#answering this ask with my hand over my eyes

[succubusvalentine]

Simon Riley who holds his breath when he's about to come. CW : blowjob, sub Simon, mentions of masturbation, PiV, mentions of being recorded during sex.

It was a horrible habit. You had to constantly remind him to breathe when he's about to come.

He gained the habit years ago when he was first in the military barracks as a recruit. He had to be quiet, obviously. The only issue was that he was rather loud when he came. Thus began the habit of holding his breath to not make any sounds.

But now you felt obligated to break the habit.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Your mouth was hot and wet, Simon knew your knees had to be aching with how long you'd been sucking his cock. And yet the selfish part of his brain didn't want to stop you. He couldn't.

Fuck he was close. So so so fucking close.

"Simon" you state firmly "breathe or I'll stop"

Simon didn't realise how lightheaded he'd become. A gasp coming from him. Both to fill his lungs and from your mouth enveloping his cock again.

A pathetic whine fell from Simon's lips as he came down your throat. His hips bucking weakly. He was so used to holding his breath as to not make a sound, that he didn't think to make his moans more masculine.

"You gotta remember to breathe, Si" you remind him. He didn't answer.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You were riding him after he finally got back from a three week deployment. Both of you desperate to feel each other after being apart for so long. The best you got was shitty reception phone calls where the dirty talk was barely audible as you finger yourself.

Your hands were on his chest for stability, Simons hips thrusting up into you while his fingers bruised your hips.

Your cunt clenched around him. And he couldn't stop his rapid climax. His lungs holding in the air he had in them. Nodding his head as his eyes squeezed shut.

He was snapped out of his haze as you firmly grabbed his jaw. Still riding him.

"Breathe" you demanded. And Simon nodded, gulping down air again. Moaning rather loud as he came.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

After a while, at least a year. Simon would break the habit. Much to your enjoyment and relief.

That was up until Simon came home with an expression that was both furious and embarrassing.

"What happened, Si?" You asked in concern.

"Got hard at work cause you sent me that pretty picture of you in that sundress. Tried wanking one out in my office. Johnny heard me when I came because I forgot to hold my breath" Simon glowered.

Immediately you tried holding in your laughter. And you knew that Simon found it at least somewhat funny.

"Never gonna hear the fucking end of it at work" Simon huffed, lifting you up off the couch and over his shoulder. heading straight for the bedroom. "Gonna record you moaning f'me and send it to the lads. That way when you come wi'us to the pub, I won't be the only one getting shit on"

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

[flwrstqr]

【 備考 】 STUCK WITH U ⟡ GIRLFRIEND PRIVILEGES ───𝖣𝒾𝖠𝖱𝖨𝖤𝖲 ㅤ. . 𝗂 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎

SCR𝓲PT : enhypen and their girlfriend privileges 1OOOwc. ˊᯅˋ fluff head canon ❜ fem!centered && skinship, petnames . . ARCHiVE&CLICK

다니 : i love stuck with u.. it's been my top listened song for the past month. i think i'm addicted to ariana grande TT listening to ari's music & writing = my life

LEE HEESEUNG

"no." heeseung deadpans, effortlessly shutting down jake’s request to borrow one of his hoodies. sunghoon tries next, but heeseung doesn’t even let him finish his sentence before shaking his head. “absolutely not.” the boys groan, grumbling about how selfish he is, but then you come along, blinking up at him with those pretty eyes, and suddenly, he’s a goner. “baby,” he hums, already tugging off the hoodie he’s wearing, “you cold?” he drapes it over your shoulders before you can answer, hands lingering on your waist as he leans in, voice dropping. “looks better on you anyway.” “if you want more, just say the word, love. i’ll empty my whole closet for you.” heeseung smiles. then he smirks, tilting your chin up. “told you,” he muses, thumb brushing your bottom lip, “only my pretty girl gets this privilege.”

PARK JAY

jay doesn’t think twice about it—his card is already out before you can even reach for your wallet. “babe, i got it,” he says, tone final, as he taps to pay for your meal like it’s second nature. he barely ever does this for his members, maybe on their birthdays if they beg, but for you? every time. whether it’s coffee, late-night takeout, or a whole shopping spree, jay never lets you spend a single cent when he’s around. “but jay—” you start to protest, only for him to shoot you a look before casually slipping his arm around your waist, pulling you into him. “don’t ‘but jay’ me,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “just let me take care of you, okay?” and how could you say no when he’s looking at you like that—like spoiling you is the easiest, most natural thing in the world?

SIM JAKE

jake's phone is always on do-not-disturb or muting conversations—except for you. no matter where he is, what he's doing, or who he's with, the moment your name flashes on his screen, he’s answering. even if it’s three in the morning, voice thick with sleep. “baby?” he murmurs, and you hear the rustling of sheets as he sits up, already alert. “what’s wrong? you okay?” his voice is laced with concern, but there’s something else—something soft, like he’d wait all night just to hear you breathe. you don’t even have to say much; the second you sigh, he’s whispering, “i got you, sweetheart. just talk to me.” his hand instinctively reaches for where you’d usually be beside him, but when he finds nothing, he groans, already pulling on a hoodie. “stay there. i’m coming.” because when it comes to you, nothing—not time, not sleep,—gets in the way.

PARK SUNGHOON

sunghoon never lets anyone touch his closet—not even his members. but you? you get free pass, standing in front of his neatly arranged wardrobe as he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with that soft, amused smile. “baby, not the leather pants,” he groans, watching as you hold them up with a mischievous grin. “they look so good on you, though,” you tease, stepping closer, smoothing your hands over his shoulders, adjusting the collar of his shirt. he exhales, defeated, letting you fix his hair next, his sharp eyes softening under your touch. “you really like dressing me up, huh?” he mutters, but he’s already slipping into the fit you picked. when he turns to the mirror, he huffs a small laugh. “okay, fine. you have good taste.” then, quieter, as he tugs you against him, pressing a kiss to your forehead—“but only you get to do this, got it?”

KIM SUNOO

you’re the only one who gets to take sunoo's phone without asking, stretching out on his bed while you tap away at some game or fill his gallery with blurry selfies. “baby, at least make them cute if you’re stealing my storage,” he whines, but there’s no real complaint in his voice, just fond exasperation. when you glance at him, pouting, he sighs and moves closer, gently pulling you into his arms. “here, let me help,” he murmurs, resting his chin on your shoulder, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your arm as he watches you play. and even though he’d usually never let anyone touch his screen, he doesn’t even blink when you scroll through his messages like it’s yours. because, well—so is he.

YANG JUNGWON

jungwon sits at his desk, brows furrowed, fingers flying over his keyboard, deep in concentration. anyone else would know better than to interrupt him, butyou have privileges. without hesitation, you step behind him, draping your arms over his shoulders before pressing a soft kiss to his temple. he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even pause, just hums in acknowledgment as you pepper kisses along his jaw, his cheek, the slope of his nose. “missed me today, didn't you?” he murmurs, voice laced with amusement, but he tilts his head ever so slightly, giving you more access. you giggle, cupping his face and pressing a lingering kiss to his forehead. “hmm maybe,” you tease, and he finally turns his head, letting his lips brush against your cheek. “only because your my pretty princess,” he says.

NISHIMURA RIKI

riki never lets anyone touch his hair—never. he dodges, swats hands away, glares if someone even tries. but right now, he’s sitting on the floor in front of you, his head resting against your knees as you absentmindedly run your fingers through his soft strands, twisting and braiding as a tv show plays in the background. he doesn’t say a word, just hums lightly, his body relaxed like he was made to be here, like your hands in his hair are the most natural thing in the world. when he turns his head, his lips brush against your fingers in a lazy attempt at a kiss, and you gasp. “ack—stop moving, riki! i was trying to braid your hair!” you huff, tugging a little. he only grins, eyes half-lidded as he tilts his head back into your hands. “then don’t stop,” he murmurs, voice teasing. and god, he’s so down bad, because if it’s you, he’d let you do this forever.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

moonshine leaks in through the window blinds.

suguru is undressing, sluggishly, in the dim darkness of your bedroom. he is weary; as are you. it’s been a long, long day, celebrating in the morning, in the evening, going to the spring festival downtown and grabbing hotpot with satoru and shoko right after — stopping by their favorite bar before finally heading home. fatigue drags your bones against soft flooring, as you rummage through his closet, pull your worn hoodie over your head and let it fall to the floor. 

suguru’s birthday is always eventful. your boyfriend is a well-loved man, after all; no less by you than anyone else. it’s been worth it, worth every ache in your joints, to see him smile and scoff and swallow down mouthfuls of soba and cake. to see him a little sheepish, a little tipsy, a little more open with his heart than usual. sweetness brings it out of him. 

(you’re happy, that this year was a success as well.)

a low groan. you turn your head, to watch as he cranes his neck, stretches his arms, as the muscles of his bicep coil and twitch under the linen of his shirt. as he slips out of it, lets his hair fall, a hair tie slipping down to rest around his wrist. his roots must ache, by now — you wonder if he’ll let you massage his scalp, just to help him unwind. but suguru gets restless after being pampered for too long. could barely stop himself from pouring your drink, over and over, carrying you the last bit home even though his own legs must have yearned for respite too.

sometimes, you want to ask him — can you please just let me love you?

(his answer is usually a smile.)

”god,” comes the voice of an angel, raspy and sweet. the heel of his palm meets the blade of his shoulder, digs into the skin as if to soothe it. ”’m exhausted.”

a smile tugs your lips up, blooms like a peach tree and flutters in tune with your heartbeat. you put your arms through the gaps of an oversized tee, press your nose against the fabric and inhale, the scent of laundry detergent and musk soothing your muddled senses. after pulling it over your head, you’re left in nothing but your boxers and his shirt. it makes him melt, you’re more than aware. when your hair is tousled, from the midnight air and satoru’s restless hand — when you’re engulfed in nothing but him.

”well, we walked a lot,” you exhale, sending him a sweetened glance. he returns it with a huff. 

”talked a lot, too,” he mutters, too tired to sound as displeased as he’d probably like. you drink in the sight of his skin under lunar light, lap up the excess cobalt, swallow softly. ”why is it that all my energy magically drains as soon as satoru’s involved…?”

you let out a giggle, breathy and light, cooing. ”he loves you,” you supply, not-so-helpfully. ”he just hadn’t had a chance to bug you in a while, i guess.”

a scoff. 

”he has a funny way of showing it…”

suguru unbuckles his belt, kicks off his jeans, slumps back on the bed with a silent sigh — the mattress creaks beneath his weight, allows him to get comfortable as he rests on the edge. gazing at you, patiently, spheres of rusted-gold through lidded eyes. heavy with what you know to be fatigue.

he pats his lap, one heavy hand. 

”come here, sweetheart.”

(his voice alone melts you down to the marrow. sweet and smooth, roughed up from the outing; the purr of a needy cat, silken sheets and jasmine buds.)

a moth to a flame, or a lamb to a knife — you are pliant as you move towards your lover. weak, as you tuck your legs over his knees and slide into his lap.

an inhale. he buries his face in your shirt, his shirt — smiles, noses against your pulsepoint and the tender valley of skin between your jaw and shoulder. engraves your scent into his being.

”i love you,” he whispers, a low lull of his tongue. a kiss against your neck. ”thank you for today.”

the words have left you long before your mind tugs at your lips. ”i love you too, sugu.” you nuzzle against his locks, relish as they tickle your sensitive skin. ”i don’t think i did much, though…”

”no?” you hear the smile, the hint of a chuckle, even as he lifts his fingers to pinch your little nose. ”you don’t think so, silly?”

he tuts — eyes gleaming under artificial light, the lamp on your nightstand. 

”even made me breakfast.”

”… it turned out so-so.”

an exhale, at your little frown. humoured, your mind supplies, if a little exasperated. he clicks his tongue, rubs his thumb over the bridge of your nose before letting go. ”it was lovely,” he corrects. ”you’re lovely.”

and you know that he’s displeased. you know by the way he says it, how softly he shuts you down and guides you in the right direction, lips smearing kisses on your vulnerable skin as if reproaching you. he’s sleepy, can’t help but be lazy, no less thorough in his mission. has no mercy for your jaw, or collarbone, or neck. you’re shivering, shaky sigh slipping out — curling your arms around his neck and angling your head to give him more room to work with. he can be greedy, tonight, you don’t mind. whatever he wants. his fingers find solace in the plushness of your hips, squeezes softly, molds the flesh. a silent thank you. 

for what, you wonder.

melting when your skin meets his? letting him touch you like this? trusting him to do it gently?

your mind is tangled up in knots. just letting him love you, hold you close, feeling his heartbeat through the fabric of his shirt — ba-dump, ba-dump, like waves crashing into shore. you hope he cannot hear the constant patter of your own; hope he cannot sense the prickling of your nerves. he might think the night is over, but you still have something more to offer.

… or, at least you should.

it’s nerve-racking. your heartbeat knocks at your ribs, sticks its head out to ask how you’ve been. better, you’d like to say. a lot less close to passing out. silly, silly body, never letting you get off easy — never being of any use. it shouldn’t be this scary, not even close. you know your lines. you’ve practiced all week. but it is, and it’s paralyzing, and suguru is so tired he’s just gnawing at your earlobe now. 

clammy hands, beating heart, shaky fingers.

(you wish it was easier to say what’s inside.)

”i… have another present,” you mumble, finally, into his hair. as if that will muffle it. swirling a lock around your finger, playing with it to ease your mind.

suguru blinks. you feel the flutter of his eyes against your skin, the ghosts of pretty raven lashes. he pulls back, just enough to look into your eyes — watching you, closely, to see what you mean. attentive. 

there’s a certain look in his eyes.

”… more?” he asks, voice scraping against the walls of his throat, the buzzing of a dragonfly. he slips a hand under your shirt, curls it around your naked waist to tug you closer, keep you safe and still. ”haven’t i been spoiled enough, today?”

he’s smiling. you don’t think he knows what you mean, but he must sense your hesitance. keeps his hand on your hip, rubs comforting circles into your skin, seems to delight in the way your body can’t help but tremble all while leaning into it. stupid, beautiful suguru, stupid wandering hands. he’s only making your heartbeat sputter more. 

it’s too difficult. even after that peptalk with satoru and shoko, you can’t find the words you need. 

finding a birthday gift for suguru is always a hurdle. every single year. you can never decide on what to go for, never settle for just one thing — because he’d be happy with anything, you know that, but it’s not enough when you’re as smitten as you are. when all you want is to give him something that will make him smile brighter than ever, a smile that’s just for you.

what would make him the happiest? what do you want to tell him, more than anything? 

you always agonize over it, sure, but this year…

(even if it’s a little much, you —)

”haha… well.” 

you shift on his lap, tuck your thighs around his waist, just needing stability. and it’s muscle memory, your skin against his, bodies molding together like liquidated gold. he watches you, patiently — doesn’t rush or force the words out. a sun god in your room, on your bed. tangled up in sheets he washed for you. 

a sliver of sunshine, that belongs only to you.

what is there to say?

even now, you can’t uncap the lid over your heart. your hands are too shaky to dust off the longing. if you could, you’d say something like: 

i love you, i love you, i love you.

i want to wash your hair, and kiss your eyelids when you sleep, and scrub the rot from off your bones. i don’t want to care about what anyone else thinks. 

i could tell you i love you a million times.

also, do you want to get married? 

i know i’ve made you wait — you always wait so patiently — but would you mind?

would you be mine forever? 

a sudden sting. your teeth sink into your bottom lip, as if to silence your own thoughts, the phantom taste of heavy iron blooming on your tongue. slick vines wrap themselves around your teeth and sew your mouth shut. no words, no breaths, no nothing. 

just clammy hands, beating heart, shaky fingers. 

(you wish you could be kinder to the monster in your ribs.)

”… tomorrow,” you sigh, at last, the word forcing its way through your throat. you slump your cheek against his forehead, fleeing from his prying gaze, the question on your mind. ”… you’ll get it tomorrow.”

(shoko’s voice rings in your ear. coward, she’d say. loser, satoru would add. they’d be right.)

stupid, silly heartbeat. beating so loudly you can’t even find your voice. 

but suguru only smiles.

”… not today?” he brushes against your bottom lip, traps it between his thumb and pointer finger. tilts his head, softly. ”did you change your mind?”

you melt, into his touch, head dipping forward. 

”… just wanna wait a little longer,” you sigh, a little shaky, feeling sheepish. ”is… that okay?”

”of course.” his answer comes as soon as you ask. 

as natural as breathing.

mwah. his lips meet yours, chaste and sweet, gone as soon as you’ve thought to lean into it. ”i’ll always wait for you,” he says. ”you know that, don’t you?”

(you do.)

a silent nod. he seems to note your sour mood, the ghost of a pout on your lips. because he chuckles, that familiar purr-like rasp, falling backwards and tugging you with him — pushing you down against the mattress, crawling over you, a praying mantis with the smile of a fox. gentle, gentle, his hands cupping your hips. black hair frames his face, his smile, the moonshine gliding across his nose and cheekbones. he’s all you can see, until he’s leaning forward, nosing against your pulsepoint to feel the pitter-patter there. you can still feel the weight of his gaze, sticky honey-webs of oak and cedar.

warm, warm, warm. a little sleepy.

and he sighs against your skin. 

”i want to tell you i love you a million times,” he says, an orange split into tender halves. ”you know that?”

he sounds tired. he sounds happy, deliriously so, like he can barely believe it himself. you like it when he gets this playful, like it when the hint of boyishness he keeps carefully concealed spills through the gaps.

you blink.

a matching sigh, from your loverotted lungs. ”.. yeah,” you murmur. ”i know. i’d say it back a million times.”

a plum tree blooms against your collarbone, the branches of his lips stretching up into a grin. ”see? you’re perfect.” he moves up, captures your lips with his own, savours the flavour of your lip balm. eyes gleaming like fireflies. ”just perfect for me…”

ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump. 

(your heart asks to be let out of its confines.)

”what other gift could i possibly need?”

and, well — it’s hard to argue when he sounds so convinced. when his skin is gleaming, when he’s on top of you, caging you in with his thighs and keeping you steady. when he looks like the rest of your life. 

it’s hard, even though a litany of words scratch against your windpipe, begging to be set free. even though you didn’t want to be a coward, today. 

(any other day of the year would have been fine.)

a hand cups your cheek. 

”… hm?” he tilts his head, raises an eyebrow. awaits your response, with fond, tired eyes.

you bite your lip. ”… i guess…”

”no, you don’t guess,” he huffs, half a chuckle. leans close to nip at your cheek. ”you know. i’m already spoiled with your presence. what else do i need?”

”well, it’s just—”

”no.” he shuts you up, mashes his lips against yours again. ”no more of that. okay, sweetheart?”

…

”thank you for today.” he echoes, into the shell of your ear. the warmth in his voice sparks against your spine. ”i had a lovely time. with the others, with you.”

an underlying demand —

you know what he wants.

so you give in. whatever he wants, you remind yourself. whatever he wants.

”… you’re welcome,” you mumble, finally. defeated, just breathing in his scent, smooth hints of bergamot and coconut oil. ”happy birthday, suguru.”

(and he smiles.)

one more kiss, and then he’s pulling back. watching you, softly, laid out across his sheets like sunshine spilling through window blinds in spring.

”… thank you, honey.”

(tomorrow, you’ll air out your restless ribcage. uncap the lid, dust off the longing.)

today, you will lie with clammy hands, a beating heart, shaky fingers — and simply let him hold you close. as tightly as he wants, for as long as he wants.

whatever he wants.

the words can wait; they’re good at that.

[pathologicalreid]

all the debts i owe | s.r.

in which Spencer takes your kids into account when deciding whether or not he should take a plea deal, and it doesn't go the way you expect

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: prison reid, takes place during 12x14 "collision course", i love my little reid family so much word count: 1.29k a/n: caamp song fic caamp song fic caamp song fic everyone cheered!!!!

Somehow, you felt like you were invading a conversation that you shouldn’t be a part of. Emily and Spencer knew this world much better than you did, and you were nothing more than a fly on the wall, grateful to be in close proximity to your husband after a few days of him being in jail.

You’d stopped by yesterday, dropping off a bag of his belongings and leaving them with Emily. You had wanted to see him then, if for nothing more than a confirmation that he was still breathing, but he was finally getting some sleep. The comfort of knowing that he had Emily watching over him had to be enough.

Spencer wasn’t allowed to keep his wedding band on. It was something that the jail was going to hold on to, but Emily had intervened and arranged for you to keep it.

The gold band weighed heavy against your chest, suspended by a chain around your neck for safe keeping, you kept it tucked into the collar of your sweater while you watched Spencer and Emily talk. “Please, just think about it,” Emily pleaded with him. “Think about the evidence.”

“I know,” Spencer assured her. “Scratch dots his Is and crosses his Ts. We know that,” he responded, brown eyes flickering over to yours for just a moment.

Leaning heavily against the wall for support, Emily shook her head, “But a jury won’t. A jury will only see what Scratch wants them to see.”

You shifted on your chair, resting your elbows on the table and propping your head in your hands. “You think they’ll convict me?” Spencer asked, a string of hurt threaded through his voice as if the thought of a jury of his peers thinking he was a killer caused him physical pain.

“I don’t know,” Emily answered, her voice barely above a whisper, “But if they do. Five years—that’s doable. You are young. You can have a life after that.” You were grateful for Emily; it seemed like she was doing the begging that you didn’t have the energy for.

“Not as an FBI agent,” Spencer rebutted, “I’d be a convicted felon.”

Her face softened as you watched, “Yes,” she acquiesced, “but you’d be free.”

At the first sign of tears in Spencer’s eyes, you felt water lining your own, “The FBI is my home. It’s where I belong.”

Emily looked at you for help, but you couldn’t get yourself to speak. You understood Spencer in a way few people ever could, the idea of him not being a part of the BAU made your chest ache as much as it did his. “You don’t belong in prison, and if you play Russian roulette with this… twenty-five years. That is a lifetime.”

Your husband lifts his chin in a display of false confidence, “If Scratch is framing me, you guys will get him. I know you will.”

“Yes, we will. I promise you we will never give up, and we will exonerate you.” Familiar silver started to line Emily’s eyes as well, “But what if we can’t do that this week? Or this year? Or this… decade? Because I know we can’t do it before your arraignment.”

Spencer turned to look at you, fully facing you for the first time since you arrived at the conference room this morning. “Thirty, twenty-seven, and twenty-five.”

Emily shook her head, confused. “What? What is that?” Her dark brows were knit together, looking between the two of you as she waited for an explanation.

You faced the two of them, wiping your sweaty palms across your jeans, “That’s how old our kids would be when he gets released.”

“They won’t even know who I am,” he said miserably, looking up at the ceiling to stop tears from gathering in his eyes.

Standing up from the chair, you stepped over to him, taking your rightful place at his side. “You could take the new deal, Spence,” you reminded him. “Five to ten—”

“I need to see them grow up,” he pleaded, brown eyes boring into you as he begged you to understand. Spencer always accounted for every possible outcome. Despite the haze of the past few days, you were sure that he knew what he was getting himself into.

You nodded up at him, taking one of his hands in yours before glancing over at Emily, “Can you give us a minute?”

Prentiss sighed and gave the both of you an understanding look before she slipped out of the room. “I need to see them grow up,” he repeated himself, dragging his free hand down his face while you squeezed his hand comfortingly.

“I know,” you whispered, “but with the deal… five years.”

“Or ten,” he countered. “Ten years… Nell would be in high school.”

Your stomach flipped at the idea, your oldest baby in high school, and just like that, you understood Spencer’s decision. You’d be there, outside in the world with your kids for those five to ten years; you’d see all of the in-between. Spencer would miss everything, learning about his own children through phone calls and letters, he’d play a passive role in their lives. If there was even the slightest chance that he would plead not guilty and win, then this whole nightmare would be over. “You have to fight,” you said, announcing the conclusion that he had already come to.

He nodded in confirmation, “Angel,” he whispered, “I don’t want you to come to the arraignment.”

Your breathing hitched, “What?”

“I want you to be with the kids. You’re the only parent they’ll have for who knows how long,” he explained himself.

You hadn’t worked out what you were going to tell the kids. They were too young to understand. Finn was barely out of the newborn phase, Livvy’s vocabulary was expanding every day, and Nell… Spencer was Nell’s best friend. Steeling your expression, you nodded once, “Okay, I won’t go.”

His lips parted and closed like he wanted to say something but stopped himself, you squeezed his hand in an attempt to be encouraging. “Just in case things don’t go the way we want… don’t wait for me.”

You dropped his hand, shaking your head in horror. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing from him, without a second thought, you reached into your shirt and pulled his wedding band out, leaving it on the chain, “For better or for worse, Spencer.”

“This is far worse than anything we could have ever thought of,” he continued, trying to give you an out. You could leave and he wouldn’t fault you, but you’d fault yourself.

Instead, you waved away his offer, “It would be an honor to wait for you. If that’s what it takes for me to see you again.”

He kissed you. Ducking his head until his lips met yours, there was nothing chaste about it. You both knew it was the last kiss, and it had to be good enough to last a lifetime. It was like nothing you’d ever experienced before, fueled purely by emotion; you kissed him like you’d never see him again. You gripped the collar of his sweater to discourage him from pulling away, and you tried to memorize the feeling of his hands on your waist.

A hollow feeling filled your chest when he pulled away, “I love you,” you breathed.

He nodded, resting his forehead against yours, “I love you too.” He pressed another small kiss to your lips, “I’ll make this up to you.”

You let yourself be pulled into his embrace, burying your face in his chest. You held onto him because this moment couldn’t last forever, but you’d be damned if you weren’t going to drag it out.

[manmuncher777]

Gojo who loves simple acts of dominance, in both sexual and non sexual scenarios. Gojo who loves it when you ask him for help when carrying something heavy, he would graciously take it from you, flexing his muscles as you watched him work. Gojo who loved staying fit, part of the reason being he loved your reactions to his body. He would always make sure to strut his stuff around the house in a compression shirt, not missing the way your eyes stayed glued to him, the way you weren’t quite paying attention when he spoke “Gonna answer my question sweets or you gonna keep eye fucking me?” Gojo who would love when instead of holding his hand in public you would wrap your hands around his thick bicep. Gojo who loved being able to pick you up with ease, he loved watching your eyes light up when he would throw you about. Gojo who would wrap the bicep you loved so much around your neck while fucking you, putting you in a headlock while he destroys your pussy. Gojo who would throw you onto the bed with ease, pinning your pretty little wrists above your head “no where to run now angel”. Gojo who knew how much you loved it when he put you in your place, throwing you over his lap and bringing his huge hand down to spank you “shhh, take it for me pretty girl” Gojo who would use his strength to his advantage, pinning your hips when you were too squirmy, making you take every inch of his cock

[angelltheninth]

When Arcane Men Get Jealous

Pairing: Viktor, Jayce, Ekko, Vander, Silco, Finn, Marcus, Loris, Steb x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, jealousy, possessive behavior, being protective, kissing in public, biting, holding hands, public display of affection, canon typical violence, suggestive

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: Would die if they were jealous over me. Melt into a puddle. Gone.

When Viktor gets jealous he gets a bit more withdrawn than he usually is. Not that he was ever a social butterfly, however he was always more open and happy to talk when it was with you. So his behavior is odd, he even seems to get quieter whenever you walk into the room. Like he's trying to remove himself from you with silence.

"I am not avoiding you. Look, there has been a lot to do for the past week, I'm sorry if you got a bad impression but I was simply busy. If you want more company, go ask Jayce, or Skye, I'm sure they will be more than happy to entertain you, darling."

Viktor is short with his answers, saying as little as possible to minimize the amount of time he spends talking to you. Not because he doesn't want to talk to you, he loves talking to you, but if he keeps talking there's a chance he might say something he's going to regret. And end up hurting you.

"There you go again with these ridiculous accusations. You won't leave it alone will you? So now it's my fault that your project is running late? I would have been happy to help but someone was too busy talking with... you know what, nevermind. You're right, we both have a lot to do, so let's just drop this conversation and focus on work."

If you keep getting in the way of his work, Viktor will eventually come to a breaking point. Him not being able to work is only adding to his emotions, and he's never been the best at dealing with them. While he doesn't exactly yell at you, it's very rare that he ever raises his voice there's a notable frustration in his words, and pain, fear that you'd leave.

"If I'm being so unreasonable then leave. Go. Have fun. I know it's not idea to be cooped up in the lab all the time. There are so many more things to do out there. if you... want to go with other people I suppose I can't stop you, nor can I stop my own jealousy. How am I being even more unreasonable? I know you wouldn't leave me without talking about it. Look... I do not... want you to leave, working is more fun with you. But am I truly all that you want? Me? This lab? Because you're all I want. All that I can think of."

When Jayce gets jealous he keeps invading your personal space when you're around the person or people he's jealous of. His behavior is nothing innapropriate or pushy. It's just his arm around your waist, just him bringing you that drink you wanted, just him bragging about you a bit too loud and saying how much he loves you.

"You really are great, babe. How in Runterra did I ever find a beauty like you huh? What's that bashfulness for now, I always praise you, and I'm never gonna stop. You're my girl right? I can be a proud boyfriend and talk you up every once in a while."

Physical affection a big deal to Jayce and a way he shows he cares but also a giveaway to his jealousy. He holds your hand longer, his eyes flicker between you and the one he's jealous off, his smile is a bit more nervous when he has to leave you alone. Then there are his kisses, not as gentle, not a little, quick peck on the edge of your lips but a real kiss, lips pressed against yours until you let him know you need air.

"Got a bit carried away there. Ah, sorry, I can't resist you sometimes. All the time. Do you expect me to when you wear lipstick like that? Makes your lips look like they're made to be kissed. By me specifically. I'd kiss you all night long, for the rest of our lives and never get tired of it."

Jayce keeps denying that he's jealous when you bring it up in a teasing way. Logically there's no reason to get jealous, everyone knows your relationship is doing great, in fact you're hardly ever fighting and even when you are it doesn't last too long. How does he turn that part of his brain off? How can he not get jealous when all those people look at you the way he looks at you?

"They're always looking at you. How can you not notice? It's so obvious. You don't notice because... you're only looking at me? That doesn't even make sense! Of course they're looking, you're breathtaking everywhere you go. I just hope that wherever you go, you'll always take me with you, because I want to be by your side forever."

Ekko often jokes about being jealous so you don't pick up on him actually being jealous. A little jealousy is fine but not when it's getting in the way of his missions and operations with his team. He'd been a bit distracted in the past, by one of the Firelights flying too close to you, so he pushed his way between you two.

"It was the formation! Which you would have remembered if you weren't too busy chatting. Come on, Firefly, get your head in this. Otherwise you're gonna make your leader jealous. Wouldn't want that right? What if... what if you get demoted for it? Hey! Ow! I wouldn't demote you, who would listen to all my plans?"

When you have free time together Ekko makes sure to spend as much time with you as possible. If you're together all the time there's less chance that someone else will swoop in and flirt with you. He would never describe his behavior as being clingy, all he wants is to spend free time with his girlfriend. That is perfectly normal behavior.

"What do you say we go out to get some food? We don't have to spend all our time here. Not like the tree is gonna burn down if we're away for a couple of hours right? Besides it's been a while since it was just you and me all alone. Miss being alone with you. Don't you miss it too?"

If the person he's jealous of ever puts you in danger in any way Ekko will go off on them. Harder than he scolded others in the past. He might let some of his jealousy show then, but he storms off, well flies off before you can talk to him. As much as he wants to be alone he also makes room for you on his hoverboard when you float down next to him.

"Shouldn't have went off on them like that. I know, you don't gotta say it, I'll say I'm sorry. Let cool off a bit. You'd think that if they were flirting with you that much they could have been looking out a bit better. I'm always looking out for you. Maybe a bit too much. Sorry if I've been weird about it lately. Would you forgive me if I took you on a romantic hoverboard ride?"

No one wants to piss off a big man like Vander by flirting with his wife. Everyone values their life and their bones too much. But... they stare at you. Quite openly actually. You see it, and you bet he sees it too. He sees everything that's happening at his bar and he won't stand for someone ogling his wife, even if he has to get aggressive about it.

"It's my damn bar, I've got the right to break the table with their heads when they're looking at ya like that. Tell ya what, a lot more people would avoid this place if I started beating up every asshole that looks at ya wrong. Only reason I don't is cause I don't want ya to be mad at me after."

He hasn't banned anyone from his bar in a very long time. Vander knows he tolerates a lot, this is Zaun, and some people don't have the best manners, that's not exactly their fault. But on the other hand if they start something with him then he will finish it. When he tells them to stop looking at you like you like you were one of Babette's workers and they get in his face he will pick them up and throw them out.

"Bastards had it coming. I tried to be nice, then they had to go and call ya names. Ain't no way in hell I'm gonna let anyone insult my wife. Not here, not on the streets, not anywhere. I went there and I wanted to talk to them, tell them to fuck the hell off, they were the ones who started getting violent. So I responded in kind."

Vander calls you over to the bar a bit more often if he sees a particular table is trying to monopolize you. He carries some of the drinks over, the food plates too, or he simply walks up behind you when one of the guys is getting flirty. Seeing his imposing, huge frame behind you, his muscles bulging, is enough to get most to back off you.

"See, darlin', I can talk things out just fine. When people are being smart about it that is. Might have to stop selling so much booze in this place, then they won't be so bold with ya. Ya are a pretty sight, I can't say otherwise. But ya are a pretty sight for me, not them, ain't that right? Mhm. I know, I'm all yer's too."

Silco never ever says he's jealous of anyone. He is the most powerful man in all of Zaun, everyone is scared of him and with good reason. As the Eye of Zaun he knows when people are looking, talking too, and might even try to touch you. Those people are often payed a not so nice visit by his men.

"I did hear about that gang, yes. It's very unfortunate that they don't know how to keep their noses where they don't belong. It's not that big of a loss on our end. There are a hundred people who can do their work, and better. All that matters is that they won't even have to think about not touching you again."

He rarely has to get his own hands dirty when he gets jealous. All it takes is him saying who the target or targets are and he makes them dissapear from Zaun. That doesn't always have to be deadly, but if they're really dumb it is. If Silco feels that you're in some kind of danger then he will keep you close by. He tries to distract you from seeing he's jealous.

"All I'm saying is that we could take a break from work. Sevika and Jinx can handle a week of it. And you and me can lock ourselves up in our home and not come out. The bedroom works perfectly fine too, if you'd rather spend our time in there. And what is it that I'm doing, darling? Jealous? You are an observant one. I wouldn't want you any other way."

The only time Silco will threaten someone in person is if that someone is bold enough to flirt with you in front of them. He can scare people within an inch of their life just by talking to them, he's not just a good businessman, and some people tend to forget that. He has Zaun in the palm of his hand, and everyone in it.

"He did not actually piss himself. Did he actually. Hm, I wasn't look at him anymore to be honest. He was spineless, surprising given he talked to you like he did. Guess he was thinking with his other head a bit too much for his own good. Why are you looking at me that way? Ah, I see. Looks like someone enjoyed watching me put a scumbag into his place a bit too much."

Since Finn isn't someone who would take anything lying down he will be damned before he sees someone coming onto his woman and not do anything about it. He might have a certain charm about him but that doesn't mean he's not ready to makes heads roll the moment when someone crosses any kind of line with you. Imaginary or otherwise.

"Hah, did you see that doll? As soon as I threw one punch he went down. All his buddies ran like rats. Left him all alone there. After all that tough talk and he couldn't even defend himself. Serves him right. He's lucky all I did was break his nose when he flirted with you. I wasn't even that far away."

Finn will make out with you in front of who ever he is jealous of just to prove a point to them. And while he has you moaning, has your head buried against his neck and your body running hot he will look at the other person and stick his tongue out at them, right before making a V with his fingers and putting his tongue between them. He's vulgar but it gets the point across very well.

"All these people looking at what's mine. Now, I can't have that right? I love that you're showing off your body, it's a great body, you know how much I love it. But sometimes I want to keep you away from prying eyes. And if I can't the least I can do is give them a show. Make them know I'm the only one who can touch you."

His jacket is a signature part of his outfit, but Finn will let you wear it. Hell, he will walk over and drape it over your shoulders while not even looking at whoever you're talking to. Sometimes they're not worth looking at when he can look at the pretty way you blush as you touch his hand that's lingering on your shoulder.

"Thought you looked a bit cold there. Keep this on all night. Later on I'll help you warm up my way, a much more fun way. Don't even worry about your perfume getting all into this, love having your scent all over me. And by tomorrow you're gonna be wearing all of my marks."

There are a lot of people in the Enforcers who tease Marcus about having such a pretty wife. He knows you're pretty, but he doesn't like that the department is noticing it so much as well. Not that there's any way for him to hide it, or that he wants you to hide it, that would be a real crime.

"I was not pouting. That is so childish. I was glaring at them. Well, they were the ones who stared first. You visit me at work, like that's such a big deal. We're married, honey, I pick you up from work too. Why is it such a big deal here? I think they're just trying to get a rise out of me."

Won't deny that he's feeling jealous or shy away from showing it. When Marcus notices any of his men flirting with you he makes them work extra hard that day, he gives them more paperwork, something that everyone hates there, or assigns them to the toughest jobs that he knows will take them days to complete. He can't help but chuckle when you visit again and they're too tired to flirt with you, they just say hello.

"What do you mean I'm picking on them? Of course not. You know how hard it is to deal with all these extra cases. Someone has to take on a few more. No, the fact that it's the same Enforcers who gave you flowers that one time has nothing to do with it. You think it does? And do you have evidence of this accusation?"

Marcus isn't shy about kissing you in front of the whole department. If that's what it takes to send them all a clear message to back off. It's always perfectly chaste kisses, but he does make sure that everyone hears him say he loves you when you leave. He smirks when eyes turn to him and he wishes them all a good rest of their day.

"Now you call me petty. All of these accusations and you still don't have any evidence. That's not a very good way to have a case. You've been keeping count have you? Oh. You... actually have been keeping count? I'm guilty? Fine, you got me, you got me. Maybe... that was a little petty of me, but I'm not sorry."

Every time Loris is jealous it's almost impossible for him to hide that fact. He's a big guy, nothing about him is easy to his, not even his emotions. And he's loud, so every time he huffs, mumbles something, or grunts you hear it. Your eyes meet and he looks away, his hand grasping yours and running his thumb over the back of your hand.

'They were staring at you a bit too much for my liking, pretty girl. If they were as tough as they pretend they were they should have held their ground more. Proves they were all bark and no bite. People like that really get on my nerves, and then they talk to my girl like she's single."

Loris invites you to have lunch with him quite often, even more often when he gets jealous of someone who works with him. Dealing with them in any other way would be unprofessional of him, and might get him in trouble. This way he gets to avoid that, avoid them, and spend a nice lunch date with you. No matter how you look at it he's the real winner here.

"Looks so good. But if you keep looking at me like that I might get hungry for something else besides the food. Just try shifting the blame on me when you know exactly how you're looking at me right now. I wouldn't risk it at work, but... if you showed up with a few hickeys on your neck it might get the rest of the department to stop flirting with you."

As much as he tries to make his jealousy go away it's not easy. Loris knows he should be an example for others, after all he had been an Enforcer for a long time, he can't just let his emotions get the better of him. Hard to keep those emotions down when they concern you. If nothing else works he will intimidate people. Easy enough for him. But he would rather that be a last resort.

"If he wasn't ready to throw fists and words at me then he shouldn't have thrown flirty words at you. He should be able to back himself up if he's gonna be saying stuff like that. All I did was pick him up and throw him outside. Hey, I might get in a bit of trouble for it, but at least he'll leave you alone from now on. I'd risk my badge for you if I have to, you know that."

Since he is the quiet type Steb shows his emotions and jealousy is one that he works hard to surpress. Every time he notices that someone is standing a little too close to you he walks over and looks at you, lovingly, then he looks at the other person with a glare, a deadly one. All the while he's standing shoulder to shoulder with you.

"Come now, angelfish, they weren't even worth your time. We both know they only had one thing in mind when they were talking to you. I could see it in their eyes. I don't appreciate that they looked at you like that. And I know you don't either. So I felt like I had to step in."

He is very physical with his jealousy. Steb lets his eyes and touches linger a few moments longer when he wants to make a point to someone. While he knows you don't hate it he also doesn't want to come off as too jealous or too possessive over you. You can take care of yourself and he loves that about you, he's watched you put people in their place often, but there are times where he can't hold himself back.

"I could feel your fingers interlocking with mine. You wanted me to stand close to you when they weren't leaving you alone. Would you have raised your voice if I hadn't walked over? It would be amusing to see it. But I think those kisses we shared also sent an equally powerful message. You didn't have to bit me though."

Steb nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck when he's feeling really, really jealous of someone. He makes it look less possessive than it is, pretending like he's overhearing something you have to say, and then pushing himself just a little bit closer. His cold lips make contact with your neck, sending shivers down your body before he brushes your lips with his thumb and leaves with a smirk.

"That ought to be enough. I could have done more but marking you in public might have been a step too far. We can enjoy things like that in private however. I enjoy being close to you in any context, and if it makes others realize you're not looking for anyone because you've already got a man then I enjoy it even more."

[kashverse]

*inhales* PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE GIVE US MORE TEACHER NANAMI AND TEACHER READER OLEASE I AM BEGGING ON MY KNEES I PROMISE TO GIVE YOU MY FIRST CHILD EVERYTHING YIU NEED PLEASE JUST GIVE US MORE TEACHER NANAMIII 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

everyone keep their children to themselves...!!!

the day nanami realized he was madly in love with you was not some dramatic, earth-shattering moment. no, it was when he walked into your classroom, expecting to borrow a simple whiteboard marker, and instead found you holding a live pigeon like some kind of disney princess. "why," he began slowly, blinking at the scene before him, "are you holding a pigeon?"

"oh, hey, nanami," you greeted him, as if nothing about this situation was abnormal. "meet genie."

"genie." he repeated, tone flat.

"yeah! the kids wanted to name him 'mr. pipi,' but, you know… obvious reasons."

nanami pinched the bridge of his nose. "right. obvious reasons."

the children were gathered around you, eyes wide with wonder, absolutely enchanted by the pigeon sitting comfortably in your hands. the bird, for whatever reason, looked completely at peace. in fact, it looked happy. "we were talking about birds today," you explained cheerfully. "and i thought, what better way to learn than with a real one?"

"and how did you acquire a real one?" nanami asked, already dreading the answer.

"i found him in the parking lot. he just let me pick him up."

"of course he did," nanami muttered, because if there was anyone who could just randomly befriend a pigeon, it was you. as you continued your enthusiastic (if wildly inaccurate) explanation of bird anatomy, nanami barely registered the nonsense leaving your mouth.

“this is his wing, and he uses it to flap around.”

("very informative," nanami murmured sarcastically.)

“this is his beak, it's like a built-in spoon!”

("i'm going to pretend i didn't hear that.")

“and his feathers help him fly, just like how airplanes have wings!”

("you are personally offending every biologist alive.")

but the kids were enamored. they nodded along, absolutely believing every word you said. meanwhile, nanami’s class—who had followed him like little ducklings—stood in the doorway crying about how they wanted a pigeon too.

"mr. nanami, it's not fair!"

"we wanna see genie too!"

"why does their class get a cool bird and we don’t?!"

nanami sighed. “we are not getting a pigeon.”

a week later, nanami's class had a hamster named pringles. “so,” you said, leaning against his desk as he watched pringles roll around in his little enclosure, “how does it feel, being out-parented?”

"we are not their parents," nanami deadpanned.

"aren't we?" you grinned. "i mean, we literally argued over pet custody. we had meetings to ensure genie and pringles had separate, safe spaces. you had a full-blown existential crisis when genie tried to eat pringles."

nanami massaged his temples. "genie should not have been near pringles in the first place."

"oh, so now you agree with me?" you teased. he sighed. "i always agreed with you. i just—" he cut himself off, lips pressing into a thin line. you tilted your head. "just what?"

he glanced at you, at the way you smiled at him so effortlessly, and he felt the realization hit him like a freight train. 

he was so incredibly, hopelessly in love with you.

"...nothing," he muttered. "i'm going to lunch."

"oh! combined lunch today?"

"no."

you laughed, and nanami hated how it made his heart race.

[theeyecrab]

Closing my eyes, I knew my life was about to end. I was old, loved, and had the chance to see my own children and grandchildren grow, and it was time. I was sick for a while, but it was not painful or sad. I've had a good life, and I was at peace. I just needed one last thing.

“Lisa, darling, could you please give me Everdell?” I asked.

She looked at me, confused, and said “Eh sure dad, but what do you need it for? I thought you wanted to sleep.” I didn’t answer, just smiled, and she brought the game to me anyway. I think she knew my end was near as well. 

I held the game over my chest, and closed my eyes one final time.

When I opened my eyes, I wasn’t in my room anymore. I was in a very white space, and there was a cloaked figure standing near me. YOUR TIME HAS COME. I heard a voice. Well, maybe heard is not the right word. More like felt. I felt the words inside my head. “I’m sorry if this is insensitive, but, are you Death?” YES. I heard the voice again, and smiled. Then I handed Death my copy of Everdell, and said "I hope you don't mind my assumption, but according to our legends you really like games…This one is my favorite. I just wanted to give you a thank you gift for taking me peacefully." THANK YOU. I DO NOT KNOW HOW TO PLAY THIS GAME, BUT I LIKE IT NONTHELESS. I felt the voice echoing inside my head. ��Would you like me to teach you? We can play now if you want.” YES. PLEASE.

And so we sat down, me and Death, and we played Everdell. After a long and fun game, I ended up winning. I didn’t think much of it, and expected Death to take me, but then they spoke again. SINCE YOU WON THE GAME, they said, YOU CAN STAY. ALIVE. IF YOU WANT, WE CAN MAKE THIS A WEEKLY THING. PLAYING THE GAME. I was surprised, but thought, why not? “I would very much love that,” I said, “and if you want we can try different games as well.” YES. Death said, and disappeared. When I woke up the next morning, I was no longer sick, and the game was scattered all over the floor.

And that, my darlings, the story of how your great great grandmother is still healthy at her very old age, and how she plays board games with Death themselves every week. Now, it’s time to sleep. Goodnight.

You hand Death your copy of the board game Everdell. "I hope you don't mind my assumption. Acording to our legends you really like games…This one is my favorite. I just wanted to give you a thank you gift for taking me peacefully."

[whosashan]

I've got my eyes on you

In which - How did you and the LaDS men start dating? Reader is not mc - except in Caleb's section.

Xavier

The moment you laid eyes on Xavier, you knew you had to have him. How could you not? That strikingly handsome face, those curious blue eyes, and an effortlessly captivating presence—it was impossible to resist.

The first time you approached him was at a grocery store. Your heart pounded against your ribs, threatening to break free from your chest, but you forced yourself to remain composed. Summoning your courage, you struck up a conversation.

He didn’t seem particularly interested, responding with brief, lackluster answers.

‘It’s fine, he’ll warm up to me,’ you assured yourself, determination flickering in your gaze. You had never pursued a man before, but this time was different. There was something about him—something magnetic—that refused to let you walk away.

Somehow, you managed to secure his phone number, and you wasted no time texting him, attempting to revive the conversation from earlier.

With persistence, you chipped away at his guarded demeanor, gradually uncovering bits and pieces of who he was. One particularly useful detail you learned? He lived close by. Another? His cooking skills were, to put it lightly, atrocious.

‘Perfect,’ you mused, making a beeline for your kitchen. It was time to put those cooking classes to good use.

Weeks turned into months, and an unspoken routine formed between the two of you—you would cook, and he would eat. As cliché as it was, the old saying held true: the way to a man’s heart really was through his stomach. Your bond deepened, not in a whirlwind of passion, but in slow, comfortable moments. And you didn’t mind one bit.

Late-night arcade outings, spontaneous hangouts, and occasional movie nights became the norm. And every time he fell asleep beside you, his face soft, his messy hair falling over his slightly flushed cheeks, your heart stuttered in your chest.

But with familiarity came a new problem: you had started to care, truly care, and with that realization, your once-unshakable confidence wavered. Flirting had been easy before, playful and teasing, but now? Now, every word felt heavier, every glance more meaningful. And the worst part? You were sure he didn’t even notice.

The final straw came when you noticed a certain colleague of his getting too close for your liking. That was it. You couldn’t put this off any longer.

“Hey, Xayxay, can you meet up? I want to talk to you about something,” you texted, before promptly throwing your phone onto your bed as if that would somehow lessen the weight of your nerves.

You waited. And waited.

It felt like an eternity.

Then, a sudden knock at your door.

You nearly tripped over yourself in your rush to open it. And there he was—Xavier, slightly breathless, eyes laced with concern, like he had practically run to get here.

“Did something happen?” he asked, stepping inside with the ease of someone who had long since made themselves at home in your space. And you loved that.

You sighed, wringing your hands together.

“Look, I don’t want to put this off any longer…” You hesitated, biting your lip. “Xavier, I like you. More than a friend.”

You braced yourself for rejection. But instead, you were met with his puzzled stare.

“…Aren’t we dating?”

“…What?”

“…What?”

So, it turned out you had nothing to worry about after all.

Zayne

On your way home, you stepped into a charming little pastry shop near the hospital. The aroma of freshly baked goods filled the air, making your mouth water in anticipation. You could already picture yourself sinking your teeth into a rich, decadent cake.

As you stood in line, your gaze landed on a man whose face was so strikingly handsome it felt almost unfair. There was an air of quiet composure about him, an effortless grace that made it nearly impossible to look away. You found yourself studying him, mind racing with ways to strike up a conversation. How often did you come across someone this captivating?

"Excuse me, sir." Your voice took on a honeyed sweetness that made you cringe internally, but desperate times called for desperate measures. "You seem like quite the pastry connoisseur. I don’t come here often, so I’d love a recommendation." A harmless lie.

He turned his gaze toward you, expression unreadable. Crossing his arms, he seemed to consider your question carefully before responding.

"If you’re looking for something light, the macarons are an excellent choice. If you prefer something more substantial, the caramel cheesecake is exquisite." His tone was smooth, assured—like a man who always knew the right answer.

At least he had good taste.

"Ahh, thank you! I’ll definitely try both," you said, flashing him a bright smile. Then, before you could lose your nerve, you added, "If you’re not busy, maybe we could enjoy them together here?"

Where had this sudden boldness come from?

He studied you for a moment, as if weighing his options. Then, with a small nod, he answered, "I do have a break from work right now. Alright."

You nearly leapt with joy, but just as you were about to celebrate internally—

"Ahh, Y/N! My favorite customer! What can I get for you today?" the cashier called out cheerfully.

You froze. Busted.

Despite the momentary embarrassment, the interaction led to an exchange of phone numbers. You didn’t get to see Zayne often due to his demanding career as a doctor, but he always found time to text back, even indulging your occasional rants. Sometimes, he even called. The slow progression of your relationship was something you treasured, a delicate dance of growing affection.

Time passed, and though you longed to ask Zayne out, you hesitated. He almost seemed too good to be true. Would he ever truly be interested in you?

Then, there were the little things—how his gaze lingered a second too long, how his hand seemed to hover over yours before pulling away, how, despite his overwhelming schedule, he always carved out time for you. Were those hints? Or were you reading too much into it?

Your thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the soft ping of a notification. Your heart jumped as you picked up your phone. A message from Zayne.

"Are you free tonight?"

Such a simple text, yet it sent heat rushing through your body.

"For sure! What do you want to do?" you replied, fingers trembling slightly as you awaited his response.

"I’d love to take you out."

Your breath hitched. Take you out. As in… a date?

You stared at the message, searching for any alternate meaning, but there was none.

"I would love that, Zayne," you finally typed, hands shaking.

"Lovely. I’ll pick you up at 7."

You practically sprinted to your room to get ready.

The evening was nothing short of perfect. He took you to a refined restaurant, surprising you with a bouquet of your favorite flowers—proof that he had been listening all along. The air between you was charged with something different, something new yet thrilling.

After dinner, the two of you strolled beneath a sky blanketed with stars, the crisp night air adding an almost cinematic touch to the moment.

"You’re shivering," he observed, his voice as calm and measured as ever. Without hesitation, he slipped off his coat and draped it over your shoulders, the warmth of the fabric—and of him—enveloping you.

"Thank you…" you murmured, smiling softly but avoiding his gaze, afraid he’d see just how deeply he affected you.

"Y/N." He came to a halt, prompting you to stop as well. His tone was composed, yet there was an unfamiliar weight behind it.

"I would love to take you out more… What I mean is, would you do me the honor of being my girlfriend?" His face remained impassive, but you swore you caught the faintest hint of a blush gracing his cheeks.

Your heart nearly exploded.

"I would love nothing more, Zayne."

Rafayel

Being an art enthusiast, you often found yourself wandering through exhibitions, losing yourself in the beauty of each piece. Tonight, however, felt different. This was Rafayel’s exhibition—a name that had long held a certain power over you. His art possessed an almost hypnotic quality, evoking emotions so profound that you struggled to put them into words.

As you moved through the gallery, your gaze inevitably found him. Rafayel stood amidst a small group of admirers, answering their questions with an effortless confidence. His voice was smooth, steady, rich with an underlying intensity that made it impossible to ignore.

But it wasn’t just his voice that captivated you. He was a masterpiece himself—dressed in a crisp white blouse, his dark hair slightly tousled, his sharp eyes carrying a quiet depth. There was something about the way he carried himself, as if knowing the effect he had on people.

You didn't want to appear as just another admirer swooning over the artist. Your fascination went beyond that—you were genuinely intrigued by his mind, his process. So, when the crowd around him began to disperse, leaving him momentarily alone, you took a steadying breath and approached him. He stood before one of his paintings, his gaze heavy with contemplation.

"You truly know how to capture a moment," you mused, your voice steady but tinged with admiration. "This piece in particular—it feels almost melancholic, like someone longing for something just out of reach."

Rafayel’s eyes flicked toward you, scanning your face, weighing your words. For a brief moment, you feared he might dismiss you with the same aloofness he granted others, but instead, his lips curved into something almost thoughtful. And just like that, an unspoken understanding passed between you, giving way to a conversation that carried on far longer than you had expected.

That first meeting was the spark. You found yourself returning to his exhibitions more often, drawn not just to his art but to him. It became a quiet routine—the two of you engaging in deep discussions, learning the intricacies of each other's thoughts and mannerisms. At first, Rafayel maintained his usual air of arrogance, teasing and enigmatic, but with time, you glimpsed something more—something raw and unguarded beneath the facade.

It wasn’t long before your admiration deepened into something more. You had fallen for him, hopelessly so. And you liked to think, in stolen moments of lingering glances and fleeting touches, that perhaps he felt the same.

One evening, you found yourself in his studio, sitting on the floor as he worked, the only sounds being the occasional stroke of his brush against canvas. The atmosphere was comforting, intimate in a way words couldn’t quite capture.

“You’re unusually quiet,” he remarked, his tone laced with amusement. You rolled your eyes, looking up at him from your spot on the floor.

“And you’re talkative, as always.” A soft smile played on your lips as you stood and walked toward him.

“Rafayel, can I ask you something?” The hesitation in your voice made him pause. He turned to face you, one brow arched in curiosity.

“Why so serious?” he asked, studying you intently.

You scoffed lightly. “Never mind, then.”

He let out a small sigh. "You’ve already started. Might as well finish."

You hesitated for a beat before finally speaking. “Do you… have someone you like? More than a friend, I mean.”

For a fleeting second, something unreadable passed through his gaze. Then, a slow smirk tugged at his lips. “Curious, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

He exhaled a quiet chuckle before answering, “There is someone. She’s insufferably stubborn, a little reckless, and quite possibly the clumsiest person I’ve ever met.” His gaze softened, a rare warmth creeping into his tone. “And yet, she’s also the most endearing.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs. “You need to be more specific.”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “If you weren’t so oblivious, you’d figure it out.”

A teasing smile spread across your lips. “Wait—are you talking about me?” You nudged him playfully.

He said nothing, his focus returning to his painting.

Oh.

“YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT ME?” you blurted, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Don’t flatter yourself. It’s just a small crush,” he scoffed, though the faint pink dusting his ears betrayed him.

A laugh bubbled out of you, pure and unrestrained. “Aww, Rafayel! I like you too.”

His expression flickered with surprise before he quickly masked it with his usual confidence. “Of course you do. Who wouldn’t?”

Despite his words, his actions spoke differently—pulling you into his arms, he pressed a tender kiss to your temple, lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

Perhaps, just this once, he didn’t mind wearing his heart on his sleeve.

Sylus

Sleep had eluded you, leaving you restless and craving the crisp night air. The city was bathed in the gentle glow of streetlights, the sky an endless expanse of inky black adorned with shimmering stars. Their quiet brilliance was captivating, an ethereal distraction that kept your gaze skyward as you wandered aimlessly through the quiet streets.

Lost in thought, you didn’t notice the figure in your path until you collided with him.

“Oh! I’m so sorry—” you started, but your words caught in your throat as you looked up at him.

The man before you was striking. Towering in stature, his silver hair gleamed beneath the moonlight, tousled in a way that made it appear effortlessly elegant. But it was his eyes that truly seized your breath—deep crimson, piercing and intense, as if they could unravel every secret hidden within you. His features were sharp, sculpted to perfection, and his presence exuded an air of undeniable dominance.

He regarded you with a smirk, his amusement evident.

“Worry not, sweet thing,” he murmured, his voice a velvety caress against your senses. The smoothness of his tone sent a shiver down your spine, deepening the warmth blooming in your cheeks. His gaze flickered over your face, noting your reaction, and his smirk grew ever so slightly.

Only then did you realize what else you had stumbled upon. A few feet away, a man knelt on the pavement, head bowed, his entire posture trembling before the silver-haired stranger. The sight sent unease prickling up your spine.

What exactly had you just walked into?

The silver-haired man followed your gaze before exhaling softly. “Ah,” he mused, as if debating what to say. “A young lady like you shouldn’t be wandering alone at this hour. The night is filled with monsters, after all.”

The way he said it, with that knowing glint in his crimson eyes, sent a fresh wave of unease through you. Somehow, you knew he wasn’t speaking metaphorically. But instead of pressing for answers, something in you decided it was best not to ask.

“I was just out for some air. I should…probably head home now.” You forced a steady voice, willing your body not to betray the apprehension creeping into your bones. Every instinct in you screamed to run, yet your legs remained locked in place, unwilling to reveal your fear.

He tilted his head slightly, watching you. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Allow me to escort you.”

Your breath hitched. “You seem more dangerous than whatever else is lurking out here.”

A rich chuckle escaped him, dark and amused. “A fair observation.” He leaned in slightly, his gaze never wavering. “But that decision, my dear, is entirely yours.”

Despite every warning sign flashing in your mind, you hesitated. There was something about him—his presence was undeniably commanding, yet oddly reassuring. And then, there was the nagging feeling that he was familiar, though you couldn't place why.

Eventually, you gave a small nod, curiosity overpowering reason.

And so began your entanglement with Sylus. The enigmatic man came and went like a shadow, slipping in and out of your life at his whim. Some nights, he would appear unexpectedly, gifting you your favorite sweets or leaving a new dress draped across your doorstep with no explanation. Tickets to your favorite concerts would mysteriously find their way into your mailbox, the sender unstated but obvious.

It was infuriating. It was intoxicating. He was impossible to understand, yet he made you feel desired—seen in a way no one else ever had.

But after monthsof his unpredictable vanishing acts, your patience wore thin. So when he strolled into your apartment one evening, pouring himself a glass of the wine you had bought earlier, you finally snapped.

“You’re confusing me,” you blurted, frustration lacing your tone. “What am I to you, Sylus?”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. He raised the glass to his lips but paused, considering your words. Slowly, he set the drink down and approached you, his crimson eyes locking onto yours. When he reached out to cup your cheek, you instinctively pushed his hand away, resolve burning in your gaze.

He sighed. Vulnerability did not come easily to him; that much was clear. But you were different. You had made him a little softer, a little weaker in ways he didn’t quite understand.

“I can’t keep living in uncertainty,” you continued, voice steadier now. “Either tell me what you want, or leave me alone.”

A beat of silence stretched between you before he spoke, his voice low, certain.

“I want you.”

The simplicity of the statement sent your heart racing. You hadn’t expected him to be so direct, nor for his words to carry such weight.

Your face grew hot. “You’re an idiot.”

A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest as you sighed, resting your head against him, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He smelled of something rich and warm, a scent you couldn’t quite place but already found comforting.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you mumbled, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Sylus merely hummed in amusement, his arms wrapping around you with the quiet possessiveness of a man who had no intention of letting go.

Caleb

After your reunion with Caleb, an unfamiliar feeling took root in your chest—no, not unfamiliar. It had always been there, buried beneath layers of friendship and denial. But now, it was impossible to ignore. Suddenly, you were hyper-aware of just how much of a man he had become.

His kind yet brooding eyes, that boyish grin, the intoxicating scent that lingered on his clothes—had he always smelled this good? Broad shoulders, strong arms, hands that had always handled you with ease, lifting you effortlessly whenever. The thought alone sent heat creeping up your cheeks, and the man sitting across from you clearly took notice.

“What’s got you all blushy-blushy, pipsqueak?” he teased, pinching your cheek with that infuriatingly smug smirk.

You scoffed, turning your face away. “Don’t touch my face, Caleb! I have makeup on.”

Lately, you’d found yourself caring more about your appearance around him. It was absurd. He’d seen you at your absolute worst—bedhead, tears, even the aftermath of too much liquor. Yet now, every glance he sent your way made you feel… shy? What was happening to you?

He only chuckled in response, leaning back against his chair.

The two of you had met up at a café to play Kitty Cards, an old favorite. He always let you win, though he never admitted it. You pretended not to notice, but every time you did, it made you smile—just a little.

“Alright, come on. The movie’s gonna start soon.” He stood, extending his hand toward you. Without hesitation, you took it, savoring the warmth of his rough palm against yours.

The movie of choice was a horror film—Caleb’s idea, of course. You had agreed, partly to humor him and partly because any excuse to spend more time with him was welcome.

Inside the theater, you sat beside him, the glow of the screen illuminating his sharp features. The flickering light made his eyes glimmer, and for a moment, you were caught staring. You quickly looked away, but not before he noticed. Of course he noticed.

“You’re acting weird.” His gaze lingered on you, his voice laced with curiosity.

“I—uh—I’m on my period,” you blurted, grasping for an excuse. “That’s all. I just feel a little unwell.”

His expression softened instantly. “You should’ve told me. Do you want to go home? I’ll cook you some soup, and we can watch something there instead.”

There he was again—always caring, always thinking of you. It made your heart race, and you hated how easily he could do that to you.

“No, it’s fine. Let’s just watch the movie.”

As the film progressed, it proved to be far scarier than you’d anticipated. Without realizing it, you had latched onto Caleb’s hand. He chuckled at your reaction but didn’t pull away.

Then came the jump scare.

Out of reflex, you turned toward him, seeking comfort. But at the same moment, he turned toward you.

Peck.

Your lips brushed against his.

Your breath hitched. His eyes widened slightly, and for a few heart-stopping seconds, neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. Just stared.

“I’m so sorry!” you yelped, whipping your head away in mortification.

“Hey, it’s fine, pipsqueak.” He gave you a reassuring smile. “It was an accident.”

You didn’t know why, but his words stung a little.

“…Yeah.”

By the time you returned home, your shoulders were weighed down with something heavy, something unspoken. It gnawed at you, clawed at your chest.

Caleb, as if sensing your turmoil, placed his hands on your shoulders, turning you to face him. “Alright, that’s enough. Tell me what’s wrong.”

You swallowed hard, your gaze dropping to the floor before gathering the courage to meet his eyes.

“Caleb… would it be selfish of me if I said I want to kiss you again?”

Silence. A single, tense moment stretched between you, thick enough to drown in. Then, without a word, he reached for you. His hands cupped your face, disregarding your earlier complaint about ruining your makeup, and with a quiet exhale, he pressed his lips to yours.

The kiss was brief, tender—yet it held the weight of something long overdue. In that moment, you knew he was no longer only your best friend.

[lynnieverse]

hi, absolutely devouring late night talking!! just wondering if you've ever seen meetcutesnyc on tikotk? cannot stop imagining rafe being stopped & asked for his love story especially with how many hs & college sweethearts end up there..... it just fits too good!!! bc u know damn well he's looking for any excuse to talk his girl up and show that rock on her finger... and of course she just gets to smile n wave at the camera, living her best life

so high school // rafe cameron

oneshot

meetcutesnyc au

rafe cameron x reader

a/n: I LOVE THIS IDEA OMG. thank you so much for this and i hope i did it justice!! enjoy :)))

“Excuse me, are you two together?” the cheery voice sounded to your left. Rafe turned first, tugging on your interlocked hands with a smile on his face. You take in the small woman with a microphone––a man with a camera on his shoulder standing next to her––stomach immediately twisting to knots. Pedestrians grumble as they pass, obviously annoyed at the sudden stop in foot traffic. You shuffle towards the curb, the camera following as you do so. 

“Yeah we are,” Rafe said brightly, glancing back at you with only love in his eyes. You can’t help but grin back, the anxiety that came with the camera fading the longer you looked at him. 

“Can I ask how you met?” the woman asked, directing the cameraman so he got the two of you in frame. You snickered, squeezing Rafe’s hand instinctively as he gave you a warning look. 

“Go ahead babe, tell her.” Rafe rolled his eyes playfully and turned his attention back to the camera. 

“Well…we hated each other.”

“Loathed,” you chime in. 

“Okay I wouldn’t go that far,” he argued, bumping your shoulder with his. 

“I would! He’s my best friend’s older brother, so I had to be around him all the time, and he was an annoying boy for the majority of our childhood.” The interviewer laughed, glancing between you both with a twinkle in her eye. 

“Yeah, yeah. And she was a little brat who loved to get on my nerves.” Rafe stuck his tongue out at you. You hold up your hand and purse your lips, ignoring him completely. 

“So what made you change your mind?” 

“Well I didn’t, not for a while anyway. It wasn’t until college that he finally grew up and I could take him seriously.” 

“Listen I only acted that way because I liked you in high school!” he defended for the dozenth time, something that always baffled you. When he first told you that little tidbit of information, you’d spewed your water all over him at a very nice restaurant. 

“Anyway…” you drawled out. “He had to win me over, so he decided to follow me around wherever I went.” 

Rafe groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “You make me sound like a stalker, Y/N!”

The interviewer laughed. “So you pursued her?”

“Aggressively,” you confirm, shaking your head with a fond smile. "Every study session, every coffee run, every party—I’d turn around and there he was. He was such a cockblock to my dating game too; I swear he crashed every date I ever had.” The interviewer stifled a laugh with her hand.

“Yeah that’s true,” he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I was persistent and charming, okay?” You whipped your head to the side, gaping at him.

“You tripped and spilled your coffee in front of me three times,” you remind him. 

Rafe gasped, pretending to clutch his pearls. “You helped me up! That was the moment I knew, you know?” he commented to the camera. “When you stared down at me, covered in caramel macchiato, and I thought, ‘Damn, she’s the one’.”

“I was laughing at you,” you giggle, shoving his shoulder. Rafe took it in stride, pulling you into his side and kissing the top of your head.

“So when did you officially get together?” she asked, leaning forward slightly, clearly eating this up. 

“Junior year,” you answer, still locked in Rafe’s embrace, surrounded by his intoxicating scent. It never gets old, being around him. 

“When she finally admitted to being obsessed with me,” Rafe added, winking to the camera.

You scoffed. “Yeah, sure.” 

“Tell them about the proposal,” he whispered, nudging you towards the mic. You groan, the blood instantly rushing to your cheeks. 

“Oh God,” you cover your face with your hands. 

“Oh come on, Princess, you love telling people how I got down on both knees.” 

A gasp came from in front of you. “Wait––you what?”

“I panicked okay! I got down on one knee, then I just––wanted to make sure––so I got down on both,” he raised his hands defensively. 

“He looked like he was begging for his life!” you snorted, shaking your head. “But it was sweet. And perfect. And obviously I said yes.” Rafe grabbed your hand and showed your ring to the camera, the light making the moss agate gem shine brightly. You were never really a diamond girl, and he delivered perfectly. 

“Best thing to ever happen to me!” Rafe was smiling ear to ear, cheeks an adorable shade of pink. 

“You guys are adorable!” The cameraman nodded too, shaking the camera a bit. 

“I know,” Rafe said, clearly enjoying this. 

You press a soft kiss to his cheek. “I love you, you weirdo.” 

“I love you more, Princess,” he murmured, squeezing your hand. 

“Thank you guys so much for your time! Good luck with the wedding!” The interview wrapped up, the crew saying goodbye and leaving the two of you on your own once more. Rafe tugged you forward, finally getting back on track to your favorite bagel shop. 

“I was persistent.” he said in mock seriousness, a pout overtaking his face. You burst out laughing, jumping up to peck his lips. 

“Yes you were, baby. You knew what you wanted and boy you got her,” you smirked. Rafe clutched his heart. 

“I love when you quote Taylor Swift at me.” 

“All you are is mean, and a liar, and pathetic––” 

“Okay not that one!” You both laugh, fading into comfortable silence. 

As you approach the front of the shop he pulls you closer, whispering softly in your ear. “I really did always know it was you.”

[pixiexdusts-world]

Trust me

Thanos x reader

Summary: A shy girl finds safety in Thanos, a reckless but protective survivor.

Word count: 770

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

I never thought I’d end up here—with him.

Thanos wasn’t the kind of person I usually gravitated toward. He was loud, confident, and unpredictable, while I was… well, me. Shy. Awkward. The kind of person who second-guessed every word before speaking, who blushed at the slightest attention. He was the kind of guy people either admired or feared. And yet, somehow, he had chosen me.

I met him before Squid Game, before everything fell apart. Back when he was just a man with a reputation too big for any room he walked into. I had been working part-time at a record store, hiding behind the counter, quietly existing, when he walked in one night.

“You got any old-school hip-hop?” he had asked, tapping his fingers against the counter in an impatient rhythm.

I had barely managed to stammer out a response before he smirked. “Why you so nervous?”

I hadn’t known how to answer. But for some reason, he had kept coming back, every week, teasing me, pushing past my awkwardness until I had gotten used to him.

And then life happened. Bad decisions. Wrong people. The kind of trouble that swallowed you whole before you even realized you’d stepped into it. That’s how we ended up here.

The first night in the Squid Game, I kept to myself, hugging my knees in the corner while the others talked in hushed voices. Thanos, on the other hand, was already making himself known—loud, reckless, unbothered by the fear in the air. I should have been annoyed. Maybe even a little afraid. But when he found me sitting alone, his expression softened in a way I wasn’t used to seeing.

“You okay?” he asked, crouching in front of me.

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure if it was true.

“You don’t have to be scared,” he said, lowering his voice like it was meant just for me. “Not as long as I’m here.”

I wanted to believe him. But this wasn’t some rap battle, some night out where he could bluff his way through danger with a cocky grin. This was real. Life or death.

Still, when he sat beside me, closer than necessary, I didn’t move away.

The days blurred together, each game a crueler nightmare than the last. I wasn’t built for this. I was too quiet, too soft, too used to fading into the background. But Thanos never let me disappear.

He stood in front of me when tensions ran high, when fights broke out over food. He made sure I ate, even when he barely touched his own meal. And when I flinched at the sound of a gunshot, he grabbed my wrist, holding it just tight enough to ground me.

“Hey,” he murmured, “look at me.”

I did.

“You’re still here,” he reminded me. “And as long as you’re here, you fight.”

I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t like him, that I didn’t know how to be fearless. But when I looked into his eyes, I realized something—he wasn’t fearless either. He just knew how to hide it.

One night, when the lights flickered and the dormitory became a battlefield, I felt panic creeping in. The sounds of screams and fists colliding filled the air, and I knew I was too weak to fight.

But then there was him.

Thanos grabbed my hand, pulling me into the shadows before anyone could reach me. He pressed me against the wall, shielding me with his body as chaos unfolded around us.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered, his voice rough but steady.

I wanted to tell him I didn’t deserve his protection. That he should be watching out for himself, not wasting his time on me. But all I could do was nod, gripping the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline.

As he fought off anyone who got too close, I realized something.

He wasn’t the man people thought he was. He wasn’t just reckless. He wasn’t just trouble.

He was the only person in this place who made me feel safe.

“Why do you care so much?” I asked one night, when the world had quieted again.

He looked at me like the answer was obvious.

“Because you make me feel human.”

And in that moment, despite the nightmare surrounding us, I believed him.

[ghouljams]

I’m really trying but you’re not making this any easier on me Ghoul D: Because after this:

"So," Price says over the rim of his glass, "'O else is fucking the girl?" It's only too bad that the sergeants both stiffen at the same moment Ghost does.

Not only is my mind reeling with what the others do, which trust me it is. Because the implication of the Captain finding you dripping with Ghost’s cum… However, I’m also thinking about how everything clicks for Ghost.

How you took his cock so well every single time, how you seemed to get that victorious little glint in your eye and a self-satisfied smile every time you walk with shaky legs out of whatever bathroom, supply closet or wherever his fucked you within an inch of your life. That goddamn sweet voice you use every time you call him sir.

This whole time he has been played by his plaything.

And his NOT going to let it stay like that.

He’s 100% teaming up with the others to teach you a lesson… maybe falling for exactly what you had been hoping for this whole time…

- Morph

You snag a champagne flute off a passing tray, if only so you look like you're doing something. Faux social as your mother would say.

You don't get a chance to drink it. Thick fingers grab the rib before you can press your lips to it and pluck the glass from your hand, passing it off to another server. You pout at the oldest of the four men that seem to orbit you, mostly because he always seems to enjoy it. This one likes when you're girlish. You think he'd ask you to call him daddy if he ever let you say anything, probably gets off on you being young and pretty.

The hand he slides over the small of your back is insistent, but the words that drip from his smiling lips are meaningless. Fancy things that sound like he's saying something important and not leading you to the nearest locking door.

They're all so easy to figure out. The older one wants to humiliate your father by placing himself in a position of authority over you, mohawk wants to humiliate your father by dirtying you up, the big one wants to humiliate your father by taking something from him, and the pretty one... ok you went after the pretty one, but he's just as happy to try and convince you to whisper in your father's ear. Really if they're all so obsessed with your dad you don't know why they aren't fucking him, but you're not going to complain about free sex.

You are going to complain about the way you're pressed hard against a utility shelf in a supply closet. A package of urinal cakes digs into your back and you make a face. The older one knocks your legs apart with his foot as he rolls your skirt up.

"Lemme see those eyes sweet'eart," He coos at you, "want to see my favorite pet f-" His fingers rub over your wet panties. Oh right, you forgot the big guy came in them. You meant to change your underwear but you haven't had a moment to get away. You're already fantasizing about the fresh pair you have in your purse.

You only squirm because he's rubbing your clit each time he dips his fingers into your cunt to dig the still leaking come out. If he wants to keep doing that-

"Someone get here first?" He asks and you hum noncommittally. Mohawk doesn't ever seem to mind. "Who?"

You blink and squint at the hanging ceiling light trying to remember if the big guy ever told you his name.

"Dunno," You conclude, "All of you look the same."

You don't think he likes that answer.

[syluslnd]

what if sylus secretly sniffing panties and gets caught 👁️👁️

him sniffing your panties

₊˚⊹ ᰔ ⋆˚✿˖°. ༘⋆𝜗𝜚⊹₊｡ꕤ˚

Sylus had been coming over to your place more often lately. At first, it was under the guise of “hanging out” or “needing a break from work” but you’d started to notice the way his crimson eyes lingered on you a little too long or how his smirk seemed to soften whenever you laughed. Still, he never said anything outright—typical Sylus, always keeping you guessing.

Today was no different. He’d shown up unannounced, leaning casually against your doorframe with that infuriatingly charming grin. “Miss me?” he’d asked, brushing past you before you could even answer. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips.

After some small talk, you decided to grab him a glass of water. “Make yourself at home” you said, heading to the kitchen. When you returned, you paused at the doorway, a mischievous idea forming in your mind. You’d sneak up on him and catch him off guard for once. Silently, you tiptoed into the room, holding back a laugh.

But what you saw stopped you in your tracks.

Sylus was crouched on the floor, surrounded by a pile of your clothes that had been haphazardly tossed onto a chair earlier. In his hands was one of your panties and he was holding it up to his face, his eyes closed as he inhaled deeply. The sight made your heart skip a beat, and your cheeks instantly burned. You must’ve made a sound—a gasp, a breath, something because his eyes snapped open, and he turned to look at you.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, slowly, a sly grin spread across his face. He didn’t even try to hide what he’d been doing. Instead, he tilted his head, his voice low and teasing. “How long are you going to stand there staring at me, hm?”

You froze, your face growing even hotter. “I—I wasn’t staring!” you stammered, clutching the glass of water like a lifeline.

Sylus stood up gracefully, still holding your underwear . He took a step closer, his smirk widening. “Oh? Then what would you call it? Admiring the view?” He gestured to himself with mock modesty and you couldn’t help but laugh despite your embarrassment.

“You’re impossible” you muttered, setting the glass down on the nearest surface.

He closed the distance between you, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. “and yet, here you are, letting me into your home again and again. Almost like you enjoy my company.” He held up the pantie, his grin turning devilish. “Or maybe you just like leaving your scent everywhere for me to find.”

You swatted at him but he caught your wrist effortlessly, pulling you closer. His crimson eyes sparkled with amusement and you could feel the warmth of his breath as he leaned in. “Admit it” he murmured. “You like having me around.”

You opened your mouth to protest but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you found yourself smiling, your heart racing as his teasing gaze held yours. “Maybe I do” you admitted softly.

Sylus’s smirk softened into something almost tender. “Good” he said, releasing your wrist but staying close.

[ace-turned-confused]

love thy neighbour

joel masterlist | read on ao3

pairing: joel miller x f!reader summary: you visit your parents for the holidays, and their new neighbour joel miller makes the trip far more exciting. word count: 3,6k warnings: 18+ only, reader is able-bodied & wears a skirt, food & alcohol consumption, christmas & new year celebrations, unspecified age gap, joel gets a sneak peak, smut, fingering, unprotected p in v, spanking, creampie hallelujah, come eating, dirty talk, praise kink a/n: MERRY VERY LATE SECRET SANTA EM @hellfire-state-of-mind !!!! this is over a month late and i've never felt more guilty about something in my life. ilsm you are a GEM! i hope this makes you twirl your hair and kick your feet and melt into a puddle, as you requested. 💛 this is the first fic i’ve managed to finish since SEPTEMBER and idk i’m just proud of myself, times are tough. 🫡 not beta'd

The neighbourhood has hardly changed since your last visit — no fresh coats of paint, no new landscaping, no new drama. The one thing that has changed, is a new face that’s moved in across the street from your parents. He waved to you the first time you passed each other, flashed a contagious smile and a cheeky wink as he collected his post and headed back inside his own home. You’ve been hooked since then.

Your childhood bedroom has a wide window that faces the street, with a clear view of the front of his house. Whether arriving home or leaving, or simply standing talking to someone, you always admired him. You made a habit of going out too — sometimes for no real reason — on the off chance you’d get a closer look at him.

He caught you staring one day as you dared to walk on his side of the street and met him in his driveway — brown tangled curls laced with silver, broad shoulders and arms that filled out his sleeves — you shot your eyes up before you could look any lower, a small smirk and knowing look on his face as he turned around to walk away. He hasn’t given you his name and you haven’t been bold enough to ask. You still stare, just not when he’s looking.

-

Your parents told you the house would be quiet this Christmas, with no extended family or friends — just the three of you spending some quality time together while you’re visiting for the holidays.

It's mid-Christmas morning and you’ve exchanged presents with your parents, with plenty of smiles, hugs and thanks. Your mom sets the table and your dad checks on the food while you get ready for lunch, still wanting to dress nice for the occasion. You hear the doorbell ring through your door, followed by muffled voices. Satisfied with your appearance, you head for the living room, a deep and unfamiliar voice becoming clearer as you enter the room.

There he is — the hot and mysterious neighbour you’ve been drooling over from across the road.

Your mom turns to you as you stand, fiddling with your clothes and unsure how to act.

“Oh, you’re finished! This is Joel, have you met already?”

“No, haven’t had the pleasure,” Joel cuts in and answers for you, standing before you with an outstretched hand. You take it, his hand dwarfing yours, calloused fingers rough against your palm.

“He’s on his own for Christmas, so I invited him to join us.” Your mom smiles at you. “It’s only us three, there’s plenty of food and Christmas cheer to go around!” She claps her hands together, waltzing away to the table.

Joel gives you that same cheeky wink and smile you’ve seen before, but up close it has a much stronger effect than you were prepared for — it’s going to be a long day.

-

Everyone sticks to the usual mundane topics of the weather and traffic and the best fertiliser to use for the lawn. You don’t say too much through lunch, distracted by Joel’s voice and charm and the occasional smouldering look he throws you. Every time you glance at him, he’s already staring at you.

When your parents get up to clear the table once everyone’s well-fed, you jump up instead and volunteer — if you have to watch Joel any longer you might just jump at him across the table, to hell with your parents. His eyes follow you over their shoulders as you leave the room, plates in hand. You look back to the table one last time, catching his eye as he smirks and takes a swig of his drink.

You start to rinse off the plates and put leftovers into containers, laughter and quiet chatter sounding from the dining room. Joel wanders into the kitchen and sets his glass down, leaning against the counter next to you and looking around the room.

“So, uh,” you clear your throat, awkwardly trying to make conversation and avoid embarrassing yourself. “When did you move here?”

“Couple months ago, nice neighbourhood… even better now, though.” You can see him grinning in your peripheral vision.

“Are you coming to my parents’ New Year’s Eve party?”

“I am, why? You lookin’ for your midnight kiss?” he teases.

“I have plans already,” you scoff at him, “I actually wanna have fun on New Year’s, thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” he falls silent and angles himself closer to you. “You make the dessert?”

“Mhm.”

“Nice ‘n sweet.” He grabs the dessert bowl from your hands and drags two fingers along the inside.

You watch him, your lips parting as he sucks his fingers into his mouth and licks them clean. What would it feel like if those were your fingers instead? Or, better yet, if he shoved his fingers into your mouth?

He pulls his fingers out and opens his mouth to say something more, but he’s interrupted by your parents as they enter the room. He shoots you his signature wink before giving them his attention, and that’s the last you see of him.

-

The week after Christmas flashes by.

You bailed on your original plans of partying with your friends, coughing up a poor excuse why you couldn't go out with them anymore — with Joel coming to your parents' house again, it’s the first time in years you're willing to spend the otherwise boring last night of the year at home. Maybe you’re foolish for lusting after him, but that’s what New Year’s is for.

After spending the afternoon plating snacks, chilling drinks and fluffing pillows, you now pace in your room, deciding what to wear tonight. Your pre-picked club outfit is far too disrespectful for the new company you’ll be in tonight, but maybe you could make parts of it work…

You ditch the stockings and swap out the heels for flats. Your skirt stops mid-thigh once you make some adjustments, and change your risque top for a more neighbour-friendly one with ties in the front — if you look hard enough you can still spot your bra peeking through the gaps, but nobody here tonight should be doing that anyways. Except for Joel, maybe. You make sure it’s a decent bra in case he does. After all the effort you’ve gone through, you hope he does.

Hijacking the aux as soon as you come out into the living room again — you do not trust your dad’s music choices — you sit pretty with a drink in hand as everyone from up and down the street starts arriving.

You’re cornered by The Nosy Old Couple, getting grilled about jobs, partners and general life choices when Joel walks in. He looks around the room as your parents greet him, eyes finding yours as you try signalling him to rescue you. He simply smirks before turning and walking away — that bastard.

-

Joel watches you the whole night. He really shouldn’t — the neighbour's daughter, definitely too pretty and likely too young — but he can't find it in himself to care. What's the harm in a bit of holiday fun?

He could have saved you from that gruelling conversation, but then he’d have to let you go sooner. And it would look rude, strange, even, to tell your father, thanks for the welcome, but I’d rather spend the night chattin’ up your daughter.

So he settles for watching, for now at least.

The shift from a forced smile to a genuine one, your shoulders relaxing as you get yourself another drink and keep yourself in decent company. His eyes roam now, and he allows himself to stare while in your calm state, the same way you’ve always stared at him from across the street.

The way your lips part and slide over the rim of your glass, the delicate grip of your fingers, the hint of lacy fabric in the gaps in your top. Your almost-too-short skirt and how it hikes up when you cross your legs. Would you let him pull the ties loose and watch it fall open? Glide his hands up your legs and underneath your skirt?

You stand and laugh at someone's joke, reaching for your things. Something falls out of your grasp and you bend over to pick it up, your panties peeking out from underneath your skirt, just for him to see. His jeans tighten just so, the air in the room heating up as he clears his throat. He should look away, but he keeps staring, his own lips parting now as he imagines what’s beneath that fabric.

You turn around and catch his eye, all unassuming and innocent. He wonders if you know what you’ve done. You walk towards him, maintaining that look, and it’s evident you’re unaware. He’ll make sure to tell you.

-

Most of the night has passed already, and you finally get to talk to Joel.

“So much for those plans you had for tonight.” He leans towards you as people push past behind him, raising his voice above the music.

“Oh, uh, my friends cancelled, so…”

“Still hopin’ for a night of fun?”

“Are you offering?”

He downs the rest of his drink, jaw ticked to one side as he stares you down. He dips to speak in your ear, “You should be careful next time you’re bendin’ over in this little skirt of yours, sweetheart… I could see those pretty panties from a mile away.”

You step back from him, mouth agape at his admission — he just smirks at you, his eyes darkening. You hoped Joel would look at you tonight, but it was a long shot. You're deciding what to say when everyone gathers in the lounge — your dad’s put a countdown on the TV, and it’s a minute before midnight. You pull Joel into the hallway, away from the crowd and out of sight.

“So, you gonna kiss me at midnight or not?” You spin to face him, leaning against the wall with a naughty smile.

“I reckon your parents won't be too pleased havin’ their daughter kissin’ an old man like me.” He stands firm, arms folded across his chest.

“Well, they wouldn’t be too happy having an old man like you looking up my skirt…” You trail off, distracted by his arms.

“You’re the dirty girl bendin’ over and flashin’ her panties. Would you have wanted me to look away?”

He unfolds his arms and grabs the back of your neck, pulling you to meet him as he leans to kiss you, his beard and moustache scratching against your skin and you reach up to hold his arms. It’s rushed and desperate and over before you can take in what’s happened, but god you need it to happen again.

He looks around at everyone cheering, hugging each other and topping up their drinks. He grabs your wrist and pulls you through the house without a word.

-

Joel sneaks you out of the house and drags you across the street towards his own. Your eyes linger on his shoulders and back as he unlocks his door. He turns a lamp on once inside and closes the door behind you both, pinning you against it.

“What are you doing?” You ask lazily, taking in his features in such close proximity.

“Givin’ you that night of fun you were wantin’.”

He kisses you again, licking into your mouth and taking his time now as he runs his hands down your body, lifting your skirt to bunch it around your waist. He pushes one hand down between your legs to cup you over your panties and you grind into him — subtly at first, but it’s enough for him to notice and he smiles against you.

“That needy already, huh?” He says lowly, huffing a laugh when you whimper quietly. “Don’t gotta be quiet, sweetheart. Why you think I dragged you here? Ain’t gonna be much fun if I can’t hear how good I make ya feel.”

He spins you around and walks you towards his couch, backing you into the armrest. He pulls the ties on your top and drops it to the floor, fixated on the lace now in full view. He squeezes your breasts, fingers tweaking your nipples through the fabric as he looks up at you again.

“You wear this lacy number every day? Or just on special occasions?”

“Mm-mm,” you shake your head, lips parted as he keeps working his fingers, “I wore it just for tonight, for you… in case you noticed it.”

“Oh, I noticed alright,” he chuckles.

His fingers slow down and his hands begin to roam again. You take the reprieve to lift his shirt over his head and drift your hands down his bare chest. You stare at his broad shoulders and torso, almost in awe, as you reach for his belt buckle and undo it. It clinks against the floor, and you make quick work of his jeans, popping the button and undoing the zip. He dips down to kiss you, his hands bumping into yours as he pulls his jeans down and off.

It was mostly a joke when you said you wanted a night of fun — you never expected something like this to happen.

Joel kisses you again, inching along your jaw and down your neck while his hands continue their blind exploration of your skin, caressing and groping and digging into any part of you he gets ahold of. You reach to palm his bulge through his underwear, hard and heavy as heat radiates off of him through the worn fabric.

He shucks your skirt down and off, leaving it in the same growing pile of clothes, his fingers zeroing in on your covered clit. You moan at his movements and he lifts off of you to take in the sight.

He grabs your waist to turn you around, holding you flush to him as he gropes your breasts and grinds into you. You push back against him, a fresh wave of arousal soaking into your panties, his hot breath fanning against the shell of your ear.

“You ready for that fun?”

“Please, Joel,” you whine.

“S’what I like to hear.”

He pushes you down over the arm of the couch, chest flush with the cushions and ass up in the air. He rubs his fingers up and down over the damp gusset of your panties and pulls them down, leaving them hanging around your knees. Now with no barrier, he traces a single finger through your folds, already sticky with need and prods your entrance before repeating the motion.

“Even prettier than that little preview you gave me, she’s soaked for me already.”

His breathing sounds laboured behind you, and you turn as best you can to watch him, eyes falling on his hand as he strokes himself, thick and throbbing.

“This what you wanted? This what you still want?”

You smile almost drunkardly at him, huffing a laugh as you nod, facing forward to rest your head on the couch again.

“Remember, I wanna hear all those noises you can make — dirty girl like you, I’m sure you sound gorgeous.”

He replaces his finger with the head of his cock, dragging himself against you and coating the length of him in your wetness. He slips in slowly, his hands in a bruising grip on your hips as he pulls out only to push in even further. The music from your parents’ party fades from your mind when he finally bottoms out; Joel sighs and you groan as he holds your ass flush against his hips. He stays there, grinding into you and never pulling back.

“Jesus, feels like heaven…”

All you do is whine in response — partly unsure if he wanted a response, and partly unable to say anything else — overwhelmed by Joel and finally getting what you’ve been dreaming of since you first laid eyes on him.

“How you want this, sweetheart?”

A moment passes and he smacks your ass when you don’t answer him. He leans over you, letting his body weight push you deeper into the couch cushions, pushing his cock deeper into you in the process.

“Cause this is how I see it… Your little friends didn’t cancel your plans, did they? They’re all still goin’ out on the town tonight and doing God knows what and fuckin’ anything with a pulse. But you backed out, thought maybe you’d stay home 'cause if there’s anyone you’re gonna fuck tonight, it’s me. Ain’t that right?”

You’re silent again, both annoyed that he has you figured out and relishing that he's on top of you like this.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He lifts himself off you and pulls almost all the way out, leaving just his tip inside your cunt. “Be good and I’ll give ya a real fun story for your friends.”

He spanks you again, giving you no time to react as he snaps his hips into you. You screw your face up at the stretch as he does it again and sets a steady rhythm, the room filled with gasps and grunts and heavy breathing. He smacks you a third time and you moan, loud and unabashedly and you hear Joel chuckling behind you.

“That’s it, good girl. Wanna hear you, sweetheart, hear how good I’m makin’ you feel.”

He’s reaching a spot nobody else has before — undoubtedly the most experienced man with the biggest dick you’ve ever seen — and you know your back is going to be fucked in the morning from how he’s got you draped over his couch, your hips will be tender for days with how tight he’s holding you, and you might not walk straight for a week, but God are you glad you bailed on those original plans.

As heavenly as it is already, you still need just that little bit more. Joel’s already clocked you once, and he’s done it again as he wraps an arm around your torso to pull you up again, his pace never faltering as he presses his chest to your back. The new angle has you seeing stars, and he pushes his free hand down to circle your clit.

“You hear that? Hear how wet you are? God, if I’d known you were gonna take my cock so well I woulda fucked you on Christmas… maybe even before that. You think anyone’s wonderin’ where we are? Anyone smart enough to put the pieces together?”

You clench around him at his lewd confessions and beg him to keep going, so close to reaching your end.

“You gonna come on my cock for me?” He breathes against you, his thrusts becoming clumsier the longer he goes on. “Come on, sweetheart, know you want to. Been such a good girl, lettin’ me fuck this sweet pussy.”

A few thrusts and swipes of his fingers over your clit later and you're tightening around him, head thudding against him as you reach up to grab the arm that’s wound around your chest. Your nails carve crescent moons in his skin and you yell out, and he keeps pistoning into you through your orgasm to chase his own.

His filthy words turn into mere ramblings, muffled when he lowers his face to drag his lips against your skin and breathe you in, tightening his arms around you. His breathing heavy, small moans turn into grunts and groans as he fucks into you one last time, holding you in place as he empties himself inside of you, warm and filling.

He keeps you there, both of you panting for air as you come down and he pulls out with a hiss. He turns you around to face him — you’re still dazed when he leans to kiss you, calm and kind as he cradles your cheeks.

His hands wander down your body and he follows suit, coasting his lips down over your bra between your breasts, over your stomach until he’s crouching in front of you. He peers up at you, pupils still blown wide as he thumbs your folds apart, captivated by how his spend seeps out of you. His tongue darts out, eyes fluttering closed as he tastes himself and licks you clean.

He stands now and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, pulling your panties up and straightening the elastic. His fingers linger on your skin before reaching to do the same with your skirt. He does up his jeans and shakes out his t-shirt, his gaze staying on you while you ensure the gaps in your top are no bigger than when you snuck away from home.

“Maybe we should, uh, get back…” You trail off, boldness quickly fading as you start to second-guess tonight.

“Yeah, yeah,” he nods, opening the front door. “So, when you comin’ round again?”

“Huh?”

“What, you really wanna sneak around your parent’s house instead?”

“No! God, no,” you laugh, shoulders relaxing and Joel smiles at you. “I just wasn’t sure if… I don’t want to sound overeager or anything…” “Nothin’ wrong with that, sweetheart. Besides, I know what I’m doin’ next time.” He winks at you, glancing across the street in thought. The party still seems to be going strong. “Night doesn’t have to end right now, anyways.”

He ushers you out the door with a smack to your ass, leaving you giddy and giggling as he locks his door again. You both head back towards the party, bumping into each other as you walk. You smile at Joel and he winks at you one last time before you crack open the door, excited about what the rest of your time here might hold.

np taglist for some pookies who showed interest:

@almostempty @joelmillerisapunk @djarins-cyare @burntheedges @milla-frenchy

@604to647 @evolnoomym @beefrobeefcal @whocaresstillthelouvre @bitchesuntitled

@sizzlingcloudmentality @sixhours @strang3lov3 @guiltyasdave @morallyinept

@mermaidgirl30 @bbyanarchist @vichons @angiewatson @professionalpromqueen

@lordhurn @pidgeispunk @letsgobarbs

comments & reblogs are hugely appreciated, forehead kisses to all 💜

dividers by @strangergraphics

[honeyryewhiskey]

when dean falls in love

or, all the little details that run through dean's mind when he's falling in love. and all the fears and self-doubt that come crashing down on him. warnings ! a pinch of angst | mostly feel good | kissing | confessions | dean admiring reader | dean's internal struggles | reader being patient | sam third wheeling j's note ! this is my apology for that sad one i posted last night. also, i had little baby 26-year-old dean in mind for this one. enjoy <3 5k words

Few rules exist in Dean’s life—most are made to be bent, broken, or ignored altogether. But you?

You’re the exception. You’re the rule he refuses to cross.

You are entirely off-limits.

Not that you seem to care. You crashed into the Winchesters' world like a wildfire, all sharp eyes and steady hands, showing up guns blazing in the middle of a nasty hunt. There was no slow introduction, no time for cautious trust. One minute, it was just another night, another hunt—then suddenly, there you were, standing in the wreckage, breathing heavily, covered in blood that wasn’t yours.

Dean should’ve known to let go right then and there—you were too good to be true. But he didn’t. Instead, you stuck to the corners of his mind like sugar between his teeth, sweet and relentless. Your energy, raw and electric, burned through everything around you. You invaded his thoughts, wrapped around his mind like a constant hum.

You were the kind of girl who made a man forget his own damn rules.

At first, Dean tells himself this newfound trio is temporary.

You’re a lone wolf, and the Winchesters don’t do long-term attachments. But somehow, you weave yourself into their lives like you’ve always belonged.

You slip into the passenger seat of the Impala without waiting for an invitation, kicking your feet up on the dash just to piss him off. You steal fries off his plate like it’s second nature, smirking when he glares at you but never stopping. You roll your eyes at his bravado, call him out when he’s being an ass, and yet—when it matters—you’re always there. Ready to fight. Ready to bleed for this life, for them.

For him.

Dean tells himself he doesn’t notice the little things. The way you hum along to his rock tapes like you’ve known them forever, how your hands—so much softer than he deserves—patch him up without hesitation. The way you meet his teasing with just as much fire, never backing down.

None of it means anything.

Because it can’t.

Not when he’s always been too rough, too jagged around the edges to hold onto something as good as you. Somewhere around his twentieth birthday, he made peace with the fact that he was cursed—fated to be nothing more than a soldier, a brother, a blade meant for war.

Being anything else, wanting anything more—wanting you—would only end in tragedy.

But then he catches Sam talking to you in hushed voices over coffee in the morning, like you’re family. As if every diner table and wobbly motel kitchenette was always meant to sit the three of you. He watches you clean his gun without being asked, like it’s second nature now. He hears your voice on the other end of his phone at 3 a.m., always answering when he calls, asking if he’s okay after a rough hunt. 

And just like that, you’re in. You’re a part of them.

A part of him.

And that? That’s the most dangerous thing of all.

Dean doesn’t know when it happened—when the lines started to blur, when the rule he swore by turned into something fragile, something breakable.

Maybe it’s the way you slip so effortlessly into their lives, settling into the spaces he didn’t even realize were empty—mediating brotherly arguments like you were always meant to be their missing piece. Maybe it’s the sound of your laughter, bright and unshaken, slicing through the heaviness of a bad hunt. Or maybe it’s the way you look at him, like he’s something more than the scars, more than the sharp edges—like he’s worth seeing at all.

Or maybe it’s the small moments like this.

The diner is warm, buzzing with the quiet hum of conversation, the clatter of silverware against plates. Sam’s focus is his laptop, half-listening to whatever you’re saying as you flip through the menu, sitting beside Dean, debating tonight’s meal. Dean’s trying to keep up, trying to ground himself in the normalcy of it all.

And then, without a second thought, you reach for his jacket.

It’s been draped over the back of the booth since he sat down, familiar and worn, carrying the weight of long nights and too many miles. And you just take it, slipping your arms through the sleeves, tugging the collar up like it belongs to you.

Dean’s fingers tighten around the menu.

It’s nothing new—he’s handed it over a dozen times before, thrown it around your shoulders without a second thought on cold nights. But this? This is different. You didn’t ask. Didn’t even hesitate. You just did it, like it was instinct, like it was yours.

He clears his throat, trying to force down the feeling clawing its way up his chest. “Comfy?”

You hum, settling into the fabric, your fingers curling into the sleeves. “Mmhmm.” Your voice is light, easy. “You always run so warm. Thought I’d steal a little of that.”

Dean swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry. Prying his eyes off of you, he tries again to look like he’s reading the menu. Scanning the small font, even though he’s already decided on a burger and fries like he always gets. 

Across from him, Sam sighs, clicking at his keyboard. “You guys do realize you act like a couple, right?”

Dean shoots him a glare. “Shut up.”

Your laugh falls out sweet and quiet, the sound pressing against his heart with a persistence to make it move faster. Your boot nudges Dean’s under the table, and he takes it as an excuse to look at you again. “You jealous, Sammy? Want me to steal your jacket next?”

Dean barely hears the response. He watches as you burrow further into his jacket, your nose dipping beneath the collar. Then, with that same mischievous glint in your eye that always spells trouble for him, you lift the collar to make a show of taking a slow, exaggerated sniff.

His brows press down, lashes forming a tight squint around his eyes as he braces himself, “What the hell are you doing?”

Your lips twitch like you’re holding back a laugh. “One thing about this old jacket, though,” you muse, taking another thoughtful inhale. “There’s this metallicy smell… buried under all that cologne you drown this poor leather in.”

Dean scoffs, shifting in his seat and turning his head to save himself from letting you see the pink creeping up his cheeks. “I do not drown it in cologne.”

Sam doesn’t even look up from his laptop, but his chuckle doesn’t help ease Dean’s embarrassment. “You kinda do.”

Dean’s head shoots up, tilting slightly as he glares at his brother. You’re already grinning, undeterred, your fingers lazily tracing the worn seam of the sleeve. “It’s faint, but it’s there. Like… gunpowder. And whiskey, I would assume. And maybe a little bit of blood?” Your teasing gaze flicks up to meet his, “What have you been getting into, Winchester?”

Dean should play it cool. Shrug it off. But he can feel his ears burning red and hot from that little teasing smile on your lips and his brain is a few steps behind, caught somewhere between you’re too damn close and when did this get so hard to ignore?

He leans back, arms crossing over his chest. His mind makes quick work to steady buzzing nerves, “Dunno what to tell ya, sweetheart,” he sighs, jaw popping as he finds his barings, “That jacket’s seen more action than you have.”

You feign offense, pressing a hand to your chest. “Wow. First, you over-season your leather, and now you’re just slinging insults?” You shake your head, dramatic as ever. “I thought we had something special, D.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “Yeah, yeah. You done sniffin’ my jacket, or should I be concerned?”

You huff, settling back against the booth so that your arms brush against each other when you shrug. “I dunno. Might need another whiff.”

Dean points a warning finger at you, his smile breaks his attempt at stoicism, and all it does is make you grin wider.

Sam lets out another long-suffering sigh, shutting his laptop with a little more force than necessary. “I’m concerned. And I’m officially done with this conversation.”

You smirk, smug as ever, but Dean? Dean’s just trying to pretend he’s not completely, stupidly gone for you.

The rest of dinner passes in easy conversation—at least, for you. Dean is quieter than usual, letting you and Sam fill the space between bites of food and stolen fries. He tries to focus on anything else—the chipped laminate of the table, the hum of the old diner lights, the way his fingers tap absently against the side of his glass.

Mostly, he tries not to look at you.

Not when you lean forward, chin propped in your palm, laughing at something Sam says. Not when you nudge his boot under the table, stealing the last bite of his pie with a satisfied little smirk. Not when you adjust the lapels of his leather jacket like it’s yours now, like it belongs to you the way he does.

By the time the check hits the table, he’s still got too many thoughts in his head, and none of them are ones he should be having.

Outside, the night air is crisp, the motel’s flickering vacancy sign glowing just across the lot. Sam mutters something about research and trudges off toward their shared room, leaving the two of you lingering by the diner’s door.

Dean shoves his hands into his pockets, suddenly hyper-aware of how quiet it is. You shift on your feet, then tilt your head toward the motel.

“What’s it gonna be tonight, D?” Your voice is soft, slipping into the quiet like it belongs there. “You sticking around for a bit, or heading to bed?”

Dean exhales, shaking his head. “Gotta make sure you get in safe.”

Your laugh rings through the empty parking lot, light and easy, curling around him like warmth against the cool night air. And despite only wearing a flannel, despite the late hour and the breeze whispering through the lot, he feels nothing but warm.

“Ah, yes,” you tease between giggles, nudging his arm. “My knight in shining armor, always keeping me safe.”

The short walk across the lot is quiet but never empty—the kind of silence that lingers in the spaces between you, comfortable and charged all at once.

At your door, you unlock it with a flick of your wrist, pushing it open before leaning lazily against the frame. The dim motel light catches the amusement in your eyes as you glance back at him.

“See?” You gesture to the empty room with a grin. “All’s quiet on the western front.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waves you off, stepping inside without a second thought, the door clicking shut behind him.

You move past him with easy familiarity, shuffling through your things while Dean leans against the dresser, arms crossed over his chest. He watches as you slip into your usual routine—kicking off your shoes, pulling your hair back, stifling a yawn with the sleeve of your sweater. His jacket, draped over the chair beside your bed, stays untouched. He doesn’t move to take it. If he’s honest, he kind of hopes you’ll sleep in it. Let it take on your scent instead of his.

When you return from the bathroom, fresh-faced and sighing contentedly, you crawl onto the bed and sit cross-legged, flipping absentmindedly through an old paperback—the one you grabbed from the library when you were supposed to be researching.

“You gonna tell me what’s got you so deep in thought tonight?” you break into the silence without looking up, voice soft but knowing.

Dean huffs, tipping his head back. He’s trying to find something other than you to look at, he’s gotta stop watching you so often. “I’m always deep in thought.”

You snort, “yeah, okay. Sure.”

Your eyes flicker over him, he’s always following you into your room like a stray pup, like he doesn’t know where else to go. He lingers in your space, but is careful to maintain a set distance. At first you thought he was trying to claim you as another notch on his bedpost, but all that ever happened on these nights were quiet talks until your eyes grew too heavy to keep open. And by morning, you’d be alone, tucked beneath the blankets like someone made sure they were pulled around you just right.

You watch him for a beat, noting the familiar tension winding through his shoulders. “Seriously, though. You were kinda out of it at dinner.”

Dean hesitates, glancing away like he can pretend he didn’t hear you. His eyes settle on the peeling motel wallpaper, tracing the cracks like they hold some kind of answer. He hadn’t planned on sticking around this late—not when his head is already full of you. Not when it’s dangerous for the sanctity his carefully drawn lines to be near you like this, feeling the way he does.

But neither of you move. You, cross-legged on the bed, book in hand. Him, still leaning against the dresser, pretending he has somewhere else to be.

He should make an excuse, crack a joke, steer this conversation somewhere safer. But your voice, soft and steady, tugs at something in him. And instead of fighting it, he lets himself lean in.

“You ever think about what happens when we stop?”

Your fingers still against the worn pages of your book. “Stop what?”

“This.” He gestures vaguely, like that explains everything. “The hunting, the moving around. All of it.”

Your brows furrow slightly as you consider his words, the weight of them pressing down in a way you don’t want to acknowledge. This life—it’s far from glamorous, but it’s all you’ve got. Stepping away from it is a thought you buried long ago, a fantasy that never had a chance. You shrug, pushing the thought aside. “I don’t know,” you say quietly. “Never really let myself think about it too much.”

Dean exhales a heavy breath, eyes dropping to the floor like the weight of your words is sinking in. “Yeah.”

A beat of quiet settles between you. It’s not uncomfortable, but there’s a weight to it that presses against Dean’s chest, making the space feel tighter than it is. You can feel his tension, like he’s holding something back, but he doesn’t look up.

Then, you shift, breaking the silence with an easy gesture—a pat to the empty space beside you on the bed. “Don’t just trail off on me, D. Sit down. Tell me more.”

Dean hesitates for a split second. This is a bad idea. It’s an invisible line he’s been toeing for too damn long, one he’s tried not to cross—never sit on the bed, never get too close when we’re alone. But then again, it’s you. You’re looking at him like you care, soft and patient, as if whatever’s inside his head actually matters.

And just like that, he gives in. One little exception, just for tonight.

With a quiet sigh, he pushes off the dresser, settling beside you on the bed. He stretches his legs out, but the small mattress makes it impossible to keep any real distance. His legs brush against yours, and his arm brushes yours too. He hopes to hell you don’t see the flush creeping up his neck.

If you notice, you don’t mention it. There’s no teasing, no playful smile—just the quiet comfort of your presence beside him. You don’t push, don’t pry. You just sit there, calm and steady, waiting for him to speak.

“I dunno,” he mutters, “just been thinkin’ lately. About what it all looks like when it’s over. If it ever is.”

You tilt your head, studying him. “And?”

Dean swallows, debating how much to say. How much to admit.

“And… I don’t see much of anything.” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Spent my whole life doing this, I don’t see an ending where I’m not dying at the hands of this. Y’know, going down in the fight.”

You’re quiet for a moment, then—so softly he almost doesn’t notice—you shift closer, your arm snaking its way around his. You’re snuggled right up next to him, watching with careful eyes.

“There will always be monsters to hunt,” you murmur, your voice soft yet steady in the dim room. “But you don’t have to be a warrior forever, D. There will always be hunters, too. Doesn’t mean you have to be one.”

Dean chuckles, but it’s a hollow sound, more an exhale than a laugh. His gaze drifts toward the bedspread, unable to meet yours. "Yeah, well... I don't know if I could just walk away." His words come out quieter, like he’s unsure if he’s talking to you or to himself.

You turn slightly toward him, noticing the tension still coiled in his shoulders. The quiet settles deeper now, heavier with each passing moment, but he doesn’t seem to notice the distance between your words.

“What’s got you thinking about all of this?” you keep your voice light, though there’s a weight to it.

Dean rubs the back of his neck, his thoughts at war with the words he wants to say. "I can’t have the things I want, not really," he finally admits, the confession slipping out before he can second-guess it. His gaze drifts to the side, and his fingertips come up almost absentmindedly, dragging across your temple, pushing stray hairs back into their place.

“This life," he continues, barely above a whisper, "it consumes all the good things in my life."

“Not true,” your voice is firm but gentle, like you’re trying to remind him of something he can’t see.

He doesn’t answer immediately, just quirks a skeptical brow at you.

“You have your brother,” you continue, “and you’ve got me. Nothing in this universe can take us from you.”

Dean’s breath catches, and for the briefest moment, he wonders if you understand just how much weight those words hold. He swallows, trying to hold it together, but he can’t ignore the ache that creeps up his spine. He gives a small, almost rueful chuckle, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "What makes you so sure?"

You meet his gaze with a steady confidence. "Because I know you wouldn’t let it."

His hand lingers by your face, his thumb brushing softly against the warmth of your cheek. There’s an electricity in the touch, something that feels too close and yet too natural. He can feel the way his pulse quickens, how much his body wants to close that last inch of space between you. But he doesn’t.

You don’t push him. You just watch him, like you’re waiting for him to decide whether to take the step—or to retreat.

Dean’s breath catches in his throat, and his eyes drop to your lips for a moment before meeting yours again, like he’s trying to reconcile the gravity of what he’s feeling. His voice drops to almost a whisper, his words thick with something raw. “You have no idea how right you are, little miss.”

Your hand comes up, curling over his with a quiet, deliberate touch. The softness of your skin against his makes it almost impossible for him to remember the times he’s watched you move through the world—handling a gun with precision or a blade like it’s second nature. Most of you makes him forget, really, about everything that doesn’t involve you in this moment.

Your warmth, your softness, it makes him lose himself in daydreams of a version of you—one that doesn’t belong to this life. A version where you’d lean into that gentleness, the part of you that exists outside the hunts and the danger, in a life far away from the chaos that haunts him.

You shift, sitting up, still keeping your gaze on him, and it makes something in his chest tighten. The determined strain in your features catches his attention immediately. It’s the same look you get when you're deep into a lore book, your brow furrowed with that little scowl—like something has piqued your interest, and you won’t rest until you’ve unraveled it completely.

“Dean, there’s more to this than you’re letting on.”

He shakes his head, trying to brush it off with a quick, dismissive shrug, his lips pouting up into his best attempt at nonchalance. “Nope. That’s pretty much it.”

You let out an exasperated huff, and Dean can tell you’re seeing straight through him. It’s not enough to deflect you. What he doesn’t expect, though, is the rough shove to his shoulder. It makes him blink in surprise, but before he can recover, your fingers press right back into the tension of his muscles he’s been trying to ignore all night.

“You’re as stiff as a board,” you point out, your fingers digging in a little harder. “Something’s bothering you.”

His breath comes out shakier now, and for a moment, his whole body feels like it’s been wound too tight. You can feel it, he knows you can. There’s no denying it now, but the words feel too heavy in his throat. He wants to argue, to brush it off again, but something in the way you’re watching him shifts. It’s not just curiosity anymore—it’s concern. And maybe, just maybe, a part of him wants to let you in.

But damn if it doesn’t feel like a risk.

Dean shifts uncomfortably, trying to pull away, but the pressure of your fingers is a subtle anchor, keeping him there. His gaze flits to the floor, anywhere but your eyes, because once he looks at you, he knows he won’t be able to hide.

"I told you, it's nothing," he mutters, his voice rougher than usual, the words escaping before he can stop them. He tries to push himself up, but the weight of your stare presses him back down.

You don’t buy it. You never do.

"No, Dean," you start softly, the concern clear in your voice, "I know you better than that. Something’s been eating at you for a while, and you’re not gonna keep dodging it."

His chest tightens, his heart racing in his ribcage. Every part of him wants to throw up some wall, some excuse. Something to keep you from seeing the rawness of what’s inside. The vulnerability he’s been running from his entire life.

But still, you watch him, waiting, your eyes steady and unwavering.

"Come on, just let it out," you press, your hand moving to his shoulder again, your touch gentle now but insistent. “You don’t have to carry it all by yourself, you know?”

He swallows hard, his jaw tightening, hands suddenly restless at his sides. The fight inside him is crumbling, piece by piece, until he's barely holding on to whatever's left. His voice comes out strained, almost desperate.

“Please, just drop it,” he grinds out, his eyes briefly meeting yours before flicking away again, helplessly. “I’m fine. You don’t... you don’t need to know all of it.”

You sit forward, leaning in just a little, your hand still gently gripping his arm as you search his face. The determination in your gaze doesn’t waver, but there’s something softer there now, almost like a plea. “Dean—”

He jerks back slightly, suddenly standing up with a bit too much force, the air between you thickening with a tension that’s making it harder for him to breathe. He takes a few steps away, running a hand through his hair, his back turned to you as he tries to calm the storm rising inside.

"I can’t do this," he mutters, his voice low, rougher now, like it’s been dragged over gravel. His shoulders still tense with the weight of the world pressing down on him.

You’re silent for a beat, and he knows it’s because you’re giving him space. But he also knows you won’t stop until you get him to say what he’s been holding back.

He exhales sharply, his hands trembling as he clenches them into fists, his back still turned, fighting a battle he knows he’s losing. "God, I don’t want to talk about this." His voice cracks slightly as he says it, and he hates how much it betrays him.

His eyes flick to you then, and there's a crack in the armor—a vulnerability that’s almost painful to see. He looks at you, but he’s not sure he can bear the weight of your gaze anymore. Not when all he wants to do is keep you safe from the wreckage inside him.

His body is coiled tight, but his chest feels like it’s going to implode. He wants to walk away. He wants to escape from the weight of this conversation, from the way you're looking at him like you’re waiting for him to finally crack open and spill it all out.

But when he finally turns back to face you fully, all he sees is that unflinching patience, that quiet insistence that you’re not going to let him go until he finally says what he’s been hiding for so long. It makes him want to burn every rule he’s built for himself.

"You don't get it," he spats roughly, eyes flicking to the floor. "I can’t just... say it. It’s part of me, it’s who I am, this thing that I can’t get away from."

You rise to your feet, crossing the room in one smooth motion. There’s no anger in your steps—just a calm resolve that cuts through the tension between you like a knife.

"I'm not an idiot, Dean," you peek up at him, unfamilarly timid as you cross this uncharted territory. "I see the way you look at me. Hell, at first I thought I was imagining things but I can see it’s eating you alive. And I—” your words cut off in your own shock at the confession, the sincerity in your expression making his knees weak, “I can’t bear to see you like this.” 

Your hands reach up tentatively, like you’re scared he’ll tear himself away again. But he stills, letting your warm hands press into either side of his jaw, “you’re my rock, alright?” your words trail into a soft laugh, easing the tension of your own truth. “I don’t wanna live in a world where I’m not by your side, because you make life worth the fight to stay alive. But you can’t just keep me in the dark, I have to know what you’re feeling.” 

His breath catches in his throat, the weight of your words hitting him harder than he expected. The realization that you know, that you’ve seen through all his defenses, makes everything inside him ache.

"I don’t know what you want from me," it comes out sounding like a plea, still looking for an excuse to retreat into himself.

"I want you to stop hiding from me." Your words are simple, but they strike right at the heart of the matter. "I want you to stop pretending like you can’t have the one thing you want most."

His throat tightens, and he shakes his head, trying to dismiss it. "I don’t get it," he mumbles, though his eyes are locked on yours, searching for the reprieve he still doesn’t believe he’ll find. "I don’t... I’m not fit for this."

"I’m not either, D. I’m just asking you to let it happen." You’re so close now, he can feel the warmth of your body, the soft pressure of your fingers against his jaw. Your gaze doesn’t break, it never wavers.

And that’s when it hits him. He’s been afraid of this—afraid of the way you make him feel like he can finally breathe, like all of his pain and avoidance can cease in your presence. he’s been holding himself together with tattered shreds for so long, and you’re the only thing that’s strong enough to pull him out of the mess he’s made of himself. 

And letting that security live in someone else terrifies him more than any monster he’s faced. 

“I’m not perfect,” he admits quietly, his words like gravel in his throat. “I’m broken, and I’m scared as hell, but god, if you only knew how much I want—”

You stop him with a soft kiss, the sweetest touch of your lips to his. It's gentle, almost hesitant, but it shatters something inside him, enough to freeze him in place. The weight of everything unspoken presses in, and for the first time, it feels like the walls he's built around himself might finally crumble in your hands.

The chains of his tightly kept composure snap at the delicate pressure of your lips, and without thinking, his arms wrap around you, pulling you closer. His hands find purchase at your waist, holding you as if you were the only thing that kept him grounded. The kiss deepens, desperate, as if he's trying to kiss away the years of holding back, the silent fear of letting you see the real him, the uncertainty of if you’d stay with him in the wreckage.

When you finally pull back, your lips linger just above his, breaths mingling. Your voice is a soft whisper, but it cuts through the tension like a thread being pulled taut. “Then say it, Dean. Tell me what you want.”

His heart beats in his chest, loud and frantic, as his walls come crashing down, piece by piece. He can’t think straight with you in his arms, all of his steely armor melts at your touch. And for the first time in what feels like forever, he lets go of some of those fears.

His eyes are nearly consumed by his pupils as he takes in the sight of you slightly out of breath, lips wet and a little more pink. From his doing, from his touch—it makes every broken rule worth the trouble.

“I've fallen for you, Sweetheart,” he breathes, his voice is raw, shaky, but it's honest, every word carrying the weight of what he’s been holding back. “I want to keep falling for you, love and all that crap. And I’m terrified of it, but I can’t keep hiding this from you.”

Your thumb brushes over his cheek, the gesture soft, but nevertheless, grounding. A quiet smile tugs at the corner of your lips, and your eyes hold nothing but certainty. “You’ll never have to hide any part of yourself, Dean. I’ve been here all along, with nothing but love. Just been waiting for you to see that.”

tags <3 @titsout4jackles @floralscented @deansbeer @snowluvvie @dulcescorderitas @bluemerakis

[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.”