#*pacing* in a week...a week.....a week and i will be free...

[nebularsung]

birthday mayhem | l.dh

chaotic boyfriend!haechan x birthday girl!reader

❝ on your birthday, haechan messed up the delivery address and had to race across the city to get your gifts back. meanwhile, he sent you on a sweet treasure hunt with help from his friends, each giving you cute clues and little surprises. you visited your favorite spots, laughed a lot, and felt how much he really cares. in the end, you found him—tired, messy, and holding your cake and flowers—just before he got down on one knee to propose. ❞

genre. fluff & crack ⭑ word count. 7.5k + 9 screenshots

content. birthday chaos... a lot!, haechan, as always, dragging the boys into his mess, down bad!haechan, fluff fluff fluff, haechan is super dedicated and you're his queen

“No, you’re messing with me!” Haechan let out a strangled laugh, though there was no humor behind it—only rising panic curdling in his chest.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Lee, but we delivered to the address you provided,” the delivery man replied, voice steady and professional—completely indifferent to the full-blown crisis Haechan was having on the other end.

He gritted his teeth, fighting to stay calm. “Fine! Then give me the address. I’ll fix this myself.” His free hand clenched into a fist, nails digging into his palm.

“I’m sorry, sir, but we can’t disclose—”

��Mark, I’m gonna lose my mind—” Haechan hissed, shoving the phone into Mark’s hands before he did something regrettable, like throw it across the room.

Mark sighed and took over the call, already negotiating with the delivery guy while Haechan paced the living room like a man possessed.

How could he screw up something this important?

He double-checked everything!

Triple-checked!

And now—God—your gifts, your birthday surprise… everything he had spent weeks planning was falling apart.

The ring.

His heart dropped to his stomach.

That stupidly expensive, carefully chosen ring that was supposed to slip onto your pretty finger tonight—gone, sitting somewhere across town in the hands of complete strangers.

He squeezed his eyes shut, cursing under his breath.

He needed to fix this.

Fast.

“Okay, good news and bad news,” Mark said, turning around, holding the phone in one hand, his expression a strange mix of sympathy and amusement. “Which do you want first?”

Haechan was already sitting on the floor, his arms locked tightly around his knees, bouncing slightly like a stressed-out child. His face was crumpled with panic.

“Good first. Please. I need something good,” he muttered into the fabric of his jeans.

“Good news: he gave me the address.” Mark waved the phone triumphantly. “Bad news: it's on the complete opposite side of the city.”

The words hit Haechan like a punch to the gut. He actually winced, clutching his knees tighter. He could swear he heard a crack somewhere inside his heart.

“Oh my God…” he whimpered. “I’m the worst boyfriend in history…” His voice cracked pitifully as he buried his face between his knees. His shoulders sagged as he felt the sting of tears at the corners of his eyes.

Mark stared at him in disbelief. “Dude, I’m starting to think you care more about her birthday than she does.” He crouched down next to Haechan, who looked genuinely on the verge of collapse.

“Of course I do! The day my beloved queen, my goddess, the meaning of my whole existence was born. How could I not?” He said in a dramatic tone, hyperventilating.

Mark rubbed his temple. “Okay, listen. What if we distract her? Y'know, plan something while you run around picking up her gifts?"

A muffled sniff came from Haechan. “Like what…” His voice was hoarse and small, barely audible against his jeans.

Mark paused, searching his brain for something—anything—that wouldn’t result in Haechan combusting from stress. “Didn't you say once that you wanted to do a treasure hunt with her?” he offered cautiously. “Maybe… this is the perfect time? Make it feel intentional?”

He winced a little, expecting the suggestion to somehow make things worse.

But Haechan slowly lifted his head, wide brown eyes gleaming—not just from unshed tears, but from the unmistakable spark of an idea taking root.

A dangerous spark.

“Oh, no. You’re thinking too hard—” Mark muttered, but it was too late.

That mischievous glint was back.

The same one Haechan always got before dragging everyone into his wild, extra ideas.

A crooked, teary smile spread across Haechan’s face. “This is perfect.”

Mark groaned, getting to his feet, scrubbing a hand over his face in defeat. Still, he couldn't help the fondness tugging at his mouth.

“Gross, dude. Your nose is running.” He tossed a crumpled napkin from the kitchen counter at Haechan’s head, wrinkling his nose dramatically.

Haechan laughed weakly, wiping his face, then shot Mark a crooked grin—bright and boyish despite the chaos around him.

And just like that, the mission was back on.

Haechan bounced to his feet, buzzing with frantic energy, grabbing his phone and firing off frantic texts to the group chat.

They were doing this.

He was getting your gifts back.

He was making this the best, most unforgettable birthday of your life.

The soft golden morning light streamed gently through the sheer curtains of your bedroom, casting warm patterns across the walls. You stirred beneath the covers, blinking away sleep as your eyes adjusted to the brightness. The quiet hum of the city outside drifted in faintly through the window, grounding you in the gentle hush of a new day.

You sat up slowly, hands running through your hair as you stretched your arms above your head with a sleepy yawn. There was a certain stillness to the room—a kind that felt like a held breath.

Then, the scent hit you.

Warm, buttery toast. The sweetness of strawberries. A faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

Your chest fluttered with soft recognition.

Of course he was here.

It was your birthday. There was no way Lee Donghyuck—your chaotic, loving, occasionally over-the-top boyfriend—was going to let you wake up alone.

A smile tugged at your lips as you slid out of bed and padded across the cool floor, drawn like a magnet to the source of the scent.

And there he was.

In the kitchen, bathed in the soft glow of the morning light, Haechan stood by the table, carefully placing down two plates like they were fragile glass. He was wearing your favorite hoodie of his—slightly oversized, sleeves pushed up haphazardly. His hair was a little messy, like he'd barely run his fingers through it. But his expression… it was focused. Delicate. Like he was setting up a tiny celebration in your honor with the tenderness it deserved.

He didn’t notice you right away. Not until you leaned against the doorway, your voice still touched with sleep.

“Hyuck…”

His head snapped up.

His whole face lit up—instantly. That boyish grin bloomed like sunrise, and his eyes softened like they always did when they looked at you.

“You’re awake!” he grinned, already crossing the room to press a soft kiss to your cheek. “Happy birthday, sleepyhead.”

You wrapped your arms around his middle, melting into the warmth of his hoodie and the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat. He swayed with you a little, resting his chin on top of your head.

“You made breakfast?” you mumbled into his chest, your smile hidden against the fabric.

“Of course,” he said proudly, pulling away just enough to look into your eyes. “Only the best for the birthday royalty.”

You laughed softly, and he looked so proud of himself that your heart swelled.

The table was beautiful.

Pancakes with strawberries and powdered sugar. Toast with a tiny heart cut into it. A cup of your favorite coffee, made just how you liked it. And even a tiny candle stuck into a single croissant.

You sat down together, sharing soft bites, laughs between sips, kisses peppered on your face, and his pinky brushing yours like a quiet promise.

But after a while, you noticed him glance at the clock—twice. And his knee bounced under the table just a little.

“Hey,” you said gently, setting your fork down. “Is everything okay?”

He blinked, then gave you a sheepish smile. “Yeah—yeah, everything’s perfect. I just…”

He reached for your hand, warm and slightly calloused from guitar strings he plays so often. His thumb rubbed soft circles into your knuckles.

“I actually need to head out soon,” he said carefully, eyes watching your reaction. “But you don’t need to do anything yet. Just… stay in your cute pajamas and wait by the door, okay?”

You tilted your head, suspicious. “Why?”

He grinned, squeezing your hand. “Because Mark’s coming to pick you up.”

Your eyes narrowed playfully. “Mark?”

“Yep. And no, I’m not telling you what he’s doing,” he said before you could ask more. “All I’ll say is—it’s part of your birthday surprise. And I need you to trust me, alright?”

You pouted, and he groaned.

“Don’t give me that face, babe. It’s already hard enough to leave you when you’re sitting here looking all pretty and pouty.”

He stood up, kissing your temple, then your cheek, then your lips—quick, fluttering little pecks that made you giggle.

“Be ready when he arrives,” he said softly, brushing a hand down your arm. “You’re gonna have the best birthday ever. I promise.”

And with one last smile—wide and warm and so Haechan—he grabbed his keys and left with a wink.

And you?

You were left smiling into your coffee, already wondering what chaos he’d planned with his ridiculous, beautiful heart.

You didn’t have to wait long. Barely an hour after Haechan left, your phone buzzed with a message from Mark:

[10:03 AM] Mark Lee 🚗: “Get that pretty birthday self outside. Your knight in slightly wrinkled armor awaits.”

Laughing to yourself, you headed to your bedroom, threw on something cute but comfy—something you knew Haechan would love to see you in later—and stepped out the door.

Mark was leaning against his car in a hoodie and jeans, holding out a bouquet of mismatched wildflowers with a dramatic flourish.

“M’lady,” he said with an exaggerated bow.

“You’re such a dork.”

“It’s my birthday job,” he grinned, opening the passenger door. “Get in. Phase one awaits.”

You buckled in, still smiling as he pulled into traffic. The ride was filled with Mark’s usual nonsense—playlist shuffles between R&B and some chaotic EDM, his one-man commentary show about the drivers around him, and the occasional side-eye when you asked where you were going.

“You’ll see,” he’d say with a wink.

Eventually, you recognized the streets. Your eyes widened as he turned a familiar corner.

The café.

Your café.

The cozy little spot you and Haechan always visited. The one where the baristas already knew your favorite orders and where you'd spent countless rainy afternoons sharing pastries and playful banter in the back booth. The one where one of the baristas had become one of your best friends.

Mark parked and turned off the engine, grinning at you.

“Alright,” he said, turning to face you. “Go inside. They’re expecting you. Oh—” he reached into his jacket and handed you a small envelope, “—take this. You’ll need it after.”

Your heart was already fluttering as you pushed open the café door.

The familiar scent of roasted beans and sugar rushed over you. And waiting behind the counter was Jaemin, flashing you a mischievous smile. You hadn’t even realized he worked today.

“Happy birthday,” he said smoothly, handing you a small pastry box tied with a ribbon.

You blinked. “Wait—did you bake me something?”

“No,” he snorted, already wiping down the counter. “Haechan would fight me.”

You opened the box carefully—and inside was a tiny tart, your favorite. Nestled beside it was a folded note and a small square Polaroid.

Your heart squeezed.

It was a photo of you and Haechan—candid and warm, taken from a slight angle. You were laughing, hand half-raised like you were trying to block the shot, and he was kissing your cheek with his eyes scrunched shut in mock exaggeration.

You swallowed around the emotion in your throat and opened the note.

Clue #1: “Where we first danced in public, remember? I made a fool of myself, and you said it was the best thing you’d ever seen. Renjun’s waiting with your next surprise. P.S. Tell Jaemin he’s not allowed to flirt with you today. Birthday rule.”

You burst out laughing, folding the note as Jaemin raised his eyebrows.

“Tell him I said that’s boring,” Jaemin called out with a smirk.

“I’m telling him you said that,” you shot back, walking out with the Polaroid pressed to your chest, heart already glowing.

Mark was waiting by the car, biting into a croissant like this was the most normal day ever.

“Next stop?” you asked, sliding into the passenger seat.

He gave you a playful look.

“Let’s go see how good your memory is.”

And with that, the adventure continued—your heart racing with excitement and warmth, wondering what Haechan had planned next.

The car ride to the bookstore was filled with the kind of warm anticipation that buzzed quietly beneath your skin. You were holding the Polaroid in your hands still, glancing at it every so often like it might hold some secret code. Mark noticed, but didn’t say anything—he just smiled to himself, clearly enjoying the mystery as much as you were.

Eventually, he pulled up in front of the small independent bookstore tucked between a florist and a vintage clothing shop. You knew this place. You and Haechan had stumbled upon it during a rainy weekend stroll months ago, when you’d ducked inside to avoid the downpour and ended up dancing clumsily between the aisles while soft jazz played overhead.

It was the first time Haechan danced with you in public—a silly, half-spun waltz right by the poetry section.

Mark unlocked your seatbelt with an exaggerated click. “Your next prince is inside. I’ll wait in the car so you don’t feel like you’re being followed by a reality show.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately and pushed open the glass door, a small bell jingling above your head. Inside, the world smelled of old pages, leather bindings, and something sweet—like cinnamon tea.

You looked around slowly. The sunlight poured through the wide windows in gentle streaks, casting golden lines across the hardwood floor and dust particles that danced in the air like little bits of magic.

And there he was—Renjun—standing by the poetry section with a small book in his hand, flipping through it with exaggerated elegance. He glanced up the moment you entered, his lips twitching with the faintest smile like he’d been waiting longer than he’d admit.

“Took you long enough,” he said, slipping the book shut and tucking it neatly back onto the shelf. “I was starting to recite sonnets to myself just to stay awake.”

You laughed softly, walking over. “Please. You love this place more than your apartment.”

He gave you a playful side-eye. “I do, but I don’t love standing around like some enchanted librarian while Haechan plays romantic scavenger hero.”

“Enchanted librarian suits you, though.”

Renjun pretended to gag, but his smile broke through anyway. “Okay, okay. Enough stalling. I’ve got something for you.”

He stepped aside and motioned to a display table behind him. “He told me to pick a book for you. Said it had to be meaningful. I had like… a crisis about it.”

You walked over and found the table set with a single wrapped gift—book-shaped, of course. Beside it was another Polaroid, this time of you and Haechan sitting in this very bookstore, sharing a drink while he dramatically read poetry to you from a worn-out book. Your face was blurry from laughter, mid-giggle, and Haechan’s mouth was wide open mid-line, one hand over his heart.

You smiled, heart swelling.

“Go on,” Renjun urged. “Open it.”

You peeled the wrapping back carefully. Inside was a copy of your favorite childhood novel—the very edition you once told Haechan your mom used to read to you from. He had remembered.

Pressed inside the front cover was another note in his handwriting:

Clue #2: “You always said music speaks when words can't. So I figured your next stop should be somewhere full of voices—even if they’re not saying anything at all. There’s a boy there with headphones always around his neck and the softest smile I’ve ever been jealous of. He’s got your next gift. P.S. Don’t let him be too cool! Don’t look too much, love!”

Renjun snorted behind you. “He called me at 1am crying because the first book he picked had a tragic ending.”

You laughed so hard you had to sit on the edge of the table for a moment, wiping at your eyes.

Before you left, Renjun pulled you into a rare hug, squeezing you a bit and kissing your temple.

“Happy birthday, idiot. He really put his whole soul into this.”

You clutched the book to your chest and headed out with another layer of joy wrapped around your heart.

Mark was already pulling a U-turn when you slid back into the passenger seat.

“Next?”

“The music shop,” you said, smiling.

The bell above the music shop door jingled softly as you stepped inside, a familiar scent of wood, old sheet music, and something slightly metallic greeting you. The cozy space was dimly lit with warm lights, and for a second, it seemed quiet—until, suddenly:

Strum.

A sharp, playful chord echoed across the shop, followed by another. Then—

“Baaaabe!” Jeno’s voice rang out dramatically as he slid into view on his knees, electric guitar in hand, strumming a short, silly but somehow impressive solo. He ended the riff with an exaggerated flourish, grinning like a kid at a talent show.

“You’re finally here!” he said, still kneeling like he’d just performed at a sold-out arena. “And yes, I have been practicing that move for an hour waiting for you, thanks for asking.”

You giggled, unable to help it, covering your face briefly as your cheeks warmed. Jeno chuckled, slinging the guitar behind his back and getting up to dust himself off.

“Alright, alright, now that I’ve thoroughly embarrassed myself,” he said, stepping behind the counter. “Time for the real reason you’re here.”

He pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper, worn at the corners like he’d read it a hundred times. “Donghyuck told me to give you this only after I properly welcomed you, rockstar-style.”

You reached for the page with curious fingers, and when you unfolded it, your heart skipped.

It was a handwritten song—one Haechan had written himself. His unique scrawl filled the page in black ink, little hearts dotting the i’s, and a few musical notes dancing in the margins. The lyrics were gentle, full of intimate lines about quiet mornings, soft laughter, and the way you scrunch your nose when you're thinking. One particular line stood out:

"You are the chorus to every love song I never dared to sing out loud—until now."

Jeno leaned against the counter, watching you with a quiet smile as you read. “He really put his heart into that. Even recorded a demo, but I wasn’t allowed to show you. ‘Too cringey,’ he said.”

You were already biting your lip to fight the smile threatening to stretch across your face. Your eyes watered slightly—overwhelmed, touched, and just incredibly in love.

“Oh, and before I forget,” Jeno added, pulling another paper from his back pocket with a dramatic flourish. “Clue number three. You’re getting close.”

You took it, still holding Haechan’s lyrics carefully in the other hand.

Clue #3: “He says he doesn’t like sunshine, but you’ve seen the way he smiles when the light hits the trees just right. He’s waiting where the trees hum with wind, and kids run free—the park, of course. Your next gift is with Jaemin. P.S. Ask him about the time I challenged him to a cartwheel contest. I pulled something I didn’t know I had.”

Jeno gave you a playful wink. “Good luck, birthday girl. And give Jaemin my regards—but don’t believe anything he tells you about that cartwheel contest.”

You laughed, clutching the song to your chest and heading back out, already wondering what Jaemin—and your boyfriend—had planned next.

Getting back to the car, you slid into the backseat, looking at Mark in the rearview.

“He really outdid himself this time, huh?” you asked, still glancing at the song.

“I fear he did…” he chuckled, shaking his head. “This man loves you more than anything on Earth… You should’ve been used to it by now,” he started the engine, finishing his sentence. “And better be ready for the next birthday, because I’m sure he’ll prepare something even bigger.”

You laughed, knowing this will be true. “This man is only making me worry about his birthday…” you pouted, thinking about how you could do something that big for his birthday.

“Let’s be for real… you’re the only gift he needs, dude.” Mark turned at you. “May I know where we are going next?”

“The Park, my knight in slightly wrinkled armor.” you grinned mockingly as he laughed. “With Jaemin…?”

“Don’t mention it, but he forgot his stop. He wasn’t supposed to be at the café… It’s his day off…” he tells, a hint of embarrassment in his tone while you just laughed.

Yeah, your friends were really sweet.

While you were off following beautifully crafted clues, laughing with his best friends, and slowly unraveling the love-wrapped puzzle he’d orchestrated…

Haechan was sprinting across the city like a man possessed.

The sun beat down on his back as he power-walked through the second apartment complex he’d been to that day. His hair clung to his forehead, cheeks pink from heat and sheer stress. In one hand, he clutched his phone with the cursed email from the delivery service confirming the wrong address he’d given, and in the other hand, he held the bouquet that he’d already fought for at stop number one.

He had retrieved the flowers from a confused elderly neighbor who was more interested in his “soft cheeks” and “nice thighs” than the actual explanation of why he was there. She’d patted his face twice before letting go of the bouquet, claiming he reminded her of her second husband.

It was traumatizing.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part stood in front of him now—arms crossed, hip cocked to the side, sunglasses sliding down her nose. An immaculately dressed woman in heels and a silk robe, tapping her foot as she leaned against her doorframe.

Haechan had survived a lot in his twenty-something years of life. Awkward first dates. A shattered ankle during a dance rehearsal. Once, a bird flew into his open window and pecked his ear. But none of it—none—compared to this.

His heart thundered in his chest as he climbed the creaky stairs to apartment 3C, flowers crushed slightly in his grip and sweat trailing down his spine. He’d been to the florist. And now only one mission remained:

The Ring.

His final boss battle.

He knocked.

The door opened halfway, chain still latched. She peeked through—a woman in her mid-thirties, glowing skin, silk robe, fresh blowout. Sunglasses on indoors. She looked like the type who had a glass of wine with breakfast and named her dog something like Versace.

“Yes?” she said, lifting an arched brow.

Haechan offered the friendliest, tightest, most obviously-fake smile he’d ever forced. “Hi! Good afternoon. I’m really sorry to bother you, but there’s been a huge mistake with a package I ordered. The address was wrong, and the delivery was sent here instead of my apartment. And the package—it’s, um… it’s really important. It’s a ring.”

She didn’t blink. “I received a ring, yes.”

“Oh thank God, okay—” Haechan said again, for the third time, panting like he’d just run a marathon. “But that ring is not for you, ma’am.”

She huffed, raising an eyebrow like a queen being addressed by a peasant. “The label had my address.”

“Yes, because I messed it up!” he pleaded, gesturing to himself in wild frustration. “I’m the idiot here! That doesn’t mean the ring’s yours!”

“I assumed it was from my husband,” she cut him off, nails clicking against the wood of the door. “He travels often. Sends me gifts. I thought he was making up for last week.”

“What happened last week?”

“He told me I shouldn’t buy a second blender.”

Haechan blinked. “I—okay, yeah, anyway, that ring? Not from him.”

“You don’t know that,” she said, already starting to close the door.

“You don’t even know if he’s your husband?!”

She pouted. “You’re very aggressive.”

“I’m in love!” Haechan exploded. “Do you understand?! I am in love with a woman who makes me want to write songs and cook pancakes at 2am and—and commit federal crimes if someone doesn’t give me her ring back!”

That caught her attention. She tilted her head, intrigued. “...Federal crimes?”

“Ma’am,” he said, clutching his chest like he’d been shot, “that ring was custom-made. Do you know how many hours I spent choosing the band? The diamond? I was gonna give it to her during her birthday dinner. With the cake! That you also have, by the way! I made it myself! It has pink frosting and tiny letters that spell out her nickname!”

She tilted her head. “Hmm…”

Haechan threw a hand against it, heart pounding. “Please. Look, I’m begging you. It was meant for my girlfriend. It’s her birthday today. I’ve been running all over the city fixing this mess because I got the address wrong and I can’t—I won’t let her think I forgot, or didn’t care, or didn’t plan everything. I’ve got her friends helping me create this whole treasure hunt, and she’s following clues right now with the biggest smile on her face and—and the ring’s the last one. It has to be perfect.”

“Please,” he added, softly now. “It’s not just a ring. It’s her dream ring. I saved for months. I memorized her Pinterest board. It’s got this little wave etched inside because she said once that I reminded her of the ocean. I’ve never given someone something so important in my life.”

There was a long pause. She tapped her chin thoughtfully, eyeing him up and down.

“I see,” she said. “Well… that’s very romantic.”

“It is,” Haechan said with a breath of relief.

“But also,” she added, folding her arms, “how do I know you’re telling the truth? For all I know, you could be a con artist trying to steal gifts off people’s porches.”

“I look like I run a scam Etsy page, not a crime ring!” he sputtered.

She didn’t move. Instead, she reached for her phone.

“I’m calling my husband.”

“Oh, come on—” he complained exasperated.

“No. If it’s not from him, I’ll return it. If it is, I’m keeping it.”

As she dialed, Haechan paced in circles outside her door, muttering dramatic curses to himself.

“Hello, babe,” she said sweetly into the phone, turning away slightly. “Did you send me a ring?”

Pause.

“No? Are you sure?”

Pause.

“A white gold band with a small sapphire detail inside.”

Longer pause.

“…No, don’t be mad, I thought it was from you!”

Haechan grinned.

Victory.

But then—

“What do you mean ‘give it back’?! It’s already in my jewelry box!”

Haechan’s head snapped up. He could hear the muffled voice on the other end, rising in pitch. She pulled the phone away from her ear, face souring.

Then she turned back to Haechan.

“Fine. I’ll return it. But you owe me.”

He blinked. “Owe you?”

“You interrupted my facial. I was mid-serum.”

“I—I can Venmo you ten bucks and a sorry emoji?”

She stared.

“…And I’ll leave a five-star Yelp review for your building?” he offered.

Finally, she huffed, disappeared inside, and returned with a sleek velvet ring box in one hand and the crumpled bakery box in the other.

“It’s not gluten-free, by the way,” she said, handing him the cake. “I checked.”

“I know.”

“But it’s really good,” she added. “Your girlfriend’s lucky.”

He took the box gently, like it was made of glass. The ring sat nestled inside, shining softly in the light.

“…So am I,” he murmured.

With a grateful bow, a muttered thank you, and a spin on his heel, Haechan bolted out of the building like a man on a mission.

Because now, finally—ring in hand, cake secured, though slightly violated, flowers salvaged—he was ready for the final reveal.

And nothing, nothing, could stop him now.

The soft breeze rustled through the trees as you made your way toward the wide-open park. Children’s laughter echoed in the air, mingling with the distant bark of a dog and the faint melody of someone playing guitar nearby. The path was lined with golden light, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the grass as it dipped closer to the horizon.

You didn’t have to search long.

There he was—Na Jaemin, leaning back lazily against a picnic table bench, hair glowing in the sun, a ridiculous birthday sash over his hoodie that read: “Agent of Love Delivery #4” in sparkly gold letters.

You couldn’t help but smile.

He spotted you, stood up immediately, and with a dramatic bow, held out his arms like a game show host. “You’ve made it, birthday girl!”

“Oh my god, Jaemin…” you laughed. “What are you wearing?”

“Haechan made me. He said it was either this or a banana costume. So if anything, I chose dignity.”

You snorted.

On the table behind him was a little box wrapped in peach paper and tied with a silver ribbon. Next to it, a mason jar filled with wildflowers and one of those tiny Polaroid prints—it was a shot of you and Haechan under a café umbrella, rain misting behind you. He had his arm around you, cheeks squished against yours, both your eyes crinkled with laughter.

“Okay, that’s cheating,” you whispered, already clutching the photo to your chest.

“Yeah, I know,” Jaemin smiled, sitting down beside you on the bench. “He kinda stacked the deck with that one.”

You opened the box next. Inside was a pair of matching beaded bracelets—simple, homemade, with tiny letter charms. Yours had the initials H + (Y) in tiny silver, and his had your name’s first letter alongside his. It was the kind of sweet that punched you in the chest a little.

Jaemin leaned his elbows on the table, watching your expression. “You like them?”

You nodded, biting your lip, a soft warmth blooming in your chest. “He made these?”

Jaemin nodded. “Stayed up till like four a.m. muttering about bead sizes and knot strength. It was like watching someone lose a game of Tetris in real life.”

You laughed, eyes still fixed on the bracelets.

“He really loves you, you know,” Jaemin added, gentler now. “Like, the mushy, ridiculous, ‘I’ll challenge my friends to public cartwheel contests’ kind of love.”

You blinked. “He what?”

Jaemin smirked, rubbing the back of his neck. “He was here this morning. Said the park was a ‘critical love station’ and dared me to a cartwheel contest to ‘fill the air with romantic energy.’ I think he pulled something, but refused to admit it.”

You laughed so hard you had to lean into the table. “Please tell me you won.”

“Barely,” Jaemin grinned. “I’ve got a trick knee. But I had something to prove.”

The two of you sat in the sunlight for a moment longer—you, sipping water Jaemin had thoughtfully brought, him watching the clouds like he was trying to spot hidden heart shapes.

Then he turned toward you with a glint in his eye.

“Ready for your next mission?”

You nodded, excited again.

Jaemin reached into his jacket pocket and handed you a folded envelope. Inside, a hand-drawn doodle of Haechan in stick-figure form, holding a giant tray of chicken nuggets like a trophy.

You read the clue aloud:

Clue #4 "Every birthday queen deserves a royal feast. A place with fries, shakes, and room to breathe. Two noisy gremlins await your arrival— One sings too loud, one eats like a rival. They’ve got your last clue and a sugary bite. Meet them at the mall, under the neon light."

“Chenle and Jisung?” you guessed, grinning.

Jaemin nodded. “Good luck getting a word in between them.”

You slipped the envelope into your bag, already eager to see what chaos awaited you next—and what Haechan had planned for the final surprise.

The mall was buzzing—kids darted around with ice cream cones, couples shared trays of fries under glowing fast-food signs, and the distant echo of someone playing piano on the lower level added a strangely dramatic soundtrack to your search.

But you had a mission.

You scanned the food court until you saw them: Chenle and Jisung, sitting at a table with a comically large balloon bouquet tied to it, one of which had your name spelled wrong on purpose (“HBD Y/N 🐸❤️”)—a Haechan joke if you ever saw one.

Jisung spotted you first. “She’s here!” he shouted, mouth half-full of fries, earning a scolding swat on the arm from Chenle.

“Swallow first, you trash goblin!” Chenle hissed, then turned to you with a blinding smile. “Happy Birthday, Birthday Girl!”

You reached them, immediately greeted by a cupcake shoved toward you with a plastic tiara balanced on top.

“You have to wear this,” Chenle grinned, holding up the tiara. “Haechan’s orders. He said if you didn’t, the whole thing would be null and void.”

You rolled your eyes playfully and placed the tiara on your head. Jisung clapped like you’d won an award.

“Now, before we give you the final clue…” Chenle paused dramatically. “You must pass…”

“…THE BIRTHDAY INTERROGATION!” Jisung declared, pounding the table.

“Oh god.” you murmured to yourself, expecting the worst ever from these two.

“Question one,” Chenle leaned in like a talk show host. “How annoying is Haechan on a scale from 1 to ‘I fear for his safety around sharp objects’?”

You snorted. “Solid eight and a half. But in an endearing way.”

“Respectable answer,” Jisung nodded solemnly, handing you a chicken nugget like it was a prize.

Chenle grinned. “Question two: Do you like cheesy love songs?”

You blinked. “I mean, yeah?”

“Good,” Chenle stood up, dusting off his hands like he’d just completed a job. “Because he wrote you a whole damn EP and plans to sing half of it in falsetto when you walk in.”

You laughed, covering your face with your hands. “You’re joking.”

“Unfortunately, no,” Jisung said. “We’ve heard rehearsals. It’s… passionate.”

“And loud,” Chenle added, handing you a small velvet pouch. Inside, tucked carefully, was a delicate key charm necklace—a symbol for the next stop.

Attached to the pouch was a final envelope. You unfolded it, heart skipping.

Final Clue “You’ve danced through laughter, photos, crumbs, and clues, Now it’s time to find the one who planned it all for you. Not a prince, but a loud-mouthed fool in love, Waiting where stars shine through the ceiling above. Penthouse suite, the view’s a delight— Come find me, my love. We’ll end the night right. 💛 — Your forever idiot, Haechan”

You held the note close to your chest, heart full.

“Ready?” Chenle grinned.

“Let’s go get your idiot,” Jisung added, wiggling his brows.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the top floor of Haechan’s penthouse—and right in the center of the room stood your boyfriend, panting like he’d just outrun a bus.

And maybe he had.

His shirt was wrinkled and half-untucked, his hair disheveled and clinging to his forehead with sweat. In one hand, he clutched a sad-looking bouquet, the flowers clearly once beautiful but now crumpled from their journey—one was bent sideways like it had tried to escape. In the other hand was a slice of cake on a plastic plate, frosting sliding precariously off the side. Written in shaky red icing, clearly done in a moving car or under duress, were the words:

"HAPPY BRITHDAY (Y/N)"

He looked like a romantic wreck—disastrous but devoted, with the most relieved expression breaking over his face the second he saw you.

“Hey,” he breathed, voice raspy from the chaos of the day, “Surprise?”

You didn’t laugh at the misspelled cake. You didn’t point out the crushed petals or the fact that he looked like he’d been mugged by the wind.

You just ran straight into his arms, nearly knocking the plate to the floor as he caught you in a tight, sweaty, messy hug.

“I missed you so much today,” you murmured against his shoulder.

“I missed you more,” he whispered back, arms locking around your waist. “I swear I fought off at least two minor gods to get your cake back.”

“Oh my GOD, finally!” Chenle shouted from the couch. “You look like a wet dog, Lee Donghyuck.”

“I told you we should’ve wiped him down at the door,” Jisung added, wincing at the sight of Haechan’s ruined shirt.

“I think the cake’s bleeding,��� Jaemin observed, poking the sagging icing with the end of a fork.

“Shut up!” Haechan barked over your shoulder, too tired to glare properly. “It’s romantic suffering, okay?!”

Mark walked over with a clean towel and patted Haechan’s face like a doting grandmother. “There, there. You did your best, champ.”

“I got the ring back,” Haechan mumbled into your hair, breath still fast. “That crazy lady tried to pretend it was hers—her husband chased me with a slipper, babe, I was nearly a crime statistic—”

“But you’re here,” you said gently, pulling back to look at him with a soft smile. “And you’re mine. And I love you.”

He stared at you for a second—dazed, overwhelmed, completely undone—and then gave you the most Haechan smile of all: crooked, tired, but absolutely bursting with affection.

“I love you more,” he said. “And next time, I’m triple-checking the delivery address.”

The boys groaned.

“You better!” Jeno called out, raising a soda can in mock salute. “Because none of us are doing this scavenger mission again!”

“Speak for yourself,” Jaemin said, smirking. “I got free cartwheels and cake out of it.”

“And I got to eat half the second cake,” Chenle added smugly.

“Wait, what—FIRST cake?” Renjun gawked.

But you were already pulling him by the hand toward the cozy setup at the balcony—a table full of candles, soft music, photos of your relationship strung like stars, and your friends shouting and laughing like they were born to make noise.

And amid the beautiful mess of the evening, you looked at Haechan—your ridiculous, stubborn, chaotic soulmate—and realized this was perfect.

Laughter still echoed from the living room—Chenle shouting over Jaemin about cake crumbs on the couch, Jeno and Jisung in a mock fight over the last soda, and Mark trying to get everyone to just sit down for one second.

But you and Haechan were out on the penthouse balcony, the door shut behind you, blocking out the noise.

It was quiet out here.

You leaned against the cool glass railing, the night breeze brushing your skin. Behind you, Haechan stood a step away, his hands stuffed in his pockets, face still flushed from the whirlwind of the day.

“Hey,” he said gently.

You turned, catching the way the city lights reflected in his eyes—warm, full of unspoken things.

He stepped closer, not saying anything for a beat. Just watching you. His breath slower now, but you could feel the tension humming beneath his skin, like something big was about to happen. Something he had been thinking about for a long time.

“I was gonna do this earlier,” he admitted softly, “but, you know… ring fiasco, stolen cake, getting chased with a slipper…” he rolled his eyes.

You laughed lightly, but your heart beat a little faster.

“But now…” Haechan exhaled and reached into his jacket pocket. Slowly. Carefully. His fingers shook a little as he pulled out a small velvet box—not in perfect condition, slightly dented from the day’s chaos, but clearly loved and protected.

He opened it with trembling hands. Inside sat the most beautiful ring—simple, elegant, glowing in the warm light of the city behind you.

“I bought this months ago,” he said, eyes never leaving yours. “I practiced speeches. Even wrote a dumb poem about it. Thought I’d have this perfect moment, you know? But today was anything but perfect.”

He laughed at himself, a soft, breathless sound. Then, his voice grew steadier. Lower. More serious.

“But I realized… I don’t care about perfect. I care about you. And I’d do this in a thunderstorm or while hanging from a helicopter if that’s what it took.”

He dropped to one knee, and suddenly the world around you fell completely silent.

Your breath caught.

His eyes were wide and shining, vulnerable in a way you’d only seen when he was really, truly open with you.

“I would chase down every wrong delivery, run across the city, fight a hundred angry husbands—hell, I’d go to the moon and back to bring you the stupidest plushie if it made you smile. Because you make my life feel like the best kind of chaos. The kind I want forever.”

He held the ring up to you with both hands, almost like an offering.

“Will you marry me?”

Tears welled in your eyes, heart thrumming wildly against your ribs.

And in that second, it didn’t matter that the cake was a disaster, or the flowers were half-dead, or that Haechan was still wearing mismatched socks.

Because here he was—yours, messy and beautiful and completely sincere.

“Yes,” you breathed, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Of course I will.”

He let out the loudest, happiest laugh—the kind that crinkled his whole face—before standing up and wrapping you in the tightest hug, spinning you around with such giddy energy you forgot your feet ever touched the ground.

Behind the glass door, a chorus of cheering exploded. You glanced back to see your friends pressed against the windows, jumping and shouting and slapping each other’s backs.

“HE IS ENGAGED!” Chenle screamed.

“Who’s baking the wedding cake?!” Jaemin yelled.

“I CALL BEST MAN!” Jisung cried, while Mark smacked him on the head.

But all you heard was Haechan’s voice, close to your ear, whispering:

“You just made me the happiest idiot on Earth.”

The penthouse had finally quieted.

After all the shouting, teasing, cake-smearing, and an impromptu dance battle that involved Jeno trying to moonwalk in socks and almost breaking a vase—everyone had left, or crashed in the guest rooms.

But Haechan stayed wide awake.

You found him in the living room after your shower, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a blanket around his shoulders, hair still slightly damp from when Jisung tried to pour soda over him "in celebration." He was scrolling through the photos from the day on his phone—zooming into your reactions, his friends’ dumb expressions, and a few blurry moments that somehow felt more special than the perfectly framed ones.

He looked up when you entered, and his face softened like it always did when it was just you two.

“Hey,” he murmured, holding his hand out to you.

You walked over, taking it, and he immediately tugged you into his lap, wrapping both arms around you tightly, like he needed to feel every part of this was real.

You leaned back against his chest, his heartbeat thudding steady and warm under your ear.

It was quiet. Safe.

After a long moment, he whispered, “You really said yes.”

You smiled softly, fingers tracing over the fabric of his shirt. “I really did.”

“Even after I showed up panting like a dog, with half a cake and flowers that looked like roadkill?”

You laughed, your head tilting to look at him. “Especially after that.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners, but they were glassy—emotions still high, the weight of the day slowly settling into him.

He pressed his lips against your temple, lingering there. “I wanted it to be perfect,” he said again, barely above a whisper. “I wanted everything to go right.”

“But it did,” you said, shifting to look at him fully now. “Because I got you at the end of it. A little sweaty, mildly traumatized, but still you.”

Haechan grinned, a breathy sound escaping him—part laugh, part disbelief.

“I think I love you more than I’m supposed to,” he said suddenly. “Like… dangerously. Like, I’d sell my liver on the black market if it meant getting you a second ring just to match the first.”

You snorted. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re marrying me,” he teased, eyes gleaming.

He brought your hand up to his lips and kissed the ring now resting there. Carefully. Reverently. Like it was a secret only you two shared.

After a long pause, he murmured, “I know I joke a lot. I mess up. I say dumb stuff all the time. But this…” His voice caught a little. “This is the most serious thing I’ve ever felt. I want to build something with you. A life. A forever. Even if we mess it up a little.”

You tilted his chin toward you, brushing your nose against his. “I don’t want perfect. I want you. Just like this.”

He kissed you—slow and full of everything he hadn’t been able to say with words. And when you pulled away, the grin returned, softer this time.

“Okay,” he said, tugging the blanket higher around both of you. “Then let’s mess up the world together.”

That night, you fell asleep curled into Haechan’s arms, your ring hand resting on his chest, the city lights painting lazy patterns on the ceiling. And for the first time in your life, the future didn’t feel like a question mark.

It felt like home.

BONUS:

☆ masterlist + notes. this one goes to my pretty @vanesycho my lovely birthday girl! hope you like it baby! i had so much fun writing it!!

★ @lyvhie @spacejip @zhapire @onriyuview @dinosaurtoothbrushwithninjasauce

[bugixxxbunny]

You're Superhero!

Description: just jammed backed full of anime men and how they show their heroism 😁 (Ranpo Edogawa, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Nikolai Gogol, Rin Itoshi, Nagi Seishiro, Bachira Meguru, Manjiro Sano (Mikey), and Ryomen Sukuna!)

Content Warning: (very basic smut) Impact play, thigh fucking, lazy sex, Cock warming, shower/bath sex, dry humping slight angst (if you squint) toxic relation (Fyodor) drug use, fingering etc.

Word count: 32,352

Bungo Stray Dogs

Ranpo Edogawa can't stand crime shows, but you love 'em every night after you both finish work, eat a full dinner, and bathe. You both settle into the queen bed; the soft black sheets envelop you two like a cozy hug. Ranpo grunts as it's Wednesday, meaning it's your turn to pick the channel. You always put on a cheesy crime documentary before you could even get a quarter of the way through. Ranpo would be whining, pointing out who did it.

You always praised him. The reason you loved putting these on was because you liked being amazed by your boyfriend. He never failed to impress you with how smart and keen the childish boy really is. Most people dream about superheroes like Superman and Spider-Man, but you always thought of Ranpo, how he warned you once not to walk in a certain direction or else your brand-new white dress would be ruined. Certainly enough, you had no speck of anything on your dress because of the route Ranpo encouraged you to take. How he automatically knows when you had a bad day and stops being so stubborn and becomes sweet and angelic He'd tuck you in and take the train to whatever takeout you wanted. Be patient he will might get lost.

Or how he knows exactly what makes you tick, what overstimulates you, or your version of right and wrong. So, three times a week, on Monday, Wednesday, and Sunday, when you get to pick what you both watch, you'd pick a crime show because you loved to show your superhero praise for all his magnificent deeds and hard work. You put on the crime show to rile up Ranpo. All the praise he receives goes straight to his heads,

"Whoa, Ranpo, you finished that one even faster!" You said, wide-eyed, you slowly moved closer each time he got it right. Your warm hand squeezed his right thigh; your hand basically felt like fire to the detective. His painfully hard cock strains against his boxers, making you giggle. "I hate when you do this. Can we just skip to the part where you give me an orgasm?" Ranpo whines, already knowing how your little game will end. "Such a good boy, Ranpo!" "Smartest boy," you snicker at the nonstop teasing that you couldn't help but let fall from your lips, pulling down his brown flannel boxers, letting his cock bounce free. It slaps his stomach softly before your lips suction cup onto his achy tip. "No, you always do this. I want more; he whines.

Ranpo shoves your head off. Tears of wanting and need, an insatiable desire, pool in his green eyes. "Mhm! Let me do what I want. I deserve it, m'yeah?" You sigh and press your plush thighs together, lifting your legs and giving your needy boyfriend permission. Ranpo smiles wide like a child in a candy store. He grabs your thighs with greed, pushing them to meet your chest, taking away your breath as he spits on the fat, sticking his stiffy right in-between where they meet. His hips snap immediately; his pace is sloppy and quick as he fucks your thighs. Ranpo's head snaps back as the underside of his cock brushes against your soaked panty-clawed pussy. "Fuck, it feels so good. I should let you pick what we watch every day," he moans out before painting your stomach and thighs in white. Maybe Ranpo didn't mind crime shows as much as he led on, but that's why he's your superhero; he wouldn't be afraid to pretend to not comprehend your little games only for you.

Fyodor Dostoevsky was the superhero in disguise. He reminded you that you weren't truly filthy and worthless because of your ability. He made use of you and understood you. Neither of you put a label on your relationship, leading him to refer to you as a subordinate. It was much more than that. Whenever Fyodor was cold, he looked to you, sucking your warmth like a vampire; he'd steal kisses from you like it was a prayer. At night, during the day, every moment of his life involved you. Even the more violent parts. You had already seen Fyodor as your knight in shining armor for saving you from a life of dread and self-hatred, saving you from yourself and the destruction of the harmful ability you wield. "Ангел, you look so darling in the dress," his voice purrs, making you snap out of your daze and bringing your attention to the present moment.

Fyodor claimed he had a job for you to do. He had bought you a new dress just for the occasion. It was white and had a pretty fluff. "It's real sheep's wool. You like it, Ангел?" "I love it, Fyodor. Now we match." His hand reached out, his fingers cold and clammy. They ran down your forearm before he linked his hands with your warm ones. Nothing was out of the ordinary except a feeling in your gut called doubt. You pushed the uneasy feeling down and smiled up at him. "Oh, little Ангел, I'm not done just yet." His left hand pushed your hair from your cheeks, clipping in a small hair charm. It was fragile and dainty, made from glass in the shape of a star.

"Beautiful," he said. His face wasn't full of emotion; it never was. His face had that simple smile, but that was Fyodor, your genius man. You tried to rationalize the conflicting thoughts and emotions you had as you both walked to the car.

The silence was comfortable. Had you been overthinking you and Fyodor's relationship? Maybe he was just your boss, and he didn't forgive you and the horrible sin of your ability. He wouldn't save you from the hell we call life. "Something is wrong," he spoke up. Fyodor always knew what you were thinking, but instead of lying, you remained silent. "Are we doubtful again, darling Ангел?" The silence emanating from you spoke volumes. "В свое время, мой ангел, твое желание будет исполнено, и я избавлю тебя от греха, который мы называем Способности."

You didn't understand, but you just turned your head to stare outside. You felt his cold hand lurk onto your thigh. "You may not understand now, but you will in time, my Ангел."

You finished the job smoothly, like normal. Fyodor didn't expect anything else from his favorite subordinate. "I'm tired," you mumble. You let your head fall into Fyodor's lap. "Let yourself rest; you won't be useful unless you're rested, darling Ангел." His thick accent lulled you to sleep to the sound of the rain tapping against the car window. His cold palm rubbing the scratches, that littler your skin from the assignment, the driver revving the engine, and the sway of the moving vehicle.

Once you both returned to the 'safe house,' as Fyodor called it, you continued to lie still. He picked you up and carried you inside to your room, placing you on the cushioned couch and sitting beside you again in comforting silence.

Once your eyelids fluttered open, that simple smile appeared on his pale face. "Did you have delightful dreams, Ангел?" Sitting up, he grasped your face. "Yes, Fyodor," you said, the doubt still evident in your features.

"Do you wish to know what was said on our trip to your assignment?" Your eyes widen before you could think clearly. You begin nodding, so eager for the knowledge. Whenever Fyodor spoke in Russian, it was to conceal something from you; you became so desperate to understand him you couldn't help but nod like it had become an instinct. It was. "В свое время, ангел мой, твое желание исполнится, и я освобожу тебя от греха, который мы называем Способностям�� means in time, my angel, your desire will be fulfilled, and I will free you from the sin that we call abilities.'" He purrs, stroking your face.

that's all you needed. Your only reason for Fyodor being your superhero, your savior, your reason to live, is in those few words you kiss him feverishly, unable to help yourself his hand adjusts you onto his lap, and the kiss was calculated and thought out on his part, yours were sloppy and messy, tugging at his coat and shirt. To feel his soft and delicate pale skin under the tips of your avidity fingers, he complies with your needs and lets you have at him. Your hands tug his clothes to the ground. before you can take off your own; his hands do it for you skillfully and quickly. "Won't you keep me warm, Ангел?" His cock was veining and somehow always cold no matter how hard and horny he was. You took your seat snugly on his cock while your fingers tug at his rosy nipples. Cock warming was his favorite. You couldn't help but indulge your superhero savior in disguise.

Nikolai Gogol makes you laugh That's his superpower. When you two are out and about, he tends to do an impersonation of the shopkeeper that kicked you both out of the store for being too 'rowdy,' or if you two are on a date, he won't stop repeating a phrase you thought was funny.

That smile. your smile is the only reason he allows himself to stay in his cage. Nikolai's superpowers don't stop at just jokes he will portal you flowers once a week all different types of roses, snowdrops and you couldn't even name them all they began to become bigger and bigger until you had to tell Nikolai to calm down on the flowers

his afternoons spent laying in-between your thighs these times are when he allows himself to be trapped like a bird in these wonderful emotions, he'd hum whatever song you had playing in the background while you both wasted the day playing games

today was different it was a sunny afternoon and you both sat on the beach the rays of suns tanning your skin and burning Nikolais you both were sandy along with being partially wet you had begun to pack up the beach bag wrapping up the towel and fitting them snuggly inside as Nikolai continued to run around and kick little kids sand castles down something you had already reprimanded him for "oh dove this was so fun!" Nikolai cheers, jumping on to your back and pulling you down with him into the dusty sand, causing a fit of giggles between the both of you. You roll on top of him. "Come on, wrap it up. I'm starving!" you say, catching your breath. "Where we eating, my lady?" he says, picking you and himself up from the sand. You wrap your arms around his neck as he swings you around in his arms. "Mhm, no clue. What are you in the mood for?" His eyes sparked with that mischievous look in them either he was going to quiz you or say something horny. "You're thinking dirty, aren't you!?" You bang on his chest, and he drops you onto the sand. "Pfft, you're no fun," Nikolai whines. His actions makes you roll your eyes.

once you both finally got home you pull Nikolai to the shower immediately sure the beach was fun but sitting with a sandy crotch wasn't. Nothing was perfectly easy with Nikolai around he whines and tried to pull away stating this was a way to free himself or some bullshit you shove him into the bath "strip" you groan exhaustion finally hitting as you peel off your clothing and mushy bathing suit from beneath Nikolai does the same not fighting much anymore you step into the heated shower and your body relaxes "come in its nice and warm" you let a soft sight as you let the water douse your scalp and run down your breasts he hoped in the shower a bit faster after getting to see this new expression of yours it was fascinating after a few minutes of feeling his gaze you open your eyes.

"Hi, honey you're staring" you teased wrapping your arms around his neck, the heat of the water and Nikolai makes you have that same expression from a few minutes ago. It wasn't a smile, or a laugh faces he had normally caused you to have this one was different more than different, it was special. A soft gasp leaves you lips as Nikolai hostess you up from your thighs "huh what are you doing Nikolai?" "relax my dove I want to make you feel good" he whispers into the shell of your ear. pushing your head to fall onto his shoulder his spongy tip smacks against your clit before he dives right in bottoming out quickly making drool seep from your puffy lips and ooze onto his shoulder. His thrusts are deep and considerate making you cream on his cock rather quickly he makes sure to keep that expression on your face for a while. You're hero enjoyed fits of laughter, but his secret power is relaxation.

Blue Lock

Rin Itoshi was the quiet superhero He was stoic with the meanest resting bitchface. He tried to be nonchalant, but once in a while he'd let the facade slip, like right now you sat in your shared bed teary-eyed. Rin had stayed out much later than he had planned training. You felt inferior because of his love of soccer/football, a race you weren't even trying to compete in. You wanted Rin too to continue the sport and be the best at it, but it came to a point where you questioned breaking up with him. Your weekends would be spent in the empty apartment alone, date nights like tonight forgotten. You broke down because this wasn't the Rin you fell in love with. The Rin you had fallen in love with was quiet. Snotty listened and never forgot a date; he was usually early.

A soft hand interrupted your thoughts. "m'sorry." His voice was quiet, and he stared in the opposite direction, his bangs brushing into his long lashes, concealing his eyes from your gaze. "Then stop doing it! The only time I see you is when you're sleeping!" "You know soccer/football is everything to me; I'm going to be the best striker." "I'm not asking you to forget soccer/football for me; I just want you to make time for me." The fat globs of tears continue to roll down your puffed out cheeks; they weren't tears of sadness anymore; they were of frustration. How could Rin not understand you just want him to be present? Rin sits down after taking a moment of silence to assess the situation. "Please don't cry; just talk to me. I'm listening."

That's what made Rin your superhero. He sat like that listening to your frustration of being alone, how you fought to keep his attention, and how you even considered ending things between the both of you. This info broke his heart. He had remembered everything about your likes and dislikes. He spent 5 minutes picking out the food you hated most from a dish, your favorite color—hell, he had even picked his cleats to be the same color. Anything you'd name, he knew it, the way you liked his hair he took in consideration your opinion for every aspect in his life. Rin loved you deeply; so how did he let himself become so stupid, that what ran in his head the whole time you vented about your frustrations, you were rooted into him even deeper than soccer/football, and it took you crying for him to realize this. He had felt so stupid all those times he turned on y'all's song, (Oh My Love by John Lennon). He could have been with you once you had quieted down, and the tears were all dried up.

He spoke, "Forgive me; I'm not good with speaking about emotions." This was his way of letting you know it was your time to listen. "I've never been good at doing stuff like this. I won't make an excuse because I don't want you to leave. I can only show in results, but you won't see them if you end it now." You watch as his eyes shut, his long lashes casting a shadow over his face. "What I'm trying to say is I'm sorry and give me a second chance to be better and let me make it up to you...please." You couldn't help but giggle; it made you feel good to know he was human too. Your hand brushes his bangs from his eyes. "Even if I really wanted to, I couldn't leave you not like this. I'd hate myself for it, When I leave, we will be old and gray." "Don't be ridiculous," Rin spoke, but the tips of his ears were a fiery red, and his eyes were shut tightly.

"Does our date have to be over now, or can I make it up to you?" You remain silent, but the look on your face Rin remembered that one too well. His body shifted to sit in front of you, his large hands groping your breasts in a familiar way. How you like it mostly how he likes it. His strong, lean frame towers over you. Rin didn't tend to apologize in words; when he did, they weren't as heroic as his actions. He lifted you onto his lap; his hips found their spot nestled between your thighs. His groping continued with hot, thick kisses smeared down your neck; his hands couldn't help but use your waist to smush your drenched panties against his rock-hard tent. Rin may not be a hero of many words, but his actions will always shine through.

Nagi Seishiro was a superhero to save everyone else from your bratty attitude. Most people would think Nagi would find you a bother, but he enjoys your snotty comebacks, pouty lips, and stubborn huffs. You were classified as not a bother to him; he didn't mind having you boss him around. Instead, he preferred it, meaning he wouldn't have to think. You'd end up yelling at him for not completing a task you hadn't even asked him to do and just expected of him.

Whenever you got like this, Nagi had to pull out the 3-method strategy. Method one: he'd have to practically smother you into calming down. "Nagi, off!" You flailed around trying to get the large man off you. Nagi just sighs and holds you tighter, making you whine impossibly louder. Your resistance has Nagi realizes he has to pull out,

method two: He begins to apply soft kisses all over your face. "Please don't be such a pain. I'm sleepy," he mumbles, giving you those grey puppy dog eyes. Usually it worked, but his efforts were futile. "Ugh, Nagi, I swear if you don't let me up and do the dishes right now!" "I have to get ready; we are going out with Reo tonight!" You try shoving him off, pushing on his chest, but he is too large. "Eh, can't we reschedule?" "No, we did that the last time!" Nagi continued his soft pecks all over your face. "I don't wanna," he groaned.

Nagi was starting to become frustrated. Your stubbornness made him pull out the big guns. Method three: you could never say no to this one.

"I'll consider getting a cat." Nagi was sure this would work; it had never failed him in the past before. "You say that all the time, and you never actually consider it!" You puff out your cheeks. "You're being so difficult. How do you know I've never considered it?" "Because every time I show you cats, I want to adopt, you always say that pets are a bother and too much work!" Nagi couldn't believe his 3-method plan didn't work; it had never failed him in the past before. "Fine, we can get a cat if you agree to do nothing with me till the rest of time." "Nagi, we both still have to work!" Nagi lets out a defeated sigh and has to pull out his secret weapon, plan N (plan N stands for something Nagi wants nothing to do with). In this case, it was doing the dishes and leaving the warm bed that he desperately wanted you to stay inside of. He sits up.

"I'm becoming real annoyed with the attitude," he says, still aloof as always. He pushes your legs up an into the matting press position with ease and speed, pulling up his t-shirt that you wore as a sleep dress letting your tits bounce free and lazily moving your panties to the side. "Nagi, we don't have time for this!" "Hush," he said, smacking his puffy mushroom tip against your slick folds to silence you. He thrust into your mushy cunt lazily. He was deep and unambitious; he didn't care if it felt good; he just wanted to sedate you and his poor cock, which was your fault for getting it all worked up with that smart mouth of yours, so it was fair to say Nagi was a superhero of his own interest. He didn't use his powers for the overall good; he used them to support his lethargic needs.

Bachira Meguru and you had just gotten home from a rave night around 2:44 am Raves were something you both loved doing and had fond memories of since you two had met at Portola Festival a few years ago when Bachira had a soccer/football tournament in the US. Since you were both too high to function, you ushered Bachira inside the apartment, making you guys end up crawling onto the couch giggling and laughing. Moments like this were special, tangled within one another, being your goofy-Selfs exhaustion is heavy on both of your features, but Bachira always looks at you with those eyes. After a night spent with you, they express a deep satisfaction within him, like this is what he wanted;

He wasn't alone anymore. His warm palm plants itself to your thigh, rubbing and softly squeezing the skin beneath it. Bachira used the element of surprise when mastering his superpowers to draw you in like a predator. He was sickly sweet; he always was, and touchy like a clingy puppy crying for attention. few words were said in moments like this just your hands running through his short bob tangling deep within the brown and gold locks

"M'gotta let me dye your hair soon" you slurred burying your face into his neck his free hand glides against you back "whenever you want bumblebee" voice deep and compassionate his voice was always adaptable perfect for every type of event this is exactly why he was your superhero he knew your mood like it was his own his left hand lazily glide from your back onto your thigh on the opposite one from his right hands they both kneed the flesh "you looked so pretty tonight I couldn't take my eyes from you" you get lost staring at his hands maybe it was the shrooms you both have ingested but sparks ignited in you tummy "Bachira.." you whisper, whined "aww I know" he said his voice dripping with his usual teasing nature "let me just make sure, I do have the right away to play with you?" He gives you that infectious smile, "Yes, now stop being stupid!" You find yourself tucking a piece of hair behind his ear.

You let his long fingers wander up your skirt till they reach the waistband of your panties, snapping the waistband. You can't help but squirm. "You play too much," you whine, hips jerking. Bachira just laughs; the sound does not help the dull ache in your panties. He hikes your skirt up, and his other hand moves your panties to the side. His knuckles brush your reactive clit, making you suck in a breath of cold air through your teeth. "So sensitive, bumblebee, mhm as spongy and soaked as ever" he thumbs at your prodding clit as his fingers push into your pussy. He lets you rock against his hand, enjoying the view.

Euphoria overtakes you, the sensual pleasure and the dopamine of the shrooms pumping through you, and Bachira was the master of these feelings, pulling these out of you. He was your superhero, a shoulder to cry on, to understand why you feel a certain way, to change anything into a smile—one he loved and adored so much. He manipulated emotions, mastered them, and cherished them, making you the perfect one for him. You were so full of emotions, a superpower. He always made you feel good, no matter what feelings were conflicting in your brain.

Tokyo Revengers

Manjiro Sano (Mikey) is everyone's superhero His presence is calming and assertive. He brought comfort using his protectiveness, making anyone feel as if he were invincible Mikey and he wouldn't drop this act around anyone other than a select few that includes the original members of the Tokyo Manji Gang and you.

You had seen the real Mikey doused in the deepest of blacks when he succumbed to the darkness; his eyes were the reflection of what pooled inside and leaked out. But even Mikey had his limits. He had lost friends and all of his siblings, the ones he knew about and didn't know that wandered the earth. He had such big things impact him at a young age; still, many years later, they loom over his shoulders, maybe helping lead up to the incident that happened this afternoon.

You gave Manjiro a bracelet; it was diamond-woven with the color's gold, black, and red, with a dainty charm of your initial. It dangled from the cheesy friendship bracelet. You had given that thing to him years ago, and he had lost it. This afternoon it was given; it probably had broken with it being so old, and the factor that he never took it off.

"I lost it..." Mikey mumbled to himself, digging through a pile of clean clothes, "Manjiro Sano! I just washed those." Your voice was stern, and your eyebrows couldn't help but furrow. You hadn't understood why he was acting so strangely. "Not important," he said. Once you had gotten closer you could hear his voice it was shaky, something you hadn't heard in a while. "Fine," you said softly and sat beside him. "What did you lose, pretty?" Mikey shook something you had never seen; you couldn't decipher it. Could it have been from you calling him pretty? You know he wasn't fond of the nickname, but he let it slide because you were you,

"Something extremely important." He was brief to keep his voice from cracking. "You're trembling, Manjiro...?" And for the first time in years, Manjiro Sano, the invincible Mikey broke down and cried. He tried to choke down the first sob that bubbled up, but like a child, he let himself wail, and his fist tried to wipe away the river that went downstream on his features. "Oh, Manjiro..." you said with sympathy Your eyes had noticed the missing bracelet, the sliver of pale skin on his left wrist, and the absence of the black and red colors, letting the skin beneath finally hit the light. You knew words wouldn't help him catch the air that continued to slip and leave his poor lungs.

Instead, you watched him, a hand snaking from his back to his platinum hair to get lost in the locks. "Do not waste your tears on something so meager; I'll make you a new one." Manjiro finally musters the courage to speak tears still slip from his dark Eyerses "that's not the point I loved that bracelet..." He was always subdued but at that moment his cheeks were puffed out and his tear ducts were stained red, but it made your heart race just like the first time you met Mikey.

Manjiro had always been sentimental and far from a crybaby. You giggle, "I know, Jiro, that was just a friendship bracelet. Let me buy you a ring this time," and he looked up at you with that closed-eyed smile. your word had struck him with a realization he couldn't hide his emotions from you like Toman "I'd prefer if you made me another bracelet out of love not friendship. Leave the ring to me. Shinichiro taught me that's a man's job." He lets his head fall into your left thigh, your hands tread through his blond hair, you let your body run from your mind, and it ends right on Manjiro's lips.

Mikey was a hero to a lot of people, but Manjiro was your hero because of his sentiments. His tears and his sobs were yours to take care of, to make the cloudy skies go away and let the sunshine called Manjiro Sano twinkle for another day. His lips saunter lower, and you drift your head back to let him have his way. his calloused hands trace down your skin they felt alarmed worried you wouldn't let him touch the same because he felt you wouldn't see him the same after his little outburst over the bracelet. your hands pressed his into your waist more "don't tell me the invincible Mikey is getting cold feet" you teased a cheeky smile decorated your cheeks "never." he gave you his own smile again the one you adored oh so much his kisses traveled lower he tugged at your waist band his wet kisses stop at your tummy making the butterfly's inside worse "let me show you an incentive for the new bracelet I will receive" his eyes bore into yours you lift your hips up and he slides them down your thighs before lapping at your already waterlogged panties nibbling at you clit through them he persisted to stimulate you through the thin fabric Manjiro was your superhero in his dark moments, and when he was a beacon of light, but most of all Manjiro reminded you how sincerely fragile the things you possess truly are and to cherish them because one day they will be gone.

Jujutsu Kaisen

Ryomen Sukuna is more villain-like; anyone who didn't know him would think he is a monster. He had four arms, a strong build, and a fitting but oddly terrifying face. From afar All the other servants thought you were trouble, always provoking Sukuna. They believed the hatred was equal between the both of you.

"Lord Ryomen! I told you to stop leaving your clothing inside out. My ladies shouldn't have to deal with extra work?" Being a seneschal did give you higher power over other servants, but you were far from noble enough to yell at the dictator Ryomen Sukuna, everyone was astonished he hadn't discarded you just yet. "Get off my back, woman, before I make you!" "You should know such hollow threats have no effect on me Ryomen Sukuna!" Just as you begin to chew out Sukuna for his lazy act, you hear soft padding hit the floor as the toddler wakes up. "Tsk, and the brat saves you." Sukuna remarks You swiftly pick up Yuji. "Why hello, beautiful boy," he babbles and wraps his tiny arms around your neck.

"Hm, well, it seems I have more important matters I must attend to, your heir. I'll reprimand you later." Your eyes soften at Sukuna before you shift your focus on the young heir. "Wouldn't you like a bath?" you coo while bouncing Yuji on your hip, his giggles infectious. "I'd like for you to attend to me after the brat, woman." Sukuna's large hand pats Yuji's head, ruffling his matching pink hair; his hand then shoo's you both away to get along with your journey to the bath but thaty sadden look stayed in his four eyes.

Sukuna had Azoospermia, the condition meant he wouldn't be able to give a woman a child. The image had made him sick on many nights, but your bickering had soothed the idea of no heir. His twin brother passed on recently, leaving his son onto the great Sukuna after he finally had forgotten the idea of an heir. plenty had worried sukuna the idea of entrusting his teachings to someone who wasn't their own frightened him, but your own soothing words rid him of such stupid ideologies. "He looks just like you, my lord, doesn't he?" "Yuji will have a wonderful technique, don't you think, Lord Sukuna?" Even in grief, Sukuna had your smiley face and your embracive arguments. Truly, one could say you were his superhero, but that wasn't true...

"My lord, I finished with Yuji. What was it you needed? "I demand you accompany me to the hot spring." "Any reason?" you read the firey dictator well you could tell something was on the front of his mind. "No reasons rid yourself of that nonsense," you just laugh to yourself. "I'd be happy to, my lord." Once you both reach the hot spring, you remove your kimono, folding it and hanging it on a rack and Sukunas close by.

You watch as Sukuna steps into the warm spring. You follow shortly behind. "Be real with me. Sukuna, what do you truly desire, my lord?" Sukuna looks down in thought. "I wish to rid you of your duties as Seneschal and make you, my wife." You couldn't help but laugh; no one close was stranger to you and Sukuna's relations. You had both had plenty of nights in his chambers. He only allowed you to care for Yuji's needs. You both bickered like an old couple, picking and teasing one another like it couldn't be helped, and the way he stared at you, the only person he let all four eyes gaze at. "Don't tell me you've gone all soft, Kuna." Your hands rub his cheek and trail to his chest. "I want you to carry my child. Lets try again." His eyes were hopeful, but you sensed the doubt all over him. "We have Yuji. There's no need for an heir anymore." "It's not about an heir. I want you to be with child, my child, our blood." "Oh, Kuna" you whisper. Sukuna had appeared as a villain to everyone else alike, but you saw the man who wanted a child with the servant girl he fell deeply in love with. A mere human who wanted something fleeting and precious, but with the cards dealt to him, he couldn't have that dream. Sukuna was your superhero with his inner strength, his stubborn refusal to give up. "You can be so hardheaded."

You allow your lips trail his strong neck with fleeting kisses. He hums at the affection. "As you wish, my lord." You swing a leg over to sit in his stirring lap, cock hard against your tummy. You struggle to sit on his Substantial size, it had always felt like a train trying to ram into the station, but once stuffed snugly inside, you felt the warmth of the love between you both, Sukuna's slippery but rough grip on your hips to bounce you the water ripples with each movement, the heat from the steam, and Sukuna was overwhelming in the best ways.. Your muscles ached in reminder of recent nights; all you wanted was to give your willful lord his only wish, a family with you, a sibling for Yuji, and to make him yours. You couldn't bear to see your superhero without his cape.

And that's it. I'm so sorry, guys. I know I was supposed to have more characters, and I'm getting so burnt-out writing for this. I've been working on it for so long, and my ADHD is NOT wanting me to work on this any longer, so I am posting this with the characters I have, but I really hope you all enjoy! (Also, I think my writing has improved a lot with this, but I'd still love more tips.)

-love Bunny!

[hotchs-babygirl]

Afterglow / Aaron Hotchner SUMMARY— for the past few weeks you in an Hotch , were in a secret relationship until one night Hotch broke things off with you due to work , in him being afraid what would happen if Strauss found out .

Warnings: Being integrated by Strauss is mentioned, Strauss is mentioned.. Reid sticking up for you is mentioned, Reid is your best friend in this … no use of you’r name , Hotch fights for you . WC : 2.3K — Angst comfort hurt

Author notes. : @hotchs-babygirl May 3rd 2025 , In honor of seeing tv boyfriend Sunday it was only fitting I worked on my idea for you guys I had for days , in now that I had the time to write it eek . I’m so ready for Sunday … don’t think you get how excited I get to see Thomas in person.. this dream come true for me Chicago here I come I miss Chicago so much can’t wait to be back Sunday in Chicago for Thomas .. if you enjoy this please don’t hesitate to like comment re blog .

Thank you for taking the time to read this I appreciate you .. if I missed anything please feel free to add .

@ssamorganhotchner

After glow ; Taylor swift : 🎧

Fighting with a true love is boxing with no gloves

Chemistry 'til it blows up, 'til there's no us

Why'd I have to break what I love so much?

It's on your face, and I'm to blame, I need to say…

Now you , had You'd been stuck in the interrogation room with Strauss for what felt like hours. She pulled you in the second you walked through the doors that morning. Judging by the heaviness in your chest and the silence of your phone, it had to be past noon by now.

Strauss paced slowly in front of the table, arms crossed, voice clipped. “You do realize there are cameras in this building?”— “ You know this is wrong for agents to be together Strauss added ..

You dropped your gaze to the floor, jaw tight. You said nothing.

“I’m not saying a word,” you muttered, folding your arms across your chest. “Not until Hotch is in here.”

She didn’t flinch. Instead, she slid a file across the table. You hesitated. When you opened it, a sick weight settled in your gut.

Photos. You and Hotch. After hours. Close. Too close.

“Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner isn’t coming,” Strauss said flatly.

Your head snapped up. “What do you mean, he’s not coming?”

“Calm down.”

You laughed once—dry and bitter. “This is calm. I’m sitting here being interrogated like I’m a suspect.”

Strauss tapped the folder again. “Those photos are... intimate.”

“We ended it,” you said sharply. “Or he did. Didn’t want it getting messy. Didn’t want you to find out.”

She said nothing.

“Well, too late for that,” you muttered. You shut the folder again, tighter this time.

You looked her straight in the eye. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

The silence stretched.

Outside the room, Spencer passed by, catching a glimpse through the window. His pace shifted instantly. A few minutes later, the door opened, and Hotch walked in, eyes locked on Strauss.

“That’s enough,” he said firmly.

Strauss straightened. “She’s not to report to the Bureau for the next couple of weeks.”

You blinked. “Wait—what?”

“You’re lucky that’s all that’s happening,” Strauss said coldly.

Hotch didn’t look at you. He didn’t have to. His jaw was set in that way that said he wanted to argue—but wouldn’t. Not here.

And just like that, it was over.

Strauss walked out, heels echoing down the hall. The silence that followed was worse.

“A couple of weeks is a bit much, don’t you think?” you asked, voice low, shaky. You didn’t meet his eyes.

Hotch didn’t answer right away.

“I can’t believe you,” you snapped, louder this time. “You just stood there. You didn’t say a damn thing to her—you just let it happen.”

You grabbed the file, opened it again just long enough to look at the photos. Your chest tightened.

“I’ve been interrogated for hours about us,” you said. “Hours. While you…” Your voice cracked. “You didn’t even try.”— Try Hotch replied? I had no idea she was interrogating you , he said voice clam as ever .

“You’re mad,” he said carefully…

Mad? Your laugh was sharp , Mad was hours ago Hotch … I’m more furious now you said not looking at him .

You pulled your badge from your belt, your sidearm from its holster, and handed them to him.

“She didn’t say you had to do this,” Hotch said, eyes finally locking on yours.

“Right,” you said, voice dull now. “Figured it was the right thing to do.”

You stared at him, waiting. Hoping.

“This all on me, huh, Hotch?” you asked. “Not you? Just me?”

You turned to leave, hand on the door. But he stepped in front of you.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

You shook your head. “Please… let me go.”

He didn’t move.

You didn’t look back.

You walked out of the interrogation room, the weight of it all pressing down harder with every step. The bullpen doors were just ahead, and the familiar hum of the Bureau felt distant now—like it wasn’t yours anymore. Your bag hung over your shoulder, and for once, you didn’t care that the tears were visible on your face. Usually, you’d bury that. Not today. Today had been too much.

“Hey—wait,” a voice called behind you. You turned slightly.

Reid.

He jogged up beside you, eyes scanning your face. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “Strauss… she banned me for two weeks.”

“What the hell?” Reid said, blinking fast. “She can’t do that.”

“Reid,” you said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” he replied, sharper than usual. “What’s Hotch doing about it?”

You hesitated, glancing down the hall like maybe the words you needed were written on the walls. “There are things you guys don’t know… stuff that got me in this situation. I’m taking responsibility.”

“No,” he said again, firm.

Your chest tightened. You didn’t want this conversation. Not with him. Not now.

“This doesn’t have to do with you two dating, does it?”

You froze.

“Reid, what?” you asked, startled.

“I pick up on things,” he said, as if that explained everything. “You know that. Remember?”

You let out a breath. “Right.”

“Look, it’s fine,” you said, voice flat. “I’ll be back in no time. I promise.”

“This isn’t fair,” Reid said, walking beside you as you pushed open the front doors of the Bureau. “And I’m not having it.”

“Reid—please,” you said, stopping to face him. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t, okay?”

He didn’t answer, just stood there watching you like he was trying to solve an equation he hated the answer to.

It had been a couple of nights since you’d left your apartment. Since the moment Strauss benched you, you hadn’t stepped foot back inside the Bureau.

But Reid had.

After you walked out, he couldn’t let it go. The image of your face—tear-streaked, trying to stay strong—kept replaying in his head. It didn’t sit right with him. None of it did.

Reid had gone back to the interrogation room. The air still felt thick, like the tension hadn’t left with you. On the table, the file Strauss had slammed down earlier still sat there, unopened since you shut it.

He looked around—empty. He shouldn’t touch it. He knew that.

But curiosity was never just curiosity for him. It was need. Logic. Pattern. Something about this didn’t make sense, and the only way to fix that was by knowing the full picture.

His hand hovered for a second, then he opened it.

The photos were there.

You and Hotch. After hours. In his office. Too close. Too familiar. It wasn’t just physical—it was personal.

Reid’s jaw tightened.

He wasn’t angry about the relationship. That wasn’t it. What got under his skin was how Hotch had handled it.

This wasn’t just about you. It was both of you. But you were the one who got pulled into that room. You were the one benched.

It was the fact Hotch hadn’t said a word.

Reid slammed the file shut and stood there for a moment, breathing hard.

You were paying the price—for both of them. And that didn’t sit right with him at all.

Spencer opened the door to the investigation room without looking back. His steps were quick, focused. He wasn’t stopping until he got to Hotch.

Down the hall, he passed the bullpen, mind already racing with what he was going to say.

“Hey, kid,” Derek called, falling in step beside him. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Reid said, barely slowing. “I’ve just got something to do. Can we catch up later?”

Derek narrowed his eyes, but let it slide—mostly. He watched Reid’s back as he kept moving.

JJ came up beside Derek a moment later, noticing the tension. “What’s going on with Reid?” she asked.

Derek shook his head, gaze still tracking him. “Don’t know. But I’m gonna find out.”

Reid didn’t break stride. He had the file in his hand again—the one Strauss had used to tear you apart. He hadn’t meant to take it, not really. But after seeing what was inside, he couldn’t pretend it didn’t matter.

He made it to Hotch’s office, paused outside the door. He didn’t knock.

“Come in,” Hotch said, before Reid even touched the handle. He didn’t need to look—he could always tell when someone was standing outside.

Reid stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

Hotch looked up, already knowing something was off. “What’s that in your hand, Reid?”

Reid didn’t say a word. He stepped forward and dropped the file hard onto Hotch’s desk.

His hands slid into his pockets, jaw clenched.

Hotch didn’t reach for it. “How much did you see?” he asked quietly.

“Enough,” Reid said.

The silence hung between them, thick with everything neither of them wanted to be the one to say.

“This isn’t just all on her, Hotch, and you know it,” Reid said, his voice sharp. “But she’s the only one paying for your guys’ mistakes.”

Hotch looked up from the file, unreadable as always. “You think it was a mistake?”

“No,” Reid answered quickly. “But I’m sure that’s what you think, since you’re letting her take the fall for you.” He stepped closer. “I can’t believe you.”

Hotch stayed still, silent.

“If you don’t do something about this, I’m done,” Reid continued. “For two weeks. Until she comes back. Got it?”

“Reid, think about what you’re saying.”

“I am thinking about it!” Reid snapped, his voice rising now. “You started this with her—and now what? You’re not man enough to stand up to Strauss for her? How could you, man?”

Hotch’s eyes narrowed, his tone turning cold. “This isn’t your personal matter. Watch your tone.

“Watch my tone?” Reid laughed bitterly. “Come on, Hotch. Do something about it.”

The tension in the room was thick, the silence sharp—until the door swung open.

Derek stepped in, eyebrows raised. “Everything okay up here? With you two?”

Reid didn’t answer right away. He looked from Hotch to Morgan, then back again.

“I’m done,” he said, low and final. “I mean it, Hotch. Do something—or I’m done.”

Then he walked out.

“What did I walk into?” Derek asked, stepping further into the office.

“It’s nothing. I’ve got it handled,” Hotch said, his voice steady but clipped.

“You sure? 'Cause I’ve never seen the kid that pissed off before,” Derek said, folding his arms.

“It’s fine, Derek,” Hotch repeated.

Derek paused for a beat, not fully convinced, but he nodded. “Okay, sir.”

As he walked out of Hotch’s office, he spotted Reid down in the bullpen, gathering his books and shoving them into his bag like he couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

“You serious about this, kid?” Derek asked, walking over.

“Yes, I am,” Reid said without looking up.

“If you knew what was really going on, you would be too.” His tone was sharp—sharper than usual.

Derek raised a brow but didn’t push it.

Reid cleared off the last of his things from his desk when Hotch’s voice called out from upstairs.

“Reid.”

Reid looked up, shook his head slowly. “Until you do something about this—I’m out.”

He placed his badge and gun on his desk with purpose, then looked up at Hotch one last time.

No more words. He turned and walked straight out the bullpen doors.

Emily stood near the corner, watching it unfold. “What the hell was that about?” she asked. “Now we’re losing Reid too? What the hell, Hotch?”

“I’ve got it under control,” Hotch replied, though his voice had lost its edge.

Rossi didn’t miss the crack in his armor. “You sure about that?”

Hotch didn’t answer.

Not this time.

Spencer made his way to your apartment, bag slung over his shoulder. He’d barely spoken to anyone since walking out of the Bureau, but he couldn’t stop thinking about you—about how quiet everything had gotten since you were gone.

You hadn’t heard from anyone in days. The silence weighed heavier than you expected. You missed being in the field. Missed the Bureau. Missed feeling like yourself.

Inside, you sat on the couch—the same one you and Hotch had sat on not long ago. You could still feel his touch. Every time you thought about it, it sent a chill down your spine. That kind of memory didn't fade. It only made your eyes sting harder.

There was a knock at the door.

You pulled yourself off the couch, wiping at your face. When you opened it, there stood Reid, shifting nervously on his feet.

“Spence?” you said, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“It wasn’t just you,” he said quickly. “It was both of you. And you shouldn’t be the only one paying the price.”

“Reid… what did you do?”

You knew that look on his face. He did something.

Just then, your phone started to ring. You glanced down. Hotch.

“Don’t answer that,” Reid said, almost too fast.

“Why?” you asked.

“It’s Hotch.”

“Fine,” Reid said , go head he threw his hands in the air in defeat.

You , had answered the phone ,

You brought the phone to your ear. “Aaron?”

It came out softer than you intended—like you forgot you weren’t supposed to call him that anymore. Not since he ended things.

“Can we talk?” Hotch said firmly.

“You want to talk?” you asked, shaking your head. “Come on, Hotchner. What good is that going to do now?”

“I’m going to Strauss,” he said. “For you.”

Your eyes darted to Reid.

Reid , Hotch said softly, he umm ,

“He… he quit today.”

You didn’t say anything , at first , you hung up with Hotch … you glanced over at Spencer , Spence you said softly what the hell ..

Reid looked down at his feet. You Quit you asked him your arms folded, Reid couldn’t look up , it was hard for him to bring himself to meet your eyes.

He didn’t have to say it. You knew he’d do anything for you , you were his best friend and he wanted to be there for you .

“I know I shouldn’t ask why,” you said softly. “I already know why you did it, Spence. But… you didn’t have to. I didn’t ask you to do this.”

You placed a hand gently on his shoulder.

“I know,” he said, barely above a whisper. “It just made me so upset. The way she treated you , like this was all your fault when we both know it wasn’t Reid added , the way it all happened... it felt like the right thing to do—for you.”

He finally looked up at you, eyes filled with everything he hadn’t said yet.

“You’re my best friend,” he added. “I’d do anything for you. Anything.”

“I know,” you said, your voice soft, heavy with everything unsaid. You sat back down on the couch, sinking into the spot you’d barely left since the suspension.

Spence sat beside you without needing an invitation.

“Spence…” you started, fingers twisting together. “I really like Hotchner. I do. But I don’t know what to do if he doesn’t want to fight for us.”

Reid didn’t rush to answer. He just sat there with you, quiet like only he could be—present, steady, listening.

Hotch made his way to Strauss’s office, the file clenched tightly in his hand. He didn’t bother knocking.

She was mid-conversation on the phone but paused when she saw him enter. “I’ll call you back,” she said, hanging up without waiting for a reply.

“Agent Hotchner. How can I help you?”

Without a word, he stepped forward and slid the file across her desk.

Strauss raised an eyebrow, flipping it open briefly before looking up at him. “So you’re admitting it was both of you?”

“Do what you have to do,” Hotch said evenly. “But see if you have a team left when you’re done.”

Strauss straightened in her chair.

“If I had known—”

“If I had known you were interrogating her like that,” Hotch cut in, his tone colder than usual, “I would’ve stopped it sooner. But it took one of my colleagues quitting today to get my attention.”

“She was suspended for two weeks—”

“No,” Hotch said firmly. “She’s back. Now. That’s final.”

Their eyes locked across the desk, the tension sharp.

Strauss exhaled through her nose, then leaned back in her chair. “Don’t let this happen again.”

“If it does, it won’t be on Bureau time,” Hotch replied.

Strauss nodded once, then pointed toward the door.

“You can go, SSA Agent Hotchner.”

He didn’t say another word. Just turned and walked out.

Hotch made his way to your apartment. Inside, you and Reid were on the couch. Your head rested on his shoulder, his presence a quiet comfort.

“I really want him,” you whispered.

“I know,” Reid said softly. “I know.”

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

You both froze.

You pulled back slowly, wiping at your eyes. Reid looked toward the door.

“It’s Hotch,” you said quietly.

You get up from the couch , walking over towards the door ,

You opened the door. There he stood—calm, unreadable as always.

“We need to talk,” Hotch said.

You let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Of course we do.”

“Reid,” Hotch said, nodding to him.

Reid didn’t say anything. He just walked out quietly, brushing past Hotch on his way out.

“You can come back,” Hotch said, turning to you.

“How?” you asked, folding your arms. “Strauss made it pretty clear I was benched.”

“I went to her,” he said. “I told her it was both of us. Not just you.”

You laughed—short and disbelieving. “No, you didn’t.”

“Yes,” Hotch said, voice firm. “I did.”

You looked at him, eyes narrowing, waiting for the catch.

“I’m sorry it took me this long to do something about it,” he added. “But I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere.”

You couldn’t help but notice Reid still standing in the doorway.

“About time you said something,” he said.

“That’s all I’m gonna say about it,” Spencer added with a shrug, turning slightly like he was ready to leave it at that.

Hotch stopped him. “How did you even pick up on us?”

“It’s easy for me,” Reid said, glancing between you and Hotch. “And I knew for sure it wasn’t just her.”

Hotch looked at him, silent.

“I saw the way you looked at her during briefings,” Reid continued. “Or how you two would always eat lunch together—in your office. The way you touched her when you thought no one was paying attention.

You shifted on your feet. Hotch held Reid’s gaze.

“Or maybe it was just how you spoke to her,” Reid added. “With… more patience than anyone else. The list could go on.”

“Alright,” Hotch said, holding up a hand. “I’m good.”

Reid gave a short nod, then looked at you. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You smiled, just a little. “Yeah. I’ll be there.”

“I still want you,” you whispered in Hotch’s ear. I’ve always wanted you.”— even after you broke things off you say softly shaky voice .

Tears slipped down your cheeks before you could stop them.

“I know,” Hotch said softly, pulling you in.

You clung to his shirt, your fingers twisting in the fabric, tugging at the buttons like they were the only thing keeping you steady.

“Aaron, please,” you said, voice cracking. “You don’t get it.” I mean it , I — need you “ I don’t want to give you up .

“No,” he said, his voice low. “I do. I’ve been trying—trying to handle this the right way.”

He looked at you then, really looked.

“I want you too.”

You leaned in closer, your head resting against Hotch’s chest. His heartbeat was steady, strong, and it grounded you. His arms wrapped around you tighter, holding you like he meant it.

“I’m not letting go this time,” Hotch said, his voice low near your ear.

“I hope not,” you whispered. “Because I really care about you… and I don’t think I could lose you twice.”

[mia-can-yap-too]

Diamond-less Disaster

What?:- The Blue Lock boys try to ask you out! Except they're in 'Episodes – Choose your Story' and don't have enough diamonds...

Warnings:- Crack, isagi crying from embarrassent (not in front of the huzz tho), rin uses plant flirtation tactics, kaiser is so confident im pretty sure its almost OOC

Who:- Isagi Yoichi, Itoshi Rin, Micheal Kaiser

Isagi Yoichi

Isagi doesn't know how he did it, but somehow, he convinced you to join him on his early morning runs.

It went quite smoothly, actually. He slowed his pace to match yours and occasionally switched to a light jog so it would be easier to hold a conversation with you.

The only downside was that both of you forgot to bring water bottles. Fortunately, you spot a vending machine nearby.

Isagi, ever the gentleman, pays for your waters and sits down next to you.

Still panting, he takes a minute to admire you. Even in your sweaty-hair-stuck-to-your-forehead-and-face-red-from-running glory, you are no less than the sun to him.

Tell her you like her

[15 💎] Ask her out to a date later

[Free] Stand five feet away, wave awkwardly, and say "I respect oxygen"

All of a sudden, Isagi stands up and waves at you, nervously.

Raising your eyebrows and giving your own awkward wave, you ask, "Are you... alright?"

"I... respect oxygen."

"What?"

"I mean... you breathe... good?"

He looks like he's about to cry out of embarrassment, but no, he has to be a man. And real men keep going even in the trenches.

"I uh... meant that oxygen is so useful, like wow, I'm so grateful. I mean... the trees are sure working overtime for us, huh? Go, Mother Nature! O2, wow, couldn't live without it..."

You are weirded out. Like, incredibly weirded out. "I guess... I didn’t know you were so passionate about oxygen..."

He doesn't meet your eyes. He can never meet your eyes again if he wants his dignity intact.

Face as red as the faux tomatos you were throwing at him in his head, he pretends to be shocked as he looks at his watch.

"Oh no...! I have practice with... Kaiser! We're the best of buddies, so I can't leave him hanging, you know? So, I have to go. Like, right now. Sorry for leaving you like this," he starts walking backwards, "Okay? Okay. Bye!"

It's a full-on sprint now. He is definitely crying from embarrassment now.

You've chosen humiliation. Confidence -20

Itoshi Rin

The classroom you're in is quiet, the perfect environment for you to peacefully doodle in.

That is, of course, before Rin enters like a glitchy DLC character that no one paid for. [a/n:- im lying yall would play just for him smh]

Rin has been hyping himself up for this all week. Today, he will confess to you. No matter what.

Okay. Just talk. Be normal. Be cool. Compliment her. Compliments are free, right?

You've never opened up to anyone before. Let her in.

[30 💎] "You calm the chaos in my head."

[Free] "If I were a plant, I'd tolerate you as my sunlight."

Apparently, compliments aren't free.

Rin opens his mouth despite it all and speaks in the most monotone voice you've ever heard.

"If I were a plant... I'd tolerate you as my sunlight."

Oh God, not another one.

Confused, you ask, "... You'd tolerate me?"

He wants to die inside. "Yeah, I wouldn't wither... Immediately. Like I usually do..."

"So... I'm not bad. Just... barely acceptable?"

Okay, now he's in the danger zone. Like, the part where you're sweating nervously and begging God to kill you with lightning or whatever works for Him.

"Some plants thrive on neglect. I could be one of those. You could be... my low-maintenance sun."

"Rin..." Oh no, now you sound worried. "That sounds so insulting and sad. Are you okay?"

"You're like... the right amount of photosynthesis. Not too much. Not too... chlorophyll-ly...?"

Why is he still trying?!

Once he realizes that he's drowing, he tries to fix it and fails miserably because the author of this fic likes chaos.

"Wait. No. Forget I said any of this."

With that, he dissappears.

Well, fuck. He should've just paid the diamonds.

You've chosen Emotional Constipation with Agricultural Undertones.

Michael Kaiser

Desperately trying to get away from all the pathetic-boy-chaos, you slip onto the rooftop to watch the sunset.

The sun is setting, and the golden hour casts a beautiful glow on you. And Micheal Kaiser.

He appears like the ghost of dramatic monologues past, and his hair glints as if he's actively photosynthesizing ego. He walks towards you with the swagger of a man who already knows your heart belongs to him. Except it doesn't.

Sweep her off her feet (not literally)

[40 💎] "The spot as the Empress to my Emperor is forever vacant for you."

[Free] Call her a peasant and throw a rose at her feet.

Nothing can deter him. Not even having a maximum of 2 diamonds.

"Kneel peasant," he smirks.

You're seriously offended. Even though you already know what's happening.

"Excuse me?!"

He dramatically pulls out a crumpled rose from somewhere inside his jacket, and looks at it as if it hold all the wealth in the world.

"This rose... was once blooming and vibrant. But now, it's withered.... just like your charm and charisma."

He drops it at your feet as if he's bestowing unknown luxuries to you.

"I bless thee."

"Did you just throw trash at me?! I bet that came from a gas station, too, asshole!" You scowl at him, and Kaiser can't understand why.

Looking as if you just praised Isagi in front of him, he starts his rant off with, "First of all, it was a roadside convenience emporium...!"

You have chosen Romantic Tyranny. -10 bitches.

a/n:- my goal as a writer is that you read my fics and think "wtf was going on in her head?" LOLOL i have never played this game so this is all based on what friends have said and tbh the choices in the game are probably much worse than this but idc

m.list

@strangergraphics for dividers

[original-szajnie]

Klonnie Weekend 2025: Arranged Marriage

This prompt got me, so it’s turned into a multi chapter full fiction that will be posted on my AO3 account. But for now, here’s a sample…

It should have been a triumph.

The curse was broken. The wretched thing no longer dictated his flesh, and the hybrid within him—werewolf, vampire, something ancient and newly made—moved beneath his skin with an ease he had never known. Power pulsed through him with every breath. The world had tilted in his favor.

And yet Klaus Mikaelson could not fuck.

Not for lack of trying.

He had wine. He had music. He had blood.

He had a very willing vampire stretched across his bed, her limbs loose with pleasure, her throat slick and eyes heavy with wanting.

And still, when he touched her—when he kissed her—his body betrayed him.

No pain. No failure of mechanics.

Just… a wall.

Invisible. Unyielding.

A sense of something tethered inside him, leashed like a beast in chains.

The vampire laughed, sharp and delighted. “Performance anxiety?” she purred, rolling her hips with the lazy confidence of someone who believed herself irresistible.

He tore her throat out for the insult.

Left her bleeding across his mattress, face frozen in that terrible smile, and stormed into the night with a fury crawling beneath his skin like a second curse.

A week later, he tried again.

A human girl, this time. Sweet-faced. Doe-eyed. All nervous giggles and flushed cheeks. She clung to his arm like he was the night itself. He fed her wine from a crystal glass and touched her like she was made of silk.

She gasped prettily. She tilted her head just so. She offered herself, all breath and softness.

He went through the motions—mouth to throat, hand to thigh—but the moment he pressed himself closer, the same thing happened.

His body recoiled.

Not enough for her to notice. But inside?

Something seized. A taut thread pulled tight across his ribs. A rejection not of her flesh, but of the act itself, like instinct had been replaced with something… selective.

Not this one. Not her.

He pulled away with a murmur, feigned disinterest, and compelled her to forget.

The third time, he didn’t bother with charm. Picked up a college girl on her way home from the Grill—bold, smoky-eyed, thrilled by the danger.

He thought maybe that would help. Maybe detachment would free him from whatever was clawing at the base of his spine.

It didn’t.

He let her touch him, grind herself on his lap, lips and tongue hot on his skin, her voice like gravel and sex. Let her hands wander. Her teeth nip. When she slid down his abdomen in wet licks—he felt nothing.

No desire.

No ache.

Only tension.

A coiled, unrelenting wrongness that flared whenever he reached for the edge of pleasure. Like invisible claws yanked him back just as he began to surrender.

By the fourth, he was angry.

By the fifth, he was pacing his home like a caged wolf—shirtless, restless, clawing at the air. His muscles ached from effort. His skin prickled with something wrong, something unfinished.

He tore apart the velvet drapes. Shattered a mirror with the heel of his hand. Growled at Elijah through the walls until his brother—annoyed and vaguely amused—left him to spiral alone.

When the sun rose, he was still pacing.

When it set again, he made the call.

“I need Gloria,” he snarled into the receiver. “Now.”

——————————————————————-

Gloria arrived two days later.

She swept through the threshold of the newly restored manor like she owned it—sharp heels, sharper eyes, the clink of bangles echoing with every gesture.

She took one look at Klaus—shirt half-buttoned, a bottle of bourbon already open and nearly empty before noon—and rolled her eyes skyward.

“You dragged me to Mystic Falls. Mystic Falls. This godforsaken town where dreams and witches go to die. I swear to the Loa, this better be good.”

He said nothing. Just jerked his chin toward the velvet chair across from him.

She sat. Crossed her legs. “Talk.”

He poured two fingers of bourbon and handed it to her. “Something is wrong with me.”

“I could’ve told you that from Chicago.”

Klaus bared his teeth. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.” Gloria sipped her drink. When he just continued to glower, she sighed. “Fine. I’ll bite. What is it?”

“I can’t—” Klaus hesitated, jaw flexing. Then he gestured, elegantly miserable, to his general groin area. “I can’t engage. Carnally.”

Gloria blinked. Blinked again. “…Excuse me?”

He was not repeating that. “You heard me.”

Gloria leaned back in her seat, one arm dangling over the armrest. “Klaus Mikaelson, I know you did not fly me in from Chicago because you can’t get your dick wet. Take the little blue pill and move on with your day.”

“I don’t need a pill,” he snarled, standing. “I need you to undo whatever bloody spell has tangled itself around my—person. It’s a hex. Has to be.” His voice was just shy of desperate, a growl curling beneath the words.

“Okay, okay.” Gloria held up one hand, her bracelets clicking like wind chimes. “Tell me exactly what happens.”

He growled again, dragging a hand through his hair. “The equipment works. The instinct is there. And then suddenly—it isn’t. I try. I want to. But then something inside me snaps—and I can’t.”

“Uh-huh.” Gloria set her glass down, expression unreadable. “Have you considered therapy?”

“Gloria—I will kill you.”

She looked at him for a long moment, something old and assessing in her eyes. “Fine,” she said, rising with feline grace. She pulled off her long leather coat and tossed it over the chair. “Take off your shirt. Lie down.” One finger in the air. “And shut up.”

Klaus pulled his shirt over his head and flopped back against the settee like a corpse, one arm flung behind his head, the other resting across his chest while Gloria moved around the room, gathering her things.

“This is ridiculous,” Klaus muttered.

“Shut up,” Gloria said, utterly calm. “You want answers or not?”

She lit five candles. Burned the tips of his fingers with mugwort and blood. Stood over him, murmuring under her breath in a language older than the floorboards. After the flames changed from orange to blue, she drew a sigil on his sternum with wine-dark ink.

She pressed her hand flat over the center of his chest. Her touch was warm, almost gentle. Power coiled from her fingers—quiet, searching, like a snake slipping through long grass. It sank beneath his skin, curling around the buried parts of him: the vampire hunger, the wolf’s fury, and something else...

Klaus felt it the moment she touched it.

It wasn’t anything specific so much as a pull. A magnetic current, stretching outward like it had somewhere else to be...hooked on something…

Gloria’s hand jerked back like she’d been burned.

Her eyes snapped open. “Oh.”

Klaus sat up slowly, spine stiff with wariness. “What do you mean, oh?”

She stared at him.

First confused.

Then—just for a flicker—a flash of something approaching concern.

And then—God help him—she laughed.

“Gloria,” his voice dripped with warning, “tell me what you saw.”

“I can’t believe it,” she said, thumbing the corner of her eye. “Of all the people—you?”

His eyes flickered amber-gold. “I swear on the blood of your ancestors—”

“You’re married.”

Klaus froze.

Gloria beamed like she’d just pulled the biggest secret out of the bones of the world. “Mystically, of course. But the bond is solid. Strong. Fresh.” She reached out and tapped his chest with two fingers, right over the sigil still etched into his sternum. “Look at you, you little Romeo. Making a claim.”

“I made no such thing,” he snarled.

“Maybe not with words,” she said, backing away, her stained fingers twirling lazily through the air, “but magic doesn’t lie. You’re tethered. Mated. Tied up in cosmic knots. Pick whichever term makes your head hurt less.”

Klaus rose to his full height, fury vibrating just beneath his skin. “I am not married, witch.”

Gloria didn’t even blink.

“It’s instinctual. Part of the werewolf soul. Wolves mate for life, Klaus. And when your curse broke—when your wolf was finally free—it found its match. And it sealed the deal.”

She stepped closer, voice a little softer now. “And you can’t ‘seal the deal’ with anyone else because your whole system’s already chosen. Your body knows her. It’s rejecting anyone who isn’t—”

“There is no her!” he shouted, voice cracking at the edges.

Gloria just gave him a look. The kind that said: Don’t lie to me, wolf-boy.

Klaus’s voice was a rasp. “No. No, that’s not possible. I know plenty of werewolves with multiple partners. Whole packs—”

“Can have all the fun in the world until the bond snaps into place. Then it’s done. Sealed. You’re off the market.” Gloria interrupted. Then, “Tell me, Klaus. When did this start?”

He didn’t answer, still trying to wrap his head around what she was telling him.

“You broke your curse—what—a month ago?”

“Two,” he replied absently, eyes unfocused, jaw working uselessly.

“And who was there?” Gloria asked, wiping her hands on a towel.

He clenched his jaw. “Plenty of people.”

She arched a brow. “Fine. Think about that night—and then, tell me what flashes through your head.”

Klaus was silent. His jaw clenched so tight it could have cracked but he closed his eyes.

It had been blood and fire. Elena bleeding on the ground. Elijah betraying him. The moon screaming. And her—

She’d descended from the tree line like wrath made flesh. Bonnie Bennett.

Her magic had torn into him like it had teeth. He remembered the way the clearing shook, the ground curling upward beneath her feet as she wielded something older than herself. The air had gone cold. The pain had been exquisite.

And in the moment before he blacked out, before Elijah’s hands had dragged him into the night, he had looked up at her—her eyes glowing with fury, hair wild, mouth murmuring an incantation meant to kill him—and thought: Mine.

He hadn’t spoken it aloud. Hadn’t said a word. But the magic had heard him.

Gloria was grinning like the devil herself when he opened his eyes “There it is.”

“No,” Klaus argued. “She hates me.”

“She can hate you all she wants,” Gloria said, reaching for her unfinished drink. “The bond doesn’t care.”

“I didn’t agree to this.”

“Tough luck, mate.” She raised the bourbon like a toast. “You have a wolf-chosen, mystically binding, divinely inconvenient marriage. Congratulations.”

[coffinclownery]

Clinical Trial Impressions

Firstestly before spoiling the whole game here's my tl:dr

Unfortunately I think this is a great game. Like sorry, there's a lot of care and thought that's been put into this game that makes it difficult for me to dismiss it as simply a "barely disguised fetish" kind of game. There's a lot of details from the character-writing to the art to even the ways the dialogue works that's just...good. This is unfortunate because it means that instead of easily dismissing this and moving on with my life I'm left thinking about this game weeks after watching playthroughs and playing it myself. Lot of thoughts have been provoked out of me.

Is it perfect? No. There's things that definitely could have been changed and/or expanded upon. And I don't think it's for everyone. While nothing is shown or told in graphic detail there's things that happen to the characters that can be triggering because of how well-written it is and the events preceding it. And while I argue the endings both make sense for the most part I don't blame you for not vibing with them.

So yeah, need to stop checking out playthroughs from manlybadasshero because he keeps finding games to Haunt me and I don't appreciate it. I recommend playing it if you feel comfortable with the content warnings. It is a free game so the worst thing that can happen is that you'll be Haunted like I am without spending a dime.

The content warnings on the itchio page does not cover everything, so I'll put my list below under the cut before going into more spoilery opinions. A lot of the content warnings come from what happens at the last hour, so it's going to spoil you.

Content Warnings: Needles, Pixelated Gore, Mentions of SA, Mentions of Familial Abuse, Mental Health Struggles related to ADHD symptoms and trauma responses, Taxidermy, Stalking and Surveillance, Obsession, Theft of personal items, Mentions of Suicide, On-screen depiction of suicide in one ending.

If you think I missed any let me know. Now here's more spoilery opinions below the gif.

Hey here's a scorching hot take.

Stalking...

...

...

...

Is bad.

Thank you thank you I'll take my Nobel prize now.

This is still at the end of the day a free 3-4hr game, mainly made by one person. So I'm not going to dock points or demand an imaginary refund when I say it felt like there could have been more or things could have been slightly different. As a lot of folks mentioned this game starts at a nice slowburn but then things go at a breakneck pace right at the end. I myself think the pace is pretty good up until the big reveal. After that I think things get a little wonky.

I still think they have all the bones in the right place (which can't be said for Brandon huehuehue.) Both Lee's obsession with Angel and what he ultimately did for them needed to be revealed, and it makes sense that the shrine was revealed first. Because let's be honest here, in the realm of fiction killing a bastard is not that controversial. And here they made the bastard as unlikable as possible, where even the man about to kill him is uncomfortable touching him. Like he was such an unrepentant pathetic loser that it almost became comical. So if we discovered the body in the basement first I think it would have been very easy to go "good job!" and not really digest what else is going on here.

So having the shrine first is important, because it is an affront to Angel themself. He stole their jacket! He did something to it without their consent! Angel already went through a horrendous event, and now here's somebody they placed their trust in using them in another way. And even without the jacket it's creepy to collect someone else's body mass like hair or blood from tissues. It's up to Angel whether they can accept this, but it doesn't remove the fact that this is still A Crime done to Angel. It's what shaped why the murder was actually sorta bad? It's not the morality of it all, it's the repercussions Angel themselves might face because of what Lee's obsession led to.

So it's important for the shrine to be seen first so we know who we're dealing with. We might be cool with a bastard dying slowly in a dug-out basement (again in the realm of fiction blah blah blah) but not cool with someone stalking, stealing personal items, deifying someone and then no matter how unintentional incriminating someone for murder by not even cleaning up before inviting guests. Even if we somehow predicted this twist this is the creator's way of going "are you SURE you want to get down with this dude?" and I can respect that. Like yeah no Lee is unarguably a freak and ultimately you need to choose if you're cool with that before finding the body.

And I think the endings fit well enough. It's easy for folks to deem End 1 as the Bad Ending and End 2 as the Good Ending. And that fits if you think of Lee being the main character. Because he's ultimately the one who gets punished in End 1 for what he did to Angel. It's certainly his Bad Ending if he's rejected by the person he deified and obsessed over first and only later fell in love with. Things might have been easier for Angel if they cooperated with Lee, and it does look bleak if you believed everything Lee said. But that's the path Angel chose to take and I think the open-endedness of it is good. Neither us nor Angel know what'll happen when they leave, but that won't stop Angel from moving forward. No matter how bleak it is Angel still has a future, while Lee denied his.

And End 2 works as well, because it's still Angel making that choice to accept both his freak and his body count. Angel's the one who gets to choose what happens at that moment, with full* knowledge of what Lee's done. They're the one choosing to help cover up a murder, and they're the one who choosing to move in with Lee afterwards. Because Lee wasn't going to make Angel stay, he just needed Angel to cooperate so Angel themselves doesn't get into trouble. And even if they might live happily for awhile, I think the music at the end of End 2 hints at an eerie feeling. There's still a chance things can go very wrong down the line.

*Except maybe the jacket if you don't check the washing machine. I feel like that should have been discovered at the shrine before the choice.*

Although with End 2 I don't blame people for calling it the "canon" ending giving it has a more detailed cutscene. And if you look at the creator's game profiles you can tell they clearly care for the two as a couple, but they note anything they post that's not in the game is not canon so...there's that.

I still think the pacing could have been a little but different. Between the discovery of the shrine and the discovery of a basement there was a brief cooldown that I think messes with the tone. If the only two endings are going to be Accepting both discoveries or Rejecting both, I feel like this cooldown should be removed altogether. Have Lee only catch up with Angel after they discovered everything, then they can slowly digest wtf is happening and make a decision. Or make the gap between the shrine and the body wider.

I also feel like some of the dialogue could have been resorted. I think all the dialogue is important, and I'm against removing stuff that'd make Lee less of a freak (you cannot put the freak back inside the bottle once its out im sorry) but the order in which things are said felt a little off. It didn't cross my mind that Angel could be implicated until its stated after the choice to Accept or Reject, which is a weird priority when faced with a Body.

I feel like either:

A: The choice should have been about accepting or rejecting that Lee committed a murder first and foremost. The dialogue can stay roughly the same in the Reject, when Lee is trying to find a way to remain in Angel's life, but in Accept have Angel more blatantly offer to help cover up the murder themselves, since in this version Angel's priority is wanting to stay with Lee.

Or

B: Angel should have had more time to process the body on the ground and come to the realization that they'd be a main suspect before Lee arrives, hear what Lee did and what steps he's already taken to avoid suspicion, and then make the choice. That way the choice is more focused on whether Angel cooperates with Lee or not.

Either way I also think in the Accept version of events there should have been a re-establishment of Angel's feelings. Like after Angel says they'd have to move of they stay will Lee have Lee go "wait, you still want to stay with me?"

Also, maybe in the Reject ending, have Angel call Adri. In week 5 Adri could have offered her number or Angel asked for theirs and let that be a Chekov's gun. You can still have Angel not receive messages (because Angel probably went awol on everything after what happened to them, so Adri assumed they weren't interested and gave up contacting) and make Angel choose to reach out to Adri. Angel refused Lee's help, so they're going to find help themselves. Would also give Adri's presence a more obvious purpose.

...But again this is a free game written by one person, so I'm not going to judge the creator too harshly for not doing things perfectly in a way that'd satisfy this specific stranger on the webs. Any of these changes would inevitability require more lines, more time, more programming, and maybe even more art be put into the game. Ultimately the creator put what was absolutely necessary for the story to work, which is what mattered.

This is all just me conjecturing on a remake in 5 years called Clinical Trial Ultra Mega Deluxe Remix 1.5 Medical Grade Edition you know?

I need to run errands so I'll be generous and let you be on your way here. On the next post I'll talk about the details I liked in this game and how it differentiates itself from other horror games featuring questionable and datable stalker killers.

[charlesollielandooscararthur]

Chapter Twenty-Too-Much

Summary: When Charles reads a little of Y/n romance books and it happens to be a little spicy.

It was one of those rare evenings where nothing needed to be done and no one was expected anywhere. The windows were cracked open to let in the Monaco evening air, and the sun had dipped low enough that the light streaming through the apartment turned everything golden. The kind of light that made everything feel like a dream.

Charles had been in the kitchen for a while now, doing something unnecessarily complicated with olives. I could hear the occasional frustrated French muttering and the clink of utensils, but I was too engrossed in my book to comment. I was curled into the corner of the couch, legs tucked up under me, wearing one of Charles’ oversized hoodies — the red Ferrari one I always stole when he wasn’t looking. Alexandra sat on the carpet a few feet away, scrolling through her iPad while Leo snoozed next to her with one of his paws twitching from dreams.

My book — the one I’d been absolutely devouring all week — was reaching that point. You know the one. That slow burn tension boiling over. The kind of chapter that should come with a warning label.

But I didn’t flinch. I didn’t blush. I didn’t even blink.

I just turned the page and kept reading, as if it were a weather report.

Charles finally walked into the living room, rolling his sleeves up like he was preparing for battle. “Okay, the olives were—why do we even buy olives that don’t open like normal people?”

He trailed off mid-rant when he saw me. I guess it was the look on my face. Or lack thereof. The unnaturally calm expression paired with the tight grip on the book.

He tilted his head and came around the couch slowly, peering over my shoulder. “What are you reading?”

“Just a book,” I replied casually, eyes not leaving the page.

He squinted. “A book about… what exactly?”

I didn’t answer.

He leaned closer.

And then he went completely still.

I heard his breath hitch, just a little. There was silence.

And then:

“Is that his hand or her hand? I’m—Y/n.”

“Yes, Charles?” I turned the page without hesitation.

He pulled his head back slightly, blinking in disbelief. “You’re reading that with a straight face?”

“It’s well written.”

“She just—he literally just—Y/n!”

I smirked. Alexandra looked up from the rug, a subtle smile playing at the corner of her lips.

“What is it now?” she asked, already amused.

“She’s reading something filthy, and she’s just sitting there like she’s doing taxes,” Charles exclaimed, pacing a few steps in either direction before turning back toward me with wide eyes. “Is this normal for you?”

“I have range,” I said matter-of-factly. “I also cried during Finding Nemo, remember?”

“That’s not the same!” he sputtered. “This is—this is… someone should arrest the author!”

Alexandra finally stood up and came around to see the book. She didn’t even flinch either. “Is this the one with the rooftop scene?”

“Yes,” I grinned. “I just passed it.”

She let out a low whistle. “That scene does live rent-free in my head.”

“You too?” Charles looked between us like he was surrounded by aliens.

“Relax,” Alex said, nudging him with her elbow. “It’s just a book.”

“A graphic book!”

I finally closed it with a soft thump, setting it on the coffee table. “Would you rather I read it aloud? I could do voices.”

Charles visibly paled. “No. That’s worse.”

Alex laughed, sitting beside me on the armrest of the couch. “Oh, come on. Let her read a line or two. I want to see how long you can last before combusting.”

He threw a pillow at her.

I picked up the book, flipped it open with a casual elegance, and cleared my throat dramatically. “He pressed her against the—”

“Nope!” Charles was already walking out of the room, waving his arms. “No, no, no. I’m going to go make espresso or something. I need to pray.”

“Need help finding your rosary beads?” I called after him, giggling.

He stuck his head back around the corner. “You know what scares me most?”

“What?”

“That you’re completely unbothered. Like your casually just reading about—about silk ties and elevator buttons.”

I just shrugged.

Charles eventually came back with coffee for all three of us, clearly shaken but trying to pretend he wasn’t. He sat between us, shaking his head while I reached for the book again.

“You’ve ruined this couch,” he mumbled. “This couch has seen things now.”

“You’ll live,” I teased, leaning against him.

He wrapped an arm around me reluctantly, sipping his espresso. “I’m never letting you read on a plane again. What if the flight attendant reads over your shoulder and passes out?”

“You’re so dramatic.”

Alexandra placed her hand on his other shoulder. “Welcome to our world, mon amour. We’ve been like this for years.”

“I can’t believe I thought she was innocent when I met her,” Charles said to no one in particular.

“She was innocent,” I said, reaching up to kiss his jaw sweetly. “Then I discovered fantasy romance.”

He groaned and buried his face in the pillow.

[piecesofchess]

Going to be reopening these soon, mutuals/friends can DM me to reserve a slot if they're interested! I have 3 open right now. Hoping to officially start/open these within the next week or two!

(2/5)

Opening temporary, cheaper half-body $10 Digital Art Commissions, before I open my seasonal ones later in December. This is the cheapest price I currently have for half-body pieces.

My additional TOS is the same as my usual Commissions. DM me if you're interested or have any questions.

More examples below!

[esaari]

[gayestcowboy]

i’ve been knitting a sweater :3

[deoidesign]

.

[clownhavoc]

I am incredibly proud of this cover I made for a project so you guys have to look at it :3

[gxlden-angels]

Still working on talking this out coherently with my therapist but I told I have a hard time admitting to myself something I went through was very bad and dangerous because it feels like the equivalent of being the stunt double in a movie, not the character experiencing the stunt.

Like the stakes seem high in the movie as the character but behind the scenes, there was very little danger. It was always going to go well for the stunt double. It was always scripted to happen a certain way with all of those safety measures in place. I felt like I was in danger but that's because I was the character in those moments. I'm the actor again being interviewed about my role in the movie.

My therapist jokingly said it was "god's plan" then it clicked with both of us that the feeling was essentially an atheistic version of that idea. I'm not consciously pre-deterministic, but that was definitely the vibe my brain defaulted to

[blackfem]

a month away from finishing my masters and ive never wanted to kill myself more than i do now. Anyway slay

[jon-withnoh]

Health vent in the tags 🙃

[lynher]

YOOO I AM /NAWT/ COOKING RN </333