#i will survive by naps and naps alone | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luvergirl-535 · 1 month ago

Note

What about a fluffy shot where Azzi is a pouty mess after finding out Paige napped without her.

napgate

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 1.3k

c/w - nothing :)

a/n - working through my prompts as promised. as someone who has lots of experience in being a dramatic girlfriend, i may have projected myself into this fic a little, lol.

azzi was halfway across campus before she even realized she was speed-walking.

she’d barely survived class. barely made it through that dry-ass econ lecture without just laying her head on the desk and giving up. all she wanted—all she’d been thinking about—was going back to paige’s room, climbing into bed with her girlfriend, and napping like her life depended on it.

this was their post-practice ritual. their unspoken sacred time. snuggles, sleep, and soft music. the occasional make-out session. as paige would say, it’s fucking goated.

when azzi got to paige’s dorm, she walked right past allie in the kitchen, social battery entirely too low for anybody other than paige, and beelined for her girlfriend’s bedroom. but when she opened the door, sight that met her was not one of sleepy cuddles and open arms.

paige was awake. sitting upright at her desk. playing games on her ipad like everything was fine.

“wait,” azzi said, stopping in her tracks. “why are you awake?”

paige looked up and smiled. “hey, mama.”

“nuh-uh—why are you awake? we’re supposed to be napping.”

“i already did,” paige said, like it was casual, like it was nothing. “i laid down after chem lab. i was wiped.”

azzi blinked. stared. processed. then—

“you slept without me?”

“uh…yeah?”

“you slept without me?”

paige squinted. “are you okay?”

“babe!” azzi threw her bag down like she’d been personally victimized. “i was waiting all day for our nap! i was like, ‘this lecture sucks but it’s okay because i’ll nap with paige later’, and you already did it? without me?”

“aight, you’re dragging it,” paige said, standing now, walking over with a cautious smile. “i was just tired.”

“we were both tired!”

“baby…”

“nah, don’t ‘baby’ me. this is—this is a betrayal.”

paige stepped closer, clearly holding back a laugh. “okay. you’re right. i’m a villain.”

“you are,” azzi pouted, crossing her arms. “you left me to fend for myself. exhausted.”

“i didn’t know you were planning on coming back right after class.”

“we nap every day after class!”

“sometimes we don’t.” paige shrugged. “we didn’t talk about it this morning, so i thought…”

“it’s an unspoken thing, paige.” azzi sighs, eyebrows furrowed as she makes her best pouty face, an expression reserved exclusively for her girlfriend.

paige reached for her. “come here, drama queen.”

“no,” azzi said, turning her shoulder.

“you’re seriously mad?”

“i’m disappointed.”

“bro, that’s way worse.”

“you should feel bad.”

paige sighed and wrapped her arms around azzi anyway, tugging her into a hug she pretended not to want. “i do feel bad. i love napping with you. i missed you, mami. i swear.”

“you didn’t miss me that much if you slumped without even texting me.”

“i thought you’d be in class ‘til three.”

“i was! and now it’s three-fifteen and i’m abandoned.”

paige kissed her cheek. “come lay down. i’ll pretend to be tired again just for you.”

but azzi stepped out of her arms, eyes narrowed, full-on sulky. she was aware she was disproportionately upset. she was also aware that she was tired and probably hangry, too. that didn’t make it any easier for her to regulate her emotions, though, and thus:

“no. you made your bed. literally. and now you can lie in it. alone.”

paige blinked. “what are you saying?”

“i’m saying i’ll nap by myself, thanks.”

“wait, what?”

“i’ll be fine. totally fine. just me, my blanket, and my thoughts.”

“azzi.”

“goodbye, traitor.”

and with the dramatic flourish of a woman deeply committed to the bit, azzi turned and left paige’s room, arms crossed and jaw set. allie paused with her spoon midway to her mouth, clearly confused, but azzi ignored her. she headed straight for her own dorm without looking back.

❀❀❀

azzi curled up in her own bed like she was in exile. self-inflicted exile.

no girlfriend. no cuddles. no comfort.

just her sad pink blanket and her non-bicep pillow.

she flipped over once. then twice. then kicked the blanket off. then dragged it back on.

her room was too quiet. too cold. too wrong.

because napping alone? sucked.

it wasn’t just the lack of warmth (though her body was already missing paige’s). it wasn’t even that she felt too grumpy to relax. it was the principle of it all. the complete and utter emptiness of trying to sleep without her person.

she missed the way paige’s arms fit around her waist. the soft hum paige always made when she was drifting off. the way their legs always tangled up without trying.

and now azzi was lying here, wide awake, very much not cozy, and spiraling into her own stubbornness.

“this is stupid,” she whispered into the darkness of her dorm.

but she didn’t get up.

no. she had to mean it. she couldn’t just crawl back after throwing such a fit. she had to last at least an hour. maybe even text paige something petty like “hope ur nap was worth it.”

yeah. that would show her.

except…thirty-five minutes later, azzi was still not asleep. and worse: she’d started to feel lonely.

not just bored. not just annoyed. actually, genuinely…achey in her chest. she missed paige. like, on a spiritual level. she momentarily wondered if that was unhealthy, then disregarded it. god forbid a girl be in love.

ugh.

“fine,” she muttered.

she threw the blanket off, jammed her feet into pink fluffy slippers, and padded back down the hallway like she was walking the plank or something.

allie was still in the kitchen, and when she raised an eyebrow at azzi, she said a simple “don’t” before continuing to paige’s room.

when she reached the door, she paused. tried to school her expression. tried not to look too desperate.

but before she could knock, the door opened.

paige stood there, in pajama pants and a hoodie, holding a fuzzy blanket like she’d been waiting.

“you lasted thirty-eight minutes,” she said, smug.

“oh, really?” azzi said. “i wasn’t counting.”

“mm-hmm.”

azzi crossed her arms. “you set a trap.”

“i made the bed.”

“you knew i’d come back.”

“of course i did,” paige said, stepping aside to let her in. “you can’t nap mad. you get all huffy and lonely.”

“i do not.”

paige just raised an eyebrow.

azzi sighed. “okay, maybe i do.”

“that’s what i thought.”

the room was dim now, blinds pulled and led lights on. paige’s bed had an extra pillow and two blankets folded at the end. her spotify was already playing the soft r&b playlist they always used. azzi swore she could feel her melatonin levels rise.

“you baby-proofed the bed,” azzi mumbled.

“i azzi-proofed it. for you.”

“you’re so annoying,” she said. but she was already climbing into it.

paige followed, slipping behind her and wrapping an around her waist without hesitation. azzi let out a dramatic sigh, but melted into the touch immediately.

“still mad?” paige whispered. she shifted her free arm under azzi’s head, and she didn’t let on how pleased she was to have her bicep pillow back.

“uh-huh.”

“gonna give me the silent treatment?”

“maybe.”

paige kissed her shoulder. “you’re such a baby.”

“you like it.”

“yep. i especially like the part where you come crawling back.”

azzi turned to face her, burying her face in paige’s neck. “i wasn’t crawling.”

“riiight.”

“you missed me,” azzi accused, muffled.

“missed you so bad,” paige said, kissing the top of her head. “bed was too cold without you.”

azzi hummed, nuzzling closer. “you smell good.”

“you smell like my body wash. did you steal it again?”

“maybe.”

“mm,” paige hummed, tugging the blanket up around them.

they settled into the silence again, but this time it was warm. safe. exactly right.

“you can nap now,” azzi mumbled.

“what, you’re giving me permission?”

“yes.”

paige smiled against her hair. “thank you, princess.”

“you’re forgiven, by the way.”

“finally.”

“but don’t do it again.”

“‘wouldn’t think of it, baby.”

“swear you won’t. for real.”

“on my life.”

“you’re lucky i love you,” azzi whispered.

paige kissed her cheek. “i know i’m lucky.”

and with that, azzi finally let herself fall asleep—held tight, babied properly, grudge surrendered and balance to the universe restored.

#pazzi #azzi fudd #paige bueckers #pazzi fics #fluff #random and unserious #as fucking usual

617 notes · View notes

xoxorory · 5 days ago

Text

Where’s the dog !

POV: Fem!Reader & Damian Wayne Pairing: Damian Wayne x Fem!Reader Genre: Fluff | Humor | Chaos | Domestic Softness Featuring: Titus Word Count: 1K .Taglist🏷️: @simpingmyassoff , @shootingstargirl2001 (if you want to be added,comment down below!) requested by: @simpingmyassoff sorry it took long!!! I was finishing classes A/N: English isn't my first lenguage,enjoy! ! ! A/N 2: It's kind of inspired in how @fromdove (💕💞💓💗💖💘💝) writes damian. . .,please GO CHECK HER BLOG ! ! ! !

“He hid again,didn’t he?”

‘’Pffft– what? Of course not!”

©𝒙𝒐𝒙𝒐,𝑹𝒐𝒓𝒚🐚 —-do not copy, repost, plagiarize,translate or feed any of my work into ai. I work hard to give quality content.

POV: You

Dog-sitting Titus should be easy. I mean, come on. He’s a dog. A big dog, sure, but mostly a big, fluffy, lovable dog who just wants to nap, chew his squeaky toys, and occasionally judge me for my lack of treats.

I’d done this countless times before. Titus stayed with me while Damian was off doing who-knows-what, and I’d happily take care of the giant fluffball. Feed him, walk him, throw his favorite toy until he got tired, repeat.

Simple.

Today was supposed to be just another normal Titus-sitting day.

And yet here I was, standing in my living room with my hands on my hips, heart thumping, and pillows thrown all over the floor like a tornado had hit my apartment.

Because Titus had vanished.

Literally.

It started an hour ago. I was cleaning up after one of Titus’s enthusiastic toy-chasing sessions, when I glanced around and noticed he wasn’t at his usual spot by the couch. No gentle snoring. No wagging tail brushing against the carpet.

Nothing.

That’s when my phone buzzed.

Lil’ Bratman 🦇: I’m on my way to pick up Titus.

Oh great.

Great.

Because Titus was nowhere to be found.

“Okay,” I muttered, dropping onto my knees, scanning the floor for any signs of him. “Keep calm. He’s probably hiding. He loves hiding.”

Except that usually, when Titus hid, I could hear him. His nails tap-tap-tapping on the hardwood, or the faint squeak of his favorite red toy being tossed around. This time? Silence.

And the clock was ticking.

Damian’s text came again.

Lil’ Bratman 🦇: I’m five minutes away.

I was about to text back a frantic, “Hey baby! Um…I think I lost your dog,don’t kill me. xoxo” but I knew that would only make things worse. Damian’s eyebrow raise would be legendary.

No. I had to find Titus before Damian showed up.

So I launched into full search mode.

First, the couch cushions. I flipped and dug through every crevice, fishing out dust bunnies and a couple of crumbs, but no Titus.

Next, under the coffee table. No wagging tail. No big eyes staring at me.

“Come on, Titus,” I whispered, voice catching. “Please don’t make me look bad in front of Damian.”

I moved to the kitchen, thinking maybe he was trying to steal some snacks, but no. Empty floors.

The balcony door was closed, so no chance he escaped outside — plus, I was pretty sure he’d never survive the drop without some serious bat-gadgets.

Then I heard it. The tiniest squeak.

My heart jumped.

Titus’s toy.

I followed the sound, creeping around my bookshelf — and suddenly, there he was.

Curled up in the tiniest corner behind the books, happily gnawing on his red squeaky toy like it was the best thing in the world.

Oh my god.

Relief slammed through me in a tidal wave.

“Titus! You little stinker!” I scooped him up before he could run off again. His tail thumped against my arm as if to say, “I was just having some alone time, chill.”

I didn’t care.

I hugged him tight.

And then, because I was officially losing my mind, I looked around at the disaster zone my apartment had become.

Pillows from the couch tossed everywhere.

Blankets flung like flags of defeat.

My coffee table now sporting a suspiciously large scratch.

“Okay, okay, calm down,” I told myself. “Damian’s coming. You can do this.”

Almost like the universe heard me, the doorbell rang.

My heart jumped again.

“Okay, Titus,” I whispered, setting him down. “Time for Operation: Don’t Look Like You Lost Him.”

I straightened my hoodie, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

Damian stood there, expression unreadable, as usual.

His dark eyes flicked from me to Titus—who was now sitting politely by my feet, tail wagging.

“Welcome back,roohi! ,” I said, voice a little too cheerful.

Damian’s lips twitched—maybe the closest thing he had to a smile.

“You seem… relieved.”

I flushed. “Really? You’re making up things again”

He took the leash from my hand and clipped it to Titus’s collar.

Titus immediately jumped into Damian’s side, tail wagging furiously.

Damian glanced back at me, then said quietly, “I suppose I won’t ask where he was.”

I opened my mouth to protest.

But the way his eyes softened told me he already knew exactly what had happened.

And maybe, just maybe, he was choosing not to make me explain.

POV: Damian Wayne

I texted her fifteen minutes ago.

I’m on my way to pick up Titus.

Simple enough.

When I arrived at her place, I expected to see Titus sprawled on the floor, maybe half-asleep, or at worst, begging for a walk.

Instead, the door swung open, and there stood her—looking disheveled, slightly flustered, and clutching Titus like he was a fragile treasure.

My eyes scanned the room.

Pillows were strewn everywhere.

The coffee table bore a fresh scratch.

Blankets were tossed haphazardly.

The couch was upside down.

Clearly, some kind of Titus-related chaos had ensued.

I kept my expression calm, though inside I was amused.

“Titus,” I said softly, kneeling down to the dog’s level.

The giant mutt wagged his tail, tongue lolling happily.

Relief was written all over her face.

“You seem… relieved,” I said quietly, not really expecting a reply.

She flushed and gave a small laugh.

“Really?,” she said, “ You’re making up things again”

I clipped the leash to Titus’s collar.

The dog immediately pressed against my leg.

I glanced back at her.

“Where was he?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it.

I didn’t press.

Some things were better left unsaid.

464 notes · View notes

pomefioredove · 8 months ago

Note

Halloo, can I request hcs of characters's habits or actions they unconsciously do or show that they care for the reader?? Can be platonic or romantic!. Any character(s) is fine! I apologize if you already did a request similar to this one 😅

hallo!!! of course, my pleasure! this is a cute prompt

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ unconscious things they do for you

type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, cater, leona, ruggie, rook, vil, malleus additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

Riddle lets you get away with things that others can't. is it unfair? oh, yes, completely. but you've already done so much for him and everyone else at NRC, you poor thing, you deserve a break. he doesn't think much of it when you're late or wearing the wrong socks for an unbirthday party

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Cater wants to spend more time alone with you. he's usually not one for such closeness, but he finds himself craving your attention more and more, and having time together, cuddling or gossiping or even just being in the same room, is like heaven

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Leona starts napping in places he knows you'll find him. that one sunny spot in Savanaclaw, the corner of the botanical gardens where your alchemy class meets, your favorite courtyard... he doesn't mind being bothered when you're the one bothering him <3

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Ruggie always saves you some of his food. he'll subconsciously put aside piece of chocolate or some of his dandelion stash for you, whatever he has. guys like you need to stick together to survive, after all :)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Rook always has a word of encouragement, a poem, a snack and a hug to give you when you're not feeling well. he can tell when you need him, and he'll be there, smothering you in love, before you even have to ask

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Vil asks for your opinion before making decisions. what do you think about this color on him? how does this line sound? what about this photoshoot, which set of pictures do you prefer? he cares about what you think more than he'd ever admit

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Malleus waits for you, he always have and he always will. he's the first to notice when you're not where you should be (close to him), and the first to take your hand and make you feel wanted when you've been excluded

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #queued #riddle rosehearts x reader #cater diamond x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #ruggie bucchi x reader #rook hunt x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #malleus draconia x reader

2K notes · View notes

4linos · 2 months ago

Text

between the lines 1

lee minho x fem!reader

synopsis: after a quiet and amicable separation, you and minho learn to navigate the subtle emotional terrain of co-parenting, discovering that the bonds between you aren’t entirely severed. when a new relationship enters the picture, old emotions come into play, forcing you to reassess what it means to truly move on.

warnings: angst, slow burn, emotional tension, jealousy.

wc: 5631

[between the lines 2, between the lines 3]

The first time you considered the possibility that you and Minho might not last forever, Hana was two and a half, screaming on the floor of the grocery store aisle because you wouldn’t let her open a bag of marshmallows. She’d skipped her nap. Your back hurt. You hadn’t eaten since morning.

And Minho was standing a few feet away, silent, tired, rubbing his temple in the way he always did when he was overwhelmed but didn’t want to show it.

You remember thinking: We are both so lonely, and we’re standing right next to each other.

It wasn’t a sudden epiphany. It didn’t make you pack your things or call a lawyer. But it planted something. A quiet awareness that hadn’t been there before. A realization that being in the same place didn’t always mean being together. That surviving parenthood wasn’t the same as growing closer. That love, real, sustaining love might not be enough on its own when the everyday grind had worn both of you thin.

You made it another six months.

And then came the conversation. The one that changed everything, though neither of you raised your voices. It happened on a rainy Thursday night, with Hana finally asleep in her little bed, her stuffed rabbit tucked under her arm, her breathing slow and peaceful in a way that made your chest ache.

You and Minho sat across from each other at the kitchen table, the air heavy between you.

You were the one to speak first. “I think we need to talk.”

That alone was enough to make his posture shift, like he already knew what was coming.

“It’s not working, is it?” you asked. Not accusing. Just asking. Hoping that if you said it softly enough, it would hurt less.

Minho didn’t answer at first. He just looked down at his hands, which were resting on the table tensed, still. Then he nodded, just once.

“I’ve been trying to figure out when it stopped feeling like a marriage,” he admitted quietly. “I think I just kept hoping it would come back.”

You swallowed around the lump rising in your throat. “I don’t think it’s coming back.”

Silence again. But not an angry one. More like the pause between waves, where everything is held in suspension.

You looked at him, at the man who had held your hand through labor, who had taken turns feeding Hana in the middle of the night, who had sat next to you at every pediatrician appointment and knew the exact way she liked her pancakes cut.

You loved him. You would always love him.

But you weren’t in love anymore.

You weren’t sure when it had changed. Maybe it was the night she wouldn’t stop crying and you both sat on opposite ends of the couch, too exhausted to even speak. Maybe it was the way your conversations became about diapers, sleep schedules, school everything except each other.

Or maybe it was just that neither of you had the energy to keep reaching across a growing distance.

“I don’t want Hana to grow up thinking this is what love looks like,” you said finally.

Minho’s throat worked as he nodded again. His voice cracked a little. “Me neither.”

That was the thing, he wasn’t cruel. You weren’t unhappy because of anything he had done. It wasn’t betrayal or bitterness. It was the slow erosion of connection, the way life and parenting and exhaustion had worn down the parts of your relationship that had once made you feel like you belonged to each other.

You were roommates. Teammates. Co-parents.

But not partners. Not anymore.

You sat in the kitchen for a long time, talking through tears and through silence. Talking about Hana. About how she would always come first. About shared custody. About what it would mean to not come home to the same place, not make coffee in the same kitchen, not tuck her in side by side every night.

There was grief in every word, but also strange relief.

There was no fight. No slammed doors. No accusations.

Just two people who had loved, and tried, and grown apart without meaning to.

That night, Minho slept on the couch.

Not because you asked him to, but because it felt right. The beginning of the transition. The first step into what would become your new life.

The next morning, you made Hana’s breakfast together. Waffles, fruit, a little too much syrup. She didn’t notice anything had changed. She sat between you, babbling about a butterfly she’d seen at school, kicking her feet against the legs of the chair.

Minho smiled at her, reached to wipe a bit of syrup from her cheek.

And your heart broke a little, not because you were losing him, but because you knew you never fully had him, not in the way you thought.

And now, there was no going back.

But the strange, unexpected truth was this: you didn’t hate each other. There was no war between you. Just the quiet, gentle undoing of something that had been holding together for too long out of fear and habit.

You were going to do this. You were going to split your lives in two. And somehow, you’d stay whole, for Hana.

Even if it meant breaking your heart just a little, every day.

The first few weeks after Minho moved out were quiet. Too quiet.

Not in the way that brought peace, but in the way that pressed in around your ribs, reminding you of what was missing. Of the space that had opened up on the couch where he used to sit. Of the way his toothbrush was no longer beside yours. Of how bedtime with Hana was now something you did alone, one pair of hands where there used to be two.

She asked for him a lot in the beginning.

“Where’s Appa?”

“Why isn’t he here tonight?”

“Can he come for breakfast?”

You never lied. You just softened the truth.

“He’s at his house tonight, sweetheart.”

“He’ll come pick you up tomorrow.”

“He always loves you, no matter where he is.”

You kept your voice steady even when your chest ached. Because this, this was your choice. And Minho’s. And you had promised each other that no matter how hard it got, Hana would come first. Always.

The first custody exchange was awkward.

You packed her overnight bag with too much three outfits, her favorite books, two stuffed animals, backup pajamas, her dinosaur toothbrush. You labeled everything. Left a note for Minho: She didn’t nap today. Give her a snack before bed or she’ll wake up early. Extra socks in the front pocket.

He showed up exactly on time, looking like he hadn’t slept much. He hovered in the doorway, hands in his pockets, eyes drifting over the apartment like it was both familiar and foreign now.

Hana ran into his arms, squealing with delight.

Minho’s eyes met yours over her head, and for a moment, there was something unbearably fragile in his expression. Something that looked like guilt, or grief, or just quiet devastation.

“I’ve got her,” he said gently. “I’ll bring her back Sunday night.”

You nodded, smiling even though your throat was tight. “She’s excited. Don’t let her trick you into giving her two desserts.”

“I make no promises,” he said with a small laugh, and for a second, just a second, it felt like old times.

But then they were gone, and you were standing in the doorway alone.

The silence afterward was staggering. You wandered through the apartment as if it belonged to someone else. Cleaned dishes that weren’t dirty. Reorganized a drawer. Ate dinner standing at the counter. Told yourself this was just the beginning. That it would get easier.

And, in some ways, it did.

You and Minho started texting more. At first, it was just about logistics, drop-offs, schedules, what size shoes Hana had suddenly jumped to.

But then it morphed into something else. Little moments.

Minho: She drew a rocket ship today. Said she’s going to the moon and taking you with her.

You: Only if she packs snacks. She gets hangry.

Minho: She’s yours then.

You: Coward.

There were jokes again. Shared photos. Voice memos of Hana singing off-key in the car. Slowly, the tension faded, replaced with something steadier, something you could almost call a friendship.

Not romantic. Not really.

But intimate, in the way that only two people who love the same child with their whole hearts could be.

You found your rhythm.

Exchanging her favorite snacks. Making sure she had her favorite sleep toy. Texting each other at the exact same time when she got sick with a cold and neither of you wanted to leave her alone.

You didn’t expect how often Minho would still feel like a constant in your life. Even without the title. Even without the home.

Birthdays became the strangest kind of sacred ground.

The first one post-separation, you debated whether to have separate celebrations. But the idea felt wrong.

So you hosted together. Rented a room at a small play café. Brought cupcakes and balloons. Watched Hana run wild in a princess costume that was already unraveling at the seams.

You were worried it would be awkward. But it wasn’t.

Minho handed you tape when the banner fell down. You took turns cutting cake. You didn’t need to explain anything to anyone because it worked.

At the end of the party, Hana opened her arms wide and declared, “This is the best day ever!”

You and Minho both laughed, both crouched down to hug her, both looked at each other over her head.

It hit you then: this was still a family.

Not broken. Not perfect. But real.

Sometimes, people asked.

“So… are you and Minho ever getting back together?”

You always shook your head. “No. We’re better this way.”

And mostly, you believed that.

You liked the ease. The clarity. You liked being able to make decisions for yourself again. To not feel like you were trying to force something to fit that no longer did.

You weren’t waiting for him.

And as far as you could tell, he wasn’t waiting for you either.

That was the deal.

And yet, there were moments.

Small ones.

Like the time Hana fell asleep on the couch between you, her little hands curled into both of yours, and Minho looked at you with a softness that made your breath hitch. Or the time he fixed the heater in your apartment without asking, just because he knew you were tired and it was cold.

Those moments lived in the corners of your mind, quiet and persistent. You never said anything. Neither did he.

You had made peace with what you were.

Two parallel lines.

Running side by side.

Never crossing again.

Or so you thought.

It happened on a Wednesday. One of those in-between days when nothing significant is supposed to happen, no birthdays, no big milestones, just a quick stop for coffee before school pickup.

You weren’t expecting anything. Certainly not him.

The café was almost empty, the way it always was in that strange lull between lunch and evening, when people drifted in with laptops or last-minute meetings. You were just trying to stay awake. Hana had been up half the night with a fever that had finally broken at dawn, and the weight of your exhaustion clung to your limbs like something physical.

You stood there, half-dazed, reading the menu even though you already knew what you wanted. You were still in your softest hoodie, the one with a faint juice stain on the sleeve you hadn’t had time to scrub out, your hair shoved into a clip, makeup forgotten.

That’s when he spoke.

“You’re either having a really good day or a really bad one,” he said, with a friendly, lopsided smile and a cup already in his hand.

You looked up, blinking. He was a little older than you, mid-thirties, maybe. Clean lines, warm eyes. Kind-looking, though you’d learned not to trust that right away.

You huffed a breath that was halfway to a laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only because I’ve had both kinds,” he said. “And I usually end up here either way.”

You offered a tired smile. “Then I guess we’re both regulars in the land of mediocre Wednesdays.”

He laughed at that. Not too loud. Just enough to make something ease inside you.

You placed your order. He didn’t push, didn’t linger too long. But when your drinks were ready, and he reached for a napkin, he glanced at you again. Hesitated.

Then he said, “I’m Jisung.”

You hesitated too. There was something in the way he said it, open, but not expectant.

So you told him your name.

You ended up sitting for a few minutes. Fifteen, maybe twenty. Talking about nothing at all favorite books, your mutual disdain for the newer version of the transit app, how the weather kept teasing spring and then snapping back to winter.

And then, just as you were getting ready to go, he said it.

“I know this is forward. But I’d really like to see you again. Would you be okay giving me your number?”

Your first instinct was to say no.

Not because he wasn’t kind. Not because you weren’t interested.

But because he didn’t know.

Didn’t know that your days were split between pickup times and pediatrician appointments, bedtime routines and shared custody schedules. Didn’t know that you carried a small pink backpack in your trunk at all times. That your heart had been broken, not just by Minho, but by the slow understanding that you weren’t the person you used to be.

You weren’t single. Not in the way most people meant it.

You had a daughter.

So you said it, simply. Carefully.

“I should tell you… I have a three-year-old. Her name’s Hana. She’s my whole world.”

There was a pause.

You watched his face closely, the way people do when they’re waiting for someone to flinch.

But Jisung didn’t.

He nodded, once, slowly. “Thank you for telling me.”

And then, “That’s not a dealbreaker. Not even close.”

You stared at him, unsure what to say. Most people tried to hide their discomfort behind politeness. But he just sipped his coffee like it was nothing.

“You’re not surprised?” you asked finally.

He smiled again, softer this time. “I have a niece. She’s four. My sister raised her on her own for the first couple years. So… I know it’s not easy. I also know it doesn’t mean you stopped being a person outside of being a parent.”

That..that was what got you.

The way he said it. Like you were still allowed to be.

You handed him your number before you could second-guess it.

And when you walked out into the late afternoon wind, you didn’t feel giddy. You didn’t feel swept off your feet.

But you felt something else.

Like maybe, just maybe, there was a space in your life for something new. Not a replacement. Not a fairytale.

Just something small and honest and real.

You didn’t tell Hana, not yet. There was no reason to. You were cautious now, and rightfully so. The last thing you wanted was to start something that would unravel too quickly.

But when Jisung texted you later that night, it made you smile.

Hope your Wednesday ended better than it started. Next coffee’s on me.

And you found yourself typing back before you even realized it.

Only if you’re ready to hear more about unicorn Band-Aids and toddler opinions on cheese.

He replied almost instantly.

Try me.

You didn’t know what this was going to become.

You only knew this: he hadn’t run.

And that, in itself, felt like the beginning of something worth noticing.

You didn’t expect how quickly it would happen with Jisung.

Not love. Not even something as weighty as hope.

Just… lightness. The kind you hadn’t felt in a long time. The kind that came from being seen as someone other than a mother, other than a tired co-parent, other than a woman halfway rebuilt from the ground up.

It started with texting.

Short at first. Polite. Careful.

But then it grew.

Jisung was funny. Thoughtful in ways you hadn’t realized you’d missed, remembering small things you'd said in passing, asking follow-up questions that showed he was really listening, sending you photos of his niece’s drawings captioned, “Future gallery opening. No big deal.”

You told him about your favorite childhood movie and he watched it that same night, texting you commentary like a live broadcast. You mentioned a place you always meant to try for takeout, and he offered to bring it to the park one day, with enough snacks for Hana if she came along.

You hadn’t said yes yet. But you didn’t say no either.

There was a night, three days after that first coffee, when he said something so unexpected it caught you mid-laugh.

You don’t have to split yourself in two to be worth knowing, you know that, right?

You stared at the screen longer than you meant to. You didn’t respond right away. You didn’t know how to.

But later that night, as you lay in bed alone, peaceful, not lonely for once, you realized it had been a long time since anyone made you feel whole without asking you to prove you deserved it.

And it showed. Apparently.

Minho noticed.

Not all at once. Not in any obvious way. But subtly, in the way someone who used to know you better than anyone always notices the small shifts first.

It was the way you answered the door when he arrived for the next pickup. Hair loose, smile soft, phone still in your hand from a message you hadn’t finished reading.

The way your laugh slipped out easier, fuller, like it hadn’t had to squeeze itself through exhaustion first.

The way you stood a little taller, like you weren’t carrying quite so much anymore.

Minho didn’t say anything at first.

He watched quietly as Hana launched herself into his arms, chattering about snacks and sidewalk chalk and how she saw a squirrel that “definitely waved at her” from the tree outside.

You knelt beside her to zip up her backpack, brushing hair from her face, your phone buzzing once in your pocket. And you smiled.

Not at Minho.

At the message you hadn’t even read yet.

That’s when he felt it. A strange, quiet pinch. Not jealousy, he wouldn’t call it that. Not exactly. He had no claim. You’d made your peace. He had, too. Mostly.

But there was something else. A realization, sharp and unwelcome: someone else was making you smile like that.

Someone new.

So as you handed Hana her favorite stuffed animal and stood to walk them to the door, Minho glanced sideways at you and said, casually, “You’ve seemed… lighter lately.”

You blinked. “Yeah?”

He shrugged, one arm around Hana, the other tucking her blanket tighter beneath his elbow. “I don’t know. Just… seems like a good week.”

You tried not to react. But he saw it anyway, the flicker of something in your eyes. Maybe surprise. Maybe guilt. You weren’t sure why it felt that way.

“Been keeping busy,” you said lightly, brushing it off. “Work stuff. Mom stuff.”

He nodded, like he believed you. Like he wanted to believe you.

But then he added, almost offhand, “Someone making you smile like that must be doing a pretty good job.”

You froze for half a second too long.

Then gave a quiet laugh, not meeting his eyes. “It’s nothing.”

Minho didn’t press. He never had been the type to dig where he wasn’t welcome.

But the silence that followed carried something unspoken.

Because it wasn’t nothing. He knew that.

And maybe that was what unsettled him the most.

Not that you were moving on.

But that you were really moving on. And that he wasn’t sure when, exactly, he’d stopped being a part of your inner world, the one that lit you up from the inside out, even when you didn’t notice it yourself.

He stood there for a moment longer than necessary. Then said, “I’ll text if she asks for the green blanket. I think it’s still in your laundry basket.”

You nodded. “I will.”

He turned toward the door, Hana bouncing in his arms, and as he walked out, you felt the familiar ache rise in your chest.

But it was different now. Not grief. Not loss.

Just the echo of something that used to be yours.

And maybe, just maybe the shape of what was coming next.

It had been years, actual, measurable years since you’d dressed up like this.

Not for a work function, not for a rushed dinner where you had to check your watch every ten minutes to make sure you got home before the sitter left, not for a birthday party where you'd spend most of the time cutting fruit and wiping sticky fingers.

But for you.

For something that felt new.

For someone who looked at you like you were still a whole person, not just a parent navigating the aftermath of a quiet ending.

You stood in front of the mirror, smoothing the fabric of your dress with palms that felt a little too warm. Your hair was curled soft, loose, deliberate. The kind of effort you hadn’t made in so long you’d forgotten how it felt to do it without a reason tied to someone else’s needs.

You had makeup on.

Not the rushed concealer and mascara you slapped on in the five minutes between school drop-off and morning meetings, but the kind you actually sat down to apply. Lipstick. A little blush. You almost didn’t recognize your own reflection. Not in a bad way. Just in the way that made you realize how long it had been since you’d prioritized seeing yourself like this.

And your heart beat just a little faster than usual, because Jisung was waiting. A real dinner. An actual date. Your first since everything.

You had texted him earlier, half excited, half nervous “I might forget how to flirt. Fair warning.”

He’d replied, “That’s okay. I’ve got enough awkward charm for both of us.”

And then, as if summoned by your anticipation, there was a knock at the door.

Except… you hadn’t heard your phone buzz.

You walked over, heels clicking softly on the floor, a final glance in the mirror before you opened it.

And then everything paused.

There, standing in the hallway, was Minho.

Not Jisung.

Minho, wearing his work jacket, looking slightly winded, as if he’d come up the stairs too fast. In his arms, curled against his chest, was Hana. Asleep. Cheek pressed to his shoulder, mouth slightly open, hair mussed from what must’ve been a long day.

You blinked, confused, your hand still on the doorframe.

Minho blinked back. And then he stared.

His eyes moved over your face, your dress, your hair. His expression froze somewhere between surprise and something harder to name.

“You’re…” he started, then stopped.

You were equally stunned.

“What’s going on?” you asked, voice soft as you glanced down at Hana, trying not to raise it too much.

“I—I had to come early,” he said quickly, adjusting his grip on her. “I got called into work. Last-minute shift. I—I texted you, but maybe you didn’t see—”

You swallowed, brain trying to catch up. “No, it’s okay. I just didn’t check my phone.”

Minho nodded. But he was still staring.

And for a moment, neither of you said anything.

Because he’d seen you in pajamas. In nursing bras. In sweats stained with juice and grief. He had seen you in all your rawest forms tired, stretched thin, unfiltered.

But this?

This version of you, lipstick soft and subtle, eyes bright, dress fitting in that way that made it clear you’d chosen it not just for practicality but for feeling, this was not one he’d seen in a long, long time.

And it startled him.

“I’ll… take her,” you said gently, reaching out.

He hesitated just a second longer, as if anchoring himself in the weight of her before letting go.

“She’s out cold,” he murmured. “Didn’t even make it through the drive.”

You nodded, carefully transferring Hana to your shoulder. Her small body nestled against you without resistance. You ran your hand down her back in soothing circles.

Minho didn’t leave.

He stood in the doorway, watching you rock her, his hands now empty.

“You look…” he started again, then cleared his throat. “Nice. I mean—you look nice.”

You gave a half-smile, focusing on keeping Hana settled.

He shifted his weight. “Were you… going somewhere?”

Your heart pinched, not because you owed him anything, but because there was something in his voice. A softness, yes. But also a quiet pull, something unspoken that hovered just behind the words.

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t want to lie. But you didn’t want to explain either.

Minho’s gaze didn’t waver. And in the silence, he figured it out.

The realization didn’t fall like a hammer. It arrived like a tug. Gentle. Persistent. Sharp in its precision.

“You were meeting someone,” he said quietly.

Still no answer.

Your silence was the confirmation.

He looked down. Exhaled. A short, barely-there breath, as if he’d braced for it and still felt it anyway.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said finally. “I really did try to give you a heads-up.”

“I know,” you said softly. “It’s okay. She comes first.”

He nodded. “Yeah. She does.”

But neither of you said what you were both thinking:

That even now, even with everything changed, there were still parts of each other that lingered. Quiet shadows in the corners of new lives.

He turned to go. Paused at the stairs.

“I’ll be done around noon Sunday,” he said without looking back. “I can come pick her up then.”

“Okay.”

And then he was gone.

You watched the door close.

You stood there for a moment, still holding Hana, feeling her soft breaths against your neck. Then you carefully laid her in her bed, brushing a curl from her face. She stirred slightly, but didn’t wake.

You checked your phone. One missed text.

Jisung:

I’m already here, no rush. Take your time.

Your throat tightened.

You called.

He picked up on the second ring, cheerful. “Hey, did you get lost?”

And then he heard the apology in your voice before you said a word.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered. “I can’t make it. Something came up with my daughter and I—”

“Hey, hey,” he said gently, cutting you off. “It’s okay. Really.”

“No, I feel awful. You came all this way—”

“And I got to see the sunset and listen to my favorite playlist. Not a waste.”

You laughed, small and tired. “I was really looking forward to tonight.”

“So was I,” he admitted. “But I’ve got time. We’ll try again. No pressure.”

You hung up a few minutes later, reassured by the ease in his voice, the lack of disappointment, the way he didn’t make you feel like a burden.

You walked back to the living room, heels still on, makeup still perfect.

But the night was quiet again.

And despite everything, despite Jisung’s warmth, despite the newness that had started to take root, your thoughts kept drifting back to the man who had stood at your door, holding the child you both loved more than anything, looking at you like he’d never quite seen you before.

You poured yourself a glass of wine. Sat down on the couch. Closed your eyes.

And breathed.

Because the line between what was and what could be had never felt thinner.

The apartment was quiet again the next morning.

Hana woke up early, too early for a Saturday, but you didn’t mind. You made pancakes, her favorite, cutting them into little stars with the cookie cutters she insisted on using lately. You let her pour too much syrup, ignored the sticky fingers on the table, and braided her hair while she babbled about a dream she had.

You didn’t tell her about last night. She didn’t need to know you had to cancel plans. That you’d stood in the hallway watching the space where Minho had been, heart doing something you didn’t know how to name. She didn’t need to know how long it took you to take your makeup off, or how the curls in your hair stayed long after you fell asleep on the couch, still dressed.

You let it all go, for her.

That afternoon, after cartoons and crafts and one very glitter-heavy art project, you took her to the park. It was a habit now fresh air, a safe routine, a way to let her run out her energy before the inevitable bedtime protest.

She was climbing the jungle gym when you saw him.

Minho.

You almost didn’t recognize him at first, hood pulled up, headphones around his neck, looking a little rumpled in a way that said he’d just finished a shift and hadn’t meant to be seen. But he spotted you instantly.

You weren’t expecting him until the next day.

Still, he walked toward you, hands in his pockets, something hesitant in his expression.

“Hey,” he said.

You smiled, surprised but not unwelcome. “Hey. Thought you were working until tomorrow.”

“I got off early. Thought I’d come by and see if you two were around.”

You glanced toward Hana, who had now spotted her dad and was waving with both arms, squealing his name. Minho grinned and waved back, already stepping forward to meet her.

They played for a while, the two of them slipping into their easy rhythm, him chasing her in slow motion, letting her tackle him dramatically onto the grass, her laughter echoing.

You sat on the bench and watched, something warm and complicated curling in your chest.

When she finally wore herself out and asked for juice, Minho offered to go grab some from the little market across the street. She nodded sleepily, curling against your side, and he jogged off.

He came back with two juice boxes.

And a bottle of iced tea, for you.

He handed it to you casually, like it didn’t mean anything. Like he hadn’t memorized your favorites, even now.

“Thanks,” you said.

He shrugged. “Figured you’d want something cold.”

The sun was starting to dip, casting the park in long shadows. Hana was drawing in the dirt with a stick now, humming to herself.

Minho sat beside you on the bench, a comfortable silence settling.

And then, after a few minutes, he asked it.

“You were going on a date, weren’t you?”

You looked down at the bottle in your hands. Twisted the cap. “Yeah.”

He nodded slowly. “Is it serious?”

“No,” you said. “Not yet. Just… new.”

Minho stared out at the playground. “Is he good to you?”

The question caught you off guard, not just that he asked, but how quietly he did. Not possessive. Not jealous. Just… careful.

You turned toward him. “Yeah. He’s kind.”

Minho nodded again. “That’s good. That’s… good.”

You both sat there, the air heavier now.

And then he said, “You looked beautiful last night.”

You froze.

He didn’t look at you when he said it. Just kept watching Hana, his expression unreadable.

“I know I shouldn’t say that,” he added, voice low. “But it’s true.”

You didn’t know what to do with the ache that bloomed in your chest at his words. The softness. The honesty.

“I didn’t expect to feel anything,” he said after a beat. “But I saw you, and it just—hit me.”

You swallowed. “Minho…”

He finally turned to you then, and something in his eyes cracked open. Something vulnerable. Something you hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Do you ever wonder,” he asked, “if we gave up too soon?”

The question lingered between you like fog, thick, slow, impossible to ignore.

You looked at him. Really looked.

At the man who had once been your everything.

At the man who still showed up. Still knew your drink. Still remembered how to hold your daughter like she was the most precious thing in the world.

And you wanted to say: Yes. I wonder all the time.

But instead, you said: “I think we gave what we had. And then we gave some more. And maybe we ran out of things to give.”

He nodded, but the pain in his eyes didn’t go away.

“I miss her,” he said. “Even when I just saw her yesterday.”

And you knew he didn’t just mean Hana.

You nodded. “I miss us sometimes, too.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. “I think maybe that’s what’s hardest. Missing something that still kind of exists… just not the way it used to.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t.

Because you were terrified of saying the wrong thing.

Of opening a door you weren’t sure you had the strength to close again.

Hana came running over then, breaking the tension. “I’m tired,” she whined, arms outstretched.

You stood up, lifting her into your arms. She nestled her head into your shoulder immediately.

Minho stood too.

You walked to the parking lot together, silence wrapping around you like a shared memory.

When you reached your car, you opened the door and placed Hana gently in her seat, buckling her in as she blinked sleepily.

Minho watched.

And just before you got in the driver’s seat, he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nodded.

But you didn’t look back as you drove away.

Because you didn’t want him to see the tears you weren’t sure how to explain.

masterlist.

❌proofread

[official taglist: @alisonyus @lenfilms ..]

513 notes · View notes

lostwrlds · 1 month ago

Text

(✩) i feel like if you’re going to date nagi at least one of your love languages has to be physical touch…

i think he will die without physical affection and gets super duper needy for it, whining or huffing while he shoves his face into your neck because its the actual contact that calms down all the buzzing fibres in his being. i think he’d always have to touch you in public or social settings that require a lot of talking — when he’s over it, seishiro just comes up behind you, arms nestled around your middle and big hands splayed out on your tummy, feeling you breathe and move… because it just relaxes him in a way? nagi knows that you’re there, that you’re permanent and you’re not going to leave him. plus, resting his head on your shoulder or on top of your own gives him an excuse to close his eyes, pretend to sleep for just a second.

physical touch is like… the grounding element for him. he sees it as a necessity like you would need to eat or drink water to survive. he’ll always initiate it because he needs it or craves it. touch, hugs, kisses they’re all something nagi is willing to make an effort for.

when you’re alone together or at home, sei has the preference for little spoon most of the time because even though he’s like comically large :( he just likes to have his hair played with and his head on your chest so he can listen to you breathe before he falls asleep. or to paw at your chest; not for dirty-minded reasons… he just finds touching your skin really comforting especially cause you’re so warm. makes him struggle to keep his eyes open, just gets so drowsy when you hold him close.

definitely takes naps on your butt too! like you could be lying on your tummy reading and if he can’t be bothered to crawl up and lay with you properly, nagi’ll prop his head on the backs of thighs or on your backside cause it’s soft and warm n he can still play on his phone. he just likes spending time with you like this — touching in some way, shape or form. idk love the nagi clingy bf agenda!

RIGHTS RESERVED © LOSTWRLDS 2025. the content seen here belongs to me. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai, or recommend elsewhere.

#⋆🛸⁺ writing !!#i just think hes so cute okay :(#nagi x reader #nagi seishiro #nagi seishiro x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x you #bllk fluff #blue lock fluff #bllk #blue lock #insipired by my cat hehe!#and sora tbh :]

497 notes · View notes

urdreamydoodles · 7 months ago

Note

How about Scott, Logan, Hank, Jean, Orroro, Erik, Colussus, Emma, gambit x reader where they kind of forget to take care of themselves. Like the reader will forget to do basic survival things ( eating, sleeping, drinking water, ect) and just generally overworking themselves

ps. love your content

X-Men x Reader

You forget to take care of yourself

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Hank McCoy, Colossus, Emma Frost & Bobby Drake

Logan Howlett aka. Wolverine

- Logan isn’t the type to hover, but he notices things others miss. He’s sharp enough to pick up on your exhaustion, the way your hands tremble slightly when you’re holding your coffee mug or how you’ve been skipping meals. At first, he doesn’t say much, figuring you’re just busy, but when it becomes a pattern, his concern kicks in.

- He corners you one evening when you’re buried in work, his gruff voice cutting through the quiet. “You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on, or do I have to guess?” When you brush him off with a tired smile, he narrows his eyes and crosses his arms. “You forgettin’ you’re not made o’ adamantium? You’re gonna keel over if you keep this up.”

- Logan doesn’t let it slide. The next morning, you wake up to the smell of coffee and bacon. He’s standing in the kitchen, his expression unreadable as he gestures to the plate he’s made for you. “Eat. And don’t even think about arguin’.” His tone leaves no room for negotiation.

- Despite his rough edges, Logan’s care is genuine. He starts keeping a closer eye on you, making sure you’re eating regular meals and getting enough sleep. He even drags you outside for fresh air, taking you on walks or insisting you join him for a sparring session. “Sweat it out, darlin’. Clears the head.”

- When you finally break down and admit how overwhelmed you’ve been, his reaction surprises you. He pulls you into a tight hug, his voice soft as he says, “You don’t gotta do it all alone. I’m here, y’know.” There’s an intensity in his gaze that makes you believe him.

- Logan becomes your rock, the person who grounds you when you’re spiraling. His quiet, steadfast support makes all the difference, and you know he’ll always have your back, even when you forget to take care of yourself.

Remy LeBeau aka. Gambit

- Remy is quick to notice when you start slipping on self-care. He may come off as laid-back, but his sharp eyes catch every little detail—the skipped meals, the heavy bags under your eyes, the way your energy dwindles. At first, he tries to coax you back into a routine with his usual charm.

- “Chérie, y’know you can’t live on caffeine alone, oui?” he teases, placing a plate of food in front of you during a late-night work session. When you wave him off with a distracted “later,” his smile falters, but he doesn’t push—yet.

- The breaking point comes when he finds you passed out at your desk, papers scattered everywhere. Panic flashes in his eyes as he shakes you awake, his voice tight with worry. “Mon amour, this ain’t okay. You scarin’ me.” Seeing the genuine concern on his face makes you realize how far you’ve pushed yourself.

- From that moment, Remy takes it upon himself to make sure you’re taking care of yourself. He starts showing up with your favorite snacks, pulling you away from work for impromptu dance breaks, and insisting you take naps—sometimes dragging you to the couch himself.

- One evening, after you confess how overwhelmed you’ve been feeling, he cups your face in his hands, his red-on-black eyes soft with understanding. “You ain’t gotta do it all, cher. Let me help, yeah? We a team.” His voice is so full of love that you can’t help but nod.

- Remy becomes your biggest cheerleader, always finding ways to make you smile and reminding you to prioritize yourself. His unwavering support and playful affection make it impossible not to feel cared for, and you know he’ll always be there to lift you up when you falter.

Kurt Wagner aka. Nightcrawler

- Kurt notices something’s wrong when you start missing your usual cheerful banter. Your exhaustion doesn’t escape him, and it worries him to see the spark in your eyes dim. He approaches you gently, his tail swishing with concern as he offers a soft, “Liebchen, you seem tired. Are you all right?”

- When you brush off his concern, Kurt doesn’t push, but he starts paying closer attention. He brings you tea when you’re working late, gently encouraging you to take breaks. When he sees you skipping meals, he tries to tempt you with your favorite dishes, his smile warm and inviting.

- One day, he finds you asleep in the library, slumped over a pile of books. His heart aches as he watches you, realizing how much you’ve been neglecting yourself. He teleports you to the couch, covering you with a blanket before sitting beside you, determined to be there when you wake up.

- When you finally open up about feeling overwhelmed, Kurt listens intently, his golden eyes full of empathy. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he says softly, taking your hand in his. “I know how it feels to carry too much, but you mustn’t forget to care for yourself. You are precious, mein Schatz.”

- From then on, Kurt makes it his mission to remind you of your worth. He leaves little notes of encouragement around the house, surprises you with flowers, and insists on taking you out for relaxing strolls or quiet nights under the stars.

- His unwavering kindness and quiet strength help you find balance again. With Kurt by your side, you feel lighter, knowing that his love and support will always be a safe haven when the world feels too heavy.

Scott Summers aka. Cyclops

- Scott is the first to notice when you start overworking yourself. His leadership instincts kick in, and he keeps a watchful eye on you, though he tries not to overstep. At first, he offers subtle reminders: “Don’t forget to eat,” or “You should get some rest.” But when it becomes clear you’re ignoring him, he grows more direct.

- One night, he finds you still at your desk, your eyes heavy with exhaustion. “This isn’t sustainable,” he says, his voice firm but laced with concern. “You’re going to burn out if you keep pushing yourself like this.” His seriousness makes it hard to argue, but you wave him off, insisting you’re fine.

- The breaking point comes when you collapse during a training session. Scott rushes to your side, panic flashing across his usually composed face. “You’re not fine,” he says, his voice tight with worry. “You need to take care of yourself. You can’t keep doing this.” His frustration is evident, but so is his love.

- After that, Scott takes a more proactive approach. He adjusts your schedule, ensuring you have time to rest and recharge. He checks in with you regularly, bringing you meals and reminding you to hydrate. Though his methods can feel a bit overbearing, his intentions are always rooted in care.

- One evening, as you sit together on the couch, you finally admit how overwhelmed you’ve been. Scott pulls you into his arms, his hold steady and reassuring. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he says softly. “We’re a team, and I’m here for you. Always.” His sincerity brings tears to your eyes, and you feel a weight lift off your shoulders.

- Scott’s support becomes a constant in your life, his quiet strength and unwavering dedication helping you find balance again. With him by your side, you feel like you can take on anything, knowing he’ll always be there to catch you when you stumble.

Jean Grey aka. Marvel Girl / Phoenix

- Jean notices your neglect almost instantly. Her psychic connection to you allows her to sense the subtle shifts in your emotions—the way your mind feels frazzled and your energy drained. She approaches you gently, her green eyes filled with concern as she asks, “Have you eaten today?” When you shake your head and brush her off, she doesn’t push, but you can tell she’s not satisfied.

- She starts taking small steps to ensure you’re cared for. She’ll float a sandwich or a glass of water to your desk while you’re working, her telekinesis a quiet reminder of her presence. When she sees you avoiding sleep, she’ll softly suggest turning in early, sometimes even staying awake with you to keep you company.

- One evening, Jean finds you in the kitchen staring blankly at an empty coffee cup. Her worry reaches a breaking point. “This isn’t just about being busy,” she says, placing her hand over yours. “You’re pushing yourself too hard, and I won’t let you burn out.” There’s no judgment in her voice, only love and determination.

- When you finally break down, admitting you’ve been overwhelmed and feel like you’re failing at everything, Jean pulls you into a warm embrace. Her psychic presence wraps around you like a soft blanket, calming your racing thoughts. “You’re not alone in this,” she murmurs. “Let me help carry the weight. That’s what love is for.”

- Jean starts creating little rituals to help you take care of yourself. She insists on morning coffee together, quiet evening walks, and regular check-ins where you both share your thoughts and feelings. Her calm, nurturing nature makes you feel safe, like you can breathe again.

- With her help, you begin to find balance. Jean’s love is steadfast and comforting, a reminder that you don’t have to face life’s challenges on your own. Her psychic connection becomes a lifeline, silently encouraging you to take care of yourself as she quietly supports you every step of the way.

Ororo Munroe aka. Storm

- Ororo notices something is wrong when your usually vibrant energy starts to dim. She’s intuitive and observant, picking up on the smallest signs—the slump in your shoulders, the hollow sound of your laughter. She approaches you one evening, her calm voice breaking the silence: “You’ve been neglecting yourself, haven’t you?”

- When you try to deny it, Ororo gives you a knowing look, her piercing blue eyes full of quiet authority. “You can’t lie to me, love. I see the storm you’re carrying inside you.” Her words are gentle but firm, and she begins to subtly guide you toward self-care without overwhelming you.

- One night, Ororo invites you to join her in the greenhouse. She hands you a watering can and encourages you to tend to the plants with her. As you work side by side, she talks softly about balance and how nature thrives when it’s nurtured. “You’re just as precious as these plants,” she says, her voice full of affection.

- When you finally admit how much you’ve been struggling, Ororo takes your hands in hers, her touch warm and grounding. “You’re not weak for needing help,” she tells you. “Even the strongest storms need time to rest and rebuild.” Her words hit you deeply, and you feel a weight lifting as you share your worries with her.

- Ororo begins incorporating moments of peace into your daily routine. She takes you on walks during sunrise, leads you in meditation sessions, and teaches you how to find solace in the quiet moments. Her serene presence becomes a beacon of calm in your chaotic life.

- With Ororo by your side, you start to feel whole again. Her love is like the rain—cleansing and rejuvenating, reminding you that even in the darkest times, there is beauty and renewal waiting just around the corner.

Anna Marie aka. Rogue

- Rogue isn’t the most subtle when she notices you’ve been neglecting yourself. She’s direct and to the point, her Southern drawl laced with concern as she says, “Sugar, when’s the last time you ate somethin’ that wasn’t outta a vending machine?” Her bluntness is her way of showing she cares, even if it catches you off guard.

- She doesn’t let the issue slide. Rogue starts showing up with home-cooked meals, setting them in front of you with a stern look. “Don’t make me spoon-feed ya,” she jokes, though there’s an edge of seriousness in her tone. Her care comes with a healthy dose of sass, but it’s impossible not to feel loved.

- When she catches you skipping sleep to work late, Rogue plants herself on the couch beside you, her arms crossed. “If you don’t lay down and rest, I’m gonna drag you to bed myself,” she warns. Her no-nonsense attitude is oddly comforting, making you realize she’s not going anywhere.

- One night, after you finally break down and admit how overwhelmed you’ve been, Rogue’s demeanor softens. She pulls you into a tight hug, careful not to touch you with her bare skin. “I know what it’s like to feel like you gotta carry it all, but you don’t have to, darlin’. I’m here, and I ain’t lettin’ you go through this alone.”

- Rogue starts actively looking for ways to lighten your load. She’ll take over small tasks, crack jokes to make you smile, and even pull you away from work for impromptu movie nights. Her mix of tough love and genuine affection becomes a lifeline for you.

- With Rogue in your corner, you feel stronger and more supported than ever. Her love is fierce and unwavering, a reminder that you’re never truly alone as long as she’s by your side.

Erik Lehnsherr aka. Magneto

- Erik is not one to hover, but he’s perceptive enough to notice when you’ve been neglecting yourself. He watches you carefully, his piercing gaze full of unspoken concern. “You’re running yourself into the ground,” he finally says one evening, his voice low and serious. “This cannot continue.”

- When you try to brush him off, Erik’s frustration shows. “Do not insult my intelligence,” he says sharply, though there’s no malice in his tone. “I know you’re struggling. Why must you insist on facing this alone?” His words cut through your defenses, but they’re rooted in a deep care for you.

- Erik begins to intervene in his own way, using his powers to remove distractions and obstacles. He’ll levitate your work away from you, placing it out of reach with a raised eyebrow. “You can finish that later,” he says firmly. “Right now, you need to rest.”

- When you finally confess how overwhelmed you’ve been, Erik’s expression softens. He steps closer, his voice quiet but resolute. “I have spent a lifetime fighting for what I believe in, but nothing is more important to me than you. Do not think for a moment that you must bear this burden alone.”

- Erik becomes a steadfast presence in your life, offering both practical support and emotional comfort. He’ll prepare meals, insist on regular breaks, and hold you close when the weight of the world feels too heavy. His love is intense and protective, a force as unyielding as the metal he commands.

- With Erik’s unwavering support, you begin to find balance again. His love is a shield against the chaos, reminding you that even the strongest among us need someone to lean on. In his arms, you feel safe, cherished, and whole.

Hank McCoy aka. Beast

- Hank notices your habits immediately—your distracted demeanor, the hollow tone in your voice, the faint shadows under your eyes. Ever the scientist, he doesn’t bring it up outright but quietly observes. “Have you had any sustenance today?” he asks casually, his blue eyes studying you carefully. When you deflect with a vague answer, he hums knowingly but doesn’t press—yet.

- The next day, you find yourself gently cornered in the lab as Hank casually sets down a plate of food next to you. “I’m aware of your penchant for neglecting basic human needs under stress,” he says with a slight smile. “So, humor me and eat this while we talk.” His concern is masked with light humor, but you feel his genuine worry behind every word.

- One evening, after you nearly pass out from exhaustion, Hank’s patience wears thin. “Enough,” he says firmly, his normally gentle tone sharp. “You’re not a machine, and I won’t allow you to treat yourself as such.” His words hit harder than you expect, and his disappointment feels like a heavy weight.

- When you finally break down, confessing that you feel like you can’t stop or everything will fall apart, Hank pulls you into a surprisingly tender embrace. “You are not an island, my dear,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to face everything alone. Let me be your foundation when the ground feels unsteady.”

- From that day forward, Hank becomes your fiercest advocate for self-care. He insists on regular meals and sleep schedules, even developing a playful system of reminders with your favorite quotes or jokes to lighten the mood. His support feels like a lifeline, steady and comforting.

- With Hank’s love and guidance, you learn to value yourself as much as he values you. His steady presence and unwavering care remind you that balance is essential, and you’re never truly alone as long as he’s by your side.

Piotr Rasputin aka. Colossus

- Piotr is gentle and observant by nature, so he notices your struggles quickly. When you skip meals or overwork yourself, his brow furrows with quiet concern. “My love,” he says softly, his Russian accent warm and soothing, “when did you last take a moment for yourself?”

- At first, he tries subtle nudges—leaving water by your desk, offering to cook meals together, suggesting walks to clear your mind. When these hints go unnoticed, Piotr decides to take a more direct approach. One evening, he lifts you effortlessly and carries you to the kitchen, setting you down with a warm smile. “Now, we eat.”

- Piotr’s breaking point comes when he finds you passed out from exhaustion. His steel exterior reflects his internal turmoil as he carries you to bed, sitting beside you until you wake. “You push yourself too hard,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “You do not need to prove anything to me—or anyone. You are enough as you are.”

- When you finally open up about feeling like you can’t afford to slow down, Piotr listens intently, his large hands gently holding yours. “I understand what it means to feel burdened,” he says. “But strength is not just enduring. It is knowing when to lean on those who love you.”

- From then on, Piotr takes it upon himself to help you find balance. He plans quiet evenings with books and art, prepares your favorite meals, and insists on taking over tasks when you’re overwhelmed. His unwavering care feels like a protective shield around you, keeping the chaos at bay.

- With Piotr’s love and steadfast support, you begin to feel whole again. His patience and kindness teach you that caring for yourself is not weakness but strength, and his presence becomes a source of peace in your life.

Emma Frost aka. The White Queen

- Emma is not one for subtlety, so when she notices you neglecting yourself, she calls you out immediately. “Darling, when was the last time you ate something that wasn’t coffee?” she asks, one perfectly arched eyebrow raised. Her tone is sharp, but her concern is evident beneath the cool exterior.

- At first, she approaches the situation with her usual no-nonsense attitude, dropping off meals and reminders as if it’s part of a business transaction. “Eat this. Sleep at least six hours. Hydrate. It’s not rocket science,” she quips, but you catch the flicker of worry in her piercing blue eyes.

- One evening, when she finds you working late into the night, Emma decides enough is enough. She strides into the room, telepathically shutting down your laptop with a smirk. “You’ll thank me later,” she says, her voice softer than usual. “You’re running yourself ragged, and I won’t stand for it.”

- When you finally admit you’ve been overwhelmed, Emma’s demeanor shifts. She places a hand on your shoulder, her touch surprisingly gentle. “You’re not invincible,” she says, her tone uncharacteristically tender. “Even diamonds need care to maintain their brilliance. You are no exception.”

- Emma takes a proactive role in helping you find balance, using her sharp intellect and connections to ease your workload. She also insists on luxurious self-care days, dragging you to spas or planning lavish evenings to remind you of your worth. Beneath her icy exterior lies a fiercely protective heart.

- With Emma’s unwavering confidence in you, you start to see yourself through her eyes—strong, capable, and deserving of care. Her love is a blend of tough love and indulgent comfort, reminding you that self-worth is as important as any task at hand.

Bobby Drake aka. Iceman

- Bobby notices your neglect through your behavior—the way you brush off his jokes or seem too tired to engage with his usual antics. “Hey, you okay?” he asks casually, but his tone is laced with concern. When you shrug him off, he doesn’t push, but he starts paying closer attention.

- At first, Bobby tries to help in his own playful way, slipping snacks onto your desk or cracking jokes about needing to stage an intervention. “Don’t make me freeze your coffee until you eat something,” he teases, though his grin can’t quite hide the worry in his eyes.

- One day, when he finds you asleep at your desk, Bobby’s joking demeanor drops. He gently shakes you awake, his expression serious. “This isn’t funny anymore,” he says quietly. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself. It hurts me to see you like this.”

- When you finally open up about how overwhelmed you’ve been, Bobby listens intently, his usual humor replaced with genuine care. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he says, his hand warm on your shoulder. “I’ve got your back, no matter what. Let me help, okay?”

- Bobby becomes your biggest cheerleader, finding creative ways to make self-care fun. He’ll freeze your water bottles into cute shapes, plan impromptu dance breaks, or drag you out for ice cream dates to remind you to take a breather. His lightheartedness feels like a balm to your stress.

- With Bobby’s love and unwavering support, you begin to find joy in the small moments again. His ability to make you smile, even on the hardest days, reminds you that life is about more than just work. Together, you learn to face challenges with a little more humor and a lot more heart.

754 notes · View notes

alkaline-wtr · 7 months ago

Text

141 x sick!reader

Description: They take care of you when you're sick. Genre/Warnings: 141 x gn!reader, sick!reader, fluff, comfort, headcanon

My Masterlist

** This is bad, oops. But here is a little bit of sick comfort because, I am sick right now and procrastinating Chapter 6 of 'We Will Survive' Enjoy.

GHOST: Whenever you're sick Ghost jumps straight into his 'doctor' role.

Rather than giving you a hug and rubbing your back soothingly like you hoped he is up poking and prodding you, asking you more questions than you care to answer.

"Yer not warm."

He says placing his calloused palm on your forehead.

"How 'bout yer head, does it hurt? Throat sore? How 'bout here does it hurt when I do this?"

He asks pressing on your side with his fingers.

"Si."

You groan swatting his hand away.

"Can't you just... Will you make me tea?"

Ghost sighs and kisses the top of your head.

"O' course love."

GAZ: The morning you wake up with a scratchy throat and a relentless sinus headache, is when Gaz is quick to take over the daily chores and responsibilities.

Cleaning and cooking are his top priorities. Anything that can keep you in bed and stress free he's on in.

Sometimes you think he's trying to heal you through food and drinks alone.

Bringing you teas, water, and softer food or soups for breakfast and lunch. For dinner he'll order takeout from your favorite place and ends the night in bed with ice-cream and your comfort show or movie.

Gaz is a sole believer in resting both your body and mind during days like this and he takes his domestic duties seriously in order to guarantee you a comfortable and clean space to relax and recover.

SOAP: Soap is known to be a bit overbearing when you're not at your best. Smothering you in affection, fluffing your pillow, and crowding your space on the couch with anything he thinks might help you feel better.

You're restricted to the couch, surrounded by water, juice, snacks, plushies, and even objects of entertainment like a game, or a book to read.

Any move you make to shift into a more comfortable position or get up to use the bathroom Soap is by your side immediately asking what you need or how to help.

You always appreciate his care and concern, but it would be nice to use the bathroom for a couple minutes in peace, without Soap knocking lightly on the door to ask if you want him to run you a bath.

PRICE: Price isn't the type to go overboard and tend to your every need. He'll start the day off giving you a simple breakfast in bed, and some medicine before bed rotting with you the rest of the day.

You both nap on and off all afternoon. He holds you in his arms brushing your hair with his fingers gently and leaving plenty of kisses on your cheeks.

It is a slow and quiet day, the TV plays softly in the background as you laze around curled into Prices chest. Curtains pulled shut to leave the room dark and obscure any sense of time you might have. As far as anyone is concerned the world is on pause and it's only you and John today.

You being sick, means he's sick too. He won't be leaving your side, and you will be resting and recovering together.

461 notes · View notes

thevoidstaredback · 1 year ago

Text

How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have

Dick had to give it to the kid, he'd somehow thought of everything. It was a little concerning, actually, but the kid had brushed off every attempt had probing for answers. Who trained him? If he was trained at all. ...had the kid gone into vigilantism alone? Oh, dear. THat's not good fro Dick's current worries.

Reading the file Danny had handed him, Dick had to wonder how long it had taken him to put together this cover story. Also, where he'd managed to get the equipment to do it. At a glance, the kid didn't seem to have much on him. Not even a phone!

He closed the folder and set it back down on the table. "Really?" he asked, "'Congratulations, it's a boy'?"

Danny's cheeks turned a bit red as his gaze shifted to the folder. "Well, yeah. You're stuck with me now until I can get you into good habits and a healthier schedule."

"That implies that you're planning on leaving."

Danny shrugged, all his confidence now fading away. Is this what he's really like? "Well, I mean, I'm sure you don't want me sticking around at all, let alone for a while."

Dick frowned and looked back at the black folder and the binder sitting on his coffee table. God, his apartment's a mess! He smiled at Danny. "My name's Richard, but everyone calls me 'Dick'. You can stay in the guest room."

Danny lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. "Really?"

"Yep. You went to all this work, it'd be a shame if it all went to waste."

The grin on Danny's face was more than worth the security risk that he now posed. "You won't regret it, Mr. Dick!"

Dick smiled back at him, "Please, drop the formalities. We're cousins, apparently."

Was he attached? No. He wouldn't allow himself to get attached. Sure, maybe he was letting this kid - he really needs to start calling him Danny - stay with him for a while, but he wasn't going to get attached. Getting attached meant losing him. Dick wasn't sure he'd be able to survive if he lost someone again.

...damn it.

***

First order of business, now that Danny was officially Dick's - why would he willingly go by that nickname? - ward/cousin, Danny was going to make sure he got some sleep. Today was Dick's day off, so Danny had sent him to his room to take a much needed nap. The man was basically dead on his feet and Danny would be damned if he let him wander around this mess of an apartment with blurry vision.

The second thing he did, once he was sure Dick was asleep, was start to clean up. The place was a stereotypical bachelor's pad, complete with questionable stains in the carpet, rips in the cushions, dishes piled up in the sink, and old take-out on every table and counter. Gross.

He made quick work of the old take-out by throwing it all away and hitting it with a very small and controlled ectoblast. He was so glad Dick had disposable gloves on hand.

The dishes were the next thing he handed. The water was cleaner than in Gotham, so he didn't worry about washing the dishes by hand when they all didn't fit in the dishwasher. He dried the ones he'd hand washed before putting them away. Dick had no organisation in his cupboards, so Danny fixed that, too.

The fridge and freezer weren't too bad. Sure, the dairy products had all expired and most of the food was freezer bitten, but none of it was moldy yet and the appliance itself was in perfect working order. He'd have to go shopping later.

Danny had never liked cleaning, but he'd had to when his parents refused to follow any OSHA laws or Lab Safety courses. So, when he found the cleaning supplies, he took a deep breath and began scrubbing the bathroom. It wasn't too bad, thank god, and was already fairly clean. It was quick and he was able to move on very quickly.

The counters, tables, walls, and tile and wooden floors were all easy to clean with a wet rag and a broom. He wasn't going to even try saving the rug because it looked well beyond the point of no return. The couch and chair cushions could be sticked up, but he didn't have a sewing needle and thread with him.

The last thing he did before taking his backpack into the room he'd been given was to write down a shopping list and leave it on the counter. It wasn't a lot, just food and some dishes and toiletries. He'd have to figure out with Dick a way to pay rent, too, but that was a later Danny problem. He'd tired himself out and was still running on pretty much empty. So, he allowed himself to fall asleep. He'd check on Dick when he woke up.

Part 4 Part 6

Tag List:

@flame-343 @ghestie93 @anarinette @aglmry @peachtreewriter @evix-syne666 @loudlypanickinginvenezolano @lumosfeather18581

1K notes · View notes

runninriot · 13 days ago

Text

Salty Lips Like Candy

written for the @steddiesongfics June prompt and as fill for the @steddiebingo prompt: mutual pining

song inspo: Summer Sweat by Hannah Cohen (with a hidden nod to Djo's song Potion) | wc: 2.500 | rated: M | tags: alternating pov, not actually unrequited crushes, sexual content, idiots in love, friends to lovers | also on ao3

“I’m not gonna survive this. Tell Wayne I love him. Tell Dustin he can have all my DnD stuff and you... you can have whatever’s left of my weed. It’s hidden in the-“

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Munson! Will you stop with the dramatics? It’s just a sunburn! You’re gonna live.”

If I don’t strangle you with my own two hands, Steve mumbles to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose trying to calm his nerves.

Eddie has been whining ever since he woke up from the little nap he took by the pool. In the sun. Which Steve had explicitly warned him about.

He told him it was a bad idea to lie in the blazing sun unprotected, but did he listen? No. Of course not. Because underneath that pretty hair is a skull so thick, no reasonable advice – no matter how well-intentioned – gets through.

Now, Eddie’s back and shoulders are glowing bright red, and they hurt. Probably not quite as bad as Eddie lets on but it sucks either way, Steve knows it does. Had learned it the hard way and never made the same mistake twice.

Because unlike Eddie, he’s not a stubborn donkey. So, no. No pity there. He did that to himself.

“It doesn’t look that bad. You’ll be fine in a few days. Once the burned skin peels off, you’ll be as good as new.”

Eddie’s eyes widen.

“Wait, hold on. My skin will do what?”

He sounds genuinely distressed now and- okay. Maybe Steve does feel a bit sorry for him.

“Why are you acting like this is news to you? Are you telling me this is the first time this has happened? How?”

There’s no way Eddie never had a sunburn before. That would be, like, a miracle or something. Because let’s be honest, Eddie Munson does not seem like the type of guy that takes good care of his skin. Not like- he doesn’t have bad skin. It’s actually unfair how good his skin looks despite the fact that he probably never used any cream or other products in his whole damn life.

Not the point, though. The point is-

“It’s all your fault, Harrington!”

The accusation leaves him speechless for a moment because seriously, “What?”

“Yeah, well, this never would’ve happened if I’d stayed in my dark room, where the sun can’t hurt me. And I’m only not because you invited me over and I-“

Eddie stops his tirade, teeth pressing into his bottom lip.

“Oh excuse me for wanting to spend time with you! You dickhead!”

Steve throws his hands up in frustration and starts pacing from the counter to the fridge just to let off some steam.

This is ridiculous.

If Eddie doesn’t want to be here, why did he agree to come when Steve asked him if he wanted to hang out?

Didn’t he enjoy himself earlier? Steve sure as hell thought so. Thought it would be nice to spend the day together.

It’s so rare they get to be together alone, just the two of them. Where they can talk shit and be stupid without having to keep one eye on what the kids are up to, and Robin’s not there to make fun of him for being a apparently too obvious with his stupid, unrequited feelings.

Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe that’s why Eddie doesn’t want to be here. Why he-

“Steve?”

A hand drops on his shoulder and when he blinks himself out of his spiralling thoughts, he finds Eddie looking at him with those soft, disarming eyes, and an apologetic smile on his lips.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. It’s obviously not your fault. And I’m glad you invited me- you have a fucking pool, man! The trailer doesn’t even have air-con. I’d be dying of a heatstroke right now if it wasn’t for you. You’re literally my saviour, Steve! Knight in shining armour and all that.”

Eddie shakes him lightly by the shoulder, and Steve can’t not laugh at his overdone speech.

“You’re lucky I like you enough to put up with you,” Steve counters as nonchalantly as possible, not giving away just how much he likes him.

Take that, Robin.

“Still like me even if I’m being a big whiny baby about a sunburn?”

Eddie pouts, looking up through his stupidly long lashes, and- okay yeah, fine! Maybe Robin does have a point because Steve feels weak, unable to keep a straight face when Eddie’s looking at him like that. He wants to bite his cheeks. Or lick them. Press his mouth against those unfairly kissable looking lips.

Fuck. Get a grip, Harrington.

“Yeah, yeah. Now, do you want the lotion or the aloe gel? Both will sting a bit but it’ll cool your skin and you’ll feel much better.”

Steve grabs both bottles and holds them out for him to choose – that’s what they came inside for, after all, before Eddie started to make his last will.

“Doesn’t matter, I’m not gonna be able to reach most of it anyway.”

Eddie turns over his shoulder, looking at the reflection of his back in the sliding door that leads from the kitchen to the backyard.

“Well, yeah. That’s what I’m here for,” Steve answers matter-of-factly, ignoring the small but unsubtle tug in his gut.

This is not quite how he imagined getting his hands on Eddie’s body, but he’ll take it. It’s not like he’ll ever get a chance for more anyway.

When Eddie looks back at him, his face is painted with the same colour as his damaged skin, a flashing red that spreads from his nose right down to his bare chest.

“If, uh, if you don’t mind,” Steve adds, suddenly unsure.

“Y-yeah. That- that would be nice.”

Despite the undefined tension hanging thick in the air between them, Steve walks over to him, clutching both bottles like their weapons and he’s going to battle, buzzing with nerves.

“Aloe?” he asks again, setting the lotion aside when Eddie nods.

He clicks the cap open, tips the bottle and lets its content drizzle into his left hand.

From the corner of his eyes, he can see Eddie watching him, dark eyes fixated on the translucent liquid collecting in Steve’s palm. Watching even more intently when Steve spreads the gel between his hands.

He seems nervous, biting his lip while his hands fiddle with the cords on his swim shorts, feet tip-tapping from left to right like he can’t stay still.

“Turn around for me?” Steve asks and he hates how soft his voice sounds, how unsteady he moves when he closes the remaining distance between them. “Tell me if it hurts, okay?”

Eddie nods again and turns around like Steve asked him to. He hisses at the first contact of Steve’s hands with his neck, shoulders tensing up.

“Doesn’t hurt, ‘s just cold.”

His words are a little slurred, and Steve worries that he’s lying, trying to act tough. But then he can feel him relax, shoulders dropping when Steve continues, carefully spreading the cooling gel over hot skin.

“Feel okay?”

Eddie’s head falls forward before he answers with a sigh, the sound bordering on a moan, and Steve has to bite his tongue not to mirror him.

It’s hard to focus on the steady movement of his hands, hard not to let his mind misinterpret Eddie’s reactions to his touch. How he squirms slightly when Steve’s fingers tickle his sides, letting out these soft little puffs of air at every gentle stroke along his spine.

This shouldn’t feel so intimate, but it does, the way Eddie leans into him, his body relaxed, his skin soft under Steve’s palms. How he hums contently when Steve reaches the small of his back, fingertips dragging along the waistline of his shorts, itching to dip lower.

A real torture on his heart that flutters violently, not understanding that this isn’t what it so desperately longs for.

“All done,” Steve says, not without regret, when all of Eddie’s back is covered under a soothing layer of aloe, that’ll offer relief for his irritated skin.

He steps back to give Eddie some room, instantly missing the contact now that his arms are hanging useless down his sides.

The blush on Eddie’s face is still visible when he turns, and his chest is heaving, almost as if he’s a little breathless, when he lets out a small giggle.

“Fuck, Steve. You’re like a witch with healing hands. It already feels so much better.”

In response, like a dork, Steve lifts his hands and wiggles his fingers in front of him, and is instantly hit with a wave of shame. He tries to laugh it off, acting casual, annoyed.

“Next time, let me do that before you get sunburned.”

Eddie stops mid eye-roll, smile faltering “Ugh, fuck. I can’t sleep on my back like that.”

“Then... don’t?”

“But what if I turn in my sleep? It’ll hurt and I’ll wake up and then I’ll be grouchy all day.”

Steve chuckles, can’t not when Eddie’s being his over-dramatic self.

“You’re such a baby.”

He laughs even more when Eddie crosses his arms before his chest and frowns.

“Hey! Stop being mean.”

It’s just an act, Steve knows that. The problem is, that it’s working on him. Eddie is cute when he’s fake-sulking like that, and Steve can’t handle cute right now. Not with his whole system still running on overdrive from hearing Eddie fucking moan because he enjoyed Steve’s hands on his body so much. That’s... a lot to take in, okay?

He needs a distraction, or he might do something stupid.

“Come on, let’s grab a beer and sit in the shade. No more sun for you, mister.”

Two weeks later, Eddie is back at Steve’s place. They’re having a pool party, grown-ups only, and Eddie promised to help with preparations.

He’s stacking bottles in the refrigerator when he notices movement behind him, finds Steve standing there with a grin on his face and a bottle of sunscreen in his hand.

“No excuses this time,” he says and Eddie doesn’t dare to argue; he’s learned his lesson.

Once he’s done, he follows Steve outside, who sits down on a recliner, patting the empty space between his parted thighs.

Eddie swallows hard, feels his insides tie into knots, heart beating rapidly in his chest, when he settles down in front of him.

He should’ve just waited and asked Robin to help him out. Or Jonathan. Anyone else would’ve been the better choice, because none of the others make him feel like Steve does.

It’s so stupid, but it’s hard to stay cool when the guy you’ve been having a tragically miserable crush on forever, is sitting so close. Dressed in nothing but shorts, heat radiating off his unfairly perfect body that must’ve been blessed by the sun god himself.

“Take off your shirt,” Steve tells him, and Eddie thinks he might combust.

Keep it together, Munson. You survived this once, you’ll survive it again.

Only this time, it’s so much worse.

Because last time, Eddie could focus on the bearable but omnipresent stinging sensation that mixed with the soothing touch of Steve’s hands.

But now, with his skin unblemished, Eddie is committed to the full force of how good it feels. And if he thought the noises he involuntarily made last time, where embarrassing, then whatever sound breaks free from his throat now, makes him want to die on the spot.

It sounds downright pornographic, the way he moans when Steve’s thumbs press into space between his shoulder blades, kneading his flesh with strong hands, smoothly following the shape his spine, teasing fingertips reaching around his waist, dipping almost all the way down to his waistline.

It goes on and on, with no mercy on Eddie’s weak heart that tells him, delusional as it is, that this isn’t about putting sunscreen on him anymore. Can’t be, because Eddie’s skin has already soaked up all of it. Still, Steve keeps going, massaging Eddie’s back, hands gliding over his skin, working the knots in his shoulders.

Eddie’s melting, not just into the touch, it’s like his whole body is suddenly made of molten wax. He feels hot, and he’s not sure if it’s from the sun or from the burning wildfire of emotions that’s raging inside of him.

It’s too much, but he doesn’t want it to stop. Wants to tell Steve how fucking good it feels. Wants to feel more of him. Wants to feel him forever.

Another breathy moan breaks the silence between them, but to Eddie’s surprise, the source isn’t his own mouth.

Steve’s suddenly so close, his breath hot on the side of his neck, chest pressing against Eddie’s back.

“Fuck, Eddie. I’m-”

Oh.

O-holy shit.

He can feel it. Unmistakably.

Steve is hard.

Rubbing against him with shallow movements, barely there but enough to send him into spiral of overwhelm and arousal and- fuck!

“Steve.”

The name spills into a desperate little whine when Steve wraps a hand around his throat, thumb pressing against his jawline, forcing his head to turn to the side, awkwardly twisting to meet Steve’s lips in a kiss.

Eddie thinks he might’ve fallen asleep again. Thinks he must be dreaming when Steve’s mouth connects with the sweaty skin on the side of his neck, sucking, licking, biting.

But he can taste the salt on Steve’s lips, somehow still sweet like candy, when they collide again and again while their hands have developed a mind of their own, searching, finding, moving where they’re both aching for touch.

Their bodies now a tangle of limbs, unsteady on the recliner that wasn’t made to defy such need but holds up anyway. Barely. Hinges groaning to the sound of unrestrained lust, shaking with the violent tremble of two people slowly coming undone. Every hip thrust welcomed by a tight fist threatening to cause a collapse. Not of the recliner, but it’s a fall nonetheless. Down into the pit where desire meets the unison echo of a four-letter word confession.

Choking on each other’s breath, Steve follows him over the edge. It’s over too soon, and not soon enough, because God knows when the others will arrive and burst the bubble Eddie finds himself floating in.

“Can we-“ Steve starts, still a little breathless, “Can we come back to this? Later? When everyone’s gone?”

His voice is only a shy whisper, like he’s scared Eddie might pull away.

Like it isn’t obvious that he’s all in.

“I meant what I said, Steve. I want you. Now. Later. Forever.”

He doesn’t say love this time, not because he doesn’t feel it in every fibre of his being, only because he wants to do this right, take his time to pour it all out, let his heart speak through his body. Let Steve know he wants this more than anything.

“Kiss me again?” Steve asks, and Eddie is more than happy to oblige.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #steddiesongfics #steddiebingo2025

166 notes · View notes

existence-is-a-pain87 · 2 months ago

Note

can I have a request of the self aware! Toons x reader interactions if you were in the game please

Ima use the AU for the Self-Aware AU where MC died and got isekaid into being a Toon in Dandy's World. However, MC wasn't a Toon who was put on the show and was instead scrapped. But the Toon's obsession with them carried over. (It's an AU of an AU. So it's an AU AU.)

Lemme just show ya real quick, hehe.

Edit 1: I updated it and added Blot

Talking to You

Yandere!Dandy's World x Toon!Reader

Warnings: Obsession and other general yandere behaviors

--☆☆☆☆☆--

When you were reincarnated as a Toon in Dandy's World and saved from the horror show that was the self-aware game, you thought it was an ironic blessing.

You thought that blessing was even more ironic when you literally had to struggle to keep remembering your life as a human. And when you were never put on the show and instead kept in the depths, before being used for things like manual labor.

You weren't upset. Sure, you wish you could at least see the sun, but being a Scrapped Toon wasn't as much of a hell as obsession was.

Then you met the other Toons. And they began to get clingy.

And it got so much worse when the Ichor Operation occured and you went missing.

But when you came back? They found you again and pulled you out of your isolation?

Their obsession was so much worse.

Then you realized this was no godsend.

Whatever being did this to you, it was for their sick entertainment.

Because they were as obsessed with you as they were when they were self-aware.

--☆☆☆--

Astro

Astro: Hello starshine...

[Name]: ...

Astro: I... saw your dreams. Are you doing okay?

[Name]: Astro, do I look like I'm okay?

Astro: ...

[Name]: Please just... leave me alone.

Astro: You can talk to me whenever you need.

[Name]: ...okay.

---

Astro: Do you want to take a nap together after this, starshine?

[Name]: Astro, I'm not tired.

Astro: Won't you be by the time we're done?

[Name]: I mean, probably? But I'd rather not take a nap.

[Name]: At least with you.

Astro: Why not?

[Name]: Because last time we did that it took me an hour to scrub all the lipstick stains off my face.

[Name]: Since when did you even start wearing lipstick?

Astro: ...nevermind.

--☆☆☆--

Bassie

Bassie: Blossom, do you need anything? I have some useful items!

[Name]: No thanks, I'm good. Save your items.

Bassie: B- but...

[Name]: Trust me, I can survive without some items. I promise I'll be fine.

Bassie: Of course, hahAHA!

[Name]: ...

---

Bassie: Blossom, what do you think of Cocoa..?

[Name]: Oh, she's nice enough-

Bassie: ...

[Name]: -But I like you more.

Bassie: ...Really?

[Name]: Yeah. Why?

Bassie: -!

Bassie: No reason- hahaHAHAHAH!

[Name]: ...

Bobette

--☆☆☆--

Blot

Blot: ?deneppah tahW .yletal tespu yllaer neeb ev'uoy deciton I

[Name]: Oh, nothing important...

Blot: .taht wonk'Y .em ot eil ot deen on s'erehT

[Name]: Even if I told you the truth, there's not much you can do...

Blot: .tuo uoy gnidriew si esle enoyna fi su dnuora edih emoc ot eerf leeF .uoy troppus lla I dna ,attaY ,yeooL

[Name]: Got it Blot, thanks...

Blot: .evol I enoemos rof od nac I tsaeL

--☆☆☆--

Bobette: You're always welcome to hide with me in my gift box in any emergencies, angel!

[Name]: Bobette, there's no need.

Bobette: You sure?

[Name]: Yeah, I'm pretty fast.

Bobette: I mean-

[Name]: And I can probably beat a Twisted into a pulp with Blåhaj.

Bobette: Your giant shark plushie?

[Name]: Yeah. Hehe.

---

Bobette: How are you doing after last night?

[Name]: I don't know how my legs are functioning...

Bobette: Yeah...

[Name]: ...Why are the others looking at us weirdly?

Bobette: I dunno. Coal just sat on your lap last night.

[Name]: Yeah.

[Name]: ...Wait.

[Name]: Oh god, they're dirty-minded!

Bobette: Wha-?

--☆☆☆--

Boxten

Boxten: You're really good at machines, you know that?

[Name]: Eh, I'm okay at them. Not that great at skill checks, though.

Boxten: What do you mean?

[Name]: I basically never get them.

Boxten: Oh yeah...

Boxten: I'm constantly terrified a machine will explode whenever I do that...

[Name]: ...I'll help you out on the next floor with any machines, m'kay?

Boxten: Oh-! Thanks!

--☆☆☆--

Brightney

Brightney: What's on your mind?

[Name]: A lot of things. Most of them aren't good.

Brightney: Would book club help get them off your mind?

[Name]: Probably. Depends on the book.

Brightney: Cheesy romance novels, perhaps?

[Name]: We're gonna be allowed to read those at book club?

Brightney: Of course! If it'll make you happy, I can lift the ban for the day.

[Name]: Aw, thanks Brightney!

--☆☆☆--

Coal

[Name]: Hi Coal.

Coal: Bworf.

[Name]: Please don't sit on my lap again, Coal.

Coal: ...Bwoof.

[Name]: Please Coal. I like having functioning legs, Coal.

Coal: Bork...

[Name]: ...Okay, yeah, maybe it'll be unfair if Pebs gets to keep sitting on my lap...

Coal: ...

[Name]: ...But Coal, please-

Coal: Grrrr...

--☆☆☆--

Cocoa

Cocoa: Hi, choco kiss! Do you need anything?

[Name]: There's no need.

Cocoa: Are you sure? I can always help you-!

[Name]: No, Cocoa. Trust me, I'll be okay.

Cocoa: Are you sure?

[Name]: Yeah. How about I help you instead?

Cocoa: Oh really? Of course! Thank you!

--☆☆☆--

Connie

Connie: Yo.

[Name]: ...

Connie: ...

[Name]: Stop stalking me.

Connie: Haha, no.

--☆☆☆--

Cosmo

Cosmo: I made you some baked good, sweetheart!

[Name]: There's no need...

Cosmo: No, no. Please, just take them.

[Name]: I'm not hungry...

Cosmo: If you don't take the treats from me, Sprout's gonna make you take them.

[Name]: I don't want to eat...

Cosmo: ...

Cosmo: You WILL take and eat the food.

[Name]: ...yessir.

--☆☆☆--

Eggson

Eggson: Hello there, dearie.

[Name]: Hiya, peepaw Eggson...

Eggson: How about you and I go look for some eggs after this?

[Name]: Oh... I dunno... Where are we going to find eggs?

Eggson: Hoho, just trust me, dear!

[Name]: There's really no need, though.

Eggson: Even if you want to isolate yourself from anyone, at least let someone like me stay in your life, okay?

[Name]: ...okay...

--☆☆☆--

Finn

Finn: Always a joy to sea you, angelfish!

[Name]: Hi Finn. Fish puns again?

Finn: Always! Hehe!

[Name]: ...Thanks, they manage to put a smile on my face.

Finn: That's the goal! Everyone can have a gill-ty pleasure, hehe!

[Name]: Yeah... haha...

--☆☆☆--

Flutter

Flutter: ..!

[Name]: Hi, Flutter.

Flutter: ..?

[Name]: Oh, really?

Flutter: ...

[Name]: Cool.

Flutter: ..?

[Name]: Sorry-! I'm just... tired...

Flutter: !!!

[Name]: ...Don't worry, I'll be okay.

Flutter: ...

--☆☆☆--

Flyte

[Name]: Hi, Flyte.

Flyte: Oh- uh- hi, [Name]!

[Name]: ...Is something wrong?

Flyte: It's just... Flutter's worrying about you, y'know?

[Name]: ...I'm fine.

Flyte: Are you sure? We all just care and wanna support you-

[Name]: I'm. Fine.

Flyte: ...

[Name]: ...sorry...

Flyte: Don't worry about it, it's okay.

--☆☆☆--

Gigi

Gigi: Mwehe, heyyy girlie.

[Name]: ...Back away, Gigi.

Gigi: Aw, c'mon! It's not like the others will lemme keep you...

[Name]: I'm not letting you try stuffing me in your head again, Gigi.

Gigi: I wasn't gonna do that! I was gonna give ya something.

[Name]: I don't trust you, Gigi. Back off.

Gigi: You're boring sometimes, girlie.

--☆☆☆--

Ginger

Ginger: Snickerdoodle, Cosmo and Sprout are worrying about you...

[Name]: They are?

Ginger: Yeah... apparently, it's been three days since you last ate?

[Name]: Almost four by now.

Ginger: ...Please eat something...

[Name]: ...Fine, but only if it's not made by them.

[Name]: You and I could make something together after this, if you'd like.

Ginger: I'd like that. Thank you, snickerdoodle.

[Name]: ...of course, gingersnap.

--☆☆☆--

Glisten

Glisten: Darling, your makeup's smudged.

[Name]: I told you not to put it on me because I'd mess it up...

Glisten: Darling, darling. You're already almost as perfect as me. Makeup merely helps you look the part a tiny bit more.

[Name]: ...

Glisten: You're perfectly beautiful as is, yes, but still.

[Name]: ...

Glisten: I love you, darling. Do remember that.

[Name]: Yeah, I know... love you too...

Glisten: ...

--☆☆☆--

Goob

Goob: Hiya sib!

[Name]: Goob... you know I'm not your sibling, right?

Goob: Why do you keep acting like you aren't? Oh! Do you need a hug?

[Name]: I dunno if now is a great time for a hug, Goob...

Goob: Every time is a great time for a hug!

[Name]: ...I don't know if I'm in the mood for a hug, Goob...

Goob: C'mon, please?

[Name]: ...fine. But only one.

--☆☆☆--

Looey

Looey: You've been pretty sad lately. Need something to cheer you up?

[Name]: There's no need, Looey...

Looey: Jester, you know I'm always happy to cheer you up...

[Name]: I know...

[Name]: ...maybe after this.

Looey: Of course! How do you feel about juggling?

[Name]: That works great, thank you.

--☆☆☆--

Pebble

Pebble: Arf!

[Name]: Hi Pebs.

Pebble: Arf bark!

[Name]: Yeah, you can sleep in my bed tonight. I'm fine with that.

Pebble: Woof?

[Name]: No, Dandy may not join us.

[Name]: I know Dandy sent you to ask me, but c'mon little buddy...

Pebble: Bark...

[Name]: It's okay, don't worry.

---

Pebble: Woof! Arf!

[Name]: Pebs, I'm honestly feeling a bit lonely with how everyone obsesses over me...

Pebble: Woof...

[Name]: Maybe I should get myself a pet rock... or what would be the equivalent of a pet cat...

Pebble: Grrr... BARK BARK!

[Name]: ...

Pebble: Woof! Grrr...

[Name]: Pebs, you're as obsessed with me as everyone else. At least give me the chance to have a pet that won't be obsessed.

Pebble: (Whine).

[Name]: ...

--☆☆☆--

Poppy

Poppy: You'd look great with a bow!

[Name]: Like a bowtie?

Poppy: Or one on your head! Then we'd be matching!

[Name]: Wouldn't the others get jealous if you and I were matching?

Poppy: Probably!

[Name]: ...fine, but I get to pick the color.

Poppy: Yippee!

--☆☆☆--

Razzle & Dazzle

R&D: Little actor! (Razzle, they're taller than us...)

[Name]: Yeah?

R&D: We're working on a new play! (We've been spending a lot of time on it...)

[Name]: Oh, neat! What kinda play?

R&D: A romance! (It's going to be emotional too...)

[Name]: ...Do you want me to be one of the leads?

R&D: Naturally! (If you want...)

[Name]: ...It depends, I'll consider it.

R&D: Hehe, thanks! (Thank you...)

--☆☆☆--

Rodger

Rodger: Toodles wants to play house after this.

[Name]: Does she want me to play too?

Rodger: Of course. She wants both of her parents to be there.

[Name]: Rodger... I'm more like an aunt or uncle figure to Toodles.

Rodger: Nonsense! She views you as a parent.

[Name]: ...

--☆☆☆--

Rudie

Rudie: Merry Christmas!

[Name]: Rudie... none of us know what time of the year it is.

Rudie: Well I do! And it's Christmas!

[Name]: What if it isn't?

Rudie: Silly gift, it's definitely Christmas! I feel it in my antlers!

[Name]: ...

Rudie: Don't you like Christmas?

[Name]: I like Halloween more.

Rudie: ...oh.

--☆☆☆--

Scraps

[Name]: Scraps.

Scraps: Yeah, sib?

[Name]: I'm not your and Goob's sibling. Why do you two keep thinking that?

Scraps: Because you are our sibling, silly! Why do you keep denying it?

[Name]: ...

Scraps: Look, I know you're a bit upset. But we can fix that!

[Name]: ...

Scraps: Let's go do an art project after this! How does that sound?

[Name]: ...fine.

Scraps: Great!

--☆☆☆--

Shelly

[Name]: Hey, Shelly?

Shelly: Yeah? What's wrong?

[Name]: Can I hide in your room after we're done with this run..?

Shelly: Of course you can! Why my room though?

[Name]: ...

Shelly: Compy..?

[Name]: ...Dandy found my loft...

Shelly: ...Oh. Oh god. Stay in my room as long as you want!

[Name]: Thank you...

---

Shelly: Compy! I found some dinosaur documentaries!

[Name]: Really?

Shelly: Yeah! We haven't watched these ones either!

[Name]: Are they going to be inaccurate to the information we have nowadays?

Shelly: Oh, absolutely!

[Name]: Woo! We can sit down and correct dinosaur documentaries together again!

Shelly: Yay!

--☆☆☆--

Shrimpo

Shrimpo: I HATE THE OTHERS HORDING YOUR ATTENTION!

[Name]: C'mon, Shrimpy Boy, they aren't hording my attention.

Shrimpo: I HATE IT WHEN YOU DENY WHAT I SAY!

[Name]: You hate everything, Shrimpy Boy.

Shrimpo: I HATE WHEN YOU SAY I HATE YOU!! I HATE HATING YOU!!

[Name]: Y'know, the word is love, right?

Shrimpo: I HATE BEING HONEST AND VULNERABLE WITH MY EMOTIONS!!!

--☆☆☆--

Sprout

Sprout: Honey, I'm worried.

[Name]: ...

Sprout: You haven't been eating enough. In fact, I haven't seen you eating at all recently.

[Name]: ...

Sprout: You need to eat more-

[Name]: I'm not eating anything you make me. Not anymore.

Sprout: Honey-

[Name]: Not after what you did...

Sprout: ...

---

Sprout: I made you cupcakes.

[Name]: I don't want them...

Sprout: ...

[Name]: I'll make myself something to eat, okay? Just... leave me alone.

Sprout: Take the cupcakes first, and I'll consider it.

[Name]: No-

Sprout: Honey. Take. The. Cupcakes.

[Name]: ...got it...

--☆☆☆--

Teagan

Teagan: Dear, you seem quite stressed recently. What's wrong?

[Name]: A lot of things, honestly...

Teagan: ...Would you like me to throw a private tea party for you and me?

[Name]: I think I'd love that. Thank you, Teagan.

Teagan: Of course, dear. I'll make sure to get some snacks too.

[Name]: I-

Teagan: Not from Cosmo or Sprout. I know you've been uncomfortable around them lately. I'll ask Ginger.

[Name]: Thank you so much...

--☆☆☆--

Tisha

[Name]: Hey Tisha, do you mind if I borrow a broom?

Tisha: Of course! Is your room in need of cleaning?

[Name]: Yep.

Tisha: If you told me where your room was, you know I'd be happy to clean it, right?

[Name]: Well, you clean everything. You need a break. Plus, my room's my only real spot of privacy. ...usually, at least.

Tisha: Huh?

[Name]: Nothing, nothing! It's just I like some privacy, and that's my room.

Tisha: Well, okay then. If you need anything else, let me know!

[Name]: Thanks, Tisha.

--☆☆☆--

Toodles

[Name]: Hey Toodles, is Rodger still telling you I'm basically a parent to you?

Toodles: Yeah! And you are!

[Name]: Toodles, I'm really not...

Toodles: You help fix my toys whenever they break and take me on adventures! That's a parent thing to do!

[Name]: ...How about our next adventure is something like "[Name] is more like a sibling"?

Toodles: Aw...

[Name]: ...or something else.

Toodles: Yay!

--☆☆☆--

Vee

[Name]: Vee, stop stalking me.

Vee: ...

[Name]: I know you're using the cameras to watch me. Stop it.

Vee: You know I won't no matter how much you ask, right?

[Name]: ...I'd rather try asking you.

Vee: My dear contestant, sometimes your naivety astounds me. And I already know practically everything about you.

[Name]: ...at least you're better than Dandy...

Vee: Say that again, will you?

[Name]: Yeah, no.

---

Vee: Have you been taking care of yourself?

[Name]: I've been taking care of myself enough.

Vee: I know you haven't been eating.

[Name]: ...If you leave me alone, I promise to eat something.

Vee: I'd rather be around to verify if you eat or not.

[Name]: ...I think you know that even if you aren't around you'll be able to know if I eat or not.

Vee: Hm... you're not as stupid as you often appear to be, my dear contestant.

[Name]: ...That's one of your most sweet compliments, Vee.

Vee: I am well aware.

--☆☆☆--

Yatta

Yatta: I HAVE BROUGHT YOU CANDY!!

[Name]: Jeez! Yatta, you gave me a mild heart attack-

Yatta: Well, must have been a HEART ATTACK OF JOY!!

[Name]: No, I think it was one of being startled.

Yatta: Well, candy WILL DEFINITELY cure a heart attack.

[Name]: I don't think so, but thanks anyways. I'd love some candy.

Yatta: HAHAHAHHA! YAY!!

[Name]: You're so lucky I have a sweet tooth, heh.

--☆☆☆--

And, even if there's no canon interactions between Dandy and any Toon in game, I wanna try doing a couple Dandy interactions, hehe.

--☆☆☆--

Dandy

Dandy: Need anything, dewdrop?

[Name]: ...

Dandy: Well?

[Name]: I'm good, Dandy.

Dandy: ...

[Name]: Go away, please.

Dandy: ...Sometimes you infuriate me, dewdrop.

[Name]: ...

Dandy: Well, I probably should go now. See you soon!

---

Dandy: Do you need a bandage, dewdrop? You seem bruised...

[Name]: I'm fine. I can't afford one anyways.

Dandy: You could always pay in other ways.

[Name]: ...

Dandy: Well? You could even pay me back later~

[Name]: I'll pass...

Dandy: ...oh. How... unfortunate.

---

[Name]: Dandy... stay away from my room.

Dandy: ...

[Name]: Please...

Dandy: I'd rather not, dewdrop. It was awfully hard to find it after all.

[Name]: Dandy. I don't want to wake up to you standing there. Or worse...

Dandy: ...

Dandy: I'll consider it if you give me some tapes or... something else.

[Name]: ...okay...

--☆☆☆--

THE LAG I GOT WHEN WORKING ON THIS IS KILLING ME.

Oh well, though. This is fine.

#endri yaps #dandy's world x reader #dandys world x reader #self aware dandy's world #self aware dandys world #yandere dandy's world #dandys world #yandere dandys world #dandy's world #yandere dandys world x reader

349 notes · View notes

satsugacafe · 2 months ago

Text

𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐅 𝐑𝐲𝐮𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬…

➳❥ 𝐀/𝐍: After a promise long ago, here is your wonderful meal for Ryuken. It felt so good to write something just for him alone. Enjoy!!

➳❥ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: fem!reader, 18+content, breeding/impregnation kink, age gap, power play, fingering, cunnilingus, blowjobs, semi-public sex (his office)

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

✧ SFW Headcanons

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...always pretends to be deeply inconvenienced by how much he likes you. “Why must you take up so much of my mental bandwidth?” he mutters, pulling you into his lap anyway, his hand already resting on your thigh like it’s second nature.

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...never really smiled with his eyes until you started texting him the dumbest memes at 2am, and now he’s got a whole folder of them on his phone labelled “stupidity (Y/N)”.

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...buys you a toothbrush for his bathroom and pretends it’s just because “you forget yours too often”—but gets a little twitch in his eye the first time you call it your toothbrush.

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...keeps checking your coat is zipped up when you go outside in winter. “Your generation has no sense of survival. Button it. I’m not treating you for pneumonia.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...listens very intently when you ramble about things you love, even if he doesn’t understand half of it. He’ll just say, “I assume that’s a compliment, based on your tone,” if you throw slang at him.

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...gives you a look so deeply unimpressed when you pout at him, but always caves. “You’re manipulative. Utterly spoiled. Fine. We’ll stop for ice cream.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...never texts with emojis, never uses exclamation marks, and still somehow makes a three-word message feel like a love confession.

“You made it home?” “Eat something, please.” “Bring a jumper.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...scoffs every time you tease him about his reading glasses but still lets you push them up his nose for him like a little ritual.

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...has been on the same page of his book for twenty minutes because you keep kissing his jaw and curling against his side and he won’t say it but he’s never been happier.

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...lets you nap on his chest even if he’s got work to do. Just reaches over you to his laptop, typing one-handed, the other hand stroking your hair rhythmically like he’s winding himself down.

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...keeps a spare scarf in his car, just in case you forget yours, and mutters “children” under his breath when he has to drape it round your neck himself.

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...has a drawer with things just for you in it—pads, your favourite snacks, a fluffy pair of socks you forgot once. “No point in you complaining every time you visit.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...tried to play it cool but very obviously got his hair trimmed a little differently after you offhandedly said you liked it swept back.

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...acts like he’s above public affection, yet his thumb always finds its way to the inside of your wrist, stroking absently while you talk with friends like his body’s on autopilot to touch you.

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...gets a little twitch at the corner of his mouth every time you call him handsome without teasing. “Is this some attempt at flattery? You’re ridiculous.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...will never say “I love you” out loud first, but his hands tremble a little the first time you say it—and he presses a kiss to your forehead like he’s sealing something sacred.

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...pretends to be annoyed by your clinginess but hums quietly whenever you drape yourself over him like a scarf, like he’s trying not to let you know it soothes him.

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...never remembers how to use emojis properly and once sent you a heart followed by a skull and a syringe when he meant “love you, goodnight.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...gets up extra early on your birthday to make you breakfast, plate arranged perfectly, coffee already poured, candles lit. “Don’t say anything sentimental. Just eat.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...once accidentally called you “sweetheart” when half-asleep and immediately tried to brush it off like it didn’t mean anything—but you caught the pink in his ears.

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...sometimes stares at you when he thinks you’re not looking. Not with lust, not with curiosity—just with the quiet, stunned softness of a man who didn’t know he could feel like this again.

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...once stitched up your finger in the kitchen after you cut it, and you noticed his hands shaking. “I see enough blood. I don’t need to see yours.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...tells you off for eating too little, staying up too late, not drinking water—and then forgets his own lunch at the hospital three days in a row until you start packing it for him.

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...never takes his ring off—the subtle one you gave him, that doesn’t look like much, but he wears it on a chain when he’s in the OR and glances at it when he’s thinking.

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...doesn’t need to raise his voice to assert dominance—he just stands behind you while you’re talking to another man, adjusting his cufflinks, eyes cool and unreadable. You feel his presence like gravity.

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...doesn’t say much about the age gap, but when someone makes a comment about you being “a bit young for him,” he just leans over and says with calm menace, “She’s exactly the right age to handle me. Unlike you.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...calls you “my girl” in that offhand, low voice that makes your stomach flip, especially when he says it in front of others—especially when his hand is on your thigh under the table.

✧ NSFW Headcanons

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...had absolutely no business looking that good in a hospital coat, walking through corridors like a man who knows every pair of eyes are on him, but only ever stops for yours, muttering, “You’re loitering again. You want me to do something about that?”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...sits on the edge of his pristine leather armchair, glasses low on his nose, fingers tapping against his knee while you’re on yours between them, licking along his cock like it’s something sacred. “Slow down. You’re being greedy again.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...never rushes anything. Not his words. Not his work. Not the way he fingers you on his pristine office couch, thumb against your clit, eyes calmly watching your mouth drop open like he’s examining a symptom.

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...always smells like expensive cologne, antiseptic, and old paper. You don’t know how the fuck that’s attractive until your face is buried against his starched shirt while he fingers you under his desk, whispering, “Quiet. Or I’ll let you drip on the floor and make you clean it up with your tongue.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...absolutely refuses to call you anything ridiculous like “bunny” or “kitten”, but does call you “good girl” in that sharp, cool tone that makes your thighs twitch. “On the bed. Legs open. Good girl. Stay like that.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...doesn’t do jealousy, not loudly anyway. But when he sees you talking to Urahara for a little too long, he later fucks you against his library shelves with your wrists pinned behind you, whispering, “If you want attention, you come to me. Not that circus act.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...always removes your panties like he’s unwrapping something expensive he’s been waiting weeks for. Even if he’s already ripped them off you three times that week. Even if you’re already whining. “Be patient. You’ll cum when I let you.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...calls you ridiculous for getting shy about asking for things in bed, then slowly and clearly says it for you. “You want my cock in your cunt. Say it properly.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...doesn’t raise his voice when he’s angry—he gets colder, quieter, deadly calm. Which somehow makes you wetter when he says things like, “If you keep bratting for attention, I’ll ruin you. And you’ll thank me after.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...lets you crawl into his lap like you’re twenty years younger and ten inches shorter, and just sighs like you’re a complicated medical case. “Is this how grown women behave now?”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...absolutely, unapologetically, worships you. “Spread your legs. No, keep your hands there—I want to see you fall apart when I fuck you.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...pretends to be annoyed when you tease him in public, but under the dinner table, his hand casually finds its way between your thighs, fingers pressing in warning. “You have about five seconds to stop grinding that chair before I drag you to the loo.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...does not do mess. And yet, he still gets on his knees, perfectly composed, licking into your cunt until your thighs are shaking and the pristine sleeves of his dress shirt are just wet with your slick. “You taste far better than you deserve to.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...gets visibly hard whenever you wear his dress shirts around the house with nothing underneath. He just lifts your legs onto the kitchen counter and eats you out like breakfast while the kettle whistles behind him.

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...teases you for being clingy, but if you so much as shift off his lap too early after sex, he wraps his arm around your waist and says, “You stay right here. I didn’t say I was done with you.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...has you sitting on his lap while he’s on a conference call, holding your hips down while his cock is buried in your cunt. “Be quiet. If they notice, I’ll make you finish on speaker.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...says things like, “If you’re going to be this mouthy, I’ll need to give you something better to put in it,” with a dry tone and one brow raised, already unzipping his trousers.

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...knows he shouldn’t be falling for someone your age, and yet still buys you that necklace you pointed at in the window, and says, “You’re trouble. Expensive trouble.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...gets flustered exactly once—when Uryu caught you walking out of his house with his shirt on. “Don’t say anything. I’ll talk to him. Eventually.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...has exact control over his fingers. Two in your cunt and one on your clit, all while holding eye contact. “Keep your eyes on me, darling. I want to see exactly how much you can take.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...laughs—actually laughs—when you try to dom him one night. “That’s adorable. Lie down before I show you how grown men handle brats.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...makes sure you’re always fed, hydrated, and not overworking yourself. Even if you’re a wreck under him, panting and dripping cum down your thighs, he still says, “You’re drinking water before round three. I’m not having you faint on me.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...fingers your pussy like it’s his favourite thing in the world, hands spreading your lips like he’s reading a book, deep groan vibrating through his mouth. “This greedy little thing missed me, didn’t it?”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...keeps a little photo of you—not even a nude, just you biting your lip in his bed—tucked into his wallet like a teenager. When you catch him looking at it, he just says, “Don’t get ideas. I needed something to keep me focused.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...always makes you cum on his fingers before he fucks you. Every time. No exceptions. “I won’t waste my cock on a cunt that hasn’t earned it.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...refuses to let you call him “daddy” in bed, but secretly loves it when you slip and say it when you’re cockdrunk. He just gives you a look and says, “Say that again and I’ll ruin you for men your age.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...gives you an allowance like he’s your sugar daddy—but insists it’s “compensation for enduring my schedule.” Then raises an eyebrow when you show up in lingerie he definitely paid for.

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...makes so much eye contact while he’s fucking you that it makes your knees weak. “Eyes up. Don’t look away. I want to watch you come apart.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...says things like, “That’s it, good girl, take it all. Look at that, it’s stretching you already,” as his cock sinks into your cunt slow and steady like he’s measuring how deep he can go.

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...uses your cunt like it’s therapy after long shifts. Doesn’t even talk. Just strips you, bends you over the back of the couch and fucks into you like you’re the only thing keeping him sane.

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...once fucked you so hard the bedframe cracked, and simply muttered, “I’ll buy another. Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...lets you mark up his chest with bites and scratches but scolds you if you try to leave anything visible on his neck. “Professional image matters. You’ll have to make do with the rest of me.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...keeps you cockwarming while he reads case files, absently stroking your back like a housecat. “You’re being surprisingly well-behaved today. Should I reward you?”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...comes so fucking hard the first time you ask him to do it raw, he groans through his teeth, body trembling with restraint, and doesn’t stop moving until you’re twitching under him. “You want me to fill you up? Then you don’t get to run away after. Lie still.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...never meant to lose control with you that night—but the second you moaned “cum inside me” against his throat, he snapped your legs over his shoulders and fucked you so deep you were crying, low voice rasping, “You want to carry something that belongs to me? Then take it.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...gets fucking possessive when he’s breeding you. Whole body caging you in. No gentle kisses. No teasing. Just raw, determined fucking until your cunt’s swollen and stuffed and his seed’s spilling out of you. “I don’t want to see you with anyone else. If you’re going to be full, it’ll be because of me.”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...presses you against his office window one night, skirt bunched around your waist, whispering against your ear, “What would they say if they knew I was filling you up like this? That I was breeding you like a woman half my age?”

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who...tells you, voice tight and low, “I never got the chance to do this the first time. Don’t take it lightly if I want it with you.” And he doesn’t—he makes love to you like it’s sacred, like breeding you is giving him something back he lost.

˚₊‧꒰ა DILF!Ryuken who…curls himself around you after, one hand spread over your belly like he’s willing your body to keep every drop. “Stay still. You’ll waste it. And don’t pretend you don’t like the thought.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @stygianoir @spellboundsuguru @cookielovesbook-akie @kennys-partner @sovl-society @villainsrtasty @foxycrafterofgreenwood @carnationdoe @darthwhorecrux

#˚₊‧꒰ა satsugacafé ໒꒱ ‧₊˚#˚₊‧꒰ა satsugasweets ໒꒱ ‧₊˚#ishida ryuken x reader #ishida ryuken headcanons #ishida ryuken smut #ryuken x reader #ishida ryuken scenario #ryuken smut #ryuken x you #ryuken x y/n #bleach x reader #bleach smut #bleach x you #bleach x y/n #bleach headcanons #bleach imagines

227 notes · View notes

asterafroditis · 3 months ago

Note

hai !! :3 I saw the sua/robin reader and I loved it so much! and it made me wonder if u could make (platonic) housewardens x sua!reader? (preferably fem!reader but idm gn!) the fact that reader misses mizi and wonders what happend to her and ultimately has trauma from alien stage :3

I love all of ur fanfics a lot!! don’t forget to drink nor eat ^-^

𐔌 . ⋮ lingering songs .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Platonic Housewardens x Sua fem! reader

𓏵 1245 words

ᝰ.ᐟ headcanons, no pronouns used but there are fem! reader descriptors, light angst

Aqqq took me a while to finally get this out of my drafts bc smth abt it just bugged me but I do hope you enjoy my train wreck writing TT feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

At first glance, Riddle sees you as a poised and refined young lady—an image of grace under pressure. He respects that. But as time passes, he realizes it’s not natural elegance; it’s control. The way you hold yourself, the way you speak—it’s deliberate, as if you’re performing for someone who isn’t there.

You remind him of a caged bird. Beautiful, but trapped in something invisible. It unsettles him.

When you mention Mizi’s name—softly, wistfully—he recognizes the way your voice catches on it. He’s studied grief in textbooks, read about different ways people mourn. But he’s never heard someone carry loss the way you do, as if it’s stitched into your very being.

You don’t cry often, but the weight of your sorrow lingers in everything you do. When you stand by the window, eyes searching the sky, he knows you’re looking for something beyond it. He wonders if you even realize it yourself.

You’re prone to sleepless nights, and he notices. He starts leaving herbal tea by your door, citing Heartslabyul’s rules on proper health. It’s a quiet way of saying I see you. I won’t push, but I care.

If you ever have a panic attack, he’s caught between his instinct to enforce structure and his awareness that grief doesn’t obey rules. He opts for quiet presence, sitting nearby, offering something tangible—warm tea, gentle words, a familiar voice grounding you back to reality.

─────────────────────────

Leona immediately senses something different about you. Unlike others who fear his presence, you meet his gaze with quiet detachment. No apprehension, no admiration. Just... acceptance. It annoys him at first. Then it intrigues him.

He’s not stupid. He’s seen loss before, but the way you carry yours—it’s not just sadness. It’s survival. Like someone who had no choice but to keep going.

“Tch. What’s with that look?” he mutters one evening when he catches you gazing at the stars, eyes unfocused. When you answer with a soft, “I’m looking for someone who isn’t looking back,” he doesn’t respond. But he doesn’t leave, either.

Sometimes he hears you humming when you think you’re alone. The melody is gentle, sorrowful—like a song meant for ghosts. He never asks about it, but it lingers in his mind long after.

He’s not the type to console with words, so instead, he gives you space to exist. If you need silence, he won’t talk. If you need company, he won’t push. And if you need rest, he’ll grumble about it before shoving a pillow at you and muttering, “Take a nap, herbivore.”

─────────────────────────

Azul is drawn to your presence. You exude a kind of mystique, a quiet allure that reminds him of deep, uncharted waters. But when he looks closer, he sees something else—fatigue. A weariness that no amount of rest could fix.

He’s fascinated by your voice. It’s hauntingly beautiful, a siren’s call that lingers even after the music fades. He briefly considers asking if you’d like to perform at Mostro Lounge, but the way your expression shifts—like the mere thought exhausts you—makes him reconsider.

One night, he catches you singing alone. There’s no audience, no stage—just you and your memories. He doesn’t interrupt. For once, Azul allows himself to simply listen.

He recognizes the way your fingers sometimes twitch when holding a microphone, the way you hesitate before stepping into a room full of people. It reminds him of his own fears, his own battles with past humiliation.

When he finally hears you say Mizi’s name or mention your longing, he doesn’t pry. But he does something rare—he offers you silence, a place where you don’t have to perform.

─────────────────────────

Kalim is immediately drawn to you. You’re elegant, composed—but there’s something about you that feels distant. Like you’re here, but not really here.

He loves music, and your voice is unlike anything he’s ever heard. But when he excitedly asks you to sing at a Scarabia event, your smile falters for just a second before you politely decline. The moment stays with him.

He doesn’t push, but he watches. He notices how you linger by the windows during late nights, how your gaze drifts skyward, searching for something only you can see.

When you finally whisper, “I miss someone,” he doesn’t respond with the usual cheerful reassurances. Instead, he simply sits beside you, letting you talk if you want to.

Kalim doesn’t always understand grief, but he understands loneliness. So he makes sure you never feel alone, whether through spontaneous invitations or simply keeping you company in comfortable silence.

─────────────────────────

Vil sees you as a performer, but not in the way others do. He recognizes the way you carry yourself—not as someone who wants attention, but as someone who was forced into it.

You don’t take up space like he does. Instead, you exist in a way that demands attention without seeking it. That, in itself, is an art form.

He doesn’t offer empty comforts when he realizes how deeply you grieve. Instead, he tells you something cryptic: “The world is cruel to those who shine too brightly. But you’re still here. Make sure you stay that way.”

He’s a firm believer in self-care, but when he catches you neglecting yourself—skipping meals, overworking—his tone sharpens. “A broken star is of no use to anyone. You won’t find what you’re looking for by destroying yourself.”

He never asks about Mizi directly, but one evening, as he watches you stare at the sky, he murmurs, “Whoever she was, I hope she knew how much she mattered to you.”

─────────────────────────

Idia doesn’t do well with emotions—especially not ones as heavy as yours. But he sees the signs. The way your fingers sometimes shake when you hold a microphone. The way your gaze flickers elsewhere when he speaks, like you’re remembering someone else.

He recognizes that grief isn’t just sadness—it’s obsession. He understands shutting yourself away from the world because reality is too painful.

He won’t ask about Mizi, but if you ever mention her, he listens. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to comfort you. He just listens.

One day, he programs a small game. In it, there’s a tiny, pixelated version of you and another girl—a girl who looks like Mizi. He never mentions it, but when you find it on your screen, you understand.

This is his way of remembering, too.

─────────────────────────

Malleus is drawn to you immediately. Not because of your voice, but because of your presence—like an echo of something long forgotten.

He understands longing. The way you search the sky for something beyond reach—it’s the same way he waits for letters that never come.

When he first hears Mizi’s name, he doesn’t ask. But later, he quietly wonders, “Do you think she would be proud of you?” The question lingers.

If you ever tell him about Alien Stage, he listens with deep fascination. A world where people had to sing to survive, where every note was a battle. He wonders if, in another life, you and Mizi might have been free.

220 notes · View notes