#he’s just been staring into space for hours

[gf2bellamy]

hiii!

i was wondering if you could write spencer x reader, where she’s having a really bad day but spencer is coming home from a case and is exhausted, mentally and physically so she feels guilty that she would bother him with her mood

So she just hides away and is on the verge of a panic attack and spencer finds her and is all “you save me, so pls let me save you” and just comforts her (and calls her angel because 🫠)

thankyouuu so much (you dont have to do it if you dont want! no pressure at all!) i love your writing, it’s so incredibly cute and endearing <3

exhaustion — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader crying a lot , reader feeling guilty / tired / exhausted, spencer calls reader angel a/n: hii thank you so much for your request !! i hope you like this <3

The apartment was quiet—too quiet. You sat on the couch, curled up in one corner, staring blankly at the empty space in front of you. The TV was off, the big overhead light was off, and the only light came from the small lamp on the side table.

You hadn’t moved in what felt like hours, your mind swirling with the events of the day. It had been one of those days—the kind where nothing went right, where every little thing seemed to pile up until you felt like you were drowning under the weight of it all. 

You missed Spencer. A lot. Especially right now.

He had a way of making everything feel better. You longed for his comforting hugs and the way he’d listen to you ramble about your day.

But he wasn’t here. He was at work, buried under mountains of paperwork and case files.

The sound of keys jingling in the lock snapped you out of your thoughts. You jumped up from the couch, your heart leaping in your chest as you hurried to the door.

Spencer stepped inside, looking disheveled and exhausted. His tie was loosened, his hair was a mess, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He dropped his bag by the door with a heavy thud, and before you could say a word, he pulled you into a tight hug. 

You melted into his embrace, your arms wrapping around his neck as you buried your face in his shoulder. He smelled like coffee and faintly of paper. For a moment, you just stood there, holding each other.

“I missed you,” Spencer mumbled into your hair, his voice muffled but sincere. His hands rubbed soothing circles on your back.

“I missed you too,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You didn’t want to let go, but after a moment, he pulled back slightly, his hands moving to cradle your face. His thumbs brushed gently over your cheeks.

“Today was horrible,” he said with a sigh, his shoulders slumping as he let go of you to shrug off his jacket. He ran a hand through his hair, looking more tired than you’d seen him in a long time. 

You bit your lip, hesitating. “What happened?” you asked softly, following him as he moved further into the apartment. 

He sighed again, sinking onto the couch and leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Just… paperwork. So much paperwork. And then Garcia’s computer crashed, so we lost half the files we needed, and Hotch wanted everything reorganized by tomorrow morning…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “It was just one thing after another.” 

You sat down next to him, your heart aching as you watched him. He looked so drained, so unlike his usual self, and you felt a pang of guilt for even thinking about burdening him with your own problems.

Today had been hard for you, but it sounded like it had been even harder for him. The last thing you wanted was to add to his stress. 

So instead of talking about your day, you reached out and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “That sounds awful.” 

He gave you a small, tired smile, his fingers intertwining with yours. “It’s okay. It’s just… one of those days, you know?” 

You nodded, your throat tightening. You did know.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him. Instead, you shifted closer, pulling him into another hug. He leaned into you, his head resting on your shoulder as you ran your fingers through his hair. 

“How was your day?” Spencer mumbled, his voice soft and drowsy as he leaned back against the couch, pulling you with him.

You settled against his side, his head still resting on your shoulder as your fingers continued to gently card through his hair.

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated for a moment, your hand stilling briefly before you forced yourself to keep moving. 

“It was… good,” you said, your voice carefully neutral. You tried to inject a note of cheerfulness into your tone, but it came out sounding hollow, even to your own ears. 

Spencer hummed against your shoulder, seemingly too tired to notice the slight falter in your voice. “I’m glad,” he murmured, his words muffled as he nuzzled closer to you. His warmth was comforting, but it did little to ease the tightness in your chest. 

After a moment, he shifted, pressing a soft kiss to your temple before slowly sitting up. “I’m going to get changed,” he said, his voice still heavy with exhaustion.

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze before standing and heading toward the bedroom, leaving you alone on the couch. 

As soon as he was out of sight, the lump in your throat returned, thicker and more suffocating than before. You bit your lip hard, trying to hold back the tears that had been threatening to spill all evening.

But it was no use. The dam broke, and before you could stop yourself, you were on your feet, hurrying toward the bathroom. 

You shut the door behind you with a soft click, leaning against it as the first tear slipped down your cheek. Then another. And another.

Soon, you were crying , your shoulders shaking as you tried to stifle the sobs that threatened to escape. You muttered curses under your breath, frustrated with yourself for not being able to hold it together. 

“Get it together,” you whispered harshly, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes. But the tears wouldn’t stop.

The tears kept running, your shoulders shaking as you tried to stifle the sobs that threatened to escape.

You felt like a mess, your face hot and your chest tight. But just as you were about to try to pull yourself together, you heard footsteps outside the bathroom door, followed by a soft knock. 

“Hey,” Spencer’s voice came through the door, gentle and concerned. “Can I come in?” 

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. You didn’t know what to do. Part of you wanted to tell him to go away, to spare him from seeing you like this, but another part of you desperately needed him.

You muttered a curse under your breath, wiping at your face with the back of your hand before slowly getting to your feet. 

You opened the door just enough to peek out, your eyes meeting Spencer’s. He was standing there, his expression soft but worried. His hair was still a mess, but his eyes were focused entirely on you. 

“Hey, hey,” he said immediately, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?” 

You sniffled, your throat tightening as you tried to find the words. “I—” you started, but your voice broke, and you shook your head, unable to continue.

How could you even begin to explain? Everything was wrong. The entire day had been wrong, and now you felt like you were falling apart. 

Spencer didn’t push. Instead, he reached out, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek, wiping away a tear. His touch was so tender that it only made you cry harder.

“Come on,” he said softly, his hand slipping down to take yours. He gave it a gentle squeeze before pulling you with him, leading you out of the bathroom and down the hallway. 

You followed him numbly, your fingers intertwined with his as he guided you to the bedroom. He sat you down on the edge of the bed and knelt in front of you, his hands resting on your knees as he looked up at you, his eyes searching yours. 

“Talk to me, angel,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “What’s going on?” 

The nickname made your heart ache, and you shook your head, fresh tears spilling over. “I didn’t want to bother you,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “You had such a bad day, and I didn’t want to make it worse.” 

Spencer’s expression softened, his hands moving to cradle your face. “You could never make my day worse,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And you’re never a bother. Not to me. Not ever.” 

You shook your head again, your hands gripping his wrists as you tried to steady yourself. “But you were so tired, and I didn’t want to—” 

“Hey,” he interrupted gently, his thumbs brushing away your tears. “You save me, I save you. That’s how this works, remember?” 

You nodded slowly, your breath hitching as more tears spilled over by just hearing those sweet words. Spencer leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before pulling you into his arms.

You went willingly, burying your face in his shoulder as he held you close. His hands rubbed soothing circles on your back, and you felt some of the tension in your chest begin to ease. After a while he slowly let go, but his hands remaining on your arms.

“Tell me about your day,” he said after a while, his voice soft but insistent. “What happened?” 

You hesitated, but the way he was looking at you—so patient, so understanding—made it impossible to hold back. So you told him. You told him about everything that had gone wrong.

And he listened, his hands never leaving yours, his eyes never wavering from yours. 

When you were done, he pulled you into his arms again, holding you tightly against his chest. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “I’m sorry you had such a bad day. But I’m here now, okay? And I’m not going anywhere.” 

You nodded, your face buried in his shoulder as you clung to him. For the first time all day, you felt like you could breathe again. Like maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his shirt. 

Spencer pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “Always, angel,” he said softly. “Always.” 

[aventurineswife]

Reader is pretty bad at crocheting. Despite their lack of skill, they were determined to ALWAYS crochet something for their beloved partner. Making cursed looking plushies. They always thought that their partner would throw them away or pay them no mind.. heck, even laugh at them. But to their shock, their partner keeps all those cursed and bad looking plushies at their favorite place. (Dan heng, Veritas, Kaveh, Sunday, Ruan mei.)

Not Perfect, but Still Yours

Tags: Kaveh x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Ruan Mei x Reader, Fluff, Soft moments, Imperfection, Comfort, Emotional Growth, Appreciation, Supportive Relationships, Gift giving.

Warnings: Mild embarrassment, Self-doubt, Lighthearted humor, Emotional vulnerability.

The soft light of the Astral Express flickered through the narrow window of the lounge, casting shadows on the scattered objects around the room. In the corner, a small, misshapen plushie sat, its lopsided eyes staring out toward the horizon. It was one of the countless failed attempts at crocheting you had made for Dan Heng. The yarn was too tight in some places and too loose in others, the colors clashed violently, and the stuffing was lumpy, giving the plushie a truly cursed appearance.

You couldn’t help but chuckle nervously as you held it, eyes scanning the room in search of a place to stash it out of sight. Maybe Dan Heng would never notice, or maybe he would laugh at it. It was far from the perfect gift you had envisioned when you started, but at least you had put your heart into it.

As you turned to place it on the shelf, you froze. There, perched next to the window where Dan Heng often sat, was not just one, but a collection of the most absurdly shaped, lumpy crocheted plushies you’d made. Their mismatched eyes, crooked smiles, and mismatched colors all stood proudly in their place, as though they were some kind of treasured collection.

Dan Heng sat across from them, his usually calm demeanor unchanged. He looked up at you, his deep, reflective eyes meeting yours with something resembling amusement, though his lips remained firmly set.

"You've been crocheting again," he said in his quiet, steady voice.

You stood frozen, your face burning with embarrassment. "I... I didn’t think you'd actually keep them..."

His gaze softened, though he said nothing else. His actions spoke louder than words ever could. He had placed them all so carefully in the space he cherished most—the quiet place where he could reflect on everything. You had expected ridicule, but instead, your clumsy efforts had found a place of honor in his world.

Dan Heng's soft sigh filled the room, but it wasn't one of exasperation. Instead, it felt more like a quiet acknowledgment of something that transcended words—something more meaningful than just a plushie.

Kaveh stared at the plushie you had given him, his sharp eyes wide with surprise. It was... a disaster. A mess of yarn in every possible shade of blue, with ears that were more like floppy lumps than anything remotely animal-like. The eyes were uneven, the stitchwork was clearly off, and the overall shape? Well, it was a stretch to even call it a plushie.

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to laugh at it. He had seen you struggle for hours on end, your hands fumbling with the crochet hooks, muttering to yourself in frustration, and it made him smile. Not at the plushie, but at the sheer determination behind it.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, holding the plushie up carefully, examining it as though it were a fine piece of art, despite the chaos it embodied. "It’s... unique."

You looked down, embarrassed. "I know it looks awful, but I just wanted to make you something. I thought you’d throw it away, but... I wanted you to have it, even if it's terrible."

Kaveh chuckled softly, a sound that always made you feel warmer, even when the world seemed so cold. “Terrible?” He paused, looking around the room for a place to set it. “No, I think it’s just... different. And I like different.” He placed the plushie carefully on a shelf next to some of his architectural sketches, where he could see it whenever he needed a break from his work. “It’s special,” he added with a wink, “because it’s from you.”

You blinked in surprise, and before you could say anything, he turned to you with that familiar mischievous smile. "You’re not getting off that easy, though. The next one better have some structure to it!"

Your heart swelled at his words. It wasn’t about the perfection of the plushie, or even the art itself. It was about the thought, the care, and the effort you had put into it. And Kaveh, despite his sometimes chaotic nature, always saw the beauty in that. Even the cursed plushies you thought would be forgotten.

Kaveh placed a hand on your shoulder. “Keep them coming. I’ll cherish each one.”

You sat cross-legged on the floor, yarn tangled in your hands, struggling with your latest attempt at crocheting. It was a mess. The stitches were uneven, and the form barely resembled anything close to what you had intended—a plush owl. It looked more like a lumpy pile of yarn with mismatched eyes. A sigh escaped your lips as you tied off the last stitch, half-expecting Ratio to find it ridiculous.

Ratio was brilliant, confident, and quick to call out ignorance in any form. You had never imagined he would appreciate something as simple and imperfect as your crocheted attempts. Still, you found yourself crafting these weird, lopsided plushies for him. Every time, you feared he might mock you, dismiss the effort, or worse, throw them out. Yet, you persisted, as these small gestures were your way of showing him that you cared.

As you placed the little owl on the shelf, you couldn't help but feel a pang of doubt. Would this be the one that pushed him too far? Would he finally tell you it was enough?

The next day, you walked into the room to find Ratio sitting in his usual chair, reviewing some ancient texts. As always, his gaze seemed focused, detached from everything around him—until his eyes flicked toward the owl. A small, amused smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he gently picked it up, inspecting it with curiosity.

"It's... oddly endearing," he remarked, his tone as blunt as ever. "This owl lacks the symmetry I would expect from a creation of logic, but it... has its charm."

You blinked, unsure if he was mocking you or genuinely complimenting it. But then he placed it next to his prized collection of books, right on the edge of the table where he could always see it.

"I'll keep it here," Veritas added, his eyes meeting yours, his expression softening in a rare moment of vulnerability. "You made it for me. It’s a reminder that even imperfection has its place."

You couldn’t help the warmth that spread through your chest. For someone who valued perfection and knowledge, this was more than just acceptance—it was a sign that, to him, your imperfections meant more than you could have imagined.

You stared down at the tiny, lopsided plush dove, your fingers trembling slightly. The stitching was uneven, and the wings were too big. Still, you had tried—really tried—to make it resemble the symbol of Charmony, something that would show Sunday you cared in the simplest way you could think of.

But doubt clouded your mind as you looked at it. Sunday, with his celestial grace and refined demeanor, surely wouldn’t appreciate such a... well, “cursed” gift. The way he carried himself, so composed, so perfect, made you think he would find your attempt childish, perhaps even laugh at it. He was a being of such beauty and wisdom; what would he want with a lumpy, hastily made toy?

You took a deep breath and placed the plush dove in the corner of the room where he often meditated, hoping it would at least bring a smile, even if it never left that spot.

Days passed before Sunday came by, his eyes scanning the room, and then, to your surprise, he made a soft sound of recognition. He knelt down beside the dove, lifting it up gently, his expression unreadable as he ran his fingers over its wings.

“It reminds me of something,” Sunday said, his voice softer than usual, the hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Of the Charmony dove, yes, but also of simpler things. The kind of things we forget to appreciate sometimes. Thank you.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. He was holding the plush with such care, as if it were something sacred, placing it right next to his meditation cushion. Every time you saw it there, you felt a little less doubt in your heart. The dove, imperfect as it was, had a place in his life—just as you did.

The yarn slipped between your fingers, tangled and frayed, as you struggled to crochet another creation for Ruan Mei. You had tried your best, but the result was far from the elegant designs she would create. It wasn’t even close to the delicate perfection that she embodied in her work. Instead, your plush was a strange amalgamation of mismatched colors and poorly sewn stitches. It looked more like a confused blob than a creature.

You sighed and set the plush down, a small knot of worry forming in your stomach. Ruan Mei was brilliant, precise, and focused. She could easily craft life from data or manipulate biology to create perfect forms—what would she think of your chaotic mess of yarn?

Despite your doubts, you carefully placed the plush on her desk, right next to the microscope where she often worked. You felt foolish for thinking she’d notice or appreciate it.

The next time you saw her, she was sitting at the desk, inspecting the intricate DNA strands she had created. Her eyes scanned the room, and when they landed on the plush, you held your breath.

At first, she merely stared at it, her expression unreadable. Then, with an almost imperceptible smile, she reached for it and held it up to her face, examining it carefully. “This is...” she began, and your heart sank. “...unexpected. But I suppose life has its imperfections, doesn’t it?”

You blinked, unsure if you had heard her correctly. She placed the plush next to her notes, her delicate fingers smoothing over the yarn. “It’s... a reminder that even in something this simple, there’s beauty. You made this for me, didn’t you?”

A warm, familiar sensation bloomed in your chest as she looked up from the desk, her eyes softening. “Thank you. I’ll keep it here. It has... its own kind of elegance.”

Her words, though quiet and understated, were everything to you. Even in her scientific, precise world, your imperfect creation had a place—a place she had carved out for it, just as she had carved out a place for you in her life.

[heliosunny]

Hello, I really like your work with yandere characters! Your fanfic with the Crown Prince!Phainon holds a special place for me. But hey, listen! What about reader x self-aware!Phainon? Like, at some point he realized that he was in the game and decided to drag reader to him, because he has more power and influence in the game than outside it. It would be interesting, I think.

Entwined Realities

Yandere!Phainon x Reader

The Astral Express charted a course for its next destination: Amphoreus. You leaned forward, staring at the planet. "Woah, it's in the shape of an '8'". you mused, watching as the endless loops of landmasses interwove like an infinity symbol suspended in space.

Before long, events unfolded that led you to land on its surface with Dan Heng. The Eternal Land, as it was called, had a mysterious aura about it, a strange balance between old traditions and futuristic advancements.

You then met: Phainon, a strikingly tall and well-built warrior with silver-white hair and piercing blue eyes, carried himself with an easy confidence. Alongside him was Tribbie, a young girl with elf ears, fair skin, and red, fluffy hair.

Just as you began to explore Amphoreus further, an unmistakable growl escaped from your stomach. With a sigh, you reached for your controller, pausing the game before ultimately deciding to turn it off. The screen faded to black, and you stretched, rubbing your eyes after hours of playing. You needed food before diving back in.

------

As you turned away, a flicker of amusement in his expression as he folded his arms. "Huh. Strange."

Tribbie tilted her head. "What is?"

"That one. They left so abruptly. Like... they just stopped being here." Phainon’s fingers tapped absently against his bicep, his gaze still fixed on the spot where you had stood moments ago.

Tribbie let out a chuckle. "I didn't feel a thing. You overthink again."

Phainon had met many warriors, countless travelers—but something about you lingered. It was subtle, like an itch at the edge of his perception. The way your movements never faltered, the way events seemed to bend slightly in your favor. It was as if reality itself adjusted to accommodate you.

A faint sensation prickled at his skin, almost like the world had momentarily held its breath.

Then—nothing. The streets bustled as usual, the city carried on. But Phainon felt it. A small void, an absence of presence that shouldn’t have been possible. He turned his head slightly, scanning his surroundings, yet everything remained as it should be.

"They’re gone" he murmured, uncertainty crossing his face.

Tribbie raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Phainon hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly around his bicep. "No...nothing."

And yet, something inside him whispered otherwise. It wasn’t just departure, it was severance, like a thread cut from the loom of existence. He had never felt that before. A warrior’s instinct was to trust his senses, but this? This was something else entirely.

Shaking off the thought, he exhaled.

"I’ll figure out what makes them different."

Phainon frowned slightly, shifting his weight. A flicker of something unfamiliar coursed through him—a stray thought, an intrusive notion that he should not have been able to form.

Moments ago, everything had followed its usual rhythm: scripted interactions, predetermined movements, and a world that operated within set boundaries. Yet, the moment you vanished, something inside him had... fractured.

He had been left standing there, conscious yet purposeless, aware of the passage of time in a way he had never been before. The NPCs around him continued their routines, oblivious, unchanging. But he had stood there—waiting.

That wasn’t supposed to happen.

He tested it, moving a hand before his eyes, clenching his fingers experimentally. He had never thought to do something like this before unless it was dictated by his programming.

Phainon took a slow step forward, the weight of his body feeling more real than it ever had. He wasn’t just responding to a command. He was moving because he chose to.

And then it hit him—

This world wasn’t real.

------

After satisfying your hunger, you returned to your seat, powering the game console back on. The familiar start-up screen flickered to life, and soon, you were back on Amphoreus. NPCs and traders greeted you once more. Everything seemed as you left it.

Yet, something felt... off.

You couldn't quite put your finger on it at first. As you navigated through the streets, looking for Phainon and Tribbie, an uneasy sensation settled in your chest.

Phainon stood where you had last left him, but his posture had changed. Before, he had been at ease, arms crossed with a confident smirk. Now, he was staring—directly at you. Not in the way other characters typically would, waiting for a scripted interaction, but as if he knew something. As if he had been waiting for you.

His blue eyes, once filled with warmth and bravado, now carried something else. Awareness.

"You're back" Phainon said.

The usual text box didn't immediately appear. The game hadn’t prompted you with dialogue choices yet, and that alone sent a chill down your spine.

Something had changed.

A glitch rippled across the screen. The colors warped, pixels distorting into a fractured mess before stabilizing. Your hands tensed around the controller as the screen darkened for a brief second.

And then Phainon moved.

Not in the way the game intended. Not within the smooth animations you'd seen before. He took a step forward, then another, closing the distance between himself and the screen. His piercing blue eyes locked onto yours, unblinking.

"You're not supposed to leave" he murmured, his voice reaching beyond the game, beyond the barrier of the screen.

Your fingers hovered over the buttons, your heart pounding. This wasn’t a scripted event.

Phainon lifted his hand—toward you.

The screen flickered again. Your vision swam. A sharp pull yanked at your chest, as though unseen hands had wrapped around you, dragging you forward. The world around you blurred, dissolving into an abyss of light and static.

The last thing you heard before everything turned black was Phainon's voice, quiet yet victorious.

"Now… let’s fix this together."

A dull ache settled in your head as you slowly regained consciousness. The air was still, almost too quiet, and a faint glow illuminated the space around you. Blinking away the haze, you pushed yourself upright, your fingers brushing against smooth fabric. It took a moment for you to process that you were no longer sitting in your usual gaming chair but instead sprawled across a bed in an unfamiliar room.

Panic surged through you as your hands instinctively patted your body. Your clothes—these were the same ones you had been wearing at home. Not some in-game avatar outfit, not armor or robes, but your regular, comfortable attire. A lump formed in your throat.

Where were you?

Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you stood cautiously. The floor was solid beneath your feet, the air carried a faint, artificial warmth, and there was an unsettling sense of sterility. The room itself was furnished simply—stone walls, a sturdy desk in the corner, and a single window covered by thick curtains. No personal belongings, no obvious signs of anyone else nearby.

You took a cautious step toward the door, pressing your ear against it. Nothing. Not a single sound outside. It was eerily silent, as if the entire world had been muted. Your heart pounded in your chest as you turned got outside. The hallway beyond was dimly lit, stretching in either direction like an empty, endless corridor.

With careful, measured steps, you crept forward. The walls bore unfamiliar insignias, ones you had seen before but couldn’t quite place. Each step only heightened the gnawing sense of wrongness, a creeping realization tickling at the back of your mind.

And then, it hit you.

This place, the architecture, the symbols, the very atmosphere surrounding you—wasn’t just unfamiliar.

It was from the game.

This had to be a dream, some kind of delusion. But everything felt too real—the texture of the wood beneath your fingers, the faint hum of distant energy pulsing through the walls.

You weren’t just playing game anymore.

You were inside it.

Phainon rushed into the room, his usually confident expression faltering as he found the space empty. His gaze darted around, searching for any sign of you, before he quickly turned on his heel and made his way outside.

He found you not far from the building, standing frozen in the street, your wide eyes taking in the impossible surroundings. Without hesitation, he strode toward you, his grip firm yet careful as he took your wrist. "You shouldn’t be wandering around like this" he said, his voice laced with something unreadable. "Come with me."

Before you could protest, he guided you toward a nearby marketplace, bustling with figures in elaborate outfits that contrasted starkly against your ordinary attire. Phainon barely slowed as he led you toward a tailor’s shop, his grip loosening only when he stood before the merchant. "They need something more suitable" he stated, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

You hesitated, glancing down at your familiar clothes before finally voicing the thought that had been gnawing at you. "Phainon… how do I get back home?"

The weight of Phainon’s stare bore down on you.

"You’re not going home" he said.

"What?"

"I brought you here for a reason." He took a step closer, and instinctively, you stepped back. "You don’t belong in that world anymore. This is where you are now. With me."

"No. This isn’t real. This is just some glitch, right? I’ll find a way back." You clenched your fists. "I’m leaving."

Phainon exhaled, almost amused, almost pitying. "You think you have control?"

Your fingers curled tighter as panic surged through you. Desperation overruled fear as you focused, feeling the familiar weight of the baseball bat materializing in your grip. You didn’t question how—instinct took over.

Without hesitation, you swung at him with all your might.

But the impact never came.

His hand shot up, catching the bat mid-swing with terrifying ease. The force should have knocked him back, should have made him flinch—but he stood there, unmoved, fingers wrapped around the weapon like it was nothing more than a child’s toy.

Then, before your eyes, the bat shimmered, flickering with static before dissolving into cascading lines of glowing code.

"Wha—?" Your voice caught in your throat. You stumbled back, staring at your now-empty hands.

Phainon’s grip tightened slightly before letting the last of the data slip away into the air. "You don’t understand yet, do you?" He tilted his head, watching you with something akin to amusement. "This world bends to my will. Here, I am more than just a warrior. I am its ruler. And you—" He reached for you, but you jerked away.

"You have nothing."

Your mind raced. If Phainon controlled this world, then you needed an ally. Dan Heng. If anyone could help you, it was him. Without another word, you turned on your heel and sprinted in the direction you last saw him.

Phainon moved faster.

Before you could even react, he was in front of you. A sharp pain struck your temple as everything blurred. The world tilted violently, your vision fading to black before you could even cry out.

When you awoke, you were somewhere else. The air was heavy, unfamiliar, and the silence pressed against you like a suffocating weight.

Each time you tried, you discovered something new.

At first, it was small—a fleeting moment where the world around you responded to your thoughts. Like that one door that should have been locked clicking open. Each time you tapped into this power, you felt something unravel within you.

And each time, Phainon was there.

He found you the first time when you forced open a gate leading to the outskirts. He leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed, watching you with a smirk before pulling you back before you could get far.

The second time, when you manipulated the gravity beneath you to leap across a rooftop, he appeared at the other end, effortlessly catching you mid-air and setting you back on solid ground.

The third time, you managed to shroud yourself in the crowd, blending in so well you thought you had finally shaken him. But as you turned a corner, there he stood, leaning against the alley’s entrance with an almost lazy amusement.

Each time, he grew more intrigued.

And each time, he stayed longer.

Phainon visited more than before, finding you no matter where you wandered. Sometimes, he merely watched. Other times, he engaged—teasing you, challenging you, indulging in casual conversation as if you were anything but his captive.

It made you wonder—did his friends ever question him?

One evening, while the sky burned a dusky orange, you finally asked, "If I agree to be with you, will you let me live more freely?"

Phainon studied you, expression unreadable. Then, he laughed softly, stepping closer until the space between you nearly disappeared. His fingers ghosted along your wrist, not quite holding but enough to remind you of his presence.

"Now, that's an interesting question," he murmured. "And one I might just consider."

The days stretched on. You wandered as much as you could within the confines of his reach, testing the limits of your newfound abilities. Sometimes, you found joy in the smallest acts of defiance. Other times, you felt the crushing weight of his attention.

One day, you encountered his friend. The moment you saw him, something about him caught you off guard. He carried himself with effortless grace, his beauty nearly mesmerizing, and for a brief moment, you forgot everything else. The encounter was fleeting, but it left an impression on you.

When you returned, you hesitated before asking, "Who was that? The one with golden eyes?"

Phainon stilled. His usual playful demeanor faltered for just a second before his smile returned. "Mydei" he said simply.

Something about the way he said it made the air feel heavier. You didn’t think much of it at first—until the next day, when he suddenly forbade you from leaving.

"You’re staying here today" he announced casually over breakfast. "No wandering off."

You narrowed your eyes. "Why?"

His smile didn’t waver, but there was an unmistakable sharpness in his gaze. "Do I need a reason?"

You didn’t let him off so easily. Rising to your feet, you grabbed his wrist before he could turn away. "Is this about Mydei?"

For the first time, something dark flickered behind his charming facade. He let out a slow breath, turning fully to face you. His fingers lifted, tracing the side of your face in a deceptively gentle motion.

"You have such a way of testing me," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wonder if you even realize it."

His fingers trailed down to your chin, tilting it just slightly as his blue eyes bore into yours. "Tell me," he continued, his tone smooth but laced with something possessive, "did he captivate you that much? Enough to make you forget who keeps you safe?"

Your breath hitched, but you refused to back down. "This isn’t about safety, is it?" you challenged. "You’re jealous."

Phainon chuckled, though there was no real amusement in it. "Jealous?" He repeated the word as if testing its weight on his tongue. Then, he leaned in. "If that’s what you want to call it."

"You belong to me," he murmured, his voice dangerously soft. "So don't mention his name with that mouth of yours again."

This is going out of hand, and you must do something. A way to return to your own world, to get away from him.

You weren’t sure what you had done wrong. You've been trying to find your way back home so you messed with the system's rules, leading to whatever is happening in front of your very eyes.

Sitting before you was a system menu—one that shouldn’t have existed. It flickered, its edges distorted, as if the game itself was resisting your interference. Your heart pounded as you scrolled through the options, desperately searching for a way to force the game to release you.

Your fingers hovered over the last remaining command:

[Modify Event Flags]

A risk. A mistake. But you took it anyway.

A sharp chime rang in your ears, the screen flashing as the world around you trembled. The coding beneath your feet warped like rippling water, a sickening pull dragging you downward as the game executed whatever change you had triggered. Your breath hitched. This wasn’t what you intended. You had tried to bypass Phainon’s control, to force an event where he would let you go.

Instead, the world went dark.

When you woke, your surroundings were unrecognizable.

Gold and ivory silk draped over every surface, the warm glow of lanterns casting soft shadows along the grand walls. Ornate decorations stretched from the ceiling to the floor, the unmistakable scent of fresh roses filling the air. You blinked, your pulse quickening as you sat up, your fingers brushing against the embroidered fabric of an unfamiliar garment.

No. No, this wasn’t right.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

That voice.

You turned to see him.

Phainon stood at the edge of the room, adorned in a ceremonial ensemble far more elaborate than his usual attire. Silver-white hair, blue eyes gleaming with something unreadable. A slow smile curled his lips as he stepped closer, his presence consuming the space between you.

“What… is this?” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

Phainon tilted his head, amusement flickering across his face. “You should already know, shouldn’t you? You’re the one who triggered the event.”

“The event?”

His expression softened, but there was something in his gaze—something terrifyingly certain. He reached out, fingers brushing over your cheek before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Our wedding.”

Your breath hitched, heart hammering against your ribs as his words settled into your mind. “That’s not possible—I didn’t mean to—”

“But you did,” he murmured, voice impossibly gentle. “The game has already set everything in motion.”

You scrambled out of bed, feet hitting the cold marble floor as you backed away from him. “No, I refuse this. There has to be a way to undo it.”

Phainon’s smile didn’t waver. “There isn’t.”

The weight of his words crashed over you like a tidal wave. The game had overwritten its own path. It had forced you into this event—one where every outcome led to you standing at an altar beside him.

His hand found your wrist before you could run.

“You’ve fought me at every turn,” he mused “And yet, here we are. Together. Just as fate—just as the game itself—has decided.”

You struggled against his grip, but it was firm, unyielding. “This isn’t fate. This is manipulation.”

Phainon chuckled, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. “Then tell me… do you really think you have a choice?”

The doors behind him creaked open, revealing an expanse of guests waiting beyond them—characters you had met, NPCs whose scripts had adapted to fit this sudden turn of events. They were all here for one reason.

For your wedding.

Your breath came fast and shallow as you looked back at him. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

His grip on you tightened just slightly. “No, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let you waste such a perfect opportunity. We're finally able to be together forever.”

You knew then—you were trapped. The game had sealed your fate. You only hoped to get away from him with an error, an event, anything. The system gave you this. You had your choice, but this event involved Phainon, how tragic. And Phainon… Phainon had never looked more satisfied. If it's something he can manipulate, surely he won't let you have your way.

“Now,” he murmured, leaning in close, his lips brushing against your ear. “Shall we begin?”

[linoxpudding]

Morning Cuddles - Kim Seungmin

*gif credit goes to owner*

summary: the first time waking up in each others arms after confessing your feelings

pairing: kim seungmin x reader

genre: fluff, friends-to-lovers

word count: 856 words

a/n: this is based on this request ♡ friends to lovers is so minnie coded, I love this puppy sm

-

morning cuddles series:

Chan Lee Know Changbin Han Jisung Felix I.N

Masterlist

~°~

Your woke up feeling your head was nestled against something firm yet comfortable, and as your senses slowly caught up, you felt the steady rise and fall of Seungmin’s chest beneath your cheek. His arms were loosely wrapped around you, his hoodie bunched up slightly where your fingers unconsciously clung to the fabric.

And then it hit you.

Last night.

Heat crept up your cheeks as the memories came flooding back.

~

You had been sitting right here, on this very couch, knees almost touching, hands fidgeting with the sleeves of your hoodie. The room was dimly lit, the quiet hum of the TV long forgotten as the weight of unspoken words filled the space between you.

“I need to tell you something,” Seungmin had said, his voice unusually hesitant.

You had swallowed hard, heart pounding, already sensing what was coming. “Me too.”

His fingers tapped anxiously against his knee. “You first.”

You had shaken your head, nerves tangling in your stomach. “No, you.”

A pause. And then, in a breath so soft yet so powerful, he had whispered, “I like you.”

Your breath had caught in your throat. “You do?”

Seungmin had let out a breathy laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah. A lot. And for a really long time.” His cheeks had been dusted pink, eyes flickering between your gaze and the floor. “I didn’t know how to say it. I didn’t want to mess this up.”

Your heart had swelled at the vulnerability in his voice. “You could never mess this up,” you had assured, your voice just as shaky.

A beat of silence. Then, barely above a whisper, you had confessed, “I like you too.”

The relief on his face had been instant, a small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at his lips. “You do?” he had echoed, as if he needed to hear it again just to make sure.

You had nodded, mirroring his bashful grin. “A lot. And for a really long time.”

And just like that, the dam had broken.

~

You had spent hours talking, rediscovering each other in a way you hadn’t allowed yourselves to before. Every nervous laugh, every hesitant brush of fingers had felt like stepping into something both thrilling and terrifying.

There had been giggles when Seungmin had admitted he had planned a whole speech but forgot all of it the moment you looked at him. There had been playful nudges when you had confessed how many times you almost told him but chickened out. And there had been warmth—so much warmth—when he had shyly laced his fingers with yours for the first time.

And at some point, wrapped in the comfort of each other, exhaustion had settled in.

Now, in the hazy glow of morning, you realized neither of you had moved. Your legs were tangled, his hoodie still loosely hanging off your shoulders where he had draped it over you when you got cold. His cheek rested against the top of your head, his breathing deep and even.

You shifted slightly, just enough to tilt your head up, and nearly laughed at the sight.

Seungmin was awake, his eyes barely open, cheeks dusted pink as he stared at you—caught red-handed watching you sleep.

“Were you just staring at me?” you teased, voice thick with sleep.

His eyes widened slightly before he groaned, burying his face into his hoodie. “I wasn’t.”

You giggled, poking his side. “You totally were.”

Seungmin peeked out from behind his sleeve, his lips curving into a soft smile. “Okay, maybe I was.”

Your heart melted at the admission.

Neither of you moved to untangle from each other. If anything, Seungmin’s grip tightened ever so slightly. “So,” he murmured, voice still husky with sleep. “This means I get to call you my girlfriend now, right?”

Your face heated at the way he said it—soft, teasing, but with an underlying fondness that made your stomach flip.

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “Yeah. And I get to call you my boyfriend.”

A real, genuine smile stretched across his face. “I like the sound of that.”

You sighed happily, nestling back against his chest. “Me too.”

Seungmin’s gaze lingers on you, studying your face like he’s trying to memorize every detail. Then, without hesitation, he buries his face against the crook of your neck, his warmth seeping into your skin. “This is weird,” he mumbles, voice muffled.

You laugh softly. “Which part?”

He exhales, the warmth of it sending shivers down your spine. “The part where I wake up next to you, and you’re not just my best friend anymore.” His fingers tighten slightly around your waist. “The part where I get to hold you like this.”

Your heart flutters at the quiet confession. Turning in his arms, you meet his gaze fully, your hand coming up to brush a stray strand of hair from his forehead. “Does it feel bad?” you ask, teasing.

Seungmin huffs, lips twitching. “No,” he admits. His voice softens as he tugs you closer, tucking you beneath his chin. “It feels… right.”

And just like that, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the rest of the world could wait.

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 5

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy, seizures, memory loss, hospitals and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Lando woke up feeling like absolute shit.

His head was pounding, his mouth was drier than the desert, and judging by the fact that he’s still half-dressed and tangled in a celebratory McLaren flag, last night must have been good.

He groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face. He remembered fragments of the night before - flashes of bright lights, loud music, and way too much drinking.

He had won.

Lando Norris was a Formula 1 Grand Prix Winner.

He had been nearly drowned in champagne by Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc.

He had won the 2024 Miami Grandprix.

Lando let out a sigh and gingerly pushed himself up into a sitting position, clutching his head as a sharp pain shot through his temples.

He fumbled for his phone, cringing at the notifications that had piled up overnight. Messages from friends, family, and the racing world congratulating him on his victory.

He blinked blearily at his phone.

Too early. Too bright. Too… too.

But there’s one thing he needs to do before he even considers getting up.

He scrolled through his notifications, heart sinking when he still doesn’t see Lizzie’s name.

But there’s nothing.

His fingers fumble as he types out another message.

Lando: Hey, just checking in. Are you okay? You didn’t answer last night. I was a bit… not in the best state, but I was really hoping to hear from you.

Lando: I’m just worried. Is everything alright? I know I was probably being a bit much last night, but you can always just let me know if you need space or whatever. I just want to make sure you’re good.

Nothing.

Lando stared at his phone, the pit in his stomach growing deeper with each passing second. He didn't understand why Lizzie hadn't responded, and the not knowing was driving him crazy.

He groaned, running a hand down his face.

He tried calling. Straight to voicemail.

His stomach twists.

Lando didn't want to jump to conclusions, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Lizzie was usually pretty good about replying to his messages.

He tried texting again.

Lando: Look, I get it if you need time. I don’t want to come off too strong. I just feel like I should've heard from you by now, and I’m starting to panic a bit. Just a quick text would help me breathe for a second, you know?

Lando stared at his phone, watching the time tick by with agonizing slowness. He'd been awake for nearly an hour now, and Lizzie hadn't responded to any of his messages.

He tried calling again, only to be met with the same response - straight to voicemail...again.

And then his phone pinged.

Lizzie: Hi, this is Lizzie’s father. She’s in the hospital. Multiple seizures. She’s woken up a few times, but she’s not very responsive. I don’t know who you are, but judging by the way she’s saved your contact as ‘Lando Not Dying Yet Norris,’ I assume you’re important enough to be told.

Lando blinks. Stares. His hangover vanishes instantly.

She’s at the Royal Sussex Hospital. Thought I’d tell you in case you want to show up to visit her.

Lando feels like all the air has been sucked from the room.

Hospital. Seizures. Not responsive.

He doesn’t even realize he’s shaking until he fumbles trying to type back.

Lando: I—fuck. Is she okay? What happened?

Three little dots appear, then vanish. Then appear again.

Lizzie: She’s stable. But it was bad.

Lando pushes back the covers, already moving, already grabbing for his McLaren hoodie like that will somehow help him fix this.

He needs to be there.

Now.

His hands are unsteady as he opens his flight app. The next available flight back to London is in four hours.

Not soon enough.

Lando: I’m coming back to the UK. I’ll be there as soon as I can.

There’s no reply, but Lando doesn’t care. His heart is hammering, his mind racing, and there’s only one thing he knows for sure—

He has to get to Lizzie.

He…

There was a knock at the door.

Lando jumped, his already frayed nerves on edge. "Who is it?" he called out, his voice cracking slightly.

“It’s Oscar.”

Lando sagged with relief as he recognized the Australian accent drifting through the door. “Come in.”

The door creaked open and Oscar Piastri poked his head into the room. His eyes widened when he saw Lando’s harried expression. “Mate, you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Lando shook his head, feeling the tension in his shoulders tighten even more. "No, not alright. Lizzie’s in the hospital. Multiple seizures."

Oscar’s expression immediately darkened. "What the hell? Multiple seizures? How is she doing now?”

“Not good, apparently. Her dad said she’s stable, but she’s not very responsive. I’m flying back to London to see her.” Lando ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his heart still racing with worry.

“God damn.” Oscar stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him. He studied Lando’s face for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “You’re a mess, mate. Have you eaten anything?”

Lando shook his head, the thought of food making his stomach churn. "No, I haven't even had a chance to think about food. I’m just freaking out, mate. I’ve never seen her have a seizure, let alone multiple seizures…She had one last week before we had dinner, but she seemed fine, just tired… I have no idea how bad it’s going to be. This is...this is so messed up."

Oscar nodded sympathetically, his expression still grave. "Go," he said simply. "I'll make your apologies to Zac and the team."

Lando nodded numbly, already moving to pack a bag. Oscar stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "And mate? Try to keep calm. You won’t do Lizzie any good if you’re a wreck yourself."

Lando huffed out a breath. "I’ll try."

"Can you tell Max..." Lando trailed off. He had no idea what to even…

Oscar's expression softened. “I’ll tell Max. And the others. You just focus on getting to the hospital, alright?”

Lando nods, his throat suddenly feeling thick. "Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Oscar."

[cherrycheolkat]

• random slutty thoughts - seungcheol •

seungcheol is a patient person - he knows you are trying to goad him into doing something and he doesn’t like it

the library is normally seungcheol’s sanctuary - it’s quiet - none of his roommates seem to know it exists - it’s his space

his only problem is you showing up and invading his space

there is literally every other place to sit, but do you sit in one of these other places? no. no, you sit directly across from him

even with a divider, he can hear every little sound you make

all the little sighs and random giggles are one thing, but when your foot bumps his repeatedly - he is sure he’s going to lose his fucking mind because why don’t you seem to know you’re annoying

in fact, he’s certain you’re the least self aware person to exist - personal space, what’s that for you anyway

but this is too much!

he’s had a rough day - back-to-back difficult classes - he’s gotten a snack and he just wants to stare at his computer and play games for like an hour without being bothered

but you are in his seat - you and your hair that smells really good (he had a class with you last semester, even sitting behind you was kind of annoying, but the impossible-to-name scent of your shampoo was something he did actually like)

he thinks of sitting elsewhere - but no, this is personal because you have to know what you’re doing

he approaches, huffy and pouty

he sees your screen and pauses - of course you’re playing the same game, but you still took his seat

when he taps your shoulder, you yelp and look back, face flushed

“what?!” your eyes are huge

he rolls his eyes, “you’re in my seat,” isn’t it obvious, he wants to add

you glance around and seem to realize, “oh - aren’t they all the same?”

he stares in disbelief, “no, they aren’t,” his voice is sharp

you sigh, “okay, princess, have your seat then,” you huff as you get up and collect your things

he doesn’t care for the remark, or the way it sticks in his brain like an earwig because really ‘princess’ was uncalled for

and when he happens to see you out the following night, you actually stop to talk to him

you smile cutely, “so princess, how’s the gameplay for you?”

he glares, he knows you just want to fluster him, “it’s fine,” he says coolly

but you’re not finished, you keep asking him questions - what kind of gameplay does he like - is he part of a guild

it’s only after you leave to get a drink that he realizes how long you’ve been talking to him - he wonders if you’ll come back or not

when you do reappear, you seem to be walking towards him, but you stop when another guy approaches

he decides he should go home anyway and starts to leave, tossing his cup in the bin as he heads for the door

he’s surprised when he feels someone pinch his ass and whips around

you’re standing there, staring, “who said you could leave? we haven’t even swapped game ids,” you pout

“did you just grab my ass?”

you nod, “yeah, it’s just so,” you sigh, “i just want to touch it, okay?”

he flushes slightly, “you have no understanding of personal space,” he tried to sound like he had some high ground to stand on

you laugh, “says the guy who played with my hair when he sat behind me!”

it was like he had been slapped, “that”— “i never!” he fumbled his reply

you are suddenly very close, “yes, you definitely did and i didn’t say anything because i thought it was kind of cute,” your lips brush his cheek

he swallows roughly, his mouth feeling dry

he feels your hand on his, the way you guide his hand between both of your bodies, then lower, he feels your hip, your low stomach - you keep pressing his hand lower, until his hand is between your legs, feeling the thin fabric of your shorts

he glances around quickly, sure that someone will see

“everyone is busy, princess, don’t look so worried,” he feels your hips press closer to his

he knows you absolutely don’t care that you’re surrounded by other people

he reflexively squeezes you, hearing your soft moan close to his ear, “play with me,” you whisper

“here?” he tries to sound confident, not insanely worried

“mhmm,” you hum as you kiss his neck, “make me come,” you whisper before softly nipping at his ear lobe

“can’t we go to the bathroom or something?” he tries again, hoping for a modicum of privacy

you sigh, “you’re such a worrier,” even as you pull away and head for the bathroom

once inside, you pull him close - the heat between you returning quickly

with a door between you and the rest of humanity, he was quick to unbutton your shorts and let them slide down her thighs, he marvels at your barely there panties and how wet they are

he pushes them to the side, working his fingers into you without a thought, and when you’re quiet, he’s almost disappointed

“this is when your quiet?” he needles

you smile and kiss him, “i can be quiet in the library too,” you quip

he’s surprised when you come quickly, he watches your cum dripping down to the bathroom floor - he’s amazed he got you off so well

he plays with your pussy idly, “that’s what i want to see you do in the library, leave a puddle under the desk,” he pushes his fingers back in - he’s sure your pussy basically sucks him in

you grin, “hmm, and here i was imagining sitting under the desk with your cock in my mouth,” you moan softly against his skin

he shrugs, working his fingers deeper, “it’s not like they’re mutually exclusive,” he reasons

you giggle, “fuck, stretch me more, princess - get me ready for your cock,” you mumble

he wonders if this has been your goal all along, but really who is he to question your motivation when you’re so wet and needy

[mashtatosworld]

everything i wanted

a happy one

summary: in which the timing is never quite right... but when is it ever?

The news had been weighing on you for days now.

It settled in your bones, in the space between your ribs, heavy and unmoving - something both miraculous and terrifying. You carried it alone, waking with it in the quiet hours before dawn, feeling the enormity of it press against your lungs.

You had always told yourself you would wait until the time was right.

And now, of all times, the universe had decided for you.

Jiyong’s voice filters in from across the apartment, muffled by the sound of rain tapping against the windows. He’s on the phone, pacing, his tone light - excited. You don’t have to ask what it’s about.

"It’s happening." He had told you just last night, eyes shining with something electric. "The world tour, the comeback - the label is ready to announce it tomorrow."

Tomorrow.

By this time tomorrow, he would be standing in front of the cameras, smiling that dazzling, untouchable smile, telling the world he was finally coming back. His dream - the thing he had bled for, sacrificed for - was finally within reach.

And you...

You were about to change everything.

Your fingers gently ran over soft grey fur, petting the purring cat lying contently on your stomach.

"Do you already know?" You asked the furry creature with a bemused smile. She'd been more clingy in recent weeks, always sitting on you instead of her usual perch on Jiyong. "Can you tell him for me?"

"Tell me what?"

He walks into the room, still scrolling through his phone. Even in the dim light, he looks radiant - sharp jawline, delicate features, his presence effortlessly magnetic.

His life has always been so big. So much bigger than this quiet apartment, bigger than this moment.

"Are you feeding her treats without me?" He reached over you to pick Zoa up and hold her like a baby. "Or do you just not like Appa anymore? Hmm?" He asked the calm feline.

You stared at him as he cooed and fussed over your shared pet. He'd always made it clear he wanted children, even before you had started dating.

His fame had made it difficult for him to achieve that, and then after, when he settled down and met you, you weren't ready to give up your career yet - a decision your partner was happy to support. But now he'd chosen to return to the spotlight once again...

"Jagi?" His voice is soft when he looks up at you. Then, his brows furrow slightly. He settles Zoa on the back of the sofa and she runs off, as if sensing her parents need a private moment. Traitor.

"You okay?"

No.

You are standing at the edge of something irreversible.

But there is no right time. There never was.

So you force yourself to inhale, to steady your voice.

"Ji..."

Something in your tone makes him stop completely. His fingers are white as they grip the back of the expensive couch - a low, white wall between you.

"What is it?"

Your throat closes. The words sit heavy on your tongue, too large to force out all at once.

"I'm - " You exhale shakily. "I'm pregnant."

A breath.

A pause.

For a moment, the world outside goes silent - the rain, the distant hum of the city, the weight of time itself.

Jiyong doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. His eyes, dark and unreadable, remain locked onto yours.

You brace for anything. A frown, a sigh, the subtle shift of disappointment in his face.

But instead - he just breathes.

"Say it again." His voice is quiet. Unsteady.

You swallow. Your fingers press into your palms, grounding yourself.

"I'm pregnant."

This time, you hear his breath catch. His chest rises - slow, deep, as if trying to take in the moment all at once.

Then, finally, he moves.

Not toward you, but away.

He exhales sharply, turning, running a hand through his freshly dyed hair. You watch his back, your heart tightening with every second that passes.

This was a mistake.

The timing is wrong. You should have waited. Should have given him more time, let him have this moment before burdening him with -

Then, just as the thought grips you, he turns back.

And there, on his face -

Not frustration. Not hesitation.

But something so raw, so unfiltered, that it steals the breath from your lungs.

His eyes shine with something you cannot name.

And when he speaks, his voice is hoarse.

"You're serious?"

"Yes."

The word barely leaves your lips before he’s walking around the sofa, reaching for you, hands framing your face so gently, so reverently, as if he’s afraid you might break beneath his touch.

He laughs - a quiet, disbelieving sound, shaking his head. But his eyes betray him, glistening in the dim light, pupils blown wide with something uncontainable.

"Jagi...we're going to have a baby,"

The way he says it - so tenderly - sends something sharp through you.

You nod, pressing your lips together to keep them from trembling. "I know the timing is terrible -"

"Don’t." His hands tighten slightly, his forehead pressing to yours, his breath warm against your skin. "Don’t say that."

Your lashes flutter. "Jiyong - "

"Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this?" His voice wavers. "How long I’ve - " He exhales shakily, closing his eyes for a moment, as if trying to steady himself.

Then, his arms are wrapping around you, pulling you against him, holding you as if you might slip away.

"This is everything I’ve ever wanted."

And just like that, the weight in your chest finally lifts.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

i have a sad version of this title in the works 🌝

[oopsiedaisydeer]

ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴍʏ ᴇᴀʀ

…𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭

angst, smut (mostly descriptive), friends to lovers, unresolved, no happy ending, suggestive, making out, heartbreak, emotional manipulation, self-destructive behavior, toxic dynamics, fluff if u squint, romance, intimacy, friends with benefits, betrayal, unrequited love?, slow burn, self-sabotage

listen to the song that inspired this fic while reading!

word count - 3k

Matt has a scar on his temple. She’s always liked to run her hand over it. The first time she tried, he flinched, batted her hand away, mumbled something about personal space.

She stopped after that. Until one day, he caught her staring.

"You wanna hear a story?" he asked, grinning like he had a secret. "Got mauled by a bear once. Barely made it out."

She almost called his bluff. Almost.

Instead, she smiled, seeing it for what it was... permission. To touch him. To know him in ways he wouldn’t always say.

Maybe she loves that he never tells the truth straight. Maybe she loves that she doesn't really understand him.

Maybe she just loves him.

It was not always a thing. Her… curiousity. Affection. Desire.

When they were very little, she used to follow him and his brothers around. It was easy to. Not to mention that people liked them, because they were charming, and funny, and genuine. She stuck by Matt's side through school, feeling safe and protected under his wing like a small bird. He teased her, sure, even back then. Always sitting beside him, walking directly behind him, looking out for his reaction when she told a joke or shared a story.

Eventually, they reached that age where it was only natural for her to distance herself slightly. Things became less ritual, less assumed, and she found herself asking for permission, looking for his affirmation, seeking out his validation.

Sometime after 10th grade, she started spending the night again. Mostly in Matt’s room. He let her in. And she took what she could get. They didn’t ever cuddle or anything. Mostly Matt would talk, and she would listen. She absorbed everything, every word, every silence. The care she had for him ran so deep she felt it inside sometimes, to the rhythm of her heartbeat, spreading through her like oxygen. He asks her questions sometimes, questions that a part of her finds silly and stupid, his boyish brain not quite at her contemplative level. She forced herself not to mind. To appreciate it.

When she does talk, in those late hours, staring up at the ceiling, she can tell he’s not really listening. He’s too… wrapped up in himself. It’s not that he doesn’t care. He’s probably just stressed. 

She hopes Matt cares. Maybe he does, just not as much as her. He likes the safety of the distance between them. But just enough, sure, maybe he cares.

That night, they end up in his room. He always lets her stay when the world gets too loud. Everything feels too quiet, too intimate here. It’s a comfortable space, familiar in a way that makes her want to curl up and stay forever. She rests her head against his pillow, the soft fabric of his sleeve brushing against her forehead as she stares at the ceiling.

When she wakes, they’re the closest they’ve ever been. The sunlight manages to shine directly into the corner of her eye, so she squints. And then she sees him. Feels him. He’s holding her, his arm draped over her waist, hand grazing her stomach as her back leans against him. She sees him so clearly. Pulling her toward him in the most innocent of ways.

She feels the goodness radiating off her bones and she becomes fearful. That he’s probably known all along, even when she hasn’t. That she likes him. Really, really likes him. 

The heat doesn’t overcome the fear then, it doesn’t pool in her stomach until much, much later. It’s not till they’re eating cereal, all of them together, and someone is telling a story, and all she can do is watch as Matt suppresses his laughter. She can’t help but see the little boy in him, always. Nothing about him is malevolent to her. Even when he smirks, teasing or mocking her, she feels nothing but warmth.

She goes to parties, tries to find another guy, another boy to kiss to avoid even thinking of Matt like that. It doesn’t work of course.

She gives away her virginity to the boy in her math class. The one who didn’t mean any harm and therefore, doesn’t cause her any. He doesn’t make her feel good, but she holds him close to hide his face so that she can tug on the brown hair and pretend all is well.

And then one night, when she finally admits to herself that none of it is working, she allows her mind to wander. To truly contemplate, what it might be like. To be loved like that. By him. 

She doesn’t drift for more than mere seconds before she finally feels the warmth return. In her mind, her thoughts recall how Matt's lips hover above her ear at parties just before he leaves her alone in the corner. She could come already, it’s pathetic.

The fantasy is shattered when she remembers him kissing another girl right after.

She’s not jealous. She doesn’t need to, doesn’t want to feel special. He lets her in and that’s enough.

She touches herself to kill the emotion, replaying the scene from an outsider’s perspective. His lips on her ear. His lips on her ear. His lips on her ear. It rewinds and distorts but it’s no matter. She’s already sticky and shameful, childlike. 

She doesn’t dare to do it again, she already regrets it and can’t look him in the eye anymore. It’s almost like he knows about the sick fantasy, and he's constantly trying to catch her with his eyes like a hunter. 

It’s only because of this that she pictures him beneath her. His eyes so wide and disconcerted, like a deer in headlights. Just like a baby animal, and her fear dissipates to the rhythm of her touch, pretending, praying that the emotion will die once more if she gives the fantasy just enough room to breathe.

And then one night they’re talking about love, true love. Their beliefs, hopes and truths, and she lies, she lies like she loves him and wants to protect him. Treats herself like the one in the wrong. She knows that this conversation is only happening because nothing will ever happen between them. She hopes that that's true because she can’t handle the end of her love, not in the way he can.

Sometime between their complete and utter closeness, they both find comfort in others. She still searches for Matt though, always, always, always.

Sometime between the external comfort, they find their way back to his room, his bed. And he holds her again, more and more these days and she wonders why.

And it’s sick and twisted because it happens. In his bed. His lips hovering on her ear, expressing his shallow gratitude. She can’t help it, she gasps lightly. It’s the best she can manage without taking advantage of his closeness.

Unfortunately, Matt notices it, and he whispers again. 

“Do you like it baby?”, she feels his warmth breath coat her like the sun, “My mouth on your ear?”

Something shrivels up and dies inside her then, the reluctance, the pre-emptive disappointment, and she nods, squirming in his grip. “Mhm,” she whines. They fall asleep like that, cuddling like lovers as Matt whispers in her ear, sending her into a beautiful trance.

In the morning, they don’t speak of it. He’s there, a vessel of her comfort as always. Days pass, and she touches herself again, thoughts of Matt creeping in as always. 

They remain who they’ve always been to the outside world. Friends. Good friends. But back in his room, as she leans against the wall his bed touches, she doesn’t feel anything like that. 

He’s sitting at his desk, back to her.

“Matt,” she says, her voice quiet, but he turns around as the silence hangs in the air between them, sharp and fragile. “Do you ever think about... us?”

He looks at her, his brow furrowing slightly, and for the first time, she sees something flicker in his eyes. Uncertainty. He chuckles, but it’s not his usual carefree laugh. It’s tight, almost defensive.

“What do you mean, ‘us’?” he asks, trying to mask the tension in his voice with the ease he’s perfected over the years.

She takes a breath, the weight of her own words heavier than she expected. She knows this is risky, but it’s impossible to hold it in any longer. “I mean… us, as more than just…” She gestures between them, frustrated, unsure how to finish the sentence without sounding foolish. “More than just… how we are. What we are.”

He shifts, his posture stiffening. His hand tightens against the armrest, his jaw set. “We’ve always been like this,” he says, and there’s that familiar nonchalance, the wall he’s always built between them. “Don’t need anything else. It’s enough.”

Her chest tightens, the words falling flat even as she tries to smile. “Maybe,” she whispers, but her voice shakes. “But what about me?”

There’s a pause, a heartbeat that lingers too long in the air between them. And for the briefest moment, she swears she sees something flicker in his eyes. Something softer, something afraid.

But then it’s gone, hidden behind that same smile that’s never quite reached his eyes.

“I’m not looking for a relationship,” he says, more to himself than to her, his voice a little too calm. “You know that.”

She nods, the weight of his words sinking in. She’s heard this before… just never to her. She should know better, shouldn’t she? But it feels different this time. It feels like a denial, not just of her feelings, but of something they could have shared. Maybe she’s been fooling herself all along.

“I know,” she says, her voice small, barely audible over the noise. “I know.”

It's still not over after that conversation. She’s still completely at his mercy and she can’t bring herself to walk away, to shatter. It’s like she wants him to hurt her. For it to be his fault, and not hers. She tells herself she can move on, that she can bury the feelings that have only been growing with each passing moment. She’s had enough of the games. Enough of the waiting. Even edging herself and relieving herself does little good.

It’s just not that simple.

The next few days pass in a blur. She tries to keep her distance, but something keeps drawing her back to him…like a magnetic pull she can’t escape, the years, the way he’s always been there. And then there’s a moment, late one night, when everything just cracks. They’re in his room again, the same room that’s always felt like home and a cage at the same time. She’s sitting on the edge of his bed, talking about nothing and everything, and then he’s there, too close again.

And before she even knows what’s happening, his lips are on hers.

It’s not like the kisses she’s had before, quick and careless, stolen moments that never meant anything. This one is different. This one makes her feel like she’s floating, like she’s finally found a place she’s meant to be. She’s shocked, clawing at the air for a second. Then his hand cups the side of her face, and she presses closer, her fingers gripping the back of his shirt, pulling him in.

It’s a moment that feels like everything. Like it’s all been leading to this. And for a little while, she forgets about the rules he’s laid down. She forgets about the distance he’s kept between them. She just lets herself feel it, the heat, the intensity, the way his lips move against hers like they’ve done this a thousand times before.

He groans into her mouth, and pulls away abruptly. But she’s desperate, kissing him again as they fall down onto the bed, their chests pressed against each other. 

Somehow the moment is passionate, the way he undresses her, caresses her, tells her she’s beautiful. He whispers in her ear as he moves within her and she whimpers, closer and closer to the high she’s been yearning for. 

His mouth trails over her chest as she arches her back away from him. He cups her breast with his warm hand, kneading it and massaging it. “I love how you respond to me, to my touch.”

He enters her slower, deeper, “I want you to feel it baby. I want you to feel good. Feel loved.” She moans at his words and looks back staring into his eyes, the innocent gaze of a friend she’s known for as long as she’s known her own name. They both come with a final rough movment from him and collapse onto each other.

It feels loving, like devotion, and when he eventually pulls out, she feels full of bliss. 

He gets on his knees pulling on his shirt before glancing back at her. She pours all of her love into her post-orgasm stare. He smiles, shy, before looking back down and kneeling down to kiss her core. Slowly but surely, he overstimulates her, making out with the most private part of her, cleaning her, loving her.

She smiles, content. Empty, but newly joined. Hopeful. 

But the next morning, everything is different.

He’s distant again, almost like nothing happened. His eyes avoid hers, and the silence stretches between them like an ocean, too wide to cross. He doesn’t mention the kiss. Doesn’t acknowledge what happened after.

This time, it’s different though. She knows it, and he knows it. The unspoken tension hangs in the air between them, undeniable. They don’t say the words, but there’s a shift. A silent agreement in the way he watches her when he thinks she's not looking, the way she can’t stop looking at him, even as she tries to pretend like it doesn’t matter.

Eventually, after days of this unspoken tension, Matt says something. Casual, almost teasing, like they’re joking, like nothing matters.

“You think we could do this... and whatever? A compromise?” he says, voice low but eyes still holding hers.

She knows what he means. And she knows that this isn’t the kind of thing that can be taken back. It’s an offer, a dangerous one, and she’s so close to refusing, but instead, she finds herself nodding. She’s done pretending. She’s done with the half-truths.

“I’m fine with it,” she murmurs. “Don’t need much more.”

Matt looks at her, eyes sharp. “We can make this work,” he promises, but the words are hollow. She knows that. The question hangs there between them, a fragile thread strung across a chasm of things unsaid. He knows it too. But he won't say it.

They’re tangled together in the silence that follows, a pact neither of them can take back. It’s something they’ve both tried to avoid for so long. But now, in the wake of everything they’ve built up and torn down, it feels like the only thing left to do.

The bed feels too small for both of them, a tight coil that she can't escape. She lies back, her head sinking into the pillow, the weight of the room pressing down on her. Matt’s silhouette stands over her, a shadow she can’t shake off. The space between them is thick, suffocating. She breathes in, and the air feels heavier, as though every inch she takes toward him is another step toward the inevitable.

She tells herself it’s fine, that it’s just for now, just something to fill the space between them, to fill the gaps in the way they’ve always existed. No expectations. No pressure.

But as they fall into each other again, the boundaries blur, and everything shifts. The kisses feel deeper, the touches linger longer. He holds her. He holds her. His mouth over her ear.

She’s still scared, still bracing herself for the inevitable crash, the heartbreak she knows will come when it’s over. But right now, she can’t bring herself to care.

She should feel anger, or sadness… maybe both. But instead, she feels something worse: a sick, hollow longing. It's the kind of want that gnaws at her, the kind of want that tells her that even knowing this will hurt her, she would still do it. She would still step forward. Because for the first time in too long, something feels real, even if it’s doomed..

She’s already made her bed. She might as well lie down with him.

She’s always known this would happen. She’s always known Matt would leave her wanting, never giving enough to truly stay, yet always giving just enough to keep her hooked. But now, with the decisive touches, the silence, the empty space between them, it’s different. The fear she used to feel…fear that he might hurt her, might break her heart, is gone. There’s no surprise in it anymore. There’s only a cold certainty, a sharp knowledge of how deep the hurt will run.

And somehow, she feels it before it even happens… the ache of knowing this will end badly. But there's a strange warmth in the hurt. The promise of it. A twisted comfort, like preparing for a storm you can't stop, but somehow want. The thought of it burns, and she lets it. 

She knows how it will feel when it all unravels, but she can’t help the thrill that shivers up her spine. She can’t help the way her chest tightens with anticipation, knowing just how bad it will get.

She’s looking forward to the kill.

She’ll lie in this bed she made, her heart tangled in him, and she’ll let it consume her, because it’s the only thing that’s ever felt true.

creds to rose @bernardsbendystraws for the dividers!!!

+ thank u @cowboylikenat for ur feedback <3

a/n: i swore i'd never write smut yet here we are.

taglist: @blushsturns @sturnslutz @snoopychris @sturnshood @sturns-mermaid @chrissweetheart comment to be added to my main (non-au) taglist!!

till next time!!!!

[wendichester]

₊˚⊹ ᰔ happier³,

summary. it's always been dean.

pairing. sam winchester x reader ft. dean winchester ; angsty!

wordcount. 1124

notes. you didn't ask, but this is my favorite ending and thus the only correct ending!!! dean deserves to be loved and chosen and always be #1 🥺

⋆.˚ ★— read part 1, part 2 + sam's ending

The bunker is quieter than you’ve ever heard it.

The absence of Sam’s presence is a void that stretches through the halls, pressing in around you. The weight of what just happened—what was said, what was left unsaid—lingers in the air like smoke after a fire.

And Dean—

Dean hasn’t looked at you since Sam walked out the door.

He disappeared into his room right after, the door creaking shut behind him with a finality that sent something sharp through your chest. You’d given him space, let him sit in whatever storm was raging inside him. But now—

Now, you need to see him.

So you find yourself standing outside his door, hesitating for a beat before pushing it open.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. The room is dim, bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. His shoulders are tense, his fingers laced together like he’s holding himself back from breaking something.

You step inside, shutting the door behind you. “Dean.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t acknowledge you. But his jaw ticks, the only sign that he even heard you.

You swallow hard, taking a step closer. “Talk to me.”

Still nothing.

You exhale, crossing the space between you and kneeling in front of him, resting your hands on his thighs. His body stiffens beneath your touch, but he still won’t look at you.

“Dean, please.”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think he’s just going to keep shutting you out. But then—

“Did you ever think about it?” His voice is low, rough, barely above a whisper.

You frown. “Think about what?”

His fingers twitch in his lap. “Him.”

Your breath catches.

Dean finally looks at you, and the raw vulnerability in his expression nearly knocks the air from your lungs. “Did you ever think about being with him instead?”

Your heart aches. “Dean—”

“Just tell me the truth,” he says, his voice a little sharper now. “You two were close. Closer than I wanted to see. He got you in ways I don’t. You talked for hours about books and music and all that crap. So did you ever—” He breaks off, shaking his head like he can’t even say the words.

“No,” you say immediately, gripping his thighs tighter. “God, no, Dean.”

His throat bobs, but his eyes are still dark with doubt.

You shift, moving onto his lap, straddling him, forcing him to see you. “I love you,” you tell him, your fingers slipping into his hair, tugging lightly to keep his attention on you. “I’ve only ever wanted you.”

Dean lets out a rough breath, his hands finding your waist, squeezing like he’s testing if you’re real. “Then why—” He exhales sharply. “Why do I feel like I’m losing you?”

The words hit harder than anything else he’s said.

Because deep down, you know why.

Sam is gone. The dynamic has shifted. The three of you will never be the same again. And Dean—Dean, who has spent his entire life being left behind—doesn’t know if you’ll stay. If Sam will ever come back.

And that’s the problem.

Maybe it’s not about who you love, or who you've chosen. Which brother wins. Maybe it’s about what’s been broken.

You shake your head, leaning in until your foreheads press together. “You’re not. You won’t.”

His grip on you tightens, his fingers digging into your skin. “Sam—”

“Sam made his choice,” you whisper. “And I made mine.”

Dean’s breath is ragged now, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer, pressing you flush against him. You feel the heat of him, the tension coiled in his body, the frustration and jealousy and fear of losing you burning just beneath the surface.

And you need him to know—

So you kiss him.

It’s not soft. It’s not careful.

It’s desperate. Messy and heated and real, your lips crashing against his, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling, grounding. Dean groans into your mouth, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, dragging you impossibly closer.

The kiss deepens, his tongue sliding against yours, stealing the breath from your lungs. You gasp when he shifts beneath you, pressing you down against the hardness you feel through his jeans.

But then—

Dean slows.

His hands, which had been gripping you with a kind of desperation, soften at your waist. His mouth lingers on yours, but he doesn’t push, doesn’t rush. Instead, he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breathing hard, his fingers tracing slow circles against your ribs.

“You sure?” His voice is rough, but there’s something vulnerable underneath it, something that makes your chest ache.

Your hands cup his face, tilting it so he has no choice but to see you. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

He lets out a breath, closing his eyes for a second before opening them again, green and stormy and so full of emotion. “Yeah. Yeah, you are.”

You smile softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “Dean, I love you.”

His expression falters—just for a moment. Like hearing it, really hearing it, knocks the air from his lungs.

“I mean it,” you whisper, kissing the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then just beneath his ear. “I love you when you’re cocky, when you’re angry, when you’re soft like this. I love you when you’re messy, when you don’t have the right words. I love you.”

Dean swallows hard, his grip on you tightening. “You don’t know what it does to me, hearing you say that.”

“Then let me keep saying it,” you murmur, pressing another kiss to his lips, slow and lingering. “Let me remind you every damn day.”

Dean exhales against your mouth, his hands sliding up to frame your face. “You have no idea how scared I was,” he admits, his voice barely a whisper. “That I was gonna lose you. That you’d look at me and—” He swallows, shaking his head. “Realize I wasn’t enough.”

You frown, your heart twisting. “Dean.”

He tries to look away, but you don’t let him. You hold him there, force him to hear you.

“You are everything to me.” Your voice is steady, sure, filled with nothing but truth. “You are enough, Dean. You’ve always been enough.”

Dean searches your face, like he’s trying to memorize every piece of you, like he’s trying to believe you with every broken, hesitant part of himself.

Then he kisses you again, softer this time. Sweeter. A promise.

“I love you,” he breathes against your lips.

You smile, threading your fingers through his hair. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time that night, Dean lets himself believe it.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @cursednevermore ⋆ @mrs-pondwater19 ⋆ @lmg14 ⋆ @onelonelybitch ⋆ @myceliumsunshine ⋆ @americanvenom13 ⋆ @iluvdeanwinchester ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @devilslittlehelper ⋆ @cloverleaf20

[alaia777]

hi alaia! can i please request an angst with comfort drabble of 'you look stupid, what are you even wearing?' with baro shoei (blue lock)?

i hope you like it !

it was rare for something as simple as a dress to make you this excited, but today was different. while out shopping, you stumbled upon a baby blue dress with a big bow at the back and delicate ruffles—something you wouldn’t normally pick, but the moment you saw it, a wave of nostalgia hit you. it looked almost identical to a dress you loved as a child, just made for someone your age now. you obviously bought it.

you couldn’t wait to show it to your boyfriend tonight. the two of you had planned an at-home date, something you’d been looking forward to all week. you were going to order food from the restaurant where you had your first date, then watch the movie you saw together on your second. even though barou didn’t say much when you brought it up, you knew him well enough to tell—he was looking forward to it just as much as you were.

by the time it was close for barou to get back from practice, everything was already prepared for your date. you had gotten yourself ready, looking so much like little you—except now, your front teeth weren’t missing. the table was arranged carefully for the food, and the movie setup was ready to go. all that was left was for the food to be delivered right on time when barou got home.

you jumped out of your seat when you heard the front door open, a giddy smile on your face as you rushed to greet your boyfriend. “i was waiting for you, b—” but before you could finish your sentence, barou walked right past you, heading straight for the bedroom without sparing you a single glance. you could tell he must be frustrated from practice, and not wanting to upset him further, you decided to give him some space.

what was supposed to be a little time turned into an hour of you sitting on the couch, the food already delivered and neatly placed on the table, but still no sign of barou. you heard the sound of him getting into the shower, then the quiet shuffle of him going back into the room. yet, there was still no sign of him coming to talk to you.

you had promised yourself you’d give him space, but you couldn’t just sit here, feeling useless, knowing your boyfriend was clearly in a bad mood. you couldn’t do nothing.

you knocked on the door, waiting for a response that never came. after a moment, you pushed it open, stepping inside to find barou sitting at his desk, back turned to you, eyes fixed on his laptop.

“barou, the table is set. do you want to come eat?”

“not hungry. you can eat without me,” he said, his tone clipped.

“but i thought it would’ve been nice for us to—” you started, but before you could finish, he turned around, irritation clear on his face.

“are you deaf? i said i’m not hungry. also—” his words faltered as his gaze swept over you from head to toe, taking in your dress for the first time. he scoffed, expression unreadable. “you look stupid. what are you even wearing?”

you stared at him, stunned, the weight of his words settling in. how dare he? the comment stung more than you wanted to admit, but you refused to let it show—you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction.

“a dress for our inside date that’s today, you asshole,” you shot back, voice steady despite the tightness in your chest. “but on second thought, you can stay in here and enjoy your own misery, since it’s clear communication isn’t your strong suit.”

without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and slammed the door behind you, the sharp sound echoing through the apartment.

you knew you’d been harsh, but so had he. if he was going to throw words like that at you, then fine—you’d throw them right back.

but as you sat at the table, staring at the now-cold food you’d been so excited to share, the anger in your chest twisted into something heavier. the night was supposed to be special, a quiet celebration of the little things that made your relationship yours. instead, all that was left was silence.

you didn’t bother looking up when you heard the bedroom door open, still pushing your food around on the plate, the weight of his presence settling in front of you. you didn’t want to argue again—you were too tired for that.

“i’m sorry for calling your dress stupid,” barou said, his voice gruff but sincere.

“you called me stupid,” you murmured, barely above a whisper.

he went quiet for a moment, then exhaled. “and i’m sorry for that too. i had a hard day and took it out on you instead of communicating like a normal person.”

you kept your head down, unsure if you were ready to forgive him for ruining the night you’d been looking forward to all week.

“and i’d like for us to continue our date,” he added.

“the food’s already cold—” you started, finally glancing up, only to freeze mid-sentence.

barou stood there, arms crossed, wearing the shirt—the ridiculous t-shirt you’d gotten him as a joke, the very first gift you ever gave him. bright red and proudly displaying the word KING in a mickey mouse theme.

“since the food’s cold, we’re going to eat at the restaurant and then go see the movie at the cinema,” he said like it was the simplest plan in the world.

“dressed like that?” you asked, blinking.

“yes. is that a problem?”

“no,” you said, biting back a grin, “but why that shirt?”

“because since we’re redoing our first date, i want to wear the first gift you ever gave me,” he said, completely serious.

you couldn’t hold it in anymore—you laughed, loud and unrestrained, all the tension from earlier slowly unraveling with it.

you were still laughing when barou rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath, but there was no real annoyance in his expression. instead, he grabbed his keys from the counter and tilted his head toward the door.

“come on, we’re leaving.”

you wiped at your eyes, finally standing. “you’re really going out like that?”

“obviously.”

he started walking toward the door, and you followed, shaking your head but smiling. whatever frustration lingered from earlier didn’t matter anymore—not when he was willing to do something so ridiculous just to make up for it.

as he held the door open for you, you reached for his hand, giving it a small squeeze. he squeezed back.

maybe tonight wasn’t going exactly how you planned, but somehow, it was turning out even better.

[biblical-chronicles]

Observe

_____________________________________

where you force Noel to carefully observe how beautiful he is [18+]

_____________________________________

It started with a magazine.

Noel hadn’t been looking for it but there it was, sitting on the studio table like it had been placed there just to fuck with him. He wasn’t even sure who it belonged to, but the second he saw your face staring back at him from the glossy cover, he reached for it without thinking.

You looked unreal. Dressed to the nines for some event, standing on a red carpet like you owned the whole fucking world. The headline was some over-the-top nonsense about your “jaw-dropping” look, but Noel barely registered it, too caught up in the image itself. The way the cameras caught the gleam in your eyes, the effortless way you carried yourself—it was enough to make something tighten in his chest.

Then, he turned the page.

And there it was.

Noel Gallagher punching above his weight?

The words hit like a slap. A passing remark buried in some fluff piece, probably not even meant to be taken seriously, but it didn’t matter. His grip on the magazine tightened as his eyes skimmed the rest.

An unlikely pairing, but somehow, it works. Noel Gallagher, the ever-broody Manc, managing to land one of the most effortlessly stylish women in the business? Fair play to him. She could have anyone, but for now, it’s the Oasis man at her side.

For now.

Noel shut the magazine with a sharp snap, jaw clenched, and tossed it back onto the table like it had burned him. Suddenly, he felt like a right idiot for even picking it up.

He’d always known it, hadn’t he? That you were too good for him. It wasn’t a new thought—not by a long shot. But reading it like that, spelled out so plainly for anyone to see… Christ.

It got in his head.

---

At first, you didn’t think much of it.

Noel had always been a bit fo a grumpy bastard, always carried himself with that sharp-edged indifference. But this was different.

He was quieter now. Less present. Kept a deliberate space between you, like an invisible line had been drawn that he refused to cross. At night, when you curled into him, instead of an arm pulling you closer, there was a mumbled excuse, a shift of weight, the warmth of his body leaving yours sooner than it should.

And worst of all?

He stopped observing you.

No more lingering glances from across the room, no more quick, shameless once-overs when he thought you weren’t paying attention. The gaze that once held amusement, desire, was now nowhere to be found.

It went on for a few days. Too many. And now, watching him nurse the same drink for the better part of an hour, avoiding your gaze like it might pin him to the spot, you decided you’d had enough.

You leaned forward on the sofa, elbows on your knees, watching him like you were trying to work him out. “Alright. Spill.”

His fingers tapped idly against the glass. He didn’t look up. “Spill what?”

You scoffed. “Oh, don’t be a knobhead.”

Noel’s lips twitched—half a smirk, gone before it could settle.

“You’ve been acting weird all week.”

“I’ve not been acting weird.”

“Oh, right. So you always act like you can’t stand me touching you?”

That got him.

The muscle in his jaw jumped, his grip tightening around the glass before he slowly set it down. Still, he wouldn’t meet your eyes, staring at the table like the answer to whatever existential crisis he was having might be found in the wood grain.

You sighed, shifting forward, plucking the glass from his hand and setting it aside. Before he could protest, you reached out, fingers curling under his chin, tilting his face up so he had no choice but to look at you.

“Noel.” Your voice was softer now. Steady. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

His lips parted slightly, an answer hovering there, but then he shook his head, huffed out a laugh that held no real amusement.

“S’nothing, love. Just me bein’ daft.”

“Bullshit.”

This time, the smirk almost stuck.

But then it was gone again, lost to whatever was gnawing at him. His shoulders tensed beneath his shirt, his whole body locked up like he was bracing for something.

You exhaled slowly, thumb brushing along the stubble at his jaw. “Come on. Tell me.”

A beat of silence. Then, finally—

“Just… I dunno.” His voice was quieter now, like saying it any louder would make it worse. “You could have anyone, y’know? Proper anyone. And yet, you’re here. With me.”

Your brow furrowed. “And that’s a problem because…?”

He scoffed, barely shaking his head, like he knew how ridiculous it sounded but still couldn’t help feeling it. His hand lifted, raking through his hair in frustration. “Forget it. S’stupid.”

You reached for him again, fingertips just grazing his arm before he pulled away.

“No, it’s not stupid.” Your voice was firm, no room for argument. “You’ve been distant, pushing me away, all ‘cause of what? Some daft insecurity?”

His head snapped up at that, something flickering in his eyes. “Maybe.”

You sighed. Christ. You weren’t going to get through to him like this.

Then—an idea.

“Come with me.”

Noel frowned. “What?”

You didn’t answer. Just grabbed his hand, pulled him up from the sofa, and led him through the apartment, stopping in front of the full-length mirror by the wall, quickly grabbing a chair to sit him down.

Noel just followed you with his eyes as he sat, shoulders tense, jaw set like he was bracing for something. His reflection met his gaze for half a second before he dropped his eyes, exhaling sharply.

“Dunno what we’re doin’ here, love.” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

You ignored him. Instead, you moved behind him, running your hands over his shoulders, feeling the knots of tension beneath your fingers. He was always like this—locked up tight, carrying more weight than he let on.

Your fingers traced along the collar of his shirt before slipping under the fabric, pressing into his skin. “Look,” you murmured.

He shook his head, resisting.

Your grip tightened in warning. “Noel.”

Reluctantly, his gaze lifted to the mirror again.

You took your time, undoing the first button of his shirt. Then the next. Slowly, deliberately, watching his reflection as his throat bobbed with a hard swallow. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the rise and fall of his chest growing unsteady.

“You never look at yourself, do you?” you murmured, pressing your lips to the side of his neck. “Not really.”

He gave a weak scoff, but it died in his throat the second you slid his shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Your hands mapped over bare skin, tracing every dip and ridge, every scar, every inch of him that he refused to see as anything but ordinary.

To you, it was anything but.

Your fingers grazed over his ribs, his stomach, dragging slow, reverent touches across his skin. “This,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, “is gorgeous, and it's mine.”

Noel’s breath stuttered.

You trailed your lips lower, along his bicep, over the veins lining his forearm. “Mine.”

His eyes fluttered shut, head tilting back, trying to escape the weight of it, but you caught his chin, forcing him forward.

“Don’t look away.”

His lashes flickered, mouth parting slightly as you guided his gaze back to the mirror. His face was flushed, lips red from biting back whatever wanted to slip out. You could see it, the fight in him—the part of him that wanted to shake this off, make a joke, deflect.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he let you tip his head up, let you run your hands over his chest, his stomach, feeling him tremble under your touch.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, lips grazing over his skin. A kiss to his collarbone. Another to the center of his chest. “Absolutely fucking beautiful.”

Noel’s breath was shallow, chest heaving as you kissed him again, this time with more urgency. His lips parted slightly, allowing your tongue to slide against his, tasting him, feeling the heat of his mouth. His hands clenched around you, as though he couldn’t hold onto you enough.

“Look at me, Noel,” you murmured between kisses, pulling back just enough to study his eyes. His gaze was wild, glassy with desire. His body trembled in your hands, but it was a different kind of tension now, a kind of need you’d only seen glimpses of before. He didn’t pull away. In fact, his chest pushed against you, desperate for more.

Slowly, you ran your hands over his skin, fingertips grazing his chest, tracing each muscle as if you were savoring every inch of him. You could feel his breath hitch when you lightly scraped your nails along his sides, and you smiled into his skin, kissing him softly again, this time at the corner of his mouth, lingering there.

His chest heaved with every breath, his hand twitching at his side, desperate for some kind of release. You could see the struggle, feel the shift as he began to let go of that ever-present wall he built around himself. Slowly, carefully, you reached for the button of his jeans, your fingers tracing the waistband before you slipped your hand inside, feeling the warmth of him through the fabric.

He stilled, a shudder running through him.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” you whispered, voice breathy, filled with adoration as you pressed your lips against his neck, slowly biting down gently, hearing him gasp in response. His hands were on your back now, his fingers digging into your skin as he instinctively pulled you closer.

You pulled away to look at him, gently brushing your thumb over his bottom lip, watching as he struggled to meet your gaze. But you wouldn’t let him look away—gripping his face gently, guiding him to meet your eyes again.

"Look at yourself," you whispered. “You’re perfect.”

His eyes flitted to the mirror, catching the sight of his flushed cheeks, the way his chest heaved with each breath. His expression wavered, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, but then he softened, leaning into your touch.

As you kissed him again, you did so deeply, fully, showing him how much you craved him, how much you loved every part of him. The pace of your kiss grew more fervent as you worked your hands lower, skimming over his skin, watching his body arch into yours.

His head tipped back slightly, his eyes flickering between the mirror and you. You could tell he was struggling, trying not to let go. But there was no stopping the way his body responded to you.

“Watch,” you breathed against his lips, pulling him closer, your fingers tangling in his hair, forcing his face gently so he couldn’t look away. His eyes were wide now, reflecting the intensity of the moment as he watched the way you touched him. Your hand steadily stroking him with the occasional press just below his head making him moan.

With every tender caress, you gave him nothing but praise. “So fucking beautiful. Everything about you is absolutely breathtaking.”

His breath hitched as the intensity of your touch and words drew him closer to the edge. He moaned softly, trying to hold back, but you weren’t letting him. You picked up your pace and pressed your lips back to his, barely able to kiss him through his string of moans.

As you pulled away a thin strain of spit connected you, both of you looking at it before it broke, soflty landing against his chin.

“Look at yourself, Noel,” you said softly, pulling his face toward yours with a steady hand, guiding his eyes back to the mirror as you continued stroking him, now picking up the pace. His chest heaved as you kissed him again, soft but insistent, whispering into the kiss.

“Can’t look away, can you?” you murmured, your lips brushing against his ear, the teasing note in your voice making him shiver.

He let out another low moan, the sound more strained now, a desperate acknowledgment of what was happening. His eyes stayed fixed on his reflection, unable to tear away from the sight of himself at this point.

Then you stopped for a moment, only to start again, faster now, his body bucking instinctively into your touch as he let out a breathless cry.

You knew it wouldn’t be long now, so you kissed his neck, your hands continuing their relentless movement, keeping him on the edge, making sure he stayed in the moment.

And then it happened.

A breathless gasp escaped his lips as he came undone, his body shuddering under your touch.

As he came down from the moment, you continued to kiss him, each press of your lips a promise. “I love you,” you whispered against his mouth, “You’re gorgeous… Every inch of you, never doubt that.”

_______________________________________-

hope you lot liked this, sorry for the later than usual upload, love ya !!

[777bae]

RAINDROPS (AN ANGEL CRIED) LUKE HUGHES

Summary :: In an empty rink, Luke Hughes breaks your heart, leaving you alone to face the silence and the pain of a love lost forever.

Warnings :: Heartbreak

Word count :: 1.5k

The ice is quiet tonight, but you feel the weight of every inch of it beneath your feet. The cold seeping up through your shoes reminds you of the emptiness around you, the void left by all that’s unsaid, all that’s broken. The arena is still, silent except for the sound of your own breathing and the faint hum of the overhead lights, buzzing like an annoying reminder of the stillness. It’s late—far too late—but you can’t bring yourself to leave. There’s something you need, something you have to know, even if the answer will tear you apart.

You stand by the rink, watching Luke Hughes skate in slow, deliberate circles, his movements sharp, controlled—like he’s been practicing for hours. His skates cut through the ice with precision, each glide smooth, effortless. But even as he moves with such grace, you can see the tension in him, the way his jaw tightens with every lap, the way his eyes flicker to the side, never quite meeting yours. It’s like he’s trapped in a world that doesn’t include you anymore, and you’re standing in the ruins of a connection that used to feel unbreakable. The same look he had earlier—detached, distant. Like he’s already gone.

The rest of the team is gone. The arena is empty except for the two of you. The silence between you two feels like an oppressive weight, one you can’t shake off. It’s not just the quiet of the rink—it’s the silence in your chest, the absence of the words that should have been spoken days ago. Hours ago. You should’ve left when he told you to. When he said he needed space. But you didn’t. You stayed. Because you didn’t know how to walk away, not from him, not from everything that had once been so right.

Your heart pounds in your chest, each beat feeling like a countdown, like time slipping away before you get the chance to speak your truth. The tension in the air feels unbearable, a constant pressure on your chest, making it hard to breathe. It’s almost like you’re suffocating in it, trapped by everything left unsaid, everything that’s falling apart. Every second you stand here, staring at him, it feels like the distance between you grows larger.

You take a tentative step forward, trying to keep your movements casual, but your legs feel heavy with the weight of what you’re about to face. Everything in you wants to scream, to demand answers, but you keep your voice steady as you call his name. “Luke.”

Your voice shakes despite your best efforts. It’s been weeks of this—weeks of pretending everything was fine, weeks of convincing yourself that things would go back to the way they were. But every time you look at him, every time he turns away, it becomes more impossible to ignore the truth. He doesn’t want to talk to you. He doesn’t want you here.

He doesn’t stop skating. Instead, his skates slice through the ice faster, as if he’s trying to outrun you, to outrun the conversation that’s been hanging between you two, unspoken but ever-present. But you won’t let him. You can’t let him.

You move closer, each step heavier than the last. The cold concrete beneath your feet feels like it’s pulling you down, but you force yourself to push forward, closing the gap between you. “Luke, stop,” you call, more forcefully this time, almost pleading. “We need to talk.”

Finally, he slows, glancing over his shoulder, but there’s no warmth in his eyes. No surprise. No softness. There’s nothing in his gaze. Nothing at all. And it breaks you.

For a moment, he looks away, and it feels like everything inside you shatters all at once. He doesn’t even look at you the way he used to—like he’s seeing you for the first time, his gaze soft with affection. Instead, he looks through you, distant, as if you’re a stranger. That’s what hurts the most: the way he’s already checked out, already moved on. You expected him to be just as hurt as you were, to feel the same pain gnawing at his insides. But all you see is indifference.

He stops skating and stands there, his posture stiff, his shoulders tight with something you can’t quite place. The air between you two feels like it’s suffocating you, thick with everything you haven’t said, everything that’s falling apart. You feel the words bubbling up inside you, but they’re lodged in your throat. Every breath feels like it takes an eternity to pull in, like your lungs are working harder than they should. The distance between you two feels like a chasm, one you don’t know how to cross. The silence drags on, and you can’t stand it any longer.

“You’re leaving me, aren’t you?” The words slip out before you can stop them, so quiet, so fragile. But they’re the truth. You know they are. And somehow, you already know what his answer will be.

His eyes flicker—just a momentary hesitation. But then he turns away from you, and that’s it. The way he moves, the way he shuts you out—it all says it before he speaks it. “It’s not like that. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says, his voice cold, distant. But there’s no conviction behind it. There’s no remorse, no hint of emotion.

You swallow hard, trying to hold back the flood of feelings threatening to break free. He didn’t mean to hurt you? Then why does it feel like he’s already gone? Why does it feel like everything you’ve shared is nothing more than a memory now, a forgotten moment in time? You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to stay calm. But it’s like trying to hold back an ocean.

But the truth hits you harder than you expect. He’s not just drifting away from you. He’s already let go. He’s already moving on. And that realization tears through you like a razor blade.

You step closer to the rink, and with every step, the space between you two feels more unbridgeable. “Then why?” you ask, your voice raw and desperate. “Why are you doing this? What happened to us?”

His jaw clenches, and you watch as he struggles to find the words, but it’s too late for words now. He’s already made his decision. You can see it in his eyes, the way they avoid yours, the way his posture tightens, as though he’s already bracing for what he has to say.

“I don’t think we’re right for each other anymore,” he says, the words coming out blunt, calculated, like he’s trying to make it hurt as little as possible, but you feel it like a knife to the chest. Not right for each other—those words echo in your head, reverberating in your ears, each syllable ringing with the finality of a door closing, a chapter ending.

It hits you harder than you ever imagined. It feels like the ground has been ripped out from beneath you. The air feels thinner, colder, and you can barely breathe through the sharp pain in your chest. How did it come to this? How could everything that once felt so real, so vibrant, turn into nothing more than this cold, empty space between you?

You try to speak, to say anything, but the words are stuck. They’re lodged deep inside your throat, fighting to break free, but the lump there is too thick. He’s already turned away from you, his gaze cold, colder than the ice beneath you. You feel the last piece of yourself slipping through your fingers, the last shred of hope, the last faint glimmer of the love you thought you shared.

“Luke,” you try again, but your voice cracks, trembling under the weight of it. “I loved you. I still—”

But he cuts you off before you can finish. He turns his head, his eyes flickering to you for a split second, but the wall is already back up, colder than before. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice almost too soft, too empty. “I think it’s time for both of us to move on.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, and you stand there, frozen, stunned. You want to scream. You want to say something, anything, but it feels like the air has been sucked from the room, leaving you standing in the wreckage of something you can’t fix, something you never had the chance to save. His figure begins to fade as he skates away from you, the sound of his skates slicing through the ice fading into the distance, and you can’t move. You can’t breathe. You’re stuck in the crushing silence, unable to comprehend what’s happening, what’s just happened.

Tears begin to fall then—slow, steady, burning your cheeks. The raindrops outside, the ones you didn’t want to acknowledge, are falling now, just like the ones you never thought you’d shed. It’s like the weight of everything finally catches up with you, pulling you under, drowning you in the realization that this is the end. He’s gone. And you’re left standing on the ice, your heart splintering in your chest, as the world around you continues to turn, indifferent to the fact that everything you loved has just slipped away.

You turn away from the rink, letting the tears fall freely, unable to hold them back any longer. He’s gone. And you’re left here, a shell of who you used to be, wondering how something that once felt so real could turn into nothing more than a distant memory.

[creamapi]

𝖞𝖆𝖐𝖚𝖟𝖆

Pairing: Yakuza Ace x Reader

Y/n shouldn't have insisted on bringing her drunken regular back home, or maybe she should've.

Trigger warning: consent wasn't mentioned, dumb fuckin

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“Hey, are you sure you're alright?” you asked, leaning down as you brushed the man's black hair away from his face. His skin was cool to the touch, clammy from what seemed like hours of sitting in the booth, lost in whatever thoughts had been keeping him anchored there. Ace only grumbled something under his breath, too low for you to make out, before slowly pushing himself up from the booth, his body swaying slightly.

“Are ya’ closin’ up for the night, d’rling?” Ace slurred, his words thick with alcohol and exhaustion. His usual sharp features were softened under the dim diner lights, his bloodshot eyes barely staying open as he tried to focus on you. The man had been one of your regulars for the past week, always sitting in the same booth, always coming in just before closing. While it was strange for someone like him — with his tailored suits and the faint smell of expensive cologne clinging to him — to hang out in a place like this, you didn’t mind. The diner was old, its paint peeling and the neon sign outside flickering like it was about to give up any day now. Most of the clientele were rough around the edges, men who stumbled in drunk and greasy, coming back for the cheap food made out of who knows what.

But Ace was different.

Despite his disheveled appearance tonight, he was always polite. A gentleman, even. He never stared too long, never tried to get too familiar like the other patrons who sometimes forgot where the line was. Even in the diner’s crummy waitress uniform — a faded blue dress with a stained apron — you never felt uncomfortable around him. The others would have made some crude comment by now, especially on a slow night like this. But not Ace.

“You sure you can get home okay?” You asked again, glancing at the clock. The diner was about to close, the last of the other patrons already gone, leaving only you and Ace. The silence felt heavier now, only the low hum of the fridge and the distant buzz of the sign outside filling the space. You weren’t sure if you should offer to call him a cab or just let him stumble off on his own. Something in his expression told you he wasn’t used to being in this state.

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved his hand dismissively, though his movements were sluggish. “I’ll be fine.”

But you weren’t so sure.

You watched Ace as he tried to wave off your concern, but his hand was trembling, his face pale under the flickering lights. He was in no shape to be on his own tonight, and something about letting him stumble off into the dark streets felt wrong.

“You’re not fine, Ace,” you insisted, your voice soft but firm as you stood up straight, wiping your hands on your apron. “Come on, let me bring you home.”

Ace blinked at you, his bloodshot eyes struggling to focus. He chuckled, the sound rough and humorless. “Nah, can’t do that, d’rling,” he muttered, a lopsided grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Wouldn’t be… safe.”

You raised an eyebrow, confused. Safe? What did that even mean? Before you could ask, Ace pushed himself up too quickly, stumbling. He barely managed to catch himself on the edge of the table, his legs wobbling. You reached out instinctively to steady him, but before you could make contact, he lurched forward, and with no time to react, he vomited.

It hit both of you, splattering onto his expensive clothes and ruining your uniform. You froze for a moment, grimacing as the sour smell filled the air. Ace, on the other hand, groaned lowly before his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed against you, his dead weight almost knocking you over.

“Well shit,” you muttered, struggling to hold him upright. His body went limp, his head resting against your shoulder, completely passed out. His heavy breathing was the only sign he was still conscious enough to be alive.

“Great,” you sighed, looking down at the mess. But you couldn’t leave him here, not in this state.

With a grunt, you shifted his weight, wrapping one of his arms around your shoulder. You cursed under your breath. He was heavier than he looked, solid muscle hidden beneath his expensive suit, which now reeked of vomit.

“Looks like I’m bringing you home after all,” you muttered, half to yourself as you began the slow process of dragging him out of the booth. The diner was only a few blocks from your apartment, and at this hour, the streets were mostly empty. You doubted anyone would notice you lugging a passed-out man down the street, and if they did, they wouldn’t ask questions.

It took longer than you would have liked, but eventually, you managed to get Ace out of the diner and into the cool night air. The neon sign buzzed above you as you glanced up and down the empty street, making sure no one was around. With a deep breath, you started the walk toward your apartment.

⊹˚₊‧──────────────────────────────────‧₊˚⊹

By the time you reached your building, your back was aching, and your clothes smelled even worse. Ace was still out cold, slumped against you with no sign of waking up. You fumbled with your keys, managing to unlock the door, and half-dragged him inside.

Your apartment was small but tidy, a far cry from the mess both of you had become. You led him to the couch, gently easing him down so he wouldn’t fall. For a moment, you stood there, catching your breath and wiping your forehead with the back of your hand.

Ace’s suit was ruined, his shirt stained and wrinkled. You stared for a moment longer before sighing. This was not how you imagined your night ending.

With a resigned shrug, you grabbed a towel and some water, then set to work cleaning up the both of you, starting with him. As you wiped his face and tried to salvage what you could of his clothes, you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly you had gotten yourself into.

“I can't let you sleep in this. And you'll stain my couch,” you murmured as you gently unbuttoned his shirt. The fabric was damp from sweat and spilled alcohol, and you were careful not to disturb him too much. But as you pulled the shirt open, your breath caught in your throat, and your fingers froze mid-motion. Your frown deepened, heart skipping a beat as your eyes landed on the elaborate tattoos etched into his skin.

You had seen these kinds of markings before—the intricate, swirling designs that stretched across his chest and down his arms, framing his lean, muscled body. A Yakuza member. No, not just any Yakuza member. These were the markings of someone high up, someone dangerous. Your gaze followed the ink, a mixture of mythological beasts, waves, and flames, each curve and line telling a story of power, violence, and loyalty to a world you were never meant to be a part of. The sight of it brought a chill that crawled up your spine and settled deep into your bones.

The tattoos peeked out from beneath his open shirt, winding down his torso and wrapping around his biceps like chains. The thought of what it meant—what he had done to earn those markings—sent your mind racing. You quickly grabbed a towel, your hands trembling as you dabbed at the vomit on his skin, your eyes refusing to linger on the ink any longer than necessary. Each second felt like an eternity as you fought back the growing unease swirling in your gut.

Your decision to button his shirt back up was quick, your fingers fumbling slightly as you tried to erase what you’d seen—pretend it was never there. But before you could finish, a strong hand clamped around your wrist, startling you. You looked up sharply, only to meet Ace's half-lidded gaze, his grip firm but not painful.

"You shouldn't have to, really," he slurred, his voice heavy with sleep and intoxication, yet there was a flicker of awareness in his dark eyes. He lifted your hand to his lips, brushing them softly against your knuckles. "But sweet ol' Y/n... can't just leave her grown-ass regular out in the cold, huh?"

Your breath hitched. His words, though laced with drunken humor, felt heavier now. Did he know you had seen them? The tattoos, the truth beneath his charming, reckless exterior? A part of you wanted to pull away, to retreat, but something in his eyes stopped you. They weren’t the eyes of a dangerous Yakuza right now. They were tired. Guarded.

But still, the weight of what you had uncovered tonight lingered between you like a shadow you couldn’t shake, suffocating the air around you. Your heart pounded, each beat reverberating in your chest as you struggled to process what you had seen and what it meant. Ace’s grip on your wrist tightened slightly, but it was his gaze—sharp despite his drunkenness—that held you captive, making it impossible to look away.

"I—I won't tell anyone, Ace. I promise," you stammered, your voice shaky. The words felt fragile as they left your lips, like glass on the verge of shattering. Your breath hitched, caught somewhere in your throat, and you could feel the weight of the room pressing down on you, thick with tension.

Ace's smile was slow, deliberate, and chillingly calm. “Really?” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. His eyes glinted with something darker, something you hadn’t noticed before—control. "The consequences of knowing the face of a higher-up Yakuza are very, very heavy." The words dripped from his mouth like honey, sweet but laced with venom. He leaned in closer, so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin, making your pulse quicken. "What can you give to make sure that promise would be a promise? A concrete, tangible symbol?"

Your mind raced, but the moment felt too heavy for you to think clearly. The space between you and Ace seemed to collapse as his presence filled every inch of the room. His dark eyes bored into yours, seeking something more than just your words. A concrete, tangible symbol. What did he mean? Your stomach twisted in knots, but the answer slipped from your lips before you could even think.

"Anything." The word hung in the air, sharp and immediate, like the crack of a whip. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing—just the raw, desperate need to make sure this secret stayed buried. His smile widened, not with kindness, but with the satisfaction of someone who knew they had the upper hand.

"Anything," he echoed softly, almost as if tasting the weight of your agreement. His fingers brushed against your jaw, his touch unnervingly tender for the threat that lingered beneath it. "You should be careful with that word, Y/n. In my world, 'anything' can mean a lot of things. Things you might not be ready to give."

Your heart pounded harder, blood rushing in your ears as you held his gaze, unsure of what you had just agreed to.

⊹˚₊‧──────────────────────────────────‧₊˚⊹

“Ace.” You whined as you felt his tongue graze on your clit. The bathroom was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from the steam that rose from the shower. The cool tiles beneath your feet were slick with water, and the air was thick with the scent of soap and your arousal. Ace's head was nestled between your thighs, his hair damp and clinging to his forehead. The sound of water cascading down from the showerhead mixed with the wet slurping noises he made as he continued to tease your clit.

You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms, as he increased the intensity of his licks. His fingers, strong and calloused, dug into your flesh, urging your legs further apart. The sensation of his teeth lightly grazing your sensitive nub made you jerk and a whimper escaped your lips, mingling with the sound of the shower.

Ace's hands, still wet from the shower, moved up your inner thighs, the water trails leaving goosebumps in their wake. He cupped your breasts, his thumbs finding your erect nipples, and he rolled them between his fingers.

The sensation of his teeth lightly grazing your sensitive nub made you jerk and a whimper escaped your lips, mingling with the sound of the shower.

Ace's hands, still wet from the shower, moved up your inner thighs, the water trails leaving goosebumps in their wake. He cupped your breasts, his thumbs finding your erect nipples, and he rolled them between his fingers. The contrast between the cold water and the warmth of Ace's hands sent shivers down your spine.

Your back arched involuntarily as he continued to tease your clit with his tongue, the pressure building inside you. Ace's breath against your skin was hot and moist, the contrast with the cool tiles beneath you only serving to heighten your arousal. As his fingers continued to play with your nipples, you could feel the wetness between your legs growing. The anticipation was almost unbearable, and you could feel your body tensing. Ace's tongue, skilled and relentless, continued to dance around your clit, each flick and lick bringing you closer to the edge.

You could feel the muscles in your stomach tighten, and your breaths came in short, sharp gasps. The cold water continued to fall, oblivious to the intensity of the scene playing out beneath its cascade. Ace's grip on your thighs tightened, and he moved his head closer, burying his face between your legs.

The combination of his tongue, teeth, and fingers working in perfect harmony left you breathless, your body trembling with the force of the impending climax. Your eyes rolled back in your head, and you cried out, your voice echoing faintly in the steam-filled room.

"Did my d’rling cum?" he whispered, his voice a low, sultry rumble that sent shivers down your spine. You felt your cheeks flush with heat, trying to look away, but he wouldn't have it. He gripped your face firmly, pulling it towards him for a searing, possessive kiss.

"It's not fair," he teased, the playful note in his voice. He lifted you effortlessly from your feet, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. You clung to him, still feeling the lingering aftershocks of your climax.

Ace turned off the shower, the sudden absence of the water's roar leaving the bathroom quiet. He carried you out of the bathroom, your skin slick and cold against his, and made his way to your bedroom. The journey felt like an eternity, the anticipation of what was to come building with each step.

Once in your bedroom, he laid you gently on the bed, your skin leaving wet trails on the sheets. The hunger in his gaze was evident, as he hovered over you. His lips found yours once more, the kiss fervent and hungry, as if he needed your taste to survive. His hands roamed over your body, teasing your nipples, and tracing the outline of your hips. The sensation of his calloused fingers on your wet skin sent shivers down your spine.

You arched into him, your body begging for more. Ace, in response, placed your legs around his hips, pressing you into a mating press. He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his erection nudging at your slick folds.

You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the scent of sex and desire filling the room. Your heart raced, the anticipation of being filled by him making your breath hitch. Ace's eyes locked with yours, the intensity of the gaze making your core clench in need.

With slow, deliberate movements, he pushed inside you, inch by torturous inch. The sensation of being filled was overwhelming, the pressure building with each thrust. A low, guttural moan escaped your lips, and your back arched, encouraging him to take you deeper.

“Fuck,” he murmured, the word a breathy exhale as he continued to push in. The lust in his eyes was undeniable, the desire to claim you overwhelming. Ace wanted to take you roughly, to chase his own high, but the need to hear your whimpers and moans was stronger.

He paused, his hips nestled against yours, his eyes never leaving yours. The room was filled with the sound of your ragged breathing, the heavy thudding of your hearts, and the wet, intimate slap of skin against skin.

Ace began to move, slowly at first, drawing out your pleasure. Each thrust was deliberate, a dance of control and desire. You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as he set a rhythm that left you breathless.

His hips moved in a steady, unyielding rhythm, and the pace gradually increased. You moaned his name, the sound guttural and filled with need. Your hands found their way to his head, hugging him, gripping him tightly as if to anchor yourself to the world.

The way he pressed into you, the relentless, unyielding pace, was intoxicating. It left you breathless, your mind fogging as your body responded to his every thrust. The words "slow down" formed on your lips, but they emerged as a garbled mess. Speaking seemed a distant, unattainable luxury as your body focused solely on the sensations coursing through you.

Ace's eyes locked with yours, the intensity in his gaze making it impossible to look away. The sight of him, the feeling of him, was overwhelming. Your body arched, a silent plea for more, for him to not stop, to take you to the edge.

The room was filled with the sound of your moans, the slap of skin against skin, and the rhythmic creak of the bed .

As the intensity of the moment grew, so did the pleasure building within you. Your body tightened, the muscles in your stomach clenching in anticipation. Your breaths came in ragged, shallow gasps, and you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

Ace continued to thrust into you, his pace unrelenting, his eyes locked onto yours. The room was filled with the raw, primal sounds of sex. The bed creaked beneath the force of your fucking, the rhythmic sound to the intensity of the moment.

You clung to him, your nails digging into his back, leaving faint red marks. The sensation of his body against yours, the way he filled you completely, was all-consuming. Your mind was a haze of lust and desire, the world outside your bedroom fading into insignificance.

The pleasure coiled tighter, the edge of release within your grasp. Your body trembled, and you could feel the telltale signs of your impending climax. Your breath hitched, and you cried out, your voice a high-pitched, desperate plea.

Ace's thrusts grew more intense, his body tensing as he felt your body preparing for its release. The sight of you, so vulnerable and needy, was almost his undoing. His pace faltered for a moment, and then he began to thrust with a newfound urgency, as if to push you both over the edge.

The room was filled with the sound of your moans, the wet, intimate slap of skin against skin, and the creaking of the bed. The scent of sex and sweat hung heavy in the air, and the atmosphere was electric with the raw, unbridled passion between the two of you.

Your body convulsed, the release you'd been waiting for washing over you in a tidal wave of ecstasy. You cried out, your voice high and breathless, as the pleasure coursed through you. Your inner muscles clenched around Ace, milking him as you rode out the climax.

Ace's eyes rolled back in his head, his body rigid with the force of your orgasm. The sight of you, your body writhing beneath him, was his undoing. With a guttural groan, he thrust deep inside you one last time, filling you with his cum.

Your body quivered as he continued to pulse within you, the aftershocks of your climax merging with the rhythmic contractions of his release. The two of you lay entwined, your breaths heavy and labored, as the last remnants of your passion ebbed away.

Ace collapsed onto your chest, his forehead resting against your chest, his body still trembling from the intensity of the moment. The room was filled with the soft sounds of your heartbeats, the slowing of your breaths, and the occasional twitch from your spent bodies. In a haze of post-coital exhaustion, Ace pulled both of you up, too tired to even know what he was about to do. You clung to him, your body still buzzing with the afterglow of your shared pleasure. He positioned both of you so that you lay on top of him, his now softening cock nestled deep inside you. The sensation sent a soft whine escaping your lips, your bodies were still attuned to one another.

“Let's just talk about this tomorrow d’rling,” Ace murmured, his voice heavy with contentment and exhaustion. He patted your still damp hair, the gesture tender and affectionate. “For now, just sleep.”

You snuggled closer to him, the warmth of his body and the feeling of being cradled in his arms lulling you into a peaceful slumber. The room around you faded into the background, replaced by the comforting rhythm of your heartbeats as you both drifted off to sleep

[averagewriter-inthedark]

The Flames of Love ❤️‍🔥 | Johnny Storm Imagine p.2

Link to my Marvel masterlist

continuation of this imagine 💌 The Widow's Bite of Love

Characters & Pairings: JosephQuinn!JohnnyStorm x black widow!reader (romantic), the Fantastic Four (platonic).

Content Warnings: fluff, profanity, flirtatious banter, mentions of violence, blood, inaccurate descriptions of surgery, canon divergence | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 3.3k

Requested 📨 yes/no

Premise: When it comes to his assassin turned agent girlfriend, Johnny Sorm is no stranger to her coming back from a mission a little banged up. This time, however, he's in for a shock when she arrives home following a simple infiltrate and recover operation with a more than a few stitches needed.

note: my mind is consumed with Johnny Storm 😩🥰

-----------------

A relieved Sue Storm rushed to her brothers' room the second she and Reed received word from the techs on the 15th floor that a Pogo-Plane breached their airspace and was approaching. While Reed and Ben went to the rooftop to wait for them, Sue took it upon herself to fetch the man who had been locked in his room the past 24 hours when they did not get an update the previous morning. All day she had to convince Johnny that whatever was going on with the team was out of their hands--that tracking them down on his own was not a good idea. 

Sue shared his worries. Y/n was her best friend, how could she not be anxious that something went wrong? But Sue trusted her friend, trusted the team she was with. They hadn’t failed a mission yet or had any casualties. At most, the team returns with minor injuries. 

Out of breath Sue reaches the room and bangs on the door when it doesn’t open. “Johnny!” she yells, hoping he wasn’t in the bathroom or fast asleep. “Johnny, open up! The techs spotted a jet--!” The door opens so fast it makes her stumble forward, catching herself on the frames to keep steady as she looks up to find Johnny’s wide eyes staring at her.

“Are they back?”

Sue smiles with an exhale, “They spotted a jet approaching off the coast. We think it’s them--Johnny!” She yelled when he pushed past her to run towards the elevator, grumbling as she sped off after him. “Wait for me!” 

Together they reached the top floor and climbed the stairs to the rooftop, Johnny pushing the door open with great force that it almost ricocheted off the wall and hit them but then caught it and mumbled a ‘sorry’ to his sister. On the launchpad they were met with a chaotic sight that made their stomachs drop. The Pogo-Plane was flanked by a crowd of people--technicians, paramedics, agents--barking orders that Johnny could barely make out a word over the noise. 

“Reed!!” Sue shouted, waving him down when she spotted the man and Ben trying to push through the crowd. The siblings hurried over, anxiety rising when they approached just in time for Ben to get inside the plane, “Out of my way!” 

“Where’s Y/n?” Johnny swallowed, gaze pinned on Ben’s orange form the entire time. A group of paramedics were hovering around something, or better yet someone, inside the jet, and Johnny felt the bile in his stomach rise as his gut told him it was Y/n they were working on. “Oh God.” 

“She’s gonna be okay, Johnny,” Sue placed a hand on his shoulder despite her own fear, scanning the pad to find several members of Y/n’s team being treated by paramedics. They were placing one agent on a stretcher, two were receiving stitches, and another was getting their hands wrapped. ‘What the hell happened out there?’

Johnny stiffened, causing Reed and Sue to look up and find Ben carrying Y/n in his arms, ignoring the shouts of paramedics ordering him to stop. The three backed up, allowing space between them and the crowd so Ben could safely place Y/n on the stretcher a medic had rushed in front of him to lay down. 

Upon seeing the state of his girlfriend Johnny felt all the blood drain from his face, kneeling beside her to cup her cheek in his hand while a medic went to her other side. “Oh, God, Y/n.” 

Squinting, or wincing considering her face was covered in bruises and cuts, Y/n offered a pained smile. “Oh hey, babe. What are you doing up here? You usually wait for me in the conference room.”

Johnny stared at her like she had two heads, unsure how to respond given he had just spent the last 24 hours losing his mind and now the love of his life was laying in front of him in the worst state she’s ever returned in. Most of the blood was dried, but it spilled from her nose, lips and forehead with some nasty abrasions to her ears and jaw. One of her eyes was completely so red he barely made out the white, the skin around it dark and swollen. 

God knows what injuries were hidden beneath her suit. But as his eyes drew downward, Johnny’s breath hitched, expression riddled with fear, “You’ve been shot.” Two bullet wounds stared back at the hero, one on her side where the paramedic was working on, the other tearing through her right forearm. 

“Just a graze,” Y/n brushed off with a light groan, but Johnny wasn’t fooled. The bullet that clipped her side may have been a graze, as it tore through the skin and there was no evident entry/exit wound, but her arm was in bad condition.

The medic, reading Johnny’s mind, gave the woman a displeased look, “One inch to the right and we’d be dealing with a different scenario, Agent L/n.” such as a ruptured spleen or the bullet bouncing in her body and causing more damage. “And your arm is completely shattered. We’re going to have to take you to surgery to see if any fragments were left behind and reconstruct whatever we can.”

Y/n let out a grunted sound, not delighted at having to go under the knife yet again. In her twenty plus years of service the former assassin turned agent was critically injured only a handful of times. Yeah she bruised a rib or took a knife to the shoulder, but she was pretty good at dodging bullets and keeping injuries superficial. It’s what made her the best Black Widow, she rarely got dealt a hand she couldn’t handle. This was the first since becoming an associate of the Fantastic Four that it happened. “Fuck.” 

Johnny, feeling relieved the bullets didn’t hit anything fatal, places a hand on Y/n’s cheek as he gently leans down to kiss her forehead, “You’re gonna be fine, baby.” His touch lingered before pulling away when the medic said they needed to move Y/n inside. 

The entire journey Johnny held her hand, not once letting go even after they were in the infirmary waiting for the OR to be prepped. And Johnny was grateful his family stuck around and offered their support by staying with them. Nurses flanked Y/n to treat the superficial wounds to her face and neck, the woman huffing when they said they needed to stitch the one to her temple, ear, and eyebrow. 

“The OR should be prepped soon, Agent L/n,” a doctor approached with a clipboard. “We’re gonna have to take some X-rays before sending you off just to see what damage was done to your arm--and a CAT scan to be safe.” 

Y/n squinted against the light, her usual relaxed demeanor tensing and Johnny felt the way her hand tightened around his. “You’re not putting me asleep.” By asleep she meant the anesthesia. The doctor frowned, taken aback by the statement. 

“Agent, I can assure you there’s nothing to worry about. The anesthesia is perfectly safe and it’s to help you--.” 

“You can give me a nerve blocker or sedate me,” she harshly cut him off, not leaving any room to argue. “But you’re not putting me asleep. I’ve been awake for procedures much worse than a bullet to the arm--this is nothing.” 

Johnny saw the doctor open his mouth to dispute, so he stepped in, “She doesn’t want the anesthesia, doctor. I’m sure you have an alternative that’s available to do what you need.” 

The doctor withdrew whatever it was he was going to say, firmly nodding before excusing himself with, “of course. I’ll go make sure everything’s in order.” He turned on his heel and left the room, resulting in Y/n to let out a sigh as her head fell back onto the pillow before tilting it to the side to look at Johnny. 

“Thank you.” She was gifted a kiss on the cheek. 

“No need to thank me, my love,” he murmured in her ear before pulling away. “Want to tell us what happened while we wait.” He heard her huff, moving to the top of the bed so Sue, Reed, and Ben could have room to hear the conversation. 

Sue offered Y/n a smile, patting her shoulder gently like a scolding sister, “We were awfully worried about you guys when you didn’t check in on Tuesday.”

“And then no word yesterday,” Reed pitched in. 

The team of agents, led by the Black Widow herself, were sent to retrieve a hard drive containing a list of arms dealers, power brokers, and all their subordinates that the government were desperate to have. The Four were occupied with another assignment, leaving the mission to Y/n who had way more experience infiltrating and recovering. But what was supposed to be pretty simple and last less than a week had escalated. Their coms went down on Tuesday with no agent confirming their status at the check in point. 

“Yeah, things went a little sideways when we got to the warehouse.” Y/n explained, closing her eyes as the nurse began to stitch her eyebrow. “We expected an ambush, but they had a little surprise waiting for us. Blasted some kind of gas to knock us,” she paused with a wince. Johnny began stroking her hair in hopes to comfort her. “The gas threw us off, made everything delirious and gave them the advantage. They locked us in some bunker below ground.”

Johnny mentally cursed. That’s why their coms were down. The whole team had been knocked unconscious and trapped for God knows how long. Judging by the looks of his friends, they were thinking the same. 

“How’d you escape?” Ben was the one to ask as Johnny quietly asked the nurse for a wet rag so he could start wiping away the dried blood on his girlfriend. 

“The bastard in charge--the one with the package I should say--came down eventually. Wanted answers I of course wasn’t going to give him. That’s when he let his goons ‘beat some sense into me.’” Johnny tightened his grip on the rag, face visibly consorting to one of fury, but he held himself together. The thought of someone laying their hands on Y/n consumed him with outrage and Johnny wanted nothing more than to find the bastard and beat some sense into him. 

“I let them get their licks in,” She chuckled with a knowing look, ignoring the disapproving ones from Johnny and Sue. They knew Y/n enjoyed a fight as much as a chase. She’d easily let an adversary think they got the upper hand until the right moment for her to put them down. They didn’t enjoy it when she did, as she often came back from a mission all bruised, but nothing could stop the Black Widow. “They were so occupied with it they didn’t realize our team had untied their ropes.” Y/n made a face of disgust, “Talk about amateurs at tying knots. You guys definitely wouldn’t need your powers to escape.” 

Johnny let out a snort, while others gave amused smiles. Y/n thanked the nurse when she was done stitching her face, accepting the cold compress that Johnny immediately snatched out of her hands. “Allow me,” he pressed it against her swollen eye, ignoring the playful glare she sent him. 

“Anyways, I got shot on our way out,” the coolness of the compress was delightful, making her sigh in content but not missing the concerned gazes of the Four. “The newbie had their hands full and didn’t realize a stray was lurking. I pushed them out of the way, got hit, took the stray out and then hauled us back to the jet.” 

“That was very heroic of you,” Sue praises, and Y/n’s lips curl up in a smirk.

“Says the hero out of the two of us.” Y/n tended to tease the Four whenever they attempted to call her a hero like them. She didn’t see herself as one, and part of her never believed she would be able to. Unlike the Four who immediately used their powers for good upon gaining them, Y/n’s ledger bleed red. The government didn’t completely trust her after four years, so how could she call herself a hero? At the end of the day, she was still the deadly Black Widow. 

Johnny went to back up Sue knowing Y/n was deflecting the claim but was interrupted by the doctor returning to take Y/n to the scans. Then the OR. “Will you stay with me?” She said to Johnny as he removed the compress. 

“Of course I will,” he stared at her with so much devotion it made her heart flutter. Leaning down to press his lips to her temple, Johnny added, “who else is gonna keep you entertained while they're working?” Y/n smirked mischievously. 

“Ben.”

Ben’s laugh echoed against the walls, making a few nurses flinch from the sound. “Don’t worry, Widow. I’ve been told I’m great company to keep.” 

Johnny shot him a scowl, not amused by the joke, “Not funny, Ben.” The rock giant shrugged. 

“I think it was funny.” 

They wheeled Y/n to a separate room from the infirmary where they conducted X-rays on her arms, chest, and stomach, before completing a CAT scan of her head. All the weapons on the suit were removed and when it came time to operate Y/n, not really in the mood for the doctors to cut the damn thing off to put her in a hospital gown, told them to just cut the section on her arm they needed to work with. 

A sheet was hung up to section off the area of Y/n’s right shoulder from the rest of her body. Johnny propped a chair next to the table they propped her on, taking her hand in his to sooth her knuckles with his thumb. The doctor injected Y/n with a light sedative that wouldn’t put her to sleep, as well as a nerve blocker as they began the procedure. 

“God, I hate that I can’t have a bath when this is over,” Y/n complained, voice slightly slurred from the sedative. Luckily she felt nothing below her elbow. The nerve blocker working overtime. “That sucks the most about this.”

Johnny snickered, using his free hand to caress her hairline. “Once you get the all clear, baby, I’ll draw you the best bath ever drawn.” A light giggle left her causing his grin to widen, “I even picked up some bath bombs the other day.” 

“Oh really,” She replied intrigued, “What kind of bath bombs?” It warmed her chest that Johnny spent what little time he had to himself to get bath bombs for her. Especially since she’d been meaning to after using the last one two weeks prior. 

“Well I got your favorite ones of course. No shimmer since I know you hated the glitter getting everywhere. Grabbed a few shower steamers. Then I saw this cool one with rose petals--.”

“Sounds romantic.” 

“Exactly,” he winked, “thought that can be for the both of us.” He tried to hold back his blush and was doing really well until Y/n seductively bit her lip and said, “Looking forward to it,” making him hide his face in the crook of her neck. 

About halfway through the surgery, they were rudely interrupted by the Director of the CIA storming through the doors of the OR. Not far behind was Sue and Reed chasing after him. Johnny jolted from his chair in shock, staring at his sister who was in the middle of yelling at the man while fighting against the hold of his bodyguards. 

“You can’t just march your way in here! She’s in the middle of surgery for Christ’s sake!” Sue grunted, pushing away an agent with ease as he tried to pull her back. Reed doing the same to the guy on him before moving to his wife. “Can’t you wait until they’re done before you interrogate her?”

The Director ignored the woman, telling the doctors to keep working despite their aghast reactions as he approached the table, “Agent L/n.”

Johnny’s jaw dropped, appalled at the nonchalantly the Director displayed. “This is ridiculous--!” A hand came up to silence him. 

“Son, this doesn’t concern you.”

“The hell it does!” He shouted, feeling the heat rise in his veins. How dare this man waltz in like he owned the place and demand Y/n to report the mission details mid operation. Johnny was about to continue berating him, but felt Y/n grasp the end of his jacket. When he peered down, he found her staring back at him with a look that read, ‘I got this, don’t worry.’

“Well damn, Jenkins, you sure know how to make an entrance.” 

“Did you get the drive?” He cut right to the chase. The Four didn’t hide their reactions, visibly fuming at the audacity the Director had. Does he not see the doctors openly working on Y/n’s limb? Was the drive that important? Apparently so. 

“Are you fucking serious?” she seethed, offended by the question. When has she ever failed? Using her uninjured arm not being pricked and pulled apart to reach into the breast pocket, she withdrew a sleek black object and held it up. “Of course I fucking got it.” 

Jenkins extended his hand, silently ordering her to hand it over. Reluctantly, Johnny grabbed the drive from Y/n and placed it in Jenkin’s open palm. His scowl not once leaving as he observed the Director inspect the drive before placing it in his pocket. 

“Well done, Agent,” his compliment meant nothing to her. Y/n already couldn’t stand Jenkins since he took over as CIA Director. Now him bursting into her surgery while she was half drugged was the last straw. “I expect a full report by the end of the week.”

“Yeah, yeah, now fuck off,” she spat, causing Johnny, Sue, and Reed to smirk, pleased with the look of irritation overcoming Jenkins. Thankfully he didn’t try to get the last word as he was used to Y/n’s sharp tongue and simply ordered his men to follow him out. 

Sue was the first to speak once he was out of sight, “God, I hate that man.” Y/n hummed in agreement, reaching for Johnny’s hand when he sat back down.

“You and me both.” She smiled when he squeezed her hand, leaning down to prop his chin on her shoulder. 

“Is he always like that?” Reed questioned from beside Sue. Of the Four, he and Ben had the least amount of interactions with Y/n’s ‘boss’ so witnessing this ordeal was mind boggling. 

Y/n answered with a light scoff, “You’d be surprised. Him coming to the infirmary while I’m being stitched up for a debrief is common. But this….this takes the cake.”

Sue gently squeezed Y/n’s knee, “We’re sorry you had to endure that. I was tempted to block him with a forcefield.” That got a snort out of the agent.

“Now that would’ve been a sight to see.” 

The couple departed, but not before informing the two that family dinner was to take place that night. No ifs, ands, or buts. Y/n ensured her attendance, even though she’d love nothing more than to jump in her bed and sleep. 

“When we get to bed,” she murmured over the sound of the Doctor’s praising themselves for a job well done, beginning to close Y/n’s arm up. “Do not wake me for twenty-four hours.” 

Johnny beamed, attaching his lips to Y/n’s jaw as slowly trailing them up until his mouth hovered over hers, “whatever my love wants, my love gets.” 

[sad-girl-hours23]

All the Hours and Minutes In Between

For @bucktommyfluffebruary Day 9: Moving In Together

The commute to Harbor from Evan’s apartment is fifteen minutes shorter than it is from Tommy’s house. If they stay at Evan’s place the night before a shift, they get to have fifteen more minutes together: cuddles in bed, unhurried kisses, quiet conversations in the kitchen over cups of coffee.

It’s why most of the nights they’re together, they’re spent at Evan’s.

And while those fifteen minutes add up day after day, they only leave Tommy wanting more.

One morning, Evan stops Tommy on his way out the door. He hands Tommy the lasagna pan he used the week before when they had dinner at his house. The pan looks brand new and not at all how it looked in Tommy’s cabinet—of course it does—because Evan always leaves things better than he found them.

“You can keep it,” Tommy says. “I prefer your lasagna any day.”

Evan tilts his head and laughs quietly. “That’s sweet, but I already have four. I think I’m good.”

Tommy accepts the lasagna pan and a lingering kiss on his lips.

He spends the whole walk to his truck wondering why he feels so rejected.

∗∗∗

Tommy hasn’t been to his house in over a week. Evan’s schedule and his matched up perfectly and even though they wouldn’t have time or energy to do much more than eat and sleep between shifts, when Evan texted him: come over after work? Tommy did each time. And at the end of their work week, one date night somehow turned into three. 

They’re lying together, Evan squished between Tommy and the back of the couch, watching Pretty Woman when Tommy shivers. Evan holds him closer. “Do you want a hoodie? You left a few here.” “Yeah. Where are they?” Tommy moves to sit up, but Evan stops him.

“Stay. I’ll get it,” Evan says as he climbs over Tommy.

Tommy smiles as he watches Evan walk away. He wonders which one he’ll bring back: the one from the Muay Thai gym he goes to or any one of the alarming number of LAFD hoodies he owns. 

When Evan returns, he sets a laundry basket on the floor and picks out a navy hoodie that says Kinard on the back. He smiles sheepishly at Tommy. “I was—uh—doing laundry and found a bunch of your clothes so I threw them in with mine. Figured you might need them when you go home. You can just bring the basket back whenever.”

Tommy stares down at the full basket and can’t quite remember how or when he’d squirreled away so many articles of clothing, but he desperately wants to tell Evan to put them all back where he found them. He doesn’t even have a drawer of his own in Evan’s dresser but still he wants more, more, more .

Evan shifts his weight and clutches the hoodie to his chest. “Was that—okay?”

The hitch in Evan’s breath shakes Tommy out of his daze. He tugs at Evan’s shirt until he’s standing between Tommy’s legs. “That was very thoughtful of you, sweetheart.” 

A small smile tugs at Evan’s lips. Tommy kisses Evan until the light returns to his eyes and a soft blush settles on his cheeks.

Evan unfolds the hoodie. “Now put this on so we can start Runaway Bride . Lift up your arms.”

Tommy asks, “is this really necessary?” but he does as he’s told and lets Evan slide the hoodie over his arms and head.

After they’re back on the couch, Evan—curled against Tommy’s back—says, “I love taking care of you.”

Tommy places his hands over Evan’s, where they’re settled on Tommy’s stomach, and laces their fingers together. 

He really loves Evan taking care of him too.

∗∗∗

Tommy has to park in a space that couldn’t be further from Evan’s apartment, but it hardly fazes him anymore. Soon he’ll have Evan in his arms and it’ll be more than worth the trek.

When Evan opens the door, he frowns. “Did I forget we had plans?”

Tommy sighs and shakes his head.  “No, we didn’t. I just drove here after my shift out of habit. I wasn’t thinking.”

Evan smiles and opens the door the rest of the way. “Well you’re here now, so come in.”

Tommy takes off his shoes and lines them up next to Evan’s, drops his keys in the bowl right next to his. “Actually, that’s a lie.”

“What?”

“I said I wasn’t thinking, but that’s not true. Coming home to you—it’s all I can think about. It’s all I want to do. I want to wake up with you and go to bed with you. I want all the hours and minutes in between.”

“Tommy—”

“I don’t want you to send me back to my house with clean dishes and laundry.”

“What are you saying?”

“I want more than just a drawer in your dresser and a key to your place.”

Evan takes Tommy’s hand in his. Like so many times before, they’d gravitated toward each other without realizing it. “Babe. I really need you to spell this out for me.”

“I want to move in with you.”

Evan smiles. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Tommy, I wanted you to move in with me six months ago.”

“Well, a lot has happened since then. I didn’t know if the offer still stood.”

Evan squeezes Tommy’s hand.  “It stands.”

Tommy sighs. “Okay. Good. Does that mean I can stay the night?”

“It means you can stay forever.”

Tommy places Evan’s hand over his heart, where it beats mercilessly against his ribcage. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Also on AO3

My Fluffebruary works collected here

[lovelynim]

Vidyadhara's preferences

Honkai Star Rail - Caelus x Dan Heng

Collab with @otomiyaa

A/N: I'm sooo excited to announce that I could count on no other than @otomiyaa herself for this little project - in case you guys don't know where this came from

It was really fun to write this fic and I just want to thank Ginny for accepting my request. Hope I get the chance to repeat the dose again some other time, heheh ~

Summary: Did you know that the vidyadhara prefer cooler waters over hot baths? As for Caelus, not so much.

Word count: 2727 words nice

Pressing his eyes close, Caelus let out a soft groan as he woke up. What time was it, anyway? He was still struggling to understand the passage of time of the people from Okhema. Even the people inside Herta’s Space Station had nights and days, how come the people in here didn’t invent a better way to tell the hours apart?

Caelus brought his hand up to his face, rubbing the corners of his eyes to try to get rid of the drowsiness from his sleep. “Hnngh.. ahh ~” He gasped softly, sitting up and stretching his arms high above his head.

“Good morning, Caelus.”

The familiar voice coming from the other side of the room made his eyes open wide. Caelus looked around, his eyes quickly spotting Dan Heng’s figure, sitting inside the bath, all naked and- wait, naked?!

“D-Dan Heng- caham, you, ahm, did you wake up early?” Caelus ratched his cheek with his index finger, feeling a bit of heat under his digit while his eyes battled to not stare at Dan Heng’s bare silhouette like a hungry beast glaring at its prey.

Dan Heng smiled slightly, turning around to look at Caelus and leaning on the border of the bath. “I can’t tell. There was some noise outside when I got up, but I’m not sure if it’s the bath house’s workers or if it's open to visitors.”

“Right- ahm, d-did you-”

“No, I was waiting for you to eat something. I figured it wouldn’t be a good idea to have a meal by myself - or just with the company of the Heirs,” Dan Heng explained, leaning his head on his hand.

The clear water didn’t exactly do a good job covering Dan Heng’s body, neither did the small soapy bubbles floating around. Caelus wasn’t exactly the one to get shy - in fact, between them, he was the one to usually make the first move whenever they were at it - but being greeted with a naked man first thing in the morning definitely caught him off guard.

“Ehh? ~ Is it?” Caelus grinned, pushing himself up from his ‘bed’ and already tugging at the hem of his white tank top, taking it off in a swift move, “can I join you? A nice bath sounds like a good way to start the day ~”

“Got it,” Caelus coughed, trying to keep himself composed, “then, are you waiting for long?”

“Not really,” Dan Heng muttered, turning back around and sinking a little into the water, lifting his hand from under the water and letting it drip down his arm, “I decided to take a bath shortly after I got up, it must’ve been just a couple minutes I’m here… I must admit the water is, indeed, as relaxing as Aglaea promised it to be.”

“Be my guest,” Dan Heng replied quietly, resting his head back on the border of the bath.

Eager to join, Caelus noted Dan Heng’s subtle stare when he stripped his lower half as well and left the garments in a messy heap on the floor. However, without commenting, Dan Heng calmly watched Caelus as he dropped himself into the water right beside him.

A quick action he regretted very soon.

“AYEHH!” Caelus screeched at the sudden cold. The water was freezing! His yell still echoed through the room as he slowly turned his head to shoot Dan Heng a horrified look. Dan Heng calmly stared back.

“Is something wrong?” 

Pffft! “O-o-obviously! Why so c-cold?!” He would’ve jumped out immediately, but he found himself frozen, literally, as if an invisible force kept him trapped here in the bath next to his lover.

Dan Heng scooped some water up and eyed him quietly. “It’s not that cold.” 

Caelus couldn’t believe him. He sat down and crossed his arms over his chest, his whole body shivering. Scooting closer against Dan Heng, he pouted and tried to breathe in and out, trying to get used to the temperature. 

“Y-you’re right. It’s - f-freezing,” he whined. 

Dan Heng shook his head. “You’re exaggerating.” 

It definitely felt better when Caelus was pressed against Dan Heng whose body felt warmer than the icy cold water, but it didn’t stop him from shivering. Goosebumps were all over his body, and he leaned even closer against Dan Heng.

“Dan Heng~” he whined. He just couldn’t get used to it. He was pleased when Dan Heng finally responded by wrapping his arm around his shoulder, welcoming the cuddle.

“It’s really not that cold,” Dan Heng chuckled. 

Caelus rubbed against him. “It is. But I can handle it if you warm me up.”

“I’m already warming you up.” It indeed felt better with Dan Heng’s arm around him, but Caelus didn’t feel warm enough yet. 

“I n-need to get warmer,” he answered huskily, hoping to have the other to read between the lines of his actions. ‘Take the lead, dummy’, he repeated inside his head, pouting on the outside.

“It will no longer be a good bath if the water gets any hotter,” Dan Heng explained, his eyes staring at nothing as he rubbed Caelus’s shoulder with his thumb. “The water is perfect as it is right now.”

Tsk, for someone that smart, he was surely dense when it was convenient. Caelus rested his head on Dan Heng’s shoulder - refusing to unwrap his arms from around his own body. He could feel the cold piercing his skin, each new inch of skin soaked in that thing - that could be described as ‘liquid ice’ instead of water - making him shiver and tense up all over again.

Well, guess it was on him for trying to get steamy at his dragon boyfriend’s cold bath. Still, would it kill him to be a little romantic?!

“L-Lizards are supposed to like basking in t-t-the sun and things to warm their cold blood, not this,” Caelus tried to sound upset and make his scolding convincing, but his shivering jaw would barely allow him to speak.

Still, those words were clear enough to get into Dan Heng’s nerves. “‘Lizards’?” Dan Heng repeated, scooping some of the water with the bathing spoon and pouring it on Caelus' back, making him screech.

“D-D-DON’T DO THAT!” Caelus cried, arching closer to Dan Heng’s body.

“Hm? I just figured you’d need some help to clean yourself since you’re still getting used to the water,” he explained, barely bothering to hide the mischief as he settled the spoon away and wrapped his arm around Caelus’ body again.

“I-I told you to w-warm me up, not to mAHah- D-Dan Heng!”

It took Dan Heng a single poke against Caelus’ upper ribs to stop his complaints. He grinned, looking at Caelus with the corner of his eyes as he tapped the same spot again, teasing the other since he was ‘too cold’ to fight back anyway. 

“Yes?” He feigned ignorance, his finger tracing down from Caelus’ ribs to his side, leaving a trace of goosebumps and cold water on his skin. “Is there another problem besides the water?”

“D-d-don’t do t-that either,” Caelus hissed. He felt his face getting red instead of pale. There was a mischievous glint in Dan Heng’s eyes, and he recognized that look.

“Don’t what?” he asked. Caelus refused to say it, to fall for such a lame joke, but he didn’t need to. Suddenly Dan Heng’s finger tracing his side was joined by his four other fingers and they started to dance playfully up and down, tickling him effectively. 

To think a body could feel so cold and so frozen, but still be this ticklish. “AHHhah Dan Heheheng nohoho!” he whined dramatically. He tried to pull back, but Dan Heng grabbed him and held him tightly while continuing to tickle him.

“What’s wrong? I’m warming you up like you asked.” Well, Caelus couldn’t deny that. The way he was suddenly laughing by force, his body pressed against Dan Heng and with this strange tingly feeling rushing right through him, he was definitely feeling a little warmer than earlier.

Still, this was bad.

Caelus couldn’t help but to squirm, kicking and splashing the water around them. He wanted to run from the tickles and avoid that devious hand torturing his poor, cold side, but that would also mean he needed to crawl away and sit amidst the freezing water again, away from the slightly warm haven he just began to create.

“Thahat’s so unfahair!” Caelus giggled and cried, both at the same time. He held onto Dan Heng’s free hand with both of his, too stunned by the cold to do anything but to take the tickling. “Y-your- AhAHA, yohohour hand is cohohold too!~”

“I wonder why,” Dan Heng mocked, smiling along with his shivering boyfriend as he clawed a bit lower, dragging his nails around the curve of Caelus’s waist and up towards his back. Of course, he also needed to make sure Caelus was enjoying the bath to the fullest. “The more you avoid the water, the longer it will take for you to get used to it.”

“B-but ihihit’s cohohOHOLD!” Caelus gasped, not even sure of how he should react when Dan Heng suddenly shifted his attention back to his waist. “L-lehehet me o-out! H-hahHa, I-I dohohon’t want to bahath anymohore!”

Despite not having a proper answer - only managing to get some soft, quiet chuckles from Dan Heng - Caelus knew he wouldn’t be getting anywhere until Dan Heng said so. 

Ticklish. Cold. Ticklish, then cold again. His nerves flicked between both stimuli like a switch, leaving Caelus laughing like a dork in Cold Dragon Young’s embrace. As cruel as Dan Heng could be (according to Caelus’ records of this story), there was no denying in how he was, indeed, becoming more comfortable and used to the bath’s temperature as each second passed them by.

Warmth started flowing through his body again, starting from his chest and spreading through his limbs. While he continued to laugh and squirm in Dan Heng’s embrace, Caelus tried to move his arms, and when he noticed he was getting control back over his body in the freezing water, he immediately acted.

“I can see you’re warming up a bit. See? It does help when I’mー” Dan Heng did not get to finish whatever smug comment he was about to make. Before he could realize it, Caelus caught the hand that was still tickling him mercilessly and stopped it on its tracks. Uh oh. “Cael–”

Caelus tightened the grip around Dan Heng’s wrist, making sure those fingers weren’t coming back anywhere near his body anytime soon and using his returning strength to block that tickle attack. “Yeah, it was really helpful,” he sighed, taking a deep breath to let the air back into his lungs, his breathing still a bit erratic after the ticklish assault, “I think it’s only fair I return the favor”.

“But,” Dan Heng hissed nervously, trying to pull his hand free, “the water is perfect to me, I don’t need help with it.”

Flashing a playful, mischievous grin, Caelus pulled Dan Heng’s hand and dragged him closer. In a matter of seconds, he turned around and got himself on top of the other’s lap, his hand latched just above Dan Heng’s hip, digging his thumb in and rubbing circles on the tender (and cold) spot. “Then maybe help you bath should make us even, right?”

“Y-you’re nohot hehelping at ahall!” Caelus smiled to hear Dan Heng’s restrained giggles as he continued to touch him just lightly, rubbing and stroking his hip and moving up slowly. He wasn’t even really tickling him yet, but the soft touch and anticipation alone were enough to make the usually cool Dan Heng already react this way.

“Oh, but I’m going to,” Caelus sang. Dan Heng jolted as soon as he dug his fingers in, just slightly, but enough for it to tickle so much that water splashed all around them because of Dan Heng’s strong reaction. A water drip rolled down Caelus’s cheek and he cocked his head, a smirk stretching his lips when he noted Dan Heng’s cute, flustered expression.

Caelus felt a shiver slide down his back with the sound of that giggly cry. Part of him actually wanted to go a little harder and have Dan Heng cackling like an idiot for a change, but there was something so charming about this quiet laughter, the contained mirth and the held back gasps that Caelus couldn’t bring himself to go over it - at least, not now.

“Don’t you dare,” Dan Heng warned, trying to sound strict and firm, and Caelus admired his attempts. He would have to remind him later that he started it, but first… He dug his fingers into Dan Heng’s lower side again, wiggling his fingers up and down while he rubbed his palm against his cold skin in some sort of wannabe washing-movement. “N-nononohohho, Cahahaelus!”

He was nearly laying on top of Dan Heng while tickling him, trapping his boyfriend under his own weight while letting his fingers do the dirt - or, better saying, “cleaning” work. “I can’t get my job here done if your hands keep getting in the way, Dan Heng,” Caelus teased, prodding at the spot just below the other’s ribs.

“Yohou a-are not suppohohosed to be dohohoing this!” Dan Heng insisted, did he really think he could argue his way out of this? To appeal to Caelus’ reason and convince him that there was no need for tickles in their bath?

“Right,” Caelus rolled his eyes, his hands stopping and laying flat on top of Dan Heng’s waving chest. “I won’t get you clean like this… where did they leave the brushes-”

“!!!”

Caelus loved that adorable twitch and surprised reaction from Dan Heng when he managed to grab one of the nearby brushes. He could already tell this was going to be good.

“I-I’m seherious, Caelus…” he whispered huskily, his laughter still visible on his face as he gaped at Caelus and tried to reach for one of his hands.

Smirking, Caelus caught Dan Heng’s arm and yanked it to the side so he could drag the brush up and down his armpit. Now that did the cleaning job better, and it didn’t seem to tickle him any less, heh.

“CahAHahaelus!” Dan Heng screeched, his laughter almost going as loud as a dragon’s roar. He kicked his feet behind Caelus, splashing the water and causing ripples to go all around the once peaceful bath.

Working on his ticklish boyfriend, Caelus had long forgotten about the cold temperature of the water. He now only felt warmth. Warmth and pure enjoyment, and his body was still tingling, not because of the tickling earlier, but because of Dan Heng’s sweet pleasant giggles. 

Well, could he really help it? Dan Heng himself started it himself after all. 

Speaking of him, it was only when Dan Heng’s free hand landed on Caelus’ face that the trailblazer snapped back to his senses. The skin under his boyfriend’s skin was starting to look as flushed as his cheeks, but Caelus couldn’t really feel bad for it when his eyes quickly spotted the large, breathless smile on Dan Heng’s face.

“T-thahank you…,” Dan Heng sighed, his chest waving as his lungs tried to work for the lack of air. He looked so beautifully wrecked that Caelus couldn’t help but to blush a bit at the sight.

“You look like you’re about to go into your next incarnation,” Caelus joked, loosing the grip he had around Dan Heng’s arm. “And that was just half of my cleaning serv- pfftt,” he giggled, unable to hold back his reaction was Dan Heng stared at him completely frightened at the idea of going through that again.

“Fine, you can do the rest yourself,” Caelus hummed, tossing the brush over his shoulder and dropping himself on top of Dan Heng, resting his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “You were right, Dan Heng…”

“Hm?” Dan Heng arched an eyebrow, hesitating for a moment before resting his body on the bath’s border and wrapping his arms around Caelus’ shoulders, “about what, exactly?”

“A cold bath can be quite comforting… once you get used to the water, I mean.” Caelus smiled, kissing and nuzzling Dan Heng’s cheek. “We should do this more often.”

“Thanks to you, the water isn’t remotely close to ideal, but… yes, let’s make this a habit while we are here.”