#(I saw the flowers in the water and all I could think of was that little scene in Tangled right before the song starts <3)< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[hatethysinner]

more on remmick missing those big leaps, i feel like newer vampires have to adjust to being able to do that -- but Remmick never does and every so often some poor person just hears him thunk into the roof or something. like its all quiet and then just THUNK followed by '...sHIT-'

ꜱʜɪᴛ!

ᴡᴄ: 1.5k

ᴀ/ɴ: i could not stop thinking about this idea when you sent in the first ask and with this follow up the inspiration hit me like a truck. i really do need to write short drabbles more often. enjoy! i don't do taglists personally, so just follow me if you want to be updated when i post c:

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: established relationship, amateur knowledge of wound care, silly pathetic!remmick fluff

The crash woke you before the curse did.

THUD.

Then,

“Shit!”

The sound cracked through the stillness like a hammer to glass. You shot upright in bed, breath catching for a moment as your eyes struggled to adjust to the dark. The house held its breath right alongside you, everything gone perfectly still except for the quiet whispers of wind against the house and the dull hum of cicadas outside, sawing their endless song like nothing had happened at all.

But you knew better.

Of course you did.

You pressed a palm to your face, dragging it down slow, already sighing before your feet hit the floor. “Lord have mercy.”

This man.

It was always the same with him. Always.

“I’ll be out runnin’ a few errands,” he’d say, voice warm and sweet. Every time.

And every time you’d nod, pretending like you didn’t know exactly what that meant. You never asked. Didn’t need to. He made sure you didn’t have to.

He never brought it home.

Whatever mess he made out there in the dark stayed out there. Always returned just before dawn with nothing but a smudge of dirt at his collar and something soft in his hand for you. A little gift, a peace offering. Sometimes a trinket that caught the morning light just right, sometimes a necklace you swore was far too fine for anyone around here to afford, sometimes a bouquet of flowers he claimed he found by chance. Always accompanied by that same crooked smile that made you forgive him before he even asked.

But tonight?

Tonight, it seemed, grace failed him.

You pulled your robe around your shoulders, padding barefoot through the house, careful not to catch your toes on the edge of the carpet as you crossed to the front door. The boards creaked beneath you. Soft, old, familiar. The kind of house that remembered every step.

Another grunt floated in through the open window. Closer this time. Lower. A shuffle of limbs, a low, winded groan that had you squinting into the dark beyond the porch light.

Then came the creak of the porch swing.

You stopped beneath the doorway for a breath, listening, waiting, watching.

And finally, there he was, dragging himself around the corner into view. Like a man who didn’t quite know how to admit he needed help but couldn’t help crawling toward you anyway.

Remmick was flat on his back in the dirt.

The porch light glimmered faintly above, flickering once before settling again, casting him in thin, uneven stripes of amber. His shirt was ripped at the shoulder, collar pulled wide, fabric soaked through with sweat, or maybe water, you couldn’t quite tell from here. His hair was a wild mess, tangled and sticking to his temple like he’d been caught in a storm, though the air was clear.

One shoe had slid halfway down his foot, heel caught in the dirt. The other leg lay bent at an awkward angle, as if his body couldn’t quite agree where to land after the fall. He looked more thrown than dropped, like the world had spat him out.

And there he was, blinking up at you.

His gaze met yours like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Wide, sheepish, and entirely too aware of how foolish he looked. The flush in his face wasn't from embarrassment though. No, you knew that look, it was the adrenaline still burning off him in waves.

And yet, even sprawled out in the dirt like that, there was something about him. The faint pulse of red still flickering behind the familiar blue of his eyes, just enough to catch the light when he shifted. The hint of fang still peeking past the corner of his lip when his mouth parted, like it always did when he was too tired to fully pull himself together.

The gold chain at his throat. Your favorite one, the one that always seemed to gleam like it belonged to a man far cleaner than he ever was, glinted faintly. A soft flash beneath the ruined collar of his shirt. You caught yourself staring at it before you realized.

“…Hey, sugar,” he wheezed, voice thin but trying its best to sound casual.

You stared at him for a long, unimpressed beat. Your arms crossed without you meaning them to, feet planted firm on the cool wooden porch. The breeze tugged at your nightgown, making the thin cotton ripple gently at your calves. Fireflies drifted lazily at the edge of the treeline. Their glow blinked soft in the dark, careless, like this was just another quiet night.

“You good?” you asked, flat.

He gave a single, shallow nod. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“Landed wrong.”

“You landed on the roof.”

He winced a little, shifting his weight as he tried to sit up straighter, one hand gripping at his ribs. “Little miscalculation.”

“You’ve been doin’ those jumps for how long now?”

“Don’t-” He held up one bloodied hand like a white flag, wincing as he flexed his wrist. His voice thinned into something sharp and frayed. “Don’t rub it in.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, feeling the scolding sit heavy behind your teeth, but kept it balanced. No use piling on while he still looked like the ground might swallow him if he moved too fast. Your eyes swept him again, quick and clinical. Shoulder likely dislocated, ribs bruised at best, knee scraped up, knuckles torn raw. His chest rose and fell too shallow for your liking. But he was breathing. Awake. Speaking.

And, miraculously, grinning.

You exhaled long. “Lord, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

His grin wobbled but stayed. “Not if I can help it.”

Another sigh pulled itself from your chest. You turned on your heel and stepped back inside, the screen door creaking as it swung open behind you. “Come on. Before you bleed out in my yard.”

Behind you, the porch groaned under his weight as he hauled himself upright, muttering curses beneath his breath while he staggered after you like a man determined to pretend everything was fine. The sound of his shoes scraping along the floorboards made you wince. Dirt and dead leaves trailed behind him across your clean kitchen floor, earning a disappointed huff.

You reached under the kitchen counter and pulled out the first aid kit. The one that now had a permanent home there ever since Remmick came barreling into your life. Needle. Thread. Antiseptic. Cloths. The glass jar of salve he swore didn’t sting as bad, even though it did.

Everything laid out like ritual. Like routine.

He eased himself onto the wooden stool near the window with a hiss, one hand braced against the edge of the table, the other still clutching at his side. You could see how tight his jaw was, how carefully he was trying to hide the pain behind that lopsided grin. Stubborn as could be.

“You are a fool,” you muttered under your breath as you uncapped the antiseptic.

“But I’m your fool.”

You shot him a sideways glance at that, unable to help the small twitch that pulled at the corner of your mouth. “That you are.”

The house was quiet as you worked. The kind of quiet only broken by the scrape of glass bottles against the table and his quiet, occasional sharp inhales when the alcohol hit an open wound. Outside, the cicadas droned steady, the night thick with heat and the pulsing rhythm of distant frogs.

You pressed the cloth to his shoulder, dabbing gently, and he hissed between his teeth again, his fingers flexing where they gripped the edge of your skirt under the table. Just to hold you. Just to remind himself you were there.

“Next time,” you said softly, threading the needle, “use the damn door.”

He let out a low, breathy laugh. “I was tryin’ to surprise ya.”

“You surprised me plenty.”

“Ain’t mean the roof part.”

“No,” you said, lips twitching again, “I figured that much.”

You stitched him up slow, careful. The needle moved steady through his skin, your hands familiar with the task in a way that made your chest ache sometimes if you thought too hard about it. You didn’t. You couldn’t. Not when his thumb rubbed gentle circles into your knee as you worked, his eyes never once leaving your face.

It was always like this.

He’d leave, and you’d stay. He’d come back, and you’d fix him.

Again and again.

And somehow, some part of you loved him for it.

When the last stitch was tied and the bandage wrapped clean, you smoothed your hand along his jaw, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth where a smear of dried blood still clung. His eyes softened under your touch, the red dimming almost completely beneath the blue. It made him look gentler. Almost tender.

He caught your wrist and pressed a kiss to your palm, voice barely above a whisper now. “Told ya I’d always make it home.”

And even after all this, after everything, your chest still clenched at that.

Because he did. Every time.

Even if sometimes, he fell out of the sky to do it.

[cosmowgyral]

The Lying Fox is filled with a Love free of Lies

▪︎ Harrison's 3rd Birthday

This is a fan translation so please don't expect it to be 100% accurate. Creative liberties have been taken. All content belongs to Cybird. Reblogs are appreciated but do not repost. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 3

The day of Harry’s birthday—

(Alright!)

I was alone in his room, getting ready to decorate.

It was just past 1 a.m., and he still hadn’t returned from his mission.

(He told me it’d be a long one and that I could go ahead and sleep…)

(But I want to be the first one to welcome him home and celebrate, so I have to stay up!)

Just as I approached the bed to open a bag full of garlands and paper flowers—

(…A ribbon?)

A long ribbon, almost like a tail, was peeking out from beneath the bed.

Curious, I knelt down and looked underneath… only to find several stacked boxes.

(Wait—these are the boxes from the presents I gave him…)

Unable to resist, I reached for one and opened it.

Inside were neatly folded wrappings and small paper bags—all of which I instantly recognized.

(No way… he kept all of them?)

Tucked beneath the bed were the empty packaging and wrappings from every gift I had given him over the past week.

They were just boxes, brown bags, unadorned wrapping paper—no real use now that the gifts were gone.

And yet he had kept everything, carefully... as if they were treasures.

Kate: Ah…!

The surge of affection tightened in my chest, and I dropped to my knees without thinking.

(I want to see him… right now.)

I wanted to leap into his arms right now, to feel his warmth.

But Harry was still out on duty.

Kate: …Harry, come home soon.

Lifting my head, I rested my chin on the edge of the bed, and spotted something mint-colored on the pure white sheets: his shirt.

He must’ve left in a hurry when the mission call came, tossing it aside as he rushed out.

Instinctively, my hand reached out and grabbed it.

Kate: Harry’s shirts are so big…

I unfolded it, surprised at its size.

(…What would it feel like to wear it?)

Glancing around the room, I hesitantly slipped my arms into the sleeves.

Kate: …It’s huge.

The hem reached my thighs, the sleeves dangled past my hands, and the shoulders were so wide it would slip off unless I buttoned it up.

His scent still clung faintly to the fabric, and as it wrapped around me, it felt like I was being completely enveloped in him.

It made my heart feel calm.

Kate: Hehe… it’s so big.

I wrapped my arms around myself in his oversized shirt and spun around in circles, when suddenly—

Harrison: Huh..?

Kate: Ah!

The door creaked open.

I froze as my eyes met Harry’s.

Kate: Ah, wait, this isn’t what it looks like, I mean—!

Panicking, I rushed to take the shirt off, but before I could, Harry silently stepped forward and grabbed my shoulders.

Kate: I-I’m sorry—

Harrison: Keep it on.

Kate: …Huh?

He stared straight at me, voice hurried but his eyes dead serious.

Harrison: Actually, don’t wear anything else. I’m gonna go wash my face—be changed by the time I’m back.

Kate: Huh—o-okay…?

Harrison: Good.

Releasing my shoulders, he quickly disappeared into the bathroom.

(W-What just happened…?)

I stared blankly at the door he’d vanished behind.

Then the sound of running water brought me back to my senses.

(U-Underwear is fine… right?)

It was rare for Harry to ask for something so directly.

Embarrassed but wanting to meet his expectations, I hurried to change.

(Maybe the mission really tired him out…)

Worried, I slipped into just his shirt, then grabbed the present I’d planned to give him and sat on the bed.

When he returned and saw me, he froze in place.

(Did I get it wrong…?)

A wave of anxiety washed over me—but it disappeared the moment he rushed over and hugged me tight.

Harrison: …Perfect.

He whispered the word as he buried his face in my shoulder, and I felt myself relax with relief.

Kate: Welcome back. You’re not hurt, are you?

Harrison: Nah… I’m fine. This is the best birthday ever.

As I wrapped my arms around his tired frame in return, Harry suddenly noticed the box by our feet.

Harrison: …You saw that?

He pulled away a little, picked up the box, and set it on the bed.

Kate: This one’s from the clothes, this one had the biscuits, and this…

As I lined them up one by one, he looked a bit sheepish.

Harrison: I hid them under the bed… how did you even notice?

I reached down and tugged the ribbon that had been sticking out like a tail, smiling slyly.

Kate: There was a very familiar ribbon peeking out.

Harry averted his gaze and let out a sigh, but I couldn’t hide the joy bubbling up inside me.

Kate: Happy birthday, Harry.

Harrison: …Thanks.

He wrapped his arms around my waist from behind.

Kate: And this is the last present.

Lifting my face, I handed over the final gift.

Harry untied the ribbon and opened the box, taking out a small glass jar.

Harrison: Candy?

Inside were colorful, sparkling candies that looked like little jewels.

Kate: I found these at that shop where you always buy your mint candy.

Kate: They say it changes color as you eat it!

These so-called "magic candies" shimmered like gems, and Harry gazed at them curiously.

I opened the lid and picked out a milk-tea-colored one.

Kate: The shopkeeper recommended this flavor.

Harrison: What’s the taste?

Kate: …I don’t know.

Harrison: So it’s a surprise until you eat it, huh.

When I popped the candy into his mouth, I could see the color slowly changing between his lips—

(It’s the color of his eyes...)

Watching the candy turn from milk tea to the exact shade of Harry’s eyes, I couldn’t look away.

Kate: Nn—!

Suddenly, he kissed me—slipping the candy into my mouth.

Harrison: It’s the same color as my eyes.

He smiled sweetly, then tied a ribbon gently around my neck, tilting my face upward.

Harrison: Ever since I met you, my birthdays have been full of surprises I never could’ve imagined.

Harrison: Even though I can see through lies, you still manage to surprise and delight me every time.

Harrison: I know how hard you try to make me happy.

With those kind, heartfelt words, his lips slowly drew near.

Harrison: But to me—

Kate: "Just having you by my side makes it the best birthday ever", right?

The words Harry always said every year left my lips instead, and he blinked in surprise—before bursting into a smile.

Harrison: Exactly. Just having you here makes it the best birthday.

Harrison: And I hope that never changes.

The candy between our mouths slowly melted from the warmth we shared.

[Chapter 2]

[m3lin03]

Shape of the unknown - Epilogue

a/n: Hello, hello! If the people want something they should get it. This is me procrastinating on Razor's grip and my exams. Hope you'll enjoy it! kisses💕(not rlly proofread btw, it's 2 am and if I don't post now idk if I'll get the time later)

characters: Sylus, non!mc, mc

summary: Sometimes the universe gives, not only takes from you.

word count: 1268

tw: i don't think there's anything worth mentioning

The world died and was born again thousands of times. Stars burn themselves to exhaustion and give birth to others. The blood that fed the soil that day was erased by flowers, fire, then disappeared only to form something else. This was the way the universe worked – death and rebirth, endlessly.

That’s how two lines of destiny cross again, one night during a rain of stars.

The Inara Island got its name from being the best place to watch astronomical phenomena be it an eclipse, or a star fall. It was a private estate, away from the eyes of everyone that was deemed unworthy of such ethereal place. Today was different though, as the auction took place exactly when the Perseids could be seen in their perfect entirety.

Sylus walked down the hall in a dark red velvet suit, pearls and silver stars sewn into it. His shirt was dark like the night sky and on his arm the relentless huntress of the Association.

The people gathered here were nothing special, enjoying a chance that maybe will never come again, hoping to settle important business or rip off others, causing bankruptcy or life debts. Everyone had some kind of perverse reason to being here. Even the woman on his arm had ulterior motives, her eyes shining every time a new weapon or protocore was being shown. She was there for whatever he could give – power, influence, money – and he was alright with it as they had a common enemy, but Sylus couldn’t deny how loneliness swallowed him even with her around. After all, better with the devil you know, than the one you don’t.

A spot of color in the corner of his eye caught his attention, only to find no one there when he turned around.

He danced with the girl, spinning her around, getting her close again, however his eyes scanned for something else between the guests – someone else.

Then a small flash appeared on the sky, then one more, the three, and… The rain of stars started. His steps carried him to the balcony of the ballroom. From here he could see the beach, the sea and entirety of the sky. Sylus’s eyes were stuck to the sky until below him, on the beach was movement. His muscles tensed for a moment as the person wasn’t on the list of guests.

Her dress was a deep purple, such a royal color that bled into silver at the seams. The bodice was fitted to her form as the skirt made of silk flowed around her like water, rhinestones shining and forming galaxies. It wasn’t an expensive dress, quite the opposite, but it hugged her so well. She danced to the music looking up to the stars, pearls on her ears and neck, heels in hands. His eyes fell on her delicate collarbones and naked shoulders. Her laugh was louder than the orchestra to him. When he saw her face, his heart almost stopped.

Her hair fell in waves around her cheeks, pearls and rhinestones lost in its strands. Such wonderful eyes full of joy, mouth wide in a smile – everything was just as he remembered. Nothing changed about her, maybe only her unrestrained emotions that were such well kept secrets before.

Emcee shifted near him, breaking the spell he fell into. People were gathered around on the balcony. He didn’t even notice when they got closer.

“Who is that?”, she asked in a whisper.

A man he didn’t remember the name of hurried to excuse himself for he brought the novice painter, friend of his son without announcing and Sylus silenced him just by raising his hand.

Novice painter?

There was nothing novice in the way you painted. After that night Sylus made it his mission to attend as many expositions of yours as possible. Each painting was another statement – some were bold, colors full of vitality, while others were delicate as if a second look is all that would take to make them disappear. Each exposition showed another side of you – melancholy fueled by ephemerous sights and people, joy for being alive and moving around, the burning fire of desires so deep they could shake the core of earth.

Sylus loved everything you created, admired every stroke of paint. His favorite painting was the one that showed you reaching for the stars that looked as if they were falling in your hands searching for warmth and closeness. The waves breaking against stones, sea foam on the dress.

This image ended in his bedroom, on the wall right in front of his bed. His home could be an art museum full of your works just after a few months.

You took notice of this stranger that seemed to be there every time your work was celebrated since the ball you attended many months ago. The memory of that night lives in your soul not only for the stars, but how his eyes follow your being since then. When your eyes reached the balcony and locked on a pair of red rubies, it was as if a grand piece fell in its place.

In your home there were countless canvas full of that red and silver. Sketches of him were scattered around on your coffee table, desk, everywhere. But you didn’t know his name.

The next exposition of your art was called Stranger. Maybe it was lame, maybe you thought you are being smooth, it didn’t matter. The mission was to meet him officially. It’s not as if you didn’t know how many artworks of yours he bought by paying at least triple. He had to show up. Still, nervousness was making your stomach knot.

The walls of the gallery were covered in different reds, silver and black, different textures: smooth like onyx, scales, sharp edges. Smudges of color or well-structured shapes. They were questions, nudges, an invitation.

The dress you wore was plain and burgundy, hanging softly on your form, not completely hugging it. The heels in your feet were elegant, their sound making his pulse quicken with anticipation, knowing they were headed his way.

Sylus knew everything here was for him, knew it was his invitation. When his eyes fell on the central work, breathing felt optional – his hair was ruffled by soft wind, the moonlight reflecting on his skin turning his image into an ethereal phantasm. The title was written in cursive in the left lower corner, a question that made him smile – a real smile. Of course, you didn’t remember. But, perhaps, if this was the price to see you be such an orb of light, sadness made no sense.

Feeling your warmth beside him he spoke:

��Sylus. My name is Sylus.”

“Nice to meet you, Sylus. I would present myself, but I think you learned my name in these months”, you answer smiling.

After this, there was no turning back.

Your soul embraced all his cracks and sharp edges, as his shield protected you. Sylus left no place for secrets from you and it would be a lie to say that you didn’t like the rush and danger. There was no place where you wouldn’t follow him. Your heart was there to cradle him, hands there to patch up his wounds.

Sylus could see his Oracle from before just bellow the surface, not in the way you look in the rearview mirror, rather in the way you remember how the seed of a flower looked before it grew into something more.

And so, after eons, for once everything was right. There was peace, whispers into the night, silent caresses and loud hearts.

----

@animegamerfox @nm4565natty a gift for you my lovelies, thank you for your kind words, it was fr my motivation to finally write this (if you want me to untag you pls let me know, I just wanted to make sure you see this💕)

[everwhovian]

Fanfic where Inho wasn’t a match during the kidney situation and they couldn’t find Anyone willing to donate, ending they don’t have any choice but to watch Junho’s life slip away

You seriously want to break me, don't you?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ○△□ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

The beeping didn’t stop.

It didn’t speed up.

It didn’t slow down.

Just a steady, taunting rhythm. As if the machine wanted to remind him that Jun-ho was still here – but only just.

In-ho sat beside the bed. Again. Still. Always. His coat hung over the back of the chair like it had resigned itself, too. The same one he’d worn through countless night shifts, now crumpled and stained with exhaustion. His sleeves were rolled up, wrists bruised from clenching too hard, too long.

Jun-ho was sleeping.

Or something like it.

No dreams. No murmurs. No shifting under the blankets. Just that stillness. That fucking stillness.

And In-ho was beginning to hate the sound of the machines. Because they made it seem like this was normal. Manageable. Like Jun-ho wasn’t actively dying right in front of him.

But Jun-ho didn’t just collapse and never get back up – no. The body isn’t that kind. It fights. It tries. It decays in increments. It loses itself in slow motion.

And that was the worst part.

Because In-ho saw it. All of it. Every stage. Every failure. Every quiet surrender.

At first, it was little things.

Jun-ho stopped waking on the first alarm. He was always the early one – up before In-ho, clattering dishes, singing off-key while brushing his teeth. But suddenly, he needed to be called once. Then twice. Then shaken lightly by the shoulder.

Then he didn’t come out of bed at all.

The dark circles showed up next. Big ones. Like bruises. Like guilt.

Then the nausea.

In-ho remembered holding back his brother’s hair as he vomited bile into a trash can, teeth chattering from the strain. Jun-ho laughed it off afterward, said something about cafeteria food – but his voice had been thin, and his smile had cracked at the edges.

A week later, he couldn’t hold down water.

By then, the doctor had a name for it.

Acute renal failure. Chronic progression. Genetic markers. Words that meant nothing and everything all at once. They floated around In-ho’s ears like insects, meaningless except for the single, devastating truth beneath them:

Jun-ho’s kidneys were failing.

And there was no one else.

No donor. No one on the registry who matched.

Just In-ho.

Who wasn’t a match either.

He remembered how quiet the hospital room was after the nurse delivered the results. How the clipboard looked so small in her hands. How In-ho had stared down at Jun-ho and realized, with bone-deep horror, that the one thing Jun-ho needed – the one thing he would have given without question – wasn’t something he could offer.

He would’ve torn out both kidneys if it meant keeping his brother alive.

But they were the wrong type.

The days that followed came in pieces. Long. Disconnected.

Jun-ho got weaker. Every morning he looked… dimmer. Like someone was turning down the saturation on his body one click at a time. His eyes lost their shine. His skin yellowed. The bruises showed up without cause – purple patches blooming across his arms like rotting flowers.

The hospital bed swallowed him. Blankets piled up like insulation but couldn’t warm him. His bones jutted out from his frame like someone had carved away the softness.

And through it all, In-ho sat.

He sat through every IV change. Every blood draw. Every new medication that made Jun-ho groan and curl away from the light.

He sat when Jun-ho whispered, “Hyung, I don’t think I can eat today.”

He sat when Jun-ho cried silently during the night, thinking In-ho was asleep.

He sat when the nurses came in less and less frequently – not out of neglect, but because there wasn’t anything left to do.

In-ho cleaned Jun-ho’s mouth with damp cotton when the ulcers started forming. He adjusted his pillows. Rubbed his back when the spasms made him flinch. Helped him into the bathroom when the dignity of walking hadn’t yet been stolen.

And every time Jun-ho looked at him – every time those tired, soft eyes met his – In-ho had to smile.

He had to.

Because if he didn’t, Jun-ho might stop trying altogether.

But it got harder.

Because Jun-ho was fading.

He remembered once – Jun-ho had broken his arm climbing a tree. Six years old, too brave for his own good, too fast for In-ho to catch. There’d been tears, yes, but Jun-ho had still managed to smile through the pain, trying to reassure his panicking hyung.

"Don't cry, hyung," he’d said, his voice small and breathy. "You didn’t fall. I did."

And now?

Now it was In-ho who was breaking.

Because Jun-ho wasn’t six anymore. He was sixteen, and he couldn’t smile through this.

His body had shrunk under the hospital sheets. Shoulders sunken. Cheeks hollow. Lips cracked and pale, bloodless like parchment. The IV line trembled when he shifted – when he could shift.

The nurses whispered outside the door now. They didn’t bother hiding the way they looked at In-ho: with pity. With resignation. The kind of look people give you when they’ve already written the ending and know you're still in denial.

He wasn’t.

Not really.

But he was angry.

Not the loud kind. Not the kind that threw chairs or punched walls.

This was slow anger. Poisonous. Like frostbite creeping in from the edges.

He had done everything. He had swallowed every ounce of pride to make those calls. Had choked on words like please and he’s just a kid and you could save him – and their father hadn’t even listened to the voicemails.

That man had missed everything.

Jun-ho's first school play. His first failed math test. The first time he got detention and tried to hide it by forging In-ho’s signature with a glitter pen. His voice breaking. His heart breaking. Every scraped knee. Every night spent curled on the couch watching dubbed cartoons, nodding off against In-ho’s side.

All of it.

Gone unnoticed. Unacknowledged. Undeserved.

And now, when Jun-ho’s body had turned against him, when the disease was swallowing him inch by inch – it was In-ho who stayed. Who broke.

Jun-ho stopped speaking on a Tuesday.

Just… stopped.

His mouth opened sometimes, like he wanted to say something – ask something, maybe – but nothing came out. His eyes tracked In-ho’s movements at first. Then they stopped doing that, too.

By Wednesday, he didn’t wake up at all.

And still, In-ho held his hand. Every hour. Every moment. His thumb brushed weakly across Jun-ho’s knuckles like a metronome, counting out time they didn’t have.

His stepmother came in and out, bringing food he never touched. Her hands always shook when she smoothed the blanket, when she kissed Jun-ho’s temple. She was mourning her son. In-ho understood that. But he didn’t know how to share this grief.

This was his boy.

The nurses adjusted the oxygen again. The monitors beeped again. Someone murmured something about time.

In-ho didn’t listen.

Because Jun-ho’s skin had started to feel too cold. His fingers no longer curled around In-ho’s.

And for the first time, In-ho was afraid to blink.

He reached forward – touched his brother’s hair. It felt like it always had. Soft. Too long at the back. He brushed it aside anyway. Not for function. Just because.

Because he didn’t know how to do anything else.

He just leaned forward, pressed his forehead to Jun-ho’s.

And whispered, voice hoarse and cracked: “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

As if Jun-ho could still hear him.

As if the body in the bed – all wires and silence – could still feel the way In-ho clung.

[kenzdolls]

TANJIRO KAMADO RELATIONSHIP HCS .

⌗ pairing: tanjiro kamado x gn demon slayer! reader

⌗ tags: tanjiro x reader, tanjiro kamado x reader, demon slayer x reader, kimetsu no yaiba x reader

⌗ side note: none! hope you enjoy these headcanons! if y’all like more of these, request me more characters to do!

FIRST TIME MEETING:

▹ literally SMELLS you before he sees you and is immediately like "oh. OH." because your scent is just??? different??? in the best way possible??? (nezuko is in the box like ( ._. ) brother why did you just stop walking)

▹ probably meets you during a mission where you're both assigned to the same demon and he's doing his whole "wait let me check if this demon has any humanity left (´｡• ᵕ •｡`)" thing and you're just standing there like. sir. SIR. it literally just ate seventeen people

▹ gets distracted mid-fight because he catches your scent and almost gets his head bitten off what no that definitely didn't happen what are you talking about

▹ the SECOND he hears about your tragic backstory he's ready to throw hands with anyone who's ever made you sad (even if they're already dead. especially if they're already dead actually)

▹ asks you 847 questions about your breathing technique and gets genuinely excited about the mechanics of it (starts incorporating ideas into his own forms because he's a nerd like that)

▹ shares his food with you immediately. like. IMMEDIATELY. you could be a complete stranger and this boy is already shoving rice balls in your direction

▹ somehow manages to compliment your fighting skills while also being concerned about every single scratch you get (starts carrying extra bandages specifically for you "just in case")

▹ definitely stares at you when he thinks you're not looking and when you catch him he gets all red and starts stammering about how he was just "making sure you're okay!! demons could attack at any time!!"

▹ nezuko approves of you immediately and he takes this as a VERY good sign (starts planning your wedding) wait what who said that

HIM FALLING IN LOVE:

▹ his scent detection becomes both a blessing and a curse because now he can tell when you're nearby and gets all nervous and excited but ALSO can smell when you're upset and goes into immediate protective mode

▹ starts subconsciously using water breathing forms that he thinks look cooler when you're around crashes into three trees while trying to show off with thunderclap and flash

▹ begins leaving little gifts for you everywhere - nothing fancy, just "i saw this flower and it reminded me of you" or "i found this cool rock that matches your haori"

▹ gets ridiculously competitive during training but ONLY when you're watching (tomioka-san is confused by this sudden burst of determination)

▹ starts asking inosuke and zenitsu for dating advice (mistake. huge mistake). inosuke tells him to headbutt you to show dominance and zenitsu tells him to cry loudly and clinging onto your legs while talking about his feelings. he does neither of these things

▹ learns your favorite breathing techniques just so he can ask you about them and watch you get excited explaining the forms

▹ practices conversations with you in front of nezuko and she just nods along supportively even though half of what he's saying doesn't make sense

▹ becomes 500% more protective during missions like he was already the "i must protect everyone" guy but now it's "i must protect everyone but ESPECIALLY you because what if something happens to you i would literally die"

▹ starts incorporating moves that would complement your fighting style in case you ever fight together (spends hours perfecting combination attacks you haven't even discussed)

▹ blushes every single time you compliment his technique or mention how his forms look cool (nearly walked into a wall once because you said his hinokami kagura was "beautiful")

▹ writes letters he never sends where he tries to explain his feelings but they're all like "dear [name], you smell really nice. wait that's weird. dear [name], your breathing technique is cool. wait that's not romantic enough. dear [name], i think about you constantly and—" *crumples up paper*

HIM AS A S/O:

▹ holds your hand like you're made of precious glass but also like he's never letting go ever (his grip strength is actually insane but somehow he's so gentle???)

▹ will definitely always smells like sunshine and cedar wood and something distinctly warm that you can't quite place but it makes you feel safe

▹ gives you his haori when you're cold without even thinking about it (then stands there shivering but insisting he's totally fine. lies. he's freezing but your comfort >>> his comfort always)

▹ learns to cook your favorite foods and somehow makes them taste better than anyone else's because he puts so much love into every single dish

▹ morning training together becomes a everyday thing and he's always so excited to see what new techniques you've been working on (asks a million questions and genuinely listens to every answer)

▹ definitely talks to you while you're sleeping sometimes just quiet little "i'm so lucky" and "i promise i'll always protect you" and nezuko pretends not to hear but she's TAKING NOTES

▹ forehead kisses. SO MANY FOREHEAD KISSES. especially before dangerous missions because it's his way of saying "come back to me safe"

▹ you're the only person (besides nezuko) who gets to see him have complete breakdowns and he trusts you enough to be vulnerable about how scared he actually is sometimes

▹ incorporates your favorite colors into his haori pattern and acts like it's totally casual (it's not casual. nothing about this boy's love is casual)

▹ "accidentally" uses sun breathing forms when he's really happy because his emotions affect his technique and you make him feel like he's literally glowing from the inside

▹ nezuko considers you her sibling-in-law already and will pat your head approvingly whenever you take care of tanjiro

▹ starts every morning by telling you something he's grateful for about you and it's never the same thing twice (he keeps a mental list. it's a very long list)

▹ gets jealous but in the most confused way like "why do i feel weird when that person talks to you? they seem nice? but also i want them to go away? but that's mean? help?"

▹ you become his new favorite scent and he can track you from MILES away (useful for missions) (also useful for when he just misses you and needs a hug)

▹ will literally fight anyone who says anything remotely negative about you (tanjiro "he would never hurt a fly" kamado becomes tanjiro "talk shit about my partner and catch these hands" kamado real quick)

▹ your contact in his mind goes from "[name]" to "my [name]" to just "mine ♡" and nezuko rolls her eyes every time he gets that dopey look thinking about you

⌗ taglist: @idexmids @siriuslyginnychase @eleteo125 @st4r-dustx @corpsebridenightamare @boreaswrites

⌗ mutuals: @haikyuubby @va-3 @tulippanes @luvseraphh @miss-indigen0us @cupkiki

© property of kenzdolls 2025 — do not copy, steal, or plagiarize my work onto other media

[bibi-the-pooh]

No One Noticed is also on my Weyler playlist, but I had no idea this version even existed — it's so good!! And "Shrike" by Hozier?? GIRL, YOUR MIND?! I thought Sunlight and Almost were already enough to make me suffer, but I can’t believe I skipped this one when I first listened to the album. You’ve given me new heartaches, and honestly? What bliss. I can only try to give you new ones. I hope you love them and think about them when you write your stories — which I’m obsessed with.

We could bring a blanket for the grass/ Cover up your eyes so you don't see/ If you let me go, I'll run out fast/ Think that for a moment you were mine/I know that you saw what we could be/ But then you went and changed your mind

This one has a twist, but I’m just manifesting the part where they belong in the full story of this song🥹

And I want your violence, your silent sedation/Your moon eyes, your telescope, morbid fixation/ And I want your parties, the shark in your water/ The scrapes on your knees and the blood that spills over/ And I want your zeroes, your polluted marrow/The sweat on your palms and your surveillance shadow/ I want you, butterfly, I want you, sailor/ I am your lover and I am your jailor

(This is one of my favorites; i think that haunting melody fits Weyler’s dynamic perfectly — it’s just so deliciously on point.)

If you only once would let me/ Only just one time/ Then be happy with the consequence/ With whatever's gonna happen tonight/ Don't think we're not serious/ When's it ever not?/ The love we make is give and it's take/I'm game to play along/Can we take a ride?/Get out of this place while we still have time

While I’m listening to this song, I think about the scene where they escape that hellhole town at the end of season 2 — which will DEFINITELY happen, because all those Bonnie and Hyde hints in those Thingtok comments can’t be for nothing! (In my head, this is already canon✍️🏻🤞🏻)

Obsession so strong I find myself thinking about Tyler pacing in his Willowhill cell — going back and forth, or lying in bed, thinking or dreaming about good things. And you guessed it right: he doesn’t have much to think about other than his memories with Wednesday — that crypt date, or the night at the Weathervane — all while I’m listening to Sailor Song.

"And maybe i tried other things,

but nothing can capture the sting,

Of the venom she's gonna spit out right now"

"I don't believe in god, but i believe that you're my savior."

"I sleep so i can see you, cause i hate to wait so long."

"I can be the cat, baby, you can be the mouse

And we can go forever until you wanna sit it out"

I swear it's reached a point where i cannot be stopped Jenna, Tim Burton, Gough&Millar, i beg you AT LEAST LET MY BOY LIVE IN PEACE

[tothelasthoursofmylife]

S4E8: KuroTangled - "And for that one moment, everything was perfect..."

All those days watching from the windows All those years outside looking in...

All that time never even knowing Just how blind I've been...

Now I'm here, blinking in the starlight...

Now I'm here, suddenly I see...

Standing here, it's all so clear I'm where I'm meant to be...

And at last I see the light...

And it's like the fog has lifted And at last I see the light...

And it's like the sky is new And it's warm and real and bright...

And the world has somehow shifted...

All at once everything looks different...

Now that I see you...

All at once, everything is different Now that I see you

Now that I see you...

[aesethewitch]

When I was a kid, we moved into a house that had a huge lilac tree out front. It was mostly rotten, and it needed to be taken down before it fell. It took a while, but eventually, it was gone.

Mostly. A couple years later, little lilac babies popped out of the ground in its place. My mom was determined to get rid of them, because she'd planted a beautiful flower garden there, and the lilac trees would overshadow and kill the whole garden. I insisted on saving at least a few saplings. She said fine, but I had to dig them out and put them in pots myself.

So, I did. I spent days digging little lilac bushes out of the ground and putting them into pots. Some couldn't be saved, but some could. When all was said and done, I had five brand-new lilac saplings. Seven or eight years old, and it was my absolute pride and joy.

Three died due to sun scorching, severe drought that no amount of watering could save, and perhaps just being moved from their place in the ground. But two survived, and I was awfully proud of them! I'd go out and talk to them every single day. I watered them by hand and made sure they were fertilized properly. I learned all about their favored environments, and I was determined to make sure they lived.

One of my mom's friends saw what I was doing with the lilacs. She asked if she could have one to put in her backyard, and I agreed on the condition that she take very, very good care of it.

It's now fucking enormous. I'm talking ten feet tall and bursting with beautiful purple flowers every spring. My mom still gets updates each year as they start to bloom, which she forwards to me. And all I can think is, "That's my friend! Thriving some twenty years on, there it is."

The other tree nearly died, too. It lived in a pot for far, far too long. I wanted to plant it somewhere in my parents' yard, but my mom was reluctant. Eventually, we agreed to put it in the far back garden. It grew okay for many years, despite the shade, but in all these years, it's never bloomed.

Last year, the massive tree casting massive shadows over the lilac and the garden cracked in half and fell. It tumbled into the garden, crushing part of the nearby shed and destroying a few plants beneath it.

It missed my lilac by inches.

The clean-up is long done. The rest of the tree has been cut down, and my lilac has full sunlight for the first time in fifteen years. It won't bloom this year, I know. But it's got new shoots up. It's taller than ever. I spent half an hour a few weeks ago praising it for surviving all this time, dreaming about its future and telling it how I believe it'll become the tall beauty it's always been meant to be.

I think next year, I'll see flowers.

[mggslover]

Angel

In which Spencer sees his girlfriend fresh out of the shower for the first time, you looked angelic, and he was about to ruin you.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Girlfriend!reader Genre: smut (18+) Content warnings: spencer being horny, reader wears glasses, teasing, fingering, some spanking, p in v sex, facial, soft!dom spencer Word count: 3,8k A/n: this was supposed to be a short, smut no plot fic, but I got a little carried away...

The familiar goodbyes and sorrys were exchanged as you hung up the phone.

What was meant to be a romantic date out of town with your boyfriend had quickly turned into another one of those last-minute cancellations. It wasn’t surprising—Spencer’s work as a profiler came with its own set of unpredictable demands, and you were used to him being pulled away at a moment’s notice. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. You’d been looking forward to spending some time together.

You’d been dating Spencer for about three months, and things had progressed naturally from casual coffee dates to longer dinners and, eventually, a few trips to his place afterwards. As much as you enjoyed those nights, you wished they would last longer. You and Spencer made a habit out of quickies, knowing that at any moment his phone would inevitably buzz with a message or call from his colleague, Garcia. You couldn’t blame him for leaving, serial killers unfortunately didn’t work a nine to five. Spencer hated leaving you as well, making sure he offered you enough apologetic kisses and promises that he’d be back as soon as he could.

He always insisted that you could stay over at his place until he’d be back, but you never felt comfortable enough to do so. It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy being at his place—you could already picture yourself curled up on the couch with one of his books, or take advantage of his bed, which was a lot bigger and more comfortable than yours. But it wasn’t quite home yet, at least not without him there.

With a resigned sigh, you decided to make the best out of the situation. It had been a long week, and you could use a night of self-care. As you set your phone down on the bathroom counter, you hit play on a playlist you’d made for such occasions—soft, calming melodies that would help you unwind. You pulled your hair back with a headband, took out your contacts, and started removing the makeup that took you half an hour to do earlier.

The bathroom mirror fogged slightly as the warmth of the shower filled the room. You hummed along with the song in the background, while you moved the cotton pads over your skin in a familiar motion.

As you finished, you carefully stepped out of your dress and turned toward the shower. The steam hit your skin as you slid into the stall, closing your eyes for a moment as the water hit your shoulders.

Without realizing, you spent a good hour in the shower. Once comfortably dressed, you let yourself sink into the plush cushions of your couch. A fuzzy blanket was draped across your just shaved legs, and the TV remote was within arm’s reach. You let out a content sigh, almost feeling as satisfied as you would be when being with Spencer.

—

Spencer’s signature melody of knocks broke your focus on the documentary you were watching. You swiftly moved up from the couch and checked the peephole on your door, just to be sure. A smile spread across your face as you saw Spencer rocking back and forth on his feet, plucking at the bouquet in his hands, straightening out each flower to perfection.

You opened the door with a big smile. “Hi, I wasn’t expecting you. I thought we cancelled tonight.”

He hesitates, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks. “You’re right. I finished the case early, and I’ve been thinking about you all day. I just… wanted to see you.” His words came out more nervously than he intended. “I saw the lights were on, so I assumed you were awake.”

“I wasn’t asleep. Don’t worry,” you answered warmly. You glanced down at the bouquet in his hands. “Are these for me?”

“They are,” he replies, his voice softened as he handed them to you. “You said you liked lilies.”

“I do, thank you. They’re beautiful.” You accept the bouquet, moving to your tiptoes to give him a kiss. Having a boyfriend with an eidetic memory really is perfect.

“I’ll put them in water, come in.”

You moved to the open kitchen, so in awe of his sweet gesture that you were completely unaware of the way Spencer’s breath caught the moment you opened the door, how his pupils darkened when he inhaled your sweet scent and noticed the state you were in. Hair still damp from the shower you must’ve taken, wearing only a shirt, and your face bare besides the glasses you were wearing. Fuck… he didn’t even know you wore glasses.

He couldn’t deny how incredibly cute you looked. Spencer has only seen you during or after dates, and he loved how he could tell that you took the time to get yourself ready. Always wearing an outfit that fits you perfectly and having your makeup done in a way that enhances the features of your face. But it felt so intimate seeing how effortlessly beautiful you looked moving around in the comfort of your own home. You were beautiful in a way that seemed almost unfair, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the most captivating version of you he'd ever seen.

Spencer wasn’t able to take his eyes off of you as you walked to the kitchen, your breasts swaying with every step you took. The outline of your nipples were visible, because of the cold that escaped when you opened the door for him. Your bare legs reflected the warm kitchen light. He felt like he was about to lose his mind as you reached up to grab a vase from the top cabinet, the curve of your ass peeking out from underneath the shirt that you're wearing.

He felt guilty for the warmth that was spreading through him. He shook his head slightly, trying to reset his thoughts, but the temptation was there. Your easy grace, the way your bare feet padded across the floor, the gentle hum of the air between you—it all combined into something too alluring for him to ignore.

You could feel the heat radiating off of him as he moved behind you, placing a careful hand on your hip as he reached out to grab the vase. You turned around with a smile as he placed the vase on the kitchen counter.

“Thanks,” you beamed, and he mumbled a ‘You’re welcome’, though his response came out as more of a soft hum.

Before he could think better of it, he leaned down and kissed you. The kiss was slow, deliberate—his lips meeting yours with a tenderness that made his pulse race. His fingers tingle with the desire to pull you closer, but just before his hands slid around you, you pulled away, making him swallow back a groan.

“Ooh! I was watching this documentary that I think you’ll be really into,” you said, quickly putting the flowers in the vase and tugging him by the hand toward the couch. He followed like a stray pup, too caught up in the way you moved to protest.

“Oh, yeah? What’s it about?” He asked, hoping the conversation would steer him away from the other thoughts tugging at him. You settled on the couch beside him, and he instinctively pulled your legs onto his lap, cupping your feet in his hands to warm them.

“It’s about space. The universe, really. It’s fascinating, but honestly terrifying if you think about it for too long.”

Spencer nodded, though his mind was far away. He was more focused on the way that his fingers traced the soft lines of your calves. He gently started kneading the muscles, placing just the right amount of pressure.

“Would you go to space, if NASA invited you?” You asked, eyes still glued to the TV.

“Only if you’d come with me.”

His response made you turn around to look at him. The sincere and loving expression he gave you warmed your face. He squeezed your legs gently, and, just like that, you noticed the hint of desire hidden in his eyes.

“Come here,” he said in a whisper, patting his thigh. In a second you managed to crawl yourself onto his lap, and he held you steady by your hips.

You reached up to remove your glasses, but before your fingers could touch the frames, his hand found yours, halting the movement.

You noticed the slight squint in his eyes. “I can’t properly kiss you with my glasses on,” you explain.

"Then let me handle the kissing," he murmured, voice dropped low.

Before you could register his words, his lips had found your neck. His hands moved to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing along the line of your jaw, holding you close as his tongue licked a firm stripe up your sensitive skin.

“Oh, god,” you shuddered in a breath.

“Shaking already?” he teased, voice laced with amusement as he grinned against your skin.

“No,” you lied.

“Are you sure about that? Then why are you doing it again?” He comments before squeezing your breast, your nipple caught in between his long fingers.

You jumped at his touch, a moan escaping your lips. You shook your head as you saw his satisfied expression. “You’re such a dirty tease.”

“I haven’t heard any complaints so far,” he smirks, making you roll your eyes.

His breath was warm against your skin as his lips found their way back to the soft curve of your neck. Tenderly, he placed more kisses to your skin, sending shivers through your entire body. Once pleased, he bends his head down to capture your clothed nipple in his mouth, his hand still kneading your other breast.

“Fuck, Spence,” you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders to steady yourself. He took his time, his mouth sucking slowly on your nub, savoring the feel of you beneath him. Tonight, he was in no rush—he wanted to taste every inch of you, show you just how much he loves every detail of your body.

You were writhing in his lap as he flicked his tongue against your nipple. Heat forming between your thighs with every stroke of his tongue. He removed his lips from your breast with a pop, and sat back against the couch. His gaze was locked on the now wet, see-through patch on your shirt. He licked his lips, watching you like you were a piece of art he just created himself.

“Beautiful,” he stated.

The compliment sent a rush of warmth straight to your core, your body responding with a soft shiver. Without thinking, you began to grind yourself against his lap, a surge of excitement rushing through you as you felt the firm bulge beneath his pants. Spencer exhaled a deep, satisfied sigh as his warm hands slipped beneath your shirt. He cupped your breasts, squeezing them gently.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

You playfully raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Oh, so that’s what this is all about, huh?”

“Actually, it’s about all of you.” The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, turning you almost shy.

“Can I take this off?” he murmured, his fingers teasing the hem of your shirt. You nodded wordlessly and raised your arms. Spencer pulled the fabric over your head, his eyes tracing the curve of your bare chest. He cursed under his breath, his hands immediately finding you—fingers digging into your skin as he leaned in, nuzzling his face between your tits with a satisfied moan.

A string of giggles and moans spilled from your lips as his curls tickled your skin. His pink lips grazed you gently, pausing to leave sloppy, lingering marks—each one a reminder that you’d carry with you for the following days.

You moved against him, rolling your hips, finding release in the way that your barely covered heat rubbed against the rough material of his pants. Spencer noticed the change in your rhythm, the need in your movements. He guided you with steady hands, his fingers moving to your hips and then sliding lower, finding the curve of your ass, tightening his grip to help you find the pace you craved.

“Can you handle more?” His voice husked in desire. You nodded, your body already screaming for more. Goosebumps decorated your skin as his long fingers traced your inner thighs. You squirmed helplessly when his thumb pressed against your covered clit. A moan fell from your lips as you arched against him.

“You’re always so wet for me, angel.” The word slipped from Spencer's lips. It was the first time he’d called you anything other than your name or a shortened version of it, and somehow, angel felt more fitting than any word he'd ever used. You looked like heaven to him—your soft skin glowing in the light, your eyes sparkling behind the frames of your glasses, and the way you responded to his touch, every small brush of his fingers making your expressions change so delicately.

He slowly tugged the damp fabric of your underwear to the side, savoring the reveal of your glistening pussy. You lifted your hips, giving Spencer the access to slide a finger through your folds, spreading your wetness.

“Feels good,” you breathed out, your voice shaky as his fingers ran back and forth between your lips, each pass teasingly close to your entrance, but never quite slipping inside. The sensation made your hips buck against him. You weren’t used to being teased for this long—Spencer had a way of getting you dripping without even fully touching you. Usually that led straight to sex, which makes his slow touches feel almost torturous.

“Please, Spence,” you moaned.

“Please, what?” he mused, his eyes dark with desire as he watched how your arousal coated his fingers, his gaze never leaving your glistenings folds.

“I need more,” you begged, your voice a whimper.

“You can have more, angel. My fingers are right here,” he hummed.

A soft moan escaped your lips as you shifted, positioning yourself so his fingers were just below your entrance. Spencer’s breath hitched, and his mouth fell open as you sank down onto his fingers, inch by inch, taking him in. Your hand gripped his shoulder tightly for support as you moved, the sensation of fullness making your body tremble.

Spencer was the first to make a sound, his head falling back slightly as you adjusted to him. His moans only spurred you on. You pressed your forehead against his, your breaths shaky as he pumped his fingers in a steady, insistent rhythm.

His other hand moved to your ass, fingers spreading across your cheek as he squeezed, pulling you closer to him. You were grateful he was doing most of the work—your legs were already shaking, straining to keep up with the building pleasure.

Spencer’s fingers curled inside you, pressing deeper, and the angle was perfect—hitting spots you never managed to reach on your own. Spencer groaned at the sight. Your body was tightening around him, your slickness coating his fingers, and he couldn’t help but imagine it being his cock filling you up.

The sounds he made drove you crazy. Each deep groan, every stuttered breath, showed you how much he enjoyed making you feel good. His enjoyment only intensified your own pleasure.

You were so close, your nipples hard against his chest, your breath mixing with his as your hair tumbled over his face, the scent of it intoxicating to him.

Your breathing turned sharp and shallow, as the pressure built low in your belly. Your vision blurred, the edges of reality dissolving as you neared your climax.

“Baby…” you breathed, your voice a desperate plea. You locked your eyes with Spencer, hoping—praying—he could see the need in yours.

And then, with a confirming nod and a final twist of his fingers, you broke.

A flood of pleasure crashed through you. You gasped, your whole body seizing as your orgasm hit. You were unable to hold back the cries of your release, your hips bucking against his touch, your hands gripping his wrist to anchor you as the world spun in a blur.

He withdrew his fingers from your heat, and the sudden absence left you breathless, a soft sound escaping your lips at the loss. When you blinked your eyes open, Spencer’s warm gaze met yours, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. You smiled back at him, a little dazed, as he brushed your cheek with his untouched hand.

He carefully took your glasses off, placing them on the armrest of the couch. His thumb tenderly wiped away the tears that had escaped your eyes. He then cupped your chin, pulling you toward him, and kissed you deeply, his lips soft and lingering.

“Thank you,” he murmured, as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close.

“I should be the one thanking you,” you softly laughed.

He shook his head, smiling. “No need for that,” he replied, his voice reassuring.

“But I want to,” you insisted. “Though… I think you’ll find I’m better at showing than telling.” You playfully whispered, as your nails grazed the outline of his dick.

You turned yourself around on his lap, your knees still planted on either side of him, but now with your back facing him. Leaning forward, you braced yourself on the coffee table, your elbows digging into the surface. You arched your back, making Spencer hiss sharply at the sight of your ass displayed before him, your arousal trickling down your thighs. The inviting shake of your hips made him lose his patience, and his fingers fumbled hastily with his belt.

“Fuck,” he groaned, hurriedly pushing his pants and boxers down his thighs. His cock sprang free, hard and eager, the flushed head brushing against the faint line of hair trailing up his abdomen.

He gripped his length firmly, pumping himself a few times before lining himself up with your slick entrance. The weight of his hand settled on your hip as he pressed the tip of his cock against your warmth. He teased you for the briefest moment before you slowly sank down on him.

A sharp cry escaped your lips as he filled you, the new angle making him hit depths you’d never felt before. The stretch was deliciously overwhelming, stealing your breath as your fingers clawed at the table. You shakily tried to lift your hips, but your legs quivered under the strain.

Spencer noticed immediately, his hands finding their place—one on your waist, steadying you, and the other trailing down to your calf. He began guiding you, his strength effortlessly lifting and lowering you along his cock. The room filled with the symphony of your combined moans and the rhythmic slap of meeting skin.

“God, look at you,” he rasped, mesmerized by the way your body took him in. His gaze focused on the bounce of your ass, hypnotized by the way it moved with each thrust. On instinct, he brought his hand down in a firm smack against your cheek.

The sudden impact made you jolt, as you let out a sweet, startled cry. The sound sent a surge of need through him, and he swore he felt himself harden further.

“You liked that, huh?” he mused in curiosity. Without waiting for an answer, he did it again, revelling in your shivering response.

Spencer pulled you against him, adjusting your position until you were seated in his lap, your back pressed flush to his chest. He wrapped an arm around your waist to hold you close, while his other hand rose to cup your breast. His hips snapped into you roughly, each thrust pulling an uncontrollable whimper from your throat.

“You’re doing so good for me, angel,” he praised, his voice hoarse as his fingers pinched and rolled your nipple. The combination made your head loll back against his shoulder, surrendering to his touch. He seized the opportunity to claim your lips in a needy, devouring kiss. Tongues tangled messily, swallowing your shared moans.

As your pleasure mounted, your walls began to flutter around him, drawing a strained groan from his throat.

“Are you close again, pretty girl?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper against your lips.

“Yes,” you gasped, barely able to form the word. “Spencer… fuck, I’m so close.”

“Then cum around me,” he encouraged. “I know you want it.”

“Will you cum inside of me?”

For a heartbeat, he stilled. “I…” He swallowed. His cheeks flushed as he hesitated on his next words. “I want to cum on your face.”

Your pupils blew wide. His confession causing a smirk to tug at the corner of your lips.

That was all the encouragement he needed. His fingers dipped between your thighs, circling your clit in rapid, precise motions. The pressure tipped you over the edge, and with a cry of his name, you let go.

Barely able to recover, you slid from his lap onto your knees, settling in front of him. Spencer’s breath hitched at the sight of you—flushed and disheveled, your sweat-slick skin glowing in the low light. Your lips, swollen from his kisses, parted expectantly.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he breathed, unable to tear his eyes away. You looked angelic… and he was about to ruin you.

It didn’t take long. His cock twitched, thick ropes of cum spilling over your face and dripping down to your chest. His jaw went slack, his chest heaving as he watched you collect some of his release with your thumb and slip it into your mouth. The sight of you sucking on your finger was almost enough to unravel him all over again.

Spencer was unable to leave your side, grabbing his sleeve to gently clean you up. Once satisfied, you leaned forward, resting your head on his thigh as you savored the comfortable silence that followed.

His phone buzzed suddenly on the couch, shattering the moment. Spencer groaned, grabbing the device and quickly silencing it with a flick of his finger.

You laughed softly, your voice tinged with amazement. “What was that about?”

Spencer shrugged, tossing the phone aside without a second glance. “I can be late for one day.”

[chanandlersstuff]

Three times where Anakin’s jealousy was harmless, even fun, and one when it wasn't.

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x Reader/OFC.

Summary: Every time he sees her across the room and forgets to breathe, forgets that damn code that complicates his life. She knows exactly what she’s doing, she’s beauty, power, and temptation wrapped in one impossible woman, and everyone wants her, but she only burns for him. Every time he sees her with someone else, Anakin’s composure cracks a little more.

Word count: 7.141

Warnings: Anakin, a warning itself. A little bit of smut, not graphic, there, toxicity there, jealousy, a creep, violence and blood. (let me know if i miss something).

Author’s note: Hiii, two times in one day, count yourselves lucky. First time writting for our sweet beloved Ani.

This is inspired by hours and hours of clone wars and this tiktok. It goes without saying that all this is fictional, I don't want to upseat anyone, this is for fun.

With that being said, enjoy, hope you like it. Lots of love, ME.

(gif credits to the owner)

The air was thick with expensive perfume, velvet words and politics. Senators with fabricated smiles moved like currents through golden light, their laughter overlapping with the soft strings of the Nabooian quartet tucked into one corner of the ballroom. Glasses clinked. Conversations sparkled. 

Anakin felt her before she even entered the hall properly. The soft tug in his chest told him she was close, and when she stepped into view, adorned in metallic green robes that kissed the floor, hugged her curves and shimmered as she moved, he nearly forgot to breathe. 

And so did everyone else. 

She looked like a whispered sin.

Men turned. Women glanced. Senators whispered. Generals approached her. Every damn set of eyes in that room followed her. Of course they did because she looked like the brightest star of them all. 

Anakin could feel them, sense their intentions as they approached her with too-wide smiles like the itch of static across his skin. Their attention wasn’t polite, it was hungry.

His eyes saw her having polite smiles, he heard her laughter, rare but dazzling, curved through the air like sunlight on water, and it struck him, standing across the room in ceremonial Jedi robes, how damn bright she was.

And how many men wanted to bask in her glow.

She was the kind of woman people gravitated toward. A quiet sun in the middle of a storm. A cathedral in a world of shacks, commanding awe. 

He stood across the ballroom, robed in Jedi formality, a guest and a ghost. His hands stayed folded behind his back, his expression neutral. But inside, he was seething as yet another advisor leaned just a little too close, whispering something into her ear that made her smile, and his fingers curled into a fist.

For hours, she moved like light across the floor, drawn into every orbit. People hoarded her attention, called her name, asked for things, fed off her warmth. She smiled, laughed, and even joked. All while never looking at him. Not even once.

Then it happened, some Republic attaché leaned in to say something, too close, and she turned her head to hear him better, her shoulder brushing his chest. His hand hovered just behind her waist. Not touching, not quite.

But Anakin felt it, felt the heat surge like a detonation in his chest. A sharp, hot pang hit low in his gut.

He hadn’t touched her in weeks, some mission in some Outer Rim dustbowl, he couldn’t even remember the name now. All he could think about in that moment was the ghost of her skin under his callus fingers, soft, smooth, velvet-warm and seared into his memory like a brand.

And now others were close enough to smell her perfume.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, willing the fire down, but it simmered. Oh, it simmered. Another man stepped up to her side, clearly emboldened. Flirting again. Anakin’s knuckles whitened behind his back.

She plucked the flower the man offered her, twirled it between her fingers, and, finally, looked up. Across the room, past every other face. Right at him and her smile changed. Slow. Private. Not for anyone else. She knew what she was doing and she loved it. He could feel the pulse of her amusement, soft and golden behind her ribcage, glowing just for him.

And that was enough to cool the burn. For now.

She excused herself a few moments later, slipping away with the tail of her gown floating behind her, weaving through polished diplomats and oblivious senators. He waited precisely ten seconds before following, every step practiced restraint.

The cool night air of Coruscant swept over the balcony, a quiet haven away from the noise and glitter of the gala. The hum of air traffic and muffled music were distant, irrelevant things. All Anakin saw, all he ever saw, even in his dreams, was her.

She leaned against the railing like she owned the city, like the stars were her playthings. The wind caught her hair just enough to make him ache.

“You looked cozy in there,” he said, voice low, sharp at the edges. “Your... fan club seemed enthusiastic tonight.”

She didn’t turn. Just let the silence stretch, knowing it’d get to him. It always did.

“Fan club?” she echoed at last, tone light, teasing. “Sounds like jealousy, Skywalker.”

Anakin scoffed and folded his arms. “Interesting choice of company tonight. You always did like the dramatic types.”

She turned, one brow lifted. “You mean politicians?”

“I mean men who seem to forget that you are clearly out of their league.” He stepped closer, boots nearly silent, heat radiating off him in waves.

“You know,” she continued, tilting her head slightly to the side, “if I do have a fan club, I’m pretty sure you started it. That whole brooding stare-from-across-the-room thing? Very compelling.”

His jaw ticked. “Right. I’ll remember to blink next time I watch you let half the Senate fall in love with you.”

Her eyes glittered as she turned to face him. “You were watching.”

“You knew I was.”

“Practically vibrating,” she teased. “If you glared any harder, you’d have ignited the Chancellor’s carpet.”

The Force crackled faintly between them, quiet, intimate, like the brush of fingers on bare skin. He didn’t have to reach for her emotions; they poured into him like sunlight and wildfire. She was amused. Charged. Testing him.

She took a step closer. Barely there, but it was enough. “Maker, you’re jealous,” she murmured, delighted at how much tension it was in his jaw and arms. “That’s adorable.”

That did it.

In one smooth, sudden motion, Anakin pressed her back into the shadows of the balcony, out of sight. Her breath caught as the cold stone met part of her spine and his body followed, flush against hers, every line of him pressed with unrelenting intent, the warmth of his palm burning the small of her back. His metallic hand caught her jaw, tilting her face up, not rough, but firm.

His eyes burned gold in the dark as the shadows wrapped them in silence, covering their secret. 

“Do you know how hard it is not to touch you when they do?” he hissed, breath hot against her cheek. “Not to shout that you’re mine?”

She smiled slowly, challenging. “You don’t need to shout.”

He growled softly, teeth clenched. “Right, because you’re the one who loves to be loud.”

She didn’t deny it. “I love to shout your name,” she purred as her fingers found his belt, tugging him even closer.

Their mouths crashed together in a kiss that had no business being soft. It was hot, messy, desperate, brutal in its restraint. Tongues sliding, biting, fighting for dominance, hands gripping wherever they could, pulling the other deeper, like the weeks apart hadn’t worn their restraint down to shreds.

He groaned into her mouth when she bit his lip, and she gasped when he pressed his big leg slid between hers with sinful precision, and Anakin swallowed the sound greedily.

The world outside didn’t exist. There was only this, this fire, this want, this ache they weren’t allowed to name. And the Force around them swirled, tight and humming, their shared emotions tangling like limbs in the dark. Possession. Desire. Frustration. Love, blistering and untouchable. 

They kissed like they were starving. Like they might not get the chance again. Like it wasn’t enough to be his in secret, she wanted to be his in blood, in breath, in everything.

When they finally pulled apart, panting, her lipstick smudged, his hair a mess, and her dress rumpled, he still didn’t move.

He leaned his forehead to hers, eyes closed, hand on her cheek now, softer. But the tremble in his chest hadn’t gone.

“You are mine,” Anakin whispered.

Somewhere inside, he knew this was dangerous.

But her hand running in his hair, tugging softly, her lips swollen and smirking beneath his, and the feeling of her emotions bleeding into his own, her heart thudding against his. “Always.”

It all made him reckless.

Made him Anakin.

The halls of the Jedi Temple bathed in a golden wash of sunlight that stretched through high windows. It was a sanctuary, quiet and disciplined, above any kind of distraction. 

Anakin stood with his arms crossed, flanked by a line of teen knights finishing saber drills under his supervision. The hum and clash of practice blades echoed through the open-air courtyard, mid morning sun painting golden light across the pale stone floors.

He was focused, they all were. Until he wasn’t anymore.

A tug. It started like a subtle itch in his chest. That familiar flutter of energy in the Force that only she caused. His posture shifted almost imperceptibly. Then came the whispers. The laughter. The telltale shift in attention that shouldn’t be happening in a Temple. 

Anakin turned and there she was. She had always made a mockery of Jedi rules just by simply existing.

She moved through the courtyard like a comet, bright, elegant, entirely out of place and somehow right there. The sun kissed her skin and made her glow. Hair swept back, face glowing, wearing that rich blue gown that fitted her like a globe and stole breaths left and right. 

Poor young Jedis, they barely stood a chance.

He watched, arms still crossed, as they began to trip over themselves for her, far too eagerly.

A taller knight stumbled forward, lightsaber already off, bowing too low. “Senator, would you care for a demonstration?”

Another, younger, grinned, straightening his robes with unnecessary flair, puffed up his chest and opened his mouth to talk, but was cut short by a third that stepped in beside her, charming and overly familiar. “Senator,” he said, smirking, offering his arm. “Perhaps I could escort you to the Grand Hall? The Temple’s layout can be disorienting, after all.” 

“Actually,” another interrupted, “I was just about to take my morning walk, can I show you the gardens?”

Anakin narrowed his eyes. The younger knights, barely past their trials, surrounded her like moths to flame. Soon, he was sure the entire practice floor was about to break in spontaneous combat displays.

They were all smiles and flushed cheeks, tripping over each other for a chance to impress her but all she did was smile politely, the corner of her mouth twitching in amusement. 

Anakin moved, dangerously calm, all coiled control and silent warning. The kind of movement that sliced through space like a saber unsheathed, needing no sound to be final. He stepped into view like a storm rolling over a bright sky. Shadows clung to his silhouette, jaw set, blue eyes hard. He towered over the young knights who were still mid-stammer and mid-swoon.

Her eyes found his instantly and a smile, bright, amused, knowing exactly what this was, appeared on her tempting lips. “General Skywalker,” she greeted, honey-smooth and just this side of smug.

“Senator,” he said, voice all clipped politeness, but there was a glint in his eye only she could read. “You’re expected elsewhere. Please—come with me.”

It wasn’t a request. Not really.

She tilted her head, clearly entertained, and followed without protest. Behind her, the poor knights stood shell-shocked and heartbroken.

Anakin took her the long way, through narrow passages and shadow-laced halls that only he would know. Hidden corridors carved into the Temple’s bones, tucked from sight and sound. No one followed. No one dared. No one ever did when he didn’t want them to.

The tension thrummed between them. Unspoken. Electric. She could feel it through the thread they never dared name. That quiet, intimate current that pulsed like a live wire between their hearts. It made her skin prickle and her mouth curl.

“You’re brooding,” she said lightly, brushing his hand with hers.

“They were drooling,” he replied, jaw clenched, walking too fast.

She laughed softly. “You’re a menace.” Force humming quietly between them in familiar warmth. 

He didn’t deny it. Just opened the door to his quarters and tilted his head towards the inside. His eyes burned hotter than the twin suns. “They were idiots.”

“They were children,” she said, shrugging off her shawl. “It was flattering, sure. But harmless.”

She stepped into his space and reached for his tunic, smoothing invisible wrinkles just for the excuse to touch him.

His hands found her waist like magnets, urgent, desperate. Like his world only started spinning when she was close. Like he’d been starving for the feel of her. “You’re mine,” he muttered, voice rough, low.

The second she pressed against him, the tension snapped. His shoulders dropped and his breath hitched. She always did this to him, only she ever could.

The smile she gave him lit up every star in his chest.

“Possessive much?” she teased, lifting her gaze beneath her lashes. Her hand rested against his chest, gentle pressure just over his heart. “You’re lucky that’s sexy.”

“They don’t even see you,” he growled, lips brushing the edge of her jaw as he inhaled her. “Not really. Not like I do.”

Her fingers slid into his hair, threading through the waves of it, soft and slow. His anger began to dissolve under her touch.

“I know that,” she whispered, grounding him. “You don’t have to prove anything, Ani.” Her lips brushed his, featherlight. “I only have eyes for one Jedi Knight,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

A sharp breath left his lungs, forehead pressed to hers. He didn’t speak. Just stood there and felt her. Let her presence, her truth, her kiss soften all the edges. As it always did.

“You’re the only one,” she said, voice softer now, brushing her lips against his. “The only one who gets to take me home.”

He said nothing. He just clenched his jaw and looked at her like she was the entire galaxy, beautiful, untouchable, and he didn’t know how to protect her from it without claiming her. But Anakin was ready to go to the end of time to keep her safe, even if it meant destroying himself in the process.

She kissed him, soft and slow, with reverence, her thumb brushed along his jaw and his hands finally moved. One slid around her lower back, the other tangled in her hair, cradling her like something both sacred and dangerous.

“You were planning to come early,” he said, voice rasping low. “Just to see me.”

She smiled against his lips. “Took you long enough to figure it out, my love.”

He kissed her, deeper, hungrier. Less about proving, more about having. Reverence disguised as hunger. Possession disguised as devotion.

They didn’t speak again for a while. Not when she tugged him toward his bed. Not when his hands ran down her back like he was mapping out the constellations of her skin. Not when his mouth marked her skin like scripture. Not when she gasped his name like it anchored her. Not when he murmured her name like a prayer. And definitely not when the Force pulsed around them, holding the world at bay.

She had come early and now, thanks to him, she’d come more than once… and would definitely be late to her meeting, with love bites and traces of him in places only he could see later in the night.

But that had always been the danger, with her, time bent, it didn’t really matter. The world waited. Only she existed.

And if anyone asked, well, he was General Skywalker. And no one dared question him.

She was trying to work. Key word, trying. Because trying didn’t stand a chance when Anakin Skywalker was in the room. Her focus kept going to him.

He wasn’t even doing anything, not really. Just existing, sprawled across the soft seating like it was his throne, golden and smug. His presence filled the space like a storm fills the horizon, vast and crackling, impossible to ignore. She could feel him under her skin, behind her ribs, humming through her bloodstream even with five feet and a desk between them.

And he knew it, of course he did, he could feel the effect he had on her.

“You know,” he said casually, leaning back and resting the back of his head in his intertwined fingers, “we should go away.”

She didn’t look up from her datapad. “Go away?”

“A vacation.” He was already picturing it, voice wrapped in sunlight. “Just the two of us. There’s a place, far, far from here, remote, beautiful, where no one would recognize us.” He looked at her. “It will be like we are an actual couple instead of Senator and Jedi.”

Her fingers paused above the screen, the weight of the idea pressing into her chest like warmth. She could see it too, for a moment. Feel it like a dream she wanted to believe in.

“I would love nothing more,” she said honestly. “But I can’t, Ani.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” he sat up, affronted, like she’d personally insulted the sun. “It’s two weeks. The Senate can survive without you. Miraculously, I know.”

She sighed, still not looking at him. “I’m sure it can. But I have propositions to review, bills to finalize, votes to prepare. Important meetings—”

He stepped around her desk and popped a dramatic hip like the galaxy's most petulant god. “More important than me?”

She narrowed her eyes, slow and sharp. “You know exactly what you mean to me.”

“Do I?” he said dramatically, crossing his arms and turning around like a tragic holo actor. “Because right now it feels like my heart is being shoved to the bottom of your schedule.”

She let out a breath and leaned back in her chair, folding her hands across her stomach as she studied him.

“Our love is everything to me,” she said carefully. “But my work matters too. It matters for people who don’t have the luxury of sneaking away. Our work matters, Anakin. What we do matters.”

“To me there’s nothing more important than you,” he said standing there with his back to her, arms crossed like a storm cloud, radiating disappointment in dramatic waves.

She stared at his back, lips twitching. “That better not be a pout.”

“No,” he grumbled, “it’s… noble heartbreak.”

She laughed softly, Maker help her, she adored this ridiculous man. “You’re such a menace.”

“And yet here you are,” he said, not turning around. “Still not on vacation with me.”

She stood, walked towards him and slid her hands around his waist, resting her chin between his shoulder blades. “What can I do to prove to you that you matter the most to me?”

“The damage is already done,” he said with great theatrical flair.

A laugh almost escaped her lips, but she pushed it back, and in a swift motion she stood in front of him. Her fingers found his jaw, warm, strong, and tilted his face down to hers.

“My sweet sweet Ani,” she whispered, her lips slow, hot, reverent, against his, making him melt, just a little. “If you want proof,” she murmured, “then let me show you what you mean to me.”

She kissed him, soft and deep, hands threading through his hair possessively, it silenced every protest he thought about making. 

The kiss was heated, frantic, like they’d been starving for each other and finally allowed to feast. It was instant combustion. No slow burn, no delicate teasing. Just raw need, all fire and ache and knowing. He exhaled into her mouth, his hands tangled in her hair, then moved down to her waist, clutching like gravity itself had shifted and he was grounding himself. 

She tasted like stars and defiance. He kissed her like she was air and flame all at once. The fire she lit inside him was hers alone to command.

When her mouth grazed his neck, what was left of his composure unraveled like silk and his lips met hers again. He walked them back, blindly, not breaking the kiss, not once, her mouth still pressed to his, until she hit the bookshelf. He pinned her there, one hand cradling her head so she wouldn’t knock into the shelves. Books toppled behind them like falling stars as his mouth found her throat, her collarbone, her name falling from his lips like a prayer he’d been dying to say.

She gasped, breathless and burning, and he kissed her harder, like he needed to brand himself into her soul.

Then he moved again, his hands were already back on her, mapping the lines of her body like sacred territory. He knew every curve, every reaction, how she’d shiver when he kissed just below her jaw, how her breath caught when his fingers traced her spine. They collided again, lips bruising, hands insistent.

But it wasn’t just need, it was knowing. The kind of knowing that came from worship and war, from battles fought side by side and promises whispered in the dark. 

When the desk hit the backs of her thighs, he lifted her onto it, his free hand shooting out to sweep everything off the surface in one violent motion, datapads, files, a stylus, a small potted plant, all crashing to the floor as if the whole galaxy could wait while his was mouth still on hers, and she pulled him in like gravity had given up and left only them.

They moved together in a rhythm as old as time, sharp gasps, soft moans, whispered names, a symphony of want and devotion echoing off polished wood and walls that had seen too much and still not enough.

Her legs wrapped around his hips, her heels locking at the small of his back, pulling him into her, into this, and he thrust into her, the sound she made shattered him. Her head fell back, exposing her throat, and he kissed it reverently, like a knight bent before a goddess. 

She was wrapped around him, tangled in his body like ivy on stone. Her hands were in his hair, his tunic, her voice in his ear, guiding him, worshipping him. His mouth dragged over her neck, her chest, every place that made her tremble.

His hands moved over her body like he knew every inch of her in his bones, because he did. He didn’t fumble. He didn’t guess. He knew her like he knew the hilt of his saber, like breath, like instinct. He knew what would make her gasp, what would make her moan, what would unravel her completely. And she gave herself to it, to him, because she knew him just the same.

When the desk groaned in protest, he lifted her into his arms, and she laughed breathlessly against his mouth as he carried her to the little velvet sofa, limbs tangled, breathing ragged. He continued to worship her there, whispering her name like it was a secret spell that bound the universe together. She pulled him in with her eyes, with her hands, with the soft, broken sound she only ever made for him.

Every movement, every sound, every glance between them was instinct, history, devotion. They didn’t have to speak. They knew.

And when they finally collapsed on the floor, sweaty, undone, breathless and wrecked and more whole than ever, he hovered over her, brushing damp hair from her face, his heart pounding against hers.

“You are everything to me,” she whispered, cupping his cheek.

His lips curved into a crooked smile as he pressed his forehead to hers. “No,” he murmured. “We’re everything.”

The gala was crowded, loud, and glittering with too much fake gold and not enough sincerity. She floated through it like she always did, charming, gracious, intelligent. Every word laced with purpose and diplomacy. She was dazzling, magnetic. Untouchable.

Anakin had been watching her from across the room, he always is, with admiration, with love blossoming in his chest, but tonight his jaw was clenched so tightly it could shatter in any moment. 

Senator Vanto of Andosha was practically glued to her side, as he had seemed to be lately. He had been circling for weeks like a blood-slicked nexu. It started with a look across the Senate, followed by sugar-drenched pleasantries echoing in marble halls and smiles that lasted a second too long, then a fleeting compliment with a lingering hand on her back. Then he started to get more bold, a too-close whisper over a datapad, every time she laughed the man leaned in closer, taking every possible opportunity to have a hand on her, his eyes devouring her like a predator savoring the kill.

Anakin had seen it all, every touch, every glance from the Senator over the last few weeks, and it burned through him like acid, each and every single time, and she didn’t see it. Or worse, she refused to.

Now, in that glittering cage, every time he even breathed close to her, every time she flashed that too-perfect public smile, Anakin’s vision blurred at the edges. And when the senator started parading around with a hand on the small of her back, his filthy hand on her smooth velvety skin, fingers grazing the open back of her gown like he had the right, like he could, Anakin’s blood boiled.

And she, she laughed, not her real laugh, the one she gave him in quiet moments beneath tangled sheets, but the polite one she wore in public. It didn’t matter. It burned all the same. 

Without a word, he turned on his heel, strides clipped and purposeful. He didn’t care who saw. Let the whole damn Senate speculate. Let them whisper. He didn’t care. He launched his fighter and left.

By the time she got home, the apartment was dark. Cold. But not silent. Anakin was there, pacing like a caged animal, shoulders tight with barely restrained fury.

She didn’t even get her shoes off before the storm hit. “Something wrong Ani?” she asked, the door barely clicking shut behind her.

He turned, the heat in his eyes sparking like wildfire. “You really have to ask?”

She blinked at him, confused, tension curling at the edge of her spine. “I don’t understand.” She frowned, “If you’re upset about something, say it. Don’t just, brood,” she said, unwinding the earrings from her lobes. 

“I’m not brooding,” he snapped. “I’m trying very hard not to explode.”

She scoffed. “Well, you’re doing a terrible job.”

“Just like you were at keeping Senator Vanto’s filthy hands off you,” he said, sarcasm dripping like venom. 

Her breath caught. “Are you really going to start again?” she snapped, looking at him through the mirror in the room, pulling the pins from her hair, letting it tumble over her back. “I’ve told you, he’s a colleague. That’s all.”

Anakin stood dead center in the room, arms stiff at his sides, fists clenched so hard his knuckles were white. “A colleague who practically breathes down your neck every time you’re in the same room. And you let him!”

Her laugh was cold, sharp. “Let him? You think I let him?”

“I don’t think,” he said, voice jagged. “I saw you with my own eyes!”

“I was doing my job!” she said loudly, turning towards him. “Talking, negotiating, building rapport, which is what I’ve always done. What do you want me to do, Anakin? Be rude? Push him away in front of the entire Senate chamber just to make you feel better? Throw a drink in his face and declare I belong to you?” 

“I’m asking you to see it,” he bit out. “He touches you like he owns you.”

“I don’t belong to anyone!” she yelled, sharply and coldly. 

“I thought you said you were mine,” he said, lower now, his voice breaking at the edges.

“I’m not a possession, Anakin.”

“No,” he said, quieter, rawer. “But you are mine, just as I’m yours, because we chose each other. Because what we have is real. And he’s trying to take you from me,” he said, touching his chest.

Her laugh then wasn’t cold, it was shattered. “You sound insane.”

He stepped closer, too close. “And you sound blind.”

The room froze.

Her face hardened, voice tightening like she was holding back something sharp. “Do you hear yourself right now? He’s not the problem here, Anakin. You are.”

That cracked something in him, clean through the middle, cracking his chest open.

“No,” he said, voice rising. “I’m the one who’s stuck waiting while he gets to stand beside you, hover over you, touch you. Me, the man that has loved you since the first time he saw you, who would burn the galaxy down just to keep you safe, gets crumbs behind closed doors! So excuse me if I’m sick of pretending this doesn’t bother me!”

Her heart stung like it had been slapped. “You think this is easy for me? Hiding, lying, splitting myself in two just to make this work—”

“Then maybe it’s not worth it,” he snapped.

She flinched, like he’d hit her. Her mouth opened, then closed, her voice caught behind the pressure building in her chest. 

The silence that followed was instant and total. The air turned to glass between them, fragile, sharp, suffocating, waiting to shatter.

Her voice dropped to just a whisper. “Is that really how you feel?”

He faltered. He didn’t mean it. But pride, stupid, stubborn pride, held his tongue hostage and wouldn’t let him soften. “Maybe it is.”

Her breath hitched, then turned away from him, jaw clenched so tight it trembled. “Then go,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself, holding herself together with the last thread of her control she had before shattering.

Anakin didn’t move, said nothing. His jaw ticked, lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. He stared at her back for a long moment, at the way her shoulders rose and fell like she was holding it together, barely.

He wanted to take it back. Maker, he wanted to. He wanted to cross the galaxy that appeared between them and fix it, he wanted to hold her and not go.

But he didn’t, and instead turned on his heel and walked out, again. Jumping on his fighter and going away, leaving her in the quiet wreckage of their home.

The silence echoed through the apartment like a thunderclap as she stood there, still in her gown, her earrings in her hand, hair loose caressing her back, and shaking. The lights hummed softly above her. The room felt cavernous without him in it.

And all she could do was stand there, alone, tears pulling in her eyes, surrounded by the wreckage of what they’d built, and wonder, maybe this time, they’d broken something they couldn’t fix.

A full day passed.

She hadn’t moved much, buried under blankets, curtains drawn to shut out the light that mocked her with its warmth. Her datapad buzzed every few hours with messages and alerts, unanswered. The Senate could wait. The galaxy could wait. For the first time in years, she let herself unravel. The senator, the leader, the unshakable voice of reason, reduced to someone wrapped in silence and tears. There was the steady hum of sorrow beneath her skin and the raw ache of something lost, sobs coming and going in waves, breaking through moments of numb silence. She tried to hate him. Tried to hate herself. Neither feeling stuck. Only grief for what might already be gone did.

By late afternoon, the tears had run dry, replaced by something hollow. She pulled herself out of bed, her muscles aching like she had fought a war in her sleep. The shower steamed the mirror, the water was hot, steady, cleansing, grounding her just enough to feel like maybe she could start over.

Maybe.

But she wasn’t sure if she wanted to.

She was wrapping her robe around her when the knock came. She frowned, confused. No one was supposed to visit. The few people who might, had the good sense not to.

When she opened the door, Senator Vanto stood there.

Concern painted across his features like a poor artist’s attempt at sincerity. “You weren’t at the Senate today,” he said, stepping inside uninvited. “People were asking. I was worried that you perhaps were ill.”

She blinked, unsettled. “I... wasn’t feeling well.”

He smiled, taking a slow, familiar step toward her. “I figured as much. I thought maybe I could help. Maybe you needed someone to talk to.” His eyes dragged over her, landing on her exposed collarbone where the robe dipped. “Or just someone.”

A chill slid down her spine and she tightening the piece of clothing around her.

She moved toward the sitting area, creating distance, hoping he’d take the hint. “Thank you for your concern, but really, I’m fine.”

“I know,” he said smoothly, following her, “but maybe it’s time you stop pretending you don’t need anyone.” He looked her over, the flush skin, her bare legs, her wet hair. “You need someone who can take care of you,” he reached out, brushing a strand of damp hair from her face. 

She stepped back, discomfort. Her skin prickled, but not the way it did when Anakin touched her. There was no warmth here, no tenderness. Just a creeping, nauseating wrongness.

“I said I’m fine.” Again, she rounded the sitting area and tried to put as much distance between them as she could. 

But he followed, again, too closely, too comfortably. With every inch she gave, he took more.

“You’ve always kept yourself surrounded by politics, war, rules, men who are never really there for you. Jedi who disappear when it matters most.” He said it with meaning, with venom. “But not me,” he sat and pushed her to sit with him. “I wouldn’t leave you alone, not even for a second.”

Her knees hit the cushions before her mind registered what had happened. Her stomach turned. “Vanto—”

“I mean it.” His voice dropped. “You need a man who’s strong enough to handle you. Someone who knows what to do with a woman like you.” His eyes drifted down. “Someone who knows how to touch you.” His hand landed on her thigh, firm, possessive. 

Her blood froze. The hand was not delicate, not gentle. It burned. Her skin crawled under it.

“I can give you what he never could.” His voice slithered around her. “You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

She tensed, tried to inch away, but his hand gripped tighter. “Let go of me,” she pushed his hand away. “It’s time for you to go,” she said, standing sharply.

He stood too, moving in close, cornering her. “Come on, darling,” he said with a twisted smirk on his lips. 

She backed up. Her robe slipped slightly off one shoulder again, she yanked it up with trembling fingers.

“You can stop pretending now. No one’s watching.” His hand caught her arm.

She yanked back. “Don’t touch me.”

But he didn’t stop and his grip tightened. “I’ve seen the way you look at me—”

“There’s no way I look at you,” she snapped, breath catching. “Let go of me.”

“No more playing game,” he smirked again.

“Stop it—” she twisted, trying to break free.

“No more hiding.” His other hand gripped her side, fingers digging through the thin robe like claws.

She gasped. “Please, no.”

The fear started creeping up her throat like acid.

Her skin was on fire where he touched her, not in the way Anakin lit her nerves with heat and reverence, but like poison seeping into her bones.

“You’ve got no one here but me.”

She whimpered, voice cracking. “I said no—please don’t—”

He leaned in, tried to kiss her.

She twisted, shoved against him, her voice shaking, heart in her throat. “I said no—!”

And then—The door burst open with a crash.

A wind tore through the room as if the stars themselves had followed him in.

Anakin stood there, eyes burning, jaw locked, the fury of a thousand suns radiating off of him. His voice was low, guttural, animalistic.

“Get. Away. From her.”

Vanto startled, letting go just long enough for her to stumble back. She shoved him hard, scrambling to the other side of the room.

And before she could even breathe, Anakin crossed the room in three strides. The Force lifted Vanto off the ground like he weighed nothing, like a ragdoll, choking him mid-air. His feet kicked helplessly as Anakin stalked forward.

“You dare to touch her,” Anakin growled, his voice was cold. Controlled, but barely. 

He threw him against a wall and with his free hand, took his lightsaber and ignited with a snap-hiss of blue death. “You hurt her.” His face was carved in stone, his rage blistering, terrifying, as he pointed with his saber at him.

“Try fighting like a man,” Vanto stood up, coughing. “Without your Jedi tricks.”

Anakin’s lips twitched. A slow, dangerous smile, not at all kind. “Oh, it would be my pleasure.”

The saber shut off with a snap, and he launched forward.

The fight was brutal. No rules, no honor, just raw and animalistic fury unleashed in the flicker of a heartbeat. 

She stood frozen, robe clenched tightly around her trembling frame, breath caught in her chest as she watched the man she loved, her sweet Ani, unravel.

Anakin was a storm, all fire and anguish and vengeance, striking with the kind of force that only came from years of buried grief, unspoken heartbreak and possessive love in every strike. Metal met flesh with a sickening precision. Blood splattered. Vanto swung wildly and desperate, landing a few hits, but they barely registered. 

Anakin was relentless, built for combat. Designed for it. He wasn’t born like that, for war, but he was made into it. War had carved him into a weapon, he was honed by pain, but underneath the fury still lived the boy who once only wanted to protect the people he loved. And now, seeing her hurt, that boy was screaming and the man he had become answered with rage.

“Anakin, stop!” she cried, breathless, panic bleeding into every syllable. “Don’t—please, he’s not worth it!”

In the chaos, as she tried to break them apart, to stop the devastation, Vanto’s fist swung. It wasn’t meant for her. But it found her anyway. It hit her, colliding with her cheek, sharp and brutal.

The sound, sickening, wrong, echoed through the room like a thunderclap. She gasped, stumbled, a cry of pain tearing from her throat as she crashed into the side table and fell. The thud of her body hitting the floor split the air.

Everything stopped. He punched her. She was on the ground, pain flashing in her glassy eyes, blood on her hand and a cut in her porcelain skin.

The sound she made, that wounded sound, more raw than war, more real than anything he’d ever heard, broke something in him so violently that his breath left him in a single, strangled gasp. 

The world narrowed and all he saw was her, his word had fallen hurt and all his anger turned to something worse. 

She was hurt. Because he hadn’t stopped it. Because he hadn’t been fast enough. Because he had left and was almost too late, again.

That was it, he snapped. 

Anakin tackled Vanto with everything he had, not as a Jedi, but as a man who had seen the only thing that kept him sane, the source of his happiness, hurt and afraid. There was no humanity left as he charged. The punches came fast, the anger white-hot. He didn’t hear Vanto’s protests, and didn't care because all he saw was a danger to her. He threw him across the room, pinned him again, and hit him harder.

All he felt was heartbreak made flesh, striking out at the thing that dared hurt what mattered most to him.

Every hit said: You don’t touch her. Every hit said: You don’t get to make her afraid. Every hit said: She is mine to protect.

Only when Vanto was unmoving, groaning, bleeding, broken on the floor, did Anakin stop.

He stood there for a moment, chest heaving, fists trembling with fury. His eyes were wild, dark with something primal, something unbearable. A small whimper reached his ears and he turned around. She was still on the floor, broken and shaken.

The door opened again. Security. Too late.

Anakin rushed to her side, kneeling, hands shaking as he cupped her face. “Are you okay?” His voice cracked, desperate. “Look at me. Tell me you’re okay, please.”

He touched her cheek, gently, like she was made of light and grief and might vanish or shatter if he pressed too hard, and she whimpered at the contact. It wasn’t fear this time, nor pain. But because something in her had broken open, and he was the only one who could hold it together.

“This is all on me,” he breathed, horror and panic folding into his voice. His eyes burned, rimmed red. “Maker, forgive me—” His breath stuttered. “I shouldn’t have left. I should’ve—”

Her wide, tear-glossed eyes met his. “You came back,” she whispered, voice so small it broke him. Her trembling fingers touched his cheek, catching a tear as it slid down his face. “You came back right when I needed you.”

His face twisted with emotion, grief, relief, love that nearly broke him in two. “Of course I did,” he choked out. “I’ll always come back.”

Her lip quivered. “Don’t leave me again,” she pleaded. Her voice was broken, raw, but somehow softer.

He closed his eyes, forehead resting against hers, as if that could fuse them together and keep the world from breaking them again.

“Never,” he whispered, voice raw and aching. “My love, never.”

Behind them, security restrained Vanto’s broken, barely-conscious body. There was shouting. Movement. But none of it touched her. None of it touched him. But none of it mattered.

She leaned into Anakin’s touch, into the only thing that felt real, like it was the only thing anchoring her to this world. And maybe it was. 

“Just hold me,” she whispered. “Hold me like only our love matters in this world. Hold me like only you know how to.”

Even if the fire of his rage still clung to him like a second skin, he was hers, and she was his. He was the safest place she had known. 

He was home.

Without a word, Anakin gathered her into his arms, carefully, reverently, as if she were made of sacred things. He held her like she was the only truth he’d ever known, the only fight that ever mattered.

And in that moment, with her curled against his chest, with her tears soaking his tunic and his heartbeat steady against her ear…

The galaxy could’ve ended, and neither of them would have noticed.

[rosepinks-world]

DUDE! SHE LIKES YOU BACK

spencer reid x fem! reader

synopsis: in which reader has returned from a field injury and Spencer surprises her.

Being shot wasn’t the badass experience all those cop shows made it out to be. It hurt, like a bitch and the recovery made you feel weak and useless. You werent allowed to work and were limited to doing paperwork from home.

However, today was the first day Hotch had allowed you to come into the office and work. Everything remained the same, the vending machine in the hall still required a good kick for it to actually give up the food inside, the ladies bathroom still had that one out of order stall and all your employees hadn’t changed one bit.

The thing that did catch you by surprise was the sight of beautiful spasms of colour put into a glass full of water.

Flowers.

They looked way too particular to be the generic $5 bouquet that had been bought from a supermarket. There were pink tulips, a few stems of lavender, peonies and a delicate sunflower in the middle of them all and the stems were wrapped in a white bow which was now drenched into the water but was further proof for its individuality.

You took a seat at your desk picking up the flowers and inspecting them closely, an attempt to see if anyone had left a note- a clear sign as to who sent them but your question was soon answered when a familiar voice sounded behind you.

“Oh! Do you like them?”

Spencer.

Before you could even say anything to him he started rambling

“I read up about botany and found out many believe that pink tulips symbolise affection and care, lavender represents healing and that peonies present good luck.” He paused his explanation by pulling his lips into one of his straight lined smile and nodding his head nervously.

“Oh! And the sunflower was just because I thought it looked pretty and you have Van Goughs portrait in your apartment.”

You smiled laughing at the clear thought he put into them. He looked like he want to say something else but you interrupted him by pulling him into a hug pressing your head into his neck. He seemed surprised at the hug but willingly reciprocated and wrapped his arms around your lower back. You both ignored the wolf whistle clearly made by Derek.

“Thank you, Spence, they’re beautiful.”

He blushed at the gratitude, “It’s the least I could do after your injury. Speaking of can I help you with anything?”

You laughed sitting down, ”God no. Thank you. But seriously, everyone is making this way big of a deal than it actually is. I’m not running a marathon I’m just writing files.”

He laughed again the blush still evident on his cheeks. You stood up and announced you would be right back - fleeing to grab more files from Hotch. The coworkers who saw all began heckling Spencer at what just happened.

“My man! Who knew pretty boy had this much game?” Derek hollered slapping Spencer’s back. Whilst Penelope almost jumped up and down in delight. “Oh my god they’re gonna have baby geniuses.”

“Garcia I gave her flowers not an engagement ring.” Spencer stated.

“Who’s getting an engagement ring?” Emily asked finally arriving for work.

“Nobody…yet” Penelope answered wiggling her eyebrows and walking back to her lair.

Spencer was so pleased with himself but a question Emily asked made his blood run cold.

“Yikes! Who got L/N flowers?”

“Me. Why? Is that a problem? Oh god is she allergic? I should have known!”

“No it’s just she hates flowers. I offered to get her some after she told me her had cat passed but she told me not to and that although she was grateful she couldn’t imagine a worse gift.”

Spencer’s eyes were practically gouging out of his head with anxiety and Derek couldn’t help but laugh as he joined the two.

Spencer looked between them rapidly and stuttered out, “What? But she gave me a hug and said they were beautiful? Do, do you think she lied?”

Emily raised her eyebrows mouth opening as she let out a knowing laugh. Derek looked at her and soon reacted similarly.

“What?” Spencer asked growing annoyed feeling like a child being left out of a game by their peers.

Derek offered an explanation. “You know how you’re a germaphobe but had no problem making out with Lila Archer that one time in the pool?”

Spencer blushed with embarrassment, “Why do you always bring that up?”

Emily rolled her eyes brushing him off and added to the point. “Spencer I think this is one of those situations.”

He furrowed his eyebrows confused. And Emily leaned in waiting for him to get it. His brows remained furrowed as he spoke again.“I don’t get it. Is this supposed to mean something?”

Derek rolled his eyes all concepts of being subtle gone out of the window.

“Dude! She likes you back.”

[no-144444]

"youre so hot, wanna sit on my face?" LANDO X Y/N PLEAAAASE. enemies to lovers or bsfs to lovers pls.

making it up- l.norris

꩜ summary: he's one annoying guy

꩜ pairing: lando norris x fem! fewtrell! reader

Lando Norris had no filter, and a brain the size of a pigeon’s. He liked to party, drink, and piss you off. 

Y/n Y/l/n. Max Fewtrell’s step sister. You’d never gone long without seeing him, since he was the most overprotective fucker in the entire world. He had rules for you. You were 23 and he had rules. Yes, it annoyed you, but he was your brother and you loved him anyway (even if his rules were bullshit). 

Max Fewtrell’s Rules for a happy Y/n, and an unanxious Max:

Do not under any circumstances go out with Lando Norris. (no issue there)

No stepping foot in Ibiza, Dubia, etc.   (annoying, but you weren’t exactly a partier) 

No dating drivers. (that was fine too, most of them were self-absorbed and ugly) 

Listen to Max’s advice and actually follow it. (now that one, was bullshit)

Max had the worst advice in the world, he didn’t know relationships because his was perfect, he didn’t know friendships because he and Lando were somehow bonded by something cosmic (aka they never fought), and he didn’t know the corporate world, because he had his own business. He was a sheltered little flower, and his advice was shit. 

Still, you pretended to follow the rules on the weekends you visited him, whether it be at the tracks, or joining some quadrant shoot in the middle of fucking nowhere, or just in his apartment with P. 

This weekend, it was on track. Montreal. Lando was somehow still high off his win in Monaco, and he was even cockier than ever. You weren’t exactly interested in it though. You were too busy trying to hide the fact that you had a date, with someone Max probably wouldn’t like very much. 

Lando noticed. He noticed the way you just shrugged his sexually charged and annoying remarks off. He saw you on your phone more times than you’d ever been before. He watched you smile at the screen. 

It made him twitch. 

Was it wrong to go after your best friend’s little sister? Probably, yes. Did he give a fuck when he’d been in love with you for over a decade? Not one bit. 

He dropped his helmet on the table in front of you, his suit still sweaty and hanging low on his hips. You didn't look up from your goddamn phone, but your energy was different. Less engrossed, and more… aloof. It pulled at his heartstrings when he noticed you frowning, and he wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold you, and ask you what was wrong. Jesus Christ, when did he turn into a romantic? A month ago all he was doing was making jokes about the fact he could see your bra through your white t-shirt (which he’d strategically spilt water on), and now he wanted to make everything better for you. He was slightly proud of that. Only 10 sexual jokes this weekend, and none of them were in front of Max, that’s a record low. 

“You’re staring,” your voice was monotone and your eyes stared at your phone. He didn’t avert his gaze. 

“You’re stunning,” he shrugged. “Even when you’re frowning.”

You looked up from your phone, entirely unimpressed. He looked back at you with that signature smirk, trying to contain his giggles. 

“What do you want Norris?” you scoffed, crossing your arms. Operation get you off your phone: successful. 

“You,” he shrugged like it was obvious, and you rolled your eyes again. “I want to talk to you, beautiful.” 

He watched as you faltered for just a second, and his smirk grew bigger. You sighed. “What do you want to talk about? Your crash in quali just now?” Your words had no venom behind them, so it didn’t bother him. He knew what he was capable of, he was a fucking Monaco Gp winner. So he was starting 10th, big deal. 

He leaned in closer, his voice going lower. “I was thinking more… whoever you’ve been texting all weekend, and why you seem so secretive about it?” He masked his jealousy well. He didn’t pry and he wouldn’t if this didn’t work. Even though he wanted you more than anything, he knew he had to let you fall in love with him. He’d been in love with you since karting days, when you were too smart for your own good and helped him with his homework and appalling handwriting. Still he knew you well enough to know that anyone noticing anything small like this about you, freaked you out. Your eyes went wide and filled with something he hadn't seen before.

Holy shit, you were breaking a rule. 

He chuckled. “So which one are you breaking, huh?” He had a hunch already, but he really hoped he was wrong, because it would mean he’d had to leave the conversation, find the guy, and beat him up. 

“It’s not a big deal,” you rolled your eyes again, and he bit his lip. “And anyway he just cancelled on me so it doesn’t fucking matter,” you shrugged, trying to act like it didn’t affect you, but he saw it did. You’d liked this guy. You’d been looking forward to it. 

And he just cancelled, like he didn’t have a date with the most wonderful girl in the world. 

Ok, Lando was definitely beating him up now. “I’m sorry,” he sighed. “That’s shitty of him. You deserve someone better than that.” Someone like me.  He wanted to say, but he wouldn’t push you when you were down. “You're hot. You're cool. You're ridiculously smart," he listed as you nodded, not exactly believing him, and he decided to switch tactics. "Want to sit on my face to make you feel better? I give really good head?” 

You stared at him for a second, disgusted, and then burst out into that laughter he loved to hear so much. He joined you, laughing just as hard. 

“Oh Lando,” you wheezed, shaking your head, a hand on his arm as his entire body warmed at the touch. “Never change, you fucking muppet.” 

He smiled like he’d won a race. Meanwhile, he hadn’t won the race to your heart yet, but he was definitely a lap up from where he was yesterday, and any progress is good progress.

navigation for my blog :)

mclaren masterlist

[ebodebo]

Dinner, Dinner!

—jason misses your anniversary dinner, but makes it up to you… MDNI

"Would you like to browse our dessert menu, madam?" The waiter asks in a thick French accent as he stretches his arm out to pour your second glass of wine.

Your brain is fogged as your fingers fiddle with the stem of the glass as you swirl the crimson liquid around, splashing all sides of the glass. 

"Madam?" The waiter repeats. You hadn't even realized you hadn't answered his previous question. You flick your eyes to his.

"I…um—sorry, can you repeat the question?" Your mind is clouded with a storm of fury and hurt. Jason, your boyfriend, had forgotten your anniversary dinner, leaving you to endure the sympathetic glances of strangers as they noticed the empty seat across from you.

"Of course, madam. I asked if you would like to see the dessert menu," the waiter repeats, his voice a distant echo. You turn your head to the empty seat in front of you, the thought of enduring the restaurant's atmosphere a daunting prospect. 

"Could I just have the cremé brûlée?" You finally ask, your eyes still fixed on the empty seat, your voice trembling slightly. "In a to-go box, please."

It was the first dessert you and Jason shared at this very restaurant, three years ago today. 

"Of course," the waiter said curtly, turning slightly before you raised your voice.

"And, um, could you take the other wine glass?" You awkwardly ask. He simply nods again, carefully placing the stem between his index and middle fingers upside down before turning away to tend to another table.

You should just leave.

It was clear he wasn't coming.

A light smile etched into your face as the waiter set the to-go box with the fancy dessert. You carefully reached into your purse, steadily gripping your wallet to pay. The waiters brought his hands up, shaking his head side-to-side.

"Please. No payment is necessary, madam. Enjoy the dessert," he says kindly. You sniffle, a stray tear falling down your face. You nod gently, issuing a strained, 'Thank you.'

He curtly nods, turning to go back into the kitchen. You gather your things, including the dessert, and move to walk out of the front door.

Upon stepping outside, you are met with the cold Gotham air. Your dress even sways in the wind as you walk, and your heels clank against the pavement. 

The walk home wasn't too long, maybe six minutes or so, but God, did it feel like an eternity. All you could think about was how hurt and disappointed you were and what you would say to Jason when you inevitably saw him.

Your brain tried to conjure all the reasons he didn't show.

Did he forget, or did he purposefully not come?

Now, you knew it couldn't be the latter, Jason wasn't a dick. 

He was just an idiot. 

Your thoughts continued as you stuck your key in the lock and carefully twisted it to unlock your front door, pushing it open quickly.

You set your purse down on a table next to the door, glancing at a framed photo of you and Jason happily eating ice cream on Jason's birthday last year.

You felt sick.

You quickly flick your attention away as your eyes begin to well with hot tears, easing your way into the kitchen. You stand on the cold tile for a minute before getting a sudden inspiration rush.

You didn't want to think about him any longer tonight. You'd prepare a hot tea, watch a movie, or perhaps even read a good book. 

Yes. That sounded like a fine plan.

As you were steeping the leaves in hot water, a knock on the front door pulled your attention away. You left the bag to steep and returned to the door. Pulling the door open, you were met with Red Hood—aka your boyfriend, Jason—gripping a bouquet of fresh flowers.

You're tempted to slam the door in his pretty face, but you don't—not yet, anyway.

"I'm an asshole," he says, his voice distorted from his modulator. 

The sight was ridiculous; if you weren't so pissed, you'd laugh.

He realizes the absurdity of the situation. "God damn, fuckin' helmet," he irritably gruffs, ripping off his helmet. Your eyes widen, your mouth hanging open. 

Anyone could simply walk by and figure out who the highly sought-after vigilante was.

"Jason, you can't just—get inside!" You grip his arm, dragging him inside the confines of your home—an action you immediately regret. 

"Fuck, baby," he begins. "I'm—I'm so sorry," his tone is sincere as he anxiously drags his hands through his hair. 

"I looked like an idiot, Jason," you breathe out, reaching for the bouquet of flowers he brought. 

Hell, it wasn't their fault Jason was stupid. 

"I know—" he says, following you into your kitchen as you fill a vase with water for the flowers.

"A fucking idiot," you snap, setting the flowers gently into the water. You reach for a pair of scissors. "I requested an extra wine glass when I sat down, and I had to be the one to tell him to take it away," you angrily say, snipping some of the leaves off.

"Baby, I'm really, really sorry. I got caught up—"

"Where were you?" You set the scissors down, turning to look at him.

"Dick needed some help scouting a potential crime circuit in Blüdhaven," he sighs. "He told me it wouldn't take long. Should've known better," he wipes his hand over his face, hissing at the contact.

Your eyes sweep over his face, taking note of the fresh cuts and bruises that now taint his face. Fresh blood prickled from some; others were caked in layers of it.

"Are you hurt?" You ask, concern lacing your words.

He raises a brow. "Don't worry about me, Sweetheart. I'll be alright. I'm more concerned about you," he admits honestly. 

"You're bleeding," you observe, wincing at the sight.

"Just a hair," he lightly smiles. "I'm okay."

Sure, you were pissed at your boyfriend, but you wouldn't let him be in agony like he was. 

He was bleeding, for God's sake.

"Let me clean them up," you simply say.

"No, no. I'm fine—" he began, shaking his head lightly.

"Please," you insist.

He huffs, then accepts defeat. He takes your hand stretched out and follows you to the bathroom. He sits on the toilet as you fumble through your medicine cabinet to gather band-aids and Neosporin. 

"I hope it's okay. I, um, only have these band-aids," you awkwardly say, holding up a box with a familiar blue hero on the cover. 

"Baby, why do you have Nightwing band-aides?" He questions skeptically.

"Dick brought them to white elephant last year, and I got stuck with them," you lightly laugh. "He's a horrible gift-giver."

Jason laughs. "Promise to remind me to take them off before I leave. He cannot see me with these on. He'd have a damn field day," he grumbles as you laugh. 

"I promise I'll remind you," you affirm, pulling a small step ladder in front of him so you could sit before carefully squirting a bit of the ointment out onto your pointer finger and pressing it to each of Jason's cuts.

He barely winces or whines as you continue the action, delicately tending to each cut. His eyes wander to yours, focusing heavily with determination on what you are doing, even sticking your tongue out to concentrate. 

"I don't deserve this," he heaves as you open some band-aids.

"What? To have ten Nightwing band-aides on you all at once?" You laugh, carefully laying each of the band-aids over the cuts.

He snickers. "That and you taking care of me."

You pull back slightly. "What?"

"I ruined our anniversary tonight. I left you alone in that restaurant and, look at you, still taking care of me," he exasperates. "I don't deserve you."

You frown. "Don't say that. I mean, ya, it was shitty, but just because you did something shitty one time or even twice doesn't make you undeserving of my love, Jason," you gently say, fingers moving to caress his jaw on their own volition. 

He leans into your hand. "I just don't want to lose you. I love you."

Jason and you have exchanged hundreds, if not thousands, of "I love yous" throughout your relationship, but this one felt different. 

It felt more like a sacred prayer spilling from his lips—a tender plea from the depths of his soul. It felt all that much more divine.

You found yourself leaning to kiss his lips, your hands moving to thread through his hair. His lips instantly moved with yours, and his hand gripped your cheek.

It was a tender kiss—an 'I'm sorry,' wrapped in an 'It's okay.'

As the seconds passed, the kiss became more fervent—urgent. You even slipped off the step ladder and moved onto Jason's lap. He welcomed you with open arms, encasing you tightly with each of his hands on your hips as you straddled him.

Your hands glided through his hair messily and eagerly as his hands massaged the fat of your hips. You let out a whine that Jason catches as he slips his tongue in your mouth.

You find yourself rocking against him, desperate for friction. He groans, gripping your thighs tightly as he stands with you, guiding you towards your bedroom.

Never once did your lips disconnect.

He gently lays you on the bed as he hastily sheds his boots, armored jacket, gloves, and pants. Your breathing is labored as you follow suit, gingerly slipping off your simple black dress and kicking off your heels, revealing your matching red bra and pantie set you had worn.

Jason stands in front of you in nothing but his boxers, eyes soaking you in.

"What?" You question nervously, feeling self-conscious with his eyes so focused on you. 

"Did you—did you wear that for me?" He asks lazily.

Your lips quip. "Duh. Who else?" You giggle. "You like it?"

He lets out a dry laugh, moving to hover over your body, sticking his arm out to stabilize himself so as not to crush you. "I think I need to take a closer look," he cheekily says, moving his mouth closer to the strap of the bra, taking it between his teeth, pulling a little, then flicking it back. You let out a small whine, feeling the fabric snap back on your skin.

"Sure is sturdy," he observes, fingers coming to slip it down your shoulder. "And a nice color," he murmurs into your shoulder, sending goosebumps down your arm.

"Ya?" You idly question as his lips skim your collarbone.

"Mhm. It's very nice, Baby," he mumbles into your skin, fingers moving to skim the band of your panties. "And these," he begins. "Don't even get me started." He lightly nips your skin with his teeth, eliciting another whine. 

His fingers slip under the band, pulling them down so they sit around your lower thighs. "Ah, there she is," he coos, cupping your dripping cunt with his hand.

"Jason," you moan, pushing yourself into his hand more.

"What, Baby?" His words were low and dragged out, almost breathy.

"I—I need more," you groan, hand moving to rest on his hand on you, encouraging more movement from him. 

"I'll do you one better," he takes his hand away, making you frown, though he moves to slip his boxers down, showcasing his erect cock. 

He strokes himself once before guiding himself into your entrance, leaning down to kiss your temple lightly as he pushes himself inside your cunt. You hiss at the contact, gripping his shoulders tightly.

He groans as one of his hands comes to grip behind your neck, and the other moves to lift your leg up slightly so he can grip your thigh, giving a better angle as he moves at a consistent pace.

A desperate mewl escapes your mouth as his pace fastens. Jason's hand has moved to rest on your breast in your bra as he throws his head back, groaning and spewing curses.

You sit up slightly, gripping his neck, pulling him down to your lips. He kisses you roughly, even sucking your bottom lip in the process. You bring your leg up to wrap around his torso, pushing him even more deeply; he groans as his hand slides to grip the hinge of your leg.

"Jay, I'm gonna—" You begin breathlessly.

"I know, Baby. I know," he purrs into your mouth. "Feel so good."

You grip his neck tighter, lips pressing into his shakily, as you feel yourself tighten around him. All you have had to do was moan his name into his mouth to have him following suit, even moving one hand to grip the sheets beneath as he comes.

You're both gasping for air. Jason eases himself out of you and plops beside you, pulling you close so your face rests on his chest.

"As far as orgasms go, that one was great," you pant, fingers moving to trace the lines between Jason's abs.

"Ya? Do I get a golden star?" He tuts, fingers playing with your hair.

"Sorry, Babe. I only give golden stars for extra credit," you jest, looking up at him.

"Extra credit, you say?" He asks, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. "I think I can do that." He lifts up abruptly, getting off the bed.

"What're you—" You begin to question before he's tugging you towards him by your ankles, planting his face in between your legs.

"Jay!" You shriek, though make no effort to move as his tongue lapses at your sensitive clit.

"I really want that golden star," he mumbles into you.

a/n: finally finished this fic that has been haunting my drafts for months upon months ( ͡ಥ ͜ʖ ͡ಥ)

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[yandere-daydreams]

Screening: Halloween (1978).

Pairing: Yandere!Gojo x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 3.1k.

TW: No Curses!AU, Serial Killer AU, Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Character Death, Oral Sex, Unprotected Sex, Reader is Pregnant, Blood, Age Gap (Reader is 32, Gojo is 18), and No Actual Incest, But The Vibes Are There. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

There was a man in your kitchen.

Which, to be fair, you’d already known. You’d only woken up because you heard something clattering on that side of your house, only gotten out of bed because the noise had gotten too loud to ignore. You figured your husband (as lovable as he was clumsy, unfortunately) had dropped something during a late-night water run and managed to hurt himself while cleaning it up, and knowing him, your pristine house would be in ruins if he tried to handle it himself. You didn’t particularly care about the mess. It could wait until tomorrow – tonight, all you needed him to worry about was keeping your bed warm.

Exhausted and bleary-eyed, you didn’t think to go back to bed when the noises stopped, didn’t notice how eerily silent your home had grown in the absence of your husband’s rustling. No possibility worse than a little broken glass ever crossed your mind, not until you reached the doorway, until your fickle attention caught on the dots of blood splattered across the perfectly white tiles of your floor; not very many and not very big, but still, more than you thought there’d be. Your eyes followed them left until they grew into a trail, then a puddle, and then finally, your husband – lying on his side, crumpled against the nearest cabinet. You couldn’t see where he was hurt. You couldn’t see is he was breathing.

Blankly, you slumped against the doorframe, suddenly feeling both infinitely more awake and infinitely more dazed than you had the second prior. Almost involuntarily, you called out to him, only aware of the sound of your voice after it’d left your mouth. “…Hiromi? Baby?”

“Not quite.” Your eyes shot up and through the unlit space. It seemed unthinkable that there’d be someone else in the room, that there’d be someone responsible for this, and yet, there he was, standing over what used to be your husband – dark stains painted across the material of his black hoodie, a knife still clutched in his right hand. The knife was set delicately onto the nearest countertop, his foot knocking into your husband’s shoulder with a hollow, fleshy sound he stepped over him, and then, the murderer was in front of you, eyes too bright to be completely human prying into you through the darkness. “But, you remember my name too, right?”

You didn’t, but it came to you quickly. His stark white hair should’ve been the first give-away, and yet, it took another second of staring into those horrible blue eyes to fully believe what you were looking at.

“Satoru?”

It couldn’t have been. You knew it couldn’t have been. It’d been a decade since you last saw him – or, rather, since you last saw the starry-eyed eight-year-old who’d cling to your waist and make you promise to teach him how to braid flower frowns after he was done with his daily lessons. This wasn’t your Satoru. This was a grown man, covered in your husband’s blood and holding his hands up in a show of faux-innocence as he approached you, a startlingly familiar smile already contorting his otherwise blank expression. You tried to take a step back, to retreat without turning away from him, but your heel caught on something wet and too terrible to name and you fell, landing with your back against the corridor wall. Your hands shot to your stomach instinctually, but Satoru didn’t seem to notice, dropping to one knee in front of you. “Oh no, did you hurt yourself?” And then, without ever letting his grin falter. “I’m sorry I made such a mess. I was just so happy to see you, and then someone else came to greet me, and I think I might’ve lost my temper. It used to happen a lot after you’d leave, too—”

“Please don’t hurt me,” you cut in, breathless from the very first word. That, at least, got him to stop smiling.

“Hurt you? Why would I…” He spared a glance over his shoulder, then let out a bark of a laugh. “Oh. No, no, I’d never do that to you. It’s just—He was telling me to leave, and I knew you’d be so happy to see me, and I already apologized for the mess. You used to let me off the hook all the time, if I seemed sorry enough.”

He was right, you had. You’d been young and optimistic, and his offenses had been limited to childish temper-tantrums and a few unkind comments made towards his more discipline-focused household staff. But, notably, he’d also been eight, and you’d been fired in less than a year, and he’d never killed anyone in front of you. God, this was bad. This was so, so, so bad. Hiromi was dead, and you were going to die next, and your baby was—

You couldn’t let yourself think about that. It was all you could do to stop yourself from hyperventilating, to drag yourself out of an oncoming panic attack and back to the very real, very present threat in front of you. Satoru had already hurt someone. He could hurt you, too, even if he wasn’t holding a weapon. You needed to call someone. Better yet, you needed to get away from him.

It took everything you had not to let your voice shake, to force your tongue to cooperate. You tried to remember what it’d been like to be an overconfident twenty-something taking care of a kid just a little too eager to soak in your praise, but abandoned the effort before you could make this any worse for yourself. “Does… Does your family know where you are, ‘toru?”

And, just like that, his smile was back in full force. Almost gleefully, he shook his head. “I don’t think they’ve known for a while now, ma’am.”

Fuck. That was right. You hadn’t been fired – there’d been a fire, or an accident, you couldn’t remember the details. You’d heard, months later, that Satoru had been the lone survivor, but you weren’t sure what happened to him after that.

“I’m sorry, Satoru.” It was hard to feign sympathy when the love of your life’s body was still warm, but you managed. “But, you still did something very, very wrong tonight, and I think we should call someone to help.”

“Well, we can’t do that. They’d just take you away from me again.” You bit into the inside of your cheek. So he wasn’t completely delusional, after all. “That’s what my clan wanted to do. They said you were distracting me, and that you’d have to leave. I told them I didn’t want you to, but…” He paused, laughed. “I guess that doesn’t matter, anymore.”

You opened your mouth, but Satoru didn’t give you a chance to speak. Without warning, he surged forward, cupping your face in his hands, his smile taking on a manic lull. “I waited.” He sounded so proud of himself, like he expected you to congratulate him. “I could’ve come to you right away, but I was good, I waited. I knew I had to be a little older. I knew you’d always take care of me, but I had to be able to take care of you, too.”

Something heavy and sharp turned over in the pit of your stomach. “…I really don’t need you to take care of anything, ‘toru.”

“I know.” Impossibly, his eyes seemed to grow even brighter. “I want to, though. Because it’s what you did for me.”

And then, almost breathlessly, “Because I love you.”

You were going to be sick.

You didn’t know what to say. Even if you had, you wouldn’t have been able to spit it out, not with your teeth grit and your throat filled with cotton. Pathetically, you tried to push him away, to stand up, but Satoru only cooed and took your attempts at resistance as a sign to move on, to move forward. You felt his arms snake around your waist only half a second before you felt him straighten against you – pushing himself to his feet and pulling you into a sort-of bridal carry, not unlike something your husband would’ve done when he was feeling sappily romantic, which he almost always was.

Satoru’s embrace was too unwelcome to be romantic, though, too stiff to be comfortable, and worst of all, too tight to fight against as he made his way through your now-barren home. He didn’t ask you for directions or try any doors. Rather, almost too confidently, he found his way to the master bedroom, the door still ajar from when you’d stumbled through it minutes prior. Unceremoniously, eagerly, you were dropped onto the center of your bed and before you had time to get away, Satoru was on top of you; a knee by your hip, a hand by your head, his mouth on yours. His teeth scrapped across your lips and clashed against yours, his tongue forcing its way down your throat as he let out a wavering, pitchy moan against your mouth. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you thought that Satoru wasn’t a very good kisser, then felt repulsed at yourself. That wasn’t something you were supposed to know. Not about Satoru.

He really had been such a sweet kid. It’d been years since the last time you thought about him, but it would’ve been hard to forget how he’d pouted when you told him homework came before sweets, how his eyes lit up the first time whenever you managed to convince his caretakers that he’d earned a fieldtrip, even if you’d never taken him anywhere more exciting than the local aquarium. You’d never planned to spend the rest of your life filling-in for his perpetually absent parents, but your heart had broken just a little when one of the family’s maids let you know that she’d overheard future plans to let you go. He’d gotten too attached, she’d said. He’s been calling you ‘mom’.

…

Maybe you shouldn’t have been so surprised. It wasn’t like this was ever going to end well for either of you.

When Satoru broke away, it was only to pull his hoodie and shirt over his head with all the grace and all the care of an overeager teenager, too desperate to get back to the act at-hand to think about impressing you. He moved to kiss you, again, but you managed to catch him by the shoulders, to hold him off just long enough to find your voice. “Wait, Satoru.” He didn’t, but he dropped lower, his mouth falling to your neck, then your collarbone. You felt his hand graze over your thigh, and were suddenly aware that you’d gone to bed in an oversized shirt and nothing else. “You don’t really want to do this, you’re just confused. You should take a second to catch your breath, and—” You cut yourself off with a pained hiss as his teeth dug into the upper curve of your breast. You couldn’t bring yourself to wonder whether or not it’d leave a mark. “And— Stop.”

This time, you were forceful enough for him to glance towards your face, his eyes just barely visibly through his disheveled hair. Talking felt like choking down gravel, but you managed. “We can’t,” you said, offering your best attempt at a sympathetic frown. “I’m pregnant, ‘toru.”

It was true, as little as you wanted Satoru to be the first person you told. You weren’t far enough along to be showing, but his gaze immediately fell to your stomach. You counted the seconds as he stared at you, the gears turning in his head. Finally, he pulled away, his expression taking on a dream-like quality.

“You’re so perfect,” he sighed, suddenly dazed. “My mama’s gonna be a real mommy.”

“Mhm.” You didn’t try to smile back. If you pushed your limits any further, the strain may’ve gotten to you before Satoru did. “So, you understand why you have to leave, don’t you?”

“Can’t do that, pretty girl.” He ducked lower, his hands shifting to your waist. You tried to sit up, and he let you, too preoccupied settling into the space between your open legs. “Someone’s gotta be there to watch you extra close, now.”

And yet, watching didn’t seem to be what he had in mind.

The heat of it struck you first; damp and smothering, like steam or humidity or the feeling of water in your lungs, drowning you from the inside out. He ate you out as messily as he’d kissed you; never content to be lapping at your entrance or suckling on your clit when he could be attempting to do both. His broad tongue drew aimless patterns over your cunt, fucking into your pussy with every other stroke while the bridge of his nose ground into your clit, leaving no part of you untainted, unscathed. You tried to ignore him and, when that failed, to pretend that it was Hiromi between your legs, but you couldn’t spin straw into gold. Your husband had always been lovingly playful in bed, prone to pressing open-mouthed kisses into the inside of your thighs, to drawing out the letters of his name into your clit as his long, talented fingers split you open. Satoru’s fingers were too busy groping at your hips to be good for anything else, and he couldn’t seem to pull himself away from pussy for much of anything, let alone something as unimportant as ‘care’ or ‘tenderness’. You could feel his teeth ghost over your skin, his saliva pooling at the apex of your thighs, and worst of all, you could feel yourself growing warmer, your core growing tighter, your self-control waning as you fought against the urge to buck into his mouth.

Your hands balled at the sheets underneath you, your eyes soon clenched shut in an effort to convince yourself that this wasn’t happening, that you weren’t here, that this wouldn’t end with you cumming into the mouth of the man who’d killed your husband, of the overgrown child who you’d once considered yourself responsible for. Tears burnt at the corners of your eyes, but if Satoru noticed your distress, he was determined to play obvious to the bitter end; only whining into your cunt as you clenched around his tongue. It was the reverberation that ultimately sealed your fate; as unintentional on his part as it was unwilling on yours. That was where your commonalities ended, though. While you sobbed and thrashed through your orgasm, Satoru basked in it, curling his tongue against the convulsing walls of your cunt, drinking down every moment of your agony.

By the time he pulled away, you were too spent to be relieved – cold exhaustion flooding into the gaps that reprieve should’ve filled. Even that was stripped away from you, eventually, with only the effort it took him to straighten his back, to spread your legs around his waist, to free his leaking cock from his jeans – a visibly damp spot now staining the dark material. You tried to scramble back, to roll over, but Satoru caught you by the hip with one hand while the other pressed the head of his cock to your entrance, the ghost of contact alone hot enough to burn. “W-Wait,” you tried, before things got as bad as they possibly could. “Satoru, the baby—”

“I know,” he cut in, flashing you a reassuring smile. “I’ll be careful. I promise, nothing’s gonna hurt you or my little brother ever again.”

You wanted to scream. You might’ve, if he hadn’t chosen that moment to push into you, only stopping when his hips pressed into yours and he couldn’t possibly make this any worse.

The physical sensation might’ve been bearable, on its own. You already knew you were never going to recover mentally, but Hiromi was thicker with a more pronounced curve, even if Satoru probably beat him for length by an inch or so. If it’d just been the physicality, the dizziness heat, the nauseating stretch from your cunt to your core, but you might’ve been able to deal with it, but Satoru was so damn loud – disassociating would’ve been too difficult to warrant the effort, if not out-right impossible. He whined as he rutted into you, slotting his just chest against yours and burying his face in your neck, his tongue running mindless over the side of your throat. “I—I thought about practicing,” he muttered, forcing himself to speak between raspy groans and hitched whimpers. “I tried to, because I knew you’d be s—so good at this, but I couldn’t do it, not if it wasn’t for you, or—” You felt him twitch inside of you, and everything seemed to turn to static. When you came back to yourself, he was still ranting, still rambling senseless into your jugular vein. “—I love you. You were always so pretty, and nice, and I love you. I love you. I love you.”

He repeated that same senseless mantra until the words began to slur and crack. You didn’t want to touch him, but his pelvic bone scraped over your clit and you lashed out on instinct – your fingers soon tangled in his hair, your nails biting into his scalp. Satoru’s whimpers were immediately replaced by full-bodied moans only slightly stifled by your skin. Numbly, you were aware that similar (albeit, much more pained) noises were falling past your own lips, that your pussy was soaking in the stimulation your conscious mind rejected, but you could only bring yourself to acknowledge what that meant as your second orgasm crested, as you let what you could only distantly acknowledge as pleasure wash over you. Satoru followed in-suit a few seconds later, making no attempt to pull out as something searing and thick and awful flooded into.

You supposed you should’ve been thankful that he couldn’t get you pregnant. Maybe you’d find the energy for gratitude, later on.

Satoru never really pulled away. He only drew back, allowing for enough distance been you and him to smile, to kiss your forehead – the same way you’d kissed his, when he shared his never-ending supply of candy or scraped his knee. He lingered there, nuzzling against you, one of his hands drifting to your stomach and settling there.

“I missed you,” he muttered, with a shallow sigh. And then, for the hundredth time, “I love you.”

Had you not been able to feel every last inch of his wide, fanged grin biting into you, you might’ve actually believed it was true.

[5sospenguinqueen]

Play Pretend Pt 2 | Charles Leclerc x Law Student! Reader

Summary: Lightning McQueen realises he misses Elle Woods. Or, when Charles finds out your goals always had him in mind, he realises he should've done the same.

Warnings: Swearing. Redemption. Miscommunication

Female reader with various faceclaims. Pics found on Pinterest

2024 timeline and beyond

Not really impressed with this one so apologies in advance

Main Masterlist

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YourUserName just posted

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri and others

YourUserName i declare my date for the weekend guilty of being too cute and snuggly

3,558 comments

charles_leclerc i hope he is behaving

→ YourUserName he pissed in my slipper.

→ charles_leclerc how do you know it was him? whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?

→ YourUserName he fell asleep at the scene of the crime

maxverstappen1 what a cute little terror

→ YourUserName he’s forcing me to watch the imola highlights so he can watch his favourite driver win again

→ maxverstappen1 🦁🦁

→ danielricciardo that is such a lie, you literally told me yesterday that i was his favourite driver

→ arthur_leclerc you are all forgetting that his uncle is his favourite driver

lilymhe sleepy boy

→ YourUserName he wore himself out running away with my highlighters

YourBestFriend okay, these pics are cute but i still don’t forgive him for eating my pizza

→ YourUserName don’t tell the internet i let him have pizza, you’ll get me into trouble with his father

→ arthur_leclerc don’t make me tell on you

→ YourUserName i thought you still liked me :(

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YourUserName just posted

liked by charles_leclerc, lorenzotl and others

YourUserName it’s official, your honour 🎓

4,007 comments

charles_leclerc leo and i are so proud of you, y/n/n. you worked so hard for this. enjoy every moment, you deserve it

→ YourUserName tell leo thank you for the cake. I’ll save him some for later ;)

→ User1 the wink? the wink! what does the wink mean?

User2 charles and y/n are the definition of exes who cannot stay away from each other. they don’t follow each other but they’re always lurking haha

schecoperez congratulations, y/n. look forward to seeing you soon

→ YourUserName thank you for the chocolates!

maxverstappen1 congratulations, y/n. can’t wait to see what you’ll do next

→ YourUserName kick your ass in karting

→ maxverstappen1 keep dreaming

→ YourUserName i think yesterday i proved i can achieve my dreams

User3 anyone else finding the red bull boys’ comments odd?

→ User4 no, they’re just being supportive like the rest of the grid?

danielricciardo fucking ace! well done, y/n. go forth and kick some ass

→ YourUserName who let you out of the old folk’s home

georgerussell63 how shitfaced did you get last night considering your graduation post is a day late

→ landonorris mate, she was worse than me

→ YourUserName don’t tell people that! i'm a lady

→ landonorris a lady who threw up on her kebab and then cried until pierre bought you a new one

logansargeant woohoo 🥳 it was lovely to be able to celebrate with you last night. thank you for inviting me

→ YourUserName thank you for coming! and teaching me some cool new moves

→ logansargeant yeah, let’s not talk about those. i think i put my hip out

→ danielricciardo and they call me old!

yukitsunoda0511 let’s go! well done, y/n!

lilymhe iconic elle woods behaviour

→ YourUserName what, like it’s hard

→ alex_albon getting you to drink water last night was hard

→ YourUserName 👎🏻👎🏻

redbullracing congratulations, y/n. we never doubted that you could do it

→ User5 ariana, what are you doing here

arthur_leclerc oh god, you are going to never shut up about this are you

→ YourUserName just say you’re proud of me and move on. i saw the giant bouquet of flowers, and don’t say they were from maman because i recognised your handwriting

→ arthur_leclerc damn.

YourUserName a big thank you to everyone who has supported me along this journey. to those who came to support me last night and put up with my awful drunken singing. and I suppose a thank you to the F1 grid for ensuring my home looks like a makeshift florist. i love the flowers but i will be chasing bees out of my home for at least a week

User6 they all got her flowers 🥹

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redbullracing just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo and others

redbullracing no, it’s not hearsay. Y/N L/N truly has joined the Red Bull family as an intern for our legal term. we look forward to seeing what she can do, and hopefully welcoming her into the fold full-time tagged: YourUserName

7,377 comments

maxverstappen1 um, excuse me, why the checo hat

→ YourUserName obviously because he is the #1 choice to support

→ maxverstappen1 my insta handle indicates that i’m #1

→ YourUserName that was so cheesy. i hope it gave kelly the ick

schecoperez that is a perfect hat

→ YourUserName i agree. if you sign it for me, i bet i can get it to sell for a fair bit on ebay

→ redbullracing don’t worry. we’ve got loads you can have

User7 babe broke up with THE charles leclerc and then went, and now i’m going to become besties with your rival

danielricciardo i think she should just be my personal legal aide

→ YourUserName sounds like that’ll involve an awful lot of work for somebody who has just started

→ danielricciardo i’m sorry, are you saying i’m a handful?

→ YourUserName i didn’t think you’d understand me if i spelt it

landonorris you know, if you joined mclaren, we could provide you with a papaya jacket

→ YourUserName i wasn’t aware you had any openings

→ landonorris you’d do a great job doing my washing

→ YourUserName 🖕🏻🖕🏻

User8 can somebody check on charles? make sure he’s still alive after this news

→ User9 did you see that he liked this and then unliked?

georgerussell63 this is mercedes amg erasure

→ maxverstappen1 you’ll get over it but you won’t get y/n

pierregasly congratulations, y/n/n. it’ll be nice to still see you around the paddock again

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charles_leclerc just posted

liked by YourUserName, scuderiaferrari and others

charles_leclerc BEST DAY EVER ❤️ thank you for everything, i love you all

20,125 comments

oscarpiastri congrats bro

→ User1 that’s no way to speak to your father

YourUserName leo and i are so incredibly proud of you charles. you deserve this, enjoy tonight x

→ charles_leclerc tell leo i can’t wait to celebrate with him tomorrow when i’m sober, and thank you for the gift x

→ User2 i love that they still don’t follow each other but are congratulating each other on their greatest achievements so far

→ User3 the kisses!!!!

User4 she should’ve been in the paddock

→ User5 she was! arthur posted a story celebrating, and you can catch a glimpse of her in the background

arthur_leclerc lets goooo ❤️

scuderiaferrari bravo charles!! so proud ❤️ here’s to many more

User7 the form on that dive 🍑

→ thisisnoty/n talk about buns of steel

→ User8 is this y/n’s secret account?

YourBestFriend congratulations, charles. we watched you cross the finish line and couldn't have been prouder

→ User9 we? who is we?

→ User10 we all know there’s no way y/n would miss his monaco win, even if they’re not together

YourMum félicitations, charlie. so proud to watch you grow from the teenager to this amazing man

→ charles_leclerc merci maman l/n. thank you for watching and supporting me <3

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YourUserName just posted

liked by arthur_leclerc, carlossainz55 and others

YourUserName fit for the weekend

7,220 comments

danielricciardo i can’t believe max didn’t burst into flames being that close to a ferrari jacket

→ YourUserName don’t be silly. he wanted to steal it

→ maxverstappen1 don’t tell lies. i kicked her out of the garage for her betrayal

redbullracing and why aren’t you in uniform

→ YourUserName i was given the weekend off?

→ scuderiaferrari forza ferrari

→ redbullracing then what were you doing in our garage

charles_leclerc leo said you need to come back from mclaren because you ran off with his rope toy

→ YourUserName oh, that’s what leo told you, was it?

User11 okay but is this confirmation that she was in the ferrari garage for charles?

oscarpiastri you left your 81 cap in hospitality

→ landonorris she did that on purpose because the 4 cap was much better

→ YourUserName @ oscarpiastri can you bring it to family dinner for me?

User12 everyone is a ferrari fan

User13 wait, wait, wait. family dinner?! who’s in attendance, yn!!

User14 charles has followed her again!!!

→ User15 i genuinely thought he would follow max before he followed y/n again

pierregasly not the best weekend for alpine but as a die hard chary/n shipper, it was a perfect weekend

(comment deleted)

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1 year later

charles_leclerc just posted

liked by pierregasly, francisca.cgomes and others

charles_leclerc mon coeur, the day i met you, i was a silly teenage boy who spilt his drink over you at a karting event in a way to gain your attention. and now, many years later, i can proudly call myself your fiance. every moment spent with you feels like standing on top of that podium. thank you for allowing me to wake up next to you every morning for the rest of our lives

(to the general public, y/n says you have to be nice to me about my emotional caption. don’t forget, she’s a licenced lawyer now and can sue you all for defamation)

13,841 comments

pierregasly and to this day, i stand by the fact that telling you to spill your drink on her was the perfect way to gain her attention.

→ YourUserName i still can’t believe charles took your advice on how to flirt with women

→ pierregasly it worked though, didn’t it? and i am the proud boyfriend of beautiful kiks so, i am clearly master

→ YourUserName ew, keep your bedroom stuff to yourself

→ pierregasly you just lost your wedding present

oscarpiastri congrats you guys 🧡 i am so happy for you, my dad and future step-mother

→ YourUserName and you just got yourself banned from family dinner. i'm too young to be called stepmother

scuderiaferrari i think the theme should be disney cars

liked by YourUserName

landonorris simp

→ charles_leclerc @ YourUserName i told you he’d be mean

→ YourUserName sorry bebe but i’m not suing lando. his fans are tougher than i am

User1 charles can you fight? ‘cause your gf is too hot for you

→ charles_leclerc *fiancee

georgerussell63 mate, the fact that you managed to convince her to forgive you AND agree to marry you a year later

→ alex_albon it’s the dimples. who can resist

→ lilymhe is there something you’re not telling me?

→ alex_albon i’m in love with charles marc hervé perceval leclerc

→ YourUserName same

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

YourUserName just posted

liked by lilymhe, oscarpiastri and others

YourUserName the evidence is conclusive. your papa and i cannot wait to meet you, only another 5 months to go

#BabyLeclercComing2026

17,309 comments

charles_leclerc je t’aime plus chaque jour. you are the light of my life, as well as the day you agreed to be mine forever, you have made me the happiest man

oscarpiastri i can’t believe i’m going to be a big brother

→ charles_leclerc the bestest big brother

→ User2 i love that this joke is still running two years later

scuderiaferrari all i’m hearing is that we have roughly 5 months to build a baby seat into charles’ car

pierregasly omg omg omg omg omg. stay calm, stay calm. it’s HAPPENING

→ francisca.cgomes why did you have to tell him? now i have to talk him out of buying elaborate gifts

→ charles_leclerc i love how you’re both acting like you weren’t told on the weekend

→ pierregasly i’m just so excited!

→ YourUserName @ francisca.cgomes has he stopped crying yet?

→ francisca.cgomes no

maxverstappen1 i am so happy for you y/n. baby leclerc will make such an adorable addition to the red bull garage. you will make an amazing mother after the way you have bossed checo and me around these past two years

→ YourUserName i think you mean, cared for and cherished, not bossed

User3 wait, but isn’t this the reason charles and y/n broke up two years ago

→ User4 they broke up because charles was talking about kids straight away and y/n wasn’t ready. they’ve now been married for a year so i’m guessing she’s ready now

liked by YourUserName

redbullracing brb working on building a baby play area in the office so you don’t have to worry about childcare. i’m a good babysitter and we can babyproof the garage. it'll be great!

→ User5 i think it’s safe to say everyone at red bull are excited for baby y/n

schecoperez felicidades y/n and charles. what lovely news. mucho amor to you both

danielricciardo i ate way too many cupcakes at the announcement party though. i swear the frosting changed something inside me

→ User6 you’re telling me that the grid were invited to the baby announcement 🥹 be still my beating heart

→ User7 and according to inside sources, a few of them cried

→ alex_albon whoever’s telling you that i cried, don’t listen to them!

→ lilymhe don't lie to the people

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

charles_leclerc just posted

liked by YourUserName, maxverstappen1 and others

charles_leclerc when your little man can’t decide if he wants to be like his maman or papa from one day to the next so he combines both for his 5th birthday

15,384 comments

YourUserName not featured is baby lec running around with a mini gavel sentencing everyone to prison whilst wearing his race helmet

alex_albon i still think my sentence was a bit harsh

→ lilymhe you deserved those 10 minutes on the naughty step, you ate all the mini doughnuts!

→ alex_albon yes but he finished it by smashing me in the kneecaps with the gavel

→ YourUserName yeah, he gets that from charles, sorry

→ charles_leclerc 😱

redbullracing happy birthday to our favourite leclerc! we hope to see you back in the paddock soon

→ charles_leclerc stop trying to steal my son, you already have my wife!

→ YourUserName and i thought i was your favourite leclerc!

→ User8 admin going to have some angry parents to contend with on sunday

maxverstappen1 i still think uncle max wins best present

→ YourUserName i can’t believe you had it engineered to go that fast

→ pierregasly yes but uncle pierre will be helping papa charles to repaint it so it’s not covered in red bull logos

→ maxverstappen1 @ YourUserName if he does that, i’m going to unfollow him again

→ YourUserName ffs pierre, i just got them to publicly make up, kiks, tell him

→ franscisca.cgomes behave yourself

jensonbutton little man clearly knows his mum is way cooler

liked by charles_leclerc

danielricciardo please stop inviting me to events where there are cupcakes. i have no control and your mini monster just laughed as i sobbed whilst shoving another one in my mouth

→ landonorris i don’t think you should say these things online

charles_leclerc also not featured is y/n crying all morning about her baby boy growing up

→ YourUserName charl, don’t lie to the fans. they all know you’re the one crying

→ charles_leclerc but he was so little, and he used to come to work with us and now he’s telling us he wants to be just like his clever mummy and his fast daddy and - i just cannot 😭

→ maxverstappen1 @ YourUserName like i said on your wedding day, are you sure this is the one you want to marry?

→ YourUserName afraid so

→ charles_leclerc i would divorce you but you are a very good lawyer and i do not imagine i would come out of it so well

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Requests welcome. I will be doing more Part 1s for some of the other drivers.

Baby Fever Angst Series

Tag list

@callsignwidow @luvrrish @evans-dejong @sadsierra2 @justdreamersdream @spookystitchery @dark-night-sky-99 @majusialikesfastcars @luckyladycreator2 @mrosales16 @reguluscrystals @tvdtw4ever @alwaysclassyeagle @gigicisneros @thecubanator2 @goldenharrysworld @awritingtree @jxnellat @lav3nder-haze @hc-dutch @mxdi0 @buckybarnessweetheart @ironmaiden1313 @dreamercrowd @yourbane @glow-ish @g-l-o-b-e-w-h-o-r-e @weekendlusting @lemon-lav @minkyungseokie @bibissparkles @emryb @barcelonaloverf1life @willowpains @leah-also-known-as-creatoronwp @rlalliehayes @softtina @marvelfangirl04 @love-simon @peachiicherries @rosecentury

[miyaz6ki]

──── day 2: dnd on the hotel door.

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ synopsis. wherein your friends give him.. more than just suggestive photos at your wedding. (you had a private boudoir photoshoot prior to it!)

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ pairings. kinich, neuvillette, zhongli, tartaglia, capitano x gn!afab!reader. !!NSFW/SUGGESTIVE CONTENT!!

⠀ ۪ ⠀✧ director's notice. saw a cute tt of this exact topic (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠) will do diff characters next week!

kinich who'd already been so nervous for whatever was to come on this day; he was always more than willing. he knew the first laugh you both shared. the first kiss you both partook in, not everyone he's kissed had such a long-lasting impact on him, that's if he ever kissed anyone at all (that wasn't you.)

it wasn't all that special he said, but everything you've ever wanted in a wedding was there. he remembered what flowers you'd always pluck from the grounds you traveled on. or the colors that always had your eyebrow twitching just hearing the first letter of the pigment's name.

the venue wasn't necessarily small either, borrowing whatever he could in his homeland to make it perfect, even going as far as to asking others for help on what to embellish the locale in.

for as long as you've known him- kinich wasn't much of a romantic. letting you take the lead instead, switching up occasionally by spooning you alternatively. but you remembered he'd always laid his head atop your chest, from the nightmares of his own past, and regrets; he found peace in listening to your heartbeat, and feeling your torso heave slowly.

he wanted to make you feel special today & tonight. so he wants to do it right at least. he tried to fluster you in a way that you'd be surprised, aware he wasn't very amorous.

or at least that's what was in his point of view because you had a whole other plan ready for him. but you didn't know about the surprises he'd throw either.

the whole theme of the wedding was based on his tribe, encased with traces of your own home/favorite colors.

but something that you'd see as a surprise this afternoon was kinich's suit. it wasn't the usual black suit and tie. no- he wore.. your initial around his neck, and his tie was the color of your eyes.

you felt your eyes water a little, walking down the aisle, your arm entangled with the guardian who's been with you since day one. (or whoever you'd like!)

after the classic bouquet toss, and squealings later. you told your newly-wed husband your bridesmaids had a surprise for him. he didn't think much of it; meeting them before, they seemed nice enough. (one of them is mualani btw :3)

mualani who stands beside kinich briefly for the picture, she hands him a polaroid photo from the photographer's kamera. "what is-" he gets cut off, his face turning to playfully sour until it slowly changes to his usual stoic behavior (he doesn't know his face is turning redder by the second)

"you.. hmm." he awkwardly nodded after another picture was taken of his reaction, cheeks aflame; the picture was still so clear in his mind. now it couldn't get out!

the mental image of your body in frilly lace/in nothing but a blanket over you, a simple layer of clothing that stopped him from seeing your bare body- fuck he could feel himself get hard already.

and the more time that passed, progressing with each photo being taken, the worse his boner got. shit he can't believe you're his. and he's damn well lucky to have you.

even as he stood idly, talking to some of the guests, some more of the bridesmaids came up to him, handing him more scenes for him to visualize in his head.

"ahh.. may i excuse myself from this conversation?" he politely bows and walks away to where you were. the eventide's stellar in the sky definitely wasn't shining each time he saw you. oh there it is- that laugh he always loved and fell in love with again each time he heard it.

"pretty.. ahh.. there's something i.. need help with."

kinich who's already in your newly bought home, hurriedly stripping you of your clothes, ready to devour you and eat your cunt out to his content.

kinich who could only palm his erection, as his mouth latched onto your wetness was already waiting for him. your taste, how it smelled, how your slit was already so wet for him- you knew what you were doing. and it worked really damn well.

neuvillette who was already nervous, throughout the proposal, even you relationship before being fiancees, I mean, it was you, why wouldn't he be worried? he was ready to jump off a cliff if anything went wrong if he'd tell the truth, but he'd never say that.

neuvillette who sighed with relief, the days of worrying that something bad might happen to you on your special day with him. taking pictures with the bridesmaids for the wedding's little picture book for you to look back on soon, and maybe even for your kids to look at and call you both corny for.

neuvillette who suddenly received 3 photo frames from 3 of your bridesmaids, confused as he took a look at it, he could only feel the rush of warmth crawling up from his neck to his ears. his horns grew the more he looked into the photos.

"w- where did you get this?" he observed the room shyly, looking for any signs of you, why? to help him out with 'something' of course. no one could take care of it better than you did.

they simply shrugged and walked away, whispering and chuckling to each other. awkwardly walking to find you, pulling you to the side, inside one of the venue's main buildings, bringing you into one of the bedrooms.

"you didn't need to tease me like this." you were pinned to the bed once the wedding ended. the painful boner you had caused hadn't gone away, even now, throbbing, missing where it's supposed to be (inside you)

ripping your wedding dress off your body (not really, just making sure you get out of it without ruining it), he couldn't wait to fill you with his seed. he wanted to see personally if you could take all of him in. he could only caress the very rim of your hole, teasing you with his fingers before he would finally split you apart with his cock.

from the amount of time, he's been alive, his stamina would be unmatched, so it'd be entirely up to you for how long you wanna do this :)

it felt as if he was such a meanie, but his words were different- praising you, and gently holding your wrists in place. it didn't quite match the pace of his cock drilling itself inside you though, it felt deep, and it looked as if the night has barely even started. oh well.

zhongli had never thought of the idea of marriage until he overheard you speaking about it with a few of your friends. it wasn't you necessarily hoping he'd propose, but you were the only one within the group of four to have not been married yet!

he knows you'd never leave him for another, but adding a ring to your pretty little hand definitely would tell all the other men and women alike who try to hit on you to say everything for him.

the wedding was more than just a delight, it was planned to the very smallest of details. it was beautiful, even on a budget of somewhat a lot but not too much; it made sure to shine brighter than most of the stars that night.

before he could sweep you into his arms, and take you upstairs into the home you both chose out before the wedding; some of your bridesmaids, along with your maid of honor had handed him a book.

they said nothing but laughed and walked away to the food section, looking through the book and oh wow.

he hadn't learned what a boudoir was but he definitely enjoyed what he was seeing now. flipping through the pages, staying to the side so no one else could see what was happening. he'll have to ask you about that lingerie set later, white definitely complimented you..

"s'dirty.. you tease me like this, even on our special day? mmmf.." you sat down on his cock, as he showed you off in the mirror. the same lingerie set you wore in the photo book was already ripped off your body, and on the floor. geo marks that scattered, covering most of his arms caressed your thighs that trembled.

his strong arm ran over your body, carefully exploring every inch of you that he could. the thought of being legally, and weddedingly(?) yours. you have his last name now.

he could only imagine how much more pleasure he'd want to give you throughout tonight. he could only praise you for taking him so well, watching you try and use his cock for your own, but he's too big :(.

tartaglia who introduced you with pride to his family after proposing. but watching you treat his little sister and brother so well.. oh he had to get you pregnant.

but for now, he'd put those thoughts to the side, and enjoy his and your special day, no lust, just love.

you had other plans though. and he wasn't gonna complain.

a couple of your bridesmaids took pictures with him for the futurity of the book of photos for his siblings to look through as well. but after each photo, they all handed him Polaroids.

"what's this?" he looked at them confusedly, but all they did was "just look at it!" "you won't regret it!" and boy he sure did not!!! ssshit just covered in a blanket, no nothing underneath? you wanna get fucked tonight?

he pushed you against the wall of the master bedroom. "mmm.. w'na try to get me hard like that again in public, and I'm gonna do a looott worse than tonight, baby."

the ring on your finger he saw as your hand held onto the wall while he stripped you- he couldn't help but let out a loud as hellll groan. even when he held you down to the bed, he made sure to kiss the jewelry on your finger that meant you're his for life.

while you ride him, his eyes are always on the necklace that has his initials on it, watching it bounce up and down on your chest. for the longest time; he was foreign to the idea of even a relationship, let alone getting to marry someone. but he was gonna make sure you'll feel what he couldn't express throughout time.

when he's soo obsessed with nutting inside you, he holds your hips down onto his, making sure not a drop will be wasted. he could already imagine what your kids with him would look like.

capitano who preferred a more quiet wedding. one between simple friends, and I guess co-workers (he was against it but you invited them anyway.)

so in this sense, columbina, arlecchino, and signora had agreed to accompany you as your bridesmaids. tsaritsa also agreed to bless your wedding (because she agrees that you are strong, mentally, and physically, and give capitano something to look forward to, unlike before.)

i guess the others attended (most attended just to say congrats and leave, pierro was best man)

accompanying you down to a glass garden house nearby the venue you chose out, but before he could proceed, your three bridesmaids stopped him. cheeky smiles on signora, and columbina's lips- arlecchino handed him a book.

"they want you to have this." the fourth harbinger states, leaving with the two ladies simply giggling and walking off, opposite sides of arlecchino.

he questioningly opened the book while about to walk back to you but oh. wow.

as he catches up to you, he's still a bit flustered, but quickly composed himself once more. "are.. you trying to tease me, kitten?"

and as much as he hasn't had any experience in a long while, oh boy is he ready to find out if he still got it or not

but capitano never knew he'd be so turned on to think about what real married life had to offer.. like kids. he knew he couldn't necessarily have them since he's a harbinger, but a man can dream, right?

anyways he's already pulling your hair from behind, while he has you doggy style on the mattress. I don't know cause I get the feeling he would.

a tight hold onto the strands of your hair. "fffuck.. this is what you get for looking so fuckin' hot.." he groans.

even so when he isn't fucking your pussy with sloppy thrusts from behind- he's fingering you with his long fingers that make you go wild.

he does take note that his fingers are pretty long, so he's pretty careful when it comes down to that.

you sitting on his lap while he admires you in the mirror, watching how you reacted to simply him adding another digit inside your hole, as another hand held onto your left hand, caressing the ring that binded you to him. he couldn't be happier!