#I will be the first to admit as well this very much can read as out of character a | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lambergeier · 2 days ago

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wip whursday here's another 4.6k. initially kept writing bc i needed a good fic to pick at to keep my game up while i read enough batcomics to get started on fic for THAT fandom, and then i downloaded genshin again yesterday bc who gives a fuck anymore lol. so now here's another 4.6k! this is basically like posting a serial. like charles dickens

---

They don’t leave exactly on time. But it’s pretty close.

The caravan with whom Alhaitham bought himself (and now Kaveh) (they were very understanding) a ride departs Sumeru City just after noon, with the sun at its dizzying peak, and Alhaitham and Kaveh crammed onto a single sumpter beast’s swaying back. The drivers’ understanding about Alhaitham’s surprise guest had not extended to giving that surprise guest a separate mount. Kaveh digs his hands into the sumpter’s rank fur and holds on tight.

It’s a long afternoon’s ride to Paradisea, then a significantly longer ride to Aaru the next day. They stay the night between in a lodging house just down the hill from the Akademiya’s palatial greenhouses. At dusk the wind changes and fills their rented room with the smells of flowers, as thick in their mouths as honey. They fuck each other senseless in a haze of perfume and nearly miss their ride the next morning.

“There have been strange reports back from the desert, in the wake of the Traveller’s passing,” Alhaitham says, long legs crammed tight against Kaveh’s in the the shade of their cart’s small awning. He plays with Kaveh’s hand in his lap like it's a puzzle to crack, pressing at each callus and bone with the limitless fidgeting energy of his teenage self. Kaveh sweats beside him, unwilling to withdraw.

“The great red storm has ended,” Alhaitham says. “The skies above Hypostyle are clear for the first time in two thousand years.”

Kaveh nods, lips against Alhaitham’s shoulder. He's not really listening, mind on houses and fireworks and the depthless unknown of the future. He tucks his toes beneath Alhaitham’s thigh as they exit the hot shade of the Wall and rattle into the desert. “That much is verified,” Alhaitham continues. “By every man, woman, and child of the lower desert. A scholar was with the Traveller and Paimon—his reports, what they saw—tombs unseen since the Archon war.” Alhaitham pauses, eyes on something far distant. “But there's more, from even deeper in the sands.”

Even Kaveh had heard about the end of the storm, in his blinkered way. He freely admits to the thinness in his news diet, but the architectural digest had reported on it, and the merchants and tradesmen in Lambad’s, and the tourists from Liyue at the docks. “What else?” Kaveh asks. “How did you find out?”

“The Traveller writes to Nahida,” Alhaitham says, always on a first name-basis with his god. “Others do, as well. Scholar-cults supposedly dead for centuries find a way to write to Nahida, who leaves all of her papers in a pile on my desk.”

“You snooped?” Kaveh smiles.

“It’s my desk,” Alhaitham says. “Something happened in Hadramaveth that no one can describe the same way twice. Giants wake and the eternal storm walks with them. The tribes who do no business with scholars are on the move. At the edge of the inland sea the ghost of a tree rises to the height of the moon.”

“How much did that correspondent have to drink?” Kaveh asks, thinking mostly of the pile of his hair pins growing ever larger beside Alhaitham’s bed.

“They see it in Fontaine,” Alhaitham says. “The sailors brought the first news last week, plus a letter for Nahida from their Duke under the water.”

“I suppose it's real, then,” Kaveh says.

“Two months,” Alhaitham murmurs. “It’s only been two months since they left the forest.”

Alhaitham presses his thumb into the lines of Kaveh’s palm. Kaveh puts his mouth to Alhaitham's red neck. It’s only them in the back of the cart, with the bags of rice and the linen. They have an exhausting amount of sex again that night in their guesthouse in Aaru. Kaveh wakes early, in the grey light before dawn, to an empty bed.

Bleary, he pushes himself up on his elbows, frowning at the rumpled sheets where Alhaitham used to be. It is, for now, the perfect temperature, with sweat neither beading nor cooling on Kaveh’s back and a slow breeze from the windows pulling at the mess of his hair. He really should have taken all his hairpins out before Alhaitham got his pants off. That was a rookie mistake.

There's voices speaking outside, from the flat adobe roof of the house’s first storey. Kaveh shuffles toward the little curtained door that opens onto it, a blanket wrapped around his bare shoulders, and sees Alhaitham, in his sleeping clothes, speaking to—of all people, Hat Guy.

Kaveh blinks, realizing he should be listening to this but not really awake enough to do so. The waterfalls beneath the village are thunderous in the morning, nearly as loud as the birds, and Hat Guy says, “—you understand? This isn’t just history anymore. This isn’t a game.”

“I’m aware,” Alhaitham says.

“I don’t know how that could possibly be the case.”

“I’m aware,” Alhaitham says again. His hair is the same becalmed color as the sky.

Hat Guy’s comically large headgear bobs. Could be a nod, could be the wind. “Then keep your head on straight. Be careful. And don’t fuck it up. And don’t fucking say—”

“I’m aware,” Alhaitham says, with a mean, handsome, perfect smile.

Kaveh’s hand slips on the beaded edge of the curtain. Both men turn at the noise and Hat Guy sees him there, naked but for a blanket and the hickeys down his neck—Kaveh ducks back inside the house, red with shame, before Hat Guy can finish laughing. He scrambles and is back in bed with the blankets over his burning ears by the time Alhaitham returns to the room. He thinks Alhaitham will say something, make some comment about Kaveh looking like his kept man, his little pet, for all to see, but no such comment comes. When Kaveh peeks between the folds of his cocoon, Alhaitham is sitting on the edge of the bed, rolling his vision in his hands. Kaveh can tell it’s his vision because it’s not Kaveh’s, which is much a piece of Kaveh as his sight or pulse. Alhaitham weighs his gift from the gods in one loose fist and looks at the wall.

Kaveh won’t look this particular horse in the mouth. He shuts his eyes and wills himself back to sleep. If one more person knows about their relationship, then, whatever. Whatever! Not like anyone likes talking to Hat Guy, anyways.

–

“Okay, so it’s like, really gone,” Kaveh says, staring up at the sapphire blue skies above the mausoleum of King Deshret. “You weren’t kidding.”

“I was not,” Alhaitham says, not even breathing hard from the last dirty slide down the road to the dune field. Bastard. “Why would I?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Kaveh blinks again, eyes watering in the undiluted brilliance of the sun above the sand. “Well, okay. Okay. It’s so blue.”

“The sky usually is.”

Kaveh maintains his dignity and doesn’t kick any sand at Alhaitham’s stupid pedantic boots. He’s an adult with several different ongoing debt repayment plans and a semi-sentient briefcase. Also, they’re absolutely surrounded and someone might see.

He’s really never seen this many people in the sands at once. The packed dirt trail to the steps of Deshret’s mausoleum is as busy as any city street, crammed with not just scholars and merchants and the mercenaries who usually accompany them, if not always at this density—but families, too. Children, parents, elderly residents of Aaru being helped down the rocks and into the dunes by their neighbors and spouses. The whole village emptied out this morning and accompanied Kaveh and Alhaitham into the desert, happy and chattering. They led the way.

“How was it opened? How did she manage this?” Kaveh asks.

“The Traveler? With a robot, a stone slate, two Tanit mercenaries, and a middling amount of violence. Tirzad was with them.”

“Tirzad the fifteenth-year Vahumana student?”

“He may finally graduate, once he finishes writing this up,” Alhaitham says, with a sweep of his hand. “Though he was hardly there for all of it. She kept opening doors, once he returned to the city.”

“What does that mean?”

“Tirzad gave an oral report to Nahida upon his return, at her request. I sat in. He described only the opening of the mausoleum and the towers of Khaj-Nisut in his journey with the Traveler.” Kaveh boggles. The fact that the throne of Khaj-Nisut is real, found, and open to visitors is all news to him. Alhaitham describes it like he would a spot of river traffic at the docks. “Letters trickled in afterwards, from scholars and matra across Hypostyle, which I obtained copies of. They had all begun to find the same thing. Doors were open, everywhere, in every structure under study and some we’d had no idea existed at all, because the structures themselves had been locked in sections of the cave systems never before seen.”

“But that’s—” Kaveh struggles to fit this into his understanding of the world. He looks at the people surrounding them, the kids and grandfathers and shepherds and bricklayers of Aaru, the dogs capering between them, just happy to be included on this day away from home, and then looks up. Shadow flashes over them in magisterial bands—the columns that mark the edges of the great paved plazas beneath the pyramid. “That can’t be right. The desert is huge. The underground caves are—It can’t have just been her and Paimon, and, what, a robot?”

“It wasn’t. The Tanit woman took the robot.”

Kaveh doesn’t know what any of this means. But they’re in the pyramid, and a door that Kaveh touched himself once, as a student, running careful fingers through centuries of unmoved dust, is open wide. The crowd moves through it, more feet than these halls have seen in a thousand years. The corridors beyond are lit brightly by complex mirrors and a system of flowing power Kaveh has never seen before. The air changes. They enter the pyramid’s great hall.

It’s blue. It’s so beautiful. Kaveh, without much control over the situation, sits down in the middle of the carved stone floor and puts his hands to his mouth.

Some time later—tricky to say how much, doesn’t really seem relevant to the day’s events—Kaveh looks up to a hand on his shoulder.

“Oh, hello,” he says, then, “Oh! Collei! Hello! Are you—what are you doing here?”

“Hello, Senior Kaveh!” Collei says with that sweet smile of hers as Kaveh stumbles up, papers raining from his lap. He’d just been making a few sketches, several dozen sketches, of the vast interior of the hall, the thunderous repetition of its forms, which he thinks he might dream about, every night, for the rest of his life. Each torch, each carved relief—all of it rising, pulling the hall up with itself, toward the great mechanism, toward something far above. Like a summons—the culminating urgency, thousands of years of history all striving to meet some incomparable, celestial unknown—

“I came with Master Tighnari and General Cyno,” Collei says. She’s in traveling clothes, like Kaveh himself, a long robe tied loosely at the neck and red with sand. Her freckles are just barely darker than her sunny cheeks. “We got here a few hours ago, have you been here long?”

“Uh, maybe!” Kaveh says. “How are you doing, how are your classes going? You started learning about herbalism, recently, right? With the, with the plants?”

“Yes, Senior Kaveh,” she says with a laugh she tries just a bit to hide.

“No, come on, don’t call me Senior, you make me sound so old,” Kaveh says, which makes her laugh again. Oh, she’s so sweet. He’s known Collei since Tighnari decided he and Kaveh were going to be friends, of course, for years by now, and still he wants her to like him so bad it makes his knees shake. She’s just so lovely! “We should have checked if you were coming out, though, we could have traveled together! Tighnari didn’t mind leaving the forest for all this heat?”

“Oh, well, you know Master Tighnari,” Collei says, which means Tighnari was a crabby old hag from the moment they left Ribat, “but General Cyno was going, and Master Tighnari didn’t think he should go alone, and so, you know, we came, too!”

“He shouldn’t go alone?” Kaveh says. “Why not? The road’s hardly dangerous these days.”

“Oh, no, of course it is! And of course General Cyno could defeat anyone he came across,” Collei says, with perfect, reverent faith. “Master Tighnari just thought someone should be with him. When he saw all this, for the first time.”

“Oh,” Kaveh says, and feels like an entire bundle of idiot. “Of course. Duh.”

“Yeah,” Collei says, and smiles again, with more grace than a teenager should ever be capable of. Tighnari and Cyno are so lucky to have this kid. “Isn’t it amazing?”

“It really is,” Kaveh says. The crowds have only grown since Kaveh last paid attention to anything except architecture. Not far from him and Collei, two women hold up their young children to one of the reliefs of Deshret and his kingdom, the King carved as tall as any building in Sumeru City. The women are from deep in the desert, dressed in the colors of a tribe Kaveh isn’t familiar with—they speak rapidly to their children, bounding over each other in their eagerness, like they have to retell every story of Al Ahmar now, at this second, here, while their children stand where he stood and smack their small hands to the stone of his knees.

“Who would have thought that we’d see this place in our lifetimes?” Kaveh says, craning his neck back to the monumental peak of the ceiling. “It’s unbelievable.”

“There’ve been a lot of unbelievable things this year!” Collei says.

“That’s too well-adjusted, Collei, I need you to be more freaked out,” Kaveh says, and is rewarded with the infinite riches of her laugh. It’s much bigger when she’s surprised. “Well, where’s Haitham gone? I assume he tasked you with finding me. Sorry, on his behalf.”

“It’s okay, you weren’t hard to find. You were sitting right where he said he’d left you!”

“Of course. He knew where I was, but couldn’t be bothered to come back himself. How long ago did he wander off?”

“I’m not sure, I was only back by the wall for about fifteen minutes before I tapped you on the shoulder.”

“Fifteen minutes!” He rounds on her, hands on hips, but she’s still smiling. “Collei! You should have said something! You didn’t have to wait for me!”

“It was nice!” she protests. “It’s okay, really! I liked watching you draw. Do you know you chew your hair when you draw? I couldn’t tell if you knew.”

“I do. It’s a terrible habit. The split ends never go away,” he says, and bends to gather up his many scattered pencils and socks (in which the pencils had been carefully stored within his traveling bag). “So, where did he go?”

She shrugs, hair bouncing upon her shoulders. “He said he was going to look at the mechanism but—”

“God forbid he specify which mechanism, in the enormous hall full of interesting ancient mechanisms.”

“Yeah, that,” she says. “But he said that when he was done he’d meet us where Master Tighnari and General Cyno are.”

“It’s fine, Collei, you're not his runner, I can just go find him. He’s pretty predictable, luckily.”

“Sure, I bet you could,” she says, in a casual knowing tone that makes Kaveh narrow his eyes suspiciously. Do five people now know about his and Alhaitham’s relationship? “But he said you’d probably want to see where Master Tighnari and General Cyno are right now.”

“...And where is that?”

She points. “Over that way, in the rooms outside the hall. Senior Alhaitham said they looked liked quarters for the priests who tended the mausoleum before it was abandoned?”

Kaveh inhales sharply. Domestic architecture? From the age of Deshret? Damn the man!!

Collei is smiling again. Like perhaps Haitham informed her how Kaveh might react to such an indescribable temptation. “Well, if that’s where everyone’s going to be meeting,” Kaveh says, with what little dignity he can muster, and lets Collei lead him away.

He does get to find out about her herbalism classes as they make their slow way through the hundred little knots of people gazing in wonder at the work of their ancestors’ lives. She is doing very well and had only mixed up a potion and poultice once. And it hadn’t even been that big a deal, because Gülsha (another apprentice, Kaveh understands) had mixed up a potion and a poultice the other way around and had had to vomit behind the classroom for ages before the ranger in charge would let her stop! Collei had just stained her arm red for a day or two, which Master Tighnari thought was funny. And Gülsha’s boyfriend was really sweet during the whole thing, Collei assures him as they reach the far door of the hall.

“Oh, yeah?” Kaveh says. The corridor beyond is much emptier than the hall, the sand thicker upon the tiles. He likes letting Collei chatter. It feels like such an accomplishment that she chatters at him.

“Yeah, he kept running down to the river to get her water even thought she couldn’t, you know, keep it down! He was kinda stressed out, but she thought it was funny after. They’re so cute together.”

“They sound like it.”

Collei’s big doe eyes go, as best they can, conspiratorial. She isn’t very good at it. It’s like a kitten trying to slip you a few extra mora for that bottle of cream on the high shelf. “She told me she wants to go talk to Hassan’s parents soon. To introduce them to her parents!”

“Whoa, getting pretty serious!”

“Right?” Collei says, with an eager nod. “They’ve only been together for a year, but she really likes him, I think!”

They pause outside one of the neat sloped doors in the eastern wall. Kaveh can hear familiar voices beyond, tucked somewhere close and safe. Collei has her hands tight over her chest and is looking like she wants to ask him something.

“Everything okay?” Kaveh asks, as Collei, in total silence, does honorable battle with whatever it is that she will or will not say. Her eyes are very big.

“You—” she starts, but that’s as far as her recent bloom of confidence will take her. “Nevermind-Senior-Kaveh-I’ll-go-get-Senior-Alhaitham-bye!” she continues at the approximate speed of a hunting tiger and then, face flushed and huge with panic, she vanishes.

“Ah, so close,” Kaveh says to the emptied hallway. He gets it. He’s been there.

“Collei?” Cyno calls from inside.

“Gone to get Haitham,” Kaveh replies, and steps past the ancient shelves by the door (God, shelves!! Whoever lived here lived a life that included shelves!!) to find Cyno in a tailor’s seat upon the stone. The room is small and easily warmed by the torches on the wall, more of an clearing room for the cells beyond it (for sleeping? Arranged around a common eating/study area? The implications!) than a grand space itself, but with plenty of room for two grown men to sit on the floor together. Kaveh does so, folding his overlong legs to match. “She said Tighnari was with you?”

“Yes,” Cyno says, then, “I think so. Tighnari?” he shouts, to which there is no reply. He’s holding a hand-written note in one hand and a few pieces of decorative stone in another, which he sets down carefully. Kaveh, not a child, resists the impulse to lean over Cyno’s shoulder and sneak a peek. “I think he went to go get water. There’s an exit south of here that leads to one of the underground rivers. He was making that face like when he’s pretending he doesn’t want to wash his ears immediately.”

“He’s really not a fan of the desert, huh.”

“Fool,” Cyno says, with a big, creased grin. Kaveh laughs. “How’s Collei? There are more people here than we were expecting.”

“Great, actually. She’s so cool. How’d you get such a cool kid?”

“She’s not my kid.”

“Does that mean she’s up for grabs? Can I have her?”

“You couldn’t handle her,” Cyno says, in the confident tones of someone who is very proud of their cool kid.

“Well, you don’t have to be so truthful about it!” Kaveh laughs. “Surely I could at least make an attempt! We were having a pretty nice conversation, up until—well, she wanted to ask me something right before we walked in but I have no idea what, she immediately got tongue-tied and ran off, so…”

“She wants to know when Alhaitham’s going to make an honest man of you,” Cyno said.

Kaveh, who had been pretty nice time in the thousand-year divine tomb until now, goes tense all the way down to toes. His face feels suddenly like a war banner: big, easy to read, and scarlet red. “What?” he says. “She—she knows we’re dating?”

“Yes, somehow,” Cyno says. “Though strenuous detective work.”

“That’s not—you didn’t tell her, did you?”

“That wasn’t necessary, no,” Cyno replies. He sounds so casual. But Kaveh really hadn’t—they didn’t even sit next to each other when they had dinner with Tighnari and Collei in Gandharva! Kaveh had wanted to, to keep it between them! Just for now, just for the start. But Cyno is still talking: “Does it bother you so much that she knows?”

It shouldn’t. Collei is Cyno and Tighnari’s family. She’s a wonderful kid. But still, Kaveh can’t bring himself to answer.

“She quite likes it,” Cyno goes on. “You two being together. She thinks you’re cute.”

“That’s…wonderful. But—Cyno, we’ve only been together three months. There’s no need for her—for anyone!—to be thinking about marriage!”

“By one reckoning.”

“What?”

“Three months by—don’t worry about it. She won’t mention any of it to anyone else. She’s barely mentioned it to us.”

“No, I know she wouldn’t, she’s not—” Kaveh stumbles over himself, fingers knotting painfully in his lap. “It’s not like—look, you guys aren’t even married! Right?”

“I don’t think that’s relevant. Tighnari doesn’t believe in marriage.”

“Wait—really?”

“It’s not a thing for Valuka Shuna,” Cyno shrugs. “Or most of the desert, outside Aaru.”

“So you don’t mind? Even though you guys are…” The two most married people Kaveh had met since his father died?

“No,” Cyno says, with a noise almost like a scoff. “Why would I? I could have no greater piece of his heart.”

“Sure,” Kaveh says, as if that’s not the most romantic line he’s ever heard in his life.

“But you believe in marriage,” Cyno says.

“Sure,” Kaveh says again.

Cyno considers him. His jackal-head sits in his lap, showing off the shocking intensity of his eyes. “You seem uncomfortable. Do you want me to change the subject?”

“Please,” Kaveh says.

“Okay,” Cyno says, and laughs at him. It’s not unkind, because very rarely can Cyno ever be unkind. “Do you like the architecture?”

“I love the architecture,” Kaveh says, and seizes the opportunity Cyno presents him, to talk for several minutes uninterrupted about the beauty of Deshret’s great halls.

“I don’t know, it just seems so impossible to believe,” Kaveh says. There are people outside in the hallway, their footsteps soft over the sandy stone. Candace passed by earlier, nodding to Cyno, and he’s learned that the note in Cyno’s hand was left by Sethos—days ago, when Sethos, before almost anyone else, discovered the depths to which the Traveler had opened her doors. He came in the back way, through the caves and the river, and wrote something he knew Cyno would find. “All of this, miles of it, sleeping for century upon century and we, of all people—”

He brought this up before, or almost did, with Collei, but he can’t stop thinking about. His mind circles it like water around a drain. Why this? Why now? Why them? “Look, just—” he’s not going to be able to stop himself for asking again. “Did you ever expect to see any of this? To be here? Was this, like, part of your five year plan?”

To his credit, Cyno takes his time to consider this. It’s an insane question, driven by insane impulses, Kaveh’s fingers once again pressing Kaveh’s knuckles to a pulp in his lap, but Cyno gives it its due. “No,” he says at last. “But many things have happened recently that weren’t part of my five year plan.”

“You know, that’s almost exactly what Collei said.”

“Yes. I’m trying to learn from her.”

“Learn what?”

“How to live within change. To roll with the punches, as Dehya might say. Collei’s very good at it.”

Kaveh almost protests, thinking of Collei’s nerves, the fears she works so carefully and notably to set aside and walk away from—but that’s not quite the same is it? They’re distinct. “...I suppose you’re right,” he says.

“I am,” Cyno says, with surety. No wonder him and Alhaitham get along. “I think some days she even forgets what her childhood was like. I can hardly do that. But she spent a long time being certain of her future, in a very unpleasant way.”

“Yeah…God, I mean, she must have been.”

Cyno nods, as much to himself as to Kaveh. “Right. But then it wasn’t what she thought at all. All of our lives—who knows what’s to come? Oh, Candance,” he says, as Kaveh blinks and grasps for a response. Candace is entering the room, something in her hand, and behind her, making Cyno’s face shine like the sun in the cloudless sky, Tighnari. “You found him? It?”

“I believe I found it,” she confirms with a gentle smile. “Its presence was tangible in the far western hall. Tighnari required no finding.”

“Hello, love,” Tighnari says, leaning down to envelop Cyno’s face in his hands. “Doing okay?”

“Just fine. How are the ears?”

“I don’t think that’s any business of yours,” Tighnari says smiling, then leans to the side. “Here.” Candace hands Cyno something crumbling and beautiful. Cyno takes it with a sudden, electric smile and Kaveh realizes that it’s of a set—it matches the pieces of stone Cyno had held earlier with the note.

“Gifts from Sethos,” Cyno explains, as he lays out the pieces of an ancient painted relief upon the floor. “He found most of it, but couldn’t find the last before he had to leave. He trusted we would be able to dig up the rest.”

There’s more soft noise, Collei and Alhaitham at the door. They hesitate to enter, Collei out of unsurety, Alhaitham out of his usual distaste for sentiment, but Kaveh can see that he’s feeling it too—the thing radiating out of Cyno’s careful adjustment of stone against stone like a beacon over the dunes.

The relief is small but masterful. Assembled, if not whole, it shows Al Ahmar, in his familiar representation, as he is portrayed with Lesser Lord Kusanali and the Goddess of Flowers, his equals and lovers. Beside him is the jackal-priest commonly identified as Hermanubis. Cyno strokes his finger down Al Ahmar’s edge and Kaveh realizes he’s crying.

Tighnari does too, and Collei, but Cyno smiles and shakes his head, waving them off. “It’s alright,” he says. “It’s alright. It’s just my friend.” That’s how he refers to the spirit within him, when he’s amongst company that won’t require an explanation. His friend. Kaveh feels Alhaitham’s eyes upon him. Tighnari takes Cyno’s hand. “He’s just—very happy to be home.”

behold: opening 3k of current haikaveh wip. feeling ambivalent about ever finishing this just bc i have so fully dipped from genshin since all the natlan racism lol, so just in case this doesn't get finished.... starts with porn, so watch out for that!

---

The first thing that happens that day is that Kaveh gets a letter from the Akademiya’s Desk of Graduate Recordings and Happenstance on the subject of future mailings to his address. Well, sort of. Well, it’s almost the first thing. The first first thing that happens that day, Kaveh supposes, is that Kaveh wakes up in Alhaitham’s arms.

“Not yet,” Alhaitham says, sleepy and firm, his hands pressing around Kaveh’s stomach and sweating chest as the midmorning birds sing from the eaves.

“Mmm, Haitham,” Kaveh says, then, “Haitham, let me up, Haitham, I’m—”

Alhaitham presses his mouth to the back of Kaveh’s bare neck, his chest to Kaveh’s hot shoulders. “You have time,” he says. “Not yet.”

Does Kaveh have time? He has no way of knowing. He’s still so asleep, hot and slow-moving as glass, blinking against the brightness in Alhaitham’s bedroom like some kind of newborn housepet. He has a meeting today, right? With a client? Perhaps a vendor?? Unhelpfully, Alhaitham shapes his body to Kaveh’s like skin over muscle. Kaveh feels the desire to purr.

It’s as bad now as it’s ever been. There’s no respite. He’s never been this disorientingly horny in his life. Not just this morning, when the prospect of orgasm is immediate and obvious, but for days now. Weeks? They’ve been sleeping together for—his breath hitches abruptly as Alhaitham’s hand on his hip becomes Alhaitham’s fingers petting down his fattening cock, stroking his sac with focused care—oh, God, it’s been at least three months. Three months in what must finally, formally, be called a relationship, and Kaveh feels now as he did that very first afternoon: insane. With lust, with need, with panic, with flagrant desire. Has he ever thought this much about sex, this regularly, in his entire life? Alhaitham’s bush is scraping his ass raw, Alhaitham’s cock hard enough that Kaveh can feel the hot tip of it against his skin, and that makes him twice as insane as all the rest of it.

“Haitham,” he pants, “I have to get up.”

“Not yet,” Alhaitham says again. He’s like creeping vines this morning. He doesn’t intend to be removed.

Three months Kaveh has been thinking about sex with Alhaitham, morning to night. Unbearable, and yet still better than thinking about the other thing—how much he wants to be with Alhaitham, morning to night. How much he wants to be pulled into him, like sunlight into sprawling leaves. A fish into an ocean. A man into a relationship he wanted profoundly and understands minimally. Compared to that, an obsessive contemplation of a quarter-year’s unbridled libido isn’t bad at all.

“Fuck me,” he pants. Screw the client and the vendor. Give him this. “Haitham, your cock, fuck me.”

Alhaitham, nearly on top of him, is urgent and threatening to roll Kaveh face-first into the sheets. “If you think,” he says, “I’m going to go get the damn harness when you,” he’s not managing the scornful tone particularly well, “look like this—”

“Not your cock!” Kaveh says. “Your cock!”

Praise God, he gets the picture. Alhaitham rolls Kaveh over, pins him to the sheets, and starts to thrust.

Face down, panting like a dog into Alhaitham’s overpriced pillow, Kaveh struggles briefly to spread himself before Alhaitham realizes what he’s doing and deigns to help. He shoves Kaveh’s thigh up and toward his side and Kaveh grabs it, pulling his own hips wide and eager. This is good. This is great. The more he has to be in his body the less he has to be in his head. Alhaitham has an arm across his shoulders and his pelvis to Kaveh’s ass as he thrusts the tip of his short cock against Kaveh’s hole. It’s not quite firm enough to penetrate and drives Kaveh thoroughly insane. He pants for it like an animal.

“Good” Alhaitham says, “good,” his greatest of praises. What’s Kaveh good at? Being limber and getting fucked? That’s not so bad!

“Yes,” Kaveh says (it’s outside of his control), “yes, yes, yes, yes,” with a rising intensity as Alhaitham’s thrust threaten to bash them both into the headboard. “Yes!”

“You’re,” Alhaitham pants, “repeating yourself.”

Kaveh shouldn’t let this example of Alhaitham’s worst behavior go unpunished. Unfortunately, right now he’s so powerfully turned on he thinks he might shatter, might vanish, might rocket into the air like a firework. And it’s always like this. Puberty was less intense than this! Kaveh barely survived puberty!

“C’mon, give it to me, give it to me,” he says. The heat of the sun inflames his neck, his back, his chest. He doesn’t know what he wants. He wants so desperately it’s going to rip him apart. He bruises his own thigh. Alhaitham bruises his hips. He fucks his cock against Kaveh, using Kaveh for all the pleasure he can get.

“Desperate,” Alhaitham says, which makes Kaveh gasp a little, red and brainless. How could Alhaitham tell? How did he know? Can he see that it’s more than the sex? Does he suspect like Kaveh suspects that he’s desperate, actually, for all of it? Desperate to sit beside Alhaitham in the morning and drink their coffee together? To rearrange the bookshelves together? To debate the world’s philosophies together? To spend all the years of their life in the pleasure of—

Can everyone see it? What is Kaveh supposed to do?

Alhaitham pulls him back, fishing Kaveh from the sudden plunge of panic with all the gentleness of a tiger upon its prey. “Up,” he gasps into Kaveh’s ear, sweaty chest sliding across Kaveh’s sweaty back, “get your hips up, you perennial imbecile—”

He gets so punchy when he’s turned on. Maybe Kaveh could just rub himself to completion on Alhaitham’s sheets as Alhaitham rubbed himself to completion on Kaveh. Maybe he’s dizzy with the idea of it, actually. But he shuffles up, obedient, movable as clay, and at Alhaitham’s prompting gives his own cock three quick strokes that end—predictably. With fantastic, enervating clarity. Kaveh gasps wetly as he falls back on the sheets, Alhaitham coming down with him, getting in a few last hot thrusts against Kaveh’s ass and quivering thigh.

It’s not quite enough for him—he rolls over, on his back beside Kaveh, eyes screwed shut as he rubs himself with an almost furious impatience. Kaveh watches him with one eye, sweat pooling between his shoulders. He likes Alhaitham’s tense, closed face, the shuddering ridge of his shoulder as he works himself like an unruly machine. He reaches out a hand, tracing the gray hair around Alhaitham’s nipple and down his abdomen. Kaveh fingers meet Alhaitham’s at the base of his hot cock. That’ll do it. Alhaitham gasps, tenses, and opens his eyes wide. When he closes them again, relief flows off him like cool water.

“Good morning,” Kaveh says.

Alhaitham hums, low and rocky. Kaveh keeps stroking the whorls of his chest hair. It’s always so soft. He never expects how soft it is. “Good morning,” Alhaitham says. “Aren’t you going to be late?”

“Ass,” Kaveh says, unable to help a smile, and then the hour-horn calls from the market and Alhaitham raises an eyebrow and Kaveh realizes he is quite seriously late.

“Ass!” Kaveh shouts from the bath as he scrubs come off himself then leaps damply toward the other bedroom. His bedroom. The bedroom that is still officially his, because it has his drafting table and wardrobe and jewelry (despite how much of that jewelry and wardrobe and even the drafts have begun to emigrate into Alhaitham’s bedroom with no hope of return) but they’ve only been dating for three months, and it would be crazy for Kaveh not to keep his own bedroom, so he does. It’s this one. He can’t remember the last time he slept in it. But it is 100% his own bedroom!!

Kaveh emerges from the bedroom (his) with most of his clothing on the right way around. Alhaitham sits in the living room, sipping his morning coffee.

“Aren’t you late?” Kaveh says.

“Nope.” Alhaitham takes another sip of his coffee. He’s wearing loose trousers, sweat still shining on his bare chest. Bastard.

“Don’t tell me you—oh. Wait.” Kaveh frowns. “The trip? Is that today?”

“Yep,” Alhaitham says.

“Two weeks?”

“Two weeks.”

Kaveh frowns harder, though of course they’ve both been away from home longer than that. Just not recently. “And this is for—have you told me what this is for?”

“I haven’t.”

“Haitham, come on.” He’s reading a book flat on the table, flipping through the pages at a speed that indicates he’s not so much reading the book as using it as a means to avoid eye contact. Haitham, having grown since their teenage years, now only does this when he’s upset about something—or being a massive bitch.

“Oh, sorry, was the mind-blowing morning sex not enough for you?” Kaveh snaps.

Alhaitham jerks his head up. “What? The sex was extremely enjoyable.”

“Oh, yes, it—” Abort, abort. Kaveh backpedals wildly. “---Was for me, too. Actually. Forget that. Where are you going?”

“The desert,” Alhaitham replies, flicking the book closed as he rises for more coffee. “I’m undertaking a survey of recent changes to the environment following the Traveller’s journey to the north coast.”

“Huh,” Kaveh says. “For Lesser Lord Kusanali? Like, at her request?”

Alhaitham makes an unintelligible noise into his mug.

“Well, alright,” Kaveh says. “Two weeks isn’t that long. Right? It’s not that long. And you’re leaving in the afternoon, you said.” Kaveh really should go. He’s not getting less late. “So you’ll be here when I come back.”

“I will,” Alhaitham says.

“So I can say goodbye then.”

“That would appear to be the case.”

“Right, okay. Well—”

Alhaitham catches his sleeve as he makes to leave. As if unable to himself, as if by the biddings of his soul, Kaveh turns towards him. Alhaitham kisses him with the care and dedication of a craftsman, humbling himself to his art.

It doesn’t mean anything, how intensely he feels about Alhaitham. They’re just dating. They’re just trying all this out. If they’re moving a bit fast, if the high isn’t wearing off—if Kaveh has the suspicion, hot in his heart as molten brass, that he has entered into the last relationship he will ever have, that what he is doing with Alhaitham is a flare in the sky that everyone on the continent can see—it’s not. He isn’t. It’s only as serious as he wants it to be. He still has time to figure things out.

For God’s sake, only like four people even know he’s living with Alhaitham!

“I have to go,” Kaveh pants, mouth against Alhaitham’s.

“So go.”

“Ass.”

“See you later,” Alhaitham says, pressing a last firm kiss to Kaveh’s lips (he’s insatiable this morning! Kaveh wants to climb him like a tree!). Kaveh stumbles away, snatching his cape, shoes, and non-Mehrak briefcase as he goes. His keys are on top of the pile of mail that Alhaitham always leaves unopened by the door because he doesn’t believe people should have the ability to contact him at this home address. Kaveh, red up to his ears, just takes the whole mess with him. He can check for bills on the way. He’s feeling really normal. He’s fine, actually. It’s only as serious as he wants it to be. And if he doesn’t yet know exactly how serious he wants things to be—that’s fine, too!

Outside, proceeding at a brisk walk, feeling refreshed by the morning air and the scents of the Tree’s great flowering vines, Kaveh opens the first of the letters from the pile. It’s addressed to him—great. It’s from the Desk of Graduate Recordings and Happenstance. Perfect. They probably just want him to participate in another guest lecture. He feels capable and confident that he can accomplish this task.

It’s not that. They’re updating their mailing records. His mailing address is currently listed as the Puspa Cafe (where Kaveh has been sending his mail for years as he bounced between the dorms, his childhood home, the couches of various acquaintances, etc.). Is this address still correct? Is this address still preferred? If neither correct nor preferred, could Kaveh please return the included form with his new address at the earliest convenience, postage prepaid?

Kaveh stops in the middle of the ramp-street, sun beating down his neck. “Ha,” he says. “Ha ha. Ha?”

—

Okay, this is absolutely not a problem. Kaveh totally, 100%, without a doubt knows the address at which he’d like to receive mail. It’d be crazy if he didn’t!

This is what he tells himself, very reasonably and in a normal tone of voice, as he careens through his morning.

Because obviously it would be odd if Kaveh kept getting his mail at Pupsa’s with all the sailors and mercenaries and students too recently landed in Sumeru City to have a fixed address. He has a fixed address. He’s been living in Alhaitham’s spare room for almost two years. Recently, to be frank, he has been living in Alhaitham’s room. He’s been—

“Sir?” asks the carpenter whose bid he’s reviewing over a meze lunch at a nice little restaurant in the roots of the market. “Sir, are you alright?”

He’s thinking about the carpet in Alhaitham’s room, taking the skin off his knees, burying his head between Alhaitham’s heavy thighs until the breath runs out and his chest pounds and they both can’t—

“I’m fine!” Kaveh laughs. “Ha ha!”

Because it’s not like changing his address, telling the Akademiya and all their subsidiary organizations that actually he is living Alhaitham, and even has been living with Alhaitham, and presumably will be living with Alhaitham until some indeterminate future—Kaveh narrowly avoids walking into a pole, half a mile from the market and with another mile to the docks—that wouldn’t be great, either. Like, it just doesn’t seem that nice! The system he has now is fine, right? It’s not like Alhaitham likes telling people things about himself, god knows. Especially the Akademiya!

It would just be so final. So definitive. A commitment, in blue ink on white paper. Is that necessary? Like is it really necessary?

He imagines writing the Akademiya and telling them he has no fixed address. He imagines writing the Akademiya and telling them that he does. He imagines spending another five years picking up his mail alongside snotty homesick students and drovers reeking of sumpter beast. He imagines telling the Akademiya that for the next five years he, Kaveh, will be available to be reached at—

“Haitham!” Kaveh says, throwing open the door to their—Alhaitham’s—the house. “I’m coming with you.”

Alhaitham, dressed for travel in woolen pants and both shoulders actually contained within his cloak, for once, looks up. His mouth forms several silent shapes before he says, “You are?”

“I just think it’s been ages since I’ve left the city!” Kaveh says, blowing past Alhaitham and his assembled bags to start packing his own. His briefcase and the pile of this morning’s letters (contained therein) he leaves by the door. He won’t need those where he’s going! “I need some inspiration. My work is growing stagnant!”

“...Did you forget a loan payment?” Alhaitham calls from the living room as Kaveh empties his wardrobe onto his bed. “Is this a collections issue?”

Kaveh laughs airily—even casually! “I’m all paid up, Haitham, don’t worry!”

“Are you avoiding a deadline? Or a client?”

“My diary’s in order!” This is mostly true. This is true enough. “I just need some time off!”

“I’m going to be gone for two weeks,” Alhaitham says, standing with an uncomfortable look in Kaveh’s bedroom door. “At a minimum.”

Kaveh strips out of his clothing, reaching for his nearest traveling shirt, a nice airy linen he picked up in Bayda last year. “Yeah!” he says, from within it.

“It’s not going to be safe. I’m leaving the caravan roads in Hadramaveth.”

“All the better to have a partner, right?”

Alhaitham shifts again, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “Is this a panic attack?”

Kaveh pauses. The expression on Alhaitham’s face is, to Kaveh, in this moment, indecipherable. Like the workings of Dahri machines. “It’s—does it matter? Do you not want me with you?”

Alhaitham shifts and changes, tensing and humming like a struck stone. Kaveh has no bead on him. He can’t tell what’s happening and can’t try to—his own body feels like a plucked string, like a note held so long it’s about to break the instrument. He stares at Alhaitham, cloak in his hands, with no idea what Alhaitham will do.

“Of course I want you with me,” Alhaitham says.

“Oh!” Kaveh says. “Oh, great.” He smiles, huge and breathless. “It’ll be nice. Won’t it? A little time away. When do you—we leave?”

“Five minutes ago,” Alhaitham says. He looks down at the pile of clothing on Kaveh’s bed. And floor. Kaveh looks, too.

“Great,” Kaveh says. “Great. Just one second.”

#genshin impact #usually posting chaptered works sucks all the enthusiasm right out of my bones and i never finish what i start #but it's different. this is different. i'm claiming this. i CAN do wip whursday in whatever fashion i like

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doctorwhoisadhd · 6 months ago

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hmm thinking about the idea of love songs. i think the idea of what a love song is that we have in our culture is inherently a little bit flawed because we have the idea that any song written about romantic feelings is a love song and im thinking thats not exactly true because there is a difference between "romance" and "love". what i'm saying is not that love is a broader category and applies to things that are not romantic in nature. this is in fact true, but it's not what makes the important distinction here. the true distinction between "romance" and "love" is that romance is a societally defined type of interest in another person, whereas love is, essentially, a promise that you make when you build a relationship.

as such, what i call "love" here might be better defined as "care", as that implies more time and effort, but that's a different suitcase to unpack and largely unimportant to my point here, which is more about the societal conventions of what we call love songs. the point is, relationships can be built with other people, yes, but also animals, places, organizations, ideas, so on and so on, whereas romance requires another person, hence the difference between the ideas of "romance" and "love".

with that in mind, there are two types of songs we in western, english speaking, society call "love songs":

1) songs that are about a person's romantic interest in someone that is either definitively known to be unrequited (existing monogamous relationship, sexuality that doesn't align, etc) or simply not requited (aka romantic interest being unknown); and

2) songs about an existing relationship (keeping in mind my points about relationships not just being with people, but also places, things, etcetera) as is.

(some examples of the latter category: mountaintop by relient k, which defines the relationship in question as non-romantic; or i miss my mum by cavetown, which is - as the title implies - a song about the singer missing their mother.)

now, the thing that makes distinguishing these two difficult is the fact that songs about an existing relationship CAN be about wanting certain aspects of that relationship to change. in these cases, determining that a song is one or the other will hinge either on a) authorial intent or b) whether the song is more about what the singer wants (thereby implying #1) or the lack thereof in that relationship (which would imply #2).

to get back to the subject at hand: the term "love song", as we think of it, is an umbrella term that include both of these two categories, and i think that perhaps it is reductive to do so. with that in mind, i think perhaps it would be more appropriate for "love song" to mean only the latter, whereas the former is a category of its own. WHICH is not to say that the two can't overlap — just that if a song is about a person with whom the singer has no relationship, it cannot be considered a love song due to the fact that it is a song about infatuation, not love.

(another interesting wrinkle this provides is the fact that a song might start out in the first category and, as the writer develops a relationship with a person, might move into the second category as they write more.)

#anyway. just some of my thoughts on this as an aromantic songwriter #ari opinion hour #this goes a good deal to reconcile my constant writing of love songs with the fact that none of them are romantic #which im fine with as long as im keeping them to myself but it DOES feel dishonest when i hide that theyre love songs.#however this did also go some way to convince me that maybe care songs is an alternative that i SHOULD use because it is more applicable to #me than the concept of love which MOST people do not have the same perspective on as i do and having different definitions of the same word #is an important barrier to consider in communication #i will admit i do think im clinging to my care songs being love songs due to my relationship with an organization to which love is very #important as i dont want to go back on my promises to that organization as it IS very important to me #anyway. can you tell ive been reading house of leaves by the fact that this appeared fully fledged in my head in fully academic language #but for real like thinking about it now and even my old love songs like most would probably think to see them that they would go in the #first category and they just. DO NOT. at least not the ones that were written after i was like Yeah im aro again #its interesting the ones i wrote in the brief period where i thought i WASNT aro in like mid hs those i WOULD put in the first category #even though like i do NOT think i was right about it being romantic #but the ones after i was like Yea im aro again are like. Thats definitely the latter #part of it is i did find a voice that was like genuinely Mine and wasnt just writing sort of generic love songs #love songs in the typical usage i mean so they were really more infatuation songs #but like i was still with the last person irl who i wrote these about divorced from like... my aroness because of how much i liked him #and i would still put those in the second category #so part of it is awareness as well #so. yeah. its interesting #i probably should just suck it up and start calling them care songs. even if people dont know what i mean to say that

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wings-of-flying · 2 months ago

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could i, an eighteen year old with zero experience running a d&d podcast and a patreon for said podcast, do better than the council who've had several years of experience and amassed a fan base who so willingly offer (sometimes constructive) criticism on all that's not working? well i don't know, because i don't have the resources or time or energy for a project like that, but i do still understand that their current system isn't working

#solutions i can think of:#1 - hire a team. multiple editors; sensitivity readers; pr people; etc. doesn't have to be loads at first. you could get even six more guys #and i promise it would help significantly. also not all guys. i know i said guys but hire some women and pocs please #2 - create a schedule and unless there's a very good reason (family emergency; mental/physical health stuff; important event; etc) don't #break this schedule. the schedule is your bible now. read it and learn it and follow it to a t or else christian god will get real mad #and so will your several thousand fans #3 - own up to mistakes you've made. this is possibly the easiest of all of them. admit the hiatus wasn't planned well. admit you're not sure #when riptide will come back. admit you probably should've started following #1 & 2 a lot earlier. people will forgive i promise. we want to forgive. we love the content and the vibes. otherwise we all would've left #4 - get more guests on. and broaden this beyond white men please #5 - sort out your patreon tiers and ensure the non patron supporters who still love your content have enough to live off #i can't stand getting one episode every two weeks much longer. the scraps of first episodes and one shots aren't enough #and boom. 5 relatively straightforward solutions to the problem. i have no experience in this field. idk how much this would cost #but it's not like the jrwi podcast is struggling #anyway rant over peace out #jrwi #jrwi crit

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gumheel · 9 months ago

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now this may shock and surprise the true thomas harris' hannibal series posters of tumblr dot com. but i don't think the original manhunter film was very good

#i liked red dragon... it had edward norton and harvey keitel and anthony hopkins three of my favorrite guys #i just think it was very boring which is sad because (1) brian cox as hannibal lecter (2) they played into will being a little deranged ->#soooo much more #and they actually involved graham family drama which I liked #but red dragon said it's okay if hannibal is there. Heart.#and also set the precedent for them being familiar with wach other prior to will catching him which um #looks away bashfully #i shamefully must admit i enjoy. on account of having been an nbc hannibal viewer first #cannibalism #implied by source material. tagging so people who don't want to see hannibal talk can avoid #that said i think the ending of red dragon is stupid so not all of their original content did well. but so it goes #i need to read more red dragon i totally slipped off..... oops #call me!

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tj-crochets · 1 day ago

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I thought of another category of pattern making advice! So below this read more, I'll talk about what objects are helpful to have on hand when creating your own patterns:

First off, a pencil, pen, or marker and some paper (when I started I used pencil so I could erase, these days I mostly use brushtip markers if I plan ahead, whatever writing utensil is next to me if I don't. I use cast off empty pages from some stamp albums I got from a neighbor restructuring how he stored his stamp collection several moves ago as my paper, but you can use whatever paper you have on hand) Scissors: if you can, have separate fabric scissors and paper scissors, and do not use the fabric scissors to cut paper. If you can't, it's not the end of the world, it's just something that will make your life a little easier. Having paper scissors with short blades can also help if you are making small things Tape! Not 100% necessary for most patterns, but if you are making big pattern pieces it's very very helpful to be able to tape pieces of paper together Some sort of tool to measure 1/4 inch (or whatever your preferred seam allowance is). I use two mechanical pencils taped together, one tracing the line of the pattern piece, one drawing the seam allowance line. Alternatively, you can use a ruler (takes a long time) a 1/4 square dowel (a little faster but depending on the length of the dowel can be awkward to maneuver), or just kind of eyeball the 1/4 inch seam allowance. To be clear, I do not recommend not measuring the seam allowance, but I have to admit that's the method I use most often these days unless I making a very complexly shaped thing A protractor! This is more of an aspirational thing for me than a thing I actually use, but if I had one it would be very useful. I mean, I do have one, I just don't know where I put it? When you are planning where several pattern pieces come together, like a y or x seam, it can be helpful to measure out the angle the tip of each piece needs to be to get the desired effect (360 degrees for flat, less for pointed, more for ruffled). To be honest, when I need this I either use my quilting ruler, a nearby right angled thing, or look up how to fold an origami thing that has the correct angle in it and use that to measure it (usually a star). Again, it's not necessary, but it is helpful A flexible way to measure curved lines: okay so my first thought when I figured out I needed a way to do this so I could make pattern pieces with different curved lines fit together was measuring tape or yarn. Both will work, but I am going to share my secret weapon: pipe cleaners. Pipe cleaners are so much easier to work with! once you cut or fold them down to the size of the curved seam you measured, you can bend them into the new shape you want the second piece to be, trace it, and your seams will match perfectly! if you bend them instead of cutting them you can use them again and again! None of these extra items are necessary but if you only get one besides writing implement and paper I'd say pipe cleaners. Well, okay, pipe cleaners and a thing that lets you draw the seam allowance on easily, like my "two pencils taped together" method Almost forgot, it can be very helpful to have various sizes of objects you can use to trace circles on hand. Bowls, cups, spools of thread, whatever you have will work for something, it's just good to have it as a tool you can have in your metaphorical pocket when you need it

Hey y'all! I was thinking about trying to share how I create my own plushie sewing patterns, and I'm sure I'll figure out more things to share, but the first thing I start with (once I decide what I want to make) is figuring out what the limiting factors are for the final product

Frequently, the limiting factor is minimum size; there is a minimum amount of width each piece has to have to be able to be turned right side out, so for things like the ant and the giant frog, the narrowest part of the ant legs and frog toes were drawn so that they could be turned right side out, and the rest was scaled to fit Sometimes, the limiting factor is maximum size. For me, this is usually because I have a specific fabric I want to use for the project and only have so much of it left, and must make the pattern small enough to fit the fabric I have. Occasionally, though, the limiting factor size-wise is the construction technique I am using for the plushie. If I am creating something with a fairly flat pattern made of the same pattern piece cut out twice, like the eel, Fred the Fish of Minimal Effort, or either of my frog patterns' bodies, where I am not using darts or gussets to create three dimensions, my size is limited by the stretch of the fabric. It's totally fine to use the stretch of the minky/fleece/other fabric to create the 3D shape, just make sure to take into account that it will only stretch so much, and that to get maximum stretch you'd need to overstuff it (making a plushie less soft). Also keep in mind that depending on your fabric, stretching it in one direction might make it smaller in the other direction One final thing to keep in mind is that your seams will not stretch as much as the rest of your fabric. With stretchy fabric, you can sometimes choose where to put your seams so that you can shape the finished plush as much by where it doesn't stretch as by where it does (this is a thing I know I have done but I can't remember off the top of my head which plushies I used it in, I'll take a look and share a picture of them if I remember)

#long post #the pattern making process #please let me know if you have any more specific questions about this!#I highly recommend using paper other than printer paper for pattern making #not because it works better just because you'll go through a lot of paper #and using like the back side of an ad or whatever feels like less waste?#that's the other reason I switched to markers instead of pencil #if I use a colorful marker I can draw right on top of printed ads #so all the junk mail I get can be used to create patterns

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zephyrchama · 7 months ago

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Mammon stares down at his youngest brother snoozing away on your lap. Belphegor has made himself at home with your thigh as a makeshift pillow. It’s far from the first time this has happened, and very unlikely to be the last. Any more, he just walks over and does it, falling asleep within moments without even asking. He’ll wake up if you try to stand. As long as you can still study, read, or scroll your D.D.D., it’s usually not too bothersome and easier to let Belphegor do what he wants.

The scowl on Mammon’s face says otherwise. “Ya really gonna let him walk, err, sleep all over you like that? How many time’s he done that this week?” He tisks and stomps his foot, looming over you with crossed arms. “Belphie, wake your ass up! Yer big bro has a bone to pick with you!”

You feel a warm exhalation on your leg. Belphegor seems to be sighing, but doesn’t bother opening his eyes or acknowledging Mammon in any other way, much to the elder’s chagrin.

“Push him off!” Mammon insists.

“I’m flattered you think I’m strong enough to push a full grown demon off of me,” you admit, lightly ruffling Belphegor’s hair. “But, no. I’m not.”

“Don’t encourage ‘im!” Mammon grabs Belphegor by the collar.

At this provocation, the youngest curls an arm under your thigh and nudges his nose into the fabric of your clothes. He refuses to budge. “They don’t mind it, so just leave us alone.” Belphegor’s muffled voice sounds tired and annoyed.

“Belphie, let go! Ugh, use your pact!” Mammon literally growls. “Don’t coddle this jerk, you spoil him too much!”

“Don’t yell at me about it! I’m just sitting here!” you pout. ”And Belphie, watch where you’re grabbing.” It’s not your fault these guys go crazy over you. “Pact orders are painful for you guys, yeah? I don’t want to go through all that trouble. I’m still learning how to control the magic and it’s not worth it right now.”

“Hah? You kiddin’ me?” Mammon taps his foot and gnashes his teeth as Belphegor gives him the cold shoulder. “Fine then. Be that way.”

He goes to walk away, but abruptly turns back and returns. It’s evident when Mammon gets a new idea into his head. You can practically see the light bulb pop up over his head as he dons a cheeky grin.

“Spread your legs for me,” he demands.

“What?” Now you’re staring at him, disbelief etched into your features. You knew Mammon had the occasional lewd thought but even for him this was brazen. Maybe his brothers are right and he’s finally lost it.

“Spread your legs for the Great Mammon! C’mon!”

Belphegor snorts and turns his head ever so slightly, just enough to give his dumb older brother the evil eye. Mammon is tired of waiting and seizes his chance to yank your knees apart. By your own admission, you can’t fight the strength of a full grown demon.

“You’ve got two legs, there’s plenty a room for two demons here.” There isn’t exactly much space, but Mammon lays his head back on your thigh and grins up at you, bumping his noggin against Belphegor in the process.

Ah. You realize this was his goal and Mammon was just being too stubborn to come out and say it.

Your face grew hot. It felt weird to manspread with two doting demons on your legs. “You really could have phrased that better.”

“Whatddya mean?”

You sigh. “Think about it.”

Belphegor exhales again, probably laughing under his breath this time as he re-adjusts his arm to a cozier position.

Mammon is content just to admire you from below until he connects the dots, and a deep red blush spreads across his face. He turns, winding his arms around your back to better hide his face in the folds of your shirt.

He closes his eyes against you, his nose brushing against your side. “I don’ wanna think ‘bout anything. I work too hard, just lemme rest here a while.”

You allow it, ruffling his hair knowing full well you coddle both of them too much.

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luvth0t · 7 months ago

Text

RIDICULOUS ━ L.N

in which lando can longer cope with you laughing at the mere idea of being with him, and you realise it wouldn’t be that ridiculous. but it may be all too late.

warnings; nswf, smut, unprotected sex, friends to lovers, lando in the friend zone, implied that reader is a year or two older than lando, little bit of angst, choking, soft dom!lando, silly reader, overstimulation i guess, lotta praise, oral, fluff at the end if you squint

lando was infatuated the moment he met you.

it took a while to realise how strongly he felt, considering he met you at arguably the most chaotic time of his life.

his first year in f1, carlos his teammate; meaning you were around every race from the start, to this day.

he wanted his own photographer after a mere few interactions with you, but quickly realised he only cared about photos because you were the one occasionally taking them.

carlos signing for ferrari meant lando was losing two people; his teammate and you. his friend.

he’d jokingly asked you to jump ship, work for him instead. if only you knew how serious he was being.

you never looked at lando the way he looked at you. he was like a friends annoying little brother, one you couldn’t help but pity and adore.

he made you laugh, was fun to be around. a change from the personality’s you would come across in the paddock. it was no shock to you that carlos built a bond with him ━ as did you.

since joining ferarri you didn’t see the brit as much as you’d like, not that carlos’ new teammate was a let down. charles was lovely. you didn’t feel invasive taking shots of the pair of them.

but you still kept it touch. occasional group outings, dinners and celebrations. you weren’t oblivious to the way he always made time for you. but you were naive to the deeper meanings.

his flirtations were nothing of concern, to you it was a running joke. amongst many of you; you didn’t think lando actually wanted anything from you beyond platonic.

he could handle rejection. but being laughed at? he could only cope for so long.

“he begged me to invite you tonight,” carlos’ words were teasing, directed towards you yet his eyes rested on lando; out for dinner with a few other team members from mclaren carlos hadn’t caught up with in a while.

melbourne was one of your favourite races for this very reason, having to get here so early meant you had time to catch up with those in the paddock away from the craziness.

lando’s eyes lifted from the menu he was reading; scoffing immediately, already prepared to jump on the defence ━ not giving you a chance to speak.

“i was making sure you hadn’t forgotten anyone, y/n included.” lando corrected, flashing you a grin in the midst of his explanation, one you mirrored.

“i’d like to think my presence would be a given,” you huffed back at carlos; and lando felt a fool for allowing his heart to jump at the prospect of you also defending him.

“of course it is. just saying, lando was set on making sure you’d be here.” carlos smirked; eyes now on his own menu, pretending as if he wasn’t attempting to stir the pot.

“he misses you,” an engineer spoke up from besides lando, nudging the british driver who could only roll his eyes; not at all unfamiliar with being targeted with such banter. he copped it a lot worse when you were all on the same team.

“mhm, misses me. not carlos.” you grinned; practically bragged ━ nudging carlos this time; you’d grown a talent it seemed for redirecting the topic of conversation. trying too at least, and the way lando smirked made it clear he appreciated your efforts.

he’d nodded as well, confirming your words. in no way ashamed to admit he missed you more than the spaniard, while it didn’t seem like there was any truth to his words with the playful smile on his face; the assumption couldn’t be any closer to the truth.

“if you miss her so much you should go out for dinner just the pair of you,” carlos challenged quickly; earning an eye roll from yourself and a small giggle at the idea ━ oh the shit show that would be, you and lando out for dinner. you could read the headlines now.

lando caught the way you laughed, you however missed the way his eyes snapped to you in the moment. the way his smile faltered, merely from watching you completely dismiss and laugh at the idea of spending just a single dinner with him alone. what’s so funny about that? could it really be the most absurd idea? no matter how many times you reacted in such a way it always stung.

he recovered almost instantly however, like he always does.

“wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings, know you don’t like to be left out.” lando mused; earning another laugh from you ━ one that was music to his ears, hearing you laugh at his jokes was always enough to have him holding his chin a little higher.

“oh i’d be more than happy to see you finally get out of the friend zone.” carlos regretted his words the moment they left his mouth, catching the way lando’s smile fell and jaw tensed ━ quickly realising his teasing may have gone too far.

your lack of reaction killed lando more than carlos’ words did, the way you barely battered an eyelash ━ completely unbothered while he sat here trying to not pop a blood vessel. he wanted to defend the relationship or friendship you had, but there wasn’t much to defend.

because carlos was right, he was painfully stuck in the friend zone.

“how much longer till you realise these jokes got old two years ago?” you sounded awfully unbothered as your gaze remained on your menu, only looking up when another engineer spoke up.

“it’s just a joke?” he’d asked in full seriousness, eyes flickering between yourself and lando. he wasn’t on carlos’ side of the garage, always working on lando’s side. he barely interacted with you; only heard things through the grapevine.

“obviously.” you spoke as if it was…obvious, and the laugh you let out would’ve softened the blow of your words had lando not already heard this a thousand times.

“ah, ah, ah. don’t forget about silverstone.” carlos simply couldn’t keep his mouth shut; bringing up the night where everyone was convinced you and lando spent the night together.

which would be valid if you actually had, but you hadn’t. you went home together purely because you both were tired. he dropped you at your hotel room, didn’t even come inside. somehow no one believed either of you when you squashed their suspicions that ‘lando’s wish had finally come true.’

“don’t be ridiculous.” you scoffed, shaking your head ever so slightly. lando’s silence would’ve been deafening if others weren’t jumping in to speak, and maybe you would’ve noticed his lack of input if you spared him a glance.

he was managing to muster a fake smile, it was almost painful. any amusement he was clinging too had vanished, wanting the conversation to be over with.

“it’s not ridiculous.” carlos huffed; and lando almost wanted to nod in agreement. thank him even. because it wasn’t ridiculous, he didn’t think so at least. it made sense to him. you made so much sense to him.

“it is.” the nail in the coffin, lando couldn’t keep smiling anymore. you sounded oh so certain, all the while the smile hadn’t left your face. “come on now,” you added in exaggeration at carlos’ unconvinced face.

lando wasn’t sure what you said next, he didn’t want to hear it. he couldn’t figure out why hearing all of this was suddenly unbearable, but before he knew it he was not so subtlety excusing himself ━ something about getting another drink, before standing up and bee lining to the bar.

the abrupt departure didn’t halt anyone else’s movements, conversations continuing and carlos joining in a debate with his cousin and his old mclaren press officer; while your attention got stuck on lando’s full glass ahead of you.

he didn’t need another drink.

you watched as he weaved through the crowds, the way he failed to smile at anyone he passed by; the tension clear in his jaw; it almost appeared as if he was scowling.

it was funny, because your first thought was if you offended him. but you couldn’t figure out what possibly could have; it was laughable how unaware you were of his feelings.

“i’ll be back,” you excused yourself, standing up and following in lando’s directions without any hesitance; a slight frown on your face as you dodged people left and right to get to the bar.

you weren’t sure why the prospect of upsetting him upset you so much, but the sudden urgency to check on him was too powerful to ignore.

“rude to not offer a girl a drink you know?”

lando’s eyes only shifted towards you for a mere couple of seconds when you made your presence known. he could count on one hand the amount of times he wished to be alone when you were near, but this was one of them.

he was drained, unable to fake any more smiles or shrug off any more comments. blame it on the jet lag.

“apologises,” he hummed; not offering you another glance which had your suspicions confirmed, your furrowed brow showing concern not that he could see. his blue eyes were focused ahead on the busy bartender.

“you good?” you internally cringed as the words left your lips, unable to figure out a way to address the sudden mood without sounding overbearing or overstepping.

you watched as his shoulders tensed; as his eyes strategically continued to avoid you, only making the pit in your stomach feel deeper, as if it could swallow you whole.

“peachy.” his sarcasm was clear, and while it would usually be a relief it wasn’t laced with the usual humour. it was blunt, dismissive ━ and if you had any doubts left about being the reason for him running off, they were now squashed.

“did i say something━ did carlos say something?” the questions stumbled out of your lips in concern, biting down on the inside of your cheek. “i’ve tried to tell him to lay off with the jokes, it’s stupid i know.” you began to ramble.

lando finally let his gaze land on you, and the sight of your sympathetic eyes and worried frown had him feeling guilty. which was ridiculous, but suddenly he felt an urge to reassure you he was fine. that you hadn’t said anything.

but you had.

“it’s not the jokes,” lando cut you off; hands running over his head, even letting out a laugh at how pathetic he sounded. he was going to continue, explain it further; but he stopped himself.

he couldn’t. it was a can of worms that must remain shut.

you stood in silence for a moment, under the impression he’d keep speaking. but he didn’t. leaving you with no explanation; just further confusion.

“no?” you hummed; eyebrows raising. “because i totally get if it is. it’s ridiculous how they keep going on━” you were rambling again, trying to make the situation better. attempting to ensure he felt heard, that he could speak to you about what was bothering him.

so oblivious to the fact you were just digging yourself a deeper hole.

there was that word again; ridiculous.

“is it? is it really that ridiculous?” lando couldn’t stop the question from flying out of his mouth; only now turning to properly face you; in time to catch the dumbfounded look on your face from his question.

it took a few moments to try understand what he meant, coming up short as you stared at him clueless, lips parting to try come up with something to say but falling short.

“is what?” you mumbled, suddenly all confidence was gone. almost scared to hear the answer; purely because you recognised the doubt and regret illustrating his face.

but lando had nothing else to lose, you’ve rejected him in front of everyone else without realising. what’s once more?

“us. dinner us two, having gone home together in silverstone. this?” lando sighed out like it was obvious, hands waving between the pair of you.

because to him it was so obvious. the amount of times he’s almost asked you to join him for a meal, just the pair of you.

maybe if he had you’d see what he saw.

silverstone meant so much to him, having expected nothing from you but he thought about the taxi ride back to the hotel more than he’d like to admit. he could’ve sworn you’d been flirting with him that night.

he even thought it would’ve been the start of something.

optimism was a curse however, because stupidly lando thought perhaps after finally expressing his feelings that maybe you’d reveal your hidden reciprocation. that maybe you were scared like him.

but instead all he could see was shock. and confusion. and fuck, was that sympathy?

“what?” it was a weak response, but all you could muster. you were attempting to find any other explanation for his words, to figure out what he could be implying.

lando had to laugh, shaking his head as he faced the bar again; hands running over his face as you quickly realised he was being fully serious.

“it’s not━ we’ve never━ i mean it would be weird.” word vomit, you didn’t know what you were saying; usually so careful with your words you knew the moment lando looked at you in shock and offence you’d be haunted by that very sentence. “not weird━ but,” you attempted to fix your mistake, eyes screwing shut.

another laugh from him beat you to it however.

“ridiculous. i got it,” lando spoke through a breath, sounding incredibly defeated which had your stomach dropping.

you struggled to find words to assure him, still attempting to process what he’d just told you. you hadn’t ever looked at him in that way. he was always just… lando.

“lando…” you trailed off with a frown, only now starting to realise the position you both were now in.

the awkward tension was growing quickly and you’d never despised something so quickly. you refused to let this be the bitter end to your friendship.

“it’s fine. just drop it.” lando huffed, standing up straight; eyes finding yours once more. he didn’t want you to feel bad, he’d accepted long ago that his chances of you feeling the same were slim.

you can’t apologise for how you feel.

“no we should talk about it,” you disagreed, so much concern and care in your eyes it almost made him sick. he didn’t need that from you. and the last thing he wanted to do was talk about how he’d spent years pining over you.

he’d kept it secret for a reason, to avoid this.

“i’ll pass,” lando hummed; the half smile he mustered up did little to comfort you as he licked his bottom lip and glanced around the room. “i’m gonna head up,” he cleared his throat.

you’d gone to express your dismay with such thing, but he was walking off before you could get another word out; left alone at the bar dumbfounded and suddenly in need of a drink.

it would be quite sad to admit that one revelation could change your whole weekend. but it did.

you’ve never had trouble sleeping, in fact the jet lag usually knocked you out. yet you’d spent the best of your time in melbourne thinking through every word lando said. looking back on every damn interaction the two of you shared.

you felt like an idiot. because suddenly it made a lot of sense, what you failed to realise in the moment fell together piece by piece.

an insight into his intentions for the effort he’d put into the friendship over the last couple years was eye opening, and while you were unsure as to how you hadn’t assumed such thing sooner, you found yourself asking the question how it made you feel.

you’d be lying if you didn’t have a few moments of giddiness as you recounted certain times. how he drove you home from pre-season testing one time because you didn’t feel well. how he always got you flowers for your birthday.

suddenly your mind was consumed with the thought of lando every waking second. from the moment you entered the paddock on thursday you were looking for him. which didn’t make sense considering you had plans to avoid him.

you didn’t want to make things worse than they were. but for some reason he was the only thing on your mind, to the point it was becoming an issue as you tried to go about your work.

not once in your career had you been pulled up on anything, so when carlos questioned if you were okay friday afternoon ━ claiming you had been slacking, you knew you were fucked.

there’s no way you felt the same. surely not.

you had to stand by what you said. it’d be weird?

he was lando. annoying lando who couldn’t grow a speck of facial hair and flinched at the sight of fish.

except saturday, when you finally laid eyes on the driver again, it was cruel slap in the face of reality when you realised that was almost 5 years ago. you’d both changed. lando had changed.

you almost spiralled when you found yourself admiring the driver. had his mclaren top always been so tight around his biceps? had his skin always been so sun kissed? not to mention the way his curls sat atop his head.

you suddenly felt insane. you’d never looked at him in that light, never thought what if. but his confession had you a mess of thoughts, one’s you had to run away from. causing you to spend the rest of the weekend hidden away in ferrari’s hospitality.

you could only hide for so long, carlos had won ━ which was enough to get your mind off of the british driver for a whole 4 minutes until they were up on the podium together.

work was your priority however, but you couldn’t help but notice just how nicely lando photographs. you only ever focused on carlos, considering he paid your wage. but as you took shots and shots of the pair interacting before and after the podium from afar you couldn’t help but note how lando was practically glowing.

your head was a mess, and as you now stood in a random club in melbourne, you had no idea what your next move was.

you couldn’t exactly deny going out to celebrate when carlos had won. so your next wish was that lando simply wouldn’t be in attendance.

but he was, and your eyes hadn’t left him all night.

still having not spoken for days, you couldn’t shake the urge to congratulate him. yet for some reason you were scared, you didn’t trust yourself. fearing you’d say something you’d regret. which was a foreign feeling. lando was usually the easiest person for you to talk too.

however you could only stand in the corner with a drink as your only company for so long. a sudden wave of confidence washing over you, or more so desperation to stop being so childish, causing you to down your drink before setting off towards the british driver.

it was when you were only a few metres from him that you realised you should probably have a game plan, and if he hadn’t locked eyes with you there was a high chance you would’ve backed out. turned around and walked away.

instead you were left to improvise.

“good job today,” you smiled widely when you got into ear shot; unable to shake the tightness in your chest, feeling suddenly out of breath as if you had sprinted over here.

lando appeared much more relaxed than he had last time you spoke. which made sense. he’d put it on the podium, why wouldn’t he be in a good mood?

“thank you,” the driver grinned, unable to be stumped when he was still running high off adrenaline. plus, he figured you would pretend the other evening never happened. which he would happily take.

your script ended there however. you had no idea what to say. or where to look, since when was eye contact with lando hard?

“impressive from carlos,” lando managed to fill the silence, and you could feel the relief at the fact he’d saved you from creating an awkward silence.

“yeah, yeah i know. very proud of him. i’ll never complain about pain again.” you spoke through a dry laugh; one he mirrored, your lips pursing as you attempted to think of something, anything, to fix the mess you found you guys in.

to apologise for your rudeness? to explain your mindset? to just talk. you needed to talk to him, for your own sanity.

“look i just wanted━” you finally built the courage up to speak, but were interrupted as a blonde woman slid next to lando’s side, handing him a drink while doing so.

it shouldn’t have shut you up so quickly, but it did ━ eyebrows raising as you attempted to figure out how to respond to the image in front of you. one you’d never seen before actually.

“line was long,” the girl hummed in explanation, and you only just caught lando’s sorry eyes as his attention turned to the girl next to him.

he would be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate the lifeline that was the blonde he’d just met 20 minutes ago. he did not need to hear your reasonings as to why you should just remain friends, not tonight.

“i’ll um, i’ll talk to you later.” there was no way you’d try get your words out again, not when you barely spoke up the first time. yet for some reason, you’d hoped lando had insisted you could speak now.

instead left to watch as he nodded and offered you a small smile; practically sending you off on your way.

embarrassment was the one word to describe how you felt as you made your way to the nearest booth, attempting to hide away and let the darkness swallow you whole.

apart of you felt you should be grateful, maybe being interrupted was a saving grace. god knows what you were about to say, you definitely didn’t. but right now you found yourself in the same position as you were 5 minutes ago.

it felt selfish. lando had practically admitted to having feelings for you, that’s what you gathered at least, and you’d been unaware for years.

you’d been slightly uncertain in your feelings for five days and you felt as if you were losing your mind. you had no right for an explanation really, but you needed something. attempting to decipher everything to do with the main man of mclaren was giving you a headache.

although your vision became a bit clearer as you sat and watched him interact with the girl who’d placed the drink in his hands.

it suddenly made sense why you hadn’t seen him like this before. his attention was always on you, his efforts and time focused towards you if you were in arms reach.

which you couldn’t help but feel grateful for as you sat and watched your new personal hell.

you didn’t want to label it as jealousy. because that would be ridiculous, but it was beginning to be hard to watch the way lando whispered in her ear and grinned widely as he earned a laugh or two from the girl.

were you mad at the sight or mad at your own reaction? you weren’t sure. it felt wrong, to feel so strongly when only a few days ago you’d laughed in his face about the prospect of being with him.

what was it they said about you only want what you can’t have?

“it should be illegal for you to be sitting here moping after i’ve won.” carlos’ voice snapped you from your thoughts, being met with the driver who slid into the booth opposite you, a sheepish smile forming on your features.

“i’m not moping.” you huffed, leaning back in your seat ━ attempting to look and feel relaxed, allow your tense shoulders to loosen, glancing back to lando once more before your attention was on the driver ahead of you.

“you have been all week.” carlos disagreed, eyebrow raising as you frowned; not having a reply because he was right. and suddenly you felt horrible.

“i’m sorry━ that’s the last thing you need with the couple weeks you’ve had,” you sighed, head falling into your hands. it was as if you suddenly couldn’t do anything right.

you missed the way carlos smiled, having looked at the direct reason of your problems moments prior.

“don’t apologise.” carlos dismissed, assuring you it was fine; and when you peaked up through your hands, the smile he was flashing you was enough to put your mind at ease. “i’m assuming lando said something.”

there it was. lando. again. back in your head. as if you ever got him out.

you only sighed, head falling back this time as you now stared at the ceiling. of course carlos knew.

“you knew?” you huffed out, it clear you already knew the answer.

“everyone does.” carlos chuckled, and you wish you too could take amusement from the situation. how comforting, this whole time you’ve either appeared as an idiot or the biggest bitch.

“why wouldn’t you tell me?” you practically whined, looking back at the driver once more; watching as he put his hands up in defence and innocence.

“i thought you knew.” carlos claimed, sounding so honest you couldn’t question him ━ nor blame him. you shouldn’t have needed someone to spell it out for you. plus, you’re not sure what you would’ve done if you did know.

because it wasn’t like you were handling the current situation very well.

you had no answer, just left him to watch as you sat wallowing in self pity. you should’ve never chased him to the bar.

“he’ll be fine. look at him, moving on already,” carlos attempt to comfort you was more like a punch to the stomach ━ because you had to stop yourself from glaring at him. had to stop yourself from spitting out how that wasn’t what you wanted.

you didn’t want that at all, and that thought was suffocating. you were in no place to come to terms with your feelings, but right now they seemed to be demanding to make themselves known.

“i need air.” you huffed as you stood up, thankful that you had taken notice of the smokers exit not too far from you.

the crisp air felt like a soothing blanket, hitting your skin the moment you got outside. the balcony was empty and finally you felt as if you could breathe; allowing your arms to rest against the railing as the music became muffled and the sound of melbourne’s night life filled your ears.

it felt stupid, staring across the city skyline as if it would answer your questions. maybe the stars could align and write out a solution for you, tell you what to do.

but with every passing second you didn’t find any clarity or idea on what to do, how to feel. you shouldn’t want him. you haven’t wanted him before. it isn’t fair to suddenly feel so drawn to him after unknowingly rejecting him for so long.

but it was the reality. you’d been exposed to the idea of lando wanting you; and with every passing moment it became clear to you it wasn’t weird. it sounded fucking incredible.

the music suddenly filled your ears again, moments later becoming muffled as you became aware someone had joined you outside. it wasn’t till they spoke that you tensed up.

“it’s cold out here,” his voice was instantly recognisable, you didn’t need to look at him to know it was him.

“too hot in there.” you hummed simply in reply, feeling his presence next to you as he joined you in observing the city skyline; although you could feel his eyes burning into the side of your head.

falling into a comfortable silence was the last thing you expected, both too scared to speak up and face the inevitable. if you could stay like this forever you would. it was the first few moments of peace you’d known all week.

“we can pretend the other night never happened. i don’t want things to be weird.” lando spoke, words so soft as if you’d break. as if he needed to be careful with you.

his whole demeanour had you frowning, turning to face him. he shouldn’t be fixing this mess, nor prioritising your feelings over his. not when both of you had neglected his for so long.

you parted your lips to disagree, to tell him that was the last thing you wanted. you wanted to talk about it. it’s all you needed to do.

but quickly you realised that was contradicting your initial thoughts.

“if that’s what you want,” you spoke through a breath; unable to understand how you still couldn’t find the right thing to say when this very conversation has been the only thing on your mind all week.

it was lando’s turn to stay quiet, you watched as he thought through what to say; practically seeing his mind tick.

“i just want to know why it’s so ridiculous to you.” lando practically blurted the question out, as if he was almost afraid he wouldn’t say it ever if he didn’t now. it’d been weighing on his mind, it killed him that he had no explanation as to why you were so against the idea of him in anyway that branched further than platonic.

and while you wanted to give him an answer, you didn’t have one.

“i don’t know.” you answered truthfully. “i never looked at you that way lando i…” you trailed off, eyes getting lost in his when you realised just how close he was. your admiration these past couple days from afar was one thing; but up close was a whole new ball park. “you were like this little kid, i don’t know,” you struggled to articulate your thoughts.

“yeah five years ago,” lando’s response was quick and blunt; even with the chuckle that escaped under his breath, it didn’t lessen the intensity in his eyes that were now pouring into yours. it was as if he’d been wanting to say such thing for years. he was challenging you.

you’d gulped at his words, because he was right and you’d only come to terms with such thing these past few days.

“yeah.” you mumbled in agreement, suddenly feeling small under his gaze; it was all so new. you’d been in this position with lando countless of times, why did you suddenly feel as if every nerve inside of you was being set alight? why did you feel as if you couldn’t dare look away from his eyes.

you could spot the moment lando realised the change in your behaviour, the way his eyes flickered across your face; his lips parting ever so slightly as he took a breath.

he recognised the look on your face, purely because it’s how he would always look at you.

“it fucking sucked you know? having to sit there while you laugh at the idea of spending the night with me. even just going on a date with me.” lando hummed, voice barely above the whisper because with the minimal distance he didn’t need to speak any louder. although if he spoke any quieter you’d be worried you wouldn’t hear him over the sound of your rapid heartbeat.

you didn’t know what to say, head tilting aside ever so slightly as you watched him take a step closer; dangerously close now yet for some reason you found yourself leaning further towards his frame ━ and the moment you let your eyes flicker to his lips you knew you were done for.

“m’ sorry,” you mumbled; eyes pouring into his once more as if that would ensure he knew you meant it, but he didn’t want nor need an apology. but god would he love an opportunity to change your mind.

it was as if you could act without thinking again the moment his hand cupped your cheek, lips pressed onto yours in a rush that had your hand moving to find a grip in his shirt.

you didn’t know how to describe it, but suddenly everything made sense as your lips moved together in perfect sync.

the moment almost came crumbling down however when lando pulled away only a few moments later, heavy breaths as his hand remained on your cheek; eyes looking down at you as if you were gods greatest gift to earth.

but as much as this felt like heaven, lando knew he couldn’t risk this just being a one time thing. he refused to get a taste of you just to be starved again.

“if you don’t━” lando barely got his words out, you had him read; could see the doubt beginning to creep in. as much as he hated being vulnerable it was almost self perseveration.

thankfully however you didn’t give him much time to worry, shaking your head before tugging him closer to you ━ reconnecting your lips with such certainty lando had no room to fear or doubt you.

it was all he needed, the lid was off and he finally could act on his wants ━ hands moving to grip your waist as he trapped you between himself and the railing, lips moving against yours without a care in the world that anyone could walk out and see.

it was as if the kiss was the answer to all your questions, suddenly it all made sense. lando made sense; you felt stupid, how had you denied yourself of such thing for so long?

your hands were tangled in his hair, his were clutching your sides for dear life ━ large hands pawing at your waist then your hips, having to stop himself from getting too greedy and travelling any further.

so caught up in him you quickly realised you needed to breathe, pulling away momentarily; yet you had no time to recover as lando only busied himself with peppering kisses on your jaw.

naturally you tilted your head back, a sigh of content escaping you as you invited him to explore more of you. and lando was not going to ignore such thing, soft kisses now pressed to the skin of your neck.

suddenly you were incredibly aware of the closeness, the way his body was pressed against yours; the cold railing behind you doing little to cool your hot skin; his knee pressing between your thighs having your eyes fluttering shut.

heaven was the only way to describe it.

but really you were on the smokers balcony of a crowded melbourne club, a reality that hit the pair of you as the door swung open and laughter and chatter was suddenly heard.

your eyes flickered to the group who appeared, lando regrettably lifting his head and glancing over his shoulder. the group was unbothered by your presence, you weren’t sure the pair of you were even noticed.

lando’s grip had tightened on your waist ever so slightly, as if you could slip away from him like the moment had.

“we should get out of here,” you spoke through heavy breaths as your eyes met his, watching as his lit up with both relief and eagerness. he only nodded, taking a step backwards as his hands ran over his now crinkled shirt.

the pair of you may had gotten yourselves together in those few seconds, but as you worked your way through the crowded club towards the exit, it was quite clear what had occurred.

the elevator ride only caused swollen lips and messy hair, and you struggled to keep your hands off of him once in the back of a taxi ━ kissing him was addictive, that’s the only thing you could think of right now.

the silence wasn’t awkward as you stumbled into his hotel room; only the sounds of quiet laughter as he struggled to find his room key. small curses escaping his mouth as he failed to move in the urgency he was currently feeling.

it was messy the way you both discarded your shoes and belongings, a few words and mumbles exchanged before he was tugging you into his chest again ━ lips once more reconnected.

the space allowed you to wrap your arms around his neck this time, body practically melting into his hold. you wanted to apologise again, explain your thoughts over the last few days, how your change of heart had occurred.

you weren’t even sure it was a change of heart; more so just now thinking about new possibilities.

but lando seemed to be the thing that could put those thoughts at bay, finally your mind was silent ━ all senses consumed with the man in front of you.

you weren’t sure which wall he’d backed you against but you didn’t care; welcoming the familiar feeling of his lips on your neck once more ━ taking the few seconds of your brain not being foggy to tug on the end of his shirt before trying to push it up his body.

he got the memo, ridding himself of his shirt and you could feel your breath get caught in your throat at the sight of his toned torso.

“what do you want?” lando’s question was matched with an intensity that almost had you squirming, his knee pushing between your thighs once more as you peered up at him.

you were suddenly lost for words, unsure how to vocalise what you wanted.

him. just him. anything he had to offer.

the feeling of his finger running up the side of your leg gave you plenty of ideas; but you were too flustered to articulate such thing.

the sight of you dumbfounded had him letting out a breathy chuckle, eyebrows raising in expectance ━ yet somehow it just had you squeezing your legs together.

“anything.” you mumbled, cheeks a tint of pink as he only smirked at your answer; you hadn’t realised how desperate you sounded. you weren’t sure you’ve ever sounded so needy.

“gotta be more specific pretty,” his grin told you he was revelling in your flustered state. how could he not? his mind was running wild with plans to have you a needy mess all for him.

the term of endearment was new, a boundary that had never been crossed in your friendship; yet it sounded so natural. what wasn’t natural was the way your heart seemed to flutter at the compliment.

“want me to touch you?” lando was almost mocking you as his hand moved to push your hair back out of your face, cupping the side of your head while doing so to ensure your eyes stayed trained on him ━ and the mere act had you falling further into submission.

it was pathetic, you were somehow able to identify such thing ━ standing here with parted lips and wide eyes, having nodded at his words almost too eagerly. you needed to control yourself, at least for now; he’d barely touched you yet.

“what do you want?” your words were no where near as confident as his, but you weren’t complaining; the confidence suited him, it only had you wanting him more.

you watched as his shoulders lifted in a slight shrug, attempting to keep your mind off his finger that was dangerously close to the hem of your skirt.

“want to ruin you so you’ll only ever think of me if another man touches you.” lando was honest with his answer, you hadn’t expected such words to escape his mouth. such bluntness, what sounded like a promise had your knees feeling weak ━ the idea sounding perfect to you.

but he wasn’t finished.

“want you to cum on my fingers.” he added quietly, your legs spreading ever so slightly as his hand finally ventured under your skirt. “then my tongue,” he practically chimed; head ducking down to your neck now, his hot breath fanning your skin.

thinking was only getting harder, his words were turning your mind into a puddle, much like the state of your undergarments.

“then my cock.” he concluded before paying extra attention to the skin on your neck, kissing intently as you let out a shaky breath.

attempting to process such words from him was difficult, but you were quick to figure out it sounded incredible to you.

“hm?” his hum was a taunt, head lifting to look at you once more, watching as you nodded quickly.

“please,” you practically whimpered, god you’d get on your knees and beg. lando almost groaned from the word leaving your lips alone, the way you were looking up at him with doe eyes had a grin forming on his face, one you mirrored for a brief moment.

the man couldn’t believe his eyes, a sight he’d dream of too many times was in front of him in the flesh and he wanted nothing more but to make sure you too would never forget these moments.

his lips returning to yours almost had you failing to notice the way his hand slipped under your skirt, finding your soaked panties with ease. he groaned into your mouth as he realised how wet you were, your only reply a slight tug on his curls.

light and teasing touches were only tolerable for so long, you could deal with his fingers dancing around your clothed folds while his lips stayed on yours ━ but when he pulled away your breaths became irregular, clinging to every ounce of patience you had.

you were about to whine when his hand pushed your panties to the side, slipping a digit inside of you without warning was enough to have you choking out a moan ━ hand flying to grip his bicep to ensure your legs wouldn’t give out on you.

lando was watching you as if you were gods gift to the earth, thumb settling on your clit naturally that within seconds of him getting to work your eyes were fluttering shut ━ head falling back against the wall.

“you’re soaked baby,” his words were barely audible; too in awe of you, but you still managed to catch them as you nodded ever so slightly.

“for you,” you breathed out ━ not that it needed clarifying, but the reassurance had the driver smirking proudly, even rewarding you as suddenly a second finger slipped inside of you.

for him. lando would never had thought that would ever be possible. if he wasn’t so focused on getting you off he’d be replaying those words in his mind again, and again.

suddenly it was becoming hard to keep quiet, strings of moans and whimpers escaping you in succession, causing lando’s pants to feel incredibly tight. but that was the last thing on his mind, holding you against the wall with the only goal of having you come undone in his grasp.

his name sounded heavenly as you moaned it, so much so lando thought no one else should ever speak it again ━ nothing would compare to that.

“look at me.” lando’s demand was so calm you almost missed it, eyes still fluttered shut as your thighs squeezed around his hand. despite hearing him you couldn’t act, control of your body slipping away ever so quickly with the way his thumb was circling your sensitive bud.

lando’s breathy laugh wasn’t enough to capture your attention either, his touch was all your mind could focus on. so it was when his free large hand trailed up your body to wrap around your neck that your eyes fluttered open.

his eyes were inquisitive, clearly attempting to gage a reaction to the action which had your lips parting despite having no pressure applied. however it was the way you clenched around his fingers that told him enough.

the slight squeeze of your neck was enough to draw a moan out of you, and lando could only hum in content. you were fucking perfect.

it was quickly becoming overwhelming, pleasure suddenly building so quickly ━ eyes pouring into his as you struggled to form words.

“close,” was all you managed out; lando’s nod was in sync with his curled fingers ━ your nails digging into his skin as he brushed the spot that had your legs almost giving out.

you were holding onto him for dear life, moans growing louder and whinier as your vision started to become starry despite having your eyes open.

“let go baby,” his words were enough to push you over the edge, releasing onto his fingers as you practically panted his name like it was a prayer.

lando had concluded a long time ago that he couldn’t fall for you more than he already had; but as he watched you come undone, he realised he’d been wrong. your beauty truly knew no ends ━ and he was only now more eager to watch your face contort in pleasure again and again.

admiration filled your own eyes as they opened once more to peer up at him, flushed cheeks and a sheepish smile spreading on your face as you attempted to catch your breath.

“you’re incredible,” lando couldn’t stop the praise from escaping him, and watching the way your smile grew had him feeling no regret either; no shame like he usually would when a compliment perhaps too sentimental slipped passed his guard.

however this time it was reciprocated, you could see the meaning behind it ━ not dismissing it as a friendly comment, instead it had your already flushed cheeks reddening further.

“you are.” you spoke like it was obvious, even letting out a small giggle ━ sounding somewhat out of breath but such thing was granted. your arms moved to wrap around his neck again, both to ensure he stayed close and because your only strength was in your arms.

your legs already felt like jelly.

he’d read the situation with ease, because suddenly his hands were hooked under your thighs ━ halting you up as your legs instinctively wrapped around his torso.

your skirt was bunched at your hips, ruined panties almost shameful. your hands spread out against his toned back, unable to help yourself from feeling as much of his flexed muscles as possible.

messy kisses were exchanged as he moved you through the hotel room, lips lazily moving against each other before your back was hitting his plush mattress.

the sight above you rendered you speechless, no shame in your eyes raking over his frame as he stood at the foot of the bed ━ you quickly felt overdressed.

your own hands found the hem of your shirt, peeling it off your body, no bra meaning your upper body was exposed to the brit.

you could visibly see him gulp, his eyes dancing over your half naked frame as he took a few deep breaths; tongue flicking over his bottom lip. the man even shook his head in disbelief, unable to help himself when you invitingly leant back on your elbows.

he was on top of you within moments, situating between your spread legs as his head found the exposed skin of your chest, open mouth kisses pressed to your neck, slowly making their way to your breasts.

“you’re fucking beautiful.” he’d practically grumbled, your fingers finding his curls once more you could only whimper as his teeth tugged on your skin momentarily.

“want to make you feel good,” you whispered, unable to ignore his hard on pressing into your hip ━ the feeling had you squirming, keen to feel more of him.

he’d shushed you however, not being derailed as his kisses moved to your stomach now, your head hitting the pillow as you tried to control your breathing ━ left to stare up at the ceiling momentarily.

“i feel amazing,” lando spoke matter of factly, his hands spreading over your thighs as he parted them to his liking ━ your eyes flickering down, not expecting to meet his blue ones.

he looked like he was ready to devour you, it made your core practically ache ━ offered no relief as your legs could only squeeze against his hold.

he was quick in removing your skirt, and your panties ━ having you bare for him before he was hooking your legs over his shoulders. but his urgency seemed to still there, kisses pressed to your inner thighs instead of your glistening cunt.

“lando,” you’d whined, using all your strength to ensure you could keep your eyes on him, a pretty sight that was rendering you impatient. “please,” the plea left you in desperation.

you could still feel his breath on your thighs, not where you needed him, and when you heard him chuckle lowly your eyes had to press shut to keep your composure.

“oh baby,” he dragged out; cooing so sweetly your eyes narrowed when they met his again. “needy little thing,” he commented; quirking an eyebrow your way and you couldn’t argue, only pout.

he wasn’t wrong, much to your surprise. you’d never found yourself in such position, needing and craving someone so badly. depending on someone else for pleasure was practically foreign.

“not gonna make you beg,” lando ended your torture, if you could even call it that, mouth connecting with your cunt and your jaw dropped as his tongue quickly found your clit.

you were already sensitive, back arching immediately as you moaned out softly ━ hands flying to find his curls again.

pure ecstasy was the only way to describe the feeling, his tongue working so perfectly that you were fighting to not press your thighs against his head ━ body moving with every action, his hand moving to press down on your hips and keep you in place.

your eyes caught his own for a mere few moments, seeing him look up at you however had your own eyes rolling back; too sensitive to stay cool with the onslaught of pleasure.

he was everywhere, consuming every one of your senses ━ tugging on his curls your only outlet as you moaned and shook.

you weren’t ever sure you’d be able to cum from head alone, but you were about to find out ━ pathetically close already, stomach tightening having barely recovered from your first orgasm.

you forced yourself to gaze down at him again, wanting to see his head between your thighs ━ watch the way his arms flexed as he held you in place with ease.

his tongue was flicking between your folds, then paying attention to your clit; never missing a beat, it flood over you suddenly.

you could no longer hear the sounds you were making as you came again, back arching off the bed once more ━ seeing stars, lando sure to catch the sight as you came undone for him again.

it was a blur the next few moments, not present as lando shifted your legs off of his shoulders and back onto his knees, but once you realised the sight in front of you it didn’t take long for you to push yourself up the bed so you were sitting up.

“you good?” lando’s voice was soft now, ensuring you were okay; not oblivious to your tired body. you nodded however, a lazy smile spreading on your lips in reassurance, hooded eyes taking him all in. you just wanted to feel all of him.

“perfect,” you breathed, leaning forward to connect your lips without another word. it was greedy, a few moments of no contact and you were drawn to him again. you just wanted more and more, and the way lando’s hands flied to your waist showed it was truly reciprocated.

you pushed him slightly to sit down, switching positions so he was resting against the headboard now ━ it didn’t take much force, he was letting you guide him, hands delicately roaming your fatigued frame.

climbing into his lap your hands made quick work of his pants, unzipping them and moving all material out of the way to finally free his hardened cock.

lando moaned into your mouth the moment your hand wrapped around his length, pumping a few times was the relief he’d been ignoring since you entered the hotel room.

he struggled to kiss back for a mere moment, causing your eyes to flutter open, lips curving upwards at the sight of his face contorted in pleasure.

fuck you could get used to that image.

“come on baby,” lando rasped out as his hands found a home on your hips ━ guiding them upwards ever so slightly. “fuck yourself on my cock yeah?” there was a slight smugness in his tone; the type that had you falling into submission once more, despite him vocalising your plans.

your arms moved to hold onto his shoulders, enough to help steady you as you guided your hips on top of his, lowering yourself down onto his cock.

the pair of you gasped in sync, your forehead resting against his as you took him all in at once, jaw going slack from the stretch.

you stilled, needing time to adjust to his size ━ and lando had no complaints, the feeling of you wrapped around him having him content.

“you feel fucking incredible,” the driver rasped, lips brushing against yours as he spoke; and you could only whimper at first, a few deep breaths escaping you.

“so big,” you mumbled; having to swallow intently before mustering the energy to begin moving ━ eyes pouring into his as you began to ride him.

the closeness and intimacy would usually scare you; heck, it would normally terrify him. yet somehow it felt right, as if this wasn’t the first time between the pair of you.

your nails dug into his skin once more as you shifted up and down, lando’s hands only on your skin to ensure he had a hold on you ━ letting you set the pace as he watched, jaw tense and eyes adoring.

“fuck lando,” you whined when he’d bottom out once more, hitting a spot so deep inside of you that your toes were curling ━ the sound of his own grunts and moans only adding to the pleasure.

“doing so good for me gorgeous,” his praise only encouraged you, words so delicate. you sped up as much as you could, not too fast but with more urgency than before; as much as your sore body would allow.

it wasn’t long before you started to tire, your moans grew whinier but you didn’t need to say anything ━ a choked moan escaping your throat when his hips suddenly thrusted up to meet your movements.

you hadn’t thought you could feel more full but you were wrong, and lando didn’t relent as he started fucking up into you.

you were like a doll in his hands, as he started to practically move you up and down his cock; his own hips continuing to thrust up you couldn’t keep up, eyes screwing shut as your mouth fell agape.

“fuck lando fuck,” you were practically chanting; a string of curses and his name; it all felt too good. fucking perfect, you couldn’t comprehend any of it.

“take it baby.” he grunted, and you nodded so quickly as if you’d ever disappoint him, fingers reaching to his back and nails dragging across the skin ━ his thrusts harsh, not slow but not too quick that you wouldn’t have time to feel every inch of him.

your head was thrown back, exposing your bare chest further to him ━ which lando made the most of for the time being, lips ducking down and attaching to one of your nipples for a few moments.

but as your sounds got louder he needed to be able to see your face clearly, hand moving up your back and tangling in your hair to force you to look at him.

“open your eyes princess,” he practically demanded, and at this point you’d do anything he said without question; eyes fluttering open to look at him.

his stamina was impressive, not surprising, still bouncing you on his cock as if it was nothing ━ but the way his breaths got shaky and his hooded eyes revealed he was feeling the pleasure like you were.

“who’s making you feel this good?” lando’s question escaped him without much thought; he just needed to hear you say it. wanted to revel in the fact he had you in such a state. your praise and reassurance held such a high value to him.

“you, lando, you,” you whined out in response ━ and you felt his hand move back to your hip, needing to use your own strength now to keep your head upright. “feels so good,” you told him ━ squeezing him as you did so.

he’d groaned at the feeling, almost having cum on the spot; thankfully he didn’t, because he needed to see you fall apart one more time.

“want to cum again yeah? that you want?” his mouth seemed to know no ends, the taunting only making your stomach grow tighter as you nodded to the best of your ability.

his breaths were heavy now, hands travelling to your ass as he used that as his grip of your body instead.

“wanna hear you say it,” lando grumbled ━ head ducking into the exposed skin of your neck, more kisses pressed onto your skin and the thought of marks being there from the amount of attention he’d paid to it was the last thing on either of your minds.

you were struggling now, too fucked out to process his words as quickly as he’d like ━ so much so a harsher thrust upwards had you aware you needed to answer him, yet you already forgot what he said.

“too fucked out to form words baby?” lando teased now that he knew he had your attention; and he chuckled once more when you shook your head quickly. “want to hear you say it.” he repeated, eyes piercing yours.

“wanna’ cum again,” your words were laced with desperation, needing to take a breath between sentences as his cock spread you open. “please let me cum,”

the british driver’s hum of satisfaction turned into a moan of pleasure at your plea, sounding and looking so pretty for him, it was clear you’d done enough as you felt his hand snake down between your bodies to your clit.

your vision went white practically immediately, almost yelping from how sensitive you were; thrown over the edge with little warm as you came on his dick ━ practically screaming his name as you did so.

lando came inside you merely a few seconds later, jaw slack from the sight of you and the way your walls squeezed him once more ━ only now was his thrusts sloppy as you both rode out your highs.

you were practically limp in his lap, forehead pressed against his shoulder as his own head rested against the headboard; heavy and irregular breaths filling the silence.

his hand moved to your head, fingers running through the strands of your hair comfortingly, the action causing you to hum in appreciation.

both of you were content with the silence, purely because neither of you knew exactly what to say. what to do. this was unexpected, to say the least.

you sat up straight after a couple minutes however, eyes meeting his ones; noticing the lack of intensity and confidence they held prior.

he was studying you as well, attempting to not spiral into a ‘what now.’

this meant a lot to him, he wouldn’t put that on you ━ that wouldn’t be fair. but you already had a good idea.

“i was wrong.” you finally managed to say what had been on the tip of your tongue, offering a small smile as his eyebrows raised in question.

he didn’t fully understand.

“about this. us. not making sense. being ridiculous.” you clarified, and the realisation washed over his features. you could feel him tense up slightly beneath you ━ shaking his head quickly.

“we don’t have to talk about it right now,” he assured in certainty. he didn’t want you to feel obligated to protect his feelings because you slept together.

which you appreciated, it was cute. he was thoughtful ━ which shouldn’t be a surprise.

“i’m not promising anything,” you clarified, dismissing him this time; you didn’t feel obligated at all. you weren’t saying you’d be his girlfriend and expected flowers when you woke up, but you needed him to know you no longer stood by what you said. you were also relieved to be able to articulate your thoughts. “but i was wrong.” you hummed.

a lazy smile spread on his features at that, acting like a catalyst for your own. a mumble of an okay and laughter was exchanged, before his lips were on yours again; a gentle kiss this time.

one you could certainly get used too.

━━

a/n: 615 days later and i’ve finally finished another fic. hope y’all r still there 😀😀

incredibly sorry for my inactivity and special shout out to everyone who has continued to support me despite the radio silence??? i love u

anyways i don’t love this but the fact i had the motivation to see it through was enough. hoping it’ll ease me back into writing and getting back up to standard, so apologises that it’s a little rusty 🫶🏼🫶🏼

what hasn’t changed is that it’s currently unedited and the ending is rushed hehe

as always feedback is always very much appreciated love u all mwahhh xoxo

#f1 smut #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #x reader #f1 #lando norris angst #lando norris smut #lando norris x reader #lando norris fic #lando norris one shot #f1 angst #f1 one shot #lando norris #lando norris imagine

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wysteria-bloom · 6 months ago

Text

↪" you amaze me "

Bg3 x reader

Giving them a surprise kiss

Warnings : suggestive on Halsin's part... Spoilers for bg3 (duh).

Genre : fluff

A/n : I have 367 hours in this game so I believe that I am worthy enough to write for these characters I love so very much. I am extremely open to requests for bg3 please send me all the stuff you want to see! I'm not gonna include minsc and jaehira for obvious reasons.

Characters : halsin, astarion, wyll, gale, gortash, rolan, raphael

▢ astarion

Leans into the kiss almost immediately. Its usually how he responds to any affection coming from you. Rests a gentle hand on your arm as he deepens the kiss with a pleased little smile on his lips.

When you break from the kiss, still has the smile on his lips, his eyes looking down at you softly, " can't get enough of me, darling?" He cooed out teasingly, a giddiness to him that wasn't there a few minutes ago.

You nip his jaw," stop getting cocky. I caught you off-gaurd, admit it."

He gasped in offence," and here I thought my beautiful partner was merely expressing how much they loved me." Shaking his head at you with an exagerrated pout," shame on you."

"... That's a 'yes'." You smirked.

"Oh shut up," pulls you into another kiss full of laughter.

▢ gale

Blinks for a good 5 seconds before finally responding to the kiss in full, hand curling through your hair to cup the back of your head. A wistful sigh blows through his nose as he leans into the kiss more.

When you pull away, he still holds your head. You smile happily at him," Hello, love." You greet cutely.

Sends you a bashful little smile, pressing his forehead to yours," Well... hello to you too."

"Were you surprised?"

"Oh-hoh?" He grinned with amusement," there was a goal behind all this?"

You tilt your head from side to side," eh... I did have one. But I also just wanted to kiss my handsome husband."

Clears his throat, cheeks warming," Oh, well consider me th..thoroughly surprised, then."

▢ wyll

It only takes him a second to respond to your kiss, cupping both sides of your face so gently and rubbing a thumb across your jawline. A small happy hum falls from his lips as he's kissing you.

When pulling away, his lips chase after yours, giving you a final little peck," You amaze me. Everytime." He breathed out, always has something cheesy to say after every kiss but it never fails to make your heart stutter.

You huff," You're impossible to surprise, yknow? You're too smooth."

He laughs," will it make you feel better if I said you gave me butterflies?"

A hum and then a smile you nodded to him," I believe that's substantial. However, you need to pay for your indiscretions with a kiss."

"Whatever will I do?" Wyll leans down, nose pressing against yours," I have no choice but to give in, hm?"

"No choice." You agreed, hands moving to his waist as he cups your face.

He presses his lips to yours excitedly.

▢ gortash

He's doing some paperwork when you give him a little kiss on the cheek. Not reacting at first, he finished his signature before looking up at you, a softness to his eyes," Can I help you?"

You merely give him an innocent smile," just reminding you that I love you."

He blinks for a moment before he hums, a slow grin reaching his lips," I see.." He places a hand to your hip, rubbing it slowly with a thumb," Well, I fear I need another reminder then, my dear."

"Greedy," You cooed out before pressing a proper kiss to his lips.

▢ raphael

Is certainly shocked for a split second. He was only telling you about a recent poem he had read and enjoyed.

He cups the back of your neck with his clawed hand, deepening the kiss with huff of amusement. Before breaking the kiss he nips at your bottom lip with his sharp teeth," It's rude to interrupt."

You hum, pressing another kiss to his jaw," You're too endearing when you talk about your poems." You reply honestly.

"Oh good, I was afraid I was boring you." No, he wasn't. He knew how engaged you got in his little speils. That was endearing.

"You could never." He drags you into another kiss with a lot more flames stoked beneath it.

▢ halsin

A low hum of surprise and then a slow smile reaches his lips. His large hands rest on your waist as he deepens this kiss, feeling heat build between the two of you the more passionate it grows.

When you pull away from eachother there's a trail of saliva left between your lips. His eyes are a lot darker now, a yellow shine to them," is there something you need, my heart?" He questioned with that low tone of his.

"Just you."

Pins you to a nearby tree and kisses your neck," that I'll give you in abundance."

▢ rolan

Was in the middle of complaining to you about how you put a book in the wrong place. He had that cute little frown on his face, the grouchy furrow to his brows and the agitated swish of his tail.

You just couldn't help yourself. Leaning forwards, you caught his lips with yours, making him shut up completely. He stared down at you with wide eyes before he moans a little and leans into the kiss.

His tail curls around your leg, dragging you closer to him as he leaned back against the bookcase behind him.

When you pulled away for a breath, he still had his eyes closed for a good five seconds.

Looks into your eyes for a moment before he cups your jaw," you can't kiss your way through an argument." He huffs out.

"I just did."

"Did you? What if I'm still mad at you?"

You grinned at him," Your tail says otherwise, love."

He scoffed and tried to frown but his lips kept twitching," You're impossible." Pulls you into a more heated kiss, arms wrapping around you protectively.

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cherrysdeck · 15 days ago

Text

Pick a card: The eyes Chico, they never lie.

Your future spouse's pov of you.

Remember: Take only what resonates, this is a general reading. Tarot readings are done with entertainment purposes only. Hope you like it!

Pile 1 -> 4

Pile 1

2 of cups, page of cups, the fool, 7 of wands, queen of cups, 2 of swords

Welcome to your reading pile 1! Ironically (because of my blog’s name) when I started shuffling Harry Styles’ Cherry came to mind. I feel like laying face up and just sigh very heavily. Your fs is someone so so romantic, but they might have trouble openly expressing this part of themselves. They are the type of person to just stare at you in secret. Because you’re pretty, and you’re smart, and you’re ignoring me so you’re obviously my type. Those kind of vibes. They look at you truly with so much admiration, it kind of scares them to approach. I feel like you’re always booked and busy, always on the run, so they might feel a little bit wary of wasting your time. They will want to wait for the perfect time to talk to you. In their eyes, you’re just so soft and beautiful, someone they want to protect and hug, and never leave your side. Eye contact is really important in this pile. I feel like you might have some kind of sad eyes, they can clearly see every emotion on your eyes. They’re very perceptive, and very emotional intelligent. But they might consider you so independent that they shy a little when it comes to offer help and support. They see you as such a strong and reliable person, someone that stands up for others, that always know what to say. They also see you as their perfect match. Maybe you two mirror each other, whether your personalities or your past experiences. But there’s a really deep understanding of the other. They might be hesitant about approaching, because they might feel a little bit insecure. They have put you on such a pedestal (where you should be honestly) that they don’t think they’re worthy of you. Too good for them. This will turn in a very slow-burn situation. But it’s because they think you deserve the best and only the best. You’re so sweet in their eyes pile 1. It’s like an adoration overload. They truly want to make your life easier, acts of deed and gift giving might be their love language.

Pile 2

the devil, knight of cups, justice, king of wands, 5 of wands, the world, knight of pentacles, 2 of cups

Hello, hello pile 2. You make hot and bothered , first thing I got, oh well. I feel my mind all mushy and confused. Hot n Cold by Katy Perry. What are you doing to them pile 2? I feel like you’re a kind of intimidating, cold, very focused on your goals, you know what you want, when to do something, very powerful. And they’re just, well, perplexed. You know yourself so well, you’re passionate about the things you like, have well defined morals and values. I feel like you’re often on the eye of the storm. They just don’t know what to do. You’re a well rounded person, know your qualities but also aware of your faults, and you’re working on improving yourself constantly. You’re not someone that can be stopped easily, like a bull, your eyes are set one something then you’ll do anything to get it. I feel like honesty might be your best and worst trait at the same time. They see you as someone who will say what’s exactly on your mind, no sugarcoat, just plain truth, but might forget to consider others and your words might hurt a little. They might want to live up to you, like wanting to follow your steps, kind of like a consort, a step behind. They definitely like when you take control, and will let you take it anytime. This is the part when they get turned on about you, but might not want to admit it out loud. I feel like your presence makes them very happy, just with being by your side is enough for them, kind of person that enjoys doing different things in silence but in the same room. I just got Megan Fox, like how sensual she is, how confident she is, how smart and perfect she is. Will go anywhere, anywhere, by your hand. Breakfast in bed, let’s just stay in all day. They definitely want you all by themselves, I feel like they might have some possessive tendencies (nothing too much, don’t worry). They just feel that you are so wonderful, and it’s clear that he’s not the only one that sees that, that they don’t want to share, or feel they have to compete for your attention. They want to prove themselves to you and show you they’re everything and the only one you need.

Pile 3

the wheel, page of swords, queen of cups, page of wands, the sun, temperance. 6 of wands, king of pentacles

Hi and welcome pile 3. Right off the bat, they love your laugh. Like really love your smile, kind of person that will do anything to make you laugh, even if it means doing something a little bit embarrassing in public. Your fs sees you as someone that is bubbly, out going, positive, very friendly, morning person. But they know that behind that you have gone through your fair share of struggles and have to build yourself up, they’re very proud of you. They see you as someone successful, knows how to manage themselves financially. You have a good balance between work and play. You value your career a lot, and might be a very important aspect of your life, but you know when to clock out and relax, and enjoy other things. They see you as someone adventurous and brave, they want to travel around the world with you, explore with you, do some adrenaline crazy activities too. I feel like food is relevant lol, like going to nice restaurants together, cooking and creating and trying new recipes together, like it’s your favourite bonding activity. Strawberries covered in chocolate. You’re also really smart, they just never get tired of listening to you speak, about anything and everything, you might be a great story teller too. You might know about so many different and sometimes unexpected topics, that they admire you for it. They feel like your mind is a wonder. You’re really brave pile 3, I feel like clapping for you right now. You know how to navigate obstacles and maintaining a positive outlook on life not matter what it throws back at you. Very rational and serious when needed, but knows when to let your hair loose and have fun too. They see you as someone who is so cute and huggable. Your happiness is definitely one of their priorities, and they hate to see you down. I’m going to stress this again, they’re really really proud of you. That message is coming so strong, and if you remember one thing only about this reading let it be that they’re so proud of you pile 3.

Pile 4

2 of wands, 10 of swords, page of pentacles, 5 of cups, 4 of cups, the world rev, the emperor

Hello pile 4, do you want a hug? I feel like giving you a hug. You’re so strong pile 4, but your fs can see right through you. I know you like hiding your emotions and problems from others, but you can’t trick your fs, seriously. I know it’s hard to open up, and I know it’s scary, and you might have been betrayed or ignored by people you thought you could trust, but your fs is here for you. They want to crack your shell, know about every part of you, the good, the bad, the ugly, the pretty. I want you to see yourself the way I see you. You might stubborn about sharing your issues, you want to do everything by yourself, but I feel like is coming from a place of disappointment. You’ve been let down so many times, you don’t want to go through it again. But your fs is not going anywhere. I feel like they find you stubbornness funny, kind of teasing you until you open up or confess. You might be wary at the beginning to start a romantic relationship, or to even admit you like your fs, but they know and they want to hear you say it. Your fs will soften you up with time. They just want to help you, want to support you on your plans for the future, want to have plans for the future that involves the two of you. They see you as someone so resilient and that has had to stand alone for so long, they don’t want you to do that anymore. They’re here now, they’re not going anywhere, they got you. It feels like walks at midnight, being in your own bubble, everyone can feel the tension, even if you deny it. You two have such a great chemistry, it just makes sense, you fit perfectly, if only you see that too. It’s not going to be a perfect path from now, and there will be more obstacles on your way, but you two can do this, together. Your fs sees it that if you’re together you’ll be fine, you’ll get through whatever. Your fs is not going to let you down.

Xo, Xo, Cherry 💋

#pick a card #pick a pile #tarot #pac #pac tarot #pac reading #tarotcommunity #tarot reading #pick a picture #future spouse #love reading #love pac #intuitive readings #pac future spouse #free tarot #future spouse reading #future spouse tarot

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sunderwight · 5 months ago

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SV fic where Shen Yuan transmigrates into the former sect leader, Yue Qingyuan's shizun, right before Yue Qi shows up at the selection trials.

Shen Yuan is not sure why he's in one of his all-time hate-reads, let alone why he's gone so far back before the story actually begins (his system appears to be malfunctioning? something about an error and emergency backup...?), but he's making the most of it. This despite the fact that being a sect leader is a much more prestigious and political role than he likes.

But Shen Yuan is, at heart, actually a pretty good teacher, and he's spent enough time witnessing administrative work secondhand that he can competently tackle most of his duties. Whatever he can't handle, luckily there are other masters on Qiong Ding who always seem eager to curry favor by volunteering at the least hint that they should. Apparently his predecessor was known for being kind of cold-blooded and ruthless. (Shen Yuan gets checked for possession and it's concluded behind his back that he most have lost some of his memories, again, but also everyone kinda prefers this version anyway, again.)

But, so, he picks Yue Qi at the trials without even realizing at first who he's selecting, but just because that kid seems really determined to get in and clearly has been through it. Reminds him of Luo Binghe. Even when he puts it all together, all he feels mostly is kind of bad about it? He never thought Yue Qingyuan was sufficiently villainous to merit his end, even though he didn't blame Binghe for it either. He was always a mystery, an apparently kind person who nevertheless had some inexplicable fondness for the scum villain, turned a blind eye towards his abuses, and got dragged down with him. Shen Yuan feels even worse when he actually gets to know his solemn, smiling, secretive little disciple.

Yue Qi is very determined to advance, and as quickly as possible. Shen Yuan admonishes him. Obviously this kid has a protagonist-like aura and a similar drive to get places quickly, but you can't speedrun your disciple era, Mr. Future Sect Leader! There's no montage mode! Most of his attempts at intervening meet a brick wall that is Yue Qi's impenetrable smile and polite deference if he even hints at displeasure (this kid's gonna make a great politician one day), but Shen Yuan changes tactics and starts manufacturing excuses for breaks, taking Yue Qi on him with trips off the mountain and finding reasons to stop at local festivals and hot springs and etc. He can tell something's off with the quality of frustration that his disciple sometimes expresses, with how there's fear to it, but he's at a loss for the cause and it's difficult to get Yue Qi to talk. Despite appearances, he's actually very distrustful of adults.

When Yue Qi asks to claim his sword early, Shen Yuan says no. He remember how reputedly powerful Xuan Su was, and his disciple definitely needs a stronger base if he's going to pull a sword of that caliber. But he suspects this won't go over well, and when he catches Yue Qi sneaking off to Wan Jian Peak on his own, his disciple finally breaks down and admits that he needs to get strong in order to save his most important person.

Shen Yuan is moved. The way Yue Qi speaks, he's certain this person is a young maiden whom his student has fallen in love with. Truly, the sect leader was so very similar to Luo Binghe at heart! He must have failed in the original story, and that contributed to his difficulties and sorrows later on. Of course Shen Yuan will help him rescue his sweetheart!

Even if his sweetheart is... surprisingly butch? And is a slave owned by the Qiu family, and, wait a second, that name is kind of familiar... oh.

Oh dear.

Shen Yuan is internally screaming even as he helps buy Xiao Jiu out of bondage, even as he gives Yue Qi money to get his newly rescued friend all cleaned up and suitably dressed for the trip back to Cang Qiong, even as he buys the boys tanghulu for a treat, even as the System cheerfully informs him that his new quest is to get Xiao Jiu accepted onto Qing Jing Peak, even as Yue Qi tears up for the first time when he thanks him for helping.

He can only get to sleep that night by consoling himself with the knowledge that his generation is going to retire well before Luo Binghe and The Plot actually show up.

The System: (〜￣▽￣)〜

5 Years Later:

Huan Hua Palace Master: Sect Leader, we need your help! A terrible Heavenly Demon has come to threaten the whole of human society!

Shen Yuan: That's not possible. He isn't even born yet.

HHP Master: What?

Shen Yuan: What?

#svsss #scum villain's self saving system #scum villain #shen yuan #qijiu

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nereidprinc3ss · 3 months ago

Text

hourglass

in which spencer disappears from fem!reader's life entirely for three months, right as it seems they were finally about to make things official. when he comes back they reunite, all the while knowing things can't be the same as they were.

18+ (smut, angst) warnings/tags: oh god so many. NOT canon compliant in the slightest, i make shit up, softdom!spence, nipple stuff prob, fingering, oral f receiving, piv sex, unprotected sex, pet names, tara mentioned, depression, mentions of trauma cause its the prison arc duh, passing mentions of alcohol, mentions of spencer losing weight, reader mistakenly thinks spencer tried to kill himself BUT ONLY FOR A SECOND, where is diana reid, nobody knows or cares, probably filming glee, optimistic ending a/n: haven't posted smut in forever but this wip required it and the angst was so angsty i just had to finish it. it was started in jan or feb and subsequently added to and changed months apart and then edited so the writing quality varies from section to section which i apologize for. originally based on good guy by julia jacklin... also the odyssey by homer? can't really explain that one you'll just have to see for yourself anyway byeeee ilysm!!! PLS tell me if you liked it! or if you hated it! but preferably if you liked it! MWAH! wc <12k

It’s been about three months since you last saw Spencer Reid.

About three months since you had an early Valentine’s Day celebration (even though you weren’t a couple) complete with champagne (even though he doesn’t usually drink) and slow dancing (even though you swore you’d be terrible and he spent the first ten minutes laughing at you as you stepped on his toes.)

About three months since you finally settled your head on his shoulder and let the warbling vinyl carry you somewhere distant as the two of you danced slow circles on the parquet floor for what felt like hours.

You’d have liked him to stay later that night. You’d have liked him to stay all night if you were being honest with yourself, but at 11:45 he gently pulled away and told you he had to go.

“Curfew?” you joked, the corner of your mouth lifting a little and you hoped you were hiding your disappointment well.

“Actually, I’m going down to Texas for a few days to speak with one of the leading doctors in experimental Alzheimer's and dementia treatment. I’m going to see if he can get my mom into a clinical trial. I leave early tomorrow morning.”

“Oh my god, that’s amazing, Spencer! What are you doing still here? You should be at home getting ready to go!”

A rosy blush stains his cheeks and he looks down at the ground, laughing that little self-deprecating laugh of his. It makes your heart dance to see him so happy, makes you want to wrap your arms around him and never let him go so that he knows how much you absolutely adore him—but you settle for an affectionate squeeze where your hands have come to rest on his biceps.

“I wanted to see you tonight because I won’t be here for Valentine’s Day... but I still really wanted to spend it with you,” he admits meekly.

If before your heart was dancing, it is now melting.

The dreaded ‘what are we’ talk has been lurking in the dark corners of every conversation you have with each other lately—at least, in your mind it has. What you have with Spencer is not easily defined, and near impossible to explain to your friends—you act like a couple, you go out on dates, he introduces you to his team like you’re his girlfriend without ever putting it into so many words—but this validation that your pseudo-relationship might be evolving is better than any flowers he could have gotten you (although the peonies he brought will look very nice on your bedside table.)

“Four whole days... what will I do without you?” you whisper, brushing a hand along his face, and your chest aches with the heavy truth of it—despite the fact that he often is gone for stretches about that length. They don’t ever start to feel shorter.

“Well, you can start by reading that copy of The Odyssey I annotated for you.”

“Depressing,” you admit. “And a little ominous, considering you’re about to embark on a hero’s journey.”

“I think you’ll like this one,” he smiles.

You chew on your bottom lip, looking up at him as you think.

“Give me something to look forward to,” you say, earnestly.

“I—well, honestly, I just really want to kiss you and I’ve wanted to for a long time now and, you know, if that’s something you’re maybe also interested in then we could, uh, figure out a time to—”

“You want to kiss me?”

“Wh—you couldn’t tell?” Spencer says, like he can’t believe it.

As if on reflex, you lunge up and capture his lips with your own. It obviously catches him by surprise, but when you lower from your tiptoes he follows you, pulling you in closer and holding your face in his hands.

It’s too natural, too right, to be exhilarating. There’s no rush of adrenaline—it's more like stepping into a hot bath or warming your freezing hands at a fire. Like pieces clicking into place. It’s a relief.

You breathe into it, letting more and more of yourself melt against him. He keeps coming back to you deeper and deeper like a rising tide, and you want more than anything to keep getting closer to him—but then he stops. He stays close enough for you to breathe his air, but dodges your kiss gently before supplanting it with a gentle one to the corner of your mouth.

“I really have to go,” he breathes, before moving away from your mouth to kiss your forehead and speak softly against your skin. “If I don’t leave now I’ll be here all night.”

Which is exactly what you want, and the implication does little to make you want him less. But you care about him too much to be so selfish.

At some point, his hands found their way into your hair, and you gently grab his wrists.

“Incentive for you to come home.”

Nearly three months since that night.

At first when he stopped answering texts, you’d assumed he just had too much going on down in Texas. Which you could understand—you knew how stressful this situation with his mother was.

Even when four days came and went without even an alert from him that he was back in town, you thought, okay, maybe he’s been called away on a case. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s disappeared because of his work. But even then, he’d at least text you enough information so that you would know he was alive. Now, radio silence.

So you tried not to be clingy. You tried to act like an adult, to focus on school and your life outside of Spencer, but when Tara Lewis cancelled your weekly meeting due to an “unforeseen work-related emergency”you called her immediately. Tara was something of a mentor, and it was she who had connected you and Spencer to begin with. You had met the other members of his team by that point, yes, but none who you knew as well as Tara.

When she had informed you that Spencer had been arrested in Mexico and was now facing prison time for murder, you laughed.

Laughed until you realized her end of the line was silent.

Realized it was not at all a joke.

In a catatonic state of tranquility, you asked her for more details. Beyond assuring you of his innocence, she couldn’t (or more likely, wouldn’t) provide them. Asked where he was now. Asked all the right things that made sense to ask.

Then you hung up and had a panic attack because Tara said something about 25 years and you saw Spencer evaporate from your future like an apparition.

Slowly, you felt him evaporating from your past, too. Those memories from the night he left, became visions of you swaying with a ghost. Holding nothing but light between your hands as you kissed the peony air of your apartment.

He doesn’t want to see you, she had said into the phone one night, her tinny voice cutting in and out. You’re not on his list of approved visitors.

“You asked him about me?” you had whispered, curled up on top of your made bed in the dark.

I tried. I’m sorry. I’ll call you when I know more.

All your days melded together like a muddied smear of paint. Suddenly you felt you had nothing to look forward to. No anchor, no goal. Yes, a PhD... and then what?

The only thing that punctuated one 24 hour period from the next was the time you spent crying because Spencer was in prison and he didn’t want to see you and by the looks of things you may never see him again. When you weren’t crying, you were thinking about how your life was a big cosmic joke. An unfortunate statistical anomaly that didn’t mean anything to anyone else, and that you couldn’t do anything about.

That copy of The Odyssey, which wasn’t even bound and instead was a thick stack of printer paper organized by a single black clip, became something of a manifesto for you—a tome that your poured over, reading and re-reading each note in the margins, each word beautiful and imbued with meaning because you knew Spencer had selected every single one specifically for you. You traced the letters reverently, because in a way this was the last thing he had said to you—about Lattimore’s faith to the original text, Merrill’s strict use of dactylic hexameter, the stylings of Wilson and Lombardo, and how he thought you would enjoy Hammond’s prose just as much as he did.

Day by day it was becoming more prophetic than fictional, and you allowed yourself to sink into madness. You would rather be a deluded zealot than be nothing at all.

He didn’t want to see you.

He might as well have been dead, for all that you were grieving him. And you started to hate him, because he wasn’t dead, but wouldn’t do you the kindness of proving it. Like a festering wound, scratched open day after day so as not to ever heal, you had to live knowing he was less than an hour away. So no, you weren’t exactly over it. You lived day by day, waiting for the occasional call from Tara to keep you updated on Spencer, but either she didn’t want to share much about how he was doing, or he had specifically barred her from doing so, because she was always sparse on the personal side of things. That thought actually lifted your spirits, because it meant he was at least acknowledging your existence in some tiny way.

But your routine was becoming more regular, and so you staid on top of your classes and your non-Reid related meetings with Tara once a week, and you learned to dip your toes into existential dread and the oily black pool of depression every night without ever fully submerging yourself. You learned hope, because it was pretty much all you had, and the BAU had confidence that they would get Spencer out one way or another so you did too.

So you didn’t really think about it when you missed a couple of calls from Tara some evening in May. You were preparing for finals and had way too much on your plate academically to think about anything else which was a welcome relief so you fully embraced it. I’ll call her back tomorrow, you think, as you clean up from dinner before going back to the living room where your textbooks and papers are completely covering every available surface. Maybe I have no idea what I’m going to do with my life after school, but I’ll be damned if I don’t even make it that far.

Hours later, well into the night, you’d all but forgotten about the calls. A knock at the door takes you a bit by surprise, and you frown as you stand again, tugging your Georgetown sweatshirt down over your shorts as you shuffle to the entrance of your apartment. You’re not expecting anyone, so you crack the door, peering around the edge of it.

And you couldn’t even consider trying to hide that shaky inhalation of dead air when you see Spencer standing on the other side.

Surely you’re hallucinating.

Surely this man in front of you who looks like he just got back from a day of work didn’t spend three months in prison pretending you didn’t exist.

He looks the same. Hair a bit longer, maybe—and gaunter even more than is normal for him.

But it's him.

You can’t think about the apprehensive look on his face—you can’t think about the impossibility of him being here. You can’t think at all. Without your explicit permission, your body surges forward into his, and he’s real, and alive, and warm, and he is an anachronism in the hallway as he accepts everything you pour into the embrace, doesn’t flinch when you move your arms from around his waist to loop around his neck and back to his waist again with crushing force because you just can’t get him close enough.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer mutters into your hair, I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry, he keeps saying, rubbing your back as you try to find a solid grip on the sleek material of his suit—try to gather all the pieces of him, already afraid he might fall apart and float away again.

“You—dis—disappeared,” you hiccup after an eternity, pulling away enough to look up at his pretty face. Tears blur your vision and darken the front of his jacket, bending the florescent lights so they form a kind of halo above his head.

Through the surreal haze you can see his throat bob.

“I know.”

He knows?

You scoff.

“You have no fucking idea, Spencer. What the fuck is wrong with you? I—I'm—”

The hot anger is such a relief for a second, boiling the oceans of your despair into a wrathful, scorching fog, but as soon as you try to tell him how you feel, the barbed wire cuts into your throat again. You shove him away, skin burning where his hands had been.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, hands hanging uselessly at his side. There’s that kicked puppy look about him—and it’s familiar, but now there’s more damage. You don’t know anything about his time in prison, you haven’t heard a damn thing, but beneath the glassy desperation in his eyes there is an unfathomable void that seems to be preventing him from being fully present—and you realize for the first time that he is different.

It chills you.

Before, you and Spencer shared everything. There wasn’t one part of his internal machinations that you didn’t understand, nothing you kept from each other. But as you study him now from a few feet away, you realize there might as well be a yawning chasm between the two of you.

He is so different.

Those eyes look deeper. No gears turning just behind the slashes of gold and brown anymore��only an endless dark corridor that goes places you will never go.

Gone is the perpetual boyish up-turn at the corner of his lips that always made him look slightly vacant in a way that you found incredibly amusing. Something you had been so fond of, even if you teased him.

He seems to have aged ten years—if not physically, then in demeanor. And now you feel like a little kid throwing a tantrum.

You cross your arms, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

You’re embarrassed. And pissed. And relieved. Everything is worse and better. You want to fall back into his arms, but you have been jarred by the revelation that this might not be the same Spencer. It might not be the same relationship. You have no idea where you stand.

He says your name gently, with so much familiarity you’re briefly jerked into the past. It makes you wish you could look up to find him as he was three months ago. Wish this was just a bad dream. But that’s not fair to him.

“Sorry,” you mutter, studying the grey carpet fibers instead of looking at him.

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says immediately, “you’re right. I don’t—” he clears his throat— “I’m being incredibly selfish. I shouldn’t have just shown up, I’ll just—I'll leave. I’m sorry.”

A silent moment passes.

You don’t look up as he turns and swiftly begins to move down the hall toward the stairway, leaving as quickly and silently as he had come, like a few bars of a song sighed in and away on a fleeting breeze.

Your bare feet are concretely planted, imagining him jogging down the steps and speed-walking away from your building—

And suddenly you’re sprinting after him, feeling like you might puke because Spencer was just here and you let him go again—and even though you’re still so mad and confused and hurt, the realization that he is leaving again makes the entire building spin and lurch.

“Wait!” You yell, almost wiping out as you run down the stairs and whip around corners in your slippery fucking socks. “Please, wait!”

The lobby is already empty as you spill out into it, and cold dread tightens around your neck like a fist as you shoulder your way through the double doors and right into Spencer.

“Please don’t leave again, you just—I'm sorry, I really need you to not go—” you blabber, lachrymose once more, gripping onto his forearms for dear life.

“I’m not going,” he breathes shakily. “I tried to leave because I think you were right and maybe I should and maybe it would be better for you but I can’t.”

“You can’t,” you agree, more sob than spoken word. He cups your jaw, then your cheeks, wiping tears and brushing away hair like he can’t figure out how to hold enough of you between his hands. The wild kaleidoscope of his eyes, bright and alive and real as he scans you desperately captures your attention enough to slow the tears to a trickle. He notices this and stares back, entranced.

A silent agreement is made, or maybe an inevitable fate is accepted—either way, something was set in motion three months ago and it matters to see it through. Spencer kisses you and you’re ready for it. You don’t need slow or tender. You need to feel how he feels. You need to know what he knows.

You sling your arms around his neck and he pulls you closer until you almost tip backward, chasing the bruising kiss even as you regain your footing. You want to drink him in and you do your best, breathing deeply as he kisses you deeper, backing you inside and toward the elevator.

“Is this okay?” he manages, only after blindly reaching for and mashing the up button on the wall panel.

Ideally it wouldn’t happen like this, but the world you live in obviously isn’t ideal and your personal situations as they coincide are far from ideal, so this is how it has to happen. But it’s hard to explain, and you’d rather not admit that this is so far from what you wanted for both of you and follow up with the fact that despite that you need him like you need water. So you don’t say a word as the metal doors slide open promptly. Instead you pull him in and let him press you to the chrome wall as he hits your floor button, and that very hand comes back to grab your ass like you didn’t think Spencer Reid capable of. It almost aches as his fingers dig into the flesh, but it’s a good ache because it means he’s real and he’s there.

You gasp as he hitches your leg up, arching into him. The shorts that you’re wearing leave very little to the imagination to begin with, but they become downright indecent like this.

Quickly the elevator stops and the doors hiss open. You don’t hesitate to pull Spencer by the hand down the hall. When you notice you left your door wide open, you don’t even care. Neither does he, apparently—once you’re inside he slams it shut, flipping the deadbolt while his eyes are glued to you like you’re already naked. Now Spencer is shameless in the way he drags his eyes over every curve, every place your clothes and hair are disheveled from his touch and eye-fucks you so obviously it makes your face warm. Three months ago Spencer would have at least been bashful about it when he met your eyes again, but this Spencer is far from apologetic as he pins you with his burning gaze once more. His hand stays stuck to the door like he’s holding himself back.

“Is this what you want?”

There’s an undercurrent of sorrow below the gravely arousal, like this isn’t what he wanted for the two of you either. But you’re both at the mercy of fate. This is all you have, and it might be all you can do for each other anymore. So you don’t need to say that, because he understands.

“Yeah. Yes, this is what I want.”

For just a second more he watches you from his place by the door, and there’s an unexpected softness to it. He looks at you the way he would have looked at you before. Like as long as he stays there he can entertain the idea of being that person again.

Need wins out quickly, though, and he surges forward. Immediately you’re caught in the riptide of him, helpless as he kisses you all the way to your bedroom.

He’s never been in here before. You find yourself glad it’s relatively clean—one of the pastimes you’d picked up in his absence was keeping everything tidy. It was something you could control.

A lamp glows at your bedside. You lean against the footboard of your bed, hands timidly behind your back and suddenly shy to have in him in your intimate space. Both of you set aside the heaving desperation long enough to catch your breaths, and for him to scan the room like he too is being forced to reconcile with the innate and unexpected intimacy of the moment. He cuts a harsh, dark gash in your sweetly decorated bedroom, radiating something wild and powerful and unsure of himself like a chained bull as he takes in the soft, pale bedding, the paintings and photos taped to the walls, the woven rug and the sheer drapery. His breathing slows as he studies it all—eyes eventually catching on something behind you. Looking is unnecessary. You’re sure he’s spotted the dried peonies in their ceramic vase. Or maybe the now worn stack of papers that is his Odyssey, marked up and soft around the edges from constant flipping-through.

Then Spencer looks at you, and that softness seeps in again. Along with something like... fear? Grief?

In some other universe your first time with Spencer is sweet and giggly and kind and he smiles at the decor in your room and looks around with wonder because it’s another way he gets to know you. It’s a different way to learn you from the inside.

You sense that he’s caught in between universes right now as well, painfully aware of what he would have given you that he can’t anymore.

He breathes your name like an apology, and foolishly you let a second go by in which you think he might offer you one. But he doesn’t. Not with his words, anyway. His eyes tell a different story.

“It’s fine,” you say unprompted on a whispered exhale, then a little louder as you push off the footboard, crossing the space until your hands are on his chest. You focus on his tie, not making eye contact as you rush to undo it. “It’s fine.”

He lets you do this for a few seconds before finally covering your trembling hands with his own. You still can’t meet his eyes.

“We don’t have to do—”

“No! No, please. I want to. I need—I need us to be okay.”

“Hey,” he murmurs, catching your chin and forcing you to look at him. “We are okay. Me and you are fine.”

It’s a pretty thought, but it’s not true. In fact, it’s a hideous and abject affront to the truth. Sure, maybe you’re fine in comparison to last week. Maybe anything feels fine compared to an eight by six cell. But it would be impossible for you and Spencer, for your relationship, whatever that relationship may be, to be fine. It’s especially impossible for him to make that claim, after all he did or rather didn’t do while he was gone. What you need is for him to stay anyway. What you need is to find a way to be with him, to exist with him, even when you are so clearly not fine.

“I just need you to stay,” you whisper, and he’s already nodding, wide-eyed like he’d do anything for you. You ignore all the bitter venom rising in your throat. You pretend this isn’t all happening after he cut you out of his life with a dirty switchblade. Instead you focus on his hands on yours, the familiar smell of him, which invites you to let go of each and every thought and worry. He must’ve showered before coming here, you realize. How long has he been out? What happened?

“Okay. Okay, I can stay. What else can I do? How do I make it better?”

You sniffle and look back down.

“You can untie that for me.”

He hesitates, then nods some more, fingers working under yours to undo the tie around his neck.

“Okay.”

A moment goes by and after that final whispered word, the tension begins to build again. Spencer senses it in the way your fingertips linger on his chest and you step even closer, dragging them down to his belt. The metallic sound of it unbuckling, despite being your own doing, still manages to flip your stomach. How many times have you pictured this? When was the first time you realized you wanted it? You’re sure you haven’t stopped wanting it even once since then.

Spencer tosses the tie away and is shrugging off his jacket now, then before you see it coming he’s kissing you again, ducking down to do it. He feels taller this close up, and especially in your bedroom, where he just seems rather out of place. But you want him here. God, you want him here.

You break the kiss, forced to look down as you fumble with his belt.

“Sorry,” you gasp, embarrassed by your lack of dexterity. The light is barely sufficient to see what you’re doing, especially when he’s wearing black on black and your eyes are still bleary.

“You’re okay,” he assures you, and it’s so Spencer a fresh round of nerves electrifies the tips of your fingers. That thing is happening—the thing you’d hoped to avoid if you hadn’t lost momentum partway through, where you’re allowing your actual feelings for him to get in the way rather than getting swept up in the pathos of the moment and letting everything be easy and mindless. “Here, can I help you?”

But he doesn’t actually wait for an answer before he’s finishing off the belt for you, tugging it loose from his hips till it’s a leather coil in his hands. Your fingers brush the material and he lets you take it as if it were your prize. It’s heavier than you thought it’d be, and you just feel the weight of it in your hands for a moment, your dropped head brushing his chest.

You have a terrible feeling that if you do this now, it doesn’t mean everything will be alright. Because it can’t just go back to normal. Spencer has told you nothing of what must be an enormous trauma, and you haven’t spoken about it at all, but you sincerely doubt that after this he’s going to be ready to just jump into that committed relationship the two of you had been toying with for months before his absence. You’re almost... scared of him, now. Scared of where he’s been and what he’s endured—things you’re sure you couldn’t have taken. What that does to a person, you can’t imagine. He seems so solid and real in front of you now—but you know that’s not always enough. Maybe you’re just scared that somehow whatever he’s been through will have made him care for you less. That you were too far removed from the whole ordeal, and now you’ll never understand. If you could understand, maybe you could fix it for him. Maybe he’d stick around.

Still—even if you do end up pushing him further away in the long run—won't it have been worth it to have had him so completely, even just once?

You toss the belt to the ground, compressing all of these very complicated thoughts and feelings into a few seconds so short he can’t ask you any questions about them. Instead you find his top button, and just as you manage to undo it with relative ease he’s gently grabbing your wrists. You look up at him, immediately surrendering.

“If we’re going to do this I need you to relax a little bit.”

Gears grind in your chest. You feel need and anxiety comingling in every square inch of your body. It’s a sick buzz—a high on an empty stomach.

“I can’t,” you admit.

“Yeah, you can,” Spencer gently disagrees, slowly lowering your hands. When he’s sure you’re not going to try ripping his clothes off again, he releases, and his eyes lower to the zipper of your hoodie. His fingers follow, warm against the soft triangle of revealed skin at your chest as he grips the small piece of metal between barely shaking fingers. “You can.”

You match his eyeline, breathing shallowly and watching as he slowly drags the zipper down. You wonder if that sound has haunted his fantasies the way the sound of his belt has haunted yours. If he’s seen this hoodie on you and wondered what’s underneath, staring at you and daydreaming during movie night with you none the wiser.

Both of you have your eyes glued to the span of skin as the zipper parts. Spencer stalls with the zipper at your sternum, just below the band of your bra.

Right. No shirt.

You look up and find his eyes already on you, tinged with a curious kind of humor.

“I wasn’t expecting guests.”

The words come out shy. Spencer’s chuckle has its own nervous airy quality as he resumes tugging on your zipper, leaning down until your noses bump.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Then he kisses you again, a little sweeter now. Sweet enough to give you butterflies and for them to flutter right out of your stomach and spill from your lips in a little whimper against his.

It comes as a surprise when he pushes the fabric from your shoulders without looking or asking. Not that you’d have said no—you're just underprepared for how assertive he is in this foreign context.

Left just in your flimsy shorts and your thin bra, you feel quite exposed—but Spencer’s hands are as demanding and hungry as his mouth. They skim up your sensitive sides and sweep lower, suggesting less proper placement over your ass and pulling at your bottoms until you gently put a stop to their wandering.

“Wait. We’re... we’re uneven.”

It’s a struggle to get any words out at all when he keeps chasing your lips, nipping at you like he physically can’t stand not kissing you, but they catch his attention and he laughs airily, pulling back to let his gaze pour over your less clothed form. It lingers and catches and lights you up everywhere it touches, drops of heat soaking into your skin and making you feel all fuzzy and needy.

“We are,” he acknowledges, tone low and colored with the faintest smile. “You’re a lot prettier without your clothes on than I am.”

“I don’t believe you.”

The challenge comes immediately and thoughtlessly. Spencer’s golden eyes flash up to yours. He’s breathing a little harder than usual.

“You want me to show you what I mean?”

If that means getting him naked, then yes, absolutely.

You nod, but rather than immediately stripping, he takes your hand and holds his own open next to it. A thick pink scar bisects some pretty significant palmistry lines, but you don’t mention that. Instead you swallow—your thoughts, your words, your nausea.

“That’s new.”

You wonder how you hadn’t noticed it earlier.

He nods.

“A lot is new.”

It sounds almost like he’s challenging you—there's a kind of tremulous force in his voice, despite the perpetual softness there, like he’s inviting you to say it’s ugly. And you realize he’s referring to more than just the glowing scar cutting an asteroid trail against the flesh of him palm. The scars he obtained in prison must form a constellation over his body.

“I don’t care. I wanna see you.”

Spencer swallows, cupping your face with the scarred hand once more. You can’t feel it against your cheek but you know it hasn’t gone away.

“I’m sure you think you do,” he permits, and that’s where the conversation ends for the moment—with his hand on your face and his lips back on yours. “For now why don’t you let me worry about you?”

Obediently, you breathe, “okay.”

This is, for whatever reason, amusing to him. The brief levity dies as quick as it comes like a snuffed-out brush fire as soon as he lets his hands fall back down to your hips.

“I want... I want to give you slow. But...”

But slow is for people who didn’t lose three months of their life. Slow is for people who don’t know what it’s like to be starving. Slow is not for the desperate.

You understand the feeling.

“I don’t need slow.”

You’ll let him use you up like quick-burning fuel if that’s what he needs. You’ll go as fast and as bright and as hot as he tells you.

“But you want slow,” he murmurs, a secret acknowledged into your own waiting mouth. You’d keep it there forever. You could be the object he hides his soul in. “I know you do. You deserve to get what you want.”

“I can go fast. I want whatever you can give me.”

Spencer’s shuddering exhale is like a drug, dizzying as you inhale it and your eyes flutter at the high, pressed head-to-head with him. For so long you’ve needed him so badly. It’s overwhelming to have him now, all over you. If only your walls could breathe him in the way you are, if this room could remember what it feels like to hold him the way you will, if any inanimate object could bear witness to how you’ll give yourself, any part of yourself, over to him, so willingly.

“I’m going to try.” Spencer’s voice is hoarse as he walks backward to the bed, taking you by the hips as he goes. “I want to do it right. I want to do this the way I... the way I imagined it, before...”

Now he’s sitting, and you’re standing between his legs as he finds the clasp of your bra and undoes it, his fingers a comforting pressure where they ghost down the slope of your back. Your heart is pounding at the confession, at the way his tongue darts over his bottom lip and his fingertips journey back up to your straps, looking up at you with haloed irises as if he’d find anything other than the most dangerous kind of smoldering devotion in your eyes—the kind cult-leaders seek and spend years nurturing, and he’d earned with a mere brush over your bare skin.

The fabric slides down your arms, and as it falls to the floor, you watch something like despair flash-flood his eyes. It is a deep, distinctly human grief. The ineffable kind where something is almost too beautiful; so perfect it offends the mortal senses because it should be permanent, but nothing is, and the clash of divine beauty with unstoppable time which oxidizes copper and covers marble with vine is almost as grotesque as metal rending delicate flesh. It is the grief that drove the first poet to write and the first parents to press their baby’s painted hands to the walls of a cave. It is the desire to do the impossible—to capture ephemeral perfection and make it eternal, and the knowledge that it is hopeless. You recognize it because you’ve felt it for him.

“I thought about you all the time,” he whispers, doesn’t bother calling you beautiful but you don’t mind because he’s telling you with his hands and his eyes and the waver of his voice. “When I was gone, I thought about you—”

You’re just as quiet, just as soft.

“Don’t, Spencer.”

He doesn’t get to tell you about when he was gone. Not now. Not after he acted like you didn’t exist.

“Okay.” He swallows the things he’d wanted to tell you like you choked on the things you needed to tell him for three months. “I’m sorry.”

But his hands—his hands are perfect over your waist and his lips are perfect where they kiss your ribs like they’re his homeland. You could forgive a thousand wrongs for each kiss he puts to your skin. Light from the full moon stretches over the room like a blessing from the cosmos, and you have every intention of making the most of that gift, how the silver gilds the planes of his face and highlights curls like they were carved, and invites you to search for something in each shadow.

Some of his kisses land over the sensitive skin of your breasts though you doubt he has much intention or that there is any sort of end-goal with the trail he blazes—in fact, you have to root your hand in his hair and pull gently back when he doesn’t seem to realize that he’s making you wait again. His eyes are glassy and cheeks slightly pinkened—you weren’t expecting this wave of fondness to knock you on your ass but here you are, falling all over again.

“You don’t have to go that slow.”

A slow smile splits the heart of his mouth at your bashful tone and he’s emboldened to bring his hands higher for a moment, thumbs brushing particularly delicate though not downright indecent spots. Nonetheless, your breath catches.

“Impatient girl,” he scolds, and though it’s lighthearted it still inspires heat to dance across your face. Oh, I think I’ve been plenty patient, you itch to say, but you bite it back because it’s only sad and true and unkind.

Still, he gives you the beginning of what you want, really only the tip of the enormous iceberg that is your desire for him, by slipping his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and tugging them down. His hands slide up the fronts of your thighs, tracing the trim of your underwear, and you’d swear he’s not even breathing. The moment one of his hand loops behind your knee and pulls forward until it’s pressed to the mattress and you’re half-kneeling, half standing, desire begins to truly cloud your mind. Manhandling never seemed like Spencer’s style, but when paired with how softly he reveals your hip, pulling gently down on the fabric of your underwear just to admire you up close, you don’t mind it.

More kisses are littered over your stomach, and he takes you by surprise a second time with a quick maneuver landing you on your back and him on top of you.

“I wasn’t doing you justice with my imagination,” he murmurs against your mouth. “I couldn’t have known.”

“Couldn’t have known what?” you pant as he shamelessly digs his fingers into the plush of your ass. You almost hope it bruises.

“How pretty you would be,” he coos like he means it, and you dissolve, slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass. “You were holding out on me.”

It’s a tease, not at all serious, but you manage to hit him with a, “Was not, asshole,” and he chuckles, placating your little hurt with another sticky kiss, and you get another disorienting glimpse of some other timeline where you’re both a little less damaged. Where it’s a little easier.

But in this timeline, his touch becomes starving and ragged and urgent, and you accept the drag of his thumb up your thigh and between your legs, gasping when he runs his knuckles up the center of you. This touch is metal on screeching metal. It does not pretend to be anything more than what it is—brute, powerful, executed to elicit sensation. You get the sense that Spencer’s never touched anyone this honestly, and while you do envy the girls who got to have him gentler, you’ll take this as the compliment that it is. A kind of vulnerability that is nearing primal.

His lips, though—always his lips—are kind when they brush and land on your skin guided by some invisible map. A dip down your neck and chest and then a plunge, his tongue dragging over your hips, chasing the fabric of your underwear as he almost pulls it off and then reroutes, making room for himself between your legs and pushing lace aside to mark the hinge of your inner and upper-most thigh. Your chest heaves and you don’t dare move for fear he’ll stop leaving signs of himself on your body and you won’t be able to reassure yourself that it was real and he was here and it was not another dream.

Because something in you knows, if only consciously recognizing it for the first time now, that he will disappear again. That this may be your only chance.

The desire to make the ephemeral eternal. An impossibility.

He’s clearly losing himself to something, eyes shutting blissfully. You wonder when the last time he let his guard down even a little was. You’re okay with being the thing he gets lost in, even if you’re not exactly okay with him—something you are becoming more acutely aware of as each touch makes a part of you want to cry. Maybe you still have some things in common. A strange pain that doesn’t quite feel like it belongs to you, for one thing.

You slam back into your body as his nose nudges against you through fabric, and his lips catch on cotton as he drags himself up, eventually settling a kiss against the little bow at the waist of your underwear. There he stays, eyes closed, mouth pressed to you.

“Is this okay?”

You swallow, buzzing. Is this really what he wants? After everything?

“You don’t have to...”

“But is it okay with you?”

Nothing more than an airy whisper, you reply, “Yes, if that’s what you want.”

Being emotional at this point seems wrong, but it’s difficult to ignore the fact that you have thought about this before and it’s finally happening but it’s not exactly as you’d imagined it. There is an indelible sadness to it, to the way he’s so hungry for you because he’s been deprived, to the desperation with which he touches you because he’s had everything taken from him.

For a moment, before he tugs your underwear down, he pauses, and you wonder if he’s freezing one moment in time, this moment, and grieving all the other ways it could’ve been, and accepting that this is the way it is going to be. You are.

These higher realms of thought abandon you as he finally pulls the last barrier down your legs and encourages you to spread them further. You don’t have time or energy to be embarrassed, not even by his staring, or the way his eyes dart up to yours and back down again, wide and shining, as if to say, have you seen yourself? Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?

All you feel is the lack of him on you, the pull to have him closer so strong it’s almost sickening because he could be gone at any second. Maybe he understands that because he doesn’t waste anymore time before he’s kissing the most sensitive part of you. The drag of his tongue has you loosing a shuddering cry.

His mouth wanders, making connections you wouldn’t have realized the value of until you feel them on your skin. Your hips buck as he traces you and you’re unable to stop yourself from tangling your hands in his hair. Speech fails you—hell, you can hardly breathe as you watch his with a furrowed brow and parted lips, only expelling air from your lungs in the form of little cries and gasps and failing to hold your hips down to the bed.

The tip of his tongue teases around your entrance and he catches your leg as your foot rises off the bed, slinging it over his shoulder and consuming you more fervently until you have no choice but to moan though you’ve never been one for theatrics. Nobody has done this for you like he’s doing it for you. Locks of hair fall in front of his face and you hold them back for him, shuddering as he shifts his weight and presses the tip of his finger to your cunt.

“Ah—please,” you manage, your first words since he started. Spencer groans against you and the sound is so wonderfully unexpected, so much better than in your dreams. You cant your hips up in further invitation, chirping as he takes it, pushing two fingers into you at once. Your eyes screw shut and you bite back a whine at the slight stretch, unconsciously writhing your hips either to get further away or take him deeper, you’re not sure.

Spencer pulls back, kissing your hips and thighs and pumping his fingers very slowly as you adjust.

“’M sorry,” you pant, “it’s been awhile, I...”

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says like it’s simple, his own breath coming quicker. “How’re you feeling? Need me to stop?”

“No! No, it feels really good, I feel good.”

He holds your burning gaze, matching it with his own, and his hair is tousled and his cheeks are flushed as he continues to move his hand.

“Yeah?”

“...Yeah.”

This little show of obedience, of call and response, has him smiling before he occupies his mouth with something else once more. It’s a different smile than you’re used to from him, but you decide you don’t at all mind it.

Like that, with his tongue and fingers working tirelessly, your orgasm comes on quickly. The feeling is rare but not entirely foreign, and in that brief moment of utter disconnect between your brain and reality, of sheer white-hot pleasure, you don’t feel you’re missing out on anything at all. How could you be, when you are here and Spencer is here and for a moment all your neurons are lighting up and flashing neon? How could there be anything more to life than the searing feeling of him slowly withdrawing his fingers from you, than your hips between his hands like he’s cradling the world, and his lips, indiscriminate with where they kiss because every part of you is worthy of attention?

You’re reeling, and your legs are gelatinous as he so affectionately sucks the darkest mark yet onto your inner thigh like a parting gift, like he’s signing his trembling work. If you could clamp your legs shut around the almost painful aftershocks you would, but he’s climbing back up your body, so all you can do is wriggle against him and release delayed, stunted little moans. He stops to kiss your neck before he makes it to your mouth and drinks down all your sounds until you’re gentle and pliant for him like you haven’t been yet.

His voice is soft and sympathetic when he speaks. “Better?”

Wordlessly you nod, both comforted and unsettled by how well he knows you. What, exactly, has been made better, you’re not sure. Not trust. You don’t trust him anymore. Something cheaper, but temporarily effective. A sense of permanence, maybe, however fleeting it may be. You’ve completed something with him now, and he’s still here, still sweet.

He looks into your eyes, then, for a moment—and there is just enough light in the room for you to tell yourself that the shadows dancing there as he looks at you are love.

They morph as you watch into haunting, wild hunger. Pained even now.

He sits up abruptly and so do you, scooting back against your headboard and pulling your knees to your chest to protect your pounding heart as Spencer takes you in with darting eyes and quick breaths. His fingers find the collar of his shirt and he begins to unbutton.

“I need you to remember it’s all going to heal.”

He swallows, and you hardly have the wherewithal to study the way he unbuttons his shirt, a way he exists in the world that you had previously not been privy to. The words are too distracting.

“What?”

Sometimes he reminds you of a deer, with those big brown eyes that can’t help betraying anxiety. Moreso in those old pictures he’d shown you from his early days at the BAU—but it shines through occasionally even now. It’s reassuring to know that something inside of his has remained soft.

“Just...” his fingers don’t stop at their task, and you come to the disturbing realization that his knuckles are bruised. “Please don’t freak out, alright?”

Your mouth goes dry, eyes glued to the lengthening span of revealed skin.

And before he even has his shirt fully undone, something isn’t right.

He’s like a Pollack of bruises—starbursts and watercolor blots of discoloration blooming over his side and stomach.

You’re glad the light is off for two reasons: one, being that you don’t think you could handle the bruising in all its glory, and two, you hope the look of horror painted on your face is at least partially obscured from Spencer.

But you can’t. You simply don’t have the gas in the tank to freak out, as he’d said—at least not externally. Those bruises shouldn’t be there, but 96 days is a long time to be gone.

You drag your eyes back to his—nervous, deeply insecure and mistrustful. A deer. Just like those pictures of a 24 year old Spencer in an FBI jacket that was too big for him.

It’s enough to have you scooting on your knees across the mattress to him. Those big eyes stay glued to you as you draw near, falling as you carefully push open his shirt, cautious not to bump any tender spots as it falls to the bed. A flash of white gauze wrapped around his forearm that makes your stomach flip. How? You want to ask. Why?

He doesn’t seem to know what you’re going to do, and neither do you, until you’re grabbing his hands, bruised knuckles and all, and just... holding them for a minute.

“I lost weight,” he says quietly, as if that’s the most shocking thing about his current appearance, though it is noticeable.

“You’re still pretty.”

He smiles at this—a true Spencer Reid smile. Flattened lips, eyes tinged silver with sadness, voice quiet and anxious and wavering.

“I didn’t have a lot to spare.”

A moment goes by.

“I’m not going to ask you about them,” you promise, though you care so much and you want to know but you already understand that he won’t want to tell you.

Another moment. It doesn't surprise you to watch the shiny vulnerability in his eyes to freeze over completely. But he squeezes your hands once in thanks, and you know it’s still the same Spencer.

“Lie down.”

Oh. Right.

This.

You do as he says, taking a deep breath to try and exhale the concern twisting your stomach like a poison. Somehow your room feels so unfamiliar, so new with him in it. Even the whorls on your ceiling look different as you study them, trying to time the pattern of your breathing with the pattern of the paint and plaster and not let the sound of Spencer further undressing quicken your heartrate too much.

Soon he’s coaxing your legs apart again, reverently, and kneeling between them, studying every part of you—lingering not on the parts you’d expect. He traces the scar on your knee with his thumb, follows a line down your thigh to the freckle on your hip. The scrutiny is unnerving and warms you everywhere. Perhaps he senses the microscopic clench of your thighs as you imagine pushing them together, if he weren’t in the way.

“You alright?” He asks, still stroking your hip. Tender again. It’s so hard to keep up.

“I...”

Suddenly your heart beat is a deafening echo in your own ears. The tide of your breathing is too powerful, too in and out and whooshing, leaving you always too empty or too full but never comfortable.

Maybe he’s changed, and he’s harder to know now, but he is the same Spencer. He is the Spencer you’d fallen in love with. The hard part is knowing that now you may never get a chance to tell him that. You don’t know if he’d be able to hear it.

There are things you can’t have with him anymore. Not now, at least. Maybe not ever. But you can have this. It will be different, but you’d rather him be different and here than the same and only in your memory.

You swallow.

“I’m good.”

Tangling your hand in his hair once more, you pull him down into a kiss. It’s hesitant, at first—maybe he can taste your thoughts, where they’d been balancing just on the tip of your tongue. But the uncertainty fades and he kisses you deeper, harder, in a way that is hard to keep up with. You like the messy overwhelm of his lips, teeth, tongue. That’s the only way he knows how to want you.

When you go to wrap your leg around his waist he catches it, running his hands over the soft plush of your thigh. The hard line of him presses against you like memory foam and you gasp and he breathes it in deeply as your brain short-circuits, as you realize this is really going to happen, that you’re going to have him like you’ve never had him before and in ways you’ve only imagined and immediately felt ashamed for.

“Spencer,” you whisper. He ducks to leave open-mouthed kisses along your neck and your eyes flutter shut, craning your neck but not losing sight of your objective as you reach down blindly. When you find what you’re looking for he freezes, groans against your neck at the same time as you breathe the tiniest whimper. Just in your hand he feels impossible, hot and imposing and hard. Your heart palpitates.

Without thinking, you angle your hips up and encourage him closer, until the tip of him is smearing through your folds, and you both go utterly silent like the breath had been stolen right from your lungs. The moment crystallizes, time around you hardening like preserved amber to keep you frozen there forever.

And then he rolls his hips, catching the underside of his cock on the crux of you, and then he does it again, and you choke out a moan and so does he, and it’s beyond perfect—it's nirvana, more than you could ever have conceived of, with his weight pressing you into the mattress, arms caging you in, his heavy breaths hot against your neck and vice versa as you twine together like serpents on a rod, your foot floating in the air as you widen your legs to make more room for him.

And you’re not even fucking yet.

“Oh my god,” you whine, just for him, barely audible under the heavy cloak of night, the thickened air in your bedroom and the sound of panting and fabric shifting. It’s like your heart is trying to reach through your chest to his own where they’re pressed together—that is how hard it’s beating.

Spencer only breathes a long, low curse and shifts so he can grasp himself. Your fingers drift down the shaft of him as he slots himself at your entrance, notching half an inch in and you hold your breath, and you brace yourself—and then he’s kissing you again, but gentler this time. Reassuring. You soften, you can’t not, releasing all your air in a soft gust through your nose, and then he’s pushing in.

Your lips part at the stretch as it fuzzes your mind, but he stays right there, nose pressed to your nose, lips ghosting over your own. He’s not going anywhere, you think, and you’re glad for it, when it burns ever so slightly, and the tiniest whine escapes your open mouth.

“Shh,” he soothes immediately, low and soft, only fractionally louder than you had been. “You’re okay.”

Spencer. Your Spencer.

For a moment, you’re living in that alternate universe. The kinder one. The flash of pain you feel then has nothing to do with the way he’s opening you up.

This is the closest you have ever been, and in some strange way, the furthest apart.

Together, fingers brushing, you guide him until he settles at not quite your deepest point. You can feel that he’s not giving you everything yet, but you’re okay with that, as you adjust to the full feeling. Spencer again senses your desire to close your legs against the deep intrusion, and gives you the best he can by encouraging you to wrap your legs around him.

“Good girl,” he whispers tenderly, nudging at your jaw with his nose and dragging kisses along the ridge of it. Your stomach flips at the moniker and your brain turns to warm sludge as your eyes flutter shut. It makes you feel all light-headed and you flutter around him. Spencer chuckles into the junction of your neck and shoulder and the vibrations send a chill down your arching spine. “I thought you might like that one.”

“Mhm.”

“Mhm. How are you? You okay?”

“’M ready.”

“You’re ready?” His tone is dripping sarcasm and faux-disbelief as he pulls back the slightest bit only to push right back in deeper, this time. Your toes curl, one thigh sliding higher up his waist as you cling to him.

“Fuck,” you manage, a pitiful, high pitched curse tossed to the wind. He echoes the sentiment.

“Oh, my god,” he groans, continuing with that slow pace, “you feel so good, angel.”

You grapple at his back, searching for purchase as your brow knits. “Faster.”

This inspires another breathy chuckle, but he obliges, and you cry out softly. It’s almost unreal, your head buried against his neck, drunk on his scent and the drag of him like a shock felt in the far reaches of your body, again and again.

There’s nothing you can say that will accurately demonstrate what you’re feeling, so you elect not to speak, to remain silent and try to get a grip on this cacophony of sensation and emotion. But it’s too much to be alone with. You feel you have to get it out, to seek understanding. You can’t do it alone.

“Spencer.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know...” the sentence trails off into a gentle keen. He moves to kiss you, speaking against your lips.

“You don’t know?”

Shyly you shake your head. Spencer sighs wistfully.

“Do you know how much I missed you?”

It’s like he can sense your need for comfort. For something grounding.

And while this topic was off-limits earlier—you're softer now. The stone walls that form your boundaries have been chipped away and lowered.

Spencer continues unprompted.

“I thought about you every day. Every night while I was falling asleep. You were always on my mind, angel girl.”

You whine. Whether it’s pleasure or distress is anyone’s guess—including your own.

“You were gone so long,” you whisper, eyes shut.

At this, Spencer slows again, and the tension that was building settles back to a simmer.

“I know. I wish I could—I wish I could change that. But I’m here, okay? I’m right here with you.”

Then he makes sure you feel every last inch, and it takes your breath away. If your thoughts were any more coherent, they’d be something along the lines of: but for how long? How long until you leave again?

“You’re here.”

You say it like a mantra, once out loud, and then again and again in your head, timed with every clash of your hips. With each repetition he becomes more real. Every little ache, every tingling, head-emptying brush against that most sensitive spot inside proves to you that he could not be any closer. This can’t be faked. It can’t be another dream to wake up in tears from.

“You’re here,” you gasp as it hits you, as it truly sinks in.

“I’m here,” he breathes.

There’s so much you want to say—three months of words you need him to hear, of things you need to talk to him about, things you need to yell at him for and things you can only say crying in his arms and things you can only say laughing or whispering or drunk or half-asleep—and in this moment you can’t manage any of it. Every word condenses into one drop of salt water, drifting away from your eye and down your cheek. Spencer doesn’t tell you to stop crying. He only kisses the tear away, and murmurs I’m here I’m here I’m here over and over again against your skin until he’s not even speaking it out loud anymore. But you feel it. With every brush of his lips, every breath, every movement, you feel it.

Soon he’s adjusting his angle, gradually picking up the pace but retaining that unforgiving depth, and your nails bite into the skin of his back as your jaw drops. Spencer hisses, pressing impossibly closer.

“I’m sorry!” you squeak.

“Do it again.”

“Wh—what?”

“Please,” he begs, low and hot against your jaw, just beneath your ear. “Do it again, honey.”

Honey.

You’d do anything for him if it meant he calls you that again.

When he shifts his weight to one arm and reaches down between your bodies to play with your aching clit in exactly the right way, you don’t really have a choice. You arch and moan wantonly enough to feel embarrassed as your nails scratch down his back. At the same time he’s making noises of his own, and you almost feel guilty for marking him up like this only you think he likes it. The most perfect and troubling tension is building in your core, so taut you almost fear the inevitable rebound when it snaps. But you’re driven to be exactly what Spencer needs right now, and to let him try and be what you need. Even if it scares you. Even if you’re not sure how.

Spencer groans, head tucked to the bend of your shoulder. “I’m not gonna last.”

Any response you might’ve been about to muster is annihilated by a sudden, deep bolt of pleasure.

“’M gonna cum,” you mewl like it’s a secret.

“Are you?” he asks, coming up breathless. If your eyes were open, you’re sure you’d see him above you.

“Mhm.”

“Look at me. Look at me.”

It is unmistakably a command—one you fight to follow.

You cry out as you meet the intensity of his gaze, those shadowy corridors suddenly ablaze and alive. They are not unending, like you’d thought. They are a door thrown open to let the light in, or maybe to let the fire out. They’re open in this moment for you.

No more words are spoken after that—you cum hard, gasping as you fall and spin. Spencer follows very shortly after, like he was holding it together just for you, and your eyes are still locked though everything is a bit bleary.

“Fuck,” you whine as he continues to fuck you for as long as he can, despite your writhing hips, but you’re entranced by him, unable to look away now that you’re hooked. Until he slows to a halt, glances down at your mouth, and you just have time to pray that he’ll kiss you before he does. You whimper against his lips—a plea for understanding. A plea for him to stay, even though this is over. He kisses back so soft and sweet it’s like he can read your mind. Echoes of I’m here I’m here I’m here still buzz across your skin. His eyelashes tickle your cheek. Your heart stops beating quite so quickly, melting and warm like the rest of your body.

Soon the kissing ceases and you’re just breathing together, trapped and faced with the knowledge that it must end just the same as you had waited for it to start.

Eventually the air between you becomes mostly carbon dioxide and you let your head fall to the side, dizzy and giggling breathlessly as you nearly avoid asphyxiation. Spencer laughs too, letting his head fall to your shoulder once more, and you finally let your eyes flutter closed. To do something as simple as laugh with him again is its own small euphoria. It’s unexpected, and a soft landing once all that tension breaks underneath your combined weight.

It can’t last forever, you know that well. But the slow fade of it makes the next parts a little easier.

Spencer presses a kiss to your neck. “Is your bathroom through that door?”

You hum a confirmation and are only slightly disheartened when he pulls out and rolls off of you. You’re further disturbed when you see there’s gauze around his thigh, matching what’s around his arm, and you wonder how you missed that. Spencer scoops up his clothing and disappears into the adjoining restroom, assuring you he’ll be right back and leaving you alone with your thoughts and the whorls on the ceiling which have seemingly shifted into entirely new constellations.

He leaves the door cracked which is oddly reassuring—the sliver of warm light and the sound of the sink running. Only a few moments pass before he’s returning clad in boxers once more to sit on the edge of the bed, pushing away the sheet you’d just pulled over your chest and pulling one of your legs over his lap. Your face warms as he brings a washcloth between your thighs. As soon as he glances up at you and catches your eye you’re looking back to the ceiling.

“I should’ve asked first,” he says quietly as he cleans up the mess he’d made of you.

You speak just as softly, like you’re both afraid of disturbing some peace, of waking some sleeping giant. “It’s okay. I would’ve told you if I didn’t want it.”

His reticence, his unreadable face, make you nervous.

When he’s done, he rises to toss the dirtied cloth in the laundry bin, and with his back to you (as scratched up as it might be) you feel braver.

“Are you gonna, like... hate me now?”

It was a mistake. That’s clear by the way he turns around, brow knit deeply and grimacing slightly like even the suggestion offends him.

“Am I going to hate you?”

Again you pull the sheet up, and again you look away, studying the pattern of moonlight stretching out over the floor and scooting to make room for him when he steps in it.

“Not hate, I just...” the bed dips beside you and you are indescribably glad he’s not immediately running out the door. “I’m not dumb. I know what this was.”

He pulls you into him and you settle against his chest. It feels good. “I never thought you were dumb.”

This is your first real conversation since he’s gotten back, you realize. And how quickly you’re falling into familiar patterns, familiar syntactical beats. You know when to speak. You know when to bite your tongue and keep him talking.

The silence goes on longer than you’re used to. Maybe he got good at not speaking while he was away.

Eventually your eyes wander, falling to the white strip over his thigh where it is parallel to yours on the bed, only over the sheets.

“What happened?”

You said you wouldn’t ask, but that was then, and you’re upset again. You almost want to hurt him. To piss him off. You don’t know.

But it doesn’t work.

“Do you really want to know?” There’s a note of something heavy in his voice, and you look up at him. It’s a privilege to have him this close—his beauty is a constant surprise that you’d become unaccustomed to over the months. You say nothing, and he takes that as the yes that it is. “I... I did it to myself.”

He may as well have reached down your throat and grabbed for fucking heart for all its clenching. Tears well almost immediately, though they’ve been waiting in the wings all night.

“What? Did you—were you trying to—”

His eyes widen.

“No! No, honey, no.” You wilt as he gathers you closer, a deeply confused frown still contorting your features, too heartbroken even to cling to him, or to appreciate the ease with which honey slips past his lips again. “No. I was—it's complicated. I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to hurt myself, but I had to—I had to do it before someone else did something worse.”

The bruises covering his abdomen.

You sniffle and pull back enough to look up at him tearfully. “Why would they want to hurt you?”

Mist fills his eyes even as he’s looking down at you, a layer of separation, as if he’s two places at once. Even as he goes to brush your hair behind your ear, to stroke your cheek.

“I’m... not... the same, as I was.” It’s not an answer to your question—but it’s the beginning of the answer to a question you’d been too afraid to put into words.

“Don’t say that,” you beg, because you know where this is going. He keeps smoothing your hair like it’ll make this easier.

“But it’s true,” Spencer says gently, the slightest waver betraying his own emotion.

“You’re just going to leave again.”

And you’re losing to the tears.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But you will,” you insist, like a child crying to a parent come to comfort them after a bad dream.

“Not right now. Right now I’m here.”

I’ll stay until you fall asleep again.

For now, maybe that has to be enough.

You cry on his shoulder. He kisses your head and doesn’t tell you to stop.

Eventually, you sniff and wipe your eyes.

“We were so close. Before you… we were almost there.”

You’re sure of it. You’re sure that if he hadn’t gone when he did you would’ve been a real couple. You would’ve told him you loved him.

“We’ll get there again,” he promises, rubbing your arm. “I just… I need a little bit of time. I think you do too. But we’re going to get there again.”

Maybe it will never be like it was.

But as so often is the case—Spencer is right. Difference doesn’t mean it won’t ever be good again.

You have to believe that, just as you had to believe you’d see him again.

You look to The Odyssey on your bedside table.

The sun has been obliterated from the sky, and an unlucky darkness invades the world.

But the sun has a habit of rising, time and time again, after the longest nights, after the darkest storms.

You feel the beginnings of its rise, see the golden tips of it lighting the room as he holds you. Even now.

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