#but i did all those things without noticing

[hyacinth-in-a-haze]

The stranger- Yandere husband??? x fem reader

Contains - minor smut, obsessive behaviour, corporeal horrors, body horror, neglect.

You are starting to think the man in your home isn't your husband.

It was the night after your wedding when he left to go to war, you looked up at him as he stood beside the bed fastening his armour while you covered your bare chest with the sheets. Neither of you spoke a word to each other. You still remember your thighs were sticky with his spend, and it was as though he looked everywhere in the room but at your direction. The wedding itself felt like a farce, he only needed someone to maintain his estate in his absence, picking the daughter of one of his vassals to do the job. You only spoke one sentence to him in the glow of your room before he left.

“Would you like me to give you a token?” You were still bright eyed and used to novels of courtly love. Naive enough to believe that if he didn't love you yet he would at least have respect for you as his wife.

The only thing he met you with was a grimace “Why would I want something like that?” He muttered before closing the door behind him. Leaving you there in the dark unsure if you did anything to upset him.

That was three years ago, now with the war over and all the men returning you heard stories about men returning changed from war. Quiet and unable to handle loud noises, or volatile and quick to blows. But you heard nothing about a man who once felt nothing for his wife returning home full of love.

In all the years he's been gone he's never written to you, never asked after you. The man who returned however sought you out firstly, took you in just arms with a passion you thought only existed inside those novels you long abandoned as lies. And you wanted to believe it, wanted so much to be deserving of the love you always wanted. Until you noticed some things-

His eyes flickering between colours from the start to the end of the day. Moments when his features just looked wrong on his face, slightly off angle and misplaced. Or when you'd wake late at night, turning over to your side and freezing when you'd see a void where his teeth should be. But most of all, it was his newfound gentleness, following you throughout his day without caring for the household. The way he'd hold you to him at night, gentle as he pistons in and of you, asking reassurance for your comfort, wanting to make sure you're not in pain. How he'd have you cum over and over before he would allow himself release. when your wedding night was a stab of pain, and a handful of grunts over in five minutes before he abandoned you. This cannot be the same man.

You've taken to superstitions hoping they would help. Spending hours in the temple only for him to cross the threshold and find you. Keeping salt in your pockets but he'd still have his hands all over you. The only thing you haven't tried yet was silver until you spotted him through the keyhole, cracking in two before forming himself back again. Dressing up in the skin of your husband as though it's an evening suit.

With only the moon as your witness you hold the blade carefully above his heart, it would only take one push and then the thing masquerading as your husband would reveal himself. He is beautiful in his sleep. But with the beauty of a statue, an imitation of life from the perspective of an outsider looking in. You thrust the knife down- only to be interrupted with one eye opening.

“Why can't you just be satisfied with this?” The cloying affection is finally dropped from his voice as he grabs at the knife you hold against him. “He wanted nothing to do with you but here you are, unwilling to accept all the love i have to show you,” blood drips down his palm and onto his sleep shirt, falling in thick black drops.

“What are you?” you cry out “You've stolen my husband's face and wear it for what purpose?” you try to push the knife deeper but his grip blocks you before you can break flesh or what constitutes his flesh.

“I am someone who can take any shape I wish, I took your husband's face because I quite enjoyed the life he led in his memories. Nobels always lead the most fun ones, and they tend to die easily in battle so it's rather easy to switch skins from one man to the next”. He smiles and you could swear his teeth become sharp. “Normally I'm quick to switch my interest, but how could anyone grow tired of a life with you?” His hands move, pinnng you underneath him, staining the shoulders of your gown black with his mud like blood.

“I tried for you, I read those books you hid beneath your bed, copied them exactly but you never would accept it. Is it my face? Am I not pretty enough for you? I assumed you'd want me to keep his face at least publicly but in private I can be anyone you want,” he pleads desperately leaning down above you as his face begins to shift, features rearranging themselves. You become dizzy as he swaps faces, “I can be anything you want, take any form all for you!” He transforms into the stable boy who blushes when you take his hand, to the guard that accompanies you out from the castle, to the knights from all your abandoned books, before going back to your husband. Not stopping until you scream for him to end this game.

“Show me your face then! The true one!” your scream silences him as he pauses, leaning down into your neck.

“Do you really mean that?” his breath is hot on your neck as he begins to shift. A creature of ink spilling over your body, a thousand hands and lips caressing you. Made of smoke and stone you can't escape the weight he holds over you.“My love,” a thousand voices speak in tandem, “my sweet sweet love wanting me as I am.” the creature giggles almost, giddy on his adoration of you, “but I can't stay like this for too long, else you'd become mad,” he coos, you feel teeth across your neck, nipping the skin, careful not to devour you whole. He's still so careful as you feel tendrils spreading your legs, caressing you wherever he can find skin. You can't breathe with him stealing the air from your lungs.

He transforms back slowly, reducing into bone, then sinew then flesh again. Your husband's form, a minor horror compared to what you just witnessed. He smiles with too-sharp teeth as he pulls you close to his chest as though to steady you with his false heartbeat. “My sweet little wife, how could he have never loved you?”

[his-strange-eyes]

They’d smoked weed before going into the bedroom. Steve had requested it, saying that it would help relax him. Eddie had laughed and asked if he was nervous and Steve had shrugged, saying “not really” but also that he knew being extra relaxed would make it nice.

That’s how Eddie had got it in his head that Steve was bottoming. He’d pinned Steve against a wall with a broken bottle, he’d pinned Steve against a wall with a sharp and smoldering gaze, and most recently he’d pinned Steve against a wall with a rough kiss and a cheeky grind. Each time Steve’s eyes (and pupils) had gone wide and he swallowed hard and went a little limp. It turned Eddie *on*. And he knew, just knew, that Steve was a bottom. Or at least a switch. Maybe even a sub.

Eddies fingers danced excitedly over Steve’s shoulders and sides and stomach as they kissed, hot and heavy like a gritty teen movie. Both guys felt it was a little too good to be true. Here they were in Steve’s bedroom, knocking shit over as they clawed at each other’s arms and shirts and backs. Eddie noticed how rough Steve was, pushing into him hard and taking kids after kiss. It made Eddie smile enough to real the kiss, this was gonna be good.

Steve felt more present than he ever had in situations like this, despite his high. He felt solid with Eddie, like he wouldn’t hurt him or break him and he liked how Eddie seemed to feel the same way. This is usually when Steve checked out and whatever girl was in his room would get upset or embarrassed and leave with her tail tucked between her legs that she couldn’t get “king Steve” interested in her. It wasn’t their fault, Steve thought, it wasn’t those fault that they weren’t *this*. Steve walked backward toward the bed trying to signal Eddie to push him over, lay him bare, be rough. The idea made Steve’s heart palpitate in his throat, it made him want to drink a lake, it made him want to get punched in the face in the best way. He wanted to burst.

Eddie curled his long fingers into Steve’s soft tshirt and shoved him onto the bed, he smiled when Steve’s head bounced against the mattress and he let out a little huff or relief. Eddie watched with wide eyes as Steve reached grabbing hands up for him, mouth parted, he looked so open like he was asking a million questions. Eddie only heard one “fuck me please?” I mean, not with Steve’s mouth, but eyes, his fucking eyes were begging for it. Eddie took a step back from the bed, smirking at the confused look that crossed Steve’s face. “Wait.” His voice was rough but firm

Steve’s head moved back a fraction of an inch and he frowned, but he dropped his hands. “What… do you not want to-“

“Take off your shirt.”

Steve did without hesitation, practically ripping it off and throwing it across the room. He was breathing heavily and slumped in and half sitting position, legs (still clad in jeans) spread wide.

Eddie surged forward, grabbing Steve by the belt loops and dragging him forward toward the edge of the bed, a predatory look in his eyes.

Steve gasped a little and laughed. His head swim a little with the sudden movement and the weed. He felt dizzyingly, lovingly out of control of the situation and realized he was relieved, he didn’t have to worry about anyone else or anything else. If Eddie wanted something he’d just take it. Steve didn’t have to take care of him at all. “Aren’t you going to get undressed?” he asked.

Eddie paused for a moment, looking down, then he laughed a little. “Yes. That would make things easier.” The truth was he was so wrapped up in Steve that he’d kind of forgot about prepping himself as well. He stripped quickly then leaned down over Steve, slowly dragging his pants and boxers off. His vision hazed a bit when he saw Steve’s finally naked form. His mouth watered, literally watered. Steve smelled nice, looked clean and trimmed. Eddie liked it, his mouth wanted to dive in. He started with Steve’s mouth though, laying their naked bodies aligned and kissed him deeply. Steve scratched his back lovingly and rubbed his shoulders, obviously trying to relax him. ‘What a good boy.’ Eddie thought.

They kissed longer, hands wandering. Steve was working on Eddie’s dick slowly, experimentally but Eddie wasn’t so giving. He was teasing Steve and that seemed to be getting the guy hard quicker than anything else. Steve moaned and ground against him as he gave him a good rub, then his hands wandered down to rub Steve’s balls and taint and it made Steve buck up harshly. He gasped and stuttered a little. He was sensitive. Eddie continued. He worked his way down, playing with his ass before ripping his whole body away wickedly, dick twitching when Steve whined. He wanted to hear that again. He grabbed Steve’s thighs roughly and shoved them up, eating him out mercilessly.

“Oh fuck!” Steve jerked hard, almost jerking away but then slid in, cradling Eddie’s shoulders with his thighs. “What-wh-wh- uhn. Fuck me.” He was throwing his head side to side, his eyes wide in shock, he kept lifting it to see what the fuck Eddie was doing before dropping it back in a groan. If all sex was like this then he never wanted to stop.

Meanwhile Eddie was gripping him rougher, hard enough to leave finger print bruises on Steve’s creamy thighs. He growled out a quiet “if you insist.” And he spat on Steve’s hole, reaching one hand out and grabbing lube from the table where he’d set it out earlier, opening it expertly with one hand.

Eddie was nasty. Steve liked it.

When Eddie put a finger in Steve’s ass Steve stiffened, his hips rising off the bed and he let out a startled little cry.

“Relax, relax, relax.” Eddie cooed as he smoothed a palm over Steve’s stomach. Eddie worked him open, grateful Steve suggested the weed cause it did seem to be working to relax Steve’s muscles because they were loosening pretty quick. In little time Eddie was adding a third finger, perhaps a little early, but he loved the way Steve let out little cries and gasps. Eddie reached up and pulled Steve’s hair lovingly. Smiling genuinely with soft eyes when Steve looked at him with bright eyes and trembling lips. Gently, Eddie guided Steve’s face into the mattress, then took his legs off his shoulders, cupping the backs of his knees and flipping him quickly.

Steve yelped. The guy was strong. Stronger than Steve would have expected from how skinny he was.

Eddie tugged himself a couple times before lining up and slowly, carefully pushing into Steve. Damn he felt so good, he paused as Steve’s ring spasmed around him, then pushed in a little further.

Steve’s neck tensed up and his face came up of the mattress and he cried out, a broken sound. It revved Eddie up like nothing before, he put his hand on the back of Steve’s head and ground his face into the mattress, pumping into him a couple times. “You take it so well, baby.”

Steve shifted his legs a little farther apart, trying to accommodate the size and Eddie took it as an invitation. He began to thrust his full length into Steve and threw his head back, groaning at the tightness.

“Eddie” Steve whined, drawing out.

“Steve.” Eddie grunted and punctuated it with a rough thrust.

Steve’s back spasmed in response. The fingers were nice, lovely. He’d made so many nice sounds to let Eddie know he liked it but this… this was a lot.

Eddie started to lose himself in the grunts and sounds Steve made and he began to rut him, rough, hard, making Steve’s back bend and his knees inch up the sheets as Eddie slammed him from the back. Steve mewled as Eddie grabbed his cock and rubbed gently. As Eddie got his fifth cruel thrust into Steve he heard the man below him let out a little scream then his arms slide over the sheets and Eddie knew he’d hit the prostrate.

But then. But then Steve went limp, curled in on himself, tucking his chin in and pressing his face into the mattress.

“Oh no, sweetheart. No hiding.” Eddie cupped his thighs again and leaned back so Steve’s didn’t hit him in the face as he turned him over. He’d slowed his thrusts and leaned over Steve’s face, smiling down and him. But Steve… Steve wasn’t even looking up at him, just through. His eyes wide and glazed, his face shell shocked, his hand creeping down unsteadily and tapping Eddie’s thigh like a whisper.

Eddie stopped. He ran his hands over Steve’s sweaty legs and stomach. “Stevie? babe? You ok princess?”

Steve seemed to kind of come back a little. He closed him mouth and swallowed, nodding minutely. “Ye-yeah.” His voice had come out a cracked whisper and he cleared his throat saying only a fraction louder: “it’s just a lot for my first time.”

Eddie’s body snapped back. “What do you mean first time.”

“I mean, my first time having sex I just… it’s a little much. I’m ok… I can do it, sorry. Just,” his voice cracked, not in a good way. “Can you slow down a little?”

Eddie scrambled backward over the bed and away. “You’ve never had sex?” He was shocked, unbelieving.

Steve’s cheeks pinked. “Yes.” He looked away. “I ate a girl out once… but I don’t really think that counts.”

“Fuck.” Eddie breathed. “Steve I’m sorry. I thought- I thought you knew what you were doing. You were giving all kinds of signals I-“

“No, I liked it. Well… most of it. I just need a break?”

“No, let me fix this. Hang on, I’ll make you feel good. I’ll fix it ok, baby?”

Steve nodded, smiling. “Ok.” He still looked painfully fucked out be he relaxed a bit, laying back in the bed.

Eddie leaned down and kissed the top of Steve’s foot, then started a trail up his shin and thighs, then the tip of his dick and the plane of his stomach. He relubed his hand and caressed Steve’s dick, it was pitifully hard. Steve bucked into his hand and Eddie put his whole soul into this hand job, he gently slid two fingers into Steve’s ass and gently brushed his prostrate. He kissed and licked his nipples.

Steve moaned and whined and started to beg. “Please babe, please Eddie I just wanna cum. I wanna cum I’m gonna- is it okay?”

“Yes it’s okay.” Eddie smiled down at him. “You can cum.” And Eddie doubled his efforts, his skilled fingers pulling a screaming orgasm from Steve.

Steve’s whole body shook and he bucked up and down, feeling a muscle strain as he came so hard white circles his vision. He flopped on the mattress, limp. Too tired to even lift an arm. But Eddie was still hard. He couldnt even jerk him off. Couldnt even turn his head to look at him. “Eddie,” he murmured. “Jerk yourself off over me.”

Eddie spluttered a little. “I-what?”

“You heard me. Look, touch, I don’t care but get yourself off. M too tired to. Come in, it’d be hot.”

Eddie groaned with relief and he jerked himself, looking his full, hungrily over a fucked out, weak, still trembling Steve Harrington. Just remembering what just happened made him nut quickly. He lay down after, tracing his cum that stained Steve’s body. He turned the other on his side and spooned him, pulling blankets over them both, letting Steve fall asleep to the feeling of Eddie, chin tucked on the top of his head, traced circles on his bicep. Before long, Eddie was asleep too, his first time sleeping after a hookup rather than climbing out the window. He smiled a little. It was nice.

give me virgin steve.

give me virgin steve that just fell victim to the rumors and has never actually slept with anyone.

give me freak eddie munson.

give me freak eddie munson that has explored many different kinks and knows what he likes.

give me eddie's first time with steve, going rough, and steve is shell shocked, and not responding how eddie thought he would and so he asks if everything is okay and steve kind of whispers "it's just a lot for my first time."

and eddie's world shatters.

from then on, it's not about just rough, animalistic sex, it's about making steve feel good.

and feel good he does.

especially when eddie puts those guitar fingers to good use.

[thesewordsareallihavetogive]

Keep Me Warm - Dr. Robby x resident!reader

Summary: 1.2k words. Forgetting a coat in the middle of winter was far from your smartest decision. PTMC's finest day shift attending notices and decides to do something about it.

Warnings: Irresponsible and excessive use of italics, mention of vomiting, fluff

a/n: An incredibly unseasonable fic. What better way to celebrate the fourth of July, in the middle of one of the Hottest Summers Ever, than by writing and sharing a winter fic?

Master list | Divider credit!

Doctor Robinavitch prides himself on his ER.

With decades of experience in emergency medicine and dealing with bureaucratic bullshit from hospital administration, there isn’t much that can shake him professionally. What has worn down over the years is his desire to look like a Figs model.

Gloria lost the uniform battle with Doctor Robby a long time ago.

“I am damn near half a century old, Gloria. I can save lives while wearing a hoodie if I damn well please.” Per usual, the hospital administrator made an unwelcome visit to the Pitt in the middle of an already chaotic day.

“Doctor Robinavitch, you must understand that you present Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. These students and residents look up to you.” Whether Gloria didn’t notice Robby rubbing his temples and actively developing even more temples, or simply ignored it, she pressed on.

“I’ve been practicing medicine for longer than a third of the staff here have been alive.” Robby ran to the ambulance bay when Dana announced an incoming trauma. That was the end of the conversation.

Gloria soon learned to pick and choose her battles with the attending physician.

Pittsburgh winters are always cold. The snow days can be nice, but most of what you experience is dreary, given your limited time outside.

You spend more time at the hospital than you do at your apartment. You estimated that you were averaging 60 hours a week at the Pitt—not that you’re really keeping track. When you aren’t working, you're studying for your boards. When you aren’t doing either of those, you’re sleeping.

For most of your life, you’ve been an insomniac. For better or for worse, medical school and residency ensured that no matter how active your brain insisted on being at night, you would inevitably collapse onto your bed, or at least a couch, for a handful of consecutive hours of sleep. Sometimes, you even get a semi-normal R.E.M. cycle established as a treat. It’s a wonder what working yourself to the bone can do for a girl’s sleep health.

A cold snap was passing through Pittsburgh. It wasn’t rare, especially not during this time of year, you just hadn’t paid any mind to it given your recent circumstances.

After your last shift, you were vertical for all of 30 seconds upon entering your apartment, before you promptly went horizontal in your bed. It wasn’t the most comfortable, far from any top-of-the-line mattress you fantasized about, but it did the job. There was no time to watch the news or check a weather app once you woke up the following morning. It was a damn good thing you had your alarms pre-programmed, otherwise you might’ve slept in until 4 p.m..

The water you splashed on your face was freezing, despite your efforts to turn the faucet to it’s hottest setting for a few minutes beforehand. That should’ve been your second sign that it would be a cold, cold day.

The first signs to clue you in should’ve been the freeze warning on your phone and notably colder temperatures as you walked home from last night’s shift. Instead, you were thankful the cold kept you awake during your walk without much other thought or consideration.

You shoved a toothbrush around your mouth for a couple of minutes and hopped into a fresh set of scrubs, only slightly wrinkled from their near-permanent home in the laundry bin of clothes that were washed and dried, but yet to be folded.

Brisk and bitter was an understatement. The wind bit and thrashed at your exposed skin. The looming but shockingly absent frostbite that threatened to claim your nose and fingers surprised you. You were certain that you’d be blue and frozen stiff when you ran into the employee entrance. Amidst the hustle and bustle of shift change—night shift ready to clock out and high tail it out of the Pitt before crashing into their beds at home, while day shift wandered in like zombies holding way too much caffeine—no one noticed how… off you looked.

A long walk through below-freezing temperatures will do that to a girl wearing thin, moisture-wicking scrubs without even an undershirt to bring you solace.

But Robby did. Robby always noticed you.

He noticed how your shivers had you shaking like a leaf. He noticed how your eyes couldn’t peel themselves away from the blanket warmer.

Maybe today could be the day he’d score brownie points with Gloria by wearing just a black scrub top.

“Hey, kid,” Robby called over to you. Shit. He’s probably going to get on you for the goosebumps resembling icicles covering every square inch of your exposed skin and frost dusting your hair and shoulders.

The attending shrugged his signature hoodie off before you finished crossing the distance to get to him. He wordlessly held the worn cotton hoodie out to you. His big brown eyes bore into yours. It was almost too much to bear, but you couldn’t look away.

“Looks like you need this more than I do.” Doctor Robinavitch smiled. It was small, but it was genuine. He smiled at you. When you looked like you were about to protest his offer, he cut you off. “I insist.”

You probably looked like an idiot with your jaw slightly parted, a dumbfounded and awestruck look replacing any kind of hesitance left in you.

“I- thank you, Doctor Robby,” you responded bashfully. You were still chilled to the bone, but you couldn’t help the blush that rose and warmed your cheeks.

No time was wasted wrapping yourself in the warmth of your attending’s hoodie. It was warm and cozy and smelled like him: cedarwood, antiseptic wipes, and black coffee. You could’ve melted right there, in the middle of the buzzing emergency department.

“No problem. Can’t have my best resident freeze during your shift, huh?” You were slow to respond. Best resident. Was he making fun of you? Had the wind chill managed to fry some of your brain cells? Or were you living in an alternative reality where your mentor was giving you the time of day for something that wasn’t strictly professional?

You shook your head and cleared your throat.

“I’ll make you proud,” you promised, swallowing hard around the anxiety bubbling up your throat as you waited for his reaction.

“You always do, kid. You always do.” The corner of Doctor Robby’s lips tugged up in a smile again, softer. Sweet, even. His heavy hand patted your shoulder before he turned away, getting swept up in the Pitt’s chaos and meeting with Doctor Shen to get report about the night shift.

Best resident.

That was new.

It didn’t take long for the nursing staff to notice Robby’s change in attire. The last time anyone had seen him in just a black scrub top was when he found himself in the splash zone of a drunk frat kid’s projectile vomit. Needless to say, the doctor stripped his hoodie off and considered depositing it directly into the biohazard bin.

What intrigued the nurses more was your new look. A very familiar hoodie that very clearly wasn’t yours dwarfed your frame. You had to push the sleeves almost halfway up your arms to accomplish anything, but you couldn’t shake your small subtle smile.

The Pitt was a rumor mill. The betting board was physical proof of it, and the nurses would never beat the gossip allegations. You weren’t sure what, or if, the staff might whisper about your new source of warmth, but none of it would make you regret this.

Maybe you should forget your coat at home more often.

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[codfxrn-blog]

MIDNIGHT DRAFT; CALVIN EVANS

Author's Note: I hope you enjoy it. I’m sorry if there’s anything wrong with the story—English is not my first language, so I apologize for that.

The first time they saw each other, he didn’t even lift his head from the microscope.

She’d been waiting at the lab door for twenty minutes, holding a wrinkled folder and biting the inside of her cheek so she wouldn’t leave.

When she finally cleared her throat, Calvin Evans barely turned his gaze slightly.

“And who are you?” he asked, curtly.

“They assigned me to you. For the research. I’m your temporary assistant.” She tried to sound firm, but the word *assistant* caught in her tongue.

Calvin turned all the way around, just to look her up and down as if he were examining a sample he had no interest in keeping.

“Do you have any experience?” he asked, bluntly.

“Some,” she replied, clenching her jaw.

“Some?” he repeated, letting out a dry laugh. He turned back toward the workbench and pointed at a pile of tubes and bottles. “Sort that. And don’t mix them, please. I don’t need another problem today.”

She opened her mouth to protest but held back. She took a deep breath. Stepped closer to the bench, flipped through the labels, picked up one of the tubes, and accidentally brushed against a flask that wobbled dangerously near the edge

.“Careful,” he snapped, without turning around. “If you’re going to be here, try not to break anything.”

“Relax,” she said, swallowing her anger. “I didn’t come to wreck the lab.”

He let out a low snort, like he doubted that. Like he was sure she’d do exactly that at any moment.

“Do you at least know the difference between a reagent and a solvent?” he asked, not joking in the slightest.

She glared at him, but he didn’t even flinch. Not a blink. He looked made of stone, with an endless patience he saved only for bottles, never for people.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Evans,” she spat his last name out like it burned her tongue. “I won’t touch anything without your permission.”

Calvin simply returned to the microscope, as if she had ceased to exist.

As she arranged the bottles with tense hands, she felt the heat in her body mixing with anger.

And she knew, without a doubt, that she wouldn’t stand him. Not a minute longer than necessary.

The third night working together began like all the others: awkward silence, steps bumping into each other, words that felt like darts. She arrived with a cup of cold coffee because she didn’t dare use the lab’s coffeemaker, which according to Calvin, had its own ecosystem.

“That again?” he asked, pointing at her cup. His brow furrowed, as it always did whenever he spoke to her.

“Yes, problem?” she shot back, not lifting her eyes from the bottles she was labeling.

“Besides tasting like poison, yes.” Calvin dropped a folder on the table, too close to her arm. The thud startled her. “I need you to review these transcripts. By hand. I don’t trust the machine.”

“What machine?” She raised an eyebrow, exasperated. “You know there’s a faster way to do this?”

“I prefer to check everything myself,” he said, as if it were the most logical thing in the world. He looked at her with those cold blue eyes, like she was part of the furniture. “If you don’t want to, I can do it myself. But you’ll have to wait twice as long for my corrections.”

She grabbed the folder, fighting the urge to throw it back at him.

“Don’t worry. I love wasting hours correcting numbers that are already fine.”

Calvin stepped away, started weighing samples without saying another word. The silence stretched so long it made her neck ache. To top it off, he was humming under his breath, as if he didn’t even notice she was there.

But after a while, she noticed something strange: her cup of coffee had gone empty. And when she looked again, there was another one. Warm. Steaming. Much better.

She turned to look at Calvin. He was still checking formulas, pretending to be absorbed. As if that cup hadn’t appeared next to her notebook like magic.

“What’s this?” she asked, holding it cautiously.

“Had some left over,” he replied, without lifting his gaze.

“Left over?”

“Drink it or toss it,” he said, a bit softer this time. And for the first time, it didn’t sound like an order, but like permission clumsily disguised.

She stood still, feeling the warmth of the cup in her hands. She sat on her stool, opened the folder, and as she corrected the numbers Calvin insisted on checking by hand, she took a sip. Tastes good, she thought.

Too good to be from the machine.

From the corner of her eye, she watched him. Still pretending not to care, though his shoulders seemed less tense. And for a moment—just one—she felt that maybe behind all that wall of perfection there was someone not so impossible to endure.

It was past midnight when she realized she couldn’t feel her fingers. She’d spent hours typing notes, papers spread all over the workbench. Calvin was across the lab, writing something on a whiteboard, absorbed, as always.

They’d argued a couple of hours earlier over a wrongly transcribed formula. Sharp words, glances that hurt more than yelling. And then silence. Each in their own corner.

Suddenly, a dull thud snapped her out of her thoughts. She turned and saw Calvin sitting on the floor by an open shelf, surrounded by neatly lined-up bottles. He had a notebook on his knees and a pencil tucked behind his ear. When he noticed her looking, he snorted.

“What?” he asked, without lifting his head.

“Nothing,” she replied, rubbing her eyes. “Thought you’d fallen asleep down there.”

Calvin looked at her for a second, weighing whether it was worth answering. Finally, he sighed.

“You could come help me.” He said it like it cost him something. Like it hurt to say.She arched an eyebrow.

“Help you? I thought I was only in the way.”

Calvin pressed his lips together, uncomfortable. He tapped the notebook with the pencil.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it plenty of times.”

He let out a laugh so brief it almost sounded like a sneeze. Then moved aside a bit, patting the floor next to him.

She hesitated but slid over until she sat beside him. Touched the cold floor, looked at the row of bottles lined up like little soldiers. Calvin handed her one.

“Here. Just pass me the ones with blue labels.” She obeyed silently. “And please, stop calling me Mr. Evans. Just Calvin.”

She nodded slightly, giving him a subtle smile, but every time her fingers brushed his, she felt a ridiculous tingle. She ignored it. Or tried to.

A few minutes later, their knees were barely touching, like they’d silently agreed to a contact neither dared to break. Calvin spoke in a low voice, explaining why each bottle had to be in an exact order. She didn’t understand half of it, but nodded anyway. And found herself wishing he wouldn’t stop talking.

“Why do you always do this alone?” she asked suddenly. “Don’t you ever think you could trust someone?”

Calvin blinked. Lowered his gaze to his hands.

“It’s not about trust,” he said, after a long silence. “It’s just… if something goes wrong, I’d rather it be my fault.”

She looked at him, feeling the initial anger melting into something warm, confusing.

“Not everything goes wrong,” she whispered. “And it’s not always someone’s fault.”

Calvin lifted his gaze. And for the first time since they’d met, there was no judgment in his eyes. Just a tiredness that seemed to be asking for permission to let go.

“You’re wrong,” he said, barely audible. But it didn’t sound like a reproach.

She felt the urge to brush his hand but didn’t dare. Instead, she moved a bit closer, until their arms touched. Calvin didn’t move away.

“You could stop doing it alone,” she insisted. “You could let me stay.”

For a second, the whole lab seemed to hold its breath. Calvin swallowed, opened his mouth to say something, but only let out a sigh.

“Alright,” he finally said, so softly she almost didn’t hear. “Stay.”

Two more weeks had passed since they sat on the floor, lining up bottles that no longer mattered as much as before. Since then, something had changed. They didn’t talk about it. They didn’t name it. But it was there. In every brush of shoulders, in every cup of coffee he left near her notebook, in every glance that lingered a second too long.

That night it was raining. The lab looked like a lit-up fish tank, with raindrops beating against the windows. She was alone for a moment, checking some samples. Calvin was in the other room, looking for a reagent that always disappeared when they needed it most.

When he came back, she was sitting on the stool, holding a flask dripping onto her fingers.

“I told you not to open it without gloves,” Calvin said, setting the flask on the table. His voice was softer than usual, almost worried. “Did you burn yourself?”

She shook her head, but he was already coming closer, holding her hand as if it were made of glass. He examined it under the dim light. Her fingertips were damp, a little red.

“It’s nothing,” she murmured, her voice catching when she noticed how close his face was.

“It’s nothing…” Calvin repeated, but without letting go. He was looking at her like he’d forgotten everything else existed. “You always say that.”

She felt a slight tremor in her jaw. She’d gone from hating him to understanding him, from understanding to glancing at him, from glancing to lying awake thinking of his voice murmuring impossible theories.

“Because I don’t want you to worry about me,” she whispered.

Calvin raised his eyes. He had a furrowed brow, but now it wasn’t out of anger. It was something more fragile. Something that seemed painful to accept.

“Too late,” he said. His thumb brushed the base of her fingers slowly, as if he didn’t know where to stop. “I already do.”

She laughed softly, more out of nerves than amusement. She felt a slight tug in her throat.

“Don’t start,” she murmured. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” he asked, his voice barely breaking.

“Like you want to…” She didn’t finish the sentence. Heat rose in her chest, flushing her cheeks. “Like you want something you shouldn’t.”

Calvin swallowed hard. His hands trembled a little as he held hers. And then he did it. He took a step. He erased the little space left between them. His breath mingled with hers.

“I don’t want to want it,” he said, his voice so hoarse it was barely a whisper. “But I want it anyway.”

She closed her eyes when she felt his forehead touch hers. The whole lab seemed to shrink, to quiet down. There was no rain outside anymore, no unsolved formulas, no grudging insults between clenched teeth. Just that: the certainty that they had reached this point fighting the inevitable.

When Calvin kissed her — clumsy, almost afraid she’d break in his arms — she clung to his white lab coat, feeling the trembling running down her back. It tasted like hot coffee and everything she didn’t understand about chemistry. Like everything she did understand about him.

There was no rush. No anger. No distance. Just the sound of the rain, the table behind banging her hip when Calvin lifted her just enough to bring her closer. A kiss that started slow, uncertain, and ended breaking them in two.

When they pulled apart, just for a second, he looked at her as if seeing her up close hurt a little.

“Tell me you don’t regret this,” he asked, his voice shattered.She let out a laugh that trembled on her lips.

“Shut up,” she murmured before kissing him again. “And keep going.”

And that night, when there was nothing left to say, she accepted that hating him cost her more than giving up. That losing was easier than continuing to fight. And that he, with his eyes lowered, had already surrendered first.

[noblebynura]

You, who made the silence gentle.

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader

Synopsis: Maybe comfort was in the shape of a person you held dear to your heart.

Genre & warnings: Sweet gentle fluff

Word count: 1.5k

The Watchtower kitchen was quiet at sunrise. Bob sat at the counter, head tilted as he watched the pancake batter sizzle on the pan. His hair was still tousled from sleep, but there was a softness to his expression that hadn’t left since 6am. When he woke up early, hoping he’d catch you before the world started spinning again.

You were still asleep, curled under layers of exhaustion from last night’s mission. He didn’t wake you. He wouldn’t. But he wanted to be the first thing you saw when you walked into the kitchen, eyes heavy, hair damp from your morning shower.

Bob had grown used to waiting for you.

On the days you weren’t deployed, you stayed behind with him. Keep him company. Shared books, played cards, and sat beside him in the lounge when he was too quiet for too long.

Everyone tiptoed around Bob. Like speaking too loudly would wake something they didn’t want to see. But you… you didn’t tiptoe.

You told jokes. You sat too close. You asked him what he was reading and argued about movie plots and smiled like you weren’t scared.

That’s why he made you pancakes.

When you walked into the kitchen, hair damp and wearing a black hoodie too big for your frame, you paused. Blinking at the stack of pancakes and the man behind them.

“…Bob?”

He smiled, bright and sheepish. “Morning.”

You blinked again. “Did you… make all of that yourself?”

He nodded, nudging a plate your way. “You came home so late. I didn’t want to bother you last night. Figured you’d be hungry.”

Stomach growling in response, you groaned playfully and sat at the counter. “I should go away more often if it means I get this kind of breakfast.”

Bob chuckled, sitting beside you. “Please don’t.”

You both laughed. But you knew there was truth and pleading behind that.

As you forked into the stack, he leaned his chin into his palm and watched you eat like you were the center of gravity. When you noticed, you gave him a lazy smile.

“Did anything exciting happen while I was gone?” Eyebrows raising in interest.

Bob brightened, nodding. “I reorganized my bookshelf. Alphabetically. And the training dummies in the gym kept falling over, so I… fixed them.”

“You fixed the dummies?” Grinning, you pointed the pancaked fork at him.

“Well. I duct-taped them upright. But still.” Lifting his shoulders into a shrug, he gave you a tight smile. Meaning it was the best he could think of.

You laughed, and he relaxed into the sound. Then you leaned closer, eyes gleaming.

God, he adored those bright eyes of yours. Craved it's attention.

“I have something better. You know that dramatic entrance Walker always does with the shield?” you whispered. “He tripped on his own boot laces.”

Bob covered his mouth, trying to muffle the laugh that escaped anyway. Afraid to be too loud when everyone else was still in their rooms. Afraid to burst the bubble of gentle atmosphere you two created.

“He tried to play it off,” you continued, rolling your eyes at the memory, “but I saw it. Full-on faceplant!”

Bob nearly choked laughing. You sat back, satisfied, sipping orange juice like it was the highlight of your morning. And it was. Spending your free time with together, you've grown closer.

“I missed this,” he said after a moment, quieter. “Us. Talking like this.” His gaze lowered to the half bitten strawberry on your plate.

You looked at him, softening. “Me too, Bob.”

There was a beat of silence, and you reached across the table, curling your pinky around his. His hand tensed slightly but not out of fear, but out of awe. Like the weight of such a small gesture meant more than he was ready for.

“I like being with you,” he said finally, voice low. A confession he voiced out loud without noticing. “It’s like I… forget what I am when you’re here. With me.”

You squeezed his pinky gently. “You’re Bob.” Offering him a genuine smile.

“That’s not what they see.”

“It’s what I see.” You were quick to diminish his negative thoughts. Bringing him back to you before his mind slipped away.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, eyes glossy for just a second. He looked away, then back at you.

“Do you want to get out of here today?” he asked, tentative.

You blinked. “Like… a date?”

He gave a half-shrug, suddenly shy. “If you want it to be.”

You grinned, nudging your plate aside. “I’d love that.”

ִ ࣪𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ

Later that day, you sat across from Bob in the quiet café he picked. A place he found while wondering around the city when you were gone.

A warm corner booth near the window. You chatted over coffee and muffins, his fingers twitching nervously against his cup.

“This is nice,” you said. Looking around the cozy interior. It almost reflected Bob’s room with the warm hues, soft edges and green plants.

He smiled, looking down. “Yeah. It is.”

There was no Void here. No Watchtower. Just the two of you in your little world.

Bob glanced up, catching you watching him. His gaze dropped to your lips for a second before he quickly looked away.

“Can I ask you something?” he said, suddenly.

“Of course.”

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

You tilted your head. “Because you’re not a monster, Bob.”

He didn’t reply right away. Then, quietly, “But I have one inside me.”

You reached out, resting your hand on his. Thumb caressing the back of his hand, “And still, you’re sitting here. Having coffee with me. Trying. That matters.”

He looked at your hands. Then, slowly, carefully, turned his palm to hold yours.

The touch sent a warmth straight to your chest.

Bob squeezed your hand. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

“You’re not,” you whispered.

ִ ࣪𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ

The walk back to the Watchtower was slow.

Neither of you were in a rush to end the moment. The city was calmer by dusk. Golden light trailing across the sidewalks, warm breeze brushing past your arms as you walked close enough for your hands to graze.

Bob didn’t speak much on the way. He just kept sneaking glances at you, like he was making sure this was real, that you were still there, still looking at him like he was something to be admired, not feared.

When the elevator doors opened, you stepped into the common floor, shoes quiet on the polished concrete.

The rest of the team was scattered.

Walker with a protein shake, muttering at the TV debating with Alexei about the legitimacy of the plot, Yelena doing stretches by the couch and Ava trying to actually watch the movie.

A few lifted their heads when you and Bob entered, but no one said anything. They knew the relationship you two had. Still, you noticed the way Bob’s posture shifted slightly. Tension creeping into his shoulders like he expected judgment.

You bumped his arm gently. “Hey. You're fine.”

He nodded, exhaling quietly.

The door to his room closed behind you with a soft click.

For a moment, you both just stood there. The dim lamp by his desk cast everything in warm, muted tones. You glanced at his bookshelf. Neat and orderly. Then at the old record player in the corner, humming a low vinyl crackle.

“Want to sit?” he asked.

You nodded and sank onto the edge of his bed. Bob sat beside you, knees brushing. Close. Not touching.

His hands rested on his lap, fingers twitching again.

“Today was really… special,” he said.

You turned toward him. “It was. I’m glad we went.”

He looked at you then. Fully and openly. There was something new in his expression. Not hesitation. Just longing. The kind he’d been swallowing for weeks.

“Can I hold you?” he asked.

Your heart skipped.

“Yeah,” you replied, almost breathless.

He reached for you slowly, like you were fragile. His arms wrapped around you with a kind of gentleness you hadn’t expected — protective, but soft. Like he didn’t want to let go. You melted into him, pressing your face into his chest, and his chin came to rest over your head.

He sighed.

“You make me feel human,” he murmured.

You pulled back slightly to look at him. “You are human, Bob.” Your arms around his waist squeezed.

His brow furrowed, eyes glassy again. “Sometimes I forget. When the Void gets too close.”

“You don’t have to carry it alone.”

His voice was hoarse. “But I always have.”

You brushed your hand along his cheek. “Not anymore.”

Something broke then. Quietly.

Bob leaned in and kissed your forehead, slow and lingering. He stayed there, lips against your skin, like he was grounding himself in your warmth.

You closed your eyes, your hand resting on his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heart under your palm. Steady.

“You’re safe with me,” you whispered.

And in the quiet of his room, Bob finally believed it.

Because the gentlest place on earth is with the girl he held in his arms.

[goldfades]

no thoughts—just munch joe

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ᝰ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | compilation of munch joe burrow thoughts... need i say more?

ᝰ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | smut! oral (fem. receiving), praise, unedited, third person and no use of y/n, cumming in his pants... um 🙂‍↕️🤗

ᝰ 𝒆𝒗'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 | im ovulating. no comment. i hope yall enjoy this compilation of munch joe <3

it starts off as a joke.

just a throwaway comment joe said once on a mic’d up game day video when a media guy asks him what his pregame meal is:

“pregame meal?” he repeats with a smirk. “my girl.”

(followed by a shoulder shrug and a sly little “what?” when the guys around him start clowning.)

everyone loses it.

it becomes an inside joke on the team—guys are always side-eyeing him pregame like

“yo, joey—did you eat?”

and he’s always straight-faced: “yep. full plate. my girl special.”

but the thing is… it’s not a joke. not really. he’s deadass.

joe swears by it—swears his best games, the ones where he’s locked in, extra aggressive without breaking a sweat—they all have one thing in common: he got a taste of his girl that morning.

like this man has it down to a routine.

home games? he wakes her up early, rolls her over and eats her like it’s brunch service and he’s on shift.

road games? if she’s there with him, even better—he’s lifting her up onto the hotel sink or laying her across the bed, jersey pushed up, her legs over his shoulders while he mutters something about

“can’t play hungry.” or like, “this is the real carb load.”

even if he can’t finish (like they’re pressed for time or he doesn’t want to be late), he still makes it a point to at least get his “appetizer” in. just a couple minutes of her thighs shaking around his head and his hands gripping her tighter than he does a ball.

he’s so convinced it works that when he has a bad game, he’ll literally go back and say:

“i didn’t eat.”

and the guys know exactly what he means.

his girl is mortified every time he says it out loud—and he says it a LOT. interviews? podcasts? casually in the locker room?

if anyone asks about superstition or game prep, he’s like:

“oh yeah. i got a secret pregame routine. tastes better than anything on the team menu.”

so now it’s canon.

“my girl is my pregame meal.”

he says it proudly. smugly. and his girl hates it and loves it at the same time.

because it’s funny—but also he means it with his whole chest.

--

the first time joe had came from eating you out, it was rare—accidental, even. the first time, he didn’t even notice. joe was just locked in, deep in the zone, her thighs around his head and hands in his curls and her voice shaking in his echoing in his ears like—

“j–joe, i’m gonna—”

“good.”

“baby i—”

“i said good.”

and that was all it took. he came in his boxers. fully.

like he didn’t even process it until a few minutes later, when he finally sat up, pupils blown, chest heaving and he realized he was soaked.

she thought it was hot as hell—kept teasing him like,

“damn… didn’t even need me to touch you, huh?”

but joe was literally stunned. like his whole life changed that day. he was already obsessed with eating her out before—but now? now he had proof it was enough.

that he could get off just from her reactions, just from the way she tasted, just from her body trembling under his.

so it kept happening. more and more frequently.

especially when:

she’s pulling his hair while whispering filthy encouragement

she’s being bratty earlier and he’s “shutting her up”

she’s overstimmed and begging and he wants to watch her come undone again

she’s riding his face with both hands in his curls and he’s moaning into her

those are the dangerous combos. he’ll finish in sweats, in tight compression shorts, sometimes even while holding himself back from fully grinding into the bed ora pillow.

like he’ll try to keep it under control but it’s just too much sometimes.

and she knows, she always knows. like her favorite thing to say afterwards is:

“you came again, huh?”

“jesus, joey, you’re actually sick in the head.”

and he just wipes his mouth and shrugs like,

“told you i didn’t need anything else.”

“you’re the whole damn meal.”

(he’s not joking either.)

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[himasgod]

Could I request platonic Silver with half-fae reader who also went through the whole eternal slumber process and awakened by true love but reader just doesn't sleep. Nobody has seen them sleep, not once. Sibling dynamic kinda

(this may be a lil specific cuz it's for oc purposes lol)

SILVER AND READER

Where you wake up with him from the eternal slumber found by Lilia, and you become siblings

What would your brotherhood relationship be like if, in addition, you had the peculiarity that, unlike him, you are incapable of sleeping?

FOR OC PURPOSES 😭, to keep feeding this OC I decided to make it a little darker at the end, you can ignore it or keep it in mind! Also I would love to do a second part dealing with this ending, if you ask me, or leave it to your imagination. I'm not very convinced about some things, and I could redo it, but I hope you like it <3

Silver didn’t remember waking up. Not really. He remembered you.

You were there the moment his eyes opened, when the eternal slumber lifted its fog from his mind. Lilia stared at you in astonishment. Silver was just a baby, unlike you, who were considered a toddler when you fell under the spell. He thought it was a dream at first, your hand in his, your eyes tired, the smell of the forest in your clothes.

A lullaby left your lips off-key, fond.

And no one had ever seen you sleep.

Not Lilia, who tucked you in as a child along Silver. Not Sebek or Malleus with whom you had shared most of your childhood since you woke up. Not even Silver.

At first, Silver thought it was a coincidence. You were up before him, smiling with your usual sleepy gaze.

Later, already as a child, he noticed you still sat by the window at midnight, legs curled you as you stared at the stars.

He’d fall asleep and wake to find you still there, unmoved.And so it went on for years.

"You don’t sleep?" he asked one day, wary of startling the truth. You hesitated, biting your lip.

“I… don’t. Can’t. Not anymore.”

Silver tilted his head, that familiar calm in his eyes.

"I used to, back then. But when I woke up, I guess something stayed broken. True love fixed me, it's supposed. Maybe it did. But dreams won’t come back to me."

“So your nights are all waking ones.”

"And your days are all dreams."

He let out a breath through his nose. “Then we’re opposites.”

You were awake when he couldn’t be. You watched over him.

Since you could never sleep, you’d sit with Lilia all night, sipping flower tea and listening to the old bat ramble about days of yore. Other times, since your father needed to rest too, you’d rest your cheek against the cool windowpane and hum a wordless tun looking at the starts all night.

You were already teens, in Briar Valley. He collapsed again during sword training.

It wasn’t dramatic, just a soft sway, then Silver crumpled into the grass like a marionette with its strings snipped. Just a boy sinking into the earth, kissed again by sleep.

The young Sebek started forward, startled.

You were already kneeling by his side.

"Don’t touch him," you murmured gently. "He’ll wake when he’s ready."

You brushed a leaf from his hair, with calm. Your hand found his, and he squeezed back even while unconscious. A muscle memory.

Reassurance.

You stayed there, kneeling beside him, even as the sun shifted and the sky paled.

“I’ll keep watch. Go to rest, Sebek. You've done well today”.

It had become a ritual, almost. He would fall asleep without warning. You would stay awake at his side without fail. You’d never leave him vulnerable. Not when he could do nothing to protect himself.

He’d thank you afterward, of course. Softly.

“That’s what siblings do, right?”

You didn’t sleep, but you weren’t restless, exactly. Just aware. Always aware.

When Silver wandered in at dawn, still yawning from a nap he hadn’t meant to take, he found you in the exact same position as before.

“Did you stay there all night? Father had no experiences and those secrets that he only shares with you about his past, to tell you tonight?”

You nodded. You noticed the slight sleepy sarcasm in his voice, it wasn't aggressive. Lilia was busy that night, so you just stayed in the same position.

“You don’t get bored?”

“No. The world is quietest at this hour. I like the quiet.”

Silver joined you on the windowsill, back to the frame, head tilting to rest against yours. He did this often, leaned on you like a pillow. You let him.

“I dreamed of the sea again.”

“What was it like?”

“Big. Still. And I was standing in it, but not wet. You were on the shore. You had wings.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “I haven’t had wings since I was a baby.”

“I know. But dreams don’t care about that.”

“I wish I could see them. Your dreams.”

“I’ll keep dreaming them,” he said. “If that’s what you need. I'll dream for the both of us”

“Then I’ll keep the watch, while you do, so you can refresh me with that world of fairytail dreams fragments later.”

One night, already in Diasomnia, Silver had a vision. Not a dream. A vision. You found him wandering the halls, dazed, half-lost.

“Silver?”

He didn’t respond. His lips twitched, trembling.

You caught him by the shoulders and held him steady.

“Hey—hey. You’re not dreaming anymore.”

“I saw you. But you weren’t awake. You were asleep.”

The breath in your chest caught.

“I kept trying to wake you. But you wouldn’t open your eyes.”

“That would be a nightmare, wouldn’t it?”

He didn’t answer right away. It wasn't a dream, it looked more like a premonition.

A memory of the future.

“No. It wasn't a dream. Just something I’ve never known. And I think I hated it.”

You'd been feeling extremely tired the last few days. Not sleepy, but tired.

For the first time, your hands shook with fear when you realized you'd closed your eyes for 20 seconds straight, feeling more at peace.

As if you were drowsy.

You held his face between your palms and met his gaze until he blinked fully back into the present.

“I’m not going anywhere. Sleep never comes for me. Not anymore.”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

“Then keep dreaming me awake, and I’ll keep watching while you sleep, that's what we promised, isn't it?.”

Not rest. Not sleep.

Just understanding. And that was enough.

For now.

Until the day all the sleep you've been missing all these years claims you, embracing you in unconsciousness forever again.

Because you'll be there to protect Silver, but no one will be able to protect you when Morpheus takes pity on your curse and decides to put you to eternal sleep again,this time, forever.

When Silver's vision is fulfilled.

But that wouldn't happen until a few months later.

So it was enough, for now.

[mikkies]

「 AKO AY DAHAN-DAHANG NILILIBING NANG BUHAY PA. 」

Chance x Fem! Clothing Designer! Reader (no mentions of she/her)

warnings: none that I know of, but any mentions of itrapped should be a warning on it's on

notes: didn't know what to do with this since the nonnie didn't specify so I made it comfort fic for Chance (idk what possessed me). Again, Chance's characterization is thanks to @/telamonisms.

YOU THREAD THE needle without thinking, hands moving with practiced ease.

The cabin is quiet—only the gentle scrape of fabric and the subtle hum of power laced into your fingertips as your design takes shape.

A half-drawn coat begins to materialize on the mannequin beside you, unfinished and waiting.

He watches you from the corner.

Not intrusively. Never that.

Just… watches. Silently. His head tilted, shades masking whatever storm might be behind those eyes.

The low gleam of his clockwork headphones matches the silver glint of his skin, soft under the filtered cabin light.

“You're makin’ that for me?” he finally asks, voice smooth but teasing.

You don't look up from your sketchpad. “Depends. You gonna try and run off before the sleeves are done again?”

A quiet laugh—low, sheepish. It's not the first time he's done it.

He has a tendency to disappear, just before things feel too real. But he always comes back. Chance always comes back.

“I didn't mean to,” he murmurs, and the shift in his voice draws your eyes.

His cocky grin falters around the edges. He's standing straighter now, but his hands are clenched behind his back, as though he's holding something in.

Or maybe holding himself together.

You nod toward the chair beside your workstation. “Sit.”

He obeys without hesitation.

That’s something you’ve noticed about him—how quickly he listens when it's you.

Others have to push, pull, beg to get anything from him.

But you? You ask, and he’s there.

Always.

You glance at the fabric folded over your lap. “You never tell me what style you like.”

“Anything that makes me look good,” he says, quick and cheeky again.

You smile faintly. “You already do. That’s not what I asked.”

A pause.

Then, softly—like it slips out before he can stop it: “I liked the old suit. The one I wore… before.”

Before him.

Before everything.

You stop drawing.

He’s not looking at you. His fingers twitch, gripping the brim of his fedora.

You’ve seen him shoot with flair, strike with smug precision, play games with a laugh that covers how hard he shakes afterwards.

You’ve patched him up more times than you can count. But he never talks about before.

Until now.

“I kept wearing it even when it got torn. Even when it didn’t fit right no more. Didn’t want anyone to touch it. Like…” He hesitates.

“Like maybe if I kept it on, he’d still see me the way he used to.”

Your voice is quiet. “Did he?”

Chance goes silent.

You set your tools down and kneel in front of him, gently pushing his shades up to rest on his fedora.

His eyes—normally hidden—are glassy and uncertain.

“I’m not him,” you say.

“I know.”

“I won’t lead you anywhere you don’t wanna go.”

He bites his lip, trying to smile like it’s all just banter. “What if I do wanna go? What if I’d follow you anyway?”

You reach for his hand. “Then I’ll make sure it’s someplace safe. Someplace that won’t hurt.”

He looks at your fingers—calloused from sewing, glowing faintly with the hum of creation—and touches your wrist with the same reverence someone might give something sacred.

“…That coat you’re making,” he says, softer now, “you gonna put your mark on it?”

“Already did.” You gesture toward the embroidery on the sleeve. A tiny threadlike sigil, glowing just faintly.

He stares at it like it means the world.

You add, “So no one else gets to claim you again.”

He laughs, and it sounds like he’s finally exhaling.

“Damn,” he breathes, pulling you into his arms and burying his face in your shoulder.

“Y’know, for someone that makes clothes, you’ve got a way of fixin’ hearts too.”

You hold him tighter.

Because you know the kind of love Chance gives—raw, loyal, doglike. The kind that lingers, even when it shouldn’t.

And you’ll show him that maybe, just maybe, this time…

He gambled right.

[mullermilkshake]

New arrivals

Part 29 <- Part 30 -> Part 31

The babies are here, you and Jinwoo try to have some family time.

Yandere!Jinwoo Sung x Fem!reader Tags - New mom! reader, Dilf!Jinwoo, Fluff, Depictions of blood and violence, Knives, Death?

<<< For more Dark/Yandere content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

<<< Or back to this fic's Master list. >>>

I have only watched the anime and haven't gotten round to reading the manhwa yet. Please refrain from spoilers.

TAG LIST RE-OPEN (The tag list is back up and open for a little while, if you'd like to be tagged, please let me know! 🤗)

“Thank you, Jinwoo.”

You wouldn’t have been able to do all this without his help. 

Two babies, fresh smelling and wrapped in their little blankets in acrylic boxes. They were so tiny, so little in the world right from you before their first breath.

You did that. You gave birth to those beautiful little things and had no idea on what names to give them.

“Me? For what? Baby, you did all the hard work.” Jinwoo studied the twins just as you did, his little finger linking with yours in a way to connect with you.

“Thank you for advocating for me when I needed you. When we needed you.” 

Baby number one, you named him until the right name came to you. Baby number two you named her until you could decide another name that suited her.

“I’ll always advocate for you.” He said, finally wrapping his arm around you to hold you up.

You were still weak, though strong enough to stand on your own two feet for a little while and see the amusement in a serious time. “I don’t know what you said to the doctor, but she kept looking at you like she was about to cry.”

The thought made you giggle quietly, noting her tired and almost prettified look whenever she noticed Jinwoo in the room. He never told you, which made it all the most mysterious.

He rubbed his finger on each incubator in the eased quiet. “Sometimes people just need a voice.”

“Speaking of.” You said, watching him closely for an idea he might have. “I don’t know what to call them. I think your input is important in this.”

He shook his head thoughtfully and held you firmly. “Baby, you made them, you birthed them, you did all the hard work. I think it’s only right you name them too, any name you give them I know I’ll love.” 

“I’m not sure… we never got around to discuss it.”

Jinwoo didn’t expressly say it, but you knew that saddened look on anyone. “I’m sorry. I never should have gone to that raid. We could have talked about it-“

“You didn’t know. It’s alright. You’re back now.” 

He couldn’t blame himself, not like that.

“I’m glad to be back… Now that my memories returned, what about your mana? Anything changed?”

“No, nothing. I have a feeling I’m not getting it back… but it’s okay. I think I’m coming to terms with it.”

Jinwoo wanted to speak but was caught short by his phone ringing again. You saw the screen, an unknown number.

He cursed under his breath and pocketed his phone frustratedly. “That’s another unknown number that’s called in the last twenty four hours.”

“Why not answer it?”

“Because I’m spending time with my family. A phone call doesn’t come between that.”

Your heart melted into a blob right inside your chest. Jinwoo couldn’t have been more indirectly sweet and meaningful if he tried.

Pulling your glance away from your babies for a minute, you kissed him, lingering your lips on his, bodies close and content.

“I love you.”

“I love you.” Jinwoo slipped your hand into his. “Just so you know, that when I couldn’t remember you, my body did. And my mind, it fell in love with you all over again so quickly.”

Was he intentionally being romantic at a time of your vulnerability? Or were you just that gaga over him and you never realised?

“I missed you more than you know.” 

“I knew I missed you. It was on the tip of my tongue, the information was there but I couldn’t access it. I wanted to reach out to you, to touch you and breathe you in, but my brain didn’t allow it. It didn’t connect like it was meant to.”

You hung on his every word, studying the features of his face to ingrained them in your brain so you could identify him in the darkness, or from a crude sketch.

“Speaking of which.” Jinwoo rifled through his pocket. “I knew once I got my memories back that I'd remember, I just couldn’t place it. I took these from the dungeon boss's treasure it has stocked up in there.”

Two bangles, two miniature bangles to fit a child. 

“You got these?”

“After I lost those memories of you and the twins, I knew they were special, but I didn’t know why.” He placed them in your hand and closed your fingers over them.

They were cool to the touch, ice cold almost, like they had their own life force. Beautiful and weighted, like they were hand crafted with care and all the love of a joyful parent, combined into a little ring of gold.

“It’s the twins ‘welcome to the world’ present from their dad.” 

He lifted the bangle from your hand with the duller shine first, the other which shined perfectly in the grim artificial hospital lights, it practically became its own light source. “This is called Hero’s pride. And this one is a good luck charm. One for each of them to keep as they grow up.”

“Jinwoo… they’re beautiful.”

“You decide who they go to, I’m sure you’ll be able to decide their names after.”

Good luck charm… Hero’s pride. 

“Alright-“

A shrill scream split through the hospital hallway. Jinwoo left your touch and stood between the twins incubators and the doors.

“What is it, Jinwoo? It sounds like Hae-in, is it her- is it Hae-in?” You instinctively joined Jinwoo’s side, tugging at his shirt for his response.

“I think-“

“No! They’re taking my baby, stop it! Leave him alone!”  

“Oh my god… we need to help her, Jinwoo. Did she say what I thought she-“

"Jong-in's there, he can handle it."

You stuttered with an unbelievable shock, “J-Jinwoo, we have to help her. We can't just stand here.”

"I'll be putting you and the twins at risk if I do."

"We'll be fine- just please, go and see what's going on."

“Lock the door. Don’t let anyone in.” Even with his direct orders, Jinwoo was hesitant, he was conflicted, his eyes moving from the door and the twins, to you. 

He cursed something under his breath. “I won’t be long. Beru will keep you safe, you might not see him, but he’s there.”

He kissed you quick, pulled away and brought you to him again, lingering his lips on yours for a kiss you wanted to last forever.

“Don’t move. Don’t leave the twins. Stay exactly where you are, okay?”

You nodded quickly. “I promise.”

Jinwoo took you into a desperate embrace and kissed you one last time. “I’m coming right back.”

“I know.”

He left into the hallways following Hae-in’s screams of agony, a heartbroken noise that caused your eyes to well up as you locked the hospital room door. It seemed like hours of you standing there until it all fell silent, though in reality, a few minutes passed.

I need something to take my mind off of this, anything. Jinwoo will sort this mess out.

It wasn’t that you were ignorant. You were exhausted and unable to process Hae-in’s predicament when your own children with so tiny and vulnerable, something you couldn’t bear to think about. 

Something to ease your mind before you could start pacing and listening out for any sound in the hall creeping near your door.

The twins names.

The bangle was Hero’s pride. Baby number one came first. You gave that one to him, slipping it into his incubator and around his tiny wrist.

“For Min-ho, our little hero to protect his sister…”

The other bangle was a good luck charm. Baby number two could lean on Min-ho and allow him to do the same with his sister. The bangle hung over her tiny little wrist as she slept.

“For Jun-hee, our little good luck charm to protect her brother…”

You wrote the corresponding names of your children on their incubator cards while acutely aware of the utter deafening silence out in the hall.

“Oh good, you’re okay.” 

You jumped, covering your mouth to quieten yourself. “H-How did you get in, Doctor?”

Beru should have stopped her.

“I have a master key. I came to see you were alright, Hunter Cha is having an episode and I wanted to check in with you and the babies because the sounds are quite unsettling.”

You stepped between her and the twins. “I’m fine, so you can leave now.”

She held up her hands defensively. “It’s alright, I just wanted to see if you needed anything.”

“We don't, so you can leave now.” You channelled Jinwoo’s energy to appear as threatening as possible. 

“I will- oh, you named them?” She smiled like Jinwoo’s mother would, slowly edging towards you to see the incubators behind you. “Can I see?”

“No. Later, when Jinwoo’s back.”

“It won’t take a minute-“

“I said no.” You growled at her like a rabid dog.

“Ugh.” She sighed, her whole demeanour shifting like lightening. “You two have really been pissing me off.”

You didn’t register at first, only that Min-ho and Jun-hee started crying. You looked at them for just a second, a cold tug you never saw coming.

A thin steel knife into your stomach.

“What? How did I get past that idiot bug Jinwoo has marching about the place?” She grinned something manic you couldn’t even comprehend. “You really think that the association would let a civilian care for S-Rank hunters? How do you think I’ve been getting past everyone? I’m just that hidden.” 

You screamed when she plunged the knife into your stomach again, her nails digging at your shoulder. Struggling against her fist was a fight you didn’t have, but you kept going because you had to.

“W-why-“

“I’m taking your babies. I already have a seller lined up in Japan. Then my debt is cleared. But it’s riskier now that the idiot has regained his memories. There’s no way I could kill him to make sure he won’t come after me, but if I distract him long enough, that’s a different story. And Jinwoo Sung is worth too much to Korea to get rid of anyway. You on the other hand are expendable-“

“Stay away from my babies!” You rammed her, managing to get her on the back burner with the sudden energy you had while pushing yourself further onto the knife. Though you were just too weak to begin with.

The doctor spun you around and shoved the knife back into your stomach, your legs gave out, hitting the floor like a brick wall of pain and blood in the corner of the room.

“You made some beautiful kids, I’ll give you that. Strong too-even louder than I care for. Yet they are worth so much more than you realise.”

“T-the Chairman.” You began choking on your own blood, holding your stomach like it could do something, watching nothing but your children in the incubators. They were more like prisons which you couldn't reach. “My babies…” 

“Chairman Go knows nothing, he’s a desperate old fool who just wanted the association as his family. Like he would actually go through with taking these kids, let alone selling them. Don't be so naive.”

The doctor looked down at you like you were nothing through your blurry eyed lasting vision before death came. Leaving your babies all alone without you. Without their mother. You hadn’t even held them yet.

My babies… 

“The only cover up the Chairman was part of was ensuring Mr Sung’s involvement in the incident was removed from the press.” She grimaced like you were nothing better than dirt on her shoe. “He knew during the investigation that Jinwoo was a murderer and he never said anything because of the babies you both made. Consider yourself lucky you spent as much time with him as you did.”

What? What does that… I don’t know-

“You could have gone on to make so many more great ones too, but try getting him to agree to anything he doesn’t want to. Giving up your babies just to make new ones, yeah right.” 

When things started doing dark and creeping up in the corner of your eyes, she knelt down to patronise you. “Don’t worry about the kids, they’ll live a good life in Japan doing who-knows-what, but that’s not my problem. After they leave my care, all I want is the money.”

You managed to stay awake long enough to her wheel your crying babies away and flip you her sweet smile as you sat there, bleeding out with no reason than to die.

In a split second, the vile doctor made you less than nothing.

Your babies were missing.

Part 29 <- Part 30 -> Part 31

Okay, let me tell you something, let me tell you something before you the pitchforks are sharpened and the horses ride at dawn!! It's part of the plot, this had to happen. 🫣🫣 Trust the process! I'm sorry! 🤗🥰

TAG LIST RE-OPEN (The tag list is back up and open for a little while, if you'd like to be tagged, please let me know! 🤗)

Thank you for reading and all of the support on this fic! ❤️ Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated and I appreciate you all! See you next time 🤗

Tag list - @bubera974 @snowy-violet @sky2lar @starrynights23x @kamiliora

@yessirr7 @qmabailor @yihona-san06 @mashiromochi @daiyanomochi

@justatimidcreator @alia-17 @otomegamesforlife @m00n-estelle @towomatos

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@minkuro @misakicchi @lovingyeet @soft-dots @gina239

@sabrina-senpai @tsukimoon-chan @afkmylajah @livelaughlovekuni @keiva1000

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime or manhwa. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work, thank you!

[kkayyerr]

what about Rafe with a little reader giving him the silent treatment but she is nonverbal when little so Rafe can’t figure out what caused the silent treatment!

also any idea what anon I should be? It helps me keep track of my asks because I something forget what asks I send in 😭

Silence.

Warnings: Age regression, Rafe has anger issues, fluffy ending.

Author’s note: I had that request for a couple of months, and I’m slightly embarrassed that I haven’t written it earlier.

„Why are you so quiet today, baby?“ Rafe asked all of a sudden, causing you to flinch from the surprise. The last hour, both of you were lying on Rafe’s bed in total silence.

At first it didn’t seem like something weird to him. Maybe you were just not in the mood for your usual empty rants. He was even thankful that he got to live one day without hearing about your childish nonsense.

Rafe just kept on scrolling through his phone before he felt the need to take a closer look at you.

Then he finally noticed that you almost haven’t moved an inch since you got here. You were simply laying next to him, sucking on your favorite pacifier with a hollow look in your gorgeous eyes.

Something was definitely wrong, but he just couldn’t wrap his finger around what exactly.

Rafe sighed softly. His mind started racing with all the things that he had done that could’ve upset you and caused the silent treatment that he was now receiving from you.

„Okay, listen, are you upset with me? Did Daddy do something that made his little girl feel bad?” Rafe’s voice was low, but his tone was much softer than usual. He wasn’t mad at you for ignoring him; he was mad at himself for causing the current situation.

You didn’t answer.

The look in your eyes stayed empty, and you definitely weren’t paying attention to his words.

Rafe’s facial expression darkened just a little bit. He hated when you wouldn’t tell him the exact reason for your behavior. How was he supposed to know what exactly he did wrong this time?

"Can you use your big girl words, baby?" Rafe tried again, attempting to keep his voice and demeanor calm, despite the fact that he was starting to feel the urge to pull those words out of you no matter what.

Once again, there was no answer from you.

Instead you just shrugged your shoulders and tried to turn over to the other side of the bed, but Rafe caught your arm firmly just as you tried to move.

The muffled squeak came out of your mouth when his grab became tighter.

Now he was pissed off.

Why would you treat him like that? Why wouldn’t you just talk to him like a normal person instead of doing that „silent treatment” bullshit?

„I swear to God, if you won’t give me an answer right now, I’ll…” Rafe stopped mid-sentence when he noticed that weird look on your face. It wasn’t the stubbornness or resentment, no.

It was guilt.

He took a big breath before looking at you once again. This time he also paid attention to your teary eyes.

You weren’t punishing him with your silence, no, of course not. You just weren’t big enough to speak with him directly right now.

Rafe reached his hand to your face and softly stroked your cheek with the tips of his fingers before gently pulling the pacifier out of your mouth.

„`M too small. Don’ wanna talk.” You mumbled under your breath before you felt how two strong arms pulled you closer. The next minute you were lying on Rafe’s chest, while he was gently rubbing your arm that he had roughly grabbed previously.

God, he had to learn how to manage his anger.

„That’s okay, little one. You can just rest in Daddy’s arms now, and we will have a talk once you are all grown up again, yeah?“ Rafe’s voice was calm and soothing again. At least now he knew that you weren’t ignoring him. Of course his good girl would never do that to him.

How stupid of him to even think about that.

This time your lack of an answer didn’t bother him much. Rafe simply placed the pacifier back in your mouth and chuckled quietly as the barely audible, soft murmur flowed from your lips.

“You’re too good for me, baby.” Rafe whispered, running his fingers through your hair, while you were already falling asleep on him.

Taglist: @tinylilacbun @aew-regression-cove @rafecameronsloverrrrr

[warfaredoll]

𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ warfare ⋮ Elliott x f!reader ⋮ suggestive ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐲𝐦𝐚𝐧’𝐬 𝐣𝐨𝐛 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝?

handyman!Elliott, domestic fluff, dry humping

you stood in the bathroom with your arms crossed, staring down at the slow growing puddle at your feet

“Busted ass sink” you huffed under your breath

the leak had started a few days ago at least, you thought it had. could’ve been a week, maybe more. you’d tried to tighten something underneath it, maybe twist a pipe back into place but all you’d managed was making it worse. now, a steady drip from under the cabinet fell right into the bowl you’d set down to catch the mess

you groaned, stepping back from the puddle, and grabbed a towel to mop up the water. “this is getting ridiculous” you muttered, tossing the towel down.

thankfully, you’d already called someone

Elliott.

the knock came a minute later, sharp and familiar, and for some reason, you didn’t even have to check, you knew it was him.

when you opened the door, there he was. tool belt slung low around his waist,. his white shirt clung a little too perfectly to his chest, snug across his shoulders and upper arms, the fabric slightly see through in places from sweat, you weren’t sure, and honestly, you didn’t care. a rag draped over his shoulder. his boots were scuffed, and his faded blue wranglers sat low on his hips

you were still barefoot, arms folded under your chest as you leaned on the doorframe. he looked at your face first, a quick scan, probably taking in the tired frustration on your face, then his gaze dropped down, and you caught it, just the barest twitch of a smirk when he saw what you were wearing.

those damn cotton shorts. soft, high cut, worn just enough to be comfortable and just enough to catch his eye. you weren’t oblivious. you’d worn them on purpose, just like you had the last few times he came by. and he’d noticed every time

his eyes lingered for a half second longer than polite, then moved to the slight trail of water down the hallway floor

“you really did a number on it this time, huh?” he asked, stepping inside without hesitation

“I tried to fix it, and now it’s leaking more.” you mumbled, stepping aside to let him in

Elliott chuckled softly as he walked toward the bathroom “You know I don’t mind coming”

you trailed after him, arms crossed again. “I’ve been calling you a lot lately.”

he paused at the doorway, glancing over his shoulder “Yeah” he said simply. “I noticed.”

you quickly looked away “well. stuff keeps breaking.”

Elliott crouched by the sink and opened the cabinet door, already pulling out tools. his shirt lifted just a little, revealing the cut of his back and a peek of skin above his jeans. his tool belt creaked slightly as he shifted, pulling out a wrench and flashlight. “like your porch light last week. the oven handle. the door hinge. the, what was it? the mysterious buzzing sound in your laundry room that turned out to be a something caught in the vent?”

you rolled your eyes with a soft laugh “maybe not all of it was urgent.”

he didn’t say anything for a moment, just tightened a valve, his forearm flexing slightly with the effort. you leaned against the doorway, pretending not to stare. but the way his brows furrowed in concentration, the veins in his hands as he worked, the quiet little exhale when he got something to finally budge

you walked right over to bathtub sitting down on the edge of it, legs crossed, your shorts riding higher as you leaned forward a little to watch him work “pretty sure you’d come even if I didn’t call for a busted sink.”

Elliott slowly pulled back from the cabinet, turning his head toward you

“Yeah. I would” he said honestly

“good thing something’s always broken around here.”

he grinned, shaking his head as he stood up, grabbing his rag to wipe his hands. “you say that like you don’t do it on purpose.”

you raised a brow. Elliott stepped toward you, just close enough that you had to tilt your head up to look at him. he looked down at you, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to decide something

“I’m saying.. if you are, I don’t mind.”

his voice had dropped a little. his eyes held yours a second too long

you swallowed, trying to keep your growing smile in check

“I’ll have this all fix, shouldn’t be long from now.” he said suddenly

you nodded

the tools clanked under the sink, Elliott exhaled a slow, focused breath from where he lay stretched flat across the bathroom floor. he adjusted, body arching slightly, groaning low from the tight space more than discomfort. you didn’t look away, of course you didn’t

you sat perched on the edge of the bathtub, your thighs warm against the cool porcelain rim, little cotton shorts hugging the curve of your ass, creeping upward as you shifted just a little, innocently. but nothing was ever truly innocent when Elliott was around

he was stretched out on his back, legs spread. his shirt had ridden up, exposing just enough to tease, just enough to draw your attention to the narrow trail of hair that started at his bellybutton and disappeared beneath the waistband of his work pants and boxers. his hips shifted again, a subtle thrust upward as he adjusted the wrench

Elliott caught the way your eyes followed him, he always caught it. from beneath the sink, he turned his head, his gaze landed on your thighs, on the soft seam where the cotton stretched and then up to where the lace of your bra peeked out from your tank top. one strap had slipped down your shoulder, and you made no move to fix it

his smile was crooked, not playful, not quite a smirk, but that damned mustache moved with the curve of his lip

“You’re doing it again” he said, voice rough and half muffled under the sink

“Doing what?” you tilted your head, fingers curling around the edge of the tub

“watching me like you’re going to climb on top of me the second I stop tightening this pipe.”

your laugh was breathy, but you didn’t deny it

he pulled out from under the cabinet with a slow drag, chest rising as he propped himself up on his elbows. his eyes looked you up from the knees up, lingering at the edge of your thighs before they met your eyes

“You know what you’re doing.” he said

“So do you” you murmured, leaning forward just enough to make your breasts shift under the thin cotton, the lace now fully visible. you held his gaze, didn’t flinch when his eyes dropped again

the wrench clanked as he let it fall beside him “Sink’s fixed.”

you glanced down toward it “You sure? It might start leaking again tomorrow.”

“Yeah? you going to call me back in?”

you nodded slowly “Maybe. If you’re not too busy.”

Elliott rolled his shoulders, then pushed himself to sit, arms flexing as he rose to his knees between your legs. his hand found your knee, warm, rough and callused

“I’ll always make time.” he squeezed gently

Elliott’s hand was still on your knee. you gave him that look, the kind that always said you knew exactly what he was thinking, and you were daring him not to act on it

“You really fixed it?” you asked, voice sweet as you leaned forward, hands on the floor, arching just enough that it pulled your top tight across your chest. you shifted from the edge of the tub down beside him, settling on your knees like you were just another curious little homeowner checking on plumbing. but you arched your back just right, your hips lifting, that cute ass of yours all up in front of him

“Yeah” he said simply. his palm slid off your knee, but not before giving it the faintest squeeze. his eyes didn’t leave you as you leaned in, shorts riding higher. he saw the edge of your panties peek from beneath them thin, white, barely covering anything. he knew those. you’d worn them when you “accidentally” dropped your phone under the kitchen table, ass high in the air as you reached for it right in front of him.

he hadn’t forgotten, not even close

this time, you didn’t have to drop anything. you just got on your knees and gave it to him

Elliott’s breath hissed through his teeth, his jaw clenched as his cock stiffened painfully against his jeans. you shifted again, ass pushing back that last inch like you were begging for something. he couldn’t help it, he fucking looked. looked at the way your little shorts framed your ass, the fabric stretched so tight it cut between the cheeks, those panties just barely visible. a quiet, rough groan came from his chest

“Damn shame” he muttered, tongue clicking against his teeth as he shook his head “You really oughta be careful bending over like that around me.”

Elliott rose to his knees slowly, slipping off his tool belt, the rough fabric of his jeans brushing your thighs as he stepped in closer. you were still bent over, hands on the floor, head craned to look into the cabinet like a good little girl but you weren’t fooling anyone. his hips pressed forward until his bulge rested right up against your ass, hard even through the denim, rubbing slowly against you

you gasped, your back arching deeper as the shape of his cock pressed right between your cheeks, rubbing into you perfectly

“Elliott-” you breathed

he leaned forward, chest pressing to your back, one arm braced on the floor beside your shoulder, his other hand landing firm on your hip “you really think I didn’t notice how you keep calling me over for every damn squeak and drip in this place?”

you whimpered softly as he rutted forward again, dragging right along the swell of your ass. his cock throbbed through the fabric. he let it, wanted you to feel every inch

“You wearing these little fucking shorts every time, flashing that sweet little ass when you know I’m staring”

your hips bucked back instinctively, searching for more of him. he grabbed your waist tight in one hand, holding you in place as he rutted forward again, this time grinding in a slow circle, his breath warm at your ear

“This is every time, every time I walk in this house.” he grunted, cock rubbing hard against your panties

your voice caught in your throat, eyes closing shut. he was panting against your ear now, lips brushing your skin as he spoke

“You think I don’t see those panties, every time you bend over just for me? think I haven’t imagined pulling them aside and fucking you right here?”

your moan came out high and shaking “Elliott…”

“You got no idea how bad I want it” he murmured

Elliott’s hips rolled forward again, slow and steady, grinding the thick line of his cock against your ass until you felt the throb of him through both layers of fabric. you whimpered, rocking back against him, desperate for more friction, more pressure, more anything. each slow drag made your clit throb, your panties soaked, your thighs trembling from the pleasure building

“Fuck” he muttered under his breath, grinding harder, his grip tightening on your hips. “you feel that? that’s what you do to me.”

you nodded frantically, biting your lip. you needed him, needed his cock inside you, fucking you open right here on the bathroom floor but he wasn’t going to give you that. not right now.

he buried a groan against your shoulder as he humped forward again, the wet spot on your panties growing, the pressure just right. he wanted you just as bad, you could feel it in the way his cock felt against you, the way his breath came ragged, harsh through his nose. you felt every twitch of muscle as he forced himself to hold back

and then he stopped

just like that. he froze, hips against your ass, before the weight of his body was suddenly gone as he pulled back completely

“wait-” the word tumbled out of you in a soft, pleading whimper before you could catch it, your body jerking back after him, but he’d already let go and moved

you dropped slightly, arms trembling from the loss of heat, the contact. your shorts clung to your ass

Elliott stood behind you, silent for a second. then his voice rough and quiet “Shit.”

you blinked, still panting, and turned to look over your shoulder

he wasn’t even staring at your ass anymore.

his eyes were on your clothes. specifically your shorts and the hem of your tank top

there, smudged across the fabric in dark streaks, were faint stains of grease, dust, dirt from the pipe or his hands, blotched across the curve of your hip and the bottom edge of your shirt where he’d grabbed you. you followed his gaze down and saw them too

“Oh” you breathed. your hair was falling into your face, your tank top slipping, your panties damp and visible, and you looked like you’d just been… well, like exactly what had just happened

he rubbed a hand over his mouth, sheepish, but flushed too. breathing hard. his eyes moved over you again, down your legs, back to your ass, the wrinkled tank top clinging to your chest. he looked like he was trying very hard not to just fall to his knees and finish what he started

“Sorry” he muttered voice lower now. his thumb reached out, brushing the edge of the stain he’d left on your shorts

you watched him do it, then looked down at the mark

and giggled

you couldn’t help it. it bubbled up, half laugh, half shocked of what the hell had just happened. you had just gotten dry humped by your handyman

Elliott looked up at the sound, mouth twitching up amused, but he shook his head and stepped back. his tool belt clanked as he bent to pick it up, strapping it back on around his waist with one hand while the other smoothed himself down

you were still kneeling, eyes drifting down as he buckled his belt. your gaze dropped to the front of his jeans again

the bulge was still there. bigger, firmer than before, his zipper looked ready to split. you bit your lip, still staring, unable to stop your body from leaning forward again, ready to offer something, anything to make him stay just a little longer, to take the edge off for him

but Elliott noticed, he caught your eyes as you stared.

a slow grin curled across his mouth, mustache twitching again

“don’t even think about it” he said, voice playful but hoarse “not right now.”

you pouted

he bent to grab his wrench from the floor, tucking it into the belt. then he turned to the doorway, looking over his shoulder one last time.

“call me, and I’ll come.” he said with a full toothy shit eating grin.

handyman!Elliott i got something else that’s leaking that u can fix!

@gaebestie @roostersluvvr @https-junebug @warfareangel @livelaughl0ve3 @bradleybeachbabe @sharpayslilo @iron-rot @cosmosbabydoll @witchywidow97 @joelmeller @willowpains @violetcamryn @gallaghrh @illyrianbrat @tsunchani

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 - 𓊆ྀི 𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐞𓊇ྀི

[nakaira]

He runs his fingers through your hair and then stops when he feels scabs from wounds you didn't tell him about it.

Bsd x reader prompt.

note. the reader is a normal civilian and not a part of any gangs. also i wanted to make these longer and include fyodor and kunikida too but health not good. my fever wants me DEAD so it's only dazai. i hope that's fine?

also I kept the 'situation' very vague. so the stabs can be from self harm habits of scratching your head till it breeds or from abuse or whatever. that's up to your interpretation. you may think dazai is ooc here but shh, i have exchanged salivas with that man so trust me when i say he isn't.

— dazai

dazai doesn't normally inquire much about your life as so do you because if you can be content with him without prying for his past then who is he to not do the same?

this all changes soon however when once, during a very lazy evening you were watching a movie with him. at some point you lay your head on his shoulder and on instinct he raises his hand to run it through your head.

invested in the movie, you do not notice him doing so or else you would have stopped him which isn't unusual for you to do as you sometimes stop him with one or two pathetic excuses which he never buys but stops anyway.

the moment his fingerpads touch your scalp, you freeze as your heart painfully thumps as if to mourn. the pain is physical.

his fingers glide down gently but soon stop when he feels fat scabs there. he slowly pulls his hand away and doesn't comment or joke like you thought he would, he only stays quiet.

you look down then slowly try to scoot a bit far but he catches your wrist, looking at you like he sometimes does with this melancholic look on his face, "why are you moving away?"

"don't you feel disgusted?" you ask quietly as you stare at his bandage wrapped neck and not his eyes because how can you face him without bursting into tears?

"did you feel disgusted by my bandages?" he asks instead.

quietly you shake your head, whispering, "it's different —"

"it's not really." he wraps an arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his lap to force your head on his thigh as he settles for patting your arm instead of your head, not wanting to hurt you or divert your attention to those scabs again.

he knows from the tensing of your shoulders that tears are dwelling in your eyes but he doesn't comment on it, only whispers, "i am here. whenever you want to talk. or whenever you are in danger, i am always here so run to me."

"it's not easy." you whisper in a trembling voice as if this conversation is something you want to run away from and as much as he can relate, he will force you to sit here if he has to.

"never is, bella." he mumbles as he leans down, gently cupping your cheek to turn your face towards his to press his lips against the tip of your nose, and he whispers, "but i promise it doesn't have to be as hard as you are thinking it is. stop thinking so much and call me. you think i can't face the situation which caused these scabs?"

"no." you mumble, closing your eyes as you add, "i won't be able to face you if i told you what happens."

"i will just have to chase you then, hm?" he tries to tease but you don't even smile and truly how can you when you feel as if everything is over?

he saw a part of you which you did not want to show him. you want to cry.

"hey," he softly frowns, leaning down to press his nose against your's, "talk to me, tell me what's wrong. you think i won't turn heaven and hell upside down for you?"

you end up breaking down like a dam — violently, tumbling over your words and sobs as you narrated the entire thing to him.

and if, for the next few days, he remains a bit busy and decides to eliminate your situation himself, then that's another secret he's taking to the grave if it means he can see you smile freely at him without feeling ashamed of anything.

[feefivefoe]

living for sahsrau, I offer crumbs that you can expand upon if you want to (no pressure)

I feel like phainon would see the creator as his escape from the cycle on amphoreus. you are the beginning after all, bro would be obsessed with you and figuring out your powers so you guys can live happily ever after. with all the other heirs obv but you’ll always have snowy at your hip

mydeiiiiii, my booooooyyy. might be the only person who treats you semi normally. kinda like welt where you can have convos with him and he just shoves his feelings for you off to the side. the only way you’ll tell he can feel anything is from how he… scowls at you??? he’s actually so entranced by you, making a mental note of everything you say. while you’re probably thinking the prince of kremnos is abt to punt you to the next star system

mr anaxa is at a bit of a crossroads, you’re a god (more like THE god) from beyond the sky. he’s intrigued by you, itching to learn what makes you tick.

not many thoughts for him because he confuses me :( love if you could expand on these and maybe talk abt aglaea and castorice too <33

Full disclosure I have not done most of the amphoreus quests yet, I just know about the major beats. I also have half the current Chrysos Heirs, so I feel alright answering this.

○○○

There is a thin line between love and hate, and Phainon is using it like a jump rope. He starts the cycle absolutely enamored with you, especially upon your identity being withheld from even them. Only Aglaea seems to know anything about you, and it has her thrown for a loop. So mysterious! You, on the other hand, can't help but feel your blood turn to ice when he's in your vicinity. His presence isn't as strong as Phantilia's was, stretched across the Lufou. But it's the same chill.

As the journey advances, each fallen comrade makes that thread tighten. If you're truly such a special individual, enough to be valued over the Coreflames themselves, shouldn't you have the power to help? Shouldn't you be doing more than just protesting as your shared friends insist you stay in Okhema? You'd let the people who give everything for this planet die before letting your precious fucKING SILKEN SKIN GET-

He wonders if the Destruction would mourn you. If fate had finally given him a gift. If not a way to end his cycle, a way to harm the one responsible for his suffering. Why else would he have been gifted the god of gods, bound to mortal flesh?

He can't imagine Nanook wouldn't mourn you. Who wouldn't? You are perfection, given physical form. The most incredible thing he has ever seen in his many, many lives. You have to die because he can not live without you. Nobody can. He needs you now more than ever, so he must destroy you.

What loyalty does he owe you, after all? The one who tried to help despite their powerlessness refused to rise above, how he did.

○○○

Mydei is much kinder, thankfully. He deems you weak and not worth much notice, at first. But while he isn't fully invested in their mutual quest, he does respect Aglaea and Tribios greatly. Their unending awe and adoration of you causes him to reconsider. As he grows to respect the Trailblazers and Dan Heng, this is further solidified. Everyone in Castum Kremnos was a warrior. But his culture appears to be the outlier in that respect. Some people have roles outside of the battlefield, and contribute there more than they ever would with a sword in their hand.

He does treat you entirely normally. As normal as somebody as blunt as him can, anyways. For the sole reason of that's what you clearly want. For somebody to see you as a person, rather than some divine entity beyond mortal understanding. Well, he isn't technically mortal anymore, is he? He can make the attempt, if nothing else.

Most of the time his expression is blank, but every now and again he just glares at you, like you've insulted his dead mother. When all you did was yawn?

Mydei is upset because he understands it now, damn it. Why those three were willing to fight the city itself if it was decided you would be taken from them. Why they go from allies to foes whenever anybody even hints at taking you near the battlefield.

He thinks he might do the same. You are rather dangerous, actually. He's glad he didn't notice before falling victim to your pull.

○○○

Anaxagoras isn't sure if you entirely contradict his opinion on the gods, or if you enforce it. Because the gods and prophecy are clearly bullshit if there's a being so far beyond them. But if that being exists, then the existence of gods and prophecies is correct?

But you also can't be all bad, because the dromas swarm you to such an extent that they'll deviate from their duties if they catch sight of you. He's even seen them abandon their feeding troughs when you approach. Asinine.

Against his better judgement, for a man that is all judgement, his opinion of you softens rather quickly. If he wants you to use his full name, you will ("What am I gonna do, tell you you're wrong about your name?"). You ask him questions about their world ("If I knew the answer, I wouldn't be asking.").

He's hardly the type to bow and scrape at your feet, assuming you'll assist them in saving their world. But you make working with that woman a bit more bearable. Even more so when he gets the opportunity to keep you by his side, rather than hers. It's rather satisfying to watch her brow twitch, clearly trying to not seem angry in front of you.

○○○

Aglaea hasn't regretted many things in her life. She'd give anything to reach the finish line she's been vying for her entire life. And yet.

She finds herself wishing she knew what you looked like. The golden threads can give her an idea. A shape. But even that is difficult, because you're everywhere. The threads exist within you. Every vein in your body is spun of pure silken gold, turning your circulatory system into the most beautiful tapestry she's ever come across.

But that isn't enough for her. She wants to know the color of your hair, your eyes. Your preferred style of dress. She wants to take in your smile and laughter with every sense available to humanity. She wonders if this is how the titan beating in her chest felt about her own lover. Did this adoration turn Romance into such a lovestruck fool?

Do not leave the holy city.

That is a desperate plea an order she gives not even considering the asset you could prove to be. But rather that she doesn't know how she would function if such a beautiful creature appeared and vanished from her life so soon.

To you, she is a staunch ally. You know how she pulls strings for the prophecy, how everybody is disposable to her if the need arises. You do not know she will do worse for you.

Balancing things with the council is necessary for the Flame Chase Journey. But if they touch you, she will smile. Sitting next to you in the private baths, knowing her dear allies have thrown them to the black tide. Okhema would be heartbreaking to lose. But you aren't even an option.

She is heartless because she loves so deeply. Remember that.

○○○

Death permeates Castorice's life, preventing her from human connection for so long. Forcing her to keep a distance from the rest of the world. Even admist demigods.

She thinks your friends might kill her, when your hand falls on her shoulder after Okhema is attacked. It's clear they adore you. They will take your loss hard.

Then you falter. You sway. You stumble. But you do not die.

And Castorice falls in love with you immediately.

You too, are surrounded by death you cannot prevent. People who treat you like glass, ready to turn and shatter those who approach you. Who you are lucky if you can stop in time.

She tries so very hard not to join them. Because life is a sacred thing. You agree. There are few people you personally want dead.

Death wants you so very badly. Of course it does. Everybody does. She can't bring herself to let it, even if it would mean being able to keep you for herself. You're so full of life. You are life itself. The foundation of everything that has happened and will happen.

And that makes her all the more happy when you choose to seek her out. When you seek her calm, content smile over the ones so desperate to please.

She too, is desperate to have you in her grasp. But she's even more desperate to have you come willingly. Happily. Because who else would willingly approach Death?

Please don't leave her alone.

[venusbyline]

image being the niece aegon has been obssesed over for the last years. you two are at a family dinner and he put drug in your drink. you went to bed and woke up later, he is on you groping your boob while he is kissing on you neck. you two share the same blood, who is a better candidate than him to take your virginity?😩😩

ughhh i luv modern!aegon and non-con/dubcon somnophilia 😩😩 it's so fucking hot

⚠️: SMUT & DARK CONTENT. innocence!reader, dark!Aegon II, Targcest (uncle/niece), rape/non-con becoming dubcon, non-con somnophilia, underage sex, age gap (older man/younger woman), no specific mention of reader's age but she's just a teenager girl and Aegon is 12 years older than her, past child abuse, Aegon already abused reader when she was younger, drugged sex, non-con drug use, innocence kink, virginity kink, loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, nipple playing, dry humping, obsessive behaviour, hebephilia and ephebophilia content, modern AU. no use of y/n.

⚠️: This scenario involves a lot of Hebephilia and Ephebophilia content. If you don't like that type of content or if you know the possibility of being triggered by my work, so please save your mental health AND DON'T READ IT!!!!

The family reunion had gone well: Aemond had not fought with any of his nephews and Daemon had not mocked Alicent's prayers before dinner.

Everything had gone perfect, just as Aegon hoped it would be. For his plans to come to fruition, the family could not argue and leave early. It was Viserys' birthday, so all his children gathered at Rhaenyra's house to celebrate another year of their father's life.

Nothing had gone wrong before he had time to sneak into his little niece's room.

All it took was a a mild sedative pill dissolved in the orange juice you were drinking during dinner — since you were not old enough to drink — for you to get drowsy and ask to go get some sleep.

Although Jacaerys seemed confused by his younger sister's sudden drowsiness, he did not have time to question anything, because Daeron drew his attention back to talk about their college stuffs.

Thanks to the distraction of the other family members, Aegon could enter your room without any problems in just a few minutes.

You were so beautiful, the cause of Aegon's growing obsession. Ever since you were a child, he had seen you as a cute little thing that he loved to hold on his lap during walks and then kiss the top of your head, always rubbing your panties with flower or doll prints without you knowing what was happening, until you peed yourself and cried in shame, thinking it was your fault.

It was cruel, sick and disgusting behavior, Aegon knew that. But he was only twelve years older than you and he was just a curious teenager.

Those dirty things might have ended there, if Aegon had not become increasingly obsessed when you became a teenager, still innocent and pure, the way he thought girls should be.

Everything was about to change. He was the best man to take your virginity before some teenager, stupid guy got the chance.

Lying down next to you and pulling you against his chest, Aegon almost groaned as he lifted your pink nightgown and noticed the cotton panties of the same color.

A very cute sight, just like the sight of a few pubic hairs growing in your crotch, proof that you were slowly becoming a woman.

"Oh my princess, you're so grown up already...", Aegon whispered against your earlobe, spitting on his fingers to bring them to your little pussy, frowning in satisfaction when he felt your little bud.

It felt wonderful, the way your core got wet while he rubbed it... The way you started to whimper in your sleep, parting your legs as if you really wanted more of this.

Aegon knew it was probably just a natural reaction of your body, and he did not worry about it at all. He knew that deep down you would love this when you woke up, you would love to have your favorite uncle sticking his cock inside you, taking your virginity and making you bleed...

"Fuck baby, you're so fucking hot..."

Starting to kiss your neck, Aegon removed his hand from that now soaked panties and moved up to your breasts, kneading the soft, growing mound and feeling it spread around his palm. You were so soft everywhere, he could not get enough of it.

When Aegon's caresses on your breasts evolved into brushes on your nipples, you whined, opening your eyelids with difficulty and trying to understand what was happening. "Uncle?"

"Shhh, my little princess... Go back to sleep. Let me take care of my sweet niece."

You tried to move so you could face him, which did not work out very well: your body felt too heavy and drowsy from the drug that all you could do was rub yourself against his bulge accidentally.

Aegon's cock hardened so much that it hurt his balls, a low gasp escaping at your ass against him. "Hmm, what a greedy little whore you've become. All it took was a few touches on those pretty tits and you already wanna feel your uncle's fat cock stretching your innocent pussy?"

Any logical thought disappeared from your mind, moaning in confusion when Aegon went back to rubbing your clit, using his entire palm and leaving it swollen and throbbing.

You had touched yourself a few times, but your uncle's touch felt much better.

There was a chance that your lack of resistance was just a consequence of the drug, of course. Yet, Aegon continued kissing your neck and caressing you. "I'mma leave your little pussy all sticky and then I'mma fuck it, what you think?"

"Pleaseee, uncle. It feels so g-good...", the soft plea sounded confused and too naive, not even realizing the extent of the gravity of that situation.

"Don't worry, niece. It'll feel even better. I promise."

[acrosstheujiverse]

I Like You So Much, You'll Know It

【📂】 summary: you used to think love had to be loud—full of sparks and spectacle. but now, in the quiet of your old school, you realize love was softer than that. love was junhui, waiting in the silence. 【🖇️】 pairing: patient!junhui x oblivious!reader. 【💿】 genre: slice-of-life; slow-burn romance; coming-of-age. 【🧺】 tags: high school reunion; unspoken love; memories; quiet devotion. 【📦】 w/c: 5.3k+

📬 — author’s note！this is inspired by the 2017 c-drama "a love so beautiful."

“everyone who watches the drama imagines themselves as jiang chen, when in reality, we’re all like wu bosong.”

dedicated to those who love quietly—for the ones who wait, give without asking, and still hold on to hope.

releasing this from the drafts (2021).

i like you so much, you'll know it (minghao's version)

« main masterlist | (SOON) »

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the old high school felt almost like a place you’d dreamed.

not because it had changed, but because you had.

the hallways were narrower, the doors lower, the colors faded slightly like old pages in the sun. the trees in the courtyard stood perfectly still, as though they had always been waiting.

somewhere near the gym, laughter spilled out from old friends catching up, voices full of stories stitched together with time.

but you weren’t drawn to the noise.

you were looking for someone.

not xu minghao—though there had been a time you believed your heart belonged to him.

minghao had always been easy to notice. not because he asked to be seen, but because he moved like someone who already belonged to the future.

he was calm, composed, bright in that quiet way stars are bright—you only notice them when you stop and look up.

he didn’t try to impress anyone. and so, of course, he did.

he was top of the class, played with grace on the court, served on the student council with a stillness that spoke louder than speeches.

you watched him the way you’d watch a reflection in water—carefully, afraid to disrupt it.

and maybe you thought if you looked long enough, he might look back.

but he didn’t.

the one who did—you barely noticed at first.

not until now.

because now, you were looking for wen junhui.

and he was there.

exactly where he’d always been.

under the tall tree near the court, where the sun filtered down in ribbons.

he sat as though he belonged to the light. still, but present.

he didn’t turn when you approached. somehow, you knew he didn’t need to.

“you’re still early,” you said, gently—your voice moving through the hush like the wind moves through curtains: soft, but not unseen.

he turned slowly.

smiled.

the same smile.

it felt like something small and familiar blooming in your chest.

“you’re still late,” he said, and the words held warmth. no edge, just memory.

you sat beside him. closer than before.

before, you might have left a space. but the years had softened the shape of that space, and now, it didn’t seem necessary.

the quiet between you wasn’t empty. it was full of things not yet spoken.

you watched the light move across the pavement, slow and golden.

“you waited,” you said—not because you wondered, but because you knew.

he didn’t answer right away. when he did, it was with the same steady gentleness that had always marked him.

“i didn’t know how not to.”

you couldn't help but smile, but it was a bittersweet smile, knowing you’d spent so long looking in the wrong direction.

chasing something beautiful, yes—but not what you needed.

minghao had been the idea of love.

junhui had been its practice.

“i used to think love had to be loud,” you said. “all-consuming. obvious. like a comet across the sky.”

“i’m not very loud,” he said, almost like he was apologizing for it.

“no,” you said. “but you were steady. you stayed. even when I didn’t see it.”

he didn’t flinch. didn’t protest. just let it be true.

“i liked you so much,” he said quietly, “i thought… maybe one day, you’d feel it.”

you turned to look at him—not just glance, but really see.

he didn’t turn right away, but you reached out anyway, and took his hand.

“i do,” you said. “i know now.”

he looked at your hand in his like it was something he didn’t expect to hold. and then he looked at you, and in that gaze there was something deeper than surprise. there was grace.

you were here.

you had turned around.

and somehow, that was enough.

“i’m sorry it took me this long,” you whispered.

“you’re here now,” he said. “that’s what matters.”

above you, the sky was turning soft and lavender, and the world felt as though it had exhaled. the kind of quiet that holds its breath not in fear, but in wonder.

you rested your head on his shoulder. he leaned into you without hesitation.

and just like that, the past didn’t feel wasted.

it felt like a long, winding path that had always led here—to this bench. to this evening. to the stillness wrapped around you like light through leaves. to the warmth of a hand that had always been waiting. and to the truth you said, finally and simply:

“junhui… i like you so much.”

and now, at last, he knew it.

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it didn’t happen all at once.

there was no thunderclap, no sudden blaze of knowing.

no lightning bolt of revelation, the kind that rewrites your story in a single instant. the world didn’t stop turning to bear witness.

it came slowly. quietly.

like a seed breaking open beneath the soil. like a star’s light, already shining long before you ever thought to look up.

you didn’t notice it at first. not because it wasn’t there—but because you weren’t ready to see it.

it began at the edge of things.

a soft ache, not quite pain.

a shift in the air.

not a burning, but a kind of warmth that unfolded in careful increments, like sunlight gathering on a windowsill.

unannounced.

unhurried.

unmistakable—once you turned your face toward it.

there were no grand declarations.

no cinematic turning point.

just the quiet accumulation of small, steady moments: the way he waited, the way he listened, the way he stayed.

it wasn’t loud. it wasn’t obvious.

and maybe that’s why it took you so long to notice.

because love didn’t come to you like a storm—it arrived like snow. soft. certain. each flake a whisper of something larger. and by the time you looked down, your hands were already full of it.

if you tried to trace it back—follow the thread through the laughter and the silence, through the missed chances and half-held breath—you’d always find yourself in the same place.

it began on the rooftop.

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you had said it in passing.

not as a demand, or a plea—just a thought you let drift into the air, soft around the edges.

half a complaint, half a wish.

“why doesn’t it ever snow here? i want to see everything turn white just once before the break.”

most of your friends laughed. not unkindly—just in that way people do when they think you’re only dreaming out loud, when they think nothing will come of it.

but junhui didn’t laugh.

he heard it differently.

like it mattered.

like a wish whispered into a well.

and maybe he didn’t know what to do with it yet—not exactly—but something in him folded the words carefully and tucked them away. like a note. like a promise.

-

it was three days before winter break.

outside the classroom windows, the sky had already turned that deep blue that slips in just after sunset—when the light is gone, but the dark hasn’t fully arrived.

night school had started. students sat restlessly at their desks, half-studying, half-drifting into the promise of freedom.

the teacher had stepped out for a moment, and the room buzzed with low conversation, like bees moving through the last minutes of the day.

then someone gasped.

it was a surprised sound. not loud, but full of something childlike. “wait—look outside!”

you turned, just in time to see a group of classmates rush toward the windows. the front row stood on tiptoes, palms pressed to glass.

“is that… snow?”

you blinked.

that couldn’t be right. the forecast had said nothing about snow.

you’d checked. twice.

you pushed your chair back and followed them, weaving your way through shoulders and coats and warm breath fogging the air. everyone was taller than you. the view was blocked. you couldn’t see.

“move,” you whispered. not angry—just wanting to see. “let me through.”

you made it to the window. rested your hands against the cold pane. and looked out.

and just like that—your heart caught in your chest. then fluttered.

white flakes drifted down beneath the courtyard lights. not heavy, but certain. snow.

it fell like a secret the sky had been holding onto. soft. light. timed perfectly, as if the world had been waiting for this moment and only now decided to begin.

you stood there, lips parted in quiet disbelief. it was snowing. really snowing. and for a moment, you felt like a child again—full of awe and impossible wishes.

you didn’t know you were smiling until someone beside you said,

“didn’t think we’d get any this year.”

but you didn’t answer. you were still staring.

and then—your gaze lifted.

the rooftop.

there was something about it. something in you stirred.

maybe curiosity.

but something whispered: go.

so you did.

you slipped quietly from the room—past the bathroom, toward the stairwell.

up there, the building was quieter. dim. lit only by emergency lights that painted everything in soft gray. your steps echoed on the tile. your breath came in clouds.

you weren’t expecting anything, not really.

maybe just a better view.

but the second you opened the rooftop door—

pshhhhht

you froze.

a burst of white shot through the air.

and across the rooftop—there was junhui.

running. laughing.

his buzzcut caught the rooftop light like it always did when he forgot his hat. his arms were full of movement. his sweater sleeves pushed to his elbows.

in both hands, he held cans of fake snow spray.

he ran from one end of the rooftop to the other, wide-armed, like a boy trying to make the sky believe in winter.

foam burst around him. it stuck to his sleeves, clung to his shoes, settled into the curve of his grin. his eyebrows were dusted with white. his head looked like someone had shaken powdered sugar over it.

he looked completely ridiculous. and completely joyful.

you didn’t say anything. you just watched.

watched this boy—who had always been nearby. quiet. steady. easy to overlook. until now.

your fingers curled gently around the doorframe.

your chest was warm and full and aching in a way you didn’t yet understand.

but you smiled.

softly. secretly.

you didn’t interrupt him. you let the silence bloom. let the rooftop fill with laughter and drifting foam. let the moment live.

when he finally slowed—breathless, flecked with white, grinning at no one in particular—you stepped back.

quietly. unseen.

you returned to the classroom, brushed your sleeves clean, sat down without saying a word.

you stifled your smile. but not completely.

and for the rest of the night, while classmates flicked through pages and the teacher talked over the hum of exhaustion, you kept looking at the window.

because it hadn’t really snowed that night. 

you knew that.

but somehow—somehow, that didn’t make it any less magical.

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you’d fainted during p.e.

the gym had been too warm, the air thick with sweat and shouting. you hadn’t eaten much at lunch—just a piece of melon bread and half a juice box.

exams were coming. the kind of pressure that doesn’t scream, but wraps itself around your chest and quietly tightens.

you didn’t remember falling.

only the way your knees gave way, and the lights above seemed to blur and stretch—like looking at the sky through tears.

then nothing.

when you woke, it was in the nurse’s office.

the cot was stiff. the overhead lights hummed like insects.

everything smelled faintly of eucalyptus and bleach.

your limbs were heavy. your lips were dry.

the nurse handed you a paper cup of water and touched your wrist with cool fingers.

“no visitors. no distractions,” she said gently. “just rest. just breathe.”

so you lay there.

the ticking wall clock was too loud.

outside the thin glass windows, the world kept moving without you. footsteps echoed in the halls. somewhere, a ball bounced in the gym. a motorcycle passed by on the road beyond the school wall.

you felt a little bit forgotten. not in a tragic way. just in the small, tired way a person feels when the world keeps turning and they don’t quite know how to step back on.

until—tap. tap. tap.

you blinked.

the window had been cracked open for air. now it brought something else.

tap. tap.

again. more insistent.

you pushed yourself upright, your muscles slow to respond, and shuffled to the window. 

peered out.

and there he was.

junhui.

awkwardly balanced on a dented metal bucket, half-hidden behind the hedges by the back wall. his vest was crooked. his buzzcut damp with sweat. cheeks pink from running or nerves—or both.

he was holding a sheet of notebook paper. on it, in thick black marker:

for your entertainment only — starring wen junhui

and underneath, in smaller print, careful and crooked:

(y/n): please laugh.

you didn’t know what to say.

he didn’t wait.

he raised a coin. his fingers fumbled a little. then—with obvious concentration—he pulled it from behind his ear. it nearly dropped, but he caught it just in time, lifting it toward the sunlight like it was something more than metal.

you giggled.

then came the flower. pulled from his sleeve. crumpled and slightly wilted from living in his jacket all afternoon. he twirled it between his fingers like it was enchanted, then bowed low, with all the exaggerated flair of a stage magician.

it was ridiculous.

clumsy. wonderful.

you laughed harder than you had in weeks.

the nurse glanced over from her desk, her mouth twitching toward a smile.

“you know… for someone who fainted, you sure are lively now. feeling better?” she asked.

you nodded.

“yeah… a bit.”

junhui offered one last bow from atop the bucket, then climbed down with care, tossing you a sheepish grin. he jogged away down the path—one hand waving, the other stuffed in his pocket like it was all perfectly normal.

you didn’t call after him.

you just watched. watched until he turned the corner and disappeared behind the building.

then you placed your hand against the window.

light. silent.

later, when you’d look back on that day, it wouldn’t be the fainting you remembered.

it would be this.

the bucket. the magic coin. the smile that asked for nothing except your laughter.

and somewhere between the nurse’s ticking clock and the glint of sunlight on junhui’s moist buzzcut—you felt something shift.

not just your body.

but your heart.

and maybe that had been the real trick all along.

୨:୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ · · ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨:୧

exam week.

your alarm didn’t go off—again.

you launched out of bed ten minutes before the bell, clothes half-on, brain still fogged from the night before. no time for breakfast. no breath to spare. you told yourself you were focused. but really, you just didn’t want to stop.

8:00 a.m. cramming in chemistry. reaction mechanisms blurring together, your eyes fluttering shut every few seconds like a warning you kept ignoring.

9:00 a.m. math. formulas circling like storms you couldn’t break through. you wrote and erased and wrote again, chasing answers that refused to settle.

10:00 a.m. english literature. hands trembling, highlighter smearing across lines of poetry that used to feel like old friends but now read like riddles.

by lunch, you were fraying.

you made your way to the vending machines—your last hope. you slid in four quarters and pressed the button.

nothing.

no snack.

just silence.

and the coins were gone.

you stared at the machine like it might change its mind.

it didn’t.

back to social studies at 11:15, where the teacher spoke of revolutions, but all you could hear was the quiet throb of your empty stomach and the distant roar of your own body asking you to stop.

12:00 p.m. a history test. the words on the page floated like fish beneath water—just out of reach. your pencil slipped twice. you erased until the paper bruised.

12:45 p.m. you stumbled out of the classroom like you’d been underwater. the test over. your energy gone. your thoughts knotted. your chest tight.

you made it halfway to the next class before your vision blurred.

no breakfast.

no water.

not enough sleep.

your body was done pretending.

1:00 p.m.

you slid into your seat in the self-study room, two minutes late. rows of desks under harsh fluorescent light. the room was split between silence and the frantic rustle of pages being turned too quickly.

you sat there—aching, on edge, jaw tight enough to crack. if someone tapped their pencil, you thought, you might actually scream.

you opened your notebook and started drawing nonsense in the margins—spirals, stars, anything to hold your hand steady.

and then—a soft touch on your shoulder.

you looked up.

a hand reached past you from behind.

in it: a mango juice box.

your favorite.

the straw had already been poked in, placed just right. there was no note. no announcement. just quiet knowing.

you turned.

junhui stood behind you.

calm and steady. that same gentle presence that didn’t ask for attention, but always noticed.

he didn’t say anything.

he didn’t need to.

the smile he gave you—small, warm, real—was more comforting than any word. 

it said: i see you. you looked like you needed this.

you took the juice box in both hands, exhaled softly through your nose, and let yourself lean into the sweetness. the mango scent filled your lungs. the straw touched your lips. you didn’t realize how hungry you were for kindness until you tasted it.

he nodded once. then turned. walked back to his desk like nothing had happened.

but something had.

something tiny—and yet vast.

he had offered you relief. not the dramatic kind. not the heroic kind. but the kind that says: you don’t have to keep doing this alone. and for a little while, that was enough. more than enough.

୨:୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ · · ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨:୧

it had started raining while you were in the library.

you’d been there for hours. tucked into your usual seat by the window, a half-finished stack of notes spread around you like a fortress.

outside, the sky shifted. first, a whisper of sound—just rain brushing glass. then, a steady rhythm. like the clouds had finally let go of everything they’d been holding.

you glanced up.

the courtyard shimmered. rain fell in clean silver lines, each drop catching the light like a bead of glass. water pooled in the bricks, danced across the rooftops.

a few students ran for cover under shared umbrellas, laughing—loud and bright against the gray.

you sighed and leaned deeper into your chair.

no umbrella. 

you knew even before you checked. but still, you opened your bag. just in case. moved aside flashcards. an old granola bar you’d meant to throw out.

nothing.

you could wait. but you were already tired, and your stomach had begun to ache in that dull, low way that hunger does when it’s been ignored too long.

your hoodie wouldn’t help. not in this kind of rain.

you were still trying to talk yourself into moving when a quiet voice broke through the hush behind you.

“you don’t have one?”

you turned.

junhui stood a few feet away. his sweater was damp. raindrops clung to the sleeves. his buzzcut looked darker wet—pressed close to his skin—and his cheeks were pink from the cold. he wasn’t out of breath, but there was something like urgency in the way he looked at you.

you gave a small, embarrassed shrug.

“wasn’t expecting rain.”

he followed your gaze to the window.

“weather app said clear skies,” he said softly, almost like he was apologizing for the sky itself.

then—without waiting—he stepped forward and offered his umbrella.

no drama. no explanation. just a hand outstretched.

“here.”

you blinked.

“wait… what about you?”

there was a pause.

not long. just long enough for you to notice.

then he smiled.

“my mom’s picking me up in ten minutes.”

he said it like it was true. like it had always been true. like he’d already seen the car coming around the corner.

“seriously?”

he nodded.

“go on. you’ll catch a cold.”

you looked at him for a moment longer—eyes tracing the damp lines on his sweater, the way his shoes squeaked faintly when he shifted.

then you reached out.

your fingers brushed his, just for a second. the umbrella handle was warm. it held the memory of his grip.

you mumbled a thank you, soft as the rain, and stepped past him.

the umbrella opened with a click. a canopy between you and the storm.

you walked slowly, boots splashing lightly against the flooded sidewalk, the rhythmic patter above your head like a song you hadn’t known you missed.

by the front gate, you hesitated.

you weren’t sure why. something in you pulled.

you turned.

and there—junhui was not under the overhang. not getting into a car.

he was already halfway across the courtyard, his hoodie up, bag slung over one shoulder, walking fast through the storm.

no umbrella. no ride.

just him—drenched, purposeful, vanishing into the rain.

he hadn’t told the truth.

but he had been honest.

he didn’t want you to hesitate.

didn’t want you to be cold, or wet, or worried about him.

so he lied in the kindest way someone can lie. so you could go.

you stood there a moment longer.

the umbrella in your hand felt heavier now—not because of the rain, but because it meant something. because he meant something.

and maybe you didn’t know what to say yet.

but you’d remember this moment.

this boy.

this small, quiet act.

because sometimes, love doesn’t ask for anything in return. sometimes it just hands you an umbrella, smiles gently, and says, “go on.”

୨:୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ · · ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨:୧

you lie in the dark. the ceiling glows faintly with borrowed light from the streetlamp outside. your mind hums—slow, full. you replay every kindness junhui ever showed you. the rooftop snow; the magic trick; the juice box; the umbrella.

each one plays back in quiet loops, like an old film reel—grainy around the edges but impossibly vivid where it matters.

maybe it started with the rooftop.

junhui laughing through the cold, arms full of canned snow, joy pouring out of him like light. it hadn’t been real snow, but it had felt real—truer, somehow, than the flakes you used to chase in your childhood dreams.

then the nurse’s office.

him on that ridiculous bucket, half-hidden, pulling coins and flowers from his sleeves like a boy trying too hard not to try too hard.

your heart had tripped then—clumsy as the magic trick.

the juice box came next.

mango. your favorite. offered in silence during exam week, no fuss, no ceremony. as if he'd reached into your thoughts and pulled out exactly what you needed.

and then… the umbrella.

the lie about his mom. it hadn’t been a lie to impress you. it had been a lie to protect you. a small, gentle untruth, offered not to win your affection but to shield you from discomfort. a kindness that asked for nothing in return.

and now, as you lie there in the quiet, you can finally say it: he’s always been there. always.

your thoughts drift to minghao.

the top student. the star.

quiet. composed. just out of reach.

you used to know everything about him—how he’d tuck his hair behind his ear when he was concentrating, how he’d glance away when your gaze lingered.

you’d fallen so easily. too easily.

and despite the notes you slipped into his locker, the deliberate smiles in crowded halls, the careful proximity during meetings—he never looked back. not once.

now, in the hush of this moment, you see it clearly.

you gave your heart to someone who never noticed. and missed the one who did.

junhui was never loud. never obvious.

but he was there—in the background, in the small spaces, in the in-between.

you didn’t realize it then. but he did all of it—for you.

not for praise. not for attention.

just to make you smile.

your pillow is warm beneath your cheek. your heart is full, but no longer aching. not sharp. not uncertain. just steady. sure.

this wasn’t a story of grand gestures.

no confessions shouted in the rain.

no fireworks.

just light.

quiet, unwavering light.

you turn your head toward the dark and whisper it into the stillness:

“it was always you, junhui.”

and as the words fall, so does the weight.

your breath softens. your thoughts settle.

in the silence, love doesn’t shout.

it glows.

୨:୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ · · ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨:୧

the rooftop hadn’t changed.

neither had the sky, or the rusted railing, or the faded paint clinging to the walls like old chalk dust. it was quiet now. everyone else had gone back inside—the laughter of old classmates echoing down the stairwell.

but you stayed.

wen junhui sat beside you, legs stretched out, arms resting on his knees. he looked at ease—like sitting next to you didn’t make his heart race anymore. or maybe it still did. maybe he was just better at hiding it now.

you turned to him, voice soft. a little uncertain. “can i tell you something?”

junhui glanced over—surprised, but open. “of course.”

you took a breath.

“i used to think… i realized i liked you during college. or after. when i stopped chasing things that didn’t matter. but that’s not true.”

he blinked—curious, quiet.

you smiled. just a little. “i knew way before that. i just didn’t know i knew.”

he didn’t speak. he waited—like he always had.

so you kept going. “do you remember the snow?”

he nodded slowly.

“you were running around like a maniac, spraying that stuff everywhere.”

junhui looked over, startled. “wait—you were on the rooftop?”

you laughed softly. “yeah. i pushed through everyone at night school just to see it. then i thought—why not go up top? so i snuck up there. and honestly… i thought it was real snow.”

he laughed too—low and a little sheepish. “i just wanted to make you happy.”

you laughed harder. and he smiled like it was the only thing he’d needed all day.

“i thought it was stupid,” you admitted. “but i went home and couldn’t stop thinking about how happy you looked—just trying to make me happy.”

your voice lowered. “i should’ve known then.”

your gaze dropped to your lap, fingers twisting in your sweater. “and when i fainted during p.e.—you came to the nurse’s office, even when no one was allowed in.”

he let out a breath of a laugh. “through the window.”

“you stood on a bucket and did the worst magic trick i’ve ever seen,” you said, grinning. “i laughed so hard the nurse scolded me for being ‘too lively for someone who fainted.’”

junhui groaned, embarrassed. “i practiced that trick for hours. it was supposed to look cooler.”

“it didn’t,” you teased. then, softer: “but i loved it anyway.”

he blinked. just once. the word caught him off guard.

“then there was the juice box,” you went on. “mango. my favorite. i didn’t even tell you, but somehow… you knew.”

he said nothing, but his expression shifted—like he was holding his breath beneath the quiet.

“and the umbrella,” you added. “you gave it to me and said your mom was picking you up.”

“she wasn’t,” he admitted.

“i know. i saw you running home in the rain.”

you looked at him, steady now.

“that’s when i realized something.”

he leaned in slightly—not pushing, just listening.

“every time something small made me feel seen… it was you. every quiet comfort. every laugh when i didn’t want to smile. every unspoken effort. it was always you.”

the air between you didn’t move. not tense. not awkward. just full—like the moment knew it was important.

you reached out and took his hand. “i’m sorry i didn’t say anything back then,” you said. “but i’m saying it now.”

his voice came out quieter than he meant it to. “saying what?”

you squeezed his fingers. “that i like you. that i’ve always liked you—even before i had the words. and now that i do… i don’t want to waste any more time.”

junhui’s gaze dropped to your hands. then, slowly, he lifted them to his lips and kissed your knuckles—soft and reverent, like he still couldn’t believe he was allowed.

“i would’ve waited longer,” he whispered.

you leaned your head onto his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. “i’m glad you didn’t have to.”

and the rooftop stayed still—like it was holding its breath for you. like even the sky knew that something quiet and beautiful had just come full circle.

- fin.

cookie scene.

in the quiet of the bedroom, lit only by the warm, honeyed glow of a desk lamp, junhui stood before the mirror. his reflection shimmered faintly—not because the light flickered, but because something inside him did.

his tie hung loose around his neck, a soft symbol of the day unraveling. his sleeves were rolled with care, like he was preparing not for sleep, but for something ceremonial. around him, the room held its breath. flashcards were scattered and half-buried beneath a hoodie, a calendar leaned tiredly against the wall, and socks clung to corners like forgotten thoughts. everything was ordinary. everything was holy.

in one hand, a worn coin. in the other, a bent silk flower. he looked at himself—not vainly, not with judgment—but with the quiet scrutiny of someone hoping to find something true. something brave.

he flipped the coin. it spun, glinted, missed. landed with a soft metallic sigh on the carpet.

“no, no, no…” he murmured, as though saying it aloud might pull the moment back.

he bent down, picked it up again, stood straighter. breathed deeper.

another try. the flip worked this time. the shuffle did not. the cards scattered across the floor like startled birds—red and black wings, paper-thin, slipping from his fingers.

he ran a hand over his buzzcut, not in frustration exactly, but in that quiet way boys do when they are trying not to cry.

on the wall, a sticky note trembled faintly in the air: make them laugh. written in blue ink, underlined twice. above it, smaller, quieter: just be brave. once.

he sat on the edge of his bed. the flower drooped between his fingers, brushing against his wrist like it was trying to comfort him. he turned it over in his hand. there—a frayed petal near the tip. it made him think of you.

you, and your laugh—the real one, not the one you used when teachers told jokes, but the one that crinkled your nose just slightly and made your eyes shine like you’d remembered something beautiful.

he stood again.

slower now.

he wasn’t rushing toward perfection anymore. he was moving toward truth.

coin in one hand. flower in the other.

he took a breath, not sharp or rushed—but full, like someone breathing in the sky.

“you got this,” he whispered, and this time the words didn’t feel like armor. they felt like hope.

he flicked the coin. caught it, cleanly. held it near his ear like he was letting the mirror listen too.

the flower slipped from his hand. fell.

he looked down, and then—he smiled. a small, crooked thing. not defeat. something gentler. acceptance, maybe. grace.

he picked it up, brushed it off like it mattered. and said, to no one and to everything,

“they better laugh.”

he didn’t sleep much that night.

not from fear exactly—though fear was there, fluttering inside him like moths behind a curtain—but because something in him wouldn’t stop reaching for that moment. that exact, shining second when it all came together. when he’d get it right.

he didn’t know yet that the next day you’d faint in p.e., that your knees would buckle like a puppet’s, that the nurse would wave everyone away with clinical hands and closed doors.

he didn’t know he’d end up outside your window in the bushes, balancing on a dented metal bucket with a paper sign and shaking hands.

all he knew—right then, in that small, lamp-lit room—was that if the moment came, even the smallest one,

he was going to take it.

because sometimes love doesn’t arrive with trumpets.

sometimes, it shows up in a boy with a coin and a flower,

trying.

- fin.

[atangledfate]

Whisper couldn't hide a soft wheezy chuckle at her beautiful Lemur as she admitted she was a hugger. Not that it was a secret, and though it was a bit off putting at first. She'd grown to enjoy those warm moments were she let the Lemur hold her. Those soft embraces when Tangle notices she was struggling. Even just leaning against her to comfort her when the social situation got to her nerves. She wasn't sure how she managed before she let this wonderful woman into her life.

✋ You a Hugger? Never would have guessed✋

She teased playfully and her tail swished back and forth to show her good mood.

✋I can't deny it was hard at first but, i've grown very comfortable with your Hugs, and the kissing is nice to. I'm glad you stuck around, and gave me a chance. I don't know where i'd be with out you... ✋

She admitted with both her hands behind her back and looking rather shy and sheepish. Sometimes it was hard for her to admit to herself that without Tangle... she'd probably be in a very bad place. Not just physically but emotionally. Tangle's joy and warmth had saved her in a way and she was thankful for that.

Now if mimic could just stay gone...

She looked rather thoughtful when the conversation turned to Rowan. In truth she probably understood Rowan better then most of Tangle's friends or family. She didn't see them fighting though, maybe he'd be suspicious when he found out about her past with GUN. Or maybe he'd just understand her rage at GUN better then before. She liked Rowan, and understood why he thought and did the things he did on some level.

Maybe that's why he came to her and asked those questions...

✋I can't say if he and i will always see eye to eye. But I know how important he is to you so... i'll do my best to keep the peace. Besides so far he's given me nothing but good impressions ... i haven't had to bite him once after all✋

Did she just make a joke? or was that a joke? it was hard to tell with whisper! She seemed to enjoy that fact a little as she winked at Tangle to let her know she was in fact joking.

✋ I'm well aware you enjoy cuddling when we are in bed. I've grown rather fond of it, Having you there keeps me grounded and stops me thinking of the past so much...✋

She admitted her hands slowing as if just thinking of how alone she feels when Tangle wasn't there was hard for her now. Truth was, she had horrible nightmares some nights but with Tangle there? it felt like those dreams came less and less often.

✋Plus, i... like when we cuddle... I've shut myself away for so long, it's hard for me to admit how much i missed the warmth of another...✋

"Well, my family always said I can be quite the hugger, so have people I've dated before." Tangle has always just been one for physical contact. Maybe because her parents suck at it, at least they did with her anyway. Might be a mental thing, though she's gotten way better at it since meeting Whisper. "Yeah, my Uncle Rowan is awesome. Though I think it'd be best to ease you into interactions with him. You might clash a bit given the personalities you have." Last thing she wanted was her uncle and girlfriend in a fist fight.

"You know me Whisper, I just go with my gut and the flow. I totally fine with sharing a bed with ya as long as you want it, which you just said you do. I will warn you, with my partners I can be quite the cuddlier, even if I'm completely out." Tangle wasn't sure how she did it, but she'll wake up with her face completely buried into her partners neck and holding them as close as possible even if she didn't fall asleep like that.