#reluctantly crouched at the starting line...

[kalied0skull]

“ He's going the distance, he's going for speed! ”

as someone who track races, i LOVE that Steve canonically does drag racing. but what if he did race-track racing as well ?

The Distance by CAKE is my hype song before races. i live for it. I LOVE IT. i hope you can think of that song when you look at this drawing.

[gf2bellamy]

Hello!!! First I wanted to say I absolutely adoreeee your fics I literally read them like bedtime stories honestly😭🙏

I also wanted to request perhaps reader and spencer at jj's wedding (reader also being a part of the bau) and they've both been best friends for years. They dance together and as it's getting late, spencer offers reader to stay at his place for the night because it's closer. Then they go back to his apartment and nervously end up admitting feelings for eachother!!! Like it comes up in conversation while they're just hanging out and watching TV or whatnot and maybe they also get super emotional and teary because of how much they both mean to eachother. Hope this is coherent enough or not too elaborate 😭 thank you so much anyhow though - you are a brilliant writer!

wedding — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader wears a dress , lots of dancing , mention of a case a/n: hi hi ! i hope you like this <3 i loved writing this

“You know you’re staring, right?”

Penelope Garcia’s voice snapped you out of your trance. She nudged your shoulder with hers, her dress catching the light as she tilted her head toward you.You blinked, pulled from your thoughts as your gaze reluctantly drifted away from where Spencer stood beneath the garden lights. He was crouched down, completely absorbed in showing Henry a card trick, his voice soft. The child’s eyes were wide with wonder.

Yours weren’t much different.

You were at JJ's wedding, waiting out in the garden while the she got ready. The evening air was cool but pleasant, and strings of fairy lights twinkled like stars overhead.

“What?” you asked, trying to sound casual, though your tone betrayed you. Garcia turned to face you fully, her expression smug in the most Garcia way possible.

“You.” She pointed a finger at you . “Were staring.” Then she swiveled her finger dramatically toward Spencer. “At Dr. Adorable over there.”

Your face warmed, and you blinked at her, still half-lost in the haze of watching Spencer, the way his hair fell just slightly into his eyes when he leaned forward, the joy in his expression as he entertained Henry. Your mouth opened to protest, but no words came out. You glanced back toward Spencer before you could stop yourself, he was laughing now, Henry giggling with him, and the sight made your heart twist in the gentlest way.

Garcia raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the flustered look on your face. “I mean, if you're gonna pine, at least do it with a little less intensity. People are gonna start thinking you're plotting his murder or planning your wedding. There is no in-between with that look.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “Stop,” you said weakly, pointing a finger at her in mock warning.

“Mhmm,” she hummed, the grin never leaving her face as she slowly backed away. “I’ll leave you to your lovesick sighing. But just so you know, you’re not nearly as subtle as you think you are.”

You watched her disappear into the reception with a sigh, your eyes inevitably drawn back to Spencer. His head tilted up slightly, and for a moment, it almost felt like he was about to look right at you. You froze. But instead, he ruffled Henry’s hair and stood up with that soft smile still lingering on his lips.

Some time later, you were standing quietly beside Garcia, watching as JJ's mother walked her down the aisle. The moment was beautiful, soft music playing, petals lining the path, the kind of memory that felt like it would live in everyone’s mind forever.

You glanced across the aisle.

Spencer was standing directly opposite you, looking striking in his dark suit. His hair was just slightly tousled in that effortlessly handsome way he never seemed to realize he had. You tried not to stare, but that resolve didn’t last long. Your eyes kept finding their way back to him.

What you didn’t know was that he was doing the exact same thing.It turned into a quiet game of glances and near-catches. Every time you looked over, he had just looked away. Every time his eyes landed on you, yours had already shifted elsewhere.

A dance of almosts.

Later, as the reception began and you found your seat at one of the round tables lit with candles and scattered rose petals, you found yourself sitting between Emily and Rossi. The chair across from you remained empty for only a moment, until Spencer took it, still sneaking those glances when he thought you weren’t looking.

Rossi stood, glass in hand, and the room hushed as he began his toast. His voice was warm and full of love, weaving a beautiful speech to JJ and Will.

While the rest of the room listened with full attention, Spencer found himself watching you instead. You were smiling, softly, sincerely, as you listened to Rossi speak, and it knocked the air right out of him. Your dress, elegant but simple, shimmered slightly in the candlelight.

He’d nearly lost his footing when he saw you walk in earlier. Morgan had caught him gaping and slapped his shoulder with a laugh, saying, “Try to be subtle, pretty boy,” before shooting a look to Garcia. She, in turn, had already noticed the exact same look on your face when Spencer entered the venue.

“Cheers!” Rossi’s voice rang out, snapping Spencer back to the moment.

Everyone raised their glasses, laughter and the clinking of glass echoing softly around the room. You tapped your glass gently against Emily’s and then Rossi’s, then your eyes found Spencer’s, finally, directly. You held his gaze and raised your glass slightly toward him. The gesture was small but intimate. Intentional. He blinked, as if surprised you were really looking at him this time, and then he smiled, soft, warm, and a little shy. He raised his glass in return, eyes never leaving yours.

About twenty minutes later, the music softened, and couples slowly began to gather on the dance floor. You laughed, breathless, as Morgan suddenly took your hand and pulled you onto the dance floor with dramatic flair.

“Morgan!” you protested through your giggles, but he just grinned, spinning you lightly before placing one hand at your waist and the other in yours.

“Come on, don’t pretend you’re not having fun,” he teased as the two of you began to sway to the rhythm.

You rolled your eyes fondly, your smile not faltering for a second. The two of you moved easily together, but Morgan’s attention wasn’t entirely on the dance. He glanced over your shoulder, eyes locking with Spencer’s across the room.

Spencer stood by the edge of the dance floor, fidgeting with the cuff of his suit jacket. He hadn’t stopped watching you all night. You looked radiant, happy, glowing. And that look on your face... he wanted so badly to be the one putting it there.

But nerves had kept him frozen.

You and Spencer had been best friends for years. Through tough cases, long nights, and vulnerable confessions whispered in hotel rooms, you’d been there. Always. And yet tonight, seeing you in that dress, with your hair framing your face just so, had knocked him completely off balance.

Morgan had noticed, of course.

Before dragging you to the dance floor, he’d spent the last ten minutes nudging Spencer with not-so-subtle comments, even outright pushing him toward the dance floor once. “You’re really gonna let me dance with her all night when you’re clearly dying to?”

Spencer had brushed him off, flustered and full of excuses, until now. Morgan raised an eyebrow meaningfully as he danced with you, silently daring Spencer to make a move.

Spencer swallowed hard, his eyes locked with Morgan’s. Then they slid to you. You were smiling, your cheeks flushed with laughter, your hand resting lightly on Morgan’s shoulder.

That was it. He bit his lip, straightened his jacket, and finally stepped forward. As Morgan saw him approaching, he leaned in and whispered to you, “Looks like my job here is done.”

You gave him a puzzled look just as the song transitioned into a slower, sweeter melody.And then Morgan stepped back. You turned, and there he was. Spencer. Hands slightly fidgety, but eyes soft and full of something that made your breath catch.

“May I?” he asked, his voice a little quiet, a little shy.

You smiled, your heart skipping a beat. “Took you long enough.”

You slipped your hand into his, and as he pulled you gently into the dance, everything else seemed to fade away.

You were nervous, your heart beating a little faster than it should, but when your eyes met his, something in you relaxed. You smiled, even brighter than before.

“The wedding is beautiful,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper as you glanced over at JJ and Will, dancing just a few feet away, completely wrapped up in each other.

“It really is,” Spencer replied, his gaze drifting to the newlyweds for a moment before returning to you. His hand at your waist tightened ever so slightly. “She looks really happy.”

You nodded, your smile turning softer, more thoughtful. “She does.”

Neither of you noticed the way the rest of the team was sneaking glances your way, Emily nudging Garcia with a knowing smirk, Morgan grinning to himself, Hotch watching with quiet approval. Even JJ, in the middle of her own dance, looked over and caught the moment.

Spencer smiled, eyes half-lidded as he took a steadying breath, his lips just inches from your temple now. The scent of your perfume was soft and familiar, and he could feel your warmth as you instinctively scooted just a little closer.That tiny movement sent a ripple through him. You were in his arms.

“You didn’t tell me you were such a great dancer,” you said with a teasing lilt, leaning back just enough to look up at him, your brows raised.

Spencer glanced down at you, and for a second, you saw the faintest flicker of smugness in his expression, but it vanished quickly, replaced with that familiar bashful smile. His eyes darted away.

“Didn’t know that myself,” he admitted, chuckling softly. “Pretty sure I’m only doing okay because you’re leading.”

You grinned, heart fluttering. “Guess we make a good team, then.”

At that, his eyes met yours again, and this time, they stayed. Warm, searching, a little bit braver than before.

“I always thought we did,” he said softly.

The honesty in his voice made your chest tighten in the best way. You swallowed, your heart thudding just a little louder as your fingers gently brushed the hair at the nape of his neck. You felt him shiver slightly under your touch. Without thinking, you scooted closer again, closing what little space remained between you. His hand tightened slightly at your waist in response. Neither of you said anything more for the rest of the dance. Eventually, the song faded into another. And though you didn’t want it to end, you both stepped back, reluctantly, hands falling away slower than necessary.

The rest of the evening carried on like a dream.

Over the next hour, you ended up being passed around the dance floor like the unofficial guest of honor. Morgan was the first to swoop in again, spinning you dramatically as you laughed. Then came Rossi, smooth as ever, insisting it was tradition to dance with the most radiant woman at the wedding. Even Hotch surprised you with a short, polite dance. Each one of them had something to say.

“So... you and Reid, huh?” Morgan grinned, eyebrow raised.

“You two looked like a scene straight out of a Nora Ephron movie,” Emily teased as she dipped you mid-dance, clearly enjoying herself.

“I’d say it’s about time,” Rossi murmured with a smirk, before twirling you gently. “We were starting to think we’d have to lock you both in a room until someone confessed.”

Garcia all but squealed when she finally stole you away for a spin. “Okay, do not lie to me. Was that the moment? Because I swear, there were literal stars in the air.”

You laughed so hard your cheeks hurt. It was all good-natured, wrapped in love and genuine happiness for you. But through every dance, every tease, your eyes kept finding Spencer across the room. And every time, he was already looking at you.

By the end of the night, you found yourself wrapped in a goodbye hug with JJ. You’d already said “Congratulations” at least ten times, and you still felt like it wasn’t enough. “I’m just so happy for you guys,” you said again as you held her tight.

JJ smiled against your shoulder. “Thank you. I mean it. And… I saw the dance,” she added teasingly, pulling back with a knowing look in her eyes.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Spencer appeared beside you just in time, offering his own congratulations to JJ and Will with that soft, sweet tone. You couldn’t help but glance at him, your heart tugging a little tighter in your chest.

Once you stepped outside, the night air was cooler as you stood in the parking lot, scanning the rows of cars.

“I was supposed to go with Garcia,” you said, eyes narrowing as you spotted her leaning against Morgan’s car, deep in conversation. She was laughing and wiping what looked like the remnants of happy tears from her cheeks while Morgan nodded along. You sighed, a half-smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, this is going to take ages.”

Spencer followed your gaze, and before he could stop himself, before his brain had even caught up with his mouth, he blurted, “You can stay at my place.”

You turned your head to look at him, brows raised, mildly surprised, but not in a bad way. You studied him, the way his eyes flicked nervously to yours, his hands suddenly unsure of what to do.

“If it’s no bother,” you said after a second, your voice quiet, cautious.

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, then smiled softly. “Wouldn’t have asked if it was.”

“Okay,” you said, the single word sounding warmer than it should’ve, like you’d just agreed to something far bigger than a ride or a place to sleep. He led you toward his car, once you said goodbye to Garcia.

When he opened the passenger door for you, you chuckled under your breath and murmured, “Thanks,” as you carefully lifted your dress to settle into the seat.He closed the door gently, walked around to his side, and slid into the driver’s seat.

As the car pulled out of the lot , you glanced at him. “Please tell me you finally organized your books.”

Spencer’s fingers tightened slightly on the steering wheel, a small, guilty smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You raised an eyebrow. “Spencer…”

The last time you’d been at his place, two weeks ago, for a movie night that never quite turned into watching the movie, you had spent half the time side-eyeing the precarious towers of books that had taken over the corners of his living room. Some were stacked by topic, others by spine color, some in what he’d dramatically called “priority order,” whatever that meant.

It had visually hurt you to look at.

You’d tried to ignore it, truly, curling up on his couch with a bowl of popcorn while he enthusiastically explained the plot of the old sci-fi movie you were watching. But eventually, your resolve had crumbled. You’d stood up mid-movie and started reorganizing by author name before he practically dragged you back to the couch.

“They have a purpose there!” he’d insisted back then, exasperated but laughing.Now, as he turned the steering wheel with that exact same half-smile, he stayed silent just a little too long.

“Oh no. Spencer,” you dragged out his name dramatically, narrowing your eyes.

“What?” he asked, biting back a laugh.

“You didn’t organize them, did you?”

“I thought about it,” he offered carefully, glancing sideways at you.

You let your head fall back against the seat with a groan. “You had days.”

“I made peace with the system,” he said defensively, but his eyes were sparkling. “Besides… you seemed so passionate about it last time, I figured I’d leave it. Just in case you wanted to come back and finish the job.”

You turned to him slowly, giving him the most unimpressed look you could muster. “So this is your evil plan. Lure me in with tea and nerdy trivia and force me to organize your chaos.”

“It’s not chaos,” he replied, almost too quickly. “It’s a carefully designed non-linear categorization system.”

“That sounds like chaos with extra steps.”

Spencer chuckled softly, shaking his head as he turned onto his street. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Not when it comes to books stacked in a way that defies gravity, no.”

As Spencer pulled into his usual spot and parked the car, he was already unbuckling before you’d even touched the door handle. You opened your mouth to protest, but sure enough, he was already walking around to your side.

“Spencer,” you said, exasperated but smiling. “I do know how to get out of a car.”

He shrugged, a small grin tugging at his lips as he offered his hand to you anyway. “I know. But I like helping.”

You rolled your eyes but took his hand. His fingers wrapped around yours, soft, warm.

The two of you walked up to his apartment, still chitchatting as you relived little moments from the wedding, the way Rossi had gotten uncharacteristically sentimental in his toast, Garcia’s happy tears, how Morgan tried to dip everyone he danced with, including Strauss. Spencer took your jacket like he always did, carefully hanging it near the door. You smiled to yourself, slipping out of your heels and placing them neatly beside his.

You remembered the first time you’d noticed it, how, without ever saying a word, he’d straighten your shoes after you entered his apartment. It was such a small thing, but it stuck with you. You never forgot it. Since then, you just did it yourself. Because you knew he appreciated it, even if he never asked.

“I can’t feel my feet,” you mumbled, flexing your toes as you stepped onto the soft rug.

“I mean, you did dance with almost everyone,” Spencer said, heading toward the living room.

You followed him, chuckling under your breath. “Yeah. You’re right.”

The two of you dropped onto the couch like you’d been holding yourselves up all night. You let out a breath as you pulled your legs up, curling them under you, relieved to not be standing anymore. The soft cushions beneath you felt like heaven after a long night in heels. You yawned quietly, blinking slow, then tilted your head toward him. He was sitting on the other end of the couch, bow loosened, jacket gone, his posture a little slouched now that he could finally relax.

“But you know?” you murmured. He turned his head to you, eyes soft in the low light of the room. “You were my favorite dance partner,” you said, a sleepy smile curling at your lips.

He blinked, and for a second, you swore he forgot how to breathe. His mouth parted slightly, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to say it. Instead, he just smiled. That lopsided smile that he only ever gave you.

“I’m glad,” he said after a moment. “You were mine too.”

You let your head lean back against the cushion, the warmth of his words lingering in your chest. And for a few minutes, you just sat like that.

That’s when the books suddenly sprang back into your mind.

Spencer had his eyes closed, head tilted slightly against the couch cushion, looking far too peaceful for someone with three towers of books leaning at precarious angles in his living room. You shifted just slightly, straightening up with purpose.

Without opening his eyes, Spencer spoke, his voice low and drowsy. “Do it tomorrow.”

You paused, caught red-handed by someone who hadn’t even been looking at you. “I didn’t even say anything yet,” you said with a small laugh.

“You didn’t have to. I could feel your brain making a plan.”

You turned your head toward him, raising an eyebrow. “So… you’re officially letting me do it?”

He peeked one eye open to meet your gaze, then gave you a small, resigned smile. “Sure.”

You grinned, and Spencer swore, for just a second, that if he could see you smile like that one more time, he’d even let you organize his meticulously alphabetized first-edition classics in any way you wanted. And that was saying something.

There was a brief silence. You stared at each other for a moment, too long, probably, but neither of you looked away. Then his eyes flicked downward, catching on the folds of your dress. And before he could think better of it, before his brain could slow his mouth down, he spoke.

“You looked beautiful tonight.” The words fell out like a confession. His eyes went wide the moment he realized he’d said them, and color shot up his neck so fast a cheetah would've had a hard time catching it.

You blinked, startled, but the surprise quickly melted into a smile.“Thank you, Spencer,” you said, smiling at him in that slow, full way that made his heart feel like it was folding in on itself. “You didn’t look so bad yourself.”

He let out a small, nervous laugh, his fingers fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve. “I, uh… tried. Morgan said I clean up okay.”

“Well, Morgan’s right,” you said, tilting your head slightly, still watching him with that smile that made it hard for Spencer to remember what breathing was supposed to feel like. Spencer smiled softly at the compliment, his fingers still absently tracing the edge of his sleeve.

“You know,” he began, voice low, almost hesitant, “I spent most of the night trying to figure out how to ask you to dance.”

The admission slipped out before he could stop it, and his eyes flickered up to yours, wide with surprise at his own honesty.

You blinked, your breath catching just a little. “You didn’t have to figure it out,” you murmured, leaning ever so slightly closer. “You could’ve just asked.”

“I wanted it to be perfect.” He laughed, a quiet, self-conscious sound. “Which is ridiculous, because it’s me. Perfect isn’t really in my skill set.”

“Spencer.” You reached out without thinking, your fingers brushing against his wrist, stilling his fidgeting. “It was perfect.” His pulse jumped under your touch.

For a moment, he just stared at you, lips parted, as if he was trying to memorize the way you looked right then, soft and glowing in the his apartment, your dress rumpled from dancing, your smile so fond it made his chest ache.

Then, in a rush of breath, the words tumbled out: “I think I’m in love with you.”

Silence.His brain screeched to a halt. Oh god. Oh no. That wasn’t—he hadn’t meant to say it like that. Not here, not now, not—

But you weren’t pulling away. You weren’t even breathing. Your fingers tightened around his wrist, just barely, and your voice came out whisper-soft. “You… think?”

Spencer swallowed hard. There was no taking it back now. “No,” he corrected, voice rough. “I know. I’ve known for a while.”

"You have?" you asked, practically breathless.

Spencer looked at you before his gaze dropped to his hands, suddenly nervous. His fingers twitched against yours like he wanted to pull away but couldn't bring himself to break contact.

"Yeah," he whispered. Then, with a shaky exhale: "It was... it was that night after the Harris case. When you stayed."

Your breath hitched. You remembered.

Three months ago. Spencer's apartment, 2 AM. Both of you still in crinkled shirts, too wired to sleep. You'd made terrible coffee in his tiny kitchen, hands trembling around the mugs, and when you'd finally sat beside him on the couch, when he'd started talking about the case in that heartbroken voice, you hadn't thought. You'd just reached for him. Held him while his shoulders shook. And when he'd finally gone still, forehead pressed against your collarbone, neither of you had moved for hours.

"You let me fall apart," Spencer continued, voice cracking. "And then you held me for hours like it was nothing."

Tears pricked at your eyes. "Spencer—"

"And before that," he rushed on, "when you memorized my coffee order after one try. Even when you keep trying to rearrange my books. When you defended my 'weird facts' to Morgan. When you—" His laugh was wet, uneven. "When you started leaving your favorite books annotated on my desk so I'd have to read them. As if I wouldn't have read anything you handed me."

A tear slipped down your cheek. You didn't wipe it away. "You noticed that?"

"I notice everything about you." His thumb brushed your knuckles, feather-light. "The way you hum when you're concentrating. How you always steal my pens but never the blue ones because you know I prefer those. That little frown you get when—"

You kissed him.

It wasn't graceful. Your nose bumped his, your lashes still wet, your hands clutching his shirt like you were afraid he might disappear. He made a soft, broken noise against your lips when his fingers curled into your hair. His thumbs brushed the corners of your mouth as he kissed you back.

You pulled back just enough to whisper, "I love you too."

Spencer's breath shuddered out. He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes squeezed shut like he was trying not to cry. "Say it again?"

You laughed through your tears. "I love you, Spencer Reid. Every brilliant, ridiculous, beautiful part of you."

His arms wrapped around you, tight enough to bruise, and when he buried his face in your neck, you felt the damp warmth of his tears against your skin.

"Took you long enough," you teased weakly, running your fingers through his hair.

He huffed a laugh against your shoulder. "Says the woman who reorganized my bookshelves instead of just telling me."

"That was a declaration and you know it."

Spencer pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes red-rimmed but brighter than you'd ever seen them. "Well," he murmured, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb, "this is better."

And when he kissed you this time, there were no almosts. No maybes.

Just this, his hands in your hair, your laughter against his lips, and a lifetime of quiet, perfect moments waiting to unfold.

[moonstruckme]

hi Mae! I've never requested anything before, so forgive me if I'm doing this wrong. Can I request poly!marauders x reader who has a cold? I've just gotten sick and I feel icky, and these type of stories always make me feel better 😅 no worries if you can't, thank you!

Thanks for requesting lovely! You nailed it don't worry <3

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

Your home is suspiciously quiet when Sirius enters. You and James ordinarily beat him there, but there’s no blaring TV or sound of something sizzling in the kitchen, he can’t even hear the shower running upstairs. The only evidence of either of you are your shoes by the front door, yours lined up neatly as they always are and James’ strewn a couple of feet from the doormat (as they always are). 

Sirius kicks his own shoes off, leaving them amongst James’, and starts to go in search of you upstairs. Only, as he passes the couch, he does hear something. A quiet whistling. 

He turns, and there you both are. Slumped where he couldn’t see you from the door, your body laid over James’ and his head propped at a painful-looking angle against the arm of the couch, the both of you covered in blankets. Your breath wheezes in and out of you. 

An unintentional tsking noise comes from Sirius’ mouth as he crouches beside you. He slots a hand underneath James’ neck, trying to alleviate the cruel bend. 

His boyfriend makes a sulky groaning sound. Mile-long lashes (which go sorely unappreciated by their owner, by the way; Sirius would do much better with them) flutter reluctantly as James turns his head towards Sirius. 

“Hello,” Sirius says softly, a smile tugging at his lips at the sight of the other boy’s sleep-glazed eyes. “Are you very comfortable like that?” 

“M’sweltering,” James admits, “but she’s cold.” 

Sirius feels his brows furrow. “I meant your neck, Jamie.” But it is odd that you’d be cold, considering that he’s a bit warm and he has no blankets. You don’t usually get so chilled. “She’s cold?” 

James makes a face that’s half pout, half frown. “She’s ill.” 

Sirius frowns harder, and only then does he realize how unusual it is for you not to have woken while they’re talking right above you like this. He sets the back of a hand to your forehead and finds it scorching. 

“Oh.” The coo drops from his lips almost without his notice. He feels your cheek with his other palm as if that will change things, but it’s the same. “Since when?” 

“She was home when I got here,” says James. “Don’t think she ever made it to work this morning. I gave her some paracetamol.” 

That had to have been hours ago. Sirius is about to ask if James is feverish himself, or what other delusion caused him to nap with you instead of calling him and Remus home, but you start to stir, saving your boyfriend a berating. Sirius’ attention goes to you. 

“Hey, sweetness.” He strokes his thumb along your cheekbone, hoping to wake you gently. “You’re not feeling well?” 

You make an unhappy humming sound Sirius takes to mean No. Sniffle wetly. James grabs a box of tissues from beside him on the floor and offers them to you like it’s a routine.

“When did this start?” 

You blow your nose before replying. It sounds awful, and when you’re done Sirius can see that the tip of your poor nose already looks chapped. “I think it set in overnight,” you croak. James winces at the sound of your voice. 

Sirius strokes your cheek again, doing his best not to look too severe. “And why didn’t you call us, lovely girl?” 

Over the top of your head, James mouths emphatically, She wouldn’t let me. 

You only shrug, burrowing further into your blankets. “No point. Why should you come home just because I’ve got the sniffles?” 

Sirius sighs. He gives your cheek a mean little squeeze, standing and pulling out his phone. 

“What’re you doing?” you ask suspiciously. 

“Hush, don’t hurt your throat.” 

You pout, but Sirius is not James, and while he’s far from immune to your sweetheart face, he won’t be swayed by it. Remus picks up on the third ring. 

“Hi, love.” He answers already sounding weary, albeit lovingly so, used to Sirius getting home around this time and calling him impatiently. Remus works too much, Sirius comes home every day itching for a kiss from all three of you; it’s a routine they both love to hate. “I’m just about to wrap up here.” 

“Right, I totally believe you,” Sirius scoffs (affectionately). Remus is always ‘wrapping up’ when Sirius calls, one chapter bleeding into the next until it’s dark and one of you goes to collect him. “I just wanted to let you know that our bird never made it to work today; she’s come down with something.” 

He can practically hear Remus’ frown forming. “She didn’t say?” 

“What do you think?” 

A sigh crackles through the line. “And bad enough that she stayed home, hm?” 

Sirius looks at you, finding your eyes still big and expression pouty. He pouts back. “Yeah, she’s got a wicked fever and whatever it is has turned her nose into a poorly tuned woodwind instrument.” 

Your expression sours. James hides a smile in your hair. “It’s only a cold,” you say. 

“Honestly, Rem, she’s incoherent.” 

Sirius can hear movement on the other end of the line, the quiet snap of his boyfriend’s laptop shutting. “I’m coming. Try to get her to drink something, please?”

He appraises you. You don’t look particularly happy with him. “I’ll try.” 

“Thanks, love. I’ll be there soon.” 

“Alright, drive safe. Love you.” 

“Love you, too.” 

“That was so unnecessary,” you complain as soon as he hangs up. 

“Sorry, I can’t understand you when you’re all stuffed up like that,” Sirius replies flippantly, pocketing his phone and crouching in front of you again. “All your consonants sound like ds and bs.” 

He uses his cold hands to his advantage, pressing them to your cheeks and allowing his genuine sympathy to surface in his expression. It wins you over quickly; you tilt your face into his touch. Fever glazed eyes droop indulgently. 

“Now, my lovely snot monster, would you like ice in your water or do you want it plain?” 

Remus bustles in when you’ve halfway drained your cup. Sirius can tell he’s worried because he hardly kicks his shoes into alignment next to each other, not taking the time to bend over and arrange them as neatly as he always does. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says in his most dulcet tone, dropping a kiss on your temple while he feels your fever with his knuckles. “Jamie, you’re not ill too, are you?” 

“No, I’m just here in solidarity,” James assures him from beneath you. “I’m tip-top, promise.” 

Remus nods, his mouth an unhappy line as he appraises the two of you. “I think you need to lose the blankets, dove. We need to get your fever down.” 

“But it’s cold,” you whine. 

“It’s not,” Sirius promises you. “It’s just that you could roast a marshmallow on your forehead right now.” 

“You can still have Jamie,” negotiates Remus, already peeling the blankets off you and balling them up out of reach. 

“S’all you really need,” James says agreeably. You look unsure, but you relax a little when he cuddles you closer. 

“And how about some tea?” Remus palms the side of your face, frowning slightly at the heat while he drags his thumb across your cheek. “It’ll help with your throat and keep you warm, yeah?” 

“Okay, yeah.” You take Remus’ hand, bringing it to your lips. Your eyes are fever bright. “Thanks, Rem. I’m sorry you came home.” 

“Now, what kind of thing is that to say?” Sirius teases. “I, for one, am very glad to have Remus home.” 

You attempt a glare; it’s poorly executed. “I meant I was sorry you called him.” 

“Well, I’m not,” Remus says firmly. Sirius fights the urge to stick his tongue out at you. “You should always call me, sweetheart. Or just any of us, but we can talk about that later.” (Oh, Sirius cannot wait. The scolding he wants to give you would have paled in comparison.) Remus gives your cheek a little pat. “I’m going to make your tea. Try to finish your water before I get back, please.” 

Sirius follows him into the kitchen, pleased to hear you asking James to pass you your water behind him. 

“Hey,” he says, coming up behind Remus at the stove. 

Remus sighs, turning around and looping his arms around Sirius’ shoulders. “Hi.” He rests his chin atop his boyfriend’s head. It’s a welcome weight. “Sorry.” 

“Sorry for what? Don’t be.” Sirius runs a hand up his spine, feeling each knob. “Sorry I worried you on the phone. I was freaked when I found her like this. She’s alright, though.” 

“She’s alright,” Remus agrees. “I just hate to see her so poorly. Her throat sounds awful, poor love.” 

“I hate that she didn’t tell anyone.” Sirius intends to sound a tad bitter, maybe with an edge of teasing, but his voice comes out whiny and wounded. 

Remus kisses his hair silently. He knows Sirius has trouble with the people he loves suffering in silence, even when it comes to things like this. “That, too.” 

“I hope you lecture her into never doing it again.” 

“That’s the hope.” 

“James aided and abetted, too.” 

The faintest traces of a smile in Remus’ voice. “You want me to do something about that, do you?” 

“If you think so.” 

“Mm. I think you just want me to be the bad guy.” 

The kettle starts to whistle, and Sirius steps out from his boyfriend’s arms, pecking him on the cheek as he gets it. “I mean, you’re already so good at it.”

[toastyfirefly]

Hello! Could you please write Yandere TFP Soundwave with an autobot reader who had just recently arrived on Earth?

HELL YEA ANOTHER ONE- i mean…… thank you for the request!

Yandere TFP Soundwave who recently got to earth x reader

When he first got to earth, he was AMAZED by all the different flora and fauna growing on this planet

He was also amazed by how primitive human technology was!

He decided to use what the humans called “the interwebs” in order to figure out how the humans thought and worked

And on the “interwebs”, he met you

You were a very interesting little human, fun to chat with, great personality, and cute too

He made up a fake human name and an account on the line so that he could chat with you more easily, using photos he stole borrowed from some human lowlife (he’s a catfish fr fr)

What that name is, you might ask? It’s Sunny Consons

He made sure to learn every little thing about you, what you liked, where you worked, where you lived, the full names and background checks of everyone you know and love, blackmail, favourite colour, etc etc, he even learned some stuff from chatting with you on the interwebs!! :D

And after a while, you two started on the line dating

Eventually, you asked to meet up in real life, and reluctantly, he agreed, deciding that it was finally time to bring you back to the Nemisis, where you belonged

You two decided to meet in a forest that was shockingly close to your hometown

And made you promise one thing

Not to freak out

You were waiting for him in the area you two agreed on, he was running ten minutes late, and you were slowly starting to wonder if meeting him in the middle of a giant forest was the smartest idea

Suddenly, you saw what looked like an aircraft flying towards you, it looked like it was going on a crash course, and you were gonna be one of the things it hits

Before you could get off the rock you were sitting on to run out of the way, Soundwave de-transformed and landed safely on the ground, crouching down right in front of you so that he could be closer to your level

You were frozen in fear, too absolutely flabbergasted to scream

He leaned down and handed you… a bouquet of flowers? Now you were even more confused

You shakily took the flowers, not wanting to upset the giant alien robot who could crush you with ease (he would never ever hurt you, but you don’t need to know that)

A smiley face emoji appeared on his visor before he carefully picked you up with a tentacle, gently patting your head with another one

After you calmed down, he carefully put you into his hands before transforming and flying back to the Nemisis, he luckily already has everything you need set up

Now, it’s time to bring you back to where you belong, with him on the Nemisis

And who knows, maybe you’ll meet the other cons too AND DEFINITELY WON’T MAKE THEM YANDERE TOO

~Writer

[prettycalla]

|| careful impulse ||

Pairing: Michael/Reader

Summary: You haven't been taking care of yourself, forcing Michael to do something about it.

Word count: 2.4k

Tags and warnings: Fluff, smut (not super explicit, but it's still obvious), Michael is a sweetheart (even if he is a little mean about it), smoking mention, no use of Y/N. 18+!! Minors, please do not interact!!

(For @glassbxttless - I hope this is okay! Also I swear I'm not turning into a Michael account. I have a 4k Geta fic that I'm in the process of editing and I'm working on a Caracalla one too!)

Masterlist

You’ve been hunched over your sketchbook for the better part of the day now. You haven’t moved, haven’t eaten, nothing. Your designs are due in by Monday, leaving you with barely over a day to finish.

You're on the verge of tears. Hours and hours of work you've put into this, and you just can't. Get. It. Right.

“You can’t sit like that all day,” Michael says, watching you from across the room.

He’s leaning in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest.

You don’t answer him, instead furiously erasing the same line for the fifth time.

“Are you even listening to me?” he asks irritably.

You let out a frustrated breath through your nose, but say nothing. You have to finish this.

Michael tuts in annoyance, crossing the room to stand in front of you.

“When was the last time you ate something?” he asks, looming over you.

“It’s not finished,” you say through clenched teeth.

“I don’t care. When was the last time you ate?” he asks again, pressing.

You shrug one shoulder, still scribbling.

Michael reaches down and takes the pencil out of your hand, tossing it across the room. You glare up at him, furious.

“I’m trying to work,” you snap at him.

“Yeah, well, you’re not getting anywhere, are you?” he replies. “You’ve been on that same bit for an hour.”

“Just because you have nothing to do-“ you start to say, but he interrupts you.

“This has nothing to do with me,” he shoots back. “You. Need to stop.”

“I can’t, I’m not finished,” you tell him with a frustrated sniffle.

You’re not about to start crying over this. You’re not.

Michael crouches down in front of you, resting his hands on your knees. His touch is warm against your skin. You want to lean into it so badly, but you have to finish.

“Hey. Look at me,” he says softly, pressing his fingers under your chin to tilt your head up.

Reluctantly, you meet his gaze. He doesn’t look happy with you, but his eyes are soft. He’s worried.

“You’ve gotta eat. You’ve been at this all day.”

You open your mouth to argue and he presses his finger against your lips.

“Don’t,” he says, warning, “I don’t wanna hear it. I know how important this is to you, but it’s not gonna get finished if you collapse. You come first."

He taps the sketchbook.

"Not this.”

Then your shoulder.

“You.”

Your gaze drifts down to the sketchbook again.

“Oi,” he says, pulling your attention back. “Are you listening to me?”

“Go away, Michael,” you say with a huff.

You try to get up to find your pencil, but he’s too quick for you. He lifts you up and slings you over his shoulder. You yelp, slapping at his back with one hand while desperately trying to keep hold of your sketchbook with the other.

“Michael!” you shriek. “Put me down!”

“Not until you eat something,” he says calmly, as if you’re not currently trying to knock the wind out of him.

As if you both haven’t done this exact same song and dance before.

He carries you into the kitchen, dropping you unceremoniously into a chair at the kitchen table. While you’re distracted, he slips the sketchbook out of your hands, putting it on top of the fridge. He pulls out his own chair, making sure it’s right in your way, before he sits down heavily.

Your gaze immediately drops underneath the table. If you could climb under the legs and scramble out the other side…

“Go on,” he says, knowing exactly what you’re thinking. “I dare you.”

You’re stubborn and he knows it as well as you, but he’s just as bad. This won’t end well if you keep pushing. Neither of you know how to back down.

Your eyes drift to the plate in front of you. Two boiled eggs sit haphazardly in cups. The little rainbow ones he’d pointed out to you at a charity shop that you immediately fell in love with. A small stack of toast sits next to them.

Michael pushes the butter across the table, knife already jammed into it.

“I know you like to cut your own soldiers, so I left the toast as is,” he says.

“You cut them too big,” you reply, taking the knife and spreading butter across the top slice.

Michael laughs. “Right, like yours are any better. Skinny little things. Starvin’ soldiers is what yours are,” he teases.

Out of nothing but pettiness, you cut the slice of toast up as thin as possible.

Michael scrubs a hand over his face.

“You’re worse than a kid,” he grumbles, but you can hear the affection in his voice.

You lift the teaspoon sitting on the plate, tapping the tops of the eggs until they crack and give away. Yolk oozes out across the chipped shells, little yellow trails slowly dripping down.

“Thanks,” you mumble as you dip your too thin soldiers into one of the eggs.

“Sorry? What was that?” Michael asks, theatrically placing a hand to his ear. “Didn’t quite catch that.”

You stick your tongue out at him.

“You heard me,” you reply. “Thanks. Y’know, for…this. For looking after me.”

“Somebody has to,” he says. “Look, I know this project is important to you, and you’ve got a deadline and all, but you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

You don’t say anything, instead fussing with the egg, pushing the toast a little too hard into the yolk.

“I just don’t like seeing you suffer like that,” he admits softly. “You’re good at what you do. You really are. You just need a break every so often.”

Michael tentatively reaches across the table, and you stop making a mess of your food, moving your hand closer to his. His thumb strokes gently across your fingers.

“Take more breaks and I’ll stop throwing you about like that, promise,” he says jokingly.

“Maybe I like when you throw me about,” you reply with a grin.

Michael’s eyes narrow. You laugh, squeezing his hand a little too tight before turning back to your food.

“Chancer,” he says fondly.

He gestures to your plate.

“Eat up, will you? I worked hard on that.”

Knowing Michael’s cooking skills, you don’t doubt it. You both finish your food in silence, but it’s a comfortable one that’s settled over the room.

For the most part. You keep stealing glances at the top of the fridge.

“Oi,” Michael calls, waving his hand in front of you. “Leave it.”

You kick him under the table, not hard, but enough. Without a thought, he kicks you back.

“Don’t start,” he says, “You know it won’t end well.”

“For you, maybe,” you shoot back with a mischievous smile.

“Nah, I’m not falling for that. I’m trying to be the adult here,” he replies.

He stands up, dropping the cutlery onto the plates with a clatter as he stacks them for the sink.

“Go get the duvet and go back into the living room," he tells you. "I’ll be in in a minute, alright?”

You do as he says, dragging the blanket from your bed and taking it into the living room. Michael’s sitting at one end of the settee, his tobacco tin balanced on one thigh as he rolls a cigarette. He looks up as you come in, licking the paper and pressing it closed.

"You're not smoking that in here," you tell him as you flop down next to him.

He pulls a face at you as he pushes a cardboard filter into one end of the cigarette, placing it behind his ear.

"Wasn't planning on it," he replies. "It's for later. Gonna need it."

You frown. "What do you mean?" you ask.

"Nothing for you to worry about," he says dismissively as he shakes his head.

He tidies up the tin, placing it on the coffee table before sitting back.

“C'mere,” he says, patting the space between his legs.

You slide over, letting him pulling you into his arms. He drags the blanket over you both, making a fuss out of tucking you in until you start laughing.

"You feeling any better, darlin'?" he murmurs into your hair, pressing a little kiss to the top of your head.

You let out a sigh. "Yeah," you reply. "Thanks."

"S'alright," he says, and you feel him shrug.

You turn your head as best you can to look at him.

"No, I mean it," you insist. "You were right. I did need a break."

His eyes widen dramatically. "Did you just say I was right?" he asks with a grin. "Christ, is it my birthday?"

You slap at him lightly. "Yes, you were right. Happy now?"

He pulls you tighter against him, enveloping you in his arm. He smells like faded washing powder and the aftershave he always gets from the chemist's. Familiar. Safe. Like home.

"Could be happier, if I'm honest," he replies quietly.

You pull a face. "Why? What's wrong?" you ask.

"Well..." he says, dragging the word out.

His hands move under the blanket, one stopping at your hip, the other toying with the waistband of your pyjama shorts.

"I mean, I thought you were relaxed, but your shoulders are still up to your ears for one," he says, voice low against your ear.

The hand on your hip reaches up to playfully grab your chin.

"And you're clenching your jaw for another. I can hear it, y'know," he continues, hand dropping back again.

You can feel a blush creeping into your cheeks at his words.

"I don't know what you're on about," you say, annoyed at how shaky your voice sounds.

"Come off it," he murmurs, sliding a finger under the waistband and letting it gently snap back against your skin.

You jolt in his arms, and you hear him smile. You huff, smacking his hand.

"Come on, darlin', don't be like that," he says. "Just tell me to stop, and we'll say no more about it."

That's the problem. You don't want to tell him to stop. And you know he knows that.

"I'd feel bad," you say, pretending you don't care, "Since you seem so desperate for it and all."

Michael laughs in disbelief. "Oh no, no, I'm not the one desperate for it."

You're all set to keep arguing with him when he slips his hand under the waistband and past your underwear. You let out a sharp gasp, your nails clawing at his forearm.

"Michael-" you splutter.

"Tell me to stop," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble in your ear. "Go on."

His fingers press closer to you, sliding up, up-

You just about manage to hold in the squeal that threatens to erupt from you as he finds the most sensitive part of you.

"One little word," he insists, knowing full well what he's doing to you. "You can do that for me, can't you?"

He sounds so smug and patronising, and any other time, you'd have no trouble telling him to fuck off, but right now, you're struggling. He doesn't let up, gradually picking up the pace against you until you're squirming in his arms.

"I'm waiting," he sing-songs, his other hand gripping your hip.

You lightly knock your head back against his chest, in the hopes that it'll shut him up. It doesn't.

"You're so cute like this, you know that?" he says with a breathy laugh.

You don't know what's worse - the fact that he's laughing at you, or that you find it so fucking hot. You can't think straight, his touch is scorching against your skin, he's going to drive you mad-

"If you stop," you manage to say, your voice little more than a whine. "I'll kill you."

He laughs again. "I don't think you're in any position to do anything to me, sweetheart," he replies. "But don't worry, I wouldn't dream of it."

You couldn't answer him even if you wanted to, barely capable of anything more than gasping moans as you are right now. You're so wound up, mind blank, so overwhelmed by how he's making you feel. You're vaguely aware of Michael grinding his hips against you, and fuck-

"Michael-" you manage to grit out.

He knows that tone. Knows exactly what it means.

He quickens his pace against you, not letting up for a second, and you're close, so close-

"That's it, darlin', cum for me," he whispers, nipping at your earlobe.

His touch, his voice, it's all too much all at once, and you're falling apart in his arms, a shuddering breath pushed from your chest. Your back arches and he holds you tight against him, his fingers still tracing soft little circles against as you all but collapse against him.

You rub a hand over your face, pushing loose strands of your hair out of the way.

"Fuck," you breathe, still trembling with little aftershocks.

Michael presses a kiss to your cheek.

"Feel better now?" he asks, lips still against your skin.

You manage a nod, and he squeezes you gently, holding you close to him as your breathing eventually returns to normal.

"Do you need to...?" you ask, trailing off as you turn to look at him.

Michael shakes his head, a little too quickly. "Nah, no point," he replies, and he sounds embarrassed.

"What do you-"

Then it hits you.

"Oh," is all you can manage to say.

You'll definitely be filing that thought away for future use.

Michael loosens his grip on you, rooting around in his back pocket. He manages to pull out a lighter as he takes the cigarette from behind his ear.

"Told you I was gonna need it," he says, putting it between his lips.

"Michael, don't you dare," you scold, trying to reach around to take it from him.

You manage to slap the lighter out of his hand. He just laughs, pushing you forward gently and climbing out from behind you to retrieve it. Without him there to hold you up anymore, you slump back into the settee cushions, utterly exhausted.

"Hey," he calls from the doorway.

You raise your head slightly.

"Love you," he says with a soft smile.

You can't help the rush of warmth that runs through you. No matter how many times you hear him say it, you can't quite seem to get used to it. You're about to say it back when he tries to light his cigarette again. You grab a cushion from behind your head and toss it at him.

"Out!" you shout at him.

He just laughs as he heads for the front door.

You lay there for a few moments, letting yourself enjoy the peace and quiet.

Michael might be a menace at the best of times, but God, you're grateful to have him.

(banners by @ cafekitsune)

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Every Breath You Take

MAIN MASTERLIST / MARVEL MASTERLIST / CHRONIC ILLNESS MASTERLIST

Logan Howlett x Female!Reader

Word Count: 2,310ish

Request: I ran to your asks when I saw they were open! I love your work so much! I was hoping for a scenario with Logan and a female reader with asthma! I was thinking something along the lines of trilogy Logan and the reader are in the earlier stages of their budding romance. The reader is still really shy and flustered by Logan. Maybe she hasn’t fully opened up to him yet. They are paired up on a recon mission and the reader’s asthma starts acting up. She tries to play it off and use her inhaler subtlety but is still too winded and needs a piggyback ride back to the jet. That way Logan and her can have time to have a more “heart to heart” convo. I hope this isn’t too specific ( I don’t mind if you take a completely different approach with the fic!) I have asthma and it always flares up in the most inconvenient times for me. I always wondered how it go if Logan were to help me deal with it. Sorry for rambling! No pressure to choose my request, I will genuinely be enjoying any work you post

Notes: I know that I wrote this fast! It just called to me and I had to get it done! I hope you like it!

The forest was cool and quiet, the kind of quiet that meant something could be watching. You followed Logan up the slop, trying to keep your footsteps light even though your legs were screaming. Recon missions weren’t usually intense, but this one was longer than expected. The sun was already dipping low. You kept your head dow, counting your breaths— four in, four out. Or, at least, you tried to. 

The tightness in your chest had started creeping in twenty minutes ago. You’d hope it would pass, but you knew it wouldn’t. Your steps were getting shorter. Your lungs felt smaller. 

Ahead of you, Logan passed and glanced back, “You good?” His voice was low and gruff— always rough around the edges— but there was some concern in it.

You hated that you noticed every little inflection. You hated even more how you grew sheepish under his gaze. You nodded quickly. “Yeah. Just… steep hill.”

He didn’t look convinced, but kept walking. You let yourself slow down a few steps. Your hand slipped into your jacket pocket and grabbed your inhaler. You angled yourself behind a tree and took a quick puff, holding it in and waiting for the magic to kick in. It didn’t.

You cursed silently and pushed forward. Each breath felt thinner. Your throat itched, your chest burned. You told yourself to not make a big deal of it. Logan wasn’t already doing a majority of the work. You didn’t want to be the reason h had more to carry. But then you stumbled. It wasn’t big, just a misstep on a branch, but your foot slid out from under you. You caught yourself against a tree and the sound of your wheezing carried, causing Logan to turn sharply.

“Alright, stop,” he said, arms crossing over his chest. “What’s goin’ on?”

“I’m—“ you tried to speak normally. “I just need a sec.”

“You’re winded. Bad.”

“I’m fine. It’s just… I’ve had worse.”

Logan’s brows furrowed. He scanned you head to toe, eyes catching the slight tremble in your knees and the inhaler in your hand. His gaze softened just a bit.

“Hand it over.” He held out a calloused palm.

“What?”

“The inhaler.” He wiggled in fingers. “Let me see how much you’ve used.” Reluctantly, you passed it over. He turned it in his hand, then looked back at you. “Doesn’t look like this is doin’ the trick right now.”

You shook your head, still holding onto the tree. Your chest was heaving with the effort of just standing upright. Without another word, he turned around and crouched low, hands braced on his thighs.

“Logan, what—“

“Piggyback time. You’re done walkin’. Don’t argue.”

“I can’t— That’s— You don’t have to—“

He twisted enough to glare over his shoulder. “You really want make me ask sweetly? Or do you need me to just throw you over my shoulder?”

You stared, dumbfounded. Then, with a mixture of shame and relief, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around his neck. He hoisted you up in one smooth motion, one hand under your thighs and the other steadying your back. You felt the strength in him immediately— it was so effortless and natural and warm. His body heat seeped through your layers, grounding you.

“You weigh nothin’,” he muttered, moving his hands into a better position to start walking. “Should’ve done this an hour ago.”

You couldn’t help the wheezy laugh that escaped. “You’re… ridiculous…”

“You’re worse. Tryin’ to push through an asthma flare on a recon op. What were you thinkin’?”

“I didn’t want to slow you down. I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t handle it.”

There was a pause, then, “you think I give a damn if you’ve got asthma?” 

You didn’t answer, didn’t know how to.

Logan sighed. “Listen. You’ve got nothing to prove to me. We’re a team. That means if something’s wrong, you gotta say something. Otherwise, I can’t watch your back.”

You reacted your head against his shoulder, letting your eyes slip shut as your breathing slowly began to even out. “I’ve never been good at… asking for help.”

“Yeah. I figured.” His tone wasn’t cruel, just knowing and a little amused. “I notice things. Like how you never talk first in a room. How you always stand by the door like you’re not sure you belong. You do, by the way. Belong.”

Your breath caught— not from the asthma this time, but from the weight of words.

He shifted you slightly to keep his grip steady. “And just so we’re clear… I like you. Kinda been waitin’ for you to stop bein’ so damn skittish around me.”

You froze, half in disbelief. “You… like me?”

“You thought I carried your stubborn ass outta pity?” He snorted. “Nah. I just needed an excuse to finally hold you.”

You kept opening and closing your mouth, at a loss for words.

Logan chuckled at your silence. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. You don’t have to pretend with me.”

The clearing where the jet was waiting was in sight now. The stairs were already down. The mission was technically a success, but it felt like much more than that.

You exhaled slowly, letting yourself lean into him a little more. “Thank you.”

He grunted— his version of you’re welcome— and carried you the rest of the way way without complaint.

~~~

Weeks later… 

It was supposed to be a clean in and out mission, like they all were supposed to be. You should’ve known better. The facility was colder than expected. It was underground with tight hallways and poor ventilation. You stuck close to Jean at first, but then split to cover more ground. Logan had been just a hallway away. 

“Left wing’s clear,” he said over the comms. “You good over there, sweetheart?”

You smiled at the nickname— a recent, quiet addition that you didn’t hate. “Still breathing,” you replied.

That was a half an hour ago. Now you were running, or at least trying to. Your chest was on fire and your lungs were stiff. There was smoke curling through the hallway from a faulty generator explosion. You turned a corner and leaned against the wall. You grabbed your inhaler.

“Shit,” you rasped, shaking it. 

It was empty. You tried anyway. There was a hiss, no medicine. The panic crept in, cold and sharp under your ribs. You dropped behind a support beam, bracing yourself as your breaths turned ragged and shallow. It was getting hard to think. You fumbled for the comm in your ear, pressing the button with trembling fingers.

“Lo—“ Your voice cracked. “Lo… gan—“

You couldn’t even get the rest out. But he heard it, the panic, the wheeze. And the moment he did, something primal kicked in.

“Y/N? Sweetheart? Where are you?” He barked, already moving. “Talk to me. Now.”

Static at first, then the faintest of gasps. “… engine… room… hallway… east side…”

He took off in a dead sprint. “Move!” As team members found themselves in his way. 

Logan didn’t wait for orders or check for cover. His claws were already out, just in case he had to rip through the walls. You heard the thunder of his boots before you saw him.

“Hey— Hey, I’m here.” He was suddenly so close it nearly hurt. 

You blinked up through watery eyes. He dropped to his knees in front of you, gently prying the useless inhaler from your hand and shaking it. “Shit. Empty.” 

You nodded, too breathless to answer.

“It’s okay. I got you.” His arms were around you instantly, one cradling your back and another under your knees as he lifted you like it was nothing. “You listenin’ to me? You’re gonna be okay. Just stay with me.”

You couldn’t talk, but you nodded again. Barely.”

He pressed his cheek to your temple. “You’re scarin’ the hell outta me.” He was already moving, carrying you back towards the exit. Somehow, he clicked his comm. “Someone prep oxygen on the jet. We’re comin’ in hot.”

You felt yourself fading a little— the edges of your vision softening, sound warping. But the steady thud of Logan’s heartbeat beneath your ear kept you grounded.

~~~

You sat hunched over a portable oxygen mask, finally breathing mostly normal again. Your lungs still ached, but the panic was gone. Logan was crouched in front of you, watching every inhale like it was the most important thing he’d ever seen. When you pulled the mask down, he exhaled sharply and rested up to brush away some of the sweat that had formed on your forehead.

“You gotta tell me when you’re runnin’ low,” he said quietly. “You don’t get to scare me like that.”

You met his eyes. They were raw, dark, and terrified in a way he rarely showed.

“I didn’t mean to— I thought I had a backup,” you whispered, voice raspy. “I’m sorry, Logan.”

He shook his head and leaned forward, foreheads nearly touching. “No. No apologies. Just promise me— next time, you tell me.”

“I promise.”

His hand slid to your cheek, rough thumb brushing over your skin. “I meant what I said. I’ve got you. Every breath, sweetheart. You’re not doin’ this alone.”

You blinked back tears— of relief, exhaustion, and something warmer. “Thank you for finding me.”

His lips barely brushed your forehead. “Always.”

~~~

The mission was now over. You were safe, but your body hadn’t quite gotten the message. After the med bay cleared out, you sat perched on the edge of the cot. You were still in your uniform and your lungs were still achy. You’d been given more oxygen and the all-clear from both Jean and Hank, but your limbs were heavy with exhaustion. You hadn’t even mustered the strength to peel off your boots. That’s how Logan found you.

“You still sittin’ here like that?” He murmured, stepping inside.

You looked up, managing a tired smile. “Didn’t feel like moving.”

His eyes scanned you with that unreadable look. He wasn’t panicked like before, but still intense, like he was cataloging every slow breath you took just in case. Then, without a word, he stepped forward and bent down.

“What are you—?” He quickly stopped you up. You gasped, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. “Logan, I can walk—“

“Yeah, well, I can carry,” he responded simply, already striding down the hallway. 

You didn’t argue. Every step Logan took was deliberate, as if he didn’t trust the world not to knock you out of his arms. When he reached you room, he budged the door open with his shoulder and walked straight to your bed. He laid you down gently, like you might break, then crouched at your side to tug off your boots and set them aside. You watched him in silence, too tired to speak. Then he surprised you again. He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling off his own boots, then swinging his legs up and sliding under the covers beside you.

“Move over,” he grunted.

You did— heart hammering a little— and he settle din behind you, sting arm sliding around your wait like it belonged there. His other hand curled protectively on your shoulder, thumb brushing your collarbone. You let out a long, shuddery breath as you melted into him.

“You don’t have to stay,” you whispered, even though you desperately wanted him to.

“I have to,” he responded softly. “You nearly stopped breathin’ right in front of me.  You think I’m sleepin’ in my own bed after that?”

You didn’t answer, just nodded and shifted to rest your head beneath his chin. A long silence stretched between you. His fingers kept a slow, soothing rhythm against your arm.

“You scared the hell outta me, y’know,” his voice was low and quiet.

“I know… I was scared too.”

He pulled you closer. “Well, nothin’ to worry about now. I’ve got you.”

~~~

You woke late, groggy but alive. Logan wasn’t beside you anymore, which made your heart clench. You sat up and looked around to see if he was still in the room, all you found was that things were different. Your nightstand had been reorganized. A fresh inhaler sat in its original packaging next to a backup. A small plastic container held individually wrapped protein bars, electrolyte drink packets, and a water bottle. A sticky note, written in Logan’s messy handwriting, was stuck to the wall.

You don’t get to scare the shit outta me again. - L

You pressed your lips together to keep from smiling too wide. You slipped out of bed and over to your closet, where you found two of his flannels hanging in your closet. It was territorial in the gentlest way possible. You changed into one of the flannels without hesitation.

~~~

A week later… 

You were on the training deck, running drills. Logan lingered by the wall, watching as you finished your routine. When you caught his eye, he gave you a nod— his version of a compliment. Later, in the locker room, he found you alone. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“Been thinkin’,” he muttered.

“That’s dangerous,” you teased.

His lips quirked. Then he stepped closer, voice dropping low. “I meant what I said, y’know. I got you. Every breath. Every day… And I know you’re still gettin’ used to me. To… this.” He gestured between you with a rough hand. “I am too. But I’m not goin’ anywhere.” There was a beat of silence. Then he stepped closer and cupped your face with both hands. “I love you.”

The confession hit you gently and with weight. It was just a simple truth. 

You reached up, fingers curling around his wrists. “I love you, too.”

He let out a breath like he’d been holding it in for weeks. Then he kissed you like the world had finally lined up in his favor.

[christinariccidaily]

Day 1512

Reluctantly crouched at the starting line, engines pumping and thumping in time

[daryldove]

Mommy Issues

kinktober #8: bondage

nsfw, sub!daryl x fem!reader, mommy kink

Stepping into the cold, damp room, your prisoner looks up at you through his hair. 

“Daryl. That's your name, right?” He doesn't even blink. You return his silence with an exasperated sigh before motioning for your guards to leave. Only once the door clicks shut do you approach him, the echo of your steps slicing through the silence.

Not wanting to immediately resort to violence, you crouch in front of him. “Where are you from, Daryl? Got a camp nearby? A group, maybe?” Still nothing. You didn't exactly have anything wrong with him or his people existing nearby, but you at least wanted to know about it, so his refusal to cooperate only pisses you off. 

“If you don't work with me, things aren't going to be easy.” You stand up after still receiving no answer. There's a small table shoved in the corner of the room lined with tools that you peer at. You didn't exactly want to hurt him, but you didn't have a choice if it's the only way to get him to cooperate. Maybe scaring him would be enough. You wrap your fingers around the handle of a small knife and bring it over to him. 

Daryl's eyes are glued onto the weapon as you stand inches away from him, his expression remains stoic. “Talk to me, before I'm forced to do something we both won't like.” His gaze flicks up to yours, eyes almost challenging your bluff. The knife tip falls to his thigh, barely even pressing against him. You stare at each other for what feels like minutes. When you finally speak again, your tone is as authoritative as you can force it to be. “Talk.” 

You add pressure against his thigh as he doesn't answer, only pulling a very slight grimace from him that you would've missed if you weren't assessing him so carefully. This whole situation was really starting to irritate you, never before had you met someone so stubborn. You look down to press the blade against him harder when something else catches your eye, making you immediately freeze. Daryl's cheeks grow red once he realises where you're looking. You stand there for what feels like minutes, completely speechless as you stare in surprise at the prominent bulge in his jeans. That's… Very unexpected. 

You swallow. In embarrassment? Discomfort? You're not completely sure. But you're not disgusted. Pulling the knife away from his thigh, you step back to observe him. From his ashamed expression to his broad shoulders, the way he barely has room to even twitch in the tight bindings. His lap is perfectly on display for you. He's gorgeous, something you didn't allow yourself to linger on that. Until now. The knife is returned to its place on the table. Your thoughts are running wild, despite how you know they shouldn't. Everything about this is far from right. 

Daryl's cheeks turn a shade darker when you grab his chin, forcing him to look up, a gentle hand brushing the hair from his eyes. You were curious about what exactly caused the bulge in his jeans, eventually forming the courage to push the question out your lips. “What was it? The knife?” He shakes his head reluctantly, his jaw clenching as if its taking everything he has to hold back. Still shy, then. Your fingers trace down his thigh and over the small cut you made earlier. Maybe you didn't need violence at all. 

“Will you cooperate if I... touch you?” There's a heavy look in your eyes, almost like he's glaring. But it's deeper than that, you realise. A guttural desperation. He looks like a man who's been starved of pleasure his whole life. Of attention. His breathing quickens slightly as your hand lingers over his belt, before finally unbuckling it painfully slowly. 

“Please…” It's so quiet you almost miss it. Daryl's voice is strained and raspy. Hesitant. He tenses with anticipation, a breathy whine forcibly escaping his lips as you pull his cock free. Your gaze switches between watching his expression and watching how good your hand looks wrapped around him.

He grunts as you squeeze before pumping him all the way to the tip. “That's it…” You whisper, admieing the look of pure pleasure on his face has you enamoured and craving more. You kneel between his thighs, bringing your tongue to lap up the precum dripping down the head of his dick. You can feel the way his breathing hitches, how his wrists yank against the bindings and his thigh clenches beneath for palm. It's been so long since he's been touched like this, and something about you has him unable to hold back.

“F-Fuck, mommy…” You narrowly stop yourself from reacting, focusing on taking more of him into your mouth as your thoughts race. You never imagined you would like that as much as you do. And he barely seems to register he's said it.

Daryl is a mess under you, trying—failing—to thrust up into your mouth. His whines and grunts are breathy and desperate, sending waves of chills up your spine. “So close… Please mommy, let me come.” His raspy voice shakes as he begs, head falling back in ecstasy as his climax builds fast. You lift your mouth off him, admiring the way he whimpers pathetically in response. He's trying to hold himself back, but how can he when he's already crumbled so far. He’s been pent up for too long, and although he wishes it could last, he can't stop chasing it.

“Calm down, sweet boy, I got you.” You rub your thumb reassuringly over the inside of his thigh before dragging your tongue over his cock again. You feel it twitch your hand where it's wrapped around the base. Any previous plan to interrogate him is long gone, now all you want see Daryl completely melt. To give all the power to you. 

You lower your mouth inch by inch until you take all of him, humming in approval as he tenses. You already know you've pushed him over. The last of the dam breaks, his orgasm so overwhelming he can only release choked whispers. “Please, mommy… plea- please…” He releases into your mouth with a guttural grunt, practically sobbing as you pull off him once more. The sight of him— body strained, head rolled back and so exposed—ignites something in you.

You don't waste a second to climb onto Daryl’s lap, a knuckle grazing over his cheek as he tries to recover. Your eagerness to soothe him doesn't go unnoticed or unappreciated. But he still can't push down the lingering distress he feels from being so vulnerable, despite how confusingly right it also feels. You comb your fingers through his hair as he buries his head into your neck. Neither of you move for a while after.

[ewradical]

Short Fuse

Daryl Dixon x Fem Reader

Warnings: little bit of angst but not really, smut (oral f.receiving), alcohol consumption, kinda Somnophilia if you squint very hard

You were fucking sick of it, Daryl attitude was becoming too much. It went from harmless jokes and comments at home to him tearing you apart Infront of people and then he would wonder why you would cry.

The other night was the last straw for you, he had just finished telling rick about how he hated "The way I made that face at him" or whatever the fuck he meant. It was clear rick was uncomfortable and you were out any comprehensive judgement so you decided to confront him. A whole backyard's worth of people stared at you whilst you called him all manner of colourful things.

After a while, you ended up at home drinking away the sorrows of the night, Daryl had noticeably entered your personal space. He towered over you whilst you put the whisky bottle to your smudged red lips. "what the fuck do you want?!" You shouted at him words slightly slurred, why would he tear you down like that for a fucking audience of conflicted friends. He took the bottle out of my hand calmly, restoring it to its place in a locked cupboard.

Daryl walked back over towards you and crouched to reach your height whilst you sat on the tattered leather armchair. he tilted your chin with his fingers so you would look at him, His demeanour caring, completely juxtaposed to the Daryl earlier who was berating you to your peers. "c'mon honey you need to sleep" Why was he acting like nothing happened, you were questioning yourself now double checking you weren't fabricating the prior situation because of the alcohol.

You reluctantly followed Daryl to your bedroom, where he tucked you into bed attentively, you just lay looking at the ceiling questioning what he was doing. Confusion occupied your mind as you thought if Daryl had meant all of the things he had been saying about you recently or if he didn't love you anymore but didn't have the heart to say it. eventually you fell asleep drifting into a dreamless liminal state.

A warm feeling on you inner thigh made you stir out of your slumber, you looked under the cover to find Daryl between your thighs peppering kisses all over them. Daryl, now alerted to the fact you were awake started to kiss your thighs with an open mouth the feeling of his tongue making you shiver. "m' so sorry darlin I never meant to upset you" He mumbled into your leg. He trailed his kisses up towards your centre "let me make it up to you?" he looked up at you through his eyelashes, his head tilted with a crooked smile. God, how could you say no to that beautiful man. that thought was strewn by Daryl as he licked a line straight to your clit making every thought you had void.

As soon as Daryl put his lips on your pussy, you know, you're a goner. Holy shit this has to be best fucking apology ever. Daryl was taking his time with it leisurely licking your clit in small circles. Head on the pillow your back slightly arched as Daryl's speed increased, he was getting lost in it humming into you as his licks because more vigorous. Daryl was now lightly sucking on your bud, your head threw itself further into the pillow as moans mercilessly left your mouth.

Daryl persisted with his increased pace hastening you to cum. this just drove you more insane, you started bucking your hips into his face desperate for any more contacts you could get. Your wriggling hips get stilled by Daryl a he grabs them tightly, his thumbs pressing hard into your hip bones making you whimper out in pain and pleasure. Despite Daryl's effort you still managed to start grinding on his face, whilst you were nearly crushing his concentrated face between you thighs.

As you starts to grind your clit bumps his nose to which you let out a horrifically whorish moan, his tongue circling your entrance adds to this unexpected moment of ecstasy. Daryl moves his head to re-adjust and his stumbly chin meets yours hips as you hopelessly grind on nothing. The stubble brushed your clit and you were alight with anticipation, a harsh groan left your throat as you became disappointed that Daryl had stopped touching you for more than half a second. "needy bitch" Daryl rolled his eyes and slightly smirked.

He then grabbed you and flipped you so you were now thighs on either side of his face. you were taken by surprise when he slammed your hips down, pressing you into his face. His tongue licking you in the perfect spot as his hands guide you waist to move back and forth. "holy fuck baby that's so good" you hear Daryl mumble into your cunt. hearing him say that was all that you needed, your fell apart on top of him, babbling about how good it felt and how much you loved him.

You swiftly dismounted from Daryl's shoulders collapsing on the bed next to him. Daryl threw his arm over you flippantly, pulling you into a hug. he kissed up your neck to your cheek, grinning from ear to ear.

"I love you" he whispered into your ear as you feel asleep, leaving a final kiss on your temple.

[andy-15-07]

can you write reader helping calm down joel miller or javier peña after panic attack even if they try to show them away like they’re fine something like that angst❤️

In the Quiet

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader

Word Count: 1032 | Requests are open! (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The late evening air was cool as it drifted into the small cabin, carrying the faint scent of pine and damp earth. Outside, the crickets sang their rhythmic tune, but inside, the room was unnaturally quiet. Joel sat on the edge of the worn couch, his hands gripping the edge as though it might anchor him to the moment.

You’d noticed the signs earlier. The stiffness in his shoulders, the way his jaw tensed and untensed as he spoke in clipped sentences. Joel Miller had always been a man of few words, but tonight his silence felt heavier, darker. You’d learned to read the small shifts in his demeanor in the months since you’d started traveling together, though he often pretended there was nothing to notice.

But now, as his breathing hitched, as his hands trembled slightly against the fabric of the couch, it was impossible to ignore.

“Joel,” you said softly from where you leaned against the doorway. “You okay?”

His head snapped up, and for a moment, his eyes met yours. They were wide, glassy, and filled with something you rarely saw in him: fear. But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. He looked away, his lips pressing into a tight line.

“‘M fine,” he muttered. His voice was gravelly, but it cracked at the edges, betraying him.

You didn’t move closer yet. Joel wasn’t the type to take comfort easily, not from anyone, and especially not when he was trying to hold himself together. Instead, you stayed where you were, giving him space but not leaving.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” you said, keeping your tone gentle. “You wanna talk about it?”

He huffed a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Ain’t nothin’ to talk about.”

But his hands betrayed him again, flexing and clenching on the edge of the couch. His chest rose and fell unevenly, and he rubbed at his sternum as if trying to ease some invisible pressure.

You took a slow step forward. “Joel,” you said again, more firmly this time. “What’s going on?”

“I said I’m fine,” he snapped, his voice rough and strained. He pushed himself to his feet, turning away from you. “Just drop it, alright?”

But his legs wavered, and he had to catch himself against the arm of the couch. You were at his side in an instant, reaching out instinctively.

“Don’t,” he bit out, shrugging off your hand. “I—I just need a minute.”

“You’re having a panic attack, Joel,” you said, your voice steady even though your heart clenched at the sight of him like this. “You need to sit down.”

He shook his head stubbornly, but his breathing grew more erratic, his chest heaving as though he couldn’t get enough air. He stumbled again, and this time, you didn’t let him brush you off.

“Joel,” you said firmly, stepping into his space. You placed a hand on his arm, grounding but not forceful. “Sit down. Now.”

His eyes darted to yours, wild and unfocused, but something in your tone must have reached him. Slowly, reluctantly, he sank back onto the couch. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and cradled his head in his hands.

You crouched in front of him, keeping your voice calm and steady. “Alright. I’m here. Just breathe with me, okay?”

He shook his head, his voice muffled. “Can’t… can’t fuckin’…”

“Yes, you can,” you said, unwavering. “Follow my voice. In through your nose, nice and slow.”

He tried, but his breath hitched again, and he let out a low, frustrated growl. “Ain’t… ain’t that easy,” he muttered, his words barely audible.

“I know it’s not,” you said gently. “But you’ve got this. You’re okay, Joel. Just keep trying. In through your nose, hold it for a second, then out through your mouth.”

You demonstrated for him, exaggerating the motion so he could see it. It took a few tries, but eventually, his breathing began to slow, falling into a shaky rhythm that matched yours.

“That’s it,” you said softly. “You’re doing good.”

He didn’t respond, but his shoulders began to relax ever so slightly. His hands were still trembling, but the tightness in his jaw eased, and his breaths grew steadier. After a few more moments, he leaned back against the couch, letting out a long, shuddering exhale.

You stayed where you were, watching him carefully. “You alright?”

He nodded after a beat, though he didn’t meet your eyes. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” you said, straightening up and sitting down beside him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Ain’t much to say. Just… got caught up in my head, I guess.”

You didn’t push him. Joel wasn’t the type to spill his guts, and you knew better than to expect him to. Instead, you leaned back and let the silence stretch, offering your presence without pressing him for more.

After a while, he spoke again, his voice quieter this time. “It’s the nights that get me sometimes. Too quiet. Gives me too much time to think.”

You nodded, understanding the unspoken weight of his words. The nights were when the ghosts came out, when the memories crept in and refused to leave. You’d had your own share of them, and you knew how suffocating they could be.

“I get it,” you said softly. “It’s hard to outrun your thoughts.”

He glanced at you then, his gaze searching. “How d’you do it?”

You offered a small, sad smile. “Some nights I don’t. But when it gets bad, I try to focus on what’s right in front of me. Little things. The sound of the wind, the way the stars look, stuff like that. It doesn’t fix it, but it helps.”

He was quiet for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. I’ll try that.”

You didn’t say anything else, and neither did he. The two of you sat there in the quiet, the night stretching on around you. And for the first time in a long while, Joel let himself lean into the presence of someone else, finding a fragile kind of solace in the quiet.

[sheriffaxolotl]

Deadline 💻 Abby Anderson

Paring: Abby Anderson x f!Reader Prompt: Kiss to the forehead

You don’t notice Abby enter the room.

You’re hunched over your laptop at the dining table, keys clicking in rapid, uneven bursts. A cold cup of coffee sits forgotten at your elbow. Your notes are scattered across the surface like they tried to form a coherent argument and gave up halfway through.

It’s 10:53 PM. The essay is due at midnight.

You’re still in pajamas, hair a mess, foot tapping the floor like it’s keeping time in a war drum cadence. You haven’t blinked in what feels like ten minutes.

“Hey,” comes Abby’s voice in a low, warm, careful tone. You barely look up.

“Hey.” Yours is clipped. “Can’t talk. Essay. Dying.”

Abby leans against the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. She’s in her pajamas, hair still damp from a recent shower, her brow slightly furrowed.

“You’ve been at this for hours,” she says gently.

“I have to finish.”

She nods once, like she’s respecting the battlefield. Then she disappears.

You half expect her to just give you space. Maybe she should. Maybe you want her to.

But less than two minutes later, she’s back—quiet as a ghost—with a glass of water and a granola bar. She places them at your elbow, then crouches down beside you. Her hand lands on your knee, grounding you.

“Babe. Look at me.”

You do, reluctantly. Your eyes are glassy. She sees it all. The guilt, the panic, the exhaustion you’ve been duct-taping together for the last four hours.

“I know you think you have to suffer through this on your own,” she murmurs. “But I’m here. You don’t have to white-knuckle your way through everything.”

You sigh, voice cracking. “I left it too late. Again. I’m so—stupid for doing this to myself.”

“Hey,” she says firmly, squeezing your knee. “You’re not stupid. You’re just human. A tired, stressed-out human who deserves a little kindness, even from herself.”

“I’m not even halfway.”

“Okay. So we break it down. You read me what you’ve got, and we’ll figure out the next step together.”

You blink, surprised. “You want to help me write it?”

“I want to help you breathe,” she corrects, brushing a few strands of hair from your face. “But if that means outlining a paragraph on the economic impact of 19th century trade policy or whatever nightmare you signed up for, I’m in.”

That pulls the smallest laugh from you—choked but real. Abby stands up, leans down, and kisses your forehead with exaggerated care like you're made of glass.

“I’ll grab snacks,” she says, flashing a grin. “We’re pulling a mini all-nighter, baby.”

Time slips by. You write. She keeps you grounded. When your brain slows, she suggests snack breaks. When your anxiety starts to spike, she reads you a line from your own writing in a dramatic voice until you're laughing again.

11:56 PM.

You upload the document with shaky hands, then lean back with a groan, head falling against Abby’s shoulder.

“You did it,” she murmurs, rubbing small circles into your back.

“I did.”

“Proud of you.”

You shift just enough to press a kiss to her jaw. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

She chuckles. “You probably could’ve. But I’m glad you didn’t have to.”

Eventually, you both migrate to the couch, still in pajamas and wrapped in blankets. Abby pulls you into her lap like it’s second nature, and you melt into her arms like you belong there—which, you’re pretty sure, you do.

The laptop is closed. The deadline has passed. And for the first time all day, you feel like you can breathe.

Notes:

Can you tell I have a university assessment due? haha...

[huxhsz]

— weightless paradise

transmigrated non-mc!reader x caleb

prev ch: 20 - caleb┆series masterlist ┆next ch: 22 - home

This isn’t how the game was supposed to go. You're not supposed to be here. You're an anomaly. But if you’re already here, then… can’t you just enjoy it for now? Just for a little while? Before the main story begins? Before everything inevitably falls into place? ...Right?

cross-posted on ao3! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

CH. 021 — WALK

The sun is setting when the three of you leave the school gates. The air is thick with the lingering heat of the afternoon, but the breeze is cool against your skin. Eden is walking a few steps ahead, her arms stretched out like she’s balancing on an invisible tightrope.

“Did you see the look on his face?” she’s saying, her voice bright. “He really thought I was going to miss!”

“You almost did,” Caleb points out, his hands stuffed into his pockets. His expression is calm, but there’s a quiet warmth in his tone.

Eden huffs, spinning on her heel to face you both. “Almost isn’t the same as actually, Caleb.”

You laugh. It comes easily now—laughter, talking—so much easier than it was when you were in the lab. Back then, you were too afraid of drawing attention to yourself. Of saying the wrong thing. Of being punished for it.

But here… it’s different.

The air isn’t sterile and cold. The walls don’t hum with hidden machinery. You’re not monitored every second of the day.

So you talk. You laugh. You breathe.

“You’ve gotten better,” you tell Eden with a smile. “All that extra training with Caleb must be paying off.”

Eden grins. “Yeah, because I have a great teacher.”

Caleb’s eyes soften. “You’re a fast learner.”

She beams at him before jogging ahead, her black bob swaying as she spins to avoid a crack in the pavement.

You slow your pace. Caleb does too, adjusting to match your steps.

“You’re quiet,” he says, after a moment.

“Mm?”

“Usually you’d be complaining about how much homework we have.”

You snort. “Not my fault it’s too easy.”

You feel Caleb’s gaze sharpen. “Easy?”

You realize your mistake too late. “I mean—”

Caleb’s head tilts. “You’ve been finishing your assignments way too quickly.”

“…I just study a lot.”

“You don’t study.”

“I pay attention in class?”

“You sleep in class.”

You sigh, shoulders sinking. Caleb’s looking at you like he’s trying to solve a puzzle, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. You can’t tell if he’s amused or suspicious.

“Maybe I’m just naturally gifted,” you say breezily.

Caleb hums. “Or maybe you’re hiding something.”

Your pulse skips. He’s not supposed to know.

Before you can change the subject, Eden glances over her shoulder. “Ugh, I think I tied my shoes too tight,” she groans. She squats down to fix them. “Go ahead! I’ll catch up.”

Caleb slows to a stop beside you as Eden crouches, focused on her laces.

You look down the street. The sun is dipping behind the skyline, casting the road in soft golds and pinks. Your legs feel heavy. It’s been a long day, and the walk home feels longer.

“Do you want me to carry you?”

You blink. “What?”

Caleb’s gaze is steady. Calm. “You look tired.”

“I’m fine.”

“Mm.” Caleb crouches down in front of you, his back facing you. “Come on.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Caleb turns his head slightly. “You sure?”

Your gaze drops to the line of his shoulders—the familiar cut of his frame, the strength in his stance. You hesitate.

“…You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope.” Caleb’s voice is light, but there’s an edge of stubbornness beneath it. “Come on. You’ll feel better.”

You sigh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Probably.”

You hesitate for a moment longer. Then, reluctantly, you step forward and loop your arms around his shoulders. Caleb shifts beneath you, his hands sliding under your knees as he stands effortlessly.

He’s warm. His heartbeat steady against your back.

“Better?”

“…Maybe.”

Caleb chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest. He starts walking, his steps smooth and unhurried. The slight sway of his gait makes you relax against him despite yourself.

“See?” he murmurs. “Told you.”

You rest your chin on his shoulder, letting your eyes drift toward the fading horizon. His warmth seeps into your skin, soothing the tired ache in your bones.

You shouldn’t let yourself get used to this. You know you shouldn’t.

But for now…

You close your eyes.

You let yourself stay.

[chaoticnezz]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~You're favorite part about working with animals was when you got to see the sea creatures. You worked at a place that was like a zoo but for sea creatures (aquarium). Most of the time you spent giving the children a tour of the place, or just playing with them as the parents got a break.

"And this kids is the petting area, where you can pet all of the sea creatures. But before you touch them let me show you how to handle them, so that you don't hurt them."

The children surrounded you as you crouched down to be level with the water table. The table was quite deep filled with water and aquatic life. You gently touched a black octopus that leaned into you touch with each pet.

Softly you pulled your hand out of the water, "and that's how you should handle all the sea animals so please be gentle, you are free to touch them." Soon all the children scattered around the water table, all but one.

"E-excuse me miss but I'm scared to touch one what if they hurt me." You crouched down to the boys level and you patted his head with your non- wet hand. "It's alright they won't hurt you I promise, do you want me to help you pet one?"

"Y-yes please" "alright what's your name I'm y/n." "I'm Tim" you gently grabbed Tim's hand and slowly led him over to the water table. Looking into the water table you grabbed the friendliest sea animal you knew.

The black octopus it was about the size of your palm so it was small enough not to terrify any of the kid. You and Tim both crouched down at the water table. "Alright Tim I want you to meet, Minato if that's to hard for you to say you can just call him taro."

"Taro?" "Yeah, Why don't you touch him with one finger, to start off." "But won't he bite me?" "Of course he won't let me show you." You took one of your fingers and began to gently rub it across the top of the octopus, causing Minato to rub his head into you finger.

"See now you try" Tim reluctantly pet the octopus, only to calm down after seeing that Minato didn't bite. "There you go, see he doesn't bite." Tim smiled "woah, you're right he feels so cool."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You but the final starfish back into the giant tank. It was closing time and today you were assigned with the task of bringing all the sea creatures from the petting zoo into the ocean tank.

The ocean tank is basically a part of the ocean near the zoo meant specifically for the sea creatures that you kept their. The last group of sea creatures you had to move for the night was the octopuses.

And there was only one of those in the petting zoo area. Gently you grabbed the small black octopus and put it lightly into the bucket that was half filled with water. You walked so carefully as if you were walking on glass.

Picking up the octopus you bent over and placed him into the ocean tank. Standing up you turned to walk away only to get pulled into the salty water. You gasped for air as you made your way back to surface, only to get pulled into someone's chest.

"Love <3!" You could practically hear the love in their voice, the fact that their was someone in the ocean pool wasn't what scared you. What scared you was whatever was gripping onto your waist and legs.

You hesitantly looked down only to see black tentacles. You felt a muffled cry escape your throat. "Love? Ways wrong, do you want to go back to the shore?"

The strange creature gently put you back onto the shore. You turned around now being able to fully see him.

He had short black hair with blue tips, on his neck was a black choker with gold spikes followed by a gold spikey necklace, his ears were accompanied by dangleing golden shell earrings. His arms had long fishnet like gloves on, along with a black bracelet on each wrist.

His nipples were covered by a gold swirl thing on each side, both side were attached at the front by two lose chains. Where his v line would have been their was a heart shaped tattoo. Instead if legs he had the bottom of an octopus. The color of his tentacles were black while the underside was blue with teal suction cups. His waist was adorned with gold swirls and shapes.

Your mouth was hung open in shock of what you were seeing. You finally got the courage to look at the male in the eyes only to meet with a pair of concerned bright green eyes.

"Oh my it seems your dehydrated here let me take you back to the water." Before you even have time to object you were grabbed and plunged into the depths of the ocean. You struggle in his arms you captor not noticing until you body went limp.

You were on the verge of passing out when you were suddenly brought back onto shore. You began to gasp trying to intake as much air as you possibly could. "Love I'm sorry I don't actually know much about humans!"

"Love I'm truly sorry! so, please... Please don't leave me."

[jenscx]

TEENAGE FEVER — bang jeemin x f!reader

three adjectives came to mind when you thought of bang jeemin; irritating, annoying and unfortunately pretty. only when a particular feline comes into your life, jeemin tags along barreling too.

TAGS — fluff, enemies to friends to lovers, very minor enemies, almost rivals but jeemin’s silly, suggestive at times, oblivious!yn

WORDCOUNT — 5.9k

if there was one word to describe bang jeemin, it would be insufferable. the girl could prance around the school, slapping every single teacher (that was an exaggeration) and she could still roam free afterwards. it was infuriating being her lab partner, having to clean up every other mistake while she dazed off. a comment sight to see, jeemin would constantly zone out, leaving you to do all the work in class. she was the worst possible thing to ever come into your life.

or so you thought. it had been a simple monday when bang jeemin showed up to chemistry with bruises on her legs and scratches lining her arms.

when she sat down, there was a visible wince flashing across her face. reluctantly, you whispered, “you okay?” jeemin glanced at you and didn’t bother to answer, her brows furrowed together.

fine, you thought, i don’t care.

only when the teacher had finally finished his demonstration and you were about to start the practical, jeemin turned to you, mouth agape but no words coming out before resorting to just quietly stare at you with a solemn expression.

tired of her staring, you asked, “can you help out for once?” jeemin puffed out her cheeks and nodded. the sight… was strange. the bang jeemin you knew would never do such a thing. mainly sticking to cold looks and annoyed glances at others, you had never caught a glance of a pout on her face. she was known for being a cold beauty. it was rare to catch the slightest of expression other than indifference on her face.

while you watched as jeemin picked up a vial filled with substance and a flask of sugar, your eyes widened when you noticed the label on the glass. potassium chlorate.

“jeemin!” you yelled, grabbing her wrist before she caused a mini explosion in the lab. startled, she dropped the flask onto the floor, alerting the teacher.

“is everything okay there? what happened?” mr lee asked, walking over to the both of you. you felt jeemin tense up and her pulse began to speed up. while you were thinking of explanations for your mistake, jeemin had crouched down onto the floor, picking up the glass pieces.

a whimper caught your attention and your eyes zoomed in on a small cut on your lab partner’s finger.

“don’t touch the glass,” you exclaimed, pulling jeemin up and examining her finger before turning to mr lee, jeemin’s wrist still gripped tightly in your hand, “i’m so sorry, mr lee! this was my mistake, i accidentally scared jeemin and she dropped the flask.”

“i didn’t…” jeemin tried to say but you shot a glare at her to keep quiet. mr lee sighed, exasperated. “be careful next time.” you nodded, almost cutting off jeemin’s blood circulation with how tight your grasp was.

mr lee handed you a dustpan and you kneeled down to sweep up the mess. already annoyed, jeemin decides to add fuel to the fire, whispering quietly in your ear, “why did you do that?”

you shot her an incredulous glare, “i stopped you from exploding the lab, dumbass.”

jeemin huffs. you finish sweeping up the glass shards and the contents previously inside the test tube. your lab partner does nothing more but send you brooding gazes. you’re tempted to strangle her. after dumping the mess away, you spot jeemin wincing at the cut left behind. a trickle of blood slowly drips into the sink. her face turns pales as she watches it flow.

“stay still,” you mutter, pulling out a bandaid from your pocket and gently wrapping it around jeemin’s finger. the girl only stares, not pulling away.

“you must be clumsy,” you remark, “did you fall down the stairs or something?” jeemin scoffs, “of course not.”

you let go of her finger.

“why the hell did you show up like you got into a fight? the fuck could you be fighting? the demons in your head?” you gesture at the cuts littered across her skin.

jeemin groans, throwing her head into her hands, “i’m not going to talk about it! shut up.”

“i’m just trying to help,” you raise your hands up. jeemin scowls at you, but it slowly disappears as she examines the bandaid you had wrapped around her finger.

“hello kitty..?” she mutters, “are you six?”

you glare at her. so what if you liked hello kitty? the cat was cute! and you love cats! jeemin was just being mean for no reason. you couldn’t understand how the girl had suitors of both genders lining up for her hand. she was literally a satan incarnate.

“i’m not hearing that from someone who has the coordination of a baby giraffe,” you retorted back. your lab partner frowns and huffs as she turns away from you. your eyes are drawn to the pout on her face. immediate alarm bells ring in your head when your first thought was how cute it was.

“stop sulking and help me out,” you instruct, pouring liquid and chemicals from one test tube to another. jeemin, finally, looks up from her notebook, and lends you a hand. her compliance led you two to finishing early, even after the incident from before. you wouldn’t say you were a genius, just better than average at chemistry. and maybe jeemin was slightly alright. you had achieved the correct results from the test and mr lee even praised you.

finally having a moment of peace, you sigh, contented, sitting down on the stool. jeemin, however, decides to ruin it by prodding you with her bandaged finger.

after being the victim of jeemin’s poking for several moments, you turn to her, eyes blazing with fury.

“what?” you hiss.

jeemin cowers slightly. you soften up, not expecting the girl to back off. a second passes as jeemin gulps.

“thank you, for uhm,” her cheeks turn red, “taking the blame when it was my fault. and for the bandaid, even if it’s lame and you should grow up.”

the burden forced onto your shoulders lessen. your posture relaxes.

“it’s whatever,” you say, not wanting jeemin to see how her soft tone affects you. could you really stay mad at the girl when she’s looking at you with her big, round, doe eyes? no, of course you couldn’t.

seeing her downcasted eyes after your cold reply, you can’t help yourself from adding on, “thank you for apologising.”

jeemin’s eyes flicker back up, nodding meekly. a smile tugs at your lips.

you don’t talk to her for the rest of the period.

and you don’t notice the lingering looks she sends you either.

“—i heard jiyoon unnie and jungeun finally made up,” saebi rambles. you barely hear a word, while sarang converses with her enthusiastically. you’re more focused on the basket of fries on the table.

“what were they even fighting about again?” you ask.

“i think it was something stupid,” saebi straightens up, “but wait, you know the rumours about jeemin unnie secretly being in a gang?”

you’ve heard of it. they were the most baseless rumours ever. the jeemin you knew grows faint at the sight of blood. there was no way she could be in a gang. unless she was a very good actor, or stupid. probably the latter. the imagination of her in a gang was lunacy.

“i wanna be friends with jeemin,” sarang sighs dreamily, “y/n’s literally partners with her and you haven’t introduced us before!”

saebi nods, “jeemin unnie seems really cool.”

your perception of jeemin can’t be anymore different from your friends. jeemin was literally the bane of your existence. screw her and her good-looking face that always shot daggers at you. everyone that ever liked her was blind.

“she isn’t,” you blurt out, “she’s a loser.”

saebi and sarang only shrug your hostility off.

“you always say that,” the tallest frowns, “apparently koko saw jeemin in a dark alleyway and she was holding a mysterious bag. also, she always has those cuts and bruises!”

you smack saebi’s head, guffawing, “you trust koko?”

the girl whines and attempts to hit you back, but her attempts go futile as sarang rants about her next class. as your two friends complain, you think about saebi’s observation. even in chemistry today, she showed up with multiple scratches. was that from fighting someone? no way, you could exhale and jeemin would fall over. that girl did not stand a chance against anyone, despite her domineering height. she was like a paper doll, you think.

it’s only when you get up from the table you feel a warm splash of liquid trickling down your shirt.

“oh shit, sorry dude,” a guy, you’re not sure who he is, backs up, his eyes widening as your white shirt almost turns sheer and translucent. your two friends, dumb and dumber, merely stay rooted to the ground, mouths agape in shock. you let out a groan, hastily trying to absorb the liquid with some tissue paper that saebi had thrown at you.

sarang, who’s laughing at your misfortune, says, “at least it’s just water.” you glare at her, and then the boy in front of you.

“I’m really sorry,” he offers a lame apology. you nod, tired and frustrated. you didn’t have a change of clothes and the outline of your bra was becoming increasingly visible.

brushing past the boy who was still staring, you head towards the washroom swiftly in long strides. finally reaching the washroom, you stare at your reflection in the mirror before sighing and trying to use paper towels to rid the water. maybe if you soaked most of it out, the rest would just evaporate and dry naturally. your hands dab at the fabric repeatedly, but to no avail.

whilst engrossed, you don’t notice the washroom door opening.

“oh,” you roll your eyes internally, instantly recognising the voice.

“what?” you hiss at the girl. jeemin stands at the door, her eyebrows furrowed as she gazes intensely at your shirt. her eyes zero in on a particular spot.

your cheeks redden and the urge to throw a chair at her stupid face shoots up.

“stop staring at me, pervert!”

“i-i’m not! don’t accuse me of such things!” jeemin splutters, her eyes immediately snapping back up to meet yours.

“you were literally looking at my bra, you pervert,” you cover your chest with your hand.

the taller girl shakes her head vehemently, “it was just the first thing i saw! that’s not my fault.”

her flippant attitude only makes your mood worse. despite her previous remarks, her next words are full of worry and concern, “do… do you need another shirt?”

you have two choices. either walk around with a transparent shirt and be humiliated by everyone’s gaze, or take jeemin’s shirt and be humiliated by her only. well, your disdain for the girl can only go so far.

“give me your shirt,” you state through gritted teeth.

jeemin nods and hurries out quickly. you’re left wondering what have you done wrong in your life to deserve such an unfortunate sequence of events to happen. you send a text to your friends, telling them that you were just getting another shirt and that everything’s fine. they don’t even reply. your top was clinging to you uncomfortably now. how much water was in that cup? whatever, you just hope jeemin comes back soon.

a sudden thought hits you.

what if jeemin was pranking you and she wasn’t coming back? oh my god, it would be such a jeemin thing to do—

the door swings open again.

jeemin holds out a folded sweater.

“it’s not really a shirt…”

you snatch it from her, “whatever, thanks.”

she sends you an awkward smile that morphs into a grimace as you wriggle your arms through your own shirt.

“wait—”

you throw your wet shirt onto the sink, leaving you in just your bra before slipping on jeemin’s sweater. the taller girl lets out a sound akin to a muffled gargle of words. sending a curious look at jeemin, your face flushes as you realise what she has witnessed.

in your haste to rid yourself of the uncomfortable feeling, you had forgotten the fact that jeemin was still very real and standing there. and that she had seen you in your undergarments.

“don’t you dare say anything,” you warn, pointing an accusing finger at jeemin, who merely cowers and nods meekly. unable to stand the shy gaze she directs at you, your feet carry you out of the washroom, hand gripping onto your shirt and the other adjusting the neckline of her sweater. it was warm and soft (and maybe it smelt like the girl left behind in the washroom).

you walk towards your locker, some curious looks lingering on you. maybe they had seen what happened in the cafeteria. you finally spot your two friends at your locker. sarang’s eyes light up in amusement at the new piece of clothing article adorned on your body.

“hey,” she says teasingly, “what were you just saying about jeemin?”

saebi laughs, almost choking on her own saliva as sarang spins you around, reading the words embroidered on the back of the sweater loudly, “i-land dance, bang jeemin.”

your head snaps behind, neck craning desperately trying to catch a look of the wording. no wonder everyone was looking at you!

“are you dating her or something?” sarang continues. you feel an increasing urge to rip out your hair. a hazy vision of jeemin’s smug smile emerges in your mind. damn, she must have known it displayed her name so visibly. what the hell was she thinking?

“no i’m not and shut up!” you snap, irritation seeping into your words. your friends don’t heed your words and continue making sly remarks about the sweater hanging off your shoulders. the previous feelings of warmth and comfort disappear and instead return as a heavy burden that you carry around for the rest of the day. every lesson, you can feel the burning stares of your peers, eyeing the ginormous words on your back. most were curious, probably wondering about your relationship with the dancer, but a minority were envious, no doubt the long line of people courting jeemin.

you throw your head into your hands, feeling a brewing headache caused by jeemin. unfortunately for you, chemistry wasn’t the only period you spent with the bane of your existence.

a familiar finger pokes your side.

you resist the impulse to actually throw a chair at jeemin.

for some god forsaken reason, somehow, in every class you shared with the girl, she was seated very closely to you. maybe you really had done something wrong in your past life and this was god’s way of tormenting you. it is a good punishment though, forcing you to constantly be in the close proximity of a migraine personified.

your hand clenches your pen. there’s a strong desire to stab jeemin with it (you were exaggerating, you wouldn’t go that far).

“what do you want?” you ask, massaging your temple.

jeemin’s eyes dart away and a soft but strained, “I’m sorry,” comes out of her lips.

“for?”

“mai told me everyone was staring at you today, uhm, because of the sweater…”

you sigh, shaking your head, “whatever.”

jeemin falls silent at your reply. you bask in the peace for a while before she tosses a small object onto your table. you eye it inquisitively. a tiny lollipop shaped into a heart with a piece of paper tied around it with a rubber band. you stare at jeemin curiously as her face heats up.

untying it, you read the words, ‘i heard you like sweet things.’ the neat handwriting written carefully with precision makes warmth bubble slowly in your stomach. yet, unlike previous times, it wasn’t hot with anger or annoyance, but something akin to affinity and endearment.

the bell rings and jeemin is staring at you expectantly.

you nod at her apology and unwrap the sweet treat, eagerly putting it in your mouth. it’s strawberry. you wonder how jeemin knows. the girl packs up slowly, her gaze flickering to watch you every so often. you do the opposite, keeping your eyes steadily focused on shoving your pencil case into your bag.

taking one last look at jeemin, you pull the lollipop out of your mouth and mutter, “see you tomorrow.”

you don’t stay long enough to watch her face light up with surprise.

an unfortunate part of not partaking in any sports extracurriculars was that you had to take the initiative in staying fit. there wasn’t any training forcing you to run laps or do burpees, hence the reason you were putting on running shoes at six in the morning. a regretful consequence of not joining any sports back in your first year but at least you didn’t have to run rounds around the field every week. at most, you went on a run in particularly good moods. and perhaps the lingering taste of that sweet strawberry flavour boosts your mood enough to endure a sweaty morning run.

you had to clear your mind anyway from thoughts that gravitate around the tall dancer. since when did you find her luscious black hair and luminous skin so attractive? and when have you ever felt something else for her other than murderous intent?

someone must be performing black magic on you because there was no way in hell you could develop any form of attraction for bang jeemin.

taking the same route you do every time, you appreciate the greenery and serene nature that surrounded your neighbourhood. you felt at peace with every metre you ran. well, if peace meant the lingering thought of jeemin.

your eyes trail over the various shades of green splattered around, lips twitching upwards every time you spot a puppy being walked. despite your distaste for any physical activity, running has become sort of a meditation for you. koko had mentioned it offhandedly, saying that dancing provided getaway time from the daily stressors in her life. you wonder if jeemin feels the same way.

ugh, you really couldn’t go a second without thinking about her.

inching closer to the bakery that you would always get your breakfast from, your ears perk up at the sudden meows that penetrate the quiet peace. looking around hastily, you locate the sound coming from a dark alleyway right in between the bakery and another shop.

induced with concern (and fear, what if you got kidnapped? you’ve seen kidnappers lure people with children before, who’s to say they haven’t done it with animals?), you peek around the corner warily. a figure, hunched over, covers the source of the sound. was this person doing something to the cat?

“what are you doing—?”

the person jolts up and falls down from their crouching position. you splutter with laughter accidentally. on the ground, fallen, you get a good look at the person’s face.

“bang jeemin,” you ask in surprise, “what are you doing here?”

the stranger, or jeemin, merely stares at you in shock, her big round eyes widened as she tightens her grip on a heavy bag of cat food.

“uh, i’m feeding…” jeemin gestures to the cat who’s eagerly chewing on its kibble, “meowie. i’m not allowed to bring him home.”

meowie? what type of name was meowie?

all danger signs of getting too close to jeemin fly out your head the moment you lay eyes on the cute cat. a tiny bombay cat. what a cutie!

“meowie? you couldn’t come up with a better name?” you ask, gently stroking the top of his head, just behind his ears. jeemin’s own ears flush red, “he just meows a lot! i couldn’t think of any other names.”

“how long have you been feeding him?”

jeemin’s gaze looks away, a face full of contemplation, “maybe… for two months?”

you’re instantly reminded of something saebi had said, or more so koko. jeemin, in a dark alleyway, holding up a mysterious bag. you laugh internally at the absurdity of it all. of course the girl couldn’t have been in a gang, she was just feeding a cat. you couldn’t believe how stupid people were to think that this loser could possibly be in a gang.

“sometimes when it’s raining and there’s thunder, i can’t visit meowie and i think he gets scared,” jeemin mutters, setting down the bag of cat food, “and what if he gets bullied by some kids or other big cats?” it’s such a stupid thought but you sense the worry in her words.

her eyes full of sadness and concern drives an unprompted stake into your heart. when she looks at you, it’s the pouting of her lips that causes the dam to collapse.

“i can bring meowie home,” you cringe at your own words, full of confidence, “he’ll be safe with me.”

jeemin’s entire face lights up and she beams at you happily, “really?! oh my gosh, that would be awesome!” your first thought fucks up your entire world.

you would do anything to have jeemin looking at you like that.

when did you associate bang jeemin with euphoria instead of hatred?

you didn’t have time to figure that out now. there was a literal cat purring into your palm, snuggling the extra warmth. jeemin is still brimming with delight, humming contentedly as she watches you interact with meowie. in your head, a realisation comes to mind, that spending time with jeemin wasn’t so bad after all.

over the next few days, the girl had accompanied you to get necessities for finn, his new name because meowie just wasn’t cutting it. you bought his bed, more food, some toys.

(“does he really need that many options to choose from? he’s a cat, jeemin,” you ask, pointing at the stack of wet food she had placed in the basket.

“our son needs to make his own choices!” you had briefly choked on your saliva when she referred to you two as ‘our’.)

jeemin had also whined about getting an outfit for him. hence the reason why he was currently dressed up in a shark costume, padding around the house. she had constantly spent her afternoons at your house, playing with finn and spending time with the cat. apparently, she wasn’t allowed to bring any pets home, despite her apparent love for dogs. you had engaged in a heavy debate about dogs or cats but ended up conceding when she brought up finn.

with more time spent at your house, it also held the implication of spending time with you. jeemin had become such an integrated part of your life that honestly, you really couldn’t imagine not seeing her every day. even in school, when you didn’t have the same classes and you could only catch a glimpse of her in the hallways, you would exchange shy smiles and waves, unbeknownst to your two nosy friends who were more engrossed in other things.

saebi had commented on your sudden glow, unfortunately, asking if you were dating anyone. sarang then shut down her question instantly, stating that a loser like you won’t be able to find a partner so quickly. maybe she was right.

you had also introduced jeemin to your parents, as per their wishes of wanting to meet the co-parent of finn. obviously, they loved her. your mum had whispered to you after jeemin left, saying she would love her as a daughter-in-law. you could only gape after her disappearing figure.

finn’s meows bring you out of your reveire. jeemin’s gleeful laughter combined with the domestic feel of the entire situation had launched you into fucking outer space. this whole feeling was unknown.

“y/n, isn’t he so cute?” jeemin giggles, continuing to snap a multitude of photos of finn, who was staring at his owner very indifferently.

you nod, not wanting to risk your voice cracking.

“he’s adorable! finn, come here!” the girl grabs the cat, hugging him closely. your eyes are drawn to her delighted face as she sighs happily.

a moment passes as you just watch jeemin cuddle with finn. she then turns to you, a pleased look on her face as she exclaims, “he looks kind of like you, don’t you think?”

your first instinct is to defend yourself. finn was a stupid cat who did stupid things, like constantly tripping over his toys despite being a cat, which last time you checked, is meant to be agile. is she insinuating that you looked stupid?

“you look like a dog,” you retorted instead, “maybe even a bear, but like a silly bear.”

jeemin scoffs, smacking you on the shoulder after letting finn roam free. “i do not look like a bear,” she says indignantly.

“ouch, you hit me really hard,” you whine, “it hurts, jeemin.” the girl actually looks a bit regretful and worried as she stares at your sore shoulder.

“does it really?” she asks, inching closer to check your bare shoulder. your shirt was slipping off, exposing your collarbone. her hand lifts to press against the redness, caressing it softly, “oh, it’s actually turning red!”

your face turns as red as your shoulder. you watch as her eyelashes batter and flutter, analysing your skin. her fingertips trail from where your neck meets your shoulder to the top of your arm.

“bang jeemin, are you a pervert?!” you shriek, pulling up your shirt and pushing jeemin’s hand away, “why do you keep feeling me up?”

“that isn’t…!” jeemin yells, “i’m not doing that! i was just worried! can i not be worried for my friend?!”

you’re unable to control your laughter at jeemin’s flabbergasted expression, aghast with indignation as she helplessly explains herself.

“so we’re friends now?” you ask, raising an eyebrow and nudging her with your ‘hurt’ shoulder.

jeemin flushes before rolling her eyes. yet, she says softly, “i’ve always wanted to be friends with you.”

it hits you then, that jeemin, unassuming and awkward, could only interact with you through glares and hesitant movements. her zoning out during class was probably her thinking of ways to talk to you, if the way she gaped at you was any indication. you had taken it as a sign of disdain and dislike. it couldn’t be further from the truth.

“really?” you tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. jeemin’s eyes follow the movement before she nods bashfully. smiling, you mutter under your breath, “that’s cute.”

jeemin returns a smile as finn meows at you.

“I’m happy we’re friends now,” she suddenly admits, “i’m happy we can just talk freely and take care of finn together.”

“i’m happy too,” you grin playfully, “i thought you were a prick.” jeemin, thankfully, doesn’t seem too affected by your words, only shaking her head in faux disappointment, “i wanted to be your friend and you call me a prick?”

“i mean, you didn’t really help much during chemistry,” you offer gingerly, afraid to actually anger the girl.

jeemin groans, flopping onto her back on the floor as finn claws at her arms, “i was staring at you but you always looked so upset and pissed!”

that’s true. even your friends had commented on your resting face.

“that’s not my fault if you don’t like my face.”

the girl frowns, staring at you, “i do like your face.”

wait, what?

“what about the sweater, huh?” you choose to ignore her, pointing an accusing finger at the girl, “giving me your dance team’s sweater with your name on it! are you searching for trouble?”

jeemin’s hair covers her face partly, but even the redness of her ears and cheeks peek through the dark curtains as she murmurs out, “you looked good in the sweater— my sweater.”

a second passes.

“uh, great?” you blurt out. as soon as the word had left your mouth, you wished desperately for god to smite you down. the unamused look on jeemin’s face doesn’t help to ease the awkwardness either. what a thing to say to a compliment! not even a thank you.

a heavy tension falls and you’re left fiddling with your hands as jeemin slows her pats on finn, who ironically, seems to have a smile on his tiny face.

“uh—” you attempt to defuse the tension but jeemin beats you to it, interrupting, “i think i got to go, it’s kind of late.”

you nod, unable to even utter a single word. your mouth just opens and closes uselessly as you watch jeemin pack her things up and leave a lingering kiss on finn’s furry forehead.

silently, you wish she had done the same to you.

“see you soon, y/n,” jeemin smiles, smaller than before but still retaining her natural cuteness. your heart aches at every metre she steps away. why were you so stupid and reckless with your words? jeemin had been extremely sincere but all you could say was ‘great’?

finn’s tiny teeth nibble into your skin as you bemoan about your stupidity. damn, you really should apologise.

despite your previous wishes of keeping your blooming friendship (and feelings) with jeemin a secret, it was getting harder and harder to keep your friends in the dark. but the look of utter shock and glee on their faces make you slightly regret your decision in revealing it to them.

saebi and sarang had been extremely unhelpful in constructing an appropriate apology. with sarang’s useless quips of serenading jeemin, (“you do know i can’t sing right?” you had said. sarang shakes her head, convicted, “it’s the thought that counts!”) and saebi’s equally ineffectual drafts of apology letters that could pass as love letters, (“saebi, i am not telling jeemin that our souls are entwined and when i inhale her, my body quivers with bliss,” you crushed the offending paper, disgusted. the younger girl only rolled her eyes and shouted, “it’s romantic!”), you had basically no idea how to apologise.

maybe you should find the wisest girl you know. eyes perking up at the sight of mai walking past, you quickly grasp the opportunity to grab ahold of her. unfortunately, and maybe to your friends’ amusement, jeemin was right beside mai. jeemin sends you a curious look but you hastily explain, “i need to talk to mai unnie, just for a minute!”

jeemin slowly nods, as if understanding (and like a cat!). mai raises an eyebrow at you, a gentle and encouraging tone as she asks, “is everything okay?”

you gulp, “i need your help.”

the faint snickers of saebi and sarang reach your ears. you send them the most threatening glare possible, but you probably just look like a fool.

“with what exactly?”

you eye jeemin and drag mai to a corner as your two idiot friends start chatting jeemin up in their own quirky ways.

“i kind of messed up and i’m pretty sure jeemin’s upset with me, but i really need to know what’s the best way to apologise to someone,” you exhale.

mai nods, a contemplative look as she offers, “i think jeemin doesn’t need a grand apology or gifts. she’s not one to hold grudges and as long as it’s sincere and truthful, i think that she would appreciate it regardless.”

it fits her. a pure and endearing person like jeemin would want a simple apology. it’s understandable. you feel immense guilt brewing when you remember how hard it was for jeemin to make friends at the start of the year. she was a transferee from another school and if not for some mutual friends, perhaps she would have ended up a loner.

“thank you, unnie,” you say with all the genuineness in the world. mai pats your shoulder and whispers, “good luck.”

you head back with mai, more confident this time. jeemin was giggling at whatever saebi and sarang were talking about. you hope that they haven’t said anything about you. god, that would be the worst. maybe sarang would even pull up that photo of you from middle school—

“oh hey, y/n! we were just talking about you!” saebi grins. you clench your fists by your side, resisting the urge to smack her. forcing a faux smile, you ask through gritted teeth, “oh really?”

turning to jeemin, she fails to stifle a smile and that’s when you know they’ve shown her the unforgettable photo of you.

“whatever, jeemin come here,” you roll your eyes, “i want to talk to you.”

the girl mentioned points to herself, “me?”

“is there another jeemin here?” you ask sarcastically. sarang nods, “i’m ryu jeemin.”

“shut up, sarang. and come here,” pulling jeemin away from your nosy friends, you bring her out of the hallway and into an empty classroom. luckily, most of the students had left already and you weren’t competing with the chatter from the crowd of people outside.

jeemin sat comfortably on a table, leaning back with her hands behind her.

“what’s up?” she asks, you can’t help but notice the hint of wariness in her tone.

taking a deep breath, you start, “i’m sorry for the way i reacted to your words the other day. i don’t know if it was your intention to like, flirt with me for fun or you actually have some form of feelings but i reacted strangely and poorly.”

“it’s okay—”

you place a hand gently on hers, “i just want to ask you something.”

“uh, go for it?”

“do you like me?”

jeemin withdraws her hand almost instantly, as if burnt and scorched, “what?!”

you frown, “you don’t have to react like that.”

“no— oh my god,” her voice is muffled by her face being buried in her hands, “i mean like, i didn’t know i was being that obvious!”

“oh. well, that’s good.”

jeemin lifts her reddened face up, staring at you with hope and adoration (how have you never seen this before?), “really?”

“yeah, would be really awkward if you didn’t like me when i like you.”

“you like me?” she repeats.

you nod, “yeah. i don’t know how or when it started but yeah. i just know that i want to stay by your side and be the one who makes you smile.”

it’s easy and refreshing to admit, because it’s true. almost possessive, you wanted to be the only one who got to have jeemin; who could hear her laughter, witness her beautiful smile and was allowed to hug and kiss her with love.

“that’s,” jeemin croaks out, “good.”

you tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, “yeah?”

she hums in agreement.

“i liked wearing your sweater, by the way. and i like your face too.”

“i can give my sweater to you and i like your hello kitty bandages,” jeemin says, a loopy smile engraved on her face. you store the memory of her smile into your brain.

“i would like that. do you want me to wear it every day? let people know i’m yours?” you ask teasingly. the girl actually seems to think before nodding firmly.

jeemin grins, her pearly white teeth showing, “that would be nice.”

“wow, and what should you do in return?”

“i’ll tattoo your name on myself,” she jokes as she hops off the desk, “imagine my forehead saying ‘my girlfriend is y/n’.”

you shove at her lightly, “i’m your girlfriend?”

jeemin’s arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer and into her embrace, “yes, no backing out now.”

you throw your arms over her shoulders, giggling, “i’m fine with that.”

“that's great ‘cause i’ve liked you ever since you put on that lab coat,” your girlfriend (girlfriend!!) admits.

basking in the afternoon glow and warmth of jeemin, your heart feels contentedly full with affection and adoration for the girl. it only felt right to be in her arms.

you couldn’t believe you were saying this, but jeemin was the best thing to come into your life. thank god for finn.

[inkformyblood]

in alignment (MoShang)

Final fic for this set! Pining Mobei-Jun x Oblivious Shang Qinghua feat a realisation. First, Prev.

Fuck, he’s late!

Airplane scrambles for the alarm buzzing on his dresser, already trying to detangle his legs from the blankets — too many, his skin tacky with sweat — and shove his feet into slippers. He still needs to edit the next chapter and start the one after that, there’s a reader poll and comments and he needs to check his bank account to see how far he can stretch it for the bills this week and—

Shang Qinghua yelps as a cold hand brushes against the back of his neck before he’s lifted by the back of his robes, the blankets drawn from the knot around his thighs, and he’s dropped back onto the bed. He bounces slightly, the expected shriek of springs or the thump of the floor beneath absent.  “My king?”

Mobei-Jun doesn’t crouch down to Shang Qinghua’s level, but there’s a decrease all the same, a deliberate shift of his shoulders, a curve of his spine. In any other cultivation space, he would seem out of place, but in Shang Qinghua’s combination bedroom-study, he’s complimented by the silver smoking pipe on his desk, the carvings an old legend from the Northern Desert; the hunk of gemstone he’s using as a paperweight and the larger piece that acts as a doorstop; the plants in varying stages of desperate drowning abundance thanks to the milder weather and copious in comparison sunlight. 

“Qinghua did not answer.” Mobei-Jun’s scowl deepens, his fangs indenting his lower lip. He’s braided his hair back from his face, a thin chain twisted alongside the strands and encircling his head. “This king grew concerned.”

The modified banishing stone buzzes once more on the bedside table. Since Mobei-Jun discovered that members of his court had been using the artificial portals to hand work over to Shang Qinghua, he’d altered the runes burnt into the foundations to restrict portals to just one room, barring entry unless Shang Qinghua permits it. 

Shang Qinghua scrambles from his bed, tripping over his own feet once more, only for Mobei-Jun to reach out and steady him with one hand to his chest. It’s a balm to Shang Qinghua’s overwarm being, his clothes clinging to the line of his spine, the crease of his thighs, and he can’t help but lean into it, for a moment. Mobei-Jun’s eyes widen before his gaze twitches away from Shang Qinghua to the bed behind him.

“You kept this king’s cloak?”

Oh. Yes. He had.

Shang Qinghua straightens reluctantly — half of his wardrobe is demonic in make so the cloak had been slightly more than an absent thought to take with him — and he turns to look at his bed. He’s got a few pillows (several), a handful of blankets (many), and stretched along one end where Shang Qinghua’s head had been, bunched up where he had tangled his hands into it and held it close, lies Mobei-Jun’s cloak. 

“This servant apologises?” 

“This king did not notice its absence. Qinghua is welcome to keep it.” Mobei-Jun doesn’t look away from the bed. Ice crystals bloom over his shoulders, exposed in the drastic low-cut of his shirt, a thin chain and the grace of a deity that hates Shang Qinghua keeping it up around his chest. Thin lines of silver embroidery bleed with the frost, crystals beginning to blur the outlines of a hulking monster and the smaller figure hunting it depicted across the hem. Airplane knows that scene; he’d agonised over the description for it for three hours and resorted to scrawling stick figures on a napkin for the sake of two lines of description as Luo Binghe swept through the Northern Desert Palace. It doesn’t mean it wasn’t important, the first true kill of the demon prince who would be Mobei-Jun, and Airplane remembers every piece of it. 

Shang Qinghua bows, the movement halted by Mobei-Jun’s fingers pressing beneath his chin, delicate enough to not break skin or even give the impression of trying to. “My king?”

“This king has a question for Qinghua, and a gift.” Mobei-Jun reaches into the folds of his cloak and draws out a small bundle wrapped in a brightly patterned cloth. 

“My king is too good to this servant,” Shang Qinghua murmurs as sections of his brain fizz into static as Mobei-Jun withdraws his hand from his chin. Shang Qinghua carefully undoes the cord holding it together. “Gloves, my king?”

They’re finely made, Shang Qinghua’s honed sense of quality bleeding through from hours of scrolling through items he’d never be able to buy but would bookmark all the same, and a more practiced edge from An Ding Peak. They’re a densely woven fabric in dark blue with a pattern picked out around the cuffs and the knuckles, a regional design from the Northern Desert. Shang Qinghua pulls them on and groans at the pressure against his joints, an ache he’d been ignoring for months carefully alleviated and he didn’t even have to go see Mu Qingfang. How did Mobei-Jun know?

“Thank you, my king,” Shang Qinghua sighs, flexing his fingers and oh, a full range of motion, how he’s missed it. 

“Qinghua accepts the gift?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Good.” Mobei-Jun’s grin is sharp, revealing a devastating set of fangs. “This king will announce the continuation of his courtship to the court.”

Okay.

Wait, what?

“A courtship, my king?” Shang Qinghua’s heart rate spikes. Luo Binghe’s future might be unfolding differently to how he’d written it but he doesn’t think that stealing one of the protagonist’s possible future wives would work out well if the original plot comes crashing down. And also, just who the fuck has Mobei-Jun been courting and Shang Qinghua hadn’t noticed? “With who?”

Mobei-Jun tips his head to one side, staring down at Qinghua with his brow furrowed. “With Qinghua. Did this king not follow human customs correctly?”

Oh.

Oh, fuck, those had been dates. Shang Qinghua is an idiot. He’s the creator of the universe and an idiot and he’s being courted by Mobei-Jun. 

“No, no.” He’s babbling, waving his hands as he speaks and he barely knows what he’s saying, only that he’s saying something because that’s what he does, and his creation, the best thing he could have ever created in a world that was never meant to love him does. “—upwards of several times, my king, and this servant can only apologise for—”

A hand on his head, broad and faintly clawed and still so blessedly cool. “Does Qinghua accept this king’s courtship?”

“I do.”

“Then he shall be queen, no longer a servant.”

 He wonders, not for the first time but the first in a truly practical sense, what it would be like to kiss Mobei-Jun. “If my king could lean down?”

It’s a little awkward; with Mobei-Jun’s fangs to consider (still hot as fuck) and he runs cool enough that Shang Qinghua sticks to him, but it’s perfect all the same. 

[thestarsshinebrightcomic]

8.101.566 - The Night Sky Apart

what is grief, but love's perseverance?

another chapter in the bag!! let's take a look at our theme

"The Distance", by Cake

♫Reluctantly crouched at the starting line Engines pumping and thumping in time The green light flashes, the flags go up Churning and burning, they yearn for the cup They deftly maneuver and muscle for rank Fuel burning fast on an empty tank Reckless and wild, they pour through the turns Their prowess is potent and secretly stern

As they speed through the finish, the flags go down The fans get up and they get out of town The arena is empty except for one man Still driving and striving as fast as he can The sun has gone down and the moon has come up And long ago somebody left with the cup But he's driving and striving and hugging the turns And thinking of someone for whom he still burns♫

Previous themes: Chapter 1 - "Pompeii" by Bastille Chapter 2 - "Black Hole Sun" by Soundgarden Chapter 3 - "Fire Coming Out of the Monkey's Head" by Gorillaz Chapter 4 - "Wolf in Sheep's Clothing" by Set It Off Chapter 5 - "Do I Wanna Know?" by Arctic Monkeys Chapter 6 - "Break My Stride" by Matthew Wilder Chapter 7 - "She's Your Baby" by Ween

i'll be taking a slightly longer hiatus this time around. chapter 9 will start June 24th. see ya!

.... and while i'm gone, you still have until May 30th to submit something for the second tssb book!!! mark your calendars and get started! you have 2 and a half weeks to submit something (or several somethings). details below https://thestarsshinebright.thecomicseries.com/blogarchive/48206/

Myu: U-um, she… She's… she's gone. Something terrible happened the day you hatched. A-and… we had to leave. Topaz: Did she become a Core? Myu: Y… yes. She became a Core. It’s just me now. (Atticus puts a whisker on her head.) Atticus: Hey, you still got me. I know it ain't the same, but… I'm not just gonna leave you high and dry. As long as you need me, I'll stick around. (Topaz hugs Myu too.) Topaz: I'm not going anywhere either! Myu: Thank you… That really means a lot.