#looking less and less like him every time

[parfaitblogs]

hard times ❀ s. reid x reader

in which spencer reid doesn’t follow through one time, and you really hate that he has a psychology degree.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: hurt/comfort tags: daddy issues. shoutout to the girls with inconsistent fathers this ones for you. established relationship. readers mentioned wearing makeup, a dress and heels. rational bf!spencer reid fuck i would hate a profiler bf. word count: 1.8k a/n: not a trauma dump fic not a vent fic do not read into this fic at all don't even start to speculate on my life and where these emotions came from they're all fake made up not real make pretend. no photos no aesthetics just me, a tumblr account, and a dream for this baddie.

In all your months of dating Spencer Reid, he had never forgotten anything. Not a date, not a work event. Or, at least, he's never forgotten to call. Even when you had been so busy one week you could barely spare him more than a ten minute phone call a day, he remembered what was going on in your life enough to be there for you. 

A false blanket of security draped over your relationship, is what it is now. 

A blanket he seemingly had no trouble ripping off you a random Friday evening, throwing it in a fire and watching it — and your trust in him — burn into dust. 

Perhaps a tad dramatic for what was happening, but you were always one for theatrics when it came to your emotions. Usually, he welcomed it. He was (abashedly) similar, after all.

Not that he was even here to welcome it. 

You'd looked pretty. You'd felt pretty. Past tense, for your shoes were strewn somewhere across the floor after throwing them in frustration, and your makeup was ruined after unwelcome tears had streamed down your face an hour ago. You had been ready for a dinner date you and Spencer had scheduled in only three days ago — penciled in, for you never knew what his work schedule was going to end up being.

You're not sure how long you sat in that one spot on the couch, mind going through every single possible scenario that could've happened between the text he sent you that morning saying he was excited to go out tonight, and the lack of his appearance this evening. 

The logical conclusion is that he got too busy, and he forgot. But Spencer Reid's whole thing is that he doesn't forget. Oftentimes he considers it a curse. You never really agreed with him. Until now, it seemed. 

The less than logical, emotionally driven conclusion, is that he actively chose to stay at work to avoid coming home because he didn't want to see you. Or he didn't actually want to go to dinner, and he didn't know how to tell you. Or his team offered to go out and he'd rather hang out with them instead of you. 

Really, the reasons are endless, and any rational conclusion was lost on you. Mind swallowing you whole as you continued to stare off into space, visibly shaking and head beginning to pound from the crying.

A glance at the clock told you it was near midnight by the time you heard the door handle rattle and twist open, tired, puffy eyes blinking to adjust to the light filtering in from the apartment hallway. 

"Hey. Why're you out here? It's late. I thought you'd already be in bed," Spencer rambles absentmindedly, voice so disconnected from you it only made the ache in your chest worse. As he flicks the light on and assesses the state of the apartment, he asks, "What're your shoes doing on the floor?"

You blink a few times. Was he pretending to be dumb on purpose? 

You stand on cramped legs, stretching them for the first time since you'd sat unknowingly on the couch nearly six hours ago, dress bunching around your waist. You didn't bother to fix it. 

Like a switch, he clicks, his bag sliding off his shoulder and falling to the floor with a thud, realisation settling into his features. 

"Our date. Oh, God, I'm so sorry, angel."

"Yeah. I'm sure," you croak, voice hoarse as you pick up your shoes pathetically in front of him, the heels clacking together as you walk towards your bedroom door. 

He calls your name, and after you make no effort to return to him, you hear his feet against the wooden flooring, carrying himself to you.

You're in the ensuite, beginning to take makeup off you probably should've removed four hours ago. It was stupid hope you held on to, anyways. 

"You're upset. I know. It was awful of me to forget our date," he stands in the doorway, staring at you through the mirror. Even indirectly, you can't make eye contact with him. 

"You forgot," you repeat back to him, almost dumbfounded. "You forgot?"

"Forgot isn't... the best word," his fingers dig into his eyes for a split second, and you watch him think. "I got caught up at work. We had a case, then we didn't have a case, then we did, so we started looking into it, and time just... escaped. From all of us."

"Time just escaped."

Your parroting wasn't doing much to further the conversation, and you watch as Spencer averts his gaze to the floor to take a deep breath, before his eyes land back on you again.

"It isn't the best reason, I know. But it's the truth," he says. 

"Uh-huh," you mumble, discarding your cotton pads stained with your makeup into the trash. 

"Can you stop being evasive?" he catches your wrist before you can return to the sink. "Talk to me."

"What do you want me to say?" you ask, almost earnestly. "It's okay that you forgot, Spencer. I won't take it personally at all, and things between us are just dandy!"

"I want to know what you're actually feeling," he replies, voice flat with his irritation, before he forces himself to soften it. "I can't reassure you if all I know is that you're angry."

"Hurt. Forgotten. Disregarded. Disliked. Irritated we're doing this in our fucking bathroom."

At that, he leads you into the bedroom, turning the ensuite light off. "Forgotten and disregarded are synonyms, so I'm assuming that's what you feel the most."

"You're the psyche expert," you mumble, bitterly.

"I'm not trying to be your psyche expert," he quips, and your heart sinks. "Why're you feeling forgotten?"

You stare at him, dumbfounded, for a beat. "Because my boyfriend quite literally forgot about me?"

"I didn't forget about you—"

"—No, you're right. You just forgot about the date that you literally fucking texted me about this morning!" you snap, voice rising in a way that makes you cringe. Yet, you can't stop it. "You! Spencer Reid! Forgot!"

"Don't yell at me, please," he takes a step towards you; you take a step back. 

"Why did you forget? Did you choose to? Are you pretending that you forgot about it all to save your ass?"

"No," he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I didn't. I told you what happened. You're choosing not to believe me."

"How am I meant to believe that? It's a shit excuse—"

"—It's the truth—"

"—God, you can lie, Spencer! Men lie!" 

He goes silent, as do you. You become trapped in an uncomfortably intense staring contest with him, as you watch his brain slowly tick over and decipher what you were saying, and come up with a response. Yours, however, splits open with your own self hatred. Disdain for what you had just said to him.

"Okay," he exhales, very slowly. "I'm going to tell you what I think, and you can tell me how right I am."

"You're going to profile me?"

He pauses. "I'm sure it'll come off that way. I'm not trying to," when you don't protest again, he continues. "I think you're less upset about the fact that I didn't come home for a date, and more about the fact that I didn't message you about it. I've not shown up for dates before. I've always contacted you prior to let you know. And I've promised I would always contact you if something came up that interfered with our plans. Ultimately, I said I would do something, and I didn't follow through. That is on me, and I'm sorry. What isn't on me, is how you're reacting. Which is childish, honey. You're acting like a petulant child, and I don't mean that as an insult, because I'm almost certain I know why."

Your silence is his cue to continue, but he pauses to collect his thoughts. Your lower lip is beginning to wobble, and he feels awful.

"You know how our childhoods affect us," he says, and the second what he's about to say to you clicks in your brain, your teeth clamp over your lip, and your eyes drop to the ground. "Reactions from parents to things we do, things others do, things they do, all builds up in our subconscious. Having a parent who didn't show up for you time and time again, built up in your subconscious. So yes, you're reacting to me not following through with something childishly. I will not take that back. But that reaction is not your fault. It's in response to a trigger, and the person in control of that emotional response is not adult you. It's the little girl who got let down by her father. I won't ever hold that against you."

Your sniffle breaks the deafening silence that follows his tangent. You allow him to envelop you into a hug, at which you break down into a fit of sobs akin to the ones from earlier. 

"I hate you," you stutter out in between sobs, voice muffled by his chest. 

"You can't say that while hugging me," he counters. It was true, as your hands had wrapped around his waist just seconds ago.

"I hate you," you repeat, punctuating your words with a poke to his back. 

"I love you," he replies, instead. His fingers thread through your hair as he cradles your head with his other hand. "I'm sorry I didn't contact you about being busy."

You swallow the lodged sob in your throat with a hiccup. "I'm sorry I acted like a petulant child. And I'm sorry that my dad sucks."

"I'm sorry your dad sucks too," you feel him kiss the top of your head. "Have you eaten?"

"Mm-mm," you shake your head, and he pulls back, hands slipping down to your cheeks, catching the tears. 

"Do you want to eat?"

"The restaurant we were going to is closed," you mumble.

"Maybe. But the Thai place isn't."

"I'm pretty sure it is," you counter, and his eyebrows furrow. "It's past midnight now."

His face falls, he waits a beat, before his hand drops to your own, and he's tugging you towards the door of the bedroom. "Okay. Fine. Well, the Spencer Reid Kitchen is never closed."

"I asked for pasta last night and you said the kitchen was closed."

"You asked at three in the morning," he deadpans, as you make yourself comfortable on one of the stools. 

"The Spencer Reid Kitchen is never closed," you mock his voice from earlier.

"The Spencer Reid Kitchen rules are made by Spencer Reid."

"The rules should be lenient of Spencer Reid's girlfriend."

"Do you want pasta or not?"

"Yes," you quickly say with a firm nod. "Sorry."

He spends the first hour of that Saturday making you pasta; and making up the missed date.

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[i-like-loserz]

favorite spots ⋆.˚

synopsis: i just want to talk about the most sensitive parts of their bodies...

featuring: hongjoong, san, and mingi

word count: 1.7k

warnings: SMUT (18+), soft!boys, oral fixation, biting/sucking lips, pda, french kissing, finger sucking, blue-balling (lol), groping, nipple play (m), hickies, for san -- reader has hair that fingers can grip into, mild choking, dry humping, premature orgasms, they're sensitive and aren't afraid to show it

masterlist

✧ HONGJOONG - MOUTH/LIPS ✧

Hongjoong isn't a big pda guy.

The most he does is rest his hand on your waist, hold your hand, or gently fix your hair. Words of affection or acts of service are big in your relationship, but kissing is absolutely a no-go.

Not in public, at least.

In the beginning of your relationship cute pecks on the lips were allowed, though Hongjoong would start acting more antsy and possessive after (you didn't notice as much as his friends would). Short kisses lasting less than a second he could handle -- or that's what he'd convince himself.

Beneath the surface, however, he was holding himself back. He was exerting a concerning amount of self-control over himself every time he tasted your sweet lips, willing himself to hold back from instantly melting against you.

His hands would squeeze into a fist as he'd watch you with dark eyes, going back to whatever you were doing, acting so unaffected -- as if you didn't leave him wanting for the rest of the day.

At the time, you could tell that he enjoyed the affection and attention (a bit too much), and you were more than happy to dish it out. But then one day, he started to shy away from your kisses, turning strategically so you'd kiss his cheek instead of his lips.

At first you thought it was because he wanted to keep your relationship private. He's never been the type of guy to flaunt you like an accessory, so it made sense why he acts so low-key about your love life when in public.

But then you started noticing how he'd act after you'd give him more than a peck.

---

A make-out between the two of you usually leads to sex.

Okay, scratch that, it always leads to sex.

It's like he can't help himself.

As soon as your tongue traces the seam of his lips, he's roughly pulling you against him. He overly indulges in tasting you, laving his tongue against yours as he moans wantonly into your mouth.

You thought he was just enthusiastic about sex, but it was something else that had him shivering against you.

So you began subtly experimenting with your boyfriend:

Tracing his lips with the soft pad of your finger as you feed him a juicy chocolate-covered strawberry (he'd look up at you with those adoring brown eyes as he obediently slurps up the sweet juices from your skin)

Playfully nibbling on his bottom lip to draw out a delicious growl from him (he couldn't hold himself back from grinding his hips against yours like a dog in heat, overwhelmed by the pleasurable pain)

Forcing him to suck on your fingers as you ride him roughly (you could feel the vibration of his broken groans as you pressed down on his silky tongue)

It became increasingly clear that Hongjoong's lips were a bit more sensitive than the average person. The real test was a kiss in public.

It was right after one of his concerts. You were so proud of your boyfriend that when he finally got off stage, you jumped in his arms and pressed your lips to his, eager to give him a deep kiss.

His hands, wrapped around your waist, tighten their hold on you as soon as your lips met his, pressing your body to be flush with his.

Barely a few seconds into the kiss, you feel it, pressing so eagerly against your stomach.

He's hard already, throbbing for attention under his tight pants as his slick tongue meets yours in desperation. His adrenaline from performing may be influencing his sudden boldness, but it's the kiss that was making him so hot and bothered.

"Mmph~" You try to break the kiss, worried that you were receiving stares from others, but he won't let you.

"Not yet, baby" He whispers hotly against your mouth.

"Hongjoong--!" You hit him playfully on the chest as you force him to separate from you. "Later." You grit out, handing him your jacket to use as a barrier between his obvious boner and everyone else.

Your face is heated with a blush as you turn to look around at the sly smirks that the others were sending you. It seems to sober him up a bit as he awkwardly coughs and starts a speech commending everyone for a great show.

So now you know -- Hongjoong's lips are for home.

✧ SAN - CHEST ✧

You were the one who sprouted a sudden obsession with his chest.

He's been working out a lot lately and he loves showing off, even if he doesn't admit it. He comes home in his tank tops or compression shirts with a shy smile, subtly flexing until you say something.

"Ooh, look at my boyfriend!" You tease, smiling as he saunters through the door. "He's so big and masculine~"

San laughs gently, shaking his head at your words (+ slightly fluffing his hair). He loves the way you dote on him, period -- small hands feeling over his biceps and showering him with compliments until he's pink in the face, begging with cute boba eyes for kisses and cuddles.

When you cuddle with him, naked -- or nearly there, your hands are like magnets to his chest. It's just so built and his skin is so hot and smooth, you can't help it!

San didn't get it at first, simply amused by the way you knead his skin like a cat. Sometimes you get particularly feral and start biting his biceps and shoulder -- another odd, yet endearing habit you've gathered recently.

He has started working out with longer-sleeved shirts because he's dotted with bite marks and bruises all over his upper body (with a few on his thighs and one on his cute butt).

You can't get enough of his body and he loves it.

But biting his chest -- that he wasn't expecting.

And he didn't expect that he'd like it so much either.

--

You were timid at first, placing soft kisses against his ribs and torso before gradually moving upwards.

He shivered as you brushed your lips against his right pec, his skin already buzzing from the lustful look you had in your eyes as you assessed his body.

You pressed gentle kisses over his skin, drinking in the soft sighs that fell from his pretty lips.

He gasped quietly when you gently licked over his nipple, flicking your soft tongue over and around his sensitive bud. Your eyes glanced up at him to see his reactions.

His pink lips were plump and shiny, bitten so deliciously from his attempts to ground himself, not used to this new sensation you were giving him. His flushed chest was rising rapidly under you, unwittingly pressing himself closer to your mouth.

He let out a whisper of a groan as you sucked his nipple in hot mouth, laving your slick tongue over him. A shock of pleasure traveled straight to his cock, making him achingly hard for release.

You squeaked as fingers were suddenly weaved into your hair, tugging slightly at the roots -- not pressing you closer or pulling you away.

You moved your mouth to the other pec, giving his other nipple attention. His hold on your hair became harsher the more you'd suck on him. And you loved it.

You moaned with him as you pulled him into your mouth, teeth just barely pressed against his skin.

"N-nghh~" He shivered, "Baby -- fuck -- p-please."

"What is it?" You swiped a finger over his hard nipple, finding the pleading look on his face to be unbearably adorable.

"I'm gonna bust if you keep going." He groaned softly as you pinched him teasingly, "Lemme get inside you."

"I don't know... I think I'd like to see you finish from this..."

✧ MINGI - NECK ✧

Mingi is a very sensitive boy, overall.

When your fingers intertwine with his, he can't help but squeeze your smaller hand in his, staring down your hands like he can barely believe that you're allowing him to touch you -- even as innocently as this.

When you press sweet kisses to his lips, teasingly and soft, he's instantly smiling against you from happy he is, pressing harder to deepen the kiss and eliminate the space between you.

When you drag your hand over his thighs, settling to your knees in front of him, he holds himself back from throwing you on the bed and fucking you into the mattress.

He's constantly overwhelmed with his affection for you.

Everything is intense for him.

But when your small fingers wrap around his neck, squeezing so gently as you pull him in for another kiss -- he almost makes a mess in his pants.

You sit above him, weight settling nicely over his lap, pinning him to the couch as you lick over his puffy lips.

Mingi whines against your lips as your grasp tightens around him, loving how his head grows hazy from the way you control his breathing.

His cock throbs under you as you start to pressing wet kisses on his chin, jaw...and his neck. Your slick tongue flicks over his heated skin, laving over fading marks that you've left over the past few days.

"Like it?" You whisper, staring up at his flushed face. He shudders as you drag the edge of your teeth against the crook of his neck, eagerly leaning into the feeling.

"You know it do..." He groans deeply as you suck his sensitive skin into your mouth. His large hands hold you by the waist, pressing your body down against his as he grind against your ass, making you feel how desperately hard he is for you.

You suck harder and his hips jolt against yours, stuttering deliciously as he mewls from the intensity.

"F-fuck -- wait --"

You don't. You go to that spot right under his ear, the one that makes him lose it, and suck another love bruise into his skin.

And it ruins him.

His back arches slightly as he throws his head back with a broken moan. You release his skin, licking your lips as you watch him shake under you, panting out heated breathes, coming down from his high.

"So sweet." You coo, comfortingly rubbing a hand on his chest as he starts to calm down.

"It's embarrassing..." Mingi whines. This isn't the first time this has happened.

You place a gentle kiss on the spot, pulling away when he starts to shudder again.

"I like it."

[entitled-fangirl]

Little doe.

Cregan Stark x betrothed Velaryon!reader

Summary: the reader is everything Cregan isn't- soft, kind, and delicate. He's determined to be gentle.

Warnings: age gap, soft dominance, talk of blood and consummating a marriage, bedding ceremony

A/n: This one is fluff and stuff. Perhaps a part two with a little smut is needed 🤭

Masterlist

......................................................

Cregan was only a tad worried.

The journey back to Winterfell was almost silent, and he was beginning to grow concerned for the quiet woman seated on her horse next to him.

The Velaryon Princess.

After winning the war, young Aegon III honored his mother’s promise to the Stark: help win the war, and he could have the hand of the Princess.

Rhaenyra’s only daughter.

When Daemon had found out about his wife’s bargaining while he was away in Harrenhall, he was furious. The child was not his and still he felt a responsibility for her. And handing off the only daughter to a dynasty like this one felt wrong.

But that was then. And this is now.

Cregan’s horse brushed against hers. “Nervous?”

Her head turned, her eyes moving over his face as if taking in every inch of him.

He now realized just how much she looked like her brothers.

She was the second eldest child, between Jace and Luke, and yet she was nothing like the two. Her parents (all four of them) had kept her from even the hint of conflict and battle, and it showed. She was more graceful and delicate, soft-spoken and kind, not an experienced warrior who could lead against the greens with an iron fist.

That’s what worried the Stark.

He was quite a bit her elder, her now 18 and him being 24. A lot of change happens in a mere six years- for Cregan, he had fought and won a whole war in less time than that of their age gap. And because of his well fought war, he was more harsh.

He feared he couldn’t be the gentle husband she needed.

She hummed, as if that was answer enough for him. The soft clomping of their horses was the only sound between them.

He sighed. “I believe I asked you a question. It’s rude to ignore someone, Princess.”

Her eyes widened. She hadn’t meant offense by her actions. In fact, she was rather mortified that he had taken offense to it in the first place. “Perhaps a bit nervous,” she admitted softly. 

Her voice was soft and calm. It was everything Cregan was not used to.

He hummed back, not even aware that he was doing the very thing he criticized her for. “Winterfell is only a day’s right out. There’s not a reason for nerves.”

“I’ve not… I’ve not been away from Dragonstone or King’s Landing before,” she mumbled.

Cregan was surprised by that. But being the sheltered princess, he assumed there was much she didn’t know about. “You are in for an adventure then, little dragon.”

…

Outside of the castle doors, Cregan dismounted his horse and stepped to the princess. Without question or concern, he grabbed her by her hips and lifted her from her horse. Her body slid down his as he lowered her, their faces too close for comfort for either of them. As if in slow motion, her lips parted but no sound came out. She didn't know what to say.

Cregan's large hand brushed hair away from her face and his eyes set on her like a starved wolf- observant, and yet, ready to strike anything at a moment's notice.

His head dipped down, his nose brushing her temple as he took in the proximity of the two. "We'll marry soon," he remarked quietly.

Another hum came from her but he let it slide. It sounded more like the squeak of a frightened mouse and he would be an arse for ridiculing her for it. In fact, it amused him. His lips tugged up into a grin as his hands tightened on her waist. "You're not a big, strong dragon," he mused. He bent down a little more to whisper in her ear. "You're just a frightened deer."

Her big doe eyes stared up into his in anticipation and worry for his next move. She may have been innocent, but she was not dumb. She knew what powerful men did to women when they so choose.

His lips quirked up. "Can I kiss you, little doe?" He asked as his lips brushed her cheek.

She tilted her head down in embarrassment but Cregan caught her chin. 

"So soft," he mused kindly. "I can be patient."

He released her and her lungs finally filled with air. She rested a hand against the horse in an attempt to collect herself. He offered his arm politely, though his eyes said that it was expected of her to take it.

Together, they walked into Cregan's home.

…

"Knew I'd find you eventually," his deep voice interrupted the silence.

She gasped. Her hand dropped from the shelf she was admiring the contents of. "Lord Stark. Forgive me."

He shrugged. "Don't know why I would need to. Just a curious doe, hm?"

She shook her head insistently. "I only meant-"

"-Please," he smiled as he took slow steps to her. "My home is yours now. Don't apologize for being in your home."

She smiled lightly. "Thank you."

He reached out and took the carefully bound book in her hand. "Stark history," he noted. He flipped it back and forth. "Are you truly interested?"

She nodded.

He smiled- a genuine one. "I'm glad." He held it out for her to take again. But when her hand reached out, he pulled it back teasingly. When her face fell and her hand hesitated, he finally handed it to her. "If you want more, I can manage a few of the-"

"-Please," she insisted. 

His eyes traced her face and he nodded. "Course. Consider it done." He closed the distance and dipped his head down, kissing her head without much thought.

As he walked off, her hand came up to the spot he had just kissed.

…

During the entire wedding feast, she was lightheaded. The ceremony had her numb. But what really sold it all was Cregan's heavy kiss on her lips at the end of it. He had cupped her cheeks and gave her a weighted kiss. Like he was hungry. Like he'd consume her.

She tried to eat even a little of what was in front of her, but she couldn't. The back of Cregan's hand brushed her hair over her shoulder. "Eat."

She looked over to him with a questioning look. "I am."

He smiled, completely amused. His hand found a comfortable place to the back of her neck. "Staring at everyone else does nothing."

"I have not-"

His voice rumbled as he muttered her name. "I placed more on your plate minutes ago and you've yet to even notice."

"W-" True to his word, there was additional food on her plate. Her eyes bore into his. "Forgive me. I d-"

His thumb rubbed into the skin at the back of her neck. "-'s alright. But eat."

She hummed then paused and forced herself to give him a verbal answer. "I will."

He smiled, beginning to massage the nape of her neck. For someone so harsh, his hands were gentle.

…

She let out a shriek when the men finally set her down in the chamber. Cregan was already in there, ushered by the women. They had managed to get him down to his tunic and trousers. His head snapped to her when he heard the noise. 

He lightly shoved away the hands of the woman untying the strings of his tunic. He stepped through the small crowd of men with light shoves until he was next to Y/n.

She had been stripped of all but her shift, her hair tousled from its neat updo earlier. There was a slight fear to her eyes that worried Cregan. 

He pushed off the men enough to give the two room. He circled her and pulled her to him. With his chest against her back, his head lowered to kiss her neck. The men hollared and cheered, all excited that the Stark had begun the bedding ceremony.

His kisses trailed up her neck until his lips brushed her ear. "Are you scared?" He asked so lowly that only those two could hear. "I'll call it off."

She felt frozen, her eyes stuck on the ground.

He nipped at her ear, his hand slowly brushing down her forearm until he joined their hands together. "Squeeze my hand and I'll do it."

She had to force herself to wiggle each finger until she was able to finally squeeze his hand.

"Go," he muttered immediately against her neck to the others. There was a hesitation in the room. Like perhaps they hadn't heard him right.

Cregan's head raised slowly, taking in the room. His gaze was truly wolfish.

The room emptied after that.

When the door closed, Cregan's hands dropped from her body. He moved away, going to the small table against the wall and pouring himself a drink. He looked back with a questioning look if she wanted one, to which she denied.

Downing the cup, he filled it again and took it with him to move back to her. She had yet to move.

He stepped in front of her. "Are you afraid?"

Y/n lifted her chin to finally look at him. There was a glazed look in her eyes, though there were no tears. She took a breath to brave saying what she wanted. "Does it matter?"

His head lulled to the side with a sigh and a smile. He looked down at the content of the cup and swirled it before offering it.

Her fingers wrapped around it and she soon downed the contents.

"I will never force myself on you," he promised. He ran a hand through his hair. "Us North, we can be… brude-ish. I forget you were made with gentle hands." He takes the cup back. "Need more?"

She shook her head. And when he moved away, she walked to the bed and sat down.

Cregan soon joined her. He sat next to her and the two stared at the wall. He twiddled his thumbs awkwardly until he figured out what he wanted to say. "You're the most delicate woman I've ever known. I'm not sure what to do with you. I want to hold you but… my hands have never cradled anything. You understand?"

She nodded, picking at a string on her shift.

His hand covered hers. His head dipped down. "Give me a better answer than that."

She looked to him. "I do understand."

He accepted that. "Thank you." He gently pinched her chin between his fingers. Cregan's eyes darkened at the proximity of the two. His eyes raked over her face carefully, taking in every part of her. "Most beautiful doe I've ever laid eyes on."

…

"C'mere," Cregan motioned.

Y/n moved to him. 

The two had grown more familiar with one another. The consummation of their marriage remained undone, though neither cared. Cregan, the night of the wedding, had ruffled his wife's hair and slashed his hand to spread blood across the sheets. The North was none the wiser.

It was especially believable with how close the two had grown- though that was entirely unplanned.

When she neared the desk, he stood and offered his chair. He leaned over it to talk over her shoulder. "Look here." 

On Cregan's large wooden desk lay a large fabric with stitching in a webbing pattern, names scattered everywhere across it.

It was a Stark family tree.

His hand reached over her and brushed the fabric. "Here I am. And my brother- before he died. Father there, and mother." His hand came back to his spot, brushing idly. "I'll have your name sewn in soon."

She leaned back in the chair. "I thought that was reserved until a woman has given you children?"

He shrugged without a care. "You are my wife."

She wanted to argue further but his fingers had wandered to her hair, twirling around the soft locks slowly. He looked rather entranced as he admired the woman. She cleared her throat. "According to the law, this marriage is not legally binding yet."

"Yet. Not yet." He leaned over the backrest. "But if I recall right, I banished the law from our bed. The priests and lawmakers. Because you asked me to."

She shivered, leaning forward to escape the overwhelming feeling of him consuming her every thought.

Cregan twirled one last curl in his hand before letting it fall. He stepped around the desk to face her. "I'll have you stitched into the fabric within the fortnight. I don't need a child to prove that you're mine." He stretched. "I'm off to petitions. Tell me you'll miss me."

Her lips pulled up into a happy smile. "I cannot lie and say that I won't."

He accepted that. "It's almost beginning to sound like you love me."

She flushed. 

Rheanyra had never loved Laenor. Not… not like that. Alicent had never loved Viserys. Helaena and Aegon… Never was a political marriage as filled with admiration as this. It frightened her.

She had heard tales of men bedding mistresses, and wives with other men than their husband. It was normal in a sense to do so. But now, in front of Cregan, she couldn't imagine her soul surviving if Cregan loved another. And to cheat on him would be to cheat on everything she loves. Everything she l-

She loved him.

It hit her harshly. 

Her silence had confused Cregan. "Didn't mean much by it, Doe. Only jesting."

If only he knew her heart already belonged to him and him alone.

.............................................

Taglist: @alyssa-dayne @twinkletwinklenotastar @kidd3ath @yujyujj @misswynters @cosmosnkaz @sithapprentice @kaniromi @lovemesomevesey @its-jackie-bb @thorins-queen-of-erebor @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn @callsignwidow @a1lexh-blog @alyssa-dayne @ethereal-athalia @ashovertheriver @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom @dozcan123 @wangjiangelangel @kamitargaryen @aegonswife @lv7867 @helpmedecideaname @cherryheairt @classicsimpforaaronwarner

[seumyo]

the price to pay when you’re a passenger princess.

You knew that there had to be a catch when Bakugou said he’d pick you up after your 12-hour shift at the hospital. But the thing was, you were too exhausted to dwell on the thought.

Or so you thought.

“You look dead on your feet,” he commented as he opened the door for you.

“Thanks for the compliment,” you replied dryly, tossing your bag into the backseat. “And they say chivalry is dead.”

The sleek, jet-black Porsche 911 Turbo S roared through the empty streets like a predator on the hunt, the low rumble of the engine vibrating through your very soul. Bakugou, of course, looked completely at ease, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel, the other on the gear shift, a calm expression seen on his face.

You’ve come to understand that your husband was relatively calm when not provoked.

“Katsuki,” you started as the car picked up speed, “you do realize this is still a hospital zone, right? Maybe don’t speed like you’re in a Fast and Furious movie.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You literally just did.”

“Relax,” he drawled, shifting gears with precision. “You know I’ve got this.”

You, on the other hand, were internally reciting every safety procedure you could think of in case of an unfortunate circumstance to come.

“Should I call my assistant to make an appointment in advance?”

Bakugou snorts. “What? Don’t trust me?”

“Oh, I trust you. It’s the laws of physics I don’t trust,” you muttered under your breath, earning a low chuckle from him.

The worst part? There was barely any traffic this late at night, which only encouraged Bakugou to push the limits of what his new Porsche could do. You glanced at the speedometer and instantly regretted it.

“Katsuki, I swear to God—”

“What? It’s not like I’m breaking the speed limit,” he said with mock innocence, though the mischievous glint in his eyes told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

The Prefectural Government’s Public Safety Commissions should really revoke his license one of these days. Or you might not live to see the next one.

“By less than two!”

You leaned your head back against the seat, staring at the darkened city skyline as it blurred past you. You were exhausted from your shift, your feet aching, bone tired, but all of that was being drowned out by the overwhelming sensation of your life flashing before your very eyes.

You double-checked your seatbelt again. It’s never too late to actually be safe.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he said without taking his eyes off the road.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to yell at me for being too hot and good at everything.”

“Wow? The audacity of my husband making such a bold claim,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes at him. “Have I fed your ego too much that you’re about to float away like a hot-air balloon?”

“Didn’t deny my claim.” He got you there.

You couldn’t argue with that.

“Just so you know,” you muttered, clutching the grab handle even tighter as he effortlessly weaved between two cars, “if I die tonight, I’m haunting you. And I’ll make sure to mess with you when you’re trying to sleep.”

“Good,” he said with a grin, finally glancing your way. “At least then you’d be with me all the time, huh?”

You stared at him, momentarily speechless. “Are you seriously flirting with me right now? While you’re driving like a maniac?”

“Who says I can’t multitask?”

Before you could fire back with another retort, the car slowed as you neared your apartment complex. Your death grip on the handle loosened ever so slightly, though your heart was still racing.

When Bakugou finally parked, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. You unbuckled your seatbelt, your hands still trembling a little.

“I hate you.”

“Love you too or whatever.”

“I—wait, you actually said it.”

“What? Can’t a man just say he loves his wife?”

“Good point, but you rarely say it!”

“I pick you up after your every shift and make sure you don’t die of starvation or poor health. That’s enough than saying it, no?”

“But you said it! So it’s different.”

“Not.”

“It is!”

“Not.”

“Is!”

Terrifying car rides aside, there was no one else you’d rather be stuck with. Even if your husband drove you absolutely crazy—both on and off the road. This must be the price of being Bakugou Katsuki’s passenger princess.

SEUMYO © 2025, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[kirammanswifey]

Would you be down to write some reverse comfort with the Arcane characters?

Basically just make them go through one of the worst days of their lives then have the reader take care of them (I mostly just wanted to see Viktor in this scenario, but if you want to write for other characters too that'd be awesome)

Either way take your time and I hope you have a wonderful day ~☁️

arcane characters reverse comfort x fem reader

characters: viktor, jinx, vi, caitlyn, jayce, ekko, silco, mel and sevika.

writer's note: i'm always down for this kind of scenarios, make me feel like a teenage girl again. as you already know request are open ;)

Viktor

It has been an exhausting day in the lab. The experiments have failed time and again, each mistake weighing heavier on Viktor’s shoulders. You can see it in his eyes when he finally gives in, letting the tools fall with a long, heavy sigh. He leans against the workbench, his slender, hunched figure casting a shadow of defeat on the walls illuminated by the flickering equipment.

"This doesn't make sense..." he murmurs, as though the words are a burden he needs to release. His fingers drum frustratedly on the metallic surface, and you feel the despair in every tap. "I’ve made mistake after mistake... Maybe this was all a mistake from the start."

His words hit you, but it’s the tone of his voice that wounds you more, filled with a self-criticism that is painfully familiar but no less difficult to hear. You know how much his work matters to him, how much of himself he has poured into these projects. And you know this failure consumes him more than he’s willing to admit. You can't just stand by and watch him spiral.

"Viktor," you say softly, stepping closer and placing a firm yet comforting hand on his arm. "You’re a genius, and even geniuses have tough days. Today was one of those days, but it doesn’t define who you are or what you do."

At first, he doesn’t respond. His gaze is lost, searching for answers in the shadows that stretch across the lab. But then his grey eyes meet yours, filled with doubt and exhaustion. "How can you be so sure? Every day without progress... I feel like I’m wasting time, like I’m failing everyone, even myself."

Your heart tightens at his words. You take his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers gently, feeling the coolness of his skin against yours. "Because I know you, Viktor. I’ve seen your dedication, your passion. Every mistake, every small setback is part of the process. You don't have to carry this weight alone. I’m here to help you shoulder it."

The silence that follows is thick, but instead of uncomfortable, it’s a space where words aren’t necessary. Slowly, you see his posture relax, the tension in his shoulders beginning to ease. Without letting go of his hand, you step even closer, sensing the fragility of the moment.

"Let’s step outside for a bit," you whisper, "You need to clear your mind, get some fresh air. You don’t have to do it all today, not tonight."

He looks at you again, with a mix of gratitude and weariness, and finally nods. "Alright," he says softly, as if it’s hard for him to admit he needs the break.

You walk together to the exit, your fingers still entwined with his. The night air is a balm, cool and light, carrying away some of the day's heaviness. You walk in silence through the almost deserted streets, the distant hum of the city a constant murmur.

"Thank you," he finally whispers, breaking the silence with a voice soft, almost breaking. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

You stop, turning to face him. "You don’t have to know, because I’m not going anywhere. I’m here for you, through the good and the bad days. You don’t have to bear this burden alone."

He tilts his head, and for a moment it seems like he’s about to say more, but instead, he simply squeezes your hand tighter, a silent gesture that speaks volumes.

"Come here," you say, leading him to a nearby bench. You sit beside him, and for the first time all night, you see him take a deep breath, as if the fresh air could cleanse not just his lungs but also his mind and soul.

Viktor rests his head on your shoulder, allowing himself to close his eyes and savor the moment. You kiss his head and gently stroke his hair, cherishing these rare moments, knowing how precious they are when they happen.

"Today was a bad day," he finally says, his voice tinged with a quiet melancholy. "But, for some reason, it doesn’t feel as overwhelming with… with you here."

You smile softly, feeling warmth spread from his acceptance, from his openness. "I’ll always be here to remind you that even the worst days come to an end. And that you are stronger than you think."

He looks at you, and for an instant, the world seems to stop. His gaze, filled with gratitude and something deeper, envelops you. Before you can say anything more, you feel him leaning towards you, and in that moment, everything falls into place. His lips brush against yours with a tenderness that disarms you, a kiss soft yet laden with unspoken emotions.

When you part, just inches away, his eyes remain closed as if he wants to hold onto the moment a little longer. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper.

You cradle his face in your hands, gently caressing his cheeks. "There’s no need to thank me, my love."

Jinx

The day had been chaos, even by Jinx's standards. Everything had gone wrong: a botched attack, crumbling plans, and to top it all off, an unexpected explosion that almost trapped her in her own trap. Now, she sat in her lair, surrounded by the wreckage of her shattered inventions, her breath short and pulse racing. Her mind, always a whirlwind, now felt like a hurricane of uncontrollable voices and thoughts.

The laughter of her imaginary "friends" echoed in her head, growing louder, mocking her. "Failed again, Jinx. You always fail." She pressed her hands against her temples, squeezing as if she could silence the voices. But the laughter wouldn’t stop, and the crushing weight of loneliness and failure bore down on her.

You approached cautiously, knowing that Jinx in this state was a minefield. But you also knew you couldn’t leave her alone in her internal storm. "Jinx," you called softly, keeping your voice low and calm. "I’m here, sweets."

She didn’t respond at first, her body tense like a spring about to snap. But as you drew closer, her bright blue eyes, wide and wild, met yours with a mixture of anger and desperation. "Why? Why do you keep coming back? Don’t you get it? I don’t need anyone. I don’t want anyone to see me like this."

"I’m not here to judge you," you replied gently, sitting down next to her without encroaching too much on her space. "I’m here because I care. Because I know that sometimes, even the strongest people need a breather. And there’s nothing wrong with that."

She let out a bitter laugh, dripping with sarcasm. "A breather? You think I can just... breathe and everything will be fine? That’s not how my head works. It’s... broken. Everything’s broken."

Your eyes softened at the pain in her words, the self-loathing and anger intertwining dangerously. Without much thought, you reached out, lightly touching her hand, hoping the physical contact might ground her somehow.

"Maybe you can’t fix everything right away," you said softly, "but at least you’re not alone in this boat. I’m on board with you, and I’m not getting off, even if we hit an iceberg." You joked to lighten the tense atmosphere.

She looked at your hand on hers, and for a moment, it seemed like she would pull away. But instead, her trembling fingers closed around yours, with a grip that betrayed just how desperately she needed something—someone—to understand her.

"Why do you care?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I’m a mess. Everything I touch... I ruin."

"Because you’re more than your mistakes," you said, squeezing her hand gently. "You’re strong, creative, and even if the world doesn’t understand you, I want to be here for you, to help you see that, even when everything gets tough."

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, her voice breaking as she murmured, "I don’t know if I can do it... but thank you... for not giving up on me."

You smiled softly, leaning closer to her. "I’ll never give up on you. And you know what? Let’s make a deal. Today was a bad day, but just for today, we’ll do whatever you want. How about we start with some ice cream?"

Her eyes lit up slightly, though there was still a shadow of doubt in her expression. "Ice cream? Really?"

"Serious business," you said, smiling a little more. "Pick your favorite flavor. We’ll go get it, and then we can do whatever you want. You can draw, launch rockets, blow things up—whatever makes you feel better."

"Can I dye your hair blue?" she asked, her tone teasing but her eyes hopeful.

"Anything but that," you corrected, not quite understanding her obsession with wanting to dye your hair.

She burst out laughing, pressing a hard kiss to your cheek. "Just kidding, hon. I love everything about you, even your boring dark hair."

"Hey!" you playfully patted her shoulder.

Suddenly, her smile faded again, uncertainty flickering in her gaze.

"But what if everything keeps going wrong?"

"Then I’ll be here to pick up the pieces with you," you said, gently stroking her hand. "You’re not alone, sweets. Not today, not any day."

She launched herself into your arms, hugging you tightly, her body trembling slightly. "Thank you..." she whispered against your neck, clinging to you as if you were her anchor in a storm. And in that moment, you knew the only thing that mattered was her feeling your presence, your unwavering support.

Vi

Vi’s mind was still trapped in the ring, replaying the final moments of that crucial fight. She had bet everything on it—her money, her pride, her reputation. Everything hung by a thread, and she had lost. The cheers had faded, leaving only the echo of failure resonating in her head.

She limped back to her hideout, her knuckles bloodied and her jaw clenched. Dropping onto the worn-out sofa, she let out a frustrated growl, covering her face with a hand as she tried to contain the fury and humiliation. She had risked so much, and now it was all gone.

The whispers of her defeat spread like wildfire. You knew Vi wasn’t one to admit defeat easily, nor to ask for help. So, with a heart full of concern, you went to find her, worried about her state.

The door creaked open as you stepped inside. "Vi," you called gently, finding her on the couch, shoulders tense and gaze fixed on the floor. You approached cautiously and sat on the floor in front of her, your chin resting on your hands as you looked at her intently. "Are you okay?"

"I don’t need your pity," she snapped, her voice sharp but laced with vulnerability. "I’m fine. Just... need a moment."

"Vi," you said softly, "it’s just one loss. You’re incredible in the ring, babe, but you can’t expect to win every time. Besides, we learn more from our mistakes than from our victories. It’s okay."

"No, it’s not okay," she shot back, finally lifting her head to meet your gaze, her blue eyes filled with frustration. "I bet everything on that fight. Everything. And now I have nothing."

"That’s why I’m here," you responded, sitting beside her and gently taking her bloodied hand in yours, inspecting it with care. "You don’t have to carry this alone. Let me help you."

"I don’t want your help," she protested, trying to pull her hand away, but you held on firmly. "I don’t need saving. I can handle this."

"Vi, don’t be stubborn," you chided, your voice firm yet warm. "I care about you, and I’m not going to stand by while you drown over something we can fix together."

Her gaze softened, a mix of wounded pride and unspoken gratitude in her eyes. "I can’t take your money," she muttered, looking down again. "It’s not fair to you."

"Babe, if the roles were reversed, I know you’d do the same for me," you reminded her. "This isn’t about fairness or debt. It’s about caring for someone I love."

The last word hung in the air, making Vi look up again. "You... love me?" she whispered, as if it was something she hadn’t allowed herself to hear before.

"Love you? I’m crazy about you, woman!" you admitted with a chuckle, gently squeezing her hand. "And because of that, I’m going to help you through this. Take the money, just this once. It’s not weakness to accept help, Vi. It’s strength to know when you need someone."

She let out a deep sigh, her body relaxing slightly as the tension began to ease. "Alright," she murmured finally, her voice barely a whisper. "I’ll take your help... just this once."

"That’s all I needed to hear," you said, smiling softly as you caressed her hand. "We’ll get through this, together."

Vi looked at you, and for the first time that night, a faint smile curved her lips. "Thank you," she said, leaning toward you. Her hand suddenly slid to your ass, giving it a playful squeeze.

You looked at her, a mix of confusion and amusement on your face. She just shrugged, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"What? It’s my way of saying thanks," Vi defended, following it up with a loud slap.

Laughing, you climbed onto her lap, leaning in close to her mouth, "Well, if I’d known your gratitude was this charming, I’d hope for favors more often."

Vi leaned in and kissed you, a tender kiss that spoke of gratitude and something deeper, needing no words. "I love you," she murmured against your lips.

"And I love you," you whispered, your lips still brushing hers.

Caitlyn

Caitlyn's office was silent, the only sound breaking the stillness was the soft scratch of her pencil against paper as she reviewed the reports that had come in. It had been a particularly difficult day for her. The weight of the decisions she'd had to make hung heavily on her shoulders, and her mind couldn't stop replaying the latest case she had been handling. Even though she tried to maintain her composure, you knew Caitlyn wasn't invincible.

You approached cautiously, gently tapping on the door before stepping inside. "Cait," you called softly, seeing her immersed in her work, her eyes glued to the desk, but her rigid posture betrayed her exhaustion.

She looked up and forced a smile. "Don’t worry, everything’s under control," she said, her voice slightly tenser than usual.

Leaning against the doorframe, you watched her with concern. "I know you're working hard, Cait, but this isn’t just about work, is it?"

She didn’t respond immediately, her eyes narrowing as if fighting herself not to admit what was clearly troubling her. "It’s nothing. Just... tough cases. Nothing you need to worry about."

You knew her too well. Something wasn’t right. Caitlyn always maintained her facade of strength, never showing vulnerability, but you knew even she had limits. You decided to step closer, gently removing the papers from her hands and sitting on her desk, right in front of her, catching her off guard. Her hands instinctively found your thighs, her fingers pressing into your skin as a silent sign of her pent-up stress.

"You're not doing this alone tonight, Cait," you told her firmly. "I know you feel the pressure, but you don’t have to carry it all by yourself."

She tried to smile, but the gesture only highlighted her fatigue. "I can't afford to show weakness. Everyone expects me to have the answers."

"That’s precisely what makes you human," you replied softly, cradling her face and appreciating her delicate features. "The burden of leadership, the tough decisions... it can’t all rest on you. If you need a break, you’ll take one. If you need to talk, I’m here."

Caitlyn remained silent, her gaze now locked onto yours, as if considering your words for the first time. You could see her defenses slowly crumbling, her breathing easing into a calmer rhythm. "Sometimes I feel like no one understands... how hard it is to keep everything together, always being the one expected to know what to do."

"I understand," you said, gently holding the hand that gripped your thigh. "And you don’t always have to have all the answers, Cait. It’s okay to feel lost. You can lean on me for these things and anything else."

She didn’t speak for a long moment, simply watching you, and for once, her face displayed a vulnerability she rarely showed. Finally, she sighed, letting the tension in her face melt away.

"I know," she murmured, almost as a confession. "Sometimes it’s just hard not to feel like a burden."

"You’re never a burden to me," you assured her, leaning in and wrapping your arms around her, your fingers tenderly running through her hair. She responded with a soft sigh of relief. "You’re the strongest person I know, Cait. And that strength doesn’t make you invulnerable. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You carry so much responsibility and expectation, and you handle it as best you can. You can share that with me too, love. I’m not in your life just to enjoy your company and admire your beautiful face."

With an intense gaze, Caitlyn gently squeezed your hand, displaying a rare tenderness. "Thank you," she whispered, her tone much softer than usual. "Thank you for this. For always being there when I need it. For knowing what I need when I don’t even know myself."

You moved a little closer and, without thinking, kissed her forehead, a warm and comforting gesture. "I’ll always be here, Cait. You don’t have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders."

She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to rest in your presence. And although the day's worries wouldn't vanish immediately, there was something about that small gesture, that silent connection between you two, that made her feel less alone. She knew that, no matter what, she would always have a refuge in you.

Jayce

The door creaked open, and instantly, the tension that Jayce carried with him filled the room like an unwelcome guest. He stood in the doorway, his figure worn down as if each step of his day had chipped away at his strength. His face was a canvas of frustration and exhaustion, the lines of weariness on his forehead barely hidden by his tousled hair. The warm light of home contrasted sharply with the cold night air, but even the comforting ambiance seemed powerless against the heavy burden he bore.

Without a word, you moved towards him, your presence a sanctuary in the storm he was weathering. You gently took his cold hands in yours and led him to the couch, where he sank down with a deep, weary sigh. The weight of the day clung to him, a cloak of responsibility and fatigue. He barely acknowledged you as you spoke.

"Rough day?" Your voice was gentle, laced with concern.

Jayce exhaled sharply, his exhaustion evident as he turned his head to you. "More than you can imagine." His tone was rough, frustration simmering beneath the surface. "Viktor and I... the experiment in the lab was a disaster. Then, the Council meeting... a complete mess. I’m not even sure how I made it back here tonight." His voice cracked for a moment, followed by a bitter laugh. "And tomorrow? I have to give that damned speech to the entire city. I haven’t even started writing it."

The air felt thick, laden with everything he couldn't put into words. You squeezed his hand, holding it with a tenderness that cut through the fog of his mind. "Breathe, Jayce. You don’t have to solve everything at once. One step at a time."

Instinctively, you sat behind him, guiding him until his back rested against your chest. You began to massage his shoulders, feeling the tension slowly seep from his muscles. Each movement of your fingers seemed to ease his burdens, though his sighs suggested the thoughts still swirled in his mind.

"I’ll help you with the speech," you offered softly. "We’ll write it together. You don’t have to face it all alone."

Jayce closed his eyes briefly, as if clinging to your words to prevent drowning in his thoughts. "But... it all depends on me. If I screw this up, the consequences are massive. I can’t afford to fail." His voice broke, and he sat up abruptly, anxiety gripping him once more.

"It’s just a speech, Jayce. It doesn’t define you." You wrapped your arms around his torso, holding him from behind. "What matters most to me is that it doesn’t destroy you. The city needs you, yes. But you need yourself too."

A long sigh escaped his chest, a release of some of the weight he'd been carrying. "How do you stay so calm through all of this? How do you have the patience to listen to my problems over and over?" His tone softened, a realization of what your presence meant to him.

"Because I love you, you big lug. And because I respect you," you said without hesitation. "Now... first things first. Dinner. I made your favorite." You whispered in his ear, the warmth of your embrace surrounding him, offering a sliver of peace. "Then, I’ll draw you a bath. You need to relax, to stop thinking about everything for a while. We’ll have dinner together, and afterward, we’ll stay up as long as you need. I’ll help with the speech. And if you need to rehearse all night, we will. The important thing is you’re not facing it alone. I’m here, Jayce, because I know how much this means to you."

Jayce let the silence hang for a moment, absorbing your words, your support the anchor he desperately needed. Slowly, he turned to look at you, his face finally showing signs of easing. "I don’t deserve you," he murmured, a small pout forming on his lips.

"Don’t be ridiculous. You’re my spoiled giant baby," you teased with a soft laugh, cupping his face with care.

Jayce chuckled, a low, grateful sound that was music to your ears, and you hugged him tighter, feeling the anxiety that had gripped him start to dissipate. "Can we stay like this a little longer?" he asked quietly, his tone vulnerable, more human than ever.

"Of course, love," you whispered. "There’s no rush tonight."

And there, between tender laughs and promises of unwavering support, time seemed to pause. In that moment, there was only the two of you, the warmth of home, and the certainty that, no matter what the next day brought, you would face it together.

Ekko

The sound of gears grinding and tools sparking filled Ekko's workshop, a familiar symphony that usually brought him a sense of calm. But today, the rhythm was frantic, almost as if he believed that focusing on the intricate mechanical details could help him outrun the weight pressing down on his heart. It wasn’t working.

"Ekko, what’s wrong?" Your voice was soft, almost a whisper, yet it cut through the tension hanging thick in the air. You could sense something was off, not just from the hurried way he moved but from the pallor that had taken over his face in the past few hours.

He didn’t answer right away. His fingers continued their precise dance over the wires and components, but there was a distant look in his eyes, a clear sign that his mind was far from the task at hand. Finally, he looked up, and though he tried to hide it, you could see the frustration and pain etched into his features.

"Things are... out of control," he admitted, his voice heavy. "The people of Zaun keep dying, and we can’t do anything about it. The illnesses are spreading, the air is becoming unbreathable, and the solutions... they seem further away than ever. How am I supposed to lead them when I have nothing to offer?"

His question lingered in the air, a cry of desperation in the stillness. Ekko had borne the weight of leading the Firelights since their inception. It was his strength, his refuge, yet also his greatest burden. Every day, he witnessed more of his people falling victim to the oppression and the harsh realities of Zaun, the toxic air swallowing those he cared about, and the seeming futility of their efforts gnawed at his resolve. What could one do when everything seemed stacked against them?

"Ekko," you approached him, gently taking his hands in yours. "Listen to me. I know what you're thinking. I know it feels like everything is collapsing, like there’s no way out. But you're not alone in this. You have the Firelights, and you have me. Caitlyn Kiramman might be able to help with this problem."

Ekko raised an eyebrow, confused. He knew Caitlyn, as an Enforcer, symbolized the oppressive system that had kept Zaun in misery, but he also knew you didn’t speak lightly. You must have had a plan.

"I don’t trust Piltover," Ekko muttered, his tone firm. "Or their damn Enforcers. How am I supposed to ask someone like Caitlyn for help? After everything they’ve done to us?"

"I know," you said, gently stroking his hands to calm him, "but hear me out. You're not just asking Caitlyn for help. You’re asking the person who owes me a few favors. Trust me. I think we can secure some supplies, maybe some of the medicines we need, at least to keep us going for a while. Something to help the Firelights keep fighting. Don’t see it as surrendering, Ekko; it’s a step towards giving us a real chance to make our voices heard."

For a moment, Ekko stared at the ground, lost in thought. It was clear he struggled to trust anyone outside his circle, especially someone like Caitlyn, who embodied Piltover’s oppressive power. But your words resonated with him, and for the first time that day, something inside him eased slightly.

"Maybe you’re right," he finally said, his voice low, as if only partially convinced. "But this... it can’t just be words. We need to do something real, something that actually makes a difference."

"We will," you assured him with a soft smile, trying to instill a bit of hope. "Together, step by step. Let’s start by talking to Caitlyn and see what we can secure. I don’t know how, but I believe we’ll make it happen."

Ekko looked at you, and for a moment, everything in his expression changed. The usual anger gave way to a mixture of gratitude and, perhaps, a hint of relief. He was exhausted, but the idea that not everything was lost gave him a tiny spark of hope.

"Thank you, babe," he murmured, his voice softer than before. "I don’t know how you do it. You always know what to say."

"That’s because I’ve learned how to deal with your stubborn, grumpy self," you said with a light laugh. "Now, how about we take a stroll through the city? Maybe a few hours of disconnecting will help."

A trace of a smile appeared on his face, though still tinged with fatigue. "What? Are you planning to make me forget all this by tagging the walls with graffiti?"

"Exactly," you responded with a mischievous grin. "That way, at least for a while, we can forget the world and do whatever we want."

Ekko finally gave in, his soft laugh filling the air as he grabbed his hoverboard. "You know, that sounds like a great idea. Let’s go before I change my mind."

And as you wandered the streets of Zaun, the weight on his shoulders didn’t entirely vanish, but for a while, Ekko could relax, paint his frustrations on the walls, and most importantly, remember that he wasn’t alone. Sometimes, all it took was stepping back and breathing, even if just for a moment.

Silco

The air in Silco's office was heavy, thick with the unmistakable scent of Zaun: metal, sweat, and burnt chemicals. Yet beyond those familiar odors, the room was saturated with the tension of recent events. The sting of failure clung to him, unsettling the usually composed mastermind. His meticulously laid plans had unraveled, and while his followers proclaimed loyalty, cracks in their devotion were becoming apparent. Zaun teetered on the brink of internal rebellion. The Firelights, the Enforcers, even the streets themselves seemed to be slipping through his fingers.

But what truly unsettled him, what gnawed at his very core, was the ever-present specter of betrayal, the fear of losing those who mattered most. In these moments, when chaos felt imminent, you chose to enter.

Silco stood with his back to you, staring out at the city’s dim lights through the window. You could sense the disquiet within him. His silhouette was somber, almost ghostly, with one hand resting on the glass. He seemed like a man who had lost faith in everything around him. Without hesitation, you approached him with a calmness that contrasted starkly with the storm raging within him.

"Silco," you began, your voice gentle but resolute. You refused to let his fragility consume him, not now. "We've faced this before. You don’t have to bear it all alone."

At first, he remained silent. The tension in his frame was palpable, and you could tell he was fighting a battle he wasn’t ready to share. Yet, you knew that struggle all too well. Beneath his layers of hatred and ambition lay a man as broken and vulnerable as any other.

Finally, he turned toward you, his eyes, usually burning with disdain, now dulled. "You don’t understand," he said, his voice low, roughened by a restrained fury. "This isn’t like before. It’s not just about winning anymore. It’s about maintaining control, about not losing everything. If I fail now, all we’ve built will be for nothing. What’s looming isn’t just a challenge—it’s war, and I need to be ready."

You stepped closer, studying the exhaustion etched into his face. His words were a glimpse into the turmoil that consumed him. "You will be ready. We will be ready. But isolating yourself in this downward spiral won’t help."

Silco’s gaze met yours, and for a fleeting moment, vulnerability surfaced. He appeared more human, less the monster Zaun feared. But his pride fought to keep that part of him hidden.

"I don’t need your pity," he said, though his words lacked conviction, a feeble defense against the truth you were unveiling. "Spare me the empty reassurances."

"They’re not empty," you replied, your voice steady. "I know what you’re feeling. This isn’t just about controlling Zaun. This is about you."

A heavy silence followed, thick with unspoken truths. Silco’s brow furrowed, not in anger but in contemplation. "It’s a war I can’t win. The city hates me, even my own daughter—"

"Don’t speak of her as if you’re some monster," you interrupted gently but firmly. "Jinx needs you, and you need her. This war isn’t just against Piltover, Silco. It’s against yourself. And if you keep fighting it alone, you will lose."

The room was still, the weight of your words settling in the air. Silco’s expression softened, touched by a realization he couldn’t deny. He wasn’t accustomed to being seen so clearly, to having his inner battles laid bare.

You took another step forward and, without allowing him time to withdraw, you took his hand. "You don’t have to do this alone," you whispered. "Not now, not ever."

For a brief moment, conflict flickered across his features, but then it happened—he relented. It wasn’t the surrender of a defeated man but of someone willing to trust, if only for a moment, that there was more to life than his solitary fight.

"I don’t know why you persist in keeping me upright," he murmured, his voice softer, laced with weariness. "Sometimes… sometimes it feels like too much."

"It’s not," you assured him without hesitation. "We’ll face it together. I won’t let you fall."

Silco said nothing more, but he didn’t pull away as you held his hand more firmly, a silent acceptance of your comfort. And for the first time in a long while, the cold steel of his demeanor cracked, if only for a fleeting second.

Mel

Mel's balcony was as sleek and cold, a testament to her meticulous nature. The soft glow of lanterns cast a gentle light over the cityscape, illuminating the endless sea of Piltover's lights below. Yet, amidst the serenity of the night, an unseen storm brewed within her. Tonight, her mind wasn't consumed with political maneuvers or strategic plans. Something far deeper gnawed at her: the weight of her ambitions had begun to manifest in ways she hadn't anticipated, threatening to fracture the carefully constructed facade of her life.

She stood by the railing, gazing out at the city that never slept, as if the twinkling lights could somehow chase away the growing void in her heart. You could see it—the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers gripped the railing a little too tightly. She was a picture of composed authority, yet the subtle cracks in her armor betrayed the turmoil within.

"Mel..." Your voice, soft yet firm, broke the silence. You approached from behind, your footsteps light but deliberate. You didn't need to be loud; she had always been attuned to your presence, as if you existed in a part of her consciousness she couldn't ignore.

Mel turned slowly, her face a mask of unyielding calm, but her eyes... her eyes told a different story. They held a flicker of vulnerability, a silent plea she wasn't ready to voice. "What is it?" Her voice was cool, almost detached, but you knew better. The detachment was a shield, one she had crafted over years of political warfare.

"What’s wrong?" you asked again, your gaze unwavering as you closed the distance between you. You could sense her struggle, her reluctance to admit that something was amiss. "I can see it, Mel. You're not okay."

She sighed—a sound so heavy it seemed to carry the weight of the city. It wasn't frustration; it was the exhaustion of someone who had carried too much for too long. "It’s Piltover. My role in the Council... I can't keep up with it all," she admitted, her words slow, measured, as if each one was a reluctant confession. "I’ve been playing this game for so long, but the pieces are moving in directions I can’t control. And..."

Her voice faltered, and she didn't need to continue. You understood. This wasn't about Piltover alone. It was about her, about the toll her ambitions had taken on her soul. Here, on this balcony, she wasn't the indomitable Mel Medarda. She was a woman, weary and yearning for something she couldn't quite name.

"Mel, not everything needs to be under control. Not everything needs to be perfect," you said gently, stepping closer. "You can handle what’s happening in Piltover, but you don’t have to carry it all on your own."

Her eyes darted away, as if looking at you would make her break. She was so used to being the one in control, to bearing the burdens without complaint. "And if I fail... what then? What’s left after all of this? I've given everything to Piltover… everything."

Her voice trembled with a sadness that cut through you. Despite her steely exterior, you knew there was a part of her that longed for something more—connection, peace, perhaps even love. But the world she had built around herself left little room for such indulgences.

"If you fail, Mel, you’ll have the chance to start over. You don’t have to keep fighting for something that's slipping through your fingers," you said, your voice steady as you reached for her. "Sometimes, letting go of what we fear losing the most is what sets us free."

Mel's eyes met yours, and in them, you saw a vulnerability she rarely showed. She wasn’t used to conversations like this, to empathy. But in your gaze, she found something she hadn’t seen in a long time: safety, support, and perhaps... the promise of something different. Something better.

"I know it’s not easy," you continued, your hand gently brushing her arm. "But you don’t have to carry the weight of Piltover alone. You have people who respect you, who admire you. There are other ways to move forward without losing yourself in the process."

The silence that followed was thick, but not oppressive. It was as if the night itself was holding its breath, waiting for her response. For a moment, Mel said nothing. Then, her lips, always so carefully set in lines of authority, softened. "And if I fail… what happens to you?"

"You won’t fail," you said with a conviction that only you could have. "But even if you did, I’d be right here, helping you rebuild. Because what really matters isn’t the power or the control. What really matters is you, Mel."

For a second, she looked at you as if seeing you for the first time. The iron-willed woman everyone knew, the strategist, the leader, was now gazing at you with a newfound sense of recognition. And in that moment, she allowed herself a rare indulgence: she let her guard down.

"Maybe... maybe it’s not always about winning," she murmured, more to herself than to you. "Maybe you're right."

You smiled softly, knowing that Mel had just taken a step towards something beyond ambition—towards her humanity.

Sevika

The night had fallen with an oppressive stillness, but Sevika couldn’t find peace. The hours had dragged her into a whirlwind of stress and frustration. Each minute felt heavier than the last, and the air around her seemed thick, as if the city itself was pressing down on her chest. The decisions she had to make, the moves she had to plan, the constant need to watch over and protect her people… all of it had left her exhausted. But what weighed her down the most was the lack of control over her own life.

The shadows of the streets seemed to stretch out, enveloping her with an invisible pressure. Silco, as if things weren’t bad enough, was more erratic than ever, his paranoia brushing the edges of madness. To top it off, Jinx had played one of her twisted jokes: locking her in a room with a bomb that looked ready to explode. Sevika had been on the brink of death, only to discover that the bomb was a cruel joke, the kind only Jinx could conjure. If she had the time, she would have made sure the girl paid for it. She despised feeling vulnerable. But there was more. She had to deal with some of Silco’s men, and her day culminated with a direct punch to the face, leaving a visible mark on her otherwise stoic features.

On any other day, Sevika might have sought solace or at least retreated into the quiet of solitude, but today was different. No matter what she did, the sense of losing control gnawed at her insides. She needed to see you. She needed your presence, your calm way of looking at her and making her feel that everything, even if just for a while, would be okay.

Finally, the door creaked open. The sound of your footsteps was a balm to her weary spirit, and Sevika lifted her gaze. The damp night air lent a melancholic intensity to her eyes, now etched with fatigue and disdain. Though she tried to maintain her tough exterior, you quickly noticed the bruise marking her face.

“What happened?” Your voice, soft yet filled with concern, echoed in the room. Sevika tried to muster a smile, but it was futile.

“Just another day, you know?” she rasped, moving to lean against the table. She wasn’t about to crumble in front of you, but the exasperation in her tone was unmistakable. “Silco’s paranoid as ever. Jinx pulled one of her idiotic pranks… locked me in a room with a fake bomb about to explode. I thought I’d die there, amidst confetti and laughter. And if that wasn’t enough, one of Silco’s guys managed to land a punch on me.”

Your gaze, laced with worry and tenderness, softened instantly. You stepped forward, cupping her face gently, trying to ease the storm swirling inside her. Sevika stood still, unresponsive at first, but the hard lines of her face began to relax, even if only slightly.

“Why didn’t you call me?” you asked, your eyes never leaving hers, your words carrying a silent concern. You knew she hated appearing weak, but it didn’t matter; you would never see her that way. Sevika closed her eyes for a moment, letting out a long sigh.

“You know I don’t like to worry you.” Her tone was sharp, but softer than before. She could feel how your warmth affected her in ways she wasn’t ready to admit, but needed more than she was willing to acknowledge.

Without missing a beat, you acted. With a small smile, you stepped back a little, creating some space to prepare something that might bring her some comfort.

“Tonight, I’m making something special for my strong and sexy warrior,” you said, a mix of tenderness and teasing in your voice. “It’s not much, but I know you’ll like it.” You headed to the kitchen, and instead of a typical meal, you decided on something you knew would make Sevika smile: a homemade chocolate cupcake, with a hint of vanilla and a soft cream topping. While the sweet treat took shape, you thought about how this small gesture might lighten the night. The smell of freshly baked chocolate began to fill the air.

Sevika raised an eyebrow, unable to suppress a slight smile. “A cupcake?” she asked, almost playfully, though her voice held a softness rarely heard. “Am I a child needing comfort now?”

“Maybe,” you replied, smiling as you set the table. “Sometimes we all need something simple and sweet.” You playfully tapped her nose.

With the cupcake served and a cup of aromatic tea, the two of you sat together, letting the calm settle for a moment. As she savored the cupcake, your fingers brushed hers gently, as if that simple touch could convey something deeper. Sevika’s gaze, usually so hard and closed off, softened as it met yours.

“Thank you,” she whispered, almost with a humility that was unlike her. “I needed this more than I thought.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” you said with a gentle smile, intertwining your fingers with hers.

And in that moment, it didn’t matter what was happening in the outside world. For an instant, everything else faded away. Only that small space between the two of you existed, where love and understanding felt like the answer to all the burdens Sevika carried within.

[tarvera]

Also, if you turn it into an education thing every time they do it, they will probably be less likely to swear. Pretty much every time my niblings do something considered “inappropriate” by their mother it’s to get attention and I can see them watching for a reaction. It’s the same thing for swear words, farting, belching, and chewing with their mouths open.

The also use it to test other adults. I was alone with my nephew and he let out a loud fart and I glanced over and his eyes lit up and was like “what?” And when I shrugged and said, “nothing” he just looked confused and didn’t do it again. Verses at family Christmas when he belched and his mom got mad at him and he proceeded to belch increasingly louder.

(As a side note, I don’t have any issues with either of those naturally bodily functions and wish their was less of the weird cultural decision to consider them “rude”)

I do love the above story in the post and wish all parents would do something similar. Words are only “bad” within a cultural context. They carry no moral weight based on the word itself.

[xobunni0]

𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮

𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

౨ৎ 𝐈𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 … an argument with Shadow leaves you both hurt. you can’t help but wonder if he’ll come back

- 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰, — 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐲𝐬, 𝐰𝐜- 1707

the quiet evening had turned heavy with tension. it wasn’t supposed to end this way. what started as a simple disagreement had spiraled out of control.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Shadow’s voice cut through, sharp and low. his crimson eyes gazing harshly at you.

“Don’t get what?” you snapped back. “That you think you can handle everything on your own? That you push me away every time I try to help?”

Shadow’s jaw tightened, his gloved hands balling into fists at his sides. “I push you away because it’s safer that way!” he shot back, his voice rising for once. “You don’t understand what it’s like to know that every time you’re near me, you could get hurt because of me.”

you took a step closer, your own frustration growing even more. “You don’t get to decide what’s safe for me, Shadow You don’t get to shut me out just because you think it’s easier”

“It’s not easier” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “but it’s better than losing you.”

his words hit you hard, but the anger and hurt was still there driving you to speak before you could think

“So what?” you said, your voice trembling. “You’d rather keep me at arm’s length, make me feel like I don’t matter just because you’re too scared to let me in?”

Shadow flinched, just barely his ears twitching at your words, but it was enough to make you regret what you said. his gaze flickered away for the briefest moment before locking back onto yours, colder now

“You don’t matter?” he repeated, his voice dangerously low. “If you didn’t matter I wouldn’t be here right now. I wouldn’t care enough to argue with you.”

“Then why do you keep running away from me?” you argued, your voice breaking

for a moment, the air between you was heavy, silence filled the small space in the apartment. Shadow’s expression hardened

“I can’t do this right now” he said finally, his voice quieter but still firm. “I need time.”

your heart sank as he turned away, his figure tense as he stepped toward the door. “Shadow..-”

But he didn’t turn back. “I’ll come back” he said, his tone softening just enough to give you a glimmer of hope. “But right now… I can’t.”

and then he was gone, his form disappearing, leaving you alone.

you sank to the ground, the words you wanted to say still caught in your throat. “Please come back” you whispered to the empty space around you.

the silence in the apartment was suffocating. after Shadow left, you’d stay hoping, praying, that he would come home soon. but hours had passed and the door remained closed.

you sat on the couch, curled up in one corner with a blanket draped over you. every creak in the building, every sound from the outside made your heart jump, hoping it was him but it never was.

the argument replayed in your mind on an endless loop. every word you said, every look on his face, the way his voice had cracked slightly when he said “I need time.” you felt a lump in your throat as guilt gnawed at you. had you pushed him too far?

but then, his words echoed in your mind again. “It’s better than losing you.”

you sighed, burying your face in your hands. “Why couldn’t we just talk?” you whispered to no one

the hours dragged on. midnight turned into the early hours of the morning and still there was no sign of him. you pulled your phone from your pocket staring at the empty screen

𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧' 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈'𝐦 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧' 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝

your finger hovered over his contact. he said he needed time you reminded yourself. but how could you sit here doing nothing when you didn’t even know where he was or if he was okay?

before you could second-guess yourself.. you pressed the call button

it rang once, twice, three times. then it clicked to voicemail.

you tried again. and again. each unanswered call made you feel worse but you couldn’t stop. you needed to hear his voice to know he was there

finally, after the fifth call you gave up, clutching the phone in your hands. maybe you were pushing too hard. maybe he really did need space, and this was only making things worse

𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬

but you couldn’t just let it end like this. you opened your messages, your fingers trembling as you typed

“Shadow please come back. I’m sorry for everything I said. I just want to talk. I can’t sleep knowing you’re out there. Please.”

you hit send and stared at the screen, the minutes dragged by, each one feeling longer

and then finally, your phone vibrated in your hand

His reply was short.

𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐲 …

“I’m fine. Go to sleep. don’t wait on me”

you let out a shaky breath, your hands gripping the phone tightly. relief washed over you but his response felt so distant… so… cold you couldn’t leave it at that

“I can’t sleep until I know you’re coming back” you replied, your heart pounding as you pressed send

this time his response came a little quicker

“I need time to think. I’ll come back but not tonight.”

you stared at his words, your chest tightening. it wasn’t the answer you wanted, but at least he’d said he’d come back? at least he wasn’t gone for good.

“Okay” you replied. “Just… don’t shut me out. I’m here for you Shadow.”

there was no immediate reply this time and you didn’t expect one.

the first light of dawn came through the curtains, different hues of golds and oranges. you were still curled up on the couch your phone resting loosely in your hand, its screen dark. you hadn’t slept not really. you’d drifted in and out of a restless sleep. but every creak of the apartment or sound from outside jolted you awake, hoping it was him

a faint sound from the hallway stirred you awake fully. the sound of footsteps. you sat up. heart pounding, your tired eyes on the door

the lock clicked, and the door creaked open.

Shadow stepped inside, his silhouette framed by the dim light of the hallway. his crimson eyes were unreadable as they met yours.

“Shadow” you whispered

he closed the door behind him, his movements hesitant. he didn’t say anything at first just stood there as if unsure of what to say or whether he should say anything at all.

you rose from the couch, your legs unsteady beneath you as you took a step toward him “You’re back.”

he nodded, his gaze dropping for a moment before returning to yours. “I said I’d come back” he replied quietly. his voice was quiet, vulnerable. something he rarely let show.

you stopped just a few feet away from him, unsure if he wanted you to close the distance.

“I thought… I thought maybe you wouldn’t” you admitted, your voice trembling

Shadow’s eyes softened and he took a step closer, closing the space between you. “I’m sorry” he said, his voice low. “For leaving like that. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

before you could speak, Shadow moved

he dropped to his knees in front of you, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist. his head rested against your stomach as he held you close

“I’m sorry” he murmured, his voice low and thick “I’m so sorry.”

your hands hovered in the air for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden sudden action. slowly you let them rest on his shoulders, your fingers lightly brushing against the fur there

“Shadow…” you started, but he cut you off

“I shouldn’t have left” he said, his voice muffled against you. “I shouldn’t have walked away when you needed me. I thought… I thought I was protecting you, but all I did was hurt you.”

his words came out in a rush, like he’d been holding them in all night. you felt his grip tighten slightly, as though he was afraid you might pull away.

“You didn’t deserve that” he continued, his voice cracking ever so slightly. “You’ve been patient with me more than I deserve. And I just-” He exhaled shakily his head tilting upward to look at you. “I’m sorry.”

as you looked down at him, you could feel the regret in his words the way his arms clung to you

you cupped his face gently, your thumbs brushing against the soft fur of his cheeks. “I forgive you” you whispered. “But you can’t keep running away when things get hard. I need you to talk to me Shadow. I need you to let me in.”

he closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch. “I’ll try” he promised, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not good at this but I’ll try. For you.”

“you mean more to me than anything,” he said quietly. “I just… I don’t know how to show it sometimes.”

“You’re showing it now” you replied, your voice soft

Shadow nodded, his forehead pressing against your stomach once more. he stayed there for a long moment, holding you as if to make up for every second he’d been gone

when he finally stood, his gloved hands lingered at your waist, his gaze meeting yours. “I’m not going anywhere” he said firmly, as though to reassure both you and himself

Shadow’s arms remained securely around you. he pulled back just enough to look at you, his crimson eyes searching yours. the vulnerability you saw in them was so rare.. it made your chest tighten.

“I hurt you” he said softly, his fingers brushing against your waist as if to reassure himself you were really there. “I know an apology isn’t enough but… I’ll make this right. I swear.”

you offered him a small, reassuring smile, your hands sliding up to rest on his soft chest. His heart was beating steadily beneath your palms

“You already are Shadow. We’re okay.”

He nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I’ll do better” he promised.

𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰 💝; 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 ⏦ﾟᢉ𐭩 - 𓊆ྀི𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞𓊇ྀི

[am-i-interrupting]

Hello, could you make a viktor x reader fanfic (where reader is someone very affectionate, and is very close to heimerdinger) please and thank you very much (⁠^⁠^⁠)

Soft Seams

Viktor was new to Piltover. New to all these things. Walking down the cobblestone streets even felt like something he shouldn’t be doing, something he would be yelled at for. However, with the head of the council walking with him, chatting along with a speedy, chipper voice no one dared to say a word. No matter how obvious it was that Viktor was not from Piltover.

His makeshift cane hit the ground with a soft, hallowed clack. His bag, well worn and covered in patchwork, was soft beneath his thumb which kept running over it.

“I believe you will like the owner,” Heimerdinger said. “There’s not a person they’ve yet to win over! Ah, here we are.”

For the first time since meeting this odd man, Viktor was not the one to open the door. At least, not for Heimerdinger. The door was split into two sections, a section with a door knob that was at an average person’s height and a section carved in that was more suited for someone of the yordle decent.

“Hello,” Heimerdinger said as he walked through the door.

It swung closed behind him. Viktor waited a moment, as the door swung inward, before opening it.

“Heimerdinger,” a voice from further inside rang out, “is that you?”

Viktor looked around the shop. There were fabrics draped over the walls. Mannequins sporting different types of attire ranging from more casual to extraordinarily expensive. A couple racks were on the floor sporting similar clothing. Several table displays were flittered in as well.

“Yes, indeed, my dear!”

A head poked out from behind one of the displays. You had bright eyes and a warm smile.

“It’s been too long!” you said as you raced forward.

You knelt onto the ground to give the yordle a hug. You swayed him back and forth as he wrapped his arms around you.

“And who is this with you?” you asked.

“This is Viktor,” Heimerdinger introduced. “A young man with a brilliant mind who I’ve had the pleasure of meeting recently.”

“Hello,” Viktor said.

He took your hand as Heimerdinger gave him your name. You surprised him by covering his hand with both of yours. They were soft and warm in comparison to his own.

“I’m honored to meet you,” you said.

You have his hand a light squeeze. He was convinced you may actually mean it.

“The honor is mine. The Professor speaks highly of you,” he replied.

You smiled, looking down. A small flush came to your face. Your eyes went to the yordle who met your eyes head on with a smile of his own. He was rocking back on his heels as he did so.

“We’re here to inquire about procuring some new attire for Viktor,” Heimerdinger said. “With such a brilliant mind, I’ve request his assistance with some of my projects.”

You nodded. Something in your demeanor told Viktor that you were excited, ready.

“Alright, why don’t you come to the back with me and we’ll get started,” you told him with a gesture to follow.

Viktor’s eyes went to the Professor. However, the man was already following beside you. He wasted no time to being chatting away.

You laughed at something the man had said. “You would mind standing here so I may take your measurements?” you asked with laughter still on your tongue.

Viktor stood on the platform that was indicated. Looking at himself in the multiple mirrors, he couldn’t help but feel more like he did not belong.

His clothes were worn and stitched together with hopes, not talent. In direct comparison to Heimerdinger (who sat perched on a chair perfectly tailored to his height) and you (who wore a perfectly fitted, unstained white sleeveless shirt with black, high waisted pants), he was noticeably less well off.

Although, the point of this visit was so when he began to accompany Heimerdinger everyday, no one would notice.

You took a measuring tape and began to wrap it around various parts of his body. Every time, you took note of the measurements. When you were done, you dragged a chair to the platform.

You patted it twice. He took the indication to sit.

You brushed your fingers through his hair, pulling it back and away from his face.

Instinctively he found himself sitting up straighter. His eyes went a bit wider. He could feel his lip begin to pull down in confusion.

Your face went beside his own as you looked at him in the mirror. He could feel your breath against his left cheek.

You nodded to yourself as you grabbed several patches of differently colored squares. His hair fell back into place.

You placed the patches onto his shoulder. “Alright, that’s about what I thought,” you said. “You have a warm undertone in your skin but it’s a bit muted instead of very bright. So, the colors that will look best on you will follow that pattern. Instead of the bright red of the academy, I’d suggest a more maroon tone of red, something deeper and richer.

“I think you would look beautiful in greens especially,” you continued on. “With the golden hues in your eyes and the warmth in your skin, something like a sage or olive green would really make those features pop.”

You thumbed through the color patches. You found two greens. A bright, saturated green was on his right side. A more muted, grey toned green was on his left.

“See how the brighter green makes you look more washed out, verses the muted which really brings attention to all the golden in your eyes and skin?” you asked.

He didn’t expect you to actually look at him for an answer. When your eyes met his in the mirror, he found himself nodding.

“So, when we’re looking at any clothing, general rule of thumb would be to go with something more muted,” you told him. “Muted doesn’t necessarily mean dull. Soft blues, purples, pinks, and greens are all beautiful colors with varying degrees of intensity. But dusted colors will generally look better on you than something that’s pure pigment. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Now, fabrics. All I need for you to do on this next part is tell me which ones fell the most comfortable.”

The rest of the visit went smoothly and fairly fast. You all said your farewells and you told Viktor to come back sometime within the next three to five days.

He did. This time alone.

You greeted Viktor with the same kindness that you had before. You rushed him to the back so he could try on the clothing you’d picked out or made for him.

First was the uniform. A pair of black dress shoes. Grey pants that were looser at the thighs and tapered in at his calves. A fitted, maroon button up covered by a cream and dusty blue vest with a matching cream tie tucked in.

You pulled at the vest to make sure it fitted nicely. “And if there’s anything which needs to be changed, don’t hesitate to ask. The point of clothing is for you to be comfortable.”

“No, it’s perfect. Thank you,” Viktor said.

You smiled at him in the mirror. “Of course.”

There were several other variations of the same uniform. Outside of that were different colored vests, button ups, and trousers. Some for function and others for comfort. Viktor had never worn such soft and comfortable fabrics in his life.

There was one outfit in particular that you seemed to be excited about. When he put it on, he actually understood why.

It was extremely comfortable. Soft and warm. A cream colored turtleneck. It was tucked into a pair of sage green pants that felt almost like velvet but warmer and more gentle to the touch. The brown vest was made of a similar fabric. All of it came together with a sage green jacket, the same fabric as the turtleneck on the outside but the interior was lined with cream fur.

“You look very handsome,” you told him.

He looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were brought to attention and his skin seemed to almost glow. He was inclined to agree.

[marauder-misprint]

hiii I was wondering if I could get a sirius black x reader where reader is slytherin except she's a relatively decent person and just kinda ignores everyone and keeps to herself and like a singular friend (who could be a guy maybe for the sake of jealousy induced tension even though it isn't romantic between her and the friend) but like sirius is still a flirt except he's into reader and just crazy in denial about it because he's trying to distance himself from everything even remotely reminiscent of his family including house slytherin + him and the marauders all just kinda assume her and her friend are bad people because of their house- and reader maybe has always admired sirius because he's funny and brave and hot and just a goof and it's just this bundle of misunderstanding and angsty teens and 'reluctant' pining and inner turmoil and then they finally get together or at least on the same page at the end (whether that be due to the aforementioned jealousy induced tension or not)

oh goodness, I got carried away with this one. Regrets? None. Thank you so much for this request ❤︎

Tutoring

Sirius Black x Fem!Slytherin!reader

5k words

cw: fluff, Y/N, some angst

Days like today made you glad that your best friend, Lucas, was your partner in Herbology. Professor Sprout had given you a work day to tend to your plants. Lucas’ green thumb ensured that you weren’t doing any of the work beyond writing down the occasional note that he dictated to you as he pruned the various plants in front of you. He hadn’t said anything in a while and you were absentmindedly stroking your quill. The heat of the greenhouse half-lulled you into a daydream as you stared into the distance. As much as you’ve liked to say you weren’t looking at anything, or anyone, in particular, it would’ve been a lie. Sirius was being less helpful than you were on the other side of the greenhouse. He was flirting with some Ravenclaw girl while Remus took care of their plants by himself. Every so often, especially when the girl let out a shrill giggle, Remus sent the two of them a harsh look. 

“Staring at him’s not gonna get you anywhere,” Lucas said, clapping his gloves together to get some of the extra dirt off of them before removing them. 

“I don’t need to get anywhere,” you replied halfheartedly. “He’s just… pretty.”

Lucas sighed. “You’ve told me. But don’t forget how he’s funny and captivating and cool and brave and silly and a goofball and loyal and, oh, the list goes on!” he teased you, his voice having switched into a falsetto the moment he started listing off all the characteristics you had mentioned to him at one point or another.

“Shut up,” you said with no bite to your words. “How’re the plants? Growing as expected?”

“Better than expected. As long as you can handle some of the written part, we are getting O’s for sure.”

You smiled as you threw your arms around him. “This is why we’re best friends!”

“Because I don’t let you kill our plants?”

“Well, it’s certainly not for your potion making skills.”

Lucas laughed. You had figured out years ago that Lucas was superior in Herbology and you in Potions and then proceeded to make a pact to carry the other in their lesser subject. Lucas, however, had the good sense to not carry on with N.E.W.T. level Potions while you were stuck in N.E.W.T. level Herbology because it was required for your desired profession. 

You slid some parchment toward Lucas to look over and give his approval too. Once he did, you got up to hand it to Professor Sprout. By the time you got back to your station, Lucas had packed up both of your things and you were free to leave class early. Lucas casually threw an arm over your shoulder as you exited the greenhouse together.

From across the greenhouse, Sirius watched you and Lucas leave. He kept his eyes on you until the door closed behind you, and even then, he continued to stare at where you had been. The Ravenclaw in front of him realized that she lost his attention and turned back to her partner looking a bit deflated. Once Sirius came back to the present and noticed the Ravenclaw wasn’t batting her eyelashes at him anymore, he turned back to Remus to see if he could help.

Remus waited until the Ravenclaws next to them left before asking Sirius about what had happened.

“Earlier, something distracted you. What was it?” 

“Huh?” Sirius replied, looking up from the leaf that Remus had just removed from the plant closest to him.

“You were flirting with Marie and then you trailed off and ignored her for like a solid minute. What caught your eye?”

“Oh… Nothing. Just saw someone leaving and wondered why we were still working.”

Remus narrowed his eyes at Sirius; he was sure the darker haired boy was lying to him.

“Maybe we’d be done if you actually helped me instead of recounting your latest duel to every girl who looks at you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Of all the girls who had managed to catch Sirius’ eye, you were the one he didn’t talk about with the boys. Part of it was because he didn’t know much about you, but he did know two things: you had a boyfriend and you were a Slytherin. Both of those told him to stay away from you. Boyfriends, especially ones as clingy as yours appeared to be, didn’t like when he flirted with their girls. And you were a damned Slytherin. The house’s reputation was enough to make him wary, but he avoided anything that could connect him with his family and he was the first Black to not be sorted into Slytherin. So he decided that you were just a pretty girl and that’s all you were. 

---

The weekend brought warm weather, sending students out to the school’s grounds. You and Lucas picked a shady spot a little ways from the Black Lake. Unfortunately, some of the boys from your year decided that you had picked a great spot and came over to talk to Lucas. He was friendly with them. You tolerated them during times like these; you didn’t really have any other friends to spend time with.

The boys made cruel jokes and discussed some of the curses they had read about in books from the restricted section. You didn’t care for the conversation. You leaned deeper into Lucas’ side. His hand found yours and gave it a reassuring squeeze. He knew you’d rather they not be there.

The Marauders were sprawled out closer to the lake. Other Gryffindors relaxed within a stone’s throw of them. They were a magnet for the other students in their house and then some. 

Every once in a while, one of the Slytherins’ voices would carry and everyone would hear the horrid things they were talking about. This confirmed what Sirius thought of the house, and consequently, you. You were over there after all, listening and not saying anything. From the distance, Sirius couldn’t see you giving pleading looks to Lucas, silently asking him if you could move and go somewhere else. And even if he could see that, it would only confirm his belief that you were dating the boy. 

Mulciber and Wilkes started discussing which curses they’d like to use on the muggleborns. Their descriptions got increasingly graphic and you had enough. Using Lucas’s shoulder to steady yourself, you stood up and began to walk away toward the castle. You rather waste the beautiful day alone and inside instead listening to that filth.

“Y/N! Don’t go, the conversation is just getting interesting!” Avery shouted at you. When you didn’t acknowledge him, he continued, “Why, you little bi-”

You turned around in a flash, wand out.

“Stupify!” 

You weren’t dumb. You knew he was reaching for his wand and you’d be damned if you didn’t protect yourself. You shot a warning glance around the group, lingering longer on Lucas where he still sat against the tree. You sighed and continued on your way. You knew you had more eyes on you than you preferred; casting a spell in the middle of the grounds drew attention, especially when the spell was aimed at the likes of Avery. 

Sirius was one of those who watched the whole thing go down. He hadn’t heard what the final straw was for you but you had his entire attention from the moment you stood up. He was rather impressed with how far Avery had flown backwards. 

After you doubled your distance from the group of Slytherins, Lucas got up and jogged to catch up to you. He didn’t throw arm around you like he usually did, instead opting to shove his hands into his pockets and keep his head down. 

Once again, Sirius couldn’t take his eyes off of you until you disappeared out of his sight. The whole area had gone silent and Sirius wasn’t the only one watching you go. Others were watching the Slytherins compose themselves. 

“One helluva stupify,” James mumbled as the conversations around them resumed. 

“Also not something you see every day,” Remus added. “Slytherin against Slytherin.”

Sirius just stared in the direction you had walked. You were just a pretty girl. A pretty girl who didn’t hesitate to stun your peer. And James was right, it was an impressive Stupify. 

---

“I’ve yet to meet a nice Slytherin,” Peter complained from the boys’ potion station in the back of the classroom. “Lily and Marlene say they aren’t all that bad, but there’s no bloody proof.”

“Meadowes is… cool,” James said, choosing his words carefully. 

“Cool! Not nice,” Peter said, pointing an accusing finger at James as if he only furthered Peter’s point. 

“I don’t think anyone is describing Meadowes as nice,” Sirius said. For a reason he didn’t want to name, he felt himself looking in your direction, where you were diligently working alone. ‘No boyfriend in this class,’ he thought.

“Describing any of your cousins as nice, Padfoot?” James asked with a teasing voice. 

Sirius just rolled his eyes. Maybe Andromeda, but he didn’t know her all that well. He was convinced that any relative that might’ve been actually worth meeting never showed up to family gatherings. 

“Vicious. That’s what they are,” Peter said firmly, tracing a finger down the instructions of the potion they were supposed to be concocting. “Meadowes can be described as that.”

“Whatsername too,” Sirius said, still looking at you. “The one who stupified Avery the other week.”

“Doesn’t matter who’s on the receiving end,” Peter sighed. 

At the end of the lesson, Sirius went to give a vial of the group’s potion to Slughorn while the other two cleaned up and returned the extra ingredients to the communal store. 

“Ah, Mister Black, might I have a word?” Professor Slughorn asked as Sirius handed him the vial. 

“Uh, yes, sir. As long as it doesn’t take too long. Transfiguration next.”

The professor nodded. “I’ve asked Miss Y/L/N if she’d be willing to… ah, tutor you.”

Sirius’ face soured. “Tutor me?”

“Your latest exam results are a tad disappointing to say the least, Mister Black. I asked Miss Evans first but she has prefect duties, as you know. And I’d be ignorant to ask Mister Snape. Miss Y/L/N has accepted and I expect you to treat her… kindly. If you wish to pass this class, take these sessions seriously.”

Professor Slughorn handed Sirius a piece of parchment with a series of dates, times and topics on it. It didn’t seem like he had any say in the matter. Sirius groaned but nodded before he turned to gather his things and hurry to Transfiguration. James and Peter hadn’t waited for him.

Sirius was reduced to grumbling to himself by the time he fell into his chair next to James; Remus and Peter sitting at the desk in front of them turned around to look at him.

“What took you so long?” Peter asked.

“Sluggy assigned me a tutor.”

“It’s not Snivellus, is it?” Remus grimaced. 

“Godric, no, thank Merlin,” Sirius groaned. “Still a Slytherin though…”

“What’s Evans up to? Why can’t she?” James asked quickly, glancing toward the redhead a couple seats away. 

“Prefect duties,” Sirius moaned.

“So,” Remus started slowly, “who is it? What Slytherin does Slughorn think you won’t murder?”

“Her,” Sirius said with a jerk of his head. “Y/L/N.”

As usual, you were sitting with Lucas. Your back was to the boys, but Lucas saw all of them turn to look at you.

“Why are those Gryffindors staring at you?” he whispered, as if the Marauders could somehow hear him from halfway across the room. 

“Slughorn is having me help Black with Potions. Said something like if I could manage to get you an acceptable for your O.W.L.s, I should have no problem with Black,” you sighed, giving Lucas a teasing nudge.

“Huh,” was all Lucas said, but his lack of words were replaced with a death glare that he continuously sent towards Sirius, like he requested you personally to tutor him

---

You were waiting for Sirius in the Potions classroom for the first session. He was late, but you expected as much. You readied everything you thought you might need, which was a lot given how little Slughorn told you about where Sirius was struggling. Now, you waited, twirling your wand around in your hand. 

“Sorry, ‘m late.”

You sat up straighter as footsteps approached you. There was a thud of a bag on the floor. Then Sirius slid onto the bench next to you, carefully looking at everything you had laid out. 

“How many potions we brewing today?” he asked as he took it all in.

“Probably just the one… Laughing Potion. It’s what Slughorn had down for today.”

Sirius nodded. He couldn’t recall the last time he had been this close to you, or if he ever had been. Being right next to you reaffirmed his belief that you were pretty. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Stunning. Angelic. And you smelled it too. It engulfed his senses for a moment.

“Your boyfriend doesn’t mind you tutoring me?” he blurted out. ‘Smooth, Sirius, smooth.’

You gave him a sideways glance as he immediately bent down to take out his advanced potion making book.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” you said, your voice level but confused. 

“What about that boy you’re always around?”

“Lucas?” you asked with an arched brow. You wanted to laugh. “No. He’s just my friend.”

“Sure do spend a lot of time with him.”

“So, potion making!” Slughorn didn’t really specify where you needed help, so-”

“I’ve literally seen you under his arm, holding hands, the works. Certainly seems a bit more than friendly to me.”

“I don’t see how that is of any concern right now, Black. Do you want to fail Potions?” you snapped at him. You weren’t sure why he was so focused on Lucas when he wasn’t even there and you were supposed to be working on Potions.

“No, I don’t want to fail. But I’m not failing right now.”

“You’re on your way to it. Now, tell me what Slughorn has docked points for.”

Reluctantly, Sirius pulled out a singed feedback sheet that Slughorn handed out for any potion receiving an A or less. Sirius had obviously tried to burn it in frustration. 

The rest of the tutoring session went by with no mention of Lucas or boyfriends or any sign of flirting. Just how to properly brew a proper Laughing Potion. Sirius leaves the session believing that you are cold, just like every other Slytherin and all of his family. But he can’t help admiring how smart you are and how easy it was to fix his mistakes when you pointed them out. How you tucked your hair behind your ear when it fell into your face. How your laughter filled the whole room when you tested the finished product. He knew he shouldn’t but he wanted to make you laugh like that without the help of a potion.

On the other hand, you went back to the Slytherin Dungeon feeling dejected. You didn’t mind that Slughorn asked you to tutor Sirius. You were delighted. You’d get to spend time with him, alone, and hopefully catch his attention. But besides asking intently about Lucas at the beginning of the session, he didn’t flirt with you at all. He showed no interest. 

---

After a few more sessions with you, Sirius decided to ask Dorcas about you. He could play it off as simple curiosity about his Potions tutor. Dorcas was probably the only Slytherin he could trust and she was always in Gryffindor Tower with Marlene so he wouldn’t have to seek her out.

“Meadowes!” he called from across the common room. “Can I have a word?

The Slytherin gave her girlfriend a confused look before rising from the couch.

“Black,” she said shortly, leaning against the wall. 

“What can you tell me about Y/N?”

Dorcas’ brows bunched at the question.

“Uh, not much. Keeps to herself. Doesn’t voluntarily talk to anyone besides Lucas. I think he’s her only friend.”

She watched Sirius’ face for any clue as to why he was asking about you. The only thing going through his mind was how you called Lucas just your friend and Dorcas said he was your only friend. Just and only made quite the difference.

“Why?” she asked when Sirius didn’t say anything.

“Oh, Sluggy is having her help me in Potions. Just wondering if she’s that cold to everyone.”

Dorcas laughed. “Everyone but Lucas. Pandora and I have bets about if they’ll ever actually get together. I say they have to by the end of seventh year, but she says otherwise.”

“Huh. Alright. Thanks.”

Sirius went up to his dorm thinking about what Dorcas had said. You didn’t even talk to your roommates? That was certainly something. He kept coming back to Dorcas saying that you had one friend. Only one. As someone with plenty of friends, he didn’t understand it.

At the other end of the castle, you were sitting with Lucas in his dorm. 

“There must be something wrong with me, Lucas. Why else wouldn’t he be flirting with me?” you asked from where you sat on the floor, leaning back against his bed.

Lucas sighed and you felt like you could hear his eyes roll. He was tired of the conversation before it even really began.

“Maybe because he’s a prat? I know you like him, but come on. You should be glad he doesn’t flirt with you. We both know he’d just break your heart and leave like it was nothing. Just like he does with every other girl.”

You turned to look up at Lucas so that he could see the irritated face you made. 

“Okay, tell me how you really feel about him.”

“Just saying, Y/N, you could have better taste in guys.”

“Like who?”

“I don’t know.”

You were glad he didn’t say ‘like me.’ Part of you wondered if he even thought it. If you weren’t good enough for Sirius to flirt with, maybe you weren’t good enough for your best friend to set you with anyone. Not that you actually liked any of his other friends, but the suggestion of one of them would’ve been nice.

--

The next session started off like usual, an air of coldness with you getting straight to the point. Dorcas’ words sit in Sirius’ mind so he can’t focus. First, he stirred the potion clockwise instead of counterclockwise. Then, he added fluxweed leaves instead of fluxweed stems. Finally, he was about to add essence of dittany when you reached out to grab his hand to stop him.

“Okay, are you actively trying to blow up this classroom?”

Sirius stared blankly at where your hand was gripping his wrist. You slowly moved it away from the cauldron before extinguishing the fire below it. 

“Black, what’s on your mind? You’re not usually this… careless.”

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

He couldn’t very well just say ‘I asked my friend about you and she said you have no friends and you seem okay with that.’

“I don’t think it’s nothing if it almost had you kill us,” you stated before turning your whole body to face him on the bench. “And I don’t fancy dying today so either we talk about it or we end the session here and try again later.”

Sirius waited a beat before saying anything. He didn’t want to leave.

“I know you’re just my tutor, but I feel like I don’t know anything about you.”

You tilted your head to the side. The surprise of him saying that is evident on your face. Of all the things to be on his mind, that wasn’t what you were expecting. 

“Oh. Um, okay. We can fix that. What do you want to know?”

“How come I only see you around that boy?” Sirius asked quickly before his eyes went wide with embarrassment. He hadn’t meant to ask you that right away. He knew he should’ve started with your favorite color or how you’re so good at Potions. “Shit, I didn’t mean-”

You laughed brightly. It makes Sirius relax a little. 

“I thought I told you he’s my friend. Just my friend.”

“But…” he takes a breath, “is he your only friend?”

You bit your lip as you thought for a moment. The fact that you had to think about it practically answered the question for you.

“He’s my best friend. Has been since we started here. Guess I never really needed, wanted anyone else.” 

“Not even your roommates? Other girls in our year?” Sirius asked, sounding slightly concerned.

You tried not to laugh again. “Are you worried I’m lonely?” you replied mirthfully. “Trust me, Black. I’m content.”

“Are you against new friends?”

“No, but it’s not like anyone is rushing to befriend me.”

Sirius hummed and looked back at the cauldron. “I think I’m okay to try again.”

This time he brewed it perfectly.

The tutoring sessions began to change from then on out. Sirius would start each one by asking you a question about yourself. He learned your favorite color and favorite food, what your wand core was, a bit about your family, how you were so good at Potions, how you felt about flying on a broom, what pet you would have if you could have any pet, why you continued in Herbology even though you sucked at it and hated it. The loner pretty Slytherin was more than she appeared. 

You were caught off guard when Sirius continued to ask questions after that tutoring session. You couldn’t believe how genuinely curious and intrigued he seemed by you. Since he was doing better with each session, you humored him and told him about yourself. You started to consider him your friend. You would say hi to him in between classes or wave to him from across the Great Hall if you caught his eye. Lucas rolled his eyes at this.

Professor Slughorn was handing back a practical assignment’s grading sheet. You didn’t receive a feedback card, like usual, just the note that said O. Slughorn paused by Sirius and James’ table longer than you expected. Both boys only received the grade sheet. Sirius’ face shone brightly as he sprung up and sprinted to the front of the classroom where you were. He pulled you into a bearhug. 

“I got an E!” he exclaimed.

“You deserve it, Sirius. Celebrate it!” you said with a giggle.

“I’m thinking butterbeers in Hogsmeade? We can go after dinner!”

You nodded, grinning widely. Butterbeers with Sirius? How could you say no?

Only it wasn’t just you and Sirius as you had expected. It was practically all of his Gryffindor friends plus Dorcas. From the moment you stepped foot outside of the castle with the group, you felt out of place. Sirius and James led the group with a boisterous conversation between just them filling the evening air. You somewhat anchored yourself to Dorcas. She was your roommate after all. Dorcas was paying more attention to Marlene and Lily, which you didn’t mind. Behind you, you could hear a more mellow conversation happening between Peter, Remus and Mary. Everyone in the group was chatting amiably except you. 

It didn’t stay that way. After you had all been sat around a large table in the Three Broomsticks, Lily turned to you.

“You’re the one who’s been tutoring him? And he’s listened?” she asked, gobsmacked.

“Yeah. Surprised?” There was that Slytherin coldness.

“A little, actually.” Your face hardened and Lily clocked it immediately. “More impressed. If he doesn’t want to learn something, he usually doesn’t. Figured he’d just drop Potions at the end of term or something.”

“Oh,” you said softly. You looked down the table at Sirius who was laughing so hard there were tears in his eyes. “He just needed a bit of guidance. You know how Slughorn eased off on his hovering.”

“Maybe he’s stopping hovering you two because you know what you’re doing,” Marlene said.

“You’re not even in Potions anymore, Marls, what are you talking about?” Lily asked with a laugh.

“No, he’s definitely stopped hovering as much. He grades essays while we work,” you said.

“You know who needs to stop hovering so much? Flitwick!” Mary added with a groan. “He’s always right next to you, watching you cast the spell. Like sorry, I get a bit nervous when I have a teacher at my elbow.”

All of the girls laughed and you didn’t feel so out of place. Maybe this was why Sirius was concerned with Lucas being your only friend? The girls were definitely a change of pace. It was nice. You turned to look at Sirius again, only to find him already looking at you with a knowing smile. 

“Let’s not forget the whole reason why we’re here!” Sirius announced, raising his glass. “Y/N, thank you for raising my grade!”

“Here, here!” James called as the rest of the table raised their glasses in a toast to you.

You were blushing furiously. But then the conversations returned and the rest of the night passed far too quickly for your liking. Before you knew it, Madam Rosmerta was kicking the group out so she could close up shop for the night. 

“I think that was the most I’ve heard you voluntarily talk to someone other than Lucas,” Dorcas mused as the group started to walk back to the castle. 

You didn’t know how to respond. Marlene unknowingly came to your rescue as she pulled Dorcas toward the front of the group. This time, you ended up in the back of the group, keeping a slower pace. You loved evening walks, even if they were a bit chilly, so you prolonged this one ever so slightly.

“I hope that wasn’t too much attention for you,” Sirius said, falling into step with you, letting the rest of the group continue on ahead. 

“No, it was fine. It’s fine.” You felt yourself start to blush again. “But you shouldn’t sell yourself short. You’re the one who brewed the potion.

“Yeah, only after you taught me some of your tricks,” he said, giving your shoulder a gentle bump.

---

You continued your tutoring sessions with Sirius even after his grades improved and maintained the preferred level. You both looked forward to the sessions, and Sirius continued to ask you about yourself at the start of each one. You sometimes would ask him to answer the question as well, saying that it was only fair. 

You also found yourself sitting with the Gryffindors every once in a while, but it was always only if Sirius was there. You could sense that Lucas was a little miffed when you chose to sit with them over him during a study hall, but it didn’t bother you. He had friends that you didn’t like. So what if you had friends that he didn’t like? 

Everything was going well. You were happy with your new friendships, although you still hung back while they stole the spotlight and made trouble. 

Then you walked into Potions class and Professor Slughorn had written ‘Amortentia’ on the blackboard. He gave a lengthy lecture on the dangers of the potion before going over how to brew it. Then he released the students to give it a go. Your hands shook the entire time. You didn’t know why you were so nervous about it. Maybe because you knew what you would smell. When your potion is complete, your face burns. 

You called it. You smelled Sirius. His leather jacket, smoke, sandalwood. It’s so undeniably Sirius. Because of your blush, those around you asked what you smell, but don’t say a word. You’re not going to tell anyone.

Sirius, on the other hand, is convinced there’s something wrong with his potion. He’s also a blushing mess, but he can’t accept what he smells. Sure, you were pretty and smart and able to help in potions, and you were powerful and beautiful and funny and had the most wonderful laugh. And you didn’t have a boyfriend and you got along with his friends well enough. But you were in Slytherin. You could be cold. How could he smell you in the most powerful love potion?

After the lesson, you gathered your things and hurried to talk to Sirius before your next lesson. 

“Hey, I can’t do tutoring today. We’ll need to reschedule.”

He gave you a confused look.

“You scheduled something over tutoring?” he asked in disbelief. He tried not to look hurt; at least you were offering to reschedule instead of straight cancelling.

“No, no, not like that. Something just… came up?” You knew your excuse didn’t sound believable. Your voice gave it away.

Sirius grabbed your shoulder and pulled you away from his friends and out of the walk path.

“If we’re rescheduling, I’d like to know why.”

You took a shaky breath. “I… I don’t think I can be around you tonight.”

Sirius blinked slowly. The confusion on his face slowly melted away and was replaced by a mix of curiosity and hope. 

“What did you smell in the potion?”

You shook your head. You couldn’t meet his eyes. 

“Y/N, what did you smell?”

He had both hands on your shoulders now. If you didn’t answer him, you were sure that he’d start shaking you.

“You.” 

Your answer was barely audible. It wasn’t even a whisper. But Sirius heard it. He closed his eyes and for a moment, all emotion left his face.

“I smelled you too.”

“Oh.” That came out as a squeak. Great. 

“Yeah… Oh…” He opened his eyes. “I was really hoping we could meet tonight.”

“Well, uh, my schedule just cleared, so, yeah, we can meet up.” 

Without thinking, Sirius placed a chaste kiss on the side of your forehead and turned back to his friends.

As he walked away, he called over his shoulder, “Can’t wait!”

[hrnngsoup]

Oh maaan. Oh man this is anti-honey vegan levels of ignorant. Look yeah it's gonna be unpopular opinions, and I am NOT saying there are no abusive-towards-dogs cops out there, but no, k9 forces are not generally abusive.

Here's some facts:

K9 units serve much more jobs than just take-downs. Ever had a recently missing kid? A good police force will call on a k9 unit, which you can give them a piece of fabric or toy to sniff, and then that good doggo will track that kid down. Many, MANY children, seniors, and other people who are lost with mental disabilities have been sucessfully found this way.

Another job they do? Drug sniffing. And yes, I know there have been nasty rumours about cops just training a dog to Mark on a person's bag on command, but besides the trash cops that exist, the drug sniffing training is ACTUALLY very specific and fun for the dogs. I've seen a lot of people over at twitter say they are good at fact checking, feel free to fact check what I just said with unbiased sources.

Most K9's are not just murked when they are retired. This was another rumour. A lot of them are retire with their owners, who form deep personal bonds with them, or are adopted out, in the case of the officer not being able to take care of them... like when the officer has died. The only exceptions are when k9's unfortunately develop the common health problems that german shepherds as a breed are privy to, and their quality of life massively decreases.

K9's are not just "stored" at a precinct in crates or something. They go home with their officers most of the time with only a few job-related exceptions.

It's not actually true that every person who gets taken down by a canine are maimed. Most of the time, it's "hold/release", which still needs stitches, but not even near a maim. but I guess these very common events aren't really covered in media much because they are less sensational....

Calling k9 units on anyone who is not actively fleeing a crime and/or armed is not a thing that happens often. That's a huge waste of money, time, and what, do you think they start off arrests with a k9 unit? No! (Exceptions: when someone has felonies on their record, has been known to be aggressive in past arrests/chases, or have commited grand theft auto)

While this one is only anecdotal, I have never with my own two eyes seen a unit abuse their dog. I have seen many of them baby talk the shit out of their doggos or give them probably too many treats, and well, if you want to see that, I recommend police cam vids. One of my relatives which was a k9 unit absolutely adored her k9, Duke, and she had him for many years after they retired- and Duke was happy and healthy until he passed naturally. A lot of people don't realize that if a k9 unit abused or hurt their dogs, and the other cops saw.... they would be considered the shit under their shoe for the whole precinct.

Now let's talk about why they're necessary in a healthy police force

Ever hear of the terms meth heads, crackheads, etc? These groups of people, if they decide to do crime, are INCREDIBLY dangerous. Drugs of a certain hardcore variety LITERALLY change your brain composition. These are the kind of people that can, and will, run out naked with two steak knives and try to stab anyone around them "because they looked at me funny"... if they are even capable of reason and clear speech in a drug-induced rage. Many do not even feel pain at this stage. There are two ways to stop someone in this state. Gunfire. Or a k9 unit. The good thing about using a k9 is that they are fast, much faster than humans- and that helps reduce the amount of injuries and deaths that occur when something goes wrong.

Humans are instinctually wired to be afraid of dogs. A lot of violence from... really, anyone, is severely diminished when even the threat of a k9 unit being called happens, and when you're facing someone who's weilding a machete, that fricking means something.

Look. I can understand being incensed at anyone who does treat their dogs badly. I am too. But you have to inform yourself on what the facts are, and everything I have said is factual unless someone can prove me wrong which, okay, then i will retract what someone proved me wrong about.

Banning a very important, very life-saving part of a healthy police force is a BAD idea. Note i said healthy police force... there are a lot of UNHEALTHY, CORRUPT police forces that needs from the bottom up reform.

All banning k9 units will do is increase crime and the collateral damage from it, make us lose non-take down services they provide which is VERY important to missing persons cases... and probably increase the amount of german shepherds put down in shelters, ultimately doing much more harm than good.

All k9 dogs are abused hands down if you post any pro k9 stuff on my dash you’re unfollowed I don’t care if we’ve been mutuals for years, you can claim to be anti-cop or a leftist or whatever but if you post k9 dogs with like “a good doggo! A good boy!” fuck off, if I lose followers over this then good riddance

[gotta-winwin]

(💬) ... vernon chwe x reader

⭐ starring: vernon

💬 preview: the seemingly 'extraterrestrial' man that occupies Cubicle #218 cannot seem to take a hint - no matter how many flashing signs you throw at him.

tw/cw: fluff, corporate vernon, vernon is an oblivious lil shit, allusions to sex, quotes from b.e.d by Jacquees, shameless flirting and banter

based on an ask (hi + thanks for requesting!) as well as b.e.d by Jacquees MDNI

🪽fic rating/wc: pg 13/ 3.5k

☁️ masterlist & a/n: i am forever stuck in this vernon loop - alas, here's a request that's been sitting in my inbox for awhile, brewing vernon thoughts the whole time. although this fic is entirely fluff, there are allusions to sex so please be mindful of your age and the fic rating.

Vernon would have quit his job a long time ago if it hadn’t been for you. A part of him still yearned for the stage, a trusty guitar in his hands and the sound of diehard fans screaming his name. Instead, he had found himself stuck, circling the corporate ladder, clocking in to work everyday just to sit in his one lonely cubicle, staring at numbers he had only pretended to understand when getting his degree. 

He had his resignation letter signed and ready to go, and he would have handed it in if it hadn’t been for the notes that had begun to appear.

Colorful post-it notes that he’d find in the most random places - first his desk, then his lunchbox, in the pocket of his coat, stuck dead center on his computer screen. It baffled him, yet the notes kept coming, every single day of work without fail. At first he had scoffed, chalking it up to some silly office prank, but as time progressed, the notes became almost a given, as if the notes itself had rooted into his everyday routine. It filled him with anticipation and a reason to clock in everyday. As much as he hesitated to admit it, the silly notes made his day.

Of course, the notes were anonymous. Vernon had no idea that you were the reason he still showed up to work. 

“This is basically workplace harassment.” Anne, your closest co-worker, commented, as she watched you pen your next note to Vernon. She was the only one who knew it was you behind the colorful post-its.

“If he didn’t like it he would’ve told HR months ago.” You argued, ripping the completed note off the pad of bright orange post-its. “Besides, you’ve seen him smile at the notes. Even got a laugh out of him a couple times.” 

“But-” Anne snatched the note from you and read it aloud. “I hope our love will be like the number Pi: irrational and endless.” She shook her head, tsking. “Even for a compsci major, Y/N, Vernon would never find this funny. And if he does- he’s either mocking you, or his humor is just as broken as yours.”

“It’s funny!” You protested, snatching the note back. “Besides, I don’t even know where to leave this one. I’m running out of creative ideas.”

“What’s the point? You just need him to see it, right?”

You gave her a look. “There’s a higher probability of him laughing if he doesn’t expect the note. The less obvious the place, the better. He can’t be actively looking for it.” 

Anne sighed, spinning her chair back to face her work desk. “Compsci nerds.” 

Ignoring her, you continued. “I’m torn between leaving it taped to his water bottle, or taped to his bike.” 

“Of course Cubicle Number 218 Vernon Chwe would bike to work.” Anne rolled her eyes. “How old is this man? Can’t he drive?” 

“Hey!” You protested once again, defending him. “Maybe he just lives close, more cost-efficient you know.”  

Anne sighed. “Tape it to his bike.” Her fingers tapped against her keyboard as she spoke. “He’s definitely not going to be expecting that one.”

Your smile widened, already imagining his little stunned expression. “Okay. Cover for me- I’ll be right back.”

“Whatever.” Anne mumbled, although you caught a glance of the amused smile on her face. 

It was famously known throughout your office that the resident of Cubicle #218, Hansol Vernon Chwe, did not smile. He came into work and left while sporting the exact same facial expression the entire time. But you knew he smiled at your silly pick-up lines, no matter how stupid. And you knew that you might be the only person who knew just how pretty Vernon’s laugh was- even if it was from a distance.

If only you knew just how much Vernon wanted to know who was behind the silly notes that were his pick-me-up each day. 

You: 1 Vernon: 0

“I wanna live in your socks so I can be with you every step of the way.”

Vernon snorted audibly as he read the note, this time written on a hot pink post-it. His neighbouring co-workers snuck glances at him, drawn by the sudden noise. 

He ignored their stares, tucking the note into his jacket pocket for later. He was slowly amassing a collection of them, his desk back at home covered in multicolored post-its, each one from a different day. Sometimes the lines would be so terrible he’d shudder in cringe, but more often than not, he’d find them genuinely funny. 

Grabbing a file he needed faxed, Vernon made his way to the copier down the hall. Someone was already occupying it- and he realized he recognized her, the pretty girl who lived in cubicle #17. 

He could hear the loud music coming from her headphones, poorly hidden under her strands of hair. 

“Charli?” He asked, recognizing the familiar beats and rhythm of the song. 

He watched you turn around to face him, startled by his sudden appearance. “What?”

He pointed awkwardly to your headphones. “Is that Charli XCX? I didn’t think your name was Charli, don’t worry. It’s Y/N, right?” He rambled on, smiling sheepishly. 

You blinked, a little dazed by the amount of words he was suddenly speaking to you. You had always thought, like everyone else in the office, that Vernon was somehow untouchable. Someone so mysterious and way out of reality that the two of you just didn’t exist on the same plane of the universe. But now here he was, talking to you like it was the most normal thing in the world. 

“Yeah.” You answered, after realizing you had just been blankly staring at him. “To both questions.” You quickly added, equally awkward. “It’s Charli XCX and my name is Y/N.”

“Great.” His gaze drifted past you towards the copier. “Are you nearly done?” Holding up the file in his hand, he gestured behind you. “I need to fax something.” 

“Oh!” Hurriedly moving aside, you let out a tiny laugh. “I wasn’t really using it. Sometimes I just come in here and pretend I’m busy- to get away from how stuffy the office is. I don’t know why I just told you that.” You were mortified, glancing at him to make sure he wasn’t judging you.

Vernon’s lips were quirked into a smirk, as he tried hard to push down the laughter that was threatening to bubble up inside of him. Ultimately failing, his mouth widened into a smile as he laughed, the sound filling your ears better than any song could. 

“I like you.” He stated, as if it was such a simple thing and didn’t have your heart racing. “You’re funny.”

His smile widened once he caught sight of your open mouth, stunned into silence at the new side of Mr. Cubicle #218 you were currently seeing. 

“Close your mouth.” He mumbled, reaching a hand out to do it for you, his fingertips lightly pressing against your jaw. “You look like a fish.” 

“I- what?” You spluttered, moving a step back. 

Vernon shot you another melting smile, picking up his file and closing the copier. “Anyways, I’m all done. Are you going to hide out here some more?” He kept his eyes on you as he stacked the papers in his hands, organizing them against a nearby table. 

You nodded dumbly, eyes following his movement as he walked out, stopping by the doorway to shoot you a tiny salute before turning away. He walked down the hall with a gait only he had, disappearing down the hallway, leaving you feeling extremely confused, your cheeks oddly warm. 

You: 1 Vernon: 1

“Are you a worm? Cause I’d like to split you apart.” 

Morbid, yes, but you were slowly running out of ideas. Placing the sticky note strategically in his work bag, you scurried off, ducking behind a bookshelf to watch his reaction. 

“Are you a worm-” Vernon made a face as he read the note aloud. “Ew. Weird. Kinky?” He looked up at the ceiling, a concerning yet intrigued look on his face. A chuckle escaped him and you smiled in your success. 

Your work days seemed to blow right by with the joy in knowing you had successfully made him laugh, mind still churning through your last encounter with Vernon by the copier a couple weeks ago. It had both startled you and ignited something within- a longing to know more about him. 

“Looks like we’re the only ones left.” 

You looked up, blinking your dry and strained eyes, spotting Vernon hovering right above your cubicle wall, a tired expression filling his face. You glanced around the office and realized he was right. 

“Has it already been that long?” You wondered, rubbing your eyes as you shut off your computer, standing up to stretch your stiff back. 

You could’ve sworn Vernon snorted at your words. “Do you enjoy working here? Time does fly when you’re having fun.”

You shook your head. “God, no. I’ve just got a lot on my mind, that’s all.” Yeah, you. 

An unspeakable look crossed his face as he grabbed your coat, helping you put it on. “C’mon, we can walk together.” 

“Oh. Thanks- alright.” 

The walk was amicably silent as you fell in step beside him, clutching your winter coat tightly as you both entered against the harsh wind. You spotted his banged up yellow bike across the street and bit back a grin. 

“You bike to work and back?” You asked, although you already knew the answer. You often passed him on your own way to work, spotting him through the windshield of your car. Nearly ran him over once, in your earlier days of working, but you don’t speak of that.

“I do.” Vernon patted the trusty bike with a loving hand. “Never failed me once.” 

A laugh escaped you, your breath hitting the winter wind and turning into a light fog. 

His eyebrows raised. “Are you laughing at me?” His lips quivered up as he watched you descend into laughter once again. 

“No!” You exclaimed through a fit of giggles, clutching your stomach. “Oh god, it’s just- Vernon Chwe- on a bike-”

A clear and infectious cackle of a laugh joined yours as Vernon too, doubled over in laughter. You paused, staring wide-eyed as giggles escaped him, thoroughly entertained by the amusement you had found in his transportation method. 

Passerbys would have deemed the pair of you as mad, with the way you clutched onto Vernon’s arm to hold yourself up as you laughed harder, his own hand gripping yours in the bitter wind. It was numbingly cold but both of your insides were warm, cheeks flushed due to the ridiculous image of Vernon on a bike. 

Y/N: 1 Vernon: 1 The universe(?): 1

“Yo.” 

Your music paused suddenly, jolting you out of your zone. Spinning around in your chair, you frowned up at Vernon, who had somehow swiped your phone from your desk without you noticing. 

“What’s up?” You sighed, taking off your headphones to glare at him. “You didn’t need to pause my music, y’know.” 

“I’ve been sent on a coffee run, wanna come?” He spread his arms open in invitation. “We can take as long as we like.” 

Ditching work for a while did sound like a nice pastime, especially with the lack of work you had currently. “I wouldn’t mind a breath of fresh air, actually. I’m down.”

“Put on your coat.” Vernon handed it to you, watching as you shrugged it on. 

“I know you want to be in my b.e.d, grinding slowly.” 

The last note had taken him terribly off guard and he needed a distraction to remedy that. 

To be fair, you didn’t really know what had gotten into you- the sudden bravado and confidence put into the note had caught you terribly off guard as well. 

“Do you know Joshua? He works in upper management but we’re pretty good friends.” Vernon suddenly asked, walking backwards along the sidewalk so he could look at you. 

You nodded. “I’ve seen him around. He’s very social.” Unlike you, you declined to add. 

“Yes. He’s hosting a social gathering later tonight, and asked if I could invite you.”

“He asked you to invite me?” You shot him a wary look, not quite believing him. You and Joshua barely passed as acquaintances. 

Vernon’s hand reached behind his neck as he rubbed his nape, a sheepish and embarrassed expression on his face. You noticed his ears would turn pink whenever he was even mildly shy. “Okay, maybe I just wanted to invite you, alright?” He turned away, walking properly now to hide his face from your keen eyes. 

A slow smile crossed your face. “Oh, no.” You mimed dread. “You’re in love with me, aren’t you.”

“What?” Vernon turned so fast you reckoned he must’ve gotten whiplash. 

“I’m joking.” Punching his arm lightly, you gave him a lighthearted smile, ignoring the way your heart pounded at the brunt question. “I’d love to go to the little party. You didn’t have to use Joshua to invite me.”

“Well,” Vernon’s ears turned pink once again. “I’d say I’d pick you up and give you a ride home after, but- I don’t think we’d both fit on my bike.” 

Both your lips twitched at the reminder of that night, where the two of you had laughed like it was the first time either one of you had found anything remotely funny. 

“I’ll drive.” You offered, once the wave of silent laughter dissipated. “You can hitch your bike to the back of my car.” 

“Me,” Vernon’s mouth dropped comically as he pressed his hands to his chest. “A passenger princess? How lucky.”

His smile widened as you laughed, and he shamelessly basked in the sound of it. 

Y/N: 2? Vernon: 2? The universe: 1

The smell of musk was the first thing that hit you as the two of you entered Joshua’s townhouse. It was a small, quaint place, decorated to the brim with trinkets and flower pots, overflowing with both people and food. Vernon led the way as you shuffled in, greeting familiar faces and smiling at strangers. 

“I thought you said ‘small gathering.’” You yelled, tiptoed next to Vernon so you could reach his ear. 

You could tell from his eyes that he had no idea what you were saying. “What?” He yelled back, although his voice was carried away by the crowd as well.

“I said-” You felt like you might burst a lung trying to communicate. “I thought you said, ‘small gathering!’” 

He stared at you blankly, blinking slowly, evidently still not in the loop. 

Giving up, you were about to turn away when you suddenly felt his whole body shake, quivering against you as he laughed. 

“What the fuck?” You yelled, this time right in his face. 

“I heard you the first time, silly.” He yelled back, a shit-eating grin spreading wider as he watched your eyebrows furrow. 

“Party Vernon sucks.” You concluded, moving away, only to be pulled back by his hand on your arm.

“Didn’t you complain that I was too ‘mysterious’?” He yelled, laughing harder when you visibly paled. “Yeah, I heard that. But it’s okay. I am very…how did you put it. Sullen, at work.”

Hiding your face, you slapped his chest, causing him to groan in pain. 

“Ow.” 

“Ow.” You mocked back. There really was no answer as to where the sudden childishness came from, but the way Vernon was staring at you- it made reason seem almost meaningless.

He threw his head back and laughed, soundless against the party’s atmosphere but somehow just as electrifying. 

“Have fun, Y/N.” He said, grabbing your hands. “Let’s dance.” 

Y/N: 2 Vernon: 3 The universe: 1

You had always sworn by the fact that driving late at night with the windows down, cold air blowing through your hair was the way to go. 

“Admit it!” Vernon yelled through the wind, glancing at you from the passenger seat. “You had fun tonight.”

“I did.” You admitted. The party had been overwhelming at first, but the later the night got, the more fun you discovered yourself to have. “I haven’t had a night like that in a while.”

You braked at a red light and flipped through your playlist, switching on the one song you knew would get a reaction out of Vernon. 

“I know you wanna love But I just wanna fuck And girl, you know the deal I gotta keep it real I know you wanna see I know you wanna be In my B.E.D., grinding slowly”

The light turned green and you continued to drive, the roads empty and deserted, street lamps illuminating the world in a soft amber. Occasionally, you’d glance over at Vernon, who was bopping his head to the beat, murmuring the lyrics under his breath. 

Oblivious man. 

Reaching over, you turned the volume up, as if the louder the music was, it’d somehow reverberate its message into his skull. Get a hint! You wanted to scream at him. I’m kind of in love with you and want to jump your bones! Hello??

Vernon continued to groove to the music without a care in the world.

“This is a good song!” He yelled in your ear, his voice mixed with the whistling of the air, whooshing past you. 

“I know!” You screamed back. Oh my god. Is he really this dense? 

The song kept playing as you drove, winds calming down as you neared his place. In between the gap of the song switching to the next, Vernon spoke, his calm voice contrastingly the loudness before. 

“I think I’m going to quit the job.” 

You nearly crashed the car at his words, jerking the steering wheel back as you computed his words. “What?”

“I mean,” he turned in his seat to face you, his hair catching the last pieces of moonlight and shimmering against his skin. “I’ve always hated my job. And I already wrote a resignation letter and everything.” 

“Oh.” 

He must’ve noticed your silence, because he quickly continued. “Who knows? I might try being a rockstar or something.” 

“A rockstar?” You let out an astonished laugh. Vernon Chwe seemed to be surprising you at every turn, even when you felt like you'd already figured him out. 

He hummed. “Yeah. It just keeps..calling me, y’know?”

“Well then you should go for it.” You parked into the driveway of his apartment complex and turned to face him. “Really.”

“You think so?” His eyes were sparkling like precious jewels. 

“Yeah. I do.”

Even though you knew that meant your next note would be your last. 

Y/N: -10 Vernon: 3 The universe: -10

The office seemed even colder without the presence of Vernon around you. Even though he had always kept to himself, you could feel the lack of “Vernon” in the atmosphere. How he’d entrance you with the funny way he’d walk down the hall, his countless snack breaks and your shared copier trips. But most of all- it was the lack of notes.

“First day without Mr. Cubicle Number 218, how do you feel?” Anne asked you from her own desk. “Although, I guess he’s not 218 anymore, huh?”

“Yeah.” You stared dejectedly at your computer screen. “This job sucks.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re quitting too.” Anne let out a loud sigh. “I still think you should’ve told him you liked him.”

“I did!” You protested, rather loudly, drawing odd looks from nearby coworkers. 

“You played a sex song in the car.” Anne pointed out, lowering her voice. “That is not confessing.” 

“Well he should’ve put two and two together. The lyrics on the note was from that song.”

Anne laughed. “We’re talking about the male species. They wouldn’t know subtlety if it ran them over with a truck.” 

“Whatever.” You muttered, returning to sulk in front of your giant mountain of paperwork. “He definitely didn’t like me like that anyways.” Sifling through the papers, you sighed. “I’m going to fax these, I’ll be right back.” 

Anne only hummed, too engrossed by whatever she was reading on her phone. 

Opening up the copier, you frowned at the paper already sitting there, a hot pink post-it note with messy handwriting scrawled on it. 

“With all the variables in life, baby can you be my constant?” 

You didn’t remember writing this. 

“Call me ;)” 

A loud laugh escaped you as you covered your mouth, looking around to make sure you hadn’t been caught loitering in the copy room once again. Grabbing your phone from your pocket you fumbled the numbers on the bottom of the note in, raising it to your ear as you listened to it ring. 

“Hello?” You whispered, cupping your hand around your mouth to avoid detection. 

Silence.

“Vernon?” 

The sound of shuffling from the other line reached your ears. “You didn’t think I was just going to leave without saying goodbye, right?”

“Vernon?” 

“Actually, pretend I didn’t say that.” 

Your heart puttered to a stop.

“When can I see you again?” 

Y/N: 0 Vernon: ♾️ The universe: 0

[i-like-loserz]

my sleepy boyfriend

synopsis: mingi is kind of obsessed with you. even (especially) when he's sleepy...

pairing: needy!mingi x reader

warnings: SMUT (18+), needy boyfriend!mingi, less subby -- more desperate, consensual somnophilia, man-handling, unprotected sex, slight nipple play, mating press!, breeding kink (as always), size kink (its mingi hello), creampie, not proof-read, i think it's cute!

word count: 1.6k

note: please read the warnings! if you don't like them, just don't read it lol

part I | masterlist

Mingi is adorably pathetic. 

He’s a perverted loverboy — ready to whine and beg for your touch at any moment. 

And he’s well aware that you’d never deny him. 

But how could you when he looks at you with his slick, bitten lips, fluffy hair, and an aching boner pressing desperately against his sweats?

It's even more delicious when he's tired, exhausted to the bone. Because even unconscious, his body is hungry for you. 

Without his apprehensive habits holding him back, Mingi is eager to take anything you can give him. Several nights you've woken to him getting off against your body, grinding himself against your thigh.

He makes such a mess against your pajamas and even after cumming several times, he’s begging to finish inside of you. 

In the beginning, he’d whisper frantic apologies, immediately retrieving a towel to clean you up with an embarrassed flush on his cheeks. 

But then he became more depraved. 

Waking up from a wet dream soon leads to him using your body to satiate the desperate need that’s been building inside of him all night. 

How could he resist you, though? Especially when you’ve expressed how much you like to wake up to him inside of you. 

Still, he feels like a pervert when he stares down at your helpless form as you sleep soundly next to him. That doesn’t stop him, of course.

He bites his bottom lip to keep himself quiet as his hands run down your body, making sure to feel every inch of your clothed skin. 

It’s a warmer night so you’re wearing a cute floral tank top that sticks perfectly to the shape of your body. The material is so thin that he can barely make out the pretty shape of your nipples. Mingi is sure that he’s never wanted to lick over your body more than now. 

His light touch lazily glides along the length of your chest before dipping into the loose elastic of your tank top. A deep, breathy groan rumbles in his chest as his hand splays over your bare tit, loving how perfectly it fits in his grasp. 

He gently squeezes at your flesh, massaging with an eager touch before moving downwards to lovingly rub circles around your rapidly hardening nub. He takes his time teasing and flicking your sensitive skin, enjoying the way you sigh prettily under him, unknowingly enjoying his attention.

He leans over you, admiring the perfect contours of your face. Every time he looks at you, he’s reminded of how obsessed he is with every one of your features.

Your beautiful eyes, your cute nose, your delicate lips, the whole shape of your face – features he wants to see reflected in his children. 

Mingi dips in closer, taking in the sweet scent of your soft skin before gently burying his face against your neck. He presses a few wet kisses against your heated skin before releasing his hold on you. He wants more.

You opted to sleep in some lace-trimmed cotton panties, sporting an innocent bow right in the middle. Your thighs are deliciously bare and it’s been tempting him terribly all night.

His large hand traces the edge of the waistband before moving to press delicately against your covered clit. His dark eyes dart to your face as you inhale sharply, your body shivering at the light caress. 

Mingi eagerly drinks in the way your brows cinch together from the sudden bout of pleasure. He relishes making you feel as needy for his touch as he is for yours. Even if it’s but a fraction of his desperation. 

He can barely hold himself back from diving in, but he wants to feel your pretty eyes on him. 

He needs you to touch him back. 

“Baby…” His hand drags slowly over your core to the side of your thigh, pulling it up to wrap around his waist. He holds you there, pressing his hips against yours to make you feel how desperately hard he is for you. “Wake up.”

He nudges your cheek gently with the tip of his nose. 

Your eyes flutter open at his sweet, pleading tone, arms automatically moving up to wrap over his neck. You blink away your sleep to see your blushing boyfriend over you, eagerly waiting for you to say something. 

“Mingi...” You sigh, pulling him closer to nuzzle against the warmth of his neck. He smells so good. Cozy and masculine. You just want to bury yourself against him and stay there forever.  

You let out a breathy moan as Mingi presses down harder against you -- suddenly feeling bold by the soft way you said his name.

You gently run your nails down the back of his head, pulling a sweet shudder from his pouty lips. You can feel him throbbing under his boxers

“Been so patient for me, haven't you?" You coo, dotting soft kisses all over his neck and jaw.

"Didn't wanna wake you..." He mumbles, "But it hurts." He flexes his hips to rub himself against you, already panting from the feeling of your warm body against him.

"My poor baby." You grind up against him, meeting his every thrust, already drenching your underwear from how badly you want him inside of you. "Don't worry I'll help you."

"Mmph...Can I just--" He pulls away for a moment and shoves a hand between your bodies, pushing your tank top over your tits before moving downwards, a starved look on his face as he stares down at the translucent fabric sticking against your pussy.

Mingi pulls away for a moment to reposition you, large hands pushing your legs until the top of your thighs press against your heaving chest.

A mating press. It's one of his favorite positions.

You're tighter, closer, and louder like this.

Without hesitation, he shoves your underwear to the side, revealing your dripping center. Even in the dark, he can see the glistening wetness spilling out of your entrance.

"Ming--!" You gasp at his forwardness.

"S-so...p-pretty." He uses one large hand to hold your legs as he quickly pulls himself out of his boxers, already desperately stroking himself at the sight under him.

Your hands fist against your pillow as he slides his cock over your wet entrance, pressing ever so slightly against your dripping hole. He groans when he feels you flutter against him, so ready to be filled by his cock.

"F-fuck, I don't think I can hold back--"

Your legs rest weakly over his shoulders as he presses close to you, thighs shaking as they're pressed between your hot torsos. His head is bowed down to watch himself press into you, not stopping until he's balls deep inside of you. 

You can tell by the way his body trembles that he's trying his hardest to be gentle -- but once he feels the tight heat of your pussy wrapped around him, he's lost to the heady pleasure that spreads throughout his body.

You flutter around him uncontrollably, eyes rolled to the back of your head at the intensity of being stretched so deliciously, so quickly. It's a familiar feeling that never ceases to have you seeing stars, no matter how often he fucks you.

“Uh-!” A sharp cry is forced out of your throat as his hips shakily pull away from you before immediately snapping back, shoving his cock impossibly deep inside of you.

It sets off a spark in your core as he continues to expertly fuck right against your g-spot, overwhelming your senses with blinding ecstasy.

"M'sorry," He pants against your ear, "I c-can't help it."

He starts to thrust shallowly, desperate, pressing himself flush against you with every fevered move, as if he can’t stand being even a centimeter away from you.

You can feel your wetness make a mess in between your bodies, painting over the back of your thighs and dripping onto the sheets.

"N-Needed this --" He chokes out, "Needed you."

"Use me." His cock throbs inside of you, heightening the way he prods against the deepest part of you. "Fuck your cum inside of me, Ming." His thrusts grow harsher, sloppier as his hands pin your body against the mattress, forcing you to take every inch of him.

"Y-yes, fuck-!"

His eyes are squeezed shut as he uses you to fuck himself dry. You reach your orgasm at the same time, clenching tightly around him with a whine as he trembles against you, spilling his hot cum inside of you until you're filled to the brim. 

You’re both panting, skin hot and sticky as you separate. The ecstasy fizzles out and is replaced by a drowsy haze. As you start to come back to reality, you feel the soreness blooming in your legs. You groan under Mingi, weakly pushing against him to get some relief. 

Waking up himself, he instantly releases his hold on you, worried eyes scanning over your face and body.

“You okay? Did I go too hard?” You stretch out your limbs with a soft groan and smile weakly up at him. 

"I'm amazing, baby." Your thighs rub together, feeling the tackiness from your combined slick, "A bit sticky though..."

His hair is a mess, sticking up in different directions, his body is all flushed and his lap is…a hot mess. You can’t help but stare up at him with adoration, enamored by how perfectly messy your boyfriend looks after fucking you into the bed. 

“You’re so cute, Mingi.”

“Huh?” He tilts his head like a confused little puppy.

You shake your head, refusing to elaborate.

Instead you lean back against the headboard and make grabby hands up at him, “Come here, baby, let’s cuddle.”

“...But we’re all sticky.”

“Mingi.”

“Ok.”

[thesquidgame]

Calm Before the Storm

Hwang Jun-ho x wife!reader

Summary: After your husband's disappearance, he starts to act different.

Warning: Angst, disappearance, gunshot wound, head injury, hospitals, mention of death, marital conflict, mention of divorce, guns

6k words

The worst day of your life happened after one of your husband’s work trips. He said that his team had gotten a lead on what might have happened to his brother and that he had to investigate. That was par for the course, every couple months there would be another potential lead on where your brother-in-law could be, but every couple months Jun-ho would be sorely disappointed. 

This time was different. He said he would be gone for a couple of days, and that he didn’t know if he would be able to get in contact. He left for one day, and then two, then more. His department panicked, apparently, it wasn’t a work trip and one of their detectives went missing. After a week his picture was on the nightly news, and after 10 days you were doing interviews begging for anyone who had any information to step forward. His mother came to sleep at your apartment, and she said she just wanted to help out with her daughter-in-law, but you could hear her sobs in the middle of the night through the thin walls between your bedroom and the guest room. 

At 5 AM, a week after Jun-ho’s disappearance, you got a call. They had found him. He was in a specialized emergency hospital on the outskirts of Seoul, and he was in a coma. You rushed to your car with your mother-in-law and broke speed limits that Jun-ho would never let you break when he was in the car with you. 

The hospital parking lot was nearly empty. The lobby was quiet when you walked in, and the front desk woman almost looked shocked when she saw two women with deep circles under their eyes and hair sticking in every direction. Honestly, you couldn’t care less. She was the receptionist at a hospital, if that was the craziest thing she’d seen she was in for a rude awakening when an actual patient came up to her desk.

She quickly directed you to his hotel room, on the 3rd floor, where his supervisor was already waiting. Time seemed to slow down as you rode the elevator. It couldn’t have taken longer than 20 seconds, but it felt like years. What if he was dying? What if he didn’t wake up? What if he was getting worse? Your thoughts kept racing, and you and Jun-ho’s mother couldn’t share a single word between the two of you between all of the panic going on inside your heads.

The floor was so quiet you could hear the squeak of a nurse’s shoes down the hallway. You should’ve run to your husband's bedside, but you couldn’t. You took one step at a time, terrified of what might await you. His supervisor stepped out the door and closed it. He looked at you with tired eyes. “Mrs. Hwang, Mrs. Park, I’m glad you could make it.”

“How’s my husband?” Formalities could wait. Formalities could go to hell.

He sighed, and your heart skipped several beats. “How is he?!” Jun-ho’s mother yelled. 

“He’s okay, he seems to be mostly stable, but I-” He raised his hand and scratched the back of his head, looking away at the ground, “I gotta be honest. He’s not great. He was shot and fell from a high distance into water. He passed out in the water and the doctors think he breathed in water and fell unconscious. They’re not sure of the extent of brain damage because he hasn’t woken up, but the lack of oxygen to his brain likely caused some sort of impact. There’s more, but they would only tell me the basics because I’m not family.”

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. What if he didn’t wake up? What if he did and he wasn’t the same? Memories of the last night you spent together raced through your head. It had been a long exhausting day, and he somehow knew how terrible it had been. He brought takeout home and made an extra stop to get your favorite dessert from a bakery. He set the food down on the kitchen table and immediately made his way to you on the couch, leaned down, and kissed you until you needed to come up for air. You turned off the tv and sat on the couch for hours, eating and talking and eventually fucking. Right before you went to bed he told you that he was going on the trip tomorrow, and you just smiled and nodded, thinking it was going to be like all the other times.

You pushed past the sergeant and walked into your husband’s room. His bed was separated from an empty one by a curtain. You couldn’t feel your own feet as you walked towards it, and it almost felt like your hand wasn’t moving at all when you pushed past the curtain.

Jun-ho looked like death. There was a tube shoved in his throat and his skin was so pale it looked translucent, the blue of his veins showing through on his arm next to an IV. The circles under his eyes were deep and dark, and he was in a neck brace, with his head bandaged. 

It felt like all the air had been sucked out of your lungs. The second his mother saw him, she collapsed at his side and laid her body over his legs. Her cries were guttural and came from something that must’ve broken inside of her. “My baby, my baby. I lost one son, I’ll die if I lose another.”

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t cry. You sunk to a chair at his side and reached out for his hand. He was so cold. His skin felt like he had just been taken out of the ocean minutes before, and his heart rate was so slow it felt like it was second between beats.

You didn’t hear the doctor come into the room until he spoke. Jun-ho’s mother looked up and stared at him like he was an angel, but you couldn’t look away from your husband’s unmoving body.

“Mrs. Hwang, can I talk to you about your husband’s condition?” You didn’t move, his mother had to beg the doctor to continue speaking. “He was shot in his left shoulder, luckily the bullet didn’t hit any vital organs, but because of the time between the injury and his arrival at the hospital, he lost a significant amount of blood. We think he hit the water head-first, and the impact caused his neck to break, luckily, there was no spinal cord damage. We induced him into a coma once he reached the hospital, so unfortunately we aren’t able to tell the extent of the damage unless he wakes.”

Your mother and law stood up “Unless? What do you mean by unless?!” she screamed. “My son is not going to die, do you hear me?!” 

You felt broken, Jun-ho had to wake up, he had to. You didn’t care if he couldn’t walk, or speak, but he had to wake up.

You could hear fists banging against the doctor’s chest, but you didn’t turn around. Just kept staring at your husband’s pale face, and pale hands.

The hospital had apparently received a large grant during COVID to expand, and when the pandemic had died down they became designated only for acute emergency cases and recovery care, and many rooms were kept vacant. The staff let you stay in the other bed in his room, and there was a shower attached to the room, designed for patients in long-term recovery and their family members. The hospital had a small cafeteria that made shockingly delicious Korean food, and they delivered the meals to the room three times a day. Before long, you became used to the tired routine of late-night check-ups and tired smiles from the nurses urging you to go home and rest. You were terrified that if you left the hospital Jun-ho would die before you could get back, but you couldn’t tell the nurses that. You just told the nurses that your house was far away and it was more convenient to stay at the hospital as opposed to making the commute or getting a hotel room.

It was three weeks before Jun-ho moved. In that time, you hadn’t left the hospital once. He squeezed your hand while you were holding it, and at first, you thought you imagined it. You called the doctor, and she said she would keep an eye on it, but not to get your hopes up- apparently twitching was normal in coma patients. Several hours later you felt the squeeze again, and when you looked up, you saw Jun-ho’s eyes open the slightest bit. 

It was like a month’s worth of fear and pain cascaded over in a heartbeat, and you collapsed on his chest in broken sobs, staring up at your husband. His mother was there, and she leaned over at him, pleading his name. He stared at you for as long as he could, until his eyes closed again, his eyelids twitching like he wanted them to stay open. Once his eyes closed your hand was still holding his in a tight grip, and you reached open to press the button again.

In the next couple of days, he went in and out of consciousness at increasing intervals. The first moment where you felt like you could breathe again came a week after he first squeezed your hand, when you awoke from sleeping laying on his lap while you sat in the chair to the sound of gagging. You heard his heartbeat increase and saw his throat convulse and his eyes flash open as he fought his breathing tube. 

You immediately pressed the call button for the nurse, and when they took too long you went out into the hallway and screamed for a nurse. There were only a couple of patients on his hall, and they could go screw themselves if they thought their sleep was more important than your husband's choking. The nurse and doctor came running and closed the door on you. Within a couple of minutes the nurse opened the door, and let you step inside. The doctor tried to talk to you, but you couldn’t hear anything she was saying as you walked past her toward your husband’s side.

“Baby,” Jun-ho whispered. His voice was hoarse and broken, and you could feel tears streaming down your face.

“Honey, you’re- you’re here.” You cried more and more, and he painfully reached his arm up to you.

“It’s okay (y/n), I was never going anywhere, I’m here.” You tucked your head into his neck and sobbed into his hospital gown. 

He stroked your hair slowly until his hand rested on the back of your head. You looked up to see that he had fallen back asleep, exhausted from the ordeal of choking on his breathing tube. You pressed a kiss to his cheek, wet from a single tear rolling down his face, and tucked your head back down to fall asleep again.

You woke up to a nurse gently shaking you away, informing you that you had to sleep in the other bed to prevent infection. You wanted to fight her for doing her job, but obliged. You fell back asleep quickly, too tired to stay awake because of the crying you had just finished doing.

“(Y/n).” You awoke to a quiet voice, blinking your eyes because of the bright sunlight streaming through the window. You immediately looked over at Jun-ho to see your fiance with his head turned looking at you.

“Jun-ho.” You stood up, stumbling out of bed in the clothes you had to have been wearing for at least a couple of days before now, and went over to kiss him on the lips, the same way he had the last time you had seen him before he went missing. He reciprocated with more force than you thought someone who hadn’t moved any part of his body in a month could.

“I missed you so much honey, I couldn’t breathe for so long.” He smiled and wiped a tear off of your face. 

“I know baby, but I’m here now, I’m here.” He looked at you with so much love and life in his eyes, exactly what you had been missing for the past month.

“I was so scared Jun-ho, first I couldn’t find you, and then once I did I- I wasn’t sure.” You paused, another tear streaming down your face. “I wasn’t sure you would make it.” You whispered.

“I know (y/n), and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“You- you got shot. You fell from really high into the water far out in the ocean. You have no idea how scared I was.”

His brow furrowed painfully before he suddenly pulled his head back and winced. “Jun-ho, Jun-ho? Are you okay?!”

You frantically pushed the call button and within seconds there was a team of doctors and nurses entering the room. They slowed slightly when they saw the scene in front of them, and quickly determined there was no immediate danger, and quickly began examining him and asking you both questions. Once the rest of the group left, Jun-ho’s main doctor sat in a chair to explain the situation to the both of you.

She explained what the team had seen when they had checked Jun-ho over, and explained the need for another set of scans to ensure there was no serious brain injury. “We also will need to call the police back to the hospital, because of the gunshot wound.”

Jun-ho froze, and his back grew stiff. “Baby, what’s wrong?” You rested your hand in his grip, tightening it around his.

“Nothing’s wrong, just nervous about the tests.” He squeezed your hand back and smiled up at you at your position sitting next to him on the bed. His body remained stiff, and your brow furrowed in confusion. He was likely traumatized and in pain, both physically and mentally.

Once the doctor left, you apprehensively asked him “Honey, I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but… What happened when you were gone, with the fall, and the gunshot wound?”

He looked away from you and glanced out the window. He paused, “I don’t know. I don’t remember what happened.”

You leaned in and squeezed his hand again. “It’s okay if you do, I just want to help you.”

He remained looking out the window, until he looked back at you, something tight across his eyes. “I really don’t know, can we please talk about something else. I’m going to get enough of that from my coworkers later anyways.” He laughed, but the tightness across his face remained the same.

Smiling a similar tight smile, you squeezed his hand back. “Okay. Just, let me know if you remember anything.”

“Now, is there anything I can do to help you?” 

“Jun-ho, I’m not the one who just woke up from a coma, that’s my line!” Jun-ho smiled a real smile, and you copied him, smiling your first genuine smile in weeks.

After the tests, you wheeled Jun-ho in a wheelchair back into his hospital room, where you were greeted by his boss sitting in your usual chair next to his bedside. He stood up to greet you, “Detective! It’s so good to see you awake again!” He bowed to Jun-ho, and your husband nodded his head in return.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but do you think we could do the interview now? Just so we don’t get more in the way of you and your lovely wife.” He smiled, but there was anxiety furrowing his brow. He was clearly using many tactics that you watched Jun-ho explain that the police force used on victims and their families.

Jun-ho smiled back, “of course.” He looked up at you and smiled a similar tight smile towards you. “Honey, do you think you could go and get some coffee from downstairs for us?” 

You nodded, unsure of what to do as you could clearly tell that the coffee run was just an excuse to get you out of the room. “Of course.” There wasn’t anything you could do about it, and confronting your husband about something he is clearly not ready to talk about would certainly not be a solution. “Officer, would you like me to get you anything?”

He waved you off and you hesitantly exited the room to go downstairs.

Due to the emptiness of the hospital, it didn’t take you long to go down to the cafeteria, pick up some coffee for you and Jun-ho, and come back upstairs. When you reached the floor that the room was on, you hesitated, noticing that the door was cracked and the sounds of him and his boss were still quietly filtering out into the hallway.

You debated for a second staying and eavesdropping, but your moral compass won out in the end. Whatever it was, Jun-ho was clearly not ready to tell you. You didn’t want to betray his trust, and eventually, he would share it with you. The two of you had no secrets between you. If there ever was a night when Jun-ho would have to stay later at work, or was suddenly asked to hang out by his friends, he would call you immediately and tell you what was going on and when he would probably be home. Not that you necessarily needed him to, you trusted him, but he insisted that he never wanted you to worry after him. You did the same in turn, even though your job was far less demanding than his and plans came up far less sporadically for you than they did for him.

As you walked away, you heard a sliver of the conversation “hundreds… shot.” It made you pause in your step. You must’ve misheard. Maybe he had said something else. Maybe you were too sleep-deprived and stressed to think clearly. Still, you turned those words around in your head as you sat in a chair in the hallway next to the nurse’s station.

If you hadn’t misheard- if; what would it mean? Did Jun-ho have a brain injury that didn’t turn up on scans that makes him misremember what happened? Or- or was he telling the truth? Your husband wasn’t a liar, he was the perfect detective because of his strict moral compass, so that must mean… That must mean that if there was no brain injury, and if you didn’t mishear, wherever Jun-ho was he had watched hundreds of people die.

You heard a knock on the doorframe, “Mrs. Hwang, we’re done with the interview.” 

You stood up and walked toward the door when the other detective put his hand on your shoulder while his face grimaced. “I hope everything works out well for the two of you, I really do.” With that foreboding line of encouragement, he walked past you and towards the elevator.

When you entered the room, Jun-ho smiled at you. “(Y/n).” You walked towards him and kissed his forehead, handing him the cup of coffee.

Kissing his forehead, you asked, “How did it go? Are you alright?”

Jun-ho’s brow creased, but he smiled back at you still. “It went well, I just told him that I didn’t know anything.”

That didn’t make sense. You had to have been gone for at least 20 minutes, there was no way those 15 minutes were filled with the other detective asking questions that your husband kept saying no to.

“I’ll have to go into the station later on after I’m discharged and give a longer more formal statement, but for now they’ll leave us alone.”

“Great, I’m glad to have you all to myself.” You leaned over and kissed him on the lips again. You trusted him, and whatever it was that he wasn’t telling you, he would open up about soon. 

He didn’t. After another 2 weeks, the hospital was completely sure there were no long-standing effects. Besides having to regularly come in for check-ups and to carefully not hurt the shoulder where he was shot, miraculously there were no other serious effects.

You had finally gone back into the apartment after he woke up, although you weren’t happy about going back when it was lifeless due to Jun-ho’s absence. By the time he was discharged, the apartment was dust-free, and you made sure that everything was the same as it had been when he had first gone missing.

In the past couple of weeks, Jun-ho had been too calm. He was casual about just about everything. He was smiling, and making jokes, like nothing had ever happened. But, underneath it all, you could tell something was different. When you’ve been with someone for so long, had exchanged wedding vows, and slept in the same bed for years, you just knew them. You knew your husband, and something was off about him. He refused to go to sleep in the hospital room with the door open, and every time you came or went he would make you close the door behind you. He insisted that you spent the night in the hotel room with him (not that you were complaining) even when he was far out of the danger zone. On the car ride home from the hospital he would check the mirrors every time he thought you weren’t looking.

There was something completely off about him, he seemed paranoid, and for the first time in your relationship besides his brother’s disappearance- scared. But every time you would ask him what was wrong, he would just smile and say “I’m alright, just adjusting.”

You carried all of your stuff to the apartment, insisting on doing so even though your stubborn husband wanted to carry luggage even with a bullet recently being removed from his shoulder. But, when you left the elevator and were about to go into the apartment, he stopped you by putting his hand out.

“Baby, I just want to get inside. This is heavy.” You complained.

“I know, just- just give me a minute. I want to check something.” He silently turned the key to your small apartment, took off both his shoes, and stepped inside. He pulled up his pant leg slightly and took out a gun that you didn’t even notice was there.

“Jun-ho!”

He turned back to you and put his finger to his lips, shushing you. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

He closed the door behind him, and you stood there shocked. You knew something was wrong, but you didn’t expect him to take out a gun and search your home.

In a couple of minutes, he came back out. “What the hell Jun-ho? What was that!” 

“It was nothing, I’m sorry.” He put the gun back away.

“Why would you search our house? You’ve never done that before. Seriously Jun-ho, what’s going on?” You shouted, exasperated by him saying one thing and acting in a completely opposite way.

“It’s nothing.” He sighed, “I’m sorry (y/n), I’m just scared. It’s been a while since I’ve been out of the hospital, so I’m nervous.” He leaned in and gave you a hug, which you reciprocated. But still, that wasn’t the whole truth.

“I think you should see someone Jun-ho, this isn’t normal.” You said into your husband’s chest.

“(Y/n), I’m fine. I promise.” You leaned your head up and kissed him again.

The first week back was difficult. Jun-ho seemed terrified of just about everything around him. The both of you barely left the house, and when you did his hand held yours in a tight grip.

Your job had given you an extended leave to take care of Jun-ho, but your leave was ending in a few weeks once the two-month mark passed. 

You were laying in bed one night, Jun-ho tracing circles on your shoulder as you spooned after making love. “Jun-ho, I’m worried about you.”

He kissed your shoulder, “what about?” He said casually.

You rolled over to face him. “About everything, you’ve been so scared and stressed. I don’t know what’s going to happen once I go back to work.” 

He propped his head on his hand as he laid on his side, “I know, I’m sorry. I’m starting to feel better. I’m sorry I’ve been so paranoid lately.”

You sighed, “I want you to see someone Jun-ho. I don’t want this to fester and fester.”

He sighed, “I know (y/n), I promise it’ll get better soon. I talked to the chief today, I’ll go back to work next week.”

You shot up in bed, “two weeks? Babe, that isn’t nearly enough time. You still can’t lift anything heavier than a paper clip with your left arm.”

Jun-ho reached back towards you and stroked your arm. “Well good thing I’m right-handed.” He smirked.

Tilting your head, you just looked back at your husband anxiously. “Jun-ho this is serious. You aren’t ready to go back to work.”

“(Y/n), please trust me. This will all be over soon, okay?” He looked at you pleadingly. He didn’t want you to drop it or ignore it, he wanted you to- trust him? There was a secret, but he clearly didn’t want you to know it, and just to wait.

Sighing, you said, “Okay, I’ll wait.” You didn’t know what else to say. You couldn’t make him tell you the truth, and he wanted you to not push it. There was nothing to do. “But I really want you to talk to someone.”

He leaned in to kiss you, and right before he touched your lips, he said “Okay, I will; for you.” Then he closed the distance and kissed you until you needed to come up for air.

Your house was quieter after you both went back to work. When Jun-ho came home from work he would make his way next to you on the couch, lay down, and put his head on your lap. It was nice at first, after so much stress you could simply relax and enjoy each other's company.

Soon after getting home, he would get tired. Sometimes falling asleep on your lap.

After a month of him getting back to work, you were exhausted from the silence. It became oppressive. You grew tired of the same routine, and how your husband never quite grew less paranoid. He became better at hiding it, attaching cameras and extra locks around your house under the guise of burglaries in the building that you had never heard of. He would stand up from his crouch install the locks and wrap his arms around you, kissing you and telling you that he just wanted you to be safe.

Before his accident, he would wake up every morning and make breakfast for the both of you, insisting that it was the most important meal of the day. After the accident, he started to make lunch as well, and whenever you suggested that you go out for dinner, he smiled and told you that he enjoyed your cooking so much more.

Then, after 3 months, he came home completely exhausted. It was later than usual, and you stayed up late to greet him, completely concerned by his lack of response to any of your texts. “Jun-ho, where the hell were you? Are you okay?!” You ran up to him as soon as he opened the door, looking him up and down for any injuries.

“No, I’m fine.” He smiled a lopsided and insincere smile at you. He smelled like alcohol.

“Were you drinking?” You demanded.

“Me and my coworkers went out for a couple of bottles of soju after work, nothing much.” He shook off his shoes and went to hug you.

You pulled away, “why didn’t you tell me? We always tell each other these things.” 

“Baby, I had a long, long day, let’s not do this right now.”

“No, we have to do this right now, what happened? You’ve been so strange lately, and you never went to talk to someone like you said you would.” You paused, tears beginning to well up in your eyes, “I’m really concerned for you. I want you to get tested for PTSD.”

He stepped closer to you, “I don’t have PTSD, I just had a long day.” You didn’t move. He sighed, “(Y/n), please, I’m exhausted. Can we do this tomorrow?”

You didn’t say anything but didn’t move when he closed the distance between you to pull you into a tight hug. You finally reciprocated, pulling him closer, when you heard silent sniffling from next to your ear. In a heartbeat, you felt a drop of wetness on your shoulder. 

The next day, Jun-ho quit being a detective. After he started crying, he pretended like nothing had happened, got silent, and took a shower before going to bed. You barely spoke another word the rest of the night, but after he thought you went to sleep you could feel him trace circles on your shoulder.

He told you as soon as he got home that being a detective was too much work for him after the accident, and he tired more easily, but you didn’t buy it for a second.

“Jun-ho, you love your job, why would you quit? Do you want to go back on leave?” You pleaded at your husband.

He smiled back at you, “Of course I love my job, it’s only temporary.” And he leaned in to kiss you on the lips.

Temporary. Although your better judgment told you otherwise, you put all your faith in that one little word. Temporary, this, like everything else making your husband act so different, would pass.

Jun-ho came home late the next day. Then the next. The first you waited up for him, sitting at the dinner table, your food growing cold. When your husband came in, he didn’t smell like alcohol, he simply kissed you on the forehead and sat down across from you, not confronting his tardiness. You cried yourself to sleep that night, with your husband laying stiff as a board next to you, unsure of what to do.

The next night, when he was late, you didn’t bother to wake up. You left his food in the fridge and went to bed early, tears streaming down your face. You were still awake when he came into bed but pretended to be asleep. You could feel the bed shaking from his silent sobs.

The next month went on in the same way, with the only escape from the monotony of your miserable silence being Jun-ho’s one day off. On that one day, you would pretend that you didn’t have any problems, that you were a normal couple who would go walking through the cherry trees and go out drinking together late at night. You went on a double date with one of your coworkers and her husband and sat awkwardly through one of their arguments. It wasn’t the same, but having some bit of refuge away from your stress was a lifesaver.

But even that changed. One day, you decided to go kayaking out in the bay, and while you were out in the water, Jun-ho stopped for a minute. There was a gap in your conversation, and during it, your husband stopped paddling.

“Babe, are you alright?”

He looked up at you as if startled. “Yeah, I’m alright.” He paused, “Would it be okay if we went back, I need to do something important.”

“Um, yeah sure. What is it?” You hesitantly asked.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” Your face sank. Every question you asked your husband ended with him saying ‘It’s nothing,’ no matter how big of a deal it likely was.

A couple of days later, when your husband came home late again, he told you that he would be busy on his day off and that a friend of his needed help on his boat. You just smiled and nodded, because what else could you really do?

Then he was busy the next weekend, and then the next, and the next. You only really saw your husband for a couple of minutes in the morning, and a couple of minutes in the night. Sometimes, you were able to make time. Sometimes, you would go out for a nice dinner, or go out to a friend’s party for the holidays. On your birthday he took the whole day off work and planned every single thing you would do all day. He made breakfast, took you shopping in the morning, went out to a nice lunch, took you out to the countryside to the ocean, and bought you lunch in your favorite tiny spot next to the shore. It was like for just 24 hours you had your husband back.

But other than that, it was like living with a ghost. He got more and more stressed over time. He smiled the same amount, but even with taking a demotion to a regular cop, he was getting worse and worse over time. He felt tenser, and more on edge than he had ever been before.

Every night you would fall asleep crying, you became used to waking up with a wet pillow or having to look at your puffy eyes when you wiped the condensation off the mirror after crying in the shower. Whenever Jun-ho saw the tears, whether you were laying in bed or cooking dinner on one of the rare nights that he came home early would wrap you in a hug from behind, and say, “I’m so sorry honey, I promise this will pass.” 

And you would plead, “Please honey, please, just tell me what’s happening, please be here more.”

And he would press his head into your back and whisper, “I can’t, I’m sorry. I love you.”

Your hopes would drop all over again, “I love you too.”

It was three years before anything changed. You would constantly beg him to do anything, to see someone, to talk to you, to do anything. Your friends asked you if he was cheating, but you knew he wasn’t. You knew, somehow that whatever was happening, was big, and important. And that it was eating you and your husband alive.

You didn’t see him for three days. He answered all of your texts with “Just something for work, I’ll be home soon. I love you.” Nothing else. No explanation for anything.

You slept on the couch and stayed there when you were awake, racked with anxiety. When he finally came home you sat there staring straight ahead. He didn’t speak.

You had pictured a fight, a confrontation. You had begged and pleaded, with tears in your eyes before. But nothing had happened. And after almost four years, you didn’t have any energy left.

“I want a divorce.” You surprised yourself with the words.

You looked up at him, and he stood there, his expression unreadable. 

“If you can’t tell me what the hell is going on, tomorrow I’m going to a lawyer.” 

He stumbled toward you and dropped to his knees in front of you, “(Y/n), please. You just have to trust me. This, this’ll all be over soon. I know I’ve said it before, but this time I mean it, soon it’ll be just like before.”

You looked into your husband’s eyes which were beginning to fill with tears. “I don’t believe you.”

“Baby, please. I can’t tell you, I really can’t.” His head dropped, breaking eye contact as you saw a tear fall down to reach the floor. He whispered, “If- if you know the truth, I don’t know what’ll happen to you. And I can’t risk that. I- I’ve risked everything else. But I can’t risk you.”

You couldn’t cry, your tears were all dried up. You should be shocked by what he was saying, but your mind went back to what you heard him say from outside that hospital room years ago “Hundreds… Shot.”

“I know, I’ve known. I know that you remember, and I know that it’s related to when you went missing. I just need you to trust me. I can’t do this anymore.”

He looks up at you, grabbing your hands and wrapping his around yours. “I know, I’m so sorry, but I need you to just wait a little bit longer-”

You stood up. “I think you should leave.” 

“(Y/n), please.”

You walked away from him, towards your bedroom. “(Y/n), I love you.”

“I love you.” And then you heard the door shut.

As you lay in bed, you couldn’t help but feel empty, like your heart had been torn out of your chest. The brutal calm you had been through was over, but storm had just begun.

Part two will be out with the next season, stay tuned for more!

[terrestrialnoob]

Damian glared at the clone as Father and Drake attempted to turn whatever they had in the cave into a machine that could analyze the clone’s DNA before it disintegrated.

“Sorry I’m late.” Nightwing said as he walked towards where Damian stood watching at a distance from the Bat-Parking Garage. “What’s the situation, Robin?”

“Did you not read the brief Father sent out?”

“I did, I just want your opinion – and to know what they’re doing right now?”

“I believe they are attempting to create a machine that will cycle the clone’s blood as it analyses. The clone seems to be marginally competent at engineering and is assisting.”

“You know his name is Danny, right?”

“I doubt it.” Damian huffed as his stare got more intense.

“You doubt his name?” Nightwing asked. “Why?”

“You don’t find it suspicious?” Damian turned so his face was more towards Dick but the clone was still within his vision. “He did everything we asked, and answered every invasive question, without hesitation.”

“He's dying, of course he's telling us everything.”

“Would you? Would any of us?”

Dick turned and stared at him.

“He’s not a civilian.” Damian continued. “He said the people who made him wanted to make a better Batman. Would Batman ever be this forthcoming?”

“He’s nothing like B, though, outside of appearance?”

“We don’t know that.” Damian managed to keep his voice down despite wanting to shout it from the rooftops. “We don’t know who he is or if he’s telling the truth. We should have brought him to an external lab. We should have been more cautious -but…” Damian forcefully motioned towards where the trio were working on their analysis machine.

Dick sighed, but his frown turned into a soft smile for just a moment before he looked serious again. “I get it.”

Damian doubted that, and his doubt was proven true when Dick continued. “It’s scary when B just decides to bring in another kid. It changes all the dynamics and we each get less attention and… Danny is also technically B’s blood son, he was literally made from B’s blood. And he looks like he’s what? A year older than you? This is big for you-”

“Stop.” Damian rubbed his face then grabbed Dick’s arm.

“Listen to me.” Damian pulled Dick down a little so their eyes were a little more even. “When the clone’s blood broke down it looked like Lazarus Water. It was – I can feel it’s the same even if it evaporated before the analyzer could identify it. And this is exactly the type of thing Grandfather would do! How could a pair of random scientists get enough of Batman’s genetic material to make a clone? The list of who wants to make a “better batman” is a short one, and my maternal family is on that list. Presenting Father with a dying clone child that has to be taken to the cave, that just so happens to have been abandoned by his parents, that went straight to Jim Gordon, is exactly something Grandfather would pull to get us to lower our guards and… try to kill us or something.”

“And you think we don’t know that?” Dick asked with worry on his face. “You think Tim, who fuck’s with Ra’s in his spare time, wouldn’t think of that?”

“Then why did-”

“Because he is dying, right?”

Damian sucked in his breath. From what he’d seen… yes, the clone was dying. They watched his blood turn green and evaporate in less than a minute. When Damian looked over the clone even physically looked worse than when Damian first saw him on the roof of the GCPD.

“Dami, we’re just trying to help him not die. We will worry about all that other stuff later. And we're going to make sure no one gets hurt.”

Damian let Dick go and turned back to the clone. They’d finished setting up their strange machine and the clone’s blood was feeding into it. Hopefully, they’ll finally figure out what’s causing the destabilization and save the clone from dissolving into Lazarus Water. Then Damian can finally figure out what it wants, who sent it, and how to get rid of it. Or, maybe they fail and the problem solves itself.

Damian looked at his father’s face and hoped that wasn’t how this ended.

Gut Feeling

DPXDC

Commissioner Jim Gordon meets an odd kid in the precinct.

--

“Come on, you really don’t have a way to directly contact Batman?”

Jim smiled. Kids came to the station and asked that all the time. Usually, it was just curiosity and showing them the signal was enough to get them to sign up for the Junior Police program. This one looked a little older than most, teenagers were often “too old” to believe in Batman, but again, give them a little faith now and they’ll never loose it.

“Lookin’ for the Bat, kid?” Jim asked, knowing he was about to make this kid’s –

Jim froze. The kid turned to face him and it was Bruce Wayne. Not playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne, but freshly a teenager Bruce Wayne. The Bruce Wayne who Jim had checked in on time and again from age eight until he ran off on a globetrotting trip to find himself. The little Bruce Wayne with too pale skin and dark bags under his eyes, and not enough love to make up for all the grief weighing him down. And he didn’t look like Damian either, where Bruce was obviously his father but there were distinct traits from his mother. This was a carbon copy of a boy Jim remembered vividly.

“I am.” He even sounded like teenage Bruce. All business, like he was on a mission.

“I might be able to help you, but it’ll take a while.” Jim said and the officer the kid had been talking too gave him an odd look. He waved her off and told the kid to follow him to the commissioner’s office. Normally, he’d be more dramatic, put on more of a show for the kid, but his gut told him this was different, this was important. He offered the kid a styrofoam cup of water then closed the door behind him. “So, what do you need to talk to Batman for?”

“It’s personal. I need to talk to him in person.”

Jim took a sip of coffee from his cup. “He doesn’t appreciate me calling for no reason in the middle of the day.”

“So you do have a direct line?” The kid nearly jumped out of his seat. “If he’s upset, it’ll be my fault, just call him, please.”

“Who should I say wants to talk to him?”

The kid hesitated. “He doesn’t know me, but I have to talk to him.”

Jim frowned. “What’s your name, kid?”

He swallowed and looked like he wasn’t going to answer for a moment. “Danny.”

“Danny…?” Jim wanted a last name but Danny kept quiet. Jim sighed, “He’s likely not going to show up until sundown.”

“I can wait, as long as you guarantee he’ll show.”

“And you’re not going to tell me why you need Batman?” Jim just got a glare in response. “What about one of the other heroes?”

“Only Batman, no one else can help.”

“You sure about that? Not even Superman?”

“Not unless Superman can get me in the same room as Batman.”

“Why’s it so important that you meet him in person?”

“It’s personal.”

Jim liked this less and less by the minute. “Do your parents know you’re here?”

Danny looked away but right when it looked like he wouldn’t say anything he mumbled. “They wouldn’t care anyway.”

After another moment to give the kid time to reconsider, Jim pulled out the Bat-phone. It was a normal Wayne-Tech cell phone, but Jim had been given very specific instructions on how and when to use it. The phone listed all the Gotham Vigilantes without visible numbers so they couldn’t be copied and handed out. He pressed the one for Batman.

“Stand outside, would you?” The kid gave him a look, but followed the request. Jim could see his shadow in the door’s window, not so subtle eavesdropping.

It rang a few times, and Jim sat there awkwardly with a teenager listening to his every move. Finally, a familiar voice picked up the other end of the line. “Commissioner Gordon.”

“Sorry to call you out of the blue Batman, but I’ve got a kid here who needs your help.”

“Who?”

“Says his name is Danny, that you’ve never met him but you’re the only one who can help him.”

“Why?”

“Refuses to tell me.”

“What’s your best guess, Commissioner?”

Jim looked at Danny’s shadow, it looked like he was straining his ears to try and hear what he was saying. Danny had given him almost nothing to work with. Just his name, that he’s never met Batman but needs to talk with him in person. But Jim was here because he listened to his gut. A feeling like when you see a random rock on your neighbor’s doorstep but you’d never go in without an invitation. A feeling like you know what’s in the present and are preparing your surprised face. A feeling like when you cheated on your wife and you know she knows.

“He looks like Bruce Wayne.”

A beat of silence. “What?”

“Danny looks exactly like Bruce when he was a teenager. Exactly the same.” Jim hoped Batman would get it, feel in his gut what Jim felt.

“And he wont say why he’s there?”

“No, and he demands to see you in person.”

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

“10-4.” The line cut off before Jim had finished saying it. He called Danny in again. “He’s on his way.”

Danny glared at him. “If he’s not, if you called some social worker or something, you’ll regret it.”

“I’m sure.” Jim sighed and downed the rest of his now cold coffee.

The sun hadn’t set, but only just barely. Jim ended up taking Danny up to the roof in the end after all, if only to save his window from being broken into. The kid had a red hoodie on, but he was still shivering in the autumn chill and it was just going to get colder by the minute as the sun made its way behind the horizon.

Jim checked his watch and, at exactly an hour from when he called, he acted surprised when Batman and Robin appeared out of nowhere. “Bats.”

“Commissioner.” Batman greeted but his eyes went straight for Danny. “Danny, I assume.”

“Yeah, I…” Danny hesitated, looking at Jim and Robin.

All it took was four words from Batman. “What do you need?”

The kid held out his hand with a flash drive in it. “I’m your clone. My par- The people who made me wanted to make a stronger version of you, but they got ahead of themselves. My DNA is degrading and I’ll die if I don’t get your DNA to stabilize me.”

Holy cow.

“You don’t expect us to believe that, do you?” Robin sneered at him.

“The flash drive has all the info on it. All the data about the cloning process and the, uh, relevant experiments after that.” Batman gave the kid a look. “I didn’t want to waste time on unnecessary data.”

“If what you’re saying is true, why are you here, alone? Are they working on a different solution?”

Danny’s shoulders hiked up. “I’ve been a failure for a while now, I’m not worth the resources and they’d learn more from an autopsy.”

Oof, kid. Jim looked at Batman who seemed to feel the same… if Jim was reading him right.

“So, you wont object to a DNA test?” Robin asked with a cocky head tilt, at least he was relatively easy to read.

“You can try.” Danny said, and then realized what that sounded like. “I mean I wont stop you, but my DNA degrades faster outside my body. You’ll have to take me to whatever lab you plan on using.”

“Then we will.” Batman said and jerked his head towards where they’d probably parked that ridiculous car of his. But then he looked at Jim with a nod. “Commissioner.”

“Batman.” Jim returned the nod. “You’ll tell me how things turn out, yeah?”

“I’ll give you a report.” Batman joked – Jim could tell, it was gut feeling.

[pochaccoups]

facetime — choi seungcheol & yoon jeonghan

pairing — choi seungcheol x yoon jeonghan x f!reader

summary — when three people in a relationship want to fuck but one of them is in a different country, facetime comes in pretty handy.

wc — 4k

warnings — nsfw content minors dni! smut, established polyamorous relationship, threesome (technically), phone sex, butt plugs, anal and vaginal fingering, oral (m and f receiving), masturbation, so much dirty talk, soft dom!seungcheol, brat tamer!seungcheol, prone bone, creampie, slight daddy kink, reader referred to as a girl, a lot of ‘cheollie’ and ‘hannie’ sorry but i think they sound cute

author’s note — umm hi can u tell i had so much fun writing this …… this will be part of a poly jeongcheol series i have in the works so pls stay tuned and enjoy !!! :>

seungcheol: just finished up the show, what are you up to?

jeonghan: busy.

Attached is a photo that’s slightly shaky and dimly lit, but Seungcheol can make out every detail of you with Jeonghan’s cock halfway down your throat. 

It takes less than a second for Seungcheol’s caller ID to pop up on Jeonghan’s phone screen, and Jeonghan doesn’t hesitate to answer. 

“Yah… You know I hate being left out,” is the first thing Seungcheol says. The sound of his deep voice makes you draw your mouth off of Jeonghan.

“Cheollie?” you ask, beaming as you snatch your boyfriend’s phone from his hands so that you can see your other boyfriend through the screen. 

“Hi, pretty,” Seungcheol says, waving. He looks hot, but that’s a perpetual characteristic of his. He hasn’t removed his makeup yet, and his hair, getting longer, is still styled from the show. “Miss me?”

“So much. We both do,” you say with a grin. You make a show of mouthing at Jeonghan’s cock for the camera, sticking out your tongue so you can slap the tip on it, swirling it around, all with a faint mischievous gleam in your eyes at the sound of one boyfriend’s whines and the other’s sulking.

“Yeah? Doesn’t really seem like you do,” Seungcheol says, laying back on a bed that’s way too soft, too cold, too far away. 

“Seungcheollie, you know how needy our girl is-ah,” Jeonghan pipes up, moaning as you wrap your lips around him and bob your head up and down. 

“I do know, and you’re not innocent either, Jeonghan. You miss getting your pretty little ass fucked, don’t you?” 

You worry Jeonghan will bust then and there from the way his cock twitches in your mouth, but fuck was Seungcheol right. It’s why you all prefer to have sex with all three of you present, because at this point having someone missing feels… weird. Not bad. Definitely not. But the absence of a third lover becomes far too apparent.

Right now, you and Jeonghan don’t have much of a choice though. Duty calls, meaning Seungcheol is touring on the other side of the world—has been for the last two weeks and will be for another two weeks. Jeonghan would be with him if it weren’t for his enlistment. Alas, you have Seungcheol’s voice to do what it does best: tell you two exactly what to do. 

“Take all of him, baby, you know you can,” he says, soft and slightly commanding in a way that makes you want to do good just for him, make him proud. And you’ve taken Seungcheol, who’s a little longer and far thicker, all the way down your throat many, many times before that swallowing Jeonghan’s entire length feels like a mere warmup. 

Pride swells through you when your two boyfriends curse above you, filling you with an eagerness to give them more. So while one of your hands holds the phone, albeit shakingly, your other hand pumps the base of Jeonghan’s cock, in rhythm with your mouth as you bob up and down. It’s wet and obscene, the way you lap up the precum that leaks from your boyfriend’s tip only to let it spill from your lips and drool all over him, all over your fingertips. 

Your eyes never break away from Seungcheol, who’s chewing on his bottom lip and staring at you with eyes that are both clouded over with desire and dark with concentration. If you know your boyfriend then he’s thinking of all the things he would do if he was in the same room as you two.

Jeonghan doesn’t expect it when one of your spit-slick fingers creeps down to his ass and traces his hole, and he squirms and cries as you prod at his opening before pushing inside. He’s taken Seungcheol many, many times, too, that your finger should feel like a warmup, but two weeks without his boyfriend’s cock stretching him out is torture, so the slide of your digit in and out is a sweet relief that he’s forgotten. 

You pull your mouth away from him, sitting up on your knees so that you can angle the camera for Seungcheol to watch as your finger dips in, all the way to your knuckle, then back out of Jeonghan’s hole. 

“He’s so whiny today, Cheollie.”

“Mm, more than usual, huh?” he replies, licking his lips, his hand reaching to his crotch to palm at it just a little. He thinks about how his fingers are twice as thick as yours, how Jeonghan would sob if it was his hands inside him. 

“He misses your fat cock,” you say, and Seungcheol feels his sanity jump straight out of his hotel window. You’ve always proven detrimental to his patience and self-control, taking years off of your poor boyfriend’s life with your bratty ways. “Right, Hannie?” you say, right as you pull your finger out of him, grinning as he squirms and curses under his breath as a reply.

You only stop fingering him because you have an idea. With the phone still in hand, you dangle yourself off the side of the king bed to open one of the bedside table drawers, grab the silver heart-shaped plug and bottle of lube, then clamber back between your boyfriend’s legs. Jeonghan watches with glistening eyes as you drizzle the plug with lube. Once it’s drenched, you flip the phone camera around, letting Seungcheol watch as you press the tapered end of the plug against Jeonghan’s hole. The cold toy makes him flinch at first, and he shudders as you circle his rim with it until he’s thoroughly smeared with the sticky liquid. 

The sound Jeonghan makes when you push the plug inside of him is pitiful, and it’s in harmony with a deep groan of approval from Seungcheol. You’re the furthest one from dominant among the three of you, and yet you have these men dangerously wrapped around your finger. Your men.

“There,” you say, content, like you’ve just painted a masterpiece—and your boyfriend’s pretty ass with a cute heart-shaped butt plug nestled inside comes pretty close. 

“That’s my girl. So thoughtful,” says Seungcheol, and his praise ignites you with a sense of accomplishment that rivals the highest of promotions. 

“Can I make him eat me out now?” you ask, because it’s Cheol who does this best; sets the pace, tells you what to do, lets you sit in the palm of his hand while he does all the thinking for the three of you. A true leader, through and through. 

“Keep sucking Hannie off, baby, just for a bit,” is his instruction. It would be easy to disobey him, yes, to disconnect the call and turn off the phone if you so pleased, but the thing about Seungcheol is that even when his voice is soft, it still commands. 

You pout only for the sake of pouting because, really, having Jeonghan’s cock in your mouth is one of your favourite pastimes. You waste no time swallowing him all the way down to his base again, only to pop right back off him just to hear a tortured moan from him. You fall back into an up and down bobbing rhythm then, steadily, lips wrapped tight around your boyfriend’s length in the way that you know won’t make him last long. 

“Jeonghannie,” Seungcheol calls out, but the man in question is too busy whining and whimpering to hear him. When he’s close his brain all but shuts off and the only thing he can do is take whatever he’s getting with pretty, pretty moans. 

“Baby, don’t let him cum yet,” Seungcheol urges you instead. 

Jeonghan nearly sobs this time when you pop your mouth off his cock, but there’s a force in Seungcheol’s voice that compels you to listen. “Yes, daddy,” you say—the cherry on top.

Seungcheol drags a hand over his face, groaning. “Fuck, you two want me dead, huh?”

“Yeah, well, you two are disgusting… and annoying,” says Jeonghan, who sounds thoroughly irritated as a cute frown knits his brows together. 

Poor, poor you, with not one but two needy, jealous boyfriends who can’t stand not being the subjects of all your affection. If it was you in Seungcheol’s position, alone on the other side of the world, you would never get this sulky. You’d be completely rational about it. Obviously.

The urge to soothe Jeonghan comes as an instinct, one that makes you crawl up from between his legs so that you can straddle his slender waist and kiss his pouting lips. He melts into you when you do, mouth moulding against yours so sweetly, his hands falling to your waist and the tips of his fingers dancing softly against your skin. The Facetime call is forgotten, much to Seungcheol’s dismay, as you drop the phone to the bed in favour of cradling Jeonghan’s cheeks in your hands so that you can kiss him harder. Your crotch, still clothed, rocks back and forth over his erection and soon you’re moaning into one another’s mouths, muffled by your tongues that are swirling together. 

Jeonghan doesn’t have half of Seungcheol’s strength to manhandle you around, so he opts to gently guide you off his lap and onto the bed until you’re underneath him. He kisses you once, twice, thrice, leaves you reeling as he moves on to pepper your neck with soft nibbles and scrapes of his teeth. He pulls away for a moment only to drag your t-shirt (one of Seungcheol’s, of course) up and over your head. 

Now that you’re less occupied with Jeonghan’s lips, you pick up the phone again and bring the camera up to your face, grinning at Seungcheol’s small pout on the screen. If you could only hop through the phone and into his lap, you would do it in a heartbeat. 

“Cheollie, wanna see your cock, please,” you say, shivering as Jeonghan mouths at one of your nipples. He flicks it with the tip of his tongue as his hands reach up to grasp your tits delicately, and you sigh when his warm, wet mouth envelops one of your hardened buds. 

“Not yet, baby, I’ll take it out when Jeonghan fucks you, okay?” 

Seungcheol chuckles fondly at your unhappy hum, so he adds, “I wanna cum with you two, yeah?”

“Okay, fine- wait, Hannie,” you whine. “My boobs.”

He peers up, already between your legs, having decided he was done giving attention to your tits. You see right through it—your boyfriend is nothing if not vengeful. 

“You’re too spoiled,” he quips, peeling your shorts and panties down your legs, exposing your drooling pussy to him. 

“And you’re used to Cheollie doing everythi-ahh!” Jeonghan cuts you off when he licks your cunt without warning, sending your eyes rolling back into your head and your hand grabbing a fistful of his now-short hair. He’s far from rough and aggressive, but it’s precisely the patient softness of his touch that leaves you keening for more. 

“Baby, can you do me a favour?” Seungcheol asks, practically cooing as he watches your eyes glaze over with pleasure.

But all you can focus on is the way that Jeonghan’s warm tongue flicks lazily over your clit as well as the grip of his fingers on your thighs. 

“Baby?” Seungcheol tries again, only a little louder. This time your eyes flick to him on the screen and you make a little affirmative noise. “Will you flip the phone screen around for me, please? I wanna watch Hannie eat your pretty pussy.”

You do as he asks, pointing the camera to give Seungcheol a view of his boyfriend between his girlfriend’s thighs. 

“Good girl,” he says, breathier now, his tone darker. It’s deliberate; malicious, you would say—his praise makes you a whiny, needy mess. His voice alone turns you into a slut and he knows that because you’d told him that, word for word. “And since I’m not there, can you play with your tits for me, baby? The way that I would do it? I know it’s not the same, but it’ll still feel good.” 

“Mhm,” you moan. You find yourself closing your eyes as you let go of Jeonghan’s hair and bring your hand to cup your own breast, to squeeze and grope at it, to tweak and tug at your nipple, all while imagining that you’re leaned against your boyfriend’s sturdy, broad body and that it’s his big, unrelenting hand cupping your tits and not your own. 

At the same time, Jeonghan eats your pussy like the fiend that he is. Unlike Seungcheol, who lacks the control to stop himself from ravaging you like an animal until your pussy is raw and puffy, Jeonghan is much more, as he is in all aspects of his life, calculated. He’ll string you along with swipes of his tongue that seem coy until he’s making passes through your folds, prodding at your dripping, awaiting entrance. He licks into your hole and sips at your arousal like it’s honey, intent on making you fall apart slowly.

“How does his mouth feel, angel? Tell him,” says Seungcheol, whose lips have gotten swollen from his relentless chewing on them.

“God, Hannie, feels so good,” you squeak, your eyes still screwed shut as if that’ll help soothe the heat that burns through your body from Jeonghan’s mouth. Your fingers keep pinching at your nipple, and then Jeonghan slips two of his fingers into your heat, sending your hips bucking against his face and leaving you whining desperately, shamelessly. 

While his mouth makes out with your cunt, Jeonghan’s fingers dip in and out of you, massaging at your most sensitive spot over and over. He finds it with practiced ease, and he knows by now exactly what kind of vigour it needs to have you crying. He’s practically petting at your insides, your walls clamping around his fingers as your moans start to grow louder.

“H-hannie, I’m close, please, right there,” you squirm as your walls attempt to suck his fingers in.

You don’t see it, but his eyes flash with something devilish. Your other boyfriend sees it, though. 

“Jeonghan, don’t even think about edging her.”

Jeonghan smirks with mischief, letting his fingers do the work as he pulls his mouth away from your pussy. 

“Let me have my fun, Seungcheollie.” 

“If I did that neither you nor her would cum at all,” is your other boyfriend’s response. 

There’s silence as Jeonghan ponders whether he should obey or disobey. All the while, you’re mere inches away from your edge, hot with frustration because it’s so close; you’re so close. You just need a little bit more. It’s not too much to ask.

“Hannie, please…”

And he can’t find it in himself to deprive you any longer, so he crooks his fingers and works them as fast as he possibly can until you’re clenching, gushing, writhing all around his hand, wailing his name as you grab at his wrist but he still won’t stop. 

“Such a good boy, huh, Jeonghannie? Making her cum so good,” comes Seungcheol’s voice, sounding more breathless with each time he speaks. “Now we’re all happy.”

It’s only once your walls have stopped spasming around his fingers that Jeonghan finally slips them out of you and pops them straight into his mouth, licking them clean of every drop of your sugary arousal. He makes sure to gaze directly into the camera as his tongue laves and swirls over each one of his digits, knowing Seungcheol’s dick is twitching at the sight.

“I haven’t cum yet though. So I’m not happy yet,” he says, dragging a finger out of his mouth with a pop.

You sit up on your elbows with your cute, blissed out features, your eyes falling to his red-hard cock. 

“Come here and fuck me, then,” you say, impatient, like he didn’t just give you an orgasm. You paw at the hem of his shirt (also Seungcheol’s) and bite your lip as he pulls it over his head, letting your hands roam over his pale torso.

“Ride me?” he asks. How predictable. If it’s not Seungcheol taking him from behind then it’s you on top of him. God forbid Yoon Jeonghan does the work.

“Actually, I have a better idea. And this way Cheollie can see us both,” you say with a grin. 

With the phone on the front-facing camera, you prop it up against the headboard and roll onto your stomach, craning your head to look at him over your shoulder. 

“Like this?” Jeonghan asks, straddling the backs of your thighs.

“Yeah,” you say, parting your legs a little, arching your back and raising your hips—presenting your soaked, messy hole to him. “Try not to get tired.”

He responds with a half-hearted smack to your ass and Cheol scoffs out a chuckle. Jeonghan slides his cock between your folds, coating it with your slick, revelling in your tiny gasps every time it catches on your entrance. You’re prepared to whine and nag at your boyfriend to hurry up, but you suppose he’s feeling just as impatient as you are because he’s pushing in before you can even speak up. You look at Seungcheol, mouth dropping as you’re stuffed full with Jeonghan’s cock until he’s buried to the hilt inside you. His hands land on either side of your elbows so that he can hover over you, reel his hips back, and fuck himself into you like that. 

In this position, Jeonghan’s length brushes right against your gummy, sensitive spot with every stroke, making you keen for more even though he’s just started. 

“Harder, Hannie,” you sigh, pushing your ass up against his hips.

Instead of listening, he drops his head to the crook of your shoulder and kisses your skin. His breath tickles your ear when he whispers to you: “ah, what’s the rush, angel?”

You turn your head to catch his gaze, to drink in the sight of his face as he takes what he needs from you; his cheeks pink, his eyes tired and full of hunger. His lips, plump and enticing, evoke an unrivalled craving within you and he reads you well, brings his mouth to yours to give you as much satiation as he can muster. 

Seungcheol sits, silent, waiting. His patience is mere embers as he watches you two, his boyfriend and his girlfriend, tangled within one another. The wet slap of Jeonghan’s balls against the back of your thighs; the smacking of your lips, teeth, and tongues. He misses it. Fuck, he could go insane. 

“Cheollie,” you whine, when Jeonghan’s lips are no longer enough. “Want you to feel good too.” 

“Yeah, okay,” he replies, abandoning all semblance of the self-control he’d displayed up until now. It’s time, anyway, he thinks. He’s held off long enough. He puts his phone down and there’s shuffling as he strips himself of his sweat-soaked outfit from the show and settles upon the bed sheets once more. 

Saliva pools from the sides of your mouth when he angles his camera to show you his hand wrapped around his thick, erect dick and God, what you’d do to have it bruising the back of your throat until you’re gagging, letting him defile you all while he coos the sweetest of praises at you. 

“Daddy, I miss your cock so bad,” you admit in a weak whimper, shivering when Jeonghan angles himself deeper inside you.

“Yeah? Miss how I’d fuck your pretty little mouth?”

“Fuck, she’s clenching so hard around me, Seungcheollie,” Jeonghan grits. “Greedy little thing.”

“I mean, it’s our fault one cock’s not enough to make her happy anymore,” says Seungcheol, sighing with relief as he thumbs at his leaking tip, squeezing his fist around it, reminiscent of the way that you and Jeonghan like to tease him.

“Like I said,” says Jeonghan as he pushes two of his fingers between your parted lips. “Spoiled.”

You moan around them, staring straight into the camera as you suck on them, staring at Seungcheol, who starts to pump his hand up and down his cock. He wants to shut his eyes and pretend it’s your hand, or Jeonghan’s hand, or one of your tight, warm holes, but he can’t take his eyes off of his phone screen no matter how hard he wants to, and, well, he doesn’t want to.

He jerks himself off to the same rhythm that Jeonghan’s hips grind into yours. Seungcheol likes things a little faster, usually, more rough, but it’s Jeonghan who’s inside you right now, not him, so he matches his boyfriend’s lazy but not too slow pace, one that’s just enough to give you a gradual stimulation. 

There’s something about the whole thing—being fucked on camera, being teased with Seungcheol’s cock when you can’t have it—it has you way more excited than you expected. Way more turned on than you expected. It shows in the floods of arousal that drip from your pussy and dampen yours and Jeonghan’s thighs, in the way you’re whinier and more sensitive than usual.

Jeonghan and Seungcheol’s own noises don’t help. In fact they spur you on, coax you closer to your edge, urge the heat in your belly to grow. When Seungcheol isn’t giving deep, rasped curses, he’s letting out pretty, breathy, borderline whimpering moans. Jeonghan’s sounds are as angelic as he is. His voice is a holy choir in your ear, heavenly and soft as he gasps with exertion and pleasure; as he does things to you that any God would frown upon.

Jeonghan, too, is more sensitive. With the plug constantly brushing at his prostate, he can’t help but screw his eyes shut and pretend it’s his big, buff boyfriend fucking his girth into him. It makes his thrusts grow raggedy, like he’s more heavy. His body weight presses into you as his arms start to ache just a little. He’s impossibly deep in your guts like this and it feels so fucking good that your brain starts to melt. 

Seungcheol recognises the look in your eye—absent, like you’re starting to tap out and letting yourself become consumed by bliss.

“Is she getting close, angel?” he questions, punctuating it with a moan, the slick glide of his hand up and down his cock like music in your ears.

Jeonghan hums affirmatively. “Pretty pussy’s choking me,” he says, his voice cracking, his composure with it. He tries to put more vigour in his thrusts, more determination. The sooner you cum, the sooner he cums. 

“Cum for Jeonghannie, baby,” Seungcheol urges softly. 

“Cum for me,” Jeonghan echoes. You don’t stand a chance.

The heat inside you coils up, then erupts. Jeonghan fucks you through your climax as you tremble beneath him, crying his name and clawing at the sheets below you. 

“There it is, my good girl,” Seungcheol coos, tightening his grip on his cock as he tugs at it harshly as though it could ever replicate the feeling of your warm walls clamping down on him as you cum. 

“Ah, fuck,” Jeonghan gasps, dropping his head to your shoulder, cock twitching. His next request is a broken, pathetic moan. “Ch-cheollie, cum with me.”

Jeonghan stills inside you, whimpering softly with every rope of cum that he spills inside you, letting you milk him of every last drop. At the same time, Seungcheol gives a resounding groan as he brings himself to his own release, cum splattering over his toned stomach. 

There’s a moment of silence, or, rather, nothing but a harmony of laboured breaths as the three of you come down from your orgasms. You give a noise of protest as Jeonghan suddenly rolls off of you, but his stamina is always drained after sex—especially when he’s doing the work. You shiver, both from the emptiness in your cunt and the cold air that hits you now that you no longer have your boyfriend’s body as a shield from it. 

“Seungcheollie’s gonna wanna see your cum leak out of me, you know,” you say. 

“You know me so well, baby,” is Seungcheol’s reply. 

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. He makes no effort to move from his spot, opting to stretch his arm above his head and pat around until he finds the phone. He sits up next to you, points the camera between your legs as he grips one of your ass cheeks and spreads you apart. 

There’s a screenshot sound as white drools from your spent hole.

“Seungcheol!” you shriek. “You pervert.”

“Coups-ya, send that to me.”

thank you for reading! reblogs and feedback are highly appreciated <3

tags — @svtiddiess @ylangelegy @simpxxstan @caibeauchicfashion

[peachylynnie]

ace

word count: 1.7k

synopsis: in which sylus defies all logic and odds, just for you.

contains: part 2 of blackjack, sylus x fem!reader (non mc, first time meeting), slightly obsessive sylus, alcohol consumption, cursing, mentions of weapons and violence, and gambling (know the rules of blackjack).

a/n: in blackjack, you want to get as close as you can to 21 without going over. to bust means to go over 21. to stay means to stay with the cards you have. you can tap for more cards or wave to stay. a natural (best outcome) means you immediately get 21 with your initial cards. but, you don't have to get to 21 to win. so long as the dealer has a worse hand than you, you win. essentially, it's a game against the dealer, not the people you play with. reblogs & comments are appreciated.

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sylus has never lost in blackjack before.

he's mastered every gambling card game for the sake of business deals and corrupt clients. and yet, here you are, spitting at his mastery as you flip another twenty, forcing him to either stay at his nineteen or risk a bust. and sylus never stays or busts in blackjack.

while your hands question almost every statistic and probability out there, your expression is what truly does it for him. even though you've only been winning, you haven't shown a trace of happiness or any other emotion normally present at a poker table. there's nothing when your opponents raise their bets, nothing when you win their bets, and infuriatingly nothing when your silver-haired opponent leans on the table and gazes at you hungrily after you take his chips for the umpteenth time tonight.

chuckling to himself, sylus can't help but think, what's going on in that pretty little head of yours? what will it take for you to look at him with half the interest he's looking at you with right now?

"because the lounge closes in less than thirty minutes," you gesture to the clock, snapping the silver-haired man out of his thoughts. "this will be the final round."

you hand a deck of cards to sylus, signaling him to shuffle. he takes it from you, trying not to shudder when his finger grazes yours.

sherman and his lackey groan upon checking how many chips they have left. "and here i thought blackjack was the easiest game against the house," the former complains as he lights a cigar.

"perhaps," the latter starts carefully, "we can wager something different this round." he shares a knowing look with his boss before turning to sylus. "what do you think, mr. sylus?"

sylus sighs as he finishes shuffling the deck. that idiot messed up his shuffle. great, now he looks like an idiot to you. "what would you like to wager?" he huffs as he places the deck in front of you.

"the deal, sylus," sherman snaps. "if i win, we have a deal."

sylus laughs mirthlessly, shaking his head. seems like the imbecile finally decided to drop his friendly act. "and what will your little employee wager?" he asks with faux curiosity.

"that depends on the lady in front of us, mr. sylus," the man in question answers before licking his lips at you. "say, miss dealer. if i win, how about you accompany mr. sherman and me back to a hotel nearby? we promise you'll be thoroughly compensated."

the head of onychinus stands up swiftly, his hands curling into fists. he should have seen this coming. the knowing look sherman and his lackey shared earlier wasn't just a shot at trapping him into a deal; it was an attempt at you and who knows what nauseating desires. before he can pummel the two men into the ground, you speak.

"i'm afraid that won't be possible, gentlemen," you pick up a chip and flip it between your knuckles. "the main objective of blackjack is to beat the dealer, not to win exclusively." your eyes never leave the chip. "for example, what will happen to your wagers if only i win?" you place the chip down. "in other words, multiple wagers are useless in blackjack due to its main objective."

sylus smirks as he sits down, pride blooming in his chest. not only were you good at blackjack, but you were also good at navigating your way in and out of technicalities. oh, he's definitely buying you a drink after this. you earned it. besides, he's curious to know what a talented little lamb like you is doing in the n109 zone. maybe a drink or two will soften you up and lay your mind bare.

"what would you suggest, miss dealer?" sherman questions angrily, his eye twitching. "you're impossible to beat, and unfortunately," he chucks a gun onto the table, "i'm not walking away without a deal."

sylus tenses. you don't flinch.

"change the main objective," you eloquently respond as you reach for the deck of cards sylus shuffled. "the three of you will play against each other, and whoever gains a blackjack or the hand closest to it will have their wager fulfilled." you fingers never slip as you pass out the cards. "while a tie may be possible, the likelihood will be drastically reduced, as you will no longer be playing to beat me." your braid your fingers and rest them against your stomach, your eyes unwavering. "you will be playing to win."

while sherman and his lackey mull over your proposal, sylus takes a sip from his glass, his eyes glued to you. what could you possibly gain from this? no bets you can profit from have been placed. not to mention your choice to stay out of this round just cost you your chance to prevent sherman and his lackey from fulfilling their profane desires. his brows furrow, no longer enjoying the feeling nor taste of fizz on his tongue. this entire night you've only led him in circles, forcing him to deal with your unpredictable actions and signature indifference. does he hate this? fuck no. your antics give him a sense of desire, a drive—something he's been severely lacking for a while.

but, sylus' patience is wearing thin. he swears if he can't get you to look at him with anything but that damned emptiness, he's going to force his way into your eyes until they are filled to the brim with nothing but him, him, him.

"mr. sylus?" sherman's lackey snaps him out of his thoughts. "your wager?"

"ah," sylus places his glass down, ignoring the cracks forming on it from how tightly he was gripping it. "if i win-"

he pauses, noticing something.

"miss dealer, why did you give yourself cards? i thought you weren't playing," he inquires with a tilt of his head.

"i gave myself cards to stay true to the dealing rules of blackjack," you answer calmly, extending your arm towards sherman's cards to begin the game. "don't worry, mr. sylus. i won't be playing this round, only dealing. my cards are facedown, after all."

sylus inhales sharply. you said his name. you said his name for the first time. and fuck, did it feel so good to hear it on your tongue.

"stay or hit, mr. sherman?" you option the man. he has an ace of spades and a seven of hearts, giving him eighteen. the man takes another puff of smoke before tapping the table. "a hit," you confirm before flipping a four of clubs. the man curses loudly, sputtering on his cigar. "too high," you declare as you immediately move on to his lackey.

"stay or hit?" you repeat. the lackey has an ace of hearts and an eight of clubs, giving him nineteen. the man sighs before waving a hand. "stay," you confirm before turning to sylus.

you still upon seeing his cards. a ten of diamonds and a nine of spades, bringing him to tie with sherman's lackey. so much for the likelihood of a tie being dramatically reduced. you exhale before asking, "stay or hit?"

"hm," sylus hums. he could technically stay and walk away with a tie. sherman won't be selling him fake protocores since he lost, and his lackey won't get his way with you since he tied. besides, hitting would be risky since the chances of getting a two are barely one percent, and the chances of getting an ace are either four or two percent, depending on what you have.

sylus tilts his head, realizing something.

"miss dealer, may i look at your cards?"

"i don't see why not," you say after a few seconds, ignoring sherman and his lackey's complaints.

"thank you, miss dealer," he purrs, reaching for your cards. "you won't regret it."

you don't say anything. you just cross your arms and lean against the table, resuming your unconcerned demeanor.

sylus grins after flipping your cards. an ace of diamonds and a ten of diamonds. you had a fucking blackjack. for the nth time of the night, you drew another natural. there's no way he's letting you go after this, not after you reduced his chances of getting an ace from four to two percent.

at this point, you've already realized why sylus wanted to see your cards. he was trying to gauge his chances of getting an ace, but since you had the third one from the deck, his chances were now fatally low. not to mention, his chances of getting a two were also low, meaning staying was the best option. you reach for his cards, hoping to clean up and get the fuck out of the n109 zone because you know from the depraved looks he's been giving you, prolonging your stay would be dangerous.

but what you don't know is the type of person sylus is. he's the type of person to spit in the face of fate, probabilities, and every distinct concept known to dictate humanity. people don't call him a "relentless conqueror" for nothing. unfortunately for you, this man has found something he relentlessly wants to conquer: your fucking attention. he makes that very clear when he taps the table.

and god, is he glad he decided to hit because you finally reacted to him.

your once-indifferent eyes were now faltering with uncertainty. your once-crossed arms were now hanging loosely at your sides. your once-relaxed voice was now quivering as you asked, "i'm sorry, a hit?"

sylus runs a finger upon his lips, trying to control his manic grin. oh, you looked utterly confused, and he was all for it. never has he seen such a beautiful and enticing sight: you, pushed to the absolute brink with your eyes bewitchingly transfixed on him, trying to figure out why the hell he would hit when his chances of winning are painstakingly low.

"yes, sweetie." your brows furrow when he calls you that. "a hit," he confirms with a teasing smile.

you gape at him (yes, keep looking at him like that; fill your eyes with him and him only) for a few more seconds before reaching for a card. people just really like to gamble, you reason. there's no way an ace can come out of this. however, your lips can't help but part when you flip over the card.

an ace of clubs.

he won.