#it was a fleeting thought but it stays with me forever

[holographic-mars]

crawls into your inbox,, mars,,, mars i need ravage and soundwave affection headcanons. mars i need fluff. hands held open, only u can save me,, 🤲

CRACKS MY KNUCKLES DID SOMEONE SAY SOUNDWAVE AND RAV AFFECTION HCS

Starting off well known and easy—Soundwave, though seemingly adverse to being touched, much enjoys physical contact from the mechs he cares about. Touch is reassuring and comforting, it also provides a means of grounding himself when his senses overwhelm him. When Ravage is around, they are attached at the hip. Ravage is pressed against his leg, curled up on his lap, or draped over his shoulders (being able to not only hear, but feel Ravage’s spark pulse is comforting to Soundwave, and Ravage knowing that Soundwave is safe with her again. It’s mutual reassurance).

Ravage butts her head against Soundwave when showing affection. She nuzzles into his palm or under his chin, and Soundwave will nuzzle back. He bumps his head against his other cassettes and loved ones as a way of affection because Ravage does it to him (on that same note, Ravage will roughly butt her nose against Soundwave to get his attention or to reprimand him if he’s done something she does not approve of).

Grooming is a very high form of affection between Soundwave and all his cassettes. Whether it just to pick flecks of dirt out between Ravage’s plating or use sharp claws to dig into hard to get places on Soundwave’s frame, keeping one another well maintained is love. They will take family baths together where they all soak in a hot oil bath with an obscene amount of bubbles. They’ll lie in the oil for hours and hours enjoying the comfort and company. And pile bubbles on top of whichever cassette is closest. (when Soundwave was much younger and much less adept at keeping himself clean, Ravage would grab Soundwave and clean his face as if she was grooming a kitten. She still does it sometimes, much to Soundwave protest).

Soundwave, much like Ravage, rarely takes full rest cycles and instead just takes short naps whenever he can. Because of this, they take naps together all the time. Soundwave is Ravage’s personal space heater, and she will sprawl overtop of him to take a nap. If Ravage falls asleep, Soundwave will follow soon after (Ravage knows this and takes advantage of it when Soundwave is overworking himself. He cannot resist the pull of a sleepy Ravage. No work. Just Naptime).

THATS ALL I CAN THINK OF OFF THE TOP OF MY HEAD BUT. BUT I LOVE THEM YOUR HONOR ,, I LOVE THEM

[tutuandscoot]

Remember in one of their tv interviews after PYC and S is talking about the hug they had backstage after the competition was over and he said (to the effect of) “I wish we could just stay here for a while ”… in that description of that hug that we will never ever see, I imagine this one- even tho this one above was before the competition where they had a very different mindset, expectations, fears, etc, I feel their ‘wanting to just stay here for a while’ was much the same..

Flashback to this super cute behind the scenes moment prior to their Sochi FD in which Scott just strolls up to Tessa, wraps her into his arms, and rubs her back/arms. (The feed cuts before the end of the hug but that sucker lasts over 8 full seconds.) 

[seongwars]

Word Count: 497 Warnings: yandere!Caleb, dad!Caleb, dash of fluff, hints of breeding kink, baby trapping and coercion, 2 swear words, mention of pregnancy, not proofread Summary: Caleb comes home from another expedition

a/n: I had to take a break from writing strangers by nature because i was making myself sad so uhh here's a caleb drabble

“Daddy’s home!”

Your four year old jumped up from his Legos, bolting to the door with your chubby toddler hot on his heels. The front door creaked open just in time for Caleb to brace himself as the boys launched into his arms.

It wasn’t easy, being the wife of the fleet’s colonel. Caleb’s expeditions often kept him away for weeks at a time, leaving you to hold down the fort with your two boys and the endless chaos they brought with them.

But moments like this made it all worth it. Seeing the way the boys lit up as they reunited with their father made all the waiting worth it. Not to mention the nasty, sloppy, back bending, toe curling, eye rolling, reunion sex–hence your five month baby bump.

Despite the exhaustion etched into his features, Caleb still made time for all of you. He was the kind of man who wouldn’t miss a parent teacher conference, who insisted on reading every bedtime story no matter how tired he was. 

On Saturday mornings, he’d stand in the kitchen, attempting to make dinosaur shaped pancakes while the boys watched in awe.

“Daddy, how do you do that?” your four year old learned forward on the counter with his elbows. Beside him, your two-year-old waved his chubby hands in the air, babbling his own version of the question.

“It’s all in the flick of the wrist, buddy,” Caleb grinned, flipping the pancake. 

Sometimes the “dinosaur” ended up looking more like a blob, but to the boys, it was nothing short of magic. They clapped and cheered as Caleb plated his creation, declaring it a Whateversaurus Rex or the dinosaur of the day as conjured by your husband. 

And so, yes, you’d let this man keep you pregnant. How could you not? Every time you thought about saying no, about maybe slowing down and letting your body recover between pregnancies, he’d look at you with those adoring puppy eyes and pull you into his strong arms, leaving you utterly undone.

But you didn’t notice the way his eyes darkened when you said yes again, or the way his touch lingered just a second too long on the curve of your belly. To you, it was devotion, a husband marveling at the miracle of life, his love for you and your growing family. 

But to him, it was victory.

Because Caleb wasn’t just a loving husband. He was a man who refused to let you slip through his fingers. The thought of you walking away, of a life where you weren’t his in every sense of the word, was unthinkable.  

Everytime he had you folded into a mating press murmuring “just one more for me, baby" he was ensuring that you stayed right where you belonged—bound to him in every possible way as he fucked his seed over and over into your cunt.

You belonged to him. And he’d make sure it stayed that way forever.

[pathologicalreid]

falling flat | s.r.

in which you call Spencer for help with a flat tire, and he comes to help with you car troubles - and then some

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: allusions to the reaper, car trouble, blood, tetanus vaccine, kindergarten teacher!reader, flirting, protective!spencer, takes place following 5x22 "the internet is forever", hastily edited word count: 1.87k a/n: rahhhh an old prompt from may 2024 that ended up working for a margovember request rahhh.

The absolute last place you wanted to be was on the side of the road, in the middle of nowhere Virginia, with a flat tire. You weren’t entirely helpless until your tire jack broke, sending metal flying everywhere and cutting your hand open.

You slumped down next to your car, pulling your phone from your pocket before calling the first people you could think of. Every single one of them ended up going to voicemail. Some of them didn’t even let it get past the first ring before declining your call—traitors.

With your thumb hovering over the call button, you thought of Spencer. He had a PhD in engineering, but you weren’t entirely sure that would come in handy in this instance. It was late, almost midnight, and you weren’t even sure he’d answer.

At this point, what choice did you have?

As the phone rang, part of you hoped he wouldn’t answer. When he asked you about it the next time you saw him, you’d wave it off as a butt dial and he’d be none the wiser.

“Hello,” he said through the phone, leaving your plans quashed.

This was awkward, you had been on four dates with the guy over the span of two months, and now you were calling him in the middle of the night. “This isn’t a booty call,” You blurted, cringing inwardly and banging your head back on the passenger door of your car.

Spencer laughed lightly, “I didn’t think it was, what’s going on?”

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?” You asked, his job had a lot of long hours, and you didn’t want to bother him if he was catching up on sleep. If he was even home, “Wait, where are you?”

There was a rustling on his end of the call, “No, I wasn’t asleep, I’m at work. We just got off of a case.”

You let out a sigh of relief, at least you weren’t being a total nuisance. “Sorry, I don’t mean to bother you. I just… my tire blew out on the highway and my jack broke and no one else is answering their phone,” you told him, verging on rambling.

“You’re kind of cutting out, where are you?” He asked, he sounded concerned, and if there was a moment where you weren’t sure you still had feelings for him, it was fleeting.

Looking to either side of you for a mile marker, you stood up, looking at the ground so you didn’t step on any metal, “I don’t really know. There aren’t any signs, I’m somewhere on 28, I think?”

Spencer cleared his throat, “Do you have your location on your phone?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think I have enough service to check it,” you said, all you could see were trees.

You could hear him talking to someone, holding the receiver away from his mouth, “That’s fine, I’ll have someone look, just stay on the phone.”

It would seem that dating someone in the FBI does have its perks, “Oh, cool.” You overheard Spencer explaining your situation to someone, hearing the other person in the room say something about Reid’s girlfriend and you couldn’t help but smile. The two of you were very unofficially official.

“Hey, I’ll be there in half an hour,” An elevator dinged in the background. “Is that alright?”

You hummed, leaning your hip against the front of your car. “I mean, I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

Another ding of the elevator, “Will you do me a favor?”

In exchange for this? You’d do just about anything within the realm of legality, “Name it.”

“Get in your car and lock the doors,” he responded. “Turn your hazards on because right now you’re a sitting duck. If someone doesn’t see your car, they could hit you.”

As a favor, he was asking you to make sure you’re safe, “Okay, I’m getting in now, should I leave the car running?”

You heard the sound of a car lock disengaging through the phone, “As long as the cooling system on your car is in good shape, it shouldn’t be a problem to leave it running while you wait. Just remember what I told you about the hazards.”

Nodding despite the fact that he can’t see you, you got in the car, turning the key in the ignition before pushing the button for your hazard lights, “Okay, I’m in the car.”

“I can’t drive and be on the phone at the same time, but I’ll be there soon. Don’t unlock the doors for anyone except for me,” he told you, and you thanked him for his help before hanging up and settling yourself in your driver’s seat.

You pulled the hoodie you kept stashed in your car over your head, your school mascot—a panther—proudly displayed in the front, and made sure your car doors were locked. If you said you weren’t a little unnerved, you’d be lying to yourself.

Spencer had a worrisome job; it was something you were aware of before he ever asked you on that first date. It became alarmingly obvious to you when he revealed that he’d been shot a few months prior, which was an appropriate second-date conversation with an FBI agent. It made sense to you that he’d be concerned about you, in your idle car, on the side of the road, but you wondered if there was a case that he was thinking of. Someone with a flat tire who had met an untimely demise.

Shuddering, you turned up the heat in your car, flipping through radio stations until someone knocked on your window. You jumped at the noise, hitting your head against the roof of the car before looking outside to see Spencer. Sighing in relief, you unlocked your car door, and he opened it for you, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Is your head alright?”

You peered up at him, casually leaning over your car door. “You cut your hair,” you observed. You’d seen him just last week, where his hair still touched his shoulders, and now it was considerably shorter.

Self-consciously, he reached up a hand and thumbed one of the tendrils, “Yeah, it just got too long—and heavy.”

Resisting the urge to ruffle his hair, your head bobbed, “I like it. Did you do it yourself?”

“You can tell?” He asked, following you around the back of your car to your busted tire. Spencer sets his tire jack down before looking back at you, putting his hands on his hips.

Grinning at him, you shrugged, “I teach kindergarten, I’m basically a professional at noticing DIY haircuts.”

On a towel that you had previously set out, the two of you sat along the side of your car, and you tried to ignore the fact that Spencer still had his weapon holstered. It made sense, he’d come straight from work, but you wondered if there was a reason he didn’t leave it in his car. “Where’s your lug wrench?”

“I can change it myself,” you insisted, “I just needed a different car jack.” You gestured to the pieces of yours that were now all over the side of the road.

Alarm flashed on Spencer’s face, “Nothing fell on you, right?”

You shook your head, “No, just a cut from the metal.”

Holding out your hand, you let Spencer take a look at the cut on your palm. “When was your last tetanus shot?”

Blinking rapidly, you frowned at him, “Uh, when I was in college?”

“That might need stitches,” he responded, letting you take your hand back. “I’ll change your tire, I don’t want you using that hand for anything,” he informed you, pushing the hydraulic jack beneath your car.

Butterflies swarmed in your stomach as you watched him take your old tire off, muttering under his breath about how your old jack was practically an artifact, seeing how it literally fell apart under pressure. “How was your case?” You asked softly, fully aware that you were likely opening a can of worms by asking about work.

Spencer’s movements faltered slightly at your question, “It’s closed. We were in Boise,” he answered tactfully, leaving out any case details and cluing you into the fact that he didn’t want to talk about it. “What are you doing out here?”

You sighed, leaning back on your hands and watching him work, “I had a meeting with the other schools in our conference. It’s annual, and this year they happened to pick the school furthest away from mine.”

“Well, I suppose it worked out well that your tire blew out so close to me, then,” Spencer said, swapping out the busted tire for the donut and looking over at you. There was something nervous in his eyes, and you didn’t know if it was related to work or you.

Humming, you tried to watch the tire rather than just watching him, “Is there something bothering you?”

He was tightening the lug nuts on the spare tire, “Are you driving home after this?”

You furrowed your brows, “Yeah, where else could I be going?”

“It’s almost a two-hour drive to your place from here,” he reminded you, his tone laced with concern. “You won’t get home until almost one in the morning,” the displeasure in his voice was plain, but you don’t have anywhere else to go. “Plus, you really shouldn’t travel that far on a spare tire, they’re not made to travel far distances.”

Crossing your arms in front of your stomach, you let your shoulders slump forward, “So, what do you suggest I do? Get a hotel?”

Spencer mumbled something inaudibly, trying to finish tightening the bolts on the tire before sighing, “You can stay with me,” he blushes, a swipe of pink across his cheeks.

Your lips parted in surprise, “Uh, I don’t… I’m not…” you faltered. Utterly failing to come up with a good enough reason to tell him no, “I don’t want you to feel inclined. This isn’t what I was looking for when I called you for help.”

He let the car down, staying quiet while the two of you cleaned up, and Spencer swatted your hand away when you tried to pick things up. “So, you can come back to my place tonight. My work-issued first-aid kit has your name all over it,” he told you, eyes flickering down to the cut on your hand.

“Okay,” you breathed, unable to conjure a reason to refuse his hospitality.

He was grinning at you, hair just barely brushing his eyebrows, “So tomorrow, maybe we can get coffee and drop your car off to get a new tire?”

You smiled back at him, “That sounds great, date number five.”

“You know where you’re going, right?”

“Yeah,” you’d been to his place once to pick him up, “Hey, Spence?”

He turned around, fishing his car keys from his pocket. He looked ready to respond to you, but you pressed your lips to his before he had a chance to speak.

You kissed him softly, whispering against his mouth, “Thank you for coming.”

He chuckled lightly, gently resting a hand on your waist, “Thank you for calling.” 

[corinthianism]

SOMETHIN' STUPID || VIKTOR

pairing: viktor (arcane)/fem!reader additional tags: viktor's pov, viktor is a certified yearner, maybe ooc, unrequited love that's actually requited, no physical descriptions for reader other than having dainty fingers and being shorter than viktor, hopefully correct use of czech pet names, barely proofread synopsis: the ever-brilliant viktor finds himself drowning in feelings for his colleague, so what does he do? bury them, of course.... until he learns that love is not something you can just ignore.

author's note: hello everyone! it's been a long, long while since i've written anything so i thought i would try and see if the ol' writing machine (aka my brain) still works lol. this is more of a blurb than anything so please go easy on me. also trying out something new by writing in present tense (lmk if it flows well!) viktor might be a little ooc but i'm still trying to fully understand him. hopefully my characterization of him in future fics (if any) will be more faithful to the viktor you're all familiar with. anyways, enjoy 2k words of viktor yearning like CRAZY 🫶🏼

Viktor doesn’t know how much more of this he can take. How many more times would your eyes meet from across the room at one of those parties he never really wanted to attend in the first place? How many more times would your fingers brush in the early morning, when he accepts the steaming sweetmilk that you so kindly got for him? How many more times would your laughter intermingle softly late into the night, when exhaustion took over and your writing started to look more like chicken scratch rather than letters?

He might just go insane.

How was it possible to want someone this much? Maybe he’s experienced something like this before, in tiny amounts, for people he hasn’t thought about in years. Deep down, he knows that even if he added all of those fleeting romances together, it would still only be a fraction of what he feels now. For you.

He can’t pinpoint that exact moment in time when everything changed. There were definitely a few of those moments that stood out more than others, but none of those instances were the catalyst for whatever this is. But they certainly don’t help his case.

A few words of encouragement.

A book recommendation.

A smile— so soft, so intimate, he briefly allows himself to believe that it was meant just for him. Something precious for him to keep, to be his and his alone.

In the dim light of the lab, he finds you asleep on your desk. The humming glow of the hex crystals leaves you blanketed in a gentle blue. He’s heard tales of this before, from when he bothered to listen to such things. It would happen just like this, they said: his heart would beat so fast, it threatened to leave his chest entirely. His skin would burn with something unmistakable, a feeling that left one in a state of simultaneous confusion and clarity.

He feels it all now and he finds it polarizing. It’s too much and not enough. He chases and runs away from it at the same time. A part of him wants it to stop, to go away and leave him forever for the sake of ending this game he’s painfully losing… but a greater part of him hopes that it will grow and grow to the point where maybe you’ll notice and do something about it. His palms get a little sweaty just thinking about making the first move. Symptoms of a lovesick fool.

The soft sound of your breathing quiets the pounding of his heart, prevents the wretched feelings from overflowing and spilling everywhere. Even if it was just for tonight. Tonight, he keeps his lips sealed, fights to keep himself from reaching for you. It would be unbecoming of him.

His eyes land on you again, observing how your head rested on your arms. Understanding hits him then, why you’re so bothered by seeing him stay at the lab so late that he ends up falling asleep. That position couldn’t have been comfortable. Of course, he knew that from experience, but it’s your comfort he’s thinking about right now. He wonders if this is what you felt whenever you woke him up and implored him to go home.

Surely not.

No, he can’t wrap his head around you possibly viewing that act the same way he does. Not when he wants to bottle this moment, wants to capture the preciousness of seeing you like this. It just can’t be the same.

So can you really blame him if when he finally rests a hand on your shoulder to wake you gently, he lets it linger there for just a little longer? An infinitesimal piece of time that he claims for himself. He never thought himself to be the sentimental type, but he cherishes it all: he cherishes the way you blink slowly as you returned to the waking world, and your tired murmur of his name that makes his chest tighten.

It’s just a wisp of a moment, never really tangible enough for him to hold in his hands, but he cherishes it all the same. It’s burned in his memory, in his very being, the same way everything else about you is. Every piece of you that you so generously gifted him.

“You should go home, darling.”

The word slips past his lips before he could even think about it. But he allows himself this one indulgence. He can’t help it. He’s always been a bit greedy.

“What time is it?” you ask.

“Far too late for you to be here,” he answers.

You huff out a breath of a laugh, “That’s rich coming from you.”

He finds himself smiling. How does someone manage to be so endlessly endearing without even trying?

It takes an embarrassing amount of effort for him to pull back his hand from your shoulder. Had you been more awake and had the room been brighter, he might’ve schooled his expression into something more neutral. Something to hide the unbridled adoration in his eyes. He doesn’t do that now. With the shield of darkness to protect him, he lets the mask come off. He lets his affection for you wash over him in waves. It would’ve been liberating, if it wasn’t for the tiny detail that that affection was unrequited.

Still, he says your name with utmost care. “You must go home and rest.”

To his surprise, you listen. You mumble a tired "okay” and gather your belongings, slipping on your coat. “You should go home, too, Vik.”

“I will. Soon. I just need to finish a few things.”

Your face twists into a frown, “No, you’ll do that tomorrow.” Before he can interject, you speak up again, “Just… come with me? It’s late and I don’t want to walk home alone.”

His brain refuses to reconcile with what his eyes see: the trepidation written all over your features, the way you clutch the lapel of your coat just a little tighter. He knows it’s a trap, you just want to get him out of the lab but how could he possibly reject the promise of a few more minutes with you? The chance to pretend, even if it’s just for those precious few minutes, that he was taking you home as someone more than a colleague? More than a friend? Only a fool would say no to you. Or perhaps he was a fool either way. He really must be going insane.

He says yes almost instantly.

It’s cold in Piltover tonight. It makes his bad leg ache more than it already does, and so his strides are a bit more careful. He doesn’t say anything about how you also slow down to match his pace but he appreciates your considerate gesture nonetheless.

The moon hangs in the sky big and bright, making everything around you seem softer. It’s picturesque. Almost romantic. He tries his best not to entertain that thought for much longer. Instead, he focuses on what you say to him so he could ignore the traitorous thoughts his mind conjures up and the way his knees were protesting because of the cold.

Conversation with you is easy— terrifyingly so. It was one of the first things he noticed about you when you first met.

Early on in the process of finding sponsors and securing funding, him and Jayce quickly realized that they needed help. Yes, Jayce is a friend of the Kiramman family. Yes, Viktor is Heimerdinger’s protégé, but they’re academics. At the end of the day, Jayce’s warm personality could only do so much when he was still greatly inexperienced with navigating these more political spaces and for all of his experience and perceptiveness, Viktor knows he’s no good at sweet-talking sponsors, either.

Enter, you.

Caitlyn Kiramman was the one to recommend you, her former tutor. Jayce was quick to back her up, remembering that you were also Academy alumni; a particularly strategic businesswoman. Viktor was hesitant at first, knowing that a third party could complicate things. Hextech was born out of the dream to help people. He worried that bringing business and politics (even though he knew it was necessary) into the mix would warp Hextech into something it wasn’t. Jayce convinced him to take a gamble, and it seemed that the potential of Hextech was enough to bring you back to Piltover from your travels across Runeterra.

It took him a while to warm up to you. You weren’t nobility, but most definitely well-off. Even more so after your years as a business consultant to organizations all over the continent. He respected you, sure, but Viktor had a hard time trusting someone who was so… privileged. How could you possibly understand how important it was that Hextech remained a beacon of hope for the less fortunate? Perhaps it was naive of him to think that way, as much as he hated to admit it.

But true to your reputation, you delivered exactly what they needed. You bridged the gap between Viktor and Jayce’s hopes for Hextech and the support they needed from sponsors, protecting them and their inventions from being taken advantage of.

Suffice to say, you earned his admiration.

Never in a million years would Viktor imagine that you would captivate his entire being, too.

It was daunting. Scary, really. Especially now that he’s beginning to understand the full extent of his affections. Years and years of burying that softness from his youth deep beneath the armor of his intellect— all that hard work diminished by a pretty girl. Gods, he really is just a man. Not even that. With you, he feels like a highschooler with a crush. It’s painful. Downright humiliating. But he wouldn’t trade it for anything. Not when you link your arm around his, laughing at something he said. Was he really that funny? Probably not. He’s just happy to make you laugh.

“You don’t have to be nice about it. Salo is a grade-A asshole,” you grinned. “We both know it. If I have to spend another dinner with him present I might actually stab a fork in my eyes.”

He smiles, “Ah, but that wouldn’t save you from his incessant chatter.”

“I’ll stab the fork into my ears too."

“I might just follow after you,” he hums, “you’ll have to check if it works first, though.”

Your friendship blossomed when your visits to the lab became less for work and more for leisure. You wanted to visit, wanted to learn more about what he and Jayce were working on and why. Everything after that was just dominoes. You, with all your fiery passion and sharp wit, have become a permanent fixture in his life and now? He could hardly imagine life without you in it. You're one of his dearest friends and, much to his dismay, that makes his current predicament even more challenging than it already is.

Before he knew it, the two of you were standing in front of your apartment building— one of the most luxurious in Piltover. He could only imagine how much it cost, though he knew for certain that your penthouse probably barely made a dent in your wealth. He’s gotten somewhat used to your differing lifestyles, but he’s never completely able to not marvel at it. A gust of wind kissed his skin once more as he turned to look at you.

“This is me,” you say, gloved hands in your pocket and your lovely, lovely face framed by your hair and ruby red scarf. He recognizes it as the gift he gave you a year ago now. A spur-of-the-moment purchase on one of the rare occasions he was actually outside Academy grounds. He remembers thinking that the color would look nice on you. He was right. He finds himself holding onto the seconds before he has to go. “Thank you for walking me home, Viktor.”

“Of course,” he nods but the calmness of his voice don’t match the way his eyes bore into yours. “It’s only proper.”

“Proper?”

“Yes. Proper. I am a gentleman, after all.”

His accent comes out thicker, emphasizing the words more than he means to.

“I didn’t take you for someone who cared much about propriety,” you tease.

“Is it because I’m from the undercity?” he deadpans and he relishes in the look of horror on your face that replaces your grin.

“What? No!” you exclaim, smacking his arm when you realize he’s just joking. “You. Are. Impossible.”

A laugh bubbles out of his chest, “Oh, that’s cruel. You would hit a defenseless man? How heartless.”

“Shut up. That cane of yours is a weapon of war. Don’t think I haven’t seen you smack Jayce with it.”

“If I hit him with it, he probably deserved it.”

“Poor Jayce,” you laugh as well. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

Viktor smiles.

“I do not think you could even if you tried, lásko."

He freezes and so do you. The laughter—the music—that you shared for the briefest of moments was thoroughly snuffed out, leaving you both in a silence that threatens to swallow him whole. He didn’t mean to do that. He didn’t mean to speak so gently, but there is not a part of Viktor that could withhold this sincerity from you. Specks of the truth, of the confession he’s barely managed to wrangle into submission and lock away somewhere dark and unreachable.

He pulls back on instinct. He’s shown too much, said too much. You don’t move. He is petrified.

Your eyes widen and he sees his reflection in them, staring back at him. This is it, he thinks. He’s crossed the line and he’ll have to deal with the crushing blow of your rejection.

You manage to compose yourself and what you say next is… well, unexpected. Your tone is light, clearing the air and allowing him to breathe again.

“Do you say that to every woman or am I a special case? I’d hate to be part of a roster.”

He’s taken aback, but he feels a weight lifted off his shoulders. You are a miracle in his eyes. Washing away his worries with a kind smile and a few choice words. He laughs again and this time, he doesn’t stop himself from speaking the truth. It’s now or never.

“Surely you know by now that you are singular,” he whispers, his accent a pleasant drawl in your ears. He takes a step forward. It is gravity that pulls him in, not the Earth’s, but yours. A force that he can’t help but be drawn to. Not that he would ever dare to resist it now that his fear has shrunk down to something a little less debilitating.

His face is inches from yours. You don’t move. He gets a little braver.

“I do not appreciate your implication that I would pay attention to anyone else,” his voice is low, honest. “As if anyone could compare to you. As if you don’t hold my very being in the palm of your hand. Miláčku, I adore you. Don’t you know that?”

There is a hint of pleading in his tone, begging you to understand the full scope of his feelings from those few words so that he wouldn’t unravel before you, a bundle of nerves and petals the same shade as your scarf.

“Say something. Please,” his fear rears its ugly head once more. “Say the word and we’ll pretend this never happened. I will remain your colleague and nothing more. A friend, if you would allow it.”

“What if I don’t want that?” you ask, your own voice a little shaky with uncertainty. Maybe it was also fear. That, he’s not quite sure.

Viktor doesn’t fully trust what he’s hearing, thinks it to be a figment of his deluded imagination, but his heart is screaming at him now to push forward.

“What is it you want, lásko? Tell me and it shall be yours.”

You're almost breathless when you finally respond, “You. I want you."

The world stills. Time itself screeches to a halt. There is only you and him, together in this moment that he knows will be woven into the threads of his soul. He has never known euphoria quite like this. He can’t name it yet, doesn’t know if this is love. He can only hope that it will be.

When he looks into your eyes again, he does not see his own terrified reflection. He just sees you. And the sheer intensity of your gaze that rivals his own. Have you always looked at him that way? Was he just too blind to see it?

“Do you mean that?” he finds himself asking. He has to— has to make sure that this is real.

You smile again, dainty fingers intertwining with his. It is a gentle smile, a hopeful smile that answers his question before you even open your mouth.

“I do,” your voice is so gentle and yet it squeezes his heart. “I’m yours, Viktor, if you’ll have me.”

He brings your knuckles to his lips, places a reverent kiss on them like you’ve given him the world. In a way, that’s exactly what you did. Maybe his lips were always meant to be on your skin, worshipping you like the goddess you are. It feels too natural for it to mean anything else.

And for the first time in a long time, he allows himself to hope.

“I would love nothing more.”

[milkis-deepspace]

sylus x reader - period pains

a/n: this is very self-indulgent^^ features established relationship and just fluffy goodness

being on your period is never fun. for around a week you have insane cravings, unbearable cramps and some major mood swings. truly horrible in all honesty. but the most embarrassing part was how needy you were especially now since you were in a relationship.

sylus is prepared for anything when it comes to you. ever since you've stayed over at onychinus' head quarters - he has made sure that anything you would ever want or need, would be at your disposal.

heating blanket? bought already.

pads and tampons? they’re placed in the cabinet under the sink, right besides sylus' skincare.

medicine? you knew where they were.

a massage? that... that was unexplored territory. while you and sylus were in a relationship and were quite touchy-touchy, asking for a massage seemed intimate. but then again, this might be the hormones talking. but would he think you were weird for requesting that? probably not, sylus would without a shadow of a doubt accept (almost) any of your requests. but would you really ask the mr. sylus qin - the already extremely busy leader of onychinus who had mephisto track your every move? speaking of the damn bird...

“i got a call from a little birdie saying a certain person has been in pain all day and didn't want to quote unquote bother me,” sylus enters the bedroom and takes off his jacket.

tsk, of course mephisto had tattled on you! that damn crow, someday you would make the crow heed under your command but today was not that day…

“sometimes it isn’t this bad, so i thought it would be okay,” you mumbled, curled up on sylus’ bed. it seemed as if the cramps intensified and sylus went over to sit beside you, his eyes filled with worry.

"tell me, how can i be of help to you?”

you glanced at him and shyly considered your answer. “well, uhmm, do you mind if- uh could you maybe give me a little massage…?”

sylus chuckels and easily complies to your request.

with a heating blanket placed under you to relieve the stomach cramps and sylus' warm hand massaging your back, you couldn’t help but to feel so immensely content. his big hands were perfect to warm you and his soothing voice was an anchor to keep you sane.

“you tell me if it’s too hard alright? i don’t want to unintentionally hurt you,” his thumbs pressed into your lower back, making sure to focus his strength on the tip of his fingers. his thumbs worked in circles, hands moving up and down, getting every tense spot.

his fingers worked like magic on your back. every touch, every caress made you fall into a state of heavenly bliss. just how did he learn to massage that well?

"do you want me to go harder? or softer? you need to remember to tell me, sweetie,"

"mngh, it's good. keep going," you replied with your eyes closed. you didn't want to break this moment - and you almost felt tempted to stay in sylus' bed forever - as long as every worry you had dissappeared.

"shh, just relax. i got you,"

his hands move up to your upper back and massages between your shoulder blades. a couple of days ago, you had remarked about how sore you were - it was meant as a fleeting comment - but it was something sylus was determined to remember. who was he if not the person to take away your pain? just mention whatever you want and sylus would make sure it would happen.

your pain eased away and pleasure replaced it. he noticed how much more relaxed you were now, and proceeded to lie down besides you. while you had fallen asleep, sylus gently played with your hair. it was still a wonder to him that you were here, in his bed, just making yourself at home.

after what felt like 9 hours were merely half an hour and you were still cuddled up with him and as the pain subsided you noticed how tired you truly were. a yawn escaped from you - and sylus' chuckle almost brought you back to reality.

“you’re welcome to fall asleep again sweetie,”

sylus saw the pure look of exhaustion and adorned your face with kisses and gentle touches. from your forehead to your jawline, sylus adorned your every feature with careful, loving pecks.

you fell victim to the lullaby that was sylus' heartbeat and when your breathing turned even, sylus too decided to join you in dreamland.

[sofiaswrittendelusions]

“No longer yours.”

Synopsis: you can live without him. You’ve proved it. And it’s killing him.

warnings: Caleb going mad 😋. Caleb punches a wall ☹️.

You weren’t speaking to him, and Caleb was unraveling—thread by thread, piece by agonizing piece.

The silence was a noose tightening around his throat, choking him slowly, cruelly. He could barely breathe. The weight of your absence pressed on his chest like a stone, grinding him down until there was nothing left but the raw, broken pieces of a man who couldn’t let you go. Wouldn’t let you go.

He thought he was doing the right thing when he faked his death. Thought it was for you, for both of you. But now? Now the thought of you out there, alive, breathing, smiling without him, was eating him alive. You were supposed to mourn him. You were supposed to fall apart, to need him like he needed you. But you didn’t. You didn’t, and it was killing him.

you don’t get to do this to him.

you don’t get to just- forget him.

like he doesn’t exist.

like he doesn’t even matter.

He slammed his fist into the wall, the pain blooming up his arm but doing nothing to dull the chaos in his head. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. He’d done this for you. He’d given up everything to keep you safe. And you? You walked away like he was nothing. Like you could live without him.

But you couldn’t. Caleb wouldn’t let you

His breaths came faster, erratic, as images of you filled his mind. You, smiling at someone else. You, laughing with someone who wasn’t him. The thought twisted something inside him, sharp and cruel, and he gritted his teeth against the surge of anger that followed. No. That wasn’t going to happen. He wouldn’t let it.

You were his. You’d always been his, and no amount of silence, anger, or distance could change that. Caleb would bring you back to him, one way or another. He had to.

And if he couldn’t? If you refused to see that you belonged with him? He wasn’t sure what he’d do. The thought of losing you for good, of you choosing someone else, was enough to send him spiraling again.

That thought alone made him want to tear the world apart. “You’re mine,” he hissed to the empty room, his voice shaking. “You don’t get to forget me. You don’t get to move on.”

But you had. You already had, and it was destroying him. The ache in his chest burned hotter, fiercer, and for a fleeting moment, he thought about making it stop. For good.

But he couldn’t. Not like this. Not while you were still out there. Caleb sank to the floor, his hands trembling, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. He needed you. Needed you to look at him, to scream at him, to do something. Because if you didn’t, if you stayed silent, he was certain it would drive him to the edge.

you were forever his.

forever.

his.

[comicaurora]

Tahraim is my fav absolutely adore him! I love that you’ve made the smith deal in introspection and cryptic bs, a lot of times smiths are very straightforward characters in stories. What made you decide to shake it up?

Can gods be tied to concepts as well as cities? As Tahraim seems to be a god of blacksmithing (or at least has some serious motifs) does he have a city thats just forges?

He also seems a lot more mobile than the other gods, or is he just “tied” to Danix?

Tahraim is a conceptual god, a class of deity considered grander and more untethered than city or nature gods. Also in his weight class are Emnis and Erebas (dreams and nightmares), Shanyasi (music), Sennaia (knowledge), Jiya (war), and a whole bunch of others. They're gods of ideas, and their domains are in the collective consciousness of mortals. They can manifest anywhere they hold sway, and several of them have constructed domains of their own in pocket dimensions; Sennaia has a transfinite library hidden away somewhere, and Tahraim has a forge.

Tahraim's personality comes from my own experience with artists and craftspeople. Many artists are acutely aware that in order for their work to be better, they need to be better. The process of creation and introspection becomes inextricably linked. Forging a tool changes the forger, little by little.

There's also an element I've observed from teachers. I was always a firm proponent of "don't be cryptic or cute, just tell me the thing and I'll get it," and while that's true a lot of the time, there are concepts that cannot be Just Told in any meaningful way. They don't hit or stick if the person doesn't put them together themselves and construct a way that works for them. Teaching isn't always the impartation of information; a lot of the time it's guidance so the student crafts the tools that work for them. Even if the teacher can perfectly communicate what method works for them, everyone is different, and a student that does the exact same thing exactly right might gain no benefits or be actively harmed by the process. Instead, the student has to parse the lesson and create their own tools to execute the same goal.

Personal example under a readmore because it got a little long:

I've sporadically dealt with intrusive thoughts my whole life, though I didn't understand what they were at the time and they've mostly gone away on their own. When I was little, upsetting thoughts would get stuck in my head and stay there; things would give me nightmares that lasted for weeks, or I'd be stuck awake in the wee hours ruminating on every time in my life I'd done something shameful or harmful or wrong. My dad recognized I was upset, and tried to teach me a method of "counting thoughts" that worked for him, where I could sit for a few minutes and just passively observe the thoughts floating by, counting them and observing them and thus becoming aware that they were small, fleeting things with no power on their own. The problem is, this method didn't work for me at all, because "count the thought" didn't communicate to me "and that makes the thought not a problem anymore." The thought still hurt just as bad, all I was doing was reminding myself how many bad thoughts were happening. I would get overwhelmed and end up more distressed, and the fact that this thing that should have worked didn't work just convinced me that I was trapped and nobody could ever help me.

It took actual years before I found a method that clicked in my brain, and it was just one step further down the path of counting thoughts:

"Having that thought is harmless."

Every thought that got stuck in my head was about times or ways I might've harmed people. The things that distressed me most were things I'd done wrong that I had zero power to change, so the wrongness would just haunt me forever, making me miserable forever. But the root of the distress was that I had messed up and hurt people.

The thing that clicked was that having the thought does nothing to anyone but me. The thought is harmless, even if the event the thought is about wasn't or wouldn't be. Having the thought hurts no-one else. And since 90% of my distress was distress at the thought of hurting other people, it hit me that in reality, even in the depths of my angst, I was just sitting there, hurting no-one.

And suddenly I found that the last few intrusive thoughts rattling around in my brain withering, because the last thing that had been feeding them was gone. I was given the technique for Counting Thoughts, but it wasn't made for my hands. I had to make my own version out of it. And just because it worked for me and my own personal brain doesn't mean this method would work for someone else, just the same way the method that worked for my dad didn't click for me. If I wanted to teach someone a way to bypass intrusive thoughts, all I would have to work on would be what worked for me, but I could try to guide them through a path similar to the one I followed to find my method so they could maybe find their specific hangups and what specifically would work for them. Every mind is different.

This is also why it's so frustrating to hear someone say stuff like "Oh I used to worry about that too, but it's actually fine, you can just stop worrying about it!" And it's like, "oh, fuckin brilliant, just stop worrying about it? Absolute genius, I just hadn't thought of that-" like yea it sounds flippant and yea it's not helpful, but they are using the only frame of reference they have and describing what they did. They stressed about something, realized it was not actually a problem, and knowing that was enough to make it leave their mind alone. But saying that they "just stopped worrying" doesn't make you understand or internalize how they did it. And because they can't seem to help you, it makes you mad. But then sometimes, with time and perspective, you look back and think "wow, yea, at some point I really did just stop worrying about that." It doesn't mean their advice worked, it just means somewhere along the line something clicked in your mind and started working.

Tahraim is a smith who sees no difference between shaping a tool and shaping a person, but there are some ways that people can't be shaped from the outside, and instead have to shape themselves. He likes to be subtle and cryptic, but he also has good reason to be. The only way to make something click in someone's head is to guide them towards it and nudge them when necessary. It's not all hitting stuff with hammers.

[enha-stars]

✧ Matchy, matchy ; S.J

Pairing: Bf!Jake x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: To be loved is to be known. And you were. And he was, too. You knew him and he knew you, and neither of you would have it any other way.

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff, down bad jake, down bad reader, freak: matched (lovingly), abandoned food, kissing, suggestive, gift giving as a love language,

A/n: happy anniversary to my beloved, @karinasbaby . My love for her inspired this, so… comeback?? Possibly. Stay tuned.

In the dimly lit, slightly damp hallway, Jake carefully turned the key in the lock, pushing the door open with the gentlest of nudges to avoid any noise. He slipped inside his apartment, his footsteps silent against the hardwood floor. The soft glow of evening light filtered through the curtains, casting a warmth hue over the room.

He was about to head to your shared bedroom when an enticing aroma caught his attention, causing him to stop mid-step. His heart skipped a beat as he realized the source of the delightful smell was in fact, coming from his kitchen.

Tip-toeing closer, Jake poked his head into the kitchen to the sight of you standing at the stove, your back turned to him. You were humming a soft tune, completely absorbed in your cooking. The sight of you, dressed in one of his old t-shirts, hair loosely tied up, glasses resting on your head, made his heart swell until it almost burst out of his chest. 

Jake’s lips curved into a bright smile as he quietly moved towards you, setting the gift bag down by the wall. Careful not to make a sound, he reached your side and paused for a moment, taking in the scene. The table was set for two, candles ready to be lit, and the counters were adorned with fresh ingredients. Jake recognized the variety on the table and his smile widened. He knew what avocados and limes meant and his stomach rumbled.

Unable to resist any longer, he stepped forward and gently wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close. You let out a small gasp of surprise, dropping the spoon you were holding as you turned your head to look at him, heart beating rapidly and eyes wide.

“Jake! Oh my gosh,” you exhaled, trying to catch your breath. “You scared me.” The smile that had twisted onto your lips and the sparkle in your shiny eyes told him that he had the same affect on you that you had on him. 

Jake kissed your cheek softly, nuzzling his face into your neck. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, angel.” He did, and she knew it, too. “I just couldn’t resist.” 

You laughed, a sound he was sure the tides pushed towards because you were a celestial being to him, bright and unearthly. If he could bottle your laugh and drink it, have it swim in his veins forever, he would. 

“Well, I missed you and I wanted to surprise you. How was the harbor?” You picked up the spoon once more and stirred the pot of beans and ground meat. Knowing this mood of his, you turned off the stove. 

You wouldn’t be eating anytime soon, anyways. 

“It was okay,” he murmured, tightening his embrace. “Riki fell into the water but it only reached his hips.” He grinned against your skin when you snickered. He could feel your body shake beneath his hands and he pressed himself against you tighter. “I missed you, baby.” 

You turned in his arms, facing him fully. Your eyes met his and you could feel every ounce of stress, every fleeting miscellaneous thought, fade away. His eyes, shiny and sparkling, held yours with nothing but heat and affection. 

Jake swallowed, afraid to blink. He was afraid that if he blinked, you may disappear. It didn’t matter how long he had you, he wanted you for longer. He wanted forever. Eternity, even, if he could ask for it. 

Your eyes glazed over his face, taking him in after not seeing him for a few hours. There was a small smudge of dirt under his right eye and you did the only thing you could do. Holding his chin in place, you licked your thumb and rubbed the dirt off his face. 

Jake stared at you feverishly, eyes on your face; taking in the way you slightly pouted your lips, sticking your tongue out a bit. It was a habit you had learned from him, one he cursed himself for all the time.

“There,” you mumbled to yourself. “All clean.” You dropped your hands to his chest and met his gaze. The warmth in it almost made your legs buckle but his grip held you upright. 

“I love you,” he said. Before you could say anything, he dipped his head towards yours. His lips hovered above your own as he whispered, “I got you something.” 

Your eyes fluttered shut and you tilted your head up, trying to meet his lips but he stayed slightly out of reach, forever teasing you. “Yeah? What’d you get me?”

Jake almost gave in, feeling your warm breath against his lips. He wanted to kiss you until you forgot your name, but he enjoyed this. He enjoyed making you wait, the push and pull.

“It’s a surprise,” he mumbled. “You have to sit on the couch.” His lips briefly, for the lightest of seconds, brushed against yours and you almost whined out his name. 

“Jake,” you exhaled, eyes squeezed shut. Jake loved you like this; all bothered and slightly desperate for him. Usually, he was the one like this, the one on the cusp of begging and asking. When he got you like this, oh, you looked stunning. “Come on,” you tried. “Tell me.” 

Jake simply shook his head, his lips brushing against yours tantalizing. “Gotta wait, angel.” His lips curled upwards at the small noise of frustration you made and he stepped back, hands dropping to his side. He watched with heated eyes as you blinked back into yourself. He loved being the only one to have you like this. 

Before he could take another step back, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him towards you, smashing your lips together. You swallow his slight gasp of surprise and smile against his lips as he melts into it, hands cupping the sides of your face as your lips move harshly against each other. 

Unable to help himself, Jake steps forward and pushes you backwards until your back is flush against the counter. The slight dig makes you gasp in pleasurable pain and he slips his tongue inside your mouth, laying claim to what already belongs to him. He grips the counter, caging you in.

You clutch his shirt, lips moving roughly against his. Jake slots his knee between your legs and the new pressure manages to pull a breathy moan out of you. Jake pulls away, eyes still shut as he tries to catch his breath. There’s a string of saliva that connects your bruised lips and he presses his lips against yours softly, licking your lips clean. 

“Fuck,” he exhales. He opens his eyes and almost groans at the sight of you; breathing deeply, lips red and plump, eyes slightly dazed. You looked almost fucked out and he hasn’t even touched you yet. “Fuck, you’re so perfect.” 

You laughed at his words and slid your hands up to the base of his neck. “So, this gift…” 

Grinning, Jake nipped at your lips before stepping back. “Go sit on the couch, pretty.” He simply shook his head when you frowned at him and he watched you reluctantly walk out of the kitchen and into the living room with eyes filled to the brim with adoration. 

He waited until he heard you fall back onto the couch. Even then, you called out and let him know you were sitting. He was sure his heart was going to burst out his ribs and break through his skin with the amount of love and affection he felt for you. 

Grabbing the small gift bag, Jake made his way to you. When you heard his footsteps, you straightened your back and turned to face him, giving him your utmost attention. Jake often gifted you small, minuscule things, and you loved and appreciated every single thing. It was how he loved, and so you always made sure to focus on him and what his gift was telling you. 

Kneeling down in front of you, he looked up at you as you shifted to the edge of the sofa. You spread your legs a bit and he shuffled between them. His lips twisted and you pinched his nose, immediately seeing the flicker of heat and desire that spread through his eyes. “Don’t even think about it,” you warned. 

“Jokes on you,” he smirked. “I’m always thinking about it.” 

You raised an eyebrow at him and traced the outline of his lips. “Freak.” 

“Matched,” he countered, licking your finger when you pressed it down on his bottom lip. 

You both grinned at each other before he cleared his throat and lifted the gift bag, moving it towards you. Gently, like it was made of gold, which to you, it practically was, you grabbed it and set it down on your thigh. 

Jake watched you curiously as you picked the gift wrapping sheets out of the bag. He stopped breathing momentarily when you reached into the bag and pulled out a small, coffee coloured teddy bear plushie. 

His eyes, which could never and would never stray from you, focused on your expression; the way your eyes widened in surprise and then fondness, the way your small smile twisted into a wide grin before your lips parted in content. He watched as your eyebrows raised in surprise, the way your eyes crinkled. 

You looked so happy, so adorable as you gently patted the bear's head. Lost in the gift, you barely noticed Jake’s warm gaze and the way he shuffled forward, resting his cheek against your other thigh. He was more than pleased with staring at you like this forever. 

“Jake,” you whispered, pulling him out of his staring. He blinked and lifted his head, shaking the hair out of his face. With one hand, you held the bear tightly. With the other, you brushed his hair out his face, smiling a little wobbly. “I love him. What’s the special occasion?” 

Jake shrugged, slightly overcome with emotion. He didn’t think he would be, but you had that effect on him. “It’s uh, well,” he licked his lips. “I saw him at the harbor and thought of you. I knew I had to win it for you.” 

You stared at him, eyes widening at his words before you bit your bottom lip. You glanced at the bear in your hands and let out a quiet chuckle. At the sound, Jake looked back at you, eyes sparkling. 

“Jake,” you sighed. You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead. His eyes shut automatically and he breathed out in content. “This is actually really funny,” you murmured against his skin. 

“Hm?”

Pulling away, you set the bear down beside you and tapped his head twice. He opened his eyes and frowned in confusion when you motioned for him to move. Looking like a kicked puppy, he shuffled backwards and gave you enough space to get up. 

From the carpet, he watched you as you walked to the breakfast table. You pulled a chair back and grabbed something he couldn’t see. Hiding the item from his sight, you turned to face him. There was a twinkle in your eye, one he loved to see but didn’t understand. 

“Sit up on the couch for me, baby.” You motioned him to get up with your head and like the obedient boyfriend he was, he pushed himself off the carpet and fell back onto the sofa. 

Satisfied, you walked towards him, hiding the item behind your back. Jake tried to glance around you but with one look, he sulked into the couch, crossing his arms. Tsking, you sank to your knees and he immediately spread his legs. 

Your eyes traveled from his thighs up to his eyes and his eyes crinkled in amusement, an arrogant smirk ghosting on his lips. “Thinking about it, aren’t you, angel?”

You licked your lips, trying to focus on the present in your hands. “Don’t be freaky right now, Jake. We’re trying to be sentimental.” 

“So you are thinking about it,” he mused, spreading his legs further. You blinked and tried to ignore his tactics. It wasn’t even your fault really, not when his feelings and excitement were practically staring right in the face. 

Clearing your throat, you pinched his thigh to get his mind out of the gutter. Once the lust in his eyes died down a bit, you smiled bashfully at him. 

“What’re you hiding, angel? What’s in your hand?” He tried to hide the curiosity in his voice but you caught it. Because, while he liked to give you things, you also liked to give him things. Despite his calm demeanor, you knew he was always excited. Just like you were. 

Gosh, the stars really did love you both. 

“Well,” you started. “It’s funny that you got me that bear because I…” When your explanation fell short, you brought the bear in your hand towards Jake, handing it to him. He stared at the chocolate covered teddy bear in pure astonishment, almost like it couldn’t be real. 

You shuffled forward, resting your hand on his thigh. Rubbing small circles on his skin, you tried to ground him. Despite getting small gifts from you all the time, he took them each to heart. You wondered when he would accept the love he deserved. 

With a gentleness that made your stomach tingle, he held the bear carefully in his hand. It was small in his hands, but the weight of it felt almost overwhelming. You watched as his eyes glistened with something adoring, the way his lips parted prettily, curving into a smile so bright and beautiful it could have blinded you. 

“Angel,” his voice was hoarse with emotion, “why did you… how?” With soft, featherlike fingers, he caressed the bear as if it was your skin. His eyes were filled with wonder and if you could have captured this moment in its exactness, you would have lived in it. 

“I saw it the other day while I was shopping. It reminded me of you so I bought it.” 

Your words snapped something in him and he set the bear down, eyes ablaze. You barely got enough time to look at him before he scooped you into his arms and set you in his lap. Blinking, you stared at him, dumbfounded. 

With your legs on either side of him, you shuffled a bit closer until you were comfortable. Then, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed yourself against his chest, his hands wrapping around your waist. 

“Hi,” you whispered. 

His lips wobbled and he brushed his nose against yours. “Hi, angel.” 

“So, do you like the bear I got you?” 

Pressing a kiss to your jaw, he nodded. “I love it so much. So, so, much. I can’t believe we got matching plushies accidentally.” 

You laughed and kissed the edge of his smile, wanting to bask in it forever. “We match each other's freaks so well. We’re practically soulmates at this point.” 

Pulling away, he gripped your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “The fuck you mean practically? We are soulmates. I’m marrying you. We’re going to die together and be buried together in one casket.” 

“Oh.” You grinned at him. “Okay, baby. Whatever you say.” 

He tiled your head upwards and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. Then, he grabbed both of the bears and handed you yours while he kept his close to his chest. “What are you naming him?” 

You hummed in thought and stared at the bear in your hand. Naming your plushies was important to you. Names were important, and they had to be meaningful. Jake shouldn’t have been so turned on while watching you think of a name for a plushie, but he was. He knew you could feel it, but, having your priorities straight, you ignored him. 

“I kind of like Buoy.” 

Jake blinked at you before he softly laughed, amazed at your naming ability. “Buoy?” 

“Yeah, Buoy. Named after that slightly orange buoy by the harbor. That, and you’re my anchor. Always keeping me afloat and all.” 

Jake wasn’t a crier, but the amount of times he had almost burst into years tonight had hit a new record. Trying to swallow the emotion that bubbled in his throat, he rested his head against your chest, hiding in your embrace. You laughed at his antics and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. 

“What about you? What are you naming her?” 

Jake lifted his head and the look in his eyes made you hold your breath. You could feel every single vein in your body vibrate and you knew you were in for a long night. 

“I’m naming her Quesadilla.” The seriousness in his voice threw you off and you weren’t sure if you should laugh or clap him on the back. Instead, you simply raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Why Quesadilla?” 

“I’m naming her that in honour of the quesadillas we won’t be eating tonight.” 

“What are you–” You were cut off by Jake tightening his grip on you and flipping you over. A surprised laugh escaped your lips as you found yourself lying beneath him on the couch, his body hovering over yours.

You weren’t sure where your bears had gone, but that was the least of your worries. Jake leaned down, his face inches from yours, eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart beat in your ears.  “I’m only hungry for you tonight, pretty girl.” His lips hovered above your own and your throat went dry. 

You reached up, your hand cupping his cheek as you smiled up at him. “Have me then, Jake.” 

Jake’s expression softened and he closed the distance between you, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. It was a simple tease, a highlight as to how the night was going to go, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

You would, after all, have your fun after he had his. 

[hazelira]

sneezy

Heeseung was pulled from his thoughts by a tiny, high-pitched “achoo!” followed by another in quick succession. He looked over just in time to see his baby girl scrunching up her face, her little nose now adorned with a bubble of snot that wobbled precariously.

He couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking his head. “Oh, precious, you’ve got a little situation there,” he said, reaching for the soft baby wipes on the nearby table.

The baby girl let out a giggle, clearly amused by the strange sensation on her nose. Her tiny hands flailed excitedly as she squealed, her giggles becoming a shriek of joy when Heeseung leaned in to wipe her nose.

“Hold still, you little wiggle worm,” he chuckled, carefully cleaning her up. “Can’t have you walking around like this, can we? Your mama would scold me if I left you like this.”

She cooed at him as if understanding, her big eyes sparkling with mischief. Once her nose was clean, Heeseung kissed her chubby cheek, erupting into another fit of giggles.

“All better now,” he murmured, gently tapping the tip of her tiny nose. He sat back, watching her settle down and chew on the soft toy he’d handed her earlier.

He glanced back at you, still peacefully sleeping, oblivious to the adorable chaos unfolding. Heeseung shook his head with a smile, his heart full. His daughter sneezed again; this time, he quickly caught it with the wipe, feeling like a pro.

“Guess you’re trying to keep me on my toes, huh?” he said, his voice warm. “Don’t worry, princess. I’ve got this. Dada’s not going anywhere.”

Heeseung watched as his baby girl’s pudgy little hands reached out toward the doggy again, her chubby fingers curling as she tried to grab its fur. She was so small, so delicate, with baby fat rounding out her cheeks and little arms. Every movement was a reminder of just how precious and fragile this time was.

His heart softened, and he leaned down to kiss her head, her soft baby hair tickling his lips. “Don’t grow up, sweetheart,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Please stay little, my sneezy squish.”

The words came out like a quiet prayer, and he couldn’t help but smile as she wriggled in his arms, continuing to reach for the doggy. Her baby chub made her look even more adorable.

Her tiny nose scrunched again, and another little “achoo!” escaped her. Heeseung chuckled, wiping her nose once more as she giggled, clearly enjoying the attention. She looked up at him with those big eyes, full of trust, love, and innocence.

“You’re my little sunshine,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I want to keep you this way forever. Just stay like this for a while longer. Let me enjoy this stage… before you grow too fast.”

Heeseung gently placed her back in the bouncy seat, ensuring she was comfortable and still safe, then stood up slowly. He couldn’t help but glance at you, still sleeping on the couch, your gentle, peaceful face illuminated by the soft morning light streaming through the window.

He could feel the weight of his love for both of you—how his heart seemed to beat faster just being around you, how everything in his life had changed unexpectedly. In the past, he never would’ve imagined himself so soft, so vulnerable, but now, with his little girl in his arms and you by his side, he felt a kind of warmth he had never known.

Heeseung watched his daughter for a moment longer, knowing this was a fleeting stage. The baby squirmed in the seat, her eyes still on the doggy as she let out another giggle.

“Stay little,” he whispered again as if the words could stop time. “You’re precious just like this.”

my perm taglist<3 <- request here

@seonhoon @jakeflvrz @shxhdsstuff @rei4sunoo @dollrincess @ethanatvre @laylasbunbunny

[wonsroyalty]

it's okay, i'm okay : ̗̀➛이희승

i don't want him anyway, girl, take him..

✧heeseung x f!reader

genre/warnings: 3.8k, i don’t want to give too much away :0 but angst, relationship, cheating, shouting, sex, fighting, mentions of wishing death. this in no way shape or form represents heeseung, it's purely fictional! italics are flashback scenes!!!

a/n: i’m obsessed with this song omg + i listened to white ferrari (it’s my cry song 😕) at one point while writing this so theres a few references AND i was listening to the new tyler album so if it’s not sad enough it’s because i was so excited 😭😭 ooo and the favourite song choice is from those playlists that enha made at the start of the romance untold era 🔥🔥 for @sofsofenso my no.1 fan, mwah 😽 i hope you like it !!

masterlist

"I. Love. You. So. Fucking. Much." he kissed you between each word.

Your chest was heavy as you held his weight on your stomach but you managed to laugh at his actions.

"We'll be together forever right?" you held your pinky out.

"Forever and ever!" he crossed his own with yours.

Heeseung Lee wasn’t dead but you truly wished he was.

Your naive 11-year-old heart truly believed that you'd be with him forever. He was your first everything.

You were that cheesy couple in the group that everyone believed would get married and have kids and stay together till you were old and grey.

Too bad, considering your luck was always terrible and you had attracted the devil's spawn.

The fleeting moments of you sneaking him into your room, the lingering touches you shared and the overall thought of his existence skated around the interior of your brain.

You desperately wanted to get rid of them but they brought a sense of comfort that only he could fill.

flashback!-

"I think you might be my soulmate.." he trailed off.

"Hee!" you scolded him. "Wait until after we meet your parents."

You smoothed down your black skirt, checking your outfit in the mirror one last time.

He helped you into his red leather jacket before pulling you into his embrace.

"Heeseung!"

"Okay, okay baby." he pulled away. "Let me get a picture before we go,"

The flash of his polaroid camera captured your smitten expression as he kissed your cheek.

His parents loved you, they claimed that their son had a glow around him whenever he was with you.

"Oh my, sorry. I can't focus when I look into your eyes, pretty." Heeseung whispered.

You lightly hit his chest. "I was telling you to look at this."

"Wait, new lockscreen and it's still me!" he got up and did a little dance.

"Yeah, but that not what I- "

He picked you up and twirled you around before attacking you with tickles.

"Stop, stop!"

"Tell me how much you love me and I'll stop." he cackled.

"I love you, so much, Hee." you collapsed onto his bed in a fit of giggles.

He flopped down next to you and pulled you into his chest.

"You really are my soulmate."

What a bunch of crap.

"Yn.. don't look but she's.. over there." Winter glared in the direction of the girl who was partly responsible for the end of your relationship.

flashback!-

Keeho rested an arm around your shoulder as he showed you around the party.

"You're so drunk already." You laughed at him. “Again.”

It was common for Keeho to get heavily drunk at pre’s and every time he said he would stop but just didn’t follow through.

"AM not." he pouted.

The two of you walked over to your friends.

"Where's your man?" Sungchan laughed behind his cup.

"We're not always together." you grumbled.

His comment did make you curious though as you had both made your way to the party separately.

Your grandfather was sick and you wanted to visit him in the hospital before making your way to Keeho's 19th, so you had told Heeseung he could meet you whenever he got there.

Chenle told you that he'd seen him in the kitchen earlier so they all followed you there.

"Heeseung! What the fuck!" you shouted.

Yunjin was pressed up against your boyfriend who had a hand in her hair. They were about an inch away from kissing but judging by the gloss on his lips, you could tell that they already had.

He gently pushed her away with a laugh.

"Baby, hey." he waved to your friends too.

"What is your problem?!"

You pushed him away as he got closer to you.

He grabbed your arm and pulled you out of the kitchen.

"Guys.." Winter called after you.

His feet stopped once you were inside a bathroom.

"I've never seen you that mad before, pretty." he laughed.

"Let me out."

"No way... you're actually jealous."

Your jaw dropped.

"I'm not jealous, I'm breaking up with you."

"No, you're not." His face dropped. “Your emotions are high right now because your grandfather is sick. Don’t let that cloud your judgement.”

All you could do was look away because you believed his words.

"Come on, let's talk about this." he attempted to kiss you.

"Get off! You've clearly kissed someone else tonight and you expect me to want to stay with you despite you cheating."

This wasn't even the first time you'd caught him “cheating” on you.

He laughed in your face.

"This isn't Yunjin's lip combo." he joked.

"Well, it's someone's isn't it?" you frowned.

"So, you're gonna throw away 9 years because you don't trust me?" he calmed down.

Spolier! He'd convinced you to stay with him once again!

You remember the disappointed looks from all of your friends when you walked out with his arm around you.

They weren’t the only people who began to warn you about Heeseung.

Every new person you’d interacted with told you that he was bad news but you reassured them that he was just getting used to university.

He seemed to switch as soon as you’d gotten to uni, badmouthing you to his friends, staying out late, missing dates, ignoring you and each time you’d take him back.

You even took him back when you walked into the lunch area and caught him kissing your seat-mate from Politics.

Your best friends didn’t speak to you for a week after that one.

But you’d become desensitised to the feeling you got when you’d catch him. Taking him back immediately saved you from having to argue with him and you were tired.

Tired from the stress of your degree and having to deal with Heeseung.

Everywhere you went, you received looks of pity. No one envied you for being in a relationship with Heeseung, they all felt sorry for you.

You continued to defend him and every time he’d act out and chip off a piece of your heart, leaving you embarrassed and scared.

“Hee is my soulmate.” you reiterated.

Heeseung was all you ever wanted.

He was all you’d ever known.

Hee was your first everything.

Letting him go, would be losing a part of yourself and you weren’t quite sure if you were capable of doing that yet.

But four months later at the same house you'd been pushed to your limit.

flashback!-

“Great to see that you aren’t as drunk as last time.” Chenle poked at Keeho.

“I’m on lookout, Jiung smashed my dining room table last time.” He rolled his eyes.

“Yn!” someone turned you around.

“Hey, Yunjin.” you all sighed.

“Where’s Heeseung?” she pouted.

You really didn’t know and you were tired of people asking you that.

“I don’t know, go find him if you want.” you shrugged.

You had every reason to be mad at him.

It was your 10-year anniversary and you hadn’t done anything to celebrate together.

The party was his idea of “having a fun anniversary”.

“Yunjin, don’t come over to kill the vibe.” Sungchan groaned.

“Fine.” she grumbled.

On her way past you, she pretended to trip in order to dump her drink down your front.

“Shit.” you ran off to a bathroom in order to get the ice out of your bra, not even stopping to hear Winter scold Yunjin.

Most of them were locked so you opted for the one in Keeho’s bedroom.

On the verge of tears, you attempted to calm yourself down and get a shirt from his walk in wardrobe.

You threw on a jersey that matched with your jeans and were on your way out when someone came into the main area of the room.

“Finally, I’ve been looking for you for ages.” a girl giggled.

‘What is Yunjin doing here?’

“Well, I’m a busy man.”

‘Heeseung?! What kind of a sick joke was this?’

“Ugh don’t remind me. I asked Yn where you were and she literally said she didn’t care.”

‘I didn’t say that??’

“What?” Heeseung sounded confused.

“Enough about her, I’m right here. And we have all the time in the world.”

You could hear her kiss him.

The same lips that had spent countless hours pressed against your own.

The same lips that spoke promises of fulfilment and expressed their gratitude towards you.

The same lips that whispered words of encouragement when it was just the two of you, late at night while you gave yourself to him.

You felt disgusted.

Heeseung Lee wasn’t dead, but you truly wished he was. You wanted him to suffer an unspeakable fate for hurting you but every time you thought of him, you couldn’t bear the thought of having to live without him.

The remaining fragments of your heart fell into the palm of your hand. There was nothing to fight for anymore.

You should’ve moved long before the moans reached your ear but you were frozen in shock.

‘Is this what people warned me of.’ you panicked. ‘I should’ve never let it get this far.”

Your feet didn’t wait and moved involuntarily as you gave away your hiding spot.

You needed to see it for yourself.

The tears that you’d been holding in for months fell down your cheeks.

“I can’t do this- not today.”

Pushing past them you ran downstairs and out the doors, attracting the attention of your friends.

“Yn? What, wait!” Heeseung shouted, running after you as he slipped his clothes back on.

He grabbed your arm pulling you back into his embrace.

You shoved him away violently this time.

“Baby, I’m sorry.”

“You can’t keep saying you’re sorry and then acting out and embarrassing me every. single. time. I’m fed up Heeseung, I am done with you for good. The pain I feel just from loving you is a burden that I shouldn’t have to face anymore. I love you so much, Hee- Heeseung.” You cried as you pushed him away again. “I care so much, but it’s clear that my best just wasn’t enough for you. I’m sure that- that in another life we’d be happy.. but in this one I just don’t think that’s possible.”

“Yn, no. I’ll fix this.. I’ll fix us and I- I’ll change my ways. Just- please.” he trembled. “I wanted- I want to spend my life with you.. I can’t lose you. You can’t leave me. You’re all I’ve ever known.”

“Well that’s not true,” you sobbed. “I don’t trust you anymore.”

“Baby, why.” he grabbed your hands. “Why don’t you trust me anymore? What do I have to do to get you to trust me again.. I’ll do anything for you. I love you..”

You could see your friends in your peripheral vision watching in concern. Waiting to intervene.

“Can I ask you something?” you stared him in the eye. “I need you to answer honestly.”

“Anything!” he pleaded, tears running down his face. “Ask me anything.”

“Why did you do it time after time?” you watched him deny his acts.

“Sieun told me. You were with Yunjin, Aya, Kate. You even tried it on my Winter and she’s my best friend, Mia, Yeji, Aeri.. I can’t.” The tears fell again.

“None of them compare to you.. Baby, please don’t leave.” he tried getting closer to you. “When I look at you all I see is my soulmate. I care for you still and I will, forever.”

“Well, I look at you… and I see nothing.”

For once, he didn’t even try to fight back.

The rest of the night was a blur.

Sungchan punched him and Winter took you home as you cried for days to come.

You waited by the phone for a text or even a call with an apology but days passed then weeks which turned into months.

There was an odd sense of comfort in knowing that he knew he was in the wrong but all you wanted to do was have him hold you and tell you that everything would be alright.

Yunjin waited for her coffee to be made as she looked down at her phone.

"I.. You know what.. I don't care." you leaned back in your chair.

You didn’t know if she was still dating him, and you didn’t want to.

Chenle gasped.

"Are you being real right now?" He pressed. "This is new territory."

You nodded.

Winter suddenly began to look uncomfortable.

"Coming.. over.. here." she muttered out.

"Yn!" Yunjin screeched. “You’re going to Keeho’s party tonight right?”

“Yeah.. Surprised that you are too, you know.”

She pointed at herself confused.

“I didn’t know you were friends with Keeho.” you pointed.

“Oh, I’m not. I’m someone’s plus one.” she looked away bashfully.

“That’s not a problem.” you shrugged it off. “We’re all there to get wasted anyway.”

She mistook your lack of anger as friendship.

“Well, hope I see you later.” she waved, taking off as her order was called up.

“I don’t.” Chenle groaned.

You looked at the time on your phone.

“Cute lockscreen.” Winter giggled.

It was a picture of you, her, Chenle, Sungchan and Keeho on holiday together.

That was the summer after you and Heeseung broke up.

flashback!-

“It is so hot here.” Winter fanned herself.

“That’s because you’re stood out on the balcony.” Sungchan laughed.

Everyone else lounged around your hotel room.

You were still a mess.

They were trying to distract you from anything and everything and while you appreciated the thought, you just wanted Heeseung back.

Your phone was connected to Keeho’s speaker, blasting some songs that you weren’t paying attention to.

A familiar intro snapped you out of your trance and you immediately reached for your phone.

“No- No, Yn give me that.” Chenle snatched the phone out of your hands.

You’d pressed onto Heeseung’s contact and were in the process of typing out ‘I miss you…’

You remembered what Heeseung told you the first time. “Sincerity is scary by the 1975. Whenever I hear the song, I think of you.” he shrugged. “I guess that’s why it’s my favourite.”

All it took was one song, his favourite song, and you fell back into the rhythm that they were trying to get you out of.

“Come on.” Keeho smiled as he helped you up. “Let’s go out, it’s not every day that you get to be in Hawaii!

Now two years had passed.

You were in the final year of your Bachelor’s degree, with employment lined up for you to work under a United Nations representative as you studied for your Masters.

Winter was going off to Paris to work as a designer for a luxury brand, Chenle was already earning 6 figures as an accountant while studying, Keeho and Sungchan were both planning a gap year before going into business and engineering respectively.

Your best friends, all going their separate ways. You couldn’t bear the thought.

You loved them like no other and having to deal with life’s problems alone didn’t seem too great.

Together you’d created a calendar to show whenever someone was free and had planned several group holidays to come.

Spending winter in Paris with Winter, spring break in the Philippines with Keeho and Sungchan and several mini trips in summer with Chenle.

“Cheers!” Keeho shouted.

“What are we cheering to?” you laughed.

“Us… duh!”

You’d all settled on the conservatory sofa, away from the noise and people at the party.

“We have 5 months left, don’t get sappy.” Sungchan smiled.

“Well if you think about it, it’ll be over in no time.” Winter looked deep in thought. “We’ve been friends for 19 years now and those flew by.”

19 years..

It didn’t take long for you all to realise that you really didn’t have a lot of time left in your bubble.

Having to face the real world without your found family was difficult.

“I don’t want to leave you guys.” Chenle cried into your side as you all hugged each other.

“Please don’t be a stranger guys,” Keeho sobbed. “Weekly group facetime calls, weekend trips..”

“I want postcards.” you wailed. “From your world trip.”

“You’ll all get them.” Sungchan bawled.

“Remember in nursery when- when Chenle started that paint fight and we all got scolded by the teacher.” Winter laughed with a sniffle.

Laughter broke out across the group.

You had the picture on your childhood bedroom wall. The four-year-old versions of yourselves covered head to toe and looking guilty.

Time really does fly by.

“I love you guys.”

The moment was cut short when Jiung stumbled into the room.

“Hey!”

“Not me!”

Chenle dove out of the way and you ended up covered in Jiung’s drink.

“Why does everyone put ice in their drinks!” you wined. “I’m going to steal a shirt, Keeho.”

You left the group as they arranged a ride home for Jiung and looked for a change of clothes in Keeho’s wardrobe.

Slipping a shirt on, you left his room but realised you’d wanted to use the bathroom.

There was another down the hall anyway.

You were in the process of washing your hands when you noticed the song seeping through the gap under the door.

“Sincerity is scary by the 1975.”

But you didn’t have an urge to text him.

The door flung open.

‘Why!’ you groaned.

“Ba- Yn..” he tilted his head. “You look better.”

“Please leave, Heeseung.”

You hated how he looked even better.

“Why are you looking at me like that..” you whined.

You hated how your whole being shut down as soon as you were close to him. The past two years went out of the window.

“Like what?” he whispered.

“You know we can’t..” you trailed off.

He took several steps closer to you and you hesitated to breathe.

“We’re not doing anything.” his eyes were very much focused on your lips.

Winter’s voice rang out in your head.

“Don’t tell the guys.. but if you ever end up in the same place as him, I think you should get closure. It’ll help you move on.”

You let him kiss you.

When he pulled away you brought him back, kissing his lips with a hunger you’d never had before.

He pulled you up by the waist and placed you on the bathroom counter, fingers immediately making their way under your skirt.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“One last time.” you confirmed before kissing him again with even more passion.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” he pulled down your underwear and began to lap at your cunt.

Your hands grasped at his now red hair, as your head fell back against the mirror with a gasp.

He knew you like the back of his hand and you were ashamed to reach your climax so fast as he worked your insides with precision and memory.

“Fuck.. Hee- Heeseung, I’m gonna cum.” you moaned out.

“Cum for me, pretty. You did so well,” he praised as he rubbed your clit.

The nickname and intensity of your orgasm did a number on you.

You felt lightheaded as he kissed you breathlessly before reaching into his pocket to pull out a condom.

‘Thank God, he got the message. One last time.’ you thought. It felt too intimate to let him fuck you raw.

Your fingers made light work of discarding his belt and jeans so you could pull his boxers down teasingly slowly.

“Baby, please..” he whined.

You slid off the counter and onto your knees, immediately taking him into your mouth.

Your muscles moved like clockwork, memory working overtime as you pushed his buttons the way he always loved.

“Not yet..” he whimpered.

He pulled your head off his dick and helped you stand up then bent you over the counter.

You watched in the mirror as he rolled the condom on and then rubbed his length on the slick of your release.

“Heeseung,” you whined as he nudged your clit with his tip.

“All in one?” he asked you.

You nodded.

He sheathed himself into you in one go.

Feeling as though you could cum then and there, you slumped onto the surface in front of you.

Heeseung grabbed your hair and forced you to watch him in the mirror.

Once you made eye contact, you became fully aware of the situation you were in.

You cried out as he slapped your ass before slamming into you from behind.

The moans leaving your lips and whines leaving his would be heard by everyone if the music wasn’t so loud.

He knew exactly what to do and you didn’t even have to tell him what pace to go at, he remembered.

“Hee! Right there.” you cried out. “R- Right there.”

“I’m so close.” he cried. “Shit..”

“Me too.” you held your hand out.

Heeseung grabbed your outstretched hand as you came together.

Silence overcame you both as he threw the condom into the bin and helped clean you up.

He tried to kiss you again.

You looked away.

It was clear that he had just cried but so had you.

The tension and emotion you had for each other was too strong.

“I’m sorry.” he croaked out. “I’m so sorry.”

Your arms pulled him into your embrace.

“It’s okay.”

He pulled back slightly and kissed you again.

This time it was light and if you weren’t paying attention, it would’ve felt as though he was never there.

You wiped his tears away before your own.

“Do you ever think about what life would be like for us, if things were different..?” he asked.

Someone burst into the room.

“You bitch!” Yunjin shouted at you.

It wasn’t hard to assume that you’d just had sex with the smell lingering in the room and the mirror fogged up.

“Huh?” you looked at Heeseung to explain.

“Wait, Yn- ”

You laughed in pain.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

You’d just helped him do what broke your heart in the first place.

Instead of sadness or anger you just felt done.

“We were just talking.” you lied.

You weren’t covering for him. You knew that he needed the closure as much as you did but ultimately you were trying to save your own skin.

Yunjin looked furious.

“You can have him.” she seethed. “I should’ve known that he’d never get over you. But I didn’t think that you’d try to get at him.”

“Girl, take him. He’s yours.” you put your hands up, signalling that you were finished with whatever was going on. “I had him in the first place, I don’t want him anymore.”

You felt bad talking about Heeseung like he was an object while he was right in front of you but you pushed that aside.

“No-!” she frowned.

“I don’t want him anyway,” you turned to leave. “Girl take him.”

Yunjin didn’t even try to fight it.

She seemed shocked that you’d given up so easily.

“Heeseung,” you started. “To answer your question, I did. But I learned not to expect much from you.”

Heeseung Lee wasn’t dead, but you no longer cared enough to wish he was.

THE END.

[jaggedamethyst]

boy savor ⏳✨

ekko (arcane) x f!reader

content: ekko using time...to his advantage

18+ minors dni, smut, porn w/slight plot, edging, soft, (just trust me ik they sound different lmao), oral (f!receiving), complicated/ unlabeled relationship, angst, mentions of death, not proofread

notes: i am a timebomb truther but this is set after the whole ordeal so literally months if not a year or more after the finale...and no the title isn't spelled wrong just read it.

main master list

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

You and Ekko found each other after everything. He’d lost his friend—and something more—when Jinx disappeared. Ekko had remained steadfast; she wasn’t dead, couldn’t be. You would nod, affirming him. You understood what others might deem delusion—and empathized with the desire to have someone be alive. 

For you, it was your dad. Like many others you were sent away—forced to join the herds of people who piled up to leave town. This came, of course, in spite of what you wanted. If it was up to you, you’d have stayed. You would’ve died alongside your father. Instead, you were left to wonder if he even actually was gone. With a body never actually being found it was hard to not think other wise.

The relationship between you and Ekko went unlabeled and remains that way. You both could agree, though, that in the midst of the pain the presence of each other filled a void that would persist for years. Deep down you knew that if Jinx did ever show up he would leave without a second thought. But the gentleness he held with you was enough to make the thought a throwaway. 

In a single word, you would quickly describe Ekko as tender. When you were together the just barely there touches and faint grasps made you feel light—as if you could escape him at any moment. Freeing yourself was the last thing on your mind, though. You’d stay with him, like this, in any timeline…forever.

“Can I try something?” Ekko spoke between breaths, lips kissing on the inner skin of your thighs. He’d paused his devouring of you to glance up, motioning next to him. 

“Uh huh,” you were close. The question hadn’t made a difference to you. You didn’t bother to look in the direction he waved. Whatever he did, whatever he intended to try—you would still unravel in a few seconds. If there was no other proof, the heat emanating off of you would be enough. 

A second later, the sound of a clattering filled the room. The fire in you tamed a bit and Ekko had his lips wrapped around your clit again. Just as he had before speaking up. You panted, feeling his breath fanning over you. He continued to move his entire mouth into you, sucking and moving up and down with an urgency that had your legs twisting erratically. 

Ekko slipped in two fingers, then, pulsing them in and out of you at a steady tempo that made you whine. The sound was melodic for him—it made him want to do this a thousand more times, and he would. 

“Can I try something?”

Without thinking, you replied, “Uh huh.”

The phrase felt sticky on your tongue, as if it had left a residue lingering there. You blinked, looking beside you as Ekko fumbled for the counter. He moved up your body, kissing over your chest as he pulled on a string. 

In an incomprehensible moment of time, his lips found you again. Ekko moved against you and you writhed as a result. He felt your body lift and looked up through his lashes to examine you. A smirk found the space between you, a sheen over the bottom half of his face. 

“What?” He asked as he moved a finger to push your clit up and down. The steady and slow pressure was one you loved—and it almost always had you fumbling for him like you were now. The heat found you, again, and gave you pause. A hand found the top of his head grasping at his hair for relief, the fleeting feeling of déjà vu causing you to yank his head up. 

“Ekko-“ 

“You said I could try something…”

Creating a tool to wield time in the palm of his hand was single handedly the pinnacle of Ekko’s existence and nothing else came close to it. Nothing except his ability to use it to his advantage. He loved the sensation of you pulsing against him, the inadvertent response to his body on yours. He could bask in the sound of your quickened breaths, survive off of the feeling of your fingers clawing at him. Every movement that even resembled you finishing for him made him desire the sight, feeling, and sound even more. 

He tapped around, finding the string much easier this time. He had, after all, done this before. Ekko’s fingers twisted and nudged the dial back an additional few seconds. You watched the world seem to warp around you and your sentience of the current moment seem to slip away. 

The sound of his name teetered on your lips again, dragging at the feel of your climax reverting back to being just on the edge of explosion. 

He was still so delicate with you, savoring every moment he had with you. He spoke quickly, “You okay?” 

You sucked in your own lips, stifling a moan. “Mhm.” 

“Knew you could handle it.” 

You nodded, not speaking but revelling in the feeling—inching on the precipice of finally finishing, again that was. 

Ekko had never done this before, tortured you so sweetly in this way. Going back every few seconds added a weight to you that was surprisingly comforting. Reverting to a moment in time, just before he had you fully undone, welled tears in your eyes. 

He licked and slurped you, his fingers again pushing in and out of you. Ekko let his other hand snake up and kneed into the warmth of your stomach. Your lower half began to match his rhythm, swirling up and around in circles. 

“I’m,” you sucked in a sharp breath, “I’m gonna-“ 

He heard the slurred words. The moist sound of your words was an indicator, too. Every detail about you was intoxicating. He couldn’t think too far ahead, just for now. 

Ekko became more fervent, speeding up every pace he’d found. You could no longer keep up; you let the feeling of him guide you. The once slowly building embers snapped in you and jolted your entire body in half—your spine finding its way away from the mattress. 

He crawled up, kissing your lips sweetly until he’d lost breath…and when he did, a crank filled the room. He’d kiss you forever if he could—and with time at the palm of his hands, he’d make sure this feeling would last a lifetime. 

[b14augrana]

Ad Astra Per Aspera

Alexia has an epiphany after everything comes to light

Alexia Putellas x teen!reader

pt. 5 masterlist

Warnings: this story contains depictions of alcoholism, adultery, and familial issues. read at your own discretion.

A/N: it’s finally here, 2 months later! 3.7k words in this one, i’m super proud. happy reading, and please let me know what you think! 💝

With the intention of falling asleep, you slunk in between the mattress and duvet.

Moonlight peeked at you from behind the blinds and danced across your sheets, warping with every movement you carried out beneath the blanket. Reaching out, your fingers were coated in the light, and every crevice in the surface of your skin was emphasised beneath the moon’s pale white illuminance, reminding you of just how many years those fingers had lived through. They’re just hands to hold things with, but it goes beyond just physical things — in between each finger is the phantom of your little brother’s hand when he’s one and learning to walk, bracing you to keep his balance as he toddles around the living room, evoking a proud smile on your face. Scars were peppered along the back of your hand, some little scratches originating from football and others taking the shape of teeth marks inflicted by your siblings. A silver bracelet dangled on your wrist and the charms clinked together, while the blonde hair tie that certainly wasn’t yours sat tightly below it and dented your skin.

Hands would always be hands, no matter how sacrilegious it felt to call them that due to the amount of deep-cutting memories they held. You placed yours down by your side once again, a deep exhale navigating its way out of your body as your muscles relaxed, and you further settled into the uncomfortable makeshift mattress you laid on. The room was cold, the sort of chill that was bliss to fall asleep in but not so lovely to stay awake in. Beside your face, the sheet of the bed flitted gently with every little exhale you let out, and it grazed the tip of your nose, inciting a tickling sensation on your skin. Your legs were constantly shuffling around underneath your blanket, your body tossing and contorting into different positions as you searched for the cold patches of the sheet you laid upon, desperate to fall asleep. You were exhausted beyond belief, yearning for nothing else but the relief of rest, yet you couldn’t find yourself relaxed enough. Deep thoughts, if not worries, were the perpetrator of your sleepless night.

It was hard enough to be sleeping on the floor, let alone trying to sleep while being tormented and jeered by your own flurry of thoughts and criticisms of the day’s events that overwhelmed your mind. For a time in which you wanted silence in your own head, your mind was obnoxiously alive, every thought amplified and incoherent. It felt like the ultimate betrayal to fall asleep, knowing the few hours left with your siblings would waste away during your slumber and you’d wake up to spend one more fleeting moment with them before they were gone, possibly forever.

There hadn’t been a word from the police about your mother all week. That was one more thing to be worried about, as you wondered how she was doing. Had she been admitted to the rehabilitation facility, like the social worker said? Would she even get the help she needed; proper, meaningful help, to get her life back on track? Most importantly, would it be enough to make her less of a hazard and more of a backbone in your siblings’ lives, contrary to all these years they had spent raised among her bottles? You were still afraid to return to your home. Whether she was there or not, it would feel like stepping into a graveyard of everything you had ever loved. The walls that could’ve once recounted the tales of the happiest of families… would they be traumatised into silence? It was a house, but it was nobody’s home anymore.

You hadn’t even given so much of a thought to work, and the sudden acknowledgement of your career’s existence awakened another restless surge of emotions inside of you. You had little faith in hoping that Alexia would understand your situation, regardless of what Vicky had advised. There wasn’t much to lose anymore if you did tell her, because your siblings were getting taken away anyways, but you still wanted to keep that deeply corrupted part of your life hidden away from her for as long as possible. You had yet to tell Vicky about the fostering conversation that happened at the police station earlier that day, but you hadn’t even fully processed it yourself; it would be virtually impossible to focus and get anything done at work, no matter how hard you tried, and you’d rather just stay home instead of get an Alexia lecture special to seal off your already shitty week of ordeals.

It made you sad, honestly. When you first got promoted to the first team you were everything; Barça's stargirl, the promise of a bright future for the blaugrana and the telltale signs of a worthy successor to Alexia's captaincy. Now... despite the performances you put up on the field that still won over the support of the public, you felt like the complete opposite was happening. With every step forward in football came five steps backwards in your personal life, and another step back in your relationship with Alexia.

Some would probably ask you why you were so afraid to come clean to your captain about your situation, the real reason why you're so tardy and 'irresponsible', and the worst part was, you couldn't give them a reason. It was daunting to tell Vicky — probably the most understanding person you could've confided in — so you couldn't even begin to imagine how you'd tell Alexia. Such a decision was made harder when you paid attention to the part of yourself yearning to tell her; though you didn't know if she had any experience regarding the foster system, alcoholism or anything relating to your ordeal, she was older, wiser, and had authority. You wanted to be able to open up to her about everything that has maimed you since you were 13, seek help from your captain, and receive the help for yourself that you’ve always provided for others. It was easier said than done.

The pursuit of help in itself was difficult. Confiding in anyone was a concept that you feared, even if you weren’t explicitly aware of that fact yourself. In a way, it felt like admitting that you had failed at fulfilling your only purpose — protecting your siblings from harm, and keeping them safe.

You glanced up to the bed beside you. You could just barely see a sliver of Magdalene’s forehead and the tip of her pinkish nose; the duvet was bunched because of her curled fist that was closed around it; the sound of her barely audible breathing was a daunting reminder that indeed, she was real. She was living and experiencing this just as you were. Yes, she would wake up and, as well as Dani and Lorenzo, they’d be whisked away for who knows how long — thrusted into the foster system, likely to be seen as mere charity cases and troubled kids with virtually nothing good going for them. Nobody would genuinely care about them. Someone would tolerate them out of pity, maybe, because they'd feel like they're obligated to be some sort of token of goodness in their poor, miserable lives. They'd hardly be tolerated because they deserve it; hell, their own father couldn’t find it in himself to give a shit. The social workers saw tha, heard that and witnessed that, then still proceeded to think that there’ll be someone else out there that does, if not their own blood.

Pathetic, you thought. He was pathetic, lame, and utterly so. Everything in your life seemed that way since it began to crumble before your eyes. So, despite the fact you really didn’t want to at this moment, you shut your eyes and prepared for sleep. Those few moments of unconsciousness were your only refuge. At the end of the day, you always came back craving that moment of ignorance towards the rest of your calamitous reality.

The next day, before you could even open your eyes, you were weighed down by insurmountable feelings of dread. You were awake, but you just refused to open your eyes, because that would indicate that the day had begun and you’d have to face the events that were waiting. The sun replaced the pale moonlight as it seeped through the gaps in the blinds, much to your dismay — it was yet another reminder of the day that awaited you, another thing for you to scorn at and curse about under your breath as you turned your back away and buried your head back in the pillow. With only half of your face in the pillow, you opened your exposed eye ever so slightly and squinted at the screen of your phone as it lit up with a message. For a moment, a surge of fear coursed through your body as you considered the possibility of the text being from Alexia. An angry text was the last thing you needed right now, and you couldn’t help the scowl that tugged at your features as you mulled over the many things she could’ve texted you to convey her annoyance. Would it be a simple three word text, so she could really get into you at work, or an extensive paragraph so she could give you the cold shoulder for the entire duration of training? You never knew what it would be with your captain.

You crawled out of your pitiful excuse of a bed on the floor, your muscles slightly stiff from the lack of a comfortable surface you had been forced to sleep on. Dropping the blanket to the floor, you trudged over to the door, adjusting your shirt that was sitting askew on your torso. You shut the door behind you silently, so as to not disturb your siblings, before proceeding to walk down the hallway and towards the kitchen of Vicky’s home. You were eternally grateful for both her and her mother’s hospitality during this time, and you made a mental note to make that explicitly clear to Vicky as you walked downstairs and into the kitchen. Before even entering the room, you knew she’d be awake and ready for training; she was young and eager, like you had been at one point.

“Bon día,” you mumbled, your voice still hoarse and riddled with exhaustion as you slumped into a chair at the dining table. Vicky, who had been chopping up an apple, paused in her tracks and looked at you. For a moment, her eyes examined your state, and the slight wrinkle of her forehead was far from lost on you, but she still offered a smile and a ‘bon día’ in response. A snapping sound echoed through the kitchen as Vicky sealed the container she had put her apple slices into, and she turned around to walk over to the dining table and pull a chair out beside you. She looked at you for a moment, her chin resting in the palm of her hand, brown eyes roving over your face again, before she spoke; “How are you?”

It was obvious enough, but you still humoured her. “Honestly, Vicky, I’m horrible. I texted Jona and told him I’m not coming in today,” you responded, your voice flat and completely devoid of the energetic lilt it usually possessed. The main reason you weren’t going into work was because you physically couldn’t bring yourself to play any football while knowing your siblings were being taken away from everything they’ve ever known. The reason you gave Jona was, you didn’t feel well and had been up all night with a stomach ache. That would have to suffice.

“Okay. Well, text me if you need anything — and I mean it. Actually text me, don’t just nod and say you will,” Vicky said sternly, pointing a finger at you to further make a point. You rolled your eyes playfully, and your lips curled into the faintest of smiles as you nodded. “I will. Promise.”

“Good,” Vicky replied, standing up from the dining table and bending down to pick her training bag up, slinging it on her shoulder. She knew the real reason for your day off, but she didn’t mention it or ask you what your excuse had been. The telltale signs of uneasiness that were written all over your face gave her the answer she was looking for anyway. “I’m heading off. I’ll see you later, alright?” she spoke again, and you nodded, your smile broadening ever so slightly. “See you.”

You watched her leave the house and shut the front door behind her with a click. For some reason, watching her leave for training made you miss playing football, but you simply weren’t anywhere near fit for training — mentally or physically. The sport used to be your reprieve from all sorts of upsetting emotions and a distraction from your troubles, but now… it had turned into one of those troubles. God, how you missed the early stages of your career, the time when you had been a promising young talent on the rise, when football was fun. You still had time, and you definitely had the potential; you were only 18, you had heaps of time, but even then, it felt like every day, your talent dwindled even more, and soon you’d be left with none. You’d merely be another ‘what-if’, a wasted talent, and that’s not the outcome you had worked so hard for your entire life, back when it was good. Back when your family was still intact.

“Hermana,” a little voice called out from the stairs. You turned to look in the direction of the sound, and your eyes settled on Magdalene, who was standing on the last step and rubbing her eyes. You could hear faint bickering from Dani and Lorenzo upstairs in the bedroom, and a little smile tugged at your lips. Something about the sound of their childish arguing warmed your heart, despite knowing you’d have to tell them to cut it out. It was good to know that they still indulged in the trivial things, like children their age should be doing. You beckoned Magdalene over to the table and stood up from your own seat, walking over to the kitchen. “You hungry, hermanita?” you asked her, opening cupboards to see what there was to make. “Sí, tengo mucha hambre,” she responded softly. You nodded as you opened the fridge, and your gaze landed on a carton of eggs.

The eggs turned into golden pieces of French toast that you put onto four plates and served with drizzles of maple syrup and icing sugar dusted on top. Magdalene was practically salivating, her little face lit up with excitement as she watched the process, and she let out an excited exclamation when her share was slid across the table to her. Dani and Lorenzo’s expressions mirrored hers almost exactly, and from the moment the plate touched their placemats, they began to ravage their food. You took your seat and ate like a normal human being, enjoying and savouring every bite, secretly surprised at how well the French toast had turned out. Cooking was — surprisingly — something you possessed a fair bit of skill in. You had to learn how to cook so you could continue to feed your siblings good, nutritious food; occasionally, you’d treat them to a restaurant dining experience, but oftentimes you’d make them something at home. They loved whatever you put on the table for them.

Breakfast that morning was something you’d hold close to your heart. All four of you sat around the table and talked, bantered, laughed and ate your food. Dani and Lorenzo went back and forth with their opinions about how they thought the upcoming Barça men’s fixture was going to go, while Magdalene updated you on the latest doll she had her eye on. You nodded along enthusiastically, of course, while occasionally chipping into the boys’ conversation with your opinion. To them, they probably just got carried away with their conversations, but for you, it was a bit more… calculated. Usually, you’d tell them to hurry up, and you’d eat your food faster, but you took only a couple bites every few minutes, and you were doing quite a bit of talking too. You were trying to stall as much as you could to avoid the inevitable.

Vicky arrived at the pitch twenty minutes after leaving home. She gave her mother a brief kiss on the cheek before grabbing her training gear and hopping out of the car. The things you had said to her the day before still loomed over her head. She was worried for you, more than she had expressed, because she knew you would just insist that you were fine and worrying about you was a waste of time… but she still worried. She could see the toll it was all taking on you, and Alexia didn’t make it any easier on you. She’d watch from afar, the type of interactions you two would have, and it honestly made her more irritated than she would like to admit. She would watch Alexia’s gaze harden whenever it settled on you, and the venomous lilt to her words when she addressed you. Not to mention, the fact she would never let you explain yourself; Vicky had to be honest, she was growing a little concerned and curious as to why you were beginning to show up late more often, but now, she realised you actually had many reasons to show up a few minutes late to training.

Her training bag hit the pitch with a dull thud as she dropped it beside the bench. She sat down beside it and pulled her boots up, a few specks of dirt flying out simultaneously, and she hit the studs together to get the mud off the soles of her boots. As she was preparing to put her right boot on, a figure stalked over to her and towered above her, simply watching. When she looked up, she internally groaned when she saw Alexia, and the annoyed look on her face. Vicky already knew where this was heading.

“Vicky, where on earth is (Y/N)?” she asked, her tone slightly speculatory. Vicky let out an inaudible sigh before responding. “She doesn’t feel well, so she isn’t coming in today.” It was a lie, and a blatant one at that, but it wasn’t the truth, which was what Vicky had to avoid revealing.

Alexia gave an exclamation akin to a scoff, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “I see. She’s still as irresponsible as ever! She’ll take any excuse to not come into work, I’m sick and tired of it, seriously. She shouldn’t be playing for the first team if she behaves like this—”

“Alexia, just stop! She isn’t ‘irresponsible’; she has a lot going on, and it would put you to shame if you knew about it. I respect you — you know that — but come on,” Vicky cut her off, her tone of voice slightly exasperated. It took Alexia aback, because up until now, she hadn’t heard Vicky talk back in such a way, and it stifled her for a moment. ‘A lot going on? What is that supposed to mean?’ Alexia thought to herself. Her contemplation was written all over her face, but Vicky merely got a glimpse before she stood up and grabbed her bags, walking away from Alexia with a disbelieving shake of her head, leaving her captain to mull her words over and decipher the meaning behind them.

When she was far enough away from Alexia, she sat back down on the grass with a huff, and the reality of what she just did dawned on her. It was indirect, but still, the notion was there, and she felt a prominent sense of guilt settle in her abdomen. Shit. How was she going to explain that to you, if it came to that?

Meanwhile, Alexia stood by the bench like a statue, in a state of deep contemplation as she tried to work out what exactly Vicky meant. Her words replayed in her mind over and over again, and her eyebrows furrowed as she thought long and hard about it. ‘She has a lot going on, and it would put you to shame if you knew about it’… What could you possibly have been going through that elicited such a defensive response from Vicky, who was hardly one to react in such a way? She thought about trying to get more out of Vicky and do a bit of probing, but she was rooted to the spot.

She glanced over at Vicky, subconsciously gnawing at the inside of her cheek, before she finally took a step towards her. She hesitated for a second, but then she continued, deciding that it was irreversible, now that she had taken the first step. Her expression was softer now, and her forehead was devoid of the irritated wrinkles it previously donned, as she approached the younger girl.

“Vicky,” Alexia spoke, taking purposeful strides towards Vicky. She sank down to the grass beside her, lazily extending her legs outwards and leaning back on her forearms. Vicky looked up, and her face was ever so slightly riddled with worry, but she didn’t protest against Alexia sitting down with her. “What did you mean about (Y/N)? What does she have going on?” the older woman asked, curiosity seeping into her words.

Vicky sighed. She knew this conversation was inevitable, and there was no way she could backtrack on her words, so she just steeled herself for the explanation she had to offer; Alexia was the captain after all, and like Vicky had tried telling you, maybe she could help you out, if she just knew what was happening. Alexia picked up on her expression of resignation, but she stayed silent and waited for Vicky to speak. Something about the tense air that lingered between them told Alexia that this conversation wasn’t a simple one to be having.

“Get comfortable,” Vicky finally responded, tying the laces of her right boot, “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I am, because…”

“I hope you’ll help her, Alexia. She needs your help.”

[cinematicreid]

for a moment

the one where Spencer reminds reader to slow down.

wc 651

warnings + the rundown: bau!reader, fluff, soft!spencer, i love him, literally can’t live without him, what a sweetheart, mentions of reader getting shot, but nothing explicit, feelings!, yikes!

a/n: can’t beat short and sweet and cutesy. feedback always welcome, come say hi to me i think you’re all so cool!

~

Spencer’s eyes may as well have laser beams shooting out of them with the way his gaze is glued to you. You attempt to focus on the task at hand, securing the Kevlar vest to the upper half of your body and completely ignoring him. But this has been happening for almost two months, ever since your incident, and you can’t take it anymore.

“Give it a rest, Spencer, you’re driving me crazy.”

“I know! I’m sorry, just — will you please let me —”

You let out a huff of exasperation, giving up.

“For fuck’s sake,” you mumble, and then more loudly, “Fine.”

Your hands fall to your sides in surrender as he quickly moves toward you and reaches for the vest’s fasteners.

A child. He’s making you feel like a child.

You hear Morgan chuckle from the other end of the police precinct’s tiny conference room, as if he can read your thoughts. You’re about to shoot him a death glare when you’re interrupted by Spencer sharply tugging a strap too tight.

“Reid,” you hiss.

“Don’t start,” he interjects over your complaint.

The incident in question was, of course, an accident. It wasn’t like you had intentionally put your vest on in a rush. There just hadn’t been enough time (which was not a proper excuse, as Hotch had gently but firmly reminded you later), and the loosened straps meant the vest moved around more than it should have when you were running, and the UnSub’s bullet found your side all too easy to graze.

It was stupid, really, but it was one time and nearly two months ago.

None of this was enough to ease the seemingly permanent furrow in Spencer’s brow.

It started as small, albeit irritating, reminders to double-check your vest, which you initially laughed off. But it had now escalated to taking the task entirely off your hands.

Spencer finishes with a final tug.

“Happy?” you ask him flatly. He lifts his concentrated gaze to meet your annoyed one.

“I could do without the sass. But yes,” he says, his shoulders visibly lighter and more content.

“It’s like watching a dad get his daughter ready for Take Your Kid To Work Day,” Morgan teases, rushing out of the room before you can hit him with the closest object at your disposal and leaving just you and Spencer. He rolls his eyes at the poor joke and gently takes said object from your hand.

“I don’t think a pen is going to do much damage,” he says. He loosens a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

You regard him for a few seconds, a small part of you melting at the undeniable softness in his eyes, which are so vast and deep you could stay there forever.

You get it.

It’s the thing about this job. How it forces an eternity to become temporary. How, in 20 minutes, you’ll be hunting down the bad guy but for now, what can feel like forever if you wanted, you’re only here with Spencer.

It’s all fleeting. Your little “incident” had only served as a reminder of that.

And so, Spencer had to take care of you in this way. You both knew that.

“You don’t need to be,” you offer him. He avoids your gaze and you nudge his shoulder with your hand. “Spencer, I’m here, yeah?” That earns you a gentle nudge back and the hint of a smile.

“I know. I’m here, too.”

And here is everywhere and nowhere and, perhaps most importantly, together. A beat, or maybe a forever passes before he speaks again.

“If this were Take Your Kid To Work Day I’d be the worst father in the world.”

Just like that, he’s back and you’re back with him.

Fleeting.

“I am so getting him back for that,” you mumble, making your way to the door. Spencer’s laugh as he follows behind you is all you can hear.

[withleeknow]

my moon and stars.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, (tooth-rotting) fluff; even tho it's unedited this is still one of my favorite things that i've written on this blog so far !!! gaaaaaaah word count: 1.1k listen to 🎧: lover - taylor swift

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation › masterlist › ko-fi

nobody thought jeongin would be the next one to get married, but alas, here you are, at the reception of your friend's wedding, nursing a glass of champagne.

"come on," minho says, snatching the glass away from you and finishing the rest of it in one gulp, before he takes you by the hand and tugs you forward. "let’s go dance."

you can't even be annoyed that he basically just stole your drink. instead, you just laugh, and let the love of your life drag you to the dance floor.

he guides you to move in a slow rhythm, matching the tempo of the song that's playing in the background. it's a song that you would usually think is overrated and has been played to hell and back, but in the moment, drunk on the cozy atmosphere, you think it's nice. you briefly wonder what song you would choose for your first dance at your own wedding.

it's just a fleeting thought. you've been having those all day.

jeongin's wedding was beautiful. everything was done to perfection, and you have no doubt that most of it was overseen by his girlfriend.

nope, correction: she's his wife now.

nevertheless, you've been imagining yourself and minho in a similar setting. you in a stunning white dress. him, dashing in a classy suit. the two of you exchanging vows with teary eyes in front of your friends and families. the cats as ring bearers. sealing forever with a deep kiss and fond smiles.

as you continue to sway along to the music, you wrap your arms around minho's neck and pull him closer. there's something in the way that he's been treating you all day that makes you melt even more than it usually does. he's been more touchy; there's not a single moment where his hands aren't on your body in any way, whether it be a hand on your knee, on the small of your back, or an arm around your waist. minho isn't often overt with his affection like that; he tends to dote on you in the privacy of your own loving bubble, away from anyone and everyone.

then, there's the softness that he's looking at you with in his chocolate brown eyes. it's warm, saccharine; it makes you feel like you two are the only people left in the room even though this is supposed to be someone else's big day.

"i love you," he says suddenly, brushing his nose against yours before leaning in just a tad closer to your lips, "you mean the world to me."

it's rare for minho to say things like this out of the blue. he's a man of few words after all.

he's full of surprises today, it seems.

"what's the occasion?" you ask with a coy smile.

"no occasion. just wanted to tell you that."

you close the distance, pressing your lips against his as his arms wrap themselves tighter around your body. "i love you too," you smile against him.

he mirrors your smile, and kisses you deeper. he's so sweet today, so openly loving with you even as your friends around you watch on.

you have an inkling that maybe, just maybe, he's been thinking the same things as you.

you stay in each other's arms until the song ends, then another one, then a couple more, just basking in soothing glow of love that's covering the air tonight. minutes pass with kisses shared, until it's finally time for the bouquet toss.

minho reluctantly lets you leave his side for the first time since the morning. his eyes follow you as you move to the front of the room, standing a comfortable distance away from the bride. you've never really been interested in this kind of things anyway; you're just doing it for the sake of participation.

everyone else is engrossed in what's about to happen, their eyes fixed on the bride and the peonies in her hands, but minho is only focused on you. you, who's trying to blend in with the group of people and undoubtedly praying that the bouquet doesn't make its way into your hands. you, whom he thinks looks so beautiful, all dolled up for the special occasion. you, who made his heart stutter when you walked into the room in your pretty dress and flashed him a bashful smile. (but who is he kidding? you make his heart want to give out and run away every single morning when he wakes up and sees you peacefully sleeping in his arms.)

just you. always only you.

you, you, you.

you don't hang in the moon in the sky. you are the moon, you are the stars.

minho watches you watch the bride as she counts down from 3, then flings the bouquet up in the air while everyone waits with bated breath. it's a mess of flailing arms from what he can tell, a couple of the bridesmaids practically fighting each other to try and grab the damn thing.

you try to make yourself smaller, to duck lower so that the others could have the honor instead of you. but when the flowers come hurling toward you, you have no choice but to raise your hands and catch it, lest you want to be lobbed in the face with a bouquet of peonies.

some of the people around you sigh frustratedly, but most of the guys around minho suddenly burst into loud cheers. they clap him on the back and shake him by the shoulders but still, he remains transfixed on you and your adorable wide-eyed expression. your parted lips and doe eyes blinking fast as a rosy flush creeps up your skin.

your eyes find him in an instant, and you both just stare at each other for a moment. he reckons that you're trying to gauge his reaction, because the room is now filled with excited squeals of congratulations and half-hearted jokes of how you and minho are going to be the next ones to get hitched.

you look uncertain, still frozen in place with your hands clutching the peonies.

but then he just smiles, and it makes you smile too, your body immediately relaxing as you give him a wave using the bouquet, your shoulders slumping slightly when you release a sigh.

to minho, it doesn't matter whether you caught the flowers or not; neither of you believes in that kind of stuff anyway. it doesn't matter because he's always known that he was going to marry you, that there's no one else he would rather spend the rest of his life with.

it doesn't matter because unbeknownst to you, he's already got a velvet box hidden somewhere in your shared home, with a gorgeous diamond ring inside just waiting for the day it can be put on your finger.

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos @mjnhoz @caitlyn98s @piercidh34rts  @stayceebs97

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 08.01.2024]

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

Sick as a Dog

Where Harry is sick and y/n just wants to help him.

Word count: 3,833

Content warning: cursing, mentions of being sick (no throwing up).

I wake up to the soft warmth of sunlight streaming through the curtains, casting a golden glow on the room. The familiar scent of him—clean, woodsy, with just a hint of his cologne—fills the air. For the first time in what feels like ages, Harry’s here. Really here. Not a FaceTime call, not a text, not a fleeting thought as I drift off to sleep alone. His arm is draped lazily over my waist, his chest rising and falling steadily next to me.

I shift slightly, careful not to wake him, but the movement stirs him anyway. His eyes flutter open, green and warm like spring after a long winter. A soft, sleepy smile spreads across his lips as he tightens his hold on me, pulling me closer.

“Morning, love,” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep and that raspy undertone I adore.

“Morning,” I reply, tracing lazy circles on his forearm.

For a while, neither of us says much. Words feel unnecessary. He presses a kiss to the top of my head, then my temple, and finally my lips, slow and unhurried. His stubble grazes my skin, a reminder of how real this is.

Eventually, the world outside our cocoon of blankets starts to intrude. My mental checklist of errands creeps in, and I know his does too. But for now, we linger, soaking in the quiet intimacy of the morning.

“You know,” he says, breaking the silence, “I could stay like this forever.”

I laugh softly. “You say that, but we both know the list waiting for us today.”

He groans in mock protest, burying his face in my neck. “I just got home. Can’t we just…not?”

I want to agree. I want to cancel the errands, turn off the world, and spend the day exactly like this. But life has other plans. I kiss him one last time before sitting up, dragging him reluctantly along with me.

“Alright, Mr. Styles,” I tease, “up and at ’em. Groceries won’t buy themselves.”

With a dramatic sigh, he stretches and finally rises, his hair a tousled mess that somehow still suits him perfectly. The day awaits, but in this moment, everything feels right. He’s home, and that’s all that matters.

Harry’s standing at the dresser, pulling on a simple white graphic tee that hugs his chest just right. He pairs it with light-wash jeans and his trusty white Vans, and I can’t help but stare. His hair is still a little messy from sleep, and there’s this ease about him that makes him look so effortlessly… Harry.

He notices, of course. He always notices. Turning to catch me mid-stare, he smirks, tilting his head slightly.

“Take a picture, Y/N. It’ll last longer,” he teases, his voice dripping with that cheeky charm.

I roll my eyes, trying to fight the grin tugging at my lips. “Maybe I will,” I shoot back, grabbing my phone and pretending to snap a photo.

“You’re ridiculous,” he chuckles, stepping closer to press a quick kiss to my forehead before grabbing his wallet and keys.

I pull on my own pair of jeans, a plain tee, and sneakers. Comfort over style today—though Harry always insists I look good no matter what. As we make our way to the kitchen, he hums softly under his breath, a tune I don’t recognize but know I’ll ask him about later.

Breakfast is simple: toast, eggs, and coffee. Harry insists on making the coffee, declaring himself the “king of the French press.” I don’t argue; he really does make it better than I do.

As we finish up, he grabs his sunglasses and tosses me a lopsided grin. “Ready, love?”

We head out to his car—a sleek black Range Rover that feels way too fancy for a trip to the market, but that’s Harry. As he starts the engine, he glances at me with a playful glint in his eye.

“Do you remember the last time we went to the market?” he asks as we pull onto the London streets.

I laugh, shaking my head. “Not specifically, but I’m sure you’re about to remind me.”

He grins, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “You tried to convince me we needed three different types of cheese for one dish.”

“Because we did,” I argue, crossing my arms.

“And we forgot the bread,” he counters, his laugh filling the car.

The easy banter flows between us as the city passes by outside. It’s moments like these—simple, mundane, yet filled with so much warmth—that make me realize just how much I’ve missed him while he’s been away. He reaches over to squeeze my hand, and for a moment, everything else fades away.

The market is alive with the hum of people, the scent of fresh produce, and the clatter of carts. As soon as we step inside, Harry grabs a cart and immediately veers toward the snacks aisle.

“We don’t need that,” I laugh as he tosses a jumbo bag of crisps into the cart.

“Don’t we?” he counters, feigning offense. “I’ve been deprived of proper snacks for months, love. Let me live a little.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help grinning as he starts piling in more things—chocolates, biscuits, and a random jar of pickles. “Harry,” I warn, trying to keep a straight face.

“What?” he says innocently. “Pickles are essential. You can’t deny it.”

We wander through the market, switching off who pushes the cart while the other roams the shelves. He sneaks in a box of cereal I’m pretty sure we already have at home, and I add a bottle of wine, pretending I didn’t see the outrageous snack haul he’s created.

As we pass the fresh pasta section, he stops, holding up a package of tagliatelle. “What do you think? Pasta for dinner?”

“Sounds perfect,” I say, reaching for a jar of marinara sauce. “What should we do for a side? Garlic bread?”

He nods enthusiastically. “And maybe a little salad. Gotta stay balanced,” he jokes, throwing in a bag of pre-washed greens with exaggerated flair.

By the time we’re at checkout, our cart is an eclectic mix of essentials, indulgences, and things we absolutely don’t need but couldn’t resist. As he loads the bags into the back of the car, he turns to me, a sly smile tugging at his lips.

“What do you think about a movie night tonight?” he asks casually, though there’s a twinkle in his eye that tells me he’s up to something.

“I’d love that,” I reply. “I’d love to do anything with you.”

His grin widens, and he leans in just slightly. “Anything, huh?” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a suggestive tone.

I shove him playfully, trying to fight the blush creeping up my neck. “Don’t start.”

He laughs, the sound warm and infectious. “What? I’m just saying we could… expand the agenda.”

“Let’s focus on dinner first,” I quip, climbing into the passenger seat.

As he starts the car, he shoots me one last cheeky glance. “Dinner and a movie, it is. For now.”

As we drive back home, the city whizzes by outside the windows, but my attention is completely fixed on Harry. His hand rests casually on the steering wheel, the other drumming lightly to the rhythm of the music playing softly on the radio. The late afternoon sunlight filters through the windshield, casting a soft glow over his face.

I take in the details—the way his tattoos peek out from beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his tee, the way his hair curls just slightly at the ends, looking perfectly imperfect. It’s all so him. Effortless, magnetic, entirely Harry.

My chest tightens with a wave of emotion I can’t suppress. For months, I’ve been waiting for this—to have him home, to watch him do something as simple as drive, to just be with him.

“I love you,” I say softly, the words spilling out before I even realize it.

He glances over at me, his green eyes warm and a little surprised, like he wasn’t expecting it but loves hearing it all the same. “I love you too, Y/N,” he says, his voice gentle but steady, like it’s the easiest truth in the world.

I shake my head, smiling as I try to find the right words. “No, I mean… I really love you. I missed you so much, Harry. I missed this. Us. You.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just reaches over to place his hand on mine, squeezing it gently as his thumb brushes over my knuckles.

“I missed you too, love,” he says quietly. “More than I can even put into words.”

The car falls into a comfortable silence, but it’s filled with so much more than quiet. It’s filled with the weight of everything I feel for him, everything I’ve held onto while he’s been away.

As I look over at him again, I realize just how deeply he’s woven into every part of me. The sound of his laugh, the warmth of his touch, the way he knows exactly what to say to make me feel like the only person in the world—it’s all part of why I love him.

As we pull into the driveway, Harry shifts the car into park and turns to me with a smirk. “Alright, love, get those muscles ready. It’s time to show me what you’re made of.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Excuse me? I’m a delicate flower. I shouldn’t have to carry groceries,” I tease, fluttering my lashes dramatically.

He rolls his eyes, playing along. “Right, how could I forget? Well, I guess I’ll just do it all myself then,” he says, feigning exasperation as he climbs out of the car.

“Good plan,” I call after him, though I follow and grab a couple of bags because I’m not that cruel.

Between the two of us, we manage to carry everything inside, though Harry insists on making a show of flexing his arms every time he brings in another load.

“Impressed yet?” he asks, winking as he sets the last bag on the counter.

“Totally,” I say, deadpan. “Your talent for grocery-hauling is unmatched.”

He grins, leaning against the counter while I start unpacking. As I’m putting things away, I notice him setting a few things aside on the island—the pasta, marinara, garlic, and salad mix.

“Getting a head start on dinner, are you?” I ask, glancing at him over my shoulder.

“Just being efficient,” he replies, pulling out a cutting board and inspecting it like he’s about to perform surgery. “Also, you know I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving,” I tease, but my words are muffled as I reach into a bag and pull out a pack of cookies.

Harry spots them instantly, his face lighting up. “You’re a genius,” he says, grabbing the pack from me and tearing it open.

“Hey! I was going to do that,” I protest, but he’s already popped a cookie into his mouth, grinning as he chews.

“Too slow, love,” he says, holding the pack out to me.

I take one and lean against the counter next to him, snacking while we chat about nothing and everything. The kitchen fills with the sound of our laughter, the clinking of jars and cans as I finish putting the groceries away, and Harry’s occasional commentary about how he’s “the true mastermind behind dinner.”

Harry hums softly to himself as he moves around the kitchen, a wooden spoon in hand as he stirs the pot of simmering sauce. It’s a sight I’ve missed—his ease, his focus, and the way he somehow makes cooking look like an art form.

I sit on one of the barstools, resting my chin in my hand as I watch him. He glances over his shoulder and smirks. “You’re staring again.”

“Can you blame me?” I reply, grinning.

He shakes his head, chuckling as he dips the spoon into the sauce. “Alright, taste test,” he says, walking over to me with the spoon held out.

I lean forward and take a small sip, the tangy warmth of the marinara spreading across my tongue. “Mmm,” I hum, nodding in approval. “That’s really good.”

Harry grins proudly, but his expression turns playful as he tilts his head. “Really good, huh? Just ‘good’? Not ‘amazing’ or ‘out of this world’?”

I roll my eyes and lean in, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “Amazing,” I say, teasingly.

He whines dramatically, turning to face me fully. “That’s all I get? A cheek kiss after slaving away over a hot stove?”

Laughing, I reach up and pull him down for a proper kiss, his lips soft and warm against mine. He hums in satisfaction, pulling back just enough to look at me, his green eyes sparkling.

“Much better,” he says, his voice low and content. Then, with a grin, he gestures toward the living room. “Now go on, find us something good for movie night. I’ll finish up here.”

I linger for a moment, watching him as he turns back to the stove, stirring the sauce with one hand and tossing pasta into a pot with the other. He looks so at home, so effortlessly himself, and I feel a wave of love wash over me.

“Anything in particular you’re in the mood for?” I ask, heading toward the couch.

“Something good,” he calls back. “No pressure, though.”

I laugh, flopping onto the couch and scrolling through the streaming options, already knowing whatever I pick, he’ll make it perfect just by being there.

A few minutes later, Harry walks into the living room, balancing two bowls of pasta with garlic bread perched neatly on the side. His careful concentration makes me smile, and he lets out a dramatic sigh of relief as he sets the bowls on the coffee table.

“Dinner is served,” he announces with a grin, plopping down next to me and handing me my bowl.

“Thank you, chef,” I say, nudging his shoulder.

“Only the best for you, love,” he replies, leaning back into the cushions and taking a bite of his pasta.

We settle in, the familiar hum of a rom-com filling the room as we eat. Every so often, Harry sneaks a piece of my garlic bread, and I swat at him in mock protest, though I don’t really mind. It’s comfortable.

When the credits roll, Harry stretches with a groan, his head tilting back against the couch. “I hate to admit it,” he says, his voice laced with playful regret, “but I think I’m officially an old man.”

I laugh, resting my head on his shoulder. “What are you talking about? You’re a spring chicken.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “As much as I’d love to expand the evening and, you know, do naughty things, I’m absolutely knackered.”

I giggle, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “That’s fine, Harry. Go on, get some rest. I’ll clean up here.”

He gives me a grateful smile, standing up and stretching again. “You’re too good to me, you know that?”

“Don’t forget it,” I tease, watching him as he heads upstairs, his steps slow and tired.

Once he’s gone, I take my time cleaning up the kitchen and living room. I rinse out the bowls, wipe down the counters, and straighten up the cushions on the couch. It feels good to take care of the space we share, to know he’s upstairs waiting for me.

When I’m done, I slip into the shower, letting the warm water wash away the day. The quiet hum of the house wraps around me, and I feel an overwhelming sense of contentment.

After drying off and pulling on a cozy t-shirt, I head upstairs and crawl into bed next to Harry. He’s already half-asleep, his arm draped across my side as I settle in.

“Night, love,” he mumbles sleepily, his voice muffled but full of warmth.

“Goodnight, Harry,” I whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

The next morning, I wake up to the soft glow of early sunlight streaming through the curtains. I glance over at Harry, expecting to find his side of the bed empty like usual—he’s always the first one up. But this time, he’s still there, lying on his stomach with one arm draped over the pillow.

It’s rare to catch him sleeping in, but he looks peaceful, his face relaxed in the quiet morning light. Not wanting to disturb him, I carefully slip out of bed and head downstairs.

Once in the kitchen, I decide to make breakfast—something simple: scrambled eggs, toast, and some fruit. The rhythmic sounds of the whisk and the faint sizzle of butter in the pan fill the kitchen as I work.

I’m almost done cooking when I hear slow, shuffling footsteps behind me. Turning around, I see Harry leaning against the doorframe, his hair sticking up in every direction. His face looks pale, and there’s a groggy, pained expression in his eyes.

“Morning,” I say, but before I can say more, he groans softly, running a hand through his hair.

“I feel like absolute shit,” he mumbles, his voice hoarse and scratchy.

Concern washes over me as I set the spatula down and walk toward him. “What’s wrong?” I ask, scanning his face.

He rubs his temples, leaning heavily against the counter. “Head’s pounding, throat feels like it’s on fire, and I’m pretty sure I’ve got a fever,” he mutters, his tone laced with irritation at his own body. Then he waves his hand weakly at me. “Don’t come near me. I don’t want you to catch whatever this is.”

Ignoring his warning, I step closer, my brows knitting in worry. “Harry, I don’t care about that. Sit down,” I say firmly, guiding him to a chair at the kitchen table.

He doesn’t argue, letting out another groan as he sinks into the seat. His head drops into his hands, and I can tell he’s trying to push through it, but it’s clear he’s not feeling himself.

“I’ll get you some tea and medicine,” I say softly, already moving to put the kettle on.

He glances up at me, his green eyes heavy with exhaustion but still filled with affection. “You don’t have to fuss over me, love,” he says, his voice cracking slightly.

“Of course I do,” I reply, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You always take care of me. Now it’s my turn.”

He smiles faintly, leaning back in the chair as I set about getting him what he needs, determined to nurse him back to health.

I set a mug of tea in front of Harry, the steam curling up in delicate clouds. “Tea with honey,” I say softly, sliding the plate of scrambled eggs and toast next to it. I make sure to add two Tylenols, placing them neatly on the napkin.

He looks up at me, his face still pale but his expression grateful. “Thanks, love,” he murmurs, his voice raspy.

I sit across from him, watching as he takes a sip of tea and winces slightly. “It’s the post-tour crud,” he says with a small, tired chuckle. “Happens every time. My immune system’s just catching up after weeks of running on adrenaline.”

“Well, it’s catching up hard,” I reply, leaning my elbows on the table. “But it’s okay. I’ll take care of you.”

He shakes his head slowly, frowning. “I feel bad, Y/N. You shouldn’t have to deal with me like this. And I don’t want to get you sick.”

I reach out and cover his hand with mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Harry, I don’t care. You’ve taken care of me plenty of times when I was sick. Remember when I had that horrible flu last year? You didn’t leave my side.”

“That’s different,” he says, his lips tugging into a weak smile. “I’m supposed to take care of you.”

I laugh softly, brushing my thumb over his knuckles. “Well, now it’s my turn. You’re always looking out for me, Harry. Let me look out for you this time, alright?”

He doesn’t argue further, just looks at me with a mix of gratitude and affection, his eyes slightly glassy from the fever. “I don’t deserve you,” he mutters, shaking his head.

“Yes, you do,” I say firmly, standing to refill his tea. “Now eat, take your Tylenol, and let me fix you.”

Despite his groans of protest, I can see the small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

After breakfast, I set to work transforming the couch into a fortress of comfort. I grab every blanket I can find, piling them up alongside a collection of fluffy pillows, creating a cozy little nest. I pick a lighthearted show—something easy to watch, the kind Harry loves to have on in the background when he’s feeling off.

“Alright,” I say, standing back to admire my work. “Your throne awaits, Mr. Styles. Sit down, relax, and get comfy.”

He shuffles over from the kitchen, looking every bit the part of someone who’s feeling under the weather. As soon as he sinks into the pile of blankets, a sneeze erupts, followed by a series of coughs.

“Bless you,” I say, walking over to him. I lean down to press a kiss to his forehead, but he holds up a hand weakly, stopping me.

“Y/N,” he warns, his voice hoarse. “I’m sick. You shouldn’t—”

I ignore him, leaning in anyway to kiss his warm skin. “I really don’t care,” I say softly. “You’re stuck with me, germs and all.”

He shakes his head, clearly too tired to argue further, as I wrap my arms around him and pull him into a hug. His head rests against my shoulder, and I can feel the heat radiating from him. He’s definitely running a fever, but I don’t let go.

Once he settles, I sit on the couch and tug him gently toward me, guiding him to rest against my chest. He lets out a tired sigh, letting his body relax into mine as I drape a blanket over both of us.

I start running my fingers through his hair, smoothing it back from his forehead, and rub his back gently. “You’re burning up,” I whisper.

“I told you not to get close,” he mutters, though his voice is soft and grateful.

“Well, I told you I don’t care,” I reply, pressing my cheek to the top of his head.

He shifts slightly, snuggling closer, his hand resting lightly on my leg as the show plays quietly in the background. I keep stroking his hair and tracing light patterns on his back, hoping the touch soothes him.

For the first time since he woke up, he seems to relax fully, his breathing evening out as he watches the screen. Even though he’s warm to the touch and clearly miserable, I can feel the tension in his body melting away.

“I love you,” he mumbles sleepily.

“I love you too,” I whisper back, holding him a little tighter.