#but the blanket is cozy and the sun is shining

[leviathanleva]

Caffè Crema

[Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!FemReader]

Excitement for your morning coffee turns to panic when you bump into a mountainous stranger in a grey hoodie, sporting a skull mask. Sputtered apologies become a conversation in a corner of the café. And he’s so beat up, battered and bruised and scarred that you can’t help the words that leave your lips:

“Do you want to come home with me?”

[5k words ]

Chapter 1 "Caffeine Rush"

Airpods in your ears, music vibrating through your soul, you were ready for the world outside.

Sweet Saturday morning, after a week of work and barely any time for yourself, you’d decided on a treat to start off the weekend. You’d slept in late, phone alarm turned off and sleeping mask tugged on, new sheets prepared the night before because it was so comforting to wake up to the subtle smell of detergent. And once you were finally up, you’d decided fuck it, go out and get a nice steaming hot coffee in a cute paper cup from the local café, listen to Lofi or Lana Del Rey or whatever Spotify had prepared for your daily suggestions on the way, cozy up in a warm winter jacket and a thick scarf. Bless the crisp December air, it nipped at your cheeks and filled your lungs with sharp frosty air. It numbed your nose too and made your eyes water, but those weren’t as positive as the previous two affixes.

The streets were buzzing, a rare sight of the sun peeking through a blanket of grey clouds was shining down on you.

All in all, it was going to be a good day.

You waited impatiently for the light to turn green before crossing the street with a horde of nameless individuals, keeping in tandem with them.

Snow was still a no-show, you could only hope for its appearance at least on Christmas. The holidays without a fluffy coat of white powdering over everything from trees to rooftops just didn’t sit well with you, but at the end of the day, it was up to Mother Nature, not you. Anything but the ice rain you’d had the week prior; you weren’t ready to skate to the store again.

The bell above the café door shakes to life, signaling your entrance. You tuck one airpod in your pocket to listen in on the chatter in the comfy, coffee bean scented establishment, and also because you didn’t want to miss anything the cashier said. You were the anxious type after all, didn’t wanna miss a thing ever.

The heating system is blasting, cranked to the max, steam comes in large waves from behind the oak counter, be it from warm beverages or baked goods fresh from the oven, it lingers long enough for you to get a whiff before being diligently sucked away by the range hood. You unzip the top part of your jacket before getting too stuffy, loosen your scarf and take off your gloves. The staff, donned in their creamy yellow aprons, zip back and forth between tables like worker ants and you step into the line of waiting customers to keep out of their way.

The hardwood floor is licked spotless, looking down, you can almost see your reflection staring back at you. The hum of the large coffee grinder fills your exposed ear and you decide to turn off Spotify for the moment and bask in the café’s ambience instead.

The line moves, it’s almost your turn and you glance up at the display monitors listing off all the choices on the menu for today. Lattes, milkshakes, espressos, you decide on a large cappuccino, leave experimenting with unfamiliar drinks for another day when you’re feeling more courageous.

“Large cappuccino, please.” You say with a polite smile and fish out your wallet from your pocket.

Coffee is cheap here, cheaper than in most cafés and that’s one of the things that keeps you coming back to this place. It’s not easy to afford treats when you live on your own and have to pay the bills and groceries alone. However, you manage, and being able to afford a coffee or takeout once in a while is all the sweeter when knowing you owe nothing to nobody.

You take your cup and nudge your chin for the barista to keep the change before stepping away to the sidebar littered with plastic lids, sugar packets, and cheap wooden teaspoons for stirring your drink. After a brief consideration, you decide not to sweeten your coffee and only take a large lid, pop it over your cup and after zipping your jacket back up, you’re about to turn and walk out.

A walk through the park where you can sit down and enjoy your drink suggestively passes by your mind. Deciding that’s exactly what you will do, you palm through your pocket for your discarded airpods while nursing your paper cup to your chest.

And maybe it was your fault for not paying enough attention because you were buzzed to have a nice relaxing weekend. Or that you’d already achieved your first goal of the day and you were about to have a nice vibey stroll while hurrying to stuff your ears with music before you left the café. Maybe you’d jinxed your Saturday by confidently thinking it would be a swell time and nothing wrong would happen for once.

You should have known better. You should have suspected something would go wrong.

Something always goes wrong.

You whirl around with the intent of being on your way, expecting the glass doors to be in view, but they aren’t. A mountain of flesh and muscle stands before you. And your reaction time is too slow to save yourself or your coffee.

You jump, your hand flinches and the paper cup goes flying, a gasp upon your lips so loud it turns heads. You can only watch in horror as it makes contact with a wide chest clad in a grey hoodie, the lid pops off from the force of the impact and the hot contents inside go in every direction.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my freaking God.”

One hand goes up to cover your agape mouth while the other clutches at the zipper of your jacket as panic crawls up your neck and prickles your scalp.

The worst part is that your coffee wasn’t the only casualty. The poor guy had dropped his beverage to pull his hoodie off his chest the moment your scalding beverage had soaked it.

There was steam coming off it. It was boiling and you’d spilled it on him.

You wanted to die.

And he’s fucking terrifying too. Easily two heads over you and built like a truck. The intricate skull mask obscures the lower half of his face and you can’t discern if he’s absolutely pissed or just mildly uncomfortable with the large stain plastered on his top.

His eyes are sharp, trained on his ruined hoodie, crow’s feet crinkled, and you’re grateful they’re not directed at you because you were a step away from breaking down on the spot.

A stone lodged itself in your throat.

If he didn’t curse you to oblivion, he’d either break you in half, or worse, sue you.

You can’t get fucking sued. You don’t have the money to get sued.

So much for having a good day…

“Oh my God, I’m sorry.” You sputter out and grab a handful of paper towels from the counter. You’re glancing up at him every now and again for fear of his patience running out. “I’m so so sorry.”

Shaky hands are tapping away at his top, soaking in the liquid as best you can while trying to keep from breaking down. Your tongue is arrested between your teeth, bitten down on hard in a self-soothing attempt. Your fingertips are stained with coffee because there‘s so much of it that it’s turning the paper towels to mush. You couldn’t care less about that or that you were practically sweating bullets under your jacket.

All you hoped for was that you hadn’t caused the poor guy a burn.

“ ‘s okay.” He murmurs in a thick British accent while watching you fuss over him with growing anxiety. The jitter in your movements would be almost comical if not for you practically hyperventilating on him.

“Excuse me, are you alright?”

“No.” You whine, before you can stifle your voice to normalcy, and turn to the cashier peeking from behind the counter with watery eyes and a deeply carved frown. “No. I’m so sorry, we spilled our drinks. I mean, I spilled - ” You take in a breath to compose yourself and brush a hand over your forehead, shoulders slumping. You’re giving your best apologetic expression, practically mourning over the mess you’d made at your feet and of the man looming next to you.“ – I’m sorry. I can clean it up if you have a mop.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, miss. We’ll mop it up.” The cashier replies, bless her, and signals for one of the waiters to fetch the cleaning supplies. The friendly smile never wavers from her balmed lips; neither does the caffeinated twinkle in her eyes.

She’s most likely seen this sort of thing plenty of times, but for you, it’s a first and it’s your fault to top it off. It’s not an easy pill to swallow and despite the atmosphere being anything but hostile, you can’t help but still feel guilty.

Of course, this had to happen to you of all people. You weren’t allowed a single day of peace and tranquility.

With the main cause of disturbance taken care of, you turn back to your victim, who’s joined you in trying to dry off his hoodie. Your stomach churns at the sight, and you’re afraid to look around in case all eyes are on you two. You can’t bear the scrutiny, even though most people have probably resumed their dwellings by now.

“Are you okay? Does it hurt? I’m so sorry, sir.” You ask and reach for more paper towels, pressing them against his chest more so to show you’re very apologetic and trying to fix the situation rather than actually fixing it because most of the coffee has already come out.

You glance up at him after mustering up the courage, curious as to what awaited you next. He returns your gaze with one of indifference or calmness, you can’t tell, blinks at you slowly, as if he’s just now taking your flustered form for the first time, then he speaks, more clearly this time.

“It’s fine.”

A server arrives with a mop in hand and you both step away from the mess to let them clean it up. You take the lead unintentionally and guide the stranger towards one of the vacant tables in the corner of the café, away from prying stares.

You pick the chair next to the wall that has a large ficus partially looming over the seat. Maybe with enough luck, you can disappear inside it.

Finally, unzipping your jacket because you’re about to faint from the stuffiness, you lay it on the cushioned backrest of the chair and pat it down to make sure you’d not accidentally dropped any of your belongings during the accident. You tug at your sweater to air out the thin sheen of nervous sweat that’s formed over your skin, brush off the strands of hair that have come to stick to your face and take off your scarf.

The stranger sits on the opposite chair, paper towel still to his chest and sucking out any leftover residue. The stain won’t leave your vision no matter how hard you try to rip the two separate. It’s the worry gnawing at your gut that keeps you rooted to your spot, wanting to approach but too afraid to do so.

But so far he’s been a nice guy, hasn’t said one single bad word to you.

Your mind reels with how red and irritated his skin must be, praying it hadn’t blistered up already. You have half a mind to ask him to take off his hoodie so you can take a look.

A fresh wave of panic wraps its dainty fingers around your neck in squeezes, sends needles to prick over random places on your body.

And all this time, you’ve been sputtering out apologies like a broken record, his dismissal of your regret not even reaching your ears let alone registering.

“Should I call an ambulance? Oh my God, I’ve never had to call an ambulance in my life…” You ask, mumbling the last part to yourself as the realization hits you square in the face. For a brief moment, you forget how to dial the emergency line because you’ve never had to use that number before. “I’m sorry, sir – I – I didn’t mean – ”

You continue to blabber while searching your jacket pocket for your phone. The guy might have said nothing at your suggestion, but you wanted to be safe and have your phone at the ready anyway. And you’re too preoccupied going ballistic with panic in your own little world to hear him repeatedly tell you that everything is fine and you’ve done no big deal, he doesn’t need an ambulance and that he’s fine.

“Hey!” He grabs the crux of your elbow and pulls you before him, a large knee on either side of your thighs. A startled noise crawls up your throat but you make no move to step away. You’re staring at him as your hands disappear inside his and he jerks them slightly, his voice lowering now that he’s caught your attention finally. “Relax. It’s alright. Happens.” His comfort is rough. His voice gruff and sounding more like a scold than anything. He shakes you a bit too hard, not used to handling something as delicate as you, and pulls you down enough to make solid eye contact. “Alright?”

You nod and avert your gaze away, soggy paper towels left in a pile on the table making your fingers twitch with the need to do more. Apologies simply aren’t enough, not when he’d probably need to apply ointment on his chest for a few days after your little fiasco.

Why did have to be such a hot mess all the time?

“At least…Let me buy you another drink. On me? It’ll make me feel better.” The frown is still tugging on your lips as you speak, shyly looking at him from under your lashes. “Please?”

He sighs softly at your relentlessness and shrugs before letting your hands slip from him, having kept them in his grasp for longer than he should.

“Sure.”

He leans back in his chair and readjusts both his hood and the cap poking beneath it before resting his elbows on the table.

“What did you order?” You question while fetching your wallet.

The innocent look you toss him has him forcing himself to stop staring at you like a creep. He clears his throat and rubs over his tired eyes tenderly before answering.

“Black tea with milk.”

And so you reorder your cappuccino, get him his tea and decide that a simple butter croissant as an apology is enough for the moment. Every time you turn around to glance at him, nervous that he’d simply slip away from your overbearing presence, he catches your stare without fail. Heat gathers around your ears and your lips purse unintentionally every single time and you quickly turn back to the cashier, pretending you hadn’t just been discovered ogling him.

The chair looks too small to encompass his hulking frame comfortably, the table is no different, but you guess he’s used to it by now. A man of his stature isn’t a common occurrence here. Poor thing probably has to bow to enter through most doorways and have his shirts custom-made with how wide his shoulders were. If he wore shirts at all that is.

He looks like he’s brooding when you return with the order, fingers linked together and thumbs dancing around each other.

You set the tea by his side, note the callouses and scarring around his knuckles, the roughness of his skin. Your first thought is that he’s a construction worker, it would explain his size, the biceps that are as big as your head and straining against the stitches of his hoodie, the casual clothes, and the dark circles under his eyes that make it easy for anyone to guess that he doesn’t rest enough. But then he pulls his mask down and lets it rest under his chin as he takes a prolonged sip from his drink. You note the crookedly mended nose after a trauma so potent it made your eyes water at the thought of what pain he’d endured. There’s a gash running along his thin lips, multiple ones that stand out from the light stubble peppering the lower part of his face, deep ones, ones that you guessed had needed stitches and took forever to properly heal.

Now you’re not so sure he’s a construction worker.

“So what do you do for a living?” It rolls off your tongue before you can stop it. You laugh nervously and raise a hand in a soothing motion before he even has a chance to answer. “You don’t have to tell if you’re not comfortable. I’m just curious.”

The mug of tea pauses before his lips and he gives you a skeptical look.

“Military.”

“Oh.” You blurt out and awkwardly take a sip from your coffee, nearly choking at how hot it is.

And that’s precisely the answer Ghost expected. It was a big turnoff for many people when they learned his career path, mostly because the news only displayed the bad outcomes of his work and never the good. He might have saved this entire city a week ago from a bombing and nobody would know.

It came with the territory and he half expected you to think up some lousy explanation as to why you suddenly had to go.

But you aren’t like that at all because of course, you aren’t. Why would it be made easy for him to forget you and move on with his day when you could be sweet and open and give him more reason to burn you into the crevices of his conscience instead? Why would you make an excuse and leave when you could stay and kindle the embers of his humanity and make yourself space to be a permanent memory?

That’s just his typical luck.

“Must be tough.” You muse, absentmindedly taking a napkin and wiping off the milk and tea mustache staining his upper lip, as if tending to a messy toddler. It comes instinctively and you don’t fight it until your fingers are already being poked by his stubble. “But thanks for keeping us normal folk safe.” You give his wide-eyed stare a warm smile, and tilt your head slightly to one side.

You notice the subtle way in which he moves his chin towards your hand, apprehensive of you pulling away. As if he’s fighting his demons to lean into your touch, to rest his cheek against your palm and close his eyes because he hasn’t been offered softness in so long that he doesn’t remember what it feels like anymore.

You don’t mind that his large hand reaches to try and still your wrist, aching for more delicate touches, but stops before coming in contact with your flesh, pulled back by self-deprecating restrain. You almost want to encourage him, he looks visibly altered by your simple gesture, like a dog who’d been beaten all his life and was given a treat for the first time.

“What happened to you, old soldier?” You want to ask gently, pry a little while you cup his face and let him rest on the softness of your palm, close his eyes for a brief moment of respite.

Your heart aches for him.

But then you remember he’s a stranger and the moment shatters.

The smile vanishes from your face, the warmth dissipates and you flinch back.

“Sorry.” You rush to say and crumble up the napkin in your hand before tossing it on the table and trying to brush off the suffocating awkwardness. “You had something there.” You motion to your upper lip before drowning in more coffee, hoping it will ease the discomfort.

Just what the hell had you been thinking?

And he’s not far behind you on that note. The flicker of softness dies in his chocolate browns and the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth stills and dips into neutrality. The exhaustion returns to his features and his gaze flits away from you as he gathers himself back together.

“You should eat tha’ ‘fore it gets cold.”

Your eyes trail to where he’d nudged his chin and you see the butter croissant you’d purchased along with your drinks. You giggle, it turns into a light laugh when his head cocks to the side in confusion because he’s yet to realize you’d gotten it for him.

Because why would he? He’s a soldier, he gets bullets and grenades, not tea and croissants.

Poor creature, sweet scarred sufferer, with so much weight on his shoulders you couldn’t imagine bearing.

“It’s for you.” You push the small plate closer to him and flick your hand for him to dig in, treat himself on your behalf if he won’t do it on his own accord.

“What?” He reels back in his seat slightly at your words, sets down his drink and tenses up. There’s so much disbelief there that it’s almost comical.

It’s like he’d never been treated before.

Maybe he hadn’t been.

Jesus Christ, what if he actually hadn’t been?

“I mean it’s the least I can do after drenching you in coffee.” You say and press the lid of your cup to your lips, hiding the sympathetic smile from view lest he takes it as pity.

You didn’t pity the man, not in the slightest, but from the tired eyes to the worn clothes, sunk-in shoulders and need for anonymity, you guessed he’d not seen much kindness.

It was easily discernable that he wasn’t used to taking care of himself. Coming to a café to get a drink was probably the maximum self-indulgence he’d permit himself.

“Didn’t ‘ave to.” He grumbles out, voice hoarse and cutting off at the end.

“I wanted to.” You say and wave off his meager comment.

Gods, you wanted to bathe him in sugar and softness.

He tugs the plate before him hesitantly, looking over the croissant as if not trusting it or you, then he picks it up. A small bite at first, one of apprehension before the treat melts on his tongue and awakens his taste buds. He finishes it in two mouthfuls, barely chews and you’re inclined to ask if he wants another, you’re ready to feed him the whole bakery stand if he so wishes. But he declines, whether from embarrassment or mistrust, you didn’t know.

You just know he’s hungry.

You give him your name while he’s washing down the croissant with his leftover tea, just throw it out there in the hopes that he’ll give you his. And he does after heaving a sigh.

“Simon.”

“Pretty name.” You note, toss him a friendly smile that’s a silent invitation for him to say more. “Nice to meet you then, Simon.”

But your friendliness doesn’t breach his defenses a second time. He eyes you with an unreadable expression, watches you slurp your coffee while you’re left to wonder if your compliment had been a mistake.

You might have been coming off as too friendly, trying to suck up to him after ruining his top and that was the reason why you were so nice. Or maybe he thought that there was a hidden agenda behind your acts, that you’d want something in return for your kindness and that’s why he kept his guard up.

Action without a need for reciprocation didn’t exist in his world. Nobody was stupidly selfless enough to just give and not want anything in return. But you were right there, proving him wrong and he wasn’t sure that fact was a fact anymore.

Throughout his internal debate, you’re doing your best to remain casual but it’s difficult with those dark orbs boring into your soul. It’s even more difficult when the silence settles, so you decide to ramble and keep the spirits up until he feels comfortable enough to join.

It might come off as annoying, but you’re sure he’ll stop you if you’re becoming too much to handle.

You tell him about your job, a brief summary of how rough your week had been that that was the reason why you’d come here this morning to treat yourself. You tell him you’re clumsier than you’d like to admit, that you can’t imagine drinking tea first thing in the morning. You tell him that you’d love to have a pet one day, but your landlord doesn’t permit any, ask him if he has pets or would want any. Then you ask if he’s more a cat or a dog person.

And throughout the entire time, he’s staring at you with this undigestible look and you have no idea what to make of it.

The caffeine pumping in your veins helps keep your monologue going until finally he speaks up.

“Bothering you?”

“What?” You spit out, cease your rambling and scrunch your brows at him in confusion.

“The face.” He says, motioning towards his partly obscured face like it’s so obvious. “Ain’t a pretty mug to look at.”

You blink at him silently, at a loss for words at his not-so-kind statement. Your mouth parts, struggling to form a coherent reply because you’re absolutely thunderstruck that he thinks so lowly of you as to believe you’d be affected by such a thing.

Then again, he doesn’t know you, and neither do you him.

But the fact that he’s polite enough to ask while already anticipating the answer tells you that he might have had this conversation one too many times already. Or maybe he hadn’t, maybe the mean comments and ugly remarks were all in his head and he hid his face to stifle those rather than hide from other people.

You don’t know which alternative is sadder.

“No! Not at all.” You say slowly, accenting every word that comes out of your mouth, with eyes trained on his and refusing to blink in case you missed anything. “You’re handsome, really.” You dare to reach out for him and rest your hand atop his, gentle and ready to pull back in case his features portrayed any hint of discomfort with your actions. “Plus your scars mean you put yourself before me to keep me safe, right? Can’t judge you for that.”

Now he’s the one left speechless.

Wordlessly, he twists his wrist, rolls his hand around and slowly unclenches his fingers to let yours through. And your hand is so soft and warm when it slips over his mauled palm, even the skin is a stark contrast because yours is so smooth, spotless, perfect, compared to his.

He runs his large thumb over your knuckles, relishes the tingly feeling it gives him, watches intently because he’s sure that as soon as his eyes move to somewhere else, you’ll vanish and it’ll all be over. Your fingers fall against his wrist where his pulse leisurely beats, only quickening when you shift in your seat because he thinks you’ll pull away.

Manicured nails trace over the scars poking from beneath the sleeve of his hoodie and he shivers, the hairs on his arms rising. He lets you tug the sleeve back, wanting to know how far the violent marks go. Soon enough black and grey ink peeks from under the fabric and a ghost of a smile tugs at his lips at how delighted you seem.

“Oh, I love tattoos…” You hum while tracing the tips of your fingers over it.

“Got any?” He asks absentmindedly, almost mechanically as all his attention is focused on the little hand exploring his own.

“That’s for me to know and for you to find out.” You giggle, eyes closing briefly in delight as you bask in the fuzzy atmosphere.

He bites his tongue at that, decides now isn’t the time for flirty remarks, bids you too esteemed to fall for a sleazy comeback that might result in him naked in your bed. No, you were made to be courted, won over with effort and flowers and all the things he hasn’t bothered with in the past.

You were the type of woman that he avoided for fear of messing things up, someone who deserved better than him and he wasn’t ashamed of admitting that. Yet here you were, practically thrust in his arms by chance.

“Do you want another tea?” You ask because his drink is gone and what’s left at the bottom of your cup is two sips at most. And you don’t end this to end, you don’t want him to leave just yet.

“I’m good.” He answers and retracts his arm before standing. “Gonna ‘ave a smoke outside. Cheers for the tea.”

It’s not a goodbye, but it still makes your heart ache and your mind switches to turbo mode to try and think of something.

Your next question doesn’t come from a place of desire or lust. You’ve no intent of trying to get the battered soldier into your bed and use him for selfish pleasure. You’d never let yourself be so cruel.

“Do you want to come home with me?”

You ask because to you, he’s a stray in need of a home, someone to take care of him a little and nurse him back into a better shape before his next big military mission. It’s naïve, stupid really, to think a grown man such as himself can’t take care of himself.

But the way he looks tells you a sad story and you’d spoken before thinking. Now you’re left with a hot face and a fluttering stomach as he stares at you over his shoulder with something akin to surprise.

“I mean…for lunch, sometime. My treat of course.” You say next, trying to salvage the moment before it got too awkward and you were forced to go to the toilets and hyperventilate while beating yourself up internally. “You don’t have to – ”

“ – Yeah.”

And you swear you saw his eyes squint with a smile hidden somewhere behind the bulk of his shoulder.

Chapter 2 >>>

Masterlist

[ray935sworld]

A cozy evening, wine and a kiss

rosquez reconsilation fluff

21.12 winter writing

Vale knew he had been lucky in life.

He had managed to get a the top of his beloved sport for years. He had carved his name in the history books, never to be forgotten. He had gone done as a legend.

Most of it was hard work. Some of it was a coincidence and a good chunk was just an insane amount of luck. He had been at the right time at the right place to say the right thing.

But no amount of luck could explain how he ended up here.

He was sat in his own living room, a big house, in Italy. Still it was cozy and soft.

It was a calm winter evening. Christmas was almost there. He would soon dive back into the Christmas hazzle of preparation. It was cold enough that he refused to go outside if it could be avoided.

But right now there was no cold. And it wasn't just the fire that was crackling in the background of the barely lit room. The flames were dancing in a secret rhythm. He could see the flickering but he didn't care.

Instead he was too focused on the reason why there was a warmth in his heart and his whole body. It felt like his organs had been wrapped in the softest blanket imagineable. It was a feeling he was willing to chase for the rest of his life.

He looked at him - the reason. The reason for everything. The reason for his happiness, his insanity, his sadness, his hate, his love, his luck, his believe in love and a god and everything good.

Marc.

Not Marquez. Not the ant. Not a racer.

Just Marc.

And he wanted to do anything to make Marc his Marc again. He wanted to be greedy and just take. He wanted to take until there was nothing left to grip.

But he didn't want that. It felt too forcefully, too much anger, too much of the things he banned to the past. He didn't want to prove anything.

He wanted to give in. He wanted to lean in his touch and make him take everything he wanted. He was willing to give him anything and more.

He looked at him.

Marc sat next to him, in a chair that had a slight ankle to it so they were slightly facing each other.

His eyes were shining, reflecting the flames of the fire. He was speaking. Something about Shira and Stitch. Vale was too fascinated on his voice to actually hear him say a word.

He was holding a glass of wine in hand. His delicate finger were placed on the glass. His thumb pressed against the curve, his pointy finger softly wrapped against it.

He looked gorgeous.

His other hand was resting on his own thigh. Sometimes he lifted it to underline with words with gestures.

Vale nodded along, agreeing, asking question. He would do anything to keep him talking. He just wanted to keep him here, at his side, as long as possible.

They already had dinner together. Vale had cooked. It was the perfect date. And Marc did notice all the thoughtfull gestures and little thing the older man had remembered to make it as perfect as it had been.

It had been their first date. Not just their first date after everything went down, but their first real date. Vale wanted to do it right this time and it showed.

But now Marc saw Vale's soft gaze slightly unfocused. He looked like he was fixed on him but not in a predatory way. Not like it used to.

He looked at him in a way he had never seen before. Like he was everything. Like he was the sun and the moon and everything else.

He giggled softly at that thought and decided to be brave. He leaned over and whispered. "You're staring Vale"

"I know" he replied. His voice held no emotions other than honesty and love, careful bleeding through, as if he wasn't sure if it was okay. "You are very handsome. The most gorgeous man I've ever seen. How could I not watch your every move?"

"You're being very sweet tonight... I like that" he had been thinking about a more sassy comeback, one that borders on being rude. But he didn't. He didn't want to destroy this moment.

He could test the limit later. In a few weeks or months when they stood more firmly. And he was sure this later would come sooner or later.

"So, sweet Vale... Tell me what you want. What do you wish for?" he asked and leaned in some more. His arms were stabilizing him on his chair. He crossed the short distance between them almost completly.

There were still a few centimeters, but not much.

"I... Nothing. I'm happy to have you here." "I know but I also know that there is something else that you want." he said teasingly, because after all he still knew him.

"Maybe but that doesn't matter now. You're drunk. I'm not-" "You promised me honesty. I'm asking you what you want. Right now. I'm not saying I'm going to give it to you. I'm not drunk, Vale. Slightly typsy at most. So please..."

He put his hand on his face. He felt his cheeks for the first time in years. He felt his stubbles against his hand. He looked at him. He noticed all the signs that time had passed, all the little detail were time carved it away through them.

He looked at him and didn't saw the man that used to hurt him. He saw someone else. Someone he would trust. Someone he could love again.

"Please talk to me, Vale. Talk to me" he said and felt the older man leaning into his touch. "You are so beautiful" he replied. "You already said that." "It's true. You are so beautiful. It drives me crazy. I just want to kiss you again. Just once. But I don't want to rush this. I want to make it right. I want to make up for everything and show you how much you mean to me"

Marc smiled and nodded. He accepted.

"If you're afraid it's to soon for you to kiss me, I'll kiss you" he offered and before he got an answer he leaned in.

He kissed him.

It was one of the few things he did slowly, without going in head first. He was careful, soft, no demand, just looking for how it would go.

And he met Vale as he did. His Vale. The real Vale.

He felt how careful he moved his head to make it easier for him to kiss him. He was making things easier nit harder.

He felt his dry lips against his own and didn't mind. He felt his skin heating up at every movement and just grinned.

He was happy.

He had his Vale back. And Vale had his Marc back.

based on this

[paperclip-skz]

Christmas Special 😉

Happy Holidays.

head cannons ( smut + fluff + angst + delulu )

2.6k words

**********

Christmas special 

Chan could hardly contain his excitement as he watched you approach the Christmas tree, the twinkling lights casting a warm glow across the room. Beneath the branches, nestled among the vibrant wrapping paper and seasonal decorations, lay a small, elegant velvet box, its rich color drawing your attention immediately. Inside that delicate box rested the most important question one could ask in a relationship—a question that could change everything. 

As he stood by, his heart raced at the thought of sharing this pivotal moment with you. He envisioned the look of surprise that would light up your face, the way your eyes could widen in recognition of the significance of what lay within. All you had to do was open the box, and in that instant, both of your lives could transform. The anticipation hung in the air, thick and sweet, as he waited for you to take that first step into a future he had long dreamed of sharing with you.

You crawled underneath the tree, grabbing the first tiny box you saw. To: my heart, from your love. 

“What’s this?” you ask, curiosity making your insides twist. 

“Open it” is all he says, his smile shining brightly. 

As you gently open the tiny box, a gasp catches in your throat, and your eyes widen in disbelief. Tears threaten to spill over as you take in the beauty of what lies inside.

Chan shifts from his spot and crawls next to you, his gaze sincere. “There’s no one else I would rather be with than you,” he says, cupping your face in his hands. His voice is a tender whisper that pours his heart and soul into every word.

You can’t bear to let him finish, your heart racing as you nod emphatically, tears cascading down your cheeks. “I love you with all my heart, and it would mean the world to me to make you smile every day,” he adds, laughter dancing in his voice as he watches joy bloom across your face.

In a rush of emotion, you lean in and kiss him passionately, not waiting for his response. The warmth of the moment envelops you both, and when he finally speaks, his smile is radiant. “So is that a yes?” he asks, hope shining in his eyes. 

Minho wasn’t sleeping; he couldn’t. The morning sun crept through the curtains of your shared room, illuminating your peaceful expression as you slept. Outside, the Christmas morning snow blanketed the ground, and he loved it when it snowed on Christmas. The warmth inside promised a cozy holiday spent just the two of you, wrapped in the comforts of home.

“I love you,” he whispered softly. It had already been a year, and he still hadn’t said it out loud. He knew he should have expressed those words the moment he saw you, but they always got trapped in his throat whenever he tried to tell you while you were awake.

He struggled with expressing his feelings, particularly these. “I love you,” he said again, keeping his voice low so he wouldn’t wake you. This had become a habit for him—saying “I love you” while you were asleep. He repeated those words every time he woke up before you. He knew he couldn’t say them when you were awake; somehow, every time he attempted it, his voice just wouldn’t cooperate.

You hummed in your sleep, scooting closer to him. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. He kissed your forehead, and your eyelids fluttered awake. He loved how you looked in the morning—lightly groggy, sure, but it was the pure definition of warmth. Your hair was slightly messy, and your face was bare, but you always held a sleepy smile across your lips, which he loved.  

His chest filled with not only desire but a warmth he knew all too well. It was the same warmth he felt every time he saw you sleeping, the same warmth before he hushed the words you needed to hear.  

“Good morning,” you stretched, burying your face into his chest.  

He hummed, smiling warmly at you. “Merry Christmas,” you mumbled, wrapping your arms around his body.  

He was so utterly in love with you, he could barely comprehend it… “I love you,” he whispered. You lifted your head, not recognizing the words at first.  

“Huh?” you asked, a lazy smile draped on your face.  

“I... I love you,” he said again, this time, for the first time ever, as clearly as day.  

Your face fell open in shock before lighting up like a kid at Christmas. “I LOVE YOU TOO,” you tackled him, straddling his lap and kissing him. 

Panic courses through every vein in your body; you’ve never been this nervous since your first high school dance. Even then, it wasn’t as nerve-racking.  

“Baby, they are going to love you.” Changbin comes over to you, soothing your arms. Of course, he’s calm; this is completely normal for him. He sees them constantly; this is nothing for him.  

But for you, this is your first time meeting his group, his friends, his second family—some of the most important people in his life. “I just really want to make a good impression. Is this enough food? Is it too much? Did we forget something?” You rush through your words, but Changbin quickly seizes you and silences more words with a searing kiss.  

He grabs hold of your neck, connecting your lips with his and holding you there until he can feel you relax into his touch. Your whole body melts like liquid as his tongue demands entrance between your already swollen lips.  

“Calm now?” he whispers against your lips.  

“Mmhmm,” you hum, still relishing the feeling of his touch…until the timer for the ham goes off, and panic surges through you like you just spotted a spider on the ceiling.  

“Shit!” You push Changbin out of the way, nearly making him fall over. And at that point…all he can do is giggle and smile.

Hyunjin hated the sounds of Christmas. He hated the whole idea of it. The idea of a holiday where you are grounded in the fact that nothing is enough. Not enough gifts. Not enough prensesnts. Not enough money. Not enough time. The idea that he was not enough for the holiday. 

The fact that he was walking around a holiday market in his black oversized jacket with his friends was a miracle in itself.

His friends had coaxed him into coming to the holiday market. While they shopped and marveled at the decorations, he stood there, waiting for the torture to end.

Until…he heard you.

He tried his hardest to drown out the slurred words of the drunk carolers, but your voice was loud and clear. You sang each song distinctly. Unlike the others, you weren’t drunk or mumbling through the lyrics; you were singing with clarity.

“At least someone knows the words,” he thought. Forgetting about his friends, he followed the sound of your sweet voice. There you were, in a small circle of tipsy carolers who didn’t know the lyrics. You stood in the middle, wearing a bright red coat and a fluffy hat.

He paused, not caring how people passed by; he was simply captivated by your beautiful singing, even if only for a moment. A warmth spread through his chest, something he had never felt before.

Once the song ended and you took a break, he saw his chance. “E-excuse me?” he stammered.

You turned your head quickly, “Yeah?”

“You guys sang really well,” he blurted out, surprised at his own nervousness. He was never one to fumble over his words.

“Oh, thanks!” you replied, beaming at him with the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.

His face flushed; he had never encountered a more stunning smile.

“C-can I” he stuttered again. 

“Do you want to join?!” you beamed. No, no he didn’t. But if it meant seeing you smile like that more times than once, he’d do anything. Even if it meant singing…. Christmas songs. 

He nodded his head, and you linked your arm through his. “Guys, we have another caroler!” Everyone cheered in a slurred victory, and you got everyone back on track to sing another version of "Jingle Bells."

Hyunjin whispered the lyrics over your voice, but he couldn’t take his eyes off you. Maybe Christmas isn’t so bad after all.

Han pulls you in closer beneath the soft, warm blanket, his voice laced with playful impatience. “Come ooon, I’m cooold,” he whines, his fingers roaming over your body, seeking out any warmth he can find. 

You can’t help but chuckle softly at his antics, allowing him to explore until he finally settles on a comfortable spot beneath your shirt. His warm palm rests gently on the skin of your belly, sending a shiver of warmth through you. You lean your head against his shoulder, feeling your body relax into the cozy embrace he offers. 

“So, what should we start with?” he asks, breaking the comfortable silence as you reach for the remote nestled beside you on the couch. 

You take a moment to consider, rifling through the various titles listed on Netflix while your mind drifts to fond memories. “How about…” you muse internally, your fingers scrolling through the familiar options until you spot it. “Dash & Lily,” you finally decide, remembering the small holiday tradition you and Jisung have enjoyed together over the years. 

“Sounds good with me!” Jisung chirps happily, his eyes lighting up with excitement. He cuddles up even closer, wrapping his arm around you securely as the unmistakable, cheerful ba-dum chimes through the speakers, signaling the start of the series. The sweet sound envelops you both, drawing you deeper into a world of festive mischief and charm.

“Smells good,” Felix comes up behind you as your hands knead the sugar cookie dough in the bowl. He kisses your shoulder and watches your steady hands knead the dough. 

You giggle at his delicate touch. “When are the guys coming?” you ask over your shoulder. 

“I’m not sure, but I don’t imagine them getting here until late,” he responds, tracing kisses from your shoulder up to your neck. 

You can’t help but giggle as his fingers dance over your skin, sending a flurry of tickles that make you squeal with laughter. “Hey, cut it out with the tickles!” you protest, but your voice is playful, giving away just how lighthearted the moment is.

Soon the bowl of dough is forgotten when Felix drags you away from the kitchen in a flurry of tickles and kisses, guiding you to the living room full of treats, presents, the sounds of a Christmas movie playing, and the smell of cinnamon filling the air. 

“What are you doing?” you say through a fit of laughter. 

“I want to give you a present a little early…while the house is empty,” he says. 

“Okay?”

“Wait here.” He dashes away and you spin to look at the film that’s playing. A moment later you hear footsteps approach, but you don’t turn around. Suddenly you feel Felix’s presence behind you and something shiny above your head. Felix lowers a necklace in front of you and clasps it around your neck. 

You lift the little pendant into your hands, admiring the heart-shaped locket he placed. “Felix,” you say in awe, the gold necklace shining brightly in the light. 

“Open it,” he urges softly. 

You carefully open the locket, feeling the cool metal against your fingertips, and your heart swells as you catch a glimpse of your favorite photo nestled inside. It captures a moment frozen in time—a group huddle with Felix and the rest of the guys surrounding you. In the center of the frame, you’re encircled by their warmth, their arms draped around you in a tight embrace. Each face beams with joy, laughter sparkling in their eyes as they share this unforgettable moment. The image radiates happiness, and as you gaze at it, a smile spreads across your face. “It’s perfect,”.

“I don’t need anything,” he pouts linking his arms around your waist. 

“It's not about needing anything,” you emphasize the word need as you nuzzle into the crook of his neck, “its about letting the people you love to spoil you with the things you want,” you explain, smiling awkwardly at him and pleading with your eyes. 

“The only thing I could ever want is many more Christmas’s with you” he kisses the top of your head, making your heart burst. “Your my present every year” he smiles. 

Which linked the idea of your current plan…and your current state. It was simple, but it was perfect. “Okay you can come in!” you call out. 

Seungmin walks in from the bathroom with his hands covering his eyes, “walking in” he voices, his hands still covering his eyes, “not looking,” he teases. 

You grumble at his playfulness, “Minnie, you can open your eyes.” 

Slowly, he lets his hands fall with a smile wide on his face, but that smile soon fades away as he looks at you… nothing but a bright red pin skirt covers your lower half and a bright red ribbon is tied around your breasts, barely covering your nipples. You stand there, your body buzzing in anticipation as you see Seungmin’s palms begin to sweat. 

“Fuck” he whispers. 

“Merry Christmas,” you smile….and his eyes grow dark. 

“Absolutely stunning,” he murmurs in a sultry voice, his eyes dark with desire.

You’re leaning over your dresser, adjusting your earrings for a holiday dinner with Jeongin and his family. He had picked out a form-fitting black dress that hugged your curves perfectly, paired with sleek black heels and a glimmering gold necklace that accentuates your neckline. 

“You’re just saying that to stall the inevitable,” you tease, glancing back at him, a playful smirk on your lips as you run your fingers over the fabric of your dress.

He rises from the couch, his tailored black suit clinging to his body in all the right places. “Actually, no,” he pauses, his gaze locking onto yours. “Well, yes, but that doesn’t make it any less true.” He approaches, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you against him with a fierce intimacy.

“My my, is it a Christmas miracle? The infamous Yang Jeong-in is feeling affectionate?” you quip, turning to face him, your teasing tone laced with flirtation.

His breath hitches as he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss meant to be soft and tender, but it quickly deepens into something heated and urgent. What started as a fleeting brush of lips ignites into a passionate exploration, his mouth moving against yours with a hunger that sends shivers down your spine. Feeling the intensity of his desire, you find yourself responding, lost in the electric connection between you, the world outside fading away into oblivion.

You grabbed at his body desperately pulling him closer to you. But you knew it was time to go, so you pulled away “Jeongin, we are going to be late” you whisper against his lips. 

Him being the greedy little menace he is, steals another kiss before saying “they can wait a few more minuets” another stolen kiss “you know what I want for Christmas” his kisses move to the corner of your lips and down the line of your jaw. 

“What” you moan. 

“You, riding my cock and screaming my name so loud the neighbors know who you belong to.” his teeth graze your skin leaving goosebumps in their wake.  

“Innie” you moan out having no restraint in your voice, urging him further. 

He pulls back to look at you, “aw look at you; redder than Santa’s suit, hm” 

[newtness532]

being in bed is so nice i love being in bed it's the best

[brainddeadd]

Five Times Quinn Proposes to His Girlfriend and One Time He Actually Asks

1. The Kitchen Proposal It was a lazy Sunday morning, the kind that begged for pancakes and soft, lingering hugs. Sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, illuminating the cheerful chaos of Quinn's cooking attempts. Flour dust settled like a gentle snow, and pancake batter splattered across the counter as he flipped yet another misshapen pancake.

“Okay, but hear me out,” he said, his voice teasing as he turned to face his girlfriend, leaning against the doorframe with a bemused smile. “If you say yes to my next pancake, we can call it a proposal.”

She raised an eyebrow, her laughter bubbling up as she watched him struggle. “What does that even mean?”

Quinn held up the golden pancake like it was a diamond ring, winking. “Will you marry me? Or will you settle for this delicious, slightly burnt masterpiece?”

She rolled her eyes playfully but stepped forward, taking the pancake from his hands with mock seriousness. “Only if you promise to never make pancakes again.”

“Deal!” he declared, his grin wide enough to rival the sun shining outside. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the pancake into the air, but it landed on the floor with a splat.

She burst out laughing, shaking her head. “This is why you’re not allowed in the kitchen without supervision!”

2. The Winter Wonderland Winter had transformed the city into a sparkling wonderland, and Quinn had convinced her to go ice skating. They bundled up in their warmest clothes, scarves wrapped snugly around their necks, and ventured to the nearby outdoor rink.

As they skated hand in hand, Quinn felt a rush of adrenaline. The cold air was refreshing, and the music playing in the background added a festive cheer. Suddenly, he paused, a wild idea striking him. Dropping to one knee on the ice, he raised an imaginary ring, his breath visible in the frosty air.

“Will you marry me?” he shouted, his voice echoing amidst the laughter of other skaters.

She stopped skating, her eyes wide in disbelief, laughter mixing with shock. “Quinn! You can’t propose on ice!”

“I can and I just did!” he replied, the playfulness in his tone infectious.

“Get up before you slip and break your knee!” she urged, trying to suppress her giggles.

“Too late! You have to answer now!” he teased, a gleam in his eye.

“Okay, okay! Yes!” she exclaimed, laughter spilling over as she reached down to help him up.

3. The Concert Surprise When their favorite band announced a surprise show in town, Quinn wasted no time in securing tickets for them. The energy in the air was electric, and they stood close together, the music vibrating through their bodies.

As the band played their favorite song, Quinn leaned close, his breath warm against her ear. “What if I proposed to you right here, right now?”

Her heart raced at the idea, and she pulled back to look into his eyes, excitement and disbelief dancing in her gaze. “In front of everyone?”

“Yeah! Just think of the stories we’d tell,” he replied, a mischievous smile creeping onto his face.

She giggled, shaking her head. “You’re insane!”

“Insanely in love with you!” he shot back, raising an imaginary ring over her head like a crown.

The chorus hit, and the crowd cheered, but all she could hear was Quinn’s laughter echoing in her heart, knowing he’d always find a way to make even the most ordinary moments extraordinary.

4. The Movie Night One rainy evening, they cozied up in their living room, surrounded by snacks and blankets. The perfect movie night atmosphere enveloped them as they settled in for a classic romantic film.

As the credits rolled and the romantic tension peaked, Quinn turned to her with a soft, earnest expression. “So, if I asked you to marry me during the climax of our movie, would you say yes?”

Her laughter filled the room, bright and infectious. “Only if you promise to let me pick the next movie! I’m not sitting through another one of your terrible action flicks.”

“Deal!” he chuckled, pulling her closer as they shared a bowl of popcorn. “But I might just have to keep proposing to you until you agree.”

She shook her head, unable to contain her smile. “Good luck with that!”

And as the rain pattered against the window, they knew their love story would be filled with all sorts of playful, ridiculous moments like this.

5. The Game Day On a particularly exciting game day, Quinn’s adrenaline was running high as the Vancouver Canucks faced off against their biggest rivals. Sitting in the hotel room after the game, he watches her face through the screen.

“You know,” he said, leaning closer to the camera, “if I proposed, it would definitely be the ultimate distraction from the game.”

“Only if you promise to be the star player in our love story,” she replied, a smirk dancing on her lips.

“Absolutely! I’ll score goals and love you forever,” he declared, making a heart with his hands, drawing laughter from her.

She leaned in closer to the phone, whispering, “Then you better hurry up and get me that ring!”

The Real Proposal Finally, on a serene Saturday morning, the sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow in the bedroom. The world outside was quiet, the only sound being the gentle rustle of sheets as they stirred. Wrapped up in each other’s warmth, Quinn felt a rush of calm wash over him as he watched her sleeping peacefully.

He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his heart swelling with love. This was the moment he had been waiting for, the one that felt right.

“Hey,” he whispered, gently coaxing her awake. She stirred, her eyes fluttering open, revealing that soft smile he loved so much.

“Good morning,” she murmured, snuggling deeper into his embrace, warmth radiating from her.

Quinn took a deep breath, his heart racing. “I know I’ve jokingly proposed a million times, but this one is for real.”

She blinked at him, surprise and curiosity mixing in her gaze, and he felt a rush of nerves.

Reaching for the small velvet box he had hidden under the bed, he knelt beside her, heart pounding in his chest. “Will you marry me?”

As he opened the box, revealing the ring nestled inside, her expression transformed into one of pure joy and disbelief. Tears welled up in her eyes as she gasped, a hand flying to her mouth.

“Quinn! Is this real?” she exclaimed, her voice trembling with emotion.

“Absolutely. I want to spend forever with you,” he said, his voice filled with sincerity and love.

“Yes! A thousand times, yes!” she replied, her laughter mixing with happy tears as she threw her arms around him.

With tears of happiness in her eyes, she whispered, “Forever.”

And at 7:23 AM, under the soft covers, they promised each other a lifetime of love, laughter, and all the ridiculous proposals yet to come. The world outside faded away as they wrapped their arms around each other, knowing this was just the beginning of their beautiful journey together.

[metalmiez]

It was a beautiful day

The sun had been shining all day and warmed the air to a cozy temperature.

„More wine, my dear?“ Aziraphale asked lazily and turned his head to the slender figure next to him. Crowley had been basking in the sun for the past thirty-ish minutes - keeping his eyes closed and enjoying the warm light, leaned back on his elbows. Aziraphale had been reading meanwhile, laying on the blanket they had spread out on the grass.

It was calmingly silent on top of the hill, the breeze soft and the ocean in eyesight. Not a single soul out here but an angel and a demon, who had been enjoying a rather lovely picnic earlier that afternoon.

Crowley slowly opened his eyes and peeked through half-closed lids to the angel next to him. Aziraphale had put his book aside and held out the bottle of red wine they had brought with them.

“Nah.“ He declined and gazed at his angel instead. He couldn’t fight a fond smile creeping up his demonic lips as he watched Aziraphale put the bottle back into the basket. It was such a rare sight, seeing him without his bow tie, sleeves of his shirt rolled up to the elbows and his collar unbuttoned. Almost scandalous, for Aziraphale‘s standards.

“You look gorgeous today, angel,” Crowley smiled and watched Aziraphale blush.

“Oh, you old charmer!” he replied with pink cheeks, avoiding Crowley’s gaze. He fiddled with his ring, peeking at the demon every few seconds.

“And you, my sweethaert, look stunning - as always.”

Now it was Crowley who blushed and frowned by the pet name Aziraphale had started to use lately. He shouldn’t feel so flustered by that, he was a evil demon after all! But pride was a sin, so he let it slip. A little ‘Mrm’ sound left his throat.

Aziraphale laughed and leaned over to him, pressing a tiny kiss on the demon’s cheekbone. Crowley grumbled quietly, but still leaned into the soft touch. He was growing rather soft to the angel’s affections lately, and it got harder and harder to keep up the cool masquerade of mystery. When Aziraphale retreated, the demon huffed oh so little and reached out, trapping the angel’s chin between the fingers of his right hand. A little gasp fled Aziraphale’s throat as the demon pulled him back. Golden eyes met grey-blue ones, and the angel blushed again like anything. But he smiled as endearing as only Aziraphale could. A little mischief twinkled in his clear eyes before he closed them and leaned forwards the last bit, tenderly pressing his lips on Crowley’s.

The demon couldn’t resist the little smile as he watched his angel’s face closely, savouring his tender expression. His fingers stroked Aziraphale’s soft jawline, before cupping his face with his palm and closing his eyes, letting himself fall into a soft kiss.

This was the life he never dared to dream about. And still, here they were.

And that was everything he ever wished for.

[realcube]

mornings with tsukishima are always interesting.

he gets weekends off, but you still have to work on saturday. meaning that on sunday mornings, he is able to get up early and rises with the sun, meanwhile you want nothing more than a nice, long sleep in.

although he would never admit it, tsukishima loves spending his day with you and gets a bit lonely and bored having to spend sunday mornings without you. he has no issue with you wanting to sleep in, in fact you deserve it more than anyone, but now it's 11AM. that is just ludicrousness! if you sleep any longer, the whole day together will be virtually gone.

that's what he tells himself as he makes his way to your shared bedroom and draws the curtains wide open, so the harsh sunlight pierces your eyes, causing you groan. instinctually you flip yourself over so you are facing away from the window.

he smirks at this and tugs at your shoulder, "rise and shine, buttercup." normally that would be sweet thing to hear as you wake up, but tsukishima says it in the most mocking tone possible.

frowning, you jerk away from his touch, "no.."

he chuckles at your complaint and prods your cheek, "yes. it's almost 12PM." he lies, looking at the clock on your bedside table that clearly says 11.13AM, "most functioning members of society have already woke up, got dressed, had breakfast and gone to work. and you're still in bed."

"i was a functioning member of society yesterday. let me be a potato today." you whimper, dearly clutching the bedsheets and using them to sheild your eyes from the bright rays of sunlight. so cute, he thinks to himself. it pained him to disturb you like this; a part of him wanted to let you stay in bed all snug and cozy, and sleep to your heart's content.

but the bigger part of him missed you greatly, and also loved to tease and annoy you. "no. get up." he yanked the blanket off you, to which you gasped as the cold air washed over your exposed figure. you pout, without the energy to try and wrestle the dvuet back, you instead curl up in an attempt to preserve body heat. "fuck off, kei!" you yell.

"to where? you're in my house." techincally 'our' house, but he called it his own for dramatic effect.

"to the cosmetics clinic for a facelift." you spat, body trembling under the nippy air, but eyelids still heavy as you try to drift back off to sleep.

"yeah. maybe while i'm there i can ask about getting you an attitude transplant." he rolls his eyes, throwing the covers back over you, to which you sigh from relief. he couldn't stand seeing you so vulnerable and shivering, even if you were just playing it up.

angry and defeated, he rushes over to the door while saying, "this is what i get for wanting to spend the morning with you."

"kei.." you whine, outstretching your arm from underneath the covers, doing a grabbing motion at him, "come here."

he exhaled out his nose and walked up to your side of the bed, crossing his arms as he stood next to you, gazing down at your sleepy face. he tried to exhibit his best scowl but seeing your half-lidded eyes and cheeks flushed with morning warmth forced a small smile to creep over his lips. "what?"

you pat the space beside you on the bed, and whisper, "cuddle."

your heavy eyes slowly fell closed, as your cheek was pressed against the silk pillowcase and strands of your hair fell into your face. he didn't move or say a word, until he gently tucked the stray stands behind your ear, subtly caressing your cheek with his thumb as he did so.

how'd he get so lucky, he wonders, getting to sleep beside the prettiest person on earth every single night. perhaps that is something he takes for granted, sometimes.

but not today. he walks over to the other side of the bed and climbs on, shuffling over so he right behind you, then he slips an arm around your waist.

with his face pressed against the back of your hair, you feel him smile against your skin when you move your hand to interlock fingers with his.

you'd apologise for telling him to fuck off, and he would say he's sorry for trying to wake you up, but neither of you really had to. with the he holds you close in his firm hold, and the way you melt into his touch, it's needless to say you love each other.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

I CAN'T CLOSE MY EYES ALONE ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; arguing with satoru is always exhausting. bitter and spiteful, you leave him in the bedroom and go find another place to sleep; your couch would be the obvious choice, but where’s the fun in that?

word count; 4.2k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, f!reader (he calls you ’stubborn girl’ n ’pretty girl’ but other than that it’s gn!!), toru and reader have a fight, reader sleeps in the bathtub (don’t ask it came to me in a vision), hurt/comfort, he's doing his best :<, fluff!!

a/n; smth abt …. arguing w satoru gojo ……. idk why the concept has possessed me in the way that it has i just think hurt/comfort w toru is <33

okay, so maybe this wasn’t the best idea you’ve ever had.

in your defense, you weren’t exactly thinking straight; fueled by spite, eager to get far away, and admittedly a little curious as to how it would feel, the decision was made almost purely on impulse. and stupidity, probably.

it’s not comfortable at all.

maybe it could be. maybe if you had just a couple more pillows, a fluffier blanket with a cozier texture. maybe if you had something soft to put beneath you, another blanket or a comforter or — whatever. maybe if you had a warm cup of tea to drink. maybe if you had something warm to hug to sleep. 

or someone.

(aw, what’s wrong? can’t sleep without me after all, huh?)

— nope. you are not going back there. 

just the thought of how smug he’d get makes you bite the inside of your cheek, increasing your already growing frustrations. in desperate search of a more comfortable position, you nuzzle further into the pillow, but nothing works.

your limbs feel stiff, and your bones can’t seem to relax, a discomforting numbness seeping into your spine. and it’s cold. the feeling of porcelain against your skin keeps you tossing and turning, akin to an icy winter breeze, caressing the apple of your cheek. 

still, there’s simply no other option. under absolutely no circumstances can you turn back now. not when you’ve come this far, when you can almost begin to sense an inkling of sleep’s familiar call, the drowsy flutter of your eyelashes.

it takes time, and perseverance — but eventually, the road to sleep does seem to brighten on the horizon. crawling closer and closer, lulling you into its embrace, while all you can do is lie there. completely at its mercy, exhaustion ghosting your subconscious, eyelids ripe with fatigue. 

slowly but surely, your consciousness begins to fade. tenderly, soothingly, like a curtain over your eyes being slowly unveiled. you can almost taste it, on the tip of your tongue; sleep is only a moment away.

soon, you’ll fall into that cozy abyss. and then you’ll open your eyes, and the morning sun will greet you. it’ll be a new day, a better day.

so you keep your eyes closed, and sink a little further into the plush of your pillow, and —

the light flickers on.

in the state you’re in, tiptoeing on the edge between dreams and reality, so tantalizingly close to falling asleep, the brightness is positively grating. even through your shut eyes, it invades your senses — a glow so irritating it’s startling. the bathroom lights mock you with their shine, illuminating your figure, curled up in the tiny bathtub. 

the whine you let out is involuntary, coaxed out from deep within your throat, as the uncomfortable sensation rouses you from your would-be slumber.

satoru raises an unimpressed eyebrow, where he stands by the door.

chest bare, wearing only a flimsy pair of sleeping shorts, he looks at you with tired eyes. exasperation painted onto his dishevelled features. then he clicks his tongue, voice raspy and rich with fatigue.

”you’re ridiculous.”

the judgemental tilt of his voice only makes the annoyance in your veins bubble up once more, just when it was finally about to dwindle. eyes squeezed shut to escape the burn of the artificial light, you let out a sharp wince, burrowing your face deeper into the pillow. 

”turn it off!”

ignoring your angry plea, satoru makes his way over to you. with long, slow strides, vaguely uncoordinated steps. just a little clumsy. he plops down on the edge of the bathtub, and gazes down at you.

you’re lying on your side, arms wrapped around a fluffy cushion, knees against your chest. under the illumination of the bathroom lights, he can see you clearly; messy hair that he yearns to ruffle, a crease between your brows that he yearns to smooth away.

you look awfully uncomfortable, to no one’s surprise. he isn’t sure what else you were expecting. 

despite the sting of the bright lights, you force your eyes open — only to give satoru a halfhearted glare, an attempt at appearing intimidating. though you somehow doubt it’ll work.

resting his jaw on the heel of his palm, satoru tilts his head. soft locks of white hair follow the movement, falling over his eyes, a little more tousled than usual. like he’s been tossing and turning, sprawled out on the bedroom mattress.

and, just like you suspected, the dirty look you send his way doesn’t seem to scare him off. not even in the slightest. if anything, you think you catch a flicker of lazy amusement dancing through his eyes. and it irks you, it does — an itch beneath your skin, a taste of irritation on your tongue.

because satoru is looking at you like you’re somehow in the wrong, here, like you’re the one acting out. as if he isn’t the reason you’re here in the first place.

at this point, you barely even remember what the fight was about. too sleep-deprived to recall it properly, too stressed to make a genuine attempt. all you remember is getting ready for bed, and the familiar sensation of frustration prickling your skin. you remember his pretty little grin, his teasing remarks and refusal to take you seriously.

remember the way he laughed, when you told him what was bothering you; the crinkle of his eyes, the warmth of his hands reaching over to squish your cheeks. a little patronizing.

(there was no malicious intent behind it, that much you know. he probably just wanted to lighten the mood. but it irked you, all the same. hurt you, maybe. just a little bit.)

then you remember storming out. grabbing a blanket and pillow and telling him to sleep on his own, if that’s how he was going to be. the words felt cold as they left your mouth, little breathy icicles. and then you left.

which is why you’re here, right now. curled up in your goddamn bathtub, for some reason that still escapes you, trying desperately to get even a wink of sleep without your boyfriend there to help.

and that’s also why satoru is here, back a tad slouched as he sits on the edge of the bathtub, looking at you like you’re some misbehaving cat. blinking slowly, drowsily, dragged down by the fatigue clinging to his eyelashes. 

(he can’t sleep, either.)

”you’re really gonna sleep in there?” he sighs, after a moment’s pause. any honest concern in his voice is almost entirely overshadowed by the sense of admonition that follows it.

a scoff falls from your lips, sharp like a razorblade. ”yes,” you deadpan, shifting to lie on your stomach, hiding away from his insistent view. ”i was sleeping just fine before you barged in here.”

satoru shoots you a look, thoroughly unimpressed, entirely unconvinced of your blatant lie. ”you’re being dumb,” he huffs. ”at least sleep on the couch.”

”i don’t wanna hear that from you,” comes a hiss, low and disgruntled. a growing irritation. ”and i’m comfortable where i am.”

another dissatisfied huff. why are you being so irrational? he just doesn’t get it. scrambling for excuses, satoru tries his hand at another tactic. 

”you’ll hurt your back.”

another little scoff. oh, so now he suddenly cares? you can’t believe him. 

”so what?”

a moment passes. satoru bites his lip, teeth sinking softly into the flesh; a little pang of ache, but it’s nothing compared to the twist of discomfort in his chest. you’re making this more difficult than it has to be, he thinks. always so stubborn. 

what is he supposed to say? how is he supposed to convince you to come back to bed, when you’re already so set on denying him?

god, he’s tired. he just wants to sleep, close his jaded eyes. just wants to not have to think, for a couple hours, curled up with the only person who makes him feel safe. just wants to dream in soft shapes.

but if you aren’t there, then…

a deep sigh. weary, annoyed. ”c’mon,” he coaxes, blinking sluggishly. ”you know you won’t be able to fall asleep without me. can’t we just make up already?”

your nails dig into the fabric of your blanket. every word he says only seems to deepen the sense of irritation plaguing your sleep-deprived mind.

it makes you want to shut him out, bury your head in the soft sheets and forget about everything else. he keeps acting like you’re just overreacting, like you wanted to have an argument. like he wasn’t the one who made you upset and then laughed at you about it. 

”i don’t need you to fall asleep,” you grumble, muffled by the pillow in your grasp, arms tightening around it. nuzzling deeper into the soft velvet comfort.

satoru’s fingers twitch, as if urging him to pull you close. he almost glares at the cushion in your arms, that you’re hugging so fondly, putting all your body weight on — snuggling into it in search of comfort and warmth.

(that should be his chest.)

the gears in his head turn, slowly and mechanically, as he brings a hand up to card through his hair.

satoru hates seeing you so upset, so far away from him. having to watch you close yourself off, not allowing him to be near, soothe you and take care of you. kiss all your worries away. that’s all he wants to do, everything he needs to keep himself whole, to keep himself from being devoured by an exhaustion he’s lived with for as long as he can remember.

a strong frustration gnaws at his conscience. a certain desperation.

a big, heavy sigh leaves his lips. it bounces off the walls of the bathroom, the white tiles and shiny mirror, as he drags it out. almost childishly. then he’s angling his body to face you properly, big hands resting on his knees, a determined gaze set on your figure.

”look, i’m sorry,” he starts, rigid and earnest. blinking once, twice, chasing away the drowsy weight of his eyelids. ”i shouldn’t have laughed.”

your ears perk up.

shifting to your side as if hoping to hear him better, you peek up at him through half-lidded eyes. almost in disbelief, a kind of hope sprouting in the corners of your dilated pupils.

is he genuinely going to apologize, you wonder? admit that he was in the wrong? does he actually feel bad?

a moment passes. slow, drawn out, until satoru’s voice spills into the air again.

”there. i apologized,” he exhales, a little gruff. annoyed. ”now will you please just come to bed?”

…

wow. 

okay, nevermind. you hope the ceiling fan falls on him.

beneath your skin, a mellow kind of anger bubbles up, blood slowly coming to a boiling point. he’s not sorry at all. of course he isn’t. you were stupid to think he’d actually give you a sincere apology, stupid to think he’d do the one thing that would actually make you want to fall back into his comforting embrace. stupid, stupid. 

clenching your teeth, nails digging into the velvet fabric of the pillow, your eyelids flutter shut once more. only this time, you don’t plan on opening them again — at least not until morning comes. not until you see the sunkissed tiles of the bathroom, until the ache inside your chest has passed.

”satoru,” you enunciate, frigid and final. ”just let me sleep. we can talk tomorrow.” a beat. the tiniest grumble resounds from your lips, tinged with exhaustion. ”i’m too tired for this.”

under his breath, satoru winces. that palpable fatigue in your words sends a tremor running through his chest, discomforting, a shiver of his heart. you won’t look at him anymore, and the hint of finality in your tone makes him feel slightly dejected.

god, he’s awful at this. sincerity has never been his strong suit. he’s gotten better, lately, but it’s still so very foreign.

he didn’t mean to make you angry, didn’t mean to upset you. didn’t mean for the lilt of his voice to make his apology sound insincere. but that’s still what happened.

and satoru isn’t quite sure what to do. 

he’s tired. eyes heavy with lost sleep, glimpses of would-be nightmares he knows he’d have were he to fall asleep right now. an anxious lump has long since formed in the back of his throat, and he misses you. misses your presence, your warmth. misses the feeling of having you close, the knowledge that you haven’t left yet.

(without you, he can’t —)

a sigh. soft, and resigned, flowing from his lips.

the inner turmoil in satoru’s mind begins to fade, slowly but surely, smoothed away by the sight of you. bundled up in a blanket too small to cover you properly, lying in that cold and cramped bathtub, discomfort evident in your features. sadness dripping from the bitter words you grace him with.

so out of reach, too far for him to follow, a boundary he wants to cross more than anything. but something about that meek expression makes him falter, makes his heart twist and turn inside his ribcage.

(he knows that you’re tired, too.)

so satoru swallows his pride.

the words are spoken in a whisper, hushed, through a voice so low you wouldn’t hear it if the silence of the bathroom wasn’t so suffocating. a soft lilt of his voice, bare and raw. meek, in a way that makes him want to crawl under a rock and die. but it’s there, and he lets you hear it; that soft little truth.

”… i can’t sleep without you.”

satoru doesn’t look at you. his confession rings in your ears, laced together with a softness you’ve come to associate with warm spring mornings and rooms so dark you can’t see his face. moments in which satoru feels safe. safe enough to be sincere.

— inevitably, your heart begins to soften.

(he’s trying. it’s difficult for him, but he’s really trying. sincerity and honesty are things that have been used against him all his life, so it’s no wonder he’d be scared.)

it’s very hard to stay mad at him, when he sounds like that. when his words come out sounding a little too much like a plea, a silent call for help. 

with hesitance, you allow your eyes to flutter open, shifting a little to get a better look at him. he’s there, staring into space — the man you’ve grown to love so dearly. his tousled white hair, those slightly forlorn eyes. the vague darkness beneath them, slightly puffy skin. that tired, tired expression. 

satoru taps the edge of the tub with the pads of his fingers, absentmindedly. index finger, middle finger, ring finger, over and over.

then, at last, he meets your gaze. and you think he swallows down a gulp, before smiling — it’s a pretty smile, somewhat tiny. a little sheepish, but awfully sincere. awfully satoru.

he tilts his head, gazing into your eyes with a tenderness that melts your heart to the marrow.

”… please?”

a second passes. then two. 

soft and melodic, your heartbeat resounds in your ears, akin to a lullaby. like the call of a siren, coaxing you into giving in. and you’re weak, you realize, so very weak. just a smile and a tilt of his head, and you’re rendered utterly helpless. 

(he’s just too pretty.)

without fully realizing it yourself, you’ve begun to move, dragging yourself up with sluggish motions. blanket still draped over your shoulders, and pillow snug against your chest, you blink. drowsily, slowly. a little meekly. 

and satoru brightens.

it’s visible, in the way he physically perks up, back straightening, smile finally reaching his aquamarine eyes. a blend between hope and affection sprouts in them, slathered over with something honeyed.

a soft grin blooms on his lips, and he opens his arms wide — silently beckoning you to fall into his embrace. a raspy coo tiptoes on his tongue. 

”c’mere.”

before you can make a move to do so, satoru leans over. scooping you up with ease, as if you weigh absolutely nothing, tucking you into his warm embrace. smothering you in his cushiony chest.

almost instinctively, your arms go to wrap around his neck, cheek smushed against the warm skin of his shoulder. if you strain your ears, you think you can hear the soft patter of his heartbeat. he smells of the tiramisu you ate before going to bed, and just a hint of expensive cologne. he smells of comfort.

satoru is soft, and warm, and everything you need right now. lulling you back into that cozy, sleepy state. your very own personal dose of melanin.

with a big palm on the small of your back, satoru keeps you pressed up against his chest, as if you could change your mind and try to escape at any moment. he stands up, still holding you, and hikes your legs around his waist. breathing out a satisfied hum, before turning on his heel.

satoru smiles, and presses a kiss to the crown of your head. ”let’s get you back to bed, baby.”

after turning the bathroom lights off, he begins to walk to your shared bedroom, still carrying you with one arm. always so strong and reliable. you know for a fact that he’s not going to drop you, so you opt to close your tired eyes; stretching out your limbs, lazily, releasing a quiet yawn that makes his lips curl up.

despite your lingering frustration, you find yourself nuzzling into the crook of his neck — and satoru coos, so painfully soft that you barely even hear it. the restlessness inside his own chest washed away, by the familairity of your body against his.

and before you know it, he’s dropped you down on the mattress. gently, but still enough to make you feel a little jostled, so close to falling asleep in his arms. he drags the blanket up to cover you, tucking you in; this one is bigger, with a fluffier texture, enough to cover you both with ease.

smiling softly at the sight of you all cozy, content in the knowledge that you’re finally comfortable, satoru crawls beneath the blanket and takes his rightful place beside you. eyes crinkled at the corners, rich with affection.

two strong arms reach around your waist, to pull you flush against him, until your head meets his chest and you can hear the soft thrumming of his heartstrings. then he sighs, in pure bliss, thoroughly content. melting into your embrace, rubbing his cheek against the side of your head, nuzzling into the warmth that seeps from your body to his.

he runs his big hands down your back, affectionately, rubbing circles into your skin. coaxing you into melting a little, too.

”see, isn’t this much better?” he smiles, a little cheeky. such a tease.

”… the bathtub was fine.”

a chuckle rumbles through his chest, rich with fondness. his hand goes to card through your hair, nimble fingers smoothing down your scalp and running through the soft strands. every touch gentle, full of care. every word soaked in a syrupy sweetness.

”stubborn girl.”

despite your best wishes, you’re too tired to bite back the blissful sigh that leaves your lips. a part of you still wants to protest, to push him away —

but then you start leaning into his touch. helpless to his warm hands, his soothing voice. satoru is just a little too good at making you melt. so good that you finally begin to let your guard down, nuzzling into his bare skin, sinking a little further into the mattress. 

and satoru stifles a coo. 

”honestly,” he sighs, equal parts exasperated and amused. ”sleeping in the bathtub… you’re so silly.”

before you have a chance to respond, he’s pulling back — ever so slightly, just to get a better look at your face. arms looped around his neck, you blink up at him with droopy eyes, and he can’t resist the dopey grin that sneaks its way onto his lips. doesn’t even begin to try, when you look so unbearably sweet.

unable to stop himself, he broaches the distance between you, leaning close to kiss the top of your nose. and you squeeze your eyes shut at the gesture, face scrunching up, but it only makes him chuckle. smiling, honey-sweet, he admires your sleepy pout. soaks up every soft little grumble that slips from your lips.

his hand comes to cradle your cheek, thumb smoothing down your cheekbone. just gazing at you, taking you in, every single contour of your face. there is only adoration in his eyes. something silently delighted, that seeps into his words, his raspy voice.

”my pretty, pretty girl.”

a heat rushes to your cheeks. looking up at him, into those lovesick eyes, you can’t help but grow flustered.

he looks so content.

all you manage is a weak furrow of your brows, pressing a palm against his bare skin. softly, as if pushing him away, forehead meeting his chest with a soft bonk. hiding away, so he won’t see how much his words affect you.

”lemme sleep, toru…” you mumble, stifling a yawn.

unfortunately, your boyfriend is not one to give in so easily. before long, his fingertips are trailing across the skin of your jaw, coaxing you into lifting your chin. and you’re too sleepy to resist — practically melting, as he begins to smear openmouthed kisses all over your face. all you can do is close your eyes, attempting to ignore the sound of his exaggerated mwahs, frowning in a silent disapproval that you know you don’t actually mean.

satoru notices it, though. he always does.

”you still mad at me, baby?” he asks, in a way that sounds a little like he’s cooing at you. there’s a teasing tilt to his voice, but it’s also a genuine question. your frown deepens.

averting your gaze with a soft huff, even as he cradles your jaw with his slender fingers, a pout plays at your lips. under his kind eyes, you feel just a bit meek — recalling your argument from before. absentmindedly, you fidget with the waistband of his shorts, hoping to ease your nerves.

despite your valiant efforts to direct your vocal cords in a different direction, the voice that spills from your lips comes out sounding just a tad hurt.

”… you never take me seriously.”

satoru’s eyes soften.

his smile falters, by a hair, a brief stilling of movement. subtle, but hard not to pick up on. there’s a certain sense of shame in his irises, a genuine guilt stirring his heartstrings; several discomforting sensations, gnawing at the bones of his ribcage.

(you look so small.)

two hands reach out to cup your cheeks, big and warm. swallowing up your whole face. and before you can react, satoru leans in to press a sweet, chaste kiss against your lips. he tastes like tiramisu. 

”’m sorry. we can talk about it tomorrow, okay?” he hums, and you can tell that he means it. ”i promise that i’ll take you seriously. for real, this time.”

as you look into those eyes of his, blue and soft around the edges, the last of your frustration is finally washed away. with a meek downward glance, and a faint nod, satoru relaxes — releasing a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. relieved at your silent forgiveness.

tomorrow, he’ll definitely make it up to you. he’ll hear you out, without opening his big mouth, or trying to skirt around any emotions that make him feel even slightly uncomfortable. smoothing a big palm down your back, he hopes you feel it as a silent apology. 

for now, he’ll just hold you. he’ll hold you, and kiss all your worries away, and keep you comfy and warm. that’s his duty. the only one he’d willingly choose, the only weight on his shoulders that never feels even a little bit suffocating. the only one he wouldn’t cast away, if given the chance.

nuzzling back into the safety of his collarbone, your heartbeat settles into a drowsy rhythm, slow and serene. satoru squeezes you in a tight hug, reassuring. comforting.

he can be a handful, and a little insensitive, but you love him a lot. you can’t imagine not loving him. 

”… goodnight, toru,” you whisper. ready to give into sleep’s call, at last.

satoru smiles. you can hear it in his voice, sweet and silky, a soft curl of his lips. ”goodnight, honey,” he presses a kiss against your shoulder. warm, his breath on your skin. ”i love you.”

a yawn escapes your throat. ”love you too…” you mumble, sleepily. that one soft truth, before your consciousness fades.

and satoru’s smile only grows. hopelessly, inevitably, in the same way his hands can’t help but to bring you closer. until your heart is flush against his own, and he swears he can feel your heartbeats synchronize.

finally, with those three little words, satoru should be able to go to sleep. drifting off, he can only hope you’ll still be in his arms by the time he awakens.

(then again; you always are, aren’t you?)

[evieolo]

Cozy — Matt Sturniolo x Reader

A/N: the request is here (if you want to see if i did it justice)

Your room is a real live portrayal of all Matt's safe spaces, that’s why he claims to be at your house so much. Because all of your throw blankets are fuzzy and your home sits on the edge of the town line, meaning, your bedroom window outlooks a forest filled with tall trees. Your bed is nooked in the side of your room, against two corners and you have an excessive amount of pillows, so instead of the couch that decorates your living room, every time you and Matt watch a scary movie it's on your bed. Cozied up with fuzzy blankets and pillows, lit dimly by your firewood scented candles' with added light from your one large window shining in, painting the room a dim yellow as the sun sets.

You’re comfy, legs draped over Matts, as you lay across from him, making an ‘x’ shape with your limbs over his. The ambient noise of Scream II provides a clear background, your eyes darting between the movie and Matt as he makes little comments every here and there.

“See, if I was in this movie I’d just run. Why does she look back like sixty times!? She’s begging to be caught!” Matt exclaims, throwing his arms out dramatically while he speaks. You laugh and turn to him, “It’s for dramatic effect.” You quip jokingly before zoning back into the movie.

Twenty minutes in, you notice a draft from the widow. It’s cold. The autumn air is chilling, and you don’t want to get up, so you instead opt for bodily heat and scootch closer to Matt, repositioning yourself so your head is leaning on his shoulder. Matt notices you shifting and pulls you closer.

Innocently, he runs a hand over your arms, immediately noticing the goosebumps that dot them. “Cold?” He questions, and before you can answer he’s draping his blanket over you.

You nod, “It got cold so fast.” You gesture to your outfit, “and, these booty shorts are not helping me warm up.” You laugh. Matt grins, “It’s okay because they make your butt look good.”

You laugh, trying to find a witty remark but you're interrupted when the oven beeps.

“Cookies.” You mumble, hassling yourself out of your nest of blankets and standing slowly after pressing pause on the movie. Matt groans- he’d just gotten comfortable- but stands with you, following you one room over to your kitchen.

You stroll to your counter and hit pause on the repeated beeping of the timer by tapping its top. Then, you open the oven, this sends a fragrant wave of brown sugar and chocolate to your sinuses, you inhale shamelessly at the scent that you’d grown long accustomed to, the scent that reminded you of Matt and your four years of friendship.

It was a you and Matt thing. Every Sunday he’d come over, you’d bake chocolate chip cookies and watch scary movies. A tradition for the two of you.

“Pass me the oven mit?” You say, turning to Matt briefly. He complies, grabbing the fabric off its designated hook and tossing it to you. You slip the mit on your hand and pull the cookies out of the oven, smiling at the familiar sight and placing them on the stovetop.

While you and Matt wait for the cookies to cool, you debate what movie to watch next. Scream wasn’t scary enough but Us was too scary. Once Matt settles for a movie that wont give you chronic nightmares, you fork two cookies off the baking tray and merge them onto a small plate. Carrying them to your room in a hurry to start your next movie.

Matt follows excitedly, watching you place the cookies down on your bedside coffee table and plop dramatically down in the corner of your bed. Before Matt settles he saunters to your window frame and shuts the glass for you. You thank him and he smiles, “Can’t have you complaining for the next two hours huh?” He jokes..

You laugh and hold out your arms in a welcoming manner, “C’mere” You hum, Matt complies, kneeing the beds edge before cuddling into your lap, and resting the back of his head on your chest as he faces the tv.

You’re invested in the movie, Matt, not so much. He’s more hyper focused on you, the small gasps you make every time something gorey happens, how your body jolts slightly beneath him at every jumpscare.

He repositions himself just so he can look at you, now sitting next to you instead of laying on top of you so he can take longer glances at your features.

Matt watches you more intently than you watch the movie, watching the way you blink and breathe. It would be creepy if he wasn’t so lovestruck, but he was. In love with you, and his heart was beating out of his chest because of it, urging him to spit his feelings out because subconsciously he knew you felt the same with certainty.

“Y/N, I have to talk to you.” He mutters. You finally peel your eyes off the TV screen and look at him, after your fingers find the remote to pause the screenplay. You raise a brow, “Oh?”

Matt chuckles with slight awkwardness unsure how to approach his feelings.

“We're watching this movie as friends right?”

You tilt your head with uncertainty, unsure of what he’s insinuating, blinking slowly before you reply. “Yeah, We’re watching the movie as friends…”

“What if we didn’t watch it as friends?” He drawls, talking slowly as if there’s honey dripping from his tongue. You pause, “I’m not following?”

So Matt continues, “What if we watched it as like.. boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Your mind blanks at his words before you can fully comprehend what he’s said.

“Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”

Matt smirks,“Depends if you’re going to say yes or not.”

You laugh, and tackle him in a gentle hug, pushing him back against your feathery comforter. “Yes, I’m going to say yes!”

Matt smiles, the wide grin spreading across his features. “Thank god.” He breathes, propping himself up on his elbows. You laugh and cup his face with your hands heart beating out of your chest while you do so.

Unable to suppress your smile, a grin spreads across your face, there are butterflies in your stomach, you're sure there are in Matt’s as well.

“Fuck…” Matt breathes, losing himself in your eyes, the feeling of your hands on him, indulging himself in you. “Can I kiss you? Please?” He asks.

You nod your head rapidly, the widespread smile still drapes across your features, “yes!” You laugh, heart fluttering rapidly until he finally presses his lips to yours.

You close your eyes, neverves melting away because Matts kissing you, and you just let yourself feel.

He moves slowly at first, testing the waters, feeling every part of your closed lips before he’s yearning for more, nipping at your bottom lips with his teeth so he has more access.

He tastes like brown sugar and chocolate, a result of the cookies but its entrancing.

Innocently, you want to kiss him forever.

When Matt pulls away it's not for long, he refuels his lungs with air but this time pecks you, less sensually, more with a feeling of love.

He pecks your lips, forehead and neck, and nose, running his hands through your hair while he does so because to him, you’re the most perfect thing in the world.

“You’re my girlfriend now,” He gushes, saying it out loud as if it’s reassurance to himself.

You lace your fingers in your hair and pull him down to you, stopping to speak before you kiss him again. “And you're my boyfriend now.” You laugh, pulling him to your lips.

A/N pt 2: Felt cute might delete later (I’m kidding, no I’m not)

[letsbangts]

end of a day || jjk

⤷ summary: when the day tries to weigh you two down you both are there to lift each other up

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader

⟶ word count: 1.1k

⟶ genre: angst, fluff, established relationship au

⟶ content: boyfriend!jk, stress, crying, & a comforting koo

⟶ warnings: none

↬ a/n: inspired by one of my all time favourite songs 'end of a day by shinee's jonghyun' ʚ♡ɞ p.s the italics are the song lyrics & as always let me know what you think i really appreciate feedback :) recommend a song if you’d like and i’ll write a scenario with it like i did with this song! xx angel ♡

masterlist

hold out your hand, wrap it around my neck. a little below, massage my shoulders. at the end of a tiring day, even if the sun has already come up i'm finally closing my eyes

 Sometimes it can feel like there are too many hours in a day. The day has been going on for too long. A day where life felt a bit too hard, where the world got a bit too busy, a bit too heavy and decided to lay its weight upon your shoulders and your heart. A day that all you needed was a hand to reach out to you. It was one of those days for me today, a day that is finally coming to a close as I see the sun going down on the horizon as I make my way back home ready to shut my eyes. Home. The place I could not reach any quicker. It is not the four walls I am racing to arrive to but to him, as he is my real home.

i close the door to my day later than others playfully tickle my earlobe because even though we’ve been in different worlds all day we always end the day together

I enter my house and close the door also closing the door to my day. Many others have probably retired from their days long before me. I hear the clicking of a mouse an all too familiar sound to me, almost a reassuring sound. And that is when I knew although we were both in two completely different worlds the whole day, my day was just as draining as his. As I walk in and turn to see Jungkook’s tired face and slumped figure still working away, illuminated by his monitor screen I realize his day has been just as long as mine. Seeing him released all the pressure off my shoulders and I can almost release a sigh of relief knowing as always we can end our day together.

your small shoulders, your small hands become my cozy blanket at the end of a tiring day

For some reason seeing Jungkook today, maybe because of the stress or exhaustion, whatever it is the second I see him a welling feeling emerges in my chest.

“Kook?” my voice shakes out.

He turns his head, not noticing my presence before being absorbed in his work, only ready to go to bed as soon as he’s pleased with his edit.

“Hmm?” as he turns his head his glasses reflect the glare caught from the screen.

We make eye contact and he watches as I approach him. As I walk closer to him he immediately wheels back his chair from the desk making space for me. He opens his arms when he sees my quivering lips and watery eyes, pulling me with his lap. He wraps his arms around my small shoulders, my small hands clutch onto his shirt as I cry into him. With my face buried in his chest, I stain his shirt with my tears, shedding my day. He rubs my back letting me get out the feelings I pent up for hours. He is silent as he embraces me until I hear him let out a deep sigh himself and I suddenly feel like I am comforting him at the same time. For the first time in my day, I finally take a breath of contentment able to relax and Jungkook seemingly doing the same.

you did a good job today, you worked so hard i hope my shoulders and my thick hands will become cozy comfort for the end of your tiring day as well

Jungkook pats my head with his thick hands probably stiff from all the clicking and typing the diligent work he always puts into everything.

“It’s okay. You did a good job today. You worked so hard, I know you did.” he soothes me with a gentle voice.

I sniffle and pull back to look up at him. I remove his glasses from his face and place them on his desk. I look into his eyes, red with dark bags underneath them as he stares back at mine, red and filled with tears.

I blanked out as I admired him filling myself with the warmth of satisfaction I get from simply being with him.

i want to naturally sync my breathing with yours  like water in a bathtub that wraps around you with no space left i wanna warmly hold you without any space left

I want to end my day with Jungkook. Merge me with him, with his breathing, with his heartbeat, with his movements, his everything, with his very being.

“I missed you,” I say to him “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too.” He replies hugging me tighter.

“You must have had quite a day as well I shouldn't be crying on you like this.” I wipe away my tears and laugh at my selfishness, burdening him with my tears.

at the end of my day, filled with awkward mistakes you, my prize, are waiting for me. i can’t cry all I want or even laugh all I want at the end of a tiring day but still, if I’m next to you like a child, I can whine and then laugh till I run out of breath i’m not used to seeing myself like this

He takes my face into his hands, cupping my cheeks his thumbs rubbing them back and forth. His gaze is loving as he says,

“No matter what kind of day I have, one filled with accomplishments or one filled with mistakes, once we come together my day can never end on a bad note. You are my prize, you being here with me is all the reassurance I need to know I can get through this day, and the next, and any more that may come. I may be one to suppress my feelings and not express myself fully, I don’t cry all the time or laugh as often as I should. But at the end of a tiring day, I know if I'm next to you, you will let me whine like a child and then you'll have me laughing until I’m out of breath. And it still surprises me after all these years with you seeing myself like that.”

I glide my hands up to his neck and pull him in for a kiss so deep that it feels like we become one, breaths intertwined.

Sometimes it can feel like there are too many hours in a day. The day has been going on for too long. But right now I realize there can never be enough hours in a day for me when I am with Jungkook. So the day can go on for as long as it wants because no matter how long it is I can make it through knowing that at the end of it, I will make my way back to Jungkook.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

you did a good job today, you worked so hard you are my prize

[starsofang]

Change of Heart

hitman!ghost x f!reader / part 4

previous part

tw: none, definitely more on the softer side :)

When life has completely and utterly failed you, you hire a hitman to take you out, too afraid to do it yourself. Instead of killing you like you had planned, he strikes up a deal with you, and you're too stubborn to bail out.

Waking up on day seven was not as chirpy as day six.

Being hungover was a bitch. The headache that rattled your brain caused your ears to pound in a way that you feared would have them implode into deafness.

You laid in bed for so long, the sun began to shift its position in the window of your bedroom. It filled the room with a comforting light, soft rays shining through the transparent curtains and saturating the air with a pleasant warmth that nipped at your toes that poked out from the end of your blanket.

Somehow, you managed to roll out of bed, forcing yourself onto bare feet. The wooden floor was cold to the touch compared to the sunlight that had embraced your feet with tepid coziness, and it sent a frigid chill up your spine.

You don’t remember stripping yourself of your clothes last night, but you certainly remembered Ghost taking you home and guiding you into the house with such a careful, thoughtful touch. You recalled the heartfelt one-on-one you ensued, your frazzled mind slowly beginning to piece itself together and completing the puzzle of uncertainty.

Simon was his name, and he had made sure to scribble it down in grubby, black ink on a piece of kitchen napkin where you found it resting. A number was joined below his name, and you had the stark realization that it was his number – not one he gave you from a burner phone before your initial first meeting, but his personal one.

You stared at the crisp napkin from where you were mounted in the kitchen, eyes a bit fuzzy that it made you reread it a few times just for good measure.

Right next to his name, he had drawn a poorly sketched skull. The act was so childish for a man of his title that it had you laughing to yourself in disbelief.

Hitman had jokes, you thought.

No, not hitman. Not Ghost.

Simon had jokes.

His name felt unfamiliar on your tongue when you tested it outloud. The two syllables filled the air like an elegant symphony, as if a lovely mix of chords chorused from your mouth when repeated again, then once more.

The more you repeated it to yourself, the more it began to stick. It was as if his name being rolled off of your tongue was meant to be there, encasing your mouth with a rich sweetness that had you salivating for more.

You made sure to add Simon’s number in your phone, logging his name with a skull emoji to match the cute artwork he’d scribbled in on the napkin.

Despite your raging headache that didn’t want to vanish, even with an overmedicating amount of painkillers, and your horrible start to the morning, you found yourself in a lighter mood than ever before. There was a pep in your step when you walked to work for the evening, all teeth and smiles when the door chimed as you entered the establishment. It was certainly not because of a mysterious, masked man.

You had never gone to work beaming as if the entire world had encased you in a warm hug and told you you’re gonna do great today! In fact, most days spent at work were mind rotting, slowly killing you from the inside until all that remained was a sad, decaying corpse in its wake.

Today was different, though, and even your coworkers took note of it as you clocked yourself in after greeting them with a cheerful hello. You paid no mind to their curious stares and whispers and immediately busied yourself with the task of tugging out prepped ingredients and lining them up neatly at your station.

Baking used to be your passion, up until the man of your past had ruined it. You used to adore the creations you had free reign to make – cookies, breads, cakes, anything you could possibly craft with your hands. Your job was a hobby and not a chore like it was now. Over time, that spark had died, replaced with a hollowness that was waiting so patiently to be filled once again.

He made you hate baking the way he made you hate yourself.

At least if you couldn’t love yourself just yet, you could relearn to love baking.

You were quick to work dough between your hands, rolling it out on the table like a place mat and carefully carving out shapely designs that would puff up into perfect, little treats once in the oven. As you performed, your face was lifted up into a promising smile, eyes brightened with that past passion that sparked in reminiscence.

You hadn’t even realized you were openly expressing joy in your design until your cheeks began to cramp from how much you were grinning to yourself. The soreness was far from unwelcome, and it was your moment of recognition that this was what smiling was like. Oh, how you had forgotten what it felt like to do it with such genuineness.

When you placed all your neatly carved pastries on trays to be baked, you slipped them in the oven with purpose, watching the glow of the orange light of the heat rods illuminate over the pale dough.

As you watched them slowly begin to form in their desired states, you found yourself thinking about Simon again.

You wondered if he liked sweets. Or perhaps if not sweets, then maybe bread. It didn’t hurt to throw the offer his way, right?

Pulling your phone from the pocket of your apron, you swiped your finger to unlock it and pressed on his contact name. You stared at the screen for moments too long, silently contemplating, gnawing on the nail of your thumb.

A doubtful voice prodded you in the back of your head like an unwanted pest, buzzing in disapproval. Another voice gleamed with delight, encouraging you to send him a text, desperate to make his acquaintance once again. After all, his presence was a newly welcomed one in your life, and your body gravitated towards him like a magnet in search of their other half.

Fuck it, you thought. 

Fingers tapping against the screen, you willed yourself to send the text message before you had the mind to back out and erase it, and the moment your phone quietly pinged once the text had gone through, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Hey, Simon! If you have time, I have some pastries for you to try at my job, and I’d love it if you stopped by!

Pocketing your phone, you returned back to work, busying yourself with the freshly baked goodies that were out of the oven.

Hours passed, and nighttime fell like a weighted blanket over the expanse of your workplace. It was your night to close, and seeing as you were feeling rather joyful today, you allowed the other workers to head home early for the night, leaving you to do closing tasks by yourself.

Really, you were waiting for Simon to show up, leaving yourself open for company until the very last moment. You piled up the chairs, swept the floors, wiped every station down, and counted all the money from the sales for the day.

The sign on the door was shut down, neon lights dimmed to display CLOSED for any stray passersby who may have been craving a late night sweet.

Just like the telltale sign of emptiness in the store, there was an emptiness in Simon’s presence.

He hadn’t shown up. You tried not to beat yourself up about it, thinking perhaps he didn’t see the text. Maybe he got wrapped up in his own life – after all, the two of you were only friendly with one another, if you could even call it that.

Maybe to him, you weren’t even friends like you had labeled it. You were a charity case of a broken girl he simply wanted to help keep living.

No. You shouldn’t think that way. You had a great day. You finally had some sort of remembrance of the woman you once were long before the anguish and the agony, and you accomplished the day with a smile on your own.

Though, when you closed up the store and checked your phone in silent hopefulness, you felt a sense of foreboding disappointment wash over you like crashing waves attempting to drown out all of the achievements you’d made today.

Read at 6:47PM.

Walking home felt like a treacherous drag of your feet. It was like your shoes were filled with cement, scraping along the pavement of the sidewalk with every step towards your apartment with a piercing sound of gravel on gravel. The stairs had your legs feeling weighed down and solid, anchoring you to the floor and forcing you to use every fabric of muscle in your body in order to make it to the top step.

In fact, everything felt heavy.

You had made progress today, such amazing progress, and now the pressure of misreading the signs from Simon had made you tentative.

Maybe you really did misinterpret what Simon wanted with you.

You thought that after he’d broken into your house numerous times, aided you back to the security of your bed after a drunken night, had given you his number, and told you his real name instead of continuing the persona of Ghost, things may have been escalating into the desired friendship you fiercely needed.

You liked being around him so much that it was possible you had created a bond in your mind that he didn’t seem to reciprocate.

The torture of your sorrowful mind was feeding into the woefulness of a clear reality, so much so, you hadn’t noticed the large figure standing at your door, patiently waiting for your return.

A soft rumbling of your name lured you out of the prison of your own consciousness, and it took you only seconds to recognize the voice as the very one that was tangling your thoughts in webs, capturing you and keeping you hostage.

“Simon!” you exclaimed in relieved surprise, examining the way he was leaned up against the wall beside your door, his frequent mask obscuring the view of his face as always. His arms crossed over his chest, and if you didn’t know him, you would’ve thought he was a bodyguard with the way he presented with such masculine storminess that clouded the air with warning and danger.

“There you are,” he greeted kindly, and the warmth in his tone had any lingering doubt fade away like a gas dissolving into an abyss. “Was waitin’ up for you.”

Your face broke out into a genuine smile, that slight soreness from your cheeks twinging at the sudden tug of skin.

“I was closing up my work. Waited around just in case you showed, so I took a bit longer than normal,” you explained sheepishly.

He let out a soft hum, nodding in acknowledgement.

“Got caught up with some things. Wasn’t able to make it, so I figured I’d wait outside your apartment instead of breakin’ in like I always do. Didn’t want to scare you, love.”

Your heart soared at the nickname, unable to contain its joyful leaps of pleasure. All disappointment you felt from before was forgotten and forgiven, and you wanted to revel in the time spent with your newfound companion.

“You seem awfully chirpy today. What’s got the pretty girl in such a good mood, hm?” Simon raised his eyebrow from beneath his balaclava, and you shifted awkwardly on your feet.

“Just woke up in a good mood today. Is that a crime?” you asked with a teasing smile.

Simon snorted out a quiet laugh, shaking his head in retaliation.

“S’not a crime, sweetheart. Just a pretty sight s’all,” he offered, filling your chest with pride. “What’s this about pastries?”

It dawned on you that you should’ve brought some home with you, even if you had no idea he would’ve been waiting outside your door. You silently cursed yourself for not snagging a few from the selection. You weren’t sure what kind of pastries he liked, and now that he made his appearance, albeit late, you were boiling over with curiosity on finding out.

“Ah, I didn’t bring any home,” you explained apologetically, and you couldn’t bear to hear the disappointed hum from him. “But I can make some in my apartment if you’d like. May not be as good, but I can give that piece of shit oven a try.”

That roused a laugh from him and he straightened himself off of the wall, gesturing with a hand to your door.

“S’alright with me. Lead the way, pretty girl.”

Simon’s eyes never strayed far from you as you worked your magic in the cramped space of the kitchen. Flour covered the countertops, painting them in a gritty beige as you kneaded the heels of your palms into the forming dough, tongue poked out in concentration.

You could feel the weight of his gaze piercing through you, and you tried not to let it affect your limbo. This time around, the nervousness felt different. It wasn’t an intimidated furl in your lungs that threatened to restrict your airflow, or a choked up lump in your throat that you could never quite swallow down.

No. This was shyness.

It felt like his eyes were interrogating you, digesting your embodiment and creating an outlook of you in his mind. You had no idea what he was thinking as he stared at your powdery hands that shaped out dough, or the sprinkle of flour that pestered your cheek, or even the way your hair repeatedly fell in your eyes and you’d be forced to blow it away with a puff of air.

It was prying, it was focused, it was immersed.

He didn’t dare say a word, but he didn’t need to in order for you to grow flustered in his presence. His gaze was enough to cause a rupture in your chest, tickling you with the fluttering wings of butterflies that soared freely from their entrapment.

The feeling was strange, foreign, and dare you say it, appreciated.

Eyes had never studied you like a work of art before, taking in every brush and stroke on the canvas and perceiving it in their own perspective. What that perspective was, though, remained a mystery.

“Baking’s your thing, eh?” He spoke once your treats were securely placed in the oven, mitts covering the plains of your hands.

“It was,” you admitted with a nod, tugging the mitts off and placing them on a clean space of the counter. Your mess still needed to be tended to, so you made quick work of it, focusing your attention on the grains of flour that plastered themselves like annoying bits of sand that seemed to spread no matter where you cleaned.

“Looks like it still is,” he corrected you, and you glanced up to see a glimmer of a smile behind his eyes.

“Alright,” you sighed, smiling. “It is. Now, anyway. It wasn’t for a long time, though.”

He hummed, leaning his arms on the counter and watching as you swept the stubborn bits of flour into your trashcan. His eyes followed every movement of your nimble fingers, sticky dough caked under your fingernails.

“I’d say you’re startin’ to get a piece of your old self back, don’t you think so, love?”

“You didn’t even know my old self, Simon. In fact, you barely know me at all.”

“I’d like to.”

You froze in place, hands in the midst of wetting a towel to wipe up the remnants of the sheen of powder that tinted your dark countertops. You lifted your gaze to find him already staring at you, like he had been during the entire process of your home baking, and you felt weak under it. There was a slight falter in your knees that threatened to buckle, and a racing in your heart that caused your breath to get caught.

His words could go one of two ways, and the little pest in your mind was telling you it wasn’t the one you found yourself secretly hoping for.

That pest had festered so deep inside your brain, it laid its vile eggs there to harvest feelings of doubt, feelings of being unlovable. There wasn’t a world where Simon could grow to love you, nor was there a world where you could love yourself.

But that wasn’t all that true, was it? All it was was doubt. Not fact, far from truth.

“You shouldn’t say things like that to a woman,” you muttered, dipping your head back down to pry yourself from his gaze.

“I’m saying them to you,” he claimed, so shameless in the way he voiced it.

“It’s only day seven. Get back to me when it’s day fourteen.”

You could tell he smiled under his mask from the way his eyes lit up, and he gave you an amused snort, allowing you to bask in silence and gather your mind together.

You welcomed it, needing your inner voice to run astray rather than fill you with the probability of letting Simon in deeper than a friendship. You had a long way to go, and you had a pressing feeling that Simon wouldn’t be going anywhere all that soon.

The dinging of your timer had you regaining concentration on the original task at hand, taking your pastries out of the oven and decorating them with assortments of frosting and glazes.

Baking was what permitted yourself to calm, brain floating peacefully down a trickling river and sunbathe in a pool of warmth. Thinking could come later.

When Simon snatched up one of the pastries from the tray, he lifted the lower half of his mask to greedily shove a bite in his mouth. He chewed, digesting the delightful flavors that melted on his tongue, before giving you a soft smile.

“Is it good?” you asked wearily, and he finished off the treat as an answer to your question. Pride swelled in your bones, and you let yourself smile back at him.

“Damn good baker, you are. Reckon you’ll get even better after our deal’s up.”

Simon and his damn deal.

The mention of it would normally make you cower to the inner part of yourself that was unhealed, but this time, you laughed brightly, agreeing to tuning up your recipes in an unforeseeable future.

softer chapter before more angst to come 🤝 i also have a profession as a baker so this was fun for me to write + simon with a sweet tooth is cute

[nlvrr]

BREAKFAST IN BED | jude bellingham

summary: you’re sick in bed so jude decided to surprise you with breakfast in bed.

warnings: none

pairing: jude bellingham x fem!reader

the soft rustle of the silk sheets were the only sound in the quiet room. sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting gentle lines across the bed where you lay, curled under layers of blankets. your throat ached, and your head felt far too heavy, making it impossible to summon the energy to leave the cozy nest you’d created after jude mysteriously left.

just as you began drifting back into a light doze, the faint creak of the door interrupted. through heavy, sore eyelids, you noticed a shadow move toward you. it was him—jude—his frame almost hidden behind the largest breakfast tray you’d ever seen.

“good morning, sleepyhead,” he said softly, the kind of softness that immediately made your heart melt. “i know you’re not feeling great, so… i thought i’d bring you something to start the day before i head out training.”

you blinked up at him, a small smile tugging at your lips despite how heavy and exhausted you felt after barely being able to sleep last night. he looked so proud of himself, balancing the tray with both hands like it was precious cargo. your gaze dropped to the feast in front of you—fluffy croissants, a bowl of fresh fruit, eggs arranged beautifully on a small plate, and even a cup filled with honey tea and lemon.

“you did all this?” you croaked, voice still rough.

jude grinned, setting the tray down on the bedside table before kneeling beside you. “you sound surprised.” his teasing tone was paired with soft, sweeping fingers that brushed back the messy strands of your hair. he looked at you with utter love and affection.

“i am surprised,” you admitted weakly, a teasing spark glimmering through the drowsiness. “you once burnt toast jude. toast.”

he let out a small laugh, rolling his eyes. “one time! i’m a changed man.” he teased, poking you ever so slightly.

you chuckled softly, the small movement sending warmth through the dull ache in your body. before you could shift to sit up, jude’s hands were there, helping to prop the pillows behind your back. his movements were careful and delicate, and once you were settled, he presented the tray like it was a crown.

“there…. mhm. perfect,” he murmured, his eyes lighting up as if this was all a well-executed plan.

the food was simple, yet to you, it felt like more than breakfast—each piece placed there with care. then way jude looked at you made your chest tighten in that achy, warm way you were beginning to recognize as love.

“thank you, amor,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his.

his smile softened, the teasing replaced with something sincere. “anything for you. Now eat up before it gets cold… i’m trying to impress you here.”

as you picked up one of the croissants and took a bite jude hovered by your side, its flaky layers scattering crumbs over the tray. his face was a mix of anticipation and nerves, like you were the critic and he was the chef, waiting for a review.

“well?” he pressed.

you made an exaggerated show of chewing, holding your serious expression for just a little too long. his brows started to furrow. “i swear, if you—”

“its perfect.” you finally smiled, cutting him off, and gently touching his arm. his shoulders dropped in visible relief.

“i told you!” he beamed, sinking onto the edge of the bed beside you. “chef jude knows what he’s doing now.”

you chuckled, eyes gliding over the breakfast once more—fruit sliced with surprising neatness, eggs looking slightly scrambled but edible, and, most importantly, the tea that glowed a little too much under the sun. you raised a brow.

“what’s in the tea?” you asked playfully, holding it up to the light.

his confidence faltered for the first time in his life. “what do you mean?”

“it’s practically shining. did you drop glitter in here to impress me more?”

his mouth opened as if to protest, but then a sheepish grin came over him. “okay, so maybe i squeezed the lemons a bit too much. you know… i wanted to make it extra fresh.”

the image of him in your kitchen, face scrunched in determination as he wrestled with a pile of lemons, made you laugh, despite your sore throat. jude turned to look at you then, and for a brief moment, everything stilled. the teasing faded into something quieter, gentler.

“there’s that smile,” he murmured, his voice dipping soft as his knuckles brushed lightly against your cheek.

you looked at him, really looked at him—the early morning shadows sharp against his jaw, his hair tousled and still damp, like he’d been too busy fussing over breakfast to fix himself up. and that expression… like he was watching the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Your chest ached.

“jude…”

“hm?”

“you didn’t have to do all this.” you wondered how much time he actually took making all this. it made your heart soften.

“i know,” he replied almost immediately, breaking into that boyish grin. “but when my girl’s sick, what else am I supposed to do? leave you here miserable?” he paused and laughed to himself, “talking to your tissues?”

you rolled your eyes at him, your cheeks warming. “i’m not that dramatic.”

“you cried over dropping a spoon two weeks ago—”

“that was a stressful day,” you shot back, fighting a smile and rolling your eyes playfully.

“exactly,” he said triumphantly, “so you deserve to be pampered.” he leaned back slightly, arms propped behind him, his smirk softening into something fond. “besides, i like looking after you… even if you’re stubborn.”

silence settled over you both—comfortable, warm, like the sunlight pooling through the window. you took another slow sip of the tea, almost convinced jude had managed to squeeze glitter into it because the bitter, yet sweetness spread like magic across your tongue.

“fine,” you admitted at last, hiding your smile behind the glass, “you’re allowed to look after me for one day.”

“one day?” he scoffed playfully, nudging your knee. “good luck getting rid of me now. you’re stuck with me, darling.”

and truthfully? you wouldn’t have it any other way.

|capeiskakanj|

[mondaymelon]

Hihi!!! Saw your requests are open and maybe…. Just some cuddling hc or drabbles 🙏

I’m touch starved obviously, but it would be nice with kaeya, diluc, Alhaitham, and Ayato ?

My pookies, they need a hug fr 😔

₊˚ෆ "𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌." | kaeya, diluc, alhaitham, ayato, kazuha x gn!reader

not very familiar with writing this kinda stuff so added a little bit of variation for each one!! thank you for the request nonnie !!!

[ touch starved genshin men are so... chef's kiss... ]

Kaeya has been growing busier recently.

With the return of several reconnaissance missions, all sorts of paperwork have been shoved onto the poor man, and he’s spent every free hour away from his desk unwinding at Angels Share, where instead of getting pestered, he’s pestering any person close enough to hear his words. 

“I miss them…” He mumbled to no one in particular, swirling the deep reds of the wine in his glass, pressing his cheek against the wooden counter. His voice denied his dubious sobriety, and his hazy gaze certainly wasn’t helping his case.

The bartender just sighed, clearly fed up with Kaeya’s drunk antics, and turned to the crestfallen man while clearing away the bottles he’s downed in the past two hours. “Your lover? Why not just go see them?”

“...” Silence was the only answer from the male as his mouth dropped slightly ajar, his eye sparkling with realization. That’s right, why couldn’t he? Ignoring the jarring fact that it was well past a reasonable bedtime, he slammed his cup down on the table, before stumbling out the door. The path to your place was well-trodden and familiar, winding along the perimeter of Mondstadt’s walls and a cozy place to all. Kaeya could’ve sworn all he did was blink once or twice, yet he had already found himself with his hand raised, knocking on the wood of your door. There was quiet, then the soft steps of your sleepy footsteps. The door creaked open, and he practically flung himself at your pajama-wearing form, engulfing you in an embrace as he buried his head into the crook of your neck.

“K-Kaeya?” Your body swayed from the sudden weight, and you hesitantly returned the gesture, wrappping your arms around his lower torso. He mumbled into your skin, unintelligible sounds that just made your ears burn. “Hey, you reek of alcohol, just where have you-”

“Ugh, you’re too loud.” His voice was low, breathy, and he slowly walked into your house, closing the door behind him. “I just wanted to see you. Cuddles please, love?” He’s drunk, it’s clear from the red flush dusted across the cheeks and the way he stares, practically mesmerized by the sight of you.

You couldn’t even form a coherent thought, let alone an argument. With a sigh, you dragged his limp self to the bedroom, covering him in blankets and pillows before cuddling up next to him. “Happy?”

“No, I asked for cuddles. C’mere.” And just like that, you’re trapped in his sturdy arms, and he let out a content exhale as he snuggled himself into your form. 

“Warm. Can’t we just stay like this for tonight, love?” ₊˚ෆ

Diluc always came home late.

It’s no surprise that Mondstadt’s everyday occurrences and trifles kept him away from where he longs to be the most, and the fact that he’s secretly Mondstadt’s Darknight Hero wasn't exactly aiding him in this predicament. He let out a long sigh, rearranging the papers on his desk, and ignored the ink splatters that had gotten on his sleeves. His red eyes scanned the world past the large windows, the sun overhead shining down on the grape fields below. In just a few months, harvest season would arrive, and then the whole estate would be bustling with activity. Just thinking about it made his head hurt.

A walk would do him some good. As work-centered of a person he was, it wouldn’t do him any well to keep himself glued at his desk for countless archon-forsaken hours on end. He stepped out into the hallway, only to pause in his place as he spotted you, glancing around in confusion with a wicker basket dangling from your hold. All questions flew out of his head as he approached you from behind, pulling you into a back hug. “Love, what are you doing here?”

“Diluc!” You perked up as soon as you felt his touch, giving his red hair a light ruffle. He leaned into your touch with a soft smile on his lips. “It’s lunchtime, isn’t it? The maids told me you’ve been cooped up in your room all day, so I figured I’d bring a little something…” You held your picnic basket a little higher so that he could see, face growing red as he remained silent. “H-Have you already eaten…? Sorry, I’ll-”

“No, don’t.” He reluctantly let go of you, but took your hand instead, gently guiding you to the drawing room, where a long couch has been fixed next to the wall. He looped his arm around the basket and placed it on the table, then directed his full attention onto you. “But can it wait?”

You’re not used to him requesting things, and your eyes widened. “S-Sure, but what for?”

“So I can do this.” Suddenly, your back was against the couch, and Diluc was on top of you, his arms planted on either side of your form and effectively capturing you with his own body. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, before leaning his head against your chest, letting out a breath of contentment as he fluttered his eyes shut. Your quickening heartbeat pulsed in his ear. “Do… Do what you did earlier. That… playing with my hair. Please.”

Who were you to refuse? You relented to his efforts and ran a hand through his crimson locks, letting a smile grace your lips at his sudden childishness. “You tired?”

He hummed in response. “Mhm.” Your touch was ever so gentle, and he yearned for it with a passion. Slowly, he reached for the hand on his head and held it, kissing the back of it delicately, as if you were made from porcelain.

“Thank you, love.” ₊˚ෆ

Alhaitham’s head is always stuck inside a book, that is no understatement.

And now was no different. Even with his duties relieved, it being a weekend, and despite the fact that he’s literally sitting right next to you on the couch, his nose is still buried in his novels, eyes scanning page after page. Yes, you could understand his love for reading, but did it really surpass his love for you? Call it childish, but it had been a long week, and you wanted nothing more than to snuggle into Alhaitham’s arms and listen to his half-hearted complaints. You pouted at the ashen-haired male, who hadn’t even looked up for the past two hours. This had to be a new form of torture.

“Haitham.”

“Mhm?” You could feel your frown deepen as he just hummed a response, not even bothering to look up. In situations like these, isn’t it better to be upfront?

“...Can we cuddle?” Alhaitham’s eyes widened the slightest margin, his multicolored gaze finally, finally shifting upwards to meet yours. His stare flickers as he spots the small pout fixed on your lips, and his own formed a smile.

“Needy, are we?” He said it with a dash of sarcasm, yet set the book away all the while. Uncrossing his toned arms, he glanced up at you with a brow raised. “Why don’t you say please?”

You huffed. Of course, he had to be like this, but whatever irritation you might’ve had was more or less swept away as you opened your mouth to speak once more. “Please?”

And just like that, you’re wrapped tightly in his arms, the side of your face pressed into his chest where you could hear the dull, just slightly faster than usual beat. His hand snaked its way behind your head, and he softly toyed with your strands as he buried his own face into your neck. Alhaitham’s skin was slightly cool to the touch, yet his warmth spread across every inch of you, and all of a sudden, it was hard to breathe with how much overtime your heart was putting in. You moved to speak, but your voice was completely dead, and when you tried to shift your position, Alhaitham’s firm hold on you kept you locked in place.

It’s not like you had any complaints. Even from this unflattering angle, you’re able to admire how long the archons spent crafting a man like Alhaitham, with his sharp jawline and fair skin, and gorgeous, marble eyes that’s colors blended like a painting.

“What, like what you see?” Alhaitham couldn’t even act exasperated, and the smile that’s reserved only for you was one filled with amusement.

“And if I do?” You could feel the flush on your face.

“Admire me all you want, since I’ll be doing the exact same to you.” ₊˚ෆ

Ayato is a man of many masks.

It’s something that’s needed for the life he leads. A situation that he’s been delved deep into ever since his birth. You certainly don’t blame him for it, it’d be impossible to. That, and that facade absolutely collapses whenever the two of you are alone together. His usual business politeness and mask of indifference simply cease to exist, and you become one of the only people who can see the man as he is, rather than just a political figure that you’ll shake hands with to maintain appearance. Instead, it’s the smooth-tongued and cheeky man who found you when you were at your life’s low, took your hand with a smile, and brought you back to the light. You had fallen for him, and fallen hard. To think that you were his lover now seemed like a delusion that your brain had crafted, but it was true, and it was found in small moments like these.

After a rather taxing meeting with the Inazuman officials, who were busy pressing for marriage between the Kamisato clan and another, you found him snuggled into your arms when you woke up in the morning. When he had joined you in your bed, you had no idea, but you admired the way his violet eyes were shut and how his long, dark lashes curled. You marveled at how ethereal the man was, the beauty mark that graces the skin just below his lips, and his long, silky tufts of light blues and indigos. “Pretty…” Your voice was barely a whisper, so as to not wake the sleeping male, but you already know your eyes are sparkling. “Archons, isn’t it unfair that you’ve given him all the beauty you could’ve given?”

You shake your heads at your odd thoughts, lightly touching his head, in awe at the softness of his hair, and his hazy eyes slowly fluttered open with remaining ebbs of morning grogginess. “Ah, you’re awake?”

Ayato merely smiled, pulling you closer and pressing into your form. “No,” he sounded pleased with himself, too pleased with himself. You narrowed your eyes in suspicion. “I’ve been awake all this time. Seems like you say some embarrassing things about me while I slumber?”

Silence. Your eyes are round, and your mouth has fallen slack as you stare in utter shock at the audacity of your lover before you. “Y-You-”

“Next time, don’t be too shy to say it to my face, alright?” ₊˚ෆ

(a/n) omg its finished hooray hooray !! first ever req on the main so jodafjlfjlksd dies are the characters ooc theyre ooc okay im tired lets honk mimim

-> teehee what if yall left a message on my christmas tree 😶😶😶

໒꒱ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open! send an ask or a comment ♡) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife, @solxima

[cailinsblog]

Autumn in Monaco- lando norris

Lando Norris x reader

Please repost

Masterlist

The air in Monaco had taken on that familiar crispness, signaling the arrival of fall, even in this glamorous coastal city. The leaves on the trees lining the quiet streets had turned shades of amber, gold, and deep crimson, creating a picturesque scene against the azure backdrop of the Mediterranean. It was the perfect morning for a cozy coffee date, and that’s exactly what you and Lando Norris had planned.

Lando, your boyfriend and Formula 1 driver, was often busy with races, media events, and training, but today was one of those rare, slower days. You both had decided to take a stroll through the quieter parts of Monaco and grab coffee at a little café nestled away from the bustling center. It was your special spot—the one you loved for its charm, its warm atmosphere, and the way the barista always seemed to remember your order. Plus, the sight of fallen leaves dancing along the cobbled streets made everything feel like a scene from a romantic movie.

“Ready to go?” Lando asked, standing by the front door of your shared apartment, dressed in a casual hoodie and jeans, looking effortlessly handsome. His car keys dangled from his hand, but you shook your head with a smile.

“I was thinking we could walk,” you suggested, adjusting your cozy scarf. “It’s such a beautiful day out.”

Lando grinned, that playful sparkle in his eyes. “Walking it is, then. Let’s make the most of this perfect fall weather.”

As you stepped outside, the cool air nipped at your cheeks, but it wasn’t unpleasant. The sun was shining, casting a golden glow over the colorful leaves that blanketed the ground. Lando took your hand as you started down the street, his fingers warm against yours. You couldn’t help but smile at the simplicity of it all—the two of you, together, with no rush and no interruptions.

Monaco had a different energy during the off-season, quieter and more peaceful, and you loved moments like this when you could just enjoy each other’s company without the constant hum of the racing world. As you walked, you pointed out the vibrant leaves and the way they crunched underfoot, laughing as Lando kicked a small pile, sending them swirling in the air.

“I think fall is my favorite season,” you mused as you looked around. “It’s just so cozy.”

Lando chuckled softly. “Yeah, but you say that about every season. You love summer when we’re at the beach, and winter when we’re by the fire.”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “Okay, fine. But can’t I love all the seasons?”

He smiled, squeezing your hand. “You can love whatever you want. Just as long as I get to be there with you.”

The walk to the café was serene, the sounds of the city muted by the quiet streets and the soft rustling of the leaves. As you turned a corner, the small café came into view. It was a charming little place with ivy crawling up its stone façade and a few wooden tables outside, though they were empty today because of the chill in the air. Inside, the warm glow from the windows beckoned, promising the smell of fresh pastries and the sound of gentle conversation.

Lando held the door open for you as you stepped inside, the bell above the door chiming softly. The familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, and the cozy warmth immediately made you feel at home. The café was quiet this morning, just a few locals reading newspapers or working on laptops, and your usual table by the window was free.

You both settled in, and Lando went to the counter to order your drinks. You watched him from your seat, your heart swelling with affection as he flashed his charming smile at the barista, engaging in a light conversation like he always did. Even in the simplest moments, Lando had this way of making everything feel special.

A few minutes later, he returned with two steaming cups of coffee—yours with a touch of cinnamon, just the way you liked it, and his plain and strong. He set them down on the table with a flourish, as if he were presenting the most luxurious drinks in all of Monaco.

“Voilà, mademoiselle,” he teased, his British accent a bit exaggerated as he sat down across from you.

“Merci, monsieur,” you replied with a laugh, taking the warm cup in your hands and feeling the heat seep through your fingers.

You both sat there, sipping your coffee and watching the world go by outside the window. The leaves continued to fall, swirling in the gentle breeze, and you couldn’t help but feel like this was the perfect moment. The kind of moment that made you pause and appreciate how lucky you were to have someone like Lando in your life.

“This is nice,” Lando said after a while, his voice soft. “I feel like we don’t get enough of this.”

You nodded, meeting his gaze. His brown eyes were warm and filled with the same contentment you felt. “Yeah, I love these quiet mornings with you.”

He reached across the table, taking your hand in his again. “I know it’s hard with how busy things can get sometimes, but I really love doing normal things with you. Like this.”

Your heart fluttered at his words. “Me too, Lando. It’s the little moments that make everything else worth it.”

He smiled, a genuine, soft smile that melted you completely. “You always know exactly what to say.”

The two of you spent the next hour chatting about everything and nothing—about his upcoming races, about the plans you had for the rest of the fall season, and about how much you were both looking forward to the holidays. Every now and then, Lando would make a joke, or you’d laugh about some old memory, and it felt like time had slowed down, giving you both the chance to simply enjoy being together.

Eventually, as the sun dipped lower in the sky and the café began to fill with more people, you both decided it was time to head home. Lando insisted on paying, of course, and after saying goodbye to the barista, you stepped back out into the cool afternoon air.

As you walked hand in hand back through the quiet streets, the soft crunch of leaves underfoot, you couldn’t help but feel incredibly lucky. Being with Lando, sharing these simple moments, was everything you could have ever hoped for.

Back at the apartment, the warmth enveloped you once again, and as you settled onto the couch, Lando pulled you close, wrapping his arm around you. Outside, the autumn leaves continued to fall, painting the world in golden hues, but inside, everything felt just right.

“Thank you for today,” you whispered, resting your head on his shoulder.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Thank you for always being my favorite part of it.”

And in that moment, wrapped in his arms, with the world quiet and peaceful outside, you knew that these little moments, shared with Lando, were what made life so beautiful.

[archangeldyke-all]

Angel forget that last one, more Farmer Sev please… I beg you

WAHHHH FARMER SEVIKAAA i forgot about her omg... ok, one sheep farmer sevika x strawberry farmer reader blurb coming right up

men and minors dni

since getting married, you and sevika have started quite a few businesses together.

almost every weekend in spring finds your little farm hosting a wedding party-- couples falling in love with the cozy charm of your property and renting out your old house for their guests, getting married in the gazebo by your wildflower field, and eating your famous strawberry cake with their families to celebrate their love.

in the summer, you open your old house as a bed and breakfast. the most frequent customers are little old couples and lowkey bachelorette parties. it's great. most of the guests come from the city and they're enchanted by the farming lifestyle-- so usually they end up helping you and sevika around the farm for free-- just to 'experience the fresh air'.

in the fall, you welcome classes of school children to your property, putting your friendliest animals in a pen so they can pet them, and letting them explore the small pumpkin and corn patches you plant each year.

winter is really your only off season. as it gets cold and dark, the work to do around your land lessens. there's no crops to weed or water, the goats tend to stay in the warm barn for most hours of the day, and you and sevika take the 'off' season quite seriously-- spending a majority of the winter cuddled together under wool blankets, relaxing and recharging as you prepare for another year.

so you're a little concerned one winter evening when the sun sets and your wife hasn't come in from the barn yet.

sevika gets caught up with her sheep sometimes. they're her babies-- she loves them like family. so it's not unusual for her to lose track of time as she's feeding them dinner, getting caught up in giving her babies enough pets and kisses to last them the cold winter night.

but when dinner time comes and goes, you start to worry.

you quickly bundle up in your coats and boots, grabbing sevika's dinner and a flashlight, then taking off into the night to find your wife.

"sevika?" you call out into the cold darkness.

one of your ducks quack a response from their coop. you chuckle and start toward the barn.

"sev?" you ask as you pull open the barn door.

a few sheep look up from their pens to greet you with a 'baaaa.' besides that, though, it's quiet.

you pout and start walking through the barn, looking for your wife.

you almost give up on your search completely when you see something in one of the pens moves.

you burst into laughter as you shine your flashlight on the sight. sevika's curled up in the hay beside cupcake-- the ewe that somehow managed to get pregnant this past fall-- fast asleep with the sheep's head in her lap, her hands curled in it's wool.

cupcake blinks awake before sevika, greeting you with a little grunt. she's getting big-- sevika's pretty sure she's carrying twins, and the poor sheep can't do much more than eat and sleep as she waits to deliver her babies.

"hey, mama." you greet the sheep, fishing a carrot out of sevika's stew to feed to her. "how you doin', baby?" you ask, scratching the sheep's ears.

"baaa." cupcake answers. you snort.

"i shouldn't be giving you this. it's rude to steal someone's wife, y'know?" you ask the sheep. she just chews on the carrot. "she's supposed to be cuddling me." you pout.

"baaaaa." cupcake says. you chuckle and give her another carrot.

"sev's not gonna have anything to eat if you keep munchin' on her dinner." you tell the sheep. she doesn't seem to care, blinking up at you with watery eyes as she silently begs for more, her tiny tail wagging wildly behind her. you giggle. "fine. one more."

"y'r talkin' to the sheep?" sevika's raspy voice asks. you giggle as you look up from cupcake to watch your wife blink awake.

"morning sunshine. you missed dinner, so i came searching for you. i can see you've found a replacement for me though." you pout. sevika snorts and groans as she sits up. little pieces of straw are stuck in her hair and coat. she looks fucking adorable. "brought you some stew." you say, handing sevika her now carrotless bowl of stew. she grins up at you.

"hi." she says, reaching up at you to make grabby hands. you hand her her bowl and she scoffs, setting it aside and reaching back up. "i want you, dumbass." she whines. you snort and roll your eyes as you sit down in the hay with your wife. cupcake flops over and falls back asleep.

sevika wraps an arm around you and pulls you to lay back down with her. you chuckle against her throat as you cuddle up beside her. "you know... we got this cool thing in our house called a bed. it's like hay, but it's so much more comfortable. it's got blankets and everything."

"shut up." sevika giggles. she gives your forehead a kiss then sighs. "i just wanted to check up on cupcake-- she's been gassy all day, poor girl-- but she talked me into taking a nap with her with her big ol' eyes."

you giggle. "you're a sucker." sevika smiles.

"just for you. and the sheep."

"and the ducks, and the kids that come to the petting zoo, and everyone who comes to the farmers' market--"

"alright alright!" sevika cackles. "i get it. i'm a sucker."

you grin, and lean forward to kiss her on the lips. sevika hums happily against you. "you are. and i love you."

"i love you too." sevika sighs happily, tugging you even closer to her. you're practically on top of her now.

"sevika, we can't sleep here tonight." you giggle. she huffs.

"i'm worried cupcake's gonna go into labor and i won't be here to help!"

you burst into laughter. "sev, baby, she's not due for another three weeks. i'll take us into town and we can buy a fuckin' baby monitor for her tomorrow. please come inside, i won't be able to sleep without you snoring in my ear."

sevika huffs and wraps her arms around you, considering your proposition.

"there's fresh baked bread in the kitchen-- 's probably still warm." you bribe. sevika's stomach lets out a little gurgle at the promise of warm bread. you giggle.

"fuck. fine." sevika grunts, letting go of you and letting you rise. you bend down to help her up. she pouts at you as you lug her up. "but you're driving to town tomorrow. and i'm buying us three monitors-- just in case any of the other girls get knocked up."

you grab her stew in one hand, and wrap you free hand in hers, gently tugging the pair of you toward the house. "whatever you need, baby." you promise her.

sevika kisses your cheek in response, before she trips over a hay-bale and eats shit in the snow.

you end up laughing so hard you pee yourself a little.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

[trumpkinhotboy]

I'll keep an eye on you - II

pairing: jacob black x reader

type: not requested

genre: bit angsty and fluffy

warnings: none

word count: 3400

requests: open! for twilight wolfpack, narnia, heartstopper

a/n: hope you enjoy this lil part 2 !! also I really want to thank @tgarrett26 for helping me with this fic (you are awesome) + they are the reason there is even a pt.2 hehe

part I part III

*gif is not mine

summary: After one night of respite, the reader confronts the day to realize the shadows haven't quite disappeared yet.

There's a timid sunbeam lighting up your cozy little room. Nothing scary or menacing in view. You look over to your nightstand with barely opened eyes to see your mushroom light still on. The clock on your desk shines the time. 7:00am. 

7am?!

You sit straight up, immediately noticing the big dent on the left side of your bed. Yes, of course, Jacob came in last night. Your cheeks flush with the thought of having slept so soundly next to the heaping mountain of muscles that is your friend. You feel so confused and well-rested. For the first time in a few weeks, you awoke calmly. This might have been the best night of sleep of your whole damn life, and it's 7:00am! You managed to wake up before your alarm. You wouldn't have to be rushing to school for once. You were usually only able to fall asleep when the sun started shining and chased away the threatening shadows of the night. So, being late to school was a recurring occurrence for you. For once, your father wouldn't have to come in to try and wake you up. You were pushing away your blankets to get up when there was a knock on your door before it slowly cracked open.

"Sweetheart, time to wake up. Don't want to be late for sch-"

Your father's traits lifted up in surprise, and honestly, you couldn’t really blame the man. You didn't keep track of all the mornings he found you all tangled up in your blankets, hair sprawled everywhere like a bird's nest, saliva drooling down your chin.

"Did you sleep well?"

You nodded eagerly, a sincere smile spreading on your lips. Charlie seemed incredibly thrilled by that piece of news. He was no stranger to the nightmares haunting your nights and was brokenhearted to see you so tired and on edge all the time.

"Well, then. Better get down and eat breakfast before you head to school." He gave you a timid smile before softly closing your door.

You had your first breakfast with your dad in a long time. He was particularly chirpy, and you kept catching his relieved gaze. You left for school on time and had a really great day. You felt awake and energized. Participating in class and your little social circle once again felt like a rush. Your efforts were welcomed with gigantic smiles from your teachers and friends. For a second, you thought the weeks of anguish and terror might finally be behind you. Maybe a night with Jacob had been the only thing you needed to put this whole thing behind you. However, as the sun went down and shadows stretched on the ground, you got more flinchy and twitchy. Once more, you turned at every odd sound, looking over your shoulder as you left the school grounds. You almost ran to your car, locking all the doors, and left a trail of dust with how fast you headed back home on the powdery roads of Forks. 

Dinner with your father was much more somber than the breakfast you shared this morning. You felt like a dagger to your heart, his disappointment when he saw you jump as he caught you by surprise in the kitchen. You usually were always careful about hiding your internal conflict from Charlie. Yet the frustration you felt tonight weighed much more than the want to hide everything from him.

Once dinner was over, you climbed the stairs with heavy steps, feeling the dread in your body get worse the closer you got to your bedroom. You opened the door to find a space very different than the one you had left when you awoke this morning. Your still unmade bed didn't feel so inviting tonight. Long gone were the rays of sunshine that scared the shadows away. The room you faced was now dark and gloomy. Nothing about it felt safe or secure.

You rushed in to turn on your mushroom light and sat on your bed, trying to summon all your courage to breathe calmly. 

It's over now. Nightmares are just that. They aren't real. I'm safe now.

No matter how much you would repeat it, those words felt empty and fake. You got up, put your pajamas on, and as you were ready to get in bed, you noticed a piece of clothing jutting out from under one of the pillows. You lifted it up to find the T-shirt you lent to Jacob. He didn't keep it. He left your house shirtless so you could keep the stupid piece of clothing. You grabbed it and held it up to your nose. Immediately, your senses were overpowered by his woodsy scent. You fell to your bed, shirt still pressed on your face as you let a deep sigh leave your lungs.

Grabbing your phone on the night table, you hesitated. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard before you closed the device and threw it away.

The clock had just struck midnight when you heard something scratching outside. You almost had a heart attack when you saw Jacob hanging onto your window, motioning for you to open it.

"Jacob Black. What the hell are you doing? Do you want to kill me?!"

Your tall friend let out a deep chuckle as he swiftly stepped into your room without making a noise. His gaze fell onto the fort you had built yourself. There were pillows and blankets lined all around your bed, a very feeble attempt at a barrier. The tv screen was paused on one of your favorite movie. He gave you a worried look and took a second to really take in the state you were in. You didn't look like the relaxed girl he had, reluctantly, left in a peaceful slumber this morning.

"What?" you defensively crossed your arms on your chest, already sensing where this conversation would be going.

"What are you doing?" he quietly asked, his head slightly leaning on one side.  

"I was watching a movie." 

You immediately saw a shadow pass in his dark eyes and felt a familiar pain ring in your chest. You couldn't live with disappointing both your father and Jacob. Worse, you couldn't live with the pity in their eyes. If only the bad dreams could stay away. 

"What are you doing," you finally asked, a bit more roughly than you had intended.

He hesitated, sensing you had been offended in some way. "I just did a quick run around the perimeter, but then I saw the light open and just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Your expression softened at the concern painted on his handsome face. Fear did make you more on edge, but you knew Jacob had done nothing to deserve that anger. You sighed before plopping down on your bed.

"That's very nice of you, but I am okay. I just didn't feel tired yet." 

You felt adamant about telling him of the return of the paranoia. You were already so disappointed in yourself. You couldn't even muster the bravery to be in your room alone at night. What would it even do if you told him the truth? It felt so shameful to ask again for his help, to ask him to watch over you while you were sleeping. Just because, like a child, you were afraid of the dark and the beasts it hid. You were instantly relieved when he gave you a suspicious glance as if he might believe your lie. You gave him your best smile, trying to prove how relaxed you were. You only wanted to chase the worries away from his chocolate eyes. 

That could have worked if only the sound of your house creaking under a strong gust of wind and a branch scratching on your window hadn't made you flinch so damn hard. 

Jacob's gaze hardened over your tense figure. You expected him to make a comment, to confront you. As you waited anxiously for the ax to drop, he finally walked over to your bed, sat, and pointed to your television.

"May I join you then?"

You initiated him to one of your best comfort movies. It required absolutely no brain power and just helped you feel better. Always a good player, Jake obliged and even seemed to enjoy it. When you were done, you spent another hour just chatting about nothing and everything. You tried hiding your clock from his sight and hoped he wouldn't notice time flying away, but sadly, there wasn't much your figure could hide from his wolfish sight.

"It's getting late. I should probably go," He muttered after an hour of mindless chatting. His dark eyes fixed on your features, you faced each other, forearms tucked under your head while you lay on your side. You couldn't help your shoulders and jaw from tensing up at his words. The happiness and carelessness he had brought you vanished as if it never occurred. Fear crept up in your belly at the thought of being alone in the dark again. 

You gave him a tight smile as you nodded. He hesitantly got up, giving you another weird look. You barely registered it, too focused on avoiding falling into a panicked state. He walked to the window, and as you thought he was about to leave, he turned around on a whim.

"I really don't understand you. Even in this state, you won't ask for my help?" 

His outburst surprised you and unintentionally made you recoil at the swift motion. He sighed deeply, "Please don't look at me like this. I want to understand. Why don't you want my help?" he repeated, annoyance rippling in waves from his body.

"I- I'm not sure what you're talking about," you responded, determined to hang on to the shred of dignity you had left.

He let out a sarcastic laugh. It was dry and reeked of disdain towards this fluke you were trying to fool him with. "Stop playing Y/n. You reek of fear." 

His words were like a punch in the gut. You felt shame hitting you as you realized how stupid you had been. 

"See? Your reaction only confirms what I already knew. What I don't understand is why you insist on facing this alone. You can always call me, and I will always come through for you. Have I not proven that?" 

"You did, but it's not your responsibility to fix me. To fix this."

"Not my responsibility?" he scoffed. He turned around while dragging his hand through his hair. He was a mix of so many emotions you couldn't pinpoint what was brewing in his brain. He stayed silent for so long that you thought he would leave you like this. You were about to add something when he raised his voice. "I would give everything to go back to that night. To be there by your side. Maybe you wouldn't have to go through that, or at least I would have been the one to rip to shreds that bloodsucker." Flames of rage danced in his eyes while you stood speechless, gawking at him. 

You were at a loss for words. You had seen Jake in many different states in your friendship, but he never looked so conflicted. Anger and sadness seemed to be battling out the right to overpower him. For a rare moment, he looked incredibly vulnerable. He was back to being that innocent teenager you had always known. You approached, unsure whether that would make him lash out, but he stayed put, his eyes fixed on the ground. You knew Jacob felt responsible for what happened to you. What you didn't know is that he tortured himself with it. Your heart ached at the thought, and any frustration you had felt up to this point melted.

Softly, you grabbed his hand. "Jacob, look at me."

When he finally turned around and lifted his gaze, tears hung on to the line of his long lashes. The sight of it made your throat close up. 

"Why won't you let me care for you," he whispered, inches from you. 

His gaze was so deep and carried a tsunami of emotions. Without even thinking about it, you grabbed his face. Both of your hands cradled his soft and warm skin. You saw goosebumps creep up his muscled arms, mirroring the one on yours. Bringing his forehead to your own, you took a deep breath.

"I don't want to be a burden."

Saying the words that'd been ringing in your head for so long felt almost exhilarating while also being incredibly relieving. Contrary to the belief of your messed up head, the world didn't end or break in two once the thought left your lips. 

"I've always thought you were such an incredible person and couldn't help but always want to be better for you. Ever since you phased, that feeling only got more intense. You've evolved so much in the past few months, and I'm still old me. When I got attacked, it was the most horrible experience of my life, but it also reinforced that concept. I couldn't even walk from yours to Emily's cabin without being attacked. The boys had to risk their lives to save me. I didn't even get one scratch, and still, I'm afraid of the dark. I'm afraid to sleep alone. I'm afraid if I let my guard down for one second... it'll happen again. Which means that I'll either die or be a burden for you guys once more because I can't even defend myself against something like that. You're already so good to me. I don't want to add this to your list of things to worry about." 

Your eyes stayed closed even after you finished and controlled your breathing again. Saying it aloud was incredible, but to open your eyes to face his reaction felt nerve-racking. You were about to when a strong pair of arms wrapped around you. 

"You are not and will never be a burden to me." His tone was soft and felt a little strangled. In your dimly lit little room, while the rest of the world was in a peaceful slumber, Jacob's words felt like the only thing that mattered.

He pulled back after a moment but still held you close. "I don't know what gave you the impression that you were a burden. If it ever was something I did, I want to apologize."

"I remember so vividly the look on your face when the boys brought me back to the cabin. You had the same disappointed expression as you have just now. I promise I'm trying to heal as fast I can, but this... this is harder than I thought it would be."

Confusion was now the only emotion on his face, clear as day. "Disappointed? Y/n, I never was disappointed. It was the worst, terrifying, shit your pants kind of fear I've ever felt. It's agony to know you're so ridden with fear. I was disappointed to learn that tonight was still hard for you, not because I think you're not healing fast enough, but because I hoped I finally helped you feel better. I feel so bad you have to live with these memories for your whole life. I just wish I could make them disappear." 

That's when you understood the slim difference between disappointment and defeat. One was channeled towards you, and the other wasn't. For Jacob, it had always been directed at himself.

"Jacob, you're the only one who makes me breathe a little easier. You're the only reason I slept soundly last night." A new light illuminated his eyes. You steadied yourself before you continued, your tone slightly hushed. "You've always had that specific calming effect on me. You're the only person who makes things better for me. Ever since we were kids. I have always felt safe with you. You're like my personal haven." 

It felt like a big thing to say, but you wanted that sadness to leave his face. You wanted his eyes to be filled with light again, and somehow, it felt right to tell him about all this. He spent so much time worrying about everything and everyone. He deserved to know how appreciated he was. He deserved to know what he meant to you.

Emotion thickened the air. So much so that it felt like you couldn't breathe just right. Your hands slid from his cheeks delicately. You placed one at the nape of his neck while the other grabbed the top of his hair. "Jake, I don't think you even understand how much you mean to me."

Time stood still for a moment. Your eyes focused on each other, and the rest of the world ceased to exist.

 "Y/n, I-" his eyes held something heavier. He opened his mouth as if he was about to say something before deciding better of it. It almost looked like it cost him to try and get the words out. He gave up in a huff, and whatever was in his gaze, whatever he thought about, vanished. Some part of you wanted to push him, to ask, but tonight had been a rollercoaster enough. You could let it go for now. He pulled you in for another hug before releasing you a little.

"So, now that we've established that you are not a burden." he started softly.

"And that this is in no way your fault," you added with a grin. 

He rolled his eyes, "Uhm. Can you tell me what you actually need? I can stay here with you if you want."

You felt a pang of your old fears scratch at your heart, but you let them all go in one breath. "I would very much like that."

You tucked yourselves in bed for the second night in a row. You hesitated to turn off the light, but always so observant, Jacob assured you it didn't bother him to keep it open. You lay side by side in silence. You were focused on becoming familiar with the ordinary and hazardous sounds an old house made at night when Jacob started to whisper.

"I know you think you aren't as fearless as us, but I can assure you everyone in our tribe thinks you are the bravest person they've ever met. Not many people would feel comfortable hanging out with a bunch of new werewolves." 

"Brave or totally crazy," you added while making a wicked-looking face. His eyes disappeared in his bright smile, and you wished you could snap a picture of it. 

"No, but really, you're the only one who stayed by my side all throughout my phasing process. No matter how dangerous it was for you. If that's not the definition of bravery, I don't know what is." He turned pensive again while his gaze darkened.

You unwillingly recalled the phasing process of Jacob. All the terrible memories flashed before your eyes. His screams of pain still rang in your ears. You remember distinctly every time you wished to take his place. If you could have taken away some of his pain, you would have in an instant. The least you could do was stay by his side no matter what. You had to fight with Billy and the rest of the pack, but in the end, even they couldn't keep you away. No one could have.

You slid into his arms, and his body tensed under the new touch before quickly relaxing to envelop you in a tight embrace. 

"I would never leave you alone," you mumbled in his chest. "I know you like to have this strong and impressive appearance, but inside, you're still the same little Jacob I've always known. I know you need me."

You lightly pressed your lips onto his chest and nuzzled farther into him. Fireworks were exploding in the boy's chest as he returned the gesture with a kiss on your head.

"And Jake?"

"Uhm?"

"Don't think I didn't notice you wanted to tell me something important earlier. For tonight, it's okay, but we'll have to talk about that."