#and i wonder if in those moments of confusion

[lelengerine]

pairing. na jaemin x reader

synopsis. you and jaemin had always believed in a future together, but as the years pass, and growing up starts to get in the way, you begin to wonder if some promises were never meant to last forever.

tags. childhood best friends to strangers, angst haha 😞, honestly jaem is a little toxic… just a little, the time skips are a bit wide but oh well, no specific prns are used

wc. 4.0k words

notes. hii its been a while TT i’ve been drowning from school work yet again but i managed to whip this up somehow (the longest thing ive ever written here so far) !! thank u my lovely pookies @teddyjun + @pwblant for proofreading this 😙🩷 likes, reblogs, and feedback are very much welcome!

꒰ m.list ꒱

you first met jaemin when you were ten years old. 

the world was still big then, impossibly so, and yet, in his smile, you found a place to call your own. he was messy—his knees perpetually scraped, his grin too wide, as if he were holding the weight of all the impossibilities in life and yet, still finds time to laugh. his hand would reach for yours, tug you into the sunlight, and you both found yourselves running, the soft grass beneath your feet, breathless laughter spilling out between your gasps. it’s the simplest of moments, but you don’t know yet that this will be a forever built on a thousand such moments, moments too beautiful to question but too fleeting to understand.

it starts that way, with the purity of a child’s promise. the world is too big, too wide, but with jaemin by your side, it feels like you could touch the stars on your tippy toes if you tried hard enough. you make promise rings together one afternoon, and his face brims with excitement, eyes alight with the kind of certainty only a child could hold. "we’re meant to be together," he says, "no matter what happens."

“you sound so sure of it.”

“yeah, cause i’m not leaving you ever!”

you laugh at his response, a small sound that’s heavy with the weight of unspoken belief. your hands work quickly, clumsily, folding notebook paper into shapes that barely resemble rings, but when you slip them on each other’s fingers, neither of you question it. there is no doubt. this moment, like so many before it, feels sacred. a bond sealed not in reality, but in the purest of intentions. it’s a promise for the future—your future—and you both believe it, with all of your hearts.

"one day, i’ll start my own company," he utters out while fiddling on the ring you made him, voice filled with such quiet determination. "and we’ll be able to live together."

you smile, a perfect answer ready for him. "and i’ll be an artist," your voice carries the excitement you have, "i’ll have my own gallery and, oh! my paintings can decorate our home!"

he squeezes your hand, fingers tightening like he’s anchoring both of you to this moment, to the future you’ve already built together in your dreams. "i’ll be your first investor," he says, a laugh of his spilling out, one full of hope.

“do you even know what that means?” your eyebrow quirks up at him.

“isn’t that what they call it?” he looks at you, head tilted with slight confusion. “i heard my mom say something like how she was going to invest in someone the other day so i’ll invest in you.”

"fine.” you mutter with a sense of nonchalance, though you were more than happy with his answer. “i’ll have a painting ready for you then.”

“you’ll finish it in time?”

“please, who do you take me for?” you swat his shoulder, but there isn’t an ounce of malicious intent as you do so.

the sun is setting, and you are both wrapped in the warmth of those moments, of those words, of that belief. it’s easy then, to believe in forever. you believe in him, in the future he paints with such certainty. 

you believe in the promises that hang between you, so heavy, so real.

ʚɞ

you used to believe that some things were unshakable. that no matter how much time passed, no matter how much life rearranged itself, certain people—certain feelings—would always remain within reach, but lately, with jaemin, you’re beginning to wonder if that’s really true.

it’s not obvious at first. just little things, small enough to ignore.

the way your messages sit on delivered longer than they used to. the way his responses come slower, more detached, like you’re a conversation he’s having in the margins of his life rather than in the center of it.

the way he no longer texts first.

you tell yourself you’re overthinking it. after all, people get busy. life gets in the way. yet try as hard as you might, the thought lingers, gnawing at the quiet spaces in your mind.

when was the last time he reached out first?

it shouldn’t feel like a risk to send a message. it never used to. but now, as you hover over his name in your contacts, your fingers hesitate just slightly before typing.

you up?

the text sends. you exhale.

and then you wait.

a minute passes. then two.

when the typing bubbles finally appear, a flicker of hope stirs in your chest, a quiet relief that maybe you were just imagining things.

hey, sorry, got caught up with another project. how’s everything with you?

it’s normal, it’s fine. but as you stare at the message, something about it feels... off.

perhaps it’s the way it’s phrased, so polite, so surface-level, when jaemin has never been the kind of person to keep things so distant with you. or maybe it's the way his words don’t quite carry the warmth they used to, like they’ve been filtered through a screen that dulls them just enough to make you feel the difference.

you shake the thought away and type back quickly.

i’m good, just the usual!

his next message comes just as fast.

cool. i gotta go—let’s catch up later?

three words. no specifics. no real promise.

you hesitate before responding. it’s not like he’s brushing you off. he’s just busy.

yeah, sure.

and yet, even after you set your phone down, the feeling lingers—the quiet weight of something slipping, so slowly that you can’t quite tell if you’re imagining it or if it’s really happening.

a few days later, you do manage to meet jaemin at your neighborhood’s café. a part of you hopes—foolishly, maybe—that seeing him in person will make everything feel normal again, that whatever weird distance has been settling between you will dissolve the moment you’re face-to-face, but when he finally walks in, he barely looks up from his phone. no teasing grin, no easy warmth. just a quick glance in your direction before he slides into the seat across from you.

“sorry, i’m late,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “got caught up with the project i told you about a few days ago.”

he doesn’t say much else. it’s such a small thing, but it stings in a way you don’t fully understand.

you swallow down the discomfort and force a light tone. “you’ve been really busy lately,” you say, trying to tease, trying to bridge whatever this gap is. “what’s so important that you can’t even keep our plans?”

jaemin exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “it’s just… a lot, you know? school, deadlines, all of it. i didn’t mean to—” he stops, shaking his head slightly. “i’m just trying to keep up.”

the words settle between you, leaving a space that neither of you knows how to fill.

there was a time when jaemin always had time for you, when he would’ve made jokes that’d counter yours, nudge you playfully with that bright smile of his, and reassure you without even trying.

now, the only thing written on his face is fatigue.

and maybe that’s the part that’s hardest to admit—that you can’t even be mad at him for this. that you know him well enough to understand that whatever is pulling him away isn’t intentional, but knowing doesn’t make it hurt any less.

you nod, forcing a small smile. “yeah, i get it. we’ve all got a lot going on.” and maybe that’s where you leave it and start accepting that things don’t always hold the way you thought they would.

the boy glances at his phone again before looking back up. “anyway, i should go. got a meeting in a bit.”

you subconsciously nod once more, knowing it was the only thing you could do—pushing back your chair with slight force. “right.”

neither of you linger.

once, he would’ve waited. once, you would’ve stalled, finding excuses to stretch the moment just a little longer, but tonight, you walk in separate directions and for the first time, you don’t turn back.

ʚɞ

the last time you saw him, it was the winter of your last year of college. the sky hangs low, a dull gray that presses against the horizon, as if the world itself is holding its breath. the weight of unspoken things fills the space between you, making everything feel heavier than it should. you stand at the old playground, the one that once belonged to the two of you. snow falls in delicate flurries, each flake catching in his hair, softening the sharpness of his silhouette. he looks like the jaemin you once knew—his eyes still holding that spark, his posture still easy—but there’s something about him now, something subtle but undeniable, that tells you everything has indeed shifted.

his smile is still there, but it’s not the one you’re used to seeing anymore. it’s stretched thin, distant, pulled tight in a way that feels more like a memory than the real thing.

and it’s him who speaks first. his voice cuts through the silence, sharper than it should be. “i’m moving soon,” he says, and there’s a finality to his words that makes everything around you stop.

your heart drops into your stomach. the cold air feels like it’s suffocating you. “oh,” you manage to say, the word tasting like something you’ve swallowed too many times before.

he shoves his hands deep into his coat pockets, his stance rigid. his voice doesn’t soften. “the company’s expanding. i need to move closer to the headquarters.”

the words hang in the air, cold and empty, and you feel them sink between you like a stone dropped into still water. the weight of them cuts deeper than anything you’ve experienced in all the years leading up to this moment. it’s as if the ground beneath your feet is starting to crack, a fracture you didn’t even realize was there until now.

you want to be happy for him. you are happy for him, somewhere deep inside. this is the life he’s worked for, the he promised all those years ago, but there's a selfishness in the ache that rises in your chest, something broken and raw that you can’t quite name. it’s not just the news—it’s the quiet realization that, somehow, everything you once held close was slipping away.

“right,” you murmur, the word too small, too soft to bridge the gap inbetween. you hum, as if the soothing sound of it could convince both of you that this is okay. “that’s great.”

jaemin exhales, his breath a cloud in the sharp air. it lingers for a moment before dissipating into the gray sky. “what about you? still planning that residency in paris?”

you glance down at your hands, fingers trembling, cold from the winter chill. “yeah. got accepted,” you answer him, the words barely rising above a whisper.

his gaze flickers, something unreadable flashing in his eyes for the briefest of moments. “that’s amazing,” he says, but the tone is off, as though the words don’t quite reach you. “you’re really doing it.”

“yeah,” you reply softly, your voice small and quiet in the vast emptiness between you. “we both are, aren’t we?”

another silence stretches between you, thicker now, heavier than the snow that continues to fall. and in that silence, you both know. you know that whatever had been left of the promises made in the warmth of summer, whatever bond you once shared, was gone and that there’s nothing left to hold on to.

“we’ll still keep in touch,” he says, but even to his ears, the words sound like an afterthought, a feeble attempt at something neither of you believes anymore.

“i’ll still miss you,” you murmur, letting your guard slip—just a little. if this really was the last time you’d see him, then maybe it was worth the risk, even if you knew it wouldn’t change a thing.

jaemin glances at you one last time, his eyes glimmering with something you can’t name. maybe it’s nostalgia, maybe it’s regret, or maybe it’s just the weight of something unfinished, something left unsaid. “i’ll miss you too,” he whispers, and for a moment, you’re reminded of the boy who once promised you forever.

you let the silence settle around you both, its weight pressing down like the cold that’s beginning to creep into your bones. even though he’s stood in place, you feel the distance between you both widen tenfold, or perhaps it's always been that way and you simply refused to acknowledge it.

ʚɞ

the months pass in a blur, one indistinguishable from the other. time moves on, relentless, indifferent to the weight it leaves behind. in the world outside, jaemin’s success blooms like a flower in full bloom—his name now a staple in every conversation, his face brightening billboards, magazines, and interviews. every time you open social media, there he is, living the life you both once envisioned together. 

and you? 

you paint. you finish exhibitions, your name is recognized, but the colors you use now feel muted, the canvases emptier than they used to be. the passion you once felt when you picked up your brush has faded, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand.

you remember the feeling—the exhilaration of creating, the joy of shaping something out of nothing. the way you used to stand in your workshop for hours, completely immersed in your work, with jaemin's words echoing in your head: "you’re going to make something amazing, i just know it." his belief in you, his unwavering confidence, was a light that made everything feel possible.

but now? the spark is gone. the excitement of making art has dimmed. it’s hard to even pinpoint when it started slipping away. maybe it was when he left—when he moved forward with his life, with his dreams, and you stayed behind, unable to catch up. maybe it was the quiet realization that you could never catch up, no matter how hard you tried.

and then, one day, as you scroll absentmindedly through your phone, a notification flashes on the screen. it’s a new interview with jaemin. his name, his face, as familiar as the air you breathe, yet foreign in a way you can’t explain. you pause, your finger hovering over the screen, an ache spreading through your chest before you even hear his voice.

you tap the notification.

the video begins, his voice smooth and controlled, but there’s something about it that strikes you—a coldness to his words, a calculated quality, as though every syllable is measured, rehearsed. as if he’s become someone else entirely.

“there was someone—someone who was my strength when everything was falling apart…” his words hang in the air like a ghost, the weight of them pressing down on your chest. it’s like hearing him speak from a distance, as if his voice no longer belongs to you, but to someone else, to the man he’s become.

you stop breathing. your hand hovers over the screen, your fingers trembling as you listen, though you’re not sure why you feel the need to hear more. his voice continues, talking about his company, his rise, his accomplishments—the things he promised, the things he’s achieved, the things you should be proud of him for.

but instead, all you feel is the sharp sting of distance. the space between you both has only grown, so vast that it feels like an ocean you could never cross. and then you remember—this is the man he’s become now. the man who’s built a life without you, whose name is no longer connected to yours. you should be happy for him. you should be thrilled to see him achieve his dreams.

but all you feel is this deep, aching void. the weight of all the things that never got said, all the things you once thought were promised between the two of you, now lost to time. you can almost hear the echoes of his laughter, see the way his eyes used to brighten when he talked about the future. that future, the one where you and jaemin would take on the world together, is gone.

you shouldn’t still be holding onto it, but you are. you can’t help it.

when the interview ends, the screen fades to black, leaving you in the silence of your own thoughts. you remain motionless, your phone still in your hand, but it feels like it weighs a ton. the words he spoke, the things he said about strength, about someone who was there for him when everything fell apart—it all cuts through you like glass. you realize then, in the quiet aftermath, that you never got to be the one who helped him pick up the pieces. you were never the one he turned to when the world got too heavy.

and the worst part? you knew. you knew that somewhere along the way, he had started moving without you.

the promise you made to him comes rushing back, unbidden—the painting. the one you swore you’d finish, the one you said would be the gift that captured all the things you couldn’t put into words. the one you started in a burst of inspiration, with the idea that it would be a way of showing him just how much he meant to you, how much you believed in him.

but now? that painting sits unfinished, collecting dust in the corner of your workshop. it’s become a relic of another time, a broken promise that you don’t know how to keep. and you realize, with a quiet ache in your chest, that you haven’t picked up that brush in months—not for him, not for anyone.

you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, and with it comes the crushing weight of everything that’s changed. time has moved on, and so has jaemin. he’s not the person you once knew, and maybe you’re not either. you’re both successful now, but success has a way of making you feel smaller than you ever expected. it fills the spaces where dreams once lived, and it pushes you further apart.

you look at the unfinished painting again, then turn away, leaving it there—just like everything else. there are other things to chase, other goals to reach. but none of them will ever feel like what you once dreamed with him.

and that’s the hardest part, isn’t it? that no matter how far you’ve come, some things—some people—were just never meant to be part of the journey anymore.

ʚɞ

years later, you find yourself walking through the streets of your hometown, your footsteps tracing familiar paths, the cracks in the pavement as unchanged as the memories that flood your mind. you hadn't planned to come back, but here you are. the air is colder than you remembered, but the sharpness of it doesn’t seem to matter. you pass by the old playground, its rusted swings creaking in the breeze, the slides faded and worn. it looks smaller now, as if the world around it has grown while the playground itself has been stuck in time. it’s a place you thought you would leave behind, but it’s here, pulling you in, drawing you back to moments that felt like they happened in another lifetime.

you stop in front of the old oak tree where you and jaemin once carved your initials. the bark has thickened, the edges of your names smoothed over by time. you touch it softly, your fingers brushing the faded markings, and for a split second, it reminds you of the memories that you once cherished.

and then, you see him.

jaemin stands at the far end of the playground, leaning against the fence with the same casual ease that used to make your heart flutter. it’s like he’s always been here, like he never left. his hair is longer now, tousled in a way that makes him look even more like the boy you used to know. and then, when he sees you, his face softens, and that familiar warmth washes over him—his smile, the one that used to make everything feel right in the world, is there again, lighting up his features.

for a brief, fleeting moment, it’s as if time has folded back on itself, and the years that separated you two dissolve into nothing.

“hey,” jaemin says, his voice tentative, the uncertainty hanging in the air like a fragile thread between you both. it’s the first time you’ve seen him in what feels like forever, and there’s something in his eyes that makes your chest tighten—a mix of longing and regret, as though he’s unsure whether to close the distance between you or leave it untouched.

“hey,” you reply, mimicking his words, but your voice catches somewhere in the space between the past and the present. it’s hard to place exactly what has changed, but the distance between you feels palpable now, like something invisible has grown taller and thicker between you two, despite how much you wish it hadn’t.

you stand there, side by side, the silence settling in like an old, familiar weight. neither of you knows what to say. there are so many things you both left unsaid, words that were swallowed in the years that passed, left to wither in the spaces between your conversations. but now, in this quiet moment, it all feels too big to address—too overwhelming to pull to the surface.

“i—uh, you look good,” jaemin says after a long pause, his voice still unsure, but there’s a tenderness in the way he speaks. it’s like he’s searching for something—validation, perhaps, or maybe just a sign that you’re still the person he remembers.

you look at him for a moment, taking in the boy who used to be everything to you. he’s still beautiful in a way that pulls at your heartstrings, but everything has changed, and you know it. you feel it in the way your gaze lingers on him a little longer than it should, as if your mind is still trying to piece together who he is now, who you both have become.

“so do you,” you finally reply, but your words feel hollow, even though you mean them. you know he looks good. you know he’s still jaemin, still the boy you used to hold so close. but the things that used to make you feel like you belonged together, the unspoken bond you shared, they’re gone. you feel it in the pit of your stomach—the ache of time pulling you both in opposite directions, the weight of what once was slipping through your fingers.

the quiet stretches again, thick and heavy, and you both seem to be standing on the edge of something too fragile to touch. there’s so much you want to say, so many things left unresolved. but you realize, in that moment, that there’s no going back.

no amount of time, no amount of silence, will ever give you the answers you’re looking for. the past—your shared moments, your dreams, the friendship that once felt like home—is something that has already faded, even if it still lingers in the corners of your heart.

the chill in the air grows sharper, but it doesn’t matter. you want to step forward, to bridge the gap between you both, but you know better than to reopen a wound that had already been stitched up.

jaemin shifts slightly, his hands slipping into his pockets, his eyes flickering toward the ground as if he’s lost in his own thoughts. you watch him for a moment, wondering if he feels the same ache in his chest, the same pull between wanting to move forward and holding on to what was.

“i should go,” you say finally, breaking the silence. the words are out before you even realize you’ve said them, but they feel necessary, like the only way to close this chapter.

jaemin nods, his smile faltering for just a second. “yeah, me too.”

and just like that, you turn away, the ache in your chest a quiet reminder that no matter how much you want to hold on to what was, some things are meant to fade, even if it hurts to let them go.

you walk away, and the footsteps behind you feel like the final acknowledgment of the future you both said goodbye to.

[florencebirdsong]

Hiiiii! I really love your fic 0///0 and happy valentine’s day

I was wondering to request an AgathaxReader + Agatha has feelings for reader but hasn't done anything besides flirting and constantly staring at reader. The coven members decide to spend their Valentine's Day at a bar (including Billy). In the midst of talking and dancing, Agatha learns that Alice is also interested in Reader and, not only that, Alice plans to ask reader out on this iconic day

Agatha loses her temper 😳😏

Hiiiiiiii thank you so much!!! Happy valentine's day :)

This one was hard to keep short xD but I managed! Thank you for the request. I really hope you like the direction I took it

Valentine’s Day Event 2025

Tags: possessive Agatha, hint of dom Agatha, ficlet

“Why is the teenager here?” Agatha asks as she watches you both over by the bar. “Doesn’t this upset your delicate sensibilities?” 

The second question she directs towards Jen who rolls her eyes. Agatha has yet to let the whole poison-wine trial go and despite everyone having protested about Billy drinking, she seems to always focus on Jen.

“It’s an eighteen and over bar. It’s fine as long as he doesn’t drink,” Jen says.

“He’s literally at the bar,” Agatha says.

“Let’s not start this so early,” Alice suggests.

“Yes, I’m sure you’d much rather focus on asking out our newest coven member. Oh, sorry, I mean not,” Jen says and Agatha cuts her a glare. 

Lilia groans quietly.

“You might want to hurry up,” Alice says. “They’re a catch.”

Agatha turns suspicious eyes to those around you but no one has approached with you or Billy while you wait for the drinks. Jen coughs pointedly and Agatha’s eyes shoot back to her. She finds Alice looking distinctively uncomfortable.

“What?” Agatha asks, realising she’s missed something.

A rare enough occurrence that it sets her teeth on edge.

“The interest might be closer to home than you think it is,” Jen says mildly.

“Jennifer,” Lilia sighs and Jen cringes slightly at the full name but doesn’t lose her determination.

“What? I’m sick of watching Agatha moon over them.”

“I do not moon,” Agatha mutters before turning her attention Alice. She doesn’t say anything, just stares. Alice will crack eventually. Alice fidgets with the sleeves of her jackets for several long moments before she does, in fact, crack.

“I mean,” Alice says, “You had that weird thing with literal Death and if you’re only going to pine after them then, yeah, I’ve thought about it.”

“I see,” Agatha says slowly.

“You can’t kill her again,” Lilia cuts in.

“I would never,” Agatha insists.

“Yeah, no one believes that,” Jen says.

“Oh, look, they need help,” Agatha shoots out of her seat and makes her way towards you and Billy. You don’t need help, really, but you still smile when you see her.

“Hi, Agatha,” you say brightly. “Could you take- “

Agatha takes the tray out of your hand and shoves it into Billy’s, who barely manages to grab it without dropping his own.

“Hurry it up, Billy. Jen’s getting impatient,” Agatha says, already turning her back on him.

He looks like he’s going to say something but sees her intense focus on you and gives up before he starts. Instead, he carefully walks back over to their table.

You look at Agatha, half-curious and half-amused.

“You aren’t dating Alice,” she says.

“I…know?” you say, confused.

She corners you against the bar.

“I’ve made it clear enough who you belong to.”

“Oh,” you murmur with wide eyes. Then you realise you don’t want this to be just words, like the flirting has been. “You haven’t though.”

“Say that again.”

You try to stay strong under the darkening of her eyes.

“You haven’t really done anything,” you continue, feeling a faint thrill at the anger growing on her face.

You’re expecting sharp words. You don’t get them. Agatha pulls you tight against her and kisses you with a fever that consumes you. Surrounded by her touch and her heat and her scent, you don’t come back to yourself until a stranger cat calls. Agatha doesn’t deign to notice but you pull back slightly. She lets out a warning growl.

“Let’s not scar the teen any further than you already have,” you murmur against her lips.

She mutters something that does not bear repeating and teleports you both from the bar.

[babsworlds]

ABOUT YOU.

pairing. Dave Lizewski x fem! reader

synopsis. Your ex bf never forgets.

warnings. angst (happy ending), inspired by song About You by The 1975, also happy valentine guys!

THIS WAS YOUR VERY FIRST VALENTINE’S DAY WITHOUT DAVE. It felt strange, like a piece of your world was missing. There were many reasons for the breakup, but there were just as many reasons to still love him.

All day, you walked past madly in love couples, romantic quotes, and bouquets of roses, each one a reminder of what you had lost. The feelings of missing Dave were strong, but you tried to mask them with a veneer of disgust, convincing yourself that you were better off without him.

But beneath the surface, the memories lingered—those moments of laughter, the shared dreams, and the way he used to make you feel special. It was hard to reconcile the heartache with the logical reasons for the breakup.

As you lay in your bed, your notebook by your side, you let the familiar comfort of a 00s romcom play out on the screen. Each scene, with its predictable charm and lighthearted romance, tugged at your heartstrings, reminding you of Dave in so many ways.

You remembered the times when you and Dave would snuggle up together, laughing at the cheesy lines and enjoying the simplicity of the storyline. The way he used to hold you, the shared laughter, and the feeling of being completely at ease—it all came rushing back with every frame of the movie.

Despite your efforts to mask your sadness with the film's humor, the memories of Dave lingered, bittersweet and ever-present.

You heard a weird noise at your window, almost like someone was throwing small rocks, trying to get your attention. At first, you thought nothing of it, assuming it was just the wind or some other ordinary sound.

But the noise persisted, each little pebble hitting the glass with a soft tap tap tap. Curiosity got the better of you, and you decided to investigate. Pushing aside your blankets, you walked over to the window and peered outside.

Your eyes widened at the sight of Dave standing there, framed by the moonlight, with a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a stuffed animal in the other. The scent of the roses wafted towards you, mingling with the cool night air. Your breath quickened as you opened the window, your mind racing with confusion and surprise.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, laden with disbelief.

For a fleeting moment, you wondered why he would show up like this. Could it have been some bet with Todd? The thought crossed your mind, but the sincerity in Dave's eyes made you pause.

“It’s our day,” he said, his voice tinged with a mix of embarrassment and earnestness. “Do you think I have forgotten about you?”

Heavy silence fell between you as you looked down at Dave. The sight of him standing there, holding flowers and a stuffed animal, made it hard to process the reality of the situation. It almost felt like a surreal, vivid dream.

“Uh, there’s a cold down here,” he said, bringing you back to the present moment.

You hesitated for a moment, still unsure about what to do. But then his eyes met yours, and something in his gaze made you soften. “Yeah, yeah, use the back door,” you said, your voice steadying as you made the decision.

You went downstairs, the house silent since your parents were away on a romantic getaway. The quietness of the home made Dave’s presence even more surprising.

“What are you doing here?” you repeated your question from earlier, still not having received a proper explanation. You narrowed your eyes at him, searching for answers.

Dave took a deep breath, his eyes earnest. “Y/n, I passed by all these Valentine’s shits things all day, and it reminded me of you,” he started, his voice sincere. “And I just wanted to see you.”

His words hung in the air, and you could see the genuine emotion in his eyes. It was clear that this wasn’t some prank or a bet with Todd. Dave had come here because he truly missed you.

You switched your gaze between the flowers in his hand and his ocean blue eyes—the very eyes you had once fallen in love with. Your heart pounded in your chest as the memories of your time together flooded back.

Your eyes locked, and you could see the sincerity and longing in his gaze. Slowly, he handed the flowers and the stuffed bear to you. “I miss you,” he said softly, his voice filled with emotion.

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade away. You reached out, taking the flowers and the bear from his hands, feeling the weight of the unspoken emotions between you.

A mixture of feelings washed over you—love, hurt, longing, and hope. Despite the pain of the past, you couldn't deny the connection that still existed. Dave’s gesture, his presence, and his heartfelt words made it clear that he still cared deeply for you.

You sighed deeply, shaking your head as you took the flowers and stuffed animal from his hands. Gently, you placed them aside on the kitchen counter. In that moment, it wasn’t about the things he brought—it was about him.

Words seemed unnecessary as a single tear escaped your eye, trailing down your cheek. Without saying anything, you stepped forward and fell into his embrace, wrapping your arms around him. The warmth and familiarity of his hug brought a rush of emotions, a mixture of comfort and longing.

“I miss you so much,” you sobbed into his chest. His chin rested on top of your head, the height difference making you feel even more protected in his embrace. “I’m so sorry,” you continued, your voice breaking with emotion.

Dave's arms tightened around you, his own tears threatening to fall. “I’m sorry too,” he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

The weight of those words hung in the air, a mixture of regret and longing. For a moment, everything else seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you, connected by the raw, honest emotions you were sharing.

As you stood there, holding each other, the memories of your time together flashed before your eyes. The good times, the laughter, the love—it all came rushing back, mingling with the hurt and the mistakes. But in that moment, you felt a glimmer of hope that perhaps, despite everything, you could find a way to heal and rebuild what you once had.

Dave pulled back from the hug, his eyes locking with yours. "I should go," he said, his voice filled with a mix of regret and understanding.

As he let go of you, his hand lingering for a moment longer, he looked into your eyes. "Happy Valentine, my love," he said softly, his words carrying the weight of all the emotions he felt.

As Dave reached for the door handle, your heart raced. In a split-second decision, you quickly grabbed his wrist, your fingers wrapping around his arm.

“Stay,” you said, your voice firm yet filled with vulnerability.

Dave turned back to face you, a mixture of surprise and hope in his eyes. He searched your face, trying to understand what you were feeling.

“You don’t have to go,” you continued, your grip on his wrist tightening slightly.

Dave looked at you, his eyes widening in surprise. "You want me to stay?" he asked, his voice filled with uncertainty.

You rolled your eyes at his question, a small smile tugging at your lips. "More than anything," you said, your voice firm and filled with sincerity.

So he did. He stayed. In a world where people often came and went, Dave was the one constant, the one who always stayed no matter what.

Even when things got tough, he never wavered, never abandoned you. His loyalty and commitment were qualities that had drawn you to him in the first place, and they continued to hold a special place in your heart.

[farfromstrange]

Happy Birthday! Can I get a bouquet of peonies with daisies, perhaps with the reader and Matt getting a pet? Maybe Matt finds a stray out on patrol? Thank you!

Thank you!! This was actually so much fun to write after I got that headcanon request for Matt with the stray animals of Hell's Kitchen. I picked the dog to be a terrier because I just liked the idea of Matt being enamored with a small dog (and the reason why he took him is even funnier, considering it's a small dog, but you will get that once you start reading). Anyway. I hope this is what you were imagining, or that you at least enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

Matthew Michael Murdock The Second

Event Masterlist | Matt Murdock Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Request: A bouquet of… peonies and daisies.

Warnings: Fluff

WC: 807

“Don’t be mad at me.” 

Matt resembles a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar as he stands in the doorway to your bedroom. 

“What did you do?” you ask. 

His nervous sigh is followed by a steady pat, pat, pat against the wooden floorboards. 

“Well?”

“I found a dog,” he blurts. 

“You found a dog?” you repeat, carefully tasting every syllable on your tongue. 

If he didn’t look so serious you would think he’s joking. When Foggy and Karen suggested he get a guide dog, he declined. He has you, after all, so hearing him say those four words seems utterly absurd. You want to laugh, really, but then he steps aside, and the previous tiny footsteps you attributed to a lack of sleep suddenly take shape. 

A small, dirty ball of fur appears next to him in the doorway. 

You gasp. “Oh. You found a dog.”

“He was trying to stop some guy from hurting an old lady,” Matt says. “He has no collar, no chip—I checked. He… he had nowhere to go, and I couldn’t–”

Matt Murdock found a dog. You open your mouth to speak, but the terrier takes off into a sprint and jumps on the bed before you get a chance to. 

His little tail wags excitedly as he starts sniffing you, and you lose your train of thought, again. “Oh, hi!” A laugh bubbles up in the back of your throat when his snout bumps yours.

He’s a bundle of energy, so small you wonder how he found the courage to play guard dog, but there is a fire in him that reminds you of the man standing across from you.

“This little thing tried to defend an old lady?” you ask. 

He shrugs. “I was surprised, too.”

“What are you? A Yorkshire terrier with anger issues?” You scratch behind the dog’s ears. “Ugh!” you grunt when some of the dirt on his fur lands under your fingernails, “You need a bath, Mister.”

Matt, in turn, takes a few tentative steps forward. “I was gonna clean him up and then take him to a shelter tomorrow,” he says.

You look between his fidgeting fingers, his guilty expression, and the terrier in your bed. “Why would you do that?” 

“Well, we’re not exactly prepared for a dog...”

You cut him off, “And yet you brought him home.”

He sighs. You got him there. 

You give the dog a gentle shove and follow him off the bed. Matt tilts his head, listening closely to even the most minuscule of movements you make. He’s confused, too, maybe; you are so calm about all of this. 

“Do you hate dogs?” you ask.

“I don’t hate dogs,” he says.

“Then let’s go clean him up, and we can decide where to go from there.”

You’re tired, exhausted even, but this is one of few spur-of-the-moment decisions Matt has made that you are actually happy to go along with. 

He was the one claiming you didn’t need a pet. Not a cat, not a dog, not even a weasel. Now though, you’re sitting on the uncomfortable tiles of his bathroom, your pajamas covered in water from the little dog Matt brought home splashing around while you’re trying to clean him of all the mud stuck to his fur. And he’s right there beside you, smiling like you haven’t seen him smile in a very long time, sensing the excitement that is coursing through that animal and projecting it onto himself. 

He carefully runs his hand over the dog’s fur. “I’m not taking him to a shelter, am I?” he says. He’s so calm, so collected. 

Oh, how the tables have turned. Mister I-don’t-need-a-dog, enamored with a stray he brought home. 

“No,” you smile at him, “you’re not.”

“Would that be okay with you? Keeping him?”

“Honey, this is the first time you didn’t wake me with a near-death experience,” you say. “Of course, I’m okay with keeping him.” 

He chuckles. “That’s fair.”

“I know.”

“I love you,” he says.

Your smile only widens at his words. “I love you too.”

Just as he’s about to bridge the gap between you to give you a kiss of… gratitude, perhaps? The dog decides to leap from one end of the tub to the other, sending even more water hurtling around the room, and he barks happily at your surprised reactions. 

“I can see why you decided to take him with you,” you state.

“What?” Matt frowns. 

You wipe the droplets off your forehead with a grin threatening to split your face in two. “He’s just like you. Oh, maybe we should name him Matthew Michael Murdock The Second…”

And that’s when he realizes you will never let him live this day down; you’re just getting started.

But at least you don’t end up naming him that. 

[corner-in-corner]

Breath of spring

desc: James Lee finds discovers something new about your, Jinrang returns home from prison

obsessive!(yandere) James Lee x reader

established relationship and simp!(maybe) Jinrang

mostly fluff, kinda open ending

notes: this is kinda a sequel to this story

Happy Valentine’s Day!

If somebody had ever asked James Lee (currently known as Diego Kang and formerly know as DG) about your flaws, despite being a genius, he wouldn’t have found an answer.

Even so, there was one.

Your horrible taste in men.

He could find no other explanation for why you sat so happily by the cafe window, sipping your coffee before the start of your workday. While you effortlessly warmed the whole place with your presence, DG ached—because he knew the reason behind your happiness.

The Wolf.

The King of Busan.

The man adored by all.

Your only flaw.

Jinrang.

You counted the hours until you would finally see your lover again after his long imprisonment. The mere thought of it made your heart beat faster, your smile widen, your eyes glow with anticipation. Oh, how you had missed him. You couldn’t help but think about him.

Little did you know that you longtime admirer had plans of his own for today.

Diego Kang slipped off the gold signet ring, the one so similar to those work by Jinrang’s gang higher-ups. It’s too soon, he thought. You’ll notice.

---

“Thank you for choosing us”, the head of the department said, his voice cautious as he stole glances at DG—the man infamous for leaving the music industry at the peak of his career behind to build his own empire. He couldn’t shake the unease creeping his spine. There was something about the way Diego Kang sat there, utterly indifferent to the meeting. Something that made the air feel colder.

Then came a knock at the door. You entered with a smile, carrying a tray of drinks.

To James Lee, you were the first breath of spring after a brutal winter. Not a single detail escaped his notice. The way your eyes flickered in brief confusion, the second where he was almost caught—before you dismissed it.

Your senior struggled with the projector, the machine refusing to cooperate with him. It was a trivial inconvenience, but for Diego Kang, it was a gift from above. It meant that the task of entertaining him fell to you.

And for the first time in this endless, agonizing crush, he had you—smiling, speaking, focused entirely on him.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing, sorry”, you chuckled. “It is strange to say, but you just reminded me of someone.”

James Lee’s heart pounded.

“And… who might that be?” he asked., masking his excitement with a smirk.

“Oh, just a classmate of mine.” You laughed, brushing the thought away. But DG caught something in your expression—a flicker of nostalgia.

“You even smirk the same way! If I didn’t know who you were, I’d swear you were him.”

“And what was he like?”

“Oh,” you looked away, smiling fondly. “He was… a genius. Sorry, it’s not like we were close. He was kind of a star at our school. Imagine a guy whose trophies filled entire shelves—our local celebrity, every girl’s dream.” You laughed, lost in old memories.

James could still remember those days—passing by your classroom just to steal a glimpse of you through the window, wondering how he looked in your eyes when he stepped onto the stage to claim another gold medal.

“And did you love him?” he asked, his smirk deepening.

“You bet! He was literally EVERY girl’s idol!” You laughed, waving it off.

To hear you speak of him so fondly—to hear you praise him, without even knowing he was right in front of you—oh, how it thrilled him. If not his self-control, he would have revealed himself that very moment, even if every King of Korea were watching.

The projector was finally fixed, and DG turned his attention back to the meeting. Half-heartedly.

Because now, he was certain.

He will steal you away from the Wolf.

---

Meanwhile, in Seoul, the gates of the prison creaked open, releasing the King.

Baek was there to greet him, just as expected. But Jinrang barely acknowledged him—his mind was elsewhere. His thoughts were of you.

Baek handed him a piece of tofu, a symbolic fresh start. Jinrang took a large bite, silently making his wish.

A new beginning. With you.

As they drove, Baek spoke, but Jinrang barely listened. His thoughts wandered, flickering between anticipation and dread.

Would you still be there? What if you had moved on?

You had loved him when he was just another fighter clawing his way to the top of the Arena. You had nursed his wounds after brutal battles, crying for him even when he swore he was fine. You had stood by his side when he became a champion, when he became the King of Busan.

He was a man loved by everyone. But the only love that mattered is yours.

And what if you no longer loved him?

What if someone else had taking his place? Someone who could cherish you the way you deserved? Someone who hadn’t left you behind.

It wasn’t that he doubted your love. No.

Jinrang never admitted it out loud, but if you were to stab him in the heart, he would accept it as a blessing from his goddess.

But the thoughts of you leaving him?

Unbearable.

As they neared Busan, Baek asked, “Where to first?”

Jinrang’s answer was unexpected.

“To the office.”

This wasn’t a whim. He refused to return to you like this—straight from prison, still tainted by the filth of that place.

A real man loves his lady. That was the first lesson his teacher had taught him. (Though he had conveniently tweaked it a bit and overlooked the fact the his teacher was a manwhore)

---

By the time he reached your shared home, the sky was awash with hued of deep violet and gold.

You had been pacing for hours, anxiety gnawing you.

What if he wasn’t the same man anymore? What if prison had changed him beyond recognition?

The door creaked open.

And there he stood.

Your breath caught.

He was the same. The same stoic face—only now softened with guilt for the time lost.

Before he could say a word, before he could extend the flowers in his hand, you crashed into him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck.

“Y-you’re back… F-finally, you are back!”

Jinrang let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his arms tightening around you.

The flowers were crushed between you, their scent mixing with his. But neither of you cared.

For the first time in years, the world faded away.

He lifted your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Will you… allow me?” he murmured.

You pulled him down into a kiss.

Jinrang’s hand slid to the back of your head, his grip firm—desperate to close the distance between you. The moment stretched, everything else ceasing to exist.

When you finally pulled away, he brushed his lips against your tear-streaked cheeks.

After a long silence, you mumbled, “I should have let you in first.”

Jinrang chuckled, holding up the slightly crushed bouquet.

“These are for you.”

You laughed softly as you took them, your favorite flowers. The sight of you, blushing, was like a breath of spring after a long winter, and made something in him settle. For the first time in a long, long time—Jinrang felt at peace.

---

“How was your day?” Jinrang’s voice was low, gentle, as his fingers threaded through your har. The moonlight bathed you in silver, making you look almost ethereal, as if you might disappear with the breeze.

The pendant he had finally gifted you rested against your chest, rising and falling with your breath. The day he had intended to give it to you had never come. Instead, he had been dragged away in chains, left to rot in a prison cell. And now, after all those years, it was finally where it belonged—resting against your heart.

Jinrang pulled you closer, his grip tightening ever so slightly, as if to make sure you were real, that you wouldn’t slip away like a fading dream.

Your head lay against his bicep, face buried in his chest, comforted by his warmth. A small smile played on your lips. It had been so long since you felt this—the warmth of his presence. How many nights you spent sleepless, staring at empty space beside you, heart aching for the man who should have been there?

“Nothing serious. Just embarrassed myself,” you murmured, your voice drowsy. “Told a client he reminded me of the most popular guy from my high school”

Jinrang hummed, continuing to stroke your hair, listening, indulging in the lull of your voice. But when you started reminiscing about your old high school crush, the wolf couldn’t resist baring his teeth in amusement.

“Do you still like him?” he mused. “More than me?”

You scoffed. “Do you even believe what you just said?” A breath of laughter escaped your lips as you shook your head. “You’re the only one for me.”

You pressed a kiss against his lips, and he deepened it, as if savoring your words. The warmth of him, the sheer presence of him, pulled you into a quiet lull. Your eyelids grew heavier, sleep crept upon you.

“And what was his name?” Jinrang yawned. The warmth of you, the security of having you in his arms again, made the past few years feel like a distant nightmare.

He traced the curve of your collarbone and lifted the pedant. The golden ring meant to accompany it, the one he had planned to give you as part of his proposal the day he was imprisoned. Your engagement ring still lay hidden in his belongings. It would remain there for now. The time wasn’t right. Not yet.

First, he would destroy James Lee and his bitches.

First, he would ensure your safety.

First, he would make sure nothing—not even death—could take you away from him again.

“Don’t remember,” you murmured sleepily. “We never talked. Maybe one time”

Jinrang chuckled under his breath. Only you can give such a naive answer.

“It was something like James Lee I think…”

Notes: only at the end I realized how I fucked up the timeline

Please ignore this and think that James started his hunt for gen 1 later🥺

[alleyross]

dawn breaks through zayne mercilessly.

the first time you remember him changing in a second was not so clear. you almost missed it, just to reminisce about it later.

it still was zayne, standing in front of you, giving you a jasmine branch, but the next moment it felt somehow strange. his hand gripped yours tighter and it looked like all the colors left his face. you couldn’t even comprehend what you’re seeing, and the second after he moved away slightly, frowning to himself, like he just got lost for a moment.

it wasn’t too serious. he could look into your eyes for too long and keep silence eagerly, even though you tried to scold him for not replying. you thought to yourself “that’s just zayne”, how he is, calm demeanour and silent gazes were his specialties. only that he got a bit confused every time it happened. like he couldn’t remember what was going on just now. like he just snapped out of space.

then his mood changes became brighter. he laughed out of context and then frowned in the middle of casual conversation. he grabbed your hand out of nowhere, causing you to flinch, and then got upset for scaring you. he kissed you softly and then bit into your lips with sudden hunger, like he just got there after 10 years of longing from afar. once he messed with you during it and pulled your hair with so much strength it had you startle. it was like he lost control in a heat of the moment. only that he has never been like this before, and now he is, and his guilty impression makes you wonder.

and then sleepwalking starts, and it becomes more obvious zayne’s not okay. you wake up at night to him standing two steps away from you in a dark room, and your heart sinks at the sight of his face in a deem light from the window. street lights in the night open for you something, that a bright light of a day couldn’t. it’s the first time you actually question, calling out his name.

“zayne?” like it could’ve been anybody else here.

he didn’t answer, snapping back into reality as fast as usual. only then he took a few steps back, and a fear, written all over your face, reflected on his own.

and you still didn’t talk about it. not during those moments, not after. he’s silent, and then scared, and then he’s distant, until you cling to him and caress his back, asking him about anything else, to put his mind at ease.

then that happens, and you just know you should’ve asked earlier. when you’re intimate and zayne breaths into your mouth like a madman who just ran a marathon, and his hands grip a bit tighter under your thighs, scratching your skin red, and his moves change so suddenly, it makes you gasp. and you like it, the way his body weighs above you, and his feverish warmth that comes off his skin, and the sight of his parted lips, whispering nonsense on repeat, you almost miss the point, but then he gets louder, almost hissing in your face, swallowing vowels, two words, and you say them back every time, cause he makes you feel so good, and it’s true. he does love you, and you do love him too.

and when he makes you fall apart, holding you under your chin firmly, trying to catch your unfocused eyes, and repeats again, hitting syllables, like he nails a coffin with his own tongue.

“i! love! you!” and the “i” is not zayne’s.

like someone else trying to speak to you through his mouth.

and when he comes right after, hiding his face into your neck with a whip, trembling with his whole body, the first ever thing you feel after is pity. it bursts out of your chest with a cry, floods onto him with soft caressing movements of your hands on his shoulders and back, and you bathe him in your pity like a saint would bathe a sinner, and it’s the first time you’re rather scared of what comes after zayne comes back to you, than of who you’re holding close to your bare chest right now.

[fortytworedvines]

No 3 😁

Send me a prompt!

3. The bathtub is overflowing

It was the end of a long, busy day. The youngsters were downstairs, laughing in the living room. Mr Farnon was somewhere in the house, doing Audrey didn’t know what. And Audrey sat down at her dressing table, stretched blissfully, and began pulling the pins out of her hair.

Siegfried was running the bath. It had been one of those days and though he wasn’t often tempted to take to the bath for a luxurious soak, today it would just hit the spot. He might even help himself to some of Mrs Hall’s bath salts. She wouldn’t mind, he knew.

The bath was half run and he was perched on the edge of it, contemplatively, when Tristan shouted up the stairs. “We’re going out!”

Siegfried frowned for a moment, then nipped downstairs. “Who is we, and where is out?” he demanded.

“I’m going to the pub for a few drinks. James and Helen are coming with me then taking Jimmy to Heston for the night.”

“It’s a bit late to be going up there now, isn’t?” Siegfried glanced at his watch. Nine pm.

Helen appeared, cuddling a wrapped up and sleepy Jimmy. “My dad’s ricked his ankle,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I want to give Jenny a hand.”

“And it’s my night off!” James interjected.

“Yes, yes, I remembered,” Siegfried flapped a hand at him. “Well, off you all go then. Have a good evening.” He watched them out of the house, and when finally the door had shut behind them, his heart bounded and he skipped up the stairs, two at a time.

Audrey was brushing her hair out when there was a knock at her door. “Come in,” she called. She turned as the door opened. Mr Farnon was standing there, his cheeks flushed, his eyes bright.

“Audrey,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows and glanced warningly at the open door. But his smile grew bigger.

“They’ve all gone out,” he said.

Her heart skipped. “All of them?” She dropped her hairbrush on the table and stood.

“All of them,” he confirmed gleefully.

In two steps, he’d gathered her in his arms. A second later and he was kissing her.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmured.

“You’ve seen me all day,” she said, dryly, but as she melted against him, she had to agree. “I’ve missed the feel of you.”

“It’s utter torment,” he said, nuzzling into her neck, one leg slipping between hers, “not being able to touch you.”

Her pulse was racing. He was intoxicating. “How long have we got?”

“James and Helen are gone for the night. Tris is in the pub.”

She slipped her fingers into the baby curls at the nape of his neck and pressed herself more firmly against him. “A few hours then.”

She was losing herself in the sensation of his fingers against her skin, when she had a sudden feeling of worry. She paused in her kisses and pushed him away slightly.

He looked at her with hazy, confused eyes. “Audrey?”

Her attention was elsewhere. “Something’s not right.” She slipped past him, out into the corridor. It smelt damp… There was steam coming from the bathroom.

“Oh Lord,” she groaned. She hastened down the corridor and into the bathroom. The tap was on, pouring water into and out of the full bath. The floor was a one large puddle.

With a grimace, she splashed through the puddle to turn the tap off, yanked the chain to pull the plug out.

“Ah.” Siegfried had followed her. “Oh dear.”

“Your doing, I assume?”

He looked sheepish. “I forgot.”

“I can see. Well, you’d best help me clean this mess up.” She thrust a couple of towels at him and started mopping the floor as best she could.

“I am sorry, my dear,” he said sincerely.

He looked woebegone and she had to forgive him. “I know. Let’s get this cleaned up and we’ll still have plenty of time before Tris gets home…” He brightened immediately. She sat back on her heels and looked at him. “I wonder if… if… we should tell them.”

Siegfried dropped his sodden towel and grabbed her hand. “Do you mean it?”

She smiled at him, shyly. “I don’t want just snatched moments any more. And,” she gestured, “I don’t want this to happen again.”

He laughed. “It won’t. I promise, Audrey. Although, I can’t help noticing your clothes have become rather damp.”

She grinned. “And as soon as we’ve cleaned this up, you can help me out of them.”

“Praise be,” Siegfried murmured and she laughed as he rung his towel out determinedly.

[hazbinshusk]

overlord!husk x bunny!reader x transmasc!partner. when you stumble into the private bar of a certain casino-owning overlord, you find him charmed rather than irritated by your presence. when he propositions you and you tell him that you have a boyfriend, husk isn't daunted. he's intrigued.

so happy and flattered to have been asked to write this smutfic for @mckeeks by their absolutely wonderful partner @top-shelf-tender for valentine's day. this is my first time writing a threesome fic featuring a non-canon character alongside the reader, and it was so much fun to do! happy valentines to the both of you, my loves!

featuring: smut, husk is kind of sleazy, oral sex, vaginal sex, threesome, thigh-riding. partner is unnamed and transmasc, and hell is gender-affirming because I say so, so they have markings where their top-surgery scars would be and both sets of genitalia. again, because I say so.

The Overlord notices you before you do him, but his attention still leaves goosebumps prickling against the back of your neck in a way that has nothing to do with the way the cool breeze of the air conditioning caresses the bare skin of your arms, your thighs. You’ve wandered into one of the more secluded areas of the casino, the sounds of tumbling slots and excited players muffled and replaced by the soft, playful chords of jazz music and the muted conversations of the few sinners around you. The spicy-sweet scent of cigar smoke tickles at your delicate nose as you order a drink from one of the imp waitresses. Confusion wrinkles your brow for a moment as she hesitates, glancing over your shoulder for a few seconds before nodding and heading to the bar.

Despite the pause you still get your drink, and you find a seat at an isolate table towards the side of the room. The boozy mix of maraschino cherry and gin is cool and fresh against your tongue, the alcohol joining the previous drinks already muddling the edges of your mind. There’s this buzzing in your skin; an awareness that doesn’t seem to be dulled at all by the alcohol, those instincts that seem to have come hand in hand with your sinner form keeping a wariness itching inside you.

It doesn’t seem to unsettle you though… instead there’s a warmth that curls in your stomach and up against the small of your back. So, when a tall, silver-furred hellhound approaches your table, you don’t feel all that surprised.

“Stand up,” he tells you gruffly. “The boss wants you at his table.”

You blink, an ear twitching as you set your glass on the table in front of you. “The—”

“Let’s go.”

Shit.

You almost stumble over your heels as you do as your told, the chair legs catching briefly on the carpet. Your face warms with nerves as you realise what you’ve done.

You’ve managed to walk yourself right into the private lounge of the gambling overlord himself.

Following obediently after the hound to the opposite corner of the room, you run your palms over the skirt of your dress, nervously smoothing away non-existent wrinkles in the sparkling fabric. The bar is dimly lit and the glow of the overlord’s eyes is the first thing you notice as they watch you, half-lidded, as you cross the bar to his table. The demon takes a long drag of his cigar as the hound pulls out a seat and guides you into it with a genial hand against the middle of your back. The smoke curls around the overlord’s features as he studies you with a weighted gaze that seems to heat your very core.

“You’re new.”

You open your mouth, close it again as you fail to find your reply. His voice is rough but melodic, a hypnotic blend of torn velvet and warm honey that makes you shiver. When you don’t respond, his smile curves wider with amusement, his claws sounding a quiet tink against the crystal of his whiskey glass as he picks it up. He takes a sip, unbothered by the burn of it, before he continues.

“I’d remember you.”

You swallow as the heat doubles in your cheeks, and you finally find your voice again. It quavers slightly, and you twist your fingers together in your lap beneath the table. “I’m… I’m sorry, I didn’t realise this was your private… area.”

“The security outside didn’t tip you off?” he asks with a raised, red brow. Off your look, his smirk widens, and he turns his head to address the hound now standing beside him casually. “Roscoe, remind me to give Dex a bonus. He always has the best taste.”

The silver hound – Roscoe – nods, hands tucked behind his back. “Yes, sir.”

The exchange makes you shiver; a fly, served up to a spider in its web.

“I should go,” you offer, your tone deferential, polite. “I was just looking for somewhere quiet, and—”

“In a casino?” the Overlord seems entertained by your explanation. He raises a hand, and moments later another drink is set on the table in front of you. His whiskey is replaced, too.

“I never said it was logical,” you defend yourself, waving a hand pointedly up at one of your ears, the one that bends down against your hair, the tip of it brushing your forehead like bangs. “They’re kinda sensitive.”

He chuckles, and the sound of it almost feels as though it pulses into you. “I bet they are…”

You press your thighs together under the table, feel the cold wet of condensation against your fingers.

The Overlord leans forward on the table, his wings shifting, spreading slightly behind him imposingly. “Your luck turn on you, doll?”

You shake your head, fidgeting with the stem of your cocktail glass. You take a sip, hoping the booze will banish the tension you feel tightening almost addictively in your stomach. “I’m not actually much for games of chance.”

The words slip out before you consider them, and you bite your lip. The cat demon’s smirk only widens though, and his eyes watch your nose twitch almost predatorily. “Smart girl.”

You breathe a soft laugh despite yourself, and for a brief moment, you think maybe his pupils actually widen at the sound. “It’s not really about being smart, I just��� how lucky can I be if I’m in Hell?”

The Overlord snickers, letting his gaze travel down over you for a moment, every inch of you warming under his glowing gaze. He takes a long drag from his cigar, eyes returning to yours, and when he speaks his voice comes huskily, a tone low enough for just you to hear. “Ever thought about tryin’ to make your own luck?”

Something in his question makes you bold, and you finish your drink, lick the sweet liquor from your lips with the tip of your tongue. “And how do I do that?”

He swallows the last of his whiskey, waving away the bottle immediately offered by a nearby imp. Instead, he gestures to the hellhound, standing up and rounding the table towards you. “Find Roscoe here, later. He’ll show you to my private suite.”

The suggestion in his voice is enough to make your breath catch. Excitement rises unbidden inside you at the suggestion, the promise in his voice. “I…” you clear your throat, remembering yourself. “I have a boyfriend.”

The Overlord smirks, smoke curling around his muzzle as he leans down to speak in your ear.

“Bring him.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Everything between telling your partner about the offer you’d been made and you now kneeling on the Overlord’s plush carpet floor was a blur. You’d mentioned it teasingly, a joke that the two of you could laugh about as a what-could-have-been anytime you passed by the Lucky Hearts Casino, even as your face had flushed with the pink of arousal, of possibility. And now that pink burns in your cheeks again as you watch the Overlord light a fresh cigar, considering the two of you with bright, hungry eyes. He smirks when his eyes fall to where your fingers are laced with your partner’s between you.

“Oh, sweet girl…” he croons, relaxing back into the soft fabric of the armchair he’s reclining in. His tail twitches back and forth slowly, and his tongue slips out to lick slowly against the side of his muzzle. “Don’t you two jus’ make up the prettiest pair of playthings?”

You swear you can feel your partner’s pulse drumming against your fingers, their anxiety, their excitement mirroring your own. The Overlord had welcomed the two of you into his suite with a knowing, cocky smirk, and the burn of the drinks he’d plied the two of you with still burned a little against your parted lips. The demon exhales a trail of smoke towards the ceiling before he leans forward in his seat to bring his face level with yours. He takes your face in one paws, claws digging into your cheeks as he tilts your face back. His smirk widens as he holds your gaze for a moment as though he’s considering you, and then his mouth is on yours.

His kiss is warm and rough and intoxicatingly demanding, tasting of whiskey and smoke and something you’re sure is just him – his tongue slides against yours, surprising you with its rough texture, and your hand tightens in your partner’s as you whine into the Overlord’s mouth. His fangs catch briefly on your bottom lip as he pulls away, and you whimper. He holds your gaze long enough to catch your reaction, see the way you lean forward instinctively to chase his lips, before he moves to kiss your partner too.

You watch the two of them like you’re suddenly starving for the way they look together, a thrill curling through you as your boyfriend leans up into the embrace, as you catch glimpses of their tongues meeting. The Overlord’s claws are curled around his throat, the point of his thumb claw digging tauntingly into his raised chin. Your partner dares to raise a hand to cup the Overlord’s cheek, and the cat chuckles into the kiss before he finally pulls away.

“Mmmm…” he hums almost thoughtfully as he settles back in his chair, pleased, and takes another drag from his cigar. The claws of his other hands trail over his thigh idly, as though he isn’t fully aware of it, and they linger over the fastening of his pants. “Y’know, guests really should make a point of thankin’ their host.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

You lick slowly up along the length of the Overlord’s hard cock, the barbs tickling along the flat of your tongue. Your fingers curl in the soft fabric of his trousers, tugging them further open, baring more of him to the two of you. You can’t help but moan as you feel your boyfriend’s tongue meet yours, curling around the other side of the cat demon’s cock as he mirrors your moments. The Overlord groans, head falling back as the two of you tease the head of him.

The sound turns to a heady chuckle as he watches the two of you kiss, your fingers curling around the base of his cock and pumping him slowly. You’re straddling your partner’s thigh, and you can’t help but gasp into his mouth as you grind down against it, matching the pace of your hips with the pace of your hand. You can feel his familiar smile against your lips, feel him bite teasingly at your lip as he mumbles, “That’s my eager girl…”

He kisses you again before he swirls his tongue around the Overlord’s cock and sinks his mouth down onto it, taking it in until he gags.

“Fuck…” The Overlord moans, wrapping a fistful of hair in his claws and tilting your head back. He tugs it harder when your hip still, pulling a gasp from your lips at the sudden flash of pain. “Did I say stop, doll?”

You shake your head, rolling your hips against your partner’s thigh obediently. You clutch at the Overlord’s thigh, your partner’s shoulder, feel the claws leave your hair to skim down over the side of your face. They trail over your shoulder, bare except for the strap of your bra, and one claw catches under it, dragging it down to your arm.

“Give daddy a show, baby.”

You hold his gaze as you unhook your bra, slipping the flimsy lace from your arms and tossing it aside. You can feel your partner’s eyes burning into you too as you run your hands over your chest, squeezing the soft, giving swell of your breasts. You nipples harden under your touch, sparks of pleasure with each flick of your fingers. The feathered end of the Overlord’s tail tickles over the small of your back, the curve of your ass, and you hold his gaze as you bring your mouth back to his cock.

The two of you make out almost sloppily, tongues and lips teasing over the demon’s cock. He thrusts up into your mouths, claws in your hair and your partner’s, and you take turns deep-throating him until you’re both gasping for breath, drool hanging in a thread from your lips. Your partner catches your cheek in his hand, wipes the saliva away with his thumb before he kisses you again. You practically melt into it, light-headed and breathless.

“I’d say the two of you might be the most wholesome little creatures in Hell if I ain’t just witnessed all that,” the Overlord smirks, stroking himself a few times before he pushes himself up to stand. He gives you both a dark, cocky smirk, reaching up with one paw to undo the buttons still fastened around his throat. His other hand comes down to stroke your partner’s cheek, and the sinner leans into the touch, eyes closing for a moment. “On the bed, the both of you. Now.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

You shiver as you feel the soft, soft fur of the Overlord’s chest press against your bare back, his claws claiming your hips. He has you kneeling on the bed in front of him, and you can feel the firm line of his erection pressing against the cleft of your ass. You push your hips back against it and he groans a quiet laugh in your ear, squeezing your hips and brushing a biting kiss to the curve of your throat.

“Easy, doll,” he tells you, tail tickling at your ankle. “We’ve got time for that yet, don’t we?”

“Do we?”

He breathes another laugh, rewarding your teasing with a kiss to your jaw. You whimper the barest breath of a moan in response, pushing your hips back into his again needily. He watches your partner over your shoulder, directing his next words to him. “She always this… enthusiastic?”

Your boyfriend is laid out on the bed before you, their legs parted as you slowly circle his clit with your fingers the way Husk had murmured in your ear. Their chest heaves with every laboured breath, a crease between their brow as you work them slowly undone. He nods, a breathless smile softening his features in a way that makes your heart flutter against your ribs. You want to bend down to kiss him, to catch his lips with yours and taste the quiet moan that escapes him, but the Overlord’s paws keep you anchored against him. When you dip your fingers into him and then raise your hand to trail your slick fingers along the line of his cock, he bucks up into your hand.

“Yes…” he sighs, eyes rolling back for a moment. He reaches down blindly, fingertips just managing to graze your thigh. “I fucking love it…”

Husk snickers, touching a claw to your chin and turning your face towards his. His voice is low and rough with desire. “So do I.”

He kisses you deeply, claws making you shiver as they tease over the soft flesh of your stomach, down to whisper over your inner thighs. One paw moves back up your body to squeeze your breast, curl around your throat, and your breath catches against his palm.

“Now, pet.” he tells you, his lips so close to yours you can feel his breath tickling your cheek. “You’re gonna be a good girl, and sit on his face, yeah?”

He relaxes his paw just long enough for you to nod, to breathe out an eager, “Yes…”

“And you’re gonna watch me make myself at home right there, right where those clever little fingers of yours are now.”

Again, he flexes his grip on your throat, and you partner moans again as you flick your fingers back over his clit. “Yes, sir…”

The cat’s smirk widens at that, his other paw slipping a little further up between your thighs. You know he can feel just how wet you are as his fingers graze the thin fabric of your underwear, and you ache with the need to feel something inside you.

“And you’re gonna show your boy here just how much you appreciate how he feels between these sinful thighs of yours by tellin’ me what to do.” he releases your throat just to press a kiss to it, the rough barbs of his tongue sliding against the sensitive flesh there. “Sound like somethin’ you can handle, pet?”

“Yes, sir,” you move your head in an attempt to catch his lips with yours, but he pulls away.

“Be a good girl, now,” he says, running his claws up the back of your thigh to squeeze the soft cottontail at the base of your spine. It makes you jump, your nose twitching. “And do as you’re told.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Your back arches with the force of your moan as you feel your partner’s tongue press deep into you, his fingers playing almost too lazily with your clit. He echoes the sound, muffled by your thighs, as the Overlord laps his tongue up from his hole to the head of his cock. The demon is laid out on his stomach between his thighs, wings quivering as he grinds his own erection against the sheets. His tail waves behind him, his claws wrapped firmly around your partner’s thighs, forcing them to stay open to him.

“Fuck, right there…” you breathe, honestly unsure of which man you’re talking to. You lean forward, bracing your hands against your boyfriend’s chest so you can grind down against his mouth. He groans headily into your cunt as you trace your fingers lovingly over the markings that line the curve of his pectorals, your thumbs flicking over his nipples. “Right there, baby, fuck…”

The Overlord’s ears flick towards the two of you greedily, drinking in every little sound you make. An almost desperate urge to run your fingers through the soft fur between them overtakes you, and without thinking, you lean forward to do so. The gambler stiffens the moment he feels you fingertips graze his fur, but at the ridiculous softness of that hair draws you in and you sink your fingers into the thick fur. And when your nails graze along his scalp, the big bad Overlord does the most endearing thing you could possibly imagine –

He purrs.

The sound is a rough, chainsaw rumble that seems to vibrate into the very mattress beneath him, and your partner’ moans loudly into you, arching up under the Overlord’s mouth. The cat meets your eye, gaze aglow with arousal and need and what you swear is a warning not to say a fucking word about what you’re hearing, but still he arches his back in that gorgeous, fluid way only cats can seem to manage when you move your fingers lower to scratch at the base of his neck and between his shoulders.

“That’s it, sir…” you murmur, voice catching as your partner’s fingers quicken on your clit. You fuck yourself needily on their tongue, stroking your fingers through the Overlord’s fur. He has a paw fisted around the base of your boyfriend’s cock, his tongue on their clit. “That’s it, a little… faster… fuuuh—”

Your eyes roll back as your partner mirror’s the Overlord, fucking you on their tongue in a way that makes your toes curl. He’s thrusting his hips as best he can to press his cock further into the cat demon’s paw, the higher pitch to their muffled sound betraying just how close he is.

“Keep—fuck, keep going, I—” you feel your partner’s hand tighten on your thighs as you buck against his mouth, holding you in place over his tongue. The Overlord groans, that purr still rolling through his throat, and you choke out praise as you watch your partner’s body tense so hard his hips rise off the mattress. You’re so fucking close.  “Good kitty…”

The Overlord jerks away from your partner, glowing eyes snapping to yours. There’s a strained, begging whimper between your legs, and your own orgasm slips out of reach, but you’re trying to fumble for an apology, a question, whatever that expression on the gambler’s face means. Your chest heaves, skin marked with the memory of bites and rough hands.

“Get up,” he tells you, voice rough and reedy and hot. You open your mouth to apologise, worried he’s ending the night there, but instead he says. “Turn around. On your knees.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Oh, God…” you bite back another moan as the Overlord fills your cunt with his cock, fucking you just roughly enough to send a wonderful prickling up along your lower back. Your fingers curl in the sheets beneath you, and you open your eyes when you feel your partner’s hand smooth over your cheek. The touch is soft, gentle, then he’s grasping at a handful of your hair and jerking your head back to meet his eye. The Overlord curses as you tighten around him. “Shit…”

“Fuck, she’s tight…” he growls, claws digging into your hips, your thighs. He releases one to squeeze a handful of your ass appreciatively, withdrawing his cock only to slide the barbs of it up against your slickened clit. He snickers when you whimper. “Ain’t too good at takin’ a hint though, is she?”

Your partner smirks, and there’s love and desire all mixed in with the darkness of his arousal, and he uses his other hand to squeeze your cheeks, urging your mouth open. He hums his approval when you slide your tongue down along the underside of his cock and take it into your mouth. “That’s my girl… fuck…”

The Overlord thrusts into you again, hard enough to force you forward and make you gag on your partner’s cock. He groans, hand flexing in your hair, savouring the softness of your locks even as you suck slowly up along the length of him. Every press of the Overlord’s hips into yours makes you take him further into your mouth; saliva dangles in a thread from your lips as you choke around him.

“Good girl…”

“Such a good girl…”  

“Fuck…”

“Feel so fuckin’ good…”

You feel your partner lean forward, hear the sound of the two of them meeting above you, torrid moans and open-mouthed kisses. The Overlord squeezes your tail again, claws sinking into the delicate puff of fur to dig into sensitive flesh. In the same moment you feel fingers pinch your nipple roughly and you moan around the cock in your mouth as you cum. You gag again, and tears wet your cheeks as your partner holds you in place there for a few moments more, fucking themselves into your mouth with a groan. When they release you and you’re gasping, they brush the tears from your cheeks with loving fingers, and you take them back into your mouth the moment you have your breath again.

It’s practically them that is all that holds you up by the time they both approach their release, your arms and thighs shaking as you cum again. Your legs are slick with cum, drool dripping onto the back of your hand, an ache in your jaw, and one in your cunt and god, you hope they never go away.

Your partner strokes your ear as he cums, deep into your mouth with a groan of your name. You swallow eagerly, tongue curling around the head of him until he pulls out with a gasping, breathless laugh. He murmurs sweet nothings, cradling your overheated face in his hands until the Overlord cums, too, thrusting hard and deep into you as he growls a ragged curse.

He doesn’t pull out until you stop shaking, sliding the length of his cock up between your thighs a few teasing times before he sits back on his calves.

“Sweet Christ, fuck. That was…” he watches as you roll over, your head pillowed against your partner’s thigh as you press your own together, still trying to catch your breath. You can feel him run tender fingers through your hair, pulling it gently away from your face. The Overlord runs claws through the fur of his chest, seeming to consider the two of you for a moment before he huffs a quiet, almost disbelieving chuckle and shakes his head. “That was fuckin’ something.”

[gearsandhammers]

NOT GOOD WITH WORDS : VIKTOR X M!READER

synopsis : viktor's always been a reserved guy, but you make him feel things he's never felt before. he's cried during sad movies, laughed with jayce, but never has he felt like how he does when he's with you. will he finally do something about it?

warnings / tw : you, viktor, and jayce are academy students , viktor is clueless about love , socially awkward vitkor , grammarly is my beta

pairing : viktor x male reader | m/m (could be m/gn)

author's notes : hiya! okay so the letter written in this fic is actually one i wrote 2 years ago that i legitimately have no recollection of and just found.. i didn't read it through fully and kinda just copy pasted it so hopefully its not dogshit but oh well... valentine's day has always been lonely for me, so i hope this can bring comfort to anyone who's spending val's day alone this year─ but you're not alone. anyways as always have a good read and an amazing day/night! xo, kai

Viktor's only been at the academy for one year, but he's found his place pretty quickly. He and Jayce are thick as thieves, and you've been hanging out with them too, as of late. He tries to hide it, but Viktor has a huge crush on you. At this point, Jayce can't even tell if Viktor has figured it out yet. He knows Viktor hasn't ever been in a relationship, but he has no clue if he's ever had a crush before. Scratch that, he knows he hasn't, the way Viktor acts around you.

Viktor's never been good with talking, but you've read some of his writing, and your jaw dropped. The way he writes, you'd never be able to tell it was Viktor who wrote it. The way he words things so eloquently, how the letters seem to flow from his pen like it's second nature.

Valentine's Day is either the best or worst day of the year for a lot of people. You've collectively decided to just stay in and try not to think about the fact that it's Valentine's Day. You don't expect to get anything, you never have, so your expectations are basically as low as they can be.

So when you open your locker at the end of the day and there's a sealed envelope sitting there on top of your books, you're a little confused. You look around, thinking at first that it's a prank or something. But when you open the letter and start reading it, your heart swells.

· ─ ─ < ⟨ ৻ꪆ ⟩ > ─ ─ ·

Dearest,

I'm not good with words, but for you, I tried. You're the best thing that's happened to me. I sit here with pen in hand, my heart brimming with emotions that have long been confined within the depths of my being. Today, I gather the courage to express the feelings that have blossomed within me, unfurling like a delicate flower under the warmth of the sun. Please bear with me as I pour my heart out onto this page. From the moment our eyes first met, a spark ignited within me, illuminating a path that led straight to you. You may not have noticed, but in those stolen glances and fleeting moments, my heart began to whisper your name.

With every encounter, my admiration for you grew, and soon, admiration blossomed into something deeper and more profound. Your presence in my life is a symphony of joy and wonder. Your smile, so radiant, has the power to dissolve any worries that burden my soul. Your laughter, like a melody, dances in the air and brings warmth to the coldest of days. Your kindness, a beacon of light in a world sometimes dark and unforgiving, has touched my heart in ways I struggle to put into words. In your company, I feel a sense of belonging, a feeling that I have found my missing puzzle piece. Your words, so genuine and filled with wisdom, captivate my mind and nourish my spirit. Your mere presence electrifies the air around us, creating a magnetic force that draws me closer to you, igniting a fire within my soul.

I am enamored by the intricacies that make you who you are—the way your eyes light up when you speak about your passions, the way your voice carries a quelling melody, and the way your touch lingers on my skin long after you're gone. Every facet of your being, every nuance, has etched itself deeply into my heart. It is true that love can be a tumultuous journey, filled with uncertainties and vulnerabilities. Yet, in the face of these uncertainties, I am willing to take the leap, for the thought of a life without your presence feels incomplete and devoid of color. The thought of never having the opportunity to explore the depths of our connection fills me with an ache that reverberates through my very being.

I am not asking for an immediate answer, nor am I expecting you to reciprocate these feelings. Instead, I write this letter as an offering, a testament to the authenticity of my emotions. My intention is to lay bare the truth of my heart, to let you know that you have become an indelible part of my thoughts, my dreams, and my aspirations. Should you ever find it in your heart to explore the possibility of us, I would be honored to embark on this journey of love with you. But if the feelings I express today do not find a place in your own heart, I will still cherish the moments we've shared, and I will forever hold you in the deepest recesses of my soul.

Thank you for inspiring me to open my heart and embrace the vulnerability that accompanies love. You have given me the gift of experiencing a love so profound and beautiful that it has forever changed me. I love you,

~ V ৻ꪆ

· ─ ─ < ⟨ ৻ꪆ ⟩ > ─ ─ ·

Your jaw hangs open, staring at the cursive V at the bottom of the page. Every sentence left your heart a little heavier, small tears welling in your eyes, but you sniffle and wipe them away. You're in shock as you stare at the page, dumbfounded. Your heart rate picks up, and your brain finally registers that you read. Oh, my gods. Oh my gods, what just happened? I need to find Vik─ wait, oh my. I can't do that, I gotta find... wait, no. I need to find Vik.

You gently put the letter back into the envelope and into your bag. You run around the academy, bumping into a few people along the way, but don't stop to apologize. You finally find him after a full 15 minutes, walking out of the academy, books in hand. "Viktor!" you yell, desperately trying to get his attention. He turns, and his face immediately turns bright red. You run towards him, clutching your bag. You run into him, wrapping your arms around his body, and his cane clatters to the ground. "V- Vik.." You gasp, trying to catch your breath.

"I- I'm sorry. I know I ruined everything and I─" he tries to apologize, but he's interrupted by you. You grab his face, making him look at you. You attempt to search his eyes but fail, your eyes too blurry from the tears you tried to hold back. Tears stream down your face, and you try to blink them away so you can see him.

"V, I- oh my gods, Vik. Please don't apologize, please. You didn't ruin anything. I love you too, V. I love you so so so much, Viktor," you pant. Before he even tries to speak again, your lips collide, and you pull him flush against you. The sensations of your body against his makes his whole body react, going tense. After a few moments, he melts into you, his brain finally recognizing that you actually kissed him. Moments pass, and you pull away to breathe.

"Gods, I love you," he says, in between gasps and sobs, tears flowing from his eyes too. He's still sort of in shock, clearly not expecting this sort of reaction or response from you. He presses his forehead to yours, and you hold his hands.

"Happy Valentine's Day, my love."

© — @gearsandhammers 2025 - created and written by kaisen - do not steal my work or repost without my permission.

[harukyuu2]

heyya !! Here to request a Rui x flirty!reader who really has rizz and maybe sometimes make Rui lowkey flustered basically the rizzler in their relationship/j but tbh I can see Rui flirting back to reader (?) lmao idk but hope you’ll see this ^_^ hcs and a mini scenario included will do! thank youu

₍^. .^₎⟆ (ominous cat is staring at your soul /insert Mizu5 picture)

LMAO ANYWAYS HAVE A GOOD DAYY ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

୨୧ "Soothing your heart up!" - Rui + Akito x Flirty!Reader ୨୧

!! - Fluff, scenario + headcanons! gn reader, cringy flirts because it was funny, reaaally cheesy since reader uses pickup rizz lines , use of petnames - Hope you dont mind i added Akito lmao

୨୧ ↷ Rui !! -

❥ Boy wont go down without a fight, seriously. You two have this thing of starting back and forths flirts until one blushes or doesnt know how to respond— thats a win!

❥ You flirt with him on public? Yeah, no problem. Dont forget he can shamelessly perform without permission at a theme park and build a robot at school, so calling you a "cutie" in public is 0 issue for him

❥ Its kinda hard seeing him blush because he pretends reaaally well. Using subtle ways— averting his gaze or throwing the attention on you. But still, he'll fold eventually, he cant help it! youre too cute for him! and he likes seeing you pout when you arent able to see him blush

"Rui..." - You call him out while he fixes a small robot with you on his side. It was lunchtime and you two were on the rooftop passing the time after finishing the meal, starting to get bored— an idea camed to your mind!

"Hm?" - He mumbled curious on what was on your mind now, turning slightly to catch a glance at the smug smile you put before throwing a pick up line

You leaned toward him, resting your arm on his shoulder while talking pretty closely with a playful smile. You wanted to laugh, but it was a bit too early for that— just yet. - "You knooww... I always say math is really confusing because it talks about X and Y but not you and I..." You drawled the words, and at the cheesy pick-up line you just dropped, you couldnt help but let out a small laugh

Rui's eyes widen slightly amused by your pick up line, but quickly hides it with a sigh and his usual smirk, tilting his head slightly to meet your gaze— the distance between you two was lacking a lot. - "Ah, that time of the day already...? Well, there's nothing i can do about it though. You always attract me with those lines, sweetheart— almost like if you were a magnet."

You hummed in amusement, leaning slightly back since Rui was looking at you pretty intensely— he didnt seem eager to let you win today. Grabbing his chin for a moment, you made him look at you more closer than he already was. Your touch lingered on his jaw for a second before letting your hand fall and returning to the flirty game

"Oh, arent you a cutie, Rui? i wonder what you are then...maybe i could say a door? Because you kept slamming me with your beauty while i try to attract you into my arms" - You giggled seeing him averting his gaze almost like if he was looking out for flirts on the air, youre pretty proud that you managed to mix up his flirt with yours!

Rui tried to think of something quick to respond with, feeling your intense gaze pressuring him to fold. Youre always so good at this— its almost unfair. He sighed, finally letting the blush creep onto his face, even if he still maintained that signature smile of his. Shaking his head, he looked at you with a much softer gaze, a product of your relentless flirting and the way you looked at him so intensely.

"Alright, alright...you win this time, dear. Didnt expect you to be so flirty today" - Rui mumbles embarassed and your eyes light up at your win!

In the end, you let him return his attention to the small robot after a quick kiss to seal your win. The rest of the lunch happens in a comfortable silence that sometimes had the sound of Rui's tools while you used your phone, you two indeed fall for each other <3

୨୧ ↷ Akito !! -

❥ There's no way you fail to make this boy blush. At the first or second pick up line he is already all red and asking you to stop because he doesnt know how to respond back. He thinks youre gonna be the death of him literally— he isnt against the idea tho...

❥ OH, and if you flirt with him on public...Hell nah, he has to turn and walk away because he is a living tomato from head to feet, you'll have to apologize to the poor baby because you make him stop working on those moments. He isnt too fond of pda!

❥ In private or chat, he's a little more confident of flirting with you— but still he loses it the second you respond back. Probably leaves a swear and gives you a quick kiss so you stop teasing him

Akito camed to your house after his usual practice with vivid bad squad finished, deciding to stay the night since he missed you. Akito decided to help you wash the dishes after dinner with your family. He got a little grossed out when his hand touched some leftover food, so in the end, he focused on rinsing them. But the soap accidentally slipped from his hand— giving you the perfect opportunity to tease your boyfriend!

"Akito..." - You called him and the moment his eyes meet yours, your signature teasing smile that he feared appeared— it was too late for him... - "What's the difference between that soap and me...? The soap falled from your hands, while i falled for you!"

A blush started to appear in his cheeks while he furrowed his eyebrows, averting his gaze to make sure you didnt just throw that in front of your family. He leaved a sigh, scratching his neck while mumbling embarassed at your cheesy flirt -

"Youre so stupid...dont you have any better cheesy flirts than that?" - He tries to make you stop, but he knows that his comment only will fuel you more with that intense gaze he is feeling on himself— he is fucked up by now, sigh.

"Hey! im not stupid, i know the twenty letters in the alphabet! Oh- i forgot to count U - R - A - Q - T, silly meee" - You drawl and cant help but laugh at his grumpy face since youre managing to make him blush a lot, what if your family appears and sees him like this? thats what he thinks, probably

Akito huffs— cupping your cheeks before you throw another cheesy line or worst, a real flirt that makes him stop working. - "Fuck you..." - Akito simply murmurs and steals a quick kiss from you

As he leaned back, catching the small blush on your face from his bold move, an idea sparked in his mind! Deciding to be playful and imitate you, he took full advantage now that you two werent in public anymore - "You always wear makeup blush, right? but now i know youre really blushing..."

You let out a soft laugh at his stupid, cheesy flirt and smirk, rolling your eyes before grabbing his hand and leading him to the bedroom to finally get some sleep. It was getting late, and you knew how hard he usually went during practice. Still, you couldnt help but say something that— for some reason, made his heart feel warm and proud

"Well, thats...something, good job Akito! Lets go to sleep by now, wont tease you with pickup lines for the rest of the night"

i repeat it— youre gonna be the death of Akito, but he isnt against the idea <3

[zepskies]

I know you're telling me not to worry in your AN, but I can't help but worry. 😬😬😬 That supe virus was nasty AF in season 4.

In those breaks, he scoured the Internet for answers and tried to keep his frustrations over it quiet with little grunts and a deeply creased brow.

As ominous as this situation is, there's something really cute about picturing Ben doing this lol. He loves her fr fr. 💗

“I told you not to worry. I’m alright,” she says, her throat dry and her voice coarse. Her words are meant to soothe her husband. She can see the worry shimmering in his juniper eyes. She’s lucky he’s not a supe anymore, or he would’ve gone nuclear a while ago.

Small favors? 😅 Your worldbuiding with the cure vs. the virus is so interesting here. I'm wondering how they're going to get her better at this point if they can't make her a non-supe...

And admittedly, she knows she might be in denial. If true, it seems like a cruel trick the universe is playing on her. Giving her all she’s ever wanted and take it away immediately after? It definitely feels like a cosmic joke all the Gods are laughing about. But deep down, she knows it’s true. She knows she’s screwed, but she doesn’t know how to tell Ben. He’ll lose his shit. She knows he’s not built for this.

But that moment where she literally coughs blood is so visceral. 😭 Really well done, even though my heart is in my throat now. 🫠

Ben pulls the knitted wool blanket up to her shoulders and gently kisses her temple. It’s been two hours since she’s fainted in the supermarket, and she’s still burning up.

So sweet. 😭 I was expecting his call to Victoria lmaooo, aaaand it went about as well as I expected loll. You've soothed my worries that she was the one who might've had something to do with the reader getting sick, but I'm still on the edge of my seat on how you're going to fix this...

“I know where the fuck it is,” Ben grits, his brow densely creasing with a mix of confusion and angry suspicion. “What exactly do you think I’m gonna fucking do with it?” “Shoot me.” Her eyes are steady and firm, his voice is sterner. “No.” The word booms through the living room, threatening to quake the earth and shake books off their shelves.

I felt that No in my chest, jeezus. 😭😭

“Well, if you’re behaving like a fucking baby…” he retorts and patiently follows her frantic steps. “You also won’t find fucking scissors and pills, either.” “Ironic coming from you,” she scoffs, opening and shutting cabinet doors in the desperate search for something strong enough to put her out of her goddamn misery. “Yeah, how do you think I knew which shit to hide, huh?” he asks rhetorically and takes a careful step closer, cornering her between counters and appliances. “Would you stop that now and fucking talk to me?”

Oh my Goddd their rehab days coming to bite her in the butt loll. But good on Ben for learning something! 😂

“Is that you or the fucking V talking, huh?” Ben has never said it out loud before, but he hated how that blue shit changed her. Sure, it only amplified certain parts of her that he supposes have always been there, but it made her less caring, more arrogant, too.

Honestly I could see this. 💔 The V changes people, typically for the worst. And with her, I feel like she was kinda quick to suggest divorce after everything she and Ben had been through.

He feels a flood of relief rush through his body. Thank fucking God, because he’s totally been bluffing.

lmfaoo. I'm sorry, I shouldn't laugh. 😂

She had barely gotten that. She stupidly sacrificed it all for him, and he still wishes she would’ve never done that. He was supposed to die that day with Homelander. It had been his time. Not hers.

Aww not the survivor's guilt!!

“You selfish fucking prick! You can’t even let me die in peace?!” she grits through her teeth, fighting another surge. She feels the nausea too, like a parasite trying to flee its host through her throat. “Look, I’m fucking sorry, but I had to take the shot, alright?!”

OhGodohGodohGod!! Her anger is so valid, but also, I can't help but root for Ben's side on this one. 😅

She sends him a weak smile and mouths, ‘I love you, too.’ And all there’s left then for him to do is staring at a closed bedroom door. And waiting. Fucking waiting…

oooooh the waiting. But at least it's not a long wait!! loll So excited for the grand finale tomorrow!! I have a feeling Ben's gamble is gonna pay off, thanks to the one time he paid attention to science. 🤓

Lover – Part 2

Series Summary: Free from his past, Ben’s trying to move on and find a little drop of happiness in this new world. But when he finally holds everything he ever wanted in his hands, it threatens to slip through the cracks, and he has to fight one final time with everything he’s got to keep it.

🫡 Catch up here! Sequel to Rehab & Video Games.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female!Reader

Warnings: 18+ due to language & mature themes, established relationship, Soldier Boy x wife!reader, human!Soldier Boy, angst with a side of hurt/comfort, sickness & generally gross descriptions thereof (the Gen V virus says hello 👋 – with minor adjustments), tw: mentions of euthanasia & suicide, sprinkles of fluff between

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: Don't read too much into the whole virus situation, guys. I promise this is a full fix-it, and that annoying little bug is just how we're gonna do that 😜 Come tomorrow, all's well because we all know the V stands for... I do this joke every year, don't I? Never mind! Happy reading! 💕

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Part 2: Lovesick

Ben’s worried. Y/N keeps saying she’s fine.

They stroll through the supermarket. Benny pushes the cart in front of them, racing down the aisles.

She woke up this morning around eleven o’clock after a thirteen-hour sleep. He’d held a small mirror under her nose several times at night to assure himself she was still breathing. She never woke up. She’d looked so peaceful it had almost been creepy.

She also sweat through her sheets and jittered like a leaf in the wind. He tried to hold her when she was freezing and gave her distance when she was ablaze. In those breaks, he scoured the Internet for answers and tried to keep his frustrations over it quiet with little grunts and a deeply creased brow.

The hard lines on his face are still there, though. They never left.

Ben isn’t entirely clueless, however. Sure, he’s spent some four decades locked away, then came back for a short period of time to a world he can barely understand, only to be put to sleep and experimented on some more for a couple of years. People don’t really expect him to follow the news at this point, and they’re not wrong in their assumption – he rarely ever gives a shit.

But he remembers how she’d given him an update of the world’s dire state when he’d first gotten to the clinic. She’d mentioned a virus – one designed to kill any supes. The plan was to wipe everyone out. Biological warfare, they’d called it. It hadn’t come as a surprise to Ben. He’d seen this all before. Hell, he’d even helped with some of those things back in his glory days.

The virus had been one more reason, one more need for the cure. It had been the perfect deal: If you can’t kill ‘em, cure ‘em. But once that infectious little vial was opened, well, it had been hard to put the genie back inside.

The cure acted as both a vaccine and a remedy against the virus. Soon, the pesky little thing was pushed back but was never quite eradicated. It had eventually slowed its progression but never became any less deadly.

Now, instead of quick and painless, there was agonizing and torturous.

But Y/N can’t take the cure. He might as well kill her this second out of mercy.

When she woke up from her beauty sleep this morning, she admittedly looked better. She said she felt better. Ben still didn’t believe her. She barely touched her food, picked at her breakfast, and ended up only eating the leftover crusts of their son’s toast. He watched her from his periphery as he nursed his coffee in the kitchen, stoically worrying more.

Y/N coughs once more next to him as they pass the frozen food aisle. Ben eyes her cautiously. She’s done it all morning. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to help her or how to stop it. Not even the blue vial could help him fix it. He doesn’t even know if it’s real yet. Is it normal? Is he overreacting?

She coughs again. He shakes his head and bites his tongue.

“You okay?” he checks gruffly, his voice thick with tension and concern, but he already expects her answer.

“I told you not to worry. I’m alright,” she says, her throat dry and her voice coarse. Her words are meant to soothe her husband. She can see the worry shimmering in his juniper eyes. She’s lucky he’s not a supe anymore, or he would’ve gone nuclear a while ago.

And admittedly, she knows she might be in denial. If true, it seems like a cruel trick the universe is playing on her. Giving her all she’s ever wanted and take it away immediately after? It definitely feels like a cosmic joke all the Gods are laughing about.

But deep down, she knows it’s true. She knows she’s screwed, but she doesn’t know how to tell Ben. He’ll lose his shit. She knows he’s not built for this.

She coughs again into a used tissue, which she has stored in her pocket since last night. Her tongue tastes something metallic – copper and iron. And when her eyes land on the white cloth, they notice spots of a deep, scarlet red.

She stops walking then and swallows thickly, her hands trembling as her eyes transfix on the blood. Ben halts as well when he realizes she’s not moving. He sees the panic in her face, sees she’s a lot paler now than the night before. Her skin looks clammy, her eyes red, weary, and dazed as if she had just taken a hard hit from one of his blunts.

“What’s wrong?” Ben asks and steps closer. He cocks his head at her, the creases of his brow now harsh lines. She seems out of it, confused. She doesn’t even seem to understand his question, let alone be capable of answering.

Her mouth opens, but instead of words, she only inhales shakily like it’s the last breath she’ll ever take. Ben barely reaches her fast enough when her eyes roll back into her head till there’s only shining white and her knees begin to buckle.

Ben pulls the knitted wool blanket up to her shoulders and gently kisses her temple. It’s been two hours since she’s fainted in the supermarket, and she’s still burning up.

He caught her just in time before her head hit the linoleum. He shooed away a group of concerned strangers that had gathered around them, assuring them that his wife was fine and just experiencing a minor dizzy spell. He sold it with a humorous eye roll and chuckled the word “women” before grabbing the kid and carrying her quickly out of the store and into the car. If she hadn’t been out cold, he’s certain he would’ve heard several objections to that comment.

Ben knows he can’t take her to a hospital, however. No one knows she’s a supe, and these days, they don’t receive the best treatment – too many bridges burnt after Homelander’s reign of terror. People have become angry, fearful, and distrustful.

Again, he feels a little responsible. He’s sure Soldier Boy had laid some groundwork for that, too.

Softly, the door to their bedroom clicks shut, her phone in his hand as he searches her contacts. His shoulders tense as he reaches the one he needs. His jaw tightens as he holds it to his ear and waits for an answer.

“Hey, I figured you’d call. Already fed up with the wrinkly dick and coming back?” Victoria Neuman’s voice sounds through the speaker, causing Ben’s hair to stand up on its ends.

Chalk on fucking board, he thinks and bites the anger back. He hates talking to that bitch, hates being nice, and hates asking for favors. But he swallows the acrimony down for the sake of his wife.

“It’s me,” Ben grits and feels his jaw beginning to ache. Why the fuck does everything hurt all the time? It’s something he figures he’ll never get used to – every time his back cracks and creaks in the mornings.

“You have exactly five seconds to tell me she’s not locked up in your basement before I make a few calls and let hellfire rain down on you, you decrepit piece of antiquity,” she bites her threat, but Ben can hear the concern in her voice, although he doesn’t give it too much weight. She’s probably faking it like her orgasms.

“Look, I wouldn’t fucking call if it wasn’t serious, you cunt,” Ben snaps and squeezes his eyes shut, rubbing the surge of fury and impatience out of his temples.

His admission causes a beat of silence on the other end. “What’s going on?” Neuman then finally asks and swallows down her own snarky remarks.

Ben licks his chapped lips before pushing the words out. “She’s-… she’s sick.”

There’s another long pause. “She can’t be sick. She’s a supe.”

“I fucking know that.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah…”

They both sigh (and both hate that they have something in common).

“I-… I have the cure,” Ben says and bites down on his tongue immediately after. He doesn’t want to show her all his cards.

“You can’t give it to her. It’s going to kill her,” Victoria reminds him firmly.

“The fucking virus is gonna kill her too, right?” Ben’s eyes drop to the floorboards that hold the solution to all his problems underneath.

“Yeah, it is,” Victoria admits. “What are her symptoms? You sure she’s not just pregnant?”

“I fucking hope not.” There’s a sentence he never expected to say. But– “I haven’t fucking cum inside of her for months.”

“Charming,” Neuman retorts on the other end.

“Wait, do you fucking know something? Did she cheat on me?” The grip around the phone in his hand tightens. Was that why she forgave him so fast and said she believed him?

“Unfortunately, no,” Victoria replies with obvious disappointment. Ben refrains from releasing the sigh of relief he feels. “Believe me, I’ve tried to get her cockdrunk on someone else…”

If Ben still had super-strength, he would’ve crushed the goddamn phone in his hand. Instead of exploding, he closes his eyes and takes a deep fucking breath, though. Ten… nine… eight… Where’s your happy place?

“Why the fuck are you calling me? What do you want?” Victoria’s voice snaps him out of his fatal fantasies of tearing her limbs off one by one.

“What d’you got in your labs? You gotta have a new cure, a new sample, fucking something,” Ben says but doesn’t even know what he’s asking. He’s grasping at straws, hoping to stumble upon an answer.

“If they’d found something, I would’ve already given it to her,” Neuman says.

“You fucking sure about that?” Ben doesn’t believe a drop of what she’s tellimg him.

“Yes,” Victoria still insists. “Look, before you give it to her, I’ll ask around, make a few calls, okay? See if there’s any possibilities to stop this.”

Ben’s hands tremble, his jaw quivers as he desperately tries to steady himself. “Thank you, fucking hurry,” he forces out in a murmur and immediately hangs up.

Y/N stretches with a grumbling sigh as his hand gently caresses her head. He presses his lips to her burning temple, her weary eyes fluttering open.

“Hey, my love,” Ben says, his deep voice soft as if he’s singing her a lullaby. “How are you feeling?”

She yawns and fights back the sleep in her eyes. “Still tired.”

“You’ve been sleeping for five hours,” he tells her and watches as she curls into the couch cushions with a coughing fit. He lowers down to the carpeted floor, stroking her back till she strenuously takes a breath again. “I think we need to talk about it now.”

Slowly, she meets his gaze, and he sees the fear shimmering in her eyes behind a thin veil of tears. She knows what this is, what her body is fighting, and Ben wonders how long she’s known without saying anything. He guesses she knew right from the start. Sometimes, he forgets he likes to pretend she isn’t really smarter than him.

But then, the fear morphs to determination. She nods, swallowing. “The gun’s in the safe in the closet.”

“I know where the fuck it is,” Ben grits, his brow densely creasing with a mix of confusion and angry suspicion. “What exactly do you think I’m gonna fucking do with it?”

“Shoot me.”

Her eyes are steady and firm, his voice is sterner.

“No.”

The word booms through the living room, threatening to quake the earth and shake books off their shelves.

“Ben–“

“You fucking listen to me, I’m not fucking killing you. End of discussion,” he snaps furiously. She’s not sure she’s ever seen him this angry before – not even when she said they should consider a divorce. Although, this seems to be a different kind of anger – one that cuts deeper.

“Sid shot Nancy,” she says quietly, hoping it appeals to him in some dark, ironic twist.

“She was stabbed, and they could never fucking pin it on him,” Ben shuts her argument down. “Ain’t fucking happening. I’m sorry, but you’re not gonna be the last person on my kill list, love.”

She forces a wry but weak smile. “It’d be a mercy killing. Euthanasia.”

“I’m familiar with the fucking concept,” Ben huffs tiredly. His hand then dives into the pocket of his sweats and pulls out a small vial that holds yellow liquid.

Her lips part in shock as her eyes fix on the familiar cure in his grasp. “How long have you–“

“Stole it from that black site while you and that Neuman cunt were busy yapping about policies,” Ben explains. “I also took something blue. Figured I could use it at some point.”

“Still wanna be Soldier Boy, huh?” Her voice sounds almost bitter, mocking. A small part of her has always hoped she’d be enough for him someday. That he didn’t need the fame, the money, and the fake heroics. That he’d love himself enough to not rely on a façade.

“No,” he replies to her surprise and watches her straighten a bit on the couch. “I’d fucking do it for you.”

“I don’t want that,” she tells him firmly, hoping he still remembers her words even when she’s gone.

“I know that. Why the fuck do you think I haven’t done it yet?” Ben says with a raised brow and as much patience as he can find within himself. Chats like these aren’t his strong suit.

“So, this is your idea?” She cocks an eyebrow at the vial in his hand, her look pointed. “You don’t wanna kill me quickly, but you’d rather watch me die in fucking slow-motion?”

“It’s better than nothing,” Ben argues, the lines on his freckled face hardening again. Why does she have to be so fucking stubborn all the time?

Ironically, she thought the same thing about her husband.

“For who? You?! You can’t be that fucking selfish,” she spits and rises from the couch with a shaking head.

“Funny. I was just about to say the same fucking thing to you,” he returns with the same fire.

She thunders into the bedroom and slams the door shut before he hears her rummaging through the closet. Annoyed, he rolls his eyes once the first expletives bleed through.

“Where’s the fucking gun?” she snaps as soon as the door flies open again.

“Already hid it somewhere you won’t fucking find it,” he answers slyly and purses his lips as she storms past him into the kitchen.

She lets out a deep sigh of frustration when she finds both the knife block and drawers empty. “Seriously? Did you fucking baby-proof the house while I was asleep?!”

“Well, if you’re behaving like a fucking baby…” he retorts and patiently follows her frantic steps. “You also won’t find fucking scissors and pills, either.”

“Ironic coming from you,” she scoffs, opening and shutting cabinet doors in the desperate search for something strong enough to put her out of her goddamn misery.

“Yeah, how do you think I knew which shit to hide, huh?” he asks rhetorically and takes a careful step closer, cornering her between counters and appliances. “Would you stop that now and fucking talk to me?”

“You don’t wanna talk to me,” she retorts. “You just wanna fucking pump me full of poison, so you get to feel fucking good about yourself again.”

“You think that’s it? I’m fucking jealous?” He arches a brow and crosses his muscular arms over his broad chest, his offense hiding behind amusement.

“Aren’t you?” she bites back.

“Is that you or the fucking V talking, huh?” Ben has never said it out loud before, but he hated how that blue shit changed her. Sure, it only amplified certain parts of her that he supposes have always been there, but it made her less caring, more arrogant, too.

“It’s me, you asshole,” she snarls.

The look on her face breaks his heart into a million pieces. He almost doesn’t recognize her anymore, and he knows reaching any sense of clarity or humanity within her is impossible at this point.

“You sure about that?”

She doesn’t reply, just shakes her head at him and opens the fridge. Her shoulders still for a second, and Ben knows at that moment she’s found something and is thinking of a plan to outfox him.

His gaze swerves to the full beer bottle that has found its way into her hand. She’s quick when she breaks it forcefully against the countertop, the golden-brown liquid splashing onto the floor. But Ben’s faster and bruisingly clutches her wrist, spinning her to face him. Tears sting her eyes as she fights against his hold. Ben knows she’s not using her full strength on him, though, and is almost curious as to why.

He’s not sure Soldier Boy would’ve shown the same hesitant restraint, even if it had been her.

“What the fuck are you doing? Let me fucking go,” she grits through her teeth.

Ben only shakes his head, his gaze on her stern as he tightens his grip around her wrist.

“You want me to fucking melt you into a puddle?” she threatens.

“Fucking do it,” he challenges her defiantly without a blink of a single eye. “If you wanna do this, you’re gonna have to step over my fucking body first, ‘cause there’s no way I’m letting this hand go unless you drop that fucking bottle. What’s it gonna be?”

Her nostrils flare in sync with the heavy rising and falling of her chest, her glare deadly. Slowly and mutinously, she opens each finger till the bottle crashes to the floor and shatters into sharp daggers at their feet. As soon as his grasp on her loosens, she breaks down and falls into his arms, sobbing against his chest.

He feels a flood of relief rush through his body. Thank fucking God, because he’s totally been bluffing.

He wraps his arms tighter around her, holds her closer, and nuzzles his face into her hair. “I know. It’s okay, sweetheart…”

“I’m fucking scared, Ben,” she cries, and he swallows the thick lump in his throat and forces his own tears back into his skull.

“I know, I know…” He cradles her head, resting his chin on her crown. “You know, admittedly, I’m-… I’m a little scared, too.”

She peels from his chest and meets his forest green eyes, amusement dancing on her lips. “Well, I’m glad you’re not a cold-hearted psychopath.”

Ben curls his lips, cheeks reddening. This is what he gets for opening up. “It’s my job as your husband to take care of you. Be a strong front.”

She rolls her eyes back dramatically and groans into his shirt. “You know, it doesn’t make you less of a man for feeling things.” She teasingly grins up at him. “In fact, I think only guys with the biggest dicks can pull it off.”

His lips tug at a smile. “I know what you’re doing.”

She locks her arms around his neck and pulls herself to his height for a scorching kiss. And Ben can’t fight the feeling this is meant to be their last one.

“Don’t get weird when I’m gone, okay?” she tells him then, and it feels like the beginning of a list of last wishes. “No reverting back to full asshole. No blue shit.”

“Christ, you’re not fucking dying,” Ben replies, his deep voice calm but firm.

“Ben, denial will only make it worse,” she says, her heart cracking at the forlorn look on his face. “You can’t fix this. There’s nothing you can do. It’s okay.”

Ben shakes his head wordlessly, and she knows the conversation is about to be over. There really isn’t more she can do, either.

“C’mon, let’s get you back to bed. You need some rest,” Ben says and already scoops her into his arms before she can respond.

Y/N’s head rests on his broad and bare chest as he holds her tightly in his arms. The skin-to-skin contact seems to soothe her, which is good because he plans to never let her go. If he just keeps her here right next to him, she’ll be fine. She won’t leave him.

She’s talked some when she wasn’t out like a light, but Ben could tell her mind was getting hazy. She talked about her parents and her childhood, something she rarely ever does.

They had never really talked a lot about their respective pasts altogether. They’d covered the basics, but what actually happened didn’t matter as much. They knew they’d both done things they weren’t proud of. But the point of their relationship had always been a clean slate – a fresh start.

She had barely gotten that. She stupidly sacrificed it all for him, and he still wishes she would’ve never done that. He was supposed to die that day with Homelander. It had been his time.

Not hers.

She snores softly in his arms. Her heartbeat is faint, her breathing shallow. An hour ago, it used to be labored, each breath a struggle. She’s so hot he’s afraid she’ll melt in his embrace. He knows she doesn’t have long anymore. He’s running out of time.

Carefully, he stretches his arm to reach for the glistening yellow vial on the nightstand. He pops the lid open and stabs the syringe through the top, drawing it to the brim.

There’s a flicker of hesitation in his green eyes. What if he makes it worse? More painful? What if he kills her?

Victoria’s words ring in his ears. There’s a chance the virus accepts the cure. A loophole, if you will. The cure’s deadly for two-timers, but if they were also infected with the virus, the cure could piggyback on that. One in eighty rats had survived the ordeal before they stopped the trials. Ben didn’t understand the rest of the scientific mumbo-jumbo, but he knows those aren’t great odds.

Still, it’s something.

Ben doesn’t have the luxury to be picky about solutions, though. What he thought were minutes turn to seconds once her breathing stops entirely.

He rolls up the sleeves of the oversized shirt she’s wearing, one of his, and looks for a good angle on her forearm, just below the elbow. He’s not a doctor, he has no idea what the fuck he’s doing or where it should go best, but that one time he did heroin in the 80s, he’d put it exactly there, and it had been fine.

“I’m sorry, my love,” he mumbles into her hair and presses a kiss to the top of her head.

One rough prick through her steeled skin, and the needle is in. He empties the liquid in one swift motion before discarding the used syringe back on the nightstand. He cautiously slides out from underneath her then and ensures she’s lying comfortably on the mattress. He doesn’t want to leave her side, but he knows her powers might short-circuit soon.

Ben remembers the stories from other supes at the rehab clinic – the agonizing pain, the feeling of puking your organs out before the rest follows. Flickers of his own process trickle into his mind. He can’t remember most of it, but he remembers how they’d locked him up in a nuclear-proof prison at some point during the procedure.

For now, he prefers not die by a rain of acid if he gets to pick.

His hand gently caresses her head. He’s not even sure she’s still alive. She might not, and he may have been too late. All for nothing.

“Come on, baby,” he whispers and takes her hand in his. It feels cold and lifeless, but he still tries. He’s not ready to let go yet. He’s not sure he’ll ever be. “I know you can beat this shit like everything else. We’re this fucking close. Just a little more…”

And then, there’s a flicker of something – a weak tap of a finger against his palm. There’s movement behind her eyelids and a twitch of her brows.

“Sweetheart?”

There’s a groan, her hands gripping a fistful of bedsheets as she coils into the mattress, muscles contorting. He gently rubs her back, trying to help her as the pain tears through her.

“Hey, hey, you’re good. You’re alright,” he soothes and feels the guilt bubbling in his stomach. He hates that he did this to her, but he did it for love. The knowledge barely makes it better, however.

“Oh, fuck, Ben!”

She usually screams those exact words for different reasons, and Ben notes the soft tones of annoyance and anger that are lacing her voice.

“Did you give me the fucking cure?!”

Ben draws his lips into tight line and nods. Admittedly, she might not have fully consented to the procedure. But he prefers her furious with him for the rest of her life over dead. Besides, he’s her husband – shouldn’t the decision be his? Like pulling the plug? That’s a thing, right?

“Motherfucking–“

She bites down on her tongue and swallows her curses with some blood as another surge of pain takes control of her body. Her fingernails claw at her forearms as if she’s trying to scratch it out of her system. If Ben could compare it to anything, he’d probably go with a demon exorcism.

“You selfish fucking prick! You can’t even let me die in peace?!” she grits through her teeth, fighting another surge. She feels the nausea too, like a parasite trying to flee its host through her throat.

“Look, I’m fucking sorry, but I had to take the shot, alright?!”

Y/N groans in loud exhaustion, and Ben’s not entirely sure if it’s because of the pain or a little bit because of him, too.

“Ben, you need to fucking leave,” she presses through her lips, her stern gaze finding his.

He can tell by her look that she’s not saying it out of anger. She’s not saying it because she doesn’t want him to stay and never see him again. She says it because she’s trying to save his life.

Again. The fourth time.

Her name falls from his lips, but she shakes her head as she stumbles out of bed and pushes past him towards the bathroom.

“Leave,” she tells him with more urgency. “Close the door. Go now.”

Ben stills with a hand on the doorknob and looks at her. He can’t leave her like this, can he?

“I’ll be fine. I promise. Please go,” she says as if she can read his mind, steadying herself against the cool wall. She can feel it everywhere, trying to escape her body.

His breaths are ragged, his heart is hammering against his ribs. “I fucking love you,” he says through the sting of tears in his eyes. He says it like it’s the last time he gets to say it while she can still hear him.

She sends him a weak smile and mouths, ‘I love you, too.’

And all there’s left then for him to do is staring at a closed bedroom door. And waiting. Fucking waiting…

Part 3: Lovestruck – TOMORROW 💕

Ah yes the waiting game 😂🫶 Are you excited for the finale aka the happy end tomorrow? After this, they truly deserve it haha

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[zukosdualdao]

i lost a friend, i lost a friend, i lost my mind

[dykedvonte]

I think about the fact Anya locking herself in the infirmary with Curly to kill herself and how it is in way reclaiming a space that was initially hers from Jimmy.

Not to mention how she must've been aware of Jimmy's obsession with Curly and the idea that he would lose his power over the both of them (based on the fact she likely thought they would never get the door open) and having to face the responsibility of two deaths being on his hands as acting captain.

It was her final act of agency stuck on that ship with her abuser and it says something that she chose to die next to Curly, despite his inaction, leaned against him as if they were just in a casual conversation before her death. Despite everything, Anya made the final decision on her own terms and it speaks volumes considering her treatment and demeanor up until that point.

[bumblingbabooshka]

When the only person who might understand what happened- understand. Not sympathize or empathize or comfort you but understand what happened, isn't there anymore. Or: 'A Man Made Me Do Something I Didn't Want To', for when you can't talk about it or look it in the eye [Patreon | Commissions]

[gavin-carrigan]

If there was anything about Gavin that always seemed to come through it was that he was always thinking about others over himself. He didn’t really care if something made him happy as long as others were. He was still a dad and that motivated a lot of his decisions whether or not he was miserable. Giving up music had been hard for him. It was the thing that immediately bonded him and his adoptive father. It was the thing that made him feel like her truly had found his forever family. Did he lose sight of that just because he felt like he always had to do the right thing? He thought getting married because he was gonna become a dad was the right thing. But when the paternity of his son had come out that he wasn’t his biological father, it made Gavin realize that maybe he’d gone about some things wrong. He would have still been there and been Bennie’s dad. But he didn’t have to get married. He didn’t have to shove what he felt for Alice in some corner of his mind.

“ I don’t want to let him down. I don’t want to be an absent dad. “ he admitted. “ I just miss it so much. And it was that one thing that made me bond with my own dad you know? “He added. His whole foster living situation and being adopted at a later age had sort of impacted Gavin immensely. If anyone knew that music meant that much to him it was Alice. “ I miss so much of my life before. I don’t regret being a dad and I would do anything for Bennie. I wouldn’t change a thing there. But do you ever wonder what could have happened if you didn’t make specific choices in your life? Or maybe said something you’ve never said?”

There it was those notions on the tip of his tongue just about to come out and get they still didn’t. Not in that moment. Because maybe he was too vulnerable for it right now. “ please tell me you’re as confused as I am? Cause I can’t be the only one feeling the regret?” That was more than enough being said in that moment. Maybe too much “ I know you are. I think I’d be a bit lost without you Alice. You know that right?” @alicexcheng

Alice was quiet for a long moment, letting the weight of Gavin's words sink in. She always hated seeing him so vulnerable, especially when it came to something as personal as his relationship with Bennie and the music that used to define him. But the truth was, she understood the pull of both. Music had been his heartbeat, and so had being a dad. She leaned back slightly, her eyes soft but steady as she studied him. "You know," she began gently, her voice quieter than usual, "I don’t think you're a bad dad for wondering about going back to music. It’s natural to miss something you loved doing, something that felt like a part of you." She gave a half-smile, the kind she reserved for moments like this—when words had to carry the weight of years of unspoken things. "And you’re not a bad dad for questioning what would make you happy again. I mean, really happy, not just getting by. I think Bennie would want you to be whole too, not just playing the role."

Her smile faded a little as her voice softened even more. "But... I also get the fear. I know you worry about letting him down. But you’re not letting anyone down, Gav. Not Bennie, not me. Hell, I’ve seen you with him. That’s a whole other level of dedication. You’re not failing him because you miss music. You’re just being human."

Alice's eyes flickered to his, catching something in the way he was looking at her—something deeper, more complicated. "As for everything else…" She hesitated, letting her words hang there for a moment. "I don’t think there’s a single thing in your life that screams ‘mistake,’ Gavin. You’re a great dad. A great teacher. The things that didn’t work out before? They don’t define you. And if you're regretting anything, it’s because you’re the kind of person who cares enough to regret. But regret is just... a weird little shadow, you know? You carry it, but it doesn’t have to follow you forever."

She leaned forward slightly, her tone lighter now, but with that same undercurrent of sincerity that always came when she said things that mattered. "And just so you know, I’m here. I’ve always been here. I get you, Gav. Even when you don’t get yourself." A faint smile curled at the corner of her lips. "If you ever need a break from all the responsibility? You know where to find me." Her eyes met his again, steady and open, like she was leaving space for whatever he needed to say next. Whether it was about music, regrets, or just about whatever was going on in that head of his.

[so-called-quail]

'Trapped in the end!' said Sam bitterly, his anger rising again above weariness and despair. 'Gnats in a net. May the curse of Faramir bite that Gollum and bite him quick!' 'That would not help us now,' said Frodo.

Sword in hand Sam went after him. For the moment he had forgotten everything else but the red fury in his brain and the desire to kill Gollum. But before he could overtake him, Gollum was gone. Then as the dark hole stood before him and the stench came out to meet him, like a clap of thunder the thought of Frodo and the monster smote upon Sam's mind.

Now he tried to find strength to tear himself away and go on a lonely journey – for vengeance. If once he could go, his anger would bear him down all the roads of the world, pursuing, until he had him at last: Gollum. Then Gollum would die in a corner. But that was not what he had set out to do. It would not be worth while to leave his master for that. It would not bring him back. Nothing would.

Sam and vengeance in today's entry