‘You can’t be serious.’ Silver Wolf crossed her arms as she walked up beside Blade, seeing his furrowed brows and share eyes pierce into what she originally thought was nothing, only to see that it was you fussing over sesame cake.
Blade huffs as he looks down at her, face unchanging. ‘What’re you doing here.’
‘Watching you glare at a critter that is created to look like you.’ Silver Wolf replied, ‘I thought you thought it was cute, what’s with the sudden change.’
‘I didn’t call it cute.’ Blade responds, folding his own arms over his chest.
Silver Wolf shrugs. ‘(Name) thought you thinking the critter was cute cute.’ She watches blade from the corner of her eye, seeing his body tense for a minute before it releases that tension as he looks back at you, the changes in his expression were minuscule but that didn’t mean they weren’t there and a smile stretched across her face.
‘That is their opinion.’ Blade replied but as his eyes went back to you and Sesame cake, he could only find slight amusement when the little critter watched you with a fixed expression, listening to your every word intently like he would. Words didn’t necessarily prove anything, not when actions or gestures do more justice to showing care. He continued to watch you give Sesame Cake an flower crown, holding them close to you as you giggle at how cute they were, taking pictures and spamming it to his phone that vibrated like mad in his pocket; mostly followed with texts like;
‘LOOK AT THEM! IT’S YOU!’
Or
‘OUR CHILD?! (Plz present dna test immediately, oh wait you are the father)
Blade will answer them in due time but right now he’s waving Silver Wolf off as he moved next to you and Seasme Cake, just to watch you both interact just a tiny bit closer. And totally not silently thank Silver Wolf for the photo she will take seconds later that would soon become his lockscreen. A photo that showed you at your most joyous and brightest of expressions holding up Seasme Cake to the light as it tried to wriggle out of your grip, with Blade nearby watching you with a softened expression and a tiny smile upon his face.
I feel like Phainon would whine a lot whenever he got hurt, especially if it was because of something involving you (e.g. him trying to protect you). He would go as far as asking you to help him take a bath, utilizing his puppy eyes to make sure only a 'yes' would come out from your mouth. However, you helping him would most likely lead to other things, (un)fortunately.
"Darling, my arm really hurts," he whines, leaning his body to you while rubbing his face on your side, "can you help me take off this clothes and bathe me~?"
Huft. Believe me when I say this devilish man knows how to use that cute face of his.
featuring. caelus, dan heng - imbibitor lunae form, jing yuan, jiaoqiu, moze, blade, luocha
cw/tags (19+ Only | DNI if younger). medic wife!reader, injury, concern of bodily condition, bickering, light humor, mentions of wounds/blood, minimal-beta
Caelus
You were reorganizing your supply shelves when you heard the crinkling, the unmistakable, guilty crinkling of someone opening up a gauze packet behind you.
You turned around slowly and Caelus froze mid-wrap, one hand stuck to his own forearm like a kid caught elbow-deep in a cookie jar, with a shallow gash along his left arm that was still bleeding.
"Heeeey babe~" he said, grinning with no shame.
"Don't 'heeey babe' me, and get those sticky racoon fingers off my stuff." You were already crossing the room, pulling gloves from the counter. "Sit down."
"It's barely a scratch--"
"Sit. Down."
He dropped onto the cot and you pulled a stool between his knees and took his arm, turning it under the light. The cut wasn't deep but it was ragged, dirty at the edges and definitely not cleaned.
"Were you seriously going to wrap this and hope for the best?"
"I was going to disinfect it... Eventually. You just got here too fast." He winced when you pressed the antiseptic pad down, then tried to cover it with another grin. "Ow! Why are you being so rough with me?"
"Hold still and maybe I won't be." You leaned closer, blotting carefully around the wound's edge, and felt his free hand settle on your hip. His fingers curled into the curve there and squeezed.
"Mm, you smell nice," he murmured, trying to change the topic away from himself. "Like, medical-grade. New sanitizer?"
"Iodine."
"Sexy~"
You bit down on a laugh and lost, making his whole face light up at the laugh that escaped. You finished the last strip of adhesive and smoothed it flat with your thumb.
"There. Done. And next time you come to me first, Caelus."
He pulled you forward closing the space between you and tilted his chin towards at you. This close, you could see the scrape along his jaw you hadn't noticed before.
"Promise," he said, already lying. "But you gotta admit, you fixing me up? Best part of getting hurt."
"Do this again and I'll start charging you. Now look up idiot, I have bandage this one up too." you said grabbing his jaw and another antiseptic pad.
He just grinned wider and followed your every word.
Dan Heng - Imbibitor Lunae
It was Caelus who gave it away with a too-casual message at 2 AM.
'hey don't worry about anything, everything's fine, nobody's in the infirmary'
Which was exactly how you knew to go to the infirmary.
The lights were off and you hit the switch, finding him on the farthest cot, still half-transformed.
He wouldn't look at you.
"Caelus carried you here I take it," you said rhetorically.
"I asked him to."
"You asked him--instead of me?"
Silence. His jaw clenched as his arm trembled faintly, caught between forms, and you could see the laceration running from his shoulder to his elbow where scales had cracked apart, bleedingly sluggishly.
You pulled the stool over and sat. "Let me see."
"You were sleeping. I didn't want--"
"Dan Heng." You waited until he finally turned his head. His pupils were still slit, still luminous, and something ashamed sat behind them. "Let me see, please."
He extended his arm.
Up close the scales were hot to the touch, feverish, and he flinched when you cleaned between the fractured ridges.
You worked carefully and felt him tracking every movement of your hands.
"Does this form... bother you?" he asked quietly and too controlled for your liking.
You looked up. "Does it bother you that you married a doctor who wants to treat her husband's wounds?"
His breath caught and his hand uncurled from the mattress and hovered near your face, until you turned your cheek into his palm yourself. His fingered rested feather-light against your skin.
"I didn't want to be a burden to you," he said.
You pressed a kiss to his wrist. "You are the furthest thing from a burden. And I need you to stop deciding what I should and shouldn't help you will, especially when it's within my capabilities."
He closed his eyes and nodded without arguing on the matter further.
Jing Yuan
It started with the hallway.
The empty hallway more specifically, the one outside your office that was never empty because Jing Yuan's Cloud Knights walked through your doors on a constant basis.
Suspicious, you stepped out into the hall and caught two guards rounding the far corner at a pace that bordered on jogging.
Then Yanqing appeared out of nowhere, blocking your path with a bright, desperate smile.
"Have you eaten? You should eat. There's a new stall on the lower deck, amazing soup dumplings, I could walk you there right now--"
"Yanqing."
"--or we could spar! You said you wanted to learn basic guard stances, right? Great time to start. Right now. This very moment."
"Where is my husband?"
His face crumbled like wet paper. "...The south infirmary. Please-don't-tell-him-I-told-you."
You found Jing Yuan stretched across a cot with one arm folded behind his head. He was reading as blood seeped through the bandage on his thigh, and he had the fucking audacity to look comfortable.
He looked up and gave you a slow smile. "Ah... That was faster than I predicted. I had you arriving in ten minutes."
"You sent Yanqing to stall me?" you accused, immediately giving the young pupil up without hesitation... he would forgive you at some point.
"I sent Yanqing to buy time while the medic finished. Although it appears he crumbled under your interrogation." He turned a page. "I'll factor that into future strategy."
You pulled his bandage back without warning causing Jing Yuan to barely wince, but wince nonetheless.
The wound was deep, a clean blade cut through the outer thigh, and whoever had dressed it did an acceptable but mediocre job. You grabbed proper suture supplies and settled your hands on his leg, steadying yourself against the thick muscle.
"You should have told me."
"And interrupt your afternoon patients? I'm a general. I know how to delegate my own injuries."
"Clearly you don't, because these are terrible." You began working, ignoring how his hand drifted to your waist, thumb tracing idle circles like he was the one comforting you.
"You're angry," he observed.
"I'm married to you. The two are synonymous."
His laugh but his hand flattened against you and squeezed in silent apology.
Jiaoqiu
He was leaning against the counter with his shirt half-open, smoothing the final edge of a clean bandage over a burn across his collarbone.
Unfortunately for him, he couldn't sense you coming as you spent the last hour elbow-deep in antiseptic prep, and the sharp chemical smell had soaked into your skin, clothes and hair, overwriting your trace completely.
So when you pushed open the infirmary door, his ears twitched at the sound of the door.
"Whoever that is, I'm nearly finished. No need to inform my--"
"It's me."
His hands stilled. Those sightless eyes widened just a fraction before relaxing.
"My dear, you smell different today."
"And you would have used that to avoid me if I didn't."
You crossed the room and checked his work.
The dressing was flawless, the boarders were clean with proper cream applied underneath and not a single wrinkle in the adhesive.
You couldn't have done it better yourself, and that made it worse. Because the burn beneath was ugly, and he'd handled it perfectly in silence without you.
You flicked him on the forehead.
His ears flattened. "What was that for?"
"You know exactly what that was for." you folded your arms. "The dressing is perfect but that's not the point."
His tail curled around your thigh slowly. "I didn't see the need to call you over for something I could handle myself."
"You're one of the best medic on this ship and somehow the most impossible patient I've ever had."
His lips twitched. "Surely not the most impossible."
"You're right. I'm worse. Which is how I know every trick you try to pull." You caught his face in both hands. "Give me a heads up next time, even if you have it handled. I don't want to learn through word-of-mouth that you got hurt if it turns into something you can't handle...Deal?"
He turned his head and pressed his mouth against your palm, lingering there. "Deal," he murmured.
Moze
Feixiao's message arrived at 11 PM. Three words:
'He's being stubborn again.'
You didn't bother checking the main infirmary. Moze never used obvious rooms when he was injured, he treated them like compromised positions.
The first time, you found him redressing a stab wound in a supply closet. The second, behind a ventilation unit on the upper deck.
He rotated locations like escape routes. A year ago it might have worked, but you been married to him long enough to figure out how he thinks.
It didn't take long until you were in the maintenance corridor that had a faulty light.
He was crouched against the far wall, field kit open beside him, one hand pressing gauze to a wound below his ribs. His eyes locked onto you instantly, trying to figure out how you found him so quickly.
"Feixiao," he figured.
"Feixiao." You confirmed and knelt in front of him to move his hand aside. The laceration was deep, angled in a way that told you he'd twisted to avoid something worse. "This needs sutures Moze, not field gauze."
"It would have held."
"For how long? Two hours? Three?" You opened your own kit, the one you'd started carrying specifically because of him, and threaded the needle under the flickering light. "You can hide from everyone else, but you don't get to hide from me. You knew that when marrying me."
He was quiet as you worked. Your knees bracketed his thigh as your hand braced against his stomach for leverage, feeling the rigid muscle there shift with each controlled breath.
When you finished, you pressed the adhesive flat and looked up. He was watching your face with a tender expression you rarely ever caught on him.
"You found me in eight minutes..." he said.
"Yup, took me fifteen last time didn't it? Married to you, I'll surely keep getting faster. Like I said, you don't get to hide from me, because I'll find you regardless." you grinned.
Blade
You found him in the infirmary sitting on the edge of a cot with his shirt discarded on the floor. The wound across his torso had already begun knitting itself shut, tissue crawling over tissue, his body repairing what the mind had no interest in protecting.
He looked up when you walked in without any surprise or guilt on his face.
"It's already closing," he said, as if that ended the conversation, but it didn't.
"Shirt off the floor." You ordered and crossed over to the cabinet you kept stocked specifically for him.
It was full of antiseptics and dressings that had just crossed their expiration dates, still effective but not potent enough for a normal patient.
Nobody else in the ward was going to bother with them, but for a body that rebuilt itself regardless, nearly-expired supplies did the job fine and nothing went to waste.
You started the system three months into whatever this was, and he never once commented on it. But you knew he noticed.
"You're wasting your time," he said.
"I'm using supplies that are getting thrown out anyway on a man who tries to throw himself away every chance he gets. It's efficient." You knelt beside him and pressed the cloth to the wound's edge, hands steady despite the obvious irritation in your expression. "Who did this?"
"Does it matter?"
"It matters to me."
His jaw tightened. The wound pulsed under your fingers, half-sealed already. "You don't have to keep doing this. I'm not him."
"And yet your script keeps sending you back to my door." You didn't look up. "And you keep walking through it."
Silence.
"You're stubborn," he said.
"I was stubborn when I married you the first time. Nothing's changed on my end." You smoothed the last bandage down, let your palm rest flat over the fading wound.
His hand came up and his fingers hovered near your cheek for a moment before settling back in his lap.
"I only come back because it's required of me... nothing more." he insisted, hand curling into a tight fist as he looked away from you.
Luocha
You restocked that shelf yourself yesterday. Fourteen vials of antiseptic tincture, eight rolls of compression linen, one jar of sealing salve.
Now you counted thirteen vials, seven rolls, and noticed that the salve lid turned off center.
You found him in the back consultation room, coat draped over a chair, sleeve rolled past his elbow. He treated the wound himself, it was clean and expertly dealt with. The gash along his forearm already neatly dressed.
He looked up when the door opened, and the smile arrived instantly. Pleasant and ever deflecting.
"You're up late," he said, as though he wasn't sitting in your office at midnight with blood drying under his cuffs.
"You used my salve." you crossed your arms, drumming your fingers.
"I'll replace it. I have contacts with three herbalists who--"
"Luocha."
The smile held, but something behind it shifted, knowing to be weary of that tone of yours.
You pulled the patient chair up and sat across from him, took his arm without asking and unwrapped the bandage. The cut was clean but deeper than his dressing suggested. He skimped on the sealing layer, enough to hold for a few hours, but not enough to heal properly in the long run.
"You cut corners with yourself," you said flatly.
"I wanted to be efficient."
"You wanted to not get caught." You redid the salve layer properly, twice as thick, pressing it into the wound with steady hands.
His free hand rested on your knee, fingers curling lightly against the curve of your thigh while he let you work.
"I didn't want to trouble you," he said quietly.
"You are the only healer I know who refuses to be healed unless it's during battle." You tied off the fresh bandage and held his arm in your lap.
His thumb traced along your knee. The smile that came back was smaller, more genuine.
"Old habits," he said.
"New rules." You lifted his hand and used his finger to point to the cabinet "My supplies." You moved his hand to point to himself "My husband." You made him point to himself again. "And my patient are my responsibility, in that order."
He laughed quietly and hummed to himself, letting you keep his hand in your hold.
"Must your supplies come before me?"
"Until you connect with those herbalists you mentioned, yes."
a/n. i've been itching to write for medic reader for a while now cause I just know everyone in this game would drive her batty in one way or another, hope you enjoyed!
Someone points out how the two of you always hold hands when together
featuring. caelus, dan heng - imbibitor lunae form, jing yuan, jiaoqiu, moze, blade, luocha
cw/tags (19+ Only | DNI if younger). fluff, unestablished relationship
Caelus
The observation deck of the Luofu was quieter at that hour, lantern-light pooling amber across the wooden rails. You were leaning into Caelus's side watching the clouds drift below and his hand laced through yours.
March noticed first. She rounded the corner with her camera raised, froze, and lowered it with a grin so wide it practically split her face.
"You two are always like that," she said, delighted. "Every single time!"
You felt Caelus go still for a half second, then he looked down at your joined hands like he only just noticed, and a slow helpless smile broke across his face. He turned it away quickly, but not quickly enough.
"I... hadn't noticed," he said, which was such an obvious lie that you laughed.
"Liar." you teased.
"I mean--" He turned your hand over in his, studying your fingers like it was a puzzle he was trying to work out. "It just happens. I'm not doing it on purpose."
"Does that mean you'd stop if you thought about it?"
He looked up at you, actually considering it instead of deflecting. He was quiet for a moment.
"No," he said finally. "Probably not."
You squeezed his hand and he squeezed back immediately, his hand answering for him before he could with words.
"Well...good," you responded plainly, feeling heat bloom on your face.
He made a small, embarrassed sound and looked back out at the sky. His thumb started moving in slow circles against your knuckles, and you weren't sure he knew he was doing it.
March was still hovering throughout all of this, and you heard the distinct click of a camera shutter.
"March, I swear--"
"For the scrapbook!" she called, already retreating. "You'll thank me later!~"
Caelus exhaled a laugh through his nose. "She's not wrong."
"Don't encourage her."
"I like it," he said quietly. "I like...this."
You tucked your face against his shoulder to hide your grin. "Yeah, so do I."
Dan Heng - Imbibitor Lunae
His horns were always one of the last things to go, followed by the subtle scales on his skin.
They receded in slow tides downwards, iridescent, catching the light in ways that made you marvel at the sight. His breathing was ragged and his hands were shaking still from the earlier battle.
You reached for him, fingers finding his before closed around them in a firm hold, pressing his trembling palm flat against yours.
His pupils were still slitted when they found your face, unfocused, breathing more relaxed now. The scales along his wrist thinned, flickered, before dissolving against your skin
It took three minutes until his horns dissapeared against his head. You had counted before. Without your hand, it sometimes took closer to ten minutes.
Himeko was standing a few paces back when you finally looked up. She had her arms folded, watching as though she just confirmed a theory she had for a while now.
"Every time," she said simply.
Dan Heng pulled his hand from yours in that moment, as though he realized he had borrowed your time once again without asking.
"It helps him come back faster," you explained, although it came out more defensive than you intended.
"I can see that." Himeko's voice was gentle. "I'm not questioning it. I'm just noting that you also hold his hand when he hasn't transformed at all. At breakfast. On the Express. Walking through port."
The silence that followed was Dan Heng's particular kind, the sort that filled with everything he was choosing not to say. He flexed his fingers once, studying them like they belonged to someone else.
"It started... as a necessity," he said quietly.
"And now...?" you quietly asked.
He looked at you before looking back to his hands.
"Now I look for your hand without any reason."
You took his hand again and his fingers closed around yours immediately without any hesitation.
"Then stop letting go after," you told him.
He nodded once with a small smile and didn't let go of your hand again for the rest of the evening.
Jing Yuan
Yanqing fell into step beside you both somewhere between the Exalting Sanctum and the Alchemy Commission, matching Jing Yuan's unhurried stride with restless energy.
"Can I ask you something?" Yanqing said, directed at Jing Yuan but glancing at you.
"You may."
"Do you two ever not hold hands?"
You looked down. Your fingers were threaded through Jing Yuan's, resting in the space between you where your arms swung gently with each step. His grip was loose but certain.
You honestly couldn't remember reaching for his hand. It might have been at the door, although it could have been earlier.
"We take breaks," you offered.
"When?" Yanqing asked, genuinely.
Jing Yuan tilted his head as though this recollection required calculation. "I believe there was a Thursday perhaps."
"I'm being serious!" Yanqing said, mouth twitching. "The Cloud Knights are talking about it. Someone started a tally."
"A tally," you repeated flatly.
"Of what?" Jing Yuan asked.
"Consecutive days. The current count is forty-something."
You groaned. Jing Yuan looked delighted in the particular way that involved his expression barely changing at all, just the corners of his mouth tilting up.
"Tell them the real number is higher," Jing Yuan said. "Their intelligence-gathering needs work."
"You're impossible," you told him.
He hummed. His thumb traced a line across the back of your hand, idle and sure. "You chose this you know."
"I chose you. The hand-holding was your idea."
"And you've lodged no formal complaints yet."
"I'll lodging one now if you want." you shot back.
"No need." He brought your hand up, pressed his lips once against your knuckles without breaking stride. "Your complaint is already denied."
Yanqing made a sound halfway between a laugh and a groan and quickened his pace until he was several steps ahead. "I'm walking in front. I'm not watching this."
"Smart boy," Jing Yuan murmured. "I've trained him well."
You bumped your shoulder into his arm and he absorbed it with ease as he folded your hand more firmly into his.
Jiaoqiu
It started months ago after he lost his sight, your fingers become a compass he never asked for but never refused. At some point necessity turned into habit it, and neither of you acknowledged it.
The festival crowd hummed around you as Jiaoqiu steered you by scent for the last hour, pulling you through the lantern-lit streets with his tail swaying behind him. He stopped at a stall, ears perking forward.
"Here." He picked something up from the counter, a skewer of something glazed and fragrant, and brought it toward your mouth with his free hand. His other hand stayed locked in yours. "Try this. Open."
You leaned forward and bit. Sweet, smoky, the glaze cracking between your teeth. "That's really good."
"I know. I could smell it from three streets away." His thumb was moving across your knuckles. He did that when he was pleased. You didn't think he realized.
"Sooo," Feixiao said from behind you, "is tonight the night, or are you two going to hold hands for another six months?"
Jiaoqiu's ears flattened for a split moment before they righted themselves. "Feixiao. How long have you been there?"
"Long enough to watch you hand-feed her. Very platonic of you."
"I was sharing food. It's polite."
"All while still holding her hand. You hold her hand whenever she's around." Feixiao stepped around to face you both. "You even did so through that entire Seat of Divine Foresight briefing last week."
"She was nervous."
"She was asleep."
You choked on the skewer. Jiaoqiu's mouth twitched, caught, and the tips of his ears flushed darker than usual.
"My question stands," Feixiao continued, grinning. "Are you making a move tonight, or not?"
Jiaoqiu turned toward you with a composed expression, but his fingers shifted in yours, lacing them tighter.
"That depends," he said quietly, "on whether she wants me to."
The festival noise filled the pause. You squeezed his hand once. Twice.
His ears lifted. "Understood." he confirmed to himself, squeezing your hand back.
Moze
"Fourteen steps and neither of you has broken contact. That must be a new record." Jiaoqiu teased.
Moze's hand tightened around yours out of reflex, as though something he thought was hidden got dragged into the open.
You stopped walking and Moze stopped alongside you. Jiaoqiu was leaning against a pillar with his arms folded, ears angled toward you both, tail curling with amusement.
"How did you even--" you started.
"Two sets of footsteps falling at the same rhythm, close enough to share a shadow. You don't need sight to figure out something that obvious." he smiled. "Moze, you're usually quieter than this. She's thrown off your gait."
Moze said nothing, jaw set. His hand had not let go of yours, which you suspected was the loudest thing he had ever done in front of another person.
"It's not a problem," you said, because someone had to speak.
"I never said it was." Jiaoqiu tilted his head. "I think it's sweet. The most feared Shadow Guard on the Luofu, walking around holding hands like a schoolboy on a festival date."
"Jiaoqiu." Moze's voice was flat, but the warning came through clear.
"I'm leaving, I'm leaving." Jiaoqiu pushed off the pillar, still smiling, and passed you both. His tail deliberately brushed your arm as he went.
The corridor was quiet again and Moze exhaled through his nose.
"You can let go," you told him. "If that made you uncomfortable."
He looked at you. His expression gave almost nothing, but his hand stayed in place.
"No, I prefer this." he said.
You smiled, nodded and started walking again and he matched your step, firming the grip he had on yours.
Fourteen steps became twenty. Then forty. He did not let go at that number continued increasing.
Blade
You were sitting on the floor of a safehouse and Blade was beside you, back against the wall with his eyes closed. Your hand had found his twenty minutes ago and he let it happen.
Kafka walked in without knocking.
Her eyes dropped to your joined hands and stayed there. The smile that crossed her face was slow and curling.
"Oh~" she said. "Is this a new development?"
Blade's hand was gone before she finished her sentence. He pulled it back like your touch had burned him, fingers curling against his own thigh, jaw tight. He didn't look at you.
Kafka tilted her head. "Did I interrupt something?"
"No," Blade said.
You grabbed his hand back.
You did it hard, with an angry huff that came out louder than you meant.
Your fingers locked around his and pressed them flat against the floor between you. He went rigid as he stared at your hand on his.
"Stop doing that," you said.
"Doing what."
"Pulling away every time someone sees. Like you're something I should be embarrassed about. Or it is the other way around?"
The silence was heavy. Kafka leaned against the doorframe, watching, and for once she did not fill it with something clever. Even she knew when to leave a wound alone.
Blade's voice came out rough. "Don't be foolish" he said in regards to your last remark. "... Regardless, you should let go."
"No."
"I'm not--" He stopped. Started again. The words sounded like they were being dragged out of him. "This isn't a part of my script."
"Well that sucks for you, but your script doesn't get to decide that for me."
He looked at you as bewildered as you're ever seen him be.
Your grip tightened and his hand turned slowly, until his fingers threaded through yours and gripped hard until his knuckles were taut.
Kafka exhaled quietly and slipped out the door.
Luocha
The market in Cloudford had been busy enough to justify standing close.
At least, that was the excuse you had been using for the last hour, but it was wearing thin, because the crowd had thinned out ten minutes ago and your hand was still in Luocha's.
He hadn't mentioned it. He carried his bag over one shoulder and held your hand with the other as he examined dried herbs at a stall with composed focus.
You were studying a display of ceramic bowls when the stall owner, an older woman, looked between you and Luocha and smiled.
"Your husband has good taste," she said, nodding toward him. "He always picks out the best ginger root I have. You're lucky, keep a good hold on that hand of his."
You opened your mouth to correct her, but Luocha spoke first.
"She's too kind to admit it, but she's the one who spotted this stall the first time we came through." He set the ginger on the counter and reached into his coat for payment, his other hand still holding yours, steady and uninterrupted. "I just followed along."
The woman laughed while you stared at him. He didn't look at you, but the corner of his mouth lifted enough to confirm that he knew what he had done.
You waited until you were three stalls away before pulling him to a stop.
"You didn't correct her."
"Correct her on what?"
"She called you my husband."
"Did she?" He said as though it was unremarkable news about the weather. "I must not have noticed."
"You notice everything, you wouldn't let a detail like that slip by."
He turned toward you and adjusted his grip on your hand, lifting it slightly to press his thumb into the curve of your palm.
"Perhaps I simply didn't find it worth correcting."
Your breath caught but he started walking towards the next stall with you in tow.
a/n. here's another hsr reaction i had ready before my surprise trip--least to say, i was really in a fluff mood earlier this month
penacony / cosmic - m!honkai star rail x chubby fem!reader
He helps guide your breathing during a panic attack
featuring. caelus, sunday, gallagher, aventurine, dr. vertias ratio, argenti, boothill
cw/tags (19+ Only | DNI if younger). panic attacks, hyperventilating, comfort, breathing exercises
Caelus
The floor of the Express kitchen was not where you planned to end up tonight.
You had your back pressed flat against the cabinets as your fingers gripped the hem of your shirt, twisting the fabric until your knuckles ached. Every breath came shallow, like your lungs had forgotten how to do the one job they had.
Caelus found you between one ragged inhale and the next. He didn't make a show of it, he just dropped to the floor beside you, crossing his legs like he was settling in for a long conversation, and held up both hands where you could see them.
"Hey. I'm right here. Can you look at my hands for me?"
You tried. Your vision blurred. "I can't--it won't stop--"
"That's fine. That's okay." His voice stayed level. "You don't have to stop it. We're just gonna sit with it. Breathe in through your nose for me. Slow. Like you're smelling something cooking."
A broken laugh punched out of you. "That's--that's stupid."
"Yeah, probably." He grinned, and something about the complete lack of panic on his face made your chest loosen by a degree. "Do it anyway. In through the nose. I'll count."
He counted to four. You barely made it to three before your breath hitched.
"Good. Now hold it--two, three--and out through your mouth. Slow. Like you're cooling soup."
"You're making everything about food," you whispered, but you exhaled. Shaky. Long.
"It's working though, isn't it?"
It was. Not all at once. It wasn't like flipping a switch. But round after round, his quiet counting filled the spaces where the panic had been screaming. He never reached for you, never crowded you. He just sat close enough that his knee bumped yours and counted.
When your breathing finally evened out, he tilted his head back against the cabinet.
"Better?"
You nodded, throat raw.
"Cool." He bumped your knee again on purpose this time. "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."
Sunday
You hadn't meant for him to see like this.
The observation car was typically empty at this hour. You chosen it precisely for that reason, curling into the window seat with your arms locked around your middle and your breath coming in bursts that you couldn't control no matter how hard you pressed your palms against your own ribs.
Then his reflection appeared in the glass.
He paused, reading the scene with those careful, calculating eyes, and when he stepped forward it was with the deliberateness of someone who understood that sudden movement could make everything worse.
"I'm going to sit across from you," he said in a quiet announcement, giving you the chance to refuse. When you didn't, he lowered himself into the opposite seat and folded his hands in his lap. "Tell me five things you can see."
Your jaw clenched. "I know--I know the grounding technique, Sunday. It's not--"
"Indulge me."
"The--the stars," you managed. "Your gloves. The lamp. My reflection. The cup on the table."
"Good. Now match your breathing to mine. Watch." He inhaled, slow and visible, letting his chest rise so you could track the rhythm. "In for four counts. You are not dying. Your body believes you are, but you and I both know it is mistaken."
You followed him. Messily at first, but his gaze never wavered.
"Out for six. Longer than the inhale. Let the exhale carry what your body no longer needs."
"You make it sound so simple," you said, voice cracking on the last word.
"It is not simple. But it is possible, and that distinction matters." He leaned forward just slightly. "Again. With me."
Breath by breath, the rhythm he built became a structure you could lean against. He did not touch you. He did not fill the silence with reassurances that would ring hollow. He gave you a framework and trusted you to use it.
When the shaking stopped, Sunday sat back and regarded you with an expression that held no judgment. Only recognition.
"There we go, much better." he said quietly.
Gallagher
When your hands started trembling around your glass at the bar and your breathing went tight and quick, he was already moving.
He didn't come around the counter. Instead, he set a clean towel down, placed a glass of cold water on top of it, and slid both toward you with two fingers.
"Drink that. Small sip. Just one."
"Gallagher, I'm fine, I--"
"You're not, and that's all right." His voice was low, bar-volume. The kind of register that didn't carry past the person it was meant for. "Small sip. Cold water can help reset whatever's in your chest, trust the bartender."
You took the sip. The cold hit the back of your throat and your next breath came a fraction deeper than the last.
"Good," he said, and leaned both forearms on the counter so he was closer to your eye level. "Now. Breathe in for me. Nice and slow, like you're trying not to fog up a window."
You tried. It stuttered.
"That counts," he said simply. "Out through your mouth. Take twice as long breathing out as you did breathing in. I'll keep time."
He tapped his thumb against the counter in a slow, even rhythm. Not loud. Just enough to feel the pulse of it through the wood if you pressed your fingertips down. You did, anchoring yourself to that tiny, steady beat.
"Good. Again. You're doing the hard part already, which is just staying put instead of running."
"How do you know that?" Your voice was barely above a whisper.
"Because I've wanted to run a few times myself." He said casually. A fact, plain and. "Take another sip. Then we'll go again."
You drank. You breathed. He tapped.
Slowly, the panic thinned and quieted.
Throughout all of this, Gallagher looked at you the way he looked at anyone else sitting at his bar. Mind you, he would keep the bar open for as long as you needed it (or him), but that was beside the point.
Aventurine
"Oh no you don't. Eyes on me."
His voice cut through the static in your skull. You were sitting on the floor of a Penacony hotel corridor with your back against the wall and your chest caving in on itself, and Aventurine was crouching right in front of you, one knee down, head tilted.
"I can't breathe," you choked out.
"You can. You are. Badly, sure, but that's fixable." He pulled a coin from his pocket, the gesture so automatic it had to be habit. He held it up between his thumb and forefinger. "Watch this. Don't look anywhere else."
He flipped the coin. Caught it. Flipped it again.
"Every time it goes up, you breathe in. Every time I catch it, you breathe out. Simple odds. Even you can't lose this one."
"That's--a terrible way to--"
"Better than nothing, plus you just talked back to me, which means your brain's already coming back online." The grin he gave you was sharp, designed to provoke exactly the irritation that would pull you out of your own spiral. He flipped the coin again. "In."
You breathed in.
He caught it. "Out. Slow. Make it last."
Flip. Catch. Flip. Catch. Your lungs followed the arc of gold in the air, and each round loosened something behind your sternum ever so slightly.
After a minute he stopped flipping and just held the coin still. "Better?"
You nodded, pressing the heels of your hands against your wet eyes. "Sorry. I don't know what--"
"Don't." The word was quick but not harsh. He sat down beside you, back against the same wall, close enough that your shoulders were nearly touching. "Don't apologize for a body doing what bodies do."
Something in his voice shifted when he said it, but it was gone before you could try to understand it further.
He pressed the coin into your palm and folded your fingers over it. "Keep it. Next time it happens and I'm not around, flip it yourself. Give your brain a job and it'll stops eating itself alive."
You stared at the coin. "Does that actually work?"
"Got me through more nights than I'll ever tell you about." He stood and offered you his hand, easy as anything. "Come on. On your feet, gorgeous. The floor's no place for either of us."
Dr. Veritas Ratio
He seen it before during exams where students would freeze up with their eyes glassing over and chest locking up. He learned through repetition that the worst thing you could offer a person in crisis was vague comfort, and the best thing you could offer was information.
So when he found you hyperventilating in your office, he didn't ask if you were okay. He pulled a chair directly in front of yours, sat down, and spoke.
"Your amygdala has triggered a sympathetic nervous system response. Adrenaline is flooding your bloodstream. Your body believes it is under threat, but there is no threat here. You are going to override the signal manually. Nod if you can hear me."
You nodded, fingers digging into your thighs.
"Good. Exhale first. Your lungs are over-inflated right now because you've been gasping. Push the air out. All of it."
"I c-can't just--"
"You can. You've exhaled approximately twenty thousand times today without thinking about it. Do it once on purpose. Out. Now."
You pushed the breath out. It came rough and too fast.
"Again. Slower." He held up a hand, counting down from six with his fingers. You watched each one fold down and matched your exhale to the count.
"Now inhale through your nose. Your diaphragm should expand, not your chest. If your shoulders are rising, you're breathing wrong."
"You're so--you're so intense right now," you managed, half laughing, half crying.
"I will be whatever produces results." He said flatly and kept his hand raised where you could follow it. "Again. Exhale--Six... Five... Four..."
He walked you through like a lesson plan. Repetition after repetition, correcting your form with the same blunt precision he used for everything, until your hands unclenched and the room stopped tilting.
When it was over, he leaned back and studied you. "I take it you're feeling better now?"
"Yeah." You wiped your face. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me. Practice the technique so you can do it alone next time." A beat. "Though... I will be available if you can't."
He said the last part quieter, and you almost missed it. Almost.
Argenti
There was a choked sound from around the corner of the garden terrace, barely louder than the fountain.
Anyone else might have mistaken it for laughter or dismissed it as wind, but Argenti knew better.
He came around the column and found you sitting on the stone bench with your arms wrapped around yourself, rocking slightly, each breath shallow and desperate, never quite filling your lungs.
He knelt, lowering himself to one knee on the stone like he was performing an oath, placing himself below your eye line so you wouldn't have to look up.
"I'm here. May I take your hands?" he asked, waiting for your permission.
You shook your head, pressing your palms harder against your own arms.
"Then I will stay right here." There was no hurt in his voice. "Listen to me. Only to me. Can you feel the stone beneath you? It's solid. It's holding you."
"Argenti, I feel like I'm dy--ing--"
"You are not dying. I would not allow it." Ridiculous. Completely ridiculous, as if a knight could fight off a panic attack with a lance. But the fierce certainty in his face made something in your chest stutter and catch.
"Breathe with me. I will go first." He inhaled, deep and deliberate, letting you see the rise of it. Then he exhaled through parted lips, slow, measured. "Follow when you're ready. Not a moment before."
You watched two of his breaths before you tried. Yours crumbled on the way out.
"That was brave," he said. "Again."
"Don't call it brave, it was barely anything--"
"It was everything. You tried when every part of you was screaming to give in. That is the definition of courage."
Your next breath lasted longer. Then longer still. He stayed on his knee the entire time, never rushing you, never standing, matching every inhale and exhale with his own like a patient mirror.
When the shaking finally stilled, you uncurled your fingers. He didn't reach for them. He waited. And when you extended your hand yourself, he took it gently and pressed his forehead to your knuckles.
"See?" he murmured. "You've won the battle."
Boothill
He wasn't built for this. That was the problem.
Not the finding-you part. Boothill could track trouble across a crowded room like a hound on a scent, and the second he spotted you pressed into the corner of the cargo hold with your chest heaving and your eyes blown wide, he was already crossing the floor.
The problem was what came after.
"Hey. Hey now, look at me. You're all right, you're--" He stopped and clenched his jaw before rolling back on his heels.
The first thing every damn guide said was breathe with them, and his lungs hadn't worked like that in a long time. How the fudge was he supposed to demonstrate something his own body had forgotten how to do?
"Boothill," you gasped, grabbing his sleeve. "I can't--it won't--"
"I know. I got you. Just--hang on." He covered your hand with his. Metal pressed over your knuckles, cool and steady. His eyes darted, thinking fast the way he did in a firefight when the plan fell apart.
Then he pressed your palm flat against his chest.
Not where a heartbeat would be. Lower. Where the mechanical pump that kept him running hummed in a slow, constant rhythm. A vibration more than a sound.
"Feel that? That's my tempo. That's what keeps this whole mess of wiring and bad decisions ticking. Match it. Breathe in when it pulses. Out in between."
"That's not--"
"Yeah, I know, I ain't exactly a textbook example." His grin was crooked and a little too tight at the edges. "Common, just work with me here. In on the pulse."
You focused on the hum under your fingers. Your first breath in was ragged. The second was less. The third almost matched the rhythm.
"There you go." His voice dropped, rougher than before. "Atta girl. Keep going."
"Why does this work?" you whispered, your forehead dropping against his collarbone.
He was quiet for a beat. His hand came up to rest on the back of your head.
"Because it's the one thing about this body I can count on." He said it like a joke but you heard it more as a confession. "Figured one of us ought to."
You breathed against the hum of him until the panic bled out and all that was left was the steady, mechanical proof that he was there and not leaving.
"You good?" he asked eventually.
"Getting there."
"Good enough for me." His thumb brushed the back of your neck once. "Take your time. I ain't exactly run on a schedule."
a/n: Having gone through this during my vacation, I wanted to provide a friendly PSA that breathing is key during these scary moments✨
Big boys who are not ashamed of being loud in bed, who aren't afraid of making their pleasure known and letting you know how good your insides feels wrapped around their dick. They groan, whine, whimpers, let out breathless praises into the croak of your ear as they hit the deepest part of your tight hole.
And their facial expression? Completely slutted out, you'd think they're the one on the receiving end of their own dick fucking your brains out with the way his face twisted into a look of unadulterated bliss, brows creased and lips forming a O shape as they finally reaches their release with a silent moan, panting like a dog in heat his cum filled you to the brim. "feels so good..."
tartaglia,phainon, gojo,varka,homelander,leon,goku,shidou,lohen + your favs...
@ do not steal my work ! rights all reserved, no translations allowed.
express / belobog - m!honkai star rail x chubby fem!reader
You cry when he tells you he loves your body
featuring. caelus, dan heng, welt yang, gepard landau, sampo koski, luka
cw/tags (19+ Only | Minors DNI). discussion/acknowledgement of body image issues, insecurity, verbal affirmation, affection, varied relation status, no beta
Caelus
You had been tugging at the hem of your shirt for the last twenty minutes, pulling it down over your stomach every time you shifted on the parlor car bench. You weren't even thinking about it, having done this for years out of reflex.
Flatten. Smooth. Adjust. Repeat.
Caelus was lying on the opposite bench, legs dangling off the end, tossing a baseball toward the ceiling and catching it repeatedly.
"Hey, could you stop doing that?" he asked, still throwing the baseball.
"Stop doing what?"
"The thing with your shirt." He caught the ball one final time and sat up, looking directly at you so plainly honest it almost felt rude. "You keep pulling at it. You've been doing it ever since you got on board."
Heat flooded your face. "It rides up."
"Okay--so let it ride up then if that's how it wants to fit."
"Caelus--"
"I'm serious." He swung his legs to the floor, elbows on his knees, leaning toward you. "You know what I see when your shirt rides up? You, that's what I see. You keep trying to hide yourself even though I like every single bit of you."
You stopped breathing.
He kept going. "Your thighs? Incredible. Your arms? I think about your arms... kind of a weird amount actually. And your stomach--okay, I know you hate your stomach, you told me once and I've been mad about it ever since--but I love it. I love how you look. All of it. Not in spite of anything. Just... I don't know, all of it."
The tears hit before you could form a single word.
His face went from earnest to panicked in a heartbeat. "Wait--no, that was supposed to be a good thing, I was trying to--"
"It is a good thing," you choked out, pressing both hands over your mouth because your whole face was crumpling. "You can't just say stuff like that."
"Um I can and I will? Frequently? Starting now and continuing forever?--I mean you said is was a good thing sooo not seeing the problem now."
You laughed through a sob and he crossed over and pulled you against his chest, arms folding around you completely, chin on top of your head.
"Every bit," he repeated against your hair. "No exceptions."
Your hands fisted in the back of his jacket and in that moment, you believed him.
Dan Heng
You didn't realize he was watching.
You stepped out of the shower and caught yourself in the narrow mirror of the Express bathroom, still dripping. And you done what you always did, turned sideways, sucked in, looked at every place you felt that your body curved too far or took up too much space, pinched your hip, pressed a hand flat against your belly and frowned.
The door was open a crack. You hadn't noticed.
Dan Heng didn't bring it up right away. That wasn't how he worked. He waited until the had enough context, and then mulled over his words carefully before expressing them.
It came three days later on the observation deck, his shoulder near yours in the dark.
"You hold yourself like an apology," he said.
You blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"The way you stand. The way you sit. You fold inward, make yourself smaller." A pause. "...You don't need to do that."
"Dan Heng, I--"
"I've read about this. The way one's body image can affect their view of themselves..." His voice stayed low, controlled, but something underneath it pressed against the edges. "While I know my words won't change this... You should know that I find nothing about your body that requires correction. Your shape, your frame, the way you feel when I--" He stopped. Reset. "I notice you. More than I'm comfortable admitting. And everything I notice, I've wanted ever since."
The air between you went very still.
"You can't mean that," you whispered.
His head turned and his eyes found your in the dark and the look in them was so utterly certain, that your chest caved in.
"I don't say things I'm unprepared to stand behind." he stated plainly.
The first tear fell and you looked away fast, jaw tight, trying to swallow the whole thing back down. His hand found your wrist. Not pulling. Just circling it, thumb against your pulse.
"Don't turn away from me," he said quietly. "Not for this."
You broke. A sound tore out of you that you'd been holding for years.
He drew you into him and pressed his mouth to your temple, letting yourself go through the motions until your breathing finally settled.
Welt Yang
He was sketching.
You grew used to him drawing at odd hours, pencil moving in that patient, deliberate way of his. He sketched the Express. He sketched planets from the window. He sketched Stelle mid-argument and March pretending not to pose.
You hadn't realized he was sketching you until the page fell open on the parlor table while he was making tea.
It was your profile from three nights ago. You were reading, legs tucked beneath you on the bench, one arm resting across your middle. He drew every curve with an incredible amount of care. The roundness of your cheek. The line where your thigh pressed full against the cushion. The place where your shirt gathered at your waist.
Nothing hidden. Nothing minimized.
"Welt." Your voice came out strange. "Why did you--"
He set down two cups and looked at the open page without embarrassment. "Because I wanted to remember how you looked in that light.ing"
"But you drew--" You gestured at the page, at the body on it, at all the parts you would have erased. "You drew everything."
"Yes." He sat across from you and adjusted his glasses. "That was the point."
"I don't look like that though."
"You look exactly like that." He said steadily without hesitation. "I have spent a long time learning to see what's actually in front of me... And what is in front of me is someone worth capturing accurately." He turned the notebook toward you. "Every line here is something I admire. I would not have drawn it otherwise."
You stared at the page and your vision blurred.
"I--sorry." You pushed the heel of your hand against your eye. "That's--no one's ever--"
"Then you have been around remarkably unobservant people."
A laugh jumped out of you, broken as he reached across the table and folded your free hand between both of his, thumbs running slow across your knuckles.
"I will draw you as many times as it takes," he said, "for you to see what I see."
Gepard Landau
He practiced what he was wanting to say to you.
You knew this because Serval told you, barely containing her glee, that her little brother had been pacing her workshop for half an hour muttering to himself with your name constantly in the mix.
"I don't know what he's planning," she said, "but I haven't seen him this wound up since his promotion ceremony."
So when Gepard appeared at your apartment that evening, still in full Silvermane regalia, standing at a posture that was somehow even more rigid than usual, you had some warning. Just not enough.
"I need to speak with you," he said.
"O...kay?"
"It has come to my attention--" He stopped. Started again. "I have observed that you--no. That isn't right either." He pressed his gloved fingers to the bridge of his nose. "I had this memorized."
"Gepard, are you alright?"
"You hold your coat closed when you walk beside me," he said, blunt and suddenly. "You cross your arms in public. You apologize whenever we sit close together and... last week you told me you were surprised I wanted to be seen with you and I have not been able to stop thinking about it since."
The hallway was very quiet.
"I am not skilled at this," he continued, and a flush was climbing his neck above the armor collar.
"I speak more easily about strategy and defense than about--but you need to hear this from me directly. Your body is not something to apologize for. It is--you are-" His jaw worked. "When I see you, what I feel is not obligation or charity. It is desire. It is admiration, and I will not stand by while you convince yourself otherwise."
Your hand came up over your mouth but it was too late. The sound that escaped was small and fractured and completely beyond your control and Gepards composure crumbled instantly.
"Was that--did I say it wrong? I can start over. I prepared a second version just in ca--"
"A second version," you repeated, half-sobbing, half-laughing.
"Serval said my first draft was too formal." he admitted, unknowingly exposing his sisters lie to you.
You grabbed the front of his breastplate and pulled him into to kiss him. He made a startled sound against your mouth and then his hands found your waist over your coat, thumbs pressing into the give of you through the fabric.
"Was that... acceptable then?" he asked when you pulled back, slightly dazed.
"And then some," you said still crying but with a smile.
Sampo Koski
It started with the worst pick-up line you'd ever heard.
"Are you a Silvermane Knight? Because you've got me under arrest and I'm not even mad about it~♥" He leaned across the market stall with both elbows down, chin in his hands, grinning at you with zero shame.
You walked away, but he showed up the next day.
"Did it hurt when you fell from the upper city? Because you look divine--and slightly illegal."
"Go away, Sampo."
Day five. "I've been to a lot of places on this planet. Frozen wastelands, underground tunnels, several rooms I was not welcome in. And the most stunning view is standing right in front of me buying groceries."
Day nine. "You must be an artifact from before the Eternal Freeze because you are a treasure and I'd like to claim you for my personal collection."
Day twelve. "Is your name Penacony? Because you're a dream come--wait, that one wouldn't make sense unless you've been. Hold on, let me--"
"Why are you doing this?" You finally turned on him, bags in hand. "Every day, Sampo. Pick-up lines. At me. Is this a new bit or something?"
"A bit!" He clutched his chest as though pained. "She calls it a bit."
"Look at me." You gestured at yourself--all of yourself, the full obvious picture. "You don't use lines like those on someone who looks like me unless it's a joke."
His grin vanished like a curtain yanked sideways to show the bare wall behind it.
"That," he said, "is the dumbest thing anyone has ever said to me, and I once had a man try to sell me my own shoes."
"Sampo--"
"Who told you that? Who put that idea in your head?" He stepped forward. "I've been showing up to this market every day like a fool because you're gorgeous and I'd rather have you roll your eyes at me for 10 minutes than not have your attention at all."
Your bags hit the ground as your vision blurred.
"Wait, no--Shit." His hands fluttered. "That was supposed to land smooth, that was supposed to be--"
"You're so stupid," you managed, crying fully now in the middle of a Belobog street market.
His face softened as the corner of his lips turned up. "Yup. I'm the absolute worst, now come here already will you?"
You did, and he wrapped himself around you, petting your hair as you soaked his shoulder with your tears.
"Okay--I realize the timing isn't great, but is it safe to say you wouldn't say no if I asked you out to dinner now?" Fortunately you couldn't see the grin on his face, or you might have smacked it.
Luka
You were sitting on the bench in the training area, stretching out a cramp, while pulling at your workout clothes the way you always did after you exercised, making sure nothing was clinging in the wrong places or showing too much of what you didn't want seen.
Luka noticed and dropped onto the bench beside you. His mechanical arm hung loose between his knees while he caught his breath.
"Can I ask you something?" he said.
"Uh, yeah sure. What's up?"
"When you train--and you train hard, I've seen it... do you feel strong?"
You considered your answer a moment before nodding. "During, yeah. Sometimes."
"And after?"
You didn't respond, but your hand was already at the hem of your shirt, tugging.
"Yeah." He nodded slowly, like you confirmed something he already knew. "I kinda figured." He flexed his mechanical arm. "You know how long it took me to stop hiding this thing?"
You looked at him surprised.
"I used to keep it covered constantly. Sleeves, wraps, whatever I could find. Because I figured people saw it and saw weakness." He turned his hand over, looking at his metal fingers. "Took me a while to understand that this arm is part of what makes me capable."
"That's different, Luka."
"Yes and no..." He turned to face you. "I watched you move, your body can do incredible things. You're powerful. Your legs, your core, the way you throw your weight behind a hit... but then you finish and you start hiding again like none of your effort counts because of your shape."
His real hand reached over and caught yours, pulling it away from your shirt. "But it does count. Your body isn't something to work around. It's the whole reason you're as strong as you are."
The gym was silent except for a pipe dripping somewhere distant.
"You...really see that?" you whispered.
"Every time you walk in here." He said with a grin. "And I wish you could see it too because the view from where I'm sitting is pretty unreal."
You pressed your face into your hands and your shoulders shook and he pulled you sideways into him so your head was against his shoulder, and pressed his mouth to the top of your head.
a/n. ngl I wrote this mainly with 19 y.o. me in mind, because she has no idea someone is about to pop up in her life to say exactly this (and more), only for her (me) to be marrying that same guy in a few months 10 years later.
