#yeah youre Entire Body will feel like that

[aleskie]

YOU DON'T NEED TO LIFT A FINGER | Jack Hughes x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: When a guy just cannot get the hint, Jack makes sure to put him in his place. He's got your back. Always.

Warnings: none!! pure fluff and jack gets protective!! Full discloure, this is for realsies Fem!Reader!! Author's Note: This was supposed to come out a dayyyyys ago but Tumblr was NOT letting me post my drafts 😭😭 my poor therapist spent an hour watching me crash out about it najsjsshjjk

You were beautiful.

Of course you were.

In Jack’s eyes, you were the most beautiful creature to ever walk the earth.

Which is why he understands why you get hit on. He really does. Hell, once upon a time, he was hitting on you. And he still hits on you, even now, years into the relationship, because you’re worth it. Because you light up rooms without even trying. Because he’s always been a sucker for the way you roll your eyes and smile at his cheesy attempts to be smooth with you.

You’re beautiful and smart and funny, and you’re so effortlessly charming—of course people would want you for themselves. He gets it. He really does. And honestly, there’s a part of him that loves it. He loves that people notice those qualities about you, that they see in you what he sees every day. It feels like validation, like the universe itself is confirming that he’s the luckiest guy alive. He basks in the knowledge that no matter how many people give you those hungry looks and shitty pick-up lines, he’s the one you're coming home with, his hand resting possessively on your hip as he gives all those people a smirk, his claim laid without him even lifting a finger.

What he doesn’t love is when people don’t take the damn hint.

And you give a lot of hints.

Take this guy right here—Dave, or Doug, or whatever his name is—He’d somehow wiggled his way into the booth you guys shared with your friends for a night out and, while he seemed harmless at first, he was now solely focused on you. And your legs that were highlighted by the body shimmer Jack helped put on you earlier tonight (his fingers still slightly shimmering to prove it—a badge of honor, in his opinion).

You’d been giving him that polite, fake smile since he joined in—the one Jack knows so well and that always makes him chuckle, the one you use when you’re being patient but are clearly not enjoying yourself—and you’ve barely paid him any attention, save for a few fake laughs and an “Oh, that sounds cool” every so often as Darren, or Dino, continues to brag about himself, not even trying to ask about you (a grave mistake, Jack thinks, since you were the most interesting person he knew).

Jack wonders if this guy even realizes you’ve been leaning against Jack this entire time, your head on his shoulder and his hand resting on your upper thigh, or if he’s chosen to ignore that in favor of trying (and failing) to shoot his shot. Better yet, does he even recognize Jack is here, drink untouched and jaw tightening as he watches Danny (or was it Dylan) lean in just a little too close?

Jack glances at you. You’re still handling it with grace, of course you are. You always do. But he knows you. He sees the subtle tension in your shoulders, the way you lean further against him to put some distance between you and Dexter, the way your fingers tighten around your glass, and he knows you’d rather not have to deal with this.

He shifts slightly and stands, leaning forward to smile at the intruder, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey, Diego, right?” he says. His tone is casual, even pleasant, but there’s steel underneath it.

“It’s Dave, actua—”

Jack extends a hand, cutting through the guy’s attempt at small talk. “Right, yeah. Sorry to interrupt, but I think my girlfriend and I are gonna go dance now.”

He puts an emphasis on girlfriend, just to make sure this guy gets the point.

Jack gives you a soft look, the kind that makes your breath hitch just a little, and you immediately stand up, reaching for him. His arm wraps around you instinctively, his touch steady and familiar. You can already feel the tension in his body lessening now that he has you close, now that he’s leading you away from whatever-his-name-is and back into the safe, easy rhythm of you and him.

But before you can leave, the guy speaks again.

“Sorry, man, didn’t realize she was yours. You know how women are. With that dress and those legs, she was totally leading me on.”

Jack freezes.

For a second, the world seems to pause, almost like he couldn’t believe what was coming out of this guy’s mouth, like he didn’t want to believe anyone could be that stupid.

Slowly, he straightens, turning back toward the guy—Dave or Doug or whatever his name was—with a look so calm it’s almost serene. Too calm. And that’s how you know Jack is angry.

Not the playful kind of angry, where he pretends to pout when you steal the last fry or kiss him everywhere but his lips. Not the frustrated kind, like when he can’t find his keys for the third time that week or when he’s had a particularly bad game.

No, this is something deeper. Colder. Controlled.

His fingers graze your arm lightly, a small, grounding touch meant just for you. It’s subtle, but you know what it means. I’ve got this. You don’t need to lift a finger.

Jack tilts his head ever so slightly. “You wanna say that again?” His voice is so even it borders on soft, a quiet thing wrapped in steel.

Dave—or Dino or Darryl—seems to think Jack is inviting him to elaborate, which is perhaps the worst decision he’s made all night.

“I’m just saying, y’know,” Dave shrugs, his tone shifting to something almost conspiratorial, like he thinks Jack might actually agree with him if he just explains it better. “When women dress like that, you can’t blame a guy for—”

“Yeah, I’m gonna need you to shut up before I do something we both regret.”

Jack doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to. The weight of his words alone is enough to send a ripple of silence through the space between them.

Dave blinks, the beginning stages of intimidation creeping onto his face. He glances at you, as if expecting backup, but you’re already leaning back against the wall, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised as you watch Jack dismantle him.

There’s a small smirk on your lips. Because this? This was a sight you didn’t get to see in public too often.

Many times, people assumed your lovely boyfriend—so easygoing, so effortlessly charming—would lack the sharpness to cut someone down when needed, would stick to uhmms and ahhhs and crassnes.

They mistook his laid-back nature for passivity, his warmth for softness. But you knew better. Your Jack could be quite a wonder with words when he wanted to be. He didn’t need to be loud to command attention. He didn’t need to throw a punch to land a hit.

So you hang back and let him handle this one, finding comfort in the thought of his arms around you later, his breath warm against your ear as you danced the rest of the night away.

“Listen, buddy,” Jack continues, stepping closer. His tone is light, almost conversational, but there’s no mistaking the edge beneath it. “You don’t talk to anyone like that. You definitely don’t get to talk to her like that. You hear me?”

“God, c’mon, man! No need to get all—”

“I already told you to shut up.” Jack’s scowl deepens. His words are slow, deliberate. “The fact that she was polite enough to give you the slightest bit of attention doesn’t mean she was hitting on you. Whatever you thought was going on tonight? Not an invitation.”

Dave—Dino? Derek?—opens his mouth, probably to dig himself into an even deeper hole, but stops when Jack leans in slightly, just enough to make his presence feel heavier. Like a storm cloud about to break.

“She’s kind,” Jack says, voice quieter now, deadlier. “So she tolerated you. But she doesn’t owe you a fucking thing.”

The last of Dave’s bravado starts to crumble. His shoulders inch inward, his gaze flickering around the booth, searching for an exit, for reinforcements—for anything that might save him from this moment.

Jack watches him for a second longer, then exhales sharply, like he’s already bored. “You think being desperate and cocky gets you the girl,” he says, shaking his head. “But I don’t need any of that to keep her by my side.” His fingers brush against yours, finding their place like they always do. “And we don’t need to waste any more time entertaining douchebags like you.”

Jack steps back, his hand sliding fully into yours as he finally tears his gaze from Daniel? Don?—who cares?—and looks at you instead. The shift is immediate, his features easing, the sharpness in his eyes softening into something familiar. Something yours.

“Let’s go, babe,” he says simply, his voice lighter now, more like himself.

And just like that, the moment is over.

As you stand, letting Jack guide you away from the booth, you hear Dave mutter something under his breath—something weak and defensive that doesn’t deserve acknowledgment. It’s the kind of parting shot people throw out when they know they’ve lost. Neither of you glance back.

The music swells around you, the bass thrumming beneath your feet, but Jack doesn’t lead you straight to the dance floor. Instead, he pulls you toward a quieter corner, away from the crowd, where the lights are dimmer, the world a little smaller.

He exhales, then wordlessly nestles his head in the crook of your shoulder.

You smile, running your fingers through his hair, your nails lightly grazing his scalp. He sighs at the touch, his arms slipping around your waist as he lets himself melt into you for just a moment. You press a soft kiss to his hair, breathing him in, grounding both of you in something steady, something real.

After a beat, he tilts his head up, a sheepish grin playing at his lips. “Did I go overboard?”

You roll your eyes fondly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You were absolutely perfect,” you murmur, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek.

His grin widens, boyish and bright, and just like that, the weight of the night lifts. He tugs you closer, his arm tightening around your waist as he starts to sway you to the music. You laugh as he spins you unexpectedly, sneaking in kisses between the DJ’s transitions, his lips catching your temple, your jaw, the curve of your shoulder.

The man who bothered you is forgotten. The tension, the sharp edges of the night—gone.

All that’s left is this. You and him and the music. The warmth of his hands on you, the sound of your laughter melting together, the rest of the world fading into nothing.

[heeluvv]

𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐃 ᯓᡣ𐭩

pairing ⤿ stranger! sim jaeyun x reader

genre ⤿ smut

warnings ⤿ dry humping, exhibitionism, fingering, public masturbation, etc.

natty's notes ⤿ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

the train is packed to the brim. every inch of space is occupied, bodies pressed together in the kind of suffocating heat only rush hour can create. you stand in the middle of it all, gripping the overhead rail with one hand, your bag slung over your shoulder, the rhythmic swaying of the train making it impossible to stand still.

you curse yourself for not catching an earlier train. this one is worse than usual—every stop seems to cram in more passengers, and you can barely breathe.

another jolt shakes the train, sending a ripple through the mass of people. your fingers tighten on the rail, but it's no use. someone bumps into you, and suddenly, you lose your balance entirely.

it happened too fast.

one moment, you're standing—the next, you're falling backward, colliding with something firm, something warm.

not something. someone.

strong hands catch you instinctively, steadying you as you land straight in his lap. heat floods your face as you realize where you are.

"shit—sorry," you stammer, trying to push yourself up, but the train jerks again, and your attempt is futile. you shift awkwardly in his lap, your thighs brushing against his.

he lets out a sharp exhale, "you good?" his voice smooth, deep—close to your ear in a way that makes your stomach twist. you nod, flustered, still trying to move, but the train is too crowded. there's no space to go anywhere.

you glance over your shoulder, the man has dark hair that falls slightly over his forehead, sharp eyes that flicker with something unreadable, and lips that press together as you adjust your position.

"looks like you're stuck," he mutters, his grip loosening on your waist but not completely letting go. your breath hitches. you can fell his warmth through your clothes, the solidness of his thighs beneath you which make you swallow—hard.

"yeah.." you murmur, shifting again, trying to find a less awkward position. big mistake.

the movement presses you against him in a way that has his fingers flexing at your waist, his jaw clenching.

"careful," he breathes, low enough that only you can hear it. you freeze. something about his tone—rough, restrained—send a shiver down your spine.

the train lurches once more, and you grab onto his arm to steady yourself, your fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket. his body stiffens. and that's when you feel it.

not at first, but slowly, as the seconds stretch between you. the hardening pressure beneath you. your pulse spikes. the man's breath is heavier now, his chest rising and falling with controlled effort. he shifts beneath you, but there's no escaping the situation. no space.

his fingers twitch on your waist again, and when you glance at him, his lips part slightly, like he wants to say something—but doesn't. the air between you thickens. you should say something. you should move. but neither of you do.

the train stops, a few people getting off, others pushing in, but you remain exactly where you are. his hands are still on you and that growing heat pressing against you isn't going away.

he exhales through his nose, tilting his head back against the seat, his throat working as he tries to steady himself. "this," he mutters, voice tight, "is not helping."

you don't dare look at him. your face is burning, your own body reacting to the tension thickening between you like a fog neither of you can escape. the train keeps moving. your fingers tighten on his jacket. his hands grip your waist just a little harder.

"fuck," he mutters under his breath, so low you almost miss it.

you press back against him again, and this time, he doesn't stop you. his hands grip your hips and pull you down onto him, subtly, discreetly, as the train rocks and masks the movement.

you let out a slow, shaky breath, gripping his thigh beneath you. his lips brush your ear, his voice so low it's nearly lost beneath the hum of the train.

"you like this, don't you?"

your breath catches, but you don't answer. you don't have to. the way your body reacts answers enough. he adjusts beneath you, guiding you just a little, slow, calculated movements hidden beneath the natural sway of the train.

the heat is unbearable now, an invisible tension threatening to snap at any second. you glance around—no one seems to notice. a man is dozing off against the window, a woman scrolling through her phone, a couple chatting quietly near the doors.

your let your head fall back slightly, lips parting as the man presses up on you again, the motion seamless, unnoticed by everyone but you. his breath fans across your skin, his fingers tightening, grounding you.

"keep quiet," he whispers, his voice dark, teasing. "unless you want them to hear." a shiver runs down your spine. this is wrong, reckless, and dangerous. but you don't want to stop and neither does he.

your body is on fire. every nerve, every inch of skin hypersensitive to his touch, the way his fingers tighten, the way his breath ghosts against your neck. the train rumbles along the tracks, rocking you just enough to make the motions subtle, nearly imperceptible to the outside world. but between you and the man, it's anything but subtle.

his hands, strong and deliberate, grip your hips, guiding the slow and careful movements as you shift on him. the pressure, the heat it's intoxication, a slow burn that coils deep in your stomach.

"shit.." he exhales, so quietly it's almost lost beneath the noise of the train, but you hear. you feel it. you keep your gaze forward, heart pounding, teeth sinking into your bottom lip to keep any sound from escaping.

the shape of him—hard, thick, restrained by the fabric of his jeans—is unmistakable now. it presses against the curve of your body in a way that has your breath catching, thigh squeezing. his breath is uneven, harsh, controlled, but his fingers betray him—tightening, then loosening, then tightening again like he's fighting every instinct to take more.

a slow, calculated roll of your hips has him inhaling sharply through his nose, his grip bruising now. "jesus," he mutter, his lips barely moving.

you bite back a smirk, the thrill of control sending a fresh wave of heat through you. his lips brush against the shell of your ear, accidental or not, but it send a shiver down your spine.

"you're gonna kill me," mumbles, rough, strained.

suddenly, his hand slide lower, fingers pressing against the inside of your thigh, just barely, just enough to tease. your breath catches in your throat, nails digging into the fabric of his jeans. his fingers don't move—just rest there, waiting.

you swallow hard, anticipation crackling between you like a live wire. your fingers twitch on his thigh, a silent invitation. his exhale is slow, as his fingers trail higher, inch by inch, teasing, exploring, never giving too much at once.

his fingers press a little harder, making you breath to shudder.

your fingers tighten against his leg as he drags his fingertips higher, barely brushing where you need him most. the anticipation has your body thrumming, every inch of you aware of the way he holds you there, pressed against him, moving in slow, languid rolls of your hips that make the pressure unbearable.

his lips graze you ear, the ghost of a smirk in his voice when he whispers, "needy little thing, aren't you?"

you swallow hard, heat pooling low in your stomach as he shifts beneath you, the hardness of him right against your core, dragging the aching need between your thighs with every subtle rock of your hips.

the his fingers push against your panties—light, teasing, just enough pressure to make you shiver. you bite your lip, barely holding in the gasp that threatens to escape.

he hums in approval, his fingertips running along the soaked fabric, pressing just enough to make you tremble.

"fuck," he mutters, voice low. "you're already soaked."

your grip on his thigh tightens as he hooks his finger beneath the fabric, slipping inside, the slick heat of you coating his fingers. the train jerks, masking the quiet whimper that slips past your lips as he presses a finger inside—slow, deliberate, teasing.

you clamp a hand over your mouth, your body tense, heat licking up your spine as he curls his finger just right, his other hand frim on your waist, guiding your movements on him.

it's too much.

the slow drag of his finger inside you, the pressure of him pressing up against you, the way his breath is heavy and uneven on your neck like he's unraveling right along with you.

his thumb finds your clit, circling in lazy, torturous strokes that have your hips jerking against his hand, your body chasing the high teetering right at the edge.

"c'mon, sweetheart," he groans, "let me feel you cum."

his words send a shockwave through you, the coil in your stomatch snapping as pleasure crashes over you in hot, pulsing waves. you thighs clamp around his hand, your entire body trembling as you melt against him, pulse erratic, breath catching in your throat.

he groans quietly, his hands tightening on you as he buries his face in your shoulder, his body tensing beneath you as he follows right after.

"think we should miss another stop?"

natty's notes ⤿ okay got hooked on watching jake edits all night and got this idea to write abt him literally at 2am so i hope you enjoyed!! (also did not proofread so if shit don't make sense, then just make it up)

[anticipatedexhale]

Sweet dreams silly~~.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨୧

♡ ◞ includes: caitlyn, ekko, jayce, jinx, mel, viktor, vi.

☆ ◞ summary: you fall asleep on them!

△ ◞ warnings: gn! reader, fluffff and obvi not proofread.

Jayce Talis.

The day had been long—longer than it had any right to be. You had spent hours in the lab with Jayce, watching him tinker away at a new hextech prototype, listening to him ramble about energy outputs and stabilization. His voice was soothing, deep and rich, and even though you had tried to pay attention, exhaustion was slowly creeping in.

Jayce, as usual, was caught up in his work, hyper-focused on the glowing blue crystal in his hands. “You see, if we refine the stabilization matrix, then the energy dispersal won’t—” He stopped mid-sentence when he heard a soft sigh.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw you slumped against the desk, your head tilted slightly to the side, breathing slow and even. Asleep.

A grin tugged at the corner of his lips. “Guess my lecture wasn’t that interesting,” he murmured, shaking his head.

For a moment, he just watched you, his expression softening. You looked peaceful like this, your usual tension smoothed away by sleep. The sight of you made his heart squeeze in a way he wasn’t entirely prepared for.

He hesitated, then carefully reached out, his fingers ghosting over your cheek before deciding against it. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, stretching before adjusting his position.

Then, with the utmost care, he lifted your head slightly and guided it onto his shoulder. You stirred, mumbling something incoherent, but instead of waking up, you just curled into him instinctively.

Jayce went completely still.

His brain short-circuited for a second. He could feel the warmth of your breath against his collarbone, the way your body relaxed into his.

And he was not prepared for how much he liked it.

Swallowing hard, he slowly exhaled, trying to act normal despite the fact that his heartbeat had picked up. He carefully reached for his coat draped over the back of his chair, unfolding it and draping it over your shoulders.

“There,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “Wouldn’t want you getting cold.”

His work was officially forgotten. He knew he should probably wake you up, tell you to go sleep somewhere more comfortable, but... maybe just for a little while, he’d let you rest.

Besides, the way you fit against him felt a little too perfect.

With a soft chuckle, he leaned his head back against the chair, allowing himself to relax just a little.

“Yeah,” he whispered to himself, “I could get used to this.”

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

Mel Medarda.

The evening had stretched on longer than expected, filled with soft candlelight and quiet conversation. Mel had invited you to her private chambers—away from the noise of the Council, the endless debates, the weight of responsibilities pressing on both of you. It was supposed to be a simple night, just the two of you lounging on her luxurious couch, sipping on fine wine, indulging in each other’s presence.

But the warmth of the room, the softness of the cushions, and the gentle cadence of Mel’s voice had lulled you into a peaceful haze.

She had been speaking about an upcoming political maneuver, something sharp and intricate, her words like silk as she absentmindedly traced patterns on your arm with her fingertips. You had tried to keep up, really—but the exhaustion of the day weighed heavy, and before you knew it, your eyelids fluttered shut.

Mel only noticed when she posed a question and was met with silence. She turned slightly, catching the way your head had dipped forward, your breathing soft and even.

A quiet chuckle left her lips, amusement dancing in her golden eyes. “Falling asleep on me now, are we?”

She made no effort to wake you. Instead, she reached for a silk throw draped over the chaise lounge, delicately pulling it over your shoulders.

Her fingers, always so careful and precise, brushed against your cheek, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. She let them linger for just a moment longer than necessary, taking in the peaceful expression on your face.

There was something so rare about this—seeing you like this, so utterly vulnerable and unguarded. Mel wasn’t sure if it was the wine or the quiet intimacy of the moment, but something about it made her heart ache in the gentlest way.

She adjusted her position slightly, allowing your head to rest comfortably against her lap. Slowly, she traced soft, absentminded circles along your shoulder, indulging in the quiet moment.

“Sleep well, my love,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “I suppose this means I win our little debate.”

With a small smile, she leaned back, resting her head against the couch. And for once, she allowed herself the rare luxury of just being—wrapped in the warmth of your presence, in the quiet understanding that neither of you needed words to fill the space between you.

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

Viktor.

The lab was quiet, save for the rhythmic ticking of a clock and the occasional scribble of a pen against paper. The usual chaos of hextech research had settled into a peaceful lull, and Viktor was fully immersed in his work, sketching complex diagrams in his notebook.

You had joined him earlier, intending to keep him company while he worked—though you had underestimated just how soothing his presence could be. The soft scratch of his pen, the low hum of his thoughts murmured under his breath, the dim glow of the lamps—it all wrapped around you like a lullaby.

Viktor, absorbed in his notes, barely registered the moment when your head slowly dipped against his shoulder. At first, he simply continued writing, assuming you were just leaning in to read his notes. But when your breathing evened out, slow and steady, he finally glanced down.

His pen paused mid-stroke.

You had fallen asleep.

Against him.

Viktor blinked, momentarily taken aback. He wasn’t used to this—someone being so comfortable, so unguarded around him. It wasn’t something he expected, nor something he thought he deserved.

Carefully, he shifted his position, mindful of his leg as he adjusted his posture. You barely stirred, only sighing softly as you nestled closer. The warmth of you against his side was... distracting.

He swallowed, suddenly aware of how close you were, how easily he could feel the rise and fall of your breath. His fingers twitched against the notebook, his thoughts scattering in a way they never did, even in the most difficult of calculations.

A part of him thought about waking you—telling you that the desk chair you were sitting in wasn’t exactly the most comfortable place for sleeping. But another part of him, the part that secretly relished this quiet moment, didn’t have the heart to disturb you.

Instead, he reached for a spare blanket draped over the back of his chair. Slowly, carefully, he wrapped it around your shoulders, making sure you wouldn’t catch a chill in the cool night air.

With an exhale, he let himself relax, just a little. He shifted his gaze back to his notes, but his mind wasn’t on hextech anymore. Instead, it was on you—on how easily you had trusted him enough to drift off like this, on the rare and unexpected comfort that came with your presence.

A soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

He turned the page in his notebook, picked up his pen, and continued writing.

But this time, the equations didn’t seem quite as important as they had before.

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

Caitlyn kiramman.

The fireplace crackled softly, casting flickering golden light across Caitlyn’s study. The two of you had settled in for a quiet evening together—her going through case files, you flipping through a book she had recommended. The plan was simple: a peaceful night away from the chaos of Piltover’s streets, just the warmth of the fire and each other’s company.

But somewhere between turning the pages and the gentle rhythm of Caitlyn’s voice as she murmured notes to herself, your exhaustion won. The weight of the long day caught up with you, and before you knew it, your eyelids drooped, your body leaning ever so slightly to the side.

Caitlyn only realized what had happened when she felt your head rest against her shoulder. She stiffened, blinking in surprise.

She turned her head slightly, catching sight of your peaceful expression—eyes closed, breathing slow and steady. Her lips parted slightly, as if to say something, but no words came.

For a moment, she sat completely still, unsure of what to do. It wasn’t that she minded—far from it. But Caitlyn Kiramman wasn’t used to people leaning on her like this, depending on her for comfort in such an effortless way.

Slowly, her tense shoulders relaxed.

A soft smile tugged at her lips as she carefully shifted, just enough to make sure you were comfortable without waking you. She reached for the knitted throw blanket draped over the couch and gently pulled it over you.

Her free hand hesitated for a second before she finally allowed herself the small indulgence of brushing her fingers lightly against yours, tracing a faint pattern along your knuckles.

"You must be exhausted," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I suppose my reading material wasn’t that exciting, then."

Despite her teasing tone, there was nothing but warmth in her gaze as she looked down at you. She had spent so much time building walls, being the sharp and poised Enforcer that Piltover needed. But moments like this—quiet, simple, intimate—made her realize just how much she cherished having someone to let her guard down around.

Caitlyn let out a soft breath and, after a moment’s hesitation, leaned her head against yours, closing her eyes just for a second.

"Sweet dreams, darling," she whispered.

And for the first time in a long while, she let herself sit there and just be—with you, with the warmth of the fire, with the quiet understanding that, for once, she didn’t have to be on high alert.

Tonight, she could just be Caitlyn. And that was more than enough.

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

Vi.

The night air was cool, a faint breeze drifting through the open window of Vi’s small apartment in the Undercity. The two of you had spent the evening sprawled across her couch, talking about everything and nothing—stories from her time in prison, your latest adventures, and, of course, her constant teasing about how you could never beat her in a fistfight.

She had promised to teach you some new moves earlier, but after a full day of running around, you were too exhausted to keep up. At some point, you had curled up beside her, just listening as she talked, her voice a low, comforting hum in the background.

And then… sleep had crept up on you.

Vi only noticed when she cracked a joke and got no response. She glanced over, her smirk fading slightly when she saw your head tilted against her shoulder, your body fully relaxed against her.

“… Oh,” she muttered, blinking.

For a second, Vi just sat there, her usual confident demeanor wavering. She wasn’t used to this—someone trusting her enough to let their guard down, leaning on her in a way that wasn’t about throwing punches or watching each other’s backs in a fight.

She carefully shifted, mindful not to wake you, but when she moved even the slightest bit, you instinctively burrowed closer, nuzzling against her shoulder with a quiet sigh.

Vi froze.

Her ears went a little warm. She had taken plenty of hits in her life, but this? This was something else entirely.

She cleared her throat, rubbing the back of her neck. “Jeez, you really just knocked out on me, huh?” she murmured, her usual teasing tone softer than usual.

She hesitated for a moment before finally draping an arm over your shoulders, pulling you just a little closer.

“… Alright, fine. I guess I can be your pillow for a little while,” she muttered, more to herself than to you.

Leaning her head back against the couch, she let her eyes drift to the ceiling, her fingers absentmindedly tracing gentle circles against your arm. For someone who had spent most of her life fighting, running, surviving—this kind of stillness was new.

But it wasn’t bad

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

Jinx.

The hideout was a mess of half-finished projects, stray bullets, and a ridiculous amount of neon paint splattered across every surface. It was chaotic—just like her—but somehow, it had become one of your favorite places to be.

Jinx had been rambling for at least an hour now, bouncing between topics as she worked on some new explosive contraption. “—and then, I was thinking, BOOM! But not just a regular boom, like, a big boom! The kind that makes people’s ears ring for days—”

She turned, expecting some kind of reaction from you, only to find you completely out.

Jinx blinked.

You were curled up against the couch, your head resting on your arm, completely passed out mid-conversation.

At first, she just stared.

Then, she let out a snort. “Pfft—you serious? I was just getting to the best part!”

She dropped onto the couch beside you, crossing her arms and pouting like a kid who had just lost their audience. “Jeez, tough crowd. Didn’t know my storytelling was that boring.”

But as much as she wanted to mess with you—maybe yell something loud just to see you jolt awake, or doodle something ridiculous on your face—she found herself hesitating.

You looked… peaceful

It was rare to see someone so relaxed around her. People were usually on edge, waiting for her next unpredictable move, but you? You had just fallen asleep like this was the safest place in the world.

Jinx huffed, but her expression softened as she flopped down beside you, tucking her legs underneath her. She nudged your cheek lightly with a gloved finger. “Y’know, you’re lucky you’re cute, or I’d be real mad ‘bout this.”

With a dramatic sigh, she grabbed an old, tattered blanket from the other side of the couch and threw it over you—mostly covering you, though she wasn’t exactly precise about it.

Then, after a moment of thought, she carefully leaned in, resting her head against yours. Just for a second.

“… Don’t go thinkin’ this means I’m goin’ soft, got it?” she mumbled, even though you were too deep in sleep to hear her.

She stayed there anyway.

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

Ekko.

Falling Asleep on Ekko

The night was peaceful in the underground hideout. The hum of machinery and the distant sounds of the city above faded into a quiet lull, and you found yourself sitting next to Ekko in his little corner of the world. The light from his contraptions flickered softly, casting a warm glow that made the otherwise cold and metallic room feel like home.

You had been chatting with him for hours—about your latest adventures, the wild things you’d seen, and some of the crazy plans you both had for the future. Ekko was always so full of ideas, always looking to improve things, but tonight he seemed more focused on listening to you than anything else.

You could feel the comfort of his presence—how he always made you feel safe, like nothing could touch you when he was around.

But, somewhere between his soothing voice and the warmth of the room, your body started to betray you. The exhaustion of the day, the endless thinking, and the stress of the world above all melted away. Your eyelids grew heavy, and before you knew it, your head had dropped forward, finally succumbing to the pull of sleep.

Ekko didn’t notice at first, lost in his thoughts as he tinkered with a small device in his hand. But when he glanced over and saw you, your head resting on his shoulder, he froze.

For a moment, he just stared at you, trying to figure out if you were just resting for a second or if you had actually fallen asleep on him. A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he realized you were out cold, a peaceful expression on your face.

His heart did a little flip, but Ekko wasn’t the type to show how flustered he was—so he kept his focus on the work in front of him, pretending he wasn’t slightly melted by the way you trusted him enough to fall asleep like that.

But then, you shifted slightly, your body leaning a little further into him, and before he could stop himself, Ekko gently wrapped his arm around you to keep you steady. He didn’t want to risk you waking up if you were uncomfortable.

His fingers brushed against your hair, the lightest touch, but it made his breath catch in his throat. For a moment, he just sat there, letting the quiet fill the space between you.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he muttered under his breath, glancing down at you. “Otherwise, I’d be all annoyed you fell asleep on me.”

But the truth was, he didn’t mind at all. It was like for once, he didn’t have to be the one in control, didn’t have to be the one always thinking a step ahead. He could just be here, with you, with the weight of your head against his shoulder.

Ekko leaned back against the wall, letting his head rest for a moment as well. He didn’t fall asleep himself—no, his mind was always too active for that—but he let himself enjoy the stillness of the moment.

And when the morning came, and you stirred, groggily waking up, he’d be right there, ready to pull you into a warm hug. Because that’s what Ekko did—he protected, he cared, and he made sure you always felt at home, no matter where you were.

But for now, he just sat, smiling softly to himself, and allowed himself to savor the quiet and the warmth of you beside him.

Authors note: U GUYS ARE ABSOLUTELY WONDERFUL THANK YOU SOSOSOSO MUCH FOR ALL THE SUPPORT AND LOBE U HAVE GIVEN ME MWAHH

[chancloud8]

PART 12.

<< previous chapter || next chapter >>

series masterlist.

series summary: you and chan get matched up on a forum for people who suffer with insomnia and spent most of your sleepless nights texting each other. neither of you expected to fall in love..

pairing: bang chan x reader

tags: smau, written part, first time facetiming, FLUFF

a/n: it's a little short, about 0.9k, but its a smau after all ;) I hope you like it my darlings <3

The screen of your iPhone lits up as you wait for the outgoing facetime request to go through. The camera automatically turns on, showing you your flushed face and wild hair.

'Fuck,' you mutter, quickly dragging your fingers through your hair in attempt to fix it. 

This is really happening. 

Chris is about to see your face, hear your voice and you're about to see him. 

You frown at your own reflection as you wait for him to accept the video call, wondering if you should have put on some make up or brushed your hair. 

The screen goes black for a moment and all thoughts leave your mind when Chris comes into view. 

'Holy shit,' you blurt out before you can help yourself. 'You’re not real.' 

Chan blinks once, twice, and then he doubles over and laughs. It's a beautiful sound, even better than hearing it in all the skz code video's you watched, and you can't help but giggle along with him. 

'I'm sorry, but you just look way to beautiful for a sleep deprived person,' you tell him when you finally stop giggling. 

Chan smiles and shakes his head, his ears turning red. 'Says you.' 

'Mhm, I did,' you nod, grinning at him. 

The next five seconds are silent as you just take a moment to look at each other. Chan is dressed in a white tank top and a black sweater vest that's sliding off of his broad shoulder. His hair is messy, but cute and his face is bare of any make up and just as pretty as all the pictures you've secretly saved on your phone. 

Chan giggles again and hides his face behind his hands, causing you to burst into another fit of giggles yourself. 

'Look at us,' you laugh. 'We can't even look at each other without giggling. What are we? School girls?'

'I blame sleep deprivation,' Chan smiles, shrugging his shoulders. 

'Don't we always?' 

‘Maybe, but it's easy.’ 

You laugh again and nod in agreement. 

‘I was wrong about you though,’ Chan says, tilting his head as he watches you. ‘You’re not just gorgeous, you're beautiful, absolutely stunning.’ 

‘Chan!’ You yell, ducking your head as your cheeks heat up. ‘Stop that.’ 

‘Why? It's the truth,’ he giggles, petting his red cheeks with his hands. ‘You deserve to know the truth.’ 

Your entire body feels warm by his compliment and you just know that your red cheeks match Chris'. 

‘You’re on to talk,’ you say, deciding to give him a taste of his own medicine. ‘You’re the most beautiful man I've ever had the pleasure to talk to.’ 

Chris sputters and hides his face again. 

‘I am not!’ 

‘Yes you are, have you seen you?’

‘I have, so I know it's not true. Do you see this nose?’ Chris frowns pointing at his face. 

‘Yeah?’ You raise your eyebrows at him. ‘It's a very pretty nose.’

Chan groans and shakes his head, clearly not agreeing with you. 

‘I have a million Stays who will back me up on this,’ you laugh. ‘You better start believing it.’ 

Chan pouts and it's so cute that you can't help but giggle again. 

‘You’re way cuter than I am,’ he says, a smile already back on your face. 

‘Nu-uh, we're not going to do this back and forth thing, cause we'll be here forever and it's too sappy.’ 

Chan’s about to reply when someone seems to walk into his room. His head snaps to the side and he frowns, shaking his head. A male voice is speaking rapidly in Korean and when Chan stands up and leaves the screen, all you can do is wait and wonder. 

There's yelling, the slam of a door and then Chan is back into view. He smiles sheepishly and rubs the back of his neck. 

‘What was that all about?’ You ask him curiously. ‘Everything alright?’

‘Uhm, yeah, that was just my roommate being nosy.’ 

His roommate, meaning Yang Jeongin.

‘That was Jeongin?’ You grin. ‘Why did it sound like you kicked him out of your room?’

Chan clears his throat and rubs his neck again, his lips puckering like he's debating what to tell you. 

‘You did, didn't you?’ You chuckle. ‘Scared I'll ask for his number next?’

Chan rolls his eyes and drops his hand into his lap. ‘No, I'm just–’ he falls quiet and bites his lip. ‘I just want to keep you to myself for a bit.’ 

Your eyes widen and your jaw nearly drops open and his confession. 

‘I mean, just until we've had our date,’ Chan continues before you can speak up, his ears turning red. ‘I just got you back, I don't want them to scare you off again.’ 

‘Okay,’ you smile gently at him, butterflies erupting in your stomach. 

Chan lets out a breath of relief and smiles back. 

‘I can't believe THE Christopher Bangh is being selfish right now,’ you tease, wiggling your eyebrows at him. ‘All because of me.’ 

‘All because of you,’ Chan agrees, letting out another giggle. ‘Hasn’t everyone been telling me to be more selfish? I guess all it took was for me to meet you.’ 

‘I’m flattered,’ you smile, placing your hand on your heart to show him how much you mean those words. ‘Seems like we can be thankful for our insomnia after all.’ 

Chan makes a face and the both of you laugh again.

The sound of both of your giggles does something to you, it makes you feel things you’ve never felt before and you just know that you will never get enough of whatever it is that Chan is making you feel.

a/n: Ugghh they're so cute!! I hope you liked it! <3

taglist: @jaeminie-cricket @jeonginsbaee @staylovesmiley @newbbystay @cashtonsbetch @mariahxrrera @kaleigh-2002 @silencionyx @smileykiddie08 @my-neurodivergent-world @yaorzu-blog @yoongiismylove2018 @staytinyluv @bookswillfindyouaway @queen-thiccness @notastraykid @ateez-atiny380 @estella-novella @furfoxsake22 @hyunjinhoexxx @insomnjen @girl-in-love-with-kpop @vivilovesuu @velvetmoonlght @skz8love @corgilover20 @littlelostdemonofthelight @stephanieeeyang @zulie-and-cats @chanshugsaretherapy @pizzalove5000 @dazzlingjade @milie-com @thequibbie @channiesrightasscheek @strawbrriz @delulustardust @velvetskize @channiefever @luvbangchan @aalexyuuuhm @katsukis1wife @herpoetryprincess @ye0lkkot @glitterywastelandgardener @vampcharxter @boi-bi-ahaha @mlink64 @greyyeti @mariteez

[greynatomy]

the space between us

ingrid engen x reader

hi, it’s been a while

———

You met in the strangest way—one of those encounters that should have been fleeting but instead rearranges the entire landscape of your life. It wasn’t a grand romance at first, just a quiet unfolding, a slow realization that her presence fits into the empty spaces of your days. In hindsight, you realize it was never small. It was everything.

At the time, you didn’t know how brief it would be.

You met on one fateful day, losing your grip on your dog’s leash, he rushes to a person sitting at a cafe.

“Oh, hello little one.” She reaches down to pet the dog’s head.

“Benny!” You chase after him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to let go of his leash.”

She looks up to meet your eyes and you swear time stopped.

“Well I’m glad you did.”

“Y/N.” You reach your hand out. She gives you a smile, taking your hand in hers.

“Ingrid.”

It starts with a text. A ridiculous, unfiltered thought they send late at night that somehow finds you in the middle of your sleepiness.

“Did you know that your brain blends out a lot of noises your body makes?”

“Huh?” You reply, squinting your eyes from the brightness of your phone.

“If you were able to hear it, you would slowly drive yourself insane.”

You smile in the dark, the glow of your screen paints soft shadows on the wall.

“That would absolutely drive me insane.”

And just like that, a door is opened.

That night, you talk for hours. About anything, everything and nothing all at once. About her childhood fears. About the way you pick at your nails when you’re nervous. About how some songs feel like home even if you don’t know why.

“You ever feel like you’ve met someone before even when you haven’t?”

“Like déjà vu?” she replies, her voice drowsy through the phone.

“No. Like…fate.”

She didn’t reply after that, you heard the way her breathing evened out, knowing she fell asleep.

“Goodnight.”

The days that followed are filled with stolen moments, with messages slipped into the space of obligations.

You were on call again late at night. You knew she was half asleep but you couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“Can I tell you something?” you ask.

“Anything.”

There was a moment of silence as you find the courage to speak.

“I think I’m scared.”

You can hear her bedsheets rustling. “Of what?”

“Of how much I feel this. How I don’t wanna lose you.”

There was another moment of silence.

“You won’t lose me.” she whispers.

You don’t reply right away, but when you do, your voice is barely there, your vulnerability can be heard.

“Promise?”

Ingrid promises, but sometimes promises aren’t enough.

The unraveling happens so slowly that you don’t notice at first. Maybe neither of you wanted to.

She signed with Barcelona, promising that nothing will change and distance is just a small obstacle.

But the texts become less frequent. The calls grow shorter. The easy and effortless way she once reached out to you becomes hesitant, uncertain. You tell yourself that she’s just been busy. That nothing is wrong.

But something is.

“Are we okay?” you ask one night, after yet another day of silence.

She hesitates.

“Yeah. I’m just… I don’t know. I’ve just got a lot going on.”

You want to believe her. But there’s a distance in her words now, something slipping through the cracks.

“You know you can talk to me, right?”

“I know.”

But she doesn’t . Not in the way she used to.

And then one day, they just… stop.

Not in a dramatic and catastrophic way. Not with a fight, not with a storm of angry words. Just a slow fading, like ink dissolving in water.

At first you make excuses. She’s busy. She’s tired. She had a long day. Everything will go back to normal again.

But it doesn’t.

You try once more, sending her a short message.

“Goodnight, sleep well. I love you ❤️”

It sits there, unread.

And you know.

The absence settles into you like a ghost. You still catch yourself reaching for you phone, expecting her name to light up your screen. Some nights you find yourself scrolling through old messages, rereading conversations that once felt infinite, listening to the many voice notes she used to send.

You tell yourself that it was brief. That it shouldn’t hurt this much. But it does.

Because it was real. Even if it was short.

Even if it’s over.

One night, much later, you find yourself looking up at the moon, remembering a moment a few days into her move to Barcelona.

“Oh wow, the moon is beautiful tonight. Not as beautiful as you, but still beautiful.” you tell her as you stand outside, earphones in your ears.

“Thank you.”

“How’s your moon looking like?”

“Beautiful.”

“Do we have the same moon? Wait. Duh. There’s only one moon.”

She laughs. “You’re so cute.”

As you look at the moon, you wonder if she’s thinking of you too.

If somewhere in the quiet of her own loneliness, she remembers the sound of your laughter.

If she ever misses you the way you miss her.

If she ever looked at her phone, just for a second, and almost reach out.

But she does’t.

And you don’t.

So, instead, you whisper a goodbye to the sky.

And let her go.

[jd-loves-fiction]

Coming back to you with another request cuz I loved your previous work

Boothill, Welt, Ratio, Jing Yuan and Gallagher with the same platonic teen reader premise but reader calls them ,,Dad" on accident and they themselves don't even notice it because it comes so naturally to them

🌑so glad you liked it🥺🥺also the dad's of all time yes yes!! Also my internet has been fucked lately that's why uploads are slow sowy 🥺

✦ 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥 ✦

If you look at his lore, he was actually a dad (😭 my Shayla) so yeah big chance he won't notice at all

Because of the trauma associated with his family in general, he'll notice it eventually and be a bit conflicted

On one hand, he's absolutely delighted at the fact that despite being almost entirely made of metal, you are still able to find such fundamentally human comfort within him

And on the other hand, he has a hard time accepting that the man he was before didn't actually die along with most of his body

He won't ever correct you tho, at the end of the day he's just grateful that he's still able to make young folk feel safe around him

Reminds him that he's still human🥺

✦ 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐭 ✦

Did you see the way he basically adopted Sunday the moment he stepped on the express?? Yeah, that's dad right there

He basically adopts every kid (as in, anyone younger than him) that steps aboard the express, so i feel like someone else might've already called him before and he just brushed it off

Same with you, though in his heart he's over the moon

All he wants in life is to make everyone around him feel safe and loved, so to know that you of all people seem to think of him in such a way really warms his heart

Though he'll never point it out in fear of making you embarrassed

He's overjoyed!! But internally :)

✦ 𝐃𝐫. 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨 ✦

Truly baffled, at first

He's aware of his reputation and he doesn't mind it but he never expected someone to him that way

Though he's (not so) secretly very pleased

At his core, he's a teacher and that's what he loves to do - spread knowledge to all who seek it

And I'm sorry for reminding you of this but most of us have called our teacher mom/dad before so...

There's a slight chance it's happened before... also a slight chance he very dryly corrected them - "last time i checked i have no children" 🙄

Might do the same to you unless he's in one of his moods, writing down information or just lost in thought - then he'll probably just wave you away wordlessly

I feel like he understands on a behavioral level why you did it and because of it, wont comment on it or bring it up again. It's just something people do sometimes, nothing weird about it

The most neutral out of all of them but will make a mental note about how it probably means you trust him at least a little

When he lets himself be selfish and overthink it, it does warm his heart but you'll never know

✦ 𝐉𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐮𝐚𝐧 ✦

Actual father to Yanqing YOU CANT CHANGE MY MIND!!

Ooooh he's tearing his hair out trying not to tease you about it

He knows that if he does you'll crawl back in your shell again and thats tHEEE last thing he wants in life, really

It's easy to feel comfortable around him, i feel. He's just a big lazy cat - pretty independent and chill

He's good at just being there when you need him there as well as talking your ear off as a distraction - peak comfort

Definately called Jingliu 'mom' as a kid, come on

And Yanqing did the same with him

So it doesnt surprise him much since he understands its a pretty normal thing but GOOOOD he wants to acknowledge it so BAAADD

HE WANTS TO MAKE IT SILLY BUT NOOOOO 😭

He's an adult now (a very old one at that) so he understands that now is NOT the time

Will keep thinking back on it fondly tho :))

✦ 𝐆𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐫 ✦

Oh oh my... he gives so much deadbeat dad I'm getting nostalgic IM KIDDING

Anyway, as a bartender, i feel like thats happened to him before

People say weird shit when they're drunk so it's very likely someone's called him dad before

Though that feels very different to him

When people do that when drunk it doesn't usually mean anything - he must just remind them of their father (for good or bad) so he doesn't take it too seriously

But you? Oh he's taking it seriously

Ego? Inflated to hell and back

He's being extra sweet and caring with you

Making sure you eat and rest, etc

Gotta live up to his reputation 😉

The dad who stepped up fr

Might tease you about it, but if you have an adverse reaction he'll stop immediately

Very touched that you think of him that way even subconsciously and will try to make sure he doesn't disappoint :)

[ladsheadcanoncorner]

random turn ons ♡ - lads headcanons

prompt: just some things i think would get the boys in the mood that aren't inherently naughty ;) rating: n-fw, 18+, minors dni cw: slight smut, implied fem!reader, some physical descriptions given (mostly vague, but please feel free to imagine mc however you like, regardless of what i've written!) ✉︎♡: ask box open, tumblr users + anons

Xavier: -Lounge wear! -Because it means he can probably convince you to take a nap with him, but also because no one else has the privilege of seeing you wearing that -He likes literally every type of lounge wear, but he is partial to tight fitting shorts and lace camisoles -His hands will wander while you’re watching TV, fingers brushing against the skin on your stomach and your thighs -You: “What are you doing, Xav?” Xavier: “Hmm? Oh, nothing. Just think you feel so soft.” -He’ll make sure to plant plenty of kisses on every inch of skin he can reach, hiking up your shirt to kiss there, too -Also unabashedly into watching you eat anything that could be taken sexually -Ice cream? Forget about it. Popsicles? He’s gonna cream his jeans -He just really loves watching your lips close around certain things -“Maybe you can show me how you do that later?”

Zayne: -Sundresses -There’s just something about the way the summer air billows through the fabric, framing your body, each particularly strong gust showing him the tiniest peak of your ass -If the straps fall off of your shoulder, so help him now he might just have to make a quick detour with you somewhere private -Also loves when you try on his glasses, even though he’s far too pragmatic to admit it -You: “Do I look smart enough, Dr. Zayne?” Zayne, trying to hide the blush blooming on his cheeks: “Smart? Yes, of course. Let’s go with that.” -Will fully make out with you when you’re wearing his glasses, pulling you onto his lap in his office to help him relieve some of the pressure building up from seeing you in them -When you realize this, you make sure to steal them more often, feigning innocent the entire time so that he doesn’t catch on to your schemes

Rafayel: -You know those cliche videos of women getting out of the pool in slow motion? Yeah, that’s what Raf sees every time you go swimming or get out of the shower -Your wet hair slicked back, water droplets clinging to you skin, the glow of the light reflecting shimmery sunshine -Eyes would do that cartoony ‘awooga’ if they could -Pulling you against him, he says, “You got me all wet, guess we’ll have to take off these clothes, huh?” -Also super into your hands -As an artist, he appreciates the nuances of the human body, and you are his forever his muse -He’ll play with your fingers, turning your palm over in his hand, kissing each individual digit -Usually leads to your hands moving to touch him elsewhere, his dramatic ass claiming all breathy that he’s being touched by the hands of a goddess

Sylus: -Putting your hair up The first time you do this is during a sparring session with him in his boxing ring -You: “Hold up, my hair is in the way.” Sylus: “You’re giving your opponent too much time to plan their next move, kitten.” -You bend over to secure the hair tie in place, and when you flip your head back up Sylus.exe has stopped functioning -He rips the velcro on his boxing glove free with his teeth and corners you in the ring -“Distracting your prey is a good move, too,” he’ll murmur in between kisses -Yeah he’s definitely using that hair tie to pull your hair in bed later -Also loves watching you do your makeup -Will stand in the doorway in the bathroom, one leg crossed over the other to hide how absolutely turned on he is watching the way your mouth slightly hangs open when you put on mascara -You know by now to start getting ready early so you and Sylus have enough time for a quickie before you leave

Caleb: -Cute marks on your face -He absolutely gushes over dimples, birthmarks, freckles, or beauty marks -Likes to poke each place they mark your skin and if you get annoyed with him when he does this, he will only laugh and then kiss each one -The easiest way to get Caleb absolutely feral for you is to wear his tshirts or hoodies -You devise the plan when he is in the shower, taking his favorite shirt and spraying his cologne on it, before pulling it over your naked body -When Caleb enters the room, towel already hanging dangerously low on his hips, he stops in his tracks when he sees you -“My favorite shirt and my favorite girl. Do you want to take it off now or should I ruin both of you tonight?” -Definitely going to take you from behind while you’re wearing it, both of your smells mingling on his skin and driving him crazy

[bambisnc]

          . . swimming through the cherry sky

° ˖ ➴ “forget whatever you think you knew. vampires exist.”

### . STARRING ⌢ n.rk ⋆ suggestive? + 1.3k // unedited + roommate trope + blood drinking ˖ ✧

🗨️ .. ⌞ XOXO ⌝ vamki enthusiasts hi + alt vrs hidden somewhere in txt + [m.list]

you've had your suspicions for a while now. the irregular, conspicuous late nights. the stains that eerily resemble dried blood and something else you can’t quite name but feel in your bones. an instinct that something was odd.

but bless your heart, you just can't bring yourself to actually accuse your roommate, nishimura riki, of anything.

besides, what would you have even said, anyway? 

"hey, roommate! what a wonderful day it is today, huh? the weather sure is … happening! by the way, if i may ask, is there any chance that you might be a bloodthirsty, monstrous creature? just curious haha!"

yeah. that wouldn't work. obviously.

not that you had the ability to even stay in the same room as him long enough to put together a few coherent words. but merely the air around him was enough to have shivers running down your spine. and yet, the worst part of it all? 

he’s never actually tried anything to cause harm to you. never once warranted your fears. which only makes you feel like you’re losing your damn mind.

so you do the only thing you can do. watch from a distance; observe. bide your time and keep trying to piece things together while ensuring to stay as far away as you possibly can. which, considering you live together, is pretty much next to impossible.

and then, after months of feeling like the tension would just about eat you alive, something finally happens. 

it had been a relatively slow day. your roommate had kept to himself as usual, doing nothing out of the ordinary. nothing you could consider hard proof, that is. 

having decided on an early night for yourself, you were in bed, adorned with comfortable night clothes. that was when you’d heard it. 

a dull thump! 

followed up, as if on cue, by a low, guttural groan. the pain in the raspy noise was clear enough to make your stomach twist. against your better judgement, curse you for being soft-hearted, you leave the comfort the safety of your room and towards the adjacent hallway. the door in front of you was slightly ajar, ink like shadows spilling out.

and then you see him.

hunched over, collapsed by the edge of his bed, barely able to hold himself up. riki looks too pale – ashen, almost, like all the warmth has been drained from his body. his breath comes in ragged, uneven gasps. he looks like he’s seconds from death’s door.

your entrance wasn’t as quiet as you’d meant for it to be however. he lifts his head, with a considerable amount of exertion, letting his gaze – dark, unreadable – meet yours. when he speaks, it’s hushed. completely unlike the usual confident drawl he uses otherwise. 

“it’s dangerous for you to be in here when i’m like this.”

“what-” you swallow down all the questions bubbling inside your throat. “... are you okay?..”

sure, this was probably the only opportunity you’d have with him this vulnerable but, you can’t bring yourself to take advantage of his weakened state. you venture a little closer to him, to properly be able to appraise his condition, despite your entire being begging you not to.

barely being able to hear his answer, you lean closer still to be able to pick up on the yet again hesitant, reluctant mumble, “i … haven’t fed in a while.”

your heart goes cold. you can all but feel the blood rushing into your ears as you struggle to process what riki just said. obviously, he doesn’t mean that in the literal sense. right?

but before you can even reach a conclusion, decide whether or not to let your flight instinct take control and rush out of here, call someone, anyone for help — with a fluid motion, you find your positions completely switched.

your back meets the hard edge of the bed with a jolt. he kneels in front of you now, towering. his frame eclipses yours, one arm braced on the bed, the other steadying himself on the floor. you can tell he isn’t even putting much effort, but he’s able to cage you in without even trying. no longer can you delude yourself into thinking you have any semblance of control over the situation. 

there’s no mistaking it. not with that look in his eyes, the pupils fast dilating – were they always tinged that slight shade of … red? there can be no more excuses, no more pretending that you’re just being paranoid. because this … 

… this is real.

“this isn’t happening. it can’t be.” you whisper, as if saying it out loud will manifest it into existence. as if it’ll wake you up from whatever bad fever dream this is.

he looks almost amused, for a second. lips twitching as if he finds your denial to be funny. 

and then he’s leaning in closer, closer until … something sharp grazes against your delicate neck. your breath hitches sharply at the sensation. 

“forget whatever you think you knew.” his voice is steadier than it was earlier. more certain, more sure of itself. “vampires exist.” ...

where riki’s lips ghost over your neck, his touch is featherlight but somehow still constricting. he tilts your head slightly, movements agonizingly slow exposing it even more to himself.

“can i?..” his voice is strained, as he grits out the words but you appreciate the warning. 

even if it might not be of any actual meaning, “do i have a choice?”

“not really, no. i’m sorry.” 

and then, a sharp, electric sting as his fangs pierce your skin.

the pain flashes for only a moment, though, before a haze-like dizziness takes its place. sinking into your bones, making your limbs go weaker than they felt before.

his free hand shifts from the floor – after he gains some semblance of his former strength, you assume – and he wraps an arm around your waist, fingers digging into the skin as if it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to the living world. it’s a strange sensation, to say the least. the action is rhythmic, if nothing else. 

only when a soft, barely audible gasp escapes you does he pull away, fangs retracting. 

his tongue licks against the open wound in what you would only later discover was supposed to be a means to soothe. before you even realize it, you’re reaching for him, clutching onto his shirt, albeit rather weakly in some sort of attempt of grounding yourself.

you don’t know what to say about it. you don’t even know how to feel.

but what you do know is that he’s still looking at you. eyes dark, lips stained red with your blood, chest rising and falling like he’s just barely holding himself together. 

looking at him like this, it’s clear as day that he needs more. the struggle, the desperation, the way he seems to be at war with himself. 

so you do what any good roommate would do, the words leaving you before you can second guess your decision. you offer yourself to him. 

“take what you need.”

his expression flickers. hesitation, shock, relief, aching. “you don’t have to—” he sounds like he wants to refuse, like he knows he should refuse. 

but when you tilt your head back slightly, just enough for the previous mark to be visible, you practically hear his resolve crack.

riki presses in close again, with more an ease this time and as the alien sensation you’re growing more and more familiar to takes over, you exhale a breath that you didn’t know you were holding.

“you.. fuck.” his voice is muffled between slow, languid sucks – unhurried, this time. more deliberate. “you’re a terrible roommate.” 

you huff out as best as you can, in your (slightly lightheaded) condition “hah... why is that?”  a pause. his thumb swipes over the place his lips had been seconds earlier, as if reassuring himself of your pulse. “because this means i owe you.”

𐙚 . regulars : none yet! ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k25

[galaxy-stardust]

Simon Ghost Riley x you

Lingerie shopping

The boutique was quiet, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and soft fabrics. You ran your fingers along the delicate lace of a black set, feeling the intricate embroidery against your skin.

Behind you, Simon stood with his arms crossed, his dark eyes scanning the store with disinterest—until he caught sight of what you were holding.

“That for me, love?” His voice was low, teasing.

You smirked, turning to face him. “Maybe. Want to help me pick something out?”

His eyes darkened slightly, a flicker of heat passing through them as he stepped closer. “Oh, I’ll help, alright.”

You picked out a few more sets—deep red, soft ivory, and a dangerously sheer navy blue—before leading him to the fitting rooms. He sat in one of the plush chairs just outside, his legs spread wide, elbows resting on his thighs as he watched you disappear behind the curtain.

“Don’t keep me waiting,” he murmured.

You grinned, slipping into the first set—the black lace. It hugged your body in all the right places, the sheer panels leaving little to the imagination. Stepping out from behind the curtain, you struck a playful pose.

Simon’s jaw tightened. His hands flexed over his knees, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Turn around,” he ordered, his voice thick with restrained hunger.

You did, slowly, dragging it out just to tease him.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Come here.”

You took a step closer, but before you could react, his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you between his legs. His palms found your hips, his thumbs brushing the delicate lace as he looked up at you with hooded eyes.

“You expect me to just sit here and watch you prance around like this?” he growled, his voice barely above a whisper. His fingers trailed along your exposed thighs, sending a shiver through you.

“That was the idea,” you teased, biting your lip.

Simon chuckled darkly, his grip tightening. “Yeah? Let’s see how much teasing you can take.”

His hands slid up your sides, fingers grazing the lace covering your ribs before slipping around to your lower back. He pulled you closer, his breath hot against your stomach as he pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss just above your navel.

“Simon,” you breathed, your hands finding his shoulders for balance.

“Shh,” he murmured, lips trailing higher, stopping just before the edge of the fabric covering your chest. His fingers skimmed over the thin straps, his thumbs brushing the curve of your breasts.

The curtain shifted slightly, the faint sound of a saleswoman moving nearby making your heart race. “Simon,” you whispered urgently. “Someone might—”

He smirked against your skin. “Then you better keep quiet, love.”

His hands roamed lower, gripping the swell of your ass as he pressed his mouth against your stomach once more, his teeth grazing your skin. The heat pooling between your thighs was unbearable, the thrill of being caught only adding to the intensity.

Before you could melt completely, he suddenly pulled back, his hands lingering as he leaned in, his lips brushing your ear.

“Try the next one,” he rasped. “And hurry the fuck up before I lose my patience.”

You swallowed hard, retreating behind the curtain with shaky legs, already knowing this little shopping trip wouldn’t end in the fitting room.

Your hands trembled as you reached for the next set—the deep red one, all lace and barely-there straps. Your skin still burned from Simon’s touch, your pulse racing from the way he had pulled you so close, his lips ghosting over your skin, his voice thick with desire.

You slipped into the new set, the fabric hugging your curves perfectly, the delicate details accentuating everything he already worshipped about your body. Taking a deep breath, you pulled the curtain open again.

Simon’s eyes snapped up instantly. And this time, he didn’t even try to play it cool.

“Fuck me,” he muttered under his breath, his eyes dark with hunger. His hands flexed over his thighs, his entire body radiating tension as he took you in.

“Like it?” you asked, stepping toward him, loving the way his jaw clenched.

Simon leaned back slightly, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip as he looked you up and down. “Come closer.”

You did.

He reached out, his fingers trailing along your hip, toying with the thin strap resting against your skin. “This one,” he murmured, voice thick. “This one is trouble.”

You smirked. “Then maybe I should change again.”

His grip tightened. “Not a chance.”

Before you could react, he was on his feet, towering over you, his body a wall of heat and muscle. His hands slid to your lower back, pulling you against him, and you gasped at the hard press of him through his jeans.

“Simon,” you whispered, heart pounding.

His lips brushed your ear. “D’you feel what you do to me, love?”

You did. And you wanted more.

But just as you tilted your head up for a kiss, the distant sound of footsteps reminded you exactly where you were.

Simon groaned, dropping his forehead against yours. “Bloody torture.”

You giggled, reaching up to run your fingers through his short-cropped hair. “Then maybe we should get out of here.”

His hands slid down to your ass, squeezing possessively before he stepped back, eyes still burning. “Go change. Now.”

You turned, heading back into the fitting room, but just as you reached for the curtain, Simon leaned in, his breath hot against your neck.

“Don’t bother putting your clothes back on,” he rasped. “You’re wearing that home.”

Your breath caught, a shiver rolling through you. “Simon—”

His fingers brushed the side of your breast, his voice dangerously low. “And when we get there, love? You won’t be wearing a damn thing at all.”

Your knees nearly gave out.

You didn’t just rush to change—you practically ran.

[theweewooshow]

a spark ignites the room

bucktommy | 1k | rated: M | prompt: kissing out of jealousy

Tommy normally prides himself on not being the jealous type.

His partners have flirted with others in the past and he’s been fine with it—he's liked it even. He’s very secure in his relationships, so he’s liked it with others and he likes it with Evan, too.

There's something kind of thrilling about watching his partner flirting with another guy, knowing that he's going to be the one they go home with at the end of the day, that he’s the one his partner really wants.

When women flirt with Evan while they're out together, it makes Tommy kind of proud, knowing how much people want his boyfriend.

When men flirt with Evan, something bubbles up inside him, a warmth that gets him hard, knowing all kinds of beautiful people can look at his boyfriend, but only he can really touch him, only he can make Evan cry out and thrash in their bed, only he can love Evan the way he deserves to be loved.

So there's no real reason for Tommy to feel jealous right now.

It's a game they play often, going out to clubs and flirting with others. Sometimes he's the one on the dance floor, grinding on random men as Evan watches from a booth, his eyes on him like a hawk, catching every lewd grind, every stray hand groping, every mouth that chases Tommy's as he grins and ducks away.

Tonight, it's Buck’s turn on the dance floor, and he starts out squished between two men, bodies rolling and grinding.

It heats Tommy’s entire body up, Evan looking so free on the dance floor, the way he looks back at Tommy for approval, like he wants to know the guys he picked are hot enough, good enough to dance with tonight.

Tommy nods his approval and watches as Evan loses himself in the push and pull of the bodies around him.

He watches for a while until he gets a text from Lucy—a meme. He grins and texts her back. They go back and forth for a few minutes and when Tommy glances back up, Evan has found a new dance partner and Tommy's mouth goes dry all of a sudden.

It really shouldn't bother him. Evan is just doing what they always do, but this new guy looks like Tommy.

Like, a lot like him.

He's built like Tommy, same height, similar features from what Tommy can see.

It makes Tommy's blood boil.

It doesn't matter when Evan flirts with women or dances with men who look nothing like him at the clubs they go to, but this? Evan dancing with someone who's a dead ringer for Tommy? That makes something in Tommy want to growl and snarl and bite.

He knows Evan likes what he sees when he looks at Tommy, knows his body turns him on. And, of course, realistically, he knows there are other people who turn Evan on too, but seeing him dance with someone who he's attracted to because he looks like Tommy is too much for him.

He's out of his seat and stalking across the club before he's even decided what he's going to say or do.

When Evan glances over, his smile widens as he sees Tommy and that settles something in his chest a little. Not enough to quell the little green monster inside him, though.

The guy looks over and it’s uncanny, the way it's like looking in a mirror.

"This your man?" the man asks Evan, shouting over the music.

Tommy doesn't mean to puff out his chest, but he does.

He is Evan’s man.

"Yep," Evan says. "Tommy, isn't it weird that this guy could be your twin? He's lived in LA his whole life just like you, too."

"Yeah, weird," Tommy says, his hand itching to reach out and touch Evan. Almost like he can sense it, Evan extracts himself from the guy’s loose hold on him and shifts closer to Tommy.

Tommy reaches out and pulls him in close, one hand sliding to the back of his neck.

He can feel the other guy looking at them as Tommy’s slots their mouths together, as he licks into Evan’s mouth, their bodies pressed tight together in the throng of bodies around them.

The jealous ache in him calms down a little, but he keeps on kissing him because one of Evan’s hands is tangled in the curls at the base of his skull, holding him there like he knows that Tommy was jealous, like he likes that Tommy was jealous.

He grinds against him, feeling Evan’s cock hard in his jeans just like he is. He wants to reach down and cup him through his jeans, grind his palm against him until he’s gasping and coming into his underwear, but he thinks that would maybe be a bit too much—even if they could get away with it, surrounded by people who would turn and look and get hard watching them. The thought makes him pulse.

When he pulls his mouth away from Evan’s, his lips are tingling, his mouth sore, his cock leaking in his jeans. Evan doesn't look much better when he gives him a once over, his eyes lingering on his lips, all red and puffy.

“You wanna get out of here?” he asks, leaning his mouth in close to Evan’s ear.

Evan’s nodding hurriedly before Tommy even pulls back.

“Take me home,” he says, and just like that, the jealousy he was feeling before dissipates.

Because it’s him who’s leading Evan out of the club and into the Uber.

Because it’s him Evan chooses to go home with over everyone else here.

Because he’s the one watching Evan undress for him and crawl into his bed.

Because he’s the one covering Evan’s body with his, blanketing him in his weight.

Because he’s the only one who gets to see him like this now, hard and leaking and whining for him.

Because Evan is his.

drop a kudos or comment on ao3 :)

[cherryxbooo]

omg i love your mason fic, the angst one. please write more angst i love your writings!!

Lost me forever

Summary: You thought you had finally found 'the one' and that you were the first choice all along, but that was until the truth finally came to light.

Note: Thank you so much lovely! As for the angst request, your wish is my command! I chose to write this for Mason since I found it fitting. Hope you enjoy it!

Reader x Mason Mount

Genre: Angst

Loving Mason Mount felt like the easiest thing in the world.

It was effortless, like breathing, like waking up to golden sunlight streaming through the curtains, warming my skin before his arms ever had the chance.

From the moment we found our way to each other, it felt like the universe had been waiting for it to happen.

Like everything before him had been grayscale, and he was the color I’d been missing.

He made life feel lighter, and softer. It wasn’t just the grand moments, it was the little things.

Like the way his fingers would find mine beneath restaurant tables, absently tracing patterns against my palm as he listened to me talk.

Or how he would pull me back into bed on Sunday mornings, refusing to let me go,

his voice thick with sleep as he mumbled, “Five more minutes, baby. Just five more.”

And we both knew it would never be just five.

It was the way he’d insist on carrying my books when he met me outside my lectures, even though I told him I could handle it.

“I know you can, but I like taking care of you,” he’d say, pressing a kiss to my temple before reaching for my bag anyway.

Late-night drives with the windows down, my feet propped up on the dashboard as he glanced over at me, grinning like I was his favorite sight in the world.

“You know I love you, right?” he'd say out of nowhere, his voice soft but certain.

And every time, my heart would stumble over itself as I whispered back,

“Yeah. I know. I love you too.”

The way he’d tuck me into his chest on the couch, his fingers running lazily through my hair as we half-watched a movie, more focused on each other than whatever was playing.

Or how he’d tease me when I got grumpy, pressing exaggerated kisses all over my face until I was laughing, pushing him away only for him to pull me right back.

He made me feel adored. Cherished.

Like I was his entire world.

And for a while, I truly believed he loved me just as much as I loved him.

But I didn’t realize that, all along, he was still orbiting around someone else.

The change was subtle at first. So subtle that I almost convinced myself it wasn’t happening.

At first, it was little things.

Mason would forget to text me back, not just for a few minutes, but for hours.

I’d send him something funny, something I knew would’ve made him laugh before, and the read receipt would linger, unanswered.

Maybe he’s busy. Maybe he’s just tired. I made excuses, brushing it off like it wasn’t the start of something unraveling.

Then he started canceling plans last minute.

"Sorry, something came up. Training ran late. I’m exhausted, let’s do tomorrow?"

Tomorrow would turn into the next day, then the next, until suddenly, I realized I was the only one trying to reschedule.

Our deep, intimate conversations, the ones where we’d stay up until three in the morning talking about everything and nothing, where he’d tell me about his childhood dreams, his fears, the things he never admitted to anyone else, turned into empty small talk.

"How was your day? Did you eat?"

His words felt distant, mechanical, like he was just going through the motions.

I tried to ignore the way his responses lacked warmth, the way he barely asked about me anymore.

And when we were together, it felt like he wasn’t really there.

He’d sit next to me on the couch, but his body was tense, like he was waiting for an excuse to leave.

He’d hold my hand, but it didn’t feel the same, his grip wasn’t as firm, as reassuring.

His kisses were quick, and absentminded, like they were more of a habit than something he wanted to do.

The worst part? He stopped looking at me like he used to.

The light in his eyes, the way they used to soften when they met mine, it was gone.

Now, when I caught him staring, it felt like he was searching for something that wasn’t there anymore.

I tried not to let it bother me. I told myself it was stress, that he was overwhelmed with training, with matches, with the constant pressure to perform.

It has nothing to do with me. I repeated it like a mantra, like if I said it enough, I’d believe it.

But deep down, I felt it.

The distance. The absence of his warmth.

The quiet way he was slipping away from me, little by little, day by day.

Then came the late nights.

I’d wake up to an empty bed, the sheets cold where he should’ve been.

At first, I thought maybe he couldn’t sleep, maybe he was just restless.

But then I heard it. The hushed whispers from the other room, the way his voice softened in a way it never did with me anymore.

The first time, I told myself I was imagining things.

The second time, I told myself it was probably a teammate.

The third time, I stopped lying to myself.

Because when I walked in too quickly, when I caught him sitting on the edge of the couch, phone pressed to his ear, he snapped his head up so fast it was like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

His expression shifted, just for a second, before he forced a smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he murmured, shoving his phone into his pocket.

“Didn’t wanna wake you.”

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to trust him like I always had.

But my heart was screaming at me. Telling me something was wrong.

I just didn’t want to ask.

Because I already knew I wouldn’t like the answer.

The night everything fell apart,

I was at Mason’s place, curled up on his couch, wrapped in the blanket he always draped over my shoulders whenever I got cold.

It smelled like him, like the faint traces of his cologne mixed with something unmistakably him, something that once made me feel safe.

I had been waiting for him to get back from training, my phone resting loosely in my hand as I scrolled absentmindedly, not really paying attention to anything on the screen.

The TV hummed softly in the background, playing an episode of a show we had started together but never finished.

He used to insist on waiting for me before watching the next one. Lately, he didn’t wait anymore.

I tried not to think about it too much.

I tried not to think about any of it too much.

The unanswered texts. The canceled plans.

The way his kisses felt like muscle memory instead of something he wanted.

I had spent weeks, months, convincing myself that this was just a rough patch.

That things would go back to normal once the season settled, once the stress faded, once he had time to breathe.

That we would go back to normal.

I wasn’t looking for answers that night.

I wasn’t searching for proof that something was wrong.

But sometimes, the truth doesn’t wait for you to be ready.

Sometimes, it finds you when you least expect it.

And that night, it found me in the form of an unexpected message on Mason’s laptop.

The screen lit up suddenly, casting a soft glow over the coffee table. At first, I barely noticed.

I was too lost in my own head, too focused on distracting myself from the gnawing ache in my chest.

I wasn’t the kind of person to snoop. I had never needed to be.

I trusted Mason.

Or at least, I thought I did.

But then, my eyes flickered to the name at the top of the message.

And my heart stopped.

Her name.

His ex Charlotte.

I stared at it, my breath catching in my throat.

It was just a name. Just a simple notification.

And yet, it felt like the ground beneath me had shifted.

There was no reason for them to be talking. No good reason, at least.

Mason never spoke about her. He had told me, once, that their story was over.

That I was the only one he saw a future with. That she was a part of his past, and that’s where she would stay.

I wanted to believe him. I had believed him.

So then why was she here, on his screen, reaching out like she had never really left?

For a moment, I hesitated.

I wanted to look away, to pretend I hadn’t seen it, to act like it was just some meaningless message.

That would be easier, wouldn’t it? I could go back to the way things were, smiling through the doubt, pushing aside the way he had been slipping away from me piece by piece.

But then I saw the preview of the message.

Just a few words.

But they were enough to send ice through my veins.

I miss you.

My hands shook as I reached for the laptop.

My heart pounded against my ribs, screaming at me, begging me to stop.

But I couldn’t.

I clicked on the message.

Then another. And another.

And with every message I read, my world crumbled around me.

It wasn’t just casual conversation.

It wasn’t Hey, how have you been? or Hope you're doing well.

It was confessions whispered in the dead of night.

It was I think about you all the time.

It was I miss everything about you.

It was Being with her doesn’t feel the same.

It was I still love you.

The air rushed from my lungs.

I blinked. Once. Twice.

Waiting, praying, for the words to change.

For my eyes to be playing tricks on me.

But they didn’t change.

They sat there, staring back at me like undeniable proof that I had been living in a lie.

Every moment Mason and I had shared, every soft I love you, every late-night conversation, every time he had pulled me close and promised me forever, it had all been meaningless.

I had just been something to fill the space she left behind.

A placeholder.

A distraction.

A way for him to forget the girl he really wanted.

And the worst part?

I never even saw it coming.

I had been so sure of him. So sure of us.

I had loved him with everything I had, blind to the fact that his heart had never really been mine to begin with.

Tears blurred my vision, but I couldn’t cry. Not yet.

Not until I heard the sound of keys jingling at the door.

Mason was home.

And I had a choice to make.

Pretend I hadn’t seen anything, pretend I hadn’t fallen apart while reading his betrayal in black and white.

Or look him in the eye and ask the question I already knew the answer to.

When Mason walked through the door, tired and unsuspecting, his duffel bag slung lazily over his shoulder, I felt my entire body lock up.

He ran a hand through his damp hair, his shirt sticking slightly to his skin from the shower he took after training, and for a fleeting second,

I saw the version of him I used to love, the boy who used to make me feel like the center of his world.

But that version of Mason didn’t exist anymore.

He didn’t know it yet, but I had seen everything.

His lips parted slightly when his eyes landed on me, confusion flickering across his face as he took in my stiff posture, the way my arms were crossed tightly over my chest like they were the only thing keeping me together.

His gaze shifted to the coffee table, to where his laptop sat open, the screen still glowing.

He didn’t know yet, but he would.

The air in the room shifted.

"Hey, love." His voice was soft, familiar, too familiar.

Like he hadn’t just shattered me beyond repair.

I didn’t respond.

I reached for the laptop, my movements slow, deliberate, my fingers curling around the edges before I threw it onto the table between us.

The loud smack echoed in the silent apartment.

Mason flinched slightly, his brows knitting together. “What the hell—”

"Tell me the truth." My voice trembled, but there was an edge to it, sharp enough to cut.

His eyes darted between mine, searching, confused. “Y/n, what—”

I lifted a hand and pointed at the screen, my entire body trembling with the weight of what I had just discovered.

"Don’t. Just tell me the truth."

His eyes flickered down.

And in that moment, I saw everything.

The way his entire body tensed.

The way his face lost its color, his jaw tightening as his throat bobbed.

The way his fingers twitched at his sides, his breathing suddenly uneven.

He didn’t have to say anything.

I already knew.

But I wanted him to say it.

I wanted him to look me in the eye and own what he had done.

He let out a slow, shaky breath, his lips pressing together as if he was trying to find the right words.

"It’s not what you think—"

A bitter laugh burst from my lips before I could stop it.

I felt something inside me snap.

"Not what I think?" I repeated, my voice rising, the disbelief dripping from every syllable.

I jabbed a finger toward the screen, toward her name, toward the messages that had destroyed me.

“So you didn’t tell her you missed her? You didn’t tell her being with me wasn’t the same? You didn’t tell her you still love her?”

Mason inhaled sharply, his lips parting like he wanted to deny it,

God, I wanted him to deny it, but no words came.

His silence was louder than any excuse he could’ve made.

My throat tightened, the lump there threatening to choke me, but I refused to let him see me break.

I had already given him too much of me. I wouldn’t give him this too.

"Was I ever anything more than a rebound to you?" I whispered.

His face crumbled.

"Y/n—"

"Answer me!" I snapped, my voice cracking.

His lips pressed into a thin line. His hands curled into fists at his sides.

And then, hesitation.

Just a second. Just the briefest pause.

But that was all I needed.

I let out a sharp breath, my hands trembling as I wiped at my eyes, willing the tears away.

"I hope she was worth it, Mason." The words felt like acid on my tongue.

I turned away, grabbing my bag from the couch with numb fingers, my entire body screaming at me to run, run, run.

"Y/n, wait—" His voice cracked.

I felt his hand wrap around my wrist, not rough, not forceful, just desperate.

For the first time, I looked at him, really looked at him.

His face was drawn, his eyes wide, pleading.

His grip on my wrist tightened slightly, like he was afraid that if he let go, I’d disappear.

"Please." His voice was barely above a whisper.

I swallowed hard, my chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

"You don’t get to do that," I said, my voice barely steady.

I yanked my wrist free, stepping back.

"You don’t get to break me and then ask me to stay."

Mason exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face, through his hair, looking more panicked now.

“I never meant—” He cut himself off like the words physically hurt to say.

I shook my head. “You never meant for me to find out.”

Silence.

He didn’t argue.

He didn’t fight for me.

Because he knew.

He knew there was nothing left to fight for.

I felt a sob clawing at my throat, but I swallowed it down.

I refused to break in front of him.

I took a shaky step back. Then another.

"Goodbye, Mason."

And then I turned.

I walked to the door, my steps unsteady, my hands trembling as I reached for the handle.

"Y/n." My name was a whisper, a plea.

I didn’t stop.

I didn’t look back.

And Mason didn’t stop me.

Because he knew, he had already lost me. Lost me forever.

Mason stood there,

This is what he wanted right?

Now he could go back to Charlotte without having to hide it.

But if this was what he wanted, why did he feel so guilty? Why does it feel like he has lost something big? Why was he feeling... regret?

Mason shrugged off those feelings before muttering "She was just a rebound, this is what I wanted right?"

And that was all it took for him to move on.

Well at least for now.

Mason got back together with his ex two weeks later.

At first, it felt right.

She was familiar. She was comfortable. She was the girl he had spent so long missing, the one who had haunted his thoughts even when he was with Y/n.

For a brief moment, he convinced himself he had made the right choice.

But then, the cracks started to show.

The first time he noticed it was during dinner.

They sat across from each other at a high-end restaurant she had insisted on, a place where the food was overpriced and the lighting dim enough to make everything look perfect for Instagram.

Mason had been talking about his match earlier that day, how exhausted he was, how he’d nearly scored but missed by inches.

She didn’t even look up from her phone.

"That’s nice, babe," she murmured, her perfectly manicured fingers typing away.

He stared at her, waiting, expecting her to say more.

She didn’t.

Instead, she snapped a photo of their untouched plates, adjusted the lighting, and posted it with a caption that had nothing to do with him.

That was just the beginning.

The thoughtful gestures, the ones Y/n had done so naturally, were gone.

There were no lazy Sunday mornings where she curled into his chest, tracing mindless patterns on his skin.

No soft kisses just because.

No remembering how he liked his tea or sneaking his favorite snacks into the fridge after a long day.

Charlotte wasn’t cruel. She wasn’t awful. She was just… absent.

It was clear she loved the idea of him, the status, the lifestyle, the way people looked at them when they walked into a room together.

But him? The man behind the footballer, the one with worries and insecurities, the one who needed comfort just as much as anyone else?

She didn’t see him.

And suddenly, Mason realized, he had been chasing a ghost.

The woman he had truly loved, the one who had memorized every detail about him, who had supported him through every loss, who had loved him for the man and not the player, was gone.

Y/n had been that woman.

His Y/n.

And he had thrown her away like she was nothing.

One night, after another meaningless fight, this time over why he wasn’t posting her on social media enough, he sat alone in his apartment, scrolling through his camera roll.

The pictures of Y/n were still there.

Her smile, so genuine.

The way she looked at him like he was her entire world.

The little videos she had taken when he wasn’t paying attention, him cooking, him laughing at something dumb, him asleep with his arm wrapped around her waist like he never wanted to let go.

He had been so loved.

And he had destroyed it.

By the time he realized his mistake, it was too late.

Y/n had vanished from his life.

Blocked his number. Deleted their pictures. Disappeared without a trace.

At first, he thought maybe she just needed time.

That eventually, she’d cool down, pick up one of his calls, and answer one of his texts.

She never did.

He tried her best friend.

"She doesn’t want anything to do with you."

He tried her family.

"Mason, you hurt her. Let her go."

Her colleagues, her neighbors, nobody would tell him where she was.

And then, one day, when he came to her house once again he heard one of her neighbors call out for him.

"You should stop trying son. Didn't you hear? She left the country."

His stomach dropped.

"What?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

"Yeah, she moved. Took some big job offer or something. Left everything behind."

Mason’s heart pounded in his chest.

She had left.

His Y/n had left.

Started fresh. Moved somewhere new. Somewhere he could never reach her.

And for the first time in his life, Mason Mount, who had always been able to fix his mistakes, to win people back with a smile or an apology, knew he had lost her forever.

And this time, there was no getting her back.

That night, I made my decision.

I sat in my apartment, staring at the email that had been sitting in my inbox for days.

A job offer.

My dream job. The one I had turned down for him.

For so long, I had let my love for Mason dictate my every move.

I had stayed when I should have gone, let him convince me that we were enough, that we could make a future together.

I had put his dreams, his career, his needs first, and let mine slip into the background.

But that future didn’t exist anymore.

And now? I had nothing left to lose.

So, I took a deep breath, wiped away the last of my tears, tears that had been falling for weeks now, and clicked accept.

The next few weeks passed in a blur of packing, selling off things I didn’t need, and coming to terms with the fact that I was leaving the place that had once felt like home.

It wasn’t easy, but it was necessary.

"Are you sure about this?" my best friend asked, standing in the middle of my now half-empty apartment.

I exhaled slowly, trying to hold it together.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

And I meant it.

The morning of my flight, I did one last thing before leaving.

I blocked Mason. Everywhere.

His number. His Instagram. His Twitter. His email.

I erased him the way he had erased me.

And then I left.

As the plane took off and the city shrank beneath me, I finally felt it. The weight lifting from my chest.

The space inside me that had been filled with doubt, uncertainty, and longing, is now empty but... free.

A new country. A new life. A fresh start.

No more waiting for someone to choose me.

This time, I was choosing myself.

And Mason?

He was just a chapter in a book I had already finished reading.

Mason thought he had made the right choice.

He thought that getting back with his ex would fill the emptiness he felt after losing Y/n, but all it did was magnify the hollowness in his chest.

It was then, in the quiet moments of the night when he lay awake in his bed, that it hit him.

Y/n had been the one.

She had been the one who truly understood him.

The one who saw the person behind the jersey, behind the fame, behind the image.

She was the one who had loved him for him, not for the trophies or the spotlight.

And he had thrown it all away.

He had thrown her away.

But now, it was too late.

The more he tried to convince himself that things were fine, the more he realized that nothing felt right.

His ex wasn’t the person he needed.

And he was so damn lonely.

Training started slipping. He missed passes, lost focus, and the frustration was unbearable.

His coach started noticing, and his teammates were starting to get concerned.

He couldn’t even summon the motivation to push himself. Every match felt pointless, every goal out of reach.

He couldn’t concentrate. His heart wasn’t in it anymore.

His head wasn’t in it. His life wasn’t in it.

And the worst part?

He couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Y/n.

The way she would smile at him after a tough day, the way her laugh would fill the room like music.

The way she would hold him close when he was stressed or frustrated, as if just being near her was enough to make everything better.

The way she’d remember the smallest details about him, how she would surprise him with his favorite snacks or take care of him when he was sick.

He had taken it all for granted.

And now, he would never have it again.

One night, after yet another argument with his ex, something about him not being “present enough”

Mason sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his phone.

He had tried calling Y/n again. She didn’t answer.

Of course, she wasn't going to answer.

She had blocked him everywhere, but every day he hoped that for some magical reason, she would've unblocked him everywhere.

He checked his messages, hoping, praying, that maybe, just maybe, she would reach out. But nothing.

It was as if she had vanished from his life completely.

And that’s when the weight of it all crashed down.

He realized that he had let her slip through his fingers, and now, she was gone.

For good.

Days blurred together as Mason sank deeper into his depression. His training was a mess.

His performance on the field was getting worse by the day.

His teammates were starting to notice his lack of focus and his erratic behavior. He didn’t care. He couldn’t care.

And then, it hit him like a slap in the face.

It was Y/n all along, not Charlotte. Y/n was his girl and not that fame-sucking ex of his.

Mason had spent so long taking her love for granted, thinking it would always be there, thinking he could come back when it suited him.

But now? Now he realized the truth: She had been the love of his life.

And he had lost her.

Forever.

He spent days in his apartment, alone with his thoughts, battling the crushing weight of regret.

He would never see her smile again, never hear her voice telling him that everything would be okay.

He had let the one person who truly loved him slip away because he couldn’t appreciate her until it was too late.

And in the silence of his empty apartment, with nothing but his thoughts and his guilt to keep him company,

Mason finally understood what he had lost.

Y/n.

The girl he had taken for granted. The one who had loved him without hesitation.

The one he would never get back.

The end

[wendichester]

HIII HOW R UUU???? plz can I request Sam x reader who’s got a lot of energy, like a little crazy in a good way bc I feel like Sam would be tired from a hunt or smth and reader would be dancing to music, Sam would pretend to be grumpy but he really finds it cute

(bonus points if reader calls him Sammy a lot🤭)

𖦹๋࣭⭑ time of my life,

summary. you're a little ball of energy and sam finds you adorable!

pairing. sam winchester x reader

wordcount. 438

notes. HIYA! thank you so much for requesting, buns! hope you like it 🩷

The moment Sam steps into the bunker, all he wants to do is collapse into bed. The hunt was exhausting—long hours, barely any sleep, a gnarly scratch on his shoulder that he’ll have to disinfect later. His entire body aches.

But the second he hears your voice—loud, off-key, and enthusiastic—he knows rest is going to have to wait.

“I’VE HAD THE TIME OF MY LIIIIIFE—”

Sam stops in the doorway to the library, rubbing a hand over his face as he takes in the absolute chaos before him.

You’re in the middle of the room, dancing like you’re at a concert, barefoot and wearing one of his hoodies—his favorite one, at that. The sleeves are way too long on you, covering your hands as you throw your arms in the air. Your phone sits on the table, blasting (I’ve Had) The Time of My Life at full volume.

Sam sighs, leaning against the doorframe. “Really?”

You spin around at the sound of his voice, your eyes lighting up the second you see him. “Sammy!”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s no real annoyance there. “You’re gonna wake up the whole damn bunker.”

“Oh, please,” you scoff, skipping over to him. “Dean could sleep through a zombie attack.”

Sam smirks but doesn’t argue. Instead, he watches as you bounce on the balls of your feet, energy radiating off you in waves. He knows you can’t help it—you’re just like this, always buzzing with life, and honestly, it’s one of his favorite things about you.

You grab his hand, tugging at him. “Dance with me.”

He snorts. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

“Sammyyyyy,” you whine, dragging out his name in the way you know makes him weak.

“I’m tired,” he protests, but you don’t let go of his hand.

“You can be tired and have fun,” you say, tugging him further into the room. “Come on. Just one dance.”

Sam groans, but the way you’re grinning at him—so full of joy and mischief—has his resolve crumbling. He lets you pull him closer, wrapping your arms around his neck as you sway dramatically to the music.

“There you go,” you tease, voice warm. “Was that so hard?”

Sam shakes his head, sighing heavily, but there’s a fond smile tugging at his lips. His hands settle on your waist, holding you close. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet,” you hum, resting your head against his chest, “you love me anyway.”

Sam chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to your hair. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I do.”

The song changes to something softer, and he sways with you for a little while longer, exhaustion forgotten—at least for now.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @mrs-pondwater19

[lumiambrose]

~ ✰ UNSPOKEN ACCIDENTS ⋆｡°✩

featuring: reo x gn!reader (should pass as gn!, sorry in advance if it's not!)

summary: after months of unspoken feelings and an extremely tough match, he finally lets his deepest emotions slip...

request for nonnie xx

wc: 1.1k

tags: smut, little bit angsty i guess, friends with benefits, cumming inside, fluffy ending too i guess :)

Your fingers trace absentminded circles on Reo’s bare chest, his skin still damp from sweat, the air thick with his scent. The bed beneath you feels warmer than usual, but maybe that’s just him. Or maybe it’s you, pretending this means more than it does.

Reo is silently staring at the ceiling, his jaw clenched tight. You know this isn’t about you—not entirely. His team lost today—he lost today. A stupid mistake in the last five minutes cost him the game, and Reo Mikage does not take losing lightly.

Still, you hope… well, you’re not sure what you hope for. Maybe some sign that you’re more than a stress reliever, that you’re not just a warm body for him to sink into at a whim. But expecting anything is unfair of you. I mean, it goes without saying: no feelings, no expectations, just pleasure and the occasional bite of comfort when the world outside becomes too loud.

“Reo…” you start hesitantly, your fingers pausing over his heartbeat. He tenses under your touch, eyes snapping to yours. You’re not quite sure what’s going through his mind right now, but either way, you’re not sure whether you want to know.

“What?” his voice is sharper than anticipated, irritation bleeding through.

You bite your lip. “I just… you played well today.”

A bitter laugh escapes him. “Yeah, clearly. That’s why we lost, right?”

You sit up, pulling the sheet around yourself. “You’re being too hard on yourself.”

His jaw ticks. “You don’t get it.”

“I do, actually.”

“No, you don’t.” His voice rises. The frustration clear in his tone as he sits up abruptly, raking a hand through his hair. “You don’t understand how much this fucking means to me. How much I—” He exhales harshly, shaking his head. “Forget it.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, but your heart twists nonetheless at the rawness in his voice. “Reo, I—”

“I don’t need your pity,” he snaps.

That hurts. More than it should. You clench your fists, doing your absolute best to ignore the feelings surging up your body. “I’m not pitying you.”

He scoffs, running both hands through his hair. He looks wrecked—tired, angry, vulnerable in a way he probably hates. But you don’t judge him. You don’t think you even can. Knowing the weight of expectations he carries, the way he punishes himself for not being perfect.

So you do the only thing that crosses your mind. You reach for him.

At first, he resists, but when you pull him closer, his body sags against yours. His head resting against your shoulder, and his breath is warm against your skin, uneven.

“I hate losing,” he mutters, voice muffled.

“I know.” You run your fingers through his hair, lightly massaging his scalp. While it does take a while, you finally notice the tension in his body begins to melt.

And then, as if seeking something else—something more, his lips find yours.

It starts slow, but you both know where this is heading. His hands find your waist, your nails dig into his shoulders, and the weight of every unspoken thought between the both of you comes crashing down.

His kisses are tired and sloppy, a reflection of his current state, but the way he holds you makes you feel like you’re the only thing that matters right now. The way his palms roam from your waist to rubbing the small of your back and eventually making their way to the globes of your ass, you almost feel special.

It’s not long until he’s removing his boxers, freeing his cock before taking your lips to his once again. Placing you on top of him, his hands continue to roam once again, and once you can’t take it anymore, you take your own initiative. Aligning your heat with his cock before slowly sinking down on him, a breathy moan escaping your lips, only to be muffled by Reo.

You start slow—painfully slow. Adjusting yourself to his size as you slowly shift back and forth on his lap. Reo reciprocates, grinding up into your aching core. It’s slow but surprisingly sensual, extremely sensual.

His lips are latched to your neck, planting wet kisses and marks throughout your skin as he holds onto the soft flesh on your ass. If you didn’t know any better, you’d actually believe he wanted you. Though that’s not relevant, not while your body aches in pleasure as every thrust sends jolts through your body.

Reo can feel it too. He guides your movements, helping you bounce on his lap as he thrusts up to meet you, slowly increasing in pace. The room fills with the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin and your mingled moans and grunts. And before you know it, you’re reaching that all-familiar high. The high only Reo can give you.

“Reo,” your voice strained. “I’m so close.” Your words come out slurred between a mix on moans and gasps, but he understands. He lifts you up slightly, allowing him a better angle as he continues to thrust inside of you, chasing both of your releases.

“Yeah? Go on, make a mess for me.” Even his own voice is strained, but that doesn’t change a thing as you find yourself trembling on top of him. Your high crashing over you as you moan out his name.

“Shit, you’re so tight,” he’s getting desperate too. “Gonna fill you up, ok?” Though he doesn’t give you time to reply as he reaches his own high. Hot seed spraying your insides as he finally slows down his movements, gently grinding his cum inside you as the two of you pant against each other's skin.

The air is thick—too thick, almost as if something is up. Maybe you’re just delusional, actually believing the impossible will happen. But as you rest against Reo’s chest, you hear the strangest words.

“I love you.”

Your body stills, your heart stopping mid-beat.

His eyes are wide, as if he himself can’t believe what he just said. But there’s no taking it back. His hands tighten around you, grounding you in this moment.

“You…” Your throat feels tight. “You love me?”

You look up, finally facing him as you try to comprehend his words. You’re not imagining things, are you?

“I do.” Short and simple, but everything you wanted to hear. The months of what you considered one-sided yearning, all to be reciprocated, and it feels like a massive weight has just been lifted off your chest.

The grin that spreads across your face is impossible to hide, even when you try and turn away; he pulls you back to him, reciprocating with a smile of his own.

And then, as if afraid you’ll slip through his fingers, he kisses you again—like he just won his greatest victory.

Taglist: @sky-casino, @bbladie, @thetwinkims, @inu1gf (join my taglist here)

©lumiambrose ─ do not translate, repost, copy any of my works

[burner141]

Crazy thought, guys, but um Among Us x tf141? Erm, this could be because I've been reading Fear of God by @ceilidho (go read it, its lit), but I don't know much about eltrich horrors, so instead, you're getting Amogus.

So the first concept I'd like to explore is reader as the imposter. Super nervous, but still trying to fulfill their duties.

You had been trying to sabotage the crew mates at every turn, but somehow, it felt like you were the victim in all of this. Soap wouldn't stop following you around, yapping about something you couldn't even pretend to hear. Foam filled your brain when you thought about how you were going to do your tasks and mess up as many as possible. You heard his voice fade out in the background. Hopefully, he'd given up his daily chirping to you and started on Gaz. You had more important things to do than be swept up in his eager conversation.

A shadow eclipsed your path.

"Y'alright, hen? Lookin' a bit pale." Soap's face invaded your personal space as he bent down to examine you. You couldn't turn neutral fast enough. His eyes had already found what they needed to. It was easy to forget how perceptive he was with the laidback show he put on for you.

Could he see the sweat on the side of your neck? Were your ears turning red?

You didn't know, but now he did. It seemed irrelevant, but any minute detail of yours was stored in a large mental filing cabinet he had marked just for you. And your physical reactions? Very relevant.

You brushed him off, mumbling an excuse about having some tasks to do, which was true enough.

After your first kill, you started spiraling. It's not like you cared about the person you killed. You just regretted how the spotlight swiveled onto you almost immediately. Price, Soap, Gaz, and Ghost had such a strong bond. They had no room to doubt one another. Which left you and a few other crew mates. How was it possible for such a simple job to turn into a nerve-wracking challenge?

It was like they could hear your internal monologuing, your repeated reminders to stay calm, and do what you were here to do. It was anxiety-riddling and humiliating. You were supposed to be causing them trouble. Yet, you found yourself in a position akin to a rat in a maze. You knew your way around, but there was someone above you who could see your every move.

You started towards Electrical, ready to mess up some wires. It wasn't a hard task, but the thought of those blue eyes on you or that silent mammoth - "Ghost," they called him - following you in the shadows, even though he wasn't an imposter, it scattered your thoughts. You opened an electrical panel, concentrating on the colors, hoping that sabotage would clear your mind.

"Blue goes with blue, love." You slammed the panel shut, your entire body stiffening as a deep voice admonished you from behind.

"Ah, John. Yeah. Sorry, so tired lately. My bad." Your words were choppy and breathy, unbelievable even to your ears. Practiced lines didn't come off as natural in person. You rewired your work, putting everything properly in place - unfamiliar movements.

You turned around to find John less than a foot away from you. You avoided eye contact and made a move to skirt around him. He gave you no space to.

"Go take a nap, sweetheart. Sure you'll feel better then." A command.

You nodded to appease him, expecting him to move out of the way and disappear into the shadows. But no. Price walked you to your room, silently matching your pace. Your own personal warden.

You shut your room door without looking back at him. Your nails dug into your skin. How could you fail such a simple task? How could you get caught?

You'd have to make up for it later. After your nap.

[bettystonewell]

I GOT YOU

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean might not have the best bedside manners and you might not be the best patient, but when you wake up feeling unwell and feverous, he tries to help you out in his own way.

Word Count: 1.1k words

Tags: fluff, sick-fic, language, Dean takes care of you

A/N: I wrote this one a little over a year ago when I was feeling under the weather and sorry for myself. Nothing like a Dean body pillow (if only I could get my hands on one), even when you’re not sick.—————————————————————Masterlist

You woke up that morning like any other. The sound of your alarm calling to you from what felt like a distant room. Only your phone was a mere foot away from you, sitting on the bedside table charging and waiting for you to turn it off.

Dammit. Sam would be waiting for you in the war room, ready to start your early morning run.

You moved to push yourself up and off your mattress, but your body felt heavier than normal, fingers and toes, oddly sweaty. In fact, your whole body was covered in a sheen of sweat, and yet you felt cold.

No. Urgh. No. You couldn’t be getting sick, could you? You’d barely left the bunker in the last few days to run into anyone that could pass any germs onto you. But the further you moved across the floor of your room to your wardrobe to choose your clothes for the day, the heavier your body felt. The foggier your mind became. The snottier your… Urgh…

Fuck this! Fuck Sam and his morning run. You were going back to bed. Hopefully to sleep it off and wake up feeling refreshed and not sick.

You. Were. Not. Sick.

And you kept telling yourself that, splaying yourself out on top of your bed like a starfish, feet dangling haphazardly over the edge.

Lucky there were no such things as monsters under the bed. Or was there? Sam or Dean had never told you if such things existed and you’d certainly never come across any mention of one in the books in the library. Urgh. You were delirious and needed rest.

Rest. Rest was… Good…

A loud thump startled you from your dream. It had been a good dream, too. One where Dean had been…

“Sweetheart?” the object of your desires called out to you from behind the door to your room. “You in there?” he yelled loudly again. Making your eardrums ring with the obnoxious way he insisted on greeting you presently.

Why did he have to be so loud?

You tried to reply, but your voice was dry and hoarse. The sound coming from your vocal cords while meaning to be a “Yeah,” came out more like a cat hacking up a fur ball.

Surprisingly, though, he heard you. Either that or he disregarded his manners as usual and opened the door anyway to find you still sprawled across your bed. Your hair no doubt splayed in every which way across your face and back, while your nose dripped with the mucus you had zero fucks of wiping in that present moment.

His eyes did a once over your weakened form and he commented in a way only he could get away with. At least at present because you had no energy to throttle him.

“Woah! Sweetheart! You look like shit!”

A groan that was meant to come out as a sarcastic “thanks” escaped your throat. ‘Way to make a girl feel better, jackass.’

You slowly sat up, making sure your clothes hadn’t bunched awkwardly in any of the wrong places as you did so. The fear of accidentally exposing yourself to him while you were still stuck in the friend zone fuelled you, even in your under the weather state.

Once upright, your body swayed. Its own weight, too heavy to hold itself and your head up on top of it. Arms doing their best to support you, along with your legs and feet that you dropped to the floor.

Dean’s eagle eyes had been watching you the entire time. Studying your movements and observing the way you scrunched up your face in pain and discomfort.

Without an invitation or an explanation, he walked over to where you now sat and placed himself beside you. A hand coming up to feel your forehead. The drops of sweat transferring to the back of his hand, along with the heat that radiated off of your skin.

“You’re sick!” he exclaimed, his voice hitching on the end.

‘No shit, Sherlock,’ your inner voice said, but “Hmph” was the sound that escaped you.

“You should lie back down. I’ll go get you some aspirin or something.”

The something scared you and you shook your head in protest.

“Don’t be so stubborn. We gotta break that fever. Wait here.” And he stood up and left the room.

Now alone again and no longer feeling the pressure to sit up in front of company, you allowed your body to flop back onto the bed. Your head missing your pillow by inches, but you didn’t care. It was easier to lie where you now lay. Moving was just as difficult as speaking had been, and sleep soon took you again.

You woke to the feeling of something or someone shaking you this time. Strong hands on your shoulders, gripping the muscle and flesh over them too tight.

“Help me sit her up.” A male voice rung through your ears again.

“Dude, she’s really burning up. I don’t know if this’ll be enough.”

“Just, okay Sammy!” said the first.

A second set of hands grabbed your own, and you were pulled and pushed into a sitting position. A softer feeling headboard, or was it a hard muscly mattress, slipped in behind your back? It grew arms and then wrapped them around your frame, pulling you against it.

Fingers pried open your mouth and placed a small object on your tongue. A hard, smoother one pushed against your lips and cool liquid flowed against your teeth and down your chin. A second pair of fingertips massaged your neck and the tiny pill shaped thing eased down your throat and into your stomach.

Your head still pounded when you awoke again, but your body felt less cold and more comfortable. The grogginess of waking made it clear you had finally managed some uninterrupted sleep.

But your pillow felt hard, and it wasn’t like that before. It didn’t smell of whiskey and gunpowder, either. The same scent you loved to smell when you sat in Baby or next to… Dean…

His soft flannel was on your cheek. Short spikey ends of his five o’clock shadow pressed through the strands of hair that graced your head, tickling your scalp underneath. His hand rested on your side, draped lightly by the arm that wrapped around your back.

You were on a lean, lying against Dean. His sock covered feet attached to the end of his denim covered bow legs came into view as you opened your eyes for the first time since he’d arrived in your room earlier that day.

As you moved to sit up, startled by the position you’d found yourself in, his hand pressed you down, gentle but firm. “Stay still and rest, sweetheart,” he said. “I got you.”

You swallowed the lump in your dry, aching throat and attempted to talk. “Dean?” His name left your lips shaky and coarse.

“Best not to talk…” His body leaned some, shifting back into place almost as quick with the addition of a glass tumbler half full of water. “Here…”

The cup tilted into your lips and the cool liquid from earlier lined your inner mouth and throat, relieving the scratch that had tickled them some.

Dean leaned back again, and you heard the glass hit the wood of the table at the edge of your bed. “Better?” he asked softly.

Your head only nodded in response, lazilly and slow was all you could manage.

“Good. You had us worried. Go back to sleep. I got you.”

—————————————————————DEAN TAG LIST:

@globetrotter28 @ambiguous-avery @arcannaa @jollyhunter @zepskies

@reluctanthalfwayoptimism @supernotnatural2005 @jackles010378 @kaz-2y5-spn @applelovesposts

@jaydensluv @foxyjwls007

If you’d like to be added to the list, lmk.

[alieinthemorning]

Familiar Warmth [Caleb]

Content: Touch-Starved, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Soft Caleb, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Reader-Insert

Pronouns: None

Note: I see Caleb within the childhood friend trope. Anything outside of that makes me uncomfortable, so I won’t be engaging with it in any sort of way.

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don’t forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

This work’s concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries

Wanna support me? Here’s my Ko-Fi!

It was raining tonight. Although it sounded far off despite the curtains being open, letting in the blurry moonlight. He focused on the pitter-patter of rain, he focused on his breathing, his heartbeat…

And yours. 

He was at your house, an occurrence that was somehow both rare and frequent. Anytime he had a break from being the colonel, he sought you out. He needed to be around you. You drowned out the darkness, the voices, all of it. It left him with just you and him, and that’s all he needed. 

When the rain started, you pulled him up from the couch and dragged him to your bedroom. He was very confused at first. Especially when you stripped down to your undergarments (and told him to follow suit), but then you lied down and gestured for him to join you and he understood. He went to lie beside you, but you gently tugged his arm closer to you. He confusedly maneuvered himself on top of you, resting his head on your chest. Then your hands made their way into his hair, and he melted. 

How long had it been since you’d done this for him? Over a decade. It felt even longer after his death and year separation from you. Even after all this time, however, your fingers were still gentle, and you still hummed that same tune. 

On one hand, it made him feel like a kid again, but on the other…he felt special. Like this was just for him, you’d never do this for anyone else….well, maybe someone else…someone who looked a little bit like you and a little bit like him—

“You’re thinking pretty hard, Cap’.” Your comment pulled him out of his thoughts. “Wanna talk about it?”

He flushed. He definitely didn’t want to tell you about his white picket fence dream. At least not now, not while he was deep in your bliss. If that made him selfish, so be it. 

“Should I start guessing?” 

Eyes reminiscent of sugilite flashed open met your closed ones. There was a soft smile gracing your features with the moonlight from the open curtains of your window haloing you.

You were beautiful.

He shifted his head so that his chin was resting on your chest now. “Nah, you’re just imagining things.”

“Yeah, sure. You’re definitely not thinking about the future right now.” You chuckled. “When you think about the past, you start running your mouth, but when you think about the future…you get real quiet…”

He froze. 

You were entirely too perceptive for your own good. 

And his silence was a loud confirmation.

He quietly cursed himself. It had taken a while, and a lot of apologies, but he had finally gained some semblance of trust with you again. And now here he was, thinking useless things. Especially since the last time he talked about the future to you, it was in a frantic haze where he said he’d lock you up in a maze where no one could find you. He hated himself for saying that. For scaring you. 

He pulled away from you, showing you his back as he sat on the edge of the bed. He wanted to leave, to shut you out and act like nothing was wrong. However, you had followed him, and the warmth of your hand was already bleeding into his back. He swore he could even feel it in his mechanical arm. 

“Talk to me.”

His eyes slid close as his body leaned forward. His elbows on his knees, and head in his hands. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and your body pressed against his. 

“I keep thinking about…our future together. Which I know isn’t right because it’s not a given that I’m even in a future with you. I mean—I just barely regained a fraction of your trust, but—” His fumbled words became a sigh. “Ah…I feel a pervert”

“How so?”

“I…I keep thinking about kids…our kids.”He sighed roughly in an attempt to keep some deeper feelings from breaching the surface. “I know I shouldn’t. Especially after what I said to you. Having a kid by me would probably feel the same to you. You’d feel trapped—trapped to me, and I shouldn’t do that to you and—”

“Do think our kids would have your eyes or mine? Honestly, I’d want each of them to look like a good mix of the both of us, but if I had to choose, I’d choose your eye color.”

“Huh?” He asked dumbly. 

“What if they had an eye color each? I think that’d look good too.”

What were you saying?

Were you really fantasizing about the two of your future children right now?

And you weren’t admonishing him for having thoughts like these either? 

You had thought about it yourself?

“Am I dreaming?” He murmured, not meaning to say that out loud. 

“Nope.” You pulled away from him for a moment, making your way into his lap. “You may have lost my trust before, but you’re slowly gaining it back. And plus,” You paused, gently brushing your palm against his cheek. “You’re my forever co-pilot, Caleb.”

He chuckled, hands slotting against your waist. “Co-pilot. Who’s the one with the credentials?”

“I’m the pilot in my life, just as you are in yours.” You smiled at him. “We’re both each other’s co-pilots.”

“Maybe I should make it official…?” He asked, unable to hide the timid hopefulness as he brought up a hand to tap your left ring finger. 

You laughed. “I’ll give you the signal, Cap’in.” Then your gaze turned soft as you gathered his face in your hands. “I love you, Caleb. I always have.”

That knocked the wind out of him. He couldn’t have stopped the tears if he tried. They were sudden and unrelenting as they flooded from his tear ducts, down his checks, in between your fingers and down your wrists. 

Despite this, he smiled. 

“Thank you for loving me all this time, pip-squeak.”

:) This was just supposed to be fluff. I ended up making a man cry. AGAIN

CALL THAT ON BRAND

Ko-Fi | Masterlist