#and without fail a cup of coffee will help

[angelqueef]

mmmfgggh can’t stop thinking about yandere!price babying the fuck out of you

cw: drugging, hand feeding, stalking if you squint, daddy kink, coddling, infantilzation (kinda) oral f!receiving, lotsa pet names, somno, cnc, spit mention, john is creepy and sickeningly sweet, creampie, cockwarming, unprotected sex, possessive behavior, not proofread

he’s just so doting, an almost smothering cloud of sweetness. he loves taking care of you. you’re his baby and he never fails to remind you at every chance he gets.

before he swallows you whole and keeps you on his hip at all times, he lets you go out on your own (ofc he has your location). you come home to him, particularly tired from running errands.

you drag your legs to the kitchen, your nose doing most of the work to bring you when you smell your favorite meal simmering on the stove. and there he is, your big bear of a man stirring the pot, like he doesn’t know you’re right behind him.

he turns to you, all crinkly eyed and smiling, “welcome home, angel,” he walks to you, arms wide as he takes your belongings from your hands and puts them on the bar chair. he swaddles you in his big arms.

“mm. hi,”

he takes a good look at your pretty face, bringing a hand to squeeze your cheeks and turn your head back and forth, inspecting. “what’s wrong with my baby, hm?”

he tilts down and leaves the softest and gentlest of kisses ln your squished, pouted lips. you almost don’t feel it. you whine, wanting more.

“‘m so tired. don’ know why. was only gone for a couple hours,” you lean into him and he digs his fingertips in your hair to massage your scalp.

“you’re just not used to going out without me there to help. had to make so many big decisions on your own, didn’t you?” he tuts and coos, his gruff voice only this cottony around you.

of course your tired. you hadn’t noticed john grind half of a sleeping pill up and slip it in your afternoon tea. not enough to knock you out, but enough to make you drowsy.

you nod into his chest, melting against him. for some reason, your eyes well with tears. your heart aches, you thought you had fared fine on your own until you came home. maybe you really did need him there. you wanted to do something on your own for once, have some you time. but it’s hard to feel under control when he’s not there towering over you, palm on the small of your back to guide you.

he hears you sniff, “shh, shhh. i know, honey,” and suddenly, you’re lifted up and brought to the couch. he wraps a blanket around you.

“be right back. dinner’s ready, you need food in your belly.”

your hand hesitantly leaves his, “m’kay.”

in a flash he comes back with a steaming bowl and a mug in hand.

“made your favorite. and i heated up some honey milk. it’ll relax you,” he places them on the coffee table, bringing your legs into his lap.

“thank you,” your lips wobble.

“you’re welcome, girlie. come on, sit up. time to eat.”

with all your strength you sit upright and reach for the bowl. john’s hand halts you, grabbing your wrist firmly, “no, no. i’m feeding you. my sweet little girl can’t do it on her own right now.”

“what? j-john, it’s really okay. i ca-“

“open.”

you follow his command without question. shocking yourself at your automatic obedience. humiliation runs hot through you and your cheeks warm at the fact he’s treating you like a child.

he blows on your bite of food and pushes it into your mouth. he hums, pleased.

“atta girl. that wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

you chew, the flavors melting on your tastebuds and the food breaking tenderly against your teeth. your eyes are close and you shake your head. after that bite he could do whatever he wants.

“good, hm?” he smiles, bringing the mug of sweet milk to your lips after you swallow your bite. you sip and he jerks the cup up slightly (an accident, he swears), causing milk to dribble on your chin and the sides of your mouth. a lewd sight for him.

“oops. sorry, angel,” he licks and kisses the liquid from your face, a little too rough. you wince.

“my messy girl.”

———————————————————————————

in bed it’s even worse. he’s leaving warm, tender kisses up the whole length of your body, admiring you. you’re on the edge of sleep. his beard tickles and make you squirm. you reach for him.

“y’feeling needy?” he brings himself up to your face so he’s hovering over you, studying your expression with those pacific blue eyes, “silly thing. this tired but you still need your daddy.”

your drowsy eyes snap open at the name, he’d never referred to himself as that before. you don’t know what to say. he huffs a laugh at your bewilderment.

he dips down, light kisses turning wet and hot as he makes his way up your neck. he suckles on your earlobe. “that’s right, angel. i’m your daddy, aren’t i?”

that one move alone makes you a puddle in his hands. you’d never called anyone daddy before, not even your own father, but john doesn’t give you a chance to protest when he’s staring intensely into your eyes, wordlessly demanding an answer. his fingers trace oh so lightly down your side, making you whine and shiver.

arousal and fear shoot through you, “yes, you’re my…d-daddy.”

“good girl. did such a good job. i know it’s new. but daddy’s gonna take care of you, understand?”

you nod, “please, want you.”

“and where do you want me, sweet thing?”

you squeak, covering your face with your hands. asking for what you want is still so hard for you.

john nips the skin on the back of your hand, breath fanning, “c’mon. look at me and use your words.”

you slowly take your hands down and look at him with drowsy eyes. tears of embarrassment well up.

“want you..in my pussy, please..”

john groans and kisses between your eyebrows, “knew you could do it. such a brave baby.”

he spreads your legs and dives down to nose at your clothed cunt, wetness darkening the fabric.

“look at you, so wet for me. i’ve barely done anything, angel,” he licks and sucks the fabric, reveling in your taste.

you moan and twitch at his ministrations, breath hitching when he pulls your panties off to suck on your slit, tongue pushing inside you.

your mind is foggy and all you can think about is john, john, john. you gasp and dig your hands through his cropped hair, “f-fuck, feels s’good,”

“language,” he commands, spanking your inner thigh.

you squeak, “m’sorry, sorry, daddy,”

“sweet girl,” he licks, “so apologetic,” he sucks, “s’okay. you just don’t know any better, do you?” he spits on your folds.

you’re an absolute mess, his condescending tone makes you arch up against his mouth, mustache and nose rubbing your swollen clit.

“yeah, ride my face, there you go.”

he stills and lets your sleepy body do the work. you feel your orgasm building, white and hot in your belly.

“gonna c-,” you whine.

john interrupts you, eager. “yeah? you almost there? go ahead, cum on me angel, let this pretty cunt make a mess f’me,” he shoves his fingers in you with a quickness, palming himself through his slacks. he too might cum at the sight of you.

you gasp and sob and moan, shaking against him. he pumps his fingers in and out of you, riding out your orgasm.

you sink back into the bed, panting.

“fuck, baby, y’did so good. gonna keep you,” he leans up and kisses you deeply, tongue shoving in your mouth. you taste yourself on him.

“you want that? want me to keep you? take care of you forever?”

you’re in a daze and you don’t really know what he means, but his saccharine tone makes whatever he’s saying sounds delicious. so you nod furiously before slumber takes you, shallow breaths turning deep and slow.

he takes his fingers out of your sensitive cunt.

“poor girl,” he nibbles at your neck and collarbone, sweet tone shifting, “gonna fuck you now, okay? i’ll be gentle, you won’t even notice.”

you don’t respond of course, your jaw is already slack and drool pools on the pillow. he collects it on the pad of his fingers and shoves it back into your mouth, you suck instinctively, even in sleep.

“fuck, keep sucking, there you go. you’re so beautiful,” he keeps his fingers in your mouth like a pacifier as he grabs his stiff cock from the fabric of his underwear, shuddering at the cool air hitting his tip.

he lines himself up with your entrance, dragging the tip up and down your wet folds, pressing against your clit. you let out a sleepy squeak.

he shushes you, “it’s just me, sweetheart,” he finally pushes inside you, his promise of being gentle leaving his mind as your gummy walls swallow him in.

he fucks you hard, pumping in and out, making your tits bounce. he loves it, eyes rolling back as he lets go inside you right then and there.

he pulls out to watch his spend spill out of you, just to collect it with his tip and shove it back in. he turns you on your side and plops next to you, cock buried inside you.

you wake up ten hours later to him sleepily rutting into you. your whole body aches. you don’t remember having sex last night.

“good morning, angel. sleep well?”

———————————————————————————

uggghhhb i need him.

[f1amboyant]

Hey, would you write a carcar coffeeshop au? Like Oscar is the barista and Carlos a repeat customer so they go from friends to lovers? And maybe Carlos brings a date to the cafe and Oscar can't understand why he's so unsettled with the idea.

Ask and you shall receive 🧡

(This was fun to write and maybe the little push I needed to get back into writing after a long time, so thank you 🩵)

.

Oscar slams the pumpkin spice latte he just brewed so hard on the counter the content threatens to spill and the paper cup starts to crumple between his tense fingers.

"Alex," he calls in his flattest voice but some of his boiling anger must have seeped through his voice because Lando suddenly appears next to him, a teasing smile on his face.

"Oooooh, someone's in a bad mooooood~," the Brit sing songs.

Oscar does his best to ignore him, turning back to his coffee machine and his next order. He can still feel Lando's annoying gaze at the back of his head.

"I'm not," he grumbles but that half reply only fuels his damn coworker even more.

"You areeeeeee~." Lando's voice is grating on Oscar's nerves. "Come on, Osc. What's got you all moody?"

"Nothing. White mocha for Nico," Oscar calls over the counter, hoping it would distract Lando.

It does not.

"I know you, Oscaaah," Lando says."I know when you're all moody even if you try to hide it behind your blasé attitude. So why the long face? Isn't your crush here? Shouldn't you be all happy and giddy like you get when he's here?"

"He doesn't make me giddy. And I don't have a crush," Oscar adds after a second too long.

"He makes you smile, you muppet. And blush!" Lando retorts. "If that's not you being all giddy and hot for him, I don't know what that is.

"You don't know what that is," Oscar deadpans.

Lando isn't listening anyway.

Another order filled and onto the next. Oscar moves between the coffee machine and the counter without even thinking about it. His hands know the rhythm.

He tries his damnedest not to look up, eyes stubbornly glued to the paper cups going through his fingers, the steaming coffee and the glistening bottles of syrup. But he can't help it. He watches him.

Them.

He is sitting at a little table not far from Oscar's station (to Oscar's utter dismay). His hair as shiny and luscious as ever. Strong nose and plush lips disappearing behind his paper cup from time to time (coffee, black, the strongest blend you have, please). His square jaw juts to the side sometimes and Oscar can't help oggling at the muscle tensing there.

Then Oscar catches himself, looking back down, only to fall on the man's big fingers wrapped around the cup and that's usually when his thoughts derail. Very impure thoughts. Thoughts he cannot disclose and yet Lando seems to read him like an open book. Because Oscar would never admit it but Lando is right. That man (Carlos, said with an 'r' rolling on the tongue and right to Oscar's insides) makes him giddy (and terribly aroused if he's honest with himself).

But today…

Today.

Today, Carlos is not alone.

Today, Carlos has a date.

A date.

And Oscar is dying inside, watching his crush (the man he has been crushing on for weeks now, trying and failing to find a way to flirt with him) with another man.

"Ah. I see," Lando sighs, appearing once again over Oscar's shoulder, as Oscar starts to oggle for a little bit too long. "Tall, dark and handsome got a date," Lando says. "I told you, you needed to act quicker. You're so slow, mate."

"Shut up."

There's not much force into it and anyway Lando just shrugs and goes back to work. Oscar chances another look at Carlos and his stupid date (Alex, what grown ass man is even called Alex?). They laugh together and Oscar's heart breaks.

For the next painstakingly long hour, Oscar does his best ignoring his broken heart and the happy couple at the little table until Alex leaves and Carlos stays behind. Big eyes lost, looking nowhere, jaws moving from side to side in thought, he is nursing a cup of coffee that's probably cold and disgusting by now.

Oscar's hands act on autopilot and before he knows it, he is walking around the counter and straight for the little table, steaming cup in hand. Oscar puts it on the table and instead of saying 'on the house', like he planned to, he blurts out.

"Your date's gone."

Dear lord, Oscar, get a grip.

Carlos looks up at him, his eyes so round and so brown, Oscar's heart melts.

"Sorry," he rushes to say. "I didn't mean to pry or to be rude."

"Don't worry about it, Oscar," Carlos says, a half smile and half pout on his pretty lips. "It was a great date anyway. Alex is a nice guy but not the right fit for me."

"I'm sorry," Oscar says but he's not feeling sorry at all. His hearts lodges in his throat, fluttering. "Well." This is it. This is the moment. "If you feel like hanging out, you know, to talk or something, you know where to find me."

He points at the coffee machine over his shoulder and flees before he can hear Carlos' rejection.

But Oscar is barely back at his work station, cleaning a bit before the next rush, that Carlos is pulling the stool on the other side of the counter and settling with his steaming cup.

"Hey, you," Carlos says, wiggling his eyebrows at Oscar. "Do you come here often?"

Oscar pauses, at a loss for words.

"You're so weird."

"Hey!" Carlos protests, but the smile still lingers on his full lips. Oscar desperately wants to kiss them. "That's not a very nice way to start a date. You have to introduce yourself and all. Go on, Oscar."

So so weird. Oscar just likes him even more.

"You know my name," he points at his name tag (he can feel his heart hammering under it).

"Nice to meet you, Oscar," Carlos says, undisturbed and laughing sweetly. "I'm Carlos."

"I know. I wrote your name on a million cups already."

"Good. Would you write your phone number on the next one, too?"

Oscar dissolves in spluttering words and heated cheeks, fumbling with a new paper cup and his pen to scribble his phone number on it and give it to Carlos. Carlos laughs, but it doesn't feel mocking, just the sexiest sound Oscar has ever heard.

It's not really a date, but Oscar counts this first real conversation (Carlos sitting at the counter while Oscar still works, talking about nothing and everything) as their first date anyway. And Carlos takes him out on a real date after that, when he calls the next day. So it's all okay.

[sylus-shivanika]

Yours, Always.

Sylus × Reader (Housewife)

Genre: Fluff, Domestic, Warm Romance

It had always been your dream to be a housewife.

Because the thought of creating a warm, peaceful world for the one you loved filled your heart with joy. You dreamed of quiet mornings, soft laughter, the clinking of dishes in a sunlit kitchen, and evenings spent wrapped in gentle affection. A life where love bloomed in the little things, fresh coffee, warm meals, shared routines. A life with him.

And when you married Sylus, that dream finally came to life.

Even when he insisted, again and again on hiring chefs to spoil you, claiming a queen shouldn’t lift a finger, you refused with a soft smile. “Let me take care of you, Sylus,” you would say. Because for you, love meant cooking his favorite meals with your own hands, filling the house with the scent of comfort and care. It wasn’t a chore, it was the highlight of your day.

Sylus, ever the devoted husband, was completely enamored. So fond of your cooking that after every dinner, he’d tug you into his arms and take you on a gentle walk or a spontaneous joyride, just to end the evening on a sweeter note. He said it helped him digest, but you knew the truth, he just wanted more time with you under the stars.

One of your other favorite things, though you never told him, was arranging his outfits in the wardrobe. You took pride in folding his shirts, matching ties to jackets, placing everything just right. And every time you touched his clothes, your fingers would linger for a moment longer. You’d bring a sleeve to your nose, inhaling that familiar, comforting scent of him. It made the house feel less quiet while he was away. As if he had left a piece of himself behind just for you.

You made sure to dress up for him every evening before he came home from work, not out of duty, but delight. You loved watching his eyes light up the moment he stepped through the door, tired from the world outside, only to see you smiling in the soft glow of your shared home. His stress would melt away in an instant, replaced by something softer, something that only bloomed when he looked at you.

And he never forgot to bring you something, flowers, a little trinket, or something you’d mentioned needing in passing. Every gift was wrapped in thoughtfulness, his quiet way of saying: I thought of you today.

In the mornings, while he dressed for work, you made his coffee just the way he liked it, strong, with a little heart frothed on top. It was your love language, simple and sweet. And every time, without fail, he’d take a sip, then guide the cup to your lips, making you drink from the same spot he had.

“My favorite taste,” he’d whisper, brushing a kiss to your temple.

Your days were simple. Peaceful. But in that quiet simplicity, you had everything you ever wanted, him.

[sanshinely]

ONE LAST GOODBYE | ATEEZ CHOI SAN

ONE LAST GOODBYE

ateez choi san x fem!reader

trope »  established relationship fic, idol-actor!san, journalist!reader

genre »  angst, bittersweet romance, terminal illness, second chance

word count;  3,612 words estimated reading time » ~ 10-12  minutes (normal reading speed)

warnings » mentions of terminal illness, grief, emotional scenes, character death (major) 

It was already 9:30 AM, and the clock on my phone ringed me as I sprinted down the crowded streets. I could feel my heart racing faster than my feet. "This is it. I'm going to get fired today," I muttered to myself, dodging people left and right, clutching my coffee cup with a grip that probably would've broken a weaker one. The worst part? I knew this was coming. I woke up late again.

I finally burst through the office doors, out of breath and flustered. Mr. Park, my boss, gave me a look that could freeze fire. "Late again, Y/N?" He wasn’t even trying to mask his disappointment. His voice was sharp, but I could hear the underlying amusement, as if he was waiting for me to screw up just so he could rub it in.

"Sorry, Mr. Park! I’ll make it up!" I said quickly, trying to catch my breath and failing miserably.

He sighed dramatically, tapping his pen on the desk. "Well, if you’re serious about making it up to me, grab us some coffee or something. Maybe that will help you focus better." I nodded, practically running out the door again, this time to grab some coffee and, if I was lucky, a little peace of mind.

The clock hit noon, and my stomach was already growling. I had barely survived the first half of the day, but at least I was halfway through the chaos. It was my lunch break, and I was determined to enjoy my time. I settled into a quiet corner of the office with a steaming bowl of ramen. My favorite.

The warm, spicy broth and the chewy noodles felt like a little piece of heaven in a crazy day. It was the only thing that ever managed to make me forget about everything else, even for just a moment.

Just as I was about to take another satisfying bite, my phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen, and it was a text from my friend, Y/F/N.

Y/F/N: "Hey, Y/N! Guess what? The manager of Choi San is asking for you. They said you're one of the best journalists in the city. This is big. Better get ready."

I almost choked on my ramen. Choi San? The guy I had not thought about in years.

"Wait, what?" I quickly typed back, unsure of how to process the sudden rush of adrenaline flooding my system.

Y/F/N: "Yeah, I think he needs a feature or something. You’d better hurry."

I stared at my phone for a moment, wondering if this was some sort of joke. Choi San. The man who once vanished from my life without a trace. My ex, now a big name in the industry.

My hands were shaking as I set down my bowl and grabbed my bag. Whatever this was, I knew it wasn’t going to be just another ordinary day.

The silence in the waiting room felt heavier than usual. The only sounds were the soft clicks of high heels on the floor and hushed conversations between staff, busy preparing for the shoot. I checked my phone again, making sure the message from San's manager was still there.

"We'd like you to come for an exclusive interview with Choi San."

Those three words were enough to stir something in my chest. After all these years, I was finally called back. But this time, there was no excitement—just a deep emptiness, as if each passing second in this room weighed down on me. I swallowed hard, feeling the unease settle in my stomach.

I had spent so much time trying to forget him, trying to convince myself that it didn’t matter, that I had moved on. But the truth was, I hadn’t. Not really.

Taking a deep breath, I walked toward the door of the studio. My footsteps seemed louder now, as if the world had grown quieter in anticipation. When the door opened, the familiar, almost haunting scent of cologne filled the air. There he was.

Choi San.

The actor and singer who was now more known for his mysterious absence than his fame. His hair, darker than I remembered, framed his face perfectly. He wore a tailored suit that fit him as though it was made just for him, but it wasn’t the sharpness of his appearance that caught my attention—it was the way his eyes locked onto mine.

He didn’t smile, not immediately. But those eyes… They were the same. I could still see the same warmth, the same unspoken words, the same ghost of the past lurking behind them.

"Y/N," he said, his voice like a melody I hadn’t realized I missed. The name escaped his lips like it always had—so effortlessly, so naturally. My heart skipped a beat before I caught myself.

I forced a smile, though it felt foreign on my face. "Choi San," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. "It’s been a long time." His gaze softened just a bit, and for a moment, I thought maybe time hadn’t been as kind to him as it had to me. But I pushed that thought away. I couldn’t afford to think like that. Not now.

"Please, come in. We’re ready for the interview," he said, gesturing to the set behind him, where cameras were being adjusted and lighting was perfected.

I took a step forward, but the moment my foot crossed the threshold, the familiar, unwelcome knot of nerves twisted in my stomach. It felt like stepping back into a life I had tried so hard to leave behind.

But here I was, in the same room with him, doing the one thing I thought I’d never have to do again: face Choi San. After the unexpected meeting with him after 10 years, we’re both dated since high school. And i broke up with him, present tense we do have jobs to do now.

The room was as polished as always, with everything in place—cameras set up, crew members hustling to make sure everything was perfect, and lights that made everything look flawless. But the air between us felt heavy, like an old memory we couldn’t shake off. Every step I took towards San felt like I was crossing an invisible line—one that led straight into the past.

He didn’t move much, just stood there, watching me walk in. The silence stretched for a moment longer than I was comfortable with, but neither of us said anything. We didn’t need to. Our eyes spoke enough. It was clear we both recognized the weight of this moment.

I cleared my throat, trying to regain control of the situation. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Choi San," I said, my voice professional, though it cracked ever so slightly as I said his name. "Of course," he replied, his tone equally professional, but I could hear the undertone of something else—something older, more familiar. "I’m glad you’re here, Y/N."

There it was again. His voice. So smooth, so familiar. It had been years, but hearing it still made me feel like I was the same person I had been back then. The person who once cared, who once held onto every word he said.

San cleared his throat quietly, a small, almost imperceptible cough. I caught the gesture, my eyes lingering on him for just a second before I turned my attention to the set, focusing on anything else but that moment. The cough was so small, but it felt like a signal, a reminder that he was still human, still here. He wasn’t perfect.

But we both knew better than to acknowledge the silence, so I kept my cool, forcing a professional smile. "Shall we get started?" I gestured to the chairs set up across from each other, and he nodded. As we settled into our respective seats, I couldn’t shake the tension hanging between us. We both wore the masks of professionalism, but the air was thick with unspoken words and memories we had buried deep down. The awkwardness was palpable, and for a brief moment, I almost forgot why I was there in the first place.

I was here to do a job, not to get lost in the past.

"So," I began, looking at him with a calculated calm, "What’s been keeping you busy lately? I hear you’ve got a new project coming up?" His eyes flickered with something—recognition, maybe, or maybe something deeper—and for the briefest second, I thought I saw a hint of a smile tug at his lips. But he quickly masked it with his usual composure.

"Yes, actually. I’ve been working on a new film. It’s… a bit different from what I’ve done before." He paused, as if carefully selecting his words. "I wanted to step out of my comfort zone." I nodded, trying to keep my focus on the interview. The words felt rehearsed, but they were still Choi San. My Choi San, even if only for a fleeting moment.

I asked a few more questions, keeping it light, professional, but every answer from him felt like it came with a weight—a weight I didn’t want to acknowledge, but couldn’t escape. Just then, the door to the studio opened, and his manager stepped in, a bit flustered. He glanced between me and San, his eyes narrowing as if trying to make sense of something.

"Wait…" The manager’s voice cracked slightly, his eyebrows furrowing in disbelief. "You’re… Y/N? The Y/N?" I froze. The manager’s eyes widened as realization set in. "No way… you’re the one. You’re… his ex, right?" He turned to San with a mixture of shock and confusion. "And... the last one?" San’s face didn’t betray anything, but I could see a flicker of discomfort pass through his expression. His manager was too stunned to notice the change.

"Uh, yeah, we... we know each other," I replied, trying to keep my composure, though my heart had started to beat faster. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to dig into this part of my life. "It’s... it’s been a while." The manager seemed lost for words for a moment, still processing what he had just learned. "Well, this just got... interesting," he muttered, glancing at San, who had yet to say anything.

I could feel San's gaze shifting to me, but I kept my focus on the manager, trying not to let my discomfort show.

—

The room around us suddenly seemed to shrink. Despite the bustling activity of the crew just outside the door, in here, the world had grown silent, heavy with years of unspoken words and unfinished business. Choi San sat across from me, still as calm and composed as ever, but something in his eyes betrayed a long-hidden storm—one that I hadn’t seen coming. It was the same look he had back then, the look of someone trying to hide what was tearing them apart.

As the seconds ticked by, I felt my heart racing, a quiet desperation rising within me. Why was I here again? What has changed? What has changed between us? I leaned back in my chair, eyes tracing the lines of his face—the lines that had deepened with time, the same features I used to study late at night. I could almost hear his laugh in my ears, the way he’d always smile, that rare, gentle smile that had once melted me. But it wasn’t enough anymore.

The soft hum of the lights above us seemed to mirror my thoughts. The room was too quiet, too heavy with the weight of everything unsaid.

I had to ask. I had to know.

"Why did you leave me back then?" My voice broke the silence, but it didn’t feel like my own. It felt raw, too exposed for anyone to hear, but I couldn’t hold it back any longer.

San froze. His jaw tightened ever so slightly, and I could see the internal battle waging in his mind. He looked away for a moment, his gaze drifting to the window. The storm outside had long since passed, but it didn’t feel like it was gone.

His hands rested on the table, fingers tapping nervously, betraying his calm exterior. He swallowed, then looked back at me, eyes softer, more vulnerable than they’d ever been. 

"Because I was dying," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I didn’t want you to waste your life waiting for me to disappear." 

I blinked, his words cutting through the tension like a knife, leaving a painful, jagged wound where my chest had been. My breath caught in my throat. For a moment, I couldn't move, couldn’t speak. His words hung there between us, heavier than anything I had ever expected to hear.

His voice faltered as he continued. "I didn’t want you to be stuck... waiting for someone who couldn’t give you the future you deserve." The weight of his confession was almost too much to bear. I thought I had prepared myself for this moment, for answers, but hearing him speak like that—it shattered me.

The memory hit me like a wave. The night we broke up.

It had been a stormy evening, just like this one. We'd run through the rain, laughing, until we were drenched from head to toe. That carefree moment felt like everything, as though we were untouchable, invincible together. But then came the silence. He pulled away. His eyes had grown distant, and that was when I realized the one person I thought would never leave me had started to slip away.

"San, what’s going on?" I had asked that night, my voice trembling as I reached for him.

And then his words—words that still echoed in my mind—had come. "I’m not the person you think I am. You deserve someone who can love you properly, someone who won’t disappear. I can’t keep holding you back." Before I could say anything, he was gone, slipping into the night, leaving me with nothing but the remnants of my broken heart. He left without an explanation, without a goodbye. Just… nothing.

Now, sitting across from me, San was the same as before, but the years had aged him in a way I couldn’t ignore. His smile, the one that once made me feel safe, now felt foreign. The walls he’d built were still standing tall, and I was left with the same feeling of being discarded, like I meant nothing. I wanted to scream, to demand more answers, but instead, I swallowed the lump in my throat and held his gaze.

"You left me without saying anything," I said softly, trying to steady my voice. "Without a reason. You didn’t give me a chance."

San’s expression softened, and for a moment, it seemed like he might reach out to me. But he didn’t. He just looked at me, his gaze filled with guilt and sorrow. "I didn’t know how to tell you," he admitted, his voice raw. "I didn’t want to hurt you. I wanted you to move on, to have a life... without me in it."

I shook my head slowly, the pain of that night coming back like it had just happened yesterday. "You don’t get to decide that for me, San." There was a long pause, and I could see the struggle in his eyes. But no matter how many years had passed, no matter how many times I told myself I had moved on, it still hurt. It still felt like he was the ghost I couldn’t shake.

"Y/N…" San began, his voice barely audible now, but I didn’t want to hear more. Not yet. I wasn’t ready to face the full extent of what he had done to me. What he had done to us. 

The weight of silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. I couldn’t look away from him, not now, not when every word felt like a jagged shard cutting through the distance we’d created. I wanted to yell, to demand more, but part of me was afraid—afraid of what I might hear, afraid that the pain I thought I had buried would resurface.

San seemed to sense the tension, his hands twitching slightly on the table, his fingers drumming nervously. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, and that quiet unease only seemed to make the gap between us feel even wider. "You know, back then," I said slowly, trying to keep my voice steady, "I never understood why you left. I thought maybe you didn’t care about me anymore. That it wasn’t worth fighting for."

San flinched. His expression, usually so guarded, flickered with something—regret, maybe. I couldn’t tell, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to see it. Seeing him look at me like that only made me wish I could go back to the past, to when I hadn’t felt so abandoned.

"But I still thought about you," I added quietly, my voice shaking despite myself. "I kept wondering why you couldn’t just trust me, trust that we could get through it. You didn’t even give me a chance to help."

San’s jaw clenched, his eyes shifting from my face to the floor as though he was searching for the right words. After a long pause, he finally met my gaze again, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know," he said softly. "And I’m sorry, Y/N. I never wanted to hurt you. I just thought it was better for you if I left…" The words trailed off, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe that the reason he left had been for me, for my sake. But after all this time, it felt hollow.

I had spent so many nights, lying awake in my bed, wondering what went wrong. And now, sitting here in front of him, I realized that maybe the truth was even harder to accept than the silence we’d lived in for years. "You think you were doing me a favor by leaving me?" I couldn’t hold back the bitterness in my voice. "You think it was better for me to just… forget you? To never know what happened?"

His eyes softened, but the sadness in them didn’t make me feel any better. If anything, it just reminded me of all the time we had lost. "I thought you’d hate me if you knew the truth," San murmured, his voice cracking slightly. "But I can’t hide from it anymore. I was sick, Y/N. And I didn’t want you to have to watch me die."

I stared at him, my heart pounding in my chest. The words made sense—too much sense—but they felt like they came from someone else. This wasn’t the man I used to know, the one who had laughed with me in the rain, the one who had stayed up late with me talking about everything and nothing.

—

The rain had started to fall as we stepped outside the building, the heavy droplets splattering against the pavement like a thousand tiny whispers of regret. The night air was cool, and the sound of the rain hitting the ground was oddly soothing. We walked in silence, the kind of silence that only feels heavier with every passing second. It wasn’t the comfortable kind of silence—it was suffocating, loaded with the things we couldn’t say, the things we had kept hidden for too long.

We found ourselves sitting on a bench under a small canopy, the light from the streetlamp casting soft shadows on San’s face. He didn’t say anything at first, his gaze focused on the rain as if it could wash away the tension that had built between us.

I was still processing everything he had just told me, but the truth of his words was beginning to settle in. He had left me because he thought it would protect me. He thought that walking away was the only way to save me from the pain of losing him. But now, here we were, and all I could feel was the sting of those years wasted in silence.

San took a deep breath, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wasn’t lying when I said I was sick," he began, his eyes finally meeting mine, the vulnerability in them undeniable. "But the truth is… I don’t have much time left. A few weeks, maybe. That’s all I have. The treatment isn’t working anymore. I’ve been holding on, hoping, but… it’s time for me to face the truth."

I froze. The words hit me like a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from my lungs. I wanted to say something—anything—but the reality of what he was saying left me speechless. He was dying. And after all this time, he was finally telling me.

The tears started to well up in my eyes, but I couldn’t stop them. It was like a dam had broken, and all the emotions I had buried over the years came flooding out. I had always wondered why he left, why he never came back to explain. But now, hearing this, it felt like the universe had been cruel to us. Why did he have to carry this burden alone? Why did he think he had to protect me by leaving me in the dark?

"You should have told me," I whispered through the tears, my voice trembling. "You didn’t have to do this alone. You didn’t have to push me away. We could’ve fought this together." San’s face twisted in pain as he reached out to gently take my hand, his touch warm against my cold skin. I didn��t pull away. I couldn’t. The connection was too strong, even after all this time.

"I thought disappearing would hurt you less…" His voice cracked, and I could see the guilt in his eyes. "I didn’t know it would haunt you longer."

The words stung, but I understood them. He had thought that leaving me was the right thing to do, that it would spare me from the heartache of watching him fade away. But what he hadn’t realized was that the pain of him leaving had lasted longer than he could imagine. It wasn’t the absence that hurt—it was the years of wondering, the years of not knowing why.

I wiped my tears, my hands shaking as I tried to steady myself. "You’re wrong," I said, my voice firm despite the tears. "Leaving me hurts more than you could ever understand. I spent years thinking you didn’t care, thinking that you didn’t love me enough to stay. But I would’ve stayed, San. I would’ve stayed by your side, no matter what. I just needed you to trust me."

San’s eyes softened, and for the first time, I saw the full weight of his regret in them. He squeezed my hand gently, his grip tender but firm. "I didn’t want to make you suffer through all of this. I thought I was doing the right thing. But I see now that I was wrong. I should’ve trusted you. I should’ve never let you go." The rain continued to fall around us, but at that moment, it didn’t matter. Time seemed to stand still. I wasn’t sure if we would ever get back to what we once had, but I knew one thing for certain—I wasn’t going anywhere.

"I’ll stay," I whispered, my voice steady this time. "I’ll stay, San. No matter what happens, I’m here. I’m not leaving you again."

San’s eyes shimmered with emotion, and without another word, he pulled me into a gentle embrace. I let myself fall into him, the warmth of his body against mine a comfort I hadn’t realized I needed so desperately. For a moment, everything else faded away—the rain, the world, the past. There was only the two of us, and the weight of everything unsaid was finally beginning to lift.

I didn’t know what the future held. But at that moment, I knew one thing: I wasn’t going to let him go again.

—

The sun dipped low, casting golden streaks across the park as the sky gradually melted into a soft evening hue. They sat side by side on a bench near the lake, not saying much, just breathing in the quiet, as if every second was a memory waiting to be carved. 

“Do you remember this place?” he asked, his voice softer than the wind. Y/N nodded, her lips trembling with the smile she tried to hold in. “You brought me here on your birthday once. Said you didn’t want anything except a sunset and cheap street toast.” He chuckled weakly, his shoulders shaking just a little. “Still sounds like the perfect birthday.”

There was a stillness between them, like the world had paused out of respect. It wasn't heavy—it was delicate. Fragile. Meant to be held with care.

They took a photo together. San’s head resting gently against hers, the faintest trace of a smile on his lips. Y/N made sure to hide the tears pooling in her eyes. The photo would later sit by her bedside forever—the last one they ever took.

As twilight embraced them, Y/N pulled out a small, folded piece of paper from her bag. Her hands trembled slightly, the words finally finding the courage to breathe.

“I wrote this for you,” she whispered. “Back when I didn’t know why you left. I never sent it.”

She began to read the poem:

"To the one who left with my laughter, And took silence in return, I hope the stars keep you safe The way your arms once did for me.

If time is kind, may it bring you back. If not... may it carry you gently, Wherever you’re going."

San didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at her—really looked at her. Like he was memorizing every piece of her face. His thumb brushed over her knuckles as his eyes grew glassy.

“Thank you,” he said, almost inaudibly.

The moment hung in the air. Full. Painful. Beautiful. Eventually, San leaned against her shoulder, exhaling slowly. “I think… I’m tired,” he murmured, his voice barely a breath. As the night deepened, the air grew colder, but neither of them moved. San shifted slightly, resting his head on Y/N’s shoulder. “Can I stay like this for a bit?” he asked, his voice almost childlike.

Y/N nodded, brushing her cheek softly against his hair. “Of course. As long as you want.” He chuckled faintly. “Don’t say that. You’ll regret it.”

“No, I won’t,” she replied. “Not even for a second.”

They sat like that for what felt like forever—wrapped in silence, the city lights glimmering faintly in the distance. Y/N listened to his breathing, steady but shallow, the rhythm slowing down like a song nearing its final verse.

Then... nothing.

At first, she didn’t notice. She was too busy memorizing the feeling of him leaning against her. But then she realized—

His fingers had stopped twitching.

His breaths had faded into silence.

“San?” she whispered, nudging him gently.

No response.

Her heart dropped.

“San?” she said again, louder this time. “San, wake up—this isn’t funny.”

She turned to him fully, hands shaking as she cupped his cheeks. His skin was cold. Too cold.

“No, no no no no—please,” her voice broke as tears poured down, “You said you'd stay for a little longer—San, please wake up—”

Her cries pierced the quiet night. The stars above blinked dimly as if they, too, mourned with her.

That Thursday night, beneath the soft rain and the empty sky, she held him close.

He left gently. But she screamed for the first time in years.The sky was a soft gray when Y/N stepped onto the familiar path.

—

A small bouquet of white lilies rested in her hand—San’s favorite. The air smelled like rain, and the silence of the morning matched the emptiness that never fully left her chest.

She stopped in front of the grave.

CHOI SAN 1999 — 2025 "He loved quietly, but with everything he had."

Y/N knelt down, placing the flowers gently by the headstone. Her fingers lingered on the carved name. “Hi,” she whispered. “It’s been a while.” There was no response. But somehow, she still felt him there—in the wind, in the light rustling of leaves.

“I finally finished the article,” she continued softly. “The one you told me to write, about stories that deserve to be remembered.”

A long pause.

“And you, San… you were the story.”

She smiled faintly, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “You’d hate it, but… people love you even more now. Your old fans, new fans—they’re everywhere. They all say the same thing. That you were kind. That you left too soon.”

Standing back up, she adjusted her coat. The cold didn’t bother her much anymore. Somehow, it had become part of her now.

On the way home, she walked slowly to the bus stop. The world felt like it moved on too quickly. But not her. Not yet. As she sat down on the bench, waiting for the next bus, something made her glance up. A billboard across the street lit up.

It was San.

A tribute ad—his soft smile, a black ribbon in the corner.

"In Loving Memory of Choi San — beloved son, friend, and artist. He taught us how to live, how to love, and how to say goodbye."

Y/N stared at it, her breath catching in her throat.

But this time, she didn’t cry. She smiled. Not because the pain was gone—but because she knew he was finally at peace. He had given her everything. Every glance, every laugh, every moment. He had left her with the kind of love that didn't end. The kind that never needed to be explained.

“And in the end, he left quietly—just like he always did. But this time, I held on until the very last breath.”

Because San didn't die because he was sick.

He died because he had loved her with everything he had.

And that love—was uncontrollably fond.

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

thank u for ur time & for reading this fic!

[rackartyg]

i HAVE HAD. a LARGE cup of COFFEE and an ENERGY DRINK, totalling 305 MILLIGRAMS of CAFFEINE. i’m NOT taking my (unintended) SLEEPING MEDICATION anymore. i woke up SIX HOURS ago. WHY do i WANT to take a NAP???

[hoshifighting]

“you know what else is pink?”

WARNINGS: roomate!jihoon, smut, ...pink cock, blowjob/handjob, penetrative sex, squirt, overstimulation.

WC: 2.7K

[got inspiration from this tiktok]

jihoon’s got this routine down, locked in. you hear the clatter of keys in the door at exactly 9:17 PM, every night without fail. he comes in smelling like roasted coffee beans and vanilla syrup, a backpack slung over one shoulder, and—of course—that little paper cup in hand as he kicked the door shut behind him with that little flick of his heel.

“got your poison,” he says, tossing the pink monstrosity onto the table in front of you. It lands with a soft thunk, condensation already forming on the sides, and the sight alone is enough to make you grin like a damn idiot.

“thanks, hoon,” you say, grabbing it immediately and taking a sip like you haven’t had this exact drink every day for months. it’s sweet as hell, tastes like summer and cavities, but you can’t help it. you’re obsessed.

jihoon just shrugs like it’s nothing—like he didn’t go out of his way to snag this for you, again.

he chuckles, already moving toward the bathroom while shrugging off his jacket. “you know what else is pink?”

your brain short-circuits. immediately. you blink up at him like he’s just asked you to solve the riddle of the sphinx.

“h-hm?”

he pauses, halfway out of his jacket, and tilts his head back to look at you. a mischievous little smirk stretches across his face, his pearly-ass veneers catching the shitty overhead lighting.

“huh?” jihoon mirrored you, raising his eyebrows all innocent.

you’re left thinking about his elbows now, how they’re faintly pink at the joints, a soft flush that spreads to his cheeks when it’s too hot in the apartment. his knees, the curve of them when he sits cross-legged on the couch watching anime. the way his nipples—god, why are you thinking about his nipples—stand out when he’s shirtless, all pale skin and rosy peaks.

and yeah, okay. you know exactly what he meant.

the “pink drink” sat in your hand, cold and totally innocent, unlike the mental image now burning in your skull.

[...]

the sound of him moving around in the bedroom after his shower is, like, a damn magnet pulling you in. you’ve been pacing the kitchen like a lunatic, the pink frappuccino now safely tucked away in the fridge because there’s no way in hell you’re gonna stomach all that milk with what you’re about to do. your heart’s doing that stupid fast thing, but you’re already walking down the hallway, bare feet quiet against the floor.

the bedroom door is cracked open, and you catch him just as he’s hanging his towel up. his back’s to you, but even from here, you can see how his shoulders move when he stretches, pale skin almost glowing under the shitty warm light of the bedroom. and those shorts are barely covering anything, and his legs look even paler against the fabric.

he runs both hands through his wet hair, brushing it back in that way that makes it stick up all messy, and for a second, you just stand there leaning against the wall beside the door, arms crossed, watching him like a creep. your bottom lip tugs between your teeth as you try to psych yourself up, but nah, fuck it, you’re already moving. you push off the wall and walk straight up to him. he doesn’t even have time to turn around fully before your hands are on him, shoving his chest hard enough that he stumbles backward.

“yo—” he starts, but his knees hit the edge of the bed, and he sits down with a soft oof, bracing himself on his elbows.

his eyes snap up to meet yours, wide. “what’s this about?”

you step closer, standing between his knees, grabbing his chin with your fingers to tilt his head up.

“oh?” he breathes out, his smirk faltering just a bit when your thumb brushes over his bottom lip.

“yeah. oh,” you shoot back, your voice sharper than the shaky confidence you’re working with. you sink to your knees in front of him, your hands trailing down his torso, the little bodyhairs raising up to meet your palm, fingers dragging over that pale skin. his breath catches, and he shifts, spreading his legs just enough for you to settle between them.

you tug at the waistband of those godforsaken shorts, sliding them down. and there it is, the very thing he hinted at earlier—exactly like you knew he’d be, flushed and already half-hard, the head its almost the same shade of your drink, but more human-skin-like, and fuck, you're probably going to think about it everytime he hands you the drink. his breath hitches again when your hand wraps around him.

“what’s wrong?” you tease, tilting your head, your thumb swiping over the tip to smear the bead of wetness there.

“ah-ah-shit—” he mutters, his voice strained. you lean forward, pressing a kiss to his hip bone, then lower, leaving a trail of warmth as your lips move closer.

he lets out this shaky little laugh, but it breaks off into a hiss when you lean in, your lips brushing over the tip, like you're about to taste it, before wrapping around him completely. his lungs get full of air before moaning all way in while he exhales and you swear you’ve never felt more smug in your life.

his hand comes up to cover his mouth, like he’s trying to muffle the sounds spilling out of him, but it’s useless. the little gasps, the way his voice breaks on your name—it’s making you swallow him in.

your hand moves in partnership with your mouth, stroking him in time with the way your tongue works over every inch of him. when you glance up, his head is tipped back, eyes half-closed, lips parted, and he looks like he is winning a bliss.

“you’re so fucking—good” he stammers, his voice cracking halfway through. “holy shit, keep—keep going.”

you don’t stop, not even when his thighs start trembling under your hands, not even when he’s biting down on his knuckles to keep himself from being too loud.

you hollow your cheeks as you pull back, dragging your lips over him until you reach the tip with a wet, obscene pop.

“jesus fucking—” he chokes out, but his words cut off when you lower your head, tongue dragging along the sensitive seam of his sack like you’re savoring it. you can feel the way his thighs tense on your sides, trembling like he’s caught between pulling away and leaning into you.

your hand is still wrapped around him, firm that his cockhead gets red, keeping that steady rhythm while your tongue works over the delicate skin below.

he lifts his head to look down at you, his lips parted in disbelief, sweat glistening on his forehead. “you—what the fuck are you doing?”

“what’s it look like?” you quip back, grinning up at him before wrapping your lips around his balls again, taking one side into your mouth gently. his reaction is instant—his hips roll under your mouth, and his eyes, roll back.

“this is—holy shit—this is fucked up.”

you hum around him, taking your time, switching to the other side, your tongue lavishing the sensitive skin as you work him over. “fucked up?” you echo between breaths, lips brushing against him. “sounds like youre enjoying it.”

his hand flies up to cover his face, fingers digging into his own hair. he groans, his hips betraying him, twitching toward your mouth like he’s chasing the feeling.

you lean back in, your mouth hot and wet against his cock again, taking him deeper this time, your tongue tracing patterns as you move.

“fuck—fuck—you’re gonna—” his eyes squeeze shut as he lets grits his teeth, failing to hold his whimpers, spilling over himself and inside your mouth.

you don’t stop until you’re sure he’s ridden it out completely, pulling back slowly, your lips slick and swollen, jaw aching, as you wipe your mouth with your thumb.

“you okay there?”

“i don’t think okay covers it...” he grimaces.

“guess i’ll take that as a compliment.”

“you should.” he says, his lips quirking into the faintest smile.

he tilts his head back, his eyes hooded and his lips curling into a lazy smirk as he lifts his hand, tapping his thigh in that slow, cocky way he knows you can’t resist. “c’mere”

you hesitate, for a second, before standing and moving toward him. his gaze stays locked on you, and you feel the weight of it like a physical thing. as you straddle his lap, your dress rides up, pooling around your hips, and his hands are already on you, one gripping your waist while the other skims up your thigh.

he pulls you closer, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that’s anything but gentle. when his tongue drags along your bottom lip, tasting the faint saltiness of himself there, he lets out an obscene groan.

“you taste like me,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your mouth before he licks along your lip again, slower this time. his teeth catch the tender skin, biting just enough to sting before he pulls back, tugging your lip between his teeth with a smirk.

your hands grip his shoulders to steady yourself as his hand slides lower, over the curve of your ass, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp. “been waiting all night to do this,” he mutters, as his fingers dip under the hem of your dress.

before you can process what’s happening, he hooks a finger under the side of your panties, tugging sharply until the fabric tears with a quiet rip. you feel the ruined cloth hanging loosely against your skin as his fingers brush over the now-bare flesh.

you open your mouth to protest—something about him owing you a new pair—but the words die in your throat when you see him lift his hand to his mouth, his tongue dragging along the length of his fingers.

the sight alone has your breath hitching, your thighs twitching around his. he catches the movement, his smirk widening as he pulls his fingers from his mouth, his free hand squeezing your waist as his other hand trails back down.

when his fingers meet your drenched cunt, he spreads the wetness, the wet noise that follows making your cheeks flush even as your body leans into his touch. he circles sensitive hole at your center, and he chuckles low in his throat when you let out a shaky breath.

“you’re already so wet.”

he shifts under you, leaning back as he wraps a hand around himself, stroking slowly to see if his cock hardens again. his jaw tightens, a sharp exhale slipping past his lips as his head tips back. “shit,” he mutters, eyes fluttering shut for a second before they snap open to find you, perched right there on his thighs, looking like a fucking fever dream. “of course, it’s you. of course it works.”

and yeah, you don’t really get what he means by that, because he’s brushing himself against you now, dragging just the tip along where you’re already sdripping

“fuck,” he hisses, wincing as his hips buck up just a little. “so sensitive—” his words cut off with a low groan when you shift, your hands steadying yourself on his shoulders as you sink down.

“oh my god,” you choke out, the sensation swamping the second you take him in. “oh my god, hoon—holy shit—this is so good.”

he lets out this strangled laugh, “yeah?” he rasps, his voice breaking a little at the end. “feels good?”

“so fucking good,” you breathe, your nails digging into his shoulders as you start to move, your hips rolling against him in these desperate little motions. you’re not even trying to play it cool—you’re too far gone for that, babbling about how full he feels, how perfect, how you’ve never felt anything like this.

and he’s just watching you, his lips parted and his cheeks flushed, looking dazed and a little wrecked, but there’s this smug glint in his eyes, like he is so fucking proub about how horny he made you.

his hands slide up your thighs, gripping tight like he’s trying to slow you down, but you don’t let him. you’re too caught up in the feeling, too desperate for more, and the way he whimpers when you move faster makes you coat him even wetter,

“slow down,” he tries, his voice cracking as his head falls back. “s-slow—ngh!”

but you don’t slow down. you go harder, grinding down on him like you’re trying to burn the feeling into your skin. “n-no,” you whine, your hands bracing against his chest. “you started this, hoon. you wanted to tease me? then t-ake it.”

his laugh is sharp and breathy, but it cuts off with a low, throaty groan when you move just right, your hips snapping against his in this perfect rhythm that has his head spinning.

“fuck, okay,” he chokes out, but it dosent last a second, his hands flying to your hips, gripping hard enough to leave marks as he tries to slow you down. “okay, okay, just—fuck—slow—a little, babe, please, i’m—”

you don’t listen. too far gone to register anything beyond the way he feels inside you, the way his body tenses under yours, the way his voice gets high pitch with every ragged breath.

“gonna kill me,” he groans, his hands trembling as they guide your hips into a slower rhythm, even though you can tell he’s fighting himself just as much as he’s fighting you.

he grips your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your skin as he finally, finally uses his strength to slow you down, forcing you to move at his pace. it’s infuriating and perfect all at once because the shift makes his tip angle just right.

when it brushes against that spot inside you, your whole body jerks. your mouth falls open in a silent scream, no sound coming out except for a broken gasp, and your hips stutter helplessly in his hands, trying to chase the feeling even as he keeps you firmly in place.

he lets out a low, relieved laugh, his voice rough but still so maddeningly smug as he leans closer, his breath hot against your neck. “see?” he murmurs, his tone soft and cooing, like he’s teasing and praising you all at once. “isn’t that good? like this? hm?”

before you can even respond—hell, before you can even think—he does it again, using his arms to guide your hips, rolling them slowly, to make him hit that same spot. and this time, the moan that tears from your throat is loud, followed by another and another, until you’re shaking so hard you’re not even sure you’re in control of your body anymore.

“fuck,” he breathes, his grip tightening as he keeps you moving, steady and devastating. “so pretty like this. so perfect.”

you barely hear him, too lost in the way he’s making you feel, your moans spilling out one after another as the pressure inside you builds higher and higher, until it’s too much. your body seizes, your walls clenching around him so hard that he hiccups. and then it happens—a sudden, blinding orgasm that has you gasping, a liquid warmth spilling out of you in an uncontrollable squirt.

“holy shit,” he mutters as he feels it, the slickness making him slip out of you as you convulse in his lap.

he doesn’t even have time to react properly before the sight of you trembling and moaning in his arms—is enough to make him cum. his hand flies to the swollen cock, stroking once, twice, before he’s coming hard, spilling onto the floor. whining and rolling his hips onto his hand.

for a long moment, the both of you cant move, both of you too fucked and out of breath to do anything but sit there.

eventually, your gaze drifts downward, and your eyes land on him—still hard, still twitching slightly, the entire length of him glistening and… pink. ridiculously pink, especially at the head where it’s darker, flushed from how tight you’d been squeezing him.

you blink, your brain still foggy, and you mutter the first thing that comes to mind: “you weren’t kidding about the pink thing.”

he snorts, now shyly, his head tipping forward to rest against your shoulder as he laughs. “told you... thank god pink’s kind of your thing.”

[gfmima]

category : 米哈游 原神 work title : another woman claims to be his girlfriend?

with a subtle bow of your head, you raise the teacup to your awaiting lips, a veil of porcelain disguising the laughter that threatened to escape. how absurd… you muse, as you savor a sip of your tea.

far across — two tables away, there sits one of the new acts of lyney and lynette’s show. she was interesting, to say the least. she sings tall tales with intricate detail, weaving major falsehoods about the nature of her relationship with him.

her words describe his love confession, demanding they be together because he couldn’t bear a day without her. she didn’t fail to mention how his sister adores her and refers to her as ‘my future sister-in-law.’

the outlandish narrative lasts with an overt nudge about his frequent visits to her dressing room after every show, which you tune out due to its unsavory implications.

most women would have risen from their seats, confronting her for spewing fantasies about their lover; not you, though. instead, you stay rooted in your place, your curiosity piqued for what else she might spin.

you were engrossed, and if you were to be fully honest, you would’ve readily admit to the guilty pleasure of eavesdropping on the mundane conversations of strangers. your penchant for gossip was shared with your lover, turning it into an unusual pastime. it was a fun exchange of information over cups of coffee or tea, normally ending with one of you left scandalized by what was said. archons, were you excited to tell him about what you overhead…

“do you swear not to say a word about this to another living soul?” her voice hushed to a near whisper, but it still carries to those within earshot.

“of course! right, ladies?” one of the women quips, with the other two chiming in agreement, creating a chorus of “yes!” and “we’ll keep quiet!”

“if you say so…” she takes a deep breath, as if the weight of her revelation was a heavy burden about to be lifted. “lyney and i are dating…” her shoulders then turn slack, exhibiting the instant wave of relief that washes over her.

you couldn’t help it; a snort of amusement passes your lips. it earned you a few disapproving glances from the nearby patrons, chastising your lack of propriety in a public setting.

she embarks on an exhausting tangent, yakking on the long months she had to weather before she could have confided in her dear friends about her supposed private affair.

she emphasized how lyney insisted on maintaining it under wraps for over a year — eh, wrong! the twins met her for the first time five months ago — out of his desire to protect her from the clutches of obsessed fans and admirers.

the longer she spoke, the closer her stories cross into more ridiculous territory. at one point, she spun a yarn about his grandiose profession of love for their anniversary, including dedicating an entire routine inspired by her.

however, what left you scratching your head was the lack of skepticism from her friends. a quick read of her body language would’ve shone a light at her deception. it had you questioning whether you had somehow gone mad or if they were genuinely as dim-witted as they seemed.

“i knew it! no wonder you’ve been smiling a lot  lately!”

“ah, i’m so jealous~! sigh, he’s such a handsome man.”

“so romantic… i wish that was me!”

assessing the present circumstances, one might figure you would now reveal all of her lies. you didn’t. rather, you found yourself more inclined to watch and observe how this fiasco will play out.

you trust lyney, enough to know he loves you and wouldn’t pursue another woman behind your back, especially a woman he and his sister worked with. it allowed you to cast aside your initial worries about her and her interest in him. regardless of your opinion, she did her job well, even though you secretly wished she wasn’t so uncomfortably obsessed with him — a notion she made no effort to hide.

clearly, given what you were witnessing.

“oh, look, ladies! here he comes!” one of their voices pierces the air, overtly eager to see the ‘happy couple’ they were led to believe. conversely, lyney’s self-proclaimed lover appears to be positively distraught.

the man in question enters cafe lucerne, his gaze firmly laid on you. he shows little to no mind towards the group of women who shadow his every move. he walks by and greets you with a kiss on the cheek, taking the vacant chair in front of you.

“and how was your day, ma belle?” he removes his hat then runs his fingers through his hair — a simple gesture that left you swooning.

his charming demeanor momentarily distracts you from the comedic disaster unfolding in the background.

it was a tumultuous stir of “huh… who’s that?” and “gasp, is he cheating on you?” while the two of you converse in mindless chatter. one second, he was recounting his chores for the day; and the next, three indignant women loom over him whereas the source of this mayhem cowers in the back.

“ugh, the audacity to have a mistress and meet her in broad daylight! you have no shame!”

he glances from you to them, genuine bewilderment etched upon his face. “i beg your pardon?”

“oh, don’t play dumb! you know exactly what you’re doing!” another of the women upturns her nose at him.

witnessing the heated back-and-forth, it was remarkable to find that even arouet was invested in the drama.

it transforms into a three-versus-one impasse, but you were impressed by how gracefully he navigated through their baseless accusations. the culmination of the situation came when recognized his ‘lover’ and didn’t hesitate to call her by name, pressing answers for the lies she’d been spreading to her friends.

“i think you’ve all been misled, the only woman i’m seeing is this lovely one right here.” he turns then directs the gentlest of smiles at you.

unable to resist the itch, you finally laugh at the sudden turn of events. karma was indeed on the prowl, and to be a bystander for the incoming argument after she made a fool out of her friends, just to feed her delusion, was gratifying… for one of you, at least.

“care to tell me what just happened?” lyney tuts, his fingers extending across the table to grasp your hand in his, urging to draw your focus on him.

“later,” you mutter, absorbed by the evolving spectacle. it’s obvious you both will spend the whole evening discussing this…

from the very start, you weren’t one to rejoice in having any eyes on you. it was natural your bond with the one and only wanderer flourished discreetly.

this change in your life required no announcement. it wasn’t information that demanded broadcasting to the world; it could exist on its own if someone were to ask, you’d directly confirm the status of your relationship. otherwise, you find it irrelevant to insert this in areas where it held no relevance.

in the comfort of your solitude, you thrive, cocooned from nosy onlookers. your happiness, his happiness — these two were what truly mattered to you.

as time flowed by, your connection deepened, evolving into a union that grew stronger with each passing moment you shared. it was a sensation both of you held dear, a genuine and keen emotion that, if you dare to admit, could be called ‘love.’

of course, you weren’t ignorant to assume that your journey would be obstacle-free. beyond his undeniable intellect and esteemed role as the assistant and confidant of the dendro archon, he also began to draw attention for his otherworldly beauty.

you were aware that you might coming across his admirers one day. after all, you weren’t oblivious to the wistful glances sent his way by other women, nor the coy attempts at flirtation. still, you hadn’t taken into account the unusual lengths some individuals would go to win even a sliver of his time and attention.

it was painful to watch their efforts be met with a scoff or a withering frown. on a good day, they might receive nothing more than a mocking, “what do you want now?” from him.

on a sun-drenched afternoon, you find yourself perched on the steps leading to the sanctuary of surasthana whilst you await his return from his meeting with lesser lord kusanali.

yet, the tranquility of the sacred place was soon interrupted by an unexpected revelation — you weren’t alone. a trio of researchers positioned themselves near the entrance, their presence blends into the revered location, evoking no more notice than the everyday sights that surround you.

the sunlight dances upon your skin as you, absentmindedly, fiddle with your bracelet, a habit that had taken root over the years. the food container you had brought stays on your lap, and you can feel its warmth gradually dissipate. a frown on your face as you whisper a plea that he arrives before the snacks you prepared grew cold.

your gaze strays and locks onto one of the women standing nearby. suspicion dripped from her eyes, it lingers far longer than you liked. at first, you considered it a peculiar coincidence — perhaps she mistook you for someone else she knew?

unable to contain her curiosity, she approaches you with an air of authority, disregarding her friends’ endeavors to stop her from creating a scene.

“state your business,” she dictates, her tone icy.

you stand unwavering, refusing to yield an inch in the face of her bid to intimidate you. “if you must know, i’m here for wanderer.”

your words invoke a profound reaction within her, it coursed through her like an attack. “well, save your breath and don’t waste your time bothering him.”

“why not? who even are you to tell me what i should do and shouldn’t do?” your cadence steady and colder than hers, a testament to the time you spent with your dear wanderer — it seems to be paying off.

you expected her to either insult you or begin a monologue about her superiority as a researcher, but her reply took you by surprise.

“i’m his lover, duh! i don’t appreciate you flirting with him.” then, in a single motion, she confiscates the container from your grasp.

glances were exchanged amongst her peers, who advance to mediate the interaction. one of them pulls her away and positions himself between you. “i’m sorry for her behavior, miss. her sleep deprivation has her spouting nonsense.”

“i am not! there are clear signs he feels the same way. we’re dating; he’s just very reserved about his emotions.”

before it can escalate further, a familiar voice slices through the tension like a blade. “where have you been?” he chides, as he descends the steps.

beneath his hat, you spy the glaring discontent he directs at these strangers for taking your time away from him.

when your eyes locks, his gaze softens. the sour expression dissolves and was replaced by a flicker of warmth. you offer a reassuring smile in his direction, a gesture that noticeably eases his mind.

he was a stride away from you when she, flaunting a smirk, stops in front of him. you lay a hand over your lips to quash your laughter after spotting the look of disgust he tosses at her.

“wanderer, honey!” she tries to touch his arm but fails when he sidesteps her. “don’t worry, i already handled this pest to lessen the burden for y—”

“who are you?” he sneers, and the haughty look on her face instantly disappears. she attempts to stutter a response, an effort to remind her title as his lover, but his menacing gaze he wore silences her.

“moreso, who are you to advise my wife what to do?”

eh? his wife?

“your wife?!” her friends turn pale, realization dawning upon them. they shiver at the thought of unintentionally crossing him, all thanks to her behavior.

“i-i just thought…”

“well, you thought wrong; know your place.” in a last display of irritation, he shoots them a cutting glare. then, he seizes the food container from her grip, his fingers then intertwine with yours as he guides you away from them.

as you walk away hand-in-hand, you cast a quick glance at her and stick your tongue out to mock her.

“i saw that,” he snickers and tugs you along, nearly causing you to stumble, “and you say i’m mean.”

“don’t get all smart, you called me your wife earlier.”

“shut up! it was meant to end the conversation early.”

[a-b-riddle]

Part 10

Can't stop thinking about reader realizing she fucked up.

"What?" You asked, unsure if you heard him correctly. "I did stuff for Simon." He opened his mouth slightly before shutting it, almost as if he was afraid to argue with you. He was. "I did things for Simon." You repeated. "I did."

You took pause. Racking your brain for examples to throw in his face. You had always tried to be the best girlfriend. and look where it had gotten you. You were always the one to reach out, to plan dates. The only one to manage your time equally among all of them even if it meant stretching yourself then.

But the more you thought, the more you came up short.

"I definitely treated Simon the same." You defend.

Here lately you had been spending more time with the others than Simon. Every evening was the same without fail. He would call you no later than 9, asking if you were busy. Sometimes you were already out with the others, but in the instances you weren't Simon would ask to come over. An excuse of not being able to sleep.

When he first gave you that excuse, you expected him to be using it as just an excuse to come over and fuck you.

But he didn't.

Not that night. Or the next.

The third time he did fuck you. He was a man, not a saint after all. You weren't sure if it was because he was the last one you got around to being intimate with, but it just felt different. The others were great. Letting you turn your brain off and letting them take control.

Where the others took the reins, Simon guided you. It was more like dancing than fucking. Your bodies working in harmony with one another. He would listen intently to each little moan or staggered breath you took. Wouldn't take his eyes off of your face when he ate your cunt. Wanting to take in every reaction you would give him.

He had created a flow of how to fuck you. A way to ensure he pulled several orgasms from you before you practically passed out from exhaustion. You would try and switch things up with different positions and giving him head, but Simon was a simple man. Once he found a way that worked, he stuck with it. He let you indulge. Spicing things up, but he always made a home in between your thighs at some point.

It had been like that ever since. Over and over again like clock work, he would call. He wouldn't always fuck you. Mostly either one or both of you complaining about a hard day and insisting on just having the company of the other. However, it wasn't until Mere had made a comment on why she hadn't met Simon yet.

It was like finally noticing something on a commute you took everyday. Day in and day out you came across it without every really taking note. How oblivious you had been.

Simon had only came over at night. Although he would bring take out or cook dinner with you, he had never taken you out on a date. Not even so much as a cup of coffee-- tea in his case.

You pressed him about it one night.

You seem pretty busy during the day. Plus, that's when I catch up on sleep was his reasoning and you didn't press him.

Simon had always complained about not being able to sleep. You didn't mind the company. So whenever he called and you were free. That's just how the relationship had been between you two. You both seemed satisfied with the dynamic.

"It was just different with me and Si," you defended. "He didn't need any help from me or ask it." You wanted to say he hadn't been as needy as Johnny, Kyle or John, but kept that opinion to yourself.

"Or did he just not feel like he could ask you?" Kyle's question gave you a moment of pause. Your mouth falling open. Appalled at the suggestion.

"Don't try and turn this around on me." You narrow your eyes at Kyle and his audacity. You were the one who was hurt. You didn't like being the victim, but in this scenario you were. "If Simon had any issue he would have said something."

"Like you did with us?" He asked. His boldness growing. "And I'm not trying to turn this around on you, I'm just saying that there everyone had their issues in not communicating on what was really going on. I should have told you how I felt, they should have told you and you should have told us."

"Oh," you said, head tilting to the side and condescension lacing your tone. "So when was I supposed to do that? When John was snapping at me or Johnny had his tongue buried inside of me. God knows you weren't exactly answering my texts and Simon had been the only one I didn't have issues with."

"But you still came to him about us." Outed was the only word fitting enough to describe how you felt. You had tried to keep your relationships separate as well as the issues and frustrations that came along with it.

"He told you?" You asked, feeling embarrassed and, somewhat, fearful about what exactly Simon had said to them. The asshole was just so easy to talk to. For someone who was so reserved, you found it second nature to open up to him. "When?"

"Any chance he got." Kyle huffed. The confession shocked you. If anything, yes, maybe John would have been the one to tell the boys to fall in line if he knew they were falling short, but Simon? The man who couldn't ever be bothered to plan a date?

"I don't understand." You shook your head as if that would jumble the pieces of your thoughts well enough that they would somehow fit together; painting you a clearer picture. "Simon... he..." His words echoed in your mind. Even now they still haunted you. A ghost reminding you of your naivety. "He said some really shitty things."

"I know." Kyle's face fell and you could almost see the anger flicker in his eyes before it extinguished into something more solemn. "He knew he was the last thing holding you to us. Severing that tie would make it easier for you to lease."

"Losing you wasn't easy." You replied through clenched teeth. Tears prickling your eyes. "Is that what you think? That this has been easy for me?"

"I don't think it's been easy, but I know it's the truth." A small part of you knew he was right. And you hated him for it. "Simon was the only one putting in any effort on our end. He was the only reason we didn't lose you sooner." He took your hand in his. Rubbing small circles in your palm. Something he did to soothe. Funny how now the gesture was breaking your heart. "If it's any consolation, he didn't mean what he said."

You scoff, tears now falling as you pull your hand from him. "Just because he didn't mean it, doesn't mean it's not true." You cross your arms over your chest. No longer giving him the chance to try and reach out again.

"Do you think any of us actually felt that way about you?" Kyle asked, his tone a mixture between disbelief and sorrow. He knew Simon's words were meant to cut, but their actions had made his declaration deem true.

"You didn't exactly prove otherwise." The confirmation causes him to falter, not knowing what to say, how to comfort you. It was like somewhere along the way he had lost the knowledge on how to treat you, how to care for you. It was like he didn't know you, but still loved you all the same.

It was killing him.

After several uncomfortable moments of silence, he spoke. "I know John told you we were all on our own in terms of fixing this. But I want you to know that we all regret how we went about things. How we treated you was unacceptable and there is truly no excuse. I can only hope that you let us have the privilege in at least trying to make it up to you."

You let out a breath. Your chest aching as a sob threatens to bubble to the surface.

You swallow it down.

"So I take it then Johnny is taking the same route as Simon?" You couldn't blame him. You had put the final nail in the coffin of your relationship. Fucking and leaving him like that... Not to mention all the details Kyle gave you of the aftermath. No doubt Johnny would feel like being forgiven was pointless by now.

"Johnny is chomping at the fuckin' bit." He laughed. "If Simon and Price weren't keeping a leash on him right now he'd be here right now and I don't think we could get him out of here a second time."

"Well three out of four then." You sighed. "I just can't believe it got this far." Shaking your head, you leaned back against the cushions "I mean, I get that all of you had your own lives, families and stuff going on... But even then, I can't believe Simon found it so easy to say those things. Looking back, yeah, I wasn't girlfriend of the year, but I wasn't a bad girlfriend."

Silence.

"Kyle?" He bit his lips. He wanted to say something. "Kyle." You pressed. "Out with it."

"You don't need to bring it up."

"Fine." You said, but technically didn't promise anything.

"And it's not your fault for forgetting." Your patience was growing thin. Your emotional battery was low and even with a good nights rest you knew it would take a while before it recharged. "Fuck," Kyle rubbed his face, contemplating best how to tell you. "The night you called Simon..." he explained. "It was April 25th."

You waited, not completing grasping what he was trying to say.

April 25th...

What was so damn special about April 25th that made Simon so fucking angry? You didn't buy the whole 'letting you go thing', so it had to be something

Why that day?

April 25th: not an anniversary or a birthday. Not Easter or Christmas. Simon really didn't celebrate Christmas given what happened to Tommy, Beth and Joseph.

Joseph...

Fuck. Joseph.

Your throat felt fight.

What had you done?

He probably just got home from the cemetery when you called to cry about Johnny. Fuck.

Joseph's birthday.

Simon was a man that didn't do a lot of sentimental things. But every year, on Joseph's birthday he would visit his nephew's plot with a toy. You didn't know what he said or how long he stayed but he indulged you once. Telling you he just went, sat by with the toy next to the headstone for a bit before leaving.

Simon was reliving one of the happiest days of his life that was now tainted. And you complained about Johnny leaving after fucking you.

"Oh my God." You drew out shakily. Kyle could see the tears beginning to form. Horror manifesting in your eyes. "What the fuck?"

"You didn't know." He tried to soothe as if that were some sort of excuse.

"I forgot." Confessing it out loud felt like a spike going straight through your chest. "How the fuck did I forget?" Kyle didn't know what else to do. Fuck whatever awkwardness and boundaries you would set before fully accepting him back, he pulled you to his chest, allowing you to sob.

You weren't sure how long you had sat there. Kyle's arms enveloping you as you released it all. Eventually you did subside. His shirt marked with evidence of your tears and snot.

"No wonder he fucking hates me." You said it so softly, so broken, Kyle's heart broke for you.

"Simon doesn't hate you." His attempt of soothing you was admirable, but you knew it wasn't true. How could someone not hate another person after that? Forgetting the birthday of your brutally murdered nephew to call and bitch about not getting cuddled after sex. "If he did, he wouldn't have made sure you got home okay after your date. And the guy at the club-"

"He told you about that?" You shouldn't have been shocked. After all John knew.

"Only after he asked to standby in case bail was needed." He tried to joke. "The point is, there is coming back from this." Taking his thumbs, he brushed away the stray tears that hadn't made it to his shirt. "For all of us."

[toothfa-1-ry]

LOVE THEORY 101

Tw: dead dove do not eat,manipulating, gaslighting, torture (ig but not in details), just messed up af

Husband! Salesman x wife!reader

Your scared.

Terrified actually and yet you still plant a soft kiss on your husband's cheek before he goes of to work, like you always did every single day without fail

He bends down slightly for you to be comfortable, a smile gracing his handsome features which you observe as he breaks away, whispering you a soft "goodbye" before he walks out of your house

You notice the way his smile never really reaches his eye, the way it vanishes immediately the second he's not facing you but you know better to question him

He likes it when you obey him, nodding to his evey word silently, soaking up his instructions. He likes how you don't question him,

Atleast not anymore

No, he demands that you don't question him

To be really honest, you and your husband never really got married, even if you did who would show up?

By law, the both of you were wedded as a married couple, the both of you signed the marriage contract, followed by a gentle kiss and some not very gentle ones

In theory your husband was perfect

He was gentle, slowly guiding you whenever the both of you went out, his hand on your lower back or his hand gently resting on your hips

Gently brushing your hair back whenever it got in the way, making patterns on your skin while you layed in bed next to him

He was sweet, whenever people saw the both of you in public they would gush, sometimes faces painted with envy, sometimes faces painted with joy upon seeing such a pure love

Young highschool couples gazing at the both of you while the girl would excitedly whisper to her boyfriend, saying that was what she wanted them to be in the future

Or old couples approaching the both of you, telling the both of you to stay happy and to hold on to eachother, they swear that young people these days don't know how to love eachother but says that the both of you were proving then otherwise.

He was wealthy too, and he made no efforts of hiding the fact. Buying you whatever you said you wanted- no he bought you things that you didn't even say you want. Even the smallest thing you glanced at was soon in the mercy of your palms, the receipt thrown away promptly

He even bought you your dream house, the very one you dreamed of having when you were a teenager, your teenage scrapbook filled with pictures of celebrity houses or pictures of houses from magazines, next to the pictures a lengthy description of how the house would look like

He made sure whatever you owned was perfect. Too perfect infact, it made your skin shiver

He strived for perfection, he expected it too

He was handsome, so very handsome. The first time you saw him you were left speechless, the air inside the room leaving you gasping, his dark eyes, smootly combed back hair and his smile. Oh god the smile that was etched in his face

His face

You could never forget it even if you tried too

Your a good wife too, in theory, atleast you think. Your husband might argue and say that you were perfect.

Always waking up early to pack him his lunch, making him his morning cup of coffee just the way he liked it

No sugar, no milk, just pure pure, hot black liquid in his cream coloured cup which it contrasted against

Helping him wear his suit, a white plain shirt accompanied with a grey or dark blue blazer and pants, the usual colour he sported

You'd stand infront of him, inbetween his legs as you combed his hair back, gelled and slick. You knew how exactly he did his hair, how he liked it done

Never forgetting to bade him goodbye as he left for work, kissing him on his cheek, still wearing your apron, sometimes the kiss would linger for a second or two before you'd pull away

He likes that too

And when he comes back home, tired after a long day at work, you don't ask him what he does, you don't know the answer to it either but your smart enough not to mention it, you simply ask him how was his day with a smile on your lips

He'd simply grunt in return taking out his shoes while you'll swiftly help him with his blazer and shirt, before taking them away for washing

You always prepared dinner on time, the food layed ready on the table warm and toasty, all his favourite dishes lined up.

God, he loved it that you knew him so well, it made him go crazy, he simply glances at the table and back at you

You make him go crazy, he is crazy

After dinner he'd make love to you,

but that wasn't love, no love doesn't feel like that, you think

Infact it was closer to hate, desire, craving. It was closer to obsession, it was the farthest thing to love

But what would you know about love?

Only a person who loves you would take care of you the way your husband did. Only a person who loves you would take someone's as broken as you and marry that person, only he would tell you how much he loves you while your squirming and struggling against his touch when your pinned down by him

Only a person who loves you would spare your life

If this was what love truly felt like then you were terrified of it, but it was all you had left now

when your husband is away at work your left all alone at your house, you feel uncomfortable, fidgeting against the soft sofa

The accuracy sends a shiver down your spine while your eyes traced the corners of the walls, the exact colour, exact descriptions

This truly was the house of your dreams, living in it also felt like a dream except you weren't sure if that was a good thing or not

You turn on the washing machine, sorting out the different colours of clothes when your eye spies on a pile in the corner

You notice them as your husband's

You pick it up, your hands against the fabric, before you can stop yourself you take a sniff of it

Expensive perfume, a little bit of sweat and suddenly your taken back by a disgusting smell, you gagg, bile raising in your mouth as you turn away from the jacket, dropping it on the ground

You look down at your hands and there's an unmistakable red painting them

Blood

Something goes quiet inside you, you could only hear the soft rumble of the washing machine as you stared at your hand

You bend down, turning over the jacket as you held your breath, there it was, a bloodstained corner and something inside of you told you that it wasnt your husband's blood

You think, why didn't i notice this before? Why didn't I say anything to him before?

But you did. You did notice it. You notice the bloodstains he brought home everyday after he comes back from work but every day you don't say anything and the next day when your washing his clothes you ask yourself why you didn't notice it, why you didn't question him

You gaslight yourself into feeling better about yourself, you are better than him aren't you? Your not like him, your a good person.

You are

You are a good person, so why were you forcing yourself to believe it

Little do you know, After you wash his clothes, scrubbing and scrubbing the bloodstain away with your own hands cause the machine doesn't do it justice

After you iron it, and fold it, keeping it neatly, your husband would throw it away, all with a gleam in his eyes

He doesn't wear clothes tainted by other people, but he finds it amusing, how you, his sweet wife would not say anything to him about it

How you would mumble to yourself, gaslighting yourself into ignoring everything, telling yourself whatever it is you mutter to yourself to make you feel better about yourself, your moral compass and your ethic judgement

He knows he has ruined it all, he has ruined you, but seeing you cling on such a belief that your still pure, fuck that turns him on so much

Every day he pushes you, he pushes the last bit of humanity out of you and it works. He sees the way you choose to ignore how messed up he is, he sees you justifying yourself for staying with him

It makes him so happy, you make him so happy

And so he gives you whatever you want, anything you so far glance at. He can afford it, his dirty money, the one stained in his victims blood can afford it atleast

He makes sure everything is to your liking, your house, your apartment, he knows every single thing about you, it makes goosebumps appear in his skin, he has so much power and information over you

He knows you think he's handsome, don't think he didn't see your face when you first saw him.

The way your eyes widened and your chest rose, the air inside the room stripping away in a mili second

He shot your friends right infront of you, I guess they were you friends atleast

Your eyes filled with tears while you tried to look away, his hands tightly gripping yours, pulling your closer to him, him and the gun in his other hand

He leaves you gasping, groaning, screaming, it makes him want to hear it even more

Your eyes search for any amount of pity or guilt in his dark eyes, but it's pitch black dark, the white surrounding his eyes contrasting against his iris

His hair, which was smoothly slicked back was now slightly messy and frayed, few of his strands sticking out, covering his forehead which was scrunched with excitement, completly enthralled while yours was filled with terror

He coos at you, poking the gun inside your mouth, telling you that the odds of you living are 1 to 6, changing the entire trajectory of the game

He tells you russian roulette is more fun when played this way

He pulls the trigger, you wince, shutting your eyes tightly, i want to live please, you think- no you beg

A shot comes out, you feel smoke in your mouth but your still alive, your heart beat still beating swiftly, your head throbbing, your tears cascading down your face but your still alive

"The chances of your survival was 1 to 6, you getting your head blown to bits was 5 to 6" he says, the gun lingers at the tip of your lips before it slowly exits your mouth and thats when you see it

The most scariest thing you've ever seen in your life, more scarier than your friends getting shot infront of your eyes, more scarier than the gun, more scarier than the dark look in his eyes when he shoved the gun in your mouth

The man infront of you smiles, his lips stretch and widen, there's a glint in his eyes that wasn't there before but that seems more dangerous to you, more horrifying than staring at his soulless black eyes

"You survived" he murmured, his voice beyond a whisper but you could still hear the excitement dripping down every syllable "good job"

He kisses you, you don't expect it to be so soft and tender, your hands are still behind your back, you thrash against his touch

"You beat all the odds" he murmured

Just like him

You beat all the odds, his precious sweet wife

Another reason why he likes you, your husband recollects while entering the house after a long day at work

And now, your welcoming the man who killed all your friends, who almost killed you with so much tenderness in your voice

Your broken

He likes the fact that it was because of him

He smiles when you help him remove his jacket, leading him into the dining room, he holds your hand, pressing his body against yours

"Sweetheart" he touches your lips and you freeze. You've seen that smile before

"let's play a game"

[electricgg]

Ancient Dreams In A Modern Land

Chapter 2: I Am Not My Body, Not My Mind Or My Brain

Masterlist Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 (Here!) / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5

Trigger Warnings: Body Dysphoria, Medical Procedures

Heating food is a simple task. Humans have evolved enough through the decades to have invented this precious device called a microwave so that food could heat up faster for consumption. Sure, various studies confirmed that too much radiation on food is not suitable for your health, but people still smoked car batteries while claiming it was good for their anxiety.

Still, Timothy Drake managed to burn his dinner even if Alfred left instructions to leave it for one minute and twenty seconds. 

He could feel the smugness coming from Damian’s spot at the kitchen island, chomping on his food with the refinement of a prince while staring at how Tim scraped his burnt food from the plate into the trash can.

Coffee will do for now. He will not have a meltdown over that diabolical microwave that seems only to burn his food without fail.

“Losing against a machine is beneath you, Drake,” the boy said while glaring at the coffee machine with disgust.

“I'll take it as a divine sign to wait until Alfred comes home. Or I will throw the damn thing out the window.”

Damian scowled. 

‘Leave it to Drake to embarrass the family.’

‘At least it’s on the privacy of the manor. Not like the real embarrassment of the family.’ A cold voice whispered in the back of his mind, making the food in his mouth taste bitter.

It wouldn’t be the first time that she pulled a stunt like that to gather some attention from their father. Damian always kept track of her embarrassing actions (it satisfied him to know that no one could sink lower than the person he supposedly shares blood with), but it would be the first time the police had to be involved. Not even Todd had managed to do that, if we are talking about civilian aspects. 

In his opinion, she needed to stop trying so hard and learn that she would never be on the same level as the rest of them. Too soft. Too weak. Too much of everything and too little of anything. 

There was no way they could be related. Damian refused to be associated with someone who was beneath his intellect, and much less call them his sister. He demanded his father for a blood test after he had lived in the manor for about six months. His father only sighed deeply and denied his request. 

Tt, curse his father’s sensible need to help charity cases.

The chattering from the television transmitted from the room next to the kitchen interrupted his train of thought, chair scraping as he stood up and began washing his dishes.

The main living room of the manor was spacious, a tall ceiling complementing the old-fashioned structure of the dark wallpapered walls and big door windows leading to the backyard field. An L-form black leather couch with a couple of decorative pillows and fluffy blankets folded in the corner was occupied by none other than Cass, who was very focused on the bright screen.

It didn’t take long for Tim to stagger towards the love seat with his cup of steaming black coffee, very proudly showing the ‘#1 Coffee Addict’ engraving on the porcelain. It was a gag gift from Bart, but it was the biggest one he had, so he used it religiously.

Damian stood behind the couch, arms crossed, as the news went on about the recent controversial theme that has been invading every type of communication media. Under any other circumstances, he would have gone down the cave for his late-night training due to not being on patrol. 

But when the item that’s being talked about has been putting even the Justice League on tense negotiations, he’s a bit more inclined to put up with the fake neutral accent from the news reporter just to be more informed.

Mutants.

A bomb that the world is waiting for to blow up.

They’re not old news, but they have been gathering attention in the last few years. Especially in the past three years. 

Mutants have always been a touchy subject. Most of the public confuses them with metahumans due to their similarities, but they couldn’t be any more different. Metas are a recent development compared to mutants. Mutants were born with their ‘gifts’, from physical to mental, while Metas are a result of experimentation or a freak accident that triggered their meta gene. While they share the fact that their powers/mutations manifest under stressful or traumatic situations, mutants have a broad spectrum of possibilities on how their mutation shows up.

Multiple studies have come up with the theory that puberty might be the trigger due to the imbalance of hormones and the unstable emotions that teenagers go through at that age, but it hasn’t been fully backed up because of the high rate of cases of mutations showing up at birth. Too many factors and possibilities exist on how to identify mutants to settle on just one theory.

Which brings the public’s opinion on mutants. 

…People fear. A lot. It’s the basis of survival, the main reason why humans have lived and evolved for centuries. When facing something that qualifies as a threat to themselves, they will respond between their fight or flight instincts. As an evolving species, this has gone from physical needs to a more intellectual field.

Which leads to the public having very violent and strong opinions when it comes to mutants.

So, yeah. A very touchy subject.

“-that brings us to the big question: are mutants able to be controlled, or are we at the mercy of them?” a reporter with way too much blush even for the camera questioned, making Tim snort quietly behind his cup of coffee.

“That’s stupid.”

Damian couldn’t help but agree. And if Cass’s little shuffle was any sign, so did she. It was a very stupid statement.

Can a child with a gun be controlled, or are we at the mercy of them? The news was truly desperate for some pretty faces to get views on their programming.

“With that question in mind, let’s welcome our visitor of the night!” Interrupted a cheery male voice as the screen switched to the other side of the news set. It showed the interview chairs, soft blue chairs occupied by the interviewing reporters on the right side of the screen. On the left side sat the news’ visitor.

He was in a wheelchair, seemingly made of a sturdy material with a thick X formed on the wheels. Blad, thin eyebrows, and a gentle, pleasant expression. Dressed in a brown suit with a dark blue tie. It gave him a very open air, but with a touch of professionalism. He gave a very teacher-like aura. Trustworthy, intelligent, and secure. 

“It is our greatest pleasure to present such an important figure to our interview. We present to you Prof. Charles Francis Xavier. An expert and leading figure in the genetics field, as well as many other scientific fields. It is a great honor to have you here!”

The man chuckled gently at the introduction, dismissively waving his hand over the very flaunting words of the reporter.

“Please, Professor Xavier will suffice. No need for full names here.” His tone was polite and kind, making the atmosphere more soothing after a very bootlicking introduction.

At this point, Damian’s interest was lost. He didn’t need to hear about stuff he already knew about due to all the data and information Drake had engraved into the family’s brain, thanks to Prof. Xavier’s papers on genetics. He could feel Drake’s upcoming debrief on the whole interview during the next meeting, taking notice of how he straightened his back and laser-focused on the TV screen.

As Damian walked away from the living room, the professor’s voice echoed down the halls.

“I’m sure that most people sitting at home are concerned about mutants, but I am here to reassure you that there’s no reason to be so. First, let me explain what the X-Gene is and clarify some assumptions. Shall we?

➳➳➳➳➳┄┄※┄┄➳➳➳➳➳

“It worries me, Alfred,” grunted Gordon as he sat down behind his desk. The butler followed the action, sitting on the opposite side with a worried frown on his face.

Gordon was waiting for him at the very entrance of the station, not even letting him go through the ridiculous registration process at the front desk where a very tired secretary sat surrounded by messy papers and four empty cups of coffee at her desk. He didn’t utter a word until they went up the stairs towards his office, dodging sleep-deprived detectives and running cops to do their duties.

“She didn’t seem to even recognize where she was walking or who I was.” Gordon began typing into his computer, sighing once he found the file.

“You mentioned Lady (Y/N) had a head injury,” the butler commented. “How grave is it? Is your doctor competent enough to treat her here?”

The underhanded comment was not missed, but he knew better than to take it personally. Gordon has seen at first hand how Alfred could be a deadly force when it came to the members of the Wayne family. Especially when he prided himself on his medical knowledge.

Even more so when it came to Bruce’s youngest daughter. He remembers very well the day the poor girl’s case came to his desk all those years back.

“Dr. Vidal hasn’t given her report yet, she is still waiting for some blood test results.”

That made Alfred switch his attention.

“I believe I am not familiar with her. What happened to Dr. Ramirez?”

“Old man finally retired two months ago and recommended Vidal for his position.” Gordon snorted.

“She has been here for about two weeks. I was expecting her to quit two days in, but she is quite stubborn. Took hold of the morgue and now only leaves to turn in reports or treat suspects and victims.”

“So nursing background? Perhaps Paramedic training?”

“Worse. Emergency Room back at Gotham General.”

That made Alfred grimace internally. He has way too many horror stories dating back to when Thomas Wayne worked at Gotham’s General Hospital. And ER was hell on Earth, as he recalled the multiple visits due to the young masters’ accidents when they were younger, and he didn’t have the proper resources.

“Try the night shifts. Those were adrenaline-inducing.” A womanly voice caught the older men's attention, making them look back at the office door.

Brown, long hair in a ponytail, and soft brown eyes with a strange glint. Tall and long limbs, her black heels clicking as she walked towards the desk. She wore a white coat, black loose pants, combined with a classy deep emerald green shirt.

But what took Alfred’s attention was her expression as she stared at him directly, even while handing Gordon a cream file with documents.

Her lip’s corner was curled in what could be interpreted as smug. But it didn’t feel like it when her gaze assessed him sharply. When they made eye contact, Alfred felt a freezing sensation at the back of his head and ran all over him.

Like cold nails scraping at his skull, gone the moment she took her eyes off of him.

What an unnerving woman. She fit right in this city without a doubt.

“Test results came back negative, but I wouldn’t discard a bacteria or infection in the following days. Aside from the scraped knees and the head wound, no need for stitches. There were signs of a swollen throat and vocal cords, all from vomiting and choking in the water, but at least the risk of water in her lungs is out of the equation.”  

Gordon nodded, typing the report into his computer. He switched the documents around until he found the one he was looking for.

“And how is she responding? Does she know what happened?”

Dr. Vidal exhaled through her nose, a closed smile indicating there was a lot to unpack there.

“She has motor skills and reacts to questions and answers… but she doesn’t know anything beyond her name and someone named Billy. Claims she has to find him.”

That made Alfred’s stomach twist in a knot. This information wasn’t good at all.

“What exactly ‘she doesn’t know anything’ do you mean by?” the butler snapped in, making Gordon look at him and the doctor pick up the file to hand over to him personally.

“She has basic knowledge and quite a personality. But her mind becomes blank when asked about what her last name is, where she goes to school, what happened before the situation, or where her own house is.”

Gordon hesitates for a few moments, giving Alfred some space before asking in a very slow and careful manner. “Are you implying she has amnesia?”

The Doctor sighed, crossing her arms while sitting on the corner of the cabinet attached to the wall behind the desk and looking between the two men. 

“I believe it’s a bit more than that,” she said in a mindful tone. Alfred felt his heart pounding at his chest, but he didn’t interrupt the woman.

Gordon nodded at her to continue, leaning over to listen to her theory.

“Whatever she hit her head with was with malicious intent. I found a couple of cement residues on her wound, and by the form of the injury, it was thrown at her, or someone took hold of her head and hit her with what I believe could be a brick. Did she fall into the water by accident, or was she pushed in? I don’t know. But I think that someone is out for her, and her mind is blocking it as a trauma response.”

The silence in the office went on for long minutes.

Alfred’s mind ran down with the possibilities. Master Bruce had plenty of enemies, both inside and outside the mask. And it wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to go for one of the children. He even remembered trying to talk his master out of microchipping each one of them while they slept, blaming it on his paranoia taking hold of his common sense.

But what puzzled him was that this was (Y/N). The ‘Embarrassment of The Wayne’.

He hated that title. Loathed it to hell and back.

A girl accidentally falls into a fountain on her very first gala, and the media goes nuts and creates a cruel moniker for a seven-year-old. He curls his fingers tightly around the document file in his hand.

The sobs and calls for her mother still make his nerves boil.

Which leads to why she would be a target.

While it made her feel insecure and the object of many cruel jokes and curious looks, it kept her safe and away from any dirty actions to harm her and Master Bruce.

A cruel price to pay for her safety.

“You mentioned another name.” Gordon’s voice took Alfred’s attention out of his head.

“Billy, wasn’t it?” He repeated the name with a frown. He couldn’t recall anyone with that name.

It took both men off guard at the dark look that came over the doctor, the air turning cold in just a few seconds. But it was gone in the blink of an eye. She cleared her throat and straightened her spine.

“Yeah. It could be someone close to her, maybe even the last person she saw before this happened. There are a lot of possibilities, but her mind latched onto the name like a dog with a bone.” 

He tried to search through all the talks he had had with the young miss in the past few weeks and months.

No one named Billy came up in their conversations. Not a classmate. Not even a friend (She didn’t have any. She always calls them classmates.). All that she does is go to school, practice after school, visit the psych ward, and go back home. That’s it.

Before anyone could say anything else, a knock at the door took their attention. Gordon permitted them to enter. A young officer opened the door, his face filled with hesitation.

“Sir, we have an issue in the showers.”

Gordon mutters under his breath while taking off his glasses and rubbing his tired eyes. “What is it now, Perez?”

“Um, it’s the Wayne girl.”

That got everyone standing up, with Dr. Vidal already running out the door towards the showers at the back of the station. The three men were also going a step after her, with Alfred almost catching up to her.

“What the hell happened?” Gordon questioned the poor, nervous guy.

“She broke all the mirrors, sir…”

“What?!”

➳➳➳➳➳┄┄※┄┄➳➳➳➳➳

Forget riding in a police car with the signal on, taking a hot shower after being in nasty water was the top of best feeling in the world. Fight her on that fact.

The weird doctor was pretty nice. It had been odd at first, being alone with her and the nice police grandpa (he was called Gordon. That’s what she heard the cops call him when they got to the station while he guided her through the halls.). The doctor took care of her head first, putting some stinging spray on the gash to clean any nasty stuff that may have gotten on it. While she continued to check on her body for any other wounds, she asked questions.

Way too many questions. Who knew doctors were this chatty?

When Gordon left to heaven knows where, the doctor seemed to finally relax about the number of questions she threw at her and became quiet.

Which made the ambience awkward.

Which made her start to talk and make it less awkward.

It didn’t work.

Thankfully, the doctor (she grew tired of calling her that so she asked for a name. The woman only looked at her for a bit before saying Rio and go back to write on her file. Such a sociable lady.) didn’t tell her to shut it and just let her talk and talk until she ran out of things to say.

Her skin was vibrating under the still-wet clothes, the uncomfortable sensation making her bounce her legs from her seat on the medical cushioned table. Her fingers were wringing at the white paper beneath her, the crinkling sound breaking goosebumps into her skin.

Then, more personal questions started. But this time, Rio was looking directly at her.

From her full name to where she lived. Even the last thing she remembered before waking up in the nasty pool. It was quite an eye-opening experience, and it left her feeling lost.

Do you know your last name? How old are you? Um, odd. She can’t recall.

What day is your birthday? What does your dad do for a living? …That’s very weird. Birthdays were a funny thing. And her dad was- was a- he was? He was fading, he faded.withthem.he’swiththem.heisgonegonegonegon-

What grade are you in? What is your favorite color?...

Who are your siblings? How many do you have? …justone-

Where is your mother? alivealivealivealivealiVEALIVE-

It was a very tiring experience. Her head was pounding, and she had to close her eyes and lie down for a while. Rio got her some water and pills. Said it was for the headache.

They helped very little. Her fingers continued to tremble around the half-empty plastic cup.

Which was why it was the perfect moment to ask if she could use the showers. Rio blinked at her before rolling her eyes and handing her some sweats and a towel she found in the locker room. 

And that’s how she got her very much needed shower.

As soon as she got inside, she beelined towards the benches and put down the new clothes and stripped out of the nasty, ruined uniform. Then she hauled towards the nearest head shower and stood beneath the hot stream for a while.

Rio told her that while the bandage on her head was waterproof, she would have switch it for a new one after she finished. So she didn’t mind wetting her head.

Throughout the whole thing, her hair hadn’t exactly come to her mind. It wasn’t a priority.

Her fingers got stuck in a few knots that would be hard to get rid of without a brush at hand, so she just tried to get out as much of the moldy smell emitting from her with a bar of soap and a small shampoo bottle that Rio got her. It was a bit hard but not impossible, the scent of pomegranate and rosemary soothing and washing away the nasty gunk of her hair.

She hadn’t realized that she was calm enough to close her eyes and enjoy being clean after all of that fiasco.

A new plan had to be made. Not having a single clue of where she was and only her name and Billy’s was not working in her favor. After this, she had no idea where she could go or turn to. She needed guidance, someone to turn to and tell her what-

This is not her hair.

All of her thoughts came to a full stop. She had looked down to take the strands of hair that got tangled on her fingers. Just a simple action. Nothing out of the ordinary.

But the strands were wrong. It wasn’t her hair.

Black, long strands of hair were going between her fingers. They were forming different shapes and lines on her skin, which led to another thought.

This is not her skin. Those are not her fingers.

The water suddenly felt too heavy on her. She switched it off and ran off, almost slipping on the floor until she reached her towel and wrapped it around her.

This is not her hair. This is not her skin. These were not her fingers.

She gripped the towel, her gaze still focused on the hair strands on her hands. A ringing sound started to sound around her ears—a very far-off sound.

This is not her hair. This is not her skin. These are not her fingers.

She lifted the hand closer, looking at the black hairs while a shuddering breath left her lips. The ringing grew closer and louder. Goosebumps broke out on the skin, and her stomach fell down in a very uncomfortable sensation.

This is not her hair. This is not her skin. These are not her fingers.

One strand of hair was rubbed between the fingertips. Tiny water drops dripped down from it, revealing the natural pattern of the hair. Pin straight. The ringing was just by her ear, not registering any other noise. Her chest was heaving rapidly, heart at her throat, and a cold sweat was going down her spine.

Not her hair. Not her skin. Not her fingers.

…What else wasn’t hers?

A mirror. She needed a mirror. Right now.

Her head moved around in circles, the ends of the wet hair wiping against her back and making a sick feeling go through her body. She took a few steps backward, looking for any type of thing that had a reflection on it.

It felt too long. Her hair was never this long. She was sure of it.

‘There! Corner!’ her mind supplied when a glint of light caught her attention by the corner of her eye.

At one moment, she was by the benches, clothes folded or thrown on the floor and forgotten. At the next, she was standing right in front of the mirror, body trembling as she finally made eye contact with her reflection.

Not even the noise of lockers slamming open by a gust of fast wind snapped her out of her trance.

The facial structure was sharp. Cheekbones specifically. A very distinctive mole stood on the left side of her face, just above the start of the cheekbone. Skin looked pale, almost translucent due to the lack of sunlight. She could see the blue lines of the veins underneath her skin thanks to the white lights of the bathroom.

She looked sick. Very sick. Her mouth was suddenly very dry, making her swallow hard and feeling all senses of wrongness in her chest to the ends of her fingertips.

This was wrong. She was all wrong.

She took a few shaky steps closer to the mirror. Close enough to have hands against the cold surface. Fingers trembling, making a tapping motion as her gaze wandered around the reflection. 

Straight black hair, some heavy knots visibly sticking out around it. It reached halfway down her back. Water stopped dripping down the ends since she made her way to the mirror. The bandage gauze was still attached to the side of her head, no signs of blood on sight, but the material looked a bit inflated due to being soaked.

And her eyes… she only saw a glimpse of cold grey before she slammed her lids shut. Scrunching them hardly until the only thing she could see was white spots around the darkness.

The tapping increased. It moved the glass beneath her fingers.

It was all wrong. She wasn’t supposed to look like this. That wasn’t her. It couldn’t be. She is supposed to look like Billy. She doesn’t have black hair. She doesn’t have long hair. She is not this pale. She is not sick.

The mirror trembled under her fingers.

She is not this tall. She is supposed to be shorter. She doesn’t have these awkward limbs.  She looks like-

…Who was she supposed to look like?

Her mind supplies images, but they are all missing something. Like a magazine that has stuff cut out or ripped away. She sees a house, but the people are gone. She sees a front yard, but the neighbors are gone. A Halloween party, but nobody is on the streets. A children's room, but the beds are empty.

The mirror shakes under the pressure.

An empty house office. A dog bowl with no food. A messy kitchen with no kids. A dinner set at the table with nobody to eat it. A garden with gardening tools lying around. A red sky is coming closer and closer.

A framed picture with a family whose faces are scratched out.

She screams as the mirror explodes under her tapping fingers. 

The shards flew around the place, but not a single one touched her. Some landed on other mirrors, the impact making them shatter. 

She jumped back and landed sitting on the floor, head and heart pounding, as officers entered the place with all the commotion. Someone tried to grab at her, but she flinched and scrambled back until she made contact with the cold wall.

Her ears were ringing. Vision blurry. All she could see were blobs moving around, some farther and others closer. The voices were muffled. Her knees were brought up to her chest, hugging them tightly. Waiting for whatever was happening to pass.

Time was weird. Everything moved either too fast or too slow. Was this what a panic attack was, or was this something else entirely? Either way, she hated it. Hopefully, she would never have to go through it again.

It was then that Rio’s face came into view. The first person her mind managed to register.

She didn’t touch her. She was talking, but the ringing was still going on strong. Rio began to talk to the other people around the room. It actually looked like yelling, but it wasn’t at her, so she was not going to say anything about it.

Then a warm touch came to her shoulder.

This time, she didn’t flinch. It was weird. Her body leaned against it before she turned her head to the side to see who it was. And why she felt so safe and calm out of the sudden.

An old man. Dressed sharply, like that butler in the sitcom about a nanny. Gray hair and a concerned expression on his face. A classic mustache that brought some tears to her eyes, along with a warm feeling that spread from deep in her chest.

“(Y/N), can you hear me?” his accented voice registered through the fading ringing.

Before he could say anything else, she dove into his arms, forgetting that she was only covered by a towel. Sobs and tears stained his clothes. But before any apologies could come out, the man wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly as he talked to her soothingly. Caressing her head while she continued to cry.

A whisper went on the back of her mind. It was quick and gone in an instant. But she still heard it.

‘Alfred. Safe. Trust him. Only him. Not the family.’

‘Never the family’

“Alfred,” she whispered out loud. The man, Alfred, sighed in relief at hearing her respond.

“It’s alright. You can rest now, my dear. I’ll take care of it.”

She sighed shakily at his words. Eyes slid close. Not to sleep, just calm down for a bit. There was no way she could sleep with all that had transpired in the past few hours.

But I have someone now. I’m not as alone as I thought.

And that was enough for now.

Author's Note: This chapter was a beast to write. It will probably be the only long chapter for a while. I was even thinking of dividing it in two parts but I decided against it. Next chapter we are finally going to see the dynamic with the Wayne, so excited for it because it will be hilarious. Maximoff is about to enter like a tornado through the manor lol. Let me know what you all think, what theories and your favorite part of this chapter you all liked!! Happy early chapter and sending hugs, GG✨

Tag List:  @bat1212 @kneelforloki @1abi @galaxypurplerose @yhin-gg @cxcilla @momentomoribitch @stargirl404 @initial-ari @welpthisisboring @icefox8155 @bunniotomia @alittlelostmoonchild

Bonus Memes:

[sukeruton-san]

(I have garnered enough self-confidence where I can put my weird ideas in a post without dying in a hole with self-doubt)

Next

A Coffee Heart

Danny's a heavy coffee drinker and he has his reasons. Ever since the half-fatal accident at 14 his heart beats at a very slow rate like 32 beats per minute type of slow

He fell asleep in class and didn't wake up automatically to a pencil dropping, once (he fought six big ghost attacks in a span of 3 hours that day, give him a break) he nearly caused Mr Lancer a heart attack it took 10 minutes to convince him to not call the hospital.

Ever since that day, he's been drinking coffee with enough caffeine in it to kill a horse, both for the energy when ghost fighting and faster heart rate.

His parents decided that they needed to take an emergency trip to Gotham to get rid of its ' Shadow mimicking human mocking echo scum ' which was apparently Batman & Co. . . .

3 days, a shit ton of research, 37 cups of 'I am living human' coffee, more research (not batfam related) and a 253 slideshow presentation that I lovingly called Gothampedia. I managed to convince them that the furry vigilantes aren't ghost ( they don't believe that humans can do the things that the bats do, so there metas) and that Gotham has many many more dangers then ghost doing its thing there

It worked. . . .sort of

" why are we packing again I thought the Gothampedia was enough"

"oh sweetheart it was" mom says she heaves a large trunk (most likely goes weapons/technology) inside the GAV " the meta vigilantes may not be the ghost haunting gotham but it is certainly haunted, the dark and dreary weight over the city must be nothing else."

Dad comes over with a mouthful of fudge swallowing " your mother is right Danny-O, Gotham needs our help and what better help is there than the Fenton's! plus with how informative your slides was,"you were barely awake for the majority of it "you know the ins and out of the place so we don't need to worry."

The probability of Ghosts aren't the problem here, it's the fact that you dress in the neon hazmat suits carrying around bulking handmade weapons that will put you on Batman's watchlist faster than you can say Going Ghost! Gotham has plenty of mad scientists you don't need to mingle with them!!

After trying and failing to get them the least postpone this adventure he looked on with Dread

There's no way to get out of this isn't there. . . .

Maybe Gotham has less restrictions on the amount of caffeine I can get in coffee.

[hairmetal666]

Wayne's used to worrying about Eddie. He should be; he's been doing it since the kid was twelve. First it was Eddie's silence, his permanent frown, the way the bones stood out too prominent on his small wrists. Then it was the kids at school, taunting him and calling him names, the fights and calls from the principal's office. Next came the late nights, the drinking, the dealing, failing his senior year twice. But all of those times, every single one, Wayne had known what to do. Maybe it wasn't perfect, maybe it took a little time, but he'd always figured out exactly what his boy needed.

And now--now Wayne doesn't know if he can help; knows it's not in his power to fix it. 

So, he sits for the second week in a row, watching his nephew--his whole heart--sitting in front of the window, looking out at the forest, nursing the same cup of coffee that he poured six hours ago, and wonders how in the world he can help.

They're cleaning up from dinner, Eddie quiet at his side, when he says, "Gonna need some help with the mugs tomorrow."

After moving to Oregon once Eddie graduated and he retired, he found an affinity for pottery. Never woulda thought it, but he loves it and tourists love his booth at the farmers market.

He can't think of a better way to get his nephew out of the house, but wonders if he doesn't know his boy as well as he thinks after a decade in Los Angeles, that Eddie'll refuse. He just nods, though, goes back to drying the plate in his hands.

And next morning, right at 6:45, Eddie is in the living room in black jeans that are so worn they're nearly grey in places, and the threadbare Metallica tee Wayne thrifted for him nearly a decade back. It's a win. Small, yes--Eddie doesn't even complain once about the country-western station Wayne plays in the truck--but still a step forward.

Wayne wastes no time parking and handing Eddie a box of carefully packed merchandise. He leads the way, trusts that Eddie is right on his heels until he hears Jim Hopper's voice say, "You better keep an eye on those mugs, son. Your uncle will tan your hide."

He turns to see Hopper balancing one end of Eddie's box, Eddie's cheeks flushed pink. "Sorry, I--uh, I've got it now." Hopper lets go and for the briefest instant Eddie's eyes dart to the side and the pink in his cheeks grows deeper.

Wayne tracks the path Eddie's eyes took and finds--he swallows back a chuckle--Steve Harrington just setting one of his Adirondack chairs into place, his t-shirt lifted to show of a stretch of stomach.

Well. Eddie did always like the pretty ones.

They setup the booth in companionable silence, and Hopper pops back over for a proper introduction. Before he departs again, he says to Eddie, "I got some kids who really love that dnd game and your show. They're going to be crazy to meet you. That okay?"

And Eddie, he's a good boy, he smiles and nods but as soon as Hopper is out of earshot, Wayne's saying, "Hop's kids and their friends are big fans and I know you're heartsore about the cancellation, but you better be polite."

Eddie glares. "What do you think, old man, that I'll be mean to children?"

"Well, with how you've been moping around the cabin these last few weeks, hard to know."

He scoffs. "Yeah, well. Netflix putting your hit show on indefinite hiatus without warning or explanation will do that to a guy."

Wayne knows there's nothing he can say to soften this hurt, so he gives Eddie's shoulder a tight squeeze. "I'm proud of you no matter what, son."

His nephew nods, eyes down, but Wayne doesn't miss the small, pleased, lift at the corner of his lips.

The morning passes smoothly and Wayne pretends he doesn't notice every time he finds Eddie's gaze straying to Steve's booth.

The kids come by around noon, Dustin Henderson breaking away from the pack to shriek, "You're Eddie Munson!"

Eddie smiles, stands. "That I am, young adventurer." He bows low, exaggerated and the kids giggle. "Pray tell, what are your names?"

The chatter is fast and easy, Eddie the happiest he's been in weeks, and Wayne relaxes back in his chair, lets out a long, slow breath of relief at the breaking storm. He stretches back in his chair, eyes catching on Steve Harrington across the way. Steve who is watching Eddie and the kids with an expression Wayne can only think of as fond.

Wayne isn't one to play matchmaker, but--he thinks, just maybe, just this once he could nudge.

It happens late in the afternoon, when business has well-slowed, Eddie asking, "Um--that guy over there, who is--what's his deal?"

Wayne thinks he manages to keep all traces of amusement from his face and voice as he answers, "Who? Ohh, Steve Harrington. He's the guidance counselor down at the middle school. Does a bit of carpentry in his free time. Best friends with the woman who owns that little bookstore."

He watches as Eddie processes, as his eyes widen, probably in remembrance of the pride flags and Protect Trans Kids shirts, how the woman in question wore a lesbian flag pin on her apron. "Guidance counselor?" He says eventually. "Kind of a drag."

"You would think, but the kids love him. The ones you met earlier today? He babysat them for years; imprinted on him, Jim and I say."

"Hmm," is the only response he gets, Eddie's attention back on the man in question.

---

The day after the market, Wayne walks into the living room to find Eddie's laptop tucked into the cushions of the window seat. He hasn't seen the thing since Eddie came home, never used to see him without it, and this--well.

He says, "need to run into town for a few things. You up for a trip? You might could stop at that bookstore."

Eddie nods, takes a sip of his coffee--he's actually drinking it-- says, "Yeah. Yeah, I think that'd be cool."

The store isn't busy when they arrive, and Wayne drifts towards the magazines to leave Eddie to his own devices.

Wayne loses himself to quiet browsing, wanting to give Eddie space, to maybe chat with Robin Buckley, strike up the beginnings of a friendship. Enough time passes, though, that Wayne is wondering where his boisterous, noticeable nephew could've disappeared to so silently.

He winds around a shelf and sees Eddie and Steve Harrington in deep conversation. He can't hear it, not really, but they're standing close, with pink in their cheeks. As he watches, Steve says something that makes Eddie laugh and pull a few strands of hair over his mouth.

They're almost inseparable after that. Eddie, Steve, Robin, and all those kids. They play dnd, have movie nights, spend hours at the diner. And Eddie, he's writing, sketching, gets down Wayne's acoustic guitar and plays around for a while.

When he asks how things are with "that Harrington boy," Eddie flushes red and says, "none of your business, old man" before giving Wayne a quick, affectionate squeeze. 

---

Two and a half months after Eddie came to stay, Wayne's walking back from the river, the sky the light navy of new dusk. His fishing rod is draped over one shoulder, tackle box held easily in his fist, the walk home pleasant, a perfect end to a good day.

The light from the front porch seeps through the trees, and he's thinking about a cold beer, a warm pizza, if Eddie's found his way home yet, when figures standing on the porch stop him in his tracks.

It takes a second, longer, for his eyes to adjust from the dark of the woods, and the glow of the bulb, but then he sees--

Eddie and Steve locked in a fierce embrace, desperate and very much private.

He turns right back towards the river, doesn't mind giving the boys some time.

He waits a good half hour, just enjoying the forest, before heading back. Steve's car is gone, the porch vacant, but the cabin is lit up, bright and warm and inviting.

Wayne steps inside, and his nephew is there, laptop open, but he isn't working, just smiling to himself, chin resting on his fist.

"Okay?" Wayne asks.

"Huh? Oh, yeah." Eddie's smile doesn't fall from his face.

He doesn't want to interfere, ask too much, not when he's sure things are still young. Instead, he asks, "What'd you say to ordering a pizza?"

And Eddie, heedless of Wayne's question, says,"you know. I've been thinking about maybe staying here for a little longer."

And Wayne, his smile grows, and he claps a hand on his nephew's shoulder. "You're welcome here for as long as you want. Already consider it your home anyway."

[the-oblivious-writer]

A Loving Distraction

Wednesday Addams x Reader

One-shot

Summary: Wednesday attempts what’s meant to be a study session, but being the distraction you are, you had other plans in mind.

Warning(s): kissing, established relationship, and no pronouns

Notes: dedicated to @101rizzlrr - ask and I shall deliver

You stare at your phone, thumb hovering over the text you're about to send to Wednesday. The message reads: "Meet me in the library? Promise to actually study this time."

The memory of your last "study session" brings a smile to your face. You'd spent more time debating the merits of different torture methods throughout history than actually reviewing for finals. Not that you minded - Wednesday's passionate defense of the rack over the iron maiden had been oddly endearing.

Your phone buzzes with her reply: "Bold of you to imply I was the distraction last time. But fine. West wing, third floor. Don't be late."

Twenty minutes later, you're climbing the worn stone steps of Nevermore Academy's library. The afternoon light filters through the Gothic windows, casting long shadows across the floor. You spot Wednesday at her usual table, surrounded by a fortress of leather-bound books. She's wearing her signature black dress, white collar crisp and perfect despite the late hour.

"You're four minutes late," she says without looking up from her notes.

"I brought a peace offering." You place a steaming cup of black coffee - no sugar, no cream - next to her elbow. "And I was delayed by Principal Weems giving her weekly lecture about proper uniform length to some poor first year."

"Excuses." But she takes the coffee, and you catch the slight softening around her eyes that passes for a smile in Wednesday's world. "I assume you're here because you're still struggling with Advanced Poisons?"

You slide into the chair across from her, pulling out your own textbook. "Some of us didn't grow up taste-testing deadly nightshade."

"Your loss. Mother always said it builds character." She reaches for your notebook, scanning your latest attempts at categorizing toxic fungi. "Your classification system is almost painfully wrong. Look at this - you've put death caps under 'slow-acting.' They can kill within 48 hours."

"Not everyone shares your enthusiasm for mortality rates," you tease, leaning closer to see where she's marking corrections in precise red ink. Her hair smells faintly of rain and graveyard dirt - a scent you've come to associate with comfort, oddly enough.

"Clearly. Which is why you need my help." She pauses, dark eyes flickering to yours. "Though I suppose there are worse ways to spend an afternoon than ensuring you don't accidentally poison yourself with basic mushroom identification."

"Aw, you do care."

"Don't be ridiculous." But her knee bumps yours under the table, and stays there.

The next hour passes in a comfortable rhythm of studying and bickering. Wednesday corrects your work with cutting efficiency, while you try to distract her by suggesting increasingly outlandish uses for non-lethal poisons. ("Think about it - just enough to make the entire school board mildly nauseated during budget meetings.")

"Focus," she chides, but there's amusement lurking in her voice. "Unless you want to explain to your parents why you failed this semester."

"They'd understand. I'd just tell them I was distracted by my brilliant, beautiful girlfriend who happens to be a walking encyclopedia of death."

"Flattery will get you nowhere." She turns a page with deliberate precision. "And that's not even close to my most impressive quality."

You lean forward, resting your chin on your hand. "Oh? Do tell."

"I can name at least fifteen ways to incapacitate someone with items found in this library alone." Her eyes meet yours, challenging. "Would you like a demonstration?"

"Tempting, but I think the librarian is still mad about last time." You reach across the table, fingers brushing her wrist. "Besides, I can think of better uses for our time."

Wednesday arches an eyebrow. "Can you now?"

The tension shifts, electric and familiar. You stand slowly, walking around the table until you're beside her chair. She turns to face you, expression unreadable but for the slight catch in her breath when you lean down.

"Much better uses," you murmur, and then you're kissing her. Her lips are cool against yours, tasting of coffee and secrets. One of her hands finds its way to your collar, pulling you closer with that controlled intensity that is so uniquely Wednesday.

You break apart at the sound of footsteps approaching, though you don't go far. Wednesday's normally pale cheeks have the faintest hint of color, and you can't help feeling a bit smug about that.

"That was…" she starts.

"Distracting?" you offer with a grin.

"Entirely inappropriate for a study session." But she's fighting a smile now, the real kind that makes her look almost human. "We have an exam tomorrow."

"True." You brush a strand of dark hair from her face. "But I'd argue that was an excellent practical demonstration of biological responses to stimuli."

Wednesday rolls her eyes, but she's definitely smiling now. "Your scientific method needs work."

"Then I suppose we'll need more practice." You gesture to the towering shelves around you. "We have the whole library."

"You're impossible." She stands, gathering her books with precise movements. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"To find somewhere more private for your… research." She gives you a look that makes your heart skip. "Unless you'd rather stay here and actually study?"

You grab your bag, already following her toward the stacks. "Lead the way."

-----------

A/N: nice little one-shot before I post more angst

[catssluvr]

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆, aaron hotchner

aaron hotchner x fem!reader (895 words)

in which aaron is sweet to you when you're moody or you finally realize he loves you back

warnings: r is a grump, sweet aaron <3

“he says ‘look up’ and your shoulders brush” “you can hear it in the silence” “and you knew what it was, he is in love” you are in love, taylor swift

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

You stand with your back against the wall, the cold night breeze making it's way through your sweater. But your mind is somewhere else, not enough at peace to regret not bringing your jacket.

The thought of coming back inside makes you feel almost dizzy. You haven't slept in two days and it's really starting to get on your nerves. The coffee stain on your shirt and the bags under you eyes might add up to the moodiness.

It's just not a good day. All you know is that you're standing outside the police station when you're supposed to be inside gathering your things to go home.

"Hey, are you okay?" You were too distracted to notice Aaron approaching. A gentle smile on his lips, one that you don't get too see too often.

"I'll be fine." It's technically not a lie, but the dramatic pout on your lips tells him otherwise.

"I made you tea." Aaron knows better than to push it. He hands you the cup, fingers purposely brushing against yours and you can feel your insides grow warm already. "It's red berries, hope that's okay."

"S'fine. Thank you." He seems pleased with your answer. Moving to lean his back against the wall right beside you.

You can feel yourself relax just by his presence. You have no idea why he's always so sweet to you, but you love it nevertheless. You’ve been in love with him for as long as you can remember and you’re grateful for whatever it is that you have.

"God, you're freezing." He states once he reaches to touch your cheek, thumb brushing gently against it.

You only realize now how cold it is, your fingers are practically numb and you're pretty sure your lips have turned another shade. It's winter, genius. You huff at yourself, the sleepy state making you feel annoyed at everything.

Aaron is quick to unzip his thick jacket, pulling it off without a word and making sign for you to let him put it on you.

"Hotch-" You start to protest but he quickly shushes you while helping you into the coat, one sleeve at a time.

He makes sure you don't have to lift a finger, rolling up the sleeves enough so that you can hold your tea and zipping the jacket up to your chin - which doesn't fail to put a smile on you.

You settle back to your previous position, not quite ready to go back inside yet.

"Look up." He says after a moment. You eye him confused before shifting your gaze, eyes going wide at the shooting star ripping through the sky.

But your attention is cut short when you feel his shoulder press against yours, trying to mask how flustered it makes you by keeping your eyes locked on the sky. You can practically hear him breath and you fight to urge to lean against him.

"It's pretty." You mumble out, clearing your throat with a cough.

"It is." He whispers back, though his eyes never leave you. You suddenly feel like you're in some kind of corny sitcom, but he's calling you pretty.

Your body feels hot, cold weather not affecting you anymore as your palms grow sweaty. You hide your face in his jacket, almost immediately regretting the idea as it smells like his cologne.

His fingers tuck under your chin, lifting your gaze to his. "I'm here, you know?" He reassures. You know he is, but it's still nice to hear it once in a while. It's nice to know he insists on staying by your side even when you're a grumpy mess.

"I know." You say with croaked voice.

This all feels a bit selfish, he also hasn't slept in two days and has probably had to deal with way more rude officers than you. But he doesn't seem to mind it for some reason.

"C'mere." Aaron opens his arms, voice gentler than ever and not wasting a second to wrap them around you.

You practically slump against his chest, arms wrapping around his middle - as much as possible with the thick jacket on you. You can smell his cologne, way more intense now, and can't help but find it comforting.

He rests his chin on the top of your head, squeezing you against him before rubbing your back with his hands. A comforting silence falls over the both of you and he allows you to rest against him. Not pulling away until you do.

"Get comfortable in the SUV, i'll go get your things." His eyes twinkle as he speaks, holding your elbows in his hands.

"You don't have to." It's not a 'no', and that's all he needs.

"I want to." He reassures, eyes not leaving yours. "Besides, we can't have you shoot deadly glares at everyone that passes." Aaron teases.

He pinches your side softly, handing you the keys before walking away. You scoff at him, but your smile is just as big as his.

It finally hits you. He got you tea, made you wear his jacket and hugged you for way longer than a casual hug should be. All in an attempt to cheer you and you don't remember the last time he wasn't the grumpy one in a conversation.

He's always caring to everyone, you know that. But not like this. Aaron is in love with you.

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

love you,

cat 🤍

[ddejavvu]

Reader commenting on Spencer’s hands being cold, and he starts excitedly rambling about the best ways to heat them up, like putting them under armpits. Only to get completely thrown back when she stuffs his hands in her under boob to keep them nice and warm and strong :) <3

Your eyes are drawn to Spencer's hands when he starts curling them into fists, rapidly clenching and unclenching them in the chilly Chicago air. You're sitting cross-legged on the stoop of a witness's home, waiting for JJ to return from questioning her. She'd been uneasy with such a heavy government presence in her home, and you don't blame her for it, so you'd elected to stay outside with Reid.

"Cold, Spence?" You ask, and he nods sheepishly, his curls flying.

"I'm trying to get circulation back to my fingers," He explains, shaking his hands out for a brief second before curling them again, "Moving your fingers gets your blood flowing, but there's only so warm I can get in 30-degree weather."

You smile sympathetically at him, watching as his nails dig into his palms once more with a curl of his fingers, "Maybe we can bribe JJ to get us coffee on the way back to the precinct."

"They never give me the sugar I ask for," Spencer laments, shaking out his fingers once more, "I think they think I'm trying to steal their supply, but I really just like having eight packets in one cup."

The snort that you let out releases a puff of visible breath into the cold morning air. As it dissipates Spencer tries breathing into his hands, but his skin is still pale, nail beds dangerously close to turning purple, and you sigh resignedly.

"Come here, Spence," You hold your hands out, and he looks curiously up at you. His head tilts just barely to the side, and you're reminded of a confused puppy.

"Give me your hands," You urge, emphasizing the way that you're holding yours out. He does so without question, but you can tell that you've certainly improved circulation to his face, because his cheeks are blazing hot with a rosy blush when he obeys.

"Body heat really helps," You promise, unzipping the fabric of your FBI windbreaker. You hold both of Spencer's hands in your free hand now, but when your jacket is properly unzipped you lead his hands straight to your torso. They're posed on your ribcage, and Spencer stills, watching the way that they touch you with wide eyes.

"Under- there," You slip his hands up an inch, letting them slip into the space beneath your bra, your skin flushed with natural heat that soaks into Spencer's veins like sunlight to a wilting plant. Contrary to the body heat now flooding his limbs he's frozen, eyes wide and jaw slack as you stuff his hands beneath your chest.

"That better?" You ask, shimmying slightly in place and jostling his hands. Your bra slips further over the backs of his hands and only makes them warmer, enveloping him in even more of your body heat. He gulps, you actually see his throat bob, and nods silently, still leaned forwards to take in more of your warmth.

"Thanks," He breathes, trying very hard, and failing very miserably, to pretend like he's not about to combust.

You're almost certain that his hands are barely thawed at all when JJ steps abruptly out of the front doors of the building, and her boots skid to a stop in front of you and Spencer. You glance up at her with a warm smile, but Spencer yanks his hands away, wringing them out in his lap with wide eyes.

"Uh, she was- we were just... my hands-" Spencer babbles, and the more he struggles, the more her smirk grows over her face.

"His hands were cold," You explain, reaching out to grab them once more and squeezing the barely-tepid skin, "Let's hurry and get into the car, we can turn the heat on full blast."

You've seen Spencer exhibit a mild jog while chasing unsubs, his gun held at his side like it's a bag of bricks, but he skitters to the SUV faster than you've ever seen him move, leaving you and JJ behind on the steps of the apartment building.

"So, did he put his hands there, or did you?" JJ asks, and you don't need to see her face; you know from the mirth in her voice that she's still smirking as you stand up.

"I did," You grunt, trying very hard, and failing very miserably, to pretend like you're not about to combust, "He was shivering, JJ. What was I supposed to do, let him freeze to death?"

"No, no," She raises her hands in a gesture of surrender but her voice still contains that sadistic amusement, "You're right. A word of advice, though: next time, stick his hands between your thighs. It's a lot warmer down there."

[sakurocha]

CAN WE GET SOME OLDER BACHELOR HCS UP IN HEREEEE

- certified enjoyer :>

hello anon!! thank you so much for the ask, i hope i did them justice ehehe this was so fun to write, i look forward to writing more for these three <3

fluffy older bachelor headcanons !

featuring harvey, elliott, and shane ♡

⊹₊⟡ harvey

the highlight of his long days at work are when you pop your head into his office

"excuse me, dr. harvey?"

you find his reaction amusing whenever you pretend to be a patient, the way he startles and tenses at first before relaxing as soon as he realizes that it's you

"you scared me, love. come here, i'm just finishing up."

quiet quality time with him is always the best; your presence is simply more than enough to put him at ease, especially after burning the midnight oil at work

you don't mind simply being around him at all, watching him work, seeing if there's anything you can help him with, whether it's fetching a fresh cup of coffee or massaging his shoulders

he's so, so grateful for you all the time, but even more so during moments like these

he's always checking up on you, asking how your day was, if there's anything he can do to help, or if anything interesting happened

such a great listener; whether you're relaying the neighborhood gossip from jodi or recounting the fruition of a giant melon that day, he's always nodding along, stroking your arm gently while giving you his full attention

he just loves to hear you talk and listen to your stories, which you are never short of!

the both of you are quite busy during the day, so he always looks forward to curling up with you in bed after a long day with steaming mugs of tea and bundles of warm blankets

even better if it's raining—he just loves doing anything cozy with you by his side~

i imagine one of his favorite date activities to be ceramics

he frowns whenever he compares his product to yours

"you're so precise with your hands, darling," he says, laughing softly at his creation, which wasn't bad at all! it simply had a few... quirks, which you absolutely adored

"it gives it character, harvey. i love it."

you keep his pieces in the living room of the farmhouse, somewhere you can see it all the time, a constant reminder of his comforting presence

meanwhile he uses the mugs you've sculpted for him on his work desk, always filled with steaming coffee, the caffeine and your love for him more than enough to power him through long days <3

⊹₊⟡ elliott

loves taking walks with you, whether it's through the crisp cindersap forest or the familiar shores in front of his cabin, waves lapping peacefully at the soft sand

always picks out things to show you, from glittering seashells to blooming flowers

he likens their natural beauty to yours, never failing to make you blush

he does that a lot, even without realizing it

his words are just so poetic and swoon-worthy, you can't help it

he gives an amused smile when you flush with embarrassment, pressing a smooth kiss to the back of your hand like a true gentleman

"i apologize, have i flustered you, darling?"

speaking of being a gentleman, this man is the epitome of one

every single time he picks you up from somewhere, without fail, he always shows up with a breathtaking bouquet in his hands, just for you

"your favorites, my love," he says, with all of the charm of an old-fashioned gentleman in a romance movie

the two of you look good together, and all the townsfolk comment on it

"the farmer just glows next to him, do they not?" "that is what i'm here for," elliott replies with a proud smile as you flush at the compliment

he's always so, so proud of everything you do, even the smallest things

i imagine he loves big, celebratory hugs, spinning you around in the air whenever you tell him a major accomplishment, making you really feel like the lead in a romance movie

"yes! i always knew you could do it, my love," he says, proud eyes shining bright

the romance between you two is just so sweet, romantic, and poetic, with every day with him feeling like a fairy tale

he's your knight in shining armor, while you are his muse

and he makes sure you know it, constantly dedicating songs and poems to you, his favorite aspects of you sprinkled throughout heartfelt lyrics and stanzas

you love him more than he could ever know, and he feels exactly the same way about you <3

⊹₊⟡ shane

you absolutely love teasing him; he always acts like he fucking hates it but you know he loves it 🤭

i imagine you have an insane assortment of ridiculous pet names for him, from shaney-poo to mama hen, each rendition getting more and more creative

he gets more horrified each time

"how the hell didja even come up with that?!"

it's just too easy to poke fun at him. it's just inherent in your dynamic. <3

you're always pushing him to try new things that are way outside of his comfort zone; you're his perfect foil

and even if he grumbles in protest at first, in the end, he just loves spending time with you

your first idea was accompanying him to the saloon, which he was surprised about

but you had other plans >:)

after the first round of drinks, you were feeling particularly mischievous

so you took his hand and dragged him out of his usual corner, swaying your hips

"come onnnn, shaney! let's dance!"

"oh HELL no." he was rooted to his spot at first, but as usual, your charms had worked on him, and he eventually gave in

you even got some laughs out of him! mission success :)

he can feel himself opening up the more time you spend together, from trying things he would never have before to becoming more vulnerable around you

which is why he's always so grateful for you, even if he struggles to show it sometimes

when the two of you are alone, he's a bit more liberal with his affections

wrapping his arms around you from behind, giving small pecks to your cheek, tickling your skin with his stubble

on the other hand, you're always on him whenever you can, clinging to him like he's a giant teddy bear

hugging his arm whenever the two of you are walking, looping your arms around his neck when you talk to him, peppering his face with sweet kisses

he acts all irritated, but in reality, he's just flustered by your boldness heheh

"why so grumpy, shane?" you ask, pulling away from him after dotting tiny pecks all over

".... 'cause you stopped," he admits, bashfully averting his gaze <3

thank you so much for reading! requests are always open~ ♡