#Out of a desire to have spent more time with him

[nuninho2000]

Harry is such an under-appreciated character, which is somewhat ridiculous given that not only is he the protagonist but he’s a well-written and multi-faceted character, with a lot of nuances, a compelling backstory and great dynamics with many of the main characters. Yet parts of the HP fandom will literally hate on him for anything; today I ran across a post which blasted a twelve-year-old Harry for not financially supporting the Weasley, ignoring the fact that, you know, he’s twelve and the fact that the Weasleys would in no way ever accept Harry’s money.

Harry overcomes a lot throughout his life, and this is even before the whole Chosen One crap was placed on his very young shoulders. For the first eleven years of his life, Harry literally never experienced love, support, affection or even proper care. He was often neglected, at times outright abused by the Dursleys, and I think these years and these circumstances shaped Harry more than the fandom tends to recognise. A lot of his stubbornness and refusal to seek help from adults would have stemmed from this, as he spent eleven years believing that adults couldn’t or wouldn’t help him. His generosity and caring nature also probably stems from this, having experienced neither in early years of his life, he has a desire to share both.

Harry also has a deep aversion to fighting and negativity, and unlike Ron and Hermione, he derives no pleasure from arguing or fighting. He gets genuinely upset whenever Ron and Hermione take their verbal sparring too far, often snapping at them and telling them to let it go. Harry spent so many years in a volatile environment, so many years where a single wrong word or look could produce an explosion, that his natural instinct is to avoid conflict and arguments, which is somewhat ironic given the argumentative natures of both of his best friends.

Harry is a character who doesn’t change much over the series. This isn’t to say that he doesn’t grow or evolve as a character. He definitely undertakes his own journey, and goes from an isolated and insecure young boy into a strong and heroic young adult. But who he is at his core never really changes. He holds onto his goodness, his self-righteousness and his “saving people” attitude until the very end. If you look at his characterisation in the first novel compared to his characterisation in the last novel, it is remarkably similar. He is still a person who will walk into certain death to save others, still a person who believes in bravery and doing the right thing, and even if his faith in those around him has been tested and stretched – and in some cases broken – his general belief in the good in the world prevails.

Harry is such a genuinely good person, like, there are few characters out there who contain as much goodness and forgiveness as Harry does. He is always genuinely outraged and upset at what he perceives to be wrongdoings, such as Snape’s unfairness and favouritism or Umbridge’s reign of terror. He also refuses to kowtow to authority if he believes they are in the wrong, such as when both Fudge and Scrimgeour try to sway him to their sides. Harry’s genuine goodness and belief in what is right, in what is fair is one of his defining character traits, and it amazes me that a lot of the fandom does not seem to see or acknowledge this side of him.

I have always found Harry to be quite an isolated character, and I believe that this too stems from his upbringing and his life with the Dursleys. Growing up in an environment where he received no support, where he had no friends and no family members who paid attention to him turned Harry into a very self-sufficient and solitary person, and if you look closely at his inter-personal relationships, it becomes apparent that all of his close relationships are with people who are also isolated and/or lonely in their own way.

Ron and Harry bond almost instantly when the two meet on the Hogwarts Express, both delighted to make one another’s acquaintance. Despite his large family, Ron is also a solitary person, not being particularly close to any of his siblings and often feeling fierce competition with them. Harry not having had a single friend before in his life is keen to make one, but even at this young age can distinguish between a genuine offer of friendship (Ron) and a friendship which may come with strings attached or an inequality within the dynamic (Malfoy).

Despite Ron’s occasional jealousy (which is nowhere near as fierce or as prevalent as parts of the fandom would have you believe) Ron and Harry’s friendship is an equal partnership, mirroring that of James and Sirius. Both Ron and Harry have a penchant for trouble making, and Ron does occasionally come across as somewhat callous and cruel, but both have a deep desire to do good and believe in bravery and heroics, all of which bonds them and cements their friendship. I think they recognise the loneliness and desire for close bonds in one another, and both give and take over the course of the friendship, providing one of the strongest friendships on the written page.

Harry’s friendship with Hermione is somewhat different. While again, he has bonded with someone who is quite an isolated character and he is close to Hermione and obviously cares for her deeply, his dynamic with her is neither as free or as easy as his dynamic with Ron. He and Hermione are close to one another, but they are both closer to and connect better with Ron than they do with each other, and this is evident whenever the two spend long periods of time together without Ron’s presence, such as when Harry and Ron have their falling out during GoF or when Ron leaves them during Deathly Hallows. When Harry is with Ron one-on-one it is still easy and fun, but when it is just him and Hermione, things are different, and it really does show how integral Ron is to the Trio, and how his presence balances the dynamic within the group.

Harry’s relationships with people outside of the main Trio also reflect this tendency to bond with isolated and/or lonely characters, as evidenced by his close friendship with Luna and even his romantic relationship with Ginny. Both girls are initially presented as isolated characters who gain friends over the course of the books. Luna in particular is a very lonely soul, and I think Harry’s fondness for her stems from him relating to this loneliness.

Even Harry’s relationships with the adults in his life follow the same pattern, as the four closest adult friendships he has – Sirius, Lupin, Hagrid and Dumbledore – are all with figures who are quite isolated. Sirius, of course, being incarcerated for much of his life and having lost all his friends has become an isolated figure, and his relationship with Harry seems to combine that of cool uncle and nephew with the dynamic of best friends. As much as Sirius does genuinely love and care for Harry, there is a part of him that does see Harry as a James substitute, but the same can be said for the way in which Harry views Sirius, as a surrogate parental figure, as well as someone who can provide a link to his parents.

Lupin and Hagrid both also provide this link in their own ways, Lupin more so than Hagrid, having been a Marauder and someone who was close to both James and Sirius. Harry’s relationship with Lupin feels somewhat like a mentorship which gradually moves into genuine friendship. His relationship with Hagrid, of course, is just beautiful from the start and develops into one of the deepest and most heartfelt relationship of Harry’s. Hagrid, too, is another somewhat isolated soul, spurned for his freakish size and odd attachment to dangerous creatures.

Harry’s relationship with Dumbledore really deserves its’ own meta, I feel like entire volumes could be written about the nuances, intricacies and levels of that relationship, but once more, it shows Harry bonding with someone who has had their fair share of isolation and loneliness, and who can identify with the pain and struggle Harry faces over the course of the series.

All up, Harry is just a wonderful character, rich, multi-faceted and very endearing. I have always loved Harry for his big heart, his desire to do what’s right, his stubbornness and the determination he applies to every task he undertakes. He really is a woefully under-appreciated character and I often feel that the fandom ignores him and overlooks how amazing he actually is, and that is a real pity, because they’re missing out on a great character by doing so.

it’s really interesting to me how so many people on this site can give such intelligent and in-depth analyses of every single hp character except for harry himself. too often i see him reduced to “whiny” or “emo” or the OOC film version of him, and that’s so sad to me because he’s actually really brilliant and funny and passionate and selfless and courageous beyond his years and you’ve been missing out if you don’t love harry james potter.

[ch0llies]

REVIVAL | CHRIS STURNIOLO

A story in which a messy breakup lands you in your best friend’s Boston apartment a year after high school, and you find yourself face-to-face again with Christopher Sturniolo—your first love. As your paths cross again, the bitterness of how you left him still lingers, fueling every hated glance. But with your best friend dating his brother, you know is there’s no escaping Chris—or the tension that refuses to die. Is this revival destined to reignite, or will it crumble under the weight of your unresolved past?

story warning: filthy smut, angst, swearing, underage drinking, underage drug use, abusive behavior, morally skewed choices, toxic relationships, and overall mature themes. if any of this upsets you... don't read!

word count: 8.9k

CHAPTER ONE:

You had been eyeing him all night. The longer the party went on, the stronger the ache between your legs became. 

You could blame it on the alcohol that was coursing through your body, or the fact that you hadn’t fucked in nearly a month since you dumped your piece of shit ex-boyfriend. 

But you knew the real reason. It had been a year since you’d seen him, and it was undeniable that Christopher Owen Sturniolo had grown into a man.

He was no longer the lanky little boy you shared your first kiss with in seventh grade or the awkward acne-ridden teenager who took your virginity sophomore year, and he most certainly wasn’t the wavy-haired senior who was irrevocably heartbroken when you got into a relationship and ghosted him. 

No, this Chris was different. 

His features had grown since you last saw him. He had sharp cheekbones, a strong and prominent jawline, and light stubble that made you crazy.

The freckles you used to tease him about but truly loved more than anything in the world were still there, scattered across his nose, but now they added to his charm rather than taking away from it.  

His thick brown hair, which he used to grow out and flaunt endlessly, was now cut shorter and only added to the maturity he seemed to be radiating. It framed his face perfectly. The brown strands were darker now and looked almost unreal next to his light blue eyes. 

He’d filled out too. The smaller frame you remembered was gone, replaced by wide shoulders and slightly toned arms.

He looked good. Too good. 

He stood across the room, laughing at something you assumed his friend had said.

You tried not to stare, you really did, but your eyes betrayed you. Every movement he made, every time he laughed, or ran his fingers through his hair, you felt your stomach tighten. 

And it wasn’t just lust– it was the past of everything unresolved coming back from the deep dark corners of your mind where you had hidden them.

Chris hadn’t acknowledged you yet— not really. Sure, you’d exchanged nonchalant hellos when you first arrived, but the conversation ended there. 

So technically he knew you were there. He was just refusing to recognize you and every feeling and emotion you would bring with you. 

So, you were just another face in a crowd, and he was the man you couldn’t stop thinking about.  

Maybe this was your karma.

Part of you was mourning the Chris you once knew. That Chris would have been glued to your side the second you walked in, his eyes lighting up like you were the only person in the room. This Chris didn’t even flinch when he saw you. His face was so incredibly straight that it made you feel like a goddamn stranger.  

You were only here because of Ava. She’d practically dragged you out of the apartment you shared that her dad bought for you two with promises that “It’ll be fun, I swear,” and “You have to be there—Matt’s expecting you.” Matt, of course, being her boyfriend, and Chris’s triplet brother. It was almost laughable. You had no desire to see Chris, no desire to stir up all the feelings you’d spent the past year pushing down. Yet, here you were.

He was standing near the kitchen now, leaning casually against the counter with a beer in his hand, talking to a girl you didn’t recognize. She was laughing at something he said, touching his arm lightly, and you hated how it made your chest tighten. A wave of something—anger, jealousy, regret—surged through you, and you tried to ignore it, trying to focus on anything else.

Ava leaned in closer, her hand lightly touching your elbow. “You okay?” she asked, her eyes filled with concern.

“I’m fine,” you lied, plastering on a smile that probably looked as thin as it felt. You glanced over at her, noting the way her cheeks still flushed whenever she talked about Matt even after they’ve been dating for years.

Your gaze flickered back to Chris—like it had a will of its own—and you caught his profile just as he threw his head back in laughter. The sight of his throat working, the slight scruff along his jaw, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners… It was too much. You swore you could feel your stomach flip in response.

Ava followed your line of sight, sighing softly when she realized what had your attention. “You can still talk to him, you know,” she whispered, giving your arm a gentle squeeze. “He’s still—”

“Absolutely not,” you cut in, your voice sharper than you intended. You were grateful for the pounding bass that swallowed the tension in your tone. “We said hi, and that’s all that’s needed.”

She gave you a look—equal parts sympathy and frustration—but didn’t push. You both knew there was more to this story, a history you hadn’t even begun to unpack.

You let out a breath, forcing your gaze anywhere but him. “Listen,” you said, nudging Ava gently, “go find Matt before he starts complaining you’re ignoring him.”

Ava hesitated for a second, like she wanted to say something else, but then she nodded. “I’ll be back ,” she promised, and with a smile, she slipped away into the crowd.

With her gone, you were left in the crowd of half-drunken strangers, music pulsing around you. You tried to dance a little, tried to lose yourself in the haze of alcohol and conversation, but it was nearly impossible.

He still hadn’t looked your way again—at least not that you’d noticed. But it felt like you could sense him, the same way you used to be able to tell he was approaching before you ever heard his footsteps.

You hated how your body seemed attuned to him even now, how the ache between your legs grew every time you caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye. He was close enough that you could see the tension in his jaw as he spoke, see the way his fingers curled and uncurled around his beer bottle.

The girl who had been talking to him drifted off, pulling someone else onto the dance floor. Chris stayed where he was, sipping his drink and scanning the crowd, a flicker of something in his eyes that you couldn’t read from this distance.

Ava reappeared in your peripheral vision, weaving her way through the crowd with practiced ease. You watched as she sidled up to Chris, her lips close to his ear as she whispered something you couldn’t make out. A flash of surprise flickered across his features, followed by something you could only describe as annoyance. Then, as if he could feel your stare all the way from across the room, his gaze snapped to yours.

Your stomach dropped.

He didn’t break eye contact—not even when Ava squeezed his shoulder in parting and drifted away into the crowd. Instead, he kept those intense blue eyes fixed on you as he lifted his beer bottle to his lips, took a slow sip, and set it down on the counter behind him.

You could practically feel the tension crackling in the air by the time he started moving toward you. Your heart thudded in your chest with each step he took, every cell in your body screaming for you to look away, to find someplace else to be. But your feet remained rooted to the spot, as though glued there by all the unresolved tension between you.

Finally, he stopped in front of you. Close enough that you caught the faint hint of cologne and the warmth radiating from him. Close enough that all the old memories you’d tried to bury threatened to resurface in an instant.

“Hey.” His tone was clipped, casual on the surface but laced with something sharper—like he was testing you, waiting to see if you’d crack first.

You swallowed hard. “Hey.”

An uncomfortable beat of silence passed. You couldn’t read the look in his eyes—there was anger there, maybe some hurt, and definitely that lingering spark of attraction that neither of you had ever truly extinguished.

He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Didn’t think I’d see you here, of all places.”

“Yeah, well,” you forced a shrug, fighting to keep your voice steady, “Ava’s my best friend. Matt’s her boyfriend. I got dragged along.”

He huffed, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that made his biceps strain against the fabric of his shirt. “Still letting other people call the shots for you, huh?”

The jab was subtle, but you felt the sting immediately. You square your shoulders, ignoring the faint tremor in your knees. “Acting as if I didn’t walk you like a dog all throughout high school”

He nodded slowly, as though taking in your words. “This isn’t high school anymore, clearly.” He said, looking you up and down disgustingly.

The tension between you felt almost suffocating, thick with memories of late-night phone calls, stolen kisses, and the bittersweet aftermath of what happened senior year. The way you ended things—ghosting him right when he thought your relationship might finally become something more.

“You don’t have to act like this,” you said quietly, your voice trembling despite your best effort to keep it level.

He arched an eyebrow. “Act like what?”

You hesitated. “Like I’m some kind of inconvenience.”

He scoffed. “If that’s how you’re feeling, I wonder why.” He glanced away, jaw tightening. 

Your heart clenched, and you pressed your lips together, trying not to let your emotions spill out for everyone to see. “We don’t have to do this,” you repeated softly.

He shrugged, and the movement was painfully casual. “You’re right. We don’t have to do anything.” He flicked his gaze past you, scanning the crowd like you might bore him any second. “So why are we?”

You swallowed, a soft ache in your chest. Because despite all the time and distance, you both knew there was still something here—something electric, something that made it impossible for you to pass each other by like strangers.

“Chris—”

“Look,” he cut you off, his voice lowering enough that you had to lean in to hear him over the music. “I’m not gonna pretend I’m happy to see you. And I’m not gonna pretend everything’s fine. Because it’s not.”

Your pulse hammered in your ears at his bluntness. “Okay,” you whispered. It was all you could manage.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “But we’re here,” he finally said, a slight tremor lacing his words. “And I can’t just—” He paused, jaw working as though wrestling with something unspoken. “I can’t ignore you,” he finished in a harsh exhale.

You felt your chest tighten. He was right; he’d tried ignoring you all night, and you’d tried to ignore him, and still you’d both ended up here, facing each other, every unspoken thing hanging in the air like a storm about to break.

A muscle ticked in his jaw as his eyes flickered to yours. “So what now?”

You swallowed, heart pounding so hard you wondered if he could hear it over the pulsing music. His question—“What now?”—hung in the air, thick with a tension that set your nerves on fire.

You wanted to say something—anything—but words felt woefully inadequate. Instead, you met his gaze, letting him see the swirl of emotions that had taken up permanent residence in your chest: guilt, anger, desire. Especially desire.

For a beat, neither of you spoke. The silence between you was so charged you could practically feel it crackle. Your body felt hypersensitive to every shift in the air, every faint brush of his scent. All you could think about was how easy it would be to close the distance, to press your body against his and say the things you’d been holding back.

But instead, you let the moment slip by.

Chris exhaled sharply and dragged a hand through his hair, clearly wrestling with a torrent of his own. “You know,” he said at last, his voice low, “this isn’t exactly how I pictured seeing you again.”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips. “Yeah, me neither.”

He opened his mouth like he wanted to say more, but instead he just shook his head and turned away, jaw clenched. “I’m gonna get another drink,” he muttered, barely meeting your eyes before he disappeared into the crowd.

A breath you didn’t realize you were holding hissed from your lungs. You stood there, your entire body humming with the tension that still vibrated in the wake of his departure. It was as if every nerve ending had been lit on fire—burning with all the words left unspoken.

Hours later, the party was winding down, though the music still thumped in the background. You’d spent most of the time dancing with other friends, forcibly ignoring the steady undercurrent of longing that tugged you toward Chris like some gravitational pull. If he noticed you looking, he never showed it, except for a few fleeting moments where your eyes met across the room, sparks flying before you both turned away again.

Eventually, Ava found you. She looked disheveled, eyes glassy and a lazy grin on her face. Matt clung to her side, equally worse for wear—his hair mussed, his speech slurred. They were hanging off each other, giggling like teenagers.

“Hey,” Ava said, her words blending together, “I—uh—we need to go home.” She hiccuped, pressing a hand to her mouth. “Like, now.”

You glanced at the two of them, realizing just how hammered they were. Rolling your eyes affectionately, you hooked an arm around Ava’s waist to keep her steady. “Okay, okay. Let’s get you guys out of here.”

Getting Matt to focus was a chore, but between you and Ava’s coaxing, he finally managed to shuffle toward the exit. You kept an arm around your best friend, her head lolled onto your shoulder as she slurred something about how much she loved you.

Matt grinned drunkenly. “Y/N… you’re… you’re the best,” he mumbled, stumbling.

You snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s just get you home in one piece.”

Ava’s apartment—yours and hers, really—was close enough to walk, but considering how unsteady they both were, you worried it might be a disaster. Halfway to the door, you felt a presence behind you, a telltale warmth that made your skin prickle.

“Mind explaining where you’re taking my brother?”

Chris.

You turned, finding him standing there with his hands tucked into his pockets, eyes flicking between you and Matt, who was practically leaning his entire weight on your shoulder. Chris’s face was a complicated mask—some concern, a lot of annoyance, and just a hint of that ever-present tension.

Your chin lifted. “Home. With his girlfriend?” you said simply. “They’re both wrecked, so I’m taking them back to our place.”

A shadow of doubt passed over his expression. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

You arched a brow. “Excuse me?”

He nodded toward Matt. “I can’t leave my brother with you—” he gestured to Ava clinging to your arm, “—and that drunk fool. No offense, Ava.”

You bristled, even as a very small part of you was relieved that he cared enough to intervene. “Ava’s not that drunk. She just needs some water and a good night’s sleep, and Matt clearly needs the same.”

Chris’s gaze hardened. “Look, we can argue all night if you want, but at the end of the day, I’m not letting you carry his drunk ass home alone.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Matt swayed dangerously, cutting you off. Chris moved closer in an instant, grabbing his brother by the shoulders and steadying him. Matt mumbled something incoherent, then blinked as if just recognizing Chris was there.

“Hey, kid,” Matt slurred, lips curling into a lazy grin. “Missed you… or something.”

Chris rolled his eyes, but you didn’t miss the fleeting look of concern. “You see?” he said flatly. “He needs someone who can actually hold him upright.”

You blew out a breath, too exhausted and too buzzed to keep up the argument. Fine. Let him play the hero. “Alright,” you relented. “Let’s just get them home.”

With that, the four of you spilled out into the cool night air, Matt and Ava clutching onto each other and you, while Chris hovered on the other side. The walk was short but felt endless with your two drunken companions swaying and stumbling. Chris moved in to help whenever Matt nearly toppled over.

Every time his arm brushed yours, every time your shoulders bumped, the tension between you flared to life again—like an ember bursting into flame. It was maddening how your body seemed to respond to him, no matter how much you tried to tamp it down.

Finally, you reached your apartment building. You fumbled with the keys, grateful when the door clicked open. Inside, you guided Ava to her bedroom, where she promptly collapsed onto the bed. Matt, half-lidded and swaying on his feet, followed suit, flopping down next to her without a second thought.

You stood there, watching them, heart still pounding with adrenaline—or maybe something else. You could feel Chris behind you, close enough that warmth radiated off his body. The quiet of the apartment only amplified your awareness of him, every breath and shift in his stance sending your nerves sparking.

You turned, finding yourself nearly chest to chest with him, the small hallway leaving little room to maneuver. His eyes pinned you in place, a swirl of emotions dancing across those blue irises—conflict, frustration, and under it all, that magnetic pull you knew too well.

“So,” you murmured, voice low, “I guess you’re not leaving yet, are you?”

Chris swallowed, and for a moment, you saw the mask slip. “No,” he said quietly. “Not yet.”

You turned, finding yourself nearly chest to chest with him, the small hallway leaving little room to maneuver. His eyes pinned you in place, a swirl of emotions dancing across those blue irises—conflict, frustration, and under it all, that magnetic pull you knew too well.

“So,” you murmured, voice low, “I guess you’re not leaving yet, are you?”

Chris swallowed, and for a moment, you saw the mask slip. “No,” he said quietly. “Not yet.”

The tension hovering in the narrow space was almost suffocating, so thick it felt like you could reach out and touch it. But before either of you could say another word, a sudden commotion broke the moment.

A door creaked behind you. Ava, looking pale and disoriented, stumbled out of the bedroom. She blinked blearily in the dim light. You recognized that look immediately: she was about to be sick.

“Ava,” you said in alarm, stepping forward. “Oh no—”

But it was too late. Her face contorted, and she heaved forward. Chris, seeing what was about to happen, darted sideways to avoid the inevitable spray—only to crash directly into you.

“Shit!” you yelped as he slammed your shoulder. You lost your balance, stumbling back until the sharp corner of the wall made harsh contact with your head. Pain exploded at your temple, and you winced, hissing through your teeth.

Meanwhile, poor Chris was still caught in the line of fire, a portion of Ava’s vomit hitting his arm and splattering onto his shirt. He recoiled, muttering a string of curses under his breath.

Ava wiped her mouth, tears in her eyes, and mumbled something close to an apology. “I—I’m sorry… ‘m so sorry—”

You pressed a hand to your head, anger flaring as throbbing pain pulsed behind your skull. “What the hell, Chris?” you snapped, forcing yourself to straighten. “You didn’t have to knock me over!”

He turned on you, face drawn tight with frustration and disgust from the mess on his sleeve. “You were in the way,” he ground out. “I’m not exactly going to stand there and get covered in puke—though apparently, that happened anyway.”

Your brows shot up, temper sparking. “Oh, so that makes it okay to push me? You’re a real gentleman.”

Chris’s jaw flexed. “Don’t start with me. I’m not the one who can’t hold down a drink.”

“Hey!” Ava croaked from behind him, her voice wuavering. She slumped against the wall, looking miserable. “I didn’t mean—”

“Ava,” Matt’s voice interrupted from the doorway. He appeared with bleary eyes, hair sticking up in every direction. He took in the scene—Ava hunched over, you rubbing your head, Chris spattered in vomit—and promptly turned on his brother. “Chris, why the hell are you yelling at her?”

Chris took a breath, trying to calm himself, but the frustration was evident in every line of his posture. “I’m not yelling at her,” he said through gritted teeth, yanking at the soiled fabric of his sleeve. “But maybe try not to puke on people next time!”

Matt’s face darkened, protective anger flaring up. “Dude, she’s drunk and sick. Back off.”

A tense beat of silence followed, the four of you standing in that cramped hallway, hearts pounding, heads throbbing—some from booze, others from bruises, and Chris from equal parts disgust and fury.

You rubbed the spot on your head again, wincing at the dull ache that pulsed beneath your fingers. Ava slid down the wall to sit, eyes closed, still mumbling apologies. Matt hovered beside her, steadying her as best he could.

You pressed a hand gingerly to your head, wincing at the dull throb that had settled behind your temple. Meanwhile, Ava slumped on the floor, still half-groggy and covered in the remnants of her unfortunate mishap. Matt hovered next to her, one hand on her shoulder to keep her steady.

“Let’s get you two cleaned up,” you sighed, ignoring the furious pulse of pain at your temple.

Ava groaned but let you help her to her feet. Chris stayed by the wall, still looking half-annoyed, half-disgusted, but when Matt stumbled, he automatically reached out to steady him. Despite the tension in the air, the four of you worked together to guide your drunken friends toward the bathroom.

Once inside, you managed to get Ava to rinse her mouth while Matt hovered behind her, swaying dangerously. Chris stood awkwardly in the doorway, arms folded over his chest, that exasperated expression never leaving his face.

“Brush her teeth,” he said gruffly, nodding to the unopened toothbrush sitting on the counter.

“I know how to take care of my best friend, thanks,” you shot back, though your voice lacked its usual bite. Your head hurt too much to spar properly.

He rolled his eyes, letting out a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. I’ll handle Matt.”

You and Chris maneuvered around each other in the cramped space, exchanging occasional glares whenever you nearly bumped hips. Eventually, you got Ava’s teeth brushed—despite her half-hearted protests—and Chris convinced Matt to rinse his face with cold water, muttering warnings all the while about “not throwing up on me, too.”

By the time Ava and Matt were more or less presentable, both of them looked ready to pass out on the spot. You guided Ava back to her bedroom while Chris helped Matt stumble in behind her. They collapsed onto the bed, Matt’s arm draped protectively over Ava’s waist, and within seconds, both were out like lights.

You stood there for a moment, catching your breath, still nursing the throbbing pain in your skull. Chris lingered behind you, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“You alright?” he asked finally, voice lower now that Matt and Ava were asleep.

Your head still pounded, but there was no ignoring the fact that Chris’s shirt was splattered with sink water and vomit stains. “I’ll live,” you muttered, pressing your fingers gingerly to your temple.

He huffed, his tone edging into that familiar snark. “You sure? Looked like you smacked your head pretty hard.”

“I wouldn’t have smacked it if you hadn’t used me as a human shield,” you shot back, though there was more weariness than heat in your voice.

Chris dragged a hand across his jaw, clearly wrestling with another sarcastic comeback. But instead of firing off a retort, he let out a frustrated groan. “This shirt is disgusting,” he grumbled, glancing down at the dark splotches. With a brusque motion, he yanked it over his head.

Your mouth went dry at the sight of him bare-chested—this close, the hallway lighting throwing every muscle into relief. You tried to be discreet, but your gaze couldn’t help but linger on the defined planes of his chest, the way his shoulders had broadened since high school. You forced yourself to snap out of it, shifting your eyes quickly back to his face, hoping he hadn’t noticed the heat creeping up your cheeks.

He shot you a quick look that might have been amusement or annoyance, you couldn’t tell. “What?” he asked, almost daring you to say something.

You cleared your throat, ignoring the traitorous flutter in your stomach. “Nothing. Let’s just… get you cleaned up.”

Without another word, you led the way to the kitchen, pressing a hand against your throbbing head as you walked. Chris followed with the soiled shirt balled in one hand.

“Sit,” he ordered once you reached the small table, his voice unusually gentle.

Too tired to bicker, you sank into a chair. Chris rummaged in the freezer and emerged with a bag of frozen peas, wrapping them in a kitchen towel. He offered it without meeting your gaze.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, pressing the makeshift ice pack to your temple. The cold relief was almost instantaneous, dulling the worst of the ache.

Chris turned toward the sink to rinse out the vomit-stained shirt, muscles in his back flexing as he scrubbed the fabric. You found yourself staring again, and you silently cursed the unwelcome rush of heat that flooded you from head to toe.

Trying to distract yourself, you forced your gaze elsewhere. “Let me… let me grab some dish soap,” you said, pushing yourself up. A bolt of pain in your head nearly made you stumble.

He cut you a sideways glance. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you muttered. But the sudden movement left your head throbbing again, so you settled for just handing him the soap from the counter.

He muttered his thanks, squeezing a little onto the shirt and scrubbing at the stain. The quiet felt thick, loaded with tension that had nothing to do with the earlier chaos.

You tried to focus on the peas pressed to your temple, but your eyes kept wandering. Finally, you gave a short laugh, more at yourself than at him. “You know,” you said, “for a guy who’s half-naked in my kitchen, you’re pretty grouchy.”

He snorted softly, still working on the shirt. “Guess you bring out the best in me.”

A spark of irritation lanced through you, though it was tempered by the undeniable awareness of just how good he looked—tanned skin, toned arms, the faint spattering of freckles you remembered from years before. “You’re not exactly a delight either,” you shot back, pressing the ice pack firmly against your head.

He finished rinsing and wringing out his shirt, then turned off the faucet. Water dripped across his arms, sliding down the lines of his muscles. You forced yourself to keep your eyes level with his, ignoring the tilt in your stomach.

After a moment, Chris set the damp shirt aside and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. He eyed you for a second, then jerked his chin at the peas you clutched. “How’s the head?”

“Haven’t had any complaints,” you smirked and his eyes widened at your innuendo.

You laughed at his reaction but actually answered the question this time. “It’s a little bit better, though.”

He nodded, running a hand through his hair, obviously uncertain where to go from here. “Look,” he said, voice quieter now, “about earlier. I wasn’t trying to push you. I just—”

“Didn’t want to get puked on,” you finished for him. “Yeah, I got that memo.”

He rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. “I’m sorry if I knocked you over.”

You held his gaze, a wry smile tugging at your lips despite everything. “You’re forgiven. Now, are we done acting like idiots, or do we want to keep this up all night?”

A muscle flickered in his jaw, and for a second you thought he’d snap back with another sarcastic remark. But he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nah,” he said softly. “I’m good.”

An awkward beat passed, the both of you taking stock of what remained. Matt and Ava were unconscious in the next room, you had a knot forming on your head, and Chris was half-naked in your kitchen, still dripping water.

“Well,” you said, pushing your chair back, “I guess we should try to sleep. Unless you want to stay up and make sure no one else hurls on you.”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “I’ll take my chances on the couch.”

He grabbed a spare towel off the counter and scrubbed at the stray droplets on his arms. You couldn’t help a quick glance at the way the movement flexed his shoulders, and you hoped your expression didn’t betray how flustered you felt.

“Night, then,” you managed, your voice a little tight.

Chris nodded, stepping around you to head for the living room. “Night.”

You stood there for a moment, the makeshift ice pack pressed to your head, watching him go. As he disappeared around the corner—shirt still in hand—you exhaled slowly, muscles taut from all the pent-up tension of the night.

The morning light drifted through the blinds, prickling against your eyelids as you stirred awake. The dull ache in your temple reminded you exactly why you’d gone to bed last night with a bag of frozen peas pressed to your head. You blinked, slowly registering the muffled sounds coming from the living room.

You pushed the blankets aside and slipped out of bed, wincing at the minor throb that still pulsed behind your temple. Padding into the hallway, you paused at the sight of Chris sprawled on your couch, arms folded over his chest. He looked about as comfortable as one could be when sleeping on a lumpy couch in someone else’s apartment.

He stirred at the sound of your footsteps. His eyes cracked open—still heavy with sleep but alert enough to narrow in on you as you stepped closer.

“Morning,” he grumbled.

Your first instinct was to snap at him—some half-baked comment about overstaying his welcome. But before you could open your mouth, he cut you off, lifting a hand as if to ward off your tirade.

“Before you bitch me out,” he said, “I’m waiting for Matt to wake up so I can take him home.”

A quick wave of annoyance flared in your chest, but you only sighed. He had a point—Matt was definitely in no state to hop on an Uber last night, and Chris wasn’t the type to leave his brother behind. Instead of biting back, you nodded reluctantly.

“Fine,” you muttered. “At least you didn’t run off in the middle of the night.”

He shot you a look, somewhere between exasperated and amused, but said nothing. A fragile ceasefire, at best.

Just then, you heard a low groan from the hallway. Ava appeared, bleary-eyed and leaning heavily against the wall as if the sheer act of walking was a Herculean effort. Her hair was a mess, and she looked about as hungover as a person could be.

“Ow, my head,” she mumbled. “Did anyone catch the license plate of the truck that ran me the fuck over?”

You grimaced sympathetically. “Welcome to the consequences of your own actions.”

Ava rubbed her temples, squinting as she glanced around the living room. Her eyes fell on Chris, who was watching her with a mild, unreadable expression. She blinked once, twice, then turned to you, face twisted in confusion.

“Um… why is Chris here? Did you guys… fuck?”

Your jaw dropped. Chris actually closed his eyes like he was silently wishing himself elsewhere. After a beat of stunned silence, he cleared his throat. “Where is Matt?”

Ava shot him a mischievous smile despite her pallor. “Oh, you know,” she drawled, her tone teasing, “he’s probably hiding in my room because you two were up all night going at it.”

You and Chris both spluttered in protest. “Ava!” you snapped, cheeks heating. “We did not—”

She raised an eyebrow, wiggling it suggestively, but then cringed as her headache reeled her back in. “Ow. Okay, sorry. Too loud.”

“And too wrong,” Chris added flatly. “The only ‘going at it’ last night was you puking all over me.”

Ava’s eyes went wide, suddenly looking mortified. “Wait, what?”

You let out a half-amused snort, remembering the chaos. “You really don’t remember? You staggered into the hallway and threw up on Chris, then he tried to dodge and slammed me against the wall.”

Chris nodded, eyes flicking pointedly to your temple. “Which gave her that nice bump on her head.”

Ava cringed again, glancing at you with genuine guilt. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I… I blacked out.” She turned to Chris, noticing the faint dried stain still on his forearm. “Oh my God,” she repeated, horror-struck. “Did I really—?”

He shrugged, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Hey, a shower and about twenty gallons of soap later, I’m mostly fine.”

Ava buried her face in her hands. “This is humiliating.” But then, despite her headache, she cracked a small laugh. “I guess that explains why you’re in the living room, huh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, too, as the absurdity of the whole situation sank in. Chris let out a resigned chuckle, shaking his head.

“Believe me, I’d have been long gone if I didn’t have to cart Matt’s drunk ass out of here in a bit,” Chris said.

“I can’t believe I slept through all that,” Ava muttered. “Did I at least apologize?”

“Yes,” you said dryly, “though I’m not sure how coherent it was.”

“Enough to rub vomit in my hair again,” Chris grumbled good-naturedly.

Ava groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Ugh. I’m never drinking like that again.”

Chris smirked. “I’m holding you to that.”

A wry grin tugged at your own lips. After all the tension and drama last night, there was a strange relief in being able to stand here and laugh about it—like all of you were finally exhaling.

“How about I make some coffee?” you offered, tossing a glance at Ava’s pale face. “I think we could all use a little caffeine.”

“Oh, God, yes,” she mumbled, rubbing her forehead.

Chris nodded in agreement. “Sure. Then I can drag Matt home to sleep this off somewhere that’s not your couch.”

The faintest hint of warmth stirred in your chest at the idea of him staying just a little bit longer—even if it was just for coffee. But you pushed that down, focusing on the task at hand.

“Sounds like a plan,” you said, leading the way to the kitchen. Behind you, Chris and Ava followed, still chuckling under their breath at the mess they’d all endured last night.

As you flicked on the coffee maker, a small part of you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen once Matt woke up, once Chris left, once this bizarre morning after turned into actual daylight. But for now, at least, you had peace—and, surprisingly enough, even a laugh or two to share.

You settle around the small kitchen table with Chris and Ava, nursing your cup of coffee. The early sunlight streaming through the window does little to mask the awkwardness lingering from the night before. Ava, sporting a messy bun and still looking a bit drained, leans an elbow on the table and eyes Chris over the rim of her mug.

“So,” she drawls, voice scratchy with sleep but brimming with sass, “get comfortable, Chris. I’m gonna go wake Matt up, and it’s gonna be a while.” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively. “You and Y/N can, I don’t know, get cozy and touch tips while Matt takes me to pound town again.”

You nearly choke on your coffee. Chris’s face goes through about three different shades of horror before settling on exasperated. “First off,” he mutters, setting down his mug a little too hard, “I really don’t need to know the specifics of my brother’s sex life.”

Ava just laughs, utterly unapologetic. “Suit yourself,” she shrugs, sliding off the chair. “But don’t blame me if you two get bored. Find something to do, or each other to do—whatever.”

“Ava, seriously,” you groan, pressing your palms to your eyes. “At least use protection, okay?”

She snorts, rolling her eyes. “Yes, Mom,” she shoots back sarcastically. “You’re so thoughtful.” Then she winks at Chris for good measure. “Think of me fondly while I’m gone.”

With that, she downed the rest of her coffee, set her mug in the sink, and strutted upstairs to Matt’s room, shutting the door with a pointed click behind her.

An awkward hush settles over the kitchen. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, fiddling with the handle of your mug. Chris avoids your gaze at first, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck.

“So,” you say finally, deadpan, “that was subtle of her.”

He huffs a half-laugh, glancing up at the ceiling like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Yeah, subtle as a car crash.”

You both fall silent. Then, from above, a soft thud—followed by the unmistakable sounds of Ava and Matt… reacquainting themselves with each other.

“Oh, God,” you mutter under your breath, cheeks heating. You rub your temples, trying to will the noise away, but it only grows louder.

Chris grimaces, then tries to play it off with a roll of his eyes. “Guess they didn’t waste any time.”

You make a face, sipping your coffee in hopes the caffeine will distract you. “They’re in for round two, apparently.”

A moment passes, filled with an increasingly steady rhythm of moans that filter down the stairs. You and Chris exchange a glance—equal parts discomfort and wry amusement at the sheer absurdity of it.

He breaks the tension by arching an eyebrow. “Reminds me of some of our high school experiences.” There’s a dryness to his tone—like he’s testing how far he can push you.

You sputter, nearly spilling your coffee. “Wow. That’s a throwback.”

A half-smile ghosts across his lips. “Well, she’s not moaning as loud as you did back then.”

Heat flares in your cheeks—part anger, part embarrassment, and, annoyingly, part amusement. “Excuse you?”

He shrugs, crossing his arms, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Just saying, I’ve got a good memory.”

Your eyes narrow as you set your mug aside. “No one asked you to remember. And I’m pretty sure I was never that loud.”

Chris smirks, leaning back in his chair. “You can keep telling yourself that.”

“Ugh.” You glare at him, ignoring the slight flutter in your stomach that you really wish wasn’t there. “And here I thought we’d have a civil morning.”

“I’m plenty civil.” He lifts his coffee cup, giving a mock toast. “You’re the one who let your best friend invite me to loiter in your living room.”

“As if you had no choice in the matter?” you counter, eyebrows shooting up. “You could’ve left at any time—”

“Except for the part where my brother was drunk off his ass and still is, apparently.” He nods toward the ceiling, where Matt and Ava’s very enthusiastic “recovery” session continues.

You roll your eyes, even as a small twinge of guilt twists in your gut. “Fine. You win that one.”

He sets his cup down, a flicker of genuine concern crossing his features. “How’s your head feeling?”

“Better,” you admit grudgingly, resisting the urge to rub the lingering bump. “Still a little sore. You’re lucky I don’t sue you for damages.”

He lets out a dry laugh. “Yeah, good luck explaining that to a judge: ‘Your honor, he dodged puke, and I paid the price.’”

The corners of your mouth quirk up despite yourself. “I’ll have to come up with something a little more dramatic.”

His gaze lingers on you, a hint of that familiar tension creeping into the air between you. For a second, neither of you speak. The echo of moans from upstairs fills the silence, but you try to tune it out, focusing on Chris’s expression. It’s a mix of exasperation and something you can’t quite pin down.

Eventually, he clears his throat, looking away. “Anyway. As soon as they’re done, I’m taking Matt home.”

“Fair enough,” you say, crossing your arms as if to shield yourself from his lingering stare. “I’m just glad he’s not making an even bigger mess down here.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

You share a moment of uneasy quiet, sipping at your drinks and trying to pretend the floor isn’t practically vibrating with Ava and Matt’s activities. Each moan or thump from upstairs seems to underscore the unresolved tension between you and Chris—like the universe is mocking you both.

You collapse onto the couch, remote in hand, while Chris drops heavily onto the opposite end. Neither of you seems particularly eager to be in the kitchen, where the sound of Ava and Matt’s increasingly enthusiastic activities upstairs is even more obvious. Even here, though, you can still catch the muffled rhythms and gasps emanating through the ceiling.

“Want to put something on?” you offer, brandishing the remote as a distraction.

Chris shrugs. “Sure. Maybe it’ll drown them out.”

You flip through streaming services, settling on some mindless show you’ve both seen before—something you can half-watch, half-ignore. Anything to keep the awkward silence at bay.

Except the background noise doesn’t stop. Ava’s voice floats downstairs in a series of moans, clearly not worried about volume control. You feel your face heat, trying hard not to picture what’s happening up there, but it’s impossible to completely shut it out.

Chris catches the faint color in your cheeks and smirks. “You okay?”

You shoot him a glare. “Fine.”

He snorts, eyes flicking toward the ceiling with a knowing tilt of his head. “I guess some people really enjoy their mornings.”

“Can we not analyze it, please?” you mutter, turning up the volume on the TV.

For a few minutes, the two of you watch the show in a tense silence, interrupted only by the occasionally awkward clearing of throats. On the screen, the characters are bantering, their dialogue a hollow cover for the more intimate soundscape filtering down from upstairs.

Eventually, Chris shifts, pressing his knuckles to his mouth as though suppressing a grin. “Kinda like old times, huh?”

You glance at him warily. “Old times… meaning what exactly?” even though you knew exactly what he was reffering to.

He lifts a shoulder. “High school. All that sneaking around we did.” He nods at the ceiling again with a wicked glint in his eyes. “Not that we ever woke the whole house up—but you sure knew how to make noise back then.”

A spike of heat floods your cheeks. “Oh, shut up. I told you I wasn’t that loud.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “I distinctly remember having to clamp a hand over your mouth one time, so your parents wouldn’t figure out I was in your bedroom.”

Your crotch thrums at the memory, even as you roll your eyes. “You’re making that up.”

He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Nope. That was, like… sophomore year?”

“Junior,” you correct quietly, the mental images flashing unbidden behind your eyes���late-night kisses, stolen touches, the muffled giggles when the floor creaked.

Chris spreads his hands, as though he’s proved his point. “See, you do remember.”

You hate the surge of warmth pooling in your stomach, especially with the unmistakable moans from upstairs fueling the tension. Your gaze flicks to him, noticing the way he’s tugging at the collar of his still-bare torso as if he’s feeling the heat, too.

Desperate to reclaim some composure, you turn back to the TV and raise the volume a couple more notches. The show’s bright laughter and goofy dialogue bounce off the living room walls. It helps—just a little—until there’s a particularly loud thud from above, followed by Ava’s not-so-subtle cry of Matt’s name.

You cringe, flicking Chris a sideways glance. His eyebrows are raised, and the corner of his mouth twitches with restrained amusement. “They’re really going for it, huh?”

“Stop it,” you hiss, trying to ignore the thudding of your own heart.

He chuckles, low and mocking. “Hey, it’s not my fault you’re blushing. Maybe it’s bringing back memories for you, too?”

You grit your teeth. “Yes, because the best soundtrack for nostalgia is my best friend hooking up with your brother.”

His gaze slides over you, lingering on the curve of your hips, the lines of your legs tucked up on the couch. “Pretty sure I’m remembering a different soundtrack…”

A fresh wave of tension courses through you, courtesy of those teasing words and the faint recollection of your younger selves entwined in the dark. You can’t help the jittery sensation in your stomach—part annoyance, part undeniable attraction.

“That was forever ago,” you say, voice a little tight.

“Was it, though?” he counters, his voice dropping just enough that the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

You scowl, holding his gaze even though your pulse hammers. “Yes, Chris. It was.”

From upstairs, Ava’s delighted shriek rattles through the ceiling. You stifle a groan, covering your face with one hand. “Oh my God, I am never letting her live this down.”

Chris laughs, and it’s surprisingly genuine. “She’ll do the same to you if the roles were reversed.”

“Probably,” you admit.

You try to refocus on the TV show, but all you can hear is Matt and Ava’s muffled moans, and all you can feel is Chris’s eyes tracking you from the other side of the couch. The air feels charged, like a static storm on the verge of sparking, and you can’t decide if you hate it or crave it.

Finally, you shoot him a sharp look, hoping to douse the tension. “Got something to say?”

He smirks. “No, not really. Just reminded that you and I used to have this effect on each other… and it was never quiet.”

Your cheeks burn, and you set your jaw, refusing to let him rile you up any further. “Keep it up, and I’ll crank the TV so loud the neighbors call the cops.”

“And here I was, thinking we could just talk about the old days,” he drawls, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his bare skin shifting with the motion. “But hey, if the thought of me dicking you down is too much for you to control yourself right now, then I get it.

You open your mouth to retort—except your heart is pounding and your mind can’t help flipping through flashes of those stolen nights in high school. The way his hands felt on you, the desperate hushes whenever there was a risk of being caught, the rush of young desire you never quite forgot.

Upstairs, Ava lets out another moan that makes you cringe and press the remote’s volume button a few more times. “God, they better wrap this up soon.”

Chris arches an eyebrow, smirk widening. “Jealous?”

Your eyes snap to his. “Of them?”

He lifts a shoulder, carefully casual. ‘You tell me.”

A beat passes, and you can’t help flicking a glance at his bare torso—at the taut muscles that were far less defined back in high school, the confident air that certainly wasn’t there as a lanky teenager. You snap your eyes back to the TV, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

He chuckles, and it’s a low, lazy sound that does nothing to steady your heart rate. You pretend you’re enthralled by the sitcom characters on the screen, hoping the next few minutes pass quickly—or that Ava and Matt finally decide they’ve had enough.

But as you stare at the screen, you find your mind wandering, remembering the feel of his lips on yours, that electric rush you once craved. And judging by the heavy silence from Chris’s side of the couch, he’s remembering, too.

You and Chris remain on opposite ends of the couch, the TV blaring in a desperate attempt to drown out Ava and Matt’s enthusiastic finale. Finally, the unmistakable moans and muffled thuds from upstairs taper off. A few minutes later, you hear shuffling footsteps on the stairs.

Ava appears in the living room doorway, hair even more disheveled than before, cheeks flushed. She looks from you to Chris, who’s still shirtless, arms crossed as he lounges in an almost-too-casual pose. Something in her gaze flickers—mischief, curiosity—and you realize she’s not missing a single detail.

“All right,” she says, stretching her arms over her head like she’s been in a yoga class instead of a bedroom romp. “We’re done. For now.” Then she eyes you and Chris. “So, did you two fuck while we were busy, or…?”

Your face heats instantly. “No!” you blurt out, a little too fast. “Of course not.”

Chris just huffs a low laugh, that infuriating smirk tugging at his lips. “No,” he echoes, nonchalantly. But he doesn’t deny the tension that’s been crackling between you both all morning.

Ava narrows her eyes, scanning the room. “Mmm-hmm, sure,” she says with a knowing drawl. She lets her gaze settle on Chris for a moment, then glances back to you. Though she doesn’t say anything outright, it’s like she’s clocked something beneath the waistband of his sweats—and is doing her best not to cackle.

Before you can overthink her silent observation, Matt stumbles down the stairs behind her, hair sticking up in every possible direction. He looks like he barely has the energy to walk straight.

Chris pushes up from the couch—maybe a little too abruptly, as if trying to hide any…obvious issues. “C’mon, man,” he mutters, grabbing Matt by the arm with more force than necessary. “Time to get you home.”

Matt, still half-asleep, doesn’t protest. He just mumbles something incoherent, kisses Ava goodbye,  and lets Chris steer him toward the door. Ava steps aside, watching them go, biting back a grin.

“Uh, thanks for the hospitality, I guess,” Chris calls over his shoulder, still wearing that faint smirk. He glances at you once, eyes lingering a beat longer than normal before he hauls Matt outside.

The door clicks shut. Silence falls—blessedly free of moaning and snark. You exhale, slumping back against the couch cushion. All the tension of the morning seems to settle in your shoulders, and you rub the knot at the back of your neck.

Then Ava whips around, hands on her hips, eyes dancing with amusement. “Holy shit, girl,” she hisses, scurrying over to flop down beside you. “Did you see the giant hard-on Chris had?”

You choke on air, cheeks flaming. “Ava!”

She throws her head back, laughing despite her obvious hangover. “I’m serious! Dude was packing some serious heat under those sweatpants. And you’re telling me you two didn’t get busy?”

Your face feels like it’s on fire. “We did not—no! Absolutely not,” you insist, shaking your head. “And can we not talk about…that?”

Ava props an elbow on the back of the couch, eyeing you like she sees right through your protest. “So you’re telling me he was just sitting here, sporting a massive boner, and nothing happened?” She snorts. “He’s still into you, obviously.”

You swallow hard, memories of the heated banter and near-constant tension flashing through your mind. “It’s not like that,” you try again, but the argument sounds weak even to your own ears. “He’s just waiting for Matt—well, was waiting—to get home safe.”

“Right,” she says, drawing the word out. Then she pats your leg in mock sympathy, still clearly amused. “You know you’re free to live your life, right? Even if it includes hooking up with your old…whatever the fuck he was.”

You set your jaw, refusing to meet her gleeful gaze. “He’s annoying. We bicker. That’s it.”

Ava shrugs, standing up to stretch again. “Annoying plus bickering can sometimes equal good, angry sex. Just saying.”

You toss a couch pillow at her, sending her into another wave of laughter. “Oh my God, you’re impossible.”

She catches the pillow and smirks. “And you’re in denial, babe.” Then she lifts her hands in surrender. “But hey, my job here is done. I’m all freshened up, physically satisfied, and apparently, I missed quite a show down here, too.”

Rolling your eyes dramatically, you bury your face in your hands. “I cannot deal with this conversation before lunch.”

Ava laughs again, patting your shoulder and leaning in conspiratorially. “Fine, fine. I’ll let you think about Chris’s, um, situation in peace.”

With that, she saunters off to the kitchen, presumably for more coffee—or to nurse her hangover with some Advil. You remain on the couch, heart still beating a tad too fast, unable to stop yourself from recalling the way Chris smirked when Ava asked if you’d hooked up.

Because maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t as opposed to the idea as you claimed to be. And if Ava’s not wrong about the whole “obvious interest” thing, then the next time you see him, it might be a whole new kind of mess.

tags: @mattsobvimyfav

comment to be on the tag list!

[eggrollforyou]

Secrets

Law x F!Reader

WC: ~3000

CW: NSFW, MDNI, use of sex toys, established relationship, consensual voyeurism, fingering, oral (F receiving), soft dom Law, use of pet names, mutual masturbation, use of Y/N, penetrative sex, p in v

A/N: This one is for you @shy-writer-999 ! I hope this scratches that itch. Barely proofread. Enjoy!

“Where the HELL is that damn comic?!” Law shouted, his voice grated with frustration. He’s spent the last 30 minutes tearing your shared room apart looking for his newest Sora comic find. All he wanted was to take a few minutes to have a break and enjoy a light read. Something to break the monotony of medical journals and textbooks. But he couldn’t for the life of him remember where he set the comic. His desk was messier than usual, papers and books scattered and disorganized as he shifted everything around, swearing he left it on the desk. The bookshelf was left just as messy in his search, rummaging through every shelf. He rubbed his hand down his face in frustration. Alright, clearly it got put somewhere stupid. Where else can I look? He thought to himself. He couldn’t ask you where it was, you were out getting supplies with Ikkaku at the island where you were currently docked.

He was hoping to get to read while the crew were out on the island, giving him a true opportunity to be alone without worrying someone barging in and interrupting his personal time but at this rate that was less and less likely to happen. Time to move on to more unusual places to check he thinks as he walks to his nightstand. Pulling open the drawer and still not seeing anything. Maybe it’s in (Y/N)’s nightstand. At this fucking point it could be anywhere. He makes his way around the bed and pulls your nightstand drawer open with such force that all of the contents flew forward, slamming into the front of the drawer. Suddenly, he forgot what he was looking for. Right before him was something that took him completely by surprise. When he opened the drawer so forcefully, he exposed your sex toys. He smirked, picking up a toy in each hand- a wand and a clit stimulator. And just like that, the comic was long forgotten. He felt a pulse of desire as he thought about you using these. When was the last time she used this? Why does she have this? WHEN did she get them? Oh…this is going to be fun.

You and Ikkaku were making your way back to the submarine with the crate of medical supplies that Law requested you both pick up. Laughing and joking about the trouble Bepo almost got into at the market for clumsily bumping a produce stand, nearly destroying the poor farmer’s entire crop, you both entered the ship loudly. Law’s ears perked up when he heard your fit of giggles. He was in your shared room, lying in wait for your return. When you and Ikkaku unloaded the supplies and put them away, you noticed one of Law’s Sora comics under a supply of latex gloves. “Hey, Ikkaku, do you mind cataloguing these supplies? I need to get this to the Captain,” you raise the comic. “Oh yea, go for it. I’ll take care of this,” she smiles. “Thanks! I’ll see you later! I’ll catalogue on the next supply run,” you wink as you walk out of the room to head to your quarters.

You’re humming as you open the door to your quarters, “Laaaaw, baby, look what I found with the medical supplies,” you raise the comic to show your loot. “I thought you might want to read it, right? Isn’t this the new one,” and you stop. Jaw dropped, heat rushing to your cheeks, surely showing your embarrassment when you are met with the sight of Law, sitting at his desk, waiting for you. And your sex toys were on the desk in front of him. You quickly shut the door behind you. He wore a cocky half smile, his fingers pressed together in front of him. “U-uhmmm….did you go through my stuff, Law?” you question, your voice small, barely above a whisper. Your heartbeat pounding in your ears, you try to swallow the lump forming in your throat. “I was looking for that comic, thank you for finding it by the way, and checked our nightstands. Found these in there,” as he points to the toys on his now clean desk. You feel so warm with embarrassment and being on the spot. You only got them when you and Law were separated for so long when he was on Punk Hazard and Dressrosa. You needed the toys because your own hands were no longer cutting it after him. What his hands can do, make you melt.

“Am I not enough for you?” Law questions, his eyes growing dark as he stands up. You gulp, “You’re more than enough, Law. I got them when you were on Punk Hazard and Dressrosa. It was so long without you…..and I-I couldn’t take care of it myself because you’re too good at it,” you shyly smirk. He chuckles, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest as he grabs the toys and walks to you. Holding them up in front of you, he looks down and back up at you, “I want you to show me how you use them….for…research purposes.” You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Your embarrassment quickly dissipates, replaced by desire in your belly as his request. “O-okay…,” you pause, waiting to see if he gives you any further direction. “Pick one,” he smirks as his gaze grows more intense, boring through you.

You pick the wand and make your way to the bed, unzipping your boiler suit, stripping down to your tank top and shorts underneath. You sit on the bed, shifting to a slight recline with your legs out and knees slightly bent. He pulls his chair around his desk to the end of the bed and sits down, arms crossed as he watches you. You gulp, I can’t believe this is happening, you think to yourself as you unbutton your shorts, shimmying out of them and your underwear at the same time. You kick them off at him. He catches them, his devilish smile and heavy lidded eyes spurring more confidence in you. “Spread your legs, baby,” he growls and you instantly comply, “That's it…just like that.” Exposing your cunt to him, you grow wetter by the second. You turn on your wand and as you take it to the apex of your thighs, you slowly rub your other hand down your other thigh. Pressing the wand on your clit, you immediately close your eyes in the pleasure the stimulation brings. You gasp and bite your lip, slowly increasing the pressure and moving the wand in small circles on your clit.

Law leans forward as he adjusts his jeans, his length achingly tight in them, as he rests his elbows on his knees. His breathing increases as he watches you pleasure yourself. Your head thrown back in pleasure, eyes closed, biting your lip. It’s driving him wild. He wants nothing more than to confirm how much more pleasure he brings you, but he’s enjoying himself at the moment. Trying to hold out before he ruins you. “Don’t close your eyes, baby. Look at me,” he commands. Your eyes snap open and you both take in each other’s forms. You apply more pressure with the wand, bringing yourself closer to orgasm. You're spurred on by seeing him palm his length through his jeans. Suddenly, he drops your shorts but still holds your panties. He unbottons his jeans and pulls them down, exposing his hard cock- tip angry and red from its confinement- as he wraps your panties around his length and begins slowly fisting himself with them. You moan at the sight and stop pleasuring yourself for a moment. You groan then, not intending to stop. “Please, Law, please make me feel good. No one else can like you,” you plead. “Tch- don’t stop. Be a good girl and cum for me. If you’re good, then I’ll fuck you,” he demands as he continues to fist his cock.

You bite your lip harder at the sight and nod as you press the wand to your clit again. As you adjust the pressure you’re applying from harder to lighter, you continue to watch each other, connecting through intense eye contact which only fuels your desire. You push one leg out straight and bring the other up, grabbing your knee as you feel the coil in your abdomen begin to unravel. Your eyes close tightly as you approach your orgasm and with a harder press from the wand, you snap. “F-fuuck, yes, Law,” you cry out as you cum, your cunt throbbing around nothing as you get even wetter, leaving a slick shine on the tip of the wand.

As you come down, you hear Law shifting, “That’s it…good girl. Let me take care of you now,” he says darkly. You look up and see him standing next to you at the edge of the bed, he’s already stripped down to nothing. You quickly pull off your shirt and unclasp your bra. You yelp in surprise as he moves you on the bed so your legs are bent over the edge. He gets down on his knees as he presses your thighs up, exposing yourself completely to him, “I want to hear my name on your lips when I make you cum, got it?” he rumbles.

He immediately takes your clit into his mouth, cheeks hollowing as he sucks between harsh flicks of his tongue. “Fuck, oh my god- hng,” you shout as your hands find purchase in his dark locks. He moans at the feeling of you tugging his hair and continues eating you like a man starved. Between him fucking you with his tongue and going back to sucking your clit, you’re on the verge of another orgasm. “Oh god, don’t stop, right there” you cry out as he has you tumbling over the edge again. Your legs twitch and squeeze him. The sounds of his mouth lapping you up obscene and filling the room with your cries of bliss. As you come down, your legs tremble and he leans back, wiping you from his face, “That’s my girl.” He comes up and leans over you, kissing you deeply, forcing his tongue between your lips as you taste yourself. Your hands on each side of his face as he has you caged beneath him. His arm wraps underneath you and he pulls you up to his chest and moves you both further onto the bed.

“Tell me what you want, love,” he whispers into your mouth between kisses. “Hmm,” you moan, “I need you, p-please, fuck me,” you pant. He leans up, and presses your knees to your chest and fists his cock as he takes you in, fucked out and breathless. He lines himself up to your pussy and presses in slowly, as he leans forward over you. When he presses to the hilt, you’re both panting, foreheads pressed together as he pauses, trying not to cum immediately at the feeling of your warm, wet, walls clenching around him. He presses a kiss to your soft lips and leans up, moving his hands to grab your hips, pressing sharp indents into your flesh. He begins thrusting into you, enamored by how your cunt takes all of him and it awakens something possessive within him. “Fuck, look how well you take me. You’re mine, got it? Nothing and no one can make you feel this good.” You nod, unable to speak, as you’re lost in the pleasure of his cock stretching and filling you completely. Your moans grow louder as he picks up his pace, sweat glistening on his brow. “Hnng,” you cry out as he thrusts particularly harshly, slamming into your cervix. “Fuuuhck, I love the sounds you make. Just for me,” he pants as he loses himself in you.

He suddenly pulls out and you cry out in frustration at the empty feeling. You press up to your elbows, “W-why’d you stop, baby?” you pant. ���C’mere,” he pulls you up as he sits down, pulling you onto his lap. He grabs your breasts as you push them into his face, rolling your nipples between his fingers as he takes one into his mouth, sucking and biting as if they’ll disappear if he doesn’t pay them attention. You throw your head back, eyes shut tight. Reaching down, you line himself up to your entrance and sit down on his throbbing cock, gasping when you’re fully seated on top of him. “Go on, fuck yourself on my cock,” Law rumbles, his voice deep and thick with lust.

He’s as drunk with you as you are with him as you begin riding him as his hands roughly pull across your body. You bounce up and down his length until your legs and hips burn. Pushing through the pain to chase your orgasm. “Shit, just like that baby- fuuuuhhhck,” he cries out as he wraps his arms under yours and pulls you down grabbing your shoulders. You feel him pulse as he cums, spilling thick ropes into you and you roll your hips, grinding your clit on his abdomen. “I know you have one more for me baby,” he whispers breathlessly into your mouth as he kisses you. As you're grinding, feeling him pulse within you, and feeling his release trickling out of you with your movements, you cum again. Pleasure wracking your body as Law leaves no space between you. You’re overwhelmed with pleasure. All you feel, smell, and think is him as you lose yourself and cry out his name over and over.

You still, sitting in his lap as you collapse forward, utterly spent. He wraps his arms around you and holds you tightly as you both come down from your highs. Trying to catch your breath in the crook of his neck, you feel him press kisses along your shoulder. “Hmmm,” he exhales, “So which one is better?” he asks, trying to stifle a laugh. You pull back to look at him, “Oh hush!” you laugh as you playfully push his shoulder, laughing together intimately.

Tags: @shy-writer-999 @dreamcastgirl99

Dividers by: @/cafekitsune

[monokoitari]

Months after Binghe falls into the Endless Abyss, the entire Cang Qiong Sect begins to theorize that Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua definitely have something.

Well, mainly because:

a) The Omega Shen Qingqiu, who had been in deep and devastating mourning that was half a mourning widow and half a mother who lost a puppy, had ceased to reek of despair and regret.

b) Anyone who entered the bamboo house, be the disciples or other Peak Lords to take care of Shen Qingqiu, were going to smell the scent of the silly Alpha Shang Qinghua. A marking that seemed almost accidental on his furniture, robes, and books. As if the alpha had just relaxed enough, as if the bamboo house was his home too. (Few people entered Shang Qinghua's house, but the few who did also felt the same comfortable scent from Shen Qingqiu.)

c) Yes, it was clear that Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua spent too much time together. Too long which meant that, many times, some disciples of Qing Jing could see their Shang-shishu sneaking out of the bamboo house on the walk of shame, with the same clothes he had come in the day before, very wrinkled, probably with more dark circles, as if he hadn't slept at all.

d) ... and of course, all the courtship that the other Cang Qiong alphas knew perfectly well. Because Shang Qinghua, even small and annoying for an Alpha, proved to be a good provider (he was always bringing Shen Qingqiu snacks, making sure he ate, making him taste his own roasted seeds reaching to feed him with his own hand while the Peak Lord of Qing Jing read concentratedly), proving that despite his size and stature he was a strong Alpha (Qing Jing's disciples, especially, had seen their Shang-shishu carry their Shizun on his shoulder many times, even when their Shizun was kicking in a very... childish way), proving that he was ready enough to support and take care of a family (how many times had the disciples been spoiled by their Shang-shishu with sweets and pats when he came to visit Qing Jing?), and at the same time caring about the interests and desires of the Omega he was courting (because everyone knew that Shang Qinghua had never been a big fan of monsters, beasts and flora. And yet, he was always ordering new books which he then gifted to his Shen Qingqiu).

Yeah, all the peak leaders think, completely convinced of what they are seeing. Shang Qinghua is courting Shen Qingqiu. And the way Shen Qingqiu doesn't leave his side, he is always scented with Shang Qinghua's Alpha scent, and he is definitely hitting the Alpha just to find excuses to touch him, it seems Shen Qingqiu is accepting, and very gladly, the courtship.

No one understands how that happened, really, but they are pleased with the progress. It was about time for a wedding that would unite the Peak Lords a little more! They just hope to hear about it soon.

...

Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu have no idea why the other Peak Lords, and even their own disciples!!! are looking at them in such a chilling manner. They, completely oblivious, are just looking for a way to get out alive after Binghe returns from the abyss for their heads. Yes, sometimes they spend the whole night debating ideas... and talking about anime and manga and theorizing about their endings that they will never get to see, but hey!! They are two transmigrating bros existing in that world, they can afford to be themselves like that!!

And, maybe Shen Qingqiu finds it a little relaxing when Shang Qinghua marks his wrists with his scent before leaving. It calms those fucking omega instincts of crying and writhing for his poor puppy in the Endless Abyss, alone, hungry and suffering. And, well, Shang Qinghua likes to leave his scent on his friend's stuff because, what the fuck, his instincts are screaming at him that he can't let the omega go around crying over his lost Bingpup (and he feels guilty for all of the Abyss thing).

They're just two bros existing and trying to survive. Nothing weird. Why are the other Peak Lords talking about a wedding? Who's getting married?

[akutasoda]

my silence is my cowardice

prompt - words left unsaid

including - boothill

warnings - gn!reader, slight fluff, angst no comfort, wc - 855

a/n: req by the lovely icarus ( @fxngtasy / @rusted-pride ) <3 -> "if the new years reqs are still open,,,, perchance,,,z, perhaps,,,,,,,,, boothill,,,,,,,? mayhaps? no pressure of course tho if theyve all filled up ^u^ he just seems like he might fit w some of the prompts"

boothill was never one for sentiments.

he wasn't even someone who was good with words, so holding a sentiment was rather out of the galaxy rangers field.

perhaps it was due to the fact that he was a galaxy ranger - they didn't exactly live the most social lifestyles. or maybe it was due to the fact that bounty hunting wasn't a job for those who liked to socialise and spend time with people.

but whatever it was, boothill was perfectly comfortable with drifting through the cosmo's on his own. when he had a goal in mind and knew how to achieve it, that was his priority. finding the scum who ruined his life was always going to be his priority until he completed it.

he never really thought that he'd have anyone else in his life that he cared about more than his late family. staying in one place was an impossible occurrence and so he never developed deeper bonds with people than a friendly face value - he knew some other galaxy rangers and were quite well acquainted with them, but that wasn't exactly the same.

and yet here you were.

boothill had stayed a bit too long on the current planet and became quite well acquainted with you, the local who had accommodated him and even helped him with finding his way around.

and even with what little actual time he had spent in your company, he'd grown very fond of your presence. so much so that it was still quite a shock to him just how much you'd grown on him.

boothill could even be attributed to still being in denial that you'd grown on him so much. but the truth was there.

and it was evident by many different factors. namely that boothill longed for presence, everytime you weren't near he found himself wondering what you could be doing or how long it would be before he saw you again.

frankly, it was quite unbecoming of him.

boothill didn't like it one bit. it wasn't like him to care this much about someone else, especially one who he hadn't known for that long and so, it scared him.

everytime he caught himself feeling any kind of positive emotion toward you, he caught himself and near forced himself to snap out of it. he couldn't afford to form attachments to people - and even if he could, he didn't know how and the constant fear of losing the ones he loved was a constant nagging in the back of his mind.

afterall, you can't lose what you can't have.

“are you sure we can't meet again or keep in contact?” you poised, staring at the cowboy as he prepared to make his departure

he let out a low chuckle and shook his head.

but he was lying, and saying it through his teeth would've made him feel worse about it. boothill could always visit you or even give you his contact but he couldn't bring himself to do either.

he desperately wanted to, but he had to hold himself back.

so he stayed silent - it seemed cold and much too distant to still be the man you'd known before. boothill feared that if he allowed himself to speak, he would not be able to depart and leave you behind. that he would start getting his feelings off his chest and establish his desired attachment to you.

but it was best for him to stay quiet. he wasn't ever good with words anyway.

he'd been close to people before to know what happens when they get ripped away from him. his entire world gone up in flames within seconds. having people to care about never ended well for him.

and it certainly wouldn't now either. he couldn't go through that again.

some may call it the coward's way out, himself included, but boothill bid his farewell with as little words as he possibly could and prepared himself to go about his life as usual, before he'd met you. but you could tell something was off and boothill could see it on your face.

it pained him, you clearly showed care and concern for him and yet here he was treating you like someone he'd hunt down. he closed his eyes and sucked in a harsh breath.

boothill left without another word or even glance in your direction.

a harsh farewell to someone he cared about deeply but couldn't face to stay around anymore.

he really was a coward.

[thesongoficeandfir3]

Dark!Aegon i x reader

A/n: 18+ ONLY! reader is a Baratheon but race is NOT mentioned however the reader does have the features of a Baratheon (blue eyes and black hair), reader is female with female anatomy

Warnings: SMUT, DC, power imbalance, age gap (reader is of age), innocence kink? Lmk if I missed any

Would rate 🖤 out of three on dark scale

Would rate 🌶️🌶️ out of five on smut scale

This is my first time writhing smut so sorry if it’s shit 🙃

Might do a dark Maegor or Young Tywin next

- Aegon had always prided himself as being a good man or more so a good man if compared to the many of the corrupt men in Westeros

- He would believe he did not have any darkness in him however, this resolve started to crumble when he met you.

- You were married to one of your father’s vassal houses and had a son however, your husband died fighting one of the many battles in attempt to take over Dorne, and due to the laws your son was sent to live with his paternal family thus leaving you alone once again like before getting married.

- You were still young and fertile and it was not uncommon for a highborn widow to be married again, thus why Orys decided to bring you to the capital where he spent so much time being the king’s hand. The capital always had highborns coming in and out so it was a possibility one of them may be your new husband

- When Aegon first saw you, he immediately was enticed by your beauty. Your hair as dark as the soils of Highgarden flowing down your back, sitting atop your head your mother’s sapphire diadem brought even more attention to your blue eyes, and the gold and black gown you wore clinging to your body beautifully

- He burned the image into his brain the way you nervously dipped your head down when meeting him, your blue eyes scanning his face desperate for his approval. It was almost comical to him how opposite you were to Orys, who was the embodiment of your house sigil as large and intimidating as a stag whereas you looked more like a fawn about to be slaughtered by its prey but he found it amusing none the less

- You would be in KL for many weeks but his obsession would be nothing more than a small flame, simply just admiring you from afar, but the small flame would turn into a roaring blaze when he saw you taking care of his son Aenys.

- You often found yourself alone and bored in the Redkeep since you hardly knew anyone there, so to keep you occupied your father arranged for you to take care of Aenys who was only a babe. You did miss taking care of your son who was now with his father’s family, so it was a sweet reminder

- One day after a stressful meeting Aegon was headed to his chambers for a much needed bath when he passed you in the gardens rocking and singing to a giggling Aenys, all the anger and stress vanished in an instant and calmness washed over him. It had been so long since he felt that way almost forgetting the feeling. That day he also felt a switch within him and a strong desire to keep seeing you like that

- He couldn’t help but use the same power he prided himself not abusing to abuse it to keep seeing you do that. He ordered that you become the sole caretaker and wet nurse to Aenys, making claims that the babe was so much calmer in your presence. You were so blinded by the fact that you missed your own son to see how odd his decision was

- Aegon was swift and discrete in chasing away any potential suitors who looked your way, also giving your father, his hand, more work than usual in attempt for him not to notice how much time the king spent with his daughter

- Convincing you to put Aeny’s crib in your room claiming it would be easier for you to take care of him, but it was more for him being able to walk into your chambers whenever he wishes and he could easily hide his reasoning just wanting to see his son

- When you start to feed Aenys, Aegon would often be nearby, watching with a mixture of peace and lust within him. The peaceful feeling coming from the knowledge that you are providing life-sustaining nourishment for his heir and the lustful feeling coming from what if you continued being the one to nurture and further his bloodline

- He would continue to stare when you place the babe down, your chest momentarily still exposed as you prioritize making Aenys comfortable first before fixing yourself. He would start to daydreaming what it would be like for you to be under him bare like that as his seed dripped from you after he’d taken you

- Things were going well for him soon enough suitors stopped talking with your father about potential proposals and you were always so obedient at his side without protest or rather you didn’t think you were allowed to.

- Panic starts to rise in Aegon when one day while having a drink, Orys mentions he wants to take you back to Storm’s End since he can’t find a match for you here, whereas in Storm’s End there was already possibility of three lords.

- That night Aegon summoned you to his chamber during the hour of the wolf you were about to grab his son thinking Aegon wanted to see him as that was always the case, but but the maid who called for you stopped you and said he only wanted to see you. You were extremely confused but obeyed the king’s command not having the slightest clue what was to happen.

NSFW below 18+ ONLY

You let out a strained gasp and whimper as Aegon’s body was pressed on top of you thrusting himself into you without warning. He squeezes his eyes shut at the way your walls immediately tighten around him making his brain turn into mush. He tries desperately to regain control of his spinning mind, burying his face into your neck and mumbling out calming words and hushes in a poor attempt to calm you as well as regain control of himself.

His body shakes as he tries his best not to thrust himself into you again for he knew if he did he’ll be finished before you two even get anywhere. You then hear him mumbling something over and over again in what you assumed was his mother tongue. Fortunately for you his temporary lack of movement allowed you to get used to his size but you still couldn’t help the soft whimper that slip past your lips.

His platinum blond hair already slick with sweat sticking to his forehead and pressing against your jaw.

He then slightly raised his head, his dark violet eyes scanning your features devouring you with just one look that made you feel butterflies in your stomach. It didn’t help when he moves a hand to caress your cheek, the feeling of it was callous due to the years of wielding blackfyre.

“Are you ready to please your king?” He says through a husky voice.

“Y-yes” you squeak out, surprising yourself with how high an octave your voice went.

With the conformation he doesn’t hesitate to begin rocking himself into immediately finding a rhythm. His movements fast yet calculated, as he was with most things in his life.

You nearly choked on your spit as your body involuntarily sucked in sharply the feeling of ecstasy being new to you. The few times you did lay with your now deceased husband was uncomfortable and quick as he valued his own pleasure over your own. Mewls and incoherent words start to slip past your lips. Embarrassed by this you slap your mouth shut with your hands but Aegon is quick to stop that.

Using one hands to keep himself propped up, he uses the other to restrain your arms above your head. He then rest his forhead on yours, his breathing coming out in pants as he continues his movements.

“You look so beautiful taking care of my sweet boy” he says between strained grunts “he needs a mother badly, he needs you to be the mother he lost” he says almost desperately his pace picking up

You hardly registered his words your back arches aching to meet his increased paced all you could get out was a ‘yes my king’ through a broken moan

Aegon can feel himself getting closer and buried his face back to your neck the sound of his grunts increasing.

“No, call me by my name.” He manages to say through them.

“Aegon” you say almost uncertain and soft, the word being foreign to you as you’ve gotten too used to calling him my king or your highness.

The volume dissatisfied him so he moves the hand that was restraining you bringing it down to your bud rubbing against it in a circular motion with his fingers to cause more friction along with his slamming hips.

“You will call me by my name when we are like this… You will scream it while I take you as mine” he says it like a command his tone booming with authority, a sharp reminder you were truly being taken by the king.

At the sudden added friction his name leave your lips faster than you can think it in a loud and desperate moan followed by curses no highborn lady should ever repeat. Yourself a few hours ago before you were summoned to the king’s chambers would be shocked that you had it in yourself to say that.

He lets out a hiss as he forces himself out of you, getting off the bed to stand at the edge of it before grabbing your hips and dragging you to the edge. You were still lying on your back as Aegon stood, preparing to position himself between your legs once more. First taking just a moment to admire you.

You didn’t have the slightest idea how badly Aegon wanted you below him as he pumped you full of himself, how during all those months how he’d dream about every part of you, how his need for you nearly went out of control when he saw you feeding his son motherhood looked so natural on you.

Aegon the cocky bastard knew you would be his eventually he was a conqueror after all, but his first plan was longer and would take time. It was foiled however when one drunk night with Orys, the man said he was going to take you back to Storm’s End as he couldn’t find a single match for you but already found three at your ancestral home.

The conqueror panicked and for the first time he had acted out irrationally. He wished your first time would be at your wedding you wrapped around the black and red cloaks of house Targaryen, a roaring sign of his success.

He is brought back to reality when he feels you arch your back causing your entrance to meet his tip, a moan escaping from the both of you. He grips your hips slamming back into you , his movements a lot more rougher and deeper with the new found stability.

“You should be honored Lady Baratheon, soon enough you will be carrying the seed of the conqueror and bear me many dragons” the headboard slams against the stonewall the loud slams almost challenges the screams of your pleasure and the begging of his name “you will be the queen” his thrust deeper than the last “you will be my queen.”

It doesn’t take long for you both to reach climax, his seed felt warm as it shot inside of you making you shudder. He desperately wanted to stay there but his body jerked and shook to his avail forcing him out.

As you come down from your high realization finally starts to settle in at what you just had done. A widowed woman of your position lying with a man who was not her husband. To fuel to the fire a married man, a married man who was the king. If word got out you would put great shame and mockery upon not only yourself but your house, the house your innocent father had worked so hard to claim.

Aegon senses the shift in your expression and when you try to get up he pushes you back to the soft bed.

“I’m sorry Aeg—, my king but-“ you try to speak out but Aegon silenced you.

“Shhh it’s ok” he mumbles out climbing back on top of you, his limp member rubbing against your sore entrance blood immediately rushing to it causing it to be hard again. “I’ll deal with Orys he’s a prideful man anyways all he’ll see is his blood on the throne so just relax for now” he says completely drunk on lust he’s not even sure of what he’s saying and his movements are sloppy and uncoordinated all he knew was that he needed to feel that over and over again.

[tangerinesmommy]

''Do whatever you want love, I'm Yours'' (3.2K Words Story)

A Submissive Tangerine × Fem!Reader Fic

⚠️ WARNING/KINKS: NSFW, SMUT, SEX, CUNNINLINGUS, MAN EATING PUSSY, HEAVY USE OF TERMS OF ENDEARMENTS, FEMDOM, ORAL, F(receiving oral), M(giving oral), descriptions of eating pussy, submissive man, dominant woman, mommydom, good boy, comfort, falling in love

----------------------------------------------------------

‘I think, I might fall in love with you.’

The words Tangerine said, were still lingering in your mind. 

He was wrapped up in your arms when you woke up feeling content, with a big grin across your face. 

What a silly fucking man he is. He really said he fell in love with you after the night you two spend together. It was true- the sex was far from imperfections and you two just sorta clicked. Humour wise, personality wise. It also helped that you were awestruck by his looks. His cold blue eyes were endless. His warm orange mustache- so fucking irresistible. 

…for some reason what he said didn’t feel all too silly, did it?

His curly hair was a mess and you noticed some of the hickeys that you left last night. It seemed like he was full of them, but you couldn’t fully see from the blanket covering him.

Moreover, there was such a peaceful expression plastered on his face. All snuggled into you, using you as his body pillow.

It felt strangely comforting having this stranger over.

Just that he didn’t feel like a stranger to you right now. It’s been a while since you felt this adoration and desire for someone. Even more so, for someone you didn’t even know. You don’t even know this ‘Tangerine’ fella. You probably don’t even know his real name. Still here he is. Laying in your bed, wrapped up in your arms- with his head practically resting on your soft breasts. And the world couldn’t feel more at peace. 

He looked at peace, you felt at peace. 

A cute little smile on his face as he was sleeping, soft snores coming out of him, peacefully breathing onto your skin, calming you down. The fuzzy feeling of inner peace and love filling your soul. A wave of protectiveness washing over you.

You wanted to keep him safe. Safe from the world, safe in your arms- safe with you.

And you wanted to listen to his stupid little snores for however long he’d let you. 

You haven’t fallen in love, nor have you felt like falling in love- in FUCKING ages now. 

Your own life was too busy. Work too stressful. There was always- always too much going on to find time to meet somebody. To make somebody part of your daily routine, to share, live and grow with somebody. And yet here he was.

Some gorgeous orange haired man, some stranger named after a fruit, marked up with hickeys from the night you spent with him- laying in your arms and sleeping peacefully. 

A slutty orange haired man and some woman obsessed with making him, hers. What an odd love story. 

‘Mhh… morning, love’ you let go of him as he clears his throat, yawns and stretches. The way- the provocative fucking way his mustache moved with his lips as he spoke turned you so unbelievably on. 

‘Morning, Tangerine’ you respond with a smile and he smiles back at you before turning to his side and snuggling up against you, again. He let out a chuckle and your heart fluttered. Whens the last time you fell in love? Is this what it felt like? 

You held him close to you and caressed his back in a soothing manner. He let out small grunts and sighs and you chuckled with him. 

‘You weren’t that ticklish yesterday.’

‘And excuse ya love, I’m not. I’m just feeling…’ and there it was again. He raised his head, looked up to you. His blue eyes locking with yours and you hoping he meant what he said. That last night was more than just some hook-up. That last night was as meaningful to him as, you realised it has been to you. That this all wasn’t just in your head. More than wishful thinking, more than just a little crush. You two held eye contact for a mere couple of seconds, both of you smiling and anticipating his words. And the world stood still as he spoke softly ‘…enamoured.’ 

He was good at making impressions, wasn’t he just?

‘What you said yesterday about falling in love with me. Was that something you really meant or was it just something you said in the moment?’

‘Oh wow, you don’t ever hold back, do ya?’ He laughed and supported himself on his arms, looking around the room. Which finally gave you a chance to get a good look on the hickeys you left.

Seemed like you really don’t hold back when it comes to him. 

He cleared his throat, his hand raising to move his hair back and feel up his mustache as he answers. ‘Well Darling, you asked me bluntly. I think you can take a blunt answer then. I haven’t known ya for very long, but it’s been years since I've felt this spark in me… enlighten. It’s been years since the last time that I’ve felt hopeful about getting to know somebody. In my line of work, in my life so far I haven’t been able to trust… nor rely on a lot of people but-’ he looked to you and you couldn’t help and realise how very well spoken he was when not begging for you to treat him roughly. 

‘… something about you feels different and I can’t say that I haven’t been a bit of a hopeless romantic all my life, but you feel like what I’d imagine love at first sight to feel like.’ 

There was a moment of silence as you let his words and the realisation of what he said sink in. In the meantime, Tangerine reached out his hand to take yours, raising it to his lips and kissing your knuckles softly.

‘What about you then? Any reciprocating feelings or am I getting ahead of myself now?’

‘I like you too.’

‘Ah, are we back to high school now? Ya want me to write one of those little YES/NO/MAYBE letters to you now luv?’

He joked. You laughed. Still holding on to your hand, kissing it, anticipating your words with his eyes locked onto yours. 

‘Well, pretty boy, something about you does feel… special. Something about you feels right. Like, I look at your face and I want nothing else but to spend the rest of my life with that sexy mustache on my side. You know? Kissing me, eating me out.’ 

Love- and perhaps also Lust confessions come so easy when staring into eyes, that are as endless as any ocean you’ve ever seen. Waves of love coming over you the longer you stare.

‘Okay well, I have more to offer than just my mustache though.’ He whispers against your hand, chuckling as he plants another kiss on it, still holding on to you. It’s clear you’re both eye-fucking eachother when he starts kissing your wrists. 

Instantly you grabbed his chin, pulling him towards you and kissing him ferociously. Sticking your tongue deep inside his mouth, feeling it up. Placing your hands on the back of his head and on the side of his face, pulling him closer.

He didn’t resist, not that he wanted to anyways. He let you lick, kiss and feel up his mouth however hard you wanted to. Pulling him closer and closer, a bit of drool dripping out from how hard you went. He didn’t do much with his tongue, just moaned into you. Wait. He didn’t do much with his tongue?

You pulled out with a bit of a puzzled look and a small whiny pout.

‘Why aren’t you doing anything, darling? You okay?’

He smiled teasingly. What a bastard. ‘Just saving my tongue for something else.’

You understood. And god you wanted nothing more.

‘Oh? Is that so? Somebody’s eager to please.’

‘Of course I am. I’m your good boy, remember?’

Marry me- 

is what you wanted to say, but it was a bit early for that, wasn’t it?

So many thoughts filled your head, your heart started racing, but before you could say anything Tangerine started kissing your chin. 

As soft as anyone has ever kissed it before, you barely could feel it. His lips touched you softly, his perfect mustache brushing against you, it tickled and you couldn’t help but chuckle. 

He nipped at it playfully too. You felt surprised at how careful and affectionate he was being. But you enjoyed it. Greatly. So you didn’t do much besides watching. 

For now. 

Your chin to your neck were being kissed softly. He was careful, not to leave any marks.

Very much unlike you. 

Kissing your collarbone, with his mustache grazing your skin. You were so sensitive already, so turned on- his mustache tickled you extra much. He was getting a lot of irregular breaths out of you. His lips leaving pecks, making small endearing sound- whining with how eager he was to please you.

It didn’t take him very long to reach your breasts. Kissing your right one, massaging your left one with his hand. It was as if his hand and lips were synced, sucking on your nipple with the exact same delicate strength that he was pinching the other one with. 

Tangerine was sucking eagerly and moaning as he did. Fuck. 

Both of you were breathing heavily by now. Your brain had stopped working with how turned on you were, and all you could do is reach your hand up to his hair and ruffle his curls.

At some point you had enough willpower to huff out the words ‘good boy’ while stroking his hair and pulling it slightly. Getting moans out of him, as he was out of you. 

He chuckled. ‘listen it’s fine. Just let me pamper you a bit, mommy’ 

He knows damn well what gets you going, It’s not even been a full day. And he already knows how to play with you. 

‘Fuck you.’

‘You can.’

Both of you shared looks, laughed and he continued taking his sweet time pampering and worshipping your breasts, specifically your hardened nipples.

It made you moan a lot more, than you would have thought. 

Tangerine was not only talented, he was very observant. He had worked you up, left you wanting more. 

Usually people would take this chance to tease you, make you beg and dominate. 

But Tangerine did not. No, he held onto his words of being a good boy. One that wants to please you, worship you and eat you out. 

So when he noticed from your body language that you were ready for more and wanted more- he didn’t waste a single second, to give you exactly what you wanted. 

Kissing down a trail from your breasts to your belly. Nipping at your sensitive belly button carefully but enough to make you buck your hips. His hands following him down your body, gripping your sides and tracing your curves. Caressing you before they grip your thighs.

His breath hitched at the sight of your core. Yours did, at the sight of him down there. 

You didn’t know what to expect when he lifted his face and locked eyes with you.

But you noticed his demeanour, his devotion showing. You could tell from his body language that he was deep inside of that mind space, they call subspace. Ready to serve, ready to be yours once more.

‘May I have your permission?’

‘To do what?’ 

You replied with confidence and dominance. Your mommy persona, your assertiveness, your authority- that he so clearly respected and yearned for, showing.

Even with you being so sensitive from the pampering he’s been doing to your body- You will always be in control. You would always be Mommy.

And you could see from his smirk, that he loved it. 

He was flustered as you asked him to clarify, but he couldn’t hide that he was into it and into you.

‘To eat you out, miss. To make you cum, make y-‘

‘Shush, you do. Now put your mouth to use already.’

After all that teasing, you were eager as well. Eager for him to eat you out, eager for him to make you feel good. 

The moment he stuck his face into your cunt, you heard him moan. 

A low, guttural sort of moan- coming out of him the moment, he breathed you in. 

Some words, some nothings were mumbled from his side. The vibrations of him speaking into you making you, even wetter.

‘Fucking hell.’

Tangerine didn’t seem like he could hold himself back anymore.

His tongue licked from you slit to your most sensitive clit. A big fat, wet stripe, teasing enough to have you groan. Before you could instruct him to do anymore, he was already making nasty wet sounds. Slurping, mumbling, moaning.

He was your slut, for sure.

But he was good at what he did. Working on your inner lips (inner labias).

Sucking on them. Feeling them on his nose. Breathing them in. Groaning. 

Like a starved fucking man, with your pussy the source for life itself. 

He added a finger soon enough. But you noticed how he wasn't looking at you. His eyes were closed.

‘Aren’t you gonna look at me, dear?’

‘Y/n you taste so fucking good. I’m sorry love, I-‘ he looked at you and oh how you missed his sluttyself.   

‘No, no. That's not your choice to make, baby. Keep your eyes on mommy.’

He wasn’t hesitant to follow the orders you gave him. Not at all.

’Yes, mommy.’

‘See that’s better.’ 

Tangerine moved from your inner labia to your clit, his mustache kept on tickling you. You loved every desperate noise and movement he was making and kept on staring at him. 

And he truly was trying to keep his eyes locked with yours, but you tasted like heaven to him, so his eyes kept on fluttering.

Your hand moved through his locks, giving his scalp a massage before gripping a fistful of his fluffy curls to hold onto. He struggled even more to keep his eyes open now, moaning at your grip. ‘Fuck, darling’

The hand that kept on holding a fistful of your ass went to your cunt.  And he slipped his index finger in. Although, with how wet you were it took only a sweet little chuckle from the both of you, to know you were ready to take two. 

He pointed them upward and started the cliche motion of ‘come here’. Hitting your G-spot repeatedly. It certainly got you breathless and moaning quite fast. 

His tongue kept on softly sucking your clitoris. Flicking it with his tongue and at the same time sucking it into his mouth more and more. 

The mix between his hands and mouth stimulating you was one thing, but what was even hotter was how desperate he was being.

How desperately he wanted to please his mommy.

How with every lick, he moaned into you. Desperately trying to get closer to you, shoving his face into you deeper and deeper.

He’d gotten you far into bliss. Making you feel so much pleasure. 

It brought him so much pleasure, he started humping the bed. 

Humping out of neediness, out of eagerness. Humping because he wanted to give you his everything and his all.

The sight, the Touches. His desperation, his Neediness- his Submissiveness.

All things that got you closer and closer. 

Your legs were spasming. With your thighs clamping around his head, almost suffocating him.

But if he’d die right there, he’d die a happy man. 

Your back was arched with all the pleasure going through your body. And you kept on holding onto his hair. The grip strengthening.

Pulling it- his head, his hair towards you. With your body shaking the way that it was, you pulled him upwards. He was fighting back, trying hard to stay nose-deep inside your cunt.

His eyes- now fully focused on yours.

You, yourself couldn’t keep your eyes open anymore. It was overwhelming, all he was doing to your body felt simply- too good.

Too pleasurable, too exhilarating. Too Perfect.

He didn’t stop and you didn’t want him to.

You kept on pulling his hair. Being overtaken by the pleasure.

Until you heard him scream. Not a guttural low moan, it was a deep scream of pain. You let go of his hair immediately, realising it was you who brought him pain.

‘Fuck, I’m so sorry.'

Obviously you didn’t mean to hurt him, you also didn’t mean for him to pull away his mouth and stop eating you out. 

Before you could say anymore and tend his scalp, Tangerine said words that made you cum from just the sounds of them. 

‘Do whatever you want love, I’m yours.’

That simple phrase, those simple words. 

From the man that was a mere stranger a few hours ago and is now slowly turning into the love of your life- made you cum, instantly. 

He was a bit surprised to see you cum from his words, but the smug smile on his revealed his pride. You two laughed it off and he licked you clean.

What a gentleman. 

———

Finally out of bed, sitting in your kitchen you made coffee for the both of you.

It was the first time, in what felt like ages, you two saw eachother in clothes again. 

Some robe of yours bound lazily around your waist and him dressed in his normal suit attire again, with only his hair a bit out of place. The rest of him looking as taken care of as when you met him. 

You handed him a mug and sat across him. Both of you laughing to eachother lovingly, once again eye-fucking.

‘Love, I wanted to tell ya, you taste fuckin divine. Excuse my language’

He sipped on his coffee and smiled at you, before briefly looking away. You kept your eyes on him and noticed the distress in his expression. 

His eyes said so much. They were telling a story to you. You could see the pain in them. The man must have been through something. At the same time, his eyes were so unbelievably cold. Was it only because they were blue? You wonder what it is he does for a living. 

There was still so much that you didn’t know about Tangerine or his life. But whatever it was like. You wanted him to share it with you, to become a part of it and make it better.

He sighed out loud. 

With a very concerned tone in your voice you asked him. 

’What is it?’ 

And with a big sigh he started talking.

‘..As much as I’d love to, I don’t know if I can fit a relationship into my life-‘

Your heart broke momentarily. Of course. Of course! It was too good to be true, wasn’t it just? 

No, it was fine. Your own life was too busy anyway. You were just being dramatic. Pfft- catching feelings for a hook-up. Some stranger named after a fruit, ha. 

‘It’s okay, I under-’

‘Let me finish.’

‘Oh?’ You laughed, his sharp tone catching you off guard. 

He looked embarrassed, speaking with a tone like that, to you.

‘Mhm, Sorry love, force of habit. Hear me out, please.’

You nodded. And he cleared his throat.

‘As much as I’d love to, I don’t know if I can fit a relationship into my life, but I would very much like to try.’

A soft smile formed on your face. 

‘I’d like that.’ 

----------------------------------------------------------

🍊Hope you guys enjoyed it!!

Share, comment, like, CUM to it!! See you next story ;)🍊

[thaly-does]

jayvik Hogwarts au headcanons:

Viktor is muggleborn, or so he thinks due to the fact he grew up in a muggle orphanage. Jayce is a half-blood on his father's line, but he spent his childhood in a magical village. Jayce starts taking Muggle Studies for Viktor, but quits early as Viktor shows no desire to keep a connection to the muggle world.

They both get sorted to Ravenclaw. Viktor and Jayce share a dorm cause in Ravenclaw students sleep in pairs!!! They usually use one bed though, cause the other one is for books and other study equipment. They stop sleeping together around the 5th year because it starts to feel... Different. More intimate. They start sleeping together again during the 7th year soon as they start dating.

Everyone is certain they've been dating since the 2nd year.

Viktor has an incurable magical sickness that progresses slightly over time. Jayce spends all his free time with Viktor every time Viktor is in the hospital wing - and that's often, mostly filling him in on studying or reading out loud.

They play wizard chess like... a lot. Jayce gifted a really nice set to Viktor on their first Christmas in Hogwarts. Half the floor in their dorm room is covered in shattered pieces they were too busy to clean up. Viktor is constantly stepping on them, but he doesn't mind.

Jayce stays in the castle with Viktor during all the holidays first couple of years, later they both go to Jayce's home to spend the break there. Viktor also spends last two or three whole summer breaks at Jayce's.

From each visit to Hogsmeade Jayce brings Viktor something he thinks Viktor would like. Viktor isn't allowed to visit (apart from not having permission from the orphanage he keeps getting detention).

Jayce studies Ancient runes (it's one of his favourite subjects). Viktor studies it too from 3rd to 5th year, but doesn't go further. He keeps taking Numerology and Astronomy though.

Last two years they take Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology and Alchemy together. Jayce takes DADA yet Vik doesn't.

Both Viktor and Jayce study Alchemy and they're the only students in their course to do so. It's really... private studying there.

Viktor starts visiting the Restricted section really early on, like 3rd year. It's permitted cause he's so smart. (Will it backfire who knows)

Jayce plays quidditch as a chaser. Later he's made captain. Viktor pretends to hate quidditch (and he does hate flying), but he comes to every training session and every match to root for Jayce. He says it's because he "likes reading outdoors".

Jayce has the reputation of The perfect student. Viktor is the student who asks the "wrong" questions, tries too advanced spells too early and does dangerous experiments. Jayce tries to cover for him but no one ever believes him (even if they truly did it together).

Jayce is made prefect and then the Head boy, although he abuses this power a lot to let Viktor do whatever he wants no matter the rules. Also to take baths together during their last Hogwarts year.

Viktor likes to brew potions in their dorm rooms. One day he tells Jayce that room just stinks of him (it's really because currently Viktor is brewing amortentia). That's how they start dating.

Jayce invents the cure for Viktor's illness two years after graduation.

[lavenlady]

but I wanna know, how would Megatron act if he found out that Moonstriker is afraid of turning into him and spending more time with reader? Would he be upset?

Here you are Anon! Enjoy!

✧Yan!Tfone D-16/Megatron✧ - part 5

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

▹ At first Megatron thinks it is a phase and it would change by the time Moonstriker grew up

▹ Then one day while finding out his sparkling was spending the time with her Carrier, he wanted to lecture her and then maybe spent some time with them both, as he was free for now

▹ He only stops when he hears the conversation they are having, standing silently by the entrance, listening in

▹ Moonstriker expressing her fear of becoming like him, listing everything that made her feel that way and talking about not wanting to be a leader in the future

▹ He is upset, but it quickly turns to fury and then an idea came

▹ He then decides to persuade her by different means

▹ Using his beloved, he threatened her that if she wouldn't reach his expectations - she can say goodbye to the frequent visits to her Carrier

▹ Moonstriker couldn't throw away her relationship with her Carrier - each time she made progress by breaking the exterior they had to build, in order for her Sire to be pleased

▹ She agreed, seeing no other option

▹ The Decepticons were pleased with her, she wasn't a mad-mech like her Sire and she wasn't a pushover either

▹ She still gave Starscream freedom to make most of the choices, they quite worked well together, both of them trying to reach something and the other having tge power to help

▹ Starscream wanted the power, while she had to keep her Sire pleased

▹ Their agreement started to become complicated over time, with Megatron visibly becoming even more unstable, they needed to do something

▹ Starscream started to sabotage Megatron, while Moonstriker kept everything in check, so he wouldn't receive a beating

▹ In the end - Megatron started to slowly forget his original ideals and just wanted the Autobots gone, not caring for his underlings' desires and losing himself in his rage

□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□

(Hope you liked it!)

( Master list )

(Request away!)

[wrenaspun]

Just wanted to tell you that I love your writing so much — I reread “one way or another” like once a month at least. And any fic where you write from Laurent’s perspective is automatically incredible showstopping never been done before etc. in my eyes. Nobody gets the depths of his horniness for Damen quite like you :)

Anyway for the prompt, how about Laurent and Damen trying to figure out the best way to tell Auguste (alive) about their relationship

Aw anon, thank you, that's very kind!! I'm so glad you enjoy the fic(s) enough to return to them <3 For the prompt, this ficlet ended up taking place in the same 'verse as burst the sky in my head, but it should also stand alone just fine! -

“You could hire a skywriter,” Damen suggested lazily. He had one arm behind his head and was staring drowsily up at the clear Ios sky, his sun-browned skin glistening in the sunlight, looking like some artist’s wet dream of a classical painting.

Laurent scooped up a handful of sand and threw it at him.

None of it landed above his shoulder, but Damen’s face scrunched up anyway, and he brought his free hand up to brush fussily at a few nonexistent grains on his nose. Then he reached out and took Laurent’s hand and brought it to his lips. “You could have one of those parties,” he said, while Laurent tried not to melt under the combined force of the sun and Damen’s sheer charm. “With the glitter, and the announcements — what do they call them?”

“Gender reveal parties?”

“That,” said Damen. He mimed a balloon popping. “Congratulations, it’s a boyfriend.”

“That is not what Auguste would say if I burst a blue glitter balloon in his face,” said Laurent, but he spent a few minutes thinking about doing it anyway, just for the look they would get.

The problem was, there was no good way to tell one’s older brother that one was seeing his nemesis-turned-friend. More — that one was in love with said friend, wanted everything that came with that, to get married, to spend their lives together. Laurent curled his toes into the sand.

Not for the first time, he wished Auguste was a little less straightforward. But that was unfair, because he loved his brother’s unflappable straightforwardness, his easy candidness. It wasn’t really his fault that it made things difficult for Laurent, who had come out to his mother at the age of fourteen by saying well… in a delicately sceptical tone when she talked about his bringing girlfriends home. The next week she’d said the same thing but about boyfriends and he hadn’t corrected her and they’d understood each other quite perfectly ever since.

Auguste, good-natured and oblivious, would not pick up on such a hint. He was quite useless at picking up any hints at all, as a childhood full of poorly-coordinated cover stories for Laurent’s attempts at mischief would attest.

But if Laurent couldn’t hint, the only alternative then was to say it aloud: Auguste, I’m in love with Damen. I want to spend the rest of my life with him. Laurent wanted it so much that it became impossible to say. His desire was so ravenously enormous that it looped back around to being mortifying. He felt as though he had a very large, very poorly behaved dog behind him all the time, trying to get at Damen. He’d never felt like this before about anyone.

“You could hire a musician,” said Damen. And opened one deep brown eye to peek up at him, his merriment poorly disguised. “To sing it at him.”

“Will you please take this seriously,” Laurent grumbled, but even his voice was conspiring against him, refusing to sound sharp. He sounded disgustingly smitten.

Damen sat up, brushed off his torso, and then in a single graceful movement of rippling muscle he manoeuvred himself onto Laurent, pushed him down into the warm sand, pinned him bodily in place. “Believe me,” he said; Laurent’s whole body was flushed and thrilled, “I’m taking this very seriously.” He drew his nose over Laurent’s jaw, and even that minute touch sent sparks down Laurent’s spine. He turned his head and pressed a vicious kiss to Damen’s neck, applying his teeth, revelling in the laughing groan this wrung from Damen’s chest.

“Laurent,” he said breathlessly. Laurent hummed, and Damen said his name again, his smile audible. “I have another idea.”

Laurent broke reluctantly away. “Tell me.”

“Auguste texted me ten minutes ago asking where we were.”

“He what?” Alarmed.

“Well, he’s on break too,” said Damen, in an eminently reasonable tone.

“Is he coming down to join us?”

“He said something along those lines,” said Damen. “I didn’t want to interrupt your lecture on Professor Euandros’ shortcomings.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Laurent muttered. Teaching Professor Euandros’s third-year course on classical poetry had been a nightmare that he would need the whole summer break to recover from. The man hadn’t met an organisational system he didn’t hate with a violent passion. “So Auguste — but what was your idea?”

“Oh,” said Damen. He rolled off Laurent and sat up — a poor start. Laurent said so and watched as Damen’s teeth showed in a dazzling grin. “Here, sweetheart,” Damen said, tugging Laurent closer to him. “Let him find us like this, and you won’t have to say a word. I’ll do all the talking.”

“Like this?” They were both sitting up now, leaning against each other, skin to skin. Intimate, but very innocent. Damen made an affirmative noise. Laurent hummed thoughtfully, then let himself slide down until his head was in Damen’s lap.

“Or like this,” Damen agreed, stroking his warm fingers through Laurent’s hair.

Laurent hummed again. Then, teasing, he turned his face and nuzzled in a certain direction. Damen jolted. Laurent bit down on a smile.

“Not like that,” said Damen. The beach was empty aside from them — it was small and relatively unpopular, and the vast majority of people had gone back to work last week — but there was still the little thrill of exposure. “Fucking hell, Laurent.”

“You said ten minutes ago,” said Laurent. Desire was swelling in his chest, as wild and as wide as the sea.

Damen said, “Yes,” very carefully. A man who knew exactly the kind of trap that was being sprung on him.

Laurent said, “It takes thirty to get down here from the university.”

[probablysimpledreams]

Warm Winters (Dabi x reader)

a/n: it's been snowing crazy here, and it's inspired me to write something cutey with my man <3

wc: 1k

The past month has not been kind to the League. After suffering multiple defeats in combat and recruitment efforts, everyone was feeling defeated. Morale was at a low as members sulked around the common room, no one uttering a word.

You laid on the broken couch among the others, mind racing. Was all this really worth it? You asked yourself, picking at the skin around your thumb nail. Are we getting anywhere? What world are we even fighting for? What if-

"IT'S SNOWING!!!" Toga beams with excitement, her voice and clapping hands snapping you out of your troubled thoughts. You run over to the window with Twice and Spinner, smiling as you watch the snow fall down quickly.

"Wanna go check it out? Bet we could grab hot chocolate too," you smile at Toga's excitement regarding your idea. The two of you quickly bundled up, ignoring the snarky remarks and warnings other members threw your way as you two raced outside.

You were always happy when the League had time off like this, time to just exist as the normal people everyone longed to be. You especially felt this way when Toga had the opportunity to be a teenage girl, a smile across your face as you watched her build a mini snow Deku and Ochako as she rambled about her love. Your body shivered as you stood there watching the young girl until it hit you: you grabbed the wrong jacket on your way out the door. Among the excitement of it all, you didn't realize you grabbed one of Dabi's jackets instead of your own. The material was much thinner than what you needed to brace the falling snowing, mentally cursing yourself as the cold grew painful. Before you had the chance to tell Toga you were heading back, the sound of crunching snow became louder and louder.

"You're such an idiot," Dabi's deep voice sent a warm shiver down your spine, causing goosebumps to form as he stood behind you. You turned to face him, noticing that he's holding your fuzzy jacket. You quickly grab it from him, thanking him repeatedly as you throw his jacket off and put yours on. The thick material covers your body and begins warming your cold body up, and Dabi chuckles at the sight of you practically melting under the new warmth. A few moments pass of peaceful silence as you two stand together in the snow, a few feet from where Toga continued playing with her snowman collection.

"I'm surprised you're out here," you finally spoke up, looking up to the sky as the snow continued to fall. The sight was so beautiful, so gentle. "Just didn't imagine you're the type of guy who'd want to be out playing in the snow." You small giggle left your lips as you watched the expression on his face, noticing the hints of embarrassment and annoyance. Despite his cold outer shell, you always noticed how expressive his face would be. He was a man of many emotions that were always trying to escape him, wanting desperately to be seen. And yet somehow you were the only one able to catch onto this, enjoying the game of learning who Dabi truly is under this mask.

"I wanted my jacket back," he shrugged, eyes avoiding yours. As you two spent more and more time together, Dabi was becoming increasingly aware of your ability to see through him. And he had no idea how to feel about it all. It made him feel scared, exposed. He wanted to run away from it, leaving a wall of flames that you'd never dare cross into. But at the same time, it made him excited. He wanted to be seen fully. He wanted to invite you in with the door fully opened, no defenses up. The constant battle between the heart's desire and mind's protection weighed heavily on him.

"Could have just texted me, I would have walked back to the hideout," you hummed. The unnamed tension between you and Dabi was clear to everyone, this included the two of you. While you often found yourself annoyed at his lack of action, you knew that you really didn't have any room to talk. You could just as easily lay all your emotions on the line, but your own fears held you back. I mean it's not like you began walking the villain path because life came easily. You had your own fears and anxieties, your own fear of being seen entirely despite longing for it.

"Your point?" he bites, the hint of anger in his voice would usually be enough to scare anyone off. However you found yourself giggling at his words, heart fluttering as you knew he'd never hurt you. You knew he came out here to see you, to be with you. That fact alone washed a new sense of calmness over you, smile tugging at your lips.

You decided not to push him further, knowing Dabi had his limits when it came to navigating his feelings. Instead you decide to lean against his chest, heart beating faster than usual when you feel his arm wrap around your body. Your face began growing warm as your body was now flushed against his, grip on you tight and secure. The two of you went back to standing in a peaceful and warm silence as the snowflakes continued to fall.

You tilt your head up, looking up to steal a glance at Dabi who was already looking at you. The two of you exchange a smile before turning to look up at the sky, feeling warm despite the cold snow hitting directly on both your faces.

The world doesn't make sense. This fact has brought so much pain and suffering to you and Dabi both. Yet as you stand here feeling warm in the falling snow and safe in the arms of a man you've seen kill before, you discover a new beauty in the world not making sense.

[earthlybeam]

Just some random headcanons i think that fit haldir (my opinion)

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Haldir version below.

🏹𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓭𝓲𝓻

What's their love language? Haldir’s primary love language is Acts of Service, closely followed by Quality Time. As a Marchwarden of Lothlórien, Haldir’s life is shaped by duty, responsibility, and vigilance. These deeply ingrained values influence how he expresses love, as he approaches relationships with the same steadfast dedication and thoughtfulness he devotes to guarding the Golden Wood. For Haldir, love is not simply expressed through fleeting words or grand declarations—it is a consistent, tangible force woven into the small yet meaningful actions that demonstrate his care and devotion.

When it comes to Acts of Service, Haldir shows his love by doing rather than speaking. He believes actions are the truest form of commitment, and his affection manifests in the form of thoughtful gestures aimed at making his significant other’s (s/o’s) life easier and more secure. He is the type to notice their needs before they even voice them—whether it’s preparing a warm cloak on a cold night, repairing a treasured possession, or quietly standing watch while they rest, ensuring they feel safe. His acts are never performed for recognition or praise; they are born out of genuine care and a deep desire to support and protect the person he loves. For Haldir, these gestures are deeply personal. He takes pride in knowing what will comfort his s/o most, whether that’s preparing a meal tailored to their tastes, offering a silent shoulder to lean on after a hard day, or stepping in to handle problems they cannot face alone. His service is a silent promise: “I see you. I care for you. I will always protect you.” It’s how he reminds his s/o, without words, that their happiness and well-being are his priority.

Alongside Acts of Service, Quality Time is equally vital to Haldir’s love language. For someone whose days are often consumed by duty and vigilance, time spent with his s/o feels precious and sacred. Sharing undistracted moments allows him to lower the protective walls he constantly maintains and connect with them on a deeper level. Haldir treasures the rare, quiet hours where he and his s/o can simply be together, unburdened by the outside world. These moments might include walking together through the serene golden woods of Lothlórien, basking in the tranquility of the forest and the soft rustle of leaves overhead. Perhaps it’s sharing quiet conversations beneath the stars, where his guarded demeanor softens, and his words carry rare tenderness. Even moments of silence are meaningful to him—a gentle touch or a glance exchanged between them speaks volumes. He values this undivided attention as a way to nurture their connection and show his s/o that in those moments, they are the center of his world. Haldir’s love language is deeply tied to his character—measured, steadfast, and thoughtful. Through acts of service and time spent together, he conveys a love that is constant and enduring, grounded in the unspoken promise that his s/o will always have a partner they can depend on. For Haldir, love is a quiet, steadfast flame, burning brightly even when unspoken.

How do they view their significant other? Are they the light in their life? Best friend? Savior, etc.? Haldir views his significant other (s/o) as a radiant beacon of light in his often somber, duty-bound existence—a source of warmth and hope that softens the edges of his stoic life. To him, they are far more than a mere companion or partner; they are his anchor, his guiding star, and his reason to return home after the long, wearisome days of patrolling the borders of Lothlórien. In a life consumed by vigilance and the weight of responsibility, his s/o represents the beauty and peace he protects but seldom allows himself to fully enjoy. Haldir’s perception of his s/o is deeply tied to the rare vulnerability they inspire in him. While he is accustomed to leading and standing guard, his s/o becomes the one person with whom he can let down his walls. In their presence, he finds solace and reprieve, as if stepping into a safe haven where he can momentarily lay aside his burdens. They become his confidant—the one person he trusts to share the thoughts and emotions he keeps hidden from the world. With them, he doesn’t have to carry the weight of his responsibilities alone.

Quietly romantic and introspective by nature, Haldir sees his s/o as the embodiment of everything he cherishes most: grace, strength, and the quiet beauty of life that he rarely has time to appreciate. To him, they are a balance to his solitary and guarded nature, a mirror that reflects the softer, more human aspects of himself that he often suppresses. He finds their presence grounding, yet inspiring, as if they are a reminder of what he fights to protect—a symbol of hope in a world that can so easily fall into darkness. Haldir’s love for his s/o is rooted in admiration and deep respect. He marvels at their ability to bring light into his life, whether through their laughter, their quiet understanding, or the way they look at the world with wonder and resilience. He treasures their kindness and strength, often seeing in them the courage and gentleness he strives to embody. To Haldir, his s/o is a precious gift, something both fragile and enduring—a rare source of joy and meaning in a life filled with duty and sacrifice. Though he may not always voice his feelings openly, Haldir’s actions speak volumes about how deeply he values his s/o. He views them as his sanctuary, a partner who not only supports him but helps him see the beauty and purpose in his own life. In their love, he finds the strength to face the uncertainty of the world, knowing that no matter what challenges arise, they are his reason to hope and endure.

How do they act when falling out of love? Falling out of love would not be an abrupt or impulsive event for Haldir. His deep emotional reserve and disciplined nature mean that such a shift in his feelings would be a slow, contemplative process. He is not someone to act rashly or give in to fleeting emotions; instead, if he senses the connection fading, he would likely retreat inwardly, becoming more withdrawn and introspective. He would reflect on the reasons for this change within himself, often questioning the validity of his feelings and searching for clarity before taking any action. Given Haldir’s guarded demeanor, it would not be immediately apparent to his significant other that something has shifted. He would still carry out his duties with precision and care, remaining respectful and considerate, but emotionally, there would be a subtle distance that grows over time. His affection would become more distant, and his attention would shift, not through overt coldness but through a quiet, internal reorganization of priorities.

Though Haldir would not be overtly confrontational about the shift in his feelings, there would be an emotional distance that gradually widens. His partner might notice his increasing silence, less frequent displays of affection, or his tendency to seek solitude more often than before. Still, his innate sense of duty and honor would prevent him from being rude or inconsiderate toward his s/o. He would not lash out, but instead, his actions would reflect a growing detachment—a silent, internal struggle that he bears alone. Haldir’s loyalty and honor would keep him from severing ties hastily. For him, it would take a significant betrayal or a profound misalignment in values to drive him to consciously fall out of love. If he feels that trust has been broken or that there is an irreconcilable gap between them, he would be forced to reconcile these feelings quietly and with great pain. The emotional weight of this shift would not be taken lightly, and he would carry it silently, perhaps turning to the solitude of the woods or other quiet spaces to process the emotional toll. However, despite the fading passion, Haldir’s sense of responsibility toward his partner would ensure he remains protective and respectful. He would not leave without offering an explanation, but the process would likely unfold slowly, with little more than a gentle withdrawal. In the end, his actions would convey that while the depth of his love may have changed, his sense of duty and care for the well-being of his s/o would remain—though the romantic connection may no longer be what it once was.

Will they do anything for their s/o? Will the crocodile tears win them over or are they stubborn on not giving in? Yes, Haldir would go to great lengths to ensure his significant other’s happiness, safety, and well-being—within reason. His devotion is steadfast and his love, once given, is unwavering. He would fiercely protect his s/o, offering both emotional and physical support, and would sacrifice much to keep them safe from harm. Whether it’s braving danger, offering comfort during difficult times, or ensuring their peace of mind, Haldir would prove time and time again that he is a reliable and trustworthy partner. However, Haldir’s deeply ingrained caution and strong sense of duty mean that he does not act impulsively. His decision-making is tempered by practicality, and he weighs every action carefully. While his love is profound, it is not blind or unreasoning. He values integrity, responsibility, and respect in a relationship, and this will shape the extent to which he is willing to go. If his s/o’s request is reasonable, aligned with his values, and does not threaten the stability of Lothlórien or his duties as a Marchwarden, Haldir would go to great lengths to fulfill it.

That being said, he is not easily swayed by emotional manipulation or crocodile tears. Haldir holds steadfastly to his principles, and he does not let guilt or emotional pressure dictate his actions. While he is empathetic and deeply attuned to his s/o’s needs, he does not tolerate behavior that compromises mutual respect or manipulates his affections. His love is not conditional, but it is grounded in a shared sense of honor, trust, and responsibility. For Haldir, true devotion is not about reckless acts of love, but about long-term commitment, support, and a partnership built on mutual respect. He would never act in a way that endangers the well-being of those he loves, nor would he do anything that violates his sense of duty or the values he holds dear. His love is steadfast, practical, and tempered by a quiet strength that ensures it remains enduring, grounded, and honest. In short, Haldir would indeed do anything for his s/o, as long as the request is aligned with his integrity, the safety of his people, and the values he holds sacred. His love is unconditional, but it is not without boundaries or limits.

How do they kiss? Haldir's kisses are slow, deliberate, and profoundly meaningful. He does not rush or indulge in impulsive displays of affection, preferring instead to savor each kiss as if it were a rare and precious moment. His reserved nature means that he does not engage in public displays of passion, but when he is with his significant other in private, his kisses are intimate, tender, and full of deep affection. When he kisses his s/o, Haldir's movements are measured and purposeful. He often begins by gently cupping their face, as if memorizing the contours of their features, or holding them close with one hand resting protectively on their lower back. His touch is warm and reassuring, the sort that speaks of safety and trust. He would never rush through these moments, instead savoring the closeness between them as a way to connect deeply without words. With each kiss, there is a quiet intensity as he expresses his feelings through the simple act of touch, offering a rare window into his guarded heart.

When in public or in the presence of others, Haldir is more restrained offering quick, fleeting pecks to the lips —a gentle brush of affection that does not draw attention but still conveys his fondness. These kisses are soft and respectful of the space between them, as he knows the importance of maintaining composure when around others. However, even these brief pecks are filled with meaning, offering a quiet promise of affection that lingers long after the moment has passed.

In private, however, Haldir allows himself to fully immerse in the act of kissing. There is no rush when they are alone together. He pulls his s/o close, his hands gently resting on their hips, keeping them within his embrace as he kisses them with a deep, slow intensity. His kisses are firm, his lips moving with purpose, but always at a leisurely pace —each kiss a silent declaration of his feelings, as if the act itself speaks louder than words ever could. He takes his time, caressing their lips as though he wants to imprint the sensation on his soul. In these moments, Haldir is entirely present, his emotional guard lowered as he expresses the tenderness and depth of his love. It's a vulnerability he only shares with them, and it is through these intimate moments that he allows his softer, more affectionate side to shine through. Haldir's kisses are not just about passion-they are about connection, trust, and the rare vulnerability he allows himself to experience with someone who holds his heart.

What's their favorite part of their s/o? Haldir’s favorite parts of his s/o are their eyes, voice, and hands—each a silent language of its own, one that he deeply cherishes. His connection to them is more than physical, as he is acutely attuned to the nuances of their emotions and expressions. First, it’s their eyes that captivate him. He sees their eyes as windows to their soul, a reflection of their innermost feelings, whether those feelings are joy, sorrow, passion, or vulnerability. Haldir is drawn to the way their gaze can speak volumes without uttering a single word. Their eyes hold a depth that both comforts and intrigues him. They give him insight into their heart, and it is in those moments of silent understanding that he feels most connected to them. Whether they are soft and loving or bright with excitement, Haldir finds a profound beauty in the way their emotions shine through their gaze, speaking directly to his own heart.

Haldir is also deeply moved by the sound of their voice. Their voice has the ability to soothe him after long, exhausting days or to stir him with quiet passion during more intimate moments. He finds that their tone, cadence, and the words they speak hold power—whether they are offering reassurance, sharing a laugh, or simply offering a comforting silence. Their voice becomes a source of grounding for him, one that calms his restless mind or brings warmth to his soul. In the quiet of their conversations, their words are often like a balm, soothing him in ways that nothing else can.

Physically, Haldir is particularly drawn to their hands—hands that can be both gentle and capable, creative and comforting. He admires the way their hands move with such grace and purpose, whether they are crafting something beautiful, offering him a comforting touch, or simply holding his. He finds solace in the simple act of their hand in his, and it is in those moments that he feels truly at peace. Their hands embody a quiet strength, and Haldir treasures how they convey care and affection. Whether their hands are skilled with a bow, as delicate as they may be in weaving or playing an instrument, or simply placed gently on his shoulder in reassurance, he feels a profound connection in these subtle, physical gestures. For Haldir, these parts of his s/o—eyes, voice, and hands—hold a quiet yet profound significance. They are the ways in which he connects with them on a deeper level, understanding their soul and finding comfort in their presence. To him, they are not just physical features, but symbols of the bond they share, a connection he holds precious and rare.

Are they protective? Absolutely. Haldir’s protective instincts are not only a product of his upbringing as a warrior and his role as a Marchwarden of Lothlórien, but also a manifestation of his deep affection and commitment to his s/o. He views protection as a fundamental part of his duty—not just to his people, but to those he loves. This instinct is both practical and emotional, driven by an intense desire to ensure their safety, happiness, and well-being. With his s/o, Haldir’s protectiveness knows no bounds. He’s ever-watchful, scanning the horizon, ensuring that they’re safe from physical harm, and even safeguarding their emotional well-being. Whether it’s ensuring they don’t overexert themselves, watching over them during dangerous missions, or simply making sure they have everything they need, Haldir’s attentiveness is constant. He values their safety above all else and, at times, this can lead him to be somewhat overbearing. It isn’t that he doubts their abilities; rather, he feels an overwhelming responsibility to shield them from any harm, as he views his protective role as a way to express his devotion.

Haldir can be fiercely stubborn when it comes to his s/o’s safety. If they are determined to take risks or face danger alone, he will not hesitate to intervene, even if it means an argument or disagreement. While he understands their independence, his love for them often leads him to feel the need to shield them from the harsh realities of the world, whether it’s protecting them from the physical threats that lurk in Lothlórien or from emotional pain. This protective nature can sometimes lead him to insist on accompanying them when they would prefer to go alone, or he might try to remove potential sources of distress, even if it feels unnecessary to them. To Haldir, love and protection are inseparable. He doesn’t see these instincts as overbearing but as an expression of his deep, unwavering commitment. For him, there is no greater priority than ensuring that his s/o is safe, both in body and spirit. Even if they protest or argue, he will always stand firm, knowing that it is his love that drives this need to protect them. In his eyes, being with someone means being there for them through everything, and that often means protecting them—even if it’s from themselves.

How far will they go to take care of their sick s/o? When his s/o falls ill, Haldir’s devotion to their well-being becomes absolute. His usual stoic nature, grounded in duty and responsibility, would give way to an intensity of care that might surprise those who know him best. Haldir’s protective instincts come alive with an urgency to ensure his s/o’s health and comfort. While he is rarely expressive about his emotions, his concern for their illness would be apparent in every action he takes. Haldir would leave no stone unturned in his quest to see them recover. If the sickness is one that can be treated with the natural resources of Lothlórien, he would scour the forest for rare herbs, consulting the ancient knowledge passed down by his people. He would even go as far as consulting Galadriel herself, seeking her wisdom and guidance, knowing that her knowledge of healing could be invaluable. No length would be too great for him, and he would rely on every resource available to him in Lothlórien to ensure his s/o’s recovery. Throughout the illness, Haldir would be ever-present at their side, offering gentle care in ways that might seem out of character for someone so steadfast and composed. He would prepare meals, ensure they have enough rest, and even hold vigil at their bedside. His hands, usually so firm and unyielding in battle, would be surprisingly tender as he helps them with even the smallest of tasks. Whether it’s adjusting blankets or offering a comforting touch, he would ensure that they never feel alone or abandoned during their recovery.

Though he is not one to easily show his vulnerability, Haldir would stay with them for as long as needed, disregarding his own duties as a Marchwarden. His responsibilities would feel secondary to the care of his s/o—something he would never hesitate to prioritize. He would dismiss any personal discomfort, whether it’s lack of sleep or the demands of his role in Lothlórien, in favor of their healing. If the illness persists, Haldir would remain unwavering in his determination, refusing to leave their side until he’s certain that they are out of danger. In his eyes, no sacrifice is too great for someone he loves. His sense of duty to them would outshine all other obligations, as their well-being would become his sole focus. His actions would speak louder than any words, demonstrating his commitment and love in the most intimate and selfless ways possible. For Haldir, the love he feels for his s/o would be woven into every act of care, no matter how small.

How do they cheer their s/o up when they're down? When his s/o is feeling down, Haldir’s response is one of quiet strength and careful observation. Rather than offering grand gestures, he takes a more subtle, instinctive approach, knowing that what his s/o needs is a sense of calm and emotional support rather than a whirlwind of energy or distractions. His perceptive nature allows him to pick up on even the slightest cues, whether it’s a shift in tone, a quiet sadness in their eyes, or a change in their posture. From these subtle signs, he can discern exactly how to best comfort them.

Haldir may take his s/o on a peaceful walk through the tranquil woods of Lothlórien, where the golden leaves shimmer in the soft sunlight. In these moments, there’s no rush, no expectation—just the comforting presence of the forest and the sound of their footsteps on the soft earth. As they walk, he might share quiet words of encouragement, offering reassurance or wisdom that stems from his own experiences. His words would not be flowery or overly emotional, but instead would be steady and calm, speaking to the heart in a way that makes them feel understood and supported. He would speak from a place of deep knowing, reminding them that they are not alone in their struggles. Alternatively, if his s/o doesn’t feel like talking, Haldir would simply sit beside them, offering silent support. In these moments, he wouldn’t push for conversation or try to force a smile, but rather would sit in companionable silence, offering his presence as a steady anchor. His proximity is a reminder that no matter what, he’s there with them, sharing in the weight of whatever they’re facing. His presence alone would be a source of comfort—his hand may rest gently on theirs, or his eyes may meet theirs with a silent promise that he is there, unwavering, through both the light and dark times.

On rare occasions, when he senses his s/o could use a distraction, Haldir’s dry, wry sense of humor may come into play. It’s not often that he allows his humor to shine through, but when it does, it’s a welcome surprise. His jokes are subtle, and while they may carry an edge of sarcasm, they’re never mean-spirited. Instead, they are clever and thoughtful, aimed at bringing a smile or a light-hearted moment in the midst of sadness. A rare chuckle or a fleeting smile from his s/o would be enough to remind him that, despite his seriousness, he can still bring joy to those he loves. Through it all, Haldir’s approach to cheering up his s/o is deeply understated. He may not be the loudest or most overtly expressive partner, but his methods are grounded in empathy and attentiveness. His quiet but unwavering support makes it clear to his s/o that they are not alone, and that whatever difficulty they’re facing, he will stand beside them—strong, calm, and steady.

How do they react when they find out their s/o is dead? Haldir’s reaction to the death of his s/o would be a profound and crushing blow, though it would be expressed in ways that are quiet, stoic, and largely internalized. His grief would not be loud or outwardly dramatic, but rather the kind of sorrow that settles deep within, silently consuming him. While he may not openly show the depth of his pain to others, it would be evident in the way he withdraws even further into himself. He is a warrior, a protector, and someone who has long carried the weight of responsibility, so the emotional toll of such a loss would be kept tightly bound beneath a shield of stoicism.

The facade of duty and strength would remain outwardly intact, as his role as Marchwarden demands unwavering composure. He would continue to perform his duties, but everything would feel hollow, as if something essential was now missing from his life. His days might pass in a blur of motions—still efficient, still resolute—but devoid of the spark and warmth that his s/o once brought to his world. He may even find himself going through the motions mechanically, performing his responsibilities with quiet precision but without the passion or light he once had when they were by his side. Internally, the pain of the loss would gnaw at him constantly, and his heart would be heavy with sorrow. He would likely become even more withdrawn, retreating further into solitude. There would be moments, when alone in the quiet of the woods or beneath the canopy of stars, when the walls he so carefully built would crumble, and his grief would come crashing in waves. But even then, Haldir would be unlikely to express it openly to others. His solitude would be his only solace, and he would keep his sorrow locked away, perhaps even from himself, except in those rare moments when he is entirely alone.

In private, Haldir would honor his s/o’s memory in quiet, deeply personal ways. He might plant a tree in their name, marking a part of the forest where they once walked together, as a living memorial to their presence in his life. The act would be quiet, meaningful, and intimate, a testament to the love they shared and the impact they had on him. If Haldir is alone and the weight of his grief becomes unbearable, he might retreat to a secluded spot, far away from others, and sing a soft lament in their honor—a song filled with sorrow, but also reverence. This mournful tune, filled with the weight of his feelings, would echo through the trees, a tribute to what was lost. Even though Haldir would never show the full extent of his pain to others, the loss of his s/o would leave an indelible mark on his soul. It would linger with him, shaping his actions, his decisions, and his worldview for the rest of his life. In a way, he would carry their memory with him wherever he went—quiet, unspoken, but always there. While he would continue to fulfill his duties with unwavering dedication, the joy and love he once had would be irreparably altered. The person who once filled that space in his heart would be gone, and Haldir would be left to face the world with the weight of that loss, enduring the passage of time while carrying the memory of the one he loved in silence.

What makes them worry about their s/o the most? Haldir’s primary concern for his s/o revolves around their safety and well-being, particularly given the dangers that lie beyond the borders of Lothlórien. As a Marchwarden and protector, he is acutely aware of the threats that the outside world holds—whether it be from hostile forces, wild creatures, or the lingering dangers of war. He understands the vulnerability of those he cares for, and this knowledge manifests in a constant, quiet worry that never truly dissipates. His fears are not limited to physical harm alone. Haldir is also deeply protective of his s/o’s emotional well-being. He knows the harsh realities of life, the toll that loss and sorrow can take on a soul, and he dreads the thought of his s/o suffering emotional pain or distress, especially from forces outside his control. The thought that someone could manipulate or cause them harm—whether through deceit, betrayal, or simply by their inability to navigate the world as cautiously as he does—keeps him on edge.

Haldir is particularly concerned about their interactions with outsiders. His distrust of those unfamiliar to him, shaped by years of duty and protecting Lothlórien, makes him wary of anyone who might come into contact with his s/o. He is protective to the point of being overbearing, questioning the intentions of others, and feeling a need to shield his s/o from potential harm or exploitation. This protective instinct can make him seem possessive at times, as he may want to keep them within the safety of Lothlórien’s borders or ensure they do not venture into situations that could be dangerous or emotionally taxing. In moments when his s/o is outside his direct reach, Haldir’s mind races with all the possibilities of harm that could come their way. His loyalty to them, paired with his inherent sense of duty, makes him uneasy when he cannot personally guard them. Whether they are traveling alone, dealing with unfamiliar individuals, or even simply facing a challenging situation, he worries that they are exposed to risks that he cannot prevent. It is this helplessness, this inability to protect them at all times, that causes him the greatest anxiety. Though Haldir may never openly admit the depth of his worry, it is always present in the way he watches over them, the way he quietly anticipates their needs, and in the careful, thoughtful way he approaches their safety. His love for them is both a source of strength and vulnerability, and the weight of caring so deeply for someone in such a dangerous world is a constant burden on his heart.

How often do they stare lovingly at their s/o?Haldir’s gaze is not one to be openly displayed, as he is a creature of duty and restraint, often keeping his emotions in check. However, in rare moments of vulnerability, when he believes no one is watching, his eyes will soften with a tenderness that he does not easily express aloud. These stolen glances are a reflection of his deep affection, a private treasure he keeps for himself. His admiration is most evident when his s/o is engaged in something that brings them joy or peace—whether they are lost in conversation, lost in a moment of quiet contemplation, or simply going about their day. At these times, Haldir’s gaze lingers, drawn to the subtle ways they move, the expressions that flicker across their face, or the light in their eyes. He finds beauty in their every action, whether they are simply reading a book or tending to something with gentle hands. His eyes follow them with an unspoken fondness that speaks volumes without a single word being exchanged

Though he may not openly show it, his heart swells in these moments. He admires the strength in their posture, the warmth in their smile, or the way they move through the world with grace and purpose. It is a quiet adoration, an acknowledgment of all they are—both the external and the internal qualities that make them unique. These moments of gaze are rare, often fleeting, but filled with a quiet intensity that only Haldir can understand. While his public demeanor remains composed and reserved, these private moments when he allows himself to stare lovingly at his s/o are his way of silently communicating his deep love and admiration for them—an expression of affection he reserves for his one true companion. His gaze is an intimate bond between them, one that doesn’t require words, only the shared understanding of the depth of his feelings.

How do they impress their s/o? Haldir impresses his s/o not with grand gestures or overt displays of affection, but through the quiet strength and unwavering dedication that defines him. His poise and grace are evident in everything he does, from the way he moves with an effortless elegance through the forests of Lothlórien to the calm confidence he exhibits as a leader. It is the subtlety of his actions that leaves a lasting impact. One of the ways Haldir captures his s/o’s admiration is through his fierce yet calm dedication to his duties. Whether it’s in the defense of Lothlórien or guiding others through the perilous woods, he exudes a quiet confidence in his skills, allowing his s/o to feel safe and protected under his watch. His capability, both as a warrior and a leader, leaves them in awe of his inner strength and discipline.

His deep knowledge of Elven history and lore also plays a role in impressing his s/o. He possesses a wisdom that comes from centuries of experience, and when he speaks of Lothlórien’s ancient trees or the rich culture of the Elves, his s/o is entranced by his ability to connect them to the beauty and depth of their world. His stories are not mere recitations but offer insight into his soul, and each word is a window into his heart. The way he appreciates even the smallest details—be it the sound of the wind in the leaves or the intricacies of a well-crafted bow—shows his sensitivity to beauty in all things, making his s/o feel as though they’re seeing the world through his eyes. Perhaps most impressively, Haldir’s attentiveness and devotion are palpable in the smallest, most thoughtful gestures. He seems to instinctively know what his s/o needs, whether it’s a comforting touch after a long day or a word of encouragement when they feel uncertain. His ability to anticipate their needs—whether emotional or physical—demonstrates a care that goes beyond simple affection. He never demands anything in return, and his actions show a profound respect and understanding of who they are.

In private, Haldir’s love takes on a more intimate, tender form. He finds comfort in the simplicity of small gestures that are shared when they are alone. Whether it’s gently braiding his s/o’s hair, running his fingers through the strands with quiet care, or simply holding them close during a long, peaceful cuddle, these moments of closeness speak volumes about his love. The act of braiding hair is an especially personal way for him to show tenderness, a delicate task that requires patience and attention to detail. His hands, which are so often used for battle, become instruments of care and affection when it comes to his s/o. He also expresses his love through slow, lingering kisses. These quiet moments allow him to reveal a side of himself that is rarely seen by others. His kisses are never rushed but are filled with deep affection, a way for him to connect on a more intimate level when they are alone. When his s/o is in his arms, he may offer small, soft kisses, an expression of his quiet devotion that grows with each passing moment. When Haldir cares for someone, it’s not a matter of duty—it’s a quiet devotion that manifests in the smallest of acts. His s/o may be impressed not by the overt declarations of love, but by the steady, reliable presence he offers, the way he supports them in every way without hesitation. It’s a love that’s built on actions that leave no room for doubt: Haldir is someone they can trust, admire, and rely upon.

Extra bonus (these parts just for fun, love writing them 😈🙈)

➳ He’s a sucker for forehead kisses. It’s his go-to way of showing affection without saying anything. If his s/o is upset, a soft press of his lips to their forehead is his quiet reassurance that everything will be okay.

➳ He gives surprisingly heartfelt compliments. Though he’s not one for flowery words, when he does speak about his s/o, his honesty and depth of feeling make his words unforgettable. A simple “You are the light in my life” from him carries more weight than a thousand poems.

➳ He secretly loves when s/o fall asleep on him. Whether it’s during a quiet moment in the woods or by the fire, Haldir will freeze at first but then soften completely, wrapping an arm around them and holding them close.

➳ He blushes easily around them. Though he tries to maintain his stoic demeanor, a loving look or unexpected compliment from his s/o can leave him flustered and adorably red-faced.

➳ He secretly loves when they call him by a pet name. He’ll roll his eyes and pretend it’s ridiculous, but deep down, it makes him feel warm and cherished.

➳ He always has to have the last word. Whether it’s a minor disagreement or a full-blown debate, Haldir will find a way to deliver a closing remark, even if it’s muttered under his breath as he walks away.

➳ He’s a master of pointed silence. When he knows he’s right (which is always, in his mind), he’ll cross his arms and give you the most condescending look until you cave. That raised eyebrow could win any argument without him saying a word.

➳ He’s passive-aggressively polite when he’s annoyed. He’ll say things like, “Of course, you’re entirely correct,” while pointedly adjusting his cloak with a dramatic flourish that screams otherwise.

➳ He’s a stickler for details. If someone tries to generalize in an argument, he’ll interject with, “Actually…” and proceed to deliver an overly specific, smug correction that no one asked for.

➳ He’ll never admit he’s lost an argument. If it happens, he’ll deflect with, “This isn’t worth my time,” or, “We have more important things to do,” and walk away with his head high, pretending he never cared.

➳ He secretly loves when someone stands their ground. As much as he loves being right, he respects people who don’t give in easily—especially his s/o. Their ability to challenge him and hold firm in their beliefs not only impresses him but also stirs something deeper within. The fiery determination they show in an argument is, admittedly, a big turn-on for him. While he would never openly admit it, the clash of wits leaves him both exhilarated and quietly captivated. Their eventual resolution—whether it’s a compromise or his reluctant surrender—becomes all the sweeter because of the tension and passion that led up to it. Deep down, he relishes the challenge, finding it endlessly alluring.

➳ Haldir has a stare that could kill—literally. His resting face is so intense and deadpan that when he’s not actively engaging in conversation, it looks like he’s trying to burn a hole through whoever is in front of him. It’s a look so sharp that it makes everyone uncomfortable, though he’s often unaware of how intimidating it is. People know to stay out of his way when he’s in his “zone,” but secretly, he doesn’t mind the intimidation—it’s a power he quietly enjoys.

➳ He absolutely hates small, irritating sounds. The constant ticking of a clock, the tapping of a finger, or the rustling of papers will drive him mad. It grinds on him in a way that few things do. He won’t show it openly, but it’s enough to make him restless and irritable. If something is making noise that annoys him, he’ll often “fix” it in subtle ways—maybe clearing his throat loudly or repositioning to get farther away from it. You’re guaranteed to see a twitch in his eye if he can’t escape the noise.

➳ He’s constantly pretending to hate romantic gestures, but secretly he loves them. He’ll act like a stoic warrior when his s/o gives him a thoughtful gift or says something sweet, responding with a simple “It’s nothing” or “You shouldn’t have.” But when he’s alone, he’ll secretly admire the gift or replay the words in his head, smiling faintly to himself.

➳ Haldir secretly enjoys being pampered by his s/o. He’s used to being the one in charge, taking care of others, but in private, he enjoys when his s/o takes care of him. Whether it’s massaging his shoulders after a long day or simply sitting with him in quiet comfort, he allows himself to be vulnerable in these moments, enjoying the closeness it brings.

➳ Haldir gets easily annoyed by unnecessary noise. Whether it’s a clanging sword, loud voices, or the rustling of a branch out of place, Haldir can be very sensitive to disruptive sounds. His heightened senses, honed over centuries of living in the forests, make him attuned to even the smallest disturbances, and it can put him on edge if he’s trying to focus.

➳ He absolutely despises being fussed over, but deep down, he loves it. Haldir would never ask for attention, and if anyone tries to pamper him, he’ll act all grumpy about it. He might snap at them or roll his eyes, but he secretly enjoys being cared for. If someone offers to give him a shoulder rub or a warm drink, he’ll act like he doesn’t need it—yet he’ll find himself looking forward to it.

➳ He’s a soft grumpy, the kind of person who grumbles about everything but secretly enjoys every bit of it. He’ll roll his eyes if someone asks for his help but will do it without a second thought, muttering under his breath the entire time. But once the task is done, you can tell he’s secretly pleased with himself. His grumpiness is a mask for his deep care and attention to detail.

➳ Big cuddles—he pretends to hate them, but he secretly loves them. While Haldir would never admit it, he’s a big fan of cuddles. He often acts gruff or distant when his s/o tries to pull him into a cozy embrace, rolling his eyes or muttering about “discomfort” and “wasting time.” However, when he’s actually in the embrace, he’s completely relaxed, often sighing contentedly and letting himself fall into the warmth of the hug. It’s one of the few times he lets his guard down, but he’ll continue to grumble about it afterward to maintain his tough exterior.

➳ Secretly, he’s a sucker for affection—but he’ll never ask for it. Haldir is very proud and would rather suffer in silence than admit that he craves touch or emotional warmth. But every now and then, he’ll lean into someone’s touch, or he’ll respond to a soft gesture of affection with a genuine warmth that he struggles to hide. He’ll always play it off, pretending that he didn’t want it, but deep down, he secretly enjoys it and looks forward to those moments where he doesn’t have to be “the strong one.”

➳ Haldir is basically a grumpy cat. Much like a cat, he’ll silently judge you, disappear into his own space for hours, and then come out for affection on his terms. He won’t give you attention just because you want it, but if he’s in the right mood (or if he’s just bored), he’ll begrudgingly acknowledge you, usually with a quiet grumble and an eye roll. But like a cat, when he does decide to get affectionate, it’s on his own schedule—and he expects you to deal with his mood swings.

➳ He cherishes his alone time more than anything. While Haldir cares deeply for those around him, he thrives in solitude. Whether he’s taking a walk through the woods or simply sitting in quiet contemplation, he needs moments where he can disconnect from the world and recharge. If he’s in a group for too long, he’ll start looking like he’s about to explode from overstimulation. Being alone is his way of maintaining balance and peace.

➳ Haldir’s not one for small talk, but he values meaningful conversations. When he does speak, it’s usually with purpose. Small talk and idle chatter are foreign to him. However, if someone engages him in a deep, thoughtful conversation, he will open up—showing his intelligence, wisdom, and sometimes even his more philosophical side. These conversations are some of the few times he allows himself to relax.

➳ Haldir is surprisingly good at reading body language. His ability to understand people doesn’t just come from his long years of experience but also from his deep empathy. He can easily read someone’s mood or intentions just from a glance at their posture, their facial expression, or the way they move. This makes him an excellent strategist and confidant.

➳ Haldir’s private smile is like a rare treasure. He doesn’t smile easily, but when he does, it’s soft, almost imperceptible—a small upward curve of his lips, as if he’s sharing a secret with the world. It’s usually reserved for his closest companions or his s/o, and it always feels like a moment of pure connection.

➳ Haldir has a very specific way of organizing his things. Everything in his quarters is meticulously arranged—his weapons are polished and aligned, his cloak folded precisely, and even his books or scrolls are neatly stacked. It’s a reflection of his need for order and control, a way to counterbalance the chaos of his responsibilities.

➳ He hates being complimented, but he’s way too proud not to show a tiny smile when it happens. Compliments, especially about his appearance or abilities, make Haldir uncomfortable. He doesn’t know how to handle praise and will often respond with a curt, “It’s nothing,” or brush it off as if it doesn’t matter. But if you look closely, you’ll catch that small, barely perceptible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He’s not immune to flattery, after all—he just won’t admit it.

➳ Haldir’s hair is always impeccably maintained, but only because of a habit from his youth. As a child, he was often the one tasked with braiding and styling his siblings’ hair, a role he found strangely soothing. Over time, it became a ritual for him—now, he spends an unusually long time on his own hair to make sure it’s perfect, almost like a small, quiet act of self-care.

➳ Haldir finds it hard to turn down a challenge, even when it’s trivial. Whether it’s an archery contest or a bet on something as minor as who can hold their breath the longest, if someone challenges him, Haldir can’t resist rising to the occasion. It’s not about the prize—it’s the satisfaction of proving himself.

➳ Haldir is not great with children, but he tries really hard. He’s awkward and overly serious when interacting with younger elves, and sometimes, he tries to be “fun” by telling them old war stories or showing off his combat skills. It comes off as unintentionally creepy, though, because the stories are always more intense and somber than the kids expect. He’ll then awkwardly try to change the subject when he realizes how uncomfortable they are.

➳ Haldir likes to be the one to fix things, even when it’s not necessary. If something breaks or goes wrong around him—whether it’s a weapon, a piece of armor, or even something as small as a broken clasp—he’ll immediately take over the repair, even if it’s something simple that doesn’t need fixing. He finds comfort in being the one who solves problems, and if given the chance, he’ll fix something just to show his usefulness. But when someone else takes care of it without his input, he’ll sulk quietly for a bit.

➳ He gets ridiculously flustered when complimented. If someone calls him handsome or brave, his immediate reaction is to scoff or roll his eyes. But if you look closely, his ears turn bright red, and he suddenly has a lot to say about unrelated topics.

For Other characters headcanons so far.

[noonew1lleverask]

Over and Over Again

Hello people. I’ve literally never posted on tumblr before, but I really really wanted to because I had this Spencer Reid idea. This sucks, and if you have any critic or advice for me, PLEASE LET ME KNOW. I hope you like it. There’s no warnings, besides a storm, maybe? Again, never posted before, yes, the banner is huge. I know. I do not know how to fix these things. I’m yapping.

ANYWAYS: this blurb was written based off of the song Would You Fall in Love with Me Again from EPIC (dog, listen to it, it’s the best musical ever). Loosely based, really. I hope you love it.

“I’ve changed,” he insisted. He persistently insisted, pacing his living room floor, expertly dodging books left face-open on the floor , words subject to dim lighting above them, watching like a crowded theater as he stood before her, laying himself bare. He wasn’t a man anymore— couldn’t she see that? He was a monster.

She watched him with wrinkled brows, mentally undoing the puzzle she’d spent all of her time knowing him trying to solve. She couldn’t understand it. Why did he think he had any right to tell her this? She knew he changed, it was obvious, it was natural, considering what happened. Yet, he spoke of his shift in demeanor as if it wasn’t obvious, as if she wasn’t aware of the yellow warning signs flashing by her as she drove down the road, speedometer reaching unsafe levels, but she couldn’t stop. She didn’t want to.

Stepping forward, toes catching against the corners of his precious literature now tossed aside in the face of his internal storm, she caught him by his wrists, stopping him. “Spencer—“

The words burst from his mouth, drowning her out. “I’m not the man you fell in love with. What I did in there?”

Despite his insistence, his hands slid down, entwining their fingers together and holding tightly, too afraid to let go, too desperate to cling to a lifeline suddenly cast toward him, a precious lifeboat of brilliant orange in a raging sea, waves of resistance keeping him at bay.

“What I did in there… it’s not… you have to understand. I did what I had to do—“

“Then that makes you more man than monster— that makes you human. You lived— the human instinct is to live— stop trying to… to dissuade me! Spencer, I—“

“Please—“

The desperation sat heavily in his eyes, glimpses of a lake hidden deep within a dark forest, a glimpse of heavenly seas of emerald spoke of in Revelations. They flickered, flashing between adoration and aggravation, desperation and deprivation. Duty and desire warred inside his mind, a voice near the back of his mind reminding him of his sins, of his transgressions. She didn’t need that. She needed clean cut and safety. How could she find wealth of any kind with him?

Electricity crackled between them, rolling like the breaching thunder outside of his apartment.

He didn’t believe in fate. He didn’t believe in destiny or signs, but this? This seemed to perfectly concocted. If there was a God, He was making his opinion known of the situation inside of Spencer’s apartment, expressing his vehement hatred of the private world they’d come to build together. He would tear it down if Spencer didn’t first.

Her eyes flashed to the window, and snapped back to him, mirroring his desperation; destruction; adoration; anger. She held his hands tighter, nails digging into the flesh of his knuckles. The singe of pain was needed, it tied him to her, fed his selfish desires to have her, to keep her inside of him, tucked securely into the empty cavity of his chest.

Her voice was a rasp as she seemed to beg, all but falling to her knees to clutch to his pant leg and sob like a child. “‘*Please*’. You keep saying ‘please’. Stop saying that!” She exclaimed, holding his hands tighter. Her body felt rigid, tense with all of the emotions tightly wound inside of her, aching to be let free in a cacophony of rage, explosion of lust, a torrent of emotions. “Spencer, I love you! I will fall in love with you over and over again, and I don’t care what you did. I don’t care who you hurt— do you think I haven’t hurt people, too?”

“Not like I have,” he attempted to intervene, and she quickly shushed him.

“What you have done in moments of desperation doesn’t matter to me!… Okay, it does. It matters to me because I… you’re here with me. You’re with me, holding my hands, telling me not to love you— but you told me I was the only thing keeping you sane. My letters were your anchor. Was that not true?”

His silence was answer enough. The thin press of his rose lips told her everything she needed to know. With a grating strength, she released his wrist, and drew her hand to his face. His stubble tickled her palm as she cupped his jaw, watched him lean into her touch like a sunflower towards the sun.

“Stop fighting me,” she whimpered. Her voice had lost it’s strength, but not it’s conviction. “Stop trying to keep me away from you… If I wanted to leave you, if I believed, truly believed you were a monster… I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

He looked so tired. When he smiled it was torn. This wasn’t the same man as before, but it was Spencer. Spencer fucking Reid, and she’d be damned if she didn’t love him just as much; maybe more.

“I love you,” she whispered, her voice thick with tears she hadn’t realized began spilling over her cheeks, collecting at her jaw and running down her neck in hot rivulets.

His pupils swelled at the sight.

Her words began to snowball, as did her volume as it rose and rose with every word, her strength returning under the clear dilation of his pupils; a solid tell he was just as affected as her. “And I won’t stop loving you, because you will always be the man I fell in love with. No matter what you’ve done, where you’ve been— damnit, Spencer—!“

His head dipped forward suddenly, lips catching hers in a powerful press of lips that she’d yearned for since he first delivered her a smile that broke through clouds over her head, offered one of his relentless facts of seemingly infinite wisdom that drew her deeper into this… well of adoration she’d fallen headfirst into.

Heat blossomed at the base of her spine, racing up her back to leave her lightheaded as she fell into him, hands falling to loosely clutch his shirt. His arms wound around her waist to capture her weak form, clutching her to him, his fingers curled into her shirt, wrinkling the fabric.

His lips perused hers with a desperate leisure, a slow hunger that threatened to tear him limb from limb. His seams were already loosened, and she was tugging, whether she knew it or not.

Pulling back reluctantly, he breathed heavily against her mouth. Bursts of moist, warm air hit her skin. She felt it curl around her cheeks, sink into her ears, her temporal lobe soaking in the lingering tingle of his lips on hers, leaving her drunk.

“I love you,” he whispered to her, his voice barely audible over the rain slamming against the windows of his living room. He had forgotten about God’s wrath looming outside of his windows.

She laughed softly, her voice still hiccuping around her steadily falling tears. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that?”

He smiled, a genuine, full smile of exuberant happiness. “Too long.”

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING IF YOU DID! <3 Even if you didn’t, thanks so much anyways! Remember, you are loved and appreciated by someone. You are loved and appreciated by me, and I hope you have a wonderful day wherever you are.

[erasinglines]

where did they go from here? he didn’t have an answer for that. now that he thinks about it, he never has. all they’ve been doing is taking it day-by-day, doing whatever they could within their power to just figure it out. neither were perfect at it, in fact, miller’s been entirely flawed in this process, clinging to whatever remnants were still between them, no matter how crumbled and shattered they had become. it’s better than not trying, he thinks— to have allowed the physical distance, the pain of seeing her with someone else, get the better of him. would rather fight everyday, tooth and nail, to remain in her life, if that’s where she wanted him. he would do anything she asked. and of course he wishes this had all been different for them; that he’d found a job locally, instead, that he’d fought harder when she insisted that he just go, aim to reach dreams that came to fruition, that only ever felt possible, because of her. it wasn’t the cards they’d been dealt, though, and that’s a painful truth he’ll always have to live with, the ache if it radiating in his chest, cracking his ribcage. at least, now, they were both willing to make this work, as best they could, no matter how confusing, how difficult, it’s all become. that’s why there’s relief twining into the smile that tugs at his mouth— at least they had this, here, time spent together, grounding them in a moment that will soon be lost. “ i always want you around, too— there’s never been a day when that hasn’t been in the case. ” there never would be, either. and even if his desires run much deeper than that, even if he isn’t entirely sure he can only be her friend, he chooses not to speak on it, knowing how much damage he’s already done, tonight. “ and i’ll try to not make things too hard on you, hm? even if i can’t help it… not sure what you want me to do when it comes to just standing, but i’ll do it. i’ll even learn to keep my mouth shut— maybe they can be my new year’s resolutions. ” he teases, corners of his mouth only lifting until it’s a full-pledged grin, across his countenance. it’s safe here, again, this space between them, which only emboldens him all the more, turning his hand until he can lace their fingers together, feeling the jolts of electricity that course between them. “ i happen to like your unfiltered thoughts, though, ” even if they’re hard to hear. “ actually, maybe that should be one of your resolutions; think i want to hear more of them. ” because this streak of honesty, as difficult as it has been to hear, at least meant he knew where they stood. and he hears it at the same time she does, the echoes of voices inside, counting down to the start of a new year. it cuts him off from saying that he always wants her, always has, and he doesn’t know if that’ll ever go away. he doesn’t make any effort to move from this spot, though, gaze soft, knowing, as he traces the contours of her face, all the parts of her that he has memorised. “ yeah, we probably should… fletcher will be looking for you too, right? probably freaking out that he’s lost sight of you. ” his words aren’t bitter either, the strain of their night dissipating with each moment that passes. his gaze ends up at her lips eventually, drawing around their outline, a small step closer without thinking twice about it, free hand reaching for her hip, fingers splayed along it’s most prominent part, 3, 2, 1…

despite their harsh words and jilted whispers to each other tonight, at least one good thing came from it— their newfound honesty with each other. it wasn’t easier, per say, to know these things about each other and their respective relationships, to hear how unhappy they both were with a new partner, but she can’t deny how relieved she feels to know it’s not one-sided, that neither of them could really let go of the other, no matter how hard they try, or who they find themselves with. it seemed impossible, really, considering just how ingrained he is in her soul, in every fiber of her being. it had always been like that, since the moment they met; almost as if it was meant to be this way, that he was the only one who was ever capable of filling that empty space inside of her. it’s just another reason why she hates that he ever questioned it, that he entertained the thought that her and fletcher’s relationship was better than what they had, based on some lie she spewed just to rile him up in a moment of weakness. even then, she wouldn’t blame him if he couldn’t forgive her for it, if she somehow ruined this, that day, and in all the moments since, without even realizing it. but once she sees him step closer to her, too, and hears the timbre of his laughter, real and warm, not torn from the darker parts of his chest, that worry begins to slip away, replaced by something that some might consider even more dangerous— hope. hope that things would change for the better from this moment onward, that they would maintain their honesty with each other and no longer fall into the trap of miscommunication and jealousy. they could be mature about this, couldn’t they ? only time would tell. “ of course i want you around, miller. i always want you around, ” she smiles softly, looking up at him in earnest, knowing that he would never purposefully hurt her— it’s something she thought about a few weeks ago, too, looking up at him, seeing the love and tenderness in his eyes as their bodies intertwined, knowing that she was always safe with him. “ but yeah, actually, you have made things super hard on me— it’s cruel and unusual punishment to see you across the room, looking like you do, and know that i can’t touch you like i want, ” it’s spoken teasingly, attempting to drain even more of their previous poison from this conversation, attempt to start anew, entirely.  “ i haven’t been very fair on you, either— i actually think i’ve probably been the fucking worst, with all the stupid shit i say. i don’t think i have a filter, with you, and i definitely should, ” she chuckles, soon pausing then, to reach out for his hand, running her thumb against his. just a simple touch to ground her in the moment. “ but we’ll start over, and if you still want me here, then i’ll be here. however you want me. ” if they couldn’t be more, she would take whatever she could get. it’s only seconds later when she hears the noise of the bar rise past the brick— the countdown to midnight was happening now. “ shit, we should probably go back inside, hm ? eden’s probably looking for you. ” and it’s not spoken with any previous jealousy or malice, but concern, afraid that this might cause more strain, despite not making any sudden movements away from him. 

[wesavegotham]

I would have more sympathy for people complaining about "Damian being treated as Bruce's only real child because they are related by blood" if Damian didn't literally spent probably over 75% of his existence doing something far away from his father while Bruce doesn't even comment on the fact that he hasn't seen his son in months and has no idea what he's doing.

[tenwhiteandalusians]

is episode 8 the domitian arc ? more on this and EVEN MORE narratives i’ve been ignoring that the show said “actually,,,” about in 5