#and my boss tries to make peace between us when no. there is no peace to be had. i've tried and i ended up like this

[itendtothinkalot]

in this economy? (part 2)

summary: you needed money. he needed a fake girlfriend. easy deal, right? except he’s your best friend’s boss. and you’re one minor inconvenience away from setting something on fire. he’s cold, rich, emotionally unavailable. you’re loud, broke, and very good at pretending this isn’t slowly turning real.

genre: fluff | fake dating

characters: ceo!heeseung x f! broke ass reader

words: 11k???

warnings: implied sex

part 1

"Where's Jake?" you asked, dropping your bag onto the seat in front of Heeseung’s desk like you owned the place.

He didn’t glance up from his computer. “He has a meeting. I sent him on my behalf.”

You blinked. “Wait. You actually trust him to speak on your behalf?”

Heeseung paused, then looked up slowly. “Not really. But the board finds him charming and impossible to argue with, so it balances out.”

“Huh.” You nodded thoughtfully. “Dangerous skill set. Should be illegal, honestly.”

You hesitated for a beat, shifting your weight between your feet.

“Then… should we still continue?” you asked. “I mean, without Jake hovering and directing us like a deranged drama teacher. I can come back in an hour. Or tomorrow. Or never. I’m flexible.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to the pantry to steal bread, aren’t you?”

Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

“I—”

“There’s some over there,” he said, cutting you off with a tired sigh, nodding to a neat tray sitting on a side table near the window. “You don’t have to steal them anymore.”

You stared at him.

He looked back at you, completely unamused.

“You stocked bread for me?”

“No,” he said flatly. “They were already there. I just didn’t bother to hide them.”

Your lips twitched. “So… a passive offering.”

“More like preemptive damage control.”

You crossed your arms and tried not to smile. “You’re being oddly considerate today.”

“I just don’t want crumbs on my conference table again.”

“I make no promises.”

Heeseung exhaled, returning to his screen.

You walked over to the tray, took a roll, and sat down in the chair across from him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And somehow… it kind of was.

The two of you had, against all odds, managed to fall into a kind of rhythm.

Heeseung sat at his desk, typing away at some high-stakes corporate proposal with the focus of a man trying to win a war. His jaw was tense. His posture perfect. Not a single hair out of place.

You, on the other hand, were curled up on his couch—yes, the very expensive, probably Italian-imported couch in the corner of his office—laptop balanced on your thighs, working on a university assignment that made you question all your life choices.

It had been relatively peaceful.

Until you sighed.

Again.

For the tenth time.

Loudly.

Heeseung’s fingers paused on the keyboard. He let out a groan, leaning back in his chair. “Can I help you?”

You didn’t look up. “No.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve sighed ten times in the last fifteen minutes.”

“I sigh when I’m tired,” you muttered, chin resting in your palm. “It’s a coping mechanism.”

“Then maybe you should be concerned for my well-being.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was the tiniest upward twitch at the corner of his mouth. “You know, most people who use my office do it for meetings. Business. Work.”

“I am working,” you said, lifting your laptop like a trophy. “This is an academic battlefield.”

He snorted softly. “Right. And I assume the heavy sighing is your war cry?”

“Correct.”

You slumped further into the couch, dramatically over-exaggerating your next exhale.

Heeseung shook his head, mumbling something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like unbelievable, but he didn’t kick you out.

Instead, he turned back to his screen.

And you kept sighing.

Maybe a little louder this time—just for fun.

You were trying. Truly. Every ounce of effort was going into keeping your eyes open.

But the soft whir of the air conditioning, the muffled clicks of Heeseung’s keyboard, and the dangerously plush couch—the one you swore had memory foam meant for seduction—were all working against you.

You blinked. Once. Twice. Your screen blurred. Your head dipped.

And then you were gone.

Curled up awkwardly, slumped to one side, your head tilted off the edge of the couch like gravity had given up. Your mouth parted slightly, and one arm hung limp off the cushion, fingers twitching like they were still trying to finish a sentence.

Across the room, Heeseung didn’t notice right away.

But then the silence hit.

No more sighing. No muttering. No passive-aggressive typing.

He finally looked up from his screen.

You were fast asleep. In his office. On his couch. With your mouth open.

And somehow… you still looked soft. Small. Asleep in a way only someone who was truly exhausted could be—your guard down completely for the first time since he met you.

His brows lifted, surprised at the sudden pang in his chest.

He set his pen down. Sat back in his chair.

Then, after a moment, he rose—slowly, quietly, as if not to wake you.

He crossed the room, footsteps soundless against the carpet. For a beat, he just stood there, gazing down at you. Your breath was steady, lashes resting against your cheeks, hair a little messy from where you’d burrowed into the armrest like it owed you comfort.

Heeseung let out a small breath of amusement. Shook his head. Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he shrugged off his jacket.

It was still warm from his body. Crisp and dark and clearly expensive.

But without a second thought, he leaned down and draped it over your sleeping frame—gentle, careful. He adjusted it around your shoulders, tucking the edge around your knees like someone who’d done this before. Like someone who wanted you to stay warm.

His fingers hovered at your wrist for a second too long.

He didn’t know when it had started—this quiet shift inside him. This tug. This softness.

You mumbled something in your sleep and shifted slightly under the jacket, your nose scrunching the way it always did when you were annoyed.

Heeseung smiled. Not the amused kind. Not the forced, polite kind he used at business meetings.

He watched you for another beat, hands back in his pockets now, expression unreadable save for the faint flicker in his eyes.

“…Don’t drool on the couch,” he murmured softly.

Your breathing had evened out. The room was quiet. Peaceful, even. But then your head shifted.

Just slightly at first, a twitch in your sleep—then more. A slow, inevitable tilt toward the edge of the couch cushion. Your cheek slipped against the fabric, your entire upper body beginning to slide.

Heeseung caught you before gravity could win. His hand shot out, steadying the side of your head, palm cradling the curve of your temple with surprising gentleness.

He froze.

Your hair was soft. Your skin warm against his fingers.

You stirred at the contact, brows twitching, and he held his breath.

If he moved you too suddenly, you'd wake up. And as much as he'd pretend it was to avoid the awkward explanation, a small part of him didn’t want to see that shift in your eyes—the one where you’d go from relaxed and unguarded to self-conscious in a flash.

So, he didn’t move you.

Instead, with a barely-there sigh, Heeseung sat down beside you. Slowly. Carefully.

And with a hesitant, almost unsure motion, he tilted his shoulder toward you, easing your head against it.

You didn’t stir.

He relaxed, just slightly, settling in. One arm resting loosely behind you on the back of the couch, the other propped on his leg. Your head fit there like it belonged—heavy, warm, grounding in a way that made no logical sense to a man who built his world out of logic.

He turned his head just enough to glance down.

You were still sleeping. Peacefully now, your lips parted, breath brushing the fabric of his shirt.

He shouldn’t have let this happen.

This wasn’t part of the contract. This wasn’t strategy. This was something else entirely. Something real. And that was dangerous.

But… he didn’t move.

Didn’t want to.

Minutes passed. Long enough for the hum of his computer to fade into background noise. Long enough for the warmth of your body to seep through the layers between you.

Eventually, without quite meaning to, Heeseung's head drifted sideways.

And rested gently against yours.

His eyes closed.

Sleep tugged at him.

And before he could tell himself this was a terrible idea, he was out too.

—

“Uh… Mr. Lee?”

The voice was hesitant. Too hesitant.

Heeseung stirred with a low breath, one hand coming up to rub the sleep from his face. His neck ached. His back cracked. His eyes were still half-closed, vision blurry from the impromptu nap—until the shape beside him shifted ever so slightly.

Warmth. Weight. Soft hair against his collarbone.

You.

Still asleep, head nestled against his shoulder, one hand curled lightly near his chest, your body tucked close to his side like you’d been there all along. Your leg had, at some point, slid across the cushion, half draped over his. His jacket—his expensive, custom-tailored jacket—was still wrapped around you.

And you looked peaceful.

Which made it worse.

His breath caught, muscles going rigid. He moved the tiniest bit and—

Your head shifted.

Rested more firmly against him.

His eyes widened. He froze.

The sudden, horrifying realization of his current position crashed down on him like a second cup of scalding coffee: He was on a couch. In his office. Asleep. With you.

His fake girlfriend.

His hired, bread-stealing, chaotic fake girlfriend.

He didn’t even have time to process the panic beginning to crawl up his throat before a second voice—a louder one—cut through the awkward silence.

“SEUNG!”

A loud clap echoed through the room like a gunshot.

Heeseung flinched violently. You jerked awake with a muffled yelp, nearly toppling off the couch in the process.

Jake was standing near the door, clutching his tablet awkwardly like it was a shield. His expression was half amused, half frozen in I’m witnessing something I should absolutely not be witnessing panic.

And behind him—

Grandpa Lee.

Cheerful. Smiling. And very observant.

Heeseung sat bolt upright, his shoulder cold from where your head had been. You blinked up at the room in confusion, your hair a mess, his jacket slipping off one shoulder.

Your eyes met Jake’s first.

Then Grandpa’s.

Then slowly—painfully—Heeseung’s.

There was a long, horrible silence.

Jake cleared his throat. “I—I knocked. I definitely knocked.”

You looked at Heeseung, wide-eyed, still half-asleep. “Did I… drool on you?”

Heeseung said nothing.

Because yes.

Yes, you had.

Right on his dress shirt.

He ran a hand down his face.

Grandpa Lee took one look at the scene—the two of you crumpled on the couch, the jacket, the disheveled closeness, the obvious, inarguable evidence of intimacy—and clapped again.

Grandpa Lee took one look at the scene—the two of you tangled on the couch, his grandson’s jacket wrapped around your shoulders, your face still warm from sleep, Heeseung looking like he’d rather melt into the floor—and clapped again.

This time in absolute delight.

“Well, well, well!” he beamed, eyes twinkling. “So this is the girlfriend I’ve been hearing about.”

He wiggled his eyebrows with the energy of a man half his age and immediately began making his way across the room—eyes fixed on you like you were a prize to be claimed.

Unfortunately, the coffee table had other plans.

He bumped into it with a grunt, then made an awkward shuffle-waddle between the corner of the table and the armrest of the couch, muttering something about how “the furniture in this place keeps shrinking.”

You panicked.

Immediately sprang to your feet like someone had launched you out of a cannon.

“Hello! Mr. Lee!” you blurted, practically diving over the armrest to intercept him before he got too close to your nap crime scene. You stumbled slightly as you landed, pushing your hair back and straightening your posture in one frantic movement. “It’s, um—it’s so nice to finally meet you!”

You stuck your hand out stiffly. Firm grip. Friendly smile. Crisis mode: activated.

He took your hand with both of his, beaming. “My, my, my. You’re prettier in person than the way Jake described you.”

Your eyes snapped to Jake, who was hiding behind his tablet and mouthing I’m so sorry while also very clearly not sorry at all.

You turned back to Grandpa Lee, cheeks on fire. “Ah—thank you, sir. I—um—I really wasn’t planning to… meet you while half-asleep on Heeseung’s couch but—”

You laughed. A bit too high-pitched.

Heeseung made a strangled noise behind you.

Grandpa Lee chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry about that. You’re the first girl I’ve seen knock him out cold. Must be doing something right.”

Your soul left your body.

You smiled, borderline delirious now. “Right. Yes. That’s me. Doing things right.”

Grandpa leaned in slightly, peering at you with amused affection. “You call him Seung, huh?”

You blinked. “Sorry?”

“You called him Seung in your sleep,” Jake chimed in unhelpfully from the corner.

Heeseung let out a sharp exhale. “Jake.”

“I just thought it was cute,” Jake said, shrugging.

“I—I must’ve been dreaming!” you blurted, your laugh high and awkward as you fidgeted with the sleeves of Heeseung’s jacket still wrapped around you. “Dreams are wild, right? Who knows what they mean. Crazy subconscious stuff—anyway!”

Your eyes lit up suddenly, and you reached out, gently grasping Grandpa’s forearm. “Grandpa Lee, have you eaten yet? You must be so tired after all the traveling. I should’ve asked earlier—do you want some tea? Water? Should I—should I find someone to bring you something?”

His eyes crinkled, delighted. “My, oh my. A girl with so much manners.”

He gave you a fond pat on the back, then turned immediately to Heeseung, his face dropping into theatrical disapproval. “You little brat.”

Heeseung, still half-seated on the couch, blinked. “What?”

Grandpa raised his cane with flair, like a sword in a historical drama. “Why aren’t you the one taking care of me?”

“I—I didn’t know you were coming today—”

“She’s the one asking all the thoughtful questions,” Grandpa interrupted, gesturing toward you with a dramatic swing of his cane. “Why aren’t you ever this considerate? Huh?”

Heeseung opened his mouth to respond. Closed it. Looked mildly offended. “I pay for your full-time driver, your concierge doctor, and the personal chef who makes your weird seaweed soup every Tuesday.”

“And yet,” Grandpa sniffed, crossing his arms, “she asks me if I’ve eaten. That’s love. That’s care. That’s human decency.”

You tried very hard not to laugh, smoothing your hair nervously and reaching to help Grandpa steady himself when he shifted his cane.

He gave your hand a squeeze.

“You’re very sweet, dear,” he said, looking at you like you’d just personally renewed his faith in humanity. “If Seung doesn’t treat you well, I’ll disown him.”

You turned pink. “Oh—thank you, sir. He’s been… very kind.”

Behind you, Heeseung made a sound halfway between a sigh and a groan.

You turned to glance at him, and just for a second—just one—his usual blank expression cracked.

There it was.

A barely-there smile.

Small. Subtle. But real.

It disappeared the moment you made eye contact.

He looked away with a mutter of, “He’s going to be insufferable about this for weeks.”

But he didn’t stop smiling. Not completely.

And when you turned back to Grandpa, still fussing over whether he needed tea or a cushion or someone to call his driver, Heeseung just watched you quietly.

With a look that wasn’t quite annoyance.

Not quite amusement.

Something else entirely.

Something dangerous.

—

Somehow, without quite meaning to, you’d been swept into the strange, chaotic current of the Lee family dynamic.

Jake had left hours ago—after giving you a dramatic, drawn-out farewell like he was being shipped off to war and not just heading back to his apartment. You’d waved him off, chuckling under your breath, unaware that the moment he was gone, you were being voluntarily held hostage by a rich, meddling grandfather and his emotionally-repressed grandson.

“I insist,” Grandpa Lee had said, gripping your hand like a man on a mission. “Come to dinner. We’ll order something good. I’ll show you pictures of baby Heeseung. You’ll love it.”

You had tried, really tried, to politely decline.

But the man begged.

Not gently. Not in passing.

He begged—with wide eyes and dramatic sighs and the kind of wounded expression only grandfathers and veteran actors could pull off.

You couldn’t say no.

You weren’t heartless.

Not even if he was filthy, stinking rich and had an estate large enough to qualify for its own postal code.

So now here you were.

Entering the Lee family home like you’d been there a thousand times, when in reality, you were still trying to figure out if this entire week was an elaborate fever dream.

“Careful now,” you said gently, your hand looped around Grandpa Lee’s arm as you helped him up the front steps. “We can go slowly, no rush at all.”

“Oh, you’re an angel,” he replied, letting you guide him toward the front door like you were escorting royalty. “You’re much gentler than my useless grandson. That boy leads me around like I’m made of bricks.”

You laughed softly. “Well, you’ve only got one pair of knees, sir. I intend to make sure you keep them.”

He chuckled, clearly pleased.

Behind you, Heeseung followed a few steps behind—quiet, one hand shoved into his pocket, the other holding the door open as he watched the two of you walk ahead like old companions.

He should’ve been annoyed.

His grandfather was clearly laying it on too thick, pushing boundaries, dragging you into family traditions you had no business being part of.

But instead…

Heeseung just watched.

You, glancing over your shoulder to flash him a smile that was too real for a fake girlfriend.

His grandfather, soaking up your attention like sunshine and already asking if you liked kimchi stew or preferred something mild for dinner.

And Heeseung?

He thought about how much he could get used to this.

—

The dining room table could seat twelve.

Twelve.

Twelve humans.

Maybe fourteen if two of them were toddlers and didn’t mind elbow contact.

You sat across from Heeseung, quietly chewing your food like a peasant at Versailles, trying not to let your eyes dart around the room every five seconds. But how could you not? The chandelier above you looked like it belonged in a royal ballroom. The dinnerware probably had a net worth higher than your student loans.

God, his house was huge.

You were ninety-nine percent sure there was an echo in the room. The soft jazz playing through hidden speakers? Offensively classy. You were half-expecting someone to walk out offering you a wine list in French.

The fanciest place you’d ever eaten was Cheesecake Factory. Once. And Jake had paid.

Meanwhile, here you were being served short ribs plated on imported porcelain while pretending to be the loving girlfriend of Lee Heeseung, Seoul’s most emotionally constipated tech prince.

Heeseung, for what it was worth, sat beside you with practiced ease—perfect posture, calm expression, cutting his food like it was being filmed for an etiquette manual. But every now and then, his eyes flicked toward you.

And lingered.

Just for a moment.

Grandpa Lee, of course, was in full host mode. Reclined at the head of the table, wine glass in hand, looking positively smug.

“So,” he said, pausing mid-chew, “how did the two of you meet?”

You stiffened.

Heeseung paused, fork in midair.

Oh no.

This was it.

The fake dating interrogation.

“Ah—” you began, immediately kicking Heeseung under the table for backup.

“She was…” Heeseung started slowly, eyes shifting toward you. “She was at a café.”

You nodded quickly. “Right! I was getting coffee.”

Heeseung added, “She spilled it.”

“On myself,” you confirmed, gesturing vaguely at your shirt like it still bore the evidence. “Scalding hot latte.”

Grandpa raised an eyebrow. “Romantic.”

You pressed on. “And he—Heeseung—offered me napkins.”

“Nine of them,” Heeseung said flatly.

You turned to him, surprised. “You remember the number?”

He blinked. “It was excessive.”

Grandpa watched the two of you like a cat watching goldfish. “And then?”

“And then we started talking,” you said quickly. “And he—um, he helped me order a replacement drink because I was too embarrassed to go back to the counter.”

Heeseung cleared his throat. “It was a weirdly long line.”

“But he waited,” you said, and then—before you could stop yourself—smiled a little. “He didn’t have to, but he did.”

There was a pause.

A beat longer than necessary.

Heeseung looked at you.

You looked at him.

And something about the way your smile lingered—soft, a little grateful—made his chest feel strangely warm. He swallowed.

You quickly turned back to Grandpa, cheeks hot.

“So, yes,” you said, stabbing your fork into your rice like you were sealing the story with a signature. “That’s how it happened.”

Grandpa sipped his wine, clearly amused. “Hmm.”

“You don’t believe us?” you asked, trying not to panic.

“I do,” he said easily. “Too many details. Real liars don’t share numbers. Nine napkins? That’s commitment.”

You nearly exhaled in relief.

Then, out of nowhere, Grandpa added, “And I saw the way he looked at you just now.”

You froze.

Heeseung did too.

The room went quiet.

“I’ve known that boy since he was born,” Grandpa said, setting his wine down with a quiet clink. “He doesn’t look at people like that.”

Your throat tightened. “Like what?”

“Like he forgot he’s supposed to be faking something.”

You blinked. Slowly.

Heeseung didn’t say anything. But you could feel the tension in his shoulders, the shift in the air beside you.

And then—suddenly, quietly—his hand brushed yours under the table.

Just for a second.

Just long enough to ground you. To say yeah, that wasn’t planned either.

You didn’t pull away.

And you didn’t speak.

But you felt it.

“Oh.”

The room had settled into a strange kind of stillness.

Not uncomfortable—just quiet. Like everyone was waiting for someone else to speak.

You kept your eyes down, gently prodding the last piece of rib on your plate, pretending your heart wasn’t doing tiny somersaults over the fact that Heeseung’s fingers had just brushed yours under the table.

Grandpa, of course, was not one to let silence win.

He set his glass down with a soft clink, leaned forward slightly, and said, with all the casualness of a man dropping a bomb:

“You know, I’ve never seen him like this before.”

Your fork paused mid-motion.

Heeseung visibly stiffened beside you.

You blinked up at Grandpa. “Like what?”

“So… attentive,” he said, as if that explained everything. “My grandson doesn’t just give away his jacket. That thing is practically stitched to his body. I've seen him wear it through a snowstorm. And yet, what do I find? Him curled up next to you, jacket draped over your legs like he’s your personal butler.”

You choked slightly on your rice.

“Grandpa,” Heeseung muttered, eyes narrowing.

But the older man wasn’t finished.

“And don’t think I didn’t notice,” Grandpa continued, pointing his chopsticks at Heeseung. “In the car—on the way back—you turned up the temperature. Just a notch. Quietly. Barely moved a muscle. But I saw you glance at her first. Just once.”

You flushed, your heart tripping over itself.

You had shivered once in the back seat, barely even noticing it yourself. But apparently… he had.

Grandpa leaned back in his chair, smiling like he had just solved a particularly satisfying mystery. “He’s never done that. Not for anyone. And let me tell you, this boy’s been around people his whole life—business deals, charity galas, matchmaking setups I’ve dragged him to. You name it.”

He turned to you, gentler now. “He’s polite, always. But attentive? No. Never. Not unless it’s something that matters to him.”

You blinked. Swallowed.

Across from you, Heeseung was uncharacteristically still.

His jaw was tense, eyes downcast, but something had shifted in his face—something softer, quieter. Like he was letting the words sink in too.

You didn’t say anything at first. You couldn’t.

The room had gone warm. Not from the heat. From the weight of what Grandpa had just said.

And what it meant.

You glanced at Heeseung.

He looked up, met your gaze.

And for the first time all night, neither of you needed to say anything at all.

—-

Dinner had ended… eventually.

The plates had been cleared, the wine glasses refilled twice, and Grandpa had officially shifted into storytelling mode—arms waving, voice animated, eyes twinkling with the kind of energy only decades of mischief could supply.

You hadn’t said much.

You just sat there, chin resting on your hands, smiling as you listened. And oh, the stories. Stories about little Heeseung—piano recitals gone wrong, failed lemonade stands, a brief but passionate phase where he thought he could become a magician.

You laughed. You giggled. At one point, your eyes welled up from how adorable it all was.

Across the table, Heeseung looked like he was deeply regretting ever being born.

“Was he always this serious?” you asked, voice light.

Grandpa barked a laugh. “Serious? That boy once cried for an hour because someone stepped on his sandcastle. Age twelve.”

Heeseung groaned. “Can we not—”

But it was already 11 p.m. by the time the laughter began to fade and your eyes started to droop. You stretched your arms with a yawn, blinking slowly.

“I should probably get going,” you murmured, rubbing at your eyes. “I’ve got an 8 a.m. lecture tomorrow and if I miss it, I’ll cry. Publicly.”

Heeseung stood from his seat automatically. “I’ll drive you.”

But before he could even reach for his keys, whack—Grandpa’s cane smacked lightly against his shin.

“Are you crazy?” Grandpa scoffed. “It’s almost midnight. Let her rest here. You have a perfectly good bed. And walls.”

Heeseung’s jaw dropped. “Are you crazy?”

Grandpa looked between the two of you like you were the ones being unreasonable. “Don’t tell me she’s never slept over here.”

Heeseung shot you a look that screamed don’t you dare.

You smiled tightly, heart racing. “Oh, plenty of times!”

Heeseung choked.

“Gosh,” you added with a nervous laugh, hands fluttering in the air, “this house… it’s practically my second home. I love this house. Love it. So homey. Very… echo-y.”

Grandpa raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced but having way too much fun.

“So,” he said, voice dripping with casual menace, “you’ll be sleeping with Heeseung tonight?”

You blinked. “I—left my—”

“You’ll be sleeping with Seung tonight,” Grandpa repeated with a knowing smile, cane tapping the floor rhythmically. “Won’t you?”

You opened your mouth.

Then closed it.

Then looked at Heeseung, who looked exactly like someone who’d just swallowed a lemon.

You turned back to Grandpa with a grin so forced it should’ve come with a cramp.

“…Yes. Of course. That’s the plan.”

“Well then,” Grandpa beamed, clapping his hands once. “I’ll sleep soundly knowing my two lovebirds are safe and snuggled up. Goodnight, children.”

And just like that, he turned and shuffled down the hall, whistling.

You stood there in the silence that followed, staring down at your socks.

Heeseung exhaled deeply beside you.

“This is the worst lie I’ve ever committed to,” he muttered.

You peeked up at him.

He wasn’t looking at you. Just down the hallway. But the tips of his ears were red.

And yours?

Burning.

“…Where’s your room?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He finally met your gaze.

“Upstairs,” he said. “But don’t worry. I’ve got an extra pillow.”

—-

You weren’t sure what rich people did with this much space, but Heeseung’s en suite bathroom was bigger than your entire dorm room. Probably had better plumbing too. The water pressure? Heavenly. The heated floors? Life-changing. The mirror didn’t even fog. What kind of sorcery—

You stepped out wrapped in an oversized cloud of cotton.

His pyjamas—crisp, soft, and clearly designed for a man with longer legs and significantly broader shoulders—swallowed you whole. The shirt hung just past mid-thigh, brushing against your bare skin as you walked. The sleeves covered your hands. The collar was just slightly too wide, revealing the soft slope of your collarbone with every step.

You hadn’t bothered with pants. The top was long enough. Besides, who the hell was going to see?

...Right.

Heeseung.

You made a small sound as you fumbled with your hair tie, accidentally knocking over a bottle of something suspiciously expensive on his nightstand.

His head snapped up from his phone.

And everything in him—every rational, composed, deeply repressed cell—froze.

There you were.

Walking toward the bed like some kind of sleepy siren, his shirt hanging off your body like it had always belonged to you. Bare legs. Damp hair. That slightly flushed post-shower glow. He could see the delicate line of your throat when you tilted your head to fix your sleeves.

His breath hitched—sharply.

He looked away immediately, gaze darting back to his phone like it was on fire.

Nope.

Nope.

He was not going to think about how your thighs looked in the dim lighting. Or the fact that you were wearing his clothes. Or the way the fabric of that button-up swayed slightly as you walked.

He swallowed hard.

Cleared his throat.

You glanced over at him, half amused, half oblivious. “You good?”

“Fine,” he said too quickly. His voice cracked. Cracked.

You raised an eyebrow. “Sounded like a dying bird.”

Heeseung coughed into his fist and sat up straighter, yanking the blanket slightly higher over his lap.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, eyes glued to his screen like he was researching stock reports and not silently begging the universe for strength.

You padded across the room, dropping onto the other side of the bed with a little bounce.

His bed.

You were in his bed.

Wearing his clothes.

With bare legs.

He stared at the ceiling.

You, stretching lazily, tucked the blanket around yourself. “These are really soft, by the way.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “They’re… cotton.”

“You okay?”

“Perfect.”

Your knee brushed against his under the covers.

He stopped breathing.

You didn’t notice.

But God help him—he noticed everything.

"Are you sure…" Heeseung’s voice cut through the quiet, just barely above a whisper. “You don’t mind sharing one bed tonight?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “Not really. I’ve done this plenty of times with Jake when we go on trips.”

“Oh.” Heeseung blinked. Hard.

Jake. Right. Your other male roommate. The one you’d apparently shared beds with like it was no big deal. The same Jake who drank from the milk carton and sang in the shower and left hair ties in the microwave.

Cool. Casual.

Totally fine.

Except it wasn’t.

Not when you were currently climbing into his bed, his shirt hanging off your body like sin itself, the hem rising with every motion of your legs. Your thigh brushed the comforter as you moved, bare and soft under the dim bedside lamp, and Heeseung’s eyes locked on it like he’d been hypnotized.

You flopped down with a sigh, fingers raking through your damp hair. With a frustrated huff, you pushed up onto your knees and pulled your hair into a ponytail—arms raised, shirt rising even higher, revealing the smooth curve of your hip and a glimpse of skin that did unspeakable things to Heeseung’s already struggling self-control.

Something snapped.

He swallowed.

Hard.

“I—on second thought,” he said abruptly, voice tighter now, “maybe I’ll just… sleep on the couch.”

You whipped your head around. “What? Are you crazy?”

He was already half out of the bed, blanket in hand like he was escaping a wildfire.

“It’s fine. Really. You—you take the bed. I’ll just—”

You rolled your eyes. “Heeseung, it’s just one night. It’s not like we’re going to do anything crazy.”

“That’s not—”

“And besides,” you added casually, slipping under the covers like it was your own bed, “what if Grandpa comes in? Huh? What’ll he think when he sees one side empty? We’ll be exposed. Caught. Fired.”

Heeseung paused, blanket still clutched in his hand.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “He already thinks I call you Seung in my sleep.”

He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“C’mon,” you said, patting the empty space beside you. “I’m not gonna bite.”

He looked at the bed.

Then at you.

Then at the ceiling like he was praying for strength.

And with a sigh—long, heavy, full of the emotional weight of a man who had just been sentenced to a trial by fire—he climbed back in.

Stiff as a board.

Tense as a wire.

And one wrong move away from completely combusting.

You, meanwhile, simply yawned. “Goodnight, Seung.”

His breath caught again.

“Sleep,” you mumbled, already drifting off. “Be normal…”

He stared at the ceiling.

He was definitely not sleeping tonight.

It had been ten minutes since Heeseung shut off his phone.

Ten minutes since the room went still, lit only by the faint glow of the city lights spilling through the tall windows. Ten minutes of lying there, staring into the dark like it might offer him a lifeline.

It didn’t.

Instead, he tossed. Then turned. Then flipped onto his back, onto his side, back again. Adjusted the blanket. Shifted the pillow. Anything to make it stop.

But nothing did.

Because you were beside him.

And you weren’t just beside him—you were curled into the covers wearing his shirt, skin bare beneath it, body warm, soft, close.

Every time you moved—every tiny adjustment, every sleepy twist—your thigh brushed against the back of his hand. Light. Innocent. Deadly.

And he was losing it.

Because your skin was smooth. Because you smelled like vanilla and his body wash. Because your breathing had gone slower, heavier, but not deep enough to say you were truly asleep. And because you’d been inches away from him for ten solid minutes, and he was almost certain the mattress had started shrinking just to screw with him.

His mind spiraled in every direction—don’t look, don’t touch, don’t think. Especially don’t think.

He swallowed hard, chest tightening when you shifted again, this time dragging your leg slightly against his, a friction that had no idea how dangerous it was.

“Can’t sleep?” your voice came through the dark, quiet. Soft. Laced with sleep.

Heeseung let out a slow breath. “No.”

Not when you’re wearing next to nothing in my bed. Not when you keep moving like that. Not when I can smell you.

He didn’t say it.

He just laid there, staring at the ceiling like it was his only ally in this war.

There was rustling beside him. Sheets moving.

And then—

You turned.

Faced him.

He could feel it—your presence shifting, your warmth moving closer. Then your face, just barely lit, settled near his. Inches. Maybe less. He turned his head and you were right there.

Your eyes found his.

And he couldn’t breathe.

“Why did you have to resort to fake dating?” you asked softly, voice low, barely a whisper. Like it was a secret meant only for this room. Only for him.

He blinked. The question registered—somewhere far away. But mostly he was focused on how close you were. How your breath skimmed his chin. How your lips were parted just enough, soft, tempting, completely unaware of the absolute chaos you were causing.

“What?” he managed, though it sounded hoarse.

You didn’t back away.

Your gaze stayed on his like you were still trying to figure him out. “Why’d you resort to this? Paying someone $500 to pretend they like you… must be—”

“Weird?” he said, lips twitching faintly.

You shook your head. “Exhausting.”

That word sat heavy between you.

He swallowed again, eyes flicking down—just for a second—to your mouth.

“I just…” he hesitated, jaw tensing, “I guess I don’t want Grandpa to be disappointed.”

Your features softened. He could see it—could feel the way your expression shifted, less teasing now, more understanding. More real.

You blinked slowly, and then, before he could even brace for it, your hand brushed against his under the covers. Light. Unintended. But it stayed.

Heeseung’s pulse jumped.

You didn’t move away.

Neither did he.

“I don’t think he’d ever be disappointed in you,” you said quietly, your voice gentler now.

And for a moment, neither of you spoke.

The space between you disappeared.

The tension changed—thicker, charged. Heeseung could feel it building in the air between your knees, your chests, your breath.

He didn’t touch you.

Didn’t dare.

But he wanted to.

God help him, he wanted to.

His hand lay there beneath the blanket, centimeters from yours. Still. Controlled. Every muscle in his body tense with the effort of not reaching. Not brushing his thumb across your knuckles. Not leaning forward just to see what your lips might feel like under his.

And then—quietly, like a sigh—he spoke.

“You’d be surprised.”

Your brow furrowed. “About what?”

He turned his head toward you, gaze meeting yours in the dark.

“About Grandpa,” he said, voice soft, almost like it wasn’t meant to be said aloud. “It seems like his whole mission is to make sure I’m happy, yeah. But I don’t think he knows how. So he fills in the blanks. Tries to fix things I don’t say out loud.”

You were quiet for a beat, processing that.

Then, “Are you kidding me? It seems like his entire life revolves around you. The way he talks about you, it’s like this life mission is to keep you happy.”

He let out a soft, dry laugh. “Happy or not alone?”

Your eyes searched his face, reading more in the curve of his lips than in the words themselves.

“In his defense,” you murmured, smiling just a little, “you can be kinda… aloof.”

He turned toward you slightly, one arm propped beneath his pillow. “Oh really?”

You nodded, suppressing a grin. “When I first met you, you said I was late.”

“You were late.”

“I was two minutes late.”

“And that’s still late.”

You huffed a laugh, leaning in just slightly, forehead nearly brushing his. “That’s not late. That’s margin-for-error-level arrival.”

“It’s a time commitment. If someone says 2:30, it means 2:30. Not 2:32. Not 2:31 and thirty seconds. 2:30.”

“You’re such a weirdo,” you whispered, eyes sparkling in the low light.

He smirked. “You’re the one fake-dating the weirdo.”

“Yeah, well,” you murmured, voice quieter now, “he’s growing on me.”

Heeseung blinked.

Just once.

And everything in him stilled.

You didn’t mean to say it. Or maybe you did. You weren’t sure anymore. But it was out there now, floating between your shared breaths, warm and weightless.

The silence returned—but this time, it wasn’t empty.

And neither of you moved.

But that space between your hands?

It got smaller.

And smaller.

Until your pinkies brushed.

And neither of you pulled away.

“I don’t have to… submit a request to kiss you, do I?” you whispered, your voice feather-light, but laced with something deeper—something that curled low in your belly and dared to rise.

Heeseung blinked, startled.

“What?”

“The contract,” you said, gaze flickering down to his mouth. “Clause Five. Physical contact?”

His expression twitched—something between amused and completely wrecked.

“You’re an idiot,” he murmured.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft.

Not hesitant. Not even close.

He surged forward, one hand tangling in your hair, the other gripping your waist like he’d been holding back for hours—days—and couldn’t do it a second longer. His lips crashed into yours, hot and hungry, all restraint forgotten.

Your breath caught—then disappeared completely.

You kissed him back just as desperately, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt, yanking him impossibly closer. The warmth of his body pressed flush against yours, the heat rolling off him. His mouth moved over yours like he’d been waiting for this–firm, demanding, a little messy, a lot needy.

You gasped when his teeth grazed your bottom lip, and he took the chance—deepened the kiss, tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your thighs clench, your entire body arch into him without thinking. Your hand fisted at the back of his neck, pulling, anchoring, grounding yourself as your mouths moved in perfect, aching sync.

His other hand slid under the hem of your—his—shirt, fingers splaying over your bare waist. His palm was warm, calloused, and when his thumb dragged slowly along the soft curve of your side, you shivered.

He pulled you until you were nearly straddling his thigh, your legs tangled with his under the sheets. His lips left yours just long enough to catch his breath, only to return to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the sensitive spot just below your ear.

You let out a noise—somewhere between a gasp and a sigh—and he cursed under his breath.

“I’m gonna lose my goddamn mind,” he whispered against your skin.

“You already are,” you panted, tugging him back in.

He kissed you again, harder this time. Like this had stopped being fake a long time ago and neither of you had realized it until now.

You felt his breath hitch, his hands still roaming your sides, reverent and aching and starved.

And in that dark, breathless tangle of limbs and mouths and months of built-up tension, one truth burned bright:

This wasn’t part of the contract.

This was real.

And you both knew it.

The moment your mouths found each other again, it shifted.

The desperation from before—hot and rushed—simmered into something deeper. Slower. More dangerous. Like you were both savoring what you already knew would ruin you.

His lips dragged over yours with purpose, tongue sweeping slow and teasing before pressing deeper, pulling a soft, wrecked sound from your throat that made him groan into the kiss.

He rolled slightly, his hand gripping your thigh, fingers slipping under the hem of your borrowed shirt—his shirt—his thumb brushing the bare skin there like it was something sacred. You gasped, the contact sparking fire under your skin.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered against your lips, forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath, voice hoarse.

You barely managed to respond before he was kissing you again—slower this time, but no less intense.

Your own fingers slipped beneath his shirt, running along the firm lines of his stomach, the dip of his waist, the warm, smooth skin stretched over lean muscle.

You pressed closer, your legs tangling with his under the sheets, the soft brush of his sweats against your bare thigh igniting something primal. His hand found the curve of your ass, dragging you just that much closer as he kissed you deeper, harder.

The air grew heavier, your bodies slick with heat and friction.

And then he pulled back—barely—his lips kiss-swollen, chest rising and falling in heavy breaths. His eyes were dark, wild, but searching yours with something softer beneath it all. Something that ached.

“This isn’t just the contract anymore, is it?” you whispered, voice cracking at the edges.

His thumb brushed along your jaw.

“No,” he said. “Not even close.”

—-

The sunlight poured in far too kindly for the chaos it was about to illuminate.

You stirred first, blinking blearily as your body slowly registered the warmth next to you. A solid chest. An arm draped loosely across your waist. A slow, even breath at the back of your neck.

And then it hit you.

You weren’t in your bed.

You were in his.

You were in Lee Heeseung’s bed.

And right—right—you remembered now.

Flashes of last night hit like a slow-burning montage.

His hand cradling your face. The way his voice cracked when he said it wasn’t fake. The way he kissed you like he meant it. Like you were something he'd been holding back from for far too long.

Then—heat. Teeth. Hands. Skin on skin.

And now?

You were naked.

Fully. Absolutely. No-fabric-in-sight kind of naked.

Your eyes snapped open.

You lifted the edge of the blanket and peeked underneath.

“Oh my god,” you whispered. “Shit.”

Your cheeks blazed as you slowly, carefully dropped the covers like they had personally offended you.

You had done it.

You had done did it with your fake boyfriend.

Who was also your fake boss.

Who was also—by technical definition—your employer.

Your CEO.

“Shit,” you muttered again, burying your face into the stupidly soft pillow.

Everything about last night replayed in agonizing, high-definition clarity.

And yet—beneath the panic, beneath the mild oh-my-god-I-slept-with-the-CEO breakdown—a softer, more terrifying feeling began to surface.

Because it hadn’t been just physical.

You remembered how he looked at you before it even began. How he touched you like you were something breakable. How, afterwards, he didn’t just roll over and sleep—he stayed close. Held you. Let his fingers run gently along your back like he didn’t want the moment to end.

And now you were awake.

Naked.

In his bed.

It was an HR violation with a side of deep emotional confusion.

Except you weren’t technically working for him. Not in that way.

You weren’t on his payroll, didn’t report to him, weren’t attending Monday meetings and yet… you were getting paid. By him. For relationship labor.

So what was this?

What was he to you?

You clutched the blanket to your chest, eyes wide, brain spiraling like a loading screen with no internet connection.

You were going insane. That was the only logical explanation.

And maybe—just maybe—your inner meltdown was loud enough to wake the man beside you.

Heeseung stirred beside you, letting out a soft groan. His arm stretched, his hair falling into his eyes as he rubbed at them groggily. Still half-asleep, he blinked blearily at you, then glanced around the room like he was buffering.

“…What time is it?” he muttered, voice still raspy from sleep.

You cleared your throat. “Uh. Eight.”

His eyes widened slightly. “Don’t you have a lecture?”

You clutched the blanket tighter. “It’s not like I can go now.”

“I can drive you—”

“It’s fine.” You looked away, heat crawling up your neck. “I’ll just ask Jungwon for notes.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Heeseung sat up straighter, blinking the last bits of sleep from his eyes.

His hair was adorably messy—tufts sticking out at odd angles, like he'd lost a round with the pillow. His voice, still husky and half-croaked, sharpened with sudden realization.

And then… his eyes dropped.

Just briefly.

A subtle glance under the blanket that covered both of you, then back up to you.

His entire face went red.

Not just a light flush. Red. Crimson. Full-body blush like he’d been slapped by the truth.

“Did we…” he asked, voice almost squeaking at the end.

You stared at him.

He stared at you.

Then down at the blanket.

Then back at you again.

Your own cheeks heated in response, but you somehow managed to keep a straight face. “Heeseung.”

His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

“I mean—like—did we actually…” he flailed, hand gesturing vaguely toward the bed, the room, your bare shoulders.

You raised a brow and slowly lifted the blanket just enough to peek.

Then dropped it.

“Unless I had a really intense dream and sleepwalked out of my underwear,” you said dryly, “yes. We did.”

Heeseung made a noise—something between a cough and a whimper—and dragged a hand down his already-flushed face.

“I swear I don’t usually do this,” he mumbled into his palm.

“Neither do I,” you muttered, staring at the ceiling like it had answers. “Believe it or not, this isn’t standard protocol in fake dating.”

“God,” he whispered.

Silence settled over the bed again. Awkward. Tangled in expensive sheets. Full of unsaid things.

Then, softly, almost shyly, he added, “Was it… okay?”

You turned your head slowly, raising one unimpressed brow. “Are you asking me for a Yelp review?”

Heeseung groaned and flopped back onto the mattress, pulling a pillow over his face.

You snorted. “For the record,” you said, staring at the ceiling again, “I’d give it a solid four and a half stars.”

He peeked out from under the pillow.

“Four and a half?”

“You lost half a star for the part where you knocked over the lamp.”

“You moaned my name when that happened!”

You rolled your eyes, biting down a grin. “Okay, then what about me?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Me, Heeseung.” You turned your head to face him fully, the blanket still tucked under your arms. “Did I… I mean, did I do fine? Because I haven’t really—”

Your voice trailed off awkwardly. Heat crawled up your neck. You tried to brush it off with a casual shrug. “I haven’t, like… done that in a while. At all. So if I was, like, bad or weird or made a weird noise or elbowed you in the ribs—”

Heeseung sat up, eyebrows raised, lips twitching like he was trying very hard not to look completely charmed.

“I don’t need to know about your ‘previous ones,’” he said, air-quoting with a soft laugh, “but I thought you were…”

He hesitated for a second. Like the compliment got stuck in his throat.

You raised an eyebrow. “You thought I was…?”

His eyes met yours—steadier now. 

“I thought you were beautiful,” he said simply.

—-

You didn’t have to tell Jake that something happened.

Son of a bitch knew.

Knew it before you said a word. Probably the second he walked into the apartment and caught you humming Levitating while making coffee with the dopiest smile known to mankind.

So now here he was.

Storming into Heeseung’s office with murder in his eyes and violence in his heart.

“Jake!” you yelled, already chasing after him in panic. “Jake, don’t—”

Too late.

The door slammed open.

Jake marched in like a one-man riot, fists clenched, breathing like he’d just sprinted through traffic—and made it his personal mission to ruin one (1) rich man’s entire day.

“You slept with my best friend?!” he roared.

Heeseung blinked from behind his desk. “…What?”

Jake didn’t wait. “You SLEPT with her?!”

Then he lunged.

Like physically lunged.

“Jake!” you shrieked, grabbing his arm, but he twisted out of your grip like some low-budget action movie star. “I swear I didn’t tell him! He figured it out on his own.”

Heeseung dodged just in time. “Dude! What the hell?!”

“You absolute bastard!” Jake shouted, winding up for Round Two.

“Can you not try to assault him?!”

“I’m not his employee anymore! I quit! I QUIT, baby!” Jake yelled, chest heaving as he pointed at Heeseung with a shaking hand. “Which means I can say whatever the hell I want and throw hands freely!”

Heeseung held up both palms. “I don’t even know what’s happening right now—”

“She was singing Dua Lipa, man.”

Heeseung paused. “…What?”

“LEVI-FUCKING-TATING.”

You groaned. “Jake, please don’t—”

“She only sings that damn song when something life-altering happens. Once after her ex situationship finally disappeared from the face of the Earth, and once when she found fifty bucks in a jean jacket she forgot she owned.”

“Okay, that second one was a really good day,” you muttered.

Jake spun dramatically, wild-eyed. “Exactly! So when I walk in and hear her humming the post-coital anthem of joy, don’t expect me to sit quietly and sip tea!”

“You drink cold brew,” Heeseung said numbly.

Jake turned on him. “Don’t you dare correct me right now, Lee! You think you can just—just—have sex with her like it’s nothing? Like she’s just one of your carefully-scheduled board meetings? Bro, this isn’t a calendar event. This is a human woman! She’s the love of my platonic life!”

“Jake, oh my god,” you groaned.

“She’s not some emotionally available guinea pig you can use to test whether or not you’re capable of affection! She is smart, and kind, and sings weird songs when she’s nervous, and loves shitty takeout dumplings! She is—” Jake choked on his own rage. “She is MY best friend. Yea, she can be irritating. A little annoying. Doesn’t use a coaster. Loud as hell—”

“Get to the point.”

He pointed at Heeseung again. “BUT if you hurt her, I will haunt you. Alive.”

“…Still don’t know what any of this means,” Heeseung muttered.

Jake didn’t even blink. “It means exactly what it sounds like.”

Then, softer, almost broken, “We want out. I don’t care if she doesn’t say it—I’m saying it. This arrangement? This fake dating thing? Over.”

You stared at him, guilt and panic knotting together in your stomach.

Jake took a breath. His voice cracked as he added, “You can’t just sleep with her and expect me not to beat your ass.”

He turned, ready to leave.

And muttered one last time under his breath:

“Levitating. Fuckin’ hell.”

Then walked out.

Slammed the door.

Left behind a room full of stunned silence and one emotionally derailed CEO.

Heeseung turned slowly to look at you.

“…You sing Levitating after sex?”

You groaned, face in your hands. “I’m never listening to Dua Lipa again.”

You and Heeseung exchanged a look.

Then together, without a word, you marched out of the office in search of one (1) dramatic, emotionally unstable Jake Sim. He hadn’t made it far—just outside the hallway, pacing and muttering to himself like he was trying to manifest a HR lawsuit.

You each grabbed an arm and yanked him back inside.

“Jake,” you said sweetly, too sweetly. “Jake Sim. My baby. My sweet, sweet emotional support delinquent.”

Heeseung stiffened beside you, maybe a little jealous. “Not loving the pet names, but okay.”

You ignored him. “Look. Fine, yes, Heeseung and I… slept together…but—”

Jake immediately slapped his hands over his ears. “Lalalalala—I do not need to hear about something that repulsive before I’ve had my first fucking meal of the day.”

“Let me finish! Jake. JAKE!” you swatted at his hands, trying to pry them off. “Jake Sim, you son of a—get your hands off your ears, you dramatic toddler!”

The two of you spiraled into a flailing, full-body slap-fight. It was mostly ineffective but very loud. You were pulling, he was twisting, there was shouting, and all the while Heeseung stood there watching like a war correspondent reporting live from the world’s most undignified domestic disaster.

“YEAH!” you shouted suddenly, loud enough to shake the windows. “YEAH, WE FUCKED!”

Jake froze.

“I’M TALKING FUCKED SO GOOD—”

“EW! Get your musty, dusty, grimy little goblin fingers off me, you unhinged FREAK!” Jake hissed, fighting you off like a wild animal.

“Okay,” Heeseung said quietly in the background, looking one emotional outburst away from leaving the country.

The wrestling match raged on until—

“OKAY!” Heeseung snapped, louder this time.

You and Jake both froze mid-grapple, hands still locked like a pair of tangled action figures.

Heeseung ran a hand down his face, exhaling hard. Then, leveling his gaze at Jake, he said, “Yes. We slept together.”

Jake narrowed his eyes like a detective about to call bullshit, “I—”

“But I’m not playing with her,” Heeseung said. “Despite what you think, this isn’t a joke. This isn’t some fake PR stunt. And it sure as hell isn’t a game.”

Jake folded his arms, jaw tight. “And why the hell should I believe you? Huh, Mr. Contract Clause Five No Touching? Mr. Emotionally Constipated CEO? Mr. Fake Dating Lying Bitch—”

“You really gotta stop calling everyone ‘bitch’ in this office,” Heeseung muttered.

Jake didn’t blink. “Bitch.”

You sighed so hard your soul briefly left your body.

But then—Heeseung took a step forward.

Calmer now. Firmer.

“I’m serious,” he said, voice quieter this time. “I like her. A lot.”

Silence.

Complete. Deafening. Awkward silence.

Jake blinked.

You blinked.

Heeseung, for the first time in this entire conversation, looked… a little nervous.

“And I like her,” he said again. “As in—I want this to be real. If she’ll let it.”

Jake stared at him. Then looked at you.

You were too stunned to say anything.

Mouth slightly open.

Heart pounding like it was trying to escape your chest.

“You…” You swallowed. “You like me? Like you find me attractive kind of like me or is this a friendship kind of thing…”

Heeseung looked at you—really looked at you—like he had been holding that in for longer than he’d ever admit. His voice, when he spoke, was low and sure and a little wrecked.

“Well, you didn’t think I’d just do what I did with anyone, did you?”

Your face burned. “I just assumed—”

“That I was emotionally void?”

“...Kind of?”

He let out a short breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Fair.”

There was a pause. Not heavy. Not awkward. Just… full. Full of everything unsaid between the two of you. Full of five fake dates, one very real night, and every tiny glance in between.

He shifted a little closer, his tone softer now. Sincere.

“Look,” he said. “I know we haven’t known each other long. Barely a month, honestly. And maybe this wasn’t how either of us expected to start… anything. But if you’d let me—if you’re okay with it—I’d love to take you out.”

He smiled. Not the polished, press-ready one. A real one.

“For real this time.”

Before you could respond—

“Over my dead body!” Jake shrieked from the couch, hand dramatically raised like he was about to object in court.

You whipped your head around. “Jake Sim. I swear to God—” Your death glare could’ve ignited small fires.

Jake whimpered. Whimpered. And slowly sank back into the cushions like a chastised poodle.

You turned back to Heeseung, still breathless, still unsure if you were dreaming.

“So… we don’t have to lie anymore?” you asked. Voice small. Hopeful.

“This doesn’t have to be fake?”

Heeseung’s eyes were on you. Gentle. Steady. A little pink around the edges, like he was terrified you’d say no.

“No,” he said. “Not if you don’t want it to be.”

You exhaled. Slowly. Fully. Like you hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath for days.

“So…” you leaned in slightly, tilting your head with the faintest grin. “You mean I can kiss you… without submitting a formal request?”

Heeseung smirked. “Correct.”

“And touch you without sending an email for approval?”

“You never had to do that.”

“I was being respectful.”

“You licked the top of my bubble tea straw in front of my boardroom.”

Jake groaned from the couch. “I’m going to vomit.”

You ignored him.

“So,” you said again, brushing your hand against Heeseung’s. “If this is real now…”

He turned his palm up. Laced his fingers with yours.

“Then maybe,” he murmured, eyes on your lips, “you should kiss me. No email. No contract. No Jake screaming.”

You smiled, heart fluttering somewhere near your throat.

And then, without another word, you leaned in—and Heeseung met you halfway.

The kiss wasn’t soft this time.

It was a collision.

Weeks of tension, fake-flirting, lingering looks, and one very real night all combusting into one hungry, breath-stealing kiss. His hand cradled the back of your head, your fingers gripping onto the collar of his stupidly expensive shirt.

He deepened the kiss, your noses bumping, your breath catching, your entire body leaning into his like you were trying to erase every inch of space between you.

And then—

“Get me outta here.” Jake groaned loudly from the couch.

You broke apart, lips flushed, cheeks hot, both of you turning in perfect sync to glare at him.

Jake, as always, remained completely unfazed.

He sat up, stretched dramatically, then sauntered across the room, like he wasn’t the same person who just tried to commit CEO murder twenty minutes ago.

“So,” he said, clapping his hands together. “About the whole ‘I quit’ thing…”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow.

Jake smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, uh, I was kinda joking. Like. Performance art. Stress-induced drama. You get it.”

You crossed your arms. “You literally said ‘I want out, and I speak for both of us.’”

“Right, but I was speaking from a place of deep emotional instability.” He pointed at Heeseung. “So. Let’s all just call it even.”

Heeseung narrowed his eyes. “You screamed ‘bitch’ at me five times in a row.”

Jake held up a finger. “Technically three of those were about the situation, not you personally.”

You blinked. “Jake.”

Jake turned to you, smiling way too brightly. “I’m just saying—if I don’t get paid this week, I will marry a rich sugar daddy.”

You snorted. “Honestly? Kind of tempting.”

Jake pointed at you with full enthusiasm. “RIGHT? We could be a duo! I’ll make a spreadsheet. We’ll tag-team it—me and you, taking turns flirting with eligible old men at yacht clubs.”

Heeseung froze.

You blinked. “You made a spreadsheet?”

Jake nodded proudly. “I could make one that’s color-coded. We’ll have target age ranges, net worth minimums, and a calendar for shared sugar daddy rotations. If we get a two-for-one, I call dibs on the one with the villa in Capri.”

You tried so hard not to laugh.

Heeseung, meanwhile, was gripping his pen a little too tightly.

“Jake,” he said slowly, voice eerily calm. “You’re rehired.”

Jake blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Yes.” Heeseung didn’t even look up. “Starting now. With a strict office policy: no more saying the word ‘bitch’…”

Jake opened his mouth.

“…Or sugar daddy.”

Jake frowned. “Is this a personal rule or an HR rule?”

“Yes.”

Jake squinted at him, then grinned with evil glee. “Oh my God. You’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” Heeseung said through clenched teeth.

Jake ignored him entirely, turning to you. “You think if I start dressing like you, I’ll get a CEO to kiss me on a rooftop?”

You smirked. “You gotta be more charming like me, dude”

Jake nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. I’d get too attached. I’m more of a ‘ruin your life in a week and leave behind a playlist’ kind of guy.”

Heeseung pinched the bridge of his nose.

Jake kept going. “Anyway, I’m free Thursday if you wanna start scouting sugar daddies in the CBD.”

“She’s not free Thursday,” Heeseung said flatly.

Jake blinked. “Oh? And why’s that?”

Heeseung looked right at him, then at you. “Because we have plans.”

You choked.

Jake grinned. “Oh, you’re so jealous.”

Heeseung leaned back, calm but dangerous. “And if you ever mention her dating anyone else again, you’ll be the first person I rehire just to fire.”

Jake raised both hands. “Damn. Okay. Y’all got real.”

He looked at you.

“You sure you don’t wanna keep sugar daddy scouting just in case this one implodes emotionally?”

You smiled sweetly. “Jake?”

“Yeah?”

“Get out.”

“Right, right. Leaving.” He paused dramatically at the door. “But if you change your mind—Villa. Capri. Matching linens.”

The door shut behind him.

Silence.

You turned to Heeseung. “You know he’s gonna keep this over your head, right?”

Heeseung looked at you—then, with the softest smile, pulled you closer.

“As if you could find a better sugar daddy than me.”

part 1

[insomniumstella]

coffee, Tuesdays, and f*** you | ceo!bucky x reader

summary: James Buchanan Barnes might just be the worst man on earth—too bad he's the only one who can help you out of a sticky, sticky situation.

warnings: enemies to lovers, fake dating, forced proximity + contact, sarcastic!bucky, explicit language, alcohol consumption

word count: 1,970

author's note: this is a possible teaser for a series i kinda want to write after over a year or so long hiatus😭 anyway, would anybody even read this??

“Huh,” his voice is like nails on a chalkboard on the gloomy Tuesday morning after your non-boyfriend boyfriend dumped you with an ‘I’m bored, sorry’ text the night prior. “It’s actually happening. The world is healing again.”

You shove yet another journal that is as unnecessary as it is cute into the cardboard box perched atop your desk and glare at the looming man. James is wearing his usual middle-of-the-week sallow grey shirt, which somehow manages to dull his sharp features more than Thursday’s yellow, and Prada trousers. Always with the Prada trousers. He loves Prada more than Rebecca Bloomwood and that is saying something. 

He’s a… fashionista like that. 

“I’m not quitting.” Why James has yet to successfully fire you is a miracle. The pair of you are like Tom and Jerry. Dracula and Van Helsing. Pandora and her box. Surely he must have tried to sweet talk his daddy into terminating you for good. “This,“ you motion to the empty (besides the wine opener, stress balls, and an emergency tube of red lipstick—obvious essentials) drawer, "is called organising. Learn it, live it, love it. It’s after organise and before o-fuck you in the dictionary.”

“Real big talk for someone who keeps a diary.” 

“That was…” you take in a deep breath in hopes to maintain at least an ounce of sanity. It doesn’t work. Why would it work? It never works. James and peaceful work hours is only a concept in a hypothetical world full of other ridiculous things such as your neighbour quitting drums and affordable Manolo Blahniks. “That was not… this is not a diary. It’s a journal. A journal I use for very important business meetings. And calls. And conferences.” 

“Right,” he quips with a hint of a smirk and sits down on the edge of your desk, the wood creaking underneath his weight. Journal my ass, he ponders but stays surprisingly quiet about it. 

“Not a diary. A journal is different from a diary. Maybe there’s no shame in keeping a diary, but I do not have a burning desire to write down every reason why the Wicked Witch of the West would make a better boss than you.” The words keep spilling out of your mouth before you can realise his painfully infuriating sneer is only growing. You hate that stupid smile of his. James knows you hate that stupid smile of his. That makes it all the more alluring for him to torture you with it. “I talk about it with my therapist like an adult.” 

“Not a diary. Got it.” James nods as his eyes flicker to the open (and totally unfinished) Word document on your work laptop before slowly raking across the wrinkled cotton of your shirt until they find yours again. “I was wrong to assume this box of trash on your desk,” he vaguely gestures to the cardboard and smirks just a fraction more, “is for diaries. Though you definitely have the look of a girl who keeps one. But anyway. Why are you organising when the entire PR department is having a meeting?” 

A… silence settles between you. It’s neither awkward nor peaceful, like it often is with James—he asks a somewhat reasonable question and you can only stare at him like he’s the biggest idiot on planet earth. Because sure, there is an important meeting happening on the forty fifth floor of Dioro right this moment. After all, you are a goodie two shoes of an employee with a busy Google calendar and a functional corporate email. You would know. But it is so like James to assume you would organise over attending, as the freaking head of public relations nonetheless, that you can only stare at him with those blank, are-you-serious eyes.

“Yes. Thank you.” 

“Yes?” James cocks his head to the side as if expecting you to say something, anything, else in addition, and when you don’t, his eyebrows furrow, too. 

Yes. Yes. Yes is not remotely an answer to my question, you infuriating woman, he thinks, and though he knows he should not expect anything less than for you to be as annoying as his shoelaces coming undone on a bright and early morning run, “yes” still takes him off guard a little. 

“Yes,” you shrug, promptly closing the laptop because James has no place to see the opened Word document that is half a plan for next year’s PR strategy and half a series of good lunch places around the office, and straighten up. He’s not the only person that’s confident in their words around here. 

“I sincerely hope you know the company does not pay you to look cute and gossip in the break room. If that was the case, you would’ve been let go a long time back.” It’s his turn to flash you the blank, dead, are-you-serious eyes. 

Exasperated stares are one of the many love languages between you. 

“I don’t just look cute and gossip. I also take precious time to share all of those memes in the company’s group chat. Good for morale.” You quip and James pinches the bridge of his nose. 

He should have managed to fire you a long time back. But to his credit—he has tried. Once. Twice. Thrice, if somebody was to count the time he got drunk at the annual Christmas party and pettily tried to end your employment over a disagreement about Creedence Clearwater Revival. Surprisingly, it stuck. For a whopping total of twelve hours. Before you stepped through the elevator doors once more, his father exasperated, and right beside you. To this day, James finds it a mystery you’ve managed to charm the man because you’re as charming as a wet towel. But his father is also a fan of Raisin Bran, so there must be something wrong with his judgment. At least when it comes to choice of breakfast cereal and the annoyingly annoying girl’s personality. You are great at PR, much to James’ frustration, and Dioro is habitual with scandals. The very last name Barnes is habitual with scandals that you make go poof! So don’t get it twisted—James is gra… gra… grateful for your talents in PR. At least until the glorious day when he takes over the company completely and can finally make you go poof! A flute of Dom Pérignon in hand as he stares at your empty desk out of his glass office is a nice dream, one to keep him from full blown insanity. 

James just might need a hobby. 

“Team-building activities are good for morale. Recognition programs are good for morale. Social events are good for—“ he starts listing on his hand, his features dark with disappointment, aggravation, and a hint of resignation. Good. Maybe you could break him before autumn.  

“Stop. Nobody cares about a lecture on morale from Dolores Umbridge.” You wave a dismissive hand and place last year’s Dean Winchester themed calendar atop the abyss of journals and trinkets. He’s fine and all, but Sam’s much more tempting to go back to. There’s just something about a strong man with longer hair and a kind heart. “I know about the meeting, Sophie’s leading it because I’m taking the rest of the week off. Plus maybe Monday. Probably Monday. Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, do NOT expect me back on Monday.” 

“I expect you to find another job, but y’know. Tuesday’s fine.” He deadpans, not that you pay much attention to his tone. You’re much more interested in the fact his ass leaves the anguished, abused edge of your desk. “Why are you taking time off? It’s like the middle of July. And who the hell approved it?” 

“So there’s this Linda us lowly employees visit when we need time away from work,” you drawl out and cover Dean’s smouldering face with an old February issue of Vogue. “And it’s July second, which is not even remotely the middle. I hope you know that. It’s important to me that you know that.” 

His eyes drop to the magazine and the calendar that peaks out from beneath it, but he’s suspiciously silent about it. Instead when he speaks, his voice is a deep, almost frustrated rumble on—surprise, surprise—the HR department. “I’m aware of what a Linda is.”

“Good, boss. Glad to know you’re following, boss. And before you say anything, Linda approved my request for time off months ago, so there is nothing you can do about it, boss.” A lazy smile curls your lips as you stack more publications of Vogue until Lady Gaga’s staring back at you from the top of the pile. 

“Linda loves you, employee. She would give you a raise without hesitation if she could, employee. I specifically instructed you to come to me for these things.” James pinches the bridge of his nose before his arms fold over his chest. “Employee.”

Pet names are another one of your love languages. 

“We have been at each other’s necks for the past three miserable years.” You shove the flaps of the box closed and when they pop back up, you wrestle with the cardboard as elegantly as a girl on merely three hours of sleep can manage. “And it’s like you don’t even know me.”

James rolls his eyes, but not because you always find loopholes and roundabouts when it comes to his demands—you just… bring out his unprofessional side. You are a lunatic in business casual clothes.

“My apologies.” He leans forward, abusing your poor desk again as his hands grip the edges. “I should have recognised you would go on a vacation when your department is in the midst of a crisis.”

“Thank you,” you flash him a smile as sweet as sugar, a mighty contender to his infuriating smirk, and lean over the acrylic divider to steal a tape dispenser from some underpaid intern’s desk that’s been abandoned all morning, not that you blame him. You consistently avoid President Business, too. “You had me scared for our marriage there.” 

“It may be for the best you start looking into divorce lawyers,” James comments dryly, watching as you tape the box shut. Mostly. Lady Gaga’s still peaking through the crack a little.

“Whoa. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t fight for us.” The reply is almost absentminded as you cover Gaga with a bright pink Post-it—she’s remarkably eerie in the blue, whatever-it’s-made-of coat on past September’s issue of Vogue. “Besides. It’s possible my heart will yearn for you after the long, long six days Linda oh-so-graciously approved, despite July shaping out to be busy.” 

His baby blues flicker from your face to the bright Post-it, fingers curling around the oak of your desk as he ponders different ways to snap you out of whatever realm of professional defiance you seem to exist in without forcibly shaking you by the shoulders. Though the latter is an appetising thought. 

“Earth to James. Somebody’s spacing out again.” 

James pushes the wooden ruler you use to nudge him out of his face before his stare slowly returns to your features, hard and narrowed, and most likely unimposing given that he’s talking to a whack-a-doodle. “Sorry, honey. Got lost in curating the perfect celebratory afternoon for your inevitable demise.” 

“Oh.” A slight raise of your eyebrows accompanies the soft reply. The perfect celebratory afternoon for my inevitable demise? In his world, it could mean a gazillion possibilities. After a healthy beat, you settle on the most likely based on nothing, but vibes and the fact the man’s an asshole. “Bourbon, cigars, and a flock of hookers?” 

A sardonic smile curls his lips as James straightens up and shoves his hands into the pockets of those damn Prada trousers. “Golf, caviar, and setting your desk on fire.”

[deliciousangelfestival]

Let's Play Pretend - 8 | bodyguard!Bucky

Character: Bucky Barnes x singer! Female reader

Summary: You just wanted to hide here and find peace from the mess that wasn’t caused by you. But then, your hot neighbor bothered you. As if that wasn’t enough, the enemies you hated found you too.

PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7 , PART 8 , PART 9 , END.

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I published my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

"Your manager—I smell death on her," Bucky said, his voice low and serious.

You scoffed. "Stop kidding."

"I'm not." His eyes locked onto yours, unwavering. "When I was in jail, I met a lot of people. Murderers and innocent people—they have different smells."

You raised a brow. "So, what? You have a super nose now? Like a drug-sniffing dog?"

Bucky smirked. "Yeah, I’m Scooby-Doo." But despite his teasing, his expression remained tense, as if he could actually smell something rotten lingering around Selena.

You tried to hold back a laugh. "Pfft."

Ignoring your amusement, he continued, "While I’m gone, I want you to stay with Vert."

Your smile faded. "Wait—you’re leaving? And stay with my boss? Why?"

"I’m doing an investigation, that means I'm going to leave you alone. And Vert have bodyguards." His tone was firm.

Bucky leaned back slightly, tilting his head. "I noticed them. Strong ones, probably ex-military." He smirked. "But I’m stronger."

You nodded slightly. As much as you hated to admit it, he was right.

"Why are you telling me to stay with Vert?" you asked, your voice quieter now.

Bucky took a step closer, his gaze darkening. "I have a feeling I’m dealing with an obsessive psychopath."

A shiver ran down your spine. You swallowed hard.

He moved even closer, lowering his voice. "I don't want anything bad to happen to you while I'm gone. If it does, Vert’s guards can use their bodies to block bullets and knives while you run."

Your stomach twisted at the thought. "You really think it’s that dangerous?"

Bucky nodded. "I’ve seen this before. I know what I’m talking about."

You hesitated before asking, "Have you found any clues?"

He exhaled through his nose. "Not yet, but I will. Clues always show up when you least expect them. Just like how Scooby always finds the answer."

You tried to lighten the mood. "Guess that makes me Shaggy?"

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. "Don’t follow any strangers, Shaggy."

You met his gaze and nodded. "I know."

Something had shifted between you. A deeper trust. You weren’t sure when it happened, but you could feel it.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

Bucky felt a weight lift off his shoulders as he dropped you off at Mr. Vert’s house. Knowing you were safe, surrounded by armed guards, made it easier for him to focus. The night air was cool as he pulled his hood over his head and blended into the streets, heading toward the police station.

His destination wasn’t the front entrance—walking in there would raise too many questions. Instead, he took a side alley, knocking on a rusted metal door. A few seconds later, it cracked open just enough for a pair of sharp blue eyes to peer out.

“Hey, Bucky.”

The man who greeted him was Steve—a familiar face from his time behind bars. Steve had changed a lot. The once-skinny man, malnourished from years of rationed prison food, now stood as tall and built as Bucky. Prison had hardened them both, but Steve had taken a different path after getting out.

He had rebuilt himself, cleaned up his record, and taken a job as a criminal profiler. Meanwhile, Bucky had retired—well, until now.

“I need your help,” Bucky said, his tone sharp and to the point.

Steve smirked knowingly. “It’s about your girlfriend, isn’t it? You’re a lucky man.” He sipped his coffee, watching Bucky’s reaction.

Bucky flinched at the word girlfriend. He hated how people kept assuming that. It made him uneasy.

“Yeah, yeah…” he muttered, brushing it off.

The two men started walking. Strolling into a police station and casually flipping through case files wasn’t an option, so they took a quieter route, heading toward a nearby park.

Steve glanced at Bucky from the side. “But you know what? You deserve something good. Back in prison, you always looked after me… and the others.”

Bucky let out a short breath, his expression unreadable. “That place was hell.” He kicked a stray rock on the sidewalk. “But look at us now—breathing fresh air… mixed with the smell of piss.”

Steve snorted before breaking into a laugh. Bucky smirked, shaking his head as they continued walking.

They reached the park, settling onto a bench beneath a flickering streetlamp. Steve leaned back casually, but his hand moved subtly, slipping a thin manila folder onto Bucky’s lap.

Bucky flipped it open, his eyes scanning the documents. As he read, his jaw tightened.

His suspicions were right.

“This is the missing piece,” he muttered, flipping to another page. “I knew it.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “That was quick.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, his voice low. “The assistant. She’s the culprit.”

Steve frowned. “Selena, right? She’s been on the suspect list, but there’s no strong evidence.”

Bucky shut the folder, gripping it tightly. “I can help you catch her. But we don’t have time to wait.” His voice dropped to a near whisper. “I need you to send a patrol car to her location. Now.”

Steve studied him for a moment before nodding. Without hesitation, he pulled out his phone and started making the call.

At that moment, Bucky’s own phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the screen.

A text from you.

S.O.S.

His blood ran cold.

His grip on the phone tightened, and his heartbeat pounded in his ears. Without another word, he bolted from the bench, his instincts screaming that he was already too late.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

Staying in Mr. Vert’s condominium felt safe, just as Bucky had assured you. The place was heavily guarded—bodyguards stationed at every corner, their sharp eyes scanning for any possible threat. If someone tried to harm you, they wouldn’t get far.

Yet, despite the security, you couldn’t shake the tension in the air.

It wasn’t fear of an attack. It was something else—the awkwardness of being in the same room with your boss.

You took a breath and finally spoke. “Sorry to bother you.”

Vert glanced at you from his seat, swirling a glass of whiskey in his hand. His expression, as always, was unreadable.

“I don’t show it,” he said smoothly, “but I care for my employees.”

You hesitated before saying, “Mr. Vert… this might sound crazy, but I feel like you and Bucky are… similar.”

His brow lifted slightly. “Oh?”

“The arrogance, the cockiness—both of you have it,” you pointed out.

Vert smirked, amused.

“But more than that… the way he plays guitar.” You grabbed your phone and pulled up the recording of your last performance—the one where Bucky had unexpectedly replaced your guitarist.

Vert leaned forward slightly, watching the screen. The way Bucky’s fingers moved across the strings, the fluidity, the confidence—it was eerily familiar.

If someone looked up his background, his success as a savvy businessman would overshadow his past. He didn’t use a sad background story to boost his public image. He started as a guitarist, then became a composer, later a manager, and eventually decided to build his own music label.

Vert exhaled through his nose. “Hoo… interesting observation.”

“It’s just a guess,” you admitted.

“Play the live show,” Vert instructed.

You tapped the screen, and the two of you watched the footage together.

Bucky played like he had been part of the band all along. No hesitation, no mistakes.

“It could be,” Vert mused. “There’s a possibility. I didn’t know he could play guitar.”

You nodded. “That makes two of us. When I asked him about it, he just said—”

“I don’t know. Whenever I grab a musical instrument and copy the teacher, I can easily follow it. Maybe my birth parents were geniuses. But hey, I’ll never know.” Bucky shrugged his shoulders.

“Does that mean you watched my performances?” you had asked him.

“I have to understand more about my client, right?” he had replied.

It's amazing how Bucky mentioned his birth parents as if it meant nothing, while you pretended that everything with your parents was fine, when in reality, it was far from it.

Vert tilted his head. “Strange talent.”

“I thought so too,” you murmured.

Then you remembered what else Bucky had said.

Vert leaned back. “Back in the ‘80s, the hippies were wild. No one could tame my generation. The parties, the drugs—unlimited.” He smirked, but there was a hint of something darker beneath it. “And I always woke up in bed with different women.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that.

“I read that Bucky’s an orphan.” Vert hummed, swirling the whiskey again. “Wouldn’t hurt to get a DNA test.”

Instead, you changed the subject. “By the way, about Selena…”

Vert arched a brow. “Hmm?”

“How was she as your new manager?”

You hesitated before adding, “The thing is… I don’t feel comfortable around her. And I have this gut feeling that she sabotaged my last performance.”

Vert studied you for a moment. “So… you want to fire her.”

“Yes,” you said firmly.

He nodded. “I’ll make it official tomorrow.”

Relief washed over you. “Thank you.”

Vert smirked. “Like I told you… I may not look like it, but I care.”

Before you could respond—

The lights suddenly went out.

The entire condominium was plunged into darkness.

Your heartbeat spiked.

The room fell into eerie silence, save for the faint humming of emergency power trying to kick in.

Your hands tightened around your phone.

A bad feeling settled in your chest—worse than before.

Your fingers flew across the screen as you quickly typed out a message to Bucky.

S.O.S.

This time, you didn’t doubt it—something was very, very wrong.

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My book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing is FREE on Kindle for a few days. Check it out!

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[ghostlynightpanda]

Could i please request aib x reader where reader always has trouble sleeping so everytime reader cant sleep reader goes to their s/o room and makes it their problem too, reader either makes them stay up with them or go to sleep with them :3

Feel free to decline this request, i understand making these types of works take a long time and esp considering how many people request so take your time with this! I really like your works, keep it up!! :D

AIB Character react to reader having trouble to sleep

content/warnings: Ann, Kuina, Mira, Aguni, Niragi, Last Boss, Chishiya, fem!reader, fluff, 6.589 words

Ann

The Beach was quiet, its usual chaos stilled for the moment. The only sound was the distant murmur of conversations between survivors, but in your room, it felt far too empty. You had been tossing and turning for hours, unable to find any peace, the uncertainty of your situation weighing heavily on your mind.

You tried everything—counting the cracks in the walls, staring at the ceiling, and even trying to drift into sleep with thoughts of a peaceful life before the games. But it was all in vain.

And so, you did what you always did when sleep wouldn't come: you left your room and quietly made your way down the hallway towards Ann’s.

Her room was always a place of calm for you. Even in the madness of the Beach, Ann's presence had a soothing effect—her soft demeanor, her calm voice, the way she always seemed to know what to say without overwhelming you. Tonight, though, you felt desperate for the comfort she unknowingly provided.

You hesitated for a moment outside her door, a little uncertain whether she'd be annoyed by the interruption, but when you pushed the door open, she was already awake, sitting by the window, her gaze distant but soft.

"Can't sleep?" Ann's voice was gentle, the words feeling more like an invitation than a question.

You shook your head, stepping inside and closing the door quietly behind you. "No... I don't know what's wrong. I just can't seem to get my mind to quiet down."

Ann didn't say anything right away. She just patted the bed beside her, a silent offer. You moved to sit next to her, the space between you comfortable, warm.

She glanced over at you, her calm expression never wavering. "It's okay," she said softly. "It happens sometimes. You're not alone in this."

Ann didn’t push you to talk. She simply stayed there, sitting next to you in the quiet. Her presence was enough, and the way she let you just be—without needing to explain yourself—was a kind of peace you rarely found anywhere else on the Beach.

"Ann..." you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t know why I keep having trouble sleeping. It’s like everything just... keeps spinning in my head."

Her hand rested gently on your arm, her touch light but steady, like a constant that could anchor you in the storm. "I understand," she said, her voice low. "It’s hard when everything around us feels out of control."

She let out a soft sigh, as if contemplating something for a moment before turning to you fully. "Sometimes, you don’t need to fight it. Just let your thoughts pass by. And if you need to, let me be here with you until it fades."

You leaned into her warmth, grateful for her understanding. She was the kind of person who didn’t need to fix things to make them better. She just needed to be there, quietly supporting you in a way only she could.

Minutes turned into hours, and Ann didn’t move, never complaining about the late hour. Her steady presence lulled you into a sense of peace. You felt your eyelids grow heavy as the tension in your body slowly eased, your thoughts slowing to a dull murmur.

"Stay with me?" you asked softly, your voice trembling slightly.

Ann didn’t hesitate. She shifted, sliding down into the bed beside you, her body close but respectful of your space. Without saying a word, she wrapped her arm around you, pulling you gently closer. Her warmth was comforting, and you found yourself relaxing, finally allowing yourself to surrender to the calm that her presence always brought.

"You’re safe here," she whispered, her voice the last thing you heard before sleep claimed you.

And for the first time in a long while, sleep didn’t feel like a struggle. You drifted off in the quiet of Ann’s room, her embrace making the chaos of the Beach feel a little farther away.

Kuina

The dim light from the hallway filtered in through the cracks of the door, casting long shadows across the room. Kuina sat on her bed, her legs tucked underneath her, silently staring at the wall. She had always been a pillar of strength, calm and composed, but tonight, there was a quiet tension in the air. Something felt off, but she couldn’t quite place it.

The sounds of the Beach were distant, but there was no hiding the restlessness in the atmosphere—people moving, talking, plotting—but none of it mattered right now. What mattered was the unsettling feeling that had been nagging at her, the thought of not being able to rest or escape from the tension.

And then came a knock on her door.

You had been pacing in your room for hours, unable to find rest no matter how hard you tried. Sleep was a stranger to you these days, and tonight, it was particularly hard. Your thoughts raced endlessly, and with no one else to turn to, you found yourself in front of Kuina's door. Without hesitation, you pushed it open, your expression a mix of exhaustion and vulnerability.

Kuina’s gaze lifted to meet yours as you entered, the smallest hint of surprise flickering in her eyes. She had been expecting a peaceful night, but instead, here you were—looking for comfort.

"You’re still awake," she observed quietly, her voice tinged with concern as she set her book aside and patted the space next to her on the bed. "Can’t sleep?"

You nodded, not needing to explain. You never really had to with her. Kuina always understood.

Without waiting for a response, she leaned back against the pillows and pulled the blanket back slightly, her usual tough demeanor softened just enough to make room for you. She knew what it was like to lie awake, restless and trapped in your own head.

"You’re welcome to stay," Kuina said casually, but her eyes showed a softness you didn’t often see in the fierce warrior. "This bed’s too big for just me."

There was a comfort in her words, a sense of reassurance. You hesitated for only a moment before slipping under the blanket, the warmth of her body radiating gently beside you. The bed was, indeed, large, but it felt more like a vast, empty space that begged for companionship tonight.

As you laid there, the quiet of the room stretched on. Kuina, who was always full of energy and boldness, seemed unusually still. The rhythmic sound of her breathing, steady and soothing, filled the silence between you.

"You know, sometimes," Kuina started softly, her voice carrying a rare tenderness, "sleep doesn't come because you’re fighting it too hard. You’ve just got to let it happen. And if it doesn’t, then... just let it be. But I’ll stay here, and we’ll figure it out together."

Her words were simple, but they carried a wisdom that you hadn’t expected. In the chaos of the Beach, it was easy to forget that sometimes, all it took to find peace was someone who could offer silent comfort.

Kuina reached over, her hand resting on yours in a quiet gesture of solidarity. "You’re not alone in this," she added, her voice barely above a whisper.

And just like that, the restless tension that had been swirling inside you began to fade. Her presence was grounding, like a calm in the middle of a storm. Slowly, the urge to think, to worry, to fight the sleeplessness, began to slip away.

After a while, you found yourself drifting closer to her, the warmth of her body and the steady rhythm of her breathing calming your restless mind. You didn’t say anything, and neither did she. There didn’t need to be words. Just the simple act of sharing space with someone who understood your struggle was enough to soothe the fears that had kept you awake.

As sleep finally began to claim you, you felt a deep sense of comfort you hadn’t felt in a long time. The chaos of the Beach, the games, the dangers—they all felt far away in this moment.

Kuina’s arm curled around you, pulling you closer, and the last thing you heard before you finally fell asleep was her soft, steady voice whispering, "Sleep. I’ve got your back."

And for the first time in ages, you were able to let go.

Mira

The Beach was quiet that night, the usual clamor of voices and the intensity of survival games left behind in favor of an eerie calm. You couldn’t shake the feeling of restlessness, your mind racing as you stared up at the ceiling, thoughts swirling in circles, too loud to ignore. Sleep had become an impossible task lately.

You sighed in frustration and glanced over at Mira, who sat nearby, flipping through a book in her hands. Her expression was unreadable, her usual composed and confident demeanor unchanged, even in the dim light of the room.

You were about to get up and retreat to your own bed when you caught her attention. She looked at you with an almost knowing smile, a slight glint in her eyes as if she had been expecting you.

"Can’t sleep, hmm?" she asked, her voice smooth and alluring, yet laced with a subtle kindness that felt strangely comforting.

You nodded in agreement, sitting at the edge of the bed with a sigh. Mira studied you for a moment, her gaze unwavering, before she closed her book and set it aside, leaning back against the pillows.

"I suppose I could help," she mused thoughtfully, her eyes sparkling with a quiet mischief. "But I don't want to just leave you to toss and turn all night. How about a story?"

Your curiosity piqued, you raised an eyebrow, unsure what to expect. Mira was never one to indulge in anything so simple, but you had learned that there were depths to her you hadn’t fully understood.

"A story?" you asked, a little surprised.

"Yes," Mira replied with a slight smirk. "A story to help you drift off to sleep. I happen to know quite a few."

She shifted, making herself more comfortable on the bed, her eyes now gleaming with the beginnings of an idea.

"Let me tell you a tale," she began, her voice lowering to a soft, rhythmic tone. "A tale of a queen who ruled with an iron fist and a heart full of rage—a queen who thought she could control everything, only to realize that there was one thing she could never control: herself."

Mira’s voice carried a smooth, almost hypnotic quality, and you found yourself relaxing into her words, your eyelids growing heavy as she spoke.

"Once upon a time," she continued, "there was a Queen who ruled over a land of wonder and chaos. Her name was the Queen of Hearts, and she was feared by all who lived in her kingdom. Her temper was as fiery as her crown, and she ruled with an iron fist. 'Off with their heads!' she would cry, whenever something displeased her, and the people trembled at the sound of her voice."

You shifted slightly to get more comfortable, your mind beginning to picture the strange world she described—an odd, almost dreamlike place.

"But despite her power," Mira's voice grew softer, drawing you deeper into the story, "the Queen had a secret. She ruled with fury, but her heart was as fragile as glass. She couldn't understand why the world didn’t bend to her will completely, why her subjects still dared to question her. Her kingdom seemed to be filled with madness, and no matter how much she tried to control it, everything seemed to slip through her fingers."

You could almost feel the frustration of the Queen in Mira’s words, the weight of her lonely, isolated throne.

"One day, as she sat on her throne, screaming orders to her subjects, a young girl appeared. She was unafraid of the Queen, standing tall with a quiet confidence that the Queen could not comprehend. This girl, who came from nowhere, brought a sense of calm and understanding into the Queen’s chaotic world. She asked the Queen, 'Why do you rule with such fear, when what you really crave is peace?'"

Mira’s voice became softer, almost conspiratorial. "The Queen of Hearts did not know how to answer. No one had ever spoken to her like that before. And for the first time, she realized that perhaps, in all her rage and all her power, she had never truly understood herself. Maybe her heart wasn’t as hard as she had thought."

You felt your body relax further, her soothing voice making it easier to imagine the strange world of the Queen of Hearts. Mira’s presence became the safe haven you longed for, her voice lulling you into a state of peace.

"The Queen thought long and hard," Mira continued. "And though she did not change overnight, the young girl’s words stayed with her. Slowly, she began to question herself, to wonder if there was another way to rule—a way that didn’t require fear, a way that allowed her to understand her own heart. And though she still ruled with strength, she began to rule with wisdom, knowing that sometimes, control was not the answer to everything."

By the time Mira finished, your mind had settled, the story weaving a soft blanket of comfort around your thoughts. She paused for a moment, letting the silence settle between you.

"Did you like it?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper now.

You gave a sleepy nod, your body heavy and relaxed, ready to drift into the embrace of sleep. Mira’s soft smile was the last thing you saw before your eyelids fluttered closed.

“Good,” she said softly, her voice a gentle caress as you fell asleep. "Sweet dreams, my dear."

And as you sank into a peaceful slumber, the words of the Queen of Hearts echoed quietly in your mind, the madness of the world outside slipping away, leaving only the comfort of Mira’s presence and the quiet, soothing power of her story.

Aguni

The night was still, the usual noise of the Beach fading into a distant hum. The only sound that filled the silence was the soft rustling of the wind and the faint crackle of a fire burning somewhere in the distance. You had been lying awake in your bed for what felt like hours, tossing and turning, but sleep refused to come. The thoughts in your mind kept swirling in a dizzying loop, and no matter how hard you tried to shut them out, they wouldn't leave you in peace.

After another long stretch of staring at the ceiling, you finally gave up on trying to force sleep. You had a habit of doing this—when sleep wouldn’t come, you found yourself seeking out Aguni. He wasn’t one for talking, but his presence always had a calming effect. There was something about his stoic nature that grounded you when the chaos of the Beach became too much to bear.

You quietly slipped out of your room and made your way down the hall to his. You didn’t knock; you simply opened the door and stepped inside. Aguni was sitting by the window, his broad frame silhouetted by the faint moonlight. He was staring out at the Beach, but his gaze wasn’t focused on anything in particular. It was the kind of look that suggested he had a lot on his mind.

He turned when he heard the door creak open, his expression softening ever so slightly when he saw you standing there.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, his deep voice low, but not unkind.

You nodded, feeling the familiar weight of exhaustion settling in your bones. Aguni didn’t speak much, but there was a certain understanding between the two of you that didn’t need words.

Without another word, he patted the empty space next to him on the small cot. You didn’t hesitate, walking over to sit beside him. The warmth of his presence was a comfort, a quiet refuge amidst the chaos. You sat in silence for a moment, both of you gazing out the window at the dark expanse of the Beach.

"What's keeping you up?" he asked quietly after a while, his voice softer than you expected.

You hesitated for a moment before answering, the vulnerability creeping in despite your best efforts to hide it. "Just... everything. The constant noise in my head. The fear of what comes next... I can’t seem to turn it off."

Aguni gave a soft grunt, his hand resting on the side of the cot. He didn’t say anything at first, but you could feel him processing your words. He didn’t offer empty platitudes or try to give advice. Instead, he simply sat there, letting you speak, or not, if that was what you needed.

"Sometimes, it helps to just sit in the quiet," he finally said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "It’s hard to block it all out, but... if you can, even for a little while, it brings some peace."

You let out a long sigh and settled in a bit more comfortably, your body naturally leaning a little closer to his. Aguni was never the type to coddle or try to soothe, but his presence alone made you feel safe. It was a comfort you didn’t realize you needed until this moment.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence between you felt easy—almost familiar. Aguni’s presence, despite his usually tough and intimidating nature, was a calm anchor in the storm of your racing thoughts.

After a long stretch of time passed, Aguni’s hand moved, and you looked up to see him offering you a small, subtle smile. It was rare, but in moments like this, it was a sign that he was willing to show a side of himself that he usually kept hidden.

"Come here," he said quietly, his voice almost a murmur.

You glanced at him, surprised by the gentleness in his tone, but you didn’t hesitate. You shifted closer to him, and without a word, Aguni pulled you gently into his arms. His grip was firm but comforting, his body warm and solid against yours. You tucked your head into his chest, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat ground you.

"Sleep," he murmured softly, his voice as steady as ever. "I’ve got you. Don’t worry about the noise or the chaos. Just for tonight, let it go."

The steady rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his embrace, and the calming presence of his silence worked in tandem, easing the tension that had been coiled tightly in your body. Slowly, your mind began to quiet, the anxieties that had kept you awake melting away as Aguni held you close.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Aguni didn’t respond with words. Instead, his hand gently brushed through your hair in a soft, comforting gesture. His strength and presence were enough to reassure you that, for tonight, you were safe.

And, as if by magic, the moment you let yourself sink into his embrace, your racing thoughts slowed, and sleep finally claimed you. The chaos of the Beach faded into the background, and you allowed yourself to rest, trusting Aguni to keep the nightmares at bay—just for a while.

Niragi

The night was unusually quiet on the Beach, the usual chaos and tension of the day now faded into the stillness of the evening. You had tried, again and again, to fall asleep in your room, but the overwhelming sense of restlessness refused to leave you. Your mind wouldn’t slow down, and the weight of everything—of the games, the fear, the uncertainty—pressed heavily on your chest. You could almost hear your own heartbeat in the silence, louder than any thoughts in your head.

In a desperate attempt to shake off the feeling, you slipped out of your room and made your way to the poolside. The soft moonlight reflected off the still water, casting a calming glow across the area, but it didn’t help to quiet your racing thoughts. You walked slowly around the pool, unsure of what you were doing or where you were going, just hoping that the movement might give you some peace.

You didn’t know how much time passed before you heard the familiar sound of footsteps behind you. A voice broke through your thoughts—low and rough, but oddly familiar.

"Can’t sleep?" Niragi’s voice was a mixture of irritation and curiosity, but there was something about his tone that wasn’t as harsh as usual.

You stopped in your tracks and turned to face him, your gaze meeting his with a mix of exhaustion and frustration. You nodded, not really feeling up to explaining yourself. The last thing you wanted right now was a confrontation with him, but for some reason, his presence didn’t seem as threatening as it usually did.

"Yeah, guess I’m just... not tired," you muttered, your eyes avoiding his. You couldn’t explain it. It wasn’t that you were scared of him, but you certainly didn’t trust him either. Still, there was something about the way he lingered in the quiet of the night that felt oddly comforting.

He raised an eyebrow, his usual cocky smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "You’re out here wandering around like a lost puppy," he said, taking a step closer. "Don’t know what to do with yourself, huh?"

You shrugged, feeling the weight of the unspoken tension between you both. "Just... trying to clear my head, I guess."

Niragi stood there for a few moments, studying you with his sharp, calculating gaze. He didn’t say anything for a while, but his presence was enough to make you feel like he was just as lost as you were, though he wouldn’t admit it.

"You know," he said after a beat, "if you’re just gonna stand around here, you may as well come with me."

You glanced at him, skeptical. His tone didn’t leave much room for argument, but you hesitated. You knew who Niragi was—his reputation preceded him. He wasn’t someone you’d ever go to for comfort, and you didn’t trust him at all. In fact, you’d bet that most people would warn you that he was the last person you should follow, especially at a time like this.

"Trust me," Niragi said, his voice softening just slightly. "I’m not gonna bite your head off. You’ve got nothing to lose."

You raised an eyebrow, eyeing him warily. "I’m sure a lot of people would warn me that you’re the last person to trust."

His expression remained unchanged, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—amusement or maybe just a hint of curiosity. "Well, maybe they’re right," he said with a smirk. "But, you’re not gonna find peace walking around like this, are you?"

You felt a strange pull to his words, something that made you want to follow through despite the warning bells going off in your head. After a moment of internal debate, you sighed and gave in. "Fine," you muttered, "I’ll go with you. But if you try anything, you’ll regret it."

Niragi chuckled darkly, and for a moment, you almost felt like he was trying to get you to lighten up, which was both strange and unexpected. He didn’t say anything else, simply turned and began walking toward his room, and you followed behind him, your heart thudding in your chest.

The halls of the Beach were quiet, almost eerily so, as you made your way to his room. You couldn’t help but feel a little nervous, unsure of what to expect. Niragi opened the door without a word and stepped inside, motioning for you to follow.

Inside, the room was dimly lit, the faint glow of a single light casting long shadows across the walls. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and the remnants of the day’s chaos, but in this space, there was an odd sense of calm. Niragi didn’t make a big deal out of it, merely pulling back the covers on his bed and sitting down. He patted the spot beside him, his usual cocky demeanor returning.

"Sit. You’re not gonna get any sleep standing around out there."

You hesitated, but after a moment, you decided it would be better to just do as he said. You sat beside him on the bed, the silence between you hanging heavy, but not uncomfortable.

Niragi didn��t say anything for a while, as if letting the quiet settle around you both. It wasn’t the kind of silence that made you anxious, though. It was peaceful in a strange way. The tension that had been coiled inside you all night slowly began to loosen.

After a few minutes, Niragi shifted, looking at you from the corner of his eye. "You’ve been on edge all night," he commented. "I get it. But you need to rest. You’re not gonna last long if you keep pushing yourself like this."

You weren’t sure how to respond, but you found yourself nodding, the exhaustion finally catching up with you. Niragi’s presence, although strange, was calming in its own way.

"I’ve never been one for a lullaby," he muttered with a half-smile. "But, I can at least get you to sleep in peace for a bit."

You didn’t ask how he planned to do that. You didn’t need to. You were too tired to question it, too drained to care. For the first time that night, you found yourself feeling more relaxed. Maybe it was the warmth of his room, or maybe it was the quiet company, but sleep finally seemed within reach.

Niragi leaned back, stretching his legs out, and after a moment, you did the same, feeling the weight of the day’s stress lift off your shoulders.

"Sleep," Niragi said quietly, his tone surprisingly soft. "I won’t let anything happen to you."

You didn’t respond, too close to sleep now, your eyes fluttering shut. His presence was enough, and for once, you didn’t feel the need to keep fighting. With a final sigh, your mind cleared, and you finally drifted off, the quiet of the room—and Niragi’s presence—offering the peace you had been searching for all night.

Last Boss

The main hall of the Beach was unusually lively, filled with scattered conversations and clinking glasses as survivors gathered for one of the Beach’s frequent parties. Music played softly in the background, and laughter echoed across the room, but you weren’t really part of it. You never really were.

You sat alone on one of the large couches, tucked into the corner of the room, watching the chaos unfold from a distance. Your gaze lingered on the flickering shadows and the flickering faces, the noise nothing more than a distant hum in your ears. No matter how much you tried, you just couldn’t bring yourself to join in.

You had been trying to get some rest, but your mind wouldn’t let you sleep. The gnawing anxiety that had been with you all day refused to fade, and as much as you tried to ignore it, you couldn’t. So, here you were—sitting in the corner of the hall, far away from the center of attention, hoping for some quiet.

The sound of footsteps approaching caught your attention, and you glanced up to find Last Boss standing at the edge of the room. His usual stoic expression was unreadable, but his sharp eyes caught yours immediately.

He didn’t speak right away, as though contemplating something, before his gaze shifted, assessing the situation around him. Then, with his usual calm and precision, he took a few steps closer.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice low, almost distant. "You don’t usually come to these things."

You gave a small, weary shrug, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. "I couldn’t sleep," you admitted softly, not wanting to make it a bigger deal than it was. "I’ve been having trouble with it for a while now."

There was a brief pause as Last Boss looked at you, his eyes unwavering but still carrying that quiet intensity. He didn’t seem surprised, but he didn’t press you for more details either. Instead, he simply nodded in acknowledgment and stepped a little closer, looking around the room briefly before turning back to you.

"Come with me," he said, his voice as calm as ever, with no hint of emotion.

You blinked, surprised at his sudden suggestion, but the idea of leaving the noise of the hall behind seemed like a relief. You hesitated for just a moment before getting up from the couch, following him quietly.

Without saying a word, he led you through the hall and out into the corridors of the Beach, where the noise of the party faded behind you. The quiet of the hallway was a stark contrast to the chaos you had just left, and you found yourself almost immediately feeling the tension in your body start to ease.

Last Boss didn’t say anything as he walked ahead of you, his steps steady and measured, his presence commanding without being overwhelming. He wasn’t a man who filled the air with unnecessary chatter, which, oddly enough, was a comfort to you. His silence felt like a steady presence beside you.

As you walked, the tension in your chest began to dissipate, and you found yourself taking in the calm around you. Last Boss didn’t rush you, didn’t make small talk or offer empty reassurances. He just walked beside you, his quiet strength providing a grounding force.

After a while, he stopped at a small window that overlooked the dark expanse of the Beach. The moonlight bathed everything in a soft glow, making the place seem less menacing than it usually felt during the day. You glanced at him, but he didn’t look back. His eyes were focused on the view, his expression as unreadable as always.

"You don’t have to keep walking if you don’t want to," he finally said, his voice a soft rumble. "If you want, I can stay with you for a while. You don’t need to be alone."

The simplicity of his words was enough to make your heart settle a little. He wasn’t offering anything grand or dramatic, just presence. And for some reason, that was all you needed.

You nodded quietly, still feeling the pull of exhaustion, but unable to quiet the thoughts racing through your mind. Last Boss glanced at you once more before turning and leading you back toward your room, his pace steady and unwavering. There was a quiet understanding between you both—one that didn’t require words to fill the silence.

When you reached your door, Last Boss stopped and turned to face you. His expression was as calm and neutral as ever, but there was something in his gaze that made you feel safe. He didn’t offer any grand promises or make unnecessary gestures. Instead, his next words were simple, and they carried a quiet weight.

"I’ll stay," he said quietly. "I’ll watch over you while you sleep. You don’t need to worry."

You weren’t sure if it was the exhaustion, or if it was the quiet sincerity in his voice, but you found yourself nodding without protest. You had never been one to rely on others, but in this moment, with him standing there, you didn’t feel quite so alone.

He didn’t ask for any more words, simply stepping into the room and making space for you to settle into the bed. His presence didn’t fill the space with chatter or unnecessary noise; it simply settled in the corner, still and reassuring.

You slowly made your way into bed, feeling the weight of the day lift off your shoulders as you pulled the covers up. Last Boss stood near the door, his sharp eyes trained on you as if he were waiting for something.

"Sleep," he said quietly, his voice low and steady. "I’ll be here."

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, feeling the tension of the night begin to slip away as you closed your eyes. Last Boss didn’t need to do anything more. His presence alone was enough to make you feel safe, and that was enough to finally allow you to drift into a peaceful, uninterrupted sleep.

Chishiya 

The lights of the Beach had dimmed as the night settled in, and though the party was still ongoing in the main hall, you found yourself standing apart from the chaos. You hadn’t felt like joining in, and honestly, the noise and the energy only seemed to amplify the restlessness that had taken root in your chest.

It had been days since you’d slept properly, your thoughts constantly spinning, your mind too loud to let you rest. You had tried to ignore it, but sleep never came. You paced around your room for hours before you found yourself wandering aimlessly through the corridors, hoping the movement would bring some relief. But it didn’t. Your mind still raced, and sleep remained as elusive as ever.

You weren’t surprised when you ended up by the poolside, where the cool night air and the soft reflection of the water on the tiles provided some peace, though it wasn’t much. You sat down on the edge of the pool, feet dipping in the cool water, staring at your reflection as if the surface could somehow offer answers. But the stillness only left you with more questions.

A familiar voice broke through the quiet.

"You’re awake at this hour?" Chishiya’s voice was as calm and detached as ever, though there was a hint of curiosity in his tone. His presence was quiet but unmistakable, and he was standing a few feet away, arms casually crossed as he surveyed you. "Couldn’t sleep?"

You glanced up at him, and for a moment, the usual distance between you two felt even more pronounced. Chishiya wasn’t one to indulge in small talk, and you didn’t expect him to start now.

"Yeah," you admitted, rubbing your temples as if it might somehow push the nagging exhaustion away. "I’ve been having trouble falling asleep lately. My mind won’t stop."

Chishiya studied you for a moment, his gaze sharp, as if assessing your words. He was quiet, always calculating, always a few steps ahead. You weren’t sure if he truly cared or if he was just interested in seeing how far you’d go with your explanation. Either way, you didn’t feel like offering much more.

"You don’t seem like the type to just wander around at night," he said after a moment, raising an eyebrow, as if genuinely curious. "What are you hoping to find? Quiet?"

You nodded, though you didn’t have the energy to explain that you weren’t just seeking silence. It wasn’t just the chaos of the Beach that had kept you awake—it was the weight of everything. The games. The constant danger. The unknown. The fear of what was to come. But Chishiya didn’t need to know all of that.

"Something like that," you muttered, watching the ripples in the water as you swung your feet slightly. You didn’t mind the silence, but somehow with him standing there, it felt less empty than it had before.

He didn’t say anything else right away, but the quiet didn’t feel suffocating. Instead, Chishiya stood there, leaning against one of the nearby pillars, his expression as unreadable as ever. He was someone who rarely said much, and yet, somehow, his presence was a quiet comfort.

After a while, you sighed and glanced up at him, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore."

Chishiya’s eyes flicked toward you, and for a brief moment, something flashed in his gaze—a hint of understanding, perhaps, or maybe just amusement. "You’re not the only one," he said, his tone so casually detached, it almost made you wonder if he was speaking about himself too.

A part of you wanted to ask him more, to pry into the layers beneath his cool exterior, but you knew better than that. Chishiya wasn’t the type to open up, and you weren’t in the mood to try. Instead, the silence settled between you like an old, familiar companion.

After another few moments, Chishiya pushed himself off the pillar and straightened up, walking a few steps closer to you. "Come on," he said, his voice almost languid, as though he didn’t particularly care about the time or your lack of sleep. "Let’s take a walk."

You raised an eyebrow, unsure of where this was going. "A walk? At this hour?"

"Mm," he hummed, his lips curling into that familiar, half-bored smile. "Better than sitting around here, right? If you’re not gonna sleep, you may as well do something."

You hesitated for a second, but the thought of walking with him, away from the noise and the chaos, did sound appealing. Maybe it wouldn’t solve anything, but at least it would give you something else to focus on.

"Alright," you said, standing up. "I’m in."

Chishiya didn’t wait for you to catch up. He started walking, his pace unhurried, as if the night had all the time in the world. You fell in step beside him, the two of you moving through the quiet halls of the Beach. It wasn’t particularly long before you found yourself outside, the night air cool against your skin.

You didn’t talk much, not even as you walked down the dark paths that led through the Beach, the sound of your footsteps the only noise between you. It wasn’t uncomfortable—just the way things were with Chishiya. There was an unspoken understanding, a kind of peace in the silence.

After a while, you found yourself slowing down, feeling the weariness settle back into your bones. Chishiya glanced over at you, as if sensing your exhaustion.

"Want to head back?" he asked, his voice still as calm as ever, his expression unreadable.

You nodded, not trusting your voice to speak without it betraying how tired you were. You didn’t have to explain it to him; Chishiya understood without needing much.

The two of you returned to your room, and when you stepped inside, the quiet of the night was almost overwhelming after the noise of the hall. You sat on the bed, feeling the tension in your body start to release now that you were back in the safety of your own space.

Chishiya didn’t sit down. Instead, he stood by the door, his figure leaning slightly against the frame. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just watching you.

"Sleep," he finally said, his voice still as lazy as ever. "I’ll make sure nothing happens."

You looked up at him, a little surprised, but you didn’t argue. You didn’t feel the need to. You were tired, and though you weren’t sure why, Chishiya’s presence made you feel like it might be alright to finally rest.

"You don’t need to stay," you said softly, though there was no conviction in your words.

He raised an eyebrow, his gaze sharp as ever, but he didn’t argue. "I know," he said simply. "But I’m here. Go to sleep."

And, in the strange comfort of the quiet room and his calm presence, you finally closed your eyes, letting yourself drift off to sleep—knowing that, for the first time that night, you weren’t alone.

Masterlist

[wannabespacesmuggler]

D.D. | Shane's Girl [9]

Part Nine | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee | Check out the playlist

Summary: Daryl Dixon knows he shouldn’t be thinking about you when he’s alone at night in his tent. Hell, he shouldn’t even be looking at you throughout the day. You’re not his. You’re Shane’s girl. But Daryl doesn’t like the way Shane treats you. And he certainly doesn’t like how you’re forced to play ‘loving girlfriend’ to a man with eyes for another woman at the camp.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x female!Reader

Warnings: Shane Walsh is the worst, angst, realizations, reunions and resurrections, chapter follows "Tell it to the Frogs" but dialogue and events are paraphrased.

Word Count: 1.8K

Author’s Note: I am officially laid off for the winter. I make no promises, but I really want to write more often during my layoff. I'm really happy with this chapter (even though it might feel like a dagger to the heart), but things are really ramping up. Also don't worry, Daryl will reappear in the next one. Now that we've gotten to the show starting, this fic will follow the plot of TWD, but events and dialogue will be paraphrased so as not to simply rewrite episode scripts — hope you guys understand. Let me know what you guys think! Your support and excitement for this fic mean the world to me. Additionally, if I don't post beforehand, happy holidays and merry Christmas (to those that celebrate).

You watch as the sun begins to set from your spot on top of Dale’s RV — mesmerized as the clear blue sky slowly shifts into an array of golden hues. The sight almost makes you forget how much the world has changed — how much everything seems to have changed.  You sigh as you realize how envious you are of your past self. Just a few weeks ago, you were complaining about your boss to Lori, grabbing coffee in between shifts with Shane, and helping Rick with his latest home improvement project. Life was simple and stable. You had a lovely home, a decent job, and a loving boyfriend. Now, well, you’re lucky if there’s enough food at the campfire at the end of the day to feed the entire group.

You tear your eyes away from the sunset and look down at the book in your lap. The very book you attempted to busy yourself with this morning before Shane’s interruption. You haven’t gotten much further, finding yourself distracted by Daryl’s crumpled note that you’ve begun using as a bookmark. You can imagine him scoffing beside you as you reread the simple, messily written words. His brow furrowed in confusion as he tries to decipher what’s troubling you — and he’d read you like a book. You’ll never admit it, but you’ve yearned for his silent, stable presence more than usual today after your conversation with Shane this morning.

The sound of someone climbing the ladder and approaching from behind you pulls you from your thoughts. Your hand instinctively grabs the shotgun beside you as you turn your head toward the sound. Your mind starts anticipating the worst, but you loosen your grip as your eyes meet Dale’s. Dale raises his hands in front of him as he approaches; the gesture is playful, but his features are laced with concern. 

“I come in peace.”

You snort at his words before removing your hand from the shotgun entirely. 

“Sorry, Dale. I was just a thousand miles away.”

Dale hums in response as he takes a seat beside you. The two of you sit in comfortable silence while watching the sunset. You don’t mind Dale’s company. Despite his dislike for Shane Walsh, he’s never treated you differently despite your connection to the deputy. You’ve always appreciated that he sees you as you, not just Shane’s girlfriend — if you can even call yourself that anymore. 

“You’ve been up here for a while.”

“Got nothing else to do, I suppose.”

You shrug nonchalantly before glancing over at Dale. His eyes are still focused on the sunset, but you can tell he’s thinking over his next words. You appreciate how intentional he is with what he says. It reminds you of Daryl in a way. Your hands find their way to the crumpled note again — moving on their own accord.

“I’m just surprised to see you here — thought you’d be in Atlanta. I mean, Glenn wouldn’t shut up about you asking him to show you the ropes when it comes to scavenging.”

A frustrated sigh escapes your lips as you close the book in your lap and toss it to the side. Your eyes do a quick sweep of the camp, ensuring that Shane is not within earshot. 

“Shane decided it was best that I stayed here and helped Lori and Carol with chores.”

Dale lets out a dry laugh at your admission. 

“I didn’t know you needed his permission.”

You meet Dale’s expectant gaze and try to formulate a response, but his sarcastic tone has you floundering. Because as much as you want to assert that you don’t need anyone’s permission, you’ve also become somewhat of a prisoner in your own relationship. You shouldn’t need Shane’s permission to do anything — he certainly doesn’t need yours. And yet, here you are, a shell of your former fiercely independent self. Your shoulders slump at the realization, and your eyes drop to your hands, which are desperately gripping your only lifeline. 

In an act of comfort, Dale moves to cover your hands with his, and you involuntarily flinch away from his touch. Guilt washes over you as Dale pulls his hand away. Logically, you know that Dale would never try to hurt you, but your conversation with Shane this morning has you on edge. You look up at Dale and meet his sympathetic gaze. 

“Dale, I…”

Before you can explain yourself, you’re cut off by a blaring car alarm. Without a second thought, your hands find the shotgun at your side and aim toward the direction the sound is coming from. The once-sleepy camp quickly awakens at the first sign of trouble. You hear countless voices yelling, but one cuts through them all: Shane Walsh.

“Dale, what do you see up there?”

Dale looks to you as you peer into the scope. You can hear the car alarm clear as day, but you’ve yet to see any sign of life through the scope. You shake your head at the older man, keeping your eyes locked on the dirt trail leading up to the camp.

“Talk to me, Dale!”

“We can’t tell yet.”

“What the hell do you mean you can’t tell yet? Just look in the fucking scope, it’s not that hard.”

That sets you off. You don’t know if it’s the edge in Shane’s voice or the condescending tone in which he speaks, but something inside of you snaps at the words.

“I know how to look through a fucking scope, Shane!”

You can hear a low growl rumble through Shane’s chest at your retort, but you keep your gaze steady. You tune out the ensuing chaos: Shane insisting you hand the shotgun over to Dale, Jim attempting to defuse the situation, and Amy incessantly asking if it’s her sister. Dale offers you gentle words of affirmation as you take deep breaths — attempting to steady yourself. And then you see it: a bright red Dodge Challenger with none other than Glenn Rhee at the wheel. You finally pull away from the scope and hand the shotgun over to Dale, who looks at you in astonishment.

“It’s just Glenn.”

Dale takes the shotgun and peers through the scope. He searches for a moment before speaking.

“Well, I’ll be.”

And then the two of you erupt into a fit of laughter — after all, this whole situation is nothing but absurd. Dale pulls himself together just long enough to alert the group of your findings. There’s a collective sigh of relief, and everyone seems to relax until Glenn peels into camp. Glenn climbs out of the sports car and smiles brightly up at you.

“You like it?”

Another laugh escapes your lips as Glenn points at the blaring vehicle beside him. You nod at his words before responding. 

“Love it. You rob a bank along the way?”

Dale interrupts the conversation.

“Can you turn it off, son?”

Glenn’s brow furrows at his question, glancing between the car and the two of you.

“I don’t know.”

Quickly, Shane steps in and starts yelling at Glenn to pop the hood. You and Dale decide to finally descend from the top of the RV and join the rest of the group. When you enter the chaos, the car alarm is finally off, and several other vehicles begin pulling into camp. You smile as you watch reunions unfold before your eyes. Amy pulls her sister into a tight hug before she even has a chance to exit the vehicle fully. Morales’ children race to see who can get to him faster. Dale claps Glenn on the back as the young man excitedly shows off the vehicle they managed to jumpstart.

Deciding to give them all some privacy, you turn to walk back to your tent. Your smile quickly fades as you spot Carl’s saddened expression. His misty eyes scan the crowd, looking for someone who will never return. Your heart breaks as you watch Lori kneel beside him and pull the small boy into a comforting hug. Still, Carl’s gaze doesn’t falter. You lower your head as tears well up in your eyes. You understand.

Shane had told you about what happened at the hospital the first night at camp. You remember sitting beside him in your small tent, your heart breaking as you watch one of the strongest men you’ve ever met crumple due to the loss of his best friend. Setting aside the grief sitting heavy inside of your chest, you spent that whole night comforting Shane until he finally fell asleep. It was only then that you buried silent sobs into your pillow and prayed for the impossible — for your found family to be whole again. 

It isn’t until Morales speaks to the group that you finally look up. Your brow furrows as he explains that a new guy helped them out of the city, so they decided to bring him back with them. It’s been a long time since anyone new joined the quarry camp — Daryl and Merle were technically the newest members, but you’ve all been together for weeks now.

“Hey, helicopter boy! Come say hello.”

Shane plants his hands on his hips looking toward the SUV expectantly as Morales explains that he’s also a police officer. Finally, you see the new guy, and you can’t believe your eyes. Standing before you is Rick Grimes dressed in his signature sheriff’s uniform and cowboy hat. Rick’s eyes meet Shane’s first, and the two stand in silent astonishment until they hear Carl’s small voice.

“Dad?”

Rick’s eyes well up as he finally spots his boy at the back of the crowd.

“Oh, my God.”

Rick hesitates for a second, almost as if he can’t believe this isn’t real. But Carl sprints toward him, with Lori close behind. Tears stream down your face as Carl crashes into his father’s embrace. You look beside you, expecting to see Shane, but you meet Dale’s reassuring eyes instead. Your brow furrows in confusion, and you take a moment to find Shane in the commotion. Surely, he’s as choked up as you — hell, his best friend just came back from the dead. 

But when you spot him leaning against the red sports car at the back of the crowd, watching his best friend tearfully reunite with his wife and son, he looks less like a man who just got his brother back and more like someone who just lost everything. 

You want to be elated at the scene unraveling before. After all, you’ve been dreaming of this moment every night since the world fell apart. But something feels wrong as you watch as Shane lock eyes with Lori over Rick’s shoulder. Lori looks at him apologetically, and Shane’s expression shifts into a mix of anger and disappointment. Confusion washes over your features as you watch the exchange until…

Oh. Oh.

Suddenly, everything makes sense. Every time you couldn’t find Shane in camp only for him to miraculously appear with Lori hours later. Every time you attempted to spend time with him only to be dismissed for something more important. Every time you waited up for him to return to your shared tent, only to fall asleep in a cold, empty cot. 

Taglist: 

Suddenly, everything makes sense — and you feel nothing but a stark hollowness settle into your bones. Because although your found family may be whole again, you’ve never felt more alone.

@minervadashwood

@hotgirlsshareaccounts

@dreamtofus

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@prettywhenibleed

@luvsvnlqt-things

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@krissophia

@mischiefnevermanaged89-blog

@kellie-ana-blog

@my-name-is-heartache

@the-valars-sapphire

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ keep it confidential ]❜

━━━ .°˖✧ requested by anonymous ˚₊ ⊹

ft. seok-woo x f! reader — train to busan

╰₊✧ you start an illicit affair with your boss for the sheer fun of it┊1.2k words

contains: some smut, boss/employee relationship, infidelity on seok-woo’s part, age gap (reader is mid 29s, seok-woo is late 30s), office sex, unprotected piv

➤ author's note: i need to rewatch this movie, it’s one of my favorites 

your boss is a notoriously difficult man to please. he runs a tight ship and frequently grills his employees for anything from a minor spelling mistake in a submitted report to showing up to work a mere minute too late. nothing ever gets past him, and it isn’t uncommon to hear your co-workers complaining about how insanely strict he is before going quiet as mice when they hear his footsteps nearby (it’s often joked that none of them have been so on edge since they moved out of their parents’ home).

regardless, your team’s performance is the best in the company thanks to his overbearing nature, but it often takes a toll on him. the man is obsessed with his work to an unhealthy degree, often being the first one there and the last one to leave without taking any breaks unless to eat or use the restroom. you remember how you would sometimes nag at him to relax a bit when you first joined, much to the horror of your co-workers at how the rookie dared to talk to their stubborn boss like that. they all expected him to tell you off as he did with them before, to tell you to mind your own business and focus on your responsibilities instead of his work habits as he would whenever they expressed their concern, but all he does is scoff and ignore you with a neutral expression.

they thought you were blessed with luck to be able to catch him in a good mood whenever you did that, or maybe he was trying to be a little nicer to you considering you were the newest on the team— something he never did for them, but perhaps he was turning over a new leaf. either way, they never thought it was anything more than what they saw on the surface. honestly though, why would they assume it was anything more? he’s never spared a second glance at any of the other young ladies who would practically throw themselves at him the first chance they got, not when he would actually express his blatant distaste for them and make them feel ashamed for even attempting to make a move on a married man.

the handsome, older, strait-laced office manager who was dedicated to his job and married with a family of his own, completely your type which was completely untouchable. at first, you didn’t think it was worth the time, effort, or emotional investment to chase after him when he seemed to be fully loyal to the current life he possessed. besides, you should be leaving behind your old ways and leaving him be in peace, going to look for someone else who is your age and available rather than setting yourself up for heartbreak. 

at least that was the case until one fateful night when you were finishing up some late-night assignments, the only other soul in the entire building an hour before midnight. as you were about to head for the elevator, you managed to overhear a rather loud argument over the phone between your boss and his wife, something about how he was never home anymore and something about how he was working to provide yet she was acting like he was out being irresponsible. he seemed to be restraining himself from throwing his device against the wall out of frustration, running his hand through his perfectly-gelled hair, ruining his put-together image, and letting out an annoyed groan that sounded foreign to his voice.

what kind of employee would you be if you didn’t enter the room to check up on your boss who was clearly in so much distress and in need of comfort? and even if it didn’t work out the way you intended, it’s still innocent enough for you to ask about him out of concern. you’re no better than the other girls who tried to capture his attention; you’re not trying to convince yourself or anyone else of that, but you’re willing to recognize that you’re certainly a lot luckier to be able to take advantage of this golden opportunity. 

all it took was a knock on the door and a gentle inquiry about his well-being. a similar scenario had unfolded a week ago during the work day, and his screaming could be heard from miles away. now, he seemed too tired to do so, and simply remained silent after rolling his chair around to face you. you had to bite back a smile when his eyes started to wander instead of listening to you, pretending not to notice them trailing up your fitted pencil skirt. men are so simple, especially in their lowest moments, you had to remember to act surprised when he approached you with a certain desperation as his lips crashed onto yours. 

you soon found yourself with your back pressed to his desk and your feet off the ground, the papers and pencils previously on the surface pushed off to be forgotten on the ground as he stripped you of your clothing. he’s a bit clumsy, as if he hasn’t done this in quite some time, but you didn’t mind in the least bit. you were impatient if anything, pulling at his belt to help him lower his pants until he was finally fucking you proper with your legs wrapped around his waist.

despite the fact that there was no one to hear either of you, not even god, you couldn’t help but to hold back your moans. he’s quiet, as expected, only letting out the occasional groan, but you didn’t expect him to say he wanted to hear more of you.

“please, don’t hide yourself— i’ve been thinking about this for too long…” 

of course, he has. just as he’s the most desired man in the office, you’re also one of the most desired women, thanks to your youth and usually cheerful attitude. it’s exactly why you knew the two of you would have good chemistry, maybe not in a relationship, but certainly in the bedroom.   he sounds ashamed of himself, yet at the same time, he didn’t seem to care at all. he’s far too gone now, a look of pure desire for you in his eyes clouded over with a crazed lust. the image of your stern boss falling apart by the seams over you in the most perfect way possible was now ingrained in your mind, and it was everything you ever dreamed of. 

“no one can ever know about what happened tonight,” he stated as he helped you back into your clothes. he’s hesitant, like he knows he shouldn’t get too close, but it was far too late for that.

“don’t worry,” you murmured, buttoning up his white dress shirt and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “do you think you’re the only one whose reputation would be ruined if this got out? keep it confidential, i get it, but if you need anything, just call me— you already know my number.”

you pretend not to notice the lipstick stain on his collar in your signature color as he leaves, unable to help the petty possessive need to leave a mark on a man who wasn’t yours. knowing that he’ll get into a fight with his wife when she notices it gives you a form of sick satisfaction, a consolation prize to temporarily appease you until he inevitably leaves her in a messy divorce case. you doubt he’ll be yours in the end, but at least you know you’ll be the one he goes to when he’s in need of comfort. 

request from anonymous:

seok woo x fem!reader, office sex? everything else is up to you babes xx

[moonstruckme]

Hey!! I’ve spent most of my day catching up on my reading goal for the year, on your blog. I love your writing!! I wanted to know if you could write something poly!marauders where the reader comes home from work early due to chronic pain (winter weather sucks sometimes), and the boys take care of them? Pls add your own spin however you see fit! Hope your day is going well! :)

And happy holidays!

Thanks so much lovely, you're too sweet <3

modern au

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

“Breathe, angel,” James reminds you, eyeing you worriedly as he sinks into downward dog. “Deep breaths.” 

“I’m breathing,” you sigh, following him down. The movement, the stress it puts on your legs and back, aches, but you feel better than you had when you’d come home. 

You weren’t expecting James to be here (he typically likes to get out of the house on his days off, too energetic and cabin-fever-prone to stay in) but he hasn’t let you have even a moment of peace since you’d come in the door, unannounced and several hours from the end of your workday. He’d first tried to get you to go on a walk, but the frigid weather outside is what had doomed you in the first place so he’d settled for pulling up a short, low-intensity yoga video on his laptop. 

A small part of you resents him for it, just a little. The smarter part of you is grateful. 

“Just a bit longer,” James says, likely sensing your growing discontent. “After this we can get you a warm bath. Or a massage, if you like.” 

You hum a weary thanks. Either of those sound great, but a nap would be spectacular. You want to evanesce. Sink into a sleep beyond pain. 

The serene voice on James’ laptop guides you into a cat-cow pose, but you’re only starting your first cat when you hear the click of the door opening. You turn to James in confusion. He won’t quite look at you. 

You recognize the loud clunking sound of Sirius kicking off his shoes a moment before he comes into view. 

“Ooh, yoga.” He’s smiling, but there’s a watchful quality to his gaze as he drapes himself across the sofa. “Mind an audience?” 

You shoot James an accusatory look. “Why’d you call him?” 

“Excuse me,” Sirius says, reclaiming your attention. “Do you not want me here?” 

You give up on the yoga, sitting on your mat. “I don’t want you to have to leave work,” you say quietly. 

Sirius tsks, sliding off the couch and moving closer to you. “I couldn’t have been productive while I was worried about you anyways. Figured I’d save my boss the money.” His smile slips, a tiny pucker appearing between his brows. “You alright for a hug?” 

You answer by opening your arms, and he gathers you up. He doesn’t squeeze the way he normally might, hands careful on your back, but it’s still nice. 

“How bad is it?” he asks, turning his face to mush the words lovingly into the side of your head. 

“Not bad,” you murmur. 

“I’d say it’s pretty bad,” James contends gently, “if you had to come home from work.” 

You turn your head to look at him, offering a sheepish shrug. “The yoga helped some.” 

James’ smile is lopsided, eyes flickering with relief behind his glasses. Sirius isn’t so easily convinced, loosening his grip on you so he can see your face. Despite how used to it you should be, it’s still an effort not to shrink under that gaze. You’re not sure what he’s looking for, if he finds it or he doesn’t, but a few moments later Sirius’ hands slide up to your face. He kisses the skin next to your nose lightly. 

“Let me make you some tea, sweet girl,” he says, standing. “You’ve had pain meds already, yeah?” 

You hum that you have, and James says after him, “Not the chamomile, it’ll just make her sleepy.” 

You try not to sulk as Sirius calls back, “I’m not new here, Potter.” 

James is trying to get you back into the yoga when the door opens a second time. If you hadn’t gotten there by process of elimination, the soft, considerate footfalls would have let you know who it was. 

“Oh, hi,” Remus says when he finds you and James already waiting for him. Pity softens his expression as his eyes fall on you. “How are you, dove? Is the yoga helping?”

“It was,” James grouses, though his little smile lets you both know he’s only teasing. He extends his arms out in front of him, beckoning with his hands. “Come here, give us a hug. She got to go first last time.” 

Remus doesn’t put up any argument. James stands as he comes forward, weaving one arm over Remus’ shoulders and the other under. 

“I am ailing,” you point out. When Remus angles his head on James’ shoulder to give you a concerned look, you add softly, “Not terribly, though.” 

Remus chuckles, pushing a spindly hand slowly up and down James’ spine. The other cups the back of his boyfriend’s head, sinking into his plush nap of curls. “I think you’ve worried him down to the bone,” he observes. 

There’s a noncommittal hum, followed by a muffled smacking sound as James kisses Remus’ shoulder. 

“Have you considered that I’m just soaking up all the hug I can get?” 

“Nefarious,” Remus murmurs lovingly. 

“I leave the room for two seconds, and of course a lovefest commences.” Sirius strides in with a steaming cup of tea. “It should be outlawed. I feel swindled and scorned.” 

“You got to go first,” James argues, but Remus extricates himself from his hold anyway, folding a leg under himself to sit on the couch. 

“Irrelevant.” Sirius sets your tea down on the coffee tables, using his free hand to wave James off. “Do either of you want tea?” 

“No thank you,” Remus says while James shakes his head. “You didn’t give her chamomile, did you? Because that will only—”

“No,” you all say, you rather mopily. 

You scoot towards the table and reach for your tea. Sirius settles into the couch, leaning his back against Remus’ side. 

“Alright,” James relents, shutting his laptop, “we can call it quits on the yoga. We were basically at the end of the video anyway.” His big hand lands on your shoulder, squeezing gently. “Want one of us to get a bath ready for you, lovie?” 

A whole new ache starts up, right in the center of your chest. You set your tea back on the coffee table, too hot to drink, and lean your head on James’ shoulder. Your throat clogs slightly. So, so sweet to you. A bath does sound nice, but you’re not sure you can commit to it. That’s at least a half hour between you and sleep. 

“Thank you,” you say, making sure he hears the sincerity in the words, “but I think I just want to go to bed.” 

James’ sigh is so soft you think you’re not meant to hear it. “It’s a bit early for that yet,” he says, thumb swiping back and forth on your shoulder. “How about a massage?” 

“I’m tired,” you complain, and you try not to whine but a bit of it comes through anyway.  

“I know, love,” Remus says, leaning his elbows onto his knees so that his face is nearly level with yours, “but if you nap now you won’t be able to sleep tonight, and then you’ll be tired all over again tomorrow.” He reaches across the coffee table, the tips of his fingers brushing yours. “This is to help you, I promise.” 

You let your little sigh fan cool air over your tea, raising it again to your lips as you nod. 

“Go for the massage,” Sirius says. He raises his eyebrows at you, grinning like he’s letting you in on some sort of secret. “Trust me, babe. Jamie missed his calling with that one. Hands of an angel.”

You look over, and James is grinning so hugely you wonder if his ears pop. “Alright, fine.” He shrugs, feigning reluctance. “After I’m done with her, you can have next turn.”

[chameleon66]

For a moment it’s quiet

Word count: 1,594

Ship: HuskerDust (Husk x Angel Dust)

Summary: Angel wants cuddles from his boyfriend but it then leads to an interesting discovery.

THIS IS A TICKLE FANFICTION, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Author’s note: I just finished watching Hazbin hotel and Huskerdust is by far my favorite ship in the show so I felt I had to write something for them, I may check out Helluva Boss soon too so I may also write something for that as well depending on if I find anything interesting to write about in it. I think that’s all so happy reading!

“You know what time it is Husky?” Angel blurted out while swinging the door to his boyfriend’s bedroom open. “It is cuddle…Angel…o’clock.”

To put it simply, Angel was not expecting to see what he did when he opened the previously closed off bedroom door.

Husk was curled up on his bed in a nest of spare blankets, half empty bottles of alcohol and pillows, with one pillow tucked neatly underneath him while his arms were wrapped around it and his tail laid limp around his ankles. He wasn’t wearing his top hat or usual daytime clothes but a soft pair of two piece button up pajamas with white and black dice printed on that contrasted the dark red background of the pajamas.

Husk also didn’t seem too amused with Angel barging into his room without knocking but since it was Angel and he wouldn’t expect anything different out of him. Husk simply just sighed and replied with.

“Fine, I wish you luck in finding a spot to cuddle me, also stay away from my booze, also … Please don’t tell the others about this.”

Angel, still in a state of flustered gay shock from seeing the adorable display of his boyfriend, all sprawled out across his bed like a kitty cat. Slowly made his way over Husk’s bed and crawled onto it and over the lumps of blankets that were just barely visible in the dimness of Husk’s bedroom.

Angel never understood how Husk could live with never turning on the light switch in his room but according to Husk his vision was perfectly fine in low light environments.

Once Angel made his way over to Husk he wrapped all four of his arms around Husk, the upper pair around Husk’s neck and the lower pair circling around his waist.

And much to Angel’s surprise Husk let go of the pillow he was laying on and wrapped his arms around Angel’s shoulders in return with his resting a few inches in front of Angels as they laid parallel to each other on the bed.

Angel could feel his cheeks become pink at the close up view of his boyfriends face and he could see a tint of pink over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose but the implied emotions that the blush conveyed didn’t reach Husk’s half open yet completely awake eyes.

“You are so handsome Husky.” Angel stated aloud to Husk, which made the blush in his furry white face much more visible.

Angel smiled at his boyfriend’s reaction to being given a compliment and his smile only grew as he saw the pink tint reach up to Husk’s pointy tipped ears.

Having way too much love and affection to give to his boyfriend at that moment, Angel reached his upper right hand up to his boyfriend’s ear and began using the tips of his nails to scratch around the base of them.

The effect was instant, Husk’s muscles in Husk’s ear and the rest of his body went slack and Husk’s eyes went half lidded as a soft purr became audible in each of his exhales. Husk's head began to lean and nuzzle into Angel's hand silently pleading for the gentle scratches to not stop.

Angel had to hold back the squeal that tried to make its way up his throat and out past his lips, he didn’t want to ruin this moment of peaceful love between the two of them. So he quieted himself and kept scratching Husk’s head and ears, making sure to soak in the sound of his purring and the sight of Husk’s relaxed and spaced out facial expression.

This went on for a few minutes until Angel experimentally tried to rub the top part of Husk’s ear where the heart print and the red tip of his ear were but when he began rubbing the soft cartilage between his thumb and index finger Husk’s reaction suddenly changed.

Husk’s face morphed into a smile and made something that Angel could only describe as between a meow, squeal, and laugh in response to the touch that Husk would deny making for the rest of his life.

“OMG! Husky! That is the cutest noise ever!” Angel put the pieces together fast upon Husk’s response but he needed to see that reaction one more time to believe his theory.

“Hey! Knock it off Legs!” Husk commanded the spider sinner. Though the look in the spider’s two toned eyes told Husk exactly what he was thinking.

“Don’t even thiNK ahahahahahah! Nohohoho.” Husk’s words lost themselves as Angel’s fingers went back up to the colored parts of his ears and began to scratch and rub them.

Angel’s theory was confirmed. Husk’s ears were adorably ticklish.

Husk kept giggling while trying to get his hands free but Angel used his lower pair of arms to keep Husk’s arms pinned to his sides and keep Husk from moving away as well.

“Aww! Does that tickle darling?” Angel asked in his baby talk voice.

Husk’s face got redder at being teased but he somehow found it in him to nod his head to answer Angel’s question.

“Well all the better for me Babycakes. I just love to hear those giggles of yours.” Angel was having a lot of fun with this, after all it wasn’t everyday you got to see the grumpy yet observant bartender smiling and giggling while his ears were being tickled.

Husk would rather die a second death than admit it out loud but he was actually enjoying himself, but only a little. After all tickling is for children but Angel toying around with his ears was soothing in a way but was exhilarating in a different way.

Taking note of Husk’s ears flicking in his hand’s grasp, Angel moved his hands off his ears and brought his face closer to them. Then he took a deep breath and blew a puff of air onto Husk’s right ear.

Husk’s giggles went up an octave and his ear twitched aggressively at the contact of the cool air. Angel smirked wishing he had brought his phone to capture Husk being absolutely adorable but just seeing it in person was also great.

“You know, I’ve had clients with ‘sensitive’ ears before, but I’ve never had one with ticklish ears before. That must make you really special Husky.” Angel hummed his Husk’s ears, the vibrations of Angel’s voice causing a buzzing tickly sensation to spread throughout the canal of Husk’s ear.

As Angel kept blowing air onto Husk’s ears he couldn’t help but notice Husk actually seemed to be enjoying himself. Husk would definitely deny it if Angel asked him but he could see it in the way his tail swished back and forth with the tip thumping against Angel’s leg and his smile that was doing a poor job of hiding how genuine it was.

Though Angel decided to let Husk remain oblivious to Angel’s observation, If Husk wanted to tell him on his own terms, then Angel would accept that. At least for now.

After another minute Angel decided Husk had his fill and planted one kiss and the inner side of each of his ears, emitting one last shriek of a giggle out of Husk.

Angel Got back down face to face with Husk and watched as his boyfriend hazily giggled that last bits out of his system and met Angel’s eyes. Giving him the “You are lucky I love you otherwise I’d kill you for that” stare.

Of course Angel didn’t pay the look any mind. He did however want the soft and cuddly mood back so he reached up his hand and with two fingers scratched underneath Husk’s chin, right on the spot he knew to make any cat relax.

Once the sensation of Angel’s nails dragging back and forth under his chin clicked in his brain, Husk was reduced to a purring puddle.

His body instantly lost all of its tension from the tickling that happened earlier and out of pure feline instinct he pulled Angel closer to him and began to knead his paws over Angel’s stomach. Husk was never fond of cat-like instinct but being with Angel made him feel more comfortable with his sinner form because he knew Angel loved and respected him. That made Husk completely in love with Angel.

Angel let out a chuckle from the feeling of Husk pressing on his stomach but he couldn’t help but adore how cute Husk was being with him, he really should do this more often.

“That’s right Husky, just relax and let me take care of you. You take such good care of me, it’s only fair I do the same for you.” That part was an understatement to Angel. Husk always helps Angel with anything, making his favorite drinks for him, listening to him rant about his day and providing comfort on those tough nights after dealing with Val. Husk really does so much for him and everyone else in the Hotel. He really deserved more appreciation for everything he did for people.

That night was quiet in the hotel, at least to Angel and Husk. The noise of Nifty’s vacuum, the hum of Charlie and Lucifer talking as they walked down the hall, the subtle radiostatic that lingered in every corner of Husk’s mind, the phantom sensation ropes around Angel’s limbs had faded into the background as the two of them cuddled and for just a moment, everything seemed to be perfect and nothing was wrong.

[sleep-escapes-me]

didn't know they were dating

Imogen x Laudna

word count: 2569

a modern au told through the eyes of convenience store employee, Cynthia, and the observations she makes while working

read the full version on ao3

//

“Are you able to work independently in a fast-paced environment?”

“Yes, sir. At my previous job, my boss was impressed with how—,”

“You’re hired.”

The evening shift is Cynthia’s new home. She’s grateful for the opportunity at something different but more so for the money. Having hobbies is expensive and horses are expensive. So when your hobby is horses…well.

And school of course. Money for school.

“Welcome to Faramore’s!”

The cheery disposition is easy enough to muster. And once her manager stops randomly showing up during her shifts after the first week, Cynthia realizes the pep isn’t necessary. At least not with the crowd of customers she’s slowly getting used to.

It's a nice job for the pay. The shop she works at is located in a sleepy neighborhood on the city's outskirts so it rarely gets busy. Every night so far has been peaceful. Giving Cynthia plenty of time to finish any homework and people-watch.

She comes to recognize the regulars fairly quickly and learns all their names only because she’s nosy and the receipt is right there.

There's the blue-haired guy with the nice smile, Dorian, who more often than not has a guitar strapped to his back. He usually shows up with his boyfriend, seemingly always coming from a workout at the gym, Orym. His eyes are incredibly discerning if not a little unsettling. He stares at her like he knows all her secrets. But they’re always very polite and ask how she’s holding up in the late hour. Cynthia likes them.

Protein bar Lip balm Ready-to-bake pie crust $15.99

There's the incredibly tall gorgeous woman, Fearne, who always smells like a garden of wildflowers when she walks in. Cynthia’s been scared to ask what perfume she wears after an incident where she caught the woman attempting to steal. Maybe Cynthia is just naive but she thought being caught once would deter further attempts…but that strangely wasn’t the case. She's had to let it go altogether because she just gets so flustered. One playful wink from the woman has Cynthia forgetting all about the incident to the point that she makes an effort to make sure her manager never finds out about the missing stock.

Novelty monkey lighter Cinnamon gum 3 tubes of lipstick Pack of ribbons Costume jewelry Various postcards $0

Then there’s the punk-looking one with the spikey purple hair, Ashton, who always shows up exactly at 1 AM every other night. Cynthia was weary of him at first but then he gave her some really great unsolicited advice on how to not get swindled when negotiating with flaky people. After that night he started tipping her a single dollar and imparting arbitrary wisdom. Cynthia hasn’t yet figured out if it’s some kind of prank…

Two cases of beer Travel sewing kit Toothbrush $20.06

Probably the loudest customers are the two old men who have the strangest conversations every time they enter the store. Cynthia desperately wishes to get in on whatever strange schemes the hairier one, Chetney, seems to always be involved in. Half of them can’t be true but his imagination excites her regardless. The other one rides in on a bright yellow scooter half the time and always wishes Cynthia a smiley day without fail no matter the time of day. He never brings any money or pays for anything so Cynthia doesn’t know his name aside from the obvious nickname, Letters, that she hears thrown around by Chetney. The lack of money always starts an argument between the two old men that she has to awkwardly stand and listen to. She learns new curse words all the time from them.

Wood finisher Scented body oil $18.12 Chamomile tea Cigarettes $12.87

And her favorite; the girlfriends. Or at least that’s what Cynthia assumes they are. It’s hard to tell.

The spooky-looking one, Laudna, tries to make small talk while at the register. Cynthia isn’t shy by any means but it’s sometimes hard to keep up with the odd topics of conversation. Soon enough Cynthia’s learning about her pet rat who’s so old he should be dead and how he’s always jumping off high places attempting to fly. Cynthia nods politely and keeps her opinions to herself.

Mixed seeds Red yarn Super glue $15.26

The other woman Laudna is always with, Imogen, is a bit more demure—or maybe guarded is more apt. Her eyes never leave Laudna and seems content to listen to her prattle on as they shop. She rarely buys anything. It’s usually at the behest of Laudna reminding her of some arbitrary thought.

Pencils Hand lotion $11.07

//

Imogen comes in alone for the first time since Cynthia started working. There's a nervous titter of energy around her as she runs up and down each aisle like a bat out of hell. Cynthia debates if she should ask if she needs any help before Imogen rushes to the register.

“This all for you today?” Cynthia asks habitually.

Imogen nods with a quiet sigh. “Hopefully.”

Box cake mix Candles Black sprinkles Oven mitts $14.47

Once she’s left, Cynthia muses over how sweet their relationship must be for Imogen to want to bake a cake for her girlfriend. She herself is an abysmal baker so it makes her yearn for a relationship in the future that’s just as thoughtful. She imagines Laudna walking through their front door, the house smelling of freshly baked goods. Imogen walks out of a side room with the cake decorated, candles lit, and a big smile on her face…

She speaks too soon when Imogen comes back in a little over an hour in a visibly sour mood, black crumbs stuck to her shirt.

Box cake mix Frosting $3.69

Cynthia can’t help herself as Imogen sullenly reaches for her purchase. The words tumble out of her mouth. “Havin’ trouble?”

Imogen startles at the sudden question and Cynthia holds back a grimace. She awkwardly gestures to the items she just bagged.

“Using milk instead of water makes a better box cake. More fat is supposed to improve it or something. At least that’s what my mama always says.”

Imogen frowns and checks over her shoulder toward the fridge section. She looks back at Cynthia for a solid two-count and nods.

Milk Energy drink $4.25

Imogen smiles warmly at her, taking her groceries. “Thanks.”

Cynthia beams. “Of course. Hope it turns out well.”

Imogen doesn’t show up for the rest of the night.

//

Laudna shows up alone one day in a tizzy and Cynthia instantly recognizes something is wrong. It tests her resilience as an impartial convenience store employee to not get involved in customers' business…but Laudna’s frazzled appearance and her very loud speaking over the phone at least paints Cynthia a vague picture.

“Okay, darling, I’ve just arrived. I’m walking to the medicine aisle. Ooh, those snacks Pâté likes are on sale—right, sorry. I am in the medicine aisle. Which one is it?” She pauses. “There’s a yellow label and a blue label.” Another pause. “Are you sure? The yellow label says extra strength.” Pause. “Well, I don’t care if it’s extra money! This is your health! I’m not yelling! Oh, nope. I am. Sorry, sorry. Hold on. I’m grabbing the yellow label.”

Cynthia watches Laudna do that in two more aisles.

“Okay, darling, I’m heading to the register. I’m hanging up. I have to pay.” She frowns. “I'm telling you so you don’t worry.” She looks at the phone then at Cynthia. “She hung up.”

Cynthia bites the inside of her lip to keep from laughing. “Find everything okay?”

“Oh, I hope so.” Laudna’s shoulders droop. “I get so flustered in a crisis that sometimes I forget my own name. Isn’t that just silly? I’m lucky Imogen is always so collected.” She chuckles lightly while nervously pulling at the ends of her hair.

“It’s not silly when you’re worried about someone.”

“You’re so sweet.” Laudna's eyes crinkle with a smile. “You know, I see you working whenever I come in. No matter the time. Do you always work this shift?”

“For the time being, yes.”

“You’re so young,” she muses.

Cynthia hands over the bag to Laudna. “Well, I hope everything is all right with your girlfriend.”

Laudna’s face slowly drops as she processes Cynthia’s words. “Excuse me?”

She scrambles. “Nothing. Nevermind. Here’s your change. Have a good evening.”

Laudna stares at her for a long moment before reaching for her money. Then trails out of the store in a mumbling daze.

Scar cream Pain meds Bandage wrap $25.73

Cynthia resists the urge to run in the back room. Was she wrong? Were they even dating? Were they already married? She’s never seen a ring on Imogen. Or has she? Laudna…definitely had one, right? The shine of a sparkling red ruby ring enters her mind. Fiancé?

//

Imogen enters the store alone the next night but seems perfectly normal when interacting with Cynthia. She even tells her to have a good night as she leaves.

A bag of chips Two energy drinks $6.86

It isn't until Laudna is back again at the end of the week when the fruits of her fuck up unravel. She doesn't enter with Imogen. Instead with someone Cynthia is shocked to see such a sweet woman like Laudna in cahoots with. The thief!

Cynthia watches the pair peruse the aisles aimlessly until

“Fearne!” The yell comes from the back of the shop. Laudna’s arms can be seen flailing over the tops of the shelves. Cynthia strains to listen.

“It’s all right,” Fearne says. “She doesn’t mind.”

Laudna stutters. “You still shouldn’t steal from such a sweet girl. That could be grounds for termination.”

Fearne hums. “She hasn’t been fired yet.”

Finally, the two of them make their way to the front. Fearne pivots toward the door with a familiar flirty wink before Laudna grabs her arm.

“Where are you going?” she admonishes. “We still have to pay.”

“Oh. Oops,” Fearne giggles. “Silly me. It just slipped my mind.”

Cynthia is mostly sure Fearne didn’t forget.

Laudna's eyes don’t quite look at Cynthia as they approach. Fearne seemingly takes notice and saunters up to the register.

“You must see Laudna here a lot, right?”

Cynthia feels her mouth go dry. She realizes she’s never heard Fearne’s voice this close because the other woman never comes to the register. It somehow even further adores her to the enigmatic woman. Cynthia slowly nods. “Sometimes.”

She leans across the counter. Her eyes twinkle with a mischievous sparkle. “So…are you the one who called Imogen her girlfriend?”

“Fearne! Okay!” She pushes her friend aside and drops a bill down on the counter in a fluster. “That's enough of that. I think we’re done here. Yes. Thank you so much, young lady! You have a lovely evening!”

Cynthia forgets to ring them up.

//

At this point, it’s been several weeks since seeing Imogen and Laudna enter the store together. Cynthia is so on edge thinking about the two women's situation that it’s starting to affect her sleep schedule.

The curiosity eats away at her until the next time Imogen walks in. The gentle ding from the door’s bell erupts like a blaring alarm for Cynthia. Her focus zeros in on the unsuspecting woman and tracks her around the store like a hawk. The next time she passes by the front, the word vomit hurls from Cynthia’s lips when it’s simply too much to hold back.

“Did you break up?” She blurts out instead of her usual script.

Imogen’s eyebrows furrow. “Huh?”

“Your girlfriend—uhh, or maybe fiancé?” She says it like a question and Imogen stares at her like she’s grown two heads. “Laud—the one woman you’re always here with. The spooky one?” Silence. She should really shut up. “Aren’t you together?”

The other woman goes deathly still. “No…”

Oh.

Cynthia feels the embarrassing red-hot heat flooding her cheeks. “Sorry. I thought you were. It was wrong of me to assume.”

A muscle in Imogen’s cheek tightens. Her mouth opens and closes several times before she asks, “Why would you think we were together?” Her voice is stony. “Did she say somethin’?”

“What?” She doesn’t sound accusatory or angry so Cynthia is confident she hasn’t completely insulted this woman. The word vomit continues. “No. It’s not that. I mean I did mention to her that you were her girlfriend and she never really denied it. I thought—I honestly didn’t think you were dating at first. But after a while it was hard to ignore when the two of you seemed so…” She trails off when noticing how pale Imogen has gotten.

“So?”

“In love?” Cynthia finishes lamely. Her cheeks burn with mortification.

She makes a noise somewhere between an acknowledgment and a whimper.

It’s all Cynthia gets before she turns and makes a beeline toward the back. She stands in front of the liquor aisle for an exorbitant amount of time. Cynthia has half a mind to ask if she’s all right but cowardice of saying the wrong thing again stops her. Finally, she makes a selection and Cynthia has to struggle to not cringe as she rings her up. No pleasantries are exchanged.

Box wine $8.99

She comes in the next day.

Cynthia wants to crawl into a hole.

Box wine Tissues Pain meds $14.68

And the next.

Cynthia considers quitting just to stave off the unparalleled embarrassment and shame coursing through her.

Two bottles of wine Decongestant Pint of ice cream Effervescent tablets $36.87

She never sees her again.

Mainly because Cynthia quits her job at Faramore's soon after. She’s accepted into an apprenticeship across town and can’t justify the commute anymore.

She doesn’t tell her regulars because that seems like a silly thing to do. It’s not like she talks to any of them or knows them beyond the stories she makes up in her head by their brief interactions. It’s strange when she realizes she will miss them. There’s a melancholic kind of insight she garners—missing someone you don’t really know.

Months later Cynthia finds herself in the neighborhood after an event takes her back across town. The curiosity hits her a bit too hard and soon enough she finds herself back at her old store. It’s like walking into a time capsule. She doesn’t feel any claim to the shop as it’s one of many and she’s gone to others in the franchise but it still feels strangely familiar as the bell dings when she enters.

The guy at the register is more apathetic than she cares to comment on. He rings up her items without so much as a greeting.

Gummy bears Bottle of water $4.33

On her way out, the door whooshes open and the bell dings softly. As if in slow motion, in walks Laudna, a big smile on her face, arm around a giggling Imogen’s shoulders, whose own arm is securely wrapped around Laudna’s waist. Laudna leans her head down to kiss the top of Imogen’s head. Then Imogen smoothly turns her face upward and they share a chaste kiss without breaking their stride. They don’t notice Cynthia walk past them.

Maybe Cynthia sheds a single tear later that night when she thinks about them or maybe it's just this very emotional movie she’s watching about a horse that defies all the odds in the end.

[sevs-corner]

Gary “Roach” Sanderson if he was in the CoD: MW Series (2019-2023)

LOOK-- I really like Roach (i watched the remastered mw2 2020 recently) and I wish he comes back later on in the current MW series. So for now (and my coping-ness) let’s imagine his dynamic with the gang! (These are all HCs with some in between dialogue and plot, and I'll be using some major plot points from the campaign. A lil' heads up, its been awhile since i've watched the gameplay so the timeline might be a bit confusing lol) Masterlist here ! And a previous HC of Roach here !

Roach gets recruited around the same time Gaz does, after the mission in London when Gaz’s team was trying to stop a cargo right in the middle of the city.

Roach is one of the many officers that gets called in for back-up

And then finds himself working in tandem with Gaz, covering each other’s backs as they try and secure the hostages

Price shows up as per usual and saves the two from under the rubble

Afterwards, with the two surprisingly not broken, they handle the aftermath and comes in the scene where Price recruits Gaz after he admits they had a great deal of info on the bust but was unable to act on it

Roach agrees, seeing the movements and reports that Gaz makes to their boss in the SAS, and feels mutual of how restricted they are right now

Seeing their conviction, Price gives a call to Kate and adds an additional person to the team-- Roach.

Then they all go on all sorts of missions together, Roach actually being the more grounded but chaotic of the three

So, lets say he adapts the shenanigans we do as players when we play as his POV in game

Randomly, he is picking up all sorts of guns from the ground, constantly swapping and taking too long to loot enemy bodies (that sometimes Gaz does it for him so they could move on quicker)

Price on the other hand just lets him does his thing-- until he rushes forward like a maniac and go guns blazing in the Embassy

But, he also gets scolded by plugging up comms from humming-singing, and--

what the fuck- PUT THE BANJO DOWN--

He's the type of person to be like that one guy who plays jazz music on his comms in a gun fight (yeah i made a gundam thunderbolt reference mhmm)

You'd think he'd go deaf but no, he takes peace in the chaos

Reveling and thriving in it actually, like he’s too used to the scene (he is but he would rather work in the moment then act in worry and in constant stress)

Roach was almost tempted to go with Alex and Farah for their cause but thinks about how he’s a much better fit with the 141 guys, and how he could see himself working in the squad long term

He eventually meets Johnny and Simon on the mission to get Hassan

Yet that goes to high and hell when he was a part of the A squad, barely clear of any wounds- luckily, nothing fatal

But the situation he found himself made him more energized with serotonin, easily making quick work of the combatants in his vicinity— doing his best to cover for his comrades who were still recovering

He knows Soap and Ghost would be here immediately but he tries to convince to focus on the mission, to let him handle it as he hunkers down for a moment to reload

They both deny, checking out first the crash site before checking out Hassan, and coming up empty

Until Roach finds the metal shipping carrier, calling over Soap, then Ghost and showing the find of that disdained American rocket

Soap, is obviously confused, and doesn't quite piece it together until Kate discusses it with him

As the others got busy with their personal mission

Of course, we're having Roach join the Ghost-Soap duo in Las Almas

Because of needing more man power in capturing Hassan of course

He hops into the mission somewhere in the middle, in the mission in getting Hassan with the assist of Graves and his shadows

Roach definitely hissed at this man on instinct and had to be held back by the armpit by Ghost

Even though he had a bad feeling swirling in his stomach, he kept it in and somehow ended up on the same squad as Graves going into the Oil Rig mission

Anddddddddddddddd you can guess how it went with him-- horribly

Personally, I can see how Graves to be this straight-laced guy when it comes to missions in a way that, if someone diverts from the mission or does something that may jeopardize it even a little-- he is going to flip

So that's what Roach exploited, the comms in his ears blowing up every time he goes for a risky kill or -instead of going for a stealth kill- he's going in guns blazing with a very, very exhausted Graves behind him

But the thing about Roach, no matter how reckless he is, he gets the job done

Graves wanted to oh so leave him in the Oil Rig before he and Soap exploded it, but sadly Ghost had told him and Alejandro to get the hell outta there before he could (such a damn shame)

But at least he gets to capture him in the streets of Las Almas

He got quite unlucky actually, about to meet Soap and Ghost but one wrong move got him captured

Ghost and Soap obviously becomes worried, and they're (with Rudy) are more determined than ever

And yep, this is the moment where Roach just sees red

Wreacking absolute havoc in his way with rage filling his veins

If there was anything that was going to tick Roach off, it would be his own allies hurting

Loyalty, whether in the military or not, is special

And if you use him and his allies for your own bitter ends and means?

Oh, you are in a world full of hurt

So much so, that you wished he spoke the merciful words, "pick and God and pray" by your death bed

He doesn't, not for Graves and definitely not for the man he called the General- Shepherd

He swears that Shepherd counted his lucky stars that night when they couldn't locate him after "getting rid of Graves and his lackeys for good"

But it doesn't end there- their job never does

This time, he accompanies Price and Soap into infiltrating the building for Hassan, leaving Overwatch to Ghost and the other team climbing the tower led by Gaz

He is back to, not even exploding the glass and breaking it, but pushing himself off the side of the building and cannon-balling straight through (with, suprise surprise, little to no injuries sustained)

He's a miracle ball of sunshine really

Soap then follows through and Price just... he could care less at the moment with Hassan (who is once again near their grasps)

Roach wanted to stay and help Price (who didn't get shot fatally but was still hurt from the blow) but his captain said to go

Thus, he went--

Doing his best to cover Soap as they finally steal the detonator from him but eventually run out of guns, and eventually--

Get

Shot.

Soap has to decide now- whether to save his comrade and friend or to stop the fucking missile from destroying the white house

Roach knew the cogs that was turning behind Soap's eyes, so he grabs his cheek and head butts him

Telling Soap to get his priority straight as he forces himself back up to distract Hassan

Soap tries to decode and hack the missile as soon as possible when the coast was clear

Luckily, he had just a couple of seconds to spare

Unluckily so, he saw Roach's pliant body in Hassan's hands- being dragged right in front of him

Soap is enraged, wrestling and trying to get the upperhand on armed Hassan

Luckily, Ghost always has his back-- shot on point, direct, and done in one click

With a heavy breath, he gives his thanks to Ghost before calling an evac- checking Roach's condition

Hands are cold to the touch but his artery pulse--

Faint!

By the time MW3 rolls around, Roach is up and at 'em!

Refreshed and recovered with the proper treatment and therapy

Some grazes to the nerves on his shoulder but its still all good and working--

"Ow!"

Yeah, he can't overexert it like before

Which makes the Tf 141 relieved...for now

A/N: Cont for the MW3 part soon! I just wanna freshen up with the plot on Makarov 'cause it was a bit confusing to follow so yeah lol

[pankowcrumbs]

Can I request a fluffy Joe Keery x fem! reader long oneshot where Joe’s parents are keeping their daughter while Joe and reader get a night to themselves celebrating their anniversary?

Just the two of us X Joe Keery

MasterList

Stranger Things and Cast Masterlist

The house was quiet.

Too quiet.

I stood in the middle of the living room, arms folded, staring at the silence like it might shatter. No giggles. No little footsteps running across the hardwood floor. No cries of “Mummy, where’s my giraffe?”

Just... peace.

I didn’t know what to do with peace anymore.

“Is this what freedom feels like?” I muttered to myself.

Behind me, Joe laughed. “Don’t say that too loud, my mum might start calling every five minutes.”

I turned to look at him, leaning against the doorframe, sleeves pushed up, curls a little messier than usual. He was holding two glasses of wine white for me, red for him. His eyes were soft, like they always were when he looked at me lately. Tired, maybe, but still full of that spark.

“Do you think she’s okay?” I asked, already reaching for my phone.

“Y/N,” he said gently, handing me my glass. “She’s fine. She’s probably already got both of them wrapped around her little finger. If anything, they’re in danger.”

I smiled, despite myself. “She did try to charge them five pretend dollars for a cup of imaginary tea the other day.”

“Exactly. Our daughter is a tiny mafia boss in bunny slippers.”

I laughed, taking a sip of wine, and finally felt myself start to relax.

Joe must have sensed it too, because he wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me in, pressing a kiss to the side of my head.

“Happy anniversary, baby,” he murmured.

“Happy anniversary,” I echoed, leaning into his warmth.

Five years married.

Two since we became parents.

Seven since he ruined my coffee order at that indie café in Chicago and smiled so charmingly I didn’t even complain.

Seven years, and somehow, he still looked at me like I was brand new.

“Right,” he said, stepping back. “I’ve got dinner coming. Your favourite. And no, I didn’t cookb ecause we both remember what happened last time I tried to make risotto.”

I smirked. “You turned it into soup.”

“It was avant-garde!” he argued, feigning offence.

“It was inedible, love.”

He gasped. “Betrayed. On our anniversary.”

I laughed again, the kind of deep, belly-laugh I hadn’t had in days. Maybe even weeks. Between school runs, teething, filming schedules, and the mounting pile of laundry that could probably qualify as a fire hazard, we hadn’t had a night like this in what felt like forever.

Just us.

No baby monitor. No cold dinners. No half-finished conversations interrupted by a nappy emergency.

Just... me and Joe.

And it felt good.

Dinner arrived not long after a ridiculous spread from that little Italian place I loved. Truffle pasta, courgette fritters, fresh focaccia. Joe even got them to throw in the tiramisu I always pretended not to like but inhaled the second he looked away.

We ate on the floor, because why not? The sofa was covered in blankets and juice stains, and the coffee table had Play-Doh crusted into one corner. The living room wasn’t glamorous, but it was ours.

He poured another glass for each of us, and I tucked my legs under me, watching him. His curls had gotten longer, curling over his ears. He was growing the beard again, too. I liked it. Not that I’d ever admit it out loud he already had a big enough head as it was.

“You’re staring,” he said, mouth full of pasta.

I grinned. “I’m allowed. You’re legally mine.”

“Oh, is that how it works?”

“Absolutely. I have the paperwork and everything.”

He chuckled, setting his fork down and leaning in. “Wanna know a secret?”

“Always.”

“This is the best night I’ve had in months.”

My heart did a little twist. “Yeah?”

He nodded, suddenly serious. “I love our life. I love being her dad. But I’ve missed this. Missed you.”

I swallowed thickly. “Me too.”

He took my hand, thumb brushing over my knuckles. “I don’t say it enough, but you’re doing such a good job. Being her mum. Being... everything.”

I blinked back the sudden sting in my eyes. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“I mean it, Y/N. You’re strong. Kind. Patient. You make her world feel safe. And mine too, if I’m being honest.”

I leaned forward, kissing him softly. “Thank you,” I whispered.

“For what?”

“For choosing me. Every day.”

He smiled, the kind that made his whole face light up. “Always.”

After dinner, we cleaned up well, he cleaned up while I “supervised” from the sofa with another glass of wine. The lights were low, candles flickering on the windowsill, and a playlist hummed quietly through the speakers.

It felt like the kind of night we used to have before nappies and night feeds.

He joined me on the sofa, arm draped lazily around my shoulder, and I curled into him, head resting on his chest.

We sat there for a while, just... breathing. No rush. No plans. No little voice calling “Mummyyyy!” from the other room.

Joe’s hand found mine again, fingers linking easily. Comfortably.

“You know,” he said softly, “if we’d had tonight five years ago, I probably would’ve planned something big.”

“Like what?”

“Rooftop dinner. Fireworks. Maybe even a band.”

I looked up at him. “And now?”

He smiled down at me. “Now? All I need is this. You. Me. Maybe a slice of cake. Definitely a bath later.”

“You planning on sharing that bath?”

He raised an eyebrow. “That a proposition, Mrs Keery?”

I rolled my eyes, laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

I did.

God, I really did.

Later, we sat on the floor again, facing each other, knees touching, and started looking through old photos on my phone. From our wedding. Our honeymoon. Baby scans. Her first birthday party.

“I forgot how small she was,” I said, voice catching as I swiped to a picture of Joe cradling her in the hospital, his eyes wide with wonder.

“She still fits in my arms like that,” he said. “Just... a bit squirmier.”

I smiled, brushing my thumb over the screen. “She’s going to grow up so fast.”

“Don’t,” Joe said quickly. “I’m in denial.”

“She’ll go to school soon. Then university. Then she’ll move out and forget about us entirely.”

He gasped. “Rude.”

I laughed. “We’ll be those empty nesters that start a dog-walking business just to feel needed.”

“Or we’ll get a yacht and retire to the coast.”

“A yacht?”

“Okay, maybe a dinghy.”

I snorted. “That’s more like it.”

He leaned in and kissed me, slow and sure, hand cupping the back of my neck. I kissed him back, sinking into the familiar rhythm of it. The taste of wine. The smell of his cologne. The quiet thrum of the house around us.

When we pulled apart, he rested his forehead against mine.

“You’re still my favourite person,” he murmured.

“Even when I fall asleep halfway through films?”

“Especially then. It means I get to finish the popcorn.”

“Even when I snore?”

“You do not snore.”

“I absolutely do.”

“Well then, yes. Even when you snore.”

I smiled. “You’re mine too, you know. My favourite.”

His eyes softened. “Good.”

By midnight, we were tucked in bed, limbs tangled beneath the sheets. He was warm against my back, his arm around my waist, breath steady against the nape of my neck.

For once, there were no baby monitors crackling in the dark. No early alarms. No tiny fists punching us in the ribs.

Just us.

Just this.

I reached for his hand under the covers, lacing our fingers together again.

He hummed sleepily. “Still awake?”

“Yeah. Just... happy.”

He kissed my shoulder. “Me too.”

We fell asleep like that together. Safe. Content.

And even though the house was quiet, it didn’t feel empty.

It felt full of love.

[cogentsummoner]

M. For all might

M. When it rains/snows/storms.

warnings: this fic is unfinished!

You were having a bad day.

It'd been a long, exhausting day, made only worse by the downpour outside. You just needed to print out a couple dozen things, and then you could go home. To your quiet, lonely, cheap apartment.

You'd had the brilliant idea of using the printer on the top floor, knowing that no one would be on that floor today. It was totally abandoned, and you could just... enjoy the quiet.

Your Quirk, Echolocation, gave you an incredibly heightened sense of hearing, alongside big bat ears. If you focused, you could hear someone's heartbeat from several rooms away. So it was nice to retreat from the constant hustle and bustle of the floor you usually worked on.

You scuttled out of the top floor's printer room, and were heading back to the elevator when it happened; the landing bay door opened, and you were suddenly, completely drenched, head to toe, in rainwater that'd built up on the roof.

It'd been a bad day. A very bad day. That just got so much worse.

You started crying.

Loud, ugly, runny nose sobbing as you looked down at the thick stack of papers that were now completely destroyed and useless, and you'd have to print them out all over again, and you were so tired, you just wanted to go home-

"I'm so sorry!" the Symbol of Peace said, when he landed and saw your sorry state, and the waterlogged papers now spread out on the floor. "I didn't think anyone would be up here, given the time of day and weather..."

"I just wanted to use the printer!" you wailed, taking deep heaving gulps of breath between each word. You realized you were making a fool of yourself, that this would probably get back to your boss, that you'd be in trouble somehow. That's just the kind of day it had been.

Then, something unexpected happened- a pair of strong, warm- if rain soaked- arms wrapped you in a tender hug.

People could say what they liked about All Might, but no one could deny that he gave amazing hugs.

You relaxed, bit by bit, as you began to calm down in his arms. Your sobs petered out, leaving you exhausted, soaked to the bone, and still needing to print out all those papers before you could leave. You buried your face into All Might's shoulder just a little bit more, wishing you could stay in his arms, where nothing bad could happen.

But you were an adult- and more importantly, his employee- so tentatively, you let him go, and he did the same. You'd only actually been in the same room as All Might a handful of times, let alone spoken with him, let alone been hugged by him. You sniffled, and tried to wipe your runny nose on your wet sleeve- predictably, it didn't do anything to help.

"I... I'm sorry for that, sir, I just-" you started, voice small, not making eye contact. Now, outside of the protective halo of his arms, your embarrassment was eating you alive.

"No, no- it was all my fault, I'm the one who should be apologizing!" All Might said, waving your apology off. "I'm sorry for not signalling ahead- for getting you and your papers drenched."

You shook your head. "No, it's... you were right, it's late, and I should've known better to come here with the weather," you said with a defeated sigh. "I'll... clean these up, print them out again... then I can finally go home."

(All Might would never admit it, but in that moment, you seemed so small and sad and… frankly, pitiable that there was little he wouldn't do to see you smile again. He knew you had a nice smile- he'd seen it as Yagi.)

"Nonsense!" All Might laughed, hands on his hips. "It was my blunder that led to this mess, so I shall clean it up! Including explaining things to your manager tomorrow!"

It took a moment for it to click what he meant, and you let out a little gasp when it did.

"You will?" you asked, to which he nodded. In your exhausted state, it was almost too much to handle; grateful tears welled up in your already red, puffy eyes. "That's really sweet of you- thank you."

"Of course!" All Might said cheerfully. Then, noticing how you were shivering, he seemed to consider something. He let out the tiniest sigh- so quiet that an ordinary person would never be able to hear it- and said, "Why don't you come with me, and we can see about getting you in some dry clothes?"

It was All Might. The All Might. What were you supposed to do, not trust him unquestioningly? You followed him, though your brain did kick in when the Might Gate began to slide open.

"Oh, I…I don't think I have the clearance to be back here," you said dumbly.

All Might laughed and assured you, "You're with me! It's more than alright."

He led you through a fancy office, and you couldn't help but notice how… clean it looked, to the point of looking like something out of a magazine more than anywhere people actually worked.

The transition from office to apartment was abrupt, and left you more than a little surprised. It dawned on you slowly that All Might had brought you to his apartment, and you let out a little gasp.

The… cleanliness, the feeling of a place being not lived in- it still permeated that space, even as it was supposed to be All Might's home. The only signs of life and personality you could see were a huge shelf, full of DVDs, and… a big cluster of pill bottles on the kitchen island. When he caught where your gaze had gone, All Might rushed over to clean it up, shoving them all in a drawer, out of sight.

"Apologies! I don't often have guests here," he said, nervously. You could hear how his heartbeat sped up, and you gave him your approximation of a reassuring smile.

"That's okay. This is kind of like… your own Fortress of Solitude, then? The Apartment of Peace?" you attempted to joke.

Thankfully, All Might laughed, and his heartbeat returned to normal. "Something like that!" he said, putting the last of the pill bottles away.

As he walked back to you, you debated whether or not to say something - shifting your weight from one foot to the other, you made your decision.

"Sir, it's… you don't have to be embarrassed about taking medicine. I do too," you told him quietly, sincerely.

He seemed caught off guard, almost startled, by your words, and you almost regretted saying anything at all… but then, his smile seemed to relax into something more… heartfelt. Something touched.

"It… thank you," he said, voice quieter than you'd ever heard it. "I… I'd appreciate it if you didn't… mention it to anyone. It's not something I want the public to know."

"Of course, sir. My lips are sealed," you said, then made a zipping motion across your mouth, before locking it shut.

His smile turned into a goofy grin and he laughed, putting a hand on your shoulder. "Now, let's get you some dry clothes!"

Not two minutes later you were being (politely) shoved into the largest bathroom you've ever seen with a bundle of clean clothes in your arms.

You started to fill the bathtub (You weren't sure when a bath was added to the equation, but you wouldn't question it. That was quite possibly the biggest and most luxurious bathtub you'd ever seen, and after the day you'd had, you very much wanted to use it.) when your ear twitched. You heard an unfamiliar sound, like a sudden rush of air, followed by a sigh that sounded heavy and weary… and not quite like All Might.

You paused, but heard nothing else over the sound of running water- so you shrugged and put it out of mind.

Sinking into warm, bubbly water, you considered something else that had bothered you since All Might had unceremoniously derailed your night- his breathing.

It sounded strange. There was no way around it. And it didn't sound strange in a way that you recognized, either. You knew what it sounded like when someone with chest congestion, or asthma, or bronchitis or even lung cancer breathed in. The sound of All Might's breathing didn't match any of those.

But it did sound an awful lot like how it sounded when Mr. Yagi breathed in. Which was perhaps even stranger.

When you were around someone enough, you start to mirror their habits subconsciously - this was the excuse that Mr. Yagi gave when people pointed out how much he had in common with All Might. Which you supposed checked out… for everything except breathing.

You knew Mr. Yagi had some kind of issue with his lungs, though you weren't sure what- why on earth would All Might's breathing sound like his?

Meanwhile, Yagi Toshinori was trying to catch his breath. He'd already been running low on time in his muscle form, and being forced to stay in it around you was not helping the situation.

But he couldn't just leave you wet and miserable and alone.

He'd just have to deal with it, he reasoned as he carried the damp ball of fabric that was your clothes to his washer. It wouldn't take too long to wash and dry them, but it would certainly take long enough that few, if any, public transportation options would be available by the time they were done. And the thought of you walking home in this rain, after going to so much trouble to dry you off… he sighed. Truthfully, he'd already made up his mind to insist you stay in the guest bedroom.

He'd just have to lock his own bedroom door tonight, he supposed.

You were absolutely swimming in All Might's clothes.

The two of you should've expected that, really. The shorts he'd lent you went down to your ankles, and the shirt was much the same.

minific prompts / accepting

[a-court-of-lust-and-stardust]

Love on Ice Chapter 22: The Cupcakes and the Countertop

Sorry for being a bit inactive, but we are BACK!!!! Please read the previous chapter "The Confessions" that way you're all caught up :) And I hope you enjoy smut because uh...there's a little bit in this ;)

12 Days before Competition

The following morning, Elain hadn’t woken to warm bed sheets, arms slung around her waist, or even soft snores, much to her dismay. No, it was the sound of clattering in the kitchen that jolted her out of her otherwise peaceful slumber. 

She didn’t even attempt to pull on a pair of pants under her oversized shirt before darting out to the kitchen, hair as wild as her panicked eyes. Those eyes, after momentarily adjusting to the bright kitchen light, settled on her countertop, where baking supplies littered the marble. 

She blinked.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Azriel winced, holding up her pink mixing bowl. “I wanted to make sure everything was purchased and set out for when you were ready to start the cupcakes.” 

Elain blinked again. And then she scanned the counter. “You…got the ingredients for me?” 

A hand went to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. It was such an adoring sight, Azriel being nervous. She didn't think it happened often. “Well…yeah. You rattled them off last night and I went this morning to grab them because I didn’t want you to worry about it. Plus, you looked peaceful and I didn’t have it in my heart to wake you.” 

Elain’s heart thundered beneath her ribs. She stared and stared at him until her feet propelled her forward. In the back of her mind, she hoped Azriel wasn’t the kind of man to care about unbrushed teeth. She pressed her lips to his before he could protest. 

By the way he kissed her back, she realized he didn’t mind one bit. 

“Thank you,” Elain breathed, pecking his mouth once more. “You didn’t have to do that for me.” 

He shrugged, squeezing her hip. “I wanted to. And I want to help you make them, too. Unless you prefer to work on them by yourself, then I will gladly be silent and only speak when it’s time to taste test them.”

Elain grinned. He truly was serious when he’d said he wanted to support her hobbies. And the idea of bossing him around in the kitchen was enticing, too. She chuckled at the thought. 

Of course, Azriel was a fast learner, which didn’t shock Elain one bit. After she’d taken a few moments to brush her hair, teeth, and tie her apron around her waist, she rejoined him in the kitchen, unable to hold back a laugh when she noticed him struggling to secure one of the extra aprons around his midsection. 

He listened attentively when she explained the proper measurements and which appliances to use for each step. At one point, he had almost added too much vanilla extract when he wasn’t paying attention, enthralled by the way Elain’s face was glowing as she spoke about how she came to love baking, and how the process was never tedious for her. It was something she took pride in, something she was good at despite her Mama’s disapproval. Something beautiful and tasty came from such a mess, she’d said to him, beaming brightly. He’d kissed her sweetly on her brow.

As the cupcakes cooled, they flip-flopped between cleaning dishes and dirtying new ones with their breakfast assortment of omelets, sausage patties, and bowls of fruit. Azriel was sure to pull Elain into his lap, alternating between giving himself a bite and feeding her pieces of food. She’d protested at first, but giving into him was so easy when he flashed her a hard, expectant look. This was just the beginning of being taken care of. So she indulged him and every so often pressed sticky, fruity kisses on his mouth as he doted on her.

Now, dishes cleaned, stowed away, and aprons discarded, they stood at the counter and prepared to finish the final step. Small tubs of chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry icing sat next to the two dozen cooled cupcakes.  

Azriel tried, he really did, but he couldn’t quite ice the cupcakes as well as Elain could. So he opted to stand behind her, caging her against the counter, as she expertly spread the finishing touches onto the treats.

“I love this,” He whispered, chin resting against her shoulder. Content to simply observe. “Watching you do what you love. Seeing you so carefree and happy.” 

Elain smeared chocolate frosting onto a cooled cupcake, blushing when Azriel’s soft breath caressed her cheek. Instinctively, she leaned back against his chest. “This was my first love, even before skating,” Elain explained. “I never really had to practice. Baking came so naturally to me. It was a way to express my creativity, too, seeing what kinds of recipes I could replicate, or even perhaps make better. More unique.” 

“It seems like you excel at whatever you put your mind to,” Azriel acknowledged, dusting a kiss on her jaw. “My beautiful, talented woman.” 

Elain’s cheeks flamed. “You know…just because we’re together now doesn’t mean you have to compliment me everyday.”

Azriel huffed, nipping her skin. “That’s exactly what it means. And sweetheart, it’s not have to, it’s want to. If I don’t tell you how incredible you are at least twenty times a day, I’ll consider that a failure on my end.” And then he said a bit softer, hope dripping from his voice. “Is that what we are? Together?”

Caged in between his arms and the counter, Elain craned her head as best as she could to look at him. Brown eyes glittered as she affirmed, “Yes. Yes, we are.” 

“Officially?” 

Elain grinned, dipping her chin. 

“And I can kiss you anytime I want?” 

“You better.” 

“And I can take you out and bring you flowers and hold your hand in public?” 

“If you didn’t, I’d be disappointed.” Her laugh was full of unfiltered joy. 

And because he was a sucker for the way a pink blush crawled up her cheeks whenever he was a little bit filthy, he brushed his nose against her jaw and whispered, “And does this mean I can touch you and taste you and fuck you in all the ways I know you’re aching for?” 

Elain almost argued that he was the one aching, evident by the hard outline of his cock now pressing against her ass. And because he’d toyed with her a few times before and it was her turn to get him back, she pressed her backside further against him and murmured, “Only if you beg for it.”

To her utter delight, Azriel whimpered against her neck. “I’m not above pleading, baby. If that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll get.” 

Interesting …she tucked that tidbit of information away for later. 

But Elain found herself still wanting to…play with him. It was a new and exciting feeling, and as inexperienced as she was, she’d picked up some tips and tricks from her sisters over the years. Plus, Elain’s eyes may have wandered over certain passages in Nesta’s books a time or two. And, there were times she’d done her own…research. So she certainly wasn't clueless, not by any means. Even if up until this point she’d never been in a committed relationship, nor had any sexual encounters, she was somewhat confident that she knew what she was doing. But of course, she’d never turn down the opportunity to be guided, either. 

In one quick motion, Elain dipped her finger into the vanilla icing, spun in Azriel’s arms, and smeared it along the curve of his jaw. 

Azriel blinked, stunned, before his eyes darkened at the challenge in Elain’s face, the way her brow cocked as if to say I dare you. Two could play at this game, but only one would win. After all, he wasn’t the most competitive of his brothers for nothing. 

Faster than Elain could process, strawberry frosting coated her plump bottom lip. Her eyes narrowed at his victorious smirk. “What? Didn’t think I’d play along?” 

Oh no, she did. 

And he took the bait perfectly.

Snatching the tub of vanilla, Elain again dipped her finger into the sticky icing and dragged it along the side of his neck before marking the other side. “The opposite,” Elain breathed, relishing in the way his pulse fluttered beneath her fingertips. “I was hoping you would.” 

Azriel reached for the strawberry and chocolate tubs, balancing both in the palm of his hand. When his eyes fell upon his target, he smeared a thick line of chocolate across her throat. And then, for good measure, dipped his finger in the strawberry frosting and painted her pretty cheeks. 

Determined to stand her ground and not falter under the heat in Azriel’s gaze, she scooped a heap of rich vanilla onto two fingers and ran them across his forehead, cheeks, chin, and nose. Elain grinned triumphantly, only for her mouth to fall in shock as chocolate frosting was spread over her own forehead. And because he was a menace, Azriel dotted pink icing right on the tip of her nose. 

Standing in the kitchen with minimal space between them and sticky icing in places it shouldn’t be, Elain had never been so turned on in all her life. By the thick tent in Azriel’s sweatpants, she knew the feeling was mutual.

“Looks like we’ve run out of space,” Azriel rasped, eyes flicking between them. Elain swallowed as she watched him deftly pull his shirt over his head with one hand, letting it fall to the ground. Black ink swirled and twisted over his tan skin, and her mouth watered at the sight. He was big and glorious and hers.  

All shyness that she may have felt before today evaporated. She was so comfortable around him, and something about his effortless confidence made Elain want to be bold. 

Briefly setting aside the icing container, she reached for the hem of her oversized tee. She reveled in the way Azriel’s eyes widened, especially because he knew she was completely bare under the shirt. 

Lip pulled between her teeth, Elain peeled the shirt off her body, not watching as it fluttered to the floor. Her gaze remained locked on a pair of eyes that were once warm hazel, now completely swallowed black with desire. “Not anymore,” Elain assured, watching as he fought to remain respectful. A teasing lilt entered her voice as she permitted, “You can look, you know.”

Az didn’t need to be told twice. Dark eyes greedily drank in every inch of her skin, the places he’d dreamt about kissing and licking and touching. His gaze never stayed in one place because there were so many parts of her body that were teasing and tempting. 

Her smooth legs. 

The supple curve of an ass that was begging to be slapped. 

A soft stomach. 

Pink, perky nipples that ached for his mouth. 

A thatch of golden curls right above the place he desired to bury his tongue. 

This woman, his woman, was a vision of unparalleled beauty. A gift he might not have been worthy of receiving, but one he would cherish, protect, worship, and love until his dying breath. 

Azriel closed the gap between them, setting aside the containers of icing before diving for Elain’s frosting covered lips. Her mouth opened to let him in, to explore and take what was his, and if the only two things he could ever taste again were strawberries and Elain, Azriel would not be found complaining. 

“Look at you,” Az mumbled against her lips, tongue darting out to swipe at the last remnant of icing. “Undeniably the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen.” 

Warmth spread across Elain’s cheeks. She’d known she was at least pretty, but the way Azriel looked at her, spoke of her beauty, had made her believe she was truly exquisite. Both inside and out.

“That’s quite the compliment,” She breathed, craning her head to lick the frosting from his jaw, his cheeks. His knuckles whitened as they gripped the counter behind her. “I find you incredibly beautiful too, Az. I always have.” 

“Elain… ” Her name was rough through his teeth, thanks to the way her tongue was now gliding over his neck to collect the vanilla frosting. The little minx even bit down softly on his flesh. His cock twitched. “Sweetheart …”

“What do you want, Az?” Elain asked, tenderly dragging a hand through his dark waves. “Hm? Tell me.” 

“I want to touch you, or t-taste you. Fuck,” He groaned out, fingers flexing and unflexing in an attempt to control his need. “Somewhere, anywhere. But I want you to show me where.”

She could do that. 

She could definitely do that.

With a hand against his abdomen, Elain forced him back only a step before grabbing the frosting container once more. Chest constricting, Azriel watched as Elain gathered the pink icing on her finger. Without tearing her eyes from his smoldering gaze, Elain circled the frosting around both of her peaked nipples. 

Azriel swallowed thickly, and Elain could see the veins in his neck bulging as he awaited her consent. And when she gave it, a soft, buttery, “Touch me” , ringing through the air, Azriel lurched forward and lifted Elain onto the counter. Her initial squeal melted into a gentle moan as his palm came up to cup her breast, thumb flicking over her nipple and spreading the frosting further along her skin. 

“Az… ” 

He felt Elain’s shudder when his lips attached to her other nipple. He sucked and bit and licked at her breast while his hand massaged the other, tongue and fingers working in perfect tandem. Gentle whimpers fell from Elain’s mouth, and the hand that was cupping the back of his neck pushed him further into her chest.

“More,” She whined, begged even. It sounded so pretty. “I need more. S-something else, please.” 

“Show me, baby,” Azriel coaxed, tongue laving over the sweet frosting smeared across her breast. Elain yelped when his teeth tugged at her nipple, a bolt of pleasure shooting straight down to her core. “Show me where you need me.” 

In a swift motion, Elain scooped icing on her index finger, drawing an arrow down the center of her stomach, ending just before the golden hair between her thighs. 

“Here,” Elain pleaded, wrapping her hand around Azriel’s wrist, bringing his fingers that weren’t coated in icing toward her. “I want you to touch me here.” 

There was a brief moment where Azriel assumed he was dreaming. 

But not even a dream could conjure up the image before him. 

Elain, seated on the edge of the counter, body painted in streaks and swirls of sweet frosting. Wild brown eyes, a hot flush on her neck, legs open and inviting, and his palm cupping her most sensitive flesh. 

He could feel the heat emanating from her, could feel the desire pooling as he tauntingly dragged one finger up the center of her cunt. Elain’s hips jerked forward, hand darting out to clutch his bicep for support. 

“Easy, baby,” A roguish grin spread across Azriel’s face. Lazily, he repeated the same motion, circling her clit with the tip of his finger. His cock twitched as Elain’s head fell back, pushing her tits closer to his face. “That feels good, doesn’t it?”

Elain nodded, unable to string together a coherent sentence. Which was fine with Azriel, personally, because her moans were well and truly enough. 

“No one’s ever played with this sweet pussy before, have they?” He asked, although he already knew the answer. He was the first person to ever have the privilege of touching her cunt, and fuck, he’d do anything to make sure he was the last. 

“You like it like this? Slow and sweet?” Even with simple featherlight touches, her body was highly responsive. He wondered if she could give him more. The idea crossed his mind just as his finger applied more pressure. “Or do you like it a bit harder? Faster?” 

To Azriel’s delight, Elain began to grind against his finger. A groan rumbled through his chest at the way her clit rubbed against the rough ridges of his scarred skin. “Azriel– oh –please… ” 

“Or,” He mused, gripping her chin with his free hand. He wanted to watch her fall apart. “Perhaps you like this better?” Two of his fingers effortlessly sunk into her pussy, and god Azriel wished he could have bottled up the sound that had fallen past her lips.

“Fuck –so good,” Elain was panting, refusing to be embarrassed by the evident shlick, shlick, shlick sound everytime his fingers fucked into her. It only spurred her on, turning the movement of her hips that much more desperate for his touch. 

“Atta girl, Elain,” Azriel praised, keeping the same steady pace before flicking her clit with his thumb. “Ride my fingers, baby. Keep going–keep going– good girl.” 

“Az,” Elain’s whine shot straight to his cock, and he could feel himself leaking into his sweatpants like a fucking teenager, but goddamn her moans were music to his ears. “I think I–I’m–gonna–.” 

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” He finished for her, dusting a kiss across her lips as his fingers kept pumping into her warm cunt. She felt incredible on his fingers. He could only imagine how good her pussy would feel squeezing around his cock, sucking him in until he filled her completely. “I want you to let go, okay? It’ll feel so good, baby. I promise.” 

Eagerly bobbing her head, Elain continued to frantically move her hips as his thumb toyed with her clit. Her pussy clenched around his fingers, those beautifully scarred fingers that were just the right amount of rough. 

“Az, I’m cum–.” But Elain wasn’t provided the opportunity to finish her sentence. When Azriel’s teeth bit down on her neck, Elain’s orgasm rocked through her body hard enough that she was forced to grip his shoulder. His fingers pumped her through the shockwaves, thumb gently grazing her clit until she was pulling his hand off her body. 

A hand that was shiny and drenched in her arousal. 

“Fucking beautiful,” Azriel breathed, bringing his fingers to Elain’s lips. This was all new territory for her, he remembered. Was this too far? He hoped not, but he’d soon find out. With an encouraging nod of his head, Azriel suggested gruffly, “How about you taste yourself, baby? Tell me how sweet you are.” 

And Elain, his Elain, was very sweet indeed. In more ways than one.

She opened her mouth willingly, and Azriel slid two fingers against her tongue, watching intently as she gripped his wrist and licked her cum from his fingers. His cock throbbed at the sight.

The arousal dribbled from his hand onto hers, and Elain let out a soft “Your turn,” and presented her finger to his lips, brown eyes hazy. 

But Azriel shook his head even as every instinct screamed at him to wrap his lips around her finger. “That’s not how I want to taste you, sweetheart.” 

Elain frowned, hand dropping to the marble counter as she considered. 

But then her pulse quickened when Azriel sank to his knees, hands caressing either side of her legs before spreading them open. He outwardly groaned at the sight of arousal clinging to her cunt.

After tenderly kissing the skin of her inner thighs, Azriel gazed upward at the goddess before him. “I’m going to eat your pussy, Elain.” He pressed a kiss to her clit. “And you’re going to watch me.”

Dazed, head spinning, and cunt throbbing in anticipation, all Elain could do was wait for him to bury his face between her thighs.  

Azriel nipped her skin once, and then proclaimed self assuredly, “And you might want to hold onto something.” 

The first stroke of his tongue drew Elain’s hand to his hair, fingers twisting in the disheveled waves. “Oh!”  

A chuckle against her pussy had her stomach fluttering. With a hand gripping the counter and the other buried in Azriel’s hair, Elain could do nothing except watch the way his tongue lapped eagerly at her cunt. She moaned when he sent a wink her way.   

Fire spread beneath her skin as he feasted like a man starved of his most favorite delicacy. Jolts of pleasure shot through her body each time he sucked her clit between his lips. Elain’s thighs had a mind of their own, closing around Azriel’s head when it became too much to bear. And yet without missing a beat, he forced her legs wider apart at the same time he thrust his tongue into her pulsing hole. 

“Az …” 

“I’ll never get tired of hearing you moan my name,” Azriel confirmed, using only the tip of his tongue to flick her clit. Her fingers tugged harder at his hair, sending a shockwave straight down to his cock. “And I sure as shit will never get tired of this pretty pussy."

“Don’t stop,” Elain panted, rocking her hips against his face as best she could. If that was inappropriate, she didn’t care. Her focus was entirely on the warmth in her stomach, the tether ready to snap. “Please, please do not stop.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it baby,” Azriel groaned, tongue sliding between her pussy lips to collect every drop of arousal. He wanted her gasping for breath, completely fucking ravished. “I want you to come on my tongue. Can you do that for me, sweetheart? Can you be a good girl f’me?”

Elain whined, nodding eagerly just to show how good she could be for him. She’d do anything he fucking wanted as long as he continued to speak to her in that soft, breathy tone.

Azriel kissed her clit once, twice, before diving back in to fuck her with his tongue. Elain cried out, legs shaking involuntarily as she pushed his face as far into her cunt as she could. She rode his tongue feverishly, unoccupied hand slamming down into a container of icing when Azriel’s teeth gently scraped her clit. 

“So good, so good, so good ….”

“That’s it, Elain,” Azriel praised, savoring the taste of her on his tongue. He’d lick her cunt every single day if that’s what she wanted. “Use me. Ride my face. Take what’s yours.” 

For the second time that morning, she came with a long, drawn out moan of his name. The sound seemed to wrap around his cock and tug, because before he could try and stop it, Azriel was spurting into his pants.

Above him, Elain’s chest heaved, and fuck if he didn’t want to wrap his lips around those perfect, rosy nipples one more time just to prolong her pleasure. On slightly cramped legs, Azriel stood, bending his neck to press two gentle kisses on her tits before cradling her face in his hands. 

“You did so good, baby. Fuck, you’re perfect, Elain.” Azriel had half a mind to pinch himself. He couldn’t believe this was his life. Weeks ago, he never thought he’d have the chance to even be Elain’s friend. Now, he was her companion. Her protector. Her lover. Her safe haven. Her partner. 

Elain swallowed, pressing her brow against Azriel’s cheek as her breathing slowed. “That was…I’ve never…” It took her a moment to unscramble her thoughts. Her airy chuckle ghosted over his skin. “Is it always that good?” 

Azriel tipped his head back and laughed warmly, unable to contain himself as he smattered kisses over her face, licking off clumps of icing along the way. By the shell of her ear, he whispered, “It is. And just wait until I fuck you.” 

Lust clouded Elain’s eyes as she trailed a hand up Azriel’s neck, wrapping her fingers around the nape. “And…when will that be?” 

“Whenever you’re ready, El.” Azriel promised, stroking a finger over the apple of her cheek. “I don’t want to rush anything. Not with you. You’re the most important thing in my life, and I’ll be damned if I fuck it up. We go at your pace, okay?” 

“What if I’m ready now?” Elain wondered, unoccupied hand grazing the waistband of his sweats. Azriel’s hips jerked forward as when her fingernails trailed over the dark hair below his navel. “What if I want you to fuck me right now?” 

He groaned, head falling to her shoulder. “Baby, nothing would make me happier than taking you on this counter. But uh, I'm…momentarily out of commission.” 

Elain’s brows furrowed. “What? How?”

Cheeks reddened, Azriel took Elain’s palm and dusted it over the evident wet patch on the front of his pants. Her eyes glittered with recognition and humor. Fuck, did Elain even know she held all the power in the world to fucking ruin him? 

“Oh! Well, that’s okay.” Her grin was radiant, voice gently teasing, and Azriel had never seen anything so bright, so undeniably perfect. “Another time, then.” 

Azriel pulled her in for a kiss, breathing against her lips, “Another time, then.” 

ARTWORK BY @chachachai17: Here

DIVIDER BY: @saradika-graphics

[wordy-little-witch]

I am now hip deep in the Edge of Midnight campaign from legends of avantris and lemme tell you some shit -

1) I would lay down my life for Jericho Sticks without any hesitation. Torbek and Jericho are my sons now, no takesies backsies.

2) Lethica and Marius are so perfectly aligned to be end game lovers but I personally adore the idea of them being queerplatonic if only bc it's funny to watch people be confused and I think Lethica would adore that.

3) you can pry the concept of Briggsy having a some kind of magical fantasy cellphone equivalent from my cold dead hands - sending stone or smth idfk - and he's been keeping his buddy/boyfriend Torbek updated on all this like "Becky you would not BELIEVE what happened today-" ((listen I know the flirting bit between them in the yuletide one-shot was a feycurse but leave me alone it's funny as fuck))

4) briggsy @ jericho in ep 24 appropos nothing: Jerry, maybe we have to kiss ((sad, silly twinks with Literal Darksides are his type /j))

5) I have a friend-crush on Nikkie and I will never recover

6) I have an unyielding NEED to have Jericho get a final hit on a boss and yell yeehaw

7) I know stylistically Jericho doesn't have "skin" but I personally hc that his clothes aren't effectively his skin, he has a burlap body - and he has "tattoos" in the form of embroidery. It started when he had to stitch up his own cuts and stuff and he just kept it up.

8) Only Yorgrim has any constant sense of cooking in an actual kitchen-like setting. Farryn, Marius, and Briggsy can do journey or on-the-road cooking, but it's never.... great. Lethica burns everything somehow or gets the bright idea to 'experiment', and it's never good - she's fine if she's got clear end goals. Jericho is understandably skittish around fire due to his body and straw, but he is the closest to being able to cook well and do so semi regularly.

9) Virgil is a weird mix of a hater and lowkey overprotective. He does hate being imprisoned, but also he's kinda bound here so he HAS to keep this disaster of a bard safe. He refuses to admit he might have a soft spot. He is Stressed.

10) Farryn doesn't get the appeal of Girls Nights, but Jericho does!!! They join Lethica for some fun relaxation. Briggsy once asked why Jericho was allowed since he's also a dude, and Lethica just responded "he's allowed to be there - on account of him being a scarecrow and not a literal man after all." It's an inside joke which later has to be explained - Jericho is nonbinary but doesn't rightly care about stuff like that.

11) Yorgrim is the group dad, no I will not explain.

12) sometimes after a battle, Lethica and Marius will help stitch up some of Jericho's tears. Farryn may also add in random flowers she finds around because it makes him happy.

13) Briggsy is small but mighty. The only person he has yet to pick up and carry is Yorgrim - he swears that one day that tombstone will be gone and he'll be able to do it. It's all the rock's fault, he's sure of it.

Spoilers under the cut (caught up to present)

OKAY so I am caught up completely and have decided that Canon is not important leave me alone

• Yorgrim did not die - he got wounded heavily but survived.

• Farryn almost got taken but they got to her in time. She is mute for a time due to injuries and trauma - idk if she ever talks again bc we could use more sign language in the world. Maybe it comes and goes, fuck if I know, idk and idc

ONWARDS TO SILLIES

• Lethica strong armed her way into giving Jericho The Talk after he revealed he had no idea what a penis was. Scarecrows cannot blush, but apparently his fiendish glow can ebb and flow and he glows much MUCH brighter when he's embarrassed - she tries so hard not to laugh.

• Adella and Jericho btw are simply besties. His "crush" on her is a friend crush and Phillip just finds it painfully cute. ((Also -> Jericho has mommy issues and Adella always wanted a son/nephew/little brother. Peaceful alignment))

• Dark Mode Marius is a colossal flirt but still a giant dweeb. He's cool and suave until someone flirts back - then he's a mess.

• Briggsy is very happy with his Kannon & makes "shooting my shot" jokes at every and any opportunity

• Yorgrim, with his reward, manages to finally lay many souls tonrest but he still carries the tombstone on journeys - just not constantly now. He still believes he must pay penance, but it's a little easier to share the burden.

• Farryn, with her own reward, has not chosen to activate it yet. Something tells her to wait, to bide her time and remain. She does, however, get a little more at ease with the others. She and Jericho have come to an understanding, too - that being they they are a package deal, no takesies backsies, and they refer to each other as twin, much to the confusion of many, many, many people. WLW and NBLM solidarity.

• Jericho is pining HARD for Marius, but he's absolutely terrified of damaging the friendship so everyone is watching two oblivious dummies look longingly into each other.

• POLYAMORY POLYAMORY POLYAMORY

• Marius grows rather fond of Virgil, and the sentiment is very much NOT reciprocated bc this angry knight vampire is not good enough for his vessel and he's mad about it.

• Yorgrim: I've only had my friends for a few days, but if anything happened to them, I'd kill everyone in Druskenvald and then myself.

• I fully expect for Jericho to somehow befriend an enemy in disguise, not realize, and accidentally fuck up the evil plan with the powers of puns, music and friendship (/j)

• the first time the party sees Jericho presenting more feminine, he's been lended one of Lethica's dresses after his own clothes got torn up and the rest are being washed. Marius has a nosebleed and faints. Briggsy is staring somewhat respectfully. Lethica is trying valiantly not to laugh. Farryn and Yorgrim regret not dying when they had the chance.

• Marius: i cannot have a relationship because I have sworn to follow the duchess of sin

Lillith: whoa hold up, Do Not use me as an excuse to avoid the cutie pie over there. Besides, he has a demon. I'm queen of hell. I can make a small exception.

Marius: shit

• Briggsy Bi Icon: OH if ONLY Jerry here had a DASHING KNIGHT to SAVE THEM from this PERILOUS INCIDENT

Jericho: captain, I'm just getting off of a horse??

Marius: no no Briggsy has a point, no maiden should be unaccompanied or unassisted. Allow me-

Lethica&Farryn: We Know What You Are

• Yorgrim is watching all this inter party flirting and is definitely wondering if he's gonna have to have an aside with everyone about flirting tactics and communication skills. Briggsy is making it worse by enabling everyone.

• Farryn gets some sweet, succulent healing, that is all.

[vitaliabelliana]

Sept-ingo day 23: different universe with ingo and ingo and ingo and emmet hop the multiverse by @subway-boss-jericho

ok so, part of this post was made when my thumbs was still healing. i thought if my thumbs couldn't work, i still had my other fingers so i gonna try writing sth >:"))) but i'm like really ass though so :"))) tell me how i do :))) i wanna improve this skill of mine as well for future uses.

𖨠──··· At the train station ···──𖨠

no beta read :"))) it's a reunion fic :)))

This place was.... very familiar. It's circular in shape and crowds of people and trainers were rushing to and from the large arches surrounding this space. How Ingo know which person were trainers and which were not was beyond him. 

Chimes were going on and off every now and then with rumblings of something big going by in between each interval. all of which was behind the wall he was leaning on. Ingo stands to the side of this strange circular place, preferring to stick to the brick walls so that he won't get swept into the crowds of busy people. being in such a chaotic and strange space but he can't help but find himself at peace. 

He stood just a bit taller than he would usually and allowed himself back in Hisui. Peering through the crow, he tries to search for a girl in the similiar survey corp uniform and a white bandana on her head. Akari was the one that brought him here in the first place, but she ran toward the tall pillar in the middle to try and buy some tickets for them both.  No, not Akari. It's Dawn now.   

"I'll be back! don't go anywhere" and she was off before he could deliver his own message. but it has been a while since then so he was getting a bit anxious. Nothing had changed much in the last minutes or so and the anticipation was eating at him. maybe he should go look for her... but going off the established place would make it hard for her to find him if she was already going back- 

"Hello sir!" 

a booming voice shocked him out of his almost spiral. the source of which stood just an arm length from him. Someone that wears the same coat as his! but it was shinier and more well-kept. And his face bored resemblances of his own but.... if he was younger. Was he that old already?  

"May I help you?" 

"Most certainly! I'm Subway Boss Ingo" The man gestured to himself then to his side where another man who looks like his matching copy stood. "And this is my brother, Subway Boss Emmet! We were hoping-" 

to be honest, most of what this fellow said went over ingo's head because Emmet was all he cared about right now. It was him, the man in white! His hand reached out on its own but with closer inspection, ingo slowly noticed and he withdrew his hand.  

There were smaller inconsistencies, the strips on his coat were cyan when it was supposed to be brownish-red like his. And the emblem, one of the signifiers that helped him identify himself, was different also! Two arrows, one pointed up while the other pointed down. There were more, like his tie and his hair. It was all different! All... wrong? 

“You aren’t listening” Emmet stated. Though his smile didn’t change much, and his tone was even as ever, but somehow Ingo just knew this man was being cheeky with him, "too much on your head, perhaps?” 

“Ah yes” ingo blushed a bit “my deepest apologies, I thought you were someone else.” he nodded toward Subway Boss Ingo. To which he gave a short wave. 

“No worries, Sir! It hasn’t been the first time” the man gave him a small smile. Wait, what did he mean by not the first time? “But to summarize, we were wondering why you were standing here all by yourself and we wanted to ask if you would like some assistance.”  

“Thank you but there would be no need.” Ingo stood straight, mirroring the bosses’ posture,” I came here with my niece, you see and -” realization came to him like a freight train. His niece! He was about to go look for her when the duo interrupted him. 

“Apologies but I have to go!” Ingo pushed past the bosses and dashed for the pillar in the middle of the room. But he was pulled back before he could enter the crowd. He glared at the hand holding him, it was Emmet’s. “What do you think you are doing? Unhand me!” 

Ingo shooked his hand to break free of the man’s grasp but to no avail. “i must go get her. She could be lost herself!”  

“Nope.”  Instead, with a smile, Emmet pulled him back to them and closer to the wall. Letting his arm go, Ingo pulled his hand back. Emmet and his Ingo stood in front of him, blocking his way to the pillar. Subway Boss Ingo said “Please stay behind the yellow line! you’ll get lost if you join the line with that train. And about your niece, it’s Dawn, correct?” 

“h-how did you know?” the air must not be traveling to his head because did he just hear the man spoke her name?  

“Like we mentioned, it hasn’t been the first time.” The Subway Boss gave him a small smile, one that only he could make from his own frown. “Now, if you’ll please follow us, we’ll help you reach the ticket booth.” 

As promised, the bosses and him weaved through the crowd with no fanfare, though somehow the road to the booth was a long one. 

Along the way, they didn’t talk much but he did get to see more people that dressed like him. More Ingos and Emmets, some were traveling in pairs, some were with companions! Pokemons and humans alike (he noted that the black hair woman seemed to appear a lot), some were traveling alone, waiting like he was.  

All of which didn’t help reawake any memories for Ingo but among the sea of self, ingo didn’t felt that lonely in his lost and confusion. For once in a long time, the hope in him was reignited and maybe he would get to go home.  

The pace slowed and stopped all together. Being closer, the size of the pillar finally dawned on him. It was enormous, ingo couldn’t see the top floor eve when craning his head up all the way. At the front of the pillar were a grand arch and neat queues of people lining in front of it. 

“we are here!” Emmet said, “Now to find your niece.” he climbed on his brother back, placed his hand above his eyes and gleamed over the lines. His older brother, while bend over, let out a deep sigh. 

“UNCLE INGO!” 

All three men looked over to find the girl they were looking for running at them. She ran straight to Ingo, giving him a big hug. So big that it almost toppled him over. “i’m sorry for making you wait for so long” she said not lifting her head from his stomach. “i was lost”. 

“it quite alright Dawn” with one hand pulling her tight and the other patting her head, he hoped he had conveyed to her enough of his relief. “Everything is alright” 

“Oh! I almost forget!” Daw pushed herself off her uncle and stood up, pulling her uncle with her. “Look! Look!” 

Following Dawn’s pointed finger, Ingo thought he was looking into a mirror. A true reflection, another him, with same worn coat and hat, the same tired face and the matching goatee, looking at him with his hand crossed behind his back. The reflection nodded at him and by instinct, he mirrored the action. 

“Warden! So that’s where you have been!” the subway bosses came over to “Warden’s” side. He smiled at them; they conversed quietly among each other which was quite a feat because the whole place was noisy already. 

“i thought he was you so i was lost.” Dawn explained, she quickly added” But then i noticed that the button on his head was different! And then he led me back to you!” 

 “Then we must thank him, yeah?” with a nod from Dawn, the niece and uncle duo hold hand as they went over to the three men.  Ingo bowed deeply and Dawn copied him. “Thank you for leading miss Dawn back to my station.” he spoke. 

“Thank you, mister warden.” Dawn cheerily added. 

“no need to thank me for it’s a duty of the warden to lead the astray back on the path of safety.” the Warden deeply bowed in turn. This “warden”, was he like him also? He looked like him, but his demeanor was different, calmer and more content. He also wore the same emblem as the other two bosses as well. 

“you must be pondering over our similarities, am i correct?” the Warden said as he stroked his goatee, thinking up a way to explain this whole ordeal “i would be too if i was in your position.” 

”You and i and this fellow over there” he pointed at the subway boss “are all Ingos. unlike him though, you and i were both displaced, lost in the vast space and time, but unlike me, you are on your way back to your original station now and I am very happy for you.” the warden came over and patted him on the shoulder. 

“but what about you? With those two’s help, you should be on your way too, right?” 

“correct! But we haven’t found where that is yet” he retreated his hand “We are still searching for it but we also help conduct anyone we encounter on our way to find their way back!” 

“that’s right!” the subway bosses finally joined back into the conversation “after finding mister Warden and learning about his decoupling from his family, we had made it our new objective to help those in similar situation. And this station is one of the many points that the universes intersect with each other. A stop of many where we try to look out for a line leading back to mister Warden’s station.” 

“with that all settled, i think it is time for us to depart. “Emmet said while also gesturing toward Dawn who was hang off his side, looking bored out of her mind but she was being quiet out of polite.” let us get back to our track.” 

“Right. Again, thank you for conducting miss Dawn here back to me and we wish you luck on your journey.”  

“Of course! Now Emmet, is there anything you’d like to add?” the subway boss asked. His back facing his brother’s, ingo knew what he was about to do. 

"Follow the rules and drive safely! We're headed for victory! All aboard!" The subway boss in white strike the old so familiar pose, with his left arm straight and pointing at him while his right arm straight to his side and point down. 

“All aboard!”  subway boss ingo said their phrase in a voice full of excitement and mirrored his brother’s pose. They truly looked like a complete set, black and white, a two-car train. Looking at them, ingo got a glimpse of what home could be like. That, hopefully, when he finally reached his destination, returned to his rightful place, he would be able to do this with his brother as well.   

Dawn tugged at him to do the pose with her also. Ingo smiled and so they did. “All aboard!” The duo returned their excitement in full. The trio of universes hoppers waved them goodbye as Dawn led them through the arch in front of ticket booth, to where they would be waiting for their train to go home. 

When they reached the platform, it was just in time, a train had just pulled in. They quickly went in and settled themselves. Dawn was knocked out practically the moment her head hit the cushion. Ingo repositioned her so her head was on his shoulder and his arm was securing her to his side. Slowly enough, ingo began to drift out too. 

In the final moments of his consciousness, he thought over the encounter he had had. To think that out there, there was a family waiting for him at home and that there were also people and versions of him and his family helping people finding their way back home. All of it gave him such a warm feeling in his heart. His chest tightened and he brought his unoccupied hand up to muffle his hiccups. Some tears were building up on the edge of his eyes and some were traveling down his cheeks already, leaving a trail of warm wetness. 

“Please wait for me...” ingo crooked, his closed-up throat made it hard to talk, let alone be quiet about it. But he needed to say it, in the hope that his words would travel through space and reach its intended recipients. “...I'm almost home.” 

And with that, his eyes closed, and he let himself be lured to sleep by the rumble of the train, the comfort of the cushion and the warmth of his niece at his side. 

...... 

............ 

.................. 

somewhere, in a small office, deep in Gear station, a man laid under a big pile of paper. surrounding him were more papers, diagrams, maps and large symbols. he rose up abruptly, making the papers flew ever where.

“ingo?” 

[swanimagines]

Hi, Can I get C41 with Jerome Valeska, thanks!

Prompt: C41. “Fuck you! Get out of my house!”

EFFORT

Living in Gotham had never been easy, and some of your friends wondered why you would stay there despite all the crime, corruption, and being in some level of danger every day. You knew it might have sounded crazy, and it probably was — but you still thought of Gotham as your home, as flawed as it was.

This particular night had been a long day at work, and your boss had set you free two hours past your regular work time. He had done that a lot lately, whipping his workers to the edge, threatening to fire you if you dared to complain. So when you got home and kicked your shoes off and hung your coat into the closet, you felt at peace for the first time for hours.

You went straight to the kitchen and opened the fridge and took out the lemonade jug you had had sitting there for a few days now, sniffing it before shrugging - good enough. You poured it into the glass, adding some ice before chucking the lemonade down your dry throat. You let out a breath after swallowing, and watched the lights sprawling through your home street.

“Rough day, doll?” a voice drawled from the darkness of your living room, and you spun around, throwing the glass before even looking at the intruder — you knew exactly who it was. That fiery-haired boy had been following you for weeks, enough for you to see nightmares with his voice. You’d recognise it from anywhere.

And sure enough, it was him. He dodged the glass easily as it hurled into the wall behind him. He lounged on your couch, clearly anticipating you throwing something but he laughed anyway. “Woah, you have an odd way to greet your guests.”

“Jerome,” you growled, lifting the lemonade jug for protection. “What are you doing here?”

He stood up, smoothing out his jacket. “I saw your boss shouting at you today. Not very nice of him. I’m planning to give him a talk later, but I first wanted to check on you.”

“Fuck you! Get out of my house!” you shouted, waving the lemonade jug at him.

He pouted at you. “Am I really that unwelcome here? But I made all this effort to find you, to get into your apartment — I could get used to hanging out here occasionally, if you let me.”

You ignored it, turning to your bag for your phone, but Jerome reached you with a few quick strides, taking a hold of your wrist and pried the lemonade jug away from you, placing it on the counter. “Ah, ah, ah. Let’s not make this difficult. We could have so much fun, you wouldn’t want the police involved in our fun, would you?”

You tried to pull your wrist off his hold, but he just tightened his hold. You took a step closer to him. “Let me go, or I will make sure your balls will never again function.”

He tilted his head. “I just want to get to know you better.”

You tried to struggle yourself free as you seethed, “The feeling isn’t mutual.”

His smile disappeared for a moment. “That’s not very nice to say. I’ve been watching you for weeks. I know every little quirk and habit of yours. Doesn’t my effort mean anything to you?”

“You’re sick.”

His grip tightened again for a moment before he slowly let go, and you pulled your hand back as soon as his grip loosened enough, rubbing the red marks he left on you. He stepped back and sighed. “You know, you aren’t the first person to tell me that, and won’t be the last either.”

You took one more step further from him, your spine colliding with your kitchen counter. “What do you want from me? Why me?”

His grin returned immediately, trapping you in between himself and the counter. At that moment, you wished you would have been one of the people they experimented with in Arkham, that you could just… melt through the floor to escape, or something like that. He lifted his hand, caressing your cheek. “Isn’t it obvious? I want to study you. I want to learn what makes you tick. Why aren’t you like the others, others are boring but you… you’re like a puzzle. And I love puzzles.”

Your gaze jumped around the kitchen as you tried to make up a way to get past him. The kitchen knife was tucked away with your cutting board next to the sink, and your phone was still in your bag over your shoulder, but with Jerome so close that you could almost feel his breath… not a chance.

“S-stay away from me,” you stuttered out, grimacing internally at your attempt to sound brave. “I-I mean it, I’m, I’m going to get you locked up, I…”

He pouted again, cupping your chin. “Oh, doll. It’s cute how innocent you are sometimes, do you really think the police will find me? Or if they even bother looking properly just for you? Have you forgotten where you live?”

You swallowed, knowing he was right. The police wouldn’t have time to protect you like that, you weren’t important in any way.

“My friends will notice if I disappear,” you squeaked out, and he hummed.

“That’s the best part of it. The thrill of being chased. But don’t worry doll, I’m not here to take you away. Not tonight, anyway.” He took a step back again, and looked around. “But I see you’re in no mood of company today, so I'd better get going. Your boss waits for me anyway, that warehouse is cozy for me but for my guests, it’s… less cozy.”

He walked to the door, and you stared at him as he went. You finally found a piece of courage, and asked, “What are you going to do with him?”

He turned to you slightly, raising his eyebrows. “Your boss? Well, let’s just say… he may not come to work tomorrow. Or ever, depending on my mood. Don’t be too surprised if that happens, he needs to learn that my doll deserves some respect.”

Your heart jumped, and before you even had time to consider it, you took two steps towards him. “Jerome, I may lose my job if you kill him. And I can’t pay my rent, or bills, or food if that happens.”

He looked at you, and smirked. “Leave all that up to me. Just sit tight, all of your worries will be gone by tomorrow.”

Before you could reply, he was out, his steps echoing in your stairwell — and even when you knew it was wrong, you were unable to dash after him and plead with him to not kill your boss. You just stood there frozen and only went back inside when you heard the stairwell door close. You closed your door with a soft click and leaned against it, taking in deep breaths.

You knew you should call the police. Or even one of your friends. Tell someone. You knew it, but yet you just stood there like an idiot. A thought that filled your head, that you should just let him do it. It was true that your boss was being unfair, forcing you to work like slaves. Overtime without bonuses, knowing his workers wouldn’t be able to afford to get fired. And his superiors didn’t care about it. As long as money was pouring in, your boss was allowed to do whatever he wanted.

So maybe… this was a way out. Maybe you should just let Jerome do what he will to the boss. And it wasn’t like you knew which warehouse he was talking about, there were hundreds in Gotham. You could just pretend to be shocked when the news rang out about what happened.

You knew it was still wrong, and it may be that this was exactly what Jerome was after, but you couldn’t help it, the feeling of finding a way out.

So, you closed your eyes for a moment before you straightened up and made your way to the couch, moving it to clean the shattered glass from the floor — and you found yourself being intrigued about his next visit, even when you tried to shoo yourself from thinking about it.

---

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