#and then i fixed it and then it did it AGAIN

[sizzlingcloudmentality]

finite eternity

Professor Reed Richards x f!reader | wc: 1 k | ao3 | mdni, fluff

summary: after getting your phd you return to your former professor to thank him. he says some nice things and you get a "you're coming" guarantee. coming to dinner that is.

warnings: legal age gap (reader's mid/end 20, Reed is however deliciously middle aged), a little angsty, a few possible double entendres (or maybe not? you get to decide), a little pining, finger under the chin (twice), the poor attempt of science metaphors, and if you like: there's definitely some threesome things happening AFTER this fic

a/n: I need Reed Richards. and a smart man with grey hair at a blackboard? hell yeah. telling me he's proud of me? hell yeah. inviting me home to have dinner with him and his perfect wife? HELL YEAH. thanks to my perfect wife @guiltyasdave for the quick beta and the squealing<3

The big doors open silently and you slip into the lecture hall. The one you've spent so many hours in, learning, despairing, making friends. Falling in love even. You haven't been here for two years and everything has changed and everything is somehow still the same.

Quietly you take the steps down, careful to not startle Professor Richards who is writing on the blackboard. The quiet, smooth rasp of the chalk against the dark surface sounds so familiar that it gives you butterflies. Or maybe it’s him, still him.

A smile crosses your face when you read the formulas on the board, you know them well, you wrote your thesis about them. When you reach the first row and you pull down one of the seats a loud creak disturbs the peaceful and dignified aura of wisdom and science. Reed turns around, already a charming smile on his lips to shoo some eager students back out of the room.

“Sorry, lecture doesn’t start until…-” And his smile turns genuine, his eyes crinkle and his head tilts down so he can give you that one look from under his lashes. “You? What, did you forget to start your assignment on time again?”

Your own smile grows and the butterflies are still in the pit of your stomach. Maybe it was Reed all along. The old banter, it flares up so easily between the two of you like there hasn't been a two year break.

Your elbows propped up on the table in front of you, your chin resting on your folded hands, just like you spent half of the lectures in this hall. Nothing has changed.

“I can assure you, there are no due assignments anymore, Professor-”

“Reed, please,” he interrupts you and puts the chalk away. “You’re one of us now, please call me Reed.”

He wipes his fingers clean before walking over to you and sitting down on the fixed table next to you.

“You've heard about it?” You feel so proud in this moment, being one of them, one of the smart scientists, and it feels like you've worked your ass off just for this: the doctor title and the privilege to call your first mentor Reed.

“Of course I have. I’ve watched you. Your successes. Congratulations!” He holds out his hand, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and giving you free sight to his forearms. He is still so incredibly toned. You take his hand and when his warm palm swallows yours in a firm shake your breath hitches just the slightest bit. Nothing has changed.

“Thank you. For everything, Reed. Without your support I wouldn't have been able to-”

He shakes his head, interrupting you again. You're not even mad. “None of that. You did it all yourself, all the hard work. All the hours you stayed awake at night, working through papers… All I did was giving you a little nudge every now and then.”

You remember the little nudges. The encouraging notes you sometimes found. Or when he squeezed your arm, his thumb rubbing over your shirt. Your eyes flick from his smile to his eyes and then you take in his whole face. There's more grey in his hair now. A few more wrinkles. But the soft waves in his hair are still there. He still holds your hand, even has placed his other one on top.

You look at each other for a moment and the moment stretches into a small eternity that just belongs to you and him. He probably knows a formula to describe this phenomenon.

“I'm proud of you,” he says quietly and heat crawls up your neck when he squeezes your hand, his thumb caressing the skin over your knuckles.

“Thank you, Reed,” you whisper and feel shy all of a sudden.

Just as shy as that one evening, when he helped you with something, you can't even remember what it was. But you sat in his office, slumped over your notes, frustration gnawing at you like you gnawed at the end of your pencil. Until he was next to you and nudged your chin up to make you look at him.

He didn’t say anything at that moment, there was just silence and his finger under your chin and the scent of books and tea and his aftershave and his tongue running along his lips. Another of those finite eternities. “You’ll be doing great,” he said and made time start running again. Slowly running, like his thumb along your bottom lip. For just the fraction of a second. As if it had never happened…

“You look all grown up. Like the woman I always knew you were.” He squeezes your hand again and you blink. You are back again, in the lecture hall in which Professor Richards made you fall in love with science. Back in the front row, with Reed saying things you'll stash away for later.

“Come over for dinner. Sue loves getting to know my science spawns.” He leans closer, his smile morphing into a mischievous smirk. “Especially the pretty ones. Pretty smart ones.”

You hesitate, at loss for words with Reed being so close that his gravitational pull draws you closer. Your mouth opens and closes again when he tugs on your hands, making your orbit a little smaller.

“Just say yes. It will be grand. Now, that we're all adults. All grown up,” he whispers and his voice, sweet and rich, says so much more than the words mean. “I know you want to, I know that face…”

He tips your chin up with the simple touch of his finger and you can't hide your excitement anymore. You roll your eyes and scoff out a little chuckle.

“Fine. I’m coming.”

“Oh, I know you will!” He gets up again, the pad of his finger still under your chin. “Sue and I will make sure of it.”

Maybe some things have changed.

whoopsie, no smut in this. i still hope you like it, let me know <3

find my general masterlist here

divider: @/saradika-graphics

[gf2bellamy]

haircut — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: you're caught off guard by spencer's haircut content warnings: mention of stuffing yourself with ice cream and popcorn a/n: boyband spencer makes me feel things so i just had to write this

You pushed open the door to the conference room. The scent of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air, mixing with the faint scent of paper and ink from the stacks of case files spread across the table. 

Penelope Garcia was already seated. She looked up from her laptop the moment you entered, her eyes lighting up as she greeted you. 

"Good morning, sunshine!" she chirped, holding out a file for you. 

You smiled, the warmth of her energy making the early morning a little more bearable. “Good morning,” you replied, taking your seat beside her. “Thanks, Pen.” 

She gave you a playful wink. “Always here to deliver your daily dose of doom and gloom.” 

You chuckled, shaking your head as you leaned back in your chair, settling in. “How was your weekend?” you asked, genuinely curious. 

Penelope sighed dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. “Oh, my dear, it was divine—a full 48 hours of zero crime, binge-watching the most ridiculous reality shows, and eating a huge amount of popcorn. A true masterpiece of relaxation.What about you?” Penelope asked, her eyes fixed on her computer screen as she attempted to pull up the PowerPoint for the case briefing. 

You sighed, stretching slightly in your chair. “Same thing,” you admitted. “Spent the weekend on the couch, barely moving, while shoveling buckets of ice cream down like it was my full-time job.” 

Penelope gasped dramatically, turning to you with wide eyes. “You didn’t move? At all?” 

“Barely,” you confirmed, already missing the comfort of your couch. “Honestly, I think I might have become part of it.” 

She snorted, shaking her head as she finally got the PowerPoint to cooperate. “Respect,” she said, clicking through the slides. 

Before you could respond, the conference room door opened again, and the rest of the team started trickling in. Hotch took a seat next to you, as he opened his files, while JJ leaned toward Penelope, the two of them quickly falling into conversation.

You glanced around the table, scanning the usual faces—until you noticed an empty seat. 

Spencer’s seat. 

Your brows furrowed slightly. He was never late. If anything, he was usually one of the first to arrive, sitting quietly with his coffee, already halfway through the case materials before anyone else had even opened their files. 

When JJ and Penelope began presenting the case, you had no time to let your anxieties cloud your judgement regarding the empty seat. voices pulling you back into work mode.

That was until JJ suddenly smirked and said, “Well, hello.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed as you turned to her, confused by her reaction—until you followed her gaze. 

And then, your mouth fell open. 

Spencer had just walked in. 

But not the Spencer you had been expecting. 

He looked… different. 

Not in a bad way. Not even in a way you had the right words for. Just—different.

His normally tousled curls had been cut shorter, neater, styled in a way that framed his face and somehow made him look even more—God help you—attractive. It was a change you hadn’t been prepared for, and from the silence that briefly passed over the team, you weren’t the only one caught off guard. 

Spencer gave a small, almost shy smile at JJ’s reaction before heading to his seat. He settled down on the other side of Hotch, setting his bag on the table. 

Hotch barely looked up from his file as he raised an eyebrow and deadpanned, “What, did you join a boyband?” 

A small frown creased Spencer’s face. “No,” he replied, the petulant tone in his voice making a few people chuckle. 

Conversation quickly resumed, the team diving back into case details as though nothing had happened. But you? You were barely processing a single word. 

Your mind was too busy reeling. 

Your eyes kept drifting back to Spencer, betraying you as they traced over his new look. The sharpness of his jaw, the way his now-shorter curls curled just slightly at his temples, the way his freshly cut hair made his cheekbones stand out a little more. 

This was dangerous. Very dangerous. 

Because if you had thought Spencer Reid was cute before, you had no idea how you were going to survive this version of him sitting across the room from you every day. 

As expected, Hotch wrapped up the briefing with his usual stern voice. “Wheels up in thirty.” 

The room stirred with movement as everyone gathered their files and bags, preparing to head to the jet. You slung your bag over your shoulder, but not before sneaking a few more glances in Spencer’s direction. 

Unfortunately, you weren’t as subtle as you thought. 

At some point during the meeting, Derek had caught you staring—not once, not twice, but multiple times. And when your eyes met his across the table, he grinned knowingly, amusement flashing in his gaze. 

You had felt your face heat instantly and quickly looked away, pretending to be very focused on your files. 

Smooth. Real smooth. 

You got up, ready to make a quick exit before you could embarrass yourself further, but just as you turned toward the door, Spencer’s voice stopped you. 

“Hey—uh, is it okay if I ride with you?” 

It was such a simple question. A question he had asked before. Sometimes Spencer drove with Derek, other times he rode with you. It was normal. Casual. 

So why did it suddenly feel like the most dangerous thing in the world? 

You swallowed, gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter. Your usual response would have been an easy, effortless “Yes. Of course.” But today? Today, you could barely meet his eyes without feeling like your brain short-circuited. 

Because he looked that good. 

Still, you forced yourself to nod, offering a quick, “Sure.” 

You kept your gaze trained on the hallway as you stepped out of the room, hoping that if you avoided looking at him, your heart would stop hammering against your ribs. 

Unfortunately for you, Spencer had already fallen into step beside you. You stepped into the elevator together, the metallic doors sliding shut with a soft ding.

A silence settled between you, not entirely uncomfortable, but not the easy kind you were used to with Spencer either. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him tapping his shoe against the floor—a habit you’d picked up on over the years. Spencer only did that when he was nervous. 

That surprised you. 

He never did that around you. 

You and Spencer were close—so close that sometimes it felt like too close. Like the kind of close that made your heart race when he so much as looked at you a certain way. And today, with his new haircut and the way his suit fit just right, that feeling was overwhelming. 

Your eyes flickered to the floor, watching his shoe tap against the tile before glancing up at him. 

Big mistake. 

Because the moment you did, your heart flipped in your chest. He looked so good, and that single thought refused to leave your mind no matter how hard you tried to push it away. 

You quickly looked away, biting your lip, hoping he hadn’t noticed your staring. 

But of course, he did. 

“If it’s a bother,” Spencer suddenly spoke, his voice quiet as the elevator hummed downward. “I can drive with Derek to the airport instead.” 

Your stomach twisted at the suggestion. It wasn’t that you didn’t want him in the car with you—it was that you wanted it too much. And now he had clearly picked up on your avoidance, which only made your embarrassment ten times worse. 

“No, Spencer,” you said quickly, shaking your head as the elevator dinged again, signaling your arrival. “You’re not a bother at all.” 

You barely gave him time to respond before stepping out of the elevator, making a beeline for the parking garage. 

Spencer followed closely behind, and even though you weren’t looking at him, you could feel his gaze on you. 

You unlocked the car, and Spencer slid into the passenger seat beside you. Normally, by this point, the two of you would already be knee-deep in some random discussion—whether it was a case, a bizarre fact he recently read, or a debate about which movies held up over time. 

But right now? 

Silence. 

Not the comfortable kind. Not the kind that came from years of understanding each other so well that words weren’t always necessary. 

This was different. 

Spencer was quiet because he sensed something was off. He was a profiler, after all—he could read people better than anyone, and he had definitely picked up on your shift in behavior.

And you? You were silent because you feared that if you opened your mouth, you’d do something completely mortifying. Like stutter over your words. Or say something dumb. Or worse—blurt out the fact that you had spent the entire morning internally spiraling over how ridiculously good he looked today. 

Your fingers curled around the steering wheel, your gaze fixed ahead. 

Beside you, Spencer set his bag down at his feet, shifting slightly in his seat. You could feel the weight of his stare even without looking at him. 

“I’m sorry, Spencer,” you said suddenly, staring straight ahead. “I promise there’s nothing wrong. I guess I’m just… off today.” You exhaled, fingers tapping absently against the wheel. The last thing you wanted was for him to think he wasn’t welcome here. “And I am happy to drive us to the airport.” 

Spencer was quiet for a moment, but then, in a soft voice, he asked, “Do… do you want to talk about it?” 

You swallowed hard, pulling out of the parking lot. The road stretched ahead, but your mind was a tangled mess of thoughts, each one worse than the last. 

What were you supposed to say? 

Oh hey, Spencer, funny thing—I literally cannot look at you right now because you’re so insanely attractive that I might actually die on the spot? 

Yeah. Probably not the best thing to say to a coworker—and more importantly, to the friend you’d been secretly crushing on for longer than you cared to admit. 

So instead, you shook your head, offering the safest response you could manage. 

“No, it’s nothing.” 

You weren’t sure if he believed you. But for now, he didn’t push. 

The drive to the airport was short, but thankfully, Spencer had started talking about the case almost immediately. You were relieved—you could focus on the conversation instead of the way your heart kept stupidly skipping beats.

Plus, driving gave you an excuse to not meet his eyes. 

That was the problem, wasn’t it? His eyes. 

Warm and intelligent, always analyzing, always seeing you in ways that made you feel exposed. So, you kept your attention on the road, discussing victim profiles and behavioral patterns. 

Before you knew it, you were pulling into the airport lot. 

You parked carefully, turning off the engine as the conversation about the case trailed off. Both of you got out, grabbing your bags before heading toward the jet. 

It wasn’t until you were walking side by side—no distractions, no case details to focus on—that Spencer suddenly asked, “What do you think of…” He hesitated. “My haircut?” 

You froze for half a second, your grip tightening on the strap of your go-bag. 

Oh. 

Oh, no. 

You hadn’t been prepared for that. 

“Uhm—” You stuttered, caught completely off guard, your brain scrambling for a normal, casual response. 

You walked slower, suddenly hyperaware of his presence beside you. Spencer matched your steps, his hands tucked into his pockets as he glanced at you, waiting. 

Finally, you swallowed and forced yourself to speak. “It looks great,” you said softly. “I like it.” 

Spencer tilted his head slightly, watching you. “Yeah?” His lips curved into a small, pleased smile. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, willing yourself to keep it together. 

But then—because the universe apparently wanted you to suffer—your mouth betrayed you. 

“I mean, it makes you look…” You trailed off, but Spencer was still watching you, waiting for you to finish, and oh god, you were already in too deep. You cleared your throat. “Really handsome.” 

Spencer blinked. 

Your stomach dropped. 

You hadn’t meant to say that out loud. 

Heat immediately crept up your neck, and you snapped your gaze forward, walking faster in hopes of escaping your own embarrassment. But Spencer—being Spencer—was too damn observant for his own good. 

His eyes widened slightly, something clicking in his mind. His posture straightened, his brows lifting ever so slightly as realization dawned. 

“That’s why you’ve been avoiding my eyes.” 

It wasn’t a question. 

Your breath hitched. 

“No, no,” you said quickly, shaking your head as you picked up your pace, the jet now in sight. If you just got inside, if you just sat down and pretended this conversation never happened, maybe—maybe—you could salvage what was left of your dignity. 

But Spencer wasn’t letting it go that easily. 

“Wait—” He reached for your wrist, his touch light but enough to stop you in your tracks. 

You swallowed hard. 

Slowly, reluctantly, you turned to face him, keeping your eyes trained somewhere near his shoulder instead of his face. 

Spencer let out a soft breath, studying you. “So… I was right?” 

Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Your heart was pounding. 

“About you avoiding my eyes,” he clarified, his voice softer now, more careful. 

You exhaled sharply, forcing a nervous laugh as you rubbed the back of your neck. “I—no, I just—” You sighed, giving up mid-sentence. Lying to Spencer Reid was pointless. He could probably read you better than you could. 

His fingers twitched at his side, like he was debating whether or not to reach for you again. Instead, he tilted his head, his eyes flickering across your face, searching for something. “You think I look… handsome?” 

You groaned, shutting your eyes for a brief moment before opening them again. “Spencer, please.” 

But he wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t smug. He looked genuinely curious. 

And that—somehow—was worse. 

You sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. “Yes, okay? I think you look… really good.” You avoided his gaze, focusing on a spot over his shoulder. “Too good, actually, which is kind of annoying because it makes it really hard to—” You stopped yourself before you could say concentrate at work like a normal human being, realizing how that sounded. 

Spencer’s lips parted slightly, as if surprised by your admission. But then, slowly, his mouth curved into a small smile. 

Not a smirk, not teasing—just… soft. 

Warm. 

And something about that undid you a little. 

“I didn’t think you noticed things like that about me,” he admitted quietly. 

Your eyes snapped to his. 

Was he serious? 

You let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head. “Spencer, are you kidding? Of course I notice things like that about you.” 

His smile faltered just slightly, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing his face before he looked down, like he was processing that. 

The jet door opened in the distance, voices echoing faintly from inside, but neither of you moved. 

Then, after a long moment, Spencer glanced back up at you. 

“I think you look really good all the time,” he said simply. 

Your breath caught. 

Before you could respond, a voice called out from the jet—Derek, naturally. “You two coming or what?” 

You cleared your throat, tearing your gaze away from Spencer’s as you took a step toward the jet. “Yeah, coming!” you called back, trying to keep your voice steady. 

Spencer fell into step beside you, hands in his pockets, but his small smile remained. 

And as you both climbed the steps to the jet, you couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—this conversation wasn’t over yet. 

[1randomcomic]

A Reaver's Fate

⊰─────────────────────────────────⊱

Clang, creak. Clang, creak. Clang, creeeak. Clang!

The sound of the rusted iron door of my cell opening and closing with the howling wind woke me once more. Blearily, I rubbed my eyes open. The glow from the ever-burning torches faintly illuminated the cell that I’ve called home for—Gods, I don’t even know how long at this point. I sat up on the slab of stone that constituted for my bed, rubbing the remaining sleep from my eyes. I swung my legs around to the open side of the ‘bed’, raising my arms behind my head to stretch. 

Crack!

The familiar sound of my joints cracking brought a small smile to my face. If there’s anything that I’ve learned in my indefinite stay here, it’s to appreciate the small things. The scratchy pillow that the last guard to watch over my cell had given me from his own bedding; The fresh, albeit cold, air that swirled and howled throughout the halls; The—now filled—paper and empty quill another guard had gifted me after I mentioned how I used to make blueprints of weaponry for His Majesty’s army; Even the uncomfy but fitting clothes I’d been given so I wouldn’t freeze. 

A sigh escaped my lips, my cracked goggles fogging up in the chilly air of my cell. Cracking my neck, I got off my bed. Standing up fully, I did my morning stretches. Nightly stretches? Midday stretches? I wasn’t quite sure what time it was anymore. I used to be able to tell what time of day it was by who was guarding my cell. Jenford in the morn, Aylex during midday, and Merrin during the night. Or was it Merrin in the morn, Jenford during midday, and Aylex during the night? I don’t know anymore, it’s been so long since I’ve seen any of them—or anyone for that matter. 

I shook my head, clearing those confusing thoughts from my mind. After completing my stretches, I walked through my cell, inspecting everything. It was a ritual at this point. Go to the door and inspect the rust covering it. More seems to have covered the sliding mechanism where the guards used to slide my food through. I tried moving it slightly with my fingers, but it refused to budge. 

“Must be rusted shut.” I mused to no one in particular. 

After studying the door, I headed over to the wall with what I think is my most recent marking of the number of days I’ve been here. I grabbed the small pebble and added another vertical slash onto the wall, marking the new day.

Next, I head back to my ‘bed’ and fix my pillow, fluffing up so it’s slightly more comfortable during the night. The pillow was the only thing that separated me from the stone while sleeping. The scent of Reeves’ cologne had long since faded with time, though the memory of his kindness still clung to me like a child would to their blanky. 

“I, uh.” Reeves cleared his throat, trying to hide something from me behind his back. “I noticed that you, uh. You tend ta have bruises an’ cuts on your face afta’ sleepin’. So I, uh.” He looked away in embarrassment, his cheeks flushing red as the blood rushed to his face and screwing his eyes shut. He looked slightly like a tomato from the market stalls in King’s Square. 

“Takemypillow,it’lldoyousomegood.” He slurred while shoving a well-worn travel pillow towards me. I blinked for a few awkward seconds, unmoving as I stared at the pillow. He nervously opened one eye, both of us glued to our positions, unsure what to do. 

“Do—do you not want it?” He asked, his lip quivering like a wet dog in the cold. 

His question brought me out of my stupor. I blinked a few more times before responding. “I—I don't know what to say. Thank you, Reeves.” My voice was barely above a whisper and yet it felt like the loudest sound I had ever heard, louder than the bang and explosions of artillery in the cacophony of battle. 

I shook my head, chasing those far off memories away before I broke down again. 

“There’s no use in dwelling on the past, it just makes us weak and liable to ignore the future.” My old Master used to say. 

Master… Gods, I haven’t thought about him in years. Decades? I truly can’t tell how long I have been here for anymore. Still, I miss that sly old man and his strangely useful wisdom. I miss the way he used to braid my hair when it got too long and how he used to sneak confidential scrolls that were far too out of my league into my room to study. 

I chuckled sadly, sniffling as I felt tears prickle at the corner of my eyes. Ah, shit. I’m already breaking down again. I wiped my tears away with my sleeve, only to feel more coming. The tears rolled down my face as my chest heaved for a comforting presence that I knew I would never feel again for as long as I lived. For what felt like days I stood there, hovering over my ‘bed’, sobbing silently and longing for the warmth of the man who raised me. 

When I had finally come to my senses, my body ached. There was also a dull throb in my head that was particularly vexing. Wanting to retain some sense of normalcy, I dragged my uncooperative feet to the pile of paper covered in various diagrams I would draw in my youth. I attempted to sit down, only for my body to collapse in exhaustion. 

⊰─────────────────────────────────⊱

“This place gives me the creeps.” 

“Oh, quit being such a wimp, Gunar.” 

“I am not a wimp! You just clearly lack any self-preservation! If you hadn’t taken this stupid job, we could’ve been in Varmoss drinking right now!”

Davi scowled at the Lizard-folk, she’d had enough of his whining and moaning about their current job. “Shut up, Gunar! I don't ‘lack self-preservation’, you’re just a coward with a drinking problem. Besides, it’s just a clear-cut exploration mission. ‘Explore the ruins beyond the borders of the ancient kingdom of Hemonar. Find out what’s there and if there’s anything of value for Her Majesty’s Archives.’ It’s a simple job.” 

Gunar scoffed, “Yeah, and what are we going to do if we found any Reavers?”

Davi gave him a scathing glare. “I highly doubt that we’d run into any Reavers.” She barely managed to suppress the urge to shudder at the mention of those foul creatures. 

You could never trust a Reaver, no matter how harmless they try to convince you that they are. They brought about only pain and destruction. She had to learn that lesson the hard way. 

As the two continued exploring the ruins, they came across a hallway that led to a thick, rusted iron door that seemed to open ever so slightly and then slam shut in a consistent rhythm. The door had an openable slot that was likely used to feed whatever prisoner was stuck in there, but it appeared to be rusted shut. 

The two shared a look. Gunar shook his head, trembling slightly. Davi rolled her eyes and gestured to his Scimitar. He gulped nervously while unsheathing the weapon. Davi grabbed the handle of the door, which was curiously unlocked, and turned it to the right. The door shuddered and groaned as it opened, having clearly not been opened for centuries. 

⊰─────────────────────────────────⊱

Clank! Clank, click, clank! 

Footsteps? Who in the Reagent’s name is here? The sound of armoured footsteps grew louder, loud enough for me to discern that there were two sets of footsteps coming towards my cell. I sat still, praying that they’d turn around and come back another time, preferably when I wasn’t stuck reliving the bittersweet memories of my imprisonment at the hand of Ser Nightcolt’s forces. 

I waited with baited breath, staring at the door to my cell. For a few tense moments, the door remained closed. Despite the now silent halls, I could still feel my heart hammering in my chest. The sound of it was so deafening that I almost felt like I was back in The Forges. With the sweet sound of hammers hitting steel and fires roaring as I shoveled more coal into the furnaces. 

NO! Now’s not the time to be longing for the familiar ash and soot scented halls I owned. Get your head in the game, Duskroar! There are people outside your cell! They could be bandits that will force you to create all manner of terrible things for them! 

I shook my head, trying to clear my mind and refocus on the present. 

“Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Focus on the now. Leave your thoughts be, let them come and go, like a leaf in the wind. Breathe in, breathe out.” I could hear Master Drust’s voice walking me through the familiar breathing exercise from my childhood, almost as if his spirit was still here guiding me, even in death. 

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.

Don’t dwell on your intrusive thoughts, let them be and focus on your senses.

Five objects near me: The diagrams, my quill, the empty jar of ink, the clothes on my back, and my pillow. 

Four sounds I can hear: The howling wind, my chest heaving as I try to slow my breaths, the silence of my door..

Shit! My cell door is never quiet! I could feel my heartrate picking up tremendously, its drumming drowning out the sound of the cell door opening. 

As the door opened, I saw two figures rush inside. Both had their weapons drawn. One was a stout Dwarf that was carrying a battle axe of some sort, one clearly far less advanced than what my wife used to make in The Forges. The other was a trembling Lizard-kin holding a not very well taken care of Scimitar out towards me. His—her?—grip was shaky, as if they were going to drop it and flee at any moment. 

The dwarf’s face went pale, as if they’d seen a Ghoul. Their eyes were wide with fear, but they held their axe steady. “Cò thu? Dè tha thu a 'dèanamh an seo?” They shouted in, what was, a language similar to Dwarvish but clearly more than just a newer dialect. 

“Is mise Duskroar, cé tusa?” Gods, I really need to brush up on my Dwarvish.

The two looked at me in surprise, not expecting me to speak Dwarvish. The Dwarf narrowed their eyes at me. Their eyes were a piercing green, one that made it seem like they were looking into my soul, judging my very existence. They turned to the Lizard-kin, careful to keep me in their sights before speaking in a tongue I couldn’t recognise. The two conversed for a bit before the Dwarf turned back to me. 

“Hva vet du om dette stedet? Ah, shit. That’s not Common….” The Lizard-kin muttered. They cleared their throat before speaking again, “Ak-hem. What are you doing here? What can you tell us about this place?”

Common? Huh, it’s not quite how I remember it but I can work with it. 

“This is—or was—a fortress that Ser Nightcolt’s forces used to keep high profile prisoners.” The two seemed quite shocked, sharing a look of surprise. 

“So you are, er, were a prisoner here?” 

“Indeed. I got captured during the Battle of Mistband and transported here. I do hope my wife is okay, it’s been…” I started counting on my fingers, “One, two, three, four, eight, eleven… I don’t know how many years since I’ve seen her.” 

“Why did Ser Nightcolt’s forces capture you?”

“I am an Artificer. I work for King Vollert of Hemonar. I studied under Grand Wizard Drust of His Majesty’s Court.”

The two shared another look, this one bordering on a mixture of pity and skepticism.

“Should we…?”

“Should you what?” I asked, perplexed. What are they trying to hide from me? 

“Go on. Tell them, Gunar.” The Dwarf made a gesture for the Lizard-kin—Gunar, I presume—to continue.

“Are you sure, Davi? Are you sure that this is a good idea?”

The Dwarf, Davi, glared at Gunar. “Just do it, I’ll buy you a drink later.”

Gunar gave them a sharp-toothed grin before turning their focus back on me. “I’m not sure how exactly to tell you this, but… King Vollert of Hemonar has been dead for about half a millennia. His kingdom fell about five hundred and fifteen years ago.”

“And what of Ser Nightcolt’s forces?” This can’t be right. Has it really been over 500 years since I got sent here? They're joking, right?

“The Nightbourne Empire fell roughly two hundred years after the Kingdom of Hemonar.”

“So it’s true… If they’re all dead… Why am I still alive? Why did I live and they die? Why must the Gods be so cruel?” I could feel my heart pounding in my chest and my hands clamming up. My breaths became raggard, my lungs struggling to take in any air. It felt as though my throat was being crushed by my Uncle’s hands, like when I was a child.

⊰─────────────────────────────────⊱

Translations:

Cò thu? Dè tha thu a 'dèanamh an seo?: Who are you? What are you doing here? in Scottish Gaelic

Is mise Duskroar, cé tusa?: I’m Duskroar, who are you? in Irish

Hva vet du om dette stedet?: What do you know about this place? in Norwegian

(All Translations are from Word Hippo)

You have been imprisoned for so long that you have completely lost track of time. You are not even sure whether those who imprisoned you are still alive. When finally someone came to check on you they were surprised to find you, claiming that the dungeon has been unused for centuries.

[fxymi]

sooo i don’t know if you’re taking request BUT! hear me out, we (me) need more pussy whipped loser boy Rin, i need it so bad it’s insane

a/n: i did not expect my first post to do so well!! but ask and you shall receive 🤗

part 1

in case we’ve forgotten, pussy whipped loser boy rin is absolutely infatuated with you.

he yearns for you every minute of the day, both sexually and emotionally, but ofc, he’s not going to admit that to you.

he’s not going to spam your messages with horny texts and dick pics(unless you ask ofc).

if he needs to get off and he’s away from you—which is a little too often for your liking because of matches and practice, he keeps a slutty little polaroid of you in his wallet. burned onto the glossy film is the image of your cunt, cum spilling out of it. when he has down time, he’ll admire it and stroke his aching cock to it.

“f—fuck,” rin manages to gasp out, his head tilting back against the hard, tiled walls of the locker room.

he’s sat on the cold, hard floor, palming his dick with one hand while the other is pinching the corner of the polaroid. the shitty fluorescents make your slick cunt glisten and it’s only making the heat throttling through his veins, worse. he’s already hot from practice but truthfully, he doesn’t give a fuck that his jersey is stuck to his skin with sweat, or that every limb in his body is sore, or hell, even that he has like 10 minutes to finish before everyone else comes back in.

no, all he can focus on right now is the image in his strangling grip. his eyes are burning holes into it as his pace picks up. his soft grunts and whimpers are echoing in the sterile room, but once again, he doesn’t give a fuck.

“so—so good for me—gah—“ he shudders as his movements get sloppier and rougher.

his fist is not you but it’ll do for now until he can come home to you and properly pound his cock into your pussy and suck the cum out of it.

his eyes are fixed on the glossy pink folds of your pretty cunt in the photo before they flutter shut and he’s pressing his back harder up against the wall.

“miss you s’ bad,” he breathes as the corner of the polaroid he’s been pinching earns a few more wrinkles and marks.

when his teammates walk into the locker room, they would’ve never guessed that he’d just whimpered your name right before finishing and has an absolutely priceless photo tucked away in the black leather of his wallet.

[punk-a-cat]

I've lived on a farm several times, but thankfully the only time I had to manage the farm work it was drystock (non milking cows raised for meat and a couple of VERY dumb sheep) so I was not in fact forced to wake early. Bear in mind this was a SMALL farm, and I was not required to fix fences or do anything apart from feed out hay (winter feed) and check the stock was all healthy, and move them to a new paddock once the grass was looking a bit too chewed on (no strip grazing on this farm, the farmer who owned the farm didn't believe in it, and liked mixed forage feed -so not single grass like rye) .

However, I did have the misfortune to live on a farm that ran dairy stock for a short while, and the owner of THAT farm got up at 4am to milk, and would milk again at 4pm. He would shout at everyone and anyone who he saw sitting down during the day, hated if anyone had the audacity to READ because (apart from the newspaper) reading was a useless waste of time, and was generally the single most unpleasant asshole I have had the non joy to have worked for. He had an afternoon nap and went to bed at 8pm, but everyone else who got up at 4am with him was considered lazy (I was not one of them, 4am does not exist in my vocabulary).

There are two types of farmers....

[00valentina-writes00]

✞⛧ Playful Banters ✞⛧

Yes another inspired by @imsofreakingtired

The Leaky Drop was always a chaotic place after sundown. The usual mix of laughter, grumbling, and clinking glasses filled the air as patrons came and went, drowning their worries in whatever alcohol was cheapest on the menu. As the only bartender on duty tonight, you were busy behind the counter, trying to keep up with orders, pouring drinks, and making small talk with a few of the regulars.

It wasn’t glamorous work, but it paid the bills, and it kept you on your toes. Plus, it gave you an excuse to watch Sevika strut around the bar like she owned the place—which, let’s be honest, she pretty much did.

Sevika wasn’t exactly the kind of person to let anyone forget her presence. With her tall, imposing figure, scars etched into her skin like a warrior’s battle armor, and those sharp eyes that missed nothing, she had a way of commanding attention without saying a word. She usually sat at the bar, nursing whatever drink she was in the mood for, keeping her space but always making her mark on the night.

You weren’t quite sure when it had started—your fascination with her, that is—but every time she walked into the Leaky Drop, you couldn’t help but watch. She wasn’t exactly the warm, cuddly type, but there was something magnetic about her. Something in the way she carried herself, like she had a thousand stories hidden beneath that rough exterior, like she could tear you apart with a glance and still have a moment to spare for a drink.

And tonight, as always, you found yourself a little entranced by her presence.

She was sitting at the end of the bar, slouched slightly in her usual seat, one elbow propped up on the counter as she watched the chaos unfold around her. A bottle of something dark and strong was in front of her, and judging by the way she was swishing it around in her glass, she was already a few drinks deep.

“Hey,” you called over the noise, wiping down the counter. “Need a refill?”

Sevika glanced up at you with a raised brow, the glint of mischief in her eyes. “Why? You tryin’ to get me drunk, sweetheart?”

You smirked, leaning on the counter slightly. “I’m just making sure you’re well taken care of. Don’t want you to be parched, do I?”

Sevika chuckled, low and almost dark, before she took another sip of her drink. “Yeah, yeah. Top me off.”

You filled her glass, taking extra care as you slid it across the bar to her. As you did, a thought popped into your head—one that you’d had more than once since you started working here.

“Do you ever get tired of everyone fawning over you?” You asked, only half-joking. “I mean, you walk into this place, and the whole bar goes quiet. Must get old, right?”

Sevika laughed again, her lips curling into a grin. “Fawning over me?” She shook her head, looking amused. “Nah. I like the attention. Means I’ve got their respect.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “Respect? More like fear.”

She raised an eyebrow at you. “Fear, respect… it’s all the same in the end.”

The conversation lulled for a moment, the noise of the bar filling the space between you. You kept working, fixing drinks and occasionally glancing back at Sevika, who was now swirling the ice in her glass absently.

That’s when it happened.

Sevika leaned forward, her face slightly flushed from the alcohol, and fixed her eyes on you.

“Can I ask you something?” She asked, her voice a little quieter than usual, though still laced with a mischievous edge.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Sure. Go ahead.”

Sevika’s gaze lingered on you for a moment before she took another sip of her drink. “What’s your sexual orientation?”

You blinked.

Out of all the questions she could’ve asked, this was the last one you were expecting. But you kept your cool, leaning against the counter and crossing your arms.

You’d worked with Sevika long enough to know she wasn’t the type to shy away from asking uncomfortable questions. Hell, she’d practically made a career out of making people uncomfortable.

So, you decided to have a little fun with it.

“You sure you want to know?” You smirked, cocking your head slightly. “I could give you a potentially offensive answer.”

Sevika’s lips twitched into a grin. “I guess that would be fair. You’re always messing with me anyway.”

You leaned in just a little, lowering your voice for effect. “You have fabulous tits.”

Sevika’s expression froze for a split second—eyes wide, mouth slightly open—as if your answer had completely short-circuited her brain for a moment. Then, the smallest, strangest laugh escaped her lips.

You couldn’t help but grin at the sound. “I’m sorry,” you said, trying to suppress your own amusement. “Did I catch you off guard?”

Sevika, still laughing in disbelief, held up her hand in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. I wasn’t expecting that. I thought you were gonna tell me you were into men or something, not… that.”

You leaned back, pleased with your work. “You asked for the offensive answer.”

She shook her head, her grin slowly turning into a smirk. “I should’ve known better than to ask you anything serious. You’ve got a mouth on you.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning in just a little closer. “You’re telling me you don’t like it?”

Sevika raised her hand to her forehead in mock exasperation. “I’m not saying that. But damn, I don’t know if I can handle you teasing me like this.”

You chuckled, leaning back again, feeling the heat of the moment ebbing away as you got back to your usual playful rhythm. “Oh, don’t act like you don’t enjoy it.”

She shot you a look that was part teasing, part challenge. “I could probably out-tease you any day, sweetheart.”

You grinned, uncrossing your arms to grab another bottle behind the bar. “Is that a challenge?”

Sevika took another swig of her drink, her eyes narrowing in amusement. “Maybe. You should know by now, I love a good challenge.”

You poured the next drink, sliding it toward one of the other customers, before glancing back at her. “Alright, Sev. We’ll see who’s really got the upper hand here.”

She leaned in, her voice dropping lower. “Oh, I think we both know who’s in charge here, sweetheart.”

You gave her a mock glare, though you couldn’t help but smirk.

“Careful now, Sevika,” you said, voice playfully challenging. “You might just find out I can handle way more than you think.”

She leaned back in her seat, taking another drink and looking you up and down with that same familiar, calculating expression she always wore.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“You have no idea,” you replied, wiping down the counter with exaggerated care.

Sevika chuckled softly, shaking her head. “You’re lucky you’ve got that smart mouth.”

You leaned in with a wink. “And you’re lucky I think you have fabulous tits.”

Her grin spread wider. “Keep it up, and you might just have me wrapped around your finger before the night’s over.”

You shot her a look, feeling that familiar heat in your chest. “Is that a promise?”

“Maybe it is,” Sevika said, her voice full of mischief.

The night went on, the banter continuing between you two as the Leaky Drop hummed with life.

[chancloud8]

PART 12.

<< previous chapter || next chapter >>

series masterlist.

series summary: you and chan get matched up on a forum for people who suffer with insomnia and spent most of your sleepless nights texting each other. neither of you expected to fall in love..

pairing: bang chan x reader

tags: smau, written part, first time facetiming, FLUFF

a/n: it's a little short, about 0.9k, but its a smau after all ;) I hope you like it my darlings <3

The screen of your iPhone lits up as you wait for the outgoing facetime request to go through. The camera automatically turns on, showing you your flushed face and wild hair.

'Fuck,' you mutter, quickly dragging your fingers through your hair in attempt to fix it. 

This is really happening. 

Chris is about to see your face, hear your voice and you're about to see him. 

You frown at your own reflection as you wait for him to accept the video call, wondering if you should have put on some make up or brushed your hair. 

The screen goes black for a moment and all thoughts leave your mind when Chris comes into view. 

'Holy shit,' you blurt out before you can help yourself. 'You’re not real.' 

Chan blinks once, twice, and then he doubles over and laughs. It's a beautiful sound, even better than hearing it in all the skz code video's you watched, and you can't help but giggle along with him. 

'I'm sorry, but you just look way to beautiful for a sleep deprived person,' you tell him when you finally stop giggling. 

Chan smiles and shakes his head, his ears turning red. 'Says you.' 

'Mhm, I did,' you nod, grinning at him. 

The next five seconds are silent as you just take a moment to look at each other. Chan is dressed in a white tank top and a black sweater vest that's sliding off of his broad shoulder. His hair is messy, but cute and his face is bare of any make up and just as pretty as all the pictures you've secretly saved on your phone. 

Chan giggles again and hides his face behind his hands, causing you to burst into another fit of giggles yourself. 

'Look at us,' you laugh. 'We can't even look at each other without giggling. What are we? School girls?'

'I blame sleep deprivation,' Chan smiles, shrugging his shoulders. 

'Don't we always?' 

‘Maybe, but it's easy.’ 

You laugh again and nod in agreement. 

‘I was wrong about you though,’ Chan says, tilting his head as he watches you. ‘You’re not just gorgeous, you're beautiful, absolutely stunning.’ 

‘Chan!’ You yell, ducking your head as your cheeks heat up. ‘Stop that.’ 

‘Why? It's the truth,’ he giggles, petting his red cheeks with his hands. ‘You deserve to know the truth.’ 

Your entire body feels warm by his compliment and you just know that your red cheeks match Chris'. 

‘You’re on to talk,’ you say, deciding to give him a taste of his own medicine. ‘You’re the most beautiful man I've ever had the pleasure to talk to.’ 

Chris sputters and hides his face again. 

‘I am not!’ 

‘Yes you are, have you seen you?’

‘I have, so I know it's not true. Do you see this nose?’ Chris frowns pointing at his face. 

‘Yeah?’ You raise your eyebrows at him. ‘It's a very pretty nose.’

Chan groans and shakes his head, clearly not agreeing with you. 

‘I have a million Stays who will back me up on this,’ you laugh. ‘You better start believing it.’ 

Chan pouts and it's so cute that you can't help but giggle again. 

‘You’re way cuter than I am,’ he says, a smile already back on your face. 

‘Nu-uh, we're not going to do this back and forth thing, cause we'll be here forever and it's too sappy.’ 

Chan’s about to reply when someone seems to walk into his room. His head snaps to the side and he frowns, shaking his head. A male voice is speaking rapidly in Korean and when Chan stands up and leaves the screen, all you can do is wait and wonder. 

There's yelling, the slam of a door and then Chan is back into view. He smiles sheepishly and rubs the back of his neck. 

‘What was that all about?’ You ask him curiously. ‘Everything alright?’

‘Uhm, yeah, that was just my roommate being nosy.’ 

His roommate, meaning Yang Jeongin.

‘That was Jeongin?’ You grin. ‘Why did it sound like you kicked him out of your room?’

Chan clears his throat and rubs his neck again, his lips puckering like he's debating what to tell you. 

‘You did, didn't you?’ You chuckle. ‘Scared I'll ask for his number next?’

Chan rolls his eyes and drops his hand into his lap. ‘No, I'm just–’ he falls quiet and bites his lip. ‘I just want to keep you to myself for a bit.’ 

Your eyes widen and your jaw nearly drops open and his confession. 

‘I mean, just until we've had our date,’ Chan continues before you can speak up, his ears turning red. ‘I just got you back, I don't want them to scare you off again.’ 

‘Okay,’ you smile gently at him, butterflies erupting in your stomach. 

Chan lets out a breath of relief and smiles back. 

‘I can't believe THE Christopher Bangh is being selfish right now,’ you tease, wiggling your eyebrows at him. ‘All because of me.’ 

‘All because of you,’ Chan agrees, letting out another giggle. ‘Hasn’t everyone been telling me to be more selfish? I guess all it took was for me to meet you.’ 

‘I’m flattered,’ you smile, placing your hand on your heart to show him how much you mean those words. ‘Seems like we can be thankful for our insomnia after all.’ 

Chan makes a face and the both of you laugh again.

The sound of both of your giggles does something to you, it makes you feel things you’ve never felt before and you just know that you will never get enough of whatever it is that Chan is making you feel.

a/n: Ugghh they're so cute!! I hope you liked it! <3

taglist: @jaeminie-cricket @jeonginsbaee @staylovesmiley @newbbystay @cashtonsbetch @mariahxrrera @kaleigh-2002 @silencionyx @smileykiddie08 @my-neurodivergent-world @yaorzu-blog @yoongiismylove2018 @staytinyluv @bookswillfindyouaway @queen-thiccness @notastraykid @ateez-atiny380 @estella-novella @furfoxsake22 @hyunjinhoexxx @insomnjen @girl-in-love-with-kpop @vivilovesuu @velvetmoonlght @skz8love @corgilover20 @littlelostdemonofthelight @stephanieeeyang @zulie-and-cats @chanshugsaretherapy @pizzalove5000 @dazzlingjade @milie-com @thequibbie @channiesrightasscheek @strawbrriz @delulustardust @velvetskize @channiefever @luvbangchan @aalexyuuuhm @katsukis1wife @herpoetryprincess @ye0lkkot @glitterywastelandgardener @vampcharxter @boi-bi-ahaha @mlink64 @greyyeti @mariteez

[nakylvr]

MISSED YOU (FINAL)

daniela avanzini x fem!reader

summary: dealing with the repercussions of your actions, you try your absolute best to fix everything.

warnings/tags: hurt/comfort(?), happy ending (yay!), dealer!dani au, language

wc: 3,5 k

part 1 | part 2

you woke up to knocking on the door. lifting your head from the bed, you immediately felt your head pounding with a headache, making you groan quietly as you got up and left the bedroom. walking to the front door, you peer through the peephole and let out a sigh of relief to see manon.

you unlock and open the door, being met with the taller woman who was holding a convenience store bag in her hand. 

“did you sleep?” manon questions, taking notice of the dark bags under your eyes mixed with the tear stain marks on your cheeks.

“a little.” you shrug, opening the door wider and walking further inside. 

“better than nothing,” manon replies, walking in and shutting the door behind her. she follows you to the living room, setting the bag down on the coffee table as you sit on the couch and curl up into a ball in the corner. “here,” she rummages through the bag before pulling out two cans. “i didn't know if you'd want the redbull or the coffee, so.” she holds both of them in front of you. 

“thanks,” you mumble, taking the energy drink from her hand and opening it. 

a silence fills the apartment again, one that lasts a while before you finally manage to speak up. 

“i don't know how to fix this,” you say quietly, making manon look over at you. “i doubt she wants to see me right now, or ever again.” you look down at the drink in your hand, finger spinning around the rim of the can. “i should’ve listened to her, then none of this would've happened.” 

“it's okay,” manon says. “i mean, it's not, obviously, but it’ll be fine. you can't say that she probably doesn't want to see you, because we both know that she always wants to see you. whenever you're not around you are literally the only thing she talks about, and with what you told me about your last conversation, she probably thinks sophia forced you to do it – which she did, so i don't think she's mad at you exactly. if she is, i’d be surprised.” she pauses for a moment. “you have to just do it. get her out, and then you can talk it out. you can figure the rest out as you go.” 

“yeah,” you murmur, still looking at the can in your hands. 

“yn,” manon grabs one of your hands making you finally look at her. “i’ve known dani for years, she isn't going to be mad at you. when i say you are the only person she talks about, i mean literally you are the only person she cares about. i’ve seen her go through girls so fast that when she started talking about you i felt bad. i thought ‘well, there's another poor girl to add to her list’. but she said you were different. so i tried to believe her. now, i’m going to be honest with you here, okay? because i love and care about both of you very much, and i want you two to fix this, okay?” she stops, waiting for you to nod before continuing. “dani has said multiple times to multiple girls that they're different. so when she said it about you my first reaction was how you were going to get hurt. but things started changing, dani started changing. and that has never happened. you know dani is a pretty independent person, and what she does has her that way because of shit that's happened in the past, but to see her changing – changing for the better? i knew she was right about you.”

“not one other girl has even been able to remotely change one thing about dani,” manon continues. “she always kept them at a distance, she never let them get too close. and the day she told me she took you with her to one of the deals? something that she never let anyone do? i knew she seriously loved you. when she said that you insisted on going with her, she told me that she hesitated. but not for the same reason it usually was. she wanted to protect you. she always wants to protect you, yn. but she lets you come with. she trusts you with the money. she trusts you with certain clients. she trusts you. she loves you. no one else. i don't know why she did what she did, but i know she regrets it. you are the best thing that's ever happened to her, and i don't want this to fuck it up for you two. i can't tell you what to do, but i will support whatever decision you make, okay?” 

listening to everything manon said, you slowly nod your head while taking in all of it. tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you could feel them threatening to spill, with your bottom lip tucked between your teeth to keep it from trembling. “i ju-st want to fix this,” your voice cracks as you speak. “i love her so much.”

“i know you do,” manon is quick to reply, scooting closer to you and wrapping her arms around your shaking frame. “and i know she loves you just as much. you just have to tell her. you have to talk this out, and you have to tell her about what happened last night.” 

you physically tense up at her last words, the memories of the night before flooding your mind as you put your hands into fists to keep them from shaking so much. “i can't– she’ll really hate me then,” you reply, shaking your head. 

“you have to, yn,” manon tells you. “i know you don't want to, but you have to.” 

a few tears fall from your eyes, but you slowly nod your head, knowing it was the truth. it could make matters worse or it could improve them, but you had no idea how to even go about it. “can you– can you come with me to the sheriff's station? i already have the bail money in a bag, i-i just don't want to go alone right now,” you speak quietly, more tears trailing down your cheeks. 

“of course,” manon replies with a nod. “has sophia tried reaching you?” 

“there was texts and calls for the first couple of hours, but i think she gave up,” you answer with a shrug. “i read a few of them…” your voice goes quiet again.

“bad?” manon questions, judging by the tone in your voice when you said it.

“yeah.” you nod. 

“ignore them,” manon tells you sternly. “you don't need to be seeing her lash out on you because of something terrible she did. you didn't do anything wrong, okay? you don't deserve any of what's happened to you in these months, and it's not your fault for going to the person you thought would keep you safe. but this means you have to fix things with dani. if all else fails, then you can stay with me for some time, okay? you’ll always have a place to stay with me.” she rubs your back reassuringly.

“okay,” you mumble, nodding again. “thank you again, i owe you for this.”

“no you don't.” manon shakes her head. “you're one of my best friends, i’d do anything to make sure you're okay.” she then pulls away from you, grabbing the can from you and setting it on the coffee table. “when does the sheriff's station open?”

“nine, i think,” you answer. 

“we’ll go right when it opens, then,” she says. “get it done as fast as possible so that she doesn't have to stay in there too long. then you can talk things out. i’m sure you'll already be on her good side just by bailing her out after what you said when she was arrested, so you have a good starting point. get her something to eat, get some drinks, and talk it out here in the home you two have made. it’ll all be okay. i promise.” 

“okay.” 

…

one week later you were standing outside the jail, biting your nails with your foot tapping on the ground anxiously. thankfully, you had enough to cover the bail and have a little leftover, which was a relief knowing it didn’t take everything in the safe. you had yet to even speak to daniela, despite manon telling you to at least try and see if she would talk to you. you didn’t want to hear yelling over the phone, you’d rather hear it in person where you could explain everything easier than if you were arguing over the phone line that would cut after five minutes. manon told you over and over again that she wouldn’t be mad at you, but the nervous feeling was still rooted deep inside you as you heard the loud buzzing and the gate slowly opening. 

looking up from the ground, you spot daniela walking with her bag of things. her eyes subtly widen a bit from what you can see, since they didn’t exactly tell her who bailed her out, just that she was able to leave. 

she slowly steps over to you, stopping in front of you and looking at you without saying anything. 

“hey,” you say quietly. “i’m really sor–”

you’re cut off from your apology by daniela kissing you. your eyes go wide for a second, but when her arms wrap around your waist you find yourself melting into the kiss, practically feeling all the emotions she was pouring out into it. 

when she pulls away, you’re both a little breathless, quiet panting coming from you two. 

“do you wanna get something to eat and head home?” you ask softly. “i’d rather talk at home.” 

“yeah, we’ll talk at home,” daniela responds in the same voice.

“okay.” you nod. 

…

by the time you two arrived at the apartment, it was already leading into the evening, the sunset coming down just as you opened the door and walked inside with bags of food and drinks in your hands. 

walking behind you into the apartment, the first thing dani notices is how clean it is. she figured it’d be destroyed when they came to get her, only feeling worse when she realized it had to have been you that cleaned up the place. she follows you silently, setting the food down on the dining room table and going to sit on the couch next to you. 

there’s a silence that fills the room. one that was far from comfortable. both of you sitting there not knowing what to say first, or to say anything at all. until you speak. 

“i’m really sorry,” your voice is barely able to be heard as you fiddle with your hands. “i-i didn’t think– i didn’t mean for it to go down that way, i-”

“don’t apologize,” daniela cuts you off, shaking her head. “there’s no reason for you to be apologizing. i deserved it.” she goes quiet for a moment before continuing. “i’m really, really sorry. i shouldn’t have done what i did, and i know i fucked up. i’m not sure why i did it, but i regret it so much. i don’t know why you bailed me out, i thought the last time was really going to be the last time. but…i’m glad you did. i just want to talk it out.” 

“i know, and that’s why i bailed you out,” you start. “listen, dani. i went to sophia to figure out what to do, and…it wasn’t a smart idea. i know you two already don’t like each other, but this could really make things worse for everyone. i– she convinced me to call the police even though i didn’t want to. i felt so bad once i saw how upset you were. i knew you knew you fucked up and was trying to do anything to make me stay a-and i ignored it. i-i thought it would make things easier but it made everything so m-much worse. everything just t-turned into a shit show a-and i didn’t know what to d-do.” you began stuttering over your words as a few tears fell from your eyes. 

“hey, hey, it’s okay.” daniela is quick to wrap her arms around you and pull your head against her chest. “it’s okay, okay? i’m not mad at you for what you did. i deserved it. so please don’t beat yourself up over what you did, baby. i’m not upset at you.” she presses a gentle kiss on your head. 

“there-there’s something else i h-have to tell you,” you manage to get out, your anxiety growing and your breathing getting heavier. “please don’t get mad when i tell you th-this.” 

“nothing will make me mad, i promise,” dani responds. “what happened?”

clutching onto her shirt, your face is still pressing against her chest as you try to find the words to explain it. “i-i went to sophia’s after. y-you know she’s always had feelings f-for me, so i-i…i fucked up, dani.” you start fully sobbing into her chest at this point, which has her arms tightening around you both from you crying and what she was thinking you were going to say next. “i-i let her have her w-way with m-me b-b-but i hated it. it was t-terrible. sh-she didn’t care that i w-was uncomfortable, she di-didn’t stop even when i w-was crying. all i c-could think about was how y-you would never do that. i-it didn’t feel the same. sh-she didn’t care, she continued a-and i felt so bad after th-that i left immediately. i’m so sorry.” 

once you finished your words through sobs, daniela pulled you closer to her onto her lap, her arms tight around you as you cried. there were hundreds of thoughts running through her head, but they were far from being mad at you. she wasn’t mad at you. she was livid at sophia. “it’s okay,” she tells you over and over. “i’m not mad at you, i swear. i’m not mad.” hearing your cries continue made daniela wonder just how much sophia put you through when she wasn’t around, and thinking it made her jaw clench, anger bubbling inside of her. “baby, look at me,” she says softly. 

you slowly lift your head to look down at her, your eyes red and puffy with a few sniffles coming from you now and then. 

“i’m not upset, okay?” she says, running her hand through your hair. “i understand, i do. which is why i’m not angry at you. i’m angry at sophia, okay? she should’ve known better than to try and do that, let alone continue when you were crying. you haven’t seen her since, have you?”

you immediately shake your head quickly. “no, no, i haven’t. she tried texting and calling but i just ignored them.” 

“good.” daniela nods. “that means it’ll be a fun surprise for her when i show up at her front door.” 

the way she says that has your eyebrows furrowed together. “what do you mean?”

“don’t worry about it, mi amor,” she says, pecking your lips. “let’s just say she won’t be a problem anymore.” 

“as long as you don’t get arrested again, you can do what you want,” you tell her, hooking your arms around her neck. 

“i won’t, i promise.” she smiles at you. “are we okay?” she asks after a moment. 

it takes a minute for you to respond, but you nod your head in the end. “yeah, we’re okay.” 

“i love you,” daniela says, looking you in the eye. 

“i love you too,” you reply, leaning in and kissing her. 

…

it was late into the night when daniela got up. but not for the same reason it had been the past few months. was she going to see someone? technically. was it sophia? yes. was she going to beat the living shit out of her? probably. 

the latina carefully got out of the bed, unwrapping your arms around her and looking at the time on the digital clock. late enough. you shift around feeling her presence leave the bed, and you open your eyes to see her putting on a hoodie and her shoes. 

“where are you going?” you mumble tiredly. 

dani turns when she hears your voice, leaning down and pushing some of your hair out of your face. “i’m heading to sophia’s with manon and minji. don’t worry, i’ll text you once i’m there and when i’m on my way back.” she presses a soft kiss on your forehead. “i’ll bring you back something to eat if you’re awake when i’m leaving.” 

you nod your head, murmuring out a quiet “okay”. this is what you missed. if you were too tired to go out to deals with her, she would always say this. that she’d text you when she was there, and that she would text you when she was leaving that everything was okay, even then she would send more messages than necessary. but, you didn’t mind it. she knew you often got worried when it came to certain clients, and she always reassured you when she would go alone. it hadn’t been like this in months. for the past few months you’ve woken up to her already gone, not bothering to tell you where she was going. for the first time through this hell that’s been these last few months, it was starting to feel normal again. 

“be safe, please,” you say quietly. 

“always,” she replies, kissing your head again. 

walking out of the apartment, manon and minji were already waiting outside in front of minji’s car. the two turn when they hear footsteps coming towards them to see daniela walking towards them. 

“is it bad to say i’m surprised you showed?” daniela says, stopping in front of the car. 

“not really,” manon shakes her head. 

“thanks, anyways then,” daniela looks between the two. “are you both sure you want to do this?” 

“obviously,” manon says. 

“i’ve never liked her anyways,” minji adds, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“alright,” daniela nods. “let’s go then.” 

…

it was three in the morning when you heard the front door open. you were partially awake after daniela told you where she was going, glancing at your phone occasionally when it would light up. it had been thirty minutes since dani told you she was on her way back. just when you were getting worried you heard the creaking of the front door opening, and the jingling of keys. you sit up on the bed a little bit when daniela walks into the bedroom with a bag of food and drinks in her hands. 

“hey.” she smiles at you. “i got you some food and a milkshake from sonic. i’m sure you’re tired of it by now but it’s like, the only place open at this hour.”

“i don’t mind.” you shake your head. “thank you.” 

“it’s no problem,” she says, sitting down next to you on the bed. “here.” she hands you one of the drinks and takes the food out. 

sitting in silence while eating, you had a warm feeling radiating through your body. the type you hadn’t felt in months while everything was going on. the silence wasn’t awkward, it wasn’t tense. it was comfortable. it was normal, like it used to be. 

“i really missed this,” you say randomly in a quiet voice. “i missed you.” 

daniela looks over at you when you speak, seeing the small smile on your face that subconsciously makes a smile grow on her own face. “i missed this– i missed you, too,” she replies in the same voice. 

when you look over at her, you can barely make out her face with the lamp on your nightstand, but staring into her eyes, you know she’s genuine about it. “promise me we won’t do this again,” you tell her. 

“i promise,” she replies in a heartbeat. “you know why?” 

“why?” you encourage her, curious as to what she’ll say. 

“because i’m gonna marry you one day.” 

your breath hitches in your throat at her words. in the two years you’ve been together, she’s never mentioned anything of the sorts revolving marriage or that kind of commitment. and after what manon told you, you weren’t sure she would ever even consider the thought. to say you were surprised would be an understatement. 

“really?” your voice comes out in a whisper, as if you were doubting her words. 

“really.” daniela nods. “i don’t want to be with anyone except you. i don’t want you to be with anyone except me. i know i fucked up right now, but i swear in the future i’ll give you the newlywed life you want. i swear.” 

tears build in your eyes without your knowledge, so focused on her words that you didn’t even notice a few falling until dani’s hand reaches towards you and wipes them away with her thumb, her hand cupping your face. “you can’t go back on me now, y’know,” you say in a hushed voice. “you better stay.” 

“i will,” she responds. “i will, i promise. i don’t want anyone else. i just want you.” 

“then you’ll show me?” you say, your voice changing into a tone daniela was far too familiar with.

“oh, i’ll show you.” she leans in and kisses you. 

[un-fwuit-un-fwog]

Ruffled Hair and Genuine Smiles

Riddle x !Mother Figure! Reader (platonic)

It was after Riddle's overblot, when you crouched next to him on the ground as he cried and gently wiped his tears before offering the warmest hug he's ever gotten in his life, that he first felt that warm feeling in his chest.

You went on to offer to help him make the tart Ace demanded as an apology; pointing out that Ace had plenty of help making his and therefore Riddle deserved at least one person to help him.

When it came to baking the tart, Riddle had that unfamiliar, warm feeling in his chest the whole time you two were working.

You giggled when he got flour on his cheek, and when he pouted, you smudged some on your own as well so the two of you would match.

Riddle was stunned by your action, but he found himself letting out the most genuine laugh he's laughed in ages.

When Riddle mentioned the oyster sauce you gave him a strange look before shrugging and telling him to go ahead and add it. (It would he Trey, the one who told him this little 'trick', that would be tasting the consequences)

You could see Riddle trying his hardest to be better after his overblot, so you made sure to let him know you saw his efforts. Sometimes you did this with words, and other times you did it by fondly ruffling his hair.

It doesn't matter if you're all that much older than Riddle or not, at this point he was starting to unconsciously see you as a mother figure.

On the rare occasion that he didn't already have his tie tied perfectly and positioned just right, you would come up and do it for him. (there's that warm feeling again)

On test days you'd meet up with him after school to see how he did. When he did well you hugged him happily. When he did poorer than he hoped, you still hugged him: reassuring him that this wouldn't be the end of the world. "We all fall short of our goals sometimes. It's a part of life and it's how we learn. Look at your test. The ones you got wrong are marked. You can take this information and use it to do better next time. You know what you struggle with, so work on it. There will be plenty more tests for you to ace in the future, but you won't be able to do so if you allow yourself to be put down by this one. I believe in you, Riddle; and I'm proud of you whether you get 100% or not."

Riddle was stunned by your words and ended up crying in your welcoming arms for a second time.

Anytime he would slip up and get angry, you'd gently calm him down and help him find a better solution than yelling.

Anytime the Equestrian Club would have a competition of some sort, you'd be in the front row of the crowd: camera in hand. Somehow, he could always hear your cheers over the rest of the crowd.

Riddle somehow got a button torn off his uniform jacket once, and you offered to fix it for him. The next day, you showed up to Heartslabyul bright and early in the morning (with the slightest dark circles under your eyes from staying up all night making sure your stitches were perfect) Jacket in hand.

He didn't realize until later in the day when he reached his hand in his pocket that you had left a little note. "Have a good day, Riddle! Good luck on your test! :)"

Anytime Riddle would have to call his mom, and inevitably be left upset afterwards, you'd always be there for him with your arms open.

"Oh" he thought, finally piecing his feelings together. That warm feeling in his chest every time you did something for him that showed him you cared. . .that's what it's supposed to feel like to be loved by a mother. Not cold and harsh. Soft and warm.

Nobody dares utter a word when they see the usually uptight Riddle not so discreetly looking for you after class on test days: 100% score in hand. Nor do they utter a word when they see how excited he looks when he finally finds you and shows you the test. And they certainly don't say anything when you get away with ruffling his hair and giving him a soft hug.

"I'm proud of you, Riddle." This is a sentence his real mother has never once uttered to him, at least not genuinely. It's come to the point that any time he hears those words he can't help but feel inadequate. That's what his mother always made him feel when she said those words in that ingenuine tone of hers.

But when you said it?

When you said it in that oh-so-gentle tone with that oh-so-genuine smile. . .

Riddle felt love

He finally felt like someone was truly proud of him, and he was proud of himself too.

He accidentally calls you mom once, but instead of looking at him disgustedly or yelling at him as he expected; your laugh flows airily through the air like a wind chime. It's not in a condescending way, but rather one that conveys a sense of fondness. You simply ruffle his hair and smile.

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[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗬 𝗔 𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗧𝗟𝗘 𝗟𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗘𝗥 lando norris x  fem! reader (angst) fic summary . . . after a brutal fight where Yn accuses Lando of being a heartless playboy, she realizes the truth behind his shattered expression—he’s been in love with her all along. part 2 to all I've ever wanted (622words)

( my master list | more of lando norris ) ( requests )

Two days.

It had been two days since you’d shouted at Lando, and the words you threw at him still echoed in your head like a bad song on repeat. Every time you thought about his face—how he looked at you like you’d ripped his heart out and stomped on it—you felt like the worst person alive.

Because you were the worst person alive.

You’d been friends with Lando for years. You knew him better than anyone… or at least you thought you did. But maybe you never really let yourself see the truth. The boy beneath the jokes and the charm. The one who loved you so much it broke him.

And God, you’d hurt him. Bad.

That’s why you were standing outside his apartment now, heart hammering against your ribs like it wanted to break out and sprint down the hall.

You raised your hand and knocked, the sound loud against the door. “Lando? It’s me. I… I want to talk.”

Silence.

But you could hear the TV blaring inside. Some stupid show, the laugh track playing like a cruel joke. He was definitely in there.

A beat later, the TV clicked off.

You almost laughed, almost, because seriously? Did he really think you didn’t hear that?

“Lando,” you sighed, pressing your forehead against the door. “I know you’re in there.”

More silence.

Your chest tightened. He wasn’t going to let you in. You deserved that, honestly. But you weren’t leaving without saying what you needed to.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice cracked, but you kept going. “I was… I was awful to you. I said things I didn’t mean, and I didn’t take you seriously when I should’ve. You’ve always been there for me, and I—” You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe. “I hurt you, and I hate that I did. I’m so fucking sorry, Lando.”

You waited. One second. Two. Ten. Nothing.

The weight of his silence crushed you. Maybe he’d never forgive you. Maybe you’d broken something that couldn’t be fixed.

With a heavy sigh, you turned to leave, your footsteps echoing in the hallway.

But then—

Click.

The door swung open behind you, and you froze mid-step.

“Yn.”

His voice was soft, but it stopped you cold. You turned slowly, your heart leaping into your throat when you saw him standing there, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. His hair was a mess, his eyes puffy and red, but God, he was still Lando. Your Lando.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again, your voice trembling.

Lando stared at you for a long moment, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. Then, finally, he spoke.

“If you mean it…” He paused, eyes flickering down for a split second before meeting yours again. “Kiss me on the cheek.”

You blinked, surprised by the request, but then a small, relieved smile tugged at your lips. You stepped closer, your heart racing as you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, lingering just a second longer than necessary.

When you pulled back, his eyes were still on you, softer now, but there was a glint of something else. Something more.

“And…” he added, clearing his throat, trying—and failing—to sound casual, “make dinner.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Make dinner?”

Lando shrugged, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t have anything ready for tonight.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart felt lighter than it had in days. You knew damn well he just wanted you to stay longer. And truth be told, you didn’t want to leave either.

“Alright,” you said, stepping inside. “But only if you help.”

Lando chuckled, closing the door behind you. “Deal.”

[lazysoulwriter]

Cramps, Chaos, and Cuddles - Pedro Pascal.

Pedro knew something was off the moment he stepped into the apartment. The energy in the air was different—dense, almost vibrating with an unseen force. And then he saw you, curled up on the couch, arms crossed, eyes narrowed at the TV as if it had personally offended you.

Oh. It was one of those days.

He treaded carefully, removing his shoes and placing his keys down with the gentleness of a surgeon handling a heart transplant. "Hey, baby."

You barely spared him a glance. "Hi."

Yep. Definitely one of those days.

Pedro tilted his head, observing you like a detective at a crime scene. "How bad is it? On a scale of 'mildly irritated' to 'burning the world down'?"

Your glare snapped to him. "Shut up."

He raised his hands in surrender, fighting the amused smirk threatening to break through. "Okay. Just gathering data."

He walked toward the couch and—mistake number one—tried to sit next to you.

"No. Absolutely not."

Pedro froze mid-squat. "No?"

"I don’t want you near me right now."

"Ouch." He clutched his chest dramatically. "You wound me, baby."

You shot him a deadpan look. "I’m serious. I feel like shit. I hate everything and everyone. Including you."

He gasped. "Me? What did I do?"

"Exist."

Pedro bit his lip to keep from laughing. "Okay, fair. Can I do anything to help?"

You let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing your temple. "I already took medicine, but my cramps still suck. My head hurts. The light is too bright. The air is too air-y. Everything is annoying."

He nodded solemnly. "Sounds rough. Allow me to fix what I can."

First, he dimmed the lights, plunging the room into a cozy, softer glow. Then, he disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a heating pad, placing it gently against your stomach without a word. You grumbled but adjusted it until it sat just right.

He wasn't done.

Pedro vanished again and returned with a glass of water and a small plate of chocolate. He set them on the coffee table before kneeling beside you, resting his chin on the cushion near your arm.

"Now, can I give my baby some love?" he asked, pouting like a kicked puppy.

You glared at him for a few long seconds, trying—really trying—to hold onto your irritation. But those big brown eyes, the way he practically radiated warmth and patience… it was unfair.

Your resolve cracked.

"Fine. But only because you tried really hard."

He grinned triumphantly, sliding onto the couch beside you. "I’ll take it."

Pedro pulled you gently into his arms, letting you rest against his chest. His hands moved in slow, soothing circles against your back, and the heat from his body combined with the heating pad made you melt just a little.

"See? Isn’t this better?" he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

You hummed, neither confirming nor denying. His fingers traced lazy patterns along your arm, and the steady rise and fall of his breathing was enough to lull you into a half-doze.

Then, just as you were fully relaxing, he pressed a dramatic, exaggerated kiss against your cheek with a loud "Mwah!"

You groaned. "Pedro."

Another kiss, this time to your jaw. "What?"

"Stop."

He kissed your temple. "But I love you."

A sigh. "I know."

"And you love me."

"I tolerate you."

He gasped again, clutching his chest. "So cruel. And here I am, taking care of you like a devoted boyfriend—"

"Pedro."

"Yes, baby?"

You finally turned to face him properly, your arms wrapping around his waist as you burrowed into his warmth. "Shut up and keep cuddling me."

He smiled against your hair. "Yes, ma'am."

And with that, he held you closer, peppering your face with softer, gentler kisses, whispering sweet nothings until all the tension melted away. Because no matter how grumpy, irritated, or downright impossible you felt—Pedro would always be there, ready to love you through it all.

[hischierjustscored]

accidentally yours.・゜・quinn hughes

summary: you barely remembered putting quinn as your emergency contact until he showed up like the universe's idea of a bad joke

a/n: this is my contribution for the winter fic exchange 2k25 by @wyattjohnston for @hanaaishi 🧡 i still owe you forever for being patient and bearing with me on this!! seriously i mean it!! thank you both for making me a part of another amazing exchange which was my first one ever but i'm so happy that i was!! it was such an experience for me diving into all this and hope i was able to do some justice on my part 🧡 i got too carried away smoothing the final edges, hence the delay again 🥺 i also changed the idea we talked about a little but i hope it's all good in the end 🧡

warnings: mentions of injuries (light concussion, ankle sprain), hospital, parents pressure, overthinking, scratchin on the surface???, and i trusted myself to do a reader insert so bear with me once more

word count: 5.5k

You remember when you were 8 and took your brother’s bike to try out his self-made wood ramps in the garden, only to fall 6ft from the side and drop straight onto your left hip. That day you found out that grass wasn’t nearly as cushy as it looked but it was your mother’s “told you so” you never forget, lingering in your ears from where you sat in the backseat on the way to the hospital.

You also remember your best friend Lia leaving you in charge of booking an Airbnb for your first trip to Austria together, and you were proud of that cozy little place you found nestled in a mountain valley. But the "cozy" and "European" charms you both imagined left you searching desperately for a hotel in the middle of the holiday season instead, and Lia didn't have to say the words. You could hear the "I told you so" for really trusting someone with the username wanderlustgirl98.

And you remember moving to Vancouver a year ago after your studies, taking up your former professor's advice to follow one of its renowned urban development programs and put your "big-picture" skills to work. He didn’t have to try hard to convince you. You’d already been thinking about it for a long time until it felt like your chance to finally prove yourself. Perhaps even more to your parents. A naive part in you hoped you'd fit into their expectations for once. But if you really did, you'd reach out more than just on birthdays and festivities, maybe even give in to that other more vulnerable part in you and tell them how over your head you've been lately or that, deep down, they were probably right about all of this being a huge leap you still weren't ready for.

And you can only imagine…

Told you so.

It long replaced the loud ringing and the whole new level of woozines you felt an hour ago on the bus, as you watched the nurse adjust the brace on your right ankle, all black and chunky.

You sighed heavily for the 5th time in under 2 minutes, because what did you do to deserve all this?

Oh right, maybe being a chronic people pleaser, staying late at work to set other people's shit right. Fixing last-minute deadlines, cleaning up mistakes that weren’t yours, saying yes when you wanted to say no.

But you couldn't help it.

"It shouldn't take more than 3-6 weeks to heal completly, your lucky it's just a moderate strain. Nothing that can't be fixed."

She looked up at you over the rim of her glasses, still perched hideously, before she slowly swiveled back to her desk.

"Can I still work in that thing?", you tried testing out the waters, bending your feet just a little, then more until you sucked in a sharp breath when the pain hit.

"Honey, what do you think this is?", she drawled follwed by a low chuckle as if she couldn't quiet believe this being your first question.

“It’s meant for the healing, you have to keep it still completely and not put any weight on it. And that includes not working."

The last straw keeping you grounded right now is that this could have been much worse.

From the moment the bus driver hit the brakes like in that one Harry Potter scene, your new plateau sneakers giving out on you and your head bracing the inevitable fall on some window. Your initial hope bubble of no one noticing quickly busted as people came to your side, but you brushed them off mumbling that you were fine through the worst cringe of unwanted attention. Until you tried to balance yourself, only to realize you couldn't, and straightening up nearly made you sick.

You shifted, bracing your palms against the mattress to find a more comfortable position, minus flaring your ankle up again. You’d been in this bed for too long, it was driving you crazy.

"But how am I supposed to do that? Other than floating maybe..."

The mocking arch of her brows made the wrinkles on her forehood stand out more, but you couldn't care less, it was the pure frustration blurting out of you at this point you weren't even kidding about the last part. The last thing you needed on your mind was your boss' face to your sick call tomorrow morning. Not with the mayor visiting your office in 2 days, waiting to hear your thoughts on improving Vancouver's climate neutrality through sustainable architecture. And what you’ve worked tirelessly on, perfecting every detail from start to finish.

And you thought if all of this is some sort of reverse karma. Only for being hardworking. Is that a thing?

You were so lost in thought that you didn't notice the shuffling in the room until she came back with something that, if any shred of humor was left inside you, you would've laughed at. But instead, you just slumped back against the headrest, the wave of déjà vu taking you back to when you were 8 looking between the crutches in her hand.

Hardworking karma, reverse karma, just trying as hard as you can karma...

"I think you will be good with these", she offered, leaning them against your bed within reach, "maybe if you try hard enough you will actually float."

Her chumy tone you still couldn't quite feel yet, had your eyes roll back in an instant before closing them, grumbling to yourself, "Just great, really, really, great", but it was a mistake once you did as you fought off the urge to drift off completly.

A piece of mind for the first time in hours. Maybe for the first time in forever even.

The last months have been...immense to say the least, throwing yourself into anything that kept you running on autopilot, saying yes when you wanted to say no, but you needed it.

The last months have been...immense to say the least, throwing yourself into anything that kept you running on autopilot, saying yes when you wanted to say no, but you needed it.

After the biggest "told you so" that was bound to happen eventually. 2 months from now or more, or perhaps between his work, your work, balancing on a life that went past deadlines and demands, between 2 people who have their own reasons to prove themselves to everything around them, you slipped out of each other’s reach.

But it’s not like there was ever an official you two.

It was just the version of the story you always liked best.

“Here you go, I was able to find one in the random stash we keep in our break room, but it should work though," a voice light and sweet snapped your attention back faster or not fast enough, you didn't know, blinking against the lights now.

For a second, you felt like you were back on the bus with the dizziness and nausea creeping in again.

But no. Just him. It was just the thought of Quinn.

Your weighted gaze shifted to the bubbly blonde next to you, then down to your forearm where she lightly nudged a charger against it, and you suddenly remembered how determined she was to get it for you when you realized your phone powered down.

You couldn’t even text Lia back in time, knowing you were already too late for the rare occassions of missing your daily Facetime calls, with her still being back home in Seattle. Not in a trillion years you expected to feel this way about her, but right now you're glad she is.

Because if she she'd see you like this, she'd already know the answers without you giving it to her, that you take on more than your chronic people pleasing heart could handle sometimes.

And he'd always know too. When to snap you out of it, when to just exist beside you with no words. He'd never have to ask.

"Oh yeah, thank you", you forced out in the most put-together tone you could pull off right now, hoping our smile was convincing enough to distract her from the way your clammy palms were rubbing against the mattress, or the rapid thumping of your heart that you’d see too on your chest if you dared to look down again.

"Just enough to call a Uber and you can take it back."

She gave you a simple half-shrug, taking your phone from your outstretched hand, "It's stuff patients leave behind soo..", and plugged it in for you. But before you could brush her answer off again, the low calling of your last name made you snap to a tall man in the doorway, and his two long strides toward you could either mean more bad or good news.

You held your breath as you listened to him in silence going over your completly normal labs and scans which only told you everyone was making a bigger deal out of this anyway. You were fine, biting the inside of your cheeks reluctantly when he added they'd be filling out a sick report too.

"-though we would like to monitor you here for a night just in case you develop more symptoms that can’t be ruled out from the hit, and given that you already experienced dizziness and nausea-"

No person or force on this earth could make you stay here for one minute longer.

You released your cheeks with a click of your tongue, cutting him off quickly, "Uhhh that's not necessary, I mean I feel way better now and you just said it too didn't you?", which finally made him look up from whatever, clearly taken aback, his suprise mirrowing your own for a different reason.

Plus, you knew your rights. They couldn't keep you hostage here, you were ready to remind him of their own policy.

"I'm glad you do, we just want to make sure that-"

But you barely registered his next words, lost beneath the familiar sound of your phone finally wrapping up in your hands, and you were as happy as a little kid seconds away from unwrapping the biggest gift under the Christmas as tree, just, it didn't ask you to press your thumb down to unlock it as it normally would but...

"Damn it."

The one time your phone decides to ask for your SIM card code, and you’re completely blank.

Hardworking karma, reverse karma, just trying as hard as you can karma...

Yes, you really believed now, you did everything wrong tonight and this was the real karma of it all.

Your thumbs brushed the screen, trying to remember 4 digits like your life depended on it with the only 3 attempts you had.

The day you bought it you scribbled it down, along with the backup code (of course), and put it on your fridge because your memory rivaled that of a goldfish sometimes.

Was it 5678 or 5679?, and you heart dropped as deep as the Marianna Trench when it said only 1 attempt left.

"...and with how things are right now, we wouldn't encourage you to leave on your own. Do you have someone you can call right now to pick you up? Someone safe?"

Was he still talking to you?

"Huh? What?", the phone nearly slid from your grip, your palms starting to clam up again, and he lowered his clipboard studying you with an expression you weren't sure you had the energy to fully read, but it felt too damn close to pity.

"Or anyone we could call...?"

Quinn knew now that he could only trust Jack when it comes to discussing goodreads.com reader's favorites, ideas for lake house interior, and shooting pucks.

Not with anything close to dating. Or helping him out with that.

He was doing just fine. Thank you very much, but he knew Jack. Too much for his own good sometimes.

"Why do you act like you don't want it when you actually do. You need this. Get out of your head.

Sitting in this Italian restaurant that was a little too crowded for it being a secret "gem" as Jack said suggesting it to him, and he didn't even live here, listening to his date "soul-searching" trip to Bali was far from want and need.

He checked her Instagram highlights before, clicking on her profile Jack DM'd him. A friend of a friend. If overpriced veggie bowls and infinity pool thirst traps were anything soul-searching she's deluding both of them, and so was his thinking that maybe he should give this a shot. Getting out his head like Jack said with the season already hitting him with flashbacks he wanted to forget fot the sake of his sanity, and keeping away from anything that kept him running on autopilot.

"It just put everything into perspective", she said, her voice pulling him back just enough to realize he had no idea what she was talking about.

And he knew the moment he looked up from stirring the ice in his water with his straw for the past 5 minutes, there wouldn't be damn thing he'd remember about her either. She was beautiful, that much was obvious. The kind she knew and had probably been told her whole life, she didn't have to try too hard.

He preffered not trying at all. It was his favorite.

Probably ever since you took his drink at the coffee shop one day, the place too crowded for names to be called, just cups sliding across the counter and you didn't even look down at his name scribbled on the side in Sharpie when you slipped past him on the way out, not bothered to notice him eiter. The moment he should've said something, tap your shoulder, say anything when he just kept watching you move outside, tilting your head at street signs like they weren’t second nature yet, checking your phone every few seconds like you had somewhere important to be. Grabbing the wrong coffee without a second glance wasn’t his only hunch that you weren’t from here. Then, the sip. Too strong. Wholebean. Definitely not yours.

You turned back, ready to go back inside, but he already had yours in his hands on his way out to you when they started calling out names again, and no one responded to except for him.

A moment, A pause, your cold fingers brushing against his warm ones, or when you laughed at your mistake all crinkly around your eyes, perharps for the first time in a while that day, that should have been it, but wasn't, because between all of it you just became a part of his routine.

“…And then, on the third day, we did this sunrise meditation hike just me and a few people from the retreat, barefoot, totally disconnected, away from everything."

She kept going, oblivious to the way his focus had disconnected, his mind already elsewhere, lost in the memory of the last time he wanted to get away from everything, and the cushion underneath him slid akwardly when he shifted in his seat.

I wasn't about overpriced veggie bowls or infinity pools. But his favorite place in Michigan. Always.

And he wanted to take you there.

It had been a vague idea, one that had come up in the quiet moments in betweeen road trips and late-night talks at his place that were too deep and glances that lingered too long to mean anything less than what he had already convinced himself was true about you. The same feeling hit him when you gave him that slight curve of your lips, the one that always told him you had him figured out when when he told you about the days being slow and the nights nothing but still stars at the lake house.

"Hmm, that's not true stars are moving constantly, we just don't see it."

He laughed, quiet but warm,"Can you at least pretend to fall for it?" just to get stuck in his throat.

"It never is with you."

"What?"

"Pretending."

It never was with you either.

But it never became anything more than vague. Because there was always something else. Texts left on read for too long, you and your own world to keep up with just as much as he did with travel schedules that blurred weeks into months, not leaving room for things he didn't know how to hold onto. Or someone who didn't know either.

A low buzz from behind, easy to miss if it hadn’t lingered just long enough to jolt him back before he knows. He shifted again, and even though this was only ever one-sided, a genuine "Really sorry, I will turn it off" left his lips as he gawkly reached for his jacket over the backrest.

He hadn’t meant to look, a habit more than anything. But then his thumb hesitated mid-air, double-taking the number.

Unknown. Vancouver area code. Probably nothing. Probably something.

But always a red flag, especially for someone in his industry.

"Thought you were turning it off?", she mused, tipping her wine glasss to her lips, watching him over the rim and he forced a quick exhale, "Yeah, I-", but he didn't have a real answer with the buzzing still alive in his hand.

And he should've turned it off, ignore it, and sit through the night rest of the night pretending like he hadn't already made up his mind about this whole thing.

You need this.

But Jack was wrong.

He wasn't even sure what "this" was even supposed to be. Whatever, it never felt right since the start.

His phone buzzed again with the same caller, but now he thought about it being a perfect timing.

"I gotta take this...", he mumbled, barely shooting her a glance, and he swiped right before his mind could really caught up with it.

"Hello?"

A breath, a pause, nothing good he thinks already but he used it to press his index finger to his ear to drown out the noise, shifing again.

"Uhm, yeah, hello it's Vancouver General Hospital am I speaking to Quinn H?"

Well this was new.

"Depends, who is this?", ignoring the "H" making it sound like a witness protection program name. Not that he planned on correcting them. Or rather, a nurse as she introduced herself, surprisingly professional, enough to raise his interest and, slowly, his concerns too.

"Sir, we have your sister here, she was brought in with a mild concussion and a sprained ankle some hours ago. But don't worry, she is totally fine, she just needs someone to pick her up which is why we're calling."

His brows snapped together, head jerking back to the slightest bit like his brain needed an extra second to process.

"My what? Excuse me?"

Last time he checked it was Jack and Luke. Their parents would never screw them over like that, no way the would forget an entire human being for twenty-something years. Right? Not even back when they first sat him down to tell him he’d be a big brother, and his two-year-old self, without hesitation, decided he wanted a sister. But by the time Luke came, he was bound to live with brothers. He wouldn't change that for the world now.

So when the nurse repeated the words that his sister listed him as her emergency contact Quinn could only stare blankly ahead, "Yeah, I still think you've got the wrong number..."

She is wasting her time on a call when this girl was really waiting to be picked up, and he was just about to put it in terms she’d finally grasp, until-

You.

The noise around him, muffled laughter and the hum of conversation, the restless tapping of manicured nails against the table cloth across him, faded into nothing. And if with his thoughts already going from 0 to 100, this is his breaking point.

Your name.

He cleared his throat, but his voice came out strained, throat too dry, "Come again?"

Of all the names, hitting his ears after all these months but thought more of than he'd ever admit. The name he'd seen on his screen too many times, resisting the urge to check, to ask, to do something.

Everything dropped, turned over, a slow ache pressing against his ribs, too overwhelming and far too familiar.

But his body moved before his mind could catch up, momentum taking over. Someone said his name. Maybe, he couldn't care less. Something about a drink next, about sitting back down, but he ignored it again.

Because you were still ringing in his head, louder than it had in months.

And he wasn’t about to ignore it now.

"He said he's already on his way, shouldn't take longer than 10 minutes"

It made your brows furrow in confusion, "He's in the area?", but you said it more to yourself than to her, not that she heard it either in the crowded waiting room you were sitting in now, your ankle on a cushioned chair they'd given you.

Turns out you had listed an emergency contact the last time you were here, one you didn’t even remember leaving behind. Apparently, hospital policy included holding onto records long enough to make you wait nearly an hour, because the name they had on file was your brother. And, of course, he was on a business trip in Abbotsford, 1 hour away. The only reasonable choice to put down when they’d asked back then. Then again, you barely remembered.

Except for the fact that it was your first public unveiling of a project you led. You had invited your parents, that small, hopeful part of you giving in, calling them, telling them you’d be happy if they came. You were almost surprised by their promising tone, as if, finally, they’d understand this wasn’t just about concepts and sketches but about your dream.

But they didn’t come, texting out of everything, with an excuse that felt too made up. And hours ago, when your stomach had already sunk from scanning the crowd for them every time a new group arrived, it sank further. This time with the mix of one bad shrimp and something stronger you’d used to numb the disappointment.

How could you forget when you really really wanted to.

"Is you brother like...famous or something, because your records were pretty mysterious."

You looked up to the same bubbly blonde nurse, still standing in front of you with her lips pressed together,

"I think we're close enough he'd care to tell me or I would've found out sooner or later, but no, sorry to dissapoint you or anything", you corrected, hoping that was enough while you were already done processing the absurdity of it all. You slumped against the rigid backrest, sighinh as the exhaustion crept in again, but rest was the last thing anyone was willing to grant you right now.

“Your record,” she rambled on, not getting the memo, "it was… kinda mysterious.”

One eye popped open, then another when you saw her crossing her arms now. This conversation slowly glided out of your hands, you just leaned forward, jerking your head to the side, silently urging her to make sense of whatever this was.

"Your record just said Quinn H. and nothing more. I had to call him Mr. H. the whole time, but I figured he prefers this kind of privacy and that's what you want for him too. He didn't tell me his last name though, so like I said, all mysterious."

Your fingers now hoved near the cushioned stool, reaching for your calf to lift it off with more force than you should've and the sting was instant. But it was nothing compared to the irritation climbing its way up your throat where your heart already pounded in it.

Because not your brother was about to walk through that door. The person who should've been here.

No.

It will be Quinn Hughes.

And suddenly you were mid-fall again, right there on the bus, every last bit of control slipping past your grip. Nothing you could do.

Because drunk you put him down as your emergency contact that time. The one you barely remember.

"Wait, no", a breath left you, unsteady, "Call him again and tell him it's a big fucking mistake", your hands twitched in flight mode as you darted between her and the sliding doors open-mouthed, cause you remembered her saying he was only 10 minutes away. 5 even, if you're unlucky.

The same Quinn you stopped talking too, who if you looked into his eyes again, the same on that always made you wonder, if they could get any darker, any greener, would he notice?

That you mever meant for things to be this way? That it wasn't him, not really but your own mind, the way this new life kept pulling at you, and how you wanted to reach out when things calmed down. When you had space. When you could be the version of yourself that he deserved.

Maybe he was waiting for you. Maybe he thought you didn't care. It was only fair, but it didn't loosen the knot in your chest, nor how you blinked away the sting in your eyes that you told yourself was from the stuffy air with too many people breathing in here.

Because you did. You always did.

"Hey sis."

And in that instant, it felt like all the oxygen had been sucked from the room, how else could you explain the way your lungs refused to function, as if they’d forgotten how, when you snapped your head to where he stood now inches away. How long?

His navy blue shirt was barely visible under his coat, his hair grown out just enough for the ends to curl, for it to peek out from the beanie he held in his hand, looking too good even with his hair tousled still like he'd always did asking you if he looks okay, what you could see him doing in whatever thing you interruped him in before he got here,

It pressed in too heavy, you had to cut through it.

"Why are you here?"

"What happ-"

You barely felt the ache in your ankle over the blood rushing in your ears when you shifted your weight standing now, his gaze dropping to the crutches you stood up without, your brace, the subtle wince you thought you hid. And it was fucking with your heart that he wasn't just looking at you, but like he was piecing something back together.

He parted his lips, but his eyes flicked past yours first, toward the nurse behind you, when his fingers around his beanie, "You were brought in here", he hesistated, "Needed someone to pick you up."

That was the objective, something everyone would've done perhaps if they received such call, being a good or person, or the simple fact that he was your emergency contact.

You needed the subjective.

You huffed, shaking your head, "This is not what I meant. You could have said no."

"I didn't."

"You should have."

The words sounded sharper on your tongue than you wanted them to be, and you didn't know what hurt more, the way his expression barely shifted like he'd expected to be shut down again, because you were getting so good at it, or how your insides churned 360 degrees of how much you already regretted them.

"What do you want me to say? You're the one who put my name down I didn't even knew until now or let you bolt out of here with an concussion like they told me?"

Bolted. Floated. Whatever to get out of here finally.

"Well, neither was I, and I'm fine", you muttered fixing you gaze on the sterile floor instead, on anything but the way how he was fixing you, "but let's just drop it to the part where you go back to whatever you had going on before coming here I guess and me saying sorry for it."

The bittersweet taste in your mouth.

Only when the dull ache flared up in your good ankle did you realize you’d been standing without your crutches all this time. and before you even thought to reach for your crutches, he was already moving. Anticipating. The moment your balance gave out on you, he was already there, steady hands at your elbow and bicep, grounding you before gravity could do worse, and your pulse skipped how easy it was to sink into it.

His breath hitched, and so did yours, the warmth of his touch pooling through your fabric like you swallowed an ember, and his eyes, god his eyes, the darkest green, you don't even have to look up to be convinced about it again, all on you, as he murmured, barely a whisper.

"Don't be sorry, because it didn't mean anything."

Sitting in his car with the seat warmer already on like he remembered how easily cold you can get, watching as he pulled up your adress from his "saved", it fucked with your heart all over again.

You should have protested, insisting you were fine enough to make it out on your own, scoffing when the nurse told Quinn, not you, that you needed monitoring, just in case.

But exhaustion had already settled too deep in your bones, that you were almost thankful for the silence settling between you since he helped walking you out and insisted to drive you home at least.

Almost.

You would’ve been the biggest fool alive if you let this slip again, like you always did, like you always regretted.

"I am sorry though."

"And I told you not to be."

The darkness in his eyes gave way to the streetlights flickering through them as you turned to face him, "You don’t get to tell me what I should and shouldn’t be sorry for, Hughes", you jested and Quinn huffed out something close to a laugh, shaking his head lightly. The soft glow from outside looked too good on him when you stopped at a right light, you swallowed hard, "What kind of brother would I be too?"

You groaned, rolling your eyes. "Oh my god, stop. I didn’t even mean to put you down as my contact."

"Keep it, I don't mind."

"You say that like you wouldn’t have blocked my number by now if you had the chance."

Quinn smirked, tilting his head against the headrest, his eyes flickering toward you. "Would’ve done it already if I wanted to."

Then, before either of you could think too much about it, his hand reached out, his pinky brushing against yours on the center console, like testing the waters, like answering more questions without words. It was enough.

He squeezed your hand once.

You squeezed back. An answer.

[voxslays]

FOUR ZERO SEVEN — THANOS

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, addiction, and angst. A/N: I hope you enjoy!

You were Thanos’ ex girlfriend. The once who had dumped him after months and months of trying to ‘fix’ his drug addiction. But it never worked—nothing ever really helped him. So you left. You thought by leaving, it might fix things—give him some air.

Little did you know at the time though—you were pregnant, with his child. You were actually already a few months along. How could you not have noticed sooner? You asked yourself angrily. Yet, you decided to keep the baby, vowing to create a good life for the child.

Your life went downhill from there. Working two to three shifts daily, never having time for yourself. You lived in a small two bedroom apartment you could barely afford as is. The walls seemed like they were closing in around you, until you found a man at a train station.

You played Ddakji with the man, and he gave you hope. Hope that your life could one day soon change for the better. Yet, when you surprisingly woke up in a bunk bed in a room with 455 others, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread.

After the first game, you finally understood that dread. It was fear. A fear that intensified as your ex walked up to you, likely high. He was wearing the same green and white striped tracksuit you were, but with the number 230 instead of your number 177.

“Señorita!” Thanos jests enthusiastically, pulling your smaller figure into his. “Long time no see, my girl.” He lets out a little ‘skrrr’ sound as he looks you up and down. “Su-bong.” You greet cautiously, instinctively rubbing your stomach.

Thanos watches your movements closely, then his eyes widen. He quickly pulls your jacket down to reveal your baby bump. He freezes then swallows hard. He slowly meets your eyes again. “How long?” He asks softly. Almost too softly. Almost like he was scared of the answer.

“Thanos, I-” Thanos interrupts you by pulling you into a tight hug. He buries his face into your hair and inhales your scent deeply. He holds you so tightly, like he was scared you’d disappear again. He speaks into your hair, his voice muffled. “It’s mine, isn’t it?

“Yes.” You whisper. He runs his hand softly over your baby bump, a strange mix of tenderness and fear in his eyes that he hasn't shown anyone before. The same hand that's pushed people to their deaths is now gently caressing your growing lower belly. "Fuck, why didn't you tell me?" His voice breaks slightly.

Thanos runs his hand softly over your baby bump, a strange mix of tenderness and fear in his eyes that he hasn't shown anyone before. The same hand that's killed and tortured is now gently caressing your growing belly. "Fuck, why didn't you tell me?" His voice breaks slightly.

His expression darkens as he steps back, running a frustrated hand through his hair. His chocolate eyes flick down to your bump again before meeting your gaze, accusation plain. "What, were you just gonna hide it from me forever? Keep my kid a secret?"

“I’m sorry, but I didn’t think you’d care!” You snap back, hormones raging. "You should have told me, princess." He says. “I’m sorry.” You sigh, beginning to turn away. He grabs your arm, stopping you from leaving. His grip is firm but not painful. He turns you back to face him, his expression softening a little.

"Don't fucking apologize for this." He gestures to your belly. "I'm not mad that you didn't tell me right away." Su-bong pauses. “Well do this together?” You ask hopefully. “Together.”

[insidekatmind]

Math-Hector Fort

Request:yes!

You're sitting on your bed, textbooks and physics notes scattered in front of you. Hector sits beside you, legs crossed, a notebook resting on his lap, twirling a pencil between his fingers. He should be focused on the exercises you're explaining, but his eyes are fixed on you heavy, attentive, unwavering.

You pretend not to notice. You flip through the pages, find the right example, and try to bring him back to reality. “Okay, let’s try again. Here, you need to apply this formula.” You point to the step with the tip of your pencil, but Hector doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even glance at the paper.

You turn toward him, only to find his gaze already locked on you. Dark, slow in its movement, tracing every detail of you like you’re the only thing worth paying attention to in this room.

“Hector.” His name leaves your lips as both a warning and a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Mmh?” he asks, looking at you with feigned innocence.

“I asked you to focus.” you answer seriously.

He tilts his head slightly, the corner of his mouth curving up in a ghost of a smirk. “I am.”

You know full well he’s not talking about math. Heat rises to your throat, but you try to keep your composure. “On your exercises, I mean.”

“It’s not my fault there’s something much more interesting right in front of me.”

Your breath catches for a second. He doesn’t move away, doesn’t joke like he usually does. His gaze is different this time deeper, more intense.

You wet your lips without thinking, and his eyes flicker downward, following the motion in the most subtle way. The tension between you thickens, silent, dense like the air before a storm. The textbook in your hands suddenly feels useless forgotten.

“Hector…” you try again, but your voice is softer now.

He leans in slightly,just enough for his knee to brush against yours, just enough for his breath to mix with yours. “Tell me,” he murmurs, and there’s something in his tone that sends a shiver down your spine.

You should take control, pull him back on track, remind him that he’s here to study… But when his hand moves slowly, barely grazing the hem of your shirt as he presses it onto the mattress beside you, every rational thought dissolves.

“You said if I did my exercises, we could negotiate a break,” he says, his voice low, almost a whisper. “But since I can’t seem to focus…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need to. The way he looks at you, the way every inch of his body seems drawn toward yours, already says everything.

Hector smirks at you and pulls you into his lap. His arm wraps around your waist effortlessly, his grip firm, yet his touch is unusually gentle. He positions you on his lap, a smirk still playing on his lips. The unexpected proximity makes your breath hitch, your body reacting to his touch almost instinctively.

“You should focus on math, you're behind,” you whisper, placing your hands on his shoulders for support. Hector's smirk deepens, his grip on your waist tightening for a moment as he pulls you even closer.

"Math can wait," he breathes, his eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense. "I've found something much more interesting to focus on." The heat of his body is intoxicating, his closeness making it difficult to keep a clear thought.

His gaze flicks to your lips, then back to your eyes. "Besides, you're more distracting than any math problem." His thumb brushes lightly against your hip, sending a shiver down your spine. The air between you is charged with electricity, both familiar and tantalizingly foreign.

“Baby, you have to do math,” you whisper softly. Hector leans in closer, his face now just a few inches from yours. "But look at you," he murmurs, his voice low, dripping with a mix of amusement and raw desire. "You're all flushed, your eyes are wide, your breath is ragged... And you're in my lap. What's a guy supposed to focus on in this situation?"

Your heart skips a beat at his words, but you try to maintain your composure. "You can focus on the equations you need to solve," you manage to reply, but your voice sounds weaker than you'd like. The proximity of his body, the feel of his hands on your hip, his breath grazing your skin, it all makes staying focused on anything except him impossible.

“Equations?” Hector repeats, a hint of mockery in his voice. “That’s not what I want to solve right now.” He tightens his grip on your waist, pulling you even closer, his body pressed against yours. His lips are so close that you can almost feel the heat radiating from them. “I want to solve you.”

You gasp lightly, your fingers involuntarily gripping his shoulders, his words hitting right on your nerves. “But you need to study-” you start to say, your voice a soft protest against the mounting pressure between you.

Hector’s smirk widens, his gaze traveling from your eyes to your lips. “I’ll study later.” He leans even closer, his mouth hovering just above your ear, and his next words are a hot whisper across your skin. “Right now… I have other things to focus on.”

His mouth moves down, grazing lightly against your neck, and your breath hitches. You want to protest, argue for his education, for rationality, but your arguments are fading away under his touch. The math book lies ignored on the bed next to you, its contents losing relevance with each passing second.

“Baby,” you whisper, gently pulling his face away from your neck. "you have to do math". Hector's gaze flicks up, a hint of surprise in his eyes as you pull his face away from your neck. He looks at you for a moment, a mix of frustration and desire in his expression, but mostly just pure adoration. "I don’t care about goddamn math," he mutters, his voice almost a growl, but there's a hint of amusement behind it.

He leans in again, his lips brushing against the skin just below your jaw, his hands roaming across your back, pulling you closer, almost possessively. "I care about you,” he whispers, the sincerity in his voice taking you aback. “And right now, all I want to do is this.” His mouth finds your neck again, this time with more urgency.

You sigh softly and cup his face, kissing him softly. Hector reacts instantly, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you flush against him as he kisses you back. The kiss starts gentle, soft, but there’s a hunger beneath it, a need that quickly starts to grow more urgent. His fingers dig into your back, his touch possessive, eager, as if trying to pull you even closer, as if trying to make you a part of him. He deepens the kiss, his breath coming in ragged, and you can feel the restraint he’s holding back in himself.

Your fingertips trail along his jawline, tracing the sharp line of his cheek, before your hand comes to rest at the back of his neck, pulling him closer. His lips move against yours with a growing insistence, his tongue tasting and exploring, his body pressing against yours with a desperate hunger. You can feel the heat radiating off him, the intensity in his touch, and it makes you want more.

Hector drops his book and math notebook on the floor while he was still kissing you and you giggled breaking away from the kiss. Hector chuckles, the sound low and sultry, a smirk playing on his lips. "Don’t wanna study anymore,” he mutters, his eyes roaming over you, filled with unconcealed desire.

His hands slide down your waist, gripping your hips with a possessive grip. "I’ve found something much better to focus on."

[videokilled]

Vox turned away and dry heaved when Alastor threw up. His stomach weak even in its prime much less the pitiful state they were both in right now.

He pulled himself upright more. Then struggled, and just awkwardly crawled onto more solid ground where he could stand.

The warbling of the air was farther away but they were no where near safe. He grabbed Alastor by the back of his shirt and hauled him upright as best as he could. And was immediately aggravated by the apology.

“Shut up. It doesn’t matter. Get up.” He fixed his grip on Alastor’s shirt pushing him further along to get out of the muck.

Once they were both standing on hard ground finally- Vox let out a stressed and pressured laugh as he looked back toward the waters and once again saw an alligator creeping toward them. Still creeping toward them. The water around it jumping and rattling with the vibrations and hissing it gave off. It lunged at them just a second after Vox saw it. Rushing forward with its mouth hinging open. But stopped a few feet from them. Just hissing and then sliding back slowly. Territorial.

Vox screamed either way hurrying to scramble backwards and tripped, falling straight to his butt. But the thing backed off, so he hurriedly got back to his feet.

“I need a gun.” Vox said desperately. “Holy shit I need a gun.” He didn’t really wait for Alastor’s impression and just shoved him along to keep walking toward where he hoped the car was. Everything around him was starting to look the same.

After stumbling and trudging along for another several minutes in their mud lodged drenched clothes. The car finally did come into view. Vox desperately dug out the car key from his pant pocket and sighed when he had it in hand.

“Move your ass faster.” He hissed. He was shivering again from walking around in the clammy weather in soaked clothes. Vox was doing his best to not exclaim how much he HATED this area. It was carnivorous. The whole lot of it.

Vox had stayed looking behind them, still looking for more alligators. Wondering how many were lurking just out of sight. Alastor ran around this place barefoot?? How did the man die of gunshot with those things lurking.

“Not all morning.” He quickly chirped his correction over Alastor’s voice- which of course didn’t matter anyway. One because it was over and done with, two because the next second Vox’s jaw was colliding with the other man’s shoulder. And then he was pulled down by gravity until the ground punched him at an angle he didn’t expect— because it had been a hill. He couldn’t catch himself with whatever momentum was happening and then he was in water.

Thankfully it was nowhere as deep as whatever Alastor had fell into.

Downside was Vox was the only one that could swim.

“Goddamn you- you fucking—“ he started to hiss as he sat up in the near two feet deep water, then saw his companion no where at all. But the water settling where it had swallowed him.

“You muth’rFUCKER!” He spat with more vitriol in his voice than Alastor would likely hear in the near future as he punched at the water. Pulling himself up unsteadily. He spit to the side and shoved off some kind of foliage that was stuck to his arm.

No the other was not resurfacing. Goddamn deer kept fucking drowning around him.

He meant to cuss again as he pushed his wet hair back over his head, wading out deeper- but the steep drop off was unlike any terrain he had ever come across. He barely had a second to grab a deep breath before he was under water.

Opening his eyes underwater hurt like hell and he couldn’t even see. He just vaguely swam forward- and luckily or unluckily got wacked in the chest with one of Alastor’s flailing arms.

He grabbed his wrist and gave a few short struggles backwards till he could clamber back onto the shallowish area he had landed on.

Then hauled the other closer.

There was definitely more of the same noise. The water vibrating somewhere around them. Territorial even if they weren’t hungry. And the two demons were being anything but discrete.

Vox sputtered and spat. Then briefly making a wretching noise because the smell was making his stomach ache. He pushed his wet hair back over his head again to clear his eyes and make sure Alastor surfaced.

[gs29]

Mama’s Boy: Jun Ho’s Jealous Moment

Squid Game Master list It was another calm morning in the household, the early sunlight filtering through the windows and casting gentle rays across the room. Jun Ho had just finished his shower, the sound of water dripping from his hair as he stepped out into the warm, quiet space. He moved slowly, enjoying the peaceful moments before the world started demanding his attention. The baby, who had been asleep in his crib, was stirring, his soft babbles filling the silence.

Jun Ho smiled as he walked over to the crib, his heart swelling with affection. The baby—his little boy—was now wide awake, his big eyes searching for someone to give him attention. When Jun Ho leaned over to scoop him up, the baby, who usually loved his dad’s warm embrace, did something unexpected.

“Nooo!” The baby’s tiny arms flailed, and he immediately reached for the other side of the crib where Y/n was already sitting up, rubbing her eyes and smiling gently at her son.

Jun Ho froze, surprised. He tried again, holding out his arms in that way that always made his baby’s face light up. “Come here, buddy,” he cooed, his voice soft and full of affection.

But instead of coming to him, the baby turned his head away, clearly preferring the warmth of his mama’s arms. A soft whimper escaped his lips as his tiny hands reached for Y/n, his eyes wide with trust and a bit of desperation.

Y/n couldn’t help but laugh softly at the scene, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Looks like someone’s already picked their favorite,” she teased, holding the baby close as he snuggled into her, his little face content as he rested against her chest.

Jun Ho stood there for a moment, the warmth of the moment washing over him—but then something else settled into his chest: a soft pang of jealousy. He hadn’t expected it. He wasn’t the type to feel jealous, especially not of his own baby. But the way his son was so content in Y/n's arms, completely turning away from him… it stung.

He tried to shake it off, telling himself that the baby was just in one of those moods, that this wasn’t anything personal. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a little left out.

“Come on, buddy,” Jun Ho said again, trying to keep the smile on his face, but there was a little hint of disappointment in his voice. “I’m your dad, remember?”

But the baby, clearly oblivious to his father’s internal turmoil, turned his face further into Y/n’s shoulder, humming softly in contentment. It was like Jun Ho didn’t even exist at the moment.

Y/n looked up at him, her smile softening when she saw the subtle sadness on his face. She reached out, gently rubbing his arm in that comforting way she always did. “It’s okay,” she said, her voice tender. “He’s just really attached to me right now. I think he’s in one of those phases.”

Jun Ho let out a sigh, sitting down on the bed next to her. “I know. It’s just… I miss the way he used to always reach for me. I guess I’m being silly.”

“No, you’re not being silly,” she reassured him, glancing down at their baby, who was now happily sucking on his thumb, completely content in his mama’s arms. “I know it’s tough when it feels like you’re not needed, but trust me—he loves you more than anything in the world. It’s just that right now, he’s really attached to me.”

Jun Ho leaned back against the bedframe, his eyes still fixed on his son. “I know, but it’s hard not to feel like a third wheel.”

The baby, oblivious to his father’s jealousy, let out a small giggle and kicked his legs, his eyes still locked on his mama. It was a cute sound, but for some reason, it only made Jun Ho feel even more excluded.

Then, as if sensing his father’s longing, the baby suddenly let out a little whine, followed by a gentle whimper. His small hands reached out again, but this time, they didn’t go to Y/n. Instead, they stretched toward Jun Ho, his eyes now looking up at his dad with an unspoken plea.

Jun Ho’s heart did a flip as he saw the baby’s hands reaching for him, his little fingers grasping at the air, desperate for attention. Without thinking, Jun Ho immediately reached down and scooped him up, cradling him against his chest.

“There you are,” Jun Ho murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he held his son close. The baby’s little face pressed against his chest, and he let out a contented sigh, curling into his dad’s embrace.

Y/n smiled softly, watching the scene unfold. “See? He just needed a little reassurance. You’re his whole world.”

Jun Ho’s chest tightened as he held his baby, who was now calm and settled in his arms. The jealousy he had felt moments earlier melted away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude.

“I guess I got a little jealous there,” Jun Ho admitted with a sheepish smile. “But I get it now. You’re right. He just needed a moment with you.”

Y/n reached over and gently caressed Jun Ho’s arm, her eyes soft with understanding. “It’s okay. It’s natural. But just remember—he’s always going to need both of us.”

Jun Ho nodded, looking down at the baby, who had now wrapped his little hand around his dad’s shirt, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I know. I just want to be the one he turns to, too.”

“You will be,” Y/n promised, her voice full of warmth. “You’re his dad. And there’s no replacing that.”

As the morning continued, Jun Ho held his son close, the baby now content in his arms, and the little one even allowed Jun Ho to rock him gently, just as he used to when he was younger. It wasn’t that the baby had abandoned his father—it was just a phase, a moment in time. And as the day wore on, Jun Ho understood that every phase had its purpose.

And when the baby finally rested his head on Jun Ho’s chest, content and secure, the feeling of jealousy seemed so distant. Instead, there was only love for both the baby and his amazing wife who made every moment more beautiful than he could have ever imagined.

Y/n leaned over, kissing Jun Ho’s cheek. “See? All better now.”

Jun Ho smiled, looking down at their son with a contented sigh. “Yeah. All better.”