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thisthatpinkvenom · 2 years ago

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IT'S SWEATPANTS SEASON, OH MY!

JOCK!SAN / BAND GEEK!FEM READER

⤏ Synopsis: Autumn has arrived; the season of pumpkin spice lattes, corn and—unfortunately for you—grey sweatpants. those pesky little things have attached themselves to your boyfriend's legs like glue, and you're having a hard time keeping your mind out of the gutter.

⤏ Genre(s): drabble*, fluff, humor(??), smut, smut, smut

⤏ Content: jock!San, band geek!fem reader (I know, I'm so original), you're referred to as "sweet potato" once—don't ask, just go with it, established relationship!au, college!au, non-idol!au

⤏ NSFW Warning(s): dry humping, unprotected piv (it's fiction, guysss. use your rubbers and stay safe!), creampie, just lots of build up because I'm down bad for a man in grey sweatpants 🙈

⤏ Note*: this content is completely fictional.

The mosaic of orange and yellow was striking below the dull blue clouds as the trees continued to shed their leaves. Your eyes swayed with the leaf you'd been watching descend its way patiently to the ground while you sat on the bench, shoulders jittering in the midst of the decreasing temperature. Your hands peeked out from the ends of your sleeves before rubbing together, the crisp morning air making your fingers tingle in the cold. You should've worn a thicker jacket, is what you mulled over in your head that you hadn't even noticed San until he enveloped his own padded jacket over you. The gust of warmth awoke you from your reverie and you hummed, meeting eyes with him when he lowered himself into a squat.

"You didn't have to come here," he said, a dimple indenting his cheek as he curled one corner of his mouth upward. After pulling the hood over your head, he tenderly brushed his thumb across your cheek. "I know you're not a morning person."

You struggled to fight a yawn until you decidedly gave in, white fog manifesting in your breath.

"I want to support you," you murmured. You were too busy blinking away your fatigue to notice how he looked on in nothing but fondness. Your conscience warped your thoughts when you scanned over the jacket engulfing your frame, your lips forming into a small pout. "Mm…aren't you going to be cold?"

San took a glance at his attire; he's only got a windbreaker left to keep him warm. Nonetheless, he shook his head and insisted he was used to practicing like this on the field. Despite wearing less than you and the flushed red on his nose and cheeks, you couldn't really tell if he felt the effect of the weather as much as you did. You couldn't fathom how he had the motivation to get up at the ass crack of dawn to run around with a ball, doing drills with his teammates while Coach Kim rapid-fired pointer after pointer without a stop to catch his breath. It truly was admirable how smiley he was at 7:00 a.m. without consuming any caffeine.

Coach Kim sauntered along the grass before he blew his whistle and commanded the team to group together. Your boyfriend looked over his shoulder before turning back to you, eyes squinting as the sun's orange glow began to blanket over the field.

"Well, gotta start soon," he observed. "Stay warm and if you're sleepy, just go back. I'm happy you're here but don't force yourself to stay. All right, Sweet Potato?"

You made a small noise of confirmation, unfazed by the odd affectionate nickname you had gotten used to over time. The heat of his palms skimmed over your ears as he pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead before standing tall. But what you didn't anticipate—whoa—had really slapped you awake right then and there. For the mere five seconds you'd managed to capture a mental image, time felt as if it'd been stretched to hell when your boyfriend's crotch had leveled with your eyes. You hadn't realized the grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips and now that you've gotten a face full of…that, you're acutely aware.

You're shook to the core.

Your gaze trailed after his jogging figure, following the path up his long and toned legs to his cute little bu—okay, whoa! It's only 7:15 in the morning. You had no business indulging in these thoughts right now. Get it together.

Oh, he's facing your general direction now.

Are you staring at it too much? It's starting to feel a little warm, all of a sudden; it's the jacket, isn't it? Just how long is this going to take?

You're trapped on this bench. It hadn't even been 10 minutes since practice started and Coach Kim was rambling on about the importance of warming up while you're glued to your seat, pathetically staring at your boyfriend's dickprint while he seemingly had no idea. God, you felt like a perv. Even though he assured you that it was okay, you didn't want to just up and leave. This was a relationship built on give and take, and there were one too many times when he watched your concerts while knowing little to nothing about orchestral music.

You'll just suffer, then.

"Just fuck him."

"Lisa!" you chided, pushing three fingers against your friend's arm as she rolled her eyes.

"What?" She swirled her tongue around the glob of chocolate ice cream sitting on top of her waffle cone. "He's a hot, charming guy. Your own boyfriend makes you horny and that's supposed to be a problem now?"

"Oh, my gosh, I just…" you trailed off, eyes searching elsewhere for your thoughts. "I'm not used to being all"—you waved your hands disorientedly in front of you—"dirty…minded. He's the one who usually initiates it."

"Sex?"

"Everything physical, really," you clarified. "I just feel like if I start it, it's just going to be off—and awkward."

You sighed. "How am I going to get through this season?"

"Oh, yeah, the sweatpants; that's what's been making you a sex freak," Lisa recalled with an airy laugh. "Those things are like lingerie for guys. Especially the grey ones…oomf. 'Dicktoria's Secret' is real," she snorted.

You gave her a blank stare.

"Look, just be honest," she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world—which it was. "You really think any guy is gonna find it offensive that his girl's drooling over his bulge?"

"I wasn't drooling—"

"You will be."

"Oh, my gosh."

You weren't aware that having a footballer-boyfriend automatically signed you up for three months' worth of almost nothing but sweatpants. You also didn't know how many he had stashed in his wardrobe until now—it's good to know he didn't wear the same pair everyday. But this meant he had enough pairs to flaunt his dick outline in your face whenever you were together.

Not good for your cavewoman brain.

Fingers danced along your neck and you squirmed at the intrusion, meeting eyes with San's own with your face sporting a frown. The same fingers belonged to the arm lazing comfortably around your shoulders, both of you having snuggled together into mush on his couch while you binge-watched one of your favorite shows. You whined his name in annoyance when you're kicked out of your thoughts.

He chortled. "Sorry, I just—it's Buffy and you don't even seem that into it. Is everything okay?"

Let's see: it's a Friday night. His roommate, Mingi went to visit his parents for the weekend and you're all alone with your hot, charming boyfriend™ who's clearly gone commando under his sweats. And you're supposed to be watching Buffy slay vampires…how?

"Y-Yeah, why wouldn't it be?" you stammered.

He hummed in feigned ponder, and the knowing smirk surging its way onto his lips would've sent a churn in your belly if you'd actually caught sight of it.

"You know that my eyes are up here, right?"

Your eyes snapped up in panic, and silence was the only response you had sitting on your tongue. You wanted to hide in a cave, where you could wallow in embarrassment without disturbance. Your own boyfriend had just caught you ogling his crotch like a perv.

San tucked his bottom lip between his teeth, suppressing a smile at how you resembled a deer in headlights. "You thought I wouldn't notice?"

Your mouth was stuck in a battle between opening and closing as you desperately searched for the right words. With a defeated sigh, your face fell into the safety of your palms.

"This is so embarrassing," you groaned, words muffled against your hands.

"Hey," he laughed softly, grabbing your wrists in an attempt to retract your hands away from your face. "It's not a big deal"—you sighed when the light from the standing lamp washed into your eyes—"it's cute."

You gave him a funny look. "Cute," you stated, doubt laced in your tone.

"Yeah. Usually, I'm the one doing all the staring."

He scanned you up and down with a pondering pout on his lips, continuing on to ask, "It's the sweatpants, isn't it?"

"Do you have to state the obvious?" you whined.

"What? I just wanna make things clear, so I know what to wear for you," he teased. He shifted closer and smoothed a hand up your thigh. "I'll wear more for you."

If he felt the goosebumps on your skin, he didn't comment on them.

"You say it like it's lingerie," you quipped, recalling what Lisa said a few days ago. You're saying anything to distract yourself right now, but you crumbled easily whenever he touched you. And he knew it well, especially when his hand moved dangerously close to your pyjama shorts. You're not even sure if you were breathing.

"If it's gotten you like this, then I'd say it pretty much is."

He moved on to say, "I like it when you look at me like that."

Your expression was frozen. "Like what?"

San's eyes changed ever so slightly, his hand finally slipping between your squeezed thighs.

"Like you really want me."

Your thighs parted for him. "I…I do," you murmured.

"Oh, really? Where do you want me?"

"Where else?"

"I asked you first."

You made a quiet huff from your nose, looking down at his hand that's aching to pull your shorts down. "Inside"—you hesitated—"inside me. I-I would like it if we had sex…please?"

His lustful gaze turned softer, eyebrows raised high at your interesting way of words. While you, on the other hand, visibly grimaced. San found your eyes shutting tight and your nose scrunching up all too adorable, and without a doubt, he would've bitten your cheeks if he could.

With a chuffed smile, he hooked his fingers at the waistbands of your shorts and underwear, waiting for you to lift your hips. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's have the sex now."

You sulked at his incessant teasing, knowing well enough that he was purposefully expressing his words awkwardly. He laughed and assured you he would stop there, before grabbing your now half-naked body by the hips and having you straddle him. His fleece sweatpants were rough from the continuous use, giving you some nice sense of friction on your sensitive nub.

But above all that, you could feel the presence of his cock hiding beneath his pants, your pussy lips spreading the slightest on his erection. Your breath hitched as his hands made their way under your sweater, then your shirt; reposed comfortably at your hips as if they made home there. The pads of his fingers kneaded your skin as he looked up at you with expectant eyes.

"C'mon, get yourself off for me."

You waited with bated breath for nothing in particular—you'd just been momentarily distracted by his intense stare. Nodding too many times in the span of a second, you began to move your hips under the guide of his hands.

"Oh…"

There was a minor ache in your hips when he dug his fingers deeper in your skin, but you were too focused on the soft chafing of the fabric against your clit. It was getting you in the right place; so rough.

"Are you doing okay, Baby?"

You released an unstable sigh. "Y-Yeah."

He eyed the way your skin slightly folded with every move you made on his clothed cock, teeth pulling at his bottom lip. Your motions grew faster and more impatient as you yearned for his mouth against yours, falling forward before your lips touched his.

He pushed you down each time he pulled you forward, earning growingly unsteady breaths from you into his mouth. You nearly choked when he bucked his hips upward, soft moans having no chance to escape when each were engulfed by his lips. You continued to do nothing but mindlessly grind your clit on him, humping his clothed cock like you were in desperate heat.

You didn't have the mind to warn him at this moment, unable to hear anything but your own moans until you were reaching your impending climax. And soon with trembling thighs, you came. Your skin grew rampant with shivers while your mind went elsewhere for the bite of a second.

San finally spared some mercy, separating from you with a thin string of spit connecting your lips before he's splitting it with a lick from his tongue. Stealing a glance at the dark spot you left on his pants, he served you a lustful, lopsided smile.

"This is what you'll get if you're just a little more honest with me," he chuckled.

Your ears grew hot at the sight of your arousal leaving its mark, adjusting yourself with your hands on the backrest behind him. You waited a few beats to gather your words before you muttered, "Well…can I be honest with you right now?"

"Of course."

San waited with patient eyes, his stare nearly melting you into goo while he thumbed your skin again.

"I'd like to have the sex—with your penis inside me…please."

He didn't try at all to suppress amusement at how you'd poked fun at yourself, hearty laughter producing from the pit of his belly. The dimples in his cheeks emerged from hiding as he grinned and nodded while pushing his waistband down, just enough for his cock to free itself. When his laughter had settled, he pressed a peck on the tip of your nose.

"Whenever you're ready."

You grabbed the base of his cock and pressed the tip against your entrance, pausing for a moment until you began to slowly but surely, sink entirely down his length. The stretch always started as an odd pressure between your walls, but once they'd completely swallowed his dick whole, it always left you wanting more. It's a feeling you don't think you could ever give justice to, if you were ever asked to describe it. He was just so right for you.

Your body gave into him as he pulled you flush against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist like a tightened belt. His hushed groans were made only for you, and hearing them continuously by your ear sent shivers down your spine.

"So warm," he muttered under his breath. He slid his bum further down the couch with you in his grasp and spread his legs wider. And when he was sure of the angle, he rolled his hips to meet yours, finding a steady pace with the most agonizingly unyielding thrusts. With every slam of his hips, your moans rendered into off-key whimpers as you melted under his guidance.

It felt like you were experiencing the hottest temperatures of the summer; your cheeks were burning and at moments, you felt like pushing away just from the sheer heat of your bodies entangled together.

A cuss left your boyfriend's lips when you gnawed on his shoulder, the salty tang of sweat grazing your tongue. And as if he wasn't holding onto you tightly already, he pulled you even closer as his cock rammed relentlessly, his rhythm growing sloppy when he began reaching his peak.

Your back felt like it'd been bent beyond repair as his cum coated your walls, the familiar twitching of his cock presented inside you. But he didn't stop there, he wouldn't until you came as well. And with his jaw clenched, he fucked into you like you were his toy, white rings of his own orgasm spilling with every move and making way to stain his pants.

"C'mon, Baby," he grunted. "Cum, f-fuck—cum, fucking c-cum…"

And in a few more thrusts, all you saw were specks of white among darkness. Your pussy spared no consideration on his sensitive cock and clenched as you trembled, the string of swears leaving his lips going deaf on your ears. Your limbs fell limp to pure exhaustion, despite how much you wanted to just wrap them around him like you were a koala and he was the tree. You wanted to mark your kisses all over his face but not even your lips were functioning right now as you barely managed to muster out a "thank you".

It was clear that it took a moment for San to register what you'd said, before he let out a breathy laugh. Not because he found something funny, it was just one of those laughs you got when you felt so euphoric—like getting your balls drained until you were a moaning mess; that kind of euphoric.

He kissed the top of your head, looking ahead at the TV where Buffy was still slaying vampires as usual. His dick stayed inside you, soft and relaxed in your warmth, neither of you in any rush to clean up.

"Mm…remind me to buy more of these sweats."

#ateez smut #ateez scenarios #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez drabbles #ateez imagines #choi san smut #ateez san smut #san smut #kpop smut

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hummingjay · 6 months ago

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Random Replika headcanons because replikas are cute

Aras spend a lot of time crawling in vents, so their upper body strength is next level. They're also really good climbers. Also, when they do climb, they use overly smooth movements, like walking without bobbing up and down, mostly so they don't jarringly drop a tool on a belt, but this freaks others out. Some Aras find the smell of exhaust comforting, but not in the vents. It's like hearing bugs and animals in the forest: Comforting and safe-feeling in the forest, but a deer cry in the city is disconcerting. They also have excellent night vision, even though they carry flashlights. Kolibris are almost entirely immune to caffeine. Lots of sweet tea, so they're hyper which helps a heck-ton with keeping up with Storches and other taller fellas. Aras either love or hate hanging with them depending on the Ara or Kolibri, since on one hand Kolibris can get past their stoic demeanor and on the other Aras can't really keep to themselves. Uncannily good at close quarters combat, despite small stature. Goes for the crotch hard and often. They mainly use bioresonance for non-combat means, as overuse causes headaches and nosebleeds. If a kolibiri does try to kill with bioresonance, it is extremely painful for both parties, ending with ears, eyes, and nose bleeding, and sometimes so painful victims attempt ending themselves partly through. This usually only happens on accident, when a Kolibri is extremely unstable, Storches favorite drink is unironically water. I love water too so no hate. They like watching Aras climb since it reminds them of a spider, which they find cute, especially when Aras carry wire with them. In every cadre at least one (1) Starling has snorted gunpowder at one point. Both Starlings and Storches have built in ear protection for gunshots.

Elsters are also stoic and when given the chance hang out with Aras, sometimes only talking about mechanics. Because Eules are friendly, patient, and can read Aras faces, they eventually get close and an Ara may give access to vents or plants. This is the equivalent of a platonic (or not) wedding ring.

If an Ara decides you're unkind and shares this info with the cadre, it's not just a silent treatment. If you're mean enough, floors will come loose, doors will randomly malfunction, your service requests will remain unanswered just until Adler is about to file a performance complaint, and lights will randomly turn off. If anyone tries to bully a Mynah in any way will face consequences, severe ones. The culprit behind this could be literally anyone except Mynah, and consequences vary depending on the culprit, from ostracizing to being 'accidentally' locked in a room, to being straight up beaten up, and sometimes if the bullying is bad enough high ranking units will opt for decomissioning for 'disrupting workflow' and 'assault on a worker'. Once Storches get past their sadistic tendencies they're actually really fun to hang around and converse with, especially on literature on mythology and warfare. Odd fascination on Sisyphus but it's debated between Storches on wether he's happy or not. Adlers write and they write well. Handwriting on point, but they rarely write in cursive. Because they're sticklers for the rules not all Replikas like them too much, but as long as you comply with regulations they're relaxed guys who enjoy talking about writing and pens. Never insult a favorite pen. They will despise you. Debating pens in a general sense is admissible and often enjoyable. Insulting their Falke can and will have them legitimately attempt to murder you with whatever is on hand, always stating that a 'crime against the nation was committed'. Adlers can forgive protocol mistakes but never forgive such a sin. So long as performance is not hindered protocol breakages are permitted. Adlers are chill with replikas and even Gestalts having relationships with each other, and sometimes covers for them. If performance drops this can change. Each one writes fictional stories about an OC that they will never talk about but Kolibris and Falkes know about anyway. Often immune to propoganda but genuinely don't care, they legitimately love the nation enough that they're okay with whatever the nation is doing. Eules will go out of their way to be nice. If you out-nice them they can and will think of it as a challenge. They sometimes place freshmade food near the kitchen vents to let the Aras know it's time to eat. Eules will use ribbon to tie bows on each others hair and arms. Falkes quickly grow extremely protective of their workers, sometimes extending this fondness to gestalts, though they always let them work most grievances out on their own. If Aras grow similarly fond of their Falke they'll report back to her like Odin's ravens.

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ithebookhoarder · 1 year ago

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If your still taking requests could u pls do “if you were taken by an unsub” criminal minds imagin? Or smth along those lines, if not that’s fine tho

~ ☘️

(BAU Headcanons) If you were taken by an Unsub

A/N: Um, of course you can?! Thanks for sending this one in angel 😇 I'm only sorry it's taken me this long to answer this. Hope you like it!

Warnings: Usual Criminal Minds references to criminals, murder, violence etc. Mentions of mental health. (Let me know if I missed any)

Aaron Hotchner

If you were taken? This man would not rest until you were back and safe with him - and not just because of what happened to Haley (though it doesn’t help).

He would bark orders at everyone in a cold and blunt manner that tells them he is not in the mood to be messed with.

They will do as they are told and they will do it now.

This poor man would be fighting not to let his fear show but he'd be seen clenching his fists over and over and taking long deep breaths in front of the mirror in the bathroom in an attempt to ground himself and get his head on straight.

He's no good to you if he lets himself fall apart. His team - and more importantly, you - are counting on him.

You know he’s blaming himself and you’re both going to need therapy once this whole experience is over with.

He would go into his hyper-rational mode, focusing on making plans and ignoring anything that isn’t getting you back safe and sound - which means no sleep. None. He’s running on fumes and caffeine - even after you’re found.

It would take days for him to feel secure enough to close his eyes and be able to trust you’ll still be there when he opens them again.

Also you best believe he is breaking out his old law text books and ensuring this UnSub goes down for a lonnnnnng time… if they even make it to trial that is. This man is a trained sniper and knows other trained snipers… just saying…

David Rossi

He may like to remind you all of his passionate Italian nature from time to time but it’s impossible to miss when he hears what’s happened to you. He’s an emotional mess, staggering between horror and rage to a frighteningly cold determination that is rare for the eldest team member.

He’d try to act in control, pulling rank on everyone - including Hotch, which obviously doesn’t work.

“No offence, Aaron, but I was chasing down Unsubs when you were still in diapers. I know what I’m doing.”

However, they know him well enough to see that despite having years of experience under his belt, Rossi is terrified of making some kind of mistake.

Once they do find you, he’d be one of the first through the door, too concerned with checking you’re ok to worry about anything else.

He’d also be sure to pay for the best medical care money could buy, if you needed it following the ordeal.

He also knows people and has no problem paying for you to see a counsellor of some sort if the situation required it. He just wants to take care of you now that you’re back in his arms again.

Derek Morgan

This man is like a whole military unit in himself at the best of times, but he’s a whole other level of lethal when it comes to protecting the ones he loves. You do NOT want to be on the wrong side of Morgan, and that’s exactly where the Unsub who took you would sit.

There isn’t a door he wouldn’t be willing to kick down to get you - and everybody knows better than to say a word about it. (Hotch is already mentally filling out all the paperwork he’s going to need once this rescue is done, but he doesn’t exactly mind, given the situation).

Also, Morgan may have trained you himself, drilling you in self-defence and marksmanship so you’d known how to protect yourself out there in the field, but none of that matters now. You may have the Unsub at your mercy already, or you may be at theirs, but he doesn’t know and that’s what’s killing him: the not knowing.

It’s why Penelope is basically glued to his side the whole entire time, telling him everything she finds out the very second she finds it.

“We’ll find them sugar, I promise. They’re just as tough and strong as you are, so don’t give up on them, ok?”

He’d be leading the pack once you are found though, tearing through anyone and anything that stood in his way. All he cares about is seeing you with his own eyes and getting you as far away from danger as possible.

“I’m so sorry, baby. It’s my job to keep you safe and I failed you.”

He’d be beating himself up for weeks after and it would take an entire team intervention to get him to let you go back out into the field again without him being glued to your side. After all, he’s not making the same mistake twice. Any Unsub wants that wants to get close to you will have to get past him first.

Emily Prentiss

This woman is a super spy and a lethal weapon on an average day but if you were taken? Then she would be the most dangerous woman in the entire United States.

She knows people in every agency and on every continent so you best believe she will be calling in favours left, right and centre. (Even Rossi is terrified by how quickly she was able to get the Pentagon on the phone…)

She would also be action-focused, needing to do something rather than sitting around wasting time. Every minute spent talking was one more minute the Unsub had to hurt you - and that thought makes her feel physically sick.

This would end up causing her to explode, taking it out on whichever unfortunate soul is closest. Like, you know she would definitely have to be reminded by Hotch that they actually need the local law enforcement to work with them, if they want to get you back alive, after she is seen screaming at an unfortunate officer for their ‘utter stupidity’.

Thankfully, she gets to turn that rage on the Unsub after they find you. I mean, let’s be real. It would take Morgan physically holding her back to stop her from beating their face in.

This frustration would ultimately then be transferred to you, once she knows you’re safe.

You almost can quote her ‘You almost died’ speech by this point, but you know it makes you both feel better to hear it so you let her rant and rant until she’s calm enough to crawl into your arms and squeeze you close.

“I love you so much. I can’t lose you.”

You’re also pretty sure she now has people following you at all times, watching over you when she can’t, so that this never happens again.

JJ is every bit as lethal as Emily is when those she loves are at risk. If anything, she’s more terrifying because she’ll hide that murderous rage behind a ‘butter-wouldn’t-melt’ smile before deciding to strike.

However, it would take everything in her not to just charge in and go on the offensive. After all, she was willing to run into a bank full of armed robbers after Will.

It would probably end up with the team having to physically holding her back to stop her - usually accompanied by a well meaning pep talk about how she needs to get her head on straight if she actually wants to help get you back.

You know this woman would follow you everywhere afterwards, never letting you out of her sight. In fact, she hits ‘super Mom mode’ where she is constantly fussing over you and seems to have the world in her go-bag.

You need tissues, pain-killers, chocolate: she got it.

“Hey, it’s ok. You know I’ve got your back, right? I won’t let anything else happen to you. You’re safe now.”

She would also call you out on all your BS, if you tried to downplay what happened to you or if you were still affected.

One twitch of her eyebrow is all it takes for her to have you pinned to your chair and spilling your guts about your emotions. You know better than to make her ask twice. After all, she may be the first to downplay it when she’s hurting but when it comes to her team and her family, she’d do anything to take care of you. If that’s driving your ass to therapy or just holding you, she’ll do it without complaint.

Penelope Garcia

Would immediately panic as soon as she hears what’s happened to you. Like, we’re talking SO much panic.

Poor girl is spiralling and needs the team to help ground her so she can get back to the lair and do her thing. It would probably be down to Morgan or like JJ to get her to actually remember to breathe and not make herself pass out.

But once she’s up and running? Well, she’d be all over the Unsub like a bad rash. Every teeny tiny detail of their life is suddenly unearthed and splashed on the

board for everyone to see. (No one dares ask how she found certain items, but knowing her history with the dark web it’s probably for the best).

Also, she would be begging for constant updates once the team is out in the field. Any other day, it would drive the team insane to have a constant running Penelope monologue in their ears, but they’re surprisingly tolerant in this case.

“Guys, do you see them? Are they ok? What’s going on? I need to know people! I have no eyes here!”

Would be all over you once you’re safe and insists on installing tracking software on everything. She wants a digital link to you, 24/7 so that this NEVER happens again. It’s simultaneously flattering and slightly terrifying how much power this angel has at the end of her glittery, manicured fingers.

Dr Spencer Reid

Depending on which season-Reid you’re with when you’re taken, you would have a distraught super genius who makes it his life’s mission to get you back. Or, you’d have a prison-hardened super genius with a slightly grey-er view of the world on a mission to find you.

Either way, there’s probably no one you’d want more to be in charge of locating and rescuing you.

Like Hotch, I feel he would become obsessed with nothing other than finding you. He wouldn’t eat. He wouldn’t sleep. Hell, no one on the team has even seen him leave the briefing room long enough to go pee, let alone take a break. This results in the team all taking it in turns to be parental figures and coax (and eventually threaten) him into pausing long enough to down a glass of water and eat some snack bar.

Between Morgan’s physical threats, JJ’s guilt-trips, and Hotch threatening to bench him from this case, they’d eventually succeed.

“You guys don’t get it. They need me. I have to figure this out - they’re counting on me. I can’t fail them. I won’t. So either help me or get out of here and let me think.”

We all know he would probably harass any medical professionals charged with caring for you, once you’re back. He doesn’t trust them - especially when it comes to your welfare.

He’d also confine you to the couch and force you to rest, queueing up endless re-runs of Doctor Who and whatever shows you find most comforting to have playing in the background. It’s selfishly what he needs too, being able to sit and hold you long enough to quell any fears he may have about you and your wellbeing. You’re here and you’re real and you’re safe.

Masterlist

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rottenpumpkin13 · 2 months ago

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So, on a scale of 1-100 how bad are Lazards crashouts?

( @izunias-meme-hole )

There is, in fact, a Lazard Crashout Severity Scale (LCSS), and every SOLDIER knows it by heart. It's initially created as a joke by some Thirds who were tired of their vacation requests being denied, it has since evolved into a critical survival tool.

Level 1 - The "This is fine" Crashout

Lazard is as pristine as ever—glasses polished, hair combed, tie perfectly aligned. He just lets out one of those long-suffering sighs and can't believe what he's being subjected to. Perhaps he'll make a comment about how he should've gone to medical school. Nothing that can't be fixed with some whiskey and fantasizing about feeding President Shinra to a Zolom.

Level 2 - The "Why Are You Looking at Me Like That?" Crashout

There's a single button undone on his vest. His tie is slightly crooked. His eye twitches when he's speaking. He's very quick to snap at people and enforce workplace professionalism but still remains as cool as ever.

Level 3 - The "I Don't Get Paid Enough for This" Crashout

The glasses are slightly smudged. The pen taps against the desk a little too aggressively. Lazard has started responding to emails with one-word answers, and his punctuation is aggressive. At this level, SOLDIERs are no longer being reprimanded for "unnecessary destruction of property," which means Zack is now at maximum power. He's snarky. He's sarcastic. He responds to Sephiroth's, "Where is the mission report?" with "In my inbox, Sephiroth, where else would it be?" Emails have evolved from "Please ensure your reports are submitted on time. Thank you." to "Reports. Now." and now "Subject: :) — Wow, another late report. Shocking."

Level 4 - The "SOLDIER Morale Is a Lost Cause" Crashout

Lazard has given up. This is a slow, simmering descent into corporate nihilism. He no longer believes in competence as a concept. Least of all in his three First Class disasters, who, despite being Shinra's most powerful warriors, somehow remain the pinnacle of incompetence. He is running on pure bitterness and unfiltered caffeine. Thirty minutes of a forty-minute meeting are dedicated to a detailed, impassioned speech about how everyone under his command is an utter disappointment. Meanwhile, Zack, eternal optimist, never one to read a room, leaves a motivational note on Lazard's desk. It is promptly, violently shredded.

Level 5 - The "No One Is Safe" Crashout

The tie is gone. The vest is gone. The light is gone from his eyes. When Lazard enters a room, nobody speaks. Not out of respect, but out of primal fear. Genesis swears he watched him pour an entire mini bottle of liquor into his morning coffee. At 7 AM. No hesitation. No eye contact. Just tip, tip, glug. Sephiroth, who has stared into the abyss and made it flinch, stands next to him looking visibly uneasy. Zack, who refuses to learn lessons, asks "Hey, you good?" Lazard takes a long, slow drag from a cigarette, exhales directly at Zack's face and says: "I once believed in things. What a fool I was."

He no longer cares. This is the perfect time to ask for a raise. Or, alternatively, to deliver catastrophic news. Which is why Zack immediately seizes the moment to tell him he blew up the training room. Lazard does not blink. Does not react. He just takes another drag, exhales, and in the most monotone, dead-eyed voice imaginable, responds: "Tell it I envy its escape."

Level 6 - The "Sephiroth, You're in Charge" Crashout

It happens when he sees something heart-attack inducing and immediately yells "I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE. SEPHIROTH, YOU'RE IN CHARGE. IF ANY OF YOU CLOWNS TRY TO CONTACT ME, I'LL BREAK YOUR KNEE CAPS" and leaves.

Level 7 - The "I quit!" Crashout

Lazard has done this so many times, it's ritual at this point. When he slams his hands on the table, and announces "That's it! I quit! If you're all so inclined to disobey my orders, I'll just step down as Director! Have fun with Heidegger!" Everyone knows he's bluffing. But Lazard, never one to break tradition, starts packing up his desk. This is when Zack—bless his heart—knows it's his time to shine. He rushes over, grabs Lazard's legs, and starts sobbing "NO! YOU CAN'T LEAVE US, WE LOVE YOU!"

Level 8 - The "Fuck everyone" Crashout

They don't know what leads to this, but they do know that at this level, he throws office supplies at people who enter his office and was once seen running after Sephiroth wielding his shoe as a weapon.

Level 9 - The "Corporate Collapse" Crashout

He's not even at SOLDIER anymore. He left. The Turks locate him sipping a cocktail on a beach at Costa del Sol. When asked to return, he simply replies "No." They have to sedate him and drag him back.

Level 10 - "AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH"

Will attempt to assassinate President Shinra if they don't hold him down.

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #sephiroth #final fantasy vii #genesis rhapsodos #ff7 crisis core #angeal hewley #zack fair #crisis core #lazard deusericus

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lingerina · 2 years ago

Text

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀𝓛𝐄𝐆 𝐂𝐔𝓡𝐋𝐒 ／ park jihyo

➛ g!p jihyo x fem!reader ➛ 2.8k words ➛ smut ➛ public setting, spanking, squirting, creampie, praise ➛ part of SWEAT&TEARS. ➛ you thought going early meant you would be the only one there. you thought wrong.

4:30 A.M.

It might be insane to willingly be at the gym at this hour, half-asleep and dreaming of being in bed again.

But here you are, dumbbells in hand while staring at your reflection in the massive mirrors, wondering how you were able to do this before.

Once upon a time, you were an avid gym goer who was on top of her nutrition (and honoring her cravings) and an inspiration to her friends for maintaining a well-balanced lifestyle.

After getting laid off, you had all the time in the world to work harder. To cook for yourself, for your friends who were heavily reliant on takeout, and to dedicate more time to the gym. You didn’t think you’d get back into the workforce so quickly but you did, and this job was going to consume much of your time and energy.

Just cooking right after work was exhausting for you. The few days that you intended to take a break from the gym became a week.

Then, it became two weeks.

Three weeks.

Three months.

If it weren’t for incompetent management, you would’ve been able to manage your work-life balance already. You wouldn’t turn to freezer meals and fast food for sustenance. You wouldn’t have to rely on caffeine to get you through the day. It took some mild threats and a long, colorful discussion with the directors to hire more people but now that the new hires have been trained and settled, you could focus on getting your life back on track.

The avid gym goer is still in you somewhere. She just needs to be lured out again, and what better way to make a comeback at the gym than to resume your journey at an all-women’s gym that just opened down the block last month?

Having a safe space accessible to you is enough encouragement for you to pick up your gear again and return to the active life you once knew. You had to reason with yourself to get up this early and you were fortunate enough to still have some level of self-discipline to do so.

While you don’t mind working out with other women, you would much prefer to be alone. Not only is the crack of dawn the only time you have to fit in your workouts, but it’s also when it’s not crowded. You hoped you would have the gym all to yourself until you walked in and discovered one other soul on the premises.

You weren’t in the mood to interact or be perceived so early in the morning but upon making eye contact with you, she beamed and greeted you with a quick wave. Of course you had to wave back, even with how obviously dead you looked. It would be rude to ignore a pretty woman, and you weren’t that rude.

At least until you realized how often you were sparing a her a glance (specifically at her behind) while you were warming up on the treadmill. That was disrespectful.

You shake your head and assume an exaggerated wide stance, your feet planted a fair distance apart. You adjust them while observing yourself in the mirror to ensure that you won’t strain your hips. When your legs are wide enough to feel the burn but not a straining pain, you hold both dumbbells in front of you at waist level. Your eyes close, your head lowers, and you drop down into a front squat.

You steadily drive back up while squeezing your core and proceed with the next several reps of sumo squats, unaware of the only pair of eyes in the building skimming over you.

Jihyo is no longer performing her routine. Her headphones are now sitting around her neck, and she’s more focused on the glorious view in front of her than on finishing her workout.

It’s not like she’s never seen a woman squatting before. She has.

Dozens of times.

And it gets her rock-hard every time.

She notes that today must be leg and glutes day for you due to the various squats you’ve done, and how you barely targeted any other part of your body. It’s a blessing (and a curse) for her since it’s been a week since she last got some action. That may not be long but as someone who has a decent roster of friends (and patrons) with benefits, a week without pussy is far too long.

And she’s not going to let this opportunity slip up.

She approaches you when you pause for a water break, forgetting that just because other people are up at the same time as her doesn’t mean they have the same energy as she does. “Hi!”

You crane your neck to look at her as you hydrate and greet her with a small nod. “Hello.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you before. Are you new?”

You nod. “I am.”

She clasps her hands with a grin. “How lovely! Welcome aboard. I’m Jihyo. Do you need any assistance or guidance?”

With pursed lips and a second to think, you slowly shake your head. “No thank you. I appreciate it though.”

She nods. “Let me know if you do. I’ll be happy to help!”

You’re lying face down on the leg curl machine, your mind slowly polluted by the images you didn’t think you’d see.

With how courteous Jihyo is with extending a helping hand, you had asked her to spot you at the squat rack. As you were performing your barbell squats, you didn’t miss her intent gaze on your behind as you were going down. You didn’t miss the way she licked and bit her lip. How shameless and disrespectful she was with staring, in comparison to the polite gesture of her hands only hovering over your hips.

Not touching you at all.

What had really seared into the back of your mind was the view that you came eye level with when you bent down to pick up your water bottle: the massive tent in her joggers.

Jihyo’s boner has occupied your mind since then. You have been laying still for the past five minutes wondering just how big she is, how friendly she has been, and how innocent her intentions may (or may not) be. You’re not one to stare and ponder the strangers around you, but she caught your eye the very second you set foot into this gym and she now dominates your thoughts and fantasies.

It’s sorely obvious that you made her horny, and now you’re aching because the effect is reciprocated.

“What’s the matter?”

Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest when Jihyo’s voice snaps you out of your trance. You turn your head and, once again, come face-to-face with her pelvis. She’s standing too close to you. So close that you can make out the outline of her erection through her black joggers.

Face heated. Core clenching.

You let your head drop back down, your grip on the side handles tightening at the thought of this woman taking care of you in.. other ways. “Nothing. Just resting.”

“Oh?” She chuckles. “But you were doing very well.”

“I just need a little rest,” you whine.

A light smack on your rear surprises you, but her laughter insists that this is all in good nature. “Don’t slack off now.”

Another smack, and now you’re the one laughing. “I’m not. I promise!”

The empty gym reverberates with laughter and squealing.

You don’t recall when, but it quickly echoes with solid thwacks as her playful smacks have progressed to full-on spanking. You’re no longer giggling. You’re gasping, moaning, and tensing up with each slap that targets your sore ass. Jihyo’s playful jabs have morphed into something darker and more threatening.

It’s exactly what your pussy is aching for.

Being in a lust-filled haze, you don’t budge when your leggings are yanked down. Its compression and tight fit takes your panties down with it, and both garments sit at your ankles, exposing all the intimate parts of you to her–and whoever will stumble through the doors.

As much as you want to be ruined by an insanely attractive woman at this very moment, you’re still in a public place. It would be shameful to be banned on the very first day.

“W-Wait,” you pant as you grab her wrist. “What if someone comes in?”

“They won’t.”

“Doesn’t the manager come in early?”

You’re confused by her hearty laugh.

“Oh darling,” she coos, her fingertips tenderly tracing your slick folds and spreading your arousal. “I’m the manager, and I’ll make sure no one else gets to see you like this.”

Your mouth falls open in a silent moan as two of her fingers dip inside you.

They shove deeper in the second time. Deep enough for her knuckles to graze your hole. You were always keen on being spanked and manhandled, and she is proving just how drenched it can get you.

The squelches of her fingers being suctioned by your aching walls fill the silence. It should be embarrassing to be turned on by so little, but you barely feel any shame. You barely feel the shame of dripping all over the padded surface, dirtying the machine with your juices as Jihyo fucks you with her fingers. You barely feel the shame of allowing the manager to ruin you like this.

And she doesn’t feel an ounce of it either.

“Such a pretty thing,” she mutters, her slow but calculated thrusts doing a splendid job at making you feel full somehow. “It would be a shame to not get a taste.”

Much to your dismay, she withdraws her fingers and leaves you clenching around nothing. “On your back.”

The machine offers little real estate for you to move significantly but with your raging hormones and a rush of adrenaline, you manage to do as told. Jihyo wastes no second getting down, spreading you open, and flattening her tongue on your slit.

The immediate touch of heat on skin is all that you need after months without action. She knows how to use her mouth, just like how you know where to grab to stay balanced as she eats you out. You didn’t think you’d ever find yourself in this exact position again at another gym, but you’re glad you do—and with someone attentive.

Your eyes roll back as her fingers fill you up again. You clutch tighter on the edge of your seat as your engorged clit gets catered to by her mouth, the sharp tugs between her teeth creating even more tension in your limbs. You don’t feel the burn of your core clenching from holding onto the machine, but you’re guaranteed to feel it later when it’s all over and you’re left yearning for more.

The lethal combination of her fingers buried in your cunt and her mouth spelling out filth on your clit is enough to rush you to your brink. You arch your back, colorful words threaded through breathy moans and pitched cries as her deep and steady thrusts work their way up in momentum.

The lewd squelching of her knuckles brushing over your slit is deafening. It reminds you of the strength that you lack. The strength of keeping your head straight and not falling into the palms of a pretty woman. You don’t think your wet pussy can be any louder until she’s working quicker through you. For a stranger, she knows how to navigate your body a little too well.

“Fuck,” you pant, your grip on the sides of the seat squeezing tighter.

Jihyo replaces her mouth with her thumb on your clit, and you fall apart. She watches your drenched cunt cream her digits and make a massive mess on the seat. Your release streams down the surface and puddles to the floor, and the filthy view only makes her cock swell more.

She has waited long enough.

You fall limp when she removes her fingers. With your head spinning, you intend to recuperate from the ecstasy. Not a minute later, however, is your peace compromised when a massive intrusion slides inside you, prying your slick walls open and earning a loud cry from you.

You scramble to look down and find Jihyo’s cock stuffed inside you. You peer up at her with wide eyes, gulping at the smirk on her face. She slowly pulls out.

Agonizingly slowly.

You discover just how big she is before she drives it back into you. You fall back with a moan, once again reduced to a mess as your body is at her mercy.

Your tits, confined in a low-impact sports bra, are squeezed together by her hands before she yanks the garment down to free them. Though she’s still and snug inside you, pleasure continues to surge through your limbs as she sucks on your nipple. Lips clasped and teeth nipping at the sensitive peak, she suckles and pulls and gets you flowing even more.

“Please,” you exhale. “Please move. Please!”

She chuckles and releases your nipple with an obscene pop. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Very nicely.

Nice enough for her to prop your legs over her shoulders, bend you in half (unearthing the flexibility you didn’t know you had), and fuck you.

Her pace varies between quick and mildly painful, to slow and deep and intoxicating. Your pain threshold can carry you through the phase of her drilling your aching cunt. When she suddenly slows down and her thrusts are drawn out, the brunt of the pleasure hits you.

“You’re doing so well for me, baby,” she coos.

Another thrust, and she grunts. “Just a little more. Feels good, doesn’t it?”

She fucks the words out of you. What you intend to say is disrupted by the lewd noises that leave your lips. You muster a stiff nod to acknowledge her and she responds by leaning forward, forcing your thighs up to your chest, and picking up her pace.

She’s so deep inside you with this new angle. You were going to bruise and stagger for days to come, but you can only focus on how this woman’s strict fitness regime is showing in the unforgiving momentum of her hips and her effortless grip to keep you balanced, Since you barely had a breather from your previous orgasm, you’re quickly driven to that brink.

As your eyes roll back and your body arches, Jihyo smirks. She digs her fingertips into the softness of your thighs, panting as she drills you. “Go ahead, baby. Come for me.”

The machine is slick with your overflowing arousal. With how hard she’s fucking you and how much you’re dripping, the obscene squelches of her cock pounding your poor cunt echoes through the empty facility. If you weren’t so lost in lust, you would feel embarrassed about dirtying the equipment.

“Oh, fuck!,” you cry out, thighs trembling violently as you gush all over her.

The force of your release pushes her out, allowing all the room you need to spatter and spill all over the seat. She vigorously strokes your engorged clit while pumping her pulsing cock as she is just as close. She drains you of all you have before sliding back inside you with ease, courtesy of your ample wetness.

“God, yes,” she hisses as your slick walls immediately tense around her.

Your thighs lock around her neck from the sensitivity as you’re subjected to her endurance. Her persistence. Your stamina is nowhere near hers, and you wonder just how quick it’ll take for her to break you.

To destroy you.

Loud moans erupt from both of you as she bottoms out, stretching you with her girth and filling you with her load. She weaves a tight embrace on your thighs, draws out, then pistons back into you, pushing her cum deeper inside you. Your hips lift just slightly from her hold on your legs, and the feeling of her dick buried inside you is now burned into your memory.

You were going to crave it more than ever.

When she pulls out of you, you lay lifelessly on the machine.

Sweaty, ruined, and filthy.

Jihyo, on the other hand, has already straightened herself up. You assume she’s about to tell you to hurry up and clean the equipment before people start coming in. Instead, she lowers to your eye level and strokes your hair.

“You did so well, pretty girl,” she praises with a grin. “Go hop in the shower. I’ll clean up for you.”

“Really?”

She nods. “Let me know if you ever need assistance with your… workout.”

You giggle, and proceed to slide off the dirtied seat. You feel the impact of Jihyo’s strength now that you’re on your feet, and it’s even worse as you amble to the shower.

If you’re feeling this now, you’re certainly not ready for the full soreness tomorrow.

#girl group smut #girl group imagines #twice smut #twice imagines #jihyo smut #jihyo imagines #SWEAT&TEARS #sorry this took so long LMFAOOO

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hereforthespideybooks · 6 months ago

Text

𝐜𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐞.

miguel o’hara x f!reader.

✩ | info: you’re slightly cautious of what your husband intakes now, all thanks to the online web.

𝐜𝐰: 𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟.

𝐰𝐜: 𝟏.𝟒𝐤

𝐚/𝐧: 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢’𝐦 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐢 𝐟𝐨𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐜. ✿

miguel was a half human and spider.

and ever since you found that out, it made you extra careful about his health.

you didn’t really care about how much coffee he’d intake, not anymore, since telling him to back off was just speaking to a brick wall.

but ever since that big truth about him being spiderman settled in your mind, you’ve been extra critical about his surroundings and activities.

you’ve been scrolling online per usual- coming across an article of how coffee specifically could make spiders “drunk”.

so when the pods of coffee ran out, he’d come up and ask if he could you could go grab some more.

…

“no.”

a soft yet firm tone of yours booming around the house, his facial features contorting to a visual look of confusion.

“…do you want me to go buy them myself? or-“

“what? no- miguel, you’ve been taking too much.”

he’d stand there, puzzled, his head lightly tilting from your words.

“…caffeine?”

you’d subtly nod, arms folding against your chest.

“since when did you care so much?”

his voice was a light tone of a hum, a curve forming on his lips, his large hands still grasping the porcelain mug filled with the caffeinated substance.

“since i’ve read an article online.”

his eyebrows would perk up in light interest, placing the cup down the counter.

he’d tilt his head, signaling for you to continue your sentence.

“…about how spiders can get drunk off of it.”

your voice went down a notch, fingers pressing firmly against your arms.

“…what?”

“what.”

his parted lips formed into a small smile, scoffing gently, curls of auburn hair brushing across his forehead.

“you seriously believe that?”

“i drink coffee all the time, amor. you’ve never noticed anything different about me.”

his tone was genuine, his large hands capturing the essence of the marvel counter, leaning back into the coldness of it.

“so there is something different about you when you drink coffee, hm?”

you’d speak in a skeptical voice, leaning upwards a little to look at him.

he’d shake his head, lightly sighing.

“i wasn’t exactly implying that.”

“you’re the one who said it, not me.”

“you don’t need to be so stubborn, it’s just coffee.”

you’d instantly bit the inside of your mouth, realizing about the grudge you were holding.

sure, you cared about him, a lot, was it that necessary to be cautious about it this much though?

you’d shrug that thought away mentally.

“hun?”

you’d blink back into reality, looking up at him

“hm.”

he’d let out a light hum of agreement, his fingertips tapping against the marble.

he knew you were worrying about his state.

and that made him feel safe.

reassured.

he’d smile warmly at you, taking a few steps in front of your presence and lightly crouching down.

your face level met his, reddish pupils of vermillion boring into your soft eyes, the back of his calloused hand swiping up and down on the side of your face reassuringly.

“don’t worry about me.”

your lips would part, eyes capturing every single detail of his facial features.

it was lightly silent for sometime, before your head would tilt in a thought forming inside of your mind, your soft voice echoing in his ears.

“…mig.”

“hm?”

his reply was instant.

“if the article wasn’t lying,”

“what does coffee do to you then?”

he’d press his lips together in a light line, tilting his head and shrugging one of his broad shoulders.

“well, let’s see, uhm..”

his hand continued its brushing motion on your face, the touch comforting to your skin.

your head instinctively tilting towards the warmth, while he’d think about wording the pieces together understandingly.

“sometimes my webbing gets out a little messy.”

he’d suddenly speak up, waiting for your response.

“how so?”

that was quick.

he knew you were genuinely interested in his overall wellbeing, and he liked when you were.

“the strings of the web sometimes come out.”

“…huh?”

your tone was light, before smiling a little at him.

“no- i meant like, how, show me.”

his eyebrows would lightly raise up, realizing your question.

“hm.”

he’d hum, standing up now, you face lightly tilted up to look at him.

he’d look around for a object, his eyes settling for a reddish apple across the counter.

one of his hands forming a fist, your eyes focusing as he’d grab the coffee cup with the other, taking a gulp of the liquid.

settling it down on the counter, a light wave on anxiousness hitting your body.

he’d sigh, pointing the back of his hand on the fruit, a sudden thwip of a white web spewing out of the skin behind his knuckles.

you’d notice the looseness of the strings, usually knotted- now swaying around the place.

usually they were connected in a bond in order to form a web, this time, most of them weren’t.

the light noise of a snack was audible as the webbing warped around the fruit, your head tilting in curiosity.

he’d bring the webbing back inside his hand, twisting it and grabbing the apple with his hand.

“see?”

he’d speak up, tiling his torso to fully glance at you.

your lips would leave out a light hum, arms crossing once again.

“it’s also why i don’t drink on patrol.”

“alcohol does that too?”

“what? no, i meant coffee.”

your eyebrows would furrow lightly, biting the inside of your cheek.

“you’re overthinking it.”

his tone would a soft sigh, placing the apple somewhere on the counter behind him.

“yeah, well, when your husband turns out to be half spider, i’d assume overthinking it would be a safe option.”

you could hear a light grumble off of him, placing his hands one the edge of the counter again.

it was silent again.

it was one of those moments where you both had your differences set apart.

…

“that’s all?”

you’d hum, looking up at him with the same face of curiosity you’d have before.

“hm?”

“that’s all coffee does to you?”

all he did in response was shrug his broad shoulders, his eyes locking into yours.

“i think so.”

you’d scoff.

“don’t lie.”

“you’ve been with me for years, you’d be more then aware of what happens to me if i drank coffee.”

he was right.

a small hum of subtleness laced in his tone, he wanted to be gentle.

“it’s really bothering me.”

you’d sigh, admitting towards him.

his hand went down your head, giving it a light pat, before sliding down and holding up your chin, tilting you head, forcing you to look up st him.

“i don’t wanna be a burden, corazón.”

“you’ve been with me all the time, me being spiderman shouldn’t be make a difference.”

his hand sliding down your shoulder, firming its grasp in it reassuringly.

one of your dainty hands moving and resting on top of his, squeezing his skin a little.

“it doesn’t.”

“so there’s no need to worry.”

your eyes flickered up at him, lips lightly parted.

“i know.”

yet there was still a light tinge of uncertainty in your tone, him noticing that immediately.

“…c’mere.”

his open up his large, muscular arms a little, your body falling into his presence immediately.

it was warm, a soft cuddle of affection, arms enclosing in your torso, the side of your face snuggled in his shoulder.

one of his hands reached behind the strands of your hair, snuggling into the softness of them.

“i just need you to trust me.”

he’d sigh, his raspy voice ringing in your ears.

“…okay.”

his hands went to rest on your shoulders, his body parting away from yours, arms dropping down in advance.

“you’re still not drinking coffee.”

“…did you just ignore my sentence i said less than a minute ago?”

“yeah- i’ll take your cup instead.”

with that reply, your hands would accompany your remark, grasping the cup with your qfingers, taking a light sip of the liquid.

before a light hint of disgust rose into your face.

“ugh.”

he’d smile, a light chuckle leaving his lips.

“i always forget you drink it straight up dark, tastes way too bitter.”

“and you like yours light iced, quarter cup of almond milk if you’re feeling healthy.”

“…how did you-“

“don’t question it.”

creds: (@Helenasohpiiia, @Olcrawford, @imeioe238, all on pinterest.)

#atsv miguel #spiderman #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel spiderverse #miguel o’hara blurb

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luvyoo18 · 26 days ago

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CRY FOR LOVE

This story is inspired by Cry For Love by Baekhyun.

Pairing : Yushi x Y/n (reader)

Genre : Angst, Romance, Drama

Summary : The innocent and shy Yushi loves her sister's best friend. Will he succeed in getting her heart?

The scent of rain-soaked earth and cheap convenience store coffee hung heavy in the air, a familiar perfume marking another afternoon spent huddled together. Y/N tucked her feet further under the oversized, ridiculously fluffy blanket she shared with Giselle on the worn couch in Giselle’s living room. They were watching a cheesy drama rerun, their commentary more entertaining than the actual show. Matching mugs, chipped in identical places, sat cooling on the low table.

“Seriously, why would she go back to him again?” Giselle groaned, throwing a piece of popcorn at the screen. “He’s textbook toxic.”

Y/N laughed, nudging her best friend. “Because drama, G. It wouldn’t be a show otherwise.”

“Still dumb,” Giselle muttered, grabbing another handful of popcorn. “Real life isn’t like that. If someone hurts you, you cut them off. Simple.”

Y/N hummed noncommittally, her gaze drifting towards the hallway. A knot, small but persistent, tightened in her stomach. Simple. If only it were.

They had been Y/N and Giselle, Giselle and Y/N, for as long as either could remember. Playground pacts sealed with scraped knees and shared juice boxes had evolved into navigating teenage awkwardness with matching regrettable haircuts, and now, surviving university lectures fueled by caffeine and whispered gossip. Their bond was woven with countless sleepovers, tearful confessions whispered under duvet covers, shared wardrobes, and an unspoken understanding that transcended words. People joked they shared a brain. Sometimes, it felt true. They were anchors in each other's chaotic young adult lives, a constant presence more reliable than family, more intimate than any fleeting romance either had experienced. It was a sisterhood forged in loyalty, laughter, and an almost terrifying level of codependence.

And beneath it all, buried deep where Giselle couldn’t see, pulsed Y/N’s secret. Her heavy, complicated, exhilarating, terrifying secret: Yushi.

Giselle’s little brother.

Yushi had always been… there. A quiet shadow in the background of Y/N and Giselle’s vibrant world. When they were kids, he was the annoying little brother who hovered nearby, easily bribed away with a snack. As they hit their teens, he became quieter, retreating into his room, headphones clamped over his ears. Y/N hadn’t paid him much mind beyond the casual, almost reflexive comments she’d offer, the same way she’d nudge her own sister, Eunbi.

“Yushi, seriously, that shirt smells like it could walk away on its own. Shower time.”

“Dude, deodorant exists for a reason. Use it.”

She’d caught him trying a cigarette behind the garage once, snatching it away with a frown. “Don’t be stupid, Yushi. That stuff will kill you slowly and make you smell bad.”

Another time, peering at his reflection in the hallway mirror, she’d ruffled his overgrown hair. “Yushi-ah, you’re actually handsome under all that fluff. Get a trim, maybe?”

To Y/N, these were throwaway lines, the kind of sisterly nagging born from familiarity. She barely registered his mumbled replies or the way he’d sometimes flush slightly. She treated Eunbi exactly the same, perhaps even more critically. She never imagined these small interactions were landing differently in Yushi’s world, each comment echoing, each glance magnified. She never saw the admiration growing in his quiet eyes, transforming from childhood awe into something deeper, something adolescent and intense.

He was just Giselle’s little brother. Part of the furniture. Safe. Uncomplicated.

Or so she thought.

The shift happened subtly, almost imperceptibly at first. Yushi entered high school, his voice dropped, he shot up taller. He was still quiet, still preferred the background, but the awkward gangliness was replaced by a lean frame, the shy glances held a new intensity Y/N hadn’t noticed before. He started keeping his hair neater. He smelled, invariably, of clean laundry and a subtle, pleasant soap.

Then came the razor incident. It was his third year of junior high, maybe around his 15th birthday. Y/N, ever practical, had noticed the first fuzzy hints of a moustache. On a whim, while buying toiletries, she’d picked up a simple disposable razor and shaving cream. She’d presented it to him casually when she was over at Giselle’s.

“Here,” she’d said, dropping the small bag into his lap. He’d looked up from his game, confused. “Keep it. You’ll need it soon, if not already.”

He’d just stared at the bag, then up at her, his cheeks coloring slightly. “Oh. Uh, thanks, Noona.”

“No problem,” she’d shrugged, already turning back to Giselle, dismissing the moment. It was just a practical gift, like reminding him to shower. Nothing more.

But for Yushi, it felt like everything more. It felt like she saw him, saw him changing, growing up. He kept the unopened razor in his desk drawer like a sacred object for months.

Years continued their steady march. Y/N and Giselle navigated the final hurdles of high school and plunged into university life, their bond stretching but never breaking. Yushi moved through high school, still quiet, still observant, his feelings for Y/N a carefully guarded secret flame burning steadily brighter in the privacy of his own heart. He saw her less frequently now that she was busier with university, which only seemed to intensify his longing. He’d scroll through her social media, linger over photos Giselle posted of them together, his heart doing a familiar, painful flip.

He knew it was hopeless. She was his sister’s best friend. She was older. She probably still saw him as the slightly smelly kid she used to nag. But the heart wants what it wants, and Yushi’s heart stubbornly, foolishly, wanted Y/N.

The afternoon sun slanted through the living room window of Giselle’s house, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Y/N was hunched over her laptop at the dining table, wrestling with a particularly frustrating sociology paper. The house was quiet; Giselle’s parents were out for the weekend, and Giselle herself had just dashed to the nearby minimarket for emergency snack supplies – a critical component of any study session.

Lost in thought, brow furrowed in concentration, Y/N almost didn’t register the soft click.

Click

It was faint, almost swallowed by the gentle hum of the refrigerator. But it was distinct. A camera shutter.

She froze, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Slowly, she turned her head.

Standing in the doorway connecting the dining room to the kitchen was Yushi. He held his phone clutched in his hand, his eyes wide with the unmistakable panic of someone caught red-handed. He looked like a deer caught in headlights, frozen mid-action.

A cold prickle ran down Y/N’s spine. Without a word, she pushed her chair back, the legs scraping slightly against the floor, and walked towards him. Yushi instinctively tried to hide the phone behind his back, but Y/N was faster, her hand shooting out and snatching it from his grasp.

His lock screen was a default image, but her fingers moved automatically, swiping up. He hadn’t even bothered to lock it properly. The photo gallery opened, and Y/N’s breath caught in her throat.

It wasn’t just one photo. It was dozens. Photos of her. Candid shots, clearly taken without her knowledge. Her laughing with Giselle on the couch weeks ago. Her concentrating on her laptop, just moments before. Her reaching for a book on the shelf. Her sleeping on the sofa during a movie night months prior. Some were slightly blurry, taken hastily, others surprisingly well-composed. All of them were of her, captured in unguarded moments.

The knot in her stomach tightened into a cold fist. This wasn’t admiration. This felt… invasive. Creepy.

She looked up from the phone, her eyes meeting Yushi’s terrified gaze. He looked pale, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously.

“Why?” Her voice was low, tight. “Why are you doing this, Yushi?”

He flinched, unable to meet her eyes. “I… I’m sorry, Noona,” he mumbled, his gaze towards the floor. “I just… you looked…” His voice trailed off, unable to articulate his reasoning.

A sudden, sharp suspicion cut through her unease. The years of quiet glances, the occasional blush she’d dismissed, the intensity she’d sometimes glimpsed in his eyes… it clicked into place with a sickening lurch.

“Do you like me?” The question was blunt, devoid of preamble.

Yushi’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with a mixture of panic and something else… vulnerability? He swallowed hard, his gaze flickering away again. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. A tiny, jerky movement.

The air crackled with sudden tension. Y/N felt a strange mix of emotions swirling within her – annoyance, unease, but also a bizarre, unexpected flicker of… something else. Curiosity? Power? She wasn’t sure. She saw the sheer terror and adoration warring in his young face. He looked so exposed, so utterly mortified.

Acting on an impulse she didn’t fully understand, she took a step closer, invading his personal space. She leaned in, her face just inches from his. She could see the slight tremor in his hands, smell the faint scent of his soap.

“Is your heart beating fast?” she asked softly, her voice a low murmur.

His eyes darted up to meet hers, wide and startled. He nodded again, unable to speak. He looked like he might bolt.

Y/N leaned even closer, her lips almost brushing his ear. “Is it beating faster now?” She kept her gaze locked on his, watching the pulse jump in his throat.

He nodded mutely, his breath hitching. He tried to turn his head away, overwhelmed, but Y/N reached up, her fingers gently cupping his cheek, holding his face steady. Her touch was surprisingly soft. She looked deep into his eyes, seeing the raw emotion swimming there – the years of hidden longing laid bare. He wasn’t just a kid anymore. He was a young man, utterly captivated by her. And in that moment, seeing that raw vulnerability, something shifted inside Y/N. The annoyance softened, replaced by a strange, thrilling curiosity.

“Can I kiss you?” The words slipped out before she could stop them, quiet in the stillness of the room.

Yushi’s eyes widened further, if possible. Disbelief warred with a dawning, incredulous hope. He swallowed again, then, slowly, tremulously, he nodded. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, bracing himself.

Y/N hesitated for only a fraction of a second. Then, she leaned forward the final inch and pressed her lips against his. It wasn't a passionate kiss, barely more than a peck. A brief, soft pressure. But the effect on Yushi was instantaneous. A visible jolt went through him, a sharp intake of breath, as if he’d touched a live wire. He swayed slightly, his eyes flying open, dazed and breathless. He looked utterly poleaxed, his cheeks flushed crimson.

Y/N pulled back, studying his reaction. The sheer, unadulterated joy mixed with shock on his face was… potent. She felt a strange sense of control, a thrill that surprised her.

She handed his phone back to him. His fingers fumbled slightly as he took it.

“You have my number, right?” she asked, her voice back to its normal tone, though perhaps a little softer.

He nodded dumbly. “Y-yes.”

“You can contact me if you want another kiss,” she said, the corner of her lip twitching slightly. “Call me. Text me. But don’t secretly take pictures of me like a creep. It’s scary, Yushi.”

She gave his arm a light pat, then turned and walked back to her laptop, leaving him standing there, frozen in the doorway, processing the electric shock that had just coursed through his entire being. His first kiss. From Y/N. He felt lightheaded, dizzy, like he might actually faint from sheer, overwhelming happiness.

Y/N sat back down, staring at her half-finished essay, but the words blurred. What had she just done? It was reckless, impulsive. He was Giselle’s brother. Eighteen years old. Practically a kid. Yet… the look in his eyes, the raw adoration… it had stirred something in her. A part of her she hadn’t known existed. She pushed the thought away, trying to focus on her work, but the ghost of that brief kiss, and the look on Yushi’s face, lingered.

The days following the kiss were agony for Yushi. He replayed the moment endlessly in his mind: the terrifying anticipation, the soft pressure of Y/N’s lips, the electric jolt, her unexpected words afterwards. “Contact me if you want another kiss.” Did she mean it? Was she just messing with him? Playing a cruel joke?

He drafted and deleted countless messages. What could he possibly say? ‘Hi Noona, remember me? The creep who took your picture? Can I have that kiss now?’ Mortifying.

He jumped every time his phone buzzed. He barely slept, tossing and turning, caught between paralyzing shyness and overwhelming desire. He saw Y/N briefly when Giselle dragged her over for pizza night, but he could barely meet her eyes, mumbling hellos and quickly retreating to his room, his heart hammering against his ribs. Y/N acted completely normal, chatting easily with Giselle, giving him only a casual smile that sent his pulse skyrocketing anyway.

Finally, after nearly a week of torturous indecision, fueled by desperation and the memory of that single, earth-shattering peck, Yushi typed out the simplest message he could think of:

‘Hi Noona. It’s Yushi.’

He stared at the screen, finger hovering over the send button, his breath held tight. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed send before he could chicken out.

The wait was excruciating. Seconds stretched into minutes. He paced his room, checked his phone every ten seconds. Maybe she wouldn’t reply. Maybe she regretted it. Maybe she’d tell Giselle. His stomach churned with anxiety.

Then, his phone pinged.

‘Hi Yushi :) What’s up?’

Relief washed over him so intensely he felt weak at the knees. She’d replied. And she’d used a smiley face. He sank onto his bed, rereading the simple message as if it were a complex code.

Hesitantly, he typed back: ‘Nothing much. Just… thinking.’

‘Thinking about what? ;)’

The winky face. His heart leaped. She wasn’t mad. She wasn’t creeped out anymore. She was… flirting?

Their text exchanges started slowly, tentatively. Yushi was painfully shy at first, his messages short and careful. But Y/N was surprisingly warm, patient. She asked him about school, about his friends, remembered little details he’d mentioned months ago. She teased him gently, coaxing him out of his shell.

Y/N found herself genuinely enjoying their secret communication. Yushi’s innocence was refreshing. His shy adoration, now expressed through hesitant texts filled with blushing emojis and earnest compliments, was surprisingly endearing. There was a sweetness to him, an untainted sincerity that felt different from the usual complexities of university dating pools. He wasn’t trying to be cool or detached; he wore his heart on his digital sleeve, and Y/N found herself increasingly charmed by it. It was flattering, intoxicating even, to be the object of such focused, unadulterated affection. Maybe she was a little lonely too, adrift in the pressures of university and the vague uncertainties of the future. Yushi's crush felt like a safe harbor, simple and pure.

Their texts grew longer, more frequent, stretching late into the night. They graduated from simple greetings to sharing jokes, anxieties, and snippets of their day. Yushi, emboldened by Y/N’s warmth and the relative safety of texting, slowly revealed more of himself – his quiet ambitions, his love for photography (ironic, Y/N thought, but she let it slide), his worries about the future.

One rainy Tuesday evening, after weeks of near-constant messaging, Yushi took a deep breath and typed the words that had been burning a hole in his digital pocket:

‘Noona… I really like you. A lot. Would you… would you be my girlfriend?’

He immediately wanted to throw his phone across the room. It sounded so childish, so inadequate. He waited, heart pounding, convinced she would laugh or shut him down completely.

The reply came back almost instantly.

‘Yes, Yushi. I’d like that.’

Followed by:

‘But listen. This has to be our secret. Absolutely secret. Nobody can know. Especially not Giselle. Or Eunbi. Or your parents. Nobody. Can you promise me that?’

Yushi read the message three times, disbelief warring with ecstatic joy. She’d said yes! The condition barely registered over the roaring in his ears. Secret? Of course. He’d keep any secret for her.

‘Yes! I promise, Noona! Absolutely! Thank you! I’m so happy!’ He typed back, fingers flying.

And just like that, their secret relationship began. It felt illicit, thrilling. Stolen moments, coded messages, flirtatious selfies exchanged late at night. Y/N initiated most of the physical affection when they managed rare moments alone – a quick kiss stolen in a quiet hallway at her university when he visited under the guise of seeing Giselle, a hand squeeze under the table during a family dinner that sent shivers down his spine. Yushi, still shy but growing bolder, lived for these moments.

He felt like he was living in a dream. Y/N, the girl he’d worshipped from afar for years, was his girlfriend. She texted him good morning and good night. She sent him encouraging messages before his exams. She complimented his photos (the non-creepy ones he now sent her). She even remembered his favorite snacks.

For three months, their secret world flourished. It was a bubble of shared glances, whispered secrets, and the heady excitement of forbidden love. Yushi walked on air, convinced he was the luckiest guy in the world. He was careful, meticulously guarding their secret, deleting messages, creating plausible excuses for his sudden smiles or moments of distraction. He wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize this fragile, precious thing they had built.

He never stopped to wonder why Y/N needed such absolute secrecy, beyond the obvious complication of Giselle. He was too swept up in the magic of it all, too blinded by happiness and the unbelievable reality that Y/N had chosen him.

The fluorescent lights of the classroom buzzed overhead. Yushi was supposed to be listening to the history teacher drone on about ancient dynasties, but his attention was firmly fixed on his phone, hidden beneath his desk. A small smile played on his lips as he reread Y/N’s latest message – a funny picture of her attempting to bake, covered in flour.

He typed a quick reply, oblivious to the world around him, lost in his private bubble of happiness. He didn’t notice his deskmate, Sion, a lanky, perpetually curious boy, craning his neck.

“Whoa, Yushi, smiling at your phone? Don’t tell me the quiet guy finally got himself a girlfriend!” Sion whispered loudly, nudging him.

Yushi jumped, quickly trying to hide his phone, but Sion was faster. With a mischievous grin, Sion snatched the phone right out of his hand.

“Hey! Give it back!” Yushi hissed, trying to grab it, but Sion held it aloft.

“Let’s see, let’s see!” Sion announced, ignoring Yushi’s frantic protests. The chat history was open. Sion’s eyes widened. “No way! Look everyone, Yushi’s got a girlfriend!”

The classroom, previously filled with lethargic murmurs, erupted. Heads turned, whispers broke out. Everyone knew Yushi as the quiet, reserved kid. The idea of him having a girlfriend was major news.

“Who is she?” someone called out.

"Is she pretty?"

“Is she hot?” another added.

Sion scrolled slightly, squinting at the contact name. “Her name is… Y/N,” he read aloud. “No picture, but the messages are pretty sweet. Seems like she’s pretty into him” He grinned, waggling his eyebrows.

Most of the class murmured the name, unfamiliar. But across the aisle, one head had snapped up, eyes wide with shock and dawning horror. Eunbi. Y/N’s sister.

Before anyone else could react, Eunbi shot out of her seat, marched over, and snatched the phone from Sion’s grasp. Her expression was thunderous. She scrolled through the recent messages, her face paling, then hardening. The flirtatious emojis, the affectionate nicknames… it was undeniably her sister.

“Give it back, Eunbi,” Yushi pleaded, his voice tight with panic. The secret was out. At least partially.

Eunbi ignored him, quickly locking the phone and shoving it back into his hand. “Don’t talk to me,” she hissed, her voice low and furious, before stalking back to her seat. The class buzzed with confusion, but the teacher intervened, restoring a semblance of order. Yushi spent the rest of the lesson in a cold sweat, his mind racing. Eunbi knew. What would she do? Would she tell Y/N? Would she tell Giselle?

The moment the final bell rang, Eunbi was waiting for him by the classroom door, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. She grabbed his arm and pulled him into an empty corridor, away from the flow of students.

“What the hell, Yushi?” she demanded, her voice trembling with anger. “Y/N? My sister? Are you serious?”

Yushi swallowed, feeling cornered. “Eunbi, I can explain…”

“Explain what? That you’re secretly dating my sister? Behind everyone’s back? Behind Giselle’s back?” Her eyes flashed. “Do you have any idea how stupid this is?”

“We… we like each other,” Yushi mumbled, feeling defensive but also deeply ashamed.

Eunbi scoffed, a harsh, disbelieving sound. “Like each other? Yushi, listen to me very carefully.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to an intense whisper. “This isn’t about my sister. This is for your good. Stay away from her.”

“What? Why?” Yushi felt a surge of defiance. “You don’t understand…”

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” Eunbi cut him off, her gaze sharp and pitying. “I know my sister. I know how much Giselle means to her. No matter how much Y/N seems to like you right now, no matter how sweet she is, when it comes down to it, she will always choose Giselle. Always. You’ll just be collateral damage.”

Yushi opened his mouth to protest, but Eunbi pressed on.

“Think about it, Yushi. Really think. Do you honestly believe your sister would be okay with this? Do you think your parents would approve? Your mom adores Y/N like another daughter. This… this would break things. Mess everything up. And who do you think will get hurt the most when it all blows up? It’ll be you.” Her eyes bored into his. “Y/N will smooth things over with Giselle, maybe feel bad for a bit, but she’ll move on. You? You’ll be left with nothing but a broken heart and a huge mess with your own family.”

Her words hit him like cold water. He hadn’t really considered the fallout beyond Giselle finding out. He hadn’t thought about his parents, about the deep intertwining of their families.

“Stay away from my sister, Yushi,” Eunbi repeated, her voice softening slightly but losing none of its intensity. “End it before it gets worse. Or you’ll be the one paying the price. This is the only warning I’m giving you.”

She turned and walked away, leaving Yushi standing alone in the corridor, Eunbi’s chilling prophecy echoing in his ears. He felt a knot of fear tighten in his chest, a seed of doubt planted where only blissful ignorance had resided before. But the thought of ending things with Y/N, of losing her, felt like tearing out his own heart. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Eunbi was wrong. Their love was real. Y/N wouldn’t just discard him. Would she?

He pushed the fear down, burying it deep. He wouldn’t let Eunbi’s words poison what they had. He just needed to be even more careful.

Three months flew by in a haze of final exams, graduation preparations, and the lingering anxiety of Eunbi’s warning. Yushi managed to keep the secret contained; Sion, after the initial excitement, lost interest, and thankfully, no one else connected ‘Y/N’ to Giselle’s best friend or Eunbi’s sister. Eunbi, true to her word, hadn’t mentioned it again, but her cool distance towards him was a constant, unnerving reminder.

Summer arrived, and with it, a new chapter. Yushi was accepted into the same university as Y/N and Giselle. Stepping onto the sprawling campus as a freshman felt both daunting and exhilarating. But the biggest thrill was knowing Y/N was here, breathing the same academic air, walking the same pathways.

He quickly discovered that Y/N wasn’t just another student. She was a well-known senior, involved in several clubs, respected by professors, and generally admired for her competence, warmth, and friendly demeanor. Hearing people praise her, talk about her accomplishments, filled Yushi with an immense sense of pride. That’s my girlfriend. he’d think, a secret, giddy warmth spreading through him.

Their relationship, despite the proximity, remained firmly underground. University offered more opportunities for stolen moments – brief meetings between classes in less crowded corridors, quick coffee dates in obscure cafes far from their usual haunts, late-night study sessions in quiet corners of the library that often involved more whispered conversations and hand-holding than actual studying.

Y/N seemed to thrive on the secrecy, the planning, the near-misses. She was incredibly affectionate in their private moments, showering Yushi with attention. Sweet good morning texts became a staple. Little notes tucked into his textbook. A constant stream of encouragement for his studies. Soft, lingering kisses that left him breathless and wanting more. Small, thoughtful gifts – a keychain he’d admired, his favorite brand of instant noodles stocked in her dorm mini-fridge for his visits, a warm scarf knitted in his favorite color.

Yushi felt cherished, adored. Y/N’s maturity was a comfort; she seemed so understanding, so patient with his lingering shyness, his occasional insecurities. She listened to his worries about university, offered advice, celebrated his small victories. He felt like he could tell her anything. Eunbi’s warning faded into the background, dismissed as sisterly overprotectiveness or perhaps jealousy. How could Y/N ever choose anyone over this? Over them? He was living a dream, soaring on the wings of first love, utterly convinced he was the happiest man on earth.

Their haven, their sanctuary, became an abandoned building on the edge of campus. It was a dilapidated structure, slated for demolition but forgotten by bureaucracy, hidden behind overgrown bushes and a crumbling brick wall. Y/N had found it first, exploring one afternoon. It became their place.

Slowly, carefully, they made it their own. They swept away layers of dust and debris, cleared a space in one of the larger rooms with intact windows. Y/N brought battery-operated fairy lights, stringing them across beams, casting a soft, magical glow. Yushi, using his photography skills, found angles where the peeling paint and broken plaster looked almost artistic in the dim light. They scavenged a couple of discarded cushions, brought blankets. They carved their initials, Y/N + YS, into a dusty windowsill, hidden from casual view.

Here, away from prying eyes, their relationship truly deepened. They talked for hours, curled up on the blankets, sharing dreams and fears under the soft twinkle of the fairy lights. They listened to music on Yushi’s phone, sharing earbuds. They kissed freely, deeply, exploring the burgeoning physical side of their relationship with tentative touches and breathless exploration. It was in this secluded space, filled with the scent of dust and decay strangely mingled with the sweetness of their affection, that Yushi fell completely, irrevocably in love. Y/N wasn’t just his first crush, his first kiss, his first girlfriend. She felt like his soulmate. Her patience, her understanding, the way she looked at him in those stolen moments… it felt like forever.

For a year, their secret world thrived within the university's ecosystem and the hidden corners of their abandoned building. Yushi navigated his freshman year, buoyed by Y/N’s love and support. The secrecy was just part of the thrill, a testament to the unique, special bond they shared. He truly believed they could overcome anything, that their love was strong enough to withstand any obstacle, even the inevitable reveal he knew must someday come. He just wasn’t prepared for how, or when, it would happen.

Graduation came and went for Y/N and Giselle. Caps were thrown, photos were taken, futures beckoned. The inseparable duo found themselves pulled in slightly different directions by the demands of their first jobs. They still talked constantly, met up whenever possible, but the easy proximity of university life was gone.

Giselle, sharp-eyed and intuitive despite her occasional dramatic flair, had sensed subtle shifts for a while. Lingering glances between Y/N and Yushi that seemed a little too charged. Y/N’s occasional vagueness about her whereabouts. Yushi’s uncharacteristic nervousness around Y/N when Giselle was present. Little things, easily dismissed individually, but collectively, they formed a pattern in Giselle’s mind.

One evening, over wine and takeout after a long week at their respective new jobs, Giselle decided to address the nagging feeling.

“Okay, spill,” Giselle said, swirling the wine in her glass, her gaze direct. “What’s really going on between you and Yushi?”

Y/N, caught off guard, nearly choked on her noodles. “What? Nothing! What are you talking about?” She forced a laugh, trying to sound casual, but her heart hammered against her ribs. This was it. The moment she’d dreaded.

“Don’t play dumb, Y/N,” Giselle said, her tone losing its usual teasing edge. “I’m not blind. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other sometimes. The way he clams up when you’re around me. The weird tension. Something’s up.”

“Giselle, you’re imagining things,” Y/N insisted, trying to maintain eye contact, trying to project innocence. “He’s your brother. He’s like a little brother to me too. It’s probably just awkward now that we’re all older.”

Giselle wasn’t buying it. She leaned forward, her expression serious. “I know you, Y/N. Better than anyone. You’re hiding something. And I have a horrible feeling I know what it is. Just tell me the truth.” Her voice softened slightly. “Are you… involved with him?”

Y/N’s mind raced. Deny, deny, deny. But Giselle’s steady gaze unnerved her. She knew that look. Giselle wouldn’t let this go. The walls were closing in. The secret, so carefully guarded for over a year, felt suffocatingly close to bursting. The potential fallout flashed through her mind – Giselle’s hurt, her anger, the inevitable confrontation with Yushi’s parents, the destruction of the carefully balanced ecosystem of their intertwined lives.

Panic seized her. She saw the hurt already dawning in Giselle’s eyes, the suspicion hardening into certainty. She couldn’t face it. She couldn’t handle the confrontation, the drama, the potential loss of her best friend. In that moment of pure, gut-wrenching panic, she made a decision. A brutal, self-preservative decision.

“No,” she lied, the word feeling like ash in her mouth. “Of course not, G. Don’t be ridiculous.” But her voice lacked conviction.

Giselle just stared at her, disappointment clear on her face. “Prove it.”

“How?” Y/N asked, stalling, desperately trying to think.

“Let me see your phone. Your recent calls, your messages with him.”

Checkmate. Y/N knew her phone held undeniable proof. The late-night texts, the pet names, the saved photos. It was all there. Exposing it now, like this, felt unbearable. It felt like betraying not just Giselle, but Yushi too, in the worst possible way.

There was only one way out. A cruel, cowardly way out.

While Giselle refilled her wine glass, Y/N quickly unlocked her phone, her fingers trembling. She opened her chat with Yushi. Her heart felt like a lead weight in her chest. She typed quickly, not allowing herself to think, to feel.

‘Yushi, I’m so sorry. I can’t do this anymore. We need to break up. It’s over. Please don’t contact me.’

Send.

Her breath hitched. The immediate finality of it felt like a physical blow. Before Giselle turned back, Y/N navigated to his contact info, her thumb hovering over the ‘Block’ button. Tears pricked her eyes, blurring the screen. She squeezed them shut and pressed it. Blocked calls. Blocked messages. She quickly went to her social media apps, blocking him there too. Severing every connection.

She took a deep, shaky breath and looked up, schooling her features into a semblance of calm just as Giselle sat back down. “See? Nothing,” she said, offering her phone, knowing the incriminating evidence was now inaccessible, the digital ties brutally cut.

Giselle took the phone, her eyes still searching Y/N’s face. She scrolled through the call log, the main message list. Nothing overtly suspicious remained visible. Y/N had always been careful about deleting things, but the absence of recent communication, the blocking… it felt deliberate. Giselle handed the phone back, a heavy silence settling between them. She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press further. The damage, however, was done. A hairline crack had appeared in the foundation of their lifelong friendship.

Miles away, in his dorm room, Yushi’s phone buzzed. He smiled, assuming it was Y/N’s goodnight message. He picked it up, his smile freezing, then collapsing as he read the words.

‘I’m so sorry. I can’t do this anymore. We need to break up. It’s over. Please don’t contact me.’

Disbelief washed over him, cold and paralyzing. This had to be a joke. A cruel prank. His fingers trembled as he tried to call her. Straight to voicemail. He tried again. Voicemail. He opened their chat to type a frantic message – ‘Noona? What’s wrong? What happened? Talk to me!’ – but a system message popped up: ‘You cannot reply to this conversation.’

Panic, sharp and sickening, clawed its way up his throat. He tried her social media. Her profile wouldn’t load. He searched her name. Nothing. Blocked. Everywhere.

He sank onto his bed, the phone slipping from his numb fingers. Over? Just like that? No explanation? No discussion? After everything? After the promises whispered in their secret place, after the shared dreams, after a year of believing they were building a future?

The room started to spin. Tears welled, hot and stinging, blurring his vision. Why? What had he done wrong? Was it something he said? Something he did? His mind raced, replaying their recent interactions, searching for a clue, a reason for this sudden, brutal severance. He found nothing. Just warmth, affection, love.

He curled into a ball on his bed, confusion and shock giving way to a raw, agonizing pain. He cried, deep, gut-wrenching sobs tearing through him. He felt utterly lost, adrift, blindsided. The world that had seemed so bright, so full of promise just minutes ago, had shattered into a million unrecognizable pieces. The silence in the room pressed in on him, amplifying the deafening roar of his own heartbreak.

The days that followed were a blur of numb disbelief and gut-wrenching pain for Yushi. He existed in a fog, going through the motions of attending classes, eating, sleeping – or trying to. Everything felt muted, pointless. The vibrant colors of his world had bled out, leaving only shades of grey.

He tried desperately to understand. Had Giselle found out? Had Y/N panicked? But why wouldn't she talk to him? Why the sudden, complete cutoff? The silence was a torment, leaving his mind free to conjure a thousand self-deprecating reasons. Was he not good enough? Too young? Too naive? Had she just been playing with him all along? Was Eunbi right after all?

He couldn't accept it. He had to talk to her. He had to hear it from her lips, understand why.

He started haunting the places he knew she might be. He waited near the building where she worked, hoping to catch her coming or going. The first time he saw her, walking out with colleagues, laughing at something someone said, his heart leaped with desperate hope. He called her name, “Noona!”

Y/N froze, her head snapping towards him. Recognition flashed in her eyes, followed immediately by panic. She turned abruptly, saying something quickly to her friends, and hurried in the opposite direction, disappearing around a corner before he could even take a step towards her.

He tried again a few days later, waiting by the entrance. This time, she saw him from a distance, ducked back inside, and presumably left through a different exit. Another time, he managed to get close enough to say her name as she walked past on the street. She flinched but kept walking, faster this time, head down, pretending she hadn’t heard him, didn’t know him. Each rejection was a fresh stab to his already bleeding heart. The humiliation burned, hot and sharp, mingling with the overwhelming sadness.

He went to their abandoned building, hoping she might seek solace there too. The fairy lights were gone. The blankets and cushions were missing. Only the faint carving on the windowsill remained, a mocking reminder of what they had shared. Standing in the dusty, empty room, the silence echoed his own hollowness. He sank to the floor, burying his face in his hands, the tears coming freely again.

Guilt gnawed at him relentlessly. Was it his fault? Had he become too demanding? Too complacent? Had he failed to show her how much he loved her? He dissected every memory, every conversation, searching for his mistake. ‘Was it because I couldn’t give as much love as Y/N gave me?’ The thought tortured him. He remembered her patience, her gifts, her encouragement, and compared it to his own shy, fumbling expressions of affection. Maybe he hadn’t been enough. Maybe he’d taken her for granted.

Nights were the worst. The crushing weight of loneliness descended, heavy and suffocating. Sleep offered little escape, often plagued by dreams of Y/N – sometimes loving and warm, making the waking reality even harsher, sometimes cold and distant, mirroring his current nightmare. He’d wake up with tears drying on his cheeks, the ache in his chest a constant, physical presence. He missed her smile, her laugh, the way she’d ruffle his hair, the safety he felt in her arms, the easy intimacy of their secret world. He missed her, terribly, achingly.

His friends tried to help. Sion, sensing something was deeply wrong despite not knowing the details, dragged him out to game nights, parties, study groups. Yushi went along, putting on a brave face, forcing smiles, nodding along to conversations he barely registered. But the laughter felt hollow, the distractions fleeting. Nothing could fill the gaping void Y/N had left behind. He felt isolated in his grief, unable to explain the depth of his heartbreak to anyone, bound by the remnants of the secret that had ultimately destroyed him. He tried focusing on his studies, pouring all his energy into assignments, but his concentration wavered, his thoughts inevitably drifting back to her.

He was drowning in heartbreak, disappointment, and a profound sense of loss. The happiness he’d felt just weeks ago seemed like a distant, impossible dream. This crushing reality was his new normal.

Weeks bled into months. The initial raw agony began to dull into a persistent, heavy ache. Yushi functioned. He passed his exams, kept up with his coursework, maintained a semblance of a social life. But the light in his eyes was gone, replaced by a weary resignation.

One Friday night, Sion and a couple of other friends convinced him to try a new restaurant downtown, famous for its spicy chicken. Yushi wasn’t particularly hungry, but the thought of staying alone in his dorm room felt worse.

The restaurant was busy, noisy with chatter and the clatter of cutlery. They found a table near the back. Yushi picked listlessly at his food, only half-listening to his friends’ banter about football and upcoming exams. His gaze drifted idly around the room.

And then he saw her.

At a large table across the restaurant, amidst a group of laughing, well-dressed people who looked like office colleagues celebrating the end of the week, sat Y/N. She was leaning forward, smiling, contributing animatedly to the conversation. She looked radiant, happy, completely carefree. Like the breakup hadn’t affected her at all. Like he hadn’t affected her at all.

His breath caught. His heart, which he thought had become numb, clenched painfully. It felt like seeing a ghost, but a ghost who was vibrantly, cruelly alive and well. He couldn’t look away, mesmerized and horrified in equal measure. Had he imagined the depth of their connection? Had it all meant nothing to her?

As if sensing his stare, Y/N’s gaze flickered across the room. For a fraction of a second, their eyes met. He saw a flicker of surprise, maybe recognition, maybe something else he couldn’t decipher. And then, instantly, she looked away. Smoothly, dismissively. As if she’d glanced at a stranger, or a piece of furniture. She turned back to her friends, picked up her glass, and took a sip, seamlessly rejoining the conversation.

It was like a physical blow. The casualness of her dismissal shattered the fragile composure he’d painstakingly built over the past months. So, it was true. He had been suffering alone. While he was crying himself to sleep, she was out laughing with friends, moving on without a backward glance. The unfairness of it burned like acid in his chest.

He watched as her group started gathering their things, preparing to leave. He couldn’t let her just walk away again. Not after this. Ignoring Sion’s questioning look, Yushi pushed his chair back abruptly and intercepted Y/N as she headed towards the exit, slightly separated from her group.

He gently but firmly took her arm, stopping her. “Noona.”

Y/N froze, startled. She looked down at his hand on her arm, then up at his face, her expression hardening into annoyance, maybe even a hint of fear. “What are you doing?” she hissed, trying to pull her arm away. Her colleagues glanced back curiously.

“We need to talk,” Yushi insisted, his voice low and trembling slightly. He ignored the stares, focusing only on her. “Please. Just five minutes.”

Y/N hesitated, clearly aware of her colleagues watching. With a sigh of exasperation, she nodded curtly towards a quieter corner near the entrance. “Fine. Make it quick.”

Once they were slightly away from the crowd, Yushi released her arm. The proximity, the familiar scent of her perfume, the sight of her face up close after so long – it threatened to undo him.

“What happened?” he asked, the question raw with months of pent-up pain and confusion. “Why are you being like this? Why did you just… disappear?”

Y/N crossed her arms, avoiding his gaze, her expression carefully neutral. “Didn’t I tell you? We broke up, Yushi.” Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

“That was just you saying it!” he choked out, frustration and hurt warring within him. “A text message! You blocked me! You ran away every time I tried to see you! I never agreed to break up! You never even gave me a reason!”

She finally met his eyes, and he saw a weariness there, a coldness that chilled him to the bone. “Since you’re here now, fine. Let’s make it official. We are broken up. Done. Finished.”

Tears pricked Yushi’s eyes, blurring her image. “Why...?” His voice cracked. “Why are you being so cruel to me? What did I do?”

A flicker of something – guilt? Regret? – crossed her face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a harsh pragmatism. “So what? You want us to continue this relationship? This secret, hidden thing?” She let out a short, humorless laugh. “Be realistic, Yushi. Can you guarantee it can last? Can you honestly guarantee your parents and your sister, my best friend, will approve when they find out? Because they will find out eventually.”

Her words became sharper, faster, like she was reciting a pre-rehearsed defense. “Can you guarantee I won’t get hurt in the fallout? That Giselle won’t hate me? That your parents won’t blame me? Can you guarantee that you, who still depends on your parents for everything, will actually stand up for me, fight for me, defend me against your own family?”

“I will-” Yushi started, desperate, wanting to promise her anything.

“No!” Y/N cut him off sharply, shaking her head. “No, Yushi, you won’t. That’s just your naive, innocent thinking. You’re sweet, but you’re still a kid in so many ways. You wouldn’t be able to handle the pressure, the disapproval, the conflict. You wouldn’t know how. You wouldn't stand up to Giselle, or your parents, whose money you still live on.” She sighed heavily, a sound filled with resignation.

“We… we can never be together, Yushi,” she said, her voice softening slightly but the words landing like hammer blows. “Not really. Not in the open. And that’s the reality. That’s why I ended it. Before things got even more complicated, before more people got hurt. Before you got hurt even more.”

The implication that she was doing this for him felt like the ultimate insult. Tears streamed freely down his cheeks now, hot and unchecked. “Why did you give up so easily?!” he cried, his voice thick with emotion. “Don’t you remember how beautiful it was? Our place? Everything we shared? How we shared love… when you said you loved me… and I loved you so much… was any of that real? Was that really love? Or was I just… convenient?” The accusation hung heavy in the air. “Don’t worry about my family! I can guarantee everything! I promise I will fight for you! I’ll prove it!”

Y/N looked at him, and for a moment, he saw a glimpse of the old Y/N, the one who had looked at him with affection. There was pain in her eyes, but it was quickly masked by a firm resolve.

“No, Yushi,” she said gently but firmly. “Reality isn’t that simple. And promises made in moments like this… they don’t hold up against years of family ties and expectations. You’re just a naive kid who doesn’t know how harsh life can be yet.” The words were designed to wound, to push him away definitively. “Please, just forget me. Move on with your life. Find someone else, someone… easier. Someone better for you.” She took a step back. “Let me make it absolutely clear: there is nothing between us anymore. It’s over. Please, don’t look for me again. Don’t contact me. Just… let it go.”

And with that final, devastating dismissal, Y/N turned and walked quickly away, rejoining her oblivious colleagues, leaving Yushi standing alone in the busy restaurant, shattered into a million pieces, the echoes of her words ringing in his ears. Naive kid. Forget me. It’s over.

The following days, weeks, were harder than the initial shock of the breakup text. The finality of Y/N’s words, the coldness in her eyes, the brutal dose of ‘reality’ she had administered, left no room for hope. There was no misunderstanding to clear up, no grand gesture he could make to win her back. She had made her choice. And her choice wasn’t him.

He forced himself to face the truth, however agonizing. He went back to their abandoned building one last time. The dusty air felt heavy with ghosts of laughter and whispered secrets. With trembling hands, he traced the initials carved into the windowsill – Y/N + YS. A monument to a love that was now officially dead. He didn’t cry this time. He just felt empty, hollowed out. He turned and walked away, pulling the metaphorical door shut on that chapter of his life. He promised himself he wouldn’t go back there again. He had to let go.

He threw himself into his studies with a ferocity born of desperation. He joined a study group, volunteered for extra projects, spent long hours in the library. He reconnected with his hobbies – photography, ironically, though he avoided taking pictures of people for a long time. He spent more time with Sion and his other friends, forcing himself to engage, to laugh, to pretend he was okay. He cleaned his dorm room meticulously, packing away any small memento that reminded him of her – a movie ticket stub, a dried flower she’d tucked into his book, a silly doodle she’d drawn. Out of sight, hopefully, eventually, out of mind.

He was functional. He was coping. He was, by all outward appearances, moving on.

But the nights remained his undoing. When the distractions of the day faded, when the silence of his room pressed in, loneliness became a physical entity, wrapping its cold arms around him. His carefully constructed walls crumbled. Memories, unbidden and relentless, flooded his mind. Her smile as she handed him a warm drink. The feeling of her hand fitting perfectly in his. The soft glow of the fairy lights reflecting in her eyes in their secret sanctuary. The breathless excitement of a stolen kiss. The comforting weight of her head on his shoulder.

He remembered the sheer, unadulterated happiness he had felt, the naive certainty that their love was invincible. He remembered how deeply, how completely, he had loved her. And how utterly worthless it all felt now.

Tears would inevitably fall, silent tracks tracing paths down his cheeks in the darkness. The longing was a persistent ache, a phantom limb he couldn’t stop reaching for. He missed her. He missed the feeling of being loved by her, even if that love had proven conditional, fragile, ultimately surrendered to pragmatism and fear.

Eunbi’s words from years ago echoed with chilling accuracy: "No matter how much she loves you, she will always choose Giselle and leave you." "Stay away from my sister, or you'll be the one who gets hurt."

She had been right. He hadn’t listened. He had believed in the fantasy, in the exceptions, in the power of their supposedly unique bond. And now, he was paying the price. Eunbi had warned him his love would destroy him. Looking back, staring into the lonely abyss of his heartbreak, Yushi couldn’t help but think she was right. Love, or at least this love, hadn't conquered all. It had simply left him broken. And utterly alone.

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lostsexplicit · 5 months ago

Text

Delirium

Viktor x female!reader

wordcount: 2189

Summary: He could feel heat crawl up his back and into his face. Viktor, she had called. That voice would haunt him tonight, for many nights. Viktor, a sweet exhale with a slight whine. Were it any other daily visit, he would have been able to let it slide into the abyss, lock it away until he was alone and could safely lose himself in the tangle of thoughts. Yet she said it here, in the echoing quiet of a dark, empty lab, into the shell of his ear. Viktor , he would hear for weeks to come.

a/n: more of a reader than writer, but this skinny twink had me in a chokehold in his first moments on screen. Set in vaguely S1 Act 1/2

His leg always worsened as the clock’s hands ticked past two. Late lab nights were more and more common as the demand for progress increased.

The lab doors swished open, dull thuds trudging in. Scents of warm and sweet pastries wafted in. Viktor’s stomach growled. The sandwich Jayce had shoved in his workspace at noon felt distant.

“I swear they’re trying to kill me,” she yawned, leaning on his desk. Viktors own hand twitched as he saw her smooth, delicately manicured hand set the cup in the center of his vision. She huffed, shrugging her coat off. Her cravat was hung loosely around her neck, the open top of her button up offering a view of her collarbones and a little something more if he strained enough to look. Viktor turned back to the experiment. It sparked.

“No more than Hextech tends to,” he said.

“It took me over two hours to find the books she wanted us to research from and then the library had the audacity to keep it on a two hour loan inside the library.”

“Hm, you were lovely enough to get me coffee?”

“Hot chocolate. We’ve had enough caffeine today,” she said.

A sip revealed that it was sweet and thick chocolate, topped with a generous layer of whipped cream. It struck a contrast between the air of the lab and its steaming contents. Cold nights were never much of a problem except when Viktor worked for so long he forgot to adjust the thermostat. It was alright. He just needed to work out one more aspect before leaving. If he could just get the frequency to reach the pitch before overheating—

“Viktor,” she sighed, voice thick with exhaustion but honeyed in a way that made his heart stop in his throat. “It’s past two. Our brains are lifeless grey jelly now.”

He could feel heat crawl up his back and into his face. Viktor, she had called. That voice would haunt him tonight, for many nights. Viktor, a sweet exhale with a slight whine. Were it any other daily visit, he would have been able to let it slide into the abyss, lock it away until he was alone and could safely lose himself in the tangle of thoughts. Yet she said it here, in the echoing quiet of a dark, empty lab, into the shell of his ear. Viktor, he would hear for weeks to come.

He stood abruptly and put his weight on the edge of the desk as he rushed to the other end where some notes lied from an earlier calculation, ramblings safe from her understanding and far enough away to cool himself.

“The chairs alone would’ve been enough to depress any man within an hour,” he said. Would she notice his escape? Viktor glanced back.

“Ugh, don’t remind me. You’d think if this city could fund HexTech it could afford chairs that don't share the comfort level of stone.” She lifted her drink up before wincing, stretching out her hands carefully and thoroughly. Each digit flexed. Viktor wondered how they’d feel in his hair, pulling at the roots. Neatly shaped nails scraping against his back and grasping at his—

The whir of the Hexcore he’d forgotten sped up to a high pitch and lashed out a pulse of electric blue. The metal encasing grew red hot before breaking under pressure and exploding. She gasped and threw her arms up to cover her face as she stumbled back. Surrounded by singed notes and smoking mechanism, the Hexcore lay still, its glow reduced and steady.

Viktor scrambled to reach her. His leg protested and spasmed, but he finally reached her and held her by the shoulders, sliding down to her wrists.

“Are you hurt?” he asked. Stupid, stupid. He knew it was too much energy. That test didn’t have any more probability of success than the last ten. Like an idiot, he’d just left it there without a single warning or precaution. It wasn’t terribly volatile, but if he’d been more amiss in his calculations than he thought the explosion could have led to much more. Viktor held her face, searching for marks that were sure to be there. Some remnant soot laid just below her wide open eyes. He brushed it away. It only made it into a larger smudge.

“I’m good, um,” She blinked rapidly, “I–not even a scratch. Just won’t be able to sleep in these clothes anymore.” Academy uniforms would crease horribly after a night, but that was the least of his concerns.

It was just the musings of his deluded searching, but it seemed she leaned into his hand, relaxed in his hold. He glanced down at her sleeves and found them marked with unfortunate grey.

“I am so sorry, I should have–”

“Hey,” She took his hand in hers. They were warm, soft. Her lips, ones he’d spent sleepless nights picturing for so long the lingering sight of them sent shivers down his spine, twisted into a smirk. “Wouldn’t be your first failed experiment to blow up in my face.”

Viktor pulled his gaze up to frown at her. “That was not failed, I was testing the–”

“Nope, it bleached off an entire eyebrow. Failed. And you didn’t tell me until after I gave my presentations.”

“Your argument was flawless. I wasn’t going to let appearances keep you from speaking”

“Three presentations. One eyebrow.”

“I was right. Anyway, Jayce lost more.”

She laughed. “At least he still looked good with half a beard,” she said, walking to the corner where they kept cleaning supplies. His hands felt cold again. She returned with a rag and broom in hand. She was no stranger to messes into the lab.

A yawn bubbled up and Viktor was halfway through it before he realized.

“Alright, kněžna, time to go home.”

Viktor rolled his eyes. He had used that term once when she was in one of her stubborn, contrarian moods. Most words that slipped out went unnoticed or in such an annoyed, quick torrent that she never pushed for the meaning. This one, though, caught her attention. He had been annoyed as well and quickly translated.

“As you wish, little princess,” he had mocked in response to her growing demands.

It was only a matter of time before the term was weaponized.

“I have work to do.” Viktor slumped back down. His leg was a little worse for wear, stiff from awkward positions. He found himself yanked back, chair swiveling around to face her as she leaned down on the arm rests, trapping him. His breath hitched. That familiar thumping in his chest returned. It wasn’t enough to stifle the annoyance at being interrupted.

She settled him with a look down her nose, exposing the curve of her neck.

“Your last test blew up, Viktor. It’s time to sleep. I will carry you back myself if I have to and you know how that’ll end.”

Last time she decided enough was enough he found himself half-slung over her shoulders like a long, bumpy sack. A few strides to the door had knocked the air out of her every breath and him and his bones creaked in protest before giving in. It wasn’t her preferred method, she generally bribed him with treats, but tonight's bribe had been coated in fine grey dust at no other fault than his own.

Now, with cloudy thoughts of leaning forward and bridging the gap, Viktor could hardly be blamed for an instinctual hum of affirmation, politely agreeing to any words falling from her very close, soft-looking lips. Exhales mingling, she could have asked for his heart and he’d carve it out himself. He was brought back to reality when she leaned to the side and yawned, back arching slightly. Her head dipped low with half-closed eyes as she turned back to him. She whispered between them.

“I want to sleep.” Another sharp jolt to his heart. “But I can’t until I know you’re taken care of. Come on, let’s go home.” She held out her hand to him. The sensation was still a bit foreign, but unlike the strained pleasantries of Piltover, it felt nice, really, to slide his hand into hers. To feel the palms against each other and join in warmth.

They walked back to his apartment at the insistence of her judging gaze. It couldn't be guaranteed that he’d sleep until she saw him at rest herself. He watched her fumble with her key, laughing to himself as each failed attempt mounted her frustration as he did nothing but stared with smirk. She cursed her professor and her professor’s mother as she finally unlocked the door. On the floor went her book bag. Haphazardly along the couch went their coats. At long last, Viktor reached his bed. He pulled a corner of the covers down and sat, letting out a breath of relief when he stretched out his legs. There was a brief thought about something important. Wrinkles and sleeping.

He’d just shrugged off his leg brace and decided that changing out of his clothes was too much trouble when she stumbled into his room, hesitant at the threshold. At that moment, Viktor wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen her in the context of his room and found that he liked the idea, after a moment, he realized he liked it a bit too much as it no longer felt so cold.

“You are not wrinkling your academy clothes,” she said, leaning against the doorframe. There must have been something weary in his gaze because she sighed as she pushed away from the frame and fully entered the room. “Sit up. I’ll at least undo your tie.”

Viktor gave a weak shrug and closed his eyes. He felt more than saw when she closed the distance and fumbled with his cravat. He inhaled sharply and looked at her quickly. On her knees before him. Her fingers brushed underneath, ticklish on his chest. It was somewhat cute to see her focused frown, the small struggle she had with the security of the knot. Eventually, it came undone.

Her eyes flicked up to his. For a breath, they stared. Their exhales mingled.

Spurred by sleep deprivation’s lack of inhibition, she leaned up and fluttered her eyes closed. Motivated by the selfish part of him screaming to just let himself have this, Viktor met her in the middle.

She was right there, lips pursed and stars, she tasted sweet. Viktor knew he was done for. There was nothing left to keep his hand from splaying against her waist and the other buried in her bergamot scented hair. All thoughts of why he hadn't done this before left.

He kissed her hard.

Heated and fervent, like it was his last. She melted against him, placing her leg between his and pushing him down. She gripped his hair. Before he could catch himself, a desperate whine escaped.

“Do that again,” she whispered against him, hot breath fanning over his lips.

“It’s not exactly on demand.” Viktor’s hand, slightly trembling, slid down to rest at her hip, thumb caressing it in a slow pattern.

Her nails grazed against his scalp and she bent down until she was nearly lying on top of him, every inch of her body pressed hotly into him. Viktor didn’t even register the sound that left him. It wasn’t until he felt her kiss twist into a smirk on his neck and he did it again.

“The right conditions have to be met,” he panted. She hummed.

After a brief pause, she let her weight fall to the side of him, arms circling his neck in a tight embrace. His body followed almost of its own accord, mourning the loss of heat on top of him. She still played with the outgrown strands of his hair, eyes fighting to stay open as she pressed soft kisses to his cheekbone, ear, collarbone, any part of him that was in reach. The cool night air began to settle over them as his breathing evened.

He had spent restless nights agonizing over the look in her eyes. A devastating visual display of quiet tenderness that he recognized so acutely in his own heart. Except now, now it burned a little brighter. Demanded more, on the cusp of outgrowing its space and overflowing into the real world.

Viktor had been too enamoured with the soft glow when he first noticed it in himself. It had been a sunshine-like presence, novel and pleasant. Every time he went to snuff it out, for both of their skates, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. To part from it.

With rough pull, Viktor managed to get the blankets out from underneath them. His lithe frame entwined with hers as he held her closer in the warmth. The embers in his heart had long ago grown into a barely contained explosion. He would burn for her. An eternal flame, bright and unabashed even when its mortal vessel waned and decayed into dust.

Already half-asleep, but with a slight upturn of her mouth, she mumbled, “Goodnight, Viktor.”

“Goodnight, můj miláčku.”

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