#(maybe not the near future. but the future all the same!)

[unterdans]

contempt

johnny storm x ex-gf!reader

summary: You and Johnny dated briefly in college. Things ended when he got his powers and his whole world changed. When Sue asks you to tutor Franklin, you come back into each other's lives.

content warnings: reader with fem pronouns, no use of y/n, reader is referred to as "doc" or "professor," lovers to enemies to lovers, some hurt, mostly fluff :3

wc: 3.9k

a/n: as you can see, i got carried away with my first fic here/written in... five years! sorry if it's ooc, i've only seen the new movie once so far! please enjoy-- it'll be up on ao3 in the near future.

“If she should make tender of her love, ‘tis very possible he’ll scorn it; for the man, as you know all, hath a contemptible spirit.” - Don Pedro, Much Ado About Nothing

You had met Johnny in your third year at Harvard when he was in his fourth year at MIT. Things flowed easily between you two. Your romance was fast but tender. Past his cocky first impression, Johnny was caring, softer than butter, and toothachingly sweet. On the nights you spent together in your apartment curled around each other in your bed, he would read whatever was on your nightstand until you fell asleep in his arms. 

Then came his graduation.

You were proud of him, of course, but also scared of what would become of your relationship. He was moving to New York to work with his sister and while that wasn’t horrendously far, you knew it would put a strain on the easy, light, sugary thing you had going. You had met Sue, her husband Reed, and Reed’s best friend Ben when they would come to visit Johnny. They were all nice in their own ways, but you weren’t close enough with any of them to voice your fears about Johnny. Was what you had serious enough to inconvenience him? To inconvenience you?

When he left, you both swore up and down that you would write to each other and call in the evenings when you had the time. And at first, you both did. Johnny wrote as much as he talked— about his sister, about New York, about this space trip he and his family were selected to go on. 

The letters and the calls stopped when he came back from space. Everything changed: his DNA, his job, his whole life. What would you two even talk about anymore? You were just the nice girl from his old life. It hurt like hell but you pushed on, finished your English doctorate the following year, and moved to New York yourself. 

For unrelated reasons— for opportunities, of course. 

You got a teaching gig at a university uptown, settled down, made friends. You didn’t forget about Johnny— how could you when his face was on literal billboards? But the ache of his leaving was just that: a dull pain in the back of your mind that you didn’t consciously think about most days. Most.

But sometimes, when the hum and glow of the city punctured your closed curtains, the loneliness hit you. He was out there, without you, a new girl on his arm every few weeks. What you had didn’t mean anything to him. 

Two years passed in the comfortable rhythm that had become your life when you received a letter in a pale blue envelope at your office mailbox. It was from Sue. Although only two years old, Franklin’s intellect was developing at a rapid pace. Of course he was surrounded by the most brilliant scientists on Earth, but they wanted him to have a well-rounded education. When it came to literature and history, the Fantastic Four were aware they lacked the same prowess they had in the various sciences. Yes, Sue was a renowned diplomat. Yes, Reed had solved teleportation. Yet neither of them had read any Shakespeare beyond Romeo and Juliet. Long story short, they were looking for a tutor and her first thought had been of you, “that brilliant girl we met in Cambridge, in a different life.” She invited you to the Baxter Building Friday to meet Franklin.

No, was your first thought. That would be entirely too much. But how could you say no to this opportunity, to the goddamn Fantastic Four? Maybe Johnny wouldn’t be there. You doubt he hung around the penthouse with his nephew all day. He probably had interviews to do, magazines to pose for, and whatever else came with being America’s heartthrob. So you sat at your desk and wrote back to Sue with shaky hands.

Yes, of course. It would be great to see you again and to meet Franklin.

Your students came and went, asking for help, extensions, book recommendations. As they did, you only had Friday on your mind.. When your office hours were over, you mailed the letter, hesitating before the mouth of the mailbox. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, tutoring the Fantastic Four’s fantastic toddler.

Rather than dragging by, the week sped headfirst towards Friday. As one of the younger professors at your university, you got stuck with the undesirable Friday morning lecture slot. For once, it went by quickly. Too quickly, because the next thing you knew you were in the Baxter Building elevator. You prayed as it trudged upwards that Johnny wouldn’t be there. You could do this if your contact with him was minimal.

The elevator jolted softly when it reached the penthouse floor. Even before the doors opened, before you stepped out of the shaft, you could hear the strained voices.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The last time you heard that voice was over the phone. Back then, warmth exuded through how tired he was. Now his words had a fiery edge to them, burning you.

“I didn’t think it mattered to you, Johnny.” Sue, ever the diplomat.

Panicking, you step heavily to announce your presence. Thank god for loud heels.

“Oh, come in—”

“Give us a minute!”

Sue and Johnny’s voices mixed together in the high-ceilinged echo. You decided to listen to Sue and tentatively stepped out of the elevator and onto the landing. Blue and orange toys littered the contemporary carpet. Your eyes were glued that way for a few seconds, hesitant to look up. When you did, Johnny was already looking at you. Fuck. Franklin had been in his arms but he now handed the toddler back to his mother. Johnny looked sharply back at Sue, a soft scoff coming from his perfect mouth.

He stormed out of the living room and onto the balcony. He glanced back at you and saluted to his sister before lighting his fire and leaping into the sky.

Sue turned to you. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

You swallowed, trying to regain your composure. “It’s fine! If my being here is a problem at all—”

She smiled at you in that dazzling, comforting way of hers. “Not at all. He was just caught off guard.”

You nodded in understanding. “This handsome guy must be Franklin!”

Talking to Sue and getting to know Franklin had a sense of ease to it. On the part of the Invisible Woman, it nearly felt like you were picking up right where you had left off. Although her whole world had changed— not only with her new powers and her role in international politics, but with her son as well— she was the same earnest and intelligent woman you had briefly known those years ago. She listened to you intently as you discussed the curriculum you had come up with. She seemed to respect you, despite how things had fizzled out with Johnny.

Franklin was a wonder, his intelligent eyes sparkling all over the room as he played on the floor, examining you from time to time with curiosity. Despite your initial hesitancy and awkwardness around Johnny, you were excited to take up this challenge. Having next to no experience teaching children didn’t make a difference— Franklin was far from normal. 

As the sun lowered in the sky, Reed and Ben returned from the lab. Both men came up short for a moment upon seeing, no, upon recognizing you. You were a ghost from their past, however briefly they had known you. You were Johnny’s ghost most of all. Besides Sue, they all reacted so strongly to seeing you that anxiety prickled your neck, worrying about what they thought of you. You took a breath to steady yourself and in that span of time, both Ben and Reed regained their composure and greeted you.

“Good to see you again,” Ben said when he shook your hand.

“Same to you, and to you Dr. Richards,” you said and turned to the shorter man.

“Just Reed, please,” he shook your hand for longer than most would. “Sue has been filling us in on your career since we last met.”

Your face flushed. “Oh!” was all you could squeak out.

“We have a lot of catching up to do, don’t we?” Sue said from the living room. “Would you be able to stay for dinner?”

Your face flushed further. Dinner with the Fantastic Four? Dinner with your ex’s family? Dinner with your ex?

“I wouldn’t want to impo—”

“It’d be our pleasure,” Reed assured you.

Sue came up behind you and put a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Have you read James Baldwin's new book?” Ben asked. All the tension eased out of your shoulders. You could do this.

“I actually just picked up a copy last week,” you said.

H.E.R.B.I.E had started cooking while you were talking to Sue, so all that was left was to set the table and make some finishing touches to the meal, which Ben did eagerly. You chatted with the family about the political context and perspective Baldwin brought to his new work as you gathered around the table, waiting for Johnny. Five minutes passed easily, then ten. 

When he finally flew in from the balcony, he didn’t notice you at first. His eyes glazed over you, but not as if he were purposefully ignoring you. 

As if you belonged there. 

You blinked rapidly to get the thought out of your head. Johnny could have anyone he wanted, why would he be stuck on you? Normal, nerdy you.

“Sorry, sorry everyone. Flew upstate to clear my head and lost track of time.” He sauntered over to the table and took the seat across from you. Only when he sat down did he realize you were there. He stilled. Maybe this had been a bad idea.

“Wasn’t expecting you to still be here, doc.”

You scoffed lightly, it could almost be a laugh. Hardly anyone ever called you doctor, even if you did have a doctorate. “If you call me doc, I’ll have to call you the Human Torch.”

Ben laughed and it encouraged you until Johnny glared at him and spoke. “I could live with that.”

For such a hothead, he seemed to be icing you out. The rest of dinner was somewhat tense as the rest of the family asked you about your dissertation, the university you taught at, and your students. Johnny didn’t speak the rest of the time, which was both a relief and a concern. Johnny never shut up. Never. But tonight he sat like a kicked puppy across from you, his big eyes glued to his plate.

The deal you cut with Sue was to come Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons to teach Franklin. Most of these would end right before the family had dinner, so you became a regular at their table, much to Johnny’s chagrin. After two weeks of pouting, though, he seemed to at least accept that you’d be around for a while. 

At the end of the third week of having you around, Johnny was finally able to admit to himself that it was nice seeing you again. You were on his turf, which was remarkably different from when you two had dated. He never want to bring you to his apartment back then, because what if you didn’t love his space, his things, didn’t love him, like he—

But that was a lifetime ago. Everything was different now. When you never called after the space mission, it was clear to Johnny that you didn’t want to be part of his life now that he was… not normal. Imagine his confusion when Sue told him you were coming to tutor his nephew, the least normal child in the universe. As you sat at his family’s dinner table multiple times a week, his confusion only grew. You treated them no differently than you did three years ago. To Johnny, it didn’t seem like it registered to you that they were celebrities either.

So why did you never call?

“You’re on fire, Johnny,” Ben said, gravelly but cool. The rest of the table looked at Johnny with surprise; he never put his flame on at the dinner table and had gained complete control over it… or so they thought. The torch himself looked down at his hands in surprise and extinguished them. He realized with embarrassment that he had been staring at you and warped his fork with his heat.

“Are you feeling alright?” you asked. 

Why did it have to be you who asked? The worst part of all was the genuine care in your voice. Your eyebrows knitted together in concern and it made Johnny’s heart stutter. He couldn’t reconcile this version of you with the one he had in his head: ashamed and distant.

“Johnny?” Sue brought him back to now.

“Should I get some water?” You asked him.

“No,” he said sharply, “I don’t need you to get me water.”

“Jonathan!” Sue scolded him.

“What does that mean?” you asked as he stormed to the kitchen with his plate, half tripping over H.E.R.B.I.E.

“That means I don’t need anything from you,” he said simply. “Ever.”

The room collectively sighed as he escaped to his room. Your face burned with embarrassment and hurt. “Ever.” Maybe you had hoped that things would change when you took this job. How foolish. Everything about him was different. Where was that sweetness, that softness you had known? Had it all burned away?

Sue, for one, had had enough. She knew her little brother and she knew you well enough to read how you both still cared for each other. Platonically at the extreme least. So she came up with a plan: the two of you could hardly communicate with each other, but if the rest of the team were to convince one of the other’s feelings, maybe, just maybe, you would come to a resolution. Back when you were both in college, you brought out the best in Johnny— enough that Sue could tell, even though she didn’t see her little brother often. His grades improved, he got in trouble less because he wanted to impress you. His motorcycle stunts and purported nonchalance had no effect on you, so he had no choice to bring out the real Johnny. And the real Johnny was refreshing to Sue.

The only problem Johnny had with an open floor plan was that it made it difficult to eavesdrop. Reed and Sue sat on the sofa just out of sight from the kitchen, behind the fireplace in the center of the room, discussing the seating plan for the Future Foundation’s upcoming benefit.

They seemed to have forgotten he was there.

“And the professor?” Reed asked.

“I’m not sure,” Sue said, humming thoughtfully.

“There’s an open space next to Johnny.”

The Human Torch swallowed his cereal and ate another handful, crunching quietly.

Sue chuckled. “I thought we wanted this to run smoothly.”

“She won’t know anyone else there,” Reed offered.

“She told me the other day that—” Sue lowered her voice enough so that Johnny had to focus to hear her “— she misses Johnny’s friendship. She’s professional, so she didn’t let on at dinner last week, but their exchange really hurt her.”

Johnny’s heart stuttered. He had been shoveling more cereal into his mouth but paused his chewing to listen.

“Why hasn’t she told him?”

“You know Johnny, Reed. Once he’s been burned, he doesn’t forget. And you’ve seen them interact enough— it wouldn’t go well. He’s too proud.”

Too proud? Is that what his big sister really thought of him? Of all the people, Sue knew him best. And apparently she knew him to be… unforgiving. He didn’t want to be that person— for her, for Franklin, for you.

Reed and Sue moved on from discussing you, and Johnny crunched on his Lucky Charms, lost in thought.

You arrived at the penthouse of the Baxter Building at three pm on the dot, like always. Johnny had made a point of leaving out the window when you arrived most days, but today, he sat with Franklin in the living room. You hesitated to come closer, but he noticed you and… smiled.

“Hi,” he said with a little wave. Your face must have betrayed your thoughts, because his grin turned sheepish.

“Is Sue around?” you asked.

Johnny shook his head. “No, sorry, she was called to present at the UN today. Seems you're stuck with me till Reed comes back from the lab.”

Anxiety crept up your neck again. You were not emotionally prepared for this. Shit.

“Okie dokie, then,” you said, mentally kicked yourself, and entered the den.

The lesson was brutal. Sue always sat in and it never bothered you, but Johnny’s gaze felt so heavy on you as you explained the act of Much Ado About Nothing you had just read with Franklin.

“Sometimes people that love each other have a hard time expressing it. Benedick and Beatrice were so wrapped up in what they thought the other had done wrong that they couldn’t realize how deeply they cared for one another.” Your voice trembled. When you lifted your eyes from your notes, Johnny was staring at you again. His lips were parted as if he were about to ask you something, but instead he looked away. Your heart raced for some reason— he had made his feelings clear, hadn’t he? Or…

“Shakespeare makes it clear that they have a history, but never what exactly happened. Perhaps even they don’t know and it was simply…”

“Circumstance.” Johnny finishes your sentence when you trail off.

“Exactly,” you breathe.

The elevator dinged and Reed entered the apartment not a moment too soon.

“Hello, professor,” he greeted you warmly.

“Hi, Reed.”

“Are you staying for dinner?”

“I was wondering—” Johnny interjected as he picked up Franklin, bouncing the boy in his arms, “—if you’d want to go out to dinner?”

“H.E.R.B.I.E.’s been cooking for hours already,” Reed said.

“Just the professor, Stretch, I see you more than I’d like.”

Reed rolled his eyes as he took Franklin from his uncle. You watched the two tentatively.

“So, how about it?” Johnny asked again. He rocked back and forth on his heels, hands in his pockets, the very image of a nervous little boy. His eyes sparkled in the low light, brows knitted together almost apologetically.

“Sure,” you finally said with a nod. Johnny grinned and legitimately cheered. Reed flinched at the volume of it. As the two of you walked towards the elevator, he pat Reed on the shoulder. 

“Sue and you are not that slick,” he whispered to Reed. “...but thank you.”

Johnny took you to a quiet restaurant that was only fifteen minutes from the Baxter Building. All the waitstaff recognized him and you figured he must bring girls here often. Nothing special was going on here, surely. You were intrigued, though, by the fact that the restaurant was a little worn down. It wasn’t flashy, like you expected Johnny Storm’s date spot to be. In fact, it occurred to you as you sat down across from him, none of the tabloid pictures with his various flings featured the checkered tablecloth the establishment was very fond of.

“First of all,” he started as he poured you a glass of wine, “I’d like to apologize for being… well for being an ass these past few weeks.”

You shrugged. “It’s been weird for me, too. Apology wine accepted.”

He laughed as you brought the glass to your lips. “You’ve changed a lot since Cambridge.”

At that, you raised an eyebrow. “Your DNA was literally restructured. You’ve saved the universe. I’m the same person you knew then.”

“No, you’re not. You’re— you’re more mature. I mean, you’ve really made a life for yourself and I’m proud of you. I haven’t changed much besides being more… of an uncle.”

You laughed lightly and he giggled along with you.

“You’re the only person I’ve ever met who was born to be an uncle, Johnny.”

“It’s a good fit, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

He looked lovely like this: lit by warm candleglow, eyes darting between you and the table, his leg bouncing anxiously. Johnny similarly marveled at the way you leaned in close to listen to him, the way your eyelashes fanned across your cheek when you laughed, how you nervously fiddled with your hair.

He swallowed his pride and finally asked you.

“Why did you never call after the space mission?”

You perked up at the question and he watched as a wave of sadness rolled over you. A pit dipped in his stomach at the sight of how you turned inward, how you withdrew from him. You looked at him like he should know the answer already.

“It was clear life had more in store for you. I didn’t want to hold you back from that. I was just me and now you were a hero. When you never called, I thought it was because you had moved on. Because you had changed and now I was too regular.”

As you spoke, your eyes drifted towards the flame between you two, gaze becoming distant as you remembered those feelings at their most raw. When you looked back up at Johnny, his face was stricken.

“I thought… you never called because you didn’t want to be with someone like me. That you didn’t like the changes I— we— had gone through.”

“No, Johnny, of course not. It’s quite cool, actually.”

“Fantastic, even?”

You laughed and rolled your eyes. What a cornball. 

Dinner came and went pleasantly, mostly talking about music, but Johnny laughed unprompted while you shared dessert.

“What?” you asked. 

“Nothing,” he tried to dismiss it.

“No, tell me!”

He put his spoon down and leaned back in his seat. “We’re just a couple of idiots, that’s all. This whole time I thought you didn’t like me, you thought I didn’t like you, meanwhile I never stopped caring about you.” He didn’t dare to speak on your behalf.

“I never stopped caring about you, either,” you breathed. Your hands prickled with excitement. 

“See? A bunch of idiots, you and me.”

“Mostly you.”

“Mostly me.”

When you left the restaurant, your hand dangled near Johnny’s, begging him to hold it without saying a word. Your fingers bumped once, twice— he finally got the hint and laced your hands together. Sometimes your strides would become unsynchronized, but he’d make a point of slowing down to match you. The air felt charged between you two, now that everything was revealed.

“I missed this,” you hummed.

“I missed you, pretty girl,” he said, pausing in the street. You took this moment to embrace him. He didn’t respond at first, stunned, but then hugged you tighter than he ever had. Your cheek pressed against his warm chest as if it were meant to be there. Johnny pulled away first, but only to look down at you, admiring. One hand snaked up to brush hair out of your eyes.

“Is it too soon to ask to kiss you?” he whispered.

“We’ve been waiting a few years, haven’t we?”

He chuckled at that. “May I?”

“Of course.” He leaned down to kiss you— so chastely it almost made you laugh. It was fucking sweet, how gentle he could be. When your mouths met, they weren’t hungry or desperate but full of steady longing. In your previous relationship, things had been fast and intense. A perfect match marching towards its inevitable fizzle. This? This was a hearth you could build a home around.

thank you for reading! let me know what you think :3

dividers by @saradika-graphics.

[cherry-smokes]

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

Pairings: Jake Seresin x OC, (this is basically an x reader, Sweetheart is just her call sign idk man) also a sprinkle of Bob Floyd x OC because I had to add a tidbit in there. hurt/no comfort.....yet. Word Count: 2K Notes: *deep sigh* men. Bittersweet Cinematic Universe

═══════════ ⋆★⋆ ═══════════

Dog fight Football on the beach is easily one of Maverick’s best ideas. Sweetheart might just think that because it’s the first time she’s seen everyone smiling in weeks. The sun is giving them all a nice glow, or at the very least a mean burn but no one seems to mind.

They’re nearing the end of the game, and Bob makes a surprising catch. She and Cutthroat chase him down the beach as he makes a touch down. Not in any attempt to intercept him but with full intentions of bombarding him in celebration. They jump at him and her friend wraps her arms around his shoulders, actively ignoring the sweat that clings to the back of his shirt. The flush that spreads from his cheeks to the tips of his ears isn’t from the sun, Sweetheart would put money on it. Maybe some day in the future, when one of them has decided to get their heads out of the sand and do something about their very obvious mutual feelings, she’ll tell Bob that Cutthroat is an absolute neat freak and is easily grossed out by sweat. A fact the woman has clearly forgotten about herself just so she has an excuse to hold him.

In the past few weeks Sweetheart and Bob have bonded over their many shared traits. Being WSO’s, their love of animals, and caring too much about their mean lady.

That last one is precisely why she’s actively avoided Jake ever since the incident. With the way he’s the only one pouting as everyone surrounds Bob on Roosters shoulders, it seems to be weighing heavily on his shoulders.

Look. Cutthroat has her moments, but at the end of the day she wasn’t the one who started the argument. She wasn’t the one who escalated it either. Sweetheart’s always known that people dislike Jake because he’s cocky, and sometimes an asshole. Whether it be naivety or hope that everyone was blowing it out of proportion she’d never seen how volatile he could be first hand. Until the other day.

She thought maybe it was a fluke, a one off of him taking things too far with Cutthroat, but then he did the same thing to Rooster. She’s realized that Jake has a real gift, one other than flying. He knows exactly where to dig the knife so it hurts the most, and he hit an artery when he brought up Roosters father.

She couldn’t do anything but stand there in shock while the two grown men went at each other’s throats. She immediately thought back to what Cutthroat told her at the bar when they first got here.

“Guys like that don’t change.”

The world is bleak, and awful, and shitty and she sees things day in and day out that remind her of this. So while optimism doesn’t come easily to her she fights every day to find it. She believes that people can change. That people can see where they’ve been wrong and take the steps to fix it, but you can’t just take words back once they’ve left your lips.

No matter how lovely Jake’s were.

So she’s been avoiding him. Ignoring his charming, honey soaked compliments and practically running the other way whenever he comes too close.

═══════════ ⋆★⋆ ═══════════

Jake is going insane. While everyone is under the impression that his flirtatious demeanor towards his Sweetheart is just a manifestation of his ‘womanizing’ tendencies, it’s not. He’s been head over heels for her since he met her. It’s not the quick rush of adrenaline he gets when he sees a gorgeous woman at the bar either. It’s something heavy and burning that’s been lingering within him for years. So sue him for thinking this would be his shot at actually getting a date with her.

Why didn’t he make a move? Ambition. When they were in the academy everyone was so determined to prove themselves it didn’t leave much time for anything else. He knew they’d be going their separate ways, he hoped it would just be a fleeting crush that he’d forget about as soon as they graduated. He didn’t.

Instead he’s spent years reliving every single time she spoke to him, or brushed by him or even looked his way. So when he found out she was back at Top Gun at the same time as him he kind of hoped it was fate. Until she started avoiding him like he was a walking case of the measles.

He’s sure this is Cutthroats doing. She’s whispering evil, malicious things in Sweethearts ear and probably keeping her captive so she won’t go near him. While it makes him feel a bit stalker-ish he hovers around the parking lot waiting for the two girls to part ways, hoping to just get a moment alone with the nicer one.

He panics for a second. It seems like they’re leaving together, which of course they are. Of course they carpool. They can’t stand to be without each other longer than a few minutes, like a pair of otters afraid they’ll float off to sea if they drop each other’s hands. He watches them bicker quietly before Sweetheart grabs Cutthroat by the shoulders and turns her around.

“Bob honey! Could you give her a ride? I have some errands to run and she makes them very difficult because she has strong opinions about everything!”

Bob probably gives himself whiplash with how quick he turns his head and starts nodding. “Y-yeah! Definitely, I can do that.” He opens the passenger door and lets a very embarrassed looking Cutthroat into the car. Jake thinks it’s the first time he’s ever seen her with her tail between her legs.

He tries brushes off the twinge of jealousy that sprung up when Sweetheart called Bob honey and starts walking over to her car.

She sees him coming from the corner of her eye. The sunset behind him makes the salt water and sweat that still hasn’t vaporized off his skin from the heat reflect beautifully. For a second she debates if she has enough time to get in her car, start it and book it. Unfortunately she doesn’t and the furthest she’d get is the front seat before she’d be forced to have a horribly awkward conversation through the window.

“Should I be worried about Bob stealing you away?”

“Hi Jake.”

He stops in front of her. Slightly out of breath even though he didn’t jog over to her. But his heart is racing and he can’t help but feel his palms begin to sweat.

“Must be my lucky day finally getting you alone.”

“Yeah well…”

She knows this is awkward. She’s being short and probably as rude as she can be. She honestly isn’t sure what to say to him. A foreign expression comes over him, she’s never seen him look so…nervous.

“Are you-I mean how have you been?”

He flinches when he hears himself. He sounds like an idiot.

“Uh…good. Yeah I’ve been good. Tired.”

He nods along. “Yeah no…me too.”

A dense silence falls between the two of them. Sweethearts shirt is clinging to her back with sweat, the humidity is making her hair feel unbearable and she desperately wants to get into her car and blast the AC.

“I’m gonna-“

“Did I do something?”

She stops in her tracks. He’s fiddling with his hands like a schoolboy who’s been scolded for running in the hallway. When Sweethearts mouth opens and no words come out he keeps going. “I just-I feel like you’ve been avoiding me.”

She can’t lie. She hates lying, it’s unproductive. She just can’t figure out how to tell him the truth gently.

“I mean. Yeah I have been.”

He squints a little, “Is this because of Cutthroat?”

“Partially yes-“

He scoffs and shakes his head. “Jesus, I knew she had something to do with it. She can’t stand the idea of sharing you with someone else-“

“Wait what?”

Sweetheart is suddenly defensive, and she has this look in her eyes he’s never seen from her.

“What?”

“Do you seriously think I’ve been avoiding you because she told me to?”

“I mean yeah why else would you-“

“Because you’re an asshole Jake!”

Well so much for letting him down gently.

“Pardon?”

It’s a stupid response. It’s the only one he can come up with. He’s never heard her raise her voice like this. He’s seen her frustrated of course. She gets frustrated in such a soft way. She deadpans you and speaks so gently you can’t help but feel confused as to whether she’s upset or bored with you. This is different though, it’s so much worse.

“You’ve been treating people like shit since we got here!”

“Is this about the Cutthroat thing? Because as much as you might think she’s a saint she dished it right back-“

Part of the reason why Sweetheart hates arguing with people is because she’s an angry cryer. She gets so overwhelmed by how strongly her feelings come up that they end up spilling from her eyes no matter how hard she tries to stop them. So now she’s stuck having a frustrating conversation that she didn’t want to have in the first place and she can feel that undeniable pressure building up from her throat to behind her eyes.

“This isn’t just about her! It’s about what you said to Rooster, and the digs you make at- at Bob and Phoenix and literally anyone else that you seem to think is an easy target! The things you say fucking matter Jake. They matter and they hurt and I know Cutthroat isn’t a saint and you guys have some weird-pent up fucking thing going on, but she wouldn’t have taken it that far if you had just backed off!”

“Oh c’mon you don’t know that.”

“Yes I fucking do because I know her.“

Sweetheart wipes at her face roughly. She’s taking these deep long breaths and she won’t meet his eyes and Jake feels like he’s dug a hole so deep for himself he can’t even see the top. He's holding his arms out, hovering around her but not quite touching her.

“Okay, I- I fucked up, I crossed a line please just-stop crying.”

“I’m not crying!”

She stomps her foot and god help him he flinches. “You aren’t! You aren’t I’m sorry! I’m sorry…”

Sweetheart takes a few more deep breaths. She brushes stray hairs out of her face, straightens her back and gives him a deadpanned look. “No one should have to tell you to feel guilty about the mistakes you make. I shouldn’t have to stand here and throw it in your face for you to say sorry, I’m not even the person you should be apologizing to!”

It’s not that Jake is oblivious to how his actions make people feel. About themselves, about him. Up until now it’s just never bothered him, but it bothered her, and that bothers him. He realizes how fucked up that is. That it takes someone else putting a mirror up to his face to realize he should be caring about the kind of man he is. That he should grow up. It bothers him that she’s right, and it bothers him that he can’t find the words to stop her from getting into her car.

“Handle your shit Jake.”

She closes her door, backs out of her spot, and drives away.

He’s left standing in a lonely parking lot, feeling smaller than he’s ever felt in his life. He’s heard of guys trying psychedelics for the first time and discovering basic human empathy. This kind of feels like that if the psychedelic was the woman he’s been head over heels with telling him to get his shit together. He’s not sure how but he’s gonna fix this. He’s gonna prove to her that he’s more than just an asshole.

He finds himself throwing his head back in frustration because he’s just realized he’s going to have to give a genuine apology to Cutthroat.

And yes. He realizes that it making him this upset is a part of the problem.

═══════════ ⋆★⋆ ═══════════

[calyx-arts]

Why Badges Have Wings

"Every Federation-affiliated organization, from HAPPI to the Expedition Society, carries Dragonite’s Wings as part of their logos, and as well in the design of their badges. Carrying their legacy, it is to remind its members they are to strive to be the driving force of good and justice in the world in everything they do."

Happy Mystery Dungeon Day! I've been working on this little thing ever since Mega Dragonite was revealed. The first thought when I looked at this design was, "hang on maybe there's some lore I can make from this!

There's a full extended blurb in the Read More, I'd love for you to give it a read!

"Before Explorers, before Rescuers, even before the founding of the Federation, the current longest standing institution in the world… There is a famous legend that has been passed through generations of a Dragonite who was kind, brave, and powerful. Every retelling has the same central theme, whenever someone was in need, they were the one who answered the call, exhibiting their selfless and noble nature. It is no surprise that it has become a beloved children’s story, as well. Such a Pokémon told in such legends is regarded with a myriad of titles such as the Winged Guardian, the Unyielding Smile, and the Soaring Dragon of Swift Unrelenting Mercy.

"Some versions of the story say that they were a wandering nomad. Others say they were the leader of a team, though which Pokemon they were companions with are inconsistent and varies wildly depending on who tells the legend. One new version has gained popularity in recent years, claiming they appeared shortly after the time after Mew and the human’s ancient war with Dark Matter, in which the both of them would disappear into the future to the time of its return. The world they left behind was ravaged by the damage of such a conflict, and it is said that this Dragonite’s actions helped repair the wounds, from something as simple as the delivery of supplies, to the most essential as the stopping of opportunistic outlaws from gaining power. Even after a near world-ending event, Pokemon willing to break laws and harm others still existed in a time of a newly gained peace.

"Another version of the story purports that they pioneered the techniques and methods used for traversing mystery dungeons. It claims that they were the first to compile a comprehensive record of the vast variety of items and their effects that appear in such labyrinths, alongside developing strategies on how to use them as the situation demanded. The item lexicons of today have only changed and updated with the times, as such is the ever changing nature of this world. Such knowledge has become so ubiquitous and useful to even the Pokemon most averse to adventuring that it has become taught in schools alongside training dungeons as a required part of the curriculum.

"What makes this a legend is that in all accounts, the Dragonite was described to have massive wings on their head in lieu of their antennae, additional feathers on their arms and legs, and a singular pearl on their tail, somewhat harkening to its pre-evolved stage, Dragonair. It would be easy to assume that they were a Mega Evolution form of the species. Unfortunately, records dating even back to over two centuries ago, in the Late Age of Rescuers in the Air Continent, have shown no such form of a Dragonite existing. The idea that this Dragonite was an in-between transition between the modern Dragonite and Dragonair are considered moot as well for the same reasons. A Dragonite’s consumption of an Empowerment Seed in that era or the use of an Awakening Emera in today’s time show no Mega Evolution form, only presenting the Awakened state with no changes even slightly resembling the winged dragon’s form. A recent effort has been made to confirm their existence by pursuing information from the Celebi of Time Travel Lake living in the Air Continent, the land of origin of the Federation. But such efforts have failed due to the Celebi’s adherence to Temporal Non-Interference, where information concerning worldly matters should not be discussed unless essential and dire.

"Whether such an existence of this Dragonite’s form is true or not, the legend is so famous that it has deep-rooted ties in Pokemon culture in the present. This Dragonite of legend embodied virtues that are believed to be so influential that it would be felt when the Federation was founded, signed into its very Charter. Every Federation-affiliated organization, from HAPPI to the Expedition Society, carries Dragonite’s Wings as part of their logos, and as well in the design of their badges. Carrying their legacy, it is to remind its members they are to strive to be the driving force of good and justice in the world in everything they do. Even if they have goals such as mapping the world, or helping adventurers prosper, they do so in the aim for the benefit of all others. It also reminds the Pokemon they aid that there is always someone willing to help them when they need it, and they need not be afraid of asking for it.”

-- An excerpt from A Comprehensive History of the Pokemon World Federation

[mrsjjongstby]

I'm so proud of my ex - P.SH

You met Park Sunghoon in your hometown — a quiet coastal place. What started as friendship turned into something more. You had dreams outside that town — dreams he understood, even as they quietly pulled you apart. Now, years later, you’re back for your best friend’s wedding as the maid of honour. You didn’t expect to see him as the best man of the wedding. And even after all this time, maybe… you’re still his favourite what if.

starring: ex!sunghoon x f!reader | wc: ⸻ 5.48k | tw: exes to what?! second chances, angst, hurt, comfort, suggestive (if u squint hard enough), mentions of skin ship, kisses, (let me know if i missed anything)

The streets are still warm. 

The walls absorbed the last of your gasps and groans. Sunghoon’s fingers traced your bare back- slow and unhurried like he wanted to save the remnants of you that were already slipping away. 

You were lying on the bed, both of your minds elsewhere but hands tightly around eachother. None of you really tried to break the silence knowing the weight the air held.  

You were leaving in the morning.  He knew.  You knew. 

But here, in his bed, beneath the familiar hum of your hometown’s crickets and the faint buzz of the air conditioner, it almost didn’t feel real. 

“You’re not sleeping, baby.” he murmured, voice thick with something heavier than sleep. 

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Because if you spoke, you’d cry. 

So instead, you turned toward him — eyes glassy in the dark and pressed your forehead against his. His hand found your cheek, thumb brushing a tear you hadn’t noticed had fallen. 

“I wish things were different,” you whispered. 

And Sunghoon smiled — that soft, broken smile he only ever gave when he was trying not to fall apart. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Me too.” 

"Stay." he whispered, forehead pressed to yours, like he was praying. Like if he held you close enough, you might change your mind. 

Your hands trembled where they cupped his jaw.  “I can’t,” you whispered back, even softer. “You know I can’t.” 

Sunghoon’s eyes searched yours like they were looking for an answer that wasn’t there. “We could make it work, sweets." 

You smiled — broken, knowing and traced your thumb across his cheek. “You hate cities, Hoon. You hate crowds. You’d lose yourself there. And I… I already have a future planned out there.” 

The silence that followed was thick. Final. 

He didn’t ask you again. And you didn’t apologize.  There were no screaming fights, no dramatic exits.  Just two people who loved each other… but loved their futures more. 

You kissed him one last time. Long. Slow. Like a goodbye stitched into your bones. 

And when you pulled away, he said it — the line that would haunt you every time you rolled over in bed and found empty space. 

“I’ll wait for you, you know.” 

But you never asked him to. And he never promised how long. 

But that was 3 years ago. Now, you’ve moved to the city, landed your dream job — the one you’d dreamed of all through high school — made new friends, tried new things, and thrived in your new city life. 

And about your dating game? Well, lets just say it wasn't that interesting. After sunghoon, you went on multiple dates, each with a hope of finding the one but those all came crashing when you realized no matter what, sunghoon had your whole heart back in the hometown with him. 

Sure, you moved places, and made a new life around you but you never truly moved on from sunghoon. Sunghoon was like a stubborn keeper of your heart — guarding every inch, never letting anyone else in. 

And so, you stopped trying. You immersed yourself in work, friends and fun. You didnt dare go near the relationship zone because you knew, even if you somehow managed to like someone, you’ll always compare them with sunghoon. You'll draw similarities between them. dissect every single thing they'd do and wonder if sunghoon would do the same. 

But besides those random breakdowns and the constant ache in your heart for sunghoon, your life went pretty smoothly. No interesting events, no big surprises.  

Well that was until, your childhood bestfriend, Emily informed you that she’s getting married to her long term boyfriend andrew- the one who you used to pick up fights over who emily loves more, the one who used to tease you like there was no end and the one who was like your older brother who you never had. 

They both were quite literally your second parents. Always taking you around, being overly clingy infront of you and moreover treating you like a thirdwheel you were. No matter how many times you fake vomited at their pda, you truly hoped that everything good came their way.  

So it was no surprise they were getting married, it was also no surprise that emily asked for you to be her maid of honour. And now, unless and until you were dumb in the head, youd say no- but you arent so, obviously you agreed while on a FaceTime call where she had fake tears and a real engagement ring. 

“If your loving fiancé doesn’t cry while you’re walking down the alter then you bet I'm going to trip him into the sand.”  

You say grinning while sitting on your bed with your suitcase getting filled with cloths you are packing as your phone’s tripod while on a video call with your best friend, Emily. 

"Oh he'll cry," Emily replied laughing. "He cried when we were testing the wedding cake. He's emotionally unstable and madly in love- exactly how I like him"  

You laughed shaking your head as you tossed a bikini in the mix. "God, I miss this. You. The ocean. Fresh air." 

"You'll be here tomorrow!" she said with a bright grin in her voice. "We'll go to the beach, take ugly photos, get lemonades and oh! go to our favourite library-  

"Where the librarian absolutely hates us cause we end up being too loud" You cut her off grinning and closed the suitcase with a huff. 

“I can’t wait.” You flopped onto the bed with a sigh. “Three whole days of early sunrises, salty hair, and wedding duties. You'll have me and your emotionally unstable husband will have his best man and- wait, you never told me who the best man is?"  

There was a beat of silence on her end.  

It stretched for over a second. 

A second too dangerous.  

You frown as you turn and lay on your stomach as you look up at her- her face in your phone. You narrow your eyes at her as she smiles sheepishly.  

“…What did you do.” 

“Nothing!” she said quickly. Too quickly. Then: “Okay—listen, don’t freak out.” 

You sat up slowly. “Ok, spill it Emily Confer" 

Another pause. Then, in one breath: 

“Sunghoon’s coming.” 

Silence. 

Your eyes blinked once. Then twice. 

“I’m sorry. What?” 

“He’s the best man,” she said carefully. “I thought I told you.” 

“You did not tell me that.” You stared at your open suitcase like it had personally betrayed you. “You told me this would be a chill, healing beach wedding. No stress. No drama. No—exes.” 

“Okay but you like drama,” she tried. 

“Not when the drama is six feet tall with broad shoulders and a jawline sculpted by Poseidon himself.” 

She had the audacity to laugh. 

“I thought you said you were over him?” 

You clear your throat, you were over him- of course you were... of course you dont think about that one time where you tripped while chasing Sunghoon on the beach and hurt your ankle to which he felt so guilty and he carried you all the way back to your house while apologizing over and over with words and kisses.  

Hah. Of course you dont think about that- you dont think about him.  

"I am...over him" You say looking everywhere except her. 

She raised her eyebrow, "You don't sound so confident." 

“You invited my ex to your wedding!” you argued. 

“He’s the groom’s best friend!" she argued back 

You groan and fall back on the bed again, at this point its a wonder how your phone is standing up with falling down due to your unhinged movements.  

“You’re so dramatic.” 

“YOU INVITED MY EX TO A ROMANTIC BEACH WEDDING.” 

“...You said you were over him!” 

“I am over him!” you snapped, pacing across the room now. “I am one hundred percent, absolutely, spiritually, emotionally—” 

You paused. Sighed. 

“...Eighty-seven percent over him.” 

“Aha.” 

“Don’t ‘aha’ me.” 

“Aha,” she said again. “Just say you're still in love with him and we’ll plan the seating chart accordingly.” 

You groaned dramatically and fell face-first into your bed. “I am not still in love with Park Sunghoon.” 

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. The silence was judgmental enough. 

“I’m not!” 

“Mhm.” 

“I’m not in love with him,” you repeated, lifting your head just enough to breathe. “I just occasionally check his Instagram. For closure.” 

“He’s literally going to be staying at the same resort.” 

You blinked. “...What.” 

“It’s a wedding in the hometown,” she said, and you could practically hear the shrug in her voice.  

“You think we all booked separate Airbnbs? No babe, we’re sharing a beachfront property.  

You, me, the bridal party, groom's mates and him." 

"Just dont say that we're going to share a room" 

"Oh about that..." She trails off as you widen you eyes and take your phone in hands, sitting up. 

"Omg Emily, I swear-" 

"Ok y/n! have a safe journey!" She said quickly and cut the call.  

You threw your phone somewhere on the bed as you sank back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling again, heart thudding a little louder now. Not in a panicked way. Just… unexpected. 

Sunghoon. 

The same boy who once kissed you with saltwater on his lips and whispered he wanted forever. The same boy you let go when you both had different definitions for forever.  

“I can handle this,” you said to no one in particular. 

Then, quietly: 

“Right?”   

“Right.”  

The memory crashes in, uninvited, like a tide that never really left. 

Salt in the air. Sand between your toes. The sky blushing orange as the sun began to dip beneath the ocean. 

“You run like a baby goat,” Sunghoon had said, breathless with laughter as you chased him down the shoreline, your hair wild and your grin wilder. 

“Excuse me?” you shouted, right before your foot caught on something and your ankle twisted. 

You went down hard. 

“Y/N!” He was by your side in seconds, panic chasing away the laughter on his face. “Shit—are you okay? Does it hurt? Oh my god, I shouldn’t have made fun of you. I’m the worst—here, here—” 

Without waiting, he scooped you into his arms like you weighed nothing. 

“You don’t have to carry me—” you protested, blushing. 

“Shut up,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re hurt. I’m carrying you. That’s the rule.” 

You had laughed. Soft. Small. 

“Okay… but what if I’m faking it to get carried?” 

He paused, looked down at you with a sparkle in his eyes, and whispered like a secret: 

“Then I’ll carry you forever.” 

You inhale sharply, blinking up at the ceiling as your chest tightens. 

Yeah. 

You were absolutely, undeniably, hundred percent not over him. 

The cool breeze hits you as you walk out of the airport, two suitcases occupying your hands. You close your eyes and take a breath, enjoying the wave of nostalgia. You open your eyes to see Emily—the bride herself—jumping up and down, holding a board that reads, "Y/N, THE MAID OF HONOUR."

You grin, leaving your suitcases behind as she throws the board at her fiancé, who stumbles a bit and runs toward you. You both give each other a crushing hug, jumping up and down with smiles on your faces and tears in your eyes. After what felt like an eternity—quote-unquote, according to Andrew—you both pull away and look at one another, soaking the moment in.

"Welcome back!!" Emily exclaims, jumping again as you wipe your tears with the sleeve of your sweatshirt and hug her once more, which she returns gleefully.

Soon, taking one of your suitcases—the other being dragged by Emily—you reach near their car, where Andrew is still holding the board with a happy face. You hug him as he pats your back. As you pull away, he gives you a teasing smile and ruffles your hair—just like he used to.

"How have you been, kid?" You return the smile, swatting his hand away—just like you used to—and say, "Great! Now that I’ve finally reunited with my parents!"

The couple chuckles at that, and soon, the three of you get into a very much-needed group hug. Then, you quickly set your luggage in the car, and you three start the journey to the house you'll be staying in—the beachfront property. You sleep on the way due to jet lag while Emily and Andrew talk quietly so as not to disturb you.

The sudden jerk of the car stopping wakes you up. "Home sweet home," Andrew says while removing his seatbelt.

You don’t know what you expected to feel. But as the wind hit your face and the scent of the town seeped into your bones, all you could feel was nostalgia. The kind that doesn’t hurt, but definitely pulls at something inside you.

"The maid of honor is here!!" Emily exclaims, practically jumping in her seat.

You smile at that, but your smile quickly falters when you hear Andrew's next words, "...And the best man too." Emily looks out to see the best man already standing in front of the house, "Oh, he’s here already!"

You follow Emily's gaze to see the best man—Sunghoon. He's in a fitted black shirt and grey sweatpants, probably seeming to have settled in already. And God, he looked so good—too good. You immediately regret your outfit choices; you would’ve dressed up in advance if you knew he was going to be here already.

Emily and Andrew both sneak a glance at you, having known your past, and you just give them a quick smile, acting like it's okay because you didn’t want them to feel bad or guilty.

All three of you leave the car as both Andrew and Emily hug Sunghoon while you take your luggage out. He hugs them back with that small smile on his face. The couple soon disappears into the house, murmuring about the tons of work they have.

There’s a beat of silence between the two of you. "Hey, sweets."

There it is. That damn nickname again—the one he used to call you all the time—the one he said only he had the right to call. And it isn’t helping how he used that sweet tone he always used when it was you he was talking to.

"Hi, Hoon. How have you been?" you ask, trying to sound casual. You swear you saw Sunghoon freeze for a second as you let his nickname slip from your lips. "Better, now that you're here."

Your stomach does a little flip as he says that with that stupid, idiotic, sweet, handsome smile. You clear your throat as you go over to your suitcases.

"Um… let’s go inside. It’s getting dark."

"Sure thing, sweets," he says as he takes the suitcases from you and vanishes inside the house before you can even protest. You try not to crash out as you follow him inside.

You enter the room as he opens the door and drags your suitcases in. The room is just like how you remembered it to be—a bit renovated but the memories still rooted in the concrete.

"We’re sharing a room?" you ask, noticing the open suitcase on the floor, which you assumed was his because of the familiar shirts in there.

He keeps your suitcases aside. "Believe it or not, everyone’s sharing a room. The house doesn’t have fifteen separate rooms."

You nod and sit on the bed. "And they put the two of us together?"

He shrugs while unpacking his luggage. "We’re familiar with each other- we’re used to each other."

There he goes. Did he already move on? How’s he so calm with the situation going on in here? I mean, certainly anyone would freak out if they're sharing a room with their ex, right? Or maybe I wasn’t that important in his life to be missed or to feel the tension. Or did he move on? Did he get tired of waiting? I mean, anyone would. It's not like he was being honest that day anyway. Like, c’mon, who would wait for a girl who’s not even in the same state as you?

All of these thoughts get interrupted by the sound of him closing his suitcase.

You push those thoughts away and try to act normal. "Who said? I’m still not used to your snoring."

He throws one of his shirts at you. "Hey! C’mon, that was one time."

Talking with Sunghoon is always easy—at least, he makes it so. Your conversations used to last for hours. Well, he used to only listen to you yap, but that’s besides the point. And maybe that’s why you didn’t move on. How can you when it feels like you're repeating the seasons? How can you when all you want to do is get in his arms and forget about the world?

You remove the shirt from your face and lay back on the bed. "Sure. Whatever makes you sleep at night."

He sighs and shakes his head. "Want to sleep?"

You nod, turning to your side. He hums—turns off the lights, pulls the blinds, and covers you with the comforter. "Good night, I guess."

You hum and snuggle deeper into the comforter, sleep slowly knocking you out.

You woke up groggy, eyes barely fluttering open as the soft morning light filtered through the curtains. Your head ached slightly — a mix of travel exhaustion and the emotional chaos of last night — and your limbs were tangled in the sheets in the most unflattering way.

With a quiet groan, you turned your head… and paused.

There, standing by the sink near the corner of the room, was Sunghoon. Shirtless. Toothbrush in mouth. Hair a messy, just-woke-up disaster. And yet he looked stupidly good.

You blinked once. Then again.

"Seriously?" you muttered, your voice raspy. "Do you walk around like that now?"

He turned slightly, foam at the corner of his lips, and grinned at you through the mirror.

"Sorry," he said, spitting into the sink and rinsing his mouth. "Forgot I share a room with my ex."

You grabbed the nearest pillow and launched it weakly at him. "You're annoying."

He caught it easily, still smirking as he walked back to the bed, completely unbothered. "And you still drool in your sleep. So I guess we're even."

You shoved your face into the blanket to hide the way your lips tugged up.

Breakfast followed soon after. The kitchen was a mess — Emily running around in her robe, flipping pancakes like her life depended on it, while Andrew poured orange juice into wine glasses for no reason other than pure chaos.

You were seated across from Sunghoon, knees brushing occasionally under the table, and every time they did, you swore you saw Emily glance at the two of you with the most obnoxiously knowing look.

She didn’t say anything, of course. Just sipped her juice like she didn’t notice how Sunghoon quietly pushed the bowl of cut fruit closer to you or how you passed him the syrup without even looking up.

But you knew her. And by the slight smirk tugging at her lips, she definitely knew something. Maybe she knew everything. Everything which you, yourself arent sure of.

The day before the wedding was nothing short of a beautiful mess.

Emily’s house — once peaceful and scented like vanilla candles and lavender diffusers — now looked like a battlefield of open boxes, tangled fairy lights, last-minute checklists, and too many people talking over each other.

You stood in the middle of the living room, holding a curling iron in one hand and Emily’s jewelry set in the other, as she ran past you, barefoot and in a satin robe.

“I can’t find my lashes!” she yelled, more to the universe than to you.

“You don’t even need lashes. You’ll blind everyone with that highlighter alone,” you muttered, placing the jewelry safely down before trailing after her.

“Check the second drawer in my vanity!” she called from somewhere upstairs, her voice echoing.

Meanwhile, Andrew was in the kitchen, stress-eating chips out of a salad bowl and pretending he had control over the situation.

Sunghoon sat cross-legged on the carpet, surrounded by flower petals and name cards, trying to finish seating placements because apparently the wedding planner had to rush home for a family emergency. His brows were furrowed, lips slightly parted in concentration — and for a moment, you just stood there, watching him.

Still the same boy who used to handwrite your project assignments when you had a cold. Still the same boy who could get overly serious over something like wedding chairs.

"You're doing it wrong," you said, stepping closer, gently nudging one of the cards.

He glanced up, eyes narrowing. "How?"

"These two hate each other." You pointed to two names placed side by side. "Unless you're aiming for a food fight at the reception?"

He sighed. "Great. I love drama but not at someone else's wedding."

You laughed softly, sitting down beside him. “Scoot over.”

He shifted, and the two of you started rearranging cards in silence, your knees brushing again, just like this morning. Only this time, neither of you moved away.

Upstairs, Emily screamed again — this time about not being able to find the veil — and Andrew called out, “Babe, I thought you said you put it in the red bag?”

“There are five red bags, Andrew!”

You smiled despite yourself, glancing at Sunghoon, who was now smirking like a spectator in a rom-com.

“It’s like watching a live episode of a drama series,” he whispered, leaning in just slightly.

You rolled your eyes. “A very chaotic one.”

And yet, in the midst of all the madness, the laughter, the misplaced veil, and the wrong name cards, something about being there — next to him, with your best friend marrying the love of her life — felt strangely comforting. Like maybe, not everything was falling apart.

The wedding morning was a dream wrapped in silk and nerves.

The house, surprisingly quiet at 6:30 a.m., was already breathing excitement. You were up before your alarm — which never happened — and found yourself tiptoeing down to the kitchen barefoot, just to feel something calm before the chaos began.

Emily was already seated at the breakfast table in her white robe, sipping herbal tea with her eyes closed. You paused in the doorway, just watching her.

“You look like a Pinterest bride,” you said softly.

She opened one eye and smiled, the kind that reached all the way to her lashes. “That’s the goal.”

You joined her, both of you sitting in silence, letting the moment sit between you like a warm blanket. The hours ahead were going to be loud, teary, and chaotic — but this, this quiet breath before everything changed, was something you both needed.

And then the clock struck 7:30.

Suddenly the house erupted. Makeup artists arrived, steaming dresses were carried across rooms like fragile clouds, and hair curlers buzzed from every direction. The soft white light outside turned golden, bouncing off the windows and bathing the rooms in a glow that felt like something from a movie.

You had your hair half done when Emily turned around, already in the middle of her own glam session, and said, “Did you steam Sunghoon’s suit?”

You blinked. “That’s not my job.”

She raised an eyebrow in the mirror.

“…But I’ll do it anyway.”

Ten minutes later, you were in your guys' room, holding a steamer with one hand and his black suit with the other. He walked in with damp hair, still in sweatpants and a plain white tee, yawning.

“You’re steaming my suit?” he asked, surprised.

You looked over your shoulder. “It was either this or you walk down the aisle looking like a crumpled brochure.”

“Wow. So thoughtful.” He grinned, walking closer and watching you work. “You’d make a great wife someday.”

You didn’t look at him. “Don’t project your regrets on me.”

He chuckled, leaning against the wall. “You’re so aggressive before 9 a.m.”

You gave him a sarcastic smile, returning to your task. “You’re lucky I didn’t ‘accidentally’ burn a hole in this.”

But the moment — the silence between lines — hung thick with something else. The way his eyes stayed on you a second longer than necessary. The way you fiddled with the steamer cord just to avoid saying something you’d regret. It was always like this with him — quiet war, loud heart.

Eventually, you handed him the suit. “Try not to spill anything on it.”

“I’m very responsible now,” he said, already pulling off his shirt, forgetting or maybe not caring you were still in the room.

You turned around immediately. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he mimicked, laughing as he walked into the washroom.

By noon, the venue was glowing.

Sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows of the old garden chapel Emily always dreamt of, casting multicolored light over ivory chairs and lilac petals. Guests began to arrive in waves — relatives, college friends, coworkers — all buzzing, all dressed up in love and perfume.

You stood near the altar, adjusting the bride’s bouquet, running through your maid-of-honor checklist in your head for the seventh time.

That’s when someone tapped your shoulder.

“Excuse me,” an older woman — possibly from Andrew’s side — gave you a warm smile. “Are you Emily’s sister?”

You blinked. “Oh no, just her friend.”

“Oh! You must be the maid of honor then. You’ve been running around like the bride’s bodyguard,” she chuckled.

You gave a tired smile. “It’s part of the job.”

She looked around and then leaned in, as if sharing a secret. “So… you know the best man? Heard you both are a pair!"

Your eyes instinctively followed her gaze to Sunghoon, laughing at something the ring bearer said. He looked so natural, so him — the exact version of him that used to fall asleep on your couch mid-movie. That version still lived in small corners of your mind you refused to dust off.

You cleared your throat, smiling a little. “We used to date.”

“Oh,” the woman said, surprised. “Well, it’s really mature of you both to be here, still showing up for them like this. He's a lovely man, really hard working too!

You nodded, eyes never really leaving him. “Yeah... I guess you can say that, I’m really proud of my ex.”

And you meant it. Even if it stung.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the garden, Sunghoon adjusted his tie while one of the groomsmen cracked jokes beside him. He gave a small laugh, but his mind wasn’t there.

“Dude,” the guy nudged him. “Isn’t that your ex?”

He glanced across the lawn. You were standing with Emily now, holding her veil so she wouldn’t trip.

“Yeah.”

“Isn’t it weird?”

He shook his head. “Not really.”

A pause.

“Honestly?” he said, after a moment, voice lower. “She’s doing great. Like… really great.”

Then a small smile tugged at his lips.

“I’m proud of her- I'm so proud of my ex."

The garden was glowing under the fairy lights, chairs lined with white ribbons, and the soft melody of a piano playing in the background. You stood to the side, just behind Emily, holding her bouquet while she faced Andrew at the altar.

Everyone had tears in their eyes, but you… you were already sniffling before the vows even began.

And then Andrew spoke.

“I’ve loved you since the first day you told me I was your favorite person even when I ate all your fries.”

Everyone chuckled.

“But more than that, I’ve loved the way you make a place feel like home. I promise to hold your hand through every bad movie, every thunderstorm, and every time you forget where you kept your keys.”

You wiped a tear, eyes blurry as Emily took her vow sheet with slightly shaky hands.

“And I promise,” Emily’s voice broke, “to never let go of the way you look at me like I’m the most beautiful girl in the world—even when I’m yelling at you in my ugliest pajamas.”

People laughed through their tears.

You… broke.

Tears slipped down your cheeks freely now. You didn’t even try to hide it. It wasn’t just about them. It was love, so raw and open, it cracked something in you that you hadn’t dared touch in years.

You felt someone gently press a tissue into your hand.

You turned slightly, and there he was—Sunghoon. Not teasing. Not smirking. Just… looking at you like he got it.

The ceremony ended in a wave of cheers and claps, and as the evening unfolded into soft music and warm hugs, the first dance began under the starlit canopy.

Soon enough, the dance floor opened to everyone. You were sipping punch at the edge, quietly soaking it all in when a familiar hand reached out in front of you.

“May I?” Sunghoon asked, eyes hopeful.

You let out a breathy laugh. “Seriously?”

He raised a brow. “I’m told I clean up well in a suit.”

You rolled your eyes but placed your hand in his anyway.

As the two of you stepped into a slow sway, the music melting into something soft and nostalgic, there was a comfortable silence.

You didn’t speak for a while. Just… moved. Familiar and unsure. Close, but cautious.

Until he leaned in a little.

“You still cry at vows,” he murmured near your ear.

You glanced up. “You still tease me when I’m emotional.”

He gave a soft chuckle. “You still look beautiful when you’re emotional.”

You looked away. Heart beating a bit faster.

And then… softer, barely audible above the music:

“I missed this. You. Us.”

You met his eyes again — searching, unsure, but open.

“I missed you too,” you whispered.

He didn't say anything more. Just gently pulled you closer, as your hands rested on his chest.

And then, like a moment that had been waiting three years to happen — he kissed you.

Not rushed. Not dramatic. Just a soft, steady press of lips — careful not to steal the spotlight, but quietly claiming the moment for just the two of you.

The kind of kiss that doesn’t scream we’re back, but simply says:

Finally.

©mrsjjongstby all writing belong to me. do not copy, modify or repost my works

liked this? click here for more: (∩^o^)⊃━☆

A/N: Finally, indeed. ummmmmm so, sincere appologies cause i kinda half assed it half way thru. so, really sorry about that........... also, tysm for all the love nd support u guys r showing! MWUAH! stay hydrated.

perm taglist: @gnarlyhoons @stormlit-pages @himynameisraelynn @see-c @shra-vasti @heesbbygurl @elikajinnie @jwyoceans @jaylaxies (lmk if u wanna be added!)

taglist for this fic: @miauumin @nctubatu @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @iwishyourosesxo @nmurark05 @aheewonenthusiast @jaeminchiaa @wonnieswife @iluvhoonn @danielladida @skzenhalove @honestlyatomicpanda (closed cause... it ended.)

[chlaurine]

I can’t wait honestly. Well I can wait. It’s been 84 years to have my heart destroyed when WHEN a comic based on the song The Alcott pops up. (*cough* K-pop demon hunters inspired shit *cough*)

i am REALLY excited to show you guys the plag john ref since he's fully tatted with the meanings written out

[thepeaklegendoffirstgen]

All I dream of is your eyes

All I long for is your touch

And, darlin', something tells me, tells me it's enough

You can say that I'm a fool

And I don't know very much

But I think they call-

Oh, I think they call-

Yes, I think they call this love

It was evening. You had just finished your first real date in a long while.

Not that it was anything extravagant, but still it mattered. You now sat beneath the park’s shade, watching the golden hue of the streetlights around you, warm and hushed.

Curfew was nearing, even as his heart quietly yearned for more. Your palms were clammy, fingers brushing against his with all the leftover adrenaline of a sweet but fragile night.

It had been nice. It had been tender. And now, it was ending.

Maybe that’s what it feels like to stop overthinking for once.

Or maybe... this was the last moment you'd be allowed to.

Because his so-called "brother" was no longer a distant name. He’d become a hurricane, one Jake could no longer outrun. The world kept spinning, indifferent. Evil seemed to move faster than good these days. And even if no one said it out loud, this might be the last date the two of you would share.

Not because you were parting ways.

But because uncertainty had become the only certainty.

Time was ticking, and the threat was growing louder.

Still, when he asked, “Did you have fun?” you nodded. You smiled. Then you rested your head on his shoulder.

Because yes, you did.

It was good. It was so, so good to spend time with him.

But…

That but sat heavy in your throat. You couldn’t ignore it.

You weren’t from the Big Deal streets. You weren’t one of the big names in the war ahead. But your heart was already rooted there. Tied to him. And even if you didn’t fully understand the weight of the coming storm, you had no plans of walking away. Not now. Not ever.

So when he laced his fingers through yours and squeezed your hand tight, the silence that followed said more than words ever could. It was filled with everything unspoken, everything understood between souls who’d seen too much too young.

A quiet kind of love.

One buried deep inside the labyrinth, meant to be felt, not explained.

Jake sat with that silence, strangely comforted. And, as often happened, his thoughts drifted...

To the time he’d first seen his mother alone.

To how she still lived alone… but in a “better” way now.

The thought twisted in his chest. Because how could the person meant to be there for you—through sickness, health, everything—leave, and somehow your world became quieter? Lighter?

He hated that feeling.

And he would never, not once, let you experience that same loneliness.

All he wanted now was to protect what you two had built. This small, hidden sanctuary of peace and love tucked away from the violence, the bloodshed, the family legacy he never asked for.

Out of nowhere, you asked, “Are you afraid of your brother? Be honest.”

He let out a short laugh. Deflecting. Like it was ridiculous.

“Not more than when you get angry,” he joked, attempting to sound brave.

You smacked his arm, not letting him hide. He pulled you closer. A full-bodied hug. As if to say, Yes. Yes, I’m scared. Of my brother. Of the future. But most of all, of losing you.

Because that’s what he feared most: losing his people. The Big Deal street. His mother.

You.

And if he had to fight his father’s endless line of offspring, then so be it. He didn’t have a choice.

“I’ll fight your brother for you if you’re that scared of the axe man,” you mumbled into his chest.

His hands were firm on your back, holding you tighter now.

“As I said, nothing is more dreadful than your wrath,” he murmured.

This time, you didn’t respond. You just stayed. Still. Letting the moment breathe.

And for Jake, that was enough.

As long as you were by his side, he could handle anything.

As long as you were safe in his arms, he had nothing to fear.

You sighed, content in his embrace.

And just like that, he knew everything would be okay.

Even if tomorrow he’d leave for Incheon. Even if the road ahead was uncertain and bloodstained and unclear. Even if this peace was temporary.

It didn’t matter. Not right now.

Because you were still here.

Right here.

So he held you tighter.

Heartbeats in sync.

The light in your eyes etched forever in his memory.

Your touch, his wave of relief.

And even if it was foolish…

Even if the whole world burned down around them…

Jake knew.

He knew, without a doubt

This is love.

[anxiousapplepie]

I need to ask about the characters' sexualities because until I scrolled down I thought that light pink dude was a girl but I saw your description and they're not?? Btw amazing art

well! I don't want to give any character sexualities on a silver platter, cuz I think it'd be more fun to eek out information via comics (or when the characters inexplicably decide to share that information themselves, whether I planned it or not) However! You get this as a small treat:

[mohntilyet]

Wait is the middle picture from those three sketches that one scene from the wigmaker job?

yes! it's this specific passage where lucanis is just seething with rage and trying to keep a lid on it, and illario's a stablising, comforting presence. BROTHERS!!!!! <3 though i chose to draw his hand on his shoulder rather than his arm i guess. artistic liberty!

[shaakti1138]

A few thoughts about it. As always, shoutout to cjvarte for great work!

I really, really hope we'll get to see this story through Grievous' perspective. I know it's just a preview and all histories need context, but for now all I see is Dooku talking and 5 pages about Jedi and clones. And to truly know a character, we need to hear his voice. We can see this in Saber Truth, a short story from Insider 210 and General's Age of Republic issue. By the way, I can't reccomend enough this dub:

2. The art itself - especially the colours - really remind me of the old General Grievous comic series, the one with the kidnapped younglings.

3. Finally, Kalee gets mentioned! Not for the first time, but this time we're given a little more context: wilds of Kalee. I'm not a native speaker, but as far as I understand, this word can be used to describe all types of wilderness, e.g. jungles, deserts etc.

I guess they're leaning towards describing Kalee as it was shown in Legends - meaning, it's a wild, dangerous world - the question remains, what type of planet it is. I really love how in Legends Kalee was portrayed with multiple types of biomes, something unusual in Star Wars. E.g. we had Kunbal jungle, Ausez steppes and icy landmass of Grendaju.

And I know it's just a concept art from Fortnite, but Anthony Petrie's artworks show us Qymaen on a jungle world.

Last, but not least, it's kinda fitting for Dooku to specifically mention wilds. He always portrays himself as a sophisticated aristocrat, who lives on a well-cultured world and he kinda looks down on beings from, shall we say, less civilized planets (I'm stuck with Matthew Stover's version of the Count).

4. Judging by the clone's and Jedi's armor, we're still early in the Clone Wars here, but Grievous is already a Supreme Leader of the droid army. What's really interesting, I have an impression that Dooku implies that Grievous still needs to prove himself. In Legends there was this Chiss - Sev'rance Tann - who was also one candidate for being the Supreme Leader. Same for Ventress and Durge. Maybe Grievous still has some competitors?

5. Ah, yes, they're still dancing around his origins - Dooku's words are vague enough not to imply somethig... or do they? Well, notice how he uses passive voice - Grievous was taken from Kalee and his body turned into a living weapon. As if it wasn't his choice. And, ironically, he says in the same sentence that Grievous is a master of his own destiny, which is an obvious lie.

Well, I know that various magazines have reintroduced the Huk War back into canon (and God, do I hope they'll remain canon), but I'm afraid that magazines are... not top priority for Lucasfilm, because more "official" sources still mention that Grievous has choosen his "improvements". I remember a long time ago Hidalgo said that those magazines tend to reprint some old source material. I want to update General's article on Ossus (Polish Wookieepedia), including showing how those new sources still contradict each other - and I'll include them here on Tumblr too. Probably not in the near future, but I'l do it.

Still, I personally believe that the crash did happen, but Dooku and c.o. choose not to tell Grievous the whole truth. That's why he still believes it was his choice. And that was the case in Legends too.

6. Ugh, I already despise this dude. Look at this smug. Well, I guess he'll be a likely donor of another lightsaber to General's collection. You know, a not-so-humble Jedi gets his punishment.

I really love we're getting this comic. I observe various news sites on Twitter, and every time Grievous gets mentioned, he gets hundrets, if not thousands of likes. Many fans want his movie or TV series. I'm his fan since Tartakovsky's Clone Wars... and I'm glad that after 20 years [sic!] we still get the new material. To the bright future!

Preview for Hyperspace Stories: Grievous

"Coming early next year, Star Wars: Hyperspace Stories: Grievous from author Michael Moreci and Dark Horse follows ​​Separatist mastermind General Grievous as he stalks a Jedi Knight and his battalion of clone troopers on the jungle planet of Katou. This 88-page original graphic novel comes out in early 2026."

Interesting that Dooku mentioned Kalee and Grievous's cyborg transformation.

"You're being given a rare opportunity, General Grievous-- and I don't mean commanding the battle droid army." "Taken from the wilds of Kalee, your body turned into a living weapon, you are the master of your own destiny." ―Dooku, to Grievous

[xxplastic-cubexx]

hello!! i just want to tell you that your art is so goddamn scrumptious, you are literally feeding my xmen brainrot and I find myself smiling when i see your art come across my feed. I love how you draw charles, pretty privilege and post (lets be fr he's serving every time)

i hope you always have fantastic brainrot and id kiss your blessed hands for giving us the gift of cherik and charles xavier, you are literally an icon

hope you have a great day ahead of you and more!! you deserve it !!

well i'ma absolutely have a wonderful mornin after readin this AWWWW thank you so so much !!!! i haven't been postin xmen long, so it's been really heartwarmin seein the warm reception to my work in the wonderful tags people have been leavin on my posts- and especially gettin to answer the lovely asks y'all've been sendin in (❁´ ▽ `❁) !! im glad people also like my goofy text posts and esp quotes from my brother he really has no right being so funny at the most random times

i hope to be xmen posting a while: ive got at least 60 years worth of stuff to look through and ongoing, so i dont imagine my interest'll wane anytime soon :]] !!

[yeonban]

The fact that once Elijah dies, the world's somewhat more intimate memories of young/er Tobias (<-basically anything that goes beyond Tobias just standing there menacingly like 🧍‍♂️ in the far-off background) die too suddenly struck me like lightning

[theygender]

Man I'm already disappointed to be working in the business field anyway but if it's going to mean mass corporate layoffs every 1-2 years as a standard practice then I might just disappear into the mountains

[qulizalfos]

fighting demons all day . should i post this poem.

[fingertipsmp3]

A few times a year I get the urge to learn basically every language ever and then I give up because I get too ambitious. So my new rule is I’m never allowed to not be learning a language. I have to do at least one language lesson per day for the rest of my life

[sangunary]

BatBoys × Civilian Reader!

SYPNOSIS: How they act around their crush when they are in their costumes.

IMP: All scenarios happened when they are still Robin, Reader is the same age or older or younger your choice.

- Dick Grayson.

He's too obvious.

Bruce told him to not talk or stare at you specially. He knew that the boy was infatuated with you and was sick of hearing your name even hour.

Dick was never tired of speaking about you, from fact to thought he could go on and on about you which Bruce found cute but distracting.

Tho he never quit to mention you. Just because you were his luckcharm. So, you got yourself a code name.. So he could mention you freely.

Whenever he ran pass you he made sure to atleast brush your hand with his, so he could look back and apologise.

He wanted to hold your hands, not just to comfort you... You meant so much more than just a comfort. Although, he haven't even had a chance to have a conversation with you.

He tried to milk every situation just so he could talk to you, hear that sweet voice that kept him awake at night.

The way you would speak to him when he saved you from any situation, he can't help but smile, looking at you like you were his world and it was obviously weird to passerby.

That smile he practiced for you and the moment he saw you he completely forgot everything and his mind is full of you, and his whole demeanour become alot more comfortable.

His ears silencing the siren that was everywhere, listening to your sweet voice.

His eyes blurring out everything but you, savouring every inch of your body.

It's bad enough for him to be acting like he got bewitched staring at you so deeply, but who could blame a him when you were infront of him.

You were just some fleeting crush, you cannot imagine how much time he thought about a future with you. Even tho you two weren't even friends yet.

Even when you were panicking and embarassed you look so good.

you were perfect.

How much he wanted to lean in and capture your lips with his and be with you already... Instead of having to just stare at you.

He just wanted to be himself with you even with the mask on, forgetting everything like a fool in love and maybe just maybe get a kiss from you to show him gratitude?

But before he could do anything stupid Bruce would pull him to the next destination leaving him to daydream about it, twisting and fixing how it would end.

- Jason Todd.

Not obvious but is trying.

Jason doesn't want to be obvious that he was staring at you when he was supposed to be catching those rookie thief.

So, instead he resort to looking at your amused face from the reflection of the window.

He just can't face you at times, he's afraid of fucking up and rambling on and on about something Jason would know but not Robin would know.

It was exhausting, thinking about what he was supposed to say and making sure you won't know that he was Robin. How he would rather talk to you in sign than verbally.

He just stop a thief? Looking around to see your face and stopping just so he could memorized your reaction and celebrate about it later when you aren't around.

Bruce is made at him for being too harsh? He's definitely bringing you up to make sure he was listening.

Even tho he tried to act like he doesn't know you it doesn't always work

The way his hands would remain on yours after he stopped a guy from stealing your bag.

He look lost, his eyes remaining on your eyes. You could see that star's in his eyes shining so brightly with adoration and untold love.

And a smile straight from every part of his body.

And after he realised he accidentally admire you he would leave very quickly. No looking back just out of there.

He would stay near rooftop looking down at you, his heart racing as he tried to not feel so embarassed about his own actions.

Watching you silently, hoping you would smile or even look around for him or just anything... He can work with anything you gave to him.

You made everything so much harder yet so much easier.

Hes definitely going confess one day... Maybe when he's abit older.

- Tim Drake.

He's going to die.

Tim knows you like the back of his hands. Blame it on him having too much time or making a special time for you.

He can't help to look at you not when you have the best smile in the world.

He would smile back at you like you were already his and you knew who he was and for a moment he thought you were his, tho he snapped out of it quick.

He just couldn't have you distract you too much, but that doesn't mean he hate it whenever you distract him.

His hands would guide you to stand back up again with a slight redness on his cheeks, he tried to not stare but you truly hypnotize him.

It doesn't matter how much he tried to not stare at your perfect face, his eyes would stare at you before he even notice it himself.

He hate to see you whenever he was out patrolling, he hate it when he would randomly hear your voice playing in his head suddenly, he hate to remember that you were alone.

He should be happy that you were available. But, it just made him worry and think about you more... Everything about you is killing him slowly.

The way you avoid his gaze after he helped you up, how perfect your hands felt around his- like you two were made for eachother.

He couldn't smile but his eyes speak so much more word than his lips could.

His touch was alot more gentle and kind, his word clear enough for only the two of you to hear and his heart beating against his rip violently.

It's frustrating on how you were his yet.

- Damian Wayne.

Not obvious.

He doesn't have the same nagging feeling to look at you constantly, he doesn't want to put you at risk, he would rather cut his hand than ever do that to you.

He would rather not see you around when he is wearing his costume.

He doesn't like the idea of you being so close to violence and being idiotic enough to watch him fight rather than running.

He would definitely lecture you as Damian if he saw you standing idly while literal danger was there infront of you.

Cause he definitely can't always be around and he need you to have some common sense so he could atleast sleep at night, and not stay up late than usual thinking about how he would lecture you.

Although whenever he had mission where it involve unknown civilians your face is the first one he search for, grabbing them by the shoulder and looking at their face and the sigh of relief after everything.

Even when a building was collapsing and you were inside he would always choose you to save.

Leave you somehow safe and without a word left to save the others.

It doesn't matter who is inbetween you two, a president, celebrity or anyone he's coming an extra mile just for you.

He would leave without any word and continue his job like he did not just ignored others and went straight for you.

He doesn't wait for a kiss or a hug... He already planned how that would happen.

[emslittlelibrary]

⭑ sylus is your biggest fan. ⭑

⭑ your blind date with sylus is going well. it turns out even better when he admits to you that he’s a fan of your livestreams. ౨ৎ

💌 ⁀➴ content warnings: 18+! lowercase intended. non-evol au. blind date sylus. glasses + mullet sylus. nervous & awkward sylus. babbling sylus. video game streamer reader. pet names (kitten, sweetie, gorgeous). mutual masturbation. dirty talk. spitting. praise. oral sex (reader + sylus receiving).

💌 ⁀➴ wc: 4.8k (i got way too excited. i’m only human 🧍🏽‍♀️ you’ll see, y’all). song mention: fantasy. bazzi.

⭑ a note from 乇m! ⭑ so idk what came over me w this one but be prepared because once i started just couldn’t stop. the feral energy is on 10(thousand). also expect more submissive nervous glasses + mullet sylus in the near future. i can’t resist this man EVER.

💌 ⁀➴ thank you for reading! ౨ৎ

so far, sylus was your best blind date yet.

definitely your most attractive date—that, you knew for sure. and immediately. it took only that first glimpse of him, at his long, silken sweeps of angel silver hair, the dark, treasure red shade of his eyes, those gold-framed glasses, the grind of his jaw as he chewed at a wad of red gum, his broad chest, his taut, crossed arms, his towering height—every last one of his features proved more convincing and heart-rattling than the last.

the tension was immediate, too. the type that drizzled in your chest, oozing in careful, trickling rivulets that were too sticky to sponge away, from the moment you heard the resonance of his honeyed voice and caught the faint scent of cinnamon on his tounge as he pulled you in for the initial hug. you had to question whether you were still on the same planet as this man.

it was a simple picnic in the park. you shared soft sandwiches and fruit and chocolate and sweet teas, lounging together on a quilt, daisy-blossom blanket. he was a little shy, perhaps nervous. he did say this was the first blind date he’s ever agreed to. you found it endearing that this marble sculpture of a man had an awkward side, particularly around you.

if you talked for long enough, he would get distracted by one of your features, sometimes the petaled brush of your lashes or the white satin ribbon at the heart of your pink checkered sundress. hm? he would say, before clearing his throat and stuttering on his next breath when he asked you to repeat yourself. he had a pattern of looking down at the nearby flowerbed or savoring a bite of a strawberry whenever you giggled at something he said. he also had a much more dangerous pattern of tilting his brow, always in tandem with his quiet, dark-red smirk, within stints of patient silence, most often spent exchanging lingering, longing glances.

you refused to end the date casually. at the very least, you had to kiss this man. which is why, you invited him over to your place, making up some excuse about wanting him to try the sea salt caramel ice cream sandwiches you had stored away in your freezer, so he could try them for the first time—when, in all honesty, you wanted him to try you instead.

you really thought you were being strategic about it, too. sure, the two of you could’ve stayed in the kitchen like you were supposed to—but you wanted to change first, since your dress sinched pretty tight on your waist, and you preferred to wear something cozier while you were at home.

you invited him to your bedroom, under the guise that your bed was more comfortable than the living room couch, and maybe he could help you choose which tank top to wear while he waited. the cheetah-print one with baby pink straps and accents? or the cherry-print one with the word lover girl bedazzled in silver rhinestones across the chest? he picked the cherries, which didn’t surprise you.

you returned from the bathroom, in your cherry-scented baby tee, gray sweats, and an extra layer of candy pie lip gloss glittering your lips—but sylus was standing by the doorway, cracking his knuckles with this evasive look in his eyes. he looked more nervous than ever.

“everything okay?” you asked.

he didn’t answer. “i should tell you something."

you shrugged with a pleasant smile, warm and inviting. he snuck the words in behind an efforted sigh.

“i know you. from—” he hoarsed out another hard breath, “from your streams. i-i—i watch your streams."

your smile wouldn’t budge, and in fact could’ve flowered out of control had you not nipped it with your teeth. you glanced briefly at your desk in the far corner of the room, fitted with your warm body of a pc, neon starlight lighting, and a plush, strawberry pink gaming chair. it was completely cluttered—you forgot to organize everything after your last live—with powder puff headphones, your prismatic keyboard, cloudy daydream controllers from a recent sponsor, and trinkets of cats, desserts, bubbles, and stuffed video game plushies. there was no way of hiding it, but luckily, you never cared to.

“oh,” you said simply, "that’s fun. so you saw the setup and realized, or did it get too real all of a sudden?"

“no, you don’t understand, i—i really like your streams. i watch them, a-a lot. and i should’ve told you sooner but i just—you look unreal in person, and . . . but i couldn’t let things go too far without you knowing."

a feverish thrill warmed your heart for a moment—at the thought of this man, someone like sylus, watching your livestreams. laughing alongside you, eating dinner or washing the dishes or folding laundry with your voice echoing in the background, maybe even sending out a message in chat, hoping you would read it aloud and respond. was he subbed? has he gifted bits or used one of your emotes—this was going too far. if you let your thoughts spiral any longer, you may ask for his username.

“thanks for telling me, but i really couldn’t care less. i’m actually flattered. it’s really nice when someone enjoys what i do, you know?"

he blinked. then said, “you really don’t care?"

you shook your head softly. “i mean, as long as it’s not weird for you. it’s not like you’re a stalker since you were set up on this date with me. and you’re not one of those pervs who, i don’t know, jerks off to my voice or something. so it’s nothing."

his stare faltered, dark red eyes flickering to the side before returning to yours. his mouth shifted ever so slightly, on the brink of betraying whatever intrusive thought just came to mind.

“wait—woah, what was that look?"

“what?"

you could tell he was feigning innocence. “you know what i’m talking about. i saw that. what is it?"

“nothing,” he insisted meekly, “nothing, nothing."

“you don’t really jerk off to my voice, do you? now that i wanna know."

“no! no, seriously, i don’t do that, i just—"

he clamped his teeth down on his red gum again, squeezing out the flavor like a stress ball. you leaned back against the doorframe with crossed arms and a daring grin, nudging your tongue into your inner cheek. to this, he had to surrender.

“i’ve . . . i’ve thought about it—a-about you—"

you lurched forward. “about me?"

“never while you were streaming, but—but sometimes right after, o-or—"

your heart threatened to flip inside-out with a heavy, aching thump. there was no way. forget chuckling at your jokes or watching you instead of the tv or resubbing to your channel—your blind date, sylus, liked your livestreams so much that he got off on it afterwards.

“wait, really?"

he shook his head with a light scoff. “i know. it’s weird, and if you want me to leave, then—"

“no, i actually . . . i think it’s hot."

his stare tensed, sharpened by slanted brows and the slight narrow of his eyes. you reached for his wrist, then led him to the foot of your bed, gesturing for him to sit. he settled into the edge of your mattress with stiff, even shoulders, meanwhile you curled up in your desk chair, seated across from him. you hugged your legs to your chest with this slow, honey-sweet smile on your lips and a mischevious glint in your eye. sylus had your full attention now. and you, in return, had every last drop of his.

“so you really think about me, when you . . ."

he chuckled, cold and a bit dry. “how many times would you like me to say it? hm? why would i willingly admit this to you if it wasn’t true?"

you stretched your bottom lip a bit. “you haven’t said it exactly."

“so that’s it? you need to hear it? you need me to tell you outright that after i watch your streams, i have to stroke my dick in the shower until i cum for you? does that make it clearer?"

a thin glaze of lust syruped your daydream eyes. his cheeks flushed on cue, and the very tips of his ears burned blush red. he cleared his throat again, that nervous tic of his, and pinched his glasses further up his nose as he shifted in his jeans. your gaze followed the motion of his hand, targeting the tight, firm bulge prodding his dark pants. it looked thick and heavy. your mouth practically watered at the sight of it.

“you can’t look at me like that,” he breathed out, “fuck, i’ve never seen this—this primal look in your eyes, i . . . i-i think i should go."

“what if i wanna see? do you still think you should go?"

his lips parted silently, as his eyes lingered on the twirl of a strand of hair around your finger and the clench of your thighs closer together. he said nothing, for a short while.

you whispered, “you can say yes, sylus. you can leave."

“why would i do that?” he whispered back.

you propped your chin on your knee with a coquettish grin. “then can i see what you look like? please, sylus?"

“oh god,” he gritted out, as he palmed the crotch of his jeans.

“do you need help?"

he cleared the dryness in his throat, nearly coughing into his fist, and responded with a timid shake of his head. the pace of his breaths unsteadied as he worked at his belt. you swallowed hard when he tossed it aside on your marshmallow pink bedspread, heavy leather contrasting with your innocent, cloudlike comforter.

“the fuck is this?” he sighed to himself, hooking his zipper, “the fuck am i doing?"

“you can sit back. get comfortable,” you directed him.

he was so obedient to you that giving him instructions felt like waving a magic wand. this huge, divined-by-heaven masterpiece of a man was sitting back in your bed, prepared to reenact how he jerked off to the thought of you. you squeezed your thighs tighter, seeking friction to extinguish the fever between your legs.

then, a flutter fanned your pulsing heat when he finally pushed his pants down. a sticky wet spot stained the center of his boxers, directly above where his hard hill of a boner poked against the fabric. he rutted a thumb over it, and your hips nearly bucked at the same time.

with a heaving breath, he pulled at the waistband of his boxers until his cock breached in its full form, bowing forward with a delicious curve in the dim bedroom lightning. the length of him could easily upset your gag reflex, and his tip was so red and thick that you immediately envisioned how heavy it would feel on your tongue. dear god—your hearbeats started shredding through you. this had to be the most carnal response your body has had to the sight of a dick in years—maybe ever.

“wow,” you panted out. you couldn’t help yourself.

he chuckled, another one of those short, dry ones, murmuring quietly. “did you mean to say that? i—th-there’s just no way you saw my dick for the first time and said wow."

you drummed your bottom lip with your fingers, fidgeting—antsy. another tough swallow. then, “you’re—i-it’s pretty. and really hard."

his chest caved in with a harsh grunt when he gripped the head of it tighter, continuing to tease his rosy tip with sloppy swirls of his thumb. he clenched his eyes shut, which indented deep furrows between his heavy brows. his beauty was as soft and cursed as that of a fallen angel. you were fully convinced he may glow like a white, waning star when he came. you had to see it—needed to at this point.

a stuttered scoff tripped over his bottom lip. “’s always this hard. when it comes to you."

he held his breath when he committed to the first full stroke, then released a hasty sigh all at once as he slowed into a slow and steady rhythm. you were hypnotized by him already.

“need to spit on it?” you mumbled.

he nodded, at the same pace as his hand. he released to spit into his large palm, cupping around his mouth and letting it drip softly.

you spoke again as soon as he grasped the tip again. “can you do it again?"

he didn’t hesitate, allowing the spit to settle on his tongue for a second before spitting with a much louder, nastier splat for his hand. he stroked a bit faster that time, clenching tighter at the head, siphoning the room in slippery slicks and squelches. you shifted in your seat with the gracious part of your lips, tucking your foot under the gap in your bent leg.

“you liked that?” he gritted out.

“yeah—yeah, a lot,” you said through a dazed whisper.

a low growl slipped past his lips as his hand slowed for a sticky moment, only to quicken all over again.

“this is a fucking dream,” he murmured, “i can’t believe you want me to do this for you."

the motion of his thrusts distracted you for the following second. you were fixated on him—the stretch of his large, tense fingers, the weight of his crucifying length corded in thick veins, the dribble of pre-cum glistening from his tip like wet stardust. and still, for another lingering second, you couldn’t stop staring at his parted, spiced red lips, heart-shaped, pouty, and full. by the end of this, you would have to share the taste of hot cinnamon on his tongue.

“so this is what you do after my streams? when you think of me?” you asked.

“yeah,” he sighed, “i’m—but i’m nervous right now so usually i’m . . . louder."

you fought back your next intrusive thought by chewing at your bottom lip. you would have to get to that later. for now, you had to ask.

“what do you think about?"

he stifled his shallow groan with another chuckle. “take a guess."

“i want to know, c’mon. we’ve made it this far, haven’t we?"

you swiveled in your chair until you faced your desk, landing your gaze on your pink kitten-ear headphones. you fit them on immediately, then swiveled back.

“do i have these on?” you teased, in a toothache-sweet tone.

he sealed his eyes shut as soon as he caught a glimpse of you, sitting pretty and soft as a bow settling back into your padded pink chair. he expected you to look prettier in person, but not perfect.

“fuck,” he panted out right away, then again, higher-pitched and softer, “fuck. the fuck are you doing to me? you—you know what you’re doing."

“that's a yes?” you teased again.

“yes, yes, yes—god, what is it with you? really need me to say what you already know? of course i picture you in those cute little headphones. in that chair, too. wearing one of those sexy tank tops you’re wearing now. or your favorite hoodie—w-with your hair back and those—those kitten knee socks."

he dipped his head back further against the headboard as he fucked his fist faster, never missing a beat, rubbing in the glossy-coat gleaming the fat shape of his cock. you stared, shamelessly, at the chisel of abs peeking beneath his ridden-up t-shirt, the flex of his jaw as he gritted his teeth, the lustful shade of dark red in his eyes whenever his eyelids fluttered apart to look at you—he was pure architecture.

“you keep—" he braved another groan, paired with a deep shudder of his hips, “you keep biting your lip like that. i-it’s driving me fucking crazy. my cock twitches every time you do that on stream. when you’re focusing on a level or reading messages to yourself. it’s so cute. so fucking sexy."

“thank you,” you whispered, “you like seeing it live and in person? you like knowing that i’m biting my lip for you?"

his next moan was the softest and whiniest yet—it was so sinful and pathetic that you nearly let out your own satisfied sigh.

“picture you doing that while i fuck you in that chair. l-looking back at me and biting your lip just like that. i would cum on the spot."

his confession winded you. you didn’t realize how breathless it left you until you spoke again.

“might have to touch myself too if you keep talking like that."

the momentum of his strokes hiccuped at the base, then stalled on his way up to the tip again. he glanced down at your sweats with a dangerous flicker of his eyes.

“do you want to?” he asked, dark and slow.

you hesitated, though you needed little time to fully consider it. your heart knew first and foremost, and thumped faster, desperately, the longer you thought about it.

you gestured to your pants. “is it okay if i take these off?”

"you’re serious?” he snickered.

you responded by sliding your waistband over your hips, revealing your baby doll yellow lace panties. his breath hitched, at the same time that you released an airy, meek sigh when your sweats crumpled to the floor. then, he had to stop touching himself entirely when you parted your legs for him, revealing the wet patch soaking through your delicate little underwear.

he winced through his teeth with his eyes screwed shut, bunching your covers in his fist to distract the urge of his hand to finish him off.

“you’re f-fucking with me. watching me couldn’t have made you that wet."

you couldn’t resist touching yourself as soon as the draft in the room brushed over your sensitive heat. you would usually taunt yourself a bit first instead of giving in right away, but you felt taunted this whole time, by restraining the urge to slip your hand down your pants, to spit on his cock for him, to kiss him with reckless abandon after and jerk his cock with him. you convulsed in your seat with a wrecked whine, circling your clit harder as visions of these thoughts blurred through your mind one after the other.

sylus’s eyes widened, fixated on the sloppy, slick noises sputtering from your core, from the mesh of your fingers smearing liquid glitter all over your hot clit. he grappled with his cock again, like it was a reflex, starting with long, deep strokes before resorting to rushed pumps of his swollen tip. you spread your legs wider, plucked the petals of your own rosebud faster, writhed and shivered with another gentle moan.

“look at you. listen to you,” he said through a rugged breath, “you want me to cum right now, don’t you? pushing me to the edge with those fucking sounds."

“have—" you hiccuped on another gasp, “have you thought about this, too?"

“yeah, yeah,” he choked out, “just like this. in that—right in your chair. i’m—you really have no idea how hard i’m trying not to cum right now, kitten. i . . . can i call you that?"

you nodded, frantically. “yes. fuck, that’s hot."

as if he couldn’t help himself, he rutted into his hand faster. the sounds of his dick pumping in and out of his fist were truly filthy—and you were lapping it up with wild, feverish swipes of your fingers, cutting corners and pressing hard and deep against the aching pulse beneath your underwear.

you watched closely as he tugged his length quicker by the second, knobbing his thumb over his leaking cockhead with a cruel, punishing grip. he was art to you.

another moan fluttered from your lips swollen with teeth marks.

“moan for me like that again. please, please—“ he gritted out, “you’re just—you’re unreal. you’re gorgeous. you’re a dream. you’re my dream girl and you’re letting me stroke my cock in your bed while i watch you touch yourself, fuck . . . "

you bucked your hips into your own hand. god, you wanted every part of this man. seeing and hearing him wasn’t enough anymore. you needed to touch him—to taste him. the thought of catching his load by the end of this overcame you, and suddenly, you had to squish your fingers into your tight, flexing hole and press and swish at the gooey bundle of fruit throbbing inside of you.

“yeah, fuck yourself with your fingers,” he coaxed you, with a shuddering groan that traced a shiver down your spine, “finger yourself just like that while i fuck up into my hand. can’t wait to cum for you, kitten."

“i really want you to cum for me,” you mewled back, “i want to cum for you too, sylus."

he submitted to a breathless whimper. “the way you moan my name. kitten, i’m too close. i need you to cum first, can—can i put my mouth on it?"

“please?” you sighed.

he refused to hesitate. he slid off the bed instantly, rushing toward you. you knew better than to move from the chair, and propped your feet on the arm rests when he kneeled in front of you. you let out a sharp breath when he hooked your panties to the side, arching back into the chair as his breath breezed over your naked clit.

“please, sylus—” you whined.

“it’s okay, sweetie. you don’t have to do it yourself anymore. let me do it for you."

he tensed his mouth to water his tongue with spit, then hocked it directly onto your hole with a heartless splatter. you were already so close to cumming from that alone, but especially when he took off his glasses and tossed them onto your desk before savoring the first taste of you, honing in dead-center on your glistening core.

you jolted when his nose nudged your clit, clawing your nails through his soft, angel-feather hair to pull him in deeper. his bristled groan reverberated through you as he slurped and suckled you like holy water, or cherry-flavored love potions, or the elixir of life dripped from your suctioning center. dear god—you knew he was heaven. and you already knew this was the fastest you would cum for anyone.

“this isn’t real,” he sighed against you, in between wags of his tongue over your clit and deep, longing sweeps of his tongue burrowing into your core, “this pussy isn’t real. the taste—the smell . . . so good. so needy."

“mm-hmm,” you drew out, crossing your eyes with the neediest little pout, “sylus—s-sylus, you’re . . . you’re so good to me."

the unmistakable squelch of his hand squeezing his cock all over again rippled through you. as soon as you heard it, you were right there.

“oh—that’s gonna make me cum. god, i’m gonna cum. ’m gonna cum for you."

he rotated his head in slow, fluid circles to ensure that his tongue could lather the entirety of your wet, cunning heat, darting over your clit and seeping into your gleaming hole in cruel, ruthless circles like a hurricane. you couldn’t remember the last time someone made you feel this good.

not to mention the way he babbled to you to the very end, especially since, up until this point, you knew sylus as your reserved, slightly awkward blind date who never had too much to say. you were a goner.

“yeah, shake on my tongue. shake and squirm and writhe on my tongue. let me taste it. let me have it. need it just as much as you, sweetie."

your lips parted into a soft o as your eyes crossed again, blinded by stars when your orgasm ruptured you to the core. you were a lovely little mess—of whiny moans and lightheaded breaths and the molten, wet heat glistening from your inner thighs as you clenched for sylus’s mouth.

you didn’t even know he was watching you until he starved out, “fuck, roll your eyes back like that. cum just like that for me, kitten."

none of your internal organs would sit still, fevered and running rampant as you unleashed everything hot and sweet and satisifed within you that melted and stickied his cinnamon lips. when he pulled back for a breath, a sheen of wet hot glitter soaked his mouth. he was a very ravenous, untidy eater, that’s for sure. he also, you just noticed, hadn’t stopped pumping his dick underneath your chair.

“can i cum for you now?” he groaned like a plea. “please? you’re everywhere, sweetie."

“here,” you insisted, tucking your legs to kneel in your seat, “here, in my mouth."

when he stood, he had to steady his hands over the top of your chair so he wouldn’t crumple back down to his knees.

“i still can’t believe this,” he panted, “you’re gonna put my dick in your mouth. i won’t be able to last, kitten. i’ve—i’ve thought about it too much."

“i’ll go slow,” you said, propping your hands on his hips, “is that what you want?"

“i just want you. any way you’ll have me, i promise."

a flutter brushstroked your clit. shit—you could cum for him all over again if he’d let you. but you had been far too patient all evening, denying yourself the pleasure of his cock weighing hard and heavy on your coated tongue.

you didn’t bother with teasing licks or pecks or strokes of your hand that mimiced his grappling thrusts. you took him in as far as you could, nearly choking around him if you didn’t slow down when he stretched the shape of your mouth just right. he was even thicker than you imagined, sliding salty-sweet down the length of your tongue, consuming the majority of its width, easily tipping into the back of your warm, clutching throat. both of you whined in unison. it should’ve been impossible for every part of him to feel this good.

he pushed out a winding breath, that swerved into a rutted groan when you started shucking your suctioned lips up and down, up and down his full shaft. your heart-shaped ass clapped down on your heels as you rocked forward and back, richocheting your tits held tight by your tiny cherry tank top, batting your mascara-wet lashes as you looked up at him.

“uhn—uhn,” he whimpered out, “mmph—look at those eyes. those—mmph—those fucking headphones, and—uhn, that mouth, you’re trying to kill me. what is this? you want me dead, gorgeous."

you took him in faster, purposely flexing your throat to pinch at his tip whenever he reached the back of your throat. he bowed over you as you twisted one fist, then two, on the same path and rhythm as your mouth, sacrificing your need to breathe just to suck his cock like you were seeking revenge of some sort.

“fuck—uhn, can’t take this. i know it’s only been a second, but-but i have to cum. i’m cumming, shit—"

with one last rasped whine, and the tilt of his head all the way back, he erupted in thick, gluey spurts on your tongue. you swallowed him down hungrily, greedily, chugging his load without stopping the fluid motion of your slippery mouth up and down.

he quivered out his last few moans as you sucked him dry. “taking it all—you’re taking it all—uhn—fuck, yeah. yeah, sweetie. cu—hmph—cumming down your throat while you sit in your desk chair. this is a fucking dream."

you sat back when he set his hand on your shoulder, signaling that he was too sensitive. playfully, you flashed your tongue at him, hoping to win him with a chuckle or, more particularly, a good kitten.

but you earned more than you anticipated when he bowed over you, cupped your chin, and drew you in for a longing, passionate kiss that activated all of your nerves at once. his mouth was insatiable, lips soft but firm as they pinched your top lip, then bottom lip, before parting to kiss you deeply, sledding his tongue over yours to elicit one of your sweetest breaths.

he pulled back, recovering with a breath. “sorry,” he said, “couldn’t stop thinking about it."

you returned a flustered grin. “me too."

the corners of his mouth ticked up into a smirk, and you knew one of his signature brow tilts would follow soon after. he huffed out another breath as he gazed down at you.

then, he spoke again. “when can i see you again? i’m still having a hard time believing what just happened."

you swayed in your chair, pivoting back once you found his glasses on the desk. you rose upright until you were tall enough to slip them over his eyes for him. when you smiled at him, his grin settled in, curving sharper at the edges. you would have to use whatever magic you had over him to do that much more often.

“you’ll see me on stream tomorrow, remember?"

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