#it happens when i write and when i'm sitting and when i'm sleeping and when i'm singing and when i'm walking to nowhere

[puck-luck]

I love your writing and seeing your celly was just an opening im ngl, HOORAY AND CONGRATULATIONS TO A YEAR 🎈 🎉

For your celly:

Can I please get a chai latte with caramel syrup, cinnamon and cold foam with quinn or luke (I can’t choose between them so i’m leaving that to you and whoever you think fits this better/whichever you want to write this with😊)

(The smut is against apartment/hotel window, breeding kink and praising, thinking about getting back from their anniversary dinner and both taking the aphrodisiac chocolates one of them just happen to get the other as a gag gift thinking it ‘doesn’t actually work, it’s bullshit’ and challenging each other to who can last the longest but it just makes them both feral for each other )

I’m not sure if this was too much or doesn’t make sense, so please feel free to tweak it however you need but this has been a reoccurring thought for a very long time :)

i feel like this emoji after writing this: 😈😈😈 ps this is for meg for completing uni @star2fishmeg i'm proud of u buddy

Holding your piece of chocolate in one hand and your phone in the other, you cheers with Luke and pan the camera up to his face to capture that crooked smile of his. Jack thought it would be funny to order some aphrodisiac chocolates for your and Luke’s anniversary, but he didn’t expect you to actually take them. He probably didn’t expect a video update when you decided to take them, either.

Luke grins at you while he chews his chocolate, shorting you when he lands a brief kiss. You pout when he doesn’t give you a real kiss, but Luke shakes his head at you fondly. “We’re not supposed to touch after taking them, remember?” he asks. “That’s like the whole thing. We’re trying to figure out who breaks first.”

He pulls you to the couch and you sit on opposite ends, letting the minutes tick by. You turn on the show Luke’s been watching, focusing on that rather than the– possibly placebo– effect of the aphrodisiacs rushing through your blood. It isn’t long before you’re absentmindedly running your fingertips over your bare thighs, sleep shorts riding up. Luke must get hot at some point, because he sheds his shirt. When his arms stretch over the back of the couch, his wingspan reaches far enough that he can almost touch you. 

You sigh wantonly without meaning to, catching Luke’s attention. He finds you playing with the collar of your t-shirt, tugging on it like it’s bothering you. Then, your dainty fingertips push down on the soft spot between your collarbones and neck. He watches you splay your fingers out after, thumb tracing the left side your collarbone and other four fingers resting on the right side. It almost looks like you’re choking yourself, but you’re absently watching the movie with a comforting, light weight on your throat instead.

Luke’s eyes, however, go wide. “Baby, stop,” he whines, leaning over and batting your hand away from your neck. “Distracting me.”

You laugh lightly and chase Luke’s hand with pinching fingers. “I’m distracting you?” you tease. “Didn’t know you were watching me.”

“You’re playing with your thighs and then putting your hand on your neck,” Luke complains. “You’re not being fair.”

“Sorry, baby,” you giggle. You get an idea, standing from the couch and shaking your limbs out, loosening up. You cross to the apartment window, overlooking the street below, and pretend to look out. You place your hands on the glass and shuffle back, ass cheeks visible beneath the hem of your short shorts. You lean slightly forward, looking at Luke over your shoulder. “I’ll be so still from now on.”

You spread your legs just past shoulder width and face the glass, breathing in time. You can see Luke’s reflection in the window and it’s wonderful, watching him try not to glance at you and growing awestruck when he does. You know he can see your panties beneath the scant gusset of your sleep shorts. You’re certain he keeps making eye contact with the wet spot seeping into the light blue fabric of your cotton panties beneath the shorts.

As he’s pretending not to stare at you, you shake your behind just enough to make it move.

Luke is on you in a flash, pulling your hips back until you’re bent at a near 90º, cunt flush with his hard length. He grinds against you, rutting as statements start to spill from his lips, each more unhinged than the last. 

“Fuck, baby, you want me so bad, presenting against the window like this. So beautiful, so perfect, all fucking mine. I love watching you squirm, love watching you take me.” 

Between sentences, he sheds his clothes. He pries yours away. He kisses your slit, the globes of your ass, the small of your back. 

“Can’t get enough of you. I want to cover you in my cum, mark you for everyone to see. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? That’s why you chose the window, right, baby? My baby wants to show the world how good she looks when I fuck her?”

His big hands grope your behind, cock sliding through your folds before catching on your entrance and probing inside. His thrusts start as aborted, half-chases, barely knocking into you or filling you at all.

“Tight and wet, feels so good. Gonna fill you up, my slutty girl. Want you begging for my cum, begging me to breed this needy pussy.”

His thrusts grow deeper, tip nudging the spot that has you whimpering and gasping. The glass in front of your face fogs from your breath and Luke continues punching it out of you.

He’s ramming into you now, hands planted on the glass well above yours. It’s fucking stupid, but your position reminds you of the letter K, and you’d tell Luke if he wasn’t still rambling, voice weary and far away, like he’s losing himself to the animalistic pleasure your cunt provides. He’s losing his sense, but he sounds better than he ever has.

“Made to be bred, made to carry my fucking babies, this pussy. Fuck me, baby, everything. Gonna give you what you want, gonna fill your belly with a baby and gonna do it right here, where everyone can see.”

[ssentimentals]

Hi love! I hope you're having a wonderful day!

I'm here to request from your prompt list if that's okay?

#3 with wonwoo fluff thank you !!! 💜💜

I love your writing style sooooo much I just wanted to let you know thank youuu

hi baby, i hope you're having a wonderful day too! of course it's okay to request, thank you for doing so and thank you for your kind words, they mean the world!💜

prompt: 'you never came to bed last night.'

when wonwoo finds you curled in an uncomfortable position on the sofa, he pauses and pinches himself lightly to make sure he's not hallucinating. he rubs his eyes for a good measure, but no, it's definitely you on that sofa, fast asleep in your last night's clothes. his heart instantly skyrockets up to his throat from nerves - why are you here? why did you decide to sleep on the sofa instead of coming to the bed to him? wonwoo can swear that you two were fine when you left to work yesterday morning - what happened in between? you told him to not wait for you because you had this work event and wonwoo didn't even notice how he fell asleep, too tired from this hell of a week. nervously, he walks quietly to the kitchen for a glass of water and when he comes back, you're already rubbing your eyes sleepily, looking so adorable that it tugs on his heartstrings.

'morning, love.' he carefully holds you the glass of water.

you blink twice at him before slowly sitting up anf reaching for the water with a small smile. you don't look mad, he supposes. but you must be or else why would you decide to sleep on the sofa?

'morning, woo.' you mumble, yawning. you lie back on the sofa, pulling your legs closer to your chest and giving him space to sit. 'what time is it?'

'around nine,' wonwoo answers, sitting hesitantly.

you sound just like you usually do in the mornings, nothing indicates that something is wrong. unsurely, he gently touches your ankle and breathes out sigh of relief when you stretch your legs out, moving them on top of his with a comfortable familiarity. you wouldn't have been like that if something bad happened, surely. then why-

'is... everything okay?' he asks quietly.

you hum questioningly and when wonwoo doesn't offer anything else, you open your eyes, turning your head to look at him. 'yes? why, did something happen?'

'you never came to bed last night,' wonwoo says, tracing circles on your knees. he doesn't meet your gaze, not now. 'i figured something happened if you decided not to sleep on our bed with me.'

at first you look confused but then you mutter 'oh' and pull your legs away from him. wonwoo freezes at the lack of physical contact, his mind instantly dives to the worst thing - that he fucked up, badly. he only feels like he can breathe again, when you move closer to his side, leaning on his shoulder with a yawn. 'i'm not fully awake yet,' you mumble, slurring your words a little right into his shoulder. 'but no, woo, nothing bad happened. i just came so late, i didn't want to disturb you.'

wonwoo frowns. he carefully wraps his arm around your waist. 'you never do,' he says, thinking whether he once acted like you bothered him, ever. 'i'm sorry for not waiting for you, i took those pills you told me about last time and they just knocked me out, i guess.'

'they and your general tiredness,' you say, looking up. your chin digs painfully into his shoulder, but he pays it no mind, finally meeting your gaze. you don't look mad, you look worried. 'it was a bad week babe, wasn't it? you didn't really sleep.'

yeah, it was shitty. too bad that you caught on it though. 'i'm fine,' wonwoo says, tightening his grip on your waist. 'and it'd be better if you woke up sliding next to me on the bed instead of me finding you sleeping on the sofa.'

wonwoo doesn't say that he doesn't like sleeping not next to you. he doesn't say how he is so used to having you in his arms every night, that at nights when he doesn't, his limbs ache with longing. instead he whispers: 'i will wait for you next time. and pick you up from events too. sorry, love.'

'nothing to be sorry for,' you assure him and it's sincere, he can tell by the look in your eyes. you carefully stand up and pull him with you, smiling. 'let's go to our bed and sleep some more, yeah? make up for not sleeping together yesterday?'

wonwoo's body sags in relief. god, yes. 'yeah,' he leans in and kisses your forehead. 'yeah, love, let's go.'

a/n: oooh, whenever i write fluff, i feel like i come back to my usual self <3 hope you liked it! - nini

my other seventeen works are here

request your own here

[comehereoohlala]

vocal rest

summary: in sickness and in health.

rating: mature (16+)

tags: established relationship, fem!reader, anxiety, sickness (flu/cold), references to chronic illness/pain

words: 1,550

note: sickfic requested by @cervidaewasteland <3 but i feel like i kinda trailed off. there's quite a bit of other stuff in here. writing is my diary i can't help it once i start i can't stop, sorry. i also don't beta any of my work cause i'm too embarrassed about my writing so if it reads terribly just pretend you don't see. or read actually lol.

fic under the cut ❊

"I'm so sorry I gave you this," he says, placing his head over your forehead.

"Apologise one more time and I'll cough in your face and give it back to you," you grumble sarcastically.

He laughs, "there's my girl."

You spent all last week caring for him through a terrible flu, which has now kindly made it's way to you. But it had somehow knocked you out more than it had for him. You were in a bad mood, Andrew had let you sleep in and contacted your work for you to tell them that you wouldn't be able to work for the rest of the week, despite the fact you had insisted that you were fine.

"Please just try and relax a little," he says, combing his hands through your sweaty hair.

"I can't relax," you croak out, "how can I relax when I'm letting everyone down and, and-" you cut yourself with another coughing fit. So intense that you have to sit up and you can feel your chest aching. The world is spinning, your hand grips his arm.

"You really think you could have worked today?" He rubs his hand down your back slowly, gently, so caring and loving.

"You know what it's like. Look at those shows you had to cancel. How bad you felt," you struggle out, your breathing ragged.

He nods, "I know, I get it. Just breathe baby. Everything will be okay, I promise no one is mad at you."

"What if they are?" You struggle out, trying not to cough again and he gets you to lay down, head resting in his lap.

"I promise they aren't. You're only meant to be helping with stuff here and there and working a few hours every now and then. And if they are mad at you, I'll deal with them."

"Cause you're so scary," you say quietly as your arm slinks around his leg, holding onto him tightly.

"Are you saying I'm not scary?"

"Shh," you manage, closing your eyes, "I'm resting. Like you wanted."

He shakes his head.

You are the most stubborn person he's ever met, on par only with himself, which he personally thinks makes you his perfect match. You were the only person last week that could convince him to make the call to cancel the shows, the only person that knows how to challenge all those thoughts, because you know what it's like to live with them too. All that pressure all the time, all that expectation that only is ever really coming from inside you, all that bubbling away beneath the surface for no one to notice until the heat is too much and it spills out. Neither of you can seem to calm it down for yourselves, only for each other.

You two couldn't be more different, but you also couldn't be more similar. It's oddly perfect he thinks, as he runs his hands through your hair as you drift into sleep on his lap. You are his antithesis and his mirror all at once.

Before he knows it in his changing room, that is missing your warm calming presence he's grown so used to before shows. You should be sprawled out on this couch, fixing his hair and adding unnecessary comments just to see how much you can turn him on.

He's prepping to go on stage but all he can think about is the feeling of your warm fevered body. All he wanted was to turn and run back to the bus where he knew you were waiting for him. He hated leaving you sick, he always hates leaving you when you're not well. Which happens more times than he likes -- every few weeks.

"It's just the way it is", you told him when you first met him. And now he's started saying it too to people who ask, because it's just too hard to explain.

Last time he had to leave you in a hotel room, at least the bus is always closer to where he is. It was so bad, so bad, last time. He came back to find you lying on the bathroom floor, tear streaked and in agony. He thinks about that night a lot. About how he sped to the hotel to check on you as soon as the show ended, how he scooped you up and how he had held you in his arms on the cold tiled floor till the sunlight crept through the windows. You barely remember that night, but he remembers it so well. That and so many other nights like it.

He knows you're not weak, you couldn't be further from it. You're the strongest person he's ever met. But he worries. And just because he knows you'll be okay doesn't make the tightness in his chest any better.

But he has to push it down, get on stage and put on a good show.

His voice is still coming back to him, it breaks on a couple notes, he curses himself. Not good enough Andrew.

He walks off the stage frustrated at himself, embarrassed and overstimulated; wanting nothing more but to feel your body weight resting on his.

He makes his way back to the bus as soon as he can, and crawls onto the bed where you lay propped against pillows, book in hand.

"Hey my rock star," your voice nearly completely gone now, and your hand runs through his messy post-show curls.

"How are you feeling," he says, sitting up and pressing a hand to your forehead.

You shrug, "the same. Tired."

He nods, "can I get you anything? Tea? Are you hungry? Water? I'll get you some more water."

He moves to get off the bed but you grab his arm.

"Andrew, I don't need anything. Just stay here with me."

He takes a quick shower, changes into tracksuit pants and a t-shirt and now you're laying in his arms, playing with his hands mindlessly.

"Hurts to talk," you say when he asks you a question about the book you've started reading.

"Yeah, I think I'm meant to be on vocal rest too. I thought it was better. But I fucked it tonight…"

He trails off, you turn to face him and see his eyes staring off into the distance. He's so hard on himself, and it breaks your heart every time.

"I'm sure you were great. You always are," you offer with a squeeze of his hand.

He doesn't say anything and continues to stare at the blank wall. You sit up and reach for your open notebook sprawled on the bed and scribble onto the page, handing it over to him.

We can vocal rest together if you want?

He smiles when he reads it. "Really? You want to vocal rest? It's not fun."

You dramatically motion at your aching throat, before taking the book back from him.

Please, did you not hear me before? I'm a sentence away from losing my voice for the next week. You scribble before passing it back to him.

"Okay," he smiles and nods, "you're going to get so sick of this so quickly. I always do."

You shush him, and he just shakes his head, standing up and digging through his draw for his notebook and pen. He sits across from you, legs crossed and starts to write.

You even look beautiful when you're coughing and sniffling all of over me. He holds it up, his big brown eyes staring right into you and you just shake your head, but your heart flutters a little. It's nice to have the reassurance that he's not completely turned off by you're disgusting state.

You're cute. How was your show? :) You hold up your page to him.

Aside from my mediocre vocals? Amazing crowd. SO LOUD!!!!

I heard them from here! Wish I could have been there. And from what I heard I thought you sounded beautiful as always. Don't be so hard on yourself. You're still getting better.

I love you. He writes back. Complete with a slightly lopsided love heart. He reaches for your hand and presses a kiss to your palm.

You talk in notes all night. You play card games on the floor, and you continue to beat him every time despite your illness. He wraps you in blankets and holds your water for you while you drink.

Goodnight Andy. You quickly write and hold up to him before he flicks the lights off, and you wrap yourself into his arms. His fingers brush over your back and twirl the ends of your hair, he presses a kiss onto your forehead.

As you fall asleep, he decides this is where he would like to spend all of his days, with you in his arms. In silence and laughter. In sickness and in health. In a tour bus and at home. As long as every night ends with you pressed against him. As long as you're by his side.

Even if your currently coughing into his chest (completely unbeknownst to you in your state of half consciousness). He wants it. The countless nights he has spent, and will spend, holding you on the bathroom floor. Your sometimes painfully infuriating stubbornness. He wants everything; everything you spent years thinking no one would ever want.

[hyperspecial]

vent regressor chance headcanons

hai so . im a little embarrassed to say that i accidentally deleted the post. I'M SO SORRY 😭 IF YOU SAW THIS YESTERDAY THIS IS A REPOST!!

☆ For reference, I think Chance would first start involuntarily regressing after the whole.. ITrapped incident, and after he's already been forsakened.

☆ Instead of the 3-7 age range I set in my earlier headcanons, in his current mental state, I think he would regress a lot younger, like 1-3 years old. (Eventually, he begins to regress older when he's healthier.)

☆ He definitely doesn't regress for a long time at this stage, usually pulling himself out of regression due to paranoia/stress and the fear of being in such a vulnerable state. Age regression to them is definitely more scary than comforting.

☆ Of course, due to this, he doesn't want anybody near him while regressing. The thought of getting close to anyone again, especially in whilst regressing, is very distressing to them. It has to take a lot to break down the walls he began to build around themself.

☆ They seems like the type to suck on his fingers or tie when they're distressed whilst regressing, it leads to him aggravating his fingers, which overall makes them more upset.

☆ If they're not crying, then he's probably sleeping. Also, he definitely hugs himself while he's sleeping, no doubting that, I will not take any criticism. (WRITING THIS MAKES ME FEEL SO BAD FOR THEM)

☆ Eventually, though, a few particular survivors begin to catch onto these habits of his..

GUEST 1337

☆ I think he's the first to pick up on Chance (unhealthily) regressing, something about dad instincts.

☆ Definitely worries about Chance a lot, even if he doesn't show it as outwardly as the others. Being in the military, he's better on giving advice for surviving then for regressing, but he wants to help them as much as he can.

☆ When Chance is regressed, he doesn't push anything. He kind of just sits there and lets Chance do whatever he wants, unless they're hurting themselves. Guest doesn't want to overstep any boundaries, especially when Chance has put this much trust into him!

ELLIOT

☆ Elliot slowly but surely starts to pick on details about Chance, eventually figuring it out. He doesn't want to pry on anything that happened pre-forsakening though.

☆ Similar to Guest, Elliot well.. isn't the best with words. He is worried, for sure, but doesn't know how to properly communicate those feelings into words. So, it's usually shown through actions instead.

☆ The difference between Elliot and Guest is major when Chance is regressed though, Elliot is lowkey always fussing over Chance, even when they aren't upset at all. It actually makes Chance happy to know that Elliot cares enough about him to be so concerned, and it also amuses them, so that's a win.

REQUEST STATUS: OPEN

TAG: @littleroseprince

NOTE: My inbox is cleared now. I'm sorry for taking longer on this one, I went to a water park yesterday and it was sooo fun.

[airybcby]

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ﾟ. Where the Music Ends

( reo mikage x fem! reader )

♫ a/n — Part 4 to my series Stay for Soundcheck ! ( masterlist )

♫ word count — 1.2k

♫ content — reo mikage x fem! reader, childhood best friends to almost lovers, you're dead...like seriously, reo's in denial, bass guitar talk (idk anything abt bass), you haunt the narrative, mention of a car crash, not proofread, angst...

♫ synopsis — You were Reo Mikage's first duet. The first one who understood him — who taught him how to listen. But four years after losing you, Reo still sees you everywhere. And as Blue Lock's debut tour begins, he's still waiting for a voice that stopped singing long ago.

↻ ◁ | if all of you is all i'm left. i promise that i won't forget | ▷ ↺

Reo knows you’re dead.

He knows it the same way he knows the sky is blue — even when it's covered in clouds.

He knows it in the way the world is quieter now.

How no one grabs his wrist when he paces too fast.

How no one sits on his kitchen counter and hums along when he tunes his bass.

He knows. He just… doesn’t let himself believe it.

Because if you’re gone, really gone, then who’s the girl sitting across from him every time he plays?

You met Reo when you were ten.

His parents had just bought him a bass guitar. 

You had one too — older, scuffed, something your cousin handed down that your mom tried to shine up with lemon oil and prayers. 

You’d seen Reo from across the school courtyard before — perfectly brushed hair, clean uniform, leather shoes.

But he looked miserable.

You found him behind the gym with his new bass and a furrow between his brows. 

You tilted your head at him.

“You’re holding it like it’s about to bite you.”

He blinked. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

You plopped down in front of him without asking.

“Give it here.”

He hesitated.

“Don’t worry. She’ll like me.”

“She?”

You winked. “Instruments are girls. You gotta treat ‘em gentle.”

You strummed a rough, uneven G chord. It buzzed from the fretboard, but you grinned like it was magic.

And Reo — who never smiled when he played alone — smiled back.

You played together every chance you got.

On school stages.

In your bedroom.

In his family’s guest room, where you’d drag in amps and sandwich wrappers and yell at Reo for always showing up late even though it was in his own house.

He got better. You both did.

By fifteen, you were writing songs on napkins and playing open mic nights where the stage lights flickered and the mics cut out half the time. 

But it didn’t matter.

You had your bass.

He had his fingers memorizing your chords.

And when you played, it felt like the world was built just for the two of you.

You kissed him when you were seventeen.

Outside a bar, after a shaky, imperfect set where you broke a string mid-song and he covered for you without missing a beat. You laughed in the alley, leaned against the brick wall, dizzy from how loud your heartbeat was.

He stood in front of you, a little dazed.

You said, “I love you.”

He said, “I know.”

You kissed him anyway.

He doesn’t touch the photobook for years.

Because deep down — underneath everything — Reo knows you’re gone.

He knows it in how your mom never calls anymore. In how your amp was sold off. In how there was a funeral, and everyone else cried like they’d lost someone real.

But he can’t make himself believe it.

Because he still sees you.

At rehearsals. In mirrors. On couches with your legs tucked under you.

You don’t speak. Not always.

But sometimes you hum.

And Reo lets it happen. 

Because pretending is easier than standing in the truth.

He’s tuning his bass. It’s late. The light in his apartment is yellow and soft.

The others have gone out drinking. Reo begged off — said he needed sleep. But really, he just wanted the quiet.

And then—

He hears your voice.

“You’re tuning too tight.”

He turns.

You’re sitting on the edge of his couch, a throw blanket in your lap like you live here.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t question it.

Just says, “You always say that.”

You roll your eyes. “Because you always do that.”

He strums. Adjusts.

You hum along.

The room feels full. Warm.

You smile, tilting your head.

“Play something.”

He plays. A little riff from a song you used to work on. It’s not perfect. But it’s yours.

When it ends, silence settles between you.

He doesn’t dare move. Doesn’t dare blink.

Because if he does, you might vanish again.

So he just whispers, “You’re still here.”

You don’t answer.

You don’t have to.

Reo has one tattoo. The only one he’ll ever get, he swears.

It’s tiny. Right under his wrist.

Your initials — Y/N — in your handwriting. You once scribbled them on his arm during practice with sharpie, laughing so hard you fell over when it smudged.

“I’m keeping it forever,” he said.

“You’re dumb,” you’d grinned.

But you smiled like you hoped he meant it.

Two weeks after you died, he went to a tattoo shop at midnight and asked them to trace over the faded ink.

He’s never shown it to anyone.

Only when he's alone, when the stage lights are gone and your absence echoes the loudest, does he lift the band and press his fingers over it.

He finds the bass by accident.

They’re headlining now. Blue Lock, their name in bright lights. 

Kaiser is pacing. Shidou’s stretching. Yukimiya’s putting on eyeliner in the mirror.

Reo slips away.

Backstage, behind the crates, buried beneath old cables and dust, he sees it.

Your bass.

The cheap one. 

The one with peeling stickers and a chip on the edge. 

The one you used to cradle like a child.

The one he took from your mom because she said it hurt too much to hold onto.

The one he shoved aside to just…forget.

He picks it up gently. It hums under his fingers.

And the ache in his chest sharpens like glass.

Because now, there’s no laugh.

No quiet voice.

No flicker in the corner of his eye.

Just silence.

“I know,” he whispers. “I know you’re gone.”

And this time, he doesn’t wait for you to appear.

He walks onstage with your bass strapped to him.

No one questions it.

The crowd screams. The lights flash. 

Kaiser takes the mic. Isagi and Hiori stand back to back. Shidou pounds out a beat that rattles the floor. Yukimiya sings the harmony.

Reo plays.

But his hands feel like they’re underwater.

with every note, something in him cracks.

He doesn’t look at the crowd. Doesn’t look at the guys.

He thinks about the porch where you first taught him harmony. 

The closet where you kissed his cheek and told him you’d love him forever, even if he made it big without you.

He thinks:

I’m sorry.

I didn’t protect you.

I didn’t say goodbye. 

I miss you. 

I miss you. 

I miss you.

His vision blurs.

And then—

He sees you.

Wearing that sweatshirt you always stole from him. Hair shining under the stage lights.

Third row. Where you’d always said you’d stand.

Cheering. Grinning. Beaming like you’re proud of him.

You don’t speak.

And for the first time since you left, Reo lets himself feel it.

The grief.

The longing.

The truth.

You smile.

Bring your fingers to your lips.

Blow him a kiss.

Wave.

And then, just like every other time, you turn.

And vanish.

He doesn’t remember finishing the show.

Only that his hands ache. That the bass feels heavier than ever. That the green room is too quiet when they’re finally alone.

The others are buzzing, laughing, high on adrenaline,  already talking about afterparties and encores.

Reo sits in the corner.

Takes off his wristband.

Runs his thumb over the faded tattoo.

And breathes.

Still there.

Always.

He goes home.

Pulls out the photobook.

The one he’s avoided for years.

He turns the pages slowly. You’re in every shot.

Grinning beside him. Holding your bass. Hand on his shoulder.

It happened. You were real.

And maybe you’re still with him.

But it’s time.

He sets your bass in his lap.

Tunes the strings. Whispers your name.

And plays.

The song you never finished. The one he’s finally ready to end.

reo angst you will always be famous to me

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⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[skeletonh0e]

Okay this one is for Fresh only because he's my favorite- How would he react and feel about someone really close to him offering up their soul for him to feed on, as long as he's gentle about it and doesn't take too much of course? Gender neutral reader, queerplatonic. :>

This is a very sweet idea lol, I'm still new to writing queer platonic relationships so hopefully I did a good job here, I'm always open to feed back. The term "partner" is used but again entirely in a qp context

A Sweet Treat (Fresh Sans x Reader)

Tbh? I 100% see this happening as Fresh jokingly suggesting this and this getting a hell of a whiplash when you agree

Even more so when you're not bluffing, literally offering your soul to him

He did not think he would get this far

And like.....you're sure?

Listen, listen, I've mentioned this before...but Fresh is lowkey pretty paranoid deep down. Thus he takes trust very seriously, combine that with SOULS being a big deal in monster culture + on top of you being someone close in his life in general

He's touched that you trust him that much and depending on the nature of your relationship he might realize that if the roles were reversed....he trusts you that much too. He can't fully express it cuz emotions are not his strong suit in any situation or any relationship but he's noticeably quiet for a few solid moments

He's playful when he goes to take your soul, obviously heeding the warning of "be gentle" but like even if you didn't say that he does it like...almost instinctively

He's never been a protective person with anyone to begin with, so it's a bit of an odd whiplash that he's surprisingly like that now, with a firm but not too harsh grip on your soul. He'll crack a joke, make one last offer for you to tap out before actually feeding

Admires it for a moment, probably keeps your body physically close as well, probably sitting on his lap or at least leaning against him nearby. Fresh knows what he's doing, he's a parasite, he's done this before with far less willing prey and he's keeping himself in control (the only reason he'd be out of it is if he's starving thus feral hungry but that's not relevant here), but always double checking for when too much is too much.

Then he starts to feed.

And I'll be real

It probably don't feel too good.

It's not super painful, Fresh is being too careful and deliberate for that to happen, but unless there's some form of masochism it's not gonna be pleasant. I'd compare it to having your blood drawn though on a more spiritual level. A sharp sting at first followed by a draining sensation.

The moment you want to tap out, he'll comply and even then he's not daring to test the limits here. Your body completely relaxed against his as your soul is quite literally in his hands and in his mouth. The moment he suspects that enough is enough, your soul is returned to it's rightful place.

You're just kinda tired afterwards, not sore or hurt thanks to Fresh taking a level of tender care with it all but tired. You're gonna need a nap at least, if not several hours of proper sleep.

"You good broski?"

He'll haul you off and fully content to cuddle afterwards if that's the vibe you're fitting. Weirdly enough after the fact while he is literally refreshed (ha pun), he just seems to be a particular warm fuzzy mood. Dumbass jokes and quips never go away, they never do, but that constant fear he has? It suddenly died down a lot.

Again, the entire thing just solidified that he could trust you of all people which is really saying something given Fresh's stance is that he can't due to the nature of what he is. A parasite. Even those that like him seem to believe that he deserves to be snuffed out, avoided or are secretly terrified of him

Not you though.

Clearly this can't be a frequent thing, honestly you probably shouldn't have let him do it once let alone more than twice and it's questionable how fast souls can recover from it if at all. But you feel fine the next day after plenty of rest so make of that what you will. How willing Fresh is to keep rolling the dice is unclear.

Literally gonna call you a snacc tho because funny ha ha jokes aside he ain't wrong. But at least you're his favorite snacc right?

[beomgyuversee]

The Pen Project

The letters stayed. And so did he.

pairing: Heeseung x fem!reader genre: non-idol AU, letter-writing AU, strangers to lovers, soft smut rating: 18+ (MDNI) warnings: fingering, protected sex (YIPPIE follow Heeseungs example!), aftercare, praise, vulnerability (needs its own warning), fluffy morning after, soft dom!Heeseung, Reader is inexperienced but is not a virgin, a few uses of Y/N during their introductions. I think that's it besides the fact my writing is ass </3 wc: ~ roughly 1.5k

a/n:~ This is the first story i'm putting out, feel free to request more this was fun as hell even if it's trashy.

MINOR OR AGELESS BLOGS DNI !!!

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You don't send the first letter for yourself. Rather for your therapist, who seemed very adamant that this would help you.

Your therapist suggested it last week.

"It’s called The Pen Project — kind of like journaling, except the letters actually go to someone. Anonymously. Sometimes it helps people open up."

You nodded along, noncommittal, you weren't really planning to participate thinking this was just a way for vulnerable people to feel loved. But now you're here, sitting cross-legged on the floor, fingers curled around a pen, a blank page staring up at you like it’s asking if you’re ready.

You're not.

But you write anyway.

I already know no one will read this. I don’t even know what to say.

You pause, lifting your pen from the paper and sighing.

"Shit.. no way i'm actually doing this.."

You think to yourself. This is so stupid.. But you continue

I think I forgot how to feel things. Or maybe I just got really good at hiding it. I used to love music. I don’t know when that stopped. It’s like it’s still there — I hear it, but I don’t feel it. Is that normal? I’m sorry this is heavy. Hell I don't know who i'm even apologizing to. —375

You fold it slowly, hands shaking a little.

The Pen Project mailbox is a dusty silver box tucked in the corner of the library. You walk over, making sure no one sees you drop it in.

"This is so stupid." You don’t expect anything to happen.

You definitely don’t expect a letter the next week.

It’s tucked between your mail,no return address, not even a delivery address. It's like someone just dropped it in your mailbox.

Your breath catches when you read the soft script on the envelope.

To: 375 From: H

You open it on your bed, heart thudding.

I read your letter. Every word. You’re not heavy. You’re honest. I used to think music was something I could always rely on. But yeah — I’ve had days where it’s background noise. I get it. You don’t need to apologize. You just sound human. Write again if you want. I'm real. ;) —H

Your chest aches in a good way.

"The wink face is so stupid.." You giggle, before reality sets in.

Someone wrote back.

Someone saw you.

You write again that night, quicker this time.

H, I didn’t think anyone would answer. I’ve never talked about this out loud before. Not like that. But I really didn't think this was real. Thank you. Really. —375

You leave it in the box again. Leaving the library without even greeting the librarian as usual.

And it becomes routine.

You don’t know what he looks like. You don’t know how old he is. But what you do know is, he sends notes in soft ink and always folds his letters neatly. He has good taste in music, quotes poems without warning, and once admitted he still watches animated movies when he can’t sleep.

You learn that his name starts with H.

He learns you haven’t played piano since last years spring.

You tell him your favorite books, your biggest fears, the time you panicked in the frozen food aisle and cried behind a shelf of waffles.

He writes back every time.

You don’t have to be “better” to be lovable. —H

You wanted to cry holding that one, but a part of you still though this was fake. That it was just some computer sending letters to hundred of others.

Weeks pass.

The letters get longer.

You start folding them into little hearts, just to feel like you're giving him something more.

One night, you sit on your bed and write:

Sometimes I wonder what you sound like. Like, your voice. When you laugh. Is that weird? —375

His response a few days later makes your heart jump.

I wonder what you sound like, too. I think I’d know your laugh if I heard it. ;) —H

"Again with the stupid face." You say out loud, talking to yourself. Yet you can't stop smiling at said stupid face.

The next night, everything shifts

You’ve had a long day. Your shoulders hurt. You almost don’t check the mail.

But you remember you're waiting for your monthly bills, and you'll be damned if you're gonna get that late fee. When you open it, there’s a letter — and it feels heavier in your hands.

375, I don’t know if this is okay, but… I think I’ve started caring about you. A lot. And not just in a letter-friend kind of way. I know we don’t know each other, well not really. But I read your words and I feel like I do. I want to know your laugh. Your voice. Your hands. If you want… meet me. Just once. I’ll be at the Blue Spruce Café this Saturday. Noon. I’ll have a green notebook and will definitely look like a nervous wreck. You don’t have to come. But I hope you do. —H

You reread it five times.

You sleep with it on your nightstand. You even read it as you're getting ready.

And when Saturday comes, you go.

You see him before he sees you.

The café is soft and quiet — all warm light and wood tones. Your stomach is in knots as you twirl your necklace.

And there he is.

Green notebook open in front of him. Shirtsleeves pushed up. Hands fidgeting. He’s chewing his lip, glancing toward the door.

You take a breath.

And walk over.

“Hey,” you say.

His head snaps up. His eyes — wide, warm, brown — lock onto yours.

And he smiles.

“Hi,” he says, standing. “You came.”

“You’re H,” you whisper.

“I’m Heeseung,” he replies, quietly. “And you’re 375.”

“Y/N,” you say, smiling.

His eyes soften. “Y/N,” he repeats, like he’s trying it on his tongue. “Finally.”

A few hours pass.

You talk until your drinks go cold, giggling and cringing over the same letters you wrote just days ago.

He’s real.

Gentle. Funny. A little awkward, but incredibly pretty.

He listens like every word matters.

And when he walks you home, he pauses outside your door.

“I don’t want to rush anything,” he murmurs. “But… can I see you again?”

You smile softly and nod. “Of course.”

And then he kisses your forehead, so softly it makes your knees weak.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

Many would be baffled that just a few weeks ago, you were strangers who wrote letters to each other with the way you’re curled up on his couch. Heeseung’s fingers are brushing your thigh as you lie side by side, the room lit only by the glow of his desk lamp.

You’ve kissing before, just randomly... perhaps once at a grocery store when he asked for help with a recipe he found online — but who knows.

The usual kiss is slow, lazy, and gentle. But tonight, it’s different.

His mouth lingers longer. His hands press firmer.

He pulls back, breathless, forehead resting on yours.

“Are you okay with this?” he whispers.

You nod. “I want this.”

His hand cups your cheek.

“You sure?”

“I’m just a little nervous,” you admit. “I haven’t… done this a lot.”

His smile is warm. His voice even warmer.

“That’s okay. Let me take care of you.”

He kisses you slow — deeper now, his hands roaming with a confidence that never feels rushed.

When his fingers slip beneath your waistband, you gasp softly.

“Too much?” he asks.

“No,” you breathe. “Please.”

“Such a good girl,” he whispers, kissing down your neck.

You whimper as his fingers dip into you, gentle but purposeful.

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmurs. “You feel perfect.”

Your thighs tremble as he works you open — one finger, then two. Curling just right. Your hips buck and he holds you still, mouth tracing your collarbone.

“Want to feel you around me,” he breathes. “Let me?”

You nod.

He leans over, opens his drawer to reveal a box of condoms. You look shocked to see it, not expecting him to have a whole box of them.

He chuckles at this reaction and tears open the packet with his teeth and rolls the condom on with practiced ease.

When he pushes in, he goes slow.. unbearably slow. His eyes locked on yours, eyes fluttering slightly.

“You’re doing so good,” he whispers, voice thick. “God, you feel like heaven.”

He makes love to you like it means something. Like he’s been waiting for this. Which he has. for all of 3 weeks.

His thrusts are deep, unhurried. His praise is endless.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he groans. “So perfect for me.”

You can feel your orgasm coming, and so can he. He sees the way your body jerks slightly, the way your noises get less breathy and more eager. You finally cry out as you cum. Your body arching, and your hands gripping his shoulders tightly. And he holds you through it — whispering your name like a promise.

He follows just moments later, breathing ragged, collapsing gently into your arms.

He doesn’t let go.

Heeseung wraps you in his arms, pulls the blanket over both of you, and kisses your temple.

“You okay?”

You nod. “Better than okay.”

His thumb strokes your cheek.

“You’re mine now, right?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” you smile. “Yours.”

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He’s making you tea in his kitchen, wearing only sweats and messy hair.

You sit at the table, wrapped in his hoodie, head laid sleepily on his counter listening to him hum to himself.

Your eyes wander to the box on the shelf. Your eyes recognize the numbers instantly.

375..

“The letters,” you say softly.

Heeseung follows your gaze and smiles. “I kept them all.”

Your heart swells and you lift your head.

“I kept yours too,” you say.

He walks over, tea cup in hand and kisses your forehead, then your lips.

“Let’s write new ones,” he murmurs. “Just for us.”

And you do.

Every Sunday.

Even now.

Because the letters stayed.

And so did he.

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a/n:~ This is proofread but if any misspellings are made just lmk !!

[essektheylyss]

GUESS WHAT I HIT.

69K.

NICE.

[pickaropoprocks]

Day 47!! Chiikawa!!

[monster-noises]

Hgggg

Had one of those sundays where i felt just like

A little bit like shit all day

So i didn't really get any of my comic work done and it just kinda became a Lost Day

So now as consequence my brain won't let me go to bed because i did not Satisfy the Requirements as Set Beforehand

But i would like to actually set myself up for a successful week of going to bed on timebl because i haven't the last two weeks and i can Feel it slowly destroying me spiritually, mentally, and physically

But sometimes there js Naught you can do in the face of Wanton Mental Illness

[suddencolds]

the way I just binge read all of your yvescent fics and all I can think of is WHY DIDN'T I DO IT SOONER?!!!! like...omg. hear me out, I am usually more into fandom content, OCs don't really draw my attention that much BUT that thought's definitely change thanks to yours. Idk, everything about them felt so well-built and their personalities are just captivating they just make you wanna get to know them more (yes, now I am attached and do not regret it one bit). Anyways, what I am trying to say with all that is that thank you for creating them, I think they're awesome and that I admire your blog :))) I came for all the g/enshin fics (which I think are one of the best out there) and found gold by discovering your Yves and Vincent.

ps: didn't get the chance to vote on the poll, but the option that won.... let me just say that I am living for it

Anon!!! Thank you for reading and leaving such nice thoughts!!! 😭😭❤️ It means a lot to me that you were able to enjoy my original content even though you followed me for Genshin - I definitely feel like it can be harder to overcome the initial hurdle of not knowing the characters when it comes to original content.

Thank you for giving them a chance regardless!! And I am so happy to hear that you like them!! 💖 It's actually been a year since I started the series as of... last Monday, haha. (I also apologize for any waiting you'll have to do in the future 😭) Hearing that others look forward to reading more brings me so much joy!!

(Also, to your P.S. - that option was a winner from since right after I posted the poll and hasn't changed since 👀 I feel like the people who voted for it are split between like... allergy enthusiasts and the Vincent suffering enthusiasts haha (or maybe both at once?) Rest assured, I've taken note of it... ✍️)

[jorvikzelda]

the note in the jorvikpov masterdoc next to the prompt/summary for the next one saying July 19th vs. the date on my computer saying 2023-08-06: fight

[keeps-ache]

honestly.

[inkedbybarnes]

blind date

bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: convinced that bucky will never like you back, you agree to a blind date arranged for you to forget about him.

word count: 3.7k

warnings: fluff. two idiots pining over each other (i know, i know. i love the trope). blind dates (they honestly scare me). boundaries being crossed. not so gentleman of a blind date. protective & grumpy bucky (yes, that's a warning!). pet names such as doll. lowercase writing. not proofread.

notes: happy 500 followers to us! hehe. sorry it took long, i waited until i reached that milestone and we finally did! we're growing in our small delulu home, and i love it. <3 i hope you enjoy this one!

dividers by @cafekitsune

comments, reblogs, and likes are highly appreciated. thank you! ♡

“come on! tell me more about this mystery guy.”

natasha plopped down the couch beside you while she held a pint of ice cream in her hand and a spoonful on its way to her mouth. you were talking about the blind date that sam arranged for you, and she hasn't stopped asking questions since you mentioned it.

“there's really nothing to tell besides that he's a guy looking for a date and that he's friends with sam. i'm actually surprised that sam set this all up, but i trust him, you know? maybe it'll be nice,” you answered, ignoring the fact that sam suggested this to help you get over your not-so-little crush on a super soldier.

your phone beeped, showing a message sent to you by your teammate. “speaking of the devil, sam just sent me the details but i'm really not sure if i should go. it doesn't feel right.”

“and leave the poor guy waiting? not happening." natasha stuck her spoon into her pint and set it down on the coffee table. “you feel that way because you like someone already, but nothing's going to happen if we'll sit here waiting. you're either giving this date a chance or ask bucky out. it's time you finally go out there and see someone. aren't you sick of us yet?"

“i'm quite sick of you, that's for sure.” you joked, having natasha as your room neighbour and basically your best friend. if you weren't spending your time sleeping in your room, you'd be spending it with her. “i just don't think i should be going on dates when i know i'm technically not emotionally available for others yet.”

“oh, you can't be sick of me. i'm great company." natasha replied confidently. “then why did you agree? we all know, besides barnes, that you've liked him for so long. plus, he's never been with anyone for ages. the two of you makes sense.”

you gnawed on your lower lip, hesitant to tell nat the reason why you agreed to this stupid date, but she was your best friend and also one hell of a spy to even try and hide it. “he told me that he found someone similar to bucky and that i might want to meet him. we agreed to let it be a blind date to avoid the mess of telling them that they're meeting an avenger.”

“i knew it. you're going on a rebound date!” she jumped on her seat, as if she'd solved the winning numbers to the lottery. “there was no way you'd suddenly go on a blind date without a catch. you're too hung up on bucky!”

“keep it down!” you pulled her back into the couch, nervously looking around the room to see if anyone was close by. “i'm pretty sure rebounds only apply to people i've dated. bucky's hardly a candidate for that list.”

“you've liked him for way too long that it basically feels like you had a relationship, and i'm pretty sure he likes you too,” natasha said. “trust me, my guts? golden.”

you winced at the thought. there had been zero signs that bucky liked you back. as much as you trusted natasha and her instincts, this was something you couldn't just assume.

“i don't think so, nat. i've given him enough hints. it's either he's too dense about it or he's just not interested. maybe it's just how it's supposed to be, and i can't keep myself stuck with maybes forever.” you sighed, deciding to finally go to the blind date. “help me pick an outfit?”

“like you even have to ask?” she smiled, dragging you to your room while you were still left with uncertainty in your heart.

the restaurant was one of those hole-in-the-wall places in downtown new york. it had a lot people dining inside, their noise easily heard from the outside, yet the ambiance already felt warm and welcoming. you wondered if sam suggested the place or the guy you were about to meet.

you sighed, giving your chest one last tap since it wouldn't stop beating so fast. it was a wonder how your heartbeat remained stable during a risky mission, while a harmless date had you this nervous. although with that, you felt human.

“okay, let's see where this goes,” you muttered to yourself, glancing at your watch that had a tracking device in it, as requested (or ordered) by your best friend.

natasha initially opted to come with you and seat somewhere far, but you told her that you didn't need it. so, she settled with a tracking device, as if you weren't an avenger who could defend yourself. you couldn't find it in you to complain, since this was natasha's own way of showing that she cared.

you entered the restaurant, eyes wandering around the room despite not knowing exactly what to look for. the only details you were allowed to know was that “joseph” knew where to take you, so you assumed that person was one of the staff that you had to look for.

once you found a waitress that didn't look too occupied, you approached her with a smile. “excuse me, may i know where joseph is?”

the lady looked up at you, recognition evident on her face. you were slightly worried that she knew your identity, but she gave you a warm smile and held your arm gently. “oh, he's right there by the counter. let me take you to him!”

she escorted you towards the man handling the counter that seemed to be where the orders were taken. he was shouting various orders behind him while arranging the food on the counter. by the looks of it, he could be the manager or the owner of the place.

“she's here!” the lady beside you exclaimed, catching the full attention of joseph.

“ah, there's our special guest for tonight!” joseph walked around the counter to hug you, as if you knew each other for a long time. “come, come! we have the best spot reserved for you. it's right outside where you can enjoy the view while also having some privacy, eh? your date already arrived, but no worries. he wasn't waiting for too long.”

you were rendered speechless as he took you to the patio, not expecting your date to arrive first, and most importantly not expecting to see him right away. you thought you were early enough, but it seems that your date was an earlier bird than you were.

once outside, all you could see was an empty patio with one man sitting not so far from where you were standing. you hated how you could only see his back and not his face, since he was facing the opposite direction. although, you immediately noticed how he was dressed similarly to bucky.

similar haircut, black boots, and a black jacket. while you weren't sure if they actually looked alike, sam wasn't kidding about them having some similarities.

“how come it's empty out here?” you asked with genuine curiosity. the restaurant was oozing with customers tonight, and they could surely use the extra space outdoors.

“well, uh...” joseph scratched his head, smiling awkwardly as he looked for an answer. “oh, well, stop worrying about that! you're here to go on a date and nothing more! let us worry about that ourselves, hm? come, let's not make your date wait for too long.”

you both walked towards the only table occupied, taking a deep breath before joseph announced, “your date has arrived!”

the man turned around, eyes widened at the sudden noise, but he eventually smiled once he looked at you.

“hey, nice to finally meet you.” he stood up, extending his hand. “i'm martin.”

one look at him and you knew that your heart stubbornly stayed with someone you shouldn't be thinking about.

“i still can't believe that i'm on a date with an avenger.”

you were barely done with your meal despite being here for more than an hour, and martin hasn't been able to stop gushing about your whole avenger sideline. while you understood his excitement, this wasn't the type of date that you hoped for.

“you think i could tell my friends?” he asked, suddenly nudging his chair closer to you that he was basically sitting beside you. “they probably won't believe me, so will it be okay if we took a picture?”

oh, so that's why he moved closer.

“sure.” you forced a smile. “but don't get too close, maybe? i'm.. i'm not that comfortable yet.”

as if you said nothing, he placed an arm over your shoulder, pulling you even closer to him. you've been through worse situations than this, but you were highly uncomfortable having your boundaries crossed.

bucky wouldn't do something like this. how did sam think that any of his behaviour was similar to him?

martin already had his phone out, capturing pictures and squeezing your arm, when you decided that this isn't what you wanted, but before you could open your mouth, you felt someone pulling his arm off of you, causing martin to scream.

“what is wrong with you!?” martin shouted, standing up and stepping away while he held his aching arm. when you turned around, you felt your heart stop to find the person you least expected to be here, but wanted the most to be with.

“bucky?”

he did not look at you, his eyes still fixated on martin, nostrils flaring as he took a step closer, standing in front of you as if he was shielding you, while martin took the same amount of steps backwards. “she clearly said no. what the fuck was so hard about understanding that?”

“look, man, i don't know what you're doing here, but i think this is between me and her,” he said, his eyes showing fear as he watched the ex-assassin approach him, hearing the gears of his metal arm whirring.

“give me your phone.” bucky ordered. “now.”

martin immediately fished for his phone, nearly dropping it, and gave it to bucky. “w-what are you going to do?”

“no, this is what you're gonna do,” bucky started, crashing martin's phone with ease and carelessly throwing it to the side. “this date never happened, your friends will hear nothing about tonight, and you will get out of here before i finish counting to three. one...”

in a snap, martin was already out of your sight. if you hadn't known martin before this, you would think he idolised pietro with the way he ran so fast.

“are you okay?”

forgetting about bucky for a split second, his voice jolted you out of your thoughts. you looked up, your heart racing, to find him right in front you.

“what are you doing here?”

“that doesn't really answer my question, doll. answer mine first, will ya? then i'll answer yours.”

“i'm okay, but i can take care of myself. you didn't have to scare the guy.” you sighed, trying your best to look displeased when in fact this has been the happiest you've been tonight. “so? why are you here?”

“well, it's really hard to explain...”

“you better try, barnes, because i am very confused right now,” you said. “one moment i'm on a date with someone, then suddenly my teammate, who i told nothing about said date, appears and crushes the phone of the guy i'm with?”

“natasha told me about it.”

you frowned, not surprised with natasha's gossipy nature, but confused about what she could've said that made him go all the way here.

“i was looking for you since you're always with us during dinner, and nat told me that you were on a date. i couldn't help but ask where and with whom, but she said that she had no idea, that it was a blind date. she was more than glad to tell me where you were, so i came here looking for you.”

“why?” you asked, confused and suddenly hopeful at the same time. although, you tried to keep your hopes down, not wanting to set yourself up for a heartbreak.

“what do you mean why? that's it. i was just worried, and now you're okay. can we go home?”

he turned his back on you and walked away, you were quick enough follow him, still unsatisfied with his answer.

once you've reached a dark alley where he had his motorcycle parked, you sighed and decided to ask one more time.

“what are you actually doing here, barnes?” you asked. “i want an actual answer or i'm walking home.”

“it doesn't matter,” bucky answered shortly, frustration. written on his face. “why did you agree to this anyway? doesn't feel like something you'd do.”

“you have no idea about what i feel and what i want to do,” you answered. “and you still haven't answered my question.”

“i don't know, okay? i don't know. i just..” he sighed. “i heard the word date and everything didn't make sense. all i knew was that i wanted to follow you here and stop whatever you were doing. i didn't like it.”

“what gives you the right to stop me from going on a date?” you asked, your head jerked back in disbelief. “and why would it even bother you? this is the first time someone went on a date in the team. so what makes mine so different?”

“what do you think?” he asked, his gaze challenging and curious, waiting for your response.

you stood in silence, his question causing a sudden drift in the conversation. you could feel the tension in the air.

“sam made me go to a blind date as well,” he spoke again. “i just remembered that he was asking me where i'd take someone on a date. days after that, he said he found a girl that i might like, and that i should go on a date with her, he suggested that it should be a blind date, knowing that i'm an avenger and all.”

“why didn't you go?”

“i couldn't. i wasn't interested. i knew it wouldn't work.”

“why?”

“because i already like someone.”

your heart sank, a lump forming in your throat as the reality set in that the person you've been pining for was already interested in someone else.

so much for going on a date to forget about him.

“what about you?” he asked. “why did you go?”

because of you, you idiot.

“trying to get over someone,” you simply answered.

“you were seeing someone?” he asked, completely clueless, but suddenly looking uneasy. “i never knew you were in a relationship. i guess, we're not that close, but i thought i'd at least know abou—”

“what? no!” you replied, voice rising as you spoke. "god, i agreed to this date because i wanted to get over you!"

the words slipped out of your mouth, your eyes widening in surprise as you accidentally reveal the feelings you had kept hidden.

bucky blinked, silence hanging in the air. the confession felt heavy between you as you waited for his response.

“i didn't agree to going on a blind date because i have feelings you,” bucky finally spoke, taking a deep breath before continuing, “because i knew i wouldn't enjoy it knowing i'd be thinking of you anyway, because as convinced as i was that you had no interest in me, i'd rather keep my eyes on you than on anybody else.”

“wait, wait, what? you like me?” you repeated in a slightly disbelieving tone, searching his face for confirmation.

“why would i follow you all the way here if i didn't?”

“because you care? and it might be dangerous to go on a date with someone i've never met?” you guessed. “i mean, i think you'd also do it for everybody else, as grumpy as you look like on the outside, you can be a softie sometimes.”

“if i had no feelings for you, i wouldn't be here. you're an avenger for christ's sake. some random guy would be like a training dummy for you,” he answered. “and no, i wouldn't be doing this for anybody else. if the situation's that dangerous, maybe, but a date? you're all adults. you know what you're doing.”

you couldn't help but giggle at his answer, which earned you a glare from him. “what?”

“nothing.” you shook your head. “you sound like an old man lecturing the younger generation.”

“are we completely ignoring the fact that we like each other?”

“that's the only thing on my mind right now.” you admitted. “are you sure about what you just said? it could be the hunger talking.”

instead of answering, bucky took his phone out of his pocket, swiping and tapping on it a few times before taking your hand and placing it on your palm.

“what am i supposed to—”

“just read it.”

choosing not to argue with him, you grabbed the phone with a frown. his messages with natasha were on the screen, starting from their messages from nearly four months ago. you scrolled through their messages, and while they lasted for months, they were all short and straightforward.

three months ago

bucky:

did you arrive safely?

romanoff:

since when did you start asking?

bucky:

?

romanoff:

yes, we arrived safely.

bucky:

👍🏻

romanoff:

really???

two months ago

bucky:

is she okay?

romanoff:

ohhh, that's why you keep texting.

bucky:

answer

romanoff:

geez, barnes.

yeah, she's okay.

bucky:

ok

one month ago

bucky:

she's sick?

romanoff:

yeah, wanna visit her?

you're basically immune.

bucky:

i have a mission

romanoff:

oh yeah

oops

bucky:

are you busy?

romanoff:

nope

why?

bucky:

take my place

romanoff:

no thanks, barnes.

bucky:

i'll take your next task

and the next one as well

romanoff:

why can't you just take this one?

bucky:

nothing

romanoff:

a reason or i'm not doing it.

bucky:

she's sick

i want to stay

romanoff:

oh my god

you're such a sap

fine i'll talk to steve

bucky:

ty

romanoff:

you're using abbreviations now???

bucky:

👍🏻

one week ago

romanoff:

movie night later, don't ditch us again

bucky:

busy

romanoff:

she planned this one

she's worried you won't come

bucky:

i'll bring snacks

romanoff:

i love knowing your weakness

bring popcorn!

bucky:

she prefers pizza over popcorn

does she like popcorn?

romanoff:

nope, but some of us do.

bucky:

ok

romanoff:

so you're bringing popcorn?

bucky:

no

once you were done reading, you returned his phone back to his hand. “you do like me,” you said, the confession finally sinking in.

bucky nodded. “and you like me too.”

“where does that leave us?” you asked, hoping. “are we.. dating now?”

“no,” he answered quickly.

you felt that ache returning in your chest, but before you could say something, bucky already sensed your worries and he wasn't letting you slip away that easily.

“no because i want to do this right. i want to take you out on a date first, bring you flowers, play music and ask you for a dance, all that stuff that you deserve,” he explained, bringing his warm hand to your cheek. “but trust me that it won't take long before i call you mine. i don't think i have the patience for it at this point.”

“you promise?” you rose to your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around him. “i don't want to wait that long either.”

“you won't,” he replied, leaning into you, his lips brushing against your nose before pulling you in a kiss. “i promise.”

this was supposed to have a lil bonus when they got back to the tower, revealing the team's true involvement with the blind date, buttt i might just do it some other time as a snippet/part 2 instead. i still have a few to write anyway, woops.

if you have any requests for bucky, send them my way! 💌

[writersrkive]

Don't shut up | Spencer Reid

summary: Spencer is used to people who constantly tell him to shut up, but somehow, he feels even more embarrassed and sad when he thinks you want him to stop talking after looking at the tired and confused expression you have when he's trying to help you. The thing is you hate when people do that to Spence and would spend years just listening to his voice.

genre: fluff

pairing: Early seasons!Spencer Reid x bau!reader

warnings: mentions of the team shutting Spencer down. Derek and JJ being a little mean to him when he's spreading information. Spencer being a cutie potato. Mention of a stomachache and its causes (mention of miscarriage as one of the causes, but nothing happens). Reader not being a native english speaker, but just a slight mention.

a/n: Dr. Spencer Reid is a genius.... I am not. I literally had to search for information and copy-paste here in some parts, so if there's misinformation, it's Google's fault, lmao. I wrote this yesterday when I was about to sleep, so I'm sorry if something is wrong with the writing (even though I already edited). English isn't my first language, please be kind <3.

Navigation Criminal Minds masterlist Spanish ver. On Wattpad (coming soon)

Spencer and you arrived early that morning. He hated being late for anything. He couldn't afford to be late if he wanted to stick as closely as possible to his assigned schedule, especially because he took public transport. On the other hand, you had no choice but to arrive early when you woke up at four in the morning thanks to a severe stomachache and couldn't go back to sleep.

That's how your conversation started. Your genius workmate was surprised to see you, first hour in the morning, when he walked in the office, even before Hotch arrived.

“Are you feeling better?” He asked, furrowing his eyebrows. You couldn't deny that the expression was too cute for your own good.

“Yeah… I think so. It's not even the stomach ache that bothers me, it's the fact that even if I was sleepy, I couldn't fall asleep again. You know? That happens to me a lot. Once I open my eyes, I can't go back to sleep. I've also been feeling mildly unwell for a week, but even though the medication is controlling it, it doesn't stop."

At this point, he already set up his desk, leaving his briefcase on his own chair to walk over to you and sit at your desk, next to the chair you were sitting in, to listen to you attentively and answer.

“The brain works with different phases of sleep: light sleep, deep sleep, and REM sleep. The cycle usually restarts every eighty to one hundred minutes, and we typically have four to six cycles each night.”

Hotch came out of the elevator and walked upstairs after both of you waved at him, and he let out a soft “good morning”. Emily arrived a few seconds later. You greeted her too, as she took place on her desk, but that didn't stop your conversation.

“So, it's completely normal that we wake up in the middle of the night because of that process, but if it is frequent, for three months or more, it may be a symptom of insomnia.”

Your view went to the floor, and your head nodded in a semi-unconscious movement, because although you knew that your sleep cycle was ruined by work, you had not come to that conclusion, maybe that was it.

“Now, the stomachache…” He said, taking one pen from your pencil case to concentrate. He usually never took other people's belongings or shared his own stuff because of the germs, but somehow, after a few years of working together, he had come to have a good amount of closeness with you to borrow some stuff from you. Months ago, it hadn't gone unnoticed by Penelope that Spencer had a box full of pens reserved for you, in case you needed one, nor the fact that he denied JJ one of them once, when the blonde girl needed something to write with quickly.

“The causes can be the most common, such as gas, indigestion, a muscle injury, or stress. Although there are also more serious causes: gastrointestinal infections, inflammatory bowel disease, irritable bowel syndrome, ectopic pregnancy or miscarriage..."

“Wow, what are you trying to do? Scare her?” Derek's voice invaded the place and Emily smirked.

“What? No, I'm just saying the possibilities…” Spencer whispered, looking down, a little worried that he might actually scared the person he cared more, besides his mom.

“It's okay.” You answer loud enough so your friends and coworkers would hear. “Thanks, Spence. I already went to the doctor, so I have none of… those.” I gave him a little smile. “But about stress…” The sentence hung in the air, so Spencer looked up and continued speaking automatically.

“Stress can cause stomach pain because the autonomic nervous system of the gastrointestinal tract reacts to the same hormones and neurotransmitters as the brain. This is because the digestive system is connected to the nervous system, and the enteric nervous system, which is located in the digestive system, is able to send and receive impulses and assimilate emotions.” He started to talk faster.

Your focus on the genius boy and his explanation was sincere, but maybe it was the fact that you didn't rest well, plus the fact that he was speaking too fast and not vocalizing all the syllables, that for a moment your brain didn't process what he was saying.

It was weird. At some point you didn't even hear words, just sounds from his mouth. That didn't happen to you for a really long time because you already had experience with the native speakers, even if english wasn't your mother language. The exhausting feeling of not being able to sleep well was definitely to blame.

While your brain was coming to that conclusion, Spencer could only see your furrowed brow, tense jaw, tilted head, and dissociated look.

“You want me to shut up, right?” That whisper was enough for you to come back to reality. His cheeks were red and his eyes looked a little sad, not to mention the way his mouth formed a line like whenever he felt awkward.

“Yes, please!” Derek answered instead, leaning back in his seat and looking up with his arms outstretched as if he'd had to deal with seven unsubs in the five minutes he'd been there, listening from his place to the information Spencer was giving you.

“Little genius boy got excited… again.” JJ said, looking at some documents in front of her, opening her eyes wide in an expression of tiredness and disinterest.

The young profiler stood up from your desk thinking about returning to his chair, a little embarrassed, but you took his pinky with yours —that way you wouldn't make him feel uncomfortable in case he wasn't in the mood for physical touch, something he refused unless it was you. Again, another special treat—. “Wait. It wasn't like that.” Hazel eyes looked at you intently, still with a bit of doubt. “I'm sorry Spencer. Yes, you got excited, but that's not something bad.”

“It isn't?” He questioned.

“No, but you started to speak fast, and the fact that there are some words that I have a hard time processing in English and I couldn't quite catch what you were saying because I didn't sleep enough, well, that distracted me. Would you mind repeating it again, slower?” This time, you were the one with warm cheeks.

“Oh. Are you sure you don't want me to shut up?” The boy was actually intrigued and a little surprised.

“Why would I want that?” The fact that your teammates often shut Spencer up when he tried to share extra information, or information that he had been asked about, was something you had noticed from the moment you started working with the team. You thought that was rude. You understood that sometimes Spencer got excited, gave information that was perhaps better saved for another time since you were investigating a case, or people could be tired and want silence, but the team either silenced him or made fun of him most of the time. Plus, there weren't many other things you liked more than hearing his voice.

The sweet, soothing tone of his words helped you sleep on the jet after a long case, or made you want to hear more about whatever he was talking about. Feeling like he was sharing with you, a mere mortal, some of the vast knowledge he had was nice.

“I'm always happy to hear whatever you need to say, even if it's about something I don't understand. And, right now, you are helping me a lot, so, please, don't shut up.” The crimson color returned to the tall boy's face, this time not because he was uncomfortable. Your kind and somewhat complicit smile made his heart race, like almost every time he was with you. Spencer knew that no matter how tired he got, he would never shut up if you wanted him to keep talking.

[endofthelinegang]

sleepy

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ this is literally just how i believe introducing how someone thinks and interpts a character should be done. so i don't send someone into shock when i write for these characters.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ robert "bob" reynolds x fem! reader, james "bucky" barnes x fem! reader, john "stfu" walker x fem!reader, ava starr x fem! reader, yelena belova x fem! reader.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  how the thunderbolts act when they are sleepy.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ i never know what to do put here, i guess curse words?

yelena belova does not believe that she is ever tired. black under the eyes, yawning does not qualify at all. but all of that being said this is exactly what happens:

"I am not tired." Both of you sat on the couch. With a smile, you nodded your head and rolled your eyes, taking off the blue hoodie that had been helping keep you warm all evening. The inside was so fluffy that when you put it in the dryer, pieces would float around onto the other laundry for days. It was perfect bait.

"What are you doing?" Yelena was squinting but not daring to move her head down and forward off the back of the couch to face you as it would most certainly make her dizzy and that would make her yawn even more.

"I'm just a little warm." With a small smile, you place the hoodie on your lap and just let it sit as the TV played some reality tv that the two of you had been spending the late evening judging after dinner.

You closed your eyes and pressed your head back to mimic what she was doing. The moment she could sense you not staring at her, she moved and yawned as silently as she possibly could before taking her boots off with her feet. They thudded to the ground as she slowly dragged the clothing you had taken off closer to her until it was no longer sitting on you at all. Rubbing her eyes with all of her makeup still on she wiped her hands off on her pants before adjusting the hoodie to go over her head and onto her body.

"Fine, we can crash on the couch." Secretly, you did not hate crashing on the couch, but letting her believe that and watching her get all excited was just too cute to pass up.

With some quiet humming, you sat forward while she pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and onto the two of you as you stayed sitting up she pulled the hoodie over her head and got ready to lay down.

"Wait. You are not sleeping?" She side eyed you as she held part of the blanket covering her in her hands running her fingers over the plush material.

"No I am, just like this." You propped your feet up on the coffee table and kicked the blanket to cover your socked feet. Putting your head back in place with a nod.

"What? No, that is not comfortable at all." Before she could continue her rant, you lurched in her direction and pulled her down onto your lap, her head resting on your thigh and the length of the couch now hers.

"Goodnight star starfish." You mumbled eyes closed still feeling her tug and pull at your arm and the blanket to get in the optimal sleeping position.

"Starfish?" For a moment, she smiled and thought what a cute nickname, then it hit her, "I DO NOT SLEEP LIKE A STARFISH!"

A moment of silence followed. she had placed your arm so that your hand was touching the opposite side of her jaw. In order to keep this from becoming an entire discussion, you pet her face gently like one would to a baby who was fighting sleep.

"If a starfish loses all its arms, is it just a really confused circle until it grows them back?” Yelena mumbled under her breath as her head finally became heavy against you, and her breathing slowed and deepened. As follows, a leg came off the couch, as did an arm. A starfish.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

bucky barnes will straight up be passing out doing something, he is like all of a sudden on the floor dead asleep, which is great to try and time:

"What? What are you doing?" Slipping the knife from his hand you sat it down on your bedside table with a small clang.

"You're falling asleep with a knife in your hand, or you were anyway." You watched as he sat with his mouth slightly opened looking at you with a deep offense.

"I was not. I was working on something." He tries to reach over you but you put a very gentle hand on his chest.

"Where's the cloth?" You watch as Bucky mumbles and opens his hand to show you nothing. To which he starts fluffing the comforter, hoping that it would float up and he could say he just dropped it. The smell of his cologne wafted in the air, unlike what he was looking for. You laughed at him as he incredibly slowly turned his head to reface you.

"Witch." He glared at you without even having to look, you pulled the cloth from the side of your bed. It dangled in between your fingers as his eyes flickered between you and the damn barely dirty treacherous object.

"Wanna tell me what we were just talking about?" Matching his glare he took in a deep breath that turned into a yawn he tried to hold inside of his mouth.

"It's only nine o'clock." He rubbed his flesh hand over his eyes as he looked over at his old-fashioned alarm clock that you insisted he keep because it was so useful and reliable. Not wanting to possibly be wrong about what was said earlier or what had actually happened.

"So late already, man, I thought it was seven!" You began quickly turning off your lamp and climbing over top of him to turn his off.

"You think I get sleepy at seven?" Bucky's head thudded against his soft pillow as you manhandled him to get him to fully lie down.

"What were we doing at seven?" You placed both hands down on his chest now looking at him as he batted his eyes slowly not even trying to think about what you had just said to him.

"Oh, cmon, I don't need to be tucked in, I'm a grown man." He groaned as you rolled off of him and began bringing the blanket on top of him up to his shoulders.

Bucky let out a puff of air as you trapped him with your body and blankets, basically giving him a go-to-sleep treatment. Truth be told, the second he was warm, he totally passed out flat on his back exactly the way you placed him.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

john walker did not believe in naps or bedtime, let alone possibly resting anywhere that was nice in soft, but even the best need to rest:

"WHAT THE FUCK JOHN!" You jumped back and screamed with your hand clutching at your chest, now looking down at the floor. It was literally four o'clock in the morning, and you had just gotten up to get a damn ice pack for the migraine you had all evening thanks to a storm. But what you had came across was John sitting on a bar stool drinking a cup of coffee in silence.

"What the fuck you." He gestured in your direction, not taking his eyes off of the coffee cup sitting in his hand.

"What are you doing up?" With a roll of your eyes, you walked over to the freezer and slid the door open to grab an ice pack from the deep freeze where you kept the ones you used.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" He scoffed and sipped some more. He had to have been sitting there for quite some time. You noticed the coffee pot was freezing cold, and he was in training clothes. He had been wearing earlier.

"Yes, John, that is typically why someone asks what someone is doing." You wrapped the ice pack in a dish towel before pressing it to your temple and leaning forward on the bar.

"You wouldn't understand." He finally looked up at you, not with his whole head, but just his eyes moved. Circles were incredibly dark, and you knew right then he had not yet even tried to sleep.

"Why did we give you a bedroom if you just weren't planning on ever sleeping?" You joked shaking your head the littlest bit you could manage.

"Hilarious." He picked up the cup with the shakiest hand you've ever seen on someone under ninety. The veins in his hands popped out, and his knuckles were white as he brought the cup up to his mouth.

Fuck me I am going to be nice to Walker

"Hey, can I ask a favor since you're up?" You knew he was going to give you shit and bitch and make jokes about it regardless.

"What do you want?" He was now fully looking at you and you took in a deep breath and puffed it back out through your nose.

"My head is killing me, like seriously killing me, and I would really love to get some sleep. I can't hold this ice pack and sleep at the same time because if I lay it on my pillow, even with it wrapped, it will eventually leak and get my pillow all wet." You tried your best to come up with something stupid that made enough sense for him to fall for.

"You want me to sit and watch you sleep while I hold ice on your head?" He summarized what you had just given him before rolling his eyes and getting up off his stool, "You coming?"

"Tell a girl, Walker, tell a girl." You mumbled as you walked to catch up with him as he made his way towards your bedroom.

He opened the door and let you walk through it before closing it behind himself. You handed him the ice pack and jumped in bed, getting all comfortable and curled up before he took off his shoes and got in bed, sitting on top of the bed.

"You can get under the blanket." Waving a corner of the blanket at him he took it roughly and covered himself up to his torso. Holding the ice pack on your head you switched your lamp off and dozed off. Needless to say Walker followed soon after and the ice pack ended up across your face and onto the floor.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

ava starr is happy to get some rest when she can, in fact finding her asleep is not uncommon when there are days she feels she can just be at peace:

You find her in the hallway, slumped against the wall just outside the room you're sharing.

Not ghosted. Not flickering. Not phasing in and out like she does when she's upset or startled or fighting the hum in her chest.

Just still.

Her legs are pulled up like she sat down with the intent to rest for a second and then forgot how to move again. Her head tips to the side when she notices you, a small, exhausted blink like she’s dragging herself back into her body.

“Ava?”

She doesn’t say anything at first.

Then: “Sorry. I meant to come to bed. I just... stopped.”

You crouch beside her, gentle. “Rough day?”

She huffs out a breath—not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. “Rough year. Rough life.”

You don’t push. You just sit, shoulder against the wall, close enough that she can lean in if she wants. You wait.

After a moment, she does. Slowly, her head tilts, coming to rest against your shoulder. She exhales, and it sounds like something deeper than air. Like permission. Like surrender.

“I’m so tired,” she murmurs.

There’s no dramatics in her voice. Just simple truth. She says it like it’s a fact: the sky is blue, water is wet, and I am so tired I could disappear.

You reach over and gently thread your fingers through hers. “Then come to bed.”

“I don’t want to move.” Her voice is smaller now. Not scared, just fragile. “I just want to be... still. For a little while.”

You nod. “Okay. Then we’ll be still.”

So you sit there together, on the floor, in the quiet. Her head against your shoulder. Her hand in yours. The baseboards are cold and the hallway light is too dim, but none of it matters because she’s here and breathing softer now. Less like she’s holding her breath. More like she’s starting to believe she doesn’t have to.

“Do you think it’s stupid,” she whispers, “that I want someone to tell me I can rest?”

You shake your head. “No. I think it’s human.”

She’s quiet again. Then: “Will you say it?”

You squeeze her hand. Thumb brushing her knuckles. The kind of touch you know she can actually feel.

“You’re allowed to rest, Ava.” You feel her lean into you a little more.

Something in her unclenches.

You help her up, slow and easy, no rush. She doesn’t protest when you guide her to bed. She collapses into the mattress like she’s been underwater for years. You settle in beside her. She doesn’t usually like to be held when she’s vulnerable—but tonight, she turns toward you. Finds the crook of your arm. Tucks herself in there like she belongs.

“You’ll stay?” she asks quietly.

“Always.”

She falls asleep with your shirt clutched in one hand and your other arm draped over her back, her breathing finally even. No flickers. No phasing.

Just Ava. Resting.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

bob reynolds was so happy to have a peaceful, safe place to rest that he was happy to use it:

You were fucking exhausted, there was simply no other way to put it. It was a cold and cloudy day that had dragged on; every single hour felt like seven. You had just spent fifteen minutes looking for Robbie when it finally made sense. He’s already in bed, waiting for you, knowing you've had a long day. When you open the door, you see him stretched diagonally across the mattress like he’s trying to occupy every possible dimension of comfort.

One leg hanging off the side. One arm flung dramatically over your pillow. Half the blanket was tangled around his waist, the other half already on the floor. He blinks up at you when you open the door, slow and heavy-lidded like a cat in a sunbeam. His hair is sticking up in five different directions, and there’s a content, sleepy smile tugging at his mouth.

“You look cozy,” you say, amused. Dropping your shoes you had carried in, not wanting to dirty up the floor he had cleaned earlier.

“I am cozy,” he mumbles. “But I’d be cozier if you were here.”

You laugh and climb into bed beside him. He is so warm that you can feel the energy before you even get to touch him. The smell of a slightly salty vanilla was woven into your bed sheets from him lying there. The second you settle under the blanket, Bob instinctively shifts, tucking his head into the crook of your neck, slinging a long arm over your waist like it’s second nature. Which, at this point, it kind of is. His fingers tap at you gently, feeling you breathe.

“Mm. Yep. There it is,” he sighs, already sounding drowsier. “Perfect.”

You run your fingers gently through his soft hair. “Rough day?”

“Not even,” he says. “Just… long. Have you ever gotten that kind of tired where your bones feel floaty?”

You smile. “Only when you talk like that.” His voice sounded deeper and softer than usual like how a cat has a deeper purr when ready for a nap.

“Poetic,” he insists, eyes closed now, voice muffled against your shoulder. “I’m floaty-tired. Just need to melt.”

“You’re halfway there.”

You feel him grin. His hand finds yours under the blankets and laces your fingers together, thumb stroking lazily across your knuckles.

Everything about him in this moment is soft. His body, warm and loose against yours. His breathing slowed to match yours. The weight of his arm, the scratch of his stubble, the little hum he makes when you kiss the top of his head.

“This is my favorite,” he murmurs. “This part. Just you. Just now.”

You press your lips to his hair again. “Mine too.”

And for a few minutes, neither of you says anything.

You just exist there—tangled limbs, warm skin, the quiet comfort of being with someone who doesn’t need anything from you but to be near. Bob’s breath deepens. His grip on your hand loosens just a bit. You think he’s fallen asleep, but then—

“I hope you know I love you,” he whispers, voice thick with sleep.

Your chest tightens, but in the best possible way.

“I know,” you whisper back. “And I love you too.”

And this time, when he melts into sleep, it’s with a smile on his face and your heartbeat under his ear.