#and he cuts in always asking for you next

[sunsetmade]

Can you do a rafe x gf!reader where he's just been really distant and she tries to make him happy then he lashes out and calls her clingy and it makes her soooo sad and insecure and he feels so bad and makes it up to her the next day

Slipping Through

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Rafe had been distant lately.

And not in the casual, “just busy” kind of way. Not the kind of distant that came with late nights or long days. This was different. This was bone-deep, soul-quiet kind of distant. Cold in a way that made her shiver even when he was sitting right next to her. The air around him had shifted—grown heavier, sharper—until it filled every room they shared with something unspoken and stifling.

He’d been quieter. Shorter. His texts less frequent, his touches more fleeting. He stared at his phone like it held more answers than she ever could, disappearing without warning and returning without explanation. And when he was around, he wasn’t really there. His body was in the room, sure—but his mind? His eyes? They were somewhere far away, and she didn’t know how to follow.

At first, she tried not to overthink it. Rafe carried a lot—expectations from Ward, the weight of the Cameron name, and whatever war raged inside his own head. He wasn’t the best at handling it, never had been. She told herself it would pass, that he just needed space. Time. Quiet. But the more days slipped by like this, the more she felt herself shrinking, folding in on herself, reaching for pieces of him that kept slipping through her fingers.

She missed him.

Missed the curve of his mouth when he smirked at her like she was the only one who mattered. Missed the way he’d hook his pinky around hers when they walked through a crowd. Missed his hand on her knee when they watched movies—warm, possessive, grounding.

Missed being his peace.

So she tried to bring him back. Little by little.

She cleaned his apartment—wiped down every surface, folded his laundry, even scrubbed the stovetop he always forgot about. She picked up his favorite snacks without asking, tucked his favorite gum into the console of his truck so he’d find it the next time he got in. She wore the hoodie he loved—soft and slouchy and sliding off one shoulder—and showed up with a coffee in hand, made just how he liked it. She didn’t push. She didn’t beg. She just… tried.

And tonight, she cooked.

Steak and mashed potatoes, buttery and rich and made with the kind of care you could taste. She lit candles even though she felt a little silly doing it. Put on music—nothing too much, just soft background hums to fill the silence she hated so much. She didn’t let herself hope too hard, but her heart still fluttered in her chest like it hadn’t gotten the memo to be cautious.

He was late.

Thirty minutes, then forty.

She kept the food warm and tried to keep her hands from wringing. By the time the door opened, the candles had burned low and the music was looping for the second time.

Rafe stepped inside, rubbing a hand over his face like he was already exhausted. His eyes flicked toward the table, but he didn’t react. No smile. No acknowledgment of the effort. Just a tired, annoyed breath.

“Didn’t know we were doing some big thing tonight.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “It’s not a big thing. I just… I thought you had a rough week, and I wanted to do something nice. That’s all.”

He didn’t sit. Didn’t take off his jacket. Just stood near the island, shoulders tense, eyes darting toward the floor.

“I’ve got a lot on my plate right now, okay?” His tone was clipped, edged with something sharp.

“I know. That’s why I—”

“Yeah, I got it,” he snapped, cutting her off. “You’re always trying to do something. Always right there, up under me, hovering like I’m gonna fall apart if you’re not holding my damn hand.”

Her breath caught.

He wasn’t yelling, but the words hit like a shout. Her stomach turned.

“It’s just too much,” he muttered, not even looking at her.

Too much.

The words echoed in her head like a bell, loud and hollow and final. Her lips parted, but nothing came out. She stood frozen in the soft glow of the candles, surrounded by a meal gone cold and silence gone sharp.

“I was just trying to help,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Rafe let out a bitter sigh, like she was the burden. “Sometimes it feels like you’re just… clingy, you know? Like I can’t even think with you always needing something from me.”

Clingy.

It landed in her chest like a stone.

She didn’t cry. Not yet. But something inside her pulled taut, like a thread stretched too far. She felt it—that aching shift from warmth to shame. Her heart had been so full of hope, and now it just hurt.

She nodded.

Once.

Then again, slower.

Again, like it was the only thing she knew how to do.

He watched her, some of the tension starting to drain from his posture, but it was too late. The words were already out. The damage already done.

Her voice, when it came again, was flat. Hollow. “I should go.”

She didn’t meet his eyes. Didn’t ask if he wanted her to stay. She just turned away, hands moving on their own as she gathered her things. The hoodie he loved. Her keys. Her purse. The quiet clink of silverware as she brushed past the table was the only sound in the room.

“I didn’t mean to overwhelm you,” she added, softer now. Like maybe she could still take up less space.

She didn’t wait for him to answer.

The front door clicked shut behind her.

⸻

The next day, the silence was deafening.

No “good morning” text waiting on his phone.

No heart emojis.

No blurry snapshots of her coffee mug sitting beside one of his hoodies.

Nothing.

Rafe unlocked his phone before he even sat up in bed, thumb hovering over her name in his messages. The thread was right where he left it—her last message a heart-eyed emoji she���d sent the day before, after she told him she was making his favorite for dinner.

He hadn’t responded.

He stared at it for a beat too long before switching apps. Instagram. No story updates. No little circle around her profile picture. He refreshed once, then again, as if that would magically change something.

It didn’t.

And maybe—maybe—he should’ve felt relieved. After all, wasn’t this what he said he wanted? Space? Quiet? No constant check-ins. No sticky notes on his dashboard reminding him to eat lunch. No texts at 2 a.m. asking if he made it home okay. No sweet little nudges that said I’m thinking about you, even when he didn’t deserve them.

But he didn’t feel relieved.

He felt empty.

Worse—he felt wrong. Like something inside him had been ripped loose, and now the space it left behind was echoing.

His stomach twisted as her face came back to him in sharp, unwanted clarity—eyes wide with hurt, mouth parted in shock, that slow, stunned nod that said okay even though her heart was breaking. She hadn’t fought back. Hadn’t yelled. She just… shrunk, like he’d drained the light out of her.

And he had.

Rafe raked a hand through his hair, jaw clenching hard. He hadn’t meant it like that. God, he hadn’t meant it at all. He was just overwhelmed—Ward had been on his back about everything lately, snapping at every little thing. The pressure in his chest hadn’t let up for weeks. He felt like he was one wrong move away from collapsing.

But she hadn’t been part of the pressure. She was supposed to be the opposite. She had always been the calm after the storm, not the storm itself. Her love came soft and steady, with warm hands and sweet gestures and the kind of quiet devotion he didn’t know what to do with—but damn it, he needed it. Even if he pretended he didn’t.

And what did he do with that softness?

He crushed it.

He snapped at her. Brushed off her care like it was a burden. Called her clingy—clingy, like she hadn’t been the only thing keeping him from drowning most days.

And now she was silent.

Rafe couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t think straight. The walls of his room felt like they were closing in on him, so he grabbed his keys and left without a plan. His truck roared to life, and before he knew it, he was halfway across town, hands tight on the wheel, knuckles white.

He didn’t even think about where he was going—his instincts were stronger than his guilt.

And then he was there.

Her place.

The street was quiet, sunlight filtering through the trees in soft golden patches, as if the world didn’t know he was on the verge of unraveling. He parked across the street, heart beating like a war drum. He didn’t know if she’d be home. Didn’t know if she’d want to see him if she was.

But then he saw her.

Through the window.

Curled up on the couch, knees drawn up beneath her, arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to hold in all the pieces. She was wearing a hoodie—not his—and staring off into space like whatever show was playing barely registered. Her face looked… blank. Not angry. Not crying anymore. Just tired in a way that scared him.

Because he did that.

He made her retreat into herself. Pulled the light right out of her.

He sat there for a second longer, hands gripping the steering wheel. Then he got out of the truck.

Walked up the steps.

And knocked.

The door opened after a long pause.

She stood there, backlit by the soft glow of a nearby lamp, dressed in sleep shorts and socks. Her arms were crossed protectively over her stomach like she was holding herself together from the inside out. And she looked… smaller. Not physically—but emotionally.

Her cheeks were flushed, not from warmth, but from crying. Her eyes were glossy, tired, rimmed with the kind of red that came from quiet sobs and too much thinking. But even so, they were blank. Not angry. Not resentful. Just… tired.

Rafe’s breath caught.

“Hey,” he said softly, voice unusually tentative, like he wasn’t sure he deserved to be speaking to her at all.

She didn’t respond.

No smile. No questions. Just a step back, wordless, allowing him in with the smallest motion of her head.

He hesitated in the doorway, guilt sitting heavy in his chest like lead. The silence between them wasn’t sharp—it was hollow. Like everything warm had been scooped out and replaced with nothing at all. He watched her retreat back to the couch, small and quiet as she tucked her legs up beneath her and wrapped her arms around her knees.

She didn’t look at him.

Didn’t ask why he came.

Didn’t try to fill the silence.

And somehow, that silence hurt more than if she’d screamed.

Rafe shut the door gently behind him. The soft click echoed through the room.

“I messed up,” he said, his voice rougher this time.

She nodded once, but it was slow. Empty. Like her body was on autopilot, giving him the bare minimum.

“Like—really messed up,” he added quickly, desperate for her to hear the weight behind it.

Another nod.

Still no words.

His stomach twisted.

She wasn’t shutting him out—she wasn’t even guarded. She was just… absent. Disconnected in a way that made his skin crawl. Like she’d already started building a wall to protect herself from him, brick by painful brick.

“Baby,” he said, voice cracking as he crossed the room. He knelt in front of her, his hands bracing the edge of the couch cushion like he needed the anchor. “I didn’t mean that shit. I swear, I didn’t. I was stressed and pissed off and I took it out on you, and that’s—God, that’s on me. That’s all on me.”

She didn’t pull away.

But she didn’t lean in either.

When she finally spoke, her voice was soft. Small. Like she was trying not to cry again. “You called me clingy.”

Rafe flinched like she’d struck him. His jaw tightened. “I know. I shouldn’t have. That was—fuck—it was cruel. And wrong. You’re not clingy. You’re good—too good to me. You care. You love me in a way I don’t even know how to deserve yet, and I threw it in your face.”

Her eyes finally lifted to meet his.

They were wet, but not spilling over. Rimmed in hurt. Dim in a way he had never seen on her before.

“I didn’t know I was too much for you,” she whispered. “I just wanted to make you happy.”

“You do,” he said instantly, leaning closer. “You make me so fucking happy. You’re the only thing that feels good when everything else is chaos. I’ve just… I’ve been stuck in my own head. And instead of leaning on you like I should’ve, I pushed you away.”

She looked down at her lap, fingers fidgeting with the sleeves of her hoodie—twisting the fabric like she needed something to hold onto.

“I kept trying to be enough for you,” she said, barely audible. “Trying to make everything perfect. I thought if I just did more… if I loved you harder… you’d come back. You wouldn’t feel so far away.”

Rafe’s heart cracked wide open. His throat tightened, the air catching somewhere between apology and regret. He reached for her hand slowly—gently—and when she didn’t pull away, he wrapped his fingers around hers, thumb brushing across the back of her hand.

“I’m already yours,” she said after a moment, voice so quiet it barely reached him. “You didn’t have to shove me away to get space. You could’ve just told me.”

He swallowed hard, staring at her hand in his, overwhelmed by how fragile it felt—like she might let go at any second.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to fight for a place in my life,” he murmured. “You already have one. You always have. I just… I get in my own way. I let everything pile up and instead of talking to you, I shut down. And you paid for it.”

She finally looked at him—really looked. And it wrecked him.

Her eyes were glassy, rimmed with unshed tears, but they didn’t fall. There was no dramatic outburst. No trembling lower lip. Just that quiet kind of heartbreak that lives in the silence between people who love each other deeply but are still learning how to handle it.

“Why did you say it?” she asked softly, her voice a careful whisper, like she was afraid the answer might hurt more than the question.

Rafe let out a slow, unsteady breath. It was the kind of question that cracked something open in him.

“Because I was scared,” he admitted, voice rough with guilt. “Everything’s been piling up—my dad, expectations, all of it—and I’ve been drowning. And instead of reaching for you—the one person who actually makes me feel like I can breathe—I pushed you away.”

He swallowed hard. His voice lowered. “I guess… I thought if I let you get too close, if you saw all the cracks, all the mess, I’d fall apart in front of you. And I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

She was quiet for a moment. Then her gaze softened, something raw and honest settling into her expression. “You already have fallen apart in front of me,” she whispered. “And I stayed.”

The words hit him square in the chest, almost knocking the breath out of him.

Rafe’s throat tightened, eyes burning. “And I’ll never forget that. I swear to God, I’ll never take that for granted again.”

He shifted closer until he was kneeling at the edge of the couch again, then leaned forward, resting his head gently against her knee like he was surrendering—like he was placing his heart there and asking her to take him back.

“I miss you,” he murmured. “I missed you even when you were standing right in front of me last night. You were trying so hard to love me, and I was too far in my own shit to appreciate it. To appreciate you.”

Her fingers twitched in her lap, like she was debating whether or not to reach for him. Slowly—hesitantly—she brought her hand to his hair, fingertips brushing through it. Testing the waters.

When he leaned into her touch, eyes fluttering shut, something in her chest loosened.

“You make me feel safe, Rafe,” she said quietly. “Even when you don’t know what you’re doing. Even when you’re a mess. But last night…” She trailed off, breath hitching faintly. “Last night, I didn’t feel safe. I felt like I was annoying you just by existing. Like being near you was the last thing you wanted.”

Rafe flinched like her words physically hurt. He lifted his head, eyes red and glassy now too, and looked up at her like she was the only thing anchoring him to this earth.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “I hate that I made you feel that way. I hate myself for it.”

Her brows pulled together, the tiniest crease forming. “Don’t say that.”

“I mean it,” he said, his voice raw. “But if you don’t want me to, then… let me show you. Let me show you how much I regret it. How much I love you.”

There was a long pause. Not because she was unsure—but because she needed a second. A moment to let his words settle, to let her heart steady itself.

Then, finally, she nodded.

Not dramatic. Not rushed.

Just a soft, slow movement that felt like hope.

“You’re already trying,” she said quietly.

Rafe rose to his feet, hands reaching for her with reverence. He pulled her up into his arms and held her like something precious. Like something fragile that he’d nearly shattered.

Her cheek pressed to his chest, and she let herself melt into him with a shaky breath, clinging just a little tighter than usual.

And this time—he didn’t pull away.

He cradled her like she was home.

“I love you,” he murmured into her hair, voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t say it last night. I should have. I love you so much it scares me.”

She tilted her face up to look at him, her lips trembling with the ghost of a smile. “Even if I’m clingy?”

He gave a soft, breathy laugh, pressing a kiss to her forehead. His arms tightened around her like he’d never let go again.

“You’re not clingy,” he whispered. “You’re mine.”

⸻

The next day, he showed up at her door just after noon—nervous, fidgety, and holding far more than just an apology.

In one arm, he cradled a bouquet of her favorite flowers—sun-warmed peonies and blush-pink ranunculus, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a navy ribbon. In the other, a canvas tote bag stuffed full with comfort: her favorite snacks (the obscure chocolate bars she loved, the salty chips he used to tease her for), a mason jar of homemade sweet tea, and a hoodie—soft, oversized, the color of a summer sky, with his name stitched in white thread along the sleeve like a promise.

She opened the door slowly, brows lifting in surprise.

“I know flowers won’t fix it,” he said, offering a tentative smile. “But I wanted to start somewhere.”

He handed over the tote bag, brushing her fingers with his own. “There’s something inside,” he added, voice lower now. “Something… I needed you to read.”

Tucked between the folded hoodie and a sleeve of cookies was a note. Not typed. Not copied and pasted from something impersonal. This was handwritten—slightly messy, the ink smudged in the corner like maybe he’d hesitated halfway through.

It read:

You’re not too much. You’ve always been exactly what I needed—even when I didn’t deserve you. Thank you for loving me anyway. I promise I’ll love you better now.

- R. C

Her fingers trembled slightly as she folded the note back up, eyes wet but clear. She didn’t say much—just reached out and hugged him. No words. Just arms around his waist, cheek pressed to his chest, and a soft, shaky breath that told him she believed him.

And after that, he made good on every word.

He showed up—not just once, but every day after. Not with grand gestures, but with quiet consistency.

He took up space on her couch, close enough to touch. Sat beside her while she worked, brushing his knee against hers every now and then just to feel her there. He rubbed gentle circles into her back when she couldn’t sleep and rested his hand on her thigh like it was instinct, like she was home.

He kissed her forehead when she was stressed. Her knuckles when she doubted herself. Her shoulders when she curled in on herself, too unsure to speak.

He took pictures of her when she wasn’t looking—curled up with a book, dancing barefoot in the kitchen, laughing at something dumb he said—and made them his lock screen, his wallpaper, his everything.

And when she got quiet—too quiet—he didn’t pull away anymore. He held her tighter. Kissed her temple. Told her she didn’t have to say anything for him to understand her.

Because he did.

She wasn’t too much. She never was.

She was soft. And steady. And his.

And he would never let his own chaos drown her again.

Not when she had saved him from it more times than he could count.

[edenesth]

Do You Have Your Calvins On?

Pairing: boyfriend!Mingi x girlfriend!reader

AU: non-idol au

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: He was ready to be your personal Calvin Klein model. You just wanted snacks and anime. But when loyalty points turn into loyalty tests, it's clear—things aren't always as brief as they seem.

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

"Babe, have you seen my—"

Mingi smirked, finally catching your attention as you stepped into the room, ready to grab your things before settling in for your weekend anime marathon. What you weren't expecting, though, was the sight of your clown of a boyfriend sprawled dramatically across the bed—posing like the star of a Calvin Klein campaign. The lower half of his shirt was unbuttoned, the waistband of his CK briefs proudly on display, abs subtly flexed as he struck his best model look.

He lay there, smug and eager, watching your expression. Surely this would blow your mind. Work had been brutal lately, and he hardly got to spend time with you, just brief moments half-asleep beside each other before you were up and gone again.

This weekend, he wanted your full, undivided attention. And what better way to grab it than by flaunting his new set of Calvin Kleins… and the results of those extra hours he'd been putting in at the gym?

He held his breath, waiting for your reaction.

"Get up," you said flatly, letting out a tired sigh as you walked over.

"Why?" he asked, arching a brow with a mischievous grin. "You wanna—"

You cut him off with a smack to the side, unable to hide the twitch of amusement pulling at your lips as he yelped dramatically. Leaning over him, you grabbed the item you'd been searching for—your hair clip, wedged just under his back by the pillows.

"You're laying on my hair clip, you fool," you deadpanned, clipping your hair up as you turned and casually left the room.

The man sat there on the bed, completely stunned, eyes fixed on your retreating figure.

Did you… not notice?

Your boyfriend remained on the bed, refusing to believe you weren't going to come running back into his arms. Not when he looked like this. There was no way. So he pouted, got right back into his pose, and gave you another chance.

But you never came.

Instead, he heard the unmistakable sound of the TV turning on in the living room… followed by the opening theme of The Apothecary Diaries Season 2.

Was he… losing to fictional men?

He scoffed. No way. Maybe you hadn't gotten a good enough look. Yeah, that must be it. Maybe your glance had been too quick, too distracted. Determined, he got up and strutted out into the living room, only to find you already curled up comfortably on the couch, wrapped in blankets like a cosy burrito, clutching his chick plush to your chest. Eyes glued to the screen. No acknowledgement.

He stood there in disbelief. Why would you need the damn plush when the real thing is literally right here?

Come on, Mingi. Be cool. You know you're her number one.

Feigning casual confidence, he reminded himself that no number of 2D men or adorable stuffed animals could ever replace this. That's right. With a subtle air of swagger, he sat down next to you, slouched into what he imagined was a very natural, very sexy position—abs slightly flexed, briefs peeking just enough, like some kind of lazy Adonis.

You glanced at him once. Briefly. Then held out your bag of snacks.

He blinked. Did she really just—

You offered no further comment, simply resumed watching, completely absorbed in the show. He declined the snacks with a shake of his head, slightly offended, but you just shrugged and pulled the bag closer to yourself.

Mingi tried watching the anime with you—really, he did—but how could he focus when your blanket and plush were occupying the spaces he was meant to fill? He glared at the chick plush like it had personally wronged him.

Clearing his throat, he leaned just a little closer and flexed his abs with practised ease. "You cold, baby?" he asked, his voice low and oh-so-casual. "Come here, it's warm."

You turned, offered him a sweet, appreciative smile. "Love you, Mangi. But I'm too lazy to move."

Too… lazy?

Why weren't you breaking your ankles running into his arms right now? Was he losing it? Had he peaked? He looked down at himself. Nah. He looked amazing. Even his friends had said CK would make him ambassador if he were famous. And yet… his girlfriend hadn't even spared him a second glance.

He sank deeper into the couch, sulking as his eyes drifted to the screen, just in time to see Jinshi struggling to win Maomao's attention. He frowned. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath, "is this how it feels?"

Mingi sulked for the better part of the day.

Eventually, he gave up on his antics and settled beside you, letting the anime marathon run its course. Somewhere between episodes, you shifted closer to him, head dipping in his direction, and he took that as his cue to scoot in. Your warmth pressed gently into his side, and to his surprise, he found himself smiling.

Nothing wild. No grand gestures. Just you, him, a shared blanket, and a few fictional characters running around solving medical mysteries in ancient China. And that was enough.

When he glanced down at you and noticed the faint dark circles under your eyes, guilt poked at him. He hadn't even considered whether you were in the mood for his nonsense. You'd had a long week. Hell, he was tired too.

Maybe this quiet kind of intimacy wasn't so bad.

By the time the credits rolled on the final episode, he had completely dropped the act. He gently pressed a kiss to your temple and tugged the chick plush from your grasp with all the stealth of a cartoon villain, replacing it with himself. You let him, arms wrapping around his torso without protest, cheek pressed to his chest.

Victory.

A smug little smirk tugged at his lips as he leaned back with you tucked against him. This… this was even better than what he'd imagined.

It wasn't until you both got up later to get ready for dinner that you noticed something odd: a sleek, unopened Calvin Klein box tucked neatly in the corner of his wardrobe. It looked… expensive. Not the kind of packaging you'd expect from a casual impulse buy.

You stepped closer, eyeing the box. It looked too pristine, too curated. Almost like… a gift?

But from who?

It wasn't his birthday, nor had there been any recent celebrations. And he wasn't exactly desperate for new underwear—at least, not that you knew of. Brow furrowing, you cracked open the box and spotted something tucked inside.

A card.

Curious, you slid it out. Your heart stuttered at the words written in clean print:

'Dear Mingi, do you have your Calvins on?'

Your jaw dropped.

What the hell—

You shoved the card back in the box like it burned, turning on your heel and marching straight to the bathroom, only to find your boyfriend shirtless, freshly cleaned and glowing with that post-shower confidence. The Calvin Kleins, of course, were still very much on display.

He turned, catching your reflection in the mirror. "Baby? What is it?"

You scoffed. "You've been working out?"

His eyes lit up like a child at Christmas. "Finally," he whispered under his breath, spinning around like he was about to pounce.

But you stopped him cold, holding up the box like it was evidence in court. "For who?" you asked, suspiciously calm.

He blinked, caught off guard. "For… you? Duh?"

You narrowed your eyes and shook the box lightly. "Don't lie. I know you didn't buy this yourself. So who gave it to you?"

Mingi looked utterly confused. "Babe… it's just Calvin Klein…"

You stared him down like he'd grown a second head. "Just Calvin Klein? Are you seriously telling me people are out here randomly gifting you luxury underwear for fun?"

Looking sheepish now, he raised a hand. "Okay, okay, not for no reason. I mean—do you know how many loyalty points I had to collect to get that gift? CK doesn't hand this stuff out like candy, babe. That's an earned gift."

You stared, processing, then slowly pulled the note out again, taking a better look this time. There it was. Small but clear, at the bottom of the card:

'x Your Friends at Calvin Klein.'

You stared at the signature, then at him. You felt like a clown.

His face slowly morphed into a full-blown grin, piecing it all together. This was what it took? A misunderstanding and a loyalty reward?

After everything he did today, all the sulking, the posing, the internal monologues about fictional competition—this was what finally made you crack?

He couldn't be happier.

You were still clutching the Calvin Klein box like it had personally betrayed you when Mingi stepped toward you, arms outstretched and that signature smirk playing at his lips.

"So," he drawled, tilting his head, "you do care about me after all?"

You tried to roll your eyes, but he looked way too smug. And unfortunately, also way too good.

"I've been trying to get your attention all day," he said with exaggerated hurt, gesturing vaguely to himself—to his abs, the briefs, the effort. "I thought you didn't even notice any of this."

You bit your lip without meaning to. His arms were still open, expectant. You stepped closer. And like a magnet, he pulled you right in, wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you flush against him. His skin was warm and damp from the shower, his abs pressing perfectly against your front as you leaned in.

"Of course I noticed," you murmured, resting your hands against his bare chest. "I noticed the second I walked in. How could I not? You've been walking around here looking like a damn ad."

He raised a brow, delighted. "So why didn't you say anything?"

You sighed, shoulders slumping slightly. "Because I was distracted… I had a lot on my mind from work, and I guess I felt guilty for not giving you the attention you wanted, and then I saw the note and panicked and—"

You rambled, the words falling out like an unravelling ribbon.

"You're always the handsomest to me, Mingi. Always. Like, painfully attractive. I guess I just assumed you knew that already, and I didn't think I had to say it out loud, but now I feel like an idiot because—"

His grin stretched wider and wider with every word, eyes sparkling with so much fondness it made your cheeks burn.

"And—and also maybe I got a little jealous, because what if someone did send you those and they were trying to—"

He didn't let you finish.

Mingi leaned in and captured your lips with his, effectively shutting down your spiral with a kiss that was all warmth and mischief and just the tiniest bit of relief. You melted instantly, fingers curling against his skin as you kissed him back.

When he finally pulled away, breathless and grinning, he murmured against your lips, "You really think I'd wear fancy underwear for anyone else but you?"

You laughed, hiding your face in his neck. "Point taken."

"And for the record," he added, holding you a little tighter, "you can tell me I'm hot more often. I don't mind."

"Oh, I know you don't," you teased, poking at his side. "You live for it."

"You love it too," he grinned, leaning in to kiss you again—and this time, you didn't hold back. He pulled away just enough to hover, his breath warm against your lips as he murmured, "So… are we still going out for dinner, my queen?"

You bit your lip, cheeks flushed, and gave a small shake of your head. "I… think we're good right here."

Safe to say, dinner plans were officially off the table—no need for food when he was far too busy devouring you instead.

Sighs... just look at the damn CK pics. Need I say more? I wouldn't be edenesth if I didn't write anything after seeing them HAHA this and his fREAKING SOLO SONG ON THE NEW ALBUM WOOFWOOF hope y'all liked this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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[emslittlelibrary]

⭑ vampire sylus distracts you. ⭑

⭑ when sylus saves you from a vampire attack, you ask him to distract you from the pain. the way he decides to distract you is—interesting, but definitely distracting. ౨ৎ

⭑ content warnings: 18+! lowercase intended. contemporary sylus. vampire sylus. glasses + mullet sylus. soft sylus. sylus with high blood tolerance. squeamish human reader. established friendship. pet name (sweetie). descriptions of blood + gore from vampire bites. making out. wc: 2.5k. song mention: is it really you? loathe.

⭑ a note from 乇m! ⭑ i don’t know why sylus has glasses even though he’s a vampire with enhanced eyesight either. he’s hot, that’s it. that’s the reason. thank you for reading! ౨ৎ

the teeth marks scarring your inner thigh wouldn’t stop burning. there was only so much you could do. there was only so much sylus could do, too.

the vampire found you on an evening jog through the park nearest to your place. dimly lit by candle wax moonlight and gold fireflies, it was easy for you to trip on a dark branch jutting up from the soil. the blood-stained scrape on your knee must’ve enticed her immediately—but luckily, it lured sylus’s attention, too.

any vampire could distinguish human blood from animal blood, he once told you. it was a scent that traveled further, that seeped and brewed in the pit of any vampire’s appetite instead of simmering on the surface. he had always said that your blood, in particular, smelled dizzy and sweet and impossibly warm, like honey and wine and cherry-flavored star dye. it’s no wonder he knew it was you who needed his help.

he showed up mere moments after she had her first taste of you—when she had already pinned you to the dirt trail, slithering her tongue up the sticky burst of blood trickling down your knee before sneaking past your tennis skirt to sink her fangs into your inner thigh. in a flicker of a moment, that flashed past you like lightning, he had already severed the vampire from your flesh, stunned her with a jagged tree limb through the chest, and whisked you away, slipping into your bedroom through your balcony window—all before you knew it was him.

“sylus,” you said his name through a strangled breath. “god, it hurts.”

“i know, sweetie,” he whispered back to you.

he set you down on the bed, then flicked on your bedside lamp, so cozy golden lighting could pour into the room. but the sight of the blood gutting your knee cut your already-short, flimsy breaths into frenzied pants. not only did it stain your strawberry pink bedsheets in dark red brushstrokes, but when your eyes trickled up your leg, you also caught sight of the corrosive red fang pricks puncturing the flush of your inner thigh. it pulsed, polluting your veins dark, poison black, like it was feeding off your heartbeat. you were going to pass out.

“hey,” he redirected your attention, “hey. i’m here. i know it hurts, but i’m here. i’ll make it all go away.”

he kneeled into the mattress, approaching you slowly. but it was hard for you to lie still. how could you when black, molten heat melted around your bones, with blood stains on your pretty bed, when you knew exactly what he had to do to stop the venom from stealing your last breath?

you were restless—gripping hard into the covers, rutting your heels against the bedsheets. he reached for your leg with a gentle press of his fingertips into the pit of your ankle, in an effort to relax you.

this was so distressing for him. you knew it by the way he roughed his fingers through his hair, and pinched and pulled at the silver chain gleaming from his neck, and wouldn't stop fidgeting with his glasses.

“c’mon.” he pulled you a bit closer. “please, c’mon,” he coaxed again.

he scraped his fangs into his wrist, nicking the skin until it leaked black blood, dark as liquid nightfall. your eyes glazed over, syrupy and bright with tears when he slipped his hand behind your head to draw you closer.

you gasped into your next hollow breath. “fuck, i don’t wanna do it."

“i wish you didn’t have to either. but it’ll all be okay once you do. you know that."

you sniffled, briefly glancing down at the blood stains on his wrist.

“hold onto me,” he said, guiding your fingers around his tense forearm, “close your eyes, too, sweetie. you can do it."

you attemped a steady breath, then shut your fluttering eyes. he pulled you in, slow but sure, until his dark blood pricked the tip of your tongue. if it weren’t for his firm grip on the back of your head, you would’ve flinched back—but instead, his blood hissed down the back of your throat, hot and piercing like a sharp sting, and slithered all the way down to the pit of your stomach.

when he finally released you, you could barely find your next breath.

“lie back down, it’s okay,” he was already whispering, hooking his arm around your waist to help you lean back into your bedsheets.

you clamped your hand over your mouth, stifiling the immediate urge to gag. it was impossible for you to stop thinking about how his black blood coursed through you, searching for the nearest vein in order to chase after the venom in your bloodstream. the mere idea of it, and the itchy patch of blood still splattered on your knee, left you with a blubbering mess of a heartbeat.

he kneeled over you until you settled onto your back. but as soon as he tried to pull away, you grasped for his shirt, reeling him closer again.

“distract me,” you said to him, “take my mind off it, please. it’s driving me crazy."

he stared down at you, silently, for a torturous moment. his eyes trickled down to your knee, then back up to the fang scars in your thigh, breathing slightly heavier than before.

then, “knock knock,” he said.

“who’s there?"

he paused, distracted by the flush of your throat where your pulse fluttered quick and pretty like butterfly wings.

you pushed him softly, and asked again, “who’s there?"

“i’m still thinking, i-i don’t know."

you shoved him again, saying his name like a threat. “sylus, you have to think of something. anything."

a nip of electric tension dripped down your leg, then gnawed into your inner thigh until it fell numb. his blood had found the source of the venom, and would sip away at you until it flushed out of your system, even if it meant draining you in the process. you winced when the pain tunneled deeper, clutching your hands over his broad shoulders to brace it.

“please,” you whispered, “please, it’s starting."

he rested his hands over yours, kneading his thumbs over your knuckles. the pain you felt couldn’t have been any easier to bare in comparison to the ache lurking deep within his chest at the sight of you like this. his eyes kept retreating to the site of the bite, painfully aware of the condition you were in. worry sharpened his brows as he watched you toss and turn beneath him, rendered frightened and helpless.

then, he released your wrists. and, just as suddenly, he bowed over you, nearing so close that his bottom lip grazed the shell of your ear.

his sudden proximity paralyzed you, so acutely that your heart may have skipped its next few beats. he was close enough for you to feel his silver chain ice the very surface of your skin, for you to breathe in his crisp scent of dusk and tart cherries with each passing second.

his shallow breaths fanned your throat, fast but delicate, too. the tip of his nose traced your jawline, then inched down to the slope of your neck, thrilling your skin with goosebumps. trickling heat seeped through your chest—fuck, you knew he was just your friend, and he wouldn’t be doing this under any other circumstances, but your body was already far too responsive, despite your awareness of the fact that he would notice every shudder down your spine and each eager twitch of your heartrate.

before you could expect it, he pressed the first kiss into your neck. then another, softer than the one that came before it. he released a fragile sigh, on the brink of shattering. it fluttered down to your collarbones, tickling you with a shiver.

when he kissed you again, you rutted your fingers into his shirt, pulling him tight and close.

“what are you doing?” you whispered.

“i . . .” he took his next breath carefully, smudging his lips into the pit of your throat as he did it. “i’m . . . improvising."

he landed one more kiss on your throat's most sensitive patch of skin, deeper, lasting longer than he may have intended it to.

“should i stop?” he asked.

“no, no,” you breathed out, so quickly that you almost felt lightheaded, “no, i . . . i think it’s working."

he didn’t hesitate after that. the very next time his mouth claimed your skin, he paired his velvet lips with the gentle caress of his tongue. a frail sigh parted your lips as your fingers twitched against his shoulders. you weren’t sure why you were enjoying this so much—maybe because you hadn’t been kissed like this in so long, or his blood infecting your veins was making you woozy—but either way, you were certainly distracted.

he tilted his head, drifting his lips along the coastline of your collarbones before pressing firm against the other side of your neck with a kiss led by his tongue. his mouth practically melted into your warm flesh, and he took his time, kissing soft and slow and again and again. his breaths thinned over time, disoriented, and always slightly out of rhythm. a moan that winded you slipped from your lips when he sucked gently at the nape of your neck. his hips shifted in response, quick like a reflex, followed closely by a starved breath.

“i just want you to feel good,” he confessed between a set of wet, lingering kisses, “do you feel good?"

you nodded, as your fluttering eyes slipped to the back of your head for an accidental moment.

“yeah,” you sighed sweetly. then again, “yeah, you’re making me feel good."

he flushed his mouth over your skin again, sighing into the next kiss. but then, within that same moment, a volt of pain singed the underbelly of your thigh, digging hard and deep until it boiled. you gripped his shoulders harder and arched against him with a rough groan.

he looked up at you then, but as soon as your eyes encountered his—fuck, the sight of him.

his eyes looked as heavy as a blood moon, traced over in deep, dark shades of lust. and you never knew his mouth could look this red, pretty and full like they had been pricked by rose thorns. you had seen this man readjust his glasses over a hundred times, but this time, when he pushed them up his nose by knuckling in between the frames, he looked the hottest you had ever seen him, so hot that it felt like a furnace burned bright within the depths of your stomach.

you forgot that he had something to say, pressing your mouth against his before he could.

he couldn’t deny the taste of you, accepting your kiss with a short gasp at first, that then lulled into a breathless grunt when you didn’t pull away. he cupped your chin, holding you like you were precious to him, but he still insisted his mouth against yours, convincing your honey-sweet lips to stay with the weight of his own.

“need more,” you sighed against his lips, “keep distracting me. please . . . need it."

those words earned you another one of his breathier moans, followed soon after by the nip of his teeth—one of his fangs, specifically—savoring the plush corner of your bottom lip. your hips stuttered against him immediately, seeking friction.

he reached for your leg and pushed slightly to press it into the soft sheets, holding it still and out of range so you wouldn’t scuff your thigh against him and unsettle the bite.

“careful, sweetie,” he whispered.

he kissed you again, with the delicate skim of his lips over yours. then, he pulled back briefly to slide his glasses off, passing them to your nearby nighstand. that, alone, nearly burst your heart at the seams.

when he returned to you, he smoothed his hand over the side of your neck, delving his fingers into the depths of your hair as he pressed his thumb against your jaw, leveraging your lips apart for him. you received his kiss with a disoriented sigh and the needy buck of your hips. his fingers would grip into your knee, like he was nearing the edge of his restraint, before he soothed your dainty flesh by kneading his thumb into you with affectionate circles. it dizzied you, how well he doted on you.

one of his deeper groans rumbled through you when his tongue seeped through the seam of your lips. you shivered, with another accidental rock of your hips—fuck, you couldn’t even control yourself.

“s-sorry,” you whispered.

he soothed your bottom lip with his tongue, then kissed you again, tender and slow.

“don’t be,” he said, before sampling you again like fresh pink fruit, “i’m having a hard time holding back, too."

your heart refused to calm down, feverish with jittery pulses and shivers. the only way you could think to satiate it was by kissing him harder. you drew him in closer, cuffing your hands over the back of his neck until his lips flustered yours again.

he tilted his head to anchor his mouth to yours, leaving you rapt with kiss after kiss after kiss, each one lingering longer, hungrier and fuller than the last. you parted his lips with your tongue, deepening the kiss with restless tosses and turns of your lips.

“so soft,” he whined through a wet, sugary rasp, “so warm."

you whimpered his name, just before his ripe, lush mouth had you all over again. his kisses adored you, cherished you, from candy-coated pecks between your top and bottom lip, to gentle sucks of your tongue, to the occasional clash of his fangs against your dull pearly teeth.

when his mouth returned to your neck, this time sneaking his fingers beneath your tank top to smooth his hand over your stomach, your eyes fluttered to the back of your head again—from pleasure, at first, but then a prickling sensation dizzied you.

for the first time in a while, you paid attention to the pain in your leg, that had since eroded into a numb ache. the toll the venom was taking on your body was finally catching up to you, luring you closer and closer to exhaustion.

you gasped within the exact moment one of his fangs scuffed the crux of your throat. your grip on his shirt weakened, and it was getting harder and harder for you to fight against your heavy eyelids.

“sylus . . ." you sighed.

“i know,” he mumbled against your skin, “i know, sweetie, just fall asleep. you’ll feel better when you wake up."

“just . . . just don’t leave. please. stay,” you managed.

“i‘m here. i’ll always be here."

“thank you,” you whispered. and again, “thank you, sylus."

he pressed one last kiss over the corner of your mouth, soft and impossibly sweet, just before you surrendered to the pull of exhaustion begging you to rest.

that kiss was your last memory of the night.

ꪆৎ⭑ 乇m’s masterlist! in case you’re interested in my other works!

— © 2025. 乇m! all rights reserved. ꪆৎ

[lacedbykami]

Hi! May I request a Saja boy(Baby Saja) x fem reader? (Gender neutral works too!) you’re apart of huntrix and have a secret relationship with Baby Saja and one night they go to a rooftop before idol awards(cus we know what happens then) and talk about what’s to come, what he needs to do, etc before falling asleep in each others arms? It’s fluff with a tiny drop of angst

authors note: thank you for requesting! (I hope this is good I'm not too familiar with all of the saja boys's characters yet) + kinda didn't proof read much

𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐅𝐓𝐎𝐏 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 (baby saja x reader)

including: secret relationships, forbidden romance, enemies-to-lovers-ish, hidden identities, reader is in Huntrix, Baby Saja x reader, mentions of demon-hunting, rooftop rendezvous, emotional vulnerability, sarcastic Baby Saja, soft angst, post-practice tension ⤷synopsis: You weren’t supposed to fall for someone like him. Not when the cameras were always watching. Not when you were a rising star in Huntrix and he was a member of Baby Saja. Not when your job was to help turn the honmoon golden—which meant ending the Saja boys. But you did. And on the eve of the idol awards, you find yourself risking everything for one more night with him.

The fluorescent lights of the practice room buzzed overhead, casting a sterile glow on your sweat-slicked skin. You'd just finished running through the opening routine for the third time that night, and your legs were screaming. The floor was scattered with water bottles and choreography notes, the smell of muscle rub clinging to the air like fog.

You were sitting cross-legged against the mirror, thumbing through your messages when your phone vibrated.

🦁: rooftop?

Your heart jolted in your chest. You didn’t need to ask which one. The rooftop. The one behind the old studio building, where no one ever went. The one where it all began.

Just as you tapped out your reply—

"Ooooh who are you texting, Y/N?" Zoey's voice practically sang as she dropped onto the floor next to you. Mira followed close behind, towel slung around her neck, eyebrows raised. You locked your phone immediately, flipping it over. "Nobody. Just… checking the time."

"Mmhmm." Mira narrowed her eyes playfully. "Is 'Nobody' the one who sent that lion emoji?"

Your blood turned to ice.

"I saw it pop up," Zoey teased, flopping over your lap dramatically. "Y/N, are you seeing someone? Spill!"

"No! No, it’s not like that."

Mira leaned in with mock seriousness. "Y/N, you know we can’t afford distractions right now. Not with the honeymoon about to be turned. We’re going to slay demons—literal demons."

You nodded quickly, feigning casual. "Right. Of course. I’m focused."

Zoey rolled onto her back, sighing dramatically. "Still can’t believe I have to kill Mystery. He’s so hot. That jawline could cut glass."

Mira smacked her with a water bottle. "Focus, Z. He’s a demon. We kill demons. We can flirt after the mission." You laughed along, but your chest was tight. The thought of having to kill baby? To be separated? It ate you alive inside. You simply hoped it wasn't showing on the outside as well.

Ten minutes later, after you were "asleep" in the dorm, you slipped out. The rooftop air was cooler than you expected. Spring hadn’t fully bloomed yet, and the city lights below were blurry with mist.

Baby was already there, sitting on the edge of the ledge like he owned the sky. Hoodie pulled up, hair messy, a candy stick between his lips. Sometimes you forget he's a literal demon the way he has such a natural charm to him.

He turned his head just slightly, a smile gracing his lips as he heard your footsteps. "Took you long enough. Thought you got eaten by those corporate girl scouts you call bandmates." You rolled your eyes but grinned as you walked over. "I did. Barely escaped with my life. Mira almost grilled me."

"Did you give her the 'I just have to pee' excuse?"

You hummed in response, dropping your bag by the rooftop door and walking toward him with your arms crossed against the wind. He was still sitting casually on the ledge, legs hanging like the height meant nothing to him. But his eyes never left you.

“Told you that excuse only works once,” he muttered, but there was no bite in his voice. His candy stick shifted to the corner of his mouth as he tilted his head to watch you more clearly under the rooftop light. “You cold?”

“A little,” you admitted, hugging yourself tighter as the breeze picked up. Without another word, he patted the space between his legs.

“C’mere.”

You blinked. “What?”

“C’mon, don't be shy now. You’re always big and bad in rehearsals, but now you’re afraid of a little rooftop cuddle?”

You scoffed at him, but your feet were already moving. You stepped between his legs and leaned back against his chest. His arms instantly wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder.

“You smell like strawberries and Budak noodles,” he murmured, nose nudging against your hair. His voice had softened, even if his sarcasm stayed intact. You could feel his heartbeat, steady and calm, like yours wasn’t trying to shatter your ribs right now.

“You’re so dumb,” you whispered, but you leaned further into his warmth anyway.

His hand rubbed slow circles against your side as he spoke again, lower this time. “Y’know I wait for this all day, right? All that stage smoke and smiling—this is the only time I can breathe.” You turned your head a little to look at him, and for once, there was no smirk, no smug gleam in his eyes. Just sincerity, hidden under exhaustion.

“I missed you,” you said before you could stop yourself.

He exhaled, pressing a slow kiss behind your ear. “I missed you too.”

The city stretched endlessly before you, wrapped in a misty glow. Down below, the honmoon barrier hovered faintly, still flickering with dull red wounds punched through its surface like silent warnings. Your stomach twisted at the sight.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then he broke the quiet.

“So,” Baby murmured, his voice a little rough. “Tomorrow’s the big day. You ready to slay me, Huntress?”

You flinched, barely, but he felt it.

“What, too soon?” he asked, half-joking—but not really.

You shook your head. “No. Just… I’m scared.”

He went still behind you. “Scared of what?”

Your words caught in your throat, but you pushed them out. “Of us. Of what happens when the honmoon turns golden. When everything changes. When we’re forced to pick sides.”

A long pause followed. His breath warmed your shoulder.

“You think I haven’t thought about that every night since we started this?” You turned slightly to meet his eyes. “Have you?” His expression was unreadable for a moment—quiet, distant. Then he nodded once. “Yeah. Every single night.”

You didn't say anything. You didn’t have to. The silence between you now wasn’t heavy—it was full, like the kind of quiet that only comes after saying something real.

He shifted behind you, his arms tightening slightly as he rested his cheek against the side of your head. “I know how this is supposed to go. I know what they want from you. From Huntrix. Doesn't mean it'll go down that way."

You swallowed thickly, your fingers curling around the fabric of his sleeve. “You sound so sure.”

“I’m not,” he said honestly. "No one knows how its going to end tomorrow so why should I care about what hasn't happened yet? All I care about right now, is you angel."

The simple truth in his words made your heart swell and your doubts retreat just a little.

Without thinking, you turned fully to face him, climbing carefully into his lap. He didn’t hesitate—arms opening to welcome you, one hand rising to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair with a tenderness that felt like a promise.

After a few quiet moments, he murmured, “You should go back soon. Before they actually suspect something.”

Your head rested against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. You shook your head softly. “Just a little longer.”

His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer still. The night air pressed cold against your skin, but his hoodie and the warmth of his body shielded you from everything else. Around you, the city hummed—traffic flowing below, faint music drifting from the rehearsal rooms, and the soft rhythm of his breathing filling the space between you.

For now, the world could wait. You wanted time to stop. Just for this.

[landossnorriss]

Pairing: lando x she. Summary: a small series of lando loving his girl through her life when her endometriosis is being a pain. Word Count: 1.4k Warning: health mentions , then just fluff. AN: this was requested and i tried to do it justice with as much research and realism as i could! i hope you enjoy it.

it was two in the morning when lando felt her shifting beside him again . she lay curled in on herself , a small knot under the duvet , her breathing shallow and shaky . he knew that sound by now , the way she tried not to wake him . he hated it more than any DNF he’d ever had .

“hey,” he murmured , his voice thick with sleep as he rolled closer . he slid a warm hand over her hip , careful and protective . “ you hurting again ? ” she didn’t answer right away , just nodded , eyes squeezed shut . her pyjama top was damp near the collarbone . silent tearss. he hated that too . he pressed a kiss to her temple . “ alright , love . let’s get you more comfortable , yeah? ”

he had a routine now , the little things he could do when he couldn’t take the pain away .

he slipped out of bed and padded to the bathroom for her heat pack . he rubbed his eyes while it hummed in the microwave . back in the bedroom , he helped her shift , draping it over her lower belly with gentle hands . she let out a tiny hiss at the heat, but he knew it helped .

sometimes she tried to apologise , “i’m sorry, you’ve got to be up early, i’m sorry , ” , but he cut her off every time . he cupped her cheek and wiped away a tear with his thumb . “ don’t be sorry ,” he told her, like it was the simplest truth in the world . “ it’s my job to look after you. "

when it was really bad , when her whole body seemed to lock up with the pain , he sat behind her . he let her curl into him like a comma, her back pressed to his chest . his hand slid under her top , resting over the warm pack. his palm was steady and warm , and she always said it helped , just that tiny weight , his thumb tracing lazy circles near her belly button.

he murmured soft nonsense into her hair , stories about next week’s race , what they’d do when she felt better , how he’d make her pancakes in the morning if she wanted them . he would have read the dictionary to her if it would keep her breathing through the pain . not that he was sure he knew how to read that many words . still , he would try .

lando couldn’t fix it , couldn’t pit stop her pain away , couldn’t trade places with her , but he would always be there in the dark , heat pack ready , hands steady , heart breaking and mending for her every time .

there were times when she hated needing his help . when the fact she was this young and needed him for more things than she should got him down . the bathroom was steamy and warm , but the heat did little to dull the sharp ache curling through her lower abdomen . she sat in the tub , fingers gripping the slick edge , trying to will the cramps away .

when she tried to stand though ? the pain hit like a punch — sudden, fierce, and unrelenting . her legs trembled , and she faltered , heart sinking with the helplessness she hated so much .

a soft knock at the door startled her .

“ love? you okay in there?” lando’s voice was gentle, filled with quiet concern , the way it always was when he knew she wasn't asking for the things that she needed from him . she swallowed hard , cheeks flushing with a mix of shame and frustration . “ i.. i don’t think i can get out.”

the door creaked open , and he stepped in , careful not to slip on the wet tiles . without hesitation , he eased down beside the tub , offering his strong hands . “let me help you,” he offered. of course , she hesitated for a moment , embarrassed to need him like this , but her trembling hands found his . there wouldn't be a way to do this without him so instead , with his steady support she used his hands to help lift herself out of the tub .

her legs wobbled , but lando held her firm , guiding her carefully out of the bath and onto a warm towel on the floor . she pressed her face into his chest, a whispered apology catching in her throat.

he shook his head, brushing damp hair from her forehead . “ no apologies . you’re not alone in this . ”

" but it's so embarrassing lando . " her huff came as she looked up at him , there was nothing sexy about this , nothing appealing for him , she had seen the girls that went after him . she was pretty sure none of them had to fight their bodies every day but lando wouldn't hear any of it if even if she tried to tell him so she clung to him instead .

he wouldn't ever let anyone else say anything about it either.

they were at a friend’s birthday, just a small gathering, people they trusted , lando had still told her not to come when he had realised she had been masking her pain all morning but she had insisted . now she was curled up on a garden chair , a blanket pulled over her legs , laughing at something carlos was saying when one of the newer team guys , young , eager , clueless , leaned over and said , " she’s always tired , huh ? must be nice , using you as an excuse to skip stuff. ”

lando’s eyes flicked up , sharp . he didn’t raise his voice — he didn’t need to. several other drivers moved their heads towards lando waiting for his response , braced for impact. but lando ? he just tilted his head, one arm dropping protectively along the back of her chair. “ it’s not an excuse ,” he said , his tone calm but leaving no room for argument . “ she’s in pain . a lot of the time , actually. ”

the kid went pink, stumbling over a half-apology , lando didn't care . she reached for lando’s hand under the blanket , squeezed it once . the driver squeezed back . when the kid slunk off to the bar , she exhaled , cheeks warm. “ you didn’t have to do that. ”

“ yeah, i did, ” lando said. he kissed the side of her head , low enough that only she could hear . “ i’ll always do that.”

she hated it most when it interupped his world . when the focus was pulled from where he really needed it to be . the roar of engines and the buzz of the paddock felt distant to her , like a world she was only half part of . race weekends were supposed to be thrilling . sometimes they were , sometimes she stood at jons side and hoped the older male could keep her propped up whilst her man did his thing .

the pain flared unpredictably , sharp and exhausting , stealing energy she needed to just stand , to smile , to be present . she was great at masking now , she had to , to nod when others spoke , to catch lando’s eye when she absolutely needed a moment .

he never missed those looks . always there , steady as the lap times ticking down on the screen , his hand finding hers in the crowded garage, a quiet anchor amid chaos.

one evening , after a particularly rough day , they sat together in their hotel room . she traced the curve of his scar across the bridge of his nose with tired fingers, voice low . “ i hate how this steals moments from us ” she admitted.

lando shook his head , pulling her close . “ you don’t have to carry it alone . we’re a team . on and off the track .” she let herself lean into him , relief softening the edges of her pain . no matter how hard the race , no matter how relentless the ache , this was their victory , holding each other through it all .

landonorris just posted:

liked by, maxverstappen1, lilymhe, herusername, quadrant and 342,134 other people.

not all battles are on the track . my girl is a true warrior .

@hotforleclerc: a warrior AND putting up with you? give that woman a trophy 😂❤️ @sophie_gasly: true love is dragging each other through the pits and paddock. Queen behaviour! 👑 @carlos55: Mate, she deserves a medal AND a lifetime supply of snacks for dealing with you. @maxverstappen1: True warrior — she’s even braver for choosing you. Respect! 😂 @pitlane_paul: strongest girl in the paddock and lando’s personal champion. we love to see it! @crazyf1fan69: If she’s a warrior, you’re her emotional support driver 😂 @trackside_tina: she deserves a championship ring for surviving the cramps AND you, king! @unhingedf1fan77: when’s the parade? we need a ‘queen of endo warriors’ float immediately. @george63: I think we’re all agreeing she’s out of your league, bro. Well done 👏😂 @f1wagclub: you two = ultimate paddock power couple. she’s iconic. @speedy_sam: protect this woman at all costs. and give her all the snacks.

[buckysouvenir]

just a dress “Doesn’t matter what you wear,” Bucky murmurs. “I’d still fall for you.”

There are a few constants at Avengers Tower.

Tony’s ego. Steve’s early morning runs. Sam making playlists no one asked for. Bucky Barnes sitting across from you every morning at breakfast. Waiting, always waiting, with a second mug of coffee he’d never admit was specifically for you. And you showing up on time.

Which is why it makes sense that every morning at breakfast, Bucky Barnes is already sitting at the table, two mugs of coffee in front of him. One for him. One for you.

“You’re cutting it close today,” he says one morning, flipping the page of his book as you slide into your seat.

“It’s 9:01,” you reply, raising an eyebrow.

He grunts. “Still late.”

“You love it.”

“I tolerate it,” he mutters, but hands you the coffee like always.

It’s a ritual neither of you talks about too much. It started months ago. You’d show up late to breakfast, blaming your alarm or your book or that “one last video” at 2AM. Bucky would already be there, freshly brewed coffee in front of him… and a second one just happened to be sitting next to it.

At first, you thought it was a coincidence. But then Sam teased him about it. Loudly. And Bucky stopped denying it.

Now it feels like a fixed point in the universe. Just like how you always sit beside him during meetings. Just like how he always makes sure you get home safely from late-night gym sessions. Just like the way he glances over when you make a bad joke, just to smirk when you laugh at yourself.

You aren’t anything. Not really.

But you move around each other like planets stuck in orbit. Quietly, consistently, unspoken.

And everyone notices.

It’s a Thursday when Stark makes the announcement.

Tony Stark stands on the lounge coffee table in his socks and dress shirt, arms spread like a game show host.

“Formal gala next Saturday!” he declares. “Right here in the penthouse. Black tie. String quartet. Be sparkly, be charming, be fashionably unarmed.”

“Another one?” Sam groans.

“It’s an annual Stark tradition,” Tony replies. “You’ve survived worse. Plus, open bar.”

You blink.

You try to act normal. Cool. Unbothered. But something in your stomach flutters.

Fancy events aren’t exactly your comfort zone. You’re more a “cozy café and soft playlists” kind of person. The thought of gowns and heels and being watched makes your heart beat a little too fast.

You give a little nod, mostly to yourself. “Cool. Sounds fun.”

Across the room, Bucky looks at you from where he leans against the wall, arms crossed. He doesn’t say anything, just raises a brow like he’s already reading your mind.

You pretend not to notice. You’re getting very good at pretending.

The days leading up to the party pass in a blur of missions and meetings and movie nights on the couch. Somewhere in there, Nat and Wanda stage a coup.

“You’re not wearing something you already own,” Wanda declares. “This is not a ‘recycle your last wedding guest outfit’ situation.”

“I wasn’t going to-”

“Yes, you were,” Nat says, cutting you off. “We’re going shopping. You’re coming.”

“I have dresses.”

“Non-negotiable,” Wanda says sweetly, tugging you toward the elevator.

You open your mouth to argue but are immediately handed your jacket and pushed toward the elevator.

It’s a whirlwind. Nat is a force of nature, striding through boutiques like she owns every mannequin. Wanda flits between colors and fabrics like a kid in a candy store. You mostly follow, trying not to get overwhelmed.

Until you see it.

It’s tucked behind a rack, almost hidden. Deep sapphire blue. Long. Satin. High neckline. And when you pull it out, the back dips low. Dramatic, elegant and beautiful in a way you don’t usually let yourself wear.

You hold it up, hesitant.

Nat appears behind you. “Oh, that’s the one.”

You laugh. “No, it’s too much.”

“It’s perfect,” Wanda says. “And so are you.”

You blush. “I’ll try it on."

You do try it on. Alone. And when you turn toward the mirror, your breath catches. It fits like it’s been made for you. The satin clings and drapes in all the right places. Your hair, loose and natural, spills perfectly across your shoulders.

For a second, you see someone else in the reflection.

Someone effortless.

But then the light shifts, and the old doubt creeps in… quiet, uninvited. Not loud or cruel. Just a whisper.

The dress is beautiful. You’re just wearing it.

You step out of the fitting room slowly.

Still, when you step out, Nat and Wanda audibly gasp.

“That one,” Nat says. “No contest.”

You smile back, but your voice is soft. “Okay. Just in case I don’t chicken out.”

They don’t argue.

Back in the tower, nothing changed… on the surface.

You had breakfast with Bucky. Teased Sam during movie night. Trained with Steve and actually knocked him off his feet once, which became a three-day bragging right.

But in the back of your closet, behind your “safe” black dress… that sapphire gown waited.

And sometimes, when you were alone, you took it out and ran your fingers along the satin.

The week passed in fragments.

Mission briefings. Morning coffee. Shared elevator rides. Stark’s party was all anyone could talk about, mostly because Tony wouldn’t shut up about the custom glass champagne tower being shipped in from Paris. Steve had started practicing his waltz “just in case.” Sam was planning a pre-party playlist “for the vibe.”

But if someone looked closely, if they knew where to watch, there was something else underneath it all.

Something unspoken.

Something that looked a lot like almost.

You weren’t entirely sure when it had started, the slow unraveling of comfort into longing. Maybe it was the way Bucky always poured your coffee first without asking. Or how he lingered at the edge of rooms when you laughed too loud, eyes flicking toward you like it was a sound he didn’t want to miss. Or how his voice always softened when it was just the two of you, even if his words didn’t.

He was still Bucky. Still sharp-edged and dry-humored, still grumpy in the mornings and skeptical of movie nights. But with you… he was something else, too.

And with him… you let yourself be a little more, too.

You didn’t tell anyone about the flutter in your chest when he passed you a protein bar without looking, knowing exactly which kind you liked. Or the way your heart stalled when he leaned close during training, murmuring corrections just low enough for only you to hear.

“You’re dropping your left shoulder,” he said on Monday, fingers brushing your arm to correct your form. “You’ll get thrown off balance.”

You nodded, distracted not by the advice, but by the feel of his touch, light, careful, familiar.

“Thanks,” you mumbled.

“Anytime,” he replied, already a few steps away.

He didn’t say much. Never did. But his presence lingered like a gravity field. Constant, quiet, and hard to pull away from.

On Tuesday, you walked into the lounge to find him asleep on the couch, book splayed open on his chest, the TV playing some old black-and-white movie.

You stood there for a moment, just watching. His features, usually guarded, were softer in sleep. Less worn down by memory. More like the man he let you see in glimpses.

You sat beside him without waking him, gently pulling the blanket over his shoulders.

He mumbled something. Your name, maybe.

You didn’t ask.

Wednesday, he found you in the kitchen at midnight, digging through the fridge.

“You always eat like this before missions?” he asked, leaning on the counter, arms crossed.

“I get hungry when I’m anxious,” you said, holding up a half-eaten leftover taco. “Don’t judge me.”

He smiled, actually smiled, and shook his head. “Not judging. Just wondering why you never share.”

You slid the other half toward him. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

He took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “This is awful.”

You laughed. “You’re welcome.”

By Thursday, the party talk has fully taken over the tower.

Tony hands out gold-foiled invitations (dramatic, unnecessary, very Stark). Wanda drags Sam to a tailor for a fitted tux.

And you… pretend you’re not thinking about it.

“Do you have something to wear?” Bucky asks over lunch.

“I’ve got dresses.”

“Multiple?”

“Yeah. I bought a new one with Nat and Wanda but I don't know if I'm gonna wear it.”

“Why?”

“It’s not really… me.”

“Then why did you buy it?”

“I liked it!”

“Then it is you.”

He gets you.

Saturday comes fast.

The tower transforms. All warm lights and string music, trays of champagne and crystal bowls of things no one can pronounce. Everyone looks like movie stars.

Wanda curls her hair into soft waves and wears a wine-colored dress that makes her look like royalty. Nat, of course, wears black. But somehow manages to make it look like it belongs in Vogue.

The guys are in suits. Steve somehow looks both uncomfortable and handsome. Sam gets complimented three times by the catering staff.

And you?

You’re upstairs. In the dress.

Frozen in place.

The clock ticks. Time passes.

And for the first time in months, you’re not there.

You can feel the nerves setting in.

It’s the dress.

It’s always the dress.

You keep pacing your room, staring at the mirror, biting your lip. The makeup is done. The heels are on. The earrings are clasped. But still, you hesitate. Looking at yourself feels like holding your breath.

The dress looks the same as it did in the store. A deep sapphire blue, smooth satin, the neckline high and elegant, the back open and dramatic. It clings to you in a way that should make you feel powerful. Beautiful.

But tonight… it just feels like it isn’t yours.

You’re not panicking. Not exactly.

It’s quieter than that. A slow, creeping sense of not belonging. Like the longer you stare at yourself, the more the magic unravels thread by thread. The dress is stunning. That isn’t the problem. The problem is how perfectly it fits.

Because sometimes, when something fits too perfectly, it feels like it’s shining a light on everything you wish it could hide.

You sigh and stand, adjusting whatever you think could be wrong with it.

Downstairs, Sam glances at the elevator again.

“Where’s Y/N?” he asks.

“Probably fixing her hair,” Wanda says, sipping a drink.

“She’s never late,” Steve adds.

“She’s not,” Nat agrees. “You want me to go check?”

Before anyone else can answer, Bucky stands up from the leather armchair near the bar.

“I’ll go,” he says, too fast. “She’s probably wearing heels. Better if I go.”

No one argues.

Not even Sam, who raises a brow but says nothing.

Bucky adjusts his suit jacket, smooths down his tie, and heads for the elevator, ignoring the flutter in his chest.

You brush your hands over the fabric. The material shimmers when you move. Your heels are black and slim, your earrings match. On paper, it all works.

So why can’t you walk out the door?

You glance at the clock. Nearly 40 minutes late.

Your stomach drops.

“Damn it.”

You move toward the chair, where your backup dress still waits. The black one. Safe. You’ll throw it on, pull your hair into a low slick bun, and no one will even-

Knock knock.

You freeze.

Another knock. Firmer this time.

“Y/N?”

Your heart jumps. Bucky.

You nearly trip over your own heels rushing to the door.

“Coming!” you call, trying to gather yourself. You crack the door open, just wide enough to peek out.

And then forget how to breathe.

Bucky stands in the hallway in a tailored black suit, no tie, collar open just enough to be unfair. His hair is slicked back slightly, but still soft. He looks like he’s walked out of a noir film. And he’s staring at you.

Staring.

His eyes drop, slowly… from your face, to the curve of your shoulders, to the way the blue satin hugs your waist and falls in a soft, perfect line. His lips part just slightly.

He blinks once.

“Wow.”

You flush immediately. “What- what are you doing here?”

He clears his throat. “You’re late.”

Your brow knits. “What?”

“You’re never late,” he says softly. “Sam, Nat, Steve… everyone noticed. They were worried. Natasha was about to come up, but I figured… heels. Safer if I came.”

“Oh.”

You glance at the clock again and wince. “I didn’t realize. I lost track of time. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he says quickly, voice gentle.

You reach for the door. “You should go. I’m just going to change dresses. I’ll be down in five-”

His hand, cool metal, presses gently against the door.

“Wait.”

You pause.

“What do you mean, change?”

“I…” Your voice falters. “I don’t think this is the right dress.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow slightly. Not judging, just reading you.

“Why not?”

You look down at your hands. “It’s just too much. I thought it looked better in the store. It's fine.”

The words are barely a whisper.

Bucky is silent for a long moment.

Then he steps closer, just slightly, enough that the air between you shifts.

“Y/N.”

You look up.

“You’re already wearing the dress,” he says, his voice quiet but certain. “And you look…” He exhales, shaking his head slightly. “You look incredible.”

You swallow hard. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I’m not saying it because I have to.”

He tilts his head, eyes warm. “You walk into that room tonight, no one’s gonna be able to look at anything but you.”

You blink. Your chest aches in that soft, quiet way that comes from being seen — really seen.

He lets the moment breathe between you, then offers you a small smile.

“I’ll meet you downstairs.”

And then he turns and walks away.

Just like that.

Leaving you breathless in the doorway.

Five minutes later, you’re still staring at your reflection. The dress hasn’t changed.

But maybe… you have.

The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime, and the room stills.

You step into the penthouse, the soft click of your heels echoing beneath the music. The lights are low and warm, spilling golden across the polished floors. Glass clinks, laughter hums, and in the middle of it all—Bucky looks up.

His heart stops.

You move slowly, a soft wave of deep sapphire satin sweeping around your legs as you walk. Hair swept to the side, silver glinting at your ears, that impossible dress catching the light with every step. But it isn’t the dress that stuns him.

It’s the way you hold yourself.

Quiet. Glowing. Real.

Everyone notices. Sam gives a low whistle. Nat smirks like she’s known this moment was coming. Even Steve, standing near the drinks, raises his brows in quiet approval.

But Bucky?

He doesn’t move.

He just watches you cross the room, like time has slowed and sound has faded and the only thing that matters is you.

You find him near the balcony doors, where the crowd is thinner, the music softer.

“Hey,” you say, voice light but a little breathless.

His gaze travels over you again, slower this time.

“You came,” he says, as if there had been any doubt.

You smile, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Took me a while.”

He offers his hand, not breaking eye contact. “Dance with me.”

Your breath catches.

The music shifts into something slower—something with strings and soft piano. You hesitate for a moment, then place your hand in his.

He pulls you gently toward the floor.

You fit together easily.

Your hand on his shoulder, his at your waist. The press of satin and silk. The low hum of music. And somewhere beneath it all, the quick, fluttering beat of your heart — mirrored in his.

Bucky doesn’t speak for a moment. He just sways with you, moving like the rest of the world has faded behind you both.

“You’re good at this,” you murmur.

He smirks, eyes never leaving yours. “I’m old.”

“I didn’t want to say it.”

He chuckles, low and quiet. “You almost didn’t come.”

You shrug, trying to play it off, but your voice betrays you. “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“It is,” he says gently. “You are.”

Your eyes flick up to meet his. You don’t know what to say.

So you don’t say anything.

The dance ends, but neither of you let go.

The music shifts again. Someone laughs near the bar. A camera flashes. But here, in this small space between breaths, you stand close. Too close. Not enough.

“Wanna get some air?” Bucky asks softly.

You nod.

The balcony is quieter. Cooler. The city stretches out below you, lights twinkling like a second sky. You lean against the railing, your hands brushing the cold metal.

He slips off his suit jacket and drapes it over your shoulders before you can protest.

“It’s not cold,” you say.

“You’re still getting the jacket.”

You smile, tugging it tighter around yourself. It smells like him — clean soap, something warm and familiar. The sleeves are too long.

“I feel like a kid playing dress-up.”

“You look like a goddess.”

You laugh.

He doesn’t.

You turn to face him, the night wind catching your hair, your cheeks flushed from dancing, from nerves, from him.

“I meant what I said,” Bucky tells you. “Downstairs.”

You bite your lip. “About the dress?”

“No,” he says. “About you.”

There’s a beat of silence, full and fragile.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to say it for a while now,” he admits, voice low. “You’re not just part of the team. You’re not just… around.”

You blink.

“You’re the best part of my day,” he says. “And that dress didn’t change that. It just made it harder to keep pretending I don’t want to hold you like this all the time.”

You open your mouth. Close it again.

And then?

You kiss him.

It’s soft, barely more than a press of lips. But it carries months of unspoken things. Warmth. Tension. Relief. All of it wrapped in satin and city lights and the sound of your heart racing like it finally has somewhere to go.

When you pull back, he’s already smiling.

“I should’ve worn this dress a long time ago,” you whisper.

He leans in again, forehead resting against yours.

“Doesn’t matter what you wear,” he murmurs. “I’d still fall for you.”

The tower feels different the next morning.

Maybe it’s the way the sun comes through the floor-to-ceiling windows in lazy gold streaks. Or maybe it’s just you.

You pad quietly into the kitchen, still wearing soft pajama pants and one of your oversized sweatshirts. Hair a little messy. No makeup. Bare feet against the tile. And yet, for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel the need to shrink yourself.

You’re not glowing. You’re not dressed up.

You’re just you. And it feels… enough.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

You turn, startled, to find Bucky leaning against the counter, mug in hand, already dressed in his usual black T-shirt and jeans, the picture of quiet calm. His hair is a little rumpled. He looks unfairly good for someone who’s probably been up for hours.

“You’re up early,” you say, grabbing a mug of your own.

“Old man body clock,” he says with a smirk.

You roll your eyes and step closer. “How long have you been waiting to say that?”

“Since last night,” he replies, voice lower now, softer. “Wanted to see you again.”

And just like that, you melt.

He hands you the coffee. Your fingers brush. Neither of you pulls away.

The rest of the team trickles in slowly.

Wanda first, hair tied up and looking far too put-together for 9 a.m. She spots the two of you leaning together by the counter and arches a brow.

“Good morning,” she says, sing-song.

You sip your coffee like it’s not obvious. Bucky stays still beside you.

Then comes Sam, dramatically hungover. “If anyone mentions classical music or champagne, I swear I’ll jump off the roof.”

Steve follows, clean and annoyingly alert. “Nice party.”

Natasha, last, in her I don’t do mornings sunglasses, grabs toast and mumbles, “You two looked cozy on that balcony.”

You nearly choke on your coffee. “What?”

Nat doesn’t even look up. “Relax. We all saw it coming.”

You blink. “Saw what?”

“You and Barnes. I mean, please,” she says, waving her toast. “The tension has been driving everyone insane for months.”

Sam nods, dead serious. “I literally bet Steve ten bucks it would happen before the end of the year.”

“I won,” Steve says, smugly.

Bucky chuckles beside you. Quiet, amused.

He reaches down under the table and laces his fingers through yours.

And just like that, the noise fades. The teasing doesn’t matter. The looks don’t matter.

All you can focus on is the warm weight of his hand, the soft pressure of his thumb brushing the back of yours.

You turn to him, lips tugging up.

“You okay?” he asks gently.

You nod. “I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” you say. “I just… didn’t think it would feel this easy.”

Bucky smiles, small and sincere.

“It was never supposed to be hard,” he says.

You look at him then, really look, and something inside you softens.

For weeks, months, maybe, you’ve been carrying this quiet ache around like armor. The weight of feelings you didn’t know what to do with. The fear of hoping too much. Of reading into things that weren’t there. Of thinking you mattered more to him than you did.

But now, standing in the golden spill of morning light, fingers still twined with his under the table, you don’t feel foolish anymore.

You feel… known.

And that scares you more than anything.

“You’re always so calm about this stuff,” you murmur, eyes on your joined hands. “Like you already knew.”

“I didn’t know,” he says, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I just hoped.”

You blink, surprised. “You?”

His smile turns a little crooked. “You think I spent all this time saving you the last cup of coffee every morning just because I’m a gentleman?”

“You don’t even like mornings.”

“Exactly,” he says. “That’s how serious this is.”

You laugh then, a soft, genuine sound that makes something in his chest ease.

“I guess I thought I’d have to be… different,” you say after a beat. “To be noticed. To matter. I’m not the loudest or the strongest. I’m not Nat. Or Wanda. I’m just-”

“You’re you,” he cuts in, gentle but firm. “And that’s always been enough.”

You swallow hard, throat tightening around the words you don’t know how to say.

“I notice everything about you,” he adds, quieter now. “The way you wrinkle your nose when you’re reading something complicated. The way you hum off-key in the lab. The way you always walk out of the room last because you’re checking that everyone else is okay.”

You look up at him slowly.

“You think no one sees you,” he says. “But I do. I always have.”

Something unspoken passes between you. A slow, electric stillness.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitates, eyes soft. “I didn’t want to risk losing what I already had with you.”

“And now?”

“Now I’d rather risk it than pretend anymore.”

You blink fast, like that might keep the emotion at bay. It doesn’t work.

“Okay,” you say quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He leans in, forehead brushing yours for the briefest second, not quite a kiss, just… closeness.

“I’m in this,” he murmurs. “Whatever it looks like. However slow you need.”

You nod, the edges of your smile trembling.

“I’m in this too,” you whisper.

The kitchen fades away.

The clinking dishes, the sunlight, even the teasing voices echoing from down the hall. It all fades. There’s only the soft grip of his hand on yours and the quiet warmth building between you, solid and real.

And for the first time in a long time, you’re not wondering what comes next.

You’re just here.

With him.

A Tuesday Morning, Three Weeks Later

The tower is quiet.

Not silent, the way no home is ever truly silent, but the kind of soft hum that means the world is at peace for a little while.

The sun has barely risen, casting a warm gold light through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Somewhere down the hall, the elevator chimes. In the distance, the coffee machine gurgles to life.

And in the kitchen, you stand barefoot in one of Bucky’s sweatshirts, stirring cream into a mug with your eyes still half closed.

Behind you, footsteps.

You don’t need to turn around.

“You’re up early,” you say, voice husky with sleep.

“Technically,” Bucky replies, stepping up behind you and wrapping an arm loosely around your waist, “I haven’t slept yet.”

You lean back into his chest without hesitation.

“You brooding again?”

“Just watching the sky.”

“Romantic.”

He kisses your temple. “You bring it out of me.”

You snort and hand him his mug. “Don’t lie to me before caffeine.”

You move through the morning with the ease of something settled. Something earned.

He leans against the counter while you make toast. You sit cross-legged on a barstool while he recaps an old dream he can’t make sense of. You pass each other plates and comments and quiet smiles like it’s always been this way.

Like there was never a time you weren’t his favorite part of the morning.

At some point, Nat wanders in, squinting at the sunlight. She takes one look at the sweatshirt you’re wearing and smirks. “That’s not yours.”

You sip your coffee, unbothered. “It is now.”

Nat grabs an apple and mutters something about “finally” before disappearing again.

Bucky looks at you, eyes warm with amusement. “Subtle.”

“She’s not wrong.”

“No,” he agrees, stepping closer. “She’s not.”

You lean into him again, letting your forehead rest against his chest. He smells like coffee and clean soap and something that just feels like home.

“Did you think it’d feel like this?” you ask softly.

He considers it. “I hoped.”

You tilt your face up toward him. “Me too.”

His eyes drop to your lips, but he doesn’t move just yet.

“Hey,” he says gently, voice barely above a whisper. “You know what I see when I look at you now?”

“What?”

“Everything I ever thought I couldn’t have.”

You blink, chest tightening, not with fear, not with nerves, but with something whole. Something steady.

“You always had me,” you say.

“I know,” he whispers. “Took me a minute.”

You smile, eyes crinkling, and then he kisses you. Slow, soft, like he has all the time in the world.

Because he does.

Because you do.

Because after all the waiting and wondering and quiet hoping…

This is the part where everything begins.

[pillow-anime-talk]

k-pop idol.

synopsis: Short headcanons from your first meetings in various locations. Each of the Saja Boys has one thing in common – they all crush on you at first sight.

# tags: headcanons; idol x idol or idol x normal person; first meetings; human!sajas; fluff; a bit of comedy; also a little of angst; some thoughts; kinda simp!sajas; rather sfw

includes: female reader ft. jinu, baby, abby, mystery, romance {kpdh}

author’s note: ehhhh. i just fall in love with kpdh movie and that’s why i came up with the idea to write a few things about sajas... huge comeback on tumblr, besties!

— MYSTERY

↘ You first met on one of those silly but popular variety shows where music groups are invited to compete. The format involved a girl group and a boy group facing off in different challenges, while also talking, exchanging tips, and cooperating to win a prize.

↘ Since the past few weeks had been especially good for you and your group — with great reach and lots of awards — you were invited to appear alongside Saja Boys, a rising boy band that had been gaining attention recently.

↘ During the show, together with the rest of VIVIX — Kara, Sojin, Ruby, and Seungi — you were paired up with one of the singers. In your case, it was Mystery, the enigmatic vocalist. One of the hosts instructed each pair to act out a randomly drawn scene from a popular drama or anime. You two were given a moment from Lovesick Ellie, where the characters meet in a library and one places a finger over the other's lips. The scene had to be performed while leaning against a wall.

↘ You weren’t really the type to enjoy that kind of fanservice, and Mystery also looked like someone who wasn’t too fond of fake intimacy. A bit concerned, you glanced at your newly assigned partner and smiled softly — and he returned the gesture just as gently.

↘ “Will this be okay for you?” he asked, and your face lit up. It was genuinely sweet of him to check in on how you felt. You nodded, and together you first watched the original Japanese film scene, then acted it out as best as you could. It came out quite naturally and sincerely. Your cheeks flushed slightly. The singer gave a small cough, trying to silence the loud cheers from his groupmates.

↘ “She’s kind of sweet.” He thought as the scene ended. For the rest of the show, you exchanged small smiles — both quietly hoping this wouldn’t be the last time you saw each other.

— BABY

↘ Contrary to what one might expect, your meeting was actually pretty normal — at least by K-pop idol standards.

↘ You met before a performance on a music show. You were sitting in the hallway, waiting for your turn. As a solo artist who had debuted three years ago, you were now at the peak of your career. Your next album was scheduled for release soon, and it was going to showcase a slightly different style — bolder, fiercer, with a more distinct sound. But you were still missing the final piece to complete it: the last song. You always wanted your albums to have exactly ten tracks, and at the moment your mind was blank. You spent every spare moment trying to come up with something.

↘ That day, Saja Boys were also set to perform — right after you. You didn’t know much about them, but you appreciated the fact that they were trying hard and wrote their own lyrics.

↘ Tapping lightly on the back of the couch, you jotted down another line — only to immediately cross it out, shaking your head in frustration. Suddenly, you felt a soft tap on your shoulder; gentle, almost shy.

↘ “Nice to meet you, I’m Baby from Saja Boys.” He bowed slightly, and you nodded in return. “I noticed you’re having a bit of trouble. Is there anything I can do to help?” His tone wasn’t pushy — he actually sounded concerned. You thanked him and explained your struggle. There was a note of uncertainty in your voice, but also a deep sense of dedication. The young man listened to you attentively. Eventually, he spoke: “Your concept is amazing. If I could suggest something… maybe cut the second bridge, and instead stretch out the final chorus. As for the last verse — maybe try something like this…”

↘ In the next few minutes, the two of you finished the song together — and it sounded genuinely good. Still, something gnawed at you. You felt guilty for having leaned so heavily on his ideas. You bowed to your new colleague, then asked:

↘ “Would you like to record this track with me?”

↘ Baby’s eyes widened, and his heart skipped a beat.

— JINU

↘ That day, you had the afternoon shift at the café — from 12 to 8 pm. Thankfully, it was Wednesday, so it was a slow day. You had time to sit behind the counter and go over your notes for the upcoming university exams. Around 6 pm, five men walked into the café. They wore caps, sunglasses, and loose-fitting clothes. They sat at a table inside and started quietly discussing the menu. After a couple of minutes, you decided to walk over to them.

↘ “Hi, I’m Y/N. Welcome to Caffee Heaven. Can I take your order or recommend something for you?” You smiled genuinely and looked at each of the men seated at the table. You immediately recognized them as currently popular singers, but you had a personal rule you always followed: if an idol is outside of a performance space — don’t bother them. It’s their private time.

↘ Three of them placed their orders right away: a strawberry matcha latte with honey, a double espresso, and a soy milk cappuccino. The remaining two — Jinu and Romance — seemed to be having trouble choosing a drink.

↘ “Sorry for the trouble, we’re not really into coffee…” Admitted the one with darker hair. You quickly reassured them it was no problem and offered alternative options: teas, hot chocolate, shakes, and mulled drinks. In the end, the group’s leader settled on jasmine tea with a splash of blackberry juice, while the other idol asked for a strawberry milkshake with vanilla marshmallows. After taking their orders, you assured them you’d be right back with the drinks and returned to the counter to prepare everything.

↘ Out of the corner of your ear, you could hear the other four teasing the black-haired male, saying he might have just fallen in love. You couldn’t deny it — you kind of liked him too.

— ROMANCE

↘ You were a member of HUNTR/X. Although the girls — especially Rumi and Mira — had a rather negative attitude toward Saja Boys due to their sudden rise in popularity, you and Zoey genuinely liked their music. As it happened, one day you had a joint fan meeting in a huge shopping mall in Gangnam, and you were seated between Romance and Mira.

↘ You greeted him warmly, to which he only responded with a shy smile. He had to admit to himself that it was the first time he felt uncertain around a woman — usually, he was the romantic one, confident when speaking with the opposite sex. But this time... He felt totally different.

↘ You were signing another card with your autograph, chatting briefly with a fan about her backpack covered in keychains. During that time, Romance was watching you closely. He carefully observed your joyful face, sparkling eyes, bright smile, hairstyle, outfit, and even your neatly painted nails. He also appreciated the attention you gave to your choice of jewelry and lip color. He could swear your lips looked like a juicy peach with splash of honey…

↘ “Romance...? Romance? Romance!” The leader sitting next to the singer nudged him with his shoulder, and he finally snapped out of his trance, looking at him in big surprise. “If you like her that much, then ask her out or talk to her after the event…” He whispered, then rolled his eyes, and Romance’s cheeks turned as red as a ripe tomato. He glanced at you from the side as you were signing another fan’s souvenir, then sighed.

↘ Maybe he really should say something to you?

— ABBY

↘ You had been working at a gym in the city center for over a year. It was usually busy, and as a personal trainer, you always had plenty to do. You mainly focused on women’s aerobics and modern dance, but you also had three regular clients who came twice a week to work with you on the machines.

↘ That day, you had a session scheduled with Jiu. She was supposed to arrive any minute, and you were finishing up your usual check around the gym — making sure no one had left anything behind and that the equipment was clean and functioning. You laid out two mats in the designated space, then sat on an exercise ball, slowly spinning to loosen up your muscles.

↘ At the same time, two men entered the gym: the first was Abby, who had decided to work out privately to clear his mind from all the dance and vocal rehearsals. The second man looked to be in his 30s, had large muscles and longer hair tied up in a messy bun. While the first one immediately went to use a machine, the second started looking around until his eyes landed on you. With a sly smile and a casual stride, he approached you.

↘ “Hey, are you here alone?” You looked up and met his gaze. You told him you were waiting for a client, but asked if he needed help with something. He just laughed. “Nah, but I could help you — you could bounce on me instead of that ball.”

↘ You stood up almost immediately and told him to leave the gym. He grabbed your wrist and smiled again, making more inappropriate suggestions. Worried, you were about to call one of your co-workers — but one of the gym’s clients was faster.

↘ “Are you going to leave nicely, or should I carry you out?” A deep voice echoed through the room, sending a chill down your spine. The creep instantly let go of your wrist and stormed off, offended, while you looked up.

↘ “T-Thank you. Is there… anything I can do to repay you?” You asked hesitantly. Your sweet face made Abby smile warmly, feeling a slight flutter in his chest. He shook his head gently, but after a second, he replied:

↘ “You don’t have to repay me. But instead, maybe we could grab a coffee after our sessions...?” He said, and you agreed.

[dollfacefantasy]

Imagine a private anatomy class with college tutor!Zayne... it would be very educational of course. Just for the sake of medicine and research and having good grades.

zayne x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, fingering, possibly incorrect scientific facts (i looked them all up but just in case)

“in order to complete the lesson, you need to remain still,” zayne directed, his voice calm and quiet like it always was.

“‘m trying,” you whined. “you’re not making it easy.”

“i’m doing exactly what you asked,” he said. “you told me you were having trouble retaining the facts from the textbook, even when i read them to you. you said you needed something more hands-on.”

that was true. you had said that on the phone to him last night when you called in a fit of anxiety, stressing beyond a healthy level about your upcoming anatomy test. your professor was a tough grader, it was multiple choice and written, timed as well. you could not get yourself to remember the vocab terms to save your own life (or grade point average).

you’d spent hours upon hours trying to label blank diagrams of the human body, attempting rewrites of your notes from memory, and downloading dozens of practice tests all to no avail.

luckily, you were blessed with a tutor in the form your boyfriend. he’d passed his anatomy courses with flying colors two semesters ago. and he knew you were struggling now. he’d offered to help. you’d just been too prideful and set on succeeding on your own.

however, barely getting by with a C on your last exam broke your will and pushed you to cut your losses. you had to do better next time if you wanted to pass the course with a grade high enough to advance.

this little tutoring session had started off normal. you’d prepped notecards, bookmarked your textbook, and spread an array of highlighters across the coffee table. but somehow you’d still ended up flat on your back with your ass in his lap and his fingers swirling around your clit.

his arm stayed hooked over your waist to keep you secure as he toyed with you. it held you in place despite your attempts to squirm.

“the clitoris has ten thousand nerve endings,” he mused as his fingers danced around your little swollen bud. “it’s the most sensitive organ on a woman’s body.”

“sounds about right,” you whimpered with a pointed look.

a faint smirk ghosted across his lips. “unlike other parts of the reproductive system, its sole purpose is to provide sexual pleasure.”

as a mark of punctuation, he gave your clit a gentle pinch. you arched your back off of the couch below and let out a whine.

he hummed, rewarding your noise with more pressure to that pulsing bundle of nerves.

“you’re getting so wet for me,” he said. his thumb delved lower to rub up and down over your slit.

“fuck,” you mewled. your chest heaved with heavier breaths as your hand came up to rub at your face.

his freehand pet soothing stripes onto your hip. “as you become sexually aroused, glands near the vaginal and urethral openings secrete lubrication-“

“to decrease friction during intercourse and improve the environment for a man’s sperm,” you finished.

“ah-ah. the cervical mucus aides the man’s sperm. technically a different fluid,” he corrected.

“oh whatever,” you pouted.

that smug look on his face grew, and he swiveled his hand so that his thumb was on your clit while his digits were level with your entrance.

“it’s alright, darling. your test isn’t for another week. i’ll make sure you get it by then,” he said just as his index and middle fingers slid inside of you.

a gasp burst from your lips. you shuddered as your body accommodated his intrusion. he pumped them back and forth slowly, giving you time to get used to the feeling.

your walls clenched around him in response. his thumb continued those tight little circles up above.

“fuck, zayne,” you whined.

without missing a beat, he went on. “the depth of the vagina ranges from about two and a half to six and a half inches.”

“wow,” you choked out. listening to his little lessons were beyond you at this point. he could spout off the most nonsensical points and you’d nod along just so he wouldn’t stop moving his hand.

luckily for you, that didn’t seem to be part of his plan. he kept up his movements at a consistent speed. he twisted his wrist, wagging his thumb over your clit. all you could do was dig your heels into the couch and curl your toes.

your body felt hot all over. the heat originated in your belly but it had spread throughout your limbs and up into your chest and neck. the weight of his stare only added to it. his piercing eyes were constantly on you, studying you through those thin glasses as if you were the subject of his teachings.

you had just acclimated to the constant stream of sensations flooding your body when he rotated his arm a certain way and curled his fingers within you. a burst of white hot bliss smacked into you, causing your hips to buck and a loud moan to flow from your mouth.

“did that feel good, sweetheart?” he asked, almost mocking.

you nodded eagerly, whining out “mhm” and clutching at his forearm.

“you know, experts debate the existence of the g-spot, but many people report the intense pleasure that comes with stimulating that area of the vagina” he practically purred.

then he nudged his fingers upwards again. and again. you nearly rolled off his lap from the force your body reacted with. his arm tightened around your waist just as your grip on his forearm did.

“are you close to release? your muscles are spasming and your breaths are getting faster. you’re sweating a little too,” he teased.

if it was anyone but zayne examining you so thoroughly, you might have felt embarrassed. but every word spoken in his silky tone of voice brought you closer to the euphoric edge.

you could barely get out a yes before you felt yourself burst. that heavenly feeling crashed into you hard and washed over you slowly at the same time. your heart skipped a beat or two as your lashes fluttered against your waterline.

he continued with his efforts throughout your high, working you through the climax with precise attention.

as you started to come down, he withdrew his digits from your hole and scooped you upright into his lap. his arms wrapped tight around your frame, and his lips pressed gentle kisses onto your temple.

“the quick rushes of hormones during sexual activity can leave you feeling particularly vulnerable afterwards. it’s important to have a partner that cares for you during that time,” he murmured.

you smiled and glanced up at him. “that’s not really anatomy.”

“it’s still important,” he said in return before kissing your lips.

you responded on instinct, and it was then that you realized in this position, you could feel a solid bulge pressing against your ass. you pushed your hips back slightly.

“i wanna care for my partner too,” you mumbled, pulling away to see his eyes.

he met your gaze and cupped your cheek, speaking lowly. “well if you’re in the mood for another lesson, i suppose we could go a little deeper.”

[formulafanfics13]

Down, Boy - OP81🔥

Masterlist

summary: Behind closed doors, Oscar Piastri is yours. Submissive. Controlled. Desperate to please. He plays the part of the quiet good boy so well — until that defiant streak shows. And when it does? You make sure he remembers exactly where he belongs.

warnings: dom!reader, sub!Oscar, power dynamics, degradation, praise kink, blowjob (m receiving), face-fucking (light), orgasm control, begging, light slapping, rough sex, tears, obedience kink, possessiveness, pet names (good boy), lingerie, control play, semi-public defiance reference (motorhome), D/s dynamic, explicit language

He's always quiet at first. Always still. It's like the second the door closes behind them, some invisible leash tightens. One second he's Oscar Piastri, Formula 1 driver, all poise and clipped manners and dry wit, and the next, he's just her boy. Folding in on himself with that calm, perfect obedience like he doesn't even know how to be anything else. He slips his hands behind his back without needing to be told. He watches her face, not her body. Waits. Listens.

He's so well trained it almost pisses her off. Because underneath all that control is the part he tries to hide — the twitch of defiance, the occasional sharp tongue, the split-second arrogance he shows when he thinks she won't notice. And when he shows it? When he forgets himself? That's when he's at his best. That's when he breaks.

"You're awfully quiet," she says, toeing off her heels. Her voice cuts clean through the quiet suite, smooth and low and cruel. "Don't tell me Monaco's worn you out already."

He breathes in. Doesn't move.

"I could've sworn you were full of opinions in the paddock," she continues, unzipping her dress and letting it slide down her hips, careless and slow. "What was it you said in the motorhome earlier? Something about me needing to behave myself?"

Oscar's ears turn red instantly.

"You forget your place?" she asks, crossing the floor in nothing but lingerie and lipstick, dragging a manicured nail across the sharp line of his jaw. "Or are you just stupid?"

His breath stutters. Still standing there, arms locked behind his back like a fucking soldier. Like he knows better than to move until she lets him. But his pupils are blown. His throat bobs with every swallow. His cock is already hard behind the tight fabric of his McLaren kit.

She tilts her head. Watches him squirm. "Well?"

"I forgot," he admits hoarsely.

She smirks. "That's a shame."

And then she moves. Hand in his curls, dragging him down to his knees like he's nothing, like he exists only for this, to obey, to please, to ache. He goes without a word. Palms braced on his thighs, lashes low, body tense and waiting.

"You look good down there," she murmurs, circling him. "Right where you belong."

He nods once, jaw tight.

But she doesn't touch him. Not yet. She lets the silence grow sharp and uncomfortable, lets it crawl up the back of his spine and sink into his bones. Her hand slides slowly down his neck, toying with the collar of his team shirt, her nails scraping lightly against his chest.

"I think you've gotten a little too comfortable lately," she murmurs, crouching in front of him. "You think just because you're quick on track, you get to mouth off to me?"

His eyes dart up. "I didn't mean—"

"You did." Her voice is soft but cold. "And now you're going to make it up to me, aren't you?"

He nods, fast. "Yes."

"Say it."

"I'm going to make it up to you," he breathes, eyes flickering between her mouth and her thighs. "Please let me."

She smiles, indulgent, dangerous, in control. "Take it out."

He fumbles for a second, always a little shaky when she lets him use his hands. But he gets there. Cock flushed, leaking, hard like he's been waiting all day for this. She doesn't even need to touch him to see how desperate he is. How ruined.

She reaches out and wipes the pre-cum off the head with her thumb, then slips it into her mouth. Watches his throat work as he moans, quiet and broken.

"Oh, baby. You're so fucking easy for me."

His eyes flutter shut.

"Put your hands behind your back," she snaps.

He obeys instantly, shoulders rolling back, cock twitching against his thigh.

She leans in close. "You're going to sit still. You're going to watch me. And you're going to thank me for every single second."

He nods. "Yes. Please."

She starts slow. Licking down his shaft, teasing him with the flat of her tongue, just enough pressure to make him shake but not enough to satisfy. His hands are clenched behind him, knuckles white, chest rising fast.

She wraps her lips around the head and sucks. Hard. And he fucking whimpers.

It's pathetic, how easily he melts. How good he is at staying still even when his whole body's trembling, thighs tensed, cock twitching. He's flushed all the way down his chest. When she pulls off with a wet pop and slaps the head of his cock lightly against her tongue, he moans, soft and strained and wrecked.

"Poor thing," she says sweetly, looking up at him through her lashes. "You're holding back."

"I—I can take it."

"Mm. You always say that."

She takes him in deeper this time. Lets her spit drip down his shaft as she fucks him with her mouth, unrelenting, throat hot and tight around him. His breathing is ragged now, his whole body trembling. But he doesn't move. Doesn't thrust. Doesn't come.

Not until she says.

She pulls off again, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Take your shirt off. Now."

Oscar scrambles to obey, still kneeling. His chest is smooth, lean, flushed pink. His stomach twitches when she touches it.

"Get on the bed."

He moves instantly, like a dog called to heel. Lies back against the pillows with his legs spread and his hands at his sides, blinking up at her with glassy eyes and red cheeks.

She climbs on top, straddling his hips. Runs her nails down his chest, just hard enough to leave little lines. "You wanna come?"

"Yes," he chokes.

"Beg."

"Please. Please let me come, I’ll be good, I’ll do anything—"

She sinks down onto him mid-sentence, cutting him off with a strangled cry.

"Oh, fuck—"

He's so deep, so fucking hard, her name on his lips like a prayer and a curse all at once. His hands twitch, but he doesn’t touch her. He knows better.

She rides him slow. Cruel. Keeps her hands on his chest, nails digging in every time he moans. And he moans a lot. Every thrust draws something new out of him — a gasp, a whimper, a strangled apology for whatever he did wrong.

He's close. She can feel it. His hips twitching up, cock pulsing, mouth slack.

"You're not allowed yet," she says sharply.

"I—I knowplease—"

She slaps his chest lightly. Not hard. Just enough to make him gasp.

"Do. Not. Come."

He nods frantically, eyes screwed shut. "Please don't stop."

But she does. Stops completely, just as he's on the edge. Pulls off and watches his cock twitch helplessly in the open air, wet and flushed and throbbing.

He looks like he might cry.

"Why did I stop?" she asks.

"Because I don't deserve it," he breathes.

"And why don't you?"

"Because I was disrespectful. Because I forgot my place."

She leans in, mouth at his ear. "And where’s your place?"

"Under you."

"Good boy."

She lets him come eventually. Makes him beg for it first. Makes him say please, please, I'm yours, I’ll do anything, until he’s barely coherent, until the only thing left of him is obedience. And when she finally fucks him hard enough to send him over the edge, he comes with a sob, back arched, hands clenched in the sheets.

She watches him the whole time. Drinks it in. The flushed skin, the tears in his lashes, the way he gasps her name like it’s salvation.

And when he’s done? When he’s ruined and still twitching and dazed?

She leans over him and presses a kiss to his cheek.

"Good boy."

[preciousbrat]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ unlawful

⤷ aaron hotchner x reader

The room is cold. Dim. Designed to be uncomfortable.

You don’t mind.

You’re sitting there in the metal chair, legs crossed, wrists handcuffed loosely in front of you. There’s a slight smirk tugging at the corners of your lips, not arrogance, but something more. It’s close to amusement.

When Aaron Hotchner walks into the room, you don’t blink. You only tilt your head, studying him like a puzzle you already know how to solve.

He doesn’t offer a name.

“Do you know why you’re here?” he asks, placing a file on the metal table with a soft thud.

You lean forward slowly, chain clinking. “I imagine it has something to do with the bodies,” you murmur, voice sultry, low, almost like a purr.

Hotch doesn’t flinch. His eyes stay cold. Professional.

But you see the flicker. You always see the flicker.

“I didn’t kill anyone, Agent,” you say, smiling now. “But I know things. And that makes me interesting, doesn’t it?”

He opens the file. Photographs. Surveillance. Timelines.

You don’t even look.

Instead, you fix your gaze on him. “Tell me something,” you say. “Do you always do the interrogations yourself? Or am I special?”

“You’re a suspect in a federal investigation.”

“Mmm,” you hum. “That’s not a no.”

Hotch sighs quietly. Leans forward. “We have you on video near two of the crime scenes. Your financial records are tied to a shell company used to purchase materials. You lied about your whereabouts to local police.”

You shrug, slow and unapologetic. “Maybe I was running from something else.”

“Like what?”

You don’t say anything, you simply just stare towards him. 

He doesn’t react, but that flicker comes back again.

You decide to push.

“Buttoned-up, clean-cut, in control… but something’s always simmering underneath, isn’t it?”

“Are you trying to seduce me?” he asks, flat.

You let your eyes drag over him. “Would it work?”

Silence.

His jaw tightens. His fingers twitch once against the table.

You know then, yes it would. 

The next time Hotch comes in, he’s angrier, or at least trying to be.

He’s brought back up, Morgan stands in the hallway, arms crossed, but Hotch waves him away. “I’ll handle this.”

You smile when the door shuts.

“You came back,” you whisper. “Did you miss me?”

“You’re playing games,” he says, teeth gritted. “And it won’t end well for you.”

“You think you’re the first man to say that to me?” you laugh, low and wicked. “And yet… here I am.”

You uncross your legs, slowly, and shift forward. The orange jumpsuit doesn’t flatter most, but you know how to move. You know how to take up space.

“I don’t want a lawyer,” you say softly. “I want you.”

Hotch is silent. Rigid. But his eyes roam. Briefly.

You lean in closer, just far enough to let your breath ghost over his jaw. “You could press me harder,” you murmur. “Maybe I’ll give you everything you want.”

“You think I’m stupid?”

“No,” you whisper. “I think you’re lonely.”

That one hits.

You watch the wall go up in his expression, but there’s a crack now. He doesn’t ask you more about the murders. He just stares at you like he’s trying to stop wanting you.

You make sure he fails.

The cuffs are tighter than usual.

You notice it immediately. Not painful, Hotch wouldn’t do that, but snug. Deliberate. No slack, no give.

He’s standing beside you in the transport bay, face blank and eyes unreadable. The black SUV idles behind him. The engine hums low, the lights off. No one else is around.

No guards. No backup. No other agents.

“Where’s Morgan?” you ask, feigning boredom as the chill of the night air cuts through your jumpsuit. “He likes watching me get shoved into back seats.”

Hotch doesn’t respond. Just steps closer and places a steady hand on your lower back.

You raise a brow. “Touchy tonight, aren’t we?”

“Move,” he says simply.

You walk.

The SUV door creaks open and you climb inside, twisting your cuffed wrists to get comfortable. Hotch slams the door behind you and walks around to the driver’s side.

The moment he slides in, you know.

This isn’t official.

No partition. No prisoner transport divider. No GPS blinking. No chatter on the radio. It’s just you, him, and the quiet roads ahead.

“Where are we going?” you ask softly, eyes on his profile as the SUV pulls away from the loading dock. “Not a Bureau facility, I’m guessing.”

Silence.

“Not Quantico. Not federal holding. So where, Agent Hotchner?” you press.

His grip tightens on the steering wheel. “Somewhere secure.”

You smile to yourself.

The drive is long. A blur of blacktop and trees. You watch the reflection of passing headlights move over his face like ghosts. His jaw clenches every time you shift in your seat. He hasn’t looked at you once.

“Are you afraid of me?” you ask finally.

That gets his attention. His eyes flick toward you, just for a second. Sharp. Heated.

“No.”

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

Silence again.

You uncross your legs slowly, letting your knee brush against the center console. “Is this where you kill me?” you tease, voice a whisper.

Hotch slams the brakes.

The SUV jerks to a stop on the side of a dark road lined with trees. You’re thrown forward slightly, heart hammering from the jolt.

Then, without a word, he gets out and circles around the car.

Your door opens, and he leans in close. Too close.

“Don’t test me,” he says, low and deadly. “Not tonight.”

You smile. “Why?”

His hand closes around your upper arm as he hauls you from the car. He walks you toward a gate you hadn’t seen through the dark. A cabin, more bunker than home, rises from the shadows ahead.

A Bureau safehouse.

Isolated. Quiet. Private.

The door opens with a fingerprint scan.

He ushers you inside, slams it shut, and locks it from the inside with a bolt that clicks hard. His keys jingle softly as he tosses them onto a table.

Then he turns to face you.

You stand in the center of the room, cuffed hands in front of you, chest rising and falling slowly.

No one knows you’re here.

No one will interrupt.

The room is quiet, dimly lit by a single lamp. Sparsely furnished, just a bed, a chair, and a locked door behind you.

You stand there, arms loose at your sides, watching Hotch toss his coat aside like it’s burning him.

“So what is this?” you ask, voice breathy. “An off-record interrogation? Or do I get to be your dirty little secret?”

He storms toward you, grabs your jaw, fingers firm but not cruel. His voice is rough. “You don’t speak unless I tell you to.”

Your pulse spikes.

He’s not playing good cop anymore.

His mouth crashes onto yours, hungry, hard, relentless. You moan into him, parting your lips to let him in, tasting his control crack for the first time. His hands trail down your body, tugging your clothes with sharp, impatient motions.

“Take it off,” he demands against your mouth.

You do, slowly, teasingly, eyes locked on him. Your bra hits the floor next.

He doesn’t give you time to finish undressing. His hands slide down your back, pulling you flush against him, fingers gripping your ass hard enough to bruise. You can feel the line of him, hard and throbbing, pressed between you.

“I’ve thought about this,” he whispers against your throat, voice dangerously low. “Thought about shutting that mouth of yours with my cock.”

You whimper.

He drags you to the bed and pushes you down, chest heaving, tie loosened. “On your knees.”

You crawl up onto the mattress, presenting yourself for him without shame, back arched, looking over your shoulder with a smug little smirk.

But he wipes it clean.

He strips down methodically, like he's preparing a weapon. And when he kneels behind you, you brace yourself for roughness.

But the first touch is slow.

His hands glide up the backs of your thighs, parting you gently. His breath is hot on your skin.

Then he buries his face between your legs.

Your gasp is sharp.

He licks you with practiced cruelty, long, deep strokes that make your thighs shake. His tongue is relentless, sliding over your clit again and again until your fingers claw at the sheets.

But every time you’re close, he pulls back.

You cry out in frustration. “Hotch—”

“I said,” he growls, “don’t speak unless I tell you to.”

You bite your lip hard enough to bleed.

He grips your hips tighter, lips slick with you, and this time he sucks, pulling your clit between his lips and flicking it mercilessly with his tongue.

Your orgasm hits hard, screaming into the pillow, hips trembling, and he groans against you like he’s starving for it.

When he finally pulls away, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and stands.

“I’m not done with you.”

He flips you onto your back and pins your wrists above your head with one hand. With the other, he unbuckles his belt.

“Eyes on me,” he commands.

You obey.

You always obey.

His cock is thick, flushed, dripping, he strokes it slowly while looking down at you like he’s choosing how to ruin you.

“I’m not going to be gentle.”

You whimper, legs parting, completely undone. “Then don’t.”

He slides in with one deep, brutal thrust, and you nearly sob.

He starts fucking you without pause, hard, deep strokes that make the bed creak and your back arch. His hands are everywhere, gripping your thighs, squeezing your breasts, wrapping around your throat as he pounds into you like he needs to break you open.

You chant his name between moans, between sobs, between desperate gasps for air.

And still, he doesn’t stop.

He leans over you, face inches from yours, sweat beading at his temple. “You wanted this,” he growls.

You nod. “Yes—fuck, yes, I wanted you.”

His rhythm falters. For a second, there’s a flicker of something human behind his eyes.

Then he kisses you again, filthy and deep, and drives into you even harder.

You come again, this time with his name breaking on your lips, and he follows with a groan that sounds almost like surrender.

He spills into you, clutching your body like it’s the only thing anchoring him to reality.

For a long, breathless minute, neither of you speak.

You lie beneath him, wrists pinned, bodies sticky and shaking, and the air between you is thick with something more dangerous than lust.

Obsession or regret, maybe need. 

When he finally lets go of your wrists, you trace the red marks he left on your skin with a dreamy little smile.

“Agent Hotchner,” you murmur, eyes glinting in the dark, “you’re going to have to do a lot of paperwork for this.”

He stares at you, chest rising and falling.

He doesn’t deny it.

[french-vanilla-in-the-clouds]

𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝

𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

Summary: All Dean wanted was to unwind before the next case. He may have thought he was working the room, but she was already three steps ahead, and enjoying every second it took him to catch up. fluff! flirty cocktail banter ♡♡♡

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋆｡𖦹°‧★

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

"Dude, where the hell are you?"

"Hiya Sammy, just got caught up at the coroner's. Real mess, don't wait up."

"Why do I hear Tenesesee Whiskey?"

Dean glanced at the jukebox and winced. "It's a new autopsy technique, very cutting edge. You wouldn't believe the ambiance."

"You're at a bar." He could imagine Sam's pursed lips on the other end of the line. "Whatever. Listen, Bobby hooked us up with a hunter in town. I'm thinking --- "

Dean frowned. He sure as hell didn't need any help from a stranger. He and Sam would handle the hunt like they always did.

On their own.

"Listen man," he said. "I've gotta run. The dead are callin' and they want nachos."

He ended the call.

Dean slid onto the stool with practiced ease, green eyes quick to scan for singles. Between the polyester suit and witness-hopping, playing FBI in the Mississippi heat had proved excruciating. Now he needed a beer, maybe a cheeseburger, and if he played his cards right, company for the night. Sam and his hunter friend could wait till' morning.

An hour passed and Dean had gotten the burger and beer. With one item left outstanding, he decided to give it one more shot before calling quits. Before the bartender hollered for the last call, Dean zoned in on a potential conquest. A woman accross the counter, nursing a gin and tonic. Dean didn't need more encouragement other than the empty seat beside her.

Southern hospitality after all, was his specialty.

He took one final swig of beer, combed back his hair real Swayze like, and approached. "Hey there," he said. "This seat taken?" She glanced at him just as he sat down. "Seems that way now," she remarked.

Dean gestured for the bartender. "Another round for the lady," he said. He turned back and smiled, all teeth and easy charm. "You from around here?" He asked.

She pressed her lips together. "Nope."

“Just passing through?”

“Something like that.”

The bartender sidled two drinks at them. Dean chuckled, taking a slow sip. “You always this chatty with strangers?”

She ignored him. "Are you law enforcement?"

Dean thought it was a jab until he remembered his dress shirt and badge. "Yeah, totally. Special Agent Winchester from the Bureau. But I moonlight as trouble, so don't let the suit fool you."

She smiled and took a slow sip of her drink, eyes never leaving his. Her gaze was just sharp enough to make Dean’s neck prickle. "You don’t strike me as a Fed," she admitted.

Dean leaned in, voice dropping into that smooth register he reserved for the sweet spot of his seduction. "What do I strike you as?” She let the silence linger, then traced a finger around the rim of her glass. “The kind of guy who flashes a badge and thinks it makes him mysterious.”

He smirked. “Well damn. Here I thought it was the dimples.”

Her laugh was quiet but genuine. “It’s the tie,” she said, reaching out and giving the striped fabric a slow tug. "Disciplined but," she traced the silk pattern. "Snarky."

Dean’s breath caught. Her grip was tight and lingered at the knot. Oh, he had met his match tonight. He wet his lips and leaned closer. “I could loosen it for you, but that usually comes later.”

She raised a brow, unfazed. “You're confident. Or is it arrogant?"

“I like to think of it as hopeful," he said, flustered.

Her knee brushed his under the counter, soft at first, then firmer. Her hand slid down, resting lightly on his thigh. It was just enough to make his pulse kick up.

Dean glanced at the clock above the liquor shelf. “Last call’s comin’ up. What do you say, my place or yours?”

She didn’t flinch. Just met his eyes and said, “Yours. I need to talk to Sam.”

Dean blinked. “Excuse me?”

She pulled her hand back and sipped her drink, pleased at his reaction. “Your brother, Sam Winchester. Tall, floppy hair, a real academic, they say."

Dean straightened up, confused. “You know my brother? Wait, what the hell’s going on?”

She reached into her coat and pulled out a cell. A couple clicks later, and Dean recognized the name 'Bobby Singer' as a primary contact. The text read:

Boys are headed your way. Sam and Dean Winchester. They’ll need backup, so do us all a solid.

The timestamp from the next text came three minutes later.

Watch Dean, he’s slippery.

Dean blinked, secretly pleased at his shoutout from Singer's text. “You’re the hunter Bobby called."

“That's right.” She clinked her glass lightly against his. “Name’s Y/N.”

Dean stared at her sheepishly. “So, you’ve been playing me this whole time?” She shrugged. “You were playing me first. FBI, remember?”

He barked a laugh and shook his head, not sure what to say.

Y/N leaned in, her lips just inches from his ear. “We've got a long hunt ahead of us, special Agent Winchester. What do you say we head back to your motel, compare a few notes, and if the tide is right, maybe some scars?”

Dean grinned, wide and slow. Maybe he didn’t need a one-night stand after all. A tense hunt with somebody who could hold her own might be just what the doctor ordered.

He raised his glass. "To backup."

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

Oh, to beat Dean at his own game. Thanks for reading!

➤ General | @the-chaotic-cow @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @adaydreamaway08 @stitchintimefan @andthevillainshallrises @justyourlocalwhore @waiting-for-cas-to-save-me @leigh70 @cookiemumster1

➤ Dean | @eliwinchester99 ​

[lonerslug]

could u make a fic about arcane but the characters are just acting? Like they are actors filming the show arcane. (it could be about all the characters or just sevika:3)

“AND… ACTION!”

Sevika kicks open the prop door, cigarette in her mouth, artificial metal arm gleaming under the studio lights. She stalks in like she owns the bar. Because she does. According to the script.

“You think you can just waltz into my territory?” she snarls at Vi, voice deep and gravelly. Vi doesn’t flinch.

“I didn’t come here to talk,” Vi says coolly, fists clenched, chin up.

They stare each other down.

Silence.

Then Sevika pauses, squints.

“…is that a redbull in your back pocket?”

Vi bursts out laughing.

“CUT!”

Someone from behind the camera groans.

“You guys, please. This is the eighth take.”

Sevika waves her cigar around like a conductor’s wand. “Why is she allowed to smuggle energy drinks onto set? I get a pat-down for gum.”

Vi’s still laughing, holding up the offending can. “I was gonna drink it after, but Queen of Metal Arms here got so close I felt it crushing my ass.”

The director facepalms. “Can we reset? Back to one. Sevika, maybe just don’t sniff her pocket this time?”

“Not making promises,” Sevika mutters, smirking.

INT. MAKEUP TRAILER - MORNING

Sevika lounges in a chair wearing pajama pants and a robe, eyes closed as a makeup artist buffs fake grime onto her cheek.

Next to her, Silco’s actor is sipping an oat milk latte and reading The New Yorker.

“You see Jinx’s stunt double sprain her ankle yesterday?” he asks casually.

“She flew across the set,” Sevika says. “I told them the zipline was too fast.”

“Production says they’ll ‘tone it down.’” He makes air quotes. “So probably just send someone else flying into a wall tomorrow.”

“Love this job.”

“Insane job.”

They sip their drinks in synchronized deadpan silence.

INT. COSTUME HOLDING – LUNCH BREAK.

Caitlyn’s actor is sitting on the floor, eating chips from her corset.

Jinx is upside down on the couch, legs dangling over the backrest, hair full of bobby pins. She’s mid-rant.

“So then I told the intimacy coordinator I wasn’t kissing Vi,” Jinx says, gesturing wildly. “And he goes, ‘Why not? It’s subtextual.’ And I’m like, what’s subtextual is that I want to push her down a flight of stairs, not kiss her!”

Vi, entering with a burrito: “I’d let you. That’s real friendship.”

Caitlyn: “I thought you two were fighting about the stunt choreography?”

“We are.”

“We’re always fighting,” Jinx calls.

“We’re sisters,” Vi says with a shrug. “Canonically and spiritually.”

They bump fists. Chips fly everywhere.

INT. STAGE B – NIGHT SHOOT.

Scene: Silco’s death.

Sevika’s supposed to be holding back tears, rage bubbling under her stoic surface. The lights are low. Everything is quiet.

Except the crew can hear someone wheezing behind the set walls.

“Who the hell —” Silcos actor sits up, breaking character.

The boom mic guy peeks out. “Sorry. Jinx tried to make me laugh by texting ‘Silco dies like a girlboss’ and I couldn’t hold it in.”

Sevika loses it.

“GIRLBOSS?!” she wheezes. “HE DIED IN MY ARMS.”

Jinx, “Feminism, babe.”

INT. AMBESSA’S TRAILER – LATE NIGHT.

The cast thinks Sevika goes home after shoots.

She doesn’t.

She slips into a black trailer with tinted windows, where Ambessa waits with her hair tied up and a glass of red wine.

“How many retakes today?” she asks, lounging on the couch in silk pajamas.

“Too many. Vi kept forgetting her lines. Jinx knocked over a camera. I forgot how to walk once.”

“Charming,” ambessa says, sipping.

Sevika flops onto the couch beside her, pulls her boots off with a grunt. “This show’s gonna kill me.”

“You love it,” Ambessa teases, brushing hair from Sevika’s forehead. “You love pretending to be angry and grizzled and morally gray.”

“I am angry and grizzled and morally gray.”

Ambessa smirks. “You cried at the end of Paddington 2.”

“That bear was framed.”

They kiss, quietly, off-script.

INT. CAST WRAP PARTY – LAST DAY OF FILMING.

Everyone’s screaming. Jinx brought a karaoke mic. Viktor is drunk. Ekko is dancing. Caitlyn is telling Jayce to shut up about his personal brand.

Sevika’s in a suit jacket over a tank top, dancing with a drink in one hand and Ambessa’s hand in the other.

“You know people are gonna ship us now,” Ambessa murmurs in her ear.

“They already do,” Sevika says. “There’s fanart.”

“What?”

“Someone tagged me in a drawing of us making out. In full costume. On a tank.”

Ambessa laughs, deep and rich.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” she asks.

Sevika just pulls her closer, presses a kiss to her neck, and whispers:

“Hope they post more.”

a/n: i hope this was okayyy??

taglist: @georgiahs-stuff @illbecanon @riotstemple29 @shanesevikasfuckdoll @sapphicstrawcore @sevikaswinkinghole @shxdy0ariia @barelykiramman @sevikas-whore

[luvs4haechan]

maybe something with i love my gf final boss haechan? i read something like that and it never left me…

#ilovemygf

𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦: fluff!!

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: haechan x fem!reader

𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵/𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: established relationship, no use of y/n (i think), no warnings

𝘸𝘤: 1k

masterlist

donghyuck wasn’t the kind of guy who made grand speeches or posted long captions. his love didn’t announce itself in glitter or fireworks. it showed up quietly—in the spaces between things. in the silence of a room where nothing needed to be said. in the slow, careful way he memorized what made your coffee just right.

his love definitely showed more so through actions, but his words never disappointed either. donghyuck showed his love quietly, always simmering below the surface but always visable to you. he would get up before you, and have your morning coffee already on the night stand when you opened your eyes. he would take care of your apartment, cleaning or buying groceries when you ran out. never bragging, never complaining - just quietly loving you.

donghyuck never needed your validation either, he knew you saw, you appreciated and you loved him every step of the way. one day donghyuck was doing laundry at your apartment. not unusual but nevertheless amazing on his part. hanging it up to dry, he realised your hoodie had shrunk. without batting an eye, he tracked down the same one and ordered it on the spot. he didn’t even tell you, he didn't need to.

"does my hoodie look different to you?" you said one afternoon, lounging on the couch while reading a new book.

"it is different," he replied casually, "yours shrunk in the wash, so i got you a new one."

your eyebrows shot up momentarily, before reminding yourself this is donghyuck. of course he would do this, especially without feeling the need to tell you. you swore your smile couldn't be wider, as you leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek, muttering a 'thank you'. donghyuck simply smiled in return, not needing the acknowledgement but reveling in it neverthless.

you got sick in october. not bad, just that annoying kind of sick where your whole body feels wrong and everything tastes like cardboard.

donghyuck saw your nose turn red, your body evidently ache from exhaustion, and heard your coughing from the next room over. your boyfriend was never a great cook. alright at the basics, always struggling with the advanced recipes. despite his minimal skills, donghyuck chopped the garlic, and cut the onion that made him cry. he made you soup, soup that you didn't ask for but he saw you needed it. the small smile of appreciation was reward enough for his efforts.

every once in a while, you would tell him just how much you see and appreciate.

"i think," you said "you're secretly the most romantic person alive."

"i think you just really like soup," donghyuck retorted, holding you tighter as the two of you laid on the couch.

“no, really. you… you love like a lighthouse. just steady. you don’t crash over people, you just stay, and wait, and keep the light on.” your eyes shone like stars in a night sky, looking slightly up at your loving boyfriend. donghyuck didn't reply. he didn’t need to, his rosy cheeks and ghost of a smile said enough.

"do you want more tea?"

you laughed softly at his words, clinging onto him, "god, yes."

it wasn't like you were on the recieving end of all the affection and love in your relationship. your acts of love were more direct, louder, and noticable to the naked eye. always the planer, the 'type a' in the relationship, you kept things grounded. your love was all bright colours and fast thoughts; expressing it came differently to you. where donghyuck lacked, you picked up. keeping dates, making meals, choosing what to watch in the evenings. it was safe to say, you weren't the romantic one. but that was okay, because donghyuck created enough romance for the two of you.

you once told him that when you were younger, you thought love had to be loud to be real. screaming matches and dramatic kisses in the rain. but now you knew that love could also be someone remembering how you take your eggs. someone who learns the shape of your silence.

donghyuck never wrote you a poem. never serenaded you. never held up a boombox outside your window.

but one day, you came home to find he’d rearranged all your books by color. you didn’t even realize he knew the difference between dark academia and cottagecore romance. there was a cup of chai on your desk, still warm. a candle burning that smelled like vanilla and woods.

and on donghyuck's laptop screen, a word doc titled:

never forget, always keep close

it was a list. dozens of lines.

• the way she snorts when she laughs too hard.

• her terrible taste in romcoms.

• the fact that she keeps a tiny plush frog on her bookshelf named Stu.

• the way she curls up when she reads, like a comma.

• the way she looks at me like I’m not just safe, but home.

you read it twice before you even noticed the last line:

• ask her to move in. soon.

you stood there, eyes wide, hand over your mouth. donghyuck walked in behind you, holding your hoodie in one hand and two takeout boxes in the other.

“i didn’t mean for you to see that yet,” he said.

you turned to him, smile trembling. there were no words to describe how you felt. every time you thought your whole heart was donghyuck's, he managed to steal another piece and keep it to himself. you threw your arms around him. and he held you. quietly. steadily. like he always did.

"i'd love to move in with you, hyuck."

you moved in together that winter. the snow coating the pavements as the two of you dragged the last of donghyuck's boxes up the stairs of your apartment building. it made sense. he was always at your apartment anyway. yours was bigger. it was a mutual decision - like every other in your relationship. but it was easy. like riding a bike - once you learn how, it never fades.

donghyuck still made you coffee in the mornings. you still placed books on every viable surface in your now shared home. you still lost things. but you did it all together.

and every so often, you would look at him across the room—watching you with soft eyes and a quiet kind of awe—and you'd think just how lucky you were. and donghyuck was thinking the same.

𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘺𝘢𝘱𝘴!

anon im so sorry 😭😭 this took so long, it's a bit different from what i usually write but i wanted to try something new lmk what you all think 🙏🏻🙏🏻 also not proofread and so short 😣😣 i have a few more requests to get to but keep sending them i love seeing what you want me to write next and your opinions 🫶🏻🫶🏻 luvs4haechan out

[ckret2]

Chapter 98 of human Bill Cipher hanging out in the Mystery Shack because frankly he likes Mabel better than his own cultists: Bill does drugs, watches cartoons, and schemes against poor Melody who never did anything to him. Or did she?

"Here are those apples you needed, Sunny Cat," Love Bunny said, holding out a basket nearly overflowing with bright yellow apples the same color as Sunny's fur.

"Purrfect! Now I have just enough to finish the pie for today's picnic," Sunny said, taking the basket. "Thanks for bringing them, Love Bunny! You're always such a good friend!" The daffodils in the planter by Sunny's front door bloomed brighter and taller in response to this display of friendship.

"Of course! I'm always happy to help!" The green bunny waved goodbye over her shoulder as she left, then mused to herself, "Now, who was I going to help next?"

Her stroll took her down a ravine; a river flowed along one side of the path and a steep cliff face lined the other; and unbeknownst to her, at the top of the cliff, in the shade of the multicolor trees arched over the ravine, was a grey snake and an even darker gray tarantula the size of a grizzly bear.

Serpent Grey was watching her with a pair of binoculars he was holding with his tail.

Serpent said "Perfect! She's pinned in by the river on one side and the cliff on the other. We can easily surround her!" He hiss-chuckled evilly, then snapped, "Harry! Is that net ready yet?!" 

Harry was wrestling with a spiderweb net he'd tangled his legs in. "Just a second!" He rocked back and forth with a grunt. "Almooost! ... Whoa—" He rolled over—in the process, steamrolling Serpent with his abdomen. Serpent's distressed squawk was muffled under a mass of spider fuzz.

"Hey, I got the net free!"

"Wonderful," Serpent wheezed. He painfully peeled himself off the ground, winced, and said, "You'll block her from the front and serve as a distraction—(it's about the only thing you're good for, web-for-brains)—and meanwhile, I'll sssneak up from behind with the net and ssscoop her up! Then we'll easily drag her back to the Duke of Smog's castle—"

Harry gasped in delight. "She's coming to the castle with us?!"

"She—yes, bug breath, that's the entire plan!"

"Oh boy oh boy oh boy!" He bounced in delight back and forth between his left and right legs. "We never get guests, I'm so excited! We can have a sleepover and make popcorn and watch movies and paint each other's nails pretty colors—" He stopped suddenly, looked at Serpent Grey, and said sadly, "But you don't have nails."

"And I don't want your hideouss colorsss!" Serpent snapped.

"Aww, but I like colors."

"No you don't!"

"Oh."

"Anyway!" Serpent huffed irritably. "She's not coming over as our guest, she'll be our prisoner—"

Whatever he'd been about to say next was cut off in a pained gurgle as Harry trampled over him to reach the edge of the cliff and look down at Love Bunny below. Dismayed, Harry said, "She's going the wrong way! Say, does she know she's coming to our castle?"

Tail thrashing uselessly, Serpent struggled to squeeze his head out from under Harry's feet. "Nooo! Of course not! That's the whole point, you nincompoop!"

Harry gasped in horror. "Oh, no! I'd better go tell her, she's going to miss it!"

"Wait, don—!" Serpent's protests were cut off again as one of Harry's many legs stamped on his head.

"Hey, Love Bunny!" Harry lumbered down the cliffside, his spider web net tangled around a couple of his left legs.

She looked up at the shout. "Oh no—Harry?! What's he doing here?"

"Me and Serpent wanted to ask if you wanna come to our castle for a, a—" As Harry reached level ground, he stumbled, tripped over his own net—"Whoa!"—and tumbled across the narrow path into the river. Love Bunny gasped as he plunged underwater with a splash.

It was several seconds before he bobbed to the surface, legs flailing in a panic, already swept ten feet downstream, "He—heeelp! Somebody heeelp!"

Atop the cliff, Serpent's whole back rippled in a jolt of panic. "Oh no, oh no, what do I do?" He looked left, looked right, and when he didn't see anyone else he could order to rescue Harry for him, he scooted back from the edge of the cliff, whistling innocently.

Love Bunny muttered, "Even if he's a bad guy, I can't just let him drown!" She looked around, spotted the spider web net discarded in the middle of the path, and flung her flower basket's handle over her arm so she could snatch up the net with both hands. She ran after the panicked tarantula. "Harryyy! Grab on to this!" She flung the net out over the river.

Harry latched on to it with all his legs and held on tight as Love Bunny laboriously heaved him to shore. He lay on his back, four eyes blinking dazedly.

"Whew." Love Bunny wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, panting. "Are you okay?"

Harry flipped himself upright, shook himself dry like a dog, and scuttled up to Love Bunny. "I am now! Gee, you—you saved my life!"

"I guess I did. You should be more careful running around next to rivers! It's easy to slip and fall in."

"Oh, I will," he said earnestly. "Thank you! I think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

Love Bunny laughed nervously. "Well, you're welcome, Harr—whoa!"

Harry had scooped her up in a crushing four-legged hug. "From now on, you're my best friend! Just say the word, bestest pal, and I'll do anything you want! I'll be right by your side... forever!"

Watching from the top of the cliff, Serpent slapped the end of his tail over his eyes and whined, "Oh, nooo!"

Love Bunny cringed, unsuccessfully trying to wiggle out of Harry's embrace. "Oh, no."

The screen panned down from her face to the basket still slung over arm, just in time to catch how the budding flowers all bloomed and a curtain of vines crept out of the basket and hung down the sides.

Laying on his back on the couch, legs kicked up over the backrest, watching the TV upside-down, Bill said to nobody, "I was right. This show is amazing on psychedelics." The vines twisted around into infinite emerald fractal spirals, filling the TV screen and spilling out the edges to begin taking over the pattern of the wallpaper behind it. He should have done this on an episode with less focus on the Duke's minions, though. The multicolor pyrotechnics were wasted on a couple characters that looked like they'd crawled out of the Valley of Ashes.

Mabel dragged her gaze from Color Critters. "What psychedelics? You don't have anything." She squinted at him. Which was probably for her own safety, since her eyes were obviously beginning to liquefy, and were now big wobbly orbs like floating balls of molten metal in zero gravity, threatening to goop out of her skull. (Bill wondered if she was aware of this.) "Do you?"

"Uh." He did, in fact, have something. During one of his recent excursions outside at night, he'd managed to harvest some hallucinogenic moss from the forest and leave it out on the roof to dry. He'd collected his first batch in the wee hours of the morning and was testing it right now. But the adult humans probably didn't want him talking about the fun substances in front of the half-grown humans. "You mean you didn't know that if you turn your head upside-down long enough, the whole world starts to look like a kaleidoscope?"

Her wobbly blob eyes looked skeptical. "Really? Because I've tried standing on my head until all the blood rushes to it, and I just passed out."

"Yeah, because you were doing it wrong! You've gotta keep your heart level with your head," he gestured at his torso laid out on the couch, "so that not all the blood goes to your head! What you want is to just get your brain upside-down, so that the uh... the chemical juices pooled at the bottom of your skull drain back up to the top. It's the same thing that causes dreams. Because your head is on its side." Oh, that was inspired. Bill was on a roll. He was so creative, everyone loved him. The butterflies made out of sunlight that were beginning to float out of the TV and circle the room agreed. "Turning your head totally upside-down just enhances the effect!"

Mabel considered that; then she set aside the crayon masterpiece she'd been working on, climbed up on the couch next to Bill, and positioned herself like Bill with her head upside-down.

Leo Proud bounded to his garden gate at the sight of Love Bunny coming up the road. "Hey, Love Bunny! Good timing! All of Prisma's glitterflies escaped, we could use help catching—" He flinched in shock. "Rowr! Watch out, Harry Legs is right behind you!"

Love Bunny tried to wave him back. "Wait! He's not here to hurt us, he—" Her protests were lost as Leo dove past her and slammed into Harry. "Oh... drat."

Bill would have cracked a joke about how Love Bunny oughta watch her goddamn language, if he hadn't been distracted by the whirling kaleidoscope of a thousand spider legs as Leo and Harry rolled downhill. Oh, this was amazing on psychedelics, even with Harry's drab fashion sense. He had to bring copies of this show back to the Quadrangle of Qonfusion to play on party nights. He'd hand them off to Amorphous Shape to stitch together some kind of greatest hits video out of the trippiest sequences, she was good at that kind of thing. And that was when Prisma came on screen with an army of rainbow-colored flecks of moving sunlight in the shape of butterflies. "Wow."

"Those are Prisma's pet glitterflies!" Mabel explained. "They only show up in like, three episodes. I dunno why."

"Let's watch the other two next." 

"We're watching them in order," Mabel said firmly. "Or as close to in order as we can get with the tapes at the local video rental store!" The Budget Baby Cartoon block on the Gravity Falls Bargain Movie channel had started rerunning Color Critter episodes that Mabel had already showed Bill, so she'd started renting tapes from the place that was miraculously still in business even though its selection of video tapes outnumbered the DVDs 10 to 1. Bill wondered how long it would last once the streaming era picked up steam.

Bill groaned. What was the point of switching to tapes if they weren't taking advantage of their freedom to watch the episodes in any order they wanted? But fine, he didn't know if he could handle more glitterflies anyway. The blue of the sky was beginning to seep out of the TV screen and, in defiance of gravity, drip upward toward the ceiling, and Bill was losing track of the plot. Somebody must have said something about catching the glitterflies, because Leo and Love Bunny were running around with nets trying to catch them and add them to a jar Prisma was holding, and Harry was ineptly jumping around trying to catch the individual glitterflies with his paws. "No," Bill whispered, hand stretched toward the fluttering lights. "Be free."

Mabel elbowed his side. "I never understood why Harry tries to grab them. He made a spider web net to catch Love Bunny like five minutes ago. He can make another!"

"Dream logic," Bill sad confidently. "The web net's out of sight, it doesn't exist anymore and it never will again."

Mabel considered that. "But wouldn't that mean the other characters don't exist when they aren't on screen?"

"They don't exis—" The screen briefly filled with horizontal stripes of static violently flashing pleas for help and Bill flinched. "Jeesh!" Static was even worse when he was high.

"Sorry, this tape's kinda damaged," Mabel said. "It still plays the whole episode, though! I think."

"Ugh, warn me the next time there's gonna be one of those."

Mabel gave him an odd look.

Soos ducked into the living room doorway. "Hey, dudes. Me and Melody are going to—whoa, what's going on here? Did gravity reverse?" He waved his hand in the room, as though checking the gravity.

"Bill says if you sit upside-down long enough, everything looks like a kaleidoscope! It isn't working yet, though. How long does it take?"

Bill tried to remember the lie he'd made up. "Uh... It might take longer for you, you're younger. Got less brain goop."

"Good luck with that," Soos said solemnly. "Anyway, we're going to the grocery store, you dudes need anything?"

"More Kool-Joos powder!" Mabel said. "Any flavor! Except white grape. Or banana. Or kiwi mango. But any others! And cereal. And more sprinkles, we're almost out—there's only, like, five bottles left. And—"

"Hold on, I should be writing this down."

"I've got it," Melody said, typing on her phone.

"You already have my list," Bill said, making a languid gesture with one hand like a regal, upside-down king. "Just follow that. I also put down sprinkles, but Mabel's got a point. Double my order."

"Yeeah, about your list," Melody said. "There's fifty-five condiments on here."

"Right," Bill agreed.

"And that's not counting the four kinds of pepper."

"Right."

"And six kinds of peppers."

Bill counted in his head. "I think you're short one! What's on the list?"

"Serranos, habaneros, ghost chilis, jalapeños, pickled jalapeños, sliced nacho jalapeños..."

Bill squinted as he tried to remember what was missing. The light butterflies' bodies morphed into peppers. "Didja get the poblanos?"

"Uh..." Melody scanned the list.

Soos leaned over to help. "Oh." He pointed, "Yeah, you listed it as an alternate purchase in case..." In case the store didn't have heated lube. Soos curled his lips into his mouth and raised his brows. "Mm."

"Great." Bill gestured regally toward the door. "Get shopping."

Melody rolled her eyes—and caught sight of the TV. Her face lit up and she leaned into the living room. "Oh, hey, are you watching Color Critters?"

"Yes!" Mabel sat bolt upright, her eyes bright with excitement. "I found it a few months ago! I'm going on a retro cartoon appreciation tour! Do you know it?!"

"Yeah, I used to love it when I was a kid! I'm pretty sure it's what got me into unicorns."

"You're into unicorns?! Shut up, I'm into unicorns! I'm—I'm making peace with unicorns, anyway! Fictional unicorns are okay." Somberly, Mabel asked, "You know the real ones are jerks, right?"

Melody laughed. "Oh yeah, don't worry. Wendy's told me all about them. My interest is more academic. I was researching unicorn mythology in college."

"Really? You can do that?" With a faint air of awe, Mabel asked, "Can I read your research?"

"Oh, gosh, it's all at my parents' house in Portland. But if I ever dig it out, I promise I'll show you."

"You should watch Color Critters with us! You're a unicorn expert, you can probably tell us loads of stuff!"

"Ooh, maybe. I barely remember anything about it, I stopped watching it when I was like, five? It started creeping me out for some dumb reason."

"Whaaat! What's creepy about it, it's the most adorable show I've ever seen!"

"Literally I don't even remember. I was way younger than you when I saw it, though. Who knows what was going through my head."

"I bet you're old enough to handle it now!"

Melody laughed. "God, I hope I am!" She glanced at Bill on the couch—watching the show upside-down with his inhuman pupils dilated—grimaced, and said, "But, maybe another time. Soos and I still need to go shopping," she said. "Speaking of which—we're not getting fifty-five condiments. You can ask for, like... ten."

"What?!" Bill tried to sit upright, lost his balance, and slid backwards off the couch to land on his back with a grunt. He quickly sat up again. "Ten?! You're crazy, what am I supposed to do with ten condiments?!"

"Season your food like a normal person?"

"—have you met me—"

"Babe," Soos said. "Maybe a few more wouldn't hurt—"

"There's no way you'll use all fifty-five! Most of them will just sit on a shelf until they go bad!"

Bill glared daggers at Melody. The hallucinatory glitterflies started circling in a ring behind her head, forming into angry red arrows pointing at her. Ohhh, Bill knew. He didn't need them to tell him that. "How would you know what I'll eat, you've never seen my eating habits before. You've seen my foraging like a starving rat habits!"

"If you're so worried about starving, a bunch of condiments won't fix that—"

"What, you think all those fruit and vegetables magically lose their nutrients if you chop 'em up and call 'em salsa?!" 

"It's fine," Soos said, just a little too forcefully to be natural. He put a hand on Melody's shoulder. "Babe, it's cool. I'm paying, it's not a big deal."

"That's why it's a big—" Melody huffed as Soos tried to gently tug her from the living room; but she let him turn her away and lowered her voice. "Soos, you don't have to just do anything he asks! You know this list is ridiculous."

"Yeah but like—he basically had to survive on peanut butter and tortillas for a month? If he wants to experiment with some condiments, I say we let him."

"But that many? And I know we have some of these in the fridge already."

"He can't get in the fridge by himself, I think he just wants his own..." Their voices faded as the back door opened and shut.

"Didn't ask for a white knight," Bill muttered. He didn't realize how tightly his teeth had clenched until his jaw muscles started to ache.

He faked a disinterested yawn to force the muscles to stretch, climbed upside-down back onto the couch, and looked at the TV again—although he wasn't really paying attention to Leo scolding Harry for smashing Prisma's glass jar and letting the glitterflies escape again.

Melody. What was Bill going to do about her.

She was still one of his top three suspects for the person who'd reported his presence to the Bureau of Covert Investigations—and maybe it was in his head, but he could swear that she'd gotten even more hostile toward him in the last few days. Bitter her plan to get rid of him had backfired, maybe? He could just picture it: Melody the outsider to this little happy family, unimpressed with the Pines family's insistence that they were the only ones capable of handling Bill Cipher, thinking about her upcoming wedding and her fears about having to move into the same house as Bill... It was a pretty good motive for betraying the family's trust.

But how did he find out whether it was true? There was no guarantee Powers would be able to find any info on the original caller who'd placed the tip.

The easiest way to find out would be just peeking inside Melody's head to see. At least, under normal circumstances it'd be easy. He'd attempted the Magister Mentium spell the last time he'd caught Abuelita snoozing in the living room; and nothing had happened, just like the last time he'd tried it. For all the magic tricks he'd picked back up, he still wasn't any closer to tugging his soul out of this body and into the mindscape, much less inserting it into anyone else's dreamscape.

But then, if Bill could do that, he wouldn't need to worry about petty concerns like who'd snitched to the feeble local government. 

He sighed. Ugh, he was too high to think of anything useful but not quite high enough to stop worrying about it. He tried to focus on the cartoon again. 

Harry was sitting dejectedly on a downed tree; behind him, a stone water fountain was half demolished and spraying out its water sideways, a lush green lawn had had random stripes shaved through it down to the mud, a picnic blanket was trampled into the dirt, and a rose bush was on fire. Aw, man, Bill had missed a really good sequence.

"No matter what I do, I just seem to mess everything up," Harry sighed. "Maybe I'm just no good as a friend."

"You can say that again," Teddy Tender grumbled, glaring out at the wreck of his lawn.

Love Bunny shushed the bear, then gingerly walked up to Harry and sat beside him. "Maybe you're not a good gardener, but that doesn't mean you can't be a good friend. Everyone has different strengths—and sometimes, we have different strengths from our friends! Being a good friend doesn't just mean offering help; it also means knowing you can ask your friends for help with the things you can't do very well yourself."

Harry's face lit up. "Yeah—yeah! I don't have to garden! I can help at the picnic with the other things I'm good at! Uhh... what am I good at?"

Love Bunny looked over the gigantic tarantula, took just a little too long to think of something to say, and finally, dubiously, offered, "Being tall...?"

"You're lucky he's dumb as a rock, bunny," Bill said. He was high enough that for a second he was sure Love Bunny turned to give him an exasperated glare. He stuck his tongue out at her.

There was a thought, though. Why did Bill have to uncover the snitch all by himself? By now, it was abundantly clear that the reincarnation process had done something to glue his soul into his body unnaturally tightly, even by human standards—which meant that everybody except him would have an easier time getting inside Melody's head. And as the kindergartener show so helpfully pointed out, a good friend knows when to ask other friends for help—

Another burst of static disrupted his train of thoughts. He flinched and shut his eyes.

When he opened his eyes again, the other Color Critters had apparently had enough of Harry, because he was cowering against the fence around Teddy's yard (which only came up to his waist) while half a dozen critters shouted at him to go away. Love Bunny looked helplessly between her friends and Harry.

"Come on, Love Bunny," Sunny said, paws on her hips. "You don't need to be nice to him! Come over here with us!"

Love Bunny's expression hardened inasmuch as the world's fuzziest bunny face could harden, and she stepped protectively between her friends and Harry. "No! He's not doing anything wrong." She continued over the other critters' gasps of surprise: "He's only been trying to help out! It's not nice to exclude him for making mistakes! And it's not nice to try to tell your friends who they can be friends with just because you don't like their friends!"

As Love Bunny's impassioned speech continued, the ruined garden around her started to grow again: the muddy strips of dirt filled with tiny shoots, and then flower buds; the charred-black rose bush un-wilted as the leaves grew fresh and green again; the dull brown mud drained out of the picnic blanket, leaving it a vibrant checkered red and white; vines even twisted and climbed around the broken water fountain to put it back into its normal shape. And then the whole scene started radiating pulsing golden lights that were trying to send Bill coded messages. That might have been the hallucinogenic moss talking.

"That's basically us," Mabel said, perhaps too optimistically.

Bill said, "Then you're not defending my honor hard enough. The shack's lawn looks completely dead."

"That's not my fault, your honor needs waaay more defending than Harry's."

Leo angrily retorted, "But he's been trying to destroy our colors and make the forest gloomy for as long as we've known him! And he's never felt bad about it before, so why wouldn't he do it again?"

Everyone turned toward Harry. Love Bunny asked, "Do you feel bad about destroying our colors?"

Harry kicked a rock awkwardly with one of his many feet. "Yeeeah, I do. I'm sorry guys. I really like colors! I just wanted to make my old friends happy. But I won't do it again!"

As he spoke, the camera angle switched to frame him from behind—and reveal Serpent Grey slithering along near the ground on the other side of the fence. He shot a dirty look toward Harry and grumble/hissed something under his breath. Bill tried to remember if Serpent had been around the rest of the episode trying to drag Harry back to the dull side. It seemed likely. He couldn't remember, though.

Love Bunny turned toward Leo and Tender. Grudgingly, Leo said, "Well... I guess, as long as he's sorry."

Teddy nodded encouragingly. "I think it's great that he wants to be nicer."

"Love Bunny, that was a very brave thing you did," Prisma said. "Sometimes, it can be scary to disagree with our friends. And sometimes it seems easier to go along with what our friends want to do, even when we know they're wrong—like when Harry was mean to us because his friends wanted him to be." (Harry looked properly abashed.) "But you thought your friends weren't being nice, and instead of staying quiet or going along with them, you stood your ground and told them what you thought!"

"Wow, it really wasn't that hard," Love Bunny said. "I just imagined how bad it would feel if my friend's friends didn't like me, and my friend wasn't willing to defend me!"

Bill made a gagging noise. "Ugh, empathy." Mabel shushed him.

"So, I can stay for the picnic?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Sure you can!" Teddy said, all past grudges immediately forgotten. He gestured toward their picnic blanket and basket. "Take a seat!"

"And try a slice of my pie," Sunny said.

"Oh boy oh boy!" Harry hopped in place excitedly. So excitedly, in fact, that he tripped over the fence behind him and tumbled backward with a yelp, squashing Serpent, tangling with him, and rolling down a slope toward—

"How many cliffs does this place have?" Bill asked. "Is this the same one?"

"Nooo, the first one had more trees."

This new cliff had only one tree, a scraggly thing tilted off the edge of the cliff that Serpent just barely managed to wrap his tail around as they tumbled over the edge. Harry wrapped several paws around Serpent's neck, squeezing it down to the width of a straw as his eyes bugged out like balloons. But Serpent's tail held, and the two of them dangled off the edge of the cliff.

"Wow," Harry said. "You saved my life!"

"hrk," Serpent squeaked.

"You do care! Oh, thank you, Serpent, thank you thank you thank you!"

"hhhg," Serpent wheezed. In defiance of his name and common snake anatomy, his face had turned bright red.

"You're my bestest-estest friend ever!" Harry switched from death-gripping Serpent's neck to hugging it. Serpent's face turned blue. "I'll never leave you again! Come on, let's go home! We can finger paint together!" He climbed Serpent back up to the tree and safe ground, half ripping the tree's roots from the dirt as he did.

With a desperate gasp of air, Serpent climbed up to the tree and flopped limply on the trunk. After a moment to catch his breath, he lifted his head to snarl, "I don't have fingers!" (A few more of the tree's roots tore loose.) "And I hate paintiEEEEK!" The tree lost its grip on the cliff, bringing Serpent down with it.

Harry gasped. "Oh no! Wait for me, best friend!" He dove off the cliff. "Wait for MEEEeee!"

"And then they died," Bill said.

"And then they died!" Mabel agreed. "BOOM, splat!"

"And colors are safe forever! Hooray for colors!"

"Naaah, then the Duke of Smog would have to do his own dirty work instead of sending his minions," Mabel said. "He's ten times worse than them."

"Oh, right. I keep forgetting about him."

Love Bunny had jumped the fence and hopped up to the point where Harry and Serpent had fallen, but they were long gone by then. "Oh, no. Did he really go back with Serpent Grey?"

Prisma gave Love Bunny a compassionate smile and that little head tilt that the animators used to signal that she was still youthful and cute in spite of being wise beyond her years. The sunshine bounced off her hair in a shimmery iridescent flash of rainbow light.

Bill squinted at it. "Wow, sparkly. Did they save this episodes entire animation budget just to highlight her highlights?" A moment too late he realized that might have been the moss again.

To his relief, Mabel didn't ask what he was talking about. "I think they recycled that shot from the movie about Prisma's history! They start doing that in the second half of season one. You can always tell because the special effects have a little extra pizzazz."

"They made a movie about this thing?"

"Yeah! Well—made-for-TV movie. More of a special, really. It's two episodes."

"Oh-ho-ho! A full 42 minutes!"

Prisma put a hand on Love Bunny's shoulder. "It's like you said: you can't tell your friend who he can be friends with. All you can do is be the best friend to him you can be. And if Harry Legs has friends that are bad for him, that means he needs a good friend more than ever."

Love Bunny nodded wistfully. Looking in the direction of the Duke of Smog's cloud-wreathed castle, she said wistfully, "I just hope someday Harry realizes how bad Serpent and the Duke are for him."

"Well, if he ever does... we'll have a home waiting for him here."

The somber moment was cut off by the raucous ending music as the episode's credits began to play.

"And then they never talked again, did they," Bill said.

"Nnnope! The rest of the show acted like this episode never happened! And in season 2 Bugsy Bee joined the good guys instead."

"I've seen sandwiches that lasted longer than the sense of continuity in an 80's kid show."

"I think it's part of their charm," Mabel said. "Old shows leave so many plot holes that you can fill in with your own imagination. Liiike this!" Mabel held up the drawn she'd been working on. Harry Legs was tenderly holding Love Bunny's paw in four of his own while Love Bunny turned away, the back of her other paw pressed to her forehead in a romantic swoon. "I imagine they've been meeting at night to carry on a secret friendship that blooms into forbidden love. That's why they have to act like they aren't friends anymore when the others are around." She dropped her voice to a whisper. "Prisma figured it out, though. She secretly supports them."

"Do you think Harry's clever enough to carry on that ruse?"

"Anything's possible through the power of love!" Mabel flipped to a second drawing. "Liiike this!" She'd drawn Harry, Love Bunny, and six eight-legged bunny-eared green babies. "Taranturabbits!"

Bill stared at them in wonder. "These are the most beautiful creatures I've ever seen. When I take over the world, you get to redesign the fauna."

"Thanks! Don't take over the world, though." She put down the papers and straightened up in that way she did when she was in moral teacher mode. "So, Bill! What did we learn today?"

"Don't hang out next to rivers if you can't swim, never hire a tarantula as a gardener, and if you wanna make more friends, just put somebody in mortal peril and then save their life."

"Well, one of those lessons is valid."

"Wait wait, I left out an important detail: put them in mortal peril, but don't let them know you're the one who did it."

"I mean... it would probably work, but it would be bad," Mabel said. "Let's try to take a moral from this that won't make your friends hate you if they find out the truth."

"There's still the river thing." 

"A moral lesson."

"Uhhh..." Bill squinted at the rolling credits. He was too high for this. "I'm too tired for this." Sleepover night.

"This is an unusually ethically complicated one for a Color Critters episode," Mabel said compassionately. "It might be beyond your level."

"Yeah," Bill said. He processed that. "Wait."

She stopped the tape. "Maybe you need some time to process it."

"Hey! What about watching the next episode!"

"Oh, no! You're still figuring out this one!" She ejected the tape before Bill could reach the VCR, and dodged his attempts to snatch it from her. "We'll move on once you understand this episode's lesson."

"Aw, come on!" Bill tried to catch up with her before she could get up the stairs, but he was paralyzed in the entryway by a halo of fire around the window in the door, shooting beams of staticky rainbow messages into the room. They ricocheted between the walls like a flurry of pinballs, hiding the stairs in an impenetrable obstacle course.

He stared at the bouncing beams in dismay, sat on the bottom step, and grumbled, "I'm really too high for this."

"You should have had less moss," said Prisma the Fairy.

Bill shrugged at the hallucination. "Yeah. Probably."

####

(TBOB changes: Bill picking up screams and messages in TV static was based on TBOB, and the hallucinogenic moss is also thanks to TBOB, but that's about it. If it hadn't been moss it would've been shrooms, and Bill's TV static phobia got incorporated because I already had other plans for Bill and TV static from before TBOB—but we'll get to that in a few chapters!

Okay, no more forcing y'all to watch Color Critters. For now. But trust me, this is gonna pay off in like 8,000 chapters.

Nobody asked to see Bill's shopping list, but I actually DID come up with it, so by god I'm putting it in here. It's optional you don't actually have to read it. But it amuses me:

SILLY STRAWS

A teapot.

Five kinds of tea. Dealer's choice. None of that cheap crap.

at least 18 condiments. 37 55, see below

Ribbed condoms

Tingly lube — if tingly lube unavailable: poblano pepper

Two electric toothbrushes, different styles

those pads with the yellow lightning & sun pattern

eggs

dates

avocados

salmon

Potatoes

Kale

Seaweed

garlic

Liver

Corn chips (triangular ONLY!!!)

Four kinds of sprinkles: – rainbow nonpareils – Yellow sugar sprinkles – Summer fun sprinkle medley – Gold pearls

Serrano peppers

Habanero peppers

Ghost chili peppers

Jalapeños

Pickled jalapeños

Sliced nacho jalapeños

Lemon pepper

Cayenne pepper seasoning

Black pepper

Crushed red pepper

Tabasco sauce

Black pepper ketchup

Buffalo sauce

A1 steak sauce

Tabasco sauce

Mole

Garlic Alfredo sauce

Basil pesto

Pineapple habanero sauce

Soy sauce

Balsamic vinegar

Vodka sauce

Brown sugar bbq sauce

Chamoy

Spicy brown mustard

Apple cider vinegar

Raspberry vinaigrette

Extra virgin olive oil

Popcorn butter

Jalapeño lime ranch

Thousand island dressing

Mint jelly

Apple butter

Pineapple preserves

Strawberry jalapeño jam

Bacon jam

Orange marmalade

Lemon curd

Marionberry preserves

Quince spread

Dulce de leche

Serrano jelly

Chocolate hazelnut spread

Plum preserves

Crunchy peanut butter

Bean dip

Peach salsa

Cilantro lime salsa

Find the hottest salsa in the store. Buy three jars.

Guacamole

Ranch dip

Salsa con queso (two jars)

100% maple syrup

Raw wildflower honey

Clover honey

Cinnamon honey

Purple icing

Lemon cake frosting

Fudge sauce

Hot pink confetti frosting

Cherry pie filling

Diced nuts

Strawberry syrup

Marshmallow fluff

Salted caramel sauce

— If you get low sodium low fat low sugar anything I'll kill you

bread or something

Spam

Canned tuna salad

Chicken salad

You can tell he's got his priorities in order, but god only knows what that order is.

Anyway, hope y'all enjoyed, and next chapter: new character! Well not new, they're technically canon and we've met them once before. But this is their PROPER introduction. Looking forward to hearing y'all's thoughts on this chapter!)

[hearts-from-angel]

CW: slight sub!top!Parker Bradley slight dom!bot!GN reader , light bondage (reader receiving) , inappropriate use of Twister , nipple play (?) (reader receiving) , Parker being the not so secret freak we know him to be

Both Knees on Red

1.9k words

For your reading convenience:

With a sigh, you slump over the game board. “Aha! Another round in my pocket.” Parker puffs his chest proudly while taking your remaining game money. “Don’t get too sore yet. We haven’t reached our six out of ten yet!”

“Speak for yourself. You aren’t the one who lost the last five rounds. We both know you’re going to win again.” You reply to him. Despite your best efforts to keep the angry look on your face, your boyfriend’s buzzing excitement made it extremely difficult. “Alright. Let’s reset the board.” With a cheer, Parker is back to being ridiculously serious about the game in front of you.

You pretend to be surprised when the next round is once again won by the boardgame enthusiast. “Well, well. Look who has won again.” Parker announces.

“How could this have happened?” You reply, rolling your eyes with a grin. “Can we play something else now? This sucks.”

“It does not suck!” Parker gasps. “You need to get in the gamer mindset, that’s all. Who knows? You may be able to win against me without being the little cheater I’ve exposed you as before. But that’s in the past. I still love you even though you don’t follow the rules I always thoroughly explain.” He chuckles. Seeing your raised eyebrow, he clears his throat. “Let’s have you choose the next game, shall we?” He rubs his hands together. “What will it be, my love? Clue? Uno? Oh, you know how competitive we get when we play Uno.” You laugh and shake your head. Searching through the box full of games, you light up when you spot the perfect one.

“How about,” You present the box of Twister to him. “This?”

Parker places a finger on his chin. “Oh, Twister! The game that was almost too risque for America! Good choice.” He helps in setting up, doing most of the work as usual to make sure everything was in the perfect place. “Perfect! Since I won last time, I’ll do you the honor of giving you the first spin.”

“I don’t think that's as much of an honor as you make it out to be.” You tell him. Still, you kiss his cheek. “But thanks.” Parker stumbles over his words, slapping his hand over the cheek you kissed.

“That is cheating!”

“Is ‘no kissing’ a rule of Twister?” You ask just to trip Parker up again. While he grabs the rule book to flip through it, you spin. “Right foot on red.” You say aloud. It is an easy first maneuver. “Have you found that rule yet?” You smirk. Parker grumbles loudly.

“It turns out that you are not technically a cheater. But it is a rule of all games to not purposefully distract other players in order to make your win easier!” He proclaims. “It’s basic etiquette."

“Can you use basic etiquette and please spin the wheel? I’m not cut out for the yoga this dumb game requires.” You reply.

“Oh, you know how much I like when you get sassy! It really gets my drive going. My game drive, that is.” He laughs. “Right foot on blue!” He says before placing his foot there. It’s an interesting stretch, but you get the wheel spinning with your left foot. The pointer lands with your left foot going on red.

“Man,” You sigh. The position makes you face the ground with both your hands having to stay outside the colors. You feel a little ridiculous for choosing this game now, considering the awkward downward dog position you’re stuck in with your hands on the ground. The only reason you chose Twister was in hopes of spicing things up with Parker like you had with the blindfold for chess and getting him to undress into nothing but swimming trunks for Sandy Kingdom. Who was the fool now?

“Don’t give up yet. We still have the whole game to get through.” Parker nearly cuts himself off with the announcement that his left foot was going on green. His cheerful dialog turns into silence. His groin was practically pressed against your ass. Heat rises to your cheeks quickly. It seems that everything was going to plan after all. “Ah- well, it’s your turn now.” Parker said with a crack in his voice.

“Right. Let me just…” It was impossible to not press against him further. Taking this to your advantage, you push back to kick the spider with the tips of your toes. You hear a squeak escape your boyfriend. “Is something wrong, Parker?” You ask knowingly.

“No!” Parker exclaims. It was obvious that he blurted that out so that he doesn’t have to forfeit.

“Parker, we both know that this position makes it impossible to make any more moves.” You tell him.

A long, frustrated whine sounds from behind you. “I know!” Parker exclaims. “My love, I fear that you might be cheating again.” You let out an overdramatic gasp.

“Parker! How could I rig a spinner?” You try to look at him from over your shoulder. This only made his flustered face get even more red.

“You’re right.” He sighs miserably. “It’s my own head that’s cheating me. You are the Candy Land castle I have to get to at the end of the board! You’re the D10 I have to roll to defeat the dragon, or whatever it is Chance would say!” He declares. “My love, I must… forfeit the game.” He looks like a kicked dog as he says this. “I can’t play if my head isn’t clear.” You smile at him.

“Is there a different kind of game we can play to help you out?” You ask.

“Oh my.” Parker whimpers. “Do you mean… sex?” You giggle.

“Yeah, I do. Maybe we can switch ourselves around to make this easier for the both of us.” Doing just that, you lay yourself on your back with your legs spread to invite Parker closer. “So, why don’t you get on your knees so we can-”

“Wait!” He bellows. You blink at him, startled. “The Twister… we haven’t put it away yet. We can’t do this on top of it.” He declares. With this, he snatched the plastic sheet out from under you to pack it away neatly. You groan.

“Bradley.” He whips around at his last name coming from your mouth. That never meant anything but trouble.

“Sorry, my love. I wouldn’t be able to focus entirely on you if I didn’t do that first.” He sits down between your knees, gently massaging your thighs. “Now we can… move on to our next game.”

“Mhm,” You coo. “You haven’t forgotten anything from the last time we did this, do you?”

“Of course not. It was only yesterday.” He shakes his head. “Who do you think I am?” You do feel silly for suggesting that a man with such a photographic memory as Parker’s could already forget something so important.

“Alright. Strip us, then.” You tell him. With a nod and a big, excited grin, Parker goes to work. He easily gets you naked, then goes for himself after. Saliva never fails to pool in your mouth at the sight of his smooth, slightly tanned skin. The time you spent bent over in front of him got you excited; hungry for him. “Damn… Let’s forget the other stuff. Fuck me, please.” Parker gaps at you.

“But what about everything else? Those are the rules! I have to properly open you up or else we risk-”

“Parker.” That shut him up. You spit in your hand, rubbing the moisture against your entrance. “It’s okay. Just fuck me .” Parker did nothing but stare for a long moment before coming to again.

“If that’s what you want, my love. I suppose I could cheat just this once.” He tells you. With slightly trembling hands, he begins to push the tip of his long, weeping cock inside you. You both moan at the stretch. The soft burn feels good. It would have been more difficult had the two of you not been in a similar situation the day before. “Amazing…” Parker whispers.

“Yeah,” You agree breathily. “Don’t be afraid to move. Come on, baby. You can do it.” Your gentle words of encouragement put a spark in your lover. His hips start to move. Not too fast yet, but hard . The first thrust knocks the wind out of you. “Parker,” You gasp. You swiftly praise him before he can convince himself that the call of his name means anything but your own pleasure. “That’s so good. Keep it up. Just like that but faster. Yes , yes.” Your back arched off the wood floor. You’re too caught up in your boyfriend’s perfected fucking to care whether or not you’d need to pluck splinters out of your skin later.

Parker stares down at you with furrowed brows. “Oh, my love… you are the only thing I want to win!” He groans with a mix of lovely whimpers. You smile lazily. You will never get enough of his sweet sounds. You chortle when he nearly collapses from your tightening hole.

“Don’t be upset with me for cheating at this game, Park.” You whisper into his ear once you have your arms around him. He shakes his head.

“This may be… the only exception.” He bites his lip when you dig your nails into his shoulders. “Ah, I may have to take that back.” His feistiness dulls quicker than a fire doused in water. His lips are on your skin now, pressing hot kisses down your neck and collar bones. Once he reaches your chest, he sticks out his tongue to give each of your nipples a lick before wrapping his lips around one, sucking gently. You let out a cry.

“Park, Parker.” You chant his name like a prayer. His thrusts are growing erratic. That was always a tell tale sign of his oncoming climax. “I’m getting close, too, baby. Cum on me this time. All over me.” He whines. “That’s… how you win this round.” You know that there is nothing sexier to Parker Bradley than winning. Your words get him into such a huff that he bites your shoulder. You’re done for. You moan loudly as your climax hits you, rocking your body, turning your vision white. Every orgasm by Parker sends you into such a shock. It was one of the most hot things about your nerdy man.

Parker is still slapping his hips against the back of your thighs. You begin to lightly scratch his scalp and grind down onto him. “Yeah, Park… Fuck, that was good. Cum, baby, cum for me.” You muse to him.

“ My love.” He grunts one last time. His hands pin yours down before pulling out and promptly covering your stomach and chest in his sticky seed. You both pant while staring at the mess. He gives you a look of concern when you start to giggle. “What is it? What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. You’re just cute.” You tell him. The adoration on your face tells him that you aren’t lying.

“Well, my little cheater. You’re cute yourself!” He cracks up.

“Looks like you actually did take excusing my cheating this one time back.”

“Cheating is cheating.” He huffs. “No matter how sexy it is.” He adds in a quiet tone. You scoff.

“Let’s give it another try, then. Best two out of three?” You wiggle your brows. He’s immediately interested.

“Oho, quite naughty! I can’t let you win, even if you’re my missing pawn!”

[mattsstarlet]

oh nooo, okay then. how would ps!matt react if candy randomly addresses how she feels about him?

i hope that helps with the angst stuff! i tried the question format hehe :) love yaaaa

this is a what if scenario considering candy is not 100% sure if she should confess her feelings to matt yet.

you sat on the couch next to your fluffy dog, your bunny sitting on matt’s lap, nuzzling his face on his thigh. times like these you’ve always wondered what it could be if only matt knew how you felt, sure enough he’d probably say the same thing, right?

you clear your throat, trying to get his attention from the tv, a sports game he’d been watching since he arrived. “matt.” you say softly, feeling small underneath his gaze.

all he did was look at you, waiting for you to speak. you swallowed the lump in your throat, looking at bella as you pet her for comfort. “i… i kinda like you— more as friends.” you whisper, the silence was too loud, you can cut the tension with a knife.

he let out a sigh, rubbing his face with his palms, the coldness of his rings stopping him from warming up, from getting angry at you for ruining your friendship.

matt lays bubbles to the side, his keys from his belt loop jingling as he stands up, catching your attention. worry splattered across your face. your heart racing as tears well up in your eyes, he was leaving.

“where are you going?” your voice coming out breathless and shaky, you felt your entire body grow warm, your bare thigh red from a stress rash you weren’t aware of until now.

“home. i’ll text you.”

you felt like a kid who’s parents told them no, looking at your hands in your lap, letting the tears damp your skirt. he felt bad, like an asshole and he should feel that way. he was leaving because he knew he didn’t deserve you. you needed someone who felt the same way towards you and he couldn’t be that someone, he felt shame for leading you on this long.

he stands between your legs, his rough hand tilting your chin to look up at him. you see the way his gaze softens, his thumb wiping away your tears.

“i’m not worth any tears,” he mumbles, his face expressionless. you watch as his eyes suddenly turn dark, taking a step back from you, leaving your heart feeling heavy.

“i’ll have chris come by later.” and with that he turns around on his heels, his footsteps growing silent as he disappears behind the front door. you allow yourself to break down, clutching onto your pillow as your chest heaves with the amount of tears falling, you wish things were different, that he felt the same way towards you.

© 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗍𝗌𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗅𝖾𝗍

note ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ had to rewrite this cause the first draft didn’t save. anyway i’m really backed up on ps!matt asks and blurbs, im working on something i wanna get out asap 🙂‍↕️ but keep them asks coming.