, feeling vulnerable all of a sudden,

“You don’t get to lecture me right now.”

You rolled over onto his side of the bed and hid under his covers.

The bed dipped, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to him but not taking the blanket off your head,

“You’re right. But I don’t want the love of my life to feel even more alone than they already have for the past four days.”

You slowly lifted the blanket off your face, not looking up at him,

“Allow me to mend things between us.”

You scoffed,

“There’s nothing broken…”

“Then, let me show you just how much I adore you.”

Damn that smooth talker.

[catssluvr]

dating pre-crash natalie scatorccio <3

⭑.ᐟ The type of girlfriend to make a tape with all of the songs that remind her of both of you or just you in general and gift it to you on some anniversary.

⭑.ᐟ Will get you a yellowjackets shirt with her name as joke just to be looking starstruck at you when you actually wear it to her games and practices.

⭑.ᐟ Talking of practices, she’ll come up to you while you’re sitting on the stands waiting for her after it’s finished, wrapping you in her arms from behind and peppering your face with kisses while you complain about her being sweaty.

“Nat!”

“I thought you said i look hot when im sweaty :(“

⭑.ᐟ Half of your make out sessions are cut off by her giggling, Nat just really can’t hold herself in when anything gets serious. But it’s mostly just her being silly in love for you.

⭑.ᐟ As soon as she’s comfortable enough around you, be prepared for her to be doing full on dance presentations in front of you while screaming the lyrics of the song playing in the radio

⭑.ᐟ Her favorite nights are when she gets to sleepover at your house, glad to be away from her house. You’ll watch rented movies while eating tons of snacks that she insisted on buying until you get too sleepy and fall asleep bundled up together.

⭑.ᐟ Nat always saves money to buy you something nice on your birthday or on your dating anniversary, she thinks it’s a great way too show you how much she appreciates and loves you in her life.

⭑.ᐟ Smiles so wide when you buy something for her, even if it’s just a new nail polish because she ran out of it.

⭑.ᐟ Absolutely loves to tease you about simple things just to make you blush.

⭑.ᐟ Is sooo giggly when sleepy and loves to be babied too, making grabby hands at you while you’re doing your skincare and begging you to join her in bed soon.

⭑.ᐟ Has a lot of cuteness aggression towards you and will randomly playfully bite your bicep, giggling when you scowl at her for doing so.

“It’s just a love bite :>”

⭑.ᐟ Comes up with a nickname for you that no one else uses but also likes to call you ‘angel’ or ‘baby’ when you two are alone or in intimate moments.

⭑.ᐟ All of her teammates tease her about going soft for you and breaking all of the badass performance just for you. To which she mostly responds with an huff, knowing it’s mostly just the truth.

⭑.ᐟ Tells you that she loves you in between sweet kisses that she presses to your lips, fingers grasping your shirt to make sure you stay close to her until she’s ready to let go.

⭑.ᐟ Seeks you every time she needs comfort, knowing she can trust you with her life. Climbs up to your window if that means she’ll get to spend the night by your side and away from what isn’t actually her home.

⭑.ᐟ Has and will continue getting into fights if anyone bothers you or ever makes fun of you, not really minding the consequences when she gets to have you cleaning up her bloody nose.

⭑.ᐟ Loves it when you do her makeup before a party, making you sit in her lap while you do so and running her hands up your thighs while telling you how pretty you look.

⭑.ᐟ Throws little notes to your desk during class whenever she’s bored out of her mind and not sitting next to you - probably because the teacher realized she wouldn’t shut up and pay attention when she was with you.

“you look amazing, angel <3”

“ughh how are you not bored?? this sucks”

“meet up at the convenience store after school? we can go to the lake and make out till the sun sets :)) so romantic, rightt?”

⭑.ᐟ Nat definitely slips her hand into your back pocket or slips her fingers into your belt loops while walking with you, more out of need to be close than anything else.

⭑.ᐟ Turns into a golden retriever when she’s around you, opposed to the whole black cat persona she’s known as. Absolutely giddy as soon as you walk into the room.

[mintyys-blog]

Hi Minty!

I was wondering if you could do a fic about a human reader girlfriend x Mark but she doesn’t know he’s invincible and somehow finds out

BLISS | mark grayson x reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS:

The world was ending.

Okay—not ending, but it felt like it as the building you were in shuddered beneath your feet, the walls cracking like eggshells. You didn’t even have time to scream before the floor dropped beneath you. Wind roared in your ears, your heart pounded—and then you weren’t falling.

You were in someone’s arms.

The grip was strong, the movement fast—but smooth. Your body trembled against a firm chest, and the air smelled like smoke and ozone. You looked up. The figure in front of you was silhouetted by the sun, cape flapping in the wind, goggles covering his eyes.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

But it was the voice that made your blood run cold. You knew that voice.

“Y-Yeah,” you said, blinking up at him. You tried to play it cool, but your hands betrayed you, slowly moving along his chest and arms, like you were searching for proof—maybe even hoping you were wrong.

The figure—Invincible—blushed. “Um… ma’am?” he asked, flustered.

You stopped instantly. “Sorry.”

He gently lowered you to the ground, still flustered, giving you one last worried glance before shooting back into the sky. You watched him go, your mind racing.

That voice. That nervous tone. That little awkward cough. Mark.

You stood there for a long time, dumbfounded, staring at the sky like you were trying to piece together a puzzle that had been sitting in front of you the whole time.

He’s Invincible.

All those nights he showed up late, covered in bruises. All the missed calls. All the vague excuses.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. Instead, you walked home in a daze.

When you got back to your apartment, your emotions crashed into each other like waves. Embarrassment for not seeing it sooner. Guilt for the times you yelled at him—accused him of being distant, careless. And beneath all of that… pride.

He was saving lives. Every day. While you were mad he missed a dinner reservation.

You glanced toward the kitchen.

If he was coming over tonight like he said, maybe you could start making things right.

You tied your hair back, rolled up your sleeves, and started cooking his favorite meal. The real kind—warm and comforting. Something that said I see you now. I get it.

When he walked through the door, he looked exhausted.

“Hey, babe,” he said, forcing a smile. “Sorry I’m late again—”

You cut him off gently. “It’s okay. Come sit down.”

Mark blinked, surprised. “You’re… not mad?”

You handed him a plate. “No. I just thought you could use something warm.”

He sat, eyes softening, and took a bite. “This is my favorite.”

“I know.”

He looked at you, then back down at his plate. “You okay?”

You smiled, sitting beside him, resting your chin in your palm as you watched him eat. “I am now.”

You didn’t say it out loud yet. You weren’t ready. But you would be.

He saved you today.

And tonight, in this quiet little apartment, you were saving him back—in the small, human way you could.

The night settled in warm and gentle. You’d stayed tangled in the sheets with Mark, your bodies pressed close, hearts still beating in a quiet rhythm neither of you had to say out loud. He’d fallen asleep quickly, exhaustion finally catching up to him.

But you couldn’t stop watching him. The soft curve of his lips. The way his lashes touched his cheeks. The faint bruises on his collarbone already beginning to fade. He looked so human like this. So fragile for someone who could fly through the sky and hold up crumbling buildings.

Morning sunlight leaked through the blinds, streaking across his bare shoulders. You kissed his jaw, featherlight, letting your lips trail across the warmth of his skin.

Mark stirred, a sleepy groan escaping his throat. One eye cracked open, and then the other. He blinked up at you, dazed and smiling. “Hey…”

You just kissed him again—slow, lingering—and ran your fingers through his messy hair.

“…Okay,” he said, voice low and groggy, “what is up with you?”

You blinked. “What?”

“I mean—don’t get me wrong—” He reached up and brushed your cheek with a thumb, gaze amused and curious. “I love the special attention, but… what caused it?”

You hesitated.

The warmth in your chest gave way to nerves. You looked away, tucking your face into the crook of his neck for a second. He waited, patient, but his arm around your waist pulled you closer, grounding you.

“I know,” you said finally. “I know you’re Invincible, Mark.”

His entire body stilled.

You could feel the sharp breath he took, how his hand tensed ever so slightly against your hip.

“I realized it when you saved me,” you whispered. “The voice… the way you held me. I wasn’t sure at first. But then I was.”

Silence.

“I felt… stupid, honestly,” you admitted. “For not figuring it out sooner. And then selfish. For all the times I yelled at you for being late, or distant, or for disappearing. You weren’t blowing me off—you were saving the world.”

You looked up at him finally, tears stinging your eyes. “I’m so sorry, Mark. I didn’t know. And I can’t imagine how heavy all of this must be for you. I just… I wanted to make it up to you. Even just for a night.”

Mark stared at you like his heart was breaking and mending all at once.

Then he kissed you.

Slow. Deep. Full of something that felt like relief.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he murmured. “I was scared. I didn’t want to lose you. I thought if you knew, you’d look at me differently. Like… I was someone else.”

“I don’t,” you whispered. “You’re still Mark. You’re my Mark.”

A silence bloomed between you, but it was a soft one. Safe. Then, he cracked a crooked smile. “I knew something was up when you started feeling me up mid-rescue.”

You laughed, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Shut up.”

Mark grinned, curling closer to you under the covers. “Never. Not when you look at me like that.”

You held him tight, and this time, you both felt seen. No masks. No lies. Just Mark and you.

[butyoudidthis4what]

Perfumer

Jack Abbot x Reader

1.5k || All of my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: none I think. Hinted at sex and suggestiveness but that's about it really.

Summary: Jack smells the perfume you're wearing, flirty fluffy happy teasing ensues. That's it, that's the fic. Established relationship. No use of y/n or related. Zero proofreading of any kind. No beta.

A.N.: The summaries and titles will not be getting better I fear. After getting out some sadness in that last one I just needed something fluffy and happy and flirty. This is very self-indulgent as I love perfume and wish I had Jack Abbot giving me some and then smelling it on me, and telling me I smell good, you know? Honestly I'm quite shocked I wrote anything with like no level of angst in it that was just fluff. But my mental health needed some pure happy fluff with him so here we are. Anyway, this is exceptionally short for me and as with last time this is my first time back writing fanfic in a longggg time so please be gentle and kind and also let me know if you like it! The ending is very open, so there's definitely part two potential depending upon reception and if anyone would like.

“I should have known the trail of smell good was you. You always smell good.” Santos comments as she walks up to you while you stand by the center desk. “Do you own like a thousand perfumes or something?” 

Jack’s head popped up from looking at the tablet in his hands a few rooms down from the desk at ‘smell good,’ correctly assuming it meant you were here. You can feel his eyes on you and look over at him. “Probably not a thousand, but a lot, yes. I collect them.” 

“Why? Aren’t women supposed to want, like, a signature smell or whatever?” She tilts her head at you. 

You start smirking but Robby beats you to it. “Oh, she has to keep Abbot on his toes somehow.” 

“What does that even mean?” She looks between you, Robby, and Jack.

You bite your lip and stifle a laugh. It’s nice, having your relationship out in the open, having been able to get to know Jack’s friends. He’s still quite private though, which you respect, and know Robby is flirting with the line. You weren’t going to go quite as far, but can’t help the way it made you smile, in large part because it’s true.

It’s become somewhat of a game for you and Jack. You wear a different perfume everyday and he guesses what it is. He’s good at it, which isn’t surprising, he’s good at everything he does. It’s a nice way to have a close moment together. He likes buying them for you too to keep the game interesting.

It lets him read your moods a bit too. He’s learned that when you’re a bit down you have a tendency to go for perfumes that are heavier in a sense, more warm and comforting. And if you don’t wear perfume he knows it means things are bad because you don’t want to end up associating a smell with however you’re feeling or what you’re going through. He also swears they mix with your chemistry and smell different at certain times during your cycle. You don’t know why you found the idea of him being able to smell that on you so hot, but you very much did.

Recently you’d taken to layering some of them, in part to be creative and in part to make it more challenging for Jack.

“It means-” Robby starts.

“Okay, can we just not?” Jack asks as he walks over to you, shooting Robby a look and standing next to you. 

“I just think it’s cute how-”

“Still talking.” Jack cuts Robby off. 

“How the tables turn.” Robby shoots back, making Jack roll his eyes. 

“I was just trying to help-” Jack starts.

“Now, now, boys, no fighting in front of the children.” You fake scold them. This time they both roll their eyes at you. 

“Go back to work since you all still want to be here past your shifts.” Jack tells everyone, grabbing your hand and leading you to the doctor’s lounge. 

You expect a kiss and hug now that you’re in private, but instead you’re met with him pressing his chest to your back, one hand coming to hold one of your hips and the other moving your hair off one shoulder and tilting your neck before he leans in close to breathe you in. You can feel the soft skin of one of his lips brush against you and the stubble from him not shaving for a day. 

“Jack,” you breathe, heavier than you mean to, one hand coming to rest on his hand on your hip and the other reaching up to cup his face. 

“Celeste,” he murmurs against your skin. He’s right so you nod. That’s the name of the perfume you’re wearing on your neck and wrists today. “No wonder Santos picked up on you. Heavy sillage.” He gives you a kiss to the neck before pulling back to spin you and give you one to the lips. You smile as he does. “Stop smiling so I can kiss you properly.”

That makes you laugh, but you’re able to control it and in turn he’s able to kiss you properly, how you deserve to be kissed. “I love that you know what that word means and actually used it. It’s kind of hot.” You give him another kiss. “I’m making my military man into a perfumer.”

He hums at you, low and from the back of the throat. He loves it when you call him yours. “If you ever told anyone I would deny all knowledge of having a clue about what sillage and gourmand and all of the other pretentiously fancy perfume related words mean.” 

“I never would. Couldn’t ruin your reputation could I, Dr. Abbot? Plus I like having our little secrets.” You let your voice trail down on the last sentence, run your hands all over his scrub top.

His eyes darken just a little and his jaw tightens. He never really had any sort of title kink before he met you, but there’s something about the way ‘doctor’ slips off your tongue that really gets to him. Same with sir. 

“You’re not here for an ED related reason, are you? Hurt? Sick?” It’s teasing but there’s just enough of a tinge of real concern to the question that melts you. 

“I am not, no. I promise if I ever was here for such a reason I would make sure you knew immediately.” You smile at him softly, run a hand through the salt and peppery curls you love so much. “I just wanted to lay eyes on you, even if only for a moment. I missed you extra today. I’ll let you get back to work.” He nods, the little smile he gives you saying everything it needs to. You share one last kiss before going to leave the room.

“Oh,” you say, turning around and shutting the door again. “You’ve only answered half the question today. I just thought you should know.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You layered scents?”

“No.” You shake your head and smirk. He narrows his eyes a little as he tries to find the answer in your eyes. It suddenly clicks.

“Fuck me, your ankles?” He groans. “You put a different one on your ankles? Why?” He can already feel himself starting to fill out. He doesn’t know if he could articulate why he finds it so hot when you put perfume on your ankles for him to discover but he does. 

Your smirk widens. “For a fun surprise and to see the look on your face when I told you.” He glances around the room and then gets a look on his face like he’s thinking. You’re shocked, honestly. It’s so out of character for him to think about trying to do it at the hospital. It’s only happened twice. “Oh no,” you laugh, “no, no, no, Jack rabbit, you are not finding out here at the hospital, so don’t even think about places you could take me to try and find out.” 

He makes a noise of protest, somewhere between a growl and a whine that makes you bite your lip. He pins your back to the door with his hips and rolls them against you, grinding him into you to let you feel what you’ve done to him. “So what, I’m just supposed to go around like this for the rest of my shift?”

“Well you might want to take a couple of minutes to let that go down baby, but yes. You can finish your shift thinking about what could be on my ankles and what position it is you’re going to put me in to find out.” You press a kiss to his collarbone and his hands squeeze your hips a little harder, an unspoken command to look at him. 

You pull back and do as he asked. So big on eye contact, your Jack. He blinks at you, jaw clenched. “I’m going to be half hard and uncomfortable there for the rest of my shift, you know that right?”

“I am nothing if not a cruel woman.” You say with fake solemnity as you smooth your hands over his chest. “I’m sure as you get drawn back into work it’ll go away. Plus, you know the anticipation and wait makes it better.”

He somehow steps closer to you, almost puts a knee between your legs and leans in close, dropping his voice and making his voice even more gravely.“I want you to remember those words because you’re going to find out all about them once I’m home and I don’t want to hear any complaining.”

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow. “Are you threatening to edge me, sir?” His jaw grinds and you see the slightest twitch under your eye that makes you smirk. You love that you can affect him like this.

“I don’t make threats, Doll.” He whispers at your ear as he steps back from you and pulls the door to the lounge open for you both to walk out of. Everyone glances up at the two of you, effectively forcing you to control your reaction as he keeps his voice low, only for you to hear. “Only promises I intend to keep.” 

[littlelovelunette]

Gentle On The Soul

Sevika x Traumatised!Reader,

Contains reader who has trauma, angsty slightly, comfort, not proofread.

When you and Sevika first started out with dating, you were already sure things would go south the moment you witnessed her facing an actual anger issues episode. Given your last with those kind of things... Sevika was aware too.

So, she tried to distance herself from you whenever things got too hard but sometimes it just wasn't enough especially given the fact, due to the way Zaun was, Sevika wouldn't ever really know that you're safe. So she asked you to move in with her. And now, her feelings, habits and behaviour is always on full display because you live with her. After Silco's death, Sevika was facing some hard times as expected of her as Silco's right hand.

When the door slammed shut behind her, it was as if your entire being froze for minutes. You stood there where you were in the kitchen, halfway into cooking something for her.

"You're home." You said in a more timid voice than the usual which usually would've caused Sevika to raise brow. But she didn't today. She was tired. Too tired of everything.

"Lunch isn't ready yet?" Sevika asked in a more stern tone than she intended, taking her poncho off with a rough shove.

You flinched visibly, hands shaking as you placed the knife down against the chopping board, "No, I was just getting started actually."

Sevika gave you a look, a silent empty look before she left to go to the bedroom. You heaved a sigh. Yup, you'd successfully upset your girlfriend on one of her worst days. Tears threatened to blur your vision but you didn't let them, instead you tried to focus on the task at hand; getting lunch ready as fast as you could.

You were shaky all throughout cooking. You dropped the spoon when you were serving Sevika food as well and Sevika took notice of that. But the grief, the smoking, the alcohol— everything clung to her like a second skin and she felt so heavy that she didn't have the strength to question your jumpy behaviour. Instead, Sevika tried to divert her attention back to the plate you made for her.

Sevika got up without a word. Usually, she'd compliment your cooking, give you a hug and kiss and then you both did the dishes together but today there was none of that. You knew Sevika was in pain after the loss of Silco but you didn't want to be treated the way she was treating you anymore. It all felt so selfish to even ask for a bit of comfort or reassurance taking into factor everything and everyone she'd lost across the way.

So you didn't.

You would let the sorrows swallow you whole but you didn't want not even a little bit of your trauma issues touch a hair on Sevika's head. You did the dishes silently, your tears streaming down your skin and mixing with the water in the sink as you silently clattered through the pile of dirty dishes.

"Baby," you heard Sevika call out and you were sure, she was gonna ask you for a breakup now.

You didn't turn to face her because you were already crying as it was so you tried your best to wipe your face in the collar of your shirt before glancing at her, "Mhm?"

"I'm sorry." Sevika wrapped her arms around you from behind and let her face rest against the crook of your neck, "I'm sorry I've been ignoring you all day." You peeled off your dish washing gloves and turned to hug her after turning the water off.

You cried against her chest, "I thought you'd leave me." You sobbed, clutching Sevika's shirt as if she'd disappear if you let go. Your body trembled with the intensity of your crying, Sevika's soothing hand on your back barely doing much to keep you from sobbing harder.

"I won't ever." Sevika whispered again your hair, kissing the top of your head and holding you closer to her heart. "Won't ever leave." She repeated.

It had been a few days since that incident and Sevika had promised you that she'd be communicative ever since that. But somehow that communication turned into a mindless argument one evening and all you could say were gurgled words because of the sobs that threatened to burst from your chest.

But you held back. You didn't want to appear weak in front of Sevika. "You always do this!" Sevika yelled out without thinking, her voice booming over yours. "I don't understand why you—" and that was it.

The moment her voice heightened in volume, your hands clasped over your ears and you flinched. You took a step back. An instinctive step back. Sevika's heart broke. People flinched at her all the time and it never effected her. Hell, she didn't even care if someone pissed themselves out of fear towards her. But you... Flinching at the volume of her voice even. That broke her heart.

Before you knew it, big strong arms are wrapping around you and bringing you into a tight bear hug. "I'm so sorry, my love." She whispered as she pressed you tightly against her chest.

You breathed a little heavily compared to before but listening to her heartbeat calmed you down. You tried to match your breathing with hers. "You're okay, I gotchu."

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Be My Canvas

Rafayel has been tracing invisible pictures on your back while cuddling. It seems like it’s a new habit of his. One day you decided to make a sarcastic comment about being his canvas. [Requested by: Anon] A/N: A little Drabble (kinda) here.

Here you were sitting topless on the couch, hugging a pillow to your chest as Rafayel got his paint supplies together. The couch dipped behind you as he settled into a comfortable position.

A little bit of rustling then silence.

The cold tip of the paint brush touching your skin made you jump “Ah- It’s cold” Your reflexes kicked in making your back arch away from the cold sensation. You froze and quickly apologized, looking over your shoulder at your boyfriend. He had the same shocked expression as you, but his eyes were fixated on your back instead of making eye contact with you. Rafayels’ fingers gently curled around your waist, shifting you back into place.

“A canvas doesn’t speak” He quipped. You felt the pad of his thumb press into your back and swipe. “Sit still Cutie”

Easy for him to say he’s not the one who just got ice cold paint smeared on his back. “Well this canvas does so get used to it” You wriggled out of spite pretending to ‘just get comfortable’ before settling down. He giggled with amusement as he went back to painting a masterpiece on your back. You were nervous at first wondering if you could sit still long enough for him to do this thing, but as time passed it was almost therapeutic.

The gentle brush strokes accompanied by his firm, but gentle fingers had you melting under his touch. He rested his hand on your hip and gave it the occasional squeeze and mindless taps when he stopped to think or examine his work.

After what felt like hours you felt him pull away leaving you a little cold. “Beautiful” He mumbled as he leaned back and dropped his brush on the coffee table.

“Me or the painting?” You giggled flashing a quick smile over your shoulder.

Rafayels cheeks burned bright red — something about the way you looked over your shoulder at him in this moment made him melt instantly. He pressed a soft, careful kiss to your shoulder “You’ll always be more gorgeous than any piece of art that comes from these hands” He gave your hips a quick caress as he stood from the couch. “Now don’t move I need to take some pictures”

[differenteagletragedy]

Part Eight of Simon Riley x Single Mother, they're really doing this thing <3

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven

By the time Emma’s first birthday rolls around, Simon has a ring in a box that lives in his nightstand back at his apartment. He keeps it there, safe and sound, instead of slipping it on your finger like he really wants to.

It’s not because he’s still thinking about it — he knows exactly where that ring belongs. It’s because, all told, it hasn’t been all that long since you got together. And while he wants nothing more than to lock this down, to breathe a little easier with the help of a sturdy gold band looped around his ring finger, he doesn’t want to scare you off. Wants to give it time to make sure that you’re in the same place he is.

So he waits. And every day he wants it a little more.

What pushes him to act, to move past his fear of rejection, is a close call during a mission gone wrong.

It's strange, he thinks, because he'd definitely been in worse predicaments. He didn't even get hurt, just felt the whizzing of bullets flying past him, a little too close for comfort, and he can't get it out of his head. If he'd been a little less aware, even if the wind had been off, he could have died, and while that never bothered him before, it's unsettling now.

The thought of you on your own again, of Charlie and Emma wanting for anything, forgetting him ... it aches. It keeps him up at night, even when he's laying in your bed, your warm, solid weight resting against him.

He tries to sleep, but it's no use. It's his third day back after coming home, and he's exhausted, but he can't rest like this. He finds his fingers running lightly your arm, up and down and back again, and before long you're stirring, turning slowly to face him.

"Simon?" you ask, your eyes still closed. "Everything ok?"

On one hand, everything is ok -- more than ok. Everything is beautiful. He can hear a faint stream of white noise coming through the baby monitor by the bed, telling him that Emma and Charlie are fast asleep in their room. You're in his arms, too, and it's perfection.

But tonight, just like last night and the night before, it feels too fleeting.

He clenches his jaw, struggling to find the words, and at his silence you open your eyes, sleepy concern etched on your face. He lifts a finger to smooth out the crease in your forehead, then trails it down your temple and towards your jaw.

You're so delicate. Strong too, he knows that, but now ...

"Marry me."

It's not a question, but a plea. Your eyebrows shoot up, and he puts his hand on the back of your neck, keeping you close.

"I ... really?" you ask. "You're really asking me to marry you?"

"Begging, love," he admits quietly. "Please."

He got the ring months ago at this point, and in all that time, he'd never landed on just how he wanted to propose. He never imagined this specific scenario. You deserve better -- than this, than him -- but he's desperate.

"... You sure?"

"Got a ring back at mine," he tells you. "Got it ages ago, never been more sure of anything."

It's hard to put into words how much this means to him, so he keeps his gaze steady, hoping you can, in that special way you always do, see it in his eyes.

And you do.

In a flash, you're pressing yourself against him, kissing him deeply. He pulls you closer, indulging you, but still, he needs words.

"If this is a 'yes,' I need to hear it," he says.

"Yes, Simon, of course ... yes."

That night, he sleeps better than he had in recent memory, and in the quiet of the morning, he slips away, just long enough to retrieve the ring from his place before you and the kids start stirring. When he's back, he slips into bed beside you, gently takes your hand and slides the ring on your finger.

It's a weight off his shoulders. He can't imagine how good it will feel watching you sign the marriage certificate.

This time, you don't quite wake up, you just snuggle up against him. But before long, he starts hearing soft sounds playing through the baby monitor: Charlie muttering what he knows are good morning rambles to his little sister. There's some rustling, and soon he hears two sets of little footsteps coming through the hall, then your bedroom door opens and Charlie and Emma are there, hand in hand, ready to start the day.

"Come on then," you mutter, still nestled against Simon.

The two children scramble up into the bed quickly. Emma tucks herself against your side, still sleepy herself, but Charlie is characteristically alert and energetic, and he throws himself across you and Simon, burrowing himself in the middle.

It's the morning routine now. The four of you stay in bed, slowly (or in Charlie's case, with minimal patience) waking up together. After a few moments, you finally notice the ring newly placed on your finger, and you smile, holding your hand up to get a good look at it.

"What's that?" Charlie asks.

"A present from Simon," you answer.

"But it's not your birthday or Christmas or anything."

"Doesn't have to be a holiday to get a present," Simon points out, and Charlie swiftly turns to look at him.

"Do I get a present too?"

You laugh, warm and happy, and tell him, "In a way."

Simon wants to do it all, and he wants to do it right. Marry you, then work on adopting Charlie and Emma. Sort out everything for all three of you, make it so that you're safe and taken care of, while he's here and, if anything ever happens to him, when he's gone.

But for now, this sleepy Sunday morning will definitely do.

[chococolte]

I think a sagau! touch starved/needy childe, scara and zhongli feels very attractive, to have two powerful harbingers on their knees just for a shred of attention from their god makes me wanna pamper them

but also like zhongli?? That man is so touch-starved like poor dude has been worshipping for hundreds of years without a reward for his good work probably drives him insane. I cannot imagine how he hold it together and doesn’t ascend on the spot when he breathes the same air as his god because I genuinely think he’s THAT needy

also your writing really brought me a lot of comfort!! Thank you for running the blog and doing what you do💜💜

word count. 3.8k

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, religious + cult themes, sagau + cult au, g/n reader. i do not condone yanderes irl.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. im so happy you like my writing!! im sorry i took forever to write this, but i still hope you like it !!!!

childe

In the unfathomable dark of the abyss, you were the only thing Childe had to keep himself sane.

Without you, he would've lost himself; without you, he is nothing. He only survived because of your guidance. In his eyes, his ever consuming need of you is only right— he has no need of anything else, and sees no purpose to think otherwise. You've only ever proven how worthy you are of worship.

When light seeps through tree boughs, he sees you. He sees you in the way the leaves leave a shadow. He feels you in the cast of the wind's breath. Every breath he takes is inlaid with your name. The mere thought of the opposite makes him sick.

He's pathetic, but his pitiful appearance is only for your eyes.

Just breathing in your presence is enough for him to feel weak and fluttery, but your eyes on him leave him delirious; the sort of dizzy where he can’t bring himself to move at all. All you have to do is glance at him for his knees to tremble like they're about to buckle underneath his weight.

Somehow, he keeps himself standing each time. He should be ashamed, he knows, embarrassed— but drool pools quickly in his mouth as your eyes linger, and any sort of dignity is discarded in the light of your gaze.

As a Harbinger, he should have more pride than he does, but Childe's only arrogance is his belief that he's special to you. That belief was the only thing he had to ground himself in the abyss, and he clings to it as if to let go would mean death. In his mind, it would be no different.

You were the only thing he had, even if he only knew you in the form of whispers and imperceptible kisses of wind. He didn’t need to touch you, no matter how tortuous of an existence it may be, as long as he could feel you.

That was enough. He thought it would be enough.

Seeing you is an entirely different matter however, and quickly, he finds himself wondering what your skin would feel like under his calloused fingertips.

He wants you to touch him. It's a selfish want, but one he carries with him all the same.

He wants you to play with his hair and hold him close as if he's something precious. He wants you to run your fingers along his spine and see him as he reveals every dark, nasty part of himself. He wants you to look and still find something to love.

Childe doesn't speak a word of his desires. He sits with them in the dark and tries to will them away. He tries to withstand their passage, but only ends up choking on each thought.

He tries to hold himself at night, imagining his arms are yours, but it only makes the ache worse.

He imagines loving you, and you loving him.

When you summon him to your chambers, Childe has to hold every nerve in his body to keep himself from running to you. It’s with a clearly restrained gait that he reaches you, just barely, his knees still wobbly and the floor a shifting kaleidoscope of colors.

It doesn’t bother him. Childe feels weightless, alight with fervor, and it’s a struggle to stop himself from rushing forward just to breathe a little closer to you. He drops to his knees, bowing his head until his forehead sits against your marble flooring.

Touch me, he thinks.

He somehow manages to choke a greeting out of his throat, unable to stop the small shudder that runs through him when he feels your gaze settle on him.

It feels right, being beneath you. It feels right, the slight tension in his body as he waits for you to speak.

Childe doesn’t say anything else. You’re the only one he truly respects, the only one he’s ever felt so fervently for— in your name, he would burn the world and scorch the earth. For you, he’d stain his hands so terribly the waters turn red. He holds no desire to clean his hands with anything other than your forgiveness— and so he doesn't dare to speak out of turn, unable to bear the thought of you being upset with him.

"Come here," he hears you say, your voice gentle and cooing. Childe doesn't hesitate, taking your words as a command, crawling towards you like some sort of dog.

Despite how eager he is to be near you, his hands rest dumbly at his sides. His fingers twitch, aching to touch you for just a moment, but he sits still, trying to be good. Without your permission, all he can do is sit, no better than a well-trained hound.

Childe looks up at you with a dumb, dopey smile on his face. He knows he must look like a fool, dazed just by sitting so close to you— he can already feel heat spreading across his freckled cheeks, and he knows it must be obvious— but he can't find it in himself to care.

It’s you.

You're so close he could touch you if he dared. Your warmth is only a few inches away from him, and he inhales, trying to breathe you in. For a brief moment, he allows himself the blessing to imagine what it would be like to touch you.

He imagines running his fingers against your skin. He imagines brushing against your hand. He imagines his palms gliding across the length of your robe, pretending the silk is your flesh. The thoughts strike him dumb, and he lets out a small whine before he can reel himself back in.

It's a breathless noise, but one he's sure you heard.

Your hand reaches forward to cup his cheek, and he nuzzles into your palm, leaning into your warmth as if trying to drink you in.

"So cute," you say, and every dark, needy part of him lights up all at once.

Childe makes another sound, a soft whimper drawn from the back of his throat. His russet lashes flutter shut, and any sense of propriety is promptly thrown to the side.

Touch me.

Another sharp shudder runs through him when you rub your thumb over his cheek. He almost falls limp against your hand, his breath locked in his throat, but he manages to steady himself in time.

His hands find your ornate robes within a second, and then he's clutching onto them until his knuckles are white. Childe can feel himself digging little crescents into his palms, but your touch means he's unable to focus on anything else, and the thought of lessening his grip makes him afraid you'll pull away.

Childe bites his lips, trying to stifle another noise. He never wants this to end. You could spit in his face, and he would thank you for it.

Just as he jerks forward, chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath, overwhelmed by how good your touch feels— you're letting go, and pure, unbridled fear rushes over him.

"N-No!" Childe begs hoarsely, unable to realize that he's acting out of what he's allowed. "No, no, d-don't stop, please! Please, please…" he pleads weakly, fingers digging into your robes again, tighter this time.

Unshed tears wet his eyes. If it means having your attention on him, he would do anything. Nothing is too far beneath him. He’s already done unspeakable things in your name, hoping to garner your favor; if it means having your touch for one second longer, then there’s no low he wouldn’t fall too— no covenant he wouldn’t break, divine or mortal. 

As long as it means being by your side at the end of it, any agony would be worth it. No shame is too much for him to bear. 

"Oh, puppy," you murmur softly. One of your hands cups his cheek, while the other gently tugs at his hair. "How could I say no to you?"

The fear coalescing around his heart dissipates, and the fingers that were clutching onto you lessen their grip slightly.

"Mhm," Childe hums at too high of a pitch, but he's much too drunk on you to think about anything else, much less whether he's ruining your perception of him. He hides his face in your hand.

Your puppy, he wants to add, but his mind is too frazzled to get the words out.

Your fingers in his hair tighten, and Childe can't help the little bit of drool that falls from his lips.

scaramouche

He shouldn't be ecstatic with just this much.

All you’d done was look at him. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, and it was enough for him to feel every nerve bursting like stars all over, pin pricks dancing under his skin. It was enough for every ugly, horrible little part of himself to reveal themselves like he'd done nothing to hide them.

The sudden surge of emotion, an incessant and desperate need to please you— to give you no reason to give him away— breaches the surface far too quickly. His every move is then dictated by how it might affect you, whether it'll give him your favor or ire; and an ever increasing chittering spawns in the back of his mind, crying for you to touch him.

All you'd done was look at him.

Scaramouche tries to ignore it at first. He, very pointedly, does his best not to think of how his skin burns when a thought of you touching him enters his mind unbidden, nor how it simultaneously destroys whatever preconceived notions he had of himself.

He knows titles are meaningless in front of you, but that doesn't quite quell the petulance he feels when he crumbles each time you look at him. You don't have to touch him for every wall to burst like they were nothing. You don't even have to be near him. Your eyes meet his for a moment, and it's like everything he is shatters.

It makes him feel disgustingly weak and as insignificant as the day he was born.

Scaramouche is one out of many; one interaction you may have out of hundreds. He knows how many clamber for your affection, and how many more would ruin themselves for it.

You hold his gaze for a meaningless amount of time, and he knows it means nothing to you. His body still reacts like it does. He knows once you've turned, you'll have already found something else to capture your attention. His pulse still churns as if you’d just held his face in your hands.

It's nothing to you. It should mean nothing to him.

He hates the fact it bothers him.

He shouldn't care. It's not the same as you abandoning him. That you look at him at all should mean something. But it doesn't change the way fear bundles inside of him when you look away, nor does it change the disgust that rises at the very fact he feels that way at all.

He shouldn’t care. It shouldn’t bother him. But it does. It does.

It eats away at him like a festering wound. It hurts like nothing before it. He wonders if you’ll grace him with a look, and when you do, that’s the only thing that matters. When you turn away, he wonders how he ever got to this point. When you don’t, it’s like his breath’s been wrung from his lungs, and he wonders again, at what point did he let himself fall so far. 

It’s a point of irritability for him, and he ignores it like acknowledging it would be the death of his ego. Knowing that it would only serves to make him suffer more.

Whether you smiled or twitched your brow shouldn't feel the same as being reborn or having life torn from him. 

You haven't left him yet. He constantly feels like you're about too.

Scaramouche has to sit and watch when you interact with others. It feels like torture. You smile, and for some reason, it feels like fire washing over him. You laugh, and somehow, he hears it as vividly as he would if he was next to you; only it hurts because he's not the one you're sharing it with.

He could at least pretend he wasn't so pathetic before. He could hold himself up with some pride, even dignity— mask his emotions well enough they couldn't be used against him. Now, sitting in front of you like this, he can't even have that much.

It's piety, worship, love, or something in between or all of them at once. He's weak all over because of it, and it makes him furious at the same time it makes him euphoric.

He wishes he was stronger. Tempered by the abyss, and he still can't resist falling into you.

Your hand runs across the nape of his neck, and he shivers, skin burning where your fingers brush. A soft, shuddery breath escapes him, and his fingers curl where they're latched onto your robes.

If it was anyone else, maybe he would have mauled them for seeing him in such a state. People are perfidious; quick to betray, and even quicker to exploit whatever they've gleaned. Faster still to take away anything that makes him happy.

It's not just anyone, though. It's you. And despite how terribly he fears and how deeply he wishes to bury his emotions, his want of you runs deeper. If it means holding your attention, then you can have anything. If it means feeling your touch, then he'd let you use whatever you wanted against him.

If it meant having the assurance of your presence, then he'd kneel and discard his every title and name. He'd become nothing, if he knew he'd still have you.

“Good boy,” you whisper, and Scaramouche instinctively moves closer, rubbing his knees raw against marble, trying to breathe in your warmth.

He despises how fast he weakens at your beckoning; how he can't even will himself to resist, or fathom the thought of it— malleable to your every whim, and unable to be truly angered by it. He only shifts to be nearer to you, dreaming of your touch, hoping to share some of your eternity.

A whimper rises from his throat, trying to kill his desperation.

"Don't leave me," he says, the words wrenched from his throat. "Don't leave me."

Don’t betray me, he wants to say instead. Don’t abandon me.

It's a disgusting display of weakness. He wishes he could kill his voice so he wouldn't speak at all, but even without a heart, his emotions feel like they might choke him.

The things you do to him are terrible. Pleas for you to only look at him sit and die on his tongue. He reels himself back in before he can make a fool out of himself even further, but he knows you only have to look at him for a little bit longer for any sense of resistance to die alongside his pride. 

"I won't," you say softly, holding his cheek against your palm. "I'm here."

Scaramouche leans into your touch, hiding his face against your hand. He manages to keep himself from making an improper sound through sheer will, though he has to clench his jaw and close his eyes. 

Even just knowing he has all of your attention makes him feel dazed, and as you rub your thumb over his cheek, he can’t even muster any anger at being reduced to such a state. He hums, somehow leaning even further into your touch. 

“I’m here,” you say again, and Scaramouche whimpers into your palm.

zhongli

Zhongli dreams of you every night.

He knows he shouldn’t. It’s not proper of him, nor is it right for him to sully your image with his thoughts. Still, though, the thoughts come unbidden and leave him a wreck in their wake. 

What troubles him is what he knows to be the cause of them.

Zhongli has always been eternally grateful. He's sat with the love of you until it permeated every thought. He's lived beside the worship of you until it coated his every word and nerve. 

Being able to serve you past fantasies in his imagination brings him purpose, and that should be enough. And for a time, it was. 

He could see you and feel fulfilled. He could breathe your air and feel like the thousands of years spent waiting for you had been worth it. Even following you around like some sort of dog was more gratifying than splitting the earth apart. This, he thought, is enough.

This sense of greed, then, shouldn't exist.

Zhongli pretends it's not his own, but the truth is that every thought is painfully his. 

He imagines you running your fingers through his hair. He imagines touching your skin. He imagines you whispering praises against the pale column of his throat, and he imagines being yours in such a way that he knew he was special to you. He imagines you breathing his name and it feeling like rebirth. He imagines your touch. He imagines being able to worship you selfishly, entirely, in a way that no one but him could claim the honor of.

In a way, he thinks he deserves it. To be tortured with visions of things he knows he doesn't deserve and thoughts he knows you wouldn't approve of. 

Zhongli would think of you often before, when all he had of you were the prayers on his lips and promises of piety. It was difficult to imagine you as something physical, but still, his heart stirred. His most meaningful company was the thought of you beside him.

What he thinks of now is different.

He wouldn't have dared to imagine touching your skin. He wouldn't have let the thought escape the darkest of his subconscious. He wouldn't have dared to let himself the simple fantasy of you speaking his name like he's something precious to you. All he wanted, then, was to share the same plane of existence as you. A selfish want, but it was pure.

What pervades his mind now is some sort of sacrilege. He should know better, but he still sullies you every time he closes his eyes, unable to fight and equally unwilling too. 

His greatest arrogance. Even with thousands of mortal lifetimes lived, he still can't rid himself of it— even with his own self-hatred, his thoughts continue to defy him. 

Even when he knows he's failing you, he falls deeper. 

It's worse when you interact with others. Zhongli hugs your shadow and trails after you always, eager to please but always hiding behind a mask of propriety and decorum. He likes to pretend to have a semblance of control in your presence, though he knows that if you’d only ask, he would rid himself of it entirely and be thankful for it.

You're perfect, which is why you're kind even to those that don't deserve a modicum of your attention. You smile, and each time it's not directed at him, he tries to choke the indignance out of him. It’s selfish of him to expect that he be the only one to receive your affection, despite how his mind whispers it’s because he hasn’t done enough to prove himself to you. 

Why else, it supplies, would you waste your breath on those undeserving of it? 

He reminds himself of his place. It assuages him for only a moment.

Zhongli dreams of your breath. He dreams of you cracking him open and bearing witness to every depravity and every virtue and still whispering your love to him. He dreams of looking at you and knowing that he means something to you. He dreams and he wants so terribly, and he knows none of it is his to imagine.

He reminds himself of his place, repeating the words over and over in his mind. He whispers them to himself at night in hopes that maybe, it'll finally stick this time. 

Be pleased with this much.

He's meant to be. He tells himself that, maybe, if he perseveres well enough, he'll be rewarded. 

Maybe you'd let him touch you?

He wouldn't ask for much. Maybe you would be kind enough to let him hold your fingers in his. He wouldn't do so for long. Maybe, if he was good, you'd let him kiss your fingertips with the reverence you deserve. 

It’s an impossibility, he knows, but it's his sole comfort. If he withstands just for a while more, you'll be proud instead of disappointed that he's fallen so low. 

Then you ask for him to kneel, alone in your chambers, and he doesn't know what to do with himself.

Zhongli does as you say immediately. He falls to his knees so quickly that his mind doesn't have the chance to catch up. Vaguely, he understands that maybe he should be ashamed with how fast his body responds. He decides he doesn't care. All he knows is that you're looking at him, and that it feels sweet and good, and that he doesn't want you to stop. 

His breath is lodged in his throat. His heart sounds like a roar in his ears. Nothing exists but you and your words. All you have to do is whisper a word that could vaguely be understood as a command and he would be at your feet, ready to be used. 

He wants you to touch him. 

You smile, and his nerves feel alight with fervor. Zhongli’s hands stay clenched on his knees, trembling with the strength needed to resist touching you. 

You haven't given him permission, so he keeps himself still. 

You cradle his face in your hands. He can feel the warmth of your palms caressing his cheeks, and he wonders— how can there be anyone who doesn't worship you? 

“Good boy,” you say, and Zhongli inhales sharply. 

For you, he wants to say. Only for you.

He doesn't, afraid to speak; afraid that to murmur even the softest of praises would cause you to pull away. 

Does he tell you, he wonders, that he wants you to play with his hair? Does he tell you he wants you to love him completely, innocently, selfishly? Does he tell you he wants you to touch his skin, anywhere if it means having that small piece of contact? 

“Where do you want me to touch you?” you ask, and he can hear the small tint of mirth in your voice.

The question strikes him dumb. His body burns and his blood is singing. Zhongli doesn't care if you find him amusing. No, he delights in it. It doesn't matter as long as he means something at all to you.

His fingers twitch, and just barely does he manage to keep his hands to himself. 

“Everywhere,” he breathes.

[reids-gf]

carcar. when you don't invite your boyfriend to play padel.

Carlos is already in bed by the time Oscar comes out of his shower.

His hair spread on the pillow behind him, his phone in his hands and a frown on his face. His prominent lower lip even bigger as he pouts. 

He doesn't glance away from the screen as Oscar turns off the lights and throws the sheets back to get in bed next to him. He just tugs at his side of the comforter to wrap it around his body, all the way up to his chin. 

It's Oscar’s turn to frown. He turns to lay on his side, a hand tentatively sliding up the covers to rest against Carlos’ covered chest. He eyes the screen his boyfriend is so focused on. His motorcycle game.

Carlos doesn't react openly to his touch, but Oscar knows him too well. He notices the way his breathing pattern changes , the quirk of his eyebrow, how the corners of his lip twitch.

“Hi,” his finger slides along the hem of the blanket, grazing Carlos’ warm skin.

“Hey.” His gaze still doesn't leave the small screen. It's actually starting to annoy him. 

“Hard level?” He gestures to the game with his chin.

“Not really, just distracted.” He's speaking low, against his teeth. Like a little kid that didn't get what he wanted, Oscar thinks, humming.

“Alex said you played padel together.” Carlos continues, his finger hovering over his phone as a winning animation plays on the game. 

“Yeah, the other day, with Lando and Mark.” He frowns at the unexpected subject. 

His hand slips under the cover for barely a second before Carlos’ own wraps around it, pulling it back to rest against the bed. Oscar’s frown only deepens. 

“Yes,” he already finished the level, but keeps touching things on the screen, Oscar doesn't care about that dumb game enough to understand what he's doing. “Sounds fun.” 

“Yeah, it was.” His hands slide under his head, now he's the one pouting. “I lost, though, Lando is good at padel.” 

“I am good at padel, too.” His voice still coming out strained. 

Oscar’s eyes narrow. The puzzle piece falling into place. He bites the inside of his lip to contain a smile. 

“Oh, really?” 

“Yes, but you wouldn't know because you never invited me.” His head snaps to look at him for the first time in the night. 

Oscar can't stop his giggling anymore. Carlos sends a bitter look at him, big brown eyes shining and sharp jaw clenched.

His hands slide away from his pillow to cradle his boyfriend's face. Carlos huffs but leans on the touch. Oscar sits up. 

“You're so cute when you get jealous.” He presses a kiss to the tip of his nose. Carlos gasps in faux offence. 

“I am not jealous! I am sad, you are making fun of your sad boyfriend.” His hands wrap around each of Oscar’s wrists, holding him in place. Oscar’s smile softens.

“I’m sorry,” he leans in to graze his pouty lips, “Will you forgive me, baby?” 

“It's going to cost you.” Carlos looks up at him. Oscar could drown in eyes, could count each of his eyelashes until the end of time. 

Their lips meet in a sweet kiss, his thumbs rub Carlos’ cheeks. Carlos presses back against him, eyes slipping closed at the contact.

Oscar swings a leg to straddle his lap, one of his hands leaving Carlos’ cheek to throw his phone on the bedside table with a loud thud, making Carlos chuckle. 

“If you break my phone it's going to cost you even more.” He smirks up at him, hands sliding to press on the dip of Oscar's waist. Oscar rolls his eyes, leaning down to catch his lips in a quick kiss.

“I don't care,” he barely pulls away, “I’ll pay any price for you.” Carlos meets him halfway, lips crashing together with more force.

Oscar’s hand slides to the back of his neck, tugging Carlos’ head back by his hair. His mouth opens in a gasp, giving Oscar’s tongue access to slip in, to lick against his teeth. Carlos hums in his mouth, the grip on his waist tightening.

He pulls away breathless after some time, lips pressing against Carlos’ jaw, brushing against his stubble. His hands make their way down Carlos’ chest, pushing the covers away to expose his chest. 

He delights in Carlos’ moan when he gently bites the sensitive spot where his neck meets his shoulder. Oscar’s tongue darts out to lick the mark after sucking it. Carlos’ hand slides down his back, comes to rest on his ass before gripping when Oscar bites him again. 

After a while he leans back to look at the results, the marks on Carlos’ skin trailing down to his left collarbone. Oscar smiles proudly. 

Carlos sits up to kiss him, lips moving against each other slowly. His big hands firm against Oscar’s ass pulling him closer, pressing their chests together before turning them around.

Oscar’s body bounces on the mattress as he gasps at the sudden movement. Carlos pants against his mouth, his arms and thighs caging Oscar in. His hands hold onto his shoulders, fingers pressing on the fresh marks, making Carlos hiss on top of him. 

“Dios, you’re an animal, Oscar.” His nose pressed against his cheek, inhaling deeply as Oscar trails the hickeys proudly. 

“You like it.” His smirk surely is evident in his voice. Carlos kisses his freckles before leaning back. 

“I do,” His gaze focused when he looks into Oscar’s half lidded eyes, big hands taking his wrists and pining them on top of his head. Oscar’s body responds with a shiver, already excited for what’s coming. “You know what else I like?”

Carlos leans down to graze his lips, holding his arms in place with one hand as the other slides down Oscar’s thigh.

“What?” He gasps out, pulse quickening.

“Being invited to padel.” He gives the outside of Oscar’s thigh a quick slap, making him throw his head back with a groan. Carlos laughs against his lips.

(I might post a longer-smuttier version on AO3, if you like this)

[auroralwriting]

𝓊𝓈.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

summary: does he regret the secret of you?

warnings: no warnings for this story

: ̗̀➛ masterlist

gracie abrams songfic challenge

You meet Finnick by the shore, always.

The sun's barely peeking over the horizon, the waves hush against the sand, and the air still smells like salt and promise. It’s early enough that the rest of the district is asleep or pretending to be, which gives you these precious minutes alone, just you and Finnick. Just the two of you, before the world wakes up and remembers who he is.

You’re sitting on the rocks, legs pulled up to your chest, when he comes up behind you and rests his chin on your shoulder. A comforting feeling, something you only trusted him to do.

“You’re late,” you tease.

“I brought breakfast.” He holds up a paper bag with two flaky pastries, slightly squished from his run over. “Peace offering?”

You turn your head slightly so your nose brushes his. “Depends. Did you get the sweet one?”

He kisses your cheek. “Always.”

You take the bag and tug him down beside you. The world is still golden and quiet and yours.

Everyone in the district knows Finnick Odair. Of course they do. He’s the Capitol’s golden boy, the youngest victor in history, a name whispered with awe and fear and a tinge of envy. But you know him differently. You know him when he’s not trying to be charming, when he forgets the way he’s supposed to carry himself like a weapon. You know him when he’s barefoot and laughing, when he cries in your arms, when he dreams out loud about a future that might never come. When you’re swimming in the sea and running barefoot down the stony pathways of four.

And somehow, against all odds, you’re his. In secret. Not because you’re ashamed. Because it’s safer that way.

If the Capitol knew—if Snow knew—he would destroy you just to remind Finnick who he belonged to. So instead, your love lives in the spaces between. Glances across the square. Notes tucked into fishing nets. A second pair of footsteps behind the cliffs. And mornings like this one, where time bends just enough to make room for you both.

“You’re staring,” Finnick says, and when you look over, he’s grinning at you with one brow raised.

“Can’t help it,” you say, leaning into him. “You’re prettier in the morning light.”

He laughs, the sound warm and real. “You’re the only person alive who says that to me like it means something.”

You thread your fingers through his, fitting together with practiced ease. “That’s ‘cause when I say it, it does.”

The waves crash louder, a seagull swoops above, and Finnick watches you like you’re the only constant in a life full of chaos. “You ever think about running away?” he asks quietly, like he’s not supposed to even speak the thought out loud.

“All the time,” you reply. “But I don’t think we’d make it past the district border.”

He nods. “I know. I just… I think about it more now. About you and me and a little boat and no one knowing our names.”

You bump your shoulder into his. “I like the sound of that.”

He turns to face you, suddenly serious. “If I ever get the chance to go, I’ll take it. And I’ll come back for you. I swear it.”

You blink at him, stunned. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious,” he says. “I don’t want this life forever. I don’t want to keep pretending. I want us.”

Your heart pounds so loud you’re scared he’ll hear it. You squeeze his hand tighter.

“Okay,” you say, breathless. “Then I’ll wait for you. I’ll always wait.”

The months go by like pages turning too fast.

Your love is all little things. Late-night walks on the pier. Pressed flowers in your pockets. Hidden kisses behind nets and market stalls. He braids tiny shells into your hair and says you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and you tell him he talks too much, but you kiss him like you believe it.

And then.. everything changed.

When they announced the Quarter Quell, your heart dropped before his name was even drawn. You knew. You knew Snow would never let him go. Not after all he’d endured. Not when Finnick’s smile was still the Capitol’s favorite currency.

You had braced yourself for goodbye. But instead, miraculously, inexplicably, they came for you. District 13.

President Coin said it was for your safety. Someone had told them of Finnick Odair's secret lover and how he needed her--you. But you weren’t stupid. You knew the truth: it was to keep him tethered. To keep him sane. To remind him what he was still fighting for.

Finnick didn’t know you’d been brought to District 13, not at first. You were underground, in hiding, protected and silenced and surrounded by strangers in gray. But when he stumbled out of the hovercraft after being rescued from the arena, bleeding and trembling and half-alive, they let him see you.

They didn’t expect him to fall to his knees when he did.

He didn’t speak at first. Just looked at you like you were a ghost, hands trembling as they hovered inches from your face. Like he was scared you’d disappear again. That he’d imagined you like he had so many nights in the Capitol, when loneliness felt like it would kill him before Snow ever could.

You took his hands and pressed them to your cheeks, kneeling in front of him slowly, like he was some wounded animal. “I’m here,” you whispered. “I’m here.”

He sobbed into your neck. And from that moment on, you didn’t hide anymore.

In District 13, you sleep in the same bed. It’s not like before, no ocean breeze or tangled nets or kisses by moonlight, but it’s real. It’s a borrowed bunk in a metal room, and still, somehow, it feels like a palace. Because it’s yours. Because he’s yours.

He wakes up in the middle of the night sometimes, breathing hard, sweat soaking the collar of his shirt. You don’t ask what he’s dreaming of. You already know. So you curl around him, press your lips to the side of his neck, and hold him until his shaking stops.

He always says the same thing: “You’re my only safe place.”

Sometimes, he says it with tears still drying on his cheeks. Sometimes, it’s whispered against your shoulder like a prayer. And you believe him. Because you feel the same way.

In District 13, people glance sideways at you in the beginning. You don’t care. Let them stare. Let them wonder if you’re scared out of your minds. Let them wonder who had possibly caught Finnick Odair's attention. It didn't matter, because it was finally real to you.

But there’s nothing fake about the way Finnick pulls you into him during the middle of strategy meetings, resting his chin on your shoulder like he’s bored out of his mind but perfectly content as long as you’re there. There’s nothing fabricated about the way he holds your hand in the cafeteria line, like you’ll disappear if he lets go. You could be grabbing bread and water and he’s still brushing his thumb over your knuckles like you’re made of something divine.

You catch people smiling sometimes. Not the cold, calculating kind. The soft kind. The kind that says: oh, this is real.

He kisses you in the hallways. He steals kisses like he used to, quick and sly, like you’re both teenagers again, but now it’s in full view. You’ll be talking to Gale or Katniss, and Finnick will just walk by, press a kiss to the side of your mouth like it’s the most casual thing in the world, and keep walking like it didn’t leave you flushed and dazed.

“You’re insufferable,” you tell him once, when he does it in front of a crowded room.

“You love it,” he grins, hands already slipping around your waist.

“I do,” you admit, letting him press his forehead to yours. “God help me.”

He kisses you like the world has already been saved.

When the war ends, and the world opens back up, Finnick refuses to go anywhere without you. It’s not a protective thing, it’s a need thing. A love thing.

You rebuild a life together near the coast, in a village that smells like freedom. You sleep tangled up like driftwood, limbs always brushing. You wake up to his lips on your cheek, his voice murmuring some half-sung melody he’s writing in his head. And when you leave the house, together, always together, people don’t bat an eye when he threads your fingers together like it's second nature.

Because it is.

You go to markets and he picks out your favorite fruit without asking. You read on the beach and he lies with his head in your lap, humming under his breath. You take walks along the shoreline, and he insists on skipping rocks even though he’s absolutely terrible at it. He’ll pretend to pout until you kiss him. It works every time.

He kisses you so often it becomes a rhythm. A punctuation. A language.

And he loves being yours publicly. After years of being forced to wear a mask in the Capitol, after years of fake smiles and someone else’s hands, you are his truth. You are the thing he never had to fake.

He tells people stories about you, often unsolicited.

“She makes the best tea,” he says to a wide-eyed kid in town. “Once she brewed a cup that knocked me out for eight hours straight. Slept like a baby. Woke up drooling on her shoulder.”

He grins at you like you hung the stars.

You roll your eyes. “It was chamomile, Finnick.”

He shrugs. “Magic.”

Sometimes you find yourselves just watching each other.

You’ll glance across the room and find his eyes already on you. Like he’s always checking, just to make sure this is still real. You’re sitting on the dock one evening, feet in the water, his arm wrapped lazily around your shoulders.

“Remember how we used to hide behind that net stall?” he murmurs, pointing down the shoreline.

You smile. “We got caught so many times.”

He laughs, tipping his head back. “That one time your braid got tangled in the ropes—”

“—and you tried to play it off like we were just admiring the craftsmanship.”

“Hey,” he says, mock offended. “It was a fine net.”

You laugh until your sides hurt. And then you lean into him, quiet, hearts beating in sync. “We don’t have to hide anymore,” you say softly.

He kisses the side of your head. “We never will again.”

“Do you regret it? The secret of us?” You asked.

Finnick shook his head, “I never regret any of our moments together.”

You’re the kind of couple people talk about in stories now. Not because of the war. Not because of the Capitol. But because of how good your love is. How whole. How loud and soft and lasting. They see the way Finnick looks at you like you’re his whole world. The way he tucks flowers behind your ear and doesn’t care who’s watching. The way you press kisses to the corner of his mouth every time you say goodbye—even if it’s only for a five-minute errand.

They say love in Panem never lasts. But you and Finnick? You’re the exception. You’re always touching. Always close. Always choosing each other. Not just in secret. Not just in private. But in every room. Every day. Every lifetime you’re lucky enough to share. And gods, are you lucky.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Recently got into DMC and have been enjoying your headcanons so much. May I request headcanons for Dante and Vergil with a s/o who enjoys reading nearly as much as Vergil does?

Dante

never been a reader, unless you count magazines but i wouldn't put it past him to have a handful of books himself that he can actually get through and enjoy.

he's more fond of books that contain alot of actions more then anything, but besides that he doesn't read nearly as much as you or his brother did.

both you and his brother could read like there was nothing better to do, spending hours sitting down and reading a lengthy book, whereas dante could proably get into a couple of chapters before his need to move and do something else takes over.

yet if there's one thing that could get him to relax for long periods of time was listening to you talk about your readings, loving how excited you get with each and every chapter, even holding and comforting you when you hit emotionally destroying aspects of the book where certain characters meet unfotunate ends.

he just loves seeing you read as it feels as though he was reading along side you.

he loves the way your face reflected how you were feeling during certain aspects of the story, finding it cute when you mouthed the story to yourself to make sure you didn't miss an ounce of detail in case it'll come back futher down the line.

however he will become a pouty boy if you give your books more attention then him, seriously he'll get all huffy and act like your neglecting him if he sees that you were lost within your readings.

'just one more chapter dante.' you tell him, only for him to rest his head on your shoulder and groan.

'you said that five chapters ago. Pay attention to me.’

Needles to say you had to make yourself a schedule between times spent reading and time spent with a mopey half demon that demanded cuddles and kisses as compensation.

Dante would ask people who were well versed in books, even his own brother, when he wanted to get you something after seeing that you’ve pretty much read and re-read every book within your possession multiple times over.

He wanted you to start something new even though you had no issue re-reading some of your favourites that have become comfort stories to you at this point that it felt like you were being welcomed home in another universe in a way.

Yet the look upon your face when he does get you a new set of books was enough to make him mimic your wide smile as you threw yourself at him, clinging to him tightly as you gush over the new additions to your already overflowing collection, kissing his cheek in multiple thanks.

You felt loved knowing that Dante went out of his way to find you something you haven’t read yet, it was more precious to you than being given jewellery or any expensive gift. It held more meaning to you in ways most wouldn’t grasp.

But do expect Dante to drag you outside for some fresh air now and then, you tend to get lost in your books that Dante drags you out of the room and out the house, claims your both going on a walk together with your fingers tightly interlocked together.

Vergil

he's naturally founder towards people who appreciate reading books and or has a fondess for poetry as him.

it makes things a little easier for him to make conversation and to understand the inner workings of your mind.

would you have met at a bookstore? reaching for the same book in every cliche meet cute? yes because i too am that cliche and Vergil will take note of your taste in literature from the books within your hands and makes an hum of apporval.

Edgar Allen Poe, george Orwell, Mary shelley, bram stroker, Harper Lee, emily bronte, Jane Austein, R F Kuang (i love adding her, sue me) Kurt Vonegut amongst many, many more.

finally someone who wasn't always preocupied by their phone, dwlindiling their attention span to pathetic lows that even a goldfish would outsmart them with embrassing ease. (he can't use one for shit, nor does he want to)

so to find that you had affilation to spending most of your days within your home, busy reading books and delving into stories as your face gave away your feelings towards the plot lines and character development.

meanwhile the only reactions you get out of him when he's reading is hums and furrowed brows and subconciously mouthing the poem to himself a though he was reciting it to memory for future reference.

other then that he's mainly deadpan in his expression, having acustomed himself with not ever revealing how he truly felt towards anything.

but he's not against sharing his thoughts and opinions on the written arts with you as it only provides even further insight even if you two had completely differnt viewpoints in a characters choice or the overall message of the story being told.

it becomes a tradition for you both to stay inside within his makeshift study and just read in silence, sure it might seem boring to some, but to you and Vergil you wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

it was nice for Vergil to share his love of reading with someone else, it brought a sense of comrodery, a sense that someone could understand him by the things he reads and he could understand you by the things you read.

You even compare notes if you were reading the same book, which is fun for the both of you, like a pair of absolute nerds. (Affectionate) you’d even look for books that the other might find interesting, which is sweet knowing that Vergil was actively looking for something to read for one extra person now instead of his lonesome self.

The Liberian/ bookstore owner would be excited that he has someone to share his passion of reading with, they’ve been waiting for this moment forever then minute this solemn looking man in blue walked through the door like an omen of death.

He’s flustered when confronted about it and a little defensive but deep down he’s happy too that he found someone alike him. He truly is sappy, but it’s in moments like these where his mind is elsewhere (you) from the his usual thoughts, it lifts a weight off of his chest in knowing he’s no longer alone.

Not anymore. (I need to give this man a fucking hug for fuck sake)

[havenhyunjin]

safe space — bangchan

the one where you would do anything to be a safe space for him. word count: 1k

warnings: discussions of grief and loss, although not extensively. merely trying to process complicated feelings. hurt/comfort. angst.

a/n: i’m not trying to speculate on any grieving process chan is going through, but as he’s been vocal about his struggle with the loss of a friend, i created this also hoping that he does actually have loved ones to rely on and he allows himself that grace <3. rest in love, moon.

————————————————————————

The soft vibration of the diffuser was getting to your nerves. So was the sizzling meat in the pan you were cooking on. Even the sound of an opening door proved to be unsettling. That’s when you realized the sounds weren’t bothering you; you were simply on edge for entirely different reasons.

You knew how to deal with your own grief and loss wasn’t a foreign concept. You could manage it, and you did.

Not knowing how to deal with Chris’ grief was unnerving. You had no idea how to help him, if he wanted or needed help at all, and it left you feeling powerless.

Chris closed the door behind him and greeted you softly, as you replied for him to know you were in the kitchen. He walked closer to you, and gave you a soft peck on the lips to greet you with an almost imperceptible smile.

“How are you?” you asked, although you were fully aware it was a stupid question.

He shrugged and laughed without a hint of happiness. All you could come up with was a hug that you hoped would express everything you didn’t know how to say or show.

I love you. I’m here. I’m sorry. I got you, if you need me. I hate seeing you in pain. But your pain is not a burden. And you don’t have to talk about it. I love you. I got you.

As Chris melted into your embrace, you knew he understood, like he knew you understood him. Even in the unspoken nature of the entire process, you both could count on each other unconditionally and while it didn’t get any easier, Chris was certain that your patience and your love were a lifeline he would never let go off.

He kissed you in as a thank you - gently, no rush, hoping it would convey a part of the convoluted emotional state he was in.

I love you. Thank you. I don’t ever want to burden you. One day I might be able to talk about it. I’m grateful for you. I love you. Please stay.

With the way you kissed him back, enveloping him around your arms, he was entirely sure you would stay, and it meant everything.

The only reason you pulled away was realizing your food was going to burn otherwise. He laughed a little bit at you rushing to turn off the flame, and grabbed plates for both of you to have dinner. You sat down together to eat on the couch in front of the TV, playing a documentary that neither of you were really paying attention, but the point was being close to each other as you finished your meal in silence.

Chris was used to retreating and isolating himself whenever he was having a hard time; there was no reason to bother anyone else with his problems and sadness. One of the many ways you turned his life around was opening him up to the opportunity of relying and leaning on someone else.

He was still uncomfortable not showing up all the time as the strong, invincible leader he was supposed to be, but he decidedly knew now that is not what you expect from him. You just loved him, in every version.

You were still having a hard time accepting that you couldn’t fix everything for him either. There are some things that are inevitably debilitating for him, and as much of a rock as you tried to be for him, you couldn’t make this one go away. Chris, of course, doesn’t expect you to fix anything.

Regardless, in the comfort of your steady hand holding his, and in the comfort of his sad but loving eyes looking into yours, you both felt that everything would be okay.

With a display of vulnerability that was rare but welcomed, Chris moved to lay down in your lap. He curled up next to you, laying his head down and closing his eyes.

Chris didn’t know how to deal with his grief either, and he wasn’t sure anyone really knew how to do it. The fluctuation, unpredictability and non-linear nature of his process was excruciating. He wanted control over himself back desperately, but it didn’t work like that.

As you decided to lay down behind him instead, embracing him against you as your head rested on his back, he was reminded that not being in control all the time was natural. He closed his eyes, trusting you to hold him through it all, and for one night handing over the tight, heavy leash he has been trying to keep on himself.

Even though you didn’t see it, you knew he was tearing up and all you could do was hold him tighter.

I got you. You can let go with me. I’ll stay with you forever.

Even though he was crying, he was relaxing into you at the same time.

You’ve got me. I love you. Thank you. I love you.

The sadness, pain, loss and grief would not go away, but he had one less thing to worry about; hiding it. You know that you can’t make it go away, even though you wished you could, but what you could do was stay right here with him in his terms and that was good enough.

“Chris?” you called out to him softly. He hummed to reply, sniffing his nose while still letting his long held back tears out.

“I’m right here,” you said, although it was a universally acknowledged truth. Vocalizing it felt like hugging his soul, desperately letting him know verbally, physically, emotionally, that here you stay.

He nodded. He knew. He felt it.

“I know, baby,” Chris said, turning around to face you while you both laid down and held each other close. His troubles felt soothed, and damn near healed as you began pressing soft kisses against his face. He was smiling, each little peck reminding him that although life can be mind-numbingly painful, it can also be all-consumingly wonderful.

You are the living proof of every good thing the world has to offer, and he’s grateful. He was so eternally grateful for his safe space in you.

[81pastrys]

Motivation

Summary— Lando notices his girlfriend procrastinating and helps motivate her not to.

Warnings— smut ; lap sitting ; fingering (f) ; cockwarming ; overstimulation ; vibrator ; aftercare

A/N— this is your reminder to do your school work 🙂‍↕️

Lando One Shots

Dividers @bernardsbendystraws @dollywons

Request— reader doesn't have self discipline/ motivation to revise for her upcoming uni exams and is procrastinating to make time for Lando and Lando notices and confronts her and she tries to deny it but he tells her he'll help her and basically free rein to make it as filthy as possible (spanking? edging? Overstimulation? Wtv u want babes ) - 🏎️

University was hard. She would do as much as she could—to procrastinate—and then crash when she finished the work due the same night. With Lando racing it was hectic, random calls here and there, texting as much as they could.

Now it was a break for him, but not for her. She acted like a maid for him and he was confused. She never acted this way before.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” He asked. She stopped in her tracks, she was running around doing laundry. “You’re acting like the house is a mess—which it’s spotless—all you want to do is be around me and make sure I’m ’attended’ to, what’s going on?” He was concerned. She shook her head innocently like he got it all wrong.

“I’m just happy you’re home and don’t want it to be bad, I’ve been putting these things off, and I hadn’t had the time and-“ He stopped her nonsense excuses by gripping her arm.

“What I want you to do is relax, normal household chores is something we can tackle together my love.” He assured her. She sighed. “What else have you put off for me?”

She gave him a guilty look and he gave her a look of ‘tell me before I find out’. “My uni work.” She mumbled under her breath. Lando gave her a bleak smile and took the laundry hamper from her.

“Go do it, now.” He instructed, holding the basket. They part ways, him finishing the overdue laundry and her working on assignments until they’re due after he leaves.

It wasn’t as easy as it sounded, she was zoning off and disassociating, it was torture to sit, in silence, forced to do work she had neglected. Lando entered her office and she jumped.

“Alright, if you aren’t going to focus on your work we need something that will motivate you.” He stood cross armed in the doorframe and she sulked in her office chair.

“It’s so boring lan!” She whined and began complaining. “I just want to be with you while you’re here not doing some stupid argument essay!”

Lando nodded, understanding that it can get frustrating to do work you aren’t entirely interested in. “So what can I do to help motivate you?” He asked. “Sit on my lap? Edge you until you’re crying? Spank you for not doing your work? Tell me baby, what can I do that will get you to do the work?”

She blushed hard at his offers. She said she wanted to spend time with him and that’s usually code for, ‘I want to fuck you’ so he took it and ran with the idea.

“How about this, you sit on my lap and every time you finish an assignment you get a reward, yeah?” He started walking toward her and she stood up. Agreeing silently to his deal.

She sat on his lap comfortably and worked. She finished an assignment and he praised her, leaving kisses on her neck and shoulders before taking off her shirt to kiss more of her skin.

The next assignment was longer but he kept his hands on her to remind her he was very much still there. When she finished the essay outline he took off the rest of her clothes. “Such a good girl, 2 assignments done already.” He teased. His hands wandered over her naked body now.

She started the next assignment and paused when she felt his hand rest on her thigh, rubbing softly near her cunt. She finished the assignment quicker than she probably should’ve and he kissed her shoulder as his hand found her slick folds and teased her.

“You should take a break, maybe I can give you an orgasm for doing so good.” He whispered. His phone was set down and forgotten about as his finger dipped into her slowly. “So wet already my love.” He smiled against her back.

Her breath hitched as two fingers were thrusting in and out of her wetness. She leaned on his chest, moaning quietly. He cooed more praises on how well she was doing and brought her to the brink of an orgasm.

“Should I let you cum?” He asked her, his hand still moving in and out of her wetness that was now pooling in his lap. “You put all these assignments off for me to give you attention baby, I don’t think I should.” He fake pouted at her.

She whined as he slowed and took his fingers away. There was no point in begging for him to continue when the orgasm washed away and there were still many assignments on the screen. She did another assignment and he slowly added his finger back, not inside her, but rubbing her clit slowly.

“Next assignment.” He said. She did the next assignment slower than the last. She was hardly able to concentrate from the fact he was ruining her. The assignment was submitted and he moved his boxers down. “Am I too much of a distraction love?”

She shook her head no quickly and he lifted her hips, causing her to grip the desk. He let her sink on his length slowly. A groan coming from his throat. She moved her hips in favor of him moving, but he stilled her hips instead.

“No, do your next assignment.” He said. She whined but complied to his terms. This was torturous to her. He leaned back in the chair and she leaned onto the desk, his tip hitting a sweet spot dead on making her moan and lower her head in her hands.

He chuckled and she adjusted her grip on the desk with an open mouth moan. She finished all the work before he started moving her hips. Her breath was shaky at the slow rhythm he set.

“You did all your work baby, such a good girl.” He whispered, kissing her body and moving her hips, slow and steady against him. “Let’s take this to the bedroom, yeah?”

He lifted her off of him and they made it to the bedroom. He bent her over the bed, her feet on the ground. He leaned over her and kissed her back again, her head moving to the side as she relaxed her body.

“You shouldn’t procrastinate baby, it isn’t good for you.” He whispered. “Especially for me, that’s a big no.” He gently grabbed her arms and pinned them behind her. “Should I tie you up, maybe have some fun with you for being such a bad girl?” He teased.

“I finished all my work though.” She reminded him. That wasn’t enough for him, his hand came down and a slap could be heard. The sting made her hiss. “I’m sorry.” She said.

“I know you are baby.” He said. He was still thinking of edging her or overstimulating her senses. For now he planned on making her squirm in his grip as he spanked her ass. “4 more and we’ll do something else for your punishment yeah?” It was more of a statement than a question, no a promise.

“Yes sir.” She whined and huffed a breath. His hand came down again on her opposite ass cheek. She whined again. He soothed the pain with lighter touches.

“Next time you want to put something aside for later, I want you to remember this. I won’t be so nice next time.” He said. He spanked her the other three times and flipped her over, her legs still off the bed.

He grabbed a pillow and placed it under her hips. She lost the audacity to beg and just made little whimpers or moans. She knew her words didn’t cut through him. Not when he has purpose to punish her.

“I want you to count how many orgasms you have, if you lose count then we’ll have to start again.” He knew it was a hard bargain, but it surely wouldn’t fall through the cracks.

“Yes sir, I will.” She nodded along with the words she said and he lined himself up. Both of them moaning at the intrusion. He was not going to make this easy and she knew it. Her first hint was how he hadn’t had an ounce of mercy so far. Her second hint was the sound of a vibrator wand being switched on.

Her head snapped to look at him with pleading eyes. “You’re the one who needed motivation love.” He said as if he was teaching her a lesson. “I’m just providing for my baby’s needs.” He whispered. He placed the wand on her clit and felt her immediately clamp down on him.

He started slow thrusts, the sensations already too much for her. The slow thrusts brought her to an orgasm along with the vibrator which he now turned up. “One.” She strained in a moan.

Her body bucking at the overstimulation as he sped his thrusts along with the vibrator. He was so focused on her squirming that he was missing her blissed out facial expressions and the way she gripped the sheets. “Taking it so well, my love- god.”

He groaned feeling her get close again. Her body doing its best to move away from the stimulation, but Lando’s grip was not letting her. He moved with her as she came again and he waited for her count to continue. “Two, two.” She said panting and shaking.

Her body jerking from how overstimulated she was, he finally looked to her face. Her mouth hung open, broken and held in breaths escaping along with strained moans as she wriggled in his grip.

“Three! Lan, please!” She had tears in her eyes. He didn’t falter the pleasure one bit. She was ruined the second he got her in the bedroom. He finally decided she needed to stay still and his free hand squeezed her hip, hard enough to bruise and she whimpered.

“Relax for me, there you go.” He said as if he wasn’t ruthlessly pounding her. “Quit holding your breath like that or you’re going to pass out.” He reminded in a monotone way, not scolding or teasing, just a reminder. She listened and focused on her breathing.

The fourth orgasm took the rest of her energy away and she nearly got away from his grip, twisting turning away from him. His hand was definitely making a bruise as he held her in place. The vibrator being held completely flush to her clit as he was stilled deep inside her, not moving.

“What number are we on?” She squirmed and wiggled in his grip as he stayed still inside her with the vibrations clouding her train of any thought.

“Four- five?” She said. He gave her a questioning look. He wanted her to think and be sure before he went on to punish her more. “Four, four! That was four!” She confirmed.

“Good girl, one more for me.” He said. Now he was chasing his own pleasure, mercilessly thrusting into her. The fast, hard thrusts making her go limp on the bed, melting as her body shook wildly. The fifth orgasm tore a broken sound out of her as he spilled inside her and took the vibrator away.

“Five- that’s five.” She panted. She was absolutely wrecked. He pulled out of her and watched his mess drip out her. He brought his thumb to make it messier, rubbing it from her hole to her clit as she jerked.

“Such a beautiful pussy, such a shame I have to punish it for you to be motivated.” He taunted. She whined and he took his hand away. He went to the bathroom and dampened a wash cloth.

She held his wrist after the first swipe of the warm cloth. He was gentle and very sweet. He lightly caressed where a bruise was forming on her hip. He looked to her face and she was still breathing irregularly.

“Alright my love, let’s get you dressed for bed.” He said. He wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her to move the pillow to the floor and move her to lay correctly in the bed. He discarded the damp towel and the pillow case in the dirty clothes basket.

He put on boxers and dressed her in a tee with his boxers. He laid next to her, pulling her to his chest as she drifted off to sleep. He kissed her forehead and drifted off with her.

I would love more Oscar smut requests, please and thank you! 🥰

@il0vereadingstuff @angelluv16 @kallanfiona @itznotsophia @pandabiiissh @justaf1girl

[lov3lycosmos]

𝑆𝑇𝑅𝐴𝑌 𝐾𝐼𝐷𝑆 𝐿𝑂𝑉𝐸 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝐺𝑈𝐴𝐺𝐸𝑆 (maknae line)

Genre: Fluff

Pairings: Maknae Line x GN!Reader

Warnings: maybe a bit suggestive?

Cosmos note: finally doing the maknae line to this post T–T

my library!

HAN JISUNG: Words of Affirmation & Physical Touch

• Han Jisung wears his heart on his sleeve, and that’s especially true when it comes to love. He expresses his affection through constant reassurances, playful teasing, and heartfelt compliments. Whether it’s a soft “I’m so proud of you,” whispered when no one else is around, or a loud “That’s my baby!” shouted with zero shame, Han makes sure to let it be known just how much is felt in that big heart of his. He’s the type to send long, rambling texts when inspiration strikes, telling every little reason he loves being around — from the way that laugh makes him smile to the way being hugged makes him feel grounded again. He keeps little sticky notes hidden in bags, notebooks, or jacket pockets, just so they’re found at random moments and brighten the day. His love isn’t just spoken — it’s loud, proud, and constant.

• Han clings like it’s second nature. Physical touch is how he feels safe and connected, so he’ll always be reaching out — looping arms, leaning into shoulders, wrapping himself around during movie nights, or tugging close during sleepy mornings. It’s never just about being physically close — it’s his way of saying “I’m here,” without needing words. On tough days, he’ll hold tighter, rubbing soft circles into backs, brushing hair out of faces, or simply lying still, heart pressed to heart. And when energy’s high, he’s all tickles, giggles, and playful tackles, craving touch in a way that always feels comforting, never overwhelming. With Han, love is something felt through every squeeze of the hand, every forehead kiss, and every time he tucks someone closer like he’s afraid to let go.

LEE FELIX: Gift Giving & Physical Touch

• Felix puts so much thought into everything he gives. Whether it’s a tiny trinket from a random shop or something handmade that took him hours, each gift comes with so much meaning it’s impossible not to melt. He remembers the most specific things — a snack mentioned once in passing, a keychain that looked like a favorite character, a bracelet in a favorite color — and tucks them away until the perfect moment. To him, gifts aren’t about the price or size. They’re about saying “I saw this and thought of you,” or “I wanted you to have this because it reminds me of how special you are.” He lights up when handing them over, always a little shy but so proud, and he’ll always add a little note or whisper something soft like, “I hope this makes you smile.” And it always does — because it’s Felix, and everything he gives comes straight from the heart.

• He’s also so cuddly. Touch is how he recharges — through soft hugs from behind, gentle head pats, fingers intertwined during quiet walks, and wrapping arms around like he never wants to let go. He loves long, lazy cuddles on the couch, often burying his face into a shoulder or chest while whispering about his day. When he’s happy, he’ll pull close and sway to music only he can hear. When he’s tired, he’ll find comfort in resting together, skin warm against skin, letting out content sighs like it’s the safest place in the world. Felix’s touch is never demanding — it’s gentle, patient, always full of love. And being held by him feels like being wrapped in sunshine: warm, soft, and a little bit magical.

KIM SEUNGMIN: Words of Affirmation & Acts of Service

• Seungmin might tease sometimes, but his words carry so much love when he wants you to know how deeply he cares. He has a quiet way of affirming everything you are — never over-the-top, but always honest and sincere. Whether it’s a softly murmured “You did great today,” or a dry but affectionate “Of course you handled it, you’re you,” he’ll never let you forget your worth. He notices the little things you do and makes sure you hear about them. And when you’re having a hard day, he knows just what to say to ground you — never cheesy, just real, and exactly what you need to hear. He’s the type to leave little notes on your desk before a test or message you out of nowhere just to say, “I’m proud of you.” He doesn’t drown you in words — but the ones he gives? They always hit straight to the heart.

• His love shows up in the way he quietly takes care of things, sometimes before you even realize they need to be done. If you mention needing to run errands, he’s already checking them off your list before you wake up. If you’re cold, there’s a hoodie being tossed at you with a casual, “Wear this, you’ll catch a cold.” When you’re tired, he’ll grumble about how you need to rest more, all while tucking a blanket around you and turning down the lights. He won’t make a big show of it — that’s not his style — but he’s always there, quietly and consistently, making life easier for you in the most thoughtful ways. His care isn’t loud, but it’s always there, woven into the background of your everyday life — constant, comforting, and full of love.

YANG JEONGIN: Physical Touch & Quality Time

• Jeongin may come off a little shy or playful at first, but when it comes to affection, he’s all in — especially through gentle touches. Whether it’s resting his chin on your shoulder from behind, playfully nudging you with his knee while you’re sitting together, or linking pinkies when you walk side by side, his body finds a way to stay connected to yours. He loves curling up next to you while watching something, slowly inching closer until he’s practically draped over you like a blanket. He might not always say how he feels out loud, but the way he pulls you in for a quiet hug after a long day says it all. Every touch is soft, deliberate, and comforting — like he’s silently saying, “I’m here. You’re safe.” Sometimes his members get a bit upset as they can never get close to the maknae without him complaining.

• For Jeongin, nothing beats just being with you. He doesn’t need grand plans — in fact, he prefers the quiet simplicity of your company. Whether you're out grabbing convenience store snacks, lying on the floor sharing earbuds, or just sitting together doing your own thing, every moment feels special to him when you're by his side. He'll drop everything for a movie night with you, and it's always him who gets excited planning the snack lineup or picking out a theme. When he’s busy with schedules or work, he’ll FaceTime you just to sit in silence together — not because he has anything to say, but because being near you, even virtually, helps him recharge. He treasures time with you like it’s the best part of his day, because to him, it is.

taglist: @vampzity @sooniedoongiedori25 @mhluvie @yaorzu-blog @lze325 @felixleftchickennugget @m-325 @lezleeferguson-120 @psychicyouthfox @pixie-felix

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