#I could and it would take me five seconds

[starkeyisthelastname]

an idea inspired by the amazing @nemesyaaa ❄️ a little ski lift fun with dilf/husband!rafe 😍

Getting to travel to some of the most beautiful mountains was one of your favorite things to do with Rafe and the kids. You weren’t much one for skiing as that was something Rafe usually did with your son. You and your daughter would always be cozied up in the luxury cabin with cups of hot chocolate and scrolling through your phones doing some online shopping.

You should have known when Rafe decided to plan a trip to a set of beautiful snowy mountains that he was going to make you ski with him. You definitely were dressed the part, but were a little nervous as being athletic was his thing not yours. As the two of you settled into the closed-in ski lift, you were freezing. Maybe the Moncler puffer you had decided to wear wasn’t going to keep you as warm as you had originally thought.

You sat in his lap, Louis Vuitton ski goggles pushed to your forehead as the lift began to leave the station. It was a five minute trek up the mountain and you weren’t looking forward to it. Of course Rafe noticed this, his large hands squeezing your waist. “What’s going on baby?” He asked with a low hum, his chin resting on your shoulder. Although the shiver that came after he asked that, made him let out a chuckle. “I told you this wasn’t going to keep you warm enough darling. But you don’t listen to me ever.” He mumbled, kissing your neck.

You wanted to roll your eyes, but he knew you too well. “You keep me warm then.” You said, looking back into those blue eyes you could never yet enough of. He knew exactly what you meant, and as he sucked in his breath it was over with. As soon as his thick cock filled you up, you instantly felt instant warmth. The two of you didn’t have much time before the ski lift would reach the other side of the mountain.

“There you go baby, ride that dick for me. Warm yourself up.” He groaned, his deep voice vibrating against the smooth skin of your neck. He knew this was risky, but at the end of the day there was nothing better than his wife’s warm wet cunt wrapped tightly around his length. He held your hips tightly, helping you bounce up and down to get you closer to an orgasm. As much as he wanted to fuck you longer, it would only be a few minutes before the lift would stop. “You better fucking hurry.” His voice raspy and demanding.

It didn’t take much for Rafe to leave you a babbling mess, especially with a dick as big as his. Your pretty moans echoed off the small space, your lower stomach growing hotter by the second. His tongue circled the diamond earring you wore, his words dirty as he began to whisper. “Come on, you know daddy will fuck you for however long you want later. Right now you better cum all over this fucking dick. I know this pretty pussy wants to be filled before we get there.” His tone rough as he squeezed your fleshy hips.

That’s all it took for your orgasm to wash over, your body shaking against his muscular frame as you threw your head back. “Rafe…” You mewled out, your pussy clenching tightly around his dick. You couldn’t help but let out a squeal as he slammed you up and down, a loud grunt leaving his mouth. “Yeah… take daddy’s cum. You aren’t gonna waste a fucking drop either.” He told you firmly. With the stop just seconds away, let’s just say you spent your ski lesson with your lace panties soaked in his nut.

[mywritersmind]

NOT SO HAPPY HOLIDAYS - LN4

↳pt.5

christmas special

part one - part two - part three - part four

summary : As the days start getting closer to Christmas, you find yourself even more comfortable with your previous enemy. In a drunken spirit and ego boosted from karaoke, Lando can’t control his words. Even when Max finds you two in bed together.

og summary : Spending Christmas with my brothers best friend isn’t my ideal way to celebrate. With my parents in the maldives and my ex calling me non stop, I was hoping for a small town cozy christmas! I was going to get that with Max and his girlfriend until Lando Norris worked his way into the mix.

listen up : dual pov! alcohol! swearing! drunk lando!

words : 3334

⋆｡‧˚⋆

“Lando. Listen to me.” Oscar says over the phone, his voice registering in my brain but being distinctly distracted by two women taking instagram photos next to me.

“I am listening.” I mumble, watching Y/n turn and smile at the camera. My phone vibrates in my hand and I see that Oscar has requested facetime instead.

“What?” I look at the man who’s sitting in the sun and probably at the beach, “Can you pay attention for two seconds? I don’t want to be talking about work either.”

I sigh, turning away from the girls, “Can I ask you something?” I walk farther away just in case they can hear me.

Oscar groans at me still being off topic, “Shoot.”

“How did you know Lily fancied you?”

His brow jolts up, “I mean, We were pretty young, I just remember that she spoke to me a lot and she-” Lily pops her head in the call now.

“Don't listen to him, Lando! He was absolutely oblivious even though I was literally a giggling school girl around him.”

Oscar looks at her lovingly, “You were quite smiley.”

“Okay wrap it up lovebirds.” I roll my eyes.

Lily leaves and Oscar looks at me quizzically again, “So, who do you like so much that would possess you to ask that question?” I stay quiet for a moment, glancing back at Y/n who’s backlit by the sun, “Aren’t you with your family? Or Max and his girlfriend right?”

“No one. I’m just curious.” Deny deny deny.

He hums, “Wait… Doesn't Max have that sister you stalked all year-”

“Okay bye Oscar!”

He scrambles to get words in, “Wait we still need to talk about-”

I hang up on him.

⋆༺

Max and I have been kicked out by our the women. More like I was kicked out and Max was just craving a coffee. It’s not my fault I can’t cook!

After almost catching Y/n’s hair on fire, I was banished to the little coffee shop that’s been getting us through this week.

The barista hands us our coffees and one hot chocolate for Y/n. Max and I walk slowly to our car, looking at the scenery on the way. “I’m excited for Christmas.”

I smile as Max hums, “You’re awfully chipper.” He gives me a side eye and a smirk, to which I promptly shove him, “Ugh! I do not want to know!”

He laughs, “I know that P teases you about it, But I really do think a girlfriend would be good for you.”

I don’t just want a girlfriend. I want Y/n. I kick a rock at my feet, mumbling, “Yeah I doubt that.” I meant that he wouldn’t want me to have a girlfriend if it was his sister, just he scoffs.

“Think about it! This year was completely fucked and yeah a lot of good shit happened but imagine how much easier the bad shit would be if you were in love.”

“You’re disgusting. Us ten years ago would be gagging at this conversation.”

He’s smiling still, “Yeah and that’s because I am in love.” I roll my eyes at his cheesy ass, “How do you have no roster, mate? It’s honestly embarrassing.”

“Maybe I do.” I sip my coffee, “I don’t have to tell you everything.”

“Maybe i’m just hanging out with Y/n and P too much, their best friend girly vibes are fun.” He points to me, “Still, it’s break! Get your groove on!”

I walk faster, shaking my head. “Groove? I’m going to leave you in the snow.”

⋆༺

you

I’m in a mini dress in the snow. What could go wrong?

I slip five minutes out the door which makes Lando’s arm become my new best friend even though my faux fur coat keeps tickling him.

We may or may not have pregamed for the tiny local bar which has me slipping on ice. “Four jolly jolly shots please…” Lando reads off the bar's menu, laughing a bit.

He looks good. Like really really good. His curls are perfect as usual and when he leans over to talk to the bartender, his dark green shirt tugs against his arms.

My brothers arm goes around my neck, tugging me and laughing, “Merry Christmas, sis!”

“Let go of me you vermin!”

“Shots!” P sings, handing me mine.

“Cheers to us!” Max grins, holding his tiny glass up.

“Cheers to Christmas.” P smiles happily.

Lando taps his glass on the table along with us, winking at me, “Cheers.” We all down the weird peppermint alcohol and swiftly make our way to the dance floor.

We sing along to shitty music and dance together in a crowd of college kids home for break, and their parents.

Lando’s hand finds my waist and is quickly slapped away. He gives me a pouty look which I find annoyingly attractive and quickly turns it into a smirk.

I down my drink, spinning back to my friends and dodging a guy and his friends. “Hey!” The guy smirks and I accidentally laugh in his face, he looks about five years younger than me and is staring at my chest.

I find my friends laughing and drinking with a random man who sort of looks like santa.

“Y/n!” Lando puts his arm around me which I promptly pull off.

“Aren’t you busy trying to hook up with a tourist?” I blink at him while my brother and P are distracted.

He leans in a bit, “You’re a tourist, aren’t you?”

“You trying to get in my pants, Norris?” This makes him smile.

“I’m familiar with the area.”

I find myself at the bar again, but this time I order water. P and I giggle at the sight of Max and Lando just standing there looking lost without us.

“I’m really proud of you.” P says out of the blue.

I frown, “Thanks? I’m proud of you too.”

“I just mean… you’ve been through a lot.” I know what she means. My ex. “And you’re the best person I know.”

I smile, “I adore you, P.”

The truth is, my ex cheating really did break me. But I already knew something was wrong. I wasn’t being treated correctly and honestly breaking up with him was not on the top of my to-do list.

P was always there for me, my brother is a lot to handle and sometimes I just need a girl to talk to. That girl for me is P.

She pops back to her boyfriend while my water gets refilled. I swear this altitude is fucking with me, i’m so thirsty all the time.

“Hi.” I'm about to yell at the college guy who approaches me, until I realize there is no way this man is under twenty five.

“Oh! Hi.” I smile politely and tap the bar.

I clock his douchy attitude as soon as his ringed hand (which definitely came from shein) and patchwork tattoos land on the bar, clearly flexing.

“You’re gorgeous… Sorry, I just had to tell you!” He acts shy, like it’s horribly embarrassing to hit on. woman.

“Thank you…” Is all I can say before he continues.

“I’m Seth!” He’s australian… I think? He’s got short hair with dark skin that makes his eyes pop. “Are you visiting? I am.”

I nod and sip my water, “Yeah…”

“My girlfriend used to live here! My friends let me choose the place and…” He’s going on a long rant that I definitely did not consent to hear.

He’s loud in the way that i’m embarrassed to be heard with because he’s talking nonsense and trying to scoot closer to me with every word he speaks.

I bring my glass to my lips again, looking around then back to Seth who is still talking about his ex. Did I do something to offend the universe?

The hand on my hip scares me, but I don’t jump. I know the feeling too well by now. Lando’s smiling at the bartender, a protective arm around me, “Three green tea shots, thanks.”

He leans his hip against the bar, holding me close as my cheeks go red and I start chugging my water. Seth looks absolutely astonished, “Who’s your new friend, Sunshine?”

“Seth.” I say, swirling my straw around the cold glass.

“Hey man…” Seth looks scared. “I- I didn’t know she was taken.”

“She’s not.” He’s quick with it and I have to bite back my smile to contain myself from embarrassing Seth even more.

“Oh…” Seth hums, clearly wanting to go but I know Lando’s doing that thing where he states blankly at someone while smiling. “Well uh…”

“Choose your words carefully, Seth.” Lando slides him the shot then hands one to me. I decline and he downs it easily.

“Thanks.” He downs the drink with Lando, “And sorry.” Seth looks at me before scurrying off.

I turn to Lando, his hand never moving from my body, “Who knew you were so intimidating?

He shrugs, “I don’t mess around with the people I care about. Plus he just seemed like he was bugging you.”

“Quite talkative.” I smile softly as he laughs, “You’re good at the whole protective act.”

“Who said I was acting?” His face is serious when he says it, but immediately changes when he hears Max’s voice.

“Yo!” His hand drops to his side and he smiles at my approaching brother, “They have karaoke!”

P and Max end up on stage exactly two drinks later. I stick to water, my head already hurts from the others singing.

They're singing Ain’t No Mountain High Enough, and sort of slaying it. Max spins P as they both laugh and pretend they’re at some sort of concert.

“Please get up there!” I giggle with Lando, my hand on his arm as he smiles at me in that dreamy way he does so often.

“No way, Sunshine.” His eyes lined on my lips, his words a bit slurred.

“Please, Lan?”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, “What’ll you give me if I do?” My breathing quickens as he looks at me, drunk and so out of it that he looks like he’s about to kiss me.

I reach my arm out to fix the messy bit of his hair. His eyes follow my hand and drift down my arm back to me. There’s something so personal about the way he looks at me but it’s hard to explain.

He’s got many different expressions and maybe I'm just a bit self centered, but I swear he has some just for me.

He’s drunk now so all secrecy goes out the window. He’s lucky Max and P are singing so horribly on the tiny sticky stage.

“Whatever you want.” I pull my hand away, “When you’re sober, though.”

“I’m not even that many drinks in!” He scoffs in a whiny tone.

He’s five drinks in I think.

“But i’ll do whatever you say apparently.” His chair makes noise against the floors, practically pushing P and Max off the stage as his chosen music starts.

Linger, by the cranberries.

My smile grows as he starts, absolutely butchering the song immediately. He looks fucking free and absolutely ridiculous.

The microphone against his lips as he spins around and points to me, “You’ve got me wrapped around your fingerrrrrr!”

It was my favorite song in highschool.

He’s a terrible singer and incredibly drunk but knows all the lyrics by heart.

Max starts videoing and Lando flips him off, P is actually in tears and I feel a sense of calm and quiet happiness. It’s weird to think about, especially surrounded by sound and drunken people.

Still, I really do appreciate my friends in moments like these. I watch Lando on the stage again, his eyes are closed and he’s singing along quietly.

Most of the bar claps when he’s done, providing him false confidence even as he almost falls from the stage.

Lando slumps himself in the chair next to mine, Max and I speaking about old Christmas’ and how weird it is that so many things have changed.

P talks about her family traditions and how she’s happy we’re all together even if it is a bit unconventional.

Lando stays quiet, just hums along to the music and keeps his eyes closed. Max laughs at his friend, “Ready for bed, Bob?”

“I can drive back.” I sit up.

Max and P aren’t quite ready to go and assure me that they can take a cab. Lando, however is piss drunk and giggling at everything I say.

He holds onto my hand as we leave, the cold air hitting him like a wreck, “Ay!” He practically runs to the car, tries to get in the driver's seat, and finally gives in to me driving.

“I don't want to go back!” He complains as I drive off.

“We can… look at lights?” He nods eagerly and rests his head against my arm, his fingers drift up and down my arm, doodling invisible drawings.

I drive through the small neighborhoods, all quiet for the time of night. The lights are bright and nothing like where I actually live.

Lando slips his hand in mine, holding it tight and looking out the front window. I let him rub his thumb against my skin, acknowledging the goosebumps it sends up arm.

Maybe I let myself pretend like it means something more than Lando’s drunk touchy self.

His curls brush my bare arm because he requested I take off my coat and turn the heat up instead because it was ‘itching him’.

And I did it because something about Lando makes me just want to say yes.

“I wanna house like that.” He says, pointing to a medium sized white home. It’s got colorful lights all over and a tiny display of Rudolph in the yard.

“I like this one.” I take my free hand off the wheel for a second and point. It’s across the street and covered in white lights.

I keep driving as Lando turns the radio on which is playing Christmas music.

He hums along with the song that he most definitely doesn’t know.

His hand goes to my hair, twirling it around his finger as he looks up at me, doe eyed, “Can I have my reward now.”

“You’re nowhere close to being sober, love.”

He stops when I speak, whispering as if there’s a million people around, “You called me love.”

“You’re not even gonna remember this tomorrow.”

He gasps, “Tomorrow's Christmas eve! What a good present. You love me.” He hums and rests his head back against my shoulder.

“Keep dreaming, Norris.” I say while smiling.

We look at all the different lights, rating them and laughing. I mostly laugh at drunk Lando who can’t stop laughing.

Lando rolls down the window and even though it’s freezing, I let him. It’s silent out, except for our music on low.

“Do you like me?” Lando asks as I start back to our place.

I raise a brow, “Sure.”

“But do you?” He looks up at me but I don’t dare look down.

“I don’t hate you.”

It’s easier to get him into the house than it was to get him in the car. Besides a tiny slip, he laughs it off and instantly pulls his shirt off when we step inside the hot house.

We both stumble upstairs, I'm so tired that I could fall asleep on the floor. Yet I drag myself into the bathroom and remove my makeup and change into sweats and a hoodie.

Lando is in sweats now, leaning against the bathroom door as I brush my hair. “I can’t sleep.”

I laugh, “You haven’t even tried.”

“Come with me?” I shake my head, going to my own bed. He follows me still, catching my wrist and begging, “Please. I’m cold.”

“You have no shirt on.”

“I want you to.” He admits and for a second I wish he wasn’t so fond of Vodka.

I’m dragged into his bed, his arms wrapping around me quickly and humming against my hoodie, “You’re warm.” His hand goes to mine again, holding it.

“You’re gonna get us in trouble.” I say as I see the smirk on his face.

“The doors locked.”

His hand is still intertwined with mine when he looks up at me. I probably look terrible, but he just smiles.

“You’re really beautiful, Sunny.” His voice is clear and the softest it’s been in a while, especially while drunk.

He yawns and rests his head back on me. Lando whispers while his eyes are closed, i’m not even sure if he meant to say it out loud, but he does. “I hate you for it.”

It’s the first time his words really hit me.

“Why?” I whisper, staring up at the ceiling.

“You know.” And then he’s asleep and i’m stuck with a man cuddling me who I think I just might like more than I ever thought I could.

⋆༺

There’s few times in my life where I completely regret my life’s decisions. This might just be one of them.

Max is staring at us with his mouth open.

Max is staring at Lando’s shirtless self and his bare arm that’s around me!

I elbow Lando so hard that he wakes up with a groan. “Five more minutes.” He tries to pull me closer but I slap him again.

He opens his eyes this time, at first they’re narrowed at me as if I had the audacity to wake him up. Then he turns his head to what i’m staring at and promptly sits up straight.

“Goodmorning, Max!” He grins.

“Shut the fuck up.” My brother responds, Lando’s face goes slack and lays back down, covering his face with a pillow, “Is this why you two wanted to leave early yesterday?”

“No!” I say right as Lando says, “Yes!”

“I think I'm going to throw up.” Max starts pacing while I see P peek her head in from my room, surveying the situation as I mouth ‘help me’ and he leaves me.

“Chill out! Nothing happened.” I say while Lando moans and reaches for the water on his bedside table. “Right, Lando!?” I hit him again.

He sends me an annoyed look, “Right.” He takes a drink, wiping his mouth and looking at Max, “Trust me mate if something did happen she wouldn’t be wearing anything.”

I think he might still be drunk.

Max and I scream in unison. I climb out of the bed, my leg getting stuck in the bedsheet.

“I came to check if you two were still alive because it’s eleven in the morning, but Lando’s door was locked. Yours wasn’t and your room connector was wide open!” I roll my eyes and stomp into my room.

“His drunk ass practically dragged me in there and I wanted to sleep!” I shrug, putting on my slippers and pulling my bed head hair into a messy bun.

“My head is pounding, can you two be quiet!?” Lando says from the other room.

Max follows me down the stairs, “Nothing happened?”

“Nothing happened!” I echo, finding P in the kitchen and sending her a wide eyed look, “He was drunk, Max.”

I pour myself some coffee, crossing my arms as Max gives me a look. Lando comes thumping down the stairs, hoodie on now with his hair an absolute mess. “Guys…”

Max stops him, “If you make another sex joke Lan, I might kill you.”

“Hey!” He groans, taking my coffee from out of my hands and drinking it! I roll my eyes and pour myself another. “I was just going to say-”

“Choose your words very carefully, Norris.” I mumble.

“Happy Christmas Eve.” He raises his mug, smiling at all of us.

“Oh.” Max blinks as P lets out a little snort.

“Well then…” P smiles at me, “I think it’s time to cook!”

[motthe]

Married+jayce viktor, visit relatives +she/her reader? Continuation please!! I gotta know more

i hope you enjoy the continuation!!!

warnings: more crazy family shenanigans

Dirty Santa had the family in an uproar when cousin Pat drew number one for the second year in a row. Seeing as your grandmother had made the pieces and walked around with the bowl, no one had any real proof Pat had cheated.

You were happy with your number. It wasn’t dead last like you’d hoped but close enough to see more gifts and get your pick of the litter.

Jayce was scrambling to understand the rules again with Viktor’s help, but even then you’d had to correct him on a few rules.

“Okay,” Jayce muttered, thick brows set in a determined line, “stolen twice and it’s frozen, no stealing back, number one gets to go again at the end and you’re stuck with whatever they trade you.”

“Perfect,” you said. “The rules change from family to family but that’s ours.”

Your more rowdy aunt who was a bit too serious when it came to any type of games shouted for Pat to get a move on. You sat back with your husbands, head cushioned by Jayce’s arm and one of Viktor’s hands in yours. You don’t know where your energy went after dinner, but you could fall asleep to your insane family after years of these events. Although loud and encompassing, it was home, and you were happy your loves were sharing in the madness.

“Who’s five?”

“That would be me,” sighed Viktor as he leaned forward. No one had a chance to offer him assistance as he snatched his cane and use the handle to snag a bag. Everyone whooped as it slid down the length and into his lap.

“Show off!” someone called.

Viktor merely smiled to himself, passing you tissue paper as he revealed a pack of pens, a book of crossword puzzles, and a few of those brain teasers you’d see in bookstores made of wooden figures or metal rings.

“That’s right on the nose for you,” you said, tossing the trash to your father who had the black bag by his chair.

“Yes, I’m quite happy with these,” he hummed, flipping through the crossword puzzles.

“I’m glad someone got them who will actually do them,” your mother sighed, clocking herself as the buyer. “They’re good for your brain!”

After a few more turns, Jayce browsed the lingering gifts on the table in the midst of everyone before eyeing the tool set in Uncle Jimmy’s arms.

“Now, son,” your family member began, mean mugging, “think about that decision.”

Jayce hummed, tapping his chin and staring at ceiling. He was so dramatic. God, you loved him.

Finally, he sighed and shook his head. “I’m thinking I need a new tool set.”

“Ooh, that’s cold,” Great Aunt Lynda cackled, sipping her wine. You could’ve sworn she mentioned a dry December when you all were fixing your plates. Apparently she’d had an incident at Thanksgiving, but you hadn’t been here. You all had gone to Jayce’s mother’s.

Now or made sense why your mother had made it clear that no was to bring beer into this house on the holidays—only wine.

Viktor was sipping some of his own as your number was called. Pulling yourself from his side, you looked over each gift that had already been opened. None of them appealed to you, so you went for the smallest gift bag.

Your husbands leaned in as you pulled out what was clearly a gift card, opening the little flap to see where you’d be buying from.

“How much we talking?” Aunt Pat asked.

“If it’s for fast food I’m taking it,” one of your younger cousins declared.

Viktor choked on a sip while Jayce shrugged, clearly confused as he read the brand. “I don’t dont know this store. Is it local?”

“Oh, it’s local all right,” Great Aunt Lynda said. Everyone snapped their heads to her when she spoke.

“It’s not fast food,” you announced, shoving the card back into the bag. “It’s for medicinal purposes, kiddos.”

“Ew! Medicine?” one of the twins whined, sticking out a tongue. “Who’d want that?”

“Ooh,” Jayce said, tapping away on his phone. “That makes a lot more sense.”

“Lynda there are kids playing!” Dad barked.

She waved a hand, draining her wine glass. “It’s a gift card. Be glad I didn’t bring a D-I-L-D-O—they were two for one!”

“A dodo?” one of the kids questioned.

Jayce lost it. You just shoved the gift bag behind your back and told them to move the game along.

In the end, you and your husbands got to keep your gifts. Aunt Lynda was all too happy to waddle over and talk about the best things to buy before you excused yourself for a bathroom break. Viktor was safe chatting away with Jimmy while Jayce was heading for another snack in the kitchen.

You had all of three, peaceful minutes in the bathroom before your phone lit up.

Groupchat: Jayce 💍 Viktor

Jayce: someone save me Lynda’s blocking the kitchen exit and there’s a mistletoe hanging above her!!

Viktor: That sounds like a trap.

Jayce: no shit!

Viktor: I meant for me. If I come to the rescue, I’m sacrificing my lips for yours.

Jayce: So you’re just going to leave me here?

Viktor thumbed up the question, hearing your laughter from down the hall.

You: Hold on my damsel in distress. I’m on the way.

Jayce: I’m glad to see SOMEONE loves me in this marriage

Washing your hands, you pocketed your phone and readied yourself for the last bit of the party which always ended in more christmas games or old home videos.

Only time would tell.

[onlyhereforthestories]

Ours (Alessia Russo x Reader)

Day 20! My first Russo fic? This was another cheesy one to write, I think this time of the year gets me in my feels. Not long to go!

The glow of the Christmas tree lights filled the living room with a soft, warm ambiance as you placed a tray of paints and brushes onto the coffee table. The soft hum of holiday music played in the background, blending with the occasional crackle from the fireplace. Alessia, who had just returned from the kitchen with two mugs of hot chocolate, raised an eyebrow when she saw the collection of art supplies you’d gathered.

���What’s all this?” she asked, handing you a mug and taking a seat on the floor beside you.

You grinned, reaching for one of the plain, round ceramic ornaments from the box. “I thought we could make some decorations together. Something special for us to hang on the tree every year.”

Her lips curled into a soft smile, and she took one of the ornaments from the box, examining it thoughtfully as if planning what she could do with it. “You mean, something for us to laugh at in five years when we remember how bad we were at this?”

“Speak for yourself,” you teased, grabbing a brush and dipping it into the paint. “I’ve got big plans for mine.”

Alexia chuckled, leaning closer to inspect your work. “Oh? Big plans like what? Scribbling our initials on it?”

“Very funny,” you shot back, though you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. “Watch and learn, Alessia Russo.” You said as you turned your back to her slightly.

You began painting in earnest, starting with a simple heart shape in bright red at the centre of your ornament. Alessia, meanwhile, selected her paints with a surprising level of focus from someone who laughed this idea off a second previously, furrowing her brows as she considered which colours to use.

“What are you going for?” you asked, glancing over at her.

She smirked, tilting the ornament in her hand to show you the start of her design. “A masterpiece, obviously.”

The “masterpiece” in question was a series of uneven lines and smudges of green and gold, but the pride in her expression made you smile.

“You’re so modest,” you quipped, nudging her shoulder playfully.

As the evening went on, the two of you fell into an easy rhythm, dipping brushes into paint and laughing over your attempts to create something meaningful and cute. Alessia’s focus wavered quickly; every time she made a mistake, she would throw her head back and laugh, claiming it added “character.” At one point, she accidentally dipped her sleeve in the paint, leaving a streak of gold across the table.

“Oops,” she said, holding up her arm with a sheepish grin.

You couldn’t help but laugh, grabbing a cloth to wipe up the spill. “At this rate, you’ll have more paint on yourselves than the ornaments you are making.”

She shrugged, grabbing a smaller brush and adding a blob of white to her design. “It’s abstract. I’m an artist. Don’t all artists get covered in their artwork.”

Your evening continued like this for the next 30 minutes, you and Alessia exchanging playful comments or sharing your attempts at art on the decorations you were making. All your ornaments slowly took shape, bright, cheerful designs, one for which featured the date of your first Christmas together and a little snowflake on the back as created by yourself. Alessia, on the other hand, had abandoned any pretence of a cohesive design. Her ornaments had become a chaos of colours and swirls, one was all green with a tiny football painted near the top.

“You’re going to hang that on the tree?” you teased, gesturing to her mess of a creation.

“Of course,” she replied, holding it up proudly. “It’s a reflection of my soul: messy, colourful, and full of love.”

You laughed, reaching over to add a little star to the edge of her ornament. “It’s perfect,” you admitted.

When both of you finished your next ornaments, you set them aside to dry and reached for the next blank ones. Alessia surprised you by grabbing your hand, stopping you mid-motion.

“Wait,” she said softly, her expression suddenly serious.

You raised an eyebrow, wondering what had shifted. “What is it?”

Alessia hesitated for a moment before taking one of the blank ornaments and handing it to you. “Let’s make one together,” she suggested.

“Together?”

“Yeah. Like you know, both of us working on one. Something that’s really ours.”

Your heart warmed at the suggestion, and you nodded, a smile spreading across your face. “I love that idea.”

You scooted closer to her, holding the ornament between you as you decided on the design together. It started with a big, bold heart in the centre, with your initials inside. Around the edges, you added tiny stars while Alessia painted little footballs and a small Christmas tree. Every few minutes, your hands would brush, sending sparks of warmth through you.

At one point, Alessia paused, holding up her brush with a mischievous grin. “Hold still,” she said.

“What? Why?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at her.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she swiped a quick streak of red paint across the tip of your nose.

“Alessia!” you exclaimed, laughing as you grabbed a brush of your own.

A quick, playful battle ensued, with streaks of paint finding their way onto your cheeks and Alessia’s chin. By the time you called a truce, both of you were a mess, your faces streaked with colour and your hands covered in smudges. You had placed your shared ornament down on the table before you retaliated so that it wasn’t part of the faux war.

“Okay, okay,” you said, still laughing as you leaned back. “I think the ornament’s supposed to get painted, not us.”

Alessia chuckled, wiping at her face with the back of her hand. “It’s a work of art either way.”

When the shared ornament was finally complete, the two of you held it up to admire your handiwork. It wasn’t perfect in its own way, the lines were a little uneven, and the colours had smudged in a few places, but it was undeniably yours.

“I love it,” Alessia said softly, her voice filled with genuine affection.

“Me too,” you agreed, setting it gently on the table to dry.

You spent the rest of the evening cleaning up the mess you’d made, trading kisses and light hearted jokes as you worked. When the ornaments were dry, you carefully hung them on the tree together, stepping back to admire how they looked amidst the twinkling lights.

Alessia slipped her arms around your waist from behind, resting her chin on your shoulder. “These are going to be my favourite decorations each year.” she murmured.

You leaned into her, your heart full. “Ours,” you corrected gently.

She smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Ours,” she agreed.

[ahgasegotarmy116]

BANG-ABLE | Jeon Jungkook | Drabble 4

Summary: You get upset when you see other girls flirting with Jungkook but he always makes sure that you know you're the only one he wants Pairing: f!reader x Sex Bot Jungkook Word Count: 2.1k~ Warnings: Smuttttt hehe Requested by an anon 💜

"So yeah I was thinking maybe we could hang out sometime? My friends and I are going out on Friday a-" "Can I come?" I ask, cutting off the woman at the coffee shop that's decided to chat up Jungkook.

I swear I leave his man alone for five minutes and he's already got a line of woman drooling over him.

"Um I'm sorry...who are you?" she asks, scoffing as if she owns him and I'm the one that's imposing. "She's my girlfriend" he says and pulls me in by my hips, kissing me in front of her to make a point leaving her turning her face in disgust.

"Way to lead a girl on" she huffs and walks off.

"Not his fault that you couldn't take a hint Honey" I call after her, telling myself I can't keep bringing him out with me when I'm in the wrong headspace.

I just wanted some company though...plus Ava was busy so I didn't have much of a choice.

"Hi Baby" Jungkook says, coaxing my focus back over to him. "Hi" I grumble, crossing my arms over my chest, clearly still upset making him smile.

"I don't know why you let them talk to you" I huff and sit down at the table he had gotten us with him sliding in across from me, lacing our fingers together and placing a kiss on my knuckles.

"Because I like seeing that look on your face. Plus I know you get satisfied when you see their reactions, knowing that you have something they want but couldn't get even if they tried" he reminds me but it's not good enough to get me out of this bad mood, not today.

"I would rather you just ignored them or told them you have a girlfriend" I huff for what feels like the twelfth time but it doesn't seem to bother him.

"You know I hardly ever get to interact with people besides you and Ava, just think of it as research" he explains leaving me cocking a brow and echoing the last word.

"Yeah you know, I get to be outside of the four walls of our home and learn how to evolve and treat you better and you get peace of mind because you know I'd never want anyone else but you" he continues leaving me sighing, knowing he really doesn't get the chance to get out much and observe the world.

His patterns and behaviors do switch up a bit every time I bring him out with me so I have to admit that it does make things seem less monotonous, makes him feel real.

I just don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing...

"Come on" he says and gets up, waiting for me to follow and I do so cautiously. "I'm not gonna hurt you or anything" he laughs. "I just know you're not gonna enjoy being here anymore after what happened so let's just go for a walk" he offers, holding out his hand for me and so I resign to his idea and take it, allowing him to lead the way.

Our walk is quiet, contemplative even and it leaves him debating on whether or not to ask me what's wrong when he can infer the answer already, or at least part of it.

"I'm sorry" he says and pulls me aside to a more secluded area, gaining us a little more privacy. "I know you're just acting on your programing but I'm just not in the best headspace right now" I admit, having let my emotions simmer under the surface for a while now, leaving him placing a kiss on my forehead, a further expression of his apologetic state.

"You wanna talk about it?" he ask, cupping my face but not making me look at him, knowing I'd rather have a second to debate on if I'm ready to yet. I decidedly shake my head, realizing I'm not and he hums, not pushing it further, knowing that although in an area hidden from most of the people surrounding us this is not a place for uncomfortable conversations.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks, now bringing my face back over to his, stroking my cheek and giving me a sad smile, thinking it might make me feel better and so I nod, accepting his request.

He places his lips against mine, the first time he's done so since we left the house, knowing that public displays of affection tend to make me a little uncomfortable at times. This time the kiss feels different though, I can feel the intensity growing with every meeting, a familiar fluttering felt deep within me.

"Jungkook wait" I gasp, the need for air almost forgotten, trailing his lips down my neck as a compromise but not ceasing his efforts to convey how much he wants me.

"Jungkook someone could see us" I reprimand him half heartedly, tilting my head to the side automatically, my body going through the same song and dance we've done time and time again. "Don't worry, I'll be able to sense them coming" he says, alerting me to another one of his features that I had yet to discover.

"You mean to tell me you have sensors that'll alert you if someone is coming just so we can have sex in public?" I scoff, pushing him off of me so I can see his face, needing to know if he's lying or not. "Well...yeah" he says as if it's the most normal thing in the world...news flash, nothing is normal with him.

"What have I gotten myself into?" I sigh, closing my eyes and rubbing my temples giving him the opportunity to come in closer again, placing his hands on my hips and continuing his onslaught of kisses, no doubt leaving a mark or two.

"Let me make you feel good. Just for a little bit, yeah?" he asks, no doubt sensing my arousal that's starting to leak out. "Are you sure you'll know before someone sees?" I ask after contemplating it for a second and he nods, his kisses now on my collarbone, threatening to go lower.

"I know you want to" he temps and I can't ignore that I do. We both know that this would help improve my mood just a little bit so I don't blame his programing for coming up with this solution. My resigning sigh replaced by a whine, him biting down on my collarbone to make me answer sooner.

"Think you can make me cum in three minutes?" I ask, challenging his abilities when I know for a fact that he can. "I don't need three minute doll" he chuckles and slides his hand from my waist to my hip to my thigh and slips it up my skirt, taking his time to tease me making me groan from impatience.

"Come on, let me take my time with you" he rasps in my ear, playing with the elastic of my underwear. "We don't have time" I remind him but he snaps it back making me jump from the surprise abuse to my hip.

"We have plenty of time" he counters and places a kiss below the shell of my ear, his fingers now changing course and trailing their way to my inner thigh, soon rubbing me through my thong, the damp spot on it undeniable making me mewl at the sensation.

"Jungkook please" I whine, fed up with the teasing so he relents this time, pushing it to the side and running his finger through my folds, catching me off guard when it starts to vibrate against me, placing my hand over my mouth, preventing the moan that was about to come out from being completely audible to any passerby, no matter if they can see us or not.

He dips a finger inside of me, rubbing his thumb against my clit, kicking up the buzzing sensation, making me whimper, the pleasure bubbling up sooner than I had expected.

I had no fucking idea he could do this, the vibrating abilities seemingly hidden from me for a moment like this, when he knows I need to cum hard and fast, voyeurism not being one of my kinks...yet.

"Fuck, Jungkook. Please" I gasp, the intensity of his fingers enough to tip me over but when he kneels down in front of me I about lose it there. His mouth attaching to me immediately, his tongue exploring my cunt and making my eyes roll back, my throat gone completely dry.

I lace my fingers through his hair and pull at his locks, the balance against the tree not being enough for me anymore as he throws one of my legs over his shoulder, granting him better access, his slurping against me making my eyes roll back, forbidden sounds from him making me lose my sense of sanity, forgetting where we are.

Once he places his vibrating thumb on my clit again I'm gone, cumming harder than I have in a while, the intensity of it leaving my knees weak, threatening to make me fall to them.

Once he's stopped licking me clean, the mewls from overstimulation heard loud and clear he gets out from under my dress and smirks at me, clearly satisfied with the work he's done. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, not bothering to try to clean up properly, getting off his knees and pressing his lips against mine again, the taste of myself of his lips enough to make me wet again.

I hear a scoff from behind Jungkook and I bite down on his lip in surprise, backing away from him, him not flinching at all with the lack of feeling absent from his robotic state. "This is a public park you freaks" the same woman from the coffee shop reprimands us, mortified by the scene she happened upon.

"Had to make it up to her for earlier" he shrugs leaving her scoffing once more, her obvious favorite form of response and storming out. Her cheeks now tinted a dark pink from sheer embarrassment, but no doubt mixed with anger.

Jungkook chuckles and turns back to me, expecting my reaction to be just as amused as his but I'm mad. More than mad I'm furious.

"You said you'd be able to stop before someone got close enough to see us!" I growl through gritted teeth making him coo at my now humiliated reaction. "What? I figured it would be best to show her who I'm really interested in, and clearly belong to" he says and pulls me in by my hips with me reluctantly dragging my feet all the way.

"Love you" he chuckles, infuriating me further. "I hate you" I counter and he laughs, "I'm sure you do" he replies and turns to walk away from me making me chase after him.

"Hey! I'm not done talking to you" I call out, trying to yank him to stop but of course it doesn't work, his strength unparalleled leaving me again dragging behind him awkwardly sighing before interlinking our arms to keep him close on this suddenly crowded sidewalk, people no doubt coming out to watch the sunset, me completely disregarding that replaced by my anger towards him.

"Let's just go home, we can continue our conversation there" he chuckles leaving me now being the one to scoff, muttering curses towards him to myself, his hearing impeccable, never being able to hide even the slightest whisper.

"Yes but I'm your dumb fucking robot, emphasis on the fucking" he says, his corny try of making me smile unsuccessful, leaving me rolling my eyes, the reaction although not initially expected making him the one who's smiling as a result.

"I love you" he tries again but is met with silence, "Oh Jungkook I love you too, you know exactly how to eat me out just right. Oh please won't you do it again?" he says in literally my voice, yet another feature hidden from me.

"Shut up!" I growl making him laugh, my clear surprise to it thoroughly amusing.

"Didn't you read the manual? I'm surprised you haven't asked me about my other features besides the basics of replicating human sex" he says, loud enough for just anyone to hear but luckily we're out of earshot. "I thought it was pretty self explanatory" I say in a hushed tone after placing my hand over his mouth, him licking it as a result making me withdraw it immediately.

"What? 'How to fuck your robot' wasn't interesting enough for you?" he chuckles, using the term Ava and I made up for said manual. "Just shut up and get in the car" I groan and he thankfully does as he's told, telling me everything he can do in very, very explicit detail all the way home.

"You wanna try some of them out" he temps, sliding his hand along my thigh once we pull up to the house. "NO!" I growl and get out of the car, slamming the door leaving a very very satisfied Jungkook to follow behind.

Drabble Masterlist

Taglist: @jkslipppiercing @trina864 @kaitieskidmore97 @goddesofimortality @coolbluedude @coralmusicblaze @whoa-jo @00frenchfries00 @pastelpinkjoon Rest of the tags are in the comments 💜

Join my Taglist!

Feel free to fill out the form or just comment on any of my fics to be added :)

[haikyu-mp4]

Other plans

“Did ya hear about Hinata? Heard he got a girlfriend in Brazil, but I ain't judging or anything!” – @simpingdeadcharacters for my Gossip Event.

word count; 836 – gn!reader

“Shoyooo!” you yelled as you ran onto the sand, the heat of it under your feet barely affecting you as you took such quick steps until you reached Hinata. He opened his arms for you, spinning you around until finally putting you back down, quickly pressing a kiss to your temple. Most of his body was already covered in sand, so you absentmindedly started brushing some off his upper arm. For a second, you salivated at the sight of his tanned biceps, but you were quickly pulled back into the moment when he spoke.

“Took you long enough, slow poke. Ready for a round?” he asked, gesturing to the woman and her son who had taken the other side of the net. Hinata really would play against anyone who wanted to, and it was one of many things that made you fall for the man you now proudly called your boyfriend.

You squinted at the challenge and his teasing remark on you being five minutes late to the match, also making sure to politely greet today’s opponents. “I’m ready when you are.”

And so you spent another perfect day in the sun, playing until your sunscreen ran out. As you sat by the ocean this particular evening, you let your hands slowly rub across Hinata’s shoulders with the aftersun as the actual sun kissed the horizon, leaving the sky in a plethora of colours that you swore only Brazil could emit.

Hinata let out a small moan as you put pressure between his neck and shoulder blades, and you took the hint to keep pressing and help his muscles release the lactic acid. “You played really well today, you’re getting so good at setting,” you praised him, finishing the massage and leaning onto his back, arms hanging loose from over his shoulders. Hinata turned his head to kiss your cheek, nose brushing against your cheekbone.

“Thanks! Your spikes got better as well, but you still beat me on receives.” You chuckled proudly, poking his cheek in a teasing manner.

“I think we make a pretty good team.” Getting up off the sand, you offered him a hand and pulled him up, letting him take you under his arms as you two strolled to the small showers where the sand met asphalt. “You first, hot shot,” you encouraged, pressing the knob that made the water start, only for Hinata to push you straight under it. This water was always so cold, startling you as you squealed and ran back out of reach from the stream.

Hinata laughed, slapping his knee as if someone said the funniest joke ever. “You always fall for that!”

You huffed and smiled, swiftly taking the bag with his clean clothes, bolting onto the sand and towards the ocean. Your boyfriend ran after you on instinct but only realised what you were threatening him with when he saw you holding out his bag towards the water.

Luckily for you, you had lived there much longer and were much more used to running on sand, meaning you left Hinata in the dust for a while. The only problem was that your laughter made it more difficult to breathe, making you more tired, unfortunately slowing you down enough for him to tackle you to the ground.

The two of you tumbled onto the sand, aftersun sticking even more than your sweat had before, but neither of you seemed to care. Hinata smiled when he heard your laugh, tucking his face into your neck and blowing raspberries that always made you laugh even more at the ticklish feeling. Eventually, the raspberries turned into hot, open-mouthed kisses, making you move your head to give him more access.

“Let’s sleep at yours tonight, yeah?” Hinata suggested, and you adored the boyish look on his face when he lifted his face from your neck, pupils blown wide.

“But I miss Pedro,” you complained, giggling when Hinata rolled his eyes.

“I wasn’t planning on movie night with Pedro today,” he said, lips making their way down your neck and across your collarbone to the exposed part of your chest, then pulling your shirt down a little to explore further.

“Ahaa,” you hummed in understanding. “You had other plans?”

Hinata groaned as he finally detached himself from you, getting up off the sand and picking his bag back up where you left it beside you. “I plan on practising some spiking, if you know what I mean.”

The cheeky grin on his face made you slap his arm after getting up, knowing the suggestive meaning behind his words, but not making any attempt at rejecting it.

“Fine, I’ll come see Pedro another day.”

“Stop talking about Pedro when we’re discussing sexy time,” Hinata complained as you moved towards your bikes again, skipping the showers altogether in favour of bringing some beach home.

“Stop comparing my ass to a volleyball,” you countered, making him grin again.

“I can’t help it. That’s all I see.”

“Maybe I’ll just stay with Pedro.”

“Shut up.”

masterlist

[sirhamburrger]

havin' deep and uncomfortable conversations around the christmas tree (rin itoshi x gn!reader)

(a continuation of this more ryusae-centric drabble) being unexpectedly vulnerable with you wasn't really on rin itoshi's christmas wishlist. but he does want to ask you something else, and it would really make his christmas if you said yes. you will get a sentimental feelin' when you hear voices singin', "let's be jolly, deck the halls with boughs of holly" || wc: 861 || tags/cw: hurt/comfort, background ryusae, itoshi brother drama (but they're working on it), rin is bad at telling people how he feels (he's working on that too) series m.list

you watch the video ryusei just sent you. it’s... of him slapping sae’s ass really hard, but after months of being stuck with them as your roommates, your humor is broken. you whip your head around, giggling, ready to show it to rin, but your smile fades when you see the crease between his eyebrows. that only happens when he realises he's forgotten to buy groceries, or…

or when sae texts him.

you set down the box of baubles tucked under your arm and take his hands in yours, brushing his hair out of his eyes so you can look at him properly. even so, he doesn't look you in the eye.

“everything okay?” you ask softly.

he blinks. you feel his hands clench into fists within yours. 

“yeah. everything's fine.”

“what did he say?”

"he wants to have lunch with me tomorrow.”

you furrow your brows slightly. “well, then you should go. i know we have plans, but we could always go another day.”

he nods, but he's got his brooding face on, still. there's something he's not telling you, and you're determined to get it out of him on this not-very-eventful saturday afternoon.

so you flop onto the ground by the christmas tree - the christmas tree the two of you are in the midst of decorating. wiggling your way into the shade of the lower leaves, you tug on his pant leg.

“well? join me!”

looking slightly bemused, he lays down on the floor and positions himself opposite you. admiring his beautiful eyelashes up close, you twirl a lock of his hair around your finger. he smiles at this, his breath fanning over your face.

you ask him point-blank, then, when he might least expect it.

“what are you afraid of?”

“nothing.”

“liar.”

you stare at him as seriously as you can, and he stares back with double the intensity. you’re locked in, you could say - it’s a shared tradition of yours that whenever you have a staring contest, winner takes all. the last cookie. choice of date location. or something you want to know.

seconds creep by. thirty. forty-five. a minute. a minute and fifteen. tears start to pool in your dehydrated eyes.

rin's gaze softens some.

"are we about to kiss?" you mutter weakly.

"give up, darling," he advises gently.

a tear runs down your cheek. "no."

he makes a tsking noise at your stubbornness, and slowly - very, very slowly - he closes his eyes.

"i'm scared that sae is going to treat me differently now that we're both grown up and he knows we can't ever go back to what we were before."

you blink.

damn, that's...

he opens his eyes. "happy?"

it’s like a punch to the gut when he says it like that.

"of course not," you mumble. "i'm sorry. i shouldn't have pressured you to say anything at all."

rin sighs heavily. "i think a part of me kind of wanted to tell you anyway, so."

"do you want to tell me more?"

he nods.

"when we were kids, it was all so easy. i looked up to him - i still do. we were together 24/7. we did everything together. and then he left for spain. came back a changed person. and okay, i get that he wants to reconcile and all, but it's just weird. he's really trying his best, and i am too. but we'll never be how we were in the past. it's too late for that."

"oh, honey..."

you want to reach over and hug him until he can't breathe, but then you remember you're lying on the floor. you scoot over to lie by his side.

"the important thing is that you're both trying really hard. you're talking to him more often, meeting him for meals - and sae really does want to make things right. i literally live with the man! he lets ryusei check his spelling in the texts he sends you."

"really?"

"yes, really. so you don't have to be worried. not at all."

“okay.”

you see the crease between his eyebrows has disappeared, and peck him on the nose. his lips twitch, and you see him open his mouth –

“move in with me.”

what?

“i want you in my life,” rin murmurs, abrupt, blunt, but that's how he does things, after all. “because i love you, and i want to be with you all the time.”

you're temporarily frozen in place, utterly surprised. but that quickly gives way to a rush of affection for your boyfriend, and you pepper his face with little kisses as he chuckles.

“i'll take that as a yes, then,” he says dryly, and you give him another kiss for his troubles.

you think of sae and ryusei, and pout. “i'm going to miss having them as roommates, though.”

“but would they make you breakfast pancakes every day?”

you pretend to collapse in his arms. “i’m going to wife you up one day, itoshi.”

he reaches for the switch on the christmas lights strung along the tree branches, and you look up, and your vision is filled with sparks of colour.

and in your little world, all is perfect.

this is what's happening btw (it probably wasn't very clear)

a/n: i never thought i would write for rin because for some weird reason i didn't like him when i watched his anime debut but like?? is he not so much like todoroki? (if todoroki was more edgy ig) but yeah i was prepared to write him as a sweetheart in this one

taglist: @anglefish3008, @standcom (open, leave a comment on any post in this series to be added!)

bllk masterlist || general masterlist

© sirhamburrger 2024

[xxrozepetalxx]

Woa gotten some random attention from this, so uh guess I'll tell y'all about it. I got the schematic downloaded for it now, and to make a good looking picture it's going to have to be 3x5. Three wide and five long. So uh. fifteen maps in total... I've been working on a different zelda piece on and off in between base progress for almost a year now and I only *just* finished the second map out of six. Until that one is done I probably won't start this one though. (To be fair to me though I've been really taking my time to make the current map I'm working on, since I don't wanna burn out on it.) Currently the only thing stopping my progress is that I have to tear down the previous map to build the next one, but maybe some of my server mates would be willing to help out. If y'all are interested in seeing it live in progress I build on a server called Peaceful Vanilla Club, very chill vibes and does its best to keep vanilla playstyles while having some small stuff to keep the peace. Very welcoming community full of mapartists that spend way more time building beautiful pieces than I do lol so feel free to stop by and check it out (OR halfway thru writing that I remembered there's a livemap that y'all can look at, my mapart building is at around 3300, -1000) https://www.peacefulvanilla.club/maps/viewer/ Last but not least, OP if you don't want me to build it ofc I won't, but I plan on crediting you as the original artist once i start building. I also kinda wanna keep live progress on here now so you could follow along w the process if you like :D I absolutely adore the piece you've made here tho

Twilight Princess is living rent-free in my head after I recently got to play it for the first time, so ofc I had to make something instead of just gushing and screaming about it into the abyss

Prints of this piece are available in my shop! There's also a video that took me way too long to make about how I drew this in which I also rant about cheese and socks... hope y'all enjoy it if u give it a watch!!

[stevesjockstrap]

Time After Time

@steddiemicrofic prompt ‘time’ wordcount 485

@steddiebingo square ‘help’

Rated T(?) • read on ao3 • OCD Steve, established relationship • skip if you’re sensitive to panic attacks

Eddie could tell the second he got into their apartment something was wrong.

There was always something playing, a record, a tape, a movie in the background. His boyfriend would even settle for the radio, but he said he needed the background noise, or his thoughts would spiral out of control.

Kicking off his shoes at the door, hurriedly placing them side by side next to Steve’s, he listened closely to the worrying silence.

“Babe?” He called, trying to suppress his shiver as it echoed through the space.

Quickly going from room to room, he finally found his partner crouched over, holding his head, breathing fast.

“Oh, Stevie,” he breathed. Even his low voice made Steve jump and he felt worse. “It’s alright, it’s only me. Can you tell me where you got stuck?”

Eddie had learned quickly as he’d courted the man that everything needed to be ‘just right,’ sometimes Steve himself didn’t know how it needed to be right, or more importantly why it would ‘feel wrong.’

“The stupid light. There’s not enough time between,” the words rushed out of him. “O-or it’s making the wrong noise, when I click it off. I just can’t do it any more times, Eddie,” he started sobbing into his chest.

Eddie could only nod, rubbing across his back with a flat hand. Even this worked up, he could feel Steve’s own fingers tapping against his arm, always in sets of three.

“I got you, darlin’. You want me to try? Or we can throw the whole lamp out the window,” he offered.

That at least pulled Steve away from his chest, his face red and tear stained. “No, I love this lamp. It’s just, I can’t-“

“Can’t get it just right. Well let me do it wrong for a second, yeah? You know how much I love being wrong. How many times did you do?”

Steve huffed a small laugh. “I did three, of course.” Things usually had to be in multiples of three, sometimes five worked but only occasionally. “It just didn’t click right, it didn’t feel done. I feel like I’ve been doing it for hours.”

“Okay my precious, let me give it whirl then.”

Steve watched warily as he went over to the lamp, as if it would turn and attack them. This was the worst he’d been lately. He wondered if something had set him off, something completely unrelated to this lamp debacle.

He twisted the lamp switch once, turning it off, then again to turn it on. Steve shook his head, so he did it two more times.

“Okay, let me try now,” Steve traded places with him, and he held him close, tucking his chin over his shoulder to watch.

Taking a slow deep breath, he finally reached out and spun the switch. Off on off. “There. You did it.”

“No, you did it. I’m so proud of you, baby.”

dividers credit @/cafekitsune

[thewolvesofthenorth]

Chapter Six

Chapter Six of Man of Honor

Series Masterlist ❖ Main Masterlist ❖ House Of The Dragon Masterlist

Rating: 18+ Word Count: ~5k+ Summary: The morning after. Warnings: Angst angst angst, language, fluff, slow burn, pining, SMUTTY GOODNESS (fingering, p in v) Author’s Note: After everyone’s reactions to chapter five, I’ve been extra motivated to get the next few chapters for this story cranked out. I hope you all enjoy! Comments, feedback, and reblogs are always appreciated. 🫶

⟸ Previous Chapter ❖ Next Chapter ⟹

The moment you had just shared with Cregan had been incredible, something you had only dreamed of having, and although you knew that it was wrong, a part of you did not regret it.

Hearing his words, his confession of love, had how he was willing to give up everything just for you, had left you floating. However, it was still wrong, and you feared of what the consequences would be.

What have we done?

What’s going to happen now?

Would he truly forsake his duty to the North and choose me?

What if it was all a lie?

Did he mean what he said?

You stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, listening to Cregan’s soft snores, as you laid in his warm embrace, until sleep finally took you.

You were pulled from your slumber when Cregan pulled you closer to his body, and you felt a hardness press against your lower back. Your body, reacting to Cregan’s of its own accord, had you pushing against him in return, and you bit your lip when he let out a low groan in his sleep. His arm tightened around you, hand drifting down to the apex of your thighs, and you held your breath as his fingers grazed your mound.

Is he awake?

Cregan had given you no sign that he was awake, his breathing still heavy with sleep, but you began to question it further when he once again moved. You held back a gasp when his fingers dipped between your legs and caressed your opening, collecting your wetness and then circling your clit with his fingertips.

He continued to alternate between circling your bud and teasing your hole, and your core grew wetter and hotter with each passing moment. But then he pushed a finger slowly into your heat, and you could not help but release a soft moan, your hips tilting into his touch.

Oh, Seven hells.

You gnawed on your lip, trying to control your breathing, as a second finger joined the first in its exploration. You were still a little tender, but the ever-growing amount of slick leaking out of you made it easier to take his thick fingers in. Cregan’s thumb pressed against your clit as his fingers continued to slowly pump in and out of you, and you began to grind against his palm.

Gods, his fingers feel so good.

You panted as his pace quickened, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you drew closer and closer to the edge. Still wondering if he was awake or asleep, you turned your head to find his eyes still closed, but a small smile sat upon his lips.

The bastard is awake!

No longer concerned with waking him, you began to rut against his hand, whimpering when he curled his fingers and stroked your sweet spot.

“Don’t be shy, love,” he breathed, lightly nipping at your earlobe. “Let me hear you.”

He withdrew his fingers and rubbed your clit as he shifted, sliding his length between your wet thighs. You gasped as Cregan's thick length slid between your slick folds, teasing your sensitive flesh. His hand moved to grip your hip as he slowly rocked against you, his cock gliding back and forth along your slit.

Cregan groaned and captured your lips in a searing kiss as he grinded against you. The friction was maddening, stoking the fire building low in your belly. You whimpered into his mouth, desperately seeking more.

Seeming to sense your need, Cregan shifted and slowly pushed inside you. You both moaned as he sank deep, stretching and filling you completely.

"Gods, you’re taking me so well," Cregan breathed against your skin. His hand splayed across your stomach, holding you close as he began to move, setting a languid pace as he rocked into you from behind. One hand gripped your hip while the other snaked around to tease your clit. Pleasure radiated through your body with each thrust, building steadily higher.

"Cregan," you gasped, clutching at his arm.

He quickened his pace in response, driving into you more forcefully. The new angle had him hitting that perfect spot inside you with each thrust. Combined with his fingers on your clit, it was rapidly pushing you towards the edge.

"Let go, love," Cregan urged. "I've got you."

With a few more well-aimed thrusts, you shattered. Waves of bliss crashed over you as you cried out Cregan's name. He groaned and followed you over the edge, spilling himself deep inside you.

As you both came down from your post-coital bliss, Cregan peppered soft kisses along your neck and shoulder. He held you close, his arms a warm cocoon of safety and comfort. However, your fragile bubble of happiness burst under the weight of reality when the first light of dawn broke through the night sky.

Cregan sighed and released his hold on you, stretching his back, and you couldn’t help but admire the way the muscles rippled.

“I should probably go,” he reluctantly said. You nodded in understanding, knowing that it would be a scandal should anyone find the Lord of Winterfell exiting your chambers at an inappropriate hour.

“Best be quick about it,” you stated as you sat up, holding a fur against your chest to cover your modesty and somehow shield your heart. Cregan quickly dressed and sat at the edge of your bed, placing his hand against your cheek.

“I know you probably do not believe me, but I meant everything I said last night,” he reiterated with a kiss. “I love you.”

You returned the kiss, and he got up and quietly opened the door to leave. He turned to look at you one more time and you gave him a small smile, however on the inside you were an anxious wreck.

Cregan quietly shut the door and turned to walk to his chambers, his mind swirling with the events of the night. For once, he had let himself go and not held back his feelings. He had confessed his love to you, and he felt lighter for it.

However, a dark cloud also loomed over him. He knew that he had placed himself in an impossible position, caught between doing what he was duty bound to do, and what he wanted to do for himself.

Cregan knew that what the two of you had done was irresponsible, especially since he was still betrothed to Arra. And he had taken your maidenhood, something that was deeply frowned upon, especially since it was out of wedlock. He was aware that there would be dire consequences for his actions, and he needed to take time to figure out what he was going to do.

Cregan was so preoccupied with his pondering on his way to his chambers, that he did not realize that someone was waiting for him outside his door.

“Cregan,” a voice called, and his eyes snapped towards where the dimly lit figure sat.

“Cerwyn,” he awkwardly greeted as his friend stepped into the light. Cerwyn was no idiot. Cregan knew that from his disheveled appearance, the direction he had been coming from, and the unusual hour, his friend would easily surmise the situation.

“Taking a late-night stroll, my friend?” Cerwyn jested with a grin. “Or shall I say an early-morning one?”

“Uh…” Cregan scrambled to produce an answer but came up short.

“Perhaps we should speak somewhere more private,” Cerwyn suggested, sensing Cregan’s unease at giving an answer in such an exposed space. Cregan nodded and pushed the door to his solar open, quickly stepping inside, his companion following closely behind him.

Cregan ran a hand through his unruly hair, still damp from the heat of the night. He tried to compose himself as Cerwyn shut the door behind him, leaning casually against it with his arms crossed.

“Well,” Cerwyn began, his tone light yet laced with knowing. “I take it the feast was not the only eventful part of your evening? I would wager a full cask of wine that your ‘stroll’ had something to do with her.”

Cregan shot him a sharp look, but there was no malice behind it. He sighed heavily, sinking into the chair by the hearth, his broad shoulders slumping under the weight of the situation. “Spare me your jests, Cerwyn.”

“No jests, then. But do not bother denying it,” Cerwyn said, stepping away from the door and closer to the desk where Cregan now stood. “You look like a man who has both won a battle and lost a war in the same night. And the direction you were coming from makes it rather obvious.”

For a long moment, Cregan said nothing. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint crackle of the dying embers in the hearth. Finally, Cregan spoke, his voice low. “I have made a mess of things.”

Cerwyn raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt, letting his friend continue.

“I… I love her, Cerwyn,” Cregan admitted, his words heavy with emotion. “I have loved her for years, longer than I care to admit. And last night… I told her. I told her everything.”

“And?” he prompted.

“And I acted on it,” Cregan confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “I could not stop myself. I did not want to. But now… gods, Cerwyn, I do not know what to do. I am betrothed to Arra. I have a duty to my house, to the North. But I cannot—” He broke off, his hands clenching into fists. “I cannot let her go.”

Cerwyn leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Cregan, I have known you long enough to see the way you look at her. And I have known her long enough to see the way she looks at you. But this… this is not just about the two of you...”

Cregan looked away, his jaw tight. “I know that. I know I have made things worse for her—for both of us. But for one night… I did not care. For one night, I let myself have her. I should not have… but I could not stop myself.”

“Cregan, you know what this could mean—what it will mean—if anyone finds out. It will not just be your honor on the line. It will be hers as well.”

“I know,” Cregan snapped, his voice tinged with frustration and guilt. “But I—damn it, Cerwyn, I love her. I have always loved her.”

Cerwyn’s expression softened in understanding. “But love alone does not untangle this mess you have made.”

Cregan looked away, his jaw tight. “I know that. I am bound to Arra, as my duty demands. But my heart… my heart belongs to her. It always has. But I know I cannot easily break my oath to Arra. It is more than a marriage; it is an alliance. It is the future of the North.”

Cerwyn straightened, his brow furrowing as he studied his friend. “And what about her future, Cregan? What about her happiness? Do you think she will wait for you forever while you tear yourself apart trying to please everyone but her? She has turned down every suitor, myself included, because she has waited and continues to wait. She has countless men vying for her attention, and yet all she sees is you. Any man would happily make her their bride, but she does not want just any man, Cregan. She wants you. I have loyally stood by your side over the years, and I will do so until my final breath, but I refuse to let her heart keep breaking over you. If you choose to pursue her, then pursue her properly, do not continue to taint her honor and yours. But should you choose to cast her aside once more, I will seek her hand and try to give her the happiness that she deserves.”

Cregan opened his mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. He had no answer—at least not one that would satisfy either of them.

Cerwyn sighed, stepping back, and giving Cregan a look that was equal parts exasperation and sympathy. “You need to make a choice, Cregan. And soon. Because if you do not, you will lose her. And I promise you, that loss will haunt you far more than breaking an alliance ever could.”

With that, Cerwyn turned and walked to the door, pausing only to glance back at Cregan one last time. “You may be Lord of Winterfell, but even a lord cannot have everything. Remember that, my friend.”

And then he was gone, leaving Cregan alone in the dim light of his solar, his thoughts a storm of guilt, longing, and the faint, flickering hope that he could somehow find a way to set things right. The choices before him were clear, but none of them came without a cost.

He would either lose you or lose the North.

Once Cregan left, you laid back and stared at the ceiling, contemplating whether you should try to sleep or not. You closed your eyes and tried to clear your head, but to no avail. In the absence of Cregan’s warm embrace, you could not sleep.

Sitting up, you began to dress, the brightening light of morning peeking through the window offering a semblance of comfort in such a dreary place. Brushing your hair, you thought of what the day would bring.

Would Cregan keep his promise?

He does not exactly have the best history of keeping them.

Last night should not have happened.

Or this morning.

It was wrong.

But also felt so right.

What am I going to do?!

Sighing heavily, you grabbed your cloak and made your way through the faintly lit halls, opting to speak to Sara about what had occurred the night before. Even with the thick furs around your body, the halls of Winterfell seemed more cold than usual, and you could not help but quicken your steps.

At first, you looked in the kitchens but found no sight of her. You knew it she would not be in the Glass Gardens just yet, so you surmised that she must be in the library. You hastily made your way up the steps of the Library Tower, the cold no longer bothering you. Entering the tower, you spotted Sara in the corner, placing books back on a shelf.

She gave you a smile when she saw you, however the gloom expression on your face quickly made her concerned.

“I would say good morrow, however it seems that it may not be so,” she stated, placing her books on a nearby table. You shook your head.

“I have something I would like to discuss with you,” you said, not caring for formalities at such an early hour. Sara gestured to a set of chairs by a window, and you promptly took a seat, trying to steady your breathing after rushing up the steps.

“What is it?” she inquired. “Are you unwell?” You shook your head again.

“No,” you answered. “But…. I fear that I may have made a grave mistake last night after the feast.” She looked at you and nodded to continue.

“Cregan came by my chambers,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper. The weight of the admission pressing down on your chest, and you couldn’t quite meet her eye.

“And?” she prompted gently, though there was a flicker in her gaze that made your stomach turn. You shift your weight, your hands fidgeting on your lap

“And… I made a mistake.” The words come out softer than you intended, but they feel heavy in the air between you.

Sara didn’t immediately react, letting the moment stretch. When she spoke, her voice was steady and careful.

“What kind of mistake?”

You risked a glance at her, worried about how she would react to what you were about to tell her. She remained neutral, her face betraying nothing. You knew then that she would not judge you. So, you swallowed back your pride and confessed.

About Cregan, about his confession and his promise.

About his declaration of giving up the North just to be with you.

And how you told him not to do such a rash thing.

About you and him, together.

About last night, and how it felt to be in his arms.

You confessed about the events of the morning, the way that it felt to have him touch you.

You confessed that you had given him your maidenhead, something that was supposed to be saved for your future husband.

Your friend didn't move or speak, letting you get all of it out.

You had not meant for him to come to your chambers and confess his love for you.

You had not meant for the two of you to be together.

But it had happened.

And there was no going back.

Sara took a deep breath and placed her hand on top of yours, her gaze unwavering.

"I know that you love him, and now you know that he loves you, but what you did was very foolish.”

“I know,” you replied, your head hung low.

Sara’s hand tightened slightly over yours, not in reprimand but in reassurance. Her expression softened, though there was a shadow of worry behind her eyes.

“You have done something that cannot be undone,” she said quietly, her voice firm but kind. “I am not here to judge you, but I cannot ignore the consequences either. If anyone finds out, it will not just be your reputation at stake—it could ruin you both. And if Cregan does not act carefully, it could bring shame upon the Stark name as well.”

You nodded slowly, your stomach knotting with guilt and dread. “I know,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I know it was wrong, but I… I could not stop myself. I have loved him for so long, Sara. And for one moment, it felt like everything I had ever wanted was within my grasp.”

Sara’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she took a moment before responding. “You have always been strong, stronger than you realize. But love… love can make fools of even the wisest of us. I do not doubt Cregan loves you; he has made that clear. But what he does next matters far more than his words—or even what happened last night.”

You blinked at her, caught off guard by the clarity of her statement. “What do you mean?”

Sara sighed, leaning back in her chair. “He says he loves you, and I believe him. Saying that he would give up everything for you sounds romantic, but we all know that it would come at a terrible cost. Cregan is bound to the North, to duty, and to Arra. You were right to tell him not to abandon his duty. His choices will affect not just himself but his house, his people, and you. If he truly loves you, he will find a way to fight for you while protecting what he has now. That is what you deserve. Anything less, and he is not worthy of the love you have given him.”

Your chest ached at the truth in her words. “And if he does not fight for me?”

Sara’s gaze hardened, though her voice remained gentle. “Then you must let him go. You cannot live your life as someone’s second choice, no matter how much you love him. You deserve more than stolen moments in the shadows—or the burden of a man who cannot choose you without destroying himself.”

Tears pricked your eyes, but you nodded, her words sinking into your heart like stones. “What should I do, Sara? I feel so… lost.”

She tilted her head, considering her words carefully. “For now, you must carry on as if nothing happened. Let Cregan come to you with a plan, if he has one. Do not chase him, do not plead for his love. He knows where you stand—he knows what he stands to lose. Let him decide if he is willing to risk it all for you. But be clear with yourself: if he offers you nothing but whispers in the dark and fleeting promises, you must walk away. That is not love—it is selfishness.”

You wiped at your eyes, grateful for Sara’s unwavering support. “And if he does not come to me at all?”

Sara smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Then you will have your answer. And when that time comes, you will need to decide if you are willing to let someone else in—someone like Cerwyn, perhaps.”

Your heart twisted at the mention of Cerwyn. “He deserves someone who can love him fully. I do not know if I can give him that.”

Sara shrugged lightly. “Love is not always instant, nor is it always easy. But Cerwyn is a good man. He sees you, values you, and would give you a life filled with kindness and stability. That is more than many can say for their marriages.”

You did not respond, your mind whirling with conflicting thoughts and emotions. The warmth of the morning sun filtering through the window did little to chase away the chill in your bones.

After a long silence, Sara gave your hand one final squeeze before rising from her chair. “Whatever happens, I will stand by you. Just promise me one thing.”

You looked up at her, your voice barely audible. “What?”

“Promise me that you will protect yourself. Do not let love blind you to your own worth. You are more than someone’s secret, and you deserve to be someone’s first choice.”

Her words stayed with you long after she left the library, leaving you alone with your thoughts, and you could not help but wonder if Cregan would truly fight for you—or if his duty to the North would outweigh his love.

And if the answer were the latter, what would become of you?

The sun had just begun to crest over the horizon as you made your way to the stables, the early morning chill biting at your cheeks. Sara’s words still lingered in your mind, heavy and unrelenting, as you saddled your horse.

You needed clarity—space to think. A ride through the Wolfswood always helped to clear your head, the solitude of the trees offering a sense of peace you could not find within the walls of Winterfell.

As you led your horse from the stables, the sound of boots crunching against the frozen earth caught your attention. You glanced up to see Lord Cerwyn approaching on foot, his dark riding cloak draped over one shoulder.

Your mind drifted to the feast, recalling the brief conversation you’d had with Cerwyn amid the flurry of toasts and stolen glances. You had both agreed to meet, though neither of you had settled on when. Still, you had not expected to run into him so soon.

“Good morning, my lady,” he greeted, a warm smile softening his sharp features, though his brows lifted slightly in surprise. “I did not expect to see you so early.”

You managed a small smile, though your mind felt heavy. “Nor did I,” you admitted quietly. “But I suppose this gives us a chance to talk sooner rather than later.”

His smile widened, the warmth in his gaze unmistakable. “I will not argue with that,” he said before his sharp eyes scanned your face. “Though you look like you have not slept.”

You glanced at your horse, already saddled and ready to ride, trying to deflect. “I just needed some air.”

“Planning to ride out alone?” he asked, his tone steady but touched with concern.

Your grip on the reins tightened defensively. “Yes,” you replied, though the word felt like an incomplete truth.

“Then let me join you,” he offered without hesitation, stepping closer. His tone was calm, unassuming, but his gaze held steady. “If you are going to ride out alone, you might as well have company.”

You hesitated, your eyes flickering over him. His presence was grounding, and part of you welcomed the thought of not being alone with your swirling thoughts.

“Fine,” you said quietly, motioning toward the stable. “You had better saddle your horse, then.”

Without missing a beat, Cerwyn strode past you into the stable. It wasn’t long before he emerged leading his own mount, the movement swift and practiced.

As he adjusted the reins and swung into the saddle, he cast you a sidelong glance. “You know, you’re not as convincing as you think when you say you are fine.”

You shot him a look, but his smile was more knowing than teasing. “I am fine enough, Cerwyn” you muttered, climbing onto your own horse.

“We shall see about that,” he said lightly, as the two of you nudged your horses forward into the Wolfswood.

You rode in silence as the trees of the Wolfswood closed in around you, their bare branches casting long shadows across the frost-covered ground. The rhythmic sound of hooves against the earth filled the quiet, a steady cadence that seemed to ease some of the tension in your chest.

The frost-covered trees blurred past as you rode, the cool air biting at your cheeks. Lord Cerwyn rode beside you, his presence steady and quiet, though you could feel the weight of his gaze on you. He was not pressing you to speak, but his silence was deliberate, leaving the space open for you to fill it.

Finally, unable to hold it in any longer, you broke the stillness. “Something… happened last night,” you began, your voice shaking as you tightened your grip on the reins.

Cerwyn turned his head toward you, his expression calm but knowing. “With Cregan?”

Your stomach dropped. His tone wasn’t accusatory, but the way he said it—so sure—made your chest tighten. You nodded hesitantly, unable to meet his eyes. “He… he came to me after the feast,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “He said things—things I was not expecting. And I—” You stopped, your throat tightening as shame and confusion warred within you. “I gave myself to him.”

You braced yourself for judgment, but Cerwyn’s expression did not change. Instead, he slowed his horse, letting the silence stretch between you before speaking. “I know,” he said softly.

Your head snapped toward him, your breath hitching. “You… you know?”

Cerwyn’s gaze didn’t waver. “He told me.”

The words hit you like a blow, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. “What… what did he say?”

“Enough,” Cerwyn replied, his tone even. “Enough to know that he loves you, that he has been carrying this weight for a long time, and that he had made a mess of things—for both of you.”

You swallowed hard, the knot in your chest tightening. “I… I did not mean for this to happen,” you whispered. “I did not mean to ruin everything.”

“You have not ruined anything,” Cerwyn said firmly. “The world may tell you otherwise, but that doesn’t make it true.”

Tears pricked at your eyes as you shook your head. “I am no longer a maiden, Cerwyn. What man would want that? What kind of future could I possibly have now?”

Cerwyn slowed his horse further, his expression softening as he looked at you. “You think less of yourself because of what happened? You think it diminishes your worth?”

“I do not know what to think,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “I have been told my whole life what I am supposed to be, how I am supposed to act. And now… I have ruined it all.”

He let out a quiet sigh, his gaze steady. “You are still you. You are still kind, strong, and endlessly stubborn. One night does not change that, and it certainly does not make you less deserving of love or happiness.”

You bit your lip, tears threatening to fall. “But if anyone finds out—if she finds out…”

“Arra,” he said knowingly.

You nodded, your hands trembling on the reins. “I do not want to hurt anyone. I never wanted this to happen. But I—” You faltered, the words catching in your throat.

“But you love him,” Cerwyn finished quietly.

Your breath hitched, and you looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “It does not matter,” you murmured. “He is promised to her. He has duties, responsibilities… and I—”

“You think you are not enough for him,” Cerwyn said, his tone gentle but unwavering. “But you are. You have always been enough. The question is not whether he loves you—it is whether he is willing to fight for you. And whether you are willing to let him.”

You stared at him, his words cutting through the fog of doubt clouding your mind. “You think he should fight for me?”

“I think you both need to decide what you want and what you are willing to risk for it,” he replied. “This is not just about love. It is about choices—and consequences. If you two want to be together, you will have to face them together. But if you do not…” He trailed off, his expression tightening.

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling heavily on your chest. “What would you do?” you asked, your voice trembling. “If you were in his position?”

Cerwyn was silent for a long moment, his gaze distant as he considered your question. “I do not know,” he admitted finally. “I am not Cregan, and I cannot pretend to understand all that weighs on him. But if it were me… I would want to do what is best for both of us. Even if it meant letting go.”

Your brow furrowed, your heart aching at the thought. “Letting go?”

He gave a small, sad smile. “Sometimes love means making the harder choice. But it is not my choice to make—it is his. And yours.”

You looked away, tears slipping down your cheeks as his words settled deep within you. “It all feels so impossible.”

“It is,” Cerwyn said softly, “until it is not.”

You glanced back at him, his gaze steady and unwavering. Despite everything, he wasn’t judging you. He wasn’t condemning you. He was simply there, offering his quiet support.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

He reached over, his hand brushing yours briefly. “Always,” he said, and in that moment, you believed him.

The two of you continued your ride in silence, the Wolfswood stretching endlessly before you. But for the first time in what felt like days, a fragile, uncertain hope began to stir within your heart, subtle but undeniably there.

⟸ Previous Chapter ❖ Next Chapter ⟹

[nightplvmes]

*.⊹˚ ZAYNE | take a break

── ◜zayne x fem!reader — mini one shot 0.8k words ◜Zayne tries to get his girlfriend to take a break — author's note

There was a joke she constantly made and it was about how Zayne should stop working so much and take a break. It was ironic how things had changed now, she was the one who needed to take a break.

Zayne had his eyes fixed on his girlfriend who was pacing back and forth. He wasn't entirely sure if her hands were trembling because she was moving so fast but it wouldn't have surprised him. She had been drinking gallons of coffee all morning.

"Where are the papers? I'm sure I left them here." She grimaced and started walking to the kitchen. "I came to the kitchen later to make some coffee." She turned to walk back out of the kitchen and head to the small table where her laptop and hundreds of papers sat, but Zayne stood in front of her.

She bumped into her boyfriend's chest and looked up at him. She stepped aside to avoid him but Zayne blocked her path again. His cold hands wrapped around hers and brought them to his lips, feeling that she was indeed trembling.

"You need to rest, love." Zayne's lips pressed against the knuckles of one of her hands. She could see him trying to act too calm.

"I need to work." She shook her head and took a step back to try and get away from him, but Zayne's grip tightened, preventing her from retreating any further.

"Come here," Zayne's voice was soft, not wanting to stress her out any further. He guided her over to the couch, she was still too stunned to protest so she simply took a seat next to him. "You've been working too much."

"You can't blame me for that. You're a workaholic." She looked at him with a slight frown. It was true, maybe he wasn't the best example, but he had never entered an operating room without sleeping or with his hands shaking, or he would have been fired already.

"You need to rest. You can work later, I'll help you find the papers myself." Zayne leaned down to press his lips against his girlfriend's forehead, for some reason he had made her calmer.

She sighed and nodded. She wondered if Zayne was capable of tying her to the bed and forcing her to rest. She couldn't help but laugh at the thought.

Five minutes later she had her hands wrapped around a hot cup of tea 100% made by her boyfriend. His arms were around her in an attempt to make her feel comforted… or maybe he was just trying to keep me from running away and work again.

"I have a lot of things to do… my boss asked me for those papers and I…" Zayne's voice interrupted her.

"That's enough. You need to rest."

"But my job…"

Zayne sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. His gaze was hard, it was what she called 'his doctor look', the same one he used when she went to her monthly checkups and Zayne talked to her about her results. "You can find another job if necessary."

He took the cup from her hands and set it on the small table in front of them. He would give her a job himself if necessary. He understood the feeling of wanting to do everything perfectly, but his girlfriend's boss was taking her to an extreme that he would not tolerate.

"Did you know that you can get seriously ill from stress and not getting enough rest?" She rolled her eyes. Was he saying this as a doctor or as a boyfriend?

"I'll be fine." She sighed. She didn't resist when Zayne wrapped his arms around her and forced her to lie on his chest, it was like a warm pillow that she loved to sleep on.

"Get some sleep," he murmured, the scent of her hair hitting his nose.

"What if my boss calls and gets mad?"

"I'll take care of that."

She felt the weeks of sleeplessness take their toll on her the second she lay down on his chest. Maybe it was the tea or maybe she just needed a break.

It didn't take long for her to fall asleep, she needed it so much and she would make sure to thank Zayne when she woke up for caring so much about her.

Zayne didn't mind staying in the same position for almost two hours while she was sleeping. He knew he could pick her up and carry her to the bedroom but he liked being able to have her close and be able to keep an eye on her.

He still didn't know what he would do when she woke up but he knew he wouldn't let her go back to that horrible job, no matter if he had to pay her bills himself.

[embbarnes]

I was sooo excited to see this finished, I couldn't wait to read it. Okay, okay...here we go~

The beginning of it is so pure and sweet, I love how you include so many characters and build the dynamics and world up for the story to begin. You always do such a good job with that, and I love seeing all the details.

I also like how you took this with Logan's view, how you described others and the reactions between them were so perfect for his character. Wade and Al were hilarious, the chatter they had in the beginning was entertaining and 100% something I can see happening.

Anyway continuing below cut because I love reviewing your stuff in more detail ~

The next couple of months go similarly. He runs into you frequently – in the elevator, and the communal laundry room of the apartment complex, and when you’re both checking your mail at the same time. You always greet him with a smile and ask the typical casual conversation questions – how he's liking his new job (he’s not, but he tells you it’s going fine), if Wade is staying out of trouble (no), and how Laura is doing (she’s doing great, actually), but it never progresses much past that.

The tension that builds is so well done. This one really got me into the story, I've never read one with this idea so I thought it was really interesting and fun to read. Sometimes tension is hard to build up, and with the background and characters in the beginning of the story to now and a bit later on, when the 'peak' comes, it feels so well deserves and satisfying. I'm jealous of how you do that 😭

Images of you straddling him with your bare, wet cunt rubbing against his happy trail, getting yourself off on his body as he plays with your pretty tits – He let’s out an audible growl and rips the shower curtain open before turning on the water – straight to his normal hot temperature, too. He knows a cold shower isn't going to do him any good right now. Standing beneath the hot stream, he thinks of what has transpired in the last five minutes and strokes himself in his hand until warm, white liquid follows the water down the drain. When he finishes, he stills hears your voice in his mind and gets hard again within minutes.

UGH. This part was insane. The build Logan begins to feel is so natural here, and as it goes on you can really sense how needy and hard it is for him to handle it. Someone like him being pent up is such a fun concept.

It’s a pretty small couch – really more like a loveseat – so it’s a snug fit for the two of you. The skin of your exposed kneecap brushes against the fabric of his jeans as you lean forward to grab yourself a slice of pizza.

These little tidbits of details feel so authentic and real, I adore each and every one. Just like the exposed midriff, the tiny details that add to what we already know, urging Logan's desires on and on.

During the second act of the movie, he wonders what you’re thinking - if you could possibly be feeling the same way as him – when you randomly sit forward, grab the box of the leftover pizza off of the table in front of you, and stand to take it to your refrigerator. It's then that he picks up on an odor – not the light floral aroma of your perfume but something new. A scent that answers the question of exactly what you had been thinking about. It’s musky and pheromonal, and even though it’s been a while since Logan has been intimate enough with a woman to smell the scent of her arousal, he recognizes it right away.

I'm always a sucker for ferals to use their senses and how writers include it in fics. Logan's sense of smell is insane so he would of course smell the reader's arousal. I love love that and how you described it was amazing.

“You know, if my sense of smell is as good as my sense of hearing, then I think I have a pretty good idea of what you’re thinking about right now,” Logan starts, his voice low and gruff. He watches from his peripheral vision as you freeze, your form going rigid. “But I’d really like to hear you say it.”

Yess, FINALLY. Be bold.

He knows you’re trying to play it cool, but there’s certain things that you just can’t hide from him – like the way your heart is beating a mile a minute and the way your nipples have pebbled beneath the thin material of your tank top.

Love this little detail a lot too <3

He pulls your hand off of him and then tugs you over his erection, trying his hardest to ignore the way the wetness between your legs glides against the tip of his cock, until you’re flat against the hard expanse of his lower stomach. “This is what you wanted, yeah?” He grunts. You whimper in response, tightening your thighs around his sides and rocking back and forth with the smallest amount of friction. “Don’t be holding back, wanna feel you make a mess on me.”

This entire bit was super hot too, the idea of this happening was sooo good. His demeanor and actions, the light teasing and slapping was just perfection. It was perfectly balanced, and I re-read this bit a few times.

“We can stop here,” he murmurs against your lips when he breaks the kiss, even though the thought kills him. He doesn’t want to stop kissing you, touching you, tasting you. It’s only been a few months, but it feels like he’s been waiting a lifetime for this and the last thing he wants is for it to come to an end. “Don’t have to go any further if you don’t—” “No,” you exclaim with a breathy laugh. “No, I don’t want to stop. Do you want to stop?” He grins up at you, taking his length in his hand and teasing it through your folds from below you. He coats the head in your juices before nudging it against your hole. “Definitely don’t wanna stop, sweetheart.”

This gets overlooked a lot but I personally really, really like this part. Enough self control to ask reader if they want to stop, if everything is fine, just giving that option to stop if they wanted to. That is such a good detail and shows the depth of care. It's really refreshing each time I see something like this added in a smut fic.

“Remind me to eavesdrop on your conversations more often,” he huffs a laugh, still slightly out of breath. You bring your lips to his, smiling as you give him a light kiss. “I’ll know if you do. I have a doorbell camera. You didn’t notice that?”

LMAO girl-😂😭

i got it bad

logan howlett x reader (worst!logan x reader)

word count: 4.9k

summary/prompt: logan can't help that he has super hearing and overhears you - wade's seemingly sweet, shy neighbor - telling vanessa what you fantasize about doing to him. believing that you won't ever act on it, he takes matters into his own hands.

or - getting yourself off on logan's abs

warnings/tags: smut, 18+ only mdni, reader is afab, no use of y/n, logan's pov, porn with a little plot, male masturbation, teasing, nipple/breast play, some tit slaps, multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v, cream pie

Ever since Logan first met you, he hasn’t been able to get you out of his fucking head.

Which is really unfortunate for him, considering you seem indifferent to his existence.

Wade says that you're just an introvert, and that it takes you a while to get comfortable around new people, but after living across the hallway from you for the last few months, Logan is sure that you have no interest in him outside of simple, polite conversation whenever the two of you run into each other.

He first notices you from across the room when you enter Wade and Althea's apartment – his apartment now, too, he supposes. The small space is crowded, but you're impossible for him to overlook. He instantly recognizes you from the polaroid picture that Wade had showed him in the Void.

You’re greeted by Vanessa, who kisses you on the cheek and shoves a drink in your hand before dragging you over to where Logan is listening to Wade and Althea bicker about – what were they bickering about again? All he can focus on is the way your dress hugs your curves and the lipstick imprint that you’ve left on the champagne flute in your hand.

He needs to get out more. Go to a bar, get a job, maybe even try out one of those dating apps that Vanessa has suggested to him – something to get him out of this fucking apartment that he's stayed holed up in since arriving in this universe, because he should not be this flustered by a complete stranger.

“Earth to Peanut,” Wade snaps his fingers in front of Logan’s face. He barely processed anything Vanessa had said while she introduced you. Blah blah, neighbor, something something, lives down the hallway. “Jesus, did you get into the white powder under the floorboard? Your pupils are as big as saucers right now.”

“Oh, go easy on him, Wade,” Althea scolds. “It’s natural for pupils to dilate when looking at a pretty girl.”

The expression on your face matches how Logan feels – surprised, embarrassed, slightly mortified.

“You don't even know what she looks like. She could look like me for all you know,” Wade snorts.

“She brings me homemade cookies and she always smells good,” Al retorts. “I don't need to be able to see her to know that she's pretty.”

“Nice to meet you,” Logan finally speaks up with a forced smile. Leave it to his two roommates to make a simple introduction as awkward as possible. “And no, I am not high on cocaine,” he adds with a pointed glare at Wade.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Logan,” you return the sentiment with a chortle and shy smile. “And don’t worry, I never pay attention to anything Wade says.”

Yukio and her girlfriend with the long ass name that Logan has yet to memorize then walk up and gain your attention, leaving Logan wishing he could redo the entire interaction.

He spends the rest of the night hoping for an opportunity to talk to you again, and feeling disappointed when that doesn’t happen.

The next couple of months go similarly. He runs into you frequently – in the elevator, and the communal laundry room of the apartment complex, and when you’re both checking your mail at the same time.

You always greet him with a smile and ask the typical casual conversation questions – how he's liking his new job (he’s not, but he tells you it’s going fine), if Wade is staying out of trouble (no), and how Laura is doing (she’s doing great, actually), but it never progresses much past that.

As soon as the conversation starts to venture into more personal territory, you seem to shut down. You’ll make some excuse about having somewhere to be, wish him a good day, and then you’re gone.

He can’t help himself. He sees how carefree and talkative you can be with Vanessa and hell, even Wade – and he wants that. At least then he may feel a little less crazy for spending so much of his free time racking his brain for ways to get closer to you.

Maybe it’s because it has been so long since he’s had a crush on anyone, but sometimes he thinks he might be losing his mind with how often he thinks of you – your smile, your eyes, your scent, your voice, and the way that having a five minute conversation with you always leaves him feeling for the rest of the day.

That’s why when he’s walking to his apartment one evening, and hears his name come from inside your apartment, he stops dead in his fucking tracks.

God, he knows he shouldn’t listen. He knows he should keep walking, go into his apartment and close the door.

But it’s not like he has his ear pressed up against your door. It’s not his fault that he has super hearing and that the apartment building has paper thin walls.

His brain is yelling at his feet to move but they stay planted firm right where they are.

“He thinks you don’t like him, you know,” Vanessa says. Logan doesn’t need to be able to see to know that there’s a smirk on her face.

He’s tempted to cause some kind of commotion in the hallway and then dash into his apartment, just to stop Vanessa from saying whatever the hell she’s about to say.

“Logan?” You sound appalled. “Of course I like him.”

“I know that you like him,” Vanessa chuckles. “But I can see why he would think otherwise. You act like you can barely stand to be in the same room as the guy for five minutes.”

“That’s not true.” Your voice shoots up several octaves higher than normal.

Logan sends a silent prayer to whoever the fuck is listening that no one walks down this hallway in the next few minutes and sees him standing still as a statue next to your apartment door.

“It’s not that I simply can’t stand to be in the same room as him,” you continue, lowering your voice back down to its normal volume. “It’s that being in the same room as him makes me want to jump his adamantium bones.”

For a second, he really believes that his two hundred year old heart might stop beating.

“I’m fucking pathetic around him,” you huff. “Last week, I saw him pull his t-shirt off in the laundry room to put a clean one on, and ever since then I haven’t been able to stop thinking about grinding my pussy against his abs. Something is seriously wrong with me, Nes.”

But Logan doesn’t hear Vanessa’s response, because he speed walks away while she’s still cackling. By some miracle, Wade isn’t home, so Logan darts past Althea and locks himself in the bathroom.

What the fuck, Jesus Christ, and holy shit all play on a loop in his mind while he tries to ignore the bulge that has quickly formed in his jeans.

The last words he expected to hear anyone say today were jump his adamantium bones and grinding my pussy against his abs – but the fact that he heard those words come from your mouth in your sweet voice has his cock throbbing so hard that he can't think of anything other than you doing exactly what you’ve been fantasizing about.

Images of you straddling him with your bare, wet cunt rubbing against his happy trail, getting yourself off on his body as he plays with your pretty tits –

He let’s out an audible growl and rips the shower curtain open before turning on the water – straight to his normal hot temperature, too. He knows a cold shower isn't going to do him any good right now.

Standing beneath the hot stream, he thinks of what has transpired in the last five minutes and strokes himself in his hand until warm, white liquid follows the water down the drain.

When he finishes, he stills hears your voice in his mind and gets hard again within minutes.

••••••

Logan hasn’t seen you in three days. Three days might not seem like a long time to go without seeing your neighbor, but it feels like a long fucking time for him. In fact, it’s the longest he’s gone without casually running into you since he first met you months ago.

There’s a reason for this, though – he hasn’t checked his mail in days, hasn’t taken any of his laundry down to the basement in days, and has generally tried to avoid leaving his apartment as much as he can out of fear that he’ll see you. He even went as far as to pretend to be napping when you came by with some fresh baked brownies for Althea yesterday.

He wants to see you, of course. Goddamn, does he want to see you. But after overhearing your conversation with Vanessa earlier this week, he doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to look you in the eye and pretend like he hasn't been making himself cum to the thought of you on top of him every time he takes a shower.

But after three days, he finds himself missing you too much to keep up his attempt at distancing himself from you.

What if he’s being ridiculous, staying cooped in this apartment to avoid you? What if you’re just down the hallway, thinking about him at the same time he’s thinking of you?

He's tidying up the kitchen when he sees the pink Tupperware container that you’d brought the brownies in yesterday sitting in the sink. The brownies were long gone – they’d all been eaten by him, Wade and Al within the same hour that you brought them over.

Taking the Tupperware back to you would be the nice, neighborly thing to do, right?

With Al already retired to her bedroom for the evening, and Wade out with Vanessa, he takes it upon himself to wash and dry the container.

It’s a Friday night, so he knows there’s a chance that you’ve got plans and might not even be home, but he still takes a few minutes to fix his hair and swipe some deodorant on before walking down the hallway towards your apartment.

As he approaches your door, he realizes that you are home. There’s light spilling from the crack at the bottom of the doorframe and he can hear low music playing inside. A mix of anxiety and anticipation sets in, but he clears his throat and knocks on your door before he can chicken out.

He hears your footsteps approaching and attempts to wipe any sign of nervousness from his face – he’s just returning your Tupperware, for Christ's sake.

“Logan,” you breathe as you open the door. “I haven’t seen you in a few days,” you greet him. He can’t help but relax at the smile that grows on your face when you realize it’s him. “What are you up to this evening?”

You lean against your doorframe, and Logan has to force himself to maintain eye contact. You’re wearing a matching pajama set – a cute pair of velvet shorts and tank top that shows more of your skin than he’s ever seen before.

“I – uh,” he stammers, holding out the Tupperware container to you. “I just thought I’d bring this back to you. They were great, by the way.”

Your smile spreads to your eyes at his compliment.

“Oh, thanks,” you beam. “I’m glad you got to have one. Wade told me that you were asleep when I came by yesterday so I figured he’d have them eaten by the time you woke up.”

“I’m sure he would have, but Al made him save one for me,” he laughs.

He tries to focus on the conversation at hand, but the fact that you look fresh out of the shower definitely isn’t fucking helping. Bare faced with the scent of your body wash and lotion on your skin, his thoughts begin to stray into dangerous territory fast.

“I don’t wanna interrupt your night, though. I’ll let you get back to—”

“You’re not,” you say quickly as he begins to step backwards. “You're not interrupting. Are you doing anything tonight? I just ordered a pizza and there’s plenty. I was gonna watch a movie, if you want…” You trail off, glancing back and forth between him and your apartment behind you.

He can't help but notice that your voice sounds hopeful.

The invitation excites him more than he cares to admit. Sure, the two of you have hung out plenty of times, but it's always been in a group setting – at one of Wade’s get togethers or movie nights, surrounded by other friends.

But never just the two of you – definitely never in your apartment.

He could never think of saying no to you. Especially not when this is what he's been hoping for since he first me you.

“Yeah. Yeah, I'd really like that.”

You hold the door open for him, letting him enter your apartment. Right away, he notices how different it is from the one that he lives in. Then again, there’s three people cramped into Althea’s – you're the only person who lives here, so you're able to make it entirely your own.

It’s cute, and cozy, he thinks. From your furniture adorned with throw pillows and blankets, to all of your shelves stocked with books, knick-knacks and candles, to the various plants occupying space throughout the living room, it feels endearing and welcoming right away.

“So, where’s Wade at tonight?” you ask as he ventures into the living room. He notes a large cardboard box with an untouched pizza in it on your coffee table. His stomach growls at the sight, and it hits him that he actually is fucking starving.

“He’s out with Vanessa. Fourth time this week,” he answers, turning to find you retrieving two plates from a cabinet in your kitchen. You're angled away from him, and when you raise your arms to grab the plates, your tank top lifts enough to give him a clear view of your midriff. He quickly averts his gaze, pretending to find something on your bookshelf particularly interesting.

“I’m just really glad that they’ve worked through things and seem to be happy now,” you sigh. “He wasn’t in a good place after their breakup. Barely ever left his apartment for the longest time.”

“They’ve got something special, that’s for sure,” Logan agrees.

You hand him a plate, walking past him to your couch. You toss some of the decorative throw pillows to your recliner, making room for him on the sofa. You pat the empty space beside you, an invitation for him to make himself at home.

“Who knows, maybe they'll even get their own place soon and I won’t have to share the living room with him anymore,” he says as he sits down beside you.

It’s a pretty small couch – really more like a loveseat – so it’s a snug fit for the two of you. The skin of your exposed kneecap brushes against the fabric of his jeans as you lean forward to grab yourself a slice of pizza.

“Sounds like you just want Blind Al and Mary Puppins all to yourself,” you tease. You hand him a piece of pizza and close the box before propping your feet up on the table. You lean back, looking at him with a smirk and raised brows.

“If he moves, that dog is going with him and you know it. There’s no way he’d leave her behind,” he shakes his head.

“There’s no way Althea would let him take her. She's grown to be as attached to her as Wade is. I think even you like her more than you care to admit.”

“What can I say? She has a way of weaseling herself into your heart,” Logan sighs.

“Oh, it’s definitely the tongue,” you shrug through a bite of pizza.

Logan grimaces as a vivid image of Mary Puppins French kissing Wade awake flashes through his mind, but he can't help but laugh.

You turn on some action-comedy that Logan has never heard of, and the two of you eat and take turns making comments about whatever is happening on the screen for the first half of the movie.

He tries to stay focused on the film, he really does, but every now and then you readjust your position on the couch, causing him to catch a whiff of your perfume or your thigh will brush against his and he'll have to force his attention back to the characters on the screen.

No matter how distracting he may find your mere presence beside him, he's enjoying himself. This is by far the longest the two of you have hung out together, without the additions of his roommates and other friends. He dreads the moment that the movie ends and he’s obligated to tell you goodnight before reluctantly going back to his own apartment.

During the second act of the movie, he wonders what you’re thinking - if you could possibly be feeling the same way as him – when you randomly sit forward, grab the box of the leftover pizza off of the table in front of you, and stand to take it to your refrigerator.

It's then that he picks up on an odor – not the light floral aroma of your perfume but something new. A scent that answers the question of exactly what you had been thinking about. It’s musky and pheromonal, and even though it’s been a while since Logan has been intimate enough with a woman to smell the scent of her arousal, he recognizes it right away.

When you sit back down beside him, the sweet smell washes over him again and he bites the inside of his lip so hard that he tastes blood. The wound disappears as quickly as it’s formed, but the same can’t be said for the erection that begins to strain against the confines of his boxers.

He eyes the pile of small, decorative pillows that you had tossed to the side and wishes that he could grab one to place over his lap.

The words that you’d said to Vanessa a few days ago begin replaying in his mind for the thousandth time since he’d first heard you say them, reminding him this isn’t one-sided. He may be sitting here attempting to conceal a raging hard-on by shifting his position and subtly adjusting his pants, but Logan’s heightened sense of smell tells him that your underwear are probably starting to feel as uncomfortable as his do at the moment.

Without turning his head, he risks a glance at you. Your eyes are on the movie, and your face is neutral, but your posture gives you away. Your arms are crossed over your chest, the tips of your fingernails digging tiny crescent shaped indentations into the flesh of your upper arm. You have one of your thighs crossed over the other, locked together tightly but that doesn’t stop him from being able to smell how fucking wet you are.

“You know, if my sense of smell is as good as my sense of hearing, then I think I have a pretty good idea of what you’re thinking about right now,” Logan starts, his voice low and gruff. He watches from his peripheral vision as you freeze, your form going rigid.

“But I’d really like to hear you say it.”

You turn to him, your eyebrows quirked but your face otherwise impassive.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about. What exactly is it that you’d like to hear me say?” you ask innocently. You give him doe eyes that make his cock finish filling with blood.

He huffs a laugh, picking up on the way that your heartrate accelerates when you look at him.

“I'd like to hear you say what you said to Vanessa a few days ago,” he hums. “I can’t remember exactly, but I think it had something to do with you rubbing your sweet little cunt on my abs. Does that sound familiar to you?”

“Hm,” you feign contemplation. “That doesn’t really sound like something I'd say.”

He knows you’re trying to play it cool, but there’s certain things that you just can’t hide from him – like the way your heart is beating a mile a minute and the way your nipples have pebbled beneath the thin material of your tank top.

“You’re right. It doesn't sound like something you’d say,” he snorts, and leans in so that your face is just a few inches from his. “So imagine my surprise when I walked by your apartment to hear you talking about jumping my adamantium bones.”

He doesn't miss the way your breath catches in your throat or how your eyes flicker to his lips.

“You gonna do it? Or you just gonna keep thinking about it while you're sitting beside me?”

For a second, you say nothing and Logan struggles to read your expression. Then, without taking your eyes off of him, you slowly stand in front of the couch. You reach for the hem of your tank top and pull it over your head, leaving you naked from the waist up.

Logan's mouth goes dry. Suddenly, he's all out of smart remarks.

You hook your thumbs into the waistband of your pajama shorts, pushing them down your thighs along with your panties, and let them both drop to your feet all while holding his gaze.

With you now stark naked before him, he leans forward, grasping you by the backs of your thighs and pulling you onto his lap. You straddle him, gently pushing him back against the sofa.

He tugs his own shirt over his head while you undo his belt buckle and pop open the top button of his jeans, your hands fumbling when he sheds his shirt.

Logan doesn’t typically think too much about his physical appearance. He knows he’s in good shape, and thinks he’s conventionally attractive enough. But he could see himself getting a bit of an ego, if he had someone looking at him the way you are right now on a regular basis.

You help him shimmy his jeans and boxers down far enough for his cock to spring free. You take him in your hand, using your thumb to smear the thick bead of pre-cum across the head.

“You should be careful listening to people’s conversations outside of their doors,” you hum as you pump him in one hand. You hunch over, lowering your mouth enough to spit down his shaft, lubricating the length. You smirk, glancing up at him from beneath your thick eyelashes. “Other people might not react as happily as me.”

Fuck, he knows it’s been a long time since he's even felt anyone’s hands on him, but he feels a little pathetic at the way his balls are already tightening and feeling so heavy just from the way you’re languidly stroking him.

And as much as he’d love for you to keep your hands on him, there’s time for him later. Right now, what he wants more than anything is the feeling of your pussy on him.

He pulls your hand off of him and then tugs you over his erection, trying his hardest to ignore the way the wetness between your legs glides against the tip of his cock, until you’re flat against the hard expanse of his lower stomach.

“This is what you wanted, yeah?” He grunts. You whimper in response, tightening your thighs around his sides and rocking back and forth with the smallest amount of friction. “Don’t be holding back, wanna feel you make a mess on me.”

His words seem to erase any remaining reservation that you may have had. You brace your hands on his chest and begin dragging your center across his lower stomach, your slick coating the thick trail of hair that goes from his belly button to his waistline. With every backstroke, the head of his cock juts against your ass.

You glide across him easily. Soft, wet, and warm, Logan thinks that if you feel this good on his fucking stomach then there’s no way he’ll be able to handle being inside you.

He leans his head forward, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth. You hold his head in your hands, tugging on his hair with your fingers as he teases your nipple with his tongue and teeth.

He pulls his mouth away from your breast with a wet pop. “You like this? Using me to get yourself off?”

“Mm-hmm,” you nod frantically, your answer coming out as a moan. He gives a quick, firm slap to your other breast. Judging by the sound it draws from you, you like it, so he does it again.

He'd pictured this exact scenario a shameful number of times in the last few days, but his thoughts hadn’t done you justice. Every little noise you make, every little whimper and moan as your clit brushes against the thick bulges of his muscles again and again, sounds sweeter than he could've dreamed.

He places his hands on the meat of your hips, guiding you forwards and backwards across his abdomen at a fast pace.

“Fuck,” you gasp, clenching your thighs around him as tight as you can. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum—”

“That’s right,” he coos. “Come on, cum on me.”

You dig your fingernails into his shoulders, drenching the hair on his stomach as you ride out your orgasm on him with a cry of his name.

You collapse against his chest, going still with your face in the crook of his neck as you steady your breathing.

“Look at me,” he whispers after a moment. It hits him that despite the fact that you just humped him until you came all over his abdomen, he somehow hasn’t even kissed you yet.

You pull away from his neck, looking down at him with a dazed expression. He brings your face to his mouth by the back of your neck. He wastes no more time, instantly slipping his tongue past your lips.

He holds you by the globes of your ass, which hovers just above his erection. You grind down, causing the tip of his cock to nudge against your entrance. He groans into your mouth, his cock past the point of feeling like it’s going to explode if he doesn’t fucking feel you.

“We can stop here,” he murmurs against your lips when he breaks the kiss, even though the thought kills him. He doesn’t want to stop kissing you, touching you, tasting you. It’s only been a few months, but it feels like he’s been waiting a lifetime for this and the last thing he wants is for it to come to an end. “Don’t have to go any further if you don’t—”

“No,” you exclaim with a breathy laugh. “No, I don’t want to stop. Do you want to stop?”

He grins up at you, taking his length in his hand and teasing it through your folds from below you. He coats the head in your juices before nudging it against your hole.

“Definitely don’t wanna stop, sweetheart.”

You sink down onto him at the same moment that he tilts his hips up enough to slip inside you, causing the entirety of his length to fill you at once.

You both go still, adjusting to the new sensation of each other. Your walls, velvet soft and so warm, constrict around him like a vice. He knows you’re likely tired from riding him through your first orgasm, so he begins thrusting his hips slowly, the tip of his cock nudging against your cervix.

“You’re big. So, so big,” you moan – something between a whine and a praise.

“I know, but you’re doing so good, honey,” he encourages as he eases himself in and out of you. “Don’t worry, I got you.”

You latch your lips to his again, and it’s hard for him to hold back. The feeling of your tight, perfect cunt around him and the taste of your tongue in his mouth is overwhelming. He wants to memorize every movement, every sound you make.

You snake your hand between your bodies, your fingertips finding your swollen clit and massaging languid circles. He feels you flutter around him as you start meeting his thrusts with movements of your own, and he knows you’re close.

“Not gonna last much longer, honey,” he grunts with a sharp thrust. “Feel too fucking good.”

“Cum with me,” you murmur against his mouth.

Your command causes something in him to snap. He releases a throaty growl, pistoning his hips upwards at a harsh pace as he fills you up from below. You constrict around him, crying his name into his ear as you ride out your climaxes together.

You collapse against his chest once more, his cock still nestled inside you. He loses track of how long the two of you stay like that, neither of you wanting to be the first to move.

“Remind me to eavesdrop on your conversations more often,” he huffs a laugh, still slightly out of breath.

You bring your lips to his, smiling as you give him a light kiss.

“I’ll know if you do. I have a doorbell camera. You didn’t notice that?”

thank you so much for reading <3 comments and reblogs are super appreciated. here are a few more of my favorite logan pieces that i've written ✨️

for always and ever is always for you - old man logan x healer reader

diet pepsi - old man logan x reader limousine sex

lavender and velvet - worst variant logan x neighbor reader

[mangoshorthand]

A Hargreeves Christmas Carol | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader | Ch4

SUMMARY: Luther is the sort of idiot who goes around with a 'Merry Christmas' and a goofy smile on his lips. In your opinion, he should be roasted with his own turkey and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. Who better to teach you the error of your ways than Luther's brother, the man who holds the power of Christmases Past, Present, and Yet to Come in the palm of his hand? Info/Announcement Post

<< Read Chapter Three

Chapter Four (Rated M, 4.3k words)

The Last of the Spirits

As the living room cleared of his family, their Christmas ruined by the argument, Five succeeded in priming the briefcase. He reached out as if to take your upper arm and vanish with you into the previous evening, but you jumped out of his reach. 

“No Five. Show me the future! Show me the nuclear armageddon all this is supposed to cause. Because, based on what I just saw, this is your fault, not mine.” 

You reached out a finger and jabbed him hard in the chest, withdrawing quickly lest he use the opportunity to grab you. 

“You’re going home,” he said, firmly.

“I am not!” you yelled, stamping your foot in frustration, “take me to the future and prove to me that you haven’t been lying for an opportunity to get in my pants!”

Five tossed his head angrily, shaking his fists at his sides in equal frustration and making the briefcase hit him hard in the leg. 

“Don’t flatter yourself” he spat, “You think I’d do all this just for that?”

And then, after a slight pause:

“You think I’d try to scare you into fucking me, is that it?

“I don’t know what to believe!” you cried. 

Five took two or three angry breaths and chewed the inside of his cheek before he responded.

“I didn’t lie to get into your pants,” he said, sounding bitter, but slightly calmer “And, technically, I didn’t lie to you at all. I never actually said you caused nuclear armageddon. I just let you believe it.”

“WHAT?”

“I said that upsetting Luther could potentially cause nuclear armageddon, which is true: actions like those can, indirectly, lead to apocalyptic events. I never actually said it did in this case, however.”

You seized a bookend off a nearby shelf and threw it at him, hard. He, of course, blinked and reappeared a short distance away, leaving the bookend to smash against the wall. 

“I guess I would have deserved that.” Five said, eyeing the bookend as it faded back into being on the bookshelf. 

“YOU FUCKING PSYCHOPATH.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I know I shouldn’t -”

“YOU BASTARD!”

“I know,” he replied, a pleading note in his voice now, “but if you just-”

“YOU ARE BARRED. TAKE ME HOME, AND THEN NEVER SHOW YOUR FACE IN MY BAR AGAIN. I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN!”

Five held up the hand not holding the briefcase.

“Fine, okay. I get it. But will you let me explain?”

You breathed like an angry bull, your fists clenched so hard it felt like you’d never be able to relax them again, but gave a resentful nod.

“Thank you,” he said, putting the briefcase down on one of the couches and sitting on its arm, facing you. 

“I guess it was my fault. I just…I guess I tried to blame you because that was easier than facing the fact I ruined Christmas for Luther… and for everyone else.”

You let out a huff, but his face kept you from an angry expostulation for the time being, and he continued: 

“But Sloane was right. You and I are similar. We’re both kind of misanthropic: we push the people who care about us away. It might not lead to an apocalypse, but it’s hardly gonna spell good news for us in the future.”

His expression appealed to yours, and you found it hard to maintain the same level of anger as you saw the honest-to-God anxiety in his face.

“I got a second chance to live my life,” he continued, quietly, “and I’m already fucking it up. You only got one life, and I don’t want to see you fuck it up either.”

You looked back at him, at his beautiful, infuriating, and wholly sincere face. Not for the first time that night, you felt the strange urge to cry. 

What was even stranger was the urge to cry on his shoulder. 

“I think you’re right,” he said.

“About what?” you asked, frowning.

“We should go see the future. Check in on you and I in, say, ten years time? See how bad it gets?”

The idea, though you’d been fiercely advocating for it only a minute or so earlier, suddenly filled you with a thrill of uncertain horror. Perhaps it was the effect of his speech, but to have such unnatural knowledge, impossible in the normal course of things, seemed now too terrible to comprehend. 

Nevertheless, you nodded silently, your legs starting to tremble beneath you. 

“Good,” Five said, and held out his hand. 

You took it. As he ran his thumb over the back of your hand, the fear became a little more bearable. 

“I really am sorry,” he said, seriously, still holding your eyes with his.

“I'll forgive you,” you replied, and squeezed his fingers. 

He smiled softly and let your hand go, reaching behind him for the briefcase once more.

“Okay,” he said, balancing it on one knee and playing with the dials, “since it’s still my hair in the briefcase, we may as well visit me first.”

The case clicked and whirred as, with a flourish, he finished his calibration. 

“Ready to see how shit my life gets?”

He looked up at you with a grin, took your hand again, and you both vanished into the now-familiar static.

You emerged in another living room, almost as different as it was possible to be from the one you just left. It was dingy, lit by a single bulb uncovered by any sort of shade.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” Five murmured, looking around disdainfully. 

You had overcome your fear for now, and you looked around the living room with interest. 

It was clean at least, but the furnishings left a lot to be desired. There was a single recliner in the center of the carpet facing a TV mounted on the wall in front of you. There was also a squashed looking chesterfield, which seemed as if it was only there for form’s sake; a vague gesture at the idea of having guests.

Other than that, there was a small table beside the recliner and a couple of IKEA-looking bookcases, each filled to the brim with books. Otherwise, the room was empty. 

“Well, I’m definitely still single.” Five said, nodding to the sparse decor slightly bitterly, “Figures.”

“Yep, it’s not great,” you confirmed, grimacing.

He glanced down at the briefcase and then around the room again.

“It’s definitely Christmas Eve,” he said, “but I guess I got nobody to put up a tree for. What would be the point?”

There was a voice from the other room and you both fell silent.

“Oh, that’s great. Tell him I say hi.” 

It was Five’s voice, and it was followed a half second later by Five himself coming into the room. 

“Really?” the Five beside you said, a mixture of disappointment and incredulity in his voice. 

The decade-older Five was wearing a pair of pajama pants, no shirt, and was sporting a chevron mustache that didn't suit him. He held a phone wedged between his ear and shoulder, and his well-abused slippers shushed against the carpet. 

He was carrying a beer in one hand and what looked like some sort of frozen dinner in the other: constituted beef packaged into steak-esque shapes was sitting on a bed of soggy green beans. On the side, there was a dump of watery potato puree masquerading as mashed. 

“This is so depressing,” Five said, cringing at the sight of himself.

“That mustache does make you look like a child molester,” you agreed.

“Thanks." 

“Mm-hm,” said the future Five, placing his sad meal on the table and settling himself in the recliner, facing away from you, “well that’s nice to hear. Did the gifts for the kids arrive...Good, good.”

He picked up the beer and took a swig, using the remote to turn on the TV and immediately mute it, flicking through the channels as he spoke on the phone. 

“Me? Oh, I’m fine. Just relaxing, you know?”

He paused in his channel surfing on a showing of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, set down the control and watched it as he continued the conversation.

“You know me, I hate Christmas … Yeah, I’m happy as hell here.”

Five winced beside you. 

“I’m guessing that’s a lie?” you murmured, looking at your Five sidelong.

“Yup,” Five said, grimly, “the only thing I hate worse than people is being alone.”

Five’s future self lifted his dinner onto his lap and speared a limp green bean onto his fork.

“How’s Luther?” he said, “Life and soul of the party, right? … Sure, sure … good for you.”

He took a few more bites of his meal, ‘uh-huh-ing’ and ‘mm-hm-ing’ occasionally at the voice on the other end of the line. 

 Well,” he said, an almost undetectable tinge of sadness in his voice now, “maybe next year.”

His tone made it so clear that he didn’t hold out much hope that you didn’t even bother conferring with the Five beside you.

“You guys got your New Years planned? … Nice, nice … do you know what everyone else is doing?”

He stayed quiet as he listened, eating some more and throwing out another mm-hm or uh-huh as the conversation required. 

“Huh?” he said, eventually. “I’ll probably hit the bars with a couple of friends. Maybe do the big countdown in Times Square or wherever.”

“I’m lying,” Five said to you, flatly.

“Yeah, yeah,” the Five in the chair continued, “well I’ll - what? … Oh. No, that’s fine. Have fun tomorrow. I gotta go now anyway … alright … yeah, Happy Christmas. Bye Vik.”

When the call ended, he put down his knife and fork for a few moments, sighed, and then lifted his eyes back to the TV and began eating once more. 

“This is what I get.” Five said dully, watching himself finish the last third of his meal. 

You looked from the Five facing away from you in the chair to the Five beside you, his expression haunted.

“But this is just a future that might be, right?” you said, half asking, half attempting to reassure him, “This isn’t set in stone.”

“If I don’t get my shit together, this is where I’ll be.”

“But you talk like you’re past all hope,” you said, bracingly, “You just have to make a change.”

“Yeah,” he said, though not sounding convinced. 

“And even if you get like this, it’s not like it’s too late to make it right! You’re, what, in your thirties here?” 

“Over eighty,” Five said. 

“Well, whatever,” you continued, “the one thing you got is time. If that Five pulled his finger out of his ass, he could go fix it. It’s not like anyone’s dead.”

As you spoke, the older Five finished his meal and began to channel surf again.

“I was alone for a very long time.” your Five said, “It does something to you.”

You watched him in silence as he continued. 

“When my brain was developing the finer points of empathy, I didn’t have anyone around to empathize with. There was nobody real to practice on while my brain was still plastic.”

You looked from him to the Five in the chair, considering him as you listened. 

“I feel like…maybe I’m doomed.” Five continued, “This is my mind’s comfort zone; nobody around to force me to be an actual human being. Nobody to challenge me, nobody to compromise for. Nobody to force me to be better by expecting more of me.”

Your attention was suddenly caught by the television.

“Uh, Five?”

“It’s like I’m stuck in this pattern of -”

“Five, seriously.”

This got his attention, and he looked at the TV in horror.

“Oh my god!” he cried, almost dropping the briefcase.

On the screen, there were two women gyrating against one another in barely-there Santa-themed lingerie. From the chair, a rhythmic shuffling sound confirmed the worst. 

Horrified, Five grabbed you by the back of your sweater, pulled you out of the room and into a sad looking bedroom. 

“I am so, so sorry!” he said, sitting down heavily on the bed and hiding his face in his hands, “I can’t believe you had to see that!”

You tried extremely hard to keep the laughter in, but a little burst bounds despite your best efforts. 

“I’m sorry,” you said back to him, looking up at you with a red, mortified face made even worse by your reaction, “I’m really sorry to laugh, I don’t want to embarrass you. It was just so unexpected!”

He hid his head in his hands again and groaned, just as the Five from the living room gave an audible groan of his own.

This was too much, and you fell into helpless giggles.

“I’m - s-so ….sorry!” you managed, struggling to speak against laughter that had you doubled over and leaning against the wall for support, “I’m not… I’m not j-judging you, it’s j-just… really f-f-f-funny!”

You struggled to get ahold of yourself, managing it with difficulty, and Five recovered himself just enough to look up at you, mortified. 

“I’m glad one of us is enjoying this at least.”

At this, all your hard work was undone and you bent double again, breathless with laughter.

“T-t-two of us are enjoying it!” you wheezed, gesturing in the direction of Five’s counterpart. 

Five’s face crumpled, but then a pained snort forced its way out, and then he was laughing too. 

“I can’t believe I masturbate to cable porn.” he said, agony in his voice, “That’s the worst part!”

You sat down beside him on the bed and put your arm around his shoulders, giggling breathlessly, his own reluctant laughter just adding to the hilarity. 

In this manner, the laughter gradually faded, and you finished up leaning against one another, still chuckling occasionally. 

Turning to him, you looked at his expression. Though he still looked amused, there was equal humiliation and misery in the lines of his face.

“Listen to me,” you said, softly, “you’re not doomed to loneliness and cable porn. You’re not… you’re not broken, maybe just a little bent.”

“Thanks,” he murmured, bowing his head and letting it rest gently against yours. 

He let out a little breath, as if he were laying down a heavy burden he knew he would have to pick up again all too soon. 

At this close quarters, you could smell that menthol scent again; eucalyptus, perhaps a hint of citrus.

And, rather like the night you wiped salt away from his chin, your body acted without your brain’s involvement. 

You pressed your lips to his scarlet temple, and then withdrew. 

Five looked surprised, and he lifted his head to look at you, only a few inches apart. 

“Thanks,” he said, again, though he mouthed it this time, the word barely articulated.

You looked at each other, caught in this strange, frozen moment. Both of you sat there, paralysed, completely unsure what might happen next.

And then, a particularly drawn out moan from the living room snapped you both back to reality. Apparently the other Five wasn’t far off finishing his visit to the land of cable porn. 

“We should go,” Five said, quickly, drawing away from you quickly and fumbling in his breast pocket for the vial containing your hair.

“Sounds good,” you said, brightly, hiding the awkwardness with jollity. 

There were a few exquisitely embarrassing moments as Five exchanged the hairs in which his older self was putting on rather the auditory show.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Five chanted as he worked, finally succeeding in slamming the DNA housing back into place and setting the briefcase.

With no preamble, he grabbed your arm and you both thankfully vanished into the ether. 

When you rematerialized, it was to find yourself in your bar on a busy night. 

“Thank God.” Five said, still bright pink.

He looked briefly down at the briefcase:

“Yep, same night.”

The bar looked relatively unchanged, though the fixtures and fittings had been upgraded at some point in the ten years that lay between you and this permutation of Maggie’s. There was the same half-assed tinsel around the window frame as the sole concession to the fact it was Christmas Eve.

On the corner table, a group of men donning Santa hats were singing an uproarious version of Jingle Bells, their drinks up over their heads and swaying in unison. 

There you were, behind the crowded bar as usual, shaking a cocktail with one hand and pulling a pint of lager with the other, working with the same, ruthless energy you always did, face hard and steely in concentration. 

Robbie was gone, it seemed, because you didn’t recognise the two employees helping to fend off the rest of the crowd of customers baying for booze and jacked up on Christmas cheer.

“This doesn’t seem fair,” Five said, “You’re doing great, but a few miles away I’m…wanking into a TV dinner like Ebenezer Splooge!”

“I look so much older,” you said, not listening and instead eyeing the first hint of crow’s feet emerging around your eyes.

“You look great,” Five said, impatiently, “This just proves that I’m the problem. You’re perfectly happy, and I'm a mess.”

He watched you almost wistfully, both envying your future and admiring your command, as he always found himself doing whenever he visited Maggie’s. You really were a sight to see behind that bar, and ten years had only added more skill. 

As another large table began to join in with the Jingle Bells guys, you said something that Five didn’t quite catch, and he tore his eyes away from the future you to look at the you beside him.

He was surprised to see tears streaming down your face.

“I’m not happy!” 

You fell against his chest and cried tears more violent than any you’d cried that night.

Five stood there, bewildered, as your desperate tears began to soak through his shirt. 

“Okay, okay,” he said, soothingly, “I’m gonna take you home, alright?”

He fiddled with the briefcase with difficulty, peering over your shoulder to set it where he held it behind your back. With a couple of pushes of buttons, he succeeded, and you were at last standing once more in your darkened living room, the high wind buffering the windows. 

Five looked briefly down at the briefcase for confirmation.

“Ten minutes after we left,” he murmured, satisfied, “Quantum suspension engaged, so no doppelganger for me. We’re good to go from here.”

This done, he lowered you both onto the couch, letting the briefcase bump down softly onto the floor. 

For a few moments, he simply held you against him, and then he shifted his grip to hold you by the shoulders in order to look into your face. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, “Why did seeing that make you cry?”

You shook your head and closed your eyes to weep once more, sobs overtaking you.

“Hey,” Five said, shaking you gently, “given all the shit you've seen about me tonight, you can at least tell me that!”

When this didn’t yield the desired result, he sighed and pulled you back against his shoulder.

“Okay, cry it out for now, but I’m not leaving until you tell me.”

You did cry it out, sniffling against his pure white shirt without a worry for how much you might be ruining it. Right now, he felt warm and safe. His was the only comfort you could imagine taking as waves of revelation broke upon you. 

His was the only comfort you could take, you realized.

Many of your bridges were burned, others had simply rotted away from lack of maintenance, and others yet had been severed by the loss of the other side. The end result was the same: you were very short on bridges. 

In truth, Luther, Robbie, and Five’s bridges were probably the only three you had left.

Luther had maintained his well, without your help, yet earlier today you’d launched a Molotov cocktail at it, leaving it in danger of burning down if you didn’t take action.

Robbie’s was a thin and sickly little bridge, barely a bridge at all. It could have been stronger, you knew, if only you’d allowed him to build as he wanted. 

And Five’s? Right now, it was the only one that could support your weight. It was untested before tonight, yet it was standing firm beneath your feet.

“I’m not happy,” you repeated, when your sobs had subsided enough to allow you to speak, “I haven’t been happy for a long, long time.”

Five’s arms tightened around you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“Ever since my grandma died. I’ve felt…”

You broke, took a couple of breaths, and tried a different way of explaining it. 

“I looked at myself behind that bar, and I realized I have no idea who that woman is.”

Five nodded slowly, though you could tell he didn’t really understand. 

“I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what I want. I just know that I don’t want to be her in ten years’ time.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because she’s exactly the same as I am now!”

Five gave another of those slow nods, processing. 

“Tell me if I’m way off base,” he said, tentatively, as if he’d just drawn a tenuous red line between points in his mind, “your grandma died, and you took over Maggie’s immediately, right? When you were twenty one?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think that maybe you threw yourself into managing the place to avoid… actually grieving her?”

You made a small, wounded noise, a fresh wave of tears descended, and you nodded against his chest.

He reclined on the couch, taking you with him as he fumbled behind you to pull a blanket over you. It was warm, comforting, and it made you cry harder in relief.

“Maggie’s was never your baby,” he said, softly, “it was hers.”

You nodded.

“Do you even like running it?”

You shook your head, admitting it for the first time with a shuddering outward breath.

“Everything she did for me. I can’t just let that go. That bar was everything to her.”

Five shook his head.

“You think she gave you that bar so that you could chain yourself to it?”

“No.”

“Then sell it.”

“No!”

“Well, then find something in the middle!” 

You sniffled and took a few moments to regain some composure. 

“I don’t like managing the bar, but I like mixology. When I make cocktails, it reminds me of her and it feels good.”

“Then stick with mixology and ditch the rest,” he said, as if it were obvious.

You shook your head.

“I can’t let her down. If - if I don’t make it a success then… then I’ll be proving she was wrong to trust me with it.”

“Sounds like you got your thinking backwards to me,” Five scoffed. 

“What do you mean?”

“You said she always fought for you, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re acting like she raised you just to make sure there would be someone around to make Maggie’s a success. Seems more likely that she worked her ass off in the bar to make sure she could leave something behind for you.”

You couldn’t help but see the logic in this, but still, something niggled:

“The bar’s her legacy. I can’t abandon it.”

“You’re her legacy, idiot.”

His logic had done little to dispel your doubts, but this emotional truth smashed through them with the force of a wrecking ball. 

You remembered her twinkling at you at fifteen as she taught you to make your first margaria, you remembered her beaming with pride when you first made a cosmo by heart, and you remembered her on her deathbed, pressing her rhinestone necklace into your hand and telling you how proud she was, how successful you’d be. 

You remembered her taking her in your arms and making you feel safe while your parents screamed. 

It wasn’t the bar, it was you. It was always you. 

And you were crying once more: hot, cleansing, healing tears.

“I miss her,” you hiccuped against Five’s chest. 

“I know,” he said, stroking your hair.

For the next several minutes, you cried yourself dry. And then you felt better. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, slightly hoarsely, “I cried all over your shirt.”

“I don’t mind,” Five said.

In truth, he could have stayed there all night with you in his arms, wet shirt or not. You stopping crying was bittersweet: your grief was over, but it meant that soon he’d have to stir himself, say his goodbyes and probably never touch you like this ever again. 

“Can I get you a nightcap?” you asked. 

“Sure.”

You extracted yourself from him and looked on the kitchen shelf that stored your private booze. 

“Tequila shot?” you asked him, with a mischievous grin. 

“Perfect,” he smiled back.

God, the pain your little grin caused him. Like a knife to his stomach. 

You returned to the couch with two shots of tequila and held one out to him. He took it with thanks, and you sat down again. 

Five raised his glass.

“To Maggie,” he said.

“To you,” you countered, “the man who said he didn’t have enough empathy.”

Five chuckled, and you clinked your glasses together before throwing them back, revelling in the heat as it went down. 

“I’d better take my leave,” Five said, when he’d recovered from the shot.

You nodded, and you both stood.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, “I’d like you to come for Christmas tomorrow. But no pressure. I’m going to do things differently on my end this time, and none of that’s on you.”

“Thank you,” you said.

He bent, picked up the briefcase, and you followed him to your apartment door. There, he turned to look at you and held out his hand once more.

“Happy Holidays,” you said, solemnly, taking his outstretched hand.

Five raised your linked hands to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of yours.

“Happy Holidays,” he replied, and left.

Read Chapter Five >> (Final chapter coming Christmas Eve!) I FEED OFF COMMENTS AND REBLOGS YUM YUM YUM

The Last of the Spirits — The Pointing Finger by John Leech, 1843 in Dickens' A Christmas Carol, first edition (1843).

Dickens' A Christmas Carol full text available here.

Read it! It's a much better than this, and you can see how many lines I stole verbatim or clumsily referenced.

Dividers used in this series by @bernardsbendystraws (garland) and @strangergraphics (lights) My husband (Mr Mango) also wishes it to be known that he came up with Ebenezer Splooge. It was him, it was him, it was all him! Here he is, at the bottom, where he belongs.

Taglist: @nevbrooke-555, @fiannee, @abeeabee6969, @chalametabingbong, @lolawassad, @icantpickanamefromonefandom @thebearmage @kaybreezy3000, @starlitflora (comment to be added or removed)

Megalist

Request info + rules

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See request info + rules for request status and more.

[growth-opportunities]

Interventions with the Best of Intentions, pt. 1

[A/N] Hi all! This is sort of my first venture into long-form writing. I was inspired by a brief exchange with @biggerbagingos, so I'm sure he and anyone who follows him already knows where this is headed. Also, heads up, this is gonna deal with some extreme sizes, much bigger than what I usually write about. This is part one of probably three, maybe four if I decide to pad things out. No hard timeline but I hope this gets people excited for the future! Without any further ado...

--------------------------------------------------------------------

The routine was one that Tiffany’s friends now found to be all too familiar. When she got upset, the first thing she did was gather up her long, red hair and throw it over her shoulder. This part was expected take a few seconds as her voluminous hair could be a bit unruly and often fall in front of her pale, freckled face. Once it was done, she took a deep breath, as deep as she possibly could. A second hung in the air, a brief, momentary pause, just holding the breath inside her. Then, she shoved her face into the deep crevice, the ravine, the canyon that was her cleavage and let out a long, muffled scream. It was amusing, though they wouldn’t tell her so, to watch her heave her breasts from beneath far enough to put her head between them, but in this instance, the table she sat at provided a perfect ledge on which to rest her breasts, sparing her arms the herculean lift.

This scream was particularly deep, Valerie silently noted while sipping her bubble tea, sitting across from her buxom friend. The table was on the far edge of a small strip mall, far away from any prying eyes and with virtually no chance of anyone eavesdropping. Between the autumn air and the tea, a slight chill was creeping in. For a moment, Valerie wished she hadn’t cut her dark hair so short, feeling goosebumps spread over her neck. She drew her denim jacket tighter around her slender shoulders, glancing down at her watch. Having known Tiffany since before her gargantuan breasts had even thought about beginning to grow, she knew she could count the number of lung refills like counting the rings of a tree to figure out just how frustrated her friend was. By the time Tiffany finally emerged from her own bosom, her throat burned. Valerie took another sip of her drink, reaching across the table to grab Tiffany’s drink and offer it to her, pushing the straw against Tiffany’s lips.

“Jeez, Tiff. A four? You didn’t even scream that much when you got your homecoming dress.”

Tiffany groaned, pounding her fist against the table, sending a ripple through her bust. She snatched the cup from Valerie’s hand and took a big, angry swig, as angry as one can be when drinking a Cookies ‘n’ Cream milkshake. “That was different.” Though the drink helped, screaming had left her voice hoarse. She lifted her head just far enough to put her arms under her chin, her breasts making for a soft pillow underneath. “At least then I had someone I could yell at instead of just the vague idea of ‘my hormones’ or ‘my genetics’. And, in fairness to her, the seamstress did apologize. I can’t really blame her for not believing the measurements I sent in.” Tiffany blew a puff of air upward, pushing a few strands of her hair out of her face. “This is just…” Tiffany took another deep breath, as if she was about to aim for a five, only to let it out in a defeated sigh.  “My fucking tits are already such a hassle, Val. I really don’t know if I can handle them getting much bigger. I’m gonna have to… I don’t know… carry them around in a wheelbarrow or something.”

Valerie let out a quick, wry chuckle. “Well, I’m sure you could find no shortage of guys and probably a good number of girls who would help push!”

Despite herself, Tiffany’s lips curled into a subtle smile. “I’m serious, Val! I really thought I was done growing and now… another growth spurt? My doctor told me I could literally double in size. I can’t even imagine that!” She fished one of her hands out from under her chin and lightly ran it over the upper swell of one of her tits, her oversized hoodie making them seem even softer.

“I’m already past conventional bra sizes, like, significantly. My boobs were big enough to get me out of running in gym class! Some girls are like ‘Ooh, look at me, I can almost fit half a beer bottle between my boobies’ but I could fucking bury a Stanley tumbler with room left over for another.  For all of this-“ She smacked the side of her tit, the impact rippling across her bust like a waterbed. “to double? I’d struggle to reach my own nipples, Val! I already kinda do! Fuck, I’d be at least fifty percent tit. Maybe closer to seventy-five. It doesn’t help matters that I’m more suited to be the basketball than to play it.” No one in her family was particularly tall, but the growth and weight of Tiffany’s breasts had kept her at a notably short stature, only reaching five feet when standing on her tiptoes, a dangerous feat considering how front-heavy she was. Her backside had a pleasant curve to it as well, but it was completely overshadowed by the gargantuan bust sloshing in front of her.

Valerie reached out and put her hand on her friend’s elbow, trying her best to be comforting. “Hey, your body is going to do what it’s going to do. No sense in worrying too much. You’ll roll with the punches and, no matter what, you’ve got Ol’ Val sticking by your side.” Tiffany smiled at the nickname, ironic considering that Valerie was exactly one month younger.

Another sigh rolled out between Tiffany’s lips. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right! You’re right. I’m still me. I’m more than just my boobs. No matter how big they get, I’m still Tiffany.”

Valerie’s grin took on a mischievous undertone, her brown eyes shining, as she quickly moved around to the other side of the table. She nudged her friend with her elbow, dropping her voice to a low whisper. “And I know that having a pair of big, soft tits isn’t all bad, is it?” Valerie and Tiffany were very close and there were few secrets between the two. Valerie pressed her finger deep into the soft, accepting side of Tiffany’s breast. The busty girl yelped in shock, only getting one or two syllables into asking what Valerie thought she was doing before the words were interrupted by a keening whimper. Blush surged into Tiffany’s cheeks and she once again returned her face to her cleavage, this time in embarrassment and arousal rather than frustration. She made a half-hearted attempt to push Valerie away, but the way her friend wiggled her finger, playing with her breast, made it hard to think. “Hnnngg… V-val… Not here…”

An impish giggle rose from Valerie, only stopping to lean in and give her friend a quick peck on the cheek. “Just wanted to remind you that there are some upsides to these things. Remember that one night when we got drunk and you were fucking begging me so I just kept sucking and sucking and sucking and-“

Tiffany shot upright, nearly dragging her tits off the table. Her cheeks ached with blush, close to bruising. “VALERIE!” It was a barely intelligible squeak, but it got the point across, Valerie breaking into laughter. She draped her arm over her friend’s back, rubbing her shoulders.

“Easy, baby. Relax. I’m just teasing. We should probably head over to the book store before it gets too late, yeah? I’ve been waiting weeks for them to get more of the next book in the Amethyst cycle.”

The words went in one of Tiffany’s ears and out of the other without touching anything in between. The busty girl could barely concentrate. All she could think about was how it would feel to have her breasts sucked while being twice as big. She might actually lose her mind. Beneath her sweatshirt, her nipples stiffened and quivered. She swallowed. “H-huh? Oh, yeah, let’s uh… let’s get out of here.” She winced as she stood, feeling her breasts slide along the table, bracing herself for the impact when they finally slipped off the edge and slapped into her torso. The two of them took a few steps towards Valerie’s car (The Val-mobile, as she called it) only for Tiffany to stop, reaching out for her friend’s sleeve. “Hey, uh, you meant what you said, right? About sticking with me no matter how big I get?”

Valerie smiled bright, leaning over to kiss the top of her friend’s head. Their developments had led them in very different directions; Tiffany grew outward while Valerie grew upward, nearly a foot taller than her friend and a modest handful on her chest, though anyone would look small next to Tiffany. “Of course, cutie. I love you. Always have. I’m with you no matter how big you get.”

A hint of panic crept into Tiffany’s voice. “But… But what if they don’t stop? And I’m just a fucking gross titty monster and I can’t even lift them anymore and I take up an entire room with just one of my boobs and-“

Valerie’s warm hands settled on Tiffany’s cheeks, tilting her up to look at her taller, slender friend. “No. Matter. How. Big. Okay? I mean it. You’re my best friend and that’s never, ever going to change.”

Tiffany nodded, letting her eyes close while she took a deep breath to center herself. When she let it out, she looked back up at Valerie. There was silence for a moment, a strange tension between them. Tiffany opened her mouth only to close it again. On her second attempt, she got it.

“M-more like breast friend, am I right?”

Valerie blinked before busting out in laughter. “You’re such a goofball, Jesus. See? Room-filling boobs aren’t going to take away that razor wit. Now, can we go already? I have to know what Iskandar and Alexan will do when they get to Drosenia. I swear to god, if there’s only one bed at that inn, I am going to flip.”

Now it was Tiffany’s turn to laugh. “Only you, Val. Only you.” The two chatted about the series and the improbably tense situations the characters found themselves in as they trudged to the car. No matter how many times she did it, Tiffany had yet to find a way to climb into the passenger seat gracefully, flopping down into the seat and letting her bust wobble on her chest. She was the only one who ever rode in that seat, so Valerie just left the seatbelt extender in place, letting Tiffany buckle it over her vast expanse of tit. She needed the extender even with it slightly inside her cleavage. The sensitivity of her bust reared its head once again as the engine turned over, sending vibrations through her body. As Valerie began to pull out of the parking spot, Tiffany mumbled a slightly embarrassed thanks for her friend’s care and understanding. Valerie didn’t need to reply, simply patting her friend’s thigh as the two hit the road.

The window was cool against Tiffany’s cheek as she stared wistfully out of it. She was still a bit apprehensive about growing – How could she not? – But at least, now, she felt a bit more secure in what the future could hold. As long as she had Valerie, someone to support her and care for her, nothing else mattered. And who knows? Maybe Val was right. Maybe there could be upsides to being so big.

[boundinparchment]

IN POWER WE ENTRUST THE LOVE ADVOCATED

Celestia fell and the future remains uncertain, preventing you from finalizing the gift intended to convey what mere words alone could not. Zandik, in turn, struggles with his own creations. A trip to Remuria, now uncovered by the sea, provides some clarity for you both. Official (or unofficial) sequel to 'Dream a Little Dream of Me'. Rated Mature to be safe, minors DNI. TW: pregnancy. 10,154 words. Available on AO3 here. Reblogs, kudos, and comments appreciated. Note: This was on my Fics For Gaza donation list and I ran with the idea. Donations were low but this was a story I wanted to tell regardless.

You rearranged the sheets across the stand, shuffling them until the first page was showing again and then staring at the notes so carefully written.  This was the third draft, as marked by the linear strikes in the top left, your way of keeping track of which version was the latest.  The first three pages in particular were disarming at a glance.  Their notes were meticulously inked and set in stone.  You were happy with each note’s placement, the rhythm and cadence and melody.

A strong beginning would carry through the rest.  That’s how it always worked.

After massaging your bow hand and testing your fingers, the joints less than agreeable today, you pulled the pendulum on the metronome and began again.

The first bars were practically woven in your very essence, a scattering of rests and triplets that attempted to capture exciting youth.  Closing your eyes, you allowed memory to carry you through the first dozen and a half bars.  The octave dropped, flowing notes giving way again to staccato frustration and shifting sands before they bled into crisp tundra and warm hearths.  

It led right into the second movement, legato curves that mimicked the way Fontaine’s water seemed to stretch on forever.  Hope, passion, dulled for a time by low notes and shuddering breaths, before a promise twinkled in the tide.  A journey, more notes stretching into eternity, disrupted again, only this time, an echo of earlier bars in a different octave, certain and slow.  

This would have made a better duet and could have been arranged as such; the thought crossed your mind more than you cared to admit.  The recording of it would have been easy to achieve but you didn’t want that.  This was your work and you wanted to play it in a single performance because otherwise…

Your fingers found the familiar patterns, an amalgamation that you hoped sounded like a push-and-pull.  They brought back such vivid memories for you but would that be the case for your audience?  A motif from a god’s request, a flurry of emotion as destructive as its cause, and then a closing bar that mimicked the first, long and full of hope in the flickering light of a burning tree.

Inhaling shakily, you pulled the next paper to the left and followed your latest addition, pencil marks harder to read between the erasures and the smudging.  You carried through the first five bars, certain of their arrangement and then felt out the rest, fingers slower than your mind as your thoughts raced forward, unease and trepidation taking hold.

A burning ache ran through your knuckles and up to your elbow and you pulled your bow away, a wolf tone coming with it.

You swallowed the scream clawing at your throat and instead let out a shuddering breath through your teeth.

It shouldn’t be this hard.

A sonata was something you could write in your sleep, backwards, and upside-down.  Especially given your source material.

The world might have changed but your love hadn’t.

Dreams were little more than solitary moments of brain activity with Celestia gone.  And while that meant having to more consciously work on your relationship, it didn’t make it any less organic.

Maybe this was all pointless.

He had to know by now.  His power of observation knew no bounds.  He would not have missed the fact that you had been gone longer than usual the other day to obtain proper evidence in black and white.  Especially the day after a visit from Tsaritsa where she asked to speak to you privately.  

This entire idea was a waste, absolutely insane.  It would have been easier to just…

You settled your cello back into its stand and rose, idly smoothing out your sleeves as you tried to pull yourself together.  The arrangement would come to you.  It always did, in the end.  There was time.  For now, walking away was best.  You didn’t want to restring either your instrument or your bow all because you’d tried to force what instead needed coaxing.

Gathering up the tray on which you’d brought in the small pot of coffee and a pitcher of water, you left your study and headed back into the kitchen.  There was already a fresh pot percolating on the counter, the smell enticing and yet stomach-churning all at once.  This was a new blend from Puspa Cafe, one you had picked out yourself weeks ago.

Well, at least he could enjoy it properly.  For now, you basked in the scent, the unease in your gut settling as you rinsed your dishes and settled them into the device on the counter.  You hooked up one hose to the faucet and put the other near the sink’s drain, as Zandik showed you, and turned it on.  The motor whirred and you watched water splash on the glass door until suds began to rise.

Your home was full of such little devices.  Dishes were a waste of time for both of you when your minds were better equipped for other things, he had said.  That, and you’d been unable to hold anything for more than a few seconds for months at a time as your hand healed.  He used extra parts for a clothes laundering machine and a special typewriter for your sheet music and even a special percolator to extract the most out of coffee grounds and tea leaves.  

And that didn’t begin to cover the little wind-up creatures you displayed on the windowsills or the hand-crafted ring with a new stone in place resting in your jewelry box.  The swimming otter was your favorite reminder of Fontaine.

The layout and design was different from what you had conceived in the dreamscape, save one decision.  A proper basement, reinforced and deeper than the standard to allow for most of Zandik’s larger projects.  Whatever was too unsafe for the house was kept in another workshop nearby.  So far, nothing ever caught on fire or caused an explosion.  The only things that both of you agreed to keep were the tall windows, this time attached to a small glass sunroom where you loved to lounge when the mood struck.

Today, however, was gray and heavy with the promise of rain.  While you didn’t put much stock into such things, the weather was not a help to your mood nor your creativity.

The steaming pot on the counter clicked and you poured some into a handmade clay cup, the glaze matte and rough against your calloused fingers.  You held it tight in your good hand, your other supporting the bottom, and savored the warmth as you brought it down into the basement workshop.

Distractions rarely ever helped but you were running out of steam; maybe seeing Zandik busy would reinvigorate you.

Zandik frowned as he heard the wolf tone; the sound itself was faint but it spoke volumes of your frustration.  They were more common lately.  Despite the stone foundation and the insulation, your studio was not entirely soundproof and therefore he could still make out faint melodies if he listened hard enough.  Your footsteps, too.  You paced sometimes, occasionally stepping in time with the signature you were working in.  Breakthroughs were a flurry of steps, sometimes the vibrations of the piano to compare, over and over, only one change applied at a time.

He did his best to tune out what he could, for your sake.  Questions were only met with a harried shuffle of papers and an attempt to be nonchalant.

You were a terrible liar, the skill worn down from a lack of practice, but he would not press.  After all, you’d made it clear that if something was wrong , you would tell him.  So he could only conclude that whatever you were working on was for him and it was intended to be a surprise.

But why did you always stumble over the same section?  Was the composition too difficult, did your tendons seize up?

Zandik tightened the bolt harder, wrench slipping when its target would move no further in the same way his thoughts ran from him.  He tested the joint, and, satisfied with the range of motion, stepped back to assess the whole picture.

Which was a whole jumbled mess of…

What was this meant to be, anyway?

Pierro had offered a stash of blueprints, barely legible and all of the missing crucial details.  Briefly, Zandik wondered if the old man was considering a trip to the depths of the Abyss for one final battle with the way the conversation went.  The entire encounter was as bizarre as their initial meeting in the desert, perhaps more so with the glimmer of pride that exuded from his former superior.

He’d been unable to stop the curling of a sneer for the better part of several hours afterwards.

Faintly, Zandik heard your footsteps in the kitchen, the rush of water, and then a beeline for the basement door.  Usually, weather-permitting, you were outside or at least closing your eyes in the lavish warmth of the sun.  You were tired as of late, even if you smiled through the daze of fatigue.

He counted each steady beat of your steps as you descended, the familiar bitter and smooth scent wafting down along with you.  It was the closest roast to what he had in the desert all those centuries ago and now that supply was finally beginning to even out, he did not mind indulging in occasional memories.  It was a shame, however, you were only carrying one mug.

Every time you were around the scent, you were tense and he could practically smell the acid on your breath.  You began abstaining, even from the decaffeinated blends, and avoided being around it for too long, otherwise you were liable to be sick.

Another adjustment you waved away.

And on top of it all, your mind was clearly burdened, otherwise you would not be struggling as you were.

“I thought you’d like it fresh,” you said, offering the mug as you drew closer.

White knuckles on one hand, your grip tight: overcompensating.  Your other hand cradled the bottom, fingertips grazing the unfinished ring, trembling with weakness.  The very last thing he wanted was you burdening yourself over something so trivial when your hands had much better purposes to serve.

“I was going to come upstairs, rooh’ albi ,” Zandik said.  “There was no need to trouble yourself.”

Something flickered across your face that he couldn’t name, gone before he could identify itself, lips pulled between your teeth in thought.  He took a sip, savoring the bright bitterness, pleased with how the adjustments in temperature and the efficient filters brought out the Ajilenakh nut subtleties.  

You stepped further into the workshop and dragged your eyes over the workbench and the metal arm, Pierro’s blueprint pinned on the wall above as a guide.  Between the burns and the flaking of the material itself, Zandik was surprised he’d made it this far, just assembling a series of moving arms.

“It’s not ‘trouble’, Zandik.  I needed the break, as I’m sure you heard,” you replied wryly.  “No use pretending you didn’t hear me banging on the piano yesterday; I’m almost certain Sumeru City heard me.”

Your voice wavered ever so slightly, a warble that anyone else would have passed off as simple frustration.  This block went deeper for you than a mere lack of inspiration and it was beginning to seep into your very bones.  No wonder you were always exhausted.  He was painfully familiar with the other end of the spectrum, one that often kept one of his younger Segments in cycles of ennui and despair because he happened to take the portion of his life during which he was bored by the Akademiya’s authority and illogical rules.  Not all ideas could be pushed through as if they were little more than a target for your claymore.  

But you knew this.  Of course you did.

You held up a finger and turned your gaze back to him.  The circles were fading but your eyes were still a little puffy.

“Before you suggest that I work on something else, I’ve tried .  I attempted working from the end but that requires having an ending in mind.  Other pieces feel as if they’re just standing in for the rest, hollow shells that are perfectly adequate compositions but empty arrangements.   It’s all up here,” you gestured to your head, “but it won’t work its way down into my hands and put my fingers in the right places.”

Zandik placed his cup down out of range of the workbench and took your hands in his after removing his gloves.  Nothing was more infuriating than when the connection between one’s heart and mind was lost, severed entirely.  There were several projects over the years too ambitious for him to endeavor as a student or even in the early years as a Harbinger.  He’d scribbled them down in vain and his Segments came across them decades later, finally equipped with the experiences necessary.  Usually they all fell to Omega.

The words forming themselves on his lips were not what most wanted to hear but he was never one for empty platitudes.  What good was comfort if all of it was a lie?

Your hands were warm still from holding the mug, 

“Perhaps this particular piece isn’t ready for you, yet,” he said at last.  “Continue to force it and you’ll hate your craft entirely.”

“I don’t have that luxury, Zandik,” you murmured.  “This is the only way I know how to…”

You squeezed his hands, the tightest he felt in years that no doubt hurt you in the process.  There it was again, that nameless apparition gliding across your brow and the color of your cheeks.  Ever since that visit from the Tsaritsa (he knew not what to call her now, old habits died hard) and a subsequent trip from Pierro, you were acting as if you were…

But if you were , he would know .  Because you would tell him and there would be signs and he would be able to research and mitigate and stop it from taking you from him.  The world changed with Celestia’s downfall but the event had not taken his intelligence and all that came with it.

“It’s important to me that I express what I need to through my composition.  I know it doesn’t make sense to you to do that—“

A spark flared in his chest and he inhaled through his nose.  He kept his tone even, for he wasn’t angry, but did you not see how hypocritical and illogical this was?  Wasn’t this a repeat of the very situation that gave you a physical traumatic response over playing?

“Do consider the consequences when I tried to keep something from you thinking it was a clever and romantic idea.  What can’t you express in words, rooh’ albi ?”

“It’s a gift , Zandik.  The whole thing is a gift for you, speaking defeats the purpose when I’m trying to invoke particular emotions and memories.”

“But you feel stuck .”

You shook your head.

“Less stuck and more foggy.  Uncertain.”

“About?”

You pulled your hands away and threw your arms up, gesturing all around as you paced.  “Everything before was always a given.  We could dream and build and the world we knew stayed as it was with little changes and the rules were static and the stars never shifted.  The average person knew the world was safe and steady and I can assume that here , too, but the rules changed .  The future is a foreign land for everyone and here we are, continuing on as if…”

Strange. You never expressed that before, not with such animation and intensity.  And you saw enough of Teyvat away from Celestia’s rule to know that although Visions and Archons and leylines were no longer present, the landscape didn’t change entirely.  Most nations stayed the same, except for where the Abyssal corrosion struck hard and had already eaten away at the land.

Change was different for everyone, he reminded himself.  To talk about it and know it occurred were merely conceptual in nature; to see it meant living through it, which in turn shook the equilibrium, and it took time for it to set in.  A scarce few years of this compared to one’s life in a couple of decades or so was still a shock to the system.  

What scared you so?  What needed to instead be translated first and foremost in such a manner rather than simply spoken aloud?

You were hardly this obtuse before and he was beginning to understand why his previous decisions were so infuriating for you and so many others.

Zandik let out a slow breath, the love he held for you winning out against the rising flare of annoyance.  He didn’t agree with it but on the other hand, if you were truly dying , you wouldn’t have the strength to continue essentially running head-first into a brick wall every day.

You met his eyes and a silent plea marred your features, begging him not to press.

Maybe that was precisely the problem.  You were pressing yourself too hard with no alternatives as of late.  The weather was too poor and he was only using Pierro’s pile of Khaenri’ahn blueprints as a distraction away from a solution to further slow the Abyssal corrosion that was slowly eating at him.  Ironic that Celestia was the very thing that kept the balance of the burden of immortality and slowed it down as punishment for daring to survive.  Both of you were too far in your own heads.

A curse of its own, really.

He stilled his brow and instead held his arms open, beckoning you back to him.  Your warmth was instant, curling around him like a well-tended hearth.  He nuzzled the crown of your head as you burrowed into him.  Amid the scent of your shampoo and soap, sweet and fresh, was a note that he couldn’t figure out and yet drew him closer to you all the same.

“A change of scenery might be beneficial,” Zandik murmured, idly rubbing his nose against your hair.  “There’s only so much to do when one’s environment is the same.”

You nodded, turning your head to brush your cheek against his.  Per your request, he’d attempted to keep the facial hair you found so enticing, but a recent trim left it shorter than usual and a little scratchy.  It didn’t prevent you from touching it, either with your own face or a traveling hand.  He would figure out a preferred style, given time.

“You’re more of a field researcher than a classroom scholar, I’m sure you’ve been feeling rather stifled too,” you replied.  “Hard to figure out possible options when you’re cooped up in here.”

“I haven’t been—”

“But you haven’t exactly left Sumeru since we settled here, either.  Not without me or at least not without a very specific purpose.”

He huffed against your ear.

“You can’t not explore this world, Zandik, that’s like asking a fish not to swim.”

“And you never asked me not to.  It’s my own doing.”

Deep down, he knew could you manage without him if he chose to disappear for weeks at a time to explore and study the changes in this world.  Hell, he could find a way to travel to the fractured moon in the sky and you would be perfectly fine in his absence.  That was part of the driving force behind so many of the devices around the house.  If your hands hurt, then you had a means to do dishes or cut up vegetables or restring your cello with ease.  

The frown that tugged at your mouth any time the weakness in your hands struck or the wound flared up was enough to revitalize a second life’s purpose in finding ways to make tasks accessible to you again.  

But what good was seeing any part of this world without you by his side?  At least dreaming provided a means to close the distance, as Natlan had proven.

This time it was your turn to shift and burrow your head under his chin, no doubt in an attempt to stop craning your neck to reach him.  There it was again, that faint scent that was so familiar and rooted to you , sticking out like a thorn, enticing nonetheless.  His chest constricted, stomach dropping as he felt the familiar fire beginning to creep up on him.  Had you laced yourself with an aphrodisiac?  

If you were down here any longer, he was liable to sweep off the workbench’s contents and replace them with you.  And while both of you enjoyed spontaneity, something in your body language told him you would not be up to it right now.  Perhaps after lunch, nestled on the chaise, listening to the rain, little more than closing distance.  Yearning settled itself into the pit of his stomach and every cell in his body just wanted to be near you.

“Consider it, rooh’ albi .  You don’t need to answer immediately,” Zandik murmured.  “We’ll discuss it further when I come upstairs for lunch.”

Zandik felt your nod against his chin and your hold on him eased as you stepped away.  You looked better, a little more lively, and your departure kiss was petal soft and full of conviction.  As it always was.

Nonetheless, when the door upstairs closed, he couldn’t help but wonder: what had you, his unwavering and steadfast soulmate, so terrified and uncertain?

You hadn’t expected the company after lunch but it was welcome nonetheless.  He settled behind you, finding the perfect spot on your neck.  Your body responded instantly and neither of you bothered to fully undress before he rocked into you, slow and languid.  Just when either of you drifted off, the other moved or twitched, starting up a series of thrusts all over again.

The goal wasn’t pleasure but you both came easily in tiny gasps and choked groans.  Neither of you moved after that, uncaring about the rest as sleep crept up on you.

It had taken everything in you not to ask why, of all things, Zandik had chosen that blueprint.  It was obvious what it was from the picture alone.  Pierro was to blame, really, for even passing it along.  No doubt the Tsaritsa confided in him about her finding, both of them under the impression that Zandik was already privy. 

No wonder he, too, was having a block of some kind.  He was creating something from an ancient blueprint that, to him, was utterly useless.  All to keep himself occupied while his brain idly attempted a remedy for something that…

You rubbed your face against the pillow for a second, willing yourself to relax.

Zandik was right.  A vacation was needed.  More than.

So much of Sumeru was an adjustment, both in the temperature and the culture.  You hadn’t even seen the desert yet, despite asking, but Zandik was adamant about never stepping foot out there again if he could help it.  You’d taken to everything just fine, except for the brief stop at the top of the Tree, where a little spout saw fit to mock.  

But when you pushed through the fog, you felt your heart tugging towards home.  Or rather, your old home.  Arguably, it could be said that you were home as long as the man next to you was there, but the sentiment didn’t quite fit at present.

Fontaine. It had been so long since you left, you’d lost track.  After burning Irminsul, you found yourself in Sumeru and never quite managed to go beyond the reaches of the land of Wisdom.  You heard numerous discoveries through letters and reports, from chatter in the city and from Zandik himself when he did, in fact, venture out for days at a time.  What was it the Tsaritsa mentioned on her last visit?  Something about Remuria, Petrichor’s successful growth now that old ruins surfaced again, visible from even Chenyun Vale?

Maybe a trip to the mainland could fit, too, if either of you wanted.  You would have to inquire about the Opera’s schedule of events.  Zandik had probably been to Fontaine, or a Segment had, but perhaps some remnants of the Research Institute would pique his interest.  This wasn’t just for you, after all.

And it might be the last excursion for a while, depending.

You pushed away the faint thought that came with a memory of a young sleeping boy in your lap years prior.

When Zandik finally stirred, you tangled your foot with his and pulled him back, earning yourself a hot gasp against your ear.

“There’s too much of a good thing, rooh’ albi ,” he teased.

You bit back a laugh, agreeing silently for a different reason.

“I was thinking,” you began, Zandik’s form enveloping you again.

“Always a good place to start.”

You shifted just so and the hand on your hip gripped tighter, squeezing you in silent warning.

“What if we went to Fontaine for a bit?  Perhaps to Petrichor, see the ruins of Rumeria?”

“You truly wish to see what the myth was like, whether it measures up to the tales?  It might be far less grand than what you grew up hearing,” Zandik countered.

“That’s not a proper reason not to see it,” you replied, turning your head to look at him out of the corner of your eye.  “In fact, I would argue that would be precisely the point.  It’s silly to not expand my knowledge of where I was born, even if that means it might not match the expectations set by millenia of epic tales.”

Zandik pulled you closer and settled back against you, burying his nose in your hair.  He’d been doing that every chance he had ever since that morning.  You’d done nothing to change your routine but the increased physical affection only managed to give way to doubt that perhaps you did a poor job hiding these last few weeks.

His lips found your earlobe, teeth grazing the soft flesh just enough to extract a sharp exhale from you.  Against your skin, he whispered, “Fontaine it is, then.”

Without the leylines, traveling from deep within Sumeru’s forests was half a day’s journey in and of itself.  You passed a grand palace on your way to Bayda Harbor, a hidden jewel that resembled something you might have once attempted in the dreamscape.

You heard the harbor before you saw it, a soft swelling of shouts and the hum of crane motors amid the usual bustle of port activity.  Over the hill, you caught a glimpse of colorful houses, their chimneys smoking, and the scent of cooked fish and fresh fruit wafted across the landscape.  Sparkling water came into view as the dirt path gave way to flagstone, iron railings sweeping down the curve of the path, guiding travelers down towards the main thoroughfare.

“Exponential growth since I was last here,” Zandik said, leaning close to be heard over the noise.  “Half of these buildings are new.  I remember when this had nothing more than the port authority and a three boat pier.”

He pointed to the sweeping curves of the building to your immediate left, one of the only buildings in pure Sumerian style.

The rest of the buildings were a jumbled array of styles, plaster and brick painted in soft colors with tiled roofs, a maze of stairs and outlooks carved into the very hills.  You got the impression that, no matter where one stood, they were privy to a unique and stunning view of the water and the land beyond.

Newly invigorated, you began to climb, mindful of your path as to remember the way down.  With all of your belongings packed neatly and only a hand’s wave away along with your weapons (Zandik determined that the void used was a pocket of the abyss and therefore unconnected to Irminsul), neither of you had to lug cases to the dock first and backtrack.  Some rules remained, regardless of Celestia, and you were thankful for their convenience.

Once you reached the top, where a white plaster building was perched and the scent of spiced meat trickled out through the open doorway, you finally dared let your eyes skim past the coastline.

Petrichor had been little more than a small remote island when you were a child.  Your last visit was short, a curated walk around the buildings and the festival square, with a history lesson about the power of music.  The cats were friendly and your entire class took turns trying to earn their favor when the tour guide’s back was turned.  Last you heard, the Traveler followed some keen treasure hunters and uncovered the entrance to the long-forgotten world trapped beneath the waves.

Nothing prepared you for the swelling aqueducts, rising spires, and the amphitheater that spanned most of the basin beneath the plateau. An entire civilization built on music, determined to defy the fate laid before them, exposed to the world once more.  Its very essence glittered under the late morning sun and all you could do was stare.

Fairytales held their grains of truth after all.

“I imagine this is what it felt like to lay eyes on that Ruin Golem for the first time and clamoring inside,” you said.  “All of the paintings about the myths were so very wrong .”

“It was said that no true civilizations were built in Fontaine for millenia; Gurabad grew and fell all before Remus’ arrival from Sumeru,” Zandik replied.  “Always a shocking perspective, how advanced some areas of the world became while others struggled with their environment.”

“Gurabad?”

“A story for another time.  I prefer not to discuss those expeditions when we are about to board a vessel upon which my inner ear will be displeased for most of the journey.”

You swallowed your own wave of nausea, a normality now, wishing you could commiserate properly.

Instead of returning the way you came, Zandik led you through the rest of the cliffside, through terraces and up and down small flights of stairs.  You came upon a better view of the amphitheater, which, from this angle, looked more akin to a large…transmitter.  There weren’t any seats, from what you could make out.

When you said as much to Zandik, he agreed and said, “It would not surprise me, given it was a land where music was central to its culture.”

Eventually, you made your way back down and boarded the small ferry to Petrichor, packed with people.  Zandik, of course, selected a secluded spot towards the back where there was relative privacy.  You weren’t certain if your nausea was aggravated by the smell of the fuel, or the boat’s movements, but you emptied your stomach in the first ten minutes of rocking waves.  Zandik was green in the face, quiet and leaning his forearms on the railing to focus on his breathing; you felt his eyes on you as you took a swig from your canteen to rinse your mouth, ridding yourself of the acrid taste.

“Small boats and I never agreed,” you said.  “Too little surface area.”

He stared at you a second longer than necessary, relenting only when you joked about getting sick so he didn’t have to.  You could see the gears turning in his mind out of the corner of your eye.  He knew.  There was no way he didn’t by now.  Even if the boat made for a good cover, he must have put all of the pieces together himself.

All of this was so silly.  He’d made the arrangements himself over the last week, determined to plan a trip that was bound to at least spark a chance for both inspiration and new memories.  Ambitious in its scope, you knew he put every forethought and afterthought into each choice from the length of time to the destination.  Your Zandik loved to plan, after all.  He’d muttered about needing to account for spontaneous variables but if he was nothing if not thorough.

For the rest of the short trip, the two of you discussed your itinerary in short fragments, distracting one another with the prospect of being on land again.  You would spend the rest of the day exploring Petrichor, getting a lay of the land, do Remuria’s ruins tomorrow (and the next, if it was needed), have one more day on the island, and then take the aquabus into Fontaine proper if you still needed time away. 

The ride concluded sooner than expected and the newly-constructed wooden pier gave way to a winding stone path up through Petrichor’s streets.  You couldn’t help but pause and stare.  The trees were the same, if a little weathered, the flowers and the grass seemingly frozen in time.  A once-grand Statue of the Seven laid not toppled but modified, Lady Focalors seated on the ground while Sir Neuvillette rose from a splash of waves behind her.  In comparison, Sumeru’s statues were toppled entirely at the behest of Kusanali herself, who no longer wanted to be separate from her people as an idolized leader.

Your eye tracked a few more buildings towards the coast, bigger and a little flashy.  It all paled in comparison to the ruins visible from the beach, their scale on par with Fontaine City itself.  Here, the very air seemed to hum with notes, like windchimes nudged by a breeze.  The longer you looked at the rising spires and sweeping aqueducts, the more prevalent the sounds became.  They were trying to form a song but when it was this disjointed, it was difficult to—

A hand on your waist and a whisper of your name snapped you out of your reverie.  Zandik’s garnet eyes searched your face before boring into your own for a second.

“Need I worry about you sleepwalking into the sea at the correct note wafting through the air?” he asked, sardonic.

“No.  It’s unusual, is all.  You hear it too?”

“Everyone can.  If you look, the spires are all different sizes, as if they’re—”

“Tuning forks,” you concluded.

Zandik nodded.  “We’ll adjust and our brains will likely sort out the sound in a few hours.  People would not be living here if it was that much of a nuisance.”

You could tell by the twitch of his lip that he had more he wanted to say but instead, he settled one hand on the small of your back, silently ushering you onwards.

It must have been the memories stirring up all of your energy; in the last few weeks, you never seemed as lively as you did now.  Every time your eyes laid on a building, you were full of tales of childhood fun and nostalgia.  You could seemingly trace a single brick with your eyes and have an entire moment come back to you with striking clarity.

Zandik wished he could say the same but perhaps it was for the best that his home village was no longer on any map.  As much as he wanted to reciprocate, he much more enjoyed the warm swelling in his chest at your smile and the way every cat you encountered bumped its head against your palm.  One went so far as to weave itself between his legs and yours, slowly blinking before it settled down for a nap near a flowerbed.

You were so often hidden behind a veil as of late.  Such moments were common for most, some temporary and others not, but his skin itched at the notion that something was amiss.  It had to be.  Even if it was a matter of neglecting your mental health as of late, at least it would be an answer.

But then there was the matter of the boat.

On the trip from Sumeru to Snezhnaya all those years ago, you had the smallest bout of nausea but quickly acclimated.  Like most, you adjusted perfectly fine; by comparison, the crystals in his inner ears never quite found the right angle and he suffered every time.

His second lamentation of burning Irminsul was the lack of leylines through which to travel freely.  An act he took for granted for centuries.

That you were compelled to be sick on such a small boat so quickly…

Unusual, to say the least.  Were you nauseous prior, he wondered.  If so, why?  You’d eaten nothing out of the ordinary and already long overcame the agony of caffeine withdrawal.

Zandik listened and watched your expression as you regalled him with a story about the bakery you were stopped in front of.  All the while, he felt the pressure around his ankles as another cat wove between them, purring so loudly he wondered if it was mechanical.  His trousers would be covered in fur by the time you reached the rented cottage and he made a mental note to acquire a lint roller as soon as convenient.

He watched you, bathed in the late afternoon sunlight, your eyes focused on the golden interior and drinking it all in again.

“We’ll have to stop by first thing in the morning, when everything is warm,” you said, turning back to him.  “I had the best brioche here.  There was a pâtisserie not too far, unless they moved…best desserts outside of Fontaine City…”

You continued to lead the way to the town square, small but full of garlands of flowers, where musical motifs were carved into stone pillars around the stage.  A gaggle of children ran past, one of them claiming to be God-King Remus in a theatre mask, another pretending to be Chief Justice Neuvillette, Melusine plushie in hand.  From what Zandik gathered, they were fighting over who was the rightful ruler of all of Fontaine.  They took to the miniscule stage, gesturing and making sound effects, captivating their entire audience.

A white cat with mismatching eyes presided over the performance, tail flicking occasionally.  It laid its eyes on you, blinking slowly once, before turning its attention back to the children.

He never had the time for such antics growing up.  Or rather, whenever he did try, he was too logical for the rest of his peers and supposedly ruined the fun.  That was before, of course, he grew smart enough to know how to build counter-arguments.  He had not yet returned to his parents with bruises and welts from stones at that point.

An experience he would never relate to.

But it was why Celestia’s downfall was so important.  No one would be subjected to a fate tied to a name, to a constellation, born to suffer.  All were equal.

Even the shy ones on the sidelines were included in the play-acting, less an audience and more stagehands and storytellers.

Zandik’s eyes fell to you, your gaze lost again for the briefest moment before you blinked.  The expression differed little from your time overseeing your students at the House of the Hearth, with a little fragment that escaped him.  Did you miss teaching?  Perhaps it was worthwhile to reach out to the Zubayr Theatre upon your return, to see if they needed an extra hand.

After all, you needed to have something else to call your own, not just your music.

“There were hardly any people here before,” you said as you left the square.  “Let alone children.  School visits were really the only time this place was filled with anything other than desolate silence, except for the cats.”

“They’re akin to their brethren from Sumeru, well-tended to and beloved by most,” Zandik observed.

The two of you finally reached the small house, nestled closer to the beach at the foot of the small rock formation.  At one end, a view of the glowing Harvisptokhm beyond the high mountains; the other bore a glittering view of bygone eras, gaps in the aqueducts glowing with strings of what the locals referred to as Ichor.

Late into the night, you watched the strings, waving a hand over them in mimicry of plucking them as you drifted off, humming a new motif to yourself.  

Some of his worries began to slip off of his shoulders as he held you tight, a sliver of your brightness finally within your grasp again.

The only thing keeping your fatigue at bay the next morning was the excitement to trek up the partial aqueduct to the Clivus Capitolinus, the entryway into the Domus Aurea and Sacellum Requietis.  It was there that the God King Remus gave his final orders and the Grand Symphony self-destructed, taking everyone with it.  Little survived the shattering of several sub-level-bubbles within Teyvat itself.  That Remuria rose from the sea was, perhaps, a final usurpation of the prophecy Remus fought so hard to defy.  

Or so the tour guide said.  You were still recovering from your trip to the viennoiserie for breakfast.  Your eyes were bigger than your stomach and you’d openly stared at Zandik’s coffee with intense longing.

The air here was fresh and cool, kissing your bare arms with a faint breeze.  You’d missed this.  In the deep jungles, the air was so moist and heavy, leaving you sticky on particularly humid days.  But here, you felt as if every breath was easy and clear.

You gave a side glance at Zandik.  He shrugged, letting go of your hand just enough to shake his own in a so-so gesture.  The guide wasn’t wrong, then, just inaccurate.

The bronze aqueduct was full, it turned out, of the Golden Ichor that made up its harp-like strings.  It was only when the role the Ichor played was brought into the narrative by the guide that you paused and properly looked at the shimmering liquid.  

Putting memories and souls into bodies of metal was part of the legend but the Ichor was thought to have been long since lost or merely a mechanism for the tale.  Seeing it now, before you, only managed to ground the dawning realization that others achieved a system not unlike the one Zandik had.  And Remus had done it long before Celestia’s rule.

He must have sensed your train of thought, for he chuckled softly upon seeing your fixated gaze.  

“It’s little more than Primordial Water mixed with what other legends call a Philosopher’s Stone.  Pierro would call it something else but it’s the very pinnacle of alchemic achievements,” Zandik murmured.  “Both materials are archaic and do not take erosion into account.”

The Segments were a part of the past, long gone.  He rarely, if ever, spoke about them beyond a longing for more hands.  

“Is that your way of saying you did it better?” you teased.

He shot you a warning smirk.  “How foolish, rooh’ albi.  My work speaks for itself.”

You continued on, ears perking up at the description of Capitolium as a paradise overflowing with beautiful melodies.  When you reached the summit, your eyes traced a soaring and sweeping structure reaching for the sky; Domus Aurea, King Remus’ palace.  You wondered briefly if pipe organs were based on what little Fontainians knew of their predecessors.  The towering copper pillars glinted in the sun, winking at those who stared up at them.

The interior made the Library of Daena back in the Akademiya seem like a playpen.  Copper everywhere, except the stone floors, Ichor flowing through every free inch and only adding to the majesty.  The acoustics were impeccable, providing a means by which a speaker could address an audience with ease and shapes for soundwaves to flow and encapsulate listeners.

You came across a small crossroads on the way down to the Sacellum Requietis and grabbed Zandik’s arm when the tour guide glossed over the perfect tiles on the ceiling.  Your soulmate paused and he, too, began to look around, wondering just what caught your eye.

“Go stand over there,” you whispered, pointing to a corner diagonally from you.

Zandik’s red eyes lingered on you, narrow in their curiosity.  You nudged him gently before he complied and stood in the corner, facing you.  

You gestured for him to turn around, and when he did, you shifted and whispered into the corner in front of you.  What you said was of little consequence but when you heard Zandik’s reply as clear as day, you felt a wild surge of satisfaction.

“The low arches and the curve here allow the sound to travel and follow the arches perfectly,” you whispered.  “This entire crossway could be packed but two people would be able to get messages to each other easily as if they were right next to each other.”

“Exceptional eyes.  The material must matter, though.  And the distance.  Too close and the individuals might as well just turn around.”

You grinned and whispered one last message that left Zandik’s cheeks burning as you returned to his side.  It earned you a graze of his teeth on the shell of your ear and a threat he intended to make good on later.  He would, you had no doubt.

Continuing along, you caught up with the rest of the group.  As you reached the Sacellum Requietis ,all sound immediately perished.  A beautiful amphitheater, silent as a grave, you imagined ancient performances in honor of the Grand Symphony, of Phobos.  The tragedy of the very harmony that glued Remuria together was not only in its attempt to subvert the fate written for its people but that in order to do so, it needed to absorb their souls in the process.  Its corruption came from those it was meant to save.

Acoustically, the structure was undoubtedly perfect for containing and enveloping audiences in waves upon waves of sweet notes.  You strained in the silence, trying to hear anything other than the hushed whispers of the fellow tour-goers and the guide.  Distantly, you could make out a faint ringing, its pitch changing as the breeze whispered by.

As you descended into the center, your eyes trailed up towards the spires surrounding the arena.  If you turned your head, the ringing seemed to have an origin point in one direction or another.  Somehow, though, you doubted they were only tuning forks.  They were too tall, too narrow to do more than provide a faint hint of a note.  Not quite a transistor in function, either.

You stepped up to the podium, where the God King would have given his final command, and closed your eyes.

Like every leader that came before, Remus only wanted to protect his people, you mused.  All it took was one dissonant note amid the harmony he intended for it to all go wrong…

You swallowed, hands gripping the stone stand where the sheetmusics made of souls would have once made its home.  In the depths of your heart, you heard an agonizing dirge, felt the pressure of the sea beginning to encroach, ready to swallow an entire era and its mistakes along with it.  

Change was a constant and perfection was the antithesis of it.  Did Remus realize that, in the end?  Was he terrified of failing his people?

What was it Zandik had said all those years ago?  And we must change, mustn’t we?  Otherwise we give in to what is laid before us.

Your hand pulsed.  Opening your eyes, you blinked slowly before you craned your neck back and shielded your gaze.  A flock of seagulls soared nearby and the clouds still floated, crisp against the bright blue sky.  You turned your attention back to the stage to find Zandik examining the remnants of golden bees, completely enamored with the prospect of a creature no longer in existence.

Regardless of whether Celestia still loomed overhead or not, you would feel the same, suffer the same block.  This wasn’t just about you, what your body would endure, but everything that laid between you and Zandik.  What was the point of building it all, if not to face a curve in the road together ?

Already, you felt the notes beginning to weave themselves together, a marriage of the first two acts culminating in the creation of a brand new tune.  Slow, tentative, and then picking up the tempo again…

You scribbled notations on napkins at lunch and tried to keep yourself from humming.  Inevitably, you let a few notes slip before the day was out, earning you a quizzical stare before bed.  It took everything in you not to blurt out your breakthrough but to do so would ruin everything.  He so often graced you with creations and you wanted to do the same.

“I missed hearing you captivated,” was all Zandik said.

It held more weight in your heart than he knew.

The gnawing frustration in the pit of his stomach was beginning to wear him down.  His patience would hold until you returned home but by then, he would have a comprehensive methodology in place to test for various illnesses.  Zandik was never one to settle and leave an issue be, not when it came to your wellbeing.

He could forgive your desire to curb caffeine, considering the rebound and withdrawal migraines were agony.  Your fatigue could be mental as much as physical.  Same could be said for some of the dietary changes you made recently.  

But when you leaned over to kiss him the morning after the visit to the ruins, Zandik could not get his mind off of the way you smelled .  Just…in general.  Beneath the scent of the new soap during the stay and the hint of salt water, there was a shift in your own chemical composition.  Similar to the fluctuations you normally endured yet stronger, more potent.  It stirred a strange visceral reaction in the recesses of himself he was still trying to unravel and he couldn’t get enough of it.

It was the only logical thing that stood between him and the conclusion you were not disastrously ill.  He knew the smell of death and disease.  Neither came close to you.

Today, you decided, was best spent in Petrichor itself and among the people.  Already, you seemed to have more color in your cheeks and life in your eyes, although your attention seemed almost wistful at times when you thought he wasn’t looking.  Previously, such an expression had an edge of sorrow in it, but whatever resonated with you in Remuria had done its job: you were hard at work, thinking of combinations and patterns that were invisible and silent to all but you.

The first stop of the morning after breakfast was the bookshop near the square, specializing specifically in sheet music, history of various instruments and musical theory, with the smallest section of general interest.  Zandik browsed the theory section after pressing a kiss to your forehead and wishing you a successful journey; your smile might as well have bundled the sun itself and tucked it into his gut, the way excitement exuded from you.

Zandik picked a few tomes and settled into the cafe nook towards the front of the store.  He knew the rush of a new idea and the fixation that came with it all too well.  But too much, too fast, and you might burn yourself out before it was finished.  After everything that happened, you did not deserve to flicker out like a dying star.

Although he tried to delve into a collection of various theaters and performance halls, and a comparison of their layouts for acoustics and which provided the richest sound, your joyous exclamation tore his attention away.

“A full collection of recreated compositions!” you held up your find like a hunter with a prized rabbit as you approached.  “All of these are based on the music box the Traveler found!”

Your eyes practically glittered with stardust, the way excitement illuminated your face.  How long had it been since you last looked at him, at anyone, like that, Zandik mused.  What plagued your soul in such a fashion that made these moments rare occurrences as of late?

He watched as you returned to the bookseller charged with opening shift, your enthusiasm met with understanding nods and additional questions.  From here, the sun hit your hair perfectly but it wasn’t the star in the sky that made your entire being exude such brilliance.  There was, of course, something to be said about the return of one’s demeanor and true capacity, but this…

It was as if you had a renewed lease on life itself, unfettered, your mind having worked through something in the Sacellum Requietis.  Zandik leaned back in his chair, thoughtful.

Possible.  It was always a possibility, although not necessarily probable .  Besides, everyone exhibited differently.  Would explain most of your symptoms.  And the enigmatic smile the Tsaritsa had given on her visit.  Surely you trusted a physician in addition to a mere Archon’s sentiments?

If that was the cause.  Speculation would do little good without further evidence and a proper blood test.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t entertain the thought, though.  From that perspective, he allowed the train of logic to continue, and envisioned the blueprint tacked to his workshop wall, faded and illegible.  What would a collection of thin metal arms be good for?  Not strong enough to function as a claw, too light for a set of windchimes to dangle.  But there was a motor, and a little soundbox attached…Pierro’s stilted slap on the shoulder made far more sense in this context…

By the time you were finished, and paid for the large armful of bound compositions, Zandik was already used to the notion of laughter and shouts in the background, wide eyes and an excitement for the world, all a layer to your music while he worked.

You would tell him when you were ready, he knew.  Just as you would anything else.  He couldn’t help but let his gaze rest on you periodically after he took your purchases and tucked them under one arm, your hand safely in his free one.  Mindlessly, he brushed his thumb over your knuckles, the size and pattern of them memorized long ago.

“What, do I have something on my face?” you asked, catching his gaze.

Zandik took the time to trace his eyes over your brows, your eyes and cheeks, the tip of your nose, and your welcoming lips.  Not a detail out of place.  He let go of your hand long enough to brush away stray hairs, which were immediately taken by the morning breeze.

“Let’s keep going, shall we?”

The rest of the trip was a complete blur wrapped up in sunny days and relaxing evenings, productive even if it meant lounging on the hotel balcony and watching the remains of the Research Institute from a distance.

In the end, you settled on visiting the mainland, too; you were already halfway there, after all.  It was Zandik’s turn to fill your luggage with more blueprints and parts and you watched as he disassembled a wind-up frog powered by a tiny Pneuma cell.  Both of you spent a whole evening craned over a table of gears and tiny arms as he put it back together as if by memory.

He was never far from reach.

And your resolve only settled further.

You were filled with what you could only describe as a new sense of self, cradling the fear that once gripped you the same way one might hold a baby boarshroom: tender and with care.  It found company amid excitement and happiness and hope.  Although movement was still a long while off, your stomach flipped itself into tangles as you returned home and began assembling all of the sections you created while away.  

Once or twice, you spotted Zandik out of his workshop, ears stuffed with cotton on the days you were playing; when you questioned him, he gave some answer about the air pressure difference getting to him and that he would hear your music when you intended to share it.  In turn, he was equally cagey about keeping his workbench covered and asked you to flick the lights at the top of the stairs first if you insisted on coming down.  He had been practically vibrating all the way back from Fontaine after a visit to a mechanical artisan and, much like yourself, could not wait to channel renewed energy.

You completed the final bar in the early hours of the afternoon within a week of your return, more than satisfied.  Zandik, in turn, proclaimed his finishing touches were done some hours later that very day.  If fate were still a presence in the world you knew now, you would have allowed it to lay claim to the coincidence once upon a time.  He forbid you from entering one of the few extra rooms, distracting you with teasing kisses until you all but forgot about the possibility of what laid beyond.

That evening after dinner, you handed an envelope to Zandik, its edges flattened to oblivion from running your nails along them.  You half-expected his nimble fingers to pull out the top flap but he merely examined it and then gave you his undivided attention as you settled in and took up your usual position.  The Cryo panels of your cello’s body were a familiar form against your knees, a solid comfort you could rely on to help convey the sentiments words could not.  

With your back to the large pane of windows and sunset providing you light, you dove through the first two movements.  The third began as it always had, the beginning of the end that circled around and offered a clean slate for all.  Slow and tenuous, plucks of curiosity and drags of uncertainty, winding themselves into a motif that pulled from the first movement, and then the second, forming a new pattern that made your rib cage rattle every time you played it.  The approach was literal, too on the nose perhaps, but it was accurate.  You had allowed yourself to delve into the slow and stilted structure from before the trip and proceeded to drag it out, mold it, and bring in some of the bars from a recovered Remurian symphony.  Upon first hearing it, you imagined the lapping of waves and desire for a future safe from destruction, where more than just life itself could prosper.  

You allowed the last note to hang, counting before you pressed your hand to the strings to still them.  

Your audience of one had tucked the envelope into his shirt pocket and closed his garnet eyes.  He wasn’t sleeping, although his breathing was steady; an idle hand played at the air above his knee, his mind seeking the patterns you presented and working to unravel them.  Quietly, you settled your cello into its stand and padded over to him.  You took his other hand, still and resting in his lap, and laid it flat against your abdomen, the heat of his palm searing through your clothing.

Slowly, Zandik opened his eyes, blinked, and then flexed his fingers.

“Quite a gift,” he whispered.

“One that warrants a lengthy discussion and decisions.”

His hand, once tracing your composition, found your bow hand and pressed it to his lips, his breath kissing every inch of your scars.

“I already have mine.  Come.”

Legs trembling, you followed him through the living room and upstairs to the door he previously barred your entry from.  Words failed and instead you swallowed, silently staring at him, your question heavy in the air.  Zandik merely leaned forward to unlatch the door and push it open, nodding his head to direct you inside.

This room was always sparse, little more than an obligatory guest room used occasionally for storage.  It never held more than a bed to begin with but your heart lurched at the device hanging from the ceiling.  Charms and trinkets spun idly, a star and a music note among them.  You stepped into the room and brushed your fingers over the arms, watching it spin.

You turned back to Zandik, lips quivering and eyes burning.  He closed the distance between you and reached up, finding a winding key with ease and twisting it thrice before he nudged you back.  You watched as the arms slowly spun, all the while, a familiar tune played softly.  As the rest of the music played out, you nestled yourself against Zandik, the final scratches of anxiety falling away.

“We did not come this far only to not see what laid outside of a fated existence,” he murmured.  “I have my own trepidations but I am intrigued by the possibilities presented.  However, if you feel—”

“I knew that day standing on the conductor’s podium that I wanted this.  Us,” you replied.  “And I can think of nothing more worthy of the future we’ve carved for ourselves.”

Zandik buried his face in the crook of your neck.  Once again, you pulled one of his hands and pressed it to your lower stomach, intertwining your fingers over his in a new, silent promise.

[blindradiant]

How do you feel about your blorbo getting married? My aroace headcanons have gone down the drain

Oh my aroace headcanons are still alive and well. Aroace people can and do get married. I have a lot of thoughts that I’m trying to work out, but here’s what I have so far

First, I think Szeth is solidly sex neutral ace. It’s never his preferred expression of closeness and intimacy, but he’s willing to do it from time to time. He definitely prefers things like hugs, meaningful conversation, and sharing dances though

Second, the way his feelings and thoughts toward Kaladin change over only ten days has convinced me of demiromantic Szeth. It would take time for him to build up to that kind of deep, abiding connection and emotional closeness, but he could get there, especially as he continues to heal, rediscover himself, and grow

Third, I really like that it’s mentioned that the in world KOWT was written/published six years after the events of WaT. That gives demiromantic Szeth plenty of time to get to a place where something like marriage might make sense or feel right to him. It gives plenty of time for a meaningful relationship to form between him and his wife. I’m currently imagining that the wedding happened very shortly before the final edit/publication of the text, so it was like a five and a half year slowburn leading up to it. I’d be a lot more skeptical if it was revealed that the marriage happened within the first year, but since we only know that it happened, that longer timeframe feels most likely to me

I definitely was not expecting this at all, and it did come out of nowhere, but I’m pretty sure I can come up with things that make it feel right for Szeth’s character and the ways his journey might continue after the end of WaT. I’m planning to work out a whole fic/series of fics exploring this, really digging into it, and helping me (and maybe you and other people) grasp the situation

Sorry that was so long lol

Tl.Dr: in my head, Szeth is sex neutral ace and demiromantic, got married like five and a half years after the events of WaT, and there was an entire slowburn leading up to him being ready for and wanting to get married