#HE SHOULD HAVE BEEN WELL ADJUSTED AND OKAY

[aryadelvich]

Here’s a story from this request

Summary : Luigi has a secret crush on you. Both of you attending the same university. When you ask him for help with math, what starts as a simple study session quickly gets spicy !!

Warning : explicite content 🔞🔞

I don’t know why this song feels like Luigi in college.

Luigi stood in the university hall, leaning casually against a wall as his friends joked around. Though he appeared to be listening, his focus shifted the moment he saw you descending the staircase.

His gaze lingered longer than it should have, tracing the determined set of your jaw and the way you clutched a paper tightly in one hand. There was something different about you today—your usual cheerful demeanor had been replaced by a tense, distracted air.

Then your eyes met his.

Caught off guard, Luigi looked away quickly, his pulse quickening.

"Oh, look. It's Y/N," one of his friends said with a teasing grin, just loud enough for you to hear.

As if on cue, the group turned to look at you. Luigi let out a quiet sigh, his jaw tightening. He had noticed you from the very first day of class but hadn't said anything to his friends. And now, they were practically gawking.

You stopped mid-step, offering the group a polite smile. "Hi, guys."

Your gaze flickered briefly to Luigi, and this time, you greeted him with a smile that held just the faintest edge of teasing.

"Hi, Luigi," you said, your tone light.

His throat tightened, and his response came out awkwardly, barely audible. "H-hi Y/n"

You stepped closer, holding out the paper in your hand. "I need help with applied mathematics. You're taking it as a minor, right? And from what I hear, you're pretty good at it."

"Oh... yeah," Luigi stammered, unprepared for your directness.

Before he could offer a proper response, one of his friends cut in, raising a hand dramatically. "I can help you too, Y/N!"

"Yeah, me too," another added, clearly trying to impress you.

Luigi shot them both an annoyed glance. "Back off," he muttered, though his tone remained light enough to pass as joking.

You raised an eyebrow, amusement flashing in your eyes. “I’m gonna choose whoever scored the highest on the last test gets to tutor me."

The group fell into a brief silence, and then the scores started coming in.

"71."

"82."

"89."

"80."

Finally, Luigi spoke, his voice calm and steady. "95."

Your lips curved into a grin. "Well, looks like we have a winner. Luigi, you're my tutor."

The subtle pride in his expression didn't escape you, though he tried to play it cool.

"How about tomorrow at the library?" he offered.

You shook your head. "I need to study tonight—my retake is the day after tomorrow. Your place or mine?"

Luigi froze, your words echoing in his mind. Around him, his friends erupted into laughter, elbowing each other and exchanging smirks.

"M-my room... if that's okay with you," he managed, his voice suddenly tight.

"Perfect," you said with an easy smile. "I'll see you after class, then."

As you turned and walked off, Luigi stared after you, his thoughts racing.

"Dude, did you hear that? She literally said, 'Your place or mine.' That's your chance !" one of his friends teased, slapping him on the shoulder.

Luigi shoots them a sharp look. "Shut up. She just needs help, that's all."

"Sure, sure," another friend says, smirking knowingly.

But Luigi doesn't respond. He's too preoccupied with the thought of spending time with you alone. Ever since you entered his life, you've had a way of unsettling the calm, logical order he's used to.

[7 PM]

Luigi paced nervously in his room, adjusting the books and papers on his desk for what felt like the hundredth time. He smoothed the creases in his shirt, glanced at the clock, and took a steadying breath.

A soft knock at the door snapped him out of his thoughts. He opened it to find you standing there, arms full of notes, a faint smile on your lips.

"Ready for an intense night of applied math?" you joke.

He steps aside to let you in, trying to mask his nervousness. "I hope you're prepared to work hard because I'm a tough teacher," he quips.

You laugh as you take a seat at his desk, spreading out your notes. Luigi watches you discreetly, wondering why your presence alone is enough to make his heart race. He pulled up a chair beside you. He sits next to you and opens a notebook filled with neatly organized notes. His subtle cologne lingers in the air, and you can't help but notice how focused he looks when he starts explaining.

"Alright, show me what's giving you trouble," he says, gesturing to your notes.

You flip to a particularly challenging problem. "This one. Honestly, equations like this make me want to quit. Differential equations are a nightmare."

Luigi chuckles softly. "They seem daunting, but once you understand the logic, it's not so bad. Let's break it down step by step."

He explains with patience, his calm voice guiding you through each line. As complicated as the topic is, his methodical approach makes everything click.

"Oh! I get it now!" you exclaim, your face lighting up. "Why didn't anyone explain it like this before? It's so obvious!"

He grins, clearly proud of your progress. "See? I told you it wasn't as hard as it looked."

You work together for a while, your confidence growing with each solved problem. At one point, as you reach for his notebook, your fingers brush against his. The brief touch makes you pause, and you notice him quickly look away, his ears turning red.

"Sorry," you murmur, pulling your hand back.

"It's... it's nothing," he replies, his voice quiet.

The atmosphere grows heavier as you both become more aware of the growing tension between you.

At one point, your hands brushed as you both reached for the same pen. You pulled back quickly, but not before your gaze met his. A flicker of something passed between you—brief, but undeniable. Luigi looked away again, clearing his throat.

Luigi leaned closer to point out an error in your notes, his shoulder brushing against yours. You froze, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was.

"Here," he murmured, his raspy voice lower now, almost intimate.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, taking in the slight crease in his brow as he concentrated. The sharp lines of his jaw, the faint curl of his hair—it all felt too distracting.

"Got it?" he asked, his tone snapping you out of your thoughts.

"Y-yeah," you stammered, focusing back on the paper.

But even as the night continued, the unspoken tension between you lingered, growing in the quiet spaces between words. Neither of you dared to name it, but it was there—electric and impossible to ignore.

A few minutes later, after tackling another problem, Luigi leans closer to explain a particular detail. His proximity sends a wave of nervous energy through you, but you fight to keep your focus. When his elbow accidentally brushes against the side of your chest, warmth spreads through your body, pooling low in your stomach. 

"Sorry," he murmurs, his voice tinged with embarrassment. 

"It's fine..." you reply softly, your voice barely above a whisper. 

But your concentration falters as your thoughts begin to wander. Your eyes trace the lines of his hands—large and strong, with long, deft fingers. Veins crisscross his forearms, disappearing into the back of his hands, and the way he grips the pen exudes a quiet confidence. His arms are muscular, his collarbone defined, hinting at the sculpted frame beneath his shirt. 

Your gaze dips lower, involuntarily lingering at his crotch for a moment too long. You can't help yourself. Luigi has always been a contradiction: introverted and composed, yet brimming with a quiet fire, a confidence you've never fully understood but can't help wanting to unravel. 

Your eyes shift back to his face, and you find yourself studying him anew. His profile is striking—an angular jawline, lips that seem almost too perfect, and a thick beard that he likely trims every day. His brows are bold, framing a gaze that is somehow both piercing and gentle. There's an elegance to his nose and a wildness to his untamed curls, as though he doesn't care enough to control them. 

You're not sure what's happening, what this magnetic pull between you means. And judging by the faint tension in his movements, neither does he. 

"Alright," Luigi says, his voice breaking through your reverie. "I'm going to give you an exercise now. It'll cover everything we've gone over so far. You'll work on it yourself while I keep an eye on your progress." 

"Okay," you reply, nodding eagerly, grasping at the distraction. 

He steps back, giving you space to focus. For a few minutes, you immerse yourself in the task, scribbling out equations and trying to channel all your thoughts into solving the problem. But then you feel him again—standing behind you, his presence throwing your concentration into disarray. Your mind strays to places it shouldn't, thoughts you can't control flaring to life. 

Luigi crouches down beside you, his arm resting on the back of your chair. The closeness feels almost deliberate, his movements steady yet unassuming, as if he's unaware of the way he's affecting you. 

"Look here," he instructs, his voice low and firm. 

He reaches for your pen, his fingers brushing against yours once again. The contact feels electric, sending a jolt through you. He corrects the mistake with a confident stroke, then places the pen back in your hand. 

Your eyes lift to meet his, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. The air between you feels charged, heavy with something unspoken yet impossible to ignore. You both break the gaze at the same time, awkward and unsure. The tension hangs there, undeniable yet unaddressed.

He leaned closer, his curly brown hair falling into his face as he pointed at a particularly confusing problem. "Okay," he said, his voice soft but confident, "tell me what the derivative of this function is."

You hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip. Your eyes flickered to his face—his sharp jawline, the faint stubble, the way his lips curved into that patient smile. He caught your gaze and tilted his head, his brown eyes narrowing playfully.

"Focus," he teased, tapping the page with his pen.

"I... I don't remember," you admitted, flushing slightly under his scrutiny.

"Hmm." He clicked his tongue, feigning disappointment, but there was a sparkle in his eyes that made your stomach flutter. "Wrong answer. But don't worry, we'll get there."

He scooted closer, his thigh brushing against yours, and you felt a jolt of warmth shoot through your body. His voice dropped lower, almost conspiratorial. "Let's break it down step by step. Think of it like building something from scratch—you start with the foundation, right?"

You nodded, though your attention was less on the math and more on the way his hand gestured animatedly as he explained. God, why does he have to be so damn attractive? His rolled-up sleeves revealed the veins running along his forearms, and you couldn't help but imagine how they'd feel under your fingertips.

"So, if f(x) equals 2x squared plus 3x minus 4," he continued, writing out the equation neatly, "what's the first step?"

Your mind went blank again, but this time it wasn't just because of the math. The proximity was getting to you—his woodsy cologne, the warmth radiating off his body, the way his leg pressed against yours. You shifted slightly, trying to focus, but it was impossible.

"Uh..." you stalled, glancing up at him.

His lips quirked into a knowing smirk. "Wrong again," he murmured, leaning in even closer. His breath ghosted over your ear as he whispered with his raspy voice, "You're not paying attention, are you?"

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. "Maybe I need a different kind of lesson," you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Luigi froze for a moment, his pen hovering mid-air. Then, slowly, he set it down and turned to face you fully. His expression was unreadable, but there was a heat in his gaze that sent shivers down your spine. "Oh?" he said, his voice low and velvety. "What kind of lesson did you have in mind?"

You hesitated for only a second before reaching out and placing a hand on his chest. His heartbeat thudded beneath your palm, steady and strong. "One where you show me exactly how much you know," you said, your voice trembling slightly despite your boldness.

His lips parted in surprise, but then his eyes darkened with something primal, something hungry. He leaned in, his nose brushing against yours. "Are you sure about this?" he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

"Positive," you breathed, closing the distance between you.

The kiss was slow at first, tentative, as if both of you were testing the waters. But then his hands found your waist, pulling you closer, and everything changed. His lips moved against yours with a fervor that left you dizzy, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, claiming you in a way that made your toes curl.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were hooded, his pupils blown wide with desire. "If I'm going to teach you anything," he murmured, his voice rough, "you're going to have to follow my rules."

You nodded, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. "What are they?"

A wicked grin spread across his face. "Every time you get a question wrong," he said, trailing a finger down your arm, "I stop. No touching, no kissing, nothing. Until you get it right."

"And if I get it right?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

His grin widened. "Then I'll reward you appropriately."

Before you could respond, he grabbed the textbook again and flipped to a new page. "Alright," he said, his tone suddenly serious, though his eyes still burned with mischief. "What's the integral of sine x?"

Your brain scrambled to recall the formula, but all you could think about was the way his thumb was tracing circles on your thigh. "I don't care."

He shook his head, clicking his tongue again. "Nope. Wrong." And just like that, he leaned back, his hands dropping away from you.

You groaned in frustration, but there was a thrill in the challenge, a fire igniting deep within you. "Fine. Try me again."

This time, when he asked another question, you forced yourself to focus, determined not to let him win so easily. And when you finally got the answer right, the look of pure satisfaction on his face was worth every second of torment.

"Good girl," he purred, pulling you back into his arms. His lips crashed against yours, his hands roaming your body with possessive intent. His touch was electric, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you as he explored every inch of your skin.

But just as things were heating up, he pulled away again, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Next question," he said, his voice thick with arousal. "What's the limit as x approaches infinity of 1 over x?"

You bit your lip, your mind racing. "Zero?"

He smiled, slow and dangerous. "Correct."

And then his lips were on you again, his hands everywhere at once, until the only thing you could think about was him—his taste, his touch, the sound of his ragged breathing as he whispered your name.

But just as you reached for the hem of his shirt, he stopped you, his grip firm. "Wait," he said, his voice hoarse. "What's the area under the curve of y equals x squared from 0 to 2?"

You blinked, your brain struggling to catch up. "Uh... 8/3?"

He grinned, his hands sliding up your thighs. "Exactly right."

And then he kissed you again, harder this time, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulled you onto his lap. The world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you, lost in each other, desperate and wanting.

But before things could escalate further, he broke the kiss, his chest heaving as he stared into your eyes. "Last question," he said, his voice shaking with restraint. "What's the probability of us finishing this without any interruptions?"

You laughed breathlessly, your hands tangling in his hair. "Slim to none."

"That's what I thought," he growled, pressing his forehead against yours. "But I'm willing to take the risk if you are."

His hands slid up your thighs, the warmth of his touch sending shivers through your body. The air in the room was thick with tension, every breath you took filling your lungs with the scent of him—clean sweat, cologne, and something uniquely Luigi. His brown eyes locked onto yours, dark with desire, but still glinting with that playful intelligence that always seemed to disarm you. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "What's the derivative of e^(2x)?"

You froze for a moment, your mind struggling to focus on anything other than the way his fingers were now tracing circles on your inner thigh. Think, think. You bit your lip, trying to recall the formula. "Uh... 2e^(2x)?"

A slow, approving smile spread across his face. "Perfect," he murmured, his voice low and smooth like honey. His hand moved higher, his fingertips grazing the edge of your panties. You gasped, arching into his touch, but he paused, his smile turning teasing. "Next question. What's the integral of sin(x)? If you get it wrong, I stop."

"Luigi," you whined, squirming under his hold. His thumb pressed against the sensitive spot just above your knee, making it nearly impossible to concentrate. "That's not fair."

"All's fair in love and math," he teased, leaning back slightly to give you space to think. His confidence was infuriatingly attractive, and you couldn't help but laugh despite the ache pooling between your legs.

"The integral is -cos(x)," you said quickly, hoping to end the torture.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "Brava," he said as he pulled you closer. His hands slid up your sides, lifting your shirt over your head before you could even process what was happening. The cool air of the room hit your skin, but his body heat chased away any chill. His lips found yours again, hungry and demanding, while his hands explored every curve of your torso.

Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel more of him. He chuckled against your mouth, letting you undo them one by one until his chest was finally bare. Your hands roamed over his abs, tracing the ridges and feeling the tightness of his muscles. He groaned softly, his hips pressing up into yours, and you could feel how hard he already was through his pants.

But before you could take things further, he pulled back again, his breathing ragged. "One more question," he said, his voice rough. "What's the limit as x approaches infinity of (3x^2 + 2)/(4x^2 - 1)?"

You groaned, dropping your forehead to his shoulder. "Are you serious right now?"

"Dead serious," he said, his fingers trailing down your spine, making you shiver. "Answer correctly, and I'll make sure you forget your own name."

You could barely think straight, but you forced yourself to focus. The answer came to you in a haze. "Three over four?"

His smile was wicked as he leaned in close, his lips brushing against your neck. "Very good baby," he breathed, his hot breath sending goosebumps across your skin. "Now, let me show you how well I can reward good students."

In one swift motion, he stood, lifting you with him as if you weighed nothing. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, and he carried you to his bed, laying you down gently before climbing over you. His kisses trailed down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, each one leaving a trail of fire in its wake. When his lips closed around your nipple, you gasped, your back arching off the bed.

His hands worked quickly, pulling off the rest of your clothes until you were completely bare beneath him. His eyes drank in the sight of you, and the hunger in his gaze made your stomach twist with anticipation. "So beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Before you could respond, his lips descended lower, kissing a path down your stomach until he reached your core. You tensed, your hands gripping the sheets as his tongue touched you for the first time. The sensation was electric, sending sparks through your entire body. He licked slowly, deliberately, driving you insane with the unhurried pace. Just when you thought you couldn't take anymore, he pressed two fingers inside you, curling them in a way that made you cry out.

"Luigi!" you moaned, your hips lifting off the bed as he worked you with his mouth and fingers. Every stroke, every lick felt like it was unraveling you piece by piece. You were close—so close—but then he stopped, looking up at you with that devilish smirk.

"What's the value of pi to five decimal places?" he asked, his voice steady despite the slickness on his chin.

"Are you fucking kidding me—" you started, but he cut you off with a pinch to your thigh.

"Answer correctly, and I'll finish what I started," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You clenched your fists, frustration and desperation warring within you. "3.14159," you spat out, glaring at him.

His grin widened, and he didn't waste another second. His tongue dove back in, and this time, he didn't stop until you were trembling beneath him, your orgasm crashing over you in waves. You cried out his name, your voice breaking as pleasure consumed you.

When you finally came down, he kissed his way back up your body, his lips claiming yours in a searing kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and it only heightened the ache between your legs. His cock pressed against you, hot and heavy, and you reached between you to free him from his pants.

As soon as your hand wrapped around him, he sucked in a sharp breath, his hips jerking forward. "Y/n" he muttered, his voice strained. "You're going to kill me."

You stroked him slowly, savoring the way his eyelids fluttered and his breath hitched. But before you could tease him further, he grabbed your wrist, pinning it above your head. "My turn," he growled, settling between your legs. The tip of his cock pressed against you, and you both groaned as he pushed inside, inch by inch.

It was almost too much—his size stretching you in the best way possible—but he gave you time to adjust, peppering your neck with soft kisses. When he finally bottomed out, he stilled, his forehead resting against yours. "Tell me this is okay," he whispered, his voice uncharacteristically vulnerable.

"More than okay," you replied, wrapping your legs around his waist. "Please, Luigi. Don't stop."

He didn't need to be told twice. His hips began to move, each thrust hitting that perfect spot deep inside you. His rhythm was relentless, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. You clung to him, nails digging into his back as you urged him on. His name spilled from your lips like a prayer, and each time he swallowed your cries with a kiss.

The coil in your stomach tightened again, your second orgasm building faster than you expected. "I'm close," you gasped, your legs shaking around him.

"Me too," he panted, his movements becoming erratic. "Where do you want me to—"

"Inside," you interrupted, the word coming out as a desperate plea. "Please."

He groaned, burying his face in your neck as his thrusts became harder, deeper. With one final push, you shattered, your climax tearing through you like a storm. He followed moments later, spilling himself inside you with a guttural moan. For a long moment, neither of you moved, too lost in the aftermath to care about anything else.

Finally, he rolled onto his side, pulling you with him so you were curled against his chest. His heartbeat was rapid under your ear, and his fingers traced lazy patterns on your back. "Thank you," he said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You looked up at him, grinning despite your exhaustion. "For what? Being a genius at math?"

He laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "For trusting me." His expression turned thoughtful, and he tilted your chin up so you were looking directly into his eyes.

You stride confidently through the university hall, a triumphant smile lighting up your face. Spotting Luigi, you rush toward him and throw yourself into his arms without hesitation. 

"So, what did you got ?" he asks, barely able to contain his excitement. 

"Ninety-seven! Luigi, you're incredible!" you exclaim, wrapping your arms tightly around him. The curious stares from other students don't faze you in the slightest. 

"I'm proud of you, Y/N!" he says, his tone full of warmth and pride. 

"Well, I had the best tutor anyone could ask for," you reply with a teasing grin. 

Not far away, Luigi's group of friends watches the scene, their confusion evident as they exchange glances, silently trying to piece together what they're seeing. 

"How about we celebrate properly? Dinner's on me," Luigi suggests, his smile growing wider. 

"Absolutely!" 

Without thinking, you lean in and kiss his cheek, the gesture natural and full of gratitude. Luigi chuckles softly, his ears turning just a bit pink, but he doesn't pull away. The buzz of the hall seems to fade, leaving only the two of you in your little bubble of joy.

GIRLS IF YOU HAVE ANY REQUESTS ASK ME I WILL DO IT WITH PLEASURE !!!! FEEL FREE TO ASK !!!

[official-wales]

My parents having been doing Welsh on Duolingo so they’ll understand me better. I really appreciate it and it’s awesome, but…

The ‘ti’/‘chi’ issue. I don’t know how many times I’ve explained the diffference but they can’t seem to grasp that ‘chi’ is plural and/or formal. I didn’t realise it would be so devastating to hear a loving parent end a phone call with ‘Caru chi’ and feeling like they’ve just referred to you as a stranger.

They’ve heard me say ‘Caru ti’ enough that they’ve adjusted it and know that i have an issue when they use ‘chi’. But they seem to think its northern or a mistake on the Duolingo course despite the fact I’ve told them otherwise (so they still get confused or call out my ‘bad’ grammar or ‘hyprocrisy’ when I say ‘Caru chi’ to refer to both of them, despite all my explanations)

It’s the ‘sut dych chi’s driving me mad now. I am not plural. I’m so single that I turned out aro/ace.

Maybe I should pretend we’re northern and introduce them to ‘chdi’… or would that make it worse?

Anyway there’s no question here I just wanted to rant about Duolingo’s Welsh course. Not that’s it’s fully awful, it’s lead to some… interesting Welsh language fanfiction on ao3

(Also congratulations to my mam. She’s English and well past the ideal age for learning a new language but she can almost hold conversations with me from Duolingo alone, and whenever she hears a phrase she thinks she could say in Welsh on TV she’ll repeat it to me and go ‘is that right?’)

This post is for your parents, in which I give full permission as Official-Wales for you to show them:

You've heard of the French tu and vous....

You've heard of the Italian tu and lei....

You've heard of all the Spanish ones that I do not understand yet, I'm sorry, I don't speak Spanish....

Now get ready for the Welsh you......

Ti is singular and informal.

I'm talking to my good friend Dafydd. He is just one man. He is okay with this. I say "Sut wyt ti, Dafydd?" He does not respond, because I just made him up.

Chi is p l u r a l and formal.

I'm talking to my bosses. There are many of them, and I want to show them respect so that I can continue earning minimum wage. I say "Sut ydych chi, pawb?" They do not respond, because they do not care about employee welfare. When I return home, I ask my many cats "Sut ydych chi, pawb?" They do not respond, because they are cats and cannot speak Welsh.

This has been your Welsh pronoun lesson for today.

[justanothermemestrider]

Nothing Ever Stays Dead - Part 3

Okay.

Is this part basically that one scene from Arcane with Jinx and the flare? Yes. Yes it is.

Did I listen to Guns for Hire by Woodkid nonstop while I was writing this? Yes. Yes I did.

Am I ashamed? Absolutely not XD

Thank you guys so so much for the support this fic has received so far. I've been having an absolute blast writing it, and that's largely because I know you guys have been enjoying it. So thank you :)

As usual, there is violence, angst and general 40kness under the cut, as well as hella lore inaccuracies both for the sake of the story and bc research is hard (I did try, though lol). Apologies for any spelling and grammar mistakes.

Thanks so much for reading and I sincerely hope you enjoy!

"Down there. You see them?"

Ellicent followed Gadriel's outstretched hand with the optical scope. She adjusted the knob on its top, focusing the lens on where his index finger was pointing.

Her eyes widened. "No way."

"Oh yes, " Gadriel chuckled. "I've been following them all day."

Ellicent lowered the scope to look at him. "The hell are a bunch of topsiders doing all the way down here?"

Gadriel shrugged. "Same reason people go to zoos, maybe?"

Ellicent rolled her eyes. "Har har." Crouching on the edge of the rooftop now, she put her eye to the scope once again. The tourists looked like Mid-hivers: merchants, maybe, other some other kind of artisan-type. No where near as wealthy as those who lived in the spires, but compared to what those in the Underhive had, they might as well have been. There are two groups of them- roughly three in each. They're walking on opposite sides of the street, as if pretending not to know each other. With their real-cotton clothing and long embroidered coats, however, they're more than conspicuous anyway.

"Seriously though," Ellicent said. "What are they doing down here?"

"If I had to guess? They want to hit the marketplace."

"You mean the black marketplace?"

"Guess there are still things topside doesn't have that we do."

"Yeah. It's nothing good, though"

"Who knows, then," Gadriel said. From his tone, Ellicent could tell that he had no interest in discussing the topic any further. She rose to her feet, folding the scope up and handing it back to him. "So. What's the plan?"

"Simple pickpocket, I think. Anything too loud, and we risk alerting the Arbites."

Ellicent nodded. "One group each?"

"Yeah. But we'll stagger it. Make it look random, lest they think we're working together."

"Gotcha."

Gadriel smiled. "One other thing." He stuffed the scope in his trouser pocket, then opened his jacket and reached into the pocket sewn into the lining. From it, he extracted two, metal objects. Ellicent thought they looked a little like pistols. She looked at him sharply. "What are those?"

Reading the expression on her face, Gadriel shook his head. "Don't worry. They're only flare guns."

"Flare guns?"

"Yeah. You know, the things soldiers use to signal each other with? They shoot a big bright light into the-"

"I know what a flare gun is, Gadriel," Ellicent said. "What I don't know is where the hell you got two of them from."

"Same place I got the scope from."

"Which was?"

Gadriel chewed the inside of his cheek- the way he always does when he's thinking. "Do you remember... uh... you remember that Arbites supply drop that landed the other day... "

Ellicent's mouth fell open. "You didn't."

He shrugged. The non chalance of the gesture absolutely infuriated her. "Gadriel!" she hissed.

"I know I know," he said. "And before you say it, yes, if the Ultramarines were to somehow hear about it, they'd never let me join."

Ellicent hadn't been about to say that. Now that she'd heard it, though, she couldn't resist. "If that's the case, maybe I should tell them," she muttered.

Anger flushed Gadriel's face. But after a second or two, it fades into resignation. "Ellie," he said. "Can we please not do this now?"

Ellicent clenched her jaw. On her tongue, a retort waited impatiently to be spoken. But in the end, she swallowed it. As grated as she was feeling, she also empathised with him: she didn't want to do this right now, either.

Gingerly, she reached towards him, plucking one of the flare guns from his hands. She held it up to her face, rotating it in her grip as she examined it "What have you got these for, anyway?" she asked. "If their not good for sticking up the top siders, why do we need them?"

A silent "Thank you" flashed across Gadriel's face. Then, holding up the remaining flare gun, he said. "I thought we could use them as warning signals. You know for when we're not together. If you were to find yourself alone anywhere and you needed me, you just fire it in the air, and I'll come find you. I'll do the same with mine."

Ellicent tested the device's grip in her hand. Felt just like holding a pistol, except lighter. "Are they loaded?"

"Yes. But I wasn't able to get any other shells for them. The only one they've got is the one in the chamber."

Ellicent smirked. "So it's only a one use thing?"

Gadriel's cheeks coloured slightly. "It's better than nothing," he replied.

Ellicent rolled her eyes again. But, nevertheless, she decided to humour him and pocketed the device anyway. "Was there anything else?" she asked him.

Gadriel shook his head. "No."

"Time we earn ourselves dinner, then. I'll hit my topsiders first?"

"As always."

Ellicent gave him a smile. Stepping in close, she wrapped her arms around his neck while he wrapped his around her waist. Craning her neck slightly, she kissed him hard on the lips. "Be careful," she whispered.

"You too," he said.

Without another word, they parted ways; Ellicent scampering down to the street while Gadriel followed from the rooftops.

* * * * ** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

That little job had gone off without a hitch. Ellicent had chosen the mid-hiver in the middle of her group: a fat man in a three piece suit and a ridiculously large moustache. She'd pretended to be a beggar, stumbling out of an alleyway and shoulder checking the old man. As he struggled and swore, trying to shove her off him, Ellicent had swiped a purse from the inside of his coat. There'd been an entire handful of gold in there. Between that and what Gadriel had scored from his group, and they'd been fed for two whole weeks.

She hadn't need her flare that day. And for all the days that followed, she hadn't needed it either. But she'd kept it anyway. Even after Gadriel left and never came back. Even after her life became the hell scape that it is now, and the last of her hope had shrivelled and died, she'd kept it. Just in case. Just in case she needed it.

Just in case she needed him.

Just like the day he had given it to her, Ellicent stands on the edge of a rooftop. She doesn't know what sort of building this is: only that it's the tallest she could find in the time she had. Her gauss cannon was heavy on her shoulder- the alien gun was almost as big as her- but she couldn't not leave without it. Even if Gadriel didn't come, Severus almost certainly would. He knows about the flare. When he sees it, he'll know what it means, she's trying to do, and he'll want to kill her for it.

It's not worth it, her mind tries to reason. It wasn't even him. You know it wasn't.

That's the thing, though, she argues. I don't know. That's why I've gotta try.

Just in case.

Ellicent clasps the flare gun in both hands. Rests a finger on the trigger. Slowly, almost cautiously, she raises the device above her head.

If you were to ever find yourself alone... just fire it in the air, and I'll come find you.

Anxiety is a serpent in her gut, wet, heavy and slithering. Her throat is dry as sand and as she clutches the flare gun its metal clatters from how much she's trembling.

Just fire it...

... I'll come find you.

Before she has the chance to have a second thought, Ellicent squeezes the trigger.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The flare shines more brightly than any star or ship light. Its smoke is the colour of blood; its light, that of a bleeding heart. It hurts Ellicent's eyes to stare at it, but she can't being herself to look away. Half an hour, it burns for. Feels longer. Like an eternity. Like another fifty years. Hope and despair war within Ellicent's chest as she watches it. She doesn't know which is winning, they're both so evenly matched.

The smoke is the first to dissipate. Shedding layer upon layer until its colour is no longer discernable. The flare hangs on a little longer, spitting and spluttering like a soul clinging onto life. But, eventually, it too runs out of strength. Ellie watches it tumble from the sky, a shrivelled blackened husk of solid ash. The dark of night returns with a vengeance, and all Ellicent is left with is a hazy, silhouetted view of the city's jagged skyline. Tears prick her eyes. Seems the war in her chest finally has a winner.

"Stupid," she whispers. Dropping her arm, she looks at the empty flare gun. Her lip curls with contempt. With all the strength she has left, she hurls the thing off the rooftop. "Stupid!" she shouts after it. The only reply she receives is deafening, sickening silence.

Ellicent covers her face with her hands. Another self-reprimand is already poised on her lips, but when she opens her mouth to voice, the only thing that comes out is a sob.

Stupid girl, she thinks to herself. What were you thinking?

The plating of her necronian hand is freezing against her face. She presses it so hard into her brow, that she reopens the cut that Severus had given her just hours earlier.

It wasn't him. It was never him.

He's gone.

He left you.

He's never coming back.

So consuming is her anguish, that Ellicent doesn't hear the footsteps coming up behind her. Even if she did, though, she wouldn't have reacted. Only person it can be is Severus- if he's going to kill her, she'd rather his face not be the last thing she ever sees.

Then she hears his voice.

"Ellie?"

Ellicent's heart stops dead in her chest. She drops her hands from her face.

It's not him, her thoughts cry. It's not him. It's not him. It's not-

Ellicent turns around.

She has to look up to see his face. He'd always been a little taller than her, but whatever procedure the Astartes use to turn boys into Angels of Death has swollen his body to almost five times its original size. Dust and grime stain his blue armour. The aquillia on his chest is severed down the middle by the particle beam she'd fired at him earlier that same day. The right side of his head is a mottled mess of angry red skin and silver cybernetic studs.

But, just like his voice, his face is just as she remembers.

"Gadriel," she whispers.

His face is a riot of emotion. Shock, disbelief, sadness, joy, everything else in between.

Gadriel walks up to her with hulking steps, heavy enough to shake the roof. They bring Ellicent back to the night's on the roof of his mother's house; how it too, would rattle and shake under his weight. Dropping to one knee, he sets his hands on her shoulders. The ceramite gauntlets they're encased in are cold and heavy.

His expression, though, is anything but.

"Oh, Ellie."

Before Ellicent can speak, he embraces her. Careful not to bruise her on his armour, crouching low enough that her head can reach his neck.

At first, Ellicent doesn't react. She doesn't know how. Her mind is still playing catch up. Trying to process what's happening, what it means, whether or not it's even...

"Is this real?" Her voice is weak and frayed. It feels like her mouth is full of broken glass. "Are you really here?"

Gadriel draws away and slips his thumb under her chin. As gentle as if she were made of porcelain, he tilts her head up so he can look her in the eye.

"Yes," he says softly. "It's me. Gadriel. I'm here. I'm right here."

Ellicent's heart detonates. A fresh wave of sobs rises up in the back of her throat. The first one escapes as something crosses between a whimper and a cry. She throws her arms around his neck. Buries her face in its crook. Breathes in his scent and feels his skin against hers.

It's him. It's really him.

Her sobs return stronger than before; almost enough to knock her off her feet. This time, though, they are not of despair. They are of sheer, unadulterated joy.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Gadriel does not remember the last time he'd been embraced. He doesn't remember the last time he'd given one, either. Astartes do not partake in such displays of affection. Forearm grips and shoulder clasps were common enough, but anything more than that is just simply not done. Such things are for humans- for families, friends and lovers- and Astartes are not human.

That message has been drilled into Gadriel ever since he had joined the Ultramarines; ever since he was eighteen years old. And yet, when he sees Ellie standing on that rooftop- the tears in her eyes, the blood on her brow, the emotion on her face- he wasn't an Astartes anymore. He was a teenager. A boy. Back in the Underhive, on the roof of his mother's slum, staring up at the stars with the girl he loved curled up in his arms. Like his cheek-chewing habit, these are things that his re-education could not stamp out. It may have quietened them, covered them, forced them into the recesses of his thoughts. But they were always there. And while first seeing Ellie had awoken them, the sight of her flare and the sight of her standing before him now brings them to the very forefront of his mind.

Gadriel holds Ellie as tightly as he can without crushing her against his armour. Her tears are hot against his skin. Her arms, both human and robotic, squeeze his neck so tight it actually hurts. But Gadriel couldn't have been happier. He doesn't think he's ever been happier. Not since the last time he had held her; the last time he had been human.

That's it. That was the last time I was embraced.

It had been her...

Gadriel's eyes start to sting. Before the tears can fall, he buries his face into Ellie's hair. But the feel of it, the smell, the memories they both bring flooding back, only chokes him up more.

"I can't believe you're here," he breathes. "I... I thought you were dead."

A shudder runs through Ellie's body. It's difficult to tell, but Gadriel thinks it might be a laugh. "Yeah," she says meekly. "Yeah, I've thought that a few times myself, too."

The quip takes him completely off guard. Despite himself, he lets out a short choked laugh of his own. "I... Throne, Ellie. I can't even..."

"Things changed when you left," she said. The way her voice breaks across the words wrench Gadriel's hearts like nothing he's ever felt before. "I changed."

Drawing away from her slightly, Gadriel frames her cheek with one, enormous hand. Throne, she looks so small. Small and fragile. Nothing like the tough young woman he remembered. "I know, Ellie," he whispers. "I know. But it's not your fault. You did what you had to to survive. I know you did."

Ellie's arms unfurl from his neck and fall to her side. The leather tunic she wears is sleeveless, giving Gadriel a full, unimpeded view of her necronian left arm. The grafting is expert, but untidy. The edge where it attaches to her clavicle, shoulder and chest is ribbed with scar tissue. As her shoulders tremble in time with her sobs, that tissue stretches and flexes, as if they were wires buried underneath her skin.

"Where have you been, Gadriel?" she asks. "You mother and I, we waited for you. We waited and waited, but you never came back."

Gadriel can't bear to look at her. Dropping his gaze to the ground, he winces as a vice closes around his chest. "I'm so sorry, Ellie. I wanted to come back, I promise I did. But..."

His voice trails off. But what? How could he possibly explain it? That he'd been forced to forget her? That his duty had left no room for him to think about anything other than service? That, as part of his transformation, his heart had not only been duplicated, by reprogrammed to beat for the Imperium instead of her?

No. He couldn't say that. Couldn't say any of it. It's not an excuse. Even though they are the truth, they don't justify what he's done. What's happened to her.

Gadriel's tongue turns to sand in his mouth. Without anything to say, any answer to give her, all he can think to do is pull Ellie into his arms again.

She does not return his embrace, this time. It's the most excruciating thing Gadriel has ever felt.

"Sergeant!"

Gadriel freezes. Under his breath, he mutters a curse.

Ellie wrenches away from him with unnatural strength and speed. Her face twists with fear and her hands reach to grasp the gauss cannon hanging from her shoulder. The weapon is too large for her to hold like a rifle, so instead, she holds it like a heavy bolter; down low and aiming from the hip. She points the weapon past Gadriel's right side, at something to his back. But Gadriel already knows what- who- it is.

"Who's he?" Ellie asks.

Steeling himself, Gadriel turns. Titus stands on the other end of the rooftop with his helmet on and his bolter raised. His face is completely hidden behind his visor's permenant glare, but Gadriel knows that whatever expression he's wearing is even fiercer than that.

Eyes never leaving Titus, Gadriel extends a palm towards Ellie. "It's alright," he says gently. "He's a friend."

"He doesn't look like a friend."

"Sergeant!" Titus' voice booms over his vox speakers. "Step away from her now!"

"Titus," Gadriel pleads. "Listen. We can work this out. "

"There is no working with heretics." The lieutenant takes a step forwards. "Get away from her now! I will not ask you again."

"I knew it," Ellie says. "I knew it was too good to be true."

Gadriel whips around. "Ellie-"

"This is a set up!" She steps away from him, levelling her cannon so both he and Titus are now in her sights. Her fingers touch the trigger, and the gaping maw of the alien gun glows a sickly green. "You're not here for me," she hisses. "You're only here for Severus. You're trying to play me!"

"That's not true." Gadriel's voice is thin and desperate. "I couldn't care less about-"

"Watch what you say, Sergeant," Titus warns.

"Damn you, Titus!" Gadriel shouts, throwing the lieutenant a vicious snarl. "Just let me-"

Ellie's shriek cut both space marines off. "Both of you shut up!"

The look in her eye, Gadriel can only describe as wild. Terror, anger, grief, pain, they're all raging within her expression. Twisting her features so terribly that for a second, Gadriel struggles to recognise her.

But he doesn't give up. He won't.

"Ellie, listen to me," he says, striding up to her. Ellie points her weapon at him, but with his forearm Gadriel shoves it to the side. "I'm here for you," he says. "Only you. I don't care about Severus. If I'd known you were here, I'd have abandoned my mission sooner.`

Ellie stares at him with wide, watering eyes. She breathes hard through her mouth. "I..."

"Fire that thing at me if you want, but I'm not going anywhere." As the next words leave his mouth, Gadriel's breath hitches in his throat. "I will not abandon you again."

He reaches for her again, this time to touch her arm. Ellie flinches from him, glaring like she's anticipating an attack, but not before Gadriel's fingertip brushes her shoulder. Startled, she steps away, the grip on her gauss cannon visibly tightening.

Gadriel swallows a mouthful of tears. "Ellie-"

"Did you hear that?"

He blinks at her. "What?"

Ellie shifts her aim away from Gadriel and points her weapon towards the sky. "That noise," she whispers. "Like humming."

Gadriel pauses to listen. She's right. If the night hadn't been so still, he doubts anyone could have heard it; but just beneath the whisper of the moving air, there is, in fact, the a slight, energetic hum. Stranger still, it's a sound Gadriel recognises. From where he isn't sure, but he can't shake the feeling he's heard such a thing before.

"Gadriel!"

He turns at Titus' voice. The lieutenant's visage is unchanged, but his tone is suddenly laced with alarm. "Get out of there, now!"

It's then that Gadriel's mind finally clicks.

The humming... It's the sound of a cloaking device.

Without a second thought, he leaps for Ellie. Grabbing her around the middle and holding her to his chest, shielding her body with his own. The moment he does, hundreds of sharp, heavy projectiles start raining upon them.

The humming sound ceases as the cloaking field disappears. In its place rise the thunder of a spacecraft and the scream of firing weaponry. Gadriel recognises both; not from experience or even from training, but from the mission brief he and his brothers had received just this morning.

"Severus is a known xenos collaborator. Specifically, he has formed some twisted working relationship with a war band of Dark Eldar..."

The thunder is the engine of a combat skiff. The screaming, the sound of shredder weapons unleashing a hellfire of razor-sharp spikes.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

And part 3 is done babyyyyyyy

Hope you liked it ^^

Part 4 should be up in a couple of days

Till then, stay safe out there kids

Taglist: @solspina @beckyninja @egrets-not-regrets @wolf-feathers12 @jaghatai-khock @lemon-russ @moodymisty @hatsubara-8chan @nereidof40k @yanagikou @fyxestroll @yurihasurunbara @lylakoi @justfreakynothingelse

[lsunstreakerl]

I'm not sure if this is because I have a lot of sympathy for Lewis, want him to hurt, get a hug (or all of the above) but I could absolutely see him tempted to go on a bender after he learns.

Like right after Max leaves, the silence he leaves in his wake. How does he even move on from that? Maybe I'm not a well-adjusted person but I would go on a bender from hell after that.

uhhhh I think I checked all of the above here :)

Nico clears his throat behind him.

Lewis is standing in the hallway still, feet rooted to the floor, Roscoe in his arms.

"Lew- I think you should come back inside."

Nico's voice is soft, gentle behind him. Nico hasn't been gentle with him in years. Decades, even.

Lewis wonders what it says that he's doing it now.

He swallows, a lump in his throat as he turns, letting Roscoe back down to the floor as he steps inside the flat.

Everything feels like it's underwater, through layers of muffled noise. Nothing like the actual race day, when he thought his eardrums would burst from the cheers, because he won Silverstone, his home, took the cocky brat down a few pegs-

Lewis feels like he's splintering. Not a cocky brat-

Max.

Not down a few pegs-

Slammed into his car, slammed into the walls, rattled inside his helmet at 51g, snapped so hard his eyes are damaged and his brain is damaged and he's out, out for good-

"Lewis, you're shaking."

Nico's hand rests softly onto Lewis' shoulder, and he recoils from the touch, because he has no right, none, to get soft things right now, not when he's-

When he's-

"Nico,"

His voice wavers, slightly wet, and Lewis hasn't felt like this in a long time, where everything is quiet and still, where he feels like he's teetering on the edge of... something.

He feels like a balloon, like everything inside him is expanding and won't stop, and the pressure is almost too much-

"What if I'd killed him."

His voice cracks, and it's- it's fucking eating away at him, started splintering inside as Max had walked away.

His sweater is still damp where Max had cried into his shoulder.

Seeking comfort, comfort from Lewis, even though it was Lewis who hit him, Lewis who lost himself in adoring hands-

He feels his nails digging into his palms.

Every pat on the shoulder, every adoring fan, and Max had probably received the same amount of hands on him, but it wasn't love, it was medical gloves and equipment, it was monitors and medicine, because-

Because of Lewis.

Max could have died, and Lewis wouldn't have known, and still he'd wanted Lewis to forgive him, like there was anything there Max needed to be forgiven for.

He blinks rapidly, and suddenly Nico is in front of him, arms wrapping around his waist.

"It's okay, Lew. Let it out."

Lewis doesn't want to let it out, Lewis wants to shove it in a box and let it fester, wants to never touch it again.

When he breathes out it's a sob, and he's gripping Nico as he squeezes his eyes shut, because for the second time tonight someone is going to cry about this accident.

"Fuck, Nico."

He takes another rattling inhale, and then he's stepping away, slams his closed fist onto the marble countertop.

"Fuck!"

He turns back, and he's sure his eyes are wild based on the way Nico is watching him warily, but he doesn't care.

"What is with this damn sport, huh? What is it about these fucking cars and these teams, why does it just- just eliminate the humanity in any of us?"

"Lewis-"

"I never once checked on him, and it's not because it was water under the bridge, it's because I didn't fucking want to know, because I'm not stupid, none of us are, we all should've known there would be serious consequences from that kind of crash-"

He hits the countertop again, feels it all cracking and crumbling to pieces inside of him.

"This sport, man. It turns kids into enemies- he was never- I shouldn't have-"

Nico steps closer, still wary, but his hand is gentle on Lewis' shoulder.

"You're not above it, Lewis. It does that to all of us."

Lewis sinks into the barstool, head in his hands.

"I'm supposed to be better than that, Nico."

"You can't be everything at once."

He laughs, but it's cracked and brittle.

"And whose expense is that at, huh? Certainly not mine."

[cedar-sunshine]

Yet again overjoyed at how normal Orion seems compared to Tristan. Like yes this is a well adjusted man who was raised in a friendly and loving home and makes rational and good decisions. Haha why do u ask. Haha. (: don't look in the closet haha. (:

[thewingedwolf]

one thing about hbo is that when they get a journalist coming up to them and going “man do i have a fucked up story i want to follow” they really do let that person go wild. i’ve mentioned the way the ronan farrow one really moved me emotionally and that’s just because ronan knows how to investigate and tell a story to get you righteously angry for who it is he’s defending. he’s good at his job!

but this one, quiet on the set, has genuinely made my jaw drop a few times, even if i think some of the framing could have been better in the last episode. of course i know about all the rumors about dan schneider and the abuse on set, it’s hard to have been into the teen nick scene and not notice, and it’s pretty easy to figure out which kids were being harmed through too much attention and which were being harmed through not enough attention, and there’s been all sorts of rumors floating around for over a decade!

but the build up to the drake bell reveal was well handled, i thought. i was initially skeptical because i think it’s hard to make a documentary about child sexual abuse without leaning into being exploitative in some way. and at first, where you have the actors who left early, like katrina, or who you remember but weren’t mega famous like giovannie, and they’re all saying “this set was so weird & inappropriate, i knew something was wrong but i didn’t have the experience or vocabulary to say what” it feels a little too schlocky. like, oh we’re just kind of speculating on the inappropriate nature of dan’s “friendship” with amanda bynes for two episodes? yeah it is fucked up that two pedophiles were on that set, but did they hurt anyone on set?

and then drake bell walks into the room dressed like timmy turner and says it was me. he hurt me.

i can’t stop thinking about the choice of clothes here and the way it helps drive home the point of the doc. he’s sitting there in fairly odd parents colors as an adult and can’t describe the sexual trauma he experienced as a child still, has never spoken about it, had his mom lie to his father over it because he was so screwed up. really driving home the point that he was just a kid who had a knack for physical comedy and it got him preyed on by dan, a man who should have protected him, set up and handed over to a monster who traumatized him for months and years.

but when that reporter said she got a judge to let them unseal the court documents because drake bell told her how much support peck had? my jaw dropped, like yeah this is reporting, this is someone who saw this story and finally fucking cared not about the salacious details but about who knew what and why they did nothing to stop this from happening. it’s not about forcing drake bell or katrina jackson or alexa to live through the worst moments of their life - it’s about how so many people knew what was going on and didn’t do a god damn thing to stop it. it’s about how these monsters, these convicted pedophiles, were given access to little kids to hurt and traumatize and everyone knew and didn’t just look the other way, they actively helped cover it up. THATS the story. Not that it was an isolated tragedy but that it was a clinical, purposeful environment built by people who wanted to harm little kids.

[elytrafemme]

every single fictional character i like should split and have mood swings like me. "ohhhhh but it's not canotical" "ohh they have good control over their emotions and stable views on the world" i don't fucking care. i see cq in his fake desert i see klavier's control dialogue i see dahlia and her serial murders and komaeda and the gun literally fuck with me right now. we need to stop being cowards about our fictional character headcanons i think everyone should kill people always because i can't

[silvershayde]

Sometimes it really feels like me my sister and my mum are the only ones who actually take care of my cat

[kateschi]

midnight check-in

synopsis: in the middle of the night, you are woken up by a call from your husband.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

the phone buzzes on the nightstand, dragging you from the edge of sleep. squinting at the glowing screen, you see katsuki’s name flashing across it.

it’s late—past the time he should have been home, but not unusual given the unpredictability of hero work. swiping the call open, you press the phone to your ear, voice still heavy with sleep.

“did I wake you?”

his voice is rough, but familiar, crackling through the line like static.

there’s no apology in his tone, but you can hear the subtle hint of concern buried underneath, like he’s weighing whether he should’ve waited until morning to call.

“no,” you lie, sitting up and adjusting to the quiet darkness of the room. “it’s fine. what’s up? are you coming home soon?”

there’s a brief pause on the other end. you hear the faint shuffle of his gear, like he’s shifting in his seat, maybe still in the office or the agency car. “yeah, I’ll be home in a bit. just… wanted to check in.”

check in? katsuki doesn’t just check in. the man’s explosive, stubborn, and blunt to a fault—never the type to dance around what’s on his mind. so, when he calls you this late just to ‘check in,’ something feels off.

“everything okay?” you ask softly, leaning back against the headboard. your fingers toy with the edge of the blanket, tracing small patterns over the fabric.

“yeah, just a long-ass day,” he grumbles, his voice a little lower now. he’s tired, you can tell, but there’s something else lurking in the background of his words.

“didn’t mean to be out so late. I know I said I’d be back before—”

“katsuki,” you cut him off gently. “you don’t have to apologize for doing your job. I know how it is.”

he lets out a frustrated huff, and you can almost picture him running a hand through his hair, the way he does when he’s feeling restless.

“still,” he mutters. “I said I’d be there, and I’m not. doesn’t sit right with me.”

your heart softens at that. even though his words are gruff, katsuki has always had a way of showing he cares—usually in his own roundabout, katsuki-style way.

“you’re here now,” you say, your voice a little warmer. “that’s what matters. I’m just glad you called.”

another pause, this one heavier. there’s a slight crackle from his end, like he’s shifting again, probably leaning back in whatever chair he’s stuck in, the tension still clinging to him.

“yeah, well… I didn’t wanna wake up and find out you’re pissed I didn’t get home.” there’s a touch of humor in his voice, and you can practically hear the smirk on his lips. “figured I’d save myself the trouble.”

you chuckle softly, shaking your head. “you’re not getting out of trouble that easily, katsuki.”

“darn,” he clicks his tongue, but the familiar grumble in his tone makes you smile. it’s his way of saying he missed you, without actually saying it.

for a moment, there’s just comfortable silence between you.

the sound of his steady breathing on the other end of the line makes your chest ache a little—wanting him here, not just on the other side of a phone.

“you almost home?” you ask quietly, the warmth of the blankets doing little to fill the empty space beside you.

“yeah.” his voice softens, dropping just enough that you can tell he’s not as guarded anymore. “should be there in about ten.”

“good,” you murmur, stifling a yawn as you sink further into the bed, imagining him walking through the door any minute now. “I’ll wait for you.”

there’s a beat, a moment where his breathing catches ever so slightly, before he grumbles again, but softer this time. “you don’t have to stay up for me, y/n.”

“I want to.”

the silence that follows feels different—warmer, like he’s smiling, even if you can’t see it. and maybe it’s the exhaustion in your voice, or the way you said it so matter-of-factly, but something in him shifts.

you hear him let out a quiet breath, the kind he only ever lets out when he’s alone with you.

“...you’re such a damn idiot,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to it. just warmth.

you smile into the phone, eyes already half-closed. “takes one to know one.”

he snorts at that, a rare sound of amusement that you love catching him off-guard with. “whatever. just keep your ass in bed. I’ll be there soon.”

“mhm,” you hum, already feeling the drowsiness tugging at you again, but there’s something in the comfort of his voice that keeps you tethered.

you shift slightly, hugging the blanket closer, waiting for the familiar click of the front door. before you drift off entirely, you murmur, “love you, katsuki.”

there’s a pause, and for a moment, you think he’s hung up. but then, quietly, with all the weight of a promise, he replies.

“yeah. love you too.”

the call ends with a soft click, but even after, the warmth of his voice lingers in the quiet room. you smile to yourself, feeling the space beside you growing less empty by the minute.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[sakitenmaenjoyer]

tsukasa's so funny bc in earlier stories whenever he showed a hint of anything negative he'd go "AUGHHHHHHH IM A USELESS PIECE IF SHIT. WAIT DONT THINK THAT WAY I HAVE TO BE BETTER"

[martiniblues]

JUNO , spencer reid

pairing boyfriend!spencer x fem!reader

synopsis while babysitting henry for jj, spencer’s seeming disinterest with children starts to shift. this makes your mind wonder into unfamiliar territory you and spencer hadn’t spoken of yet: kids.

genre talks of pregnancy and children (duh), very suggestive towards the end but no smut, this is very self indulgent since i can’t get this song or spencer off my mind so here you go lol.

wc 2k?? (i got a little carried away)

“sorry for this being so last minute!" jj scrambled, passing henry over to you along with his diaper bag. the blonde ran a hand through her short hair, adjusting from where the two-year-old played with it upon their arrival. 

“it’s all good, seriously. you know how much i love babysitting this cute thing.” you tickled henry’s side, making him squirm. 

jj’s eyes averted to the figure behind you, pursing her lips. “you sure he’s okay with this?” you turned your head, noticing spencer trying to look at the two of you without being noticed. 

it’s not that spencer didn’t like kids; it’s just hard to know how to talk to them when you were a child genius. 

you turned back to jj, attempting to ease her worry. “he’ll come around to it.” you shrugged, knowing that spencer would either sit and observe or fully engage. no in between.

after bidding your goodbyes, you walked over to spencer, taking a seat beside him on the couch. “so what should we do, little man?” you perched henry in your lap, resting your feet on the coffee table so he could sit against your perched thighs. 

spencer looked at you as if he were the “little man” in question. henry just babbled, throwing his arms around as you cooed. “what do we do with him?” spencer asked, leaning closer into your shoulder to inspect the baby in your lap. 

you laughed at his seriousness, turning to look at your boyfriend. “have you never been around a baby in your life or something?” you teased, lifting henry so he was closer to you both.

“did you know that babies are born with about seventy reflexes? that’s why when you place a baby on a surface to stand, they automatically start doing a stepping motion.” he spoke, watching henry kick his legs as you stood him on your lap. you looked over at him quizzically. “for someone who’s so awkward around babies, you sure do know a lot about them.” 

spencer flushed slightly, “i just haven’t had the chance to be around any until now.” he nudges your shoulder before crossing his arms. 

“well, here’s your chance.” you held henry out to spencer, which made him squirm and mumble yet again. “hold him while i go bring his bag in here.” 

he hesitated, looking between you and the baby as if this were a test. yet, despite the nervousness, he reached out, mimicking your position earlier. when you were content with how henry laid on spencer’s legs, you walked out of the room.

you’d be lying if you said you didn’t purposely take your time collecting his things, wanting spencer to have some alone time with henry. finally satisfied with your departure, you peaked your head into the room, nearly melting at the sight. 

the once stiff and nervous spencer you had left with henry was now replaced with a content, smiling one. his voice went up a few pitches as he responded to henry’s nonsense. “oh wow, really?” his lips were pulled into a smile as he played with him, letting henry’s small hand encase his slender fingers. 

you couldn’t help but let your head wander; how could you not? sure you thought about a future with spencer. a future where you were married and maybe with kids, but you had never brought it up being too nervous to scare spencer off.

but now watching him light up with henry in his lap, you wanted nothing more than for your daydreams to become reality. 

“someone wants you back in here, i think.” you snapped out of your daze, focusing on the two sets of eyes staring at you. both holding the same smiles and wide eyes. 

god, you swore you felt your ovaries jump.

“i see that you two are getting along now.” you placed henry’s diaper bag on the table, sitting yourself on the ground before laying out his blanket and a few toys. spencer joined you, placing henry on his stomach, then laid beside you, mirroring the baby’s position. 

“who are you and what did you do with my boyfriend?” you laughed, in awe of how much spencer had adjusted to the small being in just a matter of minutes.

he looked up at you as he shook a little plushie in front of henry’s face. “sorry to disappoint, but this is still your boyfriend,” spencer quipped before you pushed his head jokingly, messing up his hair in the process. 

the sound of high-pitched squeals took both of your attentions away from one another. there henry lay, clapping his hands in favor of you and spencer’s playful fighting. 

“yeah, you like when i show him who’s boss, huh?” you caressed the soft skin of henry’s cheek, making him giggle. spencer sighed, “come on, man, i thought we were really becoming friends” he exasperated, laying his head in his hands dramatically.

this only brought more squeals from the baby, making your cheeks almost grow sore from how hard you were smiling. 

“awe spence, it’s okay.” you egged on your act by petting his hair back into place. this caused your boyfriend to lift his head; a big pout on his lips made yours perk up. 

with your attention being taken away from henry by spencer’s rare expression, you hadn’t noticed the stuffed animal caught between the baby’s hands. before you could do anything, the small bear was chucked into spencer’s face, causing an uproar of noises from henry.

“i’m starting to question this whole babysitting thing.” spencer winced, looking at you as you laughed along with henry. 

 

despite the teasing from earlier, spencer continued to be enamored with henry. him even insisting he help feed and change him when time came.

the whole ordeal feeling so domestic, apart of you wished jj could have spent a couple more days for her and will in favor of you seeing spencer like this for longer.

“thank you, again for taking care of him.” jj propped her hip against the counter as she fumbled for her phone out of her purse.

“of course, it really was no problem.” you turned at the sound of spencer’s soft voice, thanking henry for “helping” him clean.

“honestly, i think someone enjoyed this a bit more than we thought.” you gestured at spencer as he settled henry on his hip, the baby grasping onto his button-up shirt. 

your whole body ran hot at sight. spencer looked really good as a pretend dad. 

“no kidding, the team is going to flip when i show them the pictures you took of them.” she glanced at her phone, noting the off-guard photos you stole of spencer and henry. 

one was of him feeding him as he walked around the living room, another of him explaining some of the books organized on his shelves in a very formal fashion despite henry’s lack of knowledge, and finally one of them eye-to-eye playing on the floor with various toys. 

your heart swelled looking back at them, the questions you had been so careful not to ask begging to be verbalized. 

before you could sink any further, spencer came over, handing jj henry and his bag almost reluctantly. noticing the time, jj was quick to leave in order to keep the baby’s sleeping schedule on track but thanked you guys repeatedly before finally closing the door. 

clicking the lock shut, you mentally prepared yourself for the words about to come out of your mouth. 

“you had more fun than you bargained for, didn’t you?” you met spencer on the couch, him reaching out to pull your legs over his, making your heart leap. 

“i did, actually.” spencer began smoothing his hands up and down your calf before continuing. “honestly when you mentioned henry coming over, i was a little- i don’t know scared? i just didn’t want to disappoint him or you.” he bit his lip like he was stopping himself from letting the whole truth out. 

“oh spence, you were perfect. honestly, i’m very proud of you.” you reached out, caressing the side of his face, causing him to look at you. 

he noticed your wondering eyes, waiting for you to continue. “actually i um…” you shifted pulling your legs under yourself so you could sit up. 

breathing in deeply, you continued, “today kind of got me thinking about us and our future.” spencer was looking at you with such admiration that you had fixed your gaze on your hands.

“i know we haven’t really brought it up before, but seeing you and henry today had me-“ 

before you could finish, spencer’s lips were pressed against yours, resulting in a shocked gasp from you. he kissed you, mumbling words each time his lips parted to take yours in again. 

“i want that, i really do.” he breathed, finally separating from you for just a moment. 

“you want what, spence?” you were in shock, to be honest, knowing what he meant but wanting to hear him say it word for word. 

without another word, he positioned you in his lap, legs straddling his own. “i want a family with you. i want a sliver of what we had today to become ours one day.” his eyes didn’t break from yours, his pupils blown wide and sparkly.

for the thousandth time that day, you had to bite back a smile. “you mean that?” you questioned, one hand coming to comb through his hair and the other resting on his neck. 

he kissed your cheek, forehead, nose, and finally your lips before he spoke. “every single one. i mean, one of you is cute.” he cupped your cheek as he spoke. “but two though? that’s something.” he finished, smirking at you. 

you couldn’t contain your happiness, crashing his lips to yours again feverishly. even though you knew the both of you were in no place to have a kid now, there was no harm in playing with the fantasy for now. 

even if the real thing wouldn’t come to be for a good few years.

spencer pulled you flush against him, one his hands leaving your hips to trail up your spine and settle onto the back of your neck. a moan slipped past your lips as goosebumps erupted on your skin. 

you pulled on his shirt, hinting at where this was going as if it weren’t obvious to the man beneath you. he looked up at you, kissing you once more before dragging you to your shared bed. 

your blouse and shorts were off before your back hit the sheets, spencer still standing ahead of you unbuttoning his work shirt. 

you sat up on your knees, crawling to the edge of the bed to take over. after each undone button, you kissed his skin, making him gasp as his fingers raked through your hair. 

pulling his shirt all the way off, you made your way to his pants, pulling him closer by his belt loop. you bit your lip, noticing the gears turning in his head.

“you know statistics say missionary or doggy are the best positions to get pregnant in.” spencer let out in shallow breaths as his belt clinked on the floor. 

“oh, yeah and why is that genius?” you leaned back on your elbows while spencer finished removing himself of his pants. he took you in, the tiny pink bow on your underwear made spencer rethink his crude response. 

“deeper penetration,” he said almost too smoothly, making you laugh. it was hard to take statistics seriously when you were both nearly naked. 

before he could settle above you, you shimmied up the bed. ridding yourself of the rest of your clothes, you positioned yourself on your hands. looking over your shoulder, you saw the way spencer’s eyes widened in shock.

“have you ever tried this one?”

my first spencer fic omg. lowk crazy because i’ve been obsessed with this man since the ripe age of 12 but here we are. will probably be writing a lot more of him since im rewatching cm at the moment so stay tuned! request box is always open <333

[kairoot]

TEETH ⌇ SJY

SINK MY TEETH IN YA— jake has been hiding a huge secret from you—he’s a vampire. after going six months without feeding, his control is slipping, especially when he's around you, sensing your blood. when you notice his strange behavior and confront him, he brushes it off. but soon, he can’t hide it anymore and reveals the truth, expecting you to be scared. instead, he’s shocked when you offer to let him feed from you.

𝓅𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 vamp!jake x 𝑓．𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲 esatablished relationship , thriller (?) , suggestive 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 biting.. (jake is a vamp hello…), kissing, physical touch, etc. — ℳ𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘯’𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵��𝘴：layout insp by sav bb 🤍. please reblog and/or leave feedback. it is greatly appreciated !— 𝐌𝐒𝐅.

“you ready, babe?” jake asked, walking in the bedroom while still running a comb through his gelled hair.

you adjusted the necklace in the mirror, moving it around to your liking.

“almost.”

jake chuckled to himself, knowing it always took you a while to get yourself dolled up and you’d stand in the mirror until you actually liked what you were wearing.

“you look fine, baby.” he appeared behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, holding you close to him.

you sighed, not believing him but prepared to leave anyway. you both decided to attend the town’s halloween party tonight (you begged jake to go), seeing as you don’t really go out as much as you used to. when you and jake started dating, you both attended nearly every gathering there was. but jake had suddenly become uninterested in going out.

you wondered why, seeing as he always seemed like a people person to you but after some thought, you figured he just wanted to stay in and enjoy each other in private. you didn’t mind it, but a part of you missed the lively atmosphere.

jake still clung to you, placing his face in the crook of your neck.

“what perfume are you wearing tonight? smells so good..” he mumbled, almost slurring, taking in whatever scent it was. the smell was so intoxicating, he almost felt faint.

“i didn’t put any on yet,” you giggled, not noticing his grip on you tighten and the slight tension in his body.

now jake was confused. if you didn’t have any perfume on, why was your scent so strong? it seemed irresistible.

but once he thought about it, the answer popped in his head. before he could pull away, a searing pain shot through the front of his mouth, causing his hand to fly up to hold it.

you turned around when you heard him let out a painful groan, placing a hand on his jaw, giving him a concerned look.

“is everything okay?” you questioned, waiting for him to answer as his face contorted in discomfort.

jake had realized that it’s been nearly 6 months since he had a taste of the red liquid that kept him alive. he had been feasting as if he were human and could live off of normal meals. but he should have known that wasn’t the case. he thought he could handle it— pretend to be human. but now his control was slipping.

jake swallowed hard, stepping back from your touch. “i’m fine.” he muttered, but his voice lacked conviction, and he couldn’t meet your eyes. he took another step back from you, sitting on the edge of your bed.

you could sense that something was wrong, a strange tension in the air. “jake.. what’s going on?”

he exhaled shakily, his facade crumbling. he didn’t want to tell you, but he knew he couldn’t keep this hidden much longer. not with the way your scent was overwhelming him, making his throat burn with need.

his hands rested beside him as he gripped the bedding, trying to calm himself down. he avoided any eye contact with you, scared that he’d immediately lose all self-control.

“baby, we don’t have go this party if you’re not feeling well—“

jake shook his head, forcing a smile that didn’t really reach his eyes, “no, i’m fine. i promised you we’d go.”

you hesitated, not at all convinced by his words. his body had relaxed a bit more but you could tell he was holding back on something, “are you sure, jake?”

jake sighed, running a hand through his hair. “i’ll be okay, babe, honestly. i just need a distraction.” he finally looked at you, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “you’ve been looking forward to this. don’t let me ruin it for you.”

you smiled softly, walking toward him to hold brush your hand against his cheek. “alright.. but i’m driving,” you said, grabbing the car keys from the dresser. “i’m not letting you behind the wheel when you look like you’re about to faint.”

jake chuckled slightly, but there was no argument. he followed you out of the bedroom, the tension between you both still lingering. you hoped the party would actually distract him, seeing as you had a feeling that there was something he wasn’t telling you.

as you made your way to the car, you glanced at him, seeing the way his jaw clenched. he seemed so distant and you couldn’t help but worry about what the night would bring.

you both arrived at the party’s venue— a large but old mansion decked out with eerie decorations. pumpkins were scattered across the yard while cobwebs covered the corners of the porch. the sound of laughter and music was heard from the open doors of the house.

you turned the car off, sitting there for a moment before getting out. you wanted to ask jake what was really on his mind or what was bothering him.

“baby,” you called for him but no answer. he was distracted and looking at whatever was going on outside the passenger window.

“jaeyun.” your hand touched his arm this time, catching his attention. he hummed in response, turning his head to face forward now.

you shuffled closer to him, your chest pressed against the side of him.

“you know you can talk to me right?”

instead of answering, he sighed, lowering his head. if you kept asking about what was bothering him, he’d have no choice but to tell you. he hated keeping things from you especially because he knew you only wanted him to feel better and you wanted the best for him.

you leaned in to press soft kisses along his jaw, making him exhale softly. your hand made its way to his chin, turning his head so he was facing you.

you pecked his lips a couple of times before pulling away slightly to look him the eyes. they seemed darker tonight, the usual spark in them looked like it had disappeared.

"jaeyun, i mean it," you whispered against his skin. "if you're not feeling up to this, we don't have to go in. we can just head home, or even sit here for a while. i just want you to be okay."

jake closed his eyes briefly, his hand slipping down to rest on your thigh. his grip was firmer than usual, as if grounding himself with your touch. he wanted to tell you, wanted to explain the storm that was building inside him-but the words wouldn't come. not yet.

"i'm fine, really," he finally said, though even you could hear the strain in his voice.

"alright," you said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear.

"but if at any point you're feeling worse, we'll leave, okay?"

jake nodded, though you noticed the way his fingers twitched against your leg.

with that, you both stepped out of the car. the cool night air hit you immediately, the atmosphere of the party drawing you in as you made your way toward the mansion. you could hear the music more clearly now, and the sounds of people laughing and talking grew louder with every step. the porch creaked slightly underfoot as you climbed the stairs, and the glow of jack-o'-lanterns flickered in the dim light, casting long shadows across the yard.

jake walked beside you, quieter than usual. you glanced at him, still feeling that nagging worry tugging at your chest, but you didn't press him any further. not yet.

“hey, you made it!” one of your friends called out from the entrance, waving excitedly as you and jake made your way inside. you returned the wave, feeling a little lighter now that you were here.

the inside of the mansion was just as lively. the grand ballroom was filled with people dancing, their costumes a blur of color under the dim, spooky lighting. fake bats and skeletons hung from the chandeliers, and fog machines pumped mist across the floor, creating an eerie, dreamlike atmosphere.

you turned to jake, who was scanning the room, his eyes darting from person to person. you noticed the way his jaw clenched again, the same tension from earlier creeping back into his posture.

“you okay?” you asked, touching his arm.

“yeah, just… a lot of people,” he muttered, his voice tight.

you frowned, your concern growing. he usually loved being around crowds, but tonight, he seemed different—on edge.

“why don’t we grab a drink?” you suggested, hoping to distract him. “maybe that’ll help.”

jake hesitated, his eyes still fixed on the crowd, but eventually nodded. “yeah. sure.”

you led the way to the drink table, but as you walked through the sea of partygoers, you noticed the way he kept glancing around, making you think he was looking for something—or someone.

you both made your way through the crowd after getting drinks, but something about jake’s energy felt off. he was quieter than usual, not fully engaging with anyone who greeted him, his hand gripping yours just a little too tightly. every so often, you caught him looking around, almost like he was on edge, but when you asked him if everything was okay, he brushed it off with a forced smile.

“i’m fine, i’m okay” he would say, but you weren’t convinced.

the party went on for a while, but jake grew more distant with every passing minute. eventually, you both decided to leave early, the fun of the night overshadowed by jake’s strange behavior. he seemed relieved as you left the venue, though the tension between you still lingered.

when you arrived home, the atmosphere had shifted again. jake seemed distracted, his body tense as if he was trying to hold something back. you went into the kitchen to grab a snack, thinking over the night’s events.

as you were cutting up your fruit for a late snack, a sharp pain ran across your finger as you sliced it while using the kitchen knife. you hissed, dropping the knife as you instinctively pressed your other hand to the cut.

“damnit,” you muttered, holding your hand under the sink to clean it. as you did, you noticed jake’s sudden stillness. he hadn’t moved from his spot in the doorway, his eyes locked on your hand.

his gaze was fixated on the small trail of blood now dripping from your hand, his breathing heavier than before.

“it’s just a cut,” you said softly, noticing the strange look in his eyes. but as you stepped toward him, his expression darkened, a hunger creeping into his features that made your heart skip a beat.

“you should… get that cleaned up,” he muttered, his voice low and strained. “i’ll get the bandages.” he said, but his eyes never left your finger.

but before you could move, jake was suddenly closer to you, his body tense and his breathing ragged as if he was fighting against something. you could feel the heat of his presence, the way his eyes darkened as he watched the blood still pooling at your fingertip.

“jake, what’s really going on?” you asked, your voice soft but filled with concern. “you’ve been acting strange all night..”

he hesitated, his jaw clenched, but you could see the struggle in his eyes.

he wanted to pull away, but he leaned in instead, his nose brushing against your skin as he inhaled deeply, his eyes fluttering shut. “your blood.. the smell is driving me insane.”

your breath caught in your throat. “..what does that mean?”

he swallowed hard, his eyes dark and filled with a hunger you’d never seen before. “i haven’t fed in months, y/n,” he confessed, his voice raw. “i tried to stay away from it, i swear.“

you stared at him, the weight of his confession settling over you like a heavy fog. “you… you’re a—?” the words felt foreign on your tongue, but jake’s pained expression told you everything you needed to know.

he nodded slowly, stepping back as if ashamed. “i didn’t want you to find out like this. i’m so sorry.”

you were quiet for a moment, processing everything. then, despite the fear and the shock coursing through you, you made a decision. “then take it.”

jake’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. “w-what?”

“my blood,” you said, your voice steady even though your heart was racing. “if you need it, then take it. i trust you.”

jake shook his head. “baby, you know i can’t do that. i don’t wanna hurt you..”

“you won’t,” you whispered, moving back until you were pressed against the door, his body hovering over yours. “i know you won’t. i trust you, jake.”

his eyes searched yours, desperate and conflicted, but the hunger was too strong to resist. with a shuddering breath, he leaned in, his hands holding the sides of your neck as his lips brushed against the skin.. “tell me to stop,” he whispered, his voice trembling.

you shook your head, breath shuttering as you tilted your head back. his arms encircled your waist, pulling you closer.

“bite me,” you whispered once more, your hands gripping his shoulders as you waited to feel that small pinch.

jake’s fangs elongated as he wasted no time sinking his teeth in you. you gasped softly, the feeling being a mix a pain and ecstasy.

a deep groan of relief escapes his lips, the satisfaction of finally feeding without blood overwhelming him. his grip tightened on your hips as he pulled you closer, nearly losing control (again).

jake pulled away before he could drink any more, his lips tinted red before his tongue darted out to clean it up. he pecked the bite mark, hoping it would soon feel better.

you clung to him, almost hypnotized by the feeling of his teeth against your skin. he looked in your eyes, chuckling at the dazed look you gave him.

“you okay, princess?” he asks as his hand brushed away the strands of your hair.

you nodded, way too distracted to even give him a verbal response.

“c-can you do that again?”

🖇️. @wonsdoll @mimismenu @yourssincerely-mimi @riribelle @nerdimoo @sngleehee @elysianiki — only accepting 40 people.

🝮. @k-films

[endursent]

- Through the Dark

【 content; sunday x reader , astral express sunday , dry humping , a bit of pining , tight spaces , NSFW 】

【 note; i've never written smut/nsfw before, so this is treading new grounds for me, but I need to practice for gss because i want that to be juicy. expect more, lol. it'd also be nice to get requests/suggestions to stir by brain a bit if you'd like.

also, the reader's gender is never mentioned but there are gender-neutral they/them pronouns used twice in the middle to enforce that ambiguity. 】

【 word count; 3.391 | read on ao3 】

“Stop… moving so much,” Sunday strains through grit teeth, he’s trying not to sound annoyed or upset, but it’s an uphill battle. 

  “You’re moving first, I’m just adjusting,” you whisper back, you can’t tell what expression he’s making in the darkness, but you’re sure it’s on some scale of annoyance or frustration by the sound of his voice. 

  “You–”

  You hear footsteps approaching and slap your right hand over his mouth, your heart beats faster as they approach, quick taps against hardwood floors… you feel Sunday still completely, his jaw moves slightly beneath your palm as he swallows thickly. Neither of you move an inch until distant shouts sound and the footsteps fade. You still keep your hand over his mouth for a moment longer just in case. You can’t see out of the closet you’ve squeezed into… what if there’s someone listening on the other side? Just waiting for either of you to make a noise?

  Your heart continues to beat rapidly in your chest, you feel it hammering against your rib cage–and you’re sure Sunday feels it too.

  After a while, you take a gamble and lower your hand from his face, surely they’re gone now? 

  “...” Sunday doesn’t say anything, a tense silence falling between you. His voice is a whisper when he finally does speak. “... is this a usual occurrence?”

  You have to take a moment to try and understand what he means. “Ha? Being stuck in a closet?”

  “Yes,” he just grumbles, disapproval clear in his tone. 

  “... no,” you mumble in return. The how and why of the situation was irrelevant—mostly because it’s your fault and you don’t want to think about it—what was much more important is that you are stuffed into a closet with Sunday with barely any wiggle room and you’re not keen on facing a horde of angry guards who could potentially be hostile with only you and Sunday to fend them off. 

  Your limbs barely have any space, Sunday’s arms are above the both of you, his elbows on either side of your head as the space is so narrow he can’t even lower them—there’s no direction wide enough for his arm to bend. Your chests are pressed together so tightly that the ornament on his scarf has nearly poked you in the eye three times and you felt the tickle of his feathered wings against your cheekbone when you turned your head to the door.

  The rest… is the uncomfortable part—not that being pressed like sardines in a can isn’t uncomfortable in general. Sunday is slightly taller than you and has to spread his legs on either side of you so that he can fit—the closet isn’t exactly tall either, so the two of you are slightly hunched as well, thus you have to tuck your legs under him so that he’s practically sitting on them, your knees press against the wall achingly and one of your thighs is pressing very insistently and directly between his legs.

  The strain in his voice is probably only half due to the uncomfortable, hunched position, and half because with every slight move you make, you’re essentially grinding your thigh against his crotch. It’s hard not to notice the situation, but for his–and your own–sake you pretend not to. 

  Unbeknownst to you, Sunday is fighting for his life. He hasn’t been touched by another… ever? Not like this, even if accidental. He feels the tips of his fingers prickle and his jaw clench unconsciously as he tries his best not to react outwardly. 

  “Okay… they should be gone now,” thankfully your hands were bent downwards, and thus you could push against the closet door with your elbow.

  But it doesn’t budge.

  You press again, nothing. It’s locked, or blocked by something. No matter how you try and push, the door doesn’t budge.

  “What is it?” Sunday frowns, he can’t see what you’re doing and the closet doesn’t have any holes or window on the door to allow light in. “Open it, just…”

  “It’s locked,” you interrupt him. 

  He says nothing… and you can almost sense the mixture of frustration and disappointment in him, but a soft, warm exhale fans over your face, it almost tickles. “Try again,” he urges surprisingly softly. “Perhaps it’s just stiff.”

  You do as he asks, but no luck. “… it doesn’t open.”

  Sunday clicks his tongue. “Alright—stop pushing, be still,” he nudges your head with his elbow. With every press against the door, your body pushes away from it—and your thigh flexes, pressing against him further. 

  There’s another beat of silence, but you can’t stand it—thankfully, an idea flashes in your mind and you decide to give him a heads up… this will require some wriggling. “Sunday, my phone is in my pocket, if I can get it and send a message to the Express group chat, someone must be able to come and pry the door open.” Never have you imagined a more useful task for Dan Heng’s spear.

  “Can you reach it?” he asks as you shift your arm from being stuck between your stomachs and squeeze it between your bodies. His eyes squint at the feeling. 

  You bite your lip in concentration. “Probably… but I’ll need to try and stretch my thighs and waist to fish it out…” 

  “I see…” he understands what that entails, but he’s not sure he likes the idea. “Can you reach my phone instead? It’s in my coat pocket.”

  You pat around his side and try to find it, it could be easier… but to reach down you have to try and bend forwards—which means pressing your forehead and face directly into his chest. The scarf wrapped around his collar is soft… and it smells nice, like cinnamon. Though his chest itself isn’t very soft, he’s rather skinny. 

  But no matter how you reached and even tried to tug his coat up, the pocket was too far down and his phone even deeper inside. There’s no other way.

  “I’m sorry,” you truly are, you don’t want to make him uncomfortable. “Maybe if we just wait…”

  “No,” he shakes his head and you feel his hair brush against your nose. “Just do it.”

  Deciding to try and just get it over with, you nod and start shimmying your back and ass upwards as much as you can to try and create space for you to be able to tug your phone out of your pocket. And it has the exact effect expected. 

  Sunday grunts, he tries to bite back any noise and his thighs twitch before he presses them against your hips tightly, as if trying to close his legs… it’s torturous, your thigh drags up and shifts and moves against him as you fish for your phone, he can’t even reach down to still your leg or tug at himself—anything, his arms are at too much of an awkward angle to be able to bend down in the tight space, so he’s stuck just enduring the searing heat that’s pooling dangerously easily between his legs. 

  Finally, you get a proper hold of it and drag your phone out of your pants pocket, you settle back down which elicits a sound from him that shoots through both of you like an arrow. “Sorry!” you quickly try and apologise, but the soft twitching of his body signals that the apology will do precious little.

  Sunday swallows thickly, so much so that you could hear it. His body was warm before, but now it feels like he’s radiating heat against you. He doesn’t want to say anything, worried his voice might not sound right—but the position you realigned into is pressing him almost painfully flat against himself… which also means he feels every small drag or shift you make. 

  You try to tilt your shoulders in a way that lets you see your phone screen… if you can just text the Express group chat that you’re stuck, surely someone can put off what they’re doing and come let you out. 

  It’s tricky to turn the phone in your hand with only one to spare and try to unlock it without seeing the screen, where even is the messaging app again? You just try your best to guess… until you try and type, which is when your phone tilts from your fingers and clatters to the ground.

  “…”

  “…”

  Fuck. 

  An exhale leaves Sunday. “You dropped your phone.”

  “… yeah,” you sound like a puppy being scolded by its owner. With your phone facing up on the floor, he could just barely see you giving him guilty dog side-eyes.

  He couldn’t explain the frustration it brought him that now no one knew of your positions—you had managed to send a … half-message… but it probably didn’t mean much to anyone. 

—

[17:42] You: slfep dmgwlsGn f

[17:43] March 7th ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ: Huh?

[17:46] Himeko: Probably put their phone unlocked in their pocket again...

[17:49] March 7th ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ: lol

—

  The light from your phone turned off as it was left untouched for too long, and you groaned slightly. Great… now what? Surely you’re not going to be stuck here forever.

  He wasn’t going to be able to keep his composure much longer, especially not when your damned body is pressed against his like this, the smell of your clothes and the occasional brush of your hands when you move them in the little space they can be moved. 

  It certainly doesn’t help that he finds you irresistible. 

  How could he, after his world had been turned—his beliefs, his ideals and his goals all turned from reaching forward, to halting in front of a mirror, forced to confront his reflection and pick out the flaws in his own mind before himself. 

  And you treated him just as you would any other person, despite what he had done, despite his false sense of benevolence that he still worked to understand how to redirect to something more realistic, how to understand what it is that drives... 

  His thoughts are interrupted—unfortunately, because it was distracting enough—when you pat his coat again to try and find his phone, but his skin begins to tingle every time you touch him, his poor body highly sensitive from the growing tension in his pants. “S-stop, be still—please,” he breathes, his voice suddenly far closer to your ear than it was before, his soft hair tickling your cheek. 

  Oh, that was…

  You’ve never heard his voice sound like that—not that you’ve known him for long enough to hear many of the pitches of his voice could make, but the way it rose slightly and cut off before pleading with you…

  Why do you want to hear it again?     “Sorry,” you say again, losing count of how many times you’ve said it already. “Are you okay?”

  He wouldn’t admit to his predicament with a gun to his head, but… it’s impossible to ignore, and there’s no way you don’t know either. He takes a deep—shaky—breath. “You can’t… move your leg?”

  You don’t want to lie to him and say yes, your knee is aching from being pressed so firmly against the wall of the closet, and your tailbone isn’t faring better against the other wall. You can pretty much only move it side to side unless you try and straighten your knee out—which as he felt earlier, was far worse. “Not really.”

  He swallows again, Sunday is glad he’s wearing gloves and that the closet is dark, or else you would have felt his sweaty hands or seen it on his brow by now. “I see.”

  He can’t stay like this much longer, his heart thunders against his chest, he hears it clearly as his breath hitches when he tries to provide himself some relief by shifting his hips to one side—but only proceeds to drag against you again, causing maddening friction that makes his thighs flex. 

  The tension in the air is so thick you’re not sure if it’s just the fact the closet doesn’t exactly have a vent, or that your nose is a hair’s width from Sunday’s neck, but it’s making your head feel lighter and your breaths deepen the more he tries to find more comfortable positions and fail, letting out short breaths or grunts. At this point he might as well just find the relief he’s desperately holding back from chasing. It would be less painful. 

  “Sunday,” his name falls from your lips quieter than you meant to, and surprisingly, your own name leaves him equally shyly. A simple breath that made your spine straighten instinctively—causing you to poke yourself in the eye on the ornament on his scarf. “Ow—“

  “Stop moving,” his tone sharpens and you feel a palm on your head. “… nhh—“  Sunday’s body twitches, you feel a throb against your thigh and he fears he’s going to burst if this continues. “…”

  But he can’t in his right mind just ask you if he can use your thigh to satisfy this torturous ache. 

  Thankfully, your mind is usually not ‘right’. “Hey,” you muster up some courage, it helps that neither of you can’t see anything. “If you need to…”

  “No,” he interrupts you, shaking his head—and a wing slaps you in the face, you feel like your face is taking too many swings today. “No, absolutely not.”

  “You sound like you’re about to cry.” His voice is tight, but not because he’s about to cry—he might, if this keeps going for too long—but because he’s reigning in every single willpower he has to hold himself still. “Will it be better if I do it?”

  He clicks his tongue, this entire situation could have been avoided if someone didn’t trigger the alarm. He could’ve gone about his day and not had to—yet again—confront a side of himself left neglected. “No… fine, let me.”

  It was… tentative, shy, as if he thought that short and subtle movements would mean you wouldn’t feel anything or not notice too much. Every shot of warmth from his waist to his fingers and toes made him shudder and his chest tighten, it was a fight on all fronts to both keep quiet and focus on being careful at the same time. 

  It was hard to watch, or rather listen to, as the dark was still all-encompassing. 

  Maybe he would feel better if he didn’t have to think about the uncomfortable silence in the darkness. 

  You can’t reach up, your hands stuck below your chests, otherwise you would have touched his face first. He likely wouldn’t have been as startled as he was when your lips suddenly—yet gently—pressed against his. 

  “Wh—mm you—doin—m—“ it’s almost comedic how his question is only half communicated, surprised and confused by the kiss that he slowly eases into, accepting your offer and splitting his attention. 

  His hips grind against your thigh, slow at first and uncertain, but as your mouth takes half his mind off of it, he begins to move more desperately. He’s been held at a precipice for so many minutes, an agonising hour that felt so long that he thought he would surely explode in some form if it were to continue for much longer. Sunday’s lips are surprisingly soft against yours, warm and inviting as he pushes back, his hand above your head that laid on it is now searching for purchase, as if he wants to take hold of you properly. 

  The two of you pull back to breathe, and Sunday wastes no time to duck his head next to yours, damp lips brushing past your temple and to your ear. He plants wet, open mouthed kisses below it, the sensitive skin tickled by the sensation as his tongue drags against the shell of your ear. 

  But he doesn’t give up, taken by the heated moment and relaxed barriers, his hips continue to cant against your thigh, his worldview narrowing to the sensation of your warm skin under his lips, to the delicious friction created by both your pants. “Hahh…“ he breathes out, a string of saliva separating his lips from your skin. 

  You move your leg in tandem to his grinding, you can’t help but feel his pleasure as if it were your own, the way his body trembles with strain, the breathy sounds below your chin and flex of his hips. You feel your own body respond and warmth pool needily, but you ignore it—he’s the one that’s been suffering for an hour in this stuffy space, you can wait… you try to convince yourself at least, ignoring the subtle throb of your own, at least it was just against air and not pressed against something as well—or perhaps that’s worse. 

  It’s embarrassing, Sunday echoes in the back of his mind, not only that he’s had to resort to this, but also the fact that he wants more. He doesn’t just want to rut against your thigh like this, he wants to touch you with his hands, trapped at an awkward angle over your shoulders. He wants to feel your own heat, the warmth radiating from your clothes against his a tempting tease, a longing of seeing what’s beneath. Your skin, your hair, your eyes, your neck, your lips—he wants to feel all of it. 

  Sunday mumbles your name again before his lips find your ear and the top of your throat once more, a hint of teeth as he captures your earlobe between them, a shiver running through you, you can hear his mouth and tongue so clearly... he kisses a reddened spot left below your ear from his single minded focus and his hips falter and his body twitches together, but he only succeeds in brushing his bangs against your chin and his small wings fluttering outward. The surge of heat emitting from his straining cock was unbearable, he moved faster, a breathy sound of your name on his lips again, Sunday says it for the third time as tension fills his body and all he can focus on is the warmth of your frame against his—a bit too tightly in the cramped closet—the soft warm breaths against his ear and the way your hands unconsciously started grabbing at his coat. 

  You feel him tense and groan, the choked sound foreign on his lips, you never expected to hear such a bodily sound from him, nor could you stop it from raising every hair on your arms. You hold onto him as he practically falls against you, Sunday’s breaths are heavy and his arms tremble by your head, his mind feels like it’s been tossed around a bit before stuffed back in upside down, he can’t straighten up or lie down and has to practically sit on your thigh. 

  “Are you okay?” you prod and poke at his stomach worriedly. “Was that okay? Are—“

  “Please… j-just… one moment,” he pleads, not ready to answer a barrage of questions just yet. His heart is beating so fast it almost worries him, his throat feels dry and his legs are weak. He did nothing but drag his crotch up and down your thigh and this is the state he’s left in? He can’t imagine how you would leave him if he got a real taste—

  He shakes his head and you splutter as you get a mouthful of feathers. “I… might have dirtied your pants,” he says shamefully, the sticky wetness between his legs left behind from the height of pleasure was surely going to stain you too. Though it felt good, certainly, he is having some post-clarity… for you to see him so tense and desperate as this—he always has a careful front, not more so than before, but the habit remains. 

  “I have more,” you try to assure him… you don’t have them with you, but you do own more. “So…”

  He presses his forehead against your shoulder. “… I don’t want to talk about it now.”

  A small smile cracks your lips and you stroke his side. “Okay, we‘ll talk later… how about a second grab for your phone? Now that you’re all, eh… spent?”

  “… don’t send anything until we’re dry.”

[rafecameronssl4t]

arranged marriage au reader where her postpartum depression is so bad. where she barley picks at her plate, and when the doctors check in on her , they scold her for not keeping healthy for the baby to feed off her. and it’s to the point where rafe has to leave a trip early bc it’s so bad

You know I'll come || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: incase you didn't read it before, make sure you read my important notice!!!

Warnings: ppd, angst, mention of fainting

Word count: 2,114

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

“Y/n, you can’t keep doing this to yourself,” James said with a sympathetic sigh, his gaze fixed on the monitor while you sat on the lounge, your eyes glazed over as you stared blankly at the coffee table. The room was eerily quiet, save for the soft hum of the monitor and the occasional rustle of Anita’s movements as she adjusted the blanket draped over your lap.

“This is the third time you’ve passed out this week. You were lucky Anita was there to catch you before you could have seriously injured yourself.” James exchanged a concerned look with Anita, who stood close by with a worried expression. The gentle, almost maternal way Anita fussed over you spoke volumes about her deep concern.

“You must eat. Your body needs proper nourishment, not just for yourself but for Leo as well.” At the mention of your son, your eyes flickered up from the table, the name ‘Leo’ momentarily pulling you from your daze. “Where is he?” you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper as you attempted to sit up, only to be gently restrained by James.

“Leo is asleep,” Anita said softly, her tone soothing. She moved closer, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder as if to offer reassurance. James continued, his voice gentle but insistent, “Rafe has been informed of your condition and has decided to come home early. He’ll be arriving tomorrow morning.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, the confusion evident on your face. “Rafe isn’t supposed to be here until Friday,” you said, your voice tinged with disbelief as you tried to process the unexpected news. “Rafe is aware of how unwell you are right now. He deemed it necessary to return home early,” James explained, his tone gentle but firm.

Your mouth parted in a silent response, the weight of the news settling heavily on your shoulders. James continued gently, “But for now, you should rest. Take these, they’ll help you sleep.” He extended a small container of medicine towards you. With a grateful nod, you accepted the tablets, feeling their cool, smooth surface against your fingertips.

You placed them in your mouth and swallowed, the slight bitterness leaving a fleeting aftertaste. As the medicine began to take effect, James and Anita exchanged a look of quiet concern. The room felt heavy with the unspoken tension of your fragile state, and the soft rustling of the blanket seemed to amplify the stillness. You leaned back, letting the exhaustion overtake you, the weight of the day’s events and Rafe’s imminent arrival already beginning to blur into the dim haze of impending sleep.

~

"Mr. Cameron, there’s news from Mr. Berkeley concerning your wife," Kate’s voice broke the quiet atmosphere of the plane as she approached Rafe, her iPad in hand. She hesitated for a moment, gauging his mood, knowing that any news related to you could quickly shift his temper. Rafe looked up from his laptop, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly, already bracing for the worst.

"What’s happened now?" His tone was clipped, the edge in his voice betraying the unease that simmered beneath his composed exterior. Kate took a breath, her fingers gripping the iPad a little tighter. "Mrs. Cameron fainted for the third time this week while walking down the stairs—" Before she could finish, Rafe’s expression darkened, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

"Is she injured? Is Leo okay?" His words, though direct, held an unmistakable undertone of worry that he barely managed to suppress. Kate glanced up from her iPad, her eyes meeting his with cautious reassurance. "No, sir. Y/n isn’t injured, and Leo wasn’t with her at the time." A small, almost imperceptible sigh escaped Rafe as he leaned back in his seat, his hand moving to rub his temples.

The initial wave of panic subsided, but the underlying concern remained, gnawing at him. He closed his laptop with a resounding thud, the noise loud in the otherwise still cabin. "And this is because she isn’t eating well?" he asked, his voice flat but laced with frustration. "Yes, sir. Mr. Berkeley mentioned that Y/n has been struggling to finish her meals," Kate explained, her tone professional yet careful, aware of how delicate the situation had become.

Rafe scoffed, shaking his head in exasperation. "Of course she is," he muttered under his breath, his frustration bubbling to the surface. He stood abruptly, the tension in his body clear as his jaw tightened, hands flexing at his sides. The weight of responsibility, of having to constantly manage his wife’s well-being, pressed down on him. The sound of the plane’s engine hummed softly in the background, creating a quiet that felt too heavy, too filled with thoughts he didn’t want to dwell on.

His thoughts raced, caught between his commitments and the deepening worry that had taken root. Rafe’s decision was swift. "Tell Anthony to turn this plane around. We’re going back to Kildare." Kate blinked, momentarily taken aback by the sharpness of his command. "But, sir—" she began, her voice hesitant. "Did you not hear what I said?" Rafe snapped, his tone cold and commanding now. His patience, already thin, was gone. "Tell him to turn this plane around. Now." His blue eyes, usually so controlled, flashed with intensity as he stared her down.

Kate swallowed hard, nodding quickly before turning on her heel and making her way to the cockpit without another word. The weight of his anger, his concern for you, and the complicated web of their marriage hung in the air even after she left. Rafe stood there for a moment, alone in the silence. His fists clenched as he stared out the window at the endless expanse of sky, his mind already filled with thoughts of what awaited him back home.

~

"Where is she?" Rafe's voice echoed sharply through the grand foyer as he shrugged off his blazer, his tone tense but controlled. Anita, always efficient and poised, was quick to take his suitcase from his hand. "She’s currently asleep on the sofa. Mr. Berkeley just left a couple of minutes ago," Anita informed him, her voice soft, trying to keep the atmosphere calm.

Rafe nodded, his expression tight as they walked deeper into the house, the weight of the past week’s events evident in his stride. "How is she?" he asked, his voice dropping to a quieter, almost hesitant tone. His usual composure was cracking, revealing the concern he so rarely let show. Anita glanced up at him, catching the rare flicker of vulnerability in his face.

A small, knowing smile tugged at her lips, sensing the subtle change in his demeanor. "She’s doing better. She ate a full meal last night and this morning," she replied, her words laced with reassurance. Rafe’s shoulders visibly relaxed at the news, though only slightly. "Good," he murmured, more to himself than to her.

As they reached the living room, the soft flicker of the TV caught his attention. The sound of cartoon characters filled the room, a stark contrast to the heavy emotions swirling inside him. Rounding the corner of the sofa, his eyes landed on you—fast asleep, curled up with the blanket tucked around you. Your exhaustion was evident, your face peaceful but pale.

However, Leo was wide awake, his small hands reaching out as he lay nestled beside you. Rafe's heart softened at the sight of his son, so innocent and oblivious to the storm brewing around him. Gently, Rafe scooped Leo up into his arms, cradling him with a tenderness that few ever saw. He pressed a kiss to Leo’s cheek, the gesture instinctive, as if grounding himself in the quiet moment.

Without a word, he turned off the TV, silencing the cartoons as the room fell into a soft hush. For a moment, Rafe stood there, holding Leo, his eyes drifting back to you, wondering how things had reached this point—his life so far from what he’d imagined, and yet, here he was, tethered to this quiet moment with you and Leo, torn between frustration, duty, and something he wasn’t ready to admit.

Rafe gently pulled the blanket further up your body, his fingers brushing the soft fabric as he ensured you were as comfortable as possible. For a moment, he lingered, his gaze softening as he watched you sleep, the rise and fall of your chest steady and peaceful. There was a quiet vulnerability about you now that tugged at something deep inside him—a feeling he didn’t often allow himself to dwell on.

With a quiet sigh, he turned away, careful not to wake you. As he walked toward the door, he called out, “Anita?” Anita appeared almost instantly, her usual calm and attentive presence filling the room. “Yes, Mr. Cameron?” she asked, her voice respectful but warm. “Have the chef prepare Y/n’s favourite meals,” he instructed, his tone firm yet carrying an unspoken urgency. “I want her to be eating properly, no excuses.”

His gaze flicked back to you for a second, as though making sure you were still resting soundly. Anita nodded, understanding the weight behind his words. “Of course, sir. I’ll take care of it immediately.” Satisfied, Rafe adjusted Leo in his arms, holding him close as he glanced back at you one last time before stepping out of the room. “Leo and I will be outside by the pool,” he added, his voice a little quieter now, as if the tension from earlier had begun to ebb slightly.

Anita nodded again, watching as Rafe walked away, his steps quiet and measured, the sound of Leo’s soft babbling accompanying him as they made their way toward the open terrace. There, Rafe hoped the fresh air and the familiar comfort of home might bring him some clarity as he processed everything—his thoughts still tethered to you even as he tried to focus on his son.

~

Feeling a gentle hand on his shoulder, Rafe looked up, surprised to see you standing beside him. The colour had returned to your cheeks, and there was a small but genuine smile on your face. For a brief moment, relief softened his usually guarded expression. “How are you feeling?” he asked quietly, careful not to disturb Leo, who was napping peacefully on his chest.

You offered him another soft smile, walking around to sit on the lounge chair beside him. Your eyes lingered on the still waters of the pool, the calm reflection contrasting with the heaviness in the air. “I’m fine,” you replied, though your gaze remained fixed ahead. Rafe’s eyes stayed on you, his expression stern, not easily convinced by your words. “Did you eat?”

His tone was sharp, but there was an undercurrent of concern that you couldn’t ignore. You nodded slowly, though the hesitation in your movement gave away the effort it took. “I’m sorry you had to cut your trip short—” you began, wanting to apologise for the disruption, but Rafe quickly cut you off. “Don’t.” His voice was firm, leaving no room for further apologies.

He pressed a light kiss to the top of Leo’s head, his eyes briefly softening as he did so. “There’s no excuse for you to not eat,” he continued, his voice hardening again, as though the frustration he’d been holding back was finally spilling out. You looked at him, studying his side profile as he avoided your gaze.

His jaw was clenched, tension radiating from him, but it wasn’t the anger that struck you—it was the concern buried beneath it. You knew this dynamic between you, this mixture of obligation and care, was a complicated dance neither of you had perfected. Your fingers absentmindedly twisted the ring on your finger, a physical reminder of the ties that bound you both. “At least Leo is doing okay,” Rafe muttered, his voice softening as he made eye contact with you.

“That’s all that matters.” But the moment the words left his lips, he saw the shift in your expression. There was something in your eyes—an unspoken sadness, a flicker of something deeper that you kept buried. You swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in your throat. “Of course,” you replied, your voice steady despite the weight in your chest. You stood up slowly, your body feeling heavier than it had a moment ago.

“I’ll head back inside,” you murmured, already turning to leave. Rafe watched you move, the silence between you thick and uncomfortable. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but the words seemed to stick in his throat. Instead, he refocused on Leo’s sleeping form, his hand gently cradling his son’s small body as the feeling of missed opportunity settled heavily around him.

[harrysfolklore]

yn piastri fretting over oscar’s broken rib and oscar’s like, “gee you’re worst than mum” & nicole’s just like, “yeah i don’t need to worry about oscar when yn’s around”

the rumors are true: i'm obsessed with writing this little scenarios

read little bitch here

"Are you absolutely sure you're comfortable? Maybe we should prop you up a bit more," you hover anxiously over Oscar, adjusting his pillow for the third time in as many minutes." Oh, and do you need more ice? I can run and get some. Actually, should we call the doctor again? Just to double-check everything's okay?"

"YN, I'm fine," Oscar groans, "It's just a broken rib, not the end of the world. I'll be racing in Hungary next weekend anyway."

"What? No, absolutely not!" your eyes widen in alarm. "You can't race with a broken rib, Oscar. That's insane!"

Oscar rolls his eyes dramatically. "It's cracked, not broken. And I've been cleared by the medical team," he stresses, "You're worse that mum sometimes."

From her seat in the corner, Nicole chuckles. "Oh yeah, I don't even have to worry about you when your sister is around. She's got the overprotective mother role covered."

"Thanks, Mum," you say, turning to her. "My therapist has great opinions about it. She says my anxiety comes from a place of love."

"Yeah, well, your love is suffocating me right now," Oscar snorts.

"Osc, I'm just worried about you," you stressed again, "It's too dangerous. What if you crash? What if your rib punctures a lung? What if-"

"What if aliens invade during the race?" Oscar interrupts, mimicking your concerned tone. "What if a meteor hits the track? What if I suddenly forget how to drive?"

"This isn't funny, Oscar! I'm serious!"

"So am I! Carlos nearly drove with a burst appendix, and he was fine!"

Carlos, who's been quietly watching the siblings' back-and-forth like a tennis match, pipes up. "Well, 'fine' might be stretching it. I was in quite a bit of pain, actually."

You whirled on Carlos, who suddenly looked very interested in the ceiling. "Oh, don't even get me started on that piece of stupidity!"

"In my defense," Carlos cleared his throat awkwardly. "I didn't actually race…"

"Only because the team had more sense than you did!" you exclaimed.

"Back when you pretended to hate Carlos but you were at the edge of your seat worrying the entire time he was at the hospital," Oscar teased, making you roll your eyes.

"That's not the point right now," you crosses your arms over your chest, glaring at Oscar. "We're talking about your safety, not my past… concerns."

"Oh, but I think it is relevant," Oscar grins mischievously, sensing an opportunity. "Remember how you kept texting the group chat every five minutes when Carlos was in the hospital? 'Just being a decent human being,' you said. As if we couldn't see right through you."

You feel your cheeks heat up, aware of Carlos' gaze on you. "That's... that's completely irrelevant," you stammer.

"Is that so, hermosa?" Carlos chuckles softly, moving to stand beside you. "I didn't know you cared so much back then."

You shoot Carlos a look that's half embarrassment, half exasperation. "Don't you start. And you," you turn back to Oscar, pointing an accusing finger, "stop trying to change the subject. We're talking about your cracked rib and your ridiculous idea to race with it."

Nicole, who's been watching the exchange with poorly concealed amusement, decides to intervene. "Alright, kids, let's all take a breath. YN, honey, I understand you're worried. But Oscar's right - he's been cleared by the medical team. They wouldn't let him race if it wasn't safe."

"But-" you start to protest, only to be cut off by Oscar.

"No buts," he says firmly. "I appreciate the concern, sis, I really do. But this is my job, and sometimes it comes with risks. I promise I'll be careful, okay?"

You sigh, feeling your resolve weaken. "Fine. But I swear, Oscar, if you so much as wince during that race, I'm storming the track myself."

"Now that I'd pay to see. YN vs. Formula 1 security," Carlos jokes, "My money's on you, mi amor."

As you and Oscar continue to bicker, your mom and Carlos exchange amused glances. Carlos leans towards her, speaking in a low voice.

"Has YN always been like this?" he asks, a fond smile playing on his lips as he watches you fuss over Oscar.

"Oh, you have no idea," Nicole chuckles softly. "This is actually quite mild compared to when they were kids. There was this one time when Oscar was about seven, and he fell off his bike. Scraped his knee pretty badly. YN, who was ten at the time, went into full nurse mode."

"What did she do?" Carlos raises an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Well," she continues, "She insisted on 'quarantining' Oscar in his room for a week, claiming he needed complete bed rest. She even made a 'Do Not Disturb: Patient Recovering' sign for his door. Poor Oscar was going stir-crazy by day two, but YN wouldn't let him leave. She brought him all his meals, read him stories, everything."

Carlos can't help but laugh at the image. "That sounds exactly like something she would do."

"Oh, it gets better," Nicole grins. "When I finally convinced her that Oscar was fine to go outside, she insisted on wrapping him in bubble wrap before he could ride his bike again. Said it was 'necessary protective gear'. Oscar looked like a little astronaut waddling down the street."

Their laughter catches your attention, and you pause in your debate with Oscar about the dangers of racing with a cracked rib. "What's so funny?" you ask suspiciously.

Before Nicole can respond, Oscar, catching on to the conversation, groans dramatically. "Oh god, Mum, please tell me you're not telling the bubble wrap story."

Your eyes widen in realization, and you feel a blush creeping up your neck. "Mum! You promised never to mention that again!"

Carlos, still chuckling, wraps an arm around your waist. "I think it's adorable, hermosa. You've always been a protector."

"Well control your girlfriend! She's trying to bubble wrap me again, I swear!"

"I am not! Although..." you trail off, a mischievous glint in your eye, "it's not a bad idea for the race. Extra padding couldn't hurt, right?"

"YN, no!"

[boysmentfs]

The trip to the beach.

A collaboration with @misctf .

Steve was the most cliché of the word "nerd" with only 5'4 tall, with pimples and with irritating little voice he was the target for the jock boys in his university. But despite being victim of sneers and bullying, he was the happiest student in college, he always smiled, helped people and was quite studious. So the mockery towards him mattered little to him. Today was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, Steve was studying hard in his room, he didn't have any plans for today and he didn't care to have one either, his parents were not home so he enjoyed being alone quietly until someone knocked on his house door.

"Who could it be?" Steve sighed, “I’m really behind on my work.” He looked at the essay he was in the midst of completing, “I should...” The second knock was louder, “Must be important.”

Steve quickly made his way to the front door. As he went to open it, he paused. He could hear the boisterous laughter from the other side, the frequent use of the word ‘bro’, and a few belches. His stomach dropped.

“What could they possibly want?” Steve thought miserably, “I should really...” He sighed. It wasn’t in his nature to just ignore someone. What if they needed help?

“Oh shit! Look who it is! What’s up lil’ bro?” Garrett laughed, emphasizing the word ‘lil’. He put his arms behind his head, his biceps bulging.

“Uh hey.” Steve stammered, “Uhm, I...I...” His mind was racing, trying not to stare. Garrett was rather good-looking- dark hair and eyes, his chiseled face framed by a well-groomed, short beard. And looking further down, it was obvious that his years on the baseball team did wonders for his body- all of which was framed nicely in his tight tank-top, “Sorry, just studying today.” Steve blushed, mentally admonishing himself for making it so obvious that he had a thing for the star pitches on the team.

"Studying?! Lil’ dude, come on.” Garrett groaned, nudging one of the other jocks, “Seriously dude, how lame. How about this? We came here to invite you to the beach.” He placed his firm rugged hand on Steve’s shoulder and grinned, “Lil’ dude, it’s gonna be fuckin’ lit. Cheerleaders, booze, you name it. When’s the last time you did something like that, huh lil’ dude?”

Hearing this, Steve raised an eyebrow. None of these things were as appealing to him as Garrett likely thought they’d be. Although, the naively optimistic part of Steve wanted to imagine this could be the start of a friendship with Garrett. Part of him yearning for closeness with the jock. But Steve shook his head before adjusting his glasses- on what planet would he ever be friends with Garrett?

"I don't want to be rude or offensive, but why are you inviting me?” Steve questioned, “Jake and Logan were just bullying me the other day.” The two jocks behind Garrett snickered, earning them a disapproving look from Garrett.

"I know... Dude, but believe me we want to make peace, me and my bros promise we won't make fun of you again!” Garrett replied, no hint of insincerity in his tone, “Besides, it's Saturday and being at home? It's boring as hell."

Steve sighed, mulling over the offer. Would it be nice not to be bullied by these meatheads? Yeah. Would it be nice to spend time with Garrett? Yeah. Did he really think they’d make peace after this? Steve sighed again- the rational part of him saying to shut the door. The other saying to give these bros a chance.

"Okay, okay... I’ll go.” Steve said, the uncertainty of his choice evident in his voice.

“Oh sick lil’ bruh, but like, don’t sound too disappointed.” Garrett laughed, slapping him on the back and knocking the wind out of his small frame.

“But really, I’m doing this to make peace.” Steve insisted, “No funny business.” He tried to sound confident and stern. Garrett smiled and gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up, “Oh and..." Steve bit his lip, “This is so embarrassing but it’s been so long since I’ve been to the beach. I don’t really have any appropriate swimwear.”

"That shouldn't worry you bro! Give me a second." Garret grinned, “You’re just in luck, lil’ dude.” Garrett seemed way too excited, “Check out these!” His bro reached into a bag and handed him some green shorts with a bit of blue and gave them to Steve. "Here! These shorts belonged to one of our bros. Well former bro. He went on to bigger and better things.” Garrett sighed, “Internship or some shit. Brains and brawn, can you believe it?” The other jocks snickered.

Steve looked at the shorts and made a face of disgust. Did Garrett and his bros really think he would wear someone else’s shorts? Why did they seem to have them ready too? Steve awkwardly grabbed the shorts, and looked back over at the group of jocks.

"Garrett... I uh." Steve could see the look of excitement in Garrett’s eyes. Like he was proud of something, “I don’t really feel comfortable wearing another guy’s shorts. And besides, these aren’t going to fit me."

“And why not, lil bro? I wear my bro’s stuff all the time.” Garrett grinned, “I understand that you don't have the same muscle mass as us, but they’re shorts, shorts look good on everyone."

"Yes... but..." Steve sighed- how was he going to make these oafs understand his discomfort when they clearly had no shame?

"Dude, just get changed. We’ll wait here for you." Garrett grinned, “Come on bros, I’ll get the car started. I got a bomb playlist.”

Steve watched as they walked back to their car, all chuckling and talking about their beach plans. And before long, loud obnoxious music filled the air. Steve cringed, worrying what his neighbors might think of the loud music.

“The faster I get this on, the faster we get out of here.” Steve figured, walking back to his room.

Once there, he quickly undressed and examined himself in the mirror. He frowned as he examined his short and lanky frame- his skin pale from the hours spent indoors studying. His brown hair a curly mess atop his head. Nothing compared to the healthy tans and meaty muscles Garrett and his bros sported. Steve shook his head, ignoring these negative thoughts. Instead, he turned his attention to the pair of shorts in his hand.

"This is so disgusting...” Steve mumbled, taking a whiff of them, “Oh god, did they even wash this?” Steve was instantly teleported back to his high school locker room- the smell wafting from these shorts an unpleasant reminder of his days in gym class, “What have I gotten myself into?”

He grimaced as he slowly pulled the shorts up his skinny legs, where they rested over his Marvel boxer briefs. Yet despite his initial disgust, he was surprised to see how well they fit. He figured he owed Garrett some credit- shorts do look good on anyone. Steve walked over to his closet, rummaging around until he found on of his old discarded tank-tops. After placing that over his skinny frame, he smiled.

“Okay, I kind of look the part.” He commented, flexing his skinny arm, “Almost.” He laughed, thinking how ridiculous he must’ve looked.

And as he turned away from the mirror, he felt a wave of vertigo wash over him. He stumbled forward, catching himself against a wall. Steve groaned and wiped some sweat from his forehead, trying to make sense of the sudden dizziness. But as quickly as it had come on, it had passed. And Steve awkwardly walked to the front door, each step feeling somewhat heavier and requiring more focus.

“Oh lil’ dude, you look great!” Garrett said, approaching him, “You’re more than ready for the beach.” He raised an eyebrow, “Ah wait, lil’ dude you forgot your shoes. Logan! Grab ‘em a pair from the trunk.”

Steve only nodded, not really paying all that much attention. His mind felt foggy, his body heavier. When Logan threw the pair of worn-out sandals at his feet, Steve just slid them on. They were clearly too large for him, but he didn’t have the mental bandwidth to make a comment.

“Lookin’ good on ya!” Garrett grinned, putting an arm around Steve’s shoulder and leading him to the car, “God, you reek, lil’ dude.”

Steve shook his head, “No... it’s... it’s the shorts.” He replied, “They smell...”

“Sure, sure lil’ dude.” Garrett chuckled.

Steve wanted to say something in response, but he felt a slight achiness in his feet. And when he looked down, he could have sworn that they looked bigger and now sporting tufts of hair. In that moment, Steve could’ve also sworn that his nostrils were being invaded by an increasingly intense odor- reminiscent of the locker room but somehow worse. Sour and musky, all at once.

“Alrighty lil’ dude, get in.” Garrett said, "Let's go!"

Steve could barely focus. The smells, the boisterous laughter, and the blaring laughter from the bros around him. He grimaced as a can of beer rolled around in the backseat, hitting his foot. He watched as Logan reached down and smirked, before shot gunning the can of beer while his bros cheered.

“Lil’ bro, why don’t you try one?” Garrett asked from the driver’s seat, “Pregame for me, since I’m drivin’ and shit.”

“I’m good.” Steve replied, clearing his throat. His voice sounded off, “I’m not feeling too...”

A beer was thrust against his skinny chest and he looked over at Logan, who had a wide grin on his face. Steve held the beer, staring at it closely. And with his meatier hands, cracked it open. Steve never drank- it wasn’t his thing. But as he cracked open the can, he felt compelled. He was gonna chug it. And as the bros cheered him on, Steve did just that. As he did, he couldn’t possibly realize the bulge in his shorts was growing. His member growing in size, going from a measly 5 centimeters to an astonishing 14 centimeters, a dense forest of pubes sprouting around his new member.

“Buuuuuuuurrrrrppppppppp.” Steve grinned slightly as he crushed the can in his hand as his bros cheered, “That wasn’t so bad.”

“Fuck yeah lil’ dude!” Garrett cheered from the front.

“That was sick bruh!” Logan playfully punched Steve’s arm.

Steve looked down at where Logan punched him and his eyes widened. His arms... his skinny arms... they looked bigger? More defined. Muscles Steve knew he had but never saw were suddenly becoming quite obvious to the naked eye. He looked up at Logan and then up to Garrett.

“Hey somethin’s...” Steve froze. That baritone voice couldn’t possibly be...

But no one paid him any attention. They were going on about the cheerleaders, although Steve noticed Garrett was oddly quiet during the conversation. Occasionally glancing at Steve through the mirror. Steve stirred uncomfortably as Garrett stole glances at him. Why did he keep looking at him? He blushed slightly, trying to appear smaller, but his growing pecs and widening frame made that difficult. He was taking up more space now, becoming uncomfortably close to Logan.

“Dude, can you...”

“Not my fault this car’s so fuckin’ small.” Steve’s eyes widened. He would never talk like that, “What the fuck?” The fogginess in his mind was starting to dissipate. He was becoming acutely aware of his newly massive frame, enlarging pecs, and arms that looked more like tree-trunks than sticks.

Garrett turned to look at him and smiled. "What's wrong bro? You look good.”

“I... don’t... fuckin’...” Steve groaned as his tank-top ripped and he tossed the ruined fabric into the trunk.

He grunted as his muscles pulsed again and again. His frame expanding larger and larger, while Logan just grinned, despite losing more room in the back of the car. Steve gasped as small blond hairs erupted from his massive arms and traveled up. And when they finished coating his massive forearms, the hair in his pits exploded into a dense, musky forest. He grimaced at the smell wafting from them, yet at time went on, the smell was becoming familiar. Somewhat nice actually. He brought his hands to his head as his head started pounding. And in the car’s mirror, he saw that his hair was becoming blond. His curly locks reshaping into a sporty cut. His face becoming sharp and defined, his lips puffing up and forming into a permanent smirk.

“Eric, bruh, you good?” Garrett asked.

Steve let out a baritone groan, “Nah bruh, who the fuck’s Eric?” He grabbed his head again, “That’s... not... my... name...”

As he made eye contact with Garrett, he could feel it. A set of memories. Gym sessions with Garrett. Going to sporting events. Playing videogames. Waking up in each other’s arms... tearing each other’s clothes off... fucking... Steve realized in that moment. Garrett and Eric. They were more than frat bros... they were... A small smile formed on Steve’s lips as he felt Eric’s personality and mind overtake his. And in that moment, he came. The climax so intense that he passed out in the back seat.

“Took him long enough.” Logan chuckled, “You happy Garrett?”

Garrett nodded and parked the car, “Alright bros, give him some time to rest.” Garrett smiled at his sleeping boyfriend, “I’ll be right behind you all.”

As his bros started walking to the beach, Garrett opened backseat door and smiled at his hunk of a boyfriend. He ran a hand down his jaw and gave him a quick kiss, before grabbing his cum-soaked shorts.

“Was hoping you’d save that for me.” Garrett smirked, “But all good, bruh.” He kissed him on the cheek, before quietly shutting the door. He’d let Eric get some rest- besides, they had a long night ahead of them.