#‘hey. you can do this. the only thing standing in your way is you’

[houseofhyde]

in vino veri-tits!

pairing. bucky barnes x fem!reader. synopsis. after you stumble home drunk out of your wits, a yearning bucky barnes learns how it feels to have you fall asleep in his arms. based on this request. warnings. drunk!reader, mutual yearning, two losers beginning to crush on each other, a little bit of angst, fluff, bucky's dick continues to have bad timing. wordcount. 2.5k hyde's input. consider this my apology for the porn you were promised and never received. sorry for giving you all blue-balls, besties <3 this is technically part of the manchild au but can be read as a stand alone! manchild au masterlist

It takes Bucky three weeks to fully settle in to life on your couch.

They say that insanity is doing the same thing, over and over — and, yet, survival is found in routine. The soldier carves out space for himself within the apartment walls; he quietly lays claim over the far-left cushion on the couch, then that navy blue mug in the kitchen, and then of the top shelf in the shower. Relics of him lay scattered around a home, for the first time since the days of visiting county fairs and defending Steve against formidable opponents.

Sam had only asked for temporary — a few nights, at best — and, while you’ve yet to mention his departure, Bucky can’t help but notice the ticking of the clock.

Oh, look, it’s just past four am!

And you’re still not home, something Bucky is painfully aware of — quite literally. There’s an ache in his back, a cramp in his hand, and a sting in his eyes. Hunched over, phone in his grasp, and his sight glued to a television burning his retinas with static.

He knows the lump swelling in his throat is unjustified. It’s not like you’ve given him a reason to worry; you’re a responsible adult who got by perfectly fine before he came along and disturbed your peace. Yet, as another minute ticks by on the clock, he cannot help the way his eyes shift towards the apartment door.

You haven’t been home all day.

From the moment you woke up this morning, rushing out into the kitchen, stealing a slice of toast off his plate, and chugging down half his cup of americano — and then proceeding to scrunch your nose and question the lack of milk in his coffee — you were gone, elsewhere, mind already running ten miles ahead of your kitten heeled feet. When the clock struck six and there was no sign of you walking through the front door, all Bucky had gotten was a text.

Going out with coworkers. No need to stay up. Don’t leave key in the door.

Sleep is a stubborn thing, eluding the soldier, denying him the right to fulfil your request, and he hates it.

The last thing Bucky needs is for you to come home, find him wide awake, and laugh at his inability to sleep beneath a lonesome roof — Sam has been sworn to secrecy on the matter, prohibited from mentioning the true reason Bucky was abandoned at your door.

Something interrupts his dwellings.

The hairs on the back of his neck rise. Super soldier hearing had served him well in the days of completing missions and filling graves, but he scarcely reaches for it anymore — not since using it became an invasion of your privacy. It takes a second for Bucky to focus his hearing again but, when he does, there’s a rustle behind the door.

He stands at attention quicker than a frat boy on Viagra, sprung right off the couch and treading lightly towards the entrance. Pre-war habits seem to die hard, as his eyes scan the room for a weapon, until he remembers he is the weapon.

Fingers curl around the handle.

The noise on the other side grows louder.

A key is thrust into the lock.

The poor-excuse of an intruder moves more frantically.

One twist and- Bang!

An echo follows as the apartment door slams full-speed into the wall, revealing the one thing Bucky’s been waiting for all night.

“Hey, roomie!” You squeal with an excitement that feels foreign to the soldier.

Thus far, you’ve greeted him with a lick of sarcasm most days, and a bite of contempt on the worst ones.

A wave of stench hits his nostrils, souring his palate with the burn of booze.

“You’re…” Back. Safe. Alive. Home. “Drunk.”

“No, silly! I’m-” Whatever poorly made joke you aim to speak collapses alongside your balance, sending you teetering face first into Bucky’s chest. “Whoa, you really are strong.”

“The wonders of illegal soviet serums,” if he still believed in any god, he’d pray for his heart to slow down — it’s too eager to make itself known as you press against it.

“I read about that on your Wikipedia page!” Instead of inquiring on whatever nonsense you’re babbling against him, Bucky takes instead to manoeuvring you fully into the apartment, securing the door shut with a thud far more delicate than the one you decided to wake up the whole neighbourhood with. “Those soviets were mean to you, weren’t they?”

“They weren’t exactly a walk in the park,” and neither is handling a drunken you — his DNA may be riddled with superhuman strength but so are you, apparently, dead-weighting and resisting his attempts to get you off him.

“Mean people suck,” you sigh deeper into him, cheek squished and lips pouting. “I hate when people are mean to me.”

Something tugs at his chest, pulling at strings he thought his heart had long forgotten. The instinct to kill comes as easy to the soldier as breathing — easier, sometimes — he suppresses it with a deep breath and replaces it with a hand on your arm, forcing you off of him enough to see the solemn look on your face.

“Who was mean to you?”

“No one important, just…” You’re avoiding his gaze, eyes bouncing around the room like a DVD logo. “Some coworkers have been talking about me.”

“Saying what?” The soldier feels his brows tighten, a frown taking over his features the more he watches you pull in on yourself, confidence shot and bleeding all over the living room floor. “D’you want me to get them to back off? Could pick you up after work and-”

Your head snaps up, attention now fully his to possess, “You’d do that for me?”

“Yes,” when the truth feels too heavy, a lie can lighten the load. “So you’ll stop coming home drunk and disturbing my sleep.”

Where sober you would shoot Bucky a vulgar hand gesture and degrade him with words he’s yet to incorporate into his vernacular, the version of you that stands before the soldier now throws her head back in laughter.

The disappointment is unexpected, flooding over his soul like a tidal wave as you trade stabilizing yourself against him for stumbling blindly towards the kitchen.

He’s quick to course-correct, hands hovering over each of your arms, not quite touching as he steers you elsewhere.

“Ugh,” you groan, feet moving slowly, each step like you’re wading through water. “I think I’ve got whisky clit!”

“Whisky what?”

“Y’know, like whisky dick, but,” you halt suddenly, forcing Bucky’s front to slam into your back just in time to see you gesture towards your pelvis. “Whisky clit.”

“And why do you think you’ve got… That?” he tries to say it, he really does, but the blood rushing from his head and shooting straight for his groin at the mere thought of that part of you brings an unwelcome obstacle to his attempts at guiding you.

“Because there was this really hot guy at the bar who wanted to sleep with me,” you announce casually, like your words aren’t grabbing a fistful of his guts and twisting them up into an unusable knot. “But instead of wanting to fuck him, I just kept thinking about you.”

It’s unclear who stops moving, you or the soldier.

Either way, you’re both brought to a stand still.

A blink of the eye is all it takes for Bucky’s mind to yank him reluctantly down memory lane.

Back to last week, one of those rare mornings where you’ve awoken before him and Bucky enters the kitchen to find you preparing the coffee for a change. Nothing monumental had happened that morning, you were clad in your usual frilly sleepwear and rocking bags under your eyes big enough to make him yawn on your behalf. By every means, no inch of you appeared out of the ordinary.

But something about you had stopped him in his tracks, kept him from crossing those last few steps into the kitchen.

The window lay open, inviting in a biting breeze that nipped at the skin and rustled the soft cotton of your sleep shirt. Head turned to the side, eyes watching a struggling sun attempt to rise over the gloomy fog of a September morning, and the steam of boiling coffee dancing around your face with every sip taken — for a moment, you were something straight out of the movies, completely intangible and ethereal.

The image was ephemeral, gone as quickly as your eyes landed on his awestruck figure and you blessed the start of his day with bittersweet snark. Short-lived as it had been, it’s been weighing on his mind ever since. Quietly, patiently, with no demand to be noticed yet with no intention of going away.

You turn around and rip him right back into reality, to the here and now of a 4 am battle to get you to bed.

“I kept wondering if you ate the lasagna I left for you. If you managed to get the TV to work. If you were sleeping,” you take a pause to breathe, pinning him with an accusatory look. “Why was I thinking about you?”

The very same question he’s been wrestling for over a week, after embarking on his first mission of vigilantism since unofficially making a home out of your couch, only to wind up finding himself awake at night, unable to sleep and itching to call and check on you.

Bucky had no answer for himself, just like he has no answer for you.

Luckily, you’re one too many whatever-you’ve-been-drinkings deep to notice his redirection of your attention, hands at last no longer hovering and seizing claim over your arms, leading you backwards.

Your bedroom door is almost a sanctuary, a vision of white calling out to him in the dark of the apartment and promising him freedom from the confusing things the barrier of sobriety no longer stops you from saying. Just like…

"You smell better than sex," hummed into his chest as you let yourself go lax once more, melting into his arms and forcing him into the world’s stiffest embrace.

“And you smell like a walking hangover.”

So, this is how it feels to hold you close.

Bucky shakes the thought away before he can dare indulge in it.

“No, nooo-” you seem to have finally caught on to where he’s moving you towards. “I don’t wanna sleep in here.”

You’re digging your heels into the ground, as if the soldier could not just simply fling you over his shoulder and toss you onto the bed. He toys with the idea, until he feels that pesky blood trying to rush down to his groin again.

“Why not? You’ve got that comfy bed you’re always bragging to me about.”

“Am I bragging or trying to get you to join me?” You’re not helping his… situation, spewing words best suited for the nighttime lovers Sam warned him about, and fluttering your lashes at him. Bucky almost swears they’re pleading to him in morse code but, no, that’s just you winging out loud. “Please, Buckyyy! It’s so big and lonely in there.”

The scene is something stripped out of a low-budget comedy movie: him, attempting to wrangle you past the threshold of your bedroom door, and you, digging your nails into the wooden doorframe and anchoring yourself down as an unmovable force. In the battle of super soldier versus super drunk, you win.

His sigh is one of defeat, but you’re too busy cheering to notice.

“So where are you planning on sleeping, genius?” He asks, as you skip right past him, all the drunken swaying suddenly replaced with something more akin to the zoomies of an energetic puppy.

“On the couch,” and you’re dropping down onto it, right on the spot he’s mentally marked as his own. “There’s enough space for us both.”

Your miniature excuse of a couch is barely big enough for him to sleep on. Though Bucky knows that, it doesn’t stop him from joining you. He reaches for a safety distance, two cushions over from you and on the complete opposite end of the couch.

It’s not far enough.

“My friend thinks you’re hot,” you proclaim with no warning, voice veering off into a yawn.

When he glances at you, he’s almost sure you’ve inched a little bit closer, thigh teetering on the edge of encroaching onto the middle cushion.

When you show no sign of elaborating, Bucky opts for a one worded response, “Okay.”

Your reply is instant, your whole body turning to face him, shoulder digging into the backrest. Now Bucky’s confident you’re moving closer.

“Do you think she’s hot?”

“I don’t even know who you’re talking about.”

Another yawn, and you’re slowly sinking down, legs curling up onto the couch and head shooting straight for his thighs. When contact is made, he feels every single one of his muscles go tense.

“Oh, okay. Good…” it’s barely a mumble against grey sweatpants, one hand perched just above his knee while you rest the other close to your chest. He wonders if your heart is moving at the same pace as his. “‘Cause she asked me for your number, but I said you don’t have a phone.”

Suddenly, Bucky feels like he should be anywhere but here — sitting as stiff as a board on your couch, with your head in his lap and resting inches away from the uncomfortable, unfortunate tightness in his sweatpants, playing audience to confessions that sober you would sooner kick him out onto the streets than admit to.

Just when the soldier thinks you’re fast asleep and he’s gotten away with not acknowledging the massive elephant you brought into the room, you call out his name.

He meets it with a soft hum.

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I did that?”

“Why did you do that?”

“I don’t know,” he feels you shrug, the hand at your chest suddenly reaching back to tug his own over your shoulder, a makeshift blanket for your sweating skin — one way or another, your system is getting rid of the alcohol, Bucky’s just thankful for no vomit. “I guess I just want you all to myself.”

“Yeah?” You nod instantly at his question, and unknowingly give Bucky the confidence he needs to do the one thing Sam’s always warning him against: speaking before he thinks. “If you remember this in the morning, I’ll finally make a move. It’ll be better than any date you let those other losers take you on. Deal?”

Whether you agree to his terms or not doesn’t matter, in the end, because you don’t remember.

Come afternoon the next day, you’re waking to a headache and a blurry night, swearing fourteen vows of abstinence from the devil’s juice for the rest of your lifetime, while Bucky puts his head down and focuses on kneading dough.

It’s much easier to make sourdough than to question what compelled him to make you that offer.

+ extra hyde !

· apologies for the lack of posting recently, life has unfortunately decided to throw some curve-balls at me every time i reach to write. it's chill though, i'm just slowly getting fics written <3

[girllblogging777]

Hii I was wondering if you can do a Spencer Reid x reader one shot where reader gets in a argument with one of the bau members (you can choose which) and so reader storms off but as she does she says “Spencer let’s go” and then he gets up and follows her! I hope that made sense I love you!!

౨ৎ⋆˚࿔ IN WHICH spencer is the epitome of a puppy boyfriend

you were absolutely fuming.

standing in the middle of the bullpen, for everyone to see, with your arms crossed defiantly as you talked back to your unit chief. not a very smart decision, you thought, because after years working at the bureau within the BAU, you knew one thing.

do not mess with aaron hotchner.

over time, hotch had become more than just your supervisor. you’d grown fond of his cold puns and rare smiles, that only you knew how to get out of him. words would probably not be enough to describe the relationship you two shared. but he was protective of you, his young protegee with a viper tongue and an outstanding ability to make anyone around feel small - except him, of course.

and you, well… you respected him, with his stoic behaviour and self destructive tendencies when it came to work.

but right now, none of that mattered. your brain was practically boiling and it showed, in the way your knuckles tightened around your profiler badge, and a shade of crimson tinted your face.

usually, spencer liked that color. not that red was his favourite, really, but because when your cheeks blushed, it was his work. the first time you’d kissed, a soft, stolen brush of your lips against his in the file room, the burgundy shirt you wore almost matched the color of your cheeks.

and he loved that.

however, he loathed the situation you were putting yourself into right now. like the feeling of nails on a chalkboard, your voice, usually so sweet and honey-like, made him wince.

“i cannot believe you would let me go in there without a warning !” you shouted, throwing your hands up in the air in frustration, as if you weren’t making fool out of yourself already. “we’re a team. okay ? a team. what kind of unit chief lets their agent do that ?”

hotch didn’t move, didn’t blink. practically unimpressed, his dark eyes looked at you in a way that made you feel small. you felt yourself visibly shrinking back into the little girl whose biggest fear was disappointment, and hated every second of it.

but that didn’t stop you from keeping the show going.

you couldn’t stop the words from coming out. like knives that had been sharpened for years, it felt good to finally attack and use them. but when silence met you in return, you were quick to change your mind.

hotch wasn’t going to crumble down like you did, he was better than that. he’d probably just raise a brow and ask “are you done ?” in a dismissive tone, and you couldn’t handle that. it would be too embarrassing.

so, you turned around and found your boyfriend’s gaze, like an anchor in your surging sea of anger. spencer was an extension of you, your other half. and you couldn’t drag him down like this. embarrassing yourself was enough.

“spencer,“ you called out, your voice still coming out a bit too loud from the outburst. “let’s go”

he perked up, automatically turning around you and trying to ignore the fact that all eyes were on him now.

right then, he was up and following you as you pushed the door of the bullpen open. you shut it a little too forcefully behind the two of you, a last statement that would hopefully hit hotch in some sort of way.

“hey, love,” spencer exhaled, out of breath as he ran after you.

you didn’t say anything, too overwhelmed to get anything out at this point. the empty hallways of the building were cold, and you slowed down to allow him to catch up with you.

with a warm, comforting hand against the small of your back, he walked along in silence. because no matter what happened, spencer would follow you.

anytime, and anywhere.

[glamorizethechaos]

20/20 Vision

After finding out you’re pregnant with your second, you try and find a cute way to incorporate your son into the announcement. Only thing is, Jack is an idiot and doesn’t notice what’s right in front of him.

————————————————————————

Standing at the bathroom sink you glanced down at the test on the counter.

Positive.

You were so busy chasing around your red headed feral toddler that you hadn’t even realized you were two weeks late. You were loading the dishwasher the night before when the smell of old food hit you with a wave of nausea that was all too familiar. When you were pregnant with your son, you had a 9 month vacation from doing the dishes— the smell of the dishwasher always made you vomit without fail.

After finding an old test under the bathroom sink, you waited until Jack left for work to take it. The line showing up almost instantly. Fuck.

You hadn’t been trying but also hadn’t necessarily been taken any precautions either. Your son just celebrated his first birthday. He had just had taken his first steps. He was still so little. He tugged on your pants as he reached up for you in the bathroom. You picked him up and held him on your hip, your breath shaking and eyes burning with tears.

“I guess you’re gonna be a big brother, huh? You want a baby brother or sister?”

“Baby” he repeated, smiling and clapping at himself in the mirror.

When Jack came home the next morning, your son ran to him wearing a “Big Brother” shirt. Jack scooped him up, kissing him on his big chubby cheeks.

“Hey buddy, you been a good boy for mommy? Did you grow on me overnight big guy? You feel heavier.”

He set him down in his high chair before walking over to where you stood at the stove making pancakes.

“Pancakes? On a Tuesday? What’s the special occasion, mommy?” He asked, kissing your neck. You looked up at him and slightly furrowed your brow— almost enough for him not to notice. Almost. “What? What’s wrong?”

Was he serious?

You glanced at your son who was banging on his high chair tray and back at Jack.

He didn’t notice the shirt.

You tried to stifle a chuckle before kissing him and turning back to the stove.

“What? I can’t make pancakes on a Tuesday?”

“If I recall, when I asked for some pancakes two weeks ago the response was ‘that’s a weekend breakfast’ and told me I knew where the cereal was.”

You checked the clock.

8:14 am.

You started playing a game only you knew existed. How long would it take Jack to notice your son’s shirt?

The three of you sat at the table eating your pancakes as Jack told you about his shift. He wiped your son’s hands and face clean and brought him to the couch for what he called “father and son bonding time”.

Aka the two of them watched reruns of whatever sports game was on the night before.

“Can you say Go Steelers?”

“Ga teels!”

“That’s my buddy! Go Steelers!”

10:30 am.

Still nothing.

You sat with your boys on the couch, snuggling up together under your Phillies blanket Jack keeps saying he was going to burn in the fireplace. When your son started to rub his eyes Jack picked him up, bringing him into the bedroom for their nap.

Jack missed your son while he was working, and wanted to spend every moment with him when he was home. He’d never sleep if it meant spending extra time with you both, so you compromised by having the both of them nap together in the afternoons.

Watching the two of them sleep together made your heart skip a beat— thinking that in 9 months time another little addition would be joining in on their nap time and sports recaps.

2:30 pm.

Jack shuffles out of the bedroom holding your son, the both of them with curly bed head. You put a reminder in your phone to schedule him an eye exam. I mean sure he was nearly 50 but his eyes weren’t THAT bad, were they?

It was taking everything in you to not tell him to read your sons fucking shirt. God you loved Jack so much. He can catch a case of sepsis before anyone else but doesn’t notice the giant “Big Brother” shirt your son has been wearing ALL DAY.

“Wanna take him for a walk before dinner?” You suggested and Jack obliged “get him in the stroller for me?”

Jack buckled him into the stroller and the two of you walked through your favorite park. Full of laughing children, fountains, flowers, and people. An older couple passed by, the woman smiling at your son before yelling:

“Congrats honey!”

Jack cocker his brow, not sure what had just transpired.

“What was that all about?”

You simply shrugged and kept walking, you felt horrible not acknowledging the woman, but Jack still had NO idea.

Then it happened again. Two people passing by offering their congratulations, Jack stopped in his tracks and looked at you.

“Okay, what the fuck is going on? Did this kid win a Nobel Peace Prize for ending war in the Middle East with a game of peekaboo or something?”

5:00 pm

You stood over the stove once again, stirring the pot of sauce that had been simmering for most of the afternoon. You gave up.

“Hey Jack?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“Dinner is almost ready. Do you mind changing him out of his shirt, it’s new and I don’t want him to get sauce on it.”

“Ye-“

You heard him go quiet, and before you knew it he was standing on the doorway with your son in his arms. His face was pale and his eyes were almost unreadable.

“What’s this?” He asked.

“Nice of you to finally notice, dad!” You rolled your eyes with a chuckle. You wiped your hands on the towel draped over your shoulder and left to retrieve the positive pregnancy tests hidden in your sock drawer, all 5 of them. Each one representing your denial.

When you came back to the kitchen, Jacks eyes were glued to your son’s shirt, looking like he had just seen a ghost. Finally he glanced up at you, eyes trailing down to your stomach. You handed him the tests, each test with lines looking almost darker than the last.

“I was loading the dishwasher two nights ago and gagged. I realized I was two weeks late. Got the shirt after you left for work yesterday. ”

“I— I don’t— when did you put this on him?”

“7:30 this morning.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m serious Jack. It took you…” you glanced at the clock “9 hours to notice.”

“Waitwaitwait, you mean to tell me— but we spent the whole day together! And the people in the park!”

“I felt horrible not acknowledging them! But the look on your face was too good, when it happened the second time I was dying inside.”

“And this guy! Little punk knew this whole time and didn’t tell me!” He bounced his son who was chewing on his dog tags.

He looked back up at you to find tears trickling down you cheeks.

“Hey— hey come on, what’s the matter?” He crossed the kitchen quickly, resting his hand on your hip.

“Are you mad? I mean is this what you want?”

“Why wouldn’t I want this?”

Your son reached for you and you pulled him into your arms.

“Our little guy just turned 1 last month, he’s still just a baby. We haven’t even talked about this. I just feel like it’s all too soon.”

“I mean sure, the timing isn’t exactly ideal, but if you think I’m upset or angry, you’re wrong. Scared? Sure. Unhappy? Not a chance.”

“So we’re really doing this again?”

“Looks like it…” he counted the tests on his hand. Picturing you taking one after the other.

“Then I guess I can ask you to load the dishwasher after dinner?”

[sunsetmade]

Can I please request a rafe x reader where they’re together and in an argument and not speaking for a few days but he still holds her every night? Or maybe they’re ex’s but when she asks him to come over to hold her he still says yes? Xx 🩷 really love your writing btw:)

Thank you!! Enjoy your request 💕

Love Doesn’t Just End

Ex Bf! Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Y/N mentioned once…

The bass was pounding through the walls of the Boneyard house, heavy enough to rattle the bottles on the table and vibrate through the soles of Rafe’s shoes. It wasn’t his scene tonight—not really. But he’d somehow let Topper and Kelce talk him into it, like they always did. Said he needed to get out, meet people, stop moping around all the time. Rafe didn’t say much in response, just shrugged and followed them out the door, a beer already in hand. He hadn’t been in the mood for crowds, or loud music, or girls trying to get his attention with coy smiles and flirty wiggling fingers.

There was only one girl he ever looked for in a crowd, and she wasn’t here.

She hadn’t been near him in weeks—not since their breakup. A quiet, aching thing that had left his chest hollow ever since. He wasn’t sure how to stop thinking about her. Every corner of the island reminded him of her. The way she’d curl up in the passenger seat of his truck. Her laugh when she’d poke fun at him for pretending not to love chick flicks. Her soft little hums when she made coffee. Even now, standing in the middle of a packed room, all he could think about was how she used to grip his hand in crowds, like he was her anchor.

“Yo, Rafe!” Kelce’s voice cut through the noise, a red cup already raised toward him. “You good, man?”

Rafe blinked, nodded absently. “Yeah. Just grabbing some air.”

Kelce gave him a thumbs up and turned back to the group, already mid-sentence in some story. Rafe wandered out the back door, where the music was muffled and the stars stretched far and quiet above the tree line. He ran a hand through his buzzed hair and pulled out his phone. No texts. No missed calls.

He hadn’t expected any. But he still looked, every time.

He was halfway through lighting a cigarette when the screen lit up in his hand.

Y/N 💛 calling…

He nearly dropped the damn thing. The cigarette fell from his lips, forgotten on the porch, as he fumbled to answer it, his heart literally tripping over itself.

“Hey,” he said, breathlessly once he hit answer.

There was a soft inhale on the other end. Silence for what felt like an hour but was actually just a few seconds. Then her voice came through, quiet and fragile in a way that punched him right in the ribs.

“Hi, Rafe.”

It hit him like a wave. Her voice. That soft, sad tone he knew too well. Something was wrong. He could hear it, clear as day.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked immediately, standing a little straighter. His eyes flicked back toward the house, toward the sound of the party—which was now suddenly irrelevant.

“I didn’t mean to call,” she said quickly, almost embarrassed. “I just… I don’t know. I didn’t want to be alone right now.”

But Rafe was already moving, keys in hand before she finished the sentence.

“Do you want me to come over?”

A long pause. Then, barely above a whisper: “Yes, please.” It was so delicate. So polite. So her.

That was all it took. He didn’t say another word. Just told her he’d be there soon, practically ran out of the party, climbed in his truck, and started driving.

⸻

It was a short drive, but it felt like the longest one of his life. His mind raced the whole way. What had happened? Had someone hurt her? Had she just had a bad day? Was she crying? He hadn’t heard it in her voice, but he could imagine it. Could picture her sitting on her bed, curled up in that oversized hoodie she always wore when she felt low.

His chest ached even just thinking about it.

When he pulled up to her house, he didn’t bother knocking. She always left the door unlocked when she was home— a bad habit Rafe tried to stop her from— and he wasn’t about to waste time. The living room was dark except for the faint glow of the TV. He saw her there, curled up on the couch with a blanket pulled around her shoulders, knees to her chest.

She looked up as he entered, eyes wide and a little glassy.

“You came.”

“Of course I did,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Because to him, it was.

She looked so small in that moment. Fragile. Tired. And all Rafe wanted to do was wrap her up in his arms and keep the world away.

“Bad night?” he asked softly, crouching in front of her.

She nodded, not trusting her voice. Her fingers twisted in the edge of the blanket, and Rafe saw the way her lip slightly trembled. Without thinking, he reached out and brushed a knuckle against her cheek.

“C’mere,” he murmured, heart beating faster.

She didn’t hesitate—not for a second. Just shifted forward, the blanket slipping from her shoulders in a quiet cascade to the floor. Her arms wound tightly around his neck, holding on like she’d drown if she let go. Rafe moved instantly, his hands catching her waist like muscle memory, and he stood in one fluid motion, lifting her with ease.

He carried her to the opposite side of the couch, holding her like she was something fragile—something precious. When he sat, he pulled her onto his lap, not just beside him but into him, anchoring her with arms that wrapped around her waist and firmly stayed there. Like he couldn’t bear to let her drift away again.

She folded into his chest instantly. Her cheek pressed to his heartbeat, her fingers curled into the soft fabric of his shirt, bunching it in her fists like she needed to feel the solidness of him beneath her hands. Like she needed proof he was actually here.

Neither of them said anything for a while.

But the silence didn’t ache. It wasn’t tense or sharp around the edges. It was quiet in a way that wrapped around them like a cocoon—gentle, forgiving, and most importantly familiar. The kind of quiet that only came with history. With knowing each other inside and out.

Rafe’s palm moved slowly up and down her spine in steady, soothing lines. Just like he used to, back when she’d fall asleep in his arms every night and he knew how to calm her without even thinking. His hand never stilled, never rushed. He just held her like being here—being this close—was the only thing that made sense anymore.

After a few minutes, her breathing softened. She wasn’t trembling anymore. The tight line of her shoulders loosened, and her fingers unclenched just enough to rest flat against his chest, where his heart thudded beneath her touch.

“Thanks for coming,” she whispered, voice barely audible against his collarbone.

Rafe dipped his head, brushing a kiss to the top of her hair. “Anytime,” he murmured. “You know that.”

She tilted her face up to him, her eyes wide and uncertain, like she was still trying to convince herself this was happening and not just another dream she was having. “Even though we’re not…”

“Together?” he finished softly, eyes gentle. “Doesn’t change a damn thing. You call, I come. That’s how it’s always gonna be.”

Her eyes glassed over again, but she blinked fast, trying to hold it together. “I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

Rafe exhaled hard through his nose, shaking his head slowly. “There’s not a single day that goes by where I don’t want to see you.”

She inhaled a shaky breath at that, like the truth of it hit too fast to process.

He didn’t try to take it back.

Because it was the truth.

She leaned back slightly, just enough to study him. Her hands stayed on his chest, like she couldn’t bring herself to let go. That if she did let go the movement would be over. Her gaze traced every inch of his face, like she was memorizing him all over again—his cheekbones, the faint crease between his brows, the softness in his eyes that only ever showed for her.

“I miss this,” she whispered. “I miss you.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, just a little. He didn’t say anything right away, but his thumb brushed gently over the curve of her hip, grounding himself in the way she felt in his arms again.

“I miss you too,” he said finally. “All the time.”

It was quiet again, but not hollow.

She reached up and gently pressed her lips to his jaw—soft, careful, full of things she didn’t say out loud. Not a kiss asking for anything, just a memory in the shape of a touch. Rafe closed his eyes and leaned into it, like he was chasing the feeling. Like he’d been starved for it.

“Can we just stay like this?” she asked, voice so small it almost got lost in the silence.

His answer was immediate. “Yeah, baby,” he said, his arms tightening around her again. “As long as you want.”

And he meant it. Every last word.

He would’ve stayed there all night—hell, for the rest of his life—if it meant keeping her in his arms. Because it didn’t matter that they weren’t together right now. She’d always been his. And he’d always show up for her.

Taglist: (join here)

@delayeddrabbles @faithlyn444 @lilaccameronsflower @sc05 @taliluv @tudorgirl @yurmom444 @anobbs-blog @love-me-satoru @macbaetwo @tezzzzzzzz @cokewithcameron @carolinaxvz @ivy-34 @mattyskies @emmiesummers @maybankslover @mymelii @urlittlesparklejumpropequeen @lessxoxo @defnotayonna @superlegend216 @koalalafications @sousourulesthegalaxy @bebebambs @lorelai-lilith @tehems @imliterallysocoolfr

[threadedtrinket]

Another adition to you'r freelancer parter thing cuz im addicted now. Imagine affter getting deteviators, MC feels guilty becouse of all the shit they'r ex was doing so they start to apologize to all the objects. And all of them are what do you mean?:(( Why are you apologizing?:(( We're not mad at you at all, honey nooooo :((((((

Content Awareness: Slight depictions of self-neglect, a full depiction of an emotional breakdown, and hurt/no comfort – please take care when reading if needed.

You can read the first part here, in addition to a segment written from the household's perspective here.

The moment you use the dateviators and discover that everything in the house is alive – from the doors to the trash can and your dirty clothes – you try to make up for everything that's happened in the past month since you broke up with your ex.

You were cleaning the house from top to bottom, from vacuuming and mopping to washing Dirk, Betty and Curt. But you don't stop there, you start wiping and dusting every surface and shelf in every room until the only thing that's left is the spot where Dolly resides right under Koa.

And when that's all done, you check on Henry, Washford and Drysdale to make sure you haven't overworked them – you also ask if River and Winnifred are feeling okay since you used a ton of cold and hot water in one sitting, but when anyone tries to check up on you – you smile and deflect.

"You don't need to worry about me – this is my way of thanking you all for dealing with everything I've put you through!"

But when the entire house is at its cleanest, it's not enough in your eyes. Every time you greet any of the household objects, you always end up asking if there's anything you can do to make things better. It doesn't take long before it gets out of hand; while some objects are more than happy to be doted on, others are noticing how you're starting to put their needs before your own.

You don't sleep on Betty as much as you used to, and you stop spending a lot of time with Johnny and Bathsheba – you also try not to use Hector or any appliances for too long, and it becomes clear that you're distancing yourself from everyone.

Skylar ends up being the one to reach out one night before you take her off to recharge her.

"...Hey, are you sure you're okay?"

She takes your hands into hers as you stand between the bed and bedside table – you can see Betty looking at you before she looks to Dorian, who's expression you can't fully read.

"Everyone's worried about you, you haven't been your usual self lately..."

"What? No, I'm okay! Why, is something wrong? What happened–"

You look around and see all your bedroom objects looking more concerned than ever – Timmy's ears are flat as he winds his pocket watch beside Amir, who seems to look rather lustreless even though you polished him this morning. You notice that the Hanks are unusually still and silent as well, while Clarence looked down at the floor.

"Nothing's wrong!" Skylar interjects, but you pull away and turn to everyone else in the room.

"What do you need? I can help, I'll do whatever I can–"

"You've done more than enough," Dorian states softly, but you shake your head at his words.

"No, no that's not true, there's still more that needs to be done–"

"What else needs to be done?" Clarence furrows his eyebrows. "You've been cleaning non-stop for the past two weeks! And you're constantly going from room to room each and every day–"

"You've done so much for everyone," Amir reassures, "But you haven't been taking care of yourself."

"He's right house homie..." Hank 2 speaks up, "...You can't go on like this, this isn't good for you."

The other Hanks murmur in agreement before Timmy chimes in.

"Timmy is thankful for all that you've done nya, but Timmy thinks that you should let us help you–"

"I don't need help!" You insist with a smile, but it falters when your voice breaks.

"I– I still haven't made things right, you've had to put up with me for so long, and then I let my ex move in and that made everything worse for all of you–"

You hear Skylar call your name when tears fall from your eyes, your shoulders shaking and chest heaving as you bury your face in your hands.

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry– please– please don't hate me– I didn't mean to- I didn't know–"

But before anyone can react or move closer to you, the dateviators run out of battery and shut down.

[heliosunny]

Yan!Incubus!Fyodor Dostoevsky x F!Reader

You sat in the middle of the circle for the hundredth time. Your throat ached from chanting syllables you didn’t fully understand. Smoke poured from the circle’s edges. You fell back, coughing.

He looked around your cramped room, his gaze landed on you.

“Ah,” he said, “It's an honor to meet you.”

“... It worked?”

“Mm. You...” He crouched, his face was inches from yours. His eyes flicked to the half-burned manga on your desk, the Dazai portrait pinned above your pillow. “were expecting someone else, weren’t you?”

“Oh.. that? I need to have a sample.. maybe I can summon someone like him. Maybe I expected too much haha...”

He nodded and took a good look around the room again.

“Who are you? Or.. What are you?”

“A demon, of course. You did call for one, didn’t you? Or did you think you were only playing?”

“I wanted help. I...” You cut yourself off. The words felt so childish now.

His grin widened. “You wanted revenge. Say it properly.”

He rose, glancing at the futon you’d pushed into the corner. “Is that for me?”

You nodded dumbly. “You can’t sleep in my bed.”

A soft, mocking sound left him. “How polite. Very well.” He stepped over the circle again, the chalk smudging under his heel.

The next morning you woke to find him sitting cross-legged on the futon, thumbing through one of your sketchbooks. He looked up when you stirred.

“Your sketches are charming. Monsters? I supposed?” he murmured, flipping a page. “Though not nearly as frightening as real ones.”

You sat up, rubbing sleep from your eyes. “Hey! That’s private-”

“Private? I am your demon. There is nothing called private between us.”

No one noticed him. He walked at your side, hands folded behind his back. When you boarded the bus, he slipped in beside you.

At school, you paused at the gate. “You can’t come in.”

He only smiled. “Oh, but I already have.”

No one saw him standing behind you at your locker as you fumbled with the jammed door.

“Which ones?” he murmured. “Point them out for me.”

You flinched. “No, not now.”

He pressed a finger to your lips, shushing you like a parent to a restless child. “Hush. I’ll decide for myself, then.”

At lunch you sat alone. He sat across from you anyway, stealing fries off your tray, though his mouth never really seemed to move. He watched everything - the whispers, the sidelong glances, the giggles.

Once, a girl walked by and ‘accidentally’ knocked your lunch onto your lap. You were used to it. But he did. His eyes followed her across the cafeteria.

“Go home,” he said. “I’ll catch up later.”

You waited for him that night. You pretended to do homework. You turned your phone over and over in your hands.

When he returned, you immediately asked him a lot of things. He crouched beside your chair, pressed his cold fingers to your cheek.

“All done. Sleep well, Y/N.”

He laughed when you flinched, that gentle, terrible laugh that promised he was only just beginning.

---

You blamed the nightmares at first. The image of him, you pictured it even though you didn’t want to. He was standing on a pile of skulls.

The next few days, you went to school without him. Well, you didn't notice him following you. At school, the news spread. The teachers were pale, the principal’s voice cracked as he announced the ‘accidents.’

When the final bell rang, you found him leaning against your bedroom wall again. He got home first.

You didn’t look him in the eye as you spoke. “It’s over now, right?”

“Over?”

“They’re gone. So… you don’t have to stay. I can break the bond. I read there’s a reversal-”

For one tiny second, something ugly flashed across his face - primal disbelief. Then it vanished under a slow, mocking smile.

“Oh?” He pushed himself off the wall, closing the space between you in two unhurried steps. “And here I thought you’d want to thank me. Or do you think I came all this way just for your petty vengeance?”

You flinched. He caught your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he murmured. “That little ache in your bones.” His thumb brushed your lower lip “You keep me here.”

You didn’t understand, not really.

“You summoned an incubus. I feed on life. Your life.”

“You thought you could break it like a twig?” he whispered. “You are the twig, Y/N. Snap yourself, if you wish, see what happens to me when there’s nothing left of you.”

He stepped back, all polite amusement again, like you hadn’t just felt his hunger coiled tight inside your chest.

“But by all means,” he said lightly, flicking imaginary dust from his sleeve, “let’s see more of this human world. I’m curious. And you owe me a guide, don’t you?”

You nodded, too numb to speak.

Night brought no rest. Not for you. Those bullies may be dead already but you still saw them in your dream. You lay curled up on your bed, blankets tangled around your legs, sweat at your temples despite the cold air drifting through the window.

He liked this. He liked the way you twisted in your sleep, your pain drifting to him like perfume. He could feel it, the raw sting of your shame. When you woke half-sobbing, he was already kneeling beside you.

“Poor thing.” he murmured. He brought the tear to his lips, tasted it. He shuddered as if savoring fine wine.

“Make them stop....”

He leaned over you, his hair slipping like ink across your pillow. “As you wish.”

You didn’t feel him slip inside your dream, but you felt what he did to it. You dreamed of him standing over you then, your demon in the place where nothing could touch you anymore. He smiled.

You woke and looked across the room, he lay sprawled where you’d slept hours before. His hair spilled over your pillow, one pale hand tucked under his chin like a sleeping child.

You dressed quietly for school. He didn’t stir. You whispered thank you under your breath as you slipped out the door, though you couldn’t tell if you meant it.

----

Two years later. Two years of people whispering how lucky you were. How beautiful he looked by your side. How cold he stayed to everyone else but you.

You graduated. Got a job. And when you unlocked your apartment door after another long shift, there he was. Barefoot on your couch, eyes flicking from the TV to you like he’d been waiting for centuries.

“Welcome home.”

And when you turned your head to hide your exhaustion, he’d smile. Because you still didn’t see it: you were more his anchor than ever. His favorite meal. His only doorway between your world and the dark behind it.

Two years was enough time for him to become normal, at least on the surface. The quiet, polite boyfriend people saw only in glimpses. The one who never seemed to leave your apartment.

He cleaned, cooked, waited at the door when you dragged your feet up the stairs after overtime.

It worked. Mostly.

Until he saw it, that flicker in your eyes. So small anyone else would miss it. But he didn’t. He saw everything about you.

You came home late again. You talked to him about what happened at work. And him, the new hire who is younger than you.

Something cold flared behind his ribs. A hunger that had nothing to do with your life force and everything to do with ownership.

----

One night, you found him in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, wrist deep in soapy water. Your leftover dinner steaming on the table, your favorite drink waiting.

He greeted you with a soft, “You’re late” and you giggled it off, pressing your cheek to his shoulder like a sleepy cat. You didn’t notice the way his jaw twitched when you murmured the colleague’s name again.

“He said he might stop by tomorrow to drop off some files I forgot,” you said, halfway to your bedroom. “Is that okay?”

He turned to look at you then.

“Of course,” he said, “I’d love to meet him.”

[This section contains explicit content from here onward]

In the dark hours before dawn, he lay beside you, awake while you dreamed, his hand splayed over your stomach, thumb brushing the warmth under your ribs that kept him tethered here.

You belong to me, he thought, You’ve always belonged to me.

He’d spent years perfecting this. Making you lean on him, need him, love him in ways you didn’t dare question. But now? Now he’d remind you why you shouldn’t look anywhere else.

You were asleep when he crawled over you, his cold hands brushing under your shirt.

You’d grown used to him, to the way his weight pressed you into the sheets, to the cold breath he let out as he tasted the pulse at your neck. But this time it felt different.

When he pulled your clothes away, it wasn’t gentle.

He kissed you then, but the kiss was a lie, masking the growl in his throat as his hands slid lower, parting your thighs like he owned them.

His fingers pressed in, filling you so suddenly your hips jerked up. He watched your face, the corner of his mouth twitching when you gasped out his name, half a protest, half a plea.

“Quiet now.”

His fingers curled, searching. There. You felt your muscles clench, your back arch off the bed as heat splintered up your spine.

When you came, he swallowed your whimpers with a kiss, his tongue tasting the ragged sound you made. He didn’t stop until he felt you shudder limp under him, boneless and pliant.

Only then did he draw his fingers out. He licked the taste from his knuckles.

And then you felt him press forward, the blunt head of his cock nudging at your entrance. You barely had time to gasp before he pushed in, one deep thrust that punched the air from your lungs.

He didn’t pretend to be gentle this time. He wanted you to feel every inch, wanted you to know who you belonged to.

You clung to him, out of instinct. He caught your wrists, pinned them to the pillow as his hips rolled into yours.

You could feel something else then. The sigil bloomed where his hips met your belly. He felt it too, the surge of power coiling under his skin, his horns flickering into existence like a crown reborn.

“This is better, isn’t it?”

When he spilled inside you, he pressed in so deep you felt it everywhere - the warmth. The symbol under your skin flared bright. You felt the world tilt. The taste of him in your mouth, your chest, your veins.

Now you’d crave him. Just as he craved you.

He pulled back just enough to see your face. His horns glowed faint in the dark.

You woke to the sound of faint humming, the smell of something warm and sweet drifting from the kitchen. For a moment, you didn’t remember why your body felt so heavy.

The blankets were twisted around your hips, your skin sticky with sweat. When you sat up, a faint ache bloomed deep in your belly. But there was nothing.

You glanced at the clock - 9:04. Your heart jumped in your throat before you remembered: It’s Saturday. No work for you.

You wrapped yourself in your robe and padded down the hall, bare feet cold on the floor. He was there, of course, exactly where you always found him.

He looked up the second you entered.

“Good morning,” he said softly. “You’re up early for a day off.”

You rubbed your eyes with the back of your hand, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “I… Can I have some warm water?”

He nodded. You jolted as his hand brushed yours while handing over the cup.

“You alright?”

You gulped it down anyway, trying to ignore how your knees trembled when he leaned in.

“Strange dream last night?”

You didn’t remember, not clearly, but flashes stung the back of your mind: your own voice crying for something you couldn’t quite piece together.

---

You hadn’t planned to stay out so long. But the moment he stepped into that shop, you realized how strangely bare he looked in the same old clothes you’d first found him in. Almost like he never really belonged to this world at all.

So you picked things out for him: sweaters, dark coats, a simple suit that made him look human in it. He let you fuss over him. You told yourself you were just being kind. Just helping him blend in. But the part of you that thrilled at the thought - him looking like a normal man beside you - made your throat tighten.

Dinner out, too. You barely tasted the food, too distracted by the way the waitress lingered when she asked for your order, eyes flicking to him, pink flush on her neck. He only gave her that polite, distant nod.

When you got home, he sat cross-legged on the floor while you blew his hair dry. You combed it out, careful not to tug, your pulse quickening every time your knuckles brushed the warm skin at his nape.

He turned slightly then, eyes catching yours in the mirror’s reflection. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

That night you fell asleep before you even realized. Office lights on, the dull hum of a copy machine somewhere far off, your desk scattered with half-finished reports.

And him.

Not in his usual bare feet and loose clothes, but in a dark suit. Tie perfectly knotted. You dreamed you were bent over your own office desk, papers sliding to the floor as he pressed into you from behind, his breath hot against your ear, one hand firm on your hip, the other tugging at the buttons of your blouse until it gaped open, exposing the soft swell of your chest to the flickering ceiling light.

You moaned his name into your forearm, your nails scraping the wood while his hips rolled against yours.

He hovered above you, drinking in every tremor of your body, every soft whimper that slipped past your lips. The warmth in your belly flooded through the bond, the hidden sigil flaring under your skin with each pulse of your heartbeat.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Even here, you want this so badly.”

Your dream-self moaned, his name tumbling off your lips in a breathless chant as he thrust harder, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing off the office walls.

His hands found your breasts, kneading roughly as he rutted into you.

He could’ve left your dream alone. But where was the thrill in that?

So he added visitors.

The vague shapes of coworkers, blurry at first, then sharpening as they stepped into the room. The manager, the shy girl from the break room, the colleague you mentioned.

They watched. Pretending they didn’t see the way you clutched the edge of the desk, half-naked, skirt bunched at your waist, his hips snapping against you over and over.

“Oh? You like that?” he whispered, lips brushing your shoulder as his fingers pinched your nipple harder. “Being watched while I ruin you?”

You tried to twist away, your hands scrabbling for something to cover yourself, but he only caught your wrists, pinning them to the desk as he thrust deeper.

When you woke, it was with a muffled cry against your pillow, your thighs pressed tight together, a feverish flush creeping up your neck. You remembered hearing your name on his tongue, your own voice begging, the heat of shame that made you feel sick and alive all at once.

You turned your head just enough to see him, stretched out on the futon at the foot of your bed.

Why did I dream of that? you thought.

He acted like nothing had happened.

When you made breakfast, he drifted behind you, his fingers brushing the small of your back by accident as he reached for the kettle.

Every touch jolted through you like a spark, a hot flush burning your cheeks as you remembered the way he’d pinned you down.

When your breath caught the third time, he tilted his head just so, his mouth curved in that soft, polite smirk.

“Are you sick?”

You swatted him away, mumbling some excuse about work calls, errands, anything but the truth. But he could feel the way your skin quivered under his touch.

He bit back a laugh as he turned away, hiding the satisfied gleam in his eyes.

---

You lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling. Sheets tangled around your legs, your skin flushed and slick with sweat. You’d tried everything, counting your breaths, burying your face in the pillow, even slipping out of bed to splash cold water on your cheeks.

None of it worked. That heat coiled low in your belly refused to fade.

You glanced at him sprawled so peacefully on the futon. His chest rose and fell in that perfect mimicry of sleep. You swallowed, guilt prickling under your skin.

He’s helped you so much, you told yourself. He’s always here for you. He won’t mind.

So you slipped from your bed and crawled over him. He didn’t move, not at first. But the second your trembling fingers brushed over the hem of your shirt, hiking it up, you felt it, that faint hum under his skin.

You didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Your thighs shook as you lowered yourself onto him, the stretch was sudden but so slick, so warm it made you cry out softly into your palm.

No pain? you thought, half-dazed.

You rocked your hips, slow at first, biting your lip to keep the soft, broken gasps from spilling out too loudly. The drag of him inside you hit something that made your vision blur, your nails scraping weak lines over his chest.

You didn’t even notice when his eyes flicked open.

You felt your walls flutter, the edge so close you couldn’t stop the desperate whimper: I’m gonna...

And then his hands clamped around your hips as he slammed you down to the base. The sigil under your belly flared up brightly.

“Since you volunteered, the seal is complete.”

You didn’t even have time to ask what he meant, he rolled his hips up, hard, knocking the last word from your mouth. You collapsed forward, draping your arms around his shoulders as he shifted, pulling you flush against him.

The kiss was greedy, his tongue claiming your gasps as your hips rutted helplessly against his. The mark beneath your skin burned with each thrust, the need flooding you until your head spun.

“Fyo...Fyodor... I’m...!” you sobbed against his mouth, the heat snapping inside you so violently your whole body seized around him.

You trembled in his arms, clutching his shoulders as the last waves crashed over you - shame, heat, relief all tangled in a haze that left you gasping for air.

He pulled back just enough to brush his lips over your tear-damp cheek.

Now you’ll need me too. Just as you should.

[estrellacercadelvolcan]

I love Mythology but I basically don't know anything about Epic the Musical - I listened to two songs but that's it. Until this very fic I haven't read anything for Epic the Musical before.

First I read your 'The princess's seven mercenaries'-Series and I love your writing style. Then, when I saw 'The Naiad's statue' I simply had to read it.... And ohh I'm so gone for this!💖💗🥰

First of all, she is a nymph. A NYMPH! 😍

“You’re really quite insufferable,” your close friend huffs, a dryad named Daphni, who was as lovely as her name, “thinking you can do whatever you wish just because you were once a recent babe. But everyone knows that was long ago.” You only respond with a giggle, tickling the vibrant flowers decorating the lush bed of grass beside her preferred hiding tree.

The wording? I love it, it seems so real, so alive. Oh and I'm envious of their friendship.

But how embarrassing is it for the god of luck, travel and commerce to lose his own statue en route to the temple?

🤣 Indeed

Following closely, he was guided to a sunny spot underwater where his missing statue proudly stands. Surrounding him is an array of vibrant flora, gracefully swaying in a serene dance as small, glittering fish weave in and out of their viridescent fronds. He looks up and sees the way you’ve arranged for the waterlilies to surround his statue, creating that sunny spotlight just for him.

Your hands come up to cover your lips as you giggle once more before you dare to swim down and up to slide into the space between his arm and chest, cuddling into him. Even in his cold-blooded, turtle form, Hermes feels a flush rise to his cheeks as a blazing fire ignites in his veins, infecting every inch of his being like the fever many weak mortals experience.

Gosh, I can basically see it! And to be honest I would probably do the same. That seems like a perfect spot for the statue. And I'm giggling and kicking my feet just reading this. He's already envious of himself....

You don’t get to continue your performance as two strong arms suddenly pull you out of your lover statue’s embrace, shooting up where you go beyond breaking the water’s surface. A scream falls from your lips as the stranger holds you close to his chest, his arms holding you up under your knees and along your back. Involuntarily, your arms quickly circle his shoulders as his tickling laugh fills the air. You dare to look down and you find yourself suspended in the air, your tail having impulsively turned into a pair of legs as soon as you broke through the water.

Hey, you can't just relocate me like that!😤 Although, am I really minding it?

“You have your sweet lips, do you not?” His eyes familiarly catch the light, familiar in that you’ve seen the same look in your mischievous self; however, this time, you’re the recipient and he the instigator. “You have your soft touch,” he brings your hand back to his cheek, where he leans into your palm and turns his face to press a kiss into your thenar eminence. “You have your dulcet voice.” He leans his head down to nuzzle the column of your neck, his nose tracing your skin as he breathes you in. “You have your sweet skin.” He kisses your neck and smirks against your sensitive dermis at the faint gasp you release. Surely, you understand what the rest of his list will state. “Shall I continue, my adorable thieving nymph?”

😳 Nerina.exe stopped working...Okay, my mind just gave up. You can't just say things like that. Don't mind me, I'm just here squealing, nothing else 💓

Thank you so much for writing and sharing this story with us. I absolutely love it. 💜Hermes and our little nymphe are both so mischievous, it's adorable. Can you imagine what will happen once they are truly and completly comfortable around each other...

THE NAIAD'S STATUE

relationship : hermes/freshwater nypmh!!reader

sum. : hermes wonders how his newly carved statue got stolen and who the culprit was. when he goes to investigate, he's surprised by what he finds but is equally endeared.

tags. : fluff ; theivery ; shapeshifting hermes ; fresh water nymph!reader ; little mermiad inspired ; reader lowkey inspired by one of my lovies (@mannythemunchkin) ; some devioius antics ; flattered hermes ; devious reader ; they're a match your honour!

length. : 2.6k

a/n : you know the drill, for me, the Hermes I envision is Zieru's gorgeous design -- i am a shameless, loyal simp for her design (。✪ω✪。) anywho~ enjoy the read~

navi.

You spend your days ordinarily, playing with the fish, taking care of the younger freshwater nymphs and dancing near the plunge pool below the magnificent waterfall in your forest. As a lover of exploration and one of the more social naiads, you often shift your tail into legs to socialise with the land nymphs that occupy your river and lake’s forest. Everyone was lovely and you adored freely playing about, often taking advantage of being seen as one of the more youthful, ‘inexperienced’ nymphs to excuse your mischievous behaviour. 

“You’re really quite insufferable,” your close friend huffs, a dryad named Daphni, who was as lovely as her name, “thinking you can do whatever you wish just because you were once a recent babe. But everyone knows that was long ago.” You only respond with a giggle, tickling the vibrant flowers decorating the lush bed of grass beside her preferred hiding tree.   

“You’re right~” you trill, ignoring her fond eye roll at your carefree actions, “perhaps, I’m excused because I am so lovable and sweet.” 

“Lies!” Daphni launches herself at you, commencing a playful tumble about the grass, ending in a giggling heap. “Rather than lovable and sweet, you are devious and utterly. Horrid!” 

“Now you are the one who lies!” Truly, the two of you could be sisters in this right, often seeking each other for company on good and bad days. 

An unnatural, distant rustling breaks you apart, and the air grows still, both of you tensely awaiting further signs that might alert you to danger. Suddenly, male voices become distinguishable as the wheels of a cart rolled along to the clip-clopping of donkey hooves. Humans! Without missing a beat, Daphni pulls you to press against her oak tree as she hides inside and tries her best to subtly manipulate its branches and trunk to properly conceal you from the men slowly approaching. 

“What is it that they’re wheeling up to the temple?” you ask quietly, captivated by the marble statue fastened onto the cart that four donkeys were wheeling up as two men walked alongside them. It appears as though their job was to ensure that the statue remains secure on the cart. 

“Hush! And hide, you dimwit! Lest you get seen and caught by those brutes!” Ignoring Daphni’s protests, you peek past the trunk of her hiding tree to further observe the beautiful statue they were hauling. It depicted a man leaning forward as he ran with vigour on a bed of clouds, winged appendages adorn his helmet and sandals as he holds an unusual-looking staff in one hand, his muscular torso is on full display as his humble loincloth and pouch fluttered in the wind beside him, scarcely to keep up with his speed. 

He’s beautiful…

“I said, hush!” Daphni hissed once again, and you realised you had spoken your thoughts out loud. 

“…Daphni?~” Her breath hitches at the familiar tone of mischief she hears in your voice; it never bode well for her whenever you felt the need to play tricks. “Do me this favour and I will grant you whatever you wish!”

࿐࿔*:･ﾟ

“My statue, missing?…Stolen?” Hermes furrows his brows as a touch of amusement gleams in his eyes. A thief who stole the statue of the god of thieves; how ironic. “However did that happen?” Despite the somewhat disappointing news, he couldn’t help but chuckle as he observed the chaos of the temple below him, “At least there is some decent turmoil and disorder over its disappearance. Ahh~ my guilty pleasure~” He sighs, “But what a shame. I was so looking forward to seeing how it came out.” He laughs and does a somersault in the air, “Surely it doesn’t come close to the real thing~”

The god thought it only appropriate to investigate the scene himself, hopeful of relocating his statue somehow. Who else is more fitting to search for it than him? And who knows? Perhaps he’ll come across the masterful thief who ran off with his statue.

Disguised as a shepherd searching for his flock of sheep, Hermes slowly climbs the gradual slope of the hill leading up to the temple that was to receive his statue. He remembers that the artisan responsible for carving his visage into beautiful white marble was an elderly fellow who would happily die indulging in his craft, but not journey up a hill to get the job done on site. But how embarrassing is it for the god of luck, travel and commerce to lose his own statue en route to the temple? He didn’t want to think about it further, feeling too awkward and uncomfortable with the thought, but was also indecisively hopping between that and the admiring curiosity for the thief who pulled off such a plot. 

“Interesting…” he can already sense the presence of nymphs as the surrounding forest was very abundant, saturated with colour, and flourishing with life. With his distinct hearing, he can also hear their remote murmurings and their light footfalls on the forest floor. He listens closely for a moment, closing his eyes to do so. 

“So what is your wish, my dear friend? I need to repay you for helping me steal—”

“I wish for you to never rope me into such schemes again!”

What’s this?… Hermes needed to investigate further. He might have just found the culprits — but nymphs? What interest do they have in his statue? Hiding in a flocculent shrub, he transforms into a strapping, tawny brown hawk with a keen beak and sharp talons before shooting through the forest, guided by the voices he had pinpointed and considered to be the culprit of his statue’s vanishing. 

“That’s not a wish, Daphni,” You huff with crossed arms before your attention is pulled away by a disturbance in the trees. When you look up, you find a handsome hawk perched on one of the high branches and immediately reach your arms up to it with a warm smile. As a nymph, you’ve always felt acutely connected to nature, which meant that you were especially fond of animals, even those that weren’t in your freshwater sphere. Rather, you were even more fascinated by those that you find on the land above your waters; birds were your favourite, for they dominated the skies so elegantly and moved with a freedom that was similar to how you swim through the rivers and lakes. 

Unfortunately, you couldn’t tempt this particular hawk into your arms, but that was to be expected as a Naiad rather than a nymph of the forest. Oh well… you suppose it’s adorably tilted head of curiosity was good enough for you, it was probably its first time seeing a freshwater nymph on land.

Hermes was intrigued. Before him were two nymphs, one was of the forest while the other…not. He tilted his head, curious that he couldn’t quite decipher what nymph she was; he could only perceive that she had the beauty of a bewitching kind, the type that made him shy away from her open arms of invitation. 

“It is a wish. It’s my wish, and you will respect it!” 

“Alright, alright, your wish is my command~” you finally concede and hug her tightly, giggling when she eventually returns your embrace with a defeated sigh — deep down, she knows that you would, one day, pull her into another devious scheme once again for cannot say no to you for long. Rather than leave you to your own devices, Daphni would rather join as an accomplice to ensure things don’t get out of hand. It was bothersome, but… you’re worth the trouble; not a boring second passes with you around.

“…What did you do with the statue anyway?” 

“I’m taking good care of it, I promise,” the bashful expression you pull has Hermes learning forward,  fascinated by the new charm you display as a character he’s deemed to be quite playful and self-assured; he’s certain that your coy appearance is a rare sight that must be relished. Not only that, but the topic has something to do with his missing statue; he must listen closely. “He is my handsome love, after all. It is now my responsibility to take care of him.”

What?… Hermes is stunned into silence. He doesn’t know whether he should laugh or fall into the sweet warmth fluttering in his chest, giving his heart the same wings as the ones attached to his temporal and sandals. His racing heart and fuzzy thoughts weren’t enough to distract him from the teasing that followed, however, whereby your friend was quick to poke fun at the idea of you being capable of responsibility. 

“I can be responsible!”

“Right. Once in a blue moon, perhaps.”

“Oh, stop it, Daphni!” Despite your protests, the giggle you let out was delightful and sweet, a hypnotic song that captivates him all the more. 

࿐࿔*:･ﾟ

Hermes couldn’t let you go and sneakily transforms from a hawk to a common snapping turtle in order to follow you into the large lake deep within the forest. In his aquatic form, Hermes easily follows you through the waters, amazed by another beautiful image of you, this time fitted with a stunning tail that propels you effortlessly through the lake. 

Following closely, he was guided to a sunny spot underwater where his missing statue proudly stands. Surrounding him is an array of vibrant flora, gracefully swaying in a serene dance as small, glittering fish weave in and out of their viridescent fronds. He looks up and sees the way you’ve arranged for the waterlilies to surround his statue, creating that sunny spotlight just for him. By the way you go about diligently arranging the surroundings, Hermes knows you’re the one responsible for carefully adoring his statue like this. It was a flattering arrangement, and he was touched by the careful thought you’ve put into things — he feels as though his statue getting stolen by you wasn’t such a bad incident after all. 

You’re not like any other thief he’s ever come across before…

Once you were done with the surrounding flora, Hermes took a moment to find a good hiding place to observe you further, wondering just what else you planned to do for his statue. He comes across ample cover in the foliage you’ve set up around his statue, the same ones that draw out the perimeter of his makeshift podium.  

“Hello, stranger…” He hears the evident fondness in your call, sweetly addressing his statue, swimming up to his marble figure, and tenderly caressing his face. You proceed to introduce yourself before asking for his name, only to be met with silence. Not allowing his statue’s lack of response to deter you, you engage with him as if he had answered, smiling and giggling freely as if acting out a romantic meeting — it’s very endearing to watch. To think that a devious thief like you could have a cute and charming side. 

“What a fitting name for one so handsome.” Your hands come up to cover your lips as you giggle once more before you dare to swim down and up to slide into the space between his arm and chest, cuddling into him. Even in his cold-blooded, turtle form, Hermes feels a flush rise to his cheeks as a blazing fire ignites in his veins, infecting every inch of his being like the fever many weak mortals experience. 

“Oh my~ you want to know me better? I will gladly tell you everything there is to know about me, kind sir.” When you nestle against his chest and sit on his statue’s raised thigh, you then take a long moment to admire his carved features up close, tracing your soft fingers over the bridge of his nose, the edge of his jaw, the shape of his eyes and the bow of his lips. At the affectionate sight, Hermes feels his heart jump to his throat, blocking his airway and sending his mind racing. He can’t think straight right now; you’re too endearing and sweet — Gods! What he would give to be his own statue in that moment! 

“How right it feels to be in your arms, my~ is this what they call destiny?” You trace a loopy pattern on his marble chest, “How romantic~…Have the fates destined us to meet like this?”

You don’t get to continue your performance as two strong arms suddenly pull you out of your lover statue’s embrace, shooting up where you go beyond breaking the water’s surface. A scream falls from your lips as the stranger holds you close to his chest, his arms holding you up under your knees and along your back. Involuntarily, your arms quickly circle his shoulders as his tickling laugh fills the air. You dare to look down and you find yourself suspended in the air, your tail having impulsively turned into a pair of legs as soon as you broke through the water. 

You can’t believe it—you’re flying!

“Yes, I suppose the fates have destined us to meet like this, my sweet~” You turn to the voice and gasp. With the little strength you find, you bring a hand to the handsome stranger’s cheek and lovingly thumb over his cheekbone, your eyes carefully tracing his features as your fingers follow closely behind. His looks seem familiar to you, except for his eyes, they’re much more expressive than his…statue…

Hermes’ eyes smile wider when you gasp, and he sees realisation flood your gaze. He’s much more handsome than his statue!

“I am the messenger god, Hermes, and I am here to procure compensation for my stolen statue.” He leans forward, close enough to touch noses with you as his gleaming eyes stare deeply into your own. “What say you, thief?” In your periphery, the small wings attached to his temple flutter adorably, and you couldn’t help but get distracted by them, pulling your touch away from his face to gently caress the soft feathers of his temporal appendages. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t press you for an answer, rather, he enjoys seeing the hypnotised state you fall into when admiring him. He will gladly allow you the pleasure of treating him like the statue he had been envious of a moment ago. The time you spent silently infatuated with his head wings, who stirred bashfully in response to your sweet touch, however, was far too short, and you were soon retracting your touch with a gasp. 

“I-I have nothing to offer as c-compensation. I’m sorry.” You stutter timidly, embarrassed by your easily diverted attention, wholly captivated by him. Not only were you caught in the act, but you had shamelessly admired his features with your eyes and touch whilst so close that you felt his breath on your cheek. Daphni was right, you knew no shame!     

“You have your sweet lips, do you not?” His eyes familiarly catch the light, familiar in that you’ve seen the same look in your mischievous self; however, this time, you’re the recipient and he the instigator. “You have your soft touch,” he brings your hand back to his cheek, where he leans into your palm and turns his face to press a kiss into your thenar eminence. “You have your dulcet voice.” He leans his head down to nuzzle the column of your neck, his nose tracing your skin as he breathes you in. “You have your sweet skin.” He kisses your neck and smirks against your sensitive dermis at the faint gasp you release. Surely, you understand what the rest of his list will state. “Shall I continue, my adorable thieving nymph?”

navi.

a/n : this was quickly written when i was inspired to write a hermes x reader fic so i don't know if i'm going to leave it as is or if i'm going to add onto it later on. nevertheless, i hope you darlings enjoyed the read! -- also, don't tell me you won't play pretend and flirt with a handsome statue when no one's looking ( ｰ̀εｰ́ ) 

And for those curious, this is the hermes statue I'm referring to in the fic; just imagine that it's white marble and life sized, maybe larger than that haha

[eddiazx]

sound the alarm - evan buckley x reader

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. 

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me.” You grumble to yourself, waving a dish rag underneath your smoke alarm. 

Your smoke alarm was notorious for being incredibly sensitive - it’s known to start blaring even when a piece of toast had been burned. When Buck and you had been dating, it had turned into a running joke that it was a siren (pun intended) call for Buck on the days where he couldn’t see you. 

It’s no longer a joke, nor were you and Buck together anymore. You did, however, still live within the 118 zoning area, so if you didn’t make this smoke alarm stop blaring, you knew that you were going to be face-to-face with your ex or his coworkers. 

While you mentally curse the scrambled eggs you had been in the process of making, you sprint around to open the windows and front door to air out the house. The house was fine, no fire or smoke to be seen, but the alarm continues to blare. 

“LAFD...ma’am. How can I help you?” A very familiar voice sounds from your open front door. You turn around, Buck standing by himself. You had really thought it would've been Eddie or Ravi showing up today, but the universe works in mysterious ways, apparently.

“Oh, y-you know, finicky alarm and burnt eggs.” You say, pathetically pointing at the alarm like he wouldn’t know where the sound is coming from. An alarm that continues to scream like you’ve offended its entire bloodline. 

“Right.” Buck nods, pawing off his boots before coming into the house. You can’t help but soften at the gesture that was probably muscle memory, a leftover instinct from your days of dating, before you school your features to feign indifference. He squints up at the alarm, checking for any smoke build-up and using a device to check for heat in the walls. Right before Buck thinks of taking the battery out to make it stop, it stops. 

Traitor. 

Without the alarm blaring, the house was entirely too quiet. Buck takes his time to turn towards you, scanning you from top to bottom, checking you out. You were wearing a giant T-shirt that had a hole at the hem, stopping at your mid-thigh, and a pair of short shorts underneath. It was far from being a scandalous outfit, but from the way Buck’s eyes darkened, you practically felt naked. 

“You look good.” He admits, hoarsely. 

“So do you.” You respond, because he truly did. His hair had only gotten more curly and longer, and while Buck had always been fit, he’s filled out even more in a lot of places. 

“Thanks. Hey, would you want to -“

“Hey Buck, everything good?” Bobby walks in, giving you a quick and polite smile before looking questioningly at Buck. Bobby then does a double take, looking back at you, and greets you with your name, asking how you’ve been doing.

You've always liked Bobby, so you engage in small talk for a few minutes, pretending that you can't feel Buck's eyes on you the entire time.

More than several hours later, your front doorbell rings. It was a Monday night, so you weren't expecting any visitors. You furrow your brow, grabbing your phone and the closest thing to you as a weapon: a banana.

You fling open the front door, aiming the banana at the unexpected guest.

"Buck?" You breathe, staring at him getting drenched in the rain at your doorstop. "What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing with a banana?" He asks instead, amused.

"It was the only weapon I could think of."

"A weapon for what? A potassium deficiency?" Buck laughs.

"What are you doing here, Buck?" You repeat, turning your back to him and walking away.

"Wait, stop." Buck blurts out. "I miss you."

The raw honesty in his voice makes you hesitate. You turn back towards him. You're not sure how to respond, but your body moves faster than your brain, and before you know it, your lips are on his.

You pull back, stunned that you had kissed him, but Buck doesn't allow you to think too hard before pulling you back towards another kiss.

"I wasn't able to stop thinking of you, of us, all day." Buck states, when the two of you finally come up for air. "I wanted to see if you were willing to give us another shot."

You lean to give him another kiss, licking his bottom lip. "Did you get your answer?"

"Clear as day, babe." Buck chuckles, tugging on your waist to give you a hug.

"Someone's happy to see me." You joke, feeling something prodding against your lower stomach.

"Pretty sure that's your weapon." Buck clarifies, pointing to the banana that you still had in your hand.

As the two of you laugh, you realize something. "Hey, maybe you can finally replace my smoke detector!"

Buck laughs softly, pressing his lips to the side of your forehead. "I don't know, it's not so bad. It got us back together."

[missmanlykink]

i know you miss me… | johnny storm ✿

MDNI - 18+ | navigation - m.list - taglist 𝜗୧ | COME TO MY 𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 (100 followers celebration!)

summary: even though johnny pretty much abandoned you, he still finds a way to have you wrapped around his finger once again. and even though you tell yourself over and over that you’re going to end this situationship, you guys still end up banging.

paring: fwb!johnny storm x fem!reader

wc: 1.0k

warnings: smutty but no actual smut, kinda proof read, slight angst, toxic?, reader is in denial, descriptions of smut but not really (i don’t know how to explain it.) and yes this is more than sex for them. lower case intended

a/n: yall i haven’t seen this movie yet but i needed to write SOMETHING about him bc johnny is my man and i love joesph quinn BAD so this may not be canonically accurate or some stuff may be a little weird but i don’t thing this is half bad so plsssss enjoy! (and im in superhero phase so my baby clark is next on my list after i finish all my requests)

SMUT UNDER THE CUT - MDNI </3 *

you didn’t expect to be in the endless cycle again when it came to you and johnny, but when it comes to him you know there’s no stop anytime soon.

it all started over again when you got an unexpected phone call from your ex-hookup. he had basically dumped you after he went up to space and got his fancy new powers and became the human torch. you hadn’t got a phone call in weeks. maybe even a month.

you shouldn't have felt any way about it. you guys weren’t dating, and as soon as you started dipping into each other's pants, the other thing left of a friendship was a tainted one.

you let out a soft hello into your telephone and what came from it was a voice you knew all too well.

“hey y/n” he said softly, but you could tell this wasn’t a check up call. you could sense that “i wanna bang” voice from a mile away.

“what do you want, johnny?” the way you said that came out way harsher than your intended. you needed to put an end to this. as much as you may have enjoyed the sex, you were just some toy for his enjoyment.

you heard a fuzzy sigh from the phone, “c’mon…i miss you…”

you couldn’t even hold back the scoff that if epurted from your throat. you could not believe this guy. “no, johnny i’ve moved on from whatever we used to do.”

unfortunately that was lie. and it makes you so mad that he knows how to use his little control over you.

”don’t say that, i know you miss me too. im sorry for not calling you.”

and this is where he gets your every time. this is the cycle. you guys have a lot sex for a few weeks—very good sex—and then decide it’s enough, you guys were only supposed to be friends and “this is the last time you find a way to get into my underwear” and would smile and nod his head. “agreeing with you”. then you’d get that phone call. he always knew how to draw you right back into it. he was addicting.

but it was different this time. he wasn’t returning your calls and he didn’t even bother to try to call you even once during all of this. not even a post card to say “yea y/n i didn’t for forget about you and did you hear?! i got powers!”.

nothing. and you really shouldn’t have cared. you’ve been telling yourself “it’s okay” and that “i’ve been meaning to end it with him for a while, this is goof thing!” but it all still stinger in the end.

“you literally abandoned me, and you can literally just go and get it on with one of you many many groupies.” that earned you another sigh from him “i’ve been trying to call you and- i’ve been so busy…” he stared off with sincerity lacing his voice

“and about the groupies, they’ll never compare to you y/n. you know me.”

and that’s where he got you back. next thing you found yourself stepping out of a cab, standing right outside of baxter tower. you walked through the glass doors to be faced with a couple of security guards.

you really didn’t want to have to explain way you were there, but luckily—somehow—you saw johnnys walking from the elevator to greet you and hopefully find a non embarrassing way to explain why you’re at the tower at such a late hour.

“don’t worry i invited her over. she’s an old friend” he whispers to one of the guards and flashes you one of those winks that made you want to jump his bones and he knew it.

the palm of his warm hand reached the small of your back. leading you into the very luxurious elevator. johnny clears his throat to begin the process of breaking awkward silence. “so, how’s life been treating you”

you roll your eyes at his very out of place question “ listen, johnny. i’m here to catch up on sex, not life. and this is the last time i'll be doing this.”

“hey, don’t be like that. i really do miss you a lot..” you shake your head and sigh at his apology. you know he probably does really mean it but you didn’t wanna hear it . “it’s okay. let’s just get this over with”

he did that same smile and nod as you both walked out of the elevator. when you both were tip-toeing down to his room, trying to stay quiet, you had this feeling that you were going to be here again, doing the same thing.

intoxicating nights filled with limbs wrapped around each other, him whispering the same seductive words he’d known would have your back arched up into his chest. the nights that had his team caking make up over his hickey covered neck that were placed by your hungry lips.

the sound of soft whimpers coming from both of you, tangled up in his sheets. and sometimes you’d meet at your apartment. you wait on your balcony to see flying through the sky just to be with you. and at your place you could be as loud as wanted—even though you did get a complaint from one of your neighbors.

the nights you spent together kept you reminiscing about the feeling of body on yours. and you always told yourself “this is the last time” but you always had a gut feeling you’d find yourself in the same position you were before.

taglist ✿ ៙ : [to be added later!] + like this > post if you want be added!

dividers: @/hyuneskkami do not copy my work for anything without my permission.

[mytearsricochetm]

Something worth remembering pt.2

Pairing: old man!joel miller x single mom!reader

Summary: Joel almost doesn't call, until he thinks of his Sarah.

Warnings: age gap (30/61), joel's a lonely old man, fluff, first date nerves

Word count: 1.7k

Pt 1: something worth remembering

A/N: not proof read, sorry for any mistakes, english isn't my first language.

He called two days later.

He almost talked himself out of it–telling himself he was too old and broken for someone like to you, that you didn't deserve someone whose knees cracked when he bent over or with a back that hurt when it got cold– but then he thought about his daughter.

She used to try to convice him to go out and meet someone new, "c'mon dad, even uncle Tommy thinks you should get out there" she'd day. One time she even set him up an account in some old dating site– one that doesnt even exist anymore– without his knowlegde and then let him to deal with the messages he had got.

He knew she wouldn't like what she saw if she was alive today. He hadn't had a real relationship in years– hell, the only people he talked to daily were Tommy and the man who owned hardware store a few streets down. He spent his days fixing things that didn't need fixing, carving pieces on wood or playing music on his porch.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't waiting for joel's call.

Something about him drew you in.

It wasn't his attractiveness–although he was extremely handsome– but the way he carried himself despite everything. He had lost his daughter and was still standing. He went to the zoo every year on her birthday to honor her memory despite how painful it could be.

And he had been kind and respectful to you and your daughter, who had already asked you about if you'd see 'Mr. Joel' at least five times in the 48 hours that happened since the day at the zoo.

You had checked your phone more times than usual these past two days. But you still tried to keep your hopes down. You didn't want to be let down if he didn't call. After all he hadn't said 'I'll call you', just a 'thanks'.

But a little after 9 pm, your phone rang and your heart jumped.

You sat up straight, letting it ring one more time before finally picking up.

"Hello?"

There was a pause. A moment where Joel almost panics and hangs up, then finally:

"Hey... It's Joel. From the zoo."

You smiled, putting the phone on speaker as you turned off the TV so you could focus your attention on the call. "Oh. Hi, Joel. I wasn't sure you'd call."

"I know it's late. I'm sorry if i'm bothering you." He muttered. You could hear the self doubt in his voice.

"You're not." You reassured him and he could hear the smile in your voice. "I gave you my number so you would use it."

He sat back in his couch. You could hear the rustling of the fabric before he spoke again. "I just wanted to thank you. For being kind to me that day. And for letting me tag along with you and Sarah."

You paused, your heart fluttering. "You don't have to thank me. I think you walking with us made the day better." You made another pause before adding. "Sarah liked you. We both did."

He smiled, even though you couldnt see him and ran a hand through his jaw. He was trying to take courage to ask you out.

"Well... Then maybe we could go have lunch one day."

You opened your mouth about to say that you were hoping he'd ask you when he cut you off.

"Or breakfast, or dinner or do whatever it is that you wanna do. Sarah can come too." This time his words stumbled out, like he had panicked the second he finished saying lunch. He sighed. "Sorry– i haven't done this in years."

You chuckled,"I'd love to have lunch with you... Just us."

He let out a short laugh, flustered. "Does saturday work? There's this diner close to where i live. Great burgers, but we can go somewhere fancier if want."

You bit your lip, holding back a squeal. "The diner sounds great. I'll see you saturday."

Saturday arrived sooner than you expected.

You changed your outfit four times before landing on the right one. You knew you were just going to diner–it wasn't a high end restaurant–but you wanted to look pretty. You wanted him to think you looked pretty.

You left after Sarah's babysitter arrived, kissing your daughter's forehead before stepping out. She never made a big deal over you leaving–she loved her sitter– but she did make you promise that you'd bring her along next time you saw 'Mr. Joel'.

Joel got to the dinner twenty minutes early.

He had put on his best jeans and shirt. He trimmed his beard and combed his hair.

He never thought he'd tried to impress a woman again. Not at his age. Who's even going to want some old man like me?'

His heart jumped everytime the door opened and someone walked in. He looked up and hoped it was you. He cursed at himself for getting there too early because now he couldn't anything but wait.

He thought he'd wait for at least ten more minutes. But the next time the bell above the door door rang and he looked up–there you were.

The day he met you he realised you were beautiful, but he was so wrapped up in his thoughts and grief to really appreciate it. But now, as he watched you walk in, he felt his heart flutter in his chest.

He stood up to greet you, his ears turning red when you got on your tiptoes and greeted him with a small kiss on his cheek as you mumbled, "hi".

"Hey." He cleared his throat. "You look beautiful."

"Thanks." You said. "You look quite handsome too."

After that inicial awkwardness, chatter fell between you two effortlessly. You talked over burgers, fries, and a shared slice of apple pie.

Joel didn't say much at first, he just looked at you and listened to you talk. You told him about your job, what you did on the weekends, your cat. And about Sarah begging you to take her to ice skating lessons after she saw a movie about it.

He talked about his old contracting job, how he fixes things out of habit now rather than because they were broken, the porch where he sits to play guitar, and his love for coffee. Then he told you a little more about his Sarah with a tenderness that made your heart ache. And he made you burst out laughing when he told you the dating site anecdote and how horrified he had been at some of the messages.

When the checked arrived Joel picked it up and paid without letting you look at it.

He walked you to your car, your hands brushing like you both wanted to reach for the other but didn't dare to.

"I got you something." He said once you reached your car, putting his hand in the pocket of his jacket.

You raised your eyebrows, a surprised and curious look on your face. He handed you a bundle wrapped in cloth tied with a slightly crooked bow.

You opened it carefully. Inside was a carved wooden cat, it's mouth slightly open like he was caught mid-meow.

You stared at him, stunned. You never mentioned liking cats until earlier today.

He chuckled at your surprised expression and answered like he had read yours thoughts. "I heard one meowing while we were on the phone." He paused. "I started carving it when you hung up. Didn't wanna show up empty-handed."

You didn't say anything for a few seconds, too busy staring and running your hands over the tiny details.

"I can't believe you made this..." You looked up, reaching out for his hand and giving it a squeeze before letting go. "Thanks. I love it."

He handed you a second bundle and you knitted your eyebrows in confussion. "This one for Sarah. It's an otter."

This man just kept surprising you.

You were used to having guys look at your daughter like she was a burden, something they had to deal with. Joel had managed to connect a with her from the moment he met her. And now not only brought a gift for you, but one for her as well.

"You should be the one to give it to her." You handed him the wrapped bundle. "She's home waiting for me."

Joel opened his mouth like he didn't know what to say. "I-I don't want to intrude."

You shook your head. "I wouldn't be telling you if i didn't want you to come."

When you got home, Sarah was on the living room floor playing with her dolls, narrating some weird story out loud.

When she noticed you, she ran towards you and briefly hugged your legs before turning to Joel.

"Mr. Joel! You came!" She beamed.

"Yeah, I came to bring you something." He said as he crouched down so he could be at her eye level.

"Like a present?"

Joel nodded and reached inside his pocket, pulling out the wrapped bundle and placed it on Sarah's hand. She gasped, quickly opening it. Inside was an otter laying on it's back, holding a shell to it's chest.

"It's an otter! Like the ones at the zoo."

Joel chuckled and nodded his head. Before he could react Sarah was tugging his hand and making him stand up so he'd follow her to where her dolls were.

"My dolls needed a pet. They told me they were getting lonely." She said with a slight pout before sitting down in and grabbed her dolls again.

"Sarah." You called out. "What do we say?"

She looked at you, then at Joel and said, "thank you, Mr. Joel."

"You're welcome, kid."

He stayed for a while after that. You two drank some tea while you watched Sarah play.

Once the sun started coming down and the air turned cooler, he stood up and said, "I should go."

You told Sarah he was leaving and she gave him a quick hug before you walked him to the door. You leaned against the frame. "I had a great time today."

"Me too." He took a step closer to you, "see you soon?"

You hummed in agreement and his gaze lingered on you for a moment, like he was unsure if he should do something or not. Finally, he leaned down and this time it was him who kissed your cheek, his lips lingering just a second.

"I'll call you."

You watched him turn around and walk to his truck with a giddy smile on your face as you mumbled to yourself, "bye, joel."

Thanks for reading. Please reblog and/or comment if you liked it. Requests are open 🩷

[saeflow]

If there was one thing Nagi Seishiro hated more than waking up early or running laps, it was leaving the house when he didn’t have to. So when you first started dating, he was reluctant about traditional dates. Crowded restaurants, loud arcades, shopping trips that involved standing for too long. But movie nights? That he could get behind.

Movie dates became your thing.

Not in theaters, though. That was too much effort. Too many people, too much noise, and worst of all, shoes.

No, your movie nights were private, soft, and entirely made for two. Blankets sprawled across your living room floor. A mountain of pillows. Fairy lights twinkling along the ceiling. And of course, Nagi, wrapped around you like a sleepy cat, one arm slung lazily around your waist as he half-watched the screen and half-watched you.

Tonight was no different.

“Hey, are you almost ready?” you called from the kitchen, balancing a bowl of freshly popped popcorn in one hand and two soda cans in the other.

“Mm.” A muffled grunt came from the living room, followed by the gentle thud of something soft falling.

You peered around the corner and found him collapsed on your beanbag, blanket already draped over his lap, his head tilted back dramatically like he’d been waiting for you for hours. He hadn’t. You’d just left to get snacks.

“Seishiro,” you laughed, setting the snacks on the coffee table. “Did you pass out while I was gone for five minutes?”

He cracked one eye open. “Tired.”

“You’ve been lying down for the past hour.”

“Exactly.” He reached out for you, not moving an inch from where he lay. “Come here already.”

You shook your head with a grin and sank beside him, folding into his open arms. Instantly, he melted around you, chin resting on your shoulder and fingers curling gently around your arm.

“What are we watching?” he asked, eyes fluttering half-closed.

“You picked last time. That weird sci-fi anime with all the sad robots.”

“It was good,” he mumbled, pressing a sleepy kiss to your temple. “Robots have feelings too.”

“Sure they do,” you teased, leaning into him. “Anyway, I’m choosing tonight.”

He gave a soft hum of approval but didn’t protest. He never really cared what you picked. He just liked being close. The sound of your laugh during funny scenes. The way you gasped during plot twists. And though he’d never admit it the way you’d get teary-eyed during emotional moments, tugging the blanket up to your nose like it could hide your sniffles. He thought it was cute.

You flipped through the options on your screen, finally settling on a light-hearted rom-com. Something fluffy and stupid and easy to love. Nagi’s kind of movie, though he always pretended otherwise.

As the movie started, you tossed a few pieces of popcorn into your mouth and handed the bowl over. Nagi, true to form, barely moved his hand to eat just opened his mouth and waited.

“Seriously?” you laughed.

“Feed me,” he murmured.

You rolled your eyes but gave in anyway, placing a single piece in his mouth. He chewed slowly, looking way too satisfied.

“You’re such a baby.”

“But I’m your baby,” he said without a hint of shame.

You rolled your eyes playfully.

The movie rolled on, the two of you tangled in a lazy heap of limbs and soft pillows. Every so often, Nagi would comment on something ridiculous.

“That guy looks like Reo.”

“No he doesn’t.”

“He does. Reo would wear that jacket.”

“You’re projecting again.”

“Whatever.” He yawned. “Still cute.”

You turned your head slightly, catching the soft look in his eyes. It was hard to describe the way Nagi looked at you. Like you were the only real thing in a world that felt too fast, too noisy. He made you feel like slowing down was okay. Like quiet moments could be the loudest in all the right ways.

Halfway through the movie, you felt him shift.

“Hmm?” you asked, glancing down as he buried his face in your neck.

“You smell nice,” he murmured.

“You smell like butter.”

“Hot.”

You laughed again, heart swelling. “You’re so weird.”

“Only for you.”

His words were casual, like breathing. But that was the thing about Nagi, his affection was quiet but constant. Not loud or flashy. Just steady. Like the way he always held your hand under the blanket. Or made sure your favorite snack was already bought on your lazy days. Or the way he looked at you like you were the only scene worth watching.

When the movie hit its emotional climax, a rain-soaked confession between the leads, you glanced over to find Nagi completely relaxed. Not asleep, but in that blissed-out half-conscious state where he was too comfy to care.

“You still awake?” you whispered.

“Mm. Cheesy ending,” he replied, eyes still closed.

“You love cheesy endings.”

He opened his eyes just slightly. “I love them if you do.”

You felt that one in your chest.

As the credits rolled, you sat up and stretched. “Another one?”

“Too much effort to move,” he said, tugging you back down. “Let’s just stay like this.”

You didn’t argue. His hold was warm. The room smelled like popcorn and fabric softener and the faintest trace of his shampoo. Your fingers played with the strands of his snowy white hair, and he sighed in contentment.

“You know,” you said softly, “I think you like movie nights more than you let on.”

“Mm. Maybe.”

“You always act like you’re just doing me a favor.”

“I am.”

You raised a brow.

He cracked a small smile. “But it’s also the best part of my week.”

Your breath caught a little. “Really?”

“Mm. You’re warm. Movies are dumb. But you make them fun.”

You leaned in and kissed his cheek. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said all day.”

“I can say nicer.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” He paused for a moment, then looked at you, his gaze soft. “I love you.”

Silence settled between you, not heavy but full.

You smiled, pressing your forehead to his. “I love you too, Seishiro.”

For someone who spent his life trying to avoid unnecessary effort, Nagi had a way of making the little things feel like everything. Maybe he didn’t take you out to fancy dinners or grand adventures, but you wouldn’t trade these quiet, cozy nights for the world.

Because in the end, love wasn’t about grand gestures or elaborate plans. Sometimes, it was just a boy with messy white hair, a half-eaten bowl of popcorn, and a lazy smile, pulling you close on a Friday night, whispering soft truths between scenes.

And as you curled deeper into him, your heart full, you realized something:

This was your favorite movie.

You’d watch it again and again.

No ending needed.

[stargazsblog]

I CAN SEE YOU ──꒰✉️꒱ ❞ ‧₊˚

｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ clark kent x fem!reader

꣑ৎ you and clark have been secretly dating for three months. no touching, barley talking at work. so why does it feel like everyone knows?

꣑ৎ now playing - i can see you by taylor swift

tag/warnings: fluff, jealousy, swearing, making out

note: KITCHEN SCENE!!!!! i know i am a little late on this but i just watched superman a week ago and oh my god i love it sm

Working with Clark is probably the most stressful thing ever. Not because he’s difficult—he’s actually the sweetest person in the office. Always kind, always helpful, always handsome.

Which makes it even worse.

Because you’re dating him. Secretly.

And if you told anyone that, no one would believe you. You two barely even look at each other during work hours. He treats you like any other coworker—polite, distant, professional. And you’ve gotten pretty good at pretending you don’t stare every time he rolls up his sleeves or adjusts his glasses.

But now? Now it’s been three months. Three months of pretending you don’t notice him when he walks past your desk with his tie slightly loosened and a coffee in each hand—only placing one on Lois’s desk.

Three months of pretending you’re not dating the guy who texts you goodnight with terrible emojis and kisses your forehead like he’s scared he’ll break you.

And somehow, it still feels like everyone knows.

Maybe it’s the way Jimmy gives you a look every time Clark walks by. Or how Lois asked—very casually—if there’s someone special in your life. Or how Clark, bless him, keeps sneaking glances at you when he thinks no one’s looking.

Working with Clark Kent is exhausting.

You don’t see Clark, but you know he’s late. Again.

You’re standing by the printer near his desk, waiting for your files to finish printing. It’s the closest you’ve been to his chair all week, and it still feels too close. He’s usually already here by now—tie straight, glasses slightly fogged from the rush in. But today, his desk is empty.

Or… it was.

While you’re focused on the machine slowly spitting out paper, you don’t notice him quietly slipping in behind you. You only hear the sound of his bag hitting the floor.

“So this guy flew into Midtown and started attacking people, demanding Superman show up?” Lois says, her voice sharp and curious.

You freeze, your hand hovering over the warm stack of papers. You don’t turn around. You can’t. You already know exactly what they’re talking about. Clark had come to you right after—scuffed up, hair messy, eyes tired. He held you for a long time and whispered, “I’m okay.”

Now he’s here, in clean clothes and calm glasses, like none of it happened.

“Yeah,” Clark replies easily. “It’s all there in my article.”

You can’t help it—your lips twitch into a small smile. His voice is warm, smooth, and steady. Totally unbothered. Like he hadn’t just saved the world again.

You force your attention back to your papers, trying to ignore the twist of jealousy in your stomach. Lois is always talking to him. Laughing with him. She has no idea.

You’ve just collected the last page when you hear someone call your name.

“Hey, Y/N!”

You turn instinctively—and freeze.

Jimmy’s smiling at you from across the room. So is Lois. And so is Clark.

All three of them are watching you, but it’s Clark’s eyes you notice first. There’s a flicker of something behind his glasses. That soft, familiar look he gives you when no one else is around. The one that says, I see you.

You swallow hard, cheeks warming. You pray no one notices.

“Uh—yeah?” you say, pretending like your heart isn’t racing.

Jimmy grins and waves you over. “We were just talking about the Superman situation. You saw it, right?”

You nod slowly, trying not to look at Clark. “Yeah. I saw some stuff online this morning.”

“Total chaos,” Lois adds, crossing her arms. “Guy shows up out of nowhere, starts attacking people.”

Jimmy leans forward, eyes lighting up. “So what do you think of him, Y/N? Superman, I mean.”

Your brain short-circuits. You know they’re just making conversation, but suddenly it feels like the room is too bright, too quiet, like Clark’s staring straight through you.

What do you think of Superman?

You think he’s brave. You think he’s gentle. You think he makes you pancakes at 2 a.m. and wraps you in his arms like you’re the most important person in the universe.

But you can’t say any of that.

So you shrug, and hope your smile doesn’t look as nervous as it feels.

“I mean, he’s cool. I guess?” you say, casually, maybe too casually.

Clark lets out a soft chuckle behind you. Just one little laugh—but you hear it loud and clear.

“Just cool?” Jimmy raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this.

You blink, flustered. “I mean—do you want me to stand here and praise him for what he does?” you say, half-laughing. “He’s Superman. He’s already got enough fan clubs.”

Lois smirks. “So you’re not a fan?”

“I didn’t say that!” you rush to add. “I just—he’s fine. He does good things. Very… heroic.”

You feel Clark’s eyes on you. You know he’s trying not to smile.

Jimmy grins like he’s cracked some secret code. “You’re totally hiding a crush.”

Your eyes widen. “What? No. Nope. Not at all.”

“Okay, okay,” Lois says, waving it off, “let her live. We’ve all got our opinions.”

You mutter something about needing to get back to work and shuffle away, heat blooming across your cheeks. You don’t dare look at Clark as you pass him—but he leans in just slightly as you go by and murmurs, barely audible:

“Just cool, huh?”

You don’t even look at him. But your smile gives you away.

Your hair’s a mess, your shirt’s half-unbuttoned, and your bag is slipping off your arm. You don’t even bother turning on the lights as you shut the door behind you with your foot and toss your keys somewhere near the counter.

You drag yourself into the kitchen, already reaching for the fridge.

You let out a loud scream.

“Holy shit, Clark!”

Because there he is. In your kitchen. Like it’s totally normal. Shirt sleeves rolled up, glasses off, standing barefoot in front of the stove like he hasn’t just scared ten years off your life.

He glances over his shoulder, completely calm. “Hey.”

“Babe, next time text me you’re coming,” you say, hand still pressed to your chest.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says as he turns off the stove and walks toward you, warm and soft in every movement. “I just know how stressed you’ve been lately, so I wanted to make your favorite—breakfast for dinner.”

You set your bag down and walk toward him, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“That’s your favorite,” you reply.

He grins, dimples and all—those dimples.

“No… last time I checked, you love breakfast for dinner,” he teases, slipping his arms around your waist.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders with a quiet laugh. “You’re annoying.”

“And you’re adorable,” he murmurs before leaning in to kiss you, soft and slow like he has all the time in the world.

Then, without warning, he picks you up effortlessly and sets you on the kitchen counter. You squeak a little, grinning against his lips.

“I thought you were tired,” he says, voice low and amused.

“I was. Then you showed up looking like this,” you tease, tugging playfully at his rolled sleeves.

Clark lets out a hum and starts kissing your neck, slow and deliberate, like he has nowhere else to be but here with you.

“You know,” he whispers between kisses, his lips brushing just under your jaw, “I think we’re doing pretty good at hiding our relationship.”

“You think?” you breathe out, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Pretty sure your friends have been looking at me weird.”

He smiles against your skin. “Let them look.”

His hands slip under the hem of your shirt, fingertips skimming your waist. “They don’t know anything.”

You tilt your head back slightly, giving him more access, your voice barely a whisper. “They know something.”

Clark pulls back just enough to meet your eyes—dark, soft, and burning with something heavy. “Do you want to stop?”

Your pulse stutters. “No.”

His mouth meets yours, deeper this time, and when he lifts you off the counter and starts walking you toward the bedroom, you forget about Jimmy, Lois,—everything except him.

The newsroom hums with the usual clatter — phones ringing, typing, someone arguing near the printers. You step off the elevator, pretending like everything’s normal. Like you didn’t spend the night in Clark’s arms. Like your shirt doesn’t still smell faintly like his cologne.

Clark walks in behind you, a minute later. Casual. Professional. His tie’s slightly crooked.

You brush past each other in the hallway. Barely. Not even enough for anyone to notice—

Except Jimmy.

Jimmy, sitting at his desk with a half-eaten bagel, tracks the interaction like he’s watching a spy movie. His eyes squint. He leans over toward Lois, lowering his voice like he’s about to break the biggest story of the year.

“How long have they been dating?” he asks.

Lois doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t even glance away from her computer.

“Three months.”

Jimmy chokes on his bite. “Wait, what?! You knew?!”

Lois finally looks up, unimpressed. “Jimmy. Please. Clark literally smiles now. He’s writing down his so-called funny jokes and he’s wearing cologne. You think he does that for himself?”

Jimmy blinks, stunned. “I thought he was just… glowing.”

Lois rolls her eyes and goes back to typing. “He’s in love, not radioactive.”

[koyagifs]

wanna feel

pairing:: jongho x reader ft wooyoung au:: college | baseball | friends to lovers | genre:: angst with comfort synopsis:: be careful what you wish for cause you dont know word count:: 5.1k warning(s):: mean wooyoung, mean girl, cursing, toxic friendship, slight slow burn. (pt.1 here)

Jongho felt conflicted as he helped you back to your dorm. He waited quietly while you packed a few things for the next couple of days, having gently offered for you to stay at his place. You weren’t sure why you said yes—but once you stepped into his apartment, a wave of comfort washed over you. You were glad you did.

“I have a spare room,” he said softly, closing the door behind you. “You can stay there until you’re ready. Let me grab you a towel.”

You murmured a quiet “thank you,” following his directions to the shower. When the water finally turned on, Jongho paused—his heart sinking as he heard the faint sound of your crying through the running water. And in that moment, he hated how helpless he felt, unable to do more than stand outside the door and ache for your pain.

When his phone began to buzz, Jongho didn’t hesitate. The moment Wooyoung’s name lit up the screen, he hit decline and set his phone to silent. He was angry—angrier than he wanted to admit. How could his own friend, someone he considered a brother, do this? Everyone knew about your feelings for Wooyoung. They all thought it was sweet—even Jongho did, even if it stung every time.

He was in the kitchen, making coffee, trying to distract himself when he heard the shower shut off. The sound broke through his spiraling thoughts.

Would it be selfish of him to want you now?

His fingers paused over the coffee pot, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. It was too soon. You were hurting. He didn’t want to be another reason for you to break.

“Jjongie?”

His head snapped toward your voice. You stood there, wrapped in one of his oversized shirts—drowning in the fabric, your hair damp, your eyes softer than they had been earlier. The sight stole the air from his lungs.

He swallowed hard, eyes darting away from yours as heat rushed to his cheeks. His heart pounded.

“Hey,” he managed, voice rougher than he intended. “Coffee?”

He swore he could hear his heart stutter when he saw it—that tiny spark of light in your eyes, the way your lips curved ever so slightly at the mention of something as simple as coffee. It was so small, so delicate, but after the day you’d had, it felt like a sunrise breaking through a storm.

Without a word, he offered you his own mug, warm between his hands. You took it gently, your fingers brushing his, and let out a soft, content sigh after the first sip. And that was it.

Jongho knew—he was a goner.

You laid on the spare bed, Jongho’s hoodie draped over you like armor against the storm still raging in your chest. The final “block” button hovered beneath your thumb—silent, glowing, taunting.

Wooyoung’s messages kept coming. A new one. Another. And another. Each ping felt heavier than the last.

Jongho was long asleep down the hall, his apartment filled with the kind of stillness you used to crave. But tonight, silence only made your thoughts louder.

Tomorrow could be just another day.

Or it could be the absolute worst.

And that terrified you.

It felt like high school all over again—the ache of invisibility, the way Wooyoung soaked up all the light in a room, and you, always somewhere in the shadowed background, pretending it didn’t sting.

But now?

Now it bled.

You exhaled shakily, heart thudding as your thumb finally pressed the block button. Just like that, the thread disappeared—his words, his excuses, all of it—gone.

You stared at the empty screen for a beat longer, your chest tight but your mind finally quiet.

With trembling fingers, you deleted the message thread.

And then, for the first time that night, you let yourself breathe.

You turned over, pulling Jongho’s hoodie closer to your face, the scent of coffee and comfort wrapping around you.

Sleep didn’t come easy. But eventually, it came.

And this time, it came without him.

-

Wooyoung hated to admit it, but he was worried about you.

You had never gone this long without talking to him—at most, a few hours before you'd come around, usually offering an apology even when it wasn’t your fault. It was a pattern. One he had grown used to. One he’d come to rely on.

And selfishly, he would never admit the truth—that maybe he only kept you around to boost his ego. Even if, once upon a time, you’d been his closest friend.

But now? Now there was only silence.

When he returned to campus, it felt like all eyes were on him. The whispers. The glances. The muffled conversations that stopped the moment he walked past.

Is this what you felt like? he thought bitterly. Surely not… right?

He tried to shake it off as he stepped into his lecture hall, but the weight on his chest only grew heavier.

“Wooyoungie!” Mira’s voice cut through the room as she rushed toward his seat, all brightness and sugar.

“Hi, Mira,” he mumbled, not bothering to fake enthusiasm. Not today.

Not when all he could think about was how quiet his world felt without you in it.

She scooted her chair closer to him, the overpowering scent of her perfume hitting him like a wave. Wooyoung winced subtly—had it always been this strong?

“So glad you finally rejected Yn,” she giggled, completely unbothered. “That loser, my god. To think she actually had a chance with you?”

His head snapped toward her, confusion and shock written all over his face. “How do you know about that?”

Mira rolled her eyes, leaning back like it was obvious. “Oh, please. You think I was just going to leave you alone with her? In the rain? It was like a K-drama scene. I had to make sure she got the hint.”

His mouth parted, but no words came. His brain stalled—reeling from the way she said it, like it was funny. Like you were just a plot device.

And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw you.

His stomach dropped.

You weren’t in your usual seat next to him. Instead, you sat between Jongho and Yeosang at the far side of the lecture hall. You didn’t even glance his way. Jongho was leaned in, saying something that made you smile faintly, and Yeosang handed you a pen you hadn’t asked for.

Wooyoung’s brows furrowed.

He had never felt distance like this from you before—not even in silence.

And for the first time, it wasn’t just your absence that gutted him.

It was the fact that you didn’t even look like you missed him.

Since when did you hang out with Jongho?

Since when did you even bother to sit next to him?

Wooyoung's eyes narrowed. He was the star player. The one people talked about in the halls, posted about on campus pages. Not Jongho—and definitely not that nerd Yeosang, the guy always walking around with a camera, hiding behind his lenses.

It didn’t make sense.

You were supposed to sit next to him. You always had.

He shifted in his seat, muscles twitching with the impulse to stand. To march over, pull you aside, say something—anything—to bring you back to your usual place. His place.

But as he started to rise, Mira’s perfectly manicured hand gripped his arm, yanking him back down.

“What are you doing?” she snapped, her voice all sugar and thorns.

He tugged his arm away, jaw clenched. “Going to talk to Yn?”

Mira blinked at him, stunned. “And what, exactly? What could you possibly say now?”

“What do you mean and what? She’s my best friend.” The lie burned on his tongue, but he said it anyway.

Mira scoffed, rolling her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t stick. “Right. Sure. Best friend,” she muttered under her breath.

But Wooyoung wasn’t listening anymore. His eyes were locked on you again.

You were laughing softly at something Jongho said. Yeosang nudged your shoulder playfully. You didn’t even glance in his direction.

Just as he stood again, determined to cross the room despite everything, the professor walked in.

He dropped back into his seat with a groan, running a hand through his hair.

Frustration bubbled in his chest like poison.

He was losing you—and he had no one to blame but himself.

“What did you ever see in that guy anyway?” Yeosang asked, the click of his camera shutter filling the silence as he snapped photos of the team mid-practice.

You stayed quiet for a beat, watching as Jongho easily caught a ball thrown too hard by one of the underclassmen. The sun was starting to dip lower, casting long shadows across the field.

You shrugged. “We’ve known each other for a long time. He just… felt right, I guess. Familiar.”

Yeosang didn’t respond right away, only lowering his camera slightly, eyes watching you instead of the field now.

“And what about Jongho?”

You turned to him, blinking. “What about him?”

That familiar smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, mischievous and knowing. “Oh, you can’t tell?”

“Tell what?”

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head as he raised the camera again. “Then maybe it’s not my place to say.”

You stared at him for a moment, confused and more than a little suspicious.

But before you could press him for more, he was already focused back on the players, snapping another photo of Jongho mid-pitch.

And for some reason, your eyes lingered on Jongho just a little longer than before. You looked to see Yeosang beginning to pack up, confusion striking your face once again.

" where you going?" you asked.

" practice is almost over so it's my cue to leave before some of them try to beg me for some photos of them," yeosang said, adjusting his camera strap.

" coming?"

You shook your head, " i'm going to wait for jongho."

Yeosang paused, a knowing glint in his eyes as he looked at you—really looked at you this time.

“Of course you are,” he said, lips twitching into a smirk again before he turned to leave, throwing a lazy wave over his shoulder. “Tell him I said he owes me a new memory card.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the faint smile that tugged at your lips. As he disappeared down the hill, your gaze naturally shifted back to the field—back to Jongho.

He was laughing with a few teammates, sweat glistening on his skin under the soft orange haze of the sunset. Something in your chest tugged, quiet but persistent.

Your eyes drifted, unintentionally, to the far end of the field where Wooyoung stood with San. The two of them were laughing, San’s finger pointed exaggeratedly at someone—maybe another teammate who fumbled a throw, maybe a shared inside joke you were no longer part of.

Wooyoung’s head tipped back as he laughed, carefree in a way that made your stomach twist. For a moment, you felt that old familiar ache, like a bruise being pressed.

How many times had you stood beside him like that? Shared glances, shared laughter, convinced yourself it meant something?

You tore your gaze away, back to Jongho.

Because while Wooyoung’s laugh still echoed with a pang of what could’ve been, Jongho was the one who noticed when your world cracked. Jongho was the one who didn’t look away. The one who didn’t leave you crying in the rain.

And when practice ended and Jongho jogged toward you, his face lighting up just from seeing you waiting—something settled in your chest.

Maybe this time, it wasn’t about being seen by the world. Maybe it was about being understood by one person.

" hey, did you wait long?" Jongho asked, already reaching for your laptop bag.

You stared in shocked as he placed it with his practice bag, a soft smile on his face. You blinked, momentarily stunned by the quiet affection in his gesture. No theatrics. No expectations. Just… Jongho being Jongho.

“Not long,” you replied softly, still watching him. “You didn’t have to carry that, you know.”

He glanced at you with a small shrug, brushing sweat-damp hair from his forehead. “I wanted to.”

And that simple sentence sat with you more heavily than it should’ve. You’d spent so long chasing someone who never looked back, who only saw you when it benefitted him. But Jongho—he didn’t need a reason to care. He just did.

You walked side by side, the sun dipping low behind the buildings, casting gold between you both.

His smile faltered just slightly, but he didn’t push.

Instead, he said softly, “I’m not Wooyoung.”

That silence settled again, heavier this time, until you nodded slowly.

“I know,” you whispered. “That’s… why I feel safe around you.”

Jongho didn’t say anything for a moment. He just looked at you with those steady, grounding eyes of his—like he was trying to make sure you knew he’d stay as long as you needed him to.

“Then let’s get that drink,” he said finally, the corners of his lips lifting again. “Even if I don’t think I deserve it yet.”

You blinked up at him, taken aback. “Why not?”

He glanced ahead, shrugging lightly. “Because I think I want more than just being the guy who carries your bag.”

Your breath caught in your throat, but he didn’t look back. Jongho simply walked a step ahead—silent, steady—leaving you the choice to follow or not.

From across the courtyard, Wooyoung’s glare burned into the scene, his jaw clenched tight. He hadn’t meant to move, but his feet had already carried him forward—steps drawn not to you, but after Jongho.

And that realization hit him harder than he expected.

He stopped dead in his tracks, cursing under his breath.

What the hell was he even doing?

Why did it twist in his chest to see you smile at Jongho like that—the way you used to smile at him?

He dragged a hand down his face, guilt and anger churning into something bitter that stuck in his throat. He shouldn't feel this bad. He should be relieved. He made his choice, didn’t he?

So why did everything suddenly feel so hollow without you beside him?

It had been a month since you last spoke to Wooyoung, and you had never felt more at peace. At first, you worried the silence would hurt—but instead, it healed.

Jongho had been a huge help. At first, you felt guilty for using him as a distraction, but the more time you spent with him, the more that guilt faded. It wasn’t just comfort he gave you—it was consistency, quiet understanding, and patience. He didn’t try to fix you. He just stayed.

And somehow, that was enough to start stitching your heart back together.

There you were, standing at the edge of the bleachers, cheering with all your heart as Jongho’s bat cracked against the ball, sending it soaring out of the field. The crowd erupted, but your voice rose just a little louder, your smile a little brighter.

You were jumping up and down, arms in the air—radiant in a way you hadn’t been in a long time.

And just a few rows down, Wooyoung saw it all. The way you laughed. The way you lit up just for someone else.

The bitter twist in his chest returned, deeper now. You hadn’t even looked his way.

He was no longer the reason for your happiness. And worse—his spotlight was being taken… by his own teammate.

Wooyoung clenched his jaw as his other teammates leapt up, whooping and high-fiving each other in celebration. Even San was grinning, nudging one of the younger players as they pointed toward Jongho rounding third.

He couldn’t even be frustrated. Jongho had pulled them back into the game, leveling the score and reigniting hope for a win.

But that didn’t stop the slow, simmering ache in his chest. He wasn’t the one you were cheering for anymore. And when he looked again, you were already seated—Yeosang now beside you, leaning in to say something that made you laugh.

That laugh used to be his.

When the final whistle blew and the game ended, the team jogged off the field in a mix of sweat and adrenaline. Wooyoung slowed his steps when he caught sight of you by the gate. It was unfamiliar. You never used to wait—because he always told you not to.

But here you were, grinning ear to ear, practically bouncing on your toes. And it wasn’t for him.

Your eyes lit up the second Jongho appeared, and Wooyoung could see the way your whole face changed—bright, open, full of pride. He could see it even from across the field. The way your heart beat faster. The way Jongho’s eyes searched the crowd until they landed on you.

And when he did, he smiled like you were the only one that mattered.

“You were amazing out there!” you beamed, pulling back from the hug, breathless with excitement.

Jongho grinned, cheeks flushed—and he’d blame it on the heat of the game, not the fact that you were holding onto him like that.

“Thank you,” he said, eyes soft. “I could hear you, y’know. You should sit closer next game.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “Are you sure? You won’t be… embarrassed?”

Jongho chuckled, reaching out to ruffle your hair with a smug tilt of his head.

“Embarrassed?” he repeated, eyes twinkling. “Why would I be embarrassed when you’re cheering for me?”

You whined, batting his hand away, but you couldn’t stop the way your face heated up. He laughed again—warm, genuine, easy—and it made something flutter in your chest.

"Better yet, I actually have something for you to wear next game," he said, his voice light but eyes hopeful.

"You do?" you asked, curiosity tugging at your features.

He nodded, shouldering his practice bag, sweat still clinging to his skin. "Yeah. Meet me back at my apartment? Give me an hour?"

Your brows lifted, but you couldn’t help the smile forming on your lips. “Is this some weird hazing thing?”

He smirked. “Not unless you think wearing my jersey is hazing.”

Your breath hitched, caught off guard by the ease in his words—and how casually he said my jersey.

“You’re serious?”

“Completely.” He gave you a gentle nudge with his elbow. “But if you don’t show, I’ll just assume you hate me.”

You laughed, brushing your fingers through your hair to hide how flustered you suddenly felt. “Fine. One hour.”

He gave you a wink before jogging off to join the rest of the team—leaving you behind with a racing heart and cheeks that refused to cool down.

And from across the field, Wooyoung stood motionless in the shadow of the dugout, watching it all. He hadn’t moved since the game ended, not even as the crowd thinned out. Not even as your laughter drifted on the wind like it used to when you called out his name.

His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms. Because Jongho didn’t just win the game today. He was winning you.

You were standing outside of Jongho’s apartment complex, your heart pounding just a little too hard beneath the cute outfit you’d picked out. You’d even put on a touch of makeup—just enough to make yourself feel a bit more like someone worth noticing. The late afternoon air was warm, buzzing with the remnants of sunlight as you stared up at his building, trying to breathe normally.

His jersey.

The words echoed in your mind like a quiet confession, soft and hopeful. He hadn’t said much, but the way he looked at you when he asked—it felt like it meant something.

You tried to calm yourself, shaking your head with a faint scoff. You used to wear Wooyoung’s all the time, you reminded yourself. And that never meant anything. Not really.

But this time, it felt different. You weren’t doing this to be seen by the crowd. You weren’t trying to prove your place in someone else’s spotlight. You were here because Jongho asked you to be. And he saw you even when no one else did.

Maybe—just maybe—this time, it wouldn’t end with you being forgotten.

You checked your phone. One hour exactly.

"Yn."

The sound of your name made your heart lurch. You turned, pulse stumbling—only to find Wooyoung standing there, just a few feet away. His hair was damp with sweat, shirt slightly wrinkled like he'd rushed to get here. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—those damn eyes—held too many things all at once.

Your breath caught in your throat as you instinctively took a step back.

Wooyoung noticed. His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking as his fingers curled into fists at his sides. The silence between you was thick, like the pause before a storm.

"Wooyoung," you said, your voice tight, guarded.

He exhaled sharply, almost like he’d been holding his breath the whole time. “So you’re really here for him.”

You said nothing at first, your spine stiffening at the accusation laced in his voice. He wasn’t yelling—but the tension in his tone was louder than any scream.

“What are you even doing here?” you finally asked, quieter than you intended.

He gave a dry laugh. “I could ask you the same.”

Your fingers twitched at your sides. “You lost the right to ask anything the moment you made me feel like I was nothing.”

His eyes flinched at that. Just slightly. But it was enough.

“I didn’t mean—” he started.

“You never meant anything, Wooyoung. That’s the problem.”

Another silence.

Then, softer, more unsure this time, he asked, “Are you really done with me?”

You looked him straight in the eyes, steady and unblinking—even if your heart was trembling. Nodding your head, your fingers fidgeting at your sides.

“…Yes.”

Wooyoung let out a dry scoff, rolling his eyes as he pushed a hand through his hair in frustration. “I don’t believe you,” he said, voice low, sharp.

You took a breath, chest rising, the ache behind your ribs threatening to spill over—but you didn’t let it.

“Believe what you want then,” you huffed, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “It doesn’t change the truth.”

Wooyoung stepped forward slightly, but you didn’t move this time.

“Is this really what you want?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You took a step back instinctively—but the cold concrete wall met you first. Before you could react, Wooyoung’s hand pressed beside your head, caging you in, and he leaned in—his face inches from yours, breath warm, lips hovering like a question he didn’t know how to ask.

“Him?” he asked, softer now, like the word was breaking him.

Your breath hitched. You stared up at him, wide-eyed, the closeness stealing your words.

“Is it really him you want wearing your smile?” His eyes searched yours, desperate, almost pleading. “Not me?”

You swallowed hard, heart hammering in your chest. “You don’t get to ask that now.”

His eyes flickered, something in him cracking.

“Then why haven’t you pulled away?” he whispered.

You opened your mouth to retort—but before a single word could leave, his lips crashed onto yours. Your eyes widened in shock, hands instinctively pressing hard against his chest as you shoved him off.

“Wooyoung—what the hell?!” you gasped, wiping your mouth in disbelief.

But before anything else could be said, the soft creak of a door cut through the thick tension. You turned quickly, heart sinking.

Jongho stood at the entrance of his apartment complex, frozen in place.

His expression was unreadable at first—then it twisted. Betrayal, fury, confusion—all flashing in his eyes. You opened your mouth, trying to explain, but he wasn’t looking at you. His gaze was locked on Wooyoung, who now stood behind you with a smug, satisfied smirk curling on his lips.

That smirk broke something in Jongho.

“You son of a bitch,” Jongho snarled, his voice sharp, venom-laced.

He stepped forward, fists clenched, body trembling—not out of fear, but from the restraint it was taking not to deck Wooyoung right then and there.

“What? You knew she likes me. Are we surprised she just toyed with you?” Wooyoung snapped, his words sharp, deliberate—meant to cut deep.

You turned to him, eyes wide, heart sinking. “Wooyoung,” you breathed, shocked. “Jongho, you know that’s not—”

“Shut the fuck up, Wooyoung,” Jongho cut in, voice low and furious, stepping between you. One hand reached behind to push you gently back, shielding you without even thinking.

His eyes never left Wooyoung’s.

“What, Jongho? Can’t admit it?” Wooyoung bit out, the venom in his voice barely hiding the hurt beneath. “That she strung you along after I rejected her—which, I did, by the way. Just to see how she’d do without me.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Wooyoung didn’t know why the words were leaving his lips, each one sharper than the last, but they burned on the way out—like poison he’d swallowed himself. And he knew. He knew he should’ve stopped when he saw your face fall, when your tears spilled faster, when you stepped further behind Jongho like you needed to physically get away from him.

But the damage was done.

Jongho turned his head slightly to glance at you—just to make sure you were okay—but when he looked back at Wooyoung, his expression was dark, unreadable.

Jongho didn’t even hesitate. The moment the words left Wooyoung’s mouth—

“How can I burn her when she was nothing to begin with?”

pang.

Jongho’s fist connected with Wooyoung’s jaw, the crack sharp and echoing off the walls. Wooyoung stumbled back, catching himself against the wall as a groan of pain escaped his lips. He blinked hard, more stunned by his own words than the punch.

He hadn’t meant it. Not like that. Not really. But it was too late.

You didn’t spare him a glance.

You were already at Jongho’s side, your hands gently wrapping around his closed fist, your touch soft even in the tense silence that followed. Jongho’s chest was rising and falling rapidly, his eyes still locked on Wooyoung, jaw clenched, but the moment your fingers laced over his, he finally exhaled.

“Hey,” you whispered, voice trembling, “you didn’t have to do that.”

“I did,” Jongho replied simply, eyes flicking down to you for a moment—softening only when they met yours. “Because I won’t let him talk about you like that. Not now. Not ever.”

Wooyoung wiped the blood from the corner of his lip, his head still spinning—not from the punch, but from the hollow silence that came after. From the way Jongho held you. From the way you leaned into him.

He’d crossed a line. A thousand lines.

And now he was standing on the other side of them—alone.

You had put the ice bag on his fist as you sat beside him on his couch, wincing slightly as he took it. You smiled at him, placing a kiss to his cheek as he blushed.

" this wasn't how exactly i had it planned," he mumbled.

" you planned something for us?"

he nodded his head, “Yeah,” he muttered, a little sheepish, his gaze dropping to the ice bag in his hand. “I had this whole dumb, cute thing in mind. Was going to take you to dinner, go on a nice walk and then give you my jersey”

Your heart thudded softly in your chest, the simplicity of it all somehow more romantic than anything extravagant.

You leaned your head gently on his shoulder, smiling against the fabric of his shirt. “That doesn’t sound dumb to me at all.”

He let out a quiet chuckle, his body relaxing next to yours. “Yeah? Was worried it’d be too much.”

You lifted your head just enough to meet his eyes, sincerity shining through yours. “After everything I’ve been through… I think I needed something soft. Something real.”

Jongho didn’t speak right away, just looked at you with an expression so full of quiet affection it nearly knocked the breath out of you. Then he shifted, his pinky brushing yours on the couch cushion between you.

“So… walk and dinner still on the table?” he asked.

You nodded your head, " well, i did wear something cute"

Jongho smiled, his gaze flicking down for just a second before quickly returning to your eyes. “You did,” he said softly. “You look... really beautiful.”

The way he said it—gentle, without expectation—made your stomach flip in the best way. You could feel the heat creeping up your neck again.

"Then it’d be a shame to waste it, wouldn’t it?" you teased lightly, nudging his shoulder.

He laughed under his breath and stood up, extending a hand toward you. “Then let’s not waste it.”

You took his hand without hesitation, your fingers fitting perfectly in his. Maybe tonight wouldn’t go exactly as planned, but as his thumb brushed over yours and he led you to the door, you realized you wouldn’t change a thing.

You rolled your eyes playfully at the memory, bumping your shoulder into his as you walked. “You were relentless tonight.”

Jongho grinned, unbothered. “And yet, here you are, still holding my hand.”

You squeezed his fingers. “Shut up.”

His chuckle was soft, warm in the night air. The walk was quiet for a moment, the kind of peaceful silence that only came with someone who made you feel safe. When you reached your building, you paused at the front steps, not wanting the night to end.

“Thanks for tonight,” you said quietly, looking up at him beneath the glow of the porch light. “I really needed it.”

“I know,” Jongho replied. “And I’ll keep showing up… if you let me.”

Your breath caught just slightly at that—because he meant it. No games. No half-truths. Just Jongho, standing in front of you with open hands and honest eyes.

“I want you to,” you whispered, heart racing.

And he leaned in—slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. But you didn’t.

" can i... can i kiss you?" he asked softly, fear was clear in his voice.

Your heart thudded at the question—so gentle, so full of hesitation despite everything he'd just done to protect you.

You nodded slowly, your voice barely above a breath. “Yeah… you can.”

Jongho’s eyes searched yours one last time, just to be sure, before he leaned in. His lips met yours softly, nothing rushed or desperate—just the kind of kiss that felt like a promise. Like home. Like something real, something steady.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of you smiling like idiots.

“You taste like mint,” you murmured.

He chuckled, brushing his thumb along your jaw. “You taste like everything I’ve been waiting for.”

You laughed softly at his cheesy line, but it didn’t stop the way your chest fluttered or how your fingers curled around his hoodie to keep him close.

“God,” you whispered, still catching your breath, “when did you get so smooth?”

Jongho gave you a shy grin, eyes crinkling. “Probably around the time I realized I wanted to be the one to make you smile again.”

You looked up at him, eyes soft, the glow of the streetlights haloing him like something out of a dream. “You already do, Jongho.”

He brought your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles, like something straight out of an old movie. “Then I’ll keep doing it. For as long as you’ll let me.”

You didn’t answer right away, just leaned your head on his shoulder as you both stood there in the quiet night, the campus around you slowing down, fading into the background.

And for the first time in what felt like ages, your heart didn’t ache.

It bloomed.

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[cherryrkiveblog]

Dark content. Nocon. Yandere Jeonghannie. A lot of bad stuff. MDNI

Bitch I'm back. So now I just wonder

Yandere obsessed Jeonghan!

Kinda of the manly side of him. The one he accepts he is so much older than you and just want to have you on his hands. Like he's just a friend that you had since college campus and since he caught his eyes on you his instantly his sick thoughts came into life. You were there over the corner so fragile and kindness and all he had done was offer you help with the new stuff you're not used to.

Yandere obsessed Jeonghan! Who found out you were his freshman from psychology and it would be comic if weren't tragic. The way you let he in. Actually the way he just offered teach you about some concepts about the classes you're about to have but he already did so why couldn't he give you advices so you can skip some annoying morning lectures. Little don't you know that he made you quit classes so you don't catch the warnings about the sick guys who trap the young students and destroy them before graduation. And so he could teach you his own psychology concepts.

Yandere obsessed Jeonghan! Who actually got you wrapped up after 3 months cause you were smarter than he thought. You disagreed with half of the stuff he explained you about manipulation, vitimism, obsession and posession. He had no choice but gaslighting you and damn he felt no remorse at all.

Yandere obsessed Jeonghan! Who told you: it was ok feel to weird by the way you're brain were working recently if wasn't him you would be lost. Like he was there most of the time and sometimes you didn't notice at first just being aware of his presence when he appear behind you with gentle hands in your hips grounding you cause you're about to lose your shit cause you just lost you phone. "Hey, it's ok. I found it. Don't worry darling. See? It's your phone and you just left it on the table over there. Don't blame yourself on it you're just overwhelmed." He assures you in a hug and fuck it feels so good be in his arms was like the whole unniversity could burn and you wouldn't even feel it get warm.

Yandere obsessed Jeonghan! Who got his eyes on you everytime. Everyday. Every seconds and each breath of yours. He stands behind you like your shadow and everybody thinks you're dating but c'mon would such a handsome motherfucker like him with many older women head over heels to him want you? Like c'mon you're more than a decade younger than him but also so easy to have you at his spiderweb.

Yandere obsessed Jeonghan! Who enjoyed read the conversations and stuff you did on your cellphone as a hobby he just so into you and all the stupid things you do that the time flies when his attention is on you. Once. Just once or maybe twice or he just lost the counts of the days he jerked off to your dirty searches and implicit posts you do on social media. Fuck he just need get in to your soul.

Yandere obsessed Jeonghan! Who doesn't feel any bad when you start giving signs of emotional dependence and mental illness like fear of crowd, insecurity, doubting your own ability to remember things and worse the fear of being not good enough. Fuck he just felt like a God playing with his human marionette. He finaly saw the years he spent on books of mental control giving him gold.

Yandere obsessed Jeonghan! Who stands beside you keeping you in a sea of doubts till you throw yourself on him. He just such a unbothered man near his thirties just taking care of a younger girl he would never have anything. Right? Wrong. As he graduate first he waits for you while he starts a specialization in reverse psychology.

Yandere obsessed Jeonghan! Who had a hard time literally when you went congratulate him at his new apartment and hell yeah you're all smiles and so is him but not for happiness but 'cause he read you messages with the only friend he let you keep. Something like "I didn't knew this fucking career would put me in such state of mind. And the worse part is I'm so into him that even have a meal without him sounds wrong " He laughed out loud at this cause it was exactly the straight point. "You're putting yourself in such trouble" your friend answered.

Yandere obsessed Jeonghan! Showed you his whole place telling there's a room free and if you wanted he would let you kive there with him. While he walk behind you he just imagines hundred ways to fuck you on all the furnitures arounds. Oh, you would look so fucking cute taking him from behind in front of the glass wall at the corner of living room. His mind spinnig with you in a tight skirt that he knows you're in just for him.

Yandere obsessed Jeonghan! Who months later of work and chase. Talks you through your rough days once you decide go to a neuropsychiatrist and went out with diagnosis you don't even knew it existed. "Oh my darling, this things happen with just anyone. Don't fall into it studies can break our brain sometimes but everything it's going to be fine" "You should stay the night since you have another appointment tomorrow I can go with you" and then you just walk yourself in theperfect bird cage he made just for you

Yandere obsessed Jeonghan! Who god knows how he deal with your neuropsychiatrist and the amount of money he paid the guy to keep you blind just for him. And there were you in a single night wrapped in one of his blankets at his couch curled to him figure. His hands almost trembling as he caress your back as your perfume smells like poison to him.

Yandere obsessed Jeonghan! Who makes you cry watching a movie that makes you feel so vulnerable leaning on the crook of his neck hearing him chuckles as you grab the collar of his loose shirt. He pulls you close enough to share breathes with him your teary eyes looking at him in a fucked way that make his cock twitch inside his sweats.

Yandere obsessed Jeonghan! Who has all his doors locked up and your cellphone off so you're all his. The water he gave you to calm yourself down had a magic substance that your own doctor gave him and in half an hour has you clinging into him. Oh, he just wons in lottery or better than. "Princess you don't need to feel bad about you mental conditions. I'll keep you going, doing good for us isn't it what you want? Make your veteran proud of you?" You just hums in answer mind going numb as he fingers runs a lil to low for you liking, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt soon going up your stomach and all you do is whimper in his tight embrace.

Yandere obsessed Jeonghan! Who bite his own lips to not groan out loud when he pinches your hard nipple and you whine against his chest, eyez already dozing off and slow reflexes as he keep exploring your body.

Yandere obsessed Jeonghan! Who late down your weak body on his lap, as he grind his hard cock in your stomach having you with ass up while he just enjoy your situation. Squeezing and slapping your butt cheeks, fingers caressing your clothered core and between your tighs as all you do is whimper almost breathless far away from conscience while his hands had fun with how wet you were getting.

Yandere obsessed Jeonghan! Who grabs your hair pulling you in your back on couch so he can see your pretty face all sweat and horniness being one of the side effects of medicine he gave you. God he is in heaven. His girl. His woman. The freshman he worked so hard through five years to have all to him is finally there. Under him, spreaded out ready for him to use and get twisted. He should fuck a baby right into you so he guarantees you'll be his forever and ever.

Yandere obsessed Jeonghan! Who undress you slow and deliberate savoring every inch of skin he exposes. Your cute titties is the first part he mouths wander, he licks, bite, marks grabs with roughness in each act. Then your belly, where his hands runs like he is touching something that belong to him. And it does. There will be where you will hold his babies, where he'll make you feel every drop of his cum.

Yandere obsessed Jeonghan! Who can't hold back his euphroria after take your pants off and had to jerk off before he dives in the dark spot on your underwear. He cums in his fingers and then collects every drop spreading it on your pussy like he is drawing with some priceless tint on your clit. And then he just kiss your inner tighs, your swollen bud so he licks it as he starved for years.

Yandere obsessed Jeonghan! Who eat you out as he wants to drain your soul, your sleepy sounds was getting him off and all he did was moan like a bitch in heat on your pussy. You came so hard on his tongue mixing it with his saliva making it even more messy. He looks at your blushed face, eyes closed and swollen for the cry earlier and he never felt more happy.

Yandere obsessed Jeonghan! Who patiantly fingers you damn you were so godamn wet your slick running down his palm and wrist make nasty sounds echoes around the room. He licks his fingers tasting you cum on his tongue again.

Yandere obsessed Jeonghan! Who tease himself on your slit, tip wet by your folds lapping your clit again with his thick dick watch you move uncomfortable under him, arching your back with low strenght. He could put a condom, like what if you wake up and decide go to police and tell them he raped you? Nah, he laughed. You'll never get out of this apartment ever again. When he finishes to claim you he'll lock you own your new room till he make sure you're one hundred percent his. And he will give you his name too. His wife, mother of his kids and his property.

Yandere obsessed Jeonghan! His cock twicthes uncontrollably when he put it in more, he's rolling eyes moaning with no shame your tight wall warmimg him up so good that he knows he won't last long. So he does his best to make you feel good even if you can't barely feel anything. He first thrust it's almost erratic he fantasized about your cunt so much that just feeling it is pushing him to edge and he grab your hips tight nails digging into your skin it's to ground himself but actually it's not working. After fill minutes looking for composure he breath in and start to fucking you so hard and desperate the couch moving with his sharp moves and he might cum any second. His swollen tip hit hard on that sponged spot inside you the stimulation is pushing him to another timespace.

Yandere obsessed Jeonghan! Who has the most pornographic sounds out of his bited lips while he just thinks how better would it be if you're awake moaning with him. You would love be his you just don't know it yet. He just need to work a lil harder to make you see that he is all you need amd your stupid brain has no chance trying to make you believe his is the problem in your life.

Yandere obsessed Jeonghan! Who has his hair glued to his forehead, face and neck all blushed as he cums so deep that it takes it time to spill out. He just stays there breathless watching your body painted with his cum, hickeys and his hands tattoed. Smiling he kiss your abused cunt, your low belly whispering "mommy will be happy to carry our babies" and a last peck on your dry lips.

Yandere obsessed Jeonghan! Who doesn't move you for fifteen minutes praying to your fertillity accept his genes so you get one of his kids on your ovules soon. Then later after clean you and change to one of his clothes he drags you to your new captivity he shower your with his love glad that after so long you're all his by now.

[bloodadornedflesh]

Hey, everyone! Hope everybody's having a great day. Just in case you're not, let's do a thought exercise together! The objective is to think happy, wholesome thoughts. By the end of it, you should be feeling completely relaxed and at peace. Let's begin!

Imagine that you're an autistic person, living in a world that has almost no understanding of neurodivergence. You grow up all your life feeling like something's wrong. Everything is too loud, or strange, and no one understands. You do have an understanding family, though, and they try their best to help you, but it just isn't enough. It's one thing to try to understand, and another thing entirely to actually, truly get it because you've experienced it yourself. And, oh, your eventual job is gonna be killing demons for a living, so. Gotta tough it up. But, hey, at least you've got a twin, and she's very nice and stands up for you, so that's something! You've got a playmate!

Then, things happen, and another guy your age shows up to live with your family. And he's different. He can put an EXACT name to your condition, empathize with how you feel, and really seems to get you in a way that even your family doesn't. Naturally, you adore him to bits and start to hang out with him a LOT, and possibly fall in love. But you're fifteen, and saw the guy kiss your twin, so you just shut up about it. You know, go on like nothing is wrong. But EVERYTHING is wrong, you just don't know how to express it. Oh, well.

Then, things happen again, and your twin dies. Gruesomely, right in front of your eyes. And you're helpless to stop it, but you CAN reverse it. Which is a crazy thought, yes? But, again, you're fifteen, and she's one of the two people who ever truly understood you. She's your twin. You love her, and you know she loves you. Surely, she'd want to come back, yes? And, you need to do it for the guy, too. They kissed. They're probably in love. It's for all 3 of you. And, it's for everyone else, too. Your brothers and sisters. Your family. It's for the good of everyone. If your twin came back, no one would have to grieve.

You try to tell about your plan to your older brother, the one who raised you, the one you trust above everyone else. You think he would be happy, encourage you, but you can hardly get a word in before he snaps at you, tells you you're grown up, and to handle things yourself. So you do.

But life seems to simply hate you. You do the ritual with the guy who's supposed to be in love with your sister, but he tries to stop you, begs you not to do it. He says he loves you, and he'll stay by you, but not if you do the ritual? What the fuck does that mean? You're confused and upset, so you kick him and do it anyway, but it fails. Your twin is back, but only as a ghost. And the guy who WAS with you, who said he loved you, now suddenly loathes you for some reason. He says it, too, he says he wishes he never met you. And then he disappears without even saying goodbye.

What would you do in this situation? Try to forget him? TOUGH FUCKING LUCK, BECAUSE YOU KNOW WHAT? The ghost you brought back takes her energy from you. Her very presence is a detriment to your health. AND YOU KNOW THE ONLY THING THAT HELPS? THE GUY'S FAMILY RING WORN AROUND YOUR NECK AT ALL TIMES. THAT'S WHAT!

Anyway, so you go three years pining after a guy who kissed your twin, tried to stop you from resurrecting her, then confessed to you and ran away. And you can't even TRY to forget him, because every time you look in the mirror, his ring is around your neck. It's always around your neck. Even when you sleep or bathe or eat or work. Always. There. Always reminding you of him. And there's nothing to be done about it because taking it off means dying painfully.

And that's all for today's exercise. How does everyone feel? ❤

[geesecanon]

um ok what about ford is explaining some science thing to you and you are trying to listen but he just looks SO cute rn so you need to kiss him. but hes in Science Mode n cant process the kissies so hes like hey. stop that.

or something

falls to my knees SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG......tysm for requesting, this was incredibly fun to write. (this can be read as part of Concentricity-verse if you'd like but it's otherwise stand alone!)

Rating: SFW Words: 980 (i CAN write short things!) Type: Drabble, request Tags: Ford Pines/(gender neutral) Reader; Kissing; (Unintentional) Scientific Foreplay (but this is still SFW promise)

"You’re cute, you want to tell him. I like it when you talk science to me. But by this point, he is hardly going to hear anything you have to say."

“— certain threshold needs to be reached to trigger the depolarization required for electrical propagation along a neuron, but a neural signal is just an electrical transmission, so it stood to reason if you could rig some kind of cranial device to manipulate membrane potentials —”

Ford is hardly paying attention to your physical presence as he continues on his well-trodden explanatory path; your role as a willing and curious audience member is more than enough permission he needs to ramble on. You hardly mind: you had been the one to ask him why the spaghetti strainer in his office was patch clamped to a mainframe…

So, he had unearthed several thick files on Project MENTUM, overstuffed with diagrams and cranial MRIs and EKG readings (so many EKG readings) and spread them out across the shag of the living room floor, like he is trying to solve some kind of puzzle. Maybe backtrack his way from the end product to where it originally started.

Truthfully, you could care less about neuroscience. You just like listening to him talk.

You two are as close as you can physically be without you fully climbing into his lap, sides pressed together with your legs tucked under you while sitting on the carpet. He jostles you every so often to reach forward and snag another aged paper — half in faded typewriter ink, half in the slightly smudged looping scrawl of Ford’s distinctive handwriting.

Ford is hardly ever still when he goes into lecture mode; even sitting, he gesticulates when he talks, restless in his movements. He’s waving his hands through the air, counting points off his fingers, using them to create rudimentary shapes to demonstrate a point, pushing his glasses up his nose, running a hand through his hair. Once he gets deep enough down the proverbial scientific rabbit hole, a special kind of gleam enters his eyes, too — intrigued and eager and proud all at once.

You’re cute, you want to tell him. I like it when you talk science to me. But by this point, he is hardly going to hear anything you have to say.

So, you decide to take action.

“— Of course, further improvement can then be effected via repetitive stimulation, in a manner conceptually akin to the neuronal phenomenon of long term potentiation — mmph!”

Perhaps in some kind of well-trained response, he kisses you back, but only for a few seconds before rearing his head to break the kiss. Incredulously, he asks, “What are you doing?”

You blink at each other for a few more seconds, the tips of your noses pressed in such close proximity, before you say, “Seems kind of self-explanatory.”

“I am trying to explain translating brainwaves via innovative patch clamping to —”

“And, you’re doing a good job,” you tell him, steadying a hand on his knee to balance yourself better, then kiss him again.

He has the audacity to make a frustrated noise in return, although he still kisses back.

Soon, you pull away again, giving yourselves a little more breathing room. “You’re doing too good of a job,” you elaborate further. His eyebrows furrow, a deep crease forming between them. “It’s attractive. I wanted to show my appreciation.”

“It couldn’t have at least waited until after I got around to covering how the helmet manipulates membrane potentials into a more excitable state?”

“It couldn’t have,” you confirm.

You fully intend to return to the kissing, but you must have sent him careening into some kind of mood, because he continues to gripe. “I fail to see how any of this is particularly, or even overwhelmingly, attractive.”

Realizing this is going to be a whole thing, you sigh and settle back down next to him, although keep your hand on his knee for good measure, to remind him of your end goal. “Your attractiveness factor spikes whenever you devolve into science jargon,” you tell him. “I like it. A lot.”

Ford turns his head and looks at you skeptically. His glasses are slightly smudged from being pressed between you, and there is a blush smeared across his cheeks. “Really?”

You roll your eyes. It is entirely possible he is being purposefully obtuse here, because you know this is a two-way street vis-à-vis what your foreplay usually looks like. He likes to goad you into these things, sometimes.

“Yeah, watch, I can do it, too.” You clear your throat. “I know we were trying to jump the hurdle of carbon-based plasma being rendered too dense from leukocytes and thrombocytes — among the other mineral ions and glucose, yes, I know, don’t give me that look — to be aerosolized. But there is some burgeoning evidence from a scientist who will remain unnamed but whose last name starts with P and ends in ines that shows silicone-based plasma has a higher potential, and in some instances, can even permeate filter-based respirators, leaving a toxic —”

“Okay,” Ford interrupts, audibly strangled, and the close quarters affords you to see his pupils dilating as well. In a telltale sign, he shifts his sitting position a little and drops both hands to his lap. “I get it.”

You nod. “Can we go back to the kissing now?”

“I thought the science jargon was what is attractive here?” he asks, a little cheeky. “Having my mouth otherwise occupied seems like it would make any attraction levels decrease.”

“Eh. It’s apples and oranges.” You trail your hand, slowly, up his jean-clad thigh, while you maintain eye contact. “The kissing is like, the result of the attraction levels passing a certain threshold.”

He nods, as if this is a run-of-the-mill hypothesis stage for any ol’ experiment, and not a situation where a few well-placed touches might make this no longer an innocent teaching session. “Where’s the threshold?”

“I don’t know,” you huff, shaking your head with a fond smile. “I haven’t ever quantified it.”

And, because of who he is, Ford sneaks an arm around your waist and tugs you flush against him, with a grin. “Would you like to?”