#small gestures speak volumes

[sensorybin]

Your small gestures speaks volumes. I’m thankful to be loved and seen by you.

—1:30AM

[beloveds-embrace]

(a very low-effort post abt 141 x their new hacker- you. For better immersion, click on the song link during Soap’s workout! <3)

The first time you make contact, it’s through their personal phones.

Not the official military-issued devices- no, those would be too easy. You wanted to make an impression.

So when Price, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap each glance at their personal screens, expecting the usual notifications from Laswell, they’re instead greeted by:

(¬‿¬) Hello, boys.

Price sighs like a disappointed father, having been forwarned of your antics, and still immediately calls Laswell.

“Care to explain why my phone just got hijacked?”

Laswell doesn’t sound surprised. If anything, she sounds like she’s been expecting and waiting for this- for his phone call specifically about getting hacked. “That’s your new hacker.”

Price pinches the bridge of his nose, while the others exchange Looks of Consideration™️. “That’s how she introduces herself?”

“She’s efficient.”

“She’s cheeky.”

“She’s listening,” you interject, making them all jolt as your voice plays from the phone speakers, honey-sweet and undeniably smug.

There’s a long silence. Then Gaz whispers: “What the fuck?”

You giggle. (≧◡≦) flashes onto all their screens right after that, just as cheeky as your tone.

“So she’s just gonna creep around in our phones now?” Gaz asks after that, wary, an eyebrow raised and his arms crossed.

In response, just his screen flickers, and a new message appears.

(╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻ Rude.

Laswell sighs again, much like an exasperated mother, and gestures at their phones. “Give her a chance. She is, despite everything, good at what she does.”

And so from that that moment on, you’re everywhere; they don’t see you, but they feel your presence. You’re in their systems, their devices, and their comms.

Ghost boots up his laptop one day, only to find that his standard background has been replaced with a pixelated skull and crossbones- like those they did on pirate ships in movies. Below it, in small text:

For the spookiest boy.

He says nothing, just tilts his head slightly before closing the laptop.

And when Price logs into the briefing room terminal, instead of the standard military insignia, the screen briefly flashes with the words:

WELCOME BACK, CAPTAIN DILF.

Soap loses it. Price glares at him, then at the screen, then sighs, muttering, “Christ.”

Soap isn’t free from your shenanigans, though.

One day, while doing his usual workout, he pulls up his playlist. The moment he presses play, his music app forcefully closes and reopens with “The Drunk Scotsman” blasting at full volume.

“NO, NO, NO-“ Soap scrambles to shut it off as the entire base turns to look at him.

On his screen, once the app is blessedly closed, a message pops up:

(ʘ‿ʘ) Dance, pretty boy.

And then Gaz’s torture is quieter, but no less effective.

Every so often, while he’s texting, his camera light flickers on. Not long enough to take a photo- just a brief, eerie blink before an emoji appears on his screen:

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

He groans. “She’s messing with me.”

“You mean flirting?” Soap smirks, leaning closer to the phone and chuckling as the camera light flickers back on for just another few seconds.

Gaz scowls. “…I hope so.”

Still, despite all your antics, you’re brilliant at what you do. And they learn this firsthand during their first mission with you.

“All teams, check-in.” Price orders as they move through a darkened compound.

Instead of Laswell’s voice responding, it’s yours. Soft, smooth, and playful.

“Five by five, Captain.”

There’s a pause- brief but notable. Then, Price exhales. “You hacking my comms now, too?”

“Wouldn’t be a very good hacker if I couldn’t, would I?”

Soap snorts, snickering with Gaz. “She’s got a point.”

Ghost, listening quietly, murmurs: “Thought you didn’t speak.”

“Only when necessary. Or when I feel like annoying you.”

Your voice is warm, teasing. If Ghost were anyone else, he might have smiled. And then, just like that, you’re all business.

“Sniper on the rooftop, two o’clock.”

Ghost adjusts, and then fires. A body drops.

“Price, your six.”

The captain pivots, taking down the enemy creeping behind him.

“Soap, slow down.”

“I got this,” Soap insists- only for a grenade to go off near him. “…I don’t got this.”

“Clearly.”

“…Shut up.”

With you in their ears, everything runs smoother. Their feeds don’t lag. Their encryptions are tighter. They feel- secure. With you and Laswell? Almost untouchable, but they don’t let it get to their heads.

When they return to base, exhausted but alive, their phones light up with a single message:

(￣︶￣) Good job, boys.

They stare at their screens, and then Price huffs a laugh. Soap grins. Gaz shakes his head. Ghost, unseen beneath his mask, smirks.

They don’t know your face. Haven’t met you in person.

But they decide you’re theirs, and they are yours. Even if you’re just unknown- for now, anyways.

[tbaluver]

Hi ree 🤭

Can I request y/n flinching during an argument when the boys make a sudden movement. Give it a happy ending pls.

I'm craving some angst with fluff on the side.

Has to be served by u tho 😭🌹

Flinching During An Argument- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader genre: slight angst with some fluff/ comfort ! a/n: HIHI TEE !! ily (∩˃o˂∩)♡ i hope this was okay and i hope i served and if not im soso sorry and this doesn't exist ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ ) any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

It was your first argument with Xavier and you’d never seen this side of him. His usually warm, soft eyes narrow into a piercing glare, losing their usual kindness and sleepiness to it. You had always believed that you and Xavier would never argue, yet here you were, caught in a heated argument. Frustration had clouded both your minds, leaving both to forget what the initial problem even was. The emotional exhaustion was palpable and you both were weary from the conflict.

In an attempt to reconcile, Xavier reached out to pull you closer and offer an apology. His sudden gesture was unexpected and made you flinch. The movement was too abrupt, causing you a momentary surge of anxiety. You recoiled back slightly, your body tense.

His eyes widened in shock at your reaction. Instantly, he withdrew his arm, staring down at his hands as if they had betrayed him. Hurt and confusion on his face were palpable, as if he committed an offense. “Are you okay?” He asked softly, “I’m so sorry if I scared you. Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

The frustration that had marked his earlier expression melted away and was replaced by the tender, sincere face you knew and loved. As your mind began to process the sudden shift and the context of his actions, you realized that his outstretched arm had been an attempt to offer comfort.

“I’m sorry you thought I’d hurt you,” Xavier says, his voice weighted with sincerity. “I promise I will never do that. I don’t know what I did to make you feel this way, but I’m committed to doing whatever it takes to be a better boyfriend.”

Seeing the genuine remorse in his eyes, you stepped forward closer to him, your heart aching for him. Gently, you cupped his cheek in your hand, feeling the warmth of his skin under your palm. “You’re not a bad boyfriend,” You reassured him, your voice soft and soothing. Xavier nuzzled into your hand, a small grateful small forming on his lips. "I know you would be the last person in this world to hurt me. It was just out of instinct, I’m sorry.”

The tension between you began to dissolve, bridging the gap that had formed during the argument. "Then let’s promise to never argue ever again,” He says, locking your eyes with yours. “I didn’t like it one bit.”

You nod with a soft smile as he reaches out to take your hand in his, holding it close. “We’ll find a better way to handle things. I love you too much to let anything come between us.” You both drew closer, wrapping each other in an embrace. He presses his lips gently on your forehead to remind you.

Zayne:

Zayne loves you very much. He may not always express it in words, but his actions always speak volumes and the way he takes care of you shows how deeply he cares. Most of your arguments tend to revolve around your wellbeing and the way you don't take care of yourself properly. When you're stubborn and brush off his concerns, it frustrates him further.

Tonight it seems like the frustration built up and Zayne who usually speaks with a gentle tone towards you, finds himself slightly raising his voice for the first time. It was out of a mix of desperation and concern for you. He raises his hand to fix the collar of his button up shirt. He tugs at the collar and tries to smooth it out, adjusting it. However, the sudden movement is mistaken by you in the heat of the moment. Seeing Zayne’s hand come up, your heart skips a beat and a rush of panic comes through you. At the moment, the gesture felt threatening as if he was trying to strike you. But deep down you know Zayne would never hurt you but rather the fear of the unknown makes you flinch. You take a step back, your eyes wide and your body tense.

Zayne notices your reaction and his face falls. The realization of his innocent gesture was misinterpreted and hits him like a wave. His throat tightens and he struggles to find the right words as he tries to reassure you. “I-I’m sorry I didn’t mean to scare you.” His hand lowers and he swallows hard. His eyes were a mix of regret and exhaustion. The tension in his gaze is palpable, clear even without words. “I’m sorry,” He says, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I was just fixing my collar. I would never hurt you. Please, don’t think that. Forgive me my love.” His eyes lock onto yours, pleading for you to see the truth in his expression.

You can see the pain in his eyes, his usually composed demeanor has cracked under the weight of your misinterpretation. The fear in your chest slowly begins to disappear as you recognize his genuine remorse and the depth of his feelings.

As you speak, your body relaxes. "I'm sorry. I don't really know why I did that" You admit, letting out a sigh. You blink a few times, trying to prevent the tears that threaten to spill.

Zayne watches you with a soft, concerned look. He takes a deep breath, stepping closer to you. "May I?-"

You nod, and he closes the distance between you, enveloping you in his arms. He pulls you in a little tighter, his hands resting soothingly on your back.

"It's alright you do not have to know." He sighs, pressing a kiss at the top of your head as he rubs soothing circles on your back. "I promise you, I would never do such a thing. Please let me make it right my love."

Rafayel:

Usually your arguments were nothing more than just playful banter, something that was brushed off with laughter. But today, something was different about this argument. The conversation escalated into a heated argument, with both of you frustrated. The words you threw at each other were sharper, the silence afterward heavier.

Rafayel’s hands lifted to ruffle his hair out of frustration but it seemed to heighten the tension. You backed away, closing your eyes and turning your head, trying to shield yourself from a possible hit or a burn.

Seeing your reaction, Rafayel’s expression immediately softened. His hand dropped to his sides, and felt the sting of regret and concern pierce through his frustrations. He realized the impact of his actions so he steps forward with a sense of urgency, his heart pounding with a mix of worry and desperation. Without hesitation, he pulls you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you to reassure his need for you.

You nestled into his chest but your body remained tense from the argument’s intensity. “Cutie…You know I would never hurt you, right?” His voice was a mix of hurt and worry, trembling slightly as if his worst nightmare came true—losing you again. The thought of having you scared of him, after losing you once before, made him desperate to keep you in his embrace to prevent you from ever leaving him ever again.

He gently pulls away, his hands cupping your face with tenderness. His fingers stroked your cheeks softly and his gaze filled with a mixture of relief as he saw you relax against him. “You don't need to be scared,” He murmured, “I’m here to protect you. I promise I'll make it up to you.” The sincerity in his eyes and the gentle caress of his hands were a silent vow to ensure you felt safe and loved.

Later on that day he apologized in Glubglubnese, Popoposh, and Blublublun to start off by making it up to you.

Sylus:

You and Sylus had your fair share of arguments and you both always managed to talk things through and reach a compromise. This time, however, this disagreement delta relentless back-and forth that seemed to stretch on forever.

His scowl and the tone in his voice was unsettling. The room fell into an uneasy silence until Sylus brought a hand to his forehead, massaging his temples. At that moment, you made a mistake. To his hand raised, you flinched, fearing it was to use his evol on you or something worse. 

Instinctively, you crouched down and shielded yourself with your arms, overwhelmed by a wave of shame and fear. You knew deep down that he would never hurt you, but your  reflexes were too strong to ignore. With your face hidden, you missed the hurt and regret that clouded Sylus’s eyes. He took a deep breath, his voice softening as he stepped closer to you.

“Sweetie….” He says, his tone filled with sorrow. “Please, look at me.”

When you finally dared to meet his gaze, the intimidation was gone. He crouched down to your level, his expression soft and tender. He reached out, gently cupping your face and tucking a stray hair behind your ear. He sighed in relief knowing you didn’t flinch this time when he approached you.

“I would never hurt you,” He extends his hand, helping you up to your feet. As you stood, he pulled you into a heartfelt embrace. “How could I ever do that to someone I love so deeply? I would never forgive myself.” You rested your head against his chest and the familiar scent of him enveloped you, soothing your nerves. Sylus’s hands moved gently through your hair and traced comforting circles on your back that offered a silent apology and reassurance. In that moment, the argument was forgotten and replaced of a sense of tenderness.

[ateezscupid]

shy innocent but experienced san x physical touch reader where she loves to play with his hair or touching his hands. sometimes didnt even realized what she does had effect on san

─── SENSITIVE ♡ ft. wooyoung, seonghwa, mingi & hongjoong

SUMMARY / All you were doing was giving your boyfriend head scratches. You didn't expect him to completely fold under your touch.

warnings ✩ SMUT, FLUFF, sub!san, soft dom!reader, head scratching, dry humping, handjob (m receiving), public handjob, praise, san is literally trying to mold himself into reader

word count ✩ 1,68k

tags ✩@desirehorizon @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @starillusion13 @mingitheskzstan @lezleeferguson-120 @hwallazia @ddeongmatz

ATEEZ MASTERLIST / REQUEST

"So, what do you guys want to watch tonight?" You asked, flipping through the channels on the TV. The question was met with a content sigh from San, who was lounging comfortably on the couch next to you, his head resting on your shoulder.

"Terminator!" Wooyoung yells, bolting up from his chair and snatching the remote out of your hand. You laugh and give San's head a gentle scratch, his eyes fluttering closed in response. He leans into your touch, a soft smile playing on his lips. It's a simple gesture, but it speaks volumes about the comfort you share.

"Didn't you force us to watch that yesterday…" Seonghwa mumbled, his eyes still glued to his phone.

"Well what did you wanna watch?" Wooyoung retorted, tossing a cushion at Seonghwa, who catches it with a smirk. The room was filled with the familiar, comfortable sounds of your friends bickering over the TV show choices. You felt San's breathing slow down, his muscles relaxing further into the couch.

"Anything besides the Terminator! And we still have to wait for Mingi and Joong to get here. They went to get food; they might have a movie they wanna watch." San mumbled, his eyes still closed. You couldn't help but chuckle at his sudden passiveness. San was always the one with strong opinions, but tonight he seemed unusually mellow.

You smile, your fingers ever so gently scratching his head, the motion rhythmic and soothing. You notice how much San enjoys this simple act of affection. His skin is warm, and the faint scent of his shampoo fills the air, mixing with the aroma of the popcorn Wooyoung is making in the kitchen. The room is a warm cocoon of friendship and ease.

He melted into your body, his arms wrapping around your waist. You used your other hand to intertwine your fingers with his. He didn't say a word, just held onto you as if you were his lifeline in a stormy sea. Your heart swelled with love and affection for him. San was usually so strong and independent, but in moments like these, his vulnerability was a treasure you cherished.

He snuggled against you, pushing his face into the crook of your neck. You could feel his breath hitting your skin, the small noises he was letting out turning into silent whimpers of pleasure.

Seonghwa and Wooyoung weren't even in the room anymore. They were both in the kitchen bickering about food and movies. San's grip on you tightened, and you realized he wasn't just enjoying your head scratches; he was craving this closeness. You leaned into him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. His body was tense, and his eyes remained closed, but you could feel the tension in his shoulders start to ease.

"Sannie?" you whisper, still continuing to scratch his head. He didn't say anything, only whimpering in response, his hips pressing against you even more. You felt the heat rising in the room, not just from the warmth of the bodies but from the sudden tension coiling in your stomach.

You could feel him beginning to move against your thigh, and your breath hitched. You knew San wasn't just enjoying the head scratch anymore; his body was responding in a way that was unmistakable. You stopped, your hand frozen in mid-air. "San?" you asked softly, a hint of uncertainty in your voice.

"K-Keep going…" San murmured into your neck, his voice low and needy. You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do next. Your eyes darted to the kitchen, where the sounds of your friends were faint but clear.

"Sannie? Are you hard?" You whispered, your voice barely audible over the TV. San's cheeks flushed a deep shade of red, and he nodded, his eyes still squeezed shut. You felt a thrill of excitement and nerves race through you. This was new territory for both of you, and the suddenness of it all was both thrilling and a bit overwhelming.

You resumed your gentle stroking, your eyes flicking to the kitchen door every few seconds. The noises from the kitchen grew louder as Wooyoung and Seonghwa's debate reached a crescendo, but you focused on San, on the way his breath grew ragged, the way his grip tightened on your hand. His hips began to move more insistently against you, and you felt yourself growing wet, the friction of his arousal pressing into you.

"Ah," you murmured, understanding dawning. Your hand didn't stop moving, the gentle scratches now a silent communication of your own growing desire. You felt San's pulse quicken under your fingertips, his body reacting to your touch. The air grew thick with tension, and your own breathing grew shallow as you tried to process this unexpected turn of events.

He whimpered, his entire face now hidden in your neck as he tried to control his breathing. You knew he was getting closer, and the anticipation was making you ache for him. The sounds from the kitchen grew fainter as the blood rushed to your ears, focusing solely on the intimate moment you were sharing.

Your other hand let go of his and reached underneath his sweats, your fingertips grazing the fabric of his boxers. San's grip on you tightened even more, his breath hitching as you touched him. He was definitely hard, and the heat from his arousal seeped through the material. You bit your bottom lip, trying to keep your own moans from escaping.

"Stay quiet for me," you whisper, your hand reaching under his boxers and wrapping around his cock. San's eyes snapped open in surprise, but he nodded eagerly, his eyes locking onto yours. You could see the hunger in them, the need for release that mirrored your own.

You began to stroke him in time with his hips, your movements slow and deliberate, watching his reactions with each pass of your hand. His cheeks were flushed a deep crimson, and his breaths grew shallower, his eyes fluttering as you touched him. It was like watching him unravel before your very eyes, and the power you had in this moment was intoxicating.

"You're so pretty," San whispered, his voice a shaky rasp as he buried his face deeper into your neck, his teeth grazing the soft flesh lightly. Your pulse quickened, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. This was a side of him you had never seen before, a side that was raw and exposed, desperate for your touch.

Your hand began to move more purposefully now, your strokes growing firmer and more deliberate. San's hips started to rock in sync with your hand, his whimpers growing louder despite your gentle warning. You could feel his cock pulse against your palm, his need for release becoming more urgent with every passing second.

The sounds from the kitchen grew closer as your friends approached with the food, the clinking of plates and the murmur of their conversation cutting through the haze of desire that had enveloped you both. Panic set in, but you were too far gone to stop now. You quickened your pace, hoping to bring San to climax before they entered the room.

"F-Fuck-" he whimpered quietly, his body tensing as he tried to hold back his voice. You could feel the tension in his cock as it grew harder in your grip, his movements becoming erratic. You knew he was close, and the urgency in his movements spurred you on.

You reached for a blanket behind him with your other hand and threw it over top of your laps, returning that same hand back to his head, continuing the gentle scratches to cover for what was happening beneath. The scent of his arousal filled the air, mingling with the smell of buttered popcorn. You had to be quick and discreet.

San's hips stuttered against your hand, and you knew he was right there. You stroked him faster, feeling the wetness at the tip of his cock smear against your palm. His breath hitched, and you felt his body tense up, his nails digging slightly into your side. You leaned your head closer to his, whispering sweet nothings into his ear as your hand worked its magic.

"I'm g-going to…" San's voice was strained, his eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. You felt his cock throb in your grip, and with one final, firm squeeze, he came. His whole body jerked, his warm release spurting onto your hand. You held him through it, your strokes slowing down as he trembled against you.

The kitchen door swung open, and Wooyoung and Seonghwa stumbled back in, arms laden with food. You casually wiped your hand on the blanket and hoped the sound of the TV and their own chatter would cover San's muffled cries of pleasure. San's breaths were heavy and erratic, his body still twitching slightly. You placed a kiss on his cheek and whispered, "Good boy," into his ear.

He blinked at you, his eyes glazed over and filled with a mix of embarrassment and satisfaction. You couldn't help but smile at the adorable sight, feeling a sense of pride and love swell within you. "You okay?" you asked, your voice low and gentle.

San nodded, his arms still wrapped around you, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "Yeah," he breathed, his voice barely a whisper. You leaned back to give him some space, but he only tightened his grip. "Don't… don't let go."

"Even Mingi wants to watch it! So shut up and accept it!" Wooyoung declared, setting the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table.

"But we already watched it!" Seonghwa protested, rolling his eyes.

You smile against San's forehead, your hand still buried in his hair. "Okay," you murmur, stroking him soothingly. The sound of your friends' laughter and the smell of the food brought a sense of normalcy back into the room, and you felt yourself relax slightly. But the intimate moment you had just shared was still fresh in your mind, and you knew it was something you'd replay over and over again.

[wolvietxt]

💭 thinking about…

𝗅𝗈𝗀𝖺𝗇 𝗁𝗈𝗐𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍 𝗑 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗀𝗇𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋!

pairing : logan howlett x afab!reader warnings : pregnancy, kissing, food mentions, fluff word count : 1k

you’re curled up on the couch, hand resting on your belly, when logan walks in. he’s sporting his usual tough exterior, but there’s a softness in his eyes when he sees you. he drops his keys on the table and makes his way over, sitting beside you, closer than usual.

“how’re you feeling?” he asks, voice low, almost gruff, like he’s trying not to let too much concern show. but you know him well enough to catch it.

you smile, leaning your head against his shoulder. “a bit tired. baby’s been kicking a lot today.”

he reaches out, hesitating for just a second before resting his hand on your belly, his fingers splayed out. he’s not one for grand gestures, but this small one speaks volumes. “this little one’s got some fight in ���em,” he says, a hint of pride in his tone.

“just like their dad,” you tease, nudging him gently. you feel the warmth of his hand through your shirt, grounding you in a way that words never could.

he huffs a quiet laugh, but his eyes are serious when he looks at you. “you’re okay, though? really?”

you nod, reaching up to touch his cheek. “i’m okay, logan. really.”

there’s a moment of silence, the kind that’s comfortable, where neither of you feel the need to fill it with words. logan’s thumb strokes your belly absentmindedly, and you can tell he’s lost in thought.

“you ever… think about what it’s gonna be like?” he finally asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“all the time,” you admit. “sometimes it’s scary, but mostly… i’m excited.”

he shifts a little, like he’s trying to find the right words. “i don’t… i mean, i know i’m not the best at this stuff. i’m not good with, y’know, talking about… feelings. but i’m here. for you. for both of you.”

his words are clumsy, but they hit you straight in the heart. you know how hard it is for him to open up like this, and it means more to you than anything. you take his hand in yours, squeezing it gently.

“you’re already doing great, logan,” you say softly. “we’re in this together, remember?”

he nods, his grip on your hand tightening just a bit. “yeah. together.”

another kick makes you both jump a little, and logan’s eyes widen in surprise. “was that…?”

you laugh, nodding. “yeah, i think they’re trying to say hi.”

logan’s expression softens in a way that makes your heart melt. he leans down, pressing his forehead against your belly. “hey, kiddo,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough but filled with an emotion that makes your throat tighten. “can’t wait to meet you.”

he stays like that for a while, his breath warm against your skin, and you run your fingers through his hair, feeling a sense of peace settle over you. this is your life now, and it’s more than you ever hoped for.

when he finally sits back up, there’s a small, almost shy smile on his face. “you hungry? i could make something… or we could order in, whatever you want.”

“you cooking?” you raise an eyebrow playfully. “now that’s something i’d like to see.”

“hey, ‘m not that bad,” he grumbles, but there’s a playful glint in his eye. “but seriously, you gotta eat. it’s important.”

“you’re right,” you agree, feeling a wave of affection for him. “how about we order in? and maybe we can try cooking together later. it could be fun.”

logan seems to consider this, then nods. “yeah, bub. that sounds good.”

you pick up your phone, scrolling through options while logan watches, still keeping one hand on your belly, as if he needs that connection to both of you. you glance at him, catching the way his eyes soften whenever he looks at you, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little.

“what?” he asks when he notices you staring.

“nothing,” you say, smiling. “just… i’m really glad it’s you, logan. that ‘m doing all this with you.”

he looks like he wants to say something, but instead, he just leans in, kissing your forehead. it’s a simple gesture, but it’s filled with everything he’s not saying, everything he’s not good at putting into words.

“me too,” he finally whispers against your skin.

logan’s arm tightens around you as you settle against him, your head resting on his shoulder. the quiet between you is filled with a kind of warmth that makes you feel safe, like nothing in the world could touch you here. you tilt your head up, catching his gaze.

“logan,” you whisper, your voice soft, almost hesitant.

he looks down at you, his expression unreadable but his eyes so full of something deep, something that you know is hard for him to show. without a word, he reaches up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek. you can feel his rough calluses against your skin, a reminder of just how strong and steady he is.

his eyes search yours, and for a moment, you think he might say something, but then he just dips his head, closing the small gap between you. his lips meet yours, gentle at first, almost like he’s afraid of breaking you, but when you kiss him back, he deepens it, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, holding you in place.

it’s not a desperate kiss, not rushed or frantic. it’s slow, deliberate, like he’s pouring everything he can’t say into this one moment. you can feel the warmth of him, the way his breath mingles with yours, and it makes you feel more connected to him than ever.

when you finally pull away, you’re both breathless, but neither of you moves far. his forehead rests against yours, and you can feel the rise and fall of his chest as he tries to steady his breathing.

“i’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. “you and the baby… you’re my everything.”

you smile, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “i know. and you’re ours.”

he leans in for one more quick kiss, a soft brush of his lips against yours, before he pulls back, his hand finding its place on your belly again. the world outside feels distant, unimportant. right here, with him, is where you’re meant to be.

[docdudo]

Hybrid 141 As Parents - Foster Human Child!Reader (Part 4)

The dinner was going okay, considering you had to sit with 4 men you barely knew. At least, you thought it would be much more akward.

Simon was the first to notice that the table was a tad too tall for you, meaning you wouldn't be able to reach it properly. He solved pretty easily with some pillows from the living room, just silently stacking them on the chair and gesturing for you to climb on it, which you did, even more quietly.

And now, you were eating chicken noddle stew from a big bowl that John served you as you watched the others talking lively on the table. You were eating slowly, small spoonfulls after small spoonfulls, even tho the stew was indeed delicious.

Still, your full attention was at the table. The way they talked, the way they acted. Differently from how they were acting when it was just them four in the kitchen.

Johnny was clearly excited, but his voice was kept in a much lower volume this time, even his laughs weren't as loud as you heard before.

Kyle was also speaking in a lower volume, and he stopped with the ironic jabs he was making before, voice still as gentle as when you first heard him.

John was also speaking up now, participating in the conversation as his gruff and purred voice called your attention to him every single time he opened his mouth.

Simon was.... kinda participating, giving his input every now and then. His voice was similar to John's, low and kinda... purred, or ragged. Hard to describe, but it was very distinctive.

The temperature outside was getting colder as the night approached, so the stew was very welcomed. It warmed you inside, made you a bit sleepy. Still, it was indeed geting colder and you were still wearing just the thin old jeans and the thin old jacket from before.

That didn't go past any of the men, as you tug your jacket closer to you quietly. But it did go past you the looks and subtle signals they exchanged. So, in the exact same second you finished your bowl of stew in a snail pace, Johnny got up from the table, scaring you a bit with the sudden movement.

"Lassie, come with me for a minute, ey?"

He smiled big, tail wagging slowly behind him, and it only made you nod quietly as you got up from your seat, a bit hesitant to leave uncleaned dishes behind, but the werewolf didn't give you much time to ponder about that, as he held your hand gently in a big grip, pulling you after him.

You went quietly, eyes fixed on the way he held your hand (and wrist) with his giant and warm hold. In fact, very warm. He felt very warm. You found yourself didn't minding the hold all that much. It was funny, tho, the way he was trying to walk in a slow pace for you but couldn't go that slowly due to his nature.

You always found werewolves to be more excitable and agitated than most other species. The ones in your old classroom were living proof of that.

"Wee thing, did we show you the bathroom? We did, yeah? Don't ya wanna take a shower and let me bring you some warm clothes?"

"A-Ah..." Your voice, quiet, soft, was so small that almost made Johnny gush. Of course tho, he held it in, ears pressing back firmly against his head as he bit his lower lip. "These are my warm clothes..." You murmur quietly.

You couldn't really notice, but Johnny was looking at you with a face that almost screamed how protective you made him of you. His tail wagged harder, fists clenching to avoid reaching for you and just pulling you into his protective and safe arms. He knew that you wouldn't find them safe just yet.

You looked like a toddler. Not just your little mannerisms and shy attitude, but your size. God, were all humans really this small? You were supposed to be around your pre-teens, which is still a very young child for long lived species like them, but you were small like a little toddler. Their toddlers at least. It made Johnny's instincts blow up.

But he wasn't a pup in his first pack hunt. He knew very well how to control himself. So that's what he did, just kneeling closer to your size to murmur in a baby-ish voice that was more of a natural reaction than anything else.

"Wee pup, I'll give you warm clothes, nae worries. Go take a warm bath, pup, let papa solve the rest."

That caught you a bit off guard, making you blush in an embarrassed manner, curling a little on yourself. They did say these guys were parents. Still, to escape the situation, you quickly nodded and ran past him to the bathroom, closing the door gently behind you to go take a shower.

And, in the end, your shower was quick. Quick, but very satisfatory. Their bathroom was so big, and had so many products around for being only one of the many bathrooms you saw during the tour. The water was warm, so warm in fact, it even left you a bit red. Still, it was nice due to the cold weather outside.

You had short hair, always had. It was easier to take care of it like this, so you always kept like that. Usually, it looked like a boy's hair cut, just overgrown and messy. But right now, due to being a minute since the last time you cut it, it was closer to a small, messy channel. It still made you look pretty androgenous.

Short hair meant it was easier to dry it, and since they left you a big, fluffy, blue towel, you were quick to start to dry yourself off, movements slow and a bit drowzy. You had a full belly, and just had a nice, warm shower in this cold weather. You were tired.

"Lassie, pup?"

You quickly wrapped the big towel around you, reaching for the door to open it, revealing a smilling Johnny on the other side, holding a small pile of clothes.

"There ya are..." He cooed quietly, ears pressing down and eyes going half-lid as he stared at your small form, damp and wrapped into a way too big towel. "Brought you clothes, pup.... let's see if they fit. They were from our pups when they were t-... younger."

He smilled innocently, and you didn't catch the fact that he almost said 'toddlers' instead of 'younger'.

Instead, you just reached for the clothes quietly, examing them. Thick, beige sweat pants. Thick, white sweater with some cute knots on the design. Cotton underwear. Fluffy and thick socks that were a light grey with some small white hearts on the design.

It looked kinda... expensive, these clothes, but you didn't comment on it.

"Go on, dress all confortable and nice, it's gonna feel much better, wee lass! Also, you can leave your other clothes on the bathroom hamper."

You nodded quietly at that, unsure for a few seconds before closing the door back again and quickly putting on the clothes he brought. They were... kinda big, a bit baggy, but in this weather, it worked perfectly. You also left your old clothes on the hamper after a few moments of hesitation, going back to open the door, where Johnny was still waiting.

And the long, weird whimper-like sound almost made you jump back in alarm, eyes wide on the man's face.

"Johnny, don't scare the fledgling." Came Simon's serious voice from the stairs as he came around the corner.

"No, no, no, L.T., look here!" He said quickly, all excited and breathless as he made quick hands movement to call the bigger man's attention.

Simon stepped closer, only for his eyes to fall on your small figure, small little figure with damp, messy hair, little face all pink due to the warm shower you took a few minutes ago, and completely enveloped in the thick clothes their kids wore when they were toddlers, so, so long ago.

You heard as he took a deep breath in, and then, he was taking Johnny's place on the doorway, pushing the other man a bit out of the way with his larger frame, making the werewolf squack in indignation.

"Let's go to sleep, doll. It's time for fledglings to be in bed."

Being real, you didn't even know what time it was right now, you had the impression you all had an early dinner, but still, you couldn't do much but walk right by Simon as he held gently on your little hand to guide you back to your new room.

You used to be very afraid of wraiths before, when you were younger, but now? You couldn't even tell he was one with the amount of clothes he was wearing, even the face mask. Just a tad bit of shadows came out from around his eyes and a bit from his wrists, since his hands were covered in wool gloves.

He looked scary before too, but now, acting all soft and pulling you along by his side? It made your heart rate go down a bit. Besides, you were actually too tired to actually protest right now.

He immediatly turned on the bedroom's light as he came to your room, guiding you to your bed, and only letting go after he helped you in it, past the weird fance thing and under the covers. Covers that he made sure to tuck you in quietly with practiced movements, the kind of practice that came with years of experience doing it.

He lightly rubbed your head after that, and Johnny, who came up running to your bed side, smiled big as he squatted down.

"Good night, wee pup. If you need anything, anything at all, just scream, and we'll be right with ya!"

"Try not to leave your room at night." Simon grunted, only for Johnny to smack his arm a bit too hard for your taste right after, a nervous laugh coming out of him as he looked back at your slightly alarmed face.

"He just means that he's worried you might get hurt walking around all by yourself at night, pup. If you need anything, we would prefer if you called us to help you." He gushed quietly, big hand coming to the side of your face as he rubbed your cheek gently, making you squint your eye closest to his thumb. "You can call with this sweet little voice you have, we're gonna hear either way, pup."

So, really treating you like a toddler.

"Good night, fledgling. Call me if you need anything." Simon reinforced, voice low and purred, and this time, really purred, as he turned around to leave with Johnny right behind him, that smiled and blew you a kiss as they both left, turning off the light and closing the door with a small click.

Huh.... your room has small little night lights in the form of stars, planets and space ships on the walls and celling.

Part 3 / Part 5

[girlkisser13]

the young justice characters’ favorite ways to kiss you

characters: artemis crock, conner kent, kaldur’ahm, m’gann m’orzz, richard "dick" grayson, wallace "wally" west, and zatanna zatara.

artemis crock

shoulder kisses

• artemis isn’t big on grand displays of affection, but she loves giving you shoulder kisses when you're both relaxing on the couch. it’s her way of being close without making a big deal out of it.

• she likes to leave kisses all over your shoulders when the two of you are resting in between training sessions. it’s her way of encouraging you during training.

• after a tough mission, she often gives you a quick shoulder kiss, especially if she notices you're tense or worried. it's her way of reassuring you that everything's okay and that she's here.

• artemis understands that sometimes words aren't necessary. when you're deep in thought or working on something, she'll give you a shoulder kiss as a silent show of support and encouragement.

• during quiet, everyday moments, she develops a routine of giving you a soft kiss on the shoulder when she walks past you, making sure her affection becomes a regular part of your day. <33

conner kent

angel kisses

• this is one of the softest kisses, one that is filled with affection and nothing but love. he’s careful with his strength, so his angel kisses are soft and gentle, as if he's afraid of hurting you.

• when he wakes up before you, he would gently kiss each of your eyelids and let you sleep in while he makes breakfast.

• to him, you are his world, and he treats you the best, just like you deserve it. waking up to him by your side and him kissing you softly on your eyelids is absolute heaven.

• he gives you these kisses to stop you from crying, kissing away at your tears as he rubs at your cheeks with his thumbs.

• there's something so pure about the way conner gives angel kisses. he’s not always the best with words, but these light, loving touches speak volumes about how much you mean to him. <33

kaldur’ahm

hand kisses

• kaldur is very fond of hand kisses. his type of hand kisses are oddly specific, to the point where you find yourself anticipating every single one.

• he’ll first start off with a rather shy touch, grazing his finger tips against yours, almost as if he’s asking for permission.

• when you do give him the go signal, he’ll kiss your finger tips first, then he’ll quickly go higher to the first joint of your fingers, and then finally— he’ll press a kiss onto your knuckles, humming just a bit.

• in atlantean culture, hand kisses symbolize trust and loyalty, making the gesture feel even more intimate and significant when he does it.

• over time, hand kisses become a small ritual between the two of you— something that is uniquely yours. <33

m’gann m’orzz

cheek kisses

• m'gann is naturally sweet and a bit shy when it comes to expressing her feelings. cheek kisses are her go-to gesture when she wants to show affection without being too forward. her kisses are always gentle, with a touch of bashfulness.

• she loves the way you let out a chuckle or giggle when she does it. the sound of your laughter just makes her heart soar, she wants to keep doing it to see you smile.

• m'gann believes in you wholeheartedly. whenever you're about to do something important or challenging, she'll give you a quick cheek kiss for luck and encouragement.

• when she's feeling playful, m'gann will surprise you with a kiss to your cheek out of nowhere. she enjoys the way you smile or blush in response, and her own cheeks turn slightly pink as she laughs softly.

• when you're cuddled up together, she often snuggles close, pressing soft kisses to your cheeks. it’s a tender, loving gesture that makes you feel safe and cherished in her embrace. <33

richard "dick" grayson

neck kisses

• dick ADORES kissing you on your neck. whenever his lips touch that specific spot on your neck and he paints your skin with blooming marks like petals, it never cease to make his whole being feel full and complete.

• he likes sneak up on you and surprise you with a light, teasing kiss on your neck. he enjoys seeing your reaction, especially if it makes you shiver or blush.

• when you wake up together, he often trails lazy kisses down your neck as you’re both waking up. it’s a warm, tender way to start the day.

• if he ever feels like you’re in danger or stressed, his kisses on your neck are more intense and lingering, almost like he’s reassuring himself that you’re safe.

• sometimes, he’ll kiss your neck just to make you laugh, especially if you’re ticklish. he loves the sound of your laughter and how it fills the room.

• after returning from a mission, when he’s still in his nightwing suit, he’ll often pull you close, press his forehead to yours, and kiss your neck, letting the tension from the night melt away in your arms. <33

wallace "wally" west

forehead kisses

• wally’s the lovable, wholesome goofball who would say yes to kissing you at every opportunity. when he greets you in the morning in bed, a kiss to the forehead before the lips. before you leave for a mission? another one to the forehead.

• he loves to interrupt you when you speak to him and just keeps on giving you kisses. he would hold you close to him on the subway or the bus and give you kisses in public to show others that you are taken.

• he often gives you a forehead kiss when he’s about to zoom off on a mission. it’s his quick and silent way of saying, "i’ll be back soon."

• after a tough fight, when the adrenaline is still pumping, he always makes sure to check on you first. he’ll brush back your hair, kiss your forehead, and breathe a sigh of relief, happy that you’re safe.

• on quiet nights when it’s just the two of you, wally loves lying beside you, tracing patterns on your skin. he’ll lean in, give you a gentle kiss on the forehead, and whisper sweet nothings, making the moment feel intimate and special. <33

zatanna zatara

lip kisses

• zatanna’s kisses are excited and passionate. she kisses you like she can’t get enough of you, pulling you impossibly close.

• girlie likes to takes her time with you, savoring each moment, and you can feel her smile against your lips when she’s particularly happy.

• sometimes she’ll giggle between kisses, or even better, against your lips, and then pull away with a bright smile on her face as she hugs you close, pressing more kisses to your cheeks and face.

• she enjoys catching you off guard with surprise kisses. she’ll teleport right in front of you and press her lips against yours before you even realize she’s there.

• she LOVES to tease you. it seems like every time she pulls away, the corners of her lips curl into a smirk. but you notice it— you see how affected she is by the slight blush covering her cheeks. after she pulls away, she keeps her face close to yours, looking at you through her half-lidded eyes. she tucks your hair behind your ear so you can’t hide your pretty face from her. <33

[mooomuzan]

─── SANTA TELL ME

they spend christmas with you ! sae , rin , kaiser , isagi , nagi , reo , fluff

ღ — Sae doesn’t do cliché Christmas traditions. Instead, he drags you to an upscale restaurant, every detail of the night meticulously planned, yet somehow effortless. The gift? A small velvet box set on the table between the two of you. He watches your reaction with calm detachment, but the faint smirk curling his lips reveals his satisfaction when you light up. “I didn’t get this just anywhere,” he says, leaning back in his chair, his tone cool but teasing. Later, as snow falls lightly outside, he walks you home, his hands stuffed in his pockets, but his shoulder brushing yours every step of the way.

ღ — Rin isn’t one for grand gestures, but the thoughtfulness in his actions speaks volumes. He hands you a gift—simple wrapping, neat folds—his gaze unwavering, as if daring you to find fault with it. “Open it,” he says curtly, his voice carrying that familiar edge. But when you lift the lid and see the item—a rare piece you’d mentioned only once in passing—there’s a faint flush on his cheeks, barely noticeable. He doesn’t look at you, but the way his hand lingers briefly over yours tells you everything. “It’s nothing,” he mutters, low and dismissive, but the care in his choice betrays him.

ღ — Kaiser makes Christmas a spectacle, just like everything else he does. He doesn’t just hand you a gift—he orchestrates an entire scene. The lights are dim, the tree sparkles with precision, and in his hand is a sleekly wrapped box with his signature flair. “I picked this out myself,” he says smugly, watching you with those piercing blue eyes that dare you not to be impressed. Inside is something extravagant—a rare piece of jewelry or an item tied to an inside joke only you two share. When you look up, he smirks, leaning casually against the wall. “You deserve the best, don’t you?” he says, but the way his fingers linger at your chin when he tilts your face toward his is surprisingly tender. Later, as snow falls outside, he pulls you close, his voice low and intimate. “You’re my star this Christmas,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your temple, and for once, the arrogance melts away, leaving only sincerity.

ღ — Isagi is all nervous smiles and excited energy as he places the gift in your hands, the wrapping slightly uneven but clearly done with care. “I, uh, wasn’t sure what you’d like,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck, but there’s a hopeful light in his eyes as you peel back the paper. When you pull out the scarf he’d seen you eyeing weeks ago, his grin widens, warm and unrestrained. “Do you like it?” he asks, his voice soft but eager, and when you nod, he pulls his own scarf off to wrap around you, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “Merry Christmas,” he says, his voice full of sincerity.

ღ — Nagi’s idea of Christmas is low-key but meaningful. He shows up late, as usual, holding a gift bag he clearly picked up last-minute, but when you pull out the contents—a limited-edition game you thought was sold out—your jaw drops. “It’s nothing,” he mumbles, leaning against the wall, his hands shoved in his pockets. “Figured we could play it together.” Later, you find him sprawled on your couch, the glow of the TV reflecting in his lazy smile as he hands you the controller. “Merry Christmas,” he says, his voice soft, his focus entirely on you despite the game.

ღ — Reo’s Christmas is extravagant, as expected. He surprises you with a beautifully decorated room, a tree dripping with lights and ornaments, and a pile of gifts that feels almost overwhelming. “I wanted to make this perfect,” he says, his voice warm but tinged with nervousness. The gifts are thoughtful—things you’ve mentioned wanting, alongside ones you didn’t even realize you needed. But the one that means the most is a handwritten letter, tucked inside a small box. “Read it later,” he says softly, pulling you into a hug as the snow falls outside. His arms tighten around you, and for once, he doesn’t need words to show how much you mean to him.

[girl-lostconnection]

Acceleration AU (part 4) 7.1k

Warnings: smut, insecurities, unhealthy attachment, Johnny is middle child and hates it, possessive behavior, Ghoap x fem!plus size!Reader, Simon is a loser😔, mentions of religious elements (prayer beads) as allegory, suggestive themes, abandonment issues

Soap isn’t sure about anything. Soap looks at you and feels a surge of protectiveness, your tears cracking open the soft tender part of him.

The protector. At his core Johnny is a protector, and you look like you could use one. He knows you are capable of doing it all yourself, God, he can see the way you actually snarl at Simon when he tries to make decisions for you.

But he can’t help but move a little closer to you, passing you a pillow for your lower back while you drink your tea. It earns him a small smile and an additional biscuit on his plate.

(He will come off his leave few pounds heavier thanks to your efforts, but God, it’s not fair how delicious everything is)

For some reason you keep feeding him like your life depends on it, sneaking him crackers and nuts and sandwiches.

Passing him juicy cuts of steak Simon fries for dinner. Making him tea and sharing your cookies. Cutting fruit and peeling oranges and tangerines.

Soap feels like you would hand feed him like he’s a sparrow if you could. If he’d let you.

Caring for him comes to you so naturally like you don’t even have to think about it. And watching you notice Simon’s mood swings and the fact that you pinned comfort foods list for his lieutenant on the fridge…it speaks volumes.

Soap isn’t sure what’s going on and what it means but Simon seems incredibly pleased, and you seem to act like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

So, he just…accepts it? He likes to eat and things you pass him are always delicious so there are no actual grounds for complaining.

You aren’t pushy like Simon is with his advances, you don’t hover, you don’t stare him down. Where Simon is a mountain, an enormous heavy presence and heavy hands and heavy eyes — you are the wall.

You are the cover and safety and absolutely unyielding nature. You are wide shoulders and warm fingers passing him food. You feel like shelter.

Still, he can’t help but sneak glances at you and Simon, trying to gauge how you two even happened. How does it work?

Why did you two stuck together for so long?

Two stones won’t make a paper and while he thought that he and L.T. balance each other out, he didn’t know about you in the past. And now when he does the dynamic leaves him puzzled.

It’s entirely new side to Ghost. A side he never knew before, a side no one but you see, probably.

But you mention running low on groceries and Simon gets up without a second word, getting dressed.

Soap isn’t sure he’s morally ready to stay with you in an empty apartment while he wears your…boyfriend’s? partner’s? just yours? Simon’s sweater.

So, he gets up as well and then you hum to yourself and also get up, quickly drafting up a list in your phone’s notes app, murmuring to yourself what you need to get and occasionally asking Simon (who’s already one leg out the door) if he knows whether or not you have flour.

Simon huffs, getting his boots off and pads back to pantry to check before reporting that no, no flour.

Finally, after two more walks to the pantry (you seem to enjoy making Simon walk back and forth simply because why not and Soap hides his grin behind a cup) and uncomfortably warm fifteen minutes in a puff jacket (that’s what he gets for getting ready too quick) you all are dressed and ready to go.

The afternoon is cold but crisp, not a cloud in the sky, sun shining brightly enough for you to pull out sunglasses and push them on Simon’s nose.

Simon presses a short kiss to the crown of your head and extends palm to Soap, making a flexing gesture with his fingers.

Johnny feels something inside of him warm up when he takes Ghost’s hand and gets pulled up close, grinning when sunglasses almost slide off Simon’s crocked nose.

It’s good. He feels like a boyfriend. Like Simon’s boyfriend.

Where he stands with you, he’s not sure yet, because as much as primal part of him surges up to protect you from slick mud and Simon’s glares and stranger almost checking you off the sidewalk into oncoming traffic, he doesn’t know how you feel about him.

Why bother imagining something that may not even come to life? Powering through obstacles is purely Simon’s virtue, Johnny is more used to rebuilding things. To squeezing through the cracks and making his home in people’s heads before they catch the wind of it.

But you prance forward, click your tongue in annoyance when Simon pulls you back. There is a silent moment where you two just stare at each other and Johnny swears he can see the conversation happening.

He’s just not a part of it.

Johnny has never seen before the way you and Simon operate outside of your home bubble and now, he thinks he gets it a little.

There is this years-old familiarity with which you cover Simon’s side in the crowded mall, pressing him to the opposite side of people walking by you — minimizing amount of accidental physical contact with strangers for him.

And Simon lets you do this without as much as a sound, free palm under your puff jacket, on the small of your back as you lead the way.

It’s as if you know Simon like you know the back of your own hand, perfectly attuned to the level of his comfort, hypervigilant as soon as you step outside.

It’s the same deal inside of the supermarket when Simon tugs your puff jacket off, draping it over the crook of his elbow and pushes the trolley forward, following you as you go.

It’s a routine that you two have, it’s a habit born of years and years of knowing and learning each other’s clicks and hurts and little sore spots.

To the point when now Simon just hums and puts headphones on you when there are screaming kids in the store, and you haul in the shopping cart twice the amount of his favorite snacks.

You two just click and go, moving as a well-oiled machine, the intimate understanding of a perfectly combined puzzle — polished to perfect silence and flickering back and forth glances.

Soap feels the way his right shoulder nervously twitches and speeds up, so he doesn’t get left behind. There is a cool spiky ache in his chest at the comfortable silence you two share.

He’d honestly prefer to chat up one of you, but you are already wearing headphones, engrossed in shopping and Simon looks like he’s perfectly content with staying silent.

You two share a routine and Soap doesn’t know how to slot himself into it.

He doesn’t know if he should.

(How do you know when you are in? How do you know that you can make yourself at home? How do you know you are wanted there? How?)

Johnny waits for a sign.

Trying to see whether he needs to pack up his bag or stay by the door.

He doesn’t wait to see if he’s invited in the bed, he doesn’t wait to see whether or not Simon would change his mind, he doesn’t wait to see if you would kick him out like a stray dog.

A mutt that wandered a little close to the warmth of the hearth and wasn’t immediately shooed away.

Now lying under the table, nervous to breathe too often, nervous to ask for things, nervous to lick petting hands.

But Johnny is not a mutt. He doesn’t want to be one.

Johnny is smarter than empty despair, Johnny is stronger than taking it lying down, Johnny is too stubborn to give up easily.

So, he chats Simon up, so he makes his way into Simon’s arms and Simon’s bed and Simon’s life.

And he meets you.

You watch him — wary and tense, eyes growing heavy when he tries to push through you, when he tries to sneak under your table and wait you out.

It doesn’t happen.

John is annoyed that it doesn’t.

Part of him relieved at that. He tries not to think about that part.

Johnny is from a big family with brothers and sisters, born somewhere in between.

Born and forgotten — mom’s kiss on the cheek and sibling’s shove coming a little too late to go unnoticed. Just a moment later than for everyone else, like they have to make a conscious effort to remember that he is there too.

Just one of the children. Just one of the brothers.

Nothing special really.

He fucking hates it.

He doesn’t want to be one of someone’s, he doesn’t want to be blank face in the crowd, he doesn’t want to be second fiddle and second choice and second best.

Johnny wants to be the first. Johnny wants to be the best.

Johnny wants to be wanted.

He’s just not sure yet how to get himself in your hands. If you even want him, if you even would take him as he is or would he need to adapt to you. Would he need to create a separate Johnny specifically for you?

So, he can stay with Simon and you. So, he doesn’t get tossed out as soon as you are done with him staining your pretty hardwood floors and laying in your bed and fucking with your Simon.

Johnny hates that in his head he can’t name Simon his. Johnny hates that he doesn’t even share Simon with you — you already have him. You had him way before Soap.

And you won’t need to do anything to keep him. Simon is not leaving. Simon isn’t going anywhere from you. Simon is not leaving you behind.

Johnny doesn’t know whether or not he will get left behind. Johnny wants to find out.

He murmurs “give it to me, lass” getting your bags of groceries and watches you wrestle the door. Plastic of bags cuts in his palms, and he thinks they bought entirely too much, because do they really eat all of that?

But then he takes another look at Simon, picking coins off the floor and sighs. Yeah, probably they do. He didn’t think how much three grown people eat. Or two grown people and a bottomless pit of a man.

Simon huffs out air and rolls his shoulders when everything spills out of your bloody pockets.

It’s nothing special really, just that you fumble with your keys and send flying spare change and keychain and old museum ticket and some scraps of paper all over the floor.

Simon crouches with a grunt to pick them all up because Johnny is holding the bags in both hands, pressing one more to the wall with his hip and you are trying to unlock the door (God, he will change the fucking locks as soon as he can. That’s ridiculous, thing jams since you moved into the flat and it’s been years).

So, it’s nothing out of ordinary when you finally wrestle the doors open and shake off your coat, cupping your palms in a boat so he can place everything he picked up in your hands.

It’s not unusual, honestly, it happens a little too often to his liking, but it is what it is and then his eyes catch on a receipt stained with liquor.

A receipt with a phone number and cheeky “gonna wait for your call, doll!” in the corner written in the most shit cursive he has ever seen.

Which bloke with a handwriting like that tried to hit on you? A bloody chicken?

But you just hum, throwing everything back in your pockets, not paying much attention to his inner turmoil.

Though when your eyes catch on the corner of receipt, you pull it back out, inspect the cheerful note and hum again in a way that Simon isn’t sure he likes.

Because you don’t crumble the piece of paper and don’t throw it away — you put it back in the pocket of your coat.

You help Johnny with bags, giving him a chance to shake off his own winter jacket.

There is a dark hot coil of anxiety in Simon’s gut when he stares down your puff jacket, fingers itching to get the bloody receipt and throw it away while you are not looking.

It’s childish and he has no right to do that, but the urge is so strong he actually tries to come up with an excuse in case you catch him.

Soap’s voice is the only thing that snaps him out of it, forcing to start undressing, heavy boots thumping down as he gets them off. He’s a little lightheaded with razor-sharp panic and clouding agitation, tension pain in his neck spiking up again.

Will you call the number? Will you go out with the bloke again? Did you like him? Would you date him?

The timing really couldn’t be worse for this kind of thing. Not when he finally realized what he wants and how he wants it.

Not when he got you and Johnny in one place, not when he already admitted to Johnny that he wants you both.

And while he understands that he mostly dug his own grave on his own, Simon also strongly dislikes the idea of you with someone else.

It’s selfish and he has no right to your time and personal space. He has no legitimate grounds to even be jealous.

But he is.

Drives him fucking mad it does.

Simon watches you pour Johnny some tea, Soap’s eyes warm and thoughtful on you.

Like he is not sure he gets you. Like he doesn’t know where to put himself.

And maybe it should soothe him, but he can’t not think about the number that’s still lying in your coat. The number you didn’t get rid of.

There’s heavy dangerous kind of rage beneath Simon’s skull — pulsating and filling his head with migraine intensity, pushing on his eyeballs harder and harder. Until something breaks.

Until he can’t hold it in anymore.

But Simon could’ve gotten Olympic gold in bottling up his feelings if it ever became a sport. He’d be undisputed world champion with how naturally it comes to him.

Would be great if he also could bottle thoughts in his stupid fucking head so he can think clearly, so it doesn’t make him fidgety and snappy, so he doesn’t hole up in the bathroom for forty minutes just standing under the water.

He gets out only when Soap gets in, fingers massaging his nape, fingers rubbing his shoulders and pressing him in cool tiles. Somehow Johnny knows exactly how to pull the plug and drain him.

Somehow Johnny is always there, making it better, biting into Simon’s arm to force him out of delirium.

Johnny’s palms slide down Simon’s waist, forcing him to brace his forearms on the shower wall, forcing his back to arch.

There’s a familiar tap on his thigh, command to open up because frankly the floors are slick and there’s a huge fucking chance for Simon to fall and break his skull open if Johnny plays rough and kicks his legs open.

But Soap presses himself from behind, teeth scraping against Simon’s shoulder blades, fingers sliding down until there is this familiar pressure on Simon’s hole. The one that leaves him empty headed and greedy, the one that makes his legs slide open and his jaw go slack because bloody hell, Johnny and his long fucking fingers.

(Sometimes he thinks that he and bombs are the only things that get Soap’s fingers with his full concentration in addition. Simon often feels like Soap does work him like a tricky bomb)

Johnny and his attention to smallest detail because he knows exactly what he’s doing when he presses Simon into the wall and fucks him stupid.

Coaxes out moans and greedy greedy creature sitting in Simon’s chest, aching for more, always begging for scraps off the table, still not used to sit like a person and ask like a person.

Johnny cracks him open and bleeds him out just to kiss it better afterwards. Johnny is there, pressing his whole body into Simon, holding him together.

Just holding him.

The water in the shower is cold by the time they get out and Simon is blissfully empty headed and relaxed, shifting his weight from one leg to another when he feels familiar pull inside.

Probably should have stretched better but bathroom is cramped, and he needed to get out of his head then and there.

Johnny watches him before swiping his thumb at the corner of Simon’s mouth and popping it in his mouth, blue of his eyes so scalding Simon’s throat bobs.

Soap wipes off the drool and silently promises to make him go slack jawed again later. When he gets his hands on the lube that got left in bedroom.

Simon pads back into the kitchen and you silently place a mug with his tea made exactly the way he likes it, and Johnny plops himself down, leaning in close and snuggling.

All sated aching and pleased rumbles.

Simon isn’t sure how he’s supposed to feel after everything, but he feels warm. His body melting into Soap’s, his eyes melting into yours when you swat away a tiny eyelash from his cheek and hold it up so he can make a wish before you throw the thing away.

How did you even notice it there? He has blond eyelashes; the tiny hair would be practically invisible on his skin.

Simon doesn’t ask, staying content with the knowledge that you just did. Like always.

You and Johnny both — keeping him together, noticing smallest thing, making him sane and full.

Making him Simon again and not just Ghost.

Simon watches you standing over the pot with water for future pasta you three are apparently having for dinner. Means he’s in charge of cooking meat a little later than. Okay, that he can do.

But for now, he doesn’t get up anywhere. Doesn’t really want to.

Kitchen is quiet, warm with more than just condensation from cooking, soft from more than just small light of your lamp.

Simon likes evening like this one, when it all slows down and feels home. Like a proper life. And a proper family for him.

The two of you is frankly all he needs. All he wants. He knows that it may be incredibly greedy of him, but he’s been more than humble in anything other than you and Johnny. He’s been content with scraps and leftovers for a long time.

Is it really selfish if he wants to have it all for once?

Maybe it is.

Simon watches you salt water, sleeves of his sweater pulled up to your elbows, your shoulders spread and relaxed as you hum something under your breath. It’s a pleasure to watch you like that. Calm and relaxed in the safety of your home, in the warmth of your kitchen.

Johnny leans on his shoulder yawning and Simon wraps an arm around him, letting him lean in, letting him nap as they sit there.

Feels good. Feels exactly the way he wanted it to.

Better than he imagined.

Simon rubs circles on the back of Johnny’s shoulder, skin under his fingers is warm and soft, littered with smallest freckles he has ever seen. Like his boy was just dusted with cinnamon at birth.

Prettiest fucking thing.

Simon looks back at you coincidentally in the same moment you look at him and you smile silently, mouthing “you okay?” just so he can nod, feeling his chest slowly melt.

Yeah, he’s okay. He’s more than okay. He’s perfect.

Simon smiles as you quietly pour the pasta in the boiling pot, doing your best not to disturb half napping Johnny. You may not be in love with his boy (yet), but he’s rubbing off on you.

You already care after all.

Simon’s eyes slide to your neck again and something in him clenches, scrubbing from inside out with annoyance. Demanding out.

He can’t help but think back to the phone number in the corner of receipt and the way you came back home — neck blooming with hickeys, some bloke’s cologne clinging to your hair.

It disappeared after prolonged cuddling session, of course. He took care of that.

And when the evening of that day came — you were warm, sleepy and smelling like you again. Soft skin and laundry detergent with the hint of something uniquely yours.

The soft scent he could usually feel only by nuzzling into your neck or when he managed to dip his nose in your cleavage.

Same soft scent he could feel on the tip of his tongue, when he’d leave kisses on your cheeks and jaw, soaking you with his affection.

The thing is, he could take care of scent.

But could he take care of some bloke that took interest in you?

Soft, gorgeous, warm you. His moon in the sky, his home, his family. His lovely bird.

Simon doesn’t know how to just tell you what he wants. It’s not conventional and he already fucked in a bit and then some.

But if he was at some point to inevitably lash out when his desperate childish “don’t leave me, not you, don’t leave me, i don’t want to do this without you” pours out into something thick enough to choke the words out of him and possessive enough to try and keep you back…he’d better have some really good reason.

Because if he was to ask of your attention, your time, your effort, you — both for him and Johnny — it wouldn’t be fair if he wasn’t honest about his reasons.

You are grown people. He’s a grown man for god’s sake; he should be able to hold a proper conversation with you about something this big.

Simon knows you hate change and don’t like surprises and have hard time adjusting to changes in routines and patterns.

Honestly, so does he.

That’s one of the perks of being in military — you get the same fucking routine over and over again, you have a clear set of rules and even clearer one of instructions.

(If drill sergeant tells you to sweep the sunlight out of the garage, you sweep the sunlight out of the garage)

But it’s not military this time. It’s home.

And home has always been a safe harbor.

Place for both of you — space designed with your specific quirks and preferences in mind.

Big bed with orthopedic mattress for Simon to help his back aches and sleep apnea, bought bloody thing off the first cheque he got. You bought proper pillows and weighted blankets (filled with glass balls or something, he wonders where you even found it. Probably costed a fortune).

Good ACs both in living room and bedroom for you, which costed a bloody rack at the time, but it’s been more than worth it. Keeps you nice and cool in summer (God knows you can’t sleep if you are sweaty and if you aren’t sleeping — neither does Simon).

There is his favorite beaten up armchair you saw on Facebook Marketplace and somehow hauled back to the apartment. There is your couch with dozens of blankets and pillows, thing that’s sinfully comfortable but a tad short for someone of his size. Though many things are.

There is Simon’s butcher knives in the kitchen and your neat rows of spices. Your herbal tea and his straight black Earl Gray.

Simon’s right side of the bed and yours’s left one.

For so long this home was only for the two of you — the only constant in your lives, the place of comfort and security.

He still remembers how he had to change locks on windows and screw in additional bolt lock for you to the front door. Can’t have any accidents happen while he’s away on deployments and not here.

Simon knows that asking you to even consider making space for an entirely new person is a lot.

Almost too much.

So, a proper conversation about the matter is the least he can do to smoothen over possible transition.

He needs to do this.

Because as much as he loves you, he doesn’t love Soap any less. He can’t ask of Johnny to just wait, standing in the doorway with his bags still packed and ready if he’d need to leave at moment’s notice.

He can’t leave Johnny hanging in the air.

It’s not fair to Soap.

So, after dinner when Johnny is already halfway napping Simon wraps him in a blanket and tucks him comfortably on the couch. Lights on the Christmas tree are still twinkling, there is unfinished plates with pasta on the coffee table and some movie you and Simon watches a million times is playing.

It’s soft and quiet, it’s warm and peaceful.

Simon pads back to the kitchen, nudging your hip with his so he can wash dishes instead. It’s only fair — you cooked, he’s gonna clean.

You hum, moving aside and picking up towel in area to dry off things he passes to you after thorough wash. God knows both of you can’t stand dishes being wet and cold.

“Something on your mind”, you muse quietly and Simon glances at you, moving his lower jaw until there is click before he actually nods.

“Yeah. Think we can have a proper conversation?”, the words feel like he has to physically drag them out of himself, fingers twitching again because there is sharp ping of anxiety in his head, and he hates that he can’t just bottle up some of his thoughts.

You hum, eyes sliding up to him. There is something in your face that makes him pause turning off the water, heart thumping in his chest.

He needs to sit down and preferably right now. This is fucking scary, why is that so fucking scary.

Simon doesn’t know how to properly say everything in a way that would be coherent and make perfect fucking sense to you.

God knows out the two of you, he’s the one who’s worse with words.

A small stubbornly childish part of him still really wants you to read his bloody thoughts so he can be off the hook. But the same part sometimes makes him eat ice cream in the middle of the night and then sugar doesn’t let him sleep so evidently, that’s not the wisest his part.

There’s thumping anxiety behind his thorax, phantom vibrations sending nervous twitch to his fingers, his eyes landing on the useless awkward stump of his absent finger.

Had to re-learn how to fucking shoot after Roba’s torture and even then, he managed to crawl back to you.

Legally dead and everything, he came back, and you didn’t ask any questions. You just accepted him — a finger less and a whole lotta scars more.

You deserve to have a proper conversation about his behaviour and about Johnny’s presence. You deserve so much, and Simon is here fighting himself to choke out something. Fuck, anything at all.

But there’s knot in his throat and lead weights in his belly and it should be funny that he’s that scared.

Only he doesn’t feel like laughing at all.

“Do you want me to move out?”, your question snaps him out of panic induced stupor and every thought train in him stops with screeching of pulled stop lever.

“What?”, his voice croaks with broken shards, thumping in his chest just getting louder and louder, his eyes flicking to you like you might disappear if he lets you out of his sight. “Luv, no, I— wha’— sweet’eart, no.”, there is an edge to his voice.

An edge that scrapes the inside of his gut, carving your initials in tender bleeding flesh. So, he gets to keep something. So, he lives with a reminder of you.

“Why—”, he licks his lips, feeling every crack and that’s the wrong time but maybe he should have used the chapstick you gave him and maybe he should have talked with you before and maybe he should have done more. “Do you want to move out?”, the question tastes like bile in his mouth and God, he hates the way even the thought of you leaving makes him blind with panic.

Because no. Nononono, you— he doesn’t want you to leave, please, don’t leave, please, don’t.

“Thought that’s what you wanted to talk about. So…you know, Johnny can move in”, you explain with tone so casual he’d snap if he didn’t know better.

If he didn’t know you.

There’s tension coiling in your shoulders, that pulls occasional shrug-like motion out of you — half-discreet attempt to loosen some of the muscle pain by rolling your shoulders.

You don’t look at him, staring down in the sink at the remaining cup like you can obliterate it with the power of your mind. And honestly, Simon wouldn’t be too surprised if the bloody thing fell apart.

He for ones certainly feels like falling apart.

“I don’t want you to move out.”, Simon’s hand wraps around you, pulling you away from the sink. “I want you to never move out”, he mumbles in your hair, breathing in the smell of your shampoo and it’s so lame of him and he hates the numb-headed state he gets in as soon as he starts panicking.

Maybe he should actually try therapy like you’ve been suggesting. Or at least start taking medication? He’ll think about it later.

“Luv”, there’s a soft press and a tickling exhale to the back of your head and Simon is very close to wrapping himself around you like a weighted blanket and just pin you to the floor.

Which would be a lame fucking decision but thankfully, you aren’t leaving yet. So, he can do that. He has to do that. “Luv, I want you to stay. You and Johnny both. I want you two to stay with me”

Simon breathes it out, wrestling every word out of himself and it feels like bloody confession he saw in movies and with his palms on the soft roll of your tummy he feels impossibly close to the divine, knuckles gently rubbing idle patterns on you.

Why would he need any prayer beads when he lives with a bloody saint? Your flesh so soft under his fingers he wants to press his face into it and never come up for air.

“I don’t think John would appreciate your friend forever third-wheeling you two”, there’s a small vulnerable crack in your voice and Simon can’t help but dip his fingers in it, opening you up.

Cracking open your ribs and scooping up your heart.

More and more and more and more.

So he can finally see what you are feeling, so he knows he isn’t the only one scared/

So he knows you want him. Them.

“Luv, I don’t want to be friends anymore”, Simon exhales and his lips are trailing down the nape of your neck, drinking in the rapid beat of your heart and soft scent of your skin, his body pressed flush to your back. “Not just friends”

“What do you want then?”, hitch in your voice makes his blood flow south, raw feral need bubbling in him, nose rubbing at the hickeys someone else left on you.

Thick and dark hunger of his threatens to spill over and cling to your skin. Never to be washed away. Never wiped off. Never-never-never.

You can always be his, he’ll take care of everything, he’ll take care of you, of Johnny, of home. He’ll be so good, you won’t need for anything, you just gotta stay.

“Want you. Want Johnny. Want us three together.”, the quiet exhale sends a shiver through you and Simon drinks in it, lightheaded and slightly mad with need, pressing a kiss to the soft place between your neck and shoulder.

“What does Soap think about that?”, you try to deflect, slide into different railroad, branch conversation away from his obvious need to hear your answer.

“What do you think of that?”, Simon huffs out, teeth nipping your soft skin, stubble scratching you. Bastard knows exactly what he’s doing.

Simon smiles in your neck, his open-mouthed kiss hot and sinfully wet, his embrace tightening around you.

You are warmth and safety. You are home.

You are moon in his sky — he’d be blind without you, he’d be lost without you, he wouldn’t be Simon without you.

“I asked first.”, you dig your heels in and smack his palm away from sliding under the hem of his your sweater, effectively stopping Simon from getting handfuls of you to squeeze.

This man is not going to drop a bomb on you and then turn around and use your tummy as anti-stress toy.

He annoys you even more because Simon is not even trying to look guilty — his smile so wide you can feel it with every inch of your skin he’s pressing his big head to.

“I told him that.”, Simon finally admits, nuzzling himself in your neck. “You are mine. And he’s mine. It’s not gonna change.”

The silence stretches between you two as you turn your head to him, giving him the slowest blink in the world.

Simon pauses for a moment before huffing out air in your neck, palms finally getting a hold of your love handles.

“I can hear you rolling your eyes, sweet’eart. I’s not very nice”

“You are not very nice, Simon. You can’t just drop something like that on a person. It requires proper conversation. A mutual discussion of everyone’s borders and comfort levels”, you hiss trying to wiggle yourself other way in his hands so you can face him.

Simon eases his hold on you so you can reprimand him properly, but he doesn’t let you out of his hands completely. Not yet.

“I’m trying to have one”, which is honest to god’s truth, because he knows he’s not good at that and he knows you are right, fuck, you are right more often than not.

The sigh that he gets in response is so heavy he almost feels bashful. Almost.

“We can have one. All three of us in the morning”, he offers, and he can practically hear the sound of gears in your head turning faster.

Planning and outlining everything, already building a system in case of bad ending or good ending or no ending at all.

“Okay.”, you finally nod, your fingers hooking under his chin to tilt his head so he’s looking you in the eye. “Tomorrow in the morning, yes?”

Simon nods, leaning into your touch, eyes half-lidded and entirely too soft for someone who doesn’t have a definitive answer.

But he knows you.

And if it’s worth anything, the mere fact that he hasn’t heard “no” or “fuck off, Simon” is a good bloody sign. So things are going much better than expected in all honesty. Job well done. Almost.

There’s warmth in his chest as he cuddles sleepy Soap back to the land of awake, fingers rubbing the nape of Johnny’s neck, pulling him out of the slumber.

It’s slow and soft and for a few long blissful moments Soap is warm and heavy, honey is coating his limbs and eyelids.

He is safe and he is home, Simon’s side pressing into his, your quiet voice asking if he’d like a cup of tea.

And then, like a bucket of ice-cold water is “We will need to talk”, sending his heart in a rapid beat, his eyes flying open.

“Talk?”, he sounds hoarse even to himself and you just hum, collected as always, eyes calm when they settle on him.

“About the three of us”, you explain, and he swallows, eyes watching you.

Is that the time for him to pack bags? Is that the time you realised that you don’t want a stray in your bed and a strange man in your home?

Johnny wraps his fingers around your wrist, not even realising until he’s face to face to you, your eyes watching him expectantly.

“What’s wrong?”, there is a gentle care in your face he didn’t expect to see, there is lack of fight in you he didn’t expect to encounter.

Because in his first day here you looked at him like he was a mutt your partner dragged from a cold street and told you that it’s staying.

In his first day here, you hissed and bristled and snapped at him, your silence weighted, your eyes heavy.

Soap knows all too well that nothing comes to the likes of him without a fair price. Soap knows better than to hope without fighting his way up and proving himself over and over and over.

He’s not going to be pitied. He’s not going to be a charity that you do for the sake of Simon’s happiness; he doesn’t want it to be like that.

Johnny is anything if not persistent. Johnny refuses to go out without a fight, without trying to wiggle his way in, without clawing at everything he wants.

If he won’t get place for himself, at least he will leave his mark.

As a reminder that he was here. As a reminder that he was almost loved.

Johnny nuzzles in your palms, eyes a little mad and a little gone, hollowed out pit in his belly, hunger in his chest that he cannot sate, need that you know all too well.

A hysterical chant in his head.

Love me-love me-love me-love me.

Don’t leave me, don’t forget me. Notice me.

Johnny shudders when you hug him, when your hand reaches out for him even if you don’t need him. Just because you want to.

Just because you want him.

Johnny presses his body into you, whines when Simon presses his own from behind, his mind blanking out at the feel of being surrounded by you two.

It’s warm, plush of your tits cushioning on his chest, bulk of Simon’s body pressing him into you tighter.

More. He wants more. He needs more.

Johnny spreads his legs open and hides his face in your shoulder.

Johnny hiccups when Simon’s fingers rub his prostate, torturously slowly stretch him open, kisses littering his back, sharp overbite of Simon’s jaws sinking in the fat of Soap’s ass.

Leaving mark, staking claim, showing love.

Johnny whines when you pepper kisses all over his face, fingers going through his sweat-wet hair, pushing it off his face, your lips the sweetest fucking thing. He never wants to go without your kisses ever again.

He is sloppy and wet, mixed drool dripping down yours and his chins, his stubble scratching your soft face and oh, he’s sorry, bonnie, he’s sorry-he’s sorry-he’s sorry.

Johnny doesn’t realise he’s crying until you wipe his tears off, until Simon doesn’t wrap his hand around his waist tightly, pulling him in, the delicious stretch of thick cock spreading Soap open.

Fucking hell.

Johnny whimpers something incoherent, Scottish Gaelic mixing up with English, eyes glazed over and desperate, hands gripping you and legs spreading for Simon.

Anything. He’ll do anything.

Just don’t leave him behind.

“Love me-love me-love me-love me”, chants in his head, dances on his tongue, tears out of his throat when he sinks into your welcoming heat. Drunk on pleasure and dazed with need.

He wants it all. He wants you both.

Forever and always. Until death do you part.

Until you no longer want him

You make the prettiest fucking sounds when he bites your neck, canines sinking in soft skin, his cock so deep inside of you it should be impossible.

But he pushes himself into you again — dives in and gulps as much water as he can so he stays at the bottom of you.

So he can stay as a small coin in your fountain, a memento you’d never forget, a man you might never love but who’d never be just another face in the crowd for you.

He will always be someone.

Simon presses himself hard to Soap’s back, rumbles out “kiss ‘er more” and Johnny obliges because if this is his last night he’s going out with fireworks and your taste on his tongue and Simon’s bites all over his body.

And the imprint of your combined hands on him — gripping and tugging and holding and squeezing.

It’s so much and so overwhelmingly perfect he doesn’t know how he’s still lucid, pleasure dripping down-down-down, his spine melting, his mouth hungry wet thing full of teeth and promises to be the best.

To be everything. Anything. Whatever you need. Whatever you want.

Your lips find his and Simon bites down on his shoulder, fucking into him with the slow force of a heavy hammer coming down on anvil with all its weight.

You squeeze around him, inner walls of your cunt wet silken heaven that drives Johnny mad, that makes Johnny blabber filthy things, voice cracking with something wet and gurgly and he's kissing you again.

You won't forget him. He won't let you. He won't let Simon.

Pleasure coils in him until there's nowhere else to go, until he's overflowing and pathetic - face buried in your neck and god, Simon was right, you do smell divine - back arched so hard he feels like his spine will fucking crack but he wants more. He wants everything.

Until he's sick from how full he is. Until he can't take it.

Pleasure drips down-down-down and he never wants this moment to end, he never wants to come back to what was before and how fucking ironic it is that orgasm snaps him out of it?

He's coming and coming and coming, his body honeyed and heavy, his head empty and he's wet like a fucking dog - sweat and drool and saliva and combined fluids drying up on the insides of his thighs.

Soap blinks himself back to reality, but he can't move - he doesn't want to really. His face is nuzzled in your tits, your fingers combing through his wet hair as Simon wipes you both off.

The towel is warm and a little scratchy, cleaning you up, taking care of a mess Johnny is right now.

It's good. It's soft.

It almost feels like he belongs here. Like he deserves it. Like he isn't a stray accidentally let in and who purposefully overstayed his welcome.

But you are soft, and Simon is warm, and Johnny is sandwiched between the two of you in the best way possible.

He makes sure to remember every little thing about this moment. After all it may be the first one and very much the last one.

So, if things go south tomorrow - he was here. He felt good. He felt wanted.

For one beautiful hot night he belonged.

That's what matters, isn't it?

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[miumura]

KISS ME, JUST SAY OH!

types of kisses with enhypen !

pairing bf!enhypen x gn!reader genre fluff, angst (if you squint), comfort, established relationship

warnings reader is crying in heeseungs, reader is sick in jays word count varies 0.3-0.5K+ per member ( 2997 words total )

📩 ‘ NOTE ’ in honor of enhypen’s cb, you know i had to write something related to the title track !! i love xo so this had to be done 😋 anyways, i do hope you enjoy ^^

HEESEUNG — top of the head kisses

top of the head kisses are just so cute i HAD to assign to heeseung because he actually fits it so well??? like he’d think top of the head kisses speak volumes of both love and comfort, which is something he’d often do.

Heeseung didn’t know what to do. He had rarely seen you cry, but there you were in the apartment with red, puffy eyes. As panicked as you were, he was probably even more worried. Seeing you try to quickly wipe your eyes and hide the reason for your tears broke his heart even more. Unsure if he was processing things correctly, he immediately went to wash his hands as he had just come back home, barely drying them as he hurried to have you in his embrace.

“Come here,” he said softly, getting onto the couch and extending his arms to you. You moved into his embrace, and his arms wrapped around you tightly. Heeseung didn’t pressure you to tell him what was wrong, understanding from the start that you didn’t want him to see you cry. He had just happened to come to your place early.

Instead of asking questions, he rubbed your back in soothing circles, offering his silent support as comfort, which you deeply appreciated. Even if he thought his gestures didn’t mean much, they meant the world to you. Being in his presence made you feel comfortable enough to finally let yourself cry while he continued to worry silently. He didn't want to overwhelm you, so he had to calm himself for your sake.

"I'm here for you," Heeseung murmured softly, his voice steady and reassuring. "You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. Just know that I'm here."

It didn’t take long for you to finally spill everything to Heeseung, who listened attentively and offered comforting words and advice. His patience and understanding helped ease the burden you were carrying. After you finished, you thanked him quietly, remaining in his arms, enjoying the soothing silence together. His gentle back rubs relaxed you, and you found yourself slowly drifting into a daze.

Feeling safe and comfortable in his embrace was a comfort you couldn’t take for granted. Heeseung recognized this as a sign of your trust and appreciation, and he smiled softly to himself. He gently caressed your hair, pressing a soft kiss on the top of your head. Eventually, both of you drifted off to sleep together, wrapped in the warmth of each other's presence.

JAY — forehead kisses

ohhh i associate jay with forehead kisses so bad!! they are just so quick but sweet / intimate, so i can just imagine jay often giving forehead kisses. i feel like he would definitely view it as a special thing, so it’s something he just can’t pass on.

“I told you to take care of yourself, didn’t I?” Jay tsked, entering the room with medication and a wet towel. “Look at you now—in bed, sniffling and barely able to sit up properly.”

“Okay…but I don't usually get sick,” you sniffled, your nose running as you looked at Jay, who took a seat by your side.

“That’s still no excuse not to take care of yourself,” Jay sighed, reaching over to feel your forehead, frowning at the heat radiating from it. “Now you’re stuck with a fever.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to trouble you with your work today. I just had to—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Jay interrupted firmly. “I’m your boyfriend. I’d drop anything and everything to make sure you’re okay. I want to be someone you can reach out to without hesitation, alright?”

You nodded, managing a small smile at his reassurance. “I wish I could kiss you right now.”

“Well, I can’t afford to get sick,” Jay smiled, reaching out for your hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze to make up for the lack of intimacy. “Who will take care of you if I do, hm?”

“You’re right,” you sighed. “I wouldn’t want anyone to have this throbbing headache I have right now.”

Jay leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin as he gently brushed a few strands of hair away from your forehead. He pressed a tender kiss to your feverish skin, lingering for a moment as if willing his strength into you. “You’ll get better soon,” he murmured against your skin. “Just rest and let me take care of you.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his kiss and the comfort it brought. “Thank you, Jay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “That was nice.”

“No need to thank me,” he replied softly, placing his hand back onto your forehead. “I just wanted you to know that I’m always here for you to give what you need. Now, let’s get you some medicine so you can rest and bring that fever down.”

He handed you the medication and helped you take it, his touch gentle and patient. The combination of the medication and your fever was already making you drowsy as Jay pulled the blanket over you.

“Before I sleep,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “Can I get another kiss?”

Jay chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re insatiable,” he teased, shaking his head slightly. He put and adjusted the damp towel on your forehead, making sure it was in place. “I’ll give you more kisses later. For now, rest and get better, alright?”

You nodded, feeling a sense of comfort and warmth from his presence. “Okay,” you whispered, your eyes growing heavier by the second. As you slipped into slumber, you felt a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead, Jay’s silent promise that he would always be there for you.

JAKE — lip kisses

this guy is definitely super clingy, so there’s no way he’s going to be missing out on lip kisses!! he’s definitely the type to want several to be content 😭 OOUU i bet he’d even pout his way through to get them BUT honestly, he has super nice lips anyways so it would be hard to refuse in the first place 🙂‍↕️

“Come on, Jake, it was just a prank!” you kept trying to explain to your boyfriend, Jake, who was “angry” about the stunt you pulled on him today. “I didn’t mean to give you that huge of a fright!”

“That huge of a fright? It was bugs—and you know how much I hate bugs,” Jake said in disbelief, recalling the fake bug you had placed on the floor, getting the shivers just thinking about it again. “And you just watched me try to ask you for help to kill it, forcing me to ‘kill it’—only to place another near my foot! I almost passed out.”

“And you screamed so loud, saying there was now a family of bugs living in our house,” you said, now unable to hold back your laughter. “You should’ve seen your face!”

“You wouldn’t have said that if you didn’t know they were fake!” Jake protested, trying to sound stern but unable to hide the amusement creeping into his voice.

“Oh, come on, you have to admit it was a little funny,” you teased, still giggling at the memory.

Jake crossed his arms, trying to maintain a stern expression but failing to hide the slight twitch of a smile at the corner of his lips. “You nearly gave me a heart attack,” he said, feigning seriousness. “I seriously cannot forgive you.”

You tried pleading over and over again, trying to get Jake’s attention, but he remained unmoved, intentionally facing away every time you tried to get into his view. He was determined not to let you off easily.

“Jake, come on,” you begged, attempting to step into his line of sight once more. “I’ve said I’m sorry a million times!”

“That’s clearly not enough,” he pouted, crossing his arms once more. “I’m going to need more convincing.”

“Convincing? Like what? I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, the hint of a mischievous grin on his face.

“Anything within reason,” you replied, eyeing him warily. “What do you have in mind? I don’t like that grin on your face…”

Jake pretended to think it over, tapping his chin theatrically. Then, in a swift move, he wrapped his arms around your waist, eliciting a surprised yelp from you. Before you could process what was happening, he began smothering you with kisses, making sure you couldn’t escape.

You tried to put up a “fight,” but Jake was persistent in getting what he believed was his revenge, or rather, his favor. He finally stopped by giving you one last kiss on the lips, pulling back with one of his dorky smiles, his arms still wrapped around you.

“Seriously—this is what you wanted?” you asked, breathless from the playful struggle.

Jake nodded, still grinning. “Yup, it was all part of my master plan,” he said, tightening his hold on you affectionately. “The only way to forgive you for that prank of yours.”

“Whatever,” you said with a roll of your eyes, but you couldn't help smiling. Your response elicited another giggle from him, and he leaned in to give you another kiss.

“I mean it,” Jake said softly, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. “I’ll forgive you for anything if it means I get to do this.”

SUNGHOON — hand kisses

i don’t think sunghoon would HATE showing intimacy, but i feel like he could be more awkward with it. he would still want to show some form of intimacy, so hand kisses would be the way to go! because, one, it’s pretty cute and, two, it’s easier for him to hide his face after doing something more romantic.

“Seriously, Sunghoon, that guy was just an old classmate of mine,” you reassured Sunghoon, who kept insisting that he didn't mind, but his slight pout proved otherwise. “I didn’t want to ruin the mood of our date—he just suddenly came over and wanted to chat.”

Sunghoon shrugged, trying to appear indifferent, but you could see the hint of jealousy in his eyes. “It’s fine, really,” he said, though his tone betrayed him.

You gently nudged him, smiling softly. “Come on, I could tell you weren’t thrilled about it. But I promise, it was nothing.”

He sighed, finally meeting your gaze. “Okay, maybe I was a little annoyed,” he admitted. “I just didn’t like how he was taking up your attention.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I think he didn’t know we were on a date, or even that we were dating.”

Sunghoon wasn’t too expressive with his intimacy, as it was something he was still trying to get used to. But the thought of you with that old classmate of yours only seemed to upset him more, and he wanted to do something about it. He really wanted to show that he loves you, even if he couldn’t always put it into words.

“I’ll work on it,” he said, grabbing your hand and placing a soft kiss on it. “So that people like him don’t interrupt our dates again.”

You smiled at his gesture, getting ready to tease him. “So you were jealous after all?”

“I was not,” he insisted.

“Hm, sure,” you said with a grin, watching as his face turned a shade of pink. “What can I do to get an actual kiss?”

“Don’t push it,” he said, trying to maintain his composure but unable to hide a small smile. He felt more relieved than he was earlier and was determined to work on giving you all the kisses you deserved.

Sunghoon glanced at you, a newfound confidence in his eyes. “I’ll get better at this, you know. At showing you how much you mean to me.”

“I know you will,” you said, returning back the same hand kiss that soon caught Sunghoon in another pink mess.

SUNOO — cheek kisses

CMONNN sunoo and cheek kisses have to be literal perfection. like they go hand to hand and they definitely suit sunoo very well. i could see him doing it quite often and wearing a big smile on his face while doing so. it’s pretty self explanatory as sunoo’s image & personality speaks for themselves ^^ i love him

“Can you even believe he would say something like that?” Sunoo exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air and showing you a dramatically exaggerated facial expression. You nodded, trying to keep a straight face but soon smiling at him despite yourself—his “upset” expressions were just too cute.

“I know, right?” you replied, trying to match his enthusiasm. “The nerve of some people!”

Sunoo sighed, flopping down onto the couch beside you. “It’s just so frustrating sometimes,” he said, pouting a little. “I mean, who does he think he is?”

You chuckled, bringing him closer to you. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it in a bad way. But honestly, I love how expressive you get about these things.”

“What?” Sunoo asked, a little incredulous.

“I mean, you’re so cute,” you said with a smile, planting a couple of kisses on his cheek. “It’s hard to listen when you’re this adorable.”

“Were you even listening to me complain about him?!” Sunoo protested, trying to sound offended but failing to hide his amusement.

“Of course I was,” you assured him, grinning. “I just got a little distracted by how cute you are.”

He sighed dramatically, though his eyes were sparkling with laughter. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or annoyed.”

“Let’s go with flattered,” you teased, giving him one more kiss on the cheek. “Besides, you know I love listening to you.”

“Fine,” Sunoo conceded, finally breaking into a smile. “But, you know I can’t be the only one on the receiving end, right?”

You gave him a questioning look while his smile continued to grow wider. He soon cupped your face, planting a series of kisses on your cheek. Any memory of what he was complaining about was quickly forgotten as he focused entirely on showering you with attention instead.

Sunoo pulled back slightly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I think you also need to be reminded of how adorable you can be, too.”

JUNGWON — neck kisses

i believe in clingy jwon 🙏 i feel like since he’s always around you, he’d probably do it subconsciously, oblivious to your reddened face until you say something about it. and if you didn’t say anything, i fully believe this man would continue to latch onto you and could stay that way forever … no complaints!

"It's been so long since I've seen you," Jungwon said, walking out of the bedroom and taking a seat at the counter. You hummed, chuckling as you continued cooking one of his favorite meals.

"It's only been a week," you replied, glancing over your shoulder with a smile.

Jungwon sighed dramatically, resting his chin in his hand. “A week without our cuddle time—something you still haven’t given me.”

“Come on, you’re hungry. I have to cook you something, don’t I?” you laughed, shaking your head. “Let me finish, then we can eat and cuddle all you want.”

Jungwon pouted slightly, watching you with a mix of impatience and admiration. “You’re going to take a while…”

You glanced at him with a playful smile. “Patience, my love. You’ll get what you want very soon.”

You heard him hum in response as you continued focusing on the food you were preparing. But you should have known not to take his silence for granted. Before long, Jungwon came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist.

You felt his warmth against your back, and a smile spread across your face. “I told you, just a bit longer,” you said, still stirring the pot.

Jungwon rested his chin on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. “I know, but I couldn’t resist. Your cooking isn’t the only thing I missed.”

You laughed softly, turning your head slightly to look at him. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it,” he murmured, tightening his embrace. He soon kissed your neck a couple of times, which made you giggle slightly as it was quite ticklish.

“Okay, stop,” you said, trying to suppress your laughter. “You’re going to make me mess up.”

Jungwon pulled back just enough to see your face, a playful smile on his lips. “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.”

You shook your head, smiling despite the slight disruption. “Just wait a little longer. The sooner I finish, the sooner we can cuddle.”

“Alright, I can wait,” Jungwon said, giving you one last gentle kiss near your collarbone. “I’m still going to hug you though.”

“Then what’s the point of waiting,” you chuckled. “Aren’t we practically cuddling right now?”

Jungwon grinned, resting his chin on your shoulder. “True, but it’s not quite the same as when we’re both settled on the couch together.”

You decided not to question him anymore, letting him hug you as you finished cooking. After all, you missed him a lot too and appreciated the closeness.

“Okay then, but no more neck kisses—that’s only going to distract me,” you said with a playful grin.

He tightened his embrace slightly, his breath warm against your neck. “I’ll take it,” he murmured. “I’m just happy to be close to you.”

NIKI — butterfly kisses

i feel like he would have to get used to showing intimacy so he would probably be a little awkward at first. i feel like butterfly kisses are something that suits his teasing tendencies so he does it to get your attention. sooner or later, butterfly kisses have just became something he does often, as he enjoys it and you find it cute as well.

“Ever heard of personal space, Niki?” you said angrily to the guy who had randomly plopped onto you on the couch. Niki just giggled, ignoring your protest, and you sighed, trying to continue watching your show on TV. You knew from experience that scolding him would only encourage him to push your buttons further, so you decided to let him do his thing. After all, he usually got bored and left you alone eventually.

But today, your lack of response seemed to annoy him, and he clearly wasn’t satisfied yet. As you kept your eyes glued to the TV screen, he secretly shifted his position, moving closer until his face was right in front of your neck. He planted his face in the crook of your neck and started fluttering his eyelashes against your skin, giving you butterfly kisses.

You squirmed, trying not to react but finding it increasingly difficult as the tickling sensation spread. “Niki, stop!” you laughed, unable to hold back any longer. “That tickles!”

He pulled back slightly, a mischievous grin on his face. “Finally, a reaction!” he declared triumphantly.

“I was trying to ignore you,” you said, swatting at him playfully. “But you’re way too persistent.”

“Of course I am,” Niki replied, sitting up with a satisfied smile. “I know how to get your attention.”

“Well, now that you have it, what do you want?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Niki leaned back against the couch, pretending to ponder the question. “Hmm, good question. I didn’t really think that far ahead.”

You shook your head, amused. “Typical Niki. You just wanted to annoy me, didn’t you?”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, laughing. “But also, I was thinking we could do something more fun than just sitting here watching TV.”

“Like what?” you asked, curious despite yourself.

Niki’s eyes lit up with excitement. “How about we go out for ice cream? My treat!”

You considered it for a moment, then nodded. “I thought you wanted a kiss or something,” you teased. “Alright, ice cream sounds good. But only if you promise not to bug me for the rest of the day.”

Niki chuckled, standing up from the couch. “A kiss would be nice too, but I guess I can settle for ice cream,” he said, giving you a playful wink. “And I promise I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“Good,” you said, getting up to join him. “Because I need at least a few hours of peace.”

“Don’t worry,” Niki assured you, holding the door open. “I’ll keep my promise—as long as you don’t change your mind about that kiss.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you followed him out. “You never give up, do you?”

“Not when it comes to you.”

💬 — royalty is my song ☝️

ENHA PERM TAGLIST (1) — @flwoie @ixomiyu @haruavrse @shinsou-rii @bearseulgs @ilovewonyo @yenqa @dimplewonie @bubblytaetae @wtfhyuck @ineedaherosavemeenow @ml8dy @starikizs @wonioml @chirokookie @xiaoderrrr @neozon3nha @en-chantedtomeetyou @millksea @enhaz1 @eundiarys @hyeosi @ja4hyvn @judeduartewannabe @j-wyoung @thia-aep @vampcharxter @softpia @officiallyjaehyuns @itsactuallylina @hsheart @sweetjaemss @ahnneyong @hanienie @jwnghyuns @kpoplover718 @jiawji @rikizm @haknom @yeokii @wvnkoi @whoschr @teddywonss @shinunoga-iie-wa @isoobie @skzenhalove @misokei @s00buwu @ox1-lovesick @miercerise @litttlestars @enhapocketz

[maskedbyghost]

The first time Simon saw you struggling with your crutches, he didn’t say anything. He just watched from across the barracks as you wrestled with the awkward weight distribution, as your injured foot gingerly hovered above the floor.

He figured you were stubborn enough to push through it alone. After all, you always had before. But then he saw the way you hesitated before stepping up the short flight of stairs leading to the mess hall, your fingers tightening around the crutches until your knuckles turned white. That was when he decided to step in.

He approached without a word and placed his hand under your elbow. You startled, nearly losing your balance, but his grip was firm.

“Easy, love,” he murmured. “You alright?”

You wanted to tell him you had it under control, that you didn’t need help, but the dull ache in your foot—the one that had been hammering at you for hours—said otherwise. You let out a slow breath and nodded, though not convincingly.

He didn’t press for an answer. Instead, he kept his hand near, not quite holding you, but not leaving either.

Over the next few days, Simon was constantly around you. He never made a show of helping you, never made it seem like pity.

He just acted as though it was the most natural thing in the world to be by your side.

When you couldn’t reach something, he handed it to you without being asked. When you needed to sit, he subtly maneuvered people out of the way so you had space.

If you ever so much as wobbled, he was there, catching you before you could fall.

You didn’t know what to make of it. You were friends, sure. You worked together and fought together. But this? This was different.

One evening, as you sat in the common room, foot propped up on a pillow, Simon settled into the chair beside you. He didn’t speak at first, just sat there, arms crossed, staring at nothing in particular. Then, after a long pause, he said, “You’re not a burden.”

You stiffened. “I never said I was.”

He turned his head slightly, looking at you from behind his mask. “Didn’t have to.”

You swallowed, suddenly feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with your injury. You tried to muster up a joke, something to deflect, but nothing came out.

Instead, you sighed and glanced down at your bandaged foot. “It’s just… frustrating. Not being able to do anything for myself.”

Simon nodded slowly, like he understood that feeling all too well. “You’re healing,” he said simply. “Takes time.”

“Yeah, well, I hate time,” you muttered, crossing your arms.

He huffed a small chuckle, after which silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it was comforting. Knowing that he was there for your, was enough.

Days turned into weeks, and your reliance on him lessened, but he didn’t go away. He was still there, hovering in the periphery, making sure you didn’t push yourself too hard.

One particularly cold evening, after another long day of physio, Simon found you outside, sitting on the steps, bundled in a blanket. The air was crisp, and the sky was scattered with stars. He approached silently, as he always did, before lowering himself beside you.

“Shouldn’t be out here in the cold,” he said, voice softer than usual.

“I needed air,” you replied, adjusting the blanket around your shoulders. “And quiet.”

He nodded in understanding and pulled something from his jacket—a thermos. Without a word, he unscrewed the lid and poured a small amount of steaming liquid into it before offering it to you.

You took it hesitantly and took a sip. Tea. It was warm and soothing, just what you needed at the moment.

“Thanks.”

Simon shrugged as if it was nothing, though the gesture spoke volumes. He watched the sky for a long moment before speaking. “Gonna keep ignoring this?”

You frowned, glancing at him. “Ignoring what?”

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze lingered on you, before he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “Never mind.”

But you knew better. You looked down at the thermos in your hands, fingers tightening around it, before forcing yourself to meet his gaze again.

“I’m not ignoring it,” you said quietly.

Simon tilted his head slightly, looking at you, and after a moment, he reached out. His hand was slow, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear before retreating just as quickly. He didn’t say anything else, but he didn’t need to.

You swallowed, feeling your pulse quicken, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you shifted just a little closer, just enough that your shoulder brushed against his.

A smile grew on your face when you realized that he didn’t moved away.

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

thank you anon for the request :)

i didn't want to rush them into a relationship, but this is a great beginning of something beautiful, i believe. if you want, i'll write another part where they end up together

@daydreamerwoah

[arabella0001]

Levi has a tendency to let his fingers skim along your hand at the beginning of your relationship, a fleeting motion so delicate it could almost be mistaken for happenstance. It’s a gesture he reserves for moments when he’s moving past you or seated quietly at your side—so soft, it barely lingers, like the faintest ghost of a touch. A silent acknowledgment of his presence, his way of murmuring “I’m here” without uttering a word.

One particular evening, as the two of you are absorbed in separate tasks, his fingers don’t retreat as they usually do. Instead, his touch trails deliberately from the back of your hand to your wrist.

You glance up at him, a question on the edge of your lips, but he’s already watching you, his expression as neutral as ever, giving away nothing.

“Something wrong?” His voice is level, unruffled, yet there’s an almost imperceptible flicker of impishness in his eyes.

You arch a brow, scrutinizing him. “You’re not usually this… bold.”

For a heartbeat, his face remains impassive, as if he’s carefully weighing his next move. Then, with a barely-there smirk, he leans in—just enough to make the space between you feel nonexistent. His words slip out, quiet and calculated, brushing the edge of your ear like a soft gust of air.

“You don’t like it?”

Your breath hitches, and you blink, caught completely off guard. But before you can muster a reply, he continues, his voice dropping even lower, with a subtle edge of unusual playfulness.

“Tch. Didn’t think you’d get shy over something so small.”

The heat creeping across your cheeks betrays you instantly, and though you try to look unimpressed, Levi doesn’t miss a thing. His smirk doesn’t widen—he’s too composed for that—but the twitch of his lips and the quiet glint in his eyes speak volumes. He pulls back and resumes his task without ceremony, as if the moment had been inconsequential. But you know better. You know Levi, and you know he’s enjoying this far more than he’ll ever let on.

After that, it becomes a pattern. A hand lingering on the small of your back as he passes, his lips brushing your temple in a rare stolen moment when no one else is watching. It’s always so matter-of-fact, so seamlessly woven into your interactions that it almost feels accidental. Almost. And yet, every time, you find yourself thrown off balance, your heart betraying you with its frantic rhythm.

Levi doesn’t have to say much—he never does—but the subtlety of his actions, the precision of his timing, makes it clear: he knows exactly what he’s doing. And the faint flicker of amusement that plays across his otherwise stoic face each time proves just how much he enjoys your flustered reactions.

Because for Levi, there’s a certain charm in seeing you unsettled, in watching you scramble to regain your composure. And for you? There’s no preparing for it. No matter how much you try, he’s always one step ahead, catching you unawares with the smallest gestures that linger long after they’ve passed.

another smau with levi

[urdreamydoodles]

Could we get some headcannons on how X-Men characters would deal with an s/o who struggles with verbal communication? (I was thinking someone who just struggles with words but they could be deaf or mute as well)

Like instead of talking they use notes, or gestures, or even actual sign language to communicate. I was thinking it’s usually done when the reader is struggling to ask for something directly, or just convey what they’re thinking.

(I wasn’t sure if you’d want specific characters to think of or if you’d want free rein, but I’ll list a few of my favourites; Wolverine, Nightcrawler, Gambit, Storm, Morph, Magneto, Beast)

X-Men x Reader

You struggles with verbal communication

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Ororo Munroe, Morph, Erik Lehnsherr, Hank McCoy, Jean Grey, Rogue, Cable & Wade Wilson

Logan Howlett aka. Wolverine

- You’d been living at the mansion for a while, and while most people understood your struggle with verbal communication, Logan didn’t seem to get it at first. He wasn’t rude about it, but his gruff nature often led him to misinterpret your gestures. “What, you can’t just spit it out?” he’d ask, crossing his arms. You’d roll your eyes and scribble something on a notepad, sliding it over to him with a sharp look. He’d grumble but take it, slowly realizing how much effort you were putting into every interaction.

- Logan started paying closer attention over time. He noticed how your hands moved when you gestured, how your eyes flicked to certain objects when you wanted something. He wasn’t the type to ask outright, but he started observing quietly, learning your nonverbal cues like he was piecing together a puzzle. One day, you found him practicing basic ASL signs in the corner of the library. “Figured it might make things easier,” he said when you caught him, scratching the back of his neck.

- He surprised you by using those signs during casual conversations, albeit a bit clumsily at first. When you were struggling to ask for help one day, he simply signed, What do you need? It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to bring tears to your eyes. “Don’t get all weepy on me, kid,” he grumbled, handing you a tissue. Still, the small smile tugging at his lips showed he was proud of himself.

- Logan’s protectiveness shone through in unexpected ways. If someone gave you a hard time about not speaking, he’d step in with a sharp glare that could silence a room. “Got a problem with how they communicate?” he’d growl, leaving no room for argument. You never asked him to defend you, but his unwavering support made you feel seen in ways you hadn’t before.

- Over time, the two of you grew closer. Logan’s patience, hidden beneath his rough exterior, was a balm to your insecurities. One evening, after a particularly long day, you handed him a note that read, Thank you for understanding me. He read it silently, then looked up at you with an intensity that made your heart race. “Ain’t nothin’ to thank me for,” he said softly. “You’re worth the effort.”

- The shift from friendship to romance was seamless. Logan wasn’t one for grand declarations, but his actions spoke volumes. He started carrying a small notepad for you, just in case you ran out of paper. And when he kissed you for the first time, it was tender, unhurried, as if he was trying to convey all the words he knew you struggled to say. “You don’t need words with me, darlin’,” he whispered against your lips. “I get you just fine.”

Remy LeBeau aka. Gambit

- Remy was instantly intrigued by your quiet nature, his curiosity piqued when he saw you using gestures and notes to communicate. “Mon cher, you always this mysterious?” he teased with a charming smirk. At first, you thought he was just flirting like he did with everyone, but his genuine interest shone through when he started trying to decode your gestures without making you uncomfortable.

- He quickly turned your communication struggles into a game, guessing what you were trying to say with an exaggerated flair. “You tryin’ to tell me you hungry? Or you just wanna see ol’ Remy look like a fool?” he’d say, making you laugh silently. His lighthearted approach made it easier for you to relax, even when you struggled to get your point across.

- One evening, when you left a sketchpad on the table with a note reading, I’m not sure how to ask for help, Remy’s teasing demeanor softened. “Cher,” he said quietly, taking a seat beside you, “you don’t gotta be afraid to ask me for nothin’, yeah? I’ll figure it out.” His reassurance, paired with his playful charm, made you feel safe in ways you hadn’t expected.

- Remy’s natural adaptability shone as he started learning little tricks to help you communicate. He began carrying a deck of blank cards, writing quick responses or questions for you to use. “See? Now we both got somethin’ to write on,” he’d say with a wink, making the process feel less daunting. He even started teaching you French phrases, encouraging you to write them down when words failed.

- The moment things shifted between you two was subtle but impactful. One night, you handed him a note that simply read, I like you. His red eyes glimmered with mischief as he read it, but his smile was surprisingly tender. “Well, cher,” he said, leaning in closer, “guess it’s only fair I tell you somethin’, too.” Before you could respond, he pressed a soft kiss to your hand, his actions speaking louder than words ever could.

- Dating Remy was like navigating a whirlwind of charm and affection. He made it clear that he adored you, using every opportunity to show you how much he cared. From spontaneous gestures to quiet moments where he’d sit beside you, letting your notes and signs speak volumes, Remy proved that your unique way of communicating only made him fall for you harder.

Kurt Wagner aka. Nightcrawler

- Kurt noticed your struggle with verbal communication almost immediately, his empathetic nature drawing him toward you. “You do not speak much, ja?” he asked one day, his tone gentle and curious. When you nodded, he didn’t press further, instead offering you a warm smile. “I understand. We all have our ways.”

- He quickly adapted to your communication style, finding joy in the way you used gestures and notes. “It is like learning a new language,” he said with excitement, his tail flicking behind him. “And I am always eager to learn.” His enthusiasm made it easier for you to open up, his patience and kindness making every interaction feel effortless.

- One day, you hesitated, struggling to express something important. Kurt noticed your frustration and gently placed a hand on yours. “Take your time,” he said softly, his golden eyes filled with understanding. When you finally handed him a note that read, I don’t know how to ask for help sometimes, he nodded solemnly. “You never have to worry about that with me,” he assured you. “I am here for you, always.”

- Kurt began incorporating small acts of reassurance into your daily life, like leaving you notes of encouragement or learning more ASL to communicate with you better. His joy when you taught him new signs was infectious. “Did I do it right?” he’d ask, his tail curling nervously as he signed a simple phrase. Your smile was all the confirmation he needed.

- The turning point came one evening when you handed him a note that read, I think I’m falling for you. Kurt’s eyes widened, and a faint blush colored his blue cheeks. “Mein Schatz,” he whispered, his voice full of emotion. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.” He pulled you into a gentle hug, his tail wrapping around you in a protective embrace.

- Being with Kurt was like stepping into a world of unwavering kindness and affection. He made it his mission to understand you, to support you in every way possible. “You do not need words to tell me how you feel,” he said one day, his fingers tracing your hand. “I can see it in your eyes. And I will always speak for the both of us, if you need.”

Scott Summers aka. Cyclops

- Scott was initially unsure of how to approach you. He respected your quiet nature but didn’t want to overstep. When he saw you using notes and gestures to communicate, he made a conscious effort to pay attention, his leadership instincts kicking in. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to make things easier,” he said one day, his tone sincere.

- He started picking up on your cues quickly, his analytical mind piecing together patterns in your gestures. “You don’t have to rush,” he’d say whenever you hesitated, giving you the space to communicate at your own pace. His patience surprised you, his usually stoic demeanor softening in your presence.

- One day, after a training session, you handed Scott a note that read, I feel like I’m slowing everyone down. He frowned, shaking his head firmly. “That’s not true,” he said, his voice steady. “You’re part of this team, and we support each other. Don’t ever feel like you’re a burden.” His words were firm but full of warmth, his unwavering belief in you shining through.

- Scott began making small adjustments to accommodate your communication style, like keeping a whiteboard in the common areas or encouraging others to be more patient. “It’s not about how you communicate,” he told you one evening. “It’s about making sure you’re heard.” His support made you feel seen in ways you hadn’t before.

- The moment your relationship shifted was quiet but profound. You handed Scott a note that read, I care about you more than I can say. He read it silently, then looked up at you with a rare, soft smile. “I care about you too,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. The kiss that followed was tender, his hands cradling your face like you were something precious.

- Being with Scott meant being with someone who valued every part of you. He made sure you always felt included, never letting your struggles define you. “You don’t need to say a word,” he told you one day, his hand resting over yours. “I’ll always understand.” His quiet devotion was a constant reminder that love didn’t need words to thrive.

Ororo Munroe aka. Storm

- Ororo was naturally drawn to your quiet strength. She noticed your use of notes and gestures early on, her sharp intuition picking up on how you often hesitated to ask for help. She approached you with her characteristic grace, offering you a kind smile. “You speak in your own way,” she said softly. “And I’d like to listen, if you’ll let me.” Her calm understanding put you at ease immediately.

- Ororo quickly adapted to your style of communication. She never rushed you, instead waiting patiently for you to finish writing or signing. “Take your time,” she’d say whenever she noticed you struggling. Her respect for your pace made you feel valued, and you found yourself opening up more around her.

- One day, you handed her a note that read, I don’t know how to ask for what I need sometimes. Ororo’s serene expression softened, and she placed a gentle hand over yours. “You’ve already asked by sharing this with me,” she said. “Let me help you carry that weight.” Her words felt like a soothing balm, her unwavering support reassuring you in ways you hadn’t expected.

- Over time, Ororo began incorporating subtle gestures to show her understanding. She’d leave small notes of encouragement in places she knew you’d find them, or create gentle winds to carry your written messages to her during training sessions. Her actions spoke louder than words, and they reminded you daily of her care for you.

- The turning point came during a quiet evening in the garden. You handed Ororo a note that read, I think I’m falling for you. Her silver hair shimmered in the moonlight as she read your message, a radiant smile spreading across her face. “The feeling is mutual,” she said, her voice filled with warmth. She leaned in to kiss your forehead, her touch as gentle as a summer breeze.

- Being with Ororo was like standing in the eye of a storm—peaceful yet powerful. She made you feel seen and cherished, her understanding and empathy creating a safe space for your love to flourish. “Your voice is beautiful,” she told you one day, tracing your hand with hers. “Even if it’s not always spoken aloud, it still reaches me.”

Kevin Sydney aka. Morph

- Morph immediately took an interest in you, his playful nature making him curious about your quiet demeanor. “So, what’s the deal?” he asked one day, his tone lighthearted. When you handed him a note explaining that you struggled with verbal communication, his face lit up with excitement. “A challenge, huh? I love a good puzzle!”

- He made it his mission to understand your gestures and notes, often turning your interactions into a game. “Okay, charades it is!” he’d say, mimicking your motions in exaggerated ways that made you laugh. His humor took the pressure off, and you found yourself enjoying his company more than you expected.

- One day, you scribbled a note that read, I’m not good at asking for help. Morph read it aloud, then gave you a dramatic bow. “Lucky for you, I’m great at helping!” he said with a grin. Despite his joking tone, his sincerity was evident in the way he stuck around, always ready to lend a hand.

- Morph’s shape-shifting abilities came in handy when it came to communicating. He’d transform into a giant hand to mimic your gestures or into a cartoonish version of himself to make you laugh when you were feeling down. His creativity knew no bounds, and his efforts to connect with you were as entertaining as they were heartfelt.

- The moment things shifted between you was as spontaneous as Morph himself. You handed him a note that read, I think I like you. He gasped dramatically, clutching his chest like he’d been shot. “I knew it!” he said, pulling you into a spin. When he set you down, his usual joking demeanor softened, and he leaned in to kiss you gently. “I like you too,” he said with uncharacteristic tenderness.

- Being with Morph was an adventure in every sense of the word. He made sure you never felt isolated, using his humor and shape-shifting to keep things light and fun. “You don’t have to say a word,” he told you one day, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I can read you loud and clear, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Erik Lehnsherr aka. Magneto

- Erik was initially perplexed by your communication style, his analytical mind trying to make sense of your hesitations. When he realized you relied on notes and gestures, he was intrigued rather than dismissive. “An unconventional approach,” he mused. “But effective, nonetheless.” His curiosity made you nervous at first, but his lack of judgment slowly put you at ease.

- He began studying your gestures with the same intensity he applied to everything else, determined to understand you fully. “Communication is an art,” he said one day, watching as you wrote something down. “And you are a master of it, even without words.” His respect for your efforts made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t experienced before.

- One evening, you handed Erik a note that read, I feel like I’m a burden. He read it silently, his expression darkening. “You are not a burden,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You are resourceful, intelligent, and resilient. Never diminish yourself in my presence again.” His words, though blunt, were filled with an undeniable care that warmed your heart.

- Erik’s efforts to support you were both subtle and grand. He’d manipulate small metal objects to write words in the air for you or create intricate metal sculptures to convey messages when you struggled. His actions showed a thoughtfulness that contrasted sharply with his usual stern demeanor.

- The turning point came during a quiet moment in his study. You slid him a note that read, I care about you more than I can say. Erik’s sharp eyes softened as he read your words. He set the note down carefully, then reached for your hand. “And I care for you,” he said, his voice low and steady. His kiss was deliberate, filled with the kind of intensity that only Erik could bring.

- Being with Erik was like standing beside a force of nature—powerful, unyielding, and deeply protective. He made sure you always felt valued, his actions speaking louder than any words ever could. “You don’t need to speak,” he told you one evening, his hand resting gently on yours. “Your presence is enough.”

Hank McCoy aka. Beast

- Hank was fascinated by your unique way of communicating, his scientific mind eager to understand the nuances of your gestures and notes. “A fascinating approach,” he said the first time he saw you write something down. “May I inquire further?” His genuine interest made you feel less self-conscious, and you found yourself opening up to him quickly.

- He started keeping a notebook nearby, jotting down your cues and gestures like he was studying a new language. “It’s remarkable how much you can convey without words,” he said one day, his admiration evident. His encouragement made you feel proud of your communication style, rather than ashamed of it.

- One afternoon, you left a note in his lab that read, I feel like I’m too much work for people. When Hank found it, his brow furrowed, and he immediately sought you out. “You are never too much work,” he said, his voice filled with conviction. “If anything, you’ve taught me to see the world in a new way, and I’m grateful for that.”

- Hank’s support manifested in practical ways. He developed small devices to make it easier for you to communicate, like a digital notepad that converted your writing into speech. “A little invention of mine,” he said with a sheepish smile. “I hope it’s helpful.” His thoughtfulness left you speechless, your gratitude clear in the way you hugged him tightly.

- The moment your relationship shifted was as gentle as Hank himself. You handed him a note that read, I think I’m falling for you. Hank read it carefully, his blue fur bristling slightly as he looked up at you with wide eyes. “The feeling is mutual,” he said, his voice soft. His kiss was tentative but warm, filled with the quiet intensity that defined him.

- Being with Hank was like being wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and understanding. He made sure you always felt supported, his kindness and intellect creating a safe space for your love to grow. “Your voice is unique,” he told you one day, his hand resting over yours. “And I consider it an honor to understand it.”

Jean Grey aka. Marvel Girl / Phoenix

- Jean noticed your quiet demeanor and alternative way of communicating long before you realized. She often caught glimpses of your emotions through her telepathy, though she never intruded. When you passed her notes or gestured instead of speaking, she responded with patience and understanding, letting you take the lead. “Take your time,” she’d say softly, her gentle smile a constant reassurance.

- Jean quickly adapted to your style, finding ways to bridge the gaps in communication. She subtly enhanced your gestures with her telepathy, sensing what you meant before you could even fully convey it. “It’s like we have our own secret language,” she teased one day, her green eyes sparkling. Her ability to meet you halfway made you feel less alone.

- One day, during a quiet moment in the mansion’s library, you hesitated before passing her a note. It read, Sometimes, I feel like I don’t belong here. Jean’s expression softened as she read it, and she reached out to take your hand. “You belong wherever you choose to be,” she said, her voice filled with conviction. “And right now, I’m glad you’re here with me.”

- Jean began leaving small notes for you as well, little affirmations that brightened your day. “You’re stronger than you think,” one read, tucked under your door. “You don’t have to say a word for me to know how amazing you are,” said another, left with your breakfast. These gestures reminded you that she was always thinking of you, even in the smallest ways.

- The shift in your relationship came during a walk through the garden. You handed her a note that read, I care about you, more than I probably should. Jean’s face lit up with a radiant smile, and she reached up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Good,” she said softly. “Because I feel the same way.” Her kiss was gentle and warm, like sunlight breaking through the clouds.

- Being with Jean felt like basking in a calm, nurturing presence. She understood you deeply, both through her powers and her heart. “You don’t need words to express yourself,” she told you one day, her hand resting lightly on your cheek. “You’ve already said everything I need to hear.”

Anna Marie aka. Rogue

- Rogue was drawn to your quiet, introspective nature. She was no stranger to feeling out of place, and when she noticed your reliance on notes and gestures, she connected with you immediately. “Ah reckon we’re both a little unconventional,” she said one day, her Southern drawl soft. “But that’s what makes us unique.”

- She made it her mission to understand your style of communication, often using humor to lighten the mood. “What’s this one mean?” she’d joke, mimicking your gestures dramatically. Her teasing was never mean-spirited, and her playful attitude made it easier for you to relax around her.

- One afternoon, you left her a note that read, I’m afraid people will get tired of me. Rogue’s gloved hand tightened around the paper, her expression shifting to one of fierce determination. “Sugar, if anyone ever makes ya feel that way, they’re not worth your time,” she said firmly. “Ah’ll never get tired of ya, that’s for sure.”

- Rogue’s physical limitations due to her powers didn’t stop her from showing her care. She’d use small gestures like slipping notes into your jacket pocket or brushing her covered hand against yours to reassure you. Her creativity in expressing her feelings mirrored your own, making you feel understood on a deeper level.

- The turning point came during a late-night conversation in the mansion’s common room. You passed her a note that read, I think I’m falling for you. Rogue’s green eyes widened, and she bit her lip nervously. “Ah’ve been feelin’ the same way,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. She leaned in, her gloved hand cupping your cheek as she kissed you carefully, mindful of her powers.

- Being with Rogue was like finding a kindred spirit. She understood the challenges of feeling different and made sure you never felt isolated. “You don’t need to say a thing, darlin’,” she told you one day, her smile soft and warm. “Ah know exactly how ya feel.”

Nathan Summers aka. Cable

- Cable’s gruff exterior initially made you hesitant to approach him, but he surprised you with his patience and attentiveness. He noticed your preference for notes and gestures right away, his keen tactical mind quickly adapting to your style. “Communication’s about understanding,” he said once. “Doesn’t matter how you do it, as long as it works.”

- Despite his hardened demeanor, Cable showed surprising softness when it came to you. He’d take your notes seriously, his cybernetic hand carefully holding the paper as he read. “Got it,” he’d say with a small nod, making you feel heard and respected.

- One day, you scribbled a note that read, I don’t know how to ask for help. Cable’s steel-blue eyes softened as he read it, and he placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You don’t have to ask,” he said simply. “I’ll always have your back.” His words, though straightforward, carried a depth of sincerity that stayed with you.

- Cable’s actions spoke louder than words. He’d leave you supplies he thought you might need or subtly adjust his schedule to be around when he thought you might struggle. His protective nature made you feel safe, even without verbal reassurances.

- The moment your relationship shifted was quiet but profound. You handed him a note that read, I think I’m falling for you. Cable read it, his expression unreadable at first. Then, a rare smile crossed his face. “Guess I’ve been waiting for you to say that,” he said, pulling you into his arms. His kiss was firm yet gentle, a reflection of the man himself.

- Being with Cable was like having a steadfast anchor in a chaotic world. He didn’t need flowery words to show his care; his actions spoke volumes. “You’ve got your way of communicating,” he told you one day, his voice steady. “And I’ve got mine. Together, we make it work.”

Wade Wilson aka. Deadpool

- Wade was immediately fascinated by your unique communication style. “You’re like a mysterious, silent protagonist,” he quipped one day, leaning dramatically against a doorframe. “Do I get to be the comic relief in your story?” His lighthearted approach put you at ease, though his constant chatter sometimes overwhelmed you.

- He took your notes and gestures as a challenge, often exaggerating his responses to make you laugh. “Oh, I see what you mean!” he’d say, even when he clearly didn’t. His antics were equal parts endearing and infuriating, but his genuine effort to connect with you never wavered.

- One day, you passed Wade a note that read, Sometimes I feel like I’m too much. He stared at it for a moment, unusually quiet. Then he grinned and said, “Too much? Sweetheart, have you met me? You’re like the perfect yin to my yang!” His humor was disarming, but the sincerity in his eyes reassured you.

- Wade found creative ways to communicate with you, often using props, drawings, or even sock puppets to convey his thoughts. “See? Communication is an art form,” he said, holding up a poorly drawn cartoon of the two of you. His efforts were chaotic but heartfelt, showing you how much he cared.

- The shift in your relationship came during a quiet moment in his usually loud life. You handed him a note that read, I think I love you. Wade froze, uncharacteristically speechless. Then, with a dramatic flourish, he scooped you into his arms. “I knew it!” he shouted, spinning you around. His kiss was surprisingly tender, a rare glimpse of the man beneath the mask.

- Being with Wade was unpredictable but filled with joy. He made you feel understood in his own chaotic way, proving that love didn’t need to follow traditional rules. “You don’t need words,” he told you one day, his voice unusually soft. “I get you. And trust me, that’s saying something.”

[kirammanswifey]

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

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

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

arcane characters reverse comfort x fem reader

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

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

Viktor

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jinx

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey!" you playfully patted her shoulder.

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

"But what if everything keeps going wrong?"

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

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

Vi

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Caitlyn

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jayce

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ekko

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silco

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sevika

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[starless-nightz]

OMG RAY YOU ARE BACK!!!! COULD YOU PLEASE DO MAVUIKA, ARLECCHINO AND EI WITH A SHY GF???

Mavuika, Arlecchino and Ei with a shy! fem! S/O

note -> Glad to be back! Tho I go by Artemis now ^^ My style of writing has changed over time so I hope you don't mind!

warnings -> none.

content includes -> fluff, they are amused, teasing, protectiveness.

MAVUIKA

Mavuika is a bold and confident woman, so she absolutely adores having a shy and timid girlfriend. She finds your quiet nature amusing and makes it her mission to draw you out of your shell.

She loves teasing you, especially in public. Mavuika just adores seeing your cute and flustered face whenever she flirts with you in front of other people. But she would stop the moment she sees you are uncomfortable and/or upset.

Mavuika is incredibly protective of you. While she does want to draw you out of your shell she doesn’t let anyone do anything to overwhelm you. She would always have an arm around you and have you close to her.

She loves physical affection. Mavuika loves having her arms around you, kissing you or just being close to you. She does respect your boundaries and will back off if you ask her to

If you are nervous about speaking in public Mavuika would gladly do it for you, but she would also encourage you to gather your confidence and speak up from time to time.

She loves whispering sweet nothings in your ear just to see you squirm, her laughter filled with genuine affection. “You’re so cute when you’re shy, you know that?”

ARLECCHINO

Arlecchino is cold and distant, but with you she is caring and patient. She always makes sure that you are comfortable. Arlecchino understands your shyness and never forces you to be someone you are not.

Whenever you two are in public she would always keep an eye on you. Arlecchino would often have an arm around you, pulling you close to her and making sure you don’t feel overwhelmed and/or to make sure no one is bothering you.

Arlecchino notices every little thing about you—how you fidget when nervous, the way you glance away when embarrassed. She doesn’t call you out on it; she simply finds it endearing.

She has a way of making you feel safe, her presence steady and unwavering. If you ever feel uncomfortable in social situations, she’ll subtly step in and redirect the attention away from you without making a scene.

Though she is known for her ruthlessness, you are her one exception. With you, she is soft, quiet, and infinitely tender, showing you a side of her that no one else ever gets to see.

Behind closed doors Arlecchino is incredibly gentle towards you. She brushes her fingers through your hair, whispering softly, “Take your time, my love. I’m not going anywhere.”

RAIDEN EI

Ei deeply values peace and quiet, so she finds your shy nature to be incredibly comforting. There’s no need for excessive words between you—your presence alone is enough.

She’s not one to tease, but she will gently encourage you to express yourself. But Ei never forces you to go out of your comfort zone, she doesn't want to overwhelm you or make you uncomfortable.

Ei is patient, never rushing you into situations that make you uncomfortable. She lets you take things at your own pace, always ensuring you feel safe and secure by her side.

She enjoys sitting in comfortable silence with you, drinking tea and eating sweers as the sun sets over Inazuma. The quiet moments you share together mean everything to her.

While she isn’t always the best with words, Ei expresses her love through small, thoughtful gestures—a flower placed on your pillow, a quiet embrace after a long day, a lingering touch that speaks volumes.

To Ei, your shyness is never a weakness—it’s simply part of who you are, and she cherishes every bit of you. “You are perfect as you are. There is no need to change for anyone, least of all me.”

[im-so-normal-iswear]

Jealous triple s, and how they deal with it, would they be insecure? Would they be unbothered?

take your time!

Jealous Sonic, Shadow, and Silver x Reader

Sonic:

Sonic’s confidence is one of his most defining traits, but when he gets jealous, that cool, carefree demeanor takes a serious hit. He’s usually so sure of himself, it’s part of his charm. But when someone else starts vying for your attention? That’s when cracks begin to show.

It starts small. You’re chatting with someone else, and Sonic catches sight of your laugh, the way your eyes light up. He doesn’t like how that person leans in a little too close or how their hand lingers just a moment too long. Sonic doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s... uncomfortable.

"Hey, Y/N!" Sonic’s voice cuts through the conversation, loud and bright. He zips up to your side, arm slinging around your shoulder in an overly casual gesture. "Whatcha talkin’ about? Anything cool, or is it just boring stuff?"

He flashes his signature grin, it sidnt reach his eyes tho as he just stared at them. The other person gets the hint, offering a polite excuse to leave, and Sonic is immediately all over you.

"Phew! Thought I’d have to rescue you from that snoozefest." He laughs, but his eyes linger on your face, searching. "You’re not, like, too close with them, are you?"

If you call him out on his jealousy, he’ll deny it, waving it off with a sheepish chuckle. "Jealous? Me? Nah, I’m way too cool for that." Before speeding away to not have to deal with his problems.

Despite his bravado, Sonic can’t help but feel a little insecure. What if he’s not enough? He’s fast, adventurous, and fun, but is that all you see him as? These thoughts are fleeting, though, because Sonic doesn’t like to dwell on negativity. He’s quick to bounce back, reminding himself that no one can match his charm.

When his jealousy peaks, he doubles down on his efforts to impress you. He’ll drag you on adventures, race you to the nearest horizon, and show off every trick in his arsenal. Sonic wants to be the one who keeps you smiling, even if it means pushing himself a little harder to outshine everyone else.

Shadow:

Shadow’s jealousy is a bit more on the intense side. He’s not one to wear his emotions on his sleeve, far from it, but he lets himself relax more around you, he valies you for that.

He notices everything, the way someone’s eyes linger on you, the subtle changes in their tone, and how easily they make you laugh. Shadow doesn’t say anything at first, but his silence speaks volumes. His eyes narrow, his body language stiffens, and the air around him grows thick with tension.

"Do you enjoy their company?" he asks you one evening, his tone calm but icy. It’s not an accusation, but the question seemed like a trap.

If you assure him that you’re just being polite or that it’s nothing serious, Shadow nods, but the thought lingers in his mind. He doesn’t understand why it bothers him so much, why the thought of others spending more time with you makes him ache.

Shadow isn’t one to act out of insecurity, but jealousy brings out a possessive streak he can’t quite control. He’s not above making his presence known, standing just a little too close to you when someone else is around or fixing them with a withering glare that sends them running.

"0You don’t need them," he tells you firmly, his voice low. "You have me."

Shadow’s jealousy stems from his fear of losing the one person who makes him feel "human",(mobian? Idfk anymore man :(.) grounded. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he worries that someone else might give you something he can’t. After all, he’s not the most expressive or affectionate person, and sometimes he wonders if that’s enough for you.

If you reassure him, Shadow relaxes, his usually stone cold exterior softening. "I don’t want to lose you," he admits quietly, almost ashamed of his own weakness.

While Shadow tries to keep his jealousy in check, it occasionally slips out in subtle ways.

Silver:

Silver is naturally anxious, and jealousy only amplifies that side of him. He’s not used to navigating these kinds of emotions, so when he sees someone else getting a little too friendly with you, he doesn’t know how to handle it.

At first, Silver tries to ignore it, convincing himself that he’s overreacting. "They’re just being nice," he tells himself, but the knot in his stomach says otherwise. He starts overthinking everything, what if they’re better for you? What if you realize he’s not enough?

You notice how quiet he gets, his usual bright demeanor overshadowed by uncertainty. When you ask him what’s wrong, he hesitates before blurting out, "Do you like them more than me?"

Silver immediately regrets his words, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Sorry, I didn’t mean to-! I just... I don’t want to lose you."

His honesty is endearing, even if his jealousy is a little misplaced. Silver doesn’t want to control you or keep you from talking to others, but he can’t help feeling like he has to prove himself.

If his jealousy gets the better of him, Silver might become a bit clingy, always wanting to be by your side. "Can I stay with you for a bit?" he asks, his voice soft and hopeful.

Silver’s jealousy isn’t rooted in possessiveness but in his fear of not being good enough. He looks up to you, admires you, and sometimes he wonders what you see in him. But your reassurance means the world to him.

"You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me," Silver says one day. "I just want to make sure I’m the best for you, too."