#how dare he tug on my heart strings like this

[jobean12-blog]

Burn for You

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x female reader

Word Count: 2.2K

Summary: Even though you know Marcus would protect you with his very last breath you still want to learn to defend yourself but what will your husband say when you ask him to teach you?

Author's Note: Just another little story in our happy world where everyone is on the same side and friends haha. This is a stand alone story that I couldn't resist after seeing the new snippets from the movie- and then Pedro himself posts the sword gif and I died all over again. How dare he? It's so hot🔥🫠Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! ��

Warnings: fun and flirty and tense, he's always soft and perfect, semi public sex, smut, they just can't get enough of each other.

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

The gold trimmed linen falls over his bare skin, and you smooth your hands down his chest to straighten it.

“When are you going to teach me how to wield a sword General?”

You reach for the fascia, gently placing it over his leg before starting to secure it. When his silence drags on you look up from your kneeling position.

“Are you trying to think of some filthy thing to say right now?” you tease. “I am on my knees.”

The corner of his mouth lifts into a mischievous smirk.

“If I didn’t know how much you loved being in that position, I might have something more to say…”

“But…” you finish for him as you slowly slide up his body and meet his eyes.

“Your question has surprised me.”

You take his cuirass and press it to his chest with more force than is necessary.

“And why is that husband?” you ask through clenched teeth.

As you begin to tug on the leather strings at his sides he grabs both your wrists, grasping them in one hand and pulling you against his chest, while the fingers of his other press under your chin and hold your gaze to his.

“You think I do not believe you capable?” he asks with his brows drawn in.

“Why else would you not teach me?” you huff.

“Like my heart, body and soul, you have my sword until my last breath and forever after,” he whispers against your lips.

Your expression softens and you press your fingertips to his jaw, delicately tracing the scar just above the dark hair that lines his cheek.

“I know Marcus…”

“But…” he says, echoing your earlier sentiment.

“I wish to learn. I am strong. And I want to be able to defend myself.”

He remains quiet still, releasing your wrists and smoothing his calloused fingers along the curve of your shoulder.

“I could ask Lucius instead…” you start to muse.

“You will not,” he growls.

“He may not have the same reservations you have…whatever they may be.”

Your tone is cheeky as you press yourself closer to him, dancing your fingers down his side to give the leather straps of his cuirass a sharp tug.

He grunts lightly before his lips turn up into a smile.

“As you wish my love,” he murmurs. “I will teach you to wield a weapon.”

“Excellent,” you whisper, loosening your grip and reaching for the Manica to adorn his forearms.

He stops you with a firm hand and you raise a brow.

“On one condition…”

“And what is that?” you ask.

“You will train with me and only me. No other will come near you, touch you.”

“Of course,” you say with a lift of your chin. “Only you.”

He dips his head, the tip of his nose brushing yours as he presses you against his body.

“How much time do we have?” he mumbles, kissing you, chaste and soft.

He pulls back, licks his lips, and moves forward again, moaning softly against your mouth.

“Marcus,” you chide but it’s lacking vigor, coming out breathier and desperate.

When his hips rock you feel him, hard and ready and it’s like someone lights a match inside your chest and you curl your fingers into the edges of his cuirass and push him back toward the wall.

The draped fabric at your waist falls open and you gasp as cool air finds your skin where you’re wet and aching.

His roughened palm slides down your stomach and his fingers slip between your legs.

“Want to taste this,” he whispers, dragging the tip of his fingers in and out.

“Ah General Acacius. So good of you to grace us with your presence,” Lucius jokes, his eyes twinkling.

The other men stifle their laughter, clearing throats and shuffling feet when Marcus glares at them menacingly.

You step out from behind Marcus and smile at Lucius, whose surprised expression quickly transforms into one of mischief.

“Do we have a new trainee today General?” Lucius asks with a smirk.

Marcus ignores him and deftly twirls the sword between his fingers as he walks along the row of gladiators.

“My wife…, he begins, “wishes to learn how to fight.”

You can see that the men are trying to restrain their shock, and you meet each of their gazes, holding your head high and your shoulders poised.

“You will not touch her or even come near her,” he continues. “She will train with me and only me.”

Marcus turns his covetous eyes to you, dragging them over every inch of your skin that glistens under the warm sun.

With a hard swallow he gets into position and instructs the men on what to practice, giving Lucius control of the group so he can work with you.

“That will keep them busy for now,” he says quietly as he moves toward you, circling.

He stops behind you, pressing his chest to your back and slowly sliding his hand down from your shoulder to your wrist. Despite the heat, goosebumps crawl along your skin, and you feel his smile at your neck.

“Focus my beloved,” he murmurs. “You will not win any fights if you are distracted.”

The urge to throw your elbow back and into his side is strong but you refrain and strengthen your wrist.

He places the sword in your hand and maneuvers your fingers into the right position, keeping his hand over yours as he shows you the proper grip.

Every word of command is whispered into your ear and every touch of his hand is both soft and firm. Even with his impressive size and strength, he moves lithely, easily disarming you at every turn.

It frustrates you, motivates you but more than anything, and to your utter exasperation, it arouses you.

“Marcus.” You call his name while in a particularly precarious position and he quickly stands and takes you with him, his gaze concerned as it sweeps over your body.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.

“No,” you say with a dismissive wave of your hand.

He waits for you to elaborate and you step closer. “Perhaps you should work with the men now. I think Lucius bores them.”

His lips tilt upward at your teasing, but he continues to study you carefully.

“Do you need a break then?”

“Perhaps I can work on my stance with Lucius,” you suggest.

His eyes narrow. “We made a deal.”

“I know,” you tell him with a quiet sigh.

Then with resignation you throw back your shoulders and get into position. “I’m ready to continue.”

His body heat at your back sends another wave of tension through your body and when his calloused fingertips ghost along your thigh to fix its position you have to fight back a gasp.

“Relax your muscles,” he says as he presses on your shoulders and lower back.

You let out a slow exhale and try to focus on his direction instead of his touch, but the way his voice is low and deep in your ear drags you right back to your lascivious thoughts.

When he’s satisfied with your positioning he moves in front of you, twirling his sword tauntingly and though his forearms are hidden under the armor adorning his wrists you know the muscles flex and shift enticingly.

He beckons to you, and you advance, remembering the foot work well and making good use of your sword.

But before you can make any real progress he has you on your back and beneath him, the sandy dirt rising and floating around your head as you stare up into his face.

“You are doing well,” he assures you, sensing your frustration. “Remember, it is only your first day.”

Sweat coats his brow and you watch a droplet roll down his temple and along the line of his beard. It settles on his upper lip and the desire to lean up and kiss him is overwhelming. His scent surrounds you, sweat and leather, and his touch burns.

“Marcus,” you breathe out.

“My love,” he answers, pushing up and offering you a hand.

You crash into his chest, your eyes dropping to his mouth and your lips parting. “I need you.”

It takes him only a split second to realize the meaning of your words and his head dips to your ear, his growl full of promise.

“Do you need me to fill you my love?”

You barely get your words of affirmation out when he grabs your hand and pulls you away from the training circle.

“Lucius, you can finish off the training for today. I have to see…to my wife.”

Your quarters are too far away, and you tell him so, letting him lead you to an underground alcove in the basilica nearby.

He kisses you until your back hits the cold stone wall and you can feel every inch of armor and cloth that separates your bodies.

His hands grip your face, thumbs pressing urgently into your skin as he kisses you until you’re lightheaded.

Few rays of sunlight pierce the recesses below and you’re bathed in a soft darkness, hidden, but with the sounds of the world going on right above you.

It reminds you that there are other people on this Earth beyond his kisses, his frantic hands, and the way he can’t seem to get you close enough.

Your armor becomes untied, and you reach under his, tugging at whatever you can find to loosen it. Cloth and linen floats to your feet and his fingers skim the curve of your waist, dipping between your legs.

“Fingers Marcus,” you gasp.

He swears, two fingers sliding deep.

Your hips rock into his hand and you hold onto his broad shoulders, on the edge of something that starts in your stomach and slips up along your spine.

You cry out, too loud and breathing so heavy you might pass out.

“I’m so close Marcus,” you whisper. “I want you inside me.”

His eyes lift from between your legs, and you take him in; messy curls, fallen over his damp forehead and sticking to it, his body shining with a light sheen of sweat and dust clinging to his skin.

You almost come at the sight of him. He feels you tighten around his fingers and pulls them free with another curse.

His knee parts your legs and you feel the head of his cock as it slides through you and you’re so wet that with just the smallest push forward he starts to slip inside.

With a grunt, he tucks his head into your neck, takes deep, steadying breaths.

“I need a moment,” he murmurs and holds your hips still.

He straightens, reaching a hand over your shoulder to brace it on the stone wall.

“You feel too good,” he whispers, pulling out and pushing back in slowly. “Too perfect.”

He builds a rhythm, hips rocking against yours, the sound of his armor thudding into yours as he fucks you.

His hand reaches up, holds your face as his thumb traces your lips, the taste of you lingering on his fingers.

“I want to watch you come,” he says, dark eyes moving across your face.

You wrap your arms around his neck, the muscles strained and tight with his restraint, pulling him harder to you.

“Say it,” he growls.

“I want it harder.”

His lips brush yours and he nibbles the lower one, tugging and then soothing with his tongue.

“And…?” he asks, knowing there’s more you want to say. More that you need.

“I want someone to hear us. I want them to know how good you feel.”

He grunts and grips your waist tightly before he starts slamming hard and slick into you.

Voices echo above, the sounds of feet and horse hooves growing louder.

“More Marcus,” you cry out.

You feel so full and stretched and the tight feeling in your stomach grows warmer and hotter until your head falls back against the stone, and you moan out his name as you come.

He follows right after, his movements becoming jagged and frantic before finally stilling with a muffled groan into your skin.

You lean into him, catching your breath and letting your fingers wander over the dips and curves of muscle in his back.

He lifts his head and immediately searches for your mouth, sealing his lips to yours.

When he pulls back his eyes are ablaze, and a smile pulls at his lips.

“What?” you ask, trembling when his fingertips skim along your collarbone, strong but gentle.

They ghost higher, to the hollow of your throat where your pulse beats wildly still, before closing lightly around your neck.

Your breath hitches.

“Was it the fighting that aroused you so?” he asks, pressing his thumb under your chin while he still holds your neck. “Or…?”

You swallow and lick your lips.

“You know what it was General,” you whisper.

“I want to hear you say it.”

He’s still inside you and he starts to thicken, the throb making your eyelashes flutter along your cheeks.

“You, General. It is you. Always you that fills me with an unquenchable need.”

“Then it is a good thing my hunger for you will never be sated,” he whispers as he begins to slowly rock his hips.

[lov3lycosmos]

Plssss anything han tbh, maybe spit kink

₊˚⑅⋆ 𝓓𝓻𝓲𝓹 ⋆⑅˚₊

Genre: smut

Warnings: pet names (use of mommy, good boy), spit, dry humping

v4mps note: SUB HAN JUST UGH HAS MY HEART

Jisung's hands grip your hips, his breathing uneven as you press down against him, rolling your hips just enough to tease. His head tilts back against the couch, eyes hazy, lips parted as small whimpers escape him.

"M-Mommy," he whines, fingers twitching at your waist but never daring to take control. "Feels so—so good..."

You drag a single finger down his jaw, tilting his chin up so he looks at you properly. His pupils are blown wide, cheeks already flushed, and you swear you can see his thighs trembling beneath you.

"Yeah, baby?" you murmur, leaning in just enough for your lips to ghost over his. "Then open up for me."

His breath hitches, but he obeys instantly, mouth parting as he waits, eyes flickering between your own and your lips.

You smirk at how easily he obeyed, his breath hitching as he kept his mouth open, waiting—desperate. His lips were slightly swollen from your earlier kisses, his tongue peeking out just enough to show his eager submission.

Slowly, you let a string of saliva drip from your parted lips, watching as it stretched and finally landed on his tongue. His eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, a needy groan escaping him as he swallowed without hesitation.

The warmth of your body against him was almost too much, your hips rolling over his clothed erection in a slow, teasing rhythm. His breath came out in shaky gasps, fingers digging into your thighs as he tried to ground himself against the overwhelming pleasure.

“M-Mommy, please… again,” he whimpered, voice barely above a whisper yet filled with raw need. His hips bucked up against you, his cock throbbing beneath the layers of fabric separating you. His mouth parted once more, eyes hazy as he gazed up at you—begging without words, waiting for you to feed him what he so desperately craved.

A whimper tumbled from his lips as you pulled back, his hips stuttering beneath you in frustration. His pupils were blown wide with need, his lips slick and slightly parted as he panted, completely at your mercy.

“Aw, poor baby,” you cooed, running your thumb over his bottom lip, tugging it down slightly. His breath hitched at the touch, his tongue instinctively flicking out to taste your skin.

Your smirk grew. “You’re that desperate, huh?”

He swallowed thickly, nodding without shame, his eyes fluttering as you dragged your thumb further into his mouth. His lips closed around it, his tongue swirling over the pad as he let out a soft, helpless moan.

“God, look at you,” you whispered, watching him suck on your thumb like he was starved for it. “You love this, don’t you?”

He whined, his cheeks flushing, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his hands gripped your thighs tighter, his body trembling as you slowly pulled your thumb from his lips, leaving behind a thin string of saliva. His breath was shaky, chest rising and falling rapidly, and his eyes flicked up to yours—pure, unfiltered desperation swirling in them.

“More,” he pleaded breathlessly, barely able to get the word out.

Your smirk deepened. “More what?”

He swallowed again, his fingers twitching against your skin. “Spit in my mouth again,” he whispered, his voice so needy it sent a jolt of heat straight to your core.

You chuckled, tilting his chin up as you leaned over him, lips hovering just above his. “Such a filthy little thing,” you murmured, watching the way his breath shuddered at your words.

His lips parted obediently before you even told him to, and you took your time, letting him squirm beneath you as he awaited your next move. Then, ever so slowly, you let a string of saliva drip from your lips, watching as it stretched before landing perfectly on his tongue.

He moaned outright this time, his eyes fluttering shut as he swallowed it down with zero hesitation. His cock twitched beneath you, so hard it must’ve been painful, and yet he didn’t move—he didn’t dare, not without your permission.

“Good boy,” you purred, and the whimper that left him was nothing short of pathetic.

His hips jerked again, seeking any form of relief, but you weren’t ready to give him that just yet. Not when he looked so pretty like this—flushed, wrecked, and utterly desperate for you.

You trailed your fingers down his chest, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch. “You love tasting me, don’t you?” you mused, dragging your nails lower, teasing the waistband of his pants.

He nodded frantically, his voice breaking as he gasped, “Yes—God, yes, I love it—love anything you give me.”

Your smirk softened slightly, your fingers ghosting over his flushed skin. “Such a good boy for me,” you murmured, watching the way he shivered at your praise.

And just as he let out a shaky exhale, thinking you might finally ease his suffering, you leaned down, brushing your lips over his ear.

“But good boys know how to wait.”

His groan was nothing short of wrecked, his body trembling beneath you as he realized just how much you intended to make him suffer.

Taglist: @vampzity @sooniedoongiedori25 @mhluvie @yaorzu-blog

[askew-d]

KAGEHINA FICS MASTERLIST

• ⭐️🎖️ jellyfish, by mysterytwin — hinata makes a list of things to do before graduation; and that includes confessing his feelings to kageyama. a wonderful story, so heartwarming. my utmost favorite.

• ⭐️ in transit, by mysecretfanmoments — while riding the bus together, hinata begins to discover about his feelings for kageyama. absolutely lovely.

• dare, by majesticartax — kagehina’s chosen to play a dare in which they end up locked in a room, and, of course, revelations ensue. this one made me scream lots. rated m!

• you know all the strings (and know just how to tug them), by artemisia_hq — 5 + 1 story about kageyama being whipped and can’t say no and hinata saying yes. domestic fluff.

• like always, by artemisia_hq — during their last walk home together, hinata becomes aware of his feelings and decides to do something about it. short story, yet so cute!

• ⭐️ i wanna know you, and i wanna love you, by momochai — kagehina go on a day together, or better yet, a date; even though they’re not quite aware of it. i was dying throughout all of this, outstanding!

• you’re grabbing my hands like they’re handbars, by mountains_6 — basically tsukishima being a third wheel when the three of them travel to rio, based on the extra bit of the manga, lol. short and endearing.

• 🎖️ a hundred or so hellos, by iwillstillopenthewindow — kageyama reincarnates over and over and hinata continues dying over and over. angst. a lot of angst. but still goddamn beautiful.

• let me in on the open secret too, by switmikan74 — kageyama doesn’t know that he’s dating hinata, until he gets hints from a shoujo manga. that’s so fitting, definitely worth the read!

• highway verse, series by emleewrites — a pixel cars au that i didn’t think it’d catch me until i read it and had dreams about this fantastic universe.

• ⭐️🎖️ if it wasn’t for you, by halfbloom (diphylleias) — in brazil, hinata learns more about relationships and what it means to have a bond with kageyama. got my heart effortlessly. such a delight.

• ⭐️ one more thing, by marks — it’s tsukishima and yamaguchi’s wedding, and kageyama and hinata decide to go together. can i please have more of this? sweet stories like this makes my heart melt, i swear.

• 🎖️⭐️ i can do better, by buu — kagehina compete over everything under the sun, and that includes kissing. and some more. in fact, every kagehina fic by this author hits. and this one… made me feel stuff. rated m!

• ⭐️ no angels could beckon me back, by lilacnoctua — heated arguments lead kagehina to heated moments with each other. a hot story with great development. loved every part of it.

• from this day forward, by emleewrites — kageyama tries to propose; it goes as badly as you can expect. so funny, seriously! i could easily recommend every fic by this author too, as well as esselle’s, but i’m gonna list my favorites anyway, so hang on!

• soft serve, by tothemoon — kagehina drives an ice cream truck to help karasuno; as one might expect, feelings are involved in between. summer fic, brings a ton of good emotions!

• 🎖️ famous v-league players make fools of themselves on twitter dot com, by crone_zone — the appearance of one hinata shouyou through the eyes of twitter users. pure comedy and it’s a whole show. gorgeous!

• room to grow, by mysecretfanmoments — things are different in their third year and hinata’s still learning how to deal with it. ah, young love! the best kind.

• raining verse, by emleewrites — kageyama’s cursed to be a kitten, hinata’s the one who finds him. i love a magic realism au, so imagine my happiness while reading this.

• future’s kiss, by mervousmer — kageyama somehow travels to the future for a moment, and hinata’s there, all grown-up. come on, time travels also have my heart! this one’s cute as hell.

• ⭐️ dethroned, by setkia — kageyama counts his victories and losses against hinata in his mind. what a gem! short and fabulously creative.

• saffron and cayenne pepper, by dontsaycrazy — neighbours kagehina: one only knows how to set the kitchen on fire and the other one’s actually a chef, what could work between them? everything, that’s the answer. a hit!

• on quarantining together…, series by winterey — social media kagehina making lives while on quarantine. fun and addictive!

• conflict of interest, by zukushou — more of social media kagehina, this time with journalists thinking they’re rivals when they’re actually… yknow *gay for each other*. just everything i’d ever want for them.

• ⭐️ with suds in your eyes (and a smile on your lips), by hqkrys — established relationship kagehina take a messy shower together. overall just endless fluff, which melts my heart!

• a bento for dr. kageyama, by zukushou — hinata leaves food for his husband and causes gossip at the hospital said husband works in. hahaha, this is definitely terrific.

• the best laid hands, by mysecretfanmoments — kageyama doesn’t even know how to deal with his own romantic life, so it’s best if other people don’t ask for advice. but what if it’s an advice for hinata? you never know :)

• ⭐️ better than firewhiskey, by mysterytwin — hogwarts au with kagehina! someone should definitely find this author by the way and give them a big hug. i want to. they rock.

• chase the light, my love, by thebeaming sun — kageyama planning to propose and earning support of his teammates. established relationship kind of thing that makes me smile.

• hinata and kageyama terrorise a simple interviewer, satorou masashi, series by call_me_j — story told in the form of an interview, including post time-skip kagehina of course. remarkable!

• optical, by kvhottie — kageyama wears glasses; everyone freaks out. do i need to explain more? hella entertaining.

• never doubt i love, by gentle_autumn_rain — jealous hinata thinks kageyama got a boyfriend. he didn’t. love these small misunderstandings that lead to a confession! so good.

• of gentlemen and scoundrels, by mysecretfanmoments — historical au with kageyama as a gentlemen in london and hinata who’s… well, not very much like him. the writing and the sexual tension in this is spectacular!

• ⭐️ save the last dance for me, my prince, by zukushou — prince kageyama and bodyguard hinata, as this fandom deserved. and such a well-developed at that. charming!

• patience, by mistonthelake — surprisingly enough, hinata discovers about kageyama’s crush on him earlier than the man himself. a lesson in being patient.

• wrestle for victory, by emleewrites — after their fateful game, kagehina decides to compete over wrestling. that’s definitely something they’d do and it got me hooked.

• ⭐️ oh we play, in autumn days, by aruariandance — kagehina being silly boys and kageyama getting a phone. is it because he wants to text hinata? that, he’ll never admit. i’d give it a hundred kudos if i could.

• ⭐️ ridiculous, by festivetrickster — yachi has to spend some time with kagehina in their apartment. the way they live just makes me suspicious of their relationship. no, like, this is indeed so ridiculous but i like it so much!

• sunstruck, by orphan account — kageyama gets the help of romero to sort out his relationship with hinata. seeing introverted kageyama slowly but surely trust his teammate and idol with issues like this makes me proud.

• ⭐️ sun above your shoulders, by longleggedgit — even in an universe where they go to different high schools, kagehina meet each other anyway. everything’s delightful here!

• the missing piece, by akaashism (acciomerlin) — kageyama deals with the changes in hinata. just adorable, i giggled a lot.

• the trouble with soulmates, by navybluewings — our sweet cupid hinata’s journey to get soulmates bonds fixed! this au rocks.

• five star review, by emleewrites — hinata’s hired to paint kageyama’s wall and they start a “friendship” out of it. amazing to see this unfold, so nicely done.

• 🎖️ for the best of all possible worlds, by tinygumdrops (curryramyeon) — an au about kagehina’s relationship journey from across countries, including letters. they meet while being apart and we see it unfold. is there anything better than this? majestic!

• at the tip of your nose, by cloesh_scribbles — where kageyama’s obsessed with eskimo kisses and hinata’s obsessed with him. please help me after this, the fluff killed me.

• the video series, by sunnyslipper — kageyama and hinata breaking the internet over and over with their videos. funny and spot on!

• alexa, play waking up in vegas, by attackofthezee (noxlunate) — kageyama and hinata get married accidentally. the thing is, i can totally imagine them doing this. they’re absurd and lovely.

• meat bun is a love language, by icecreamromantic — kageyama decides to confess using meat buns. come on, it’s stupidly perfect!

• slipping through sand, by majesticanna — an au in which kagehina meet in brazil. just so warm, waaah!

• high dose, by akaashism (acciomerlin) — hinata convinces kageyama that, because of a health issue, he needs kisses. i swear, these silly boys will break me. this is excellent.

• why do i feel like it’s (fake) love, by izucaii — hinata and kageyama pretend to be boyfriends while in brazil. a gorgeous fake-relationship story!

• ⭐️ a best man’s worse problems, by villainphilia — tsukishima, the best man for kagehina’s wedding, prepares his speech while reminiscing how the two dumbasses got together. all of this is just marvellous!

• five proposals, by dayoldcupcake — kageyama proposing, hinata saying no. done with the intent of giving me diabetes. chef’s kiss!

• ⭐️ plain as day, by emleewrites — hinata has a low self-esteem and kageyama tries to make him realize how wonderful he is. i died and came back. truly stunning.

• kageyama tobio reads thirst tweets (unedited), by popcornpearl — after making a bet, kageyama reads thirsty tweets and tries not to blush. it’s harder than he expected. rated m!

• i’m lucky to have you, zukushou — the famous “just woke up high in anestesia and i can’t remember my own partner” trope. pure comedy, love this for them.

• ⭐️ the obvious is at eye level (but i might need a step stool), by dr_awkward221 — hinata watching sakusa’s relationship with miya and slowly realizing things about his own his kageyama. i loove this one, it’s unbearably good.

• ⭐️🎖️ let the light out, by uhohshouto — kagehina make a bet in which the other one must ask for something of the loser. kageyama wants a kiss… and then something more. seriously though, i can’t believe this; it’s a wonderful story, so entertaining. rated e!

• epic, by esselle — a surfing au with hinata as an instructor and kageyama as an arrogant professional. this charming scenario surely made my day.

• let’s take this offline, by pas_dautres — office employees kagehina who meet through emails and reports. i had to add this, because it’s nice, surely worth the read.

• 🎖️ these hands of time, these hands of mine, by fireheartaw — kageyama being introspective over their story together and apart. light angst maybe, but the narrative’s so interesting and captivating.

• discordant, by majesticanna — academic rivals kagehina meet again as professors. so short but so sweet!

• 🎖️⭐️ pursuit verse, series by emleewrites — a gambler hinata and an attorney kageyama based on the ace attorney game. never played the game. but the story? deserves to be printed. if you never read it, you need to. hear me out: you need to.

• ⭐️ getting it right, by akaashism (acciormerlin) — play pretend boyfriends for miwa who end up actually having domestic moments and finding out more about their feelings, hehe.

• know you better, by mysterytwin — bakery worker kageyama and spell shop owner hinata in a world of magic! great development and very poetic.

note that this is based on the fics i’ve known since i entered the fandom and that i truly enjoy. either they’re famous or not famous, i’m just adding them here for my future self contentment and for those who, just as me, wanted a full list of kagehina fics upon getting engaged in haikyuu media.

if you think i should add more and if you have recs for me too, i’m accepting them! thank yoou.

last update: 3/3/24

[aradassbadass]

cellular sentiment | ceedee lamb ꨄ iv

‘& shii took everything not to give yo lil ass exactly what you wanted. now call me and lemme see hear it forreal’

you stared at the message stomach in knots. part of you wanted to be excited knowing that it was something in him that yearned for you just as you did him, but the nervousness overpowered that feeling entirely.

you throw your phone on the bed in frustration.

he wants me- or at least it sounds like he does. what if its just a joke. no he’s grown and this isnt high school anymore guys dont just flirt with you as a dare anymore. but guys like him, guys that can have anybody they want, usually tend not to go for somebody whose status isnt similar to their own.

falling back onto the pillows your towel falls off of you leaving your bare body exposed to the air. nipples going frigid and you glance down at yourself- something you often try to avoid. you grab at the pudge of your stomach and sigh.

these moments tended to happen where youd find yourself being overly cautious about your body. usually itd be when you were shopping for clothes seeing as to how you didnt find yourself in a lot of situations that pertained men. you didnt seek out relationships, you never had, and whether it was due to your intense schedule or your subconscious fear of rejection you didnt take much time pondering on it. this for some reason really bothered you.

your phone began to vibrate throwing your train of thought out of the window. you stare at it as it rings body stiff and unmoving.

i cant do this right now.

declining the phone you turn on do not disturb.

you know ignoring the situation wont make it go away entirely but hopefully this will deter it for now.

ꨄ

it had been 5 days since you had last talked to cedarian and you would be lying if you said this little escapade didnt hurt. a sea of emotion still clouded your better judgement but you knew you couldnt keep it up much longer.

the calls & messages from him did not cease after that night. he felt bad that much you could tell and it made you feel ten times worse.

im sorry i shouldnt have said that

can u please answer

i shouldnt have said that

fuck please answer i js wanna talk

answer me please

im sorry goodnight

hey js got out of practice i hope you have a good day at work im sorry again for ts

please answer me

hello

goodnight im so sorry

every single message from monday on was akin to one another. you wanted to respond but you felt bad for all the time you didnt so you continued till ignore him or that was until now.

you sat in your car outside of your house as the phone rang on carplay. you groaned and hit the wheel in frustration- not at cee but at your childish antics. you sighed and clicked the green button on the screen heart thumping as you did.

the other end of the line was silent at first then came the rasp of the voice you missed so much.

“hey.” a word so simple yet it felt so loaded with emotion.

“hi.” you say in response, internally kicking yourself.

“i-i um i dont know where to begin- im sorry for what i said. it was inappropriate- really inappropriate for our friendship and i-i dont know why i even sent that. fuck im sorry these few days have been hell without talking to you.” he says voice laced with emotions- sadness and regret being the most prominent.

it tugs at your heart strings and you feel worse than you did before seeing how you made him feel. “cee, you dont have to apologize. none of this is your fault. i freaked out when i read the message and started over analyzing shit because i couldnt process my own feelings towards the situation. fuck, im sorry none of this is your fault thought.”

the other side of the line is quiet and if not for the screen still displaying his contact you would have thought he hung up.

“over analyzing what?” he quizzes and you could all but picture him somewhere eyes wondering as he chews on his bottom lip.

“the fact that you could feel even remotely attracted to me. you are you and well im just me. i-i dont know cedarian i just kept thinking someone like him- someone who has the world at their disposal could even feel something as meaningful as desire or anything towards someone like me. it just made me relive all the times i was asked out as a dare or some stupid joke. i really do like you cedarian, you are one of the only people i still have with me and i-it all felt too good too be true to think that you actually liked me too.” you say the last part quietly.

the line is quiet again and you suddenly feel stupid. “see, i knew it was too good to be real.“ you say voice shaky as tears spill from your eyes.

“what, no, no. stop crying please god stop crying i feel the same way about you. no cruel jokes or anything. you dont see yourself like i do- you are beyond beautiful.” he says words beginning to soothe the ache of your heart.

“ you dont understand how your voice is my favorite thing to hear after a game- win or loss. you dont see how when im on long flights home i go through the album of screenshots i have of just of you. you dont even know how good it felt to finally hold you in my arms after wanting to do that for so fucking long. when i say it took every ounce of self restraint i had to just hold you and nothing more when i heard you call out for me i meant that. i dont ever want you to have to want for anything as long as there is breathe in me because you deserve everything.”

hearing this your heart skips a beat. you feel an immense sense of relief at the words and a new found yearning for him, something just short of primal.

“cee,” you say voice barely above a whisper.

“just say the words baby.”

“i need you.”

[shuastar]

old money!wonwoo

genre/warnings: regency!au, old money!wonwoo, old money!reader, family name is yoon but nothing else is stated (korean is implied but never mentioned), suggestive (??? not really but..), implied past relationship

word count: 1783

a/n: ik the personalities kinda change in the middle but in my defense i wrote this at like 2am on 2 different days....wonwoo is still as hot so.. idk if i should turn this into a full-blown fic either [tumblr runs on reblogs!!]

“Are you even hearing yourself right now?” Your incredulous voice rings through the empty study. 

Wonwoo nods, bangs brushing into his eyes. “It can be contractual,” he pushes, quietly stepping forward.

The two of you stare at each other, the only sound in the room being the echoing ticking of the grandfather clock in the back of the room. You feel your confidence wavering as Wonwoo seems to not let up on his gaze, sinking deeper and deeper into what feels like your soul. Briefly, just briefly, you wonder how you two even came to this position at all. 

“Like a contractual marriage.” The words feel familiar on your tongue from the time you spent arguing with your parents on that very topic. The promise you made your fifteen-year-old self to marry for love, for your soulmate, for the one who would dance with you under the dim chandelier lights of your condo. So why did your stupid delusional heart catch on an erratic beat at the thought?

Wonwoo’s lips tug upwards at those words and you can’t help but notice how the remnants of his childhood dimples are still there. “Exactly. Like a contractual marriage.” His words are soft, uncharacteristic of the indifferent man you are used to. 

He dares to take another step forward, his fingers brushing your arms. You can almost breathe in his Armani cologne from how close you were. It makes your head spin – the scent of the cologne with a hint of his minty shampoo and aftershave. It threatens to break down all of your walls – the walls it took you years to build up.

When your eyes lift from the carpeted ground, you meet his eyes from behind his horn-rimmed glasses. They have an unfamiliar emotion swimming in the surface. It’s something that pulls you closer to him, unconsciously leaning in to gaze into his eyes. Almost as if your body wanted to memorize this effect on him. 

“Think about it,” he starts, “you don’t want to marry any of,” a pause, almost as if he adds it in for dramatic effect, “them,” he sneers. His eyebrows furrow and the perfect harmony of his stupid face crumples into one of bitter distaste. If he wasn’t standing as close, if his cologne wasn’t invading your senses, if he wasn’t staring at you with some unplaceable carnal expression in his eyes, you would have reached up and smoothed out the wrinkle on his forehead. Smoothed out the wrinkles on his perfect, pale, porcelain face. You would have reached a hand up to his jaw, trailing your fingers along his jawline and-

“Y/N,” Wonwoo’s voice cuts through your daydreams. He goes to push up his glasses, and you can’t help but notice the singular bracelet that adorns his wrist — woven tightly into an uncharacteristically messy pattern of blue and white waves. “If you don’t want this, you can tell me.” 

I can’t, you want to say. I can’t when you’re looking at me like that. With your stupidly pretty brown eyes and your stupidly gorgeous face. How could I ever say no?

He stares down at you, the corners of his lips pulled down into a hint of a frown. From this angle, the moon that shines through his study’s gigantic wood-framed windows, frames his body perfectly. His hair is tousled, in the way you remember only he can pull off. There is a faint giggling memory of watching your brother Jeonghan try to tousle his own hair like Wonwoo does, only to end up with blonde strands sticking up everywhere. 

You know you’re stringing it out for too long — you should’ve said something 10 seconds ago. BUt still, Wonwoo waits patiently, allowing your misted eyes to gaze over his body — from the tops of his hair to his expensive Thom Brown dress shoes. 

Your eyes land at the bracelet. 

“You can take it off, you know?” you whisper. It feels like a secret — the fact that Wonwoo still wears it; the fact that Wonwoo still remembers; the fact that the idea of you and Wonwoo once existed. 

Wonwoo is now the one silent, eyes fluttering to his bracelet. His fingers pick at the loose strands. The wave patterns move with every tug. For some reason, it makes your heart clench. 

“We’re done,” you say, “Remember?” Your words are harsh, almost forced out of your throat. It hangs uncomfortably in the air: an added tension in the thick, unbreathable air. 

”Not for me.” Wonwoo’s head rises, dark chocolate brown eyes meeting yours. 

Any words die in your throat. The three-word sentence Wonwoo uttered forces your lungs into a stop. Not for me. ‘Not for me’ your ass. Not done your ass. Because you remember sobbing in the hallways and him not giving a fuck. Because you remember hugging, begging, whining for him to stay. All for him to just say “no, it’s better this way,” and walk down the hallways. Not done your ass.

But you can’t bring yourself to say that. Not when his eyes blink slowly, lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks. 

They stare directly into yours, before moving down your body. His fingers still tug on the bracelet. “It was never done for me. For you, maybe. But never for me,” he states. Confidence is laced in every syllable he utters. 

WOnwoo suddenly takes a step forward. You take a step backwards. Wonwoo. You. WOnwoo. You. Wonwoo. Yo- Wall. Your back slams against Wonwoo’s polished marble wall. The chilled marble sends shivers up your bare spine. A staggered gasp is ripped from the confines of your chest and your hands fly out and land on Wonwoo’s chest, stabilizing yourself. 

You tense, head tilted up against the wall, lips parted. You can feel the surge of heat against your cheeks. Your heart beats furiously in its cage, threatening to pound through your dress and spill onto the carpeted floor. Your hands suddenly feel embarrassingly sweaty and your fingers unconsciously clench Wonwoo’s black dress shirt. 

“Sorry,” you murmur, head bowing almost naturally, “Sorry, I don’t know what-“ you’re interrupted by your own muffled noise — something in between a gasp, whine, and murmur of protest. 

Wonwoo’s fingers now interlace with your own, against his own chest. There isn’t a speck of hesitation in his deep eyes when he slowly moves your intertwined hands to rest just above his left pec (which you conveniently chose to ignore how defined it was). 

WOnwoo raises a brow, when you move to pull away. “I’m not gonna bite, sweets.”

You blush at the nickname, pressing yourself further into the wall, trying your best to sink into the marble behind you. “What are you doing?” you ask, hands still pressed up against WOnwoo’s chest.

”I don’t think you believe me.” Wonwoo splays your hands out. His eyes waver when his fingers cover yours entirely. They close for a split second, and you can see his Adam’s apple bob up and down. When his eyes flutter open again, they’re noticeably darker, more hooded. He swallows thickly when you turn your own eyes up to him “Fuck,” he whispers, forehead lowering towards yours. His hold on your hand tightens, pressing your fingertips into his pecs. 

You blink, pretending to ignore everything else. “Believe what?” Your lips lift up in a cheeky grin. “That you have man boobs? It’s okay, sweets, I think moobies are hot.” Your words barely even leave your mouth and you have the strongest urge to slap a hand over your mouth. Seriously. What the fuck were you saying? 

HOwever, as you blush out of scarce embarrassment, Wonwoo’s ears turn bright red and he groans. A deep gutteral groan leaves his parted mouth, followed by a shaky mutter of your name. His forehead lands on your shoulder, breath hot against your neck. One hand releases your hand and trails against your hips. It falters when it reaches your waist, before it snakes around and pulls you against him. 

“Fuck, you feel that?” Wonwoo’s voice is deep near your ear. It almost pisses you off, how hard you need to prevent a whine from falling from your lips. 

You’re about to say “Feel what?” when you actually do feel it. From the tips of your fingers, you can feel Wonwoo’s heartbeat. The muscle pounds a horse race against your fingers, going a mile a minute. 

You can’t help but let out a breathy laugh. “You’re gonna pass out at this rate.” 

You can feel a grin against your neck. Wonwoo’s hand — the one around your waist — roams a little lower. “You’re gonna tuck me in and kiss me goodnight if I do?” he teases, sharp canines nipping your delicate skin, punching out a gasp. 

“Wonwoo!” You gasp, hand lightly pushing his head away. “I have to go back down! Do not give me a hickey,” you huff, wiggling in his loosening grasp. 

Wonwoo pulls away at your words. “Y’ needa go down?” A shadow of a pout appears on his lips. “Didn’t even bite you that hard, sweets,” he argues. His words sound slightly slurred, almost forced as he stares at you. No. Not at you. Rather, at your lips. 

Either that or your chin. 

You would prefer lips. 

At least then you wouldn’t be the only one desperately wanting his worry-bitten lips on yours. 

You sigh, slipping your hands out of his. You can only offer a second of hesitation before you wrap your arms around his neck, nails lightly scratching his undercut. There is a small smile that plays aganst your lips as you rest your cheek on his chest (but not before you leave a fleeting kiss against the junction between his neck and shoulder). You can still hear his erratic heartbeat, stuttering in your grasp. 

“Wish you did,” you murmur, leaning some of your weight against him, trusting he’ll lift you up. 

Wonwoo’s arms circle your waist – lower than what you would’ve allowed before all of this. His hands splay across your back and lift you up, walking himself to the nearest surface, which happened to be his desk. 

“What?” 

You hum, now smiling as he places you carefully on the edge of his desk, inserting himself between your parted legs. His fingers paw at your waist. “Wish you did,” you repeat, your own fingers reaching up to brush strands of his hair out of his eyes. 

Wonwoo tilts his head dumbly. As if your words made all of his own words disappear. “Did what?” 

You coo, pulling him closer to you by his tie. Your cheeks are hot, you know, but it still doesn’t stop the words from falling out of your mouth: 

“Wish you bit me.” 

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Politely affectionately agressively begging for more Furina fics you write her AMAZINGLYYYYY PLEASEEE and it's so rare to see my girl get any fics YOU A REAL ONE FR FR 😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫

(Genshin Impact) Furina watching an emotional movie with her S/O

*Imperial Guardsmen Voice* IF SUCH IS THE EMPEROR'S WILL! Also, you can imagine this as an Isekai S/O or Fontaine somehow developed movies, idk you can work the imagination on how movies exist in Tevyat, I'm just here to give you the funny/cute.

Furina's lips trill in boredom as she sits down on the couch, an hand underneath her chin.

Dinner had already been finished, dessert promptly followed but the night was still young.

Her S/O was in front of the couch, rustling coming from a box they were searching through.

She got up from her seat and knelt next to them, curious as to what they were looking for.

(Furina) "S/O?"

(S/O) "Hang on, just looking for something we can watch...ah!"

S/O pulled out a box containing a small CD. Furina couldn't help but flinch instinctually.

(S/O) "Before you ask, no it's not a horror movie."

With a sigh of relief, she grabbed the box and raised an eyebrow.

(Furina) "Oh thank goodness!...A-Ahem, so, what is this?"

(S/O) "It's from Inazuma. It's a super cheesy story about a man and female meka falling in love."

They put a finger to their chin as Furina scoffed as she crossed her arms.

(Furina) "Oh please, I've seen far worse premises in my stage plays, S/O!"

(S/O) "True, but this one might make you cry."

Furina's smirk grows bigger hearing their lack of faith.

(Furina) "Psh! Me? Cry at a love story probably told a thousand times? Please! Put it on S/O! I'll prove you otherwise!"

ONE HOUR LATER...

S/O and Furina were sitting quietly, nearing the end of the film's duration.

The man's head was resting on the meka's lap as he was nearing the end of his life, though the mood was very bittersweet.

With a beautiful piano tune playing in the background, the Meka looked up to the sky, finally getting a revelation for the human it fell in love with.

[Mekaigis] "Not everything needs to be for some greater purpose. Just caring for someone can be enough. That's all we need to give our lives meaning. As for me, I've found my path. And that's to protect you with my life..."

S/O's heart strings tugged at the touching dialogue. Blinking away a few tears, S/O turned to Furina.

(S/O) Furina's been really quiet. I wonder if she's not as affected as-

S/O's thoughts were interrupted the moment they actually glanced at their girlfriend.

Furina reached for her box of tissues, which was already halfway gone, and blew violently into it.

She proceeded to wipe away her tears with her hands while her lips trembled, eyes locked onto the screen the entire time.

(S/O) ...Okay yeah, she's doing as good as I thought she would.

S/O moved in closer to hold her hand and at least give her some comfort for this admittedly tear-inducing scene.

Only for their hand to be almost hurt from her grip strength as she held on with all of her passion, Furina's attention daring not to even turn away.

S/O almost yelped out in pain, but kept strong for the sake of their girlfriend's immersion.

And with the man finally closing his eyes, the movie finally came to a close, with the music's lyrics riding the scene out.

[Movie] "kaze no koe hikari no tsubu madoromu kimi ni sosogu-"

Furina stood up from her chair, pointing to the screen with tears still fresh in her eyes.

(Furina) "T-THE MOVIE ENDS RIGHT THERE?! BUT THAT'S NOT FAIR! HE AND MEKAIGIS FOUGHT TO SAVE THE WORLD, THEY SHOULD BE HAPPY TOGETHER!"

S/O couldn't contain their soft laughter, getting up and attempting to calm her down by gently wiping her tears away.

(S/O) "I agree, but it's a rather beautiful ending to such a tragic story. But what did you think of it?"

Furina pouted at their laughter, crossing her arms and huffing.

(Furina) "I'd rather have watched a horror movie, something like that is way too sad!"

(S/O) "I thought you said you wouldn't cry-"

(Furina) "I-I was simply crying at their performances! They did an amazing job acting out a horrid script, as a performer I couldn't just ignore their handiwork!"

S/O playfully rolled their eyes as they sat Furina back down, quickly joining her on the couch.

(S/O) "Is that right? Anyways, there's a followup sequel where it follows Mekaigis after the events of this movie called the Answ-"

(Furina) "PUT IT ON RIGHT NOW! I HAVE TO FIND OUT RIGHT NOW!"

Her voice cracked as she pointed at the screen, making S/O laugh and comply.

(S/O) "Yes, ma'am."

Furina's leg bounced anxiously as she watched S/O painfully put the next film in slowly, getting immersed again immediately.

===

Author's note:

This isn't actually anything related to the post besides the obvious reference, I just have to get it out of my system because I was listening to the soundtrack of said reference. Ahem. AAALLLL THE JOURNEYS START SOMEWHERE WITH A FIRST STEEEEEEEP NO ONE'S SURE WHAT LIES AHEAD BE BOLD AND BRAAAAAAAAAAAAVE (STAND UP!) ROADS MAY BEEEEEE ROUGH AND TOOUUUUUUGH THOUGH IT WILL LEAD SOMEWHEEEERE (NOTHING EASY GET UP AND GO GET IT GO) SOMETIMES IT'S JOURNEY ITSELF THAT TEACHEEEES A LOT ABOUT THE DESTINATION NOT AWARE OOOOOF NO MATTER HOW FAAAAAR (NO MATTER HOW FAR) HOW YOU GOOOOOOOO (HOW YOU GO HOW YOU GO) HOW LONG IT MAY LAAAAAST (CARPE DIEM NO TIME TO WASTE) VENTURE LIFE, BURN YOUR DREEEAAAAD! (YOU GOTTA VENTURE LIFE GO GET IT BURN YOUR DREAD)

[zer0pm]

Imagine working your first night in the village tavern and serving a drink to a man you catch sitting by his lonesome. He accepts your kind gesture and engages you in conversation. You didn’t realize you were talking to Lord Heisenberg until it was too late.

“Got a tall one with your name on it.”

The silver-haired man simply glances up at you from his seat, bright eyes switching between your smiling face and the full mug you’ve placed in front of him. The bored expression he wore previously relaxes into that of mild intrigue.

“I didn’t order that,” he says, amusement in his deep voice.

You shrug casually, “It’s on the house.”

When he didn’t say anything right away, you proceeded to explain yourself. “Barkeep mentioned you haven’t ordered anything since you got here. I figured I could spot you a round. Hope you don’t find it rude.”

To your surprise, the man chuckles, returning your patient smile with a toothy grin. “Can’t tell if you’re brave or just straight-up fucking strange. But you are definitely interesting, I’ll give you that.”

You tilt your head curiously, unsure of what to make of his comment. Perhaps, this stranger is one of those lone wolf types that rarely engage in social interaction. However, that didn’t seem correct. He seemed more like the type that enjoyed talking, if not just to hear the sound of his own voice. He has such a distinctive voice too, you found, the rich baritone hitting strings inside you that sent shivering notes tingling down your spine. You shudder not out of fear or anxiety, but out of genuine fascination.

The stranger takes the mug you’ve put down for him in one of his hands, lifting it by the handle and bringing it to his lips before tipping his head back. It gave you an opportunity to look him over. As you suspected, he is large in build. Burly and robust but not overly ripped in muscular definition. He looked strong and undeniably imposing, shaped by hard, laborious work. You imagine that if he wasn’t holding the mug at its handle, he could wrap his thick, calloused digits around the cup with ease. The loose shirt he wore had the sleeves rolled up, exposing several wiry scars that adorn the back of his hands and forearms. They varied in length and size, barely faded by time, and matched the old wounds that ran across his rugged face.

Questions danced upon your tongue on how he got his scars, but you thought better of it and bit them down. He looked different from the other men you’ve seen in the village and had a unique air about him too, one that you would be able to immediately spot in a busy crowd. He was quite handsome, in a rough sort of way.

The man must have noticed you staring for when you brought your eyes back up to his, he was already looking right at you. His bright gaze remained locked onto you even as he sets the drink back down with a quenched sigh, a devilish tongue swipes the excess liquid from damp lips before withdrawing behind wolfish teeth. The ends of his mouth tugs upwards, putting his canines into full display. The damn man is smirking again and his eyes had a knowing, teasing gleam to them. Feeling like a deer caught in the headlights, you bowed your head to hide the embarrassment burning on your cheeks.

Suddenly feeling incredibly shy, you take a step back. “I-I’m going to see to my other patrons, then. If you need anything else, just-”

“What’s your name, buttercup?” He cuts you off. There is an edge to his tone, as if daring you to move from your spot before him.

Buttercup? He’s giving you a petname? Is it derogatory or is it a genuine term of endearment? Either way, it made your face burn hotter.

Overwhelmed with the need to answer him immediately, you gave the stranger your name without a second thought. He repeats it in a low, slow drawl as if testing and savoring the sound on his tongue. Your heart picks up speed and you spoke up again in a futile attempt to calm the rapid beating.

“What’s yours?”

Like flipping a switch, the air between you two suddenly shifts. The wide smirk he wore falters and his brows furrow. These few words seemed to have disarmed him as the grey-haired man beholds you with a piercing glare, searching your face for any signs that you are joking or something. You could do nothing but stare back, balancing on the balls of your feet nervously. When he found that you were sincere in your question, he grasps his bearded chin thoughtfully.

“Intriguing,” he comments, his expression deeply pensive. His reply didn’t relieve any of the tension you were feeling and you wondered if you somehow offended him for not knowing who he is. “Are you local?”

Unable to fathom where his line of questioning was heading, you decided that it was best to answer him honestly as you have been doing thus far. “Uhh, yes, of course. Born and raised. Although, I’m not from the immediate area, if that’s what you mean.”

A thick silver brow arches. “So, I take it you’re not the religious sort, then.”

You shake your head. There was no helping the guilt taking root inside you. Clearly this man thinks that his identity should be apparent to you. Thinking about it, he does look sort of familiar but you couldn’t quite place him. You wished then that you paid more attention to the people around you in the weekly sermons.

“Not really,” you rub the back of your neck sheepishly. “I rarely went to church. Not that I don’t follow the black faith, mind you. I just have other priorities. Life can be hard in the village, you know how it is.”

When he didn’t comment on this, you followed up with your own inquiry with the intention of making polite conversation. He mentioned religion, so…

“Are you a pastor?” That seemed like a logical thing to ask. But surely if he was leading the mass, you’d have remembered him right away. Maybe you simply missed each other in passing. You can’t shake the feeling that you do know him somewhere.

A bellowing laugh erupts from his throat. The man bends over on his seat, banging the wooden tabletop with a clenched fist as zealous humor consumed him. You didn’t notice that the rest of the tavern went completely quiet at his spontaneous outburst. When he finally sits back upright, he was in tears.

“Damn, you’re adorable!” He sighs deeply, his grin wide as he wipes the water from his eyes. “Do I look like the kind to give fucking sermons, buttercup?”

Again with the petname. You weren’t bothered by it this time. If anything, you took the lighthearted turn in the conversation as a good sign, pleased to see that the man looked like he was enjoying his time with you. Even at the expense of your embarrassment.

Deciding it best to play along, you returned his good humor with a playful smile of your own. “Looks can be deceiving.”

He scoffs, “Can say that again. Guess not everyone in Miranda’s herd is a sheep.”

You didn’t quite register that. “Excuse me?”

His hand waves off your question dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. You…”, the grey-haired man leans back against his chair, his lopsided smile bordered on teasing. “You get to call me Karl.”

A surprised hum escapes you, you didn’t expect a man so interesting to have such an ordinary name. Thankfully, he didn’t seem offended by the involuntary sound. Remembering you had a job to do, you throw him a courteous nod.

“Nice to meet you, Karl. I really should check on my other customers. Is there anything else I can get you?”

He casts you a playful look, “Are you on the menu?”

Although you were standing still, you nearly tripped over on the spot and tried to save face by quipping back. “Ha ha. Think you’re so smooth.”

Karl shrugs, reaching for the mug once more and inspecting the contents lazily. “I prefer to be rough. But no, I think this will do. For now.”

Your brain shut down after “rough” and you were quick to retreat back to the bar, ears turning red upon hearing his knowing chuckle as you created distance. So distracted by the maelstrom of emotions swirling inside you that you failed to realize that the usual hustle and bustle of the busy tavern was completely void of sound. A loud bang of what sounded like someone slamming their hand against the wood harshly is all that it took to bring life back into the room and the patrons returning to their own devices. This somehow went under your notice too. You did not regain your wits until the barkeep you were working with for the night snapped his fingers in front of your face.

“Oy! New blood! Didn’t I tell you not to bother that one?” he reproached you. Was that panic in his eyes?

You blink back at your distressed coworker. “If it’s about the free tankard, I’ll foot the lei. Everyone else looked like they were having a fine time besides him. That didn’t seem right to me.”

The frantic man shook his head fiercely, “Whether or not he is enjoying himself isn’t any of our business. He could very well be plotting his wrath upon this establishment for what you did!”

The excitement that was bubbling within you before is now replaced by confusion. “Why would Karl do that? Who is he?”

The barkeep’s face falls into that of pure shock. “Are you completely daft!? He’s-”

He chokes. Suddenly, his expression pales to an alarming shade of white. From the corner of your eye, you spot a large shadow looming and felt an imposing presence from your side.

You turn your head to see the man from before standing next to you. But this wasn’t the Karl that you spoke with earlier. He had the same face but wore more clothing- more distinct articles of clothing that made you freeze on the spot upon recognition. Afterall, who could ever miss the signature dirty trenchcoat, or the dark, round glasses, or the well-worn hat of Lord Heisenberg himself? Who dares not recognize one of the four nobles that rule over the village with an iron fist? Evidently you.

He didn’t meet your eyes right away, instead he had a deathly glare directed right at the barkeep who was now quivering in his boots. “Because I’m in a good mood,” the lord began, voice descended into a low growl, “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear what you just called my new friend.” Lord Heisenberg then looks down at you behind black lenses, his demeanor shifting from threatening and terrifying to playful and pleasant.

His smile returns, seemingly wider than before, likely because he knows that you know who he is now. “Thanks for the drink, buttercup. I’ll see you real soon.” He pushes his shades down the bridge of his nose, winking at you before tipping his hat in an exaggerated head bow. With heavy footsteps, he takes his leave, not giving a second glance.

Your eyes followed him and lingered on the door he went through long after he left. There was a deafening silence. It filled the tavern for what seemed like an eternity before it was broken by the clanging of the metal tray you once held in your hands.

The lord of steel was here in the flesh. And you were talking to him so carelessly. And he was flirting with you so shamelessly. This was not how you expected your first day on the job to go. And he declared he intended to see you again.

You’re in deep trouble…

[cypherbxbe]

Just a quick fluff and my first blog post. ♡

♡ ♡ ♡

Satoru watched you sift through the racks of clothing, a soft smile lingering at the corners of his lips. He loved going shopping with you. Your eyes lit up and it was the most adorable thing. He’d never admit it out loud, of course - he had a reputation to maintain.

Confidence was second nature to Satoru Gojo. But when it came to you, that self-assured mask wavered. There was a nervousness he couldn’t quite shake, a fluttering in his chest that left him off-balance. Relationships had been complicated since Suguru. Since the day he walked away, leaving a gaping hole Satoru had tried to fill - ineffectively - with fleeting connections and shallow encounters.

None of it ever meant anything. The ache in his heart felt too deep, too permanent. Or so he’d thought. Then you came along. And with you, he felt the tiniest flicker of something he’d almost forgotten: hope. Maybe closure wasn’t just a distant dream. Maybe healing wasn’t an impossibility.

But how could he ever tell you what he felt? The fear of rejection loomed over him like a shadow, a quiet torment. You weren’t just anyone - you were everything. The thought of losing you, even the version of you he held close as a friend, was more terrifying than any curse he’d ever faced.

Outwardly, his expression remained composed, the turmoil beneath carefully masked by an easy, laid-back demeanor. Satoru was an expert at this - hiding his chaos behind a cocky smile. But he knew it couldn’t last forever. The pressure was building. One day, it might just tear him apart.

“You’re gonna buy all that?”

He teased, raising an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. His voice was light, almost casual, but his eyes - they lingered on you, betraying more than he dared to say.

„Heh, hold these for me, yeah?”

The grin you shot over your shoulder was maddening, equal parts smug and effortless, and he hated how it managed to twist something soft in his chest. The pile of clothes landed in his arms with a dull weight, and he raised a brow at you, biting back whatever sharp retort lingered on his tongue. The way you obviously felt so comfortable around him made his heart swell in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

You always took your time - because of course you did - but he didn’t mind. Time with you was never wasted, even if it meant trailing behind as you wandered at your own pace. Nearly an hour later, bags hanging from one hand and a cone of slowly melting ice cream in the other, Satoru found himself stealing glances at you. A soft smile tugged at his lips as he watched you practically demolish your own ice cream, the sight so endearing it almost distracted him from the knot of nerves tightening in his chest. Was now the right time?

He cleared his throat, adjusting the bags in his hands as if that might somehow steady him. Nervous? Really?

„Get it together..“

Plastering on the smirk that always seemed to come too easily, he turned to you, every ounce of his usual confidence carefully masking the storm raging in his chest. But before he could string together a single coherent thought, you beat him to it.

“Satoruuu, look!”

Your voice was pure excitement, your eyes lighting up as you pointed across the way. His gaze followed yours to a small Build-A-Bear shop, and just like that, whatever courage he’d scraped together crumbled. You were glowing, practically bouncing on your feet, and his heart stumbled in his chest at the sight. He let out a long, exaggerated sigh, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him, twitching upward despite himself.

Some time later, the two of you stepped out of the store, another bag now added to the growing collection in his hand. You cradled a freshly made, fluffy teddy bear in your arms, your face glowing with the kind of joy that made his chest ache in the best way. As you rambled on, your voice animated and warm, he found his eyes drifting to your lips, the words barely registering anymore. He could listen to you forever, he thought, even if he wasn’t sure he’d ever fully hear a single word when you smiled like that.

Time slipped by in a blur, like it always did when he was with you. Every time Satoru thought he’d finally gathered enough courage to confess, something - usually you - got in the way. Why did you have to be so jittery, so full of energy, bounding from one thing to the next before he could even catch his breath? He adored that about you, of course, but right now, it was driving him insane. The words he’d been holding onto for so long felt heavier by the second, frustration bubbling under the surface.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in soft oranges and purples, he was loading the last of your shopping bags into the trunk of his car. With a long breath, he closed it, then moved to your side to hold the door open. Watching you slide into the seat, so casual and at ease, he felt his heart stutter again. His hands felt annoyingly clammy as he walked around to the driver’s side, and when he sat down, the silence that followed was suffocating.

You noticed immediately. He could feel your gaze on him, the weight of your confusion as you tilted your head slightly in his direction. When he didn’t start the car, your voice was hesitant, almost cautious. “Satoru…?”

And just like that, he knew there was no turning back.

“Listen… just for a second…” His voice is softer now, but there’s an edge to it, an unease he can’t quite mask. Was he really doing this? His pulse thudded in his ears, and for a moment, the words tangled themselves up in his throat.

“I…” He faltered, his gaze locking on your face. The slight furrow of your brows, the way your lips parted ever so slightly, anticipation written all over you - it was too much. He couldn’t hold back anymore.

And then his lips found yours.

It was like heaven - warm, soft, everything he’d imagined and more. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he scolded himself for waiting this long, for letting fear get in the way of this perfect moment. But all of that melted away the second you leaned into him. You didn’t pull back, didn’t hesitate. Instead, your eyes fluttered shut, just as his did, and the world around you both faded into nothing but the feel of each other.

♡ ♡ ♡

[missmaniac25]

Ateez Scenarios - Realising you're in love with your best friend Part 2 (the confession)

Behold! The sequel that nobody asked for but I had to write anyways!

Each member’s part is between 600 - 700 words This does link to part 1 but I’m sure you could read this as a stand alone if your heart so chooses I don't think there's any warnings but let me know if I missed anything

~

Hongjoong:

Another night, another successful snack run. You and Hongjoong tumble back into his studio as the clock reaches two in the morning. Like normal, you’re both a little giggly and a little bit chaotic as you flop onto the couch whilst Hongjoong takes his chair.

“Throw me a chocolate milk, please,” you ask before Hongjoong dives, almost literally, into the packet before tossing one your way.

However, you were not ready for it when he tosses it your way and it lands on your head with a thunk before falling off of you and onto the floor.

“Ow.” Is all you manage to get out before your best friend is kneeling in front of you, still giggling, but clearly concerned.

“Are you ok? I really didn’t mean to throw it so hard.”

It must be the lack of sleep that makes you decide to play it up.

“Oh, the pain!” You pretend to be wounded. “Oh, the betrayal! How could you do this to me?”

Dramatically you place the back of your hand on your forehead like a damsel in distress and it causes your best friend to laugh even more.

“Oh no!” He mimics your tone. “I’ve fatally injured the most important person in my life! How will I ever earn their trust again!”

You go still at his words. Does he even know what he just said? Does he know how much it tugs at your heart strings when he says things like that?

“I’m the most important person in your life?” You dare to query, knowing that he might retract his words now that he was being confronted with them.

A faint blush appears over his nose and along his cheeks. At first you think you’re imagining it.

“Um, yeah.” It’s as though he’s suddenly become sober, the giggle disappearing from his voice. “You are. I thought you knew that.”

The two of you watch each other in silence for a short while.

“Does your head actually hurt?” He finally asks, bringing you back to reality.

“I mean a little.” You playfully lift your eyes as if you’ll be able to see anything and you succeed in making Hongjoong giggle again. “Do I have a boo-boo?”

He swats your hand away and takes a closer look.

“There’s a bit of a red mark, oh my soul, I’m so sorry!”

You muse that it’s really ok, you should have been paying more attention aways.

“Wait, I know how to make it feel better,” Hongjoong tells you, shuffling closer.

You’re about to ask what he means when he gently places a kiss on your head, assumedly where the chocolate milk had hit you. It lasts only a second but it feels as though every moment you’d ever shared with your best friend is captured in that second, in that action.

“Do you feel better?” He asks as he moves away.

You shake your head.

“Do you need another one?”

You nod.

There’s a smile on his face as Hongjoong kisses your head again, a little longer this time and your eyes flutter closed. You almost tell him not to stop when he pulls away.

“And now?” Hongjoong is still smiling, almost as if he knows where this is leading.

“Still not better,” you say, opening your eyes. “But I think I know what will help me.”

There’s no pull back from Hongjoong as you gently guide him down. There’s still a gap between the two of you. But after a breath, you feel his lips against yours and the rest of the world is forgotten.

You don’t know how long the kiss lasts for. All you know is that you’d give anything to have him kiss you like that from now until forever.

Little do you know, Hongjoong feels exactly the same way.

~

Seonghwa:

“Ok, ok, enough!” You plead with the people around you. “Damn, I’m crying I’m laughing so much!”

An evening out with your friends had been exactly what you’d needed to relieve yourself of the stress you’d been feeling. The banter dies down for only a short time before someone else strikes up a new conversation and the commotion begins again.

Next to you, your best friend sits uncharacteristically quietly. He’s barely spoken the whole evening, opting rather to sip continually from his glass. You don’t think you’ve even seen him smile.

After wiping away your tears, you affectionately nudge your shoulder against his. Seonghwa peers over at you and his expression softens ever so slightly.

“Hey, everything alright?” You ask, trying to be as subtle as you can be.

“Hmm,” he hums and you know he’s lying to you.

You nudge him a second time and this time he rolls his eyes.

“Come on, what’s up? I want to help you feel better.”

Seonghwa gazes around the table, almost willing all of the other people to go away. His look isn’t lost on you.

As discretely as you can manage, you take your best friend’s hand and stand up, pulling him away from all the noise and outside of the restaurant. Seonghwa doesn’t hesitate to go with you, trusting you completely.

“Alright.” You place yourself in front of him. “What’s bothering you?”

“Nothing is bothering me.”

“Hwa…”

He sighs, his eyes darting to look at anything but you.

“It’s just…” He pauses and then finally gets the courage to look at you. “I didn’t intend for everyone else to join us tonight. I actually wanted it to just be you and me.”

To say you’re confused is an understatement.

“But I thought that you invited them?”

Seonghwa rubs his hands overs his face with a groan.

“They invited themselves. I mentioned to them that I thought about going out this evening with you and suddenly everyone was tagging along. I didn’t know how to say no to them or to ask you out alone.”

You try to find a middle ground; a positive for him to focus on.

“Is it really so bad to be with them though? We haven’t seen them in a while and you and I hang out together a lot just us.” 

“But I…”

He stops himself short. There’s an emotion in his eyes that you can’t quite place. Is it desperation? Is it longing?

Gingerly, he holds one hand out to you. You take it without thinking twice – you’d trust him with your life.

“I like spending time with just you,” Seonghwa admits. “I like when it’s only you and me laughing until it hurts. I want to be the one making you laugh like that, not someone else.”

The world stops spinning. The only thing you can focus on is Seonghwa – the beautiful features of his face, the feel of his fingers brushing yours.

“I was going to tell you something else tonight but I wanted it to only be us,” he continues. “I wanted it to be… romantic.”

You react before you can think.

“Should we leave then?”

You’ve clearly taken Seonghwa by surprise but you’ve also done the same to yourself.

“I mean, if you still want to… spend time with… just me.”

Your confidence quickly dwindles with every word you say and you wish that the ground would open up and swallow you whole.

“Yes.” Seonghwa finally smiles for the first time that evening and it makes you smile too. “I’d love that.”

You both waste no time going back inside, gathering your goods and quickly paying for your part of the meal.

You don’t know where Seonghwa is planning on taking you or what’s about to happen. All you know is that you can’t wait to spend time with him and only him.

~

Yunho:

‘Damn it why didn’t I wear something warmer?’

You internally curse your circumstances as you stand outside with the rest of your friends. The little fire that they’d made to roast marshmallows was not big enough to give you any kind of substantial heat. To be fair to yourself, it’d been sunny when you’d left your home that afternoon, but as the night had closed in, the temperature had taken a dip.

“You ok?”

You turn to find Yeosang. He glances at how you’re rubbing your hands over your bare arms over and over.

“I mean I’m a little cold,” you confess but try not to cause a fuss. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

He tuts quietly before shrugging his jacket off and holding it out to you. Adamantly, you try to refuse him but he’s insistent and eventually you end up with the garment hanging over your shoulders. And you have to admit, you feel much better already.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” Yeosang smiles before turning back to the conversation happening around you.

It’s only a little while later when you feel someone poke you in the ribs. You don’t even have to turn around to know who it is.

“What was that for?”

Yunho appears next to you, a whisper of a laugh on his lips. The flames of the fire reflect in his eyes and you catch yourself before he notices you staring.

“Just wanted to get your attention.”

Ever since a few weeks ago, you’ve had to be mindful of how you act and talk around your best friend – any small slip up could reveal your new feelings for him. But when says things that like, it makes it so much harder.

Luckily, he doesn’t give you too much time to dwell on that as he notices your attire.

“Is this your jacket?” He asks you, brows furrowed. “I don’t recognise it.”

“Oh, it’s not mine. It’s Yeosang’s.” You tell him honestly, thinking nothing of it. “I was cold and he gave it to me.”

You miss the way Yunho’s jaw goes stiff; the burning in his eyes, not from the fire in front of you.

“Why didn’t you ask me for my hoodie?”

You almost laugh until you finally register his expression and how tense he is next to you. As you’re about to tell him that he just wasn’t around, he grabs your hand and leads you away from the group. When it’s just the two of you, Yunho quickly removes his own hoodie, telling you to put it on instead.

“Yunho, what are you doing?” It’s your turn to be confused. This is weird and you don’t know what to make of it.

“I don’t want you wearing anyone else’s clothes. Please just wear my hoodie.”

“I still don’t understand what…”

“I’m in love with you!”

The confession hangs in the air. It’s a glass bubble that if it’s not caught, it’ll shatter. You want to tell someone to pinch you just to make sure that this isn’t a dream.

“I’m in love with you.” Yunho’s hand clamps his hoodie tightly. “And seeing you wear someone else’s clothes is making me go insane, ok?”

It’s incredible how hastily you pull Yeosang’s jacket off of your shoulders and reach out for Yunho. He beats you too it though and gently pulls the hoodie over your head, just like he did the day you realised you liked him more than a friend. You let him help you put it on properly and he takes his time pulling it down over your torso.

“I suppose I should go give this back to Yeosang.” You say, fiddling with the jacket you now hold.

Yunho smiles mischievously and tugs at his hoodie on you, gently forcing you closer to him.

“Or we could make him wait a little longer.”

You feel his hands on your sides and you finally get the confidence to look him in the eye. There’s that feeling of butterflies in your stomach.

“Yeah,” you agree, finally giving in to everything you’ve wanted to do for so long now. “He can wait. I’ve waited long enough for you.”

~

Yeosang:

Your anxiety was almost palpable as you knocked on the door to Yeosang’s apartment. There was already music playing just loud enough to be heard outside and you could hear the voices of some of your friends. Normally, you wouldn’t be so nervous about going to your best friend’s birthday party. Hell, under normal circumstances you would’ve been the first one there. But there were two things that had held you back.

The gift. You’d taken a gamble getting this but you’d banked on the fact that he would get the inside joke.

Your feelings for Yeosang. They’d morphed into ‘more than friends’ and you were certain that he could tell and that the vibes were off between you now.

Jongho was the one to finally open the door and let you inside, calling into the apartment so that everyone knew you were here. No room to hide now.

Throughout most of the evening, you’d managed to avoid Yeosang until it came time to open the presents, and you found yourself seated next to him on the couch.

‘He’s so beautiful,’ you mused to yourself before shaking yourself back to reality.

The tension in your body only grew as Yeosang opened every gift until only yours remained.

“Hmm, I wonder what this is?” Yeosang said carefully pulling the paper away from the small box.

You held your breath.

It was a candle. A custom scented candle that you’d had made using a combination of his favourite smells. Something sweet, fresh and a little bit earthy.

Yeosang was quick to pull the candle out and sniff it, a smile on his face.

“I love you.” He looked over. “Thank you.”

No one else seemed to have heard it and at first you weren’t sure you had either. The way Yeosang casually went back to telling everyone about the joke of the candles, you debated whether he had realised what he’d said at all.

The party goes by in a blur after that and when you come to your senses again, you realise that everyone has now left expect for you and the two roommates. Yunho and Yeosang look around their apartment and you quickly jump up to help them start the cleaning up process. They try to dissuade you but you’d do anything to stop from thinking about what happened earlier. With your help, the job is finished in no time at all and Yunho declares that he’s going to bed, leaving you and Yeosang alone.

“Thanks for coming tonight,” he tells you.

“Did you mean what you said?”

“Right now or…”

For a moment you contemplate abandoning this conversation and just going home never knowing. But you can’t.

“When you opened my gift, you said that you love me.”

Yeosang opens and closes his mouth, forehead creased as he thinks back.

“But I do love you,” he says, again far too casually for your liking. “You’re my best…”

“But do you just love me as a best friend or do you love me love me?”

You didn’t mean to cut him off. You draw back with a soft apology.

“Look, I’ve been a little in my own head about us, our relationship,” you confess. “I just need to know how you feel about me.”

The two of you stare at each other. There’s muffled noise from up the passage but neither of you register it until Yunho’s head pops into the doorway.

“I don’t mean to eavesdrop,” he says, causing you and Yeosang to whip your gazes to him. “I just thought I’d let you know that he does feel the same way, he’s just really bad at expressing it.”

With a curt nod, Yunho disappears again, leaving you to deal with that bomb shell.

When you look back at Yeosang, you can see red creeping up his neck and ears.

“That’s not how I wanted to tell you,” he says in a whisper before raising his voice again. “But I do love you. I love you love you.”

You’re quick to wrap your arms around him and breath him in. He smells like clean linen.

“Good. Cause I think I love you love you too.”

~

San:

It’s Friday evening and it is finally time to open another letter. This had become your routine ever since San had gifted you the shoebox filled with white envelopes just over half a year ago. It lived on your coffee table in your lounge which is where you now found yourself after a long week, ready to be comforted by the words of your best friend. Although he wasn’t away at the moment but he was still busy – this would have to do.

‘Week 23’

Hastily you open the envelope and pull out the letter.

‘To my best friend

I can’t believe this is already the 23rd letter I’ve written. Kind of wild. It’s also very late right now so I apologise for the choice I’m about to make. I probably won’t remember that I wrote this tomorrow when I wake up but I feel like I have to tell you. We’ve known each other for a long time now, you’re my best friend. I’d even say you’re closer than a best friend. You’ve seen parts of me that no one else ever has and I wouldn’t trust anyone else with the secrets I’ve told you. So, I’m trusting you with one more.

I don’t want to just be your best friend. I want us to be more. I’ve had feelings for you for a while now but for the sake of our friendship, I’ve kept them to myself. But I can’t do it any longer. If you don’t feel the same way, you can throw this letter away and never mention it again. But if by some small miracle you do, come find me. I’ll be waiting for you.

All my love

San.’

The thumping of your heart in your chest is the only thing keeping you from thinking that this is a dream. The implications of his words swim around your head. He gave you this almost six months ago. He wrote the letters before then. How long has San felt about you the way you feel about him?

You almost fall over yourself as you get up and gather your belongings. You can’t wait a second longer. You’re going to find him.

You knock rapidly on the door to the apartment. Theres a sense of urgency that drives you forward buzzing through your body; what if he’s changed his mind since then?

It’s Mingi who opens the door.

“Hey, what are you…?

“Is he here?” You don’t even let him finish.

“We just got home, what do you… ok never mind.”

Mingi lets you shove him aside and move into their home. With determination you make your way to San’s room, knocking again and letting yourself in when no one objects. Time stands still when you see him. San smiles at you, saying something about how he’d hug you but he’s been working out and he doesn’t want to gross you out.

“Do you still…” You stop yourself short, looking down at the letter. “You said…”

There’s a confused look on your best friend’s face when you look at him again so you hold the paper out to him. San takes it from you and realisation washes over him as he reads it.

“Do you still feel that way?” You finally manage to ask, dreading what his answer could be. All of this could end up being a huge mistake.

His eyes meet yours, expression sombre.

“You didn’t throw it away.” He states calmly.

“No.” You shake your head a little. “I came to find you.”

Slowly, a smile breaks out onto San’s face and you find yourself wrapped in his arms. Finally, the sense of urgency that had been driving you till now dissipates.

It’s an unspoken agreement that things are different now but you don’t care. Best friends, more than best friends. As long as you’re close to San, that’s all that matters.

~

Mingi:

To be honest, it’s been a little weird between the two of you since that night. Normally, Mingi would message you every day, even if it was something stupid like a meme or a joke. The past few days there’s been nothing but radio silence from him. At first you tried to contact him but when you got no reply, you lost a bit of hope and decided that it wasn’t worth hurting yourself even more.

The thought of reaching out to one of your mutual friends had come to mind; even that seemed like crossing a line now.

It’s been almost a week since you’d last spoken to Mingi. The entire world feels out of order as you try to busy yourself with anything other than the thought of him, the thought of losing him. Despite the fact that it’s getting late into the night, your apartment feels like a cage so you pull your shoes on and head out. There’s no destination in mind. You just know that you have to move.

You’re stopped dead in your tracks though when you get to the street only to find a familiar car parked out front and your best friend sitting in the driver’s seat. Mingi runs his hands through his hair and you reason to guess that he’s been doing that for a while, judging by the way it stands up in various directions.

A little voice in the back of your head tells you to run back inside and avoid him forever. A debate begins inside of yourself but before you can make a decision, Mingi’s noticed you standing and staring intently at him. You meet each other’s eye. He reaches over and opens the passenger side door without a word and you need no further invitation to climb in.

For a short while, he just drives. It seems that without having to tell him, he’s understood what you had wanted to do before you’d run into him.

“I’m sorry.” You break the silence. Truthfully, you don’t know exactly what you’re apologising for but it feels like the right thing to say.

“No, I’m sorry.” Mingi says. “I’ve been a jackass.”

“Yeah, you kind of have.” There’s a bubbling of anger inside of you. “You just… disappeared on me, Mingi!”

Timidly, he looks over at you. It’s clear he’s trying to figure out how to explain himself but the words just aren’t coming out. The car rolls to a stop as he pulls off the road and switches off the engine.

“Look.” You shift in your seat so that you can face him before you continue. “If what I said made you feel uncomfortable then I’m sorry. We can just pretend that it never happened and go back to… before that happened.”

On top of the anger, desperation is starting to build. You can’t lose Mingi over this; not over your mistake.

“I can’t forget about it,” Mingi all but whispers. “How do you forget the person you have a crush on saying that you’re perfect?”

It takes a second for it register in your mind.

“You’ve been avoiding me because you like me?”

Mingi seems almost ashamed as he looks down, hands twisting over the steering wheel as he grips it.

“I panicked.” He confesses. “I didn’t think that you meant it like… that. I still don’t think it.”

If you hadn’t been hindered by the space of the car, you’d have thrown your arms around him and held onto him tightly. Instead, you reach for the hand that’s closest to you, pulling it off of the steering wheel and into your lap. The action is enough to get his eyes to lift and look at you.

“Mingi. I did mean it like that. I thought you were avoiding me because you didn’t like me back.”

“I’m sorry.” He says, now clasping your hands in his.

“You don’t have to apologise.” In a moment of bravery, you raise his hand and press a kiss to his knuckles. “You’re perfect just the way you are.”

~

Wooyoung:

You wait impatiently on the pavement. He was meant to be here eight minutes ago, not that you’re keeping track of the time or anything, but with no word from him you’re tempted to just abandon the ride and go back into your building and get lost in a series. But as you peer down at your phone for the hundredth time, the roar of an engine catches your ear.

You’d know the sound of Wooyoung’s motorbike even in your sleep.

He screeches to a halt in front of you, the kickstand hitting the ground without even turning the engine off and he takes your helmet off of his arm and practically shoves it onto your head. He then hastily ushers you onto the seat behind him before taking off again once your arms are loosely around his waist. Honestly, you don’t know what the big rush is for. There’s nowhere you two need to be; this was just meant to be a casual afternoon ride to unwind after one hell of a week.

Tap tap.

Your grip on Wooyoung’s body tightens just before he accelerates. If you could get away with doing this with him any other time you definitely would. Despite how affectionate your best friend was, you never pushed yourself onto him, so these stolen moments while he rode you to who knows where were everything.

It’s five minutes later when Wooyoung pulls up next to an open park.

“Come on, we have to go!” He all but shoves you off of his bike, grabbing your hand after you’ve taken your helmets off and pulling you forward.

“Wooyoung, what is the rush?” You say exasperated but you let him haul you along.

The other people around you are a blur as he forges on, leading you down path after path.

“I don’t want us to miss the sunset!”

You want to shout at him. All this hullabaloo for a sunset!?

Once he’s dragged you to the top of a small hill and parked you on a bench do you let loose.

“Wooyoung! You infuriate me!”

At first, he looks a little sheepish but it turns into a naughty smile after only a second.

“Maybe but you still love me.”

His words shut you up immediately.

Wooyoung places himself next to you, slinging an arm over your shoulder. You shuffle a little closer to him but not enough to make any difference.

“Are you going to tell me what’s so important about the sunset now or should I just guess?” You query.

“Just cause…” He trials off but you feel him tap your shoulder twice.

“Why do you do that?” You gaze up at him. “Tap me even when we’re not riding.”

It’s Wooyoung’s turn to shuffle in his seat, unintentionally edging himself closer to you.

“It’s how I let you know that I love you.”

Once again, you’re left stunned at how casually he says those words.

“Do you mean it?” You dare to ask, your gaze focused on him and only him.

The sun in front of you continues its slow descent.

“Always.” Wooyoung looks at you, his eyes glancing down at your lips ever so quickly.

Despite what he says, there’s still a part of you that thinks he doesn’t mean it. He’s only saying it because he’s your friend and there’s nothing more to read into.

You feel something on your shoulder.

Tap tap.

‘Love you.’

Your breath catches in your throat as you think back on all the times your best friend has done that simple action. All the times he’s confessed and you just didn’t know.

“I love you too,” you tell him.

Wooyoung smiles, pulling you closer to him and finally pressing his lips to yours. Even while you kiss, there it is again.

Tap tap.

You’ll never think of it the same way again.

~

Jongho:

“Did you switch off all the lights in the lounge?” You ask as you put away your clothes.

Jongho appears from the bathroom, toothbrush in his mouth still, mumbling words you don’t understand.

“I have no idea what you’re trying to say.”

Jongho, holds up one finger telling you to wait before he disappears again.

As far as sleepovers with your best friend went, this was not out of the ordinary. A little bit of chaos, a little bit of humour. A whole lot of unresolved feelings from your side.

You’d accepted your fate of only being Jongho’s friend and nothing more, and opted to never let him know how you really feel about him.

Jongho returns again to tell you that he did switch off all the lights, he’s not an idiot.

“Could’ve fooled me,” you laugh before a pillow is abruptly thrown your way.

It’s harmless fun but damn it does it break your heart to imagine him doing this with anyone else.

You return the pillow to where it belongs on the bed, slip under the covers and snuggle in for the night, ignoring those feelings welling inside of your chest.

“Do we have plans for the morning?” Jongho asks as he too climbs into the bed.

“Nope. Not unless you want to do something.”

“The only thing I want to do is sleep in.”

You hum in agreement already looking forward to it.

The room goes dark and you feel Jongho settle down next to you; you facing him, his back to you. The proximity is something you’ve been acutely aware of since that cold, rainy morning. It hadn’t happened again that he’d pulled you that close to him and you weren’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.

“Stop thinking so loudly,” Jongho says, turning over to face you even though he can’t see you.

“I’m not thinking loudly.” Your attempt to deflect doesn’t work on your best friend.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

A part truth is better than nothing, you decide.

“There’s this boy that I like. But I don’t think he wants to be anything more than friends. And everything we do together, I overthink it wondering if he’d rather be doing it with someone else.”

You wonder if you’ve said too much – if you’ve given the game away. Then you feel an arm over your torso and Jongho pulls you closer to him, holding you against him. You don’t dare to breath.

“Whoever he is, he’s an idiot if he doesn’t want to be with you,” he says. “I’d always pick you.”

You’re dead certain that he can feel how fast your heart is beating. A thousand thoughts begin to fly through your head all at once.

How can he just say something like that? Does he know that it’s him? Will I ever be able to get over him now?

“You’re thinking too loudly again.” He sighs as he soothingly rubs his hand over your back. “Talk to me.”

“Do you promise not to get mad?”

“Why would I get mad?”

“Because you might not want to be my friend anymore if I tell you.”

His movements cease for just a moment and then he promises.

With a deep inhale, you tell him the truth.

“It’s you.”

You wait for him to turn you down. To get up and leave. For the end to begin.

“Thank goodness,” Jongho utters quietly and at first, you’re not sure that you heard him properly. “I was about to get mad that it was someone else.”

“You… you like me?” You ask, still wondering if that is what he really meant with everything he was saying.

His body vibrates as he laughs quietly.

“Do I need to make it clearer? I’m infatuated with you.” Jongho places a kiss to the top of your head. “I meant it when I said that I’d always pick you.”

He snuggles you as close as he can and you finally let your mind go quiet.

[novaursa]

For a request, maybe a rhaegar targaryen x sister reader who is similar to Visenya? Like she’s the warrior type and kind of stern and stoic??

Dragon's Dance

- Summary: Rhaegar was the only one who knew your soft heart.

- Paring: sister!reader/Rhaegar Targaryen

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The clang of steel echoes across the training yard, a rhythmic song of battle that draws curious eyes from the gallery above. You stand across from your brother-husband, Rhaegar Targaryen, a gleaming blade in your hand. His indigo eyes are intense, focused on you, yet there is a softness beneath his gaze that only you have ever seen. You tighten your grip around the hilt of your sword, feeling the familiar weight that has always brought you comfort.

"Shall we begin, my prince?" you say, voice calm, the hint of a challenge lacing your words.

Rhaegar’s lips curve into a slight smile as he raises his blade. "Only if you promise to go easy on me, ñuha jorrāelagon," he teases, his voice carrying that gentle warmth reserved for you alone.

You scoff lightly, taking your stance. "Ñuha prūmia, don't expect mercy today," you reply, using the Valyrian term you only ever use in private moments. It has always been your way—your fierce exterior crumbling just a little in his presence.

Without another word, you move. Your sword arcs through the air, and he meets your strike with a resounding clash of steel. The power behind your attack makes his arm tremble, but he holds firm, his smile widening as he steps back, deflecting another blow aimed at his shoulder. The two of you circle each other, boots scuffing the packed dirt, your movements like a deadly dance.

Rhaegar’s fighting style is graceful, calculated—each swing and parry precise, as if he is playing his harp, coaxing music from the strings. But you, you fight like a storm. Unrelenting, fierce, a force of nature that does not yield. Your strikes come faster now, driving him back step by step. He manages to block each one, but it is clear you are pushing him to his limit.

Sweat beads on his brow as he tries to counter, his blade slicing towards your side. You twist, narrowly avoiding the strike, and bring your sword down towards his shoulder. He manages to catch it with his own blade, but the impact forces him to his knees. You press the advantage, your sword at his throat, the cool metal just grazing his skin.

"Yield," you command, your voice low, your breath mingling with his as you stand over him.

Rhaegar laughs softly, lowering his blade. "I yield, sister, you have bested me again," he says, his voice a blend of pride and affection. The formal tone falls away as he looks up at you, indigo eyes shimmering in the afternoon light. You can see the love there, and something within you softens. You step back, offering him your hand.

He takes it, his fingers entwining with yours as he rises. The training yard fades away, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. Rhaegar’s free hand comes up, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “You are magnificent, Y/N. Truly,” he murmurs, his thumb caressing your cheek.

Your heart, always so guarded, melts at his words. “You flatter me, Rhaegar,” you reply, your tone teasing but your eyes warm. “Are you trying to make me forget how I had you at my mercy?”

“Never,” he says with a smile, drawing you closer. “I would not dare. I am merely stating the truth.”

You shake your head, unable to stop the smile that tugs at your lips. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into an embrace. Here, in his arms, you let the mask slip, leaning into him, your forehead resting against his.

Rhaegar presses a kiss to your temple, a soft, lingering touch. “You are my strength, my fire,” he whispers, his voice a tender murmur against your skin. “There is no one like you, Y/N.”

Your heart swells, a rare vulnerability surfacing as you look up at him. “And you, Rhaegar, are my light in the darkness.” It is a confession, one only he is privy to, words meant for him alone. You lift your hand, fingers tracing the line of his jaw before you pull him down, capturing his lips in a gentle, lingering kiss.

The world falls away, the courtyard, the Red Keep, the weight of your family’s expectations—none of it matters in this moment. It is just you and him, bound together by love and fire, a bond forged in the flames of your shared heritage.

When you finally pull back, breathless, you rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His hand strokes your hair, the gesture soothing, and for once, you allow yourself to relax completely, to be vulnerable in a way you never are with anyone else.

“I love you, Rhaegar,” you whisper, the words slipping past your lips, unbidden but true. It is rare for you to say it, to voice the depth of your feelings, but with him, you can. You always can.

He holds you tighter, his own voice soft but steady. “And I love you, Y/N. Always.”

The courtyard, once filled with the sound of clashing blades, is now quiet, the only sound the soft murmur of your breath mingling with his. In this moment, you are not the fierce warrior, the Targaryen princess, or the daughter of a mad king. You are simply Y/N, held close by the man you love, your heart safe in his hands.

[simplyalicee]

♡ Flowers and Laughter ♡

Nightstuck!Wally x GN!Reader

Inspired by a gorgeous drawing by @bunnyspine, AU by them as well!!

Just a lighthearted, fluffy fic <333 Enjoy neighbors!

I am writing this while sick HELPME

(Art by @bunnyspine <33 love you so much /p)

☆☆☆☆☆

"...for you."

Wally softly whispered, standing in front of you with a variety of flowers tied up together with a red ribbon. It was perfectly tied just for you with a note attached. His gaze was away from yours, but it was easy to tell that you meant a lot to him. As nervous as he was, he stood in front of you with a beautiful gift that left you in tears.

You reach out and take the sweet gift. The flowers smelt wonderful. You were fighting not to cry on the spot. Of all neighbors, you caught his attention. It made you feel special, a feeling you thought you'd never feel. And here you were, getting emotional with a beating heart. You glance at the note, which reads;

" I really think you're pretty, neighbor. So pretty that I can't stop thinking about you. You never make my heart still. It races with adoration because of you. I love you. "

Your emotions got the best of you. Tears trailed down your face. But you laughed. The air was filled with your laughter.

Your laughter.

Wally was caught off guard. He turned his head to you and saw you crying with laughter. He was confused. Did you find his confession funny? What was the deal? Unfortunately for him, your laughter was contagious, and Wally soon fell into a fit of laughter with you. You both laughed together for different reasons, but it was such a sweet moment. You clutch the flowers close to you.

The laughing continued for what felt like forever. The both of you soon calmed down, each of you collectively catching your breaths.

Wally wiped away the tear that dared to shed. "What was so funny, neighbor?" He asked, his tone filled with joy and worry.

You thought about telling him, but you had a better idea.

You gently placed the flowers and card on the ground. You took a few steps forward to Wally, smiling sweetly. Before he could say anything, you gently cup his cheek with one hand; the other tangling his hair with your fingers. Wally's face grew flushed. He smiled widely and giggled, leaning into your touch.

"Nothing, you just made me really happy," you whispered. "Because I love you, too." You lean in and press a soft kiss on Wally's forehead. A soft gasp escaped his lips, his eyes sparkling with love and adoration. You could've sworn you heard his heartbeat.

Wally became so overjoyed that he threw his arms around you, pulling you into a hug. He buried his face for one moment in your shoulder, kissing your cheek multiple times the next. His embrace slightly tightened, though, remained gentle.

"Neighbor, you have no idea how relieved I am to hear that. I love you so much," he whispered.

"I love you way more. I would've never thought you would love me back," you admitted, your arms wrapped around him with your hands in his hair.

"How could I not? You're perfect,"

That was the final string tugged. You looked at Wally for a moment before closing the gap between you two, pressing your lips against his. Wally was caught off guard for a moment but clung onto you as he kissed you back. He hummed from your fingers playing with his hair. In return, you felt his hands rub your back in a soothing rhythm. It was a sweet sensation neither of you were ready to let go. It was after a few moments that you both finally pulled away for air, the two of you gently panting but smiling like loving dorks.

Now doesn't that just make your day?

☆☆☆☆☆

OH MY GOD MY FIRST NIGHTSTUCK FANFIC LETS GOOOOOOOO

AHHH I HOPE I DID WALLY JUSTICE, THIS WAS SUCH A CUTE DRAWING THAT I JUST COULD NOT HELP MYSELF

[wadewnstonwilson]

die hard with a xmas vengeance;

summary: Logan and Wade embark on a chaotic Christmas themed "date night" involving a high-stakes break-in to retrieve a seemingly worthless VHS tape of Die Hard dubbed in Esperanto, which Wade insists is a "priceless collectible."

word count: 6.3k

author's note: this was SO much fun to write, and I hope everyone enjoys it! happy holidays!

It began like any other "date night" in Wade Wilson's twisted little world, only this time with a festive twist: breaking into a high-security facility, dodging a hailstorm of bullets, and retrieving some absurdly specific item he insisted was a "priceless collectible." Tonight’s objective? A Die Hard VHS tape dubbed in Esperanto, because according to Wade, it was the Christmas movie to end all Christmas movies. Why Esperanto? Only Wade knew, and Logan had long since given up trying to decipher his chaotic logic.

The pair stood outside an imposing industrial building, its sleek walls and fortified security system practically screaming do not enter. Floodlights swept the surrounding area in slow arcs, glinting off patches of frost and snow that crunched beneath their boots. The night air was sharp and bitter, stinging any exposed skin, but Wade seemed unfazed, practically vibrating with energy like a sugar-high elf on Christmas Eve. He adjusted the straps of his katanas, which he’d gleefully wrapped in a gaudy string of blinking red and green lights, and fiddled with a small device in his hands.

“Alright, Claws,” Wade said, spinning on his heel to face Logan, his grin so wide it looked physically painful. His voice carried that manic edge, like a kid hopped up on Pixy Stix and pure adrenaline. “Tonight’s the night! The heist of the fucking century. The coup de fucking grâce! We’re talking legendary shit. Oceans Eleven? Amateurs. The Italian Job? Snooze-fest. This is art, my friend. This is history in the goddamn making.”

Logan crossed his arms and leaned against a nearby lamppost, his silhouette bathed in flickering light. His expression was the textbook definition of unimpressed, his dark brows pulling together in a scowl that could have withered lesser men. But not Wade. Wade thrived on Logan’s disapproval.

“You’re stealing a VHS tape, Wade,” Logan said flatly, his deep, gravelly voice cutting through the cold night air like the bite of winter wind. Somewhere in the distance, the faint jingle of a Salvation Army bell echoed, as if the universe itself disapproved of Wade’s antics.

Wade gasped, his hands flying to his chest like Logan had just accused him of murdering a litter of kittens under a Christmas tree. His masked face tilted dramatically toward the sky, illuminated faintly by the string of festive red and green lights adorning a nearby lamppost. He staggered back a step, clutching at his heart like a tragic hero in a Hallmark holiday special. “Stealing?” he exclaimed, his voice dripping with exaggerated offense, almost drowned out by the faint hum of Silent Night playing in the background. “Stealing? How fucking dare you, Logan? I’m not some petty criminal swiping candy canes from a kid’s stocking! I am an artist, a goddamn patriot! What I’m doing is rescuing! No, liberating! I’m liberating this priceless cultural artifact from the greedy clutches of corporate indifference!”

Logan raised an eyebrow, his breath visible in the frosty air as he watched Wade fumble dramatically with his pockets. “Do you even know what this is?” Wade continued, yanking out a crumpled, folded piece of paper like it was some sacred holiday scroll. “This isn’t just some run-of-the-mill VHS, oh no, my furry little Canadian. This—” he paused for effect, “—this is Die Hard, in fucking Esperanto."

Logan didn’t flinch. Not even an eye twitch. The man was a goddamn statue of apathy. His arms crossed tighter over his broad chest, his lips tugged into a scowl that could frighten most humans. “Pretty sure you don’t even speak Esperanto.”

Wade froze mid-wave, his masked head snapping toward Logan like he’d just been called out for farting in church. “Not the goddamn point!” he yelled, waving a finger in Logan’s direction as if accusing him of high treason. “This is about the principle. The fucking principle! Do you think Bruce Willis crawled through sweaty-ass ventilation shafts with glass in his feet just so some corporate dickheads could bury this cinematic masterpiece in some lame-ass vault? Fuck no! That man bled for us, Logan. Bled! For the art of explosions and one-liners and Alan Rickman’s silky, villainous voice!”

Logan’s eyebrow arched a fraction higher, the barest glimmer of amusement breaking through his otherwise immovable frown.

“I don’t even think you understand what kind of legacy we’re talking about here!” Wade continued, undeterred by Logan’s lack of enthusiasm. He began pacing back and forth like a deranged motivational speaker, his hands flailing wildly as his rant gained momentum. “This isn’t just a fucking movie, Logan. This is a fucking movement! Bruce Willis crawled so Vin Diesel could drive cars through skyscrapers. He suffered so Keanu Reeves could shoot guns in slow motion while dodging Matrix-y bullshit! And you—” Wade stopped dead in his tracks, pointing a dramatic finger directly at Logan. “You dare to stand there with your judgmental, grumpy-ass lumberjack vibes and call this stealing?”

Logan let out a long, low sigh, his expression unmoving. “Still don’t speak Esperanto, Wade.”

“Jesus Christ, Logan, for fuck’s sake!” Wade clapped his hands together, his excitement bubbling over as he all but vibrated in place. “I don’t need to speak Esperanto. Esperanto speaks to me. It’s the fucking universal language, okay? It’s practically written into my DNA. And even if it wasn’t, it’s fucking Die Hard in a language so obscure, it might as well be hieroglyphics. That’s gotta count for something.”

Logan ran a hand down his face, the kind of exasperated gesture that only Wade Wilson could inspire after years of relentless antics. His voice was a low growl, laced with irritation. “You done yet?”

“Not even close,” Wade shot back, his grin as bright and unapologetic as a string of mismatched Christmas lights. “But we’ll circle back to my holiday sermon on why you’re the Grinch incarnate. For now—” He spun dramatically, arms wide as if presenting a snow-dusted wonderland instead of a high-security facility, “—we’ve got a yuletide miracle to save, Claws. So, if you’d kindly unwrap that stick from your ass and join me, we can go down in holiday history!”

With that, Wade practically skipped toward the building, humming an off-key and very deliberate rendition of Ode to Joy. Logan groaned, the sound carrying the weight of a man who’d just been forced into a poorly wrapped gift exchange. He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “Merry fucking Christmas,” and trudged after him, boots crunching against the frosty ground.

Wade crouched in front of the security panel, tools scattered haphazardly on the ground beside him. His hands worked with alarming speed, twisting wires and jabbing at the delicate mechanisms like a hyperactive raccoon rummaging through a trash bin. All the while, now he hummed the Macarena—loudly and off-key—occasionally breaking into bursts of mumbled lyrics. “Dale a tu cuerpo alegría, Macarena… Fuck, why can’t I get this stupid thing to—oh wait, there it is!” He let out a triumphant cackle, pausing only to wiggle his fingers like a magician about to pull a rabbit out of a hat.

Behind him, Logan stood with his arms crossed, his patience wearing as thin as the soles of his boots. He scanned their surroundings, the dimly lit alley eerily quiet except for Wade's incessant noise. The low hum of nearby streetlights and the occasional distant bark of a dog only added to the oppressive stillness.

“You could just walk in the front door,” Logan muttered, his gravelly voice dripping with irritation as he leaned casually against the wall, one leg bent. “Probably easier."

Wade turned toward Logan, his body language broadcasting an almost theatrical level of offense. He threw up his arms, his red-and-black suit creaking slightly as he gestured wildly, and his mask twitched with disbelieving amusement. His voice, when it came, was pitched in that mock-incredulous tone he favored whenever Logan said something that rubbed him the wrong way. And damn, Logan had excelled at that tonight.

“The front fucking door? Seriously?” Wade demanded, as though Logan had just proposed they stroll into a nunnery wearing clown suits and juggling live grenades. His eyes were practically bugging out behind the mask. “What’s next, we knock? Hand out some goddamn gift baskets to the guards before we waltz in? Where the hell’s the foreplay in that, big guy?” He leaned closer, voice dropping conspiratorially. “Listen, babe, this isn’t just a mission—it’s a goddamn date night.” He put lascivious emphasis on those last two words, like he was savoring them. “A little B&E, a bit of illegal entry”—he paused, wiggling his eyebrows beneath the fabric—“that’s like the fucking aphrodisiac of our relationship, right there. Without it, we’re just two dudes loitering around a fortress. Lame as shit, if you ask me.”

Logan, rolling his eyes so hard he might have pulled a muscle, released a gruff, weary groan that spoke volumes. He’d seen this routine a hundred times over—Wade’s incessant, high-octane energy, peppered with enough F-bombs to level a small city. And yet here he was, still somehow tethered to the merc’s side. “You’re exhausting,” he said, each syllable dragged through sandpaper, his patience stretched thin.

A twisted, mocking grin split Wade’s face, warping into something both delighted and diabolical. “And you’re fucking old,” he retorted without missing a beat, like he’d been waiting weeks to drop that line. The door’s security panel flickered green and emitted a crisp beep, the deadbolts sliding back with a metallic thud. “Boom!” Wade cried, throwing his arms in the air triumphantly. “Who’s the badass now? That’s right—moi, motherfucker!”

As he pushed the door inward, Wade strutted through like he owned the place, the high-tech hallway stretching out under harsh fluorescent lights. The corridor had that sterile smell—disinfectant, burnt wiring, and the faint tang of metal. Logan followed him in, every sense on edge, nostrils flaring as he tested the air. His eyes swept over the bland, featureless walls, the distant hum of HVAC units, the crisp echoes of their footsteps. Danger lurked somewhere ahead, he could feel it.

“Still me,” Logan muttered, low and grim, reaffirming his own steady competence in the face of Wade’s theatrics.

Wade ignored him, pulling a crumpled, grease-stained piece of paper from his pocket, squinting at the barely legible scribbles he called a plan. “Alright, vault’s down this hall. We’ve got a laser grid—fuck yeah, a real laser grid, by the way—then a couple of rent-a-cops who probably can’t shoot for shit, and then this lock so complicated it makes your little Swiss Army claws look like a kid’s craft project.”

Logan raised a single eyebrow, unimpressed. “Laser grid?”

“Oh, hell yes,” Wade said, his grin spreading so wide it looked borderline painful, like a kid seeing presents under the tree on Christmas morning. “Some real Mission Impossible shit, my man. I’m talking acrobatics, sweat glistening like tinsel on the ol’ bod, maybe a slow-motion flip or two if I’m feeling spicy. You know, the kind of holiday magic that gets the ladies—or in my case, the fellas—hot and bothered.”

Logan rolled his eyes, his patience thinner than holiday wrapping paper. “You’re full of shit.”

“Excuse me?” Wade shot back, clutching his chest like Logan had just insulted his dead mother. “I am full of charm, wit, and possibly that expired Taco Bell from yesterday. But shit? No, sir. I’ll have you know, this laser grid is my time to shine, grumpy pants. Now, try to keep up—or don’t. I’m not your babysitter.”

Without waiting for a response, Wade darted ahead, moving with an energy that could only be described as caffeine-fueled chaos. Logan followed at a slower, measured pace, dragging his boots along the cold, sterile floor.

When they reached the entrance to the laser grid, Wade spun on his heel, his entire body practically humming with excitement. He slapped his palms together, a gleam in his eye that screamed this is going to be so goddamn stupid.

“Alright, honey badger,” Wade began, his voice dripping with theatrical flair, “prepare to witness the greatest fucking show on Earth. Wade Wilson, a.k.a. the Merc with the Abs, a.k.a. your favorite pain in the ass, is about to bend, twist, and contort his ridiculously flexible body through a high-tech field of death lasers. For free! I mean, who the fuck needs Vegas when you’ve got me?”

Logan crossed his arms, leaning casually against the wall, the faint glow of red and green security lights casting a soft hue across the dim hallway. “Are you gonna talk all night, or are you actually gonna do something?”

“Patience, Daddy,” Wade shot back with a wink, the faint jingling of bells on his utility belt—because of course he’d added bells—echoing faintly. “You don’t rush perfection. Now, sit back, relax, and watch as I make these lasers my bitch. Call it my holiday miracle.”

Without another word, Wade launched himself into the grid, his body moving with an absurd combination of grace and insanity. He twisted and flipped through the crisscrossing beams, his commentary sprinkled with festive flair.

“Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, eat your hearts out!" Wade muttered, barely dodging a laser with an exaggerated spin. "I’m the real MVP of this Christmas caper!”

Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re gonna end up a charred ornament if you keep this up.”

“Charred but festive,” Wade shot back mid-flip, a grin plastered on his face as he continued to maneuver through the glowing red maze.

“Oh, fuck me sideways—this one’s tighter than my ex’s leather pants. Whoa! Almost lost a nut there. You see that, Logan? You watching? You better be fucking watching, because this—oh shit, that was close—this is some artistic genius right here!”

By the time Wade reached the other side, he struck a dramatic pose, arms spread wide as if he’d just won an Olympic medal. “Ta-da! Who’s your daddy now, huh? Say it, Logan. Say, ‘Wade, you magnificent bastard, I bow to your superior laser-dodging skills.’ Go on. I’ll wait.”

Logan didn’t even flinch. Instead, he stared at Wade with a deadpan expression, his arms still crossed. “Deactivate the damn grid.”

Wade grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief like the lights on a freshly decorated tree. ���Your wish is my command, Mr. Fuzzy Pants.” With a dramatic flourish, he tapped a button on the nearby control panel, the lasers powering down with a faint hum that reminded him of holiday lights flickering off after a long night. He gestured grandly toward the now-clear hallway, his grin as smug as a kid who just peeked at his presents.

“After you, grandpa.”

Logan grunted, waiting until Wade deactivated the grid completely before stepping forward. His movements were calm and deliberate, like someone unwrapping a gift they weren’t entirely sure they wanted. The intricate maze of lasers that had Wade practically bouncing with adrenaline didn’t faze him in the slightest.

“Impressive,” Logan deadpanned as he stepped through unscathed, his tone as flat as a holiday card from someone you barely know. “You’ve got a future in circus work.”

“Goddamn right, I do,” Wade said, spinning on his heel to face him, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. He extended his hand dramatically, palm up, as if waiting for applause. “Step right up, folks! Feast your eyes on the world’s most flexible, most charming, most devastatingly handsome sword-swinging motherfucker this side of the apocalypse.”

Logan sighed heavily, rubbing a hand down his face. “Just get on with it.”

“Fine, Dad. Merry Christmas to you too,” Wade quipped, rolling his eyes with exaggerated flair before grabbing Logan’s hand in both of his own and yanking him down the hall. “Now, let’s go kick some ass and maybe commit a light sprinkling of felonies. You know, festive bonding shit.”

As they moved deeper into the facility, the sterile, fluorescent-lit corridor stretched ahead of them, the silence broken only by the soft hum of the overhead lights.

Then came the sound of footsteps—heavy, deliberate, and closing in fast. Wade grinned, tightening his grip on his katanas. “Looks like Santa brought us some company, claws. Let’s deck some halls, huh?”

Logan didn’t need any encouragement. With a low growl, he unsheathed his claws, the sharp snikt echoing through the corridor as he stepped forward, his body coiled like a predator ready to strike. He moved like a force of nature, silent and precise, as he closed the distance to the first guard. A single slash of his claws sent the man’s weapon clattering to the floor, disarmed and incapacitated in one swift motion.

“Efficient,” Wade muttered, watching Logan’s attack with mock approval as he spun to face the second guard. “But boring as fuck. Allow me to demonstrate a little pizzazz.”

With that, Wade sprang into action, his body a blur of chaotic, almost balletic movement. He twirled his katanas with an unnecessary flourish, the blades catching the harsh light as he closed the gap between himself and the second guard.

“Hi there, asshole!” Wade greeted brightly, dodging the guard’s swing with an exaggerated lean that would have looked ridiculous on anyone else. “Just here to fuck up your night and, oh, probably your face too.”

He spun around the guard, his katanas slicing through the air with precision as he disarmed the man in a series of movements so unnecessarily theatrical they resembled a choreographed dance. “What’s the matter? Not a fan of my interpretive violence routine? It’s called ‘Death by Sexy,’ and you’re the star of tonight’s performance!”

Logan glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Wade land a sharp kick to the guard’s chest, sending him sprawling to the floor. Wade stood over the fallen man, tapping the flat of one blade against his shoulder as if considering his next move.

“You know,” Wade mused aloud, his tone conversational as though they were discussing the weather, “I could totally just knock you out and call it a day, but where’s the fun in that? So, here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna—”

“Wade,” Logan growled, cutting him off with an impatient glare. “We don’t have time for your goddamn monologues.”

“Fucking killjoy,” Wade muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes as he turned and tossed the second guard’s weapon down the hallway with the flourish of someone tossing an ornament onto a tree. “Fine, fine. Ass officially kicked. Happy now, Mr. Buzzkill?”

Logan grunted in response, already moving toward the next objective with the determination of someone trying to beat the holiday rush. Wade twirled his katanas one last time before sheathing them with a flair so dramatic it could have been mistaken for a festive ribbon flourish. He glanced back at the groaning guards behind him, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“Don’t worry, boys. You’ll have plenty of time to recover while reminiscing about how badly I whooped your asses. Consider it my early Christmas gift to you. You’re welcome!”

Wade crouched over the unconscious guard sprawled on the cold concrete floor, his hands moving with the speed and precision of someone who had done this far too many times. His fingers rifled through the guard’s jacket pockets, then dipped into his pants pockets without an ounce of hesitation. “Jesus Christ, what are these uniforms made of? Kevlar and shame? Fuck, does he not have a goddamn keycard? Come on, pal, don’t make me dig in your underwear. Although, knowing me, I’d make it work.”

With a triumphant shout, Wade yanked a thin, rectangular card out of an inner pocket. He leapt to his feet, holding it aloft like he’d just won the fucking lottery. “Ha! Found it! God, I’m amazing. I mean, really, Logan, sometimes I even impress myself. And I do not impress easily.” He spun around to face Logan, tossing the keycard at him with an exaggerated flick of his wrist. Logan caught it mid-air, his stoic expression unchanging.

“Here, Mr. Responsible,” Wade continued, a wide, shit-eating grin plastered across his face. “Open the damn vault so we can bask in the glory of my brilliance. And maybe get you a personality transplant while we’re at it. You’re welcome.”

Logan rolled his eyes, grumbling under his breath as he approached the reader. He swiped the keycard through with practiced ease, and the door let out a sharp hiss before sliding open to reveal a room that looked straight out of a billionaire’s wet dream.

The walls were lined with shelves overflowing with priceless artifacts—ancient sculptures, glittering jewels, stacks of cash neatly bundled in plastic. But Wade didn’t even glance at any of it. His eyes zeroed in on the back of the room, where a single pedestal sat under a spotlight, cradling what had to be the most unremarkable object in the entire building: a dusty VHS tape.

“There it is,” Wade whispered, his voice dropping an octave into something almost reverent. The snark vanished from his tone as he took a cautious step forward, like approaching a rare, endangered animal. His boots scuffed against the floor as he crossed the room, his fingers twitching with anticipation.

He reached the pedestal and gingerly picked up the tape, holding it with the kind of care usually reserved for newborns or rare, fragile artifacts. “Die Hard,” he breathed, his eyes wide and glittering with awe. “In fucking Esperanto. I’ve done it. My life is complete. I can die happy now."

Logan crossed his arms, watching Wade with a mixture of disbelief and faint amusement, his gruff voice laced with dry sarcasm. "This is what we risked our lives for?"

“Hell. Fucking. Yeah,” Wade shot back, his tone dripping with giddy defiance as he clutched the VHS tape to his chest like it was the Ark of the Covenant. He pressed it to his cheek, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “You see this, boo? This isn’t just a VHS tape—it’s a goddamn piece of history. Bruce Willis should canonize me for this shit. I’m a fucking hero.”

Logan exhaled deeply, shaking his head. “You’re an idiot, that’s what you are.”

“Idiocy,” Wade began, holding up a finger like a smug professor about to deliver a lecture, “is just another word for courage… said no one, ever, but fuck it. Let’s roll with it. Now, let’s blow this popsicle stand before one of those drones grows a pair and tries to roast my jingle bells.”

With the tape tucked securely under one arm, Wade led the charge out of the building, his red suit catching the faint glow of a string of twinkling holiday lights strung haphazardly along a guard’s desk. He darted through the hallways with the kind of reckless confidence that only he could pull off, humming Jingle Bell Rock under his breath. Logan followed behind, grumbling like a grizzled Scrooge, his claws at the ready in case anyone dared interrupt their escape.

“You know,” Wade called over his shoulder, “this would be way more festive if the guards were wearing little Santa hats or, like, had candy cane batons. Missed opportunity, really. Corporate America, I tell ya, no imagination these days.”

Logan groaned. “Can you shut up for five seconds?”

“Not a chance, Frosty. Someone’s gotta keep the holiday spirit alive while you brood your way through the halls of Ho-Ho-Horrors.” Wade threw a glance back, smirking. “And let me just say, your claws would make excellent stocking stuffers. Bet you never thought of that.”

The duo narrowly avoided a hovering drone, Wade hurling an impressive string of profanities at it as they ducked around a corner. “Nice try, motherfucker! You can’t touch this. I’m like MC Hammer but with better abs and a hotter ass.” He flipped the bird at the camera mounted on the drone, holding it in place just a second too long as Logan physically dragged him toward the exit.

Once they burst onto the street, Wade threw his arms up like he’d just won the goddamn Super Bowl. “Freedom! Sweet, glorious freedom! And tacos!” He turned to Logan with a grin that was almost manic. “We’re celebrating. Right now. No ifs, ands, or grumpy fucking buts.”

Logan scowled, already regretting the inevitable. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am. Serious as your stupidly furrowed brow. We just survived death drones, laser grids, and at least three guards who probably hate their lives as much as you do. We earned this.” Wade was already halfway down the snowy street, his boots crunching against the frost-dusted pavement as he gestured wildly for Logan to follow. “Come on, big guy. Tacos wait for no man—or holiday!”

The faint glimmer of string lights from a nearby shop window cast a warm glow on the icy sidewalk, and Logan muttered a string of curses under his breath as he trudged after Wade. They arrived at a rickety taco stand nestled into the corner of a dimly lit block, its small garland of blinking red and green lights blinking unevenly around the menu board. The smell of sizzling meat, freshly chopped cilantro, and a hint of cinnamon from a nearby street vendor selling roasted nuts filled the air. Wade practically threw himself at the counter, his breath fogging in the cold night as he bounced on the balls of his feet.

“Look at this!” Wade exclaimed, pointing at the menu board decorated with a crooked paper snowflake. “Festive and delicious. It's a Christmas miracle, Claws! Alright, listen up, my tortilla-wielding saviors,” Wade began, addressing the taco stand workers with a dramatic flourish. “I need three carne asadas, four pollo, two of whatever the fuck is on special, extra guac on everything, and enough hot sauce to set my intestines on fire. Oh, and throw in a churro. Daddy’s feeling fancy tonight.”

The man behind the counter gave him a long, skeptical look, then glanced at Logan, who stood a few feet away with his arms crossed and a look of weary resignation on his face. “Is he for real?” the worker asked.

“Unfortunately,” Logan replied, his voice as flat as the griddle behind the counter, the faint hum of Christmas music in the background doing little to soften his tone.

“Damn right I’m for real,” Wade interjected, slapping a hand against the counter with enough force to rattle the nearby pepper shaker adorned with a festive Santa hat. “Do I look like a man who messes around when it comes to tacos? No. I am the fucking Michelangelo of taco consumption. Watch and learn, Logan.”

“You’re addicted to this crap,” Logan muttered, shaking his head as Wade’s excitement only seemed to grow, his eyes darting to a tacky string of blinking red and green lights strung along the edge of the counter.

“And you’re addicted to me,” Wade shot back, flashing him a wink so exaggerated it looked like his entire face might cramp.

Logan responded with a low grunt, the kind that could mean anything—annoyance, reluctant agreement, or just sheer disbelief at the bullshit he willingly put up with. Wade, however, chose to interpret it as an admission of undying love, and his grin widened.

The pair sat at a rickety, graffiti-covered outdoor table, the kind that screamed health code violation waiting to happen. A string of mismatched lights dangled above them, flickering sporadically like they couldn’t decide whether to commit to functioning or give up entirely. The air smelled of grease, stale beer, and a faint hint of desperation—all of which Wade found utterly intoxicating.

While Logan sat nursing his beer, Wade dove headfirst into a towering plate of tacos with the finesse of a rabid animal. Salsa dripped down his chin, a stray piece of lettuce clung to his mask, and his suit bore the brunt of a guacamole explosion. He didn’t seem to care—or notice.

“This,” Wade said around a mouthful of food, gesturing wildly with a half-eaten taco, “is what fucking happiness looks like, Logan. You see this shit? Pure, unadulterated joy. You wouldn’t get it, though, Mr. Brood-and-Scowl. You’re probably allergic to happiness. Or maybe tacos. Or both. Wouldn’t fucking surprise me.”

Logan shook his head, his lips twitching as if he were holding back a smile. “You’re a goddamn tornado,” he muttered, watching Wade tear through another taco like it had personally insulted him. His voice carried that familiar mix of exasperation and the barest hint of amusement, like he couldn’t decide whether to punch Wade or laugh at him.

Wade froze mid-chew, one hand dramatically clutching his chest. He swallowed hard, then smacked the table with his free hand, making the plates rattle. “A tornado? A fucking tornado? You wound me, Logan. I prefer to think of myself as a hurricane of brilliance. Or maybe a fucking earthquake of charm. But a tornado? That’s just low. Low, even for you, you hairy fuck.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You done?”

“Not even close,” Wade shot back, waving a taco in Logan’s direction for emphasis. “You think you’re so goddamn cool with your grumpy-ass lumberjack aesthetic and your gravelly ‘I don’t give a shit’ attitude. But deep down, you fucking love this. Admit it. You love the chaos. You love me.” He punctuated the last word with a wink so lewd it should’ve been illegal, his eyes twinkling like festive holiday lights.

Logan leaned back in his chair, taking a slow, deliberate sip of his beer. “You’re exhausting.”

“And you’re predictable,” Wade quipped, pointing at him with a greasy finger. “But here we are. You. Me. Tacos. The fucking dream team. So shut up and enjoy the goddamn night, Logan."

Logan let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as Wade grinned triumphantly, bits of cilantro still clinging to his teeth like tiny festive ornaments.

When they finally stumbled back to the apartment, the building's flickering hallway light cast ominous shadows on the chipped walls, reminiscent of a run-down advent calendar with doors you weren’t quite sure you wanted to open. Wade fished out his keys with a dramatic flourish, jingling them like sleigh bells before unlocking the door. "Welcome to Casa de Fuckery," he proclaimed, throwing the door open as if unveiling a surprise Christmas morning gift—one you’d definitely want to return.

He waltzed inside, immediately kicking his boots off with enough force to send one sailing into the corner and the other smacking into the wall with a dull thud, narrowly missing a string of fairy lights haphazardly draped over a coat rack. "Make yourself at home—just don’t touch anything sharp, sticky, or suspiciously festive. Actually, fuck it. Touch whatever you want. Mi casa, su casa, claws. Consider it my gift to you, ya grinch."

Logan followed him in, the scent of old takeout and something vaguely metallic hitting his nose like a brick wall. He scowled at the sight of the familiar chaos: half-empty soda cans, mismatched furniture that looked like it had been salvaged from a dumpster fire, and what appeared to be a katana propped up in an empty cereal box. "You live like this?" Logan grumbled, his gravelly voice dripping with disapproval as he scanned the disaster zone.

"Live? No, no, no, I thrive like this," Wade shot back, flopping onto the couch with a loud groan, as if he’d just completed the hardest mission of his life. He held up the VHS tape with both hands like it was the Holy Grail, his eyes wide with faux reverence. "And tonight, my hairy, judgmental friend, we transcend. You ready for some top-tier, grade-A, primo-ass Die Hard magic? The Esperanto dub. Fucking cultural enlightenment, baby."

Logan didn’t answer right away, choosing instead to step over a pile of suspiciously crusty laundry and head toward the fridge. He yanked the door open with a grunt, scanning the sparse contents: three beers, an unmarked Tupperware container he refused to investigate, and what appeared to be an expired jar of pickles. He grabbed two beers, cracking one open as he turned back to Wade.

"Beer me, claws!" Wade called from the couch, patting the cushion beside him. "Come on, don’t be shy. There’s room in this magical shit show for the both of us."

Logan trudged over, handing one of the bottles to Wade. Their fingers brushed briefly, and Wade raised an eyebrow, shooting Logan a smirk that was half-amused, half-suggestive. "Ooh, hand-touching. Scandalous. Next thing you know, we’re picking out curtains together. Fucking domestic bliss, am I right?"

Logan ignored the jab, muttering something unintelligible under his breath as he sat down beside him, keeping a small but deliberate amount of space between them. Wade cracked open his beer with a flourish, spilling a bit of foam onto his already stained shirt. He didn’t care, taking a long swig before setting the bottle on the cluttered coffee table, right next to a half-eaten chimichanga.

"So," Wade began, holding the VHS tape up again and turning it over like he was examining a priceless artifact. "You think Bruce Willis knew, in his balding, action-hero glory, that one day his masterpiece would be immortalized in the motherfucking universal language of love? Because I’m telling you, claws, this is fate. This is destiny. This is what we were put on this Earth to do tonight."

Logan shrugged, his expression a perfect mix of boredom and mild irritation. "Just put the damn tape in."

"Patience, Grandpa!" Wade said, wagging a finger at him before hopping up from the couch with more energy than anyone should have after the night they’d had. "This isn’t just a movie. It’s an experience, like sipping hot cocoa by the fire or listening to Mariah Carey on repeat—festive as hell, and experiences take fucking time. Now sit tight while I find the VCR… which is probably under one of these pizza boxes. Or tangled up in those Christmas lights I was totally going to hang. Shit, I don’t even know anymore."

Wade eventually came bounding back into the room, triumphantly holding the dust-covered VCR aloft like it was the Holy Grail. “Behold, motherfuckin’ technology!” he declared, his voice practically vibrating with excitement. “This baby right here? State-of-the-art. Cutting edge. Straight outta the dark ages when people had to rewind shit by hand. By hand, Logan. Do you even comprehend the barbarity?”

Logan, who had been nursing a beer and silently questioning all his life choices under the soft glow of a string of mismatched Christmas lights Wade had half-assedly strung around the living room, grunted noncommittally. “Just plug it in, Wade.”

“Plug it in, Wade,” Wade mimicked in a high-pitched voice, sticking out his tongue as he crouched in front of the TV, his red-and-green socks peeking out from under his pants. “Bossy-ass lumberjack, can’t even appreciate the holiday miracle that is vintage porn—err, I mean, cinema. You’re lucky I love you, you grumpy Christmas tree of a man.”

“Love’s a strong word,” Logan muttered, watching Wade wrestle with the VCR like it was a rabid reindeer.

“Yeah, well, so is fuck you, but I haven’t said that to you yet tonight, so maybe write that in your letter to Santa,” Wade shot back, finally jamming the VCR into place with a loud clunk. “There. Merry fucking Christmas, Panasonic.”

The merc-with-a-mouth grabbed the remote and flopped onto the couch beside Logan with zero grace, sprawling out like he owned the place. His boots hung off the armrest, one sock was mysteriously missing, and there was already a suspicious smudge of salsa on his shirt from earlier. “Alright, Logie Bear, let’s get this cinematic fuckfest rolling,” Wade said, jabbing at the remote. “Prepare to have your hairy little mind blown.”

Logan leaned back, resting his arm along the top of the couch as the screen flickered to life with a low hum. Wade shifted closer, shoving Logan’s thigh with his elbow until Logan sighed and adjusted his arm, letting it settle over Wade’s shoulders.

“See? That’s more like it,” Wade muttered, leaning into him with a satisfied grunt. “Big ol’ grump finally giving in to my snuggly charms. You’re a goddamn marshmallow, admit it.”

“Shut up, Wade,” Logan said, but his tone lacked any real bite. His fingers tightened slightly on Wade’s shoulder, pulling him closer as the opening credits of Die Hard began to roll.

Wade exhaled, his body sinking into Logan’s side like he belonged there. His head rested against Logan’s chest, and for once, his mouth stopped moving. Almost.

“You know,” Wade whispered after a moment, absently running his fingers over Logan’s knee in slow, deliberate patterns, “Bruce Willis should’ve won, like, a thousand Oscars for this shit. Fuckin’ masterpiece. I mean, Die Hard in Esperanto? This is the goddamn pinnacle of human achievement. Screw the moon landing.”

Logan smirked, his gaze fixed on the screen, the faint twinkle of Christmas lights from the corner of the room casting a soft glow. “Thought you were gonna shut up.”

“And miss the opportunity to enlighten you with my superior holiday-themed film commentary? Ho, ho, hell no.” Wade raised his beer in a dramatic toast, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as snowflakes danced silently outside the window. “Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker.”

Logan couldn’t suppress the low chuckle that rumbled in his chest as he clinked his bottle gently against Wade’s. “Yippee-ki-yay, Wade.”

The warm glow of the TV flickered over them, mingling with the soft hum of the movie and the faint scent of pine from the slightly crooked tree in the corner. Wade leaned just a little closer, his head brushing against Logan’s shoulder, and Logan didn’t pull away. Instead, his arm shifted ever so slightly, settling around Wade’s back in a gesture of quiet affection.

In that moment, the chaos of their lives seemed to melt into the background, like the last traces of snow on a fire-lit street. The room was filled with nothing but the soft murmur of dialogue, the glow of twinkling lights, and the quiet comfort of each other’s presence. For Logan, as he held Wade just a little closer, that was more than enough.

[itsa-me-lily]

This was yet again, not what I was intending to write. I was going to try to do the fic for the spa day hint but I got too caught up in my head on logistics. Remember kids, don't let logic or canon stop you from writing the fiction you want to.

This is a pallet cleanser for me after posting 'It's a Quarter after One'.

Here is the rest of the Simon & Thimble playlist.

Here is the MPS AU masterlist

Warnings;

Nothing really. Just tension.

Movie nights, were supposed to be peaceful. A way to unwind from the day and maybe, possibly, in the realm of, spend some time with a person who's existence didn't drive you crazy. So how this turned into you using Simon like a living barbie doll you weren't sure, but you couldn't complain.

That was a lie, you knew exactly how it turned into you belting Simon's pillows around his waist. You had a fucking point to prove.

Simon had been willing to watch a new documentary from the Smithsonian with you, a piece about historical fashion and the myths that spiral out of it. You hadn't thought that Simon would want to watch it, but he had shrugged when you'd ask and well, gifted horses and mouths and all that.

You had made veggie snacks for the boys, and popcorn for you and Simon, queued up the film and the night was off. For the most part it was alright, some stuff you already knew, others you didn't. Simon was pretty silent the entire time, until they got to the corsetry and the discussion of tight lacing.

Simon wouldn't believe the idea that it was mostly an illusion trick. Said that men were obviously smarter than that. You called bullshit. He called your bullshit bullshit. So belting his pillows to his ass.

And no, you weren't going to think about how thick his waist was, or how solid he felt as you tightened the cord around said waist. And you especially weren't going to look up at him because you were positive he was doing that thing where he was staring down at you with his dark eyes that made you feel like you were being sucked in via your soul and did not make your heart skip. Not thinking about it at all.

Giving the improvised belt a tug, and not thinking about his...everything, you nodded, pleased with how the pillows bulked around his waist. Now just for the final piece. You grabbed a throw blanket from the couch, wrapping it around the front of your husband.

(How dare that man be a fucking brick wall of muscles. Seriously what the fuck.)

Once you were ready you grabbed your phone, snapping a photo and disregarding the unimpressed look on Simon's face, already talking over his silence to prove your point.

"Look your shoulders are already broad enough," (Not thinking about it) "So we just had to balance out the width of your hips. Now instead of looking like a Dorito, it's like an hourglass, and your brain gets tricked into thinking your waist tinier."

You're zooming in to show him what you meant when there's a knock on your door, making the both of you freeze to stare at each other. You weren't expecting anyone, and given how tight his shoulders drew in, neither was Simon.

It was tense as you waited to see what would happen. And it only got tenser as there was another knock, whoever was at the door insistent.

"Oi LT, ye in for the pub? Never answered me earlier."

Oh. It was Johnny. At the door. To see if Simon wanted to go out. Because Simon hadn't clarified with him earlier? You almost felt like your strings got cut as you relaxed, looking at the door as you answered for Simon before the Scot could start knocking again, or break down your door.

"Just a second Johnny."

You looked back at Simon and felt your breath catch. He was so...intense sometimes. For a moment all there was, was you and him, the TV lighting half his face and showcasing the curve of his brow that lead to the bridge of his nose, the rest of his face hidden by his surgical mask.

"We should get the door."

"He can wait."

Simon's voice couldn't possibly be that deep most of the time. You'd have noticed it before right?

You had to swallow, your mouth turning dry as you tried to think of something to say.

Thankfully a certain impatient Scot saved the day by knocking yet again, though sounding uncertain this time.

"Are ye alright in there? Am I interrupting-"

"We're fine MacTavish."

You had to make a break for the door then, or else you were all going to be stuck in some loop of talking through a door or not talking while the oxygen apparently left the room. You made an effort to try to ignore whatever Simon was doing behind you as you made the few steps to the door to open it, unaware of the flush that was painting your cheeks.

"Sorry about that, come in."

Oh. Kyle was with him too. You waved over Johnny's shoulder giving the young man a happy greeting, but both of them were too busy staring over your shoulder into your living room. You hadn't really give Simon time to unpillow his ass...oops.

"I was trying to show Simon how proportions with creating visual illusions..."

"Ye look thinner Lt."

You shot Simon an 'I told you so' look, which you were pretty sure he did not appreciate. Instead of trying to get himself out of his pillows he just crossed his arms over his chest, leveling his sergeants with a look.

"Not going out tonight."

"I don't think you have a matching handbag there Ghost."

You couldn't help but grin at Kyle's joke, though you tried to bite your lower lip to hide it. You had done this to the poor man after all. Neither Kyle nor Johnny gave the same consideration as they snickered. Simon didn't seemed impressed with any of you though as he came over, thankfully not tripping over his improvised skirt. With a curt good night he just shut the door in the boys face, though it didn't shut out their laughter as they walked away.

You two didn't say anything as you listened to the laughs fade into the evening. Once it was clear that your guests had left you looked up at Simon, noticing how the tips of his ears looked just a little redder.

"You could have gone out with them if you wanted. I wouldn't have minded."

Simon didn't seem to hear you at first, instead turning to head back to the couch, the blanket making a soft swish noise against the floor. When you didn't follow him he simply turned to sit on the couch, making it clear that there was space next to him on the couch.

"You proved your point. Now get over here so we can finish this."

Edit;

Simon does not care about if tight lacing was a common practice or not. He simply argued to a) argue with you and b) because a part of him was a 'little' hopeful that you'd pull a corset out of somewhere to model or something. Play stupid games get stupid prizes.

Edit edit;

Soap bribes reader to send him the photo of pretty princess Ghost and he hoards it for just in case black mail.

[callsign-rogueone]

our girl - d.a + x.r.

Dain Aetos x reader x Xaden Riorson You and Xaden have been hooking up for a while now, but Threshing throws a wrench (and another person) into your relationship. [request] words: 2.5k (went a little overboard lol, this dynamic was so fun to think about) 🏷: FOURTH WING AND IRON FLAME SPOILERS. NSFW at the end. she/her reader. I did this one a little differently; a full scene with dialogue, and then headcanons about what the relationship would be like (sfw, nsfw + angst; I apologize in advance…) banner made by user cafekitsune!

You dismount, managing to land on your feet. Maybe the gauntlet had been good practice after all, and not just a form of torture. The flight field is slowly filling in with dragons and their chosen riders. Dain is standing next to you with a massive red daggertail. Nice.

Your two dragons look at each other, and for a moment you’re worried they’re going to start a fight, but they just bump heads softly. They’re… friends?

Then Dain’s dragon turns toward you, looking you in the eye, and you freeze, holding completely still as it sniffs you. You must pass inspection, because he pulls back after a few seconds, satisfied, but you don’t dare move, your heart still pounding.

“Relax, girl. I will not hurt you.”

You startle at the second voice speaking to you, stumbling back in shock. A shimmering red string has appeared beside the soft blue one you share with Lann. You tug on it gently, and Dain’s eyes snap toward you, having felt the pull.

“They’re mated.”

“Smart boy,” Cath purrs.

You’re still trying to get used to having another being speaking in your head, hearing your every thought, but now you have two?

You don’t have time to complain about it before Xaden comes running toward you.

Both Lann and Cath stand taller, flaring their nostrils. Cath looks like he’s contemplating how Xaden would taste.

Xaden comes to a stop a few yards away, not wanting to provoke them. It’s easy enough for him to put it together, seeing Dain standing behind you with the mated pair. “Is this some kind of joke?”

Cath blows a puff of foul-smelling steam at Xaden in warning. “Tell him to watch his tone.” 

You don’t.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Xaden says, a look in his eye you’ve never seen before; pure anger.

You take a step back, bumping into Lann’s foreleg. She curls her neck down, placing her head between your body and Xaden’s. You’ve only been bonded all of ten minutes, but she’s already willing to protect you with her life.

“It wasn’t her fault,” Dain challenges, crossing his arms. “Nor is it mine.” 

Your stomach flips. You’d never expected that Dain would be the one defending you here.

“I should gut you before the bond gets any stronger,” Xaden threatens. What is he so mad for?

“You of all people should know that the consequences can be dire. You won’t risk her life in that way.”

“What the hell are the two of you talking about?” You ask, but they don’t answer, too busy threatening each other.

“Human males and their arguing,” Lann sighs. “Were they dragons, they’d fight to the death and the victor would keep you.”

“That remains a possibility,” you reply quietly, still watching the two of them. Xaden certainly looks like he’s contemplating murder right now. 

“I could just incinerate him, but Sgaeyl would have my head if I did,” Cath muses, sounding bored. “And you seem attached.”

You turn to glare at him. “Not funny.”

“Threats from someone your size are only humorous,” Cath replies, still watching the two men argue.

“Like it or not, Riorson, she’s my responsibility now,” Dain says firmly. What is that supposed to mean? Why does Dain care all of a sudden if you live or die?

“Do not forget that you have a voice in this matter, too,” Lann adds.

She’s right.

“Quit it, both of you!” You interrupt before they can come to blows, and both boys turn toward you, quieting. “Stop talking about me like I’m not even here!”

Their eyes soften.

“Darling, I didn’t mean-“ Xaden begins.

You cross your arms over your chest, glaring up at the boy. “I’m not done,” you say, and he falls silent. “Dain’s right; neither of us asked for this, but it happened, and there’s no changing it now. I know you two hate each other, but I will not have you two fighting over me like I’m some kind of object. Neither of you have any claim to me. I’m not your girlfriend, and even if I was, you still don’t own me. I’m an adult, I can make my own decisions and keep myself safe.”

Neither of them respond, silent and guilty as your words settle in.

“And that is why I chose you,” Lann says proudly.

You ignore the compliment, stepping away from her and turning to leave, swiping the tears from your cheeks.

“I apologize, shrewd one.”

“It’s okay,” you say quietly. “You didn’t know.”

—————————————————

“Professor Kaori?” You ask quietly. “Can I ask you a few questions?”

He already knows why you’re here. “I heard about you and Aetos. Cath and Lann have been mated for nearly two centuries. Their bond is strong.”

“Have you known many other pairs like them?”

“A few,” he answers. “Dragons can live for millennia. Unlike us, they do not fall in love at age twenty, and they are quite selective with their partner. It is a lifelong commitment for them, and not one they take lightly.”

“And their riders?” You ask, holding your breath.

“A pair at Montserrat, who are now married, and another pair who regard each other like blood sisters.” 

He doesn’t mention anyone like you and Dain, who hardly know each other and don’t really care to.

“I‘ll make this clear with you, cadet, as you need to know this and accept it; you and Aetos will be stuck together until the end of your days. The four of you must exist as a functional unit. The grief of one of your deaths may be enough to end you all.”

Your eyes widen. So that’s why Xaden had been so pissed.

“You are both excellent students who will undoubtedly become skilled riders,” Kaori says. “Get to know each other in the coming weeks, and settle your differences sooner than later. The health of your relationship, even if it remains strictly professional, is vital.”

You thank him quietly, heading back to your room. You don’t have time to stew over the news; you have assignments due tomorrow.

Two hours pass. You’ve just finished proofreading your essay when there’s a knock on the door.

Dain and Xaden. You motion for them to come in, knowing that the two of them together outside your door will look deeply suspicious to any passerby. 

“What the fuck do you two want?”

Xaden nods at Dain, motioning for him to talk.

“We discussed it, and we realized you’re right. We’re just going to have to deal with this, and there’s no use in us fighting about it.”

Xaden speaks next. “You’ve proven that you can handle yourself, but we both still want to protect you. We care for you deeply, and that’s not going to change. We’re declaring a truce.”

“Whose idea was that?” You ask, wary.

“His,” Dain answers. Interesting. 

You look to Xaden. “And you’re fine with this,” you say, motioning between you and Dain, “that we’ll be able to speak directly to each other, that we can’t be apart for more than a few days, that we’re going to be stationed together for life?”

“Yes. I trust him not to hurt you, if only because his life is now tied to yours.”

That’s high praise coming from Riorson, who doesn’t fully trust anyone. You don’t dare ask why he feels this way.

“As you said,” Xaden continues, the tone of his voice making your heart flutter, “I hold no claim to you. You remain your own person, no matter how strongly I feel for you or how many nights we have spent together. The decision lies with you.”

“Dain?” You ask. 

He’s been silent, watching you with a softness in his eyes. He’d never taken a good look at you before, never appreciated how beautiful you are. “If he’s okay with it, and you are, then I am too.”

You’d never felt compassion for Dain, never cared if he lived or died, but now you’re overwhelmed with a sense that you need to protect him — to guard that little red string until your last breath. “I care for both of you as well. You’re both good men, who are important to me, and I’d like to have you remain in my life, if you promise to play nicely.”

You extend a pinky to each of them.

Dain looks confused.

“She doesn’t fuck around with pinky promises. This might as well be a blood oath for her,” Xaden explains, interlocking your fingers — this isn’t new to him.

Dain reaches forward, the warmth of his skin against yours sending a wave of soothing energy through you.

“Are you going to make us pinky promise each other too?” He asks playfully, the first joke you’ve ever heard him crack.

Xaden is unamused. “Don’t push it, Aetos.”

You giggle at his barely-restrained contempt. This is gonna be fun.

———————————————

sfw

Most of the quadrant know that yours and Dain’s dragons are mated, and that messing with one of the four of you means invoking the wrath of the other three. For the first time since conscription day, you can walk the halls alone without fearing for your life.

Nobody is aware of Xaden’s role in the relationship, and he prefers to keep it that way — it keeps the target off your back, and this way nobody can say that he’s giving you special treatment or shame you for having two partners. Garrick is the only person who knows about all of this, and he’s sworn to secrecy (that had certainly been an interesting conversation to have).

Xaden may not declare his feelings for you publicly, but he and Sgaeyl are always watching your back, ready to jump in should Dain not be there or should things get out of his control.

The two act generally indifferent to each other, but their love of you is enough for them to behave when you’re around.

They find a good balance between treating you like a princess and pushing you to be the best you can be, letting you do your own work and prepare yourself for what’s to come after graduation. 

nsfw:

The first time you felt Lann and Cath going at it was... interesting.

Xaden knew that this would happen eventually, having felt the same feeling before from Tairn and Sgaeyl. He had warned you days prior that the overwhelming need could lead you astray easily, but that he wouldn’t be mad if you and Dain acted on it.

And act you did. You became addicted to Dain’s touch as soon as you felt it, not wanting it to be a one-time thing, and that’s when the three of you decided that the boys would share you.

We all know Xaden is possessive. He used to call you “my girl” when it was just the two of you hooking up, but now you’re their girl.

“Aww, is our pretty girl needy?”

“I think our girl deserves a reward for being so good.”

Dain is shy at first, but he works up the confidence to start teasing you through the bond. He loves to watch you squirm from across the room as his voice speaks directly into your mind, telling you how hot you looked sparring, what he’s going to do to you tonight…

Xaden does something similar, his shadows brushing your arms and neck, sometimes even slipping under your clothes to touch your body when he can’t, giving soft caresses to your back and waist, but he’ll never take it too far — just enough to make you want his hands on you instead. 

They’re competitive as hell. They’ll tag team you, taking turns to see who can make you cum harder/faster. Your personal record is six times in one night, three apiece before you nearly passed out. They declared a tie, putting aside their egos to care for their sweet girl who had taken it all so well for them.

Sometimes you get both of them at once, and it’s a little overwhelming but so so good. Making out with one while the other is on his knees for you, or one holding your hand and telling you how pretty you look while the other pounds you into the mattress…

The two of them together are the ultimate brat taming combo, with Dain’s strictness and Xaden’s strength. If you give them attitude, get too cozy with another rider, purposely put yourself in danger, or neglect to take care of yourself (overworking, skipping meals, not getting enough sleep…), you’ll have some consequences to face when you’re back behind closed doors that night.

Xaden will tie your hands behind your back with his shadows, Dain edging you until you cry and apologize, promising that you’ll never break their rules again (but you inevitably do, and then they have to teach you your lesson all over again, hehe)

Despite how rough they can be with you, they always take incredibly good care of you afterward, staying to clean you up and hold you close, reminding you how much they love you.

You’re always in the middle when cuddling afterward, as they refuse to touch each other more than absolutely necessary, but you don’t complain, just happy to be held and fall asleep safe between your two strong men 🥰

and now some angst, because that’s what I do:

When you and Dain came back from RSC, bloody and limp, Xaden took care of both of you, finally showing some love to Dain and taking pity on him, helping bandage his wounds and wash the dried blood from his skin.

Eventually Xaden starts distancing himself from the two of you, worried that Dain will read his memories either on purpose or by accident, and find out about his dealings with the gryphon fliers, which you have no idea about.

He plays it off as being busy with third year / wingleader stuff, and you and Dain don’t think anything of it; Xaden has always been withdrawn, never the type to share his thoughts unprompted, and he likes to spend time alone.

When Violet bonds with Tairn at threshing, you realize how Xaden had felt when he realized you and Dain were tied together, only you were less angry and more sad. 

You knew this would happen, that Tairn would have to choose a rider eventually, but it still hurt you deeply. Dain held you all night, whispering sweet things to you while you cried and promising that he would never ever leave you.

You decide to rip the bandage off first, finding Xaden alone a few days later and telling him that for the sake of all four of you and your dragons, this should end here.

He agreed quietly, giving you one last kiss and holding you for a few minutes before finally letting go. 

When Basgiath found out about the revolution, about everything going on beyond the wards, the two of you didn’t hesitate to follow Xaden to Aretia — he may no longer be yours, but you still love him and would gladly fight by his side until the end of your days. 💔

[alltimecharlo]

Omega Will and Alpha Mack when they’re playing against each in college and Mack is super possessive/protective of Will on the ice and Will is confused bc they’re supposed to be rivals

ooo fun! you could totally take this as the origins of all my alpha mack/omega will ficlets hehe <3 fic under the cut!

Mack’s skates scrape to a halt at the center line, eyes narrowed through the cage of his helmet. The BU jersey clings damp to his chest, sweat running down his back, but all he can focus on is the omega across from him.

Number 2. Boston College. Smith.

Will Smith.

Mack’s heard of him, of course. Everyone has. He’s fast, smart, lethal on the ice. But no one said anything about the way he smells. Like clove and sugar and ozone, like the first clean snap of cold air on a winter morning. No one warned him about the way Will holds himself—like he’s daring the world to come at him.

And it’s not like they know each other. They’ve never even spoken. Not really. A brush in a handshake line last season, that’s it. But it doesn’t matter. Because Mack's alpha instincts are going haywire.

He doesn't understand why it’s hitting him so hard. He’s played against omegas before. Some cocky, some quiet, some that tried to get under his skin. But Will—Will doesn't even look at him when the puck drops. Doesn't acknowledge him like he’s anyone worth noticing.

Mack plays like a man possessed.

He’s throwing bigger hits than usual, skating harder, checking anyone who even breathes in Will’s direction. His teammates notice.

“Dude,” Lane pants after Mack levels a BC winger in the second period. “Chill.”

Mack growls. “He got too close.”

“To the net?”

“To Smith.”

Lane squints at him. “You mean the guy we’re literally supposed to be covering?”

Mack doesn’t answer. He’s already turned to follow Will again, watch the way he weaves through defenders with casual ease, stick handling like the puck is tied to him with string.

When Will gets checked hard into the boards—clean hit, but still—Mack is across the ice in seconds. It’s not his check. It’s not even his lane. But his own teammate like a fuse to flame, shoving him back with a snarl.

“Don't do that again.”

The ref separates them before anything happens, even if he looks mightily confused as to why Mack's got his hands twisted in the jersey of his own player.

He doesn’t care. He watches Will from behind the bench. Watches how he shakes out his shoulders, then glances—just briefly—towards him.

Mack swears Will’s eyes linger.

BC wins by a goal. Will scores it.

Mack’s still breathing hard when he strips out of his gear in the locker room, fury simmering under his skin—not at the loss, but at how Will disappears off the ice without even looking back.

He tells the trainers he’ll catch up.

Makes his way through the back corridors of the rink until he finds the visiting locker room. He doesn't knock. He just... stands there.

He can hear BC players inside, laughing, yelling about the win. Will’s voice floats above the rest, calm and low and smug.

Mack waits. Twenty minutes, easy.

Finally, the door cracks open. Will steps out, hair damp and curling around his ears, wearing joggers and a BC hoodie and a faintly surprised expression when he spots Mack.

“You stalking me?” Will asks, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Mack stiffens. “Just—wanted to see you.”

Will raises an eyebrow. “We just played against each other for sixty full minutes.”

“I know. But I—” Mack’s mouth goes dry. He takes a half-step forward, heart hammering. “I had to. You were—on the ice, you were... fuck.”

Will’s expression shifts, just slightly. The teasing light fades, replaced by something sharper. Curious. Interested.

“I’ve seen you play before,” he says slowly. “Didn’t expect you to be so... territorial.”

Mack blinks. “You noticed that?”

Will hums, looking him over. “Kind of hard not to, when you were breathing down my neck all night.”

Mack steps even closer. They’re toe-to-toe now. Close enough to scent each other properly.

“You smell good,” Mack murmurs.

Will tilts his head. “So do you.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Will clears his throat and steps back.

“Well. I should head back with the team.”

Mack wants to ask him to stay. Wants to say something bold, something stupid. Wants to drag him back into the shadows and press his nose to Will’s throat, just to see what he does.

But he nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

Will lingers a moment longer, like he’s not quite ready to go.

“I’ll see you around, Celebrini.”

“You better,” Mack says softly.

And watches him go, pulse still racing, wondering what the hell just happened.

Wondering when he’ll get to see Will again.

Because he’s sure of one thing: he wants to.

♡

[majoryeager104]

Your arson's match, your somber eyes

“And I’ll still see it, until I die, you’re the loss of my life”

Dabi/Touya x gn!reader

Summary: losing Touya

warnings: angst but I figured that’s obvious 😅

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it all happened so fast

You met him not too long ago, bumping into him on the street late at night.

“Now just what’re you doin out so late in a place like this? You should be more careful…Could be villains around…” he teased, his scarred lips upturning into a smirk.

Despite his appearance, you couldn’t help but smile back. Maybe it was his voice, or his eyes, or the way he stuffed his hands in his pockets when he saw you like some nervous little kid, but you couldn’t manage to find the man scary. He’d just done too much already to put you at ease, despite his own awareness of this.

So you stuck with him, simple as that. And you were how his otherwise perfect track record as a dark and dangerous man was totally destroyed. Because he didn’t feel like being that around you. Because you put him at ease too. It all happened so fast.

And just like that, everything changed. You spent so much time with him, constantly taking walks or grabbing a bite together or just laying in bed staring at the ceiling, or laying on a random roof counting stars and talking about your upbringings.

Yes, he told you all about his upbringing, before his plans of revenge ever came to fruition, but he talked about those too. He wasn’t sure why, he just felt like there was some sort of invisible string tugging him towards you, pulling away his cautious exterior and making him say things he’d repeat to no one else, at least not yet.

And you listened. Despite his doubts and fears, you listened. It scared him how much he loved you, how much he’d tell you, how much he’d let you hurt him if you felt like it because he could never hate you for it. He was terrified of you, and yet so, so enamored. You could break him in an instant, but those sharp blue eyes would still loose their edge when they landed on you. It all happened so fast.

Maybe you should’ve expected it when it happened. It was inevitable, really, one look at him should have told you. He didn’t have much he was living for, and most of those reasons spelled out ‘revenge’. His fear of you expanded to what you could stop him from doing too, so after he revealed his identity to the world, you never saw him again. Funny how the one person who knew the truth, and accepted him regardless, was so blatantly discarded. It all happened so fast.

Because now, you’re walking into a dark room filled with tubes and machinery you wouldn’t dare touch, for fear that his current fragile state would be more compromised than you know it already is.

Each step is louder in your ears than the last, each breath wheezes through the machine making your heart thud heavily in your chest, like its labored by the grief you hoped you’d never have to face.

Maybe you should have known it from the beginning. That it wouldn’t last, that it’d fall apart, that the feeling in your chest that you got every time he smiled at you, the feeling of belonging when his eyes met yours… you should’ve known that feeling would only burn in your chest now and the softness of his gaze in those memories would only become more painful with time.

Nobody told you how momentary that love would be. It all happened so fast.

You stood in front of him, after god knows how long, the sound of his labored breathing drowning out any thoughts of a second chance. And all at once, you felt indescribably cold, your eyes moving up to meet his, barely visible through the glass. You should’ve gone home. You should’ve never gone down that street. You should’ve never smiled back. You should’ve known.

If someone had told you how hard this would be, you might have never given him a chance to break your heart like this. The man who abandoned you in the hopes that you’d give up, the villain who loved you so much that it was almost embarrassing.

The man who’s labored breathing slowly came to a stop, the ever present beeping of the machines surrounding you going flat into staticy buzz. It all happened so fast.

The man so terrified of your love, now utterly broke you with his. What a tragedy.

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Thanks for 200 followers enjoy crying ig because I cried writing it 🥲