#fluff overload

[marilynthornhilllover]

Simply because, she cares

Larissa weems x fem reader

Warning: slight depressive talk, fluff and care

Larissa immediately knew something was wrong when your entered her office. There was simply a shift in the peaceful air of tension of the atmosphere. You sniffed as you slammed the door harshly the rage building back up as you stormed into your shared bedroom with larissa. Larissa lifted her gaze making brief eye contact with you. Her heart sank completely.

You looked like you wanted to curl up and die, you had tears in your eyes threatening to spill out as your nose flared, clearly showing that you were on the verge of having a mental breakdown. You quickly averted your eyes from her gaze and disappeared into the room slamming the door.

You felt tired, hopeless, depression, utterly exhausted beyond sleep fixation, and mostly worthless. Before you could even reach the bed a loud painful sob escaped you. Larissa's heart was deeply troubled, it was at that point she placed down her pen and got up from her seat.

She sighed as she took off her heels and her jacket. She slowly approached the door and softly knocked.

" my love?" Her voice was soft and filled with deep concern. True sympathy - one you never understood. Larissa's love for you ran deeper than the ocean. She truly cared, she truly loved, she truly protected and provided for you.

"Y/n please don't shut me out again.... darling?" You were getting more agitated by the second. You wanted her to be mad at you.... probably because you were mad at yourself, or maybe it's because everyone else was. You needed everyone one, including larissa to scold you for making mistakes and simply being human.

You were far to harsh on yourself, you knew that obviously but you found comfort in that pain. You were your biggest rival. There's times where your soul desperately wanted to be happy - needed to be happy but that everlasting pain was all you knew, all you ever felt. So that's why when larissa came into your life with so much love and joy, sympathy, understandment it was hard to accept it. It was hard to understand it.

You didn't even know why she loved you so much, as if you died she would be the loneliest woman on planet earth. Maybe it's because you don't quite understand what love is because you never had it or practiced it on yourself.

Larissa twisted the door nob then finding out that the door was unlocked, from there she gently sneeked her way in. There you were on the bed curled up into a small ball crying. Your mascara ruined and your face completely tear ridden. Larissas shoulders dropped, as if she wasn't expecting what she saw - again with the sympathy.

" Oh darling come here" she cooed gently sitting on the bed and tapping her lap. You looked up at her from the pillow, the mascara remains taking the stain on the white material. You looked at her deeply. Trying to figure out if you were one, dreaming or two maybe she was lying.

Her deep caring blue eyes stared back at yours, truth,meaning and love shined through them. She looked like she had all the answers to your troubles and problems and was willing to help if you would just let her in. You couldn't help the feeling of feeling like an equation. Waiting to be solved and placed away in a box and labeled as useless. But larissa would never do that.

No one hurts you more than yourself, your a big overthinker and that's the sharpest part of the knife for you. You sniff as you carefully got up and laid in her lap. Larissa laid back against the pillows and placed pulled you up with her, making you lay on her chest.

She doesn't say anything. The silence was killing you. You needed to know what she was thinking. If she thought she should divorce you, go on a break, take you to see a counselor, scold you for being the way you are. But again that's not who larissa is. That's not the woman who proposed, the woman who's vows where to love you even in your illness.... she simply cared for you and you didnt know why your heart refused to believe it.

As If she was reading your mind she spoke up, her voice cracking as though she shared your pain - felt your pain.

" rest your mind, my love, it's been quite mean to you" she whispered kissing your temple. And there it was. The kiss of love. Her soft voice and cold gentle finger tips running through your hair as you slowly started to drift off to sleep. Your body fought against it, larissa is busy and has better things to do, your disrupting her work, you own her an explanation. Oh shut up mind, you stopped fighting the sweet desire and fell stead fast asleep.

You were slowly brought back from your depth when you heard larissas sweet voice mumbling some sweet nothings in your ear while her nails lightly strached against your scalp. Somethings like ' I genuine love you' ' your pain is my pain' ' your ok in my arms'. Your heart felt weak and fluttered. You felt like your were in heaven.

You slowly opened your eyes, adjusting to the lighting of the dim light on the bed side table. It was most definitely past 6, which meant you were probably laying in larissa ls arms sleeping for atleast 2 hours. Larissa is a busy woman who has almost a thousand things to do and for her to chose to lay here with you will always be appreciated and cherished from the deepest depth of your heart.

" she's back, are you feeling OK my love?" It was a stupid and rhetorical question, she knew that. Obviously you weren't ok, you didn't even tell her what was the problem yet.

Tha pain of the world immediately came back to you, and she noticed it. It was as of sleep was your only escape but she wanted it to be her, and only her. She wanted you to trust her with all of your problems.

She took your chin in her fingers and brought your face up to hers, sapphire eyes piercing into your dark soul setting light upon it. She kissed your nose and you gaved her a faint smile before giggling when she proceeded to leave pecks of kisses all over your face. It's a good thing her lipstick is stain proof or your entire face would be red right now.

She chuckled as she left one final kiss to your forehead.

" since i've got you to smile and laugh what monsters have been clawing at you?" She asked sincerely, your smile faded quicker than it appeared as guilt and that never ending cycle of pain filled your beautiful eyes. Your eyes started to gloss over again as you avoided larissas inetesene and worried stare.

She quickly grabbed hold of your face and forced you to maintain eye contact but you pulled away. You quickly got up and stood facing away from her. Larissa sighed in defeat, she really thought she was making progress but still she was not mad at you. And will never be.

Not because she has to put up with it but simply because she cares.

" darling come here" she spoke softly voice breaking as tears filled her own eyes. When she got no response she stood, still keeping her distance, choosing to give you the acquired space you needed.

" please my love, y/n just tell me what the problem is your breaking my heart!" She shouted, not intentionally but she did. You looked up at the mirror infront of you, meeting her gaze quickly. She looked stressed, you were adding to her stress. Your pain hurts her as much as it hurts you and possibly even more, and if not it leaves her scared.

You turned around and slowly walked up to her before hugging her. Wrapping your arms around her neck as she wrapped hers completely around your waist pulling you in to get you as close as she can. Her body heat brought your peace and harmony. Happiness even. You felt refilled, refreshed.

Her hugs always give you hope and possibilitys.

"I'm sorry for shouting" she mumbled and you shook your head pulling back a bit.

" I get it your upset and stressed, I would shout as me too" you said handing your head low.

" that doesn't justify my actions y/n, I had no right to shout at you regardless of my emotions, as your partner i should have control of that and not get upset every time your broken" she spoke sternly. She held your hand and placed it over her chest. Feeling her heart beat you smiled and looked up at her.

" my heart beats for you by y/n/n, it whispers your name and this is not poetry I'm speaking the truth. When your sad I'm not like oh my gosh this shit again, no, I always wanna help you in everything and with everything, so please don't leave me in the dark" her words were like a soothing melody. You sighed and sat down on the bed pulling her with you.

" have you ever felt like the majority of the things that happen or are said to you are your fault" you asked her and she looks at you like she's either confused or doesn't know how to answer the question without making you feel worst about the situation.

"ok like, I dont know how to explain it" you said in defeat sighing. Larissa held your hands clasping your fingers with hers.

" you don't have to know the answer to every problem my love and that's ok. Life is a dark unfair exhausting mystery and on some days it might get darker and harder to find that spark of joy and happiness but just know I'm always by your side no matter what and your not in this alone" she whispered looking at your reaction to her every word carefully.

" thank you rissa, I love you and thanks for supporting me and always going that extra mile" you whispered. She chuckled rolling her eyes playfully.

" I'd travel to the end of the world for you" she cooed kissing your temple.

" promise me something darling" she said all of a sudden in a very serious tone. You turned your body in her direction, giving her your undivided attention just as she always does. She tucks a strand of hair behind your ear behind speaking up.

" stop being a monster to yourself." There's so much more she wanted to say, could have said but she chosed not to. She simply chosed to comfort you in this storm of pain and distress.

" I promise " you spoke confidently. She smiled brightly causing you to reflect it.

The both of you began kissing passionately, you slipped your tongue into larissas mouth in hopes to win for dominance but that's simply a game she was way to good at. She pulled you onto her lap and held the back of your head as she deepened the kiss making you moan before pulling away.

" there she is" she chuckled holding you tightly.

" here I am" your spok before she held you flush against her chest pulling you to lay down with her.

" hey what about your work?" You asked looking upbat her. She looked down and smiled at you.

" what about it, sweetheart? Now sleep" she muttered, slowly starting to drift off to sleep when her eyes began to get heavy. You smiled at her, slowly drifting off to dream land aswell. She simply loves you......

[avonne-writes]

It’s cliché, but I can’t get the image out of my head of Gale coming home, stoic faced, cat tucked into the front of his jacket, both of them soaked from the snow, and John suddenly finding himself in the fight of his life against cuteness aggression (he loses.) also - Buck: library frequenter?

*sobbing from fluff overload* I don’t care if it's cliché, it’s so sweet and adorable, we need this. 🥰

Bucky would first stand in the doorway, vibrating in an effort to hold himself back, barely keeping his voice steady. "What’s that, Buck?"

"A cat." Gale would just say, all stoic, snow melting wetly in his hair as he takes off his boots and tries to get out of his coat while still holding the cat to his chest with one hand. The poor thing clings to him and meows pitifully, and that's it, Bucky can’t take it anymore - he rushes to Gale and helps him out of his coat while cooing excitedly at the cat. And once Gale's coat is off, he just rubs Gale's arms through his sweater, pets the scared cat, tries to hug and kiss Gale and declares that it's their cat now.

So, basically, this is what happens:

And yes, Gale loves libraries, they're his safe place! ❤️ We need library or bookshop meet-cute fics too.

[babyhatesreality]

Maybe daddy stucky x little reader in babyspace where she wants to give her daddies always paci kisses 🥺

OMG how cute would this be?? Like if Baby was feeling really young, she'd always have her paci in, but she'd get that mischievous twinkle in her eye, climb into their laps suddenly, and pop them on the cheek with her paci. And she'd giggle like it was the most hilarious thing ever and then tumble off their laps and run away, returning within thirty seconds to do it again....

[noxemma]

Chapter 7 for my Hot Summer Art challenge fic

Well, summer may be over, but my Hot Summer Art fic is not 😂

Dean, Cas, Sam, and Eileen finally get to enjoy a day at the beach and an evening on the boardwalk (lots of fluff and even a dash of smut thrown in)

Tags, Rating, Word Count, AO3 link, etc. at the bottom

Beside Your Side

Fic Summary: Dean convinces Sam to look into a potential case where people are going missing from a New Jersey beach town. Of course, they have to bring Cas and Eileen along, just in case it's not a monster. Dean is excited to get the case over quickly and enjoy a well-earned vacation with the people he loves the most. Nothing ever seems to go the way Dean plans it though, and this case is no exception.

Chapter 7: Picturesque (in Every Language)

Dean

Dean wakes first this time. Happiness bubbles up inside his chest making him feel like he’s floating at the memory of kissing Cas, of Cas kissing him back. The bubbles turn into molten lava when he remembers the noises Cas made while Dean sucked his cock. His own dick gives an interested twitch at the memory.

Down boy, if Sam’s not back by now he will be any second. It’d be just my luck for him to come barging in at the worst time, Dean cringes at the thought of his brother walking in on him having sex, much less sex with Cas.

His body gives an involuntary shudder, and Cas pulls him closer in his sleep, banishing all thoughts of his brother and drawing his attention back to the angel beside him.

His eyes roam Cas’ face and body, relishing the fact that he no longer has to sneak peeks or rush to avert his eyes so he doesn’t get caught.

“Cas. Baby. Darling. Honey. Sweetheart. My angel.”

Each pet name is whispered against Cas’ warm skin, sealed in with a kiss. Just because he can, just because he’s allowed to now.

Cas stirs and Dean meets his blinking eyes.

“’morning, Sunshine.” He smiles up at the sleepy angel and places another kiss on his skin for the new pet name.

“Good morning, Dean,” Cas rumbles softly, looking happy and content as he smiles down at Dean.

Dean can’t take the sheer volume of joy flooding his veins. It feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin or explode in a shimmer of glitter. So, before he dies of happiness in some disgustingly saccharine display, he makes a joke.

“It certainly was,” he teases, waggling his brows and licking his lips while glancing down at Cas’ woefully covered groin.

“Dean,” Cas chides and rolls his eyes.

Dean chuckles and pulls Cas into a tighter embrace which the angel reciprocates with enthusiasm. Cas’ hand goes back into Dean’s hair as if he can’t help himself. Dean sighs happily and they stay like that for a few minutes, simply enjoying each other’s embrace in the light and silence of the morning.

They might have ended staying in bed for the rest of the trip if Dean hadn’t had his ear glued to Cas’ skin and heard his stomach growl pathetically.

“We should get breakfast.”

“Hmmm,” Cas responds but Dean knows he isn’t really listening, his eyes hazy and crinkled.

“Which means we have to get out of bed,” Dean expounds, prodding Cas lightly in the side.

“Do we have to.” It’s almost a whine and Dean is about to mention his grumbling stomach when his own decides to join in, rumbling loudly in the quiet room. Cas gives a defeated sigh. “Fine.”

“I’ll make it worth your while,” Dean promises, thinking of the spread he wants to make Cas, but his thoughts turn dirty when Cas levels him with a heated gaze.

“I’m sure you will,” the angel whispers, low and suggestive, before he releases Dean and slides off the bed.

Who knew Cas would be such a tease, Dean thinks, squirming a little, his cock half hard just from those four words.

Despite having suggested it, he doesn’t leave the bed just yet, taking a few extra minutes to enjoy the way Cas’ back muscles ripple as he stretches. Cas pulls out another set of his new clothes before bending to pick up the pile of dirty clothes that was forgotten by the door.

“You start on breakfast while I shower and get a load of laundry running?” Cas asks as he arches a brow at Dean’s lack of movement.

It’s so normal, so delightfully domestic to be delegating chores, that Dean thinks he might just die from heart failure with the way his chest is tightening with overwhelming bliss.

“Y-yeah. Sounds good. You okay with eggs?”

“Sounds perfect,” Cas beams, taking Dean’s ability to breathe with him.

He finally manages to roll himself out of bed when he hears the shower turn on. He quickly discards his t-shirt and jizz crusted boxers, only just realizing how uncomfortable they are now that Cas isn’t distracting every neural pathway.

Standing naked in the room, he briefly fantasizes about joining Cas in the shower before shaking his head and pulling out clothes.

If I go in now, we really never will leave, and I want to get to the beach today.

He pads into the kitchen, humming AC/DC as he pulls butter, eggs, bread, and bacon from the fridge. Dean tries to focus on making the food, but he can’t help intrusive visions of a future he never thought he’d get to have.

Christmas as a huge family with Sam, Eileen, Jody, Donna, Alex, Faith, Claire, Kaia, Jack, Garth, and everyone else they love plays like a movie in his head as he pulls out slices of bread and looks for a juice cup. He pictures them watching movies, arguing about whose turn it is to clean or cook or do laundry as he uses the cup to cut out a circle of bread from each slice. He sets up two skillets, one for the bread and eggs and the other for the bacon.

He’s cracking eggs into the missing center of the bread and waiting for them to fry when he starts thinking of slow dancing late at night, of soft kisses once they realize they don’t have to rush, of learning each other’s bodies as well as their own. Of making love slowly with no worries of anyone walking in on them. For some reason Dean gets suck on Cas’ eyes glowing again and he curses a little that he was too caught up in finally being allowed to touch Cas and make him writhe and moan, that he didn’t focus on his eyes when he came.

I’ll have to pay more attention next time. The words ping-pong around his heart and his head like a promise and nothing has ever sounded so good to him as those two words: next time. And if I forget next time, there’ll be the time after that. Next time for the rest of our lives.

Dean finally blinks out of his daydreams at those words, shaking himself and flipping the bread and bacon before they both burn.

“The rest of our lives? Son of a bitch. I suck the man’s dick one time and I’m already thinking about marrying him. I’m so fucked,” he tells himself, but he can feel the goofy grin on his face as the brief flashes of suits and rings and carrying over thresholds that flash through his mind.

“Hmmm. That looks good. What is it?” Cas whispers into his ear as he slides up behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist and pressing his face and wet hair into Dean’s back.

“Oh! Hey there. It’s uh, it’s Egg-in-a-Nest. Used to make it for Sammy when plain old eggs and toast got boring.”

“Hmm.” Cas hums, continuing to press himself as close to Dean as he can.

Has he always been so touchy feely? Dean ponders a moment, remembering every time Cas grabbed his shoulder, stood too close, touched him to heal him, every time he leaned into Dean’s hugs, every stare that held for a little too long. He wants to bang his head when he realizes that the answer is yes, and Dean is just a blind idiot.

“Alright, these are almost done. You wanna get us some coffee and do you want to eat inside or on the porch?” Dean asks, instantly regretting it when Cas lets go of him to collect mugs.

“Porch, I think. It looks like it's going to be nice and sunny today.”

They take their breakfast to the front porch. Dean bypasses the wicker chairs and sits straight on the top step, tilting his face up and enjoying the sun.

“You were right, it’s going to be a perfect beach day,” he says, exchanging the second plate he has for one of the mugs Cas holds as he sits down next to Dean.

“This is delicious, Dean!” Cas exclaims, with a moan that sends a shiver up Dean’s spine and has him flashing back to the morning blowjob. “Cas! If you keep making sounds like that we’re going to have to eat inside otherwise someone’ll get the wrong idea and call the cops on us,” Dean admonishes, only half serious.

“Worth it,” Cas quips back, tearing off a side of the toasted bread to dip into the runny yolk center. He shoves it into his mouth before licking the bit of egg that’s dripped onto his fingers and moaning again, albeit at a slightly lower volume.

“Shit, it’s just eggs and bread, Cas. If that excites you this much, you’re gonna explode when I get to do a proper barbecue.”

“I look forward to the challenge,” Cas smiles mischievously at him before using his last bite of bread to mop us as much yolk as he can and popping it into his mouth.

Once Dean finishes his food they head back inside to clean up. Cas takes over cleaning the dishes and Dean checks on the laundry, switching it to the dryer before going and stripping the sheets off the bed and throwing them, along with his dirty pajamas, into the washer. He comes back to the kitchen then to help dry any dishes that can’t go into the dishwasher. It all feels so perfect that for a second Dean has a moment of panic.

This is way too easy. When has any relationship, hell, anything ever been this simple for me?

“Dean? Are you alright?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” Dean says, surprising himself with his own honesty.

“It’s alright. I understand if you’re … having regrets about this morning or-”

“What! No, Cas. I don’t regret this morning. Fuck, the only thing I regret is not doing that sooner. It’s just that, this, us, it’s too … easy?”

Cas laughs, loudly and deeply, leaving Dean standing in complete confusion.

“Dean,” Cas finally manages to spit out, wiping tears from his eyes, “We have known each other for years. We’ve lost each other many times over; I’ve mourned you more times than I thought possible. We’ve fought and argued and come back to being friends after being separated by Earth, Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory. And all of that, all those long years, finally brought us together as … more than friends. I wouldn’t call that easy. We have worked hard for the relationship we have.”

“I guess you’re right. I didn’t really think about it like that.” Dean rubs the back of his neck, talked out of his anxiety for the moment, but now stuck on a new issue that Cas has inadvertently brought up. “Um, so, like you said we’re not really friends anymore. I mean not just friends, so, uh, does that make us-? Would you like to be-”

“We’re back!” Sam shouts as he and Eileen burst through the front door.

Dean groans, just barely restraining himself from banging his head against the wall. He glares at his brother as he walks into the kitchen, trying to determine if he just has the worst timing in the world or if his constant interruptions are less accidental than they seem.

“You’d help me hide his body, right?”  He stage whispers to Cas, ignoring his brother entirely.

“I would if it were anyone else, but I’m too afraid of how Eileen might retaliate,” Cas replies back not even bothering to pretend to whisper.

Like what you read? You can find the whole fic here on AO3

Rating: Explicit

Chapters: 7/? (hopefully 9)

Chapter Word Count: ~12,000 (I know I'm "dingo ate my baby" crazy for that chapter length)

Tags: Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Case Fic, Established Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Beach Case, Cannon when convenient, Mutual Pining, Idiots in Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con (Dean and background characters), Non-Consensual Touching (Not between Dean and Cas), Hurt/Comfort, I promise it's not as dark as it sounds, Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, clueless Sam Winchester, Chick-Flick Moments, Cannon typical misunderstandings, Angst?, One day I'll learn how to tag, WIP, JackieDeeArt's Hot Summer Art 2024 (Supernatural), Hot Summer Art, Greek Mythology if you Squint, No Beta, Everyone is bad with words, Except Eileen who is the only emotionally stable person for miles, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Angel Grace Dysfunction, Poor Coping Mechanisms, There was only one bed. blow jobs, masturbation, angel grace kink?

[opalalmighty]

[spnj2fanlw]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Supernatural (TV 2005) RPF Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki Characters: Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, Chad Michael Murray Additional Tags: Schmoop, So much schmoop, seriously lots of schnoop, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Bottom Jared, Engagement, did I mention schmoop Summary:

The story of the boy who meets the love of his life when he is six.

*****

Warning, this is so sweet it might cause health problems, lol

[xxcutiechanxx]

OMG THIS WAS SO GOOD, I CANTTTTT. I FEEL SO BLESSED THAT I WAS ABLE TO READ THIS 😍

All I Want For Christmas is You

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Female Reader

Summary: When Park Jimin is unable to escort his precious sister through the gauntlet of corporate holiday galas, he blackmails his best friend Taehyung into being her chaperone. After all, who better to safeguard his headstrong sibling than a man who would never want her for himself? (She and Tae have spent the better part of a decade mutually disliking each other, and that’s putting it mildly.) Yet, even the best laid plans may go awry at Christmas and Kim Taehyung is about to discover that the girl he never wanted has become a temptation he cannot resist…

Genre: Comedy • Fluff  • Smut

Tropes: Brother’s Best Friend (Reader is Jimin’s Sister) • Enemies-to-Lovers

Collab: This work is part of the Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tropes Collab featuring original holiday themed works by @ppersonna • @xjoonchildx  • @underthejoon • @yeojaa​ • @untaemedqueen • and @snackhobi

Word Count: 17K (I know—I am shocked too honestly)

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: suggestive photographs • mention of accidentally being hit with a baseball • hints of jealousy and possessiveness • light tit slapping • explicit sexual content • m/f oral sex • consensual unprotected sex (shield it before you yield it y’all) • Viola’s mirror kink makes yet another appearance •

Acknowledgements:

To @ppersonna​ (Lindy) @underthejoon​ (Fal) and @xjoonchildx​ (Ana) you guys are my heart. Your support, willingness to read (and re-read) and give honest feedback made this fic special. Your friendship is my daily dose of awesome. Truly, I love you.

To @untaemedqueen​ (D) all of the above applies to you, but I owe you a little something extra for the LITERAL HOURS you spent in the doc with me. This fic would not be here without you. You kept me moving. You inspired me. You were amazing. Thank you so very much. This story is lovingly dedicated to you. 

To @hobi-gif​ for being the most thorough and incredible beta reader and for having all the important girl chats with me. I think you learned more about my past than you wanted… Either way you made this story better and I am profoundly grateful for the hours of time you spent. I have removed all the Hope-No-No words in your honor. 

To @lemonjoonah​ as always, you knew EXACTLY what I needed to tweak to make this story work. (Gotta pass that Lemon Litmus Test or no dice lol.) My lovely soul twin. You’re a bloomin’ rockstar. 

Please Picture This Taehyung:

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Yes. Because you absolutely owe me.”

“Then send me a bill, not your unmanageable harpy of a sister.”

Jimin raised a single unimpressed brow. 

“Kim Taehyung. It was exactly five years ago today that I carried your drunken naked ass two miles in the rain after you set your clothes on fire and sprained your ankle at that Beta Phi party.” He paused dramatically. “Do you remember what you said to me that night? After I deleted several pictures off phones and paid off half the party to keep it out of the papers?”

The man in question shifted uncomfortably.

“That incident is a bit hazy in my memory. I’m not sure I recall—”

“Jiminie—you’re the best and I—I owe… you. I owe you the most, Jiminie. I do—I owe you a favor—one BIG favor—anything you ask… Even though… I actually like being naked. I don’t think we need clothes. We should all be naked. Everyone. Then there would be world peace.”

Taehyung’s jaw dropped. 

“You RECORDED IT?!”

Jimin grinned, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

“Naturally. And I had it all ready to go—just in case you needed extra convincing.” He crossed his arms and fixed his best friend of nearly fifteen years with a triumphant smirk. “I’m calling in that favor today, Taehyung. Now are you a man of your word or not?”

“He did WHAT?!”

Your mother winced. 

“Jimin was… uncomfortable leaving you alone for the holiday season. He normally accompanies you to the galas but this year—”

“This year I was going to go alone and finally build my reputation as an asset to this family!”

Park Soomin sighed as she watched her daughter pace fiercely around the living room of their luxury suite. 

“No one doubts that you’re an asset, but… in light of recent events…”

Rage and embarrassment flared up in your chest before you could stop them. 

“This is about Milo… isn’t it?”

The silence that greeted your statement was confirmation enough. 

“Are you ever going to trust me again?” you whispered. 

“Oh sweetheart… it isn’t you we don’t trust…”

Tears burned at the corner of your eyes, but you ruthlessly blinked them back. 

You would play along with their humiliating schemes. 

For now.

“So which one of Jimin’s Ivy League brat pack did he blackmail into babysitting me? 

For the first time in the entirety of the conversation, your mother looked truly nervous. 

“Kim Taehyung.”

You tripped over your own feet and face-planted into the sofa. 

Keep reading

[sheikfangirl]

Post-Botw. Zelda's first walk on Hateno beach. She got her body back and she's slowly but surely re-experiencing and reclaiming physical sensations.

Totally inspired by my friend @summonerluna's wonderful Zelink fanfiction "Worship the Ashes" (but they dont wear the same clothes in her beach scene) I will never recommend her fanfiction enough. Extremely canon-compliant, peak Zelda POV, peak world building... Peak Zelink yearning ❤️

Have a great one everyone

[aventurineswife]

jingyuan, dan heng, aven, and jiaoqiu where they have like a bunch of different albums if their wife with different expressions. Like theyrs one album named flustered reader, sleepy reader, cute reader, etc, and i imagine that like one day they forgot their phone so they return home to get it only to find a veyr foustered reader whos going through all the albums and she slike wth is this??

Every Shade of You

Tags: Jing Yuan x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Jiaoqiu x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Fluff, Established Relationship, Domestic Bliss, Romantic Comedy, Slight Crack, Soft Moments, Light Teasing, Photography Shenanigans, Slight Embarrassment, Love-Struck Partner, Affection Overload.

Warnings: Mild suggestive themes (nothing explicit), Secondhand embarrassment (for the reader), Slight possessiveness (but in a loving way), Soft emotional moments.

Jing Yuan had barely left the house when he realized he had forgotten his phone. With a small sigh, he turned on his heel and headed back, his pace unhurried. The Luofu was peaceful today—no urgent matters required his immediate attention, and so, he allowed himself this rare moment of leisure.

What he did not expect, however, was to return to the sight of you sitting cross-legged on the bed, his phone in your hands, your face burning crimson.

"Ah," Jing Yuan drawled, leaning against the doorway. "I see you've found my little collection."

You snapped your head up, looking utterly scandalized. "Little collection?!" You gestured wildly at the screen, still open to an album titled Flustered (Beloved). "Jing Yuan, what is this?! Why do you have, like, fifty pictures of me looking—" You hesitated, glancing at the next album. "Sleepy [Name]?! Pouty [Name]?! [Name] Eating Cute Things?! What is this madness?!"

Jing Yuan chuckled, his golden eyes brimming with amusement. He stepped forward, plucking his phone from your hands before casually scrolling through the albums. "Ah, memories," he mused. "You look quite adorable here, you know? This one was from the time you got startled by that tiny bird outside the tea house." He turned the screen toward you, displaying an image of you, mouth slightly agape, eyes wide with shock.

Your embarrassment doubled. "Why do you have entire folders dedicated to my expressions?!"

Jing Yuan hummed thoughtfully before sitting beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist. "Because, my dear, every single one of them is precious to me," he said smoothly, brushing his lips against your temple. "Your every mood, your every glance—I like keeping them close."

You buried your face in your hands. "You're unbelievable."

"And you're unbelievably adorable," he countered, smirking as he placed his phone back into his pocket. "Now, since you've already seen them… Shall I take another picture for my Embarrassed [Name] album?"

You let out a groan. "Jing Yuan!"

Dan Heng wasn’t one to be forgetful, but today, he’d left his phone behind. He barely stepped back into your shared quarters on the Astral Express before hearing a gasp.

His eyes narrowed as he followed the sound, only to find you sitting on the edge of the bed, his phone gripped in your trembling hands. Your expression was a mix of horror and overwhelming embarrassment.

Dan Heng froze. His phone was unlocked. You had seen—

Oh.

You looked up at him with wide, mortified eyes. "Dan Heng… what is this?" Your voice was barely above a whisper.

He swallowed, keeping his composure. "...My personal records."

"Personal records?!" you repeated, incredulous. "Why do you have entire albums labeled things like Grumpy [Name], Sleepy [Name], Soft Smiles [Name]—oh my god, Dan Heng, there’s a whole album just called [Name] Holding Books Lovingly—"

Dan Heng crossed the room in two strides, gently taking his phone from your hands before you could read any further. His ears were faintly pink, but his voice remained calm. "I… like keeping track of things that matter to me," he admitted. "You matter to me."

Your heart skipped a beat. "But this is—!" You covered your face, trying to process the fact that Dan Heng, reserved and composed Dan Heng, had been secretly hoarding photos of you in various moods. "How long have you been doing this?"

Dan Heng averted his gaze for a moment. "...Since we met."

"Dan Heng!" Your voice cracked with disbelief.

He sighed, pressing a kiss to your forehead before murmuring, "I just… wanted to remember every version of you." His fingers brushed your wrist. "If it bothers you, I’ll delete them."

You groaned, flopping back onto the bed. "No… it’s… kind of sweet. But I can never look at you the same way again!"

Dan Heng smirked ever so slightly. "Should I take a picture for the Overwhelmed [Name] album?"

"Dan Heng!!"

Aventurine had been out for less than ten minutes before realizing he'd forgotten his phone. With a smirk, he turned back, ready to retrieve it—only to hear an amused but very flustered sound from inside your shared suite.

Curious, he pushed the door open and was greeted with a sight he would never forget.

You, sitting on the couch, his phone in your hands, face beet red.

His smirk widened. "Well, well, well," he drawled, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. "What do we have here?"

You jerked your head up, looking equal parts mortified and accusing. "Aventurine." You pointed at the screen. "Explain."

He tilted his head, feigning innocence. "Explain what, my dear?"

"The albums!" You gestured wildly. "Why is there a Flustered [Name] album?! And a [Name] Smiling Just for Me album?! And—oh my god—[Name] in My Jacket?! When did you even take these?!"

Aventurine chuckled, leaning over the couch to glance at the images. "Ah, now this is priceless." He tapped a picture of you, fast asleep, wrapped in his oversized coat. "I remember this one. You looked so cozy. And this one—ah, my personal favorite—[Name] Blushing at My Compliments."

You let out an embarrassed groan. "You named them?"

"Of course," he said, sitting beside you and slipping an arm around your shoulders. "It’s a collection of my most treasured winnings."

You hid your face in his chest. "You're insufferable."

"And you," he said smoothly, tilting your chin up, "are the most exquisite subject I’ve ever had the pleasure of capturing."

"...Shameless."

"Only for you, sweetheart."

Jiaoqiu rarely left his belongings behind, but today was an exception. He returned home earlier than expected, stepping inside quietly—only to see you hunched over his phone, completely still.

His keen eyes caught the screen's reflection. The moment realization dawned, his tail flicked in amusement.

"...Ah." His voice was smooth, warm with quiet amusement. "I see you've found my private collection."

You yelped, spinning around. "Jiaoqiu!" Your face was burning. "Explain this!" You held up the screen, displaying albums titled Pouting [Name], Sleepy [Name], Embarrassed [Name], and—dear heavens—[Name]’s Hidden Smiles.

Jiaoqiu chuckled, stepping forward and gently plucking the phone from your grasp. "Would you believe me if I said it was for medical research?"

You shot him a glare. "Jiaoqiu."

His fox ears twitched in amusement. "Fine, fine. I just… like capturing your different moods," he admitted. "Every expression, every glance—you have no idea how precious they are to me."

You covered your face. "I can never live this down."

He hummed. "In that case… Shall I take another for the [Name] Utterly Mortified album?"

You threw a pillow at him. "JIAOQIU!"

[fangirlfuel]

It Hits You at 3 A.M.

---

It was barely three days since you brought her home.

Three days of no sleep, endless diapers, soft cries, and milk-stained shirts. Three days of falling in love and falling apart and falling back together—over and over again. You and Lance were trying your best, and maybe that’s what scared you the most.

It was 3:02 a.m. when she started crying again. That sharp, shrill newborn cry that broke straight through your chest and rattled every nerve.

You stirred, muscles sore and body still heavy with exhaustion, but Lance was already sitting up—bare-chested, hair messy, dark circles like shadows under his eyes.

“I got her,” he said, voice low and hoarse.

“No, let me,” you whispered, trying to sit up.

But he was already out of bed, moving faster than he should for someone running on less than two hours of sleep. You watched him disappear into the soft light of the hallway, heart aching.

She was crying louder now.

You rubbed your face, overwhelmed by the mix of guilt and love and this all-consuming fear that you were already doing everything wrong.

When Lance returned, he had her against his chest—her tiny body trembling with hiccupy sobs. He bounced gently, whispering something you couldn’t quite hear as he paced back and forth beside the bed.

“She’s so upset,” you murmured, arms already outstretched. “Let me try—”

“No, just wait a second,” Lance said gently, still pacing, “I’ve almost got her.”

He kissed the top of her head, eyes half-closed as he rocked. “It’s okay, baby girl. We’ve got you. Mommy and Daddy aren’t going anywhere.”

It was such a simple sentence, but it hit like a wave.

You covered your mouth with your hand, tears slipping out before you could stop them. You weren’t sad—you were just so full. Of love. Of panic. Of something too big for your chest.

“She looks like you when she cries,” Lance whispered with a tired smile as she finally started to calm, her tiny body melting into his.

You laughed softly through your tears. “God, I’m a mess.”

He finally came to sit beside you, still holding her between you both. “We both are,” he said, glancing down at the burp stain on his shirt. “But she doesn’t care. She just wants us close.”

“I feel like I’ve never loved anything this much,” you whispered, brushing your finger down her soft cheek. “And it terrifies me.”

Lance looked at you, really looked at you, his eyes glassy now too. “Yeah. It’s like… everything matters now. Every second. Every noise. Every breath she takes.”

“I didn’t even know I could feel this much,” you added, laughing through the tears. “Like—one second I’m looking at her and I think my heart’s going to explode… and the next I’m Googling ‘what does a newborn rash mean.’”

“Oh my God, I literally looked that up earlier,” he said with a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “And then I panicked and started checking if she was breathing every five seconds.”

You both laughed, deliriously tired but clinging to each other and the tiny life in your arms.

“I’m scared she’ll stop loving me one day,” you admitted in a whisper. “Or I’ll mess up. Or I’ll miss something important.”

Lance leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. “We’re gonna mess up. That’s part of it. But we’re going to love her through every second of it. That’s what matters.”

She stirred again between you both, letting out the tiniest sigh, her fist curling into the fabric of Lance’s shirt like he was her anchor.

“I can’t believe we made her,” he murmured.

“I can’t believe they just… let us walk out of the hospital with her,” you replied, incredulous. “Like—no one stopped us. No manual. No training. Just… ‘good luck.’”

“I mean… she cried the whole ride home and then pooped twice while I tried to change her,” he said with a crooked grin. “So, they probably figured we’d figure it out fast.”

You snorted softly, and it felt good to laugh. Even with tears still drying on your cheeks.

Lance leaned back against the headboard, cradling her carefully on his chest, and you curled up next to him, your hand on her tiny foot. There was something sacred about the moment—like the world had slowed down, just for you three.

You looked over at him, eyes soft.

“You’re already such a good dad.”

He turned to you, surprise in his face. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

He swallowed hard, nodding, biting the inside of his cheek the way he always did when he was feeling too much. “I just want her to grow up knowing how much she’s loved. Every single day.”

“She will,” you whispered. “Because she already does.”

And just like that, the silence settled over the room again. The kind that wasn’t empty—but full. Of love. Of hopes. Of fears. Of everything new.

At 3:47 a.m., with a baby asleep on Lance’s chest and your hand intertwined with his, you weren’t just parents.

You were everything she needed.

And that would always be enough.

---

Let me know if you want a second part where she's a toddler and you two are dealing with a totally different kind of chaos—but still full of love. I’m here for all the Lance x reader parental fluff!😉

---

P.S.

Hey! Just a little note—I’m so sorry if this isn’t exactly what you imagined. I really tried to make it soft and emotional, but I’m still a teenager and I’ve never been a parent myself. I don’t fully know what it feels like, but I did my best based on what I’ve experienced as an aunt (I have four nephews, so I’ve seen a lot of late nights and messy love!). I really poured my heart into it, and I hope you enjoyed it!

---

[laroserie]

— Various x-men characters, baking with reader

— characters ; Scott Summers. Rogue. Logan Howlett.

— warning ; no particular tw. author is not great at baking but he had a baking phase so. very sweet / fluff and self-indulgent. can be seen as platonic or romantic. reminder that author has not read the comics (only saw the films + is watching the animated series, xmen evolution and 97) and doesn't know much about some characters ( ex Rogue ) so author is doing his best to characterise them. author has favorite and it's shows. author says a cake count as a pastry and a pastry is basically any baked goods (if you do not agree. soryr that suck)

– Scott Summers.

Scott seems to be the kind of guy to be very open to baking, depending on what you want to bake.

Simple things like, cookies or a chocolate cake ? Sure. He is your man, he will be very happy to bake with you.

Now if you want to do something more complicated like, macarons or hell a pie, he will pat your shoulder and say 'Good luck with that' and walk out of the room. He is not even attempting to bake things that are too hard.

Why should he, when he can make simple things that taste good. There is no need to try some extravagant bakeries that most likely won't end up being very tasty the first time.

But with enough coercion and 'begging' (which you could call 'annoying him to no end') he will concede, but don't get him wrong - he is not at fault nor taking responsibility if it end up being disgusting.

Scott is the type to be very commending even in the kitchen, he is still the 'leader', here he will give you instructions and let you do it - until he does it himself because 'you aren't doing it properly' (he is trying to fix this habit up, don't get too angry at him).

He is also the type to follow the recipe and measurements extremely close, but if he's, for example, measuring flour and there is a bit too much but you have your back turned, he'll just let it be, let it slide, because no one else but him is aware of it, so it's fine !

He is still fun to bake around with, of course, but, he is still very, ... himself while doing so.

Once you are done, Scott is most likely to let you have the first bite - he is staring you down waiting to hear if you like it or not before trying for himself.

If the outcome isn't exactly the greatest - Scott will make it his personal mission to master it. He will not be beaten by something as simple as a pastry.

– Rogue.

If you have Rogue to bake with you, she will be overjoyed. She could be so happy that you want to bake with her, baking is an activity you usually do with people you are close to, so in her eyes you wanting to bake with her, show that you see her as someone you are close to in the very least.

She'll tell you to wait a few seconds, be gone and come back with a binder with handwritten families recipes and ask you if you wanna try one of them.

Unlike Scott, she is the type to not really care about measurements, she try to follow the ones from the recipes but if there is a bit too much flour, she won't scoop some out of it, because after all, that shouldn't change the outcome right ?

But that is, if you follow a recipe, if you don't ... let's just say there will be enough cakes - or whatever you both made - for weeks. She isn't really great at guessing how much is too much or how much is not enough.

She is absolutely the type to tease you while baking, if you are making something that requires meringues, she will do the meringue test (the meringue test is that if you take the bowl it's in and flip it upside down and nothing drop - it good, if it drop it's not) but not take any precautions, like doing it over the sink or counter. She will give you small heart attack.

Even if you don't really follow the recipes and have to change a few ingredients in the middle of the process because there isn't enough or because you didn't have it, the outcome will taste quite good most of the time. Rogue, will go and make everyone in the manor have a taste - because everyone should have a bit of what you both spend time on.

– Logan Howlett

Okay, now, baking with Logan is something that could only happen once in a blue moon. If you ask him to bake with you, he won't answer you and just give you a look that scream 'do i look like a fucking baker to you ?'.

Now that said, if you do go on your plan of baking - without him - there is a high chance that he will watch you do so, he will lean on a counter and watch you go about your baking.

He will comments on what you are doing and says snarky remarks about what you are doing - that's in his opinion - wrong.

Logan may help you when you are struggling - you are supposed to mix something together but it's a bit too hard for you, he will extend his hand and tell you to give it to him. But that's as far as he will go - and giving you the sugar that's in the cabinet next to him.

If you are making something like cookies, he will take one without asking, because after all he 'assisted' you (told you, you really sucked at mixing eggs and flour and telling you to be more organised when you bake because you are making one hell of a mess).

[underoospeterparker]

can’t remember if I already sent this in but tasm Peter Parker x reader who has sensory issues and gets overstimulated easily. n him just calming her down, giving her something to fidget with or chew on cause he knows that calms her, getting her into comfy clothes that aren’t scratchy or tight and just taking care of her. asking her loads of questions and giving her options to choose from so she feels more in control of the situation <3 ugh i love him

thank you for requesting!!

tasm!peter x reader / mcu!peter x reader, 0.8k words

tw: overstimulation

You're resting your head in Peter's lap while he tangles his fingers in your hair, scratching gently at your scalp. Peter's friends are sitting on the seats opposite to you, and the two of them are laughing about something rather loudly. Peter glances at you every so often, leans down to press a soft kiss to your temple. Every time he does that, you let out a quiet hum of contentment, press your head further into his lap.

You're exhausted from a long day of school and came home to Peter's friends. You'd given them both a hug when you arrived, but Peter already noticed you were out of it: Your eyes were unfocused, you had this dazed look about you, and you kept fidgeting with your hands, wringing them out.

Peter had given you a concerned look, clearly worried, as if asking 'Do you want them here?' You'd given him a gentle, reassuring smile, mouthed to him that it was fine. You were currently rethinking your decision as their voices grew louder. You began to hear the screeching of the kettle, the scratches your cat was making on the wooden table, the spin of the fan. You could feel your tight knit sweater sticking to your body, and you could hardly breathe.

You forced yourself to take deeper, longer breaths as you curled up in Peter's lap. His hand paused on your head but then resumed its ministrations, as he looked up in shock at something his friend had said. It all sounded like a blabber of words to you: You felt confused; disoriented. The air conditioner was on, but you felt hot. Boiling hot. You tried to pull at your sweater, wanting it off.

You resisted the urge to scream, and to calm yourself down you tried to focus on the ground, on the carpet, but you couldn't: Everything else was far too loud.

"(Y/N)?" Peter's voice cut through the noise. You press your hands to your ears, trying to block out the noise, to soften his words. You turn around to face Peter's stomach, try to hide in his hold. "Sweetheart, are you okay?" His hands reached for yours, helped cover your ears. You looked up through blurry vision, meeting his loving and concerned gaze. Peter tilted his head slightly, searched your eyes for a response to his question. You shook your head slowly in reply, let out a quiet whine as you burrowed yourself closer to him.

Something in his eyes clicks in realisation. He held out a hand to his friends to get them to stop talking; helping you stand up with a hand on your wrist, gently moving you to a quieter room. Peter shut the door behind the two of you, sat you down on the soft comforter. You mumbled something incoherent, struggled to get your sweater off, the tightness suffocating you, making it hard to breathe.

Peter's eyes soften as he reaches for the hem of your sweater, helping you pull it off your head. He squeezes your hand before moving towards the closet, grabbing your comfiest pyjamas as helping you slip in to them with two hands on your shoulders. He doesn't speak until then, knowing you needed to feel comfortable and snug before you would be able to fully converse.

He settled you on the bed, covers not on because he knew you were feeling hot. "Can I get you anything? Your fidget toy? Or your stuffed animal?"

His voice was soft, only a murmur, and you nodded gratefully. "Both, please?" You asked quietly.

Peter presses a lingering kiss to your forehead and untangles himself from you, nodding quickly. "Of course, bug." He returns in under a minute, giving you the two items and watching as you settle down with them. "Do you want me here, or should I go?" He touches your leg soothingly, rubbing a hand up and down.

"Here," I mumble, "please?" Peter melts a little, feels his heart squeeze. He climbs onto the bed behind you, careful not to touch or jostle you too much. When he remains quiet, you add, "Can I have a hug?"

He softens. "Absolutely, honey." Peter doesn't wait another second before wrapping you up in his arms, bringing you closer to his chest. He thumbs at your neck affectionately as you curl up in his hold, wanting to be as close to him as possible. "My poor, sweet girl," he murmurs softly. "You're doing so good. Are you feeling a bit better?"

"Mhm, yes," I say quietly, "thank you." You give him your best, most grateful smile. "Y' the best, baby."

Peter rolls his eyes affectionately against the crown of your head. "Says you, lovely girl."

[syd-djarin]

“You are my heaven, my obsession, my prayer and bliss.” He confessed.

Hey so I’m fucking crying

BANANA SYRUP AMERICANO

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Barista!Reader

Prompt: “You are my heaven, my obsession, my prayer and bliss.” + Silver

A/N: This is for the A Doctor A Day event hosted by @ananonymousaffair, @clubsoft and me! Special thanks to @yxtkiwiyxt for encouraging me to write this <3 and to @probablyreadinsmut and @stellamarielu for reading and helping me work through the fic. And @salingers, Anna and Dulsè and @maiamore for listening to me yap about this fic and tease it for so long. This kinda reads like an awards acceptance speech— which it is, an award for getting over this writer's block.

divider by @omi-resources

Years ago, a friend once told you that you had the habit of picking the most unavailable, worst sort of man in the room to have a crush on— and then too only for entertainment. Because it was safe to like someone you knew you never had a chance with, instead of putting yourself out there and facing rejection. It was a devastating read because she was right… to a certain degree.

After years of therapy, you had a crush on Doctor Jack Abbot who, thankfully, wasn’t the worst sort. Instead, he was the best person in any room he walked into. He was the kind of man who penned letters for the bereaved family of his patients. He had a small smile reserved for everyone despite the exhaustion lining his face. Unfailingly polite. Always kind. Quick to praise and reassure. Calming. Firm. Steadfast. One of the most wonderful people you’ve ever met.

But he was still very much unavailable if that ring on his finger was anything to go by.

It did start as an entertainment, feelings were fun, they made you feel alive— the fluttering in your stomach, the giddy excitement, the thrill of an encounter, the euphoria of a single smile. It was just the little kick you needed to look forward to the day, especially during the godawful witching hours you had to wake up at. That is, until you had started to care for him. You could tell if he had a hard shift by the pronounced unevenness of his gait. And the way he would tiredly lean over your counter to speak to you in a low, gruff voice as if he wasn’t quite sure what would escape him if dared to be louder.

It wasn’t safe at all to like him. You once burned yourself on the espresso machine when you had been distracted by a lock of his curls falling over the side of his forehead. He could smile at you, and you could get a concussion from tripping over a chair. If he ever spoke to you in soft murmurs, you could tweak your back during a fall because your knees were too jelly to hold you up. God forbid he ever stared into your eyes too long, you were convinced your heart would give out then.

But your friend had been spot-on about your fear of rejection. Over time, your condition had worsened, feelings were like an infection that spread from your chest to your brain. You had gone from skipping heartbeats at the sight of him to thinking about him incessantly. If they plugged you to those monitors in his ER, all the squiggly waves of your heartbeat would spell out his name. However, if you confessed and he didn’t feel the same, where would that leave you? Like a hopeless star forcibly wrested from the moon— alone in a cafe at 4.30 AM.

And he was the moon— not only because of the silver that laced his curls and scattered across his face, shimmering in the low lighting, but because he had that pull and gravity that churned your breaths like a tide. So you had swallowed every word of love, every gesture of affection, every yearning thought bleeding from your soul until you felt like you might burst from it. You had hidden it all perfectly and neatly so you would never lose the precious few moments you had with him every few days.

He breathed easier at the sight of her, like his head finally broke out over the water. He rolled his shoulders, suppressing the shiver that snaked down his arms— the cafe was always warmer than the ER. Jack felt a muscle flutter in his neck as his jaw unclenched and relaxed. His mouth felt dry as he took a deep breath. Shit. He should’ve chewed gum after that patient in South 15 who sprayed blood all over his face and got some in his mouth during the process. He could still feel the metallic tang on his lips despite having washed and rinsed his face several times— more memory than reality.

He stretched his neck to peek inside, silently cursing when he noticed her drop a few pumps of banana syrup in a cup. He had hoped to beat her to making that drink. The first time he met her, Jack had been so engrossed in the medical case study that he hadn’t looked up to notice that the person behind the counter had changed. Mildly amused that he was being asked what he would like to drink instead of being handed his usual, he had quipped a dry “Americano with banana syrup.”

It wasn’t until he had faced the dark liquid with warm artificial banana-scented steam wafting over it that he looked up to find the prettiest face dubiously staring at the drink before flickering up to meet his eyes. For a moment, he had forgotten the world, his phone and stethoscope nothing but dead weight. Then gingerly, almost hesitantly, she had asked if he would like some cream in his drink. And the soft, dulcet tones of her voice had spread under his skin like warm sunshine. It raised his hairs. He had twitched where he stood, an almost silly attempt at shaking off the effect she had over him.

She had taken his reaction as a refusal, and his fate had been sealed— Americano with banana syrup, every time. Excruciating and euphoric. It was too sweet for his tastes, but the kind of sweetness that he couldn’t feel on his tongue because he had eaten something far sweeter just before. And that was her. Every moment with her made him feel as giddy as a child eating candy.

It was not that he couldn’t ask to try something else. The next time they met, he was a bit late. Two of the night shift nurses before him had ordered a large frappuccino to be served in two different cups for them to share. But they had ripped into her after she had handed them two large frozen drinks, even though she only charged for one— because she was trying to make them fat. Both those ladies had found themselves at the Kraken’s feet the next time they had to stick the guy.

When it was his turn, she had handed him his drink with an excited flourish. Her eyes looked so eager to please, so proud to have remembered his order that he didn’t have the heart to tell her he wanted something else. He had doubled down on his supposed love for banana syrup americano with such ardour that it had taken her two days to cajole him into taking some cream or warm milk to balance the astringent sweetness. She had looked so utterly… beguiling with that pleased, crooked little smile and the sparkle in her eyes that his hand had instinctively moved to rub her head before he’d swung it down mid-air to pick his drink instead, cursing himself for stupid, inappropriate impulses.

Jack didn’t do sunshine, he didn’t do smiles that reminded him of gentle warmth in the winter. He was a creature of the night, he found comfort in the darkness. So he’d run from that little corner of the PTMC, made do with the stale coffee in the break room that someone from the day shift had put on and forgotten about. But he felt like that guy from the myths— Odysseus— who didn’t put wax in his ears while the rest of his crew did.

Everyone went about their routine, while there was a siren at the far end of the building, weaving quiet and peace with the flowing, silky threads of the dim lighting, the rumbling of the espresso machine, the steady drip of the large batch of the medium roast— the one that smells of hazelnuts— along with the soft rhythm of her humming and the cadence of her halting footsteps. And, god help him, but he was drawn to her.

He felt like a bastard for it too. Jack had known love before, how could he not recognise its enticing sweetness that emanated from her. But it was her eyes, with their special sort of grace, that spoke without her intending them to. They scanned him with worry and concern whenever he walked in during a difficult shift, and they silently complained to him whenever he turned to leave. It made him want to turn around, soothe her with kisses and make promises to her— small promises like he would see her soon, and big ones like he would see her every day for the rest of his life. He had no business making promises to her.

They were so unlikely that even when the entire night shift staff and some of the day shift had noticed his particular proclivity towards the cafe, none of them had suspected that he might feel something for the ‘barista babe’ as Dr Ellis refers to her. Dr Walsh likes her dirty chai lattes— thinks the spices are better than most. And he’s here drinking banana Americanos. He felt insane.

At some point, he stopped watching the clock, he would perk up as if sensing her in the building like a biological alarm. The charge nurse kindly carved out a few, precious minutes for him to take his break somewhere after half past four— but somehow, always before her cafe opens at five— believing he needed the caffeine boost and time to decompress. Nobody suspected any ulterior motives when they should’ve been able to sniff out his desperate, dirty secret.

She had once tucked her work t-shirt into her jeans, and seeing her bend over the sink, had made him harden against his scrubs. His mouth was so dry that he hadn’t been able to string a sentence together for several long moments even after he had returned to his desk. She’d reduced him to nothing more than a lecherous old man— he still hadn’t shaken off the sight of her ass filling out those jeans. His palm itched to find out if she’d fill his hand the same way— to test the weight and the feel of her against him.

A small, petulant and kinda unfair part of him felt gratified that she felt something for him too. She’d once told him that the Earth travels around the sun almost 100 times faster than a speeding bullet as she recounted her trip to the planetarium with her friends. And he’d felt pity for this poor rock they call home because he knew what it was like to helplessly spin in someone’s grasp— to have mornings start with the sight of her and evenings set with thoughts of her.

So he had faked hunger and pain— although at his age, the latter wasn’t too difficult to feign— to soak in her concern. He gobbled up everything she slipped him in the name of taste-testing, their fresh warmth seeping into his chest and his limbs because they had come from her hand. Jack Abbot leaned a little closer every day to hear her breath hitch, and he enjoyed the way her gaze stuttered when he looked into her eyes. He wallowed in her affection and quiet smiles.

It was horrible of him to do it— to encourage and lead her on when nothing could come of this flirtation. They didn’t belong together. She wasn’t for him. She was engaged. He should’ve kept his distance, been perfectly polite and civil— nipped this whole dizzying bloom of feelings in the bud. He should let her move on with the man she was set to marry, step aside and never cross her path to confuse or distract her.

Jack should’ve known this would colossally backfire on him— it was worse than shooting his own damn foot. He wanted her a little more every day. She was intoxicating— her thoughtfulness that left him a little speechless, her intelligence that never failed to arouse him, her kind heart and her dry wit. He never stood a chance. She was adventure and shelter all rolled in one— the storm and the lifeboat. Love had wrapped around his every breath, and he was drowning in the futility of it all. There was no medicine, no treatment, no solution.

He’d hoped to confine her to this little cafe, an oasis of calm he retreated to when the ER sounds overwhelmed, and even the crackle of the police scanner grated on his nerves. He wanted to pretend she was a figment of his imagination, someone who didn’t exist outside of the walls he had drawn. But she wasn’t one to be confined and compartmentalised, he carried her out with him nestled against his ribs. The image of her settled nascent in the back of his mind somewhere, haunting him on his early morning walk back home when the blooming flowers he walked past smelled of her.

He searched for her in the quiet, persistent loneliness of his home. He waited to hear the echoes of her voice following the dull footsteps in the apartment above his— as if she was there, close to him instead of miles away. And sometimes, he invoked her, almost like a prayer, before he slipped off to sleep so he could meet her in his dreams again. There were days he would miss her, but he wasn’t on shift. He would wait, wide awake, for the clock to crawl into the early hours before he would visit her in that cafe again— pretending to be on call instead of admitting that he had driven here to see her.

It wasn’t until a difficult shift— one that led him straight to the roof because he couldn’t breathe— that he’d given up on putting a lid on his heart. Who was he kidding? He’d lost control of the situation long ago, perhaps on the very first night he had met her eyes. But she had joined him there with a cup of hot chocolate that had seared his tongue on the very first sip, she hadn’t wanted the drink to cool before she had found him, and a thick slab of banana bread. His sun, finally out in the open skies— the very one who’d lit up his moon on countless nights. All because she heard the nurses whispering about the vet they had lost.

It was the longest he had ever spoken to her. And he didn’t know how he had survived on a few meagre moments of her attention in the night. He’d been afraid for a moment on the rooftop, the moment was so surreal, or maybe it was the night shift sleep disorder, that time had stretched between them like silk threads— fragile yet endless. It was a moment so dangerous, so dreamlike, that he was afraid he’d slip up the words he had only dared utter to her in his dreams.

Yet, instead of stoic silence, he had talked. And talked. And talked. Then he had rambled some more, a part of him still cringes when he remembers his baseball analogy of life and death. She hadn’t been able to hide the twitch of her lips fast enough, and he was grateful she hadn’t laughed in his face. Although, any amount of embarrassment would have been worth listening to that bright, free sound that was her laughter— it was never a small, dainty sound, dear god, did it put a smile on his face.

He loves her. He was in love with her. It was a fact he had only fully realised and accepted when he had stood before his late wife, strangely wordless. He used to tell her about Robby and Dana, about new students, the workplace gossip and even the latest take-out place he had tried. And for the first time, he had found that he had already shared that with someone else. He had someone to talk about the mundane little things in life with. He wasn’t alone— not anymore. He had cried tears of relief that day. On his next visit, he had left his ring there in the columbarium— right next to their photo and her funerary urn.

“You seem a little lost, Dr Abbot.”

He gave you a tired smile— nothing more than a twitch of his lips, before his head moved somewhere between a nod and a shake, but still a gesture of acquiescence. Funny, how invaluable and precious such a small thing can be. You tear your eyes from his profile as he stares out the window, taking in the untimely, out-of-season rains.

You hide the urge to caress the lines framing his eyes by busying your hands around the metal pitcher, turning the knob on the steam wand. You hoped the steady rumble of the machine would quiet the demons inside your head that told you to reach out and tuck his silver hair behind his ear. You wondered how he would react. What would his expression be if you pinched his earlobe right after?

“What’s got you smiling like that?” He groused, a teasing lightness lifting his tone. You bit your lip to contain the grin, distracting him by pouring the milk into his coffee— extra hot, just as he liked it. Silence settled between you again, a seemingly comfortable one, while you panicked internally to look for an excuse.

“Princess has a new love interest,” you diverted, voice low and conspiratorial as you shared the gossip you had recently gleaned. His brows rose into an expression of grudging respect before he trained his eyes on you with rapt attention. Princess moved fast, and yet here you were yearning after this man for a year. No one’s fault but your own.

“Didn’t she have one just a few months ago?” He mused, taking a sip of his drink. The rim of the cup couldn’t mask the amused curl of his lips.

“Yes, but that one dropped out of the running. She felt like he wasn’t serious enough about her—”

“Was she serious about him?” He sarcastically butted, receiving only a chastising glare that accompanied the prim set of your lips.

“Anyways, this new boo has a surprise weekend getaway planned for her. Wouldn’t tell her where they’re going or what they’re doing—”

“Sounds like something a serial killer would do,” he scoffed.

“Exactly. I told her to share her location the entire time. All he said was to dress weather-appropriate. So something outdoorsy?” You wondered.

“Definitely camping,” he trailed off as you suppressed a chuckle, turning away from him to roll the lid onto the coffee dispenser. He was eyeing the cheese danishes in the display. Jack would never order it, he knew you wouldn’t charge him for it. He paid for his drink by shoving a five-dollar bill in the tip jar. The poor college students who show up for their shift later in the morning are always ecstatic to see it.

You dumped the sodden coffee grounds in the bin, making a mental note to save some for your aunt’s garden before sending them to the local community composting project. She had handed you the reins of her coffee shop while she took her maternity leave, recently giving birth to a tiny baby girl. There was a dull ache under your ribs, the kind that squeezed the entirety of your chest.

Your aunt would return once her daughter was old enough. You would leave. And a piece of you would be left behind here to haunt the walls of the PTMC, trailing Dr Jack Abbot like a shadow. And he would forget about you, until you were less than an afterthought in his daily life— someone he might not even recognise passing by on the sidewalk.

“Camping isn’t everybody’s thing. Doesn’t seem like it would be Princess’ thing,” he murmured. He was here. For now, he was gracing your nights like a blessing.

“It could be glamping,” you teased.

“Do not talk to me about glamping”— you giggled at the sheer affront in his voice—“that’s just not camping—”

“It could be something more romantic too—” you piped up.

“Than camping?” An edge of disbelief lined his tone. You poured the coffee into a filter before sliding the filter basket into the machine, pressing the button to brew a fresh canister of medium roast. A gentle scent of caramel filled the air with the steady drip of coffee as you turned to face him again.

“Yeah, like stargazing—”

“You could do that during camping—”

“—but camping means critters. And I hate creepy crawlies—”

“But it’s part of the romance,” he insisted, leaning over the counter to argue his case, his eyes insistently staring into yours as if it strengthened his arguments. But your gaze slid down, riveted by the movement of his mouth as he spoke and the shape of his lips as he formed his words, “That’s when you press closer to your partner and ask them to get rid of the beastie—”

“Beastie?” You giggled, “Why, Dr Abbot, how many dates have you pressed up to asking them to kill the scary bugs for you?”

He rolled his eyes as you joined him at the counter, a stubborn twitch at his jaw expressed his pity that you were so blind to the virtues of camping, while a shadow of laughter still lingered over his lips. And Dear Lord, he had that dimple. The silver tongs loudly clattered in your hands as you blindly slid the display open to reach for a cheese danish.

“If it’s bugs that bother you, then there’s nets, thermacell repellents, insect repellent creams. You just haven’t been with the right accommodations— or the right partner.” There’s an edge to his voice you can’t quite place. Camping was nothing, you could be watching snails crawl and have the time of your life if it was with him.

“You’re probably one of those people who gently escort an insect or a lizard out of the house instead of killing it.” You hoped your words didn’t come off as the lovesick sigh they sounded to your ears as you slid the pastry towards him. His lips turned down with a noncommittal shrug and a hum, “No point killing it.”

He reached for a plastic knife, and you should stop him now— save him the effort. But it was a ritual that soothed. It is always somehow sliced unevenly, despite the focused furrow of his brows. The bigger piece always nudged towards you. It was almost habit now to just reach across and take the smaller cut of the pastry from his plate.

The very first thing you had fed him was a biscotti, handed it to him along with the drink. He’d stared at you, adorably wide-eyed and befuddled when you had refused his payment for it. It’s a meeting gift, you’d explained, since it was your first day taking over from your aunt. All your customers had received one, but he was the first since he had arrived well before the cafe had opened.

The next day, he was late. But he’d dug into his pockets and procured the tiniest whisk, barely the size of your thumb, attached to a keychain. A meeting gift. He’d delivered it without any fanfare, just the quiet words, “Didn’t have anything on me last time, welcome to the PTMC.” Since then, everything you baked was tailored to his preferences. Not that Jack Abbot ever critiqued or complained, he would polish off everything with the urgency of a man on the move. You studied his tells— the arch of his brows, the corners of his mouth, and the pause before he takes a sip.

Your mother always said that food tasted of more than just the ingredients— it was flavoured with emotions, the good and bad. Your creations tasted of your love and affection for him. But when he touches them, portions them, and hands you back a piece, it tastes different. His touch makes it sweeter, richer, more flavourful— it leaves you as warm and fulfilled as any sacred offering would. It made you wonder which of his emotions laced it.

“I have to spend extra time at the gym, with all the sweets you’ve been feeding me.” He chided, but took a large bite out of the danish before sliding the other half towards you. His workout looked good on him, sinful even, with the way he filled out the scrubs. He had broad shoulders that made you wonder how they’d look parting your thighs. And the kind of arms that sent a girlish trill through our stomach. You looked away as his hand reached up to brush the flakes off his face. Astaghfirullah, this was so not helping.

“I shouldn’t… I gotta fit into the clothes I’m having sewn for the wedding,” You hesitated. There was an odd beat, a moment of silence you didn’t quite know how to define. But he stopped chewing, as if the pastry was dry and sticking to the walls of his mouth. Dr Abbot, infamous for his prolonged and steady eye contact, was absorbed in staring at the crumbs on the plate. He washed it down with a large gulp of a coffee you knew was still scalding. He didn’t take another bite.

And you wondered if you had offended him in some way— or hurt him. His face contorted into a small grimace, the crinkles by his eyes deepening for a moment before smoothing out again. It was just a danish. You didn’t even know why you had turned down the chance to share it with him. The tailor would be leaving in some fabric in each outfit, so you could loosen it in case of any weight fluctuations. And you could cut back on calories elsewhere.

You swiped the piece of pastry from his plate and devoured half of it in a single bite. The awkward lull passed as if you had imagined it while you watched him gather his thoughts. He looked up again, with clear, twinkling, olive eyes. And a smile so soft, so tender bloomed on his face, it robbed you of your breath.

“Are you happy?” His eyes were so imploring, like a man in the midst of a prayer. There was a hitch in his voice like your answer determined his next breath. And you were utterly lost.

“With the clothes? Yeah, they’re super pretty on me…” But you knew it wasn’t quite what he was asking. He faltered. You had never seen him do that before. His eyes slid away from yours as he took an uneven, stilted breath. His gaze fell upon the tray of sugar and honey sachets, roamed over the frames lining over the tiled wall, flitting over the menu overhead behind you. It was like a butterfly that glided from one bloom to another— indecisive, unsure, so unlike Jack Abbot.

You watched the muscles of his throat work as he swallowed. It knocked you off kilter when his eyes glided past you to settle on the damn half-eaten pastry in your hand. You are never making cheese danishes in your life. You hadn’t realised you had held the pastry out between you until he glanced up at you with a silvery glint of challenge in his eyes, one you had no idea how to measure up to.

Your hand hovered in the air, quite inexplicably but undeniably out of habit. But it was one thing to share a bitten-off morsel of food with friends or family, another entirely to offer it to Dr Jack Abbot. He had once told you that human mouths were filthy. You wondered if you could lower it back onto the plate smoothly, naturally. But the awkwardness was clogging your throat, and you were overthinking everything. It almost made you nauseous.

He straightened his shoulders with a stubborn jut to his chin. He looked dark and forbidding, as if you had done something wrong. There was no stopping the gasp that escaped your lips as he stooped to steal the sweet off your fingers. Your stomach lurched as if you were sitting on some flimsy raft facing turbulent waves. You felt his lips press against the tips of your fingers— dry, soft. Your fingers twitched with the current that travelled up your hand and into your trembling arm.

The swivel of his jawbone was hypnotic, you were so tempted to reach out and touch the line of his jaw to feel the rocking motion under your palm. It wouldn’t be too difficult, he was still bent over the counter, his lips a mere stretch of the fingers away. You recognised this moment in your bones— knew instinctively that things would forever be altered. There would be a life before this moment, and a very different life after this.

In some ways, the thought was comforting. You inhaled a deep, bolstering breath. He knew. And after all that yearning, there were only two outcomes. He held your hand in his— large, warm, steady— as he gently wiped off your hands with a napkin. It was as if his eyes were reading your soul through your own. His thumb caressed the inside of your wrist, his touch slow and reverent.

And even as he withdrew, rounding the counter to deposit the plate in the sink and fling the napkin in the bin, your eyes followed his form like he was the guiding north star. You had never known him to be the sort of cruel man who would lead you on despite knowing how you feel for him. You had seen him smilingly give up his comfort and wishes for others— considerate and kind. But despite the anticipation and hope that surged through your veins, you silently prayed— nothing more than a heartfelt ‘please’ to guide you through the change and upheaval.

You weren’t sure to whom you prayed, but the answer came in his smile and the affection that was sewn into the lines that framed his mouth. It was as if you had been thrown a paddle or an oar for that adrift raft. There was only one way through.

“Jack—”

“I meant the wedding,” he interrupted, and your brows furrowed. Why was he talking about the damn wedding?

You could see the tension he carried on his frame, the rigidness of his shoulders and the almost defensive way he folded his arms before phrasing the question again, “Are you happy with the marriage, sweetheart?” His voice was low and coarse. It wasn’t a question, it was more a silent command.

In this moment, even with a gun to your head, you could not name the groom. Your sister liked him but disliked his family. It was the very recipe for disaster. And you couldn’t understand what she liked so much about the man to marry him.

“Does it matter what I think about it as long as I look good in the dresses?” You laughed, a half-hearted attempt at levity in a situation out of your control.

She couldn’t belong to anyone else. Not when she didn’t love that other man. Not when she looked at him with eyes so melodious they practically glowed and sang. Not when she had woven herself into the meaning of his existence. Not when she felt like the first ray of sunshine after a few gloomy days. And he’s had enough gloomy days to last him a lifetime. He would snatch her from the very sky if he had to.

“Yes, it matters. You can’t marry him.” He stressed, drawing closer to her to meet her line of sight, searching for a way to make her understand so she wouldn’t look this baffled.

“Jack, I think you’ve—”

“You don’t love him—” He insisted.

“— well, obviously not, that’s because—” Her hands gently pressed on his forearm, a warm, calming touch that scattered his next words until all he was left with was the bare truth.

“I love you.”

There was a moment of charged stillness and furiously thundering heartbeats. Jack felt like he was on the ledge of the roof again— untethered. She looked wide-eyed and lost, mouth slightly agape.

“Oh.”

A short breath barely steadied him, he felt a little lightheaded, “Oh?”

“You thought… I was engaged. This whole time?” Her brows arched up in disbelief.

“Listen”— he smoothed his hands down her arm, comforting and cajoling as he selfishly asked for far too much of her—“He probably loves you, anybody would. He’s probably a nice guy. You must have seen something in him to decide you would invest in an entire future with him. But…” He frowned as he glanced at his hands. He’d never touched her before— never this intimately. He knew certain liberties weren’t afforded to him, a line that was drawn. And he’d crossed it, thoughtlessly. He glanced at her face, searching for any signs of discomfort.

She gave him an innocent, tight-lipped smile even as her eyes were dancing with amusement. It felt like she was laughing at his expense, and he would make a fool out of himself every day if it meant he could watch her laugh.

“Don’t stop now, you were about to make a really good point,” she encouraged before chewing on the inside of her cheek. His mouth felt dry at the sight of her lips moulding and contorting into intoxicating, pouty little shapes as she stifled her laughter. He felt the corners of his mouth helplessly stretch wide in an answering smile, and something between a huff and a chuckle escaped with his next breath.

“I need you to— I need you to tell me you can be mine,” he begged.

“I’m yours, Jack Abbot,” She easily acquiesced.

“No, not like that. You’re about to—”

“Jack”—her hands steadied over his chest, she traced the length of his shoulder while her palm rested over his heart—“your breathing is erratic.”

Of course, it would be. His heart descended from where it was galloping in his throat to settle under the touch of her palm. He’d spent so long wading through one battlefield after another, concentrating on just the medicine. It was the only way, the only thing that helped anyone, that kept him sane. She had never been part of his plan, and yet here she was, somehow an integral part of his definition of medicine. And she might never understand the way she was the cure for all his ailments— the cool relief of his soul and the warm comfort of his heart.

He reached out to trace the curve of her cheek, his knuckles barely grazing her, feeling a bit like a purveyor of priceless art. His fingers unfurled to cradle her face, his hand touching the warm skin and soft cotton. He felt a tug in his belly, like a rope yanked him by his core, as she nuzzled into his palm. Her lips placed a gentle kiss against the fluttering pulse on his wrist.

“I can’t— I know it’s unfair… I can’t offer you much. But I wish I could explain just how much I—”

“Then try…” She coaxed, and he shivered as her breath fanned across his forearm. A sheen of wetness had gathered over her lashes.

“You are my heaven, my obsession, my prayer and bliss.” He confessed.

His thumb caught the stray tears that had escaped her eyes. Her hand bunched his scrubs in a fist as she pressed closer to him, tilting her head to kiss the laugh lines just below his lips. His shoulders fell in relief as he melted into her arms. Jack leaned his forehead against hers, eyes incapable of looking away from hers, hoping she would see the sincerity of his words.

“Ever since the day I met you, I have ended every prayer with the wish to spend just one more morning with you,” She sighed into the space between them, and the words settled against his ribs with a quiet incredulity. Since when did disbelievers like him get anything this good?

“Jack… I’m not getting married.” There was a teasing lilt to her voice as he admired the way her lips curved.

“I sure hope not, baby.” He sounded choked to his own ears, and the sliver of fear rang loud in the empty cafe.

“No. I meant, I’m not engaged.” She bit her lip, and he had the urge suck that plush bottom lip into his mouth and test its softness with his own teeth. It took a moment for her words to register, and he leaned away to peer into her face.

“But your aunt said her niece was getting married…”

“I’m not her only niece.”

“You never mentioned a sister—”

“It’s my cousin’s wedding.”

“You said you had to plan a wedding, talk to the caterers, and decorators, and—”

“It’s a wedding in our family, of course, everybody would have to help,” her words were lined with a trace of gentle exasperation. He kissed her temple with a quiet groan, a little embarrassed but very elated. There was no hiding the grin that crept over his face.

“This is the part where you kiss me, darling.” There was an irresistibly coy look in her eyes. Jack looked forward to the serene nights he would spend counting her lashes.

“And you would want that?” He confirmed.

She was guiding his face to hers with a gentle grasp on his neck before he had even finished his words. She was warm in his arms— passionate and urgent. While he kissed her with the light patience of a new lover, he felt utterly claimed. The kiss was a relinquishment, an admission, that nothing within him belonged to him— it was all hers. With every glide of his lips against hers, he realised he would spend the rest of his days chasing this high.

She bit his lip, the hushed moan that died in her throat was soft and goading. He licked past the seam of her lips to sink deeper into her. He groaned at the scrape of his tongue against hers, a sound she readily swallowed, pushing him against the curved, hard palate of her mouth. A thin, silvery string of spit connected their mouths as he tilted her face to his liking.

He welcomed her into his mouth like he had been waiting for her return— with a soft sigh. His hands stroked up the length of her spine, until he had cradled her nape and pushed her closer against him, her flesh pliant as she moulded herself to him. Her tongue was ticklish and electric against the smooth inner lining of his cheek. And Jack closed his lips around her to suck her deeper into his mouth. She tugged at his hair, her whimper reverberating in his mouth.

He could spend hours with his lips joined to hers, coaxing and cajoling sounds out of her that he would fold away in his memory and imprint on his heart. Her nights would belong to him, and his days would belong to her. Abbot knew his home would be hers, and he prayed that she was kind enough to never throw him out of her heart where he would set up his home.

They lingered close to each other, their breaths mixing over grazing lips. He nudged her nose to the side before pressing a devout, affectionate kiss on her lips. It was a foregone conclusion that as long as his name existed in this world, it would forever be tied to hers.

“I will never let you regret choosing me,” he vowed, his voice barely over a mumble.

“And I will never make you a banana syrup americano again,” she promised solemnly.

“Now, you know how much I love it…”

She looked at him with pleading eyes, a note of guilt and apology shading her mien as she pursed her lips.

“No… Don’t tell me— you knew!” The shock and affront in his voice were unmistakable as his words pitched higher.

“I am sorry. My aunt made me memorise the regular orders before I came here. But you were just so cute. And I was waiting for you to tell me your regular order—” Her words were drowned by her giggling until she gave up her struggle to throw her head back in laughter. He punishingly bit her chin before nuzzling the side of her cheek where her hijab framed her face.

He gently patted her head, “We’re gonna be okay?” He had meant it as a statement and reassurance, but the inflection in his voice had given away his fear and insecurity.

“It’ll be quite a shock to your family, won’t it?” He clarified.

He returned her sweet smile, obediently leaning over and surrendering to her pecks. She kissed him once, and then again, one more time before deciding on another loving kiss.

“We’ll be okay,” she murmured against his lips.

And they were. Doctor Jack Abbot had the sort of akhlaq her mother prized, and the sort of character her father admired. But, most importantly, he had their daughter’s heart.

Thank you for reading! Show some love by commenting/reblogging <33

[gina025]

Winter fluff

[brittany-and-lewis]

being a mclaren/landoscar fan over the course of this season has tested my emotional capabilities like no other because it started out as "sunshine and giggles and heart eyes and young team with future wdc with so much talent and osc and HEART EYES" and "yay look! p4, p3, p2 we're actually good this year"

and then out of fucking NOWHERE it turned into "championship battle. out for blood. lando and oscar have beef now. aren't supporting one another. rivalry. it's all pr and they hate each other. two young stars with wdc potential are going to kill one another." and "ferrari ass strategies. mclaren keeps fumbling again and again. lando can't start to save his life. papaya rules. FERRARI ass strategies."

like damn what in the lewis hamilton to ferrari switch up was that i was not prepared and almost did not survive

[savannahsdeath]

this isn't smutty or anything (or it can be somehow??) but i honestly think it would be so funny if Ellie just.. googled herself 😋

I CANT STOP GIGGLING THIS IS SO SILLY AND SO HER .

lets say its modern!ellie and shes not a game character, just a goofy young adult, your roommate or something. this is a half assed drabble buut enjoyyyy&lt;3

when she googled herself, there would definitely show up some random 40 years old ladies with the same name as her on facebook/instagram. she would scroll through them with her lips parted and wide eyes, showing you every single one. and shed be such a hater too😭 mumbling genuinely mean; "am i the only cool ellie williams?" and, i swear, its not like she does it on purpose. its just the things that come up to her head - hateful, highschool boys-type of comments. or the most random things (kinda like the headcanons tumblr writers make about her); "do you think her husband left her? she looks sad. i wouldnt blame him, tho" or "she looks like she cried while watching titanic" and when you nudge her, hissing; "i cried on titanic!" shed be sooo clueless. "i didnt say its a bad thing, did i? ....... but its weird."

she would be actually so invested — suddenly sitting up with a gasp when she reads that an ellie williams' (other williams, not her, of course) daughter died. "oh no!! she was my namesake's kid!! she would definitely be a genius if she got to grow up.. maybe she'd find the cure for cancer? or, even better, be an astronaut!!!"

canon.